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Iris and Her Surgery (About My Dog's Fundraiser)

Hi! You can call me Salty, but I'm not important here--my dog, Iris, is. This weekend (June 7-8th), my senior dog started showing obvious symptoms of a UTI--she's had some minor bladder-related issues in the past, so at first we thought nothing of it. We planned to get her an antibiotic in a few days, and lots of supportive care to help prevent further issues. Some irritability, some straining to pee, some accidents with a minor amount of blood--she is older, we thought it was a basic infection. We were wrong.

On June 9th, just this afternoon as I'm writing this, my mom and I found an "accident" in the house (unusual as-is for Iris) that was very obviously quite bloody. It was quite concerning, and more than we though normal for a UTI. We took her to the emergency vet in town and got her checked out. We were gone for four hours, and while it was helpful in that we got answers, it was immensely stressful for me, my mom, and Iris.

She has Urinary Stones, a condition that can be fatal if left untreated to cause obstructions in urination. She is 9 years, and has been otherwise very healthy. We need to get her a surgery to remove these stones, as it would take several years of her on medication to break down and pass all the stones, with the risk of her developing a blockage or other complications. The price range is around $6000 in our area, and we need to get her this care.

She deserves better than spending the next several years on medication for an issue that could be fixed. If she gets this surgery, she will be happier again; she will be relieved of great discomfort and pain. She will regain her ability to make it outside before urinating. She will be able to return to her upbeat, well-tempered self. I will not show the direct, obvious effects of her stones, but she will be cleaner, also, and less irritated by her humans constantly holding her just to wipe off her back-end.

Please, if you can do anything at all, please do. Share this if you can't donate directly; go check out my social media and engage so that we might be able to raise funds from posts about Iris; anything. Please, for her. She has people that adore her, and siblings that would be lost without her little tip-taps and snuggles.

Here is her GoFundMe link if you want to avoid PayPal, and the link to our continuous Ko-Fi goals:

Here's the baby girl, for those curious and/or skeptical. She loves to snuggle up with blankets and she's especially fond of napping on my bed. (The gray thing at the bottom is a chair for her to use to get up--she's short, and we try to ease her transition into having senior hips and legs as much as we can.)

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WIP Novel Fragments #7

TW: horror elements, such as mentions/references to sexual violence, abuse, disturbing images or descriptions, blood, and body horror.

Here’s some more fragments from my drafting! These are a bit longer, drawing from different sections.

Dated: 5/23/2025, May 23rd, 2025.

The Queen’s heels clicked along the blackstone floor of the castle, her fingers twitching to grab a cell phone that she didn’t have. Her heart was rattling behind her ribcage, the mushy hidden depths of it fighting against the confines of its hard, deadened shell.

Outwardly, she was calm. Breath even, hands still, face relaxed. Perfect posture and steady steps as she made her way toward the wing opposite her own.

An idol of what a queen should be.

A perfectly trained doll with perfectly contained secrets.

If only her desires were so easily trapped. Perhaps then she wouldn’t be lowering herself to the level of a desperate high school boy, sneaking out of bed at night to petition attention from an aloof, barely interested crush. As it stood, however, she deeply wished her shoes were quieter and the servants and guards were more loyal.

One of the ballsier guards, a lanky thing with long, greasy black hair, decided to pipe up as she walked past.

“Your Majesty.”

She stopped, not looking at him. “What?”

“Is there something that concerns you tonight?”

“Just restless,” she lied seamlessly. “Might pay a visit to a few friends; might read a book; might go knit. Not sure.” Smooth voice, careful words, practiced ease. When she received no response, she took on a more stern tone, “Did you have any concerns tonight?”

More silence.

“No.”

“Good.”

She continued walking.

— — —

Her bedroom creaked all around her, the old wood swaying strangely, flickering blue-white light shining through her open window. The rain poured in, splattering over the sill and onto the floor. She watched in silence, blinking at the soundless storm outside, feeling the floor tremble with the vibrations of thunder and powerful wind.

There was a dripping pool of bright red blood on her bed, so thick that it had over-saturated her mattress. It oozed through the stuffing and out the bottom, staining the hardwood. A puddle sat on her soaked sheets, the blankets crumpled at the foot of her bed. Her stomach made a gurgling noise, cramping dangerously at the sight.

She turned away, a hand on her abdomen.

Everything was so, so quiet. The pat-pat of raindrops was infrequent, subdued like she was listening through earplugs. Something tight and barbed shifted inside her chest. Acid rose in her throat. She needed to get out of that room.

The doorknob was weirdly hot when she wrenched open her door, leaving her palm an uncomfortable rosy color. She gently rubbed the irritated skin, staring out at the dark, winding hallway. Its walls were covered with her home’s familiar flowered and pale green wallpaper. Strips peeled off the plaster, curling over itself and down toward the floor.

Some pungent, oppressive scent was heavy in the air, a more metallic undertone to the dust that hung around. It tasted of mold and rotting wood.

“Hello?” she called softly, watching as blue light filtered through windows and curtains. No one responded, but she heard wooden floorboards creaking from somewhere in the darkness. It was deafeningly loud surrounded by the strangely subdued sounds of the storm, a harsh crack within the quiet.

A sudden surge of rain rattled the glass, threatening the security of the structure, soundless except the occasional patter of water on glass. Her chest tightened, something aching deep inside her ribcage. Far ahead of her, something wispy caught her eye.

“Hello?” she repeats, squinting at the strange figure wavering at the other end of the hallway. It seemed to have heard her, straightening up and turning what looked like a pale, smoke-like face toward her. She’d never seen anyone like them. “Hey, who are you?” she asks.

They stared for another moment, her heart skittering painfully. She opened her mouth to call out to them again, the only thing that made sense to her.

Before she could get the words out, they stepped out of sight, disappearing down the stairwell.

— — —

The bed she woke in was nearly cozy enough for Alice to not question how she got there. Plush blankets like Nana’s most prized quilts, and pillows as squishy as marshmallows. It was warm. She was dry. Every muscle was poised to melt back into disuse, her mind shifting on the verge of consciousness, edging just so into the dream realm. She didn’t want to open her eyes. She nuzzled her face further into the pillows and wiggled further up the bed to pull one under her chest and neck.

For a moment—a tiny moment—Alice let herself believe she was snuggled down in Nan’s guest room, safe and protected from the world. Her mother was knitting downstairs, those horrid true crime shows on loop on the TV. The furnace hummed somewhere in the bowels of the house, pumping hot, smoky air through the vents. Gramp’s beef stew was on the stove, bubbling gently, and the scent wafted up the stairwell. Her stomach rumbled; she salivated.

It was a hell of a dreamscape.

