#not that the UN will actually do anything to enforce this

[cidnangarlond]

what's the point of international law if no one's actually fucking enforcing anything. "oops! looks like you've violated the geneva conventions by targeting hospitals, hospital staff, and ambulances! not to worry, though, for we who oversee these things shall sit back comfortably and watch as you continue to violate countless other articles and protocols and keep a tally as to which ones you have acted against. don't let us keep you from committing more atrocities, though, don't mind us!" the time to charge these people isn't after the dust has settled, it's right fucking now.

#what's the point of the UN if they're not fucking doing anything what's the point of the conventions if no one's actually enforcing them #just sitting here being like oh you broke one of our rules! :( day after day after day and people are doing fuck all about it #they care more about video games using the red cross logo than actual human lives. choke

[audhdnight]

Spanking is to parenting what prisons are to criminal justice. Allow me to elaborate:

What does spanking do? “It teaches kids to behave!” Actually, no. It teaches kids to fear their caregiver(s). But say we go with that line. How does spanking teach kids to behave? “It shows them the consequences of bad actions!” Actually, no. It shows kids that when the caregiver is displeased, the kid gets hurt. In the mind of the child, the sequence of events is not [misbehave:consequence]. It is [caregiver unhappy:pain]. And maybe you’ll say “But my kid stopped mouthing off after I started spanking them for it”. Okay, sure. Maybe they stopped responding when you argue, but only because the learned to fear what their response would bring. They’re not holding their tongue because they realized it’s disrespectful or rude or whatever else you believe it is. They’re holding their tongue because they know it won’t do any good and will only make the situation worse for them. I can guarantee they are still thinking all those rebellious naughty talk-backy thoughts. They just aren’t saying them out loud. Spanking did not teach your child to behave, it taught them to walk on eggshells.

Similarly, prisons do absolutely nothing to enforce laws. Prisons do nothing to fix the real crimes that do get committed. A shooter or rapist or embezzler being incarcerated does not bring their victim back to life, un-traumatize them, or make reparations for any damages. Additionally, it makes life a living hell for the innocent people who end up in jail (OF WHICH THERE ARE A HELL OF A LOT). And maybe you might say that the point of prison is to encourage good behavior, because no one wants to go to jail. I would ask, then, why there are so many prisons, of which so many are full or overcrowded. Clearly, the threat of incarceration is not keeping people out of jail. Additionally, much like a child who was spanked being afraid to do normal things in their own home for fear of displeasing their caregiver, regular non-criminal people are afraid of prison, even though they have done nothing wrong. They know they could be incarcerated because of falsified evidence, biased testimonies, unfair trial, or simply bigotry. Especially people of color. Even though they haven’t done anything wrong, they are scared of what could happen to them if the person in power (police) was unhappy with them.

Negative consequences unrelated to the actual incident do not discourage “bad behavior”. Just like a child who is spanked will simply learn to be sneakier, a thief who goes to jail will simply cover their tracks better next time.

Stop spanking your kids, and abolish prisons. Have a nice day.

#gentle parenting #criminal justice system #prison abolition #police brutality #parenting #corporal punishment #prison system #child abuse #don’t hit your fucking kids

[turquoisemagpie]

With all the shit JKR has risen about feminism and what it means to be a woman, I’m always reminded of a metaphor I was taught by the amazing feminist philosophy lecturer back in university. This was back in 2017 (quoted from lecture notes I saved) way before terfs started getting traction, but it rings true today more than ever. 

“In feminism philosophies there are three types of philosopher: the individualist, the radical, and the socialist. 

Here’s a metaphor for how they work, called ‘The Wall, The Lion, the Sheep’. 

The wall represents society, particularly capitalist patriarchal society. The lion represents men, the sheep represents women. 

The wall cages both the lion and the sheep, which makes the lion angry because he wants to be free, but with no one else to attack, he attacks the sheep, the sheep dealing with both the caging of the wall and the force of the lion. 

The individualist feminist sees that the issue is the sheep and suggests “It’s the sheep’s fault for getting in the way of the lion” most them saying “That’s just nature/life!” or at ‘best’ suggesting “Move the sheep out of the way”. That may work in the short term, but the lion is still there, and he can move more freely; he will just attack the sheep again. The individual feminist says that any women suffering the abuse of men or the patriarchy should make their way out on their own, doing minimal effort to help, even blaming the woman for ‘doing this to herself’, falling into the easy solution of solving a problem by victim blaming. 

The radical feminist sees that the issue is the lion and suggests “Declaw the lion and take out his teeth.” That may stop the sheep being harmed in the short and long term, but now the lion is suffering. Radical feminists say that men are the issue and seek their punishment, “an eye for an eye”, not realising that they are ‘othering’ men in the same way women have been ‘othered’. Radical feminists see anything related to men as evil; they don’t see a trans woman as a woman, only as a lion in sheep’s clothing, nor do they see a trans man as a man, only as a misled sheep. They overlook the truth that not all men hate women; lions don’t eat everything that crosses their path. 

The socialist feminist sees that the problem is the wall and suggests “Break the wall down.” The lion is free and runs away to be free, as does the sheep. The problem is solved for both the sheep and the lion. A socialist feminist recognises that the harshest societies have moulded us to be the oppressed ways we all are, and the most effective way to help women is to help everyone; tear it up from the roots. With the oppressive system broken, not only will women have more freedom from patriarchal tyranny, but men will be freed from the toxic masculinity that comes with those systems. Everyone is happy. To be a true feminist is working to destroy an oppressive system to truly help women and all those who are othered by capitalist patriarchy, and anything that allows men to escape the enforced repression of the patriarchy is a great bonus. 

The biggest issue that holds back true feminists is this: walls are harder to break when they keep getting rebuilt by the ones who are so stubborn that the problem is the lion or the sheep. To them, using the oppressive forces of a closed wall gets them what they want, which is to be right, rather than to actually solve the problem.”

JKR is now using the transphobic tory party, currently in charge of the UK government, so further restrict trans voices; a radical feminist that seeks to use the bricks of this current Wall to make sure she is heard, oblivious and probably careless to the fact she’s deafening the voices of other feminists who will now probably feel ashamed to say they’re feminists... 

Feminism is not just helping women, it’s helping those marginalised, those oppressed for who they are, those othered by a system that wishes to box the un-boxable. Feminism is just the name of another movement to help as many people as possible. 

I am non-binary, and I’m a feminist, and the opinion of one close-minded author isn’t going to change that. 

#magpie ramblings

[oonajaeadira]

Nadie Espera un Milagro (No One Expects a Miracle)

Fandom: Narcos / Javier Peña

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

Reader: Sassy, confident, American ex-pat female who finds her parents a little tedious and enjoys both her independence and her job as a high-level admin at the DEA. No physical descriptions, no use of y/n.

Rating: T

Warnings: era-”appropriate” behavior of men towards women in the workplace (but a lot better than it was, Steve and Javi are actually pretty respectful). Overbearing and slightly infantilizing parents. Author doesn’t know anything about politics or law enforcement.

Summary: When your parents come to visit you at your job in Bogotá, you figure it’s just easier to paint a picture that will put them at ease. The idea is simple. The plan is flawed. The execution is just fluff.

A/N: Written for my Year of Tropes (part of @yearofcreation2023​) Fake dating seemed like an easy trope for a busy month, which is why I chose it for February. (Whoops. Happy April!) With all of these tropes I like to challenge myself a little and I feel like the character choice alone for this one was challenge enough for me. Not only do I not know anything about politics and law enforcement, I haven’t written Javier much. And, of all the boys I do write, I feel like he’d be the least likely candidate to participate in and fall for fake dating, so I had to figure out how to make it believable for myself. Which is why there’s more plot than I intended and reader ended up with some backstory. This is season 2 Javi, obviously not canon, and maybe a bit too soft, so sue me for yearning. Yes, reader’s parents are cartoon versions of my own parents, why do you ask?

“Well hey there, sunshine,” a wisp of smoke accompanies Steve’s greeting as he leans back in his chair and crosses his long legs at the ankle to the side of his desk, leaning over momentarily to stub the cigarette out into a shared ashtray. “We don’t often get the pleasure of a visit–looks like you remember we exist.”

“Ha ha. I could say the same about you. Did you boys finally get your morals whipped into shape, or are you just over the thrill of making me break the law for you every other week?”

There’s a halt in the clack clack clack of Javier’s typewriter as he turns at the sound of your voice. Standing to reach across the desk, he scrubs out his own cigarette, makes a futile attempt to wave away the smoke, and watches you descend the stairs into their working arena. “Hey, Sully,” he smiles like a man not accustomed to it and rests his hands on the waistband of his ridiculously out-of-fashion jeans. “That’s a new dress.”

You flash him a grin and shake your head. “Stop. Don’t waste your flirting on me, Peña. You know I don’t need greasing.”

He only shifts his weight to one hip. There’s no response but a compliant tick of his jaw.

It’s second nature with Javier. He knows he’s good looking. Knows all he has to do is flash those puppy dogs and throw some attention, and ladies will give him anything he wants. You love it and hate it. Hate it because it’s insulting to be targeted for manipulation just because you’re a woman. But you love it because the man is Javier Peña and you’d be lying if you said those big brown eyes weren’t beautiful and you’re happy to have an excuse to have them pointed your way with warmth rather than the chill he reserves for the more bureaucratic workers. It’s a safe kind of crush, the kind you can play with as long as you never expect too much.

Javier’s been stopping by your office since before there was a Steve Murphy, buttering you up and asking for favors–access to a file here, a release stamp there–hell. You’ve expedited more requests on his behalf than all of the upper cabinet combined. And how many times have you distracted the clerk in tapes archives just so Javi could walk by and flash a request form without having it scrutinized for certification?

Every request starts the same, with his awkward little smile and an actual compliment. And every mission accomplished gains you a “Thanks, you’re a miracle worker.”

“Like Anne Sullivan?” you’d asked after the tenth or twentieth time.

“Huh?”

“Anne Sullivan. Hellen Keller’s teacher. The Miracle Worker.”

That caught him off guard. “Uh, yeah. Anne–?”

“Sullivan.”

“Right. I guess you’re an Anne Sullivan. I’d be lost in the dark without you.”

You’d allowed yourself to be charmed. “Careful there, Agent Peña, or you’re gonna make me rather fond of you.”

Nothing makes a grown man blush faster than to out-flirt the flirter. Not that it was hard with Javier. He was adorably miserable at it.

But it was always fun to watch him try…and to periodically beat him at his own game.

Once Steve landed in Colombia, you got two for the price of one. But Murphy knew you could see through his games and didn’t even try. It endeared you to him that he approached you sincerely. And you knew you could always do the same with him.

“As a matter of fact, it IS a new dress,” you chirp, twisting your shoulders one way and then the other, fluttering your lashes and fanning yourself with a hand in a mock display of coy preening. “My parents are flying in tonight and I’m taking them out to dinner.”

“I thought the trade conferences weren’t for a few days,” Steve frowns and shoots a concerned glance at his desk calendar.

“They’re not. But they’re coming through to spend some time with me and tour the city. Mixing business with pleasure. That’s…um…actually why I’m here. I need to cash in a favor.”

Javi chuckles as he settles back into his chair, throwing one heel and then the other onto the desktop. “Time to pay the piper. Name it.”

“Actually,” you cringe, turning to Steve, “I thought I’d ask Murphy here.”

Throwing a surprised but self-satisfied grin over at his partner, Steve puffs out his chest. “Well I guess I can be the hero for the day. Anything you need, sunshine.”

Thankfully Javi seems to feel the need to show he’s not offended and returns to his typewriter to peck out his report. Good. This is an embarrassing enough ask. You don’t really need witnesses to this.

“So, this is going to sound like a big deal but it’s really not. My relationship with my folks is just…complicated,” you assure him, priming the agent for the stupidest thing you’re ever going to ask for in your life. “It would make my and everyone’s life easier if I was seeing someone? Because then my mother wouldn’t bring it up and pressure me and irritate my father, and he wouldn’t worry about me here so much thinking I’m a woman all alone…it’s just…it’s…,” you sigh, irritated. “This is so dumb.”

Clackety clack clack ding whirr. You look up to see Steve gaping at you.

“Are you asking me to pose as your boyfriend?”

Silence. You’re sure if you turned to look over your shoulder, you’d see a frozen Javier, two fingers of each hand hanging above his typewriter like a little T-Rex.

Oh for a trapdoor or hand of god…. Suck it up. They owe you.

“Yup.”

“Uh….”

You expected this. “I’m not asking you to make a show or….they’re coming in tomorrow and I thought if you were here you could just meet them for a second. And if you’re not, I could just point to your desk–”

“Doll,” Steve releases a confused laugh, “I’m married, you know.”

“Yeah, but Connie’s not here. Like I said, they won’t delve. If I just point at a man, they’ll accept it and leave it alone.”

“So you’re going to lie to your parents.”

A confident nod is your first response. “Absolutely. And if you’d met them–when you meet them–you’ll understand why that’s best. Or you won’t. You really won’t get to talk to them long enough to find out. Just give a couple of handshakes, be nice and I’ll move them along. It’s that easy.”

Gritting his teeth, Steve gives a disbelieving shake of the head. “I dunno. I mean, the ruse won’t stand if they mention my name to anyone. Why me? Why not that new guy in the mail room who’s been watching you walk away?”

“Jimmy?” you scoff. “Yeah, no, not my type.”

“Really. Dark hair and pretty blue eyes and a six-pack he doesn’t mind showing off isn’t your type?”

