#whatsapp with two numbers on same phone

[sayruq]

In February, Adham, a 20-year-old Palestinian, was visiting his family’s home in the West Bank. One night while scrolling through Grindr, the gay messaging app, he received a message from an anonymous user “hey,” the user wrote, before “tapping,” the platform’s function for expressing interest. The user, like Adham’s, had a blank profile that included only minimal information about his interests and whereabouts, specifying only where he lived. (Drop Site News has changed his name to protect him from retaliation.) They hit it off and were chatting for a few hours before Adham shared that he was a university student in the West Bank. That prompted the user to share his thoughts on several professors at the university who had recently drawn attention for voicing pro-Palestine views. “He wanted me to be disgusted by them,” Adham told Drop Site. “Why are you trying to convince me that this doctor is a bad person just because he's against the occupation? It feels weird at first. Just bizarre.” Adham chalked it up to a difference of opinion and the two continued to chat. Eventually Adham sent the user his number so they could message on WhatsApp. Once the conversation moved off-platform, the user revealed his identity to Adham. “That’s when he said he worked with Israeli intelligence,” he said. Using Adham’s number, the user had identified him and began sending him messages with the names and photos of his family members he had found on their Facebook profiles. Adham hadn’t even shared his name with the user, much less anything that could point him to his family members—he’s not out to his family. “I started crying and I didn't know what to do,” Adham said. Adham blocked the profile on Grindr, but soon began receiving SMS messages repeating the same threats. “It was a whole night from 12 to the sunrise,” Adham said. “He kept threatening me, saying he will expose me.” The user told Adham he sought intelligence on Adham’s cousins who, at the time, were in an Israeli prison, awaiting trial on suspicion of their involvement with the al-Qassam brigades, Hamas’s military wing. “He told me that I should go to their homes, search and question their parents and get as much information about them as possible,” Adham recalled. “He said that you can't run away from us. We, you know where you live,” Adham said. “So I just get the SMS card, I throw it, I turned off my phone.” In the morning, he checked his mother’s phone continuously to make sure she hadn’t received any messages. One of his friends had his Grindr chats and images sent to his friends and family after receiving similarly threatening messages from a user who claimed to be an Israeli intelligence official. Drop Site could not verify the messages to Adham came from an intelligence official. But a former official with Unit 8200, Israel’s signals-intelligence agency, confirmed the involvement of Shin Bet, Israel’s internal security agency. The Israel Defense Forces declined to comment.

[petew21-blog]

Family swap: Boys just wanna have fun!

My name is Robert Philip Cornell. I come from a very succesful family of lawyers. And in order to honor my family's legacy I continued in this tradition. Therefore I hope that one of my sons, preferably both, will continue this path as well. Unfortunately my twins, Richard and Philip, are very much like me and their mother. Inteligent, very good looking and thanks to our wealth, powerful. And they know how to use that. But sometimes I wonder if they should appreciate our legacy more than they do now. If you asked me right now and I answered that they were high, drunk or fucking someone, I'd definitely hit atleast one of the three if not all of them.

I was in Johannesburg to help close a company I represent a great deal. After signing we ended having a few coctails and then I left the group to my hotel room. Suddenly a WhatsApp message came to my mobile phone. From my wife Anna

"I'm sorry for interupting your meeting. Call me asap when you're free. It's the boys"

Oh god. What now? I dialed my wife's phone number

Anna:"Hey love. How was the meeting?"

Robert:"Hi, all went well. What's happening?"

Anna:"Philip took the boat. Richard covered him and as soon as the boat left the harbour he followed him. They just wanted to trick me. So now they're once again having a party on the sea, absolutely high as always. I just hope the cost guard will be understanding once again"

Robert:"Honey. I know you mean well with them, but I think it's time"

Anna:"Robert no. You can't be serious. Don't you remember what happened with your father and you when you two did this? Your father wanted to 'teach you a lesson', then you spent a shit ton of money and almost destroyed his reputation."

Robert:"And look where it got me. I know that the boys will understand eventually"

Anna:"So what are you gonna do? It wouldn't be fair to swap only one of them and there isn't another male figure left in your family to swap them with"

Robert:"I wasn't thinking of a male figure to be honest"

Anna:"Are you crazy? One of my sons in my FEMALE body? Robert, I don't think I'm comfortable with that. I can't imagine one of them treating my body decently"

Robert:"I am not happy with one of them ruining my image too or even treating my and yours body, but I believe that they will learn the lesson soon enough. Besides, wouldn't you wanna take those two teen hormonal bodies for a spin?"

Anna:"You're a tease Robert... when?"

Robert:"How about right now? I am in a hotel room. So let's say, Richard can try to get out of South Africa back home and Philip now can try to figure out and stress alone in your body on an island, how to get their original bodies back"

Anna:"Robert... you're evil. Then I am looking forward to see you in a minute"

Robert:"See you soon, my love"

A few minutes passed since Robert wanted to write down some instructions and so did Anna

Richard and Philip were on a yacht, blasting music and approaching the beach of the city they were headed to. Suddenly a text message sound. Philip opened the message first. It said:"Since you boys want to be on your own and enjoy everything life has to offer, we give you our bodies to take care of and with them the duties of maintaining our family image. Yes, you now have to work, yes you have to provide for the family. And yes, one of you will be a female. Treat our bodies with respect and we will do the same."

Philip:"Dude is dad tripping? What the hell is that?"

Richard:"I think I'm too high for this, bro"

A very nauseating feeling that didn't originate from the waves of the sea sweat through the two teens. Both trying hard not to vomit

Richard's P.O.V.

The feeling passed. There was a bright artificial light around him and he felt water coming down his chest. Wait what? How did he get in the shower? Was he that high that he didn't even remember the boat landing, the party or anything?

Richard looked down on his chest

"What the fuck?!?" a deep voice echoed the walls of the shower

"Philip? Did you bleach my chest hair? They're grey you fucker. And what the hell happened to my voice? I sound like dad."

I wasn't paying much attention to myself and what was actually happening. I just took a towel, exitted the shower and tried to find out where the hell I was. I looked around and couldn't find much. It was a pretty normal hotel room, on the bed I saw my fathers briefcase and his clothes. There was a note on the bed:"Wanted to hand you everything clean and ready. BEHAVE and don't ruin my body! Love, dad"

"What the actual fuck is this?"

The reality was starting to him the. The text message, the note, the chest hair. I was scared to look in the mirror, but there was no other way of knowing

"You son of a bitch!" he really did it. My new reflection wasn't the one I was used to, but seemed like my much older one and a but distorted along with a beard. My father is a very handsome man, I have to give him that. But it is very different from the point of view of his son. Your parents aren't suppose to be hot, they're disgusting to you no matter how they look. Yet here I was standing, watching my father's muscular, grey-haired torso. His veins on his biceps. His piercing eyes that I knew very precisely, cause these ones were the ones that raised me. The ones that always seemed the most disappointed.

But now. I was behind these eyes. And my father did this to me on purpose. He wanted to give me another life lesson. "You know what dad? Fuck you!"

I dropped the towel I put around my waist before to reveal a hairy flacid dick. Ew, I never thought I would see my father's dick from this point of view. We'll here we are. But it's not bad to be honest. Might give it a little trim and the chicks would dig it.

I took a second before doing that to really think hard. I had to look away from the mirror causing watching my father jerk off wasn't something I would get off to daily. But watching this nice cock get hard in my hands as I was palying with these hairy balls and the foreskin, that was something. Looking down I was really proud. I am still muscular, I look amazing and I got a nice dick. Doesn't matter what dad does to me. I'll enjoy this punishment.

I grabbed my new dick hard. I squeezed it until I felt pain. And then I started jerking it. I spit in my hand and played with the head, almost instantly. I stopped and resumed jerking. I was hairy everywhere. I wasn't used to that. I wasn't even thinking about this body as my father's anymore.

My right hand was curious enough to get into the jungle between my buttcheeks. And what a jungle it is. I spit into that hand as well.

"Sorry, daddy. Boys just wanna have fun"

I pushed one finger inside. I could that this body has never experinced that. I'll enjoy that even more. I pushed in another finger and then kept on pushing until I couldn't. I felt my new prostate. So sensitive! I pushed and pulled. Almost forgetting to jerk off at the same time. I got in sync and could only scream in pleasure. I was so close. I could feel the sensation building up. If I were in my body I would stop to take care of the mess in time. But I didn't care. I let it pour outside off me. The cum got into my chest hair and on my abs. I let out a sight of relief

Collapsed on the bed, I noticed dad's phone lighting up. Mom was calling. Wait, is it really mom or is Philip also swapped? I gotta know. I took the phone to my ear and answered

Philip:"Those fuckers. What are we gonna do about them?"

Richard:"I don't know about you, but I just had the best orgasm in my life"

Philip:"You're so disgusting Rich, that's our fathers body, you know that?"

Richard:"Yeah, but that didn't stop me. And I don't think you should stop either. The women say that their orgasm is so much more intense, so now you'll know"

Philip:"I don't know if I am ok with that. It's our mother's pussy, bro"

Richard:"Yeah and? I just fingered our father ass. Suck it up big boy. I'll send you a location. I'll take a plane and we'll meet there?"

Philip:"You're nasty bro. See you there I guess. Wait, wait do you know what is this tiny weird thing sticking out at the top of the vagina?"

I packed my fahter's things and set off to meet my bro, or wife?. I went to the local mall and slightly altered my visage. Do you think they'll let me inside of the plane like this? Oh and one tiny request I gotta send to our butler

Robert and Anna's P.O.V.

Anna:"I must admit, Robert, I haven't felt so full off energy in ages!"

Robert:"That might be the drugs the boys took, haha"

Anna:"No, seriously. The boys got great bodies, but our bodies aren't as much vital as these ones. We have to go do something!"

Robert:"How about we continue in the plans that the boys had? Might be fun"

We arrived to an empty beach with no one in sight.

Robert:"Did you check the coordinates?"

Anna:"Sorry, dear but I am still very high. I am still surprised we didn't crash the boat"

Robert:"Haha. It's so funny to see Philip call me honey. Haha, jesus. I think I am still also high"

Anna:"Wanna maybe lie down here and just... chill. Or how do the kids these days call it?"

Robert:"Haha. 'Kids these days'. Philip looks like a nostalgic senior now"

Anna in Philip's body laughed. "Yeah and what are you? A teen king who knows all the trends?" she ran up to him and pushed him on the ground

Both boys's bodies still very high. They very playfully fighting in the sand. Rolling around, like two teenage boys would

Suddenly Anna planted Robert a kiss. Robert was shocked and stared at her not returning it

Anna:"I still see you as you. I don't care what bodies we're in. Even if we were worms I'd ¹still love you"

Robert:"Anna, I... don't think I can do this"

Anna grabbed Robert's new hard dick and looked back at him:"Then don't think at all. Just love me"

Anna kissed him again and this time Robert kissed back. He felt the love his wife had for him and kissed the another boys body back.

The two identical boys now with their hands all over their bodies. Exploring each other as if it were a mirror. A mirror that they made out. A mirror that they were caressing and pressing their hard dick against.

Ther dicks were out. Anna in Philip's body just laughed as she felt her husband sucking her dick:"I understand why you always beg me. This is so goood. Keep going!"

Robert didn't believe what he was doing, but he couldn't really keep thinking that or else he would go mad. Sucking his son's dick was definitely not on his bucket list.

Robert got into a 69 position. Twins giving each other the same pleasure. What a sight for horny eyes.

They didn't talk. They were mouthful, so there was no room for talking. Each gagging on each others dick. Giving pleasure to the other one. Thursting and enjoying the same feeling from the other. They were close very close. And they both came almost at the same time. They got some perfecting to do.

They were in each other's arms, naked on the beach sand. Enjoying the view of the other one. Just smiling at each other.

And just then, the family Butler arrived with security to the beach.

Nigel:"Good afternoon gentlemen. I have strickt orders from your parents to transport you back to your house and to enroll you back into high school. You have your senior year to finish and you have to pass all your exams. Your parents also gave a strict rule of no alcohol, no drugs and no visits in your home. Shall we leave?"

Robert to Anna:"Oh that's what I forgot. Fuck, Richard is good. This is gonna be very good for him. I think he'll be the next one to continue."

Anna:"Did you just hear what Nigel said, honey?"

Robert:"All I heard was that I will spend a lot off tíme together with the love of my life. I don't care how painful it will be. We get to be young again and together. And don't forget that the boys share bedroom, honey." I saw Anna blushing and smile as she opened the car door.

Richard a Philip's P.O.V.

Philip:"Are you sure we're safe like this?"

Richard:"Yeah, bro. They're gonna have to go to high school and all. Nigel already has them at home. We get to live no without nagging"

Philip:"Yeah, so amazing to have no nagging, but If you haven't noticed I am the one with mums pussy."

Richard:"And I bet it's hungry for dick"

Philip:"Why on earth didn't they swap you into mum instead of me. I'm not even bi. I won't enjoy the sex as much as you will"

Richard;"Ok, I promile that tonight I'll show you that you're now definitely on the spectrum and that I now have a magnificent dick that will make you very happy"

Philip:"Fine. So, we gonna party now or what?"

Richard:"The festival hasn't even started yet and you wanna party already. I think we're now the oldest people here dude."

Philip:"Well then let's show them how older people party!"

An inbox story that I played with a tiny bit :D

Could you write a story about parents swapping bodies with their twin kids since they don’t behave. Now the parents in the boys body must go to school and enjoy their youth while the boys in their parents bodies have to give to work and be responsible.

If you haven't seen your story yet, don't worry I got a lot of them in the inbox, some of them are partially written in the drafts and are now just waiting for me to have more time and be horny enough to finish them 😈

[aoioozora]

Simon.

Part 12

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 13

Character: Simon Riley / Ghost Content: Biker! Ghost x Fem! Reader, strangers to lovers, fluff, civilian au Note: Finally a new update! Thanks for your patience. Please excuse any mistakes or if this is weird lmao. Enjoy :))

The following week saw a flood of photos from the camping trip in ____’s phone. 

Johnny had created a WhatsApp group and added everyone, having them send all the photos and videos they took. Johnny and Gaz had taken the most photos, followed by ____, Lindsey, and finally, Simon, who had none to share. 

Upon obtaining her number, Gaz privately messaged _____. 

Kyle: Hey, Kyle here 

____: Hey! what's up?

Kyle: I got something you might like 

____: what's that? 

Kyle then proceeded to send her a photo of her and Simon huddled together on the porch of the cabin, fast asleep, basked in the gentle blue light of dawn, a photo that wasn’t shared in the group. She texted back at the speed of light,

____: You took a picture of us??!! 

Kyle: I knew you'd like it 😂

____: I don't know how to feel about this 

Kyle: Be happy, it’s a nice memento of the camping 😏

Kyle: You got a cute picture with your lad that you can show those blokes who try to chat you up 😏

____: “your lad” 😭😭

Kyle: Damn right he is your lad

Kyle: I know you like him

____: is it that obvious??

Kyle: you’re about as obvious as a deer in the headlights

Kyle: listen here

Kyle: you should make a move on him

____: what??

Kyle: He likes you back 

Kyle: so make a move 

Kyle: before he gets taken away, or you for that matter 

Although she could tell that Simon was interested in her, actually having it said to her outright was butterfly and blush-inducing. She quickly typed away, 

____: right gotchu 

____: do I have competition though

Kyle: not any that I know of

____: okay great

____: I guess I’ll try

Kyle: good luck 😉 

Just as she wrapped up her conversation with Kyle, her phone began to ring.

“Hey, Alejandro!” she said cheerily, “What’s up?”

“Hey, you wanna come over for dinner? I made some enchiladas. I know you like them.” 

She straightened up in her seat on the couch. “Enchiladas? I’ll be right there!” 

Before Alejandro even said anything else, she hung up and eagerly got to his front door and rang the doorbell. He opened a few moments later, chuckling. 

“Look at you, so excited,” he teased, moving away to let her in. 

“I won’t say no to Mexican food,” she winked at him and he rolled his eyes, smiling. 

He sat her down at the dining table and set down the piping hot dish that came fresh out of the oven. “Be careful, it’s hot,” he reminded her as he served the enchiladas onto her plate, giving her a flirtatious wink. 

Poor Alejandro. She was so focused on the enchiladas that she completely missed the wink. Her mouth watered at the sight and after waiting for it to cool down, she dug in and sang its praises while Alejandro amusedly poured out some beer for himself. 

“So, how did the little camping trip go?” he asked. 

“Yeah, it was fun!” she exclaimed and then began telling him about what was done during the 24 hours that she spent in the wilderness. She told him about the lake, the cabin, the tent, the waterfall, and the sunrise viewing, and showed him some of the photos.

“You guys didn't sleep in the cabin?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. 

“Well, camping isn't camping unless it's in a tent,” she said with a shrug as she stuffed a piece of the enchilada in her mouth. 

“And what about your boyfriend? Did you get to do anything fun with him?” Alejandro stared at her keenly, watching for a reaction. 

She chuckled uncomfortably and shook her head. “Nothing of that sort. I just got to watch him swim and cut some wood.” 

