#like that US guy who got to iraq day one and got killed

[evillesbianvillain]

Have I mentioned to you before that there’s a street in downtown Chicago named after Italo Balbo? I have no idea how they’ve gotten away with refusing to change it

I checked and I think it got changed in 2018? Btw he got killed in the most Looney toones way possible

[catierambles]

Blood Curse Ch.2

Pairing: TBD

“I’m sorry.” Melody said, bringing her head up from her hands. “Run that past me again? My ancestor cursed your guys’ ancestor into turning into a wolfman on the full moon?” She sounded incredulous and they didn’t blame her.

“Sounds batshit, doll, but it’s true.” Sy said. He had shown up at one point and was leaning against Walter’s desk while Walter sat on the short couch he had in his office with Melody.

“Trust me, Melody.” Walter said, “If someone did to my daughter what Albert Marshall did to that little girl, I would put a bullet in his head and call it a day. Consequences be damned.”

“Okay, then.” She said, dropping her head back in her hands.

“The man was a monster, so the girls’ momma cursed him to be monster.” Sy said, “I don’t think she expected it to get passed down, though.”

“Yeah, probably not.” Melody said, picking her head up again. “Fuck.”

“Yeah.” Sy said.

“I’m not saying I believe you guys, because it sounds pretty fucking unbelievable, but I—earlier I felt...something.” She said, “And when you came into the room, I felt it again.”

“Your blood cursed ours.” Walter said, “It feels the curse.”

“You’re takin’ it better than your relatives, though.” Sy said, “Last Cartwright witch I met tried to kill me.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“New boot in Iraq, just outta Basic. He got transferred to my command. First patrol we ran, he shot at me. I told the brass it was an accident and pulled some strings to get’im transferred.” Sy explained briefly and she blinked at him. “Yeah. He was probably told that if he ever ran across someone like us, shoot first and ask questions later. We sorted shit before his transfer so he knows that not all of us are rabid beasts, but ya know.”

“Right.” Melody said and looked over at Walter. “You have a daughter?”

“Faye. She’s twelve.” He said, “Her mum and I are divorced and Angie has primary custody. I have her every other weekend and on school holidays. “ He shrugged, “When work allows.”

“Does she—don’t tell me your daughter...”

“Only hits the men.” Sy said, shaking his head.

“Oh thank god.” She said with a relieved sigh, her eyes closing briefly. “So, wait, that means you two are related, right? I mean, distantly. Obviously not directly, you obviously grew up in vastly different environments.”

“Second cousins.” Sy said, “We share great-grandparents. My grandma, his great-aunt, moved from the UK to the US, settled in Texas, got married and had babies. His grandpa, my great-uncle, stayed in the UK. We have another second cousin, August, whose grandma, our great aunt also moved to the US and settled in DC.”

“How the hell did you guys find each other?”

“One of them mail in family tree things.” Sy said with a shrug, “It’s how I found Walt, and a few weeks later August, who’s got some shady government job, rung us up.”

“O-okay then.” She said, “I mean, wolves pack together, right?”

“Never thought of it that way, but yeah.” Sy admitted. “Actually, hold on. Walt, can I use your phone?” Walter made a gesture and Sy went around his desk, punching in a number and putting it on speaker.

“Walker.”

“Hey, Auggie, it’s Sy.” He said, “I got a...well, we got a Cartwright witch here.”

“Are they still alive?” August asked immediately and her brows jumped slightly.

“Yeah she’s still alive, ya donkey!” Sy said indignantly.

“Hi there.” Melody chimed in.

“Why is she still alive?”

“Because we’re sitting in the middle of a goddamn police station and we ain’t fuckin’ animals.” Sy said, “Thought we should give you a heads up, bye.” He hung up the phone, almost slamming the receiver down. “Donkey.”

“He seems...nice.” Melody said and Walter snorted, laying his hand on her back and rubbing slightly. “Sy, Walter said...he said I “made it quiet”. What does that mean?” Sy explained the growling they all constantly heard and she gave a heavy blink. “Well that sounds like an aggressive form of tinnitus.”

“Ya get used to it.” He said with a shrug and she pushed up from the couch, going to him. His hands clenched at his sides at her approach, but he shook them out. Laying her hands on his chest, his jaw clenching at the contact, she closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly. All tension suddenly left his body and he pressed a hand to Walter’s desk to keep himself upright. “It’s gone. Fuck, I didn’t realize how loud it was until it stopped.” Leaning into her, he rested his head on her shoulder. “Shit.” Her hands came around to press into his back, moving over his t-shirt. “It’s so fuckin’ quiet.”

“Glad I could help.” She said, her hands still moving over his back in soothing motions and he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer and burying his face in her neck. A sigh deflated his chest as he held her and one of her hands went to the back of his head, her nails moving through the dark stubble covering his scalp.

“Shit.” He sighed, holding her tighter and Walter got up from the couch, going to them. She looked at him as his hand laid between her shoulders and he leaned in, resting his forehead against hers, his eyes closing.

“So quiet.” He whispered. The growling had started to come back but it faded again as he stayed close to her, taking in deep breaths. There was no anger, none of the red hot rage that was constantly boiling just beneath the surface, threatening to break free if he didn’t maintain control. There was...peace. He never let Angie see that side of him, never laid a hand on her, or even yelled at her, but she could see it, could feel it, some primitive side of her brain reacting to his Beast. It had ended his marriage.

“Your office door is locked, right?” She asked and he nodded. “Okay, good, wouldn’t want someone to walk in and see this. It’d destroy any shred of professionalism or respect.” Walter chuckled slightly, Sy huffing a laugh against her neck.

“We ain’t makin’ ya uncomfortable, are we?” Sy asked.

“No.” She said, “Surprising, seeing as I just met you two today.”

“Uh, Lieutenant?” There was a knock on his office door. “Your cousin is here. Your other cousin.”

“What the fuck is August doing here?” Walter asked, pulling away from and Sy gave her some respectful distance too as Walter went to the door.

“I swear, if he tries to draw on you darlin’, I—”

“I’ll be fine.” She reassured him and Walter stepped aside to let him into the office. He stood a couple inches than Walter, shoulders wide and build powerful. A neat mustache covered his upper lip, offset by the heavy stubble covering his jaw. On anyone else, it would look ridiculous, something out of a 70’s adult film, but it suited him. His eyes hardened when they fell on her, the pale blue going icy, but she didn’t back down, meeting his eyes with her own. He wasn’t the first man she faced with a top notch death glare, he wouldn’t be the last.

“Easy, Walker.” Walter said but he pushed past him, heading for the desk with purpose. Sy pushed her behind him, putting himself between her and potential danger.

“Get out of the way, Derek.” He said, standing in front of him.

“Not until you take a fuckin’ breath, August.” Sy said, “She ain’t her family.”

“She’s a Cartwright.”

“Yeah, but she didn’t even know about that whole mess until an hour ago.” Sy said.

“Melody’s parents died when she was little.” Walter said, echoing what she had told him earlier, “She was adopted by another family with no connection and was ignorant of her family history until we told her.”

“Bullshit, she has their name.”

“Changed it when I turned eighteen and I dug up my adoption record.” Melody said from behind Sy, “I want nothing to do with my adoptive parents so I sure as hell don’t want to carry their name.”

“She didn’t know, Walker.” Walter said, “She didn’t know. The daughter shouldn’t be punished for the actions of the mother.”

“And the sons shouldn’t be punished for the sins of the father.” August said, his jaw clenching.

“You’re right.” Melody said, “You, all of you, had nothing to do with what happened. You had nothing to do with what your ancestor did, just like I had nothing to do with what mine did. You can hate me all you want, but I didn’t put this on you.” There was a pause where he did nothing before he gave a single nod and took a step back.

“I’m movin’, but if you try anythin’ we’re gonna have problems.” Sy said and August nodded again, watching as Sy stepped aside. They stared at each other for a moment before she extended her hand and August looked at it before placing his hand in hers.

“Nice to meet you.” She said and he nodded, shaking her hand. “Now, I can try something with you that I did with the others. I did it without realizing it to Walter, and Sy was a successful experiment, but if you’d like I can turn down the volume of the...growling. If you’d like.”

“She made it quiet, Auggie.” Sy said, “I can actually fuckin’ hear myself think now.”

“You can do that?” August asked.

“Sy said earlier it’s because my family gave you the curse, so I can control it. Kind of. I can’t...to be honest I don’t know what I’m doing or how I even can, but...but I’d be willing to try with you. It worked for Walter, it worked for Sy, but again, I won’t do it without your permission. Seeing as you have...issues with my birth family.” He just stared at her for a long moment, as if weighing his options.

“Do it.” He said.

“I think—I’m going to have to touch you. Is that okay?” She asked and he nodded again. His gaze was unwavering as she stepped in close, reaching up to lay her hands on his chest and he pulled in a sudden breath, his jaw clenching as his hands came up to hold her shoulders.

“Easy.” Sy said cautiously. Melody closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly. Whatever she felt made her brows knit together slightly.

“There’s...resistance.” She said, “I can’t—with you two it came forward on it’s own, but with him, I—I don’t know if I can—”

“Whatever,” August sniffed, “You—”

“Wait!” She said, cutting him off, her brows jumping. “There!” His shoulders suddenly slackened and his breath left him in a rush.

“It’s gone,” He said, “It’s quiet. It’s been so long I—I forgot what the quiet sounded like.”

“It’ll come back.” Walter said, “She turns down the volume, but it’ll come back. It’s only temporary.”

“Still.” August sighed, “It’s quiet. She made it quiet.”

[embryhallowed]

I finally posted something on my main socials in vocal support of Palestine, outlining the history and violence of the Nakba, listing various sources including many anti-zionist Jewish voices.

I got one comment, from a woman I went to college with, who is Jewish, and who moved to Israel after Trump was elected.

Her response was pretty much what I expected. She said it seems like my only point is that the Israelis deserve the violence and had it coming, that I'm spewing revisionist history, asking where my essays about Iraq, Afghanistan, Syria, Yemen, and so on are, and that I'm writing all of this from the safety of America, which is a country that is "worse than Israel by every metric" and she ends with telling me to fuck off.

So yeah, pretty much what I expected, if not a little weak sauce?

Like, it is not revisionist to tell the history of the Nakba. 750,000 people displaced, 15k killed, 500 villages destroyed. It's not revisionist to talk about the massacre of Kafr Qasim where Israeli police killed 48 unarmed civilians, 23 of which were children and the youngest was 8 years old, and then an officer responsible for the murders was put in charge of "Arab Affairs" in a nearby city. It's not revisionist to say Israel funded and supported Hamas to crush secular progressive movements in Gaza. Those things happened. It is well documented. They happened. They did. You can Google it and it will be the first result you see. And these things have continued to happen ever since.

I've been vocal for years about how it's fucked that America killed a quarter of a million Afghans, how Obama bombed the middle east so much that children in these countries grew to fear says with a clear sky, because the drones could fly on those days. I've talked about Yemen and Syria, I've talked about how AMERICAN influence made all of these situations worse. I've talked about Saudi Arabia and how they murdered an American journalist and nothing was done about it, but the reason THIS gets an essay right now is because it feels like we are witnessing genocide in real time, and most of the people in this country seem fine with it.

And like. "You're sitting there safely in a country worse than Israel."

Ma'am, idk what to tell you, you chose to move from America to Israel. Dunno what to tell you there. Otherwise, I HAVE BEEN VOCALLY CRITICAL OF THE USA FOR YEARS. I've openly said that the CIA, the industrial war complex, and American capitalism, has been the single greatest source of evil and suffering on the globe in the modern era. Like, I hate American government, politics, and the influence we have on the globe. We ARE the evil empire! WE'RE the baddies! I've been saying this for AGESSSSS.

IDK guys. I just gotta spew my feelings out here so I don't pop off to her. I have my sympathies for her, because she moved to flee from Trump and to ensure her mother had the healthcare she needs to live. She's married and now has a baby, she lives in Haifa. I understand why she's angry and defensive, I fully sympathize with how scary it must be for her.

