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hildred-rex · 4 days ago

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Blood of My Blood - Danse Macabre

(The next grisly step in Blood of My Blood.)

The moon shines on a holy rooftop and a bloodstained street.

The music rises to a grim crescendo.

And a last dance is shared.

Ao3 link is here.

Time turned fickle for him after the first century.

He had not expected that. In truth, it had never occurred to him as he laid the foundation of his planned eternity. Irony distilled: A man chasing immortality without once thinking of how to pass the time. Even in his prime, he had been a child. Conquest was his only prize to chase until, as his men reminded him that they were only flesh, and his enemies smeared together under his hunger, and the sounds of steel and screaming blurred in the mad whirlpool that was his brain warring with itself for control, he had blinked. And suddenly he was a solitary shadow sitting in a ruined castle in the mountains he had blighted into his genius loci. Had a century passed by then? Had two? He had thought to ask one of the servants, only to realize there were none. No one in his retinue. No confidantes.

It was only him. A glutted Thing of power beyond human scale, huddled in its cave and desecrated earth. Alone.

There was no recalling how long or short the time was before he stole the first of his women away. A fair girl, almost as flaxen as—no. He would not think back to that. Forward, old devil, forward. Yes, he had snatched up the First in haste. Desperation. Someone to be a man for rather than the peasants’ monster. Then another. Another. A hoarder of pampered cats. But he had loved what they were, if not the women themselves. His pets. His pretty faces. His musical noise to fill up the castle halls with laughter, even if he was its target. And why not? He had let the malaise catch him. The ennui that even his instructors under the Mountain had warned him of.

Time turned into fumes for him in that period. The only thing that kept him aware of the calendar was playing the role of Count. A nobleman still had his duties to the swatch of country that was his and vice versa. Endless busywork and ever-increasing mountains of paperwork to slap him awake lest the wrong attention be drawn to the Dracula estate. Oh dear, has the old bastard finally croaked? Have his endless chain of lookalike descendants? No, not to worry. Still here. Always here.

Always. Always. Always.

Time rushed. Time crawled. Time turned to snowmelt between the itineraries.

Nights were his allies, at least. Those he could count on to stretch for him in his domain. An hour in Transylvanian darkness was three hours anywhere else. And the days! Oh, what a coward the sun became when his rule claimed the land! Sunrises limped and sunsets sprinted.

Tonight he wondered if time had done the same here. The night stretched and spilled like tar. Yet the notion brought him no comfort.

The night was going on too long. His senses reassured him that sunrise did still exist and it was coming, but for the first time in almost half a millennium of undeath, frustration made him suspect the dawn was purposefully withholding itself. At last the sun was taking its revenge by refusing a reprieve that would force himself and half the players of the night’s farce back into sleep. There would be no more intermissions, no more pauses. Tonight was to be an end or a beginning and nothing else, bar an ever more irritating slew of highs and lows. Every victory in the battle was chased by a fresh needle to the eye.

The woman had flung the sky—his sky!—at him. A stalemate until he struck her down with a fortunate shot. The boy was going to her aid now. Him and the freshly minted nuisance of a bride. But before he could go to congratulate the happy couple?

Him.

A silver-white blur and a streak of red to mark his eyes. There was not even half a second to dwell on his wonder at the change in this creature. His thrall, his friend, his runaway beloved. Not before the Thing that had been Jonathan Harker was on him like a hound seizing a wolf. Not one of the lordling’s insipid pups, no; those mockeries of breeding were good only for rending rats and rabbits. If Jonathan Harker were any animal, it was a dog bred for hunting whatever beast looked at its sheep or its master.

And was he not that still? Was he not Master of the dog’s Mistress?

He tried to prove as much for an instant with his mind flung out to the woman only to be thwarted. His strike had done too much and her mind was too deep in blackness even to be stirred to his aid, let alone to pull Jonathan’s leash. Being caught in this revelation was what let his friend land the first blow. His Master struck him back. This earned him two strikes more and a startling view of the interior of the man’s mouth as it tried to bite his throat out. He’d never been on the opposite end of the surreal maw his conscripts wore. Sometimes the jaws of a bat, other times a wolf. Jonathan’s seemed to double up in a hideous way, bristling with teeth enough to fill an anglerfish’s mouth.

