#Death in the sea

[these-detestable-hands]

Man I just opened feh as a distraction because I was having intrusive thoughts. What if I cried.

[chaiaurchaandni]

does throwing a stone at a tank

make a child a terrorist?

is terrorism about resisting oppression? is terrorism about demanding your birthright to live safely and peacefully in your homeland? is terrorism about hating the killers of your family, your friends and your people?

accusations of terrorism are often weaponized against those fighting for liberation and sovereignty and dignity. the french settlers called the algerians terrorists. the indian government calls the kashmiris terrorists. the pakistani army calls pashtun activists terrorists. the turkish government calls the kurds terrorists. apartheid south africa called nelson mandela a terrorist. americans called the vietcong and the black panthers terrorists. the israelis call the palestinians terrorists. all oppressive regimes are connected. all oppressed people are connected. injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.

[sscarletvenus]

"every zionist accusation is a confession"

well, this actually happened to a Palestinian child in the Deir Yassin massacre of 1948. here's an eye-witness account :

FULL DOCUMENTARY HERE.

[taviamoth]

They screamed and screeched and shed alligator tears about their 40 imaginary beheaded babies.

Here in this video is a baby without a head. No empty claim to demonize a resistance group. Just stark reality.

Make no mistake, the 'soldiers' killing these babies aren't gritting their teeth and doing something that is unpleasant to them. They're laughing and having fun. They're genuinely happy because to them the headless baby in this video was a future 'terrorist' (person resisting their occupation).

Their allies are sleeping just fine.

Many are shrugging and saying "I don't care about politics".

Death to the zionist entity. Death to america. Death to you if this made you happy. Choke on your own shit.

[intersectionalpraxis]

In the past 24 hours, I learned that the IOF freezes the dead bodies of imprisoned Palestinian people and keeps them in fridges so they can "serve out their sentences."

I also learned that multiple Israeli environmental organizations and interconnections worked to BAN herbs that are an intrinsic part of Palestinian cuisine, and despite it being overturned, they diligently STILL tried to.

On top of that, IOF soldiers recently looted over (what I saw reported on Al Jazeera) just over one million dollars in jewelry/goods -by robbing Palestinian homes in Gaza for THEIR IOF 'treasury.' I also saw the story about one silver necklace that was stolen by IOF scum for HIS girlfriend (of which he bragged about on social media) -only to find out it belonged to a Palestinian woman, who was supposed to wear this on her wedding day -she was killed during an IOF bombing.

When I say the IOF is one of the world's embodiment of evil incarnate and exemplar of moral depravity, this is just the tip of the iceberg because this is just beyond insidious.

[the-most-sublime-fool]

Then, too, at sea—to use a homely but expressive phrase—you miss a man so much. A dozen men are shut up together in a little bark, upon the wide, wide sea, and for months and months see no forms and hear no voices but their own, and one is taken suddenly from among them, and they miss him at every turn. It is like losing a limb. There are no new faces or new scenes to fill up the gap. There is always an empty berth in the forecastle, and one man wanting when the small night watch is mustered. There is one less to take up the wheel, and one less to lay out with you upon the yard. You miss his form, and the sound of his voice, for habit had made them almost necessary to you, and each of your senses feels the loss.

—a sailor's diary entry, on losing a shipmate, ca. 1834 (from Two Years Before the Mast by Richard Henry Dana Jr.)

[hauchiko]

crying over the fact that fish go through twink death.

bony eared assfish, as an adult

nothing offensive, nothing bizarre just a regular guy but from the deep sea world

as a JUVENILE??

dressed to the NINES, full GALA outfit, ready to cause some divine RADIANCE

[violottie]

This would not have happened had it not been for America, the UK, the West and "israel" and their genocidal intent and action. THIS WOULD NOT HAVE HAPPENED OTHERWISE. NEVER FORGET THAT.

