#what to wear in kuwait

[semnatv2]

kuwait landmarks Flipino

#kuwait #landmarks #Flipino Kumusta kayong lahat . ngayon ay nagpapakita ako sa iyo ng isang android application na tinatawag. Mga palatandaan ng Kuwait. Ang aming Libreng Android App sa Maraming wika. Ang Layunin Ng Aming APP na Gabayan ang Lahat ng Tao na Papunta sa Kuwait sa pinakasimpleng paraan. ang app ay may kasamang maraming mga seksyon. saklaw ng app ang karamihan sa mga sikat na lugar…

[curated-tiktok]

OP: wizard_bisan1 posted: March 23 2024. link

visual description: Bisan, an arab girl with black curly hair, standing in the street wearing a hoodie. In the background there are four story tall buildings that are white. A couple people are walking in the background and some cars and horses are moving past. One of the cars is an ambulance with the flag of Palestine and the flag of Kuwait. Two red signs with white writing can be seen but the text is blurry.

During the video 3 different pictures are put up on screen. First a photograph of Muhammad al-Nunu. Later two from a news article about the israeli soldiers attacking, one showing the soldiers and one showing a brown tanks, there is text in Arabic. Another of three boys carrying a dead person.

transcript:

Hey everyone, this is Bisan from Gaza. It's the day 69 after hundred of the genocide and the day 13 of the holy month of Ramadan.

And it's the day six of the besieging and invading of Al Shifa hospital, attacking the hospital, the displaced people inside, the doctors and the injuries by the israeli army and the israeli soldiers, the israeli tanks and bulldozers.

So for those who don't know, people are either inside one building of Shifa complex buildings, without water, without food, without the ability to move anywhere or to get outside that building and to be executed.

And talking about execution today, Muhammad al-Nunu, he is a doctor. The israeli army executed Muhammad al-Nunu because he refused to leave the unit that he is working in and refused to leave his patients and preferred to stay to complete their treatment because a lot of the ICU, of the intensive care unit patients died, passed away because there is no electricity, there is no food, there is no staff, there is bombing and burning for the hospital utilities.

So he refused to leave them and he was executed. He was killed in front of the people, in front of the patients. This is what is happening now in Al Shifa hospital.

It is a hospital and this is happening to them.

Thousands of people, women, children and innocent men and civilians are stuck in a building, in Al Shifa hospital without food, without water.

They started to drink the hospital storage saline solutions. It's the only liquids that they have.

And no one is talking about that. No one, no media, not enough media, no government, no one is talking about this.

And this is not the only horrific thing that happened today in the north of Gaza Strip, by the way, today between ten to 20 people were killed by the israeli shooting on the liquid roundabout while they were waiting for their humanitarian aid.

They were waiting for food because they're starving to death. In the north of Gaza Strip, in Ramadan months, they were waiting for food and they were killed by the israeli army.

How many times we need to scream more about that?

The north of Gaza Strip is under attack like it was the first days of this genocide. Exactly.

They are brutally killed and bombed. It is a hospital with thousands of innocent people, medical staff, injuries, civilians, and they are starved - to death. They are without water, without treatment

They are bleeding in front of each other until the death. And everyone is out of the building executed by snipers or inside starving to death.

This is what is happening now inside Al Shifa Hospital now, at this moment, for six days.

transcript end

caption:

North updates, very important.. watch to the end.

[zatdummesmadchen]

This is what reading this post felt like:

"Why wasn't any of this in the news?"

The same reason why wasn't there any other American or any war crimes being perpuated by their allies broadcasted on the news. Think, use your brain. Not to mention many Arabian media outlets were talking about it. For fucking decades.

"All these random Muslims,"

sure because no other people at all have ever spoken up for Palestine and all of them are Muslim. Let's forget multiple people speaking out against this for decades. Sure.

"Never knew about the Middle East"

Seems like you don't man, also let's not pretend most of the outrage are not coming from Arabian refugees themselves who just want to go home in peace. Some of them being fucking Palestinians themselves.

"No proof"

Sigh. Yeah because the UN and multiple internationally recognised humanitarian organisations have never reported it or documented it. Or multiple dozen journalists. Or many documentaries. Sure.

"Driving cars, without hijab without fear of being beaten to death"

Classic islamophobic take. Bro has probably never stepped foot in middle east, literally step in Kuwait or Qatar, or many other countries except say, Iran and no one would harm you for not wearing a hijab. And many of them have been speaking out for decades. Like omg.

This was so funny wtf

[catigereptile]

FYI, it's the Jordan River and the Mediterranean sea. LMAO

Also:

Most Palestinians are light-skinned and Kufiya aren't hijab. Most Palestinian women aren't hijabi (except for those being forced by Hamas). Arabs (except younger Arab-Americans) do NOT think of Palestinians as their "brothers and sisters," Palestinians are discriminated against, oppressed, have been expelled, and are the victims of military attacks throughout the ENTIRE Middle East and North Africa. Like in the early 90s when Kuwait expelled 300,000 Palestinians from their homes. Syrian massacres on Palestinian refugee camps. Egyptian blockade on Gaza and flooding tunnels where Palestinian refugees try to escape.

Half of the "brownface-wearing culturally appropriating white Zionists" in "isnotreal" - 50% of them - are Jews literally from the Middle East. Literally from Arab countries, they're called Mizrahim. They've been eating hummus for 5000 years. And even the Ashkenazi remained culturally similar to the middle east because the Europeans wouldn't let them integrate. And they didn't just stroll down here. Have you ever heard of the post-WWII Kielce Pogrom? The Farhud?

You Americans have to racialize EVERYTHING because it's gotta be light skinned Foreign Colonists oppressing and displacing Indigenous Brown People(tm) because how else could we have possibly ended up in this situation?

Actually, you're right. It was light skinned foreign colonists: BRITAIN and FRANCE carved up Palestine, BEHIND THE BACKS of BOTH the Arabs and the Jews moving to the BRITISH COLONY that "The British Mandate of Palestine" was after WWI and before 1948. Do you assholes KNOW what you all did after WWI? Have you ever even HEARD of the League of Nations? That the ALLIES were the ones who carved it up again after WWII. BRITAIN is the one who lied to the Palestinians after WWI. Have you ever heard of Lawrence of Arabia? The Sykes-Picot agreement? Hell, have you even heard of the Ottoman Empire?

It's been eight months and you care SO MUCH but in the end you're still the annoying westerners making things worse. Normally I'd blame it on a white savior complex but Western POC are being no better about educating themselves.

You want to help?

Donate to the red crescent and other reputable charities. Donate to anti-hamas and pro-LGBTQ Palestinian groups - and show your support for them ESPECIALLY, because things are going to be extremely unstable for them in the future. Learn about Palestinian politics, actually! Learn about Israeli politics! Protest against Egypt while you're at it! And stand with the TENS of THOUSANDS of Israeli college students who are protesting against this massacre EVERY NIGHT instead of complaining that they live there in the first place! As if they're all rich New Yorkers who can move anywhere they want!

And for the love of God, go on Wikipedia for five minutes. Stop disrespecting Palestinians and Jews with your Western savior bullshit when you don't even educate yourself about them. A Twitter account with a brown person PFP is not a reliable source, neonazis are sock puppeting. I could probably get 80% of you to use the phrase "Zionist Occupied Government" if you don't already. Stop embarrassing yourself. Jesus.

Anyway I'm falling asleep while writing on the phone

[im-not-thinking-confetti-cannons]

Day 11: Deepthroating

Warnings: none

Rating: E

Pairing: Boyd x Raylan

Boyd doesn’t sleep all that well the week after he returns from Kuwait.

He’s got himself holed up in a drafty motel that’s barely inside Harlan County limits, because the thought of having to share a roof with Bo and Bowman while he sorts through his shit is just about as distasteful as he can imagine. Because he is sorting through shit. And not just his inability to close his eyes without seeing sand and sun and tanks painted army green.

Six or so days after he’s back on American soil, he writes Raylan a letter, and the sleeplessness and the desperation and the longing wear him down just enough to send it. He doesn’t expect anything to actually come of it. Not really. Raylan was definitive when he left, and Boyd exhausted all his arguments for remaining in Harlan long before Raylan even packed.

So it’s a surprise when, three nights later, there’s a knock at his door.

For a moment, Boyd considers not getting up, just ignoring whichever family member has come to welcome him home. Those are the only visitors he’s gotten, the only people who know where he is. And he’s grateful, he is, but he’s not feeling very hospitable. He doesn’t want to entertain. And – besides. It’s almost two in the goddamn morning. By all rights, Boyd should be asleep.

The knock sounds again, a little more rapid, a little more forceful, and Boyd sighs. “Be patient,” he calls, before dragging himself to his feet. But when he opens the door, it’s not one of the family, not Johnny or Bo or Bowman, on the other side.

“You joined the fucking army?” Raylan demands, and Boyd barely has enough time to register how good it is to hear Raylan’s voice again before he’s being dragged forward into a hug. Raylan holds him tight, almost like he’s the one afraid Boyd might pull away, and Raylan doesn’t smell like moonshine and coal dust anymore, but Boyd still buries his nose in the crook of his neck and breathes him in, all sweat and cheap cologne. His own hands fist in the back of Raylan’s shirt, so hard his knuckles creak, and for a moment he wonders if he finally managed to fall asleep, because Raylan, back in Harlan? That’s the stuff of dreams. 

Raylan chuckles quietly, and Boyd can feel the puff of breath against his hair. “Come on, let’s get inside,” he murmurs. “Before we start fueling Harlan’s gossip mills.”

