#this would have been several years ago now (jesus) but it still baffles me..

[gemharvest]

I have absolutely no beef (lol) with vegans but sometimes I still think about this person who I got in an argument with who was genuinely trying to convince people that humans are herbivores... Hello..

[slashingdisneypasta]

Imagine;

DMD!Scarecrow acting like a good mentor for you when you crash-land in Oz, just like he did with Dorothy all those years ago; pretending to be just the person he was back then and helping you on your adventure to get back home. Being the Mad Hatter to your Alice.

But secretly the entire time, he's sabotaging you because he wants you to stay with him. Sending you both in the wrong direction (*face palm* oh silly me. You know the old straw brain isn't as sharp as it used to be 😅 we're several fields away from where we should be), giving you the wrong advice (OH, my bad. I FORGOT that the hungry tiger roams these parts 😕 Oopsie daisy? Heheh 😅 Good thing he stopped himself, right?? Aaaanyway- ), etc.

When you somehow, finally get to the Wizard (who's, miraculously, willing to help you), Scare is actually baffled how this happened and that just makes him even MORE mad ontop of the fact that you're getting away. His pride is hurt and you could escape??? Jesus fucking christ.

... but still. He keeps the act up. Maybe you'll choose to stick around, right? He's been so sweet. Such a good friend. Kept you fed and kept your fragile little organic body safe-- surely you'll w a n t to stay with him, right?? Yes. That's the only thing that makes sense.

So just as you're about to step into the hot air balloon with that crackpot 'wizard', Scare jumps up to you, takes your hands softly in his and tilts his head oh-so-cutely. "You could stay, you know. ... with me." A wonky grin on his stitched-mouth.

When you giggle gently, tears in your eyes, and shale your head; his non-existent heart drops. That's the last straw. "I would love to... but I can't. You understand, don't you?? My lovely friend ^^ "

Scare can't answer. His mind is absolutely boggled. Jumbled up. And he's pissed. Off. His fingers are tightening around yours, when the Wizard taps your shoulder. "Child, of course he does. Now come on- "

"The HELL I do." Scare growls, yanking you away from the hot air balloon just as the Wizard cuts the ropes tying it to the ground. The damn thing pf course starts flying away without you, history repeating itself, but Scarecrow can't acknowledge the symmetry while rage boils inside him and your little hand wriggles in his hold. Trying to get away.

But fuck that.

He knows he's scaring you with this jarring change in his demenour but he doesnt care. He put so much work into being a good friend to you. How did that not work?? What- is he supposed to do all that for you and just let you GO?? No. A thank you is not good enough. You have to stay. You have to be grateful.

[dragonmuse]

Could we have a Izzy and Charlie hangout from Charlie’s perspective when he’s a teen and starting to get a crush and hide it?

(nearly two months later, you sure can Anon!)

They were hiking through a park, not far from the Bonnet family home. Charlie had been there several times with his boy scout troop back when he still did that, but he was fifteen now and that was behind him. These days he only got to go out when Izzy offered and he would leap on the chances like a ravenous wolf.

(There would come a day when it would be Charlie reaching out, making offers himself and it would’ve pleased his teenage self immensely to know that he was rarely turned down. That there would be someone else with them, dark curly hair jammed under a cap would’ve baffled him.)

It hadn’t rained in a few days, so the leaves were crunchy underfoot, marking their passage. Their packs were light, no overnight things required. Izzy was wearing a fisherman’s sweater, black and intricately patterned. His shoulders shifted underneath them and Charlie forced himself to keep pace so he wasn’t falling behind to watch that movement.

Their breath came in matching draws, not labored, but not at easy conversation either. It was only when they reached the pinnacle of the hill they’d been gradually rising over for some time, that Izzy inclined his head and Charlie nodded.

They found a wide stump and both sat down on it, taking off their packs and reaching for water. Izzy drank, throat bobbing and Charlie watched sidelong as he drank his own. A breeze came through, rattling the leaves.

“Your mother said you got on the swim team.”

“Wasn’t hard,” Charlie capped his bottle. “My times suck right now if I want to win anything.”

“No one starts off winning,” Izzy shrugged.

“Did you play sports in high school?”

“No,” Izzy snorted. “Might’ve liked it if I did, but you couldn’t tell me shit back then.”

“What’d you do after school then?”

“Worked. Fucked around. Got in trouble.”

Charlie wondered what Izzy had looked like. It was hard to imagine the man without the manicured facial hair and deep lines.

“Is that why you didn’t go to college?”

Izzy took another drink of water then shook his head. “Would’ve needed a reason to go, not a reason not to. Lots of kids in my neighborhood didn’t. Faith might’ve though.”

“Who’s Faith?”

“Girlfriend. Met her when I was your age, actually. Jesus fuck, what a child I was.”

“Hey,” Charlie protested, but not too hard. He wanted to hear more.

“Trust me, you’re a fucking kid. Nothing wrong with it.”

There were a few things wrong with it to Charlie’s mind. An adult might get to say things a kid couldn’t for instance, but Charlie shoved that to one side.

“You had a girlfriend?” He asked instead.

“Why does everyone say it like that?” Izzy groaned. “Yeah, I did.”

“What was she like?”

“Smart. Real smart. Good at math. Shy. Didn’t talk very much unless it was just the two of us.”

Charlie could picture that easily. He didn’t like to talk much in school himself. Enough not to be weird, but not enough to draw attention. He wondered if anyone would describe him as shy, years from now. Probably not. It sounded nice though.

“When did you break up?”

“Didn’t.”

“Uh...”

“She died.”

“Oh,” Charlie winced. “Sorry.”

“You didn’t know,” Izzy waved that away.

“Wait...she died when? Like how long were you together?” He pictured a tragic twenty-five or six year old Izzy losing his childhood sweetheart. Like a movie his mother would watch when she thought no one else was around.

“Nearly three years. She was a month out from eighteen.”

Alma was eighteen. And Charlie wasn’t oblivious, he knew teenagers could die. Of course it happened. But eighteen was so close. He imagined someone he knew in school right now just being dead in three years. Not seeing graduation.

“That’s horrible.”

“Long time ago now.”

“Still. I’m sorry.”

Izzy bumped his shoulder into Charlie’s, “History.”

Flustered, Charlie kicked at a rock, watched it bounce back down the hill through the trees until it disappeared in the underbrush.

“This swimming thing,” Izzy said as if there’d been no pause in the discussion. “You going to have competitions?”

“Yeah. Meets. First one isn’t until February though. Up against other local high schools. There’s a regional in March. That’s the big deal, but I won’t be ready for it yet.”

“You don’t know that. Lots of hours between then and now.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Ready?”

“Mhm.”

They didn’t talk the rest of the way out, nor for most of the way back. Charlie liked it that way. Izzy was great at silence, unbothered by it as far as Charlie could tell. It was only when they were back in Izzy’s car that they started talking about books and words flowed between them.

In the darkness of his room that night, Charlie thought about Izzy’s shoulder brushing his own. The way he’d talked about his loss so simply, but with such depth in his voice. It seemed wrong to enjoy that, to like the burr when his voice caught on the word ‘shy’.  

He forgot about the rest of it until months later. Dad and Eddy, Mom and Pop, all turned out for his first regional match and it had been nice to see them all lined up and trying to get along in the stands. What he hadn’t expected as Izzy to show too, sitting next to Mom as if he belonged there. When Charlie caught his eye, Izzy just gave him one solemn nod.  

Seconds later, Charlie was diving into the water and he swam to his first of many victories.

[ladyoutlier]

Here Today Gone Tomorrow

In which God drunkenly restarts the universe and Aziraphale and Crowley find themselves in the role of Adam and Eve. 

[Read on AO3] |  [Read My Other Fics]

Chapter 1: Take it from the Top

God really thought Armageddon would do it. She really thought that after 6000 years of buildup, surviving the End of the World would’ve pushed her OTP into pure, raw romance. But that’s not what happened. Sure, they were closer now than ever. They fully embraced being on their own side. They awaited a future together. Them against the world. But they still hadn’t so much as hugged not to mention something as simple as saying I love you. The world had almost been destroyed, and they still weren’t together together!

They were still playing their little dance that they had been since literally the beginning of time, and God was quite done with being subtle. She was going to do something about it, but first, she was going to get mad drunk. 

Now, a drunk God is a really, really scary thing. Absolutely anything can happen. Suddenly, gravity works in a completely different way. The less mass an object has, the greater its gravitational pull. Or maybe a new species gets invented. That is how the platypus came into existence after all. Alcohol and God is simply not the most calming of combos. And this time… oh it was something to be very scared of, indeed.

God had drank roughly an ocean full of liquor when She decided on a plan. “Fuck it!” She cried, stumbling over a pile of creation dust. “If they won’t just get to—together on their own. I. Me, I’ll just do what I did with the hu—hum… monkey people. Garden all to themselves. Only them. Take it from the top!”

And with that, God pulled the great big lever that reset the entire universe.

*

Aziraphale woke in a garden absolutely and completely naked. The name Adam, circled in his head as if he was for some reason now meant to be called that. Poppycock, he thought. That name isn’t fitting at all.

This was quite the bizarre scenario. He was sure he had been in his bookshop the night before. He and Crowley had shared quite a few drinks celebrating the averted Apocalypse. Now, he was quite definitely not there. To add to the strangeness of the whole thing, he had never slept before in his life, and yet, he had most definitely awoken here. In Eden.

Eden? Why did he want to call this Eden? And why did he think the name Adam belonged to himself? This couldn’t be Eden. It hadn’t existed for thousands of years! He sat up, blades of grass tickling his naked skin as he moved. This wouldn’t do at all. He snapped his fingers, and his familiar outfit returned to him.

This was Eden; he was sure of it. The plant life. The looming surrounding wall. He was in Eden and suppose to be Adam. How ridiculous! This must be a dream. He had never slept before, but he must have now. Only that could explain this absolute absurdity. A faint breathing took his attention back down to the ground beside him.

Oh. Oh, he most definitely was dreaming. On the ground beside him, nearly touching him, was Crowley who was sporting his birthday suit just as much as Aziraphale had moments ago. He was Adam, and Crowley was… Eve. He was supposed to be Eve. Oh, this had to be a dream.

Before the angel could think another thought, the demon stirred awake. He blinked his eyes several times in a confused manner before he spoke. “Ad—Aziraphale, why in the name of Satan is the name Eve floating about my head? And why did I almost call you Adam?” He took the same wild look around that Aziraphale had moments ago. “And why are we in bloody Eden?”

“So, you’re just as confused as I am, and this isn’t a dream?”

“I’d think not. Unless we’re both having the same one.” 

Aziraphale stared at him. As peculiar as the situation had found itself, it hardly worked as a distraction from Crowley’s current, ahem, lack of clothing.

“Wot?” The demon glanced down to himself. “Oh for the love of—” He snapped his fingers in a rather hasty, upward movement, and his signature style returned to him. He looked back to Aziraphale with a rather exasperated expression. “As if it’s not something you’ve seen before.”

“Oh, yes. Quite right. Bigger things to attend to. Or not bigger. Poor word choice. More important, yes. Like what’s going on.” The angel quickly stood and brushed himself off before charging into the wilderness in front of them.

“Right…” Crowley drawled on, still baffled by, well, everything. He took a moment to raise an eyebrow to Aziraphale’s words before tailing him into the wild.

Somewhere on an ethereal plane, God, in a drunken slur, cursed. She hadn’t really been listening to anything that was said. If She had, maybe She would’ve controlled Her rage a bit more. As it was, all She was able to register was that they both had put their clothes back on much too quickly.

Aziraphale and Crowley walked in silence for a few minutes, pushing past leaves and branches as they delved deeper into Eden. Every detail down to the pebbles half-buried in the dirt was completely accurate to the Eden the two of them remembered from 6 millennia earlier. But why it existed now and why they were here was a complete and utter mystery.

“So do you have a plan or are we just taking a nice stroll through Eden for the scenery?” Crowley asked, swatting the branch of a fruit tree out of the way.

“Ah, well, no. I figured exploring our surroundings would be more effective than just sitting in the same spot completely baffled. As for a specific plan, I haven’t got one.”

“Think it’s some trick? Some dastardly plan from Above and Below given their inability to kill us?”

“I don’t know how they would manage a thing like this. Something as large scale as this could only be accomplished...”

“By the Almighty.”

“Indeed.”

That was a horrifying realization. The Almighty hadn’t directly interfered with the world since Noah built his ark or since Jesus lived. To even consider that God had altered the world so much, especially with the knowledge that the End of the World was supposed to be the day before… it invoked shivers.

Crowley rather fumbled with his words as his mind raced on laps ahead of his mouth. A series of fragmented sentences was all he was able to verbalize. “But God can’t have—I mean why would She—what purpose would it—and us as Adam and Eve. Why?”

“I don’t know. Um, careful with the questions, Crowley. You know where they lead.”

“What? Going to Fall again, am I?”

“No, I mean that you’re supposed to be Eve. Eve hasn’t taken from the Tree of Knowledge yet.”

“What the Hell are you on about? Is another me going to show up? Hardly need that. I’m a bigger sinner than Eve could ever dream of being. Don’t need some pathetic fruit to prove that. And—” He waved his arms about wildly. “With that logic, we should both be walking around with a lot more bare skin exposed. Adam and Eve were hardly all that modest before eating the apple. Rather not do that though. Mosquitoes are more Hell incarnate than demons are. I’d say we’re in the post-apple stage if anything.”

Aziraphale absorbed Crowley’s words. A rather frustrated wrinkle appeared on his brow. “I must say, none of this really makes any sense.”

“You think?!?” the demon huffed, stomping in a quick circle. “We save the world one day and wake up the next to find it reverted back to day one. Gabriel really was an idiot for his God doesn’t play games with the universe remark. Complete knob head.”

“Where do you think he is?”

“Dunno. Up in Heaven I presume. Why should I care?”

“If we’ve found ourselves in a new role… perhaps the rest of the universe has as well.”

“That sure would make an even bigger mess of things, but it’s not like they deserve it any less than we do.”

“Deserve would imply that we did something wrong. That the Almighty is punishing us. If that’s the case, I have no clue what for.”

“Yeah, crazy to think God would punish us and not explain what for. Completely out of character that. She probably just got piss faced.” Crowley took a few steps back and faced the sky. “She can bloody well just put it all back now!”

“Crowley! You can’t just yell things like that!”

