#and i watched horrific news unfold

[theragamuffininitiative]

I don't need a vacation, I need a sabbatical, where I go live in an abbey in switzerland for six months where I read and garden and study and stare at the sky and learn about birds and make some art and write a lot and help feed the nearby village with the garden crops and there are no ads or algorithms or tv shows or fastfood restaurants and I walk into town once a week for phone and internet to check on friends and family and then I go away again and preferably there are cats and goats and those soft brown cows and one shaggy dog and I learn I have a new favorite constellation and type of flower and shade of green.

[heritageposts]

As a Black South African, watching these horrific events unfold, I cannot but reflect on my country’s own violent past. I recall the relentless planning and violence that accompanied the last decades of white South Africa’s attempts to make apartheid work. I remember the fears that grew among white South Africans as they put their trust in a sophisticated military capability, a conscription army, a nuclear weapons capacity and steadfast friends in the West, particularly the United States, Britain and France. It was the height of the Cold War and South Africa claimed to be the only democracy in Southern Africa, protecting “civilisation” from the encroaching threats surrounding it. Its military might and expansive police force were accompanied by a series of policies designed to maintain white minority rule. Each attempt to impose new such policies failed in the face of mass resistance. The more they failed, the more brutal the violence meted out by the military and the police with the encouragement of white politicians and a terrified white electorate. The “terrorists”, as the national liberation movements were referred to, could not be crushed by the mightiest army in Southern Africa. By mid-1985 a significant section of the white electorate and some in the ruling party realised that the problem of Black resistance was not going to go away. Something more drastic was going to be required.

. . . continues at Al Jazeera (16 Nov 2023)

[youraverageaemondsimp]

Entangled. // Aemond Targaryen x Niece!Reader x Alys Rivers

MDNI ; reader discretion is advised.

Summary: after so much loss, you had been betrothed and later married off to aemond as a means to put an end to the war, he takes you to harrenhal where you meet his mistress, Alys rivers. What can possibly unfold?

WARNINGS: dubcon (I'm not sure but I'm adding it just to be safe), unprotected sex, p in v sex, slight breeding kink, tiddy sucking, m/f/f, cunnilingus, threesome, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, polygamy(?), witch stuff, aemond x alys, alys x reader, aemond x reader, canon typical incest, war, loss, slight angst, slight fluff, contains spoilers for fire and blood, canon divergence, reader doesn't have a description. + not proofread.

A/N: here's a fic as promised before I leave for 2 weeks due to mid terms! hope you all enjoy it! // divider credit: @cafekitsune

WC: 2.8k

The war was devastating to you and your siblings, having lost both luke and jace, you were terrified for your life as well as your younger sibling's.

You watched as your family fell apart, slowly but surely, all of them ended up dying, leaving you and your younger siblings alone and estranged. The moment you heard your stepfather, daemon's, death; you knew that it was over, there was no more winning anymore.

Especially with Aemond surviving the fight.

Loss, Grief, and Sorrow were emotions you became familiar with.

You had to anyway.

Because with war, there would always be the plague of such pessimistic emotions that would follow, with every news it will only grow stronger.

Alas, the greens ended up winning the war.

And Alicent, as a way to make sure none of this repeats again, has quickly betrothed you to her second son, prince regent, Aemond, while your younger brother Aegon III was betrothed to Jaehaera.

It's not as if you and Aemond were on bad terms before the war, it would rather be described as more… tolerable. Aemond didn't hold any feelings towards you, neither negative nor positive.

Is what you had taught.

Until you found out that halfway through your wedding procession that it was Aemond who proposed the idea of marrying you to him, Alicent had only planned for Aegon and Jaehaera's betrothal.

You exchanged your vows half heartedly, and as soon as the wedding had ended, Aemond wasted no time and immediately whisked you away with him to Harrenhal, which he inherited and resides there to rule rather than at the keep.

You had not spoken a word to him ever since the departure. You did not want to.

Harrenhal looked and felt ominous, everything about it screamed danger, whether it was the rumours about the curses that surrounded this place, or just the overall aesthetics and appearance of it, it scared you.

You knew that it was destroyed and basically melted during Aegon's conquest, but it seemed Aemond had tried his very best to rebuild the place, yet the result was more horrific than it was ‘fixed’ you would've preferred if it had been just left untouched.

Aemond, wanting to go all the way with the formalities, he gave you a tour of the castle, before stopping in front of his chamber, a private residence where only he is allowed, “This is our chamber.” He said.

Ah yes, it also belongs to you now, doesn't it? You are his wife after all. You nodded, not wishing to speak to him, the guard opened the door.

As you both entered inside, there was already a woman who seemed to be waiting, as if she knew you both would be coming. “Aemond, you have returned.” She stood up from her seat, putting the book down, addressing him informally.

Not your grace, my prince or any formal title, just Aemond.

You took note of her appearance, hair as dark as the night sky, eyes that resembled emeralds, donning a valyrian steel necklace.

Alys rivers.

Aemond's mistress.

“Alys, I have not permitted you to enter my chambers.” Aemond speaks calmly, not realising the awkward situation that has occured with you in the room. “Oh come on Aemond, do not be so cold, Is she your wife?” She turned the conversation to you and you wished the ground would swallow you whole because of the tension in the air.

“Yes, she is.” Aemond confirms and she hums, “And you must be his mistress.” You speak, breaking the silence you maintained all throughout, acknowledging her presence, catching her by surprise. “Oh? You're know of me?” she asks and you nod, “How can i not? When there's words of your presence infiltrating every corner of the world, after all, Who could the prince have taken as a mistress after his betrothal to Floris broke?” You question, eyebrows raised, you see Aemond visibly tense, likely feeling the tension now.

“What have you heard of me, Princess?” Alys asks, tilting her head to the side, “That you are very beautiful, eyes that shone brightly like the stars amidst the night sky; that is your hair.” You tell her truthfully making her lips break into a smirk, “And what else?” She doesn't break eye contact, it's your turn to smirk now, “That you must wield powers, which you had used to bewitch the prince.” You watch as her smirk turns into a smile, “What exactly are you implying princess?”

“That you are a witch.” You put implication on the word ‘witch’, Aemond coughs awkwardly and her chuckle breaks the silence and you giggle as well, “And what do you think of it?”

Why was she so curious to know of your opinion?

“Mhm, I cannot speak for everyone, but I do not believe it, I can say that for sure.” You tell her your opinion, “And why is that so?” she asks, “Because- it's just my opinion.” you shrug and she smiles.

“Alys, you can leave now.” Aemond interferes, kicking her out and you give her a smile which she returns as she leaves the chambers. “I apologise.” Aemond expresses his apology. You simply ignore him, not wishing to speak to him.

He sighs in annoyance, “For fucks sake why can't you just talk to me? You were speaking a lot to Alys when she was here.” He breaks his formality and that's when you turn to him, “There you are uncle, I was getting bored with the formality you have shown me, pretending as though nothing happened, that your family did not just kill my family.” You say in anger.

“It's over now.” He says and you scoff, “Over?! What do you mean over?! What about the grief that I carry? The loss of my brothers, my mother, my father??! It's destroying me from the inside out!” You shout and Aemond stands still, looking down as if in regret.

“You are not the only one that has experienced grief.” He murmurs and before you can say anything, he lifts his head up and looks at you in the eyes and you immediately stop yourself from speaking.

That's right.

You aren't the only one that has experienced grief, you suddenly remember helaena and jaehaerys. You bite your lip in thought.

“I'm aware that you have experienced more loss than me, more grief than me, some directly caused by me, but that doesn't mean I'm not a victim of it either.” He sighs, “Either way, there is no use of dwelling over the past, we need to put our differences aside and make this work, you saw what happened. War will only make it worse.”

You hated that he was right.

You watch as he comes closer and you don't move away, he wraps his arms around you, embracing you, it feels so comforting, when was the last time you were held like this? You hug him back, burying your face into him, breathing his scent.

“I, I know this will not solve anything that has happened, or bring your brother back to life, but I apologize, I hope we can put our past behind us.” You hear him speak as you zone out in the comfort of his arms, slowly drifting off to sleep.

Ever since then, you and Aemond had grown closer a bit, trying your best to make everything work, he had bedded you during the days that followed, consummating your marriage. But he still laid with Alys.

You did not mind, because though you had gotten closer, you didn't always want to be around him and Alys helped you greatly with that, keeping him away from you.

You were sitting in the library of Harrenhal, reading on the chaise until you heard the door open and watched as Alys entered the room. “Greetings Princess.” She bows slightly and you raise your eyebrow, “You can drop the formalities Alys, you referring to me formally while being informal with my husband will make it seem like I'm that one mean wife who has forced herself between two star crossed lovers.” You close the book you were reading and she chuckles, “As you wish, Y/N.” she refers to you by your name and you smile. “What is that you require from me?” You ask and she shrugs, “I simply wanted to see you, see how you are doing.” She says and you nod, “Hmm.” you hum.

“Has anyone ever told you that you are delectable?” She suddenly says and you look at her, “I've gotten compliments, yes, but not to that extent.” you tell her honestly and she hums. “Well, you are extremely pretty. Almost makes me want to-” She interrupts herself with a cough and you raise an eyebrow, “Make you want to?” You question, and she looks at you, “Have you for myself.” She says directly to your face, catching you off guard. “Oh?” You smirk, “You wish to steal me from the prince? He might see it as an offence.” you tease and she chuckles, “Maybe.” She smirks and suddenly it feels as if the entire power dynamic has changed. You clear your throat in an attempt to deviate from this conversation and try to start another one.

Encounters like that had become more frequent with Alys, she was being flirty indirectly, she had even done it in front of Aemond to which he didn't bat an eye to.

You had tried your best to remain composed, only to find yourself in a situation you didn't quite expect.

Your legs were held spread open by Alys as she laid behind you, your back against her chest, you could feel the softness of her breasts against your back as she kissed your neck.

You gaze falls on Aemond who was currently undressing, he was taking off his breech which revealed his hard cock, to which he gave a few pumps to ease the tension, “Come on Aemond, don't take way too much time.” Alys coos and Aemond obeys, lining his cock to your cunt, sliding it down your fold, gathering the wetness on his cock and later placing his tip against your entrance.

He then slowly pushes inside, causing you to gasp and grip the sheets below, Alys’ hands travel up to your torso and she grabs your breasts, playing with the nipple as she continues placing kisses on your neck.

Aemond fully sheaths himself inside you, grunting when he feels you clench around him, “Fuck, I love this cunt so much.” He groans before drawing his hips back and pushing forward, thrusting. “I know right? Been wanting to taste it for a while, let me at it when you're done.” Alys replies to him, she turns your face sideways and presses her lips against yours, kissing you.

Aemond's tip prods at the sweet spot located inside of you, causing you let out a loud moan into Alys’ mouth to which she chuckles, one of her hands leave your breasts and go to your cunt, she rubs small circles on your clit, elevating the pleasure you're feeling, and before you know it, your orgasm hits you as you come all over his cock, clenching him, causing him to moan and eventually finish inside you. He pulls out slowly, his cock beginning to soften.

