This Christmas, don't forget about Palestine. Now should actually be when we're even louder. They want us to be quiet, to go back to silence while innocent citizens suffer without homes, food, water. They put this "humanitarian pause" here to look good and to make us quiet over the holiday season. But if we make a ruckus, we'll tell them we're not stopping for anything, not even holidays. We owe it to our Palestinian brothers and sisters to be loud. To let them know we stand with them, we love them, and we will not let them down.
We've been quiet for 80 years. Not a second longer.
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I was thinking about butterflies and food. If offered, most will consume blood, waste from corpses, and other such matter. They are very opportunistic creatures, despite being so delicate. Most species are slow, but the skipper skipper butterfly can fly almost 40 mph, about 60 kph
:)
tw for: mentions of death and corpses, insects eating corpses, graphic depictions of injury, character death (c!sam)
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The pickaxe ripped through Sam's face, a waterfall of blood and teeth scattering across the floor like wet marbles. The flesh offered more resistance than Dream expected it to-- did Techno also have to deal with this carnage? He pulled the tool forward, hard, and when Sam's body dropped, it dropped towards Dream.
Heavy, limp, and still weeping with warm blood, Sam's corpse collided with Dream's torso.
Hooking an elbow beneath Sam's arm, Dream was able to catch him. With his knees failing and his bleeding head resting on Dream's collarbone, Sam seemed more like a drunken man than a dead one. How many times have they held this position, but in reverse? Blood soaked quickly into Dream's clothes, sliding down his armor and absorbing into his cloak.
But it wasn't long before Sam's weight proved to be too much, and Dream let him fall the rest of the way to the floor. He landed in a leap of limbs and metal.
Dream wasn't sure what he expected this moment to feel like. He's been planning it for a few days now, and he knows from many experiences that the actual sight of a body brings next to no personal satisfaction-- rather, the concept and theory behind the death brings its meaning. You have to think about it poetically. But poetry is hard to contemplate when you're looking at a freshly dead body (even harder as it ages), and Dream found himself feeling rather calm. At peace. Satisfied that the plan had worked, glad to see Sam on the ground before him, but far from exuberant.
He let the pickaxe drop from his grasp. It fell with a clatter, spreading more dots of blood across the floor and his boots. His breathe was deep, but steady. Sam, whose breath was usually loud behind the gas mask, was silent.
What do you do in moments like this?
The first butterfly to land on Sam was an elegant white one. Its wingspan was massive; when it perched on his cheek, right on the edge of the wound, it covered much of the injury. A new, lovely, living mask for the warden. Dream watched as her proboscis unfurled and landed on a nearby spot of blood.
More joined her. A cloud of color descended onto Sam, decorating his head and the puddle of blood that spread around him, a stark contrast to the dark lobby around them. As their wings shifted and folded, they'd obscure or present the injury. One landed on a stray tooth, her weight rolling it a bit and making a scraping sound.
His hands were shaking. More than usual, anyway. Adrenaline.
An orange one landed on Dream's forehead, stretching a wing downward and covering his right eye. 'Stop looking.'
He often forgot they could do this. Insects aren't picky eaters-- blood and gore had much of the same sugars and nutrients as they'd find in flowers. A number of butterflies descended onto Dream's armor, lapping at the blood that poured onto him when Sam rested there.
"Are we that hungry?" He asked, his voice low. "I've bled in front of you plenty of times-- you should've told me. I'd let you--" his voice cracked, and he cleared his throat, "I'd let you."
A purple butterfly landed on a rubbery-looking piece of gore. White-ish in color. Part of Sam's eye, probably.
Another landed on Dream's browbone, a white wing reaching down to cover his other eye. 'Stop looking.'
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i've been thinking about how weird it is that sometimes your favorite pairings go exactly how you expect them to go and sometimes they just don't at all. specifically, in the context of crowley/aziraphale and ted/rebecca. i feel like in both cases, i was really paying attention to the details and nuances and seeming symbolism around the relationship for years. and in season two of good omens, the text itself seemed to absolutely completely vibe with everything we'd noticed as a fandom about season one, and make a logical progression from there that was really in line with what felt true about the pairing in s1. like, you could really tell the show was also extremely aware of all the small moments that the fandom had picked up on. whereas in season three of ted lasso, obviously, the show wound up just not seeming very interested at all in all the stuff i'd thought was an argument being made for why ted and rebecca belonged together. (in earlier seasons, but also even within season three!!! green matchbook what????) i pick out these two examples because, well, they just happened on my tv in front of my face recently, and because i think both had a lot of symbolism and a lot of underlying 'see, THIS is why they're meant to be together!' details. but the payoff could not have been more different!
it's just so weird how sometimes it goes exactly like you expected, like it's proven that you were in fact vibing exactly right with the text, and other times it's just like, "nope, mate, YOU'RE WRONG."
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