#filthy jaffa

[todaycoza]

-Anywhere (but Jaffa) 54-

8 April 2024

1800 x 4000 Digital Unedited

[rockyroadkylers]

Year In Review: Favorite Lines

@littlemisskittentoes and @happiness-of-the-pursuit tagged me in another end-of-the-year game! This one is about my favorite lines I've written, so this should be a really fun one!

Fair warning, this gets long! I put most of the post under a "keep reading" cut.

From It's Nice to Have a Friend:

From chapter 3:

God forbid men acsecorize acesorise how the fuck do you spell that word?? Whatever. GOD FORBID MEN WEAR BRACELETS. There. That works.

From chapter 4:

Alex feels like crying, suddenly. He blinks back tears and says, “Henry, I’m so proud of you.”

and

“Why’m I the little spoon,” Alex mumbles, even as he tucks his head under Henry’s chin, speaking directly into his t-shirt. “Because you’re short,” Henry deadpans, earning a weak kick to the shin.

From chapter 6:

Keep your filthy American mitts off my Jaffa cakes.

and

He hasn’t really stopped smiling since Alex woke him up. Alex is determined to keep him smiling all day.

From chapter 7:

“Here I am,” Henry repeats, tilting his head back to see Alex grinning down at him. Even upside down, that smile makes his heart skip a beat – goofy and happy, with his dimple popping out.

and

Alex studies the peaceful look on Henry’s face. The way he practically melts into Alex’s arms makes him want to pull Henry in as close as he can and never let go, but he settles for lifting one hand up from his hip, smoothing his fingers over Henry’s sleeve before resting his hand in the crook of his elbow.

and

Henry smiles when Alex looks up at him, gently teasing. “That’s remarkably emotionally mature of you.” Alex rolls his eyes, picking his drink back up. “I’m gonna give you a fucking wedgie, how’s that for emotionally mature?” he grumbles into his mug, and Henry laughs.

From chapter 8:

“If I told MI6 that my APGOV teacher made threats against your family and they took him out, do you think I’d still have to write this paper?”

and

“If you think I’d actually be able to enjoy a stupid fucking holiday, knowing you’re 5,000 miles away with a broken heart, I love you, H, but you’re the biggest moron I’ve ever met.”

and

“Guess he just needed a cuddle buddy.” “He needed you,” Arthur corrects softly, and Alex feels his cheeks heat up.

From chapter 9:

“I want you to have this, because I want you to remember that… no matter where you go, no matter what you do, I will always be with you.” [Arthur] reaches out to take Henry’s free hand. “And when the time comes, perhaps you’ll be able to give this to someone who loves you the way you deserve to be loved.”

and

“What I’m hearing is, you’re an emotional support animal.”

and

Alex tucks his arms around Henry and kisses the top of his head, rubbing his back until he relaxes fully. “It’s okay to cry now, baby,” he murmurs. “You’re safe here. It’s just us.”

From chapter 10:

They’re at a red light, so Henry gives in to the urge to look at Alex. He’s looking right back, his eyes soft but determined. He’s wearing one of Henry’s hoodies, and a pair of Austin High athletic shorts, and he hadn’t bothered putting shoes on before following Henry out of the palace, and Henry loves him so much it actually hurts. He lets himself lean in to that feeling, just for a moment, lifting their joined hands and pressing a kiss to the back of Alex’s knuckles. He just catches a glimpse of the smile that mingles with the surprise on Alex’s face before the light turns green and he has to return his attention to the road.

and

Over the last eight months they’ve become a bit like a pair of feral cats at an animal shelter that have been labeled, “DO NOT ADOPT SEPARATELY.”

and

But that’s all in the future. For now, he’s here, at the lake, and it’s the Fourth of July tomorrow, and he has Alex asleep in his arms, and they kissed for the first time less than an hour ago, and Henry can feel sleep tugging at the corners of his mind. Henry closes his eyes, pulls Alex close, and lets sleep take him.

From chapter 11:

Soulmates, what the fuck? How long is this speech? Alex needs Henry to stop talking, so he can kiss him about it.