“Why the blasted Hell not? Earth was the only thing we had going for us, and now it’s gone swirling down the porcelain throne.”

“The Almighty seems to be paying more attention now than ever. You might have been able to get away with such blasphemy before, but now She might be a bit more, um, testy.”

“If She wanted me to be all holier than thou, then She shouldn’t have left me a demon when She reset the world.” He grabbed Aziraphale’s shoulder. “You should be pissed too. She took everything away. Everything. Remember that little talk we had before we decided to avert the Apocalypse? All those human luxuries that were worth saving? All that’s gone. No more fine wine, sushi dinners, cars. Your books are gone, Aziraphale. All of ‘em. Just like that.”

“They—they’re just physical things. Nothing I can’t live without.” Despite his words, the angel’s expression said otherwise.

“How can you say that? This isn’t some minor inconvenience like if a waiter brought you the wrong dish. Everything’s screwed.”

“We still have each other.”

And that was a comment that Crowley couldn’t argue with. He released Aziraphale and scratched the back of his head. “Yeah. Yeah guess so. That’s something. More than something.”

“We’ll figure out what’s going on. Fix it if we can.”

“And if we can’t.”

“Learn to live with it. What else could we do?”

“Challenge God?”

“That sounds like a good way to turn a bad scenario into a worse one.”

Crowley shrugged in mild agreement. “Hasn’t worked out well for me in the past.”

“I guess the next step would be to find somebody, so we can properly determine the extent of the problem.”

As if God Herself heard that (She didn’t. She was too busy fighting the cork off a bottle of wine to be bothered by Her failure of an OTP.), someone showed up.

“Eve. Oh, Eve. Aren’t you getting hungry?” a rather familiar ribity voice asked.

Crowley about choked on absolutely nothing upon hearing that. He and Aziraphale turned to the source of the voice. Pitch black eyes of a rather enormous frog stared back at them from a rather prickly bush. Although this particular demon wasn’t known for this particular form, Crowley recognized him nonetheless.

“No!” Crowley whined. “They didn’t get you to do my job, did they? Ugh, a real classless act. No style.”

The frog that was Hastur, Duke of Hell, leapt out from the bush and transformed back into his more humanly appearance, wearing a night dark robe. “It’s your own fault, Crowley. You betrayed us. Of course you lost your job.”

“Yeah, but you? Literally any other demon would’ve been a better fit.”

That seemed to hit exactly the nerve Crowley intended. Hastur narrowed his eyes. “You’re lucky I’m only supposed to get you to eat the apple. Otherwise, humanity might’ve not had a future this time around.”

“Wait. So many questions. You’re just fine with this strange world reset thingy? And what’re you on about with that humanity’s future bit.”

“Ha. Like I’m telling you anything, traitor.”

“Sorry to intrude on this reunion,” Aziraphale, who had been watching silently, now spoke up. “But I must insist, whoever you are, that you tell us what you know.”

Hastur turned his attention to the angel. The frog on his head caught a fly from the air. “I don’t take orders from those Upstairs. You’ll have to go to one of your own for answers. Although, I heard they’re more of Hell than Heaven nowadays.”

“Explain yourself!”

A sly smile grew from Hastur’s lips. “You haven’t heard? Archangel Gabriel has found himself, ah, demoted. His position has been taken over by Lord Beelzebub.”

Crowley burst into a fit of laughter. He heavily leaned on a tree for support. “Even though that’s obviously a bald-faced lie, it’s absolutely hilarious.”

“Don’t believe me? Why don’t you ask him yourself? Heard his new job was guarding the Eastern Gate.” Hastur gave a quick smug glance to Aziraphale before looking back to Crowley. “And do eat the apple before you go. It is part of your job as much as it is mine.”

Crowley plucked an apple from the tree. “Angel, let’s go meet the new you then.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale replied, still eyeing Hastur rather warily. “Perhaps he will be more willing to provide answers.”

Two pairs of wings, one black and one white, entered this earthly plane and appeared on their respective angel’s and demon’s backs. With a forceful take off, Aziraphale and Crowley took flight to the east, leaving the Duke of Hell behind on the ground below. Crowley tossed the apple in his hand a few times before chucking it at the shrinking form of Hastur.

“You might’ve got my job,” he called down. “But that doesn’t mean I’ll help you do it!”

God snorted off wherever She was. Either She had finally drank enough to become slap happy, or She had forgotten how funny of a stubborn bastard She had made Crowley. Honestly, it was likely a bit of both.

*

Crowley forgot how clean the air was in the beginning. The sky of Eden felt a whole lot healthier than the 6000 year old one of yesterday. Of course, it hardly mattered as the demon didn’t do much flying back in modern day. It just wasn’t worth the miracle it would take to alter people’s memory after a nice flight.

“Crowley, who was that? One of your old coworkers obviously, but which one in particular?”

“Hastur, Duke of Hell. Although guess he’d have my old name if we’ve got Adam and Eve’s. Crawly. Ugh, can’t believe I went by that as long as I did.”

“For confusion’s sake, let’s just address everyone by their proper names. I prefer to think of the new names as a bestowment of a role rather than a replacement identity. I rather like being me.”

“Works for me. Don’t think I could call anyone else Aziraphale beside you anyways.”

As the Eastern Gate neared, it became obvious that there was indeed someone guarding it. A winged figure grew into view, but this individual didn’t have just two wings as Aziraphale and Crowley did. No, this person had six, three layered on each side. Only a few specific angels had wings like this, and all of them were Archangels.

“Do you suppose that Hastur fellow was being honest?” Aziraphale asked in response to seeing the Archangel’s form.

“It’d be a first for him,” was the extent of Crowley’s reply.

They landed on the Wall. A wave of uncomfortable deja vu flooded through Aziraphale. This was all like a memory but one that was corrupted by a nightmare. There indeed was a Guardian of the Eastern Gate, and it most certainly wasn’t him but rather Archangel Gabriel just as Hastur had said. The Archangel even sported the same robe that Aziraphale had worn all those years ago. However, unlike Aziraphale, Gabriel still wielded his flaming sword.

“Gabriel,” Aziraphale called rather hesitantly. He was hardly comfortable around the Archangel considering he had sentenced him to death just the day before. “Would you mind explaining what’s going on?”

Gabriel turned to face them with his infamous false-happy grin plastered to his face. He looked less than surprised to see them.  “Uh, obviously the Almighty was upset that The End of the World didn’t go off as intended, so She reset the whole universe to make it happen this time. And we all got new jobs because of our failure to perform, duh.” He shook his head as if Aziraphale was the most stupid being he’s ever come across.

“That—that’s hardly a logical deduction!” 

“Do you think this happening after you and your demon pal’s mess up is just a coincidence? This is a direct result of your actions, Aziraphale. Although I guess that name is mine now.” Gabriel’s smile turned rather bitter.

“Yeah, he’ll be keeping his name.” Crowley took a step between the two angels. “And if God really got all pissy that the end times didn’t kick off, She could’ve jump started them Herself. Would’ve cost roughly the same amount of energy as doing this!”

“Back off, demon,” Gabriel replied, pointing his sword towards Crowley. “Sure, holy water left you unscarred, but I doubt this will.”

God abandoned the bottle of wine She had been nursing and instead summoned a bag of freshly popped popcorn. Now, this was entertainment: the demon acting as a shield between his love and Gabriel. Maybe this plan was working out.

“There’s no need for violence!” Aziraphale cried, pulling Crowley back to his side. “I think we can all agree that we’re quite unhappy with our given arrangement and would like things to return to normal. Can we not agree to that?”

“Yes. I think we can all agree to that.” Hastur’s voice caused both Aziraphale and Crowley to turn around rather quickly. The Duke of Hell had joined them on the Wall, black smoke still pooling from where he landed.

“Funny. Thought you would love this, Hastur,” Crowley replied, sauntering over. “You get all of Satan’s fun jobs this go about.”

“I don’t enjoy the idea of living in your shadow for the next 6000 years.”

“And I thought you said Lord Beelzebub has taken over Gabriel’s role. That seems more than advantageous for Hell. Why would you want to give that up unless, of course, you were lying?” Aziraphale asked in a very passive aggressive tone.

“Oh, I’ve got the answer for that one,” Gabriel answered. “Beezy’s not that well off up there. They may have stolen my job, but they are very much still vulnerable to holy water, and oh, we’ve got a lot of it up there.”

“You didn’t kill them did you?!?” Hastur growled, charging directly up to Gabriel.

“Ah, no not going to answer that one. Now back away, demon, or I can assure you that you’ll never find out.”

Gabriel waved the sword between himself and Hastur. The Duke of Hell backed up in a rather quick fashion with a less than intimidating expression on his face.

“If it was my choice, of course I would’ve chosen to keep my old job over something as lowly as this.” Gabriel turned to speak to Aziraphale. His sword, however, remained pointed at Hastur. “But this was the Almighty’s decision. Do you really want to go against God’s Plan, Aziraphale? Are you left with any faith or has your demon left you with none?”

“Of course I trust the Almighty!” Aziraphale replied, taking a step forward. “But just as I believed that She didn’t wish to destroy the world, I can’t imagine She wanted us all to be so unhappy. Wanted to undo everything that’s been done.”

Gabriel lowered the sword and approached Aziraphale, halting just a few inches in front of him. “This isn’t permanent. Is that what you think? That God has done this for good? Honestly? You really should’ve spent more time Upstairs when you had a chance. Could’ve picked up on some things. No, this is obviously some kind of test, and once we pass, everything goes back to normal.”

“If it is so obvious, could you please inform the rest of us on what exactly this test involves?” Aziraphale asked, still staring the Archangel in the eyes. He leaned ever so slightly forward into Gabriel’s personal space. Just a few days ago, he would’ve never dreamed of speaking to a superior in such a strict, demanding way, but the End of the World had changed all that.

“Just do your job well,” Gabriel replied with a shake of his head. “The Almighty gave us new ones for a reason. So do good work. Get rewarded. In this case, everything goes back to normal. Simple.”

“Wait,” Crowley began with a hand on his hip. “Your idea of what’s going to fix all this is for us all to pretend to be someone else as if we were actors putting on a play for God? That’s what’s going to put everything back to normal?”

“Well, don’t just copy what’s already been done. Do it better. Like how I’m holding onto this sword and not losing it. Make improvements like that.”

“Improving Crowley’s work is far from a difficult task.” Hastur said, still keeping his distance. His petrification from Gabriel’s threats may have worn off, but the lesson remained learned.

“Really? Can’t wait to see how you handle that,” Crowley replied, not even bothering to turn around.

“Any other demon would’ve been a better fit...” Hastur responded, throwing Crowley’s own words back in his face.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes at the two bickering demons before looking back at Gabriel. “How are we supposed to do a more outstanding job than Adam and Eve? Can you even improve upon a job with no criteria?”

“Uh, not my problem. You two need to figure out how to make a human together or something. You’re the Earth expert. Not me.” The Archangel gestured to Eden below. “For starters, I’d get back down there. Adam and Eve lived in the garden. Not on the Wall surrounding it.”

“Is that actually all you’re going to give us?”

“Uh, yeah. I really don’t like you.” Gabriel’s eye twitched. “Now go. And take the demon with you. Both of them actually if you can.”

Aziraphale huffed. “Come on, Crowley. I’m rather done here.” He grabbed the demon’s hand, which was currently flipping off Hastur, before he could reply and jumped off the Wall with him.

They freefalled for a moment before catching the wind and soaring back up into the air. They only heard a few final words as they left the Eastern Gate to return to Eden below.

“I think we’re scheduled for a talk, Archangel.”

A demon and an angel stood on the Wall of Eden, but it very much so was the wrong angel and demon. A thunderstorm rumbled in the sky. It would be the first rain of the new world, yet there would be no act of kindness shared up on the Wall during it. All of the kindness would be left down in the greenery of Eden this time around. But God didn’t mind. She was instead rather captivated by Crowley and Aziraphale holding hands as they soared through the air.

[Chapter 2]

[hellzyeahthewebwieldingavenger]

Spider-Man 2099 v4 #1 and 2099 Omega Thoughts

This is literally the third time I’ve purchased a comic book called Spider-Man 2099 #1 in 5 years. Technically more if we include reprints. Isn’t that kind of ridiculous?

Fun fact, I wasn’t buying any comics (sans some pre-OMD Spidey and Deadpool Classic trades) between 2009 and 2014. It was the 2014 Spidey 2099 run that got me back into the game, for good or ill.

This issue wasn’t nearly as good at series. And Omega was…lol…it was so bad and essentially an extension of Spidey 2099 I’m covering them together.

I remember fondly my hype when I saw Miguel in ASM v5 #25 and my hype for this one shot, back when I didn’t realize it was just part of a larger event.

Oh boy did this let me down.

Let me start with some superficial praise.

The art for Spidey 2099 and Sandoval on Omega were decent. And there was some interesting ideas pertaining to the world of the future, such as the removal of money and instead having everyone’s value depend upon what they can contribute. A society built upon meritocrisy, albeit with harsh reprisals if you can contribute little. Also the idea of corporations fixing things so only insiders can gain employment speaks to the corporatocracy  of the 2099 universe (one severely undermined when we consider Doom is ultimately in charge anyway…). People intentionally using drugs to keep up their work productivity is another great idea, and a genuinely interesting twist upon the original depiction of the rapture drug from Spidey 2099 v1 #1.  Finally people essentially enabling identity theft in exchange for drugs was an interesting sci-fi concept.

But beyond that…this was bad.

When I began covering this event proper with 2099 Alpha my dominant critique was ‘who is this for’.

A reboot of the 2099 line over 20 years since the original line ended and less than 3 years since the revival of it ended? A reboot intended to modernize the 1990s’ take on the future, a take that frankly proved 99% accurate anyway. And finally a reboot that alternated between doing spotty world building, killing off new characters, tie-ins to modern canon events and most of the time communicated its ideas in confusing and baffling ways.

I put forward that it was doomed to displease the old 2099 fans like me because it was erasing what we knew and loved. But it was also so poorly communicating its rebooted vision that new people were going to be alienated.

I’m only slightly going to backtrack on what I said. Because the Punisher 2099 issue was if you like the greatest argument in favour of the reboot. It wasn’t just the best issue in this mess, it was a bona fide awesome story just in general. It actually dived into an aspect of futuristic sci-fi that the 1990s 2099 series (to my knowledge) would’ve struggled to cover as it pertained so much to 2010s life and technology.

