is there a reason you don't reblog anything for Palestine
there're a lot of posts around you can reblog on ways to help or just for awareness and it really helps. but i don't see any on your blog. is that some glitch or weird tumblr thing or do you just not reblog posts about it for some reason if so why
Do you ask this to every blog you follow or just the Jewish ones?
I actually made a deliberate choice not to talk about anything related to it on this blog many years ago for a number of reasons, but mostly because I am not obligated to subject myself to the “good Jew/bad Jew test” for tumblr to rip apart, and no matter what I say (or even if I don’t say anything at all) I receive hate for being both pro/anti-Israel and pro/anti-Palestine all simultaneously. It’s a lose-lose situation and I’m not under any special obligation to talk about it. Honestly, I hesitate even posting this explanation because unfortunately I expect many people to take it in bad faith and think it means I either don’t care or have whatever opinion they hate most.
In general I choose to do my activism in other ways that I find more productive than reblogging posts on Tumblr. That isn’t meant to be a dig, but a warning not to project beliefs/behavior onto a stranger because of what posts you haven’t seen on their witchcraft blog.
TLDR; I enjoy not getting harassed
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hold on ok i belted out a brief laughingstock Scene for possible future use that i Had to write down bc if i didn't, i'd never remember it. and why not share?
~
“Barnaby? Barnaby, old chap, are you with me?”
Barnaby blinks, registering the green fingers snapping in front of his nose. He huffs a laugh and pushes Howdy’s hand away. “Yeah, yeah, I’m listenin’. You were saying?”
Howdy gives him an exasperated look, a fond look. “Thinking about running off to a farm again, were you?”
“Nah, just the clouds. They’re a lot less work.”
“Well I’d rather you didn’t. Who would I talk to during the long hours if you went and floated off?” Howdy winks before turning to his shelves, already yammering away about something or other.
Something or other that Barnaby is once again not listening to, because what was that? Barnaby quickly presses his cool paw-pads to his burning cheeks, feeling the bristling fur there.
Has Howdy ever winked at him? Now that he’s noticed it, Barnaby can’t recall. If it’s new, then why? Why a wink of all things? What did that mean? And that look Howdy gave him…
Barnaby adjusts his abruptly too-tight tie. It’s unusually warm in the store, isn’t it? Howdy must have forgotten to turn on the AC.
Gosh, what is Howdy even saying? He’s still talking, but Barnaby hasn’t absorbed a word. He can’t even tell if Howdy is still speaking english. It’s all garbled.
There’s something wrong with Barnaby. He must be coming down with something… or he’s just overthinking it. Overworking the ol’ noggin. A good long nap should set him right.
“Listen,” Barnaby interrupts, patting the counter, “I uh, I don’t know where my head’s at. I better go find it - I’ll see you later, okay?”
“Oh… alright, then,” Howdy says, a tinge of disappointment in his voice.
Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking. Barnaby slaps that thought out of the park. He doesn’t want Howdy to be disappointed, that’s absurd. That’s something a bad friend would think. Barnaby may be many things, but a bad friend isn’t one of them.
“I’ll whip up a joke that’ll knock your socks off next time I see ya,” Barnaby promises. He smiles around the discomfort and the entirely new feeling squirming around each other in his chest.
“Now you’ve gone and brought up my expectations,” Howdy says. He leans on the counter and grins. “Are you sure you can back up such a claim, Mr. Beagle?”
Another hot flush races under Barnaby’s fur, and to his growing mortification, his tail starts wagging at breakneck speed. He lets out an uncharacteristically nervous laugh and backs away from the counter. To both of their horror, his back hits a shelf, making it rattle and tip.
“Oh, sh-” Barnaby lunges to right it before it can topple. He whips around and laughs again. Howdy’s wide-eyed stare burns. “Sorry ‘bout that! Talk about a bulldog in a bugshop, geez.”
“When you find your head, make sure to screw it on nice and tight,” Howdy says, a strange look on his face to match his tone. “And check your temperature while you’re at it - it’s not like you to be off-balance.”
“I wouldn’t say I’m off-balance,” Barnaby says. He inches towards the door, willing his stupid tail to calm down. “I just have ears instead of rearview mirrors.”
“Uh-huh…” Howdy slides to the side, trying to peer around him.