Releasing a resigned sigh, Alice gathered her arms underneath herself and pushed up from the wonderful, toasty nest of blankets and pillows. She blinked her eyes open and—

—tacky red liquid on her sheets, matching the shape of her thighs—

��the sheet under her was silken and crimson as spilled blood. Her pulse quickened, her stomach turning over as reality came into focus. In front of her, the pillows were a swirl of red, black, and purple, like melting ice cream in a bowl. Alice sat back on her heels; the blankets fell around her back. She could see the top of the duvet out of the corner of her eye, its black embroidered edge gleaming from warm golden light. She looked around the room, the dark nights and softly glowing lamps catching her eye first. The shades looked soft and velvety, the edges lined with crystal-clear stones; she wasn’t sure if they were real or not. The bases were vaselike, waspish in shape, and made of swirled black and purple glass.

The nightstands themselves were a deep black material, the grain on top reminiscent of wood, but Alice couldn’t think of any tree that dark. It was like molasses, or tar—deep and shiny like the night sky. They matched the headboard looming over her, its intricately carved vines and flowers making the wood look deep and void-like. Her… eyes struggled to stay focused on it, the design wiggling in her vision despite the impossibility of that.

It would have been a cool illusion if it weren’t for how unnerving it all was.

She blinked, clearing the strange wiggling lines from her vision and refocusing on the rest of the room. Something earthy and smoky was in the air. Myrrh, perhaps, or frankincense. It reminded her of Ashley’s room and all the pretty candles and incense she kept on her dresser, the thick white trails of smoke like clouds collecting in the air. Underneath it, though, was something fatty and rich, like a good beef roast from the farm. Her nose was so full of it, she could almost taste it; like a barbecue or the Fourth of July at her uncle’s—burning dirt, ash, food. The cloying scent of melting sugar and heady black powder was all that was missing.

It was no wonder her brain had conjured the memory of waking at Nana and Grampa’s. Where else would she ever be able to experience these scents and sensations? Apparently, a stranger’s bed. Great.

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hey cis people! now more than ever gender-nonconforming behavior is an act of resistance! and it's one anyone can engage in!

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WIP Novel Fragments #6

TW: References to sexual abuse; horror themes.

Alice did not sleep peacefully that night despite the warmth of her bed, the coolness of her pillow, the exhaustion in her bones, and the haze in her brain. Her mind was overcome with images and sensations: the pit in the road and the feeling of cold wind drifting out of it; that voice rambling nonsense; Eric’s hands, demanding and eager, on her back and her thighs. She tossed and turned for what felt like hours, never comfortable or secure in her privacy. It was like a million eyes were peeking out at her from the shadows. Never blinking. Never straying.

         The sensation of being perceived prickled along her spine. Goosebumps crawled over her despite the warmth within her nest. A pit in her stomach formed, her throat closing as her anxiety rose again, threatening the cleanliness of her blankets with more sweat than she was already soiling them with.

         Everything physical was so far away. Her blankets, her pillow, the rustle of leaves outside her bedroom walls. Despite her usual hyper-sensitivity to those things, the ghost of eyes and hands were much more real to her. The memories floated in front of her, her insides clenching protectively and heart hammering within her ribs.

— — —

Sleep refused to come easy for her.

         The house was as loud as it ever had been, every whip of wind and squeak inside the walls brought her attention away from rest. Her feet still tingled unpleasantly from the cold floor, and the flesh of her thighs was growing more mottled by the hour. She tried not to look at herself for too long, the taste of acid at the back of her throat.

         She contemplated the melatonin gummies hidden in her dresser, her secret weapons to dissuade and distress Eric when needed. He always said she looked like a corpse when she slept. If she could stay asleep, then she could stay safe until he beckoned her outright.

         How many nights of torment had those little gummies saved her from?

         It didn’t matter. She was exhausted and wound-up like a live wire. They’d do less than nothing if she didn’t take a whole palmful of them. That seemed less than advisable; it would have to be, what—twenty, twenty-five milligrams of melatonin? She nibbled on her finger, worrying at the edge of her cuticle.

— — —

She hadn’t checked the nightstand drawers before. There was nothing in the wardrobe, but maybe there was something helpful in the drawers. She slowly pulled open the top drawer on the right of the headboard, farthest from the window so she didn’t have to look at it, yet.

         Lint. Dust. Three flat, circular grey rocks. A box of matches. Three black taper candles.

         Strange.

         She closed the drawer; pulled open the next one.

         More dust. A Bible with strange, sticky-looking black stains and hash-marks cut into the leather cover. The bottom of the drawer had a somewhat round red stain extending out from beneath the book.

         She shoved it closed harder than necessary. Something squeaked and hissed aggressively from the bottom drawer—she stepped back quickly, gasping.

         Alice decided she didn’t need to open that drawer.

         She kept her head down as she walked around the bed, giving the other nightstand a good, hard shove toward the wall and letting it thunk back down on the floor properly for good measure. There was a faint clinking, like metal or plastic, from within. She thumped each drawer with the blade of her hand. Nothing unusual—there was another angry hiss from the other set of drawers, which she chose to ignore for her own sanity (if there was any of that left).

         She pulled open the top.

         …Nothing?

         She closed it. Pulled open the next.

         Nothing.

         Closed the empty drawer. Opened the bottom.

         Nothing.

         She shoved the drawers closed. Placed her foot against the middle drawer and kicked forward, pressing it back toward the wall again. There it was—the clinking, clattering noise from inside again. She tugged open each drawer, more quickly, and looked again. She felt along the bottom of each. Nothing.

         Huffing, Alice stepped away from the nightstand. Her cheeks felt hot, a line of sweat beaded below her nose and above her brow. She swiped at her face, palming her eyes more aggressively than was probably helpful. Something was missing, she could feel it. If only she could figure out what.

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WIP Novel Fragments #5

Dated: 10/26/2024

TW: Horror themes, nothing real heavy.

Alice was glad she had the foresight to zip everything into the large FoodSaver bags she used in place of regular protective casing. Her laptop was dry; her mouse was dry; her chargers and earbuds were dry. She left the bag to sit sad and wet there on the floor.

The plushness of her favorite nightgown—the one Eric never liked, the one Jace never liked—wrapped around her senses like a hug. It had been waiting on her bed for her, eager as she was to create a protective cocoon of warmth for Alice to sleep within. Nothing else was quite as comforting as pulling the knee-length fabric over her head and slipping under her comforter.

Her pillow was cold from the draft in her bedroom, a stark contrast to the residual flush on her skin and the humidity from outside. There was a hole in the wall of her closet, just feet away, that let in air from the night outside. It blew through a tall hickory and was cool when it came in, even during the hottest summers. Mixed with the artificial breeze created by her ceiling fan, the draft created a perfect environment for Alice to settle into a restful night’s sleep.

At least, that’s what she told herself.

— — —

Her heart beat its steady war against her ribcage, and she clutched at her sternum instinctively. She scratched at the flesh of her thighs, digging into the skin and leaving bumpy red welts behind. The fingers were gone, but the creeping, slimy pit in her stomach wasn’t.

She stumbled out of bed, flinching at the cold wooden floor under her bare feet, and made a beeline for her light-switch. She flicked it on and turned back toward the window, shuddering. The floor stung. She stared at her perfectly-fine window-pane and swallowed thickly. She crawled back into bed, laying facing the sill.