He pretended to be confused and disappointed. “Really? That's all? Since you two are a thing, you'd normally expect more, right?” he took a long sip of the beer, “Did you guys even sleep in the same room in the tent?” 

“Uh, no? He wanted to share a room with the guys.” 

“That's a bit odd, don't you think?” he took another thoughtful sip, finding her nonchalance rather suspicious, “I'm sure Simon already hangs out with his friends a lot. And since you're the girlfriend, don't you think you're entitled to have your time with him, or hell, even share a room while you guys are camping?”

The woman gulped, realising the mental gymnastics it needed to take to keep up a lie. Alejandro was sharp. 

“Uh, yeah… You're right. I didn't think of that.” she mumbled thoughtfully. 

“Didn’t think of that.” Another giveaway that she was lying to him. He took a bite of his share of enchiladas, chewing slowly. “You didn't think of it? I thought wanting your boyfriend near you as much as possible was,” he paused, “What's the word… Natural?”

She was in a pickle. Having never been in a healthy romantic relationship, she didn't ever feel that way. She pursed her lips and looked away.

Alejandro stared at her again. “Be honest, are you really dating Simon?” 

She sighed heavily. “Alright, I'm not,” she confessed. 

The man was surprised and unsurprised. He smirked, resting an elbow on the table as he leaned forward. “You're not? You lied to me then. How could you,” he playfully accused. 

She blushed with embarrassment. “Well, you see, I kept getting hit on by random men, and even got harassed once, so Simon offered to pretend to be my boyfriend to keep them away.”

Alejandro nodded slowly, understanding the underlying message even though she probably didn’t intend it. But he would not be deterred, especially not by poorly managed pretense. “I mean, you're beautiful, so no wonder they'd make a move. Although it's terrible that they thought harassing you would make you change your mind.” he shook his head. 

“Yeah, totally.” She nodded.

There was a brief silence as both of them ate. He looked up from his plate to ask, “So, if you’re really single, how about going out with me on a date?” 

She was surprised by the direct offer. “With you…?”

He noticed her hesitation and decided to manoeuvre this carefully. He was normally confident and assertive, but not wanting to scare her off, he quickly added, “It doesn’t even have to be a date. It can just be the two of us hanging out and getting to know each other. Nothing too serious. What do you think?” 

“When?” 

He smiled. “This Sunday, if you’re free.”

She thoughtfully gnawed on the prongs of the fork as she chewed her food. It was the same day Simon's family reunion was. He watched her shift in her seat. Another moment’s silence until she said, 

“I’ll let you know.”

Alejandro’s surprise proposal for a hangout/date left her dazed even the next day. Since her novel writing was completed for the day, she spent her evening considering what she should do. 

Should she give Alejandro a chance and go out with him? If she honestly had to pit him with Simon, Alejandro would win. He was handsome and had a steady income from his work and from being a model; he was friendly, outgoing, and charismatic. 

Simon had his good points too, though he was the opposite of Alejandro. Simon was sweet and quiet, considerate and gentle. However, his bloodstained past came to her mind, and she feared that danger would follow her if she continued to consider Simon. 

But she liked Simon regardless of it. She didn’t know Alejandro as well as she knew Simon; Alejandro never bared his soul to her like Simon did. If anything, they were just acquaintances turning into friends, but she and Simon already had an established friendship.

Besides, no matter how cordial Alejandro was, something about him didn’t sit right with her.

Her thoughts were interrupted by her phone ringing. Upon seeing that it was none other than Simon calling, her finger flew to the green button.

“Hey!” she squeaked.

“Hey, how are you?” he croaked hoarsely.

Not expecting him to sound like a choked frog, her eyes widened slightly. “More like how are you? You don’t sound good.”

“Just a little fever, no big deal,” he replied nonchalantly before clearing his throat. 

“A fever!” she exclaimed, sitting up straight on her bed.

“Don’t worry, darling. I’m fine,” he assured, sniffling and letting out a breathless sigh.

She paused, blinking twice. “What’d you call me for, by the way?”

He paused next. “No reason. Just wanted to hear your- I mean, hear from you. See how you were doing.”

“I’m alright, but I’m starting to worry about you.”

“C’mon darling, I’m fine, really.” 

But she was not convinced. She got off the bed and stood up, saying resolutely, “I’ll come over right now.”

His burning eyes flew open on the other side. “No you’re not. You’ll catch my fever.”

“Don’t worry about that. Is there anyone with you right now?”

“No, but I can take care of myself. You really don’t have to come. I’m not a kid that needs taking care of.”

She frowned at that. “I know, but I want to take care of you. So let me!”

There was silence on the other end of the line for a moment, until his sigh broke it. “Can you bring some fever medicine?”

She smiled widely. “Okay.”

Simon’s arm weakly flopped back down on his chest after the call had ended. “She’s coming.” he thought, forcing himself up with a grunt. He began to slowly gather up the used tissues on his night stand and threw them away in the bin. 

He washed his hands and then brought a disinfectant spray and a cloth, wiping down all the surfaces in his room she might touch when she came. He stopped his cleaning when he felt another shiver rattle his body. Hurrying to his room, he grabbed a blanket and wrapped himself in it and then sat in the living room, waiting for ____ to come. 

She came speedily and no sooner was he about to doze off, the doorbell woke him up. Rising, he ran a hand through his tousled locks and then opened the door. She was right before him, a grocery tote bag slung on her shoulder. 

“Hey,” he croaked again as he opened the door wider to let her inside, “You’re here quicker that I thought.”

“Can’t let my friend go dying now, can I?” she smiled as she entered, silently pitying how pathetic a fever made him look. His cheeks and nose were flushed, his eyes were squinted and heavy-looking, and a thin layer of sweat sat like dew on his brow.

His cheeks rose to his eyes in a chuckle as he wrapped the blanket tighter around himself. “Dying? People don’t die of fevers, darling, especially not big, strong men like me,” he boasted, even though he felt like he was going to die.

She scoffed, seeing that a fever hadn’t dulled his spirits in the least. “Johnny doesn’t know you’re sick?” she asked as he motioned her to the couch to sit down. 

He sat down away from her and shook his head. “He’ll come over and fuss over me,” he chuckled, “I wanted to be alone.”

“Oh,” her smile and her shoulders dropped, “is that why you didn’t want me to come?” 

He quickly shook his head. “No, no. I’m glad you’re here. I just didn’t want you to get sick because of me.”

“Don’t worry, I have a strong immune system,” she bragged, cradling her tote bag in her arms. “Speaking of, I brought you some lemons. They’re good for fevers.”

He smirked. “Don’t tell me you brought the whole grocery store in your bag,” he teased. 

She grinned. “I did, just for you,” she answered, nose in the air. She kept the tote aside and stood up, now moving towards him. She took his wrist and tugged him. “Come on, you should get back in bed.”

He smirked again, planting himself firmly in his seat. “I don’t want to,” he said, voice playful.

She frowned at him and continued to tug his arm. “Come onnn.” 

But he continued to obstinately sit where he was, allowing his smirks to turn into amused chuckles at her attempts to get him to move. She continued regardless, grunting and grumbling, but secretly happy that he was still cheerful despite his sickness. She turned around, back facing him and continued to pull his arm like he was a truck being pulled by a rope. 

He was tempted to wrap his arm around her stomach and pull her to his lap, but he resisted. “Okay, okay, I’m up,” he relented, finally getting out of his seat and towering to his full height. 

“About time you did.” She rolled her eyes, smiling. 

Simon directed her to his room and as soon as they were inside, he made a beeline to the bed and sat down, slouching against the wall. 

“I’ll make you some tea,” she said, making her way to the door.

“I should be doing that.”

“Shut up. You’re literally sick.” she smirked.

As soon as she left, Simon let out a sigh. He looked at the floor-length mirror across from his bed, and he could see how dishevelled he looked. He ran his hand through his hair again, as if it would magically transform him from a beast to a prince. 

He felt another shiver and the goosebumps form on his arms, making him crawl under his duvet. She soon came in with his mismatched coffee mugs of steaming tea, and the room smelled like lemons and honey, the same scent that filled the living room when she came over for the first time. 

“I really like your glass teapot,” she said, placing the tray down on his nightstand, finding him bundled up under the duvet. 

“Is that code for ‘I broke your teapot’?” he teased, now sitting up and receiving the mug from  her.

“Are you normally this cheeky when you’re sick?” she asked with a giggle as she looked around for a chair to sit on.

“Only with you, darling,” he answered, motioning to a wooden stool in the corner of the room. 

She was glad she had to face away from him as he said that, for the words gave her a flutter. “Only with me.” She felt terrible for even comparing him to Alejandro. Simon’s lighthearted teasing and banter didn’t compare to Alejandro’s. 

She grabbed the stool and brought it next to the bed and sat down. While he was busy taking a tentative sip of his steaming hot tea, she took a moment to observe his room.

The confines of the four walls were basked in the gentle light of his gold LED light strips that skirted the edges of the ceiling. The same walls were painted a relaxing navy-blue, one of which was adorned with posters of familiar video games and shelves filled with figurines of those video game characters, huddled together like people at a busy intersection.

“A gamer." she observed. His desk sat opposite to the bed, and a sleek setup sat on top of it with its creamy white desktop monitor, RGB CPU, and keyboard. A pair of cat-ear headphones rested against the keyboard, indicating recent use. Photos were stuck to the wall with clear tape just above the desk, and the photo booth pictures she took with him shared the space with his friends and family. None of the photos were stuck on the wall straight, but like a pack of cards fallen on the floor.

Another shelf sat right next to the photos. It had a few books stacked on top of each other, but only one stood facing her directly, straight and tall. Firefly Trails, her novel. Even from away, she could see that the copy was dog-eared and the base of its spine slightly worn from how much it was read. And as a reader herself, she knew that a worn book was a loved book. A flutter tickled her stomach. She wondered how many times he’d gone through the pages, and if he was one to underline and annotate.

His bedroom had more personality than the rest of his apartment, which was expected. His living room was prim, proper, and neat, but his bedroom was a meticulously organized chaos.

Simon saw that she was observing his personal space and didn’t interrupt her. He longed to ask her what she thought of his room, but didn’t want to come off as too conscious of it. He liked his room for sure, but wasn’t sure if she liked it.

He kept staring at her as she observed, and only quickly looked away when she turned his way. 

“When did you catch a fever?” she asked.

No comments on the room. He was positively disappointed.

“Just today,” He answered as he sat back, “Couldn’t fix a lot of cars at the garage. I felt a bit chilly. Asked the lads if it was and they said no.”

“I wonder if it was from the camping.”

“I think so,” he mumbled, “I was alright before that. Anyway, by the time I came back, I was shivering and I suspected a fever, so I checked me temperature and I got thirty-eight degrees.”

“Oh, that’s high,” she said pityingly, taking a sip of her tea. She reached out and pressed her hand against his forehead, an action that made his eyes widen slightly. “Yeah, it’s high,” she confirmed, feeling the burn linger in her hand as she pulled it away.

Her touch lingered on his forehead and he sighed at the absence of it. He practically wanted to pull her in bed but couldn’t; she was so near yet so far. 

“And your family reunion is this weekend too,” she then asked, “will you be able to go?”

Simon’s gaze turned distant as he paused to take a sip of tea from his mug. He really didn’t want to go. Not only would he have to uphold a lie, but also be around his father for a few hours. He welcomed the fever, wanted it to extend past the appointed date even, but he already promised his mum that he’d be there, and with his “girlfriend.”

“Yeah,” he answered, “My fever should be alright by then.”

“Speaking of, Alejandro asked me out yesterday,” she said.

Simon’s eyes darted to her face. The jealousy bubbled up in his stomach. He had made a move, huh? “Did he?” He asked coolly.

“Yeah, and on the same day of the reunion too. He said it would be nothing serious, just a fun hangout.”

Simon had to keep himself from letting out an annoyed growl. “What did you tell him then?”

“I said I’d let him know.”

He drew in a breath. “I’ll let him know.” It wasn’t a straight “yes” or a “no”. That meant that she was considering Alejandro. His hand squeezed the warm mug in his hand. 

“You should go out with him,” Simon answered half-heartedly, looking away, “I don’t mind if you bailed on the reunion.”

She felt a spear go right through her chest and a small frown tugged her lips. Was she hearing him right?

“I… honestly didn’t even want to go,” he added, “I don’t even want to be around my dad.”

“But you promised your mum,” she reminded, leaning forward, “And I promised to come with you too.”

Simon sighed. He’d never show his face at home if his father was around and it was tempting once again to not go. But he’d miss seeing the rest of the family who rarely came down, even for the holidays; cousins, nieces and nephews, uncles and aunts.

“Yeah, I’ll…” he said in a breathless sigh, staring at the mug in his hand helplessly. He rubbed a hand down his face. “I’ll figure something out.”

She saw that he didn’t even raise his head to look at her. Did he really not want her to go with him? Did he not want her at all?

It was far too awkward and suffocating in the room for her to sit any longer. She rose from her seat with her mug of tea. “I’ll make you something,” she said.

“Wait, you don’t have to-” 

But she was already out the bedroom door as he said those words. He cursed under his breath. Keeping aside his mug of tea, he laid back on the bed, crossing his wrists over his eyes. 

Was this the right call, telling her to go out with Alejandro? Simon felt like Alejandro was a way better choice. Maybe she’d be happier with him. Simon had a history of violent acts, near trysts with Death even, and who knew if his sins were crawling around, trying to look for him?

It didn’t help that going back home meant that he’d be in the domain of that gang he was once a part of. Who knew if he’d meet his old “friends” again. He’d exposed the gang’s secrets to the police when they interrogated him, and who knew if the existing members were waiting for a chance to pounce on him for this. 

He groaned softly as he pulled the blanket over his head. His fever felt like death over these heavy, burdensome thoughts, and he didn’t want to think of it.

Neither did she, but it was all she could think of as she looked around in his cabinets for instant oats. 

She was on the verge of tears. At this point, she would’ve thought she had something with Simon, but he just had to say that. And she had just felt encouraged by Gaz to make a move too. She stood there in front of the stove under an open overhead cabinet, sighing. 

You should go out with him.

You should go out with him.

You should go out with him.

It wasn’t a misunderstanding. He knew what he was saying. He meant it. 

She found the instant oats and began to cook it over the stove with the enthusiasm of a dead rabbit. 

Maybe Simon was right. She should go out with Alejandro. Every practical and logical reasoning demanded for Alejandro, but her emotions vouched for Simon. She had an actual relationship with him, a friendship. Sure, Alejandro would be a better choice, but who was he in front of Simon?

The oats bubbled noisily on the stove, threatening to be burned. She quickly snapped out of her thoughts and turned off the stove, sighing heavily. Digging in a spoon, she found that it was very close to burning the bottom of the vessel. She shook her head.

After checking if there was enough salt, she served the porridge in a bowl and topped it with some cut fruit and some roasted sunflower seeds that she brought along. She placed it on a tray and took a deep breath as she made her way to his bedroom.

“Simon?” she called softly as she peeked inside. 

No answer. His body was still under the blanket, save for the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.

She let out a sigh she didn’t know she was holding, both of disappointment and relief. Returning back to the kitchen, she placed a lid on the bowl and kept it aside. Taking her now lukewarm tea, she returned to the room and tip-toed closer to the sleeping Simon.

His brows were slightly furrowed as he was cocooned under the blanket. Gently pulling it away from his face, she lightly pressed her hand against his forehead. His temperature burned against her hand, but her hand lingered. He didn’t stir.

How sweet he looked sleeping there. Her hand moved from his forehead to weave through his sweat-damp hair, looking admiringly at him, at his thin, pink lips, at his slightly hooked, bent nose, at the scar on his cheek.

The scar. It was a stark reminder of his past, both to him and to her. She hesitated, but found her finger moving to lightly trace the indent on his cheek.

Alejandro’s face was perfect and spotless compared to Simon’s; not a scar, not a blemish. Alejandro was beautiful, more so than Simon. Anyone who had eyes would choose the former over the latter.

But she bent down and pressed the lightest of kisses on his scarred cheek. It was risky business to do it, both for the present and the future, but she didn’t care. She knew what she wanted; hated herself for even putting the two against each other, even in her mind. 

In her heart, there was only one man in this world she would choose. Just one.

Simon.

End of Part 12.

Part 13

--

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[katz-chow]

baggage claim

a/n: having a bad night, this is my version of comfort…also self indulgent like most of my writing.

warnings: chubby!fem!reader, parental trauma, body issues, soft simon, hurt/comfort

there’s a lot of things that simon have not experienced quite yet, such things is the american airport system and how complicated tsa is. however, he landed, he walked, and there he’s faced with the rounding carousel of multicolored bags and suitcases.

he checked his ticket and looked up at the display of numbered areas. ‘11’, that’s the one.’ he watched the mouth of the conveyor belt, its plastic fringes flap against a purple suitcase…definitely not his. but still his eyes trained on that particular spot. then he let his mind wander.

long distance relationships were hard, long distance military relationships were harder. plane rides from deployment back to manchester then plane rides to another continent across the pond, lovely, just how he wanted to spend his first few days on leave: absolutely jet-lagged.

but then he thought of you, precious, precious you…oh his darling lovie and how your eyes shines whenever they make contact with his. you made it worth it. you made every crying baby on the plane, every overpriced water, and every awkward “thank you for your service” and then a bad american accented “thanks”; you made this airport journey worth it.

from here he spots his camo duffle. making way through the people, who’s eyes also trained on the infinite, snaking black, he hoisted it up and carried it with the strap on his shoulder.

his phone buzzed, whatsapp. you.