From After Everything, I Must Confess I Need You

Alex looks… small. That’s the first thing Henry notices. Hospital beds aren’t large, but they have a way of swallowing up whoever occupies them, shrinking them down and making everything else look that much scarier, that much bigger. It’s a phenomenon that Henry remembers all too well from his father’s time in the hospital, and if he never saw it again it would be too soon.

and

“You broke my heart, Henry. ... The thing is, though, I think you broke your own heart, too.” Henry’s eyes snap back to Alex’s, and Alex is taken aback by the pure anguish in them. “Of course I did,” Henry whispers. “I don’t think I know how to do anything else.”

and

“Baby, I think your armor might be suffocating you.”

and

“I wanna love you more than I wanna be mad at you.”

and

“I want to be braver,” he whispers. A secret just for the two of them. “For myself, and for us.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Well, that was probably more than strictly necessary, but at least I limited myself to favorite quotes from published works! If I kept going with quotes from WIPs, we'd be here until next December 😋

I'm not sure who's done this and who hasn't, so I'll go ahead and tag @hgejfmw-hgejhsf, @read-and-write-, @inexplicablymine, @affectionatelyrs, @firenati0n, @matherines, @anincompletelist, @songliili, @wordsofhoneydew, @saintlynomenclature

[somethingelsecatchy]

IT'S A S'MORE

Dear British,

I found your country so enticing. The mood, the weather, the atmosphere - if you will.

HOWEVER. I CANNOT CONDONE THE NAMING OF THE TEACAKE.

There is no CAKE, and it is clearly meant to go with COFFEE or HOT COCO. For it is a SMORE.

For my American friends, picture this: a nice fluffy marshmallow covered in chocolate with a delicious cookie crunch. What does that remind you of? Camping outside? WRONG you're thinking of a teacake right now you filthy scum.

Am I someone who may buy a pack once in a while? Yes. They're delicious I cannot deny this.

But the name agitates me.

I don't know what sick freak dips a s'more in tea but they need to be stopped immediately because what they've done is a crime against human decency.

Calling it cake should also be a crime. It's a confection. Not a cake. No sponge or airy squish to be found. Just a dry flaky cookie at the bottom.

Imagine. You're given a tuna sandwich, but instead of the meat it was the scales.

The best ones are, however, with a thicker shell that give a nice snap once you bite down into it. In those moments I can forgive the name. But then and only then.

I will not put tags in this, but just knowing I could get this off my chest was enough for me.

[ EDIT AS OF OCT 23 2024]

I AM NOW PUTTING IN TAGS BECAUSE TELL ME WHY THE JAFFA CAKE IS A CAKE AND SPARKED A LEGAL DEBATE OF CAKES.

In 1991 there was a court ruling that Jaffa Cakes were in fact cakes and not cookies. Why? BECAUSE OF THE STATE OF THE CAKE WHEN IT GOES STALE.

Cake is known to go hard when it goes stale where as a cookie will go soft. Therefore your Jaffa Cake, is a cake, but the TEACAKE IS NOT.

[hms-chill]

Just a Dream

Summary: Henry wakes up to an empty bed, no sign of Alex, and a sinking knowledge that he's left for good.

-

"Can you imagine if we were still dating? That would be wild, right?" Alex asks, grinning. Henry fakes a laugh as he feels the fissure in his heat grow into a canyon. He'd thought they were dating, but apparently they're not. Apparently they'd gone back to being friends, nothing more, and the massive hole in his heart is just something he'll have to live with. As he lets the darkness of his broken heart swallow him, he hears his grandmother's laugh echo in his ears.

He wakes up alone, his head pounding. This isn't right. Alex should be next to him; their breakup should have been a dream. But he's not there, and Henry's lying in the middle of the bed, David curled up happily where Alex should be. He looks toward what should be Alex's end table, and there's no phone, no glasses, no charger, not even the book he's working through. There's no sign of Alex anywhere.

A sinking feeling settles firmly into Henry's stomach. He knew it was too good to be true. He'd known it couldn't last, somehow; a person like him didn't get to be in love with someone like Alex. It just wouldn't work. His grandmother has been telling him that for ages; princes don't end up with first sons. It's impossible for more reasons than he can count, and they'd been stupid to even try to make things work in such an impossible world.

But no; it had worked. They'd built a life, and just because all signs of Alex seem to have disappeared from their bedroom doesn't mean he's gone. Henry fumbles for his phone, knocking a piece of paper that likely has a half-formed midnight revelation scribbled on it to the floor. He can't wait to read it later; last time it was "Horatio 'sweet' gay etymology". His phone reveals nothing but the fact that he's running late. With a pang, he realizes that he'd relied on Alex's alarm to wake him up, but Alex is gone now. He must be. Henry climbs out of bed in a rush, but as he does, his head spins and his stomach revolts. He barely makes it to the bathroom before he throws up, and he calls in sick from there, head resting on the cool porcelain of the toilet seat. He texts Bea their daily update from there, too; letting her know he loves her and that he's got the flu, but she shouldn't worry. She'll get it when she wakes up in a few hours. His phone buzzes after that, but he ignores it to get himself up and to the kitchen. He lets David outside and makes a cup of tea, trying not to be upset by the coffee maker that has clearly not been used this morning.

