#demonization

[chaos-in-one]

Friendly (or unfriendly if you're against this) reminder that this blog is supportive of ALL disorders. This blog does not think ANY disorder inherently makes someone a bad person, and is against any disorder being demonized. This blog wholeheartedly believes that a bad person having a disorder, yes, even if things that are also symptoms of their disorder are part of what caused harm, does not make the disorder a "bad" or "evil" disorder or excuse ableism and demonization directed towards the disorder.

Yes this includes personality disorders

Including npd and aspd

Yes this includes all psychotic disorders & disorders that cause psychotic symptoms

Yes this includes paraphilic disorders. All of them.

Yes this includes disorders that cause, or are even characterized by, attention seeking

Yes this includes disorders that directly have lying as a common symptom

Yes this includes dissociative disorders

Yes this includes any disorder with "gross" symptoms

Yes this includes physical disorders too

Yes this includes disorders that can cause loss of control of any kind- control of speech, control of body movement, etc.

Yes tis includes disorders that make someone "look scary"

This goes for literally any fucking disorder. There are not exceptions.

[astrogirl217blog]

Botanical beauty🏳️‍⚧️💫

[seattlehamaswatch]

"Never Again Means Never Again for Anyone."

Holocaust inversion, universalization, and denial fall under the delegitimization wing of the 3D model.

Comparing the (absolutely horrific) war in Gaza to the Holocaust is also a blood libel, which falls under demonization.

Removed from Seattle Center February 2025.

Here are some more examples from around the city.

[sodapillz]

Quick tip for pwBPD.

Do not go on TikTok and start making posts demonizing the hell out of pwNPD/ASPD. It only makes you look like a moron and definitely doesn’t make ppl want to take BPD more seriously.

And if you’re a good pwBPD, don’t scroll through the NPD and ASPD hashtags on TikTok. They’re full of ppl (very often with BPD) dog piling on pwNPD/ASPD and saying horrible shit abt them 👍🏽

[darlingarmadillo]

One thing I have loved seeing in the whole TikTok situation is young American and Chinese folks on Red Note joking and memeing together, asking each other questions, and finding commonalities, thanks to the assistance of the internet, phones that come standard with quality video capabilities, and translation software. THIS was the kind of future we hoped technology would facilitate back when it was new. A larger society than one bounded by geography, where we could all be connected to one another, as people.

And it is highlighting a message I delivered with my whole heart when I was in Peace Child choir in high school: People are not their governments. People are not country-sized monoliths. We are all messily, imperfectly human and we all have the same needs, loves, and fears. We have more in common than we have differences.

I feel like this is a message that is SO IMPORTANT in these days of tribalism, in painting groups of people with the same black and white villainizing brush. (Mind you, I say "these days" - tribalism and prejudice has always been a part of societies, but we don't even pay lip service to the idea of compassion and shared humanity now.) It breaks my heart that a tool that could connect everyone gets perverted to divide them. It has gotten so bad that even a sermon asking for this connection, this compassion, is seen as divisive, because of the power that would be threatened if we ever jettisoned the stereotypes that make "We are good and they are bad" so easy to say.

We are not our governments and we do not have to be. We are not our political parties and we do not have to be. We are humans. We evolved to support one another, to share the load of existence among ourselves so that we could all individually thrive. Any society that discourages this approach weakens itself to the point of its own downfall and the downfall of other societies. We have a responsibility to each other in the world, regardless of what our governments say.

[imbecominggayer]

Writing Advice Part 2: Disability And EVIL

Disabled adults are adults and because they're adults they have a wide variety of morality and characters since humans are an exceedingly diverse group with even more diversed existences.

WRONG!

No. No. In reality:

👿👿DISABLED ADULTS ARE EVIL, ALL EVIL!!!!!!! 👿👿 According to certain writers!

When writers take communities and existences such as the facial difference gang or the intellectually disabled doers this results in horrific portrayals of "demonization". Obviously, people with physical disabilities are often portrayed horribly. I will mention them in the facial differences saga. The only reason I am specifically talking about facial differences and intellectual disability is because physical disability and facial differences tend to overlap while intellectual disability is a common yet undertalked form of representation.

Demonization: it's just like what it sounds like. Disablity always equals evil

However, the ways that facial differences gang is demonized is different to how intellectually disabled doers are demonized.

