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maniculum · 7 months

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Medieval Scorpions Effortpost

So yesterday I reblogged this post featuring an 11th-century depiction of the Apocalypse Locusts from Revelations, noting the following incongruity as another medieval scorpion issue:

The artist, as you can see, has interpreted "tails like scorpions" as meaning "glue cheerful-looking snakes to their butts".

Anyway, it occurred to me that the medieval scorpion thing might not be as widely known as I think it is, and that Tumblr would probably enjoy knowing about it if it isn't known already. So, finding myself unable to focus on the research I'm supposed to be doing, I decided to write about this instead. I'll just go ahead and put a cut here.

As we can see in the image above, at least one artist out there thought a "scorpion" was a type of snake. Which makes it difficult to draw "tails like scorpions", because a snake's tail is not that distinctive or menacing (maybe rattlesnakes, but they don't have those outside the Americas). So they interpreted "tails like scorpions" as "the tail looks like a whole snake complete with head".

Let me tell you. This is not a problem unique to this illustration.

See, people throughout medieval Europe were aware of scorpions. As just alluded to, they are mentioned in the Bible, and if the people producing manuscripts in medieval Europe knew one thing, it was Stuff In Bible. They're also in the Zodiac, which medieval Europe had inherited through classical sources. However, let's take a look at this map:

That's Wikipedia's map of the native range of the Scorpiones order, i.e., all scorpion species. You may notice something -- the range just stops at a certain northern latitude. Pretty much all of northern Europe is scorpion-free. If you lived in the north half of Europe, odds were good you had never seen a scorpion in your life. But if you were literate or educated at all, or you knew they were a thing, because you'd almost certainly run across them being mentioned in texts from farther south. And those texts wouldn't bother to explain what a scorpion was, of course -- everyone knows scorpions, right? When was the last time you stopped to explain What Is Spiders?

So medieval writers and artists in northern Europe were kind of stuck. There was all this scorpion imagery and metaphor in the texts they liked to work from, but they didn't really know what a scorpion was. Writers could kind of work around it (there's a lot of "oh, it's a venomous creature, moving on"), but sometimes they felt the need to break it down better. For this, of course, they'd have to refer to a bestiary -- but due to Bestiary Telephone and the persistent need of bestiary authors to turn animals into allegories, one of the only visual details you got on scorpions was that they... had a beautiful face, which they used to distract people in order to sting them.

And look. I'm not here to yuck anyone's yum, but I would say that a scorpion's face has significant aesthetic appeal only for a fairly small segment of the population. I'm sure you could get an entomologist to rhapsodize about it a bit, but your average person on the street will not be entranced by the face of a scorpion. So this did not help the medieval Europeans in figuring out how to depict scorpions. There was also some semantic confusion -- see, in some languages (such as Old and Middle English), "worm" could be a general term for very small animals of any kind. But it also could mean "serpent".* So there were some, like our artist at the top of the post, who were pretty sure a scorpion was a snake. This was probably helped along by the fact that "venomous" was one of the only things everyone knew about them, and hey, snakes are venomous. Also, Pliny the Elder had floated the idea that there were scorpions in Africa that could fly, and at least one author (13th-century monk Bartholomaeus Anglicus) therefore suggested that they had feathers. I don't see that last one coming up much, I just share it because it's funny to me.

*English eventually resolved this by borrowing the Latin vermin for very small animals, using the specialized spelling wyrm for big impressive mythical-type serpents, and sticking with the more specific snake for normal serpents.

Some authors, like the anonymous author of the Ancrene Wisse, therefore suggested that a scorpion was a snake with a woman's face and a stinging tail. (Everyone seemed to be on the same page with regards to the fact that the sting was in the tail, which is in fact probably the most recognizable aspect of scorpions, so good job there.) However, while authors could avoid this problem, visual artists could not. And if you were illustrating a bestiary or a calendar, including a scorpion was not optional. So they had to take a shot at what this thing looked like.

And so, after this way-too-long explanation, the thing you're probably here for: inaccurate medieval drawings of scorpions. (There are of course accurate medieval drawings of scorpions, from artists who lived in the southern part of Europe and/or visited places where scorpions lived; I'm just not showing you those.) And if you find yourself wondering, "how sure are you that that's meant to be a scorpion?" -- all of these are either from bestiaries or from calendars that include zodiac illustrations.

11th-century England, MS Arundel 60. (Be honest, without the rest of this post, if I had asked you to guess what animal this was supposed to be, would you have ever guessed “scorpion”?)

12th-century Germany, "Psalter of Henry the Lion". (Looks a bit undercooked. Kind of fetal.)

12th-century France, Peter Lombard's Sententiae. (Very colorful, itsy bitsy claws, what is happening with that tail?)

12th-century England, "The Shaftesbury Psalter". (So a scorpion is some sort of wyvern with a face like a duck, correct?)

13th-century France, Thomas de Cantimpré's Liber de natura rerum. (I’d give them credit for the silhouette not being that far off, but there’s a certain bestiary style where all the animals kind of look like that. Also note how few of these have claws.)

13th-century England, "The Bodley Bestiary". (Mischievous flying squirrel impales local man’s hand, local man fails to notice.)

13th-century England, Harley MS 3244. (A scorpion is definitely either a mouse or a fish. Either way it has six legs.)

13th-century England, Harley MS 3244. (Wait, no, it’s a baby theropod, and it has two legs. (Yes, this is the same manuscript, that’s not an error, this artist did four scorpions and no two are the same.))

13th-century England, Harley MS 3244. (Actually it’s a lizard with tiny ears and it has four legs.)

13th-century England, Harley MS 3244. (Now that we’re at the big fancy illustration, I think I’ve got it — it’s like that last one, but two legs, longer ears, and a less goofy face. Also I’ve decided it’s not pink anymore, I think that was the main problem.)

13th-century England, MS Kk.4.25. (A scorpion is a flat crocodile with a bear’s head.)

13th-century England, "The Huth Psalter". (Wyvern but baby! Does not seem to be enjoying biting its own tail.)

13th-century England, MS Royal 1 D X. (This triangular-headed gentlecreature gets the award for “closest guess at correct limb configuration”. If two of those were claws, I might actually believe this artist had seen a scorpion before, or at least a picture of one.)

13th-century England, "The Westminster Psalter". (A scorpion is the offspring of a wyvern and a fawn.)

13th-century England, "The Rutland Psalter". (Too many legs! Pull back! Pull back!)

13th or 14th-century France, Bestiaire d'amour rimé. (This is very similar to the fawn-wyvern, but putting it in an actual Scene makes it even more obvious that you’re just guessing.)

14th-century Netherlands, Jacob van Maerlant's Der Naturen Bloeme. (More top-down six-legged guys that look too furry to be arthropods.)

14th-century Germany, MS Additional 22413. (That is clearly a turtle.)

14th-century France, Matfres Eymengau de Beziers's Breviari d'amor. (Who came up with that head shape and what was their deal?)

15th-century England, "Bestiary of Ann Walsh". (Screw it, a scorpion is a big lizard that glares at you for trying to make me draw things I don’t know about.)

I've spent way too much time on this now. End of post, thank you to anyone who got all the way down here.

#medieval #medieval creatures #medieval art #scorpions #medieval scorpions #manuscript #medieval manuscripts #illuminated manuscript

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blumineck · 2 months

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hi! you're great I love your work! I've got a weirdly specific archery question and thought I'd send it to you in case you'd find it fun to have a crack at

say you're an expert archer originally from Vietnam sometime in the late bronze age. say you're a super duper expert archer because it turns out you're immortal, and so you do your archery across Eurasia through the first millennium BCE and the first millennium CE and into the age where gunpowder weapons are evolving into cannons. that's a long time to be alive and you do lots of hunting and fighting with all kinds of bows and shooting styles, especially war archery on horseback. then you're out of the picture for a while, let's say you're peacefully sleeping for a handful of centuries. (this is about Quynh from The Old Guard who alas was not peacefully sleeping)

all of a sudden you blink and you've gone from the era where firearms were just starting to develop and maybe with this new flintlock thing guns could eventually get good enough to rival a bow and arrows— bam, now you're in the 21st century. what kinds of modern archery tech would you be most excited to try out? what would you think of a compound bow? Olympic style archery? plastic fletching?? how about the modern reproductions of what are now considered historical bows and shooting styles? is there anything about 21st century archery that you'd want to rant about at length? other opinions about these newfangled takes on your trusty old bow and arrows you care to share?

This is a phenomenal question, and thank you for asking it! Here’s my 2 cents:

The thing about modern archery is that for the most part, modern bows are designed to make it easier to be accurate, to the stage that modern target accuracy is probably better than it’s ever been historically.

BUT, if we assume Quynh is capable of feats of archery that match the level of melee combat skill that e.g. Andy has, then she doesn’t NEED it to be easier to be accurate.

My guess is that someone like her would actually find most modern archery developments needlessly slow and awkward. Compound bows and Olympic recurves are NOT designed for instinctive, fast shooting, and would probably feel quite restrictive once she got over how easy they made accuracy.

BUT, I imagine she would be blown away by the range and arrow speed that modern bows can generate, and there are some recurves (and at least one compound bow), that have been designed to make use of the efficiency of modern materials and bow design, while still allowing traditional shooting styles, and those, THOSE are something an ancient immortal archer might fall in love with! (FWIW, my own go-to is a horsebow made with carbon-fibre limbs and a modern limb profile, and for impact energy it can match some traditional bows with a draw weight that’s 50% greater. The Oneida eagle compound could trump that).

So yeah, it might take her a bit, but once she gets her hands on the right equipment, she’d be (even more) TERRIFYING!

#archery #bows #arrows #writing ref #the old guard

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zephyrchama · 21 days

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"Do I have to?" Beelzebub asked hesitantly.

"You chose dare!" Asmodeus exclaimed. "You have to! Call him!"

Belphegor sighed. "Why didn't you choose truth instead?"

"I wanted to know what the dare would be," Beelzebub said, truthfully.

Mammon grabbed the D.D.D. out of his hands and punched in Simeon's number himself. "Hurry up 'n make the call! We ain't got all night!"

Everybody huddled around as the phone line started ringing. They wanted to be within range to hear it. Everybody except Lucifer, who wanted no part of it. He was sipping a glass of Demonus across the room and making sure this party game didn't get too rowdy.

It took five rings for Simeon to pick up. He sounded a little groggy, like he'd been woken from sleep. "Hello?"

"Simeon? Hi." Beelzebub's greeting was ordinary, but it sent Mammon into a fit of giggles. Somebody had too much to drink.

"Shut up, he's gonna hear you," Satan growled. Mammon's laugh turned into a shriek of pain after receiving a sharp elbow to the side. Belphegor shushed them both.

"Beelzebub? Are you there? Are you with your brothers?"

Leviathan grabbed Beel's shirt. "He's on to us! Abort mission!"

"I can't hear, shut up, shut up!" Asmodeus leaned in closer and urged Beel, "keep going!"

"Simeon." A bead of sweat rolled down Beelzebub's brow. "Is your refrigerator running?"

Silence. It only lasted seconds, but it felt like an hour. Then, "the refrigerator? One second." Footsteps could be heard on the line as Simeon walked through Purgatory hall. "It was fine when I made dinner this evening. Why?"

"I need to know if your refrigerator is running."

"Ok, ok. Hold on..."

The demon brothers waited for an answer with bated breath. It was probably the most quiet they'd been in a century. They heard a heavy door being opened, and finally. Simeon's answer.

"Nothing looks broken. Everything inside is still cold, and the light is on, so... yes? I believe it's running fine."

"Yesss," Leviathan whispered. "Finish the job, Beel!"

Asmodeus could hardly contain his snicker. Satan had a hand over his own mouth, but his leg bounced in anticipation. Belphegor was mouthing the ever-so-important punchline with a twinkle in his eye.

"I see. Well, then. You better go catch it."

Everyone in the room exploded into laughter (except Lucifer, who rolled his eyes), and Beelzebub quickly hung up the call with a confident smile. Mammon whooped, Belphegor fell back in relief, Levi and Satan high-fived, and Asmodeus jumped on Beel to give him the tightest hug he could muster. This monumental success was worthy of another round of drinks, and another round of Truth or Dare.

----

Minutes later, Leviathan's D.D.D. pinged. It was a text from Simeon.

"How do I 'catch' a refrigerator? Everything looks alright, but I can't risk the food inside going bad. Please assist."

#MC's probably the one who dared him to do it #obey me #obey me!#obey me scenarios #omswd #obey me headcanon #obey me shall we date #obey me mammon #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me simeon #obey me swd #obey me fanfic #obey me drabble #obey me lucifer #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me leviathan

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halfghostwriter · 1 year

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Half a year after defeating Pariah Dark, Danny ascends to the throne. A few months after his coronation, he receives many letters from nobles of varying realms, all asking to betroth their children to “Princess Danielle Phantom.”

After a lot of asking around, Danny finds out that, despite the whole “King” title amounting to little more than a boost in power, ownership of Pariah Dark’s old castle, and the loyalty of Fright Knight, the royal titles also come with a lot of influence in Infinite Realm nobility circles. There also hasn’t been anyone in the royal family other than the King since the start of Pariah Dark’s reign, meaning every single noble with an heir of their own was sending Danny letter upon letter asking for his clone’s hand in marriage.

Danny, not wanting to force Ellie to be engaged anyone but also realizing that ignoring all of the requests would make for a lot of angry ghosts who are still mentally in the 14th century, talks out the situation with Ellie, and the two come up with a plan.

Danny announces a tournament for the right to become engaged to the Princess, one that would span across several days. On the first day of the tournament, every suitor would fight in a ring battle-royal-style until only ten of them remained. Then, over the course of several days, each of the ten suitors would face off against Ellie. Whoever manages to defeat her earns the right to be her betrothed.

Of course, Danny doesn’t mention the fact that Ellie’s power is nearly on par with his own, and that she had been training with Fright Knight for about half a year. There was no way anyone would be able to defeat her without her letting them, therefore allowing Ellie to choose her betrothed, whoever and whenever she wanted.

Naturally, all the suitors get their asses handed to them, and the citizens of the Ghost Zone get the show of a lifetime. Of course, none of the nobles are happy, in fact they’re nearly ready to riot when Danny says they can simply try again in the tournament next year.

The tournament takes place, and once again, Ellie wins, much to the excitement of the crowd and the frustration of the nobles. The year after that, they send their children in with hidden weapons, none of which are a match for the Princess. The crowd goes wild, and many ghosts become curious as to who could possibly defeat such a powerful young ghost. She’s far more powerful than those in her age range, and ghosts above a certain age are forbidden from fighting for her hand.

Of course, a few fans realize that the rules never actually specified that the competitors needed to be dead, just within the age range.

So, a few fans of the tournament, eager for a good fight, kidnap the entire Young Justice team and force them to compete in the tournament— without explaining the tournament’s purpose.

