#principle of charity

[sacredheart-stigmata]

@ missionaries and christian charities everywhere: charity that forces religious conversion or religious obligation to access (potentially life-saving) services is not charity. if there are strings attached, especially religious ones, all you've done is create a high-control trap for the most vulnerable

[mayax81]

I think some of my friends think of me as The Token Neurotypical Extrovert because I actually go out & take care of myself, but neither of those things is entirely true. I'm just a grown adult who knows what's good for her and has been able to adjust relatively functionally (my shortcomings notwithstanding.)

[grandcovenant]

suddenly thinking a lot about venigni's line about being thirty and going god he's probably closer to the age carlo would've been if he was alive than geppetto's huh

[an-organized-confusion]

A couple years ago I was asked about my opinion on Roman, no one asked for the rest since. But I decided to go, "ah hell, why not."

So I'm just gonna throw this at y'all. :,D

(Saturation of stamp indicates how strongly I feel abt the placement.)

[boof-chamber]

people are scared. they don’t feel safe, they don’t trust their neighbors, they don’t trust their friends and family, and they certainly do not trust us. so it is downright absurd the way so many leftists will either shame/blame Americans for not spontaneously rising up against our oppressors or irresponsibly call for general strikes, rent strikes, tax strikes - without any regard for the very real consequences associated with such actions.

people are afraid. they do not want to end up homeless. they do not want their kids to starve. we are living under a brutal neoliberal competitive individualist society - “everyone for themselves” is the rule, not the exception. we are taught - and we see and experience day after day - that the only person we can ever trust to look out for us is ourselves.

and so - is it not absurd to expect people to just stop paying their rent or taxes or showing up at work because some arrogant out-of-touch asshole on the internet said it would solve all our problems?

sorry, but we cannot skip all the preparations that must come before these collective actions can succeed - the most important of which is to build trust among our community members. and that is not something we can just tell people to do. we have to show them. we have to learn to trust and be trusted, we have to learn how to care for and about one another.

people will be much more open to the risks associated with collective action when they feel confident that their community has got their backs. the reality is that our liberation will not quick, easy, and painless. it’s going be difficult. there will be hardships. if we cannot learn to look out for one another, we will be crushed, brutally and mercilessly, and we may not get another chance.

[californiannostalgia]

stop asking me for money I don't have any goddamn money you think I'd be on tumblr if I had money??? fuck these bots for making me suspicious of any and all fundraisers for being financing scams of human trafficking rings every single day I see one they're strangling my fucking capacity to give a shit about personal stories they profit off human misery and sympathy I want them all to get the fuck away

[stabknives]

Christian "I serve the church so the church must also serve me" King stealing over 7,000 dollars from the donations box at his chapel so he can pay his only friend to talk to him.

[iamentertainmentclub-blog]

Proverbs Daily Reflection – January 19, 2025

For years, I found myself drawn to helping those in need. I'd often give money to people on the street, offering food and support. I never judged their circumstances, understanding that everyone's journey is unique. #josephmekaelpageministries

The Ripple Effect of Generosity: A Reflection on Proverbs 19:17 “Whoever is kind to the poor lends to the Lord,    and he will reward them for what they have done.” -Proverbs 19:17 This powerful verse transcends mere charity. It highlights a profound spiritual principle. Acts of kindness towards the less fortunate are, in essence, acts of service directly to God. When we extend a helping hand…

[iridescentalchemyst]

"Rules for Civil Conversation" from the School of Thought

As election day grows closer, and tensions continue to rise, I thought these Rules of Civil Conversation from the School of Thought would be good for all of us to review!

The School of Thought International is a non-profit organization dedicated to promoting critical thinking, reason, and understanding. They have developed an entire line of tools that are free for use, shared under the Creative Commons license! They also have a shop where you can purchase their products to help support the cause, including: card decks, posters, and links to interactive…

[theabigailthorn]

any philosophy on surviving fascism? or building local power?

I'm going to start by staying alive, and then I'm going to look around my local community and see what charities are working in the area that I might be able to help out with. I'm gonna give more money to the homeless. I'm probably going to speak less and listen more, for a while. I'm going to pay even closer attention to grocery store prices. I'm going to make art, even if it's not as big and grandiose as I would like to, and try to dedicate myself to the creative principles of it rather than maximising career success. I'm going to comfort my friends who are afraid, and accept their comfort for all the things I'd hoped to do that I might not get to anymore. I'm going to go to the gym because it's good for me, even though a healthy future seems hard to imagine. I'm going to remember that I'm still young. I'm going to remember there are younger people who look up to me. I'm going to listen to older people who didn't get everything they wanted and still turned out happy. I'm going to read.