They grappled and tore, bit and struck, around and around in brute parody of a waltz. There might have been room in him to spit a comment to that effect, but for the boy’s darling wife. Her and her damned—ah, the burn declared otherwise!—blessed pistol. She was what was called a ‘crack-shot’ back on the lordling’s balcony. So many new holes had been made in his head. He had soothed himself to think that he had been starved, aged, distracted, her shots pure luck. It had not even occurred to him to bother with a trance.

Now he was fed back to his prime, she was perched atop the church, and his senses prickled in warning of what she wielded. The damned pistol had been replaced with something worse--a blessed martyr's weapon. He did not doubt that his speed and the girl's hesitance to strike Jonathan would be enough to thwart her aim. Probably. Still, there was no point in extending the risk.

“I’m afraid you must pardon me, my friend. The young lady is due for a meeting with her father-in-law.”

Crack.

Jonathan’s head broke the brick, but the wall had its revenge in a starburst of blood. His friend wobbled, but caught his arm and clamped it into solidity before the mist form could finish. How..?

“I do not dismiss you,” Jonathan hissed. The whites of his eyes had gone rosy. “You have kept the Reaper waiting too long.” Was there something in the words or the will of his friend that anchored him? It must be so. He wouldn’t have suffered his next few injuries otherwise. It was only when Jonathan made a grab for the kukri that he left himself open.

Crack. Crack. Crack!

More broken bricks. Jonathan lay broken with them, groaning in a pillow of rubble. The white of his hair stained to crimson.

“Do not trouble yourself, my friend. I will tend to the children tonight.”

He was gone like a gust. An aching, bleeding gust, if one too quick for the little would-be markswoman. Nor could she dare to waste such precious ammunition on a gambled shot as he melted into the dark. The waning wedge of the moon was an admirable light on the scene, and aided twice over by the streetlamps. But mortal eyes could only strain so far. Pity.

His form congealed as he rose, the head of a dragon arching up to devour. His laugh turned the young couple's heads. It tickled to see how their faces went white before the sight of him. “My congratulations to you, newlyweds. I must have lost my invitation t—,”

Bang!

There went a holy bullet. And with such true aim! Yet it was a pointless shot, traveling through the cloud of him with no more effect than a pebble flung through fog. Even as it stung upon exit, he laughed again while his daughter-in-law chewed back a curse.

“I had assumed your gilded gnat of a father would have taught you the rules, girl. For shame.”

As he hoisted himself to further educate on the matter, something drew tight around his ankle. Then pierced it. So quick and so tight that it tore through his Achilles tendon.

He snarled and twisted, glare aimed down, only for a sudden wave of horror to douse his rage. Anger drowned to that strange shuddering fear he had not known until that faraway day in Piccadilly. Back when he had seen the flash of steel and hollow burning eyes as his good friend gave chase to carve him open. Despite the familiarity of the dread, he did not recognize the figure crushing his ankle as Jonathan Harker. So much blood had fallen over the face and the face had so distorted with the rictus of its grin that he thought he was seeing a visitor from his years under the Mountain. Possibly one of his own tutors come to collect its due for the Lessons learned and the bodies piled. Or else something older. Colder.

Death leered up and spoke in his friend’s voice, “No more running. No more hiding in the mist.” The iron hand tightened again, this time cracking bone. Red rivulets painted Jonathan’s knuckles. “Twenty years of feeding cannot be washed away with a few nights’ gluttony. Blood of my blood,” he hissed, his fangs doubling in the open jaws, “your time has come.”

Jonathan tore them from the building’s side in a tangle of limbs and snapping teeth. A tangle that was impossible to be extricated from even when they landed in the churchyard and thrashed back to the street. There was not a half a second to be won without his friend pouncing again, ripping him out of the beginnings of fog form and back into the churning state of physicality. Injure, heal, injure, fight, injure, curse, injure, injure, injure. To his credit, he struck as many blows as his opponent, perhaps more. Each strike was given more venom than the last with his aggravation.

The girl was no doubt following them with the barrel of the gun, waiting for a clear shot in the whirling rush of them to make a new hole in him. An opening that became all the more likely as his friend kept hold, anchoring him to tangibility even as his flesh bruised or split. This, when Jonathan himself suffered damage upon damage, and that with but a scant dose of lifeblood in him. Even undead, his Harkers did so fuss about their meals. Such caution with the mortal chattel left his poor friend depleted. His healing grew slower and slower as his once and future Master beat him back for every blow struck.

And yet there was no shaking him. Jonathan cackled at the fact, sounding like so much shattered crystal. Undeath or lightheadedness had fully chipped through the silence that had once pinned his tongue when the man was called upon for violence.