#danny phantom #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #dc x dp #danielle phantom #‘no ghost can defeat me!’ ‘theyre no ghost’#by the time everyone finds out what’s going on the first day of the tournament is over #and Danny can’t exactly interfere without risk of a riot #if anyone wants to add onto this please do

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ghelgheli · 6 months

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The epoch of hysteria between 1656 and 1658 found its catalyst in the spontaneous, detailed testimony of someone who I solely re-member here with her chosen name, la Estanpa. Once a linda niña (pretty girl), the now seventy-year-old mestiza found herself apprehended by court magistrates for suspected sodomy in 1656. After initially denying the accusations, an elderly and fatigued Estanpa relented, admitting to having dressed ‘like a woman’ since she was seven and committed the nefarious sin for ‘more than forty years’. Encapsulated within her testimony and larger trial are glimmers of an underground trans feminine world in seventeenth-century Mexico City, of which Estanpa served as a pillar. Coinciding with Catholic feast days, Estanpa and her friends organised parties at changing secret locations, ranging from the secluded countryside to individuals’ homes in the neighbourhoods of San Juan de la Penitencia or San Pablo. Facilitated by trans feminine hostesses, these lively parties consisted of illicit dancing, singing, drinking chocolate and of course inevitable quarrelling over guapos (what they affectionately called the men who loved them), with whom they would eventually retire into rooms for sex. For elders like Estanpa, these parties were also an opportunity to recall ‘the deeds and the conquests of their far-away youth, their lost beauty, and old-time pleasures’.In each other’s company, this cohort referred to one another as niñas (girls), each taking on feminine names following the same convention as ‘la Estanpa’, a title said to have originated from a ‘very graceful lady’. What is certain is that the trans feminine figure held a distinct and explicitly threatening place in the Spanish colonial imaginary. Within underground Mexican subculture, these individuals shared myriad cultural signifiers – in naming practices, celebration of holidays and their habitation in the same neighbourhoods and sometimes homes – that suggest they also established deep-rooted community networks. Perhaps most importantly, despite coordinated and unrelenting legal suppression, trans feminine people would continue to exist and resist across colonial New Spain.

Jamey Jesperson, Trans Misogyny in the Colonial Archive: Re-membering Trans Feminine Life and Death in New Spain, 1604–1821 [doi]

#reading #gender

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robertreich · 3 months

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youtube

The Silent Revolution in American Economics

I don't think you're expecting what I'm about to say, because I have never seen anything like this in fifty years in politics.

For decades I've been sounding an alarm about how our economy has become increasingly rigged for the rich. I've watched it get worse under both Republicans and Democrats, but what President Biden has done in his first term gives me hope I haven't felt in years. It’s a complete sea change.

Here are three key areas where Biden is fundamentally reshaping our economy to make it better for working people.

#1 Trade and industrial policy

Biden is breaking with decades of reliance on free-trade deals and free-market philosophies. He’s instead focusing on domestic policies designed to revive American manufacturing and fortify our own supply chains.

Take three of his signature pieces of legislation so far — the Inflation Reduction Act, the CHIPS Act, and his infrastructure package. This flood of government investment has brought about a new wave in American manufacturing.

Unlike Trump, who just levied tariffs on Chinese imports and used it as a campaign slogan, Biden is actually investing in America’s manufacturing capacity so we don’t have to rely on China in the first place.

He’s turning the tide against deals made by previous administrations, both Democratic and Republican, that helped Wall Street but ended up costing American jobs and lowering American wages.

#2 Monopoly power

Biden is the first president in living memory to take on big monopolies.

Giant firms have come to dominate almost every industry. Four beef packers now control over 80 percent of the market, domestic air travel is dominated by four airlines, and most Americans have no real choice of internet providers.

In a monopolized economy, corporate profits rise, consumers pay higher prices, and workers’ wages shrink.

But under the Biden, the Federal Trade Commission and the Antitrust Division of the Justice Department have become the most aggressive monopoly fighters in more than a half century. They’re going after Amazon and Google, Ticketmaster and Live Nation, JetBlue and Spirit, and a wide range of other giant corporations.

#3 Labor

Biden is also the most pro-union president I’ve ever seen.

A big reason for the surge in workers organizing and striking for higher wages is the pro-labor course Biden is charting.

The Reagan years blew in a typhoon of union busting across America. Corporations routinely sunk unions and fired workers who attempted to form them. They offshored production or moved to so-called “right-to-work” states that enacted laws making it hard to form unions.

Even though Democratic presidents promised labor law reforms that would strengthen unions, they didn’t follow through. But under Joe Biden, organized labor has received a vital lifeboat. Unionizing has been protected and encouraged. Biden is even the first sitting president to walk a picket line.

Biden’s National Labor Relations Board is stemming the tide of unfair labor practices, requiring companies to bargain with their employees, speeding the period between union petitions and elections, and making it harder to fire workers for organizing.

Americans have every reason to be outraged at how decades of policies that prioritized corporations over people have thrown our economy off-keel.

But these three waves of change — a worker-centered trade and industrial policy, strong anti-monopoly enforcement, and moves to strengthen labor unions — are navigating towards a more equitable economy.

It’s a sea change that’s long overdue.

#youtube #Joe Biden #politics #economics #video #videos

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xerith-42 · 3 months

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I know it seems like striking on social media might not do enough, but as someone who has been outright obsessively using the internet since I was a child to the point that it is literally woven in my soul, been active and involved in online activism for about five years, and been using social media as marketing for about the same amount of time, I can confidently say that

THIS FUCKING WORKS!!

People base their entire businesses on their success on social media. They look at trending topics on twitter and don't see bite sized chunks of culture distilled to its finest and worst moments, they see market data! They don't see you as a single human being, they see you as a data point among thousands run through a probably AI assisted system that's prone to fucking up, that determines everything they're going to do.

How they're going to advertise, who they target it with it, what the general public wants. Every single major corporation uses data from social media websites to do this. Every. Single. One. Social media is a lot of things, and one of those things is a tool for business and politics. We know for a fact that social media politics bleeds out into the real world very fucking quickly.

Even if you can't strike financially, even if you have to go to work or school to survive, striking on social media is one of the best things you can do. Even if it's quiet. People are going to notice when thousands upon thousands of users across various sites go completely dark, and even more when some of them start getting real fucking loud about this. The US Capitalist Infused Government loves sweeping war crimes under the rug once they think the general public has forgotten about their atrocities and fallen into complacency. This system has been doing this for literal centuries.

Social media is just the newest and most expansive form we as a species have developed in the ongoing invention of ways to express our thoughts about things. It's the weirdest one, that's for sure, but executives pay attention to it. They don't often seek to understand it beyond a very basic level, because as I said, they view us as numbers on a screen, not as multifaceted incredibly and deeply fucked human beings. They do not seek to understand us on a personal level unless they think the cost of it won't outweigh the potential profit.

Pattern recognition is the tool of the moment. Machine Learning. Gathering endless amounts of data so we can replicate human existence through machines. You may think that social media strikes are ineffective because social media is just on the internet and it's "not real", but it is real! You are really doing stuff! You are contributing! Even if you're just lurking! Basic amounts of engagement can make a huge impact in a busted algorithm. Maybe you're not someone who would ever be drafted into an actual war-zone due to physical or mental health conditions, but you are probably a part of a key demographic of people that businesses are absolutely hungry for.

The budding adult has always been the target of greedy capitalists basically since this system was established and continued to get worse over time. The stage of your life when you are in the age range of 18-25 is an incredibly important transitional period, followed by a transitional period every six months until you lose sense of what six months even is because you haven't been happy in eight, and if you're in the 18-25 range currently, you got extra fucked by the pandemic. The world is in a turbulent stage and we are at the center of all of it and have been since 2001. Every single social media marketing expert will tell you the 18-25 demographic of social media users is a target demographic, because they are the most prone to extremes due to a life chock full of them.

We have to remember to be human, but we have to also know how to speak their language. They just see us as numbers? Let's show them some fucking numbers. Make posts about Gaza trend on every platform you have your hands on. Even if it's just liking posts, that gives them a slight boost in the algorithm. Commenting on posts is especially important on sites like Twitter and Instagram. But across every site the most important thing to do is reblog/retweet/share/send/copy link, whatever it is for that site, it is the biggest thing that everyone, and I mean EVERYONE looks at.

From a humble artist to a head of marketing at a billion dollar corporation about to have a meeting with a barely over 21 intern about how they need to run the twitter account, to said intern bumbling their way through adulthood with a job they only feel they're good at because they've been using social media since Skype was invented. We need to be loud, we need to make sure this can't be ignored, we can't sweep this under the rug. Mass media, especially coming out of the West, has been trying to censor, de-sanitize, and keep this issue quiet.

DO NOT LET YOURSELF BE SILENCED

There are tens of thousands of DEAD CHILDREN who have been BOMBED while in CIVILIAN AREAS and that is a FUCKING WAR CRIME.

THIS IS A GENOCIDE

Say that as many times as you can. Do not let it be ignored. A silent populous is a complacent one. Use your voice, even as small as it may seem. Make noise. Be loud. Be annoying. Don't let this be ignored. Talk about it everywhere you go. Do not let this be ignored.

Sometimes even we get disconnected from the real people around us. We base our sense of worth as a person based on the numbers going up or down but instead of developing a gambling addiction we just got angry about it but still fall into it because of cultural conditioning. But even if you only have let's say, completely random example, 70 followers. And only a small percent of them will see your post. Let's say maybe 20 on average, 30 on a good day, and even higher based on the machinations of fate. That's still 20 people who took time out of their day to read something you wrote, process something you created, share a part of your experience of living.

And likely they felt compelled to share it too, therefore increasing the spread of people who feel your influence. 20 people may not seem like a lot, but that has a major impact. Now imagine posts into the hundreds, thousands, hundreds of thousands and even millions. Those aren't just numbers. Each and every single one of those is just another person who might have reblogged a post because someone they like shared it, or because they wanted to spread its message, and that simple act causes a single post to have massive waves of effects from simple ripples.

Don't let yourself be discouraged. Don't think your voice or your impact "isn't enough to matter." Everything counts.

Don't let this be ignored. Don't become complacent. Know that every little thing counts, and to do every little thing you can.

#freepalastine🇵🇸#free palestine #free gaza #social media strike #from the river to the sea palestine will be free #strike for palestine #palestinian genocide #palestine #ceasefire #endisraelsgenocide #isreal is committing genocie #do not be silent #please reblog #spread the word #spread awareness #be loud

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leidensygdom · 1 year

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Okay, I will try to explain this topic as well as I can. I will preface this with the fact this comes from personal experiences, and that they may not apply for everyone who has ties to this culture, but let's get to it:

What's the issue with Fortune tellers / "Exotic" circus performers, sexualized belly dancers and other forms of orientalism/Romani depictions?

So, as someone in the TTRPG world (specifically, the DnD community), this sort of trope is seen quite a lot. From the portrayal of Vistani (which has been tried to be fixed, but not... too well), to player characters in home games, as well as popular canon characters and podcasts, it's got quite normalized. Most of these tropes are based on Romani, which is a widespread ethnicity present all across the globe. Now, it feels almost strange to call it orientalism, given how Romani have been in Europe since the Middle Ages, even though they do have roots outside of Europe.

Romani face one of the biggest diaspora in the world: You will find Roma people under many names in very different countries, with cultures and traditions that can clash heavily. Their numbers can range from few hundred in some countries, to over a million in those they have a biggest presence. My own experience is tied to Spanish Roma, known as Gitanos, which is where my mother's side family comes from.

Gitanos are a widespread group, although they're most numerous in the southern part of Spain, Andalusia, where their presence has shaped the culture. Flamenco is thought to have been born from Gitano culture, and it has been adopted as a staple of the Andalusian identity, and the whole of Spain. Gitanos are hard to understand as their own ethnicity in Spain: There's been centuries of Gitanos and Spanish people mixing, and the average Andalusian is quite tan to start with (given Muslim presence there has also been pretty firm). It means it can be hard to "clock" a Spanish Romani person from a non-Romani one. It means you can find Romani people most would consider white, at least by Spanish standards. Most of the discrimination Gitanos face is cultural (and the whole ordeal can be a bit harder to explain from a more US-centric view).

Now, even when Gitanos have influenced Spanish culture a lot, they still face plenty of discrimination. They are one of the most marginalized groups out there. Laws have discriminated against them for centuries, on and off, which have put them in poverty. And poverty often develops into criminality, which has only seeded the idea that Gitanos are criminals, "lowlies", the bottom of society, "uncivilized", etc. Now, here comes a bit of my own experience with this.

My entire family is Andalusian, but both sides moved from there (the south) to Catalonia (north-east) in order to find a job during the Francoist (fascist) dictatorship. I won't get much into the specifics of the Catalan vs Andalusian beef because that's a bit of a massive topic too, but the important thing here is: My mother's side is Romani. My grandma faced some horrifying forms of discrimination, including the theft of her first child during the fascist dictatorship, which was taken from her by nuns (who ran hospitals at the time) to be placed into a "proper" family. (This is something that happened repeatedly at some hospitals during these times).

Now, she had two other children: My mother and my aunt. My aunt remained closely knit to Romani culture, and took part in it, which included marrying a Romani guy. She always did her best efforts to be part of it. I know she was into some culturally-related dances, which included some forms of bellydancing (which is also partially tied to Roma culture). But my mother decided she'd rather cut ties with her culture and become "civilised", by abandoning said culture.

This isn't too uncommon for Gitanos, to be honest. I've met a few people who come from similar backgrounds through my life. One of them was in university, where a fellow classmate gave an oral exposition about how his family had done a great job at "becoming civilised" by cutting ties with their own Roma roots. My university was a fairly progressive space, but no one batted an eye at that: The sheer hatred of Roma culture runs so deep even people who normally abhor racism and xenophobia consider Gitanos to be worth the hate.

There's a social pressure to do that, too. Everyone "knows" Gitano are criminals. I can't really even begin to explain how deeply does this sort of discrimination run. Roma are amongst the most hated minority groups in all of Europe (as well as most of the world). You will find that even in very leftist circles. People will try to erase the fact Roma have their own culture, and just make the world equal to "criminal", call them gy***** (which is a slur, btw), and detach them from being an actual culturally (and often racially) distinct group.

Now, this is only empowered by how media has taken our culture (it is almost hard for me to call it "our", given how much my mother ensured to take that away) and made it into a bad trope. Growing up, I was told my aunt was a sexual deviant who partook in indecent dances. Bellydancing is often seen as something very sexual (Wasn't, in origin), very unfitting. In media, bellydancers veer on the side of being a f*tish, and the common trope is the "bellydancer who seduces people in power for their own benefit". There's also the whole idea of shady fortune tellers and other magical tropes, that sort of weird mysticism that falls rapidly into orientalism. The idea that Roma will hex you, curse you, place an "Evil Eye" on you. And also the idea of travelling circus, people who perform in them being again full of that alluring exoticism, but beware! For they will enchant you, steal from you and run some massive criminal schemes on the way.

Now, when every tie a culture has on media is portrayed in a negative light, it's much harder for that culture to recover any sort of respect from the general populace. And that includes even people who are part of said culture, or people who have been removed from it. It has taken me so many years to unlearn a lot of these biases and realize where it has come from, and now I'm far too distant and far away from my grandmother to actually ever significantly connect to my heritage.

I've had the opportunity to witness what Romani culture is actually about, as I used to live with my grandmother during summers. A lot of the "mysticism" she took part of was actually about wards and protection. A lot of them were actually medicinal in nature, even if others were more superstitious. Red thread in the forehead for sickness and protection to curses, parfums (which contained alcohol or other antiseptics) on wounds, that stuff. My aunt was never a "sexual" deviant, she was keen on recovering and partaking on traditions from a culture that is slowly disappearing. The entire "promiscuous" idea is bullshit, Gitanos place a massive amount of power to marriage and loyalty. I had the luck to witness my cousin's marriage, which was a festivity like none other I had seen in my life, a colorful spectacle full of the most delightful attires, and my mother was whining the entire time over about how it was all an "uncivilised circus".

Now, this is why representation in media is key. Roma culture is broken into a thousand pieces and lost with every passing day. When someone decides to write an ambulant circus performer/fortune teller clad in exotic clothes full of golden jewellery, writes them as a criminal and makes the entire thing extremely sexual, they are feeding into the negative stereotypes about Roma.