Reluctantly – so reluctantly – Boyd pulls back, letting Raylan slip past him into the motel room. He shuts and locks the door behind them, and just about immediately he aches, missing the feeling of Raylan’s arms around him, his warmth and familiarity. But, suddenly, the six feet between them seems just about insurmountable, an impossible distance to cross.

It’s been a year, and Raylan looks… different. Less haunted around the eyes. A little more filled out, where Boyd can see. But he’s the same in all the ways that matter – his eyes still twinkle when he flashes Boyd a smile, and he still wears his jeans slung so low on his hips it’s just about obscene. 

“You look like shit,” Raylan says, and Boyd shrugs.

“I haven’t been sleeping.”

Raylan glances at the clock on the wall and winces. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t,” Boyd says pointedly. He sighs, reaching up to run a hand through his hair. “Look, Raylan, I don’t want you going and getting the impression that I don’t appreciate your presence here–”

“You better fucking appreciate it.”

“But,” Boyd continues, “I do find myself wondering what it is, exactly that you’re doing here.”

For a moment, Raylan just looks at him. Stares, really, unblinking, and he has the gall to look shocked. “You asked,” he says after a long moment. “And in that letter… shit, Boyd, you didn’t sound right. What the hell were you thinking, anyway, joining up?”

“You left,” Boyd says tonelessly. “It seemed like such a good idea to you, I thought I might as well give it a try.”

Raylan makes a tiny, frustrated little sound. “You could have told me,” he says. “Hell, Boyd, I was just out in South Carolina. You didn’t have to fuck off all the way overseas if you wanted to get out.”

“Forgive me if I didn’t exactly feel welcome at the time,” Boyd snaps back. “You left, Raylan. You left Harlan. You left–” He cuts himself off, but judging by the way Raylan’s expression twists, he knows exactly what Boyd was about to say.

“I wasn’t…” Raylan begins, and then sighs. “I wasn’t ever trying to get away from you. That wasn’t it. Come on, now, you’ve got to know that.”

And, now? With Raylan standing in his room, his expression earnest and honest and real? Yeah, Boyd knows it. But he didn’t know it then. Probably wouldn’t have believed it, even if Raylan had told him.

“So,” Boyd says abruptly, changing the subject and firmly ignoring the roughness of his own voice. “South Carolina. What new type of trouble have you gotten yourself into out there?”

Raylan presses his lips together, like he does when he’s fighting mad, but he doesn’t take a swing. “College,” he says instead. “Is that really what you want to talk about right now? Because I can bend your ear about the eight a.m. sociology elective that I fucking hate, but I didn’t think you wanted me out here to discuss my class schedule.”

Raylan’s always had a way of finding Boyd’s buttons, being able to hit them like no one else, and it’s both comforting and infuriating to know that hasn’t changed. “I missed you, asshole,” Boyd snaps. “I got myself home and it was goddamn miserable and I missed my best fucking friend. Is that what you’re angling to hear, Raylan?”

“Aw, hell, Boyd.” Raylan ducks his head for a moment, and when he raises it, there’s a glimmer in his eyes that isn’t exactly jovial. He tries for a smile anyway, and misses it by a fucking mile. “I missed you too, you know.”

He holds his arms out a little – a little, really, Boyd might not have noticed if he wasn’t looking for it, praying for it – and the rising anger just drains out of Boyd’s chest. He’s not sure if he moves, or if Raylan does, or if they both do, but in a moment he’s got Raylan’s arms around him again. His breath stutters out of him, a shaky, uncertain thing, and he feels the way Raylan holds him a little tighter, a little closer.

Fuck, this is what he needed.

“All right,” Raylan says after a moment. His hand skims gently up Boyd’s back, warm and solid. “Let’s see if we can’t get you a few hours of sleep before morning. Okay?”

“I feel like I could sleep for a week,” Boyd admits, and Raylan laughs quietly.

All Raylan bothers to do is kick off his boots and turn off the light, and then he’s pulling back the covers so they can both crawl into bed. It’s a queen, but Raylan doesn’t put any sort of careful distance between them. He just holds out his arm and lets Boyd curl into his side before drawing the blankets up over them.

