#in the entire world (as of the 1200s)
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Motherfucker, y'all got me writing again, what the fuck?
#nah it's cool#i just banged out 1200 words one night then made myself cry with my own writing the next night#good. great. awesome. love that for me.#i haven't written fic in 10 years#what the actual fucking fuck#also#i'm just out here trying to get to the one scene i wanted to write that started this whole mess but now there's fucking PLOT?#i'm 2900 words in and it's gonna take at least twice that long to get where i wanna go#maybe#if i'm lucky#and why does a bitch need to understand fake science from a fictional world?#fucking hell#i refuse to deal with reya and the holy war#i am not taking it that far#that entire prospect is fucking exhausting and many better writers than me have already gone there#i mean fuck i'm already worried that i've read so much WN fic that i'm subconsciously cribbing story elements#y'all do this for fun? on the regular?#props to the fic writers#i was already a fan but damn i had forgotten how hard this shit is#warrior nun#fanfic
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From your recent reblog of "Altair looks younger in his 60s than Ezio did in his 50s", I'm now convinced that Altair has an entire beauty program that he keeps RELIGIOUSLY.
Malik, breaking down his door an hour after he went to bed: "Altair, get up, we have a situa- what the hell are you two doing"
Altair, lounging next to Maria, both of them wearing bath robes and herbal face masks with cucumbers over the eyes: "It's called self-care."
Maria, beckoning: "We've got extra, come join us"
Malik:
A novice is sent to fetch them all half an hour later, and finds the three of them relaxed and talking mad gossip about other people in the fortress
From this post where I left these tags:
#levantine assassin: why do you look so young?
#altaïr: (remembers the many health and beauty tips the apple gave him) ... good genes
Okay but you know what would be funny?
If Altaïr learned all his beauty programs from the Apple just showing him youtube videos of ‘alternate beauty care (ALL ORGANIC!)’ as holograms but I feel like the funnier take would be the Apple actually giving Altaïr schematics and the list of step-by-step procedures to recreate beauty cream and other products.
Malik finding some of them and wondering if they’re meant to be medicine or salves.
Only to figure out the truth behind such concoctions after seeing Altaïr and Maria having ‘me time’ together.
#altaïr having a beauty program#altaïr having the softest smoothest skin in all of levant#nay#in the entire world (as of the 1200s)#although he still has callouses on his hands because of training#because that’s just who he is#ask and answer#i don’t know if this is headcanon#or crack#both???
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Israel has cut water, electricity and food to Palestinians in Gaza. They are buying 10.000 M16 rifles and plan to distribute to civilian settlers in the West Bank to hunt down Palestinians. They're bombing the only way out of Gaza through Egypt, after telling refugees to flee through it, and have threatened the Egyptian government in case they let aid trucks pass through. Entire families, generations, are being wiped out and left to wander the streets hoping they don't get bombed.
Palestinians are using their last minutes of battery to let the world know about their genocide and are being met with a wall of "What about Hamas? What about the beheaded babies? Killing children on either side is bad!" even though the propaganda claims have been debunked over and over again. How cruel is it to ask somebody to condemn themselves before their last words? Or before grieving the loss of their entire families? When there's no such disclaimer to Israelis even though their government has shown over and over genocidal intent? Like who are you even trying to appease? What will your wishy washy statement do against decades of zionist thought infiltrating evangelical and Jewish stablishmemts?
Take action. Israel will fall back if public opinion turns its tide. The UK fell back on its bloody decision to cut aid to Palestine under public scrutiny. The USAmerican empire spends $3.8 billion dollars annually solely on this proxy war while its people suffer under a progressively military regime as well. News outlets are canceling last minute on Palestinian speakers while letting Israelis tell lies unchecked. Palestinian refugees are being targeted in ICE establishments and mosques are already being hounded by the FBI. France and Germany have banned pro-Palestine protests, while Netherlands and the UK have placed restrictions . You have the chance to stop this from turning into repeat of the Iraq war.
I want to do something but there's hardly anything for me to do from Brasil besides spreading the word and not letting these testimonies fall on deaf ears. I'm asking you to do this same ant work from wherever you are.
Follow:
Eye On Palestine (instagram / twitter)
Mohammed El-Kurd (instagram / twitter)
Decolonize Palestine (website with a chronological explanation of the occupation and debunking myths)
Muhammad Shehada (twitter)
Plestia Alaqad (directly from Gaza. Many of her videos are interrupted by bombs)
If there's a protest in your city, please attend. Here's an international calendar of events:
Friday, October 13
ALBUQUERQUE, NM (US) – Fri Oct. 13, 3 pm, UNM Bookstore, University of New Mexico. Organized by Southwest Coalition for Palestine.
BERKELEY, CALIFORNIA (US) – Fri Oct 13, 6 pm, Sproul Hall (Vigil), University of California Berkeley. Organized by Bears for Palestine.
DOUAIS, FRANCE – Fri Oct 13, 6:30 pm, Place de’Armes.
GOTHENBURG, SWEDEN – Fri Oct 13, 5:30 pm, Brunnsparken. Organized by Palestinska samordningsgruppen Gothenburg.
GREENSBORO, NC (US) – Fri Oct. 13, 4 pm, Wendover Village, 4203 W Wendover Ave, Greensboro, NC. Organized by Muslims for a Better NC.
LONDON, ENGLAND – Fri Oct 13, 5 pm, Keir Starmer’s Office, Crowndale Center, 218 Eversholt St, London. Organized by IJAN UK.
MEANJIN/BRISBANE, AUSTRALIA – Fri Oct 13, 6 pm, King George Square.
MIAMI, FL (US) – Fri Oct 13, 4:30 pm, Bayfront Park. Organized by Troika Kollectiv.
NAPOLI, ITALY – Fri Oct 13, 4:30 pm, Piazza Garibaldi, Napoli. Organized by GPI and Centro Culturale Handala Ali.
NGUNNAWAL/CANBERRA, AUSTRALIA – Fri Oct 13, 5:30 pm, Carema Place.
PERTH/BOORLOO, AUSTRALIA – Fri Oct. 13, 5:30 pm, Murray Street Hall, Boorloo/Perth. Organized by Friends of Palestine WA.
PORTLAND, OREGON (US) – Fri Oct 13, 3 pm, 1200-1220 SW 5th Ave, Portland.
PORT RICHEY, FL (US) – Fri Oct 13, 7:30 am, Route 19 and Ridge Road, Port Richey. Sponsored by: Florida Peace Action Network; Partners for Palestine; CADSI
PRETORIA, SOUTH AFRICA – Friday, Oct. 13, 7 pm, UP Main Campus, DSA Building opposite Thuto. Organized by PSC UP.
WITSWATERSRAND UNIVERSITY (SOUTH AFRICA) – Fri Oct 13, 1 pm, Great Hall Piazza, Flag demonstration. Organized by Wits PSC.
Saturday, October 14
ABERDEEN, SCOTLAND – Sat, Oct. 14, 2 pm, St. Nichlas Square. Organized by Scottish PSC.
AUCKLAND, NEW ZEALAND – Sat Oct 14, 2 pm, Aotea Square, Queens St, 291-2997 Queen St. Organized by PSN Aotearoa.
DETROIT/DEARBORN, MICHIGAN (US) – Sat Oct 14, 2 pm, Ford Woods Park, 5700 Greenfield Road. Organized by SAFE, PYM, SJP, Handala Coalition, more.
DUNDEE, SCOTLAND – Sat, Oct. 14, 2 pm, Place TBA. Organized by Scottish PSC.
EDINBURGH, SCOTLAND – Sat, Oct 14, 2 pm, Princes Street at Foot of the Mound. Organized by Scottish PSC.
FRANKFURT, GERMANY – Sat Oct 14, 3 pm Hauptwache, Frankfurt am Main. Sponsored by Palestina eV, Migrantifa Rhein-Main and more.
GLASGOW, SCOTLAND – Sat. Oct 14, 2 pm, Buchanan Steps. Organized by Scottish PSC.
