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ladylooch · 4 months

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Odds were against us - John Marino

A/N: My submission for @wyattjohnston Winter Fic Exchange 2k24! This is the first time I have participated in a fic exchange and wow has it been really fun for me! Thank you so much, Demi, for being a gracious host and your rockstar organization!

@pcttymcrlecu I hope you love this as much as I enjoyed creating it for you. Also, I am IN LOVE with the song inso for this. I listened to it on repeat the entire time I was working on this. Thank you for sharing 🥰

Song Inspo: Solider by James TW

Word Count: 2.5k

The odds were against you.

Well, maybe not right away. You did grow up two houses down from each other.

But once you moved away for college, the world seemed to keep you apart as much as it flirted with the idea that you two could be together.

Growing up, it was the Masschusettes version of the three musketeers: John, Paul, and you. There was never a Marino brother around without you. Living on the same street had great perks, like a hockey net to shoot at, a ton of legos, and endless nights spent on their backyard play set.

From the beginning, John and you had a connection. Even as his twin brother was supposed to know him the best, you always seemed to be on the same page with your buddy. For years growing up, you and John had been tango-ing with will they, won't they, before he went to Harvard and you went to theUniversity of Pittsburgh. The next three years, every time you were both home, the tango continued. Both dating other people, never wanting to ruin the friendship, finding excuses for why you could never talk about the elephant in the room.

Then, John left Harvard after his junior year to play for the Pittsburgh Penguins. You were thrilled to show him the city! You took him to your favorite restaurants and introduced him to your college friends. It was you sitting next to his brother and his parents, in a freshly pressed Marino jersey, as he did his solo rookie lap in black and yellow.

It was you who left Pittsburgh a year later.

While others in your major wanted to be at Google and Microsoft, you wanted to use your computer science degree for good. When the call came for your dream job at the National Renewable Energy Laboratory in Golden, Colorado, you knew you had to decide. You loved John, but he didn’t know, and it was hard to imagine a life where you stayed on the sidelines for potential. So before you decided, you nudged the situation to see what John would say when he was faced with the possibility of losing you.

“I got a job offer!” You exclaimed to him at happy hour.

“Whoa! Of course you did! You’re so cool.” He puts his chin in his hand, giving you googly, heart eyes in admiration. He is joking, but it puts a silly smile on your face. He sits back up, taking a sip of his beer, waiting expectantly. “So tell me everything. Will you get an office? How close will you work to the arena? And can I come to have lunch with you every day because that is a requirement. We have spent too much time apart.” Your stomach drops out of your body. You look away, taking in a heavy breath.

“That is the one downside.” You bite your lip, then continue. “It’s not here.”

“Oh? Is it like out in the boonies or Philly?”

“No. Like Colorado.”

Surprise slaps across John’s face. Then he looks away, trying to gather himself quickly.

“But you just got here and maybe I shouldn’t go...” You trail off. You hold your breath, wanting John to say something. You know this is a once in a lifetime opportunity. But a yearning inside of you begs for John to tell you to stay with him in Pittsburgh.

“You should go. This is everything you’ve been wanting. You deserve this.” John’s words are everything he should say, but they fucking sting. Tears build in your eyes and you nod. “I’m proud of you.” John finishes with a dainty whisper. He licks his lips, looking away. “Look at us.” He tries for a laugh but it comes out like a cough. “Both of our dreams are coming true.”

You want to ask him why it feels like your chest is imploding?

But you don’t.

Instead, you hug your childhood best friend while telling yourself how selfish it would be to confess you’re in love with him before you go

- - -

Three years later, so much has changed since you hugged John on that bar stool. You have been promoted twice and received national recognition for your work in solar energy. John had rough seasons in Pittsburgh, but has found a new, comfortable place in New Jersey. Paul is with the L.A. Kings in California. You make it a point to meet up with John and Paul when John visits on his West Coast road trips. John and you connect when he is in Colorado. When you’re back home, you make the commute to Jersey and fly home out of Newark. Otherwise, you’re texting daily, sending GIFs and memes and tiktoks back and forth while keeping each other abreast of your busy life.

You’re closer than ever. More in love with him than ever too. But how would it ever work?

