#i saud it before and i will say it again. I NEVER LOSE

[thatswhatilikebruh]

JOONGDUNK, JIMMYSEA AND A MESSY TRIANGLE BETWEEN OFFGUN AND DEW????????? ADN A MESSY ONLY FRIENDS GL????????? IWIQJWHQHQHHEHWH

[pisceserena]

The End (Part 2)

Part 1 here

A/N: So this is posted a bit late-r than I planned. But here is part 1 anyway! This is quite long, and I hope you take the time to read it. Thank you guys so much for reading my fics! 

wordcount: 1,779

AndromacheTheScythianxReader

No one knows how long it’s been since Andy and (Name) have actually interacted. The two have resulted to going back to how they were before. Cold, and with walls greater than the Great Wall of China. The two only speaking when needed, they are still a team after all. 

Behind the strong facade (Name) puts up, is a person who is broken inside. Only letting herself go in the comfort of her bedroom or her bathroom. After countless nights of tears, and the discomfort of not being able breathe well due to their nose getting clogged, they’ve decided getting over someone won’t be possible if they’ll always see Andy. Not to mention the fact that being with her in missions results to her losing focus. No matter what happened between them, they wanted her alive...for as long as possible, even if it won’t be with them. It was the day after that (Name) has decided they was done breaking down, Quyhn will live a long life, and Andy would be there till her last breath. They should move on. And distance is needed if they wanted it fast. It was the day after that, they decided to go on missions on their own. They could take care of themself. They didn’t need anyone.

“I want work alone Copley.” Not all for it at the start, but after a few persuading and the “Not like there’s much that can be done with me, I can’t die” line from (Name), he eventually gave in. When the team asked about it, all Copley saud was that it was they wanted and that his hands were tied. In his defense, (Name) could be scarily persuasive if they wanted to be. 

“Copley wants to see you in his office.” The sound of the throwing knife hitting the bullseye echoes in the room. “Are you working on missions alone?” Joe inquires, concern etched on his face. Taking a deep breath, (Name) throws the knife, not bothering to look at the target. “ I figured it would be best to be as detached as possible.” Not knowing what to say, Joe lets them walk past him, seeing the knife they nonchalantly threw at the target embedded on the bulls-eye. They were strong, but so broken inside, everyone sees that, Andy just chooses to turn a blind eye. She was with Quyhn, and wasn’t it (Name) that broke up with her? She hasn’t realized herself that she was in denial.

Quyhn at first was clueless, she didn’t know what was going on, why there was tension and why the two acted the way they did. It took a few days, but she was finally able to pick up on what was going on. She didn’t mean to intervene. She didn’t want to be the cause the two didn’t end up together. When she confronted Andy, she’d always brush it off. Saying that they were broken up, and it was just a short thing.

“This is your mission-” Copley starts, handing her a file and and ipad with a satellite map pinned. “that warehouse, in the outskirts of London, just a few miles from here, is where 3 daughters of a very important person is being kept hostage.” Their brows furrowed. What is it with men always targeting women? They looked through the file. Seems pretty easy. “You just need to take out the men, and get the girls to the car that will wait for them outside the facility gates.” They nod in understanding. “How many men?” Copley stares at them handing over the keys that they’ll use to drive themself to the location. He decided that in order to keep the warrior’s profile lowkey and what they were were doing a secret, (Name) couldn’t be the one to take the 3 girls back to their homes, hence the separate car with a clueless driver. 

He zooms in on the satellite map and points out the possible entries and exits. “There are 2 guards at a bird’s eye view that you need to take out before the 2 infront of the facility’s main gate. Otherwise, the rest will be alarmed and you’ll be out numbered-” 

“Because being outnumbered can really do me some damage” They roll their eyes before sarcastically gasping “what if I get killed?” They joke chuckling to themself. Unimpressed, Copley sits down and rests his hand together on his desk. “There’s 3 in the 2 entrance and exit points of the warehouse. Once you get in, there will be 6 surrounding the girls.” He finishes “Should be easy enough” They say standing up, Copley following suite. “Get what you need and load up. Not that you’ll think of it as much but, Goodluck, and come back safe”

Grabbing a DLQ33, (Name) tests to see if the the scope was clear and in good condition. “Need some help with that?” Nicolo’s voice loud that she could hear, but soft that it does not echo in the room. “I got it” They reply continue to move around putting the weapons she needed in bags, strapping herself with her throwing knives and such. It was silent for awhile, Nicolo watched as the broken warrior attached an extended mag to their AK117 “You don’t have to do this alone caro” his pet name made them pause. Oh how they missed the team. But as quickly as it came, it was pushed back just as fast. “I can do this Nicky” They reply adding the stock for penetration and the red dot sight for better aim. Grabbing more bullets, and stuffing it in the bag, they stop to turn to Nicky. “I just need to let all of these feelings go Nick.This is the only effective way of me releasing all the bad thoughts and negative emotions. Let me cope...please” Their voice getting soft, pleading towards the end. Silence once again embraces them. Their eye contact breaking when (Name) zips up the bag and hauls it over their shoulder. They take one last look at Nicky before proceeding to head upstairs towards the garage. 

“(Name)? You dropped this” Nile says handing to them the car keys. “Thanks” they reply walking faster and towards the car. “I can help you (Name) atleast take me with you” smiling and ruffling Nile’s hair, “I’ll see you when I get back champ” they smile reassuringly and unlock the car. 

“Need some help?” Booker asks, being the one to load up the car. “You’re going against 17 men (Name)” His words not bothering them as they open the driver’s side and start the engine. Rolling down the window, (Name) smiles at Booker. “Don’t worry, I can handle it.” That was the last thing Booker heard before they drove out of the garage.

The phone connected to the car starts to ring. Not bothering to look at the caller, they still gotta drive safe, they press the answer button. “New updates?” 

“Be careful. I want you alive more than you think” Andromache says before the call ends, not giving (Name) any chance to speak. This wasn’t the first mission they went on alone. What was up? Shaking it off, they focused instead on what lies ahead. The sun has just set, and night was falling upon them. Perfect.

Eyes sharp, their AK117 in hand, they enter the warehouse. How incompetent is the police, this door is waaay too easy to breakdown. Taking a deep breath, they knock the door down with a strong, hard kick. Bullets were flying, their knife, hitting another man’s chest. The screams of the girls adding to the noise pollution. Everything was going well until (Name) decided that the girls needed cover, pushing a table over they lead them to hide behind it. What they didn’t notice, was a man getting up and grabbing them from behind, locking their arms. Before they got to break free, another man got a hold of their knife, and without hesitating, plunges it into her side. Crying out in pain, and finally being able to break free, they tackle the man and stab him in the head. His blood, splashing on their face. Another pain ran through their body, and they realized that they’ve been shot. Having enough, they throw the knife, hitting the right spots, killing them instantly. 

Silence followed. It was creepy, and at the same time comforting. Taking a step towards the girls, pain shot through their side. The stab wound didn’t stop bleeding. Their brows furrowed. Inspecting the gunshot wound, they see that it’s not clotting. Imposible. Brushing it off, maybe they weren’t healing as fast. Quickly gathering the girls and taking them to the car infront, they leave safely. As promised. 

Getting into their own car as well, the pain becomes unbearable. This is impossible. “I’ve got to get back to Copley” they mutter thinking quickly. Driving was difficult, and their vision was starting to blur. The pin was agonizing. The car seats were covered in red, as well as every possible thing that could be used to cover their wounds. Perhaps they didn’t realize it, but there were cuts littered all over, their body, and the gun shot wound giving her a difficult time breathing. Damn those guards really got me. Was their last thought. Before they passed out, Andy’s blurred figure came into view. “Hey, I made it”

As soon as they all heard their car stop outside, they jumped to their feet to greet them. The team speechless at the sight before them. Andy was the first to reach them, just as they were about to pass out. “They’re not healing” Booker states. “They’ve lost too much blood.” Nile adds seeing the fatal wounds on their body.

Copley didn’t know how to tell the team. He himself was devastated. So, when he looked up from the mini recovery room in the safehouse, they all knew. Some went into shock, like Quyhn and Nile. This was Nile’s first tie losing someone who’s become like family to her since she joined...she didn’t know how to take it. She was devastated and angry and sad. She should have gone with them. 

Nicky had his head in his hands, in denial about the news, Joe trying to reach him, trying to be strong for his significant other, but deep inside, he was crushed. They’ve lost a best friend. 

Booker lost a drinking buddy, a laughing partner. They’re memories played in his head, and as the news sunk in, he collapsed into a nearby chair. 

Tears fell from Andy’s eyes, her body frozen “I never got to tell them how much they actually mean to me...how much I wanted them back.”

[weeklyfangirl]

Frat Boy Pt. 20

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7 (1), part 7 (2), part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12, part 13 , part 14, part 15, part 16, part 17, part 18, part 19

Happy New Year!!!!!! Here’s a party and a hot guy loving on you - and you don’t even have to leave your home ;)

I haven’t been to many therapist offices after I started high school. This one was free, on student-life. Reproduced images of the sea were comforting enough, but it was the dreary stained carpet that reminded me where I was. 

“Do you think they’re related to the night you were assaulted?” 

“Yes. But I don’t know how to get rid of them. I lose sleep and then when I do sleep, I have these nightmares and I wake up more restless than if I’d just stayed up all night.” 

 “Hm. And how do you feel about Harry?” 

 “Harry?” 

 She nodded. “Yes, the boy in your dreams.” Her French manicured nails squeezed the top of her clipboard.

 “That’s not an easy question.” 

 “Try.” 

 I sighed. “Okay…” The painted seagull in her office looked like an on-clearance print at TJ Maxx, and suddenly I wished I’d called my mother for her own version of therapy instead. Bargain shopping. “I think I hate him. But then I know I don’t. But then… I don’t necessarily like him either.” 

 “Do you love him?” 

I laughed. “No, I don’t love him.”

 “Why do you laugh?”

 “I said I almost hated him and you ask me if I love him!” But my voice was a little too loud. The question stayed with me, stirring in my mind. “I think I’d know if I loved him.” 

 “Love looks different to different people. Finding a healthy version of love for yourself and your partner is where things can go awry. Or right.” 

 I remembered Harry and I talking at Alta about Madame Bovary, and how I’d told him that people love to the best of their abilities, from what they’ve learnt by their circumstances. Silence weighed in the room, and I knew she was waiting for me to elaborate on my feelings. Bleh.

 “I don’t know,” I finally said. “But if this is what love looks like to him… We’re not even technically dating so this question doesn’t even apply!” I laughed again. “But then… even if we were, then...  it’s not enough.” 