HOUSTON, TEXAS (US) – Sat Oct 14, 2 pm, City Hall, 901 Bagby St. Organizd by PYM, PAC, USPCN, SJP and more.
LIVERPOOL, ENGLAND – Sat Oc 14, 12 pm, Church St. Organized by FRFI.
LONDON, ENGLAND – Sat Oct 14, 12 pm, BBC Portland Place, London. Organized by a broad coalition.
MILANO, ITALY – Sat. Oct 14, 3:30 pm, Piazza San Babila. Organized by Young Palestinians of Italy, UDAP, Palestinian Community, Association of Palestinians.
ORLANDO, FLORIDA – Sat Oct 14, 3 pm, Lake Eola at Robinson and Eola, Orland. Organized by Florida Palestine Network.
TORINO, ITALY – Sat. Oct. 14, 3 pm, Piazza Crispi. Organized by Progetto Palestina.
VALPARAISO, CHILE – Sat Oct 14, 6 pm, Plaza Victoria, Valparaiso. Organized by Comite Chileno de Solidaridad con Palestina.
WASHINGTON, DC (US) – Sat Oct 14, 1 pm, Lafayette Square. Organized by AMP.
Sunday, October 15
AMSTERDAM, NETHERLANDS – Sun Oct 15, 2 pm, March from Dam Square to Jonas Daniel Meijer plein.
NAARM/MELBOURNE, AUSTRALIA – Sun Oct 15, State Library Victoria.
TARDANYA/ADELAIDE, AUSTRALIA – Sun Oct 15, 2 pm, Parliament House.
AUSTIN, TEXAS (US) – Sun Oct 15, 3 pm, Texas Capitol. Organized by PSC ATX.
GADIGAL/SYDNEY, AUSTRALIA – Sun Oct 15, 1 pm, Sydney Town Hall.
SANTIAGO, CHILE -Sun Oct 15, 11 am, Plaza Dignidad, Santiago. Organized by Comite Chileno de Solidaridad con Palestina.
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You're losing me
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Pairing: Miguel o'hara x female reader
Word Count: 1200
Warning: none, just a little angst and fluff
Content: You call Miguel to come sleep
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"Won’t you come to sleep?", you asked.
"No.", he responded,
"Not yet.", his eyes glued to the screen in front of him
It frustrated you. Yes, his need to keep the multiverse from collapsing was important but then again, you thought you were too.
You knew a little of his past but everytime he had to recollect what he had lost, it only broke him. So you spent your time, trying to get him to see that his present could be just as good only if he could allow himself to enjoy it. Only if he could stop for a second and see you. But he didn’t. He was busy and annoyed and sleep deprived. But then again so were you.
You spent the nights waiting for him that you would often fall asleep in the extra seat next to him. You had your dinners alone, while his plate remained untouched on his table.
But today, as his back faced you and as his fingers moved over the keyboard, you were certain you had had enough. If being gentle was getting you nowhere, then you will get him to listen to you plea. You will hold his gaze and as you thought this, you walked towards him despite him telling you to leave. Your blanket was wrapped around you in a way that it hid your skin from the cold, your body yearning for the warmth of his touch.
Your night dress contoured to the shape of your body and your eyes embodied the depth of his stare. He was engrossed in his world, unaware of what you were going to do, which was exactly where you wanted him. When you got close enough, you held onto the side of his arm rest and got onto his lap.
“What are – he began to protest
But giving him time to respond meant he would stop you from being close to him. He will hold you away like you were something he was scared of.
You slung your legs over the other side and settled yourself within his large arms, that fit you well like a cradle, a place you could finally rest, feeling confident that you knew of his weakness, the softness he harboured only for you.
As you laid still with your eyes closed, you expected him to grow angry or tell you off but instead, you heard his sigh, his arms relaxing and when silence filled the space again, his soft chuckle. Not what you expected but even more to your surprise, you felt his hands rest on your waist as though his calculations had let him know that this display of comfort wasn’t life threatening.
With the faint sound of a click, you could hear a little girl’s laugh and then followed by one that sounded like his own. When you opened your eyes, what you saw gripped your heart. He was a father. And like in most cases, that meant he had a family of his own.
The levity of your act broke and in it’s place fear and guilt flooded in. It made more sense now, his distance and standoffish nature. The worry in his eyes every time he looked at you. You were an annoyance in a life he had well established. You turned your gaze to see him only to realize that he knew you were awake the whole time.
His dark eyes were on yours, his face still emotionless. But the truth was evident now. You cannot force a man whose heart already belonged to someone else, to love you instead.
So you pushed away from him but you were caught in the net of his arms. He wasn’t letting you go. So you fought, your palms folded into fists as you gently rammed them on his chest as your vision blurred. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Your heart wasn’t supposed to break with all the love you held for him.
But his hands found your shoulders and he held you steady when you came to understand he had whispered your name this entire time, trying to get you to look at him. So you did. With your tear stained cheeks and hurt gaze.
“Miguel.”, you mustered your strength to say his name and in response he hummed as he wiped your tears and cupped your cheek.
“All you had to do was tell me and I would have left. You had an entire life here that I knew nothing about.”, I leaned into his touch like a river running to sea.
“There is nothing to tell.”, his eyes roamed the features of your face as though he was seeing you for the first time.
“I saw my daughter disappear right in front my eyes. The only universe I wanted to save, was the one I couldn’t.”, he spoke with such tenderness that you were sure no one else knew about.
He brought you close, the warmth of his hold spreading through your body, and slowly he placed his forehead on yours.
“So please, let me save the rest, amor.” He spoke, his soft breath cascading over your lips. But it only saddened you. That he never viewed the universe you were in, in the same way you viewed it.
“You often forget that for me, this is the only universe I care about.”, you said and he pulled back to see you.
“Because it has you in it.”, you caressed his cheek as he gave you the faintest hint of a smile.
“And every time you push me away, you vanish before my eyes.”, you sighed and got off him to see a ghostly look in his eyes.
You turned to leave when he held your wrist, preventing you to take another step away from him.
“Is that how I’ve made you feel?”, he asked refraining to look at you, almost ashamed with himself.
“Isn’t that how I make you feel?”, you retorted.
“I see the fear in your eyes, Miguel. Every time you see me. That if you liked it here, you’d stop living in the past.”, you said, his fingers still wrapped around your wrist that you were certain he could hear the fast rhythm of your heartbeat.
“Mierda”, he muttered when his eyes found yours again.
“si tan solo supieras”, he reeled you towards him.
“What?”, you asked.
“If I had known what?”, you asked again softly, your eyes searching his.
But he didn’t give you an answer, instead his hand found the small of your back, pulling you closer till you had no room to escape, no place to run but give in. He tipped your chin up, your nose almost touching his.
“That I fear losing this universe too. That there will be no redemption for me if I saw you slip away from my fingers.”, he whispered as he placed his lips on yours and all you could do was give in.
“I cannot replace what you've lost.”, you said in between his starving kisses.
“But I can give you new memories if you wish.”, you continued breathless as he groaned against your lips as he pulled away, his eyes alive for the first time as his chest rose and fell.
“LYLA.”, he called impatiently and it made you smile.
“Shut down for the night.”, he got up carrying you with him.
“I’m going to sleep.”, he spoke to the AI.
“This is a historical moment in all universes.” LYLA laughed but he only turned to you, now sporting a full tender smile.
“Mi dulce esposa has called for me.”, he nuzzled into your neck as he walked out his lab.
The multiverse held its guard up through the night and as Miguel held you close in the comfort of his home, intertwined together over soft sheets, he grew to realize that the universe he was in was the only one that mattered.
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Disclaimer - lo sé un poco Espanol pero I used Google translate for some words and phrases, so excuse the mistakes if you find any. I am not a native speaker.
#miguel o'hara x you#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel ohara#miguel o'hara#miguel x reader#spiderman 2099#spider man#into the spider verse#spiderverse#across the spiderverse#miguel o'hara fluff#miguel o'hara fanfiction
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I’ve been thinking about something at my job—not difficult, honestly, my job leaves lots of thinking time—and I have something I want to share with the folks who object to the label “culturally Christian.” I hope it may help you make more sense of the label and, perhaps, not be so angry about it, if you’ll indulge me for just two minutes.