Alys is swift in her movements, moving from behind you to facing you from the front, she pushes you further up the bed before lowering herself down to the level where she is face to face with your cunt, she hums in delight as she watches Aemond's spend ooze out from you.

Her tongue collects some of it before she licks a long stripe up to your clit, before engulfing it completely with her moan, which causes you to throw your head back in place. Your hand flies to her head to grip it, your fingers locked in her tresses. You whimper as she pulls on your clit with her mouth, nibbling it. She travels a little down towards your hole and pushes her tongue inside, fucking you with it, her nose rubbing against your clit.

You watch as as Aemond begins to harden again, he positions himself behind Alys, grabbing her by her hips and lifting her lower body up, You feel Alys moan against your cunt as she feels him enter her, her body rocks back and forth as he thrusts into her, she uses your thighs as a leverage to keep her steady, annoyed by the fact that he's using so much force to the point her face keeps leaving your cunt, her tongue swirls around your clit which causes the band in your stomach to snap, you gasp out her name and she moans into your cunt as she reaches her orgasm, teeth clamping down onto your clit but not too harshly yet enough to cause slight sting. Aemond pulls out before he can finish inside her, finishing on her back.

Why did he not finish inside her?

The thought flies over your head as they swiftly change positions again.

Another round? You're already too overstimulated from the previous pleasure.

Aemond lays down and pulls you on top of him, you lay your hands flat against his chest and balance yourself, he lifts your hips up and lines his cock against your entrance again before sinking you down on it, letting out a groan. “Seven hells, I just can't get used to this cunt no matter how many times I take it.” He grunts, “Sit on my face, Alys.” He looks at her and she smiles, immediately obeying, she faces you and you watch as her cunt hovers right above his mouth before she descends to it, his tongue immediately capturing her sex.

You slowly start moving your hips, causing Aemond to groan against her cunt, one of his hands remains firmly on your hip as the other travels to Alys's thigh, gripping it for leverage.

‘This is what heaven probably feels like’ Aemond thinks.

You bounce up and down his cock, Alys leans towards you to capture your lips into a kiss and you let her, your hands roam all over her body before reaching her breasts, you give a slight squeeze to them, making her breath hitch. She kisses downwards your neck, to your breast before taking your nipple in her mouth.

She suckles on your tit while maintaining eye contact with you, and you can already feel the third orgasm of night beginning to build up. She moans with your breast in her mouth causing pleasant vibrations to shoot up your skin, it seems as if she had reached her peak.

She quickly get off of Aemond's face and he sits up, fully focusing his attention onto you now, pressing a kiss to your lips, you can feel the taste of Alys’ essence on his tongue as he shoves in your mouth, deepening the kiss, he ruts into you at a speedy pace and pulls away from the kiss, to watch your tits bounce up and down as he thrusts upwards.

His mouth descends onto one of them, tongue playing with the bud, flicking it up and down, “I can't wait to see these swell with milk when my seed takes, I bet you'd taste so fucking good.” He growls, biting your nipple making you wince.

And it isn't long before you reach your third orgasm of the night, moaning his name loudly as you finish on his cock, and he once again finishes inside your cunt, filling you up with his seed, painting your walls.

You fall slumped onto his shoulder, exhausted from all the intimate acts you have committed with Aemond and his lover, and practically your lover too now.

He pulls you off him and lays you down next to him gently, pressing a kiss to your forehead, you watch as Alys lays on your stomach, and she turns to press a kiss to your lower abdomen, right where your womb was located and whispers some words which you couldn't make sense of.

She then climbs up further and lays beside you, hugging you close to her chest and Aemond pulls you both into an embrace.

“She'll soon give birth to children that will look like the three of us.” Alys says to Aemond and he hums, “How?” You question, furrowing your eyebrows and she chuckles, “Maybe that being a witch rumour wasn't false after all.” She says and you gasp, “Though, I never really bewitched the prince, I never had to.” She chuckles and leans over to kiss Aemond before falling back to place.

You thought Alys was just bluffing and joking at that time, until you gave birth to twins months later.

Who ended up having features of all three of you, your son, having one emerald green eye and one purple eye with your hair colour, and your daughter with platinum blonde hair with your eye colour and facial features of alys.

You wondered how she'd done it.

— !  ݈݇- thank you so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed it <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated greatly ♡

[figcookie01]

some queer and misc. analysis of trish una

im not sure if everyone saw my addition on this post here proposing the theory that bucciarati is a "parental" character in a non-traditional and queer sense, but i wanted to continue that discussion by talking about trish now.. since to me, she has what could be described as araki's first attempt at a true character arc for a female character, who simultaneously has elements that read like queer self-actualization that we watch unfold throughout the story.

for the purposes of this analysis, what is important to recognize about trish's introduction is how she is figuratively (team bucciaratis mission to protect her will get them closer to giorno/bucciaratis goals) and literally (his only known relative and identifiable factor at the start) linked to her father; she loses her mother (loving supportive family), is thrust into a horrifying world out to harm her for factors beyond her control, and is expected to blindly trust her father and by extension his men assigned to protect her. its no wonder she is so guarded, but my point here is how this establishes trish as starting off vulnerable and uncertain of the world she's inadvertently embroiled in beyond her safe upbringing with her mother.

nevertheless, trish is repeatedly described as having the willpower to figure these things out for her own sake, and a tenacity for these frightening events (la squadra's attacks) beyond that on the average person. both giorno and abbacchio mention it at different points (although abbacchios line is changed to narancias in the anime).

perhaps the most notable early example of her gumption is what she first says at the end of the grateful dead/beach boy fight. although bucciarati is not at liberty to answer her questions about both why she is being attacked, and also what the truth about these strange powers are.

however, id argue this is in line with what has been previously established for bucciarati's character to say; that it is up to trish herself to determine what these things mean, especially if they are related to her intrinsic identity.

this continues once they arrive in venice at the church, where we get to see trish's human vulnerability and fear. something i find particularly interesting is that, above all else, she is afraid of the uncertainty about what her father will be like and her personal fate.

this was one of the original things i wanted to talk about under a queer reading; for a queer person to come out to their family, there sometimes may be a concern about alienation of self. that is, coming out may, figuratively and literally, feel like you are revealing an entire side or life you live that they know nothing about. it may be about seeking approval from those who are, in many cases, a major part of life and your upbringing; she wants this week from hell to be over so she can return to some semblance of normalcy as herself, and her father is her only hope for this then.

something of particular note that bucciarati responds with is the probability that she will be given an entire new identity and forced to uproot even further, separated in even her most fundamental identity from the life she once led for the sake of her fathers comfort. even before the horrific reception her father gives her, trishs chances of being accepted as she is and loved are poor, a matter that might be incredibly common for people who try to express who they really are to unwelcoming families.

in trishs case, diavolo has literally never met her at all in any capacity, nor was he present in her upbringing; there is an extra factor of blind faith she must put into him. but he is the only biological "family" shes got; we will talk about nontraditional families and team bucciarati in a moment.

for this reason, bucciarati assures her (whether it is of his own doomed naivety or something else entirely) that a family will love you no matter what, because thats what they do. its a value that, up until that next moment, was something he himself had complete faith in.

as the rest of this arc shows though, that wasnt the case for trish, and never would be.

the events at san giorgio are the turning point for the entirety of vento aureo, with trish at the center of it all. and while this analysis is focused on trish, i wanted to include how it is also an earth-shattering moment for bucciarati, now faced with the culminating reality that the boss never gave a shit about family in the first place, and was only after his selfish desire to be unknowable. his attempted murder of his innocent civilian daughter invokes, to me, the needless cruelty some unaccepting families may have towards their children upon coming out or other realization that their child is both related to them, but not in a way they deem acceptable.

while it is laid out rather straightforwardly, this needless cruelty from biological family is relatable enough to change narancias mind and follow bucciarati after he betrays the gang; cementing once more that the only bonds of trust these characters have are with one another, since not even their biological families will care for them, let alone society.

at the restaurant in venice, narancia is still fearful about how trish will receive this absolute rejection, but her reception is surprisingly determined.

in the past, ive seen this scene used as the real point where trish as a female character finally comes into her own as a person, but as we previously established, she really had it in her all along, and it was only put to the test then (more on her innate courage in a moment).

trish, like the rest of team bucciarati, has no choice but to persist as she is, to exist as her own person even if all the odds are against her. not only this, but she tentatively decides to join in bucciaratis cause, a move that she explains as just to find her own origins or die trying. at this point, her motive might be concerned only with herself, but throughout the notorious BIG fight, that matter changes.

aboard the plane to sardinia, trish grapples with the willingness of team bucciarati to pursue diavolo, even after they no longer are required to protect her. i would say this is when she begins to feel comradery with the team and their cause to exist boldly in the face of someone all-powerful (diavolo) who wishes they were dead, rather than just being someone or something reduced to a secondary role (although how shes treated after this fight is another story...)

the moment trish realizes that she alone can save giorno (and therefore, the entirety of the team), she is struck with the final dilemma of whether or not she wants to get involved with all of these things on the front lines. she decides she does, without being fully conscious of it, because of the courage now awakened and manifested in-full as her stand, spice girl.

spice girl is unique as a stand for being one of the few that seems to have her own consciousness, although it really is a part of trishs consciousness that was always a part of her, now fully realized in literal, physical form.

the courage required for her stand to now fully manifest was in her all along, and under a queer lens this could be likened to a person now being able to live authentically as they are, the incongruity mostly solved now that she has grown as a person and has a (support) group/system of those who have had similar experiences.

notorious BIG concludes with trish delivering her own beatdown and saving all of the team, seeming to fully cement her as a force to be reckoned with within the jojo universe and her nuanced personhood that had been building this entire time.

all this in mind, this isnt to say that trish's character doesnt feel stunted by araki after this point, for no other reason than misogyny. her destruction rank-A level stand and fighting prowess is forgotten after they arrive in sardinia, and during the green day/oasis fight she is conveniently relegated to the caretaker position for narancia, even if giorno is the "healer" and her own stand stronger than his in combat. i would argue the biggest injustice towards trish as a fully fledged character was the enforcement of these stereotypically feminine roles on a character who, as weve just discussed, has learned to be confident, courageous, and unapologetically herself throughout the entirety of vento aureo.

when i first set out to write this post, i was concerned with talking about trish from an almost entirely queer angle. it evolved, then, into something much more full-bodied, with that being simply one lens you can apply to her character arc.

id love to discuss these things (and the stuff in my bucciarati analysis) at greater lengths, and also want to say that despite writing this over a period of time, i may have messed up my wording or made points that seem like reaches... none of this is meant to speak for the experiences of any real person, and are rather generalizations. i hope that regardless of these things, more people can see vento aureo for the narrative value i really think it has, especially to the queer fanbase who, including myself, may relate heavily to the subtextual experiences depicted.

special thanks to @fur-bee for going through this with me and giving me key insights and for my other friends to proofread and such :D

[dia-smthidk]

Pomni looks fantastic with a ponytail (I think that's what her style is called?). and I firmly believe she should go hatless more.