 “And what would be enough for you?”

 “Stability.” 

 “And do you think this is possible with him?” 

 “Umm…” Zayn’s voice popped in my head - Harry was a magnet for infamy - and I laughed. I laughed, and I laughed...“No.”

 “And why is that?” 

 “Because he self-sabotages. And he says things he doesn’t mean.” 

 “Such as...?”

 A puff of breath left my lips. “Like last night, he said I didn’t have a life. And then he was comparing me to another girl. Viv. She’s like his… sister, basically. She grew up with him. But… he got really defensive and said at least she fucks me. But the fact that he said I don’t have a life?? A LIFE?? I mean shit, it’s not my fault he’s infiltrated my dreams is it?” 

 She shook her head. “It’s very important for you not to blame yourself. Show yourself the same kindness you’d show your friends. Renny, for example.” 

 Be kind to yourself. 

 I nodded. Those were the words my mother would say whenever I’d critique myself. Just like all those times before, the words registered, but it didn’t change anything about the frustration I felt. I was the one dumb enough to let him in. I’d let myself be dragged into him, even with every red flag hitting me in the face. I was collecting them for a meme bouquet at this point!

 “Do you believe him?” she asked. 

 It took me a minute to hear her. 

 “The words he said to you,” she said. “That you don’t have a life.” 

 A timer beeped on her phone. She muted it. “I’d like you to write out what you want in your life for next time. Not what anybody else wants. But what Y/N wants. When you see it written out, no matter how silly it seems, having concrete answers might help.”

 --------------

 I was staring at my notes page, trying to think of what I wanted. I didn’t exactly have the chance to ask her what she meant by that. Did she mean career goals? Education goals? Relationship goals? What did this have to do with ending my nightmares? 

 A text at the top of my phone distracted me from the blank page. 

 Kiki: “Don’t worry, we didn’t forget about you. Get your hands on the special airhead pills from Harry’s and bring them to the DG Pretty Please Party next week. On the DL obvi.”  

Viv chimed in on the group chat. “Congrats bitch! It’ll be fun for all of us.” She included the devil emoji. 

 This is what I got for stalling up until the last minute to walk into work. The practice was now a blatant reminder that Harry was out of my life and it didn’t help whenever I saw Lionel. It felt weird that I was seeing his dad more than him. Wrong, even. 

 Voices carried through the lot along with the clicking of heels. I turned my head. 

 Boss Lady Samantha was headed towards the elevator. 

 Shit, Y/N. Shit shit shit.

 I got out, quietly closing the door. Better to walk with my boss than walk in late after her, right? Her red hair was let down today, ringlet curls in full effect. I could meet her at the elevator before it arrived.

 But right when I was about to shout out hold the elevator Lionel walked right behind her. And I mean RIGHT behind her - there was hardly room for a Bible between them. 

 I hid behind my car, unsure if I was supposed to be seeing this. 

 Their voices were too low to hear, but his arm lingered at her lower back before the elevator opened. She got in. Alone. Lionel looked over his shoulder and I ducked further. 

 Through Grandpa’s windows, I saw the elevator door close. Lionel waved goodbye to Samantha and he pressed the button again. 

 Before chickening out, my shoulders straightened. I shouldn’t have to be the one hiding. I jogged to make it. His brows shot up in surprise as he held the elevator for me. The kindness I’d gotten used to seeing in his eyes looked hesitant this time. 

 “A little late today?” he asked, as soon as I’d made it in. 

 I avoided his eyes, nodded.  It was a quiet elevator ride. 

 ------------

 My family’s house was a ten minute drive from the practice. Enough drive time to sit on what I’d seen outside Coast Shores Medicine. It could’ve been friendly. I didn’t have to do anything about this. But in my bones, I knew that friendly isn’t what I’d seen. Lionel avoided me the rest of the day, assigning me to print out billing statements. I hadn’t seen them make out or anything, but there was a certain intimacy I couldn’t write off right away. Did Mrs. de Saude know about his close work relationships? Did Harry? 

 The sickening uneasiness dissipated when I heard my parent’s Home Improvement HGTV hour. Dad was already passed out on the couch, snoring at a whopping 8 PM when I walked through the door. Ignoring Mom’s tutting of “they keep you too late,” we went to my bedroom. 

 “Pick the nude ones,” Mom said, adjusting the spectacles she only pulled out on rare occasions (magazine reading and shoe selections). “It makes your legs look longer.” It looked like there was something more she wanted to say. 

 I adjusted them in the mirror, wearing the blush dress I’d bought for my aunt’s beach wedding almost a year prior. It’d never been worn. Her Spanish fiancé she’d met three months prior stole her TV set and ran off with his gay lover a week before. As I stood, the dress just barely touched the floor. Simple, really, but the way the thin straps exposed my chest rendered it elegant. I felt like I needed a long cigarette and fur coat to make it complete.  

 Without context, Mother suddenly burst into an annoyed huff. 

 “You okay?” I asked.

 “Hm?” Her lashes fluttered as if she hadn’t realized she’d made a noise. “Oh, yes. I’m fine. Your father just took another one of those sleeping pills. You should never get too dependent on medication, Y/N. Drink warm milk or something.”

 “Mom.”

 “I’m serious!” Her stony face certainly wasn’t comical. 

 “I know.”

 She looked me over in the dress again and caught herself, pulling me in for a rushed hug. “I’m sorry,” she breathed. She rocked me a little. “It’s just been a little rough this week.” She squeezed me tighter, then let me go. All negative energy shoved into a box that’d spring open when we all least expected it. “Have a good night tonight. Say hello to Harry for me!”

 When I walked to the car she threw out, “And tell him next time he can ask you with a Cartier ring! HA! I’m joking!! ... Kind of!!!” 

 I smiled, waving to her at the gate as I got into my Grandpa mobile. I didn’t have the heart to tell her Golden Boy wasn’t my date.  

 ---------

There were two cops for every solo cup I could see littered on the ground. They patrolled the streets, but the frat house seemed unphased and restored to its former glory as I walked with Andre. Club music pounded beyond the doors, practically shaking the windows. Girls huddled up outside, holding each other’s hair back and trying to block anyone’s view from the bile, as the guys snickered over their shoulders and some pretended not to see. But the cops weren’t here to reprimand for underage drinking and public intoxication tonight. They were on watch. Stationed around the perimeter of the house and on either end of the street. 

 They were waiting for something else. For somebody else. 

 Andre seemed oblivious, practically skipping past them he was so excited. I, on the other hand, was already limping from the nude pumps. 

 “Wanna switch shoes?” he called back. 

 “Don’t make a deal you aren’t willing to keep,” I smiled, quirking a brow. “The nude would actually match your navy suit…”

 He’d already walked on, fist bumping the bouncer who raised up a professional-grade camera and snapped a photo of us. When my eyes recovered from the flash, I spotted Officer Ramirez from the uniforms just beyond the frat’s ramshackle fence. He was already watching me. He raised two fingers above his brow and I nodded, curtly, even though I wanted to shrink inside myself. I hadn’t had the time to think about what I would say if he contacted me again, or if I should be the one to reach out to him.

 Andre led me inside, and for once, I was glad I couldn’t hear my own thoughts. It raised ten degrees just from stepping inside. The boys were in Bond suits, but most had abandoned their jackets wherever they could - on the banister, the couch beneath the staircase, or the entrance hall. The girls had dressed up, too. This was the most covered up I think I’d seen some of them, though others still opted for above-the-knee slips.

 “Oi, where’s your drink?!” Niall’s familiar voice shouted above the bass.

 He pulled Andre into a side hug before we reached the dancefloor. When he saw me, Niall practically fell over. 

 “Y/N! What’re you doing here?” He spluttered, whiskey in his breath. The knot of his tie was already to his chest, but he loosened it even more. He looked over his shoulder, then back to me. “Renny’s just gone to the bathroom.” 

 “She’s my date,” Andre stepped in, placing an arm around my shoulder. It was completely platonic but Niall’s face went to stone. 

 Suddenly it cracked, and he laughed, running a hand over his stubbly chin. “Oh, shit.” He laughed again. “Shit!” 

 Andre smiled, unaware of anything else besides the fact that Niall must be proud he showed up with a date. He patted Niall’s shoulder. “We’re going to see the big bro, I’ll find you later.” Andre nodded his head for me to follow, leaving Niall cackling to himself in the entranceway.

 “Niall’s THE. MAN,” he put his hands up for emphasis. “He’s my favorite in the house besides my big. We gotta say hi, then you can run off. Oh, Renny’s here too!” He squeezed my shoulders as if to excite me, as if she’d be the reason I’d stay. Loved the girl, but I knew she’d be back on top of Niall five minutes after she was out. I just didn’t want to have to watch. 

 I wrung my hands together, growing nervous. I knew the reason Niall had reacted that way was because Harry was going to be here. I knew this coming into it. But I’d been expecting him to ignore me the entire night. With Niall’s reaction, I wasn’t so sure anymore. What had Harry told Niall?

 Someone sloshed their beer on me as I passed, and I turned sour, rolling my eyes as Andre pushed us forward. I picked up the pace before he could notice I’d stopped and wiped the glare off my face. Or, tried. I probably just looked constipated now. 

 WHY WAS HIDING EMOTION SO HARD?? 

 I felt bad feeling so annoyed. Andre was excited. I should be excited, right? Sloshed beer and sweaty bodies came with the territory. Though I’d forgotten how humid it got in here. Hell and Florida were probably cooler. I picked up the ends of my dress, hoping for some sort of ventilation to reach parts of me that were on the verge of overheating. 

 The coffee tables and couches had been moved from the center of the living room to the fringes beneath the stairwell to make designated smoking and dancing sections. I could’ve stayed on the outside of the dance crowd. Hell, I could’ve joined the spaced-out smokers on the couch. But I didn’t. I followed Andre to the middle of the dance floor. I could barely see above the tops of people’s heads until we reached a bit of a clearing. And by clearing, I meant the sweaty dancers in front of us who made a break for freedom and gave us about ten seconds of space before other bodies rushed to fill it. 

 I felt him before I saw him. A tiny prick of consciousness that directed my gaze. And Andre’s finger.

 “AYYYY!!!!!” Andre pointed to the DJ booth, waving his hands as he hollered.

 Even with the rocking vibration of the bass that chattered my teeth, each nerve in my body went alert. Harry stood, flashing a white smile to the crowd before downing the rest of whatever potion was in his cup. I hated how my stomach clenched just by seeing him. He saw Andre and his smile grew, grabbing the mic. I was still unnoticed, hidden by dim lighting and nameless peers.