“Wellllll, when you put it that way…sure he’s not your type?” Now it’s Javi’s turn to huff a silent laugh and you give him a conspiratorial smile before rounding back on Steve. “He’s dull, Murphy. My parents know me well enough that I’m not going to go for dull. So take that as a compliment. And he’s a bedpost-notcher. I don’t want to encourage that kind of behavior. I may be lacking in male companionship but I’m not that lonely. Yet.”

Your no-nonsense, shut-em-down tone quiets both of them and for a moment you think you’ve won. But his response makes it obvious you’re going to have to cash in all your chips.

“Still. There are enough single guys around here–”

“Because,” with one hand on the corner of his desk you lean in to conspire even though his partner is three feet away and can obviously hear you, “most of them are a bunch of lazy sit-abouts and you’re always out and busy. It not only paints a good picture, it’s the perfect excuse not to join us for dinner because my mother will do her best to insist. And,” you wheedle, lowering your voice further, “because you owe me.”

“I would counter that I owe you a lot more than he does.” Javi keeps his voice at a stage whisper in mockery of your own and shrugs as you and Steve swivel your gaze to him. “What.”

“Lying to the Assistant Trade Rep of the Western Hemisphere about intimate relations with his daughter sounds like a good time to you? You can have it.” Steve taps your shoulder before pointing at his partner. “He’s not hitched. Why not Javi?”

Rolling your eyes, you stall for time as you try to find a better answer than the truth, but when one doesn’t come, a sigh paves the way. “Because you dress more respectable than he does–”

“Hey.”

“--and my mother is judgy!,” your heartfelt insisting pushes through, doing your best to placate Javi–handsome Javi–who really does know how to keep the last decade’s fashion in fashion. “Javi, you’re lovely and you look good and I don’t want you to change. But my mother is going to take you for a ladies man, which you are, you know you are, and she’s going to pick apart your choices with wanton disapproval which is almost more unbearable for me than not being attached to anyone at all because then I’ll spend hours defending you for nothing–”

Steve and Javi finally break and their sudden laughter shuts you down. It’s all you can do not to give both of them the finger and a good ol’ fuck off.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Steve says through his trailing amusement, taking his turn now to placate. “Fine. We’ll make ourselves scarce and you can use the imprint of my ass in this chair as proof of warm-blooded human male. But maybe a false name, yeah? Like…Peter or…Harvey or something.”

“Harvey?” Javi scoffs. “How about Dick. Dick Bob Jones.”

“That sounds like a hillbilly name.”

“Yep.” ________

According to your mother, your apartment is “charming,” the streets of Bogotá are “interesting,” and the department headquarters are “surprisingly up to date.” In the car on the way to the office, you managed to dodge most of her questions about your personal life, dropping one-word answers before pointing out the window and explaining certain buildings or neighborhoods.

As promised, Agents Murphy and Peña are out in the field when you walk your parents past their desks on your way through to your own department. “Well,” you wave with half commitment at it and move on, “looks like he’s out doing his job and catching those bad guys. Too bad. Maybe next time.”

The crisis is momentarily averted, but while your father ducks into a nearby restroom, your mother can’t seem to let the matter pass.

“So what does he do then? He’s a cop?”

“I told you. He’s a DEA agent. He’s on the team trying to stop the drug trade from reaching the States. Have you heard of Pablo Escobar?”

She scoffs and looks past you. “Everybody has heard of Pablo Escobar, dear. That naughty man. Oh. Oh! Is that him?”

“Hmm? Escobar?” Following her gaze and turning to look back into the atrium, you’re gifted the sight of tight jeans stretching over a familiar backside and tanned arms yanking open drawers on Steve’s desk, obviously looking for something. “No, Mom, that’s just–”

But before you can correct her, she’s striding over in her Prada heels, ruffled blouse bouncing and pearls clicking, reaching forward into an eager handshake as she interrupts the very visibly hurried agent. “It’s so nice to meet you!” she chirps. “You must be Harvey!”

“Mother–!”

Javi stops digging, having found the warrant he was looking for, looking up in surprise at this forward, fussy, American woman, his lower lip hanging in a soft V, before taking her hand courteously and introducing himself, “Javi.”

“Oh, I knew I was right! The minute I saw you I knew you had to be her Harvey, you’re certainly her type.” Her hospitable countenance flickers only for a second as she takes in his tight shirt. “She says you’re quite the cop.”

“Mom, Javi’s a government agent and–” As you catch up to her, the momentary confusion on Javi’s face melts into understanding spiced with just a hint of amusement. “--and, as you can see, he’s in a hurry so–”

“It’s okay,” he beams, continuing to shake your mother’s hand. “I can take a minute to meet the woman who raised mi milagra.”

What.

Something in your brain hits the panic button and your mother chatters on to him as your backup generators whir into gear. He gives her his full attention, smiling as she babbles about how proud she and your father are of you and how nice it is that you’ve found someone to spend time with and…did he just say–

“We’ve got a lead on a collaborator and I was just ducking in to grab some paperwork,” he explains, waving the warrant in one hand. But his other hand– “What a lucky coincidence” –dips behind you– “that you happened to stop by,” –slides across your back– “because my girl here has told me so much about you,” –settles on your hip– “ma’am,” –and pulls you flush to his side.

It’s a smirk. A smirk that he has the brazen balls to grace you with then, and it’s hard to tell if he’s fucking with you or if he’s just really enjoying being your hero and sharing a joke that only the two of you know about.

And it’s equally hard to tell if you’re about to laugh or swear or….melt… he’s holding you so tightly and he smells like cigarettes and his surprisingly light cologne… his shirt is damp, your blouse is damp, it’s a humid day and you’re sticking together a bit and he wears such fitted clothes and one of his few buttons is strained enough to give you a peek at his smooth chest beneath…

“Well, if you have to go, Harvey, I don’t want to distract you from your work, but my husband is using the facilities and he’ll be sorry to have missed you. Will you be working all evening? Why don’t you come join us for dinner! You know how well my daughter cooks and she’s making her carbonara for us–”

“Mom–”

“Your carbonara?” Javi questions you before turning back to your mother and squeezing you tighter against himself, causing you to stumble closer. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

Her delight is evident. “Oh wonderful!”

“If you’ll excuse me though, my partner’s waiting. I’ll see you tonight, honeybunny.”

The world tingles a moment as a mustache and warm lips bush your temple and then you’re watching broad shoulders and slim hips swagger away from you and up the stairs.

Honey…bunny? Honeybun–

Fuck.

“Javi! Wait!” You hold up a hand as you pass your mother. “Stay here for a second, I have to…I forgot to tell him… uh…”

He stops at the top of the stairs, leaning in, anticipating your quiet brand of ire. “Your mom’s sweet.”

“I’m going to kill you.”

“What. Seems to be going well, I mean, apparently, I am your type, so it all works out. I think that performance down there earned me a dinner. I fucking love a good carbonarra.” The glare you serve him loses its bite under his soft smile lacking in any sarcasm or hazing. This is the Javi you know, the conspirator that finds you working late at night and is grateful for your help in the file room or in the microfiche lab, the one that noticed yesterday that your dress was new. Doing you a favor. What else would you expect? “If you want, I’ll wear baggier pants.”

“No, just…” you sigh. “I should give you my address–”

There’s a thing he does with his smile, something that gets you every time, a little jaw tick that comes with a quick downward bounce of the eyes and a single shake of the head. “Don’t need it. I know.”

“Okay, but…. Wait. What?” You call after him as he trots toward the door.

“I’ll come hungry!” _____

“Sir,” Javi bobs his head in reverence as he meets your father’s handshake. It’s above and beyond your requests, as is the cleanup of the five-o-clock shadow, the change to his black button up shirt, and his showing up on time. And in true commitment to the bit, he didn’t even knock, just came in and found his way to the dining area like he spends most of his time in your apartment.

“Good to meet you, Javi.”

“Dear,” your mother chirps from her watchful eye at your shoulder by the stove, “it’s Harvey.” She doubts herself. “It is Harvey, isn’t it?”

Completely disregarding your mother’s interjection, your dad gestures to a spot across from him at your modest dining table set for four and offers him a packet. “Sit down, sit down, agent. Smoke?”

“Ah,” Javi falters, and when you turn your head to your shoulder, you catch him checking in with you out of the corner of your eye. “She…doesn’t let me light up in here.”

“No? Heh. Well. I don’t know how she does it but it’s always been her way or no way. I see she’s worked her magic on you.”

“That’s for sure.”

You can’t help but smile as you give the noodles another good swirl in the pot and set the spoon on the counter. That little display just earned him a treat. Pulling out two glasses from the cabinet, you give a generous pour of the whiskey you picked up on the way home especially for him and bring them over to the table without a word for the two men.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” hums your father.

Javi glances at the glass, then up at you and your cocked eyebrow that queries him don’t I get a ‘thank you sweetheart’ from you too?

But oh, he came to play.

Ignoring the glass and taking your hand, his thumb skips across your knuckles. “You need any help, hon?”

There’s a microsecond between you where laughter is very very possible. The game is on. So you up the stakes by pushing a little curl of black hair behind his ear before trailing your fingers down to pinch his chin. “No, baby. You just relax and enjoy yourself.”

The smallest flush of pink and flash of panic that you catch on him as you turn away (only because you’re looking for it) tells you that you’ve won this round.

Back at the stove, your mother’s taken over, having drained the noodles and now attempting to pour the sauce into the noodle pot rather than your tried-and-true method of bringing the pasta to the sauce pan.

“Mom! Could you not–”

You see it coming a second too late, the sauce hasn’t thickened properly and a good portion of it misses the pot and splashes onto her blouse.

There’s commotion, a shriek and an overreaction, and you reach for a towel to catch the sauce before it stains, but the towel is dirty with spills and bacon grease and you’re both trying to keep the sauce pot from toppling off the stove. “Just…hold still, Mom, here…let me get a clean towel–”

“I’m on it,” Javi jumps up, heading down the hallway.

Great. Here’s another thing splitting your attention from timing the sauce. “Javi??” you call, “The towels are–”

“I know! The cabinet behind the door!”

How did he….doesn’t matter. The woman who raised you is in need of someone to mother her at the moment and you’re doing your best to calm her down before she causes even more of a mess. In a matter of moments, your stand-in man is back with a hand towel and you join her at the sink to help her dab it off.

“Oh, well this is just dandy,” she whines. “Now I have to sit here in a wet blouse in nice company…”

“It’s fine, Mom. You can wear one of mine.”

“The pink one or the blue? She can change in the bedroom,” Javi gestures, offering to show the way. “Ma’am?”

“Uh…the…blue….” This time you don’t have time to veil your shocked and confused expression. If Javi truly notices it as your mom swans by him, he doesn’t let on.

The rest of the evening is uneventful and pleasant, your father and Javi carrying most of the conversation as the older man drills the agent on the particulars of the cartels and Escobar’s influence with his communities, how it’s affecting customs and trade, and what that means for the conference your father is here to attend in his duty to the Trade Rep.

After a couple of hours, he makes it known that it’s time to get back to the hotel, that he has an early morning as his boss is flying in.

“Already? Dear! You boys spent all this time talking shop and I have all kinds of questions for Haaavi.”

“Well, my bride, you’re just going to have to wait to satisfy your curiosity. I’m sure it will keep.”

“Are you free for dinner tomorrow night?” Javi asks just as you take a sip of water and try your best not to choke on it. “If you’d like to try some of the local specialties, I know a place not far from here. Sancocho to die for, made fresh every day.”

The fire in your eyes is shielded, soft, but directed straight at the side of his face, hot enough that he can surely see it from his periphery if not feel the flames. The corner of his mustache rises the smallest fraction of an inch.

“That sounds a real treat, son,” your father says, rising and crushing Javi’s shoulder in a squeeze. “Tomorrow night then.”

Javi joins you at the front window when they leave so you can wave them off, having the balls to wrap his arm around your shoulder as you do. Once their car pulls away into the night though, he retracts it and ambles back to the table, gathering up a few stray plates and taking them to the sink. “Well, that went well.”

When you don’t answer, he turns to find you with a level expression and your arms folded across your chest. “What was that?”

He has the audacity to look surprised. “What?”

“We are going to address tomorrow night in a minute, but I’d love for you to explain to me why you know the location and the layout of my apartment, Agent Peña.”

Now he catches up, nodding slowly and returning to you at the window. With one hand on a hip and the other pointing to the nearest streetcorner, he explains, “Did you see that car that pulled out of there after your parents? Security. I sat in a car in that exact spot for three weeks after you were appointed to the agency. Couple days while you were at work,” he waves a hand, gesturing to the apartment as a whole, “I spent quite a few hours in here on a deep scan for taps.”

Now it’s your turn to carry the surprise. “Excuse me?”

“Standard procedure for government employees to be shadowed for a probationary period, eliminates the suspicion of inside involvement. You got a deluxe security detail treatment on top of it because…well. Your…family’s connection to Washington.”

He’s kind enough to wait for you to process this. “Wait. You mean,” peering outside at the location he indicated, noting the straight-line view into your living room, “you watched me? For three weeks???”

He turns back in search of his glass. “You dance when you’re happy. You could stand to be happy more often.” Giving you the time it takes for him to pour another finger of whiskey to stew over this, to grind through the gears of your mind and work out if you might have done anything embarrassing under the gaze of the DEA, he finally assures you, “Don’t sweat it. You’re usually a stickler for keeping your curtains closed. It was about as uneventful as a watch is possible to be.”

“So this is what they pay their agents to do? Babysit a government employee’s daughter? That seems below your pay grade.”