“Count, I am hurt!” he chided. “Why do you insist on leaving the floor? Is this not what you wanted? Here we are at last! In England, enjoying our overdue dance. Come, let me have your hand.” Jonathan’s bear trap mouth lunged out and would have torn said hand off by the wrist were his Master a half-second slower.

“Have it then.” His fist flew. Jonathan ducked and reached for— “It is my turn to be stung. I thought this was a gift.” He had to fight for evenness in the words. It was another battle in itself to keep Jonathan’s hand from swinging down with the kukri blade straining for his neck.

“It is! Only you must wear it closer.” Jonathan turned them as they spoke, trying to bare his Master’s back to the enemy. “A new brooch to have at your throat.”

The words turned some flagstone over in his chest and sent a hundred blind and bitter vermin running and biting through his heart. Strength surged. So did the clouds. A curtain was drawn back over the freshly-emerged moon just as the streetlamps doused all along the block. No audience from above to spy now. In the same tide of will, he finally tore the kukri free of his friend's hand. It rang against the street as it was flung aside, metal on stone. Jonathan lost a moment in throwing his attention after it in the new gloom. A moment was all it took.

He seized his friend in both hands and drove him down into the pavement.

Crack!

A heavier sound than what had come from the brick. Jonathan’s eyes rolled blearily in their sockets, but his hold remained steady. One hand gripping, another swiping for his Master’s face.

Crack!

“Stay down.”

Jonathan clung. His blood held, his hand held, he was trying to rise again, to—

Crack!

“Stay down!”

Crack!

“Why do you do this to me?”

Crack!

“Why do you make me do this when we both know how this ends?”

Jonathan sprawled dazedly in the rubble. His hands and his blood still gripped their Master. Scarlet streams ran from pained eyes. An image rose up of that childish night of gluttony inflicted to taunt the woman. His friend slumped, mauled and sluggish, dreaming traitorous thoughts of a flight from the window.

“You think you know…” Jonathan croaked in the present, “…but I see it. Tonight is where it ends. All of it. No victories. No conquest. None of us are yours anymore, Dracula.” His smile was not bitter. It was the tired curl he had seen the last night they had all lived in the castle. Ghoulish and sad and beautiful. It trickled until the lips blazed like red lacquer. “We never will be again.”

“You are all mine,” his Master insisted back. His own hands tightened on the leaking heap of his friend. “The woman, our boy, you. She may have bled into you, but it is still my gift. Or do you think just because your Mistress sleeps for the moment, that you shall remain free of the leash I shall see her strangle you with? This is only where we start, my friend. We all have eternity before us. And all of it under my will.” It was his turn to smile. He tried to sharpen it, but found it creaked on his face until it was a mere desperate baring of teeth. “Undeath ends in but one way. Over 400 years of attempts and empty prayer have failed to deliver that end to me. You and the children and the thieving Jackal shall do no better. There is a Lesson waiting to be learned in that. A long one. But you will learn it. Or I will cement her in a wall for the next hundred years.”

To his shock, there was no horror on Jonathan’s face. Not even anger. There was only melancholy. His lips quivered, fighting not to part. Then:

“Or we could leave them,” came the whisper. “I was ready to, all those years ago. I think I may even have sold my soul at the time. There’s no telling for certain, but…yes. I think I must have for things to have gone this way. Before I ever became a Judas for my love, I was ready. I am still prepared, if that’s what it takes to free them from us.” One hand on his Master’s arm. The other clutching weakly at his lapel. “We need not chaperone or stain the family any longer. Let us go now. While they do not see.”

Either blood loss or the deeper weakness his friend had been seeding for twenty years almost paralyzed him.

For one starving instant, he caught himself imagining it. He pictured himself snatching Jonathan’s ragged form up in his arms and darting away into the night. His will was still supreme. He could sever the woman’s mind from his own and hide them in some secret corner of the world. If her mind wailed for her beloved to come running like a hound after its whistle, he could silence it. No amount of stolen sorcery could unmake that contract of their condition. Was it not how he planned to puppeteer the world from the beginning?

He could do it.

They could do it.

But no. He could have laughed or screamed as he felt Jonathan’s fingertips trace along his sternum. The claws growing and aligning. Oh, his dear Scheherazade and that magic tongue.

“Come. Hell is waiting for us, balaurul meu.”