She tried to fall asleep.

— — —

The house was quiet when she stepped out of her bedroom.

There was no creaking from the walls or windows, though she could see the trees still swaying outside the glass. Even the fan in her sisters’ room, which whirred so loudly they had to turn it off when guests came over, was deathly silent. Alice stood in the hall, staring at the window above the stairwell; it was still pouring rain outside, the droplets splatting on the pane. The glass shook in its frame, the old metal and wood trembling.

Not a sound from it.

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“Savage” Christopher Columbus statue vandalized and wrapped in plastic in Pittsburgh in October 2021

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Let's Talk About... Suicide Squad (2016) | Movie Review

The hit 2016 supervillain film Suicide Squad is a point of contention in DC fan circles. Some loved it for what it was—a Hollywood semi-drama action film centered around the character dynamics of some of DC’s most interesting villains—and some railed against it for what it wasn’t—a deep, thought-provoking action piece that challenges worldviews and character legacies. Some, also, did both—love it for what it is and mourn for what it could’ve been.

So, Let’s Talk About Suicide Squad.

The Summary

Not to be confused with the more recent The Suicide Squad, which is this film’s hit sequel, Suicide Squad is an action-packed, comedic supervillain movie—and the “supervillain” is quite serious. In the whole movie, the only superhero that gets more than a few minutes of screentime is Katana, and all things considered, she plays a fairly small part in the movie.

The film takes place sometime after Superman is killed and buried, circa 2016 in the DC Extended Universe. Several of the universe’s worst villains are off the street, caught by heroes, including Harley Quinn, Deadshot, Killer Croc, Slipknot, Captain Boomerang, and El Diablo—The Enchantress, an ancient interdimensional entity, is also in custody. Amanda Waller, a government agent, arranges them into an elite task force, Task Force X, headed by Colonel Rick Flag. They’re to be an underground unit, known only to those who need to. Waller also keeps the Enchantress’s heart in a box—literally—as an insurance policy, and her trapped brother on a shelf.

When the Enchantress escapes Nick Flag’s sight and frees her brother, it sets off a chain of events for Task Force X’s first mission: work together under Flag and the superhero Katana’s leadership, and deliver their objective, “the only person in [the] city” they aren’t allowed to kill, to safety.

The villains, sans Enchantress, who has all but escaped Waller’s control with the help of her brother, set out to New York City, miniature bombs set in their necks to blow whenever the agents deem needed. As Deadshot says, “[Flag] dies, WE die!”

Their helicopter is gunned down suddenly, crashing them all in the disaster zone of NYC. The villains plot to overtake the unit at large, despite the danger looming at their Colonel’s fingertips and beneath their skulls. Slipknot and Captain Boomerang attempt to escape outright—Slipknot nearly succeeds but his bomb is triggered and he is killed. It’s a fast-paced, brutal scene that hammers into both the audience’s mind and the villains’ how serious their situation is—Waller and Flag own them now.

Meanwhile, the Enchantress and her brother are taking captured humans and turning them into stone-creature minions—think the Stonemen from Game of Thrones mixed with the alien army from the first Avengers movie, and you have the general appearance, mannerisms, et cetera.

Flag and the villains continue to their objective location, Harley causing no small amount of trouble along the way. She smashes in a storefront window to steal a purse, answering Flag’s protest with “We’re bad guys—it’s what we do.” Deadshot, missing his young daughter, who is an under-utilized factor in his motivation, stares longingly at a set of mannequins in winter wear: a father and daughter set up, mirroring the night he was captured by Batman in front of her.

The halfway point of the film finds our villainous heroes just outside their objective—Deadshot rushes in, leading the (slow) charge toward their mission’s end. It’s too quiet, even the soundtrack taking the backseat to the rustle of their clothes and gear. It’s incredibly effective at setting up the punchline for the scene: an elevator’s ding and Harley, illuminated in white light inside, rising above them all (literally), the soundtrack coming to life with a high-energy R&B beat.

After a quick, Harley-centric fight scene, they’re all reconvened and moving forward again. They walk into an ambush—a bunch of minions are waiting in the shadows, nooks and ceiling of an office room (full of cubicles) and the scene explodes, literally, with gunfire and stone chips from the minions. Through it all, El Diablo is inactive, standing to the side and quiet. When they escape the office room to the hallways, Deadshot provokes him into firing (literally) at the opposing group of minions. His glare afterward could scare anyone, and Deadshot’s nervous assurances of no ill-will make it clear that the Man Who Never Misses is no exception. Harley is enthused.

Walking up the stairs to their objective, Harley looks down the spiraling staircases—she flashes back to when she was still Harleen, Joker’s rogue psychiatrist. They were in the ACE Chemicals factory where Joker once fell into the vats below. He now wants her to take a leap of faith—one he only just makes worth it for her. Kehlanie’s Gangsta begins in the background; it’s their wedding, essentially, and Harley takes the leap. Joker, after deliberating, follows.

They make it up to their objective—Flag goes into the safe room; Waller is there, their objective to take home. Waller kills every single one of the agents in the safe room, saying they weren’t “cleared for any it.” The villains, rightfully pissed at being all but collared like dogs, threaten her and Flag—she backs them down with a worse threat: killing all of them thanks to the little bombs in them.

A helicopter is meant to meant them on the roof. No one can make contact with the piloting team. It’s been jacked by none other than Joker, and everyone opens fire. Harley is thrilled. Joker’s in a fancy tux, waiting for her on the bird. He’s kidnapped a scientist that worked on the bombs, and the “professor” disables Harley’s nanite. She runs to Joker, Flag and Waller trying desperately to trigger her bomb.

Waller goes so far as to “commission” Deadshot to kill Harley—his freedom, his daughter, for Harley’s life. He almost takes it, “missing” the shot at the last second. His eyes are glassy. It’s an amazing bit of emotional acting on Will Smith’s part. Waller calls a hit on the hijacked chopper anyway. It hits.

Harley falls from the crashing plane to a rooftop, watching in agony as the plane crashes with her beloved still inside—she thinks he’s dead, and the Task Force X team think she is, too.

They get Waller on a helicopter out of NYC—it’s crashed by the Enchantress’s brother, and she’s captured, the sole survivor of the crash.

Harley, desolate, waits down on the street for the others, playing up her bubbly persona to dissuade hostility from them. She’s thrown away her “Puddin’” choker. It’s awkward but the villains have empathy for her—they get it, and they don’t say anything. They don’t need to.

With Waller in her clutches, the Enchantress begins the final stage of her plan: gather intel on human armies and defenses to destroy the human race and everything we love.

Deadshot finds a binder of classified documents in Waller’s crashed bird. It’s all of her Task Force X information. He demands Flag tell the team everything. He does. The villains are rightfully pissed, as is Katana, and they go into a bar and they have drinks.

