He gets to be a constellation 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺😭😭😭😭😭😭😭🥺🥺😭🥺😭🥺😭

— 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐎𝐘 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐔𝐏!

content: gn!reader. raw sex, body marking (scratching, biting.) a little masochistic behavior on izana's part + you call him princess, the term 'slut' used affectionately. collar & leash used w hanma. 

ft: inui seishu, kurokawa izana, ryuguji ken, kokonoi hajime & hanma shuji.—. ｡˚ ♡ your boy looks even prettier all marked up.

✿⁠ — : 𝐈𝐍𝐔𝐈 moans breathily into your mouth, fucking you in short, quick thrusts, letting your arms and legs tangle around his body as he adjusts his pace. his hair hangs in silky curtains around his face, bouncing lightly with each stroke of his cock inside you, and you reach over to tuck the loose strands behind his ear as he groans, twitching within your tight heat.

"seishu," you cry, gripping his muscled form tighter as he breaks the kiss to throw his head back and gasp for air. "seishu, you're so— fuck!"

"mmh," he responds, eyes lowering to meet yours as you lay under him. "what, baby? what am i?"

"so—" you're cut off again, when he thrusts into you harder, cock dragging in and out of you so well, but you swallow back the squeal that swells at your throat. "so pretty! you're so pretty, seishu."

"you're more, love." he grunts, cock shyly weeping precum into you as he says it, ever so receptive to your sweet praise. "there's nothin' prettier than you." he says that like it's the truth — but you're damned if your inui isn't the prettiest thing in the whole world.

he's so deliciously, elegantly muscled; and you can feel all of it as you scrape your nails down his back, muscles rippling with your stinging touch while he rolls his hips into you. his skin's flushed a rosy red as a result of your harsh scraping, your effort to hold onto him evident as he shoves his cock into you harder, chasing his high.

"s-shit," he stutters, lips pressing into the side of your neck, as he leans in and takes in a lungful of your scent. "you—" and you cut him off, raking your nails down the curve of his back, the tips of them digging into his skin, and he hisses sharply against your skin, pace stuttering along with his words. "god."

"pretty," you mumble, other hand latching onto the back of his neck, tugging him in for a kiss. "pretty boy gonna cum for me?"

he shivers with pleasure, feeling you squeeze around his length, ready to milk him of his cum as soon as he hits his orgasm and spills it into you. "f-fuck, yeah, gonna cum. gonna cum, baby."

"give it to me, then." you gently scrape your nails at his nape, at the same time that you run your other hand down his back again, sending a rush of delight flowing through his body and making him tremble against you with how fucking good it feels.

you imagine his back, the pale skin littered with red scratches and blushed lines at your behest, and the vision is so fucking hot you almost reach your own orgasm then and there. "give it to me, baby, please. so pretty right now. so, so pretty."

and inui thrusts into you deeper, cock sinking further into you as you spread your legs wider for him — eyes rolling back as he falls apart with your arms around him, your lips locking with his own.

✿⁠ — : 𝐈𝐙𝐀𝐍𝐀's fingers itch, to grab you by the hair and shove his cock in your mouth — but every time the thought crosses his mind, overwhelmingly tempting, you seem to notice. and you let out a coo, click your tongue as you grab him by the wrists and set them back at his sides, whispering, "don't misbehave, princess."

so he sits still, legs spread open for you as you sit kneeled between them, whispering praise while you suck mark after mark into his inner thighs. his cock is stiff, leaking and begging for your mercy, but all you do is press the occasional kiss to his tip, before you go back to licking and sucking the sensitive skin of his thighs raw.

and god, it feels so good. when his cock's aching and his balls are heavy and strained like this — he thinks he could lay slack and enslaved by your ministrations like this forever. "hm," you say softly, looking up at him with your eyes half shut. "aren't you being a good boy today, 'zana."

"'s so good." he whines, slumping down a bit more, cock brushing your lips as he bucks his hips up and silently pleads you to take him in your mouth. "want more, though. please."

"can't wait any longer, you mean?" you laugh, and he feels his face heat up, embarrassment evident in his eyes — but he still pouts, nodding and confirming to you that he needs you to comply, needs you to please suck his dick and help him cum.

"that's a good lil' princess," you tell him, and his eyes light up at your gentler tone.

being obedient has its rewards, sometimes, and no matter how ruthless a leader izana is, he'll always submit to you, do whatever you say and be your sweet litte princess if it means you'll make him feel good.

a gasp escapes his parted lips when you finally take his cock in your mouth, and his hands curl into fists as they lay at his sides, with the effort it takes him to hold back from cumming instantly — but then, you hollow out your cheeks, one hand cupping his inner thigh, thumb stroking gently at the fresh marks you've left on him; and fuck, he can't control himself.

"g'nna cum. please, let me cum." he whispers, voice hoarse, the cutest lilt added to his begging by how close he is to emptying himself in your mouth.

"not yet, baby." you say, slipping his cock out from between your lips so you can lean up and make him bend down for a kiss. he moans helplessly in your mouth, hips jerking when you squeeze viciously at his balls—

but fuck, he's going to do as you say, no matter how much it hurts, because it always feels best when he obeys and you give him everything he needs and more, once you're satisfied.

✿⁠ — : 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐍 grabs your ass and pulls your body flush against his as you lay on top of him, his cock sheathed balls deep in you as you bounce up and down on him. a groan escapes his lips when he feels you clench around him, and he closes his eyes, relishing in the waves of bliss that wash over him while he snaps his hips up into you.

he breathes heavy in your ear, melting at the way you place such gentle kisses up his neck, muttering sweet nothings for you to indulge in as he focuses on emptying a second load into your squelching hole, his cock slick and glistening with his first orgasm as it pumps in and out of you.