Before Jonathan’s hand could drive forward and tear out the ancient heart—the metaphor made flesh—his Master seized the plotting fingers in his own crushing grip.

“No, my friend. No Hell. Only home.”

“Two names for the same place,” Jonathan grated. He was struggling again. Grasping, trying to rise. And still holding his Master solid. The fight would never overbalance in his favor without his fog or his focus. He had to. He had to… “We made a vow, she and I.”

“Jonathan—,”

“We will die before we return to you,” the gore-streaked face spat. “We will die before we let you have our son.”

“Yes. You will.”

CRACK!

Stone and skull fractured against each other. It was one of many sounds he had enjoyed over the centuries: The fragility of the human frame echoing in his ears. This time the noise was a knife in his chest.

Jonathan Harker slept in the crater with his eyes open. A corona of blood grew from his head in a monstrous halo as one hand fell away and the other hung limp in his Master’s fist. In the shattered skull, no thought or life paced. There was only quiet.

With a shudder, he squeezed the cold hand once before laying it aside. His fingers worked gingerly under what was left of his friend’s head, cupping blood, bone, and brain as one might try to save the yolk in a mangled egg. He knew the man was dead when he pressed lip and tongue to the slack mouth and felt no resistance. His last kiss went to the stained brow, cradling the corpse against him with a sigh.

“I am sorry, my friend. No, do not scoff. I mean it. I wanted none of this. We could be home right now. Our diavol safe and strong. Time wearing your compunctions smooth. No matter how long the Lesson, how harsh its teaching, time would win. And some night, this century or the next, happiness would find you. Misery breaks like bone under enough pressure. Joy is in its marrow. Was that why you did it? Why you betrayed me and our bliss to come? Was the thought of happiness in my arms so awful?”

Jonathan did not say.

The silence was answer enough.

He laid the carcass gently in the bed of pavement and swept a curtain of hair from the puckered brow. Even death did not bring serenity to the man’s face. He had watched his friend sleep more than once and had never come upon him without the look of a penitent begging Morpheus in his dreams for mercy or punishment. That such still existed in him as a vampire was as much a pain as a marvel. Undeath itself could not temper the martyrdom in him. It would need extracting like a tooth.

Perhaps. But first he needs a piece added. He left it behind so carelessly.

His thumb traced the bright stone at his throat before fishing out its mate from a vest pocket. The brooch glowed with internal fire under the waning moonlight, eager to return its rightful place. He closed Jonathan’s shirt collar and bowed to set the pin before a thought occurred—

Moonlight moonlight the clouds you lost focus the clouds are open and the street is visible she can—

— too late.

Bang!

A lance of fire shot through his hand. Blistering torture erupted there and made the injuries collected thus far feel like the nipping of insects. It had wounded more than flesh.

In his fist, snapped shut in pain, there was mere crystalline dust. That and a crumpled setting of ornate gold. Nothing more.

What clouds were left bayed anew with thunder as he snapped his head around. He found the lordling’s daughter taking aim again.

No more.

“No more,” he intoned to the air and to the hateful girl with her toy. He did not have it in him to relish the spasm of comprehension as the trance pierced her eyes and wrenched her rebelling brain into an obedient knot. Not even when he ordered her to lift the gun until it was level with her own temple. His son bleated once in horror—

“Lu, no!”

—thinking his Father meant to throw away a bargaining chip so foolishly. So painlessly. No, no. Nothing so easy for her. For any of them. Ah, and it seemed the boy’s cry was enough to rouse the limping mother at last. His will cracked at her like a whip:

Hold him.

A flare of fury from her, then another baffled cry from the boy. Good. Wonderful.

He looked again at his friend. His friend stared blindly at the stars. He paused long enough to slide the eyelids shut.

“Sleep, draga mea. This will be over soon.”

The promise made, he dashed down the street to retrieve the fallen kukri. He turned to mist a moment later and raced off to the climax of the night. Perhaps if he had turned back a final time, he would have reconsidered.

He might have hesitated in his return to the roof. (He did not.)

He might have stopped to examine his friend, the better to be certain he was dead. (Mr. Harker was.)

He might have wondered, just for an instant, if he did not feel Time’s seemingly infinite sand dwindling to its last grains in the hourglass. (If so, he would not admit it.)

But he did not turn and so did not see his friend’s face.

Dead and dismissed from the rest of the night's pending acts, Jonathan Harker was still. With the exception of his head. It had slumped to the side and its eyelids had slipped open. A proper corpse could do no more. If one could interview such a cadaver, he might have admitted that he had nothing to do with it. But something did.