THIS BECAUSE OF A COMMON ASSOCIATION aka

Good = Beautiful/Handsome, Evil = Ugly

For future reference, when I say ugly I mean "not conventionally attractive" and when I say beautiful I mean "conventionally attractive". Afterall, Harvey Dent is attractive. That's a fact.

A popular example of this is the James Bond franchise which has stocks full of villainous characters with various limb differences, scars, and other such things. These ugly and bad characters fight against the cool and handsome James Bond

Literally, the association between evil and "ugly" is so ubiquitous that when a character becomes disabled they also become evil. The transition between being law-abiding handsome attorney Harvey Dent and evil insane "ugly" Two-Face is marked by fire/acid.

Let me tell you, there is no link between being a bad person and being not conventionally attractive. I'm not saying you can't write bad people with facial differences but they're not bad people because of their facial differences.

Secondly, Facial differences aren't only scars. They are often congenital. There are hundreds of different kinds of facial differences. This was just to talk about the fact that most people hear "facial difference" and think "scar".

FOR INTELLECTUALLY DISABLED DOERS, their evilness comes from their supposed "mental status as a six-year old". For the purposes of clarity, I am just going to say that's not how intellectual disability is labeled and move on.

Because of their supposed "mental status" 🤢, they have no ability to guage morality. They're " *derogatory term* who does evil out of ignorance"

Firstly, intellectually disabled people can learn things, like morality. Especially, if we are talking about the majority of intellectually disabled people who have to mild-to-moderate intellectual disability. Either way, there are hundreds of education prgrams designed to help people in learning about things from periods to childrearing to reading to everything necessary for life.

Secondly, intellectually disabled people aren't children. I talked about that in Part 1 named Writing Advice: Disability And Infantilization. Check it out, it's fun.

Thirdly, intellectually disabled people exist in the real world. If you want to write a character who is intellectually disabled, you can ask them for assistance. There is nothing stopping you.

CONCLUSION: No matter what disability someone has, that shouldn't stop them from being human. You can write disabled characters as evil but disabled characters should be evil not because of disability but regardless of disability. Evil Doesn't Equal Not Conventional.

[demonized-infodumps]

Honestly, I kind of like being demonized. But only when it's directed towards me. The other Narcissists are amazing, how dare anyone say otherwise, but when it comes to me I want someone to degrade me. To call me a narcissist in an insulting way, or to say I'm a monster. I don't want them to generalize narcissism, but I for some reason still want to hear myself because called a narcissist in an insulting way? I don't understand it.

.

[hypn0tw1st]

An Overall Analysis Of Albert Wesker and "Unsympathetic Villainry"

I am not sympathizing for any of the characters described within this post! I am simply analyizing to provide people with a deeper understanding and possible comparisons between characters and adaptations.

Mentioned characters will include: Azula (Atla), Albert Wesker (Resident Evil), Zuko (Atla)

Albert Wesker

We know very little about Albert Wesker as a character and person, so a lot of this may be pulling strands of grass (or whatever). But I want to try to bring a new view to the most iconic villain of Resident Evil, no matter how far-fetched it may be.

In his childhood, it is assumable that he was taken from his parents by Umbrella and put into several makeshift homes with other Project W subjects (victims). From that young age he was seen as a person with favorable intellegence and "genetics", groomed into being able to be a senior scientist at age seventeen, a process that takes an upward of twelve years (at least!!!).

And in those few years before his introduction to working at Umbrella he went to a school where surely he was also praised and uplifted by staff and classmate alike.

To Wesker, the whole world must spin around his feet, halting under each step. If it did not, everything would pay.

And in some aspect I suspect that beyond him seeing the current lot of humans being "under par" or "lesser" that ultimately he saw a vast oceans of thoughts and ideas, and maybe he was scared. Scared that there were enough people that thought differently, and he wouldn't ever be able to convert them all. So if he couldn't recreate the world in his disease-crafted image, he would not stand for any of them to survive.

Even before re1, when he was killed by the Tyrant, he had signs of hatred for humanity. A disconnect between him and them.

Now, Wesker had every chance to take the step back and observe his situation. To self reflect and consider if what he was doing was right. If it was kind, or if it was something a person would even do. He did not take those chances to reevaluate.