I was born as a white gentile. While I later found out this wasn’t entirely true—I have Jewish ancestry and there is a small-but-non-zero chance I’m partly Black through my great-grandmother, which is a story too long to get into here—I am, for all visual intents and purposes, white, and count myself as such.
And the first time I heard myself included in the phrase “white supremacy,” I WAS SO FUCKING UNCOMFORTABLE. Couldn’t we call it anything else? Why are you including me in this? I didn’t ask to be born white. I don’t run around in a pointy hood burning crosses. I’m not even racist. Black people can do anything white people can do! I am NOT a white supremacist!
….except. I kinda am. And it is not a choice I made, it is a choice that was made for me 400 and 160 and 120 and 80 and 50 and 35 years ago. Slavery and deliberately-botched emancipation and “separate but equal” and killing of Black leaders and the simple fact both my parents were white. Textbooks that hold up Eli Whitney as a hero and promote the lie of The Great Empty Wilderness and never ask us to wrestle with what it means when the majority of a population is counted as only three-fifths of a human being. Redlining and even the fucking freeway system—I didn’t design any of this, but I live in the world where it exists.
G-d willing, I will not be a white supremacist until the day I die: G-d willing, the systems we are struggling against will have been replaced with better, kinder, more equitable systems. But I don’t get to opt out by saying “I’m not racist!” Yes, I’ve put in a ton of work to unlearn harmful racist behaviors and attitudes. But as long as a Black woman in my position with my experience makes less money than me, I’m benefiting from white supremacy. As long as I get the job, the car, the loan, the opportunity because someone else had locs and I “looked professional,” I’m benefiting from white supremacy. And yes—as long as people aren’t deliberately stupid about my name because they associate it with white cultures, I’m benefiting from white supremacy. The fact I’m white is morally neutral. What I choose to do with that fact is what matters.
And so: we come back to cultural Christianity.
The law of probability says if you’re on this site, you’re probably from a culture with a Christian hegemony. That’s going to cover the Americas, Europe, and to a lesser extent, portions of central and south Africa (both the creatively-named country and the continent). Even if your country mostly considers itself secular, if your answer to “what year is it” is automatically “2024” without having to ask “on which calendar,” you’re probably from a country with a Christian background.
THIS IS A MORALLY NEUTRAL THING. You do not choose which country you’re born in or what its centuries-old culture is. And that’s fine! And it doesn’t mean anything about your personal beliefs. You can be an atheist born to atheists, you can be Buddhist, it is literally whatever.
BUT, to an extent, the place you grew up will absolutely have an impact on your thoughts and morals, because it’s all you’ve ever known. Because the choice to be culturally Christian is not one you made—it was made for you 2000 and 1800 and 1700 and 1200 and 1000 and 800 and 400 and 200 and 50 years ago. Taboos, laws, unspoken rules you’ve never thought twice about, this is not stuff you pick. It’s baked into the world around you. And if you want to unlearn that, you can’t just say “well I’m not Christian so I don’t have Christian morals or values!” and leave it at that. It’d be a beautiful thing if we could, but that’s not the way brains work.
Which means—even if you’re satisfied with what you believe—you should ASK YOURSELF why you believe it, and HOW. One of the biggest things I hear mentioned by other Jews in relation to cultural Christianity is people being black-and-white absolutists. This is true, so that is a lie. That is wrong, so this is right. There is no space given to the idea that maybe everyone is telling the truth as they see it, or that something is right for some times/people/places but wrong for others. And this gets into the harmful territory of “it’s true so I believe it and because I believe it, it’s true.”
So ask yourself why. Start deconstructing your beliefs and learning about new things—and yes, make world religions part of those new things, because religions are major cultural shapers, and also you’d be stunned how many of us 1) do not proselytize and 2) encourage actual study and questioning over blind faith and obedience (hint: it’s most of us. These two things that are taken as universal constants by a lot of atheists ARE EXPLICITLY CHRISTIAN), and there is no harm in learning about our cultures. (You know who’d say there is? Say it with me, kids: evangelical Christians.)
I’m still uncomfortable with being referred to in the context of white supremacy. But part of unlearning racism and, yes, white supremacy, was learning to recognize that is not a discussion I get to steer, because it’s not about me. It’s about people of color explaining, quantifying, and discussing their experiences. So I will be uncomfortable if need be, because that’s a me problem, for me to work on. That is part of what being a good ally and a good neighbor means.
Please give Jews that same grace. Yes, it can be uncomfortable to realize that yeah, you WERE affected by this thing you want to separate yourself from, especially if you have religious trauma. (Side note: if you do, I genuinely and strongly encourage you to seek therapy for it. As an evangelical cult escapee I can tell you it’s helped me a lot.) But you owe it to yourself, and if you genuinely want to dismantle that hegemony, you also owe it to others. While you’re yelling about how you don’t like the words we have created to describe our experiences, we’re working to fix the hegemony you claim to hate.
So: stop focusing on the word. Your discomfort with it is a you problem. Focus on WHAT IT’S TALKING ABOUT, because truly coming to a level playing ground and rebuilding will require you to have allies—not burned bridges all around.
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I saw someone say October 7 doesn't really matter because "it was only a few people" and the world knows it "wasn't a big tragedy." just a few people is still a tragedy - one or two or three people killed in terrorist attacks is too many, and we've seen more tragedies like that in Israel than I can ever list. only a few people? the biggest massacre of Jews since the Holocaust doesn't matter because it's only a few people? over 1200 dead and still being identified months later because they were so desecrated is only a few people? over 240 hostages brutally abducted is only a few people? victims of atrocity tortured and murdered in the worst possible ways doesn't really matter? tens of thousands of people internally displaced, rockets fired at them constantly, and the entire nation grieving and suffering from PTSD doesn't matter? our lives are so meaningless, so unimportant to the world. no one cares this happened. I don't think they'd care if Jews were massacred in the diaspora as long as it's primarily us being killed. after all, we're 0.2% of the population. practically invisible, right? we don't really matter. it's only a few people.
.
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The Immensity of Vacancy
Energon Universe Jetfire/Human Reader, +1200 words
Just a little bittersweet something I wrote after the last issue of the Skybound comics came out. Jetfire my sweet, you did not deserve your fate.
ENERGON UNIVERSE COMIC SPOILERS AHEAD.
It was curious how even the most harrowing of circumstance could, with enough time and enough patience, shear down its jagged edges until it became something nearly palatable.
Not comfortable. Primus, no, never comfortable. But palatable.
Stars no longer graced Jetfire’s curious optics, all light snuffed in favor of an inky nothingness soothed only by memory. There could be no ache of stasis lock when the freedom of movement had been ripped from his frame entirely, left to the whims of his fellow Cybertronians. The breems of silence would stretch into cycles, tuning his remaining audials ever finer upon the low thrum of Teletraan, the rattle-step of Autobots passing through corridors below.
Perhaps that was why he could always hear you coming.
Your footsteps didn't boom or echo like those of Optimus Prime, never accompanied with the screech of tires like Arcee or Cliffjumper. Instead came the soft tink tink tink of tiny, booted feet against the resonant floor, the jangle of metallic jibbitz swinging from a clip on your belt. ‘Keys’ you had called them, though they were nothing like the data-keys or passcodes more familiar to him. ‘One for my car, one for my house, one for the back door at work.’ Primitive, but undeniably clever.
You always paused in the doorway of the hangar when you approached, a brief instance of silence. Perhaps you were waiting for a transformation from him, a flourish of panels shifting and plates fluttering into place to reveal his root mode, his towering form compared to your own tiny one. You knew as well as he did that idea was an impossibility, but you paused nonetheless.
“Hey. Are you awake?”
Jetfire spent much time in recharge nowadays, the only respite from the insurmountable emptiness that surrounded him that remained in his control. It was another consistency from you, willing to let him rest for untold lengths of time, as if your own presence was not wildly preferred.