Gravity? The final mindless motions of a dead body? Certainly.

Yet they had acted under a guidance that ensured the body stared in the direction of the church, of the ex-Master, of the eastern horizon made jagged with rooftops. And they had left the glazed eyes open for whatever audience might watch things unfold through the windows of a dead man’s unblinking stare.

If only to be sure that what was left of Jonathan Harker and Itself might witness the end of the dance.

#...holy shit #I am in so much pain over this #my hat’s off to both of you #blood of my blood au

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hildred-rex · 4 days ago

Video

!!!

#this is very impressive!#references

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hildred-rex · 8 days ago

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I have an AO3!

I now officially have an AO3! It is, predictably, @/novanhistorian.

Most of what appears there will be the Imperium Novel, but I will almost certainly wind up writing something about some other fandom -- probably Dracula, The King in Yellow, or the original Thrawn trilogy -- at some point, and when I do it will go up there.

#archive of our own #the imperium novel

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hildred-rex · 9 days ago

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Actual things that happen in the 1897 Dracula novel, without context:

A character has ominous nightmares and attributes them to eating too much paprika

Dracula first appears wearing a fake beard

The person he was trying to fool with the fake beard immediately realizes Dracula and Beard Guy are the same man, due to both having really firm handshakes

We are told parrots are immortal unless fatally wounded

A Texan cowboy opens fire on a bat flitting around a window, and lodges a bullet in the wall of an occupied room

A woman is called a polyandrist for receiving blood transfusions from multiple men

An incorrectly addressed telegram leads to two deaths, multiple druggings, and several children being assaulted

Dracula, while trying to maintain a low profile, takes a lovely trip to the zoo and freaks out the animals so badly that he gets mentioned in a newspaper article

The one character who knows anything about vampires spends a good two-thirds of the book refusing to talk about vampires

Dracula went to Satan's Witchcraft Academy and somehow this is only brought up in two throwaway lines

A character gets stuck inside a circle of communion wafer crumbs

A major plot point of the book is Dracula (who was said to be a brilliant scholar and has the strength of twenty mortal men) realizing he can move boxes without human help

Someone is referred to as "manifestly a prig of the first water"

Two characters have a hobby of reading train schedules

A hospital lets a mental patient escape to see what will happen

A character starts vomiting up feathers from eating whole birds

A doctor refuses to give a medical diagnosis and instead makes a speech about growing corn

Dracula impersonates another character just by wearing the same clothes, despite being taller and visibly much older. This deception is successful.

A character "cleans" a room by eating all the insects in it

Suddenly: rats. Thousands of them.

The heroes progress in their efforts through "the wonderful power of money," i.e., bribery

Dracula has three other vampires in his castle. Their relation to him is never explained, nor are any of them named.

A character insists his salvation depends on having a pet cat

Dracula is thwarted by flowers on more than one occasion

A group of vampires stand in the hall outside a man's bedroom, talking loudly about their plans to eat him. When he comes to the door to confront them, they run away laughing

Dracula wears an unfashionable hat and gets roasted for it

A group of Romanians encounter a disheveled, shouting man and, "seeing from his violent demeanour that he was English, they [give] him a ticket for the furthest station on the way thither that the train reached."

A boat crashes due to Dracula having the munchies

A wolf is thrown through a window and immediately runs off, confused and covered in glass

Dracula makes a bed

#WONDERFUL #dracula (novel)

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hildred-rex · 15 days ago

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Guard: “You know what? I quit. Everyone in the northern city is a worthless drunk and I’m the only one doing all their work!”

Sorcerer: “You know what man? Good for you.” (ooc) I hand him my business card-

DM: Your 15th century business card?

Sorcerer, Yeah, I give him my Ye Olde Business Card and tell him, “You go down to the southern city and tell them [Sorcerer] sent you. They have ye olde health insurance.”

Guard: “They even have dental?”

Sorcerer: “They even have ye olde dental.”

(Ye Olde [object] proceeded to become a running joke in almost every future session thus far.)

#things enjoyed

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hildred-rex · 15 days ago

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and with your help it can rack up 700k notes on tumblr in 2024

no tumblr this doesnt need tags im releasing it into the wild as god intended

#wonderful. horrifying.