And I'm going to remember that even if every trans person on Earth were rounded up and killed tomorrow, a million more would be born the next day.

[delicatelysublimeforester]

UNEA-6: Nurturing Harmony Between Humanity and Nature

[catchastarorten]

—“This one’s mine.”

Pairing: Hwang Jun-ho x VIP!fem!reader

Summary: after being pestered by your own brother, you agreed to accompany him to the island to watch the games, only to find yourself helping a waiter—Jun-ho—who was being eyed by a creepy panther-masked VIP.

Warnings: your sarcasm, mentions of death/violence in Glass Bridge, your brother is a VIP, brother & sister bickering/you put him in his place because he's being annoying, the VIPs—panther masked VIP being a weirdo, you save Jun-ho tho, English isn’t my first language, mistakes should be present, not proofread, sorry!

Word count: ~ 2.6k

The golden fox mask felt heavy on your face, pressing against your skin in a way that made you want to rip it off and toss it across the room. But that would be improper, wouldn’t it? A VIP must maintain decorum. At least, that’s what your insufferable little brother kept reminding you.

Speaking of him, he was sitting beside you, his wolf mask barely concealing the delighted smirk on his face as he leaned forward, watching the players stumble and fall to their deaths on the Glass Bridge. He laughed—actually laughed—when a man made the wrong choice out of the two and jumped, crashing through the wrong glass panel, screaming all the way down.

You sighed, swirling the drink in your glass, watching the liquid catch the dim light. It was infinitely more interesting than the so-called “game” before you.

How had you let brother dearest drag you here? Oh, right. He had whined and pouted and gone on and on about how you never did anything fun with him. You had rolled your eyes so hard it was a miracle they hadn’t gotten stuck in your skull, but against your better judgment, you agreed.

And now here you were, surrounded by a bunch of snobby men—your presence wasn’t nearly enough to balance out the testosterone levels—draped in velvet robes, sipping on the finest liquor, and betting on desperate people fighting for their lives.

You suppressed a yawn.

“This is so much better than another charity gala, isn’t it?” your brother drawled, nudging your arm. “You have to admit, this is real entertainment.”

“Yeah, watching poor people die really warms the heart,” you said dryly.

“Don’t be such a bore, sis,” he said, rolling his eyes. “This is tradition. You should be honored to be here.”

Oh, you were honored, alright. Honored that your parents left everything to him, making sure he had enough money to play dress-up with his rich little friends while you had to fight for your own wealth. Not that you needed their inheritance, but the principle of it still burned. He got to be the spoiled prince while you had to claw your way up in the world. And now here he was, wasting it all on cheap thrills.

The Glass Bridge game was nearing midway. The players were hesitating, trying to strategize their way across. The VIPs around you were buzzing with excitement, shouting bets, clapping, drinking like it was the biggest sports event of the decade. But all you saw were walking corpses, their fear so thick in the air it nearly masked the expensive cologne in the room.

You took another sip of your drink, letting the burn coat your throat.

“At least pretend like you’re having fun,” your brother whined. “People are gonna think you’re some kind of a… prude.”

“Oh no.” you responded mockingly.

He huffed, crossing his arms like a petulant child. If there was one thing he hated, it was not getting his way. You could practically hear the gears turning in his spoiled little mind, trying to come up with a way to make you enjoy this, but his thoughts were interrupted when the other VIPs erupted into cheers and groans. You just exhaled through your nose, staring at the mess.

It was the players on the glass bridge, arguing, too afraid to jump. One shoved another forward, out of desperation or malice. The man screamed as he plunged to his death.

“Ugh, finally,” your brother muttered. “I hate when they hesitate. Just jump, you cowards!”

You turned your head slightly, studying him. Did he even realize how pathetic he sounded? Lounging in a silk robe, sneering at people who had nothing? He wouldn’t last a minute in their position.

“You should play,” you mused, tilting your head. “Next year.”

He snorted. “Please, I would dominate these games.”

You smiled behind your mask. “Would you?”

Your brother scoffed. “You doubt me?”

“I know you,” you said. “And you wouldn’t make it past the first round.”

He looked genuinely offended. “I’d make it to the finals, at least.”