Two characters I can consider similar to Wesker (faintly) are Zuko and Azula from ATLA. Zuko and Azula were both raised under extreme pressure and social status. However, they are still both very different people. Zuko was only hateful because of his lack of care from his father and other members in his family, fighting for scraps against his sister. And that emotional lack gave him the chance later on to open up and step back from that destructive course. I think Wesker is more like Azula. Azula too was raised under the same circumstance as Zuko, but she was gifted. Smarter, stronger, more skilled than Zuko ever dreamed he could be, even when they were both children. She was stronger than him, years younger. This caused her to shimmer like prized gold in Ozai's eyes. No matter what she did she was praised and instructed deeply. Cracking under the scrutiny of even a single loose hair.

Azula was so lost in the pressure and self absorbtion that she didn't dare step back. She had everything she wanted. Why would she ever look into the lives of lessers?

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

"If progressives have a politics that says all white people are racist, all men are toxic, and all billionaires are evil, it's kinda hard to keep them on your side. And so, we might want to think about-- if you're chasing people out of the party, you can't be mad when they leave. And maybe if we had a different politics, we actually said dignity for everybody, everybody is respected and we need you, more people might stay." -- Van Jones

==

What abuser tactics look like.

Disney has spent a decade telling the traditional fanbase of franchises like Marvel, Star Wars, Indiana Jones and even their animated movie library that they're not welcome or needed by belittling, deconstructing, undermining, subverting and completely replacing the characters fans have loved for years. Resulting in billions of dollars lost in box office and streaming bombs, from 2016's "Ghostbusters" all the way through to 2024's $230m utter disaster, "The Acolyte." And then calling the fans "toxic" for criticizing it or not watching it at all.

The same is true of gaming companies, resulting in multi-million-dollar flops like Suicide Squad: Kill The Justice League, Star Wars: Outlaws, Dragon Age: The Veilguard, and perhaps most notorious of all, the $400m+ Concord, which was shut down and refunded two weeks after its launch. Again, with the blame leveled at players - you know, the studios' paying customers - rather than those producing this garbage in the first place.

You're not entitled to people's support, much less their money, just because you might have had it once. Especially when you're asking them to give you their money. They don't have to put up with being vilified, demonized or even simply their needs being ignored. Your political party, franchise or game is only as good as the last thing you did for them. When you stop looking after their needs, they'll take their money or their support somewhere else.

[glowing-disciple]

It’s interesting (and probably a little telling) how quickly people move to demonize others.

For example, Arius’ actions and heretical teachings were bad enough on their own, but it didn’t take long for his death to be thematically tied to the death of Judas Iscariot.

[sodapillz]

I can't stand @the.bpd.specialist on tt.

I can't remember if I've talked abt this already but she bugs me to no end. And this is coming from someone that used to really enjoy her content. -Info below-

࿔ She still uses the term "narcissistic abuse".

࿔ She constantly compares BPD with other Cluster B personality disorders and, while doing so, demonizes the disorders she's comparing to. (links to that below)

࿔ She has made many tiktoks of her BPD characters being abused or taken advantage of by her NPD characters. Even making out one of the NPD characters to be a r^p!st - I would put the links to those but it won't let me watch the ones I'm talking abt on my laptop :<

࿔ She likes comments calling pwNPD evil or just talking badly abt them in general while also liking comments coddling BPD for doing the exact same things they're mad at pwNPD for doing. (ss below)

I really did used to like her, but she has become insufferable in my eyes.

[tothesolarium]

The Descent of Venus (This is my favorite Chapter, if you only read one I recommend this one)

Chapter Five

How are Demons born?

There is the tale of the fall,

Then there is a story of Earth

A God from one religion, who lived along others

For one people he was a provider, a protector

The rain that sustained harvest

The lightning that kept haunts at bay

For others - he was competition.

His name was twisted,

From insult, now cried Demon!

No King, No Love, Simply fear

   Ba’al, Ba’al Zezul, Prince, Harvest, Guardian

    Ba’al Zezul was a Weather god, his name meaning Lord of the Lofty House. He was a Hero, a bringer of rain, thunder was his voice, a strike of lightning his might. The rolling clouds his divine entourage.

    First, his proper title was twisted. The Lord of the Lofty house was weak work, the bringer of the harvest was unimportant for a king. This did not make his people lose pride. So Ba’al Zezul’s name was twisted further, to Ba’al Zebub, Lord of Dung and Flies.