 “Who’s ready for us to win tomorrow!?” His voice was low, demanding. It was a question for the crowd, but he was looking at Andre. I could sense the intensity even there, and it was then I realized it couldn’t be just me who feels so vulnerable around Harry. Each person he traps in his gaze stays there, until he lets them go. 

 The house erupted in cheers, but I was locked in place. The suit he was wearing looked similar to the one from the Halloween gala, and every bit of him looked just as stunning. His beautiful body swayed on the makeshift stage. 

 “Then let’s see you jump in-” His hand held up 5, 4, 3, 2… He spun another song and the crowd sprung from the floor before crashing back down. They jumped to the beat he made. A modern-day puppet master. 

 Andre wrapped an arm around me as he jumped. So I did, too. 

 “That’s my big!!” he yelled, mid-air.

 “WHAT??”

 He pointed to the DJ booth, but there was no one there besides Harry. 

 “.... HARRY??! HARRY’S YOUR- your…” I stopped jumping the same second Harry saw us together. It’s funny. It takes only a second to flip a dime on its head. His party boy mask dropped in an instant. The low lighting turned his eyes black, but they couldn’t conceal the daggers he shot straight at me.

 “I have to use the bathroom,” I muttered. 

 Andre nodded. “S’UP THE STAIRS!” He found a friend nearby and latched on to him instead. 

 The small (okay, medium) part of me filled with nothing but Petty™ wanted Harry to see me with his little. But another part of me couldn’t handle his judgmental glare. Somehow, I was embarrassed. I didn’t want him to think I’d come here tonight to make him jealous. That I was so obsessed with him I’d found another in to the frat. I didn’t want him to think he controlled any part of my heart. What did it say that I ran away at first sight, though?

 I’d already done it. It didn’t matter. Either way, I didn’t win.

 I raced upstairs, weaving my way between couples sitting on the stairs, hoping that the line for the restroom was really long and Renny hadn’t already left. It was, and she was next in line. 

 “Oh my God, what are you doing here?!” she screeched, arms out and eyes squinted until I could no longer see her pupil. 

 “Why do people keep asking me that.” 

 She pulled me into an extra-long, extra-tight Renny hug. “Love yousoooomuch,” she rushed. Her breath smelled like Niall as she pulled away. She lifted the cup to my lips and I shook my head. She frowned. 

 “I talked with Niall,” she said. “He says Harry’s just going” - she hiccupped - “through a lot right now. S’best to leave him alone.” 

 The other girls in line perked up at the mention of his name, subconsciously leaning closer. I huffed. “Trust me. I am.” 

 When three girls stumbled out of the only bathroom stall, Renny rushed in. “Thank God I was about to pee on the carpet.” She tried tugging me in with her, but my eye was on the end of the hall. And the stupid DG pretty please.

 “I’ll be back,” I muttered, squeezing her hand. 

 “Nooooo,” she drawled. 

 I squished her cheeks, checked her pupils. She didn’t need me to hold her hair back this time. I gave her cheek a lil slap.

 “I’ll go with you next time you have to go. Which will be in like... twenty minutes. You broke the seal rookie!” I teased. 

 I didn’t even bother looking over the railing at the party below to see if he was watching me. I still had my DG task and a nonrefundable deposit to think about. I didn’t think I’d get many chances to be in this house again unless I swindled Andre or Niall into letting me in. But that would require an explanation, and I wasn’t sure I could tell them that. 

 Forget explanations. I needed to do it now. Lots of noise. Tons of distractions. I’d just think of it as… borrowing?

 His door was locked and I groaned, kicking it and leaving a smudge beside all the others. I reached for a bobby pin in my purse and put it to work. I’d done it before in his bedroom, I could do it again here. The curve of the hallway protected me from onlookers waiting in line in the bathroom. Downstairs was a mixed bag. People could probably see through the railings running along the top floor. 

 Not that they’d think to look. 

 My knees were starting to hurt by the time I heard it click. I crept in, and for some reason, I expected his room to look different. But it was still the same. Dusty desk across from a queen-sized bed. Only one photograph atop his bedside mantle. And it didn’t smell like sweaty soccer clothes, but clean. With hints of a woodland spice and books. It felt like eons had passed since I was first here, undressing him like the drunken baby he’d been. As an act of betrayal, my body rushed at the thought of how his fingers had looped around my belt loops, tugging me closer. I swallowed, the image of his tightened pants expanding in my head. He’d almost been hard, then. 

 It was then, at that moment, that I decided that the one sip of alcohol I’d had must have been spiked with SOMETHING because I would NOT be that girl. I would NOT. I reFUSED TO LET MYSELF-

 Seconds later, my fingertips grazed his soft gray sheets. He’d been sprawled out right about here, and the rush of seeing unseen skin on Harry had been too intoxicating an offer to refuse. The ghost of that rush flowed through me again as my memory played it over like a movie. Close-ups and panning shots - Down his toned chest to tattoos speckled along tan skin, tattoos that had been seemingly doodles, but now held much more meaning now that I knew of his history with the ocean. For his sister. My body leant down before I knew what I was doing, and I inhaled. The lingering aroma of his body chemistry altering his cologne: musky, a little spice, and warmth.

 Even if every ounce of me wanted to dislike him, the legitimate biology behind my body responded to a chemistry I couldn’t control. 

 “What are you doing?”

 He caught me on my knees, with one hand clutched in the sheets.

 Fuckity FUCK-

 He could whip out PSYCHO magazine informing people of highly-dangerous murderers with my mugshot plastered across the cover - and I’d believe him in that moment. Oh my gosh. Omgomgomg. He didn’t say what I expected him to say when he swayed in, though. 

 “Andre. Really?” He laughed to himself, but it was cold. “Fucking” - he stumbled, leaning on the desk chair to catch himself- “really?” 

 It wasn’t the alcohol that’d put him on edge. I’d seen him handle liquor before, but this time he looked… different. I stood up, realizing his eyes were racking down my dress. I crept towards him, hoping to make it past the door. Not because I was scared of him. But because I was mortified. I’d just looked like an absolute fucking psychopath AND I’d snuck into his bedroom. Maybe I could distract him. Maybe he was too drunk to ask me-

 “What’re you doing here?”

 “What are we… all doing here? At parties?”

 “…in my room,” he clarified.

 Welp. My philosophical question fell flat. Wouldn’t be the first time.

 I waltzed past him, tight-lipped. In defense of my dignity, I still didn’t owe him anything. Not after how he’d treated me. 

 “Hey,” his arm jutted out, blocking my way. His brows crossed as he turned to a petulant boy. “S’rude to not answer.” 

 My blood boiled. “You are not about to give me a lesson on how bad it is to ignore people right now. Nor on being rude.” 

 “Can give you another one.” 

 He reached for me, but I stepped back, somewhat living in the hurt that flashed in his eyes at my rejection. 

 “You’re not leaving.” But his demand sounded like a plead. 

 “Thought you didn’t want me around you,” I scoffed, tearing past him. “Just because you’re drunk or high or whatever the fuck it is you are right now, doesn’t mean you can just… get a free pass! For a week! A whole week of awful-” I turned quickly, too frustrated to find the words. I took a step towards the door but- 

 “Y/N.” He was right behind me. His breath warmed the nape of my neck, the delicate hairs standing on end. No matter how much of an absolute mess he was, my body didn’t know better. I could practically feel him behind me, his presence radiating an alarm that blared through my veins. I wanted him. Badly. He trailed a finger down my arm, and his hand brushed against my own against my side. “I’m sorry,” he breathed. “I’m sorry, Y/N.”

 His fingers gingerly interlaced with mine, turning me around. 

 Something wet was on my cheek. I touched it, quickly rubbing it away in horror. Why were tears running down my face?! What unfair cruelty was this!? He saw my tears and leant down, suddenly defeated, pulling my body with him.

 “Why did’ya ever want me hm?” His nose went along my jaw. Full lips pressed against the base turned my legs weak. There was an underlying desperation to his words though, a prayer in his kiss. But my thoughts were turning anything but holy. 

 “Who says I did…” I wanted to pull away, ask him why he’d used past tense or why he’d completely ignored me this past week, but I was frozen by the softness of his hands. Self-respect was surely slipping away each moment I lingered. I could literally see Jane Austen parting the heavens and sticking her angelic head through Harry’s room to shame me with a glare. I do all this mental work to try and figure this guy out and… for what? I should be waltzing out that door, declaring I’d never talk to him again. I should give up messy and confused and pursue my own sanity. But the air only ever turned electric with him, in all his messiness, in all this confusion… and each time the spark appeared, it pushed us closer together until he was here, like this, soft hands gently running along my lower back, skilled fingertips feeling the dress fall slightly inwards at my waist, tracing a map of uncharted waters… 

 “You’re not thinking straight,” I breathed. And that went for both of us. 

 “Au contraire, I’m thinking clearer than I ever ‘ave.” There was a swirling madness shining through, but he bat his eyes and it was veiled again, vanished beneath the dark surface. He tilted his head, appraising my body, noticing my legs were no longer tensed to run, but in apprehension for another reason completely. A smirk settled in. “Why do you still want me?” he demanded, pulling me against him towards the bed.

 “Arrogant ass,” I sniped, but I landed on him anyway. His fingers tightened around my waist, a hand snaking up behind to entwine with my hair. I felt him harden beneath me as he pulled my head to the side, just the right amount of rough. But he stalled over vulnerable skin, lips ghosting featherlight up to my ear. He let out a soft breath and I clenched in anticipation. For once, I had no thoughts. “You should be with me,” he breathed. “Should be mine.” His voice grew frustrated and he practically growled, lips kissing my neck, steady, before they started to suck in a rhythm. The shock of the sensation masked the shock from his words and my back arched, a spider’s shiver crawling down my spine. He stopped suddenly, shooting back like he’d been shocked. His grip softened ‘round the nape of my neck, and he looked so… confused. “Can’t mark you again,” he noted, despondent. But then the corners of his lips twitched up in a smirk. “Least where it’s visible.” My breath caught. His black ink eyes showed the slightest ring of green. I don’t remember lifting my hand, but fingers trailed along dark circles. These were a new development. I shook my head lightly. Something was wrong. This was wrong. I leant in, resting my head against his. “Harry-” but his lips cut me off before I could mention it. 

 I felt like I’d been feeling his lips everywhere but my own. They were eager, but kept pace, switching it up just when I was getting comfortable, slowing to make me feel the soft fullness of raspberry-pink lips. They were pillows, and clouds, and everything else soft and wonderful that I’d want to feel forever. He slipped in his tongue, deepening the kiss, and I ground my body against him, using his shoulders as leverage. 

 This wasn’t me. But I didn’t care enough to think about ‘who I was’ anymore. What did I want? 

