#particularly to international organizations

[mariacallous]

Last weekend, former President Donald Trump posted another anti-immigrant screed to Truth Social. It would have been unremarkable ― at least, graded on the Trumpian curve of extreme xenophobia ― except for one word.

“[We will] return Kamala’s illegal migrants to their home countries (also known as remigration),” he wrote. “I will save our cities and towns in Minnesota, Wisconsin, Michigan, Pennsylvania, North Carolina, and all across America.”

Many people might have glossed over his use of “remigration.” White nationalists did not.

“#Remigration has had a massive conceptual career,” Martin Sellner — leader of the Austrian chapter of Generation Identity, a pan-European white supremacist network — tweeted in his native German. “Born in France, popularized in German-speaking countries and now the term of the hour from Sweden to the USA!”

It was a succinct and accurate history from Sellner, a 35-year-old who typically trafficks in vicious lies and conspiracy theories, particularly about Black and brown people. He has been at the vanguard of pushing “remigration” — a euphemism for ethnically cleansing non-white people from Western countries — into the popular political lexicon in Europe.

Now Sellner was seeing his favorite little word all grown up, moving overseas in service of the 45th president of the United States, who has promised to implement the largest mass deportation of immigrants in U.S. history if elected back to the White House in six weeks’ time.

Trump’s use of “remigration” is the latest instance of the GOP’s intensifying anti-immigrant rhetoric in the run-up to November’s election, underscoring the degree to which one of America’s two major political parties is sourcing many of its talking points and policy ideas directly from neo-fascists.

“Trump’s rhetoric about ‘remigration’ has its origins in the international far-right,” Jakob Guhl, a senior manager of policy and research at the Institute for Strategic Dialogue, explained to HuffPost in an email. “The term remigration was popularized by groups adhering to Identitarianism, a pan-European ethno-nationalist movement, as their policy to reverse the so-called ‘great replacement.’”

“The great replacement theory is a conspiracy theory which claims that ‘native’ Europeans are being deliberately replaced through non-European migration while suppressing European birth-rates,” he continued. “This theory has inspired numerous terrorist attacks, including the Christchurch massacre, where 51 people were killed, as well as attacks in Poway, El Paso, Halle, Buffalo, and Bratislava.”

Pat Buchanan, the onetime presidential hopeful and former aide to President Richard Nixon, used the term “remigration” to whitewash his own call for ethnic cleansing as early as 2006, in his racist tract “State of Emergency: The Third World Invasion and Conquest of America.” But the term’s journey into the Trump campaign’s vernacular more likely got its start in November 2014, when 500 far-right activists gathered in Paris.

The inaugural Assises de la Remigration, or Annual Meeting on Remigration, was organized by Generation Identity. Its featured speaker was Renaud Camus, the travel writer-turned-philosopher who coined the term “great replacement” in his 2012 book by the same name. Camus’ book built off the work of another French author, Jean Raspail, who wrote “The Camp of the Saints,” an extraordinarily racist French novel that depicts a flotilla of feces-eating brown people invading Europe.

“The Great Replacement is the most serious crisis that France has witnessed in 15 centuries,” Camus told the crowd, eliding many bloody episodes in the country’s history, including a pair of world wars that killed nearly 2 million French people. For Camus, “remigration” was the best solution to the imagined crisis of the “great replacement,” the two terms essentially joined at the hip.

Camus and his fellow subscribers to identitarianism “have always been quite clear that the objective of ‘remigration’ is to create greater ‘ethnocultural’ homogeneity,” Ruhl told HuffPost. “For them, culture and ethnicity are inseparable, and they view (white) European identity as being fundamentally threatened by the presence of migrants ― necessitating drastic, far-reaching responses.”

According to a study by the Institute for Strategic Dialogue, the term “remigration” was “used over 540,000 times between April 2012 and April 2019” on Twitter, particularly from accounts in France and Germany. Usage of the term skyrocketed after the Annual Meeting on Remigration in Paris. Camus himself was one of the main promoters of the word online.

As “remigration” became an increasingly discussed term, militant far-right groups adapted it as their own. In 2017, police in France arrested 10 far-right activists over a suspected plot to kill politicians and migrants and to attack mosques. Officers found a shotgun and two revolvers in the home of the group’s ringleader, who’d sought to create a militia, according to a post on Facebook, to kill “arabs, blacks dealers, migrants, [and] jihadist scum.” Per French investigators, the group, known as OAS, was formed to “spark remigration.”

The term made an appearance in Canada, too, where a far-right fight club called Falange — named for the fascist group that served under the Spanish general Francisco Franco during the Spanish Civil War — put signs with the word “Remigration” across Quebec City.

And that same year in the U.S., the group Identity Evropa — modeled after Generation Identity in Europe — burst into the public consciousness for its participation in the deadly white supremacist rally in Charlottesville, Virginia. Identity Evropa’s proposed policies included “remigration,” and when its members marched in Charlottesville, they invoked the “great replacement” concept, chanting “You will not replace us.”

Back in Europe, in March 2019, Sellner started a channel on the chat app Telegram called the “European Compact for Remigration,” the beginning of a campaign, he announced, to influence far-right parties across Europe to support “de-Islamisation” and “remigration.”

That same month, a white supremacist in Christchurch, New Zealand, livestreamed himself walking into two mosques and opening fire, killing 51 Muslim worshipers. He’d posted a genocidal screed online before the shooting. Its title was “The Great Replacement.” Nevertheless, one week after the shooting, Sellner’s Generation Identity group in Austria staged a protest against the “great replacement,” again calling for “de-Islamisation” and “remigration.”

A couple of months later, it emerged that the shooter in New Zealand had communicated with Sellner only a year prior, donating over $2,300 to Sellner’s white supremacist group. “Thank you that really gives me energy and motivation,” Sellner wrote to the shooter in an email.

“If you ever come to Vienna,” Sellner added, “we need to go for a café or a beer.”

Despite these revelations, Sellner’s efforts to get far-right political parties to support remigration started to see results in the following years. In 2019, Alternative for Deutschland — which recently became the first far-right party since the Nazis to win a state election in Germany — inserted “remigration” into its list of official policy proposals.

Four years later, an investigation from Correctiv found that AfD members held a secret meeting with neo-Nazis and wealthy businesspeople to discuss the “remigration” of asylum seekers, immigrants with legal status, and “unassimilated citizens” to a “model state” in North Africa. The plan — which bore an unnerving resemblance to the Nazis’ initial idea to mass-deport Jews to Madagascar, before they settled on a wholesale extermination campaign — was Sellner’s brainchild.

That same year, as noted recently by Mother Jones, a jury of linguists in Germany selected “remigration” as the “non-word” of the year. “The seemingly harmless term remigration is used by the ethnic nationalists of the AfD and the Identitarian Movement to conceal their true intentions: the deportation of all people with supposedly the wrong skin color or origin, even if they are German citizens,” one guest juror wrote.

Mother Jones also noted that earlier this year, “an AfD candidate in Stuttgart campaigned with the slogan ‘Rapid remigration creates living space,’ a nod to the concept of Lebensraum used by the Nazis to justify the genocidal expansion into Eastern Europe.”

And finally, this year in Austria, the far-right Freedom Party (FPOe), founded after World War II by former Nazis, and which recently enjoyed success in national elections, called for the creation of a “remigration commissioner” in the country.

Still, very few, if any, U.S. politicians have uttered the word “remigration” in recent years. Trump’s use of the term stateside has coincided with his renewed embrace of dehumanizing language when talking about immigrants.

The former president’s promotion of a false story about Haitian immigrants eating pets in Ohio was classic fascist fare, depicting an entire category of people as savages. And earlier this year, the GOP nominee said immigrants were “poisoning the blood” of the nation. Historians quickly noted that Trump’s language echoed the words of Adolf Hitler. “All great cultures of the past perished only because the originally creative race died out from blood poisoning,” Hitler wrote in “Mein Kampf.”

But who in Trump’s orbit might have introduced him to the term “remigration”? The Trump campaign didn’t immediately respond to HuffPost’s request for comment. One possible culprit, though, might be Stephen Miller, who served in the Trump White House as an adviser and speechwriter. Miller’s ties to white supremacists are legion, and while working as an editor at Breitbart in 2015, according to leaked emails obtained by the Southern Poverty Law Center, he suggested the website publish articles about “The Camp of the Saints,”the racist French novel that inspired Renaud Camus.

Miller, like Sellner, was thrilled with Trump’s use of “remigration” last weekend.

“THE TRUMP PLAN TO END THE INVASION OF SMALL TOWN AMERICA: REMIGRATION!” he tweeted.

[luckthebard]

.

[fluentisonus]

Votive Body Parts in Greek and Roman Religion, Jessica Hughs

[what-in-the-gloobie-glob]

Sometimes I know when I need to start writing again because I'll wake up one morning and I'll think "wow all of this is shite" for anything I read at all. Even for stuff that is genuinely really well written

And then I write to "humble" myself

[considernature]

EEEEEEEE EEEEEEEEE EEEEEEE

That's right! It's International Bat Appreciation Day! We share our planet with over 1400 species of bat, making the second most abundant mammal order, and they perform a wide variety of ecological roles, from dispersing seeds to pollinating flowers to eating thousands of insects in a single night! Over 200 bat species are listed as Threatened by the International Union for the Conservation of Nature--that is over 14 percent of all bats!

YOU can help endangered bats today by donating to Pennsylvania Bat Rescue at this link. This PA-based organization rehabilitates sick or injured bats and helps educate people like you and me in how we can create more bat-friendly environments.

If you want to learn about particularly-cool bat species native to New Zealand, check out this Consider Nature article on the Pekapeka, the bat that walks:

For the rest of the day, Consider Nature will be bat-bombing Tumblr with some of our favorite bat species to share them with the world!