More poignantly though, the problem with this event is that there was no over arching vision between the titles. Not every one shot had the same problems but they all in different ways displayed problems that smacked into the very premise of this event.

F4 2099 was literally pointless as it spent a whole issue introducing a new F4 then killed them.

Conan 2099 could’ve been virtually the same if Conan was like 20 years in the future not this new future we rebooted.

Arguably Punisher 2099 relied upon familiarity with the Jake Galloway Punisher 2099 before it subverted your expectations.

Ghost Rider 2099 was fun but the writer clearly LIKED the original take on the character to the point where he essentially minimized changes to the rebooted version making the act of rebooting the character pointless in the first place and failing the mission statement of the event.

Venom 2099 was a weird tie-in for Cates current Venom mega arc involving Knull that was nonsensical as it proposes that Knull is still en route to Earth and thus in theory there is no tension in Cates’ run. Moreover it wasn’t much of a futuristic take on Venom himself and fundamentally hurt as there was no Spider-Man for Venom to act as a dark reflection of.

Doom 2099 in fairness had a cool twist, but a cool twist that didn’t make sense in and of itself and was also reliant upon familiarity with the original 1990s character.

And then we come to these issues.

These issues I’m sad to say just absolutely fundamentally fail conceptually.

He’s incredibly passive and very bland as a character so newer fans coming in with no knowledge or attachment to the Miguel O’Hara of old are unlikely to warm to him. His defining trait is being someone who cares enough about the suffering of others that he will not actively take part in it, but will also not actively do anything to help like his brother Gabe. This is then set up for his brother to die, cue a less good retread of Peter Parker’s origin story but minus much action of Miggy in costume. On paper the idea of a guy experiencing Peter’s ultimate failure and from this being motivated to OBTAIN super powers is interesting but it’s just not examined all that much in the story. What I’m saying is at a time when there is a sea of Spider-Heroes to read about on the stands this version of Miguel O’Hara is lame, derivative and the execution of his character half-hearted.

Then on the other hand you have the older fans’ perspectives. Obviously old Spidey 2099 fans are unlikely to take to this new version just on principle. But when you realize you lost the old character for THIS guy…oh boy does that sting.

Original recipe Miguel O’Hara was cool because he zigged where Peter zagged. He was kind of an asshole, but one with limits on how little he cared. And he became more heroic over time, but never the same type of hero as Peter. And above all he was a sarcastic, sardonic, cynic who you could tell was thinking ‘I can’t even with this Spider-Shit right now’. Case in point, he was okay with straight up killing opponents. He was more unique and much more compelling than this version, as were his cast. Lyla is basically the Aunt May of this story and not the source of humour that she was even in the first 3 issues of the 1990s run. She also lacks her iconic Monroe look, and isn’t even consistent with how she looked in ASM v5 #35.

Losing a cool character for a lame one would be bad enough but then the story straight up invalidates both itself and the entire goddam event.

It does this by having the rebooted Miggy start to see visions of the pre-rebooted (prebooted?) 2099 timeline, meet an aged version of his prebooted self and then have even more flashes of the prebooted timeline. *

Wow…Just….Wow…

Let’s pretend that the vision of 2099 in this event was a temporary thing, an Age of Apocalypse or a House of M just for 2099 and the plan was always to go back to how it was before when the story wrapped up.

That makes this entire event pointless. See the reason AoA worked (and HoM in theory could have worked) is because it was a temporary change of pace.

That doesn’t apply to the 2099 line, a nostalgic, discontinued line of comics and characters that are unlikely to get a full on revival and who’s last attempt at a revival wrapped up over 2 years ago.

THIS event should’ve been a nostalgia trip for the old fans and a chance to introduce that line to a new generation. Instead it discarded the old in favour of something new which was seemingly intended to go nowhere.

Good job Marvel, any new fans you MIGHT have gotten hooked just got fucked over and people like me who pre-ordered this event thinking we were going to get the characters we knew and loved also got fucked over.

And in fact the entire exercise was an example of intentional redundancy.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Oh and it doesn’t make a lick of sense.

So Miguel was thrown back in time when his timeline was starting to be erased and replaced with the rebooted timeline, then he was erased in ASM v5 #34, which began this new rebooted timeline…but he is alive in it, remembers it, can give his past self visions from the old timeline...

…I’m a Doctor Who fan and that’s not any kind of wibbly wobbley timey whimey nonsense. It’s just regular ass nonsense, just like the Man-Spider monster Miguel encounters who repeats ouroboros to him, the same word ReedDoom said in the Doom 2099 issue. How and why would the Man-Spider creature say that to Miguel. How would prebooted Miguel know it said that? How and why would rebooted Miguel see Spidey 2099 in costume spray painting that?

Shit what the fuck does ouroboros even mean?????????

*one google search later*

A snake eating its tail as a symbol of endless infinity…what the fuck does that mean?

That Miguel makes himself Spider-Man 2099 always?

There was a cool idea in the Omega issue wherein we learn Doom essentially erased everyone’s memories with magic so they’d forget the Age of Heroes altogether, but the rise of the characters in the one shots represented that spell breaking down. Too bad it doesn’t add up given how Venom was always going to exist and existed SINCE the Age of Heroes and people obviously remember Thor as there is an entire tribe dedicated to him!**

However the Omega issue’s biggest sin is showing us how truly pointless most of the issues of this event were. Honest to God you only need to read Doom scenes from Alpha and then Spidey 2099 and Omega. Those are the only plot relevant issues out of this whole event.

Over all, these issues and this event have been a humungous, insulting disappointment. Check out some of the art but literally nothing else sans the Punisher.

*I mean if you want to get technical the 2099 universe has technically been rebooted multiple times. The version of it presented from 2013-2017 actually differed from the original 1990s version in various ways, e.g. Miguel’s love life panned out very differently. When I refer to the pre-rebooted/prebooted timeline I’m referring to the version from 2013-2017, just to be clear.

**There are other contradictions in these 2 issues as well, like how poverty and bad health have been erased but…we see they haven’t as there are multiple examples of both in the one shots.

[imaginationstimulation]

I recently read A Visit From the Goon Squad written by Jennifer Egan.

This novel reads more like a collection of short stories about different characters who are almost inconsequentially related to various degrees. 

One obvious theme is about the interconnectedness of all people. 

More deeply, the book is a reflection on time and the endlessness of growing up; how our values and, more seriously, our identities change--or don’t--with time. 

These are the lines and excerpts I highlighted as I read: 

“I’m always happy,” Sasha said. “Sometimes I just forget.” (Chapter 1).

“She could tell that he was in excellent shape, not from going to the gym but from being young enough that his body was still imprinted with whatever sports he’d played in high school and college.”

“...something more than relief: a blessed indifference, as if the very idea of feeling pain over such a thing were baffling.”

“In fact the whole apartment, which six years ago had seemed like a way station to some better place, had ended up solidifying around Sasha, gathering mass and weight, until she felt both mired in it and lucky to have it—as if she not only couldn’t move on but didn’t want to.” 

“She wanted badly to please him, to say something like, It was a turning point everything feels different now, or I called Lizzie and we made up finally, or I’ve picked up the harp again, or just I’m changing I’m changing I’m changing: I’ve changed! Redemption, transformation--God how she wanted these things. Every day, every minute. Didn’t everyone?”

“Bennie knew that what he was bringing into the world was shit. Too clear, too clean. The problem was precision, perfection; the problem was digitization, which sucked the life out of everything that got smeared through its microscopic mesh. Film, photography, music: dead. An aesthetic holocaust! Bennie knew better than to say this stuff aloud.” (Chapter 2).

“an urge to confess the malapropism to his fourth grader.”

“As he sipped, a sensation of pleasure filled his whole torso the way a snowfall fills up a sky. Jesus, he felt good.”

“Hearing the music get made, that was the thing: people and instruments and beaten-looking equipment aligning abruptly into a single structure of sound, flexible and alive.”

“The baby he and Stephanie had nuzzled and kissed—now this painful, mysterious presence.”

“He remembered his mentor, Lou Kline, telling him in the nineties that rock and roll had peaked at Monterey Pop. They’d been in Lou’s house in LA with its waterfalls, the pretty girls Lou always had, his car collection out front, and Bennie had looked into his idol’s famous face and thought, You’re finished. Nostalgia was the end—everyone knew that.”

“Rich people like to hostess, so they can show off their nice stuff.“ (Chapter 3). 

“Hey, Lou goes. He leans down so our faces are together, and stares straight into my eyes. He looks tired, like someone walked on his skin and left footprints. He goes, The world is full of shitheads, Rhea. Don’t listen to them—listen to me. And I know that Lou is one of those shitheads. But I listen.”

“I can’t tell if she’s actually real, or if she’s stopped caring if she’s real or not. Or is not caring what makes a person real?”

“Lou is one of those men whose restless charm has generated a contrail of personal upheaval that is practically visible behind him:” (Chapter 4, [My favorite chapter]).

“Structural Resentment: The adolescent daughter of a twice-divorced male will be unable to tolerate the presence of his new girlfriend, and will do everything in her limited power to distract him from said girlfriend’s presence, her own mascent sexuality being her chief weapon.”

“Structural Affection: A twice-divorced male’s preadolescent son (and favorite child) will embrace and accept his father’s new girlfriend because he hasn’t yet learned to separate his father’s loves and desires from his own. In a sense, he, too, will love and desire her, and she will feel maternal toward him...” 

“Structural Desire: The much younger temporary female mate of a powerful male will be inexorably drawn to the single male within range who disdains her mate’s power.”  

“These four are locked in a visceral animal-sighting competition. (Structural Fixation: A collective, contextually induced obsession that becomes a temporary locus of greed, competition, and envy.)”

“The members of Ramsey’s safari have gained a story they’ll tell for the rest of their lives. It will prompt some of them, years from now, to search for each other on Google and Facebook, unable to resist the wish-fulfillment fantasy these portals offer: What ever happened to...? In a few cases, they’ll meet again to reminisce and marvel at one another’s physical transformations, which will seem to melt away with the minutes.” 

“Structural Dissatisfaction: Returning to circumstances that once pleased you, having experienced a more thrilling or opulent way of life, and finding that you can no longer tolerate them.”

“My questions all seem wrong: How did you get so old? Was it all at once, in a day, or did you peter out bit by bit? When did you stop having parties? Did everyone else get old too, or was it just you?“ (Chapter 5).

“Your desultory twenties,” my mother calls my lost time, trying to make it sound reasonable and fun, but it started before I was twenty and lasted much longer.”

“The TV is new, flat and long, and its basketball game has a nervous sharpness that makes the room and even us look smudged.“

“Seventeen, hitchhiking. He was driving a red Mercedes. In 1979, that could be the beginning of an exciting story, a story where anything might happen. Now it’s a punch line.”

“...how better to mark success than by going to a place where you didn’t belong?“ (Chapter 7).

“I don’t want to fade away, I want to flame away.” 

“It felt impossible, as if Jules’s excitement were being siphoned from inside her, leaving Stephanie drained to the exact degree that he was invigorated.“

“All that can be said for sure is that in the presence of Kitty Jackson, the rest of us become entagled by our sheer awareness that we ourselves are not Kitty Jackson, a fact so brusquely unifying that it temporarily wipes out all distinctions betwen us--our tendency to cry inexplicably during parades, or the fact that we never learned French, or have a fear of insects that we do our best to conceal from women, or liked to eat construction paper as a child--in the presence of Kitty Jackson, we no longer are in possession of these traits; indeed, so indistinguishable are we from every other non–Kitty Jackson in our vicinity that when one of us sees her, the rest simultaneously react.” (Chapter 9.)

“At what precise moment did you tip just slightly out of alignment with the relatively normal life you had been enjoying theretofore, cant infinitesimally to the left or the right and thus embark upon the trajectory that ultimately delivered you to your present whereabouts—in my case, Rikers Island Correctional Facility?”

“Bix and Lizzie’s apartment is tiny, like a dollhouse, full of plants and the smell of plants (wet and planty), because Lizzie loves plants.” (Chapter 10).

“It’s okay,” she says, and you know you should leave it there—it’s fine, leave it alone, but some crazy engine inside you won’t let you stop:”

“He has an optimist’s attraction to everything new—a faith that it will enrich him, not hurt him.“

“The two of you reel away from her. Hilarity keeps you busy for several blocks, but there’s a sickness to it, like an itch that if you keep on scratching, will grind straight through skin and muscle and bone, shredding your heart.”

“We’re going to meet again in a different place,” Bix says. “Everyone we’ve lost, we’ll find. Or they’ll find us.” “Where? How?” Drew asks. Bix hesitates, like he’s held this secret so long he’s afraid of what will happen when he releases it into the air. “I picture it like Judgment Day,” he says finally, his eyes on the water. “We’ll rise up out of our bodies and find each other again in spirit form. We’ll meet in that new place, all of us together, and first it’ll seem strange, and pretty soon it’ll seem strange that you could ever lose someone, or get lost.”

“Sunsan was baffled at first, then distraught. [...] But eventually a sort of amnesia had overtaken Susan; her rebellion and hurt had melted away, deliquesced into a sweet, eternal sunniness that was terrible in the way that life would be terrible, Ted supposed, without death to give it gravitas and shape.” (Chapter 11).

“...all of this bolstered his awe at the gymnastic adaptability of the human mind.”

“...a fibrillating excitement such as he hadn’t felt for years in response to a work of art, compounded by further excitement that such excitement was still possible.” 

“A feeling,” Bennie said, rousing himself slightly from his deep recline. “That we have some history together that hasn’t happened yet.” (Chapter 13).

“Her confidence seemed more drastic than the outcome of a happy childhood; it was cellular confidence, as if Lulu were a queen in disguise, without need or wish to be recognized.”

“There are so many ways to go wrong,” Lulu said. “All we’ve got are metaphors, and they’re never exactly right. You can’t ever just Say. The. Thing.”

“They could meander indefinitely, these conversations...” 

[borisbubbles]

Eurovision 2010s: 85 - 81

85. Norma John - “Blackbird” Finland 2017

[2017 Review here]

What a beautiful gothic swansong. ❤ Man, I don’t even need to tell you how robbed “Blackbird” really was. The song is (Edgar Allan) Poetry come to life. Leena delivers a gorgeous, haunting, ethereal voice that sends leaves me stunned in silence. It’s not my type of Eurovision song, at all, but it’s one of the best in its genre.