‘i’m in the lobby, by gate 2!!’

‘I’ll see you there.’

‘🥰😻🫶’

‘❤️’

and just like that, a few minutes later and a lot of sign-reading, he escaped the labyrinth of an american international airport. you stood there, hoodie and sweats on and your head bowed towards your phone. the dark sky outside and the oddly green-ish fluorescent made you look washed out, dull even. but simon knew you, he found you, he always did.

you look up, you wave, a smile adorned your face. you didn’t run up to him and tackle him in a hug that only a soldier could’ve done. and he didn’t have to lift you off the ground from the momentum of the hug, his bag dropping to the tile flooring.

instead you stood still, phone in pocket, as you waited for your boyfriend to get to you. simon didn’t understand, but he figured you might just be tired—which was fair, so was he. so he dropped his bag and wrapped his much larger arms around you, squeezing you tight and breathing you in, nose buried into the crook of your neck. “missed you…”

you smile, arms tight in between your chests as he holds you. he lets go eventually and you feel your body relax. “missed you too. let’s go home” you smiled politely.

simon’s eyebrows furrowed for a quick second but followed you anyway. thoughts ran through his head as he looks at the highway in front of him, one of his hands on your thigh as you drove the two of you home. he recalls the interaction you two had in the airport lobby. you’re distant, opting to curl up into a hug rather than hugging back and rocking side to side or jumping up and down. something’s different, something’s wrong.

his mind snaps back too as you took the exit, signaling the end is near of your driving adventure. the hum of the engine and the bumps of the road filled the air. no music. he furrowed his eyebrows again, medical mask now thrown away as he got into the safety of your car.

and now the safety of your bedroom, which is oddly quiet as he laid in bed, back slightly up as to prop himself up against the headboard. his eyes look at you drowsily as you sat on your vanity in front of the bed. you worked the multitude of skincare on your face and neck, patted it dry, and then climbed into bed, face the same emotion.

simon couldn’t take it anymore. “are you okay, lovie?”

you hummed in assurance, opting to set him down by wrapping your arms around his waist, urging him to lay down with you. he does and he holds you close, sleep flooded him, and just as quickly his succumbs.

he woke up to the sound of a hurt animal next to him, clearly in pain. he rubbed the sleep away from his eyes and looked over at this hurt animal. it was you, curled up, and softly crying.

his heart stopped as he noticed your trembling figure, even with your face pulled away from him. "lovie? are you okay?'

you hold back a whimper as you tried your best to hold back the tremble in your voice. "i'm okay...go back to sleep simon."

he grumbled as he shifted over to you, wrapping his burly arms around, pulling you close. "tell me what's wrong."

the thoughts echoed in your head, resulting in a chill that ran through each muscle of your body, or lack thereof. your mother's words criticizing how you look flows through you mind, drowing out simon's. you grip onto the back of his hand and moved it away from your stomach, ashamed of how plush it was. you can just imagine it, the way it spills out of your shirt, the different rolls, how you sit, how you stand relaxed... you hated it.

simon poked his head up, surprised by your adjustment, but respecting it anyway. his big palm then instead rubs your arm comfortingly. "will you tell me?"

"i hate it."

"hate what?" he inquired, voice low and rumbling. his breath felt hot against your ear as he whispered, fighting sleep away while also wrapped up in your soft blankets.

you finally catch your breath and turn over to him, tucking yourself under his chin, feeling his stubble as you do. you sniffled, opting to breath in his scent and distract yourself from the past with the present. "i don't like how i look."

he sighed and clicked his tongue, arms tightening around you. "has this been bothering you all day?'

he felt you nod under him as he nuzzled his cheek against the top of your head. "what's wrong with how you look, did someone say something?'

he felt you respond again, a shake of your head which led to more rubbing against his neck. "i just don't like how...big i am."

"you don't like your stomach? how soft and jiggly it is? how warm it makes my hands fill, hmm?" he sniffed and sighed, closing his eyes on top of your head. the scent of your lingering shampoo quickly lulled him in. "i love how you look, and don't say any of that shirt your mum said. don't say that shit about how i deserve better than you or something."

you moved your head away from his warm chest to protest, to say that it's true but he growled and held you tighter, preventing you from moving away. "don't even try. it's true alright? i love you and how your stomach feels when i knead it."

you whined and sniffled, his love filling up in your chest-which was once heavy with doubt. it was silly, you decided, that you think he wouldn't like you after coming back from deployment just to stare at you and gag at how ugly you look. of course not.

"you're my baby, you're mine." he reassured you, a pat and rub on your head and then a kiss on your forehead. "and i think you're beautiful."

"okay," you mumbled as he hummed a distant song that you recognize but don't quite remember all the words to. he hummed and kissed you and rubbed your head, fingers raking through the strands.

"now can we sleep?" he complained as you feel a smile form on his lips.

you pulled away from him, pouting audibly, "it's so cold."

"woman, i am literally hold you under two blankets."

yeah you were going to be alright.

[eretzyisrael]

By RICHARD FERRER IN KFAR AZA

Eight months before Machmud arrived at Batia Holin’s home to kill her, the two had jointly launched an exhibition aimed at promoting peace and unity between Israelis and Palestinians.

After connecting through a Facebook group for residents on the Israel-Gaza border, the pair spent months sharing pictures on WhatsApp of daily life from both sides of the fence. This seemingly heartfelt exchange blossomed into a poignant exhibition entitled Between Us, dedicated to bridging the divide. Due to the dire risks involved, they never spoke directly. ‘Normalisation’ (interacting with Jews) is the most serious crime a Gazan can commit.

“We didn’t discuss politics,” Batia tells me as we walk along the Gaza barrier fence on the outskirts of Kibbutz Kfar Aza, where Machmud – who told her he was a 28-year-old photographer from the Gazan town of Shuja’iyya – was one of 300 Hamas terrorists who breached the border on the morning of October 7 and entered her kibbutz.

The 71-year-old, who has lived on the kibbutz for more than 50 years, has dedicated her life to coexistence. The idea of collaborating with a Palestinian across the border, someone who experienced the same sights and sounds yet lived a vastly different reality, deeply resonated with her sense of purpose.

“Machmud and I wanted to show the world that, despite the circumstances in which we live, we share the same hope for a brighter future. That despite the obstacles, most people on both sides of the fence just want to live in peace.”

Batia Holin beside a banner displaying pictures of hostages from Kibbutz Kfar Aza that remain in captivity.

Their exhibition opened in Israel on 4 February 2023 in nearby Kibbutz Nahal Oz (where 14 people were killed and seven abducted), with plans for it to tour the United States. One of its most striking exhibits was photographs of the Mediterranean Sea, showing the same beach border from opposite perspectives: one looking north, the other south.

Machmud was, of course, unable to be there in person, so he wrote Batia a touching email: “I hope this project will influence and improve understanding, quality of life and security on both sides of the fence. I hope that with the help of my photos, Israeli society and the whole world will know that the Gaza Strip is not only a place of rockets and missiles but a place worth living in. I hope that with the help of my photos, Israeli society will see that in Gaza the people are simple, love life and are not fighters and terrorists. This exhibition, for me, is hope for a peaceful life.”

Batia at her Between Us exhibition

Today, in the wake of such unimaginable brutality, Batia’s dreams seem heartbreakingly naïve. Her faith has been so profoundly shattered that she fears there may not be a single adult in Gaza who shares her vision of peace. “The hardest feeling is the sense of total betrayal,” she tells me.

“The sense that everyone in Gaza was involved, even those who claim to oppose Hamas. I realise how awful that sounds. It truly is awful. But I cannot think anything else today. The past 17 years since Hamas took over Gaza have been difficult and it’s got worse over time. Before the attack, people called life here 90 percent heaven, 10 percent hell. Now it just feels like hell.”

Batia heard Machmud’s voice for the very first time at 10am on October 7 when she received a phone call from an Israeli number she did not recognise. He told her he was inside the kibbutz and asked if Israeli soldiers were nearby.

Burned-out homes in the kibbutz. Sixty-four residents were murdered

“I was so confused,” recalls Batia with a shudder. “At first, I thought Machmud must have heard about the attack and was calling out of concern. It didn’t take long to realise he had a different reason. He wanted to cause me harm. I didn’t speak to him. I just hung up. I didn’t have time to think about the call until two days later. Terrorists were everywhere. My husband and I were just trying to survive. Later, I gave all the details I had about Machmud to the army. His phone number, personal information he’d shared, screenshots of our chats. I have no idea what happened to him.”

[billspotts]

Silence, Siege and Persecution: Venezuela’s Media After the Elections

“Today I heard on the radio: ‘Our programming today will be 100% music, because music is a refuge, a safe place,’” economist Omar Zambrano tweeted a few days after the July 28th elections. In fact, for almost two weeks after the disputed results were announced by the National Electoral Council and spontaneous protests erupted throughout the country, most radio shows –including those with the largest audiences, such as journalists Shirley Varnagy’s and Román Lozinki’s– went off the air.

“These have been difficult weeks for all of us as citizens, including those of us who practice this profession”, Varnagy said in an Instagram post after two weeks of silence. “The circumstances force me to think very carefully about the words I say and write. I don’t live abroad, I’m inside.” Varnagy then announced she wouldn’t return to the radio until September 9th, more than a month after the presidential elections. Lozinski returned on August 26th. “I insist that these have not been easy days for those of us who make a living from the radio,” he said on an Instagram post announcing his return.

But the silence, the veiled messages, weren’t limited to Venezuela’s already highly-censored radio stations – of which more than 150 have been closed down by CONATEL, the government’s telecommunications agency, since 2022 according to the National Press Workers Union (SNTP).

As reports of detentions and passport annulments multiplied after the elections, the silence–usual in television, newspapers and most radio shows–suddenly swayed through social and online media too.

Journalists put their accounts private or altogether stopped tweeting, political podcasts halted and Venezuelan independent media started to publish articles without bylines (as we’ve been doing in Caracas Chronicles).

A week after July 28th, journalist Alonso Moleiro accurately described the ambiance: “The prevailing feeling is fear,” he wrote in the Spanish newspaper El País. “Politicians are hermetic. Interviews are canceled. People close to political leaders change their phone numbers. There is a huge hesitance in WhatsApp groups; Zoom conversations are rare. The police harass citizens looking for data on their mobile phones.”

The crackdown against the press ramped up before July 28th, when CONATEL ordered that public and private internet providers block a series of independent media, watchdogs and fact-checking websites. First, on early July, the government blocked anti-disinformation fact-checkers Es Paja, Cazadores de Fake News and Observatorio de Fake News alongside the media NGO Instituto Prensa y Sociedad de Venezuela (IPYS Venezuela) and VPN service Proton. Then, on July 22, the sites of watchdogs Medianálisis and VE Sin Filtro were blocked alongside independent media El Estímulo, Analítica and Runrunes.

During the same period, Nicolás Maduro repeatedly referred to foreign media agencies –including Reuters, AFP, AP, EFE and CNN– as “garbage” and “hitmen of untruthfulness.” His legislature speaker, Jorge Rodríguez, even engaged in an online brawl with APEX–the Foreign Press Association in Venezuela.

Then, the elections came. And detentions followed.

Since July 28th, 13 journalists and press workers have been detained in the country by state security forces, according to the SNTP (four have been freed, including one on parole). Three of them–including Ronald Carreño, a political prisoner with ties to opposition party Voluntad Popular who had been released last year as part of the US-Venezuela talks–were arrested for belonging to opposition parties. Other detained journalists including showbiz reporter Carmela Longo–who was released on parole afterwards, but charged with terrorism–, La Patilla journalist Ana Carolina Guaita in La Guaira, and photojournalist Deisy Peña in Los Teques, were taken for just doing their jobs.

“Our media outlet has a profile that is very different from the rest and we don’t do hard news,” says Irene (fake name), who works in a small Venezuelan digital outlet. “But in the end, as Carmela’s case shows, anyone can get in trouble for whatever reason now without you necessarily doing anything.” The pattern is changing. Before the elections, detentions were mostly focused on people helping the opposition campaign or participating in it. In fact, the three journalists detained before the elections–Gabriel González, Luis López and Carlos Julio Rojas–had ties to political parties or grassroots political movements. But, since July 28th, repression has drifted towards reporting-focused journalists.

The role of journalists in narrating the people’s rejection of the results announced by the CNE and the coverage on their veracity led to a “policy of silencing, of siege, of persecution” against the press, SNTP Secretary General Marco Ruiz says. Similarly, he says, there’s been a policy of silencing the coverage of protests and anti-government expressions.

And the July 28th elections have not only unleashed detentions. “We have recorded campaigns of hate and criminalization against journalists in different states like Aragua, Portuguesa, Carabobo, Zulia, Bolívar, Táchira,” Ruiz says, “Many of them are now in safekeeping. In other cases, we have had to use extraction procedures and they are outside the country because they were at risk of arrest.”

The situation has also changed the content and internal dynamics of Venezuelan outlets. “Everything we had planned to publish during the rest of the year is now paralyzed,” Irene says, “because now we are not publishing anything that doesn’t have to do with what’s happening, because we think there’s nothing more important.” Some of her colleagues, she says, have also stopped tweeting because of the emotional toll.

Similarly, outlets –including Caracas Chronicles– have faced difficulties to find sources willing to speak on the record or contribute with their analyses. “I can’t find voices willing to give a testimony on what’s happening in Venezuela, they are taking a lot of care”, says veteran Venezuelan journalist César Miguel Rondón, who hosts a radio program in Miami, “No one wants to end up disappeared, in a jail, because of some henchman’s whims… I think we had never seen a situation as ugly and dangerous as this one.”

In fact, many journalists have been affected by the massive annulment of passports that social activists, politicians and NGO members have also reported. “I know of correspondents who had their passports annulled,” says Nancy (fake name), who works as a stringer in Caracas for an international outlet and decided to leave the country after the elections. “I know of other journalists who also left the country under the radar, I know of photojournalists who have decided not to publish political pictures on their social media or asked for credit to be removed, I know of international media outlets who are now solely doing remote work to avoid the risk of going to their offices.”

This is why so many outlets are publishing articles without bylines and the alliance Venezuela Vota resorted to creating the AI avatars of Operación Retuit to broadcast news summary videos without risking their staff.

“We put safety of the team and staff as the top priority of the media outlet where I work and lead,” said Carlos (fake name), the director of a Caracas-based digital outlet. His site is not publishing bylines and has avoided sending journalists to cover protests “due to the risk of arbitrary detention.” The team is also using alternative messaging applications like Signal (blocked in Venezuela after the elections) and working remotely. Carlos says they have also designed a protocol to offer a safehouse to any journalist in his team who is threatened and even to be extracted from the country “in coordination with international networks of journalists specialized in this type of actions.”

For Nancy, journalists in national and regional outlets are at more risk but she doesn’t rule out the possibility of crackdowns on correspondants and stringers. “Now I have an enormous terror I had never felt,” she says, “especially because of how random the decisions seem and how unclear the rules of the game are. It’s basically a roulette and you never know when your turn will be.”

The State has also cracked down against social media and digital communications beyond the work of the press. Checkpoints where officers check people’s phone for pro-opposition content, usually leading to detentions or thousand-dollars extortions, have become common throughout Caracas and the rest of the country after July 28th. In fact, the government has called on Venezuelans to stop using Whatsapp and even blocked X–originally for ten days, but the deadline passed on and the network continues to be inaccessible in Venezuela without a VPN.

“The underlying problem is that WhatsApp is the platform that people used to efficiently disseminate information horizontally” and without censorship during the campaign and post-electoral protests, human rights activist Rafael Uzcátegui says. “Censorship in social media is not only to try to avoid people from expressing themselves, or being afraid to do so, but also to neutralize their autonomous capacity to establish links with others that bypass the state” and its media ecosystem.

In fact, the government has even threatened influencers who publicly supported María Corina Machado.

“You have to decide whether you want to continue your careers, first of all, with your families in Venezuela”, Maduro said, addressing celebrities–particularly Miami-based Youtube humorist Lele Pons–and social media stars that hosted lives and podcast episodes with Machado.

Maduro even accused Pons of conspiring to “impose” a government in Venezuela.

In fact, on July 31st during a press conference with international media, Maduro said “TikTok and Instagram are in the hands of imperialism” and “they are manipulating [people] to bring a civil war to Venezuela.” He then lambasted international agencies: “Do not insist on your agenda to bring war to Venezuela,” he said, “you, the international media, are responsible for the death and wars in Afghanistan, Iraq and Libya.”

A month after the elections, Maduro charged against the media again: this time, he accused local outlets TalCual, Efecto Cocuyo and El Pitazo of receiving USAID funds and of being part of the alleged conspiracy that the government blames for the recent nationwide power outage.