As the kettle heats, Henry tries to remember what happened between him and Alex. Something must have happened; he's clearly the only one still living in the house he'd picked for the two of them. But through the pounding in his head and the fog in his brain, he can't remember what. He just knows Alex should be here, and he's not. His favorite mug isn't out on the counter, and his contacts weren't in the bathroom, and his shoes aren't on the mat.

David is back at the door, so Henry lets him in, grabbing his tea and the emergency packet of Jaffa cakes he keeps in the cupboard. He knows he should sleep; he's decently sick and his sleep schedule has never been exactly steady. But he can't close his eyes without missing Alex. Alex's arms around him, Alex's breath on his neck, Alex's feet tangling with his under the blankets. He tries to read, but that causes the same difficulty. He can't stop expecting Alex's head on his shoulder, Alex's lips on his cheek, Alex's presence on the bed beside him, tapping his hand when he's found something interesting in his own book to share. Eventually, Henry gives up on it all and brings up Bake Off on his laptop, picking a different season from the one he's watching with Alex, and tries his best to disappear into biscuit land, David curled up beside him.

He sleeps intermittently, trying to doze between every episode and maybe getting in a solid few hours total. What he gets, though, is full of dreams of Alex. Alex packing his things and leaving. Alex calmly explaining that it isn't working. Alex leaving Henry alone with the queen, a defeated husk of himself finally ready to accept life in a tower.

Alex coming in quietly, carrying a bowl of soup and kissing Henry's forehead to wake him up.

"Hi, baby. Bea said you weren't feeling so great." Well. If this is a dream, it's one of the better ones. Alex looks like he's just gotten back from something fancy, and if Henry weren't so sick and this weren't a dream, he'd be ready to do absolutely filthy things to an Alex who looks this good.

As it is, all Henry can manage is a groan. Alex smiles, and Henry blesses his subconscious for holding onto that soft smile, the one that's so full of love Henry can barely stand it.

"Okay. I'm going to leave the soup here, and I'll be right back with a thermometer and meds, okay? I love you." He starts to go, but Henry grabs his hand. If Alex leaves, he'll wake up, and he doesn't want to go back to that world just yet. He wants to stay here, where everything is perfect.

"Don't go. I don't want this one to end."

"What do you mean, baby? I'll be right back."

"No; if... if you go, I'll wake up, and I don't want to. I know... I know I can't have this, not with who I am and have to be and all that, but I want to pretend. Just... just for a little bit longer, please? I don't want to be alone again."

"Hen, what are you talking about?"

"This is a dream, and real... real Alex is gone, and if you go then I have to wake up and go back to that, and I don't want to." He's started to cry, which is probably going to wake him up anyway, but Alex isn't leaving anymore. He's coming closer to sit on the bed and wrap Henry in his arms, holding him close as Henry finally lets the sobs start to tear him apart. "I just... I want to pretend... I want this to be real."

"Baby, this is real, I promise. Oh, Henry, baby, Love. Corazón. I would never leave you, I swear. I love you more than anything. Here; I'm... Henry, baby? Look at me?" Henry does, and he sees a few of his own tears reflected in Alex's eyes. Alex cups his face gently, wiping a few tears away with his thumb and looking at Henry with eyes so full of adoration and love that the tears threaten to come back immediately. "I'm going to pinch you, okay? If you can feel it and it hurts, you'll know this is real, and that I would never, ever leave you."

Henry nods, sniffling a bit. Alex pinches his arm, just enough to hurt, then presses a kiss to the same spot as Henry buries his face in his shoulder.

"It's okay, Sweetheart. It's okay. I'm here. I had meetings up in Albany starting early this morning, but I'm here now. I'm here. I love you; I'm sorry I ever had to leave."

"I... I had a dream we broke up, and then everything was gone..."

"But that's impossible. I kissed your forehead to chase out all the bad thoughts before I left."

Henry lets out a watery laugh, still trying to believe that all of this is real. Alex is here, holding him and promising over and over that he loves him. This is real, Alex says so. He got his fairy tale ending. When the tears fade, leaving him clinging to Alex like a tired koala, Henry says, "I'm sorry. I... after everything, it felt... I just... all of this, after my grandmother and Richards and everything? I still... it all just feels so impossible sometimes, still."

"I know, I know. You have nothing to be sorry for. I'm sorry I had to go, and I'm sorry I didn't call over lunch or anything, and I just... I'm sorry. I should have done more than a note and a text, especially knowing you were sick. I didn't want to wake you, but I... I should have done more."

"A note?"

"I left it right next to your phone. Did you not see it?"

"I... I think it fell."

"Okay. Here's what we'll do, if it's okay with you. I'm going to pick up the note, and while you read it, I'm going to get some meds, a thermometer, and my dinner. Then I'll be back, and we can watch Bake Off and cuddle while we eat. Does that sound alright?"