The repetitive thoughts consume you as you stir the queso you had been making for your taco night at your new home in Golden. It has been a long, competitive process to get this house, but you are so proud of it. A dream home to match the dream job that the dream boy will see tonight.

A knock sounds on the door. The dream boy waits for you on the other side of the wood.

“Hi!” You squeal when you see John. “Welcome to MY home!”

“Uh, Ma’am, where is the owner of this home? You’re too young and single? It couldn’t be you?” He jokes, then pulls you in for a tight hug. “Thought we could celebrate.” He tilts the bottle of wine at you. It is nothing fancy. In fact, it's Cook’s, the bottle you two had stolen from your parents’ bar to have after prom on the beach.

“Let’s get this expensive gal in a nice lil ice bath.”

“There is nothing nice about an ice bath. Or that wine.” He snorts, shrugging his coat off.

“You can put that in the closet right there.” You point to his right. He opens the door, settling his jacket between two of yours. A warmth spreads through your body at his clothes mingling together with yours, gathering each other's scents.

“Don’t dawdle in the doorway, Johnny. Come into my kitchen!” You’re giddy as John's sock covered feet slide across your wood floors to join you in the open, modern space.

“Gas range?” John oos and aws at all the fixtures you show him. He hypes and gasps at all the right moments. Your cheeks hurt from grinning as you become Vanna White against your refrigerator.

“Go best friend!” He cheers as you do a little spin and dance for him. You laugh at the end.

“I’m so glad you’re here.” You tell him honestly.

“Me too. Glad we got in early.” He opens his arms for you. The weight of you settles against his chest, creating a bonded connection. John squeezes tight, his chin on the top of your head. He works you both into a sway, enjoying the weight of each other’s arms. This version of John is your favorite. The one who blurs the lines between best friends and lovers. You breathe in the fresh scent of his cologne, then wait, making him be the one to break your embrace.

“So is there an upstairs?” He wonders.

“There is! They gave me two whole levels!”

“What! Scam. It’s all a scam.”

“Look at my wall of pictures.” You point out as you head up the stairs. There is a whole gallery wall of frames and people, many of which John is in. Paul too.

“I know these people!” He grins, looking at their decades of memories. “My favorite night.” He points to a picture. It’s the New Year's Eve you were pretty sure you almost kissed.

“Mmm, it’s up there for sure.” You agree, waiting for him. His eyes trace the memory like he wants to burn it into the membrane of his brain. Then he turns to you, grabbing your hand and leading you up the stairs, becoming the tour guide.

“So up here we have uh…” He looks around. “An office!”

“Oh! And a standing desk?! She works on her fitness.” You fill in.

“We have very different definitions of fitness.”

“I hope so, NHL player.”

“And over here,” He tugs you by your fingers. “We have a guest room. You would never have blue as your color. It is not boring enough. This can’t be your room.”

“Shut up! I love neutrals! They’re in!” You shove at him as he howls with laughter.

“Paul’s room for when he comes to visit. Your parents and sister too.” You can’t help but notice John doesn’t include himself in that.

“Oh here we go.” He gets to your room, pushing the cracked door open to expose your favorite space in the house. He pauses in the doorway, taking it in.

Two lamps on either side of the bed illuminate the room as the sun sets behind the mountains outside. Your white walls are warmed by their dim light. The bed is made with a plush, white comforter and a light tan blanket draped along the foot of the bed. The walls had been painted the faintest of olive green. Various shades of cream and tan pillows create the look of a bed you want to jump into to mess it all up. A black and white picture of waves sliding onto a Nantucket beach is above the headboard.

John has gone still and silent. You are nervous as he continues to look around the comfy oasis you have created as your escape from the world. You were meticulous in your quest for homey, comfort items that would dull the sometimes harsh world out there. Does he hate it?

“What do you think?” You finally ask.

“Honestly?” He murmurs.

“Yes!” You giggle, trying to cross the distance you feel separating you.

“I wish this was our house.”

You freeze. John keeps looking at the bed, eyes ravenous over the clean bedding like he is seeing something else.

“I wish this was our bed.” He sighs. “I wish I was the one who got to sleep here with you because this is so clearly your dream house and I wish I was your dream man.” He stands there with his hands in his pockets, still not looking at you. This is when you realize he really doesn’t know. How does he not know?

