#The border control strategy | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hyperactively-me · 4 months

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king!ghost x reader -- war

soooo. yeah! this part is so 'simon "only soft for his girl" riley.' but, this is where shit gets seriousss lol ALSO WORD COUNT IS OBSCENE I'M SO SORRY (i'm not sorry), with this part being about ~8.4k words total. HAVE FUN I GUESS! warnings: LOTS OF SMUT, (unprotected sex, but there is no pregnancy resulted from this here because its ~fantasy~!), mentions of death, talks of war

You remember exactly what you were doing when the news was broken to you and Simon.

You and Simon were lounging on your plush couch, your feet propped up in Simon’s lap, sitting before an open fireplace as he read to you. One of Simon’s hands held your ankle as the other held the book open. You had cuddled up with a blanket, slightly dozing off as Simon’s deep voice drawled through the story. It was peaceful, serene…domestic.

The door to the chamber swung open, revealing a solemn-faced messenger. Simon’s gaze hardened as he shifted from the book to the intruder, a subtle furrow forming on his brow. Walking in without knocking was extremely uncommon, and just as Simon was about to reprimand them, the messenger spoke.

“Your majesties, forgive my intrusion, but I bring news from the southern borders. The Southern Kingdom has launched a full-scale invasion. War has come to Kastron.”

The world seemed to move in slow motion as you took in their words, an icy chill running up your spine despite the fireplace a mere few feet in front of you. The tranquility of the moment shattered, and the book slipped from Simon’s grasp, its pages rustling as it hit the floor. The shock of the message echoed through the room, leaving an unsettling silence in its wake.

Simon’s grip on your ankle tightened involuntarily. The flames in the fireplace now seemed to cast ominous shadows on the walls. You sat up, the blanket slipping off your shoulders, and shot a worried glance at Simon. Simon’s eyes met yours, a silent understanding passing between you.

Simon’s jaw clenched, his gaze hardening with a sense of duty and determination. You withdrew your feet from his lap, now sitting up straight, wordless. You swallowed thickly, your throat felt dry.

“What?” Simon’s voice is urgent. “Are you certain?”

The messenger nodded, his expression grim. “The information was just passed along to me from a few witnesses, your majesty. The Southern Kingdom’s forces are advancing rapidly. Our scouts barely had time to send word.”

A weight landed on your chest, a sudden heaviness that made it harder to breathe. Simon immediately shifts gears, rapidly standing up, his eyes never leaving the messenger.

“Prepare the council. We convene in the war room immediately,” Simon commanded, his voice unwavering. The way he switched so quickly from domestic tranquility to a stance of solemnity and command was a stark reminder of the kind of ruler he was — impenetrable, stoic, and ruthless.

The messenger hastened out of the room, and you and Simon followed suit.

As the three of you made your way through the corridors, tens of strategists and other high-ranking military officials added to the growing assembly. The tension in the air was palpable as you reached the war room, its doors swinging open to reveal a scene of controlled chaos. Maps adorned the walls, lanterns flickered on the large table, and the hum of hushed conversations filled the room.

Simon took his place at the head of the table, his presence commanding immediate attention. Simon refused a chair, pressing his hands onto the table as he leaned over. General Price stood by his side, ready to translate the unfolding crisis into a coherent plan of action. Commander Garrick is clutching rolls of paper, already prepared with possible battle strategies.

The council members acknowledged your arrival with nods, but the gravity of the situation left little room for formalities. Simon wasted no time and addressed the room, his voice cutting through the murmurs.

You felt numb, seated in a chair that had to be pulled up for you to sit near to Simon. It felt as though you were underwater, spacing out as Price debriefed the room on the unfolding situation.

General Price stepped forward, unfolding a detailed map that showcased the contested territories. His finger traced the movements of the Southern Kingdom’s forces. As he spoke, you tried your best to pay attention, still caught up in the immediate shift in tone. Not even two weeks had passed since the ball was held in your honor, and approximately two months since you were stabbed, and somehow war was officially declared on Kastron. This is what you were afraid of having to deal with as queen, yet you knew it would be inevitable, knowing Kastron’s history.

“The Southern Kingdom’s forces are advancing on multiple fronts. Our scouts report significant numbers, and their progress is faster than anticipated,” General Price explained, his tone steady despite the concerning information.

Simon’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing as he absorbed the gravity of the situation. The room fell into a focused silence, broken only by the scratching of quills and the occasional whispered discussion among council members.

“And what are their intentions?” Simon asked, his voice sharp.

“We’ve gathered that, since the tensions experienced a few months ago, it is most likely their primary aim to steal our resources and the silver-rich lands, your majesty. They also seek to dismantle our military power by taking over Kastron,” Gaz speaks confidently, motioning to the notes in his hands.

Responsibility weighed heavily on your shoulders, and you could feel the collective gaze of the council turning to you and Simon for guidance. Simon looked back at you, a silent exchange of shared determination.

Simon turns back to face the rest of the room, his gaze fierce. “We cannot let the Southern Kingdom broach any villages. We will defend our lands, protect our people, and ensure the security of Kastron. But, Price, I also want you to mobilize our forces. We need to establish defensive positions and buy time for additional reinforcements. General Price, what are our immediate options?”

Price outlined a series of potential strategies, ranging from fortifying key locations to launching counterattacks to sending diplomats. The council engaged in debates, discussing the strengths and weaknesses of each approach.

Amidst the planning, you felt a surge of responsibility. You couldn’t merely be a passive observer; the fate of Kastron rested on the decisions made in this very room. Gathering your resolve, you spoke up.

“Um, maybe we can explore diplomatic options first. It’s clear the Southern Kingdom wants resources and power. If we can negotiate a compromise, we might avoid unnecessary bloodshed,” you suggested, meeting Simon’s eyes with a hopeful yet determined expression.

Simon considered your words, the furrow in his brow softening. Diplomacy wasn’t his first instinct, but he recognized the potential benefits. The room fell into a contemplative silence as everyone weighed the idea.

After a moment, Simon nodded. “You’re right. We’lll send envoys to open a line of communication. General Price, prepare a delegation. Make it clear that we are willing to negotiate, but also ready to defend our kingdom.”

The tension in the room eased slightly as the council shifted its focus to the diplomatic approach. Three delegates were selected, messages were drafted, and plans were set in motion.

That was a week ago. Two days after you had made your suggestion and the council voted, the bodies of these three delegates turned up near a village close to Kastron’s southern border.

When the news of the delegates’ fate struck the war room, Simon was beyond infuriated. Diplomacy had been brutally rebuffed, and the Southern Kingdom’s intentions were now crystal clear.

The warmth of the crackling fire from that night seems worlds away from the chill that now permeates the air. Looking back now, it all felt like a distant dream.

Now, you’re sitting in an empty bed, trying your best to think positively despite the inner turmoil you’re experiencing. The silence is oppressive, broken only by the distant sounds of preparations echoing through the castle. You glance at the empty space beside you, the absence of Simon leaving a void that no amount of positive thinking can fill. The shadow of your personal guard stands outside your bedroom door, a constant reminder of the heightened security measures now in place. The once-familiar comfort of the castle feels alien, additional guards posted throughout the halls. The sense of confinement within the walls was palpable, a stark contrast to the freedom and celebration of the ball held in your honor two weeks ago. The events of the past week replay in your mind like a haunting refrain. The failed attempt at diplomacy, the loss of the delegates, and the inexorable march of the Southern Kingdom's forces toward Kastron—all of it hangs over you, a dark cloud blocking out the sun.

Simon has been stuck in the war room for nearly 16 hours every day for the past week, tirelessly strategizing, receiving updates, and making crucial decisions. As Simon remained confined in the war room, you took on the role of overseeing domestic affairs, ensuring that the daily functions of the kingdom continued despite the looming threat of war. The once-familiar routine now carried an undercurrent of tension, and you found yourself managing not only the logistics but also the emotional well-being of the people within and outside the castle.

The past week was a blur of meetings with advisers, coordinating with servants to maintain order, and responding to the concerns of citizens. The castle buzzed with an anxious energy that mirrored the uncertainty of the times.

Because of this arrangement, you and Simon would really only see each other in the morning while waking, and even then, that was only for a short time. Your morning routine has become a brief respite from the relentless demands of the impending conflict. Simon would wake up, his eyes heavy with exhaustion. You would roll into him, squeezing him tightly. As you both rose from bed, the weight of responsibility descended once again. Simon would dress in his regal armor, the emblem of Kastron emblazoned on his chestplate. You, too, would don the attire befitting a queen, the weight of your crown a constant reminder of the duty that now defined your days. Breakfast was always hurried, yet a brief pause in the chaos. Conversations were punctuated by updates from the war room, and from there, your day began.

A few more days pass, and one evening, Simon returns to the bedroom the earliest he has in the past few days. The look on his face is extremely solemn, and extremely sorrowful.

“Dove, we need to talk.”

You’re immediately pushing yourself off the bed, twisting your hands in your grip.

“Of course, what is it?” Your heart races at the caution in Simon’s voice. The somberness in Simon’s expression deepens your concern. You take a step closer to him, your eyes searching his for any clues.

Simon’s gaze is heavy with sorrow, but yet a hint of determination crosses his features. He takes a deep breath, as if bracing himself for what he’s about to say. Your hands clasp tighter, a silent plea for reassurance.

“Dove,” he begins, his voice steady but laden with emotion, “the situation has escalated. General Price and I have made a decision. An important decision.”

Your heart skips a beat, anxiety tightening its grip on you. The air in the room feels charged, and you hold your breath, waiting for Simon to continue. He averts his eyes to the ground.

“I... I’m going out into the field,” Simon says slowly.

In that moment, it’s as though the air in the room was swallowed whole. You feel as though you can’t breathe, knees buckling slightly. Are you hearing him right? He looks back up at you.

“Price, Gaz, and I have discussed the strategy, and my presence on the front lines is necessary. We can’t afford to leave anything to chance. I’m highly trained, highly capable, and my place is with our soldiers on the battlefield,” Simon continues, his voice confident and firm.

You’re frozen in place, the room spinning as you process the words. A lump forms in your throat, and you struggle to find your voice. You shake your head vigorously.

“But… no. No. No, no, no, you can’t go. I won’t let you leave.”

Simon steps closer, grabbing your shoulders and holding them firmly. The warmth of his touch contrasts with the cold dread settling deep in your chest. “Darlin’, I have to go. I didn’t take this decision lightly. I’ve been to war more times than you know, and all before I even met you.”

You look up at Simon, desperation in your eyes. “But Simon, this is different. I’m here, and I’ve… I’ve never been alone here. And, what if…”

You swallow your words, tears pricking the corners of your eyes.

Simon approaches you again, his touch gentle as he turns you to face him. “You’re not gonna be alone. I’ve asked Soap to stay here, he’ll be with you most days; and I’ll be in communication.”

Simon’s gaze softens as he continues to hold your shoulders, studying your frowning face. “I know. I know this is incredibly difficult, but I need you to understand. The kingdom is in need, and my duty as king demands that I lead our forces. And, I have nothing but full confidence in your abilities to lead Kastron.”

You don’t say anything, your bottom lip quivering as you try to keep yourself together.

“I need you to stay here, love,” Simon murmurs, his voice a gentle plea. “The castle needs a leader, and you’ve shown that you are capable. You’ll be out of harm’s way.”

A sense of helplessness washes over you, and you pull away from Simon’s grasp. Turning away, you wrap your arms around yourself, as if trying to shield yourself from his admission. The room feels smaller, the air heavier, and you wish that this was all a terrible, terrible dream.

“Can’t someone else lead the military? You're too important to risk on the front lines.”

Simon takes a deep breath, his eyes never leaving you. “Price and I have considered every option. My skills and experience are essential. It’s the best chance we have to protect Kastron.”

The tears in your eyes now threaten to spill over, and you pace across the room, breathing picking up. “But, there has to be another way, Si. Sending you to the battlefield is too risky. What if something happens to you? Don’t you understand?”

You’re crying now, breathing labored. Fat tears now start to roll down your cheeks, and Simon watches you with a heavy heart. “I understand, love. I do. The last thing I want to do is leave you. Can’t even fuckin’ bear the thought. But I have to do what is necessary to protect our kingdom.”

Simon reaches out, gently cupping your face, his thumb brushing away some tears that escapes your eyes. “I cannot promise you that everything will be alright. War is unpredictable, and I cannot guarantee my safety. And you know better than anyone that I have the training, I have the capability to go to war. But I need you to understand—I'm doing this for Kastron, for our people, and for you.”

You smack his hand away, instantly regretting it the moment you see his face morph into pain.

“You’re not leaving! I won’t let you!” you start to sob, your body trembling with every cry.