“Just like camping, huh?” Raylan says – nearly whispers, his voice is so soft. And Boyd’s got a reply on the tip of his tongue, something about how camping never involved four walls and a mattress, not the way he remembers it… but his eyelids feel heavy, and Raylan is warm, and he’s drifting before he knows it.

~~~~

“Boyd. Boyd. Come on, now, wake up.”

Boyd startles awake at the sound of Raylan’s voice, confused and disoriented. He wasn’t having a nightmare – he’s sure of that. His skin feels warm and his pants feel tight in that all-too familiar way. No, it wasn’t a nightmare at all. 

He registers everything a little out of order. Raylan’s voice, first, low and urgent, and then the fact that Raylan is there at all, warm and firm next to him. Then, almost dazedly, Boyd realizes how close they are, how he’s got one of Raylan’s legs trapped between his own – how he’s hard, and how he’s making that fact known very insistently against Raylan’s thigh.

“Fuck.” His voice comes out rough and strangled. “Fuck, Raylan, I…”

“It’s fine.” With Raylan’s back to the curtains and the little bit of light from the street lamps they let through, Boyd can’t see his face, and his tone is… distressingly neutral. But he hasn’t pulled away, and he hasn’t pushed Boyd away either, so maybe all isn’t lost.

Then Boyd’s cock twitches, unmistakably, against the hard plane of Raylan’s thigh, and both of them freeze. "Sorry," Boyd bites out, at the same time Raylan says, "Oh."

And… oh.

“Boyd.” Raylan reaches up, cupping Boyd’s jaw with a gentle hand, and the touch is nothing, just a brush of fingers, but it sends a shiver down Boyd's spine all the same.

They were always close, and maybe… maybe Boyd thought about it, once or twice, with one hand down his pants and the other between his teeth, but he never did anything about it. He didn’t have a death wish. And the thought of losing Raylan as a friend was never worth gaining him in any other ways.

For the first time, he starts to think that maybe Raylan thought about it, too.

The kiss Raylan brushes over his mouth is hesitant and achingly sweet. Boyd doesn't expect the first one, but he's ready for the second, pressing back against Raylan and deepening the kiss, slotting their bodies together from their toes all the way up to their chests. And it's good, better than Boyd imagined, on the rare occasions he allowed himself to.

Raylan hitches his thigh up, just a little, and Boyd moans, his hips stuttering forward against the friction Raylan offers. "Raylan," Boyd breathes, and then, "Raylan," just because he can, because Raylan shivers when Boyd says his name and it makes Boyd want.

He'd be content with just that, with Raylan's thigh between his legs and Raylan's tongue in his mouth. But after a handful of moments of mapping his mouth out with his tongue, Raylan nudges him gently, urging him onto his back, and Boyd doesn't know how this goes, not with another man – but he's willing to find out. For Raylan. With Raylan. 

He expects Raylan to settle on top of him, to keep kissing him, but Raylan goes for his pants instead, fumbling with the button and the zipper and cursing in the dark. Boyd lifts his hips when Raylan gets it figured out, helps him pull down both his pants and underwear all together and hisses when his cock is exposed to the air.

The sound he makes when Raylan ducks down and licks a stripe up his cock is fucking sinful. "Oh," he breathes. "Oh, Raylan, fuck."

Raylan doesn't hesitate. He takes Boyd into his mouth slowly, carefully, but it's hot and wet and Raylan sucks once he's got the head in his mouth, making sharp bolts of pleasure ripple up Boyd's spine. Tentatively, Boyd slides his fingers into Raylan’s hair, and Raylan moans around him, his eyelashes fluttering shut. In the dim light provided by the street lamp outside, he looks… well, he looks pretty, with a flush to his cheeks and Boyd’s cock stretching his lips wide.

Raylan bobs his head and sucks, making Boyd's toes curl against the sheets. With every dip of his head, Raylan sinks a little lower, and Boyd doesn't notice until the head of his cock is nudging at the back of Raylan's throat. His fingers tighten involuntarily in Raylan's hair, and he'd apologize for it except for the sound Raylan makes, muffled but clearly pleased.

Boyd expects Raylan to stop – to pull back, maybe, to finish Boyd with his hand – but Raylan just keeps sinking down, pushing Boyd's cock into the tight clutch of his throat. And Boyd sees stars, can't stop the way his hips jerk up, fucking a little deeper into Raylan's throat. Raylan chokes around him, gags a little, but his hand remains vise-tight around Boyd's hip as he swallows and that's it.

Boyd comes so hard his vision goes white around the edges. He loses himself a little, can't breathe until the pleasure begins to recede and he's left twitching in the aftershocks.

He groans when Raylan pulls back, oversensitivity lending the friction just the sweetest hint of pain. Raylan leans up, hesitating when he’s got himself braced over Boyd, and this thing between them might be new but Boyd’s always been able to read him, to know what he’s thinking. What he wants. So he reaches up and slides his hand around the back of Raylan’s neck before pulling him down into a kiss, unable to swallow the moan that rises in his throat when he tastes himself on Raylan’s tongue.

Just as clumsily, Boyd works a hand between them, reaching for Raylan to return the favor, though all he manages is to make a soft, inquisitive noise against Raylan's mouth when he finds a wet spot on the front of Raylan's pants. Raylan smiles, and Boyd can feel the gentle curve of it, pressed against his lips. "I like doing that," he says, and Christ but his voice is wrecked, rough and ragged from how he took Boyd's cock. It makes Boyd's mouth go dry – makes his soft cock twitch hopefully against his thigh. “I really like it.”

Boyd swallows. "I do believe you owe me one then, Raylan," he says, and Raylan nips at his bottom lip, immediately soothing the sting with his tongue.

"Ask me again in the morning."

Boyd grins. "Morning's only a few hours off."

And Raylan chuckles, breath soft against Boyd’s mouth.

"Oh, I know."

find this fic on AO3 here:

[newlyy]

love that chantal uploaded a video titled "I LET MY HUSBAND CONTROL ME." with this thumbnail

Very deliberately sitting there in hee hijab, next to a pic with his hand around her throat. Like she knows what people say about her wearing the hijab and the misogynistic rules she lives under “by choice” in Kuwait. She clickbaited this specifically to play into the idea that her freedom is limited by her husband. And then she spends the video tee hee-ing, talking about how her husband is so concerned about her health and her binge eating disorder and he’s so supportive so “I let him control certain things in my life *giggle* but there’s a difference between…asserting power over someone and having your back…so yes I let him control me with eating now…what I mean by that specifically is I’ve decided to show him everything I eat…” and listen. My take on this is that her husband is misogynistic in the way that all Muslim men are (die mad). But I don’t believe hes actually like controlling her eating. She’s a food addict going through yet another diet phase, this time doing the “my loving husband is helping me make better meal choices 🥰” diet as opposed to the vegan diet or intuitive eating diet or everything in moderation diet or water fast or blah blah blah. We’ve seen this fucking cycle so many times. It’s just another phase and the second her addiction actually rears up and salah tries to actually prevent her from indulging in that addiction, it’s not gonna happen. She’s an addict who will become very nasty if denied. But it just pisses me off how she decided to portray this. And then in her next livestream she has the absolute gall to deny that she would ever clickbait domestic violence, saying, “yeah I saw a couple comments about it saying like it’s DV, it’s not DV. How is it DV, if I don’t feel abused. I’m not being abused…There’s different types of control in life and I think mislabeling it is really horrible for people to do. People getting triggered by my content, I’m not responsible for your triggers so that’s something you should work on yourself” with this fucking face on her face

Yeah Chantal. WE’RE the assholes for minimizing domestic violence. Not your fat ass posting a video titled my husband controls me with a pic of him choking you. Sure. And this woman says she experienced domestic violence with her ex boyfriend. Yet she so clearly enjoys making people think she’s in a bad situation because she likes attention and she likes people to fawn over her and she’s cosplaying Islam so she finds the restrictive elements of it for women to be exciting and fun to play around with. She can’t keep a smile off her face when she’s like “no guys, it’s not abusiveeee stop for realll ☺️” This smug ass, fat ass, scuba dive suit wearing ass, evil queen looking ass (REDACTED).

[probssomethingorother]

🚨NEW UPDATE 🚨

Cried out, to you alone: a tlou fanfic

sorry this took so long to update I'm an ass.

Sarah's death, lots of hurt no comfort, canon compliant

Joel, Sarah, Tommy

Rating: Teen

Sarah's gone. Joel is a wreck. Tommy is caught in the middle of needing to get his brother to safety and grieving his niece. A (hopefully) sad sad continuation of that heartbreaking scene from Tommy's POV

Words: 7,790 -- last updated 10/19 :)

Read the latest chapter on AO3 here or down below ⤵️

Chapter 2:

It was the static buzz and distant sound of chatter humming through radios that Tommy focused on next, ears acutely trained to pick up on the distinctive sounds after years of carrying one strapped to his tactical vest. He took one last look at the approaching shadows before screwing his eyes shut, the sounds of their footsteps and the rustle of their uniforms getting louder and louder as his own heartbeat seemed to do the same. 

His brain was threatening to bring him back to a different life lived - younger, standing on the outskirts of a rural settlement west of Kuwait, apprehensively waiting on orders to move forward despite the firefight clearly visible on the horizon. It was nighttime then too, and distant explosions and screams wafted through the air just as they were doing now. 

The only thing rooting him to the present was Joel’s anguished mewls-more than the most desperate cries, long past even complete heartbroken sobs. 

“Drop the gun, now.” A voice sternly said behind Tommy, and he promptly and willingly complied, dropping his rifle into the grass. If they were going to shoot him, they would have done it by now- still could do it in fact. He knew he was horribly outgunned and his old rifle wasn’t going to do him any good against anything military-grade.

“Turn slowly.” 

Hands raised, Tommy complied again, taking the time to look at Joel and Sarah as he turned. His brother had crumpled over his niece’s body, now barely visible under Joel’s broad shoulders. Obscured under him, the most Tommy could see was Sarah’s legs splayed out lamely in the grass, blue jeans dirty. Yet, even amongst the grime, he could still see the pen ink clearly - a blue dolphin, a pink flower, a red heart - doodles of when she was alive and carefree. Another pair is stained with scribbles too, has a small game of tic-tac-toe she started with him. He’s glad she’s not wearing that pair now, at least then the game hasn’t died with her. 

His gaze traced the length of her leg, ending at her worn white shoes. One shoelace hung loose, and he felt an inexplicable urge to tie it, even though it mattered none now. 

He always used to help her tie her shoes when she was little. She is still little - was little. 

Of all the details to notice and memories to remember, he hated that these were what he was now left with- doodles and undone laces. 

