Untitled

ask-omnipony:

I don’t really believe this mumbo jumbo

I mean it’s a goddamn hat.

Right..?

The white rose, it symbolizes the unique beauty of all the women who wish not to be with a nice guy such as myse-

I wonder if this works with other kinds of hat…

Nothing ventured, nothing gained…

WHEEEN THE MOON HITS YOUR EYE LIKE A BIG PIZZA PIE THAT’S AMORREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

oh boy…….

Luckily, this nonsense doesn’t work on girls.

Observe…

And it can’t possibly work on motorcycle helmets.

I must test it.

Nothing happening so far…

What in the world?

Oh why not? This should be interesting.

Here we go!

Were all mad here in Underland!

What the hell! Never Again!

… Actually …

Alright, I gotta try this!

Can’t be that bad!

….

LOL

i wonder if it works for flower crowns?

here goes nothin-

w HAT THE

DID I JUST-

Okay Clearly something is up.

Hmm… I wonder

I’m sure nothing could possibly…

I wonder what happens when you wear 8 of these at once…

what could possibly go wrong?

eww, it smells like fuckboi

welp, down this rabbit hole we go…

nothing’s happeni-

WTF-

I wonder if this would work with a wolf hat.

May as well try it.

Please don’t be awful, please don’t be awful, please don’t b-

get wet 4 furry

This is obviously fake

Look, I’ll prove it

Y’all are just acting

Watch and learn

Whelp guess I gotta put on the hat now

Can’t be that bad, I mean what’s the worst a squid hat can do to m-

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Easter has NOTHING to do with:

Ishtar

Ostara

Pagan holidays

A goddess called Eostre (Bede was a speculating idiot and he’s the original source for this nonsense)

Easter has EVERYTHING to do with:

The Jewish celebration of the Passover seder

The Christian celebration of the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ

Nobody stole our shit. Easter was never pagan to begin with. Rabbit was considered “fish” by the medieval Catholic Church so that people could eat it during the 40 days of Lent, and eggs laid during the Lenten fast were hardboiled for preservation and then eaten during the breaking of the fast on Easter Sunday. That’s why we have bunnies and eggs.

Stop conflating Easter with pagan holidays, and get the fuck out of here with that casual anti-semitism.

The type of Seder that Jesus would have attended is in no way indicative of what a Passover Seder is to Jews because it was a different type of Judaism at the time.

I agree that Easter was not stolen from pagan traditions, but it is also not based on Jewish ones and it’s important not to conflate “Judeo-Christian” because we’re two separate entities. That’s why Christians holding a Seder is very wrong.

The TIMING of Easter is related to Passover, as the Last Supper is widely believed to have been a Passover Seder. (Fully acknowledging that the Biblical canon is describing very different circumstances and traditions to what exists now.) The dates differ somewhat between the Roman Catholic and Eastern Orthodox churches because their holidays align to the Gregorian and Julian calendars respectively. (The shift from Julian to Gregorian affected the timing of certain other holidays as well, but I digress.)

All right. Since it’s Easter and this is going around again and people are getting spicy in the comments, I’m settling shit on this post once and for all. Cause I’m getting pretty damned sick of being called ignorant and antisemitic (and worse) for pointing out DOCUMENTED HISTORY AND LITURGICAL CANON like I had anything to do with its creation. I was going to make this its’ own post to avoid making this one obnoxiously long but yanno what? My jar of Fucks To Give is fucking empty.

You want the sauce? Here’s the sauce. And then I don’t want to hear another fucking word about it until next year when somebody inevitably digs this up again.

All right. First things first. The word “Easter” or “Ostern” or something like it is only found in English and German-derived languages. In Spanish, it is Pascua. In Italian and Catalan, Pasqua. In French, Pâques. In Greek, Pascha. In Portuguese, Páscoa. I could go on, but suffice it to say that nearly all Romance languages (and many of their derivatives) use some form of a word derived from the Latin Pascha, meaning of or having to do with Passover (Pesach). The two holidays are linguistically and temporally associated. This does not make them the same, but the association MATTERS, because it shows that right from the beginning Christians associated Easter with Passover and not with some random pagan solstice holiday.

“You mean Ostara?”

We’ll get to it.

As for timing, let us turn back the clock to 325 CE and the First Council of Nicaea. Up until this point, Christians had relied on the Jewish calendar to determine the date of Easter, since they associated the holiday with the same timing as Passover. Part of the council’s agenda was to designate a date for Easter which was not dependent on the Jewish calendar but still occurred around the same time. Subsequent councils eventually decided that Easter would take place on the first Sunday after the Paschal Moon, or the first full moon in April. Please note that the word “Paschal” appears in liturgical observances right up to the present day.