 I felt him pulse between my legs. 

 “Harry,” I bit my lip, and I knew then. I’ve been wanting more, I’ll always want more. I was more aware than ever of an emptiness he could fill. 

 “Been hard ever since I saw you bouncing in that dress,” he said gruffly. “With fucking Andr- ahh...fuck.” I rocked my hips against him in spite, putting a hand over his mouth to shut him up. 

 But his head jutted back and came forward again. He looked at me through hooded eyes, and just like that I was sedated by his gaze, my body pausing. He looked like he was about to scold me. “Do it again.” His voice was low. I stalled, looking at the way his lips barely parted. “Don’t be shy now, Y/N.” My hips replied on command, but rebelliously, slowly, feeling the length of him run between the thin underwear that’d cocooned itself against my ridges and folds. I ran my hips back down against his thigh. “Fu-uhck-” He jutted his hips up, turning something wicked when I moaned. The friction from the dress and pressure from my own body rocking against Harry built a tightly coiled knot I wanted desperately to release. And then we were kissing again. Fervent. Eager. A skilled tongue slipping in to dance with my own. He was rock hard against me. I could feel the full outline pressed tight against his slacks now, creating my own mental map. My hands wrapped in his hair, and I pulled, relaxing our pace, rutting myself up with purpose to rotate in a circle at his clothed tip. The noise from his throat wasn’t human, and I felt heavy and light all at the same time when his thumb dug into my chin just under my lower lip. 

 “Wanna help you,” he rumbled. “Will you let me? Won’t you do that for me?” 

 I nodded, wordlessly, and with both hands tight on my hips, he tugged us further back until he was against the pillows, and me, repositioned above him. He pulled us down and we built a rhythm against his thigh, the determination in his stitched brow as he did half the work making it even sexier. He was almost needier than me. There was an urgency to his strong hands as they hiked up my dress, fingertips dancing around and just beneath the band of my underwear. He didn’t pull it off, just gently pushed my hips up and down, then harder, faster, to the damp patch already on his slacks. I was buzzing, every inch of me, the wound coil growing bigger, tighter, the build of release making my heart race. He stared at me as we moved together.

 “Tha’s it. So good at this,” he mumbled. “So beautiful.” 

 My breath caught, and his wide eyes watched wondrously as I moved frenzied above him. His chest rose, bits of tattoo spilling past the white button-down collar. My hand clutched his shirt as I felt myself begin to peak. This was as intimate as I’ve been with someone, and the pressure of being seen through his eyes like this was a lot of pressure. I didn’t want to think about how many other girls had been in this position before. What he spoke to them, how they looked, what they’ve done, or how recently they’d done it. His hand cupped my face and brought me down, lips claiming me to the point of bruising and silencing voiceless thoughts. The pull of his lips, and the sturdiness of his thigh made me whimper. My swollen bud hit his clothed cock with each surge upwards, his hands guiding me, making sure my breath hitched each time. And each time, I’d feel him tense. Again, and again, just knowing his thick hard cock was against me, right against me, almost…

 “Almost… Harry…” 

 “Y/N,” he rasped. I felt his hot gaze as I shuddered above him. He kissed me, slow, swallowing another whimper as a current of electricity ran from the crown of my head to my toes. His hands helped me ride out my high, slowly coming to a halt. 

 He opened his arms, letting me cuddle up against his chest. Silence stretched on over quiet breathing. “Been waiting a long time for that,” he finally mumbled. I quirked an eye open, realizing he’d been watching me. I almost didn’t recognize his eyes. For once, they seemed sated. Unhaunted. The clouds had seemed, for a moment, to have parted. “To see you cummm.” He hummed the last word, leaning down and nuzzling the nook of my neck. Still nuzzling, he quirked half his face to look at me. We shared a long kiss, then a shorter one to my forehead. “You’re magnificent.” 

 Though I hadn’t removed a stitch of clothing, I hadn’t felt more naked. And for all the times I’d felt embarrassed around Harry, at least in this moment, he made me feel comfortable about what we’d just done. We lay there, my scent now mingling with the rest of his in the room. I still felt him hard beneath my legs that were strewn across his lap, and I wondered if it was … painful. He stirred, placing one hand behind his head, the other wrapped around me. 

 I traced shapes into his chest. He hummed, smiling softly. It was his boyish smile. The one I’d hardly seen, the one that you want to wrap up and cuddle and protect from the world to keep this one second of pure happiness intact. I pecked the corner of his mouth and his smile broke, squeezing my side. “Thank you,” he mumbled. I checked to make sure his eyes were still closed when I looked down at the black slacks. Since I finished, he should, too. I swallowed nervously as my fingers traced lower, down the button down as I tried to remember the porn Renny and I had watched together one late summer night. His eyelashes fluttered open, and he watched me, curiously, darkly, until I stopped at the tip of his pants. I slipped my fingers beneath the belt, just barely feeling the coarseness of hair before he took my wrist in his hand. He practically hissed and I stilled, not noticing I was holding my breath. I couldn’t possibly be doing this wrong…

 His index finger stroked the top of my hand, and I relaxed. 

 He looked at me gently. “Tonight was for you. S’all I wanted.” His touch was just as gentle, and he placed his thumb between my lips, running over them gently. I didn’t want him to see me as some pure untouched thing he should be scared to do anything with. My lips parted as seductively as I could make them appear, and I moved to let his finger in my mouth, but he cheekily closed my lips instead. 

 He stroked my cheek, almost giggling at my attempt. “This just isn’t how I picture it happening.” 

 The way his eyes were memorizing my lips told me he’d thought about this before, but I didn’t miss that he said how, and not where. Muffled EDC music vibrated his door, and faraway voices travelled through his open window from the yard below. The cops were waiting there, too. Was that the situation he was referring to? 

 “You deserve a lot, Y/N.” 

 I heard the hesitancy in his voice, some unforeseen disappointment he wouldn’t just spell out for me. “What’re you saying.” 

 “Just that there’s few things I want t’be sober for these days.”

 The thought hit my stomach like the sharpened blade of a knife, and it hurt worse than any wound from my nightmares. “Why would you say something like that?” I demanded.

 “Because it’s true.” His eyes searched mine, and I saw the sadness pulling him in. Like the tumultuous water of the middle of the ocean spirally inwards into itself. A treacherous water hole that’d carry you into its deepest abyss.

 I shook my head as if to find a way out, as if that would clear away what I was seeing. “I never… know what’s going on with you,” I admitted. I thought to the interaction with Lionel and Samantha. “Is home life really that bad?” 

 “What home?” He huffed when I looked at him. “M’serious. I feel more alone when I walk in there than I do when I’m here. And nobody even fucking knows me here.” 

 “Everyone knows you.” 

 “You’re smarter than that, Y/N.” 

 “What’d you take tonight, hm?” I cooed. My hand traced the dark circles under his eyes, and he leant against my touch before looking to the window, still allowing me to touch him. No doubt from whatever stimulant or depressant he’d taken, his words had been more candid than ever before. 

 “A cocktail of sorts. Will fucking regret it in the mornin’. Probably.” 

 He looked back to me, and I didn’t have time to wipe the concern from my face. “Hey, don’t look at me like that. It’s okay. It doesn’t matter,” he stated.

 He really believed it when he said it, and the way there didn’t seem to be enough energy left in him made me settle back in his arms with a frown. Because it did matter. It mattered a lot. A few moments later, he squeezed my sides. “You didn’t answer my question,” he mumbled. 

 “What question?” 

 He waited until I looked up at him, and even then he was hesitant. His voice was quiet when he spoke, intimate, so if even if someone was standing at the foot of the bed they couldn’t hear what he was about to ask. 

 “Why do you want me, Y/N?” 

 The vulnerable question hung in the air. And though it was presumptuous of him to ask, he wasn’t wrong. His eyes read me like a book he’d read a hundred times over. He saw me. I swallowed, my brain and heart at an all-out war. Unfortunately for me, they captured my tongue in a stale-mate. “I don’t know what I want.”

 And it was true. The dilemma was the following:

The only thing my body wanted was him. 

But my brain didn’t know if that’s what I should be     wanting anymore.  

And my heart was left in the middle of them both, not     sure what it was feeling. 

 I felt him shrug. “I get it. I have so many opinions shouting at me in my head right now. About soccer, my fucked family, about” - he threw his hands between us.  

 After Niall had greeted me at the door, I was sure Harry had talked about us in some capacity. But how many people had opinions on our relationship? “Let me guess. Viv shares her opinion about us.” 

 “I don’t listen to hers.” 

 “But hey, at least she fucks you right.” 

 He sucked in a breath, shaking his head. “I didn’t mean that.” 

 “But it’s true, right? So no need to apologize.” 

 The room froze over. Just the thought of her whispering in his ear was enough to trigger an entire week’s worth of pent-up animosity. 

 “So maybe people are confused why Viv and I aren’t together but I couldn’t give a fuck about what they think. I fucking hate that we’re even talking about her right now.”

 “What do they say?” 

 He rolled his eyes, hurriedly slanting his voice, “Viv’s gorgeous mate, she clearly wants you. What the fuck are you doing now?” 

 I flinched. He noticed. “Look, I seriously hate talking about this. Can we talk about the fact that I didn’t invite anyone tonight?” 

 “Aw, was Viv busy?”

 “Alright, stop.” 

 A chill shot down my spine at the rejection. As much as I wanted to appreciate the fact he didn’t invite anyone, it didn’t help. This wasn’t helping at all. “I’m sorry if I want to talk about your relationships that directly affect me,” I said, rolling out of his arms.

 “Y/N, please. It’s not like that.” His voice was tired, pleading, coaxing me to forget. 

 “But why are you like this? Why did you just say what you did to me?”

 “You asked me-”

 “It was very belittling.” I changed my voice to a dopey British accent, “Viv’s gorgeous what the fuck are you doing with Y/N?” I ignored his scowl. “Really, thanks for the best compliment of the night.” I pushed against his chest, annoyed. “And why are you being like this now? All cuddly and-”

 “It’s not one-sided.” 

 I felt my cheeks heat. “Not tonight. But it’s one-sided any other time.”   

 “S’that what you really think of me?” He pulled me closer, and I fought the urge to twist away. His forehead pressed into my hair. “Firstly, you’re fucking beautiful Y/N. You have to know this. And you have to know you’re important to me. And secondly…”

 “Thirdly,” I corrected.

 His eyes turned somber. “They’re watching,” he mumbled, pleading. “This is hard for me, too.” 