“Yes. For quite a while now.”
You let out a soft, sad sounding hum. “I’m sorry I couldn't get here earlier.”
“That's alright. I’m sure you have much of your own work to attend to.”
“Maybe, but it's not really anything exciting.” He could hear the shuffle and thunk of your backpack hitting the metal landing bay, the pull of the zipper. When you settled in your spot on the floor and leaned back against his landing gear, heat radiated through the space where your back pressed to his cool plating. “Work, mostly. Had a late shift last night, so I ran to the library this morning instead. The librarian actually recognized me.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“No, I just didn't expect it. I never went there until recently, anyway. Guess now that I’m going in a couple days a week I’m becoming a regular. Imagine that.”
Jetfire let out a soft hum. “We’ll never be wanting for reading material then.”
You seemed to hesitate for a moment as you removed something from your bag, the flutter of paper against your fingertips tickling his audials.
“I brought a new book. ‘The War Of The Worlds’. It’s an old sci-fi classic.” You softly fanned through the pages again. “It’s about, um… It’s about aliens. That come to take over Earth. It was probably a stupid choice, we can read something different if you want.”
He could understand your hesitation. Though Jetfire had not spent long interacting with the local lifeforms of your planet, he’d heard more than enough from the other Autobots about the occurrences at the power plant; The terror, the violence. The story of a hostile occupation from beings infinitely more powerful and dangerous than the planet’s inhabitants could strike offensive if presented in the wrong way, to the wrong bot. And yet…
“I would like to hear it.”
He couldn’t help that part of himself that yearned to understand. To learn. How often would he get the chance to hear the perspective of another species, better yet from the species themselves? Considering his current state, likely never again.
“Are you sure? It doesn’t have to be this, I brought other books. To Kill A Mockingbird, Treasure Island, maybe some Shakespeare-?”
“No, I… I want to hear it. I’d like to understand.”
You hesitated further still, as if you were waiting for Jetfire to change his mind. Then you let out a small, huffy noise, like you were trying to clear your vents. Jetfire recognized the sound to be what you’d called a “sniffle”. Paper shuffled, you let out a low, steadying sigh, and began to read.
“No one would have believed in the last years of the nineteenth century that this world was being watched keenly and closely by intelligences greater than man’s and yet as mortal as his own…”
You were a delightful narrator, though you’d often brush off Jetfire’s compliments as to the former. ‘You should hear David Attenborough!’ you’d reply, though Jetfire had no idea who this apparent man was. Your cadence and accent would adjust slightly when switching characters, like you were putting on a play. The first descriptions of the alien conquerors were read with a faux suspense, as if you could scare the Cybertronian with narration alone. And yet, when you came upon the paragraph describing the first human deaths, there did your energy began to falter. You shifted against his landing gear, swallowing thickly as you described the heat ray that jumped from man to man, ‘...as if each man were suddenly and momentarily turned to fire.’ Your hesitance didn’t seem to stem from the words themselves, but the context in who you were reading them to. Did the recent Decepticon attack on the hospital strike as close to home mentally as it did physically?
You paused again at the end of the chapter. Usually here Jetfire would have rattled off the questions he’d saved while you were reading, foreign concepts and names of unknown locations and the intricacies of human interaction that he didn’t quite comprehend. But he found himself in silence here as well. Not stunned, not scared, merely… contemplative.
“Sorry. It’s not too late to read something else, you know. Treasure Island’s still on the docket.” You murmured, fingers tapping absentmindedly along the book’s spine.
“There’s no need to apologize. Already it’s a fascinating tale.” He paused for a moment, mulling over his words. The question he was about to ask seemed painfully obvious. Yet, he couldn’t find it in himself to leave it unsaid. “Are all humans this afraid of… aliens?”
‘Will all humans be this afraid of us?’ He did not ask.
“I think…” You hummed, head thunking back against his landing gear plating. “I think that most humans are afraid of the unknown. The idea that there’s something out there we can’t understand. We don’t like being reminded that we aren’t actually in control. That at any point in time we could die.”
Jetfire thought back to Cybertron- the expeditions failed, the cities razed, the lives lost- and he understood the sentiment exactly.
“Would it comfort you to know that the experience isn’t uniquely human?”
You barked out a short laugh. “A little, actually.”
Jetfire had spent so much of his life in the cold. The cold of space. The cold of the ice. The cold of the silent, empty hangar. But here, in this moment, with your body pressed to his plating, your voice filling the blackness, he felt inexplicably warm.
“I’d still like to hear more, if you would continue.”
Though Jetfire could not see your smile, it was more than enough to hear it in your voice.
“Sure thing, big guy.”
#transformers#transformers x reader#x reader#jetfire#skyfire#tf skyfire#tf jetfire#energon universe#tf skybound#tf eu jetfire#jetfire x reader#my writing#maccadam
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1200 words of de-aged Max, you say? From a larger Max/Daniel story I'm absolutely not writing, you say?
Sure, here you go:
Max at seven years old is red cheeked and mutinous, sitting in the corner of Charles' driver's room with his arms folded and his grown up race suit falling off him. He won't talk to Charles and he won't talk to Christian and he doesn't want any chocolate or anything to drink or anything to colour with. He doesn't want to watch anything on any of their phones and he doesn't want to swap his grown up clothes for anything of Charles'. He doesn't seem to want anything.
There is a hushed, desperate conversation happening around the doorway, as everyone tries to run through all their contacts and find anyone with a private plane or a helicopter anywhere close to Monaco who can get Daniel here sooner rather than later. Daniel is on the other end of the phone telling someone whose job it normally is to provide hospitality to extremely rich businessmen that they need to find a tin of tomato soup and some bread and butter if they want Max to eat anything at all, and to put the soup in a cup because baby Max doesn't approve of spoons.
It's a good thing that Max— under normal circumstances —is a two time World Champion, because this version of Max refuses his specially bought tomato soup and his specially cut up sourdough bread and butter, and stares at the wall with sniffly red eyes and a frown.
Eventually some favours are reeled in and Christian promises a selection of paddock passes and photo opportunities, and Daniel is on someone's helicopter and he's on his way, which is good, because Max has graduated from mutinous silence to shivering because he's still in his champagne soaked race suit and won't take it off. Someone remembers seeing a blanket on one of the merchandise stands and that's how Max reluctantly agrees to accept a green Fernando Alonso blanket, curling up on Charles' sofa looking for all intents and purposes like a very sad, green orphan.
Christian pinches his nose and can't help but hope this doesn't go like the last time Max turned up aged seven instead of twenty-something, which is to say: it fucked up their driver and constructor points for the entire year and lasted weeks. Going small is relatively normal, all things considered. It usually lasts a couple of days, it's generally suggested that keeping to normal routines is the best way to age up the quickest, and most people cycle their way through the process by a mixture of sleeping and leaping between ages with alacrity. Max, however, had woken up aged seven, turned up on Daniel's doorstep, and then promptly stayed seven for just short of three months. It is relatively rare for it to stretch over such a period without becoming permanent, and it's also relatively rare for it to happen more than once.
Max, in general, is apparently relatively rare across the board, and if he was this difficult for the whole three months Daniel looked after him, Christian probably needs to pay Daniel more. Charles looks exhausted, but at least he's sitting on the chair by the sofa with his phone propped up on the table, and Max occasionally shoots glances in its general direction, which may or may not mean that Charles' choice of Disney's Cars was a good one.
But then, finally, finally, Christian gets a message to say that Daniel's made it through paddock security, and that's got to mean that they can hand this whole sorry situation over to him and get the hell out of Ferrari's team rooms. He's overheard at least one person saying this whole thing was staged for espionage, and quite frankly, if Christian was to pick any team to steal from, it wouldn't be fucking Ferrari. Max can be difficult and quiet with Daniel, and—
Daniel pushes the door open and Max sees him, and his face transforms. He throws himself in Daniel's general direction, tripping over his too-long race suit and stumbling into Daniel's arms with a squeal. Daniel is equally enthusiastic, scooping Max up and into his arms and kissing his cheeks and his forehead and his nose so that Max is giggling and burying his face into Daniel's neck.