Now, there's a lot of people who aren't even aware what culture does that trope even actually come from. I've seen people draw characters clad in Romani attires (often in, uh, rather pin-up or sexual contexts) and claim they're inspired by "x piece of media", where the trope is portrayed in the first place. I literally saw someone make a drawing in that way and call it "inspired by x (non-Roma) artist" instead of acknowledging where does all that come from.

I'm not asking people to not portray Roma people in media. Far from that. I just wish representation was better. Good representation is key towards making a culture seen in a more positive light, and teaching other peoples about it, and making people from said culture resonate with it. The very few times I've seen positive representations of Roma I've felt a bit of that connection with something that was taken from me. I want people to do a bit of research before giving a try to a Roma-coded character. Make an effort to not make Roma always the morally dubious fortune teller, the exotic alluring circus traveller, the bellydancer seductress. It's hard for Romani to produce widespread mainstream media because of how impoverished most communities are (because of the systematic discrimination Roma face all around the world), so the least non-Roma people can do is to be kind when they use their voice to talk or represent us.

I know this is a massive post, and I'm tagging it as "long post" for that reason, but I hope it is helpful for people. Feel free to ask or add your own experience if this is something that resonates with you too. Ask away if you want. I've been wanting to tell a bit my own personal experience, as this has always been a hard spot for me, and even if just a handful of people read this and understand what is this all about, I think it will have been worth it.

#roma #romani #gitano #romani culture #representation #culture #folk #tradition #people #spain #spanish #romani in media #bellydancer #bellydancing #fortune teller #dnd #vistani #long post

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unboundprompts · 5 months

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prompts about a near-immortal someone encountering their human lover in a reincarnated form?

Does the human remember their immortal lover? Did they know they were immortal? I tried to make a range of prompts for this.

Prompts For an Immortal Seeing their Human Lover Reincarnated

-> feel free to edit and adjust pronouns as you see fit.

He felt like he couldn't breathe. It was them... he was sure of it.

"How did you know it was me?" The Human asked, a bitter sweet smile on their face. Immortal ran a gentle hand across their cheeks, brushing away their fallen tears. "I'd recognize your eyes anywhere. No matter how much time has passed."

The human laughed, throwing her arms around immortal. "You haven't changed a day, my Love."

Immortal caught the human by the wrist, and he turned around with a confused look on his face. "Can I help you?" Human asked, shaking his hand free. Immortal felt their stomach drop. "You don't remember me," they said, more to themselves than their human.

"I thought I'd never see you again."

"You look different," Immortal said, running a hand through Human's hair. "But, that is to be expected." Immortal felt Human stiffen. "Is that okay?" Human asked timidly. Immortal pressed a kiss to their forehead. "Of course, it is. You're still the same person I fell in love with all those years ago."

The human shook her head as if trying to shake away a thought. "I don't know why," she said, staring into Immortal's eyes, "but I feel like I know you."

"How are you alive?" Human asked, backing away from the person that they knew centuries ago. "How are you alive and look like you haven't aged a day?"

"I know you used to ask me if I would still love you if you were a worm," Immortal sighed, placing their reincarnated lover in a jar of dirt, "but this is ridiculous."

If you like what I do and want to support me, please consider donating! I also offer editing services and other writing advice on my Ko-fi!

#writing prompts #dialogue prompt #creative writing #otp prompts #writeblr #story prompt #prompt list #ask box prompts #fantasy prompts #immortal prompts #reincarnation prompts #soft prompts #romance prompts

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wholoveseggs · 4 months

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hiiii can you maybe do an smut and fluff elijah mikaelson where the reader has daddy issues and oral fixation? 🥺🥺🥺

Pop Quiz

18+ ---- {Masterlist}

How can you possibly pay attention in history class when your professor is that hot? Let's hope you don't fail your exam...

~Thanks for the request anon(s) ♡♡ I hope you don't mind me combining the two ideas!~ ~I HAD SO MUCH FUN WRITING THIS ONE~

~I've gotten sooo many requests in the queue - I love them all, but it will take me some time to catch up ♡♡ thanks for your patience~

7k words - Warnings: smut, blow jobs, oral sex, daddy!kink, Elijah being bossy, tenth century history...

{Part Two}

You looked up at Mr. Mikaelson, with wide, doe eyes, as you knelt before him. His hand gently caressed your face, his thumb grazing across your plump bottom lip. You let out a soft moan, the heat between your legs becoming unbearable, begging to be touched.

Your eyes followed his every movement as he unzipped his trousers, pulling his hard cock from his boxers. His hand moved to the back of your head, his fingers running through your hair as his eyes met yours, giving you a firm nod, allowing you to take the first taste of him.

Slowly, you took him into your mouth, letting out a sigh at the perfect weight of his cock on your tongue. His fingers tightened around your locks as he gave you a sharp tug, pulling you towards him, causing his length to hit the back of your throat. You closed your eyes as you focused on pleasuring him, sucking and licking at his shaft.

"Good girl, so good for me" He growled, his hips slowly thrusting into your mouth, "Such a pretty little thing on her knees for me".

You moaned in response, the praise he gave you spurring you on, making you move faster, wanting to please him more, wanting him to feel good.

You felt yourself growing wetter as he took control of the movements of your head, his grip on you becoming harsher. You opened your eyes once more, looking up at him as his hips stuttered, and his eyes fluttered shut.

"I'm going to cum," he growled, as his thrusts became sloppy.

"Cum for me daddy," you moaned, then a flicker of confusion crossed your face as the sound of an alarm echoed in your ears.

Your eyes opened, and you shot up out of bed. You rolled over and grabbed your phone, "Fuck!" you screamed, it was 8:30 am.

"Shit shit shit shit" you repeated as you quickly threw on some clothes and grabbed your things.

You raced out the door and began to run to campus, knowing full well that you wouldn't make it on time.

When you arrived at the exam room, you were already 30 minutes late. You wanted to cry, knowing that Mr. Mikaelson would not let you take it. You slowly entered the room, hoping that he would show you mercy, but to no avail.

He sat there, looking just as handsome as he did in your dreams, grading papers as the rest of the class worked in hushed silence.

"Miss Y/L/N," He said, not looking up from his papers, "see me after class".

Your heart sunk as you shuffled towards your seat, dropping your bag next to your desk. You looked up to find the eyes of your classmates looking at you.

"Eyes on your own exams," Mr. Mikaelson warned the class, his tone icy.

The rest of the hour seemed to drag on, with nothing to do, your mind wandered back to your dream, a familiar heat settling between your legs. You had a crush on him since the first day, but lately everything seemed to be escalating. You could barely pay attention in his class, so distracted by your fantasy of having him in your mouth.

When the bell finally rang, you sat frozen in your seat. The rest of the students slowly shuffled out of the room, casting sympathetic glances in your direction as they did.

When the room was empty, Mr. Mikaelson stepped in front of your desk, eyes darkened, waiting for you to look up at him.

"My office. 4:00 pm. You will take the exam. No excuses." He stated matter-of-factly.

Your stomach twisted, and your breath hitched, as you looked up at him through your lashes. He looked stunning. His hands clasped behind his back as he towered above you. He was always dressed with a suit and tie. His hair was slightly messy, probably from running his fingers through his hair and a pair of reading glasses sat low on his nose.

"If you are late, you will not have the opportunity to retake it. Do I make myself clear Miss. Y/L/N?" He looked over your appearance, as you sat there helplessly, his eyes lingering on your lips.

"Yes, sir" you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Good." He turned on his heels, walking back to his desk to collect his things, and preparing to leave. "Now be a good girl and go to your next class."

That was it? That's all he wanted to say? Wait, good girl, you thought. You bit your lip, he definitely said 'good girl'. The sudden image of your mouth wrapped around his cock flashed across your mind, and you could feel yourself getting wetter.

Your cheeks flushed red, and you quickly left the room, embarrassed by your own thoughts.

The rest of the day went by in a blur. You barely paid attention in any of your classes, too distracted by the idea of being alone with Mr. Mikaelson. By the time the last bell had rung, you made your way to his office. Your hands were shaking, and your heart was racing in anticipation.

"Mr. Mikaelson?" You asked as you knocked gently on the door, peaking your head inside. "Can I come in?"

"Yes, Miss Y/L/N. Right on time. Good." He smiled, a small, pleasant smile. But it only made you more nervous.

You slipped into the room, slowly closing the door behind you, watching him as he slid the exam across the table, toward you.

"You may begin".

You looked down at the paper before you, it was on the tenth century, a time period you were well versed in. You glanced up at Mr. Mikaelson and shot him a little smirk, pleased that you knew your stuff.

When you finished you slid your paper over to him, with a graceful flick of his wrist he put on his glasses as he looked it over, eyebrow raised, impressed with the way you had answered.

"Do you drink? Wine, bourbon?" He asked as he stood from his desk and walked over to the small bar he had in his office.

"I'll have whatever you are having" you replied, the feeling of your stomach tightening and knotting as he closed the space between you.

"Wine, then," he said, pouring two glasses and handing one to you. "Salute" he clinked his glass with yours as you brought it to your lips.

He moved to the front side of his desk, leaning against it and looking down at you. His face was stoic, but there was something in his eyes, a fire that hadn't been there earlier.

"So," he said, bringing his glass to his lips, "you are a bit of an anomaly to me, Miss Y/L/N" he said as his eyes trailed over you, drinking you in, a familiar flush began tinting your cheeks.

You laughed, a tiny giggle, and smiled, "How so?"

He shook his head and laughed softly. "Well, you test incredibly well, yet you never seem to be paying attention in my class."

Your smile faded, your face burned with embarrassment. You couldn't possibly admit to why you were so distracted.

"Did I say something to upset you?" he asked as he set down his glass of wine, turning his body to face you.

"No, of course not" you stammered, not meeting his eyes.

What could you say? 'You're just really attractive and I can't concentrate in class because I'm too busy thinking about your dick in my mouth'?

"If you don't tell me what's wrong, I can't help you" he replied in a soft tone.

You didn't know if it was the wine, or the strange almost subconscious influence of the dream you had that morning, but you felt brave. You lifted your head and looked him dead in the eye, trying to sound confident.

"I've been having these dreams, constantly lately..." you said, "and they have been interfering with my attention" you paused, studying his face for any reaction, and you continued, a whisper, barely audible "They have all involved you"

The look on his face was enough to send shockwaves through your core. His eyebrows shot up and he moved a little closer, now right in front of you, towering over you, making you feel small. You couldn't tear your eyes away from his arms, the button-up shirt pulled tight, his muscles flexing. This had to be a dream.

"What are they about? If I might ask" he spoke, drawing your attention back up to his face, your cheeks blazing as you gaped at him like a fish out of water.

You blinked rapidly as the realization that this was, in fact, happening, struck you. What could you say? The truth? Surely, he wouldn't take kindly to your mind producing nightly fantasies that starred him? Would he laugh at you? Tell you to get the hell out of his office and go home, never to return? Would he ever be able to look at you again without thinking of you as the pathetic, horny college kid that had a pathetic, horny crush on him? Probably not. But also, you knew that look in his eye, it was the kind all men had when they wanted to fuck you.

Your mind did some quick calculations on how badly this could go, but it seemed like your pussy was in control right now because it was the voice speaking, and it said, "Can I show you? Sir?" as your eyes trailed downward to his crotch.

There, right before you, was the evidence that maybe, just maybe, you weren't the only one in here all hot and bothered by the other. You looked up at him, feeling a little bit smug, as you saw his eyes follow your line of sight before flashing back up to yours.

You didn't wait for his response, instead you moved off the chair and on to your knees, your hands slowly skimming up his thighs, stopping just short of the proof you were sure you'd find in a moment.

"Can I?" you asked, in the most innocent voice you could, which wasn't all that convincing. You were in over your head, and you knew it, a hint of confusion shadowing his face at your words.

"I should be the one asking permission, miss" he responded before he placed his hand on your head, brushing your hair from your face in a gentle caress.

You couldn't believe this was really happening, and you sublty pinched your thigh, hard, and while it did sting a bit, you didn't wake up.

Your eyes met his once more, your hand darting forward and over the crotch of his pants, and yes, just as you hoped, he was rock solid.

Before you had much time to revel in your delight though he gently grabbed your wrist and paused your movements before you could get carried away with yourself.

"We can't do this" his words didn't convince you as you looked up at his face and saw the same emotions he'd displayed since the beginning flash across it.

He wanted this just as much as you did, why was he stopping you?

Feeling bold, you stood, taking his hand and leading him to the plush armchair in the corner of the room, you pushed him lightly, but playfully, causing him to gently fall into the seat

For a split second you enjoyed the image before you, Mr. Mikaelson looked slightly dazed with his glasses askew, as he gazed up at you in the chair.

Then you slowly kneeled between his legs, resting your hands on his thighs. Looking up at him from where you were, you could appreciate his physique, his broad shoulders and strong arms. Even in his suit, you could see the muscle definition in his chest and abdomen, the hard planes visible underneath. He leaned forward and stroked your hair, tucking it behind your ear. You met his gaze and he looked deep into your eyes, his thumb brushing over your lips, bringing them to part slightly.

"Mr. Mikaelson.. Sir" you could hear the neediness in your voice as you melted under his touch. "You don't know how badly I’ve wanted this"

He looked quite flushed, probably just as eager as you were. His brown eyes were almost black. You couldn't think, only focused on the throbbing sensation that was pooling low in your belly.

You grasped the button on his trousers and deftly popped it open. You carefully unzipped him, your stomach fluttering in excitement. You glanced up again and watched his face as you pulled his pants down his thighs. He breathed deeply, eyes closed, looking tense but ready to receive pleasure.

The black boxers he was wearing strained over his erect cock. The shape bulged as you nuzzled against him. You placed small kisses along his shaft, teasing him through the thin material. You lifted his shirt to give yourself a better view, then began tugging his boxers down.

His dick sprung out from under the fabric, and you caught your breath in surprise. It was large, not overly large, just bigger than what you expected. You stroked him gently, becoming accustomed to his size. Your hands followed his length from base to tip, your grip tightening, causing him to groan.

You gave the head soft kitten licks, looking up at him to gauge his reactions. His fingers in your hair slowly pushed your face closer, signaling for you to take more of him into your mouth. You opened your mouth and welcomed the weight of his cock on your tongue.

He tasted so delicious. It was the perfect mix of sweat, musk and pure man. You wanted to make him feel good, to make him lose control. To feel him holding onto you as he tried to contain himself. You bobbed your head and took more of his length with every pass. His breathing became labored and you looked up to see his eyes on you, watching as you sucked him. He looked intensely focused, biting his lower lip.

You slowly pulled off of him, sucking on the tip before letting go with a lewd pop. His cock was slick with your spit, glistening in the lamplight. You licked his length, kissing and sucking along the sides.

"Do you like that daddy?" The words tumbling out of your mouth before you could stop them.

"What did you just call me?" he breathed, moving your head back so you were face to face again.

Your face flushed in embarrassment, as you avoided his eyes. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. I was caught up in the moment... I.." Your eyes flickered up to his, and you could see that a smirk had begun to spread on his face.

Your thoughts were racing, had you really just called your professor 'Daddy'? And, more importantly, he liked it?

"Sir..." you breathed as he leaned back in his chair, a confident look settling on his face as he rubbed his scruff.

"Interesting" he said as he looked at you, licking his lips as he studied your face, which was now resembling a ripe tomato.

This was it, he would never be able to look at you with out laughing at the way you had acted. Shame burned hot on your cheeks and you hung your head in embarrassment.