Alt text: a small brown bat stretching its wings with the kind of fabulous flourish that would impress Ryan Evans.

[crevicedwelling]

the paralyzed cicadas I picked up from a failed cicada killer nest are the perfect material to show off some cool features of insect anatomy! (although the wasp’s venom would keep them alive for her larvae to eat, I froze them to make sure they’re fully dead for dissection).

cicadas are powerful, fast fliers, and all of their thorax is taken up by a bulk of reddish, stringy flight muscles, which I’ll talk more about later. this cicada is a female, so her abdomen is full of white, elongated eggs that she will insert into tree bark with the bladed ovipositor at her rear.

the male cicada’s abdomen, however, is almost entirely empty, and that air-filled space is used as a resonator for his loud calls. the biggest structure visible there is a curved pair of muscles that deforms the tymbals, producing a click with every contraction.

here's a view of the complete muscle, and the tymbals themselves which look like overlapping plates on his belly. if you're curious what the white frosted appearance is, some Neotibicen have a coat of waxy powder or pruinescence; this male N. tibicen is particularly pruinose.

onto the flight muscles:

powered flight is a pretty complex mechanism in any organism, and is never so simple as just flapping wings up and down, but most insects power their flight in a really unintuitive way (at least for us vertebrates): they contract muscles in their thorax that aren’t even attached to the wings!

this method of flight is called indirect flight, in contrast to the direct flight of the dragonflies and mayflies where each of four wings is directly attached to a muscle and can flap on its own.

instead, most insects have a longitudinal (image 1 above, d below) pair and a vertical (2, c) pair of muscles that deform the shape of abdomen, pulling the upper segment of the thorax (notum) up and down, and this moves the wings which are attached to the notum. useful indirect flight gif from wikipedia found here

even if compressed manually, the dead cicadas "flap" their wings due to the motion of the notum:

insect flight is a lot more complicated than this simplified look at them, but I think these cicadas offer a pretty good look at how most insects get around essentially by squishing themselves internally!

[greenglowinspooks]

Honestly I think the fics where Danny’s a Kryptonian have a lot of potential, so here’s me throwing my hat into the ring

Danny was born a human. He was born to two loving (though slightly neglectful) human parents in the painfully mundane state of Illinois.

Then, he died, but he didn’t do it right. He became a Halfa; too alive to be a ghost, but too dead to be human.

Then, through strange, uncontrollable circumstances, that changed as well.

He had been heavily injured, missing a large percentage of body mass, and was at the cusp of either dying fully or just fading from existence.

(Perhaps it was an ordinary fight. Perhaps it was the GiW, or his parents. Perhaps it was a simple accident. That didn’t matter now.)

He fled, phasing through the ground, trying to bury himself as deep as possible.

(Perhaps he didn’t want to be unmasked in death. Perhaps that was already too late, and he just wanted his body be able to rest in peace.)

Unfortunately for him, he was in Metropolis, and ended up in a secret genetics lab below the earth.

Danny detransformed, completely exhausted, falling onto a table covered in different labeled specimen containers. He closed his eyes, and prepared himself for what would happen next.

And… nothing.

Slowly, cautiously, he opened his eyes.

Danny sat up, brushing off the foul-smelling liquid from the specimen jars, petri dishes, and assorted vials.

He felt…fine.

No, better than fine. He felt normal. Healthy.

He felt like he wasn’t missing most of his internal organs anymore.

Danny looked down at his stomach, and saw that the wounds that were killing him had completely disappeared.

(The blood blossoms, if there had been any, were still there, but they no longer hurt. At most, they itched a little, or maybe just tickled a bit.)

He wanted to question what in the hell had just happened, but he didn’t want to jinx it. He just quietly changed back to Phantom, going invisible and phasing out of wherever he had found himself in, ignoring the loud alarm system that had begun to blare when he broke the samples on that table.

Life mostly went back to normal after that.

If, like Danny, you ignored all the physical changes in a valiant effort to remain in denial that something was horribly wrong.

His skin was tougher, now; he didn’t get scrapes or cuts, even when he accidentally fumbled a knife while trying to cook. His ghost form was stronger, too; he was barely knocked down by his old rogues anymore.

He could fly, even in his human form. Though, admittedly, the flight was much different. It was like using a muscle he hadn’t known existed beforehand. He didn’t just ignore gravity or wind resistance, though he felt more graceful in the air now than he ever did as Phantom.

There were more powers popping up, lasers and cold breath, x-ray vision and super strength. His lungs and heart were larger, and he could handle temperatures much easier. He didn’t have to transform to handle the pressure and cold of space anymore.

His reaction time had improved, becoming much faster than ever before. His senses were much stronger, and he had even seemed to gain a sense of electric fields, like a shark.

The only thing that separated him from a Kryptonian was that he had developed electrokenesis, which he had never seen any of them use on TV.

So, surely, he was fine.

Everything was normal, he hadn’t been transformed by alien DNA in a sketchy lab, he had just had a really weird and specific metagene activation.

—

Clark Kent, Kal-El, was panicking.

It had been around a month and a half since a particularly brutal fight between Interpol and an unknown assailant, and it seemed that Interpol was determined to draw out whoever had scorned them.

Their method of doing this, of course, was trying to level the city.

He and Jon were doing their best to stop them, but with both Kon and Zor-El away on their own business, it was difficult.

And by difficult, he meant almost impossible.

Slowly but surely he was driving them back, but not without massive amounts of damage to the city, especially with only Jon on dedicated rescuing duty.

He was distracted, trying to draw a group away from a heavily occupied building, when a projectile hit him in the back of the head.

The world spun for a moment, and then it went black.

(It was, probably, then, some sort of Kryptonite-metal alloy. Interpol at its finest.)

He woke slowly, forcing his eyes open. He felt like he had been hit by an eighteen wheeler.

Clark jolted up, preparing for the worst.

To his shock, though, the city hadn’t been reduced to rubble while he was out.

Jon seemed to still be working on evacuation, either unaware that he had went down or forcing himself to focus on the task at hand.

Then, a lightning-quick figure flew into view, and Clark’s mind went blank.

He thought, for a moment, that Kara was back. But, no, that wasn’t right, she was supposed to be off-planet for another week or so.

Besides, this new figure didn’t move like her. They were lankier and more slender, and they flew quicker than any member of his family.

Their powerset was different, too; they focused mainly on using blasts of ice and electricity to drive enemies back, only occasionally using their strength or lasers—ones which came from their hands instead of their eyes.

He had woken up at the tail end of the fight, it seemed. The remaining Interpol agents were fleeing from the mysterious metahuman.

They stayed in the sky, motionless, watching them leave.

As if they could sense him staring, they turned.

They were small, still clearly young. Probably around Kon’s age, or maybe even younger.

Instead of the colorful clothing he had inherited from his family, the stranger wore black and white clothes which looked similar to a hazmat suit, their face covered by some sort of gas mask.

Interestingly enough, instead of the S-shape crest that he was so used to seeing, the stranger wore the letter D on his chest.

Kal’s heart sped up.

From up in the sky, he heard the stranger’s heart, on the left instead of the right, speed up in return.

But before he could say a word to them, they sped off, disappearing into the deep blue sky.

[ilostyou]

im so nauseous this doesnt seem fair

[zvaigzdelasas]

South Africa’s genocide case has put the spotlight on a deeper fault line in global geopolitics. Beyond the courtroom drama, experts say divisions over the war in Gaza symbolize a widening gap between Israel and its traditional Western allies, notably the United States and Europe, and a group of nations known as the Global South — countries located primarily in the southern hemisphere, often characterized by lower income levels and developing economies.

Reactions from the Global North to the ICJ case have been mixed. While some nations have maintained a cautious diplomatic stance, others, particularly Israel’s staunchest allies in the West, have criticized South Africa’s move.

The US has stood by Israel through the war by continuing to ship arms to it, opposing a ceasefire, and vetoing many UN Security Council resolutions that aimed to bring a halt to the fighting. The Biden administration has rubbished the claim that Israel is committing genocide as “meritless,” while the UK has refused to back South Africa.[...]

As a nation whose history is rooted in overcoming apartheid, South Africa’s move carries symbolic weight that has resonated with other nations in the developing world, many of whom have faced the burden of oppression and colonialism from Western powers.

Nelson Mandela, the face of the anti-apartheid movement, was a staunch supporter of the Palestine Liberation Organization and its leader Yasser Arafat, saying in 1990: “We align ourselves with the PLO because, akin to our struggle, they advocate for the right of self-determination.”

Hugh Lovatt, a senior policy fellow with the Middle East and North Africa Programme at the European Council on Foreign Relations, said that while South Africa’s case is a continuation of its long-standing pro-Palestinian sympathies, the countries that have rallied behind it show deeper frustrations by the Global South.

There is “a clear geopolitical context in which many countries from the Global South have been increasingly critical over what they see as a lack of Western pressure on Israel to prevent such a large-scale loss of life in Gaza and its double standards when it comes to international law,” Lovatt told CNN.

Much of the non-Western world opposes the war in Gaza; China has joined the 22-member Arab League in calling for a ceasefire, while several Latin American nations have expelled Israeli diplomats in protest, and several Asian and African countries have joined Muslim and Arab nations in backing South Africa’s case against Israel at the ICJ.

For many in the developing world, the ICJ case has become a focal point for questioning the moral authority of the West and what is seen as the hypocrisy of the world’s most powerful nations and their unwillingness to hold Israel to account. [...]

Israel sided with the West against Soviet-backed Arab regimes during the Cold War, and Western countries largely view it “as a fellow member of the liberal democratic club,” he added.[...]

“But the strong support of Western governments is increasingly at odds with the attitudes of Western publics which continue to shift away from Israel,” Lovatt said.

Israel has framed the war in Gaza as a clash of civilizations where it is acting as the guardian of Western values that it says are facing an existential threat.