El Diablo gives his tragic backstory. A gangster with a soft spot—he had a wife and kids he loved, but his anger was too great when she found out his gang dealings and his power too strong. He lost control and burned the whole family out. He turned himself in. In hindsight, it’s more than a little stereotypical: Hispanic man gets mixed up gangs, rises to power, becomes violent toward his wife when she finds out and tries to get the kids away from it all. He kills them.

Flag eventually joins in the “revelry,” much to Harley’s distaste. He comes clean about his attachment to Dr. June Moone, the Enchantress’s host, and Flag smashes the command panel for their nanites. Then, he gives Deadshot the letters his daughter’s been writing him since he got to jail. It pushes Deadshot over the edge—he agrees to go with Flag to “end this shit” and demands that everyone, his daughter especially, knows what they, the villains, did, what they saved the world from and why.

With nothing better to do, and some goading from Harley, the others follow.

It’s a real build-up action sequence: our great heroes walking toward almost certain doom, epic music pounding behind them. They come up with a plan: get and blow the bomb Flag left under the subway station the first time he tried to take down the Enchantress’s brother.

Killer Croc takes the sewers; everyone else goes through the subway. Diablo is on the fence about fighting with them.

Enchantress, sensing them all inside, floats imaginary futures into their heads: Deadshot, killing Batman; Harley with babies and the Joker as her husband; Flag cuddled in bed with June; Diablo with his kids and wife, safe, lovey—

The vision sets off Diablo. He’s pissed and hurting. Enchantress can’t change what he did, and she can’t take away his people.

Croc and the underground unit are almost the bomb, and Diablo opts in to bully the brother into the right corner. He can regenerate but Diablo can shift into a larger, more durable form—it’s close, but the brother pins him. Flag calls for the bomb to be triggered, per Diablo’s command—the brother is killed, as is Diablo. Still, the Enchantress is ready.

She triggers her spell, using information from Waller’s hijacked mind to attack key satellites and locations. She engages the Task Force directly, phasing in and out of her physical form as needed to surge against them. She’s strong, and they aren’t stronger. An epic score sings in the background; gunfire explodes and contrasts her flighty embers.

She’s impressed—she offers “mercy.” Anything they want, for total servitude. Harley, the wonderful actress that she is, amps up her ditzy, lovestruck persona to get close to her, and then slink—

Drives Katana’s blade through the Enchantress’s chest, quickly tearing out her heart.

The scene that follows is almost impressive—it begins with Flag passing off another bomb to Killer Croc, then the cinematography slows. Harley tosses her gun to Deadshot; Croc levies the bomb at the whirling spell and the witch standing before it; Deadshot takes aim. The climax of the scene has his daughter, another vision, standing before him, begging him not to pull the trigger, a mirror of when he was caught by Batman—he screams, enraged, and fires. Enchantress reaches for the bomb at the same moment the bullet hits it, blowing the spell and launching her into the stairs beneath.

It’s a longer, more drawn-out sequence than it needs to be, and the slow-motion doesn’t add much. It’s interesting on a first watch, sure, but after that, it’s really not impressive. The shot being slowed down as Deadshot fires lends to the impressive willpower it took him to break the Enchantress’s temptation, but the sequence being slowed prior to that just gives it the impression that this was an easy decision for him, putting it in contrast to the one previous where he faked a miss on Harley. Ironically, once the vision begins, the action feels rushed.

Rick tries to reason with the Enchantress for June’s control back. She insists he just crush her heart and get it over with, basically, and he almost walks away. However, Deadshot calls him back, noticing how the “corpse” begins to move—June swipes away the face of the Enchantress. June and Flag have a heart-felt reconnection, while the villains attempt to wander off in various directions.

Waller quickly bursts their bubble, “cocking” the trigger for their nanites. She reminds them, promptly, that she still owns, and dogs don’t get freedom for tricks—they get treats: 10 years off their prison sentences. They settle for some luxuries—Deadshot gets visitation for his daughter; Croc gets a TV with his favorite music channel; Captain Boomerang gets jackshit for his attitude toward Waller; and Harley gets an espresso machine and…

The Joker! He breaks into Belle Reve and busts her out at the very end of the movie.

There is a hidden scene after the main credits that ties into the larger Batman plots of this universe, and the sequel, but I won’t get into that here. That will be a discussion for my longer video format review, which you’ll be able to find on my YouTube in about two weeks, and Early Access for my Patrons next Thursday (Oct. 17th).

What It Was

By far not the best DC movie I’ve ever watched, even in hindsight—that said, it’s far from the worst. It’s a great mish-mash of characters, and it’s fun. The characters get wacky, and they clash in just the right way; Flag is a great straight man to contrast Harley’s antics, and Deadshot is a great in-between with his sarcastic humor. The acting is honestly fantastic all the way around, except, maybe for one character…

The Joker is a very malleable character, but the way that Jared Leto’s interpretation of the Joker comes off in the movie is a bit too intent on Harley. I don’t think it’s so much a failure on Leto’s part as an actor, though much can be said about him and his… interesting career moves since this project, but it is definitely a writing and cinematography flaw that he pays for. With the clearly abusive and manipulative circumstances of the Joker and Harley’s relationship (and don’t come for me, I love my toxic straight people as much as the next supervillain fan), the devotion and love-sick depression J is shown to have just don’t mesh well in the regular cut. There is a bit more expansion and nuance given in the extended cut, but that’s a conversation for a longer review.

Over all, it’s a good movie. It’s certainly worth the watch if you enjoy a Guardian’s of the Galaxy style movie mixed with DC’s more gritty backdrop. There’s a lot of depth to the emotion of the movie, but most of the characters fall flat in comparison to the main few, those being Harley, Waller, Flag, and Deadshot. Even Katana and Diablo, who are given pretty fleshed out backstories and Diablo is even incredibly important to the plot, are pretty flat in comparison. Diablo, for his part, really just isn’t given enough attention. He doesn’t get enough screentime just dedicated to him, even though he’s one of the only characters with a backstory. It’s really the Harley and Deadshot movie with Waller and Flag guiding them along.

It’s impressive how it handles some of the characters’ emotional drives. Harley is given a lot of depth with her choosing her team over Joker, but there’s also ample energy given toward her dedication to him as a catalyst for her arc—her running out on the rooftop, all of her texts with him, and her backstory ultimately driving her into this situation in the first place. Deadshot, likewise, is given a lot of depth—his little girl is the driving force of his choices. I’m sure if it was just him on the line, he would’ve gone against Waller and Flag at the first provocation, but he has a kid to get back to and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t at least try. That said, it isn’t enough to pit him against the people on his team—that’s the whole reason he fakes out his miss on Harley.

What It Wasn’t

All that said, this isn’t a fantastic movie. It’s fun, it’s good, but it isn’t phenomenal. It certainly misses the mark on a lot of things, and one of those is the pacing and character development. I’ll get more into characters in my extended video review, but taking just Flag, who’s one of the more fleshed out characters other than Deadshot and Harley, there’s a lot of issues with consistency and interpersonal relationships.