Tommy swallowed and cleared his throat, “We ain’t sick,” he called, voice shaky as he turned the rest of the way away from Joel and Sarah. Unbeknownst to him, echoing Joel from mere moments ago. 

Once fully turned he found the soldier wasn’t even armed, or at least not holding a gun in his grasp. The only thing pointing at the three of them was a flashlight. There were two other soldiers a few paces behind the lead, but even their guns were trained down towards the ground -fingers still on the triggers of course. 

The sight should have settled Tommy, but after everything that has happened tonight, a general feeling of being unsettled can’t be unstuck from his body. 

The military just had tried to kill his whole family, he wasn’t going to just drop his guard completely at the sight of lowered guns.  

“Ain’t going to make a move toward you either - no need to do anything to us, alright?” he stated, his raised left arm coming closer to his face to shield his eyes from the flashlight's piercing glare.

The soldier shifted the light’s beam from Tommy to Joel and Sarah, letting it rest on them as he took measured steps in their direction. Tommy stood still, held by the silent threat of being gunned down, his gaze intently following the soldier as he neared them. 

There was a clear question hanging in the air, even if going unsaid. 

“He - ,” Tommy gulped, “she’s gone….it’s his daughter.” He pushed out, the truth threatening to close his throat.

He yearned to add, “killed by one of your fucking friends,” but now hardly seemed the time to be picking fights. 

The soldier came to a halt, just inches from Joel and Sarah, flashlight still trained on their bundled form. Joel rocked back and forth as he whispered sweet nothings to her, still utterly distraught and seemingly oblivious to the precarious position they were now in.

“Joel.” Tommy pleaded, albeit without much force, hoping his brother would finally just key into the situation. 

But the situation for Joel was simple. The light of his life was gone. His fucking baby was dead. Bleeding out in his arms. The situation was that he would follow her to the ends of the earth, and stay by her side forever. What was happening around them could all be dammed. He was staying with his girl even if that meant following her to the other side. He didn’t care.

A ray from the flashlight hit Joel’s eyes in just the right way and he squinted, forcing them to shut, squeezing out even more tears. His gaze flickered to the source, and for a second, it looked like he finally might be cluing into reality, but just as quickly, his head moved back down, eyes on Sarah. 

Tommy lowered his arms, drooping them at his sides, defeated. 

The soldier cautiously retreated a step before pivoting towards Tommy. He couldn’t help but hold his breath as he got close, still on edge. The soldier moved the flashlight from his left and to his right, and for a second Tommy thought he was going his for his gun - would shoot him the head, done; but, instead of his hand traveling to his holster, it went up to his shoulder, clicking on his radio. 

“Two civs in the field, not with the crash,” he dictated clearly, his gaze scanning Tommy from head to toe as he spoke.

Two. 

Tommy was about to correct him, but then abruptly stopped, words falling to silence as his mouth went from open to shut with a long sigh. 

“Copy,” crackled a voice through the radio, distorted by static. The soldier waited, taking another look at Joel and Sarah, and then to his unit members, and then back to Tommy.  

For a long moment, the air was filled with no talking, just the chorus of Joel’s cries, distant sirens, the hum of the engines, and the chirping cicadas - somehow still heard amongst the onslaught of all the other noises. 

“Cleared for transport,” the radio voice crackled through one last time, ending the monotonous lull in action. In an instant, the support soldiers were on the move, heading back toward their truck. 

“We’ve got a secured zone, about three klicks north, taking people that way. Get in the truck.” 

Tommy nodded quickly, despite some reservations. His mind caught on “secured” and the logical part of him was clinging to it, knowing it was the best choice.  “Okay, okay,” he mumbled lowly. 

“Get him moving.” The soldier told Tommy, turning on his heels and walking away, leaving Tommy to it. 

It. 

Getting his brother and dead niece off the ground. Off the spot she died. Off the spot Joel’s life changed forever. Up and away, like it wasn’t the end of the fucking world, like it wasn't the end of everything. 

Tommy took a deep breath, using the brief moment to gather his wits. He made a cautious step toward Joel feeling every inch of ground under his boots.

"Joel," Tommy practically whispered, bending down beside his brother. He gently laid a hand on Joel's shoulder, squeezing slightly, trying to convey support and urgency in one touch. "Joel, we have to go.” 

Joel's entire frame trembled under Tommy's grip, but he didn’t respond. His face was buried in Sarah's curly hair, his arms clutching her tightly to his chest, hands scrambling to keep Tommy’s shirt wrapped over her. His breaths were ragged, each one sounding like it was tearing its way out of his throat. 

”Joel,”  voice soft but insistent. Tommy’s heart was breaking with every word, “they’ve got a place for us, somewhere safe, we need to move now, okay? It’s time to move.”

No response. Just strangled sounds like Joel was some dying animal. 

(Dying, yes, he was.)

Taking another long breath, Tommy snaked his arm from Joel’s shoulder to his back, coming more toward the side of him, positioning his own body closer to Sarah’s head. He minded the space carefully, not wanting to jostle her body as it hung in Joel’s grip. 

“I know this is hard man, I know…” Tommy muttered, eyes on Sarah for a moment, as his hand rubbed tenderly in soft circles. He could feel tears forming in his own eyes again, his nose itching as his jaw began to quiver. 

He wasn’t sure why it hadn’t caught him up before, but Sarah’s open eyes suddenly seemed to be bearing into his soul. Deep big brown eyes. 

He used to tease her with that song - Brown-Eyed Girl.  Make her scream the “sha-la-la’s” with him while all the windows were down in the pickup. Hair flying, music blaring, big smiles everywhere. 

He sniffed back tears as a particularly loud ring of a police siren echoed somewhere close, calling him back to attention. He looked around, momentarily dazed the last few moments, feeling almost fuzzy. The soldiers were a few paces out, looking less than enthused, borderline irritated - impatient. 

Tommy wiped his hand down his face, trying to clear the flood of somber emotions. They both couldn’t go off into a haze, someone had to stay present. 

He could hear his heartbeat echoing in his ears as he tore his gaze away from the transport and back to his family. Swallowing, he removed his hand from Joel’s back and brought it to his face, his other hand doing the same, and then gently moved it away from Sarah to meet his gaze. Although their eyes met each other, Tommy still couldn’t tell if Joel was seeing him. Or listening. 

“We are going. Get. Up.” Tommy said sternly. 

A zoom of a helicopter overhead had Tommy pulling his shoulders up to his ears instinctively, head wanting to turn up to follow the sound, but he couldn’t. He was cradling his brother's face in his hands - he couldn’t get lost in the commotion. He had to stay with Joel. Joel had to stay with him. 

“Get a move on!” One of the soldiers yelled over the increasing sounds whirling in the air. He didn’t have to say it, Tommy knew. 

He was trying. 

“Joel, it’s-” 

Another helicopter rushed above drowning out Tommy’s voice, low enough that wind picked around them, grass blowing, hair swept up.

Gritting his teeth, he began again: “You’ve got to listen to me. It’s time to move. We can’t stay here.  They’re going to take us out of here.” 

When his eyes darted around Joel’s face, it was then that he noticed his own hands were shaking, the quivers jostling Joel’s head. Tommy couldn’t tell if it was the adrenaline or if was unintentionally doing so out of frustration. 

It didn’t matter much either way. 

Joel’s eyes looked through him, red and puffy. Unblinking. He was practically as unresponsive as Sarah now. 

“Let’s go!” Their transport called aggressively, the command punctuated by the sound of a spread of heavy gunfire, too close for comfort, but not immediately a threat.  Still, it made a wave of goosebumps travel up Tommy’s spine as a distinct ringing started filling his ears. 

The tunnel vision was incoming, he could feel it. If they stayed out here like this for much longer he wasn’t sure he could stay here. He screwed his eyes shut, and then forcefully opened them, recentering. 

Joel. Sarah. Out. 

Get them out.  

Tommy’s grip tightened, fingers pushing into Joel’s skin as he firmly shook his head, exasperation bursting through his otherwise calm demeanor.  

“Joel!,” he said sternly, desperately.  

“You need to get up now. We are going. We are fucking going.” 

His chest was heaving, anger and frustration and overwhelming sadness mixing with a new wave of adrenaline - adrenaline that felt disgustingly similar to the type he would carry in his body day after day, years ago. Adrenaline that kept him fighting on the frontlines, evading gunfire, extinguishing hostiles, and dragging his battle buddies across the ground to safety. 

He never left a man behind. He wasn’t going to make Joel the first. He didn’t want to drag him - drag Sarah - but Jesus fuck if Joel didn't start moving soon he would do it. 

Thankfully, that wouldn’t be the case. 

With a slow solemn blink from Joel, Tommy released a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and then released his hands too. He slid them down to Joel’s shoulders’ giving him a little pat of encouragement for him to continue to break out of his grief-induced trance.

“Just gotta move brother, that’s all,” he whispered with a flicker of hope that Joel was truly finally, responding. 

Joel’s eyes flicked back down to Sarah before giving Tommy a long slow nod and dragging in an equally long breath. He shifted in his spot, right arm looping under Sarah’s knees, left hand coming to her head to press it against his chest, as he shakily rose from the ground with her, his own knees buckling. 

She wasn’t heavy by any means, but the weight of his sorrow threatened to bring him right back down. Joel swayed for a second, feet crunching in the grass as the sought a steady stance. His eyes were hollow, but at least he was standing. There was progress.

The shirt Tommy had lent melted off Sarah’s form, landing in a heap at Joel’s feet. He watched it fall listlessly before his gaze refocused back on the now pair. Uncovered once more, he was reminded just how much blood a body can hold - fuck. 

Taking a breath, Tommy muttered a soft, “Alright,” with a curt nod, scooping his rifle from the ground before placing a hand gently at Joel’s elbow ushering him toward the trucks. 

The trio barely got more than two steps before the lead soldier was loudly barking at them from a yard away, shaking his head.

“Just two. You two. You can’t take her.”

He should have seen this coming, heard him speak it over the radio for godsakes, but still, it landed like a punch in the gut. It hit Joel hard too - automatically crumpling down with his baby girl in his arms. 

Tommy tried to keep him upright, but the flimsy grasp on only one of Joel’s arms did little. 

Joel was back on the ground, staring at his child, wiping gently at her face. 

Tommy looked at Joel and then back to the soldiers, and then once again found himself kneeling in front of his brother. 

Surprisingly, Joel was the first to speak this time.

“Ain’t leaving her Tommy. Can’t -“

“-I know, I know but….it’s time….we’ll…we’ll come back.“

Tommy hated the words coming out of his mouth, hated what he was suggesting, but he found himself saying it nonetheless. He knew if they left now, they weren’t coming back. His heart sank to the ground.