 The gang, the cops, both, whichever it was, it didn’t matter. The effect was the same. No matter how special he claimed I was to him, we always went in circles. Maybe he had gotten it right. Maybe it was better for both of us if we weren’t together. “Why is it so hard then?” I whispered. 

 “Nothing good comes easy.”

 I remained silent. It was a cop-out response.

 He ran a hand down his face and sat up. “Because I’m fucked! I’m fucked, Y/N and there’s only so many people I can hide from. And you aren’t one of them.” 

 It was the most candid he’d ever been with me, without revealing anything at all.

 A knock sounded at the door. 

 I went to move, but he kept me against him, covering my ears as he shouted- 

 “FUCK OFF!!” 

 But even with his hands over my ears, it wasn’t very muted. The knock grew louder, more obnoxious. 

 “Sorry,” he grumbled, moving to open the door. When it opened, a boy wearing a snapback around the same height as Harry leant against the doorframe.

 “Wassup, man-” Snapback almost burst in.

 Harry’s back went stiff as the stranger’s snapback practically poked Harry in the eye. If their overcompensating confidence and too-familiar smile told me anything – freshmen. At least Snapback’s friend wore a Bond-inspired bow-tie t-shirt.

 Harry put a hand to Snapback’s chest, backing him back out of the room. They watched me walk up behind him.

 “Hey, relax man, we just wanted to get some zombies,” Bowtie bargained. 

 “You’ve got some fucking balls,” he snarled.

 My ears pricked. He was looking for the same thing, then. From Harry. My heart sunk to the lowest part of my belly after remembering why I’d come here in the first place. The sliver of hope I’d had was that maybe what Zayn had witnessed was just Harry’s past. A summer blunder. A summer fling with an illegal hobby. You know, some kids did drugs, some kids sold drugs... It was a ridiculously stupid comparison now that I thought about it. But still, I had hope. Now my undeniable denial was being shred up right in front of me.

 The cops, the gang, the drugs circulating campus…

 Harry had made his bed, and I was lying in it. 

 I squeezed past him.

 “Wait, are you leaving?” He still blocked his doorway.

 I ignored the pang of guilt I felt at his boyish disappointment. He looked at me, body still intimidatingly rigid, but his eyes, impossibly soft. Snapback tried to move past him again and Harry whipped his head back with a growl. “Get the fuck out of here.” 

 “Excuse me?” Bowtie came closer, puffing out his muscled chest. Testosterone, angst and alcohol were never the best combination. I grew nervous at the tension, looking from my escape at the end of the hall, back to Harry. 

 “C’mon, we have the cash. We’ll pay double!” Snapback whined, cornering him. 

 The words made me nauseous, conjuring the image of Viv sliding Harry the cash. I didn’t want to see this again. I didn’t want to see anything again.

 “I don’t do that shit anymore.” He strode through their barricade, determined, but Bowtie tugged him back. His nostrils flared and I could tell he was trying to keep his cool. He could ruin these guys if he wanted to. I don’t know why he was letting them keep him. But I also didn’t know why I didn’t run away. It was like watching a train wreck seconds before it happened.

 I stood alone, in the center of the hall, the only person on Harry’s horizon. A lighthouse hoping to steer the sailor home.

 “C’mon, please man, everyone’s talking about them. We just need one,” Snapback exhorted. He put up his hands, pleading. “We’ll split one. We’ll seriously cut it in half.” 

 Even from here, I could see the muscles in his neck tense. I tried doing to him what he did to everyone else. I trapped him, wide-eyed, anchoring him to me. He didn’t break our stare.

 As if each word scraped against his skull, “I said I don’t do that shit.”

 “That’s a fucking joke. Mark got some last week,” Bowtie barked.

 I saw the moment I lost him. In what world I thought I could be enough to harbor him, I had no idea. Harry snapped, kicking the steroid-pumped kid so hard in the knee, it knocked him down. It wasn’t a broken bone, but it’d leave one hell of a bruise.  

 “Dude, are you crazy?!” Snapback cried. 

 Harry raised his fist, bringing it flying. I gasped and hid my face. But I didn’t hear an impact. I faced them again.

 Harry’s fist froze inches before his cheek. Facing what would have been a badly broken nose, Bowtie shook on the floor. Slowly, ever so slowly, Harry relaxed his hovering fist and folded his arms, squatting next to the quivering guy. “You’re fucking welcome I was in a good mood ‘fore you came, otherwise I wouldn’t be acting so polite.”  

 The squeak of a floorboard shook Harry back to Earth. He caught me walking away and his whole body straightened, once again hyper-focused on me, trying to tune in and trap me exactly where I stood. Taking advantage of his distraction, Snapback and Bowtie ran for it. Bowtie limped, running into me and knocking me off-balance as he passed.

 In a second, it was just us. 

 “Y/N,” he began, walking towards me cautiously. 

 “No.” 

 He stopped in his tracks. He was tall, but his shoulders hung in despondent defeat.

 “You were right, Harry.” 

 I could see how tired he was. I could see the broken pieces fitting into something beautiful. He looked so sad and regretful, I already felt guilty for saying,

 “You can’t hide anymore.” And with one last look at the broken boy before me, “You are fucked.” 

 Suddenly, the beer on the floor was just stale and sticky. The couches were filthy from strangers’ mistakes. And the air would never be clear. Harry had been right. This entire house was filled with people who didn’t care and if they did, they were trying to forget; a place more empty than if it were vacant. It was a mess just like the boy living in it. And just like the grand house, impressive at first glance, not all of his parts were beautiful.

 I ignored the way his broken pieces seemed to shatter as soon as I said it and the way it hurt me ten-fold. I ignored him calling out my name as I maneuvered through the blur of bodies, until I lost his voice on the dance floor. I could breathe better outside and I walked past the cops without acknowledging them. 

 From complete chaos to relative quiet, my ears rung, filling the new silence.

 Maybe this was the last time we’d speak. Maybe this was how it all should’ve ended that first day in September. Because in that house, that wasn’t the Harry I thought I’d knew. That was a boy far-gone, confused, and I was falling down with him. I was ANGRY. I PITIED him. And I was angry for feeling something else I should never have felt for him.

 Somehow, in this fuzzy ringing world buzzing with heated thoughts and cop lights that blurred my vision, I heard a notepad scribble as soon as I passed a squad car. 

 Lucky for me, Momma always said I had selective hearing.

part 21

[kansascityhappenings]

Tweet purportedly from gunman in Pensacola Navy base shooting suggests al Qaeda inspiration

https://newsource-embed-prd.ns.cnn.com/videos/newsource-video-embed.js

PENSACOLA, Fla. — Much remains unknown about the Saudi Air Force officer who attacked Naval Air Station Pensacola in Florida on Friday morning. US Defense Secretary Mark Esper stressed Saturday the investigation is in its early phases.

“I can’t say it’s terrorism at this time. I think we need to let the investigators of the FBI do its work,” he said.

Two law enforcement sources told CNN that the shooter, who was killed by responding law enforcement agents, has been identified as Saudi national Mohammed Alshamrani.

Just minutes before authorities were first alerted to the deadly shooting, a Twitter account aligning with his name posted a message that raises the possibility the attack was inspired by al Qaeda and its founder, Osama bin Laden.

The message, addressed to the American people, repurposed words used by bin Laden and the American al Qaeda terrorist cleric Anwar al-Awlaki.

In recent years, jihadi attackers have mostly been animated by sympathy to ISIS, but the group never seemed to eclipse al Qaeda inside Saudi Arabia, despite the more than 3,000 Saudis who, according to The Soufan Center, traveled to Iraq and Syria to join ISIS and other groups.

While many jihadis around the world gravitated toward ISIS after they declared a caliphate in Syria and Iraq in 2014, Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi’s terrorist group never attracted the kind of support that bin Laden did among jihadis in the kingdom, nor posed anything like the threat al Qaeda’s 2003-2006 terror campaign posed the House of Saud.

With al Qaeda maintaining significant support in Saudi Arabia, there will be concern the attack in Florida may provide an opportunity for it to strengthen its standing among global jihadis in the wake of ISIS losing its land and its leader. Thousands and thousands have been killed in terror attacks carried out by the two groups around the world over the years.

Twitter account posted shortly before alert of attack

The first call alerting law enforcement of an incident at the Florida base came about 6:51 a.m. (7:51 a.m. ET), according to the Escambia County Sheriff’s Office.

Twelve minutes before, at 6:39 a.m., a Twitter account with the handle @M7MD_SHAMRANI posted a message addressed to the American people, declaring hate for Americans because of their “crimes” against Muslims.

CNN has been unable to verify the source of the tweet which was previously reported on by SITE Intelligence Group. Law enforcement has not commented on it.

However, given the shooter was training at a US naval air station, it is notable that the Twitter account @M7MD_SHAMRANI re-tweeted a Military Times post about last month’s fatal crash at Vance Air Force Base in Oklahoma.

The Twitter message posted Friday morning made no reference to an impending attack.

The Twitter account is listed as being created in 2012. Before it was taken down on Friday afternoon, CNN was able to capture some of the tweet activity by the account.

When asked about the account, Twitter spokeswoman Aly Pavela confirmed the account was suspended and said, “That’s all we have to share.”

Several aspects to what was written in the message point toward al Qaeda inspiration.

The Twitter message stated, “America as a whole has turned into a nation of evil.”

Those were the exact words American terrorist cleric Anwar al-Awlaki used in a message posted in March 2010 in calling for jihad against the United States, suggesting the person posting the message was deeply familiar with al-Awlaki’s propaganda.

Before he was killed in a drone strike in September 2011, al-Awlaki had become a senior figure in al Qaeda’s affiliate in Yemen. In the years before and since his death al-Awlaki’s online sermons provided inspiration for many of those plotting jihadi terror in the West.

US troops in Saudi Arabia anger jihadis

The words of bin Laden also appear to have influenced the individual posting the Twitter message.

In January 2010, bin Laden stated in an audio message, “The United States will not dream of enjoying safety until we live it in reality in Palestine.”

“You will not be safe until we live it as reality in pleastain [sic], and American troops get out of our lands,” read the message posted Friday morning.

It has been well documented that the presence of US troops in Saudi Arabia in the 1990s created great anger among jihadi sympathizers in Saudi Arabia. It was a key factor in turning bin Laden toward confronting the US. The attack in Florida comes at a time when the US is again building up its troop presence in the kingdom. The Pentagon announced in October that it is set to deploy 1,800 more troops.

The Twitter message posted Friday made repeated reference to US support for Israel, another key theme of al Qaeda propaganda as illustrated by bin Laden’s January 2010 statement.