“This war is a war that is not only between Israel and Hamas,” Israeli President Isaac Herzog told MSNBC in December. “It’s a war that is intended – really, truly – to save Western civilization, to save the values of Western civilization.”

So far, no Western countries have supported South Africa’s case against Israel.

Among Western states, Germany has been one of the most vocal supporters of Israel’s campaign in Gaza. The German government has said it “expressly rejects” allegations that Israel is committing genocide in Gaza and that it plans to intervene as a third party on its behalf at the ICJ.

An opinion poll by German broadcaster ZDF this week however found that 61% of Germans do not consider Israel’s military operation in the Gaza Strip as justified in light of the civilian casualties. Only 25% voiced support for Israel’s offensive.

But it is in Germany’s former colonial territory, Namibia, that it has attracted the fiercest criticism.

The Namibian President Hage Geingob in a statement on Saturday chided Berlin’s decision to reject the ICJ case, accusing it of committing “the first genocide of the 20th century in 1904-1908, in which tens of thousands of innocent Namibians died in the most inhumane and brutal conditions.” The statement added that the German government had not yet fully atoned for the killings.

Bangladesh, where up to three million people were killed during the country’s war of independence from Pakistan in the 1970s, has gone a step further to file a declaration of intervention in the ICJ case to back South Africa’s claims, according to the Dhaka Tribune.

A declaration of intervention allows a state that is not party to the proceedings to present its observations to the court.

“With Germany siding with Israel, and Bangladesh and Namibia backing South Africa at the ICJ, the geopolitical divide between the Global South and the West appears to be deepening,” Lovatt said.

Traditionally, the West has wielded significant influence in international affairs, but South Africa’s move signals a growing assertiveness among Global South nations that threatens the status quo, says Adekoya.

“One clear pattern emerging is that the old Western-dominated order is increasingly being challenged, a situation likely to only further intensify as the West loses its once unassailably dominant economic position,” Adekoya said.

19 Jan 24

[myalgicencephalomyelitiscfstom]

Key themes from this conversation:

Grief is at the center of the chronic illness experience for many people but often goes unnamed. As people lose parts of their life–capabilities, spontaneity, aspects of identity, there is inevitably a grieving process associated with those losses. Calling it “grief” helps provide narrative and understanding, and helps us feel like it’s a normal process.

Illness, and particularly energy-limiting illnesses, changes your relationship with time, since what you do today impacts your life next week, and you don’t have full control over what your capabilities will be on any given day. This reality often draws people towards cyclical or seasonal ways of living, where we recognize that, while we have some control over our energy patterns, ultimately the external and internal weather of the day are out of our control.

Groups of chronically ill and disabled people operating together can give us a model for a unique type of emergent organizing. When one person needs to rest, or can’t take on a task because the lights are too bright or any other reason, other people naturally step in with full understanding and without questioning the limitation. What would work look like in this emergent model?

[turian]

I’d like to introduce you to Ahed ( @ahedalshaer ), whose fundraiser is verified by the butterfly effect project (#407 on the list). Ahed is younger than my little sisters and yet she has been forced to shoulder a great burden in seeking donations for both herself and seven members of her family. She is incredibly sweet, and the way she has documented her life is beautiful. Ahed an aspiring dentist who seeks safety and the ability to continue her education. I haven’t known her long, but looking at her blog brought me into her life – particularly her life on October 5th. Ahed speaks of going back in time to her practicum, to her freedom, to her livelihood, to her safety. She speaks of a return for her family.

The lack of donations sent to Ahed and her family threatens their survival and makes a terrible situation worse. When I look at Ahed’s blog I feel a mix of despair and anger at the world that has left Ahed desperate like this – she should not be left to do this on her own. She should not have to feel afraid when posts of hers do not gain traction and donations are stagnant. She should be provided for as much as possible, as should her family.

I’m begging you to hear Ahed's cries for help. Read her posts, see the beautiful life she has lived, and help her in continuing it. I’m also begging you to share Ahed's campaign, and to donate as much as you can spare to her and her family. Anything helps! It can be as small as the cost of a cup of coffee.

tagging for reach !

@timetravelingkitty @meaganfoster @briarhips

@dirhwangdaseul @mahoushojoe @rhubarbspring

@schoolhater @pcktknife @transmutationisms

@sawasawako @feluka @terroristiraqi @irhabiya

@commissions4aid-international @wellwaterhysteria

@deepspaceboytoy @post-brahminism @khanger @kibumkim

@neechees @mangocheesecakes @kyra45 @marnota

@7bitter @tortiefrancis @toiletpotato @fromjannah

@omegaversereloaded @vague-humanoid @criptochecca @aristotels

@komsomolka @xinakwans @heritageposts

@nibeul @ot3 @amygdalae @ankle-beez

@communistchilchuck @dykesbat @watermotif @stuckinapril

@mavigator @lacecap @yugiohz @socalgal

@chilewithcarnage @ghelgheli @sayruq @northgazaupdates2 @vakarians-babe

[astralnymphh]

stuff you up ౨ৎ

aestras thanksgiving smut special

' so who's getting stuffed, you or the turkey? '

HELP PALESTINE . DO NOT BUY TLOU2

♡. summary; fuck the festivities, who actually cares about all that sappy shit. instead, embark a newly founded festivity– fucking your girlfriend up in the dusty memory of your old bedroom~ ♡. a\n; late af as fuck but just a fun little smut, nothing too serious, a bit rushed but here y'all go ♡. CW; groping under the table, fingering (r), clit stim (r), strapping (r), horndog!ellie, dom!ellie, tipsy!ellie, risky sex (joel almost catches u), cock referred as 'her' + referred as ellies, cocktip teasing, ass grabbing, some ass smacking, some plot, jokey bickering, readers a bit bratty, a slight brat-taming moment if you squint, mouth muffling, squirting, petnames; babe, baby, babygirl, princess, good girl, (lmk if i missed anything)

♡ WC; 5.5k ♡ masterlist ♡ thanks 2 @fleshunger 4 proofreading the intro ♡

Paired minds savor the embellishing glow of lit stick candles settled before them in a ritzy manner– shedding light over plates of arraying colors. Marination that glistens, crispness that scrapes, and mushy mesas' of garlic herb potatoes that delicately slump in the cradle of a spoon. Consume with your eyes first, then your cameras– and conclusively, your rumbling tummy. 

Rather to consume what's meant to be, than to gorb the scruffy haired girl next to you– at least for now, yes? 

It's your first Thanksgiving with Ellie, being that you two only linked heartstrings this year.

You, the possibly innocent angel that you are– right now, serve clement smiles to whomever talks to you, be it Joel or some random relative who’s name only just surfed your ears this night, it doesn't matter. De rigueur, wear it well.

A baser mind– I mimic regret while telling you this– tumbles far from the garden of Eden and slips away into a daunting realm, the underworld. By under, I mean downstairs, below the button, the internals. Ellie straight up, served hot, was just bursting with hormones. The tender meat oozing with buttery slick melt fell short in maintaining the contact of those chartreuse eyes, instead, suffering the envy of them rooted to your thighs beneath the oak. 

Noses immerse themselves in salty goodness, eyes feast before gobs could, rolling molars gnaw turkey off the tines of forks, but her, her cunts' the only organ thinking right now.

Especially while seated adjacent to you, her clit was throbbing past the hard material of her jeans.

"You both settlin' in your new apartment?" Joel's bellowed drawl carries over the other muted chatter, low in the background.

"Mhm," your hum slopes and rises behind lips sealed to a glass rim, then part with a smack, "Ellie’s definitely settled more than me." ending with a giggle.

Her ear pivots from you, dirt–dappled nose at the fore, "Oh? What's that 'spose to mean babe?"

"Can't keep your hands off that shiny new Playstation, hmm?" 

"Tchh– you bought it for me." replied her with a skosh of sass.

"That I did."

"Uh–" Joel bumbles.

Els drones out, "Andd all my video games–"

"Where's my thank you?" you pout in frolick, forwarding your face for her view.

Hmph.

Her miffy eyes bounce around her skull hence to piloting back on yours, her own pout puffing, "Okayy, here," she sighs lowly, nosing her lips down to pucker a peck– smacking together.

A shared hum in approval vibrates between the bond of skin, half–approval, a kiss was meager in your book of play, and you felt particularly playful this eve.

With a finished kiss, leaves your mouth to mouth a sneaky little quip, fruitful in a whisper, "Didn't hear a thank you~"

"Hmm?"

"Els.." 

Faces still bathing in transferring warmth, her breath hitches on your mid–face, a sigh to end all worries, "You'll see, just wait." Her voice cracks a bit, silken on your ears.

Waiting wasn't even on the table. 

Not when a brawny hand suddenly gropes your inner–thigh, squeezing the fat in little wags.

Give thanks to whomever, thank fuck for being at the tables edge, where nobody else could witness this.

"Anywho–" Ellie grogs her throat clear of those debaucheries, returning to her normal seated poise, "yeah, like, we're settled– thanks for helpin' us find that place." her pitch heightens, flowing into a nosy chuckle.

"Course, kiddo." softly spoken off Joel’s sentiments, but minding less attention and returning his mouth to something more, toothsome. Foodsome.

Goddess, her grip is mighty.

Devious fingers– they found their way, quick. Fingers such as hers, waxy and pale, rigid and calloused, stamping up your hip and giving firm pressure to the bone. Knuckles flushed of pigment, they dig around the crest wanton, nudging you slightly.

"Seriously?" you spit through grit teeth, wiggling your hips in reaction.

Ellie harks your mutter, tugging those smug corners into a cocky smile as her nervy nature would plant her in, naughty–toothed smile, "Huuh?" that bastard coos, "what's wrong babe?"

"You dickhead." 

"Me, dickhead?"

"Yes, you, dickhead."