“You are.” You whisper.

It’s John’s turn to be still and dumbfounded.

“You’re my dream man, Johnny.”

You bite your lip and John rushes towards you. His hands grip your face, tugging you into his lips. Your head falls back, delirious at his mouth finally being on yours. He holds your head up, working his lips to an angle so his tongue can devour your mouth. You never want to breathe again. His tongue and lips on yours are everything you’ve ever wanted. How will you stop?

Need takes over and you break apart begrudgingly. John rests his forehead on yours, thumbs delicately stroking your cheek bones.

“I’m in love with you, Johnny.”

“Good. Cause I am deliriously in love with you. And I’m sick of not telling you that every day.” You grin, inhaling heavily as tears fill your eyes.

“How are we going to do this?”

“I don’t know.” John sighs, gripping your face tighter in his fingers, like that will stop the rest of reality from intruding on your moment.

“I’m scared. We live so far apart. I don’t want to lose you as a friend.”

“We’ll have to be brave, sweetheart.”

Being brave is your second act.

The next 6 months you navigate the journey from friends to lovers while trying to mitigate the 1,700 miles that separate you. A 2 hour time zone difference weighs heavily on your relationship, along with two careers that threaten to ground you before your relationship even has a chance to take off. Then the off-season comes and John decides to train in Colorado with local NHL players at altitude, convinced it will give him that next step in his game.

The season begins again and your bed is as empty as it was before. You’re miserable. Lonelier than you’ve ever been and it spews mean thoughts in your brain at all hours of the night. John feels the same. You both discuss it openly, but neither of you have solutions for this next roadblock. Something will have to give, you both know it, but neither of you can speak it.

Right before Thanksgiving, your fist feels heavy against his Jersey City apartment door. He isn’t expecting you, but the relieved sigh when he has you in his arms tells you how welcome you are here. He ushers you in, pasting his lips against your skin as you try to set your bag down.

“What are you doing here?”

“Accepting my job offer.” John bolts up.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No, babe. Don’t do this for me.”

“I’m not going to pretend it isn’t because of you. Of course it is. But this is a really good career move for me too. We can have it all.”

“Your house-”

“-will always just be my house. I’m ready to upgrade to our house.” You lock your hands around his neck, fingers guzzling up every bit of warmth from his skin. “I know what I want to do in my life and it’s to be where you are.” John groans then hugs you into his chest desperately.

In another month, you cut those 1700 miles down to 0. You and John move into your new place together. While you’re unpacking the neutral bedroom decor he makes fun of, John walks in then pops down to one knee.

“Can’t wait another minute.” He confesses. “I’ve been downstairs trying to talk myself out of doing it and why? For what? Because there isn’t an audience? There isn’t a photographer? Your nails aren’t done? That’s not us. This is us. So, marry me?” Your bottom lip quivers. A blink sends tear tracks down your face as you nod enthusiastically, telling the man, who is still your dream boy, “YES” you will marry him!

The wedding is a fast plan, you need to do it in the off-season and neither of you care for anything super fancy anyway. It’s a quaint ceremony on a similar Nantucket beach that hangs above your now shared bed. You and John stare in awe as you take turns reciting written vows that may as well be a decades long love letter to each other.

“Let’s keep betting on us, baby.” John finishes. You laugh, nodding vigorously.

When it’s time to seal the deal, John winds his hand around your waist, then tilts you down, kissing you so fully that you’re dazed when he brings you back up.

Like it has for thousands of years, a kiss between two lovers seals your fate.

It’s been decided.

A forever commitment.

One that binds you and John as partners, who keep bending the odds and winning anyway.