Of course, what bloats Norma John’s ranking even further is that they are also ROBBED NQ ANGELS. I have already liberally spoken about the baffling decisions made by the 2017 SF1 juries, but Jesus-fucking-Christ on a bike:  Tamara = musical torture + a *FAILED* a cape throw: 62 points!!! Martina = endless jazz tedium + hideous yellow & purple lights: 81 points!!! Norma John = a time-transcending loss ballad + perfect vocal delivery: ...41 points??? . . . The ubiquitous bullying of Finland in the Eurovision Song Contest DISGUSTS ME and I’ll continue opposing it by giving their entries the spotlight they DESERVE! 🤗

________________________________________________________________

84. Molly Sterling - “Playing with numbers” Ireland 2015

Yet another robbed NQ angel. 😭 The one time I love an Irish entry and it gets christerigged out of the finales. LeSigh. “Playing with numbers” holds a special place in my heart because it’s the 1 ~great~ Irish entry we’re getting every decade. Seriously, I... should totally keep my anti-Ireland rants for the addendum since this update is Ireland’s funeral, but honestly, is “THEY FUCKING SUCK!!!” really that much of a spoiler? Seven victories my ass. 🙄 

Anyway, back to Molly. It’s a similar deal to Joan Franka and Norma John to me: “Playing with numbers” feels like a genuine song by an earnest singer, telling a real story, and I’m INVESTED in their life, happiness and success.

However, two more things set “Playing with numbers” apart for me. One, Molly is an INTROVERTED INDIE GIRL 😍, which is one of my favourite Eurovision tropes (e.g.: Ieva, Blanche, Michela, Tinkara, Francesca, all of whom are still alive in this ranking). Two, Molly takes the pleasant-sounding but otherwise insipid sentimentality often found in Irish entries and turns it into a fresh, root-worthy experience. Which is impressive considering how generally indifferent I am to the Irish sound. And now for the seamless transition into this:

Was this Ireland’s worst decade? I am not sure, actually. Ireland is one of my least favourite eurovision countries in general, but the worst Irish decade between the 2000s and this one. The 2000s had a higher high (”ET CETERA”  😍), but also three of the worst entries of ALL TIME (Millennium of Love, Dervish and D*st*n th* T*rk*y), so they were probably worse. Regardless, with 80% of the entries being bad or boring, Ireland is EASILY my least favourite country in this decade (though in my ranking they mathematically outrank Croatia, proving once and for all that maths is a total waste of time [in rankings]). With their tendency to qualify in mostly weak years (2013 excepted), Europe tends to agree. Hopefully they can capitalize on the KEiiNO craze by sending an ethnobanger in 2020, but watch them try to flimsily copy “Proud” and flop. 🙄

________________________________________________________________

83. Luca Hänni - “She got me” Switzerland 2019

After Eleni had set the world ~en fuego~ last year, the least one could expect was a slew of trashy reggaetons that paid tribute at her altar to slayage. Of the many pretenders, Luca was by far the most faithful adaptation. “She got me” is literally (literally literally) genderswapped “Fuego”. 😍

However, because there already was a precendent for me to like here, I found it generally easier to get into Luca than Eleni. Fortunately, I also managed to appreciate Luca for Luca. I expected him to be a meatheaded oaf and was ready to roll my eyes at his fukboi’esque stupidity. Thank fuck I was wrong, because, a of all the dumb jock of the year was in fact Chingiz (again, this man celebrates via flexing) and b of all Luca proved himself a hyperactive bromosexual spazz with NO attention span whatsoever. 😍 OBSERVE his hilariously clunky ~DiRtYdAnCinN~

Luca also provided the #1 Interview Moment of 2019 (not featuring Godper Santl), which was this hilariously awkward exchange with an Icelandic reporter on Hatari’s payroll who asks him whether his song is about the oppression of women (0:76), after which Luca SUDDENLY has to “go to the toilet” (aka ask permission)

Later, the same reporter then calls his song a Hegelian dialectic (02:24) and Luca’s  reaction can only be described as ‘experiencing a human bluescreen of death’, after which he’s swiftly whisked away by a handler. 😍 

and the Swiss HoD has to step in (Actual quote: “It’s the accent, he cannot understand you right” 😍) and take over and it turns into deepest discussion about feminism. 😍 while Luca obliviously spazzes out in the background as his memory chip is updated <3

All of this was more than enough to endear me to Luca AND pull “She got me” into the Love zone, exactly like Eleni did a year ago. However, when you have to rate a great entry that borrows everything from another great entry...

________________________________________________________________

82. Eleni Foureira - “Fuego” Cyprus 2018

[2018 Review here]

...it is important to remember that the original is always better. And yes, Eleni and Luca are just two sides of the same genderflipped coin and you won’t convince me otherwise:

Both are infectuous reggaetons with a playfully flirtatious undertone, Both are trashfests with hilarious lyrics (”When she go low / She go solo” is the new “You got my pelican fly-fly-flying”)  Both feature even more hilarious attempts at “singing” Both were the poulains of Sacha Jean-Baptiste, carried into top five because they’re ~worth it~ [/l’oréal] Both convinced jurors of their worth, despite being (g)utter trash.😍🤭

However, I prefer Eleni for several reasons. Firstly, yes she is the original ~mediterrenean trashpop diva~ entry and none of the copycats improved on her formula (well, Michela did but “Chameleon” has outgrown its “Fuego Clone” label, more on that when I get to her in a few updates). 

Secondly, um, Eleni is a f’cking goddess?

What a hair-flippingly gracious force of FIERCE. 😍 I’m glad she got to return this year for the epic Song Switch interval act: Spamming gifs here since I am currently out of embedding credit: 

What a star. I am BALD and STRAIGHT!! Her rank is limited by the fact that I still am not ~Fully In Love~ with her song, but more than anything Eleni proved herself as an indisputed performance queen and I cannot wait to see her cameos in the future editions yet to come.

_______________________________________________________________

81. The Common Linnets - “Calm after the storm” The Netherlands 2014

Lmao I forgot it took like 46 seconds to get to the song because of Basim’s giant banner <3

Anyway, Common Linnets, Common Linnets :snaps fingers: 🤔 what is there to write that hasn’t been said or written many times, by people more passionate about them than I am? Well, I love that Ilse and Waylon rolled with an authentic country song instead of the baseborn country pop the Netherlands is famous for. (Check this Walzing Matilda sound-a-like out, courtesy of ms. DeLange). The Linnets have stellar chemistry, especially for two people who can’t stand each other irl:

The act is a cinematic masterpiece, framed beautifully by Hans Pancake’s critically acclaimed motion-picture-like style. It transforms “Calm after the storm” into an oasis of tranquility, which still holds up to this very day. 

So, overall, I would say “Calm after the storm” is a pretty great entry. It’s a well-composed song, lacking in campness, avoiding incompetence, not requiring mind-blowing artistry or loud-as-fuck circus gimmicks to reach it’s full potential. It is competent and well-produced. The perfect entry for anyone who watches Eurovision for the music. 

However, um... I am not one those people. I love trashy pseudo-ethnic schlager bangers.I love underappreciated indie darling. I love the staging circus of Eurovision. I love personality quirks and unprofessionalism. I LOVE shit like Gasper Santl calling out bad journalism in front of the assembled press or Al Bano walking on the 76 stage and INSTANTLY forgetting his lyrics. Eurovision is made perfect by its imperfections.

So for ~me personally~ "Calm after the storm” doesn’t offer me enough, and we’re close to entering the endgame of this ranking. You need to step up your game, because at this point, having a great song will no longer be good enough to avoid the cut.

[schraubd]

Election 2018: How Did Anti-Semites Do?

A few days ago, Tablet Magazine published a list of eight "antisemites running for Congress". It was a good start, but woefully incomplete -- there are so many more antisemites to choose from! Moreover, it doesn't really properly gradate antisemitism (there's a huge difference between a literal Holocaust Denier and someone who's been in a room with Louis Farrakhan). So while you can read how Tablet's 8 fared here, for a more comprehensive picture this post has you covered. First, the good news: the absolutely, positively, most blatant antisemites generally did not win.

Actual Neo-Nazi Arthur Jones lost to Democratic Rep. Dan Lipinski 73-27 in Illinois' 3rd congressional district. 

Jones' Holocaust-denying compatriot, John Fitzgerald, lost by a similar 72-28 margin in California's 11th district to Democratic Rep. Mark DeSaulnier. 

In state legislative races, the same basically held true:

In North Carolina's 48th state house district, GOP nominee Russell Walker -- who once said Jews "descend from Satan" -- lost to Black Democratic minister Garland Pierce 63-37. 

In Missouri, GOP nominee Steve West (who was disowned by his own kids) fell well short of unseating Democratic State Rep. Jon Carpenter. 

Finally, in California, Maria Estrada's virulent antisemitism didn't stop her from earning an Our Revolution endorsement, but it presumably did her no favors in her D-on-D challenge to State Assembly speaker Anthony Rendon -- she lost 56-44.

The two biggest antisemites to win were both incumbents.

Open White Supremacist Rep. Steve King (R-IA), last seen telling the world that European Neo-Nazi parties would just be plain old Republicans in America, had a much closer than anticipated race against Democrat J.D. Scholten. Still, King prevailed 50-47, thus proving that there is no limit to how racist you can be if there are enough Republicans in your district.  

Meanwhile, in Washington, GOP State Rep. Matt Shea -- who advocated for an American theocracy where non-Christian men are executed -- handily won reelection 58-42. Huzzah.

Now, those guys represent the worst of the worst. Most (not all) were running on the GOP line, and most (not all) lost. But the Tablet list itself evinces a clear antisemitic spectrum, and once you move past the obvious cases the story gets more complex. On Tablet's list were two definite borderline entries, for whom I think it's fair to question if they are properly called antisemitic at all (certainly, they're far further afield than some of the names further down on this list):

The case for including Indiana Rep. Andre Carson (D) appears to boil down to "he's been in a room with Farrakhan and the Iranian president", which isn't exactly on the level of denying the Holocaust. Call me jaded, but this felt very thin to me. Carson's Indiana district is gerrymandered to be reliably blue, and so it was -- Carson took his race 63-37.

Lena Epstein -- the Republican candidate in Michigan's 11th congressional district -- also has fair grounds to question her inclusion. Yes, inviting a Jews for Jesus Rabbi to eulogize the Pittsburgh victims was stupid, and insensitive, and baffling, and did I mention stupid? -- but was it antisemitic? I'm not sure. But we no longer need to expend much effort figuring it out: Epstein was soundly defeated by Democrat Haley Stevens, flipping this open GOP seat blue and I suspect signaling the last we hear of Epstein in national politics.

The next tier of antisemites comprises people who aren't really accused of saying anything antisemitic themselves, but who have endorsed antisemites or antisemitic movements.

On the Democratic side, Rep. Danny Davis (D-IL) is the poster child -- while the past few weeks might have you believe that every Democrat in the country is a Louis Farrakhan fanboy, Davis is one of the few who actually has praised the man (the NOI has a large presence in Davis' Chicago district). Davis' district is one of the bluest in the country, and he took 88% of the vote against nominal Republican opposition.

On the Republican side, Rep. Dana Rohrabacher (R-CA) endorsed a Holocaust denier for school board (and that wasn't even his only connection to the Holocaust denying set). "Putin's favorite Congressman" looks to have gone down in his toss-up race, losing narrowly to Democrat Harley Rouda. 

Also falling into this category (though arguably shading into the class below) is California GOP Rep. Steve Knight, who ran an ad featuring a far-right activist notorious for antisemitic and racist online comments (Knight plead ignorance about the guy's views, but you'd think the t-shirt he was wearing in the ad -- a US flag with "infidel" stamped over it -- would be a giveaway). Knight lost his seat 51-49 to Democrat Katie Hill.

Next, we get to people who have themselves said or done antisemitic things -- albeit perhaps not as vividly as a Steve King sort.

For Republicans, George Soros is the fulcrum. Rep. Matt Gaetz (R-FL), who gave a Holocaust denier a State of the Union ticket and is a major source of Soros-related conspiracy theorizing, works as a good example. He handily won his re-election race 67-33. 

Speaking of Soros, in Minnesota's 1st district, Jim Hagedorn -- who claimed that Joe Lieberman only supported the Iraq War because he was a Jew and who then cut an ad claiming his opponent was "owned" by the Jewish globalist billionaire -- looks like he will squeak out a win over Democrat Dan Feehan. If that result holds, it marks one of the few districts this cycle to flip D-to-R. It also is particularly painful for me because this is the district where my wife grew up and my in-laws still live.

And while Florida gubernatorial candidate Ron DeSantis is more well-known for the racism, he too dipped his toe in the antisemitic Soros conspiracy pool, accusing his African-American opponent, Andrew Gillum, of looking to "seed[] into our state government, you know, Soros-backed activists." DeSantis, a Republican, prevailed over Gillum by about a single point in what had been thought to be a blue-leaning race.

Two more Democratic members of Tablet's list -- Leslie Cockburn and Ilhan Omar -- fit in this category, albeit for comments that are several years or (in Cockburn's case) decades old.

Cockburn wrote a book in the early 90s that was basically a "Israel is responsible for all awful things" screed; she lost her VA-05 race to Republican Denver "bigfoot erotica" Riggelman, because America is awesome and that was really a choice. The margin was 53-47 in a race that was viewed as a decent, if not top-of-the-class, Democratic pickup opportunity.

Omar, running in Minnesota's 5th district, has come under fire for a tweet where she accused Israel of "hypnotizing" the world to prevent it from seeing its "evil". While she has seemingly moderated her views on Israel, she pointedly declined to walk back this comment or recognize how it seems to traffic in antisemitic tropes (in contrast to her 5th district predecessor, Keith Ellison, who pointedly disassociated himself from prior Farrakhan affiliations). Omar won her race by a crushing 78-21 margin.

Finally, it's worth looking at some local races where Republicans (albeit not always the Republican candidate) ran antisemitic ads.

In Alaska, a GOP mailer which showed stacks of cash being stuffed into Democrat Jesse Kiehl's suit didn't seem to work, Kiehl defeated right-leaning independent Don Etheridge 60-37. (Etheridge he disavowed the Republican ad).

In California, Republican Tyler Diep painted his Jewish opponent Josh Lowenthal green, enlarged his nose, and showed him clutching $100 bills; Diep prevailed in his California Assembly race, 54-46. 

Pennsylvania State Rep. Todd Stephens (R) made sure to drop the "Johnson" from the name of Democratic opponent Sara Johnson Rothman when he photoshopped her holding a stack of cash, instead going with "Stop Sara Rothman". Stephens won re-election by a narrow 51-49 margin.