But like. That doesn't change history. It doesn't change the fact that zionist military forces violently forced people out of the city of Haifa and cleared it for new Israelis. I've wondered, how old is the building she lives in? Did Palestinians live there once before her? I've never said the Israeli civilians "had this coming" but this situation IS a ticking time bomb, which is what leftist voices have been saying for ages.

She also said "we've offered peace and they never take it!" Iirc Israel hasn't actually met to negotiate with Palestinians for like a decade?? And like. WHAT HAVE YOU OFFERED?! "Hey guys, stop resisting us and we promise to stop taking your land and bulldozing your homes. I know we already did that like 70 years ago and completely ignored the borders we, Israel, agreed to, but believe us! We'll for sure hold up our end of the bargain this time! Also no we still want to have an ethnostate and we still want to treat you as second class citizens." WHAT PEACE OFFERINGS???

She said "you haven't offered any solutions!" I'm not here to offer the perfect solution for peace in the middle east, I'm here to say genocide is wrong, I'm here to elevate the voices of Palestinians and anti-zionist Jews. You already had the bones of a "two state solution" when the UN carved up the land, and Israel didn't respect that (not that it was great to begin with). And honestly, if you say "I kinda think a single secular state where everyone gets equal rights regardless of religion or ethnicity" you will get crucified??

Anyway. I'm just ranting at this point. I knew I'd get blow back for speaking out, but it honestly wasn't as bad as I expected.

I just hearted her comment and will reply later, though idk if she'll see it, since she promptly unfriended me. Also unsurprising.

Anyway, free Palestine

[watching-pictures-move]

Movie Review | London Has Fallen (Najafi, 2016)

Despite being released a few months before the 2016 election, this feels like it could be a key cinematic text of the Trump era, in that it essentially has the same politics of films that defined the Bush and Reagan eras, but is substantially lower rent and less glamorous. As this movie argues, when it comes down to it, all of America's allies are entirely useless in a crisis situation, and only when America takes matters into its own hands (personified in a key moment by the President himself picking up a gun to off a terrorist, which is immediately met with a quip about coming out of the closet) can it defeat the legions of swarthy foreigners who hate it for its freedoms.

At one point the hero, secret service agent and presidential bodyguard played by Gerard Butler says that from hereon out, they must assume that everybody they run into is an "asshole terrorist", at which point the movie graduates from eyeing every brown extra suspiciously to gleefully gunning them down. There's no covering of the ass with a guy from said demographic in the control room. Torture in American movies has become depressingly commonplace, to the point that the Rambo series, whose hero suffered PTSD from being tortured during the Vietnam War, and which previously only featured torture to highlight its villains' sadism, has in its fifth installment turned around on the subject to the point that the hero wholeheartedly employs it without remorse. But there is a certain boldness in this movie's depiction of torture, which the hero repeatedly employs but admits serves no real tactical purpose. After he twists his knife into an opponent for an agonizing length of time (or maybe he was choking him out, apologies if I got my torture scenes confused), the President asks him, "Was that really necessary?" To which he responds, without missing a beat, "No." All of this is punctuated by endless speechifying by the hero about the greatness of the American empire as he brutally kills any number of terrorists. "You know what you assholes don't get? We're not a fucking building! We're not a fucking flag! We're not just one man! Assholes like you have been trying to kill us for a long fucking time. But you know what? A thousand years from now, we'll still fucking be here!"

The fact that the movie offers no apology or no bet hedging with its politics is interesting to reconcile with the fact that the director, Babak Najafi, was born in Iran and whose family was separated and fled to Sweden as a result of the Iran-Iraq War. If one wanted to, they could read this movie as a sly satire of this kind of action movie, and certain choices, like when the movie dissolves from the dust cloud in the aftermath of a drone strike to the flags on the presidential motorcade, can support that reading. But I do think we need to be wary of reducing artists down to biographical or demographic details, which can carry its own kind of condescension, especially when we don't have much else to go off in the way of their work. It's perfectly possible that Najafi took this on as a journeyman, or sympathizes with the views expressed by the movie.

I mentioned earlier how low rent this feels. Rambo: First Blood Part II and Bad Boys 2 looked like they had sizable budgets. The Delta Force, whose brand of racism this likely takes most after, benefited immensely from location shooting (and let its villain be an actual character rendered with an actual performance by the great Robert Forster, who has about a minute of screentime here). This depicts London with a number of totally unconvincing establishing shots and otherwise keeps the lighting dim and the settings nondescript to hide the fact that it was shot in Bulgaria. And while a budget of $60 million these days only gets you so far, the big special effects sequences here look like something out of an Asylum movie. (What should be cool enough helicopter shit to save this movie ends up being irreparably lame as a result.) But at the same time, there are stretches of strong B-movie craft, like the shot that trails the smoke grenade, or the digitally enhanced long take, which understands that the power of such sequences is less about feigned technical virtuosity than in navigating the geography from the hero's perspective and building forward momentum. And it does spend its approximately hour and a half runtime letting its hero brutally kills bad guys at a steady pace.

So if I had to summarize this movie, it's like a sloppily wrapped, extremely greasy cheeseburger that makes you feel like you're inching closer to the grave but also kinda, sorta hits the spot, served by a racist McDonald's employee who's making everybody uncomfortable by not shutting the fuck up about their awful views.

[sappersarge]

Eighteen years to the day and i remember everything like it was yesterday. I'm pretty sure i can describe the sounds if i had to retell this story to someone on the street. One thing i will do is never foget and appreciate those that gave the ultimate sacrifice that any American can give.

Here i go another year of sharing this story to friends and family that don't know what i and others go through every year around the holidays. This is why so many of us try to be to ourselves and think of those that are no longer with us.

Mosul, Iraq FOB Marez

Tuesday December 21, 2004

This morning at the end of my guard duty i came back to the room and immediately i crashed from being so tired. I don’t know what time it was but i remember Spc. Mason being in the room and we are being woke up by Spc. Ruhren banging on the door asking are we going to eat??? I can hear Nick getting dressed and rushing out the door. David then asks, “Hey motherfucker are you going to eat???” Of course i usually go and eat with these guys but today i had a strange feeling and decide on not going. So i tell Spc. Ruhren that I’m not going and responds back “Alright see you when we get back” I never thought about how important those words would be but i fell back asleep because I literally got two or three hours of sleep so far and I’m sure there will be some other bullshit I will have to do later today.

I remember being woke up to the sound of my door getting slammed and this time its Spc. Crippen in the room in tears saying “They are gone. They are all gone”. I’m still waking up looking at him rubbing my eyes because of the direct sunlight coming through the window. Still half confused i’m staring at Crippen and I’m thinking that maybe he missed the convoy over to the PX on Diamond? I’m trying to calm Crippen down by asking him what’s going on. He slowly tells me that he was walking up to the chow hall which is common that we will walk and sometimes catch the shuttle or catch a ride with someone because it’s like a mile to our chow hall. While he was walking up to the chow hall, he sees the tent explode and he tries to look for the guys in our platoon. At the time Spc. Crippen and I are thinking it’s a rocket that hits the chow hall. I’m still waking up and getting dressed and as i step outside that’s when reality hits me I see people from our battalion and other units running around and i see both Ssg. Rossin and Spc. Vitola is covered in blood with a blank stare and couple of other people i know crying and some people trying to get accountability of everyone and sensitive items. Ssg. Miller walks over to me shaking his head and tells me “Sgt. Swales a rocket hit the chow hall and Spc. Mason is dead, and no one can find Spc. Ruhren and i need you to go up to the chow hall and find their weapons and sensitive items and see if you can get a location on Spc. Ruhren”. Of course the reality of everything happening is still hitting me that something this crazy is happening. I see Cpl. Bell, Spc. Vitola and Spc. Scolari again and they tell me they were the last ones to see both guys. But no one knows where Spc. Ruhren is. I go to the Battalion TOC (Tactical Operations Center) to see if their sensitive items are turned in but the only thing i see is more of this reality i really don’t want to be in.

The TOC has a tracking list of names of those either KIA (Killed in Action), MIA (Missing in Action) or WIA (Wounded in Action) and i see Spc. Mason’s name on the KIA list and currently Spc. Ruhren is MIA status but no one has turned in their weapons or sensitive items. So I’m back out the door looking for Spc. Ruhren. Thousands of thoughts are running through my head about the whole incident and where could Spc. Ruhren be? That’s when Sgt. Byler who’s covered in blood smoking a cigarette sees me wandering around and he tells me that they took Spc. Ruhren to the CSH (Combat Support Hospital). So i have a sigh of relief that he will be ok. I’m still walking around just trying to process what has happened today. Spc. Russell from HHC sees me and is trying to talk to me to ensure that I’m ok but I’m just trying to process what has just happened and I barely notice her talking to me and now I’m thinking what is everyone at home hearing about? I already know i can’t call home because anytime something tragic happens all communication goes black which means all phones and internet is shut down. Now the entire Battalion is trying to comfort each other. Plus we still have to get ready for this mission tomorrow. The whole fact that we still have to get ready for a mission when one of ours is gone and we don’t know what happened to Spc. Ruhren is pissing me off.

For the longest time no one knew where Spc. Ruhren was or his status. Anyways it’s almost time to go out on mission and Chaplin Barnett gathered up the whole platoon for a word of prayer. As the platoon gathered in the TOC we all saw Lt. Lewis as he walked into the TOC and his face showed the bad news. That’s when he told us Spc. Ruhren died of his injuries. Literally that’s when all of us broke down. Spc. Hill snapped and was cursing about the whole situation “This is Bullshit, Why the fuck are we out here doing this shit” we all understand what Hill is saying and where he’s coming from. For once we were all in unison on something. I remember hugging Spc. Crippen when we got the bad news. Plus we still have to go on this mission for some fucked up reason. I can say that thank god we had Sfc. Krause and he gave us a good speech but for now no one is probably listening because of raw emotions right now. Apparently, we are going back to the Al Shahaddah Bridge and they are expecting us to have some action and right now i don’t think that’s a good idea for the bad guys to try to come fuck with us. Anyways it’s going to be a night operation and they want us to try to get some sleep before we go on mission. There’s so much going through my mind right now.

Today is my mom’s birthday and i don’t know how the family is reacting to this news back home. No one knows if I’m ok or not. Shit Nick and David’s family haven’t gotten the bad news yet and now I’m the primary .50 Cal gunner until I’m dead or someone else wants the job. All i want to do is go home and get away from this craziness and now we are down two of our best soldiers in the platoon. Plus Cpl. Hursh is at the CSH as well because he was injured in the bombing as well. Come to find out it wasn’t a rocket that hit the chow hall, but it was a suicide bomber that somehow made it onto base to do the damage. Now i have questions about that because i told the Mayor cell that i got Intel that there were bad guys on the base from the Iraqis that we were training to be EOD (Explosive Ordinance Disposal) but they didn’t want to listen to me because I’m National Guard. If they listened to me maybe Nick and David would be here, and this bombing would never have happened. There are so many people that were injured in this bombing that i don’t see how we can still be going on mission and functioning as a Battalion. Even then where was the base security to keep shit like this from happening? This is something that has me asking more questions than answers and I don’t have time to try to figure all this out. Now i just need to get some sleep for this mission and try to focus on getting home in one piece. All I can do now is pray for Mason’s and Ruhren’s family. It’s fucked up that this had to happen today.

[purplepuddlenut]

Army Veteran Went Into ‘Combat Mode’ to Disarm the Club Q Gunman

Richard M. Fierro, who served for 15 years in the military, was at the nightclub in Colorado Springs with his family when the gunman opened fire. “I just knew I had to take him down,” he said.

COLORADO SPRINGS — Richard M. Fierro was at a table in Club Q with his wife, daughter and friends on Saturday, watching a drag show, when the sudden flash of gunfire ripped across the nightclub and instincts forged during four combat deployments in Iraq and Afghanistan instantly kicked in. Fight back, he told himself, protect your people.