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hildred-rex · 15 days ago

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If there's one thing I've seen over and over again in the Dracula Daily + Re: Dracula fandom, it's the desire for an animated adaptation. Not of media-inspired-by, but of Dracula itself. And so, I've made:

youtube

...something that is decidedly not animated.

Yet.

I'm hoping to get Dracula Reanimated (tentative name) in exactly 1 year from now, by the end of DracDaily's 2025 run, perhaps even the beginning of it if I'm really good. But in all honesty, it could take till 2026 given the teeny complication that 1) I've no animation skills whatsoever 2) fulltime job.

So, I hope you'll stay around for the next 2 years at least to see this completed.

In the meanwhile, if you'd like to support a project by actual professionals, try @theholmwoodfoundation . It's a found footage horror fiction podcast by @georgiacooked and @fiotrethewey set in a time long after the events of Dracula, and yet the characters find themselves haunted (literally) by vestiges of the past.

Goodnight, stay safe, and rest well.

#OOH THIS IS SO COOL #dracula (novel)#!!!

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hildred-rex · 15 days ago

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If you have time to answer any of these, you have time to share and donate to any number of Palestine fundraisers, such as Mohammed's who is 92% of the way towards reaching his goal! You can also check out his brother Ahmed's campaign, who is 76% of the way towards reaching his goal! They are both vetted on @/el-shab-hussein and @/nabulsi's vetted Gaza fundraisers list and are #174 and #264 respectively

#IMPORTANT

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hildred-rex · 15 days ago

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masks and helmets that hides someone's face in such a way that they become the face themselves my beloved

these are all creatures to me

#things enjoyed

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hildred-rex · 16 days ago

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answering a couple questions i got on this post since i realized ppl genuinely wanna know:

tl;dr:

israel lets very, very little aid get into gaza. even the UN can't get in as much as they want to. funding individual families, gazan led initiatives, and mutual aid collectives operating out of gaza ensures gazans can provide for themselves and pay for the extremely expensive aid that is available.

with all the civil infrastructure destroyed by israel, the situation on the ground has devolved into unrestricted capitalism, driving up the price of aid (that should be free!). this makes it more urgent for people to have funding for daily survival.

the post linked above has examples of how donating to individual families can help a lot. if you want to help more than one family at a time, there are many gazan-led initiatives focusing on rebuilding their infrastructure and distributing aid fairly that are worth donating to instead of large charities that already get the majority of donations.

as i mentioned in the last post: @/careforgaza on twitter is a nonprofit started by gazans, it's been endorsed by multiple palestinian journalists.

the sameer project is a collective organized by diaspora palestinians offering emergency shelter to gazans.

ele elna elak is a project aiming to bring water, food, shelter, etc. to gazans and has been promoted by bisan owda.

and the municipality of gaza itself is fundraising to rebuild water infrastructure.

all of these organizations are active inside gaza right now and are being run by gazans. if anyone knows of other gazan-led mutual aid projects, nonprofits or charities feel free to link them in the notes! hope this helped!

long answers under the cut!

if you wanna donate to a charity that's absolutely fine, but the thing is most charities (and even the UN!) are unable to make it into gaza in the first place, leaving aid rotting at the egyptian side of the border or subject to israeli settler attacks

not to mention, charities and nonprofits also maintain a paternalistic colonial relationship with the indigenous people they are trying to help, determining what aid they need for them instead of returning power to them and letting them make their own choices

i'm not here to say that one option is better than the other, just that they achieve different things and are equally legitimate. there's an attitude among people who question the legitimacy of these gofundme campaigns that somehow the people promoting them are telling them not to donate to charities. nobody is stopping you from donating to charities. we are just asking that you do not dehumanize the very real gazans in your inbox just because their method of asking for aid is more direct and risky.

unfortunately that's exactly what has happened. because israel destroyed all of gaza's more formalized infrastructure, it seems that organized crime and rampant inflation has taken its place. aid is supposed to be free, but in order to save for evacuation or the cost of living, people have started selling them at an inflated price. and aid that is truly free attracts intense, large crowds that are dangerous to navigate.

this was posted on abc a few days ago

it's pure, unrestrained capitalism. i've had multiple palestinians describe this situation to me confidence. that's why everything's so expensive now. why people have to rent out tiny plots of land for their tents to sit on, why my friend @siraj2024 still has to buy tarps to cover the broken windows of the overpriced bombed out apartment he rented, and why a bag of flour can cost a thousand bucks in the north.

even before israel closed and then bombed the rafah crossing, the egyptian hala travel agency was only allowing people to cross the border if they paid a hefty $5000 USD per adult / $2500 USD per child bribe. it denies doing this, but the hundreds of stories from palestinians say otherwise.

with regard to the economy, here in america we saw something similar happen in the wake of hurricane helene and milton. the podcaster margaret killjoy describes how she saw dual economies rise after asheville was fully cut off from the rest of the country - some people offered each other supplies for free in a sort of mutual aid honor system, and some people required payment when they lent supplies because they themselves needed to buy stuff for their families. these dual economies exist in gaza too. and this means they all still need money to survive.