#the winter fic exchange 2k24 #John Marino x reader #John Marino Imagine #NHL imagine

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tapejob · 1 year

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help im from twitter and idk what im doing. how does hockey tumblr work

so you just fled hockeytwt - what now?

hey anon, welcome to hockeyblr! we're imo one of the best communities on tumblr and we're so glad to have you. hopefully you'll enjoy your stay :)

some general tumblr things to note:

as you probably know, tumblr doesn't run on an algorithm

any content depends primarily on what blogs you follow + occasionally what tags you follow (less reliable. your main source will be by blogs)

tags serve mainly as an organizational/content marker, as well as for filtering purposes. tagging #fyp to get your content out there does nothing

to send an ask, click on the button beside the follow/following button on the user's blog - some people rename the 'ask' to some other things, which may make it hard to find

we are the faceless app. pls customize your blog a little so it doesn't look like you're a bot but do not feel pressured to reveal names/face/age/pronouns whatever

once again, the only way content is found is through reblogs. reblog things that u think are neat, no additions required :)

re filtering: you can block terms/tags/content you don't want to see on your dash (e.g. 'tw sexual assault'). here's a better post to explain trigger warning/tagging etiquette

ok onto general hockeyblr:

to follow tags, go into the search bar and type out #[tag] and click the blue follow button on the right. your basic starter pack of tags to follow in hockeyblr: #hockey, #nhl, etc.

but that's lame. and you're probably not gonna get any of the juicy stuff

following your team/the teams you are tangentially interested in and their popular player tags are often a good way to start breaking into the community (e.g. #pittsburgh penguins, #sidney crosby)

follow cool hockeyblr ppl! u can find ppl in your team spheres through the tags i mentioned above. there was also a hockeyblr directory made a while back (og masterlist is down but shoot me a message and i can get you some specific team lists. don't be afraid to ask ppl for recs too)

reblog, like, etc. esp with content creators/gifsets/etc. engagement does the heart good

wtf is liveblogging:

lots of users liveblog and post commentary during games!

you can find these posts in the lb tags, which vary by team and are sort of collectively known (e.g. #pens lb for pittsburgh)

some tags are a little less intuitive: #nyr lb or #rangers lb are both used for the rangers iirc, #bolts lb or #tbl lb have both been used for tampa - feel free to shoot me an ask/msg if you have trouble lol

big events, such as the playoffs, worlds, the all star game, etc may have their own special tags (e.g. #scp lb, #worlds lb, #asg lb, #team germany lb, etc). you'll figure it out as you go! and don't be afraid to ask for clarification

tagging your liveblogs are pretty important since:

it's fun to liveblog with a bunch of people on your silly little gang of guys! helps u find friends to follow, and

people who follow the opposing team might want to filter out your commentary (more info below)

ouch, yikes. i don't want to see that (aka, filtering/blocking)

coming back to filtering, the nice thing abt tumblr is that u can filter out whatever tags/blogs/keywords you don't want to see on your dash

go to your blog settings to live peacefully and with prosperity

you can filter out team tags/liveblogs/players, anything you want. in fact, u are encouraged bc not feeling extreme rage over some picture on the dash of the team that knocked your team out of the scp does the body good

filtered posts don't disappear entirely from the dash (in case u have fomo), but when a blog u follow posts about something in that tag, you will see a blurred post with the tags you filtered, as well as an option to view the post

(looks like this)

some users also have specific tags that they may have created for organizational purposes and to help you block specific content (e.g. #nhl trade rumors are my personal tag for, you guessed it, trade rumors. some ppl don't wanna hear that, so easy tagging for filter)

on that note: filter and move on. don't go into opposing team tags/liveblogs and talk shit or stir up shit. you will be blocked by. a significant amount of people. play nice y'all, it's hockey

rpf/fic

not really my area of expertise on tumblr, but there's a pretty big rpf/fic community on hockeyblr. follow or block as you need!

player relationship tags are a good place to look for content (e.g. #sidgeno, #8771)

use the :readmore: function on tumblr liberally if you're posting fics - full player fics in the player tags can suck to scroll through for an outside user

once again, don't be afraid to reach out and ask for help. best of luck navigating hockeyblr, you're sure to have a blast!