"ken, ken," you moan, lips latching onto his collarbones. "so fuckin' big, ken. your cock — so big."

he just lets out an incoherent grunt of pleasure for you to interpret, calloused hands gripping your body as he thrusts into you, slow and deep, quickly getting overstimulated as he gets closer to his second high.

then, your mouth opens up, teeth clamping around his shoulder in an effort to keep yourself from moaning too loud when his tip bumps your sweetest spot — and his cock pulses inside you, vein throbbing as he groans, eyes fluttering open.

"heh," he lets out a low, raspy laugh, hips still bobbing up in time to your movements. "you tryin' to get a meal outta me, love?"

"fuck, ken." you moan into his shoulder, holding onto his biceps so hard you're digging little crescents into his skin. "so big."

your hand skitters from where it's gripping his arm, fingers tangling with the loose braid he's got his hair in — and when you give it a tug, the sound that leaves draken's lips is so fucking different from anything you've heard before.

his body jerks up, pelvis slapping against your ass as he tries to contain himself — "nngh, baby." he groans, "gonna cum again."

and you would respond if you could, tell him to cum and stuff you full of it — but you've gone too drunk on his cock to form words.

you bite down on his shoulder again, your teeth digging harshly into his skin as he fucks up into you, finding the right angle — repeatedly kissing at your favourite spots with his hot cockhead, and he lets out another heavy grunt, voice going higher as he gets closer and closer to his high.

"just like that, baby. k-keep going like that—" he hisses, hands tightening around your thighs as he seizes control over your pace, matching it to his favour.

you bite harder, and he knows he's going to have to keep his sleeves rolled down at work tomorrow, to save himself from any snooping eyes — but he can't care enough. "fuck, just like that, 'n i'll be giving you another load of cum."

✿⁠ — : 𝐊𝐎𝐊𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐈 likes acting like the bigger person when he's out on the streets. his tongue is sharp, he dresses flashy, and he's always quick to take advantage of any given situation, and to put people in their places.

but in the sheets? when he's with you? he's the opposite. he's shy, quiet and just a little hesitant, too. afraid of looking vulnerable, perhaps, but the pretty blush on his face makes him look so cute that you can't help but toy with him anyway.

you've got him on his back, shirtless and spread out on the bed, and he tilts his face to a side and shuts his eyes, as you hover over him, kissing mark after mark up his waist and chest.

"hajime," you mumble, lips sticky on his stomach as you nip at the soft skin. "why so quiet?"

"shut up," he hisses, stomach tensing up when your teeth click together, seemingly done bruising up his torso. "j-just ... hurry."

"that's all you have to say?" you mock, lacing your voice with faux sadness, as you crawl further on top of him, till your eyes are level with eachother and you can drop down and kiss his lips. "not even a please?"

and he groans, narrow eyes opening up to look at yours, face going redder, the burn in the tips of his ears betraying to himself just how blushed he is right now. your teasing feels good — it makes him go breathless, taut with expectancy, chewing on his lower lip and waiting impatiently for you to be done so he can finally cum.

"please." he gives in, and you laugh, brushing away the messy locks of his death hawk away, revealing his forehead to you. pressing a gentle kiss to his temple, you prop yourself over him on your elbows — letting your bodies meet before you grind your hips onto him, the friction so heavenly that it instantly pulls a moan from both of you, together.

"that's a good boy," you say, voice so sweet, and he knows you're only saying that because you know it embarrasses him, but fuck it. he loves it. "want me to mark you up a little more?" your question sends a thrill down his spine immediately, but he takes his time answering, trying to act like he isn't so fucking down bad for the way you treat him. "want me to turn you over 'n suck some pretty hickeys onto your back, yeah?"

and he nods shortly, eyes refusing to meet yours. which of course, ends with you grabbing his face — squishing his cheeks between your fingers as you force him to look into your eyes. he inhales sharply, slitted pupils dilating as he takes in the sight of you.

"use your words, hajime." you hum, and he feels his cock throb under the sweats he's got on. maybe it's the fact that with you, he's able to let down his guard and be coddled, that makes him love this so much, despite how needy it makes him feel.

he likes the attention. the way you want him. the way you slowly drag him to heaven, without him having to do anything about it.

so he uses his words, showing off how prettily the crimson liner around his eyes has been smudged, as he looks up at you. "mm, want you to mark me up. and — and after that, please. want you on my cock."

✿⁠ — : 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐌𝐀 adores the feeling of being owned by you, as much as he likes letting you know that he owns you.

large, tattooed hands take hold of your calves and pull you closer — your ass flush against his thighs and your cunt pressed to his length. he towers over you even though he's on his knees, as you lay on your back under him. "sh-shuji," you whimper, tears staining your lashline. "need you in me now."

"shhh," he brings an index finger to his lips, amber eyes glinting viciously in the low light as he looks down at you, ravishing your body with just his gaze.

his cock bobs stiff and weighty, drooling down its own length, but he ignores the way his body's begging — and shakes his head, rattling the collar and chain wrapped around his throat. "come on, doll — tug on it a little. teach me what to do, yeah?"

and really, you'd play this game with him, you would. but hanma has always been such a daunting presence, playing and teasing with you, fucking you dumb without effort, so dominant in every way that it's hard to think of doing it to him.

you think he might just be joking anyway, with this whole collaring thing, because clearly — he's still giving you that unfaltering grin, letting one of his hands rest on your lower stomach, fingers pressing suggestively into your skin as you lay under him.

you're caged, even with the leash in your hands.

the metal chain is cold as you grip it tighter, your eyes following the way it goes up, connecting to the collar around hanma's neck. he watches the way you contemplate it so hesitantly, and sighs. "tell ya what, pretty doll. you tug on this thing f'me, yank me down and steal a kiss from me — and i'll give you this big cock of mine. y'like that idea, hm?"

you do like that idea. you want it so bad.

so you blink back the tears that have formed in your eyes from all the tension your body's in, and get a firmer grip on the stupid chain. one harsh yank, and hanma's being pulled forward, golden eyes glittering with ecstasy as the collar digs into his neck and chafes, the sensation delicious to him.

but before he can fall, he steadies himself with one strong arm, pushing himself back up and wrapping his other hand around his cock. the slight release his fist gives him makes him tilt his head up and moan, precum beading down his fingers. "that's right, doll. keep at it." he breathes, taunting you. "get what you want from me."

with a whine dragging itself out your lungs, you yank harder, and hanma loves the thrill the collar gives him, as it forces him down ontop of you.