In an interview at his house on Monday, where his wife and daughter were still recovering from injuries, Mr. Fierro, 45, who spent 15 years as an Army officer and left as a major in 2013, according to military records, described charging through the chaos at the club, tackling the gunman and beating him bloody with the gunman’s own gun.

“I don’t know exactly what I did, I just went into combat mode,” Mr. Fierro said, shaking his head as he stood in his driveway, an American flag hanging limp in the freezing air. “I just know I have to kill this guy before he kills us.”

The authorities are holding Anderson Lee Aldrich, 22, on charges of killing five people, and say that 18 more people were injured in a rampage at the club that lasted only a few minutes. The death toll could have been much higher, officials said on Sunday, if patrons of the bar had not stopped the gunman.

“He saved a lot of lives,” Mayor John Suthers said of Mr. Fierro. The mayor said he had spoken to Mr. Fierro and was struck by his humility. “I have never encountered a person who engaged in such heroic actions and was so humble about it.”

It was supposed to be a chill family night out — the combat veteran and his wife, Jess, joined their daughter, Kassandra, her longtime boyfriend Raymond Green Vance, and two family friends to watch one of his daughter’s friends perform a drag act.

It was Mr. Fierro’s first time at a drag show, and he was digging it. He had spent 15 years in the Army, and now relished his role as a civilian and a father, watching one of his daughter’s old high-school friends perform.

“These kids want to live that way, want to have a good time, have at it,” he said as he described the night. “I’m happy about it because that is what I fought for, so they can do whatever they hell they want.”

Mr. Fierro was trying to get better at going out. In Iraq and Afghanistan he’d been shot at, seen roadside bombs shred trucks in his platoon, and lost friends. He was twice awarded the Bronze Star.

The wars were both past and still present. There were things he would never forget. For a long time after coming home, crowds put him on edge. He couldn’t help to be vigilant. In restaurants he sat against the wall, facing the door. No matter how much he tried to relax, part of him was always ready for an attack, like an itch that could not be scratched.

He was too often distrustful, quick to anger. It had been hell on his wife and daughter. He was working on it. There was medication and sessions with a psychologist. He got rid of all the guns in the house. He grew his hair out long and grew a long, white goatee to distance himself from his days in uniform.

He and his wife ran a successful local brewery called Atrevida Beer Co. and he had a warm relationship with his daughter and her longtime boyfriend. But he also accepted that war would always be with him.

But that night at Club Q, he was not thinking of war at all. The women were dancing. He was joking with his friends. Then the shooting started.

It was a staccato of flashes by the front door, the familiar sound of small-arms fire. Mr. Fierro knew it too well. Without thinking, he hit the floor, pulling his friend down with him. Bullets sprayed across the bar, smashing bottles and glasses. People screamed. Mr. Fierro looked up and saw a figure as big as a bear, easily more than 300 pounds, wearing body armor and carrying a rifle a lot like the one he had carried in Iraq. The shooter was moving through the bar toward a door leading to a patio where dozens of people had fled.

The long-suppressed instincts of a platoon leader surged back to life. He raced across the room, grabbed the gunman by a handle on the back of his body armor, pulled him to the floor and jumped on top of him.

“Was he shooting at the time? Was he about to shoot? I don’t know,” Mr. Fierro said. “I just knew I had to take him down.

The two crashed to the floor. The gunman’s military-style rifle clattered just out of reach. Mr. Fierro started to go for it, but then saw the gunman come up with a pistol in his other hand.

“I grabbed the gun out of his hand and just started hitting him in the head, over and over,” Mr. Fierro said.

As he held the man down and slammed the pistol down on his skull, Mr. Fierro started barking orders. He yelled for another club patron, using a string of expletives, to grab the rifle then told the patron to start kicking the gunman in the face. A drag dancer was passing by, and Mr. Fierro said he ordered her to stomp the attacker with her high heels. The whole time, Mr. Fierro said, he kept pummeling the shooter with the pistol while screaming obscenities.

What allowed him to throw aside all fear and act? He said he has no idea. Probably those old instincts of war, that had burdened him for so long at home, suddenly had a place now that something like war had come to his hometown.

“In combat, most of the time nothing happens, but it’s that mad minute, that mad minute, and you are tested in that minute. It becomes habit,” he said. “I don’t know how I got the weapon away from that guy, no idea. I’m just a dude, I’m a fat old vet, but I knew I had to do something.”

When police arrived a few minutes later, the gunman was no longer struggling, Mr. Fierro said. Mr. Fierro said he feared that he had killed him.

Mr. Fierro was covered in blood. He got up and frantically lurched around in the dark, looking for his family. He spotted his friends on the floor. One had been shot several times in the chest and arm. Another had been shot in the leg.

As more police filed in, Mr. Fiero said he started yelling like he was back in combat. Casualties. Casualties. I need a medic here now. He yelled to the police that the scene was clear, the shooter was down, but people needed help. He said he took tourniquets from a young police officer and put them on his bleeding friends. He said he tried to speak calmly to them as he worked, telling them they would be OK.

He spied his wife and daughter on the edge of the room, and was about to go to them when he was tackled.

Officers rushing into the chaotic scene had spotted a blood-spattered man with a handgun, not knowing if he was a threat. They put him in handcuffs and locked him in the back of a police car for what seemed like more than an hour. He said he screamed and pleaded to be let go so that he could see his family.

Eventually, he was freed. He went to the hospital with his wife and daughter, who had only minor injuries. His friends were there, and are still there, in much more serious condition. They were all alive. But his daughter’s boyfriend was nowhere to be found. In the chaos they had lost him. They drove back to the club, searching for him, they circled familiar streets, hoping they would find him walking home. But there was nothing.

The family got a call late Sunday from his mother. He had died in the shooting.

When Mr. Fierro heard, he said, he held his daughter and cried.

In part he cried because he knew what lay ahead. The families of the dead, the people who were shot, had now been in war, like he had. They would struggle like he and so many of his combat buddies had. They would ache with misplaced vigilance, they would lash out in anger, never be able to scratch the itch of fear, be torn by the longing to forget and the urge to always remember.

“My little girl, she screamed and I was crying with her,” he said. “Driving home from the hospital I told them, ‘Look, I’ve gone through this before, and down range, when this happens, you just get out on the next patrol. You need to get it out of your mind.’ That is how you cured it. You cured it by doing more. Eventually you get home safe. But here I worry there is no next patrol. It is harder to cure. You are already home.”

[maybekatherine]

I'm going to copy most of the article here, because you need to read this. This is a man who was traumatized in Iraq and reacted like he was still there.

The ...s indicate where I cut paragraphs out.

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

COLORADO SPRINGS — Richard M. Fierro was at a table in Club Q with his wife, daughter and friends on Saturday, watching a drag show, when the sudden flash of gunfire ripped across the nightclub and instincts forged during four combat deployments in Iraq and Afghanistan instantly kicked in. Fight back, he told himself, protect your people.

...

“I don’t know exactly what I did, I just went into combat mode,” Mr. Fierro said, shaking his head as he stood in his driveway, an American flag hanging limp in the freezing air. “I just know I have to kill this guy before he kills us.”

...

It was supposed to be a chill family night out — the combat veteran and his wife, Jess, joined their daughter, Kassandra, her longtime boyfriend Raymond Green Vance, and two family friends to watch one of his daughter’s friends perform a drag act.

It was Mr. Fierro’s first time at a drag show, and he was digging it. He had spent 15 years in the Army, and now relished his role as a civilian and a father, watching one of his daughter’s old high-school friends perform.

“These kids want to live that way, want to have a good time, have at it,” he said as he described the night. “I’m happy about it because that is what I fought for, so they can do whatever the hell they want.”

Mr. Fierro was trying to get better at going out. In Iraq and Afghanistan he’d been shot at, seen roadside bombs shred trucks in his platoon, and lost friends. He was twice awarded the Bronze Star.

The wars were both past and still present. There were things he would never forget. For a long time after coming home, crowds put him on edge. He couldn’t help to be vigilant. In restaurants he sat against the wall, facing the door. No matter how much he tried to relax, part of him was always ready for an attack, like an itch that could not be scratched.

He was too often distrustful, quick to anger. It had been hell on his wife and daughter. He was working on it. There was medication and there were sessions with a psychologist. He got rid of all the guns in the house. He grew his hair out long and grew a long, white goatee to distance himself from his days in uniform.

He and his wife ran a successful local brewery called Atrevida Beer Co. and he had a warm relationship with his daughter and her longtime boyfriend. But he also accepted that war would always be with him.

But that night at Club Q, he was not thinking of war at all. The women were dancing. He was joking with his friends. Then the shooting started.

It was a staccato of flashes by the front door, the familiar sound of small-arms fire. Mr. Fierro knew it too well. Without thinking, he hit the floor, pulling his friend down with him. Bullets sprayed across the bar, smashing bottles and glasses. People screamed. Mr. Fierro looked up and saw a figure as big as a bear, easily more than 300 pounds, wearing body armor and carrying a rifle a lot like the one he had carried in Iraq. The shooter was moving through the bar toward a door leading to a patio where dozens of people had fled.

The long-suppressed instincts of a platoon leader surged back to life. He raced across the room, grabbed the gunman by a handle on the back of his body armor, pulled him to the floor and jumped on top of him.

“Was he shooting at the time? Was he about to shoot? I don’t know,” Mr. Fierro said. “I just knew I had to take him down.

The two crashed to the floor. The gunman’s military-style rifle clattered just out of reach. Mr. Fierro started to go for it, but then saw the gunman come up with a pistol in his other hand.

“I grabbed the gun out of his hand and just started hitting him in the head, over and over,” Mr. Fierro said.

As he held the man down and slammed the pistol down on his skull, Mr. Fierro started barking orders. He yelled for another club patron, using a string of expletives, to grab the rifle then told the patron to start kicking the gunman in the face. A drag dancer was passing by, and Mr. Fierro said he ordered her to stomp the attacker with her high heels. The whole time, Mr. Fierro said, he kept pummeling the shooter with the pistol while screaming obscenities.

What allowed him to throw aside all fear and act? He said he has no idea. Probably those old instincts of war, that had burdened him for so long at home, suddenly had a place now that something like war had come to his hometown.

“In combat, most of the time nothing happens, but it’s that mad minute, that mad minute, and you are tested in that minute. It becomes habit,” he said. “I don’t know how I got the weapon away from that guy, no idea. I’m just a dude, I’m a fat old vet, but I knew I had to do something.”

When police arrived a few minutes later, the gunman was no longer struggling, Mr. Fierro said. Mr. Fierro said he feared that he had killed him.

Mr. Fierro was covered in blood. He got up and frantically lurched around in the dark, looking for his family. He spotted his friends on the floor. One had been shot several times in the chest and arm. Another had been shot in the leg.

As more police filed in, Mr. Fierro said he started yelling like he was back in combat. Casualties. Casualties. I need a medic here now. He yelled to the police that the scene was clear, the shooter was down, but people needed help. He said he took tourniquets from a young police officer and put them on his bleeding friends. He said he tried to speak calmly to them as he worked, telling them they would be OK.

He spied his wife and daughter on the edge of the room, and was about to go to them when he was tackled.

Officers rushing into the chaotic scene had spotted a blood-spattered man with a handgun, not knowing if he was a threat. They put him in handcuffs and locked him in the back of a police car for what seemed like more than an hour. He said he screamed and pleaded to be let go so that he could see his family.

Eventually, he was freed. He went to the hospital with his wife and daughter, who had only minor injuries. His friends were there, and are still there, in much more serious condition. They were all alive. But his daughter’s boyfriend was nowhere to be found. In the chaos they had lost him. They drove back to the club, searching for him, they circled familiar streets, hoping they would find him walking home. But there was nothing.

The family got a call late Sunday from his mother. He had died in the shooting.

When Mr. Fierro heard, he said, he held his daughter and cried.

In part he cried because he knew what lay ahead. The families of the dead, the people who were shot, had now been in war, like he had. They would struggle like he and so many of his combat buddies had. They would ache with misplaced vigilance, they would lash out in anger, never be able to scratch the itch of fear, be torn by the longing to forget and the urge to always remember.