You start to hit his chest, your fists pounding against the armor that shields him, as if trying to break through the iron. Simon endures the blows, his hands remaining at his sides, absorbing your hits as his heart shatters.

“I’m not letting you leave!” you practically scream, and the guards outside your door wince. You smack his chestplate harder, hating the way he’s just standing there, unmoving.

“You can’t go, you can’t, you can’t, you can’t,” you plead, voice choking with desperation and vision blurred from your tears.

Simon feels as though his heart is being shredded slowly and painfully with each strike, but he lets you vent, understanding the pain that grips your soul. The sound of your sobs reverberates in the room, echoing the helplessness that has settled upon both of you.

He finally catches your wrists gently, his touch firm yet tender. You collapse against him, your strength waning, and Simon wraps his arms around you. His armor feels cold against your hot cheek, a stark contrast to the usual warmth of his embrace. Your tears flow freely, a combination of fear and frustration.

“I love you, and it tears me apart to see you like this,” Simon whispers, his voice cracking with raw emotion. “Kastron needs me, and she needs you. I’ll do everything in my power to come back to you, I can promise you that.”

You finally look up at him, your tear-stained eyes searching his for any hint of revocation, but you know deep down that he’s firmly set. You cling to him, as if your touch alone can tie him down to this room. Simon gently wipes away your tears with the pad of his thumb, rubbing soothing circles on your back. You take a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself in his embrace.

“I don’t want to lose you,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

“You won’t.” Simon holds you tighter, the pressure soothing you, grounding you to the room. “I don’t want to lose you either, dove. But I need you to stay strong. Lead Kastron in my absence. I have complete faith in you.”

“When will you... leave?” you manage to ask, your voice cracking.

Simon takes a deep breath, armor pressing into your chest as he inhales. “Two days, at dawn.”

A shiver runs down your spine at the finality of his words. You tilt your head up slightly, looking up into Simon’s eyes, searching for any sign of hesitation, any glimpse of doubt. But all you find is resolve.

The room is enveloped in a heavy silence, unsettling you to your core. Simon tilts your chin up higher, looking into your eyes with an intensity that pierces through you. His lips find yours in a tender kiss, a bittersweet exchange as his hand weaves itself through your hair. The taste of his kiss lingers as he pulls away, his eyes searching yours for patience. You nod, a silent understanding.

Simon doesn’t let go of you, insteading walking you backwards until your knees hit the bed, forcing you to lay down.

. . .

The next day had come and gone, the moon now rising high in the sky. You were on your way back to your room from your final meeting of the day, the castle now quiet.

You had hoped Simon would be in bed already by the time you arrived at your chambers, but instead you were met with a dark, empty room. You don’t even bother slipping into your sleepwear, a pang of sadness settling in your chest. Sighing, you slip back out of your room, waving off the guard at your door who tried to follow you.

You already knew where Simon was.

You knock gently on the doors to the war room, pushing it open when you hear a muffled, Yes? filter through the wood. The war room is dimly lit, the strategic maps on the walls difficult but not impossible to decipher from the flickering light of the lanterns. Simon is hunched over the large table, poring over several documents and a detailed map of the southern borders. His worn armor sits discarded beside him, and the room carries the scent of parchment, ink, and a hint of something metallic.

Simon glances up, weariness etched on his face, as you step into the room. His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the weight of the world seems to lift as a small, genuine smile forms on his lips.

“Hey, love,” Simon greets, his voice softer than usual, a stark contrast to the authoritative tone he’s been exclusively carrying the past week. “Couldn’t sleep?”

You shake your head, crossing the room to stand beside him. “No, I needed to see you.” The dim light emphasizes the exhaustion in his eyes, and it tugs at your heart.

Simon straightens up, putting down his quill gently. “I was just going over the battle plans. Price and I want to make sure every detail is accounted for before…”

An awkward silence settles between you two as you study Simon’s face. The lines of stress, the fatigue in his eyes, and the tight set of his jaw speak volumes. You reach out and trace a gentle finger along the side of his face, an intimate gesture.

“I hate seeing you like this,” you admit. “You’re carrying so much on your shoulders.”

Simon leans into your touch, closing his eyes for a moment. “It comes with the job, dove.”

You lower your hand, exhaustion welling up within you. “Everyone is asleep. Come to bed.”

Simon sighs, looking back at the papers spread about the table.

“Soon, darling.”

You step closer, your fingers finding his. “Simon, you’ve been at this for days. Please, you need to rest, relax. The plans will still be here tomorrow.”

The glow of the lanterns casts a shadow along Simon’s face, highlighting the shine in his eyes. His fingers close around yours, and he brings your knuckles up to his lips, pressing an open mouthed kiss on them. You shiver, heat arising in your stomach. Simon pulls you into him, pressing his chest up against yours as he cradles your face in his hands, slotting his mouth over yours. You respond with a fierce passion, your fingers threading through his hair, eliciting a quiet groan from him.

As the kiss deepens, Simon gently guides you backwards until your lower back hits the table, the maps and plans long forgotten. Simon breaks the kiss as you gasp, the heat in your lower body growing stronger.

“This is helping me relax,” Simon breathes, hot and heavy on your cheek. His hands slip down to your ass, pinning your hips to the table with his own. “Jus’, let me take care of you.”

You swallow thickly, gliding your hands up and down his chest, feeling his muscles contract slightly at your touch.

“Take care of me, then,” you whisper, and that’s all he needs to hear before hauling you up onto the table, papers shuffling and scattering onto the floor, but neither of you care.

Simon follows you as you lay down on the table, pressing a deep kiss into your mouth as his hands shoves more papers out of the way. The rustling sounds of papers and maps hitting the floor fade into the background, replaced by the rhythm of your shared breaths. Simon’s touch is both gentle and possessive, his hands exploring the curves of your body with a familiar intimacy. As his hands roam, a soft moan escapes your lips, muffled by the heat of the kiss.

Simon then pulls you forward on the table, adjusting you until your hips are on the edge, legs dangling in the air. You look up for a brief moment, watching as Simon drops to his knees in front of you, and the sight alone makes you dizzy, wetness pooling in your panties. He looks so reverent and his eyes lock with yours, looking up to you as if you’re the most precious thing in the world. You bunch up the fabric of your dress, pulling it up high until the fabric pools around your waist.

Simon spreads your legs wide, hot breath fanning against your sensitive skin. You open your mouth, but before you can say anything, he’s pressing wet kisses to the insides of your thighs. You shudder, legs twitching as your desire mounts, aching for his mouth on your wet cunt. Simon doesn’t waste time, throwing your dangling legs over his shoulders to get closer to you.

“Simon,” you groan quietly, needing him to touch you now. He doesn’t respond, instead pressing two digits against the fabric of your panties, just barely teasing your clit. Your breath catches in your throat, swallowing thickly as he runs his fingers up and down against the gusset, circling over your clothed clit with a feather light touch.

You shudder, thighs trembling ever so slightly at the teasing, wetness surely starting to soak through the thin layer of cotton.

“S’ wet already,” he murmurs, eyes mesmerized by the sight before him. His light touch now turns into something stronger, using the fabric over your slit to build friction in the most delicious way. “Feels good?”

“Yes,” you whimper quietly, hands clawing at the surface of the table.

He chuckles to himself, barely audible over the sound of your racing heart and quiet whimpers. Your arousal seeps through the fabric, and Simon seems to revel in the effect he has on you. He squeezes your thighs tighter, fingers pressing into the plush, doughy skin as he presses more kisses on the insides of your thighs, moving closer and closer to your center.

You involuntarily buck your hips as his finger starts to circle your clit more forcibly over your panties, using the fabric as leverage to create more friction. You let a few moans slip out, eyes blinking a few times to steady your dizziness.

Simon's movements become more purposeful, his fingers working magic over the sensitive bundle of nerves beneath the fabric. The sensations send shivers through your body, and you can feel the growing wetness between your thighs. Each stroke of his fingers, every graze of his lips along your inner thigh, adds to the building tension. Unable to withstand the torment any longer, you arch your back, pleading for more.

“Fuck, Si,” you whine, high-pitched and needy. “Please.”

“What’s got you all worked up, love? Hmm?” he teases, moving to press his tongue into the soaked fabric, teasing your hole.

You moan in response, thighs moving to clench his head. He simpers at your reaction, calloused hands pushing your legs apart.

“Tell me what you want,” Simon coos, his voice low and husky. His fingers continue their ministrations, dancing over your clothed heat.

“I want…” you begin, your words catching in your throat as Simon applies more pressure to your clit, the sensation almost too much to bear. “I want you, Si. Need you right now.”

A smug grin erupts on Simon’s face as he abandons the fabric barrier.

“Good girl.”

Unable to resist any longer, he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties, pulling them down with deliberate slowness until they slip off your ankles. He stuffs the material in his back pocket, a small, teasing smirk playing on his lips.

With your panties discarded, Simon returns his attention to your exposed core. His breath is warm against your skin as he leans in, studying the way you’re soaking, and the anticipation is almost unbearable. The first touch of his tongue against your clit has you gasping, the pleasure intensifying with each slow, deliberate stroke. He dips his tongue into your hole, then slides it back up to your clit, sucking on it firmly.

“Like this?” he murmurs, teasingly trailing his fingers along your slick entrance.

“Yes, yes,” you plead, aching for him to just have his way with you. “Please, Si.”

Without further hesitation, Simon dips a finger into your wetness, the slickness making the intrusion seamless. You gasp, your back arching off the table as he begins a slow and deliberate rhythm, each stroke making your legs feel as though they’re on fire.

Simon watches you intently, his eyes flicking up to your body every so often. He relishes the way your body responds to his touch, smirking to himself that he’s the only one who’s ever seen you like this.

Your moans grow louder, echoing in the room as Simon expertly works his tongue up, down, and around your vulva. When he comes to suck harshly on your clit, your thighs instinctively close around his head, and Simon groans at your reaction. The vibration adds a layer of pleasure, a deep seated moan pushing past your lips.

“Sound s’ pretty f’ me, darling,” he mumbles, refusing to fully remove himself from you.

He adds a second finger, stretching and filling you, the sensation pushing you closer to the edge.

“Oh, fuck,” you cry out, a familiar warmth spreading in your abdomen.

The table beneath you creaks with your movements, but neither of you pays it any attention.

As Simon’s tongue continues to lap at your vulva and clit, your grip on the edge of the table loosens, instead finding purchase in his hair as if to egg him on. The sensation of his tongue and fingers build to an almost unbearable peak, toes curling as he hits all the right spots. You’re teetering on the edge of release, every touch sending shockwaves through your entire body.

“S- Simon, I... I’m so close,” you gasp, your voice strained with pleasure.

Simon, ever attentive, reads your body’s responses with precision, adapting his movements to heighten your pleasure. He doesn’t relent; instead, he quickens the pace, determined to push you over the edge. The oh so familiar coil tightens in your abdomen, and with a sharp cry, you succumb to your orgasm. Waves of pleasure wash over you, legs shaking at your release, leaving you trembling and utterly spent. Simon laps up your wetness, groaning at the way your walls clenched his fingers at your release.

“Such a perfect girl,” he praises, thriving off the way you shudder and moan as you orgasm.

As the aftershocks of your climax subside, Simon withdraws his fingers, a satisfied glint in his eyes. He pushes his soaking fingers to his mouth, sucking off the remaining juices.

“Always tastes so perfect, love.”

Heat rises in your face as you watch him, still panting from your orgasm. He rises to his feet, a pleased smile on his lips as he leans down to capture your mouth in a lingering kiss.

“You alright, love?” Simon whispers against your lips, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your skin.

You nod, still catching your breath, a blissful smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “More than alright.”

He chuckles, a deep and melodic sound. “Good. Let’s go to bed, yeah?”

You nod fervently, pushing yourself up to sit on the edge of the table. Looking over the edge, you forgot about the various papers and maps that had…fallen to the floor during your heated moment.

“The papers…” you say quietly, warily eyeing the amount of things that had been brushed to the floor.

Immediately, Simon is picking up the strewn papers, muttering to himself about how they were all in his way. Your legs are still vibrating as you push off the table, now standing on the floor. You brush your dress back to its original place as best you can. When you move to help him pick up the maps, he stops you in your tracks.

“No, no, love. I’ve got it,” Simon insists, a fond smile on his face.

You watch as he efficiently gathers the papers, arranging the documents back onto the table, the strategic maps finding their places among the scattered sheets. Once satisfied with the order he’s restored, Simon turns to you with a grin. “There, good as new. Shall we?”

“My, uh, my panties…” you trail off, face burning. The slick between your thighs is definitely still there, reminding you of your lost garment.

Simon shoots you a mischievous look, and he retrieves your discarded panties from his back pocket. Holding them up, he smirks, a teasing grin playing on his lips as he quirks his eyebrows.