So that’s why the timing of Easter and Passover are connected in Church liturgy. Whether it is correct for the Church to associate Easter with Passover in this way according to Jewish religious canon and history is a separate issue. I did not make up this association out of thin air. It exists in history and in language, and if it’s inaccurate for the two to be associated in this way, y'all need to take it up with Rome.

And YES, when modern pagans ignore this in favor of saying Easter was straight-up sourced from pagan traditions and pagan traditions only, that erasure of the Jewish connection with the holiday IS FUCKING DISRESPECTFUL. THAT is where the casual antisemitism comes in, and we ought to be fucking aware of it.

Now as for Ostara….

When Bede wrote in the 8th century that “Eostermonath” must have been named for a Germanic goddess of spring, he was SPECULATING. We do not have sources for this supposition or evidence of the existence of a goddess called Eostre or Ostara before this, only his theory. And as we all know, given enough time, very old things are taken as gospel. So when Jacob Grimm quoted Bede in his own work, 19th-century occultists took it to be true and based their subsequent musings upon that single source.

These days, we have Wicca to thank for the presence of Ostara on the calendar. And it wasn’t even originally part of the Wheel of the Year. After deciding in 1958 that they wanted to celebrate the solstices and equinoxes as well as the quarter days, Gardner’s coven just marked the vernal equinox as the spring solstice and called it a day. Unfortunately, he was working from the now-debunked claims of Edward Williams (also known as Iolo Morganwg) who claimed that druids celebrated festivals on the solstices and equinoxes based on the belief that the druids had built Stonehenge and therefore marked these occasions as sacred. (More on this in Prof. Ronald Hutton’s article, “Modern Pagan Festivals.”)

Moving forward a few years, we come to the infamous Aidan Kelly. In 1974, he took is upon himself to create a new version of the Wheel of the Year with new “historical” names for several holidays. He took his information from Bede’s speculation as well and named the spring equinox festival Ostara. (This is also the point where we get Litha and Mabon, but I digress.) And even Aidan Kelly acknowledges, and I quote, “The Venerable Bede says that (the spring equinox] was sacred to a Saxon Goddess, Ostara or Eostre, from whom we get the name “Easter,” which, almost everywhere else, is called something like ‘Pasch,’ derived, of course, from Pesach.”

So Kelly’s new Wheel was adopted by the Wiccans and their broad influence spread it to the rest of the neopagan community and everyone just took it as gospel. It’s thanks to modern paganism’s penchant for conflating most of ancient European paganism and not doing their homework that we now get this idea of Ostara as an ancient spring celebration of the goddess Eostre, who, as you’ll recall, might not have even existed. And of course, because modern witches love to pick a fight and feed their persecution complexes, that translated directly into the idea that Easter and Ostara were the same holiday and that Christians must have “stolen” it.

And let’s address this “stolen” holiday idea. Yes, pagan peoples were converted, and their traditions were sometimes preserved and adapted to fit new ideas in order to ease the transition. This does NOT mean pagan holidays were just straight-up adopted into the Christian calendar. What even would be the point of saying Christianity was the “true religion” if they just went about like, “Hm, yes, this pagan holiday looks good, let’s just add that to the list like we consider it just as important as our own,” if they considered pagans to be ignorant heathens and their gods to be demons and devils? You can’t have it both ways, people.

If the Church had adopted pagan holidays, THERE WOULD BE RECORDS. We have records for just about every decision the Catholic Church has made with regard to the minutiae of their belief system, to say nothing of the construction of their calendar. Syncretism occurs when two or more cultures exist in the same place for a long enough period of time that their traditions begin to blend together. This has been happening FOREVER. It is not unique to Christianity or even Europe. Pagan cultures syncretized and shared and changed over time as well. The fact that Ostara as we know it today is not an ancient holiday does not make it any less valid or worthy of observance.

The Ishtar thing is a fucking meme and I’m not even going to dignify it with an argument.

In conclusion, and perhaps most goddamn importantly - You Can’t Fucking Steal A Holiday. You can ban it, you can suppress it, you can wipe it from the record, but you can’t steal it. Stealing implies that it’s a commodity or property which is gone and can never be used or observed by the original culture ever again. No one is stopping you from observing, learning about, or celebrating the thoroughly modern holiday of Ostara in whatever way you prefer.

First time making LGBTQ+ Lock Screens :)

Please Like+Reblog if using them, Thankyouu! 

EDIT: OKAAY so I really didn’t expect this to get so many notes lmao, but I am really thankful of those who love these lock screens :)

Lyme disease can become very serious, it can infect the nervous system and cause neurological problems especially in young children who are often bitten on the head or the neck, undiagnosed it can cause chronic health issues that mimic other diseases. Without safe prophylactic measures beyond trying to minimize contact w ticks, this has driven people who have had lyme disease, have chronic effects from mass-disseminated lyme disease infection, or people who believe they have chronic lyme disease to go to quack doctors and undergo unsafe, unapproved medical treatment in an attempt to stop suffering.