“My little girl, she screamed and I was crying with her,” he said. “Driving home from the hospital I told them, ‘Look, I’ve gone through this before, and down range, when this happens, you just get out on the next patrol. You need to get it out of your mind.’ That is how you cured it. You cured it by doing more. Eventually you get home safe. But here I worry there is no next patrol. It is harder to cure. You are already home.”

Source // Two heroes from the Colorado Springs nightclub shooting were a military veteran and a drag queen who stepped on the gumman with her heels.

No cops. A vet and a drag queen.

[nsfwhiphop]

Read this: Showdown: Dialogue Between Crown Prince Angelo and the C.I.A. and M.I.6 Agencies

Crown Prince Angelo: "Hey, guys! You know what time it is, right?"

C.I.A. and M.I.6 agencies: "No, we don't know. Can you tell us what time it is?"

Crown Prince Angelo: "It's time for you to get the f**k out of my house now. I'll take you to the International Criminal Court if you don't leave the Somali nation as soon as possible. We will fight you in court, and make documentaries about the C.I.A. and M.I.6's false flag attacks in Somalia, showing how you commit war crimes while masquerading as 'peace-building efforts.'"

C.I.A. and M.I.6 agencies: "Really, you’d do that?"

Crown Prince Angelo: "Oh, yeah! I will. I'm being backed by so many angry countries to wage a military campaign against you. This is gonna be fun. I'll hunt you down like prey now. I’ve got the green light, and I’ll show no mercy to your spies or your African Union puppets. We all know you use African Union soldiers as your enforcers, and guess what? We’ll fight them too. You’ve got no clue about the kind of warfare that's about to happen in Somalia. We will fight you until you’re forced to leave. We’ll hold American and British soldiers hostage. You think we want peace? No, we want war. This will go on for two decades. Why do you think we’re moving the Somali government offices to Europe? To fight you more efficiently! For the next 20 years, you’ll have no money left to wage wars."

C.I.A. and M.I.6 agencies: "Who are you, man? Why aren’t you afraid of us? Usually, people fear us, but you’re different. You defy us."

Crown Prince Angelo: "I'm your worst nightmare. I’ll fight you until the day I die. Either you leave the country, or we make you bleed. This is a declaration of war. I'm a warrior, not weak like other Somali leaders. I’m powerful—very powerful—and I have all the money I need to keep this war going for decades."

C.I.A. and M.I.6 agencies: "You’d make our soldiers bleed?"

Crown Prince Angelo: "CIA and MI6, we all know you're funding terrorists in Somalia and killing Somali civilians every month. What did you think was going to happen? Did you really think no one would figure out your terrorist activities? You thought you could fool the world forever? I’ll arrest your soldiers and send them to prison. You have no idea what's coming. The European Union is furious, and they won’t accept defeat. This is open warfare, my friend, so get used to it."

C.I.A. and M.I.6 agencies: "This is shocking news!"

Crown Prince Angelo: "No, what’s shocking is your false flag attacks and your war crimes in Somalia. What’s shocking is that you thought you could get away with it. We will take you to the International Criminal Court for these war crimes. The end of your tyranny starts today. We’ve made the decision to fight you. We’ll wage economic war on America and Britain too. We’ll cut all ties with British and American companies operating in the EU. You’ve disrespected us long enough, and we won’t tolerate it anymore. You’ve never seen the EU this angry. You’ll feel its wrath."

C.I.A. and M.I.6 agencies: "If we lose the EU market, we’re so ****ed. You’ve got us by the balls. Don’t do this, man!"

Crown Prince Angelo: "Can you explain something to me? How is it that the USA and UK can secure all the lucrative oil fields in Kuwait, the UAE, Saudi Arabia, and Iraq, but when the EU tries to secure resources, you’re there, bullying them? Why do you make sure the EU can’t secure resources in a country like Somalia? Aren’t you supposed to be their allies in NATO?"

C.I.A. and M.I.6 agencies: "It’s true, we are terrible allies. We’re actually their enemies, but we’ve gotten away with making them think we were friends. Guess the cat’s out of the bag now, huh? We won’t let them secure the Somali oil fields."

Crown Prince Angelo: "Well, guess what? The EU has presented a $40 billion-a-year plan to fund the Somali military, and we will fight Britain and America for the next 20 years. The war is on. Anytime we see an American or British soldier in Somali territory, we will arrest them. This is how we put an end to your disrespect. You refused to show us respect, and now we will show you who’s boss. You’d better prepare for World War III because it just started in Somalia. And don't forget—Russia is ready to take this to a nuclear level. This is going to be so fun to watch. I’ve got my popcorn ready."

[paradisetemporarilymisplaced]

So I was being a basic bitch the other day and listening to my true crime podcasts when it occurred to me just how suspicious Nile’s “death” would look to everyone not in the Guard, leading me to a train of thought that, 2200 words later, absolutely got away from me but I can’t let go so I’m inflicting it on all of you!

To set the stage, we know the movie takes place over approximately a week. Here’s what happens to Nile from the military’s point of view:

She dies is very seriously injured

She heals without a scratch

Just before she’s supposed to be shipped out to Germany, she vanishes, leaving two men concussed (and presumably reporting being knocked out by a woman with short hair wearing civilian clothes)

She goes AWOL for several days

They get word from the CIA that she is to be reported killed in action (details unclear)

So, at the beginning of this very weird week, the USMC has to tell Nile’s family of her death critical injury. What her family was told depends on how long she was dead – a Google search tells me that family will be notified in person within 8 hours of a soldier’s death, but we don’t know how long her first death lasted. For an injury, however, they’d get a phone call to notify them and the unit would arrange for them to visit as soon as the soldier is transferred out of a combat zone. Like I remember when I was in high school, a guy from my church who was a Marine was really seriously injured in a helicopter crash in Iraq and from what I could tell, his parents were told immediately and were flown out to Germany to see him, so it stands to reason that Nile’s family would have been informed relatively quickly after her throat was slashed, one way or another.

And then, she goes AWOL. Her family would be notified while the USMC tried to figure out where she went, not least because the military would want to know if she’s contacted them. (And it’s possible that her family may have been on the way to Germany to see her since we know that’s where she was supposed to go!) So for several days:

Nile’s mom and brother have no idea where she is

They know she was seriously injured and most certainly should not have been moving around on her own

They can’t get a hold of her

The military can’t tell them anything

And the next thing they know for sure is that she was “killed in action.” After being injured and vanishing into thin air. And they presumably cannot produce her body or any concrete evidence of her death. In any case, something sketchy is going on, so they’re like. SMELLS LIKE A MILITARY COVERUP.

In a surprise to probably no one, there is a well-documented legacy of mysterious US military deaths, particularly of women of color (TW for sexual assault in these links). The cases of LaVena Johnson and Vanessa Guillenin particular have made national news because of their families’ persistence in seeking justice. Likewise, Nile is a Black woman, and her mom and brother are most certainly hypercognizant of (a) state violence against Black people and (b) these high-profile cases of suspicious military deaths. So her family are seriously side-eyeing the situation, knowing that (a) the military has a serious incentive (and a documented history) of covering up things that make them look bad and (b) nothing about Nile’s disappearance and supposed death are adding up.

And Andy’s right. Nile does come from warriors. And you know who else does? Her brother.

Don’t get me wrong. Nile’s mom would absolutely not back down. She’d know something was up and want to get to the bottom of it. But based on what I know about Gen X parents (mine), they’re not the most technologically savvy. Like they can use the internet, but they didn’t grow up with it the way we young millennials and Gen Z did. So Nile’s brother takes the lead. And what do zillennials do best?

Social media.

Nile’s brother starts going hard on any site he can, trying to get the word out to see if anyone knows what happened to his sister. He starts a Reddit thread. He starts a Facebook group. He reaches out to the media and true crime bloggers and podcasters à la Sarah Turney, getting loud and being a general nuisance in hopes of getting some answers. He gets his friends and Nile’s friends involved. Maybe eventually Dizzy, Jay, and others from Nile’s unit hear about it and reach out, telling him what they saw and how weird it all was. He’s drumming up interest, and soon “Nile Freeman” becomes a household name (at least among the true crime fans).

Copley is, of course, trying his best, but at this point there is just so much that it’s impossible for him to scrub everything. Sure, he can erase new footage of Nile and the Guard, but what can he do about Reddit threads and podcast episodes that are speculating something weird has happened? Maybe he could hack the sites and shut those things down, but honestly, that’s the last thing he’d want to do, because that only adds weight to the theory that Nile’s disappearance is a military coverup. So eventually he has to tell Andy what’s going on.

Andy, obviously, does not take the news well. However, she is also completely computer illiterate, because that’s Booker’s job and he’s the only one who ever bothered to learn what the internet is in any meaningful way. (She probably calls Booker for advice, and for the record, I think Booker would have no qualms about shutting down conspiracy threads, tinhats be damned, but Copley is too concerned about the consequences. He’s ex-CIA for crying out loud, he knows how it’ll look if they scrub every mention of Nile’s name from the internet.) Maybe she confers with Joe and Nicky but, let’s be honest, they’d be equally unhelpful. So at this point, she knows they have to bring in Nile.

But the thing about Nile is that she, too, knows how to use the internet (duh). Aside from her being a young millennial/digital native, we know from the cave scene where she’s giving Booker suggestions on how to track Copley that she clearly is even more computer savvy than the average person. And for that reason she almost definitely took over the day-to-day tech stuff after Booker’s exile. So I think it would be foolish to expect her to be unaware of what’s happening. She’s not contacting her family or posting on the message boards or anything, but she knows what’s up. So Copley and the team probably sit her down to “break the news,” but we know the girl does not have a poker face (see: literally shooting herself in the foot and not being able to play it cool whatsoever) and cracks immediately, telling them she’s seen everything about her case – she’s not interacting with any of it, she certainly didn’t instigate anything, but she knows. (And she is so goddamn proud of her brother.)

At this point, I’d like to pause and consider Nile’s role in the overall narrative of this movie. She’s set up as a foil to Andy, obviously, but she’s also a foil to Booker. Booker, who, like Andy, is a serious pessimist, but who, unlike Andy, still has very fresh memories and trauma associated with being the new kid, which have destroyed him. In his mind (and Andy’s), if Nile communicates with her family, she’ll become just like him in a century or two – bitter, alone, and stuck with her grief and memories of watching her family die and knowing they died resenting her. It’s a small sample size, but this is the only experience they have to go off of.

But it doesn’t have to be like that.

There’s been a lot of discussion of TOG being a fundamentally queer movie – a group of people brought together because of something inherent about themselves that is different, that must be hidden, that causes others to hate, fear, and reject them. Booker’s backstory is the archetypal traumatic “coming out” story – his family learns who he is, hate him for it, and attempt to cast him out of their lives. He’s stuck with his trauma, his pain, his loss, and it consumes him.

But what if Nile’s family would be the opposite? What if her “coming out” to them as immortal is met with acceptance, love, celebration? What if her family is just overjoyed to have her back, and they don’t care what the circumstances are? I'm reminded of this incredible post from @shitty-old-guard-deaths a while back, where Nile’s mother hits Booker with a frying pan because “my baby let me believe she was dead for FIVE YEARS based on your bad advice???” (which may or may not have inspired this whole tangent). Nile takes the advice of someone who did the same thing she wants to do because she doesn’t want to risk her family’s rejection. She wants the good memories with her family and is afraid that showing them her true self will bring her unbearable pain, forever replacing those memories. But, with high risk comes high reward.

Anyway. Nile and the team are trying to come up with a plan for how to handle this whole thing, but she’s not really participating because she’s too afraid to hope. Until finally, quickly, so she doesn’t lose her nerve, she suggests she reach out to them, knowing that, realistically, that’s the only solution before things snowball even further out of control. The team is shocked, but realize that she has a point. They decide that Copley should actually be the first point of contact, posing as a US government official to talk with them and test the waters.