In recent months, the @M7MD_SHAMRANI Twitter account retweeted at least one news article alleging Israeli mistreatment of Palestinians. The penultimate tweet from the handle, which the account’s timeline indicates was posted this month, was a retweet of a Times of Israel tweet from December 2017 containing the “Full Text of Trump’s speech recognizing Jerusalem as capital of Israel.”

In recent years, al Qaeda has attempted to incite and exploit anger in the Muslim world over the issue. For example, the Trump administration’s decision to relocate the US embassy to Jerusalem was seized upon by al Qaeda leader Ayman al-Zawahiri when he called for continued confrontation with the United States in a message posted on the 17th anniversary of the 9/11 attack.

No group has claimed responsibility for attack

Although the Twitter message posted by the @M7MD_SHAMRANI account made no explicit mention of al Qaeda, its repurposing of the words of bin Laden and Awlaki suggests the shooter may have been deeply familiar with the statements of al Qaeda leaders, may have been to some degree inspired by them, and may deliberately have chosen to use their words.

Establishing the complex mix of factors that are likely to have inspired the Florida attack is not straightforward.

The decision to quote bin Laden and Awlaki does not definitively indicate al Qaeda provided the main inspiration. Unlike al-Qaeda’s leader Ayman al-Zawahiri, who is a hate figure in ISIS circles, both bin Laden and al-Awlaki, who died three years before ISIS declared it had established a caliphate, have been revered by ISIS’s supporters.

By Saturday afternoon, no terrorist group had claimed the Florida attack.

In the years after ISIS captured global headlines by taking control of large swaths of Syria and Iraq, the large majority of attacks by jihadi sympathizers in the West appeared to be inspired by ISIS rather than al Qaeda. Online pledges of loyalty made by attacker after attacker to ISIS leader Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi gave ISIS openings to claim ownership of many of the attacks.

But ISIS’s position as the lodestar of the global jihadi movement is now in question. It was notable that Usman Khan, who killed two in the vicinity of London Bridge last month, made no online pledge to ISIS. Khan had initially been radicalized by al Qaeda propaganda.

Khan and several other extremists were convicted in relation to a plot to attack the London Stock Exchange “inspired by the ideology and methodology of Anwar Al Awlaki,” according to court documents from 2012.

In the wake of ISIS’s loss of all its territorial holdings in Syria and Iraq and the death of its leader in October, a concern will be the Florida attack may have provided al Qaeda an opening to strengthen as it competes with ISIS for leadership of the global jihadi movement.

from FOX 4 Kansas City WDAF-TV | News, Weather, Sports https://fox4kc.com/2019/12/07/tweet-purportedly-from-gunman-in-pensacola-navy-base-shooting-suggests-al-qaeda-inspiration/

from Kansas City Happenings https://kansascityhappenings.wordpress.com/2019/12/08/tweet-purportedly-from-gunman-in-pensacola-navy-base-shooting-suggests-al-qaeda-inspiration/

[newsnigeria]

Check out New Post published on Ọmọ Oòduà

New Post has been published on http://ooduarere.com/news-from-nigeria/world-news/a-war-against-iran/

Nasrallah: A War against Iran would Destroy Israel, the Saud and US Hegemony

Nasrallah: a War against Iran would Destroy Israel, the Saud and US Hegemony

Speech by Hezbollah Secretary General Sayed Hassan Nasrallah on Friday, May 31, 2019, on the occasion of Al-Quds (Jerusalem) International Day.

Translation: resistancenewsunfiltered.blogspot.com

See the previous parts of this speech: Resistance Axis, Arab & Muslim Peoples will Never Forsake PalestineIn the Next War, Missiles from Lebanon, Gaza, Syria & Iran will Strike Israel, Trump’s Deal of the Century Doomed to Fail

https://www.dailymotion.com/video/x7c3zo1

Transcript:

[…] Today, (the United States, Israel and Saudi Arabia) are focusing (their hostility) on the essential point of strength of this (Resistance) Axis. This is the next point (of my speech), namely Iran. Iran is the main power (of the Resistance Axis), no doubt about it. Iran is the heart of this Axis. It is Iran who helped Iraq during the invasion of Daesh, when (the terrorists) reached the outskirts of Karbala and Baghdad. It is Iran who helped the Syrian leadership and the Syrian army during the hard times (fighting Daesh). Iran stood alongside the Resistance in Lebanon and the Resistance in Palestine, etc., etc., etc. And Iran’s (anti-imperialist and anti-Zionist) stance is clear, unshakable and decisive. That is all.

Today, all this fury against Iran…. And it is Trump, Pompeo and the others who explicitly say so, that’s not my analysis. (They say) that besieging Iran and subjecting it to sanctions and pressures will cause all this (Resistance) Axis to weaken, collapse and disappear. And they start to count our (financial) losses, awaiting the end of each month to see if Hezbollah (is still able) to pay (the wages of its members and fighters) or not, isn’t it? All eyes are on Iran.

Yesterday, what did our brothers from (the Resistance factions) in Gaza say? They said: “Our (Arab & Islamic) Community has abandoned us, but Iran (fully) supported us. Iran helped us militarily and financially.” And that’s the truth. This is why (they put all their efforts) against Iran. They exert maximum pressure on Iran.

Against Iran, we find these same regimes who, since the first day, declared their hostility towards the Islamic Republic. From the first day of triumph (of the Revolution) of Imam Khomeini (in 1979), they planned and schemed (the downfall) of the Islamic Republic. And they kept doing so until today, for 40 years. They defamed Iran, launched false accusations against Iran, have sought to isolate Iran, incited (the Arab-Muslim peoples) against Iran… One day, they were defaming Iran by designating as Majus (Zoroastrians, non-Islamic): we all remember that the war (propaganda) of Saddam [Hussein] against Iran was based on the (alleged) fight against the Persians and the Majus. Of course, he could not claim that it was a Sunni-Shiite war, as did the Saudis, because more than half of the Iraqi people is Shiite, as well as a large part of the Iraqi army. It was not possible to present their war as a Sunni-Shiite war, so he depicted them as Majus. But the world has discovered (since) that the Iranian people is not Zoroastrian (but Muslim).

They first introduced the fight (against Iran) as a struggle of the Arabs against the Persians, and later on, they developed the battle as a Sunni-Shiite war. Then they (tried to) sell us (the risk) of the (conversion of peoples) to Shiism, be it Safavid, Alawi, etc. Finally, they came to economic sanctions, up to the threats of war culminating today.

Will there be a war or not? That is the burning issue of the day. For the last weeks, (the world) has been wondering if there will be (a new war) in the region. Of course, if there is a war between the US and Iran, the whole region will change radically. I’ll talk a little about it.

Some people push (the US) into a war with (all their) strength. That is, within the US administration —for Trump says he does not want war, but I mean others—, it is clear that Bolton pushes for war as much as he can. Bolton, the liar, the cartoon character —you remember (my joke 15 years ago about his comic looks and) his (extravagant) mustache—, what did he say yesterday? He said: “Our goal is not to overthrow the Iranian regime.” But a few months ago, during a meeting with the Iranian hypocrites (Mujahedeen-e-Khalq), he said that with the Grace of God, they all would commemorate the (Persian) New Year in Tehran in 2019 (after the regime gets toppled). What shameless (lies)! We do not forget (your previous statements), especially when they date only a few months, my friend! These are not statements that are 20 years old. They are only a few months old. These turncoats changed their story yet again! They got cold feet, to speak colloquially. I’ll tell you why they backtracked.

So there are Bolton, Bin Salman, Netanyahu and (let’s just say) other Gulf (leaders pushing for war), in order not to lengthen the list of names. Such is (the situation). They all push (for war). Anyone watching the media from the Gulf would believe that Trump is working for the Arab TV channels. (These media repeated day and night) that Trump was determined to launch a war, that it was imminent and that the US warships were on their way. (If one was to believe them), Trump was just watching these Arab television channels, and executing their orders.

I’ll start with the words of His Eminence the Imam and Leader (of the Islamic Community), Sayed Khamenei, may God preserve him. He is not a soothsayer. He is a man who has lead this Community for 30 years (according to the doctrine of Wilayat al-faqih, he is the Supreme Leader of Iran and of all Muslims worldwide), and he knows all the strategic data, all the details, all the facts and all the equations of strengths and weaknesses. And he (plainly) said that there would be no war. Neither war nor negotiations (with the US). The fact that there are no negotiations is a decision (entirely) in the hands of the Iranians (who refuse any negotiations before the end of the sanctions, despite US insistence on a meeting without preconditions). But the fact that there is no war involves everyone (the US and their allies on the one hand, Iran and its allies on the other hand). Let’s talk about the improbability of a war.

Why does (Sayed Khamenei assert that) there will be no war? Here is our analysis (of the situation). I do not pretend to present the actual reasons that made His Eminence Sayyed Khamenei say this, but our own analysis (Hezbollah’s).

First, it is the power of Iran (that prevents the possibility of a war). If there is no war, this is not due to anyone’s benevolence or generosity.  If Iran was weak, the war would have taken place long ago. The (exceptional) level of hatred, resentment, plot and conspiracy of the Arab countries, the Gulf countries, the United States, Israel and the Zionists against Iran would have already lead to a war a long time ago if Iran had been weak. It is because Iran is strong and has (huge) capabilities, through its people, its armed forces, its regime, its Leader, its religious authorities and scholars, by its general situation and its specificities, and because firstly and lastly, Iran puts its trust in God, believes in Him and in His promise, because Iran is powerful, and that’s why Iran is feared by all. Iran is feared and respected. That is the first point (which explains the improbability of a war).

Trump does not face a regime that wouldn’t hold one or two weeks or whose planes would crash (without the United States, unlike what he said about Saudi Arabia), we speak of a true power. That’s the first point. This is the first reason (of the improbability of a war).

The second reason —and (I wish) that the whole world listens my words carefully— is that Mr. Trump, his administration and his intelligence services know very well that a war against Iran would not remain limited to the borders of Iran! A war against Iran would set fire to the whole region!

[Audience: At your service, O Nasrallah!]

The whole region will be engulfed in (the) flames (of war)! And all US forces and US interests in the region will be annihilated! And all those who conspired and plotted (against Iran) will pay the price, and primarily Israel and the Saud!

[Audience: At your service, O Nasrallah!] And Trump knows that when the region goes up in flames… He doesn’t care about the (tens of thousands of) deaths. I’m talking about what matters to him! When the region goes up in flames, the price of oil will reach $200, $300 or even $400, and he will lose the (2020 presidential) elections. Such is the balance of power.

When His Eminence the Leader says that there will be no war, (it means that) Iran won’t initiate a war against anybody, but if the US wants to initiate this war, they must take into account all this data in their calculations, namely the extent of human and material losses that the US will suffer if they engage in such a war. And that’s what prevents the war from occurring.