Nine lives??? Oh God how much do they remember between lives? Do they remember everything until the darkness finally takes them? Is the pain of death the first thing they wake up to after resurrection?

Resurrected in the bloody waters of the digital lake. A baptism of blood, that's metal as fuck. Will we ever get to see that?

(Lotta guessing here) Knowing what we know of TADC and Kaufmo's fate... The implication that on a 10th resurrection everything that you are is consumed (or worse, subsumed) by an unspeakable horror while your body is contorted in terrifying ways to suit its new owner... That's miles worse than Abstraction. Christ alive.

This AU and your artwork are a horrific, self-replenishing meatcake, keeping us poor sods stuck in the trenches well fed until the next episode (and then hopefully beyond!)

You dropped this, your majesty: 👑

If she keeps that thing off for too long she’d probably pass out (/j) 

2. They remember pretty much everything, though sanity loss might start to affect that. At first they’d feel the sting of whatever killed them, then a hunger, causing them to kinda just throw up on the spot, but still feel hungry- for flesh :) 

3. Eh, depends on whatever future me plans, but for now, I have something planned that still involves the Digital Lake & its virus-warped abilities, such as dealing with missing limbs from AIs (tiny hint for a certain upcoming Caine & Pomni related comic teehee) 

4. And that’s why you shouldn’t leave the tent when the Moon is out of hiding :D

Ahuhuhu you’re too kind, all of you are, seriously it’s quite refreshing. I’m glad I can turn my delusions into something intriguing for other fellow Tumblrians to watch unfold before their very eyes 🫶

[lavendertales]

Love is the devil—Javier Peña x f!reader

Chapter 15 of the Unholy series

summary: at Steve’s birthday party (and the celebration following Escobar’s demise), things get a little emotional for you and Javier—as well as tense.

word count: 5.3k

WARNINGS: brief mentions of PTSD; alcohol, soft & gentle Javi, allusions to masturbation & sex.

AGELESS/EMPTY BLOGS & MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED!

gif: @joel-millerr​  

series masterlist | AO3 

The blood spills all over your clothes, hands and feet, and fear courses through your veins. It freezes your body altogether, immobilizing your limbs as you watch the scene unfold for the millionth time. No matter what you do, you cannot stop the catastrophe from happening. You cannot stop the bloodshed, the pain, the horrific aftermath.

Even after you wake up, the sentiment remains deeply imbedded in your brain and bones alike, shaking you up completely.

You basically chug your coffee, in a lame attempt to rid yourself of the phantom sensation of Carrillo’s blood over you, but it doesn’t do much for you. It does warm up your extremities, though, so you take every little win you can.

The past three days have been buzzing with celebrations all over Colombia, as well as all over the world. The news that Pablo Escobar’s reign has come to an end took over the world, and you were undoubtedly eased as well. You heard about Trujillo and Steve’s heroic moment, how the two of them caught and executed Escobar on the spot, and you couldn’t have been prouder. Part of you does wonder how come Javier missed the once in a lifetime opportunity to be perceived as the third hero in this story, but you needn’t ask yourself too much why.

That time, you lost yourself. Although you would never have done it, your emotions ultimately prevailed, and you now sincerely regret it.

The raw truth is that your father was never there. You only saw him three or four times a year, and each time he gave you a quick hug before heading out again, leaving you in a state of confusion. You were alone when you were born, and you remain so today.

And it wasn’t fair to yourself, after all, to distort the image of a paternal figure to the point of pushing away the most influential and constant presence in your life. In the end, Javier was the one perpetual element you could always count on no matter what.

So when you return to the office, one sunny morning, you’re greeted by all your colleagues, equally enthused—perhaps for several reasons, not just your appearance.

“Are you back? Please tell me you’re back,” Sofia nearly begs, holding your hands into hers.

“I’ll be back on Monday. Although I’m not sure for what, now that Escobar is gone.”

“Well, the Cali cartel is gaining terrain and power, so that’s a whole other thing now. And—“

Sofia pauses, catching your attention. “What?” you ask.

“Oh. They—didn’t tell you.”

“Who’s ‘they’? And tell me what?”

“Okay. Uh… Javi was assigned as the lead for the Cali operation, and… he recommended Steve, me and you for the mission.”

The news surprises you in a way you wouldn’t have expected it, and you make no attempt at concealing that.

“He wanted Trujillo too, but he actually resigned yesterday, so,” Sofia goes on.

“Huh. So… the four of us are going to Cali?”

“We’re going to Cali.”

She hugs you briefly, missing out on the confused expression on your face as you scan the room. In this moment, as your anger has finally vanished completely, you seek Javier. Your eyes seek him out relentlessly, yet he seems nowhere to be found.

The next person to greet you is Steve. He also draws you closer for a hug that you happily reciprocate.

“How have you been?” he asks immediately.

“Better,” you say, and you believe yourself, finally feeling your words to be true. “Really better.”

“I’m glad to hear it. It’s been a rough couple of months for you, huh?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Listen, since I got you here… Connie and I were talking and we wanna do a little celebration at our place tonight. She may have insisted because of my birthday too, but… yeah, you know how it is. Happy wife, happy life.”

“It’s your birthday?”

“Yeah, it’s this weekend.”

You hug him again, truly happy to feel like you have made at least a couple of friends throughout your time in Colombia. “I’ll be there,” you tell him with a smile on your face.

“I should probably warn you, Javi’s coming, too.”

You hold your breath, and it’s probably visible on your face, but it is way past playing pretend with Steve.

“That’s okay,” you concede. “I figured he would.”

“You sure it’s okay?”

“Yes. Worst comes to worst, I’ll sit in a corner with Sofia and Connie.”

“You’re still not on speaking terms, I take it.”

“About that, uh… is he around? I haven’t seen him.”

Steve’s eyebrows lift in surprise as he looks around. “He was here like two hours ago. But then again, he stayed throughout the night, so he might’ve left to sleep.”

Your brows crease in confusion, yet you do not ask for more. You can only speculate the reason behind Javier’s habit of pulling all-nighters again. Was he avoiding you? Probably not on purpose, but it certainly did create quite a beneficial side effect.

You decide not to overthink anything. For now, you try to take one thing at a time.

“There’ll be alcohol, by the way,” Steve informs you like he had just read your mind.

Your face lightens up and you even sport a dashing smile across your face. “Perfect,” you joke.

But not really.

Because you will need booze if you have to spend the entire celebration evening with your coworkers and Javier lurking about.

The thing about your family is… you’ve never really had one.

Your grandmother, may she rest in peace, was the one who took care of you, cooked for you, helped you with homework and everything else in between. She was both a mother and a father to you, so when she passed away, you were heartbroken, to say the least. That’s when you decided to do something useful with your life, to fight like she fought for you. So you began your training and later joined the DEA office in New York.

You didn’t know your mother. She left you and your father when you were born, and you never heard from her again. You tried to track her down over the years though, and eventually managed to get some information about her, but you never spoke to her. She felt too far out of reach, too much of a stranger to begin having a relationship now. When you heard she passed away, it wasn’t that traumatic, though it carried no shortness of pain and guilt. At least for a little while.

And your father… well. Now that you have the full picture, you see your childhood in the clearest picture possible. He tried, when you were still a toddler, to be there and do everything, but he always struggled with money. Your grandmother managed to put food on the table thanks to her rather generous pension, but your father could not stand the idea of being the man of the house and having his own mother still provide for him and his child. So he went traveling for a few weeks, only to return a completely changed man. He was in a better mood, seemed healthier and happier, and proudly announced that he found a job as a traveling salesman. You remember the moment he had cupped your cheeks and told you, with happy tears in his eyes, that neither of you will have to struggle again. He told you that you will have everything you need, and that he will take care of it.

From thereon after, you only saw him three, four times a year, maybe five if you were lucky.

So you were never close with him either. The only family you ever know, your grandmother, passed away peacefully after you graduated from college. The timing had been perfect, come to think of it: you had been trying to figure out what to do afterwards, and when you bid your goodbye to her, it hit you. You knew what you had to do.

You’ve thought about your life from every possible angle for the past few weeks, every single day, without fail. The anger you once felt has evaporated, much like a boulder has been lifted from your shoulders, no longer forcing you to carry such a heavy burden. There was only understanding and regret to be felt.

And a certain type of yearning that almost felt debilitating in its complexity.

You both dreaded and longed to see Javier tonight. More so because you wanted to make things right, express your understanding of his choice, and, most importantly, let him know that you would’ve followed the same course of action.

It wasn’t even about duty per se. It was about doing the right thing. And Javier did the right thing.

So you take a deep breath now as you finish applying your makeup and give your outfit one last look in the mirror in an effort to calm your worries and clear your mind. There is no denying your nervousness.

You start to create a mental picture of Javier, trying to recall every detail of him because it feels like eternity has passed since you last saw him. You can still picture his full lips, moustache, and light stubble, which tickle just right when he is tucked in between your legs. You can also picture his brown, gentle eyes that get dark with lust, his brown hair that is so lovely to pull, and his aquiline nose.

And your craving feels insatiable at this very moment.

It is no simple carnal desire. It stretches far beyond that; it’s a desire to hold close, to have and appreciate the one constant you’ve had throughout your life. You want him to understand everything about you lately, and you want to apologize, to be held in his arms again.

You wonder what he’ll wear tonight. Those tightly fit jeans that make your eyes follow his silhouette around? Paired with his trademark leather jacket, perhaps? Chances are yes, but regardless of what he’ll be wearing, you’ll be eyeing him up and down still. Waiting, wondering, craving.

You carefully place the bottle of wine in the gift bag, grab your purse and hit the road, taking a cab. You reason that since there will be drinking during the party, you will undoubtedly require a ride home.

There’s more people on the street like never before, and you know well the reason why. You’ve never seen people in town be happier. All they’ve done was be subjugated and barely allowed to mourn their loved ones, and naturally, now that Escobar’s reign of terror was over, people felt a little more confident walking on the streets after dark. There was a new threat, namely the Cali cartel that was rapidly rising to power, but for now, the people could be allowed to celebrate.

“Aquí estamos, señora.”

You struggle to ignore the fact that the driver addressed you as “ma’am” as you pay the driver and proceed to Connie and Steve’s apartment. You recall your encounter with Javier the last time you were there, as well as the unexpectedly pleasurable events that ensued.

When you knock on the door, you hear the music booming from beyond it, and the indistinct chit-chatter of those already present. You’ve made it an hour and a half later than the agreed upon hour, but it seems you arrived right on time. When Steve opens and welcomes you in, you already see Connie and Sofia giggling next to the couch, their cheeks crimson-flushed; Trujillo is there as well, immersed into a conversation with one of the FBI guys, Hugo, and finally—

“Hi,” Javier greets you, barely able to hold your glare.

“Hi,” you reply.

Unbeknownst to you, Connie makes a shocked face somewhere in the back, immediately joining Steve.