In North Carolina, Republican Rickey Padgett tried to unseat State Senator Mike Woodard (D) by, among other things, posting a picture with Chuck Schumer dressed in a Nazi SS uniform. Woodward prevailed by a 62-36 spread.

Finally, in Connecticut, Democrat Matt Lesser gained national attention when his Republican opponent Ed Charamut sent out a mailer depicting Lesser with wild eyes, a huge nose, and a wad of cash. Lesser prevailed in a tight race, winning 52-48.

What are the takeaways here? Well, for starters, the most virulent and explicit antisemites generally lost. That's good, though given that those candidates generally ran in ideologically lopsided districts it's easy to overdraw from that. The Steve King victory shows that where the partisan lean works in the antisemite's favor, partisan allegiance generally trumps (seriously, does anyone have confidence that if Arthur Jones ran in Steve King's district as the Republican candidate, he would lose?). And if that holds true for to a blatant bigot like King, it certainly applies to more mild or sporadic offenders, like Davis and Omar.

The more interesting -- and troublesome -- story is how less overt but still clear antisemitism played out in more closely contested races. Those who assume that America just doesn't tolerate antisemitism are in for a surprise. Hagedorn's antisemitic past (and present) didn't seem to dent his chances in Minnesota's toss-up first district, for example. This isn't to say that antisemites were universally winning -- more that antisemitism, even when expressed, generally isn't a losing issue either even in the sort of closely contested districts where you might expect candidates to tread more carefully.

Moreover, there's a partisan lean to this that cannot be ignored. Certainly, there are incidents of antisemitism in both Democratic and Republican politics. And because American Jews (and Jewish politicians) are so overwhelmingly liberal, there are far more progressive "targets" for antisemitism than there are conservatives. Still, between Soros conspiracy theorizing and "Jews clutching money" ads, there seemed to be a noticeable step-up in GOP appeals to this sort of antisemitic sentiment that doesn't have a clear parallel among Democrats right now. 

And Republican strategists must have come to a conclusion that these ads work. Yes, maybe they turn off some Jewish or more liberal-leaning voters. But Republican campaign operatives must think they make up for it by revving up the conservative base (or even independents -- for a variety of reasons I strongly suspect that right-leaning independents might be even more susceptible to this sort of appeal). 

There was certainly no systematic punishing effect for Republicans going to this well -- and so we can expect they'll keep doing it. And that is a worrisome conclusion.

via The Debate Link https://ift.tt/2zyyHER

[bellygunnr]

Calculating Twilight

Aile knew that Greye was fragile-- just how fragile, however, she had not measured until that very night. It was a long-haul mission on a technicality, requiring Aile and Greye to stake out an old watchtower for the better part of a day. They were nearing their tenth hour, and Greye was nearing his last straw. He curled up against her with tired, baleful eyes, Model A resting on his boot. The thick cables protruding from his chestguard wrinkled in his hands.

“When can we go home?” Greye finally asked, his voice a bare whisper.

“Our shift ends in an hour. It’ll be okay,” Aile murmured. “At least there hasn’t been any activity, right?”

Greye’s eyes steeled. “No,” he said. “We had mavericks twice today.”

He pointed at his blackened, charred shoulder as if to prove his point. He had been grazed by the blast of a missile-launching fellow about three hours ago, yet had refused to retreat. Now it looked like he was preparing to use it as leverage.

“Well… yes,” she agreed. “Once we get home, we’ll get you fixed up, okay?”

The boy nodded. An hour could not come quick enough-- but thankfully, their mission concluded without any further action.

*

The narrow nurse’s office was comforting to Greye, if only because he slept in the back room. Aile picked through his hair as the doctor fixed up his shoulder, fussing over him like a worried mother. He didn’t protest, but he didn’t acknowledge her either.

“Feel better?” she ventured.

“Tired,” he responded after a long pause. “What time is it?”

“A little after eight in the evening…” Her fingers caught on a tangled knot of silver hair. Mindful, she picked through it gently. “You should get some rest.”

Greye did not get some rest.

*

The next time they met, Greye was on a solo mission. Smoke billowed freely from a festering wound in his back, dual pistols steaming from overuse. Worried hunters back home had been trying to contact him for hours to no avail and in a fit of desperation-- they called Aile. She would be able to get through to him.

Hopefully.

Aile hadn’t been able to get close to the youngster either, not until he was finished with the fight. Pain radiated out from his frame, grey eyes dim with the weight of the world. He barely recognizes his senior.

“Kid, you look like you need to get home…”

“There’s more to do,” he hissed out. “This isn’t finished.”

Model A-- she can’t hear him, but his energy pulses slightly. Greye shakes his head vehemently.

“I need to keep going. I have a spare tank, it’s fine.”

Aile couldn’t bite back the impressed whistle in time. Greye hisses again then tosses his head back, clumsily downing that spare tank. Most of it spills onto the front of his vest, bubbling where it hits open wounds. Jesus…

Before she can speak, Greye fills the room with light. He seems to swell to twice his size before she can see again-- and well, she had forgot about the Model’s little skill. Where once a fourteen year old boy stood, a hulking stag panted in his wake.

“Shit, are you sure that’s safe, kiddo?”

No response.

The wall crumbles into dust as the boy-turned-Pseudoroid charges forward.

Greye is fast in this form. Aile can hardly keep up equipped even with ZX, their gentle chatter keeping her focused and alert. She leaps in the wake of Buckfire-but-Not’s craters, finding purchase and propulsion. She takes out what enemies Greye misses.

“He’s really... “ her voice trails off.

Reminds me of you, Zero, chirps a small voice.

I was never so bad!

He really was so bad, once upon a time.

*

The lines between Greye and Buckfire blur as he embraces the Pseudoroid’s data. Memories not quite his own feel real and he relishes in the pleasure of moving. His mission objective is a thing of the past-- what was it? Why was he still out here? Had he not already beat the last enemy? No…

There was something he had to find.

An item, yes-- a flower for a child. She was small- maybe six or seven- and she had never seen a flower before, beyond the artificial plants within the bounty camp’s homes. That was a shame. Even Greye had seen a real flower, and he was… undeserving of it, to say the least. He must find a flower.

The concept is easy enough for Buckfire to grasp. Flowers. Find a flower without harming the flower. Bring the flower back home-- that’s where things became nebulous. Home was either his chambers in Weil’s castle, or the medical center of the camp. The two minds deliberated together.

Ah.

The buildings are beginning to recede now, reducing their high-altitude footholds until they are forced to land on solid ground. Greye charges forward with a roar, sweeping blindly across the ground, flame jetting wispily from his antlers. Flowers… Plants, something, had to be here! Yet he saw only barren earth.

WARNING:: ENERGY at CRITICAL LEVELS Abruptly, power is sapped and rerouted from his hydraulic legs, forcibly drawn into the most essential functions. Buckfire/Greye collapse harshly and Model A detaches with a strained cry, leaving Greye sprawled on the ground.

What is wrong with you, Greye?! Jeez!

*

Aile is grateful when her charge’s mad dash comes to an abrupt halt, his diminutive frame sprawled and unconscious against scorched earth. She kneels beside him, fingers pressing to the center of his belly where you could feel a Reploid’s fuel pump. Even when they were inactive, it still flowed, but Greye’s was terribly still.

“HQ, this is Aile. I think we need a direct link back to the-- Airship.”

“Right away, ma’am. Two passengers?”

“Indeed,” she says gravely. “Right to the medical ward,” she adds.

He looks even more pitiful like this… Like a wet rat, Model A says mournfully.

What was he looking for, A? X asks gently. They float together, hovering just above a pair of surgeons operating on Greye.

A flower, A says. But he was going in the wrong direction.

If the situation weren’t so dire, X could have laughed. Instead he merely sighed, flipping himself upside down so his gem was in the direction of the floor. By the time Aile had confronted him, the boy was already half-dead. And by the time she had apprehended him…

Well.

It couldn’t have been any more timely.

At least dear Model A didn’t seem overly worried about his partner.

*

Aile kneels before a tombstone, head bowed and hands clasped, her thoughts slow and meandering. The stone is a simple affair- a titanium post, arms folding across it, paying homage to a Reploid who had lived a short life. Her heart twists in her chest.

“Giro,” she says, and her voice is frail. “I’m training him. Trying to, at least. He’s a tough nut to crack.”

Her voice cracks, and she splutters a laugh. Of course.

“That boy is crazy, though, Dad. Not in a bad way, but more of a Vent way…”

She swallows. Greye was something special, and he was her kid now, and fucking up was not something she could consider right now.

“He’s in the medical ward, right now. Intensive care. His fuel pump was ripped out by some Pseudoroid, but he went tearing off halfway across the city for a flower!”

The stone is silent and cold. She heaves a shuddering sigh. The tombstone was never as warm as the real thing, but Giro had moved on, and that was for the best. If only she could do right by his memory.

“I’m really trying. He’s just a kid! He’s fourteen, dad, but his eyes are the angriest things I’ve ever seen. Even in the operating room... But he’s angry at himself, isn’t he?”

Words slide from her mouth like water, uprooting and filtering the contents of her heart after months of keeping it in. She was some kind of parent, some kind of influential figure, and barely scraping her twenties.

“What would you do, Giro? If you had to help Greye, what would you say?”

The tombstone leers at her as she leans back, the nameplate glinting in the sunlight.

[ GIROUETTE ]

“Yeah, me too,” she sighs. She wipes at her eyes with her gloves, swallowing down a quiet sob. Damn it. She was supposed to be past that by now-- Giro had died so long ago. But her heart still burned with the loss.

Aile slowly stands up, brushing away the dirt and grass that had collected over her clothes. As she does so, she sees something move beneath the arm of Giro’s gravestone, a flicker of color in a shadow. She kneels back down to inspect it--

A daisy has sprouted beside the titanium testimony, its head weighed down by its own bud. The petals are still closed, though she can see slips of white peeking through, and several more bundles of unopened flowers curled beside it. Her hand brushes along the stem, and the daisy jumps, the petals abruptly unfurling like a small sun.

“Awh, Dad…”

*

The Bounty Hunter’s camp is the same as the last time Greye saw it. There’s a few more residents, of course, but he had quickly learned that to be the nature of such a camp. Bounty hunters moved around a lot. A lot of them didn’t come back, either, though he was fortunate enough that all his friends were still here. He smiles at them now, waving enthusiastically yet never stopping long enough to chat.

He has some place to be. There’s a flower in his hand.

It’s a delicate daisy, thin and frail. Its petals are barely unfurled from its bud, the roots not yet taken into the pot. Greye is mindful not to move too fast for fear of scaring the plant. It has a lovely home waiting for it, with someone small and brave and deserving. She’d probably even name it…

The tower stretches high into the sky before him, a stone testimony. He flashes a smile at the Reploid who guards it.

“Eh? You look chipper today, kid…” The guard says, baffled.

“Do you know if Emi is still home, Elliot? I really need to see her,” Greye asks imploringly. He ignores the comment.

“She’s upstairs, with Clyde,” Elliot supplies. “Go get her.”

*

“A, you gotta A-Trans with me before we see her,” Greye hisses.

Wh-why?! I thought you didn’t like doing that in camp!

“Emi likes it. She said I looked cool!”

Well, it’s nice to be appreciated…. By some people!

*

Clyde is leaned against the wall, Emi in his ginormous lap, a book held between his hands. The cover is tattered and faded, yet the words still seem to be fresh, as the big Reploid reads them theatrically to the child. His rattles and booms conceal Greye’s approach, though the little daisy seems to recoil in on itself at the sound. He teases the petals reassuringly.

“Er, Clyde,” he says gently. Now that he’s here, he feels slightly awkward in full battle regalia.

(It looks cool, he reminds himself. Got to do it.)

“Clyde,” he says again. The big man finally pauses mid-word, arms haphazardly dropping back to his sides, Emi giggling in the abrupt silence--

“Ah! Greye! I wasn’t expecting you here! What’s that in your hands?” Clyde booms. The book closes with a snap and his expression is confused, searching out the silvers and oranges of Greye’s armor.

“It’s a gift, er… Emi, I found this for you,” he admits. He drops to one knee, proffering the flower pot.

The moment hangs in limbo.

Emi’s eyes sparkle, honey-gold in a shaft of sunlight, her cheeks rosy with excitement. Her hands are held together against her chest, quivering, hesitating, as if the flower might wilt and shatter if she were to reach out and touch it. She reminds Greye of the daisy, and he wishes her to grow as strong as the daisy.

“It’s okay. You can hold it, it’s in the pot,” he urges quietly.

Emi finally reaches the pot, accepting it gingerly from Greye’s gloved hands.

“It’s real?” she asks in awe.

“It’s real,” Greye promises.

*

[marchmaiden]

Quel che sarà sarà pt 3

Y/N POV

We all sat around the table enjoying eachothers company and catching up on what we had missed. I called Antonio for another round of champagne, before taking one last sip of my now empty glass. I felt Ashton’s hand squeeze mine under the table, our fingers connecting like magnets the second he sat down beside me. I felt his eyes on me, so I looked up and saw his beautiful hazel hues staring into mine. I could never get tired of the way he looked at me, and I probably never will.

“Y/N?” Sierra asked, my eyes breaking our connection to look over at her. “Now I don’t speak Italian,” Essy started, “but I could’ve sworn I heard your grandma talking about some sort of gala?” She inquired. Y/N laughed and gave a slight nod of her head. “Yes, SiSi you did. Every year on the Summer Solstice, my grandparents host a massive gala in honor of the il giorno in cui la stella cadde, or the day the star fell,” I told them “What’s that?” Crystal asked.

“It has to do with an old Italian legend. It’s been said that hundreds of years ago, when the Medici family ruled Florence, a star was struck from the sky and landed on the outskirts of the city. The head of the Medici family and several members of the Catholic Church sought out to investigate the star, and instead of finding a dying ball of fire or massive crater, they found a girl with skin as bright as silver and golden hair that burned at the touch laying in a pile of ash. The Master of the Medici house insisted that they bring the star into the city and nurse her back to health. For weeks doctors and priests came in and out of Florence, healing and praying for the star to recover, and eventually she did. Grateful for the kindness and love she was shown, she blessed the city with the gift of eternal prosperity, meaning that our crops will never die, our water will never dry and our spirits will forever remain full. So, on the solstice each summer, the wealthiest family in each region hosts a gala for the rich and the poor, where we dance under the stars and give thanks to her graciousness,” I explained.