“This is an informal curfew against journalists, imposed de facto,” Ruiz says, “to dismantle the journalistic profession and the media in practically all the states of the country.”

“What I fear the most is the government’s level of evilness. I know they are capable of going against children and the elderly alike, and I will die if they touch my parents or my child,” says Nancy, who is unsure about returning to Venezuela, “this changed. And very quickly.”

[kenyatta]

NOT LONG AFTER she started, Uber deactivated Barbosa’s account out of the blue. So she switched to renting one on Lyft from the same guy. Now she drove as “Shakira.” When the Lyft app prompted Barbosa to confirm her identity by scanning her license, she texted the guy she was renting from: What now? He sent back a photo of Shakira’s ID. Oh. She was real. He paid Shakira a fee each week. Driving without a license, under the table on a tourist visa, loaded Barbosa with stress. One night, Barbosa picked up a passenger at 2 am and he tried to kiss her. She had to fight him off and left him one star on the app; she didn’t want to risk calling the cops. Another time, she was pulled over for having her lights off. Barbosa froze as the officer strode up to her window, worried she might get her car towed and end up in jail, or even—who knows?—deported. She showed the cop her Brazilian driver’s license, and said she’d left her American one at home. He let her go. In WhatsApp groups, and while waiting for riders at Logan Airport, Barbosa chatted up other Brazilian drivers also renting accounts. They traded tips about driving without papers, the nuances of the fuzzy don’t-ask-don’t-tell status quo in a country that hasn’t passed comprehensive immigration reforms in more than three decades. Far from an ICE officer on every corner, she heard, if you kept your head down, didn’t drink and drive or pick fights, you could manage. [...] One of her customers left their wallet in her car. She followed the woman’s convoluted instructions to return it, driving to two far-flung locations over two hours. Miffed, at one point Barbosa opened the wallet. She looked at the woman’s license, blonde with blue eyes. Barbosa snapped a picture. She thought the woman might tip her or at least say “thank you” for having wasted two hours, unpaid, to do her a favor. Instead, the woman was rude and short, giving Barbosa the push she’d been looking for. “I said, yeah, now I’m going to use this.” Over the next few weeks, she would click through the driver onboarding process on both Uber and Lyft, reading over the steps to create her own account, mulling the risk. Finally, lying in bed on Christmas night, the first one she’d spent without her family, it was time: She opened her phone and scrolled to the blonde woman’s license. Barbosa uploaded the license to the Uber app. She used the woman’s name but her own insurance and registration. She entered her own iCloud email and phone number and set her own picture—brown hair, brown eyes—on the driver profile. She made up a Social Security number, submitted the application, and went to sleep. The next day, Uber approved the account. Like that, Barbosa was in business for herself.

[eybefioro]

Me: no, pfftt, I don't have adhd, my therapist must've been wrong.

Also me: doing a presentation last minute bc couldn't concentrate on it for the last 3 weeks. Taking half a day off work to do it. Arriving home and only starting it after TWO HOURS (what I did in the meantime? No clue). Sit down on pc to finally read the damm text. Get distracted by earphones working only on the left side. Remember all my earphones and headsets are only working on the left side (maddening. Crowley must be the one doing it.... resists the urge to open AO3). Gets pissed off. Open amazon. Start researching for earphones. Remember I've already saved a headset I wanted to buy. Goes log in (in the meantime, getting more stressed with the song only playing on one side). Forgets password. Resets password. Opens email to get the number thing. Oh no, there's important unread emails. Open one. Remembers I haven't checked a thing I had to check two weeks ago. Opens new tab (limbo time doing randomthings instead of checking the thing). Remembers I was trying to reset my password. Does so finally, then I remember I still wasnt paid, so I can't buy a new headphone -- which leads me to open WhatsApp bc I remember I havent answered a work related message (limbo tome where i solve work things).

Oh no there are many messages. Better to get my phone to answer them faster. I don't know where my phone is. Gets up to look for it. 15 minutes later I find it under my notebook, on the desk I was in the first place -- dammit, I was trying to do this assignment, wasn't I? Sits down on the pc again. FINALLY OPENS THE DOCUMENT. I should open canva, so I can go faster -- reading and making slides at the same time. GANIUS IDEA. Oh no there are so many options (limbo time I spent looking at too many design options). Remembers a friend was going thru the same thing a while ago. I was talking to said friend and forgot midway. Opens discord. Oh! Someone sent me a tumblr post (a limbo of doom scroll time)

Dear God I am going crazy. I'm at this for more than an hour now.

[fractalkiss]

12 for strollonso 🩷

for prompt #12 "straightforward" pt. 2 of hooker au, pt. 1

As they wait for the food, Lance starts to wonder if being here is a mistake. Fernando explained on the way to Vardo that the time for brunch was practically paid for. Lance can tell that Fernando's kind of fucking with him like this as well, but he can't be bothered to find a good counter for it. He should have asked Daniel more about this when he'd looked up that shady Instagram handle and their website Daniel talked about, but Lance still hasn't saved his number from that WhatsApp group with Scotty to quickly shoot Daniel a text now. Would he even respond that fast?

"You never told what happened to your wrists," Fernando says suddenly.

Lance stretches his fingers out over his phone absently, before flipping it face down. "Cycling accident with some friends. It happened a little over two weeks ago or something."

"Where?"

"A trail in Shefford," Lance replies.

"Chicksands?" Fernando's adjusting his cap, the ends of his hair stubbornly curling underneath. He switches the cap backwards. "I go mountain biking sometimes, not in Chicksands."

"So where?" Lance asks, but Fernando purses his mouth like he'd rather not say.

"Swinley," Fernando answers anyway, with a slight smile. "Might have been worse for you there."

"Yeah that's—intense," Lance says. He has trouble imagining it, looking at Fernando's expression, hard-set, unreadable, but his palms are rough, hands and face sun-weathered and tanned. Lance had said marks were fine, and he'd given it to Lance, his hold tight on his hips. Lance's thighs still ache now.

"I broke hands before, so yeah it is hard. I was very bored after surgery, as you must be now," Fernando says.

"It sucks," Lance agrees, feels himself frown a little as Fernando keeps his gaze on him. He's just using Fernando for sex. Lance can give him that advance if he wants one, but it seems wrong to skip this and not feel it out. If Lance is paying for Fernando's time, he'd like to know what he's cutting into. He'd probably do the same if it was this other guy named Seb that they proposed to him at first, probably. They had Seb's times all mixed up, so Lance was fine with the change, and that they'd get him someone who'd been there a while as well and knew what they were doing, someone else a lot older, which fit Lance's criteria anyway. He kind of wants to know more now about the mountain biking and what Fernando did to kill his boredom.

"That's something you should tell me about some more. Part of terms," Fernando says, looking toward Lance's wrist by his seltzer can. "If you do not say, it seems out of negligence on both ends and no one ends up happy if you hurt more."

"If I didn't like something, I would just say so," Lance points out.

"Yes, you have no problem with that," Fernando agrees easily, and he seems satisfied, if not amused as he's leaning forward over his plate of poached eggs and tomato, smiling to himself.

[alatariel-gildaen]

I am not doing well.

At all.

Yesterday was my birthday. I turned 42. I live at house number 42. As a life-long Hitchhiker's Guide fan, this is a birthday I've looked forward to for years (for my brother's 42nd a couple of years ago, I bought him a bowl of jet-black petunias, with a whale toy nestled amongst them. I was wondering how he would top it) but I cancelled my birthday this year.

Last year, my family drove down to visit us. My side of the family isn't large. Both sets of grandparents are dead, my mum was an only child, my dad's brother - who never had kids of his own - died when I was about 4. My brother is single and doesn't want kids or a partner. So my side of the family is me, my parents, my brother.

And we're close.

So yeah... they drove down to see me for my birthday. They stayed a couple of nights. They were going to leave shortly after breakfast on the morning of March 16th, but I persuaded them to stay just a little longer. To come with us to soft play, and then go after lunch.

They left mine at about 2pm. My little boy gets very distressed when people leave, so they had to sneak out (hence why they were originally going to leave after breakfast, straight from the hotel, so they didn't upset him.) As predicted, he got upset, and I texted mum. She answered straight away.

Anyway. She always gives me updates when she's on the road.

"We've just crossed the bridge. We're stuck in traffic. We've stopped for a coffee." And after an hour and three quarters, when I hadn't heard from her, I sent her a WhatsApp asking how they were getting on, then carried on playing with my 4 year old.

An hour later, I realised she hadn't replied. I checked my phone - the WhatsApp had been delivered but not opened. I didn't think anything of it immediately. Then half an hour after that, I saw that I'd forgotten to give mum her mother's day present, and messaged her again.

About another half hour after that message I realised what the time was, and started to worry. They ahould have been home, and still none of my WhatsApps had been opened. I called her. It rang and rang, with no answer. I tried my brother's phone. The same happened. I called Dad. Same again. I called and called and called, and by now panic was setting in.

So I began looking online for traffic updates. Any reason at all why they may be held up, unable to answer their phones. I saw that there had been an accident on the M25 around the time they were due to get there, and obviously my mind jumped to the worst. But the more I looked into that accident, it didn't seem to fit. Traffic reports said it involved a van and a lorry, and besides, if they were held up in traffic, they'd still be answering their phones, surely?

I looked at google maps, and the a21 looked completely blocked. Dark red for miles. I went on a local "what's happening" facebook group and there were several posts saying the same thing. Avoid the A21. Serious head-on collision. A stolen car being chased by police had ploughed into a white Audi, with three passengers. Two elderly. Judging by the suitcases, they'd been or were going on holiday.

I cannot begin to explain the horror of reading that. We began calling every single hospital we could think of, trying to track them down, and finally found them in Brighton. My mother-in-law raced over to us. The plan was that she would take me, my husband, and my son over to my sister-in-law's (which was on route) drop my son off there, then take me and my husband to hospital.

Just as my MIL arrived, the police turned up to tell me there had been an accident. I think they were very confused that I seemed to know more about it already than they did.

Anyway. The next 2 months were literal hell. My dad was in a coma, and at 80 years old, was walking a knife's edge between life and death. His list of injuries was extensive. From top to bottom, he had a broken shoulder blade, broken collarbone, every single bone in his right arm was broken, his elbow completely shattered, he had 5 broken ribs, his spine was fractured in two places, his pelvis was shatterd, his femur broken. One lung was punctured and collapsed, he had internal bleeding into stomach, his renal artery was damaged.

My mum and brother fared better. My brother had quite severe concussion and extensive bruising, but nothing else, my mum also had bruising and a small tear in her liver, but they were otherwise conscious.

After a week, both my mum and brother were discharged from hospital. We found a 2nd hand mattress that we set up in our living room, so that me, my husband, and my son could sleep in there, my brother taking my son's room, and my mum taking ours until dad could come home.

And he seemed to be miraculously improving.

But after a week, we received a phone call at around 3am. Dad had taken a turn for the worse. His heart had stopped twice, and they had made the decision to not resuscitate should it happen again. We should get to the hospital to say goodbye. We were told it wasn't a matter of 'if' but 'when.'

We stayed by his side for 36 hours, telling him stories. Remembering happy memories. And after those 36 hours, I remember the doctor's exact words. "I don't understand what miracle has happened here, but I think you are safe to go home."

My dad is a miracle. He improved. He woke up. 6 weeks later, he was well enough to be moved to a hospital closer to home.

But the trauma of those two months will always stay with me. I can no longer celebrate my birthday because the association and guilt that I was the one who made them stay later, and it was because of me that they were there in the first place, are too intertwined. I have been officially diagnosed with suffering from PTSD as a result of it. Yesterday was awful, but I know tomorrow will be even worse.

Tell your loved ones that you love them. I am fortunate to still be able to do so, but that can be taken away from us in a heartbeat

[curvascirea]

Hamas rapes on 7th October

By Jeffrey Gettleman, Anat Schwartz and Adam Sella

Photographs by Avishag Shaar-Yashuv

Jeffrey Gettleman, Anat Schwartz and Adam Sella reported from across Israel and interviewed more than 150 people.

Dec. 28, 2023 Updated 1:23 p.m. ET

At first, she was known simply as “the woman in the black dress.”

In a grainy video, you can see her, lying on her back, dress torn, legs spread, vagina exposed. Her face is burned beyond recognition and her right hand covers her eyes.

The video was shot in the early hours of Oct. 8 by a woman searching for a missing friend at the site of the rave in southern Israel where, the day before, Hamas terrorists massacred hundreds of young Israelis.

The video went viral, with thousands of people responding, desperate to know if the woman in the black dress was their missing friend, sister or daughter.

One family knew exactly who she was — Gal Abdush, mother of two from a working-class town in central Israel, who disappeared from the rave that night with her husband.

As the terrorists closed in on her, trapped on a highway in a line of cars of people trying to flee the party, she sent one final WhatsApp message to her family: “You don’t understand.”

Based largely on the video evidence — which was verified by The New York Times — Israeli police officials said they believed that Ms. Abdush was raped, and she has become a symbol of the horrors visited upon Israeli women and girls during the Oct. 7 attacks.

Israeli officials say that everywhere Hamas terrorists struck — the rave, the military bases along the Gaza border and the kibbutzim — they brutalized women.

A two-month investigation by The Times uncovered painful new details, establishing that the attacks against women were not isolated events but part of a broader pattern of gender-based violence on Oct. 7.

Relying on video footage, photographs, GPS data from mobile phones and interviews with more than 150 people, including witnesses, medical personnel, soldiers and rape counselors, The Times identified at least seven locations where Israeli women and girls appear to have been sexually assaulted or mutilated.

Four witnesses described in graphic detail seeing women raped and killed at two different places along Route 232, the same highway where Ms. Abdush’s half-naked body was found sprawled on the road at a third location.

And The Times interviewed several soldiers and volunteer medics who together described finding more than 30 bodies of women and girls in and around the rave site and in two kibbutzim in a similar state as Ms. Abdush’s — legs spread, clothes torn off, signs of abuse in their genital areas.

Many of the accounts are difficult to bear, and the visual evidence is disturbing to see.

The Times viewed photographs of one woman’s corpse that emergency responders discovered in the rubble of a besieged kibbutz with dozens of nails driven into her thighs and groin.

The Times also viewed a video, provided by the Israeli military, showing two dead Israeli soldiers at a base near Gaza who appeared to have been shot directly in their vaginas.

Hamas has denied Israel’s accusations of sexual violence. Israeli activists have been outraged that the United Nations Secretary General, António Guterres, and the agency U.N. Women did not acknowledge the many accusations until weeks after the attacks.

Investigators with Israel’s top national police unit, Lahav 433, have been steadily gathering evidence but they have not put a number on how many women were raped, saying that most are dead — and buried — and that they will never know. No survivors have spoken publicly.

The Israeli police have acknowledged that, during the shock and confusion of Oct. 7, the deadliest day in Israeli history, they were not focused on collecting semen samples from women’s bodies, requesting autopsies or closely examining crime scenes. At that moment, the authorities said, they were intent on repelling Hamas and identifying the dead.

A combination of chaos, enormous grief and Jewish religious duties meant that many bodies were buried as quickly as possible. Most were never examined, and in some cases, like at the rave scene, where more than 360 people were slaughtered in a few hours, the bodies were hauled away by the truckload.

That has left the Israeli authorities at a loss to fully explain to families what happened to their loved ones in their final moments. Ms. Abdush’s relatives, for instance, never received a death certificate. They are still searching for answers.

In cases of widespread sexual violence during a war, it is not unusual to have limited forensic evidence, experts said.

“Armed conflict is so chaotic,” said Adil Haque, a Rutgers law professor and war crimes expert. “People are more focused on their safety than on building a criminal case down the road.”

Very often, he said, sex crime cases will be prosecuted years later on the basis of testimony from victims and witnesses.

“The eyewitness might not even know the name of the victim,” he added. “But if they can testify as, ‘I saw a woman being raped by this armed group,’ that can be enough.”

‘Screams without words’

Sapir, a 24-year-old accountant, has become one of the Israeli police’s key witnesses. She does not want to be fully identified, saying she would be hounded for the rest of her life if her last name were revealed.

She attended the rave with several friends and provided investigators with graphic testimony. She also spoke to The Times. In a two-hour interview outside a cafe in southern Israel, she recounted seeing groups of heavily armed gunmen rape and kill at least five women.

She said that at 8 a.m. on Oct. 7, she was hiding under the low branches of a bushy tamarisk tree, just off Route 232, about four miles southwest of the party. She had been shot in the back. She felt faint. She covered herself in dry grass and lay as still as she could.

About 15 meters from her hiding place, she said, she saw motorcycles, cars and trucks pulling up. She said that she saw “about 100 men,” most of them dressed in military fatigues and combat boots, a few in dark sweatsuits, getting in and out of the vehicles. She said the men congregated along the road and passed between them assault rifles, grenades, small missiles — and badly wounded women.

“It was like an assembly point,” she said.

The first victim she said she saw was a young woman with copper-color hair, blood running down her back, pants pushed down to her knees. One man pulled her by the hair and made her bend over. Another penetrated her, Sapir said, and every time she flinched, he plunged a knife into her back.