Joel shook his head, a new wave of tears pouring down his face, he knew it too and he wasn’t going to ever let that become a reality.

“I’ve got her, go… I ain’t going,” Joel said choppily, words getting caught in his throat. 

“Please Joel,” he begged- practically whined -tugging at Joel’s arm in a futile attempt to make him budge. It came out almost childlike, the sound reminiscent of when he would press Joel to go play catch in the yard or ride their bikes together. 

He just needed his big brother to listen. 

“Uh-uh,” Joel mumbled, heading falling atop Sarah’s once more, smushing his cheek into her hair, head turned away from Tommy defiantly. 

“You coming or what?” The soldier yelled again as he began walking back toward Tommy and Joel, clearly in no mood to be dealing with them any longer. “Don’t got all night,” he added, coming to a halt just above the pair, practically hovering. 

Tommy looked up and gave him a nod. 

“I know, I know….he’s just…he ain’t…” His voice trailed off, weighed down by an overwhelming desperation and a bit of hopelessness. 

He knew Joel wasn’t going to move, not without his baby.  

Tommy had been prepared to move them both,  drag them all the way to the truck, and chuck them inside, but hell, ripping his brother away from his child? That was an entirely different task - almost inconceivable. 

His eyes came back to Joel and Sarah. 

Sarah - a dainty little thing under Joel’s rigid form. She was small, and seemed even smaller now - it wasn’t going to be that much of a difference in two bodies versus three.

Shaking his head, he looked back up, anxiety and hopelessness plastering his face. Although a proud man, begging wasn’t beneath him. Not today.

“Can ya’ just let him take her, she won’t take up room - please - he’s gonna, he’ll hold her,” he pleaded, hoping that maybe this was all just about the physical space and not anything else.

“Two, that’s it,” he said loudly over the roar of another helicopter, holding up his pointer and middle finger to Tommy to reiterate. 

Two.  

It rolled around in his brain, as his shoulders slumped and his head dipped down.  

Two.

His eyes bore into the ground as he brushed his hand back and forth against the barrel of his rifle.

Two. 

Tommy couldn’t lose them both.

“I’ll stay…I’ll stay, he needs- he won’t get outta here without ya’ll. Two - take them,” Tommy begged and bargained, pulling at Joel’s arm again in an effort to get him to stand. Joel barely moved, but Tommy knew they were pressed for time and rose to stand without him.

Two.  

Locking eyes with the soldier, suddenly filled with more certainty than he'd felt in a long time, “There’s your two,” he implored, his voice teetering on the edge of a shout. “Take ‘em, please. Take’em,” the last words almost cracking with emotion. 

But it was a non-issue. 

The soldier's expression remained stony, though there was a hint of impatience in his eyes. 

“No.”

“Are you serious man? Two you said two!” Tommy spat, his face reddening with a mixture of anger and desperation. His hand gripped his rifle that hung low, knuckles going white. 

The subtle action wasn’t lost on the soldier whose own hand went to his holster, resting it there as a caution. 

“Ain’t cleared for casualties,” the soldier declared, his voice a rumbling growl that resonated with authority, clearly trying to remind Tommy who held the power right now. 

“Bullshit,” Tommy snapped back, his voice shaking with fury.

“Protocol.” The simple reply was firm, given with a definitive shake of the head, allowing little room for argument.

Tommy's eyes darted from the soldier to Joel and Sarah, his heart aching, gut tugging with an urge to fight him - maybe even pummel into the ground if that's what it took. He squeezed his fist tight, pushing his emotions there.

“Come on man….just say she’s wounded, died in the back on the way…”

His voice quivered, his words a plea rather than a demand.

The soldier looked at Tommy, his gaze cold. “Walking wounded or better, that’s all we’re cleared for. Don’t like it, don’t come."

As if on que, two long drags of the truck horn echoed through to them, the solider with Tommy turning over his shoulder toward the sound He gave a little shake of his head before thrusting his hand up into the air, finger swooping around to tell the rest of his crew it was time to go. 

Tommy's breath hitched, tears threatening to spill, eyes wide in fear that he was suddenly about to lose the only real chance of keeping his brother safe.

“No no no just wait, I’ll get him,” he quickly said, hastily dropping to his knees in front of Joel, painfully, and quickly, coming to the realization of what was going to have to happen next.

The very thought of leaving her here was like acid, burning through every vein in his body - you’re leaving a man behind, a voice in his head rang - but he had no choice - they had no choice. 

Another explosion from the wreckage of the plane crash at the far end of the field reverberated through the air, rattling the ground, cementing the stark reality that they no longer had time to wait. 

Tommy's voice was almost a whisper - his own body vehemently opposed to giving the truth any power, any sound- as he pleaded, “Joel, brother, listen to me. We’re going to have to leave her for now.” He paused, choking back his tears before continuing, “I’ll…we’ll come back for her, I promise.”

He wiped at his tears quickly before snaking his hands into the practically nonexistent space between his brother and his niece, trying to find purchase around Joel’s arm, but it was glued so tight to Sarah that there was no room for Tommy’s fingers to weasel in. Gulping down, moving quickly, his hands instead found Joel’s - they were still clutching at the back of Sarah’s head, nestled in her brown curls. Pushing his own hand into her hair, Tommy found Joel’s fingers, gripped them firmly, and attempted to pry away his digits. But, Joel’s grip was relentless, leaving Tommy to bend his fingers so far back that he worried he was about to break the knuckle joint, and at the very least, certainly causing Joel some pain. 

Not that Joel could really feel anything but pain anymore. 

“Let go, come’on,” he all but whined, putting more force into detaching Joel from Sarah. His brother’s steadfast refusal was just making his own heart feel worse, tearing it in two from the guilt of it all  - of intentionally torturing Joel. 

He was, and he wasn’t.

Failing to get his hand away from Sarah, Tommy moved to Sarah herself, scooping his arms under her body, wedging them up and into Joel’s lap.

Tommy shuddered and turned his head away when his bare arms touched hers, her skin already going slightly cold. 

He found a grip by some miracle on her side, but when he tried to pull Sarah close to him, the once stony Joel was reacting instantaneously, more alert than he had been. 

“No!” He growled, almost a snarl, as he forcefully twisted his whole body to the side, Sarah in tow, ripping her away from Tommy’s hold. 

Joel’s wide eyes bore into him, nostrilled flared like he was about to rip Tommy’s head off, before suddenly the death stare flickered out when his gaze fell away and went back down to his daughter, all within just seconds. 

“You’ve got a minute, you can’t get him to come, that’s it,” the soldier informed Tommy, still hovering a few paces away, waiting for the brothers. They had done a service in stopping, but now this had gone on entirely too long. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,”  Tommy mutters under his breath entirely exacerbated. He has literally faced rocket launchers and that wasn’t this hard. “I can get through to him. Just give me a moment,” he yelled to the soldier who was getting further and further away by the second. “Please!,” he yelled, tugging at Joel with all his strength, “…please,” he said in defeat again - to Joel, to the solider, to the goddamn fucking universe.

His every muscle strained as he pulled at Joel's arm, grip slipping against sweaty skin and clammy hands. His feet dug into the grass for leverage. 

“Joel brother, please, I know - I know…we can’t leave her here, but we have to. Okay?”

Tommy’s eyes flicked to the caravan - the soldiers huddled together talking, their eyes flicking back to him as well. He couldn’t remember a time when his heart thumped this forcefully in his chest, when he was this hopelessly desperate. Even in the theater of war, under showers of gunfire, he had been more steady than he was now. 

“I can get through to him,” Tommy whispered, entirely to himself, before moving his sweaty hands to Joel’s pant leg, tugging at the fabric in a frantic effort to find a firm grip somewhere.

Another loud boom rang through the air, some explosion somewhere. The whole world seemed to be falling apart around them, dark night turning orange with flames on the horizon on all sides. 

 “….It ain’t safe. Sarah would want this, she would want us to go, be safe,” he entreated as he pulled heartily with a gruff, making Joel skid just inches on the ground, but being largely unsuccessfully in moving him otherwise.

For better or worse, mercy was taken on the Miller brothers then. 

Invested in Joel, Tommy had become completely unaware of the encroaching military, to the now several soldiers surrounding them. Hands wrapped around his biceps, and Tommy’s body tensed, head suddenly snapping around to see who was grabbing him. There was almost no time to process it all after that- the tugging, the dragging, the thrashing. 

Tommy was being wrenched away further and further from his brother by the second, dragged backward. He dug the heels of his boots into the earth, scraping through the grass, trying to slow the soldier's pace. 

“Get the fuck off me!” he spat, struggling to break free. But the soldiers held fast, their grip firm and unyielding, contorting and holding his arms in a way that made his muscles burn. His jeans roughly scrapped across the ground, his white undershirt turning brown by the dirt. If he had still been wearing his overshirt, it would sure been ripped by now from his struggle.

“What are y-,” Tommy began, eyes going wide as he craned his neck up to keep Joel in his sights, not wanting to lose him for even a second.

No no no no.

His heart bottomed out.

“JOEL! JOEL!”

The remaining soldiers encircled his brother, side arms being ominously pulled from holsters as they stared him down. Through the spaces of their legs, Tommy could just make out Joel - still fiercely gripping his daughter, eyes looking anywhere but up at the men.

After everything, he was still going to lose them both. He never should have trusted them, never should have agreed to leave. 

“You motherfuckers… let me the fuck go,” he screamed, gutterly, just as the reached the back of the van and aggressively pulled Tommy to his feet. 

He tried to dart forward back to Joel, but it was no use, the soldiers immediately moving in an almost calculated formation to restrain and hold him back. 

“We’re trying to help you!” The soldier at his back said into his ear, still roughly manhandling his arms, forcing his shoulder blades to squeeze together as his wrists were pulled down behind him, keeping his arms in my place.  

Tommy watched as the three soldiers with Joel leaned down, and grabbed at him. One placing firm hands on his shoulders, the other two going to his arms, ripping them away. They smashed the butts of their handguns into Joel’s arms, hoping that would cause enough pain for him to instinctively loosen his hold. It seemed to do just the opposite, with Joel tucking himself more around his daughter and holding tighter, eyes screwed closed. Their efforts continued, with their hands, but the guns still were being held, and the pieces hit senselessly against Sarah as their efforts continued- a fact that made Tommy’s stomach particularly roll.  