You leaned in, voice dropping. “Tell you what. If you join next year, I’ll bet against you. Just to make it interesting.”

He rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath. But you saw it—the flicker of doubt, of fear. As much as he enjoyed watching, he knew very well he would never survive playing.

And that? That was the only entertaining thing you’d seen all night.

A moment later, your eyes flicked toward the Panther-masked VIP, whose frustration over losing a bet had quickly turned into something much more unpleasant. His focus had shifted from the game to the waiter standing stiffly beside him—a waiter who, you observed, wasn’t moving quite like the other servers.

You weren’t an idiot. The way that waiter hesitated when he was called, the way his shoulders were a little too tense, the way his hands remained perfectly still as if not used to serving—it all screamed of someone who didn’t belong.

That was because he wasn’t really a waiter, it was Jun-ho disguised as one, though you didn’t know that. He had taken down one of the servers moments before the VIPs arrived on the island.

And now, the Panther-masked VIP was ordering him to sit beside him and take off his mask.

Jun-ho—recognizing the sharpness in his tone—tried to resist, his voice calm. “I need to serve the other guests, sir.”

The Panther VIP scoffed, waving his hand dismissively. “Oh, come now, the others won’t mind if I keep this one for myself, will they?”

A chorus of laughter and amusement rippled through the room, the other VIPs agreeing without a care—“he’s all yours!” one of them laughed. Your brother even chuckled beside you, raising his glass as if this was all just another part of the entertainment.

You, however, did not find it amusing.

Before Jun-ho could be forced into something he clearly wanted no part of, you lazily raised your hand and gestured toward your glass.

“I need a refill,” you said smoothly.

Jun-ho’s eyes darted toward you, wary but sharp, understanding immediately that you were giving him an out.

Your brother groaned, shifting beside you. “Come on, sis, let him have his fun—”

Your hand shot out, swatting him hard against his arm before he could finish his whining.

He yelped, rubbing his arm. “Ow! What the—?”

“Shut up.”

He opened his mouth like he wanted to argue, but the look you gave him through your golden fox mask was enough to make him think better of it. He slumped back into the couch with a huff, grumbling under his breath.

The Panther-masked VIP tsked in annoyance but didn’t say more as Jun-ho bowed his head slightly and stepped away from him, making his way toward you. You could see the tension in his shoulders ease, if only slightly.

As he reached your couch, he carefully took your glass and poured you another drink, his movements slow and precise. Up close, you could see the way his jaw was set tight, his eyes flickering with restraint.

You leaned in slightly as he finished pouring. “You okay?” you murmured, just loud enough for him to hear.

Jun-ho hesitated for the briefest moment before nodding once. “Thank you,” he said quietly, placing your glass back into your hand.

You didn’t reply, just took a slow sip while he stood beside the couch you sat on.

However, the weight of the Panther-masked VIP’s stare was suffocating. You didn’t even have to look to know that he was still watching Jun-ho like a predator eyeing its next meal.

Annoyed, you turned your head ever so slightly, locking eyes with him through your golden fox mask. You raised your glass in a slow, mocking salute before downing the rest of your drink in one smooth motion.

The message was clear: Back off.

Unfortunately, subtlety was wasted on men like him.

“Come back here,” the Panther VIP drawled, waving his fingers in a lazy command at Jun-ho.

Jun-ho’s grip on the bottle in his hands tightened slightly, his body as still as a statue. It was subtle, but you caught it. He didn’t want to go back over there.

So, before he could even think about stepping forward, you reached out and grabbed his forearm, holding him in place. Your fingers pressed firmly against the fabric of his uniform—a silent message that he could stay with you.

You sat up straighter, your voice cutting through the noise.

“This one’s mine.”

The room went quiet for a beat.

Jun-ho stiffened beside you, clearly taken aback. You didn’t mean it in the way it sounded—he wasn’t a possession. But these men only responded to power plays, and if that was the language they spoke, then fine. You’d speak it fluently.

Your brother let out a low whistle beside you, his amusement clear. “Ohhh, big sis is getting bold.”

You didn’t even hesitate—your palm struck his arm again with a sharp thwack.

“Ow!” he rubbed where you smacked him.

“Shut up,” you muttered, leveling him with a glare. “If you don’t stop embarrassing yourself, I’ll give you a real beating in front of all these people.”

He grumbled something under his breath, soothing his arm, but he didn’t push it further.