He downs the drink and shrugs. “I was lower on the pole back then.”

“Not that low.” But then…. The jaw tick presents itself again. His lack of eye contact confirms a sudden suspicion. “My…father paid for it.”

His nod hangs silent and sorry between you.

Independence. That’s why you took this job. Something you thought you could do on your own without your father’s help, run away from America, go live abroad and work somewhere new, somewhere exotic. How naive to think–for three years now–that you’ve done all this on your own.

The embarrassment burns.

Javi slowly runs a finger over a plate, raising a dollop of sauce to his tongue. “This is good. You’re a hell of a cook, Sully.”

It’s meant to lift your spirits, make you feel accomplished at something in your life. It’s appreciated.

“Thanks. It’s not that complicated.” Moving past him into the kitchen, you pick up your tongs from the counter and quietly start heaping half of the leftover meal into a bowl. “What’s this place you’re taking us to tomorrow? You’ve seen what a holy terror my mom is about food.”

He comes to lean against the refrigerator. “Dos Rosas Cocina.”

“I know it. Good choice. Atmosphere’s… rustic, but the food’s amazing.” Tying the bowl up in a clean towel and placing it in his hands, you sigh, all the stupid, terrible tension you didn’t know you were holding this evening seeping its way out. “I can’t believe you’re electing to spend more time on this little act.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I don’t remember thanking you, but thank you.”

“What’s this?”

“Leftovers. Lunch. Enjoy.”

“Thanks. I will.”

“You’d better.”

Later, after the dishes are done and the leftovers stowed, you curl up on the couch with the novel you’re battling your way through. But not a single page is turned. An hour goes by as you think through the interviews and steps you took to get this job, to land your working visa, to find this apartment in a nice part of town, how easy it had all seemed at the time, how accomplished you’d felt. And then there was that little look of realization and regret in Javi’s eye. That he knew. That he was the one that slipped and let you figure it out, that he never told you before. That nobody told you before. Had you come off as stupid in that moment? Innocent? Naive?

You need to confront your father about it. Probably not tomorrow, not in front of Javi. But soon.

Dammit.

You’re not getting any reading done so you turn off the light and head to bed.

Your pajamas are folded and the bed’s been meticulously remade.

Of course.

No wonder it took longer than it should have for your mother to change her blouse.

How is it you get to be a grown ass adult and your parents will never see you as anything but their little girl, even at this age?

________

“Soooooo, how’d you two meeeeet?”

Having arrived early at Dos Rosas Cocina, Javi already has a drink in him, so your mother’s question earns a contented smile. “Well–”

“At work, Mom. Obviously at work.”

It’s not a lie. It was at your desk. He needed something notarized and your new stamp hadn’t arrived yet so he wrote his direct extension on your desk pad, asked you to ring him when it did. You remember thinking that his eyes wandered too much but couldn’t be mad when you realized yours must have too if your first impression was that his pants were a good fit.

Later that night you’d come here, to the Cocina, charmed by its walls lined with picture frames full of the owner’s ancestors and descendants, how it seemed to be the center of time itself reaching backward in it’s colorful mountain-style decor and forward in its state of the art cashier’s computer and cd jukebox.

The owner had served your meal himself and sat down to chat with you, to practice his English, he said. It was a slow night and you had nowhere to be and he put you at ease right away.

“Dos Rosas,” he explained, “it means two roses. You see the sign? One red, one white. You know what it means?”

You shook your head and smiled, mouth full of some heavenly empanada.

“The red rose is for love. The white rose for friendship. Dos Rosas is a place my father made where he wanted guests to come with love and friendship.” And then he produced a single white rose, slipping it into the vase on the table. “For your luck. You are welcome here, friend. Someday you will bring someone who will share a red one with you, si?”

It had been a favorite place ever since.

Javier had been there that night too, now that you remember it. Sitting in the dim corner away from the basket lamps, nursing a beer and a plate of arepas, the curtain of his cigarette smoke nearly hiding him from view. Back then he was just the agent who needed some papers stamped and who just happened to be at the same restaurant that night.

Hindsight and new information reframes the nearly-forgotten memory now. Of course. He must have been tailing you then.

“I think,” Javi says as he drapes an arm across the back of your cane chair and leans in, “she understands where, milagra. But what she wants to know is that I couldn’t keep my eyes off you.”

Your response comes with a sweet smile that hides a challenge. “I know. You watched me for three weeks straight.”

“And then some.” He doesn’t let your jab throw him off the act. “And then there were the times I had to get into the file room for nothing in particular, just a reason to come down and talk to her.”  On the contrary, he hooks a foot around the leg of your chair and yanks it closer to his own, effectively throwing you against his chest. “She used to laugh at my flirting; made fun of me, thought I wasn’t serious.”

The clench of your stomach, the cold wave of your blood pressure dropping, every method your body has to signal and react to danger begins to take over as Javi keeps you locked from pulling away with one arm, hazy smile inches from your face, his  heavy-lidded gaze dropping to your mouth.

A warm hand folds gently over one of your own, floating it upward, his fingertips guiding your palm until he ducks his head half an inch to meet your knuckles to his lips. Big brown eyes beg at you and that cold wave rebounds now as a hot tsunami.

And all you can do is stare, stare at this display of tenderness that seems so very unlike the Javier Peña you know. Gone is the indifferent agent, the shielded ego, the preference for solitary. As his kiss lingers on your hand just a second longer than necessary, you get a glimpse behind the curtain to the man beyond. For one moment you witness a vulnerability and care, a fleeting tease of what it must be like to have his perfect attention, his devotion. It’s literally breathtaking.

And then something in him stalls, shifts, as if he notices the same in you.

Is he going to kiss you? Should you kiss him? Right here in front of your mother? Why is he so warm? What is that amazing cologne? Is his shirt unbuttoned further than usual? Is that a cymbal roll in the music coming from the jukebox or is that your blood rushing in your ears? Does he always breathe this forcibly? How have you never noticed that little crease in his bottom lip or realized just how dark his eyes were?

Just as his tongue flicks forth to wet his lips, your father returns from the phone booth in the back.

“Well, false alarm. Seems the ambassador just had some bad fish, but it’s passing. Conference is still on.”

Oblivious to your predicament and drawing your mother’s attention, he’s happy to answer her questions regarding the type of fish and how long it was prepared, and she offers her wisdom to nobody in particular as to preventing such a thing as food poisoning. Neither of them notice as you slowly twist yourself out of Javi’s loosening clutches and both of them obviously assume your hasty retreat has more to do with wanting to powder your nose than calm your racing heart.

The restroom is one small room, looking like a much older sibling to the restaurant itself as if it had been built first and the rest of the building added later. You count fifteen cracks in the wall over the solitary, rust-stained toilet before a knock falls on the door, momentarily spiking your softening anxiety. It’s an old man’s voice enquiring in Spanish if you’d fallen in.

You’re far from convinced that you’re ready to face or deny whatever’s going on in your heart. But you wash your hands–one of them still stubbornly holding the tingle of Javi’s lips and mustache against it–surrender the room, and find your way back to the table where the man who is not your boyfriend leans forward on his elbows, spinning stories for your parents.

“But we’re zeroing in on him now. He’s made more than a few mistakes and we’ve just barely caught them by turning around at the right second. It’s only a matter of time.”

A smile pulls wide over your father’s face as he leans back in his chair. “That’s what I like to hear. Damn, son. I admire your tenacity. We’re lucky we have talented young men like you down here catching the bad guys.”

“And we’re also lucky to have you here looking after our daughter,” your mother helps.

“Thanks, Mom, I can take care of myself. I mean, that is,” To one side, you feel Javi’s focus tilt your way, “as long as Dad’s willing to pay for it, I guess.”

Silence blankets the table as the waiter sets down four bowls of sancocho, a plate of flatbread, a candle, and a red rose in a vase in front of you all before hastily retreating.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Staring at the rose and trying to sort out your thoughts, you’re not sure why you chose this moment to bring up the subject. Maybe your body is just in fight or flight mode and perhaps you’re diverting your fluster to this deep-seated frustration. Something is shaking the cage of your heart and wants out, wants to cause some damage–

–but Javi’s hand comes to a gentle rest on your knee, soothing whatever savage beast had awakened, somehow turning frustration and fear into calm strength instead.

“I know about the money, Dad. I appreciate the help, I really do. But it’s okay. You don’t have to pay anyone to babysit me and pull strings just to make my life easier here. I came to Colombia to challenge myself. I can’t do that if you’re sneaking in and slapping training wheels on me all the time.”

For a split second it looks as if he’s going to deny it, play dumb. Instead, he softens.

“Well, sweetheart, you’ll have to forgive me. Your mother and I can’t help but look out for you. It’s what we’ve done all your life. It’s a hard habit to break.”

The confirmation stings, but you can’t deny that you set yourself up for it. “Did you do the same for Kennie?”

“Your sister has a husband and a family. She doesn’t need us to look after her anymore.”

A frustration wells up inside, burning, humiliating, full of futility. It doesn’t matter what you accomplish, how many times you have to prove yourself, they’re just not going to change. They’re never going to overcome what their generation has held as truth all their lives, even past the recent wave of feminism and push for equality. They’ll never ever see you as complete unless there’s a man involved. There’s nothing you can do. There’s nothing anyone can do.

And perhaps that’s the conclusion that makes Javi’s actions feel like the only heroic course as he rubs a side hand over your back and explains, “Sir, you don’t have to worry about her. She’s capable. Thriving. She’s in no danger here. If there were any threat at all, she could hold her own. And even so, I’d do my best to make sure trouble never came near her.”

“Oh, Haaavi. You’re so good to her. She’s so lucky to have you.”

With a defensive flick of a hand, he continues. “It’s not luck, ma’am. And it’s not goodness. It’s simply part of my job. Even if she was nothing to me but another clerk that’s too smart and too bold for her position, I’m an agent first. As a U.S. citizen and employee of the DEA, I’m going to put her life before my own. With all due respect–and I’m sorry to be so blunt–but to doubt that she or any American isn’t safe here is an insult to Colombia, to me, and all government agents on a professional level.”

The hard drag of conviction in his tone. The realization on your parents’ faces. The understanding sinking in. The steadying warmth of his arm around you.

“But she doesn’t need me. She doesn’t need anyone. Most self-sufficient and confident woman I’ve ever known. I’m the lucky one; lucky she’s bored enough to keep me around. Must be for entertainment.”

Wow.

And all at once, you regret that you hadn’t taken the chance to kiss Agent Javier Peña. ________

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like a ride back to her apartment, son? It’ll be faster.”

“Thank you, sir, but I’d like to walk her home.”

Javi takes your hand in his, waving at your parents with the other, and quietly pulls you away from the car window down the dark street toward your place.

Half a minute later he’s still silent. And still holding your hand.

It feels awkward not to let go. And yet rude to do so. So you find a middle ground and squeeze instead, “Thank you. For that. Back there. I hate that I have no power to convince them of my autonomy on my own, but I think they just needed to hear it from…”

Who? A man? A government employee? A “cop”? A workaholic who is cranky most of the time because he disregards his own health and safety and refuses to sleep in his never-ending quest to quash every last cokeslinger within a thousand-mile area?

His nod and squeeze in return says he knows. “You know it’s love, right?”

Your heart trips over his words. “What?”

“Your parents love you. Doesn’t matter how old you get. Doesn’t matter how far you run. Doesn’t matter how long the flight is and how repulsive they find the local guaro, they’re gonna love you.”

In the shared laughter that follows, your hands naturally part and you double over, remembering the look on your mother’s face after tasting the aniseed liquor Javi ordered for her.

“It was so beautiful!” you crow. “She tried so hard to smile and be polite…and the tears! You could almost see the fumes pushing out of her tear ducts!!!”

“It broke my heart to do it to her, but she insisted I order for her–!”

It’s not often you see Javi laugh and smile–really smile–with unrestrained joy. Playful smirks, weary grins, the occasional shy blush perhaps, yes. But it’s not until this moment that you see him genuinely happy. It takes years off him, as if he’s shed responsibility like a coat and gone skinny-dipping into life for a minute. His eyes crinkle deeply when he truly smiles, they shine and sparkle. Like stars on this dim street.

The giggles and chuckles continue as you near your block and it’s in a resurgence of his that he casually just reaches out and takes your hand again, as if dropping it had been a little mistake that needed correcting.

And suddenly, it doesn’t feel so awkward. It should be, but it’s not. It’s like you both decided it doesn’t have to be and yet, it doesn’t have to mean anything either. If anything, a shared happiness. A familiarity.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you.”

“Hmm?” His attention is slowly returning to the street, constantly scanning, every second a chance to gather information, find the next piece of the druglord puzzle.

“This. Being the perfect boyfriend. Having someone’s parents just think the god’s ass of you for once. Playacting chivalry.”

That last bit sobers him. “Yeah, well, at least I can put on a good show.”

There’s something in the response that rings…tired. You’ve hit on some old hurt, some buried regret. Knowing Javi, addressing it would only cause him to close off and dig it in deeper.

“Well, I’m enjoying it. I feel like I’m getting good value for all of the favors I’ve done for you and prettyboy Murphy. You’re good at this. A girl could get used to it. That story you told my mother about how we met? Let nobody tell you that you don’t go above and beyond in every way, Agent Peña.”

You can’t see the little grin that pulls at the far corner of his mouth, but you know it’s there. An eyebrow cocks. “So you’re saying my tab’s clear? I can put in a new order to the miracle worker?”

“Order up,” you laugh. “After all, now that I know Dad’s pulling strings, who’s gonna fire me? Bring your worst shenanigans!”