As for those wretched (Saud), they want Trump to come fight in their defense, to serve their hatreds and resentments… Hey, uncle, Trump does not work for you, you are the ones at his service! You are the ones under his thumb! It is you who are the instruments of his project, and not the opposite! (He is not serving) your ambition and your hatred! His calculations are different from yours! He counts only in millions, billions, dollars, oil… Such are his calculations, very different from yours!

Now let us make things more relaxed. Let us assume that the United States launch a war against Iran. And let’s imagine that Iran doesn’t succeed in defeating this attack, and that God forbid, the United States emerge victorious and defeat Iran. How could Trump extract the remaining billions of dollars from the Gulf countries (once the alleged Iranian threat is no more)? How? Trump uses and exploits everything in an economic and financial purpose. Iran is powerful, and Trump has no interest in the Gulf countries agreeing, talking with Iran or concluding nonaggression pacts with Iran. He has no interest in that. His interest is to continue to ensure that the Gulf countries continue to be afraid of Iran so that he can milk, milk and milk them again (of all their billions)… until the very last drop! Isn’t it ? If Trump launches this war, what will be the logic, what will be the need to sell all these missiles, all these warplanes, all these tanks, to send all these destroyers (to the Persian Gulf), to have all these bases in the region, etc. All this won’t make sense anymore. How stupid, how stupid (they are)! Such imbecility! Praise be to God !

Anyway, Trump’s priority is an economic war against Iran. And he wages an economic war against China, and even against Venezuela, which is not Iran, but his priority is still the economic war. Even against North Korea, his priority is economic warfare. Anyway, I want to mention strong indications that the probability of war has receded.

First, Trump himself, who is the decision maker, said on television that he does not want military confrontation with Iran, and that their war against Iran was economical because a military war would lead to more financial and human losses. And he categorically refuted the existence of a plan to send 120,000 American soldiers and officers in the region, and the (alleged) 120,000 soldiers have become 5,000, the 5,000 became 1,500, the 1,500 became 900, and they (ended up simply) extending the mission of the 600 US soldiers that were already present here. These are undeniable facts, isnt it?

Basically, my brothers and sisters, Trump wants to leave the region, and he insisted to leave Syria. But immediately, the CIA, the Pentagon, Congress, Israel, Saudi Arabia and the UAE made a fuss, and all told him (in unison) that if he left Syria, the UAE and Saudi Arabia would go immediately to Damascus (to renew their relations with the regime), Damascus would come back in the Arab world, and it would strengthen Iran. So he (gave in to these pressures) and agreed to leave 200 troops in Syria.  […]

[clubofinfo]