“For safekeeping,” he quips, a playful tone in his voice. “Wouldn’t want anyone stumbling upon them, ‘specially here.”

You roll your eyes, a combination of embarrassment and amusement heating your cheeks. Simon takes a step closer, then bends down on one knee, tapping your ankle.

“C’mon,” he says, motioning for you to step into the fabric. Steadying yourself by clutching onto his shoulders, you relish the way his hands brush up your thighs as he pulls the fabric up under your dress until they’re snug around your body. With a final playful squeeze to your ass, he stands up.

“Now, we shall,” you giggle lightly, brushing stray hair from your face.

Before you fully leave the room, you press up on your toes to whisper in his ear.

“Can’t believe you ate me out in the war room of all places,” you giggle, clutching onto him.

He shrugs nonchalantly, a hint of pride crossing his features. “It’s our castle. Gonna have to christen every room at some point.”

You try to suppress your laugh, knowing deep down that he’s not joking.

Linking your arm with his, you follow Simon out of the war room and through the silent corridors of the castle and back to your shared chambers. Your legs are a bit shaky, still not fully recovered.

Simon gives a curt, silent nod to the guards standing in front of the bedroom doors, before stepping inside with you. The moment Simon shuts the door to your bedroom, he’s kissing you fervently. It’s both possessive and tender, a silent acknowledgement that tomorrow is the day he leaves. He guides you toward the bed, the cool sheets welcoming against your heated skin.

As Simon deepens the kiss, hands wandering over each other’s bodies, the weight of the day’s responsibilities melts away even further.

Simon breaks the kiss, his eyes locking onto yours with nothing but pure adoration and love. “I love you,” he says, the sincerity in his voice echoing through the room.

You smile, your heart swelling with affection. “I love you too, Simon.”

With a gentle touch, you start to brush your hands under his tunic, guiding it up and off his chiseled frame.

The room is filled with a quiet intimacy as your fingers trace the contours of his chest, each touch causing the man to shiver. You enjoy the way he trembles from your touch, noting his more sensitive regions. The burden of your impending separation lingers in the air, but in this moment, you choose to ignore it, basking in the warmth of his presence.

You reach for the waistline of his pants, following the fabric down as you let him step out of it. Finally, when your hand grazes his lower abdomen, right above his crotch, he hisses, hand clutching onto your wrist. You don’t stop, yanking down his boxers until he’s fully nude in front of you. The moonlight filters through the balcony window, casting a soft glow on Simon.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” you praise, standing back to admire your husband in all his glory. “So gorgeous, so strong.”

Simon blushes, redness creeping up from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. A grin appears on his face, pride seeping into his skin. His eyes never leave yours as you slowly undress, removing your garments in a languid fashion, desperate to savor this night.

He steps closer, hands reaching for the sleeves of your dress, fingers deftly working to free you from the fabric that separates you. The dress falls to the floor in a gentle cascade, and you hear Simon’s breath catch in his throat. You slip off your undergarments, until you’re finally exposed before him. Simon’s eyes roam over your form, and the intensity in his gaze makes your skin tingle.

You step out of the discarded dress, standing bare in front of each other. Simon’s hands find the small of your back, pulling you close, and you melt in the warmth of his touch. He presses a chaste kiss to the top of your head, then slowly guides your jaw upwards to catch your lips in a kiss. The kiss is a slow burn, a sweet mingling of your breaths, as Simon explores your mouth with a gentle reverence. His hands roam over your back, pressing you closer into him, as if he was trying to bury you into his chest. You can feel his erect cock pressing into your stomach, and he gently bucks his hips against you.

Breaking the kiss, Simon trails a line of tender kisses down your neck, igniting a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

You reach up, cupping his cheek, and he leans into your touch. “Promise me you’ll come back,” you whisper, the vulnerability in your voice bared for him to see.

Simon slows to a stop, keeping his face planted in your neck. He then presses a tender kiss to your skin, squeezing you as tight as he could in his embrace, knocking the breath out of you. “I promise, love. I’ll come back to you.”

You nod, swallowing thickly as he straightens to his full height. Without breaking eye contact, Simon guides you to the bed, the cool silk sheets a sharp difference to the heat radiating off your bodies.

As you lay down together, Simon hovers above you, a mixture of tenderness and hunger in his eyes. The moonlight bathes the room in a soft sheen, your husband looking like a being that descended from heaven.

“You’re ethereal,” you say breathlessly, and Simon’s eyes sparkle with gratitude and affection.

“Says you,” he murmurs, his voice a low, gravelly whisper. Simon trails his fingers down the curve of your body.

“I mean it. Don’t brush it off,” you whisper, your fingers gently tracing patterns over the scars on his chest.

“‘M not. Thank you, dove.”

You lean up and capture his lips in a slow, lingering kiss. As you kiss him sensually, you reach your hand down to wrap around his cock, pumping your hand up and down his length. He groans into your mouth, body twitching above you as you stroke his hard cock, bucking into your grip as you set an even pace.

Simon’s hand finds its way to your hip, fingers digging into your flesh as he pants above you. He breaks the kiss as you apply more pressure, his breaths heavy and labored.

“F- fuck, lovie,” he moans, head fuzzy as your hand squeezes his cock just right. “God, y’know how to drive me mad.”

You hum in response, swiping your thumb across his slit. Simon gasps over you, body threatening to fall on top of you with every stroke and touch you administer on his cock. Bringing this behemoth of a man down to a trembling, quivering mess in your hands has your heart racing.

Simon then moves to explore your body with a newfound hunger, his lips tracing a path of heat and need. The sensations send shivers down your spine as he kisses and nibbles his way across your collarbone, down to the curve of your breasts as you continue stroking his cock.

“T- that’s it, need you, now, right now,” he pants, his voice desperate and needy. You release him, and Simon wastes no time yanking your legs apart, caressing your thighs. He shifts his weight, positioning himself between your legs.

You whimper as he drags his cock through your slick folds, his tip catching on your entrance after a few strokes. Simon gazes down at you, his expressive eyes full of a potent mix of desire and love. Without breaking eye contact, he guides himself into you, and a shiver runs down your spine. Moans spill from your lips, your back arching as his cock slides into you inch by inch.

“Takin’ me so nicely, so pretty,” he murmurs, clutching onto you.

Simon’s movements are deliberate, his cock stretching you open to accommodate his size and girth. His size makes you see stars every time. Finally, as he bottoms out, you both let out a sharp breath.

“Simon, ‘m so full,” you murmur, grinding your hips against his. In response, he silences you with a searing kiss, pressing you into the mattress.

“I know you are.”

When he finally starts moving his hips, you have to bite back a sob. His thick shaft drags against your walls at an agonizingly slow pace. He buries his face in your chest, tongue lapping at your supple breasts and hardened nipples.

You claw at his shoulders as he pumps his cock into you slowly. You’re still sensitive from when he ate you out, whimpering and wheezing as he pumps his cock into you slowly. When he starts pressing into your clit, you writhe underneath him.

“Please, please,” you wheeze, feeling every little ridge and edge of his cock inside you.

“Sweet, sweet girl,” he coos, chest rumbling as he studies your face twisted into pure pleasure. He thrusts slowly a few more times, his hips meeting yours with each movement.

He starts to move slightly faster, needing you to cum around his cock. You gasp when he starts to pick up the pace, your slick soaking the base of his cock. The faster pace allows him to push into you deeper, his pupils blown wide with lust as you cup his face in your hands and pull him into another kiss. You arch your back into him as you kiss, bucking your hips as he circles your clit faster, harder.

His lips leave yours, breathing hard and open-mouthed against your face. His hands explore every inch of your body as if committing it to memory, fingers tracing every square inch of your skin. You reciprocate, running your hands through his hair, feeling strength and vulnerability coexisting in the man you call your husband.

Simon turns to bite your shoulder, his cock feeling absolutely, perfectly stimulated by your tight walls. You cry out in pain and pleasure, yanking his hair to elicit a response from him.

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin. The room is filled with the sounds of your moans and the slight creaking of the bed as Simon takes you with a primal intensity. His movements become faster, each thrust pushing you both closer to the edge.

You wrap your legs around his waist, urging him to go deeper. Simon responds with a guttural groan, his grip on your hips sliding down to your ass.

“I love you,” Simon murmurs against your ear, his words sending shivers down your spine. “Always, only you.”

“I love you forever,” you stutter out, tears threatening to run down your cheeks.

Your walls flutter around his shaft, causing Simon to groan, making his mind sink further into his primal desire. He feels the familiar tightening of his orgasm creeping up on him, but he refuses to cum before you.

Simon starts to circle your clit faster, hitting all the angles and spots that he knows will have you screaming in pleasure.

“Oh, oh fuck,” you moan, thighs trembling. “You- you’re, so good—”

“I know, I know, darling.”

He takes your hands in his own, pinning your hands to the mattress by your head. His fingers lace with yours, never once daring to let go. He looks down at you, his gaze tender and caring, something he saves especially for you, yet there’s an intensity in his eyes, a desire that you know can be seen in yours as well. His hips move faster, slamming deep and hard into you, your body shaking as your moans and cries fill the room. You know you’re on the brink of your orgasm, your hold on his hands intensifying.

“Cum with me,” you moan, arching into Simon again. He groans at the thought of cumming at the same time as you, his cock twitching with the need to release inside of you. “Please, Si. Need you to fill me up.”

Simon’s pace increases impossibly faster at your excitement, pressing and circling your clit in the spot that makes your toes curl.

“Pretty girl, my pretty girl,” Simon growls, seizing your hips and dragging you closer to him. His undeniable need to cum reaches his cock as you mewl.

“‘M gonna cum, ‘m gonna—” you sob, the familiar heat of an impending orgasm traveling from the tips of your toes to the tops of your thighs.

Finally, you orgasm hard, your walls squeezing around his cock as you cum. Simon cums not long after, rocking into you repeatedly as he releases. His cheeks are flushed from exertion, gasping and groaning as his cock twitches with his release. Your name falls from his lips like a fervent prayer as he cums inside you, wrapping his whole being around you.

You try your best to slow your breathing, focusing on the way Simon lets his whole body fall loose, covering yours. The breath he had been holding came loose with a deep sigh, arms coming to wrap around your frame. It took a few moments for you both to collect yourselves, catching your breaths and shivering from oversensitivity.

You swallow the thickness in your throat as Simon pulls out of you, both of your releases trickling from your cunt. He grips your jaw possessively, pressing a kiss to your jawline then to your now swollen lips. You both lay there in the afterglow, nothing but pure love coursing through your veins.

“I love you, Si,” you sigh, scratching his back with your nails.

Simon buries his head against your shoulder, each exhale tickling your flesh. After a few minutes, Simon shifts to lie beside you, his arm draping over your waist as you both lay in a tangle of limbs. You stroke Simon’s hair, your fingers running through the short strands with a certain tenderness. His breathing gradually steadies, and you feel his muscles relax against you.

“Promise me again,” you whisper, vulnerability returning to your voice.

Simon turns to look at you, a serious expression crossing his face. “I promise, lovie.”

Content with his reassurance, you snuggle into his embrace, feeling the comforting warmth of his body. After all, this would be the last time in who knows how long you’d have him in your bed.

The world outside your chambers may be uncertain and dangerous, but here, in the embrace of your true love, you find peace, if only for a fleeting moment.

. . .

Morning comes all too soon.

The sun wasn’t even up, yet you knew the clock was ticking before Simon had to depart.

The moment you both woke up, you were on top of him, aching for him to fuck you one last time before he left.

In the quiet aftermath, as the two of you lay tangled in the sheets, the reality of the separation settled in. Simon’s fingers traced delicate patterns on your skin, a silent reassurance that lingered between you two.

“I wish I could stay,” Simon confesses, his voice a low rumble against your ear.

You tighten your hold on him, unwilling to let go just yet. “I know, but we have to.”

He nods, his eyes reflecting a storm of emotions.

“Dunno what ‘m gonna do without you,” he mutters, pulling you into a comforting embrace, savoring the feeling of being close to him.

The first hint of sunlight starts to peek through the windows, signaling to you both that it was time to get ready for the day.

As you both dress, the atmosphere in the room shifts. You help Simon pull on his military regalia, buttoning his shirt and pinning his crests and ribbons to his chest. Finally, he pulls on his armor, settling the heavy iron and silver pieces on his frame. Simon’s armor clinks softly as he secures it, an unwelcome contrast to the tender moments you had shared just a while before.

Once dressed, you stand before each other, eyeing the door warily. It could be months until either of you saw each other again. Simon cups your face in his hands, his touch tender yet firm, as if burning the memory of your features into his mind.