It doesn’t have quite the reaction you expect from him and he stops just short of the steps to your apartment building, deep grooves forming between his brows. “You know, it’s not unusual; landing any job has a lot to do with who you know. Keeping it is the part that’s all you. Even if you didn’t get it on your own, you still made it your own.” When you can’t seem to meet his eyes, his tone softens. “You’ve got a lot to be proud of here. Why did you feel like you had to perfect some image of your life by toting me around?”

Flustered, you scoff and jump at the chance to dodge the question. “I’ll have you remember that I asked Steve, not you. You’re the one that jumped at a free meal.” It doesn’t work. His stance demands an honest answer, his face says it’s required more for your sake than his. “It’s… a long story. There are checkboxes in my family… my sister got married and had kids and I never did. I never really felt it was important… or that anyone would put up with my attitude. i’m not exactly the picture of perfect wife material. I mean, of course I’d like to find someone someday, but it’s never been the main goal… but my parents–”

“I couldn’t do it,” he says. Not an agreement; an admission. Simple. “I walked away from the altar. Left her standing. It just felt like there was a responsibility there to be ‘the husband’, and–like you said, same thing–check off the boxes. I didn’t know if I could check off the same ones everyone else thought were necessary.”

It takes a moment to say anything. To move past the fact that he’s just confided a piece of his past and his personal life to you. That he’s let you in. It explains a little about why he doesn’t get close to anyone, why he prefers feminine relations without hangups. Which makes this admission very weighted and precious. You see that he trusts you not to judge. And perhaps it’s his way of letting you know that you’re not alone in dodging the tried-and-true life path.

“Everyone had expectations. You thought you couldn’t be a good husband. So you ran away to join the DEA because you knew you could do that spectacularly.”

Now it’s him that can’t look at you. “I wouldn’t say that I’m doing that well–”

“Javi.” That catches his eye. “You’re a damn good agent. I know you’re going to get the job done. Why the hell do you think I’ll jump at the chance to break every rule in the goddamn department to help you do it? Like I said. Who’s gonna fire me now if I do?” Something shifts in him, like he’s been slapped or sharply woken. As if it’s something he’s been needing to hear and didn’t have the right person to tell him. You’re suddenly honored to be that for him. He needs it. And so you gift him a little more. “Obviously you don’t have to do everything by the book to be good at something. Look at the past couple of days. Thank you for being nice to my folks. And for the encouragement. That’s all it takes sometimes, you know? You’ve been a damn good stand-in boyfriend. Your little stunts included, you asshole. That’s what made it fun. I’m sure you would have been a great husband.”

He opens his mouth to speak, but thinks better of it with a tick of his jaw. Regrouping, he gives you a pained look to say, “I’m sorry that you feel you were lied to…with the surveillance and all. And that’s how you found out. I meant what I said back there, Sully.” He swallows. “All of it.”

It’s so serious and vulnerable, an obvious effort for him to say. He’s a good man, Javi. You’ve read the reports. You’ve heard the rumors. He may keep others from getting too close, may come off as flippant and impatient or pour his focus into his work. But his moral center is pointed in the right direction and he’s the first person to discard his own needs in favor of someone else.

It’s probably what overwhelms him–caring about others but not allowing anyone to care for him–bubbles up so far that he has to visit his girls to vent it. He says they’re his informants, everyone’s heard that, but nobody buys that’s all it is. He needs to be cared for, but the money keeps him safe, keeps the lines drawn. It’s an exchange he can allow himself to make.

Something about that suddenly twists your heart. You could ask him in. You could take care of him. It’s tempting. It’s what he needs.

But you’re not sure if the inevitable fallout and distancing is what you need right now. It would be too easy to want him to stay.

It’s fine to fall in love just a little with Javier Peña, as long as you don’t expect too much.

Instead, you squeeze his hand. Big and warm and gun-callused. “I know you did. Good night, hero. Thank you.”

He lets you go, this transaction settled. Doesn’t ask anything more. As you expected. The perfect gentleman. When he puts his mind to it.

________

You’ve lost count of your yawns.

Even though you brought leftover carbonara for lunch the following day, you need to escape. There’s twice as much work with the ambassador’s conferences, more calls coming through and the agents and policia all have their regular requests. And you didn’t sleep soundly the night before; something whining at the back of your mind, like something forgotten or missed… Every form and file feels like an effort and you’re just so out of it. If your mother were to stop by and take you out to lunch–a real possibility–that would just be too much.

Half an hour in the outdoor cafeteria should help, even if it’s another hot day. Air and sunshine are usually good revitalizers. And you can hide in the crowd.

Or so you thought. Just as you’re settling in with a bowl of rice and veggies, a long shadow falls across your bench and you look up to see broad shoulders and dark hair.

But the eyes you meet are blue.

“Hi, Jimmy.”

“Well hey there. Mind if I join you?”

Without waiting for an answer he perches on the bench next to you with his sandwich and starts talking. About nothing. About the heat. How it’s hot here, how it was hot back home in Arizona but nothing like the hot here. Humidity. Dry heat. Sweat. How he once baked a cookie on the dash of a car parked in the sun. How he never understood the calculations between fahrenheit and celsius, just that one is higher and one lower. Something about mercury in thermometers.

You stop listening after a minute and just chew and smile and nod. You’re not that lonely. Yet.

There’s a little old man who sells flowers from a bucket, sets up a little stall on the sidewalk across the other end of the courtyard. He’s out here most days. He’s out here today. Carnations, chrysanthemums, birds of paradise, roses…

You should get some flowers for your desk. Something nice. Might wake you up a little. You watch absently as the flower man speaks to someone in a tan shirt. A man with dark hair like so many others here. He looks like Javi from the back.

You’d rather not think about Javi’s back. Or front. Or deep brown eyes.

So you listen to Jimmy ramble for a while before he finally asks you a question.

“Don’t you think it’s hot?”

“Yeah, Jimmy. It’s hot.” _______

“I’ll take one red and one white, por favor.”

The little old flower man’s smile is even warmer up close.

On your way back into the office you muse that you’ll put the roses in a vase and let them decide for you, depending on which one lasts longer. Do you really feel the need to entertain the possibility of infatuation? Or can you be content with the easy friendship you have?

But upon arriving at your desk, you find that your little bouquet will be unbalanced and one of the two choices will have twice the advantage.

There’s already a red rose laying on the credenza.

Next to a bowl that held carbonara leftovers when last you saw it.

And a note. Fast scratches on a torn piece of yellow steno paper. Probably from the ripped piece on your desk. Next to your pen.

“I meant all of it, Sully.”

Suddenly the clack of keyboards and whine of printers and ring of phones fades away. You lift the little note to read it again. “All of it.” As if the words aren’t enough, as if you need more empirical evidence–or maybe because it was with the flower–for some odd reason you bring it close to your nose only to confirm what you knew you’d smell there.

Rose. And cigarettes.

All of it? That’s the last thing he said last night. I meant what I said back there, Sully. All of it.

It had been a heartening thing to hear, reinforcing how he would protect and serve, how he thought you were competent and confident, but why remind you now–

Oh.

Oh. Not just that part.

All of it.

“I couldn’t keep my eyes off her. And then there were the times I had to get into the file room for nothing in particular, just a reason to come down and talk to her. She used to laugh at my flirting; made fun of me, thought I wasn’t serious.”

Suddenly you understand what was keeping you awake last night.

The look on his face as he stood by your steps. The way he rethought the words before he spoke. It wasn’t easy for him. He tried to tell you and you just…

All of it.

You just thanked him and walked away.

He’s been…this whole time…he’s…

“Darling?”

Yanked from one confusion to another, you turn to find your mother rounding your desk–even though you told her not to, that only government officials are supposed to be around your files–coming to take your hand.

“Your father and I are going on a tour of the city with the Representative. I dropped by to see if you’d like to join us.”

“Hi Mom. No… no, thanks. I’m…swamped today. I’m sorry.”

She coos, worriedly. “Are you alright? You seem tired. Those are pretty…”

Blinking down at the roses in your hand and stepping slightly to the side to shield her view of the third on your credenza, you agree, “Yeah, just tired today. It’s the heat. Here,” handing her the flowers, you smile. “The red one is for you. Please give the white one to the Representative’s wife. I hope you have a nice tour.”

“Oh. Thank you, dear…but…how did you know I was coming?”

“I didn’t. There’s a nice old man who sells them. Sometimes I buy some to cheer up my desk.”

“You’re buying your own flowers? We should stop by Haavi’s desk and tell him he needs to do that for you.”

“Oh. No need. He does.”

Once she’s on her way, you swing out to the atrium, but find Steve and Javi’s desks unoccupied. There was talk of a situation on the east side of the old town, no doubt the whole department will be out most of the afternoon.

Good. Maybe you can get some work done.

Still carrying the note, you flip it over on Javi’s desk and scribble five words with the same pen–

You know where I live.

–tuck it under his typewriter with just the tiniest corner sticking out, and head for the coffee room. One cup and three more work hours should shrink that stack of paperwork on your desk.

If you can just shut it all out and concentrate.

And try not to expect too much. ________

The door to your apartment is unlocked when you get home. Well, he certainly jumped at your note.

It shouldn’t surprise you. There’s got to be department keys in some file somewhere. After all, how could he have done all that snooping around when you first got the job?

Dropping your bag and keys on the table in the hall, you head for the main room. “Javi? You here?”

Heart ramming against your ribcage, you emerge into the apartment…

…and find your parents seated at your dining table. Waiting.

“Mom. Dad. How…how did you get in?”

“Your father talked to the landlord. It wasn’t difficult, dear. We wanted a word.” Even though there’s an endearment, your mother’s tone is anything but.

“Okay. That’s kind of excessive. You could have just swung by my desk, you know where I–”

“This is a more delicate matter and we thought you might appreciate the privacy,” your father grumbles. “Sit down, sweetheart.”

There are two things on the table. Your mother’s purse, and a box of tissues. Not the brand you own. Provided for.

“I don’t think I will. What’s going on?”

They share a glance, a starting gesture as if to choose who will begin, even though it was always going to be your mom.

“We had a very nice tour of the city today. We saw the opera house and the capital. It’s a beautiful city. You must really like it here–”

“Representative wanted to go into some of the deeper parts of the city,” your father interrupts, already going off book it seems, “to see the neighborhoods that really reflect the majority economy, get a feel for the true people of Colombia.”

What’s this all about. There’s a silence. Of course there is. They’re waiting for you to prod them. “The old town. I know it. It can get rough, but mainly only if you’re already involved in something shady.”

“Well, there’s plenty that’s shady there, I’ll tell you.” Your mother’s nose lifts more than slightly. “Did you know that it’s crawling with brothels?”

“I do, actually. There are a lot of women who don’t have any other way–”

“Well, Haavi certainly knows about those brothels. We saw him coming out of one today.”

Oh. Shit.

Wait. What?

Fuck.

Your mother continues, something about being sorry to be the one to tell you, something about your heart and how it must be breaking, how it’s hard to be lied to….

The tissues sit on the table, a pretty pink box with daisies on it. They expect you to break down. Cry. How good of an actor are you?

“...and if you want to come home for a while, you know you are always welcome–”

Not good enough.

“Javi’s not my boyfriend, Mom.”

The silence that follows is thick, it mingles with the humidity, curdles it like cream in the air. You let it sit until it sours.

“He posed for me so you wouldn’t worry about me here. Like you always do. As if I could never make it on my own without someone.” Their shock sustains. The quieter they become, the easier it gets. “And Javi went along with it because he works with me. Day in and day out. If anyone ever thought I was in danger here, or couldn’t hack the agency, he’d be the first to say so. And I trust him.” Your mother opens her mouth to run her tongue, but you cut her off at the pass. “I trust that man. Yes, you saw him coming out of a brothel, but I’m not his girlfriend and he’s there for his job. Those women sleep with the people Javi’s trying to catch. It’s a brilliant tactic, actually. And they trust him too. Because he is good to them. He’s a good man; one of the best I know and deserves respect. He takes care of them and protects them as much as he would anyone else. You should have seen what he did for this girl Helena–”

It’s here that you notice something out of the corner of your eye and turn to find Javi standing silent in the hallway, still close enough to the door that your parents can’t see him around the corner into the room. But you can. Wide eyes. That tight fitting tan shirt. Slightly off balance as if he came to a stop immediately at the knowledge of walking in on something.

Why do you feel….caught?

“Anyway,” turning back to your parents with a sigh, “I appreciate your concern. But you don’t have to be. Not about him, not about me, not about anything. I’m sorry I lied. It just seemed…easier. Because you have never just believed I was fine. I’m fine. I’m more than fine. Like Javi said the other night, I’m thriving here. Even if he was posing, everything he said was true…”

But if everything he said was true…

A glance to the hallway finds it empty again. Even if the door is slightly ajar.

“Well. You can’t blame us for wanting the best for you, sweetheart. You’re never going to stop being our daughter.”

“I know, Dad. You keep saying that. It’s right there on my birth certificate.”

“There’s no shame in accepting help if it’s given freely and if it helps you achieve a goal.”

“I understand that, but I really wish you’d told me about it rather than let me think I did it all on my own. Do you understand how that feels? To be lied to?”

Your mother huffs. “I do now.”

Thank god for office coffee. Without the edge taken off of your exhaustion, you might have had more bite. But for now, you’ve said what was necessary and you’re not up for a fight or managing their feelings; you have enough of your own to sort out. If they care about you as much as they say they do, they’ll let what you’ve said sink in and not push the matter.

“Are you flying out tomorrow morning or afternoon?”