Christian is fairly sure he hears Max badly whisper I wished for you, Danny into Daniel's ear, but refuses to think too much about it, particularly as Daniel is too busy telling Max how much he's missed him.
"Why are you dressed like you want to be a giant when you’re only a little bee?" Daniel's asking Max, as Max squirms in his arms to get comfortable. It can't be that nice to be dressed in a champagne-damp and grown up-Max sweaty race suit, but there was no getting it off him.
Then Christian has to listen to a very little Max explaining that no, Daniel, he is not a giant and he is not a bee, and Daniel is listening very carefully and nodding in all the right places, and disappearing into Charles' bathroom with a squirmy Max and the backpack he'd brought from Monaco.
Charles and Christian are left looking at each other with matching incredulous expressions. The expressions do not change when Daniel and Max emerge from the bathroom ten minutes later with a freshly scrubbed Max with damp hair and a little hoodie with Pikachu on and matching Pikachu sweatpants and socks. He is holding Daniel's hand and clutching a very well thumbed book about flags and his Fernando blanket. He refuses to let go of Daniel's hand or sit anywhere that isn't plastered to Daniel's side, but he does concede to eat some bread and butter and drink his cup of tomato soup this time around. Daniel wipes soup off his chin afterwards, because Max is too busy telling Christian a list of facts from his flag book to notice that he missed his mouth.
Christian feels a little bit like he might be going mad, which seems to be how Charles is feeling too, given his expression.
"I knew Max when he was little," Charles says to Daniel, in an undertone. Christian lets Max show him first the Australian flag page ("This flag is Daniel's,") and the Italian flag page ("This flag is Daniel's as well,"), "and he wasn't like this at all."
Daniel is looking at Max like he's the most important thing on the planet. Christian can't help but wonder if he's remembered that other people can see him looking like that.
"Well," Daniel says, letting Max press himself into Daniel's side. "Maybe this is just what he's like when he's happy."
"Who is happy, Daniel?" Max asks, looking up at Daniel.
"You are," Daniel says, and Max beams at him, complete with little red cheeks. "Do you want to go home?"
"Yes, please," Max says, and Christian thinks: this better not fuck up the points again.
Max is clearly tired out and doesn't want to walk, so Daniel ends up carrying him out, Christian walking behind.
"Can we get my cats?" Max whispers loudly.
"In the morning, baby," Daniel says, kissing Max's hair. "We'll bring them home in the morning."
Christian watches Max settle himself in Daniel's arms, flag book in hand.
There goes the fucking championship, Christian thinks, and lets out a breath.
&&&
thank you to lena @stolemyhheart for making sure it read okay, and to em @powerful-owl for spending multiple hours talking about this verse with me, worth it.
Edit: now there is more of this verse here.
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I'm sorry but nothing in the world grinds my gears more than the "100 days of genocide" bullshit. The only people being genocided 100 days ago were Israelis. 100 days ago, thousands of Gazans invaded internationally recognized, sovereign Israeli territory and gleefully slaughtered 1200+ Israelis, mostly civilians, in the span of hours. They mutilated, maimed, raped, beheaded, burnt people alive, and live-streamed it all to boot. They kidnapped hundreds of hostages, one as young as 9 months old.
100 days ago Israel had not retaliated; Israel was attacked. 100 days ago nothing happened to YOU; it happened to us. If this hadn't happened to US (!!!!) 100 days ago, Gaza would not be a war zone right now. There would be no humanitarian disaster. Gazan children wouldn't be suffering as they are right now.
If you wanna claim genocide, at least say "99 days." Gaslighting the entire world. The fucking audacity.
For 100 days, Israelis have been suffering a dozen crises and a war on six fronts, and all the while we are still having to put up with pogrom denying psychopaths. The past 99 days would never have happened if Palestinian extremists had chosen to stay home 100 days ago. The destruction in Gaza falls squarely on the shoulders of Palestinian extremists, who could have easily decided to not have massacred Israelis on our own fucking soil. You don't get to sucker punch someone in the face and then cry when they hit back.
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I have a distinct memory of finishing Les Misérables for the first time: aisle seat of a long flight from the South to the West Coast, a hardcover copy of the Denny translation, my deeply alarmed neighbor shooting glances at this weird little man crying in public. I didn't keep it together entirely for V.IX.V, but V.IX.VI—wet eyes became a full-face affair, tissues were retrieved to stop up nasal involvement, no I did not want a ginger ale, thanks. I should've been mortified but I only recall being deep in thought. I don't cry, much, and certainly not over the death of fictional people. You can always bring them back to life by opening the book to the first page.
What made this character's grave so emotional? The death is expected, as a reader by the long march towards the tomb that begins in earnest with V.IX.I, and from familiarity with the story as a lifelong fan of the musical. In any case, I cried for his dying in V.IX.V, surely I didn't need to ramp up a chapter later because he's in the dirt.
Part of it is catharsis after 1200 pages of struggle, the experience of turning the last page (or—it's the Denny; there's digressions secreted in the back; but I'd read those in proper order). The rest—a little gladness, that this poor bastard has found peace, in a corner of a city that has some of nature to it, and little of people; in that gladness, bitterness that there was no happier ending, that peace, obscurity, weeds and lizards and birdshit, are the best his world has to offer this character. Those, and a poem, from someone who knew him through the eyes of Cosette, whether that was Cosette herself or Marius; it's very bittersweet, that simplement—we know there was nothing simple about the process of his dying, that it was drawn-out and wretched in the manner of all his life, but only he and his portress saw that, and he would not have wanted his children to.
All of which is to say, while I haven't followed Les Mis Letters closely, I opened today's email, and re-read it twice, and sat and thought a while about this sad old man of a character, my encounters with him over the years, and if I didn't quite cry this time, I might well do so the next read-through.
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Strong Enough To Stand
1200 words for 1200 followers #5
A/N: Hi friends! Welcome to the 12-A-Palooza! This event is my way of saying thank you for sticking with me. Your support and kindness toward me and my writing is out of this world and I’m grateful for every last one of you! This one sort of follows one of the other requests that I got for Joel for this event called It Pours From Your Eyes, but it can also be read as stand alone.
Warnings: loss, mention of character death, Joel Miller’s big sad eyes
Requested by: @senorabond Song: Heavy In Your Arms Character Choice: Joel Miller - thank you so much for sending this in! This song is such a good choice for Joel, and I hope you like the direction that I took it in!
Summary: It’s a difficult day for Joel, and though you don’t know the details of why, you try to be there for him the best way that you can. Joel realizes that he doesn’t have to repeat his regrets - so he doesn’t.
Joel cleared the gravel from his throat as soon as the stream came into view.
He hadn’t spoken since that morning, the two of you wordlessly breaking down your camp. For most of the day there had been nothing but your horses’ hooves on the hard ground to break the silence. It was nearing sundown when he finally spoke your name, voice creaking with disuse.
That’s not all it is.
You’d known to expect this when you woke up that morning - even though you’d done so with his arms around you, holding you against his chest. You’d known to expect it because you’d seen him like this before.
Today means something.
It was an annual occurrence, one of those horrible anniversaries that everyone had. A ritual of remembrance that did nothing to lessen the load he carried, but that he needed to do anyway.
You’d been assigned to a patrol with him shortly after he and Ellie showed up when you witnessed it the first time. He’d asked you to wait with the horses while he filled the canteens at the stream. You hardly knew him then, but the look in his eyes was all you needed to know that he was really asking for a moment to himself. Your canteen was still full, but you handed it to him with a nod, turning to give him privacy. You hadn’t meant to, but when you turned back around at the sound of his footsteps approaching again, you’d noticed a small stack of rocks near the water’s edge.
Joel was a stranger to you then. You knew next to nothing about him, only that he was Tommy Miller’s brother. But you knew why people built memorials. Why they carved names into trees, spoke to the wind, left notes where no one would find them. You wanted to know who the stone pyramid was for, what that person meant to him. But you knew better than to ask.