“Whoa!” he exclaims, examining the bottle of wine you brought. “This is an expensive brand.”

“Well, I got the money for it.”

“Did you rob a bank or—?”

You chuckle. “We have the same job.”

“Yeah, but nobody joins the DEA for the financial benefits.”

“I don’t really go out or buy things, so I thought you should have something nice.”

“Very much appreciated.”

He gives you another hug before expressing pain as Connie snatches his arm and turns him in her direction.

“Are you insane?!” she whispers maddened.

You have enough decency to pretend like you don’t hear them, even though you already know the reason for all the hush-hush business.

“Ow!” Steve whispers back. “What?”

“You invited both of them tonight?! There’s gonna be a bloodbath in here!”

“I told her Javi’s gonna be here, she said it’s fine. They’re grownups, they can handle it.”

“Yeah, but—“

“I double checked with her, it’s fine!”

“Uh, excuse me,” you smile at them, “not to burst your little bubble, you’re doing great at hiding in it, but I’m fine. We’re here to celebrate Steve’s birthday and the fact that he and Trujillo ended Escobar, so that’s what we will do.”

Connie squeezes your hand, smiling at you just as Sofia joins your side and clings to your arm.

“Can I get you something to drink?” Connie offers.

When you make eye contact with Javier, on complete mishap, you quiver.

“Please,” you tell her, and both the girls giggle.

That’s exactly what you do: you hold your wine in one hand while, ostensibly, holding Sofia close to you in the other. Her flushed cheeks and the warmth that emanates from her and onto you are both indicators that she is already tipsy.

“Are you okay?” you ask her, somewhat amused.

“We finally get to relax a bit,” she exhales. “I am ready to kick back, drink and have fun.”

You suddenly recall the last time you went out with Sofia and she said the same expression, more or less, and you stifle your giggle.

“Just mind which palate cleanser you pick tonight,” you seemingly warn. “There’s four guys here tonight, and one of them is spoken for.”

Connie raises her brows, exchanging a surprised look with Sofia. They both stare at your afterwards. “What about Javi?” Sofia asks.

“What about him?”

“Oh, please! You’ve been here for two minutes and he cannot stop staring at you!” Connie practically laughs. “And you’re sneaking glances at him, too! Would you just quit this nonsense and talk it out? I know it’s been rough between you two, but I think—“

“Speaking of which, whatever happened with you and Javi? I never found out,” Sofia says with an adorable pout grazing her lips. “It’s unfair.”

You hesitate for a brief moment, unsure if you should go around spreading such a personal affair to people, but you’ve grown close to Sofia. You know you can trust her. Besides, what does it matter now? The deed is consumed.

And the worst is over.

“As it turns out, my dad was working for Escobar and, during one of the earlier missions, three years ago, Javier killed him. He was following Carrillo’s orders, and my dad was… ruthless. He had no choice. And he did the right thing.”

Sofia nods along your story, taking the occasional sip from her wine, while Connie reaches around your shoulders to hug you.

“That’s—a lot,” Sofia concludes. “I’m so sorry to hear that, I—“

“It’s fine. Really. I was never close with either him or my mom, so. No harm, no foul. Definitely no real loss.”

Both of them hug you, and Javier catches the scene unfold from across the room. The moment tugs at his heart, making him feel like someone’s dragging it through gravel.  He respects your personal space and he does his absolute best to keep his distance from you, and that is no easy task.

You’re… fuck. You’re as gorgeous as ever. The makeup, the way those jeans embrace your legs and your ass, the way you’re stealing the occasional glance down his way… fuck, fuck, fuck. He’s on the verge of a breakdown, and the fact that you are essentially forbidden fruit makes it all the more enticing.

But he meant it. He won’t go near you, not unless you want him to.

By the looks of it, you might never want to. You’re mentally throwing daggers at him just with your eyes. Who knows what will happen if you’ll truly be in his vicinity?

“So you’re really okay being here tonight?” Sofia checks with you.

“I’m fine. And even if I weren’t, thank goodness for alcohol.”

“Yeah, that’s what you need right now, alcohol.”

You frown at the sarcastic remark. “What do you mean?”

“Tension is thick as hell. Simmer down with the alcohol, babe.”

You turn to Connie instead, but you find her nodding along.

“There’s no tension, I said I’m fine.”

“I don’t think that’s the kind of tension she meant,” Connie clarifies.

You take a deep breath, the air nearly choking you instead. You reckon they are both right. You feel it in the depths your bones; each time you catch a glimpse of Javier on the other side of the room, it stirs something inside of you that is absolutely unhinged and needy.

However, tonight is not the time to share with Javier all of your most personal, inner thoughts and feelings. Tonight is about Steve and his significant professional achievement, which you will celebrate with your coworkers and friends. Rest is not urgent.

You move around, talking to everyone; Steve, Sofia, Connie, Trujillo, even Hugo and one of Connie’s friends from work, Maria. Two hours, four glasses of wine, two of whiskey and two shots of tequila later, you are drunk enough to let your intrusive thoughts win.

You were right. Keeping your eyes off Javier was impossible, even more so when he’s wearing exactly what you had predicted, and seemingly got a haircut, too. Fuck. You had to remember, with each step you take, that you are not in the right state of mind for a confrontation, or even a sincere conversation. All you want right now is to be alone with him, but this is not the time or place for it.

You have to keep it together.

You finish laughing at one of Trujillo’s jokes and head to the kitchen to get yourself a glass of water. You need some clearance of mind. You’re already drunker than you would’ve thought.

A gasp escapes past your lips when you bump into Javier’s chest, some water spilling on the floor. You stare wide-eyed at him, holding your breath. He seems to be doing the same, and it’s baffling you.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi.”

“Here.”

He hands you a tissue to clean the dribbling water on your jaw, but when you fail to take it, he dabs it gently on your skin, eyes focused on the task at hand and thus failing to notice your own, searching his in return.

“Thank you,” you murmur.

“I should—go.”

You catch his wrist, and you manage to see the bewildered expression on his face. He clearly hadn’t expected it, but he’s not pulling away. He doesn’t ask you anything. He simply watches you, utterly enthralled and disarmed, curious as to what your next move is.

You don’t say anything either. You stare at each other for what feels like the longest time, the only thing you are capable of hearing are his irregular breaths, as well as your own. The music’s vibration reverberates through you still, the alcohol swimming carelessly through your veins as your inhibitions drop drastically. Each glance you steal at Javier makes your stomach churn even more, and you could not possibly hate yourself more for craving him more than you do right at this very moment.

He looks so damn fine it’s nearly painful. Especially with that worried look on his face, those big, brown eyes gone soft at the simple sight of you, it’s—it’s too much. It’s the most relaxed you’ve felt in weeks, but ironically, the most tense you’ve felt in who knows how long.

You need some relief. Badly.

Tonight, of all nights, you know that falling apart on your own hand won’t be enough. Your fingers desperately trying to recreate Javier’s grip and subsequent touch has proven to not be enough in the past, and certainly not the same. While you’ve barely addressed him since you got here nearly four hours ago and he hasn’t either, the tension has grown to be painfully thick.

With the right stimulus, Javier could be easily persuaded. You just have to push the right button.

You take his hand into his, and Javier holds his breath, unable to think anymore. That simple gesture makes him crumble on the spot. What’s more worrisome is the fact that he would follow you blindly anywhere, and he’s known this ever since college.

It takes him a while to realize you’re both in what’s probably the guest bedroom in Connie and Steve’s apartment. You shut the door behind you, giving him a glare that’s longing, and borderline aching. Javier licks his lower lip, still curious as to what your next move is, even though he can clearly see that you’ve been drinking.

Before he gets in a word edgewise, you blurt out the first thing that comes to your mind.

“I’m sorry.”

Javier looks bewildered at you, waiting for something more. He’s painfully aware of the fact that you’re still holding his hand and it doesn’t make things any easier.

“For what?” he asks, truly confused.

“Last time we spoke, I—I said something I shouldn’t have. I hurt you, I didn’t—“

You finally feel how drunk you truly are, and that’s probably why you’re so emotional right now, tears stinging your eyes, but you don’t care. This is long overdue, and you both need this. You both deserve it.

“I didn’t wanna hurt you,” you say. “I mean I did, but… I didn’t. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t. Don’t be. I deserved it.”

“No. I wasn’t gonna do this now, or here… but I can’t… I can’t not do it. I can’t stay away from you. I lashed out, I overreacted, I know, I—“

Javier lets go of your hand only to grab your shoulders, so gently you could cry on the spot. “You reacted the way anyone would.”

You frantically shake your head as you look at him with the same desperation in your eyes and hunger for understanding and forgiveness for all of your transgressions.

“No, you don’t get it,” you try not to slur your words. “I didn’t even know him. It was some… sick, twisted illusion, but… he wasn’t there. Neither was my mom. They were never there. The only constant that I’ve ever known was my grandma… and you.”

He coos your name, in the same soft manner, and it doesn’t help you one bit. If anything, it incites you even further, creating a more chaotic concoction of chemicals and emotions inside of you.

“You’re the only one who got me,” you go on. “Ever. You’re the only who—you’re the only thing I want. The only one. And I cannot, for the life of me, stay away from you. It’s—worrying. Worrisome? Worry?”

Javier grins a little, unable to hide his admiration for how cute you look after a few drinks.

“We do have a tendency to revolve around each other,” he seemingly agrees.

“Well obviously! I mean… just look at me!”

The look in his eyes is something along the lines of I am unable to look away from you, but you are too drunk to pick up on that.

“I obviously got both mommy and daddy issues, and the other issue is that I am hopelessly and annoyingly in love with you!”

With the music still blasting in the background, Javier could’ve easily blamed that for mishearing you. His heart is fluttering in his chest, threatening to burst out at any given moment.

He coos your name again, a sudden craving emerging in his voice’s undertone, and that you pick up on.

“Javier,” you coo in return. “I do, you know? I do love you.”

“Don’t—don’t do this to me.”

“What?”

You notice he’s keeping his eyes closed, attempting to hide whatever inner battle is going on inside of him, yet you only approach him further, if even possible. You need to have him as close as possible after all of that time apart.

“Don’t do this to me now, here,” he repeats. “I can’t—don’t tempt me.”

Javier’s so close now you can count of all his eyelashes, his warm breath tickling your face—and your senses alike.

“I want you,” you say, and it’s consuming you just to say the words. “Please? Please.”

The more he says your name, the more he calls out to you, making it impossible for you to resist. It’s temptation at its finest, wrapped in the most alluring package you have ever laid your eyes upon.

Which is why you don’t think twice when your hand traces on his chest, tantalizingly slow for someone who’s not so coordinated right now, and reaches at the back of his head to pull him in, just as your lips meet with his. It feels like it’s been far too long since you’ve had a proper taste of him, and you crumble right then and there. You fall apart in his mouth as the kiss deepens, with Javier’s body pressed against the door. Both your brains are scrambled with desire, fogged up and unable to think straight.