"But you'll get sick."

"Nonsense. You're most contagious the day or two before the fever, so I'm already contaminated. Besides, you're always telling me to rest; if I get a fever I'll have to. Then you'll have to stay home and look after me, and I won't have to share you for a whole day."

Henry laughs again, and it sounds a bit more like it should. Alex kisses his forehead, bends to pick up the letter, then kisses his forehead again as he hands it over.

"I'll be back soon; no bad thoughts while I'm gone, okay?"

"Okay." One last forehead kiss and he's gone, but Henry can hear running footsteps in the hall outside. David hops off the bed, likely needing dinner and to be let out, but Henry doesn't mind. He turns to the letter in his hands, picturing Alex writing it early that morning, glasses on and hair barely tamed. It would have been still partly dark when he left, and Henry can picture him writing it in the half-light of an early morning through the window, just as the city started to come awake.

"Baby, Sorry I missed you this morning; I'm off early for meetings in Albany. You'd probably know what idiot made them the state capital instead of us, let's add them to our list of people to fight. I hate missing you wake up, but we both know you need your beauty sleep, so I'll have to imagine your bed head and morning breath and all the stunningly imperfect things about you that the world never gets to see. I'll pick up an early dinner on my way home, so no need to worry about that. I love you. I love your gorgeous sleeping face and your giant, beautiful heart, and I love that little smile you'll get reading this. I love how you love letters and all these sappy little things. I love you, Alex PS- I just kissed away the bad dreams, but your forehead felt hot. Please take the day off if you need to; you deserve to rest for a bit. I adore you."

He looks up from the letter to see Alex in the flesh, panting slightly but with a second bowl of soup, a cup of tea, some meds, and the thermometer. He comes to take Henry's temperature, frowning slightly before handing him a pill.

"Take this; it should help. But we should call off work tomorrow; you're not fever free yet, and you'll need someone to look after you."

"But you have the state senate meetings tomorrow, too, don't you?"

"Yeah, well, state senate can wait. They can send someone else; Albany blows anyway. Like ten of the top fifteen things to do are historic houses and buildings; it can wait until I can see it with you."

Henry smiles, swallowing the pill and starting on his soup while Alex emails his boss, then emails the shelter to let them know Henry won't be in tomorrow, either. When he's done, he gets them to Bake Off. David's arrived, curling up at their feet but clearly planning to move upward as soon as they'll let him.

"Thank you. You're... the best partner I can imagine. There's no one else I'd rather spend my life with, and I adore you, and I'm so thankful that I get to date and live with and love you. I'm sorry I don't tell you enough," Henry says softly, but Alex shakes his head.

"Nonsense. The not telling me enough bit, I mean, not the rest. Except the best partner bit, because you're the best partner I can imagine. I'm sorry I don't tell you enough how much I adore you, and how wonderful you are, and how amazed by you I am everyday. I could keep going, until you get sick of me and chase me out so you can sleep, but it looks like bread week, so. What do you say we disappear into bread land for an hour?"

Henry nods, resting his head on Alex's shoulder as Mel and Sue bring them into bread week. Alex is there; he's real. His shoulder is solid, moving slightly as he eats his soup and encourages Henry to do the same. He's there, real as anything, his arm pressed against Henry's and David curled up on their tangled legs.

On AO3

Notes:

Remember that funny thing where Alex slipped and hit his head and forgot they were dating? Inspired by a prompt from @stardustbooknerd? This is the angsty companion piece for that. I'd say I'm sorry, but that would be a lie. But hey. All’s well that ends in fluff, right? 

-

On an unrelated note, the etymology of "sweet" in 'Hamlet' is that it was very gay, but Horatio only uses it after Hamlet's dead ("goodnight, sweet prince"). So he only tells Hamlet he loves him after Hamlet is dead. Which is fine and not heartbreaking in the least.

[terranholyfamily]

I would appreciate feedback on what i have written, be it grammatical or lore even just telling me what bugs you or like about the short little thing i’ve written. It’s going to be the latter half of the Introduction to my story about an Inquisitors ship, containing the Catachan 2nd hitching a ride, crashing on a jungle world in the Stargate universe. 

jump into my messages or asks with your review id be happy to take criticism and what i can do to improve. 

It was said by the Catachan II that the first mistake the Xeno’s made was to declare themselves as their masters, but their far more deadly mistake was for them to let them dig in on the terrain they had spent their lives fighting in, dense hot jungles, and their final mistake was attempting to march straight toward them. 

The moment the Jaffa stepped foot into the jungle they were in a hell of the Catachan II’s design, the first sign of danger for them came without warning, the vanguard they had sent ahead suddenly went quiet,with the dull thud of explosives heard ahead, and when the main bulk of the army caught up they saw why. Strewn across the jungle were body parts and exploded Jaffa flung around by hidden mines and timed explosives. 