One arm came free, and then the other, and Joel was yelling. Fighting. Screaming. 

Of all the things tonight to bear, somehow Joel’s screams then we’re the worst. Not even really conceivable words, just sounds. Desperate, painful, infuriated shrieks and howls. 

Sarah’s body was left behind with little reverence, falling to the ground in a heap when she was out of Joel’s secure grip. Her head dropped facing down into the grass, body turning back to Mother Earth. 

Tommy gagged, the sights and sounds viscerally making him sick, a small bit of vomit purging from his throat and into his mouth. He swallowed it down quickly.

There wasn’t much of a fight as the soldiers wrestled Joel away. It was three against one, but Joel fought nonetheless - elbows being thrown, fists flailing, feet kicking, quite literally clawing his way back to his child. His nails dug into the ground as he was pulled, scrapping against the fabric of pants and jackets trying to get away from the three men. Every time he made any sort of progress or got even the slightest bit of an upper hand, Joel was taken back down, dragged, and pushed away again and again. 

Tommy pushed and pulled against his own soldiers’ grip as the others began to get particularly aggressive with Joel, coming just feet away from the transport truck.  His eyes anxiously darted around the tumultuous scene. It was abundantly clear they were hurting him- mentally, physically, emotionally - and Tommy knew it was his fault. 

He wanted this to some degree. 

Tommy found himself calling out to Joel without much force, voice cracking: “Joel. Joel…brother…” The words trailed away as his heart and mind came at odds, grappling with who he wanted to stop more, his brother or the soldiers. 

For a moment he couldn’t pick a side. But then he had to. 

It happened quickly. An elbow to the groin, a falling soldier, a stolen gun. 

Joel raised the weapon up, taking a large step back and free as all the other soldiers immediately raised their own guns at him. It only took Tommy a second longer to react as well, jutting his head back, nailing the soldier in the face holding his arms, and stealing his sidearm in one fell swoop. 

His side would always be his brother’s. 

“Okay okay, let’s just take a second alright,” Tommy said, trying to bring down the extremely fragile tension. He gulped down, trying to make his own demeanor shift to as nonthreatening as possible. He didn't need this to go sideways now. 

Despite everything else happening in the world around them, the only thing that really could be heard was the constant hum of the trucks and their own heavy breaths - every single person on edge with weapons raised at the ready. 

One move could see anyone’s head blown straight off. 

Joel took another step back, and a soldier's grip twitched, pushing Tommy to react as well, training his gun on them.   

“Hey whoa. Don’t you dare,” he said sternly. “He ain’t doing anything.” 

Joel continued to take large steps back, gun raised, eyes glued on the people trying to rip him away from his baby. His Sarah. Everyone’s eyes cascaded around the ring of guns, trying to discern what moves to make. What moves they should take in a situation like this. 

“I’m not leaving her,” Joel mumbled, as his eyes softened, hand and arm going lax. The stolen gun dropped down to the ground with a muffled thump as he took another step back, shoulders drooping body neck falling just a bit, the weight of grief overtaking him again, suddenly back into a desolate trance.

He turned his back on the group and walked toward his discarded daughter.  

Cautiously, Tommy followed, slowly moving after Joel, sidestepping along to keep both his brother and the military in his sights, moving his head back and forth as he walked. 

His heart was beating faster in his chest the closer he got to Joel, hands growing sweatier against the cool metal of the firearm. He let out a long exhale as they got closer to Sarah and further from the men that had almost provided them safety, but it wasn’t a breath of relief.  

Tommy’s eyes briefly found Sarah’s bloody form and dread rolled through his body from head to toe. 

With a fleeting look at the soldiers, then at Joel, he acted swiftly without hesitation, jamming the butt of the gun against the back of Joel's head, rendering him instantly unconscious. 

His side would always be his brother’s.

[iamunabletothinkofablogname]

1. What is you middle name? It's either bait ali or ali bait [roughly translates to house of Ali] [[not many people know about my middle name lol] 2. How old are you? 14 3. When is your birthday? 27/11/2009 4. What is your zodiac sign? Saggitarius 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥 5. What is your favorite color? Red/orange/purple/black 6. What’s your lucky number? 6 7. Do you have any pets? Used to 8. Where are you from? Technically i'm from iran but i don't look it, i was born in kuwait and my mum just tells me to say 'iraqi' 9. How tall are you? 166cm 10. What shoe size are you? idfk 11. How many pairs of shoes do you own? 2 of the same pair 12. What was your last dream about? Reliving a bad memory, then finding the person everywhere and trying to hide while my mum drags me closer [we had to go run errands, but i'd always find him there and i couldn't leave] 13. What talents do you have? I can turn off my emotions :3 14. Are you psychic in any way? Answered this 15. Favorite song? Right now it's honeypie [for the beat, it makes me happi] 16. Favorite movie? idk 17. Who would be your ideal partner? I'm aroace so idfk 18. Do you want children? One day i might wanna adopt a kid, but i aint sure 19. Do you want a church wedding? I don't want any wedding lol 20. Are you religious? Spiritual not religious 21. Have you ever been to the hospital? who hasn't??? 22. Have you ever got in trouble with the law? Never been caught doing illegal shit but the worst thing i've done was like, steal a fucking math book 23. Have you ever met any celebrities? Nat Amoore [author, but i dont think she's a celeb lol] 24. Baths or showers? showers 25. What color socks are you wearing? None, i'm on my bed lol but i wear black socks 26. Have you ever been famous? nuh-uh, thank god 27. Would you like to be a big celebrity? Would rather die /gen 28. What type of music do you like? Vocaloid, breakcore, indie/alt rock 29. Have you ever been skinny dipping? nuh-uh 30. How many pillows do you sleep with? Two, one to hug and one to hide my books/laptop [i don't sleep on it though 31. What position do you usually sleep in? Fetal but hugging a pillow 32. How big is your house? Not ours, but it's medium 33. What do you typically have for breakfast? I don't eat breakfast lol 34. Have you ever fired a gun? If only 35. Have you ever tried archery? If only times two 36. Favorite clean word? supercalifragilisticexpialadocious 37. Favorite swear word? fuck 38. What’s the longest you’ve ever gone without sleep? idfk a week? 39. Do you have any scars? yea 40. Have you ever had a secret admirer? Complicated but yeah, twice/thrice [?!?!?] 41. Are you a good liar? Yeah, when i want to be 42. Are you a good judge of character? I don't think so 43. Can you do any other accents other than your own? I change accents depending on who i'm talking to so 44. Do you have a strong accent? Nope 45. What is your favorite accent? I think irish cus it sounds cool 46. What is your personality type? Entp! [i was esfp then enfp then intp then entp] 47. What is your most expensive piece of clothing? I'm not sure 48. Can you curl your tongue? ye 49. Are you an innie or an outie? innie 50. Left or right handed? Left 51. Are you scared of spiders? only super big ones, but i usually just freeze when one is on me 52. Favorite food? Rice and yoghurt w lentils [imjadarah] 53. Favorite foreign food? Warag anab [vine leaves i think it's called] 54. Are you a clean or messy person? messy asf 55. Most used phrased? "[accidentally dirty thing] you say?" "THAT'S WHAT SHE SAID" [irl] 56. Most used word? "FUCK-" "WOOHOO!!!" "REALLY???" [irl]

57. How long does it take for you to get ready? Not too long but i procrastinate it a lot so a while lol 58. Do you have much of an ego? The lowest fucking ego but i'll gaslight myself into thinking yes anyway 59. Do you suck or bite lollipops? Suck 60. Do you talk to yourself? Constantly, usually internally though 61. Do you sing to yourself? If i'm comfortable with the people i'm around, i will just randomly break into song 62. Are you a good singer? Not good, not horrible 63. Biggest Fear? Things never getting better 64. Are you a gossip? No, but if someone starts it i'll go along with it 65. Best dramatic movie you’ve seen? I don't watch dramas lol 66. Do you like long or short hair? All hair is cool, but i would love to have shorter hair 67. Can you name all 50 states of America? the only states i know are 1-north carolina 2-idaho 3-Texas 4-florida 5-ohio 6-Washington 7-Wyoming 8-South carolina 9-Arizona [on the spot at least] 68. Favorite school subject? sport/gym 69. Extrovert or Introvert? I love people but i get overwhelmed easily so i need to recharge, i've been called an extroverted introvert so idk 70. Have you ever been scuba diving? Nope, seems scary 71. What makes you nervous? being alone with one person 72. Are you scared of the dark? Not really, if i feel something in there i flip off the darkness and say "Fuck you" and it makes me feel better 73. Do you correct people when they make mistakes? Rarely 74. Are you ticklish? Kinda 75. Have you ever started a rumor? Accidentally in like 3rd grade about a killer being in the window of the unit outside our school [i was misunderstood] 76. Have you ever been in a position of authority? Sometimes i have to parent my siblings when my mums gone but not really 77. Have you ever drank underage? No 78. Have you ever done drugs? nope 79. Who was your first real crush? it's complicated lol 80. How many piercings do you have? two, but they're closing off 81. Can you roll your Rs?“ Answered this 82. How fast can you type? retook it 79WPM 83. How fast can you run? I'm really fast, it's very rare that someone can run faster than me 84. What color is your hair? Black 85. What color is your eyes? Very dark brown, i can't see my pupils if i look in the mirror 86. What are you allergic to? Bug bites, dust [well my sis is and i get the same reactions] 87. Do you keep a journal? Not anymore 88. What do your parents do? Not eachother that's for sure /silly My dad is a security guard and i'm not 100% sure what my mum does89. Do you like your age? No i want to be 18 asap 90. What makes you angry? Injustice 91. Do you like your own name? Robert? yes. Given name? fuck no. 92. Have you already thought of baby names, and if so what are they? Nope 93. Do you want a boy a girl for a child? None lol 94. What are you strengths? Competitiveness, open-mindedness, self control when it comes to hurting others 95. What are your weaknesses? People pleasing, i dislike myself greatly which is probably a weakness, self control when it comes to doing something bad 96. How did you get your name? It came to my mum in a dream 97. Were your ancestors royalty? no but there was a knight who was also a poet, hatim al ta'i 98. Do you have any scars? y e 99. Color of your bedspread? I don't use any 100. Color of your room?

White

[danglovely]

Regrading Taskmaster: S05E04 Residue around the hoof.

*Score changes noted in parenthesis.

Prize Task: Most Extraordinary Souvenir

Abba Monopoly is less extraordinary and more perplexing. Mark has a Kuwait themed shirt despite never having been to Kuwait. It sort of stretches the definition of "souvenir" seeing as it serves as a reminder of nothing. Bob has a 5-foot tall Woody Woodpecker that he won from a ping-pong game at Butlin's in Spain. Ultimately, it's still just a Woody Woodpecker doll. Aisling also stretches the definition of "souvenir" by bringing in a bag of her teeth. Nish somehow has the best offering because he stole a fake leaf from Hobbiton in New Zealand.