She said she then watched another woman “shredded into pieces.” While one terrorist raped her, she said, another pulled out a box cutter and sliced off her breast.

“One continues to rape her, and the other throws her breast to someone else, and they play with it, throw it, and it falls on the road,” Sapir said.

She said the men sliced her face and then the woman fell out of view. Around the same time, she said, she saw three other women raped and terrorists carrying the severed heads of three more women.

Sapir provided photographs of her hiding place and her wounds, and police officials have stood by her testimony and released a video of her, with her face blurred, recounting some of what she saw.

Yura Karol, a 22-year-old security consultant, said he was hiding in the same spot, and he can be seen in one of Sapir’s photos. He and Sapir were part of a group of friends who had met up at the party. In an interview, Mr. Karol said he barely lifted his head to look at the road but he also described seeing a woman raped and killed.

Since that day, Sapir said, she has struggled with a painful rash that spread across her torso, and she can barely sleep, waking up at night, heart pounding, covered in sweat.

“That day, I became an animal,” she said. “I was emotionally detached, sharp, just the adrenaline of survival. I looked at all this as if I was photographing them with my eyes, not forgetting any detail. I told myself: I should remember everything.”

That same morning, along Route 232 but in a different location about a mile southwest of the party area, Raz Cohen — a young Israeli who had also attended the rave and had worked recently in the Democratic Republic of Congo training Congolese soldiers — said that he was hiding in a dried-up streambed. It provided some cover from the assailants combing the area and shooting anyone they found, he said in an hour-and-a-half interview in a Tel Aviv restaurant.

Maybe 40 yards in front of him, he recalled, a white van pulled up and its doors flew open.

He said he then saw five men, wearing civilian clothes, all carrying knives and one carrying a hammer, dragging a woman across the ground. She was young, naked and screaming.

“They all gather around her,” Mr. Cohen said. “She’s standing up. They start raping her. I saw the men standing in a half circle around her. One penetrates her. She screams. I still remember her voice, screams without words.”

“Then one of them raises a knife,” he said, “and they just slaughtered her.”

Shoam Gueta, one of Mr. Cohen’s friends and a fashion designer, said the two were hiding together in the streambed. He said he saw at least four men step out of the van and attack the woman, who ended up “between their legs.” He said that they were “talking, giggling and shouting,” and that one of them stabbed her with a knife repeatedly, “literally butchering her.”

Hours later, the first wave of volunteer emergency medical technicians arrived at the rave site. In interviews, four of them said that they discovered bodies of dead women with their legs spread and underwear missing — some with their hands tied by rope and zipties — in the party area, along the road, in the parking area and in the open fields around the rave site.

Jamal Waraki, a volunteer medic with the nonprofit ZAKA emergency response team, said he could not get out of his head a young woman in a rawhide vest found between the main stage and the bar.

“Her hands were tied behind her back,” he said. “She was bent over, half naked, her underwear rolled down below her knees.”

Yinon Rivlin, a member of the rave’s production team who lost two brothers in the attacks, said that after hiding from the killers, he emerged from a ditch and made his way to the parking area, east of the party, along Route 232, looking for survivors.

Near the highway, he said, he found the body of a young woman, on her stomach, no pants or underwear, legs spread apart. He said her vagina area appeared to have been sliced open, “as if someone tore her apart.”

Similar discoveries were made in two kibbutzim, Be’eri and Kfar Aza. Eight volunteer medics and two Israeli soldiers told The Times that in at least six different houses, they had come across a total of at least 24 bodies of women and girls naked or half naked, some mutilated, others tied up, and often alone.

A paramedic in an Israeli commando unit said that he had found the bodies of two teenage girls in a room in Be’eri.

One was lying on her side, he said, boxer shorts ripped, bruises by her groin. The other was sprawled on the floor face down, he said, pajama pants pulled to her knees, bottom exposed, semen smeared on her back.

Because his job was to look for survivors, he said, he kept moving and did not document the scene. Neighbors of the two girls killed — who were sisters, 13 and 16 — said their bodies had been found alone, separated from the rest of their family.

The Israeli military allowed the paramedic to speak with reporters on the condition that he not be identified because he serves in an elite unit.

Many of the dead were brought to the Shura military base, in central Israel, for identification. Here, too, witnesses said they saw signs of sexual violence.

Shari Mendes, an architect called up as a reserve soldier to help prepare the bodies of female soldiers for burial, said she had seen four with signs of sexual violence, including some with “a lot of blood in their pelvic areas.”

A dentist, Captain Maayan, who worked at the same identification center, said that she had seen at least 10 bodies of female soldiers from Gaza observation posts with signs of sexual violence.

Captain Maayan asked to be identified only by her rank and surname because of the sensitivity of the subject. She said she had seen several bodies with cuts in their vaginas and underwear soaked in blood and one whose fingernails had been pulled out.

The investigation

The Israeli authorities have no shortage of video evidence from the Oct. 7 attacks. They have gathered hours of footage from Hamas body cameras, dashcams, security cameras and mobile phones showing Hamas terrorists killing civilians and many images of mutilated bodies.

But Moshe Fintzy, a deputy superintendent and senior spokesman of Israel’s national police, said, “We have zero autopsies, zero,” making an O with his right hand.

In the aftermath of the attack, police officials said, forensic examiners were dispatched to the Shura military base to help identify the hundreds of bodies — Israeli officials say around 1,200 people were killed that day.

The examiners worked quickly to give the agonized families of the missing a sense of closure and to determine, by a process of elimination, who was dead and who was being held hostage in Gaza.

According to Jewish tradition, funerals are held promptly. The result was that many bodies with signs of sexual abuse were put to rest without medical examinations, meaning that potential evidence now lies buried in the ground. International forensic experts said that it would be possible to recover some evidence from the corpses, but that it would be difficult.

Mr. Fintzy said Israeli security forces were still finding imagery that shows women were brutalized. Sitting at his desk at an imposing police building in Jerusalem, he swiped open his phone, tapped and produced the video of the two soldiers shot in the vagina, which he said was recorded by Hamas gunmen and recently recovered by Israeli soldiers.

A colleague sitting next to him, Mirit Ben Mayor, a police chief superintendent, said she believed that the brutality against women was a combination of two ferocious forces, “the hatred for Jews and the hatred for women.”

Some emergency medical workers now wish they had documented more of what they saw. In interviews, they said they had moved bodies, cut off zip ties and cleaned up scenes of carnage. Trying to be respectful to the dead, they inadvertently destroyed evidence.

Many volunteers working for ZAKA, the emergency response team, are religious Jews and operate under strict rules that command deep respect for the dead.

“I did not take pictures because we are not allowed to take pictures,” said Yossi Landau, a ZAKA volunteer. “In retrospect, I regret it.”

There are at least three women and one man who were sexually assaulted and survived, according to Gil Horev, a spokesman for Israel’s Ministry of Welfare and Social Affairs. “None of them has been willing to come physically for treatment,” he said. Two therapists said they were working with a woman who was gang raped at the rave and was in no condition to talk to investigators or reporters.

The trauma from sexual assault can be so heavy that sometimes survivors do not speak about it for years, several rape counselors said.

“Many people are looking for the golden evidence, of a woman who will testify about what happened to her. But don’t look for that, don’t put this pressure on this woman,” said Orit Sulitzeanu, executive director of the Association of Rape Crisis Centers in Israel. “The corpses tell the story.”

The woman in the black dress

One of the last images of Ms. Abdush alive — captured by a security camera mounted on her front door — shows her leaving home with her husband, Nagi, at 2:30 a.m. on Oct. 7 for the rave.

He was wearing jeans and a black T-shirt. She was dressed in a short black dress, a black shawl tied around her waist and combat boots. As she struts out, she takes a swig from a glass (her brother-in-law remembers it was Red Bull and vodka) and laughs.

You’ve got to live life like it’s your last moments. That was her motto, her sisters said.

At daybreak, hundreds of terrorists closed in on the party from several directions, blocking the highways leading out. The couple jumped into their Audi, dashing off a string of messages as they moved.

“We’re on the border,” Ms. Abdush wrote to her family. “We’re leaving.”

“Explosions.”

Her husband made his own calls to his family, leaving a final audio message for his brother, Nissim, at 7:44 a.m. “Take care of the kids,” he said. “I love you.”

Gunshots rang out, and the message stopped.

That night, Eden Wessely, a car mechanic, drove to the rave site with three friends and found Ms. Abdush sprawled half naked on the road next to her burned car, about nine miles north of the site. She did not see the body of Mr. Abdush.

She saw other burned cars and other bodies, and shot videos of several — hoping that they would help people to identify missing relatives. When she posted the video of the woman in the black dress on her Instagram story, she was deluged with messages.

“Hi, based on your description of the woman in the black dress, did she have blonde hair?” one message read.

“Eden, the woman you described with the black dress, do you remember the color of her eyes?” another said.

Some members of the Abdush family saw that video and another version of it filmed by one of Ms. Wessely’s friends. They immediately suspected that the body was Ms. Abdush, and based on the way her body was found, they feared that she might have been raped.

But they kept alive a flicker of hope that somehow, it wasn’t true.

The videos caught the eye of Israeli officials as well — very quickly after Oct. 7 they began gathering evidence of atrocities. They included footage of Ms. Abdush’s body in a presentation made to foreign governments and media organizations, using Ms. Abdush as a representation of violence committed against women that day.

A week after her body was found, three government social workers appeared at the gate of the family’s home in Kiryat Ekron, a small town in central Israel. They broke the news that Ms. Abdush, 34, had been found dead.

But the only document the family received was a one-page form letter from Israel’s president, Isaac Herzog, expressing his condolences and sending a hug. The body of Mr. Abdush, 35, was identified two days after his wife’s. It was badly burned and investigators determined who he was based on a DNA sample and his wedding ring.

The couple had been together since they were teenagers. To the family, it seems only yesterday that Mr. Abdush was heading off to work to fix water heaters, a bag of tools slung over his shoulder, and Ms. Abdush was cooking up mashed potatoes and schnitzel for their two sons, Eliav, 10, and Refael, 7.

The boys are now orphans. They were sleeping over at an aunt’s the night their parents were killed. Ms. Abdush’s mother and father have applied for permanent custody, and everyone is chipping in to help.

Night after night, Ms. Abdush’s mother, Eti Bracha, lies in bed with the boys until they drift off. A few weeks ago, she said she tried to quietly leave their bedroom when the younger boy stopped her.

“Grandma,” he said, “I want to ask you a question.”

“Honey,” she said, “you can ask anything.”

“Grandma, how did mom die?”

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Jeffrey Gettleman, Anat Schwartz and Adam Sella

Published: Dec 28, 2023

Jeffrey Gettleman, Anat Schwartz and Adam Sella reported from across Israel and interviewed more than 150 people.

At first, she was known simply as “the woman in the black dress.”

In a grainy video, you can see her, lying on her back, dress torn, legs spread, vagina exposed. Her face is burned beyond recognition and her right hand covers her eyes.

The video was shot in the early hours of Oct. 8 by a woman searching for a missing friend at the site of the rave in southern Israel where, the day before, Hamas terrorists massacred hundreds of young Israelis.

The video went viral, with thousands of people responding, desperate to know if the woman in the black dress was their missing friend, sister or daughter.

One family knew exactly who she was — Gal Abdush, mother of two from a working-class town in central Israel, who disappeared from the rave that night with her husband.

As the terrorists closed in on her, trapped on a highway in a line of cars of people trying to flee the party, she sent one final WhatsApp message to her family: “You don’t understand.”

Based largely on the video evidence — which was verified by The New York Times — Israeli police officials said they believed that Ms. Abdush was raped, and she has become a symbol of the horrors visited upon Israeli women and girls during the Oct. 7 attacks.

Israeli officials say that everywhere Hamas terrorists struck — the rave, the military bases along the Gaza border and the kibbutzim — they brutalized women.

A two-month investigation by The Times uncovered painful new details, establishing that the attacks against women were not isolated events but part of a broader pattern of gender-based violence on Oct. 7.

Relying on video footage, photographs, GPS data from mobile phones and interviews with more than 150 people, including witnesses, medical personnel, soldiers and rape counselors, The Times identified at least seven locations where Israeli women and girls appear to have been sexually assaulted or mutilated.

Four witnesses described in graphic detail seeing women raped and killed at two different places along Route 232, the same highway where Ms. Abdush’s half-naked body was found sprawled on the road at a third location.

And The Times interviewed several soldiers and volunteer medics who together described finding more than 30 bodies of women and girls in and around the rave site and in two kibbutzim in a similar state as Ms. Abdush’s — legs spread, clothes torn off, signs of abuse in their genital areas.

Many of the accounts are difficult to bear, and the visual evidence is disturbing to see.

The Times viewed photographs of one woman’s corpse that emergency responders discovered in the rubble of a besieged kibbutz with dozens of nails driven into her thighs and groin.

The Times also viewed a video, provided by the Israeli military, showing two dead Israeli soldiers at a base near Gaza who appeared to have been shot directly in their vaginas.

Hamas has denied Israel’s accusations of sexual violence. Israeli activists have been outraged that the United Nations Secretary General, António Guterres, and the agency U.N. Women did not acknowledge the many accusations until weeks after the attacks.

Investigators with Israel’s top national police unit, Lahav 433, have been steadily gathering evidence but they have not put a number on how many women were raped, saying that most are dead — and buried — and that they will never know. No survivors have spoken publicly.

The Israeli police have acknowledged that, during the shock and confusion of Oct. 7, the deadliest day in Israeli history, they were not focused on collecting semen samples from women’s bodies, requesting autopsies or closely examining crime scenes. At that moment, the authorities said, they were intent on repelling Hamas and identifying the dead.

A combination of chaos, enormous grief and Jewish religious duties meant that many bodies were buried as quickly as possible. Most were never examined, and in some cases, like at the rave scene, where more than 360 people were slaughtered in a few hours, the bodies were hauled away by the truckload.

That has left the Israeli authorities at a loss to fully explain to families what happened to their loved ones in their final moments. Ms. Abdush’s relatives, for instance, never received a death certificate. They are still searching for answers.

In cases of widespread sexual violence during a war, it is not unusual to have limited forensic evidence, experts said.

“Armed conflict is so chaotic,” said Adil Haque, a Rutgers law professor and war crimes expert. “People are more focused on their safety than on building a criminal case down the road.”

Very often, he said, sex crime cases will be prosecuted years later on the basis of testimony from victims and witnesses.

“The eyewitness might not even know the name of the victim,” he added. “But if they can testify as, ‘I saw a woman being raped by this armed group,’ that can be enough.”

‘Screams without words’

Sapir, a 24-year-old accountant, has become one of the Israeli police’s key witnesses. She does not want to be fully identified, saying she would be hounded for the rest of her life if her last name were revealed.

She attended the rave with several friends and provided investigators with graphic testimony. She also spoke to The Times. In a two-hour interview outside a cafe in southern Israel, she recounted seeing groups of heavily armed gunmen rape and kill at least five women.

She said that at 8 a.m. on Oct. 7, she was hiding under the low branches of a bushy tamarisk tree, just off Route 232, about four miles southwest of the party. She had been shot in the back. She felt faint. She covered herself in dry grass and lay as still as she could.

About 15 meters from her hiding place, she said, she saw motorcycles, cars and trucks pulling up. She said that she saw “about 100 men,” most of them dressed in military fatigues and combat boots, a few in dark sweatsuits, getting in and out of the vehicles. She said the men congregated along the road and passed between them assault rifles, grenades, small missiles — and badly wounded women.

“It was like an assembly point,” she said.

The first victim she said she saw was a young woman with copper-color hair, blood running down her back, pants pushed down to her knees. One man pulled her by the hair and made her bend over. Another penetrated her, Sapir said, and every time she flinched, he plunged a knife into her back.

She said she then watched another woman “shredded into pieces.” While one terrorist raped her, she said, another pulled out a box cutter and sliced off her breast.

“One continues to rape her, and the other throws her breast to someone else, and they play with it, throw it, and it falls on the road,” Sapir said.

She said the men sliced her face and then the woman fell out of view. Around the same time, she said, she saw three other women raped and terrorists carrying the severed heads of three more women.

Sapir provided photographs of her hiding place and her wounds, and police officials have stood by her testimony and released a video of her, with her face blurred, recounting some of what she saw.

Yura Karol, a 22-year-old security consultant, said he was hiding in the same spot, and he can be seen in one of Sapir’s photos. He and Sapir were part of a group of friends who had met up at the party. In an interview, Mr. Karol said he barely lifted his head to look at the road but he also described seeing a woman raped and killed.

Since that day, Sapir said, she has struggled with a painful rash that spread across her torso, and she can barely sleep, waking up at night, heart pounding, covered in sweat.

“That day, I became an animal,” she said. “I was emotionally detached, sharp, just the adrenaline of survival. I looked at all this as if I was photographing them with my eyes, not forgetting any detail. I told myself: I should remember everything.”