This would not be happening on the scale that it is if antivaxxers didn’t straight up execute a supervillain plot to sabotage the lyme disease vaccine bc this happened the same year andrew wakefield published his fraudulent research on the MMR vaccine

https://www.vox.com/science-and-health/2018/5/7/17314716/lyme-disease-vaccine-history-effectiveness

This whole thing started with a fear of their kids turning out… like us.

Sequel to Eindred and the Witch

In which Severin, the golden eyed witch, learns that his greatest enemy and truest love is fated to kill him.

-

-

Dealing in prophecies is a dubious work. Anyone who knows anything will tell you as much.

“Think of all of time as a grand tapestry,” his great-grandmother had said, elbow deep in scalding water. Her hands were tomato red, and Severin watched with wide golden eyes as she kneaded and stretched pale curds in the basin. “You might be so privileged to understand a single weave, but unless you go following all surrounding threads, and the threads around those threads, and so on - which, mind you, no human can do - you’ll never understand the picture.”

Severin, who was ten years old and had never seen a grand tapestry, looked at the cheese in the basin and asked if his great-grandmother could make the analogy about that instead.

“No,” she replied. “Time is a tapestry. Cheese is just cheese.”

And that was that.

By fifteen, Severin who was all arms, legs, and untamable black hair, decided he hated prophecies more than anything in the world. He occupied himself instead with long walks atop the white bluffs well beyond his family’s home. Outside, he could look at birds, and talk to the wind, and not think about the terrible prophecy which followed him like a shadow.

His second eldest sister had revealed it - accidentally, of course. Severin lived in a warm and bustling house with his great-grandmother, grandmother, mother, two aunts, and three sisters. All of whom were generously gifted in the art of foretelling (a messy business, each would say if asked), and every one of them had seen Severin’s same bleak thread.

He would die. Willingly stabbed through the heart by his greatest enemy and truest love.

Willingly. That was the worst part, he thought.

Severin, who had no talent in the way of prophecies, but plenty of talent in the realm of wind and sky, marched along the well-worn trail, static sparking around his fingertips as the brackish sea breeze nipped consolingly at his face and hair.

I will protect you if you ask me to, it blustered, and Severin was comforted.

He didn’t care who this foretold stranger was. When this enemy-lover appeared, Severin would ask the wind to pick them up and take them far, far away. Far enough that they could never harm him. The wind whistled in agreement. And so it was settled.

It’s why any sensible warrior is a master of swift endings. Such as an arrow through the eye or a clean separation of head from shoulders. In a pinch, a slit throat will do. Though it really is best to avoid giving your enemy the chance to make even garbled curses out of their last bloody breaths. For even those without the slightest touch of magic have been known to make a curse stick if it’s uttered on the cold brink of death.

Eindred the Bloody collected curses in the same way that other warriors collected scars. Even in the wild chaos of battle, he was known to take a knee, pressing his ear to a felled enemy’s laboring lips.

May your every loved one die screaming in pain.

I hope you die with your eyes stabbed out and your heart in your hands.

You will never know happiness.

Your existence will be suffering.

May your greatest enemy rise from the grave and never leave you alone.

The last was his most recent curse, and Eindred wondered if it meant some great murdered brute was tracing his steps, waiting to catch him while he slept.

Eindred crossed the peninsula with a company of barbaric warriors, gaining a new curse from every enemy he felled. Not all of them would stick, he knew. But some undoubtedly would. And he would deserve every one.

Others in his company treated him with to wary, sidelong glances, because surely it was dangerous to travel with one so cursed as he. But Eindred was a force in battle, relentless and unstoppable as an icy winter gale, and so they swallowed their complaints, and contented themselves with leaving a wide berth on either side of his scarred, patchwork arms.

Eindred was marching at the back of the company when they came upon the village. It was a collection of squat, wooden homes tucked beneath a snow capped mountainside. From thatched rooftops, wisps of smoke from cooking fires rose, painting the blue sky in pale, meandering strokes. 

This company tended to leave such settlements alone, and Eindred was glad for it. No warriors would be found in tiny mountainside villages, and though he might live to fight, he had no interest in wholesale slaughter. 

This time, however, the company leader - a silent, brutish man, held up a hand.

Their company was running low on food, it turned out, and even from a distance, the warriors could see the village’s sheep - a trail of white spots on the green hillside.

Eindred was disappointed when, ultimately, violence erupted in the quiet village, though he did not lay down his thick handled blade.

The shepherd boy had refused to give up his master’s sheep, and when he shouted, a blacksmith had burst from his home, wielding a great hammer in his hand. 

The battle was short. 