The Panther VIP, however, was not so easily prevented. “Come now,” he chuckled, though there was irritation beneath his voice. “You can’t hoard all the fun.”

“Sure, I can,” you replied dryly.

A few of the other VIPs laughed at that, enjoying the exchange. The Panther VIP let out a breath through his nose, clearly displeased, but he wasn’t about to pick a fight with another VIP. That was the unspoken rule—annoyance was fine, but outright challenging each other was bad form.

Jun-ho turned his head slightly, just enough to glance at you. You met his eyes for a brief second, and then you stood up, keeping your grip on him firm.

“We’re leaving,” you announced.

Your brother groaned. “What? Where are you going?”

You didn’t even look at him as you responded, voice utterly monotone. “Somewhere that isn’t here.”

More amusement rippled through the other VIPs, some watching with interest, others indifferent as they returned their attention to the game. But as you turned to leave, you felt it—that silent, looming presence watching you.

The Frontman.

He didn’t say a word, didn’t move to stop you. He simply observed, his masked face unreadable.

You met his gaze for a long moment before turning away, leading Jun-ho out of the room. No one stopped you. No one dared to stop you.

And just like that, you stole the only honest man in the room away from the wolves.

The moment you got him alone into a dimly-lit, empty room, you could feel the tension radiating off of him. Jun-ho wasn’t stupid—he knew he didn’t belong here, and he knew that you knew. His shoulders were taut, his breath controlled but just a little too shallow, and his hand was subtly reaching for something. A gun, maybe. A knife. Whatever he had managed to smuggle in.

You raised your hands slowly, showing you had no weapon, no ill intent. “Relax,” you said, your voice calm, softer even. You let go of his arm, stepping back to give him space. “I’m not going to turn you in… or whatever you’re thinking right now.”

Jun-ho’s sharp eyes flickered with suspicion. “And why should I believe that?”

“Because if I was planning to sell you out, I would’ve done it back there.” you tilted your head slightly, crossing your arms loosely. “Would’ve let that old man have his fun.” you said with a hint of distaste at the thought.

That gave him pause. He studied you, his gaze flickering over your golden fox mask, as if trying to gauge whether you were lying, or just the need to understand why a supposed VIP was helping him. You didn’t blame him for being on edge. This entire place was a slaughterhouse dressed up in gold. If you were in his position, you wouldn’t trust anyone either.

“You don’t belong here,” you stated plainly, watching for his reaction.

“And neither do you.”

That actually made you laugh, just a short, soft chuckle. “You’re not wrong.”

He hesitated. Maybe because your mask didn’t hold the same predatory amusement as the others. His fingers twitched, like he was still deciding whether to draw his weapon, but then he let out a slow breath.

You sighed too and gestured toward the door. “You should go. Before someone actually does come looking for you.”

Jun-ho didn’t move right away. He just stood there, looking at you like he was trying to solve a puzzle. And for a brief moment, you could tell—he wanted to ask.

Who are you?

Why are you helping me?

What’s under the mask?

But he didn’t ask. He just gave you a small nod before slipping out the door, disappearing like a shadow. You shut the door.

You exhaled, rolling your shoulders as you turned back toward the empty room. Not even a minute later, a knock came at the door. You raised an eyebrow, opening the door, meeting the presence of a square-masked guard, who stepped inside.

“The Frontman sent me to check on you,” the guard said, his voice hollow under the mask. “Where’s the waiter?”

You gave him a blank look. “What waiter?”

The guard straightened. “The waiter you left with.”

You tilted your head, voice dry. “Oh. Him.” you shrugged lazily. “I got bored. Told him to get lost.”

The square guard didn’t buy it. “Where did he go?”

You sighed, as if this was the most exhausting conversation of your life. “Am I his babysitter?”

The guard didn’t move. He was pushing. You didn’t like being pushed.

So you took a slow step forward, closing the space between you and the guard. He stood his ground, but you could feel the slight hesitation in his stance as you slowly backed him up against the wall.

When his back hit the surface, the shift in atmosphere was instant. You weren’t loud. You weren’t aggressive. But the weight of your presence—the empty, unreadable calm of someone who knew how to lie—was enough to make the guard tense.

You tilted your head slightly, a slow, empty smile forming under your mask. “What exactly are you suggesting?” you murmured, voice smooth as silk. “That I’m hiding something?”

The square guard stiffened.