Expert: Only the liberation of the natural capacity for love in human beings can master their sadistic destructiveness. — Wilhelm Reich, The Function of the Orgasm (1927) (Ch. V: The Development of the Character-Analytic Technique) It is fascinating to watch mainstream media, the corporate owned news outlets like CNN, or MSNBC, or even FOX — because whatever their disagreements, the one thing that is never open for discussion is the questioning of Capitalism itself. Trump predictably came in with a budget torn from the frontal lobes of the Koch Brothers, but one that is also essentially in line with the sensibility of a good many Americans. Even Americans who themselves are only one foot from penury, who are one month from losing their homes, who are desperately in debt and who can barely keep food on the table; these same people basically hate the poor, hate those on food stamps, and hate anyone not white, and sort of think Trump and the other Republican ghouls make sense. They hate difference. Now there is an outcry about the obvious propaganda that claims Assad used chemical weapons (a tried and true PR false flag gambit, that) but almost zero outcry about the U.S. blowing up children (mistakenly…of course) in Yemen and Iraq. Civilian death by military is always OK. The price of being the best. Children died? Oh, well. War is nasty. Real men can tolerate such stuff. But if a *terrorist* blows up a nightclub, say, then the mass outrage goes on for weeks. Plus these were Arab children and, well, you know, they are prone to early death anyway, right? So, to follow the logic, it is OK to occupy Iraq and destroy Libya and (mistakenly) bomb wedding parties and kill children (not to mention manufacture starvation, in the case of Yemen) but its not okay for a leader to kill people with a gas attack? Now, of course, Assad didn’t use gas. Why would he? It’s idiotic and such an obvious bit of propaganda that I continue to be stunned so many believe it. But then, of course, they WANT to believe it, really. This is the barbaric Muslim world. It fits the racist xenophobic narrative that mainstream media and Hollywood have supplied for decades. The world remains the world seen through the lens of Orientalism. So, yes, Trump is the ultimate incarnation of Capitalism itself. Cut the EPA, cut Agriculture and Science. How many Americans care about people on food stamps? And look, why is it nobody questions a system that creates such a huge need FOR food stamps? Are people in general aware of the poverty levels in the U.S.? Why is there such desperation in the U.S. populace? Why do so many people need so much help from the government? Might this be the result of a Capitalist system that demands inequality to function? I read people demanding I write my congressmen or congresswoman. Demand this or that service be saved. But Trump was elected because, really, his sensibility is that of a majority of Americans. They hate woman, foreigners, minorities, and what they see as the lazy (which is, well, women, foreigners and minorities….so…yeah) — they have also been trained to love their own servitude. None of what is desperately being demanded being saved is really more than a pathetic set of band aids to the problems of inequality, environmental destruction, and loss of civil liberties. If you are a family that needs food stamps (I grew up in such a family), then it IS desperate. But it is desperate either way and the truth is that NOBODY should be forced into the humiliation of food stamps. If you have ever used food stamps, you know the experience of using them. The looks from others in line, the looks from minimum wage clerks. And the restrictions! God forbid the poor use them on something besides instant potatoes and macaroni and cheese. Velveeta at that. This is not to say those on food stamps don’t need them. They do. It’s often the difference between eating and not eating at all. Trump has gotten very little outcry from Democrats about his spike in Defense spending, though. Everyone wins with that move. And how many new threats are being manufactured? China, North Korea, Syria, and the old favorites like Afghanistan and Iraq. And the biggest threat of all, Russia. None of these places, none of the leaders of these countries has done anything to the U.S. Nothing. Zero. And that is remarkable when you think about it. Andre Vltchek writes: …there is no culture, anywhere on Earth, so banal and so obedient as that which is now regulating the West. Lately, nothing of revolutionary intellectual significance is flowing from Europe and North America, as there are hardly any detectable unorthodox ways of thinking or perceptions of the world there. The dialogues and debates are flowing only through fully anticipated and well-regulated channels, and needless to say they fluctuate only marginally and through the fully ‘pre-approved’ frequencies. The average white American, that educated thirty percent who cling, ever more tenuously, to what passes for middle class life, is seemingly motivated most by hatred. Propaganda works because it grants permission to hate. Now, Trump provides the perfect figure to hate right here at home. His appointments are horrible, no question. But as I’ve written before, Obama’s were horrible, too. Only just a bit less horrible. Tim Geithner? Rahm Emanuel? Hillary Clinton? Joe Biden? Scott O’Malia or William Lynn? I mean Hillary Clinton’s under secretary Victoria Nuland is married to arch neo con Robert Kagen. How can one hate Bush and the neo cons but heap praise on Hillary Clinton? But as much as Trump is hated, the figure of the Muslim terrorist is even more hated. And even more than Muslims, Vladimir Putin is hated. But where does this sense of entitlement to meddle in the affairs of other countries come from? It is remarkable how little questioned is the practice of involving the U.S. state in the matters of other countries. Russia elected Putin. Syria elected Assad. And even if, EVEN IF, the elections were fraudulent (they weren’t, but this is a thought experiment) what concern is that of the United States? (Not to mention U.S. elections were not exactly models of probity of late). The U.S. has 800 plus military bases around the world. There is no corner of the globe where you will not find the U.S. military. Do Americans think other countries WANT the U.S. military on their soil? I suppose some do, the fascistic current regime in Poland probably does. And even here in Norway, a nation of inestimable achievements and daily sanity, the general feeling is that having U.S. and NATO around serves as protection. But protection from what? This is really the question, or rather two questions. Who can possibly be thinking of invading Poland or Norway or Japan? The U.S. has bases in Italy, South Korea, Djibouti, Spain, Bahrain, Kuwait, Greece, it has 38 bases in Germany, and bases in the Bahamas, and in Brazil and Honduras and Singapore and Belgium. The list just goes on and on and on. Why does the U.S. have a base in Bulgaria? The answer is, global hegemony. Total and absolute control of the world. That is the goal. And yet this topic is never ever raised in electoral debates or in mainstream media. Never ever. Why did the U.S. go into Haiti to remove Aristide? Why was there a coup in Honduras? Why was Qadaffi murdered again? Does anyone care? The recent press conference Trump called, hastily, with King Abdullah (of Jordan) resembled Shakespearian parody. It was America’s own Mad King Ludwig. But the take away from this train wreck appearance was that Trump is not likely to last. Bannon being yanked off the NSC probably means less than some think but it also reads as loss of face. One thing seems clear in this palace shake up and that is that HR McMaster and the anti-Iranian hardliners are exerting influence. And in general that the old entrenched intelligence and military guys are getting tough. Nature abhors a vacuum and all that. And this was inevitable. Trump, as with any even vaguely out of step National level politician, will be made to heel. The Pentagon was done screwing around with this rube. The shadow of the military state is never too far away. And they don’t play around (think Michael Hastings). One might think there would be less terrorism if the U.S. built schools or clean water plants or hospitals in places like Djibouti or Greece. But then there would be less terrorism if the U.S. stopped helping armed terrorists. And stopped helping countries like Saudi Arabia arm and supply terrorists. The entire marketing of Saudi Arabia as an ally is something to wonder at, really. I mean here is a country that beheads apostates and homosexuals. Where woman can’t drive. And yet, we sell them billions upon billions in armaments and help train their military in how to use them. U.S. presidents visit Riyadh, and have Saudi leaders visit Washington. It is breathtaking, really, to think how demonized Chavez was and how NOT demonized was King Abdullah (Abdullah bin Abdulaziz Al Saud..the Custodian of the two Holy Mosques, which I believe was his full name and title). They behead people in public in the Kingdom, a lot of them. But see, the U.S. is a punishment state, too. To deny that is to deny reality. The U.S. prison system is a national disgrace, but more, it is a sign, a kind of living metaphor for the madness of American society. Is *Old Sparky* any less morally bankrupt than chopping off heads in the town square? (As Lenny Bruce said…”If Jesus had been killed twenty years ago, Catholic school children would be wearing little electric chairs around their necks instead of crosses”.) Two million people are in prison in the U.S.. All of them poor. And most black or brown. The U.S. penal system is the most draconian and sadistic in the world, quite possibly. There are occasional news programs, news magazines, that examine prison conditions, but they are token examples that justify the idea of free speech and reform. The nation wide prison strike recently was utterly invisible in corporate media. By the way, the evil Russian empire has all of 9 foreign military bases, all of them in former Soviet countries. How do such facts jive with the propaganda? Oh, and China has ONE foreign military base. One. North Korea, of course, has none. For an overview on North and South Korea read Keith Harmon Snow here: Or take the other essential U.S. ally and recipient of aid, Israel. A nation that is operating as an apartheid state, openly and even proudly. And whose political leaders are the most openly racist in the world. But again, this is not a topic in electoral political debate. Is the subject of Israel ever raised in Presidential debate? Is Israeli policy in Gaza ever questioned? No, of course not. And to add a last note on this idea of *terrorism*, a word that has undergone quite a semiotic adjustment over the last decade, the U.S. state does not want an end to terrorism. This is their job description, really, those in intelligence and the military; foment conflict, bomb and rebuild, foment again, bomb and rebuild again. And during this process Defense and contractors like Halliburton and Bechtel reap obscene profits. Terrorism is useful. It makes money. It sustains jobs. These are the enduring tropes of the U.S. political system. Militarism is good, necessary, and almost always heroic. That belief translates domestically to the sadistic occupation of poor black neighborhoods throughout the U.S. The militarization of the U.S. police establishment is stunning, and yet rarely discussed, really. The shooting of unarmed black men hasn’t decreased by the way (The death of Sabin Marcus Jones, a 45 year old schizophrenic is a typical case. His mother called 911 for help because Marcus was off his meds and highly agitated. The police came and Tased him to death. Marcus weighed about 140 lbs. Six police answered that call.) The destruction of much of the Middle East is mirrored exactly in the police destruction of poor black communities in the U.S. Ajamu Baraka wrote recently… After almost three decades of pro-war conditioning by both corporate parties and the corporate media coupled with cultural desensitization from almost two decades of unrelenting war, opposition to militarism and war is negligible among the general population. This is the real story today. Not that a white nationalist is President, or that his new budget is cutting already shrunken social services. No, it is the callous indifference of Americans to their own country’s military violence globally. And it is the nearly psychotic addiction to the consumption of entertainment that is itself a form of egregious propaganda. An addiction to narratives that glorify American society and demonize the rest of the world, or the rest of the world not cravenly subservient to U.S. policy. The real issue is why are so many in such need in the supposedly most powerful and rich country in the world? Baraka ends his essay with this…: There must be an alternative to the neoliberalism of the Democrats and the nationalist-populism of Trump. We need an independent movement to address both the economic needs of poor and working people and the escalating attacks on the Black community, immigrants, women, unions, the LGBTQ community, refugees, Muslims, the physically and mentally challenged, youth, students, the elderly, Mother Earth – all of us. The issue is not that Trump is a racist gangster misogynist bent on further brutalizing the working class and enriching his family and friends. The issue is that America is a nation that has stopped questioning authority. The adoration of wealth is itself a sign of collective derangement. So deep is the demonizing of socialism and communism that even many barely hanging on economically will express affection and admiration for the very rich. Why was Trump such a popular TV host? It certainly wasn’t his riveting personality or scintillating wit. He was RICH. And the rich are the anointed in America. Why does Hollywood (and the UK) keep producing stories about Kings and Queens? Why are settings always the playgrounds of the rich? The answer is complicated but a good part of it is the introjection of some kind of reverse Puritan/Calvinist guilt. A kind of resentment, too, simply. Did Cotton Mather secretly want a Beemer and Rolex? In American mythology, he most certainly did. The pathology of white patriarchy is so nakedly revealed in Hollywood entertainments that it is rather amazing it is so rarely discussed. One hears much about adding more women or people of color to TV shows, both as actors and directors, but rarely does one hear a discussion about the Orientalism and xenophobia of Hollywood. One rarely asks why almost all crime shows demonize the poor, especially black and brown poor, and why soldiers are so fawned over. Why Arabs are always terrorists. Find me a single show that suggests the U.S. occupation of the middle east is wrong. Just one. One show that addresses the idea of American Imperialism. And, just one show where the very idea of volunteering for the military is seen as either an act of desperation born of poverty, or just a sign of nascent mental illness or a propensity for violence. That maybe, MAYBE, the desire to shoot people and play with weapons signaled a psychological problem. Not heroism but insanity. Not sacrifice but sadism. There may be one somewhere, but it will only prove the point of the overriding uniformity of opinions expressed. And, of course, why is it the working class are not participating in the creation of mass culture? Mostly the creativity of the underclass is simply appropriated and stolen. The reality of Trump and his backers is that they could only have won this election because of three or four decades of the destruction of public education and the monopoly of media and the constant saturation of information highway with the most naked Imperialist propaganda. No sane and emotionally stable person would vote for Trump or for Hillary Clinton. To endorse either, unless you yourself are a millionaire, is a sign of pathology. A sign of self loathing. Whatever the justifications, whatever version of less evilism, or whatever other cliche that has been fed to you — the inability to see the horrors of both these candidates is suggestive of mass regression. This is where I am reminded yet again of Wilhelm Reich. A man driven from the establishment and eventually into madness. But one who most clearly understood the direction of Western society. The Little Man does not know that he is little, and he is afraid of knowing it. He covers up his smallness and narrowness with illusions of strength and greatness. — Wilhelm Reich, Listen, Little Man, 1948 America cannot examine its own littleness. Its own failures and crimes. It cannot. I do not expect that to change. In fact, I expect an increasing prosecution of those who suggest this, an increasing prosecution of dissent. It was Obama, remember, who launched the fake news meme. Who introduced that idea into discourse. America continues to express a historical revisionism that excludes the genocide of Native Americans, that erases the wilful destruction of unions and socialist movements, and that glorifies the Westward expansion of Manifest Destiny. Mainstream media today is so narrow that any opinion not clearly in line with the prevailing mythology is either castigated or simply made invisible. We forget that, although freedom of speech constitutes an important victory in the battle against old restraints, modern man is in a position where much of what “he” thinks and says are the things that everybody else thinks and says; that he has not acquired the ability to think originally – that is, for himself – which alone gives meaning to his claim that nobody can interfere with the expression of his thoughts. — Eric Fromm, Escape from Freedom, 1941 This is a society of great unhappiness. But more, it is a society of conformity.They go together. America is far more conformist than it was in the 1950s. The little men and women of corporate life, in politics, in media and the arts, everywhere; these are the gatekeepers to an establishment narrative that allows no questioning of its legitimacy. Capitalism is good, socialism is bad. This last month in Arkansas, the state decided to fast track executions because they didn’t want to waste the chemicals used in lethal injection, many of which were soon to be past their sell by date. Human life is that unimportant. Punishment is the highest virtue. Americans enjoy punishment. American football is so popular because it is gladiatorial and damaging to the players. Life threatening, in fact. So much the better. Or take factory farming. Again, most Americans are aware of the brutality of factory farming. The cruelty of the mass industrial abattoir. It’s not a secret. And yet, mostly people continue consuming these products. Meats so adulterated with hormones and chemicals that 100 years ago nobody would feed this stuff to their dogs. The cruelty to our fellow creatures is astounding. There is a sort of symbolic compensation in the form of over pampering household pets. But such contradictions are to be expected. Again, if people cared, if compassion had not been eroded to this degree, we would not have Trump or Hillary. I mean look at the national political figures today from both parties. Mike Pence and Betsy DeVos, Chuck Schurmer and Mitch McConnell. If we lived in anything resembling a rational society, John McCain would be in a mental hospital getting the help he obviously needs. Look at the leading figures for the 2020 elections on the Democratic side. Andrew Cuomo and Elizabeth Warren. Both have consistently voted for war. Warren is a particularly unsavoury figure, opportunistic and smug, a woman who enthusiastically supported Obama’s drone assassinations and voted FOR sanctions against Iran. You really think a President Warren would do anything different from Obama? Less drone assassination or less muscular foreign policy? Of course not. She and Cuomo and Cory Booker and all the rest of the establishment creeps in the Democratic Party are part of the problem. NOT the solution. They are the solution to nothing. The lesson today is that it is now on the U.S. populace to wake up. It’s time. Stop accepting the official narrative and stop watching mainstream propaganda and stop turning away from the crimes of your own country. Stop the unquestioning acceptance of U.S. hagiography. Thanksgiving was not friendly Pilgrims inviting happy tribes to turkey dinner. Columbus was a psychopathic mass murderer. The founding fathers were slave owners. The U.S. revolution was economic. Here is Howard Zinn on the American Revolution… The Continental Congress, which governed the colonies through the war, was dominated by rich men, linked together in factions and compacts by business and family connections. These links connected North and South, East and West. It seemed that the majority of white colonists, who had a bit of land, or no property at all, were still better off than slaves or indentured servants or Indians, and could be wooed into the coalition of the Revolution. But when the sacrifices of war became more bitter, the privileges and safety of the rich became harder to accept. About 10 percent of the white population (an estimate of Jackson Main in The Social Structure of Revolutionary America), large landholders and merchants, held 1,000 pounds or more in personal property and 1,000 pounds in land, at the least, and these men owned nearly half the wealth of the country and held as slaves one-seventh of the country’s people. The American Revolution is sometimes said to have brought about the separation of church and state. The northern states made such declarations, but after 1776 they adopted taxes that forced everyone to support Christian teachings. William G. McLoughlin, quoting Supreme Court Justice David Brewer in 1892 that “this is a Christian nation,” says of the separation of church and state in the Revolution that it “was neither conceived of nor carried out. … Far from being left to itself, religion was imbedded into every aspect and institution of American life. A loss of curiosity, of reading, and a near complete submission to authority marks the American people today. This is not a recommendation to anything other than a genuine intellectual resistance. Of some kind, any kind. Resistance to the prevailing narratives of the system, of the ruling class. That is all. I feel the suffocating narrowness of American society today, and it is awful. It is numbing and its habitual repetitiveness in all aspects of the culture is a sign of dementia. A resistance is needed, too, to the aesthetics of domination. Neurotic white people are not the only suitable topic for drama. Nor are the caricatured portraits of the working class manufactured by white liberals (American Crime, anyone?). Aesthetic and intellectual resistance. Empty activism is counter productive. Working for Elizabeth Warren is really worse than pointless. Check your own privilege, too, white man. Lenny Bruce said something else: The liberals can understand everything but people who don’t understand them. He wrote that a half century ago. Think about that. http://clubof.info/