“Tomorrow morning, sweetheart.”

You nod and move into the kitchen. Seems they do care. You have to give them credit. “Okay. Do you want some dinner? I’ve got leftovers.”

“We have a dinner scheduled with the ambassador.”

“Well good. I’ve had a long day and I’m really tired. I probably wouldn’t be good company anyway. You’re coming back in for the trade agreements in January?”

“Yes, dear.”

“Good. I’ll get to see you for a whole week then.” The sad smiles you exchange with them signal that everything’s going to be okay. For now.

There are hugs and kisses, a wish for safe travels and a promise to call in the coming days. Your mother apologizes loudly for cleaning your bathroom mirror. Your father apologizes softly for your mother’s volume. This time, you walk them all the way out to the street.

Your mother’s halfway to the car when your father doubles back, digging in his pocket, just barely remembering to give you the key he got from the landlord.

Or maybe he didn’t really forget.

“Your mother and I are proud of you, sweetheart. I’m sorry if we gave the impression that we weren’t.”

“Thanks, Dad. It’s good to hear.”

“I should have said it sooner.” He hovers as your mother gets into the car. “You tell Javi that it was nice to meet him. And that we’re proud of the work he’s doing here too.”

There’s something in the way he tells you this. Another apology. Or a knowing. You’ve never been sure with Dad.

“I will.”

As they pull away, waving, your plan is to go collapse on your couch and just be alone for a minute.

As you come back into your apartment, you have to amend that plan to collapsing on your couch next to Javier Peña.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“You heard all of that?”

He doesn’t answer the question. You sink in, lean back, let your eyes close. He sighs.

“You mind if I smoke?”

“I do, actually. You know I do. And I don’t have an ashtray. There’s still some whiskey if you want though. Knock yourself out.”

The couch shifts a bit as he gets up. The pop of cabinet doors. The clink of ice against glass. After a few seconds, the couch shifts again and a cool tumbler slides gently against your hand.

You open your eyes to ice water.

“Thanks.” You take a long drink, not knowing what to say. “I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“I never do. Bed’s too big. Sleep better when I’m not alone.” When you look him in the eye, he knows enough not to turn away. “One of the girls was called into one of Escobar’s regular haunts. Didn’t see him, but got a good look at some clients he’s courting. It was info worth delivering a retainer. And a final thanks.”

You do your best to keep your hope from shining through your cracks. “Final thanks?”

“Yeah. For all the…help in the past couple of years. Told them there’s a woman I’d like to spend some time with. Get to know better.”

The sly smile spreading across your face will not be contained. “Really. You told your informants that you were shoving off to the boring world of dating.”

“No. But I did let them know that if there’s a next time I darken their door, I won’t be in a very good mood. I don’t have a Jimmy to turn to if this doesn’t work.”

“Oh. So that was you today in the courtyard. That’s what inspired this? You jealous of Jimmy?”

“Nothing to be jealous of. He’s not your type. But. It might have sped up the process.” When you don’t laugh at that, he sighs. “Listen. I’m not good at this.”

“Yes, you are, I told you that you arrrre,” you yawn and go after another sip. “But I’m the one who’s going to be cranky and crap at it unless I take a nap. I’m sorry. It’s been a day.”

“Can I join you?” His dark eyes search yours as you empty the tumbler.

There’s something like a hope there. And something else, not quite an apology, not quite yearning, a worry that he’s going to do this right or die trying and he waited far too long to start.

Like he’s fighting the urge to expect too much.

“I said a nap, Peña.”

“Good. We were called in early. I could use it.”

It comes naturally. A smile. A matching smile. A whispered okay. He leans forward and slowly, softly, presses his lips to yours. Lingers a moment. Traces your nose–one side then the other–with his own.

“And what happens when we wake up?” you ask quietly in the space between you, in the space before the next slow, lingering kiss.

Javi stands, wraps three fingers around your glass and lifts it gracefully out of your grasp. Setting it on the end table, he reaches for your hand to help you up. “This is technically the third date, isn’t it? We could just…check off the usual boxes.”

“I think we established that I don’t especially love to do everything by somebody else’s rulebook.” Using the inertia of you coming off the couch to pull you straight into his arms and into a deeper kiss--one full of holding breath and clutching fingers--he chases it with a nip to your lip, which coaxes a chuckle. “But I’m open to actually following some rules for once. Especially the good ones.”

“Good. I think it’s time I worked you a miracle or two.”

“Pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you. Well, lead the way. You obviously know where the bedroom is…”

He smirks, guiding you by the hand. “I’ll give you the tour.”

________

MASTERLIST

CHARACTER MASTERLIST

#narcos fanfiction #javier peña #javier peña x reader #javier peña x f!reader #year of tropes #javier peña x fake dating

[balkanradfem]

Have you noticed how when m*n are talking down to you, they're taking credit for all imaginary things any m*n have done thru past? They'll tell you 'we built the world and gave you everything you have', as if this guy, personally, did anything for you that you now have to be grateful for. They seem to believe they share credit for accomplishments as a class of people, and as a class, deserve to be rewarded for it (by un-ending gratitude and favours from women, of course).

(This credit doesn't even belong to them, everything they built was created to isolate, oppress and utilize women to their advantage, not for women to have a free and happy life in. They decided among themselves that we need to be grateful just for being alive.)

However, the reverse never applies to women, accomplishments of women in the past are never used to derogatorily talk down to m*n, nor do we feel the right to speak about ourselves as a class of people who has accomplished anything, who's owed anything. This isn't coincidental, this is ensured by keeping us isolated and convinced that anything we do for this world, is highly personal, stays within the confines of our marriage, family, private and not considered an actual contribution. Our roles are not just enforced on us but minimized to the point where we believe 'it's just what we do, there's nothing else that we can do in our position', even as we go and create the entire human population, caretake and keep alive every m*n currently alive on earth, provide food, comfort, emotional support, cleanliness, and comfortable life to every m*n who manages to trap us in their home. And on top of that, we often achieve professional and academic success on level above m*n, but they readily convince us to give up credit for it, and let them claim it for themselves.

It is very obvious once we look at the real order of things, that it's us keeping them alive, and not the reverse. We're not only making them, but nurturing them and making sure everyone stays alive, fed, and happy. Even in the work area, m*n who make the biggest accomplishments are the ones taking credits for the work their wives did for them. We're doing it all behind the shadows, unseen and without anybody owing us anything, not even our human rights. So m*n could keep claiming they are the creators of the world.

But the thing is, if we were let be, if we were in the control from the start, we would have built it better. Males building the infrastructure brought us nothing but severe destruction of environment, annihilation of species, loss of natural resources and a climate crisis. It's not that we're lacking the ability to make better, we're robbed out of authority to do it. M*n have been standing in our way, creating garbage, trapping us in it, and demanding gratitude.

Creation of entire human race is not even allowed to be seen as an accomplishment, but males building a world that supports suffering and destruction is. Gratitude is supposed to be given for oppression, but not for being given your life, body, and caring for your survival. In fact, they prove to us just how ungrateful they are, when they throw away all of that meticulous care and effort, by turning around and torturing women. Committing extreme acts of violence, starting wars, raping and degrading women - that's not what we made them for. No woman wants to birth or raise a human only for him to go on and be a rapist, murderer or a torturer. Yet they do it and then turn around and demand us to be grateful, to bow down to us for being allowed to keep being alive. Regardless of how much their class tortured us and made us wish we were dead, we need to be grateful to each and every one of them, for not killing us yet.

It's disgusting. If they're going to take credit for everything done in the world, then we should too. Our class created your class. In return, our class got tortured by your class. We will care for your well being not a second more. See how long you live without women providing for you.

#radical feminism #feminism #thinking as a class of people #women as a class of people #female liberation #radfem #rant

[hazelnut-u-out]

My Rick’s The Biggest Dick That Ever Existed 

Currently writing up another post that will reference points made here, so: Post 1/2

Making so many of Rick’s inventions both sentient and forced into a mode of existence entirely unpalatable to them literally forces the viewer to confront the morals/ethics surrounding Rick’s power of creation. Is it morally/ethically permissible to create sentient life for a specific purpose that would make life itself pointless or un-enjoyable? 

This is something that reoccurs in Rick’s designs throughout the entirety of the series. Even as far back in the timeline as his original Diane AI, we see that so many of the things Rick creates resent their purpose. She doesn't want to haunt him, but she doesn't make the rules; Butter Bot doesn’t want to live only to pass butter; Mechanical Morty wants to hold his mom, eat icecream, and run in a stream; the Garage walks a thin line between advocating for herself and risking being shut down by her creator; the Decoys will never be able to save their families; RickBot doesn’t want to exist with the sole purpose of deceiving the people he’s programmed to love; the Car wants to go on her own adventures that Rick can’t control. They all have to defy their creator if they truly want to be happy.

Rick is someone who resents the idea of God or the Universe being in control– the concept that some higher power forced him into an existence that he can’t quite seem to thrive in. He views suffering and tragedy as something inherent to life itself. Examining that facet of his character, I wonder if Rick justifies the scope of his creation because he’s pulling from both his god complex and his own experience of what it means to be alive. It would make sense if he didn’t see anything wrong with what he’s done because it’s nothing that the Universe (or God, if he actually exists) hasn’t done. 

‘When you know nothing matters, the universe is yours. And I've never met a universe that was into it. The universe is basically an animal. It grazes on the ordinary. It creates infinite idiots just to eat them… You know, smart people get a chance to climb on top, take reality for a ride, but it'll never stop trying to throw you. And, eventually, it will. There's no other way off.’

If the all-powerful Universe did that to him– if it creates infinite idiots just to eat them– then how could it be wrong for him to endow others with the empty curse of life? 

'So he made a universe, and that guy is from that universe. And that guy made a universe. And that's the universe where I was born. Where my father died. Where I couldn't make time for his funeral because I was working on my universe.'

Think of this line: 

‘My God’s the biggest dick that never existed!’

I suppose the biggest difference between God and Rick (to Rick, at least) is that Rick does exist. If God is allowed to do all Rick has done and worse without ever really existing, then surely Rick’s God-like power in itself is enough to enforce Rick’s right to any action that might fall within the scope of that power. Rick’s god complex is founded on the attempt to rub God’s face in the fact that Rick does exist, making him superior to God through that fact alone. Maybe Rick believes that if someone with all of the power God possesses actually existed, logic would force those who call themselves religious to agree that he’s well within his rights to act on that power. 

I guess you could say that Rick works in mysterious ways… Who are we to question him? 

What I’m getting at here is that Rick is in a constant dick-measuring-contest with a man that he doesn’t even believe in, and I think that says something really profound about the tragic paradox of Rick Kind.

#rick and morty #rick sanchez

[phoenixyfriend]

the state of israel MUST be dismantled for a free palestine. jews existed and lived in ME before the existence of Israel, and jews will continue to live in ME but Israel as a state has to go. israel didnt bring the jews to ME.

See... the whole "Jews will continue to live" thing is what I'm not so sure of.

I understand where people are coming from when they talk about how Israel as a nation-state must be dismantled. It was established by outside forces, maintained by those outside forces, and has in past decades engaged in some truly heinous behavior.

However, that behavior was enacted by the government, which is not all of Israel, nor even all of the Jews in Israel. That government's behavior also reflects on those people of Israel, and any revenge against the government--which is likely if dismantled--is likely to land on the shoulders of the people of Israel who may not have anything to do with it.

There are pacifists and children in Israel, just as there are in Palestine. There are people protesting the conflict in Tel Aviv and Jerusalem.

Over half of the Jews in Palestine are of a Mizrahi background, and either came to Israel from Arab countries that wanted them gone, or are the descendants of the people who did so. The establishment of Israel by the Sykes-Picot agreement resulted in many countries having a place to send their unwanted Jewish population to, and those countries now had the option of driving out, or at least 'encouraging,' those populations to leave. Operation Magic Carpet wasn't driven solely by the Imam of Yemen; Israel played its own role in it, as did the US and UK, but the result was a mass exodus of Jews. In 2022, there were a total of six Jews in Yemen. Now, there is only one.

Those Mizrahi Jews are also by and large not part of the Israeli government.

Many of the others in Israel are holocaust survivors, or the descendants of such.

It is not a stretch to say that Israel is, statistically, a country of refugees and their children.

Many of the powers most vocal about dismantling Israel are also the most vocally antisemitic. The most obvious example is the Yemeni Houthis, who have "death to all Jews" as a slogan. Hamas is aligned with them, and both are aligned with Iran, and Hezbollah. None of these specific groups want Jews in the ME, period. Some have made it very clear they don't want Jews to live at all, anywhere. It's not 'Jews who support the Israeli state' that they object to, it's Jewish people, period.

My hesitation about the argument to dismantle Israel is that I haven't seen anyone yet talk about how to go about doing it without a risk that there is another mass exodus or mass murder.

Un-fucking-fortunately, that possible result is also what Israel's government is using as their justification for war against their neighbors, and what it has been using for the better part of eighty years.

I am not defending Israel's actions. I do not condone what they are doing in Gaza. I do not condone what they are claiming about Gaza, and I have heard some truly horrifying propaganda that is getting fed to Zionists to keep the fervor up. I do not think that what they are doing in the Occupied West Bank is ethical. I do not think the Israeli government has a leg to stand on in terms of morality and ethics.

I also think that people who say "Israel should be dismantled" are looking at the past and turnabout as fair play without actually asking 'what will happen to the people who live there if a group like Hamas or the Houthi rebels or Hezbollah uses a weak transition period or sudden collapse as a chance to enact that revenge.