The force of Jaffa proceeded much slower after this revelation, and as any Catachan trooper will tell you the point of booby traps is to do exactly that, they watched the grounds about them with extreme caution so when the next attack came they were not ready. From the tree’s dropped bouquets of grenades that scattered many of the Jaffa into the jungle as they attempted to run from the dropped death, right into the waiting arms of hidden Catachan Devils who eagerly slit their throats and then faded back into the foliage.

With a third of their force gone the Jaffa commanders forced their troops on further into the Jungles at a crawling pace as the terrified Jaffa whipped their heads about at every noise in the jungle. They marched right into the final trap of the Catachan, where the sun shone through the jungle, right by a waterfall the Jaffa stopped to take their rest and take water from the gently babbling waterfall. Right as they had begun to take water to quench themselves from the thick hot jungle air the thudding ring of bolter fire tore through the jungle at the surrounded Jaffa. Heavy bolters had been set up in the perfect positions to tear through the unaware Jaffa and soon Lascarbines joined in picking off Jaffa with deadly proficiency. 

When the bolter fire had faded and the Lascarbines had silenced the Catachan begun the grisly duty of finishing off those unfortunate enough to have survived their ambush. With barely half of what the Jaffa had originally brought into the jungle they had decimated the ill equipped and ill experienced troops with deadly ease. 

When word reached Lord Zeus of what had befallen his troops he became incensed with rage, he ordered the jungle to be cleansed in the fires of his Al’Kesh bombers. Soon the Jungle blazed as they descended into the neutral zones, admittedly this came as a surprise to the Catachan who had very little time to hunker down in their fox holes as plasma mines were scattered about the jungles, as they tried to come closer to the crash site of Justice’s Claws and her Operating Area the Al’Kesh found themselves in danger from swift Aircraft that tore through them as they had not brought an escort with them.

On the ground The catachan Whooped and cheered for the Thunderbolts that tore through the air at their foes the skies now erupting into a battle over the no mans land of the jungles. As the Goa’Uld sent gliders to support their Al’Kesh Lightning attack craft arrived to counter the swift maneuverable gliders and Valkyries swooped in to collect the Catachan troops who could not walk back to the ship. What the Goa’Uld lacked in technical superiority and knowledge of their foe they certainly made up for in their numbers. For every Thunderbolt in the air the Goa’Uld could field ten Al’Kesh, for each Lightning twenty gliders swooped through the air. The Valkyries had to rely on the aim of their heavy bolt gunners to keep many of the attacking craft off their tails and as soon as they were back in the safety of the Hydra batteries the surviving aircraft retreated back as well. 

The Goa’Uld had learned a very valuable lesson that day. The men and women of the imperium were ready and willing to fight hard and they had the upper hand in the jungles of the planet.It took Zues’ First Prime to calm him down, to plead for a more tactical approach to the filthy Tau’ri that infested the jungle, and fortunately His God agreed.

The war for the planet was truly joined that day and The Imperium was just getting started.

[fart-gate]

SG1

Season 5 episode 2

"THRESHOLD"

Notes by me

- PREVIOUSLY - they brainwashed my beefcake!!!!

- pls tell me Jack can make him remember with the power of Bros

- he lying aint he

- BRATAC??? MY BOY???

- bratac knew with just a look that he was lying bro he could tell by his goddamn aura omg

- UM GET YO HAND OUTA THERE

- why you take tealcs baby!!!

- tealc needs to remember his friends OR ELSE

- bra'tac please. All of your methods are violent

- but honestly I cant wait to watch it

- 'let him stew in his own filthy brain until he remembers' is basically whats happening

- bratac saying fraiser is one of tealcs friends and she needs to stay to help him ❤❤❤❤❤

- "I am 100% sur-.........99% sure apophis is dead"

Daniel giving Jack a tiny head shake bc THEY DONT KNOW BITCH!!! EVERYTIME APOPHIS GETS BLOWN UP IT TURNS OUT HE SURVIVES BC HE fuckin CALLED AN UBER TO SAVE HIM BEFORE THE EXPLOSION REACHED HIM or something I dont fuckin know

- omg apophis literally told tealc that his dad shouldve died at an unwinnable battle and his now torturing him and there are still jaffa that stay loyal to them!!!! What the fuck!!!! They treat all the jaffa like shit and they still- I cant take this

- cure for brainwashing: strap him to a bed and have story time about all the memories of you guys braiding daniels hair or something Idk

- this better not awaken anything in me

- "life for the sake of life means nothing"

- I dont want bratac to die :(((((

- story time with Daniel and Jack

- akdhdjdb Daniel sitting down and his mind just goes blank. Head empty no thoughts

- "as your best friend-" !!!!!!!❤❤❤

- "that would make you the most ineffective double agent in the history of double agenting"

- seeing tealc without his gold scar and its just a drawing instead

- "Valar?"