Everyone was staring in awe, mesmerized by the story. “What does that have to do with us?” Ashton asked. “It just so happens that the solstice falls three days before we leave. My grandparents have insisted that you all join us for the gala,” I said excitedly. Everyone started cheering loudly, excited for the chance to experience more of the Lake.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Three days later, after getting them accustomed to the house and how things ran, (and establishing that NO ONE was allowed in the liquor cabinet to a certain Kiwi head) I decided to break out my nonno’s vintage cruisers and take them all for a trip to the lake town. “Hurry up guys, the cars are here!” I shouted from the top of the stairwell.

All of the girl's were down stairs in the foyer waiting, while the boys were taking forever to get ready. The doors to Michael and Mitchy’s rooms were quickly swung open, followed by all the boys filing into the hall. “Jesus,” I said, “This ain’t fashion week guys, no need to take an hour getting ready,” I said teasingly. “Ha ha very funny Y/N, at least we take pride in our appearance,” Luke fired back jokingly.

I rolled my eyes and lead them down the stairs. As soon the girl’s came into view in the foyer, Michael jumped onto Crystal, making her fall back into the couch. We all laughed as Crystal just rolled her eyes and kissed his head. “Jeez Mikey, it’s only been an hour since I’ve seen you, why so clingy?” She mocked him. “Well if SOMEONE would have put us in the same room, I wouldn’t be so clingy, I just want to cherish every moment with ya sweets,” Michael said dramatically.

I rolled my eyes again, “Michael, I already told you, I’m not letting the two of you sleep in the same room, the last thing I need is an explanation to the maids as to why the beds would be borderline broken after a night between you two,” I said, making the guys howl with laughter. Crystal was as red as a tomato and Michael just smirked with pride.

“Well I wonder what would happen if we put you and Ashton in a room then?” He taunted. Ashton and I went quiet, but still managed to give small smiles. We filed out of the doorway and onto the courtyard where four vintage Alfa Romeos sat sparkling in the morning sun. The boys stood, eyes wide at the magnificent sports cars. “HOLY SHIT” Calum just about squealed. “We get to drive these?!”

“You?!” I said, baffled, “Hell no, first of all, the only one of us with a European driver’s license is me, and second off all, I don’t trust any of you, except for Kayla maybe, to drive these,” I explained. Calum pouted but nodded his head in understanding. “Alright listen up, the cars can seat up to five people including the driver so pick your cars and buckle up, the drivers are ready as soon as I am. I’ll be leading the way,” I told them.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

By the time we reached town it was only 11 in the morning, so we had a full day of exploring ahead of us. “Alright guys, welcome to Como!” I said excitedly, “The town isn’t very big, but it has tons of markets. The clothing district it to the left, food the right, the lake recreations are down the hill and music and arts are straight ahead. The drivers who took us here, are also your guides, so if you have questions ask them! We will all meet back here at 2 for lunch, have fun! Everyone split up into groups and headed off, until it was just Ashton and I left alone under the welcome sign. Well, I thought to myself, this is gonna be fun.

[aghiadghazal]

Genghis Khan

Around this time, two years ago I started a project in collaboration with the university of Luxembourg where I had to stay down there for about a month. I remember renting a small room at the university’s dorm since it was right next to the university which was almost 20 km outside Luxembourg city. I was picked up at the airport by my project responsible and driven to my new temporary home. The room was empty except for a bed, pan and a pot which reminded me a lot of the first time I moved into a dormitory room for my bachelor’s degree almost 10 years prior. The room had a nice view, with a train station and rails in the distance, separating Luxembourg from France.

You see, one month is a tricky period of time to stay in another country, it is not so short that you can just stay at a hotel and eat at restaurants and stuff your laundry in your suitcase until you get back home, and it’s not long enough to settle down and buy cutlery and a coffee machine therefore I had to find a balance and make do with the basics. Besides being excited about the project which I was about to start, I was also excited about being only 230 km away from Frankfurt where a very close friend of mine lives. Not knowing anyone in Luxembourg meant that I was probably going to spend every weekend either hosting my friend or visiting him in Frankfurt which was exactly what transpired. Apparently there was no major highway from Frankfurt to Luxembourg and the 230 km took my friend over 4 hours to drive (which costed me many swear words by my friend). As the first weekend of my stay approached, I called my friend and convinced him to drive to Luxembourg and the conversation went something like this:

Aghiad: Hey man, have you ever been in Luxembourg? friend: No Aghiad: Yeah well maybe you should come by friend: you know what? My boss said he had a business lunch in Luxembourg once and he said it was nice, so .. yeah, ok, I will come (that summed up my friend’s knowledge of Luxembourg) Aghiad: alright cool, buy some nice whiskey on your way friend: alright, I also have a nice a bottle of champagne which I will bring .. I get off work at 7 pm, I will drive straight from work .. see you at 11 pm.

As planned, he was downstairs from my building a little past 11 pm, complaining a bit about the windy road and the lack of a proper ‘autobahn’ connecting Frankfurt to Luxembourg. Excited about seeing him, we climb upstairs to the 5th floor where I was staying, he looks around and says “Aghiad where the hell will I sleep?” I said we will figure something out (we didn’t, we tried to get a room at a nearby hotel at 5 am and we couldn’t so he ended up sleeping on the floor)

As usual, being diehard George Wassouf fans, we started listening to a mixture of George’s music and some Um Kalthoum sung by George, watch some of the concerts on Youtube, rewatch the ‘amazing’ parts, repeat the ‘solo’ parts, repeat the parts where the band couldn’t keep up with George, etc.., having the door to the balcony open with autumn night breezes blowing gently in the room. I look at my friend and say, when the hell are we going to attend a George Wassouf concert together? He loses the usual smirk on his face, and says “are you serious? there is one in two weeks in Paris .. for the love of God let’s just buy tickets now, if you don’t go this year, you may never get the chance to see him live since his health is deteriorating fast, etc..“ and sat by the laptop looking up tickets! We called another diehard fan friend of ours (who lives in Dubai by the way):

Aghiad: Hi Sultan, there is a Wassouf concert in Paris in two weeks, would you be up for it?

Sultan: Sure, count me inI Was amazed how quickly he said yes without hesitation or even checking his calendar or ‘thinking about it’ like I’d always do (him=cool .. me= not so much). My friend volunteered to take care of buying the tickets, and he bought us amazing seats (second row) and it still baffles me how he managed to buy second row tickets on such short notice for a Wassouf concert in Paris.For you who don’t know who George Wassouf is, simply put, he is the Michael Jackson of the Arab world. He started singing at the age of 9, loved by millions with a very loyal fanbase, sever cocaine addiction, few strokes, your perfect rock star (except it’s Arabic Tarab music he sings). 

Tarab music is a form of Arabic music, traditional, old school, lengthy songs, it is basically what Arabs listened to since Ziryab’s time in Andalusia in year 800 AD and remained popular up until the 70’s of last century before the rise of ‘short pop songs’. You see, Tarab music is among the few things I could never explain to my non-Arab friends. Sheila puts it this way: (I guess unless you grew up with it, it’s impossible to fully embrace the beauty of it .. I can understand how amazing Um Kalthoum’s voice is, but I can’t fully grasp the magic of it)The concert was hosted by the prestigious Folies Bergères. A music hall from the 1869 in the heart of Paris. Beautiful fancy hall with rich history and heritage.

Baffled by how many people flew from all over the world to attend the concert, everyone excited about seeing the Sultan (George’s nickname is the Sultan of Tarab, not to be confused with my friend, Sultan) We sit in the second row, amazed by how close we are to the stage, not believing that we were about to see the Sultan in person since I have never had the chance to attend any of his concerts before. The warm-up singer was horrible though, we couldn’t wait until the first half an hour of the show was over.Then the curtains came down, and the lights dimmed, waiting for the Sultan to come on stage, but all of a sudden, one of his many bodyguards approached us in the second row, motioned with his index finger and said to me softly ‘the Sultan would like to talk to you’. The blood froze in my veins, and I stood there not knowing what to do, the Sultan wants to talk to me??! Why me??! This is the moment every person dreams of, meeting their favourite artist in person.Then in a split second I started wondering, what would I say to the Sultan that would leave a mark and make him remember me? or find me interesting? Imagine meeting your favourite artist tomorrow, and having 10 minutes with him/her. What would you talk about? Surely you will express how much you love his/her music and how they were the centrepiece of your childhood and how you grew up to their music bla bla bla … it’s nothing they haven’t heard from millions of fans before you. 

Of course we always want to make an impression and leave a memorable moment on our favourite artist, hell , you’d love to become ‘best friends forever’ with your favourite artist so the question is, what would you say to them in those 5-10 minutes that would make that a reality? Are you interesting enough to catch their attention? This also reminds me of being asked, if I were to meet anyone in the world, including historical figures, who would I want to meet? Einstein, Newton, Niels Bohr, Muhammad, Jesus, Elvis, Hitler, Genghis Khan, etc… (assuming no language barrier) but imagine actually meeting these people, what would you say to them and what kind of conversation would you have with them? Would you be even interesting enough for them to have a conversation with you? which also led me to think about the dating world. 

I remember having guy friends telling me “Ahhh Aghiad, other than being beautiful, I would like to meet an interesting, intellectual girl, full of knowledge and things to talk about” but somehow we never ask ourselves, are we interesting enough to catch the attention of an interesting, intellectual girl? I remember reading a book on dating during my single days few years back. It was called ‘The Game’ I am sure many of you are familiar with the book. The book became a huge success and caused lots of controversy because it reduced women to simple equations, once mastered, the book promised that men would be scoring ladies by the dozen. The goal of the book was to help guys understand what makes women tick and how to catch their attention. But the core idea of the book was basically how to fake being interesting! ‘proven’ lines and strategies to basically look smarter and more interesting than you actually were, since the goal of the book was to get men laid (short-term affection) rather than build real long relationships (where women would actually discover what a bore you are). It amazed me that the book didn’t encourage men to genuinely and sincerely be more curious, knowledgable and interesting (ok, in all fairness it did promote working out and looking trimmed).To come back to the concert, everything I said was true, until the part where the bodyguard approached me, of course I wasn’t asked by the bodyguard to come talk to the Sultan, it was simply my vivid imagination thinking ‘what if’. We just waited until the Sultan came on stage, barely able to walk, sang for an hour then disappeared behind the curtains, only leaving me with the paralysing question … am I an interesting person? End.

Sept. 8th 2019

[thatgirlthosemoments]

Why Do I Always Observe Lent?

I’m pretty sure my decision to practice Lent started during elementary school. I had a fair few friends who were Catholic and I was super into the idea of “giving something up” even if I didn’t associate it with Jesus/Easter/etc. I’m ALSO pretty sure it completely baffled my Baptist parents—to the point of anger or at least annoyance. I do remember them telling me that we didn’t “do” that, but it didn’t stop me. I’ve always rocked a fairly significant amount of what can only be described as Catholic guilt…even though I’ve never been a practicing Catholic. The family was Catholic until my Gramps BROKE AWAY so that he could marry my Grams—super-scandalous. They ended up getting married in her parents’ living room, which is so ridiculously amazing that it deserves its own piece. Anywho, maybe you can inherit the feelings even without the upbringing. Also, I (somehow) made friends with mostly recovering Catholic school girls when I started high school. I can’t even remember whether any of them still gave up anything for Lent by that point in their post-Catholic school lives, but I know I did almost every year. Something about having a specific timespan during which I denied myself something really appealed (and appeals) to me. I’ve given up everything from Diet Coke, to all booze (rough on the social life of a Midwestern 28 year old), to “bread and wine” (yeah, that one was…ambitious), and various forms of sweets. The sister has joined in several times over the years. I’m guessing she has the same slight memory block as to why we do so, but we do. Now, I’ve been on this healthy lifestyle adventure for almost a year now, so, there just aren’t all that many bad habits I still have that would fit in the Lenten box. I was thinking Diet Coke, but I made a choice to give that up (maybe for good) a few weeks ago just for my own sake. I’ve also significantly cut my alcohol intake—PLUS the sister finally convinced me to join a dating website (like, a real one), so, if I’m supposed to be going out in public with STRANGERS, you bet your ass alcohol will be involved. So. STARBUCKS. This year we have decided to give up Starbucks. Honestly, I don’t go *that* often any longer. Definitely once a week with the occasional double-dip week here and there. HOWEVER. Starbucks equals COMFORT to me. Like. It’s a treat, it’s a congrats, it’s a stress-reliever, it’s ALL SORTS OF THINGS. So. KNOWING that I CANNOT GO will be a challenge. We decided that we are still allowed to go to other coffee shops—there aren’t that many on the Indy North side that are super accessible to us on a daily basis. We also decided that we are still allowed to frequent the Barnes and Noble café even though they serve Starbucks coffee. The thought process is that they don’t accept our SB app AND while we go to the store itself at least once a week, we go to the café much less frequently. I think this will be a bit of a trial, however, I think it will ALSO be a great step into truly re-training myself with the idea that buying a coffee is a TREAT and not just a fact. Don’t forget that Fat Tuesday (tomorrow Tuesday!) starts with PANCAKES and that Ash Wednesday starts the LENT(en fast). If this a thing you do—awesome. I’d love to hear what your thought process is and what you may or may not give up this year. If not—please feel free to mock…or, like, give a professional opinion on why my brain thinks I should do this every year. PS I gave up meat for Lent last year (I’m pescatarian) and it’s still going strong. I’ve even considered going full on vegetarian, but I’m slightly worried about cutting out one of my only protein sources. We shall see!