"That's a lot of dicks n' heads, what is it with you and dicks n' heads?" she creeps her face closer, squinting dumbly– which only made her onslaught of 'heads and dicks' more peeving now that you really loured at her.

Grimacing at her dense brows queller than a storm, blushy nostrils taunting in a wiggle, it subtly made sense– impish coquetry. The kind of shit you toss like a game of ball, prior to the main event. An event, to be seen.

"Why you givin' me that look, huh?" she squints lower in return, flaring her nose, "Do I have a dick for a head?" 

"I would not kiss you if that were the case," you claim advantage of her closeness and peck her goofish scowl, forcing a crescent to spry on that mouth, "Dork."

Hooks on your hip palpate harsher on the jut, her thumb swiping where the cushion and your butt cleft. Pressure given, when words pique her interest.

"Babe," Els murmured with fry in her chords, "d'ya want it?"

"It?" you gulp.

"Mhm.." thrummed she, eluding, "c'mon, you know.." said with that chilling husk, whew.

Okay, maybe it's clearer–than–a–midsummers–noon clear, that Ellie was a tad tipsy. Pink worm of hers just couldn't resist the samplage of some bourbon, sweet oakey notes that evoke memories of bourbon skies hence, quite the beautifying thought. Skies where you play a shrouded silhouette to her line of sight, tapping thumb to chin in ponder. Ponder, pondering.. for what were you pondering those sunsets?

Yet now you lacked a ponder on whatever the hell she was hinting to, only for it to ferment suddenly.

"Ellie, what are you on–"

"My fingers," a blurt wets her whistle, cocking her head dear to your poor ear, "do you want.. my fingers– in.." you feel her dual digits dive in the crevice of your thigh and groin, curling snugly.

"Ellie.." you hiss, pinching your brows in honest bewilderment.

Her pinkie roves over the bulge of your crotch and punctures the inseam right above your clit, stinging the little bud– which throbbed at her press.

"Do you?" her breath wanes, speech sedated with the aim of persuading you.

Contemplation was considered– maybe too carefully, maybe not. Problem one, legitimately most if not all of your family was within spitting distance of you, but on the other hand, the gutsy hand, weighed her offer slacker than a greedy businessman. In precis, her puppy eyes of coveted sanction, rears triumph. Dickhead.

A caught gulp squeezes down your gullet, puffing your chest out, "Mhm.." 

"Okay.. mhh–" she giggles with husk, creasing up as her lithe fingers trace and wrest your fly open, skulking her hand beneath the hood, "Just focus on dinner baby, I got this.." wisped soft, kindred to cashmere.

The unyielding stretch of your denim fastens around your hips in the act of her palm ramming inside, yanking you forward. Pursing your lips in elated exhales, you try, try to winch meat to mouth and void the tamping of your clit, try as you might– the pleasure is dire.

Ellie’s prints depress a lewd discovery, the stub of her smaller knuckle thickens itself in leaky panty, secreting from your eager hole. A discovery, worth a hushed gasp, "Ooh? Wet already babe? God damn.."

"Shut.. up.." choked you, only reaping a laugh from her.

"Fuck, I do all this?"

"Duh."

"Hehe– fuck that's hot.."

She withdraws her fingers half–way, to slither them under your panties. And without a foraged bit of foreplay, dilates your labia with her furled digits loading inside of you.

A squishy nub brushes your sweet spot.

Your pipes in turn swell with sharp intake, wall of your throat cooling instantly. Fuck, bona fide fuck. Enormously fucked when her pumps wreak gentle squelches from your dewy core.

"Jesus, mhphh.." a gruff of air susurrus from her, starkening her torso in an 'appeasingly normal' angle so she may, blend in, bemusing your mother with small–talk, "So, d'you always have a gathering this big on Thanksgiving?"

Out of all people, really, Els? 

She indulges with a smile, purely answering, "Oh yeah, every year– whole family, too many relative I suppose." fading erratically into a giggle.

"Heh– ‘least you got a big house, shitt– I mean," In spite of sounding casual, slips into a grit curse when your wet walls clench her in, "–dang, what I wouldn't give to live here, right babe?"

A mere butt of her elbow nearly dips you into the waters of appearing– deviant of natural, those slender digits, twisting a tender knot inside. She pumps at a canter, lesser than brisk, swifter than a slug. Beat, beat, beat to your g–spot, akin to the pitter, pitter, pat of your whizzing heart.

"Y–yeah, soo jealous, even though I did as a kid.." laughing it off awkwardly, a bask of 'Please let that be the only time I talk.' relief uplifts your sunk gut, momentarily.

"You still eating well livin' on your own?" your mother queries, tuning that time–old maternal charm.

"I mean, d–decent, enough–"

Ellie thrusts her fingers faster, fashioning a trickle of ooze to froth out onto your underwear. Pacified by the sensations, you clamp tighter, knocking a winded hitch to your staggering speech. Fucking inconvenient. Olives of her eyes binge a glint so bawdy, yet inlaid in a bad case of puppy–face, bullshit purity on her glossy lips. She knew the consequences, and consumed them like nothing.

"Pshh– decent? Babe, please, I'm like the microwave master!" exclaimed she, feigning a biggety tone atop her rasp.

You scoff, "Ah–" shuffling your thighs in light see–saw motions, "again, decent."

The knot squeezes as she finger–fucks the tranquility of mind from your pussy, staring knives at you when her supple thumb drags your clit in flicks.

"Sure it's not good?"

"Mh–mh.."

"Like, really good?"

No way she was referring to the microwave meals anymore.

Your mother intrudes softly, "Honey I can start bringin' you my homemade food if it's not–"

"It's okay, she's just playin' around–" Ellie replies before a vowel can flutter your lips, proceeding to eye–fuck you with a smug visage, "she loves my cooking." she rasped, eyes slimly showing.

All you can spotlight on is her gropey hands, jerking you like some toy, it felt too fucking good. Too pleasant to snuff, too divine to scold, exhilarating to your veins sore with salaciousness. Then, you route back to a ponder, what more could she stipulate? 

"M' gonna go to the bathroom," you swat her hand out and jostle your fly up, netting a coo of amusement from Ellie– secretly.

"You good babe?" she vocalizes after, keeping her pussy–prune digits free of smear.

"Come with me." purred you, hoisting from the oaken chair.

Ellie's lids arise with tangible hots– an aphrodisia densely potent of kindiling her eyes. No anointing of sanctity will ripen her intentions, nor anchor the even throb of her cunt. For a throb is a hymn, to you. She wants you, and she's going to have you. Moments and minutes hence, falter to compare in energy.

Cue her cheek pleating smile.

"Okay–" a light snort prances off her open lips, whirling her lap aside to skim through the tight wedge and stumbling to you, "which bathroom we doin'–"

"Just follow me," your voice aspires over, cusping your hand and snagging her calloused ones in the curve of it, "gonna' show you somethin'."

"Heh–" she chuckles dryly, tailgating with a gentle pull of your forearm.

You two whip around a door nook, glide through the foyer and advance upon a staircase. Your cotton–clad heels stroke wood planks beat by beat, soft wallops that carom off skyscraping maroon wine walls. Ribbons of lunar light dangle on and off your heads, crafting gauzy shrouds that mix and mingle off the corners with a bobbing ascent. Every wall laid reminiscent of a ritzy manor, a lacquer of lavish. 

The flight of stairs then ingress into a much thinner hall, in a much quainter space, and fitted to each doors awaiting enigma. Duller light spills through, glossing the path you took towards a fawny brown door– your bedroom.

Ellie espies the cleave of an abutting door, aiming a bead on with her index, "Wait– isn't that the–"

"Shh," you gingerly rustle air on locked teeth, shifting your arm towards the gilded rotund knob and twining with metal clicks and clacks, "bathroom was just a cover up."

"Oh~" 

"Hmm hm~" you kittenly croon.

The barrier pendulates sideward from your stride, only to be elbowed soundly back to a wisping shut.  You pinch the little knob's notch and, click, lock the door. An amused flit of breath pours from her agape lips, catching your wordless gist bereft of another second.

Ellie thrums that same old rasp, sweetening you up, "Real smooth babe, takin' us up here.." her feet coast her closer to you, kitty–cornering you to a rearwards stumble.

Plaster bumps, a welting sharp ridge– they trench in your ankle and up as your calves butt the wall, inevitably backed up. Trapped, positively trapped. 

"Well–" a scoff enlightens your latter words, "couldn't just stay there with you two fingers deep, hm?" and your 'hm' asks for her agreement, pitch yawing.

"Was 'gonna make it three, but.." 

"But?"

Her head shrouds yours in a gray penumbra, orangey–tint nose a scant whisker from brushing yours, and sends you into a conundrum with a mere utter, a tepid utter, "got uhh', something better for you." tying off with a willed lip bite.

"Oh really?" you moon with pep, hooking a calf around hers.

She smokily coaxes, "Fuck yeah– look." her knotty digits then cruise around her hips, meeting at her denim zipper and tugging that metal tab down. Fleeting as starlight, she thumbs the belt–band and chucks her jeans just beneath the ruck of her asscheek, chafing fabric to fabric with her lax boxers.

A lone brow quirks, expressing the fact that with the way she juts hers hips forward and palms her crotch weirdly– it reared too obvious, "Ellie, don't tell me–"

A springy mass wiggles against the front inseam, held in her teasy tauty grip– veins popping of course, "Tell youu whaat?" her words muff in hoarse laughter.

"Baby.." you exhale, adjoining a whiny moan. Ellie's such a goofy tease.

That simple mass in her crotch, was a sign– a clear, lucid, taintless and foretelling, that you were getting stuffed like a turkey tonight.

In counter, her exhale fuses with yours in dancing particles, so gentle, finer than purity made flesh, "Babe.." and such gentleness caresses your ears, a pureness forgotten in those divinity forsaken puppy eyes– pout moist.