Heat runs through your body, blood boiling in your veins when Javier’s hands grab your hips and pull you in closer, gluing your body to his. Your arms are both around his neck, your mouth slowly devouring his, and vice versa. You decide to get a bit bolder as you separate to draw in more air into your lungs, and start unbuttoning his shirt. Your vision’s blurry but your fingers know your way around his body better than anything. You’re surprised when his fingers catch yours and put a stop to your torture.

“We shouldn’t,” he tells you, although there is a huge knot in his throat that nearly makes him choke.

“Javier, please. I miss you, I miss… feeling you.”

God, he cannot resist you. He simply can’t. There is nothing he wouldn’t do for you, but the moment isn’t what he’d prefer for your reunion.

He takes your hands into his, holding them close to his chest, now teasingly exposed to you, and looks at you like he’s having the toughest battle inside of his head.

“Don’t take this to mean I don’t want to,” he tells you, and he genuinely sounds like he’s falling apart. “Believe me, I—I do. I’d slide inside you and make you cum as many times as I possibly can. I’d fuck you until tomorrow, till you can’t walk properly and you’re dripping with me.”

Breathless, your eyes drop to his neck, thinking how much you’d love to hear him moan under the weight of your fiery kisses.

“You—can,” you tell him.

“You’re upset and you’re drunk. It’s not right.”

You frown like a child being denied its favorite treat. You hate how reasonable he is, and how sweet he’s being.

“Do you know that being sweet about it makes it worse?”

“How?”

“Because now I want you more.”

Javier chuckles, admitting that deciding to stay apart from you is the hardest thing he’s ever had to do, particularly when you’re asking him so nicely, your voice calling him out like a siren ready to devour her prey. You’re not having the best night, so his choice is the proper thing to do. Succumbing to your sweetly enunciated craving would have been a treat if you had been sober and, let’s face it, still a little angry with him. Given how upset and frustrated he’s been, he would not have hesitated to fuck you right then and there, but seeing how difficult it is for you to stand up straight tells him that he is undoubtedly making the correct decision.

“How about I take you home? Is that okay?” he checks.

You nod and he takes your hand in his, guiding you out of the bedroom, searching for your jacket. You both bid goodbye to everyone present, and Javier figures there will be plenty of talk about that, but he doesn’t care. He cares about you, and getting you home safe is his number one priority.

“Oh, oh,” you mumble, threatening to buckle over. You close your eyes in order to embrace the fall, but then, all you feel is warmth and softness.

You look up and see Javier’s face close again, realizing moments later you’re in his arms and he’s placing you carefully in the backseat of his Jeep.

“You good?” he asks.

You nod, but before he lets you stretch in the backseat, you pull him by the jacket’s collar and press your lips on his again. It’s softer this time, a sign of gratitude that Javier fully embraces this time.

The ride back to your place is smooth and silent, though you did fall asleep several times. You only wake up when you’re in Javier’s arms again, swiftly realizing he’s carrying you on the stairs to the apartment.

“Where are your keys?” he asks.

You smile mischievously, licking your lips and staring at him in the most adorable way he’s ever seen in anyone.

“Guess you’ll have to frisk me to find out,” you giggle.

Javier rolls his eyes, bemused. “Don’t think I won’t do it.”

“I’m hoping you will. It’s the most action I got in a while.”

Javier puts you down closer to the wall to ensure you got some balance in you. He checks your jacket first, mind preoccupied.

“Honestly, me too,” he says out of the blue.

It takes you a good minute to understand what he’s telling you, and when realization hits you, it carries no shortage of surprise.

“Wait, seriously?” you ask.

“Yeah, why?”

“Because you’re—you. You’re great in bed, you have your lady friends…”

Your eyes meet his again, and his seem filled with regret. Suddenly, your stomach drops, and you wish you hadn’t asked that because you feel a wave of jealousy washing over you.

“Did you—?” you start, and halfway through acknowledge the fact that you cannot finish the question.

“No,” he quips sharply. “I thought it’s what I needed, something meaningless and fast, but it wasn’t.”

He recalls the exact moment when he came home to Gabriella, her smile and excitement visible in her body language. He also recalls how he excused himself to her, explained the situation, and offered to drive her back home. He recalls the apology he issued for making her drive across town for nothing, and her advice to him as she bid him goodbye for good. 

Fight for her.

“What do you need then?”

He feels starved as he looks at you, eyes darkened by that lust that always drove you both past the edges of sanity and professionalism.

“Didn’t I make it clear back at the party?” he grazes his thumb over your bottom lip, and for the briefest of seconds, you feel a different kind of drunk. “Tú. Sólo tú, cariño.”

Only you, honey.

“I guess this means taking a raincheck on that ‘fucking you till tomorrow’ business?”

It’s a silly question, laced with a dangerous playfulness, but if there’s anyone who loves that, it’s Javier.

His fingers graze your cheek delicately, turning you to look at him, and God it hurts to keep your legs together from how overstimulated you feel.

“Whatever you need, you can have it,” he whispers. “Anything, everything. But sober.”

You kiss him again, and again, and until you run out of breath, until the only scent invading your nostrils is his cologne and him, musky and earthy and home-like.

previous | next 

[thefingerfuckingfemalefury]

Thirty One Days of Horror Movies! Day Seven :D

V/H/S 85! :D

The latest installment in the long running horror anthology series and like the previous two that Shudder did, this one is another winner :D

The film contains a selection of horror tales, ranging from a natural disaster freeing an ancient god, a serial killer cult who encounter a very different take on the living dead , a theatre performance about technology that goes very horrifically wrong, a cop who is receiving videos of brutal murders...filmed BEFORE the murders took place...and the wrap around story which follows a team of scientists studying a strange shape changing life form :D

I have to say this is definitely one of the best entries in the series, right up there with my personal favorite V/H/S 94 <3 Every story has something to offer with some impresive visual effects for the creatures, some truly horrific and gruesome imagery and a good variety to the horror unfolding...rather than going with safe options like ghosts or vampires the movie comes up with some very original concepts for each story here. Honestly all of these shorts feel like they could easily be expanded into full length features

My personal favorites from this one were TEKNOGD, Dreamkill and God of Death but honestly I think every story in this entry has something neat to offer :D

This makes three times in a row that Shudder has released an excellent entry in this anthology series for Halloween and with how good this one was I really hope that they keep this up and that we'll be getting a new V/H/S anthology next year as well

If your looking for a frightfully good bunch of horror tales to watch this month, this film is well worth checking out :D

[timelesslords]

I just want to say thank you from the bottom of my heart. While speaking out against genocide by an apartheid state should be the bare minimum, it's pretty rare nowadays.

I love your work, and I'm glad you're standing up for the thousands of innocent lives lost. I hope everything is going well for you and your loved ones 💌

It’s been absolutely devastating to watch everything unfold the past week or so. This is the platform where I have the biggest following so reblogging a few informational posts is the least I felt I could do, but I have trying to help in other ways too.

I’ve been donating to aid organizations who are trying to get desperately needed supplies into Gaza:

And I’ve used this tool from JVP to call and email my congressional representatives. They have a script so you know exactly what to say. Emails tend to be more effective if they’re original so I used their email script as a guide:

There’s so many informational lists already out there but https://decolonizepalestine.com is always a good place to start if you’re new to the issue and are confused about what’s going on. I know we all complain about TikTok but it has been a great resource for me to hear from actual Palestinians about what is happening.

People will try to tell you that the issue is complicated but right now it’s not. The people of Gaza are being systematically murdered by a government power in horrific horrific ways. We’re watching genocide in real time. That’s the thing we need to be focusing on right now.

I hope you are taking care of yourself if this issue is one that affects you personally; my heart truly aches over this and I know I’m not alone. People are watching and they do care. I hope you’re doing okay anon ❤️

[coraniaid]

I don’t think the mere fact that Angel comes back necessarily undermines the ending of Becoming, which I can attest myself still holds up on rewatch even knowing how the rest of the show will unfold. And I think the writers will do some interesting things with his character after his return, both in Season 3 and more generally.  But I do think the manner and timing of his return does leave a lot to be desired. 

Just three episodes into the new season, and Angel’s back for no obvious reason and indeed no clear reason will ever be provided.  “Somehow, Angel returned,” the writers tell us, and aside from a few vague and contradictory hints from the First Evil later this season that’s pretty much all we ever get.  (Please don’t tell me to go and rewatch Season 4 of Angel for more answers: watching that season once in my life was more than enough.)    

Furthermore, although we’re assured Angel likely spent “centuries” in a hell dimension (which, given his age, means that for the rest of his run on this show and on his own spin-off, more than half his life must have been spent in hell), the lasting long-term psychological effects of this horrific experience are, being as generous as I possibly can be: absolutely none. By the end of this episode he’s speaking Buffy’s name.  A few weeks after his return he’s come entirely to his senses and acting just like he was before, and (as far as I can remember) he’ll never really refer to this little sojourn into a demon dimension again.   So, while I appreciate the way Anne lays the groundwork for the idea of time passing more quickly in other dimensions, it ultimately feels a bit hollow.  It appears to be a fairly transparent attempt to assure the audience that Angel’s time in hell matters in a way it evidently doesn’t. 

I think the one thing the show does right here is having Angel come back only after Buffy starts to persuade herself that she’s come to terms with his death – by making Angel’s return something that serves to disrupt her efforts to rebuild a more normal life, rather than something that happens while she’s still dreaming about Angel and refusing to move on – but even then I think it would work a lot better if there was more of a delay.  If Angel had come back in the second half of the season, rather than the end of the third episode.  If he’d come back only after we’d seen enough of Scott Hope to make the possibility of the show pairing Buffy with him ever feel like it could be real, like we weren’t just spinning our wheels while we pretended we hadn’t spotted Angel in the opening titles.  Or if we’d even seen enough to make anything about Scott himself seem real (mid-way through this episode Scott jokingly assures Buffy that “I hope you realize I don’t actually know these people” in reference to his friends Debbie and Pete … which, given that we’ve never seen them before and they’ll never be mentioned again after their deaths, seems a lot more plausible than it should).  While Scott won’t break up with Buffy until the next episode, it seems that the writers have already lost whatever interest in him they had.

But, that being said, in the context of this episode we don’t know that that’s how things are going to play out – we don’t know that Angel will recover quickly, or that Scott Hope is about to break up with Buffy, or that Angel’s mysterious return will ultimately never be satisfactorily explained –  so I don’t think that’s really why I don’t like this episode.  

Nor, on reflection, do I think the problem is with the episode’s obsession to keep introducing more suspects for the latest string of Sunnydale deaths (first Oz, then Angel, then Debbie, then Pete), or with Mr. Platt’s untimely death (just a week after Mr Trick pointed out how overwhelming white Sunnydale is), or the fact this seems to be the first time since Season 2’s Phases, half a year ago, that anybody in the show has remembered that Oz is a werewolf, or that so much of the plot depends on a string of unlikely coincidences and random meetings, or that the werewolf costume/prosthetics themselves look terrible, or that Pete himself seems thoroughly unlikeable even before the big reveal, or the slightly bizarre decision to have the episode framed by Buffy reading fromJack London’s Call of the Wild.  