You watch Simon’s throat bob as he swallows thickly, taking your hand in his as you cross the threshold of your chambers. You walk together through the corridors, hand in hand, the acceptance of his departure finally at peace within you. You would always worry, every day, but you knew that he would come back home to you safely. It was just a matter of when. The castle felt different—a place that would witness the ache of longing and uncertainty in the days to come.

As you reach the front courtyard, the air is crisp, and the first rays of sunlight illuminate the stones of the castle. You’re met with the sight of hundreds of soldiers and knights, Commander Gaz, and General Price. Soldiers bustle around, preparing for the journey ahead of them, their gazes giving respectful nods and bows to Simon as he passes. The castle gates loom ahead, a threshold between the safety of the castle and the dangers that lie beyond.

Simon straightens his posture, walking with purpose, his stride unwavering as his armor clinks softly. You stand by his side, a pillar of support in the face of duty. You steal a glance at Simon, his jaw set, eyes focused on the path ahead. The tender moments you shared in your chambers just hours ago feels like a distant dream, replaced by the harsh reality of war.

Commander Gaz approaches, his expression stern yet sympathetic. “Your majesty, it’s time,” he says, a subtle nod indicating the urgency of the moment.

General Price jogs up to Simon, leaving some of his soldiers to speak to him. “We’re ready whenever you are. The men are looking extremely optimistic this morning.”

Simon nods, a silent acknowledgment of the journey he’s about to embark on. Price’s gaze then shifts to you, and there’s a rare softness in his eyes. “Take care of yourself, your majesty. I’ve left trusted knights and guards here to ensure you’re taken care of.”

“Thank you, General,” you reply, your voice steady as you flash him an appreciative smile.

As you reach the castle gates, the mood shifts. The soldiers form up in disciplined ranks, and Simon turns to face them. He raises his hand in a solemn gesture, a signal for silence. The courtyard stills as all eyes focus on their ruler.

“Today we march not as conquerors, but as protectors. Our duty is to defend our homes, our families, and Kastron as a whole. We stand as a collective, and no force can break the bond that ties us together. For honor, for justice, for Kastron!”

A resounding cheer erupts from the soldiers, their spirits ignited by Simon’s words. The castle gates creak open, revealing the vast expanse beyond. Hordes of soldiers and knights begin to move through the gates, led by Price and Gaz.

Simon turns to you, and for a fleeting moment, the world narrows down to just the two of you. He cups your face, pressing a tender kiss on your forehead. “Wait for me,” he whispers.

You offer a brave smile, masking the tears and sorrow that threatens to consume you.

“I will,” you reply, your voice carrying the strength and resilience needed for the days ahead.

Simon’s fingers press into your cheeks, guiding you to his lips for a final kiss. You grab onto him one last time, wrapping your arms around his neck, not caring that everyone can see you both. When you finally break apart, his eyes search yours for a moment, a silent exchange of admiration.

“I love you, Simon,” you say, your voice firm despite the emotions churning in your gut.

“I love you,” he replies, a promise.

With a final, tender kiss, Simon pulls away, his hand lingering on yours for a moment longer before he joins the ranks of the soldiers. The sound of marching fades into the distance, leaving you standing alone in the entranceway, watching the love of your life vanish into the horizon.

You watch as the castle gates close behind Simon and his troops, separating you from your husband. The morning sun climbs higher in the sky, casting its warm embrace on the now deserted courtyard, where the echoes of Simon’s departure linger.

Now alone in the courtyard, a breeze carries brushes past you. The castle feels emptier, and the weight of your responsibilities as the queen of Kastron settles in. Soap approaches you tentatively, his eyes full of concern.

“Ye’re majesty, is there anything I can do for you?”

You turn to him, sighing appreciatively.

“I… I’m not sure. But, I do want to thank you for staying here with me. It means a lot,” you reply, a small smile breaking through the somber atmosphere.

Soap nods respectfully, his gaze steady. “If there’s anything you need, don't hesitate to ask. I’ll be at your service.”

You jump up to give him a hug, and he returns the embrace. After a moment, you pull away, wiping away some stray tears you had let trickle down your face.

Turning back to face the castle, it seems different—colder, emptier. Yet, in your heart, your love for Simon and Kastron still burns, a beacon that will guide you in the coming months in the hope that he will return home to you safely.

- - - - -

(masterlist)

#simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you #simon “ghost” riley x reader #simon “ghost” riley x you #hyperactivelyme

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zvaigzdelasas · 1 month

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The head of an Iraqi militia participating in a coalition of groups that have waged attacks against U.S. troops and Israel has told Newsweek that his forces are prepared to escalate their campaign significantly if President Joe Biden does not meet their demands.

According to Sheikh Mohammed al-Tamimi, secretary-general of Faylaq al-Waad al-Sadiq, all they are asking for is the complete withdrawal of U.S. forces from their country.

The group, whose name translates to the "True Promise Corps," is one of several factions that have banded together as part of the "Islamic Resistance in Iraq," which launched a campaign of near-daily rocket and drone attacks against U.S. forces stationed in Iraq and Syria in October, shortly after the war between Israel and Hamas erupted in the Gaza Strip.

The offensive took a deadly turn in January when three U.S. soldiers were killed on the border of Jordan and Syria.

As unrest worsened with Biden ordering intensive airstrikes and the killing of a high-level militia commander last month, the Iraqi government began to harden its calls for a timely exit of U.S. forces. The Pentagon soon commenced talks with Iraqi counterparts over a "transition" in the U.S. military presence, which is officially limited to battling the remnants of the Islamic State militant group (ISIS).

With these assurances, a number of Islamic Resistance in Iraq militias largely paused their campaign, instead turning their sights on Israel itself. But as weeks pass with little sign of progress and reports of new attacks on U.S. positions, Tamimi has warned U.S. troops will be met with an offensive that goes far beyond even Hamas' devastating October 7, 2023, attack on Israel should "the reckless, senile" Biden ultimately fail to withdraw U.S. soldiers from the country.

"If the agreement is not achieved, we will expel the Americans in their coffins from Iraq, and we will humiliate the 'Black House' administration," Tamimi told Newsweek. "And they will see who the resistance is and what the capabilities of the resistance are, especially now that we have drones and long-range smart missiles."[...]

Iranian officials[...] have denied exerting command and control over such groups, which they argue are involved in legitimate defensive maneuvers.

"The military actions undertaken by the resistance front against the Israeli regime are defensive measures aimed at exerting pressure on the occupying regime, with the goal of halting its crimes in Gaza," the Iranian Mission to the United Nations told Newsweek in response to Hagari's comments.

"The Islamic Republic of Iran staunchly supports such resistance," the Mission added. "However, given the Israeli regime's inability to effectively counter the resistance, it seeks to portray Iran as the occupying force in the countries comprising the resistance front."

Tamimi, too, rejected the notion that he led a state-sponsored group. But he attested to a growing level of coordination among allied international factions of the Axis of Resistance.

"Faylaq al-Waad al-Sadiq is Iraqi, and the mujahideen of the corps are Iraqis," Tamimi said. "We have coordination with the resistance factions in Lebanon, Yemen, or Gaza. We do not have coordination with any country, only with the resistance. We are with the unity of the resistance."[...]

"The Iraqi resistance now stands with the Palestinian people, and our duty now is to stand with them and support them against the crime and genocide against them by the Zionist entity supported by the American government, Britain, and Europe," Tamimi said.

"The change in strategies in the Iraqi resistance was clear, especially after the American deal with the Iraqi government, which was urgently asking us to stop the jihadi operations in Iraq," he added. "In return, there will be immediate withdrawal from Iraq, non-interference in the Iraqi situation, and Iraqi money will be handed over."

Once again, he warned that a failure to meet these conditions would result in all-out escalation against U.S. troops, who he warned would meet their end in Iraq.

"We respect the right of peoples to live in peace, and it is our right to have peace in our country without American military forces on the land of Iraq. The Iraqi people respect all peoples but reject the military presence on the land of Iraq," Tamimi said. "If these forces do not withdraw, they will be sent with coffins, and we will destroy the American bases."

"And we are able to carry out more operations than the Hamas movement in its storming of the bases of the Zionist entity," he said. "We are able to shatter these bases."

Already, reports shared by Faylaq al-Waad al-Sadiq's media channel reported a new attack late Tuesday on a U.S. position near the Conoco gas field in eastern Syria's Deir Ezzor province, the site of yet unattributed explosions apparently targeting the militia presence there just a day earlier.

Meanwhile, a high-level Iraqi delegation visited Washington this week ahead of a scheduled trip by Prime Minister Mohammed Shia al-Sudani next month for talks in which the future of the U.S. military presence is likely to be a central topic.

But Tamimi, in a direct appeal to the U.S. people, affirmed that the wrath of the resistance was reserved only for perceived occupiers, and not civilians.

"We wish peace for everyone, and we want to live in peace in our country," Tamimi said. "We ask you to withdraw your children from our country, Iraq, and let us live in security, prosperity and peace. We welcome the American people to visit our country for a tourist or commercial visit, but we reject their military presence, and they must know that we do not need them."

27 Mar 24

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7amaspayrollmanager · 4 months

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It's actually funny that the times of Israel writes their pieces on settler violence with the utmost skepticism. But it's also funny that they are a very zionist news outlet that outwardly denies any occupation of Palestine which includes the "West bank" and then write this

"Lawful demolitions against illegal structures in the west bank" so you agree? The zionist state decides legality and housing in palestinian territory? Almost like they occupy it. Notice they don't say "Area C" they included all the West Bank in that sentence

The article above is about the village of Zanuta where settler violence was so bad that all the villagers were forced to leave back in October which is exactly why we say the Nakba is ongoing

Amin Hamed al-Hadhrat took a break from taking down his family’s home in the South Hebron Hills, crying. “I know in a day or two I’m going to live somewhere else, but I still can’t imagine it happening,” the 37-year-old said. “All I know is living here. All my father knew was living here. I don’t know what it is like to live anywhere else.” This week, al-Hadhrat’s village of shepherds, Khirbet Zanuta, joined the growing swell of Palestinian Bedouin villages forcibly emptied since October 7 due to violent attacks from armed Israeli settlers often wearing Israeli military uniforms.

On November 29th, ISM reported that some villagers with activists returned but they still faced threats https://palsolidarity.org/2023/11/zanuta-the-return/

As the villagers and activists were leaving, an armed militia, suspected to be settlers, wearing army uniforms and masks arrived. They stopped the villagers, searched the cars and inspected their IDs. Under observation from the activists and press, the militia let the Palestinians go.

Israelis are now dressing up as IOF and acting as militias and it really is no different from the zionist militias before they enveloped into the IOF. They of course will not be arrested for impersonating soldiers bc the army protects them and often aids them in destruction of palestinian villages like Huwara and other villages. Why? Because that is the function of a settler-colonial state, their settlers advance the further colonization of Palestine with government support. It's not simply the "Netanyahu far right government" or the IOF and any analysis that does not take into account that israelis in all of palestine (that includes the 48 territories) are active settlers, is not an analysis worth making tbh

https://foreignpolicy.com/2023/11/09/west-bank-palestinians-israeli-settlers-attacks-idf/

The blurring of lines between the army and the settlers goes back at least two decades. From the 2000s onwards, there has been a bifurcation within the Israel Defense Forces (IDF), leading to the emergence of two distinct armies: the official army and a secondary policing force dedicated to operations in the Israeli-controlled West Bank.

This policing army is comprised of several elements: an infantry brigade permanently stationed in the region; units of the border police; and settler militias, which are part of what are known as territorial defense units, which are armed and trained by the IDF. The forces of the policing army are bolstered by the rotational deployment of regular combat brigades from the official IDF.

This policing army, ostensibly under formal political control, has effectively morphed into a quasi-militia entity. Its own activities in the West Bank suggest that its underlying goal is the consolidation of Israel’s control over the West Bank, particularly Area C, which encompasses both the Israeli settlements and Palestinian-inhabited regions. This strategy serves as an informal means of annexation, circumventing the need for a formal annexation that would likely face international resistance.

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tomorrowusa · 2 months

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Four years ago today (March 13th), then President Donald Trump got around to declaring a national state of emergency for the COVID-19 pandemic. The administration had been downplaying the danger to the United States for 51 days since the first US infection was confirmed on January 22nd.

From an ABC News article dated 25 February 2020...