You were certain that was why he had chosen to slowly trust you.
The following year, when he was assigned to another patrol around the same time, Joel requested you as his partner. Again as you’d neared the stream a few miles outside of town, he suggested that you stick with the horses so he could refill your water supply. Though you purposely kept your eyes averted that time, the sound of rocks knocking together reached your ears.
But still, you said nothing when Joel returned.
The two of you were friends by then. More than friends, some nights. The trust and comfort you found in each other had grown, not taking down walls entirely, but opening doors from time to time. You’d brought him into your bed. He’d taken you into his arms. But there were still lines that you didn’t cross - wouldn’t cross, unless Joel did first.
With the passing of another year, you felt him coming closer to those lines than he ever had before. And fuck, you were ready. You were ready to see the rest of him, the parts he hadn’t shown you yet, ready to take half the weight from his heart even if it was enough to sink yours.
You were ready to love him.
But right now there was something that you knew he had to do. Even if you still didn’t know the reason behind it.
It’s important to him. That’s what matters.
Clicking your tongue, you stopped your horse next to Joel’s, climbing down as he did the same. When he looked up, your eyes locked with his and even though you knew what to expect, seeing the raw ache in them nearly knocked the breath from your lungs. You wanted to wrap your arms around him, lace your fingers together behind his neck and show him that you were there, right there with him.
You didn’t, though. Instead, you handed him your canteen before he could ask for it. You resisted the urge to lean forward and kiss the patch of skin that showed through his beard, let your lips linger there like a punctuation point. Like they did when you shared sheets in the dark. “I’ll stay with the horses, Joel.”
Something new flashed in his eyes then, something different from what you’d come to expect from this ritual. The roughened pads of his fingers grazed your knuckles as he took the canteen from you, and you watched the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed the heaviness that had stolen his words. He held your gaze for a few seconds longer, almost as though he was waiting for something.
But then he nodded, turning with a sniff and heading for the water.
– – –
Joel’s hand plunged beneath the water, grasping for the flat rock that lay at the bottom. It would make for a solid base. Pulling it out, he set it on the bank, a ragged sigh pushing its way through his lips.
Three years.
He chose another stone, squeezing it tightly before stacking it atop the first.
Goddamnit I miss you, Tess.
The next rock that caught his eye was partially embedded in the muck. He worked his fingertips under it to pull it free, adding it to the pile. It was hefty and broad, strong enough to stand up to wind and weather. Strong enough to last.
Like we were.
He was almost certain that she knew how he felt about her. But almost wasn’t good enough. He knew that, now.
I’m sorry I never said it. I should have.
He topped the memorial with a smooth, white-gray oval shaped stone.
I should have told you that I loved you.
Joel looked down at the cairn letting a fat tear drop onto it. A slight breeze blew over his damp cheeks and he closed his eyes, remembering her last words to him.
“Save who you can save.”
Your face joined hers behind his eyelids then, and the thought that had been playing on repeat since he woke that morning echoed in his brain again. He shivered, despite the warm summer air.
I have to tell her. Tonight.
He’d waited too long to tell Tess. He didn’t want the first time that he said aloud that he loved you to be to a pile of rocks.
– – –
You made it to the safehouse just before nightfall, Joel’s silence continuing after his return with the canteens. It lasted through your meal. You figured that he wouldn’t break it until the next day.
But then, with his arms around you, just like they were that morning, he did.
“I wanna tell you about today.” His lips landed behind your ear. “I wanna tell you about everything. But I have to say something first. Somethin’ that scares the hell out of me but - ” He sighed. “Something I should have said to you a long time ago.”
You held your breath for a few seconds, your heart smashing at your ribs.
“I love you.”
His words dropped directly into your heart, solid and sure and strong.
You didn’t know when the tears started, but they were there when you lay your arm over his, squeezing back. “I love you, too, Joel.”
I always will.
.
.
Thank you for reading! If you’d like to be added to or removed from the tag list, please feel free to let me know. You can also fill out the form on my Masterlist! :)
tags: @something-tofightfor @littlemisspascal @mishasminion360 @nyctophiliiiiaaaa @practicalghostt @amb11 @mindidjarinin @jk7789 @tentacruelss @harriedandharassed @joelmillerscoffee @woodlandmouthh @swtaura @thescarletfang @sleepylunarwolf @trickstersp8 @princessxkenobi @imtryingmybeskar @wildmoonflower @mswarriorbabe80 @theredwritingwitch @silverstarsandsuns @competentpotato @pedro-pedrito-pascalito @mumma-moonchild @jedi-in-crocs @hannahkatharine @anoverwhelmingdin @chiyo13 @myloveistoolittle
#12 a palooza#1200 followers 1200 words#joel miller#joel miller x female reader#joel miller x you#joel miller x reader#joel miller x tess servopoulos#joel miller fic#tlou joel miller#pedrostories#pedro pascal character#strong enough to stand
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It's amazing, when Sheridan finally snaps on Kosh it's like he's thinking...
...yeah, I was in a train car, and it exploded on a bridge, and I leapt out and saw the entire inside-out world wheeling before me like the Kingdoms of the Earth, and out of nowhere came what appeared to be an angel of the Lord, as if to keep me from stubbing my toe, rising up to catch me. It was written.
Does that make me Jesus?
And I don't think he believes he is, but I think in that single moment when Kosh turned his back on him, I think he felt like it.
But as much as Babylon 5 flirts with all religions being true, it also kinda clearly says that they're all false. John Sheridan is, in some ways, the most expendable and least known quantity out of everything. He's not the Hero of Prophecy, he's barely a hero of a prophecy, and only because Sinclair's best guess is that he's going to win. Remember, Sinclair is getting ready to head to 1200 AD right now when this episode takes place, and all he really knows about the second shadow war is what the Rangers tell him. The end is really not written, and even if it was, Sinclair isn't god either.
For Christ's sake, Sinclair basically hands the aliens his fucking iphone and says "if someone can unlock this with their thumbprint they're a reincarnation of a powerful Minbari soul" and they based their entire culture around that idea in some ways. He's definitely not god, he's a very silly boy.
But I think in that moment, it wasn't enough for John to be a squishy human next to an ancient demigod who shaped his race since before his race began. I think the prophecy served its purpose in that it made him the One Who Is To Come in that moment; gave him the belief that he, rising ape, could survive standing up to a falling angel and telling it what to do. In the same way, Delenn can act with the entire weight of prophecy informing and strengthening every action even knowing that the guy who wrote the prophecies was... some guy, some random fighter pilot she picked out by chance on the last day of the war, a normal man that she's smiled at, lied to, kept things from, worried about... because she believes that he is the One Who Was, she is the One Who Is, and her boyfriend is the One Who Is To Come. A script guides her actions, never mind where it came from.
I think at the end of the day, that's what Babylon 5 says about belief, the same thing Vonnegut and Pratchett did. Beliefs may be false or true, but more observably they can transform you for better or worse.
#babylon 5#Garibaldi on the other hand may or may not sincerely believe that he's Judas#but whatever he believes it does MAKE him INTO Judas#even though in this same episode it's his turn to say 'neither do i condemn thee; go now and sin no more'#interludes and examinations#the episode where Jesus other Jesus third Jesus and Doktor Faustus all have a really shitty day#yeah I'm a little unwell about this one
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Imagine Dream and Desire having a competition over who can make you part of their kingdom.
[Part 2]
[2K Followers 'Clue' Special]
It's 11 AM and your Americano is still hot. You stare at the open Word document. It's just an essay like the thousand others you've written so far. But the page is completely empty no matter what you keep telling yourself. There are still at least 1500 words you need to register.
Focusing on the somewhat vague essay question you had been given, you fail to notice two strangers standing across the street from the cafe you're sitting in. One of them looks like he has just woken up while the other seems to be dressed for an occasion far more formal and exquisite than gossiping on the curb. Pedestrians pass them by without ever paying attention.