The midpoint, where Waller has been collected in NYC, after she’s shot all the FBI agents in front of Flag, he just shrugs it off and soldiers on, like those were a bunch of the Enchantress’s minions. But he spends 75% of the movie railing on the villains, Deadshot especially, for being cowardly, immoral, and murderers. He shrugs it off as ugly necessity, like it’s literal shit on his heel and not people who probably had families. It’s a sudden, jarring introduction to a really hardened, jaded, just bootlicking version of Flag that we don’t really see outside of this scene. There’s a few points, sure, where he takes the hard choice for June’s sake, and for June’s comfort, but he doesn’t do anything at all like that, or pass off anything like that, before that or after. Frankly, it’s sloppy.

It wasn’t the best supervillain movie as far as cinematography or action sequences goes—that actually goes to its sequel The Suicide Squad, which I’ll probably review November or December. There was a lot of potential set up early in the movie for the action sequences, like the use of those toxic, neon colors and the glitchy filter on some of the flashbacks, but they’re set aside in favor of more established techniques, like slow-motion. It doesn’t hurt the film much, but it is disappointing in hindsight. It’s still pretty impressive—the character introductions are insanely fun, especially the “card” screens, and so are the flashbacks. There’s a lot more texture to the cinematography that I’ll discuss in my extended video review, but largely, there’s just a lot of missed potential.

More-over, it wasn’t an emotional masterpiece. Again, there’s a lot of depth in the emotion and the weight of the plot on the main few characters, but overall, there’s a big balance issue with how the emotional texture is divided up between the cast. Katana, Boomerang, Croc, and even Diablo to a large extent, aren’t given much emotional texture, if any at all—for Slipknot, this really isn’t an issue; he’s in the movie for all of ten minutes before he gets his head blown off, so. But this film has a lot of really interesting characters that aren’t utilized being their fighting skills, and it starts to take away from the tone by the time Waller has been retrieved.

Conclusion

Suicide Squad is cool. It’s fun, and it’s goofy and it doesn’t take itself too seriously despite the gritty setting and more intense subject matter it delves into. It touches on trauma, on grief, and on the complexities of humanity but it never really digs at that stuff. It’s great fodder for thought and contemplation, but it does leave the viewer wanting sometimes. Some characters are under-utilized; some suffer because of their legacy; and some are just there to support the more flashy folks.

Some love it, some hate it, but I’d say it’s worth the evening to find out where you land, and definitely worth it to check out The Suicide Squad, which fixed a lot of the issues of this first film.

[salty-accords]

re: hurricane helene hey, y'all. so... immense survivor's guilt, subsequent depression and an overall helpless malaise has made my presence on tumblr here weaker during this horrific time. but there's nothing like some good ol appalachian rage to light a fire under the proverbial ass so i'm back to push back on some of the bullshit i keep seeing get spread about what's happening in the aftermath of hurricane helene, and in western north carolina especially. 

appalachia has always been low hanging fruit for the rest of the nation, and now that disaster has struck and we are even more vulnerable than we have been in a long, long time, bad actors are using us as a way to further their political bullshit and conspiracies.

please use some of the cited-information below the cut to push back on and educate any family members, friends or otherwise when you see them spreading misinformation. now is your chance to help appalachia, no matter where you are in the united states. myths, rumors and other flavors of horseshit regarding hurricane helene debunked under the cut. please reblog.

Let me just get my heart out of the way before we get into the nitty gritty, cause I got things to say. #1: "Why should we help these people? They get these storms there all the time. They didn't move away or do anything to prepare for this, and now it's our responsibility?"

These storms are not at all commonplace. For much of this area, especially WNC, this level of flooding and damage--spanning an area the size of Belgium between NC and TN--is largely unprecedented. Growing up, we get told our mountains protect us, that they shield us from the really bad, and that's because historically, they have. Hurricanes blow through, and they bring with them hella wind and rain, but nothing like this.

We do not have the infrastructure for this, physical or otherwise. So many of our homes, businesses and everything in between have been standing for more than a century, unkept and brittle. Dams are breaking or near breaking because they are not meant to hold this kind of water. Our roads tend to follow creeks and rivers and thereby have been completely washed out. Keep in mind that in the individual hollers, and in most of these small mountain towns, we only got one road. You go up holler one way, and you don't come out the other side of it; you leave the way you came because it's the only path to take.

We are not built for this. We were not ready for this. We could not have prepared for this. And even if by some miracle we all received some premonition about this disaster, telling us to "just move" is NEVER the answer to vulnerable people living in volatile environments, especially ones as impoverished as Appalachia. Fuck you.

#2 "Appalachians are lazy and just want handouts, anyway."

First off--which one is it? Are we poor, pitiful fodder for concern trolls who deserve more than we're getting, or are we lazy, needy, greedy people who deserve to rot? Can't have both.

Second off--we been hearing that about us since the dawn of time. Wasn't true then, ain't true now.

Appalachia has been verifiably exploited as long as there have been people to exploit, but that is a topic long since discussed here.

We don't WANT anything. We NEED it. Alongside the aid coming in through donations, official search and rescue and organized volunteer services, much of the boots on the ground are Appalachians themselves!! We take care of our own, and it's always been that way.

They got people on foot hiking up into the hollers to bring supplies to cut-off communities. They got pack mules passing otherwise impassable roads where no car nor other vehicle can tread to get lifesaving necessities to the hollers. Look around, and you'll find countless stories. Just in my personal circle alone, I got a sister bringing supplies up by foot, and her hiking group is moving through so much toxic mud that the soles of their fucking boots are melting. I got a brother in law taking chainsaws to downed trees to clear the path for supply deliveries. I got another sister meeting friends of mine at the state line to collect donations and distribute them by hand to counties all over WNC. We can do this, but we can't do it alone.

#3 "It's a conspiracy/It's not that widespread outside of Asheville because we don't see pictures of anywhere else."

It's happening. It's fucking happening.

You don't see pictures because many of us don't have reliable cell service right now, let alone wifi. Hell, even in perfect weather there's a joke that you better have a friend with a cell phone from each provider when you go out because only one of you is getting service at any given time in any given place. There is no way to document this from the inside for many folks at this point in time, and there is NO WAY IN from the outside.

As I mentioned--you got one road leading up the holler. That road is now gone. No one is making it up the mountain to take pictures of these horrific scenes, y'all. If they're going up the mountain its to care for their neighbors, to bring supplies to individuals and entire communities so isolated by the devastation that the only way they can be reached is on foot (or hoof!).

Which also brings me to my next counterargument: "Nothing is being done to help."

#4 "Volunteers are being turned away/Donations are being confiscated."