“Because that would be a very bold accusation to make against a VIP,” you continued, voice dropping to something almost sickly sweet. “And you wouldn’t want to insult a guest, would you?”

There it was—the slight shift in his posture, the hesitation and hint of nervousness.

“I—”

You stepped back, your fake smile still in place. “Good talk,” you said dryly, dusting off your robe like this was nothing more than an inconvenience. “Tell the Frontman to send someone more competent next time.”

The square guard didn’t argue, he just quickly stepped away from the wall, stiffly nodding before leaving the room without another word.

You sighed as the door shut behind him, rubbing a hand against the side of your neck.

This whole thing had been a drag, but at least you’d managed to do one decent thing tonight.

[freemasonmembership]

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Join us in unraveling the altruistic contributions of Freemasonry, where the values of #MasonicPhilanthropy shine brightly. Engage with a community of compassionate individuals who believe in the power of giving and make a difference in the world. 📲🌍🤲

Step into a realm where Freemasonry’s commitment to philanthropy has transformed countless lives. Your voyage towards understanding the intersection of Freemasonry and charitable giving begins here. 🤝🤗

[smytherines]

Thinking about Helena and Helly R. again

Helena was raised to be an Eagan. To be worthy of Kier. To carry on the legacy of her family's company/religious cult. Conditioned from birth to recite the nine principles and live by them.

Helena getting the severance procedure is a PR gimmick, sure, but her entire life has been Lumon propaganda. Every Eagan family portrait or charity event or piece of media coverage carefully curated to show a perfect family governed by unassailable moral principle. The family and the company merged into one oppressive entity.

And because of that, I think Helena has spent a lifetime repressing her anger, her sadness, her loneliness, her deep desire for some tiny scrap of autonomy in her life. When she is severed, when she wakes up on that table as Helly R., she no longer has an identity that requires a lifetime of suppression. But she still has all the emotion and impulse attached to it. The white hot boiling rage. The bitterness. A desire for autonomy that is so powerful she is willing to kill herself just to feel like she has some control over her life.

Without the burdens and attachments and abuses of her family, all those things she has been hiding are set free. All the barriers set up between Helena Eagan, Lumon Heiress and everyone else are knocked down.

Britt Lower is incredible in Severance, but the standout scene to me so far has been Helena watching security footage of Helly's kiss with Mark. There's all the "Helena is jealous" jokes (which I think are both true and fair), but the thing that sticks with me the most is the intense yearning Helena has in that scene. Her horror at the realization that this thing, this tool she created to serve her family's will, is more human than she is.

Helena was severed to support her family's vision. Helena's innie tried to kill her, and still she went back to the severed floor. Her father's representative says they will give Helly to Mark like she's just another fucking Lumon perk, and Helena complies without argument. She is the thing. She is the object. And for maybe the first time in her life, Helena has had the chance to see what she looks like as a human being

[3liza]

ive been trying to look up the research i read a while ago about the negative relationship between fundraising for charitable causes and using guilt- or scolding-based messaging (to wit, that even though we think as humans that logically yelling at or scolding or guilt tripping someone will make them donate more to a charitable cause, that actually making the target audience feel bad causes an aversive response that lowers the amount of money you raise, or causes a "slaughter the sheep" effect where someone donates once but forms no ongoing relationship with the charity and avoids you from then on, both principles being pretty strongly supported in other areas of human behavior research afaik?) because ive been trying to formulate a post about it that is more likely to be received as constructive rather than critical (which it is not meant to be, critical that is), and since corpo scam charities and NGOs (also scams) are mostly the ones doing this research every search result i find about it is marketer nonsense.

however, this post from 2016 which starts out with the marketing expert relating a story of the time he almost killed his childhood friend with a rock is like one of those horrifying reddit posts that get turned into youtube spook compilations, which is SO funny in this context

[akajustmerry]

everytime someone refers to green day as a bunch of straight white dudes a small part of my soul shits itself with rage. Billy didn't write those songs about sucking dick, internalised biphobia, and wanting someone to be his boyfriend just for posers who heard Green Day for the first time on the fucking transformers soundtrack to call them a bunch of straight white dudes. Green Day were blacklisted for protesting the invasion of Iraq, and have been speaking out about Palestine long before now. Not to mention, they consistently donate to and raise money for AIDS orgs and other LGBT charities. I'm not saying they're perfect or anything but I'm so tired of people acting like Green Day and bicon Billy Armstrong haven't been on the streets standing on their principles for decades.