"fuck— 's a little tight, i think." he says after a second, pretending to choke — and he laughs when you open your eyes, concern lacing your features for a second.

"so soft for me, baby." he sings, and your concern melts away into indignance. alright, if he wants to play, then you'll fucking play.

brows knitting together as you shoot him a glare, you grab the leash with both hands, and pull again — with all the strength you've got.

the rim of the collar has definitely bruised hanma's neck by now, as his elbows buckle, a surprised grunt pushing at his throat as he's pulled down to you so suddenly.

"shuji," you say again, his bright, gold eyes and his pretty lips just centimetres away from your own. "i want that kiss."

"fine." he grins, finally giving in — but he straightens up again, shushing you when you whine. he lines his cock up at your entrance as he says, "i'll give it to ya. in here. with my cock, mhm?"

fav sets of pronouns (including any type. So “traditional”, neos, xenos, archeo, etc)? Either in general or some alters favourites?

Doesn’t have to be pronouns you use

Sof/Sofs/Soft/Softs/Softself

Sof/Soft/Soft/Softs/Softself

Shy/Hyr/Hyrs/Hyrs/Hyrself

Hx/Hxm/Hxs/Hxs/Hxmself

Hy/Hym/Hys/Hys/Hymself

Shey/Sher/Shers/Shers/Sherself

Love/Loves/Lovie/Lovies/Lovieself

Nuggie/Nuggie/Nuggies/Nuggies/Nuggieself

Moss/Moss/Mosses/Mosses/Mossself

Li/Lich/Lichen/Lichens/Lichenself

Mo/Moch/Mocha/Mochas/Mochaself

Mocha/Mocha/Mochas/Mochas/Mochaself

-Mod Weeping ❤️ (there’s more but there’s some)

he/him, 他/他(when using mandarin/hanzi, pinyin is Tā/Tā， xi/xer, rrom/rroma, 🫁/🫀/🥩s/🔪self , tx/tex/texs/texas, lux/ray/luxs/rayself /triassic/jurrassic/cretaceous/paleo honestly? dumb/bitch that shit EATS oh and tyranno/saurusrex

-mod Luxray

fae/faer

Star/Stars/Starry/Starself

ink/inky/inkys/inkyself

poem/poems/poemself

moon/moons/moonself

crim/crimson/crimsons/crimsonself

sta/static/staticy/staticself

die/dice/dices/diceself

-Mod Starry 🌌

nae/nym/nyr/nyrs/nymself

and idk the full set but i know some people who unironically use nor/mal and i love that for them

-mod wonder

Ngl I really like it/its pronouns.

- Mod Avon 📖

hm maybe hy/hymn/hys? There’s something about them that I find pretty neat I guess

- Mod morpho 🦋

When the night stole you away

Gender neutral reader, angst TW/CW: mention of death Character(s): Tighnari Word count: 912 Proofread: n/a | He disliked the night. Especially when you disappeared in the darkest times within those 24 hours. | A/N: …hi. also i'm supposed to go sleep but i needed to get this idea out before i lost it :)

Spirit Borneol–an incense commonly used for meditations practised by Sumeru scholars.

Tighnari would never think he’d be using it–for this particular manner.

Yet he couldn’t help but find his hand subconsciously reaching for the little metal carved bowl of incense, as he finds himself drifting towards his own utopia–a world of something that was catered to his own tastes, his own, his likes.

He’d find someone waiting for him in the cool, yet warm forest–standing or sitting on one of the rocks next to the tree that he walked up to.

He noticed how his downturned ears and lifeless tail would spring back to life as he’d nearly bound over towards that someone, eyes given back life as if water had been poured on a dying plant, waiting for the water that it so desperately needed.

It felt as if the darkening circles of accumulated pain and loneliness had been lifted off of his eyes and skin.

Yet when the incense’s effect lightened and dissolved into nothing as his utopia began to fade, he’d feel the weight of his reality come crashing back down, the reality that he desperately ran away from, avoided, hid from.

It would come running, hunting him, the hands of the cursed shadow of reality that took him by his ankles and pulled him into constant turmoil and isolation.

Tighnari would let out a quick huff–the irony of his life being the bane of his own existence, he honestly couldn’t believe it. Yet he felt it now, it was overwhelming. It forced his soul down towards the ground, waiting for him to break, crash, fall, shatter.

He knows why he’s like this now.

He knows all too well.

He thinks he could’ve done something to prevent it, no, he knows– he’s sure he could’ve done something.

But he was too late.

He’d like to blame the traveller, the city and the Akademiya for taking so long, he wants to blame the illness for being too hasty, to take someone’s life…

Though he knows that there’s no one to blame except for the fate that life throws on to people once they’re born.

It only pains him that this was the end.

Tighnari remembers the day when you disappeared, with only the husk of your physical, tangible form left for him to grieve.

He remembers when he had crashed open your door at the darkest night with the traveller and Collei, only able to find you on the bed, alone, a smile left on your face as he ran over, shaking you and checking for any signs of life.

He can recall vividly how he felt the tears fall down like heavy rain before he found you, he can recall the anguished choked sounds of his own breath on that day, he could hear Collei’s gasp, her tears, the traveller’s neutral yet teary expression, Paimon’s own tears.

Your own house had filled with the cacophony of anguished weeping and crying.

The young girl–Collei– held on your hand, your hand, the dark, hardened scales that decided to take your life before it was eradicated.

The traveller and Paimon could only stand and feel the tears slide down endlessly from their eyes to the floor.

But all of them knew it was him that hurt the most.

Tighnari’s heart could rival a breaking glass as he felt his heart be crushed by the steel hammer of your death. When he had finally heard that the damned illness was gone for good he was ecstatic– he watched with happiness as the city burst to life with the news. But you weren’t there–where were you?

Perhaps, he’d think, you were just tired, he didn’t think much yet when you didn’t appear at all until the sun had set and the moon had woken, the eating worry led him to your house, running and breaking open the door.

He could recall the feeling of the hard scales that took over your hand, the scales that covered your once soft hands and touch.

The scenes from your lying form to your funeral runs around in his mind playing ring around the rosie as he watches, eyes losing its vigour.

The night that blanketed over Teyvat had such bright, twinkling stars–the moon seemed to have smiled, the subtle white light of the moon’s reflection of the sun shone over your sleeping features.

You looked beautiful, as always.

But the eerie silence and lack of breathing stole it away as it rendered you to nothing but a lifeless husk of your tangible existence.

The night that stole you away had a star. A lone star that seemed to twinkle and shine brighter than the others.

Tighnari wishes. He thinks that it’s you–watching over him.

Yet in the end he’d be coming back to this meditation–where he’d be able to find you waiting for him, smiling blindingly bright and happy as the two of you stayed in each others’ arms, watching the butterflies dance, the birds coming to rest on your shoulders and head.

And when it all came to an end and he’d leave with tears, the night came back to greet him.

The night that reminded him of you.

He wishes it a scornful goodbye as he moves to go on his patrol. The distaste on his face hides the sorrow and anguish of his grief.

And when the moon shines its subtle white silvery light on his face, a teardrop falls.

He loathed the night.

Taglist: @chaoffee @scribs-dibs @solstarz

SCOM and SOF are killing me rn. You write the collective longing for the emotionally unavailable man to secretly be available specifically for you so incredibly well 🥲😭😭🫠😵‍💫😭🫶 thank you for your efforts

Curious if you know which fic is next on your schedule to update so I can send you some specifically tailored unhinged encouragement and hypeman energy

aaaaaa im squirming this is so lovely tysm !!!

out of sof and scom, next update will be sof. flipping between em is the only way i can make sure i get them both done lmao

there will be a couple lil things between now and next sof, though. she's not next on my roster, but she's by no means far out. i can see the headlights of the rolls between the trees, can hear the weeping of that rich man in the distance

Yiddish Is Alive and Well in Melbourne, Australia

“Mir kumen on, mir kumen on! Un fest un zikher undzer trot!”Late on a recent Friday night, dozens of voices joined in this Yiddish anthem — “We are coming, we are coming! And our step is firm and true!” — and soared from a conference center among gum trees and kookaburras outside Melbourne, Australia.Today, Yiddish is most commonly used in ultra-Orthodox communities in places like Brooklyn or Jerusalem. But in Melbourne, snatches of it can be heard on certain streets, around multigenerational dinner tables, on stages and in classrooms.And one weekend a year, Australian speakers of Yiddish come together at Sof-Vokh Oystralye, or Weekend Australia, for 48 hours of total immersion in the language of a thousand years of Jewish life and culture that, before the Holocaust, was spoken by 13 million people, mostly in Eastern Europe.For some of the singers at this year’s retreat, in late May, Yiddish is the hard-fought language of everyday life. For others, it evokes a long-ago childhood in an immigrant neighborhood in Melbourne. For many of the tiniest participants, including some who had already been dispatched to bed, it is the language of the classroom, sitting easily alongside Hebrew and English at the world’s only secular primary school where it is a compulsory daily subject.At Sof-Vokh, attendees in beanies and scarves emblazoned with the insignia of Australian football teams played Dungeons and Dragons, basketball and chess; smeared creamy cheese into blintzes in a stainless steel-wrapped catering kitchen; and played games in which they impersonated animals and translated gibberish into poetry — all in Yiddish.From a makeshift Twister game set up in the hotel’s foyer, a tumbling child let out a loud “Oy vey!”Beyond the lighting of candles and blessings in Yiddish over bread and wine on Friday night, there were few signs of organized religion. Yet the preservation of the language has, for the founders of the event and others in the Jewish community in Melbourne, become an almost holy crusade.In 1995, when Melbourne’s last Yiddish newspaper closed, Freydi Mrocki, a musician and a teacher, fell to the floor of her dining room, weeping, she said. “That’s when I decided Yiddish would die over my dead body,” Ms. Mrocki, 63, said. “I gave my life over to Yiddish, in the same way that some people give their life to God.”Along with Dr. Doodie Ringelblum, she co-founded Sof-Vokh in 2004.“Yiddish is our contribution to world culture,” said Dr. Ringelblum, 60, “and Judaism is our contribution to the richness of human life.”Dr. Ringelblum and his wife raised their three children to speak Yiddish as a first language. But with few other Yiddish-speaking families in Melbourne, and scant secular resources — as well as the occasional recalcitrance of his teenage children — passing it on has been “horrifically difficult,” he said. “The two words that are spoken most in our family are ‘redt Yiddish’ — ‘speak Yiddish.’”Many of Melbourne’s present-day Yiddish speakers, including Ms. Mrocki and Dr. Ringelblum, descend from a wave of Jewish refugees who settled in the city between 1938 and 1960, giving Australia the largest proportion of Holocaust survivors of any country beside Israel.Hania Joskowicz, who will turn 100 in February, moved to Australia in 1951 with her husband and daughter.She spent six years of the war in a labor camp, unaware that the Nazis had murdered her parents and two of her three siblings. It had been a “nothing life,” she said in a recent interview at her Melbourne home. “In every minute, you’re dead. Every second.”But in Melbourne, she found ready community in the neighborhood of Carlton, living among fellow Holocaust survivors and other new migrants, and picking up Greek and Italian alongside English.“It really was shtetl Carlton, back then,” said Arnold Zable, 76, a writer who captured the community and area in his book “Scraps of Heaven.”At the Kadimah, a Jewish cultural center and library in Melbourne, Ms. Joskowicz and her husband attended Yiddish theater, dances and other events. She recalled the shock of suddenly encountering a close friend from before the war there. “I fell down, for happiness,” she said.As Melbourne’s last generation of prewar Yiddish speakers fades out, the language comes to life for most present-day speakers in settings like Sof-Vokh or in classes, as well as through Melbourne’s thriving Yiddish music scene.This has been the case around the world, said Rivke Margolis, a professor of Jewish studies at Monash University in Melbourne. “There’s no indication, at all, that Yiddish is ‘dying,’” she said.At Sof-Vokh, she guided a rapt crowd through a monologue by the writer Aaron Zeitlin, in which a Yiddish-speaking migrant to the United States muses on his assimilated family before noting, stricken, that no one will say Kaddish, the Jewish mourners’ prayer, for him when he dies.Over time, Melbourne’s Jewish population moved slowly from Carlton to the city’s present-day “bagel belt” south of the river, where the Kadimah eventually relocated. At 111, the organization still puts on plays in Yiddish and teaches the language to people of all ages.Around the corner is Sholem Aleichem College, a secular Jewish primary school named for the acclaimed Yiddish writer, where about 300 students learn in English, Hebrew and Yiddish.At a lunch at Sof-Vokh, Helen Greenberg, the school’s principal of 17 years, laughed as she chatted with former students, and greeted those still in her charge.“Their intonation is sensational,” she said, of her students’ proficiency in Yiddish. She added, “They don’t just see it as a language, they see it as part of their identity.”At the school recently, in a bright, modern classroom, children of 3 or 4 fidgeted through a Yiddish-language acknowledgment of the Aboriginal inhabitants of the land, before joining together to rattle off the days of the week, starting with “montik.”The school is now independent, and Israeli flags hang on its walls. But it has its roots in the Jewish Labour Bund, a 19th-century Eastern European socialist workers’ union that espoused Marxist and anti-Zionist values and today survives only in Melbourne, along with its youth group, SKIF.The Bund’s political philosophy, though still socialist and unaffiliated with Zionism, has shifted over time toward a focus on “Yiddishkeit,” a catchall term for Jewish culture that extends to the promotion of Yiddish language, and “Doikayt” — supporting Jewish communities wherever they are.During the pandemic, many of Melbourne’s Yiddish institutions saw an uptick of enthusiasm in online activities that has since filtered into the physical world. In March 2022, the Kadimah presented a modern Yiddish-language adaptation of “Yentl,” by Isaac Bashevis Singer, which sold out its two-week run at one of the city’s top theaters, and won multiple Melbourne theatrical prizes.Late on Saturday afternoon at Sof-Vokh, a small group led by Joshua Reuben, 27, and Tomi Kalinski, 71, pored over two different Yiddish translations of the “Uluru Statement from the Heart,” a 2017 petition for reparations by Aboriginal leaders that has led to a forthcoming referendum on constitutional reform.A clamor from the dining room grew louder as they reached the end of the passage: “We invite you to walk with us,” Mr. Reuben read, in Yiddish, “in a movement of the Australian people, for a better future.” Source link Read the full article

Terms & Neopronoun Suggestions 〜 Kanade Yoisaki Obscend * ✦

* a type of alterhuman kintype related / connected to ocd

꒰ TERMS ꒱ 〜 Agori , Cadensaesic , Clinophobian , Darkmelodic , Depresscopegender , Depressmutix , Depreneu / Deprexenic , Disappearic , Epistatigender , Fataltimtraveic , Favorimuscenejoy , Gendertraet , Hikicoric , Hikikohoardic , Hoodiecomfic , Idolpining , Idolsacrific , InsomniOCDgendrix** , Interphoric , IsolateOCDic** , Kanadeyoisakicharic , Kanafashionic , Kuyamukaitemiraisongic , Lachrymosian , Litvoidgender , Losergirl , Loudheadgender** , Lovepoetic , Mortelum , Mortemelosic , MusicaSharic , Musiccomfic , Musinoctic , Netgirl , Nightmusgender , Nightpoemic , Nightskymemoric , NoempaOCDic** , Noxmusaesic , Nyctobscurething , Obsessmusicae , OCDbeing** , OCDgender** , OCDniac** , Obsesstrauma , Oddtimic , O-gender** , Pathetigirl , Pickedwildfleuri , Sdijaux , Somnigender , Surrealgender , Tempoirine , Timesacrific , Tiredgirlgender , Unarchivican , Unrealobsic** , Viruxix , Wasuretic

** exclusively for those with OCD

꒰ PRONOUNS꒱ 〜 Caco Phany Cacophanys Cacophanyself , Com Compose Coms Composes Composeself Composerself , Dis Discord Discordiants Discordiantself , Dis Dissonance Dissonants Dissonantself , Emp Empty Emps Emptys Emptyself , Focus Focus' Focuself , Fog Fogs Fogself , Grief Grieve Grieves Griefself , Guilt Guilts Guiltself , Hiki Hikis Hikikomoriself / Hikicoself , Hollow Hollows Hollowself , In Inside Insides Insideself , K Ks Kself , Lone Lones Loneself Lone , Lonesome Lonesomeself , Lost Losts Lostself , Ly Lyr Lys Lyrics Lyricself , Mel Melody Mels Melodyself , Muse Muses Museself , One Ones Oneself , Res Resonant Resonants Resonantself , Sac Sacri Sacris Sacrificeself , Save Saves Saveself , Sleep Sleepy Sleeps Sleepys Sleepyself , Sof Soft Softs Softself , Sona Sonata Sonas Sonatas Sonataself , Song Songs Songself , Sor Sorrow Sors Sorrows Sorrowself , Stat Static Stats Statics Staticself , Symph Symphs Symphself , Symph Symphony Symphonys Symphonyself , Tire Tired Tireds Tiredself , Voi Void Vois Voids Voidself , Weep Weeps Weepself , Work Works Workself , Wretch Wretched Wretchs Wretchself

Ok so uh, can you do some names, pronouns and titles inspired by me/that makes you think of me? /nf /nf <:)

@gender-mailman

Names

Idol, Amore, Amor, Revere, Daffodil, Daze, Dais, Addy, Weep, Honey, Postman, Lettermin, Enve, Envo, Dote, Aristotle, Dopamine, Wish, Jaz, Virtue, Theo

Pronouns

Stab/Stabs/Stabself, Send/Sends/Sendself, Ted/Teddy/Teddyself, Sof/Soft/Softself, Uwa/Uwas/Uwaself, Ji/Jin/Jinxself, Luv/Luvr/Luvrself, Coo/Coos/Cooself, Cor/Corpse/Corpself, En/Tombed/Entombedself, Grim/Grims/Grimself, Gut/Guts/Gutself, Yan/Dere/Yandereself, Obs/Obses/Obsesself

Titles

He who Delivers, The Postman, The Pink One, The Lover, He who is Bloody, He who Loves, He who Creates, The Poster, The Messenger

[ @gender-mailman ]

my cat licking me after i torture her (force 2 cuddle) like i am a god she must thank even in time sof weeping

cultural bingbong theory: a manifesto

by marcus leung

I am a white male. There exist no societal pressures that force me to consider my short-term safety, and as such I have the luxury of thinking abstractly. I am also a diagnosed schizophrenic (schizoaffective, but language is more a vehicle for communication than veracity). Here are three important things to consider before we start: 1. Everything has meaning. This is axiomatic, as in any set with objects that may or may not have meaning, the first meaningless object in the sequence would be "The First Meaningless Object In The Sequence", granting it relative meaning. It follows then that all things must be meaningful. 2. Man is a nothingless ape. He eternally clutches his expensive watch, trapped on a desert island -- the one place where both time and money are meaningless. Wait never mind everything has meaning. 3. Here's a joke: that same man sits down to write his life story, and never stops. When he runs out of paper, he uses his house. When he runs out of house, he uses the earth. When he runs out of earth, he uses the sky. When he runs out of sky he realizes he should have gotten a tattoo. That's why I don't have any tattoos yet, aside from the pale blue dot my friend left in my arm when he stabbed me with a pen.

I. FIRSTNESS

I haven't told you the beginning yet, but I will. It all started when nous (intellect) met Ananke (necessity). This harmony-cum-dissonance (hehe cum) is the whorl in which we all live, laugh, love, and buy the associated decorative merchandise. We weep and wonder and wend toward henosis, harming indiscriminately, confused as to why our loved ones are dying and not texting us back. How do we escape our shape? Hint: pull not others into the pit between you and the world, and be not the pit itself. It all started when God chose to contract His Ohr Ein Sof. This was not out of necessity, despite it being necessary. Had God not restricted His own infinite light, there would be no emptiness (ayin) to hold us. Once we understand that nothingness came second, we can start to trust in what came first. How do we feel once again the glow and the gleam on our spirits' skin ("Oh, it feels so good! Sun rays" - Tanemon, Digimon World)? Hint: treat impurity as an obscurantist, shading us from that real shit. More on this later. Just kidding, this is the end of the essay. It all started when it never started. The Buddha was once asked if the objects of our contemplation were separate from the contemplating mind. He replied that they were the same, as all was vijñapti-mātra (somewhere between "mind-only" and "representation-only"). "... Why? Because however I imagine things, that is how they appear." - Pratyutpanna Samādhi Sūtra How do we demarcate real from fake? Hint: the name is not the shape, the same way map is not territory. ("No matter how many names you learn, no matter what sequence you arrange them in, they will tell you nothing about the source or the end." - A. A. Attanasio)

II. THE WOUND IN THE WORLD AND HOW WE CAN KNOW IT

Time is only here to stop everything from crashing into each other. If we look at the present as a bardo state between past and future, where action meets will, we can begin to deconstruct our self-stultifying behaviours. So says this bard-o, at least. Here's another joke: a man (sorry these are all about men) buys a beautiful antique grandfather clock and for some reason decides to carry it home. Maybe he lives close by. He probably chose his house based on its proximity to the antique store. He's walking with this unwieldy thing and his gait is all goofy because the clock is so heavy. He's so distracted that he doesn't even notice another guy on his phone making a beeline towards him! The two bump into each other and the clock is dropped and shatters into a million pieces. Furious, the man yells "Why don't you watch where you're going?!" The other man, equally furious, shouts back "Why don't you just wear a watch like everyone else?!" This is a very funny and important joke if you are me. I'll be a little more concrete, and unconscionably political. The Mayans were correct: the world ended in 2012. We elected the same person we always elect, only this time he was Black. Obama's second term served more as emblem than force; we projected our continuously evolving set of morals onto him, went about our beastly business, and performed four years of autofellatio while the world and its once-worthy ways eroded before our very eyes. It, like much before and after, was one long slow-clap for the self. "History is over," we said, "and we're finally the good guys." If I had to describe 2012 in two words, I would be an asshole and use latin: terminus est. "This is the line of division." What changed in 2012 to make it so salient? Nothing. The answer is nothing. Our Sword of Damocles dangled just a horse-hair away, and we pretended not to see it. Plus, we were kings! Nothing bad ever happens to kings. "catch ya boi with the lascivious oeillade 2k12 and beyond" - James Arc, polyphasic duelist Gangnam Style was our omphalion, Grumpy Cat our trusty steed, and Carly Rae Jepsen gave us tentative permission to call her. The future looked bright, and those Ye-style shutter shades allowed us to peer directly into it. What peered back was then-unrecognizable, but we know now, don't we? I wanted to use a period there instead of a question mark to denote a rhetorical lack of inflection at the end, but it didn't look right.

III. DON'T GO FASTER, JUST GO MORE QUICKLY

Are you familiar with Bodhidharma? Maybe you've seen him on TikTok or something. He loved staring at walls for years on end, and he did it so much that his arms and legs fell off. Bodhidharma (probably named after Dharma from Dharma & Greg) loved walls not because of what they represented, but because they were free of representation. With the absence of both self and other, he was free to ponder the true nature of reality. What did he learn? Follow him at @bodhidharma to find out. This is a bit tricky to explain, but sometimes the things that we think are stupid are actually just fucking reality. The corollary to this is that sometimes what we think is just fucking reality is actually stupid. Look at the sentence "More people have been to Berlin than I have." It doesn't mean anything, but your brain tricks you into thinking it does. Imagine if the world was like that, where your brain tricked you into things without your conscious consent? Then imagine if everyone else's brain was also tricking you through the power of civilization and the behaviours it engenders? Haha. I like to look at this as one big dream. Billions of tiny dreamers, all dreaming in unison. Sometimes one dreamer's dream can be so powerful that it disrupts our agreed-upon reality. Those people are either clairvoyants or schizophrenics. Make sure you know which is which, or you might find yourself in trouble you can't get out of one day! "A hen is only an egg's way of making another egg." - Samuel Butler This feels like a good spot to start talking about what I call cultural accretion. The sheer volume of culture being produced presently is orders of magnitude grander than the totality of human experience beforehand. A big claim, I know, but it sounds pretty cool doesn't it? The landscape is accelerating beyond our wildest imaginations, and most of it is wasteland. I attribute much of this spreading rot to anomie, or normlessness. The fragmentation and clustering of modern discourse is our strange ally in this war against decay. Small subcultures popping up over shared interests in certain media has brought us back to our roots of 100-strong social circles. Aristotle (pronounced like Chipotle I think) argued that ethnic and cultural diversity undermine democracy, as disparate groups had disparate goals and needs. He was kind of dumb but it's okay, he didn't really understand the concept of a post-scarcity society the way we do. We do understand it, right? Is anyone there? If we can find and forge harmony in small communities, maybe those small communities could eventually harmonize with each other. Dismantling hierarchies goes much deeper than a lot of us like to think about. It involves defying some of our more basal and perfunctory human wants, but thankfully not our needs. Don't worry, need and want are probably opposites, as you can't truly want something if you need it for survival. Good thing we've evolved beyond most of that shit! Do you know the expression "blood is thicker than water"? A very clever Rabbi thinks that it's truncated from "blood shed in battle is thicker than the water of the womb", meaning that bonds forged through shared experience mean more than filial ties. Wouldn't it be funny if it meant the exact opposite of what people think it means? Wouldn't it be even funnier if everything was like that?

IV. REJECT HEAVEN UNTIL ALL HELLS ARE EMPTIED

If I were someone I would call myself a Ksitigarbhist. Everyone is up on Avalokitesvara's one thousand dicks, but Ksitigarbha (Jizō-sama if you're a weeb [or literally "EARTH MATRIX" if you're fucking sicky]) is holding himself back from enlightenment and his resultant Pure Land ascension until hell stops being hell. Remember in Mario Bros 3 when you get the Tanooki Suit (I know the animals are called tanuki but the suit is spelled with two o's, like the word goodbye) and you turn into that statue and bop enemies on the head? That statue is of Ksitigarbha. You're probably wondering why. I'm wondering why too. That's honestly why I wrote this essay. Ksitigarbha was once a maiden, if you can believe it. That maiden's name was Sacred Girl, and she was so sad about her mom's death that she prayed every day to spare her mom from hell-world. Eventually the Buddha let her visit her mother (katabasis appears in almost every world religion, I wonder why???), and it turned out that through filial piety and a bit of luck, the mother had ascended to heaven. While Sacred Girl was happy I guess, she was really shook by everyone else's suffering down there. This spurred her to spend the rest of her reincarnations helping others ascend too. When she was eventually reborn as a man named Jijang, he found a nice mountain to reach enlightenment on, and just posted up. The body of Jijang is still preserved to this day, check it out if you ever find yourself near Mt. Jiuhua. "The opposite of fact is falsehood, but the opposite of a profound truth may well be another profound truth." - Niels Bohr Ksitigarbha carries a staff that he uses to pry open the gates of hell. All he wants to do is save all sentient beings. What's stopping you from wanting the same except your ego? Maybe if you stopped talking so much shit about people you'd have a cool staff too. Maybe you even have a staff nestled deep inside you already. Don't wield it wantonly!

Buddhists have this thing called tathātā. It describes the suchness of things. Suchness is a very difficult concept, especially in a post-content world. Things are rapidly losing their suchness and becoming vehicles for content. This is a tricky thing to reverse! But let's say we could, and that the overwhelming totality of suchness starts tingling in your thousand-petaled self, what should you do? When confronted with pure suchness, you have two options: A) taint it by using language B) don't I recommend B.