That same morning, along Route 232 but in a different location about a mile southwest of the party area, Raz Cohen — a young Israeli who had also attended the rave and had worked recently in the Democratic Republic of Congo training Congolese soldiers — said that he was hiding in a dried-up streambed. It provided some cover from the assailants combing the area and shooting anyone they found, he said in an hour-and-a-half interview in a Tel Aviv restaurant.

Maybe 40 yards in front of him, he recalled, a white van pulled up and its doors flew open.

He said he then saw five men, wearing civilian clothes, all carrying knives and one carrying a hammer, dragging a woman across the ground. She was young, naked and screaming.

“They all gather around her,” Mr. Cohen said. “She’s standing up. They start raping her. I saw the men standing in a half circle around her. One penetrates her. She screams. I still remember her voice, screams without words.”

“Then one of them raises a knife,” he said, “and they just slaughtered her.”

Shoam Gueta, one of Mr. Cohen’s friends and a fashion designer, said the two were hiding together in the streambed. He said he saw at least four men step out of the van and attack the woman, who ended up “between their legs.” He said that they were “talking, giggling and shouting,” and that one of them stabbed her with a knife repeatedly, “literally butchering her.”

Hours later, the first wave of volunteer emergency medical technicians arrived at the rave site. In interviews, four of them said that they discovered bodies of dead women with their legs spread and underwear missing — some with their hands tied by rope and zipties — in the party area, along the road, in the parking area and in the open fields around the rave site.

Jamal Waraki, a volunteer medic with the nonprofit ZAKA emergency response team, said he could not get out of his head a young woman in a rawhide vest found between the main stage and the bar.

“Her hands were tied behind her back,” he said. “She was bent over, half naked, her underwear rolled down below her knees.”

Yinon Rivlin, a member of the rave’s production team who lost two brothers in the attacks, said that after hiding from the killers, he emerged from a ditch and made his way to the parking area, east of the party, along Route 232, looking for survivors.

Near the highway, he said, he found the body of a young woman, on her stomach, no pants or underwear, legs spread apart. He said her vagina area appeared to have been sliced open, “as if someone tore her apart.”

Similar discoveries were made in two kibbutzim, Be’eri and Kfar Aza. Eight volunteer medics and two Israeli soldiers told The Times that in at least six different houses, they had come across a total of at least 24 bodies of women and girls naked or half naked, some mutilated, others tied up, and often alone.

A paramedic in an Israeli commando unit said that he had found the bodies of two teenage girls in a room in Be’eri.

One was lying on her side, he said, boxer shorts ripped, bruises by her groin. The other was sprawled on the floor face down, he said, pajama pants pulled to her knees, bottom exposed, semen smeared on her back.

Because his job was to look for survivors, he said, he kept moving and did not document the scene. Neighbors of the two girls killed — who were sisters, 13 and 16 — said their bodies had been found alone, separated from the rest of their family.

The Israeli military allowed the paramedic to speak with reporters on the condition that he not be identified because he serves in an elite unit.

Many of the dead were brought to the Shura military base, in central Israel, for identification. Here, too, witnesses said they saw signs of sexual violence.

Shari Mendes, an architect called up as a reserve soldier to help prepare the bodies of female soldiers for burial, said she had seen four with signs of sexual violence, including some with “a lot of blood in their pelvic areas.”

A dentist, Captain Maayan, who worked at the same identification center, said that she had seen at least 10 bodies of female soldiers from Gaza observation posts with signs of sexual violence.

Captain Maayan asked to be identified only by her rank and surname because of the sensitivity of the subject. She said she had seen several bodies with cuts in their vaginas and underwear soaked in blood and one whose fingernails had been pulled out.

The investigation

The Israeli authorities have no shortage of video evidence from the Oct. 7 attacks. They have gathered hours of footage from Hamas body cameras, dashcams, security cameras and mobile phones showing Hamas terrorists killing civilians and many images of mutilated bodies.

But Moshe Fintzy, a deputy superintendent and senior spokesman of Israel’s national police, said, “We have zero autopsies, zero,” making an O with his right hand.

In the aftermath of the attack, police officials said, forensic examiners were dispatched to the Shura military base to help identify the hundreds of bodies — Israeli officials say around 1,200 people were killed that day.

The examiners worked quickly to give the agonized families of the missing a sense of closure and to determine, by a process of elimination, who was dead and who was being held hostage in Gaza.

According to Jewish tradition, funerals are held promptly. The result was that many bodies with signs of sexual abuse were put to rest without medical examinations, meaning that potential evidence now lies buried in the ground. International forensic experts said that it would be possible to recover some evidence from the corpses, but that it would be difficult.

Mr. Fintzy said Israeli security forces were still finding imagery that shows women were brutalized. Sitting at his desk at an imposing police building in Jerusalem, he swiped open his phone, tapped and produced the video of the two soldiers shot in the vagina, which he said was recorded by Hamas gunmen and recently recovered by Israeli soldiers.

A colleague sitting next to him, Mirit Ben Mayor, a police chief superintendent, said she believed that the brutality against women was a combination of two ferocious forces, “the hatred for Jews and the hatred for women.”

Some emergency medical workers now wish they had documented more of what they saw. In interviews, they said they had moved bodies, cut off zip ties and cleaned up scenes of carnage. Trying to be respectful to the dead, they inadvertently destroyed evidence.

Many volunteers working for ZAKA, the emergency response team, are religious Jews and operate under strict rules that command deep respect for the dead.

“I did not take pictures because we are not allowed to take pictures,” said Yossi Landau, a ZAKA volunteer. “In retrospect, I regret it.”

There are at least three women and one man who were sexually assaulted and survived, according to Gil Horev, a spokesman for Israel’s Ministry of Welfare and Social Affairs. “None of them has been willing to come physically for treatment,” he said. Two therapists said they were working with a woman who was gang raped at the rave and was in no condition to talk to investigators or reporters.

The trauma from sexual assault can be so heavy that sometimes survivors do not speak about it for years, several rape counselors said.

“Many people are looking for the golden evidence, of a woman who will testify about what happened to her. But don’t look for that, don’t put this pressure on this woman,” said Orit Sulitzeanu, executive director of the Association of Rape Crisis Centers in Israel. “The corpses tell the story.”

The woman in the black dress

One of the last images of Ms. Abdush alive — captured by a security camera mounted on her front door — shows her leaving home with her husband, Nagi, at 2:30 a.m. on Oct. 7 for the rave.

He was wearing jeans and a black T-shirt. She was dressed in a short black dress, a black shawl tied around her waist and combat boots. As she struts out, she takes a swig from a glass (her brother-in-law remembers it was Red Bull and vodka) and laughs.

You’ve got to live life like it’s your last moments. That was her motto, her sisters said.

At daybreak, hundreds of terrorists closed in on the party from several directions, blocking the highways leading out. The couple jumped into their Audi, dashing off a string of messages as they moved.

“We’re on the border,” Ms. Abdush wrote to her family. “We’re leaving.”

“Explosions.”

Her husband made his own calls to his family, leaving a final audio message for his brother, Nissim, at 7:44 a.m. “Take care of the kids,” he said. “I love you.”

Gunshots rang out, and the message stopped.

That night, Eden Wessely, a car mechanic, drove to the rave site with three friends and found Ms. Abdush sprawled half naked on the road next to her burned car, about nine miles north of the site. She did not see the body of Mr. Abdush.

She saw other burned cars and other bodies, and shot videos of several — hoping that they would help people to identify missing relatives. When she posted the video of the woman in the black dress on her Instagram story, she was deluged with messages.

“Hi, based on your description of the woman in the black dress, did she have blonde hair?” one message read.

“Eden, the woman you described with the black dress, do you remember the color of her eyes?” another said.

Some members of the Abdush family saw that video and another version of it filmed by one of Ms. Wessely’s friends. They immediately suspected that the body was Ms. Abdush, and based on the way her body was found, they feared that she might have been raped.

But they kept alive a flicker of hope that somehow, it wasn’t true.

The videos caught the eye of Israeli officials as well — very quickly after Oct. 7 they began gathering evidence of atrocities. They included footage of Ms. Abdush’s body in a presentation made to foreign governments and media organizations, using Ms. Abdush as a representation of violence committed against women that day.

A week after her body was found, three government social workers appeared at the gate of the family’s home in Kiryat Ekron, a small town in central Israel. They broke the news that Ms. Abdush, 34, had been found dead.

But the only document the family received was a one-page form letter from Israel’s president, Isaac Herzog, expressing his condolences and sending a hug. The body of Mr. Abdush, 35, was identified two days after his wife’s. It was badly burned and investigators determined who he was based on a DNA sample and his wedding ring.

The couple had been together since they were teenagers. To the family, it seems only yesterday that Mr. Abdush was heading off to work to fix water heaters, a bag of tools slung over his shoulder, and Ms. Abdush was cooking up mashed potatoes and schnitzel for their two sons, Eliav, 10, and Refael, 7.

The boys are now orphans. They were sleeping over at an aunt’s the night their parents were killed. Ms. Abdush’s mother and father have applied for permanent custody, and everyone is chipping in to help.

Night after night, Ms. Abdush’s mother, Eti Bracha, lies in bed with the boys until they drift off. A few weeks ago, she said she tried to quietly leave their bedroom when the younger boy stopped her.

“Grandma,” he said, “I want to ask you a question.”

“Honey,” she said, “you can ask anything.”

“Grandma, how did mom die?”

[ Via: https://archive.is/aFPBa ]

==

There are still pro-Hamas supporters, many of them aligned with #BelieveWomen and #MeToo, who have adopted the same "were you there?" tactic as Xians who want to deny evolution: unless someone captured it on video, it's just her word - if she survived at all.

[mariacallous]

NWAARE, Ghana—In July 2023, an audio message, calling for attacks on the Ghanaian government in response to the forced repatriation of ethnic Fulani asylum-seekers, spread via WhatsApp in northern Ghana.

“The Ghanaian government has begun to forcefully arrest and deport Fulani refugees to Burkina Faso … to destroy and exterminate the Fulani population in Ghana … I’m appealing to [Muslims] located along Ghana-Burkina Faso border to hurry to intervene,” said the message, which was heard by thousands of people. “Please do well to retaliate the blood spilt by the Ghanaian government,” it concluded.

The message was recorded and distributed by a media wing of Jama’at Nasr al-Islam wal Muslimin (JNIM), a West African jihadi insurgent group affiliated with al Qaeda.

Between JNIM and affiliates of the Islamic State, insurgents today control almost half of Burkina Faso, parts of central and northern Mali, and territory along Niger’s borders with the two countries. Over the past two years, they have slowly expanded their campaign south into the northern parts of West Africa’s coastal states. Despite a handful of messages attempting to incite attacks against the Ghanaian government, of the four coastal states bordering Burkina Faso, Ghana is the only one that reports that it has not suffered an attack by insurgents.

In interviews, representatives of the Ghanaian government chalk this up to their firm response and the country’s inherent resiliency. However, despite Accra’s confident messaging, evidence gathered across Ghana’s northern regions suggests that insurgents are already operating there. At this point, it appears that insurgents see their access to the country as a safe haven and smuggling route as too useful to destabilize with direct attacks.

However, if the militants’ calculus were to change, they would find many of the same vulnerabilities in Ghana that they have exploited in other countries.

Officials in air-conditioned offices in Ghana’s capital, Accra, projected confidence as they insisted that their government’s robust response has kept the insurgents at bay. Ghana’s decision to spearhead the Accra Initiative, a regional association intended to prevent the spillover of terrorism from the Sahel toward coastal countries, is one of many examples, said Daniel Osei Bonsu, the deputy director of Ghana’s National Counter Terrorism Center.

Since being established by Burkina Faso, Ivory Coast, Ghana, Togo, and Benin in 2017, a handful of joint operations along border regions and meetings of intelligence chiefs have been coordinated through the initiative, which is funded in part by the European Union. At a summit in November 2022, leaders announced the creation of a multinational joint task force that will be comprised of 10,000 soldiers and headquartered in Tamale, a city in northern Ghana.

Meanwhile, the Ghanaian government has reinforced the military’s presence across the north. In 2020, Accra released the funds to construct and upgrade 15 forward operating bases close to the borders of Ivory Coast, Burkina Faso, and Togo. Three new brigades and two battalions were created and deployed to the Upper East and Upper West regions. The military has acquired new vehicles and communications equipment from the United Kingdom and Israel. And the EU’s chief diplomat, Josep Borrell, recently promised “aerial surveillance, electronic warfare [systems] and river crafts” as a part of a 20 million euro ($21.5 million) aid package to the military.

In 2022, the government launched a “see something, say something” campaign to urge citizens to report suspicious behavior. While officials say the program is a success, Ghanaian journalists have reported officials bemoaning the number of people calling with no other reason than to beg for cell phone credit.

Members of the National Counter Terrorism Center insisted that Ghana’s relatively high level of development compared to some of its neighbors and its culture of democracy protect the country from the same fate that has befallen Mali and Burkina Faso. They pointed out that the country is economically far better off than its Sahelian neighbors, with a GDP per capita more than twice that of Mali and Burkina Faso.

As coups spread across the region, insecurity is growing—and international military involvement could make it worse.

Furthermore, they added, unlike Sahelian countries where most people are Muslim, Ghana is split roughly in half between Christians and Muslims, and thus calls to radicalism have fewer potential followers. Referring to the insurgents’ strategy in the Sahel, they insisted that aggrieved Ghanaians would never be lulled by jihadis promising a more just order because “people know they can receive justice through the country’s institutions,” as Bonsu said. “There might be sentiments in the north,” he continued, “but there are no grievances.”

However, while officials insist that the government is mounting a robust response, there is significant evidence that it has failed to stop insurgents from entering Ghanaian territory.

Communities across Ghana’s 374-mile border with Burkina Faso have long used small footpaths and dilapidated dirt roads to smuggle fuel, fertilizer, and other basic goods far from Accra’s watchful eye. Over the past few years, insurgents have used these informal networks to acquire resources for their campaign in Burkina Faso. Dynamite manufactured in Ghana has been found at militant camps in Burkina Faso.

Sources in Ghana’s Upper East region—who wished to remain anonymous for security reasons—indicated that insurgents have paid Ghanaians to smuggle fuel and personnel across the border on motorcycles. Last September, Burkinabe security forces raided an insurgent camp close to the border and found Ghanaian voter registration cards along with receipts from a Ghanaian shop for bicycles, likely used for the smuggling of goods across the bush paths as motorcycles have become too conspicuous.

Beyond using the Ghanaian border to meet their immediate material needs, there is concern that militants are also involved in trafficking illicit goods to boost their coffers. Analysts have raised the alarm about the presence of insurgents at artisanal gold mines in the Upper West region as well as involvement in the opiate trade. And Maxwell Suuk, a Ghanaian journalist, recently reported that cattle stolen by jihadis were being sold in Ghana’s lucrative livestock markets.

Furthermore, as fighting in Burkina Faso has approached Ghanaian territory, there have been reports of militants retreating tactically across the border and using Ghanaian soil as a temporary safe haven. Late last year in Garinga, a Burkinabe border community, civilian auxiliaries to the Burkinabe military complained that the absence of Ghanaian troops nearby meant jihadis sometimes escaped across the border.

In the nearby Ghanaian village of Nwaare, a community leader confirmed that locals had seen mysterious men who pushed their motorcycles around the edge of town and spent the night in nearby shrubs. Local assemblymen and village chiefs from half a dozen nearby communities reported similar sightings.

Beyond the immediate border, insurgents from Burkina Faso have used Ghana for recuperation. Sources in Tamale who asked to remain anonymous for their safety revealed that they personally knew at least two young Ghanaian men who spent around four months in 2022 resting and receiving medical care at a local hospital before returning to Burkina Faso.

Ghana is not a hotbed of recruitment, but there have been some notable cases. In 2017, Burkinabe preachers visited the dusty town of Karaga and urged young men to join the fight in the Sahel; around a dozen people heeded the call. In 2021, one of these recruits—with the nom de guerre Abu Dujana—recorded a video urging Ghanaians from the Fulani ethnic group to join the jihad. The man later committed a suicide attack against French forces in northern Mali.

While the insurgents operate in Ghana, reports suggest that they explicitly avoid targeting Ghanaian citizens who travel through the territory that they control. There have been multiple reports of people with Ghanaian identification cards being spared at JNIM roadblocks in Burkina Faso. A Ghanaian man who had been detained by insurgents told one of the authors that his captors released him once he was able to prove his nationality.

Ultimately, the insurgents derive significant benefits from using Ghana as a place to rest and restock. “If the insurgents attack Ghana, it would become much harder for them to use Ghana as a safe haven,” said Clement Aapengnuo, a peace and security activist: “At this point, Ghana is more useful stable.”

But the strategy of insurgent groups could change.

Ghana suffers many of the same vulnerabilities that militants have preyed upon in other countries. Similarly to other coastal states in West Africa, northern Ghana is comparatively less developed than the south—a trend with roots in the nation’s colonial history, as a recent analysis by Ghanaian Ph.D. candidate Iddrisu Mohammed Kambala showed. Banditry—ambushes of container trucks, kidnapping of wealthy individuals, and even attacks on businesses in towns—has long been a problem. Beyond relative deprivation and a degree of lawlessness, there are social cleavages and disputes over chieftaincy that could be manipulated by savvy recruiters.