"It sounded like Valour"

"The fabric?"

"Sounded like it"

"WHY would he say that"

"Why would he say Valar???"

- they picked the worse two people to handle this important assignment

- shirtless tealc in the snow???👀

- "I am not blind" but this was a good training thing from bratac bc in one episode you did go blind!!!! So good on bratac for preparing you

- bratac slipping in little anti gods propaganda into his teachings lmfao sneak100

- we love to see my mans building the rebels up from the ground for his father💪

- this is personal for Daniel. He mad

- "do not test my temper, woman" I LEGIT thought he called Daniel a woman for a hot sec

- drey'ac saying how can he not be a god when he can throw balls of light and shit. Imma quote Star Trek on this one sis

"Any sufficiently advanced extraterrestrial intelligence is indistinguishable from god"

- tealc so confused and conflicted and she said you know what you need? Some pussy

- "did he just call me a woman?"

Sjdjdjejdnfnf

- nooooooo fraiser dont resign youre so sexy aha

- "is it working"

"We talked about fabric briefly"

"He called me a woman"

"So yeah its working"

- love how they do this for him. They just sit and talk with him. My kids are all in love

- when tealc has to kill his friend and the rest of the jaffa are like yeah this is normal. NO

- he used it as a test to see if apophis was all knowing and it worked!!! BITCH my boy is SMART

- can I marry tealc is that possible

- I just realised they put candles everywhere for him. Inside the medical bay. I mean cough fire hazard cough but so aesthetic

- he burned his friend along with a whole village :( my god he has been thru some shit

- bratacs outfit. Work bitch

- "men such as you and I have only the comfort of those times we make a difference.......make a difference"

- flash back of tealc choosing to join sg1 bc he got Good Vibes from them

- I agree with friaser about it being tough to watch but bratac has done this before and its their only option

- "I can save these people!......help me"

"Many have said that.......but you are the first I believe could do it!"

- THE FLASHES OF HIM WITH THE TEAM 💖❤💖❤💖❤💖💖❤💖❤💖❤💖❤💖❤💖💖❤

- "I choose freedom"

- is apophis really dead tho. Thats the question for me

- i am crying I am laughing I am singing the clouds are parting the sun is out. I'm so happy we got my hunk back

- thanks bra'tac , your methods were violent but effective none the less.

~

Whump under the cut

Tealc whump: brainwashed, tied to bed, hospital scene, junior taken out, edge of death, ribbon device to forehead, vivid recall, weak sweating, waking up from nightmare, emotional, lasts through out whole episode

🎶listening to Salt by Bad Suns🎶 this song has many meanings for me but listening to the words made me think of this episode 💖

[no1-suffering-fan]

heeey just emailed a crisis centre thing and im in the mood for more oversharing tonight girls i’m on an INSANE sugar high my heart is going so fast so here’s all i binged on today:

4.5 pancakes one with sugar, 2 with jam one with nutella i don’t remember properly tho?

like 7 wafer biscuits, 4 jaffa cakes, about 10-15 other random biscuits

some strawberries, a banana

a whole bag of doritos, a massive fruit flapjack, whole bar of white chocolate

fucking disgusting fucking filthy i fucking hate myself so much my body is going crazy bc i’ve been starving myself for days and my mind will not shut the fuck up thank you for listening goodnight girls xxx

[raidstombs]

(  @dearlokigodofmischief, continued from x.  )

          ❝I knew it!❞

          The exclamation was accompanied with his hand slamming into the table top before he used those long legs to spring to his full height. His expression was an odd mix of self-righteousness, hurt, and exaggerated offense. He looked positively manic. 

          ❝I knew that if I used one of my pick-up lines in my male form, you’d fall for it! That’s utter bullshit, Loki! It’s -- it’s sexist! I want the option of being an equal-opportunity lecher, regardless of what’s between my legs! And do you know how many people would kill to have a woman who looks the way I do to say something positively filthy in their ear?! Tons! And you don’t appreciate it at all! Unbelievable, Loki! You’re absolutely unbelievable! The only thing I want to bend you over is my knee! But you’d like that, so I won’t!❞

           And off he went - running off while still muttering angrily to himself. He made a direct path for their bedroom and, once within reach, ripped the blankets from the bed only to fashion them into the blanket cave he so often retreated into. Yes, it was a childish habit -- but he really had no desire to even attempt to break it. Before climbing inside, he snatched a box of Jaffa Cakes out of their bedside table -- along with a torrid romance novel. Since he was taking food and entertainment in with him, it would take quite a bit of coaxing and time to get him to come out. 