It’s not even the fact that this episode ends with a teenage girl being beaten to death by her abusive boyfriend – Debbie here playing the third alternate Buffy we’ve seen this series, after Lily in Anne and Faith in Faith, Hope & Trick – after our heroes conclude that she’s “broken” and not worth wasting time saving.  All these things are bad, yes, but I don’t think fixing them would make me enjoy watching the episode any more than I currently do.

No, I think the problem is more fundamental than that.  This isn’t something like Dead Man’s Party, where you can point to a specific point of failure or suggest simple, specific improvements that would make the episode better.  Beauty and the Beasts just sucks.

(However, the good news is that from here on out this season is pretty thoroughly great.)

[meyhew]

I was not expecting Macklemore of all celebs to put out the best statement about the genocide going on in Palestine but I am glad someone like him is using his platform for good.

first, i did not know his govt name is BEN. kinda crazy. anyway full statement for anyone wondering:

I have been in fear. I have felt a literal lump in my throat and I cannot stay silent any longer. I condemn the murder of any human. The bombings, kidnappings and murder of the Israeli people carried out by Hamas was horrific in every way imaginable. My heart deeply hurts for the Israelis that lost loved ones to such an abomination. As a father, I cannot imagine if one of my kids was at that festival, or was still missing after being kidnapped. It is absolutely unfathomable. But killing innocent humans in retaliation as collective punishment is not the answer. That is why I am supporting the people around the world who are calling for a ceasefire. We are witnessing an unfolding genocide in Palestine at this very moment. A U.S.-backed human catastrophe in front of our eyes. Gaza is being demolished. Well over 1 million people have lost their homes. Schools, hospitals, places of worship obliterated. Innocent kids are being murdered as I’m typing this. People can’t get out. They are literally fenced in. Israel isn’t allowing water, food and medicine into the open-air prison that is Gaza. And yet we remain silent. I have. There’s the fear of immediately being labeled Anti-Semitic when you say anything against the Israeli government. This is false. I  can wholeheartedly love my Jewish brothers and sisters while simultaneously condemning the Israeli government for their mass killings and Apartheid.  I have been backstage at night before the shows, tears uncontrollably streaming down my face in absolute disbelief at how we as a country are supporting these murders with our weapons and financial backing. We are collectively praying for Israel before NFL football games, projecting Israeli flags onto our buildings and watching in-depth news stories on the catastrophic bombings in Israel. All are important ways of honoring the Israeli lives lost and those that are suffering because of it. But why are we not doing the same for Palestinians? How are one group of people’s lives worth more than others? By no means am I an expert on this conflict. I am relatively new to this and learning as I go. There’s 75 years of Palestinian occupation and deeply rooted pain on both sides, stemming back far before I was born. But there is no side to take when it comes to our collective human spirit. We all have a voice and a platform to stand for what is right and just. Even if it’s a one-on-one conversation with someone. I understand my privilege in speaking out publicly because I have financial resources and am void of a boss or company to answer to. A lot of Americans are afraid that if they say something it could put their livelihood at risk. But if I’m putting my business, career, or Instagram followers above using my platform to speak out against genocide… what does that say about me?” I keep coming back to this MLK quote: ‘Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter.’ I have so many close lifelong Jewish and Muslim friends and I don’t want to cause any additional harm to any of them. But I trust in our friendships that even if we disagree we can be rooted in love and acceptance in whatever dialogue transpires. I trust that these potential challenging and emotional conversations will not divide us in the end but lead to more compassion. Killing the innocent is never the answer. Revenge only breeds more hatred. Thinking of ourselves as separate from one another is a lie.

[brainrotdotorg]

If you have not clicked away, or shut off your computer out of disgust, I cannot stop you from reading this voyeuristically tragic story– voyeur, in this case, meaning someone who gains pleasure from watching a situation unfold, a word that typically does not get tossed around in children’s stories. This is because the word voyeur has a sexual connotation– this word is still appropriate to describe you, dear reader, because this horrific retelling could be described as pornographically miserable. Pornographic is another word that typically does not get tossed around in children’s stories, for fear of authors receiving sternly worded letters written by parents upset at the new words that their child just learned. But this is not a children’s story. And this author has provided no address for ruffled readers to voice their complaints, simply a comments section where you don’t even get the satisfaction of licking a letter and gluing it shut. So if you need someone to provide your concerns to, whether with the woe here or the language used to describe that woe, find a friend and bend their ear about it instead. But don’t tell them I didn’t warn you.

[wartakes]

Ukraine and the Scary New World (OLD ESSAY)

This essay was first posted on March 16th, 2022 - not long after Russia began its invasion of Ukraine and the war that continues at time of posting.

After several weeks of little sleep and much anxiety, this was my attempt at trying to make sense of what had happened so far with Ukraine, as well as trying to contextualize what it meant for the world and for war in general going forward.

(Full essay below the cut).

So. Unless you’ve been living under a rock for the past month or so, you’re probably aware some events have transpired – and are still ongoing. But just for the sake of clarity, I’ll elaborate a bit on what I mean by that. On February 24th, 2022, the Russian Federation invaded Ukraine in what appears to be an attempt to topple its government, install a puppet, and drag it by force back into Russia’s “sphere of influence” as part of a blatant war of imperialism and conquest.

There. I think you’re all caught up now.

Many of you know I’ve taken an interest in the Russo-Ukrainian conflict before it boiled over into full-scale war. Hell, I’ve taken an interest in the conflict since long before this current war appeared on the horizon, or before I ever started writing here. I’ve known as I’ve watched events unfold over the past few weeks that I wanted to write something related to what’s happening in Ukraine, but I was unsure what to write – and also was exhausted just keeping up with developments on the war from day to day and feeling overwhelming anger, sadness, dread, etc.

I could just give you an update regarding the situation on the ground in Ukraine, but then I’m really just drifting more into becoming an OSINT guy and that’s not really my thing (besides, whatever I write could be out of date by the time I finally post this essay). I could go back and ruminate on why we are where we are now – and I may very well do that at some point, but I also feel like that isn’t especially useful for anyone at this moment in time. A time and place will come for more reflection on that, but right now I’m trying to think of something more useful in the lane I operate in and for moving us forward.

Instead, I think it’s time I tried to get back to the core of why I started writing these things to begin with, rather than spending too much time just being a typical, run of the mill military analyst. I needed some time to process what was happening and get a handle on it before I could even contemplate getting back to this, but now that I’ve had time to collect myself I think we need to talk about how we on the Left need to think about Ukraine and wars like it going forward – because more are coming. What is going on in Ukraine right now is a major turning point for the entire world, and quite simply put we need to adapt as these changes occur if we want to have any hope of staying relevant and fulfilling our hopes of a better world. The horrific events unfolding in Ukraine need to be an impetus to step up everything I’ve already been advocating for in these essays and other rantings and ravings online, not only if we want to be seen as a credible and believable alternative to the powers that be, but also if we are actually going to be true to any of the principles we allege that we stand for here on the Left.

I should stress going into this that I’m not writing this piece because I think our prospects on the Left are dim when it comes to this area. If anything, I’ve been pleasantly surprised in the aggregate of the response on the Left to Russia’s invasion of Ukraine. But being me, I’m not one to sit on my laurels. I’m taking this opportunity to foot stomp what I’ve been saying for a while and encouraging people to keep the momentum we have gained on changing other Leftists’ views regarding international affairs, war, and related errata into something resembling what could be actual, functional policy if and when we ever actually are able to govern.

Learning to Live with Complexity

I’ll be honest: as an expanded war in Ukraine began to look more and more likely several weeks ago, I was dreading what the response on the Left – in particular, the online Left – would look like. I was bracing for a level of posting that had hitherto been unseen in human history. And, for a brief day or two after the initial invasion, I certainly did see some absolutely atomically hot takes come across my dash (it’s a miracle I still have my account with what I wanted to respond with).

That being said, I’ve actually been pleasantly surprised by what the reaction on the whole by the Left in the United States and the West has been. Even if you have legitimate grievances with the United States, NATO, and other Western governments and institutions, it’s pretty easy to see that Russia’s naked violation of Ukraine’s sovereignty and horrific violence committed against its people is inexcusable and indefensible. People seem to be calling this what it is: bad.

Of course, there have still been hold outs. Mostly, its been the usual suspects of apologism for authoritarianism like Glenn Greenwald or the Greyzone crew of Max Blumenthal and Aaron Maté, and various Marxist-Leninist political parties like the Party for Socialism and Liberation (I refuse to link to any of their material on principle but if you feel like taking psychic damage it’s out there to see). These are your typical tankies and campists who have only doubled down on their defense of Russia in the name of “anti-imperialism” (despite the fact we are watching Russia engage in a literal war of empire, even in so far as Russian President Vladimir Putin has described it in speeches leading up to the invasion – barely even attempting to conceal it). There have been others as well, who may not fit neatly into either of those bubbles but are certainly adjacent to them. These voices may not be as numerous as those who oppose Russian aggression, but they remain loud, attract attention, and retain influence.

I’ve always typically been more of the type to say that we should just ignore voices like these. To not even waste time and energy on rebutting them. To an extent, I still believe that in some cases. But I also think to an extent that we can no longer afford to simply ignore them. Not when the rest of us on the left can become lumped in with their horrible positions and they can have an actual impact on how mainstream Leftist organizations try to message on the conflict. Not when they make a mockery out of those of us who stand on the sides of actual victims of imperialism, while they champion the violence being exhibited on those victims. It’s not enough to just ignore them or only say that they are stupid and wrong (they are), but for us to be able to have a coherent response and present an alternative line of thinking for those on the left that isn’t only made up of “you are stupid and wrong.” Quite simply, we need actual policy alternatives.

This presents some uncomfortable realities to deal with for some on the left. I know that for many who still aren’t tankies or campists or whatever, there is a lot of healthy skepticism and hesitancy to advocate strongly for one position or policy or another when it comes to war and diplomacy. Events like the U.S. invasions of Iraq and Afghanistan and more still continue to color many people’s thoughts and affect their outlooks – for better and for worse. I understand that some people see the United States sending arms or other forms of military support and get an immediate, negative response at the front of their brain based on past experiences.

To that, I can only say this: I understand, but we need to learn to live with that. We need to learn to live with complexity.

By learning to live with complexity, I don’t mean that we should simply ignore all the little details when looking like wars like in Ukraine. That would simply be the approach the United States took to many regimes it supported during the Cold War and the Global War on Terror but with a new visage. A return to the reverse-campism of U.S. foreign policy where we just threw weapons and money at any dictator as long as they said they were opposed to Socialism or Communism or supported U.S. counterterrorism operations. Hell, in a few cases during the Cold War we threw money at dictators who still were authoritarian socialists just as long as they weren’t aligned to the Soviet Union– as we saw in places like Somalia, Egypt, Iraq, Yugoslavia, and more.