#housekeeping #anonymous #primer

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woodsdyke · 9 months

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TW mass shootings, death

mass shootings of course are all so preventable and so fucking tragic but it feels... especially strange when you have personal attachment to the places where they happen. ive been to table mesa king soopers, the aurora movie theater, drove past columbine, my grandma's friends used to go to the pittsburgh synagogue and ive walked past that, too. a neighbor of mine got killed in a targeted mass shooting and i heard the gunshot that killed him. personal connections to places of extreme tragedy and senseless violence feels very, very strange

idk. working in firearm violence prevention makes u think a lot. life is fucked up and weird

#forest.txt #idk. just thinking a lot today

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merrock · 11 months

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CHARACTER INFORMATION

face claim: Ruby Cruz

full name: Willa Lair

nickname(s) / goes by: Will

pronouns & gender: she/her cisgender woman

sexuality: lesbian

birth date: january 1st 1996

birth place: pittsburgh, pennsylvania

arrival to merrock: february 2023

housing: historic downtown (an apartment)

occupation: DJ/Radio Host for Mer Beat

work place: The Station

family: mother, older sister

relationship status: single

PERSONALITY

Will can be pretty much summed up in two phrases - "shoot first, ask questions later" and "jack of all trades, master of none" Some would say impulsive, some would say she leaps before she thinks. Will just says her brain can't do two things at once so if she needs to do something she just will and just worry about the fallout later. Pairs well with her short temper too. And Will just loves to do things. Baking? Sure. Fishing? You bet! Need a drummer for your new band? She'll be there. She's not exactly great at everything she tries, but she'll sure give it a go. Gold star for effort for sure. Every day is a new adventure. And sometimes a new injury.

WRITTEN BY: Lou (she/her), gmt.

BACKGROUND / BIO

triggering / sensitive content: Death TW

Life's too short. It's a common thought that people have nearly every day, and definitely one Will has had too many times. Life's too short in dead end job after dead end job in a city that's far too big. But hey, what you gonna do? That was always Will's second thought. "I need the money" or "hey the Pittsburgh Pirates could win the World Series and I don't want to skip town and miss it" were sometimes the thoughts that came next. So she always stuck around.

Then her dad died. Nobody saw it coming. Will and her dad were close, as she was to her mom too, but more with her dad. The shock still hasn't worn off to this day. But now the thought of life's too short stuck in her mind even more. Her dad died working a job that he didn't like all that much and Will sure as hell wasn't going to go the same way. She never really made plans but this time it was different, she wanted a nice quiet town where she could spend her own time doing what she wanted to do. Trying new foods, meeting new people and all typical cliché bucket list things.

Leaving her mom was hard. Her older sister was staying in Pittsburgh close by, but that still didn't ease the guilt she felt. The night before Will left though, her mother sat her down and reassured her that her dad would want her to life her live to the fullest and never look back. And that's what Will aims to do.

#merrockbio #willalair #death tw

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novarpg · 2 years

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WELCOME TO NOVA, ELIZA HOOK

Character age: 26

Character birthday: September 10

Gender identity: Femalea

Pronouns: she/her

Face-claim: Anya Chalotra

Clan of origin: Falls Lake

Occupation at Nova: Cook

tw: violence, death

Sometimes interesting things wash up on the shore of Falls Lake. Eliza makes it her business to pick those interesting things up. She calls them fossils though they’re really just remnants of an era long gone and never to return. Lots of phones, waterlogged and dead as anything, boring in and of themselves but interesting in how commonly she finds them and stacks them by her bed. Fishing nets, lines — boring. Dead fish — even more boring, and she wishes she’d caught them first before they got rotten in death. Plastic bottles. Glass bottles. Diapers — ew. Aluminum cans. Buoys. All of this must be waded through until she finds the real good stuff: a gold watch which shone with some scrubbing; a compass that no longer knew which way was north; a clock; a flashlight; a globe; and once, on a very good day, a bicycle. She’s been trying to fix this up for years.

She calls herself a cultural biographer. She calls herself a journalist. She says she’s fishing through the past to imagine a better future. She’s not sure if she believes this but it does sound good. Maybe at the core of it all, it’s just her fascination with dead things, and the things that belonged to people long dead.

Her real job is fishing — actual fishing. She grew up on her mother’s fishing boat, sleeping there more often than she slept in her bed in their real house, which was just a shack. She cooks, too, pretty well if she does say so herself, and often she finds herself cooking for the whole neighborhood. They put their catches of the day together and she makes up a big soup, feeding everyone and feeling good about it.