Baʿal Zəvûv

Ba'al Zəbûl

Ba'al Zəbûb

Baalzebub

Beelzebub

    His people were killed before the word genocide was coined beyond being seen as Divine Right.

    Hell lacked definition. The fallen Angels knew nothing of their boundaries. Let alone what the Earth and Sky provide. They folded like the Ocean and fabric cast into it.

    While some might know souls were dying in the wreckage, at most they could shelter a few in their bulk. Which required care and precession. A breath too deep could still be fatal.

     When Beelzebub fell, it was through the sky. With wind that tore at his skin, moisture robbed from his lungs and ground waiting to crush him. This new ground and sky were canvas quickly claimed, with water and fire rushing to lay their mark.

    This definition is not Beelzebub’s power, but a stubborn understanding that no amount of torment would take from him. Beelzebub’s bones knew of a God who was only clouds and, who made love with the Earth and rejoiced in rain. Knew A father who was clever and jealous, who needed to be healed. Returning to that was not something Beelzebub could withstand, nor would he perish.

    Life would much rather have its unique shape than be forced together in one mass.

   While Beelzebub’s bones might know these memories. His mouth tasted like metal and soot when he tried to remember.

   Once his vision stopped spinning enough for him to make out what was under him. He was met with a mountain on fire, and an emerald ocean with glittering teeth hiding under the waves.

    It wasn’t a controlled summon, but Beelzebub grabbed at the water he had lost and managed enough of a cloud to carry him over the raging mountain.

    This trick did not feel like it worked. For he now fell into darkness. It took falling into the ash for him to see the rolling dunes of darkness. This land was too soft to be sand and still smelled like the fire that made it.

Beelzebub coughed and wheezed as he tried to fill his lungs again. The air was nothing like he was used to, it was so bare and empty. There wasn’t a scrap of water in the vast ashen plane. No plants or animals. Just a waste of nothing.

    Beelzebub could only look up for a moment. The sky was blindly empty, registering in his mind as white, but truly it was nothing. So Beelzebub felt the silky ash slip through his fingers and felt his bones ache. Inarticulate memories of fires taking fields, of people panicking to hide their works of art, of a boy trying to lead a cow out of the fire. Beelzebub’s body ached, and he forced himself to stand up.

   Instead of lingering in the haze, Beelzebub marched forward. Eventually, he found a slightly taller dune, he climbed it and tried to see if there was anything. From the top of the hill, he clicked his tongue as his hands rested on his hips. This was not a desert at all, and this wasn’t a dune, but radiating waves. In the center was a crater, that looked marble size, but Beelzebub knew it meant he had a lot of walking to do. There were white specks on opposite edges of the crater.

    It was a steady walk up and down the waves to reach the white speck. It took days but Beelzebub could not tell, his body ached and more did not feel like much. The speck stood up like a tower but was just a thin bone worn by the wind.

   “Are you dead?” Beelzebub rested a hand on the bone.

   “Yes,” the ground shook with the graveled voice.

   “Ah,” Beelzebub’s face scrunches up as he tries to figure out what that means. There were the carcasses of some bugs that had picked the bone clean lying on the sand around the bone.

   “You’re lying, right?” Beelzebub asks.

    “No,” The bone shifts slightly, slipping deeper into the ash.

    “I don’t believe you,” Beelzebub says as he crouches by the bone, brushing the hollow bugs away.

   “We are all dead!” the darkness roars, shaking the ground enough that Beelzebub falls.

   “Huh, it doesn’t feel like it.” Beelzebub pinches his arm, and winces. “Yah I don’t think so,”

   “Then go rot somewhere else,”

   “Are you rotting?” Beelzebub’s head tilts to the side.

   “We all are,”

   Beelzebub nods a little and then starts to scoop up the ash into his arms and carry it away.

   “What are you?” Beelzebub asks as he gets another arm full.

   “Your doom, now leave!”

    “Why?”

   “I will kill you,” The ground snaps.

     “Try it,” Beelzebub sits down cross-legged, and the ground doesn’t even shake.

    “The longer you are here the longer your suffering will be,” The ground finally grumbles.

   “I’m not sure if that’ll change if I leave,” Beelzebub says evenly, and returns to carrying away arm fulls of ash.

   “Whatever you are doing, stop it,” The ground shakes as Beelzebub starts to reveal the remains of two spread-out wings. Even what was buried in ash is still picked dry.