You can't rend your pupils elsewhere, trapped like mice, you gape with encroaching arousal dowsing out your nerves– and drenching down below. Markedly, where you gaze now– her fingers tug the waistband down, exposing the bulbous green head of her cock in her boxers tight band, barely, literal orb of luster dabbled on the tip.

Now your eyes truly cannot escape.

Cotton tenderizes in lines around the bulge, her hand stroking above the shape. And the way you stare, fucks her mind good, speaking throatily, "God," a gulp bubbles, "can't stop starin' hmm?"

"Hehe– couldn't help but wear it?" you snap back.

"Yes ma'am," said off a grunt, pushing said bulge to your curious hand, pleading for a rub, "you gonna' suck her?" soothing is her tone, a breathless moan.

You coo, "Want me to?" and weasel your palm in circles, watching her pelvis follow.

"Uh'huh babe– mhh, need it.." she rolls the hem of her shirt up to her ribs, flaunting that strapping waist– perfectly toned.

Appetent with sure appetite, you nod, a nod that tows her lids down, down.. down, till the green born of her eyes rely on a thin horizon hawkeyeing you. A sliver of sparkle, eager in you. It only takes you dual bends of the knees, stamping chiffony flesh to cold oak and your fingers tucking in her underwear– to excite Ellie.

"Yeah, m'gonna suck her, suck that cock." you mouth in broken vowels, steeping breath on her firm navel pouch.

"Fuck.." she nimbly grunts and tosses her head back, tightening skin on the jounce of her adams apple, swallowing.

Giving tender pressure on her boxers, you slither them netherward until they sojourn atop her bunching jeans fixed above the knee. You swear, those quads of hers clench at your brushing touch, causing your sights to skip up on that dangling cock. Wow. The fat head pokes your nose–tip, curbing up as she cradles its silicone girth to palm.

"Hold uh'," what you expected to be 'up' erupts as a tiny grunt snuffing, eyeing her other hand concealing her lips with a muffled 'puh' to top, "there we go." that hand draws down to smear her spit along the length, squelching mildly.

"Mhh–" you hum shorn of audible sound, batting keen breath on her strap, "–so big.."

You tell her that, everytime. And everytime, she revels in that negligible fact, shutting her eyes in skin–sheathed darkness– pinpointing on how too–too hot that seems. And the way you say it? Oof.

Ellie tacks five fingerprints on your head's crown and coaxes in flits of force, easing you on, "My god, babygirl– oooh.." she relishes an oval–mouthed moan, watching your lips wrap her cockhead.

And it's warmer than anything you've gobbled so far this eve.

Balming a heat like that, tucked in her boxers so neatly and snug– it tickles your gums. Soft and pliant, your lips are, they crease and roll under as you swallow her in, impressing a pit on your tongue when they meet.

"Hhmmm.." you moan a mouthful on the frothed up silicone, dragging your lips back over to motion a bounce of your head.

"I know~" she coos to your bumble, pucking her hips with an equal piston to her pelvis, "them' lips feel goood– fuuckkk.." as if you can feel them, dork.

You clasp her thickness in hooks of your tongue, sending splotches and globs of spit to pool around your oval–ringed mouth, courtesy of her tip bumping your throat in, "Guh- guh, guh, guhh–" prods. 

Ohh, that birdsong. The quaffing of your vocal bands subject to her humps, producing a rhythmic beat to alight her hormones. Your song worthy of hearing. You wimp the swelling sink that her nails wreak, a flicker between cuspate tapering and a meek love– a calling for more.

Enlighten me a morsel of those twisted, dirty thoughts, auburnhead devil.

Leathery wads of her free digits roam hot on your pulping cheeks, chiseling out as you suck. Her fingers then find themselves arcing a tuck behind your ear, thumb printed to your temple. A dash of encourage, she presses, a truer than blue visage, she contorts ran by pleasure. Squelch, suckle, drag spit, and repeat.

Due to your stretching spread of lips taking her well, likeness of a blockade in your mouth, you couldn't speak. Obviously. So over the wish–wash of saliva, Ellie tunes you in with her filthy comments.

"Suckin' my filthy cock.. fuck–" she pauses with a gruff moan, baking in your brain deep, "gonna' make me cum so goood–" her vowel strains, clenching her pussy lips around nothing except the cool, cruel air, "yes.." 

A reed of cold nips your chin, seconds hence realization settles; you're getting sloppy. A manifestation of Els actually fucking your noggin to slosh, wouldn't spark surprise if liquid poured from your cranium at this point.

Her own arousal rots you further down, too.

With the feeling of her cock climbing near hellward down your throat, smacking on the gummy walls, and the husk her moans endure, crucifies your pussy with an ache of want. Fabric of your jeans suffers a beat, your clit, throbbing. It hurts so good and it stings so right, so tight, you need her now.

A faster bob you give, the more Ellie can't take it either. 

"Babe–" she hawks out, but fails to halt your bopping movements, "babe, fuck–" the digits parked behind the conch of your ear skip and push your jaw up, staking her cock out with a spring. 

"Ghh– schhlp, huh?" a chuck of spit muddled your words, unfurled tongue lapping up every web left by your messy, messy mouth.

Nook of her hand like a cusp to your jaw, she beckons you with a nudge, and rasps, "Up– c'mon, n'turn that ass around." 

Ass. Something about that word reverberated in you, bothered you hotly, made a tepidness leak from your cheeks. The rasp she rung it with, eyeing you with twin fern flames for irises– an approaching engulfment to marry your skin with ashen blessing, more consuming. Ass, Ash, haha.

A flutter in your hips spreads like fire across your legs. It weakens the muscle you bend, standing upright challenged resemblant of a feat, especially when Ellie's grabby gropes found purchase in the crevice of your hips, spindling you on a quick axis. It wanes the composure you hold like a goblet, dwindling to shattered shards across the floor, primarily as those bedeviled claws slot under rough woven denim and remove them false of trouble and trick– ruching to nothing at the root of your ankles.

Where happy hubbub clamors downstairs, pleased pandemonium moans upstairs.

A jut of two knobby hip bones thump into each asscheek, denting the skin into a gully. Warmth, a ligature of it rides through your backside, making you shake. Not like her hands would let you tremble, one being so immovably returned to your hip.

"Fuuck that pussy 'been waitin' for me, huh? Can just tell.." mumbles her with vocal fry, pupils ogling bare of shame at your cinched folds, clasping nothing.

"Your fault."

"Oh really?"

"Mhm.." you hum timidly.

"Gonna call me dickhead again, or–" a fat ball teases the dripping lips of your pussy, spreading them slightly and sloshing the skin around, "Is this enough?"

To give way, was a mistake, buckling your pelvis deeper on her cock which faces a grip ardent to shaft– teasing with rolls of her wrist. The cockhead, or literal dickhead, warps and smooshes against your clit as she toys with it. A whiny, "Huuh– Els.." mangles in your larynx, pitching.

"Yeah, you like that? Know you do." that damned smirk lives in her curving tone, sweet with a dash of tang. Her cock dilates your delicate folds further, exposing the velvet flesh to cold air and an intrusive visit. 

Your fiendish pussy kisses her cocktip and ceases its movement, clamping her in place, whimpering, "Mhh, ahh– ah.." 

"Hey, 'lemme go– was just getting started babe," she laughs crisply, landing a fine plume touch to your ass, "c'mon.. loosen up.."

A flux of slacken tires the muscles that clamp her in, hugging your entrance more softly around her tip.

Ellie winches weight on her knees, crouching her groin into you with a slow swerve, "There we go.." she purrs with tension in her tune, relieving a sigh when her cock pops in silkenly.

You seize up, gasping sharply, hips begging to break brittle in her grasp of iron– but iron does not deform easily. Pressure stays pressured, and digits knurl over the hill of your hip bone to prop it upright. With walls expanded on her cock like your pussy was made for her, it humbles you, belittling you to sludge in her metal caress.

"Fuuckk yeah–" she broadens her sigh of bliss, abrading on the 'K', like a crackle. Pleasure kills neutrality in the smoothest way, gathering grooves in her forehead, "y'feel so warm baby.. mhmm–" 

"That's not even your dick.." you half–way give a giggle, suppressing the moans you choke up.

A tense whistle of air sounds from Ellie's nose, a reaction of vague irritation, "Swear to god.." her tongue smacks after and a sudden thrusting of her fat cock catches your mind astray, winding those choked moans out. 

"Uhn– uh fuck, huhh–" you babble.

"Not my dick huh? Who's fucking you? Tell me, fuck– yeah?" Her words warble where skin smacks, wetness palping in obscene squelches. 

Does she really expect you to answer when her cock continually swells your cunt and abuses your g–spot? Yeah. Ellie will fuck the answer from one hole to the other, if she so feels compelled to.

But of course, you don't answer.

"Baaabeee," she taunts, "baabyyyy," and tortures, "who she getting fucked by right now, tell mee.." and fucks, cooing purer than vernal spring washed in the rain, mushing globs of pre–cum all over your cervix.

"Y-you.."

"That's right."

This feels almost violating to your vagina, to be stuffed like this. Did she size up? Get a new strap? Whatever the case presents itself as, it felt fucking good. Made you woozy, each bop she played like a drum on your sore ass, summoning a white ring of creamy sap to veil around her cock's girth. White droplets failed to envelop her cock, though, each jiggle of your muck bodies lashing beads of it onto the oak boards, your thighs, her pretty auburn bush, etcetera. Attempting to grab the wall, duh– that fails, then you scramble jittery digits across said wall, awkwardly finding a rigid door trim to grasp at long last– speak of the devil, Ellie laughs at that.

"Haha– aww, too big for you princess?" she utters to you like a dumbass, ego brimmed with the pumps her cock skids on your gummy walls, smirking with thinned lips.

Vulnerability loathes humility, "Fuck y–you."

"Sure."