Volunteers are being DISCOURAGED from coming in out of state, but they're not being told to leave with a malicious intent. And they are not even being forcibly denied. They can still come, but it's really not a good idea. As I mentioned, these roads wasn't meant to take this kind of damage. They are falling apart, and all this extra traffic coming in on these streets barely hanging on is making them worse and making it harder for organized relief and rescue operations to actually get in there. People are getting stuck and taking away time and resources that could be going to survivors. Outsiders with good intentions are eating up the scarce gas and using up even scarcer water. Some of these places, like Black Mountain, physically do not have enough hands to manage and distribute the amount of donations being brought in in, so they're getting rerouted. Donations are not fucking being confiscated.

#5 "They aren't letting people be rescued/They're closing the airspace off."

The airspace is OPEN, with some temporary restrictions in place by the FAA for civilians and volunteers. Civilians can still access airspace in coordination with officials and emergency responders. What they ain't allowing is people just flying in willy nilly. What they ain't letting in is unauthorized air traffic that is clogging up airspace which otherwise needs to be used by official aircraft to bring in donations/S&R groups. Airspace is still accessible in the area, but it's not safe to just have everyone with a big heart trying to search and rescue, especially with no training, organization or proper skills. What they ain't letting happen is people trying to take trucks up obliterated roads that can't be traveled, no matter how confident you are in your vehicle. Christ, y'all. The point isn't to add more bodies to the count!

#6 "National Guardsmen are being told not to go."

The National Guard HAS been deployed.

And in numbers, too. What you're hearing is rumor of people asking to be deployed and being told no, because that's not how it works. That's not how any of this works. People can't just rush in unorganized. There is a system. There has always been a system.

#7 "But I saw TikToks of people coming to help and locals shouting them out of town!"

Oh, honey. No, what you saw was people doing what they LOVE to do in Appalachia: take poverty tours. Record how we live. Post their poverty (and now disaster) porn with thoughts and prayers and oh those poor creatures to get likes. That's been happening to us since before TikTok. Before the internet.

During FDR's administration, photographers from the Farm Security Administration went down to collect poverty porn and turn it into Hollow Folk, a collection of photographs which was then used by eugenicists and corporations alike to dehumanize us further so we could be exploited and relocated with the favor of the nation behind them.

We're done with it. We been done with it. And now, in this time of crisis where people are DEAD, you're clogging up our roads, taking up our gas, AND shoving cameras in our face. Y'all ain't from here and now more than ever y'all kinds need to get the FUCK out.

✨ FEMA ✨

FEMA deserves its own section, because holy shit. I'm mad that I'm about to defend the man in any capacity but it needs to be done. So, I'm gonna preface this by saying, largely, fuck FEMA. There are many valid complaints against FEMA and their inefficiency, but right now is not the time to use them as a tool of misinformation against Appalachia. We got enough problems without pouring the salt of government conspiracies into these raw, gaping wounds that barely even have bandaids applied to them right now.

SO. Let's get into it.

#8 "This is all planned and by design/Don't evacuate, because FEMA is just gonna take your land and mineral rights!"

If they wanted the fucking lithium or anything else for that matter, they would just enact Eminent Domain. They don't need elaborate schemes and """weather control""" to take it. They can just literally... do it. Did we all fail civics in middle school?

(And this is purely anecdotal so I have no proof of this, but a friend of mine told me a few days ago people were actually being told NOT to evacuate in Lake Lure because they didn't anticipate the flooding to be this bad.)

What y'all SHOULD be worried about are these companies and their "disaster investors" who swoop in like fucking vultures and try to get people to sell their land before FEMA has a chance to assist them. These companies prey on the vulnerable, offering them quick cash for their land and for far less than they'd get if they held out for FEMA's relief instead.

#9. "But... but FEMA is only giving out a piddly $750 in relief!"

Yes, they are giving out $750. INITIALLY. This $750 is initial relief money for immediate needs. Medicine, food, supplies. It is NOT all that's being allocated to folks. From FEMA's website:

This is a type of assistance that you may be approved for soon after you apply, called Serious Needs Assistance. It is an upfront, flexible payment to help cover essential items like food, water, baby formula, breastfeeding supplies, medication and other emergency supplies. There are other forms of assistance that you may qualify for to receive and Serious Needs Assistance is an initial payment you may receive while FEMA assesses your eligibility for additional funds. As your application continues to be reviewed, you may still receive additional forms of assistance for other needs such as support for temporary housing, personal property and home repair costs.

A service being offered in the meantime, for example, is for temporary housing and you can still currently apply for it!

Long-term disaster relief funds are not being released immediately. That does not mean they do not exist.

Here is what FEMA has already allocated for North Carolina alone.

Please note I said "allocated" but not "paid out." Which brings me to my next point.

#10 "FEMA is giving their relief money to undocumented immigrants!"

This is false, and you can verify this for yourself. Cash payouts to undocumented immigrants isn't even a thing, dude. They haven't even paid out to citizens in their entirety yet. From the FEMA page "Questions and Answers for Undocumented Immigrants Regarding FEMA Assistance:"

This is in regards to STATE, LOCAL AND VOLUNTEER AGENCIES. Not through FEMA or any other federal programs. This is probably what people are hearing about, and not even bothering to look into it before running off to tell lies.

And in this, as you can see--undocumented immigrants who CAN receive assistance are not receiving cash. They are not just getting money handed over to them to spend on whatever your racist, xenophobic uncle thinks they are. FEMA is required by law to report on the use of their funds each month by the 5th day. Historically, it looks like it takes about a week for them to be posted. Keep an eye on this page to see for yourself in coming days that FEMA is not giving out money from their funds to immigrants.

#11 "But FEMA has appointees from Biden!!! How can we trust that this is the truth?!"

Please use critical thinking skills. Please, we beg. Yes, there are appointed FEMA officials from this administration, but there are also appointed officials from Trump's time in office. What sense does it make that during Trump's administration, FEMA employees were Good And Pure, and suddenly, just because they are active under Biden's administration, they are suddenly Evil And Corrupt? This is clear bias and has no solid footing.

Besides, the President doesn't even have any sway over FEMA funding like this. That is ALL congress.

H.R. 9747 "Continuing Appropriations and Extensions Act, 2025," which provides relief funding (among other things) for the 2025 fiscal year, was ACTIVELY VOTED AGAINST by Republicans, including Matt Gaetz and Marjorie Taylor Greene--two people spreading the bullshit the loudest. UGH. Okay. In exasperated conclusion: Please, please, PLEASE leave Appalachia alone and let us get back on our feet without having to constantly dodge dumbass conspiracy theories. We are heartbroken and grieving and would really appreciate a brief reprieve from being the nation's fucking punching bag. Help us, don't hurt us.

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Post-Helene Update (Oct. 10th)

Since Helene rolled through the Southest United States, namely Georgia, Florida, North Carolina, South Carolina, Virginia, and Tennessee, a lot has happened.

I can’t speak for those in other states, as keeping up with the Western North Carolina news is, at this point, its own necessary chore, but here’s what we know about the devastation and the recovery in WNC.