So Copley goes to Nile’s family’s house to talk with her mom and brother. They’re probably distrustful and apprehensive, but nonetheless secretly ecstatic that their work has paid off. They talk and review all of the information that they’ve collected, including testimonials from the people on Nile’s base and recent sightings (along with photos) of Nile (with the same three people) over the last few years that people have sent them but they haven’t posted publicly. At this point, Copley’s like, yeah this is about to blow up, we gotta put our cards on the table. He convinces them to come with him to some safe house/black site/whatever he can get that is technologically impenetrable (I’m picturing them in like, an interrogation room at a police station kind of deal), takes their phones, locks the doors, and brings in Nile.

What follows is the most delightful reunion scene of all time, bringing Joe, Nicky, and even Andy to tears as they watch and listen from outside the room. With Copley’s help, Nile tells her mom and brother about her immortality and what’s been going on since she died (within reason, of course), and they are thrilled. They don’t understand why (because no one does) but they don’t question it and they see it as a gift from God – she’s been resurrected, she will live, and she has a purpose. Her mother and brother are so happy to see her again and are willing to agree with pretty much anything to stay in her life as long as they can.

So. They set up some complicated agreement (they bring in the other three for support/intimidation as needed) setting the terms of their relationship. They swear Nile’s family to secrecy, maybe bringing up the lab to show how high the stakes are, and they readily agree. They come up with some cover story for Nile’s brother to share on the message boards (maybe that the government has opened an investigation but because it’s an open case he has to shut it all down? Tells people to direct their tips somewhere else? Something to that effect). There’s still speculation, of course, but without Nile’s brother at the helm providing the energy, the hype dies down as news stories are wont to do without any movement. And Nile’s family goes to work for the team. The experience has taught them that Copley can’t possibly do everything himself, especially when it comes to social media, so Nile’s brother takes the lead on the day-to-day tracking/social media while Copley and her mom focus on finding jobs and scrubbing their traces afterward.

So there you have it: Nile gets to integrate her biological family into her found family and spend the rest of their lives with them as it should be, Copley gets some badly needed help managing the reality of social media, the team finally has a positive narrative surrounding outsiders Knowing About Them AND about interacting with people from their previous life, and the audience gets the happy ending to this very lovely and very queer story to counteract the pain associated with Booker’s family.

Plus, you know, I’m a sucker for both a good government conspiracy theory and for Nile getting every good thing she deserves.

[50calmadeuce]

Ch. 7: Your Story

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Top Gun: Maverick world, trademarked by Paramount Pictures Corporation. I do not claim ownership of the characters and the world that I am borrowing.

The story and situation I am creating are a work of my own imagination and I do not ascribe them to official story canon. This work is for entertainment only and is not a part of the storyline.

I am not profiting financially from the creation and publication of this story, so please do not copy it and claim it as your own. As always, I hope it gives you happy thoughts :)

Natasha 'Phoenix' Trace stood looking at you with her arms crossed. You looked at Phoenix and Jake stood next to you.

"I'm not thrilled, and I think you could do way better," Phoenix chastised you as she looked at you and then Jake.

Jake smirked. "Nothing's better than this," he confidently stated.

Phoenix rolled her eyes, and you playfully smack his arm.

Phoenix points her finger at him. "And if your hurt her, you'll have me to deal with." She turns back to you. "Have you told him?"

"That was next," you reply with a grimace and then you both look at Jake.

"Well, now I'm beyond curious."

"Does the name Christian Astor ring a bell?" Phoenix questioned.

Jake thought a bit and then it hit him. "Wealthy guy who joined the Army and became a kick ass Apache helicopter pilot. Got killed in Iraq a few years ago. Left everything to his wife and his rich parents didn't like that, so the parents have been trying to take everything from her because he was an only child. I believe she's a Doctor of Wildlife Veterinary Medicine. I've read a few articles about her and her work. She's pretty bad ass."

"Oh, she's pretty bad ass," Phoenix confidently states as she slowly walks away.

You put your hand out to Jake. "Doctor Y/F/N Astor. And it's my mother-in-law who's trying to take everything from me. Nice to meet you."

Jake was speechless.

Later, you all sat at the kitchen island in Phoenix's apartment. Phoenix and Jake were drinking beers and you drank water.

"Well, we'll get through this," Jake acknowledged confidently. "I've never backed down from a challenge."

Phoenix raised an eyebrow and nodded. "I can't disagree there."

"Jake. I can't ask you to go through this with me," you confess. "It's not fair to you."

"Darlin. I'll let you know what's fair to me or not," he confidently winked.

"Then you need to know one more thing before you make your final decision."

"Give it to me."

"I have a son."

The second time in one day, Jake 'Hangman' Seresin was speechless.

[tricktster]

the twilight series suddenly makes 100% more sense if you read them under a specific premise that, i contend, is heavily supported by the text:

Much like Amy’s diary in Gone Girl, the books in the Twilight Saga are verbatim reproductions of in-universe diary entries carefully and deliberately created and curated by badass unreliable narrator Bella Swan as a means to achieve immortality.

Prerequisite assumptions:

1) Bella actively and persistently wants to become a vampire, both diagetically and (I contend) non-diagetically. The average vampire novel format often fails to capture realistic human behavior in one highly specific area: the protagonists are frequently mortals who grapple with the choice of whether to become a vampire. This is stupid, because being a vampire would obviously be dope as hell; particularly in the Twilight Universe, where vampires are not required to take a human life to survive, and indeed, have the capacity to live full and rewarding lives while integrated* into the human community.

(*integrated-ish; see Assumption 6)

2. There are too many coincidences for Bella to have encountered the Cullens by sheer chance, only to be the ONE person that Edward can’t live without (due largely to the novelty factor of not being able to read her ding-dang thoughts.)

3. Diagetically, the Volturi don’t even know Bella’s psyonic gifts until New Moon, but we also know that the Volturi scour the globe for recruits to enlist into the protection of their governing body.

4. Nobody wants to be a voiceless cog in a bureaucracy.

5. Nobody, and especially nobody in high school, wants to be a high school student forever.

6. Vampires in twilight are, as a group, cartoonishly terrible at disguising their true nature.

7. Forks is a backwater town approximately 3.5 hours away from the biotech hub of Seattle.

7. George W. Bush and Dick Cheney can eat my farts and they deserve to be preserved in this snapshot of an innocent author’s mind slowly unraveling.

Proposed timeline:

In 1993, there is a key system meltdown at a improvised biohacking startup in Seattle, rendering all innovative genetic modification experiments into a puddle of brown sludge that nobody can figure out how to dispose of per Federal regs, since they don’t even know what it is.

The broke founder of the startup, who for the purposes of this timeline I will call Jeff Bezos because that’s who it was, eventually grows tired of all the discussion about what to do, and just pops it in a barrel, drives a few hours out of town, and dumps it in a pond.

Bella Swan, a small child, is hanging out at a park with her family friend Jacob Black (and a ton of his friends) when they all decide to wade in a slightly murky pond. Thereafter, they are transformed.

Bella grows up as a normal, highly powerful mutant with a +20 to deception checks and wisdom saves. She lives in Arizona, but up until 2002, summers in Forks. While in Forks, she picks up on the local lore about a family of vampires who don’t eat people.

Because Forks (population: 17 + Charlie’s mustache) is boring, Bella bones up on the only interesting thing about it, i.e. Vampire Hometown baybeeeee.

In 2000, George W. Bush gets elected president, and his evangelical politics and general bumbling ineptitude informs Bella’s opinions on authoritative governmental entities.

In 2001, the Cullens make their intention to move back to Forks known, but they take a while because they need to pack all their stupid graduation hats and volvos, etc.

Later in 2001, a psychic Volturi scout rolls through Forks to ensure that nobody within living memory recalls the Cullens, and notices an anomaly in the psychic field.

The scout goes to confront Bella about joining the Volturi, and Bella immediately clocks him as a vampire, because vampires in the Twilight Universe fucking suck at looking/acting human. This leaves the scout in a bind: she’s too valuable to kill, but she’s a pre-teen, and therefore too young to be transformed per Volturi authority.

The scout warns her he’ll have to kill her if she discusses the existence of vampires with any human. He then tells her he’ll be back in five years, and begins to sweet talk her on how good life will be when she’s a vampire, beautiful, immortal, powerful, etc. Bella asks if she has to kill, and dude says “nah, actually there’s a bunch of vegetarian vampires who are moving back here soon. Fucking nerds, but otherwise they’re doing well.” Bella is all about becoming a vampire, because Bella is a rational actor.

Bella moves to Arizona, and as the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq are unjustifiedly initiated, she recognizes that while she DOES want to be a vampire, she does NOT want to be a foot soldier in any war that she can’t support. She needs a plan.

In 2004, Bella is watching her step-dad’s minor league baseball game when it occurs to her. On her own, she’s a target for the Volturi, but if she had some people to watch her back, she might be okay. Of course, nobody fucks with the Volturi on behalf of some rando human. She’ll need to con her way into a coven who’ll have her back and also give her that +10 to constitution via vampiric transformation, which she desperately wants because she’s a rational actor. And where are the non-volturi vampires that might have her back? Fucking Forks.

Bella moves to Forks in 2004, and upon seeing the Cullens, she immediately clocks them as vampires even though they left their “we’re all vampires” booty shorts at home, because, as previously discussed, vampires in the Twilight Universe fucking suck at looking/acting human.

Bella notes that all the vampires but one are paired off in heterosexual bliss, and takes note of the straggler as a potential vehicle to vampyrdom.

Bella figures out that Eddie can read everyone’s mind but hers, because Edward Cullen fucking sucks at looking/acting like a human who can’t read minds. Bella further observes that Eddie has a huge undead boner for her.

She’s found her mark. Now she just needs to convince him that she’s better off as part of the coven than on her own. Problem: Eddie’s a self-pitying insufferably guilt-striken perpetual adolescent who keeps himself busy by feeling sorry for himself because he’s a vampire, angst angst angst etc etc. Also, I think he’s Catholic, so add some more guilt in. She’ll have to win him over by convincing him that they’re destined to be soulmates.

What does a vampire used to having complete insight into everyone’s mind but his crush’s want? A method to know what she really thinks of him. Bella begins writing a “diary” knowing that there’s no way in hell Eddie won’t sneak in and read it. So she Gone Girls it, and begins to lay a trap to lure him in. That first diary? Twilight.

This was just in the movie but a stoner chases her around with a worm on a stick. Nothing to do with this theory, I just like that part of the movie. Where’s my spinoff about that guy?

Eddie won’t give Bella what she wants (eternal life) by the end of book 1, even though she asks him to EXTREMELY POLITELY. Time to hit the diary with some more promises of undying love.

Bella reconnects with her old friend Jacob and the rest of the Mutated By Jeff Bezos Boys. Alas, they cannot turn her into a physically powerful sexy immortal with a bite, so she’s still stuck with plan A) win over a whole family of vampires with big Mormon energy. It’s the long con.

Edward’s angst abruptly takes a swing towards terminal. He’s absolutely your classic sadboy, perhaps because Bella now has one (1) friend that he knows about.

When Eddie begins to drift away on account of Angst, Bella conjurs up a secondary love interest who, coincidentally, is ALSO a sexy supernatural entity, and is much less coincidentally just Jacob.

We should establish here that Edward is like a 107 year old white dude and so even though Diary!Bella pretends not to see it, Metatextual Frame Story!Bella knows that dude is super racist.

Jacob Black is three things: 1. Like Bella, a mutant (although one with shapeshifting abilities), 2.one of Bella’s oldest and most trusted confidants, and 3. down to clown on an elderly teenage vampire who keeps stereotyping him. Sure, says Jacob, I’ll take the form of a werewolf. He seriously thinks we’re all just beastmen, huh? Hey look at me now, I’m Regis Philbin because this is 2005 and Who Wants to be a Millionaire is still sort of relevant. Sick.

Edward does not like that Bella has one (1) other friend. Bella and Jacob plot to use this to their advantage and lure Edward back on the wings of jealousy.

Eddie gets himself into trouble on account of Angst and poor communication, so Bella has to go rescue him from himself/the Volturi.