CDC warns Americans of 'significant disruption' from coronavirus

Until now, health officials said they'd hoped to prevent community spread in the United States. But following community transmissions in Italy, Iran and South Korea, health officials believe the virus may not be able to be contained at the border and that Americans should prepare for a "significant disruption." This comes in contrast to statements from the Trump administration. Acting Department of Homeland Security Secretary Chad Wolf said Tuesday the threat to the United States from coronavirus "remains low," despite the White House seeking $1.25 billion in emergency funding to combat the virus. Larry Kudlow, director of the National Economic Council, told CNBC’s Kelly Evans on “The Exchange” Tuesday evening, "We have contained the virus very well here in the U.S." [ ... ] House Speaker Nancy Pelosi called the request "long overdue and completely inadequate to the scale of this emergency." She also accused President Trump of leaving "critical positions in charge of managing pandemics at the National Security Council and the Department of Homeland Security vacant." "The president's most recent budget called for slashing funding for the Centers for Disease Control, which is on the front lines of this emergency. And now, he is compounding our vulnerabilities by seeking to ransack funds still needed to keep Ebola in check," Pelosi said in a statement Tuesday morning. "Our state and local governments need serious funding to be ready to respond effectively to any outbreak in the United States. The president should not be raiding money that Congress has appropriated for other life-or-death public health priorities." She added that lawmakers in the House of Representatives "will swiftly advance a strong, strategic funding package that fully addresses the scale and seriousness of this public health crisis." Senate Minority Leader Chuck Schumer also called the Trump administration's request "too little too late." "That President Trump is trying to steal funds dedicated to fight Ebola -- which is still considered an epidemic in the Democratic Republic of the Congo -- is indicative of his towering incompetence and further proof that he and his administration aren't taking the coronavirus crisis as seriously as they need to be," Schumer said in a statement.

A reminder that Trump had been leaving many positions vacant – part of a Republican strategy to undermine the federal government.

Here's a picture from that ABC piece from a nearly empty restaurant in San Francisco's Chinatown. The screen displays a Trump tweet still downplaying COVID-19 with him seeming more concerned about the effect of the Dow Jones on his re-election bid.

People were not buying Trump's claims but they were buying PPE.

I took this picture at CVS on February 26th that year.

The stock market which Trump in his February tweet claimed looked "very good" was tanking on March 12th – the day before his state of emergency declaration.

Trump succeeded in sending the US economy into recession much faster than George W. Bush did at the end of his term – quite a feat!. (As an aside, every recession in the US since 1981 has been triggered by Republican presidents.)

Of course Trump never stopped trying to downplay the pandemic nor did he ever take responsibility for it. The US ended up with the highest per capita death rate of any technologically advanced country.

Precious time was lost while Trump dawdled. Orange on this map indicates COVID infections while red indicates COVID deaths. At the time Trump declared a state of emergency, the virus had already spread to 49 states.

The United States could have done far better and it had the tools to do so.

The Obama administration had limited the number of US cases of Ebola to under one dozen during that pandemic in the 2010s. Based on their success, they compiled a guide on how the federal government could limit future pandemics.

Obama team left pandemic playbook for Trump administration, officials confirm

Of course Trump ignored it.

Unlike those boxes of nuclear secrets in Trump's bathroom, the Obama pandemic limitation document is not classified. Anybody can read it – even if Trump didn't. This copy comes from the Stanford University Libraries.

TOWARDS EPIDEMIC PREDICTION: FEDERAL EFFORTS AND OPPORTUNITIES IN OUTBREAK MODELING

Feel free to share this post with anybody who still feels nostalgic about the Trump White House years!

#covid-19 #coronavirus #pandemic #public health #donald trump #trump's incompetent response to the pandemic #covid state of emergency #2020 #trump recession #51 days of trump pandemic dawdling #obama pandemic playbook #2010s ebola outbreak #nostalgia for trump administration #republicans #election 2024 #vote blue no matter who

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hussyknee · 5 months

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The wild thing about the Vote Blue rhetoric is that according to them, Biden is an uwu helpless baby who's had no power to stop any of the shit that's gone down the last three years but if Trump comes to power he can end democracy as you (don't) know it. You just have to get through this election cycle because the GOP can't find its own ass with both hands and a mirror on a stick and they're breaking apart, but they're also about to transform into the Third Reich. If Biden gets a second term you can totally push him further left when he isn't even up for re-election, but not with half the country on the streets a year out from when he does still need their votes. Biden can't get Netanyahu to stop because he has no power over Israel, but Trump will be able to destabilize democracy all across the world. The enemy is either weak or strong, y'all can't have it both ways.

Also, "If democrats haven't earned your vote, what has the republicans done to earn your complicity"????? You think this is how democracy works??? But oh, that's right you don't have a democracy, you have Evil (genocide without personal enjoyment) and Super Evil (genocide with personal fun). But you need to Vote Blue to save the democracy you don't have. Which they've had three years and one more to get around to saving, just like they had two years to legislate Roe vs Wade and eight before that, but they need another four to do anything.

"We cannot afford to divide the left and alienate voters!" you yell, as you harrass people whose relatives are currently being starved and blown to pieces as the entire world watches, a full year before elections, proving you have no intention of holding the Dems accountable even for a literal genocide. Because your winning strategy here is to scream at people for having a moral compass and basic empathy for their fellow human. These are luxuries you cannot afford because the GOP doesn't have any either, but the two parties are different bro, I swear bro, pay no attention to Hakeem Jeffries standing next to Mike Johnson and Christian Zionists bro, don't look at how much AIPAC has bought and paid for the whole of Congress bro, don't look at the bipartisan support for sending billions to Zionists overseas while cutting funding for every public service bro, don't look at how much more land for fracking they've sold off than Trump ever did bro, don't look at cop city and the border wall and ICE crackdowns and kids still in cages three years later bro, Biden totally controlled COVID and saved millions of lives unlike Trump and the pandemic is definitely not still raging bro, queer and reproductive rights are definitely not flaking off piecemeal under the Dems right now bro, Project 2025 can definitely happen when Obama couldn't even push through Medicaid with a trifecta bro, bro where are you going bro—

#vote blue #genocide joe #vote biden #blue no matter who #shit liberals say #free palestine #gaza genocide #knee of huss

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fatehbaz · 8 months

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Goldstein and Mahmoudi point to what, on appearance, is a relatively new phenomenon: namely the use of digital technologies in contemporary forms of surveillance and policing, and the way in which they turn the body into the border. Shoshana Zuboff (2019) has famously referred to the historical moment within which the datafication of human life becomes an industry in its own right as “surveillance capitalism” -- a system based on capturing behavioral data and using it for commercial purposes. According to Zuboff, surveillance capitalism emerged in the early 2000s, with [the major company beginning with letter "G"] as the main driving force [...].

In contrast, scholarship on colonialism, slavery, and plantation capitalism enables us to understand how racial surveillance capitalism has existed since the grid cities of sixteenth-century Spanish Mexico (Mirzoeff 2020). In short, and as Simone Browne (2015, 10) has shown, “surveillance is nothing new to black folks.” [...]

[S]urveillance in the service of racial capitalism has historically aided three interconnected goals: (1) the control of movement of certain -- predominantly racialized -- bodies through means of identification; (2) the control of labor to increase productivity and output; and (3) the generation of knowledge about the colony and its native inhabitants in order to “maintain” the colonies [...].

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Identification documents and practices can, like so many other surveillance technologies, be traced back to the Middle Passage [...]. [T]he movement of captives was controlled through [...] slave passes, slave patrols, and wanted posters for runaway slaves [...]. Similar strategies of using wanted posters and passes were put in place to control the movement of indentured white laborers from England and Ireland. [...]

Fingerprinting, for example, was developed in India because colonial officials could not tell people apart [...]. In Algeria, the French dominated the colonized population by issuing internal passports, creating internal limits on movement for certain groups, and establishing camps for landless peasants [...]. In South Africa, meanwhile, the movement of the Black population was controlled through the “pass laws”: an internal passport system designed to confine Black South Africans into Bantustans and ensure a steady supply of super-exploitable labor [...].

On the plantation itself, two forms of surveillance emerged -- both with the underlying aim of increasing productivity and output. One was in the form of daily notetaking by plantation and slave owners. [...] Second, [...] a combination of surveillance, accounting, and violence was used to make slave labor in the cotton fields more “efficient.” [...] [S]imilar logics of quotas and surveillance still reverberate in today's labor management systems. Finally, surveillance was also essential to the management of the colonies. It occurred through [...] practices like fingerprinting and the passport [...]. [P]hotographs were used after colonial rebellions, in 1857 in India and in 1865 in Jamaica, to better identify the local population and identify “racial types.” To control different Indian communities deemed criminal and vagrant, the British instituted a system of registration where members of particular tribes were not allowed to sleep away from their villages without prior permission [...].

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In sum, when thinking about so-called surveillance capitalism today, it is essential to recognize that the logics that underpin these technologies are not new, but were developed and tested in the management of racialized minorities during the colonial era with a similar end goal, namely to control, order, and undermine the poor, colonized, enslaved, and indentured; to create a vulnerable and super-exploitable workforce; and to increase efficiency in production and foster accumulation. Consequently, while the (digital) technologies used for surveillance might have changed, the logics underpinning them have not.

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Text by: Sabrina Axster and Ida Danewid. From an article by Sabrina Axster, Ida Danewid, Asher Goldstein, Matt Mahmoudi, Cemal Burak Tansel, and Lauren Wilcox. "Colonial Lives of the Carceral Archipelago: Rethinking the Neoliberal Security State". International Political Sociology Volume 15, Issue 3, pp. 415-439. September 2021. [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me.]

#abolition #landscape #colonial #imperial #ecology

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azulyrae · 3 months

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❛ —— 𝐈𝐈𝐈 : The Knight.

azriel seemed to be as ruthless with his apprentices as he was with his opponents — and [name] learned soon enough that the title of an archeron did nothing to smooth his edges when it came to her training.

with their hours well-spent and words that lingered amidst the border between the intrinsic fear of vulnerability and the desperate urge for connection, azriel and [name] willingly started to entangle one another in the invisible web placed upon them by fate.

yet, their bond alone is not enough to displace their inner demons, and it is up to them both to establish how far they are willing to allow their secluded training period to take them.

the third chapter of onyx sword of sorrow.

check the original post to be aware of the trigger warnings.

azriel/fem!archeron sister. reader with mind control & the ability to shapeshift.

pinterest board / spotify playlist.

word-count: 7K.

“My bounty is as boundless as the sea, my love as deep; the more I give to thee, the more I have, for both are infinite.”

— Romeo and Juliet, William Shakespeare.

The scalding light of the midday Sun made the sweat pool on her nape and bind the light tissue of [Name]’s long-sleeved shirt to the skin underneath. Regardless of her panting, Azriel’s pace remained ruthless, as though the heat was of no bother when it came to his jogging. As she tried — and failed — to reach him, [Name] reminisced the night before, when the moon stood tall and proud in the night sky, and the breeze was refreshing and less erratic.

Azriel had lost match after match, with [Name] cornering him at each and every strategy that he meant to engage in. Thirty — at best, thirty-five — movements on their part, and the Spymaster was left with a limited amount of choices: to surrender peacefully, or to try to postpone the inevitable and be predictably crushed. Five matches in with the morrow drawing close, [Name] noted that she scarcely had five questions of her own for him to answer. In order to have doubts regarding a person’s life and achievements, one needed to know the basics of the other, and [Name] refused to waste a single question — since she had battled with her wits and strategies to win her matches, — in a stupid inquiry such as what was his favorite food or weather. So, smug and malicious, she had suggested for them to engage in an unprecedented strand of chess: the quick chess. Their plays were less pondered, for their time to move their pieces were scarce, and, therefore, the mental space offered for a well-planned strategy and predictions was close to none. [Name] was sure that she would win yet another match, since her opponent had never engaged in a match of quick chess before, but her arrogance would be soon humbled, since Azriel began to win — round after round, match after match, — until they were tied: each one had the right to ask five questions, where the other was naturally obliged to answer honestly.

Her competitive spirit and stubbornness muted all but the occurrences on the board as [Name] studied the pieces after a loss, guaranteeing that she would not commit the same error twice. Yet, despite her very efforts, it seemed as though Azriel had been expecting her every move, countering her every strategy, and she was left dumbfounded at the seemingly never-ending streak of defeats that unraveled right before her eyes. The male, however, seemed to have noticed — or either learned for that matter, — something about her during those matches, and his insight was surprising when, roughly four or five hours later, he expressed his thoughts at the table, while [Name] drank a warm cup of black coffee.

“You were not exactly made for a full-blown sword fight,” he said it back then, and she raised an eyebrow, suddenly on edge.

“What is that supposed to mean?” [Name] had asked carefully, placing her mug on the wooden table.

“Close-ranged fights are chaotic, fast, erratic. They require quick thinking, the confidence that your body and muscles are prepared for the battle at hand: your brain and acts must be in perfect sync, otherwise your head will be sliced from your neck before you can raise your sword in a defensive stance, regardless of either your mind was capable of predicting that the was blow coming or not,” Azriel explained, stirring his porridge bowl. “Quick chess is a lot like it. The time to think is narrowed, and rather than to move a piece while thinking about a distant situation, you need to adapt with what you’re presented and create the best strategy possible with the very few seconds you’re offered. I’m a warrior, a soldier, those confrontations are second nature to me. You’re a strategist.”