It’s not always easy to feel good, for Eliza. When she was young, New Pittsburgh attacked. They came at night. The sounds were horrible; screaming, shooting, and she swore she could hear every single last breath that her neighbors took. She and her mother hid behind the bed, staring at the door, hearing the sounds of the fighting come closer and closer. When the door slammed open, a large man stood there, a gun in his hand. Eliza’s mother stood up, holding her hands up in surrender, but Eliza had always learned that the people of other clans don’t know that language. They don’t know the language of peace.

And so Eliza forgot it herself. Grabbing one of the knives off the table, she ran at the attacker, who aimed his gun at her, pulled the trigger, and— the gun misfired. Eliza screamed as if she had been shot, but she also screamed with the rage of all the women before her and all of those to come after her. The knife entered the man’s stomach first, and then Eliza’s body barreled into him, using his surprise to push him out the door and into the lake. She jumped on top of him, kicking and hitting the thrashing man, who it appeared could not swim.

Her mother calls it the unspeakable night. She will not mention it, doesn’t want to acknowledge what Eliza did, and so young. She seems still afraid of her daughter, keeping her at an arm’s length. But the effects of the moment, the murder, remain in Eliza’s hands whether her mother will acknowledge it or not.

It’s why she spends so much time gathering things. Watching and listening to others. It’s why she cooks, offering up what she can to the people around her. She wants to be seen as someone peaceful, someone smart, someone who thinks and understands and cares.

But she knows that the streak of rage that alit in her could come back, and she lives in fear of it. She tries to figure out what makes other people tick, in the hopes of figuring that out for herself.

She wasn’t a first choice for the 50. Or a second. Or a fifty-first. Or a sixtieth.

But she wormed her way in nonetheless, taking the place of a neighbor who fell ill just a few days before it came time to leave. She’ll fish and cook, make herself useful, but really, she wants to record everything that happens. She wants to talk to the people from the other clans, watch it all come together or go up in flames. She wants to be part of the history she enjoys excavating from the salt of the lake.

PENNED BY: Helen

#lsrpg #literate rpg #literate rp #original rp #lsrp #accepted #eliza

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rimouskis · 11 months

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okay i’m so sorry but coud you tag for guns tw please? especially after the shooting in pittsburgh…

I will! I'm sorry if you were distressed by that post 😔

#I will tell you that I am a very inconsistent tagger because my memory is very very very bad #and I am not consistently in the practice of tagging for triggers which means I am liable to forget in the future #luckily I... (I think) do not often reblog posts about shootings though so hopefully this is a one-time post you ever see aha

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black-yehudi-blog · 5 years

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this should be said: stop promoting more cops in jewish areas when cops have been historically anti semitic and black/non whitepassing jews are at more of a risk of hate crimes.

#black yehudi.txt #anti semitism tw #racism tw #this really needs to be said #it happened with the Pittsburgh shooting too

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cptn-jtk · 6 years

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nothing says modern america quite like the president declaring he's a nationalist followed conveniently by an anti-semitic shooting

#honestly #american politics #gun control #shooting tw #shooting #anti-semitism #anti-semitism tw #violence tw #donald trump #trump #america #personal #pittsburgh #pittsburgh shooting #anti-trump #terrorism #original post

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darkersolstice · 6 years

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I don't want to see goyim talking about Pittsburgh unless they're going to fucking do something. Call your local synagogue and ask if they want someone to stand at the door for this week's services. Ask them if there's any older congregants who could use a personally delivered warm meal. Donate blood.

Shit-talking politicians and placing blame is not something that makes your Jewish friends actually feel safer. It just kinda looks like lip service outrage at this point.

#anti-semitism tw #pittsburgh tw #shooting tw

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vaspider · 6 years

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We had services tonight at shul & our synagogue -- which is not small -- was literally overflowing with people. We came right from a show we were working this weekend and as we pulled up I saw a group clustered together and waiting to enter together, hijabis together and the men standing together, and I just felt this incredible crush of gratitude. I started sobbing because it was so profound to be able to feel like we were Not Alone.