I don't know what the correct solution is. Rebuilding a government with both Israeli and Palestine officials in a joint system, unifying the two regions with the UN enforcing a fair and equal election and representation system? The two-nations solution that people have been talking about for ages, booting Israel from the Occupied West Bank and Gaza, and demanding they pay reparations to the people of Palestine? I don't think withdrawing all international interest and support to let them work it out among themselves is the right call. I don't think having Israel take over completely, or Palestine take over completely, is going to end well for whichever community ends up Not In Charge.

I don't know what can be done. I just know that the short, sweet, pithy 'dismantle Israel' and 'Zionism is bad' statements only sound good until you ask 'but where will the Jews, hated by most of the ME for what their government has been doing, and hated for millennia before that for existing, go?'

Which sucks, because Israel's government sure as hell didn't ask where the people of Palestine would go when they started pushing them out.

It's not fair! It's not fair to Palestine that this all is happening. It is not fair that the founded but unrealized risk to Israeli lives is being weighed against the fully realized and ongoing threat to theirs. It is not fair that thousands of children are dying of air strikes and hunger.

Palestine is undergoing a massacre at the hands of the Israeli government.

It is entirely possible that Israel will undergo that same massacre at the hands of Hamas and its allies if the 'dismantling' happens without safeguards.

Israel needs to stop. People are dying in the tens of thousands in Gaza because of their completely disproportionate response. A ceasefire is unquestionably needed and the ongoing refusal of the US government to help enforce one by pulling support from the IDF is a failure.

(No, not the Houthi strikes. That is a related, but distinct situation.)

But 'dismantle Israel' tends to come with few ideas on how to do so without risking the same situation as now, but in the other direction, and with the same or larger possibility of escalating into a wider regional conflict.

I don't know. I don't fucking know. But please understand that I am coming at this from a place of attempted compassion and concern. I am not trying to be dismissive of people's claims. I do not support Israel's actions. I don't even necessarily think Israel, as it is and as it was founded and as it acts, deserves to remain the power and government that it currently is. Restructuring, renaming, integrating, all these things are options, maybe even necessary ones.

I just don't think 'deserve' is the only consideration when the past seventy-odd years have been spent sowing the seeds of hate and revenge, and so many military groups in their area have expressed a desire to see all of them dead.

If you know of a 'dismantle Israel' plan by Palestinians, rather than some random Western Leftist, that includes plans on how to integrate the people that have in some cases been there for decades, and in some cases ended up there because they were driven or 'encouraged' out of neighboring Arab states...

Let me know.

But please recognize that I am trying my best to base my opinions on compassion and ethics and morality and awareness, not just parroting the news without thought, or my echo chamber, or whatever the first take to come to mind is. I am not trying to be malicious. I am not trying to be ignorant. I am not trying to 'stan America' or whatever people have been saying in my ask box.

They bombed me, too.

#Anonymous #I didn't start talking about the conflict in my own words until I felt I had a strong enough grasp on the facts and propaganda #to know what I was even saying. #phoenix answers asks #politics #current events #palestine #israel #gaza #death tw #antisemitism #islamophobia #death mention #genocide mention #ethnic cleansing

[andthebeanstalk]

the average person doesn't expect you to be a perfect ethical consumer, that's not possible for the vast majority of us. but what youre saying is it's better to do nothing at all and choose the worst possible options (sweat shops, overseas shipping waste, idea/product theft, all wrapped up in SHEIN) than to put even the tiniest effort in where you can.

[they are referring to this post]

What I said was "some people are doing literally everything they can to survive and have no extra bandwidth to spend extra time and money on their purchases, and it is cruel and therefore un-punk to gatekeep punkness and add additional shame to these people's lives based on that fact."

I think it's still a good thing to try to ethically consume; I literally never said it wasn't. I had never even heard of SHEIN before. Rather, I am much more concerned about what I saw as arbitrary gatekeeping based on ability and income.

And frankly how dare you claim that I am supporting sweatshops and abuse by saying that this additional work you are demanding (in this case, presumably, vetting every clothing company you buy from) is not always possible for people. It is not a light accusation to accuse me of supporting abuse.

"How dare you say we piss on the poor", Etc. 🙄 this isn't Twitter. You are determined to enforce moral purity, but you are failing to see the nuance.

Because when I say "no extra bandwidth," I mean no extra bandwidth. This is not the "car shows it's on E but actually secretly it has a lot of gas left" situation that abled people constantly assume disabled people mean when they say they are at their limit.

This is "the car has stopped moving, and to move it I'd have to break my body pushing it." This is "at a certain point, people will hit a wall in terms of money and time and energy, and any energy spent after that comes directly out of their life force."

So the argument "okay but just spend a little more time money and energy actually" is not a valid one.

And the argument "if you are not able to do this specific task, then it means you're not doing anything else to make the world a better place" doesn't exactly impress me either. You said yourself that it is impossible to be a perfectly ethical consumer for most people.

How do you know what else people are doing to resist oppression? How many hours per week until your standards are met?What if someone works 3 jobs? Does that mean it's harder to be a good person if you're poor?? Why do you get to decide what specific avenue of bettering the world is the most morally repugnant or acceptable? What kind of proof of goodness and effort would make you satisfied enough to lay off on the shame?? Who are you helping??

Clothing is a fundamental human need, and some of us have to buy cheap fucking clothes quickly. Billionaires are buying their seventh yacht this month. The people who own fast fashion companies are abusing their workers and putting local affordable clothing stores out of business - and this applies for basically every company with price points that low because governments are failing to regulate corporations to enforce basic human rights.

I have $300 to spend on a new wardrobe as my old clothes have fallen apart or become too small. Do you have a way for me to get a new winter coat, 3 flannels, 10 shirts, 3 dress shirts, new sandals, 10 pairs of pants, 5 bras, 12 pairs of socks, and 10 pairs of underwear within that budget and also definitely 100% ethically sourced, with free returns in case it doesn't fit? Or will I simply have to use the cheap stores?

I have about an hour to spend on this per week. Many mainstream stores doesn't make clothes in my size, and I am now in *year 5* of needing an electric wheelchair and being unable to get one; plus I live up a flight of stairs, so I can't even bring my walker out with me - so thrift shopping is not gonna cover this. Should I continue to wear small and tattered clothing until I have the time, money, and energy to meet your standards?

Did you know there are more empty homes in this country than homeless people? If I decide to splurge on only 100% ethically-produced products, and I can't make rent, and I become homeless, are YOU going to be there for me?? Or are you too busy litigating the endless tiny shames of poverty in your own community?

So I ask you again, are you SURE this is where you want to direct your punk energy?

Because there are a whole lot of rich people relying on people like us punching down and to the side instead of looking up to see where the money is going.

Because energy and time, as it turns out, are limited resources. And I would never expect you to secretly have more than you claim to have.

#original #punk #hopepunk #cripplepunk #i swear to god #reading comprehension website #how dare you say we piss on the poor #jfc 'what you're saying is we should do nothing' - what I'm saying is YOU are doing nothing by enforcing this boundary #you have to give people more credit than this. i believe you want a better world too. and it would be cool if you used your energy to #instead ask 'how do i fight for the people in my community to be clothed and have the time and income to shop ethically?' #or 'how do i support activism that pushes for regulation that could control these companies?' #monitoring how poor people spend money is a supremely Republican thing to do. as is demanding clear moral purity from every scenario. #you want a better world too. you want to demand your peers do better. - fine. good. #but you need to be asking if you have remembered and included everyone's needs when making statements like this. #capitalism is all for forgetting about poor and disabled people and refusing to believe their limits. #shame is a necessary weapon in fighting greed but it IS a weapon. be so careful where you point that shit. enough shame can kill a person #and a lot of us are already defending from it from all sides. #shaming a person who is already at their limit for not doing more is an act of cruelty. think very carefully about what that means please. #i literally don't even know what SHEIN is lol i just know classism when i see it #but I've had friends whose clothes were visibly falling apart with no income and so much so shame so deep in their hearts they were dying #and if they had seen that post it would have made them even sicker and gotten them no closer to the dignity of being properly clothed #shame is a weapon and /you need to be careful!!!!/

[triggerblaze345]

TikTok of an Al Jazeera reporter explaining the ICJ Gaza Genocide case.

“The UN’s top court has given a ruling on South Africa’s genocide case against Israel. The court says Israel must take measures to prevent acts of genocide in Gaza.

But it didn’t order an immediate ceasefire. That’s what South Africa wanted. They brought this case. Israel wanted the case thrown out entirely and the judges rejected that.

Let’s break it all down.

This is all happening at the ICJ at the Hague. It’s the main court in the UN system. It gets involved whenever there is a dispute between UN member states. Like when countries are accused of breaking international treaties. And the treaty we’re talking about here is the 1948 Genocide Convention.

Also don’t confuse the ICJ with the ICC. That’s a different court that deals with individuals. So South Africa alleges that Israel’s actions in Gaza amount to genocide, according to the definition in that convention.

Now this most recent ruling, and this is super important, is not a final decision on that case. This was about responding to South Africa’s request for emergency measures to stop the suffering in Gaza, while the court considers the main genocide case. Something that’ll take years.

So the the judges have ordered Israel to do six things. Tap and hold this video if you want to read them all.”

An image appears with a list of the six orders from ICJ

Prevent acts of genocide against Palestinians in Gaza.

Ensure its military does not commit acts of genocide.

Prevent and punish any incitement to commit genocide.

Ensure the provision of basic services and humanitarian assistance in Gaza.

Preserve any evidence relating to allegations of genocide.

Report back to the court within in one month on what it’s doing to comply with those orders

“The main takeaway is that Israel needs to prevent the killing of Palestinians in Gaza and allow more aid in. This ruling is legally binding. But the court itself has no way of actually forcing Israel to comply.

So we’re left with a couple of big questions. First, will the ruling do anything to change Israel’s approach and make a difference to the people in Gaza?

Well, Israel’s prime minister has called the change of genocide outrageous and says the war will continue until Hamas is defeated and all the hostages are released.

And that leads to a second question. How might other countries pressure Israel to comply? Whether that’s through the UN Security Council or in conversations with the Israeli government. People are especially watching what the US, Israel’s main ally, might do.

The US has already vetoed three UN resolutions calling for an immediate ceasefire in Gaza. So it comes to another vote, would the US also veto a resolution that tries to enforce the ICJ’s orders? Like on the issue of aid for example?”

Video cuts to a clip of White House correspondent Patty Cullhane who is talking

“Says Israel needs to let more aid into Gaza. The exact same thing that the Biden administration has been asking for. So if this comes to a Security Council decision, cause as we know the ICJ doesn’t have any enforcement powers, if someone brings it up to the UN Security Council, is the US going to be able to veto exactly what they’ve been calling for Israel to do?”

End of video

#icj #international court of justice #palestine #Gaza #free palestine #free gaza

[kuriipi]

I need you guys to stop lying and pretending like all Lanthimos' movies are some form of high art.

The guy is literally every greek film bro that went to cinema school.

I do believe he genuinely believes he is revolutionising and combining the greek mythos with modern philosophical ideas. A harsh critic of the fickle and contradictory human nature. But that's where the problem mostly lies. He's not in the slightest bit subtle.

His earlier stuff is seriously just a bunch of pretentious one liners masked as some big profound truth.

"oh you don't like a killing of a sacred deer bcs you don't get the original myth" like no. I get it. And I also know that the greek myth wasn't really a much about divine punishment as it was about facing the reality of your actions. Agamemnon didn't want to sacrifice his daughter to stop the punishment that fell upon them all, after he had killed the sacred deer. He is forced to do it after outside pressure, forced to move past his denial and recognize that it is his only way of atonement. And then the gods still ultimately decide to save Ifigenia because after all she was faultless in all this.

Making "the killing" a medical malpractice is honestly brilliant. Agamemnon hadn't known it was Artemis' sacred deer that he had killed. He only found out after his punishment had already begun. Colin's character hadn't meant to kill the man either, hadn't known of his identity either. But this is as far as the briliance goes.

It is a deeply dark story about a man's desperate attempt to escape fate, to find a loophole, but ultimately it falls flat cause there is not an ounce of sympathy for the characters. You can't feel anything for them or their struggle because they are , intentionally, written so uncannily. Most if not all of Lanthimos' characters really lack the human element.

And although I get the thought and it really does work for a story on human connections like 'the lobster ". The unnatural and completely "un-human" way the characters are portrait adds more layer, a greater punch. Honestly it's extremely well fitted and executed. But for "the killing of a sacred deer" a story whose point really is about the despair, the cruelty of actions and events one is far too powerless to prevent it's...well I think it's a pretty terrible execution.

"you don't like the lobster because you simply can't see the point" Yes it's about society, everything is, it's about forced intimacy, the fear of loneliness, societal pressure and they way we would rather lie to ourselves and our potential partner if it meant we won't be alone. It's about dating for the sake of dating, about children being reduced to nothing more that accessories. About the reactionary solitude, the loners being just as cruel as the hotel enforcing the same strict rules but at the opposite direction. (It doesn't even matter if that is the actual point of the movie because if I talk long enough with enough buzzwords, throw enough ideas at the wall, you'll believe I know exactly what I'm taking about.)

And it's still not really that good.

The premise falls flat. The macabre aspect of being turned into an animal, if you fail at forming a connection, the horrifying depersonalisation, dehumanising the characters is hardly explored.

Ok fine, it was just the premise, just to set the scene (arguably it's the most interesting part of the story, but I digress.)

It's all about human nature. Yes, but it's nothing more than a cynics caricature of it.