[joellenat]

Why can't Christians date non-Christians? It's a question that is regularly asked, but not always accurately answered. It confuses, perplexes, and even angers both Christians and non-Christians alike. It sounds elitist, holier-than-thou, and downright condescending. But trust me, it's not meant to be. I'm 28 this year, I'm single, and one of the most common things I hear from my friends goes something along the lines of: "Why so picky? Really must be Christian? If your standard not so high I would introduce you to my friend(s) already la." And while I wholly believe in their well-meant intentions, I think it’s about time someone explained the reason behind this "pickiness", lest it be classified as another irrational, snobbish Christian standard to live by. A long time ago, I went out with someone who, besides not being a Christian, was more or less perfect for me. Perfect in the sense that he was almost exactly like me, we liked the same things, had the same tastes, he knew what kind of stuff I would like, we even supported the same football team… perfect. All except for the fact that he wasn't a Christian. It didn't matter to me at first, but I think all along at the back of my mind, I knew it would be an issue someday. And sure enough, after awhile, I decided I couldn't go on with it anymore, because it was "wrong". And so I broke up with the perfect guy all because he wasn't a Christian. Everyone (including myself, sometimes) thought I was nuts and couldn't for the life of them understand it. I'm not sure he did either, and for that I am the most sorry. But decisions like this do baffle, and so they should and must be clearly explained. While I do want non-Christians to understand this, I am much more concerned about us Christians. Because from the relationships and attitudes I am seeing around me (and sometimes even in myself), we sometimes forget the ‘why’ and get confused trying to do the what. I think the biggest example of this, and I'm not going to sugarcoat it here, is Christians who extend "dating a Christian" to "dating someone whom I will bring to church", "dating someone who is open to Christianity", or "dating someone who calls himself a Christian but hasn't really been to church in a few years". I could go on, but you see my point. To do something like that is to miss the point of wanting to date a Christian in the first place. It's taking God's wisdom and stretching it so we find a loophole. So yes, back to the reasons why Christians shouldn't date non-Christians. There are probably more, but here are four simple ones. You believe in completely, absolutely different things Any committed Christian will know that Christianity is not just a nice little side project that surfaces on Sundays and on Christmas - it involves and demands a total change in worldview, nature, lifestyle, decisions and priorities. It's not an "agree to disagree" kind of difference - like whether Manchester United or Liverpool is better (is there really an argument anyway?), its played out in how you spend your time, money, what you teach your future children, how you deal with hardship... I could go on. Some of these you may or may not have to deal with before marriage, but they will certainly apply after. "Do not be unequally yoked with unbelievers. For what partnership has righteousness with lawlessness? Or what fellowship has light with darkness?" - 2 Corinthians 6:14 Marrying a non-Christian means a lifetime of split loyalties, and a severe endangerment of your relationship with God. One way or another, one relationship (or even both) will have to be compromised. It is never "just dating" I should also clarify at this point that by "dating", I do not mean a casual, just-for-fun romance with no likely future - I mean a relationship entered into with the intention to find out if you are suitable for marriage. "What?!" You say. "I ain't ready for that!" Well then, perhaps you are not ready for dating. Casual dating is usually self-centered and self-serving: it's fun, it makes me happy, who cares what happens in the future? If we know for sure we will never marry said person, then being in a relationship with them is unfair to them as well. As Christians, the most important question we should ask is "Does this make me more like Jesus?" Casual dating, especially with non-Christians, almost certainly does not. Something else just became more important than God I can almost hear the argument being formed right now, that, basically, there is nowhere in the Bible that says it's a sin to date a non-Christian. In fact, the Bible doesn't even talk about dating: so how can we say what God's view is for sure? Even if we gloss over passages like 2 Corinthians 6:14 above which tell us not to "be unequally yoked", common sense and godly wisdom tell us that a close relationship (and if we are dating, it's probably one of the closest relationships we have) with a non-Christian cannot be wise, let alone helpful. If the goal is to be more like Christ, then we are intentionally and knowingly making it harder. "If then you have been raised with Christ... Set your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth. For you have died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God... Put to death therefore what is earthly in you: sexual immorality, impurity, passion, evil desire, and covetousness, which is idolatry." – Colossians 3:1-5 When we are willing to jeopardize our relationship with God for anything else - could be career, money, pleasure - then that becomes our idol, no matter how "good" it is in itself. Even a Christian relationship can become an idol if it takes precedence over God. So, even if not explicitly stated as a sin, the fact that we are willing to endanger our faith to cling on to this other person shows our heart's true desires. The joy of having a Christian partner And finally, we have to consider not just the possible pitfalls of dating (and marrying) a non-Christian, but the considerable benefits of dating a mature, growing Christian. "Dating a fellow Christian" is not just fulfilling a ticked box on the checklist of Christian dating, it's having the pleasure of being able to lead or be led by someone you can trust will have God's (and your) best interests at heart, someone who will care for and even nurture your spiritual growth, who will encourage you through Scripture during hard times, who will love you because Christ first loved him/her, who will be someone your kids can model and follow spiritually, and whose true home, like yours, is heaven. "Charm is deceitful, and beauty is vain, but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised." – Proverbs 31:30 "Husbands, love your wives, as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her, that he might sanctify her... so that he might present the church to himself in splendor... that she might be holy and without blemish. In the same way husbands should love their wives as their own bodies. He who loves his wife loves himself." - Ephesians 5:25-28 It's not always natural or easy to look for and desire these things in a relationship when other things like looks, personality and so on have such a magnetic pull - but I'm convinced that these are the most important things to have for the long term. Don't get me wrong, it's not that good chemistry and attraction are not important - they are just not as important as we think. That is not to say that a Christian marriage is short of its share of troubles. No marriage or relationship, Christian or otherwise, is perfect. But that is precisely why we need a spouse that will see and address these imperfections through the light of Christ's perfect love for us. So it is not merely a matter of going to different places on a Sunday morning - it's a matter of ending up in different places for eternity. As a Christian, are you convinced that your salvation and relationship with God is more important than your relationship with anyone else? Are you certain that heaven and hell exist? Do you believe that obedience to God's word sometimes involves things we don't want to do, or don't even understand? Because there is no sitting on the fence - if your answer is yes, then you cannot continue knowingly disobeying God. And, rather more worryingly, if your answer is no, then you might have to ask yourself what you truly believe in. I just want to say that this issue is just one of the many sins that we fall prey to, and that you are not more sinful or a worse Christian just because you are going through this. The Christian life is a constant struggle with sin - and the most alarming part is not when we sin, but when we stop struggling with it altogether, and even try to tell ourselves that it's okay. It wasn't easy for me to write and post this - it actually took me more than a year since drafting it to actually get it out there; because I felt I couldn't do it until I really could come to terms with it. And even as I write this, I still have half a mind to leave it lounging in the 'Drafts' section. It is that hard, and it is that close to my heart. If you are struggling with or facing this issue, I pray you will find the courage to obey God, and the faith to trust that this obedience will not leave you short-changed. Trust me, its something I battle with every single day.

By Cheryl Lee 8 Mar, 2016

[obsessed-withthe-hales]

(1/?)So, i have a really weird thing (topic?)I wanted to ask you about. It's kind of cringey and I understand if you don't answer this. I am a shy, social anxiety-filled fifteen year old that, much like yourself, is obsessed with the Hales, Teen Wolf, and a lot of other fictional t.v. shows/books. I'm also very overweight (trying to work on that though but lmao it's a process), and I'm also Christian. Honestly Idk why I am writing you with this but I've followed you for nearly a year now

(2/?) and I went anon because this is kinda aweird thing to bring up, but anyway, on with the point: my best friend, whoI've known for ten years now, has a boyfriend. They've been dating for roughlya year, and they've been having sex. She just turned 16 in December. I wasreally shocked when I found out. I knew that they had sex at least once a whilebefore this, but she told me that it went badly and that she changed her mindhalfway through it and that she felt like she was being forced (3/?) into it and all this other stuff but shestayed with him anyway. Anyway, Friday she told me they've been having sex fora while now actually and of course I always questioned why she was still withhim after that first time because why the heck would you want to stay withsomeone if you feel like they forced you into sex but it's not my life so whatever,at least they're using protection. Okay, further on to the point. There are alot of girls in my grade having sex. I took a vow of (4/?) abstinence a while ago because even though it seems to begetting harder and harder these days to wait until marriage, I saw a meme withJesus in it and a guy and a gal, they both had talk bubbles saying "Iconsent!" but Jesus had one that said "I don't!" And I guessthat got to me because the next thing I know I'm promising Jesus to wait untilmarriage (I'm being serious. I'm not trolling you right now. I'd find the memeand send it if you could do that on this) and I don't judge other (5/?) people if they choose to do different for the same reasonI don't judge people who've had abortions or people who participate inrecreational marijuana use: it's not my body so I'm not going to act like Ishould have an opinion over it. I've also never had a real relationship. Likeyeah, I had those stupid middle school relationships of convenience that lastfor like a week or a month and you where you kiss on the lips every once in awhile and yada yada yada, but never one where you go on (6/?) dates and change your Facebook status and actually developfeelings for the other person and I used to think it was because I'm fat, butI've realized that being fat does not make me ugly, so I started thinking it'sbecause I'm shy and started pushing myself to be more open and that stilldidn't work so finally I complained to my best friend (who I mentioned earlier)and she says it's because people know I don't "put out" and that it'salso because I'm smart and sometimes being pretty and (7/?) smart can be intimidating to people so, in her words,that's why I'm single. Even if it is why it still kind-- scratch that, REALLY,gets to me. And I know a lot of high school relationships don't last and thatthe real stuff doesn't happen until college but I've been feeling really lonelyfor a while now and I'm tired of no boys (or girls) ever taking an interest inme. I'm not saying I'd be the perfect partner in a relationship, but I know I'dtreat the other person with respect and give (8?/) what I have (minus my virginity unless they want to goahead and put a ring on it because I love Jesus), so why the heck is it thesetrampy girls who only care about updating their next Facebook status (I don'thave Facebook, I deleted it a couple months ago) always have boyfriends andgirlfriends and I'm over here spending my Saturday nights reading Teen Wolf fanfiction about fictional characters in amazing relationships and having to hearsecond hand about how amazing it is to (9/?) be in a relationship. And I'm not trying to sound like oneof those boy crazed teenagers whose lives revolve around being in arelationship because I know I can live without being in one. I know it's notthe end of the world if I never find a guy or gal or just don't until later inlife. Life goes on. The world keeps spinning. I just keep hearing about sex andboys and relationships from all these other girls and it makes me jealous andfrustrated and even more lonely all at the same time. (10/10) I am so sorry to flood your ask with my teenage angst haha.I didn't mean for it to turn into a rant and end up being this long. I guesswhat I'm trying to say is, from one Christian gal to another, can you relate?From what I gather you're only older than me by like four or five years so youmust remember what it was like to be fifteen and surrounded by girls like theones I've described. Any advice would be much appreciated but I understand ifyou don't respond. God bless xox

Wow, what a question haha! In all seriousness, I do hope that what I’m about to write can actually offer you some sort of comfort or reassurance or something along those lines. I’m about to pour my heart out, so be prepared!

First, a bit on the sex thing. WHY ARE PEOPLE HAVING SEX SO YOUNG I DON’T UNDERSTAND???? Like, how do you even know what everything is and where it goes and how it works and just.....what?!?! I have NEVER understood that! It completely baffles me. Especially after having sex! 

I was 17 when I lost my virginity and (due to many complicated things that have happened since) I wish that it hadn’t happened, but I’m also grateful it did because I learned a lot and my life has taken a path I never quite imagined that it wouldn’t have otherwise. But God has really put abstinence on my heart in the last year and I have dedicated my life to that now.

So please, DO NOT DO ANYTHING YOU DON’T WANT TO DO. You CAN say no! And if you feel called to a path of abstinence, then you follow that path, darling! I think is wonderful and amazing and it really makes me so happy to hear. 

However, I know how hard it is when everybody else around you seems to be having sex. Sexual temptation is hard, so hard to deal with. But God won’t give us anything we can’t handle! 

Now...

I can honestly relate to so much of what you are saying on such a deep level that it is a little scary. Throughout school I struggled with my weight and my looks and I’ve always been socially awkward and kind of the ‘weird girl’. I’ve also always been rather smart, the top of my class, always got great grades and cared about my work, blah blah blah. Guys didn’t notice me, and the few that did weren’t ones that I necessarily reciprocated feelings for. 

So, I know exactly how lonely, difficult and disappointing that existence can be. Especially when you see all your friends or just others around you getting hit on or dating people or in what seem to be amazing relationships. 

But then came Ethan. 

He and I were together for three years. That relationship was toxic right out of the gate. We were so off and on it was ridiculous. He used me for sexual things. He practically cheated on me, multiple times. And yet he’d tell me how much he loved me and cared about me and couldn’t be without me in his life. And I just took it. All of it. 

Until one day I said, ‘I’m a human being and I deserve to be treated with respect and love’. To keep from boring you with all the gory details, I ended up breaking up with him several months after. And a lot of that breakup had to do with the fact that he was a major temptation in my life and God was telling me basically ‘hey, time to stop doing sexual things and start saving yourself for marriage!’ 

So trust me, relationships aren’t all they seem to be cracked up to be.

And now here I am, trying my best to be a single Christian girl in a world that seems to go very much against all of that (being single and a Christian). And it is tough. So very tough.

I am lonely. Hell, I was in a relationship for 3 years! I’m not used to this whole single thing lol so I completely understand. And all of a sudden it’s like nobody notices me again. I’m back to being that invisible girl, too shy to speak up and when she does it doesn’t seem to get her anywhere. Somewhere between pretty and not pretty enough, always stuck in the in-between of everything. Smart, but not quite smart enough. Skinny, but not quite skinny enough. Blah blah blah.

And it is SO frustrating to see all these people that look superficial or shallow or whatever getting all this attention when you know that you have so much to give. I feel that way all the time! 

So I completely, 100% understand. I do! 

But the most important thing to remember is that God loves you. He will always love you. You will always be His child, His beloved, made in His image and beautiful just the way you are. 

I know it’s hard. It’s so hard. But let the Lord guide you, and I promise He will never steer you wrong! 

You’re right, not having a partner right now isn’t the end of the world. But it does suck sometimes. And when those feelings settle in, turn to God for comfort and guidance. Let Him fill up that part that seems to be lacking. Because He’ll do it better than anybody ever could.

Honestly, honey, the best advice I can give is to just keep your chin up. Hold your head high, know your own worth, and don’t compromise it for anything. I know it sucks, I know it’s hard, I know it’s lonely. But one day, one day it’ll pay off. Trust in the Lord, He will provide! He will never give you anything more than you can handle. And He will always love you.

I hope this helped at least a little bit! Please feel free to message me privately if you feel comfortable or send in another anonymous message :) I will always be here to talk and try my best to offer advice and love!!!

[petrapinesap-blog]

Why Do Trump Supporters Refuse to Repent?