"A toddler in northern Gaza has died after bread, made from animal feed, poisoned him to death.⁣" from Al Jazeera English, 27/Feb/2024:

[zegalba]

Yayoi Kusama: The Sea in the Evening Glow (1988) Facing the Imminent Death

[these-detestable-hands]

Continuation of the fic where Mitama gets sent to the deeprealms. Not sending this as asks cause I don't really wanna.

@beantothemax @butchered-cherry @crabknee

Azama had nothing with him but his staff and an ever growing feeling of dread, only wanting to see Mitama. The caretaker had been reluctant to welcome him into the manor, but agreed when he saw how devastated he was.

Now, some weeks had passed and he had learned all the children's names. Some loved drawing while others loved playing or assisting their caretaker with chores.

Mitama hardly spoke to him. She refused to look him in the eye and only went to "Mr. Rintaro" (as she called him) for help. Still, Azama was pleased he could see his daughter at all. She had just learned to read and spent every waking moment with her nose in a book.

One particular day, Rintaro had gone on a picnic with most of the children. Those who stayed behind were either terribly sick or bookworms. That is to say, Mitama and only one other child of the nearly twenty had stayed home.

"Aw come on! You always say that-" the boy coughed loudly, "That sunlight is good!"

"Not right now, Asugi. You have a virus, you need to rest! Have this medicine, it will make you feel better," Azama insisted.

Asugi drank it all and grimaced. Azama stayed by his side until he fell asleep.

After that, he was to clean. Rintaro had checked and double checked to make sure Azama was okay with cleaning by himself, and he was. Repetetive tasks he could do alone and in silence were amongst his favorite, second only to scaring the children with bedtime stories.

While he scrubbed away at the dishes, he noted how quiet the manor was. It was the quietest it had been in weeks, at least during the day time. It was nearing summer and birds sung outside. A warm breeze filled the house as the windows had been opened for some much needed fresh air.

Some rooms down, several objects clattered to the ground. Azama paused and listened intently, hearing how Mitama had begun to cry.

In an instant, he ran to the library. She sat on the floor, surrounded by books and a ladder that had fallen.

"Oh dear, what happened?" Azama asked.

"G-go away! You're mean!" Mitama managed to say, though clearly that wasn't why she cried.

He ignored her hurtful words and tried to help her as though they had no blood relation, but his heart ached whenever she called him names. He just wanted to love her.

"Mitama, Rintaro isn't home right now," he said softly, "Are you hurt?"

Reluctantly, she showed him her arm. A little blue mark had begun to form where he presumed the ladder had hit her. Most likely, she instinctively shielded herself with her arms.

He took her hand carefully and muttered an old incantation. The mark disappeared and her tears slowed to a stop.

"How'd you do that?" she asked.

"Healing spells work best on little girls who behave, and you've never broken a rule!" he smiled.

Mitama laughed at his words and he nearly cried. It was the first time since she was a baby that he had seen her laugh so, she only scowled or kept a neutral face in his presence.

"What book were you looking for?" he asked.

"The boy and the demon!" she exctitedly said.

"Won't you get nightmares?"

"Rintaro says I'm old enough to read it."

Azama plucked the book from the shelf before handing it to Mitama. She sat on an armchair in the corner and read the book with a smile while he put the rest of them back where they belonged. It wasn't much, hardly an interaction at all, but he felt that his heart might burst just thinking of her adorable little laugh.

Just as he was about to leave, she spoke up.

"Thank you for healing me, Mr. Azama!"

"Of course, it's my job!" he smiled.

Mr. Azama...

It wasn't ideal, but at least she addressed him at all.

Several days more passed and she would occasionally ask him things. She still preferred asking Rintaro for help, but at least she spoke with him, rather than call him names and avoid him.

Late one night, she had knocked at his door.

"Um... Azama?" she asked.

As usual, he felt a little stab of pain when she called him that, but he opened the door and looked down at her.

"Is something the matter?"

"It's- um- I can't sleep," she muttered.

"Why not?"

"I'm scared."