Barnaby fumbles for the door. The scrape and bang of his search for the handle echoes in the quiet store. One of Howdy’s eyebrows creeps higher the longer Barnaby stands there, making a complete fool of himself.
Finally, the door clicks, and Barnaby nearly tumbles over backwards in his haste to get out. He stumbles down the steps and briskly walks away, adjusting his hat and tie. As soon as he’s out of sight, he slaps his paws to his face and sags against the bodega.
“Idiot,” he hisses to himself. He presses his back flat against the wall and slams the side of his fist against it. Normally, Barnaby would use a situation like this to his advantage. But Howdy wasn’t laughing, and Barnaby wasn’t being funny. “Bulldog in a - gah, idiot!”
Great. Now Howdy thinks he’s not only a clumsy oaf, but that he’s losing his touch too.
Barnaby growls in frustration, pushing off the wall and stomping away from the plaza on all fours. What does he care what Howdy thinks of him? Others’ opinions of Barnaby have never been anywhere near his list of top priorities - barring Wally’s, of course. If they were, he'd never tell another joke again.
Yes, Howdy is a good friend of Barnaby’s. A close friend, even. But since when has he had such a - such an effect? Barnaby shakes his head, growling again.
There was no effect. Barnaby is just going insane. Or he’s getting sick, like Howdy implied. That would explain the sudden hot flash, the loss of typically impeccable coordination, and, oh yeah! Barnaby’s brain leaking out of his ears.
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Sketch time ✨
Just an excuse to draw Peste 🦇
(I don’t speak Italian so I hope the small dialogues are correct)
*inhales* DUDE. THIS IS SO SWEET AND LOVELY I'M- OMG THANK YOU SO MUCH 😭🙏
I love your drawings so much, receiving these sketches in my inbox was such a surprise, I really don't have the words to describe how I'm feeling 🥹 AHHH THANK YOU, THANK YOU!! Peste would definitely enjoy all the attention she's getting here. 👀
And don't worry about the possible language mistakes! You did great actually!
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When Geto goes searching through the Time Vessel Association's facilities one by one, who or what is he looking for, exactly?
He knows Satoru is dead. Riko, too. I can't possibly imagine what it could've been like -- to come back to your senses and be hit with this realisation all over again. What thoughts raced through his head as he traced his steps back to where he'd left Satoru? As he approached that site of slaughter which Satoru's promise had become, how did he prepare himself to see his best friend's corpse? And then he saw nothing but the clearing torn through the ground like a ragged wound in Gojo's frantic attempt to keep the enemy in sight, buildings adjacent to the main shrine ripped out by their foundations and blown to smithereens. A splatter of sickening crimson where Toji landed his final blow. A few bug-like fly-heads still lingering. No bodies left.
How could Suguru make sense of Gojo's body disappearing along with Riko's? Did he think of his closest friend's corpse getting sold on the black market as an honorary prize and feel his nerves clench close with desperation and anger? Did he make peace with never being able to mourn Satoru properly, or was it a thought thrumming in his head like blood in his temples? Was that what he feared to reveal while rummaging through the Star Cult's scattered buildings?
And what if it was an imperative from Jujutsu High?
For Shoko to be able to patch Geto up, he must have made his way back to the college after his confrontation with Toji. And I can hardly imagine Suguru, being as deligent and rule-abiding as he was, not reporting the failed mission -- and Satoru's (presumable) death, too. And as we know, in order to prevent a sorcerer from turning into a curse after death, they should be eliminated using cursed energy. And Gojo was killed by Toji, who, bound by Heavenly Restriction, had no cursed energy.
Does this mean that immediately after being healed by Shoko Geto got sent on a mission to confirm the state of Gojo's body and potentially deal with the consequencies of him turning into a curse? Judging by immense amounts of cursed energy that Gojo holds, the curse born after his death would be extremely powerful, with Geto likely being the only one on par with it as the other half of the strongest duo. It's only natural that in case of something like that occuring Suguru would be the one to be sent to deal with it. Even if that means purging a curse once known as his best friend.
So Suguru asking 'Is it really you, Satoru?' is not him taken aback by Gojo being alive (well, this, too, but I'd argue that a different reaction would be better fit to express this sort of disbelief), but rather him inquiring about the nature of his friend's resumed existence after he was announced dead by Toji: 'Is it you as I know you? Or is it a cursed apparition that came into being with your death?'
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