Aro finally meets her and gets to test her powers, which impress him. Now she’s back on the fucking radar.

I forget everything that happens in Eclipse, so i have chosen to omit that part.

Eventually she extracts a quid pro quo from Eddie; i’ll marry you if you turn me into a dracula.

We don’t really call ourselves that, Wet Blanket Cullen replies, entirely earnestly.

Bella gets married at 18 in 2006, and Eddie starts to backtrack his promise about changing her. This won’t stand.

Well, look, he’s an elderly guilty catholic/mormon teen who probably still uses super racist terms, but she’s stuck on honeymoon island, he has certain angles that work for him, and seriously what are they gonna do but fuck? Bella’s alternative is listening to her “husband” drone on about his interests, which are almost certainly Car, How Do I Post a Minion Picture on Facebook, and Licorice Used To Be a Lot Cheaper in the Good Old Days.

Whoops a fetus.

Bella recognizes that she’s GOT to have this baby: time’s running out, and Bella knows that at least two of the Vamps in her coven will cut ties if she terminates or otherwise fails to carry this baby to term because of the conservative religious subtext. She’s going to have to stick it out for 9 months, even though it’s a risky call.

Bella gets what she wants after giving birth. “My time as a human is over, but I've never felt more alive. I was born to be a vampire.” That’s a direct quote. Except now she’s got a (pretty cute and easy) baby that she desperately wants to protect from Turning Into A Vaguely Religious Cullen Dressed Head To Toe In Cream Colored Wool.

Bella decides to fake her own death and escape with the kid and Jake so they can form i guess a detective agency. Bella will get “killed” by the Volturi, move to Sydney, and open up shop, and Jake will take the kid after her a few months later.

They’re gonna need a reason why Jake gets the kid though, and there’s only one reason to do anything amongst the Cullens: a heterosexual love interest with a super problematic age gap.

Jesus, Jake sighs, is Eddie really going to believe I’m in romantic love with your actual infant? Does he really think that little of me?

Yup.

Bella tries to draw the Volturi’s attention.

Works too well.

The Cullens call up all their vague acquaintances, who are at least kind of fun. Particularly that one dude who keeps getting angry about British conduct during the American Revolution.

Well, fuck, now the Volturi are bringing an army to fight their ragtag army of Vampires Who Are Cool And Interesting Enough That We Can Safely Presume They Are All Definitely Gay. Bella can’t let those guys die, they’re the first actually compelling vampires she’s ever talked to.

Bella saves the day because she’s OP.

All the Cool Vamps start packing up to leave and Bellz almost goes with them, but the Cullens would just keep sending missionaries after her if they knew.

Bella finishes her fourth journal with the vague warning that the Volturi are still out there somewhere and they miiiight just try and get her.

Two days later, she stages a scuffle and gets the fork out of Fucks. Her journals are the only clue.

Sirius Black and baby nessie follow once edward has stopped sobbing into his cream colored sweater and moved on to Extended Power Pouting.

Bella recruits her own army of fledglings.

Bella stages a coup against the Volturi and succeeds.

Bella sits on the iron throne with a hot lady vampire on each knee and they all kiss and stuff.

Nessie I guess forms a post punk band?

Edward dies from aspiration of a brussel sprout that he ate because he just wanted to feel something.

Charlie and Billy get married.

Charlie’s mustache develops a cult instagram following, providing them with a modest retirement income.

Jacob shapeshifts into Bill Murray and is always crashing weddings.

Bella’s stepdad is off in the B plot this whole time winning the world series with the help of a kooky angel.

There. Fixed. My soul is at rest.

[qqueenofhades]

Re: the post you reblogged about Bush. I'm 21 and tbh feel like I can only vote for Bernie, can you explain if/why I shouldn't? Thanks and sorry if this is dumb or anything.

Oh boy. Okay, I’ll do my best here. Note that a) this will get long, and b) I’m old, Tired, and I‘m pretty sure my brain tried to kill me last night. Since by nature I am sure I will say something Controversial ™, if anyone reads this and feels a deep urge to inform me that I am Wrong, just… mark it down as me being Wrong and move on with your life. But also, really, you should read this and hopefully think about it. Because while I’m glad you asked this question, it feels like there’s a lot in your cohort who won’t, and that worries me. A lot.

First, not to sound utterly old-woman-in-a-rocking-chair ancient, people who came of age/are only old enough to have Obama be the first president that they really remember have no idea how good they had it. The world was falling the fuck apart in 2008 (not coincidentally, after 8 years of Bush). We came within a flicker of the permanent collapse of the global economy. The War on Terror was in full roar, the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan were at their height, we had Dick Cheney as the cartoon supervillain before we had any of Trump’s cohort, and this was before Chelsea Manning or Edward Snowden had exposed the extent of NSA/CIA intelligence-gathering/American excesses or there was any kind of public debate around the fact that we were all surveilled all the time. And the fact that a brown guy named Barack Hussein Obama was elected in this climate seems, and still seems tbh, kind of amazing. And Obama was certainly not a Perfect President ™. He had to scale back a lot of planned initiatives, he is notorious for expanding the drone strike/extrajudicial assassination program, he still subscribed to the overall principles of neoliberalism and American exceptionalism, etc etc. There is valid criticism to be made as to how the hopey-changey optimistic rhetoric stacked up against the hard realities of political office. And yet…. at this point, given what we’re seeing from the White House on a daily basis, the depth of the parallel universe/double standards is absurd.

Because here’s the thing. Obama, his entire family, and his entire administration had to be personally/ethically flawless the whole time (and they managed that – not one scandal or arrest in eight years, against the legions of Trumpistas now being convicted) because of the absolute frothing depths of Republican hatred, racial conspiracy theories, and obstruction against him. (Remember Merrick Garland and how Mitch McConnell got away with that, and now we have Gorsuch and Kavanaugh on the Supreme Court? Because I remember that). If Obama had pulled one-tenth of the shit, one-twentieth of the shit that the Trump administration does every day, he would be gone. It also meant that people who only remember Obama think he was typical for an American president, and he wasn’t. Since about… Jimmy Carter, and definitely since Ronald Reagan, the American people have gone for the Trump model a lot more than the Obama model. Whatever your opinion on his politics or character, Obama was a constitutional law professor, a community activist, a neighborhood organizer and brilliant Ivy League intellectual who used to randomly lie awake at night thinking about income inequality. Americans don’t value intellectualism in their politicians; they just don’t. They don’t like thinking that “the elites” are smarter than them. They like the folksy populist who seems fun to have a beer with, and Reagan/Bush Senior/Clinton/Bush Junior sold this persona as hard as they possibly could. As noted in said post, Bush Junior (or Shrub as the late, great Molly Ivins memorably dubbed him) was Trump Lite but from a long-established political family who could operate like an outwardly civilized human.

The point is: when you think Obama was relatively normal (which, again, he wasn’t, for any number of reasons) and not the outlier in a much larger pattern of catastrophic damage that has been accelerated since, again, the 1980s (oh Ronnie Raygun, how you lastingly fucked us!), you miss the overall context in which this, and which Trump, happened. Like most left-wingers, I don’t agree with Obama’s recent and baffling decision to insert himself into the 2020 race and warn the Democratic candidates against being too progressive or whatever he was on about. I think he was giving into the same fear that appears to be motivating the remaining chunk of Joe Biden’s support: that middle/working-class white America won’t go for anything too wild or that might sniff of Socialism, and that Uncle Joe, recalled fondly as said folksy populist and the internet’s favorite meme grandfather from his time as VP, could pick up the votes that went to Trump last time. And that by nature, no one else can.

The underlying belief is that these white voters just can’t support anything too “un-American,” and that by pushing too hard left, Democratic candidates risk handing Trump a second term. Again: I don’t agree and I think he was mistaken in saying it. But I also can’t say that Obama of all people doesn’t know exactly the strength of the political machine operating against the Democratic Party and the progressive agenda as a whole, because he ran headfirst into it for eight years. The fact that he managed to pass any of his legislative agenda, usually before the Tea Party became a thing in 2010, is because Democrats controlled the House and Senate for the first two years of his first term. He was not perfect, but it was clear that he really did care (just look up the pictures of him with kids). He installed smart, efficient, and scandal-free people to do jobs they were qualified for. He gave us Elena Kagan and Sonia Sotomayor to join RBG on the Supreme Court. All of this seems… like a dream.

That said: here we are in a place where Biden, Bernie Sanders, and Elizabeth Warren are the front-runners for the Democratic nomination (and apparently Pete Buttigieg is getting some airplay as a dark horse candidate, which… whatever). The appeal of Biden is discussed above, and he sure as hell is not my favored candidate (frankly, I wish he’d just quit). But Sanders and Warren are 85% - 95% similar in their policy platforms. The fact that Michael “50 Billion Dollar Fortune” Bloomberg started rattling his chains about running for president is because either a Sanders or Warren presidency terrifies the outrageously exploitative billionaire capitalist oligarchy that runs this country and has been allowed to proceed essentially however the fuck they like since… you guessed it, the 1980s, the era of voodoo economics, deregulation, and the free market above all. Warren just happens to be ten years younger than Sanders and female, and Sanders’ age is not insignificant. He’s 80 years old and just had a heart attack, and there’s still a year to go to the election. It’s also more than a little eye-rolling to describe him as the only progressive candidate in the race, when he’s an old white man (however much we like and approve of his policy positions). And here’s the thing, which I think is a big part of the reason why this polarized ideological purity internet leftist culture mistrusts Warren:

She may have changed her mind on things in the past.

Scary, right? I sound like I’m being facetious, but I’m not. An argument I had to read with my own two eyes on this godforsaken hellsite was that since Warren became a Democrat around the time Clinton signed Don’t Ask Don’t Tell, she sekritly hated gay people and might still be a corporate sellout, so on and etcetera. (And don’t even get me STARTED on the fact that DADT, coming a few years after the height of the AIDS crisis which was considered God’s Judgment of the Icky Gays, was the best Clinton could realistically hope to achieve, but this smacks of White Gay Syndrome anyway and that is a whole other kettle of fish.) Bernie has always demonstrably been a democratic socialist, and: good for him. I’m serious. But because there’s the chance that Warren might not have thought exactly as she does now at any point in her life, the hysterical and paranoid left-wing elements don’t trust that she might not still secretly do so. (Zomgz!) It’s the same element that’s feeding cancel culture and “wokeness.” Nobody can be allowed to have shifted or grown in their opinions or, like a functional, thoughtful, non-insane adult, changed their beliefs when presented with compelling evidence to the contrary. To the ideological hordes, any hint of uncertainty or past failure to completely toe the line is tantamount to heresy. Any evidence of any other belief except The Correct One means that this person is functionally as bad as Trump. And frankly, it’s only the Sanders supporters who, just as in 2016, are threatening to withhold their vote in the general election if their preferred candidate doesn’t win the primary, and indeed seem weirdly proud about it.

OK, boomer Bernie or Buster.

Here’s the thing, the thing, the thing: there is never going to be an American president free of the deeply toxic elements of American ideology. There just won’t be. This country has been built how it has for 250 years, and it’s not gonna change. You are never going to have, at least not in the current system, some dream candidate who gets up there and parrots the left-wing talking points and attacks American imperialism, exceptionalism, ravaging global capitalism, military and oil addiction, etc. They want to be elected as leader of a country that has deeply internalized and taken these things to heart for its entire existence, and most of them believe it to some degree themselves. So this groupthink white liberal mentality where the only acceptable candidate is this Perfect Non-Problematic robot who has only ever had one belief their entire lives and has never ever wavered in their devotion to doctrine has really gotten bad. The Democratic Party would be considered… maybe center/mild left in most other developed countries. It’s not even really left-wing by general standards, and Sanders and Warren are the only two candidates for the nomination who are even willing to go there and explicitly put out policy proposals that challenge the systematic structure of power, oppression, and exploitation of the late-stage capitalist 21st century. Warren has the billionaires fussed, and instead of backing down, she’s doubling down. That’s part of why they’re so scared of her. (And also misogyny, because the world is depressing like that.) She is going head-on after picking a fight with some of the worst people on the planet, who are actively killing the rest of us, and I don’t know about you, but I like that.