When all was done, four lay dead. The shepherd, the blacksmith, and two young men who’d foolishly taken up crude wooden spears. The rest of the villagers huddled, terrified in their homes. The warriors expected to slaughter the sheep with no further trouble, but when they turned back to the field, an individual stood blocking their way.

His hair was dark - as the hair in these parts tended to be, and his face was sharp, both nose and cheeks splattered with freckles. Golden eyes beheld the warriors, and he watched them with a steady, measured gaze. Without the slightest hint of fear, he stood before them, his simple robe fluttering in the icy mountain’s breath, and said: “These are simple people. They have little in way of money or goods. It wasn’t for nothing that the shepherd, blacksmith, and teenagers died. They need these sheep. And I cannot allow you to take them.”

The other warriors in the company laughed at the young man’s foolishness - for that was what it looked like to them. Eindred did not laugh, however. Though the stranger’s voice was light, the air stirred around him. 

It was rare to encounter one who commanded magics. Rare - but not impossible. And so Eindred alone was unsurprised when the young man turned his golden eyes to the heavens and summoned great branches of lightning which cleaved the skies above them. The world erupted and the men around Eindred screamed.

Eindred, who’d expected something like this, had already begun running. 

Later, he would think it odd that the witch hadn’t bothered to move. But in the heat of battle, with lightning splitting the field at his back, Eindred’s attention had narrowed to the rough point of his blade - and then, the crimson place where it pierced the witch’s chest.

The skies silenced as Eindred pulled the wet, crimson blade free of its target. 

It took just a moment for the witch to fall, but in that single, infinite moment, Eindred was subjected to the full weight of that golden gaze.

Legs folding beneath him, the witch crumpled, collapsing back onto the wild, wet grass. Eindred knelt beside him, grimly eager to hear the curse and be done with it. Surely a curse at the lips of one so powerful as this would finally bring an end to things? 

To take one’s own life was an unspeakably shameful end for a warrior such as he. But a curse? Well, one couldn’t help how the wrong curse might speed things along.

The witch’s black hair was damp from the dew in the grass, and when he turned, it stuck to the side of his face and neck. His mouth opened and closed. Holding his breath, Eindred leaned in.

“-my hut…it’s just past…the next hill over,” the witch whispered. “In it, I keep medicines and herbs. For the villagers. And travelers who pass.”

Eindred shook his head. He didn’t understand.

Impossibly, the witch smiled. When he lifted a hand, Eindred twitched, expecting to be struck.

The witch’s bloodied finger, however, did nothing more than tap his chest. And then, in a wet, rattling breath, the witch, with his great power finally spoke his curse. 

“May you live a life of safety and peace.” 

Eindred sat, his thick, scarred knuckles braced in the dirt as the cold mountain wind whistled down the hillside at his back.

“What?” he whispered. 

But the young man’s golden eyes were blank and empty, and the other warriors lay dead in the field. Only the relentless wind snapped and whistled in answer.

Eindred left.

Within a month, he’d joined up with another company. And it soon became clear  the witch’s death rattle had been a curse of great power indeed. For wherever Eindred traveled, peace inevitably followed. Enemy warriors surrendered and when they didn’t, members within Eindred’s own company had sudden changes of heart. As for Eindred himself, not a single person would raise a blade against him, and Eindred had never been the sort who could raise his own blade against one who had no wish to fight.

And so for another month he wandered, hapless, without even the dark purpose of collecting curses which had driven him for the last several years. 

He’d been raised with a sword in his hand, brought up knowing full well that his job in life would be to cut short the existence of any who stood against him. Not even thirty, and his soul was exhausted, worn ragged by such an life. And so, he’d sought a way out if it. Eindred had accumulated a terrifying number of curses - curses which would surely have felled lesser men than he. Before everything had gone wrong in the tiny village, he’d been sure it was only a matter of time before they overcame him.

But now, the witch’s single curse had overpowered them all.

Eindred was safer than he’d ever been in his life. He’d never known such a quiet, terrible peace. 

After another month, he returned to the mountainside village. He didn’t have any good reason to return - other than perhaps the distant hope that a villager’s rage might be enough to overcome the curse. As he climbed the grassy hillside, he resigned himself to potential death by club or rake.

And even when he finds the Atlanteans, he treats the culture and people with the utmost respect (peek the scene where the crew has their audience with the king). He never tries to interfere in the people’s way of life nor change them. He’s merely an observer fascinated with the culture/people and just wants to know more about them.

In most movies, the white savior comes into the situation with an attitude of superiority and only through his interactions with the native people (and a lot of times a beautiful native woman) is he humbled and then eventually brought in as an honorary member of the people. Milo never asks for thanks or wants to make a name for himself. He does what he does because he loves it and it’s a way to keep his grandfather’s legacy alive.

Every single dad packed into the car:

Your husband and all his coworkers: