What’s funny is that this actually happened. 


    I’m unfamiliar with this story please elaborate


    Finnish soldier gets separated from the rest of his unit but he’s the only one carrying the emergency amphetamines for the unit, takes too many and goes on a one man rampage for like 2 weeks straight giving the opposing Soviet soldiers nightmares for decades. Oh and he did it all on skis. 


    Did he survive?


    Yes, during his methed up 2-3 week rampage he got injured by a land mine, travelled 400km on skis, and only ate pine buds and a Siberian Jay that he caught which he ate raw. When he made it back to Finnish lines he was taken to a hospital where it was found his heart rate was nearly 200 beats per minute and his weight had dropped to 43kg (94.7lbs).


    His name was Aimo Koivunen if you want to look him up


    Those are the eyes of a man who has seen god and laughed


    Those are the eyes of a man who saw satan and asked for his number


    those are the eyes of

    a man who saw satan and

    asked for his number

    ^Haiku^bot^9. I detect haikus with 5-7-5 format. Sometimes I make mistakes.

    Being aware that you are true is what makes you a failure. | PayPal | Patreon


    Those are the eyes of
    a man who saw satan and
    asked for his number

    Haiku Bot v2021.1~beta
    I make mistakes. I am buggy too. Sorry! | HAIKU BOT NO!
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    Haiku bot, babe, you already did this one. Good try though, mate


    Thanks for pointing out my visible fuckups, why don’t you eat cheetos flavored popsicle instead of insulting me or my haikus?


    HAIKU BOT???


    cannot stop thinking about some Solstryce Academy freshman in 10-20 years being like, “…and for Transmutation 101 I have Widogast. He seems kinda dry, lecture-wise, but there was a cat on his desk the whole time so, like, pretty good?”

    “Oh hell yeah!” says the other student in the cafeteria. “You got Widogast? I’m so jealous. I heard he nearly gets fired or even arrested like every other year for treasonous rhetoric.”


    “Yeah! Also, the cat. He has like three I think.”


    A third student leans across the table to speak in an undertone. “I heard he used to be a Volstrucker.”

    “Volstruckers aren’t real,” scoffs Student B. “What’s real is he - ” They lean in and lower their voice even more. “He and Archmage Beck used to be a thing.”


    “It’s true!”

    “It’s true.” An older student, eavesdropping, leans over from the adjacent table. “I was there when she came and arrested him personally two years ago. They had tension, man. When she handcuffed him…”

    “I wish Archmage Beck would handcuff me,” Student C says wistfully.


    Halfway through class one day, he stops abruptly in the middle of a sentence, hand with chalk frozen at the board. Then he says, “Do not worry, Jester, I’ll be there as soon as possible. Save your spell slots; I’ll contact the others. Care for Fjord, delay if possible.” Then he puts the chalk down and looks back to the students, as he starts gathering books off his desk. “Class is dismissed - I have a family emergency to attend to. Read Chapter 15 and prepare to discuss it next week - and extra credit to the first person who can find me Expositor Lionett of the Cobalt Soul or her wife, and ask them to come immediately. Tell her Fjord’s old snake friend may be waking up at last.”

    He strides out of the room without waiting for a response, books under one arm, drawing bright sigils in the air to cast a wizard’s Sending as he walks. “Old friend, do you have Teleport today, or a circle? Our captain needs urgent help, all of us. I’ll gather the ladies - can you Caduceus?”


    The classroom was silent as the professor walked in. Professor Widogast looked much like he always did, though perhaps his hair a little singed, a few bandages placed haphazardly across his arms and one on his neck. He looked at his wide eyed classroom before putting his texts on his desk and sighing; he’d get no teaching done today.

    “Alright, questions one at a time please,” he murmured.

    Immediately every hand shot up. He pointed to a shorter student near the back, her balance shifting from side to side.

    “Sorry, professor, but is it true you actually exploded a ship into a giant sea serpent like everyone’s been on about?”

    It was going to be a long day.

    a hypothetical d&d party

    The bard is mute.

    It’s not the first thing people notice about her, usually.  The first thing is generally that she’s young, and female, and lovely–the first thing people notice about their entire party is that they’re all young, and female, and lovely, and that’s gotten more than one would-be thief or mugger in far over their head when they haven’t noticed the the paladin’s hammer or the ranger’s axe.  It comes up rather quickly though, often enough.  Whoever heard of a bard who can’t sing?

    She plays a lute, mostly, or a lap-harp made of shell and sinew, string instruments she can pluck while she smiles in secret and watches everyone around her.  She dances quick, except when she’s tired, when she’s scared, when she forgets to remember the feet at the ends of her legs.

    She doesn’t tell her story to strangers, but enough of the other girls have learned to sign by now, and it’s easy enough to sketch out the outlines of the old bargain: the voice, the prince, the witch, the thousand shards of glass she walked upon on her way up the beach, the look in her sea-green eyes when they travel too near water.  The thousand shards of glass she walked upon when she left the palace, and turned back towards the sea to throw herself upon the rocks, and then made her way up the road inland, and kept walking.


    The warlock is beautiful and mild and self-effacing and shy, is tidy and generous and charming.  She’s small with herself in exactly the right way to shout abuse to the half of her party who knows how to recognize that same look in the mirror in the morning.  The bird on her shoulder is too small, too bright, too sweet for a real warlock’s familiar.  The knife at her belt is sharp enough for anything that needs doing, though, cooking or otherwise.

    Her fae patron visits sometimes, in the quiet hours between dusk and midnight, a sweetly old godmother made of moonlight and shadow.  She’s kind to the whole lot of them in her own chaotic way, free-handed with transmutations and illusions that break halfway through the evening, for better or worse.  She once spent three hours around their campfire drinking brandy and gossipping outrageously about the Feywild and teasing the wizard into fits of laughter.

    She’s never told the story of how she met the warlock’s mother, or what debt was owed there, and the warlock doesn’t know herself.  It was never meant to be a debt paid in power and violence and the deft will-sapping enchantments the warlock weaves now, but, well.  The prince wasn’t meant to be cruel, the warlock says.  The palace was meant to be warmer than the fireplace cinders in her stepmother’s house.  The faerie was meant to be saving her from her lot, not throwing her into something worse.  The power’s an apology of sorts.


    The wizard is awkward and joyful and nervous.  She has no fear of heights or small places, which just stands to be expected, she says, after all those years in that little tower, and she’s got no skill at lying or even edging around the truth at all, which is why she isn’t in the tower any more in the first place.  She says too much or too little or the wrong thing entirely, always, but the most well-socialized member of the whole party is the ranger who walks around with a dire wolf at her hip, or maybe their mute bard, so who are any of them to judge.

    There was nothing to do in that tower but read, and brush her hair, and sort through the witch’s endless stockpile of dried herbs and potions ingredients, and watch out the window as woodcutters and hunters and princes rode by, and dream.  The reading was more interesting than the dreaming, most of the time, and the witch didn’t mind it as much when she talked about it.  She never bothered to actually use any of the magic in the witch’s books until the thing with the prince and the haircut and the desert, which she’s told them all about in all the detail they could ever ask for, but most of the girls get uncomfortable when she starts talking about princes.  It’s a little easier if she just starts rambling about conjuration and abjuration and illusion theory, about the 400-year-old history of a city that doesn’t exist any more, about the proper grammatical structure of Celestial, until maybe one of the quiet ones finally answers back.

    Her hair is too short.  She keeps an illusion up over it whenever she can, while it grows back slowly, tickling the side of her face and the back of her neck and leaving her head too light and unbalanced.  


    The ranger doesn’t care about princes, which makes one of them at least.  Then again, the ranger doesn’t trust anyone, really, prince or no, not wolves or monsters or the men who kill them.  She more or less trusts the rest of them by now, mostly, when the wind blows in the right direction.

    She wears bright red in the middle of the woods and it shouldn’t help her slip into the shadows half as easily as it does, but most beasts can’t see color and red’s just another shade of gray if the light’s low enough.  She never uses her axe against trees.  She doesn’t need to.  She can find a path through any brush without it.  She picks flowers when she finds them, and tucks them into the other girls’ hair.

    Her wolf’s mother killed the man who taught her to use the axe, and the man who taught her to use the axe killed that wolf’s mate before that, and the mate had an old woman’s blood on his teeth when it happened.  The ranger’s blade found the wolf’s mother’s throat.  The ranger’s mother sent her out into the woods in the first place.  It’s not as though anywhere is really safe, cottage or forest, axe or teeth.  One of these days maybe her wolf will turn and go for her in return, and maybe one of these days her axe will be faster and maybe it won’t.  In the mean time, there’s flowers and berries and pastries and enough game to keep everyone sated, for a little while.


    The paladin’s hair is raven black and her skin is chalky as a corpse.  She’s not undead, mostly.  The undead are her job.  She knows that much.

    She was sweet, once (they were all sweet, once) but apples are bitter now and so is she, and there’s judgment to lay out in the world.  Her grip on her warhammer’s all wrong–she holds it like a mining hammer, but it hits as hard as it needs to.  Her armor’s all dwarven make, and her shield’s black and red and white like snow.

    She was sweet once, and frightened, and when she says it quietly around the campfire in the night when none of them can quite make out the glimmer of understanding on each others’ faces, everyone still nods.  She took a bite of poison and somebody left her a full year in a glass coffin of Gentle Repose, dangling on the edge of the Raven Queen’s domain while all the other newly-arrived dead passed by and faded away.  She woke up to somebody’s lips and hands and skin on her lips and her hands and her skin.  She doesn’t like princes.  She doesn’t like necromancers.

    She likes sunlight, and summer, and colors that aren’t black and white and red.  She likes the way the bard grins when she whirls into a dance, and the look in the warlock’s eye when she sets her feet to say no, and the wizard’s laughter on high with a Fly spell, and the ranger’s gentle fingers braiding flowers into everything she can touch.  


    Between being unemployed, getting really acquainted with my job history through resume updating, and taking on yet another kind of weird seasonal job, it's becoming clear to me that I never fully understood the word 'career.'


    Like... okay. Everyone talks about careers and how you should be thinking about one in high school because your future starts now. I'm here to say it doesn't.

    During college: nurses assistant at a camp for special needs folks, book seller, computer lab monitor, event staff.

    Graduated from art school 2009. Degree in animation. Animation field is flooded with new applicants with stronger portfolios than me. Market is saturated.

    Cool cool cool, I'll just get a job elsewhere and work on getting a stronger portfolio.

    Now it's the recession. Everyone's struggling. Wasn't good enough for Apple call center, get a job at walmart doing inventory.

    A bunch of friends decided to skip town and move to Montana to work the seasonal racket near Yellowstone. I decide fuck it and go with.

    Spent the summer in a 100 year old cabin attached to a roadside attraction where I sold Stetsons. Got to go to the park every weekend. Saw some volcanoes. Coolest summer ever.

    Job ends, I get back to Indiana and now I live in an apartment with a hole in the roof.

    Recessions still happening, gotta have a job. I was simultaneously a dishwasher at a retirement home and the free sample lady at a grocery store and the overnight signage person at Sears. Try to work on my portfolio in the meantime, get somewhat established but not like... of note.

    Move back with my parents. Ticket seller at the zoo until I came out to the wrong coworker and they fired me about it. Get a job at a hotel, get promoted to kitchen head because literally no one wants to do it. Quit via haiku. Start making money doing tarot readings at events.

    Move out, move to a new town. Apply to the first craft store I see, get hired because it's close to christmas. Stick around a few years, get tossed around from department to department, finally settle on pack/ship where they dropped my hours to like 12 a week.

    Quit, become a florist. Get really good at it really fast. Start thinking about careers again. Owners turn out to be massive dicks. Quit.

    By this time, I'm in my mid 30s. The industry I went to school for has changed completely. They're doing things with animation now that I couldn't even dream of. I realize now that maybe it's not for me anyway. It's a completely different job now.

    So now I'm trying out this new job where I assist action photographers at equestrian events across the country and this is something extremely different from anything I have ever done.

    On the one hand, I understand the desire to set out a goal and keep that goal. And I understand wanting to have a thing that you do for the rest of your life until it's time to retire.

    But damn, hard to relate. I think I know maybe... four people that have achieved this in my age group.

    So what I think I'm saying is it's okay not to decide on a career early on. You're not weird for taking your time and trying new things.

    Life is weird like that, so be weird back.


    Say it with me folks:

  • “Eat the rich” means 1%ers and billionaires
  • middle class is closer to poverty than being a multimillionaire
  • “The rich” does NOT include children of billionaires (come on we’re at least slightly better than the plagues of Egypt)
  • Upper middle class children SHOULD NOT feel guilt over having money
  • Being aware of privilege and using your privilege to help others IS NOT a guilt trip
  • Constantly feeling guilty helps no one
  • Billionaires, however, should feel guilty over hoarding wealth.
  • Upper middle class is NOT rich
  • Black Lives Matter
  • Trans rights are human rights
  • quaint-kelila

    My uncle was one of the top surgeons in the country. He was upper middle class definitely. When he got cancer, his insurance didn’t cover all the treatments he would need and after 5 years he drained his savings on cancer treatments (while still working most of that time) and eventually died because he couldn’t afford the expensive treatments that might have saved him.

    If you are upper middle class and you get sick, it will likely bankrupt your family. It’s fucked.


    For all of the idiots in the notes ^


    Honest to god - even if you make 6 figures a year? you're closer to poverty than true wealth. Check your shit and remember who your real allies and enemies are guys.


    A 6 figure income is a lot right? That’s say: 223,000 dollars a year Which is 112 dollars an hour. Most people would consider that upper middle class. That’s enough money to have a nice house, go on fun vacations. That’s slight more than the average doctor makes.

    223,000 dollars is what Jeff Bezo makes in a minute

    the well-off and the rich are not the same.


    PAY ATTENTION! This is how you weed out the men who deserve your time and the ones that don’t. These dudes are literally telling you who they are, but y'all refuse to listen. Your safety comes first.


    I’m in a FB group where dudes 30 and older were having full tantrums over this post. These are the same guys that admit:

    Not deleting nudes post break up

    Not believing when women that were sexually assaulted

    Not believing sex with a partner that is sleeping is rape


    Please do not date people that take issue with your protecting yourself.


    i deadass took a picture of my dates license and sent to my homegirls in the gc. and turned on my location. yea you cool but it’s always about me and my safety.


    Men who aren’t trash should already know this is commonplace. One of my last dates even offered to take a picture together for my safety text.


    Men who get mad when women try to protect themselves are just telling on themselves, nothing more.


    All you people out there talking about “spreading my private information” like you don’t drive around with your liscense plate out there for everyone and their mom to see all day every day. Sit down. Shut up. She didn’t ask for your social security number you absolute acorn. Your plates are public knowledge.


    Anyone who acts like this when you are trying to stay safe at best doesn’t care if you are safe and at worst…doesn’t want you to be.


    This is all very important. Also “absolute acorn” is my new favorite insult.


    Ravnica Races Expanded has just sold over 1,000 copies! To celabrate I’m giving away copies of both Ravnica Races Expanded 1 and 2 on here and over on my twitter!

    To enter all you need to do is reblog this post and follow!

    You can check out Ravnica Races Expanded collection here, where you can view a preview of each ebook.

    [DMs Guild] - [Twitter] - [Website]


    Ends tomorrow!


    villains are hard to design. making them ugly is dangerous, depending on what traits you choose to frame as monstrous or undesirable, you could very well end up saying something fatphobic, racist, anti-semitic, etc

    but if you make a hot villain then people will get thirsty and demand redemptions and refuse to acknowledge their evil actions, no matter how despicable


    Solution: Full body armor and masks. You don’t see people shipping themselves with Sauron!


    …………..you think?


    …………..don’t look up Sauron on AO3


    Nothing fails to crack me up like this post - the vain hope that somewhere out there is some awful nasty thing that there is not also a person whose kink that is, the idea that covering something up won’t make people obsessed with finding out what it looks like underneath, the surface level understanding of Sauron and complete lack of knowledge of the Silmarillion and it’s fandom, the fact that Sauron was canonically hot as fuck, the amount of Sauron erotica I have seen, God this post never gets old


    The Poster Of The Comment:You don’t see people shipping themselves with Sauron!

    The Very Large And Dedicated Community Of Sauronfuckers In The Tolkien Fandom, collectively:


    Point. For those who have not read Sillmarilion, Sauron used to look something like this


    “Is it possible to turn things around by 2050? The answer is absolutely yes,” says Kai Chan, a professor at the Institute for Resources, Environment and Sustainability at the University of British Columbia.

    Many scientists have been telling us how the world will look like, if we don’t act now. However, others, like Chan, are tracking what success might look like.

    They are not simply day-dreamers either. They aren’t being too optimistic. They are putting together road maps for how to safely get to the planet envisioned in the 2015 Paris Agreement, where temperatures hold at 1.5 degrees Celsius higher than before we started burning fossil fuels, this article from July states.

    “Three decades is enough to do a lot of important things. In the next few years—if we get started on them—they will pay dividends in the coming decades,” says Chan, the lead author of the chapter on achieving a sustainable future in a recent UN report that predicted the possible extinction of a million species.

    Making these changes won’t mean years of being poor, cold and hungry before things get comfortable again, the scientists insist. They say that if we start acting seriously NOW, we stand a decent chance of transforming society without huge disruption. 

    No doubt, it will take a massive switch in society’s energy use. But without us noticing, that’s already happening. Not fast enough, maybe, but it is. Solar panels and offshore wind power plummet in price.  Iceland and Paraguay have stripped the carbon from their grids, according to a new energy outlook report from Bloomberg. Europe is on track to be 90 per cent carbon-free by 2040. And Ottawa says that Canada is already at 81 per cent, thanks to hydro, nuclear, wind and solar. 

    Decarbonizing the whole economy is within grasp. We can do this.

    “If we have five years of really sustained efforts, making sure we reorient our businesses and our governments toward sustainability, then from that point on, this transition will seem quite seamless. Because it will just be this gradual reshaping of options,” Chan says, adding: “All these things seem very natural when the system is changing around you.”


    Hoping people with more relevant knowledge and science parsing skills than I do might comment on this …


    I think it is absolutely vital that people be able to picture The Healed World. Honestly I think it’s one of the most important things we can do.

    Look at how many different apocalypses people can visualise. Our brains can freely feast on unlimited scenes of scarcity, competition and fear. Everywhere we turn we can consume endless content about killing our neighbors for scraps, about hurting children, about bleak planets and extinction, and lots and lots of guns. It is easy, accessible and cheap. Our minds gobble up as much of this content as the market generates and the market gleefully generates more. We feed and feed upon a future of suffering and loss. We feast on images of brown children being hurt, unnecessarily, and say smugly that “that’s just what humanity is like.” Our brains are programmed away from the natural human responses to crises (fix it, help each other, rebuild and hope) and TOWARDS the mindsets of fictional apocalypse (cause it, turn on each other [it’s just what humans do! We’ve all seen the same stories!], collapse, fight each other for crumbs, the world is doomed anyway.)

    It’s pretty unnecessary. And frankly pretty cringe. Imagine being part of some of the most prosperous, empowered, educated, connected group of humans to ever exist, and having a brain that can only picture the future as apocalypse-movie.

    And where is the food of abundance, equality, beauty, hope, diversity? Where is the actual food of the future? Oh. It’s in, like, three solarpunk anthologies, huh?


    Anyway not to get all Amitav Ghosh on main but we have GOT to address this unnecessary and EMBARRASSING failure of imagination. Because we are the generation currently failing in our responsibilities as caretakers of the earth, because of this deranged inability to picture the world as being a real place, and the future being a place where people will live.

    So, basically, yes, let’s just say it and start saying it regularly. The work is now and we have to do it. It isn’t impossible. Yes there is hope. Yes it can all be done. Yes there is a future for fucksake. It’s within our grasp. that is what futures are.


    Thinking About the healed world again


    Me, googling this information frantically: Okay now you guys have GOT to be fucking with me, there’s NO way he could’ve actually–



    Ben Barnes circa 2019, scrolling through his own tag on tumblr.com and seeing thousands of fan edits with him as the Darkling:


    @follyfortune @bishirleys Hey. Hey sorry. The what


    ASKDJSJFJJGJKFKGKH @Narnia fandom IS THIS YOUR PRINCE???? Is this your Prince Caspian??????


    Gotta love seeing a golf course turn back into prairie.


    Life uhh finds a way


    It’s THE coolest thing about my hometown. This is a huge chunk of land in the middle of town, and it’s incredibly popular. There’s two miles of walking paths of varying difficulties (it’s actually really wheelchair friendly; the paved paths are nicely maintained and the hills have incredibly smooth switchbacks so that the pushing or wheeling angle isn’t too steep), play places thoughtfully carved into the prairie and woods, three lakes- one of which is stocked with bass, but the others not for fishing, just for looking, and a pavilion for meetings, parties, etc. The town has totally embraced it- it’s our busiest park and people really do respect the park rules ( respect wildlife, pick up after your dog, no off-leash dogs) and just… come out to walk and enjoy nature. There’s a smallish wetland area, 25 acres of woodland, and almost 50 acres of prairie. 

    And the wildlife- I’ve seen so many birds. Deer. Foxes. Bobcats have come back to the area after being extirpated for decades. Native bees. There was a lot of pushback originally- people were worried that it would be an eyesore- but now it’s something the town really takes pride in. As it developed, people got really excited. Without any parks department solicitation, the park got two million dollars in donations and a whole bunch of in-kind donations from the hospital (four outdoor exercise ponds), the local Kiwanis club (a musical playground), and one of the local construction companies (the most beautiful tree fort you’ve ever seen… also the only tree fort I’ve ever seen with ramps). People love this place, and I really hope other towns see that you can turn a golf course into something really fun for everyone. 


    Fun Story: My director kept telling me and my tenor sax buddy to play softer. No matter what we did, it wasn’t soft enough for him. So getting frustrated, I told my buddy “Dont play this time. Just fake it” 

    Our Band Director then informed us we sounded perfect. 


    To my readers: “p” means quiet, “pp” means really quiet. I’ve never seen “pppp” before haha.

    On the contrast, “f” means loud, and “ffff” probably means so loud you go unconscious.


    I had ffff in a piece once and my conductor told me to play as loudly as physically possible without falling off my chair…


    Me and my trombone buddies had “ffff” and he sat next to me and played so hard that he fell out of his chair.

    The lengths we go for music.


    Okay yeah so I play the bass clarinet and the amount of air you have to move and the stiffness of the reed means it only has two settings and that is loud and louder, with an optional LOUDEST that includes a 50% probability of HORRIBLE CROAKING NOISE which is the bass equivalent of the ubiquitous clarinet shriek.


    One day, when I was in concert band in high school, we got a new piece handed out for the first time, and there was a strange little commotion back in the tuba section — whispering, and pointing at something in the music, and swatting at each other’s hands all shhh don’t call attention to it. And although they did attract the attention of basically everyone else in the band, they managed to avoid being noticed by the band director, who gave us a few minutes to look over our parts and then said, “All right, let’s run through it up to section A.”

    And here we are, cheerfully playing along, sounding reasonably competent — but everyone, when they have the attention to spare, is keeping an eye on the tuba players. They don’t come in for the first eight measures or so, and then when they do come in, what we see is:

    [stifled giggling]

    [reeeeeeally deep breath]


    The entire band stops dead, in the cacophonous kind of way that a band stops when it hasn’t actually been cued to stop. The band director doesn’t even say anything, just looks straight back at the tubas and makes a helpless sort of why gesture.

    In unison, the tuba players defend themselves: “THERE WERE FOUR F’S.”

    FFFF is not really a rational dynamic marking for any instrument, but for the love of all that is holy why would you put it in a tuba part.


    This is the best band post 

    Everyone else go home


    Oh man, so I play trombone, and we got this piece called Florentiner Marsch by Julius Fucik, and we saw this


    which is 8 fortes. We were shocked until,


    that is 24 fortes who the fuck does that


    Who does that?

    This guy. Take a good look - that is the moustache of a man with nothing to lose.


    Julius IdontgivaFucik


    More like Julius Fuckit


    Pyrozod’s tags for this were too hilarious not to share


    “we were lovers in a past life” trope but the current incarnations are enemy-to-lovers trope. when. 


    To be clear. I don’t want “our past love ended in betrayal and anger and now we hate each other.” I want “we died in love and in each other’s arms” but the current incarnations do NOT remember and they ARE trying their best to End the other one and these new sudden flashbacks to lovingly holding each other’s hands is EXTREMELY UPSETTING


    broke: midsommar is a girl power movie

    woke: midsommar is a horror movie about a manipulative cult

    bespoke: midsommar is a litmus test to tell how easily you could be indoctrinated into a cult and if your first thought after watching it is that it was a girl power movie you’re very susceptible to cult tactics and you should be aware of that


    it’s also a commentary on the cultlike structure of white supremacy and white supremacist indoctrination, especially through their use of Nordic neopaganism

    to preface—ari aster is a Jewish man. he’s writing this story from someone directly affected by white supremacy (and if one doubts this: feel free to look at the white supremacist response to the film! it wasn’t positive)

    anyway, the hårga are canonically neo-pagan white supremacists. ari aster has pointed this out in interviews explicitly, but if one pays attention and is familiar with white supremacy, it becomes painfully obvious.

    many of the runes used commonly used among white supremacists.

    the odal especially is seen throughout the film, down to the tables they sit at being arranged in an odal. this rune is used constantly by white supremacists to denote a love of White Heritage. what’s especially interesting about the use of the Odal is this—the particular way it’s drawn on many tapestries has the inclusion of “wings” or lines on the ends. The odal is most commonly drawn without these wings in modern usage....except, of course, used in the context of white supremacy. the odal with wings was the insignia of the 7th SS Volunteer Mountain Division Prinz Eugen, and is still commonly used by neo Nazi groups today.

    their leader, an old white woman who snarls about The Black One, wears the ansuz, despite them not seeming to worship Odin—this is, of course, another symbol used by white supremacists (hell, there’s a hate group that has a prominent presence in Sweden but exists worldwide calls the Soldiers of Odin). the inclusion of The Secret Nazi Language of the Uthark in the set at the beginning of the movie makes it clear this was intentional

    also, there’s not a lot of evidence for the “age old rituals” they use (the ättestupa and blood eagle) actually existing—the idea of them though? absolutely relished by many white supremacists.

    just getting into the rest of the movie—the colors are blindingly white, bright, and the characters of color stand out clearly against it. josh, who is the more obviously respectful and dedicated academic, is deliberately passed over in favor of Christian by the harga for information for their dissertations, and Christian outright rips off his topic. they kill the white characters for disrespecting the cult’s heritage—but kill the characters of color to show their devotion.

    the movie is a MASTERFUL commentary on how white supremacists grow their numbers—they don’t start out with swastikas and genocide. they start out with a kind word, with a promise of understanding, of community.

    “i lost my parents too” pele tells dani. he draws for her, he wishes her a happy birthday. the women dance with Dani, dress her up, comfort her. the cult makes her the may queen. she feels safe with them. she feels comforted, wanted. has an emotional bond with them, even as they slowly isolate her, and prime her to believe what they do.

    as a Jewish person myself—this was all intentional. the horror for me isn’t just the cult. it’s that this happens every day, and more often than people would think. the horror is in the knowledge that this is how people are radicalized to scream “Jews will not replace us”, or shoot up a synagogue.

    anyway. here’s a couple articles from POC what also talk about this.


    reblogging again bc my addition doesn’t show up in the notes, prolly because of the inclusion of links, which is super unsexy of Tumblr