I have been on a quest to find out why Trump supporters act the way they do. Why are they like that? I have sought the answer everywhere. I ask everyone that question. Still, it baffles me. WHY do they reject the truth and cling to ridiculous lies? Often, we think that if we just tell them the truth they will see it and be enlightened. All it will take is for someone to educate them. But sadly, all of us who have tried to do this have found that it does NOT work with the hardcore Trump supporter. Though, I still think we should keep posting the truth, because you never know who might read it and actually learn something or at least have a seed planted. And I want to be known as someone who DID try to speak the truth. One day, that will mean something. Now, however, it seems that we are being attacked just for speaking the truth.

I feel like one of those people who go on a Spiritual quest to seek the guru on the mountaintop. Why? Why? Why? I ask it of everyone. One theory that seems plausible is that these hardcore supporters are far down on Maslow's heirarchy of Needs, (remember that from Psychology and Sociology class?) 

But yesterday, I felt like bashing my head against the wall over comments I read. WHY WHY WHY kept echoing through my mind. An answer came to my mind. I am sure it wasn't through my own wisdom, but because of so much prayer on the subject that God allowed me to see something.

Trump Supporters believe in lies and misconceptions not because they don't KNOW the truth but because they don't WANT to know the truth. They are willingly accepting lies instead of facts because this is what they choose to believe. They do hear the truth, they just choose to NOT hear it. When we patiently go over and over the errors of their ways they spout nonsense conspiracy theories to us. They insult us and poke fun at libruls and demoncrats over and over. And then congratulate themselves over their witty barbs. They are so busy sticking their fingers in their ears and going "nanananana" that they CAN'T hear the truth. All of this posturing and hate is just a wall so that they don't have to listen to the truth. If they calmed down and acted like normal people then they would have no defenses and the truth would hit them in the face and likely knock them down. And they can't have that.

And why don't these people want to hear the truth? The Bible says the Truth will set you free. So why do they not want to know it? Because they don't want to be set free!!!! They are choosing to believe lies because they WANT to believe lies. They are in bondage in one way or another. I have come to believe that a great many vehement Trump supporters, especially white males of the baby boomer generation are severely damaged people who carry undiagnosed hurts around with them. They have learned to push away any type of introspection and self analysis. They willingly believe the craziest conspiracy theories rather than listen to the truth.

I believe that many of these people had abusive parents by today's standards, their fathers in particular. I am basing my opinions on things I’ve read and by recalling comments made by some of them.   Fathers in those years were often less involved in child rearing and when they became involved it was to punish. The generation that reveres Trump the most seems to be the Baby Boomer generation, the babies born after men came home from war. Many of those new fathers were suffering from PTSD but nobody even called it that then, much less paid attention to it. Many of them just didn't have the emotional capability of being a loving father in the way that their children needed. Most remember their fathers just never talking about their war years. That was the way they handled the horrors of it by sealing it away and never talking about it. Today we know that this is harmful but back then, this was the only way to handle things. The baby boomer children grew up believing that this was the way to deal with difficult emotions. Just shove them aside and never think about them.

Another problem with the Baby Boomer's fathers was that many of this generation tended to be authoritarian. Very authoritarian. Some, even to the point of cruelty. I recall a pastor of mine talking about the harsh discipline of his father. But rather than denounce it, he praised it and talked about how fathers these days were too soft. But the harsh discipline of his father colored this pastor's entire perception of God, and so influenced every word that came from his pulpit. But he himself was unable to see that damage had been inflicted upon him when he was a small child, damage that was still with him and would always be with him because he would not examine such feelings and chose instead to shut them away. Instead he adopted the same beliefs as his abusive father and became just like him, though less harsh since society began to frown upon such extreme discipline. But the underlying attitudes were still there and he continued to inflict them from the pulpit and upon his own children.

I've heard baby boomers talk about how they weren't allowed to get away with acting the way the younger generation acts now. And they say it proudly. They believe this because they cannot step back to question some of the discipline they received. They must continue to hold onto their perception of themselves and of the world. They have become their abusers and so cannot question. They choose to push away the truth and will not look at it because it threatens them. Making fun of snowflakes and libtards is necessary to them to keep them from hearing their own hurt inner child who is still crying. They must drown out those cries because they don't want to think about them. I imagine that a child raised by an authoritarian father who disciplined harshly was told not to cry, to suck it up, to not feel his pain, not to express it in anyway. They learned that it would only result in harsher discipline. So these people learned to suppress it. Anytime something reminds their subconscious selves of this, they must attack and get rid of it and make it shut up.

Another thing Trump supporters do is to hate and make fun of people who need help. Because of their long ago damage they cannot stand any type of weakness in themselves. It was beat out of them, so to speak. They were taught to hate weakness and so despise it in others and blame others for their problems. This is the generation that was taught to pull themselves up by their bootstraps. They didn't get compassion and so they do not believe any one else deserves it either. It is much easier for them to blame these people and believe they don’t deserve help. In this way, they join in with their abusers and become like them. This is how they coped with such damage at an early age: they became bullies. To show any sort of compassion to people they view as "lesser" would cause them to have to let go of their belief system. They would much rather hold on to hateful feelings directed towards other people than have to be confronted with their own feelings.  They do not want to see the “lesser” as people because that would take away their status as being “greater”. 

And so what about these people's mothers? I am thinking about the 1950's stereotypical mother wearing pearls while vacuuming the carpet. She always had dinner cooked and her home was always clean when her husband came home. Keeping a clean house was probably one of the most important virtues she could demonstrate.  Well behaved, clean children was another expectation.  Anything that would reflect badly on her must be covered up and hidden from the world.  She communicated to her children that the father always came first. The children lived their lives believing in pleasing the father, the man of the house. He was special, to be revered whether he was worthy or not. And these mothers also may have felt trapped or thwarted because they were not able to have a career or life of their own outside of their role as mothers and wives. This resentment could have been subtly communicated to their children as well.  

I also consider that the Baby Boomers were a prosperous generation. Parents had a tendency to spoil their children with material possessions and there was a lot of emphasis on keeping up with the neighbors. What you had was very important. Also important were the social norms of the day. There were so many more rules and socially enforced norms than in today's society. Appearances and looking good were values that were taught and the children learned this was much more important than actually BEING good people and internalizing Christian values. Being successful and looking successful was the goal of life. To hear the truth now, that first will be last and last will be first, and that God wants us to not be concerned with ourselves but with others, is something none of these people want to hear. So any little thing that would put a question mark into any of these values that they established is not welcomed and they must put up defenses against hearing truth. They don't want to know that the values they were taught are not Christian values at all.

And another thing. People of this generation were taught from early on that Love of Country was right up there next to Love of God. They pledged to the flag and then prayed to God all in the same time frame (before prayer was taken out of schools.) Children raised in the time period after Madalyn Murray O'Hair didn't learn to equate the two in school as did children growing up in the 50′s and early 60′s.  So in my opinion prayer in schools wasn't a good thing! The Christianity that these people learned was infiltrated with love of country and being American. Prosperous, strong, the best.  They grew up with a distorted and glorified view of America and believed God favored America.  

In fact, Jesus said that a person cannot follow after him unless he hates his father and mother. Jesus didn't mean to literally hate fathers and mothers, what he meant was that a person's heritage must come second. If you follow after Jesus, you are a Christian first before you are an American. If the values that Jesus taught come into conflict with the laws and values of America, then you must follow Jesus’ teachings first.  The Baby Boomer generation has a hard time grasping this fact. They were raised with pictures of a blue eyed Jesus and flags draped on the cross. Somehow Christianity became distorted to fit with the idea of defending one's country against others. Killing enemies became Godly.

This is MY opinion of why Trump supporters don't listen to the truth. THEY DON'T WANT TO KNOW THE TRUTH. They don't want to be set free. Much easier for them to continue in their bondage and worldly views. They don't want to have any type of repentance and turn to new (to them) ideas of Christianity instead of the worldly ideas instilled upon them as children. Repentance in the original language doesn't mean sorry as we are often told. Repentance means adopting an entire new way of thinking; an entire new way of seeing the world and what is valued by the world in contrast to what is valued by God. Sadly, these people, many of them who profess to be Christians have never repented and do not want to repent. They do not want to know the truth.  They cling to their world view because self introspection is intolerable and because they enjoy their status. 

So what is to be done about these people who cling to their horrible world views and refuse to listen to truth? I don't know. God says to pray for them. God says to love them.  We need to remember that God ALWAYS loves them. He doesn’t see them as worthless sinners who just can’t understand the truth, he sees them as people who just haven’t gotten there yet. He knows their backgrounds, he knows their obstacles.  We need to  keep on telling them the truth, lovingly, even if we get attacked for it. We need to pray for America's eyes to be opened and truth to be revealed. And if we pray this, we have to also pray for ourselves. If there is anything standing in our way of seeing truth, we have to pray that it is revealed also. If we have errors in the way we believe, we need to repent also and be willing to change our minds too.

[newstfionline]

How to Survive Your 40s

By Pamela Druckerman, NY Times, May 4, 2018

Ms. Druckerman is a writer in her 40s, living in Paris.

If you want to know how old you look, just walk into a French cafe. It’s like a public referendum on your face.

When I moved to Paris in my early 30s, waiters called me “mademoiselle.” It was “Bonjour, mademoiselle” when I walked into a cafe and “Voilà, mademoiselle” as they set down a coffee.

Around the time I turned 40, however, there was a collective switch, and waiters started calling me “madame.” These “madames” were tentative at first, but soon they were coming at me like a hailstorm. Now it’s “Bonjour, madame” when I walk in, “Merci, madame” when I pay my bill and “Au revoir, madame” as I leave. Sometimes several waiters shout this at once.

On one hand, I’m intrigued by this transition. Do these waiters gather after work for Sancerre and a slide show to decide which female customers to downgrade? (Irritatingly, men are “monsieur” forever.)

The worst part is that they’re trying to be polite. They believe I’m old enough that the title can’t possibly wound.

I realize that something has permanently shifted when I walk past a woman begging for money.

“Bonjour, mademoiselle,” she calls out to the young woman in a miniskirt a few steps ahead of me.

“Bonjour, madame,” she says when I pass.

This has all happened too quickly for me to digest. I still have most of the clothes that I wore as a mademoiselle. There are mademoiselle-era cans of food in my pantry.

But the world keeps telling me that I’ve entered a new stage. While studying my face in a well-lit elevator, my daughter describes it bluntly: “Mommy, you’re not old, but you’re definitely not young.”

What exactly is this not-young age? I hear people in their 20s describe the 40s as a far-off decade of too-late, when they’ll regret things that they haven’t done. But for older people I meet, the 40s are the decade that they would most like to travel back to. “How could I possibly have thought of myself as old at 40?” asks Stanley Brandes, an anthropologist who wrote a book in 1985 about turning 40. “I sort of look back and think: God, how lucky I was. I see it as the beginning of life, not the beginning of the end.”

Forty isn’t even technically middle age anymore. Someone who’s now 40 has a 50 percent chance of living to 95, says the economist Andrew Scott, a co-author of “The 100-Year Life.”

But the number 40 still has symbolic resonance. Jesus fasted for 40 days. Muhammad was 40 when the archangel Gabriel appeared to him. The Israelites wandered the desert for 40 years. Mr. Brandes writes that in some languages, 40 means “a lot.”

And age 40 still feels pivotal. “The 40s are when you become who you are,” a British author in his 70s tells me, adding ominously, “And if you don’t know by your 40s, you never will.”

I’m starting to see that as a madame, even a newly minted one, I am subject to new rules. When I try to act adorably naïve now, people aren’t charmed--they’re baffled. Cluelessness no longer goes with my face. I’m expected to wait in the correct line at airports and show up on time for my appointments.

And yet brain research shows that in the 40s, some of these tasks are harder: On average we’re more easily distracted than younger people, we digest information more slowly and we’re worse at remembering specific facts. (The ability to remember names peaks in the early 20s.) You know you’re in your 40s when you’ve spent 48 hours trying to think of a word, and that word was “hemorrhoids.”

But there are upsides, too. What we lack in processing power we make up for in maturity, insight and experience. We’re better than younger people at grasping the essence of situations, controlling our emotions and resolving conflicts. We’re more skilled at managing money and explaining why things happen. We’re more considerate than younger people. And, crucially for our happiness, we’re less neurotic.

Indeed, modern neuroscience and psychology confirm what Aristotle said more than 2,000 years ago when he described men in their “primes” as having “neither that excess of confidence which amounts to rashness, nor too much timidity, but the right amount of each. They neither trust everybody nor distrust everybody, but judge people correctly.”

I agree. We’ve actually managed to learn and grow a bit. We see the hidden costs of things. Our parents have stopped trying to change us. We can tell when something is ridiculous. And other minds are finally less opaque. The seminal journey of the 40s is from “everyone hates me” to “they don’t really care.”

Even so, the decade is confusing. And this new age is strangely lacking in milestones. Childhood and adolescence are nothing but milestones: You grow taller, advance to new grades, and get your period, your driver’s license and your diploma. Then in your 20s and 30s you romance potential partners, find jobs and learn to support yourself. There may be promotions, babies and weddings. The pings of adrenaline from all these carry you forward and reassure you that you’re building an adult life.

In the 40s, we might still acquire degrees, jobs, homes and spouses, but these elicit less wonder now. If we have kids, we’re supposed to marvel at their milestones. A journalist I know lamented that he’d never again be a prodigy at anything. (Someone younger than both of us had just been nominated to the United States Supreme Court.)

“Even five years ago, people I met would be like, ‘Wow, you’re the boss?’” the 44-year-old head of a TV production company tells me. Now they’re matter-of-fact about his title. “I’ve aged out of wunderkind,” he says.

What have we aged into? We’re still capable of action, change and 10K races. But there’s a new immediacy to the 40s--and an awareness of death--that didn’t exist before. Our possibilities feel more finite. All choices now plainly exclude others.

The strangest part of the 40s is that we’re now the ones attending parent-teacher conferences and cooking the turkey on Thanksgiving. These days, when I think, “Someone should really do something about that,” I realize with alarm that that “someone” is me.

It’s not an easy transition. I’d always been reassured by the idea that there are grown-ups in the world out there curing cancer and issuing subpoenas. Grown-ups fly airplanes, get aerosol into bottles and make sure that television signals are magically transmitted. They know whether a novel is worth reading and which news belongs on the front page. In an emergency, I’ve always trusted that grown-ups--mysterious, capable and wise--would appear to rescue me.

I’m not thrilled about looking older. But what unsettles me most about the 40s is the implication that I’m now a grown-up myself. I fear I’ve been promoted beyond my competence. What is a grown-up anyway? Do they really exist? If so, what exactly do they know? Will my mind ever catch up with my face?