"Look at me," he said softly, when you didn't he placed his finger under your chin, pulling your face towards him.

His eyes searched yours for a moment before he whispered a barely audible "do it again"

"Daddy" you repeated, watching as his cock twitch as you said it.

"Good girl" he praised, lightly pressing on your shoulders.

His hand returned to your hair, drawing you toward him, leading you back down his length. You ran the tip of your tongue around the head of his cock before teasing the slit, gathering precum on your tongue and swallowing it down eagerly.

His hips bucked forward involuntarily and he let out a throaty moan. You smiled and took him back into your mouth, swallowing his cock to the base. You held him there for a moment before bobbing your head rapidly.

"Just like that," he moaned.

You could tell he was close from the way his breathing changed and gripped your hair tighter. "So fucking good," he said roughly, tugging on the strands and angling you where he liked best.

He stilled your movements suddenly, making it so you couldn't do anything but sit still with his dick in your mouth. His cock rested on your tongue, the sensitive head leaking precum. You bobbed your head and continued to suck him, lapping up all of his fluid. His breathing grew ragged as his release approached.

He tugged on your hair, pulling your head off of him so only the tip remained inside your mouth. His eyes were closed, and you took the opportunity to kiss the head of his cock, toying with it between your lips.

"Will you cum in my mouth daddy?"

A loud groan left his throat, his breath coming in huffs. "Jesus, yes."

He held you in place and began thrusting shallowly into your throat, all while you stared up at him from where you knelt. You couldn't break his gaze.

He watched your throat contract as you swallowed him down. He seemed to appreciate the amount of saliva that leaked from the corners of your mouth, tracing a glistening path down to his balls.

You hollowed your cheeks and gave a long, drawn-out suck.

"Oh my sweet girl, do that again." His breathing was labored, his tone deep and raspy. His body jerked slightly, thrusting deeper, struggling to hold back. He cupped your face and brushed his thumb against your cheek, wiping away a tear that escaped.

You did as he asked, looking up at him with wide innocent eyes. He kept his gaze on yours. You opened your mouth wider, relaxing your throat, and let out a soft hum. It sent the most delicious sensation through his dick, sending him over the edge.

You swallowed down everything he gave you, never once breaking eye contact. Your mouth was warm and wet, and you gave little swallows to pull more from him.

He shuddered and you couldn't help but moan around him at how wrecked he looked. His hair was messed up and there was a wild look in his eyes. He was gazing down at you with a possessive, determined expression, like he was seeing you for the very first time.

He slowly withdrew his cock, watching it slide past your swollen lips. You gently hummed and gave the tip a few soft kisses before leaning back.

You could see the satisfied smirk on his face. He released your hair and pushed his cock back inside his boxers. He tucked his shirt back in and straightened up, then tugged you by the arm to help you off the ground.

He was quiet as he looked down at your completely ravished appearance. Your eyes looked heavy and hooded, and your lips were red and puffy from being stretched open. There was a thin sheen of sweat coating your skin and he could see how turned on you were.

He beckoned you to sit on his lap, which you gladly did, wrapping your arms around his neck. His hands found their way around your waist, pulling you closer. He kissed your lips tenderly, then trailed his lips along the column of your throat.

You sighed, melting against him, he felt so nice and warm. His stubble tickled your skin, bringing you out of your haze. The closeness of him, the way he held you, was surprisingly intimate. You hadn't expected to be so affected by something so simple.

"That was unexpected," he said softly, as his hands moved slowly along the lines of your sides, the action wasn't provocative, rather it was in the comforting, sensual kind of way. It allowed him to explore your body, to familiarize himself.

As the lust faded, you felt a deep sense of uncertainty about what would happen. You also had no idea where this might lead, or how quickly. It wasn't smart to get involved with your teacher, and it definitely wasn't smart to have his cum in your mouth.You usually knew better than to put yourself in situations like this with people you didn't know. You knew nothing about the man, save for what you learned in his class. But the logical part of your brain seemed to have checked out for the night.

You moved off of him, causing him to loosen his grip on you, his eyes following your movements.

"Thank you for letting me take my exam late, I really appreciate it," you said awkwardly, leaning in to peck him on the cheek.

He gave you a puzzled look and nodded, reaching out to take your hand before you got too far.

"Are you alright?" he asked, gently squeezing your hand, concern etched in his features.

"Yeah, I.. have some assignments due and some studying to do. I should go, I've taken up too much of your time already," you brushed his hand off and swiftly headed out the door before he could respond.

From the moment you woke up the next day, you were dreading going to your history class. Not only had you embarrassingly called one of the hottest men you'd ever met, 'daddy', but then you had given him head and actually liked it.

You'd never acted like that before, it was completely out of character and despite his positive reaction, it did nothing to ease your anxiety around him.

He was such an enigma and it didn't make any sense to you. He looked and acted for all the world like the perfect gentlemen, but there had been an edge to him, when he'd looked down at you while you'd...well, done what you had. Like he was just holding himself back, and you wanted to see what would happen when he finally let go.

Even though it was such a bad idea.

Maybe you should just skip today, maybe the rest of the year, you knew that you would probably spend the entire class thinking about how you sucked his cock. You let out a long sigh, and headed to class anyway, you didn't want to skip your lecture, even though your mind was a muddled mess.

Class began the usual way, and you went about taking notes while he lectured, ignoring the way your face burned when you glanced up and saw him looking at you. At some point he began talking about the vikings and you mind began to wander. Daydreaming about the way his cock had throbbed in your mouth as he came.

You were lost in a daze of desire, subconsciously sucking on the end of your pen, you were unaware of the heated look he was giving you. How he was transfixed by the sight of the pen disappearing between your lips, followed by a flick of your tongue as you glanced up, looking directly at him as you gave it an obscene suck. His eyes narrowed at the sight, you weren't the only one who was distracted.

His lecturing halted momentarily and everyone noticed he looked more flustered than usual. The classroom was quiet, as they all watched in confusion. His eyes met yours and he quickly cleared his throat, shaking his head as if he was coming back to reality.

"Miss Y/L/N, please see me after class" he directed at you before abruptly continuing to lecture.

You looked away, feeling tense, maybe skipping class hadn't been such a bad idea.

You stood there, watching the room empty, and waiting for the last of your classmates to leave. When the room was empty, you approached his desk, where he was gathering his belongings, preparing to leave.

"Is everything ok, professor?" You asked, as he finished putting his books away and turned to face you.

"That's not the term I was hoping to hear, especially considering our encounter yesterday," he said, a smirk spreading on his face.

"Sorry, I..I mean Mr. Mikaelson," you replied, looking down, not wanting to meet his eyes.

"It's Elijah, and I believe that you were referring to me as something else" he teased, his dark eyes searching yours, the corner of his mouth lifted into a sly grin.

Your face flushed, as you remembered how you'd called him 'daddy', and how much he had liked it.

"So, why did you want to see me?" You asked, hoping that you could steer the conversation away from the previous day's events.

"How do you feel about Italian? Tonight, seven o'clock, my place?" He gave you a handsome smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

"Tonight?" you echoed.

"At seven," he repeated.

"You want me to have dinner at your place?" you clarified.

"Yes," he nodded.

"With you?" you asked.

"Unless you are busy," he teased.

"No, no I'm not. I'd love to. I mean..." You didn't want to accept the date too quickly, like you were over eager to spend time with him.

"Good, it's settled then."

When Elijah arrived to pick you up, you were surprised that he actually came to your door. The typical nervous excitement bubbled in your belly as you opened it for him. He looked so good, wearing a black button-down shirt without his usual blazer. He had no tie tonight and his top buttons were undone.

He seemed to enjoy your outfit choice. Your dress was long enough that it had an innocent feel, but the deep V at the front could not be ignored. It was bold and eye-catching. He took your hand and brushed his lips across your knuckles.

"Shall we?" His brown eyes twinkled.

It was a short drive to his place. He led you through the building and into the elevator, then used a key to access the penthouse. The doors slid open into a massive room, the entire wall facing the city was a huge window, offering a spectacular view.

The floors were a light oak, and the walls a crisp white. Modern art was hung on the walls, and a large, leather couch was situated in the middle of the room. A fire was crackling in the fireplace, and a coffee table was filled with candles, making it cozy. And of course, books. There were books everywhere, on every surface and neatly lined up on the floor.

You walked to the window, amazed by the view. You could see the whole city and the mountains beyond.

"Do you live here alone?"

"I have a brother who stays here sometimes," he replied.

"This place is incredible. The view is stunning."

"I'm glad you like it," he smiled, moving towards the kitchen.

You sat on his kitchen counter, drinking wine as you watched him cook, chatting casually. He was so interesting and passionate, and you enjoyed the stories he told. You found yourself becoming more comfortable around him. The longer you spent in his presence, the better you felt. You were hooked.

"Can I ask you something?," you started, after swirling the wine around your glass, then taking a drink.

"Of course." Elijah looked over at you.

"How are you still single? You're incredibly hot, smart and charming," You blushed, hoping you weren't sounding desperate. He laughed, turning his attention back to the food.

"I don't really have time for dating. I spend all my free time on my research,"

"And sex," You added, a teasing smirk appearing on your lips.

"Is that what you think? That I'm one of those professors?" He smirked, looking amused.

"Are you saying you don't have sex with students?" You asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Not yet," he replied.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you shifted slightly on the counter. His words had the desired effect on you. He chuckled and began plating the food.

"Let's eat while our food is still hot."

Dinner with Elijah was surprisingly pleasant, the conversation was entertaining and he asked you lots of questions about your personal interests, family and passions. You were falling hard for the man, he was just so easy to get along with. By the time he had cleaned everything up and washed the dishes, you were well over your initial awkwardness and laughing more freely.

You walked around his place, admiring the art on the walls. There were beautiful paintings, some that were probably very old and expensive. You noticed a piano in the corner of the living room, and wondered if he played.

The fire was still going and it made the room warm and cozy. You kicked off your shoes and curled up on the sofa.

Elijah walked in with a fresh bottle of wine and two glasses.

"You have an amazing collection of paintings," you remarked, as he sat beside you.

"Thank you, I've collected them for years," he said, handing you a glass.

You smiled as you brought the glass to your lips, taking a sip. You felt his eyes on you and glanced up to meet his gaze. His expression was unreadable, and you suddenly felt self conscious.

"You passed your exam, by the way." He finally spoke.

"I'm sorry I left so quickly. I know that was weird," you looked down, avoiding his eyes.

"I wasn't sure if I had upset you," his hand was warm on your thigh, rubbing gently.

"You didn't, I was just..." You looked up at him, seeing his eyes searching yours, the question was there, and he deserved an honest answer. "I have a confession."

"Oh?" he leaned forward, placing his wine on the coffee table, giving you his full attention.

"I've wanted you since the first day of class," you admitted.

"Hmmm.." He smirked, looking you up and down. The look in his eyes was hungry. "Speaking of class, I have some extra credit work for you," he leaned over, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you onto his lap.

Your body was pressed against his, and his hand was holding you in place by your ass. Your nipples hardened as you moved against him.

"What do I have to do, professor?" Your lips parted and he met you, giving you a passionate kiss. You moaned as you twisted his shirt in your fists, responding eagerly.

"Take this off." he tugged at your dress, signaling for you to lift your arms. You pulled away so that he could take the garment off. His brown eyes glowed as he took in your appearance.

You were wearing your favorite lingerie, dark red lace that formed to your figure perfectly. Your nipples pebbled through the material, a noticeable wet patch appeared on your panties.

"Spread your legs." Elijah's voice sent tingles along your skin, commanding yet soft. You obeyed his command, pushing your thighs open.

"Pop quiz, Miss Y/L/N." He teased, tracing his fingertips along the edge of your panties.

"Who was the ruler of the Holy Roman Empire during the tenth century?" He asked, his fingers slowly circling your clit over the fabric. You whimpered, your breath hitching.

"Otto the great." you said, and the moment the words left your lips, he hooked his finger around the thin strap of your thong and snapped it against your hip. You gasped, and the sting made your clit ache.

"Good girl, you're learning" He hummed, rubbing the sting away.

"What significant event took place in 987 AD that marked the beginning of the Capetian dynasty in France?" His finger slipped under your panties and he ran his fingertips through your wetness.

"Hugh Capet was crowned King of the Franks."

"That's my good girl, very smart," his thumb began to rub lazy circles on your clit, his eyes never leaving your face.

"Which Islamic caliphate was at its height during the tenth century and played a crucial role in preserving and advancing knowledge?" He asked, his fingers stroking along your slit, and then circling your entrance.

"The A-abbasids." You moaned as he slipped a finger inside you.

"So you have been paying attention in my class," He chuckled, slipping his finger out of you.

"Yes, Professor Mikaelson," you groaned, rocking against his hand, desperate for more friction.

"Which Chinese dynasty ruled during the tenth century and is often considered a high point in Chinese civilization, known for its advances in arts, science, and technology?" He asked, his breath ghosting across your lips.

"T-the Sung dynasty," You whispered, and he plunged two fingers deep inside you, causing you to cry out.

"Very good, such a clever girl," his mouth covered yours, swallowing your moans.

"Last question," he teased, and you groaned in frustration, trying to fuck yourself on his fingers, but he wouldn't let you move.

"In the tenth century, what Viking explorer is believed to have reached North America, making him one of the earliest known Europeans to do so?" He asked, his thumb grazing over your clit as his fingers curled inside you.

"Leif Erikson," you cried, your hips jerking.

"That's right, such a clever, clever girl," he praised, thrusting his fingers faster, his tongue exploring your mouth. You moaned into the kiss, grinding against him.

You felt a rush of arousal, your pussy clenching around his fingers.

"Do you want to cum for me?" He asked, breaking the kiss.

"Y-yes, please." You stammered.

"Such a polite, obedient girl. What was it you called me yesterday? Daddy? Do you want daddy's cock, baby?"

"Y-yes, I want your cock, daddy."

He withdrew his fingers from you, and you watched as he licked them clean, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Get on the floor."

You slipped off his lap and knelt between his legs. He reached down and unbuckled his belt, his erection straining against his pants. He pulled his cock free and stroked it a few times, looking down at you.

You opened your mouth and leaned forward, pressing his cock between your lips. You looked up at him, sucking eagerly. He let out a deep groan, his hand threading through your hair.

He guided you up and down his shaft, his hips rolling slightly. You loved the feeling of his hard cock sliding over your tongue. He began to move you faster, and you swallowed around him. He moaned, gripping your hair. You tried to take more of him into your mouth, bobbing up and down eagerly.

You could feel him getting close, his fingers digging into your scalp. You sucked harder, trying to bring him over the edge.

Before you could, he pulled you off of him, and you let out a soft cry of disappointment. “Come here," he said, pulling you into his lap.

You straddled his hips, his hands gliding over your body, finding the back clasp on your bra and unhooking it. He peeled the lace away from your body, his eyes blazing with desire as they roamed over you.

He cupped your breasts and leaned forward, capturing nipple between his lips. You moaned, your fingers pulling on his hair as he gently bit down.

You whimpered, arching your back, offering yourself to him. He lavished attention on your breasts, his mouth sucking and licking and biting until your nipples were swollen and aching.

You leaned in and kissed him, your tongues meeting in a slow dance. His hands tangled in your hair as he took control, tasting every part of your mouth, devouring your lips.

You moved your hips, desperately seeking contact. He halted you, a dark look in his eye, he had a dangerous edge about him, which somehow excited you even more.

"On my bed, now," he commanded, his voice thick with desire.

You scrambled off of his lap, and practically ran to his bedroom. He stood and followed you, his predatory gaze making your pussy throb.