Her perception of sight, harboring verdancy, drops low to your bulging hole that swallows her good– as you should, tender milk that pools inwards as she slides out, and froths a flood of slick when she humps it back to the same hole it spilled from. 

Might she indulge more sampling?

Ellie's hell–sworn index traces your swelling folds mellowly, togging a cap of pearly cum on her finger pad. Scrutinize, then she licks. Her peach lips kiss her finger softly, puckering wrinkles as she sucks the sleek off, "Sssmhpt–" her lips zip, "yeah–ha, that's what 'm taking about–" delighted, she is.

The knot in your womb begins to coil and fill, a rapturous sting impaling inside. Your folds, springing on her friction, sends a ripple to fluctuate in your ass cheek. Enticing. So enticing, Ellie grabs a handful, bloating fat strokes of your buttcheek between the webs of her delirious fingers.

"Ghh– yes.. yes–" she growls, deep in her lungs. The harness in return rubbed her clit in all the right ways, electrocuting her legs with a twitch, "arch that bsck f'me baby, c'mon– arch on my fuckin' cock–" 

Harking her, you heed. Heed with a convex draw of your back, protruding your ass out for her messy usage. That– that was the last straw, her only straw. You being so keen. Something less than a mutter of, "Good girl." was the last audible voice you could pick up, her game swapping to a faster ramming into your sloppy pussy.

"Ellie!" you wince, praying on a star, "So g–good.." you gape and fall forward, smearing slobber on the drywall.

Her cock was too much. 

A tear soaked upon that very wall, gifting it a taste of your salty heaven.

"Mhmm– god, fuck fuck fuck! You're so good, s'good t'me.." a breath shuddered, she limps forward onto you. Her pale hips still punishing with a litany of humps, now scores deeper on your gushy cervix, her drenched chest marking hot on your clothed back.

"Needa' cum– Els, babe.." why you were even asking, might flummox a future specter of yourself– purling on her thickness, feeling the endless tension pull from you in strings of cum, kissing the head of her cock, you were on the train track to cumming already. Dumbified questions really egged Ellie on, luckily.

"Yeah baby, want'chu to– all over her, she needs it, mhm–" she assures you, two foam–spit lips stamping your lobe, "feel that baby?" her elbow mounts like a belt to your hip crest, ducking under and tamping your womb, palm to pudge, and intones, "She's so fucking deep– shit.." 

Spade of her cock punching your walls, over and over, you finally snap. The added hand to your belly, sought it done. Done well, pronto. 

You convulse in tight vices to squeeze her dick, orgasm shaking you to the literal core, "Huunhh– Ellie, Els! Ssuhh– Ell–" a clammy paw wedges your mouth from splitting the walls with your uproar, fingers tender on your lips cushion.

"Shh– shh.. not so loud babe, take it easy–" snuffing you, she talks clemently, little grunts detailing you on how close she was, too, "that's it.. don't hold back baby– uh, fuck."

Her cock fucks you just right, blows you fried so easily, with every heavy lunge– you weep.

A pang twisting inside averts a sightly gaze to the beautiful coastline of darkness, pure oblivion. Fuzzy dollops of faded splotches prance your vision like a sick joke, mocking your high. You can't even croak, not even a peep, just sit back and let cum dribble from your hole, plashing her filthy cock in a sick mess.

Right on a dream–like cue, a snarled groan mauls from the deepest depth of her diaphragm, fresh on your ear, "Ghhodd– fhmm, good fuckin' pussh– mhh!" 

Splash.

Her lids squinted tight, nose flared wide, she came. In waterfalls you couldn't observe, but swore you heard. A geyser to the floor, hyaline ribbons of her precious flavor taint the floor so disgustingly, so vividly, it shines.

Guess the wine loosened both of her lips.

She usually does not cum like that.

Damn.

Muggy exasperation fans your neck in ghostly hands that wrap, a recalescent mist baying for some kind of relief in dramatic swells and shrinks her chest pushes into you. Then, something moreso flobbed, a chuckle.

"Heheh–" her fingers slip from your lax lips, tapping kittenly on your chin.

"That's was, mhh– um–" you huff, dead of air just like her.

"Good?"

"Yup, just– couldn't.. oof.." 

Her lips purse and plant a kiss to your scruff, grinning against the flesh, "Did good for me," moist smacks besmirch further, rasping, "felt so good t–"

A beating of hardy steps peals through the door's underside, sending a wash of shock over both of you abruptly.

"Fuck." Ellie's voice muffles sotto voce, darting grips to your folded hips, thumbs tacking on the streched knoll your ass provided.

You perk your ears in tune of this noise, gut instinct curls and kicks your body to move, bucking back on Els– who mind you, was still sheathed inside you.

That knocked another grunt from her, "Hmmph– don't do that– god, babyy.." she whines, runting back into you.

Hole stuffed back up, you clench your fists into a ball. This idiot.

"Ellie? You in there?" A familiar, dense, Texan drawl aptly known as Joel's, beacons from beyond the door.

That's bad.

"Shit what do I–"

"Get off, for onee–" a tense on your chords, you huff, bucking her muck sweat thighs off your hind and skidding out her cock pronto. The sudden emptiness was jarring, but, no time to waste.

"Fuck! Again–" she hisses.

You crouch your bare bum inches from the floor and swoop up the pooling pile of denim and cotton panties, rearing them up and fiddling with the metal button. Ellie followed suit, the best of her abilities– sex really fogs up her faculties, and pressed her cock plumb to her stomach as to tuck it properly her boxers, letting the band snap in place on waist– gently.

Triple knocks erupt, and then his bellow, "Kiddo?"

"We're good, we'll be down!" she calls back, eyes far from not studying your scurrying silhouette, just has to comment, "–fuck that ass." like she wanted more.

A grumbled 'Hmm' vibrates on the oak, trailed by fleeting footsteps that trudge away, thump, thump– you get it.

"Oh?" you kink your whisper, foxily, "second rounds?" and pivot around to face her.

"Mphht– not what I meant, dickhead." her voice deepens weirdly at the brink her sentence plonked upon, cocking her head with a smirk.

"Whatever." your eyes roll, capering off the room's corners.

"Hmph–" gruffed in amusement, "Cutie." gingerly steps huddle you right against that wall again, two biceps meeting warmth–to–warmth with your soaken shirts waistline.

Scoff, just scoff, "I think this is how second rounds start, liar." 

She goes all bumbly, furrowing those bushy orange brows and frisking her eyes in a roll, copycat, "Don't get me started, pleasee." she begged fakely, cadence dense.

"Too late."

"You're right." her lips, wisp to yours so perfectly timed, interlocking one pink bud under your top lip and butting noses, plushing together in tide. Even plopped a little smack to the clad meat of your ass, how sweet.

A scant hint of dinner lingered on her breath, passed to you like a spill. Makes you want to slink those stairs in one go for a different palate of seconds. But, alas, you two bet smooches on the hope of no further interruptions, scarfing up kisses like hungry dogs.

(pls lmk if u wanna be added to the perm list, some mentions didnt work!)

@whore4abby @aouiaa @ellieslittlewhore @baumbii @tlougrl @mina-281 @beabeebrie @elliewilliamsisactuallymygf @nicolicht @cosmikoo @xinyaya @sawaagyapong @reinersbigolboobies @brunettedolls-blog @syrenada @fairyysoiree @p4ison1vy @nil-eena @hi2647 @disaster-bi-suki @rarestdoll @narieater @hrtmal @eudaemoniaaaa @ellie-07063 @luvfaeri @carleenaelaine @kissyslut @ellieswh0r3 @beemillss

[selenezq]

🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞MDNI🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞

After a long wait, (thanks depression) my fic where Alastor rails you in a sundress is finally here.

Alastor x Reader

Reader is AFAB

CW: dub con, stalking, rough sex, explicit content, porn no plot, plot where, plot who

Sundress Summer

It was a hot, but not unpleasantly so day in hell. 

The perfect time for wearing a sundress to the picnic Charlie had organized for the bonding exercise of the day. The first thing you noticed as you came to the end of the well-maintained stone walkway was the large red and white checkered tablecloths which covered two sizeable wooden picnic tables to your right. The pleasant breeze caused the edges of the fabric to flutter against the sides of the tables. 

A massive spread of food covered both surface areas; it was more than they could all eat truly but it was clear Charlie had tried her best to create another memorable experience for her guests. You smiled from ear to ear with joy at the sight of all your friends together enjoying a day at the park. Husk and Angel Dust were seated on one of the benches lining the massive spread, the spider demon trying his best to get Husk to eat the grape he was attempting to feed him. 

"C'mon, just let me feed ya one." Angel whined at the former overlord pushing the piece of fruit towards him. 

"Cut that shit out, I can feed myself." Husk growled gruffly, as he swatted half-heartedly at Angel's hand before relenting. "Just one, and then leave it alone alright?"

Husk took a surveying glance around to ensure no one was watching the two of them. You quickly looked in the opposite direction to your left, faining interest in a passing butterfly so as not to intrude on their moment. You tried your best to hide a delighted smile. 

With a resigned sigh, Husk let Angel gently feed him a lone grape. "Ah yeah, you like that in ya mouth daddy?" Angel says salaciously with a flirtatious grin. 

"Fucking hell, you just had to go and make it weird didn't you," Husk scolded, before giving the tall demon a small shove. You did your best to hold in a laugh, ensuring not to make eye contact with the duo. Your ocular muscles searched for the rest of the group, coming to a stop when you spotted Charlie, excitedly pointing to something in the distance. 

"Ohmygosh Vaggie look!!" She exclaimed excitedly, her words strung all together in exuberance. "I can't believe this Infernenta plant is flowering!" Charlie said before skipping joyfully over towards the flowering bush. 