#IMPORTANT #very very important!

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hildred-rex · 16 days ago

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I'm Amal, 33 years old. My husband Eyad is 39, and we have seven children: Hala (15), Nour (13), Abdelrahman (11), Mohammed (9), Omar (6), Ahmed (4), and baby Hoor, just 7 months old.

In the blink of an eye, we awoke to a devastating barrage of bombs. The war had begun, and soon tanks surrounded us as the northern Gaza Strip was declared off-limits. We fled immediately from the north, leaving behind my husband who had to stay with his elderly father who cannot walk. The presence of checkpoints and the prohibition of vehicles forced my husband to remain in the Al-Zaytoun neighborhood in the north of Gaza.

My four-year-old son, Ahmed, suffers from diabetes. It is a constant struggle to find insulin injections and test strips. Weeks go by without being able to check his sugar levels, leaving me in fear of whether his levels are too high or too low.

Ahmed's condition break my heart

My children are the love of my life

I fled on foot, just ten days after giving birth. I carried my ten-day-old baby and my other young children, alone, fighting for their safety. A few days later, the northern Gaza Strip was completely isolated, leaving my husband trapped.

I cannot bear the panic attacks that Hoor suffers from the constant bombing

It was incredibly difficult to care for my children without my husband, moving from one place to another. I finally sought refuge in a shelter school in Deir Al-Balah.

My children have been deprived of their father, who used to provide all their needs. Their schooling has been halted, and their mental health is in ruins due to the war. My baby girl cannot get proper nutrition and is unable to sleep due to the constant sounds of bombs.

We share our room at school with 40 people, lacking water and sanitary supplies

My husband remains in the north, experiencing severe famine. Periodically, I manage to contact him, learning that he is still alive, but his situation is dire.

We want to escape Gaza and survive this tragic war, to build a decent life for my family, providing the basics of life: food, medical care, and a safe home.

Your donations can make a world of difference for us. Every dollar can help us escape this nightmare and start anew. Your generosity can reunite our family, provide essential medical care for Ahmed, and ensure my children grow up in a peaceful environment.

Your kindness and support mean everything to us. May God bless you for your compassion.

Greetings & Gratitude🙏

Amal

#IMPORTANT #VETTED FUNDRAISER #I can't donate right now but I can and will share #they're at €11k of €50k -- please help them if you can!

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hildred-rex · 16 days ago

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Dear friends ❤️

I have verified these campaigns and their organizers, and they are legitimate. You can help them and support their campaigns to reach their goals.

🇵🇸🇵🇸🍉

@sabahfamilys

Gofundme link : https://www.gofundme.com/f/f89uvm-help-my-family-to-escape-gaza

@helpamalsfamily

Gofundme link : https://www.gofundme.com/f/help-Amal-Family-from-Gaza-Rebuild-Their-Lives?attribution_id=sl:b631a5ba-f6a6-48f1-8ea5-6bd4736ec9e3&lang=en_SE&utm_campaign=fp_sharesheet&utm_medium=customer&utm_source=copy_link

#IMPORTANT #VETTED FUNDRAISER #(well fundraisers but that's the tag I'm using)#Sabah's is at £9k of £50k and Amal's is at €2.5k of €50k! Please help them if you can!#all I can do right now is share but I hope it helps!

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hildred-rex · 16 days ago

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Emergency: Help Evacuate My Family From GAZA WAR

Dear Humanity,

I'm Haya from Gaza , from a family of 8 people: my parents, two sons, and four daughters (two of them suffer from allergies).

I've witnessed the evidence of the tragedy that has struck our lives in Gaza, where my family and I have survived amidst numerous previous wars. But today, we face the most dangerous and fierce battle in the current war. The urgent need intensifies for us, as we have nothing left and are unable to secure our basic needs such as food, water, and safe shelter.