Growing anti-Fulani sentiment across Ghanaian society is also concerning. In the Sahel, some insurgent groups initially attracted recruits from marginalized segments of Fulani communities, which led to stigmatization and widespread abuses against Fulani, which in turn facilitated further recruitment. In Ghana, where Fulani make up around 1 percent of the population, they are often derided as foreigners, scapegoated for crimes, and victimized in mob violence—and high-level officials still repeat dangerous tropes about Fulani being rootless nomads prone to criminality.

These attitudes have resulted in the kind of discrimination that feeds insurgent propaganda. In mid-July 2023, Ghanaian security services forcibly repatriated at least 250 Burkinabe Fulani asylum-seekers who had fled to Ghana. The government claims that these were targeted operations based on security threats, but multiple communities describe mass arrests targeting Fulani—including Ghanaian citizens.

There also appear to be worrying lapses in the Ghanaian government’s response to the escalating conflict in Burkina Faso and Togo. Ghanaian troops were deployed in border regions in 2021, but it was not until a JNIM attack that struck two miles from the border in early 2023 that the soldiers began to patrol with any regularity. A local military source who requested anonymity revealed that the infrequency of patrols was related to a lack of fuel. Residents of border communities still complain that they only see security forces on weekly market days, when they harass rural residents traveling into towns.

Despite the fanfare around the Accra Initiative, information-sharing between Ghanaian forces and their counterparts in neighboring countries is sparse. A Burkinabe commander in the border town of Bittou complained that his conversations with Ghanaian security personnel were infrequent compared to talks with Togolese commanders, and that he instead relied on trusted Ghanaian citizens to pass important messages to Ghanaian soldiers. Beninese Col. Faïzou Gomina confirmed that bilateral channels have thus far been far more useful for coordination than going through Accra. Meanwhile, the multinational joint task force has barely broken ground on its Tamale headquarters.

Informal conversations with police, immigration officers, and other security services reveal a profound ignorance of the severity of the situation in Burkina Faso and Togo. The military purposefully deploys soldiers from southern Ghana; as a result, personnel lack local context and often do not speak the languages of the places they are deployed. When visiting the hamlet of Zakoli, where eight Fulani were killed in mob violence in April 2022, nearby soldiers asked one of the authors to translate for them so they could speak to the survivors that they were guarding.

Furthermore, there have been a number of incidents in which Ghanaian soldiers reportedly used excessive force against citizens, further alienating themselves from the population they are meant to serve. In October, personnel from the Ghana Armed Forces stormed the town of Garu in Upper East, allegedly brutalizing around a dozen men in retaliation for an attack on national security operatives by local vigilantes. In June 2022, police responded to students protesting in Kumasi with pepper spray and live bullets.

While the situation across coastal West Africa is precarious, Ghana is better positioned than its neighbors to confront it. Accra still has time to increase investments in infrastructure, health, and education in the north. Changing the narrative around Fulani and other minorities is also critical. Abuses by security services must be investigated, and perpetrators held accountable.

Ghana can learn from its neighbors and eschew the overly militaristic, Western-led “counterterrorism” approach that enflamed the crisis in the Sahel. It is not too late for Ghana to harness its institutions, resources, and personnel to deal with the threat at its doorstep.

[allwaswell16]

—Fics by allwaswell16—

[ Ficlets ~1k ]

Charity Ficlets (series) [NR, 10k, fic post]

Chapter 1: Shiny Objects: Louis isn't so sure about Professor Styles, but when he must save him from a loose niffler, things change between them. Chapter 2: 500 Miles: Louis hates being ignored, and he knows just how to get his roommates attention. Chapter 3: Smitten: Louis hates winter. Then he begins receiving anonymous gifts to keep him warm, and maybe winter isn't so bad after all. Chapter 4: Grease Lightning: Louis' cat likes to give out his phone number. Chapter 5: The Duke's Diamond: The Duke of Yorkshire must find a mate, and the omega he finds hiding from his country ball intrigues him. Chapter 6: Baby, All I Want For Christmas: When Louis shops for his siblings’ Christmas gifts, he finds a good reason to keep returning to the same shop–a very cute boy.

OT 4/5 Very Silly Chat/Email Chain Ficlets [M, 7k, group chat, fic post]

Part One: Danger in the Produce Aisle [NR, 844 words, fic post] Louis finds a frightening piece of produce at the grocery store. The group chat comes to his rescue. Part Two: Caramel Apple Peeps [NR, 1k, fic post] Louis is out of milk for his early morning cuppa tea. He sets out to the store to pick some up, but he gets distracted by Niall's love for caramel apples in the group chat. Or another 1D whatsapp chat drabble. Part Three: The OT4 Email Chain [NR, 1k, fic post] Three emails in the 1D OT4 email chain: Hack this ya arseholes, The Nialler's 'do, and Liam Chain. A series of emails sent in a group email chain between donnysoldier28@gmail.com, randysdonuts @ savethewhales.org, CraicDirection @ hotmail, and TheRealBatMan @ aol.com Part Four: Email Chain OT4 Part 4 (I think) [NR, 600 words, fic post] Another installment of the OT4 email chain. Louis brings up the fateful night of Liam's diarrhoea leading to their only canceled concert. Part Five: Screaming [M, 1k, fic post] Another installment of the ot4 email chain. Three emails where Niall screams about: being jealous of Steve Aoki's friendship with Louis, the beautiful black and white photo of Louis on his Instagram clearly taken by Harry, and Louis' dog. Also includes: jokes about dog poo (obviously), Harry's red coat, dogs Liam doesn't Instagram, and much more! Part Six: The Brits & Always You [M, 1k, fic post] Two more OT4 email chains: The Brits and Always You Featuring: Harry's floofy hair, Liam as a superhero in a Gucci sweatshirt, nervous Niall, Donald Duck jumpers, Louis tweeting about Harry, and everyone crying about Harry's songwriting (as one does). Part Seven: Is Neil Available? [NR, 1k, fic post] Another OT4 email chain: Is Neil Available? Featuring: Niall's new email address, stealing Harry's hat and Louis' jacket, Liam's growing and multiple chains, Instagram aesthetics, jealousy, and Niall's devotion to OT4

All This Time [T, 1k, omegaverse, fic post]

Louis Tomlinson had been best friends with flower shop owner Gemma Styles for years. It wasn't until she suggested he date her alpha brother that he ever thought of Harry that way. Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea...

Netflix Original [T, 1k, neighbors, fic post]

Harry's hot neighbor overhears that he doesn't have Netflix.

Walk of Shame [T, 1k, meet cute, fic post]

On a cold, rainy autumn morning Louis meets someone else doing the walk of shame.

A Deal [T, 898 words, Potter Direction, fic post]

Slytherin Harry Styles spends his free time drawing down by the lake. Unfortunately, he can't show anyone what he's drawing because they're all of Gryffindor Louis Tomlinson.

[Back to masterpost]

[sparkles-oflight]

Have I ever told you, you are like Dopamin? - CHAPTER 2 - Plastika

Master Post | Chapter 1

Author's note: Hello, hello! Welcome to chapter two 🙃 I hope you enjoy this one!

Word count (according to Word): 5334 words

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It’s 11 am. I am well rested, I’ve drunk my coffee, and I’ve done everything I needed to do – well at least according to my to-do list. I’m just so glad the meeting wasn’t early like yesterday. I hate to wake up early in the morning and I hate every and any interaction when I’m in a “half-sleep” state.

I walk up to the studio and notice it’s already open. Nace must have arrived earlier to open it.

Or so I thought.

I placed my stuff in the meeting room, and as I walking up to the recording room, I hear guitars, bass, drums, and even voices.

- “Waiting for the rain to wash away” – I heard Francisca’s voice – “Everything the shadow dancers say”.

They seemed to be singing “Carpe Diem”, so I entered the room where Todd was listening to them sing.

- “As we light up with the fall of dusk”.

- “We'll play our love against your hate” – Bojan kept it going while also playing the guitar - “Don't you count on us to let you win today”.

I saw her slowly waving at me.

- “Let me hear you say”!

- “We'll dance and play until the stars fade”. – both sang together.

-  Ah-ah – Jan would try to sing my back vocals.

- “Across the sky, we're writing our names”.

-  Ah-ah. – I also sang along, but they couldn’t hear me.

- “Got no regrets, we want it all”. – Bojan sang solo this time.

- “Got no regrets, we want it all”. – and she followed right after.

- “Won't count the hours 'til the sunrise”.

- “Got no regrets, we want it all”. – they truly sounded like a powerful duo with their voice and pitch matching so well.

- “Let's leave a mark before our goodbyes” – and they joined their voices together once more – “Because we're only fully alive this moment in time”. – and I just sang along with them from where I was - “No mountain we can't climb”.

- “We danced and played until the sun came” – and once more, it was just Bojan’s voice as the instruments quieted down – “Writing a story using our names”.

And slowly I saw him turning his head towards Francisca. He held her hand, smiling.

- “About a generation not afraid to seize the day”… - and it was all quiet.

When their eyes met, it truly felt like the song, from Bojan’s perspective, meant more than just a “party like crazy” song. From my perspective…it was different. The truth is that Bojan doesn’t sound the same when he sings in English…there’s something lacking there. And I think Francisca does bring up that something. Both their voices are very similar, and she does have a weaker control over it, sure. However, she excels in interpretation, especially in English…

- Nice. – Nace grabbed a bottle of water – I need to have a break.

- Kris! – she said putting her headphones down.

I walked into the room they were in. She was smiling at first, but quickly that smile vanished as she remembered our past interactions…

- Hey everyone! I can’t believe everyone actually got here early.

- Actually, you are the only one late. – Maček said while picking up his lighter.

- Wait, what?

- We started two hours ago… - she said.

- Why am I the only one who doesn’t know about this? Again?

- Wait, you are telling me you are not in the group chat? – the cat boy said.

- I am… Did you kick me out of the SSF group chat!?

- No, I mean the Joker Out group chat on WhatsApp.

- We have a WhatsApp group now?

And at that moment I heard a notification from my pocket. I looked at my phone and saw: “Douch bag from TikTok has added you to ‘Collab’ group”.

- I might have forgotten to add you – said the Douch Bag, Bojan.

- Very funny…

- Oh, so that’s why I couldn’t save your number. – Francisca said – I just assumed you had me blocked. – I sure as hell can block her now.

- What were you guys doing? – I asked Nace since both Jure and Jan seemed to be out of the room.

- We were trying to figure out her singing key and rhythm.

- We don’t need to change a lot since her voice pitch is very similar to Bojan’s. They both seem to sing in similar keys.

- We were experimenting with Carpe Diem since it’s a song that she can sing well pretty much with no problems. – Nace was back to speaking Slovenian to me, so I looked at the couple who seemed to not be paying attention to what had been said – It’s just easier to experiment this way. You can play now. Bojan was just filling in for your position.

I walked up to those two and grabbed Bojan’s guitar.

- This is mine now.

- What?

- I’ll have it now. – I smiled at him – I’m the guitarist, after all.

- Oh, yeah. Sure, man. – he gave me the guitar and went towards Nace – I’m going outside. Wanna join?

- Yeah, no problem.

- And you? – he asked Francisca.

- I’m fine. I would rather not have to inhale the smell of smoke right now.

Both of them laughed as they left.

I was fidgeting with my rings and hands, and every time I played a cord, the sound just wouldn’t come out…

- So… - she said as she sat down.

But then she stopped. She started rocking in her chair with no idea of what to say. I tried to get the guitar the way I wanted but instead, I only got more nervous because nothing was going how I wanted. Eventually, I actually let a grunt out. That is the second time it has happened when I was next to her. Her stare alone can be pretty annoying.

She looked nervous as if she wanted to say something.

- What?

- I didn’t want to say anything…because you surely know more than I do…but…

- But what?

- Your guitar is unplugged. – I looked at it and I saw it – When you grabbed the guitar, the cord fell.

- Are you shitting me? – I sighed.

- That’s why, no matter how much you raised the volume, it was not working as it should.

- Thanks…I got that. - I resigned.

- No problem… and…

I looked at her.

- Nothing…

- What?

- It’s really none of my business but… you really have beautiful hands…

- And?

- As someone with small hands, I really like them. Also, I like to draw! And hands really do provide some of the best shapes in art.

- You draw?

- Yeah…I could draw you someday…

- I see you two get along. – Matej’s voice entered the room.

- Well, do we now? – She turned to me.

- I wouldn’t say that. – I said sitting down as well.

- I know Bojan is kinda “taking care” of her, but you know you are the boss in this band.

- I’m not exactly the “boss”. Nobody is.

- And I’m not exactly being “taken care of”. – she cringed at the thought of it – I’m my own person and adult. I would rather not be taken as a baby just for being slightly younger, thanks.

- Sorry about that. – he apologized to her - I’m going to call the rest of the boys. – and just like that he was gone.

- Ah, sorry. I was rude again. – she told me as she took a sip of her water.

- You weren’t exactly rude, just stating what you think.

- Yeah, but I never know when to shut up…honestly. I don’t understand much about social cues…

That seems funny. I thought she had this strong character and knew exactly what she was doing. So…she is just winging it? I guess that makes sense, putting a character on should be easier for her…But it also makes it harder for me to understand and connect with her…because I don’t know who she is. And I don’t know if I’m ready to go through something like that again. Knowing someone who doesn’t want to be honest, but instead prefer to act and put on layers of masks…

- Do you… - but before I could ask anything, I was cut off by the sound of the loud but short guy we all know and love.

- Are we ready for more!? – he said enthusiastically.

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I had Fran next to me…we were both looking for some inspiration, but it’s not easy if no one actually has any idea of what to do…

- I have an idea! – Fran broke the ice after a while of being stuck coming up with a concept.

- I’m all ears. – I told her.

- We want a love story, right?

- Yeah.

- Why don’t we spin a wheel?

- What?

- We spin a wheel with different options on what we want to do for the song’s concept and then we decide what to do.

- Where do you intend to get a wheel? – Kris asked her.

- Online, duh. – she smiled as she got her cell phone from her pocket – There are some templates where you just fill in what are your options, press “spin”, et voilà: you get a randomized answer.

- Let’s do that then! – I told her.

- First, “girl meets boy” or “boy meets girl”?

She wrote both options down and I placed my arm around her comfortably.

- Girl meets boy! – she announced.

- Oh my god, it’s us. – I bopped her nose and she smiled.

- Next, who falls first and the hardest?

The wheel spun once more, and the answer was clear:

- Holy shit, you like me? – I told her.

- Apparently, yes! – she said with a smile and with her hand on her chest.

- But where am I from? North, South, West, or East and central Europe?

- You are…

The answer was convenient:

- East and Central Europe. – I slapped my knee and, ironically, I said:

- Oh, what a coincidence. I know a guy like that!

- I’ll let you decide which country he’s from then.

I stretched my arms because of how offended I was by that question. He’s obviously from:

- Slovenia! – I told her, and she laughed.

- Okay, and the girl is from…- and the wheel spun.

- Ah, if it isn’t my favorite part of Europe: southern Europe. I personally believe she should be from Portugal, the capital of Spain.

- Shush! – she hit me lightly – You are this close to Slovenia becoming the capital of Croatia. – she said showing me her two fingers close to each other.

- That’s pretty and all, but uh… - Jan interjected – what about the actual story?

- Wait, I’ll write a bunch of tropes and see which one gets selected.

She copied and pasted the most popular music tropes onto the wheel.

- “Soulmates” … - Kris read the result out loud.

- Good or bad ending? – she said with a trickster smile.

- “Good ending”.

- That’s settled! – I announced by getting up and stretching! - It’s the beautiful story of a girl… - I ask for her hand, which she gives it – who came from a country bathed by the sun and the ocean to a beautiful country that borders the Mediterranean Sea.

- Slovenia has barely any coastline.

- A beautiful country nonetheless. – I help her get up like she was a lady – She meets a boy – I held her by the waist with one hand and with the other, I took her hand – who’s her soulmate and they fall in love.

She doesn’t directly look at me. Instead, she looked at the other members, in embarrassment, and held onto me as well. And after a dramatic pause, I finally let go of her hand and release a bit of her waist.

- I like the idea! – I said with assertiveness and in a funny tone. She laughed and hugged me sideways.

- Well, that was certainly dramatic. – she sat down again.

- Well, that’s what I live for! Drama! – I did some jazz hands which got her doing the same as me.

- Okay this is good, for you guys – Kris muttered – but lyrics aren’t really what is important right now.

- No… - she said – But now that we have a theme going on, we can research the topic. As a matter of fact…- she looked at me.

- Throughout the past months, the two of us have been talking a lot… and we have both shared songs that remind us of our cultures.

- So, we might have an inspiration for what the vibes of the characters are.

- So… - Kris noted – everything just fell into its place very nicely?

- It’s cool, isn’t it? – I showed some enthusiasm to that gloomy face of his.

But it seemed not to be enough. He has been like this since yesterday. He looks annoyed at how things seem to be going smoothly with Fran’s integration and possibly how quickly they are moving…. And he clearly wanted some time and space alone.