    “You are walking on my back!” the voice wails, and this time Beelzebub stops.

    “Am I hurting you?”

     “Yes, you idiot!”

      “That was not my intent,” Beelzebub walks more carefully, avoiding where he thinks the being might be.

    “Imbecilic,” The ground growled.

     Beelzebub nods but keeps digging. Before he reaches the creature’s back, he finds a second set of wings. These were buried before bugs could get to them and were starting to decay into oil. Feathers are now black and slick together. Beelzebub had to be even more careful around these, as the feathers wanted to peel away from the skin, much to the pain of the creature below.

      “Please, Leave me.” The creature begs.

       Beelzebub pauses for a moment, taking in deep breaths.

      “Are you that desperate for something to eat?” The voice croaks.

      “No,” another deep breath, Beelzebub’s lungs burn. Something in his bones knew to keep going, to keep pushing through his pain.

     “What do you want from me then?” The voice raged and ended up shifting further down.

    “Nothing,” Beelzebub mutters. The sand was becoming more of a problem. So what Beelzebub had been wearing, now became a bag to scoop sand away and drag it far off.

    “Liar, no one digs for nothing. There is no treasure here! There is no gold or fruit to plunder. Only damnation!” The voice howls and tries to swallow a sob. Beelzebub continued but kept thinking about whoever lay below.

    Beelzebub could now smell blood, but it was a third set of wings. Or more so bones in a pool of oil. While it was disgusting to drop into the pool of oil, now he could feel the creature’s back. He looped around some so thin they felt like a bundle of twigs, with only a faint heat showing they were indeed alive.

   “I will kill you!” the young man howled, his head arched out from the murk and he bit into Beelzebub. However his teeth barely sunk into the skin, and his muscles were too weak to keep his head up.

    “When was the last you ate?” Beelzebub remarks as he stumbles back up the hill.

     “You won’t eat me up!” The thin man claws at Beelzebub’s arms. With this and the drag of three sets of wings, Beelzebub fell backward. The Stranger tries to get away, trying to fall down the hill but his wings were now caked in ash that weighed him down. Beelzebub took a moment to get the oil out of his eyes and got a good look at who he had gotten out.

    The rotted wings were so much bigger than the young man, who, while barely able to lift himself, had the air of a prince nonetheless. With such a fierce expression Beelzebub knew it was against some cosmic code to touch this man or to even witness this misery. Even so, the young man’s ribs stood out like flags of surrender.

   “Are you trying to fatten me up for your meal?” The man tried to glare, but oil kept dripping into his eyes.

    “No, you just look starved.” Beelzebub shifts closer. “Here let me-“ Beelzebub tries to wipe the murk from the man’s face, only to get his fingers bitten. This time he breaks the skin, and Beelzebub watches his red blood drip down the man’s chin.

    The man spits the blood from his mouth and tries to wipe his mouth and eyes.

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” Beelzebub tries to reassure him, but molten eyes now glare at him.

    “Then why did you not listen to me,” His lips pulled back, showing flat teeth that were starting to gain points.

     “I…” Beelzebub shrugs, it was a feeling in his bones. “I had to,”

     “Why?” The man’s face only becomes more twisted in disgust, but Beelzebub feels a strange warmth in his chest. Even battered, this stranger was stunning, and While Beelzebub tried to remain present. A part tried to imagine what the man had looked like before.

     “Who wants to be buried alive?” Beelzebub asks, and the man’s nose wrinkles up.

    “Well congratulations, you unleashed the worst evil in the world. Your reward will be eternal suffering.” The Man went on about being the most damned being to exist, but Beelzebub stopped paying attention. Instead, he cleans off his chest and arms.

    “Are you ready?” Beelzebub asks.

    “For what?“

    “To get out?” Beelzebub gestures to the rest of the hill of ash they must climb. The man looks up at it and shakes his head.

     “It’s alright, you don’t gotta do the work,” Beelzebub said while getting up, and then picked the man up like a bride. Who’s face contorts in rage and pain, and the wing of bone jerks up and cracks into the side of Beelzebub’s face.

    “What do you think you are doing?!” The man asks through tears as Beelzebub sees stars.

   “What… what am I doing?,” Beelzebub mutters, as his vision comes back together to see he is still holding to the broken prince.