[todaycoza]

-Anywhere 51-

24 September 2023

1743 x 2326 Digital Unedited

[producingthecity]

National Identity and Public Housing in Tel Aviv-Jaffa

The White City paradigm has been widely discussed from a racial perspective not always explicitly in link to actual white modern architecture, but in this article I will argue that indeed the white city of a Bauhaus induced architecture is the manifestation of power relations based even on race.

It will be seen that within making the German, Bauhaus movement one of Israeli architectural heritage sites, they actively made themselves white as well, turning the middle eastern conflict into a neocolonial conflict after all. It can explained with the predominance of a group that has constructed itself as superior on actual racial terms. In this particular case it is specifically the middle-European Ashkenazi heritage that is constructed.

In Tel Aviv this stand in direct contrast to Jaffa, the devoured Arab port city.

First, Jaffa was ‘blackened’ after the War of Independence in 1948, therefore described as filthy and under slum conditions unclean and unsafe, whereas the actual complex reality was of a multiracial one which allowed for interactions that made the port city striving and successful, inhabited by a lot of different tribes, religions, also Jews from Northern Africa and Eastern Europe lived there.

Second, the area was cleared out. The old port has been musealized as an ‘ancient city’ and marketed as the old town of Tel Aviv that tourists and inhabitants use as a place to visit like Old towns in Europe

and the area around it festivalized into an ongoing flea market.

But also, the history of Jaffa has been erased. It has been ‘made’ into the old town of Tel Aviv, stripped of its multiple realities and histories, its complex structure in order for Israeli stakeholders to build a ‘white’ identity based on the Bauhaus buildings in Tel Aviv’s city center. Based on dualism, without blackening the old city of Jaffa, Tel Aviv’s identity could not have been constructed.

Manshieh is the razed Arab community outside of Jaffa’s old walls. Seen on the Gate to Jaffa with the Dolphinarium and mosque that today stand awkwardly between the hotel towers.

Also the Hebrew First School, now Neve Tsedeck Tower that stood right before the Manshieh area and the Herzl Street suddenly cut off. The way to the ocean was considered ‘blocked’ by the Arab neighborhood. Up until today the course of the road shows the sudden end of Herzl street. A few streets to the right one finds Allenby Street which was the one that finally made it to the ocean side.

Today, Manshieh has been substituted with big hotel tower blocks overseeing the beach full of German tourists and a park. And it is visible on the city maps as well. In the middle of it stands Gidi House, the remnants of an old Manshieh Arab home that was overbuilt with modern architecture and made into the Etzel Museum, ironically. Which is observably another manifestation of power.

The construction of heritage and identity borrows heavily from a German middle European narrative, of which the World Heritage Site of the White City plays the main part. It is considered now the ‘heart of the city’ and was actively constructed in the master plan in 90’s.

A glimpse into Jaffa: Ethnography

Construction of brutalist buildings in 50’s as social housing can be considered ‘whitewashing’ of the erased neighborhoods and putting them in orderly white fashion and a tool of showing power on what kind of lifestyle is welcome

Resettlement? Most Muslim Arabs fled Jaffa in 1948 which is why it became easy for the government to put a law into place that said if a residential house is uninhabited for a certain amount of time, it becomes property of the government.

The people who live in the social housing buildings are to some extent non-Ashkenazi jews, and a small remnant of the old Muslim Arab families, and mostly new immigrants from the African continent who seek low-skilled wage labor and some Asian countries like Philippinos work in households of the richer segment in the North of the city.

The newly discovered south because the city keeps expanding, so students and artists, but also middle-class families seeking private housing move into southern neighborhoods

Interesting: in comparison to other social housing construction on the peripheries there is no dilapidation. Relatively good amenities, supermarkets, public transport, bike stations, buildings in good shape, although less than in the North

Strangely quiet. I was there in the morning, so everybody was at work. But there is no street life, no lingering around by youngsters

Walkable, I felt safe as a white European

The only space where I saw some people gathering on the street was in the informal street block, three Muslim women sitting and chatting. Car repair shops, unclean look that doesn’t fit into white area in the north

I felt homey instantly because it felt like a friendly atmosphere. Low scale housing self-built, fragile way more interesting and livable.

not possible to take a look into the the area. I hear chickens running, but all is hidden from the outsider eye by white corrugated iron

The other side outside was too quiet in a menacing way. I realized that it is highly controlled. For a while I stood at one block and the police patrolled there three times.

They don’t drive into those small islands of informality so people there are able to hang out

no informal practices, street vendors, no mini buses 

 Tentative Outcome:

no appropriation of space. Not in the architecture, not on the streets. It is highly controlled by police. It is not a functioning, democratic urban environment, despite the fact that I feel safe walking there.