He caught up to you and pulled you into him, his hands gripping your hips, pulling your ass against him. His cock was hard against you, and you ground back into him, the friction making you moan.

"Get on the bed and show me what a good girl you are."

"Yes, daddy," you breathed, climbing onto the huge bed.

You got on all fours and presented your ass to him, arching your back.

"Spread your legs," he commanded. You reached behind and pulled the strings on the thong, exposing your wet pussy to him. You could hear him growling with lust, his hands grabbing at your ass, spreading you wider.

You could feel the heat of him hovering over your pussy, his hands gripping your thighs. You let out a low moan, and then his tongue was pressing against you, tracing patterns on your already swollen clit. You gasped, your head dropping to the bed.

"Ohh, daddy, yes," You panted as he licked and lapped at you, sucking on your clit. Your fingers twisted in the comforter. His hands gripped your hips as his tongue swirled around your entrance.

"Fuck, you taste so good," he groaned, his fingers digging into the flesh of your ass.

You whined, rocking your hips back, your pussy clenching around his tongue as he drove it into you. You moaned and rolled your hips, chasing the pleasure, your entire body tightening in anticipation.

"Oh, god, yes. Please, don't stop," you begged, one of his hands trailing along your spine.

The warmth grew until you felt like you were aflame, your whole body shuddering. You came with a cry, his mouth moving with you, continuing to push you through the overwhelming waves.

His hands were on your hips, holding you in place, as his lips ghosted over your ass, pressing open mouth kisses to each of your cheeks. The stubble on his face created a delicious friction against your soft flesh, making you shiver.

The wet head of his cock slid over your pussy, dragging through your slick and bumping over your clit. You whimpered, grinding back against him. He chuckled and delivered a sharp slap to your backside.

"On your back."

You turned over, your chest heaving. He bent down, grasping your thighs and pushing your knees up against your chest. He leaned over you, his lips brushing over yours, his eyes dark.

"I'm not usually this demanding in bed, but you have this effect on me," he rasped, his hands gripping your thighs as he rubbed his cock against you.

"What are you usually like?" You asked breathlessly, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down so his body was pressed against yours.

"I like to savor things. Women. Food. Wine," He explained, his voice thick with desire. "I like to take my time," his lips brushed over yours as he spoke.

"I'm not usually like this either," You admitted.

He smirked, and then captured your mouth, kissing you deeply. You moaned, wrapping your legs around his waist.

He positioned the tip of his cock at your entrance, and slowly eased inside you. You gasped, breaking the kiss. You closed your eyes, your back arching as he pushed deeper, stretching you open.

"Fuck," he breathed, his forehead resting against yours.

All you could do was moan in response, as his hips began to move, setting a slow and steady pace. Your hands moved down to his ass, pulling him closer, needing him deeper. He groaned, his lips finding yours once more.

He thrust harder, and you moaned into the kiss. You were completely consumed by him, by his scent, his taste, his touch. He felt so good, his cock filling you perfectly. His hands were planted on the bed beside your head, caging you in. Your pussy was clenching around his cock, your nails digging into his biceps.

You looked up into his eyes, and you were drawn into their dark pools of lust. He smiled, leaning in to kiss you hungrily, swallowing your moans.

"Listen to the sounds you make, sweetheart. You were made for me," He growled, the filthy wet sound of your bodies meeting filled the room as he pounded into you.

You were losing your mind, his cock stroking in and out of you perfectly, his face hovering over yours. You wrapped your arms around his neck, your fingers tangling in his hair, desperate to be closer to him. Your toes were curling and your whole body was tingling, every nerve firing.

Your hands moved to his back, fingers digging into his shoulders as he fucked you, his body pressed against yours. His breathing was ragged, his muscles tensing. You could feel the warmth building again, the pressure mounting.

"Cum for me, sweetheart." He rasped.

His mouth was hot against you, his tongue tangling with yours. Your head fell back, his name falling from your lips as your orgasm crashed over you.

He was whispering to you, filthy words, promises and praise all mixed together. The weight of his body pressed you deeper into the mattress, his cock still hitting every sensitive spot. You whimpered and gasped, burying your face in his chest.

"That's it," He encouraged, his hips rocking against yours.

He began panting and you could feel him losing control, his thrusts becoming erratic. You clenched around him and he let out a deep groan, his cock throbbing. He pressed his forehead against yours, his eyes closing as he came inside you.

He leaned in, capturing your mouth in another searing kiss. He kissed you with so much passion, you swore you saw stars. Your hearts beating in sync.

You were both breathing hard, your bodies glistening with sweat. He rolled onto his side, taking you with him. You rested your head on his chest, his arm wrapping around you, his fingers drawing lazy patterns on your back.

"Will you stay the night?" Elijah asked, his lips brushing against yours.

"Yes, please, sir" You sighed.

He chuckled, pulling you tightly against him. You laid tangled up in one another, sharing soft kisses and lingering touches.

You didn't expect to get caught up with your professor, but here you were. Wrapped in his sheets, in his arms. It was probably wrong, but you didn't care. He was completely irresistible, and you were hopelessly drawn to him.

This was definitely going to be an interesting semester.

♡ Do you guys want a part two?? cause I could definitely make this a whole series.. ♡

#elijah mikaelson #the originals #the vampire diaries #tvdu #vampire diaries #elijah mikaelson smut #elijah mikaelson imagine #elijah mikealson imagine #elijah mikealson #elijah mikaelson x reader #elijah mikealson smut #elijah mikealson x reader #tvd #the vampire diaries x you #the vampire diaries x reader #the vampire diares imagine #the vampire diaries imagine #the originals imagine

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aronarchy · 3 months

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A copy of the reading list, if you dislike clicking on Google docs links:

The Popular University of the Palestinian Youth Movement Presents Our History of Popular Resistance: Palestine Reading List

As Palestinians, we are bearers of a rich and beautiful history. Our history is not defined by Zionism, but by our people’s steadfast popular resistance to Zionist colonization and imperialism. For over 75 years, our people have faced Zionist ethnic cleansing and for over 75 years we have risen in struggle against it. Even prior to the 1948 Nakba, Palestinians consistently rose up against British imperialism and the Zionist movement, as exemplified in the 1936-9 Arab Revolt. Our history and struggle, therefore, cannot be defined by victimhood. Instead, they are defined by a relentless persistence toward liberation, even under the most brutal colonial conditions.

Today is no exception. In a moment when the word is rising up for Palestinian freedom, we must emphasize that popular uprisings across Palestine are deeply and firmly rooted in our history. For this reason, our recommended reading list offers historical context on Palestine through the prism of popular resistance, which continues to be our main resource in the fight for land, return, and liberation. We include sources in English and Arabic on popular resistance ranging from political histories, interviews, memoirs, poetry, films, and primary documents. By popular resistance we refer to all forms of resistance taken up by Palestinians: in the form of economic resistance, women’s organizations, unions and labor organizing, and military/armed resistance.

As the Popular University, a committee of the Palestinian Youth Movement, we believe that education must be wielded in service of struggle. Our viewpoint finds inspiration and guidance from the Popular University in Palestine, of which the martyred Basel al-Araj was a part. In our meeting with an educator in this project, Khaled Odeitallah, he emphasized how the political role of pedagogical strategies inspired the objective and vision of the Popular University. He asked: “What is the political role that knowledge production must play?” From this perspective we seek to motivate, engage and facilitate a robust engagement on the history and present of our struggle. Study and struggle are intimately tied to one another. We do not learn and produce knowledge on Palestinian history for academic or careerist pursuits; we produce knowledge in service of our political struggle for Palestinian liberation.

We encourage you to use this reading list to educate yourself on the history of Palestine beyond the objective facts of colonial domination. This is a political responsibility for anyone concerned with Palestine’s liberation. Through engagement with our history of resistance, we may join the struggle armed with knowledge and a continued commitment not to our suffering, but to our collective strength.

Note: We included a number of texts in Arabic that offer analysis and context for this battle that is rarely offered in the English media outlets. Even if you do not read Arabic, we recommend copy pasting the texts in Arabic into Google Translate or another translation service. The translation, while imperfect, will provide you with an overall sense of the arguments and main points being made.

Introductory and Archival Materials

Decolonize Palestine

(مكتبة سبيل (الصفحة العربية

Sabil Library (English Site)

Learn the Revolution

باب الواد - الجامعة الشعبية

Revolution and Rebellion under the British Occupation:

The Revolution of 1936-1939 in Palestine: Background, Details, and Analysis, Ghassan Kanafani

(ثورة 1936- 1939: خلفيات وتفاصيل وتحليل.“ غسان كنفاني (1972”

Memories of Revolt: The 1936-1939 Rebellion and the Palestinian National Past, Ted Swedenburg (1995)

أبو جلدة والعرميط Abu Jilda & Al ‘Armit

“Abu Jilda, Anti-Imperial Hero: Banditry and Popular Rebellion in Palestine,” Alex Winder (2015)

“A century of Palestinian resistance: the legacy of Izz ad-Din al-Qassam,” The East is a Podcast (2021)

Palestine: A Modern History, Abdul-Wahhab Kayyali (1978)

Palestinian Resistance 1948 - 1993

Palestinian history doesn’t start with the Nakba by PYM (May, 2023)

Armed Struggle and the Search for a State: The Palestinian National Movement, 1948 - 1993, Yezid Sayigh (1997)

(معنى النكبة“ قنسطنطين زريق (1948”

Palestinians: From Peasants to Revolutionaries, Rosemary Sayegh (1979)

(2006) “من التحرير إلى الدولة: تاريخ الحركة الوطنية الفلسطينية، 1948-1988” هيلغا بوبغارتن

Green March Black September: The Story of the Palestinian Arabs, John Cooley (1973)

“Interview with Fr. Shehadeh Shehadeh on the First Land Day Protest,” Sharif Hamadeh (2005)

Gender in Crisis: Women and the Palestinian Resistance Movement, Julie Peteet (1991)

“What the Uprising Means,” Salim Tamari (1988)

“The Stone and the Pen: Palestinian Education During the 1987 Intifada,” Yamila Hussein (2005)

Popular Resistance in Palestine: A History of Hope and Empowerment, Mazin Qumsiyeh (2011)

(وقع الانتفاضات الشعبية الديمقراطية - تاريخ المنظمة و الحر كات“ جميل هلال (2011”

“Fighting on Two Fronts: Conversations with Palestinian Women” Soraya Antonius (1979)

“100 Years of Palestinian Popular Resistance” by Nasreen Abd Elal (May, 2023)

Contemporary Palestinian Resistance

Zionism in crisis: Palestinian resistance forges a new horizon (April, 2023)

“The Palestinians’ inalienable right to resist,” Louis Allday (2021)

“No Choice but to Break Free: An Interview with Ahmed Abu Artema,” Ahmed Abu Artema and Lara Sheehi (2019)

Interview with Ahmad Saadat, Leading from Prison, Ending Negotiations, and Rebuilding the Resistance (2013)

“Palestinian Resistance and Sheikh Jarrah,” Devyn Springer, Mohammed el-Kurd, and Abu Shuwarib, Groundings Podcast (2021)

Notes from the Great March of Return w/ Tareq Loubani, The East is a Podcast (2022)

(هبّة باب العامود: نصر جديد وتحدٍّ جديد 2“ خالد عودة الله (2021”

(حراك «طالعات» الفلسطيني: لا وجود لوطن حرّ إلّا بنساء حرّة“ حلا مرشود (2019”

Operation Sword Edge [2018] - Sayaret Matkal’s Covert Operation, Silah Report (2021)

Battle of Shujaiya - The 51 Day War: Ruin and Resistance in Gaza

The Evolution of the Palestinian Resistance and Its New Strategy (October, 2022)

On the Joint Operations Room

Palestinian Institutions and Political Parties

PLO: History of a Revolution - Six-part documentary series about history of the Palestinian Liberation Organization (2009)

The PLO: The Struggle Within, Alain Gresh (1985)

“The Joy of Flying 1967-73” in The Palestinian Liberation Organization: People, Power, and Politics, Helena Cobban (1984)

“The Palestinian National Covenant,” published in Basic Political Documents of the Armed Palestinian Resistance Movement, Leila Kadi (ed.) (1969)

“PLO Institutions: The Challenge Ahead,” Jamil Hilal (1993)

“A New Hamas Through Its New Documents,” Khaled Hroub (2006)

Worker Mobilization, Labor Movements, and Economic Resistance

“When pickles become a weapon: Economy of the first Intifada,” Palestinian Journeys

(أداء المؤسسات الاقتصادية في المناطق المحتلة قبل الانتفاضة وخلالها“ عادل سمارة (1990”

“Developing a Palestinian Resistance Economy through Agricultural Labor,” Rayya El-Zein (2017)

Resistance in Zionist Prisons

(2021) كلام الأسرى.. عيون الكلام

Video: Steadfastness and Resistance — the Palestinian prisoner’s movement and the case of Ahmad Sa’adat

“One Man as a Whole Generation: The Unfinished War of Zakaria Zubeidi,” Ramzy Baroud (2021)

“Liberating a Palestinian Novel from Israeli Prison,” Danya Al-Saleh and Samar Al-Saleh (2023)

“The Prisoner Walid Daqqah: a stubborn conscience that cannot be seared,” Wisam Rafeedie (2023)

“Freedom or Martyrdom: Walid Daqqah’s fate is in our hands,” PYM (2023)

“Resistance and Revolutionary Will: Soha Bechara and Nawal Baidoun’s Testimonies of Khiam Prison,” Mary Turfah (2023)

Role of Palestinian Women in the Resistance

Interview with Samira Salah (2013)

Behind the intifada: Labor and Women’s Movements in the Occupied Territories, Joost R. Hiltermann (1991)

Palestinian Women and the Intifada, Rana Khoury (1995)

“The Palestinian women’s autonomous movement: Emergency, dynamics and challenges,” Rabab Abdulhadi (1998)

“Women of the Intifada: gender, class and national liberation,” Nahla Abdo (1991)

Women, War, and Peace: Reflections from the Intifada, Nahla Abdo (2002)

Palestinian Women’s Activism, Islah Jad (2018)

Memoirs and Personal Profiles

“Committed to Liberation: Remembering Soha Bechara’s Clandestine Mission” (includes chapter 7 of Resistance: My Life for Lebanon by Soha Bechara)

My People Shall Live, Leila Khaled (1971)

Liberation, Wonder, and the “Magic of the World”: Basel al-Araj’s I Have Found My Answers, Hazem Jamjoum (2021)

(وجدت أجوبتي: هكذا تكلم الشهيد باسل الأعرج“ باسل الأعرج (2018”

(مذكرات نجاتي صدقي“ ،تقديم وإعداد حنّا أبو حنّا، (2001”

“I Went to Defend Jerusalem in Cordoba: Memoirs of a Palestinian Communist in the Spanish International Brigades,” Najati Sidqqi (2015)

“Two Portraits in Resistance - Abu ‘Umar and Mahjub ‘Umar,” Jehan Helou and Elias Khoury (2012)

My Life in the PLO: The Inside Story of the Palestinian Struggle, Shafiq al-Hout and Jean Said Makdisi (2019)

Lightning through the Clouds: ‘Izz al-Din al-Qassam and the Making of the Modern Middle East, Mark Sanagan (2020)

جيفارا غزة - القصة الكاملة لبطل فلسطيني حارب الاحتلال ببسالة

جيفارا غزة - وثائقي الميادين

Historical fiction, literature, and poetry

The Trinity of Fundamentals, Wisam Rafeedie

“Live Like a Porcupine, Fight Like a Flea,” A Translation of an Article by Basel Al-Araj

“Here We Will Stay,” Tawfiq Zayyad (1966)

Poetry of Resistance in Occupied Palestine, translated by Sulafa Hijjawi (Baghdad, Ministry of Culture and Guidance, 1968)

Returning to Haifa, Ghassan Kanafani (1969)

الأدب الفلسطيني المقاوم تحت الإحتلال 1948ـ1968“ ,غسان كنفاني”

“Resist, My People, Resist Them,” Dareen Tatour (2015)

(نظرية اللعبة“ خالد عودة الله (2018”

Rifqa, Mohammed El-Kurd (2021)

“A Place Without a Door” and “Uncle Give me a Cigarette”—Two Essays by Palestinian Political Prisoner, Walid Daqqah (2023)

On Zionist Literature, Ghassan Kanafani (1967 original, 2022 English translation)

Films

Fedayin: Georges Abdallah’s Fight (2021)

Naila and the Uprising (2017)

Off Frame AKA Revolution Until Victory (2015)

When I Saw You, Lamma Shoftak (2012)

Slingshot Hip Hop (2008)

Leila Khaled: Hijacker (2005)

Jenin Jenin (2002)

Naji al Ali An Artist With a Vision (1999)

Tell Your Tale Little Bird (1993)

Everything and Nothing (1991)

They Do Not Exist (1974)

Palestine Books Library

To search for the book you’d like:

#repost of someone else’s content #Palestinian Youth Movement #Palestine

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rebeccathenaturalist · 7 months

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Existence Value: Why All of Nature is Important Whether We Can Use it or Not

I spend a lot of time around other nature nerds. We’re a bunch of people from varying backgrounds, places, and generations who all find a deep well of inspiration within the natural world. We’re the sort of people who will happily spend all day outside enjoying seeing wildlife and their habitats without any sort of secondary goal like fishing, foraging, etc. (though some of us engage in those activities, too.) We don’t just fall in love with the places we’ve been, either, but wild locales that we’ve only ever seen in pictures, or heard of from others. We are curators of existence value.