  “Now you think? after you’ve already taken my peace? And injured me? You are deplorable, the scum of the earth!” As the Prince kept ranting, Beelzebub saw there were hunks of gold stuck in the man’s head. Dark curls tried to hide the injuries, but pieces glittered now and then. Old blood dried like a river down his face, all this movement had reopened the wounds, and gold started to trickle along his jaw.

   “…if that is truly what you want… then I guess it’s your right,” Beelzebub’s stomach drowns in a feeling he can’t name, and he sets the prince down. Then sits heavily, ash clings to his sweat.

   The prince almost lays down, but his shaking arms keep him up. The Prince could barely hold his head up, but one molten eye kept staring at Beelzebub.

  “You asked what I am, but what are you?” The prince asks, and Beelzebub shrugs.

“Beelzebub,” Even though this was the first time he’d said his new name, it came out easily.

  “Beelzebub,” The prince tastes the name, his head hanging lower for a moment. Then jerks up as he holds a hand out to Beelzebub.

   “Lucifer,” The Prince says with his chin raised, trying to ignore how his arm shook till Beelzebub took his thin hands within his own. Beelzebub’s palm alone engulfed Lucifer’s hand.   “Why the sudden comfort?” Beelzebub raises an eyebrow.

    “Don’t push your luck,” Lucifer’s lip curls slightly. “I can see that you aren’t any of my siblings or one of the new cursed monsters running around so-“ Lucifer’s lip curls up completely and then falls into a stiff line. “Makes you somewhat more- less insufferable.”

    “Well…thanks,” Beelzebub says after a moment.

    “And I need your muscle,” Lucifer glares at anywhere but Beelzebub, who tilts his head with a question. “We won’t get far with these wings,” Lucifer winces as he lies down on his stomach.

    “What?” Beelzebub stares at him.  

    “Get rid of the dead weight,” Lucifer glared at Beelzebub, his molten eyes were the same color as the blood that trickled down his cheek.

     “I… I can’t do that,” Beelzebub was surprised by the shake in his voice.

     “I thought you were one kind of fool, but it seems you are the archetype itself,” Lucifer buries his face in the ash.

     “I am not a fool, but-“ Beelzebub’s voice catches in his throat. “I don’t even know what you are and you want me to rid you of your beauty?”

    “What beauty is in rotten flesh?”

      “When it’s- what if they can heal?” Beelzebub’s mouth hangs open. The wings were a horrible sight, but through the pain, he could see hints of memories. Of soaring through the sky, a star, kissing a planet, there was so much that would never be.

      “There is no going back from rot, only forward, let the dead decay,” Lucifer stares at the ground. “So unless you’d like all of me dying and wasting all your stupid efforts, then break these off.”

       “Are you sure?” Beelzebub asks softly.

        “I am no liar,” Lucifer huffs.

         “Are you really-“

         “Yes! Now stop dawdling and-” Lucifer’s voice lifted into a scream and Beelzebub worked quickly.

          “I’m sorry-“

          “Keep going!” Lucifer demands, even as his back arched and tears ran down his face. Beelzebub listens.

           Lucifer looked even smaller with the wings lying to the side. Narrow shoulders and slight wrists, but the fire in his eyes rages. Through the sobs and gasps for air, Lucifer looks proud.

         Now Beelzebub can carry Lucifer like a sack of flour, but he tried to hold him with more respect without touching the wounds. Lucifer’s head rests against Beelzebub’s shoulder, and as they walk Beelzebub can feel the cold golden blood drip across his hands.

       Once they reach the lip of the crater. Beelzebub tries to gently set Lucifer down, but his strength starts to give. Once it’s clear Lucifer is not going to fall, Beelzebub collapses into the sand.

    They lay on the silken ash. It coats their sweat and fills the wounds on Lucifer’s back.

     “Where did you even come from?” Lucifer asks, and Beelzebub just points up. “How?” and Beelzebub can only shrug, then starts to get up.

     “What are you doing?” Lucifer tries to move away.

     “The wound on your head, can I clean it?”

     “No,” Lucifer scowls.

      “It won’t heal if it’s…full,” Beelzebub frowned.

      “Are you a Healer?” Lucifer raises an eyebrow.

      “No, but… good warriors can mend a wound,” Beelzebub says, and Lucifer’s lips pressed into a line.