And if you are feeling alone right now, at our service, we had as speakers/singers:

3 rabbis

3 cantors

2 Lutheran ministers

1 African-American Baptist pastor who no one ever wants to follow because he gets everyone on their feet, from our sister congregation (their church is our old synagogue location)

an Imam and a mosque President, who spoke together

2 Catholic priests and the local monsignor

2 Brethren ministers and a Brethren youth pastor

The PA leader of the Jamaican Diaspora, who conveyed to us the direct solidarity of the Jamaican Ambassador and their government as a whole

Our County Commissioner

Someone important from PA’s ADL chapter (I couldn’t hear his exact title, a board chair, I think?)

I’m sure I’m missing someone. The service lasted 2 hours and this is what it looked like in there (there are more people behind the perspective from which the pictures were taken, it was literally standing room only)

#pittsburgh shooting #death tw #jumblr #JUDAISM

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runrundoyourstuff · 2 years

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i'm a jew originally from squirrel hill, pittsburgh, and i'm so fucking tired

#yes this is about the situation in texas #antisemitism tw #pittsburgh shooting tw

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livefromtheelephantsfoot · 6 years

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Sorry for the long post, but I'd appreciate it if you would take a look.

I wanted to make a post about what happened this morning in Pittsburgh. I can't really add to what you can easily look up-- I don't have new facts or relevant information or anything like that (if I did I'd tell the police or call a news station). I don't even live in Pennsylvania, and I don't know anyone who goes to that synagogue. To most people, it would seem like I have no connection to this horrific tragedy, this terrible faraway misery, that happened in someone else's world, to someone else's loved ones. But it hit hard. Because it always hits hard. Because I'm Jewish. Because it could happen to my synagogue. Because we have to have extra security on the high holy days. Because we always wear our Stars of David small enough to tuck them into our shirts if we find ourselves in the wrong company. Because there's a plaque in one of our hallways that says Never Forget, and it's not talking about the destruction if the temples that we still fast for every year, or the Shoah (our word for the Holocaust) that our oldest members still only talk about in whispers because they still remember when they were small, or any other giant faraway tragedy I don't have to think about because I don't live in a world where these things happen, because I'm just far removed enough to not be scared of things my parents are. That plaque refers to the time about twenty years ago when someone set our congregation on fire, something I still don't know the details of because the hurt burns too close to our hearts to talk about yet. And if this hurt sounds familiar to those of you who are not Jews it's because you know it too. For LGBT people, we feel it whenever we hear another report of a gay or pan or ace or trans kid killing themselves because they couldn't feel welcome, or a murder like that of Matthew Shepard, whose ashes were finally laid to rest yesterday after having been murdered twenty years ago this month. Or with Nikki Enriquez, a Latina woman who in September became the 21st trans person to be murdered in 2018. Maybe you're reminded of the Pulse nightclub shooting. If you're a black or brown person, you felt that hurt for Nia Wilson, stabbed earlier this year. Along with Robert Smith, Charles Roundtree, Umberto Sanchez Ramoz, Samuel Morris, Diamonte Riviore, and LaJuana Philips, all shot by police THIS MONTH. If you're Muslim, you know the hurt because of the Chapel Hill shooting in 2015, or the reports everywhere of women being harassed and attacked for wearing hijabs, burquas, or niquabs, like what happened in Portland. We all know that pain. This post isn't aimed at minorities, not really, because if I've gotten my point across ok, you know what I'm talking about. You get what I mean. This post is for white people mostly, white-cis-het-christian-non-immigrant men, more specifically. Those who watch tragedies unfold on the news and feel separated, who don't understand privilege, who are confused at why these things seem to hit their friends so much harder. I wrote this so it might make a little more sense. Because when I get news alerts that list the casualties, that tell me whether or not the suspect is in custody or if they know why he did it or if he's been posting antisemitic things on Facebook, while I'm thinking about Tree of Life, and about that congregation and those victims and what their families must be going through, I'm not just thinking about them. I'm thinking about my synagogue, and the fire we don't talk about, and how the festering hatred that exploded out of that man's gun this morning isn't contained in Pittsburgh. It isn't someone else's problem. Every once and a while in my town, there are reports of vandalized gravestones, so we have regular groups that go to take care of our little fenced-in plot at the cemetery. I went once. When a Jew dies, we put small rocks instead of flowers on their graves because flowers die quickly, but rocks can last forever. Flowers forget. We don't.

#jew #hate crime #Pittsburgh #tree of life #shooting tw #hate crime tw

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