Here is our story - On October 7th, our lives changed forever, my family and I evacuated from northern Gaza to southern Gaza, hoping to return soon, but it wasn't meant to be. Our home was surrounded, burned, and then completely destroyed, Our home, once a fortress of hope, now lay in ruins, a stark reminder of our shattered dreams.

The night before we left from the north to the south was terrifying. Shelling sounds were everywhere, making a loud noise that felt like it went through our souls. Every explosions shook the ground like earthquakes, sending shockwaves of fear through our trembling bodies. filling us with fear. The air smelled of destruction and blood, making it hard to breathe. When dawn came, we saw the devastation around us, realizing our home was now a symbol of loss and despair.

We ran into the streets and with each step we took into the unknown streets, we felt as if we were plunging deeper into the abyss of our shattered existence, leaving behind everything we own in our home: Clothes, important official documents, the car, and literally it's almost everything - the enormity of our loss weighed heavily upon us.

Our home it was where we found hope, safety, and made precious memories. Losing it felt like losing years of our lives, leaving us adrift amidst the wreckage of our shattered existence.

youtube

A brief video depicting the devastation that struck our home and our entire neighborhood in Gaza.

Desperate Plea: Escaping Gaza's Allergy Nightmare

I, Haya, suffer from severe allergy to penicillin-derived medications, and my sister, Amal, also suffers from severe allergies to medications from my family such as Paracetamol and Ibuprofen.

These allergies create a deep sense of fear and anxiety for us, as we live in a constant state of tension and fear of anything that may require a visit to the hospital. We fear being given inappropriate medications due to the unavailability of suitable treatments in Gaza because of war or lack of awareness and not informing the doctor of our allergies, which could lead to serious consequences threatening our lives.

MY Father Income

Our dreams are heading towards oblivion in the labyrinth of an uncertain future

My story, along with my siblings, represents a united team of four individuals, three of whom are skilled programmers and one graphic designer. We work as freelancers in the world of freelancing.

As for my younger sister, she is a student studying at the College of Architecture. She has always carried a big dream in her heart, a dream of being part of changing Gaza, of making it more beautiful and better. She looked forward to the day when she would receive her degree and start building this dream. But the beginning of the war changed everything. The destruction of infrastructure and universities cast shadows of despair over her dreams.

When I think of my brother in Belgium, I can't help but feel deep sadness. He has been suffering from unbearable anxiety and insomnia since the outbreak of the war. Sleep eludes him at night, and his physical and mental health collapses under the weight of these heavy burdens, negatively affecting his performance at work. Problems and challenges pile up in front of him without the slightest opportunity for rest.

We all feel psychological pressure and extreme anxiety. The war hasn't been limited to external attacks but has deeply infiltrated our daily lives. We search among the rubble for a little safety and the basic resources for survival. Every day comes with a new challenge that we must overcome.

As we sway amidst the rubble of shattered dreams, our souls wrestle and our hearts beat strongly challenging the ravages of war.

Our parents earnestly seek a way to rescue us from this hell, feeling the heavy responsibility for every moment we spend under the shadows of fear and destruction. They dream of a safe place where they can build for us a better future, filled with security and hope, for we deserve life in all its meanings of comfort and peace.

Perhaps this fundraising campaign represents a light in the midst of darkness, it is indeed the only hope we cling to firmly.

I appeal to the world as a whole to hear my cry and the mournful cry of my family in Gaza. We need the helping hand that reaches out to wipe our tears and build a bridge to safety.

Your donation is not just a donation; it's an opportunity to rebuild life and brighten a better tomorrow. Be part of our hopeful story, for we need your hand to start anew.

The purpose of the fundraising campaign

The goal of this fundraising campaign is to rescue my family - my parents, my siblings, and me - through the Rafah Crossing to Egypt, which currently requires $5000 per person. This campaign is our only chance to stay alive, and I humbly request your assistance at this critical time. I will provide you with a comprehensive breakdown of the expenses, committing to transparency and clarity.

All of our important links are here https://linktr.ee/hayanahed

Verified by :

⭐️ operation olive branch, number 26 on their spreadsheet. (On Master list)

⭐️ Project watermelon,line 249 on their spreadsheet. Or you could see it as number 212 here is the photo for more clear proof

Thank you for your kindness and support.

.جزاكم الله خيراً

yours sincerely;

Haya Alshawish.

#IMPORTANT #VETTED FUNDRAISER #€96k of €100k! So close!!!

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