According to official reports, across the six states that were hit by Helene and continue to face the devastation of it, over 200 people have been confirmed dead. Over half of those people were in North Carolina, where our rivers flooded and fast water has destroyed entire communities. K-9’s and cadaver dogs have been out searching for victims, regardless of life status, for over a week now. Hundreds are still missing, and there have been difficulties identifying some of the dead.

President Joe Biden has set over 1,500 active-duty soldiers in the NC National Guard to join in the recovering efforts in North Carolina. They’re helping to deliver supplies, food and water to isolated communities.

There was significant damage to the lower land of the historic Biltmore Estate, including their farm. Overall, the Estate is mostly fine—some wind damage to their forested area—and people who worked there should be able to return to their day-to-day relatively easily in that regard. My heart goes out to those in more affected employment—it’s a stressful time financially, and Buncombe County is far from rich, so I’m thankful to the Recovery and Aid funding my community has been receiving to help support our long-term survival.

I encourage everyone effected financially by this disaster to contact your utility and internet/phone providers—many people are getting grace periods from companies, and if you live in an effected area like WNC, you might be able to have one less thing on your plate this month.

Speaking of, the severe flooding in WNC has stirred up colonies of yellow jackets, a stinging insect that many people are allergic to. These little fuckers are important for the ecosystem, and they’re out of home like many of us are, but please, keep your EpiPens and Benadryl on hand, and know where your friends keep their allergy kits—stings are more likely right now, and NC health officials are stocking allergy treatment to help address the issue, but practice caution when walking about, especially near dryer ground and wooded areas. Do not kick logs, move trees, over stamp on the ground unnecessarily without some protective clothing or precautions in place. Even for someone who isn’t allergic, a swarm of angry yellow jackets can be brutal, especially if you don’t have the means to treat the stings.

(To remove stingers and thorns from your skin, mix a few tablespoons of corn starch with a little less cold water—clean water—until you’ve got a thick, wet paste. Dab the paste on the sting or thorn sight and let sit and dry for about 10-20 minutes. Carefully remove the dried paste—it’ll be the consistency of a strange, dry crumbly cookie—and the thorn/stinger should be brought out with it. Clean with soap and warm water at least, but an alcohol wipe or hydrogen peroxide is preferable. Cover the injury with a bandage or gauze and salve.)

If you need further medical care, Mission Hospital in Asheville was only about 20% over capacity last week, and well-staffed considering the circumstances, and they’re steadily returning to normal operations. They’ll treat anything from toothache to trauma to allergic reactions. There are several disaster relief medical teams in the area helping our care providers and medical staff to keep people healthy and whole, so don’t feel like you’re a burden if you’ve only got something minor—it’s their job to help you, it’s what they went to school for and what they’ve dedicated a good portion of their lives to. Be polite, have respect for them and their time, and treat people with dignity. Then you’re good to go.

For those with prescriptions, you may be able to make use of the Emergency Prescription Assistance Program (EPAP), which could enable you to request a 30-day supply of some prescription medication at EPAP-participating pharmacies. Your prescription could be renewed every 30 days while the EPAP is active, and the program also pays for certain types of medical equipment and supplies, such as mobility aids, blood sugar meters, and blood sugar test strips—some vaccinations might also be covered. This program is for those who are completely uninsured—Medicaid, Medicare, Children’s Health Insurance Plan, and any other insurance disqualify you from the EPAP. I’ll cover this more thoroughly when I can.

Madison High School at 5740 US-25 in Marshall; Boone Drug and Healthcare at 345 Deerfield Road in Boone; 535 Morris Road in Brevard; and 315 Bethal Church Road in Mocksville are all potential spots for you to get your prescription refilled. Please call and ask your pharmacy for more information specific to your situation.

More on supplies, the Mountain Mule Packer Ranch is sending pack animal trains into the area, delivering things like ice for insulin, food and water, to the Swannanoa region. Thank you funky little dudes so much—I never thought I’d be so thankful for mules, but here I am. Tractor Supply and Food Lion locations have also been working with the Packer Ranch and their teams of mules to load up supplies. These amazing animals and their riders can reach people separated by washed away mountain roads that folks on foot or wheels just can’t right now, and they’re truly doing amazing work. Please, if you’re one of those people who can’t be reached by usual means right now, and you need supplies, don’t shy from reaching out to the Ranch—they’re good folks, dedicated, and I’ll link their Facebook down below.

Now, to address some of the fuckery… FEMA is not the same as the Shelter and Services Program—the SSP is administered by FEMA, yes, but it is funded through U.S. Customs and Border Protection, as directed by Congress. The SSP gives financial support to non-federal entities to provide shelter and related services to migrants following their release from the Department of Homeland Security. FEMA works with this program, yes, but they do not have control over it—Border Protection, Congress, and Homeland Security are much more involved as far as funding and allocation goes.

There are also over two dozen dams in the Western North Carolina area. On Sunday night, October 29th, in the Asheville area, there was a government level hoax that one of the dams in the area was actively breaking—it was not. It was horrifying; my entire campus was shaken and frantic. I recommend familiarizing yourself with the Dam Hazard Potential Classification of your local dams—there is significant risk of loss of life in these areas and they may be prone to flooding. Research your local dams and those of your family/friends, and come up with a game plan as to whether or not it’s needed for you to evacuate the area early in case of large storms, like Helene, in the future.

There’s also been something pretty significant happening next door in Tennessee: the Bureau of Investigation, as well as OSHA, have opened investigations into Impact Plastics, an Erwin plastics factory where at least three people died and ten went missing due to flooding from Helene. According to surviving employees, and families, the company threatened to fire anyone who left early on Friday night, September 27th. Dozens of Impact Plastics workers were trapped in the building; the flood waters had already risen to cover the parking lot and roads by the time they got the call to leave. The company denied flood warnings and alerts were issued at the start of the workers’ shift, even though there were flood warnings up and down the region from Tuesday onward. According to the company, these allegations are false—it’s hard to believe with dozens of people affected by this tragedy saying the same thing, though. In pictures of the plant after the flooding receded, you can see clearly the amount of damage that was wrought—paneling on the sides torn up and half-off, debris all over, the roads and grounds washed out. Words mean little in a time like this, I know, but my heart goes out to the families and the victims of this.

---

Description:

It’s over a week post-Helene, and post-evacuation for me. I’m trying to do my part and compile some information for folks—please, if you can, relay this to folks who don’t have internet or cell service. A lot of people don’t have access to communications right now, and it’s important for information like this to be accessible. If anybody in your life has limited internet access, this video will be uploaded to my YouTube channel, and the transcript (and full copy of the description) to my Patreon, Ko-Fi, and Tumblr for free. This is a tragedy, full stop, and I refuse to put any of this information behind a paywall.

If you need resources, I’ve listed/linked some below.

Mountain Mule Packer Ranch - (910) 885-1402 - info@mountainmulepackers.com - https://www.facebook.com/mountainmulepackersranch.

NBC News Live Updates from Initial Coverage Period - https://www.nbcnews.com/news/weather/live-blog/hurricane-helene-live-updates-rcna173767.