“I never believed that to be a bad thing,” she bitterly answered, unsure of what to make of his precise comments.

“It isn’t,” Azriel countered, and [Name] nearly collapsed at the sight of his warm, hazel eyes landing on her face with such consideration. “Battles and wars are doomed without strategy. An army can’t expect to win without order and pre-established positioning, and you’re a fantastic strategist, [Name].”

She blushed, unable to tell whether it was over the sincere compliment, or the fact that he had voiced her name as though it was a natural thing; the sound of it on his tongue presenting itself as a dangerously addictive substance to her ears. Mayhap, she had blushed over both of those.

“You predicted the Mortal Queens’ plans, managed to help us destabilize the formation of Hybern’s army, and went as far as outwitting more experienced and older High-Lords and Generals.”

His praises seemed as though a precedent for a bitter truth, a low punch to her well-placed confidence. “But?”

“But, in a full-blown hand-to-hand battle, you would be useless.”

Azriel was brutal. His analytics were not once incorrect, and he rarely ever did try to sugarcoat his words. He strived for excellence in his students, that much was clear, and she doubted that the Spymaster would take it easy on her merely because she was the older sister of his High-Lady. Unaware of her grim reaction — or not caring about it whatsoever, — Azriel continued.

“Shifting into whichever being you desire and going as far as masking your scent is an incredibly useful ability. That, combined with your commanding voice and the strength granted by the body of a High-Fae is—”

“Catastrophic,” she intervened then, taking a sip of her coffee.

“Incredible,” he corrected, his voice slightly softer. “But mortals as well as faes are well aware of our strength and how to counter it. Faebane, ash-made weaponry: those are threats none of us is immune to.”

[Name] stirred her own porridge, grimacing at the dull taste once the spoon met her lips. “Which means, I will need to learn how to handle myself without those abilities.”

He grinned. “Scared?”

“Excited,” she had corrected. “I’m not used to magic, as you pointed it out. And to be fair, I’d rather never grow to rely on it either.”

[Name] thought she had covered the bitterness in her tone well enough. However, Azriel creased his forehead and tilted his head to the side with curiosity, scanning her features for further understanding. “Why?”

“Is that a chess-question?”

“A chess-question?”

“Yes,” another spoonful of porridge and she was done, grimacing just as much as before. “The question we earned through a victory in chess, whose answer is mandatory and must be sincere.”

Azriel crossed his arms against his chest, and it took her every ounce of focus in her nerves not to stare at the flexed muscles. “Well, then yes. That was a chess-question.”

“I like getting my hands dirty,” she answered him immediately. “I have never once agreed to hiring a maiden to do my tasks. I have learned how to cook; how to tidy my clothes; how to read and write so that I could send my own letters; I remember going as far as learning how to draw my own prototypes of ships, so that I would not need to rely on external brands once my father passed down his legacy to me. I remember refusing further aid as soon as I learned something — whether it was politics, to lie, to tell a seasoning from another by the scent, and many others.”

[Name] stopped for a second, her eyes getting lost on the half-empty mug of coffee as the memories from her earliest years of life came back in a haze of pain and nostalgia. She could feel Azriel’s attention on her, his gaze lingering as though a spark that could set her entire being aflame if she was not careful.

“I was particularly fond of the thought process that came with the activities I engaged with. The path that led to the end was more enjoyable than the end itself. Magic makes it all… easier. I don’t need to cook, or walk down the way to the library to fetch myself a book, or even prepare my own bath. It’s easy to forget the hardships when things start to get offered to you on a silver platter.”

His silence was not one accompanied by uneasiness. In fact, Azriel’s presence was anything but. There were, she presumed, many obvious reasons for that: he was much experienced; had a vast knowledge of combat and strategizing; the shadows answered to his every command, and could hide his figure from the eye-sight in a second; that, combined to his willingness to learn more and to polish fields in which he was yet not perfect at, brewed a capable individual, a lethal weapon built on a muscular body. However, it was not the clear threat that Azriel inspired in their enemies that soothed her nerves. It was his stance towards her; the manner with which his eyes seemed to reflect a pool of warm honey whenever they met hers; it was the lack of judgment, the respect of boundaries, and most importantly: the rare perception of noticing when one didn’t need advices or pity, but simply to vent a little.

Azriel could’ve said something back then. [Name] was well aware of the fact that he neither agreed nor disagreed with her beliefs regarding magic, but that he had a thing or two to point out whatsoever, and out of respect, chose not to. For decades, she managed to hide her heart well and in plain sight — no one could catch on a single thought of hers through her expressions unless she so desired, no one could predict her next movement until the very last moment, — no one but, as it seemed, Azriel. Her decision not to rely much on magic was based on fear and failed logic, both entangled in roots of [Name]’s mortal past that she was not yet willing to let go. He caught onto that, but didn’t say a thing about it regardless. Because, somehow during the past year and through their previous interactions, he had learned that his interjections in situations such as those wouldn’t be at all welcomed — that [Name] valued ruthlessness and honesty so long as her most hidden feelings were not involved.

The sense of being stripped from her barriers in another person’s presence, to be so deeply seen and understood, was one that she had never experienced before, and [Name] had yet to decide whether she wished for that to linger or not. It would be a relief to be more than an inscrutable puzzle, but the thought was one that brought great dread, for she had hidden below countless facades for a long period of time, and was unsure of what to make of the person awaiting underneath. To shapeshift was to tear a path through another’s skin, to live on another’s body. It was more than fitting for the Cauldron to have given her such an ability, and that statement filled [Name] with a sense of corruption, as if her soul was a fragmented and treacherous thing that deserved to have the means with which to be hidden.

Incredible, Azriel’s voice echoed through her thoughts: his answer to when she had insinuated the vile character of her powers. And while the terror settled at the pit of her stomach whenever she dared to ponder on the possibility of being thoroughly seen by someone else, Azriel’s presence made it seem as though that wasn’t entirely negative.

She wouldn’t ask him to change the subject. She wouldn’t cower if he chose to press on the reasons behind her discomfort with magic. She would neither beg nor argue if Azriel so decided to vex her with questions she was unwilling to answer. However, when he raised from his seat and said: “Let’s craft a warrior out of your strategist’s skin,” [Name] was grateful anyway.

Of course, the Archeron decided that she wouldn’t have been as grateful if she was to know beforehand how demanding his training-style was. After five more laps around the shore, Azriel caved to the sound of her breathless curses and chose to spare her a few minutes of rest. That is if one could even call walking a proper pause.

“If you were to sit, your muscles would grow lazy, and it would be twice as hard to return to the exercise afterwards,” Azriel had explained with a shrug after noticing her ugly stare, but the grin plastered on his face as he oh-so-thoughtfully matched her pace was enough to let her know that he hadn’t forgotten of her little jest the day before.

The wind did nothing to relieve the heat, for it suffered with the influence of the Sun above them, and as [Name] walked, her feet seemed to succumb to the weight of the sand at each step, and she felt a sudden wave of dizziness.

Fitting enough, as soon as her mind processed the state of her body, a long, dark wing appeared behind her back, meeting her shoulder-blades and bolstering her up. Azriel spared a single side-glance before he mentioned: “You wouldn’t be this lightheaded if you had chosen something suitable for intense training sessions.”

And [Name] was well aware of what he meant: the stupid long-sleeved shirt that she wore was doing nothing to prevent her heat exhaustion. Yet, the thought of uncovering what was underneath the fabric was so unthinkable that she gritted her teeth and straightened her posture.

“I can handle it well enough.”

“You’re smarter than this,” he immediately countered. “And I’m sure that you understand that your choice of clothing is slowing both of us down. This pact of ours won’t work unless I can train you properly.”

“I know,” she snapped, staring at him — or what she figured was him, considering that the sunlight nearly blinded her as she did so, — and Azriel raised an eyebrow as he reciprocated her glance.

“Then, what’s the matter?” The Spymaster insisted, his tone being enough an indicator that he wasn’t planning on changing the subject.

“I’d rather use long-sleeved shirts.”

“No one in their right mind would opt for warm clothes on a beach under the midday Sun.”

“Then we will conclude that I’m both smart and deranged.”

“[Name],” he sternly called, and perhaps it was because he had finally halted in his steps, no longer walking or running, but she turned on her heels to meet his figure, feeling compelled to let that banter go. “What’s the matter?”

At his repetition, the words escaped her mouth before her mind managed to demand otherwise. “Is that a chess-question?”

He blinked, his mouth parting ever-so-slightly in shock. “Is the answer that delicate?”

She merely nodded, freeing her mind from the memories that surfaced at the reason behind her reluctance. Azriel read enough through her reactions though, because he proceeded to scratch his nape with an unusual concern. “One that, I presume, you’re not prepared to answer.”

“I’m not.”

“Meaning that you’re also irreducible in terms of wearing proper clothes for the hot weather,” she cocked her hip, about to give him a verbal answer, when Azriel crossed his arms against his chest with a grumble. “Morning jogs aren’t merely meant to strengthen your physique and stamina, they also take on the position of a warm-up to the rest of our training for the day.”

None of those sentences were unprecedented. [Name] understood both the importance of those hellish laps and the stupidity of her obstinacy regarding the inadequate clothes that she packed. However, it was one thing to have part of her motivations and thoughts laid bare under the preciseness of his glance; it was another thing entirely to offer him the view of the physical scarring that followed-in-suit to the past that [Name] so heavily relied on and ran away from. Azriel’s intonation filled her with reluctance as she pondered on a possible mistake of judgment, fearing a disappointment that would surely occur was he to insist on the subject.

However, Azriel merely bit his lip — vexing her profusely, for that proved to be an efficient distraction, — and continued: “We will still run every day. I chose the beach on purpose, since the sand will help build your musculature faster, and will fix your poor resistance and the bad management of your breathing. However, we can jog under the moonlight for a while.”

She sighed in relief, but the feeling was short-lived as Azriel’s words carried on. “I was planning to train you in the forest above during the afternoon and first hours of the night. It was mainly to increase your fae-senses, as I noticed you’re neither using nor understanding them and their full potential. But for now, I guess we can use the forest to work on your aim and footwork and your fighting abilities overall.”

“Thank you, I—”

“It’s temporary,” he pointed out, interrupting her. “I’m far beyond the idea of forcing you to share painful memories, but I won’t overlook the morning jogs. The heat is crucial to further your resistance and you need to learn how to rely on your other senses in dark environments.” Azriel clicked his tongue. “And we will work twice as hard on your shifting.”

[Name] opened her mouth, bewildered at that sudden demand. “Why?”

“Because it’s useful, and because you’re scared of it,” Azriel answered flatly. “And I plan on leading you to challenging, Illyrian-based training trials once you’re ready for them — trials where paralyzing dread isn’t welcomed.”

Somewhere deep inside her being, the dragon shifted with certain laziness. [Name] could feel it waking up from a boring nap, opening its huge jaw in a yawn filled with anticipation; she could smell the ozone and sense the electricity within her nerves, bringing both an itch and a sudden soreness to her throat. She moved her head in denial. “What’s the problem with fear? It keeps us alive.”

It was a childish, borderline-innocent counter. [Name] had not a chance to win that argument, and her obstinacy was a meek attempt to postpone the inevitable. Azriel’s voice was low and menacing when he answered, staring deep into her eyes. “Fear is a lethal disease that spreads through one’s body like wildfire. By refusing to treat it, you are bound to burn until there’s nothing in your path but certain death.”

[Name] was, too, aware of it all. Yet, her entire life had been a gamble of fear-driven predictions. Logic came to her as a tool to avoid betrayals, disappointments and losses. A merchant had the need to be aware, to observe the patterns and fleets and harvests. It wasn’t merely about being great at smooth talking and forging promising partnerships — it was about perceiving the entire environment and betting on the most profitable option. [Name] wasn’t one to take unnecessary risks, to jump on hasted conclusions or to even indulge herself in the adrenaline of a particularly ambiguous choice. She never had the luxury to get rid of fear — not when she had been, for all her life, the very line that separated her sisters from a miserable life. But she stared at Azriel, the male who managed to be both logical and instinctive; bold and scheming; the spear and the shield; and she had no choice but to believe that the same could, eventually, apply to her.

“And how do I treat fear?” [Name] asked, filled with temptation.

Azriel’s grin stole the breath from both her lungs and crumbled the ground in which she stood. “By facing it.”

Not long after, both were back into the comfort of their hidden cave. [Name] took a fast, yet long-awaited cold bath before changing into clean clothes and returning to the entrance, encountering Azriel at their chess table, observing the scattered pieces from their latest game — one that [Name] had lost. Sensing her presence, whatsoever, he turned to face her, pointing to the board with his head.