Aisling's is, at least, interesting. Bob/Mark/Sally all deserve last, but the woodpecker was actually won, not bought, and Mark's shirt at least had a story.

Aisling: 4 (-1) Bob: 3 (+2) Mark: 2 (0) Nish: 5 (+1) Sally: 1 (-2)

VT 01: Make Marmite.

Marmite is disgusting and I don't understand people who like it. That said, I basically have to go off of Alex's reactions on this one. I can maybe adjust a little bit for how much it looks like Marmite.

I disagree with Greg here. Nish didn't present Marmite that he bought. He seemed to change it so much that I would consider whatever he presented as "made." Aisling's doesn't look like Marmite and Alex repeatedly says it doesn't taste like Marmite. Mark's looks close but it is a lot more liquidy than Marmite. Alex says it tastes close. Bob's is too light, but Alex said he would guess it's Marmite in a blind taste test.

Once again, I'm not sure Nish deserved to be DQ'd here. It's really liquidy (and hot for some reason). Alex pulls it out in chunks. Sally has several jars, one of which is just Absinthe. To quote Greg: "Sally misheard the task as would you please show Alex the time of his life."

Aisling: 3 (0) Bob: 5 (0) Mark: 4 (0) Nish: 2 (+2) Sally: 1 (-1)

Team Task: Do something remarkable, synchronized. Most remarkably synchronized behavior wins.

This isn't a fair task for the team of three and neither team does anything particularly impressive. The team of three is slightly more synchronized (despite Bob screwing up almost everything). The team of two's routine was slightly more interesting. I'd give a tie if I believed in it, but I'll just defer to Greg's grading.

Aisling, Bob, & Sally: 3 Mark and Nish: 2

VT 03: Wearing this blindfold, blow up this balloon so that its circumference is the length of a standard cucumber. Spot the difference. Have a look at the scene in front of you and explain exactly what's changed since you've put the blindfold on.

This sort of task is random as to whether to first half of it gets graded. They decide to do so here, despite it not actually having a win condition. The way to do it is take what you think is the length of a standard cucumber and divide it by a little more than three to get the diameter of your balloon. Thus, you'll have really small balloons.

As for the spot the changes half of it, it isn't entirely clear how many guesses they get or how specific the guess has to be. Thus we defer to the original grading.

Aisling: 8 Bob: 6 Mark: 8 Nish: 4 Sally: 4

VT 04: Sneeze.

There's no time limit on this, so there's an argument Aisling, Nish or Sally shouldn't have gotten zero. Surely they sneezed sometime between the task and the studio recording. I guess there's an argument that Aisling and Sally cheated, but it was such a pathetic cheating attempt that it almost doesn't count. Nish gave up, so if anyone is getting a zero, it's him.

Aisling: 1 (+1) Bob: 5 (0) Mark: 4 (0) Nish: 0 (0) Sally: 1 (+1)

Live Task: Stand on one leg for the longest while playing a game of Greg Says/Alex Says.

They all drop pretty quickly. There's two DQ conditions: Removing your foot from over the balloon and touching "any other item." Mark definitely touches the floor when Nish stumbles past him and Aisling's foot is behind her when this happens, not over the balloon.

Now, I think these can be excused away because the previous command was to bow, which is just impossible to do without removing your foot for a bit. Additionally, I'm okay with not considering the floor to be "an item."

Aisling: 5 Bob: 1 Mark: 4 Nish: 2 Sally: 3

Final

Aisling: 24 (0) Bob: 23 (+2) Mark: 24 (0) Nish: 15 (+3) Sally: 13 (-2)

What was originally a tie between Aisling and Mark is still a tie between Aisling and Mark. We saw this tiebreaker play out, and Mark comes away the winner.

[mistikapoetry]

Sudan, the Wildflower of Africa

I have been trying to keep my commentary to a minimum throughout this mess because we have just been trying to survive and push through the nightmare. But also because I am tired of repetitively running through this absurd narrative (in the age of information). I don't have sensible answers for the normal questions like, "who is fighting whom?", "how did it start?", "what do they want?", "what's going to happen next?". I don't know. We've never really known. As a geopolitical bridge between the tumultuous countries of the Middle East and Africa; and a deep well of resources bordered by volatility, this country has never been predictable or whole-- at least not in the political sense of the word as it extends to nation-states.

It is true, our faces have been muddied by wars, famine, drought, floods, corruption, and displacement. Yes, epidemics abandoned by most of the world in the 19th century, continue to plague our 21st century realities. But what is also true is this; I have not known my people to hold back where they can give. To love, laugh, and celebrate when they can. I want you to look at all the refugees of non-Sudanese origins as they pour out of Khartoum looking for a new safe haven. I want you to take this image as a metaphor for the single, undeniable truth you know about my country: We will carry our burdens alone, and carry your burdens with you. The land is abundant, and our hearts are extensions of it.

When Palestine's threads began to unravel at the seams, we crossed the Mediterranean and stood against the Zionists. Then we came back home carrying the dead and displaced Palestinians on our backs. They were welcomed into our homes, at our tables, and in our schools. When countries around us began to forget, close their borders, and shake hands with the enemy. We remembered. We continue to remember, and apologize for the Palestinians now fleeing back to Ghaza because our homes caught on fire. We hope you can come home to us again, and continue to build your careers and expand your degrees. To live, love, and prosper.

When Saddam invaded Kuwait, and the Arab governments took a moment to gasp. We were already marching across the Red Sea. We did not reprimand the Emirs of the Persian gulf for the politics that continue to leave them defenseless. We did not ask them why they allowed the devil to build so many bases on their land, or why they are still more afraid of a strong army of their own than they are of foreign 'boots on the ground'. They called for help and we came. We came with our children, our heartbreak, and our anger. Every time they call, we come.

When the Pharaoh in the north was uprooted, we celebrated. And when we saw the same tentacles of greed reach out from underneath the minarets, we yelled at the top of our lungs "beware of the Wolf with a beard and short gown. He memorizes the book of God, but does not know Him." I do not know if they heard us. But we yelled, and prayed, and yelled; "Protect your revolution. From the military, from the bearded Wolf." Even when we saw ourselves being sculpted into 'blackface' punchlines of their jokes, we yelled and prayed and yelled; "Protect your revolution. Do not let the media distract you, we know how this story ends." I do not know if they heard us. But we did not gloat as we saw our own plotline unfold underneath their roof.

When Libya fell to shambles and the Wolf came. We were around to pick up the pieces. For the first time in our collective memory, we saw numbers of our own children running off wearing explosive belts. We could not understand it. But we blamed and reprimanded ourselves before anyone else. We stood against our own for bringing someone else's war to innocent people's doorsteps.

When the Syrian roof caught on fire, we did not ask who was at fault. We only readied our borders for the Syrians fleeing destruction. We welcomed them into our homes, and gave them the best of us. We broke bread with them, and always gave them the bigger piece of the loaf. They complained that our bread was stale and our house was untidy. So we learned to make Shawarma with them, and plait hair the way they like. No one called them refugees or grumbled at their numbers. Our borders remained fluid, and they were welcomed as you would an old friend who was coming to visit after a long time away.

When we heard the Ethiopians raise their voices in dispute at our borders, we rushed to the East. We hugged them through it all as we pressed the sheets and made their beds next to ours. 'Lay here tonight. At least you are well, at least you have come home safe', we said. 'Rest now, tomorrow we will figure out what comes next together.'

Throughout this, the war(s) had never really stopped at home. South Sudan has been a bleeding wound in our lungs. Darfour was burning, and the Nuba mountains were crumbling. We dropped our children off at school, and saw their bodies float back to us lifeless in the Nile's rage. Our north drowned under flimsy dams, as our South tried to sew a new border together with threads of flesh and needles of blood. Our sons were killed in their sleep, and our daughters were violated in mosques because they wanted to sing a better future into being. You see the Lebanese fuel crisis, the inflation in Egypt, the war and famine of Yemen, and the chaos of Libya? We have lived through it. We never got a break from the violence of our leaders, the anger of the earth, or the tears of the Nile. But we will continue to carry our burdens alone, and carry your burdens with you. We were born to this wealthy land with wealthy hearts and emptied hopes. We have never really understood the point of "doors" or "borders", because this land that has birthed our heritage has always been a land of abundance and endless giving.

We welcome the help but do not wait for it. In all honesty, I am a child of a diaspora. I have not had my fill of the Nile as they have. I am angry and scared and frustrated. My hate clouds my generosity and my patience is shorter than my temper. I do not really know how my people continue to do it. How do they sit in their homes in Khartoum, under the angry roars of bullets and drones, and call out to their neighbors in Medani to feed the Egyptians, house the Syrians, clothe the Palestinians and make sure everyone is safe? How do they take to social media and organize for evacuations, rotate the already sparse medical supplies, and open their homes around the country for those running from the noise? How do they roll out the red carpets for the displaced, and sprinkle it with food and water for the road? How do they still compete to help? How do they return to clean the roads that poked at their feet as they walked through it? How do they still laugh, and sing, and call to comfort those outside the range of fire? I don't know. These are not sensible questions I suppose, nor are Sudanese people sensible people living through sensible times. So I am not as disappointed at being abandoned by those we have broken bread with, as I am in awe at my people. They have taught resilience to time itself.

[benlowy]

20 years ago I was in Camp Pennsylvania on the Kuwait/Iraq border waiting for 101st Airborne to cross and enter the war. It was the middle of the night and three successive blasts woke me. My tent was burning down around me and a scud middle alert went off. At the same time a British Tornado jet crashed at the outskirts of the camp. Half naked and wearing a gas mask I ran into the night. This was what confronted me. Army Sgt Asan Akbar threw grenades into his commander’s tents and mortally wounded Maj Gregory Stone. Years later I would be walking in Arlington Cemetery during Memorial Day and randomly came across Major Stone’s tombstone. I have never understood how I ended up there. #iraqwar #iraq #oif #kia https://www.instagram.com/p/CqYb08hOdtM/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[deborahdeshoftim5779]

@total-dxmure The Palestinians have army officials and soldiers in the West Bank who are trained and funded by the United States. Repeat: trained and funded by the United States. You can easily find this information from the US government.