"Of what?"

She whispered something so quiet, Azama wondered if she had spoken at all.

"What was that?"

"Demons."

"Was that book scary?"

She sheepishly nodded.

It could have been worse. She could have come in with an injury, or-

Azama shook his head and dismissed those thoughts before he began worrying too much about her.

"Can I sit with you for a bit?" she asked.

"Of course!" he smiled.

He returned to his bed where he had been reading and gestured for her to sit beside him. Mitama sat and leaned her head on his shoulder while she looked at his book. All the words were what she thought of as big and difficult and so her eyes glided over the pages, absorbing none of the information.

"Dad?" she said suddenly.

His heart nearly ceased its rthymic beating before he calmly answered, "Yes?"

"I'm sorry I called you mean."

"It's quite alright, I forgive you."

She fell silent once more and he continued his reading. Once he finished the chapter, he turned to speak to her, but found she had fallen asleep on his shoulder. How adorable and precious she looked. He wanted to hold her forever and neither the war or Hinoka could take her from his arms again.

But he needed to sleep.

He carefully carried her back to her own bed, and not without quietly wishing her goodnight.

[chaiaurchaandni]

[midnightlockhearth]

Link to video: https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSFYSM16j/

Source:@/middleeasteye on tiktok

Description from the OG video:

Isnotreal returned the bodies of 80 unidentified palestinians taken by its forces.

Some of the bodies were taken by isnotreal forces after they were killed, while others were exhumed from several cemeteries around Gaza, including Al-Shifa cemetery and Al-Nimsawi cemetery in Khan Youins

Pictures were taken of the bodies before burial to facilitate later identification by their families.

[taviamoth]

[googoogojob]

not so much lonely pier at Jeff's inn by the sea

[prokopetz]

Okay, so: in early drafts of Jules Verne's 1870 novel Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, Captain Nemo is a Polish guy bent on revenge against the Russian Empire for the murder of his family in the January Uprising. Verne's editor objected on the grounds that Russia was a French ally at the time of the book's writing, and in the actual, published version of the story, Nemo's national origin and precisely which empire he's pissed off at are left unspecified.

Later, in the 1875 quasi-sequel The Mysterious Island, Nemo is retconned as an Indian noble out for revenge against the British for the murder of his family in the Indian Rebellion of 1857 – basically the same as the original plan, simply substituting a different uprising and a different empire. Verne's editor raised no objections this time around, because fuck the British, right? Though Twenty Thousand Leagues and The Mysterious Island aren't 100% compatible in their respective timelines, this version of Nemo has customarily been back-ported into adaptations of Twenty Thousand Leagues ever since.

Now here's the funny part: perhaps as a jab at his editor, Verne made a specific plot point in Twenty Thousand Leagues of Professor Aronnax repeatedly trying and failing to figure out where the fuck Nemo is from. At one point his attempt to pin down Nemo's accent is frustrated by Nemo's vast multilingualism. At another point, he tries and fails to trick Nemo by quizzing him about latitude and longitude.

(To contextualise that last bit, at the time the book was written, there was no international agreement on which line of longitude should be zero degrees, and many nations had their own prime meridians; Aronnax hoped to identify Nemo's national origin by calculating which meridian he was giving his longitudes relative to. Nemo, however, immediately spots the ploy, and announces that he'll use the Paris meridian in deference to the fact that Aronnax is a Frenchman.)

The upshot is that at no point in the course of any of this Sherlock Holmes bullshit does Aronnax ever bring up the colour of Nemo's skin as a potential clue. In light of the book's publication history, this is almost certainly simply because Verne hadn't decided that Nemo was Indian yet. However, taking into account The Mysterious Island's retcon, it retroactively makes Aronnax the least racist Frenchman ever.

[fivetrench]

Palestinians deserve peace, happiness, comfort, and everything else that Israel has stripped away from them. There is no justification. This is genocide. The people of Palestine need our help.

Free Palestine. Death to Israel.