So, I did what any normal person would do.

I jumped on top of him and tickled him until he started hitting me with a pillow and we eventually fell on the drums’ cymbals.

- I HATE YOU! – Kris yelled as he laughed his ass off.

- I LOVE YOU TOO! – I was still on top of him. He tried to fight me off with his hands, which I grabbed and kissed him on the forehead.

I smiled and let my tongue out to mock him.

- ENOUGH! – Matej finally shouted at us. – Do you want to pay for damaged materials?

We looked around us as we sat on the floor, and we saw what we had just done. Everyone was very quiet after our storm… But not for too long… Nace and Fran were looking at each other, red as tomatoes, and they were trying to see who would burst out laughing first.

However, it was Maček the first who snorted. It was loud enough to break those two poker faces.

- “I LOVE YOU TOO” – Nace mimicked me – That was too good! - And the younger had already lost her shit and was laughing on the sofa.

Jan, on the other hand, was covering his face so that we wouldn’t see his expression, but I bet it was priceless. I smiled at Kris.

- Not my fault you have such a kissable face. – I told him in Slovenia since Fran was clearly busier trying to breathe.

I got up and Kris lightly slapped me in the butt as I walked towards the sofa. He barely managed to hit me - he was still gasping for air.

Matej and the whole crew were already fed up with us. So fed up that they had to call in lunch early so we decided to go out for a smoke break outside… It’s starting to get cold though and we’ll have to find an alternative to smoking in the studio since Fran is so sensible to the smell…

- Where do we go to eat today? – Juček asked after he let the smoke of the cigarette out of his lungs.

- Honestly, I’m not sure. – I told him, doing the same thing.

- Cya everyone! – Fran said rushing away from us.

- Where are you going?

- Having lunch with my friend! – she only stopped after reaching a safe distance from our “smoke corner”.

- Do you come back in the afternoon!?

- Obviously, you dumb-dumb ¡Nos vemos!

- What did she say? – Juček wondered.

- She said uh, that she’ll see us, in Spanish, right? – Jan waited for my confirmation.

- Yup.

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The five of us walked up again to that tiny room we were in this morning. We would have to, once again, deal with being stuck and! With a small creature claiming to be a singer, also known as Francisca.

- I can’t believe you brought me to a sandwich place… - Nace complained

- But there were gluten-free options. – Bojan told him.

 - Yeah, but gluten-free bread is *not* the same.

- You are a big boy! – the small annoyance told him, in English, and hugged Nace’s arm – You need carbs!

- “You are a small boy! You need soup!” That’s what my grandma would have said. – and of course, the only one who would say that would be her, Francisca, who walked in.

Bojan immediately hugged her and, this time, he even went for two kisses on the cheeks.

- Two kisses? – I asked.

- Last time Bojan tried to go for three kisses we ended up kissing on the lips. – she pointed it out very casually.

- Do you just kiss twice in Portugal?

- Yup. – she shrugged – So officially, Bojan was the first person to ever kiss me. Even if accidentally.

- Also, she’s so bad at kissing people on the cheek – he mocked her.

- Hey!

- It’s true! You don’t know how to kiss on the cheek, and I find it hilarious. She’s like a child!

- You see why we don’t do it.  – she looked at me and pointed at him.

She ended up sharing the playlist both of them had worked on. And after some back and forth, we even start coming out with some sounds. We even decided to incorporate one extra instrument that Bojan knows how to play: the accordion. Apparently, it was a common sound found in both folklore songs that they had compiled. I personally don’t think the sound of the accordion fits our music style, and we still want to be very truthful to our music style. The problem is, Francisca is not attached to a specific music style, and she likes music experimentation so we also should incorporate that part, but we are struggling a bit with it.

- I have an idea… - she said – my “character” comes to Slovenia, right? What if she brought a sound with her? It doesn’t have to be an instrument.

- Go on… - Bojan told her.

- For example, there’s stuff that reminds me of Portugal, certain sounds such as the guitar, like I told you. – she looked at Jan that nodded back at her – now imagine the sound of her footsteps when she meets the boy. In Portugal, we have this thing called “Portuguese Calçada”.

She pulled up her phone to show how the pavement of some sidewalks is done in Portuguese culture. Different black and white rock squares composed the shapes and drawings on the floor.

- It’s very pretty. – Jan told her.

- Yes, but it’s an endangered art. It’s too dangerous for people that aren’t used to walking on them and don’t expect holes in the floor. Or when it’s raining! This rock is super slippery. Now, see this.

She showed us some shoes with flower patterns sewn onto them.

- These are some shoes we use in typical folklore, there are different types of shoes and materials, but the traditional ones were in wood.

- So, what you are saying is…? – Jan was nearly asleep from the long explanation.

- Imagine the “wind” brings the sound of these shoes hitting the mosaic on the floor. It would be a really good repercussion sound.

- Took you that long just to sa- I was going to make a snarky comment, but I was stopped by our loud “leader”.

- ¡Maravilloso! – Bojan told her.

- ¡Muchas gracias, Bojan!

- Aren’t you Portuguese? – I told her – shouldn’t you refrain from speaking in Spanish?

- You aren’t the only ones allowed to speak multiple languages, obrigado.

We kept listing a bunch of noises and possibilities, Bojan and Francisca thought too much alike…even behaved similarly, she was just a bit shyer. When one cracked a joke, the other one had the perfect quote to complement it. When one was stuck, so was the other, and whenever one needed a break, so did the other. These two morons share a brain cell.

I thought that was just too funny. So, I let out a little snort and everyone looked at me.

- Are you okay? – Bojan asked as a grin formed on his face – What’s so funny?

I noticed the staring and decided to compose myself.

- I was sneezing. – I ahem to get my voice back to being firm - But I agree, a break sounds nice.

- Are you okay?

- Yeah, sure, man. – and I coughed some more – I’ll just not go outside right now. It’s a bit cold.

- Do you have a cold? – I noticed everyone starting to talk to me in Slovenian, as I tried my best to stay in English.

- No, I am fine. Just need to eat something.

- Me too. – Jan put down the guitar - I’m starving.

Everyone got up and we all went towards the vending machine to get some snacks. Nace had to stick to the ones he brought from home. Afterward, the guys left to smoke, and it was just me and Francisca in the room, once again.

We didn’t talk for a solid minute. She had her earphones plugged in – as if we hadn’t already listened to enough music and sounds in the past couple of hours – and wrote a lot on her cellphone. Even so, from time to time, I would catch her looking at me. Eventually, I asked.

- Okay, who are you texting?

- What? – she said with a confused face as she unplugged her earphones.

- Don’t pretend you didn’t hear me. You are probably texting someone you like, and you don’t want me to tell Bojan that you are seeing someone else.

- What are you talking about? – she still had that same expression of pretending that she doesn’t know what I’m talking about.

- Come on, at this point, everyone knows you two have been dating in the past couple of months. If you are cheating on him, you can tell me, and I’ll make sure to tell him for you. I just don’t want you out there breaking my friend's heart like that.

- What!?

- Come on…You wouldn’t talk so casually about an “accidental” kiss, or even behave so alike if you two do if you weren’t dating. You might not realize this because you never had a relationship before, but cheating hurts. Either that or you are just a big “pick me” and are making everything possible to be the perfect partner for Bojan, which, if you are here for that, you might as well have not come. We don’t need an actor playing a character, we need someone focused, and right now you are just slowing us down!

- Comes merda às colheres ou nasceste assim? – she said it with her hand in her head seriously getting angry at me.

- What?

- It means “Do you eat shit with spoons or were you born like that!?”

- Didn’t you say you like people telling you what they are thinking!? Why are you so rude?

- YOU ARE BEING RUDE! I am not dating Bojan! Bojan is helping me out every step of the way. And you? Ever since I stepped foot here yesterday, you have been throwing me shade with snarky comments, side-eying me, and constantly tearing me down and sometimes straight up excluding me. If you want this done in time, be a fucking professional and grow up!

Wait…They are not dating…? And I’m the one being rude? I’m the one excluding her? I don’t think I had realized that…If anything I thought I was the one being excluded. Her bright personality seemed to be shining on top of everyone else’s, and her “narcissistic gentleness” seemed more like an act than her own feelings…but if that’s so…why do I see truth in her eyes right now…?

I had no idea she felt that way. She felt the same as me.

- I’m sorry…

- Well, you better be! – she sighed - I’ve been trying to get along with everyone. And it’s frustrating that no matter what I do, you still treat me like this…

She went silent for a moment...

- Sorry for bursting onto you like that… - she said plugging her earphones again – I understand that I’m hard to deal with, and I understand two days is too long for anyone to put up with my BS, let alone two months. I should have regulated a bit more my emotions. I’m sorry…

Silence again… but this time, I’m the one bringing in the sound.

- Do you need help with something…?

She looked at me…as if I finally said the right words…

- I… - she stopped and messed around with her hair – I’m just texting my friend…I’ll be fine…

- I apologize for making so much drama with you and Bojan… - I looked at the floor and fidgeted with the rings in my hand.

- No, it’s fine… - she said, also looking at the floor.

- I’m sorry I’m acting like a child. I’m an adult… - I sighed as I looked up to avoid a tear to get away from my eyes – I should know better by now that I shouldn’t mess around with other people’s lives and not make assumptions…

- It’s fine… - she kept saying, not actually listening.

- And I was rude…I’m sorry. – she was not listening to a single word of what I was saying. She was just disassociating.

I approached her and kneeled down to see her expression. Her eyes were red from holding back her tears and she started biting on her nails, which was hurting her…

- Hey… - I said as I grabbed both her shaking hands – What do you need?

She took a deep breath and finally let out a single tear. With her voice sulking she finally asked for what she needed.

- So, uh…my manager is going back to Portugal after this week. And I also only have a reservation for a couple of days at the hotel. I was hoping I would find an apartment to rent until January easily here, but I guess it’s just as hard as in my country.

- Can’t you stay longer at the hotel?

- Nope, every single one is booked in Ljubljana until after Christmas, and it’s super expensive either way. Sorry, I don’t make that much money. – she laughed, as more stray tears left her eyes.

- That’s why you were texting your friend?

- Yup. She – she breathed in a little bit, and she was starting to get calmer – she says I can stay at her home for a bit, but personally, I would feel bad because her parents don’t speak a word of English. – she smiled – Do you have a tissue?

I touched my pockets, but I couldn't find the ones I thought I had with me.

- Sorry, already took them away from you. – she said smiling and showing me the package.

- What!? How!?

- You probably have a hole in your pocket. That’s how. – she finished cleaning up her nose and face.

- Oh god, I really do have a hole in my pockets! – I said as I found the motherfucker.

- Let me see. – she said putting the tissues in my pockets.

- They are not just gonna fall out like that.

- I mean… if you move around, they probably will fall.

- Let me just- I was about to get up but before I could process it, a couple of arms were hugging me.

They were of a small person with a long green and white sleeve shirt. They had puffy short hair and the most beautiful brown eyes you could ever picture. That was brave of her…How come she hug someone with whom she was just angry at? Who mistreated her? I understand the whole “forgive and forget thing” …but she should really learn how to have some self-respect.

I wanted to say that…but it did feel nice to have her around me for once…

- Fran… - she let go of me and smiled directly making eye contact with me.

- Nice to meet you. – she told me, extending her hand – My name is Francisca, but you can call me Fran, like you just did.

I was hesitant at first, but I took her hand.

- You must be Kris, right? I really enjoy your music. I’m very glad I got the chance to talk and work with you.

I laughed awkwardly and then I finally accepted it: this is the true way we first met. Eye to eye, no pretending to care about each other, no bickering…

- Yes, I’m Kris. And I hope this collaboration sails smoothly.

She smiled a lot. She was for once looking at me brightly. She was looking at me as someone who actually took her into consideration. She was looking at me as someone meaningful in her life. I hope I’m looking at her in the same way…

From the entrance, I heard some claps. We both looked at the door, and everyone had already returned.

- Whoaw, that was beautiful. – the author of the claps, Nace, said – Bojan is crying.

- No, I’m not. – he tried to wipe away a couple of tears that were running out of his eyes – it’s the cold!

- Think fast! – I told him.

I threw at him the tissue packet, only for it to hit his face and then land on his hands.

- You deserved that for eavesdropping.

- We weren’t here for too long actually. – Juček said as he was doing pull-ups in the doorframe.

- We came in when she was already crying. – Jan walked towards his guitar – So, uh, you need a place to stay?

- Well, I’ll have to find something, yes. – she said still cleaning her face.

- Bojan – Jan called for him – Don’t you have a spare room in your house?

- Yeah, I do. – then Bojan redirected his attention to Francisca – You could totally sleep there, if you are okay with it. I live with Martin, but he’s studying most time. – he crossed his arms – If I sleep on the sofa, my room should be available. Free of charge.

- But I could never do that! – she protested – If I were to go live with you guys, first you’d have to ask Martin. Second, I’m not using your room! It’s yours! I would sleep on the sofa. And third, I can’t stay there free!

- If you insist a lot, I might make you do my laundry.

- Yes, me messing around with a washing machine in Slovenian makes a lot of sense. – she looked at him with a tired look.

The lovebirds debated back in forth for a while before settling on Francisca staying at Bojan’s house until the end of this journey.

And once again, I had that annoying feeling in the back of my head. About this whole collaboration, about Bojan and Francisca’s relationship…why do I despise her? Or do I? I don’t think that’s it… I think I just don’t like all the attention she gets.

Honestly, I would think as an adult I would already have my emotions all sorted out, but, man, I’m a wreck.

WHATSAPP: “+351 XXX XXX XXX sent you 2 messages”

Unknown: Hello hii, it’s Francisca :)

Just wanted to tell you that I arrived at the hotel safely :D

This is your sign to save my number *finger guns*

Unknown: Anyways,

Keep calling me Fran :D

I like it <3

DO YOU WANT TO ADD THIS CONTACT OR BLOCK?

ADD

SAVE AS: “Fran-chica”

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After note: I actually hate to write Kris 😅 at least bitchy Kris like in these first two chapters. Maybe because he's the one I can predict the least out of all the boys. It's hard for me to read that boy (cough cough I just have a crush on him lol Cough cough).

Btw! Franciscas are usually called by Chica or (more recently) by Kika, not Fran. Anyways, in Spanish, "Chica" means "girl". Just thought you'd like to not that info :)

Chapter 3

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7 great WhatsApp features launched in 2023 to this point

In Short

You can now run your primary WhatsApp account on up to 4 different devices.

Chat lock feature on WhatsApp lets you lock specific chats without having to lock the app altogether.

You can only edit WhatsApp texts within the first 15 minutes after sending the original message.

1. Same WhatsApp, Multiple devices

After years of waiting, WhatsApp finally gave us the ability to use our same WhatsApp account on multiple devices. So, the feature basically works like how you use WhatsApp Web. All you need to do is — suppose you want to run WhatsApp on a different phone. Simply, download WhatsApp on the new device, and while you’re on the screen that says enter your phone number, simply tap the three dots in the top-right and select Link to existing account. After that, scan the QR code from your primary phone, and voila, you can now run the same WhatsApp account on two smartphones. And you can simultaneously do this on 4 different devices, which is pretty cool and handy.

2. Chat lock

Chat Lock is another cool feature that has been a long time coming. Up until now, to hide chats, either you could archive them or lock WhatsApp altogether. But now, you can specifically lock WhatsApp chats. To do this, simply head over to the profile info screen of any chat contact that you’d like to lock. Then, scroll down to find the ‘Chat lock’ option. On the next screen, enable "Lock this chat with fingerprint", authenticate and you are done.

3. Edit messages

Similar to Telegram, you can now edit sent WhatsApp messages, basically to rectify any mistake or edit your message. To do this, tap and hold on to the message you wish to edit. Now select the ‘Edit’ option from the three-dots menu in the top-right. Make the changes to the text and hit the ‘tick’ option to finalise the changes. Note, you can only edit texts within the first 15 minutes, and there’s going to be an edited tag below the edited message.

4. Share high-quality photos

Up until now, if you had to share a high-quality photo with someone on WhatsApp, you had to rely on sending a photo as a document. Well, not anymore. Simply, go to WhatsApp Settings, look for Storage and Data, and within Media Upload Quality, choose “Best quality” for Photo Upload quality. This way, you can send your photos in the best possible quality on WhatsApp without relying on the “sending photo as document” feature.

5. Dedicated video recording mode

Previously, to directly record a video from WhatsApp, users had to press and hold the shutter button in the camera section of WhatsApp. But now, with the dedicated video recording mode, there’s a separate button altogether that lets you record videos.

6. Voice status

We all know how to send voice messages on WhatsApp. But did you know you can now set voice messages as your status updates? Very simple. Head over to the ‘Status’ tab on WhatsApp and select the ‘pencil’ icon at the bottom. On the next screen, tap the ‘microphone’ icon and start recording your voice message for up to 30 seconds.

7. Status link previews

When posting a link as your status, WhatsApp can now automatically add a preview image by fetching the thumbnail or the featured image from the URL. Basically, with this feature, the person hitting your link will have context by seeing the thumbnail, like what the link is actually talking about.

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