She skipped joyfully over towards the flowering bush, her girlfriend watching with a loving expression. Eyes which were usually fierce and full of rage softened before she followed after Charlie. “Yeah, that’s really cool babe.” She said, her voice beginning to fade as she walked further away from you. 

You smiled fondly as you watched them go—the two of them were very sweet together. Niffty quickly took over your vision as she dashed around, pulling your attention away from the two lovebirds. She held her needle high in the air with her little hand; she was on the hunt, chasing a particularly large bug. 

With a small shudder, you turned around and headed towards an opening in the woods, determined to explore. The thoughts in your busy mind dwelled on the members of your unorthodox group of friends until it occurred to you that had not yet seen Alastor. You wondered what he could be up to—though he rarely joined in on bonding activities. 

You pondered deeply on how glad you were to have met them all as your feet took you down a slightly overgrown path, large weeds sprouting between the cracks on the deteriorated stone passage. Lost in your internal musing, you failed to notice a pair of glowing red eyes watching you from the distance; the hunter was tracking your every move. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Radio Demon watched you from the shadows, hidden behind massive amounts of lush, green, foliage. It was a position most familiar to him from his time alive, hiding from plain sight while he waited for the perfect moment to approach his prey. He watched you with an ill-intended gaze, as the short patterned material of your sundress highlighted the beautiful curves of your body. An unfamiliar feeling of desire coursed through him as he feasted his eyes on the sight of you wandering, helplessly alone. You were completely unaware of the danger that lurked behind you—the perfect, irresistible prey. 

Alastor was more than well-adjusted to the way the others at the hotel viewed his presence. He was infamous for the danger he posed, but you seemed content to naively ignore the threat he posed. Perhaps that was why he now found himself obsessed with you, needing to be constantly closer to you. No amount of effort could dissuade his need to be close to you; any amount of distance was simply unacceptable. The very lack of your presence had become most intolerable, to the point he found himself stalking you through the shadows, unable to look away from your gentle form. 

At first, these feelings had angered him. Alastor had tried his best to make you fear him, unused to all of the new sensations you evoked in him. Popping up from the shadows, scaring you when you were alone in the dimmed hallways of the hotel. You had always laughed in response, slapping his chest playfully as you laughed at his joke and were it anyone he would skin them alive for the unwanted touch. He found it most irritating when you would pull away as if your hand should ever be anywhere but on him. 

He started going out of his way to touch you—to make you uncomfortable. It was certainly not because he craved the feeling of your soft, warm, skin under his hand. It became a game he’d play, a way to see how far he could go, how long you would let his hand linger on you. Could he rouse a blush to those beautiful cheeks of yours? Somehow, he rather felt as though he might be losing the game you weren’t even aware you were playing. 

Many nights he spent time thinking about how your soft, shiny, hair would feel when he pulled your head back, locks wound around his claws. What noises your sweet, little, lips might let slip, the sight of your kind eyes widening. 

Would you let him ruin you if he tried? 

The question consumed him as he brought himself back to the sight of his beautiful prey: you. His eyes focused on your radiant presence while your face lit up in delight. You had stumbled upon a beautiful abandoned structure. It appeared this was once a grand gazebo, but time had eroded the marble away. Faint cracks could be seen amongst the vines and foliage that almost concealed it completely from view. 

He watched as you were unable to resist the urge to explore, pushing aside some of the greenery covering the entrance. You stepped inside, your graceful form illuminated by slivers of Heaven’s light, shining like sunlight through the thick canopy surrounding the structure. 

You were almost completely obstructed from the view of anyone who might come along and it sent a shiver down his back—what a delightful thought, to always have you to himself. 

He stalked forward slowly, careful to remain quiet so you would not ruin his little game too early. Hunting for sport was second nature to the demon; hiding amidst the shadows was something Alastor had become quite familiar with. The sight of you blissfully unaware of the potential danger you were in was almost too much to bare; he needed to start the next round of his manipulative little game lest you broke him before he got the chance to break you. 

He materialized behind you, his form becoming more corporeal until he was a solid mass that you bumped into when you took a step back. You let out a most exquisite scream of fear as he startled you and a wide, malicious grin spread across his face. You turned quickly to face him, and he watched as your facial expression melted into relief. He was unsure how he felt about the sensation bubbling in his stomach—he brought you ease. Alastor lived to strike fear into the hearts of others, but he could make an exception—just this once.  

"Oh, it's just you. That's such a relief." You said with a genuine smile. 

"My, my... You are quite a sight for sore eyes. I could just eat you up." Alastor almost purred, his voice thick with his usual filter. Static popped in the air as he stepped closer to you; after such a long hunt, he was so close to getting what he wanted.

"You mean me?" You squeaked in disbelief, insecurity seeping through your voice.

"See here, exactly how fetching I find you, darling." Alastor told you, before grabbing your wrist. 

He guided your soft palm to the hardness barely contained by his trousers, a true test to see how far he could push you. How much you would allow him to greedily take? Would this be the time he finally pushed you too far and you realized the peril you were in, being the object of his dark fascination? 

He watched hungrily as your eyes widened in surprise, a pretty pink tongue darting out to wet your lips. 

“This is all for me?” You asked, voice laced in awe and he wanted to consume you. 

You were a curious creature, a difficult prey to understand. You never gave him the responses he was expecting, and yet always gave him a response he enjoyed. Rather than flee from the evident danger you found yourself in, you seemed quite pleased at his forward and lewd actions—what a foolish girl. 

“Well of course my dear, who else would it be for?” Alastor teased, his voice full of amusement as he gestured to the empty overgrown gazebo. He brought a clawed hand down to cover your own, his large hand dwarfing your much smaller one as he pressed your hand closer to the tent in his pants. He let out a strangled groan at the much-needed contact, his usual composure falling apart every minute he spent in your presence. “The things you do to me, pet. This is all for you, because of you.” 

He thrust his hips up into your touch, chasing your nimble fingers before he allowed himself to regain control of himself. He melted away into the shadows with a quick use of his powers and the warm tension of having him pressed against you was gone. It was amusing to him how evident you made it that you were desperate for his touch. A menacing laugh echoed around the gazebo as he slid up from the pool of shadows at your feet behind you, shoving you back into the siding of the shelter. You fell briefly, your sundress bunching around your hips exposing your cunt and the tiny piece of fabric that covered it from view. 

You were an absolute vision, he noted. He was addicted to this version of you, vulnerable and needy for him and him alone. Slowly, painstakingly slowly, Alastor brought his much larger hand to rest on your leg. His rough scarred skin pressed against your much softer skin, and you shivered against him beautifully. He wondered how long he could stand to do this to you, playing with you simply because he knew you’d let him—could he finally make you snap?

He teasingly brought his hand up your thigh, ghosting a finger along your clothed slit. He swallowed a hungry growl as a fresh round of wetness gushed into your panties at even the faintest touch. Every single stroke, every touch, was methodical and planned—he wanted to watch you come undone. He held himself with tension, holding himself back from ruining you completely. 

You lifted your hips just enough, wordlessly signalling to him just how eager you were. It broke the hold he had over himself, the shred of control he kept in place to protect you. He shredded the flimsy undergarment, letting it drop by your feet as an unusable scrap of fabric. His fingers traced harsh, heavy circles around your swollen clit and it was pure bliss to watch as you threw your head back, releasing a muffled cry of bliss. 

He plunged a dexterous finger into you without warning. A ragged, desperate moan escaped your lips and he watched as your face seemed to glow a bright scarlet in humiliation. He curled his finger inside of you, watching as your body shook for him but it wasn’t enough. He needed to drive his cock deep inside you, to feel your pussy clench around him while you moaned just like that. Despite the fact you should be ashamed, you rutted against him and it was enough to drive the best of men mad—and Alastor was not the best of men by a long shot. 

He pulled his finger out of you, bringing it to his mouth before licking it clean. He swiftly undid his belt, before moving to pull the zipper on his pants down. The sound reverberated in the small hidden gazebo and he watched as you dripped in anticipation for him—he hadn’t hungered like this in centuries. He tugged his trousers down around his firm thighs and his massive cock sprung free. You let out a small whimper as you looked at his cock, a mixture of anticipation and fear shining in your eyes. 

“I can assure you, darling, that it will fit. You’re going to take every single inch of me.” Alastor commanded; the incredulous look in your eyes only spurring him on. 

He watched as your pussy clenched desperately with need around empty air, and his rock-hard cock glistened with precum. You were a marvel to behold. 

“Alastor, please, don’t make me wait any longer. I—I need you.” You admitted with a plea, a blush dusting across your face from the sound of your own needy voice. 

He pushed you further back against the siding of the forgotten structure you had found yourselves in, your back hit the siding with a soft thud. He lifted your leg up to wrap it around his waist as he slotted himself against your dripping pussy, rubbing the swollen head of his member between your folds, before he pushed to be inside of you. 

He moved slowly, inch by inch until his considerable length was seated within you. Your warm walls gripped him tightly and he let out a shaky groan. An aggressive buzz, filled with fizzles and pops, filled the air as he made himself wait, letting you adjust to his large size. His eyes glowed as he gazed down at you fondly. “You’re such a good girl, taking all of me so well. You’re mine now.” He growled possessively, a hand coming up to grip your waist. “Say it, tell me who you belong to.” 

There was a manic edge to his words, a need for you to understand that he owned you. 

“You. I belong to you, Alastor!” You cried out in pleasure, without hesitation, and he picked up his pace in response. You were such a good girl; you knew exactly where you belonged. His hips slammed his cock in and out of you, chasing your delightful cries and screams. 

The final strand of control within him snapped as he looked upon your debauched form. His antlers grew high and heavy above his head, his eyes becoming dials as he lost himself in his desire for you. His cock swelled within you, so large that he feared he might just break you. You released a soft whimper as he felt the head of his cock bumping into your cervix, but rather than push him away, you clawed at him to bring him closer—you were perfection. 