Healthcare Info - https://www.wral.com/story/hurricane-helene-leaves-western-north-carolina-hospitals-overwhelmed-federal-relief-arrives/21663631/ - https://aspr.hhs.gov/epap/Pages/default.aspx.

How to Help - https://www.fema.gov/press-release/20240928/how-help-after-hurricane-helene.

Hospitals and Supplies -

Prescription refills:

Madison High School at 5740 US-25 in Marshall

Boone Drug and Healthcare at 345 Deerfield Road in Boone

535 Morris Road in Brevard

315 Bethel Church Road in Mocksville

Hospitals and Care Tents:

Cannon Memorial Hospital, Avery County, NC

Medical Support Center in Caldwell County, NC

Watauga Medical Center, Boone, NC

Boone Medical, Boone, NC

Avery Medical, Newland, NC

Boone Dental, Boone, NC

Mission Hospital, Asheville, NC

Blue Ridge Regional Hospital, Spruce Pine, NC

Please, if you can, give to the Hurricane Relief Fund - https://gofund.me/8e1e9ae8.

---

This video was created using free resources from CapCut.

If you’re able, donating to my post-evac goal on my Ko-Fi would help me out a lot—I’ve gotta go back to school sooner or later, and I buy about all my own food (split with some friends), but we’re all out a lot of money because most of us work in the area. I’m gonna need groceries, and there isn’t much work to be had right now, given the time restraints. https://ko-fi.com/gemmasun/goal?g=0.

If you’re more interested in my services, I do editing and formatting, and give feedback on prose up to 5000 words, all through my Ko-Fi, so you can check that out. https://ko-fi.com/gemmasun/commissions.

My Linktree: https://linktr.ee/salty.unicorn.

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the thing is like. i get that it's scary and makes people who do desire to get pregnant uncomfortable when we talk about the brutality and violence of pregnancy and the damage that pregnancy can do to your body

but you deserve to give informed consent to that process.

the lies around pregnancy - that it's inherently safe, that it doesn't do you permanent damage, that it's only extremely rare for people to die of pregnancy complications, etc like

all of these are lies constructed so that more people will get pregnant w/o knowing all that

there needs to be more talk about the impact of miscarriages and how common they are, how different abortion processes are and how accessible they are

but also like. talking about how pregnancy fucks your body up should not be taboo

this is a process that permanently changes most people's bodies, and that's even if the pregnancy doesn't do them like. severe illness or injury

and i just think everybody should have a right to KNOW that

bc to live in a society that intentionally obscures and hides facts about a completely optional and dangerous process does so for a reason, and that reason is based in a very sinister ideology that does not value bodily autonomy or informed consent

[salty-accords]

WIP Novels Fragments #4

TW: Implied/Referenced Child Sexual Abuse; Horror Themes

These are more drafty than usual.

The porchlight was on, as it usually was this time of year. A beacon wandering dogs home from the fields. In times like this, Alice remembered that some people truly do treat their dogs better than their children. Soaked through as she was, she had no trouble with the rattly plastic handle of the screen door; the brass lever behind it was less cooperative and she fumbled to get the door unlatched for several minutes.

Such was the racket she made with the old doors, her shepherd, Bo-Peep, began an uproarious bout of howling. The Mini Aussie, eager in her alerting sonnet, jumped and scratched at the other side of the wood. Her high whines and insistent barks scrapped at the inside of Alice’s brain. She mumbled half-hearted assurances and comforts to her pup, likely inaudible to the old girl. The door finally cracked open, the sounds of sticky insulating rubber and too-tight wood grinding deafening in the tiny doorway.

“In—” Alice urged, using her knee to block Bo-Peep’s escape—“It’s not time for pasture; in, girl, in.” The fluffball whined pathetically at her entrance, hopping and wheeling around in place like a tiny gymnast. “Settle, Bo—settle.” Two fingers poised above the dog’s snout and she knew to back down, wiggling frantically even as she flopped into her practiced lie down. “Good. Good girl,” Alice soothed, catching one of her old pup’s ears in a palm to scratch gently under it.

Bo-Peep eased her incessant squirming and tilted into the affection with eagerness.

Alice pushed the deadbolt into place absent-mindedly, giving her darling dog a final pat on the top of her head before turning away from her and toward the dreaded stairs. Bo trotted after her, winding desperately around her legs like a cat, and whining. Resolutely, Alice did not give in to her begging, opting to march straight into the proverbial lion’s den.

___

Her pillow was cold from the draft in her bedroom, a stark contrast to the residual flush on her skin and the humidity from outside. There was a hole in the wall of her closet, just feet away, that let in air from the night outside. It blew through a tall hickory and was cool when it came in, even during the hottest summers. Mixed with the artificial breeze created by her ceiling fan, the draft created a perfect environment for Alice to settle into a restful night’s sleep.

At least, that’s what she told herself.

Alice did not sleep peacefully that night despite the warmth of her bed, the coolness of her pillow, the exhaustion in her bones, and the haze in her brain. Her mind was overcome with images and sensations: the pit in the road and the feeling of cold wind drifting out of it; that voice rambling nonsense; Eric’s hands, demanding and eager, on her back and her thighs. She tossed and turned for what felt like hours, never comfortable or secure in her privacy. It was like a million eyes were peeking out at her from the shadows. Never blinking. Never straying.

The sensation of being perceived prickled along her spine. Goosebumps crawled over her despite the warmth within her nest. A pit in her stomach formed, her throat closing as her anxiety rose again, threatening the cleanliness of her blankets with more sweat than she was already soiling them with.

Everything physical was so far away. Her blankets, her pillow, the rustle of leaves outside her bedroom walls. Despite her usual hyper-sensitivity to those things, the ghost of eyes and hands were much more real to her. The memories floated in front of her, her insides clenching protectively and heart hammering within her ribs.

She slammed herself onto her back, catching a whimper between her teeth. She clenched her thighs together under the covers, trying desperately to block the ghastly fingers’ access to her. The wind whistled somewhere, a high noise that sounded too much like air between teeth.

Something clacked against her window, sharp and heavy.

Alice bolted upright, scrambling to the foot of her bed, as far from her window as she could go with her trembling legs. From where she sat leaning carefully against the footboard, her window pane looked cracked. A wide, long spiderweb of fractures spread out from the center of the glass, stark and white against the dark backdrop of night.

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Empower a Student's Journey to Independence

Hello! I'm posting this to ask for some help in getting a friend to their fundraising goal--they're trying to become financially and emotionally independent from their abusive parents and grandparents, and going into higher-ed. soon. They will be eventually working and helping their siblings out their abusive home.

The goal right now is fairly small, and if you have a few dollars to spare, that would help tremendously. If not, please share this post or the link to their fundraiser. They're just trying to get themselves established and through the year.

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When you see a corporation not pay $16 BILLION in taxes, remember those corporations are funding Republican politicians who want you to be upset with immigrants and migrants.

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My cartoon for the Guardian Books autumn reading special.

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