V. WHAT ALWAYS WAS YET SELDOM IS I spent so long talking about Buddhists and their words for things that I barely touched on the unknowable infinite that is Ein Sof. We tend to look at things through the false dichotomy of materialism vs creationism, but there's a cheeky way to look beyond that. What if all things flow from an underlying and absolute principle or reality? What if each stage of emanation was further removed from said absolute, until all that remained were mere trappings of divinity? Don't worry, it's probably not like that. When you first look into Kabbalah you might be confused as to why there are only ten sephirot yet eleven emanations. Seems like a silly mistake, right? Keter, the sephira above all others, is the superconscious intermediary between us and God, and is not exactly a sephira in the way that the other ten are. Keter is called the crown, and the crown sits above the head. The crown is also the term used for the sahasrara, the uppermost chakra, that thousand-petaled lotus I slyly referenced earlier. Haha maybe they're connected! "Do not think... Do not speak... Do not hope... Do not... ..." - Pure Vessel, Hollow Knight Keter is the most hidden of all hidden things. If you look hard enough, you'll never find it. It's sometimes referred to as "the air that cannot be grasped", as opposed to regular air which is super graspable. Keter is the most exciting sephira to talk about because it's completely incomprehensible to humans and I love wasting everyone's time. Have you ever heard of Hebrew gematria? It assigns a number value to words based on alphanumeric ciphers. Each word is its own equation, and the sum denotes the numerical value of the word. This is great if you love words, and probably great if you love numbers, I don't know, I hate them. This allows for what are essentially numerical homographs, where many different words and phrases can have the same numerical value as many others. The name of the archangel Metatron, for example, has a value of 406. So too does the phrase "cannabis addiction". Haha maybe they're connected too!

VI. THIS IS A WINDOW, THIS IS AN ANIMAL

Diogenes was once asked what the difference was between life and death. "No difference," he replied. He was then asked why, if that were the case, he chose to remain in this life. "Because there is no difference." I think death is probably like living, only a little less. Don't let yourself die though, that's the most important thing. Think of how sad everyone would be if you were gone! Plus you've already gone through so much trauma, do you really want to be reborn without having worked through it? The hard part is already over, I promise. "This match won't light! How strange, it lit before." - a joke book from my childhood Trusting yourself to trust yourself can be very difficult, especially if you're wrangling with realities too tough to tame at the moment. If you're really having trouble, try bringing a friend a sandwich, or winking at the moon. If none of this works for you, you might have to get your hands a bit dirty. Sometimes you need to grab the bull by the horns and the rose by the thorns and the-- Also here's a playlist that might help with things. Ten songs of nothingness, ten and not nine, ten and not eleven. https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6VyAUtjwGVOVr6Zsh1Iwhl?fbclid=IwAR38mZrqjxiqSnl0zOCuDQ-Xmeq6G5fSeaQQEDnulrdktJuYaT_0xfV_XwM

Hey, it's okay! It's just light!

- Marcus [email protected]

@batterjudgement

-Waves his hand in front of his face. Get it, get it. Can’t see shit- |D

...

/Good thing he’s blind, because Espresso did not connect the dots that the other is blind until just now. hOW EMBARRASSINNGG... Clears throat.;

Riiight, right, pleasure to see you, yes... Pleased to.. Hear from you.

/He’s trying, send help.;

Pst hey Antonio, do you ever like want to adopt one of the survivors or like dream witch servants or Robbie?

“I’m more the wine aunt type, and no skills or interest in parenthood. Also, most of the Survivors are adults - please don’t infantilize them unless they’re actual children..”

“You’re amazing—you know that?”

Fluffy Friday! | @azure-steel | Accepting

Carmine irises pull away from the illuminated spreadsheet displayed on the desktop screen before fixing their attention onto her beloved husband. The part-time barmaid was smiling awkwardly, a subtle hint of bashfulness laced within her soft visage, "Cloud..." Her palms lay flat against the sides of her gradually heated face, as if to somehow hide from his transfixed attention. "...Ugh, you're making me blush. Stop thaaat!~" But of course she doesn’t want him to stop. Oh no. Tifa enjoyed Cloud’s undivided affectionate attention.

Rising from her seat she meanders to him, arms wrapping around his neck as she pulls him in for a loving kiss. “Once again, you managed to pull me away from the desk.    Victory fanfare?”

whenever chan talks abt his dad i can literally feel the warmth and love that radiates from him like he really just !!!!!!!

i’m making bracelets rn because i’m seeing the taylor swift movie tomorrow and i obviously had to make one in honor of your fic bc i’m so obsessed with clm (and sof) 😍🩷

see also:

honestly, i think reader and sarah go together. eras tour movie is for the girlies. maybe joel drops em off and then he's sat waiting for time after it ends cause they're still in their seats (back corner - prime movie-viewing spot if u disagree ur wrong) weeping and singing along as the credits roll

hope y'all had the best time seeing it 💗

@akaego

The city isn’t completely silent at night. There’s the sound of cars in the distance, and electricity whirs, joining in harmony with crickets and frogs. But it’s still a little too quiet- muffled. It always feels uncomfortable when there’s nothing happening. Lonely. Charmy preferred sleep when it was straight to the ‘all at once’ part of it, a complete and total crash. Sitting in bed alone at night with just his head wasn’t great. Falling asleep with someone nearby was always a lot easier.

But Espio had never asked that before.

Charmy quirks an eyebrow, giggling, before the giggle is cut short. He looks down at the cup in his grip (chocolate milk), and tugs the blanket around his legs a little closer. “Well”, the bee says, his wings fluttering ever so slightly, “I dunno.” He had a few guesses- but it all kinda swam around in his brain in a non-coherent way. “Everything’s so quiet and boring and--”, well, he didn’t want to say lonely, “- my head just keeps talkin’, y’ know?” Charmy’s a little too young to have the tools to deal with what’s going on his head, but right around that age where everything start’s becoming a question. Or maybe it’s always been that way for him- it’s not every day you meet a mysterious runaway kid, let alone one so young.