Existence value is exactly what it sounds like–something is considered important and worthwhile simply because it is. It’s at odds with how a lot of folks here in the United States view our “natural resources.” It’s also telling that that is the term most often used to refer collectively to anything that is not a human being, something we have created, or a species we have domesticated, and I have run into many people in my lifetime for whom the only value nature has is what money can be extracted from it. Timber, minerals, water, meat (wild and domestic), mushrooms, and more–for some, these are the sole reasons nature exists, especially if they can be sold for profit. When questioning how deeply imbalanced and harmful our extractive processes have become, I’ve often been told “Well, that’s just the way it is,” as if we shall be forever frozen in the mid-20th century with no opportunity to reimagine industry, technology, or uses thereof.

Moreover, we often assign positive or negative value to a being or place based on whether it directly benefits us or not. Look at how many people want to see deer and elk numbers skyrocket so that they have more to hunt, while advocating for going back to the days when people shot every gray wolf they came across. Barry Holstun Lopez’ classic Of Wolves and Men is just one of several in-depth looks at how deeply ingrained that hatred of the “big bad wolf” is in western mindsets, simply because wolves inconveniently prey on livestock and compete with us for dwindling areas of wild land and the wild game that sustained both species’ ancestors for many millennia. “Good” species are those that give us things; “bad” species are those that refuse to be so complacent.

Even the modern conservation movement often has to appeal to people’s selfishness in order to get us to care about nature. Look at how often we have to argue that a species of rare plant is worth saving because it might have a compound in it we could use for medicine. Think about how we’ve had to explain that we need biodiverse ecosystems, healthy soil, and clean water and air because of the ecosystem services they provide us. We measure the value of trees in dollars based on how they can mitigate air pollution and anthropogenic climate change. It’s frankly depressing how many people won’t understand a problem until we put things in terms of their own self-interest and make it personal. (I see that less as an individual failing, and more our society’s failure to teach empathy and emotional skills in general, but that’s a post for another time.)

Existence value flies in the face of all of those presumptions. It says that a wild animal, or a fungus, or a landscape, is worth preserving simply because it is there, and that is good enough. It argues that the white-tailed deer and the gray wolf are equally valuable regardless of what we think of them or get from them, in part because both are keystone species that have massive positive impacts on the ecosystems they are a part of, and their loss is ecologically devastating.

But even those species whose ecological impact isn’t quite so wide-ranging are still considered to have existence value. And we don’t have to have personally interacted with a place or its natural inhabitants in order to understand their existence value, either. I may never get to visit the Maasai Mara in Kenya, but I wish to see it as protected and cared for as places I visit regularly, like Willapa National Wildlife Refuge. And there are countless other places, whose names I may never know and which may be no larger than a fraction of an acre, that are important in their own right.

I would like more people (in western societies in particular) to be considering this concept of existence value. What happens when we detangle non-human nature from the automatic value judgements we place on it according to our own biases? When we question why we hold certain values, where those values came from, and the motivations of those who handed them to us in the first place, it makes it easier to see the complicated messes beneath the simple, shiny veneer of “Well, that’s just the way it is.”

And then we get to that most dangerous of realizations: it doesn’t have to be this way. It can be different, and better, taking the best of what we’ve accomplished over the years and creating better solutions for the worst of what we’ve done. In the words of Rebecca Buck–aka Tank Girl–“We can be wonderful. We can be magnificent. We can turn this shit around.”

Let’s be clear: rethinking is just the first step. We can’t just uproot ourselves from our current, deeply entrenched technological, social, and environmental situation and instantly create a new way of doing things. Societal change takes time; it takes generations. This is how we got into that situation, and it’s how we’re going to climb out of it and hopefully into something better. Sometimes the best we can do is celebrate small, incremental victories–but that’s better than nothing at all.

Nor can we just ignore the immensely disproportionate impact that has been made on indigenous and other disadvantaged communities by our society (even in some cases where we’ve actually been trying to fix the problems we’ve created.) It does no good to accept nature’s inherent value on its own terms if we do not also extend that acceptance throughout our own society, and to our entire species as a whole.

But I think ruminating on this concept of existence value is a good first step toward breaking ourselves out first and foremost. And then we go from there.

Did you enjoy this post? Consider taking one of my online foraging and natural history classes or hiring me for a guided nature tour, checking out my other articles, or picking up a paperback or ebook I’ve written! You can even buy me a coffee here!

#nature #natural history #ecology #wildlife #animals #environment #environmentalism #conservation #existence value #deep ecology #science #scicomm #environmental philosophy #climate change

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queen-of-deans-booty · 2 months

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Fertility

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.2k

Warnings: fluff

Request by anon: Hey can i request a Dean Winchester x immortal demigoddess wife reader that is the daughter of whatever god or goddess and she is not a hunter just a normal girl that make Dean and Sam immortal with her magic and everyone in the hunting community know her as Dean innocent wife and she don’t cared about that, she is pregnant with Dean baby and know she is walking to the kitchen with Dean shirt and boxer because is comfortable and perfect for her pregnancy belly and him just loved. happy ending with a lot of fluff, kisses, and possible smut.

Summary: You want Dean to meet your mother, the Goddess of fertility, love, beauty, and pleasure. Only problem? She lives in Egypt and Dean hates flying.

Square Filled: Delphinium for @spnonewordbingo (deleted bingo)

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

Man, this Bunker really does have everything about everything. This small library has vast knowledge about virtually every single monster there is and has ever been. Some of them are extinct but it’s still good to know about them just in case. You’ve come to learn that anything can happen in the hunting life.

You flip through the pages of a lore book about Egyptian Gods and Goddesses when you come across one that makes your heart soar and a smile spreads across your face. You run your finger delicately down the page and stare at the Goddess trapped inside the book.

“Hi, mom,” you whisper.

Your mother is Hathor, the Egyptian Goddess of fertility, love, beauty, and pleasure. She is the protector of women, and she does a helluva job of it. You’re a demigoddess with only half of her powers, but you’re still like her in so many ways. Not only are you immortal, but you have the power to fight well in any hand-to-hand combat, mental manipulation, and mental torture. Your mother does it a lot better than you can, but you’ve done a good job at practicing over the centuries.

She offered you a place by her side in Egypt where she currently resides but you wanted to see the world and explore it on your own. You wanted to make your own adventures instead of being the shadow in hers. It’s a damn good thing you listened to your gut because you wouldn’t have met Sam and Winchester otherwise.

The first thing you did when you came to the United States was save a woman from being attacked by a man. This man wasn’t to exert his power over her by forcing her into doing things she didn’t want to do, and you put an end to it immediately. She got her revenge just like the thousands of other women you’ve saved from having the same fate. Saving women and torturing men has gotten you this far in life and you don’t plan on stopping, not within the next few centuries, at least.

The biggest thing you gained from your Mother is the power of fertility. You can’t count how many women you’ve come across who want to have children but can’t. They don’t know how it happens, but they wake up one day and realize they’re pregnant. Your powers have only been used for good and you don’t plan on stopping any time soon.

You just love bringing life into the world just like your mom.

The bar was in full swing, and you’re at the bar sipping your drink and watching everyone. You never know when someone is going to need you. There was a couple at the dart boards who were arguing over the point system. You kept an eye on them just in case you might need to jump in.

The bell above the front door rang as two people walked in. The shorter of the two made eye contact with you and it was as if time stopped. Because your mother is the Goddess of Beauty, you’re naturally flawless. Even if you’re not someone’s type, you’re beautiful to them.

“Drinking alone?” he asked when he approached you.

“Not if you sit down and drink with me,” you flirted.

“Sammy, be somewhere else,” the man said and sat next to you. The taller one rolled his eyes and left the bar counter. “I’m Dean.”

“Y/N. Sammy your brother?”

“Yeah.”

“Younger or older?”

“What do you think?”

“I think you’re older. You have that energy about you, which means you’re just my type. I like them older.”

You were not about to tell him that you were centuries older than him.

You and Dean hit it off that night and not because he took you back to his room. That night also was the night you learned they are hunters. You saw the weapons in their bags and made a deduction paired with the fact that he had an Anti-Posession Tattoo on his chest. There was no time beating around the bush so you told both of them who you were, who your mother is, and the fact that you’re immortal. Dean didn’t care so that’s how you started seeing the eldest Winchester.

You’re not a hunter. You have no desire to be a hunter. You just help people where you can but instead of monsters, it’s humans. After a few years of being with them, you made both of them immortal per their request. You don’t make anyone immortal without their consent, and the brothers had plenty of time to think if they wanted this or not. You have the ability to take it away, but the years will catch up to the person immediately. That usually means death.

Still, you’re happy with the family you’ve made and wouldn’t trade it for the world.

You close the book on Egyptian Gods and Goddesses before getting up. You place a hand on your swollen belly and pat the area where you know your child can feel it. Once he gets old enough, he’ll be able to choose if he wants to be immortal or not. After he turns eighteen, of course, and you’d do it for him.

You’re wearing one of Dean’s shirts since they are so comfortable so when he sees you enter the kitchen, he grins. He even has your favorite flowers on display on the table. Such a gentleman.

“Damn, just when I think you can’t get more beautiful, you walk in wearing that.”

“Good morning to you, too,” you greet. He kisses you quickly and bends down to kiss your stomach. “I want to take a trip with you.”

“Where?”

“I want you to meet my mother.”

“You want me to meet an Egyptian Goddess?”

“Yeah. She’s really sweet. I think you’d love her, and I know she’d love you.”

“I guess that’ll be okay.”

“We have to fly there. She’s in Egypt, naturally.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” he says in a quiet voice.

“Are you sure? I know you hate flying.” He nods without saying anything, and you grab his face so he’s forced to look at you. “I can ask her to come here, but I don’t think she’ll take well to leaving Egypt. She has her own business that she won’t part from.”

“I’ll be okay.”

You lean up and kiss him quickly.

“I’d like to go before I get too pregnant to fly.”

The gears in Dean’s head turn as he thinks of a solution that will benefit you both.

“Why don’t we visit her until after the baby is born? That way she can meet him, too.”

“You just don’t want to fly. You’re pushing this as far as you can, aren’t you?” you chuckle.

“Sweetheart, I can’t help it. They’re dangerous.”

“You’re a big baby, you know that?”

You leave his side and sit down at the kitchen table so he can finish cooking in peace.

“I promise we can go after he is born. I really would love to meet the woman who made you.”

“Maybe afterward, we can meet your mom!” you gasp. “I can get us into Heaven. I know a God.”

“One parent at a time,” Dean chuckles and plates the food.

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester fiction #dean winchester fan fic #dean winchester fan fiction #supernatural #supernatural fic #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fluff #spn #spn fic #spn fanfic #spn fanfiction #spn fluff

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ckret2 · 2 months

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Chapter 42 in human Bill Cipher's imprisonment in the Mystery Shack about to get a whole lot worse, featuring:

A history lesson on a second dimensional cult and its obnoxious child leader.

And Dipper making the mistake of asking Bill what "reality is an illusion" means.

And most importantly... The Eclipse: Prologue.

####

The source of light is a completely hypothetical phenomenon.

Just a couple of centuries ago, scientists postulated that perhaps light was a side-effect of magnetism generated by the poles of planets, and that someday the study of magnets might explain how light shifted over the course of a day.

But modern scientists theorized that light emanated from some force or object in a higher dimension, and that the unseen movements of this source-of-light explained how light ebbed and flowed around the perimeters of objects over the course of a day. Physics experiments backed up this hypothesis of a "third dimensional" origin of light.

Scientists adopted the term "sun" to describe this hypothetical light source. Experiments also suggested the third dimension might have a multitude of weaker light sources that provided much less illumination—perhaps spread across the third dimension like water droplets suspended in fog—which they dubbed "stars."

Roughly once a year, light (or rather, the "sun") was eclipsed. This was a very long time; a child born just after an eclipse might already be in school, have mastered measuring angles and reading, and begun learning multiplication and division by the time they saw their first eclipse. Some years were skipped, such that they wouldn't have an eclipse for two, three, sometimes even four or five years—it was possible to almost reach middle age without seeing an eclipse—with no discernible pattern to these gaps. Eclipses usually occurred around the new year—indeed, New Year's Day was fixed to the average date of the eclipse—but eclipse season ranged up to three months in either direction.

Experiments were being conducted to test ideas about the nature of eclipses—the two most prominent theories were that the sun naturally flickered off and on like a lamp, in a rolling pattern that accounted for how eclipses didn't affect the whole plain simultaneously but had been proven to move; or that the sun was obscured by some object in the third dimension, like a ball thrown in front of a lamp. There were solid arguments in favor of either theory, and thus far the data on hand couldn't disprove either.

But where science petered out, religion took up the baton.

A new religious movement called the Higher Dimensional Gate was picking up steam in the northwest. The cult (as some watchdog organizations called it) had been started a few years ago by a married couple—line and trapezoid—who gave largely inoffensive New Age-flavored sermons about spiritual purity and enlightenment. Their shows would have been unremarkable if not for their inclusion of their child—a charismatic young equilateral triangle they claimed had an "inner eye" that granted him clairvoyance. Every show, they put him on stage for a few minutes, where he'd point out audience members and offer seemingly-psychic insights into their lives. As he approached adolescence, he was given more and more stage time, which he'd use to recite the same sort of rhetoric as his parents while tossing in some novel claims about the third dimension that reflected the public's modern scientific fascinations.