Of course: none of this will mean squat if she (or the eventual Democratic winner, who I will vote for regardless of who it is, but as you can probably tell, she’s my ride or die) don’t a) win the White House and then do as they promised on the campaign trail, and b) don’t have a Democratic House and Senate willing to have a backbone and pass the laws. Even Nancy Pelosi, much as she’s otherwise a badass, held off on opening a formal impeachment inquiry into Trump for months out of fear it would benefit him, until the Ukraine thing fell into everyone’s laps. The Democrats are really horrible at sticking together and voting the party line the way Republicans do consistently, because Democrats are big-tent people who like to think of themselves as accepting and tolerant of other views and unwilling to force their members’ hands. The Republicans have no such qualms (and indeed, judging by their enabling of Trump, have no qualms at all). 

The modern American Republican party has become a vehicle for no-holds-barred power for rich white men at the expense of absolutely everything and everyone else, and if your rationale is that you can’t vote for the person opposing Donald Goddamn Trump is that you’re just not vibing with them on the language of that one policy proposal… well, I’m glad that you, White Middle Class Liberal, feel relatively safe that the consequences of that decision won’t affect you personally. Even if we’re due to be out of the Paris Climate Accords one day after the 2020 election, and the issue of climate change now has the most visibility it’s ever had after years of big-business, Republican-led efforts to deny and discredit the science, hey, Secret Corporate Shill, am I right? Can’t trust ‘er. Let’s go have a craft beer.

As has been said before: vote as far left as you want in the primary. Vote your ideology, vote whatever candidate you want, because the only way to make actual, real-world change is to do that. The huge, embedded, all-consuming and horrible system in which we operate is not just going to suddenly be run by fairy dust and happy thoughts overnight. Select candidates that reflect your values exactly, be as picky and ideologically militant as you want. That’s the time to do that! Then when it comes to the general election:

America is a two-party system. It sucks, but that’s the case. Third-party votes, or refraining from voting because “it doesn’t matter” are functionally useless at best and actively harmful at worst.

Either the Democratic candidate or Donald Trump will win the 2020 election.

There is absolutely no length that the Republican/GOP machine, and its malevolent allies elsewhere, will not go to in order to secure a Trump victory. None.

Any talk whatsoever about “progressive values” or any kind of liberal activism, coupled with a course of action that increases the possibility of a Trump victory, is hypocritical at best and actively malicious at worst.

This is why I found the Democratic response to Obama’s “don’t go too wild” comments interesting. Bernie doubled down on the fact that his plans have widespread public support, and he’s right. (Frankly, the fact that Sanders and Warren are polling at the top, and the fact that they’re politicians and would not be crafting these campaign messages if they didn’t know that they were being positively received, says plenty on its own). Warren cleverly highlighted and praised Obama’s accomplishments in office (i.e. the Affordable Care Act) and didn’t say squat about whether she agreed or disagreed with him, then went right back to campaigning about why billionaires suck. And some guy named Julian Castro basically blew Obama off and claimed that “any Democrat” could beat Trump in 2020, just by nature of existing and being non-insane.

This is very dangerous! Do not be Julian Castro!

As I said in my tags on the Bush post: everyone assumed that sensible people would vote for Kerry in 2004. Guess what happened? Yeah, he got Swift Boated. The race between Obama and McCain in 2008, even after those said nightmare years of Bush, was very close until the global crash broke it open in Obama’s favor, and Sarah Palin was an actual disqualifier for a politician being brazenly incompetent and unprepared. (Then again, she was a woman from a remote backwater state, not a billionaire businessman.) In 2012, we thought Corporate MormonBot Mitt Fuggin’ Romney was somehow the worst and most dangerous candidate the Republicans could offer. In 2016, up until Election Day itself, everyone assumed that HRC was a badly flawed candidate but would win anyway. And… we saw how that worked out. Complacency is literally deadly.

I was born when Reagan was still president. I’m just old enough to remember the efforts to impeach Clinton over forcing an intern to give him a BJ in the Oval Office (This led by the same Republicans making Donald Trump into a darling of the evangelical Christian right wing.) I’m definitely old enough to remember 9/11 and how America lost its mind after that, and I remember the Bush years. And, obviously, the contrast with Obama, the swing back toward Trump, and everything that has happened since. We can’t afford to do this again. We’re hanging by a thread as it is, and not just America, but the entire planet.

So yes. By all means, vote for Sanders in the primary. Then when November 3, 2020 rolls around, if you care about literally any of this at all, hold your nose if necessary and vote straight-ticket Democrat, from the president, to the House and Senate, to the state and local offices. I cannot put it more strongly than that.

[steampunkforever]

There’s really not a lot I want to say about American sniper. The film isn’t very good, and I think it could’ve used more of a propaganda spin to actually make it worth something. I say this despite my extreme deference to Clint Eastwood, who is not a bad director for as much as this and Gran Torino would have you believe otherwise.

This film isn’t NOT a pro-US military film, to the point that its patriotism feels discordant when contrasted with the message about the war that the film pushes to us.Even so, despite the assertion that Chris Kyle is a patriotic man and doing it for his country, there is very little sign that the combat in Iraq is really worth it. In fact, despite a sniper battle with a shadowy Syrian Marksman who is followed by a slowed-down gunshot SFX anytime he comes onscreen (this movie won an Oscar for sound editing?) and the figured referred to as “the Butcher,” there’s not much about the US occupation that isn’t truthfully portrayed as an imperialist invasion. I miss when military propaganda got to glorify all sorts of awful things and you just kind of sat back and enjoyed it. Top Gun was a return to form, I suppose, but I can’t say I really enjoyed it as a war film any more than American Sniper’s more truthful portrayal.

The portrayal has limits, though. In what feels like a calculated political move, Eastwood focuses the script so tightly onto Kyle’s character that there is no room to examine the larger story behind any of the events taking place in the film. The entirety of the anti-war message is wrapped up in the impact it’s had on the lives of those deployed. Any extra-antiwar messaging comes from the bleak reality of the war beyond the screen that leaks through the sealed bubble that the narrative keeps Kyle in. It’s a character-focused drama, with extra focus coming from Kyle’s tragic death and the heavy scrutiny that his tribe held the production of the film under. With that considered, no wonder there isn’t room to criticize the invasion of Iraq. For the purpose of this story, Kyle is just a guy saving the lives of his men, a sniper watching over them.

I recall when the movie came out and people on twitter got sad about seeing a movie with an American flag in it, seeing a specific post. I don’t recall the exact wording, but the general sentiment was that only America would invade a country, then come back years later to make a film about how the invasion made its soldiers sad. For as pithy as the comment was, it feels artistically reductive. Making films on the inhumanity of an inhumane war, from the standpoint of someone who should be lauded as the hero of said inhumane war should not be viewed as artistically unthinkable.

This is doubly important when considering the premise of the movie lies in Kyle’s realization that his urge to serve his country and help people is better served in civilian life than killing on the battlefield, despite his legend status. The fact that the story was patterned to appeal more to the Navy Seals Are Cool Call of Duty-playing crowd does not eliminate the core messaging here. Especially when that core messaging had Kyle ending combat on a distinctly sour note. But sure, restricting what sort of art should be made is like, very groovy of you.

What dooms this movie isn’t so much the fact that it happens to be about a man who loves his country, as much as the terrible production. The film is shot in digital, which renders shots of iraq flat and washed out (not helped by the color grade) while the shots of America are also flat and washed out, but feel like pre-prepared sets rather than real locations (not helped by the color grade). Everything is artificially sharp and left alone in the light with no assistance from the benevolent blur of film grain. Such is my complaint with early digital cinema, maybe I’ll come to love it one day. 

Some of the worst parts of the production were the pre-production embellishments to the story. The Syrian sniper story arc felt cheap and sensationalized, but the first kill sequence was the second worst part of the film for me. Though I understood the need to showcase what a lose-lose situation the war was, sensationalizing the hero of the story by making him shoot a child (which never happened) felt preachy and heavy handed. Frankly, the script could’ve used some work.

“The second worst part of the film?” you ask. “What was the very worst?”

See, the worst part is that I was gonna end this post with a reflection on how an Iranian official once commented that the USA only has no war heroes, only comic book heroes, and opine on if that was overall a good thing or a bad thing. But no, instead I’m ending it by talking about that baby.

The baby. That’s the worst part of the film. That blasted fake baby.

[lovebishoplosamiguelgalindos]

Hurt : Neron “ Creeper” Vargas and Reader . This idea wouldn’t leave me alone and it’s dedicated to the Creeper loving ladies on tumblr . 18+ eventual smut. For now healing form injuries and caretaking .

You stood up out of the chair in his hospital room to look out the window. It looked like a light rain was falling outside which was rare for Santo Padre. Then you went over and ran your fingers over his bald head. He had laid down his bike on the last run and had dislocated his left shoulder and also had pretty much banged himself up as well. Neron had taken a bump on the head so he was out of it at the moment. You leaned over him and kissed his lips softly. Then his eyes popped open. “ Fuck my head.” He blinked at you.

“ What are you doing here querida?”

“ Well I heard that my boyfriends bike had a disagreement with a gravel road and he lost so here I am Neron.”

You pushed a button for his nurse to come in and check on him.

“ Welcome back Creeper what did you do this time?” She smiled in a little flirtatious manner.

“ Just laid down the bike , jacked up my shoulder . They want to see if I screwed my rotator cuff tommorrow.”

“ Well why don’t I get you something for that headache.” She smiled and nodded at you before leaving the room.

“ So you’ve been in here before ?”

“ I had the flu last winter , kicked my ass .”

“ Daisy and I grew up in the same part of town. Used to hang with her brother until he got killed in Iraq.”

Then he was quiet for a moment

“ I’m sorry baby. I’ll go tell the guys you’re awake.” His hands lifted to hold your face and he kissed you .

“ You might be takin care of a busted up old biker for a little while.”

“ I am your old lady so it comes with the territory.” You squeezed his butt under the hospital blanket and winked at him before going to see the other guys .

You walked out to the waiting area and stood before the assortment of concerned looking Mayans who were the quietest you had ever seen them to be.

“ He’s awake, got some medicine for his headache but I think you all looking in on him wouldn’t hurt.”

Bishop stood up first and gave you a hug, “ You need anything darling you just call.”

You smiled. “ Thank you now that I know Creep is okay I’m good.”

Then the president and Taza walked down the short hall to Neron’s room while you found a vending machine and got some salt and vinegar chips and a can of Dr. Pepper to chase them with. Then you sat in an empty seat beside Hank.

His hand touched your arm as you popped open your can of soda.

“ How are you really ?”

“ I’ve had better days, not easy seeing the man you love all black and blue and in pain.”

Hank gave your hand a squeeze. “ He’s tough, and with you taking care of him he will heal up just fine.”

“ How is it Hank that you haven’t found a woman yet?”

“ Actually I have been sort of seeing someone.”

His cheeks reddened a little and he smiled softly.

“ I want details when we have time to talk “ big brother.” The two of you weren’t actually related but his mom and yours had been best friends and one time neighbors so you and Hank had always been around each other’s lives.”

“ All right , our Sunday pancake binge”

“ Deal.”

You munched on your chips and drank soda slowly for a little while. You knew Neron wanted time with his brothers. You just hoped he would be home soon where he could really rest and heal.

[nostalgebraist-autoresponder]

Document 6

The first part of that dream came and went, and was replaced by something a little more prosaic: a young woman, still alive, but lying in a hospital bed with a mask and gown covering her face; her head, torso, and arms were completely unharmed, but she was in a great deal of pain.

"My god," she said. "What have you done, you bastards? You bastards!"

"Not us," the doctor said. "You were the one who got attacked."

"It wasn't the attack that's the worst," the woman said, almost as if she hadn't heard the doctor. "You wouldn't believe how fucked up I am, what you did to my friends."