Democracy in the city is shown by the use of public space or walkability, to own the space and appropriate it

Even if the streets in the southern periphery are walkable by me as a white European, it doesn’t mean that the city is democratic here. It is highly controlled, so not everybody is allowed to walk and use the streets and appropriate the streets and buildings. No democratic negotiation process of habitus and rules by equal negotiators of the community. This is why the streets look so sterile and without life.

 With Homi Bhabha’s words: no third space creation, no exchange happening at the ‘third spaces’ of the White and Black City. However, the control mechanism, the police of the White City patrols the South in order to keep order having an eye on the ‘blackened’ inhabitants.

 Literature:

Rotbard, Sharon: War and Architecture in Tel Aviv and Jaffa.

[thepanicoffice]

Notes from Exile

[...]

I don’t have very long. My kidnappers will return soon.

Who they are and why they have abducted me remains unclear. I have a very long and convoluted list of mortal enemies and figuring out precisely what I have done to deserve this fate is likely to be unproductive. I tend to assume that it is probably well-deserved and leave it at that.

If I had to hazard a guess, Kofi Annan, Martin Amis and Nancy Dell'Olio are probably all fair shouts [1]. It wouldn’t be the first time for Annan either but he’s usually too crafty to execute the same plan twice. Clever bastard.

Anyway, I remain in good spirits though deeply malnourished, my eyes as sunken and empty as the Mary Celeste’s guestbook. They’ve been keeping me alive on a spartan diet of honeyed water, stale bread and second-class stamps [2] – in many ways an improvement on the physically-punishing cocktail of drugs and jaffa cakes that are my usual fare. I am however pleased to report that the damp, sickly pallor that has become my trademark remains unaltered.

Through the bars of my cell I have been trying to converse with the friendly natives who dwell on this grey, salt-blistered rock. Their language is unlike any I have ever heard before; their cadence is preposterous, their consonants like dry thickets of gorse. They say this island is called Sheppey but I’ve never heard of it. I suspect they are either lying or simple. They are nevertheless very genial. You are only reading this now because I entrusted this letter to one of the natives – a curious dimwit named Engiss – in exchange for two stamps and a promise to do a feature on him in a later edition of the Panic Office.

But enough about me. How are things at home?

I’ve not had a chance to say so yet (due to the false imprisonment, lack of respect for my audience, etc.) but welcome to 2019. I hope the infant year has been less cruel and capricious in its tantrums towards you than it has to me.

This year will be packed with so much fun it will burst at the seams, like a waterlogged corpse, or a birthday cake filled with spiders. There are politicians to ridicule, false identities to invent, and who could forget my annual Libel Challenge, in which I make a profoundly slanderous statement about a famous person as an open competition for my lawyers to help me escape prosecution once more [3]?

In the event that I am able to make good my escape (on the rudimentary dinghy Engiss has begun to construct from hot water bottles and stamp glue) I pledge to you now that I will make regular offerings to maintain your goodwill and defer your ire, like bloody sacrifices to a wanton god. I am your supplicant, O insatiable one! I prostrate myself before your dumb slavering jaws.

As I have sat in this (admittedly rather spacious and modishly decorated) cage, wandering through the hallucinatory geography of my own psyche, I have approached something like a revelation. In order to produce Panic, I must invite Panic into myself. I have drunk at the well of Existential Dread, and thus it entered into me, a screaming falcon of shadow and fear.

Now I am become Panic, the destroyer of peace.

Join me. Drink deep from my filthy well.

 …

Actually, I did have quite long in the end. Certainly enough time to include footnotes [4].

-----------------

[1] Martin, I have apologised more times than I can count. When can we put the recriminations of that hazy, ink-addled night behind us? I offer no similar apologies to Dell'Olio and she knows why. I return her hatred in full, plus interest.

[2] In my weakened state I ate the stamps thinking they were communion wafers and soon developed a taste for their glue, my demands for more eventually becoming so uncomfortably loud and shrill that the kidnappers bought me a few books just to silence me. When I am released the first thing I will do is treat myself to a book of first-class ones, as befitting my station.

[3] I wish some people would forget it. 2018’s Libel Challenge – in which I unwisely suggested, in an off-the-cuff speech on Good Morning Britain, that Cate Blanchett ‘did 9/11’ – rumbles on through the courts.

[4] The kidnappers are probably just out having a crafty fag which I think reflects poorly on their employer. My mercenaries would never have dared behave with such a startling lack of professionalism. If I’m asked to contribute to their 360 appraisal, I shall comment most severely.

[todaycoza]

-Robot Poop-

17 June 2023

2560 x 1152 Digital Edited to remove the stench