It wasn't until the line's death that they evolved from a traveling psychic sideshow with a few zealous supporters into a burgeoning religious movement. The trapezoid adopted a background role as the precocious triangle took over all their speaking engagements, which he used to spin a novel mythology describing the third dimension as a separate spiritual plane found in an unseeable direction "upward, but not northward" from the mundane mortal plane. It was at this time that they adopted the name Higher Dimensional Gate, and their young leader announced that his spiritual contacts in the third dimension had granted him the title Magister Mentium—teacher of minds (or, perhaps more ominously, master of minds).

Higher Dimensional Gate aggressively recruited new followers, with the Magister leaving school to support a frenetic pace of traveling speaking engagements. More and more devotees followed him from town to town, overfilling hotels wherever they went and flooding parking lots with a caravan of RVs and trailers. Fliers they left in their wake offered mail-order pamphlets, sermon recordings, and religious paraphernalia. But the cult didn't break into the national consciousness until a couple of theoretical astrophysicists published a paper debunking pop culture misinformation on the third dimension.

Along with referencing several sci-fi shows spreading the idea that the third dimension allowed time travel, the authors dove into the bizarre beliefs of several New Age authors, speakers, and religious movements. They particularly maligned the ideas put forth by Higher Dimensional Gate, calling their descriptions of angelic aliens and spirit guides "misleading fairy tales" with no scientific basis in reality. They said the Magister Mentium would have done better to finish a basic public education before making claims about the third dimension.

The paper didn't receive much notice outside popular science magazines—until the Magister Mentium released a vicious public rebuttal that made national news for its absurdity.

Soundbites from his twenty-minute rant were broadcast in news segments about fringe religious movements and scientific literacy. Talk shows played quotes as fodder for jokes. Editorialists predicted that the young triangle was the sort of crooked cult leader who'd be on trial in a decade for cheating his worshipers out of their life savings. Only a few programs played even as much as a full minute from his speech:

"These scientists want you to think that the third dimension is some dead realm hidden behind a door you'll never see—and I'm telling you it's not! It's the dream realm! It's the realm of spirits and positive energy! It stretches into all possible futures, and if you could peer into it, you'd see the road to your own best possible future!

"And I know this. Because unlike these pessimistic brainiacs who mock what they don't understand, I can see the third dimension. I can witness the 'sun' in all its glory—a blazing white circle, more dazzling than anything you've ever seen, so bright it burns like fire to stare at it! I can see it pass through the pinpoint white lights of the 'stars'!

"And I can prove it.

"The most 'educated' minds in the scientific community can't predict an eclipse. They look at their historical records and they do a little math, hope they'll get lucky, and shrug if they're wrong—what do they know? All they can do is guess!

"But with my own all-seeing eye, I've personally witnessed a phenomenon that scientists can't even imagine. I know what passes between the sun and our plane—and I know when it's coming.

"I note all my detractors are in the camp that thinks the sun flickers.

"So let's run a scientific experiment. I challenge the scientific community to predict the next eclipse more accurately than me. I'll give it to you within the minute. In fact—I'll sweeten the deal! I'll give a million dollars to any nerd who can guess more accurately than me! I will personally hand you the prize money!"

"But if you want the prize, you'd better guess soon. Because the eclipse will be here in two weeks. I can already see it on the horizon."

It was nearly seven months until New Year's.

Sources close to the Magister's family claimed he was a spendthrift with nowhere near a million dollars on hand.

When asked to comment on the public ridicule his challenge had inspired, the Magister snidely replied, "We'll see who's laughing after the eclipse."

####

Gideon approached the Mystery Shack disguised in a pair of sunglasses and a camo jacket from his father's closet. The jacket was as long as a dress on him. It was hot.

He kept outside the tree line as he circled the shack, passing the gift shop, the house door, and finally the long side of the house where tourists never parked and the residents rarely ventured.

Gideon peered anxiously at each window for witnesses. He looked up at the attic dormer which once held the window of Bill's face; he caught a flash of bright golden curls pulling out of sight, and flinched. No, that was fine. That was who he was here for. Weren't any other blondes in the house.

When he was sure the coast was clear, he ran across the open ground from the trees to the side door, heart threatening to beat out of his chest. By the time he reached the door, Bill was already downstairs in the floor room, hands and grinning face pressed to the window like a child awaiting a special delivery. He waved excitedly at Gideon.

Gideon hissed, "Shh!" and immediately felt stupid about it.

He partially unzipped his jacket, pulled a manila envelope out of an inner pocket, knelt, and shoved it under the door. As Bill had promised, the door had poor weatherstripping and the envelope slid in easily.

A napkin covered in faint dry marker writing slid out. Gideon picked it up and read it. "Nice work ☆ Boy! I'll pass you the next message at Town Hall. Get yourself something nice, my treat. ◡̈" Inside the napkin's fold was a $5 coupon to the hardware store. It was expired.

Looking at the coupon, Gideon asked himself what a powerless imprisoned demon could really do to help his father's business.

Inside the shack, Bill checked the doorway to ensure no humans were coming for a few minutes, flopped onto the flat old sofa, and pulled several sheets of notebook paper out of the envelope: the answers to all the questions he'd told Gideon to ask his worshiper. He skimmed past her name to the second question: how had they located Bill?

At the sight of a familiar name, his heart leaped into his throat, then slowly sank into its cage again as he read the rest. "Someone calling himself Stanford Pines reached out, claiming to be an ex-cultist wanting to help other victims of the cult. He said the cult's 'founder' was incarcerated. He sounded like an enemy, but they thought he might know something about your disappearance and sent Sue."

Until the last moment, Bill had held onto a sliver of hope. As much as Ford said he couldn't stand Bill, somebody had had to contact his artists, and who else...?

But there it was. It had been Ford; but he hadn't been trying to save Bill. He'd just been trying to rip the nails out of one more thing Bill had built.

Fine. Bill wasn't wasting time on lost causes. He'd never really seen Ford as a friend, anyway. If Ford was stupid enough to throw away a god's favor, that was his loss. Bill could kill him with the rest when he had his power back. He didn't care. He'd just... really thought he could win him back over.

He crumpled up the pages, tossed them on the floor, and hunched forward to rub his eyelid with his hand.

Well, trying to get Ford back on his side had just been a way to pass the time. He hadn't taken it seriously. Not really.

He leaned back, flopped his head on the backrest cushion, and sighed; and then he fished the pages off the floor and smoothed them back out.

He read through the rest of the information Gideon had obtained. His girls in Death Valley had indeed been awaiting his arrival "as Bill requested"; and when he didn't show up on schedule, they'd taken to waiting for him in shifts for half a year before giving up. The way Bill had "requested" was to stack themselves into a human throne for him—he imagined Sue hadn't wanted to mention that detail on the phone with a kid. And they'd kept that up for six months? In shifts? That was hysterical. What a bunch of lunatics. He couldn't wait to meet the gals in person, he was just going to love them. Sue was set up at an inn a few towns west—not a lot of motels in this lonely part of Oregon—and there were a couple more girls in Portland who could be here in an hour.

They'd also made contact with a few devotees of Bill's teachings in Washington, but hadn't told them his exact location. Unsurprising—if they were the devotees he was thinking of, they were less "hardy New Age hippie spiritualists looking forward to the creation of a bright new world" and more "paranoid doomsday preppers anticipating being the last survivors of the doomed old world." The Death Valley group probably didn't trust them. Just about all of Bill's "students" were freaks of one sort or another—if not when he met them, then by the time he was done with them—but different varieties of freaks usually clashed. He had to keep them safely corralled into separate sects to maintain the harmony and their loyalty.

They were all so, so close—all these humans just waiting for an opportunity to meet him, touch him, save him, serve him, love him. They were so close he could almost reach out and grab them.

But "almost" wouldn't get them into his hands.

Something would come up soon. He was sure. He could feel it.

####

Sometimes, stairs just weren't worth the effort.

Bill understood, intellectually, that stair steps had a "top" surface and a "side" surface. He also understood that, given how gravity worked in this dimension, you could only step on their top surfaces. He knew this. He was smart. He'd personally worked out the equations to calculate how gravity worked in this dimension ages before an apple beaned Newton.

It was just that, when he looked at a staircase, he couldn't shake the impression that someone had simply taken a 2D plane and artistically folded it into a zigzag. And on a folded 2D plane, there wasn't a "top" surface and a "side" surface; there was just the surface, and a 3D body could stand anywhere atop the surface with no problem.

So he would try to get from the attic to the kitchen, subconsciously decide that rather than walking "down" the stairs standing vertically he wanted to walk "up" the stairs standing horizontally, and he'd try to lean forward to put his foot on the side of a step—and then his face was on the floor again.

And even when he kept his ups up and his sides sideways, sometimes over-concentrating on where to step distracted him into tripping anyway.

The stairs in the Quadrangle of Qonfusion never gave him trouble. They worked fine both vertically and horizontally, he'd designed them that way. And also he didn't need to use them. He could float. They were mainly there for the outerplanar Henchmaniacs and because Bill liked the zigzag motif. He was much less fond of stairs these days. When he got home, he was ripping them all out and replacing them with ladders and slides.

He was better with stairs than he'd been when he first occupied this body. But when he didn't focus on every single step, he still tended to slip up. He often got to the stairs and saw his body crumpled on the landing fifteen seconds in the future. If the damage wasn't too severe, sometimes he just resigned himself to the bruises and stepped off the ledge. Had to get downstairs somehow, after all.

But sometimes the future held a broken leg, or an unconscious heap, or a lot of blood. When that happened, sometimes he'd shuffle his footing a bit until the future looked less painful and then try descending. Sometimes he'd creep down to the last safe step and then look for a less fatal route the rest of the way down.

And sometimes he got halfway down the stairs, saw looming disaster, couldn't for the life of him figure out how to avoid it, and thought forget it and just sat down in the middle of the staircase. If he waited there long enough, eventually whatever he'd been about to instinctively do would change, and he could safely finish his journey.

Stairs were, by far, the most frequent and most stupid of his inconveniences as a human.

He never thought to bring something to read in case he hit unexpected delays on the stairs. There was nothing interesting to do, and he didn't so much as have a window to look out of. He got bored. He was constantly sleep-deprived. Sometimes he fell asleep, leaning against the wall.

He'd overheard the humans speculating on why he liked to nap on the stairs. The leading theory was that it had been normal in his home dimension, followed closely by runner-up theory "just to annoy us." None had asked him directly. They usually just left him alone on the stairs. But not today.

Bill flinched out of sleep as his leg was kicked. A fizzling field of white pinpricks filled his vision and faded as he opened his eyes. "Mruh?"

"You're blocking the stairs," Dipper said. This time Bill had fallen asleep on the stairs below the landing, slouched down with his shoulders and head against the wall, legs stretched across two stair steps and knees raised.

"And you're disturbing my sleep." Bill yawned and glanced downstairs. Coast was clear. He could get to the living room with nothing but a fumble on the next to bottom step now.

"Get out of the way." Dipper kicked his leg again.

Well, now Bill didn't want to get up. He kicked Dipper back. "No. Your ancestors lived in trees, act like it."

"What?"

"Climb, monkey boy."

Dipper grumbled, but surveyed his roadblock thoughtfully. He experimentally lifted a foot over Bill's abdomen, considered how far down it was to the next step, and scooted down to Bill's feet instead. Bill watched with a smirk as Dipper clung to the railing and gingerly stepped over one foot to the edge of the stair step, and then the next. Bill briefly considered tripping him, decided it wasn't worth getting in trouble, and instead twitched a foot up as Dipper passed over and laughed when he jumped.

"Jerk," Dipper muttered. "This is why you only have one friend."

The jab ripped at a raw sore in his chest. Ex-cultist. "Whatever!" He laughed loudly. "My real friends are all one little interdimensional rift away, I didn't come here to make pals with humans." He jerked his hood down over his eyes and slouched lower, arms crossed tight. "I don't even care. This entire universe is a hologram and nothing's real anyway."

There was silence. Bill congratulated himself on getting the last word in; and then Dipper said, "What does that mean?"

"What kind of stupid—it means I don't care about you, what do you think it means? You're made from the exhaust belched out of a star's tailpipe—"

"I meant, the hologram thing. You're always saying stuff about the universe not being real, what are you talking about."

Bill thumbed the hem of his hood up and glanced down at Dipper. He was standing at the bottom of the stairs, looking up determinedly. He'd pulled out his journal and pen. He was serious. He was all ready to learn about the secrets of the universe.

Ford's little wanna-be protégé with his little knock-off Journal, wasn't he adorable. He wanted so much to be just like his great uncle. And in many ways, he was like a younger Ford. The ignorant, arrogant, insecure, naïve, easily-flattered, easily-exploited younger Ford, back before he grew a personality. Except even back at his most boring, Ford had found the strange beautiful where this kid only found it interesting. You don't have what it takes to be Ford.

Bill was already filling this brat's head with gunk—bogus conspiracy theories, wild goose chases after lucid dreaming, nightmares about whole dimensions that existed only as parables for somebody else. What was a little bit more? He could give this kid something to talk to his therapist about. Something that—in his darkest, lowest, loneliest moments—would come back to mind, and remind him that nothing he did would ever matter.

Plus, he hoped Ford would look in on the living room and seethe about not being his student anymore.

"All right kid, sure! Fine. You just so happened to catch me on a day when I've got nothing to do." Bill stood, stretched, and sauntered down the stairs. He fumbled on the next to bottom step. "You wanna know about the universe? You wanna know the big secret?"

"Uh..." Dipper eagerly flipped through his journal, looking for a blank page. Apparently he hadn't expected Bill to actually indulge his curiosity. "'Secret'?" He trailed after Bill into the living room.

"Okay, okay, maybe it's not a 'secret'—a secret suggests somebody's trying to hide it. It's just that nobody thinks you're important enough to tell and you're too primitive to see it for yourself."

Bill turned around, a lecturer on a stage. Dipper sat on the couch and tried to position his journal on his knees to take notes. He looked so attentive. He thought he was going to enjoy this.

"So you remember what I told you about the second dimension. That from the third dimension's perspective, it's nothing but shadows cast on a wall."

"Plato's cave. Yeah."

"Your dimension is a lot like that. There are higher dimensions than this, and your entire universe is being projected down from one of them. If being in the second dimension and seeing into the third is like being a shadow looking at the entrance to the cave, then being in the third and seeing into the fourth is like a character on a movie screen looking out at the film projector. While you're distracted by the movie, I'm studying the film reel and watching the frames coming up. It's how I tell the future—and you can't even tell yourself I'm lying about that, because you've seen me do it."

Dipper grumbled, "You've spoiled the killer on Duck-tective."

"I've spoiled the killer on Duck-tective! Twice!"

Dipper was furiously taking notes. "Wait—so, the fourth dimension really is time? Mabel and I kinda visited the fourth dimension once, but I wasn't sure if it being 'time' was, like, some kind of metaphor..."

"Ha! Listen to you! That's like asking if the third dimension is light. No. Time isn't the fourth dimension. It's just in the fourth dimension," Bill said. "And for the record you didn't really visit the fourth dimension. The glowing blue tunnel with floating clocks and calendars? That was a metaphor."

"Aw man," Dipper muttered, disappointed.

"So when you say you can see the future, you mean—you literally see it? With your eyeballs?"

"All-seeing eye," Bill said smugly.

"Can... you teach me?"

"No. It's not a learnable skill. You're either born with an inner—what's the human phrase?—a third eye, or you aren't."

Dipper processed that. "How do I find out if I have—?"

"You don't."

"Aw."

Bill waited for Dipper to scribble down a couple more lines before he casually dropped the next bombshell: "In fact, not only have you never been 'in' the fourth dimension—your universe isn't really even third dimensional."

Dipper's pen gouged into the page. "What do you mean, it's not third dimensional!"

"I mean you've got two dimensions and the third's an illusion. Hologram, remember?"