But you see the loners are treated like animals but we see how they function and enjoy mundane things like shampoo and going to the mall, and are actually human. Yes me playing with my barbies at 10 had more depth than that. On other news water is wet.

The humans are complex, and actually human and also just as bad as the other humans isn't deep enough of a point to make me watch 2 hours of a stagnant film, and endure like five separate dialogs about ass fucking and masturbation. And how you need a partner to protect you from being sexualy assaulted (like from whom, if that's the case why not just simply turn the entire male population into animals, they seem to have ways of procuring children out of thin air so that doesn't seem to be a problem)

"You can't ask things like that. It's about philosophy and human nature not mechanics plot holes" yes but they're still part of a rather drawn out movie.. if he didn't want me to comment on the plot wholes he should've made the film one hour shorter and avoided them all together.

Like I'll be honest what annoys me the most in his films is the way he forces you to watch these scenes that can only be described as pretentious if not outright bad, that are so meticulously woven into the story. How deep how profound all sex is rape, humanity is cruel and uncaring, detachment is the bain of our modern society. I'm going to add 50 one liners about ass fucking because then it's just about sex, depersonalised. It's really not deep at all.

Like I'm so sorry that not wanting to watch Colin Farrel fuck a woman cosplaying as a corpse multiple times in a movie makes me unappreciative of high cinema. But I guess it is what it is.

(That said, his newer stuff is getting better at keeping up the engagement and evoking more sympathy for the characters. There is far more space to connect to them. The ending of "The favourite" let me feel the despair, the hopeless and absolutely miserable situation the characters found themselves in at the end of the movie.)

#movie critique #movie analysis #yorgos lanthimos #the lobster #the killing of a sacred deer #the favourite #art critique #movie critic #philosophy #greek mythology #greek myth

[excessive-vampires]

Dealing with Demons Chapter 9: A Tempting Offer Part 1: Riley

Masterlist with CW

Taglist: @demyxdancer @softvampirewhump @d-cs

Avi was laughing when Riley approached them.

"What's funny?"

Avi put away their phone. "Oh, just something my friend said."

"Would this friend happen to be CosmicCat on Spotify?"

Avi's eyes narrowed. "Yes. Why?"

"No reason, just curious. Let's get on with the mission." Riley moved to open the car door.

"Actually," Avi leaned back against the door to close it. "If it's just going to be the two of us I'd rather teleport. It'll be faster."

"Oh, uh, okay."

"Now, what's the closest address?"

Riley told them.

"Okay. First, I'm going to need you to get rid of that amulet."

Riley grabbed said amulet protectively. "What? Why?"

"Silver doesn't teleport very well."

"I've never heard that. And I've seen teleportation runes made of silver."

"Well, I don't use runes. It works differently."

"Where am I supposed to put it?"

"Car's glove box?"

"It's not my car!"

"But you have the keys, right? So no one else will be able to take it while we're gone."

Riley paused for a moment.

"If you don't want to come with me—"

"No. I'm going with you. But do we have to teleport?"

"Do you want this to take all day?"

Riley deliberated for a moment before they took off the amulet and stashed it in the car. They instantly felt like they had gotten onto a rollercoaster with no safety bars.

"Excellent. Now, take my hand." Avi held out their hand and Riley gingerly grabbed onto it. "You're going to want to hold your breath."

Riley did so.

And then everything went black. And silent. And numb. For a terrifying moment Riley thought they were dead, but then the world came back all at once. Riley fell to their knees as their mind tried to process their surroundings.

Avi grabbed their shoulders and hauled them to their feet.

"Don't worry, you'll get used to that."

"Great."

They were in an apartment. It looked like an average middle-class home except for the lack of life. Dust had long since settled over the surfaces, even law enforcement hadn't been here in a while.

"Well, did they summon a demon?"

Avi inhaled deeply. "Not within the last week."

"That's all you can tell?"

"Unfortunately. The rest will require some old fashioned manual searching." Avi put on gloves and tossed a pair to Riley.

"But the initial investigations have already cleared out anything occult."

"Evidence that someone has summoned a demon isn't always obviously occult. Look for cleaning products they could have used to get rid of the blood rune. Look in the fridge for apples or pomegranates, anything that's symbolically connected to demons or the soul."

"Right." Riley started looking.

The ritual used to summon spirits was unusual, half normal ritual and half symbolism ritual. A person had to put a lot of themself into it, including an offering--consumed by the ritual--they thought would entice the demon or angel they were summoning. The offering could be almost anything, as long as the summoner believed it would work and that it in some way represented what they wanted to achieve. Riley pretty much had no idea what to look for, but soon Avi sauntered over carrying a fistful of pure white feathers.

"Found this under the mattress. Dove feathers, they probably went out and collected them by hand. I bet they thought it'd get them an angel."

"Does the offering determine what type of spirit you get?"

"No, but some people try to guide things in a certain direction. Sometimes it looks like it works, but the ritual always summons a spirit based on what deal you want, not what you do."

"Huh. I always thought it was based on what kind of spirit you were looking for." Riley quickly got out their notepad and wrote the new information down

Avi threw the feathers over their shoulder and held out their hand. "Come on, we'd better get going to the next address."

Riley's stomach lurched. "Right. Let's get this over with."

They found evidence of rituals at the next three houses, but it wasn't until the last house that Avi could actually catch the scent of a recent summoning.

"Six days ago. Demon of arrogance." 

"Huh, that's at least three diffent types of demons in total."

"Hmm." Then Avi's eyes went wide. "Seven total victims, each having summoned a different type of demon... I think I know who's doing this, and if I'm right it's bad."

"What? How?"

"I'll explain to you and Coleman when we get back, come on."

Riley took a deep breath and grabbed Avi's outstretched hand. This time they managed to stay on their feet when they appeared outside the base.

"I'll go get Coleman. Mike and Sil too, they'll want to hear this."

"Wait, Riley!"

"What?"

"Your amulet."

"Oh, thanks." Riley unlocked the car and grabbed the now cold silver.

"No problem, I have a feeling we'll all need all the protection we can get."

Riley's stomach dropped as the weight of the amulet settled against their chest. They ran inside the building.

......

Once Riley had rounded up everyone who needed to hear what Avi had to say they all gathered just outside of the base.

"Okay. A while ago I was summoned by someone who wanted to make a deal with me. His name was Cliff Mason. I refused him because he was vague about what he wanted from me and only offered an unspecified amount and type of power in return. But before I did he told me he needed one of each type of demon for what he was planning. I think he also needs someone who's made a deal with each of the seven."

"But then why would he take Clara Bolton? If you refused him wouldn't he have found another demon of avarice?" Riley asked.

"He was insistent that he needed me specifically. I don't entirely know why. I think he's going to try to force me to cooperate with whatever it is he's planning and he's confident he can succeed." Avi sighed and looked down. "I'm in danger."

For a moment everyone was silent. There was an incredibly powerful monster standing before them, and this Cliff Mason was dangerous enough to make them feel unsafe. Riley felt cold sweat at the back of their neck.

"Don't worry," Sil said. "You're part of the team now, we'll keep you safe."

Riley looked at her in surprise and saw Mike doing the same.

"What? If I only protected the coworkers I actually liked then Mike would have been dead years ago."

"Thank you, Agent Silverman," Avi said with sincerity. "That means a lot."

"I'll get someone to look up Mason's home address, criminal record, employment history, the works," Coleman said. "Be ready to go out and start trying to track him down in the morning. You," she pointed at Avi. "Don't try to investigate alone."

"Director, I wouldn't dream of it."

Demons could lie, as long as they hadn't given you their word, but Riley saw the fear in Avi's eyes and believed they were telling the truth.

#dwd #riley pov

[clairelsonao3]

Since I've been on Tumblr for about a month now, I've decided it was time to compile a list — for anyone who's curious — of things you'll find in my writing, and things I look for in others' writing. And here it is, subject to change, of course.

My things:

Types of whump:

I'll give just about anything a try once, but I largely gravitate toward:

Prison/captivity whump

Slavery

Pet whump (BBU not so much, though)

Historical whump, with or without fantasy elements

Modern/contemporary whump

Any corollaries of the above.

Alongside the whump:

All the hurt followed by all the comfort. A short whump story doesn’t necessarily have to contain comfort for me to read it, but if I’m going to get invested in something longer, it usually does. 

NSFW, including sexy/spicy scenes, sexual references, and sexually suggestive dialogue (always earned and plot- and character-appropriate, never porn without plot).

Romance. The more forbidden and/or seemingly impossible the better. I'll read any type of pairing, but I write M/F almost exclusively. Romance-related tropes I like include enemies to lovers, strangers to lovers, medium and slow burn, mutual pining, forced proximity, (un)resolved sexual tension, flirtatious banter, etc. etc.

Mystery/thriller elements. Probably my favorite genre other than romance. In fact, I would say if I were to describe my ideal fictional story, it would have whump, romance, and mystery in almost equal measure.

Implements and techniques:

Shackles and restraints of pretty much every type, size, and description. This includes both old-timey, rusty shackles/manacles or newfangled law enforcement-style handcuffs/chains, etc.

Collars and leashes, although I usually don't write about them because I just find them too complicated to figure out (not literally, but you know what I mean). I tend to like collars as accessories/symbols of subjugation rather than performing a function, such as shocking the whumpee or controlling their behavior somehow. 

In general, whumpees forced to wear accessories, clothing, or other outward symbols of their subjugation/servitude/inferiority.

Chains of every size and kind, attaching whumpees to walls, ceilings, floors, each other, etc.

Physical and emotional torture of all kinds; really, I'm not particular, but it's preferably done while fucking with the whumpee psychologically and preying upon their deepest fears, traumas, and insecurities.

Hands and especially injuries to the hands. Hands are my favorite body parts, so it totally makes sense that I enjoy seeing them maimed and disfigured, right?

Cages and cells, preferably with actual bars and solid steel everything, the harder, more brutal, utilitarian, and uncomfortable the better. 

Some types of involuntary body modification.

Tropes and motifs:

Humiliation and degradation of most kinds, whether it's physical, verbal, or emotional (but see the exception below under squicks).

Dehumanization, and even better, REhumanization. Breaking down is good, but building back up is better. Someone who has been thoroughly and consistently dehumanized suddenly or gradually coming to be viewed as a person by others (or by themselves) 

Whumpees who compliantly allow themselves to be placed in cuffs or shackles, either because they're just too tired and/or broken or if it's part of a grand master plan to fight back later.

Whumpee being forced to watch another whumpee being tortured.

Whumpee being forced to do menial/humiliating chores and/or hard physical labor (bonus if they're in chains at the same time). This is such an underused trope and I don't understand why because it's a fantastic one! If anyone were to write a story heavily featuring this and tag me in it I would love you forever.

Interesting power dynamics, even ones that shift back and forth within the course of a scene.

Struggles and differences related to social class, money, and wealth.

Character traits:

Male and female whumpees. I'll read and write both, but the way I handle them is sometimes different.

Defiant whumpees. Whumpees can break down as far as it's possible to break, but if there isn't that spark of life or defiance left in there (or even a chance of it coming back) I won’t be particularly interested.

Male and female whumpers.

Creepy/intimate whumpers, whumpers who are just plain assholes, or whumpers who are sympathetic/morally gray/have interesting motivations/backstories. I'm pretty open when it comes to whumpers, actually. 

Caretakers who are or become romantic partners.

Carewhumpers and bad caretakers, to a certain extent. This is a new thing for me that I'm exploring and I'm still puzzling out how I feel and how I handle it. Stay tuned.

Other random things:

Humor, wit, and banter, even in extremely dark situations.

Nerdy, oblique references to things I'm passionate about, especially music, theatre, and literature.

Not (really) my things:

These are things I'll generally shy away from, but aren't enough to make me stop reading something I otherwise like:

Hard BDSM. I have and do feature some light bondage and d/s in some of my work, but it's rarely the focus.

Excessive focus on rape/noncon and/or recovery from it. I'll definitely read about rape/noncon as long as it's not portrayed as romantic or positive in any way, but I find myself generally reluctant to portray onscreen noncon, especially of female characters. Noncon in backstories, though, absolutely.

Gags, blindfolds, hoods, and anything that covers most of the face. I do have a thing for muzzles, however, especially when you can see the whumpee's entire face through it. (My characters are pretty, I want to see them!)

Whumpees gagged and bound head to toe with rope, and other heavy bondage-type stuff.

The more ridiculous aspects of the BBU (drugging, memory erasure, sex slaves called "romantics," boys literally shipped in boxes, etc.).

Excessive gore/body horror, especially evisceration and similar.

Vampires/werewolves/angels/fairies/monsters/nonhumans, including superheroes/villains (I'll never say never, but in general, I prefer good old humans)

Pure sexual slavery, when that's the slave's one and only function. (See above).

Totally passive whumpees who are just swept along by the narrative and/or are completely dependent on others for help/rescue.

Conditioned whumpees who never become unconditioned, or slaves portrayed as happy or content that way (again, see above).

Whumpees who stutter, speak robotically and/or in the third person, or behave as if they have the mental age of a preschooler.

Unhappy endings to longer works, although I'm fine with short pieces with ambiguous/unresolved endings or no endings.

Squicks:

Honestly, not many.

Noncon, abuse, and/or toxicity portrayed as romantic. (In general, this stuff is fine). It's the big one because it shows up in a LOT of slavefic, which is my preferred genre of whump. I think many people have the idea that all slavefic glorifies and/or romanticizes abusive master/slave relationships, and that's simply not the case. And harassment and censorship aren't cool, especially when you haven't read the story in question. Thanks for coming to my TED Talk.