      “What sort of warrior were you?” Lucifer looked into Beelzebub’s steady brown eyes.

      “I can’t remember, but if I am dead, then I wasn’t the best.”

      “Did you die in battle?”

       “Probably,”  Beelzebub stares at his hands.

       “Do you know who you fought against?” Lucifer could almost taste the familiarity. His lessons to prepare for the Red Dragon.

       “I… it was to keep people safe,” Beelzebub’s eyebrows knit together. His bones ached, and felt horror at the memory of warmth soaking his hands.

        “That’s what all kings say,” Lucifer rolls his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitches up.

         “True,” Beelzebub tries to breathe the grief out of his body, but when that doesn’t work he shifts closer to Lucifer. “So, do you want gold in your head forever?”

         “No,” Lucifer sighs.

           Beelzebub lifted Lucifer into his lap with care and then looked at his stained hands with distress.

       A memory in Beelzebub’s bones moved his hands. Her hands had guided him to this once before, to make a bowl of sand and gift it to….?. Beelzebub tried to remember her name, and he almost forgot the feeling of her hands on his. So he quickly spat into the sand and opened the wound on his fingers till his blood dripped into the pool.

     “Please,” Beelzebub’s lips almost touched the sand as he whispered, and then he breathed upon the fluids, pushing them into the sand.

      “Spit and blood?” Lucifer’s nose wrinkles up. Beelzebub barely glances over, as fresh water rushes up to meet his face. He sits up spluttering slightly, and Lucifer glares at the bubbling pool of water.

       “How’d you do that?” Lucifer snaps, despite the light in his eyes. Beelzebub simply shrugs at Lucifer’s question and washes his hands.

      “Magic?” Lucifer’s thoughts were full of fears, and the intense vulnerability of lying on someone’s lap.

      “Could be,” Beelzebub starts to drip water onto the wounds on Lucifer’s head, trying to loosen the scabs.

      “How’d you learn it,” Lucifer asks sharply, trying to ignore the pain as Beelzebub took hold of the first piece of ‘gold’ as Beelzebub had called it. Lucifer liked that idea much more than the reality.

      “She taught me,” Beelzebub’s eyebrows pressed together.

       “She?”

      “She also told me about gold, and it only burns out of a furnace.” Beelzebub said calmly, as smoke sizzled from where he held the piece of ‘gold’.

     “Stop touching it then!” Lucifer tries to sit up and swat the piece out of Beelzebub’s hands, but instead, Beelzebub lifts it into the white void, seeing how it is much too transparent to be gold. Lucifer falls against Beelzebub’s chest, one arm still up waving frantically at Beelzebub’s hand.

      “What is it?”

      “Nothing,” Lucifer snarls.

       “Lies,” Beelzebub's flat tone hung in the air, till the princes' shoulders slump.

      “A crown,” Then a tired laugh racks Lucifer, "a collar."

      “That burns?” Beelzebub raises an eyebrow, knowing only the dogs one loves to be comfortable in collars. Lucifer’s arm falls.

      “It’s a Halo… was the tool my- master used to keep his eyes on me, and empower my sword with his might. When I…fell, the Halo…” Lucifer’s lips scrunch up, and Beelzebub takes a better look at the wound. The Halo had dug into his skull, almost into the brain cavity.

      “I’ll get it out,” Beelzebub drops the bit of Halo into the water, and it sizzles and turns a smoky white.

     “If it hurts-“

      “Doesn’t matter,” Beelzebub pulled another piece out, and Lucifer bit his lip. Eventually, Lucifer stares at the white void as Beelzebub continues his work.

      “How did this happen?” Lucifer asks, pointing at the sky, and Beelzebub just shrugs.

     “Is this what a sky is supposed to look like?”

     “I think on Earth they’re blue.” Beelzebub ignored the ache in the memory, and how grey washes over his thoughts.

       “You’ve been to Earth?” Lucifer’s eyes glitter and Beelzebub’s stomach fills with warmth.

       “Sort of,”

      “What was Earth like?”

      “Beautiful,” Beelzebub smiles, “There is so much growing and trying to thrive. There is nothing like walking along a river,”

     “I want to see it someday,” Lucifer looks up dreamily. “Are there any parts of Earth that look like this?”