Initially, Dream was set on not entertaining Desire in this little sibling rivalry but the competitive relationship they shared got the best of him. Apparently, boredom has power even over the Endless. Now it wasn't a question of "if" but how to bring them down a peg or two.
"Money, power, fatal devotion..." Desire counts. "And what can you give them, dear brother? Saint Jacob's ladder?" they tease.
Neither of them tears their eyes away from you. Perhaps they enjoyed the side or simply wanted to make sure that the other doesn't try anything that could be considered cheating while they look away. Although this butting of heads can't be considered final, the two siblings considered it to be at least crucial in deciding which one of them is actually more powerful and important to humanity.
"They dream of a fairer world, a realm where not riches but ethics are put on the pedestal. I can make them a ruler. The first and last monarch of the entire world."
"Well, then. The game is on, I suppose." Desire announces with a mischievous grin on their face. They're checking their mother-of-pearls cufflinks. "But be prepared to lose."
Dream remains as he was: unkempt hair, pooling coat and hands shoved into pockets. His rigid face brightens, almost curving into a fleeting, elusive smile. "No, I don't think I will."
Still blissfully unaware of the figurative price on your head, you sip on the Americano. 1200 words left.
#the sandman imagine#the sandman fandom#the sandman fanfiction#the sandman desire#the sandman dream#morpheus imagine#morpheus sandman#morpehus#morpheus#desire#desire of the endless#desire sandman#desire x reader#sandman x reader#dream x reader#morpheus x reader#dream of the endless x reader#desire of the endless x reader#desire of the endless fanfiction#desire of the endless imagine#dream of the endless#dream of the endless fanfiction#dream of the endless imagine#the sandman netflix#the sandman
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So, like any other girl who reads fanfiction, and has so many n/m ships, I too, was exposed to Heartstopper, one day, and became obsessed with it. Yeah, and not only the show, ALL THE NOVElS, I read all of them at least 3 times, watched the show a lot, I even read fics about it beacause I can't wait fir season 3 to come out this year on October...
I fully support the LGBTQ+ community, I might not be a part of it, but, as my dear Imogen said on the show "I'n an ally".
I had lots of respect to tge author and illustraitor of this fantastic novel series, Alice Oseman, but today I found out that she had stated her support for Palestine.
I don't tend to comment about anything on social media, not at all, but after finding out about this, I became too upset and had to write my thought out, so yeah, this post will probably get deleted, and it's not like I have many people who follow me, or people that will read this.
Look, I have nothing against people who want to have peace on this world, besides the war between Israel and Hanas, there are lots and lots of wars happening around the world, having said that, lots of pro palestiniabs, simply don't know the basic facts, so let me starts stating a few of them. Israel became an independent state on 1948. Between 1947 to 1949 Israel had its' first war, what they call in"the independence war". The war started after the UN had agreed on Resolution 181, a UN plan thar divided the state between the jews and the arabs, and had Jerusalem as the capital city for jews and arabs. The jews agreed to this plan immediately, it was barley 2 years after WW2 had ended, the one wherein 6 Million jews were murdered beacause of hate. The arabs however, did npt agree on that plan, a UN plan, and started attacking the jewish citzens on 30th of November 1947. After Israel got its' independent,on May 14th 1948, the neighboring Arab coubtrues had joined the arabs in Israel in their fight against the new country. Israel won. Egupt gor conrol of Gaza. On 1967, Israel won another war, one we call, the "6 days war", and got Gaza. On 1969 Israel gave the people in Gaza Electricity from Israel's Electricity Connector.
In 1971, the Israeli government decided to rehabilitate the refugee camps in the Gaza Strip. Israel did not annex the Gaza Strip to its territory, Israel didn't know what to do with it. On Marah 1979, Egypt and Israel had signed a peace agreement between them. Egyot didn't want Gaza back, so Israel got kind of "stuck" with it, and even after that Israel still did not annex the Gaza Strip to its territory. On December 1987, the first intifada broke out by the palestinians, . At its beginning, it was characterized mainly by mass riots that included demonstrations, stone throwing, roadblocks, and in some cases Molotov cocktails,
Subsequently, the intifada changed its character, and from 1989 terrorist attacks began to be carried out. Kidnapping people, stabbing them to death, shootings, and more, 164 Israelis were murdered. It officially ended in 1993, with the signing of the Oslo Accords, but the attacks continued. The oslo Accords were signed between Israel and the Palestine Liberation Organization, and were meant to give peace, and end to the terror attacks agaibst Israel.
On 1994, as a result of the Oslo Accords, the IDF, left Gaza, and Control of the city passed to the Palestinian Authority. On 2005, all the Israelis who lived on Gaza were evacuated, as a part of the Israeli disengagement from Gaza. After that, Gaza started firing more Qassam rocket and missile fire at southern Israel than before. On 2006, Hanas, a terrorist organization, won the elections in Gaza, and started ruling Gaza.
On October 7th Hamas and The Islamic Jihad murdered more than 1200 people, kidnapped 240 people. Many women and men were raped, bodies were violated, organs were cut from victims, babies were murdered, entire families were burned to death. Even to this day, according to Palestinian Statistics, more than 85% of palestinans on Gaza still support Hamas' actions on October 7th. Palestinian citizens had helped Hamas, and there are even released hostages that said that palestinians families had held them captive. Lots of palestinian citizens had helped Hamas, they robbed houses, and killed innocent people as well.
Israel did not want this war, all it want is for her hostages o be released, and be back home with their families. This war is not against thr palestininans, it's war against Hamas. There are still 132 hostages held captive by Hamas, Israel and the world don't know for sure which of them is alive, and which one is not, but it needs all of them back home with. Women, Mean, Children, babies, elderly were kidnapped on this day. How is a one year old baby, your enemy? How is a Holocaust survivor your enemy?
And for those of you that say, that there is a genocide in Gaza. , on 1948, there were 710,000 palestinians ib Gaza, now there are more than 2.2 Million palestinians.
Secondly, Israel supplies the palestininans with food, water, and medicine every single day. I don't think that the US army gave Japan aid on WW2, but you know what they did do? Detonated atomic bombs on her. I don't see people call this genocide, so why is it different when it's Israel?
You don't know what it's like, to fear fron rockets, to fear leaving the house beacause Hanas can shoot at you whebever he wants. You don't live in fear.
But the people of Israel know what it's like, beacause ti them it's their nornal routine of life.
And again, while I'm against violence in general, remember, that this conflict did not start by Israel, no, Israel got attacked first by the palestininns thenselves.
Dear Aloce, I am dissapoined to find out that another jew supports Paelestine. Yon live on the UK, you write about LGBTQ+ characters on your novels. You identufy as a she/her and they/them, you are aroace. The people in Gaza, hate people fron the LGBTQ+ community, they murder every one of them, they do not care for your support, and all your money will go tk Hanas, a terririst organization, because guess what? Hamas controls everything in Gaza, including all the money the people like you, the UN, and other counries give to Gaza, and they use thus money for terror, and for murderm
Why did you have to start being politucal? Why do you support sonething that you dob't fully undestand.
And by the way, Hamas murdered and kidbapped muslims, arabs, and Israelies, they did not care for who you are, which country are you a citizen of, and what are your poltic views, if you were in the wrong place on the wrong tine, they simply did not care, they killed everyone, and kidnapped arabs and Israelies alike.
I still love Heartstopper, but it'a dissapoing to find out that another jewish person supports something that they do not understand. Alice, you will not see this post, but "thank you".