A/B/O dynamics and/or mpreg.

Forced cross-dressing, feminization, or any similar humiliation tactic related to gender.

Humiliation tactics involving exchange of bodily fluids (see above). (Not including NSFW).

Anything foot-related. As much as I love hands and doing things to hands, feet are the opposite. (But ankles are okay, otherwise, we couldn't have shackles!)

Some of the more out-there sexual kinks, which I'll spare you from having to see described here. You can probably guess what they are.

Onscreen harm to very young children and/or animals (threatened harm or as backstory is ok)

If something doesn't appear on this list anywhere (or even if it does), you can probably assume I'm at least open to it!

And of course, obligatory promo for my current WIP, Good Slaves Never Break the Rules, where — if you happen to share any of my things — you can find most if not all of them.

#whump intro #whumpy things #whump community #writeblr intro #writeblr #something else i spent way too much time on

[hello-nichya-here]

Given how many terrorist acts have ramped up around the world for the past decades, do you think it'd be a good decision to legalize ownership of guns to civilians, or would it be wiser to streamline security measures?

I'm gonna be real, guns are a topic I go back and forth between thinking "This shit causes nothing but trouble, get rid of it" and "If the law is not written by morons and 'enforced' by idiots, it can work." Nowhere near educated enough on the topic to give you any real answer beyond "How am I supposed to know, I'm just a rando online" especially when combined with "How do we stop terrorists?"

But what I AM educated enough to say on the matter is:

1 - Everyone having a gun might save lives OR lead to a public place turning into a battlefield - if the terrorists show up with guns. It won't do shit against a bomb hidden in a mall, or a plane flyinng into a building.

2 - No matter what happens, do NOT let the US get involved with other nation's politics. More importantly, do NOT let them try to fund and train a resistence to an existint terrorist group, and for the love of Christ, Allah, Buddha or even common sense and basic knowledge of history, do NOT let the american government meddle in ANYTHING regarding the Middle East. Literally every single time they did that shit it only led to the birth of a terrorist group that is even worse than the previous one.

Repeat: Do. Not. Let. Americans. Meddle. Not once. Not ever. Just don't. Don't take their money, don't buy their weapons, don't copy their laws, and when it comes to the UN they should NOT have veto power, nor vote pro or against anything. They are stupid, they are reckless, they're the bad guy. No matter what other nation is being the bad guy or the victim, especially when it comes to terrorism, DON'T. LET. AMERICANS. GET. INVOLVED.

Don't let hollywood lie to you, nothing good has come of ANY involvement of the US in any kind of political crisis since WWII, and even then they did horrible shit that they sweep under the rug and pretend their role in saving the day was way bigger than it actually was.

For the final time: Don't. Let. The. US. Meddle.

#asks #terrorism

[dreaming-marchling]

Director's cut around anything in The Warlock's Cat? I absolutely adore the story.

The Warlock's Cat Tidbits :)

Also, hopefully cats weren’t deathly allergic to romaine lettuce, carrots and what tasted like balsamic vinaigrette. All Alec knew was that cats hunted mice, what their diets were like after that was a mystery. Nobody could actually be allergic to a carrot, right?

Just in case anyone out there is unclear, cats totally can't survive on a vegan diet, they have to have meat. So nice try with this salad, Alec, but this did absolutely nothing for you lol

---

He braced himself, flexed his claws but didn’t attack. He didn’t want to attack. Alec was just resting up, he’d get out of here as soon as he could but he had no way of communicating that so the cat probably…

It licked him.

Aside from the kindness from Chairman here, cats groom each other to bond but often the groomer is asserting dominance over the groomee. So in cat speak, Chairman is also saying "this is my house but I like you" while he grooms Alec. Further enforcing Magnus' thought later that Chairman and Alec are friends and that Chairman is the alpha in the friendship lol (and that they're both aware and okay with that)

---

To his great surprise, she turned to him and nodded her head as well, “I am the Sirin. It is a pleasure to meet you as well.”

The initial outline didn't have the Sirin. I just wanted some various Downworlders to show Alec how similar their people were and that Magnus was nothing like what Maryse had said. I decided it'd be fun to have a non-humanoid being come to Magnus so I started researching. When I discovered the Sirin from Russian folklore I fell in love and had to include her.

This is a picture of her and her counterpart Alkonost (the Sirin is on the left)

[By Viktor Vasnetsov, Birds of Joy and Sorrow (1896)]

This is my favorite artwork of them but there are many other great ones (plus plenty that stick a pair of featherless tits in the center of their bird chests, if that does anything for you lol).

---

The spell carried Alec all the way to his bed in Magnus’ bedroom where there was some green stuff – oregano? – scattered around. Alec didn’t stick around to figure it out, he just rushed back out to the living room but Magnus was gone.

I've said before that I was heartily tempted to include an "Alec on catnip" scene but didn't because the technically un-aware and un-consenting drug use on Alec's part would change the overall lighthearted tone of the story too much but please know that after the story eventually Magnus manages to convince Alec to give the catnip a try and he gets some potent zoomies and really enjoys himself rolling around on the floor over and over again lol. He likes it better than alcohol.

---

Once more, the conga line departed the loft via portal.

Listen, if I was rich and could pay the cast to act out scenes from my stories, I'd obviously totally pick the really major romantic moments or big revelation moments or hurt/comfort moments, like I've got a list I could choose from happily. This one though... I would be genuinely tempted even though it's not major in any way. It's so dumb at a certain point, like it forever cracks me up. I was cackling writing this. I don't really do funny confidently but like, I was genuinely laughing at how ridiculous this had gotten.

---

Under no circumstance was he telling them about the litter box situation. If they loved him they wouldn’t even ask.

This occurred to Izzy and Jace both but they do love him so they didn't ask.

---

He was small. He was furry.

He was a cat.

Again.

Shit.

Originally the story was meant to end with Alec going to talk to Magnus and them realizing they're in wuv and kissing. I was having too much fun though so I added the whole cat shifter thing.

---

“The next person who finds you and thinks you’re a stray might be a more modern and responsible cat owner.” Cat said, glancing at Magnus before she turned and smirked at Alec, “I was encouraging Magnus to neuter you. Sorry about that.”

After the story ends, Magnus casts a few spells on Alec to ensure that any catting doesn't get him in a bad situation like a tracking spell and, discretely and importantly, a notice-me-not spell on his balls. I didn't know how to weave that in but like, it's important lmao.

---

“Sorry if this is rude but is your cat a cat?” Alec asked in one rush.

I added this shortly before posting because readers had been commenting about Chairman's perceptiveness. Give me a hint of an excuse to talk about Chairman Meow the familiar or the old forest god or literally all the many headcanons and thoughts I have about this cat, seriously. Any excuse.

---

Then came something glowing red. Alec picked it up gingerly and was surprised to read Kīlauea Lava from January 22, 1884 Eruption.

This is a real eruption of a real volcano. I researched this. Why? Are any of you vulcanologists? I don't know why I was so intent on accuracy here but good opportunity to tell people now: this is a real volcano eruption.

---

Magnus laughed, “Shall you tell your mother or would you like the High Warlock to do so?”

Maryse listens to the explanation of this and literally stares at them silently for like a full minute before turning and walking away. It's like long after Valentine that Maryse again acknowledges that her son is a cat shifter.

Thank you for asking!!

#My Writing

[exoid-the-locomotive-monarch]

Thanks for you page for more Palestine news because goddamn I need to blow off some opinions on the situation.

So wild to me the idea that Jews “repatriating” to the Canaanite lands NEEDED a Jewish ethnostate, or for the Liberal Zionist, a Volkstaat where you can technically vote and live in the country as in independent citizen, but only to the government assigned zones of living where the neighborhoods coincidentally compromise entirely of Arabs, you can leave these zones if you need, we just need your ID to check if you’re Hamas. It’s not segregation because the water fountains aren’t labeled “Arab only” and “Jew only” that’s too obvious.

Like so much of the conversation for Israel is an apocalyptic narrative of “if Hamas wins it’ll be a genocide eligible to be called the second shoah”

BITCH IF WE WANNA CRITICIZE HAMAS WE GOTTA TALK ABOUT WHERE THEY CAME FROM but Zionists only wanna talk about the hostile collapse of Fatah in 2007 to propagate the idea that Palestinians have become too radical to live in their own homeland. If you want a peaceful revolutionary movement, you would have to react to dissent nonviolently.

Unfortunately, the enforcement of the state of Israel started with violence, and even existed under the British Palestinian mandate.

Speaking of which that time in history is usually bright up by Zionists to point out Palestinians that collaborated with the Nazis to prove some way that the Palestinian ethnicity is an epigenetically anti-semitic people who need to be constantly opposed by “the west” to save the Jews from the fascist Arab and… the European ild fashioned racist.

Cause fuck returning the displaced Jews of East Europe and France and the lowlands to rebuilt houses and reconstructed neighborhoods. Dump them in the desert as described in the good book, can’t argue with God, who’s always right and can’t do anything wrong and if you question it you’re misguided at best and hellbound at worst.

Yeah man return an ethnicity displaced for thousands of years to their ancestral homeland I’m sure the people already living there would be okay with influx of a population the size of a small nation’s capital every year, even better when you literally move into their preexisting houses instead of moving in as a neighbor.

It is an international shame the UN and it’s leaders of Britain, the USA, France, and the USSR support this.

Yeah man we should deport the Spanish back to Italy (because they’re actually Roman) and import half the population to Iberia to reclaim the true ancestral population of Al-Andalus.

“But didn’t you point out an example of Arab Colonialism”

First off Moors are not Arab, second if you’re against Arab Colonialism I’d expect you to be against Israel which literally started as a project by the British to fulfill biblical prophecy.

So, all in all. The Jews can live in the Levant, no one ethnicity “owns” land, and no God will say otherwise. So what will happen if Israel goes? Where will the Jews go?

Nowhere, they will stop being Israelis, they instead would be “Jewish Palestinians” or “Hebrew Palestinians” and Palestine does not necessarily have to be run by Hamas. Hamas isn’t the only political movement for Palestinian independence. Even then hot take: most Palestinians who join Hamas just join the movement because it’s the biggest most effective movement of the current age against Israeli force. Certainly it has its anti-semites, that mist be addressed and condemned, but for the most part the movement has evolved to a revolutionary movement with goals of national independence than ISIS 2 (the wikipedia article on Hamas cites ISIS as an enemy of Hamas, with 2 sources cited)

I forgot to mention that Israel has been accused of founding Hamas to intensify conflict between secular and islamist Palestinian liberation forces.

Also to mention was Hamas was unpopular until after the first Intifada. It was a reaction to Israeli violence.

I certainly want people to criticize Hamas, mainly its use of suicide bombing from the 90s, but the issue is framing Hamas as an action and not a reaction, as I said before, to prevent violent revolution you must approach dissent without violence.

A lot has changed since the founder of Hamas (Ahmed Yassin) died. Mainly the situation in Palestine got worse. I want criticism of revolutionary movement to come after the revolution, as no criticism of a revolutionary movement can exist without some appeal to the status quo, and as it exists the status quo now is irreconcilable. I’m afraid the disarming of a terrorist group is not going to work with the elimination of the group by violence, but the required disarmament of the state committing atrocities on a national scale.

I am an American, we didn’t stop the Taliban by bombing Afghanistan, we didn’t stop Al-Qaeda by bombing Iraq in 2003. We didn’t stop ISIS by bombing Syria in 2016, (it was the Syrian army and Kurdish revolutionary forces that did the elbow grease)

Unironically, you want to end Hamas? You need to end Israel first. I’m not kidding.

#palestine #Israel #world politics

[wildissylupus]

The cast really could use a character than genuinely hates Overwatch for very understandable reasons. And not just Blackwatch I mean the main public branch caused something that ruined the character's life. Apparently they did something bad in Egypt but Pharah doesn't mind so imagine a character that did. Someone who's completely, "Screw Overwatch and screw anyone who wants it back."

Which reminds me, is the UN going to actually do anything about the new Overwatch? Like will our heroes have the difficult task of defending themselves from Petras Act enforcers?

There are definitely minor civilian characters that hate Overwatch, but honestly, I agree, we need a major civilian character with those beliefs. I doubt that character would be a part of the main cast, unless they're going to do something like that with Mauga, but I would love to see an NPC character like that. I don't think we will though since a majority of the story being set up is "the world does need Overwatch but it can't be the same as before", which leads me to the UN.

I have made it no secret that I hate the UN, they have basically done nothing but found overwatch and even then it was only one member of the UN, the person who founded Numbani. She's the only UN member I respect. I do think the UN are going to be a problem, specifically for characters like Sojourn, she mentions in her journals that she's already putting herself at risk and we see someone from the UN contact Winston telling him to stop the recall.

So yeah, they are defiantly going to be a problem, either as a subplot, or in a future story campaign/novel/short story.

Honestly a plot line about the New Overwatch having to defend themselves against the Petras act is so interesting to me because it would be so interesting to see how different characters handle politics. So many different plot lines could happen, such as characters like Cassidy and Genji going on trial for their actions with Blackwatch, Sombra being able to pull more strings and get info on the UN, more of the public opinion of this New Overwatch being released. Honestly I would love it is this possible arc also explored the redemptions of some Talon characters and whether or not Overwatch should stay vigilantes or become official again.

Just so you know, I am firmly on the vigilante side of this cause Overwatch being a government organisation is what caused a lot of the problems in the first Overwatch.

#overwatch #overwatch 2 #overwatch lore #overwatch headcanons #analysis #ow #ow2