“I never imagined I’d feel so complete being inside you like this, darling.” Alastor confessed, lost in the throes of ecstasy. He brought a hand up, lavishing his attention on your clit as he picked up the pace. He felt your body begin to shake and he knew it wouldn’t be long, he felt you coming undone with every stroke of his digits, every thrust of his colossal member was bringing you closer to the edge. 

“Alastor, don’t stop! I’m getting close!” You pleaded desperately. 

Immediately at your words, he stopped completely. He rested his fingers on your throbbing clit, his dick painfully still inside of your tight heat. You let out a frustrated sob, a lone tear welling up in your eyes and he leaned forward to lick it off your cheek. The sight of you, a desperate and quivering mess was enough to move even the staunchest of sadists. 

“Please, please, please.” You begged, all sense of dignity lost. A tear fell down your cheek and he relished the moment of triumph in his twisted game. The sight of you crying and desperate beneath him brought him a degenerative sense of glee—he needed to make you cry more in the future. “Alastor, I’ve dreamed of this so often! I need to—please let—if I could just cum!” 

“Hmm, I should like to think to think a bright young girl such as yourself could articulate that better, my dear.” He replied, a sadistic smile stretching across his face as he leered down at you. 

“You’re being so cruel.” You cried out, voice dripping with desperation and it fed the hunger deep within him. He had no witty retort to return to your cries—he wanted you to beg. “Please, I’m begging you—I’ve touched myself thinking of you so many times. I never even dreamed you would return my desire. I can’t—I need you to move—to fuck me silly until I cum around your giant cock—please.”

You pleaded sweetly, your voice dripping with desperation and need for him that brought him immense joy and good girls got rewarded. 

“Your pleas are music to my ears pet, I suppose they’ve earned you a reward. You’re so pretty when you beg.” He asserted before resuming his brutal pace. Beautiful euphoric tears fell down your cheeks, painting them so prettily, as he fucked into you. He felt you tighten around him, and in a direct constant to his rough pace, he brought his other hand up to gently cradle your face. He pressed his lips to yours, moaning as your soft lips parted to allow his tongue to explore your mouth. He laid claim to every inch of you he touched. 

“Alastor!” You cried into his mouth, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. You collapsed into him, allowing him to support your weight as he continued to fuck into your quivering body. Your cunt clenched deliciously around him as you rocked your hips backwards, chasing the friction he provided desperately. The sight of you so thoroughly debauched combined with the sensation of your walls gripping him tightly sent him over the edge. He shot thick ropes of cum inside of you as he finished with a loud groan, breaking away from the kiss.

The sound of your combined panting and heavy breathing filled the otherwise silent air, and he rested his head in the crook of your neck. “Ma biche, that was even better than I could have possibly imagined.” He praised, mumbling the words into your neck. You both lay intertwined for a while, neither wanting to break the silence and end the moment.

“We should find the others before they find us, but I’d love to do this again.” You said, and he could hear the desperate plea in your voice—good. 

“Of course we will do this again, you belong to me now.” He replied, matter-of-factly. 

He snapped his two fingers together, returning the two of you to your prior state of dress. The mess was gone as if it had never been there, though he loathed to return your undergarments to you. “Shall we, darling?” 

You shot him a contented smile as you linked your arm with his, allowing him to lead you back to where the rest of the group was still enjoying the picnic.

Tag list @cosmiccandydreamer @alastorthirsty @ari-hatake15

[maowives]

The thing is that, while I'm certain Veronica Roth did not intend this, it's clear that the society of Divergent (at least as textual in the film specifically) lacks a Gender Binary of man and woman and instead has a 5-gender system wherein the genders are Dauntless, Erudite, Abnegation, Amity, and Candor. Which is hilarious.

Like. Everything about how their society is portrayed illustrates a deeply gender-segregated society which is organized around an arbitrary set of social groups ("factions"), where labor is (very significantly) allocated according to these factions, where particular behaviors and interpersonal styles are heavily associated with these factions, and where internal compliance with these norms is strictly regulated by other members of the faction. People who do not "fit into the faction system" ("divergents") are either forcibly made into subalterns and expunged from "legitimate" society ("factionless") or otherwise must obscure this fact for risk of the aforementioned social retribution / policing. New recruits to a faction are aggreassively socialized to that factions norms via a regimented system of rituals and violences, often with sexual/homosocial undertones, and are enlisted to participate in this same socializing violence against each other. Those who perform these social violences successfully are materially rewarded with prestige and positions of control. Further, people are a) considered implicit members of their given birth-faction until a coming-of-age ritual, which marks them as having become full (sexual) agents, at which point b) they are expected to typically remain within their birth faction. Unlike many real, extant gender systems, however, there is an in-built nominally socially-sanctioned mechanism for movement between factions, but this movement is always followed with particularly rigorous re-socialization, and acceptance into the faction is particularly conditional on behavioral compliance, particularly when those factions are externally threatened or need to consolidate their bases.

Furthermore, you see nearly no actual in-text segregation among "male" and "female" lines, in ways that are typically considered hallmarks of gender in our world. There seems to be little concern about sexual or semi-sexual contact between people of the "same gender" (which we must then read here as nonexistent), sleeping/living quarters are never segregated along these lines. Neither are sports or combat training (in Dauntless in particular), nor is labor in really any form allocated by the genders "man" and "woman."

I'm certain all of this is unintentional, but if anything I think this illustration of power and social compliance is a more articulate expression of how gender-class (within a materialist feminist frame) actually functions than most "queer" or "genderfucky" media.

[agaypsychicrat]

You can save Russian queers from genocide

A week ago the Russian Supreme Court made a ruling declaring LGBT community an extremist organization. The precise contents of the ruling, as well as the process, were made secret, so there’s no official information on what is being banned, but if we take into account previous cases of Russia using this tactic (Like with Navalny’s Anti-Corruption Foundation), any kind of support, from saying things on the internet to financial support, or dissemination of information about LGBT is banned. It also basically criminalizes queer people’s existence. The sentences are up to 12 years in prison - harsher than for murder.

This has already led to majority of Russian LGBT organizations dissolving and evacuating or going into crisis mode and cutting offline support. A number of previously friendly endocrinologists have stopped working with trans people for self-preservation, even if they already changed the documents - a situation especially dangerous for trans masculine people, as while trans women can get HRT without a prescription or from gray market, testosterone is a heavily regulated substance. The entire support system is headed for collapse, it’s hard to predict what will happen when prosecutions begin. It’s important to notice that conversion therapy is legal in Russia, and the Russian Ministry of Internal Affairs has a database of transpeople who have changed their documents.

In light of this, a German queer organization Quarteera has launched a petition which will have to be considered by German government if it reaches 50 k signatures, regarding easing the asylum process for Russian LGBT people, particularly issuing humanitarian visas and residence permits not just for activists. While everything is in German, anyone from around the world can sign the petition, not only German citizens. The petition is here - http://quarteera.de/petition

Here’s the instruction in English: https://imgur.com/a/Fgi9yIh

Update the petition expired a few days ago so im not sure if you can still vote

I copied the post from r/196 https://www.reddit.com/r/196/s/qcersiwxh1

[matan4il]

In today's edition of "The UN is complicit," we now have proof that this "respectable" organization has been sweeping under the rug a crucial report on the situation in Gaza.

On Jun 5 this year, headlines based on false statements from the UN released on that day were still being published, claiming that by mid Jul over 1 million people (about half the Gazan population) could be facing the highest level of starvation if the war continues. This was when we've been going through 8 months of war, in which the UN constantly made claims of imminent genocidal starvation, now, right now, truly, any moment now, if the war doesn't stop.

Except, it turns out that on Jun 4 already (a day earlier than the UN's starvation claims were being made and published), the IPC (an organization made up of several NGOs and UN bodies) has had to admit that there is no reliable evidence of starvation in Gaza, or that its existence is even plausible. This is particularly significant because it was actually the IPC's own Mar 2024 report that many of the claims regarding starvation relied on!

(please read the linked article if you can, it also links to researchers like Mark Zlochkin, quoting the findings of the Famine Review Committee, which are compelling in showing that there is no starvation in Gaza)

This means the UN has known for two weeks at this point (in an official capacity) that there is no starvation, but proceeded to ignore and even contradict its own people on this.

It means Israel has been slandered by false accusations of causing intentional starvation when there is no evidence that there even is one for EIGHT AND A HALF MONTHS, it means that the "clearest piece of evidence" of the supposed genocide in Gaza has never been substantiated, it means every Israel supporter accused of being pro-genocide has been deeply wronged, it means every antisemitic abuse of a Jewish person attacked over the situation in Gaza has been based on an antisemitic libel, it means countless anti-Jewish crimes have been justified using a lie that the UN has been actively enabling for two weeks (if we only count the time they've known about this on an official level, but since the UN has 13,000 employees on the ground in Gaza, it surely knew even before the Jun 4 report)...

And I find it particularly gruesome that I found out about the IPC report on the same day I learnt a 12 years old Jewish girl in France was gang raped as an antisemitic hate crime. This is the second time a Jewish female has been raped in France due to antisemitic motivation in recent months, when during the first rape (that we know of) the rapist was clear about his anti-Israel motivation. And we all know where the inspiration came from, to rape women just because they're Jewish, and knowing they will be victims who will not be listened to, or worse, whose rape will be justified as "resistance"...

IDK how anyone can have a conscience and not be bothered by this. All of it.

The UN is complicit.

The international NGOs are complicit.

The news sources that have not published the report are complicit.

The people who didn't believe rape reports from Oct 7 just because they came from Jews are complicit.

They all prove that Jews are NOT protected, or even just treated with basic human decency, as we should be.

My heart breaks for this girl. I wish I could do something for her, but there is nothing, except to scream here over this abhorrent injustice, and to beg people to raise their voice. Our sister's blood is calling out to us from the ground, and we CANNOT be silent.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)