No, when I say we need to learn to live with complexity, I mean the opposite of ignoring all the little details for the sake of convenience. I mean instead that we should look closer at them. A complex situation should be an invitation for us to dig deeper and learn more about the context and the circumstances, not a repellent for us to either look away or to handwave the intricacies and pretend we see, hear, and say no evil.

The reason I bring this up is I often still see a lot of people working hard to bring up reasons to not support Ukraine. There’s a whole variety of them: not wanting to support the United States; not wanting to support NATO; being wary of the U.S. and NATO causing escalation; not wanting to contributed to violence and war; being (understandably) concerned about Ukrainian far-right nationalism and outright Nazism; etc. etc. The list goes on.

All of these things I can understand and accept to a point. The problem for me is, there is no critical look at the circumstances of the conflict and the reasons for being wary beyond the initial appraisal of what’s going on. There’s no further investigation to what lies below the surface. There is no examination of how widespread the political powerbase of the far-right even is in Ukraine (like the fact that Ukraine’s far-right – even after conflict first started with Russia back in 2014 – have fared horribly in Ukraine’s elections). There’s no interrogation of what alternatives Ukraine has to war that aren’t simply just giving Russia everything it wants and giving up their freedom in the process. There’s no asking of “ok, if Ukraine shouldn’t get weapons from the West, who the fuck else is going to give them arms to defend themselves against Russia?” There are constant knee-jerk reactions based purely on appearances and first-looks based only on the broadest of ideological assumptions that are probed no further. We need to be able to look at a situation in greater depth before we reach judgements and decide upon action – or inaction. Otherwise, we will accomplish nothing of any help worldwide.

Recontextualizing “Critical Support”

When my leftward bent first intensified, I often heard a lot of people throw around the phrase “critical support.” It feels like something I don’t actually see much of anymore, or when I do it feels like it gets thrown around more as a meme than anything else. I think my ultimate point in this essay is we need to reclaim and recontextualize that saying, because quite frankly: you’re never going to find a conflict where you will be able to uncritically support a side – even if they are solidly the one in the right. There will always be baggage, big or small. No one is perfect. No one is blameless. No one is without sin. That’s reality. That’s the world we live in. And yet too many people seem to think that is the case and create a gold standard of the “perfect” recipient of our support that is impossible to meet.

Again: that is not an excuse for us to look the other way at states or groups or whoever we support against aggression when they do wrong – whether it’s one glaring transgression or a number of smaller ones that reach critical mass. But it’s important to keep in mind that more often than not it’s going to be the latter rather than the former. IT’s not going to be big, glaring failings that we can all turn towards and say, “that’s unacceptable”. It’s all the small things. All the little details that someone will bring up in a Twitter post and point to and say “I told you so” about and say that one instance alone is enough to merit the end of any and all support. While big bold red lines for our support do and should exist, those lines are few and far between. Everything else is fuzzier, blurrier, less distinct. If we make everything a red line, we end up doing nothing. We end up retreating into isolationism and ethno-centrism and exceptionalism much in the same way many on the far-right do (yet more evidence in favor of Horseshoe Theory and Red-Brownism). We need to accept that there is no perfect side in a war, while ruminating on how many transgressions we should put up with before it’s a bridge too far. It’s a process.

We need to be able to look at a war or conflict and the parties involved and take in the big picture. We need to take in the circumstances and context, as well as the positive and negative aspects of the players – big and small. We also need to think about them both in the short and long term, think about what potential consequences there may be and how they could possibly be mitigated over time if action is taken. Really, we just need to actually think about this stuff more in general. Just fucking think. Use our brains. Not just see one thing and then immediately make up our minds and proceed to double, triple, quadruple down on our judgement no matter what else we see out of confirmation bias.

We shouldn’t become involved in every war, every conflict, every battle around the world. Not only is that not right, but it’s also not sustainable or doable – as recent experiences have shown. But as I’ve said before, there are wars that are wars of necessity, wars of survival for their people. I’ve grown to dislike the term “just” war, as I think it’s about as useful as the term “good” war (in that it isn’t). There are no “good” wars as all war is bad – but something we are cursed with. There are no “just” wars, as killing and maiming is never a morally and ethically “just” endeavor. The better term is more “necessary” wars; “unavoidable” wars; “justified” (as opposed to “just”) wars. If you’re looking for a justified war, you are not going to find one that fits the bill as much as the current conflict in Ukraine does. You have a large aggressor state launching a full-scale invasion of a smaller state and waging total war on it based upon false pretenses in a blatant violation of its sovereignty and international norms – mirroring in many ways the U.S. invasion of Iraq in 2003. This is as “just” a war as war ever gets, believe me.

For all of Ukraine’s faults, it is a predominately democratic country. It is a flawed democracy, still in transition. Its people have made an earnest attempt to better their society since the 2014 Revolution of Dignity and have been seeking to separate themselves from a literal imperial power that seeks a veto over their internal decisions and to impose its will upon them by force. Ukraine absolutely has its problems – which will no doubt be multiplied by this war. Problems like corruption, extremism, political infighting. I know I certainly don’t ignore those problems and I will push Ukraine to work on them in the future.

But right now, those other problems just don’t matter as much as supporting them in their fight to just keep existing. As much as the Neo-Nazi Azov Regiment can and should absolutely go fuck themselves, right now I can’t let one band of crazies on the frontline be the only reason to not support a nation of 44 million people trying to defend themselves from being conquered and subjugated and possibly worse. None of the problems Ukraine has can be fixed if Ukraine doesn’t exist anymore. Once we ensure that the people and nation of Ukraine can continue to exist independently, that should be an invitation for us to engage with them as they try to avoid slipping further into destructive paths like reactionism and fascism and nationalism – rather than just immediately write them off now. They have to survive if they’re going to change and to write them off as beyond saving in the state they’re in currently is a disservice to every Ukrainian that has died since 2013 trying to make their country a better place.

If there’s one truism that’s absolutely been born out for me as I’ve delved deeper into adulthood, it’s that doing the right thing is never easy. It’s often not only difficult, but uncomfortable and stressful and anxiety inducing and wracked with doubt. The best possible answer to our problems – one with no negative repercussions and no baggage or downsides or uncomfortable facts to deal with – is never, ever going to exist. We live in a world where we need to find the least-worst options to do good. Just as I think there is no such thing as a utopia, there are no paths we can take to a better world that don’t have something “problematic” associated with them in some way. There are absolutely things we should draw a line in the sand on and say “no further” when it comes to our actions abroad and support to others. But we need to learn that those big, glaring, red lines are the exception, not the norm. The devil is in the details. It’s the little things that add up and matter. We need to learn about where, in the aggregate, we draw the line. About what is acceptable to us, and when it’s too much and we should say no more. We need to be able to identify a situation that is “acceptable” for the time being, as it will never be “perfect”. Ever.

A Scary New World

We are witnessing yet another watershed historical moment unfolding in real time before our eyes in a decade that has already had far too many of those. The Russo-Ukrainian War is a turning point in international relations. We are seeing the collapse of a world order that has endured since the end of the Cold War and something new arising in its place. It’s not clear that that new order is yet. While I still think the risk of a wider war – and certainly nuclear war – is still low (though a valid concern), what we need to be more worried about is an intense period of aggressive competition between states and a return to a more multipolar, unstable world with more conflict in general. The war we’re seeing in Ukraine will not be the last of its kind that we see for some time. I worry that it will be simply the first of many other conflicts like it in the decades to come.

It is on that note, I come to my usual, recurring conclusion that I will continue to beat like the dead horse it is until more people listen. If we want to be true to our ideals and principles – like international solidarity with those who are oppressed and deprived of the basic necessities of life – we cannot afford to be disconnected from the world events that will be unfolding from here on in. We cannot turn a blind eye to them, and we certainly cannot pick sides based only on aesthetics or performative anti-Americanism and anti-Westernism or based on standards of purity that are completely unobtainable outside of fiction.

Though it may be uncomfortable for some, you will often find yourself – by happenstance – on the same side of those you distrust or even hate. You may have to settle for supporting a side that doesn’t 100% line up with your values, but is generally speaking trying to do good and has room for improvement. You may have to support things you otherwise find abhorrent, like the use of military force and supply of arms. These are unfortunate side effects of trying to do the right thing in defense of those being maimed and slaughtered by aggression.

We all became leftists or socialist or whatever you want to call yourself because somewhere, on a fundamental level, we want to do good. We want the world to be a better place for everyone living in it in all aspects. It’s a good and noble thing to want, but there is – unfortunately – no easy way to do that. It means making tough decisions. It means doing things sometimes that you don’t want to do. That should not be an excuse for bad behavior on your part – and especially not for excusing the bad behavior of others. What it should be is an impetus to avoid inaction when lives are on the line and make those tough decisions. It is good that we have firm principles and we should not abandon them, but we need to learn when to pick our rhetorical and ideological battles and know when it’s worth drawing a line in the sand (or not). We need to rediscover what “critical-support” really means and think hard on what the boundaries of that support are.

These are all tough, introspective questions that we need to ask ourselves and I don’t have any hard and fast answers to them right now. Even if I tried to offer you some answers in that vein, no two situations are alike; no two conflicts are alike. These are decisions we’ll need to make on a case-by-case basis as we strive to understand what’s going on in the world beyond our borders. But as that world becomes more chaotic, more violent, more dangerous, these are the conversations we need to have in our own minds and with one another as leftists. These are the issues we need to debate and hash out going forward if we really do earnestly want to make this world a better place. The world is becoming scarier, but we can’t let that frighten us off from trying to make it better.

[tieflingkisser]

A Cuisine Under Siege

I couldn’t rescue my aunt in Gaza, but I can keep her recipes alive.

Though I’ve lived abroad most of my life, Gaza is where I call home. It's where my parents were born and raised and where I spent summers as a child. Whenever we’d return, we’d be welcomed back by our large extended family. First among them was my aunt An’am Dalloul, whom we called Khalto Um Hani: “mother of Hani,” her eldest child and my cousin. She’d always arrive bearing a bowl of sumagiyya, Gaza City’s signature meat stew with chard, sumac, and chickpeas—and my father's favorite meal. Um Hani, along with my cousins Hoda, Wafaa, and Hani, were killed in an Israeli airstrike in their residential Gaza City neighborhood in November 2023. In an instant, the household perished, my cousin Nael later told me. Only a skeleton of the building was left. He recounted the horrific scene over WhatsApp—how he gathered their remains in his arms and buried them in a mass grave under heavy Israeli bombardment, how he failed to retrieve the corpse of one of his sisters, and how his brother bled to death before paramedics could reach him. Nael, like 90 percent of Gazans at the time of writing, is displaced, fleeing with his children from one city to the next in search of shelter, food, and some semblance of safety. He has been surviving on canned beans for more than three months. Nael’s news shook me to my core. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn't eat. I was overwhelmed with a profound sense of helplessness and despair. Was it only a matter of time before the rest of my family in Gaza would perish?  As I read Nael’s texts, the memories came flooding back. Of Um Hani cooking in her bright, breezy kitchen wearing the traditional white hijab and light blue jalabiya. Of the birthmark on her face and her soft olive skin. Of her husky voice and the gentle laugh that masked the fierce and determined woman underneath. Um Hani was an anchor to me, a link to the paternal grandmother I never met and to a city I often felt estranged from. She was a repository of memories, a key to the fragmented world to which I belonged as a Palestinian. She taught me to make the near-forgotten dishes my grandmother loved, the ones my father grew up eating such as adas wi batata (lentils and potatoes cooked in a clay pot with lemon and fried garlic) and samak il-armala (“widow’s fish,” or fried eggplants with chiles and ribbons of fresh basil). But as fate would have it, she never got the chance to show me how to make sumagiyya—her specialty, brimming with lamb and spiced with dill seeds and cumin.