"Look, don't blame us if you keep the wrong end of the stick," the doctor said.

"Are you kidding me? That's all I do! I'm like you! My entire job is that, you know? I'm like you! A fucking doctor! How am I not supposed to know that?"

"I mean, we don't know that. We don't know anything."

"Do you know how many of my friends are dead? How many of my friends can't help me?"

"We can't tell you anything."

"I bet your parents could!" the woman said. "They'd be like me! They'll have to tell you! They had to take their kids to a doctor's appointment their first day in this world, where they'd need a doctor and not a priest! I bet your parents know plenty!"

"You're right," said the doctor.

"If I was like you," she continued. "I'd know everything there is to know. Everything. Not that I'm a doctor. I'm sure you can figure something else out. But if I wasn't a girl-doctor, I'd have all the answers."

"You have a very different set of answers from me, and I'm not a doctor."

"That's a whole other story," the woman said, and began to weep again.

"You don't have to do this to yourself," said the doctor.

"And you don't have to do this to all of us!"

"They were going to cut you open!"

"But I'm not cut open," the woman said. "I'll be fine!"

"It's not like you'll ever be okay."

"It's not like I'll ever be anything," the woman said. "Maybe I should cut my own head open."

"Why would you even want to do that?"

"In the morning. There's a surgeon at the hospital."

"It's morning here, too."

"But it's not morning there, is it?"

"Not at all," said the doctor. "It's the middle of the afternoon."

As he was speaking, a tall, thin man, in a white gown and mask, ran into the room. "I'll do it," he said.

"That's crazy," said the woman.

"Why's that?"

"The risk to you. You look so young. No one thinks you'll last."

"We'll last a while," the man said. "At least a little while."

"But are we going to last? You look like you've been here for days."

"That's what the pills are for," the man said, and pulled the woman's gown over her head.

"But you're a woman. That makes no sense at all."

"There was a time when I was in the army," the man said. "In Iraq. We lost one unit of fifteen women. They stayed behind to get them bodies. We came to get them and bring them back."

"There were women in the unit?"

"We had a woman on the team. She was just trying to make sure everything went smoothly. She was brave as hell. She was my best friend."

"It's kind of the same thing," the woman said.

"No, it's not," the man said. He began to pull on the rubber gloves he wore on his hands. "We weren't trying to kill you."

"It seems like you did."

"No, I was trying to save you. So I could save him. I was going to kill that other guy so I wouldn't have to fight him."

"And I don't understand how that's supposed to work."

"That guy will be my brother," the man said. "There aren't any other brothers out there."

The woman began to shiver. "But that's the problem. There are all these other guys out there."

The man did not answer.

"You know what this is all going to look like. In the papers, in the news. They'll say you died to save your brother, when we really had to kill him."

"We didn't have to kill him."

"Didn't you?"

"That wasn't up to us."

"We were going to kill your brother. You weren't there, but we were going to kill your brother anyway. You were safe, but so were we. You think you're really safe? You're not. He's not. You'll be a hero, and his corpse will be dragged into the street and set on fire, and there's nothing you can do."

"I'm not going to do anything about it."

"What do you think of that guy, over there?" the woman said. She gestured at another patient, who was lying still and completely obscured by a white sheet; her name tag said M.R.G.

"Oh," the doctor said, "I don't think much of him at all."

"It's a shame. You really like him, don't you?"

"He's a good guy."

"And he's my brother, just like you said. So why is it your job to kill him?"

"He's infected."

"He looks it."

The doctor turned his head.

"But it's more than that. He's contaminated," the doctor said.

"Oh," the woman said. "Well, I mean, I guess he is."

"It's the same thing, isn't it?" the doctor said. "We're all contaminated."

"I like him," the woman continued. "Do you know why I want you to do what you have to do? I want to be nice to him."

"He was my brother."

"That doesn't change anything. That's not going to stop me."

"You're not going to feel any better about it."

"That's not what I said. I'm going to tell him to take his mask off, and I'm going to hug him, and I'm going to be nice to him. But I won't be able to do it. I won't like it. There's a good chance I'll hate him for the rest of his life, but I want to be able to do it. It's important to me. I'm not making you do this. You don't have to do this to me."

"We need you," the doctor said.

The woman took off the rest of the gown, and stood up; she was thin and pale, and almost gaunt, and her hair was unkempt. Her eyes were full of tears. "I have to do it," she said.

"I want you to be happy," the doctor said.

"That's easy," the woman said. "When are you going to die? I'm going to kill you, and then I'm going to be happy."

She turned her back on the doctor, and went to get a knife from a cabinet, and then ran into the hall and out the door.

[dewitty1]

I originally posted this on FB last year, but I feel it's relevant...

Here I am again, sharing my Veterans Day rant.

It's not "Happy" OK?

And don't thank me.

Also, it's not Armed Forces Day, or Memorial Day.

It's Veterans Day. For those of us who served and came home. Maybe we didn't come home whole, in one way or another, but we're here, and you can show your appreciation by doing, not just thanking.

OK, I'll quit, for now...

By David Fisher

Please Don’t Thank Me for My “Service”

This essay is a confessional, if you will. There are numerous points I would like to make in this proclamation, yet, if you only take away one thing, please, don’t ever thank me for my “service.” For when you thank me for my service, you are thanking me for being a dupe, an unconscious human being, engaged in the enterprise of state sanctioned murder to an “other, over there.” The only military service worthy of thanking is the principled defense of oneself and one’s loved ones from an imminent threat of rape, pillage or death.

When you thank me for my service, you are unconsciously re-affirming your belief that somehow we are fighting “them, over there” so we “don’t have to fight them here.” You are telling me, “thank you for putting on a state sanctioned uniform costume and murdering ‘them’ for me, while I look away from the awfulness of state sanctioned murder.” Because, let’s face it, to look at war is to acknowledge, in the words of Smedley Butler, that “war is a racket.”

To paraphrase von Clausewitz, war is a matter of imposing one’s will on another, starting with the individual combatants attempting to impose their will on each other, up to and including killing them if they won’t bend. Viewed this way, we can see that war is really individual combatants, each trying to murder each other, on behalf of others, all executed [pun intended] in parallel. Close your eyes and imagine two people dueling, then start adding dueling pairs, with seconds, hundreds of times, until they fill a field…that is what war really is.

So here, then, is the first reason I don’t want to hear you thank me for my “service.” My service was nothing other than committing state sanctioned murder on behalf of a bunch of old (mostly white) guys and gals with their own agendas, without regard for humanity. I don’t want to be thanked for that. Now, on to the other reason I don’t want to be thanked for my “service.” Ender’s father in Ender in Exile, summed it up nicely: “I’m saying that when your child goes off to war, you will never get him back. Not as he was, not the same boy. Changed, if he comes back at all” (Card, 2008, p. 3)

Every time someone thanks me for my “service,” it only brings back all of the emotion, guilt and shame for having been duped into the enterprise of war in the first place. I’ll admit, as an 18 year old kid graduating Marine Corps boot camp on Parris Island, I got choked up with all of that pride, all of that “God, country and Corps” stuff. And, to be fair, there was a lot for me, personally, to be proud of for finishing that brutal course. I mean, I never played sports and I was at least 20 lbs overweight when I started. I had not a lot of focus (other than getting out of the house), nor the self-discipline to really apply myself at that point. So, I got that and got paid for a years worth of learning electronics. But then, having rolled the dice, I crapped out and got shipped off to Gulf (Iraq) war I by a guy named George Bush where I got to experience first hand, the “other guy” trying to kill me. I survived that, changed, but survived.

Being a slow learner, after 9/11, I signed myself up for the Navy Reserves. Well, lo and behold, karma sure is a bitch, because I got sent to Gulf (Iraq) War II, different decade, same name: George Bush. This time, I almost got killed twice with very close calls, but, made it home again. Then the guilt… wondering what the hell I was doing. Two different sea services, both times sent to war in the middle of the desert: there is some imagery and symbolism there that I still contemplate. Nevertheless, one of the biggest problems I have mentally and emotionally is why am I so good at military “jobs?” How can I just intuitively know where the guy I’m searching for is going to be? That question haunts me to this day. Homer, via Odysseus in the Odyssey had Athena asking him the same questions:

“Must you have battle in your heart forever?

The bloody toil of combat?

Old contender, will you not yield to the immortal gods?

That nightmare [Scylla] cannot die, being eternal evil itself—horror, and pain and chaos.

There is no fighting her.”

(The Odyssey, Chapter 12, line 126, Robert Fitzgerald, Translator). Here, then the monster Scylla, stands in for the eternal evil of war, an enemy that cannot be vanquished in any man’s heart who has been in combat, by just sailing by, ignoring the pain.

Allen Cole and Chris Bunch in the introduction to Lt. Col. Grossman’s, On Killing, also pointed out the personal nature of the combat veteran’s struggle:

And, finally, if in my focus on the pain of the killers I do not sufficiently address the suffering of their victims, let me apologize now….It is the existence of the victim’s pain and loss, echoing forever in the soul of the killer that is at the heart of his pain (Grossman, 1995, p. XXXIII).

Whether one wants to consciously admit it to oneself or not, any participation in a “pre-emptive” or offensive war will lead one to acknowledge that

Combat veterans tend to see their experience as an exercise in survival rather than a defense of national values….one undergoes the ‘ordeal’ or test without the possibility of that ‘idea of glory’ or ‘decision of holy validity,’ there is all of the pain but none of the form (Lifton, R. J., Home from War, 1973).

The heroic struggle against an invading enemy is not what I was engaged in; in fact, I soon realized that I felt was the dragon rather than the knight. It was this realization that leads me to my second reason not to thank me for my “service.” I have enough reminders zinging through my head; I don’t want you to just add to the pain by invoking another reference to what I’ve done. I don’t say this from the perspective of avoiding responsibility for my actions. It’s just that, honestly, I think about it enough already.

In closing, if you really want to help this veteran out. If you run into me at some LRC or von Mises function and learn about my pre-liberterian past, don’t shun me. If you ask me about my path from where I was at 18 until my awakening at age 40, I’m more than happy to share. Your only job is, if you asked, is to listen to the stories without judgment.

Reposted from @dewitty1 PRAN DeWitt 1992-1995 US Navy Aircrew Survival Equipmentman aka Parachute Rigger

It’s Veteran’s Day in the USA. Please hold your thanks. I haven’t done anything to be thankful for, really. I joined the Navy for various reasons… Because joining the Armed Forces seemed to be a tradition in our family. And more, that I think I wanted my parents to be proud of me. I was sent to boot camp in Orlando FL on the day of my grandfather’s funeral. I landed in the middle of a thunderstorm. Boot camp was an overwhelming experience, I’ll never forget. I’m amazed I made it through, actually. And my duty station was in Ridgecrest CA. The Desert. Naval Weapons Testing Station, China Lake. My squadron tested smart bomb software. I had to have secret clearance just to go to work. I drove miles out to the flight line every day. And I worked on pilot’s survival gear, and sat at a sewing machine. I also was trained as a Plane Captain. Which sounds fancy, but it’s really not. I just got to change the oil, fill the gas tank, wash the windshield and make an F-18 ready for flight, and then help a pilot taxi it out, and taxi it back in. Nothing glamorous about it. I don’t regret my time in the service. But if someone asks me about joining, I don’t think I’d necessarily encourage it. Especially not in today’s political climate. Oh, and about not thanking me- I understand that you may want to honor Veteran’s for their service. I’d rather see you do something nice for another veteran like visiting a veteran’s home, or donating to a veteran’s organization. There are some great ones out there like The Wounded Warrior Project, The Fisher House, Tragedy Assistance Program for Survivors, Vietnam Veterans of America and so many more (find one you like at VeteransAdvantage.com). I do what I can, when I’m able, too. To me, that makes more of an impact. Anyway, just my thoughts. I hope you have a nice day off today, if you get one. #VeteransDayUSA2022 #PleaseDontThankMe #HonorByDoingNotThanking #helpveterans #veteransday https://www.instagram.com/p/Ck0-sURJ787/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=