#bring them home now#israel#idf#hamas is isis#hamas war crimes#hamas massacre#heartstopper#alice oseman#israel hamas war#my truth#i stand with israel#pro israel#pro
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Forgive me if the maths is off, i had this thought months ago and only just thought to post it here cos i know y’all love to cry about things
earth time Astraea time
1 hour = 6 months
2 hours = 12 months/ 1 year
600 hours/25 days =100 years/1200 months
(even if that’s the wrong numbers, the point still stands that the difference in time would lead to issues)
conclusion: In Sage’s route where MC wakes up on earth and only a short amount of time has passed, and then when it takes MC an hour to figure out what happens and get back sage states that it’s been 6 entire months in Astraea. Based on those timings we can assume that if MC somehow managed to live 100 years in Astraea with a chosen love interest, then die of natural causes, MC would wake up from a coma-like state with only 25 days having passed on Earth. it’s possible that MC would just forget all of Astraea at first like they did in that short time period but if they saw anything related to the video game LL or thought “oh i’ve woken up from a coma, but i bet the new LL game is out!” and now imagine, MC downloads the game, begins playing and all the memories flood back, imagine the devastation knowing that you grew old with a loved one only to go back to your old reality, having only aged 25 days, not even a year. The other possibility is that MC just fucks off home as soon as the routes end, like “yea that was great and all, i’ve fallen so deeply in love, made some wonderful friends, learnt all about magic but imma head out”. i don’t know if that was the planned way to end the routes but i *despise* when any story does this, you cannot go to another universe where there is magic, and where you are loved by someone, and suddenly you’re surrounded by cool friends only to go “actually i’m gonna go back to the grey, drab, boring world where everyone hates each other for stupid reasons, everything is concrete and grey and ugly” hell no. i always imagine magic would give colour to everything, the world would be far more saturated. there is no way in hell that i’d give up a world of magic to return to this shithole. anyways my point was, that with the whole “time works differently” stuff, the only way for MC to be happy is if dying of old age in the LL world meant they peacefully passed away on earth too.
now cry.
#last legacy#felix iskandar escellun#anisa anka#fictif last legacy#rime solano varela#sage lesath#fictif
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Hob Gadling traditional folk music collection.
Been thinking about a sort of Hob Gadling character playlist composed entirely of British folk music. Songs he might have listened to throughout his life and resonated with. This is also just a little excuse for me to share some of my favorite folk songs from across the history of the British Isles :) Most of these are British in origin, but a couple are Scottish.
Some of these choices are loosely based on the fic And In The Waking World We Want And Wait by @qqueenofhades because at this point it's basically canon to me and has considerably influenced my perception of the character. Furthermore, I'm writing this with Dreamling in mind because... Well because I want to.
I'm attaching recordings for each piece, but keep in mind that, by the nature of folk music, songs (both melody and lyrics, as well as accompaniment and performance choices) are intrinsically altered in every performance and there is no single correct interpretation of a piece. If you don't like the recordings I picked, I encourage you to seek out your own :)
I am not a music historian, just a classical singer with a love of traditional folk and a cursory education on music history.
Lastly, keep in mind that folk music in the Late Medieval and Early Modern music exists in a much different form than it does today, both in its lyrical and melodic content. Of the songs surviving from that period, the majority are liturgical in nature. Those that aren't are generally about farming, changing seasons, and (of course) drinking. I've done my best, but most of these pieces aren't perfect fits. Still, what character playlist is?
Arranged in rough chronological order.
1200s: "Sumer is icumen in" (composer unknown) (Note: This song is the oldest recorded English language folk song. I think that's pretty neat.)
Sumer is icumen in
Loude sing cuccu (cuckoo)
Groweth sed (seed)
and bloweth (bloometh) med (meadow)
and springeth the worlde new
(Full text)
~1450: "Tappster, Drinker" (unknown composer)
Tappster, Drinker, fill another ale,
Anonn God sende us good sale.
Avale the stake, avale,
here is good ale y founde.
Drynke to me and y to the
and lette the cuppe goe rounde.
(This is, as far as I can tell, the full text)
~1513: "Pastime with Good Company" (King Henry VIII)
Youth must have some dalliance
Of good or ill some pastance
Company methinks then best
All thoughts and fancies to digest.
For idleness
Is chief mistress
Of vices all
Then who can say.
but mirth and play
Is best of all.
(Full text)
1500s: "The Ballad of Tamlin" (composer unknown) (Note: Yes this one is @landwriter 's fault. Go read Oaths. Also, I'm using one of many translations of the original ballad, but there's also an excellent folk punk adaptation by The Forgetmenauts which you should listen to if you like the story. Generally, I'm not doing this ballad any justice with my little 2-line snippet and I encourage you to look into it more yourself.)
"For if my love were an earthly knight as he is an elfin grey,
I'd not change my own true love for any knight you have."
(Full text)
~1580-1650: "Greensleeves" (composer unknown)
Alas, my love you do me wrong
To cast me off discourteously
And I have loved you so long
Delighting in your company
I have been ready at your hand
to grant whatever you would crave;
I have both wagered life and land
Your love and good will for to have
(Full text)
1700s: "A Maid in Bedlam" (composer unknown)
My love he'll not come near me
To hear the moan I make,
And neither would he pity me
If my poor heart should break,
But, though I've suffer'd for his sake,
Contented will I be, For
I love my love
Because I know he first loved me.
(Full Text)
1800s: Black is The Colour of My True Love's Hair (composer unknown) (Note: although the most famous variations of this piece are from 20th century America, the piece is believed to have originated in Scotland some time in the 19th century.)
Black, black, black is the color of my true love's hair,
His lips are something rosy fair,
The fairest face and the gentlest hands
I love the grass wheron he stands.
(Full text)
1813: "The Last Rose of Summer" (Thomas Moore) (Note: I was a bit conflicted about adding this one. The song is about the pain of losing those you love to time, and the loneliness that comes from outlining your companions, both of which are sentiments I feel are very applicable to Hob. However, the song also implies that death is a mercy in the face of such loneliness, which obviously doesn't align with Hob's worldview.)
'Tis the last rose of summer left blooming alone.
All her lovely companions are faded and gone.
No flower of her kindred, no rosebud is nigh,
To reflect back her blushes and give sigh for sigh.
(Full text)
1902: "Whither Must I Wander" (Ralph Vaughan Williams, from the song cycle "Songs Of Travel") (Note: This is technically not a true folk song but shhhhh. This was the song that inspired this whole list because I absolutely adore Vaughan Williams and particularly this cycle.)
Home was home then, my dear, full of kindly faces,
Home was home then, my dear, happy for the child.
Fire and the windows bright glittered on the moorland;
Song, tuneful song, built a palace in the wild.
Now, when day dawns on the brow of the moorland,
Lone stands the house, and the chimney-stone is cold.
Lone let it stand, now the friends are all departed, The kind hearts, the true hearts, that loved the place of old.
(Full text)
1904: "In Dreams" (Ralph Vaughan Williams, from "Songs of Travel") (Note: I will not apologize for using two pieces from the same cycle. Y'all don't understand I'm so autistic about these songs. Also, I had to pick at least one song with "Dream" in the title haha.)
In dreams unhappy, I behold you stand
As heretofore:
The unremember'd tokens in your hand
Avail no more.
[...]
He came and went. Perchance you wept awhile
And then forgot.
Ah me! but he that left you with a smile
Forgets you not.
(Full text)
1946: "Come you not from Newcastle?" (Arr. Benjamin Britten, original composer unknown) (Note: Although the text of the song itself doesn't necessarily have any strong Hob Vibes, the most widely known arrangement of this piece was done by Benjamin Britten, one of the country's most famed composers and also a fairly open homosexual. This, combined with the text of the song and the time that this arrangement was written, gives the song a distinctly queer vibe, at least to me, and so it makes the list. The recording attached is by Britten's life partner, Peter Pears.)
Why should I not love my love?
Why should not my love love me?
Why should I not speed after him,
Since love to all is free?
(Full Text)
And that's all of them! Please let me know if you have any traditional folk songs you know that fit the bill, as I'm always looking for more good traditional folk music. It holds a special place in my heart :)
Consider reblogging if you got anything out of this post, since I did spend quite awhile on it and I'd love it if it got out to the wider Sandman fandom.
Resources: 1 2 3 4
#the sandman#sandman#hob gadling#robert gadling#dreamling#dream x hob#folk music#music history#i already know this is gonna get Zero reach because i mean. this is such a narrow area of interest#still I know there are plenty of historians and history enthusiasts in this fandom. s I hope at least a couple people get a kick out of it#even if not. it was fun to put together
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