“Your movements are mostly based on quick logic, and you have an aggressive and sharp playing style,” he began to say, his eyes drifting to her fallen Queen. “You’re also relentless, creative, smart: you see the entire board, and draw the potential from it.”

When Azriel clicked his tongue and proceeded to grin, she knew that the streak of compliments was over. “That is, of course, unless you’re playing quick chess.”

[Name] scoffed, but drew herself closer to the table regardless, being careful as not to brush past his wings as she did so. “Enlighten me then, how did you manage to beat me?”

“When you’re cornered, without the chance to step back and rely on careful pondering, your aggression turns into recklessness. Recklessness is equal to predictability — I could see your movements as clear as day because you were desperate to win, and desperate at the prospect of losing. It’s fear, isn’t it? You step into unknown territory and all of sudden, your instincts lose accuracy, your sharpness melts, and you turn into a shallow shell of wasted potential.”

She blinked, and the entire board took on a different meaning, the sudden shift in perspective making [Name] understand every grave error, every missed opportunity, and every tactic she could’ve used to defeat him. Under ideal circumstances, her style was ruthless. Where others chose to cower and preserve their pawns, she opted otherwise, sacrificing them to either create a trap or to further the effectiveness of her tactics. Because no one expected her to do such a thing, she, more often than not, won. But her aggressiveness was of no good when she felt threatened. [Name] remembered using similar strategies in real life: to sweet-talk suppliers and merchants into an alliance; to convince someone to do something they would rather not do; to financially demolish those who had wronged her family with the aid of regained fortune brought by Tamlin’s gold. When such matters were at hand, [Name] was not shy: she was relentless. Only once she decided to take a step back, to abandon her well-polished tactics and hide under frail defenses. It had costed, to both her and her family, everything.

It was briefly after her mother’s death. Grief had seemed to cloud her father’s senses, for he meant to bet their entire revenue on a single crusade. [Name], who had been studying the fairly new science of weather prediction, noted that the seas were wild at that time of the year — that storms were frequent and often devastating, — meaning that it would be unwise to bet it all, since that decision alone was bound to fail. [Name] knew that well, for that decision was taken close to her birthday, and the skies then were a cacophony of thunder, a terrifying spectacle of lightning. She brought her concerns to her father, and pushed the subject as much as she could; relentless, aggressive, obstinate. But her father had snapped at her, denied her insights and said that, were she to insist on the matter any further, he’d quit on making her his heir and find her a suitable husband at once.

Terrified at the idea of losing both her heirdom and freedom, [Name] left the man alone, catering as many jewels and monetary savings as she could, hiding it all under a loose wooden-made tile found at her bed foot. And the abandonment of her tactics had been fatal: she was right; they lost everything; and all of sudden, there was nothing ahead of her family but poverty and hunger and suffering.

“Next time we face one another in a quick-chess match,” Azriel began, tearing her away from her thoughts. “You’ll beat me.”

“You can’t be so sure,” she answered, moving her head in denial.

“You’re now well aware of where you went wrong, and I’m sure you memorized my playing tactics long ago. You, [Name], is a terrifying opponent to go against in a chess match. I’ll make sure that the same thing will be said about you in battle.”

Azriel motioned for them to leave the cavern, and once again, [Name] chose to shift into the comfortable form of a falcon, not quite yet prepared to face the wildfire of her fears. Considering the hellish hours under the Sun, the flight towards the forest was, sadly enough, a short one. Azriel had been the one to carry the bag where [Name] kept her sai blades and throwing knives, and soon, the two were at a small glade amidst the forest, surrounded by tall trees and the pleasant chirping of birds. At the center, three trunks had been cut to create targets for her aim training, hovering above the grass while supported and tied to thinner wooden-piles. Staring left, [Name] found a clean site, with nothing but wooden-swords plastered on the ground. That made her scoff.

“I can handle my blades,” she argued, and Azriel followed her glance.

“Swords, maybe,” he shrugged. “But sai blades are different weapons, less sharp on the edges and more lethal on their tips. They require complete, fast, and immaculate control of your fingers and are meant to be an extension of your forearms.” Azriel pointed to the wooden-swords. “They are great against spears and long blades, and once I’m done polishing your overall blade-like abilities, I’ll use those wooden-swords to teach you how to use the sai to split a real sword in two.”

Azriel moved toward her bag. “Why did you decide that I was suitable for the sais?”

“They’re fast and lethal, meant to be aimed at the weakest parts of one’s body: the throat, the face, the neck and the legs. You can only maneuver a sword by its handle, but the sais can also be held by the fingers at the wing base, allowing you to easily rotate it in your hand. Mor had mentioned you were better with small blades, but I figured that a dagger would be too dull.”

Azriel kneeled, and [Name] could sense a tinge of pride in his voice, showcasing how confident he was in his choice of weaponry. As though it was second nature, she caught herself observing him with unbreakable attention, noticing the pattern of his movements and even catching on the steady sound of his breathing. Perhaps that was why she was startled upon realizing that Azriel’s breath ceased for a second, stuck in his throat. His hands gripped on the set of throwing knives he had given her the year before, polished and sharp as new, but the leather by the handles was slightly sunk in, carrying the marks of her grip.

Azriel turned to her, as if shocked beyond himself, and his voice had lost all composure when he said: “You’ve been using them.”

Thin tendrils of shadows nestled themselves close to his ear, as if both teasing and reassuring their master. [Name] merely cursed the bright sunlight, as she had been missing the comforting presence of those shadows, somehow filled with personality. “Since the moment I laid my eyes on them.”

“Where?” He seemed to demand, trying — and failing, — to regain his composure. And though [Name] couldn’t quite understand what had brought that sudden wave of emotion on, she knew that this conversation was different than their previous ones: it was crucial for the character of their relationship from then on.

“There’s a small place in the mountains in Velaris. It’s hidden in the middle of the ridges, somehow untouched by the snow. I found it accidentally, and started to fly to it every morning. I used the throwing knives to practice my aim,” she motioned to the weapons, and Azriel cleared his throat, his eyes growing slightly bigger as if he seemed to connect the pieces of a long abandoned puzzle.

“So that’s where you’ve been going to?”

“How did you even know that I was flying around somewhere in the first place?”

Shock gave way to cockiness as Azriel pointed to himself with his index finger. “Spymaster.”

She scoffed. “And why were you spying on me then, Spymaster?”

The humor within his expression had vanished, his grin fading as though leaves flowing away with the breeze. “Chess-question?”

“Will you refuse to answer me otherwise?”

“I might.”

[Name] crossed her arms, slightly puzzled. If she pulled the right strings, tempting Azriel enough to throw him under a trap of their usual banters, it was possible for him to answer her either way, eager to have the last word. It would’ve been an ideal proposition: she’d get her answers without needing to waste a chess-question. But then again, what else would she ask? [Name] barely knew him, and further inquiries about what seemed obvious: his hands, his relationship with the Inner Circle, the many battles he had faced… she didn’t find proper to touch on those subjects — unless he mentioned it first.

Deciding at last that, since his reluctance seemed to be due to embarrassment, his answer would hardly be complicated to him. She shrugged, nodding to herself. He seemed amused whatsoever, and [Name] was slightly compelled to stick her tongue out to him before speaking: “Yes, that’s a chess-question.”

He made a noise that sounded a lot like a curse — one that would have her mother gasping and calling for the house’s guards, — and, shockingly, he seemed to hesitate. Azriel cleared his throat, avoiding her glance, and that alone made her grin widely.

“I hardly ever sleep, which I’m sure you can relate to,” she hummed, cocking her hip, enjoying that situation more than she believed possible. “And, like any fae that can use their enhanced senses…”

[Name]’s amusement faded at his stirring, and a scowl edged on her features as Azriel continued his speech.

“I was used to hearing some commotion near your window at specific hours,” immediately, she raised an eyebrow.

“Answers to chess-questions are supposed to be honest,” [Name] pointed out, and he stared at her as though she was the most annoying being that had ever stepped on the Land.

“I knew you weren’t well after the last battle against Hybern, but any attempt to speak to you seemed impossible. Not only because it was hard to figure out the place you chose to hide inside for the day, but also because I was prohibited.”

She grew quiet, guilt burning at the pit of her stomach. [Name] overused her abilities against him, constantly repeating words soaked in treacherous power whenever she caught the slightest glint of rebellion within his will. Back then, she was terrified — not to say that she wasn’t still, — and Azriel’s desire to be a recurrent presence was more than merely odd: it was a trigger to painful remembrances that the Cauldron did not erase, but rather increased.

As a mortal, [Name] was of no interest to immortal and powerful beings that, surely enough, had witnessed more than she could’ve ever dream of. Since a toddler, she has heard of how she was, undeniably, her mother’s daughter: they had the same nose; the same posture; the same sharp eyes and crude judgment; the same height; the same hair. [Name] was her mother’s doppelganger, a fact that neither pleased the mother nor the daughter. But [Name] was not blind to the woman’s beauty, and guessed that she, too, had some attractiveness within herself — a hunch that proved to be correct once poverty closed its talons in the Archerons’ calves and forced her to a life of prostitution. She figured that, to Feyre’s new friends, she was nothing beyond a beautiful face, just as she hadn��t been to the men that called upon her in the brothel.

However, as her conversations with the males deepened and shifted into political subjects, it was clear that in the very least, her intellect had managed to spike their curiosity more than her external appearance — something that hadn’t happened for years. But it was Azriel who respected her the most back then, who saw her as a fitting opponent, an equal in terms of strategizing and sacrificing, hence why his first reaction upon seeing her as a High-Fae stung the deepest. The usual respect had been replaced, and instead, he eyed her with both awe and a poorly hidden desire. The fae-body made her taller, her legs were longer and her limbs seemed lighter. She was well-aware of every change: from the — previously nonexistent, — brightness of her hair to the new length of her fingers, but [Name] couldn’t stand the prospect of no longer being Azriel’s friend-against-all-odds; one with whom he could speak in puzzles; to instead be turned into a possible notch in his belt. The Cauldron stole enough of her, and she refused to allow it to steal the very few precious memories she still held untouched. Commanding him was not her smartest idea, but at least, she told herself, kept him from desiring her the way those men had.

Seeing him now, free from her powers and with his self-will intact, [Name] could not help but find herself an antrum of stupidity. The predators from the brothel had never cared for her well-being, never bothered to observe her day-by-day moving patterns, not once gave her heartfelt gifts meant for her protection. It had been unfair to judge Azriel so deeply and in the long-term over a single second, a bewildered gaze sent her way in a moment of unprecedented change.

“I made some mistakes,” which both agreed was a feeble attempt at an apology, but [Name] wasn’t quite sure whether or not she would’ve been standing on that same spot, sharing that same conversation, if she hadn’t taken those pre-mentioned precautions regarding their proximity in the past year. Hence why, while she regretted the early judgment and the imposition of her voice, she couldn’t quite say the same about taking a step back from the overall partnership that came with the Inner Circle.

Noticing that he wouldn’t get any further atonement, Azriel held out a throwing knife by the blade, inciting her to grab its handle. [Name] complied and stood in position, the wooden-made target in her line of sight, although far in distance. Azriel had the other nine pieces in hand, his eyes locked on how she held herself.

“Clotho’s weekly reports weren’t enough to settle me down, so I started to track your movements,” he broke the silence at once, and motioned with his head towards the target. “Throw it.”

She raised the blade in her dominant hand, sighting down along the line of her arm. [Name] calculated the overall distance between the weapon and the target, aware that she’d need to aim it a little higher so as to compensate for the weight shift during the trajectory. A memory resurfaced, whispering its existence from the pits of her mind: a fourteen year-old Feyre, with fresh calluses on her fingers, extending the bowstring and releasing a makeshift arrow into the trunk of a tree. It was one of the rare mornings in which [Name] was sober enough — and not as sore as usual, — to observe her sister’s endeavors. Back then, she had been taken by a mix of both dread and pride as she noticed Feyre’s talents and aim, and paid her quiet company until it was time for her sister politely send her off, as [Name] couldn’t follow her inside the forest.

During those years, her life had turned upside down with nights spent inside a brothel: a disposable doll by the hands of men too eager and cruel and rich. She’d stumble back home with a bottle of cheap liquor, tired, humiliated and wishing to be anywhere but inside her own skin. [Name] would never drink it fully, for the alcohol helped them to light the miserable hearth when their stock of coal was scarce. Instead, she’d puke outside if that was necessary, place the half-empty bottle somewhere inside the kitchen, and throw her tired body on the extra mattress that she managed to gamble at the market. Elain was usually the one to wake her up when it was time for her to leave again, straight into the worst nightmare of a woman, and the one that she was forced to call a job. [Name] would bathe in cold water, not wanting to be a bother, and leave their house in a normal attire, since Moira — the headmistress of the brothel, — refused to have [Name] walking around the dirty streets in the silks she oh-so-kindly provided for her employees.