In addition to this, the Palestinians have three known terrorist organisations that operate as a military: the PLO, Palestinian Islamic Jihad, and Hamas. These terrorists are funded by Iran and Qatar. Iran spends over $800 billion on terrorism worldwide, far more money than America has given to Israel.

Moreover, you have failed to read the terms of America's military assistance. Israel is required to purchase arms from American manufacturers. This is less aid than an economic deal that benefits the US economy.

But even these inconvenient facts aren't the most important problem with your post.

Israel is defending itself from genocidal Palestinian attacks. You need to ask yourself why Palestinian leaders have invested billions into terrorism, rather than good faith engagement with a peace process. Why they have failed to cultivate a productive civilian population that values human life, instead of Palestinian civilians who conduct orgiastic celebrations whenever Jews are murdered.

What would happen if there were no genocidal pronunciations from Palestininan terrorists, Islamic clerics, and civilians? At the very least, a lot less military conflict. Therefore, Israel's need for American assistance would be far less.

It seems that nobody has told you that Israel's neighbours, though loudly condemning the Jewish State, have used military means to expel Palestinian terrorists. Have you heard of Black September, when Palestinian terrorists tried assassinating the King of Jordan and were expelled from the country with Israel's help? Have you asked why Egypt forbids most Palestinian Arabs from entering the country? Have you asked yourself why Kuwait expelled its Palestinian population after the 1991 Gulf War?

Somehow, we hardly heard any pseudo-moralist, bleeding heart complaints from Western supporters of the pro-Palestinian cause when all of the above happened.

Israel's hostile (and often murderous) neighbours hate the very Palestinian terrorists that you're trying to sanitise.

You either lack intellectual curiosity, or you purposefully ignore these facts in order to deceive your followers into believing that the Palestinian terrorists are helpless. You lack the intelligence or the honesty (or both) to realise that you are happily spreading Palestinian terrorist propaganda.

The terrorists need gullible Westerners like yourself because they know they cannot defeat Israel on the battlefield. Their only other option is to try and drum up sympathy from those stupid enough to believe their lies. Others corrected you and pointed out that the terrorists do not wear identifying uniforms, which helps them mendaciously project the image that Israel is purposefully targeting civilians.

And you believe the gang of murdering and raping savages, rather than a country defending itself from such criminals.

just a reminder: since world war II, america has provided more aid to israel than to any other country.

$317.9 billion dollars.

just two years ago america committed over $3.3 billion dollars in assistance.

99.7% of those funds went towards their military.

whereas palestine has no land army.

[mostafaahmed15849]

Professional Cleaning Services in Kuwait: Transforming Villas, Homes, Facades, Floors, and Carpets

Keeping your home or villa clean is essential for maintaining a healthy and comfortable living environment. Whether it’s routine cleaning or deep sanitation, professional cleaning services can make a significant difference. In Kuwait, where dust, sand, and humidity can take a toll on properties, having a trusted cleaning company ensures your space remains fresh, spotless, and inviting. Our company specializes in top-tier cleaning services for villas, homes, facades, floors, and carpets, delivering unmatched quality and reliability. source:تنظيف أرضيات الباركيه

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With years of experience in the industry, we have built a reputation for excellence. Our highly trained team uses advanced equipment and eco-friendly cleaning solutions to ensure the best results. Whether you need a one-time deep cleaning or regular maintenance, we provide customized services that cater to your specific needs.

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Carpets and rugs can trap dust, allergens, and bacteria, affecting indoor air quality. Our professional carpet cleaning services include:

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We restore your carpets and rugs to their original beauty, making them look and feel brand new. more:شركة تنظيف منزل جديد

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Experienced Professionals: Our team is highly skilled and trained to handle all cleaning tasks efficiently.

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If you are looking for a professional and reliable cleaning company in Kuwait, we are your best choice. Whether you need villa cleaning, home cleaning, facade washing, floor maintenance, or carpet cleaning, we provide top-notch services that guarantee satisfaction. Contact us today to schedule an appointment and experience the best cleaning services in Kuwait! also:رقم شركة تنظيف

[indokuwaitindustries]

Walls That Speak Elegance! Discover Stunning Wall Panels & Cladding — Best Wall Decor Dealers in Yamunanagar

When it comes to enhancing your interiors, wall panels, wall cladding, and decorative mouldings play a major role in adding elegance, durability, and style. Whether you’re looking for wall panel shops near me, a wall cladding shop near me, or the best wall decoration service near me, Indo Kuwait Industries is your ultimate destination. As one of the leading Wall Decor Dealers in Yamunanagar, Indo Kuwait Industries provide high-quality products that transform ordinary walls into stunning focal points.

Why Choose Wall Panels & Cladding?

Wall panels and cladding are not just about aesthetics; they offer multiple benefits that make them a perfect choice for homes, offices, and commercial spaces.

✅ Aesthetic Appeal — Enhances the overall look of any space with modern and classic designs. ✅ Durability — Protects walls from damage, moisture, and wear over time. ✅ Low Maintenance — Easy to clean and maintain, requiring minimal upkeep. ✅ Cost-Effective — A long-term investment that adds value to your property. ✅ Versatile Designs — Available in various textures, colors, and patterns to match different decor styles.

Best Wall Panel Shops Near Me — What to Expect?

🔹 High-Quality Material — We use premium HDHMR, Corian, and acrylic finishes for long-lasting beauty. 🔹 Customizable Options — Get wall panels tailored to your space and preferences. 🔹 Easy Installation — Hassle-free fitting without any damage to existing structures. 🔹 Trendy Designs — From contemporary to traditional, we have it all!

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Wall cladding is an excellent solution for both interior and exterior walls, offering added protection and a stylish appearance. If you are looking for a wall cladding shop near me, Indo Kuwait Industries provides:

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A well-decorated wall can redefine the vibe of any space. Searching for a wall decoration service near me? Our services include:

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[linyihuite]

Shuttering Film Faced Plywood

Shuttering Film Faced Plywood is a kind of plywood coated with water-proof film which is resin impregnated . Usually film faced plywood is used as shuttering formwork plywood, wall panels, Flooring, Roofs.

Shuttering Film Faced Plywood is also called marine plywood in middle east: United Arab Emirates(Dubai, Abu Dhabi), Qatar, Saudi Arabi, Kuwait, Bahrain, Jordan, Oman, Yemen, Lebanon.

(1). Film color: brown, black or others

The most common film is brown film or black film . In China, the brown film faced plywood usually has better quality than black film faced plywood. However, it’s not true all the time. Some black film faced plywood has the same high quality as brown film faced plywood. When you making an inquiry, an experienced salesman will know what the real quality you need. 

(2). Quality of Film :

In China, there are 2 classifications of film: Local film and imported film . Local film means films made by Chinese companies. Imported film means film made by foreign companies, like Formply. Formply is the best film brand in China. So if you require the best film for your plywood, we will use Formply film. 

(3). Core: poplar, hardwood, Eucalyptus, birch

70% of film faced plywood we are selling is poplar film faced plywood , which is high quality and price is competitive. If you need hardwood film faced plywood, we will use hardwood or eucalyptus veneers. If you want film faced plywood for building bridges or high buildings, you can choose hardwood film faced plywood, as its name says, it’s very hard. We also supply birch film faced plywood ,which are hard and durable, too.

(3). Glue: MR glue, WBP(melamine), WBP(phenolic)

We use these 3 types of glue.  As for the knowledge of the glue, you can refer to the following articles: What’s MR glue-which is commonly used for plywood / film faced plywood / blockboard What is WBP glue – which is commonly used for WBP plywood / film faced plywood 

(4). Size: 1220X2440mm, 1250X2500mm, or 4′ x 8′, standard size, large size, big size, special size

We produce sizes according to customers’ requirement. The widest size can be 2000mm, max length is 6000mm .

(5).Thickness: 4mm-30mm (4mm / 6mm / 9mm / 12mm / 15mm / 18mm / 21mm-50mm )

We supply very thin film faced plywood as 4mm and thickest plywood up to 50mm. This is our advantage.

(6).Packing: Standard Packing.

Our packing is standard seaworthy packing  .

Applications of Film Faced Plywood

(1) Construction industry: shuttering film faced plywood, concrete form, shuttering concrete form, formwork plywood

Film faced plywood is mainly used for construction . So film faced plywood is also called shuttering film faced plywood, concrete form, shuttering concrete form . Because of this end use, customers usually want WBP film faced plywood , which is more suitable to be used as shuttering for big projects . However, some customers require MR film faced plywood , which are to be used as shuttering for ordinary projects . 

(2) Anti-slip film faced plywood: flooring materials for building vehicles, work platforms.

According to the types of face/back, film faced plywood can be divided into smooth film faced plywood and anti-slip film faced plywood. Anti-slip film faced plywood are usually used as flooring materials for vehicles, trucks and platforms . 

(3) Film faced plywood can be used for shelves and furniture, too .

Compared with wood veneer faced plywood, film faced plywood is more durable and has more wear-resistant surfaces . So it can be used for making durable furniture and shelves. 

[newlyy]

this is the wrong platform because none of you know or care about foodie beauty/Chantal but it’s all I have, so. I was rewatching an old video of hers last night and I can’t remember what she was talking about, but she mentioned being “allowed” to speak to another man online by her husband (FB is a Canadian youtuber who, around a year ago, met and married a random Muslim man living in Kuwait and started wearing the hijab and claiming to be an Islam revert). In the things that Chantal let’s slip in her videos, particularly moments when shes trying to hit the people she’s pissed at, it’s clear to me that she puts a lot of weight into having a man. And it’s so pathetic to me that she, in pursuit of that end all be all of landing a husband, would move to an Islamic country and start practicing a religion that requires her, a damn near 40 year old woman, to ask her 30 year olds husbands permission to speak to another man. That’s so embarrassing. So ungodly pathetic. Couldn’t be fucking me.