     “Uuh… if the sand was more tan and gold, and the sky blue?” Beelzebub nods. “Deserts can be harsh if you don't know how to listen to them, Few are bare sands, there are all sorts of plants, creatures, and rocks that can fill a desert, but even the emptiness is a beauty. If you know how to work with plants, you can keep the deserts from spreading far, but…” Beelzebub’s eyebrows knit together, feeling cities falling and a future that made his guts sick. Lucifer asks another question, and Beelzebub begins rattling again.

      Or he tried to, but streaks of blue ran across the sky. Gold washed through the sand, gaining grit enough to hold rocks and a few cacti on the horizon.

    “Did you do this?” Beelzebub breathes softly, and Lucifer shrugs a little.

[eretzyisrael]

by Michael Kaplan

I assume, because the exhibit provides no context, details, or examples, that words like “oppressive” and “tyrant” refer to the very controlling, top-down management style employed by these Jewish moguls.

Such a management style may be unpleasant for some to work under; it may be either effective or ineffective from a business standpoint (and given the studios’ success, I would argue it was very effective). But it is not inherently immoral, as the use of the words “oppressive” and “tyrant” would seek to imply.

The panel featuring Warner Bros. includes a paragraph describing one of the studio’s films, The Jazz Singer. It is the only film featured in this manner in any of these studio descriptions. The brief paragraph ends with the claim that The Jazz Singer invoked “a popular symbol of racial oppression [i.e. blackface] that further harms another marginalized group.”

The documentary that is part of the exhibit builds upon this theme of discrimination: “Hollywood films of [the era of these Jewish moguls] generally excluded, stereotyped or vilified people of color and LGBT+ characters and perpetuated ableism and sexism with rare exceptions. In Hollywood, to become American was to adopt and reflect oppressive beliefs and representations.”

It is true that the United States of the 1920s, 1930s, and 1940s was a very different place, in terms of equality, inclusion and representation, than it is today. But was this really the fault of Jewish movie moguls? Why pound this point home in the one section of the museum supposedly dedicated to their accomplishments and contributions? After all, the movie The Jazz Singer did not invent Al Jolson’s blackface character; he had been performing it on stages across the country for many years and to great acclaim.

An exploration of the history of racism and sexism in Hollywood could be a perfectly valid topic for the museum to explore. Was it necessary to make it part of the exhibit on Jewish contributions?

The exhibit’s display includes a section describing the origins of United Artists, a studio formed in defiance of the Jewish-run studios. It mentions DW Griffith among its non-Jewish founders, but does not mention Griffith’s film Birth of A Nation (originally titled “The Clansman”), arguably the most racist film in the history of American cinema.

Why does Warner’s The Jazz Singer receive an entire paragraph but not Griffith’s Birth of A Nation? Because The Jazz Singer was produced by Jews?

The Museum’s mission statement, published on its website, includes the following goal: “The Academy Museum tells complete stories of moviemaking — celebratory, educational, and sometimes critical or uncomfortable.”

The “Jewish Founders” exhibit definitely falls under the heading of “sometimes critical or uncomfortable.” I was curious to find what other displays or exhibits could similarly be described. It was very difficult to find any. There are numerous exhibits that celebrate the work of Hollywood actors, writers, directors, and producers. All of the subjects of these exhibits are praised in glowing terms and hailed for their artistry and accomplishments.

[blazerwyvernmaster]

OK, I know nothing about tarot card readings. I'm not a witch, or anything like that.

But I do know about their lore purely because of my interest in Persona, which uses the major arcana cards to symbolize character arcs and classify Persona. I thought these were neat, so I looked into them, and I thought they were cool.

Why am I talking about this? Because the announcement of the new Tarot movie made me mad because that's not what the cards mean.

No the Magician isn't some weird Trickster diety that kills you, it's a card that represents having ambition and taking action.

No the Hermit isn't some weird guy who leads you down the wrong path, it's a card that represents knowledge, as well as isolation.

NO, DEATH DOESNT ACTUALLY MEAN YOU DIE. IT REPRESENTS ENDINGS AND MOVING ON. GOD THAT TROPE SUCKS-

And what's worse is that the cards already have meanings, some of them more negative, and if they had actually put any thought into them, this movie could possibly be interesting, not like it will he. Not like they care.

I wonder why a movie that acts like cards that sort of give you advice and that were made by non-Christian people are secretly this dark evil ritual. It's almost as if their demonizing other religions for the sole purpose of making stupid horror content.