"What are you—" Dipper waved a hand around in the air. "I'm moving my arm through the third dimension right now!"

"No you're not."

Dipper threw his pen on the ground. "Okay, you're messing with me!"

"Not this time. Listen. Got a little riddle for you: what do Plato's cave and a movie theater have in common?"

Dipper pursed his lips angrily, but he'd been issued a riddle and couldn't resist trying to solve it. "Sitting in the dark, staring at shapes?"

"Ha! Look at it, it still thinks it's part of the audience!" Bill wagged a finger disapprovingly. "In both cases, everyone and everything in the show is an illusion—just light and shadows projected on a flat wall."

"But—! The world would look flat if it was 2D—"

"It does look flat. 2D is all you've ever seen," Bill said. He held his hands out, thumbs and forefingers forming a rectangle like a picture frame, his exposed eye staring through it at Dipper. "Your eyes only see a pair of two-dimensional images that your brain interprets as 3D because it's been trained to. Depth perception is an optical illusion! You can't actually witness the depth of an object—your brain uses context clues to guess it! And the context clues are lying to you."

Dipper scowled. "But." He paused. "It's different."

"Uh-huh." Bill leaned against a wall, feigning a yawn. "Okay, wow me with your philosophy."

"Pictures on paper are 2D, and they don't look 3D, so since the real world does look 3D..."

"Hey, you know that autostereogram art your sister's friend likes so much? Magic Vision Posters?" Bill asked. "Cross your eyes a little and a 3D illusion pops out of the page?"

Dipper's frown deepened.

Bill's smile widened. "And those are just manmade pictures. The projectors I'm talking about are cosmically complex. If it's so easy to trick your brain into seeing something three dimensional in a flat image, then how do you know, really know, that everything around you is 3D rather than an infinitely complex 2D hologram?"

"Be... cause..." Dipper looked around, grasping for another defense of reality as he knew it. He picked his pen off the floor. "Because I can touch an object and feel it's 3D! Even if my eyes can be fooled, I can... look, I can feel the curve of the barrel and everything."

"And?" Bill asked. "If your laundry comes out of the dryer unexpectedly cool, you think it's damp because your species didn't evolve wetness-sensing nerves. And you still trust your sense of touch?"

"Wait, that's why that happens?"

"Uh-huh. Water is wet, your t-shirts aren't, and your third dimension's an optical illusion."

Dipper slouched back on the couch, arms crossed, chewing his pen, brows drawn and eyes unfocused. Bill watched with a smirk as Dipper's faith in an objective observable reality slowly eroded before his very eye. For someone so eager to burrow into the strange, Dipper wanted so much for the world to make sense. That was why he was burrowing into the strange in the first place: to shine a flashlight on the things that go bump in the dark.

Maybe that was what rubbed Bill so wrong about this kid. Bill was sure that, deep in his heart, Dipper didn't really know how to celebrate the weird; he only wanted to expand the boundaries of normal. Disgusting.

Finally, Dipper mumbled, "How did you find this out?"

"This little shadow peeled itself off the wall and flew out of the cave—do you think I stopped there? I've seen further! What looks like an inescapable labyrinth to a two-dimensional Minotaur is nothing but a fun maze in a puzzle book when you can see over the walls from the third dimension's perspective. And once you can see the fourth dimension, your so-called 'third' dimension looks no different! I can see through walls, into boxes, past barriers; and I can see just how flat your world really is. Like taking a photo and looking at it from the edge."

"Hm." Dipper was still staring into space.

Bill's smug smile drooped into a frown. Dipper didn't look like he'd absorbed anything Bill just said. He hated an inattentive audience.

He crossed the room, planting a hand on the couch backrest by Dipper's head to lean over him, and waited until Dipper looked up into his eye. Bill said, "And I can tell you, beyond a shadow of a doubt: you're no more real to the things projecting your universe than the shadows in Plato's cave are to you. This. Entire. Universe. Doesn't. Exist. And nothing that happens here matters."

That little look of doubt edging into dread was so, so satisfying.

Bill pushed himself upright and sauntered to the door, his hex cast, ready to leave Dipper alone with his budding existential crisis. "So that's why I try to have fun with it! Your whole dimension is like an amusement park. Why hang out in a cave unless you're leaving cave paintings, who cares what the shadows think about the graffiti?"

"What's in those higher dimensions?"

Bill paused, glancing over his shoulder. "'Scuse me?"

"Something's gotta be running the 'projector' or whatever, right?" He asked it with an edge of desperation, like if Dipper could just make it that far, the world would make sense again. "Movies have audiences. Who're they?"

Bill stared at Dipper—and then slowly grinned again. What a glutton for misery. Feed him a bitter spoonful of poisonous knowledge and he asks for the bowl. But of course—tell him that reality isn't real and the next thing he wants to know is where to find reality.

Okay, fine, Bill would keep playing—this was almost fun. "Higher dimensional beings! Duh."

"What are they like?"

"Wretched incomprehensible shapeshifting contortions of flesh and bone that appear to gorily mutate as their vast bodies pass through the dimensions your limited eyes are capable of viewing. Seeing them will drive you mad."

"Ah. Great," Dipper said. "But what are they like as people?"

"From your perspective, all-knowing and unknowable. Talking to them will also drive you mad."

"I'm detecting a theme here," Dipper grumbled.

Bill gave him a polite golf clap. "Another win for human pattern-detection instincts! Give 'im a hand." (Oh, Bill wished he had his powers. It would be so funny to give Dipper a giant disembodied hand.)

In spite of his visible irritation, Dipper was still taking notes. "Is it possible for a human to meet one?"

"You've got more pattern-detection instincts than self-preservation instincts," Bill said wryly. "But sure, of course it's possible. In fact, I think you already met one."

That got him looking up from his journal. "I did?"

"Sure! Not here, but in a parallel universe that doesn't exist anymore. No clue what you talked about, I steer away from that guy when I can. But hey, maybe you'll remember it someday."

"How can I remember it if it happened to a parallel me in another universe?"

"When things like him speak, they leave vast echoes. Even across timelines."

Dipper considered that. "Could I meet him again?"

"Maybe if he takes an interest in you. Pray he doesn't. Prayers won't actually help, but it's something to keep your mind occupied!"

"Is it possible to be more proactive about meeting one of them?"

Bill laughed. "Kid, you're stupid. And that makes you very entertaining."

"Great?"

"But if you wanna break into some cosmic horror's living room, sure! If they don't come down here, all you need to do is go up there."

And back to taking notes Dipper went. "You gonna elaborate, orrr..."

"Ha, fine. The issue is you're not built for higher dimensions. Like I said, you might seem real to yourself here, but there you'd just be a light on a wall." He made a circle between his forefinger and thumb, turned his hand upside down, and peered through the circle like a monocle. "If you want to ascend, you need an aperture to translate between dimensions—something through which fourth-dimensional spacetime can be compacted enough to appear three-dimensional, or pseudo three-dimensional spacetime can be augmented with a fourth dimension. With an aperture like that, you can climb up and down the dimensional ladder to visit anywhere level of reality you want—from the zeroth dimension to the billionth."

"Including wherever our universe's projector is?"

"Bingo. Unfortunately for your suicidal ambitions, inventing an aperture capable of manipulating spacetime like that needs a lot of science humanity is nowhere near mastering; but with the materials humanity currently knows how to manufacture, I bet building one would be pretty simple if you got instructions from a species that's already done it." Bill arched his brows mockingly. "Hey, might even make a fun little summer project, if you don't mind going insane. Something to take to the science fair next year, huh?"

"Shut up," Dipper said. "And—if you got out of your dimension—do you know about species that can give those instructions?"

"Suuure! Heck, give me a couple pieces of paper and a pen and I could probably whip up the blueprints myself."

Dipper nodded. Dipper processed that. Dipper glared at Bill. "Wait a minute. Are you trying to get me to build another portal for you?!"

Bill cackled, doubling over. Voice shrill, he said, "I was wondering how long it'd take you!"

"Oh my god."

He groped for an arm chair and dropped down, still laughing. "I was this close to saying 'why don't you ask your uncle for the blueprints' to see if you'd get it!" He wheezed, "Can you imagine the look on his face!"

Dipper chucked his pen at Bill. "I hate you."

"Hook, line, and sinker! You idiot!" He slid halfway out of his seat, covering his face with his hands.

Dipper groaned. "So you made up all that stuff about the third dimension being fake and the universe being a hologram?"

Bill struggled to control his laughter enough to catch his breath. "No—no, all that was true. A hundred percent scientifically verifiable!"

"Shut up, man." Dipper got off the couch, kicked the back of Bill's armchair as he passed, and trudged into the gift shop.

####

"Hey Grunkle Ford? Is the third dimension actually an illusion being projected out of the fourth?"

"Been talking to Bill again, have you?"

Dipper winced. "I mean. Well. But he's not telling the truth, is he?"

"Mmm..." Ford waggled a hand uncertainly.

"What."

"Based on our current knowledge of quantum mechanics, it's not impossible," Ford admitted. "And it would explain some things about black holes."

"Ugh. That's the worst thing I've ever heard." Dipper rubbed his eyes. "How do you live with that?"

"With what?"

"Thinking the entire universe might be, just... some kind of projection? Like a movie?" Dipper said. "I mean... what's the point of doing anything if everything's fake. That's awful."

Ford pressed his lips together.

####

1981

"The universe is what?" Ford asked.

His muse shrugged apologetically. "Sorry to break it to ya, kid! I figured you'd rather hear it from me than—"

"But—but that's amazing!" Ford started pacing across the dreamscape's translucent grid floor. "The implications for physics, for faster-than-light travel, for, for—for religion?" He looked at Bill. "Is the projection a natural phenomenon or someone's creation."

"Uh," Bill said. "Creation?"

"Then who made it? Descartes' 'evil genius'? A demiurge? God?"

Bill laughed. "Kid, depending on your interdimensional political opinions, those are three names for the same guy."

"He's real?"

"Define 'real'," Bill said. "And 'he.' And 'is.'"

"I... I cannot do that!" Ford resumed pacing, muttering again about the implications.

Eye crinkled in amusement, Bill said, "I've gotta say, Stanford, you're taking this pretty well. Most humans don't like hearing they're secretly flat."

Ford barked a laugh. "'Most humans' didn't like hearing that the Earth isn't the center of the solar system. I'm a man of science! If we could prove this, it would be the biggest leap forward in physics since special relativity!" He beamed at Bill. "Do you realize what this means?"

Bill pointed at their portal calculations. "It means if you want to get this working, you need to zero out all the depth values."

"Ah." Ford's shoulders sagged. "Yes. That too."

"Wish you'd taken that fourth semester of Fifth-Dimensional Calculus now?"

"Hush," Ford said sourly, and was immediately mortified at himself for being so disrespectful to his muse; but Bill laughed with what sounded like genuine delight.

####

2013

"Right," Ford said self-consciously. "Awful."

####

At three a.m., Dipper lay in bed, gnawing at his shirt collar, staring at the ceiling.

Yeah. Oh yeah. He could feel it. Wondering whether reality was real would haunt him the rest of his life.

####

Bill slept like a baby.

Nothing like bullying a child to improve a miserable day.

####

Bill woke the next morning from a nightmare about—what had it been about. Being trapped in the bathroom as a metaphor for... something or other. Being trapped in general, probably. Great, had that incident given him trauma? Was he gonna start having recurring nightmares? Would this be a thing he had to deal with? What a miserable malfunctioning species humans were.

He could see the beforeimage of Mabel coming upstairs; not enough time to pull out his dream diary. He'd just have to remember it to write down later. He sat up, cracked his sore neck, and shuffled to the stairs in search of breakfast.

His foot missed the first step and landed on empty air, his stomach lurched, and he braced for a rough landing. In the split second he hung in the air, he thought that he wasn't supposed to fall, he'd looked. Hadn't he looked? He was sure he had—he didn't remember looking, but he could always see, if there'd been an injury in his imminent future he would have subconsciously noticed it and stopped to evaluate, the fact that he'd just walked meant there was nothing for him to notice—right? Idiot, why hadn't he double checked before he just walked off half-asleep—

It occurred to him that this split second was lasting a lot longer than it was supposed to.

He caught the handrail. His fall stopped as he gently bumped into the wall.

"Huh." He straightened up, gave the stairs a puzzled look; and then, experimentally, did a little hop. He went higher than he'd meant to, and hung in the air longer than he should have. He repeated the experiment a couple of times; and then, took a bigger jump forward, aiming for a couple of steps down. He seemed to float in the air for a moment before his feet gently settled on the wooden board. "Oo-oo-ooh." He looked around the stairwell, baffled; and then he looked up, eye burning as he stared through the roof and into the sky.

A chill ran up his spine. "Uh-oh."

####

Dipper frowned at his syrup bottle as the syrup painstakingly oozed out. When he let up his squeezing even a little bit, the syrup sucked back in.

"Come on." He squeezed again and shook the bottle over his pancakes. Like morning dew on the fruits hanging above the head of Tantalus, a round drop of syrup glistened under the skin-softening kitchen light, but never fell. "What's the problem?" Dipper wiped the drop onto his finger and wiped his finger on his pancakes.

Mabel slammed the door open and pounded into the kitchen. "Dipper! Come outside, I need to show you something!" They ran out.

Mabel stood on the edge of the porch, held up an orange glitter-filled super bounce ball the size of a walnut, and said, "Watch this!" She flung the ball down on the porch step as hard as she could.

It rocketed up into the sky, arcing away from the Mystery Shack toward the forest. Dipper's jaw dropped. "Whoa!"

"I just lost four balls that way!" Mabel planted her hands on her hips, watching with satisfaction as the pinprick point of the latest ball soared upward until it disappointed. "I'm gonna get some more!" She ran inside and bolted up the stairs.

Ford passed from the gift shop into the living room, frowning. He picked up a magazine left on the dinosaur skull, flipped through it, and observed how slowly the pages fluttered. "Hmm."

From the entryway, he could hear Stan down the hall on the office phone: "Hello? Doctor? This is Stan Pines. Yeah, I got a medical question. I stepped on the scale this morning, and it says I lost twenty percent of my weight overnight. Do I have cancer?" There was a pause. "Eighth call this morning?! What is this, some kinda bug going around town?"

Dipper closed the door as he came back inside. "Hey, Grunkle Ford? I think there's something..."

"Something strange going on? Yes, I've noticed," he said. "It seems that gravity is about twenty percent lower than usual." He pulled his sparkly birthday pen out of his coat pocket and dropped it from several feet up into his other hand. It fell just a bit slower than normal—not enough that it looked like it was on the moon, but enough that the motion looked uncanny.

"What's going on?"

"I don't..." Ford trailed off as a flash of bright yellow appeared in his peripheral vision. He turned toward the stairs.

Bill had stepped onto the landing. He looked at the bottom half of the staircase with a critical, calculating gaze; and then jumped off the top step. In a single smooth, slow arc, he leaped over all the stairs and descended, slow as a feather, to land lightly on the floor.

"Whoa." Under his breath, Dipper said, "That's a lot more than twenty percent lower."

It just figured he had something to do with this. "Bill," Ford snapped. "What's going on?"

He wasn't expecting Bill to give him such a solemn look.

"There's an eclipse coming," Bill said. "I'd give it three days."

####

(Be honest how long did it take you to figure out Bill was just seeing if he could get Dipper hyped about building a portal. Anyway, hope you enjoyed!! We're heading into the biggest storyline so far—plotwise, lengthwise, and emotionwise—so I'd love to hear what you're thinking and expecting so far!)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #dipper pines #gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher

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