[...]

I live in the United States now, and I’ve cooked sumagiyya more times than I can count—even if it never tastes quite like Um Hani’s. One occasion stands out. It was May 2021, and Gaza City was being pummeled in what was the fourth major assault by Israel on Gaza in 14 years. The attack coincided with Eid, and as I watched on my screen in Clarksville, Maryland horrific images of air raids and grief-stricken mothers, I suddenly felt the urge to make a pot of sumagiyya.Serving it to my family and friends that night, despite the unfolding tragedy, was unexpectedly liberating and affirming.   Last month, I again found myself in tears chopping onions and chard for sumagiyya, but this time I was making it to honor Um Hani’s memory. Like in 2021, I couldn’t look away from the news: The park where I used to take my son for evening strolls, the beach promenade where I drank sage tea with my mother, the university where I gave guest lectures—they were all unrecognizable piles of overturned dirt and warped wire.

[...]

Lately, I’ve been thinking about what I would go back to, and what I would find, if I returned to Gaza. Most of the landmarks have been destroyed. Gone too are many of the people I cherished. But with Ramadan fast approaching, and with no end in sight to the bombardment, it feels like I am the torchbearer now, the family’s keeper of treasured recipes. Like Um Hani, I will cook and I will teach, connecting the next generation of Palestinians to our homeland.

[casketscratch]

reckoning

We wrote compulsively in journals growing up, beginning in about sixth grade. I don't know what it was; we were introduced to Livejournal and something about being able to write about ourselves, what were we doing, was a balm to a chaos we didn't yet consciously register. We could sort of see each other through each other's eyes (and hence most of them are written in second person 'you' and I thought it was just some pretentious affectation or something).

And ever since we've had parts who identify as chroniclers, or archivists, and all they do is watch, or narrate, or write it down and try to assemble some sense of cohesion at the end of the day. Even before being diagnosed, we just knew it was a weird thing we did (and you can tell we're back because we are writing so much again. This post is long and just introspecting about some old shit we rediscovered.)

Mentions of abuse, denial, csa, shit feelings. No real details.

They are as fragmented as we are: we ended up across so many different sites and accounts. I know there were physical journals, too, but they were either burned or thrown out over the years. We would look at them and read them, and be so... put off, by how we didn't recognize what was in them, that they had to go. That was never my handwriting, I'd think, I don't know what to do with this. Or, I can't believe I ever felt that way, or would lie and write about things that never happened, just to justify feeling the way I did at the time. Increasingly complex mazes of denial meant that the easiest thing to do was ditch the evidence.

But we never deleted the blogs, just forgot they existed after a time.

They reference each other, though. It's... not something I have an easy time describing. An entry from 2012 will reference an entry from 2006 and they'll be entirely different blog sites or mediums, but the connection is there and recognizable, like puzzle pieces fitting together. It's like navigating a massive hypertext. It always feels like a great mental unfolding when one of those paths is finally followed.

Which, if I'm being cynical, is what we get for studying hypertexts for years. It's like we practically introjected the structure of a thing, like House of Leaves or Patchwork Girl; an understanding that Crue grasped intuitively when he was no longer dormant. He was the one who began really putting that all together (and he was also one of the participants responsible for building it, which he claims was only semi-conscious).

But it's like we only remember those journals exist at all once we're ready for something new in them. Crue spent months going through them, but could never bring himself to read much prior to when he split, for instance. It wasn't that he tried and couldn't, it was that he just couldn't conceive of trying.

We only remember them whenever whatever system lives behind us, across that great divide, lets us, it feels like. We'll start getting these little glimmers of memories or suggestions, little passing thoughts that always make us go "wait, where did that come from?"

Today it was the realization that there were a lot of posts in the journals about our dad. We just skimmed the main one's "dad" tag, and it was... horrific.

We don't really have memories of the actual trafficking. We barely have any of any CSA. We know they're there, because there is this unyielding pressure from behind at all hours that won't LET us deny them anymore.

But that was true of our dad in general. We didn't remember fucking anything about him. He may as well have never existed post-divorce, and that happened when we were 1 or 2 years old.

Or... that's what we thought, and we were very wrong.

He tried so hard to compel us not to move across the country for university. Threatened to cut us off financially (the only thing he ever offered to pay for was university but only if we went to the one near him); threatened to take back birthday gifts from when we were 16 (driving lessons we never used because, I think, someone blocked us from learning how and knew he'd use that to convince us to drive to see him so often). He followed us for a "visit" after we moved anyway, and all I wrote was about how badly I wanted to no longer exist. It was the "only answer my brain can seem to give me this time," was to crumble into nothingness.

But I'm... struggling. With a lot of the other things we wrote. About how he'd buy my sister thousands dollars worth of furniture while telling me never to move in with him and never to expect help. How he'd try to make me feel ugly and stupid so I'd do what he wanted, and look how he wanted, because I was dying my hair, cutting it short, getting things pierced, getting tattoos, and he hated all of it. How, just, all of it was because he wanted to control me, even from afar.

How he'd talk about being sniper certified and implying he'd shoot anyone who looked at me or who I showed interest in. (How my stepdad used that same line to convince me to shut up and get in the car, because the snipers were always waiting.)

How he was never just an inept dad, but a predator doing his best to keep circling.

And in retrospect I am so grateful we have Stephan in the system, because the very first time his voice ever surfaces in the journals was pushing back against all of it, swearing to move heaven and earth if it meant we could go to university far, far away, no matter the consequences, and then doing it.

But I thought we saw our dad maybe once every few years after that move.

Not that he kept finding reasons to visit or have us come see him. All the while acting more and more like a hurt little child, acting out and taking it out on us for leaving him, I guess.

I'm just trying to take in some parts of the whole. The actual perspective, or at least a slightly wider one, of what the fuck actually happened.

And still it feels like being puppetted by the ones who know more, or are higher up in the system somewhere, who are occasionally nudging us to remember things like "the dad tag" or "this account had this name and this password and we haven't looked there yet."

It's such a weird thing.

And I think if I focus on the weirdness, I can avoid some of actual emotional devastation at realizing a lot of this (but at the same time there is that feeling, you know? That 'I have known this for a long time, this has lived in me, I am remembering something that went dark but was never removed' that comes with it sometimes.)

Anyway.

As always.

Thanks to the protectors and the chroniclers on this one.

[saymoretv]

This isn't so much a post inspired by Venom Prison as a band, but it's more related to do with the fact that I think I finally *get* Death Metal.

I say this aware of the fact that VP are a band that sit in a more Hardcore friendly space when it comes to Death Metal, but aside from them, there's a few DM canon records and bands which have recently finally clicked for me. I've been enjoying some heavy rotation of albums by Suffocation, Deicide and Morbid Angel. In previous listens, and aside from a few stand outs like Entombed, a lot of this stuff washed over me; whereas now, I think, I finally get how to listen to and enjoy these records. Which, weirdly for me, seems to be when I'm trying to get my head down and concentrate on work, go figure.

I think I've always been a vocals guy more so than a guitar guy which is most often why I prefer Hardcore and Punk to Metal, for the most part. However, in learning to tune in and listening more attentively and closely to the guitar sounds, sonics and riffs, (thanks in no small part to listening to podcasts like HardLore), this has given me a new way to enjoy and experience stuff like Death Metal.

When you finally start vibing with something that you didn't previously fuck with, that's like one of the best feelings with me when it comes to Art and Music. It's that amazing feeling of possibilities opening up in front of your eyes, and your own personal universe of taste expanding and unfolding. It's that thrilling feeling attached to the surfacing of thought that 'there's still loads of things to discover!' And not just out there, in the world or in culture, but within yourself, within the connections in your own mind. To me cultivating or tapping into this feeling or mindset is one of the best 'anti-depression devices' because it's the perfect example of NOT growing tired with life, of discovering new ways to enjoy, look at and appreciate being in the world.

Anyhow, before I get too lost in fluffy mindset chat let me not forget about Venom Prison and this video in particular. I could of picked two or three other excellent VP videos but I went for 'Uterine Industrialisation' because it connects with another genre that I've found a new appreciation for in recent years: Horror films.

One of the ways I've begun to better appreciate Horror has been to more clearly understand and see them as allegories or reflections of the more everyday 'horrors' of life and society. I'm probably not alone in saying that watching and thoroughly enjoying Jordan Peele's 'Get Out' had a massive part to play in this mind shift.

Without having looked at the lyrics Venom Prison, and I imagine Larissa in particular, are capturing and portraying some of said horror in relation to the way women's bodies are seen as / exploited as 'birthing machines'. In this way the visuals and the music feel more substantiative and meaningful than the typical 'scary music = scary movies' type equation.

Also, a rather naff connection / observation, and perhaps linked to the fact that Venom Prison are also a Welsh band, is that the performance shots in the Church really call to mind the Funeral For A Friend - 10.45 Amsterdam Convo's video - horrific by virtue of reminding me of some very bad fashion choices from that era!

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Every year on this date, among the many feelings and memories I have from having had so close and in-person experience with the horror of 911 with my family in lower Manhattan, is the evoked memory of this song, Burt Bacharach and Hal David’s beautiful “Windows of the World”, sung so poignantly by Dionne Warwick.

I don’t remember exactly when in that long horrific day this song came into my head, but it did, and still does each year.

This is because of the amazing restaurant which was inside of the World Trade Center for decades, the iconic Windows of the World.

After all of the events of the morning, shepherding my children home from school, and then going down to the site alone, I came home and like millions of other Americans, just kept watching it all unfold over and over again on TV.

One of New York’s local TV news stations hastily edited a piece about the beloved family-owned restaurant and how it could now be assumed that there was catastrophic loss of all those there working that morning. The piece was edited wtth this song under it… and at various points, they let the lyrics play …and they are so eerie now… they suddenly “fit” the tragedy of their title…

“…The windows of the world are covered with rain What is the whole world coming to? Everybody knows when men can not be friends Their quarrel often ends where some have to die Let the sun shine through…”

Later, the Atlantic magazine did this powerful piece about the Windows of the World owner, Glenn Vogt, who just happened to be on his way downtown to the restaurant when it all unfolded, and was spared, while all of his employees were lost. His terribly painful survivor guilt and his story of that morning, its long aftermath, and his epiphany about life, are all harrowing. The piece is well worth re-reading.

[Mary Elaine LeBey]