Keeping one’s mind clear was a borderline-impossible task when under the circumstances that [Name] had been during those terrible times, however, she had goals back then: to protect her sisters from the same fate; to make sure they’d have food and a roof over their heads. They were surprisingly simpler times, — that she did not miss whatsoever, — when [Name] knew no magic, trusted no fate, and instead focused entirely on her sisters’ safety.

Perhaps it was that sudden memory, combined with the absurdity of the present, that led her to such a strained throw, her blade losing both strength and speed as it landed far under the center of the target. Azriel made a noise that resembled a contained laughter and she gritted her teeth. The second after, however, he was in a similar position — only smoother and much more collected, — holding the handle of the throwing knife. [Name] hadn’t thrown knives with Azriel before, yet was unsurprised to see that his posture and grip — his thumb parallel to the blade — were perfect. He seemed nearly bored as he released the knife; it flew through the air and thumped into the central ring of the target. [Name] knew that if the blade had been slightly longer and he used more of his strength, the knife would have destroyed the wood, passing straight through the center and craving itself on the grass underneath.

“Sometimes I’d go check on you myself, other times I’d ask my shadows. You always left early; a small, lonely swallow soaring through the morrow’s sky; and returned past after midday, taking on the shape of a gyrfalcon,” he stated, offering her yet another throwing knife. “May I?”

He briefly motioned with his hands towards her hips and waist. She nodded, her eyes glued to the target as she sucked in a breath. When Azriel first touched her, correcting her posture, the Archeron had expected a somewhat sudden wave of terror and disgust; she expected her mind to make her travel back to the rooms of the brothel, with its exaggerated silks adorning the walls and the red-colored lightning granted by the candles. However, [Name] felt none of that. Instead, what startled her the most was to ascertain that she grew unused to another’s touch. When had been the last time she had felt the warmth of one’s body against her own? [Name] had hugged her two younger sisters after their father’s burial, but that had happened nearly a year ago: almost three-sixty-five days since she had dared to challenge the boundaries of the mental scarring left by the time spent within the walls of the brothel.

It took her yet another minute to understand what was different in his touch. It was brief, filled with respect and care, and she flushed with embarrassment and guilt, remembering how reckless she had been upon her judgment of him; how stupid she had been to command him to leave her alone, to place Azriel under the same category of the men [Name] had once laid with. Then, when he moved to fix her elbow and his fingers grazed over the uncovered skin of her wrist, she noticed the texture of his touch: unique in its own way, scarred from the fire and callused from years of sword-training. [Name] couldn’t have confused his hands with another’s even if she wanted to, and that fact alone brought not discomfort but reassurance, as if his hands were an anchor to the present, a sign that she had much to overcome and wouldn’t give a single step forward if all she could do was stare back.

Azriel’s touch didn’t linger whatsoever. Once her posture was fixed, he pointed towards the target. “I’ve heard from Mor that you were skilled — much more skilled than your last throw evidenced. Clear your head, focus on the target, otherwise you’ll be as good as dead on an actual confrontation. Again.”

[Name] took a step back from the invisible throwing line. She wasn’t entirely self-taught in terms of knife throwing and managing small blades in general: the Archeron once had a close friend, a lifetime ago, who made sure to train her the best he could. But after the War and the biting loneliness that accompanied it, [Name] thought it’d be profitable to improve that particular set of abilities. Over the course of a year, she spent hours of her day with blades in her hands, throwing it again and again, watching how the repetition and strength would split the wood, similar to the shattering of nerves and bones. There was only so much one could go in their training while relying on past lessons and step-by-step techniques found in books, but she managed well enough. [Name]’s step back was slowly taking on a more direct trajectory — rather than a diagonal one, — ever since she began to try and be ambidextrous. Her arm went back before she moved it forward; the knife flew from her opened hand as if it was a falcon whose leashes had been ripped. The weapon soared toward the target, slicing the air in a steadier trajectory, and thudded close to its heart, less than two centimeters from where Azriel’s own knife had landed.

“When I first started training in Windhaven, I was older and much less experienced than soldiers who were five, sometimes six years younger than me,” Azriel began, his pace relaxed as he reached the target and plunged the throwing knives from where they were craved on the wood. “Knowing that my abilities weren’t far beyond those of a kid of six vexed me. So, I practiced harder — and by myself, — after every training session. I thought I was being smart, doing great.”

His back was facing her, and [Name] caught on a scent of something uncommon, noticing with certain startle that her senses had opened themselves to Azriel’s hidden emotions; that what she smelt wasn’t from a native flower of the forest or even a curious animal, observing from afar: it was him, somewhat vulnerable, telling a fact from his past that, under different circumstances, could only have been uncovered through a chess-question. So, the Archeron took note of every shift in intonation; every word; every fidget of his scarred fingers; drinking in that sudden proximity, finding that she was starving for meaningful connections after an entire year of self-isolation.

“When Devlon caught me, he scowled. He told me then that the stupidest thing to do as a beginner was to train without guidance,” Azriel turned, and just as he had done before, he held the blade and extended the handle towards her. “Training by oneself serves for a single thing: enhancing your errors. If you’re not well-instructed, lapses in your stance will go unnoticed; those lapses will turn into vices; and vices are not only lethal, but difficult for a warrior to abandon.”

[Name] grabbed the handle, closing her fingers around it. Soon enough, Azriel’s hand covered hers as he corrected her grip — thumb facing the blade. He raised her elbow, straightened her shoulders, and lightly kicked her left foot, instructing her to open a further distance between her feet.

“Your arms are over-bent,” at her puzzled expression, he let out the first smile in almost half-an-hour, and [Name] was shocked to notice how badly she had missed the sight of it. “To throw a knife and land it on the center, it’s crucial to raise your aim a little bit so as to compensate for the loss of momentum caused by the weight shift, you caught that right. However, what you also noticed, at least subconsciously, is that your aim is more precise when you bend your arm more than needed. That unnecessary arc is meant to compensate for the fact that you’re not using your strength correctly, hence why your throws need this extra boost.”

“And that’s a vice,” [Name] pointed out, to which he nodded. The Archeron thought about his initiative to share more of himself — no chess-questions needed, — and sighed as her parted lips shone the light on one of the secrets kept inside the coffins of her chest. “I received just a brief training in knife throwing, and I’m guessing the one to teach me hadn’t caught on that vice.”

“Mor would’ve noticed,” he rebuked, tilting his head ever-so-slightly.

“It wasn’t Mor.”

That caught him off-guard, his previous relaxed stance grew more wary as he seemed to ponder his next words. “You were trained by someone else?”

“Yes, some years ago,” she muttered with her eyes glued to the target. [Name] caught on another odd scent, and failed to assign it to an emotion.

“Who?”

The easy lies came to mind all at once, false-hearted words meant to deceive those who had dared to request an answer whose implications she was not comfortable with. From training received from her father’s sailors to winning a bet against a talented fae-huntress and having to fight a bear for the loser’s most favored dagger, [Name]’s lies ventured from realistic to absurd, each suitable to specific situations.

But for once, the truth presented itself with more vigor, and she decided to oblige it.

“Some fairly stubborn pirates were stealing provisions and taxes sent to the Queens by sea, so they gathered parts of their armies and scattered them across the shores of the Mortal Lands, one being close to my family’s old village. I was twenty at the time, made an unexpected friendship with three soldiers, and one taught me some nice tricks.”

Azriel grew silent for a second, and his thoughts were a chaotic turmoil, flirting with her senses as she tried her best to keep them out, not daring to read his mind. “What happened to them?”

“Two decided to fight alongside Jurian during the War and are now part of his troops,” she answered, her tone growing sharper. Her scent must’ve been a strong indicator of the unraveling of the third one’s story — and oh, how she envied the Spymaster for being able to tell them apart, — and soon enough, Azriel dropped the subject.

“Remember that your mind must be clear while handling a blade,” he told her instead.

[Name] noticed the implication underneath: forget we ever talked about that. And so, she nodded, filled with relief. Her arm was pulled back; Azriel corrected her small vice with a push of his fingers. [Name] stabilized her breath, calculating the distance; Azriel stepped aside. The Archeron released the knife; it sliced through the air, carrying a strength she was still unused to using, and landed on the center of the target, just where Azriel’s previous blade had been, shattering wood and paint until the handle was the only thing stopping it from going through the target entirely. The male at her side grinned, and she figured that at last, the idea of taking profit of the abilities and magic granted by her fae-body didn’t sound entirely too bad.

She lost their third match, but surprisingly enough, wasn’t bothered by it.

general notes: me when I’m a pathological liar that swore she wouldn’t take too long to release the new chapter and ended up taking too long anyway. I wish I had those cool stories found in AO3 like: I robbed a bank and went to jail or I fought with my mother over a racoon and was homeless for three months, but my life isn’t that exciting lmao I’m just a slow writer!! anyways, please reblog it and tell me your thoughts on this chapter. lots of love <3

taglist [comment to be added]: @nyotamalfoy @arilindemann @bsenpai @rachelnicolee @piceous21 @forsiriussake @sassybluebird @esposadomd

#acomaf #acotar #acowar #azriel #azriel imagine #azriel imagines #azriel x reader #acosf #acotar x reader #azriel / reader #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger #sjmaas #sjm books #a court of thorns and roses #azriel x y/n

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probablyasocialecologist · 6 months

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I begin with the question How does Israel get away with it? In terms of colonizing Palestine. Here you have Israel, which conquers, takes over Palestine. It drives out three-fourths of the Palestinian people. In 1967, it imposes an occupation over the rest of Palestine that it hadn’t conquered in 1948. Sets up an apartheid regime. It settles the whole country in violation of international law. And gets away with it. How? And what I say in the book is that international politics is transactional. There’s no value, no ideology today. Trump was the epitome of this. There are no real alliances. There are no principles. Even though Biden talks about human rights and about how we have to live by the rules of international law, there aren’t such things that hold back powerful governments. It’s all transactional. Short term. What is my immediate advantage? How do I lever my power and get what I want? And “deal” (this is the Trump word) with other powerful parties that have what I want? In this kind of global system, Israel plays two major roles. One of them is, it becomes an enforcer of the system for the major political players, especially the G7 but not only those countries. Israel also has relations with Russia and with China. The other one I put in the framework of global capitalism. From the 1970s, the last 50 years, as this neoliberal system has taken over all the world economy—there’s no more socialist countries (China is a state capitalist system)—it’s the only system. It’s saturated all possible markets. It can’t expand. So what it has to do is turn inward. It begins to exploit internally. And then, with no regulation, there is a rise of a super-rich class, the Musks and the Gates and all the billionaires. The capitalist system has always promised you a happier life, especially for the middle class, upward mobility, and a house, and job security, and Ronald McDonald’s shining face. And all of a sudden, it’s becoming repressive. The rest of the world won’t have the standard of living we do. In this system, you need enforcement. Because not only the poor people of the world, but also the middle classes of the Global North, our kids, will not have the standard of living that we do. Now you have the Occupy movement, all kinds of Global South movements. So it has to be more repressive. The big powers aren’t built for repressing populations. The Pentagon builds F-35s, nuclear submarines, thermodynamic missile systems, not the kinds of weapons you need for population control. The Pentagon is geared toward conventional warfare, not population control. And that’s Israel’s niche, because it has perfected all this on the Palestinians over the last century. So it has the technologies of repression—we see it now in Gaza. And it has the strategies of population control that most other Western developed countries don’t have. And the experience of boots on the group for a century. So that’s one level, where Israel becomes the enforcer of global capitalism. In a very real way. Not alone, of course, but it becomes the leading force in population control.

#israel #palestine #usa #geopolitics

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phoenixyfriend · 2 months

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Calls for Action, Call Your Reps: 2/26/24

This is USA-specific, as that is the place I live and know.

Find your elected officials.

As usual, most of my information on what bills are on the floor comes from GovTrack. I am including some suggested listening/reading (you can find text versions if you google the title and 'transcript') at the bottom of the post. I am also including a current event that is likely to be a very powerful argument, with the right politicians. The event is prefaced with a red warning tag, and followed by event-specific verbiage.

Suggested verbiage and strategies for calling your elected officials.

GovTrack has said that there are still no votes scheduled, in this blog post from Friday: What's Next for Congress? (Feb 23, 2024)

In practice, that appears to mean that they are arguing over the budget to avoid yet another government shutdown. Given that the delays to the budget so far have been tied directly to the Israel/Ukraine/Taiwan military funding and Southern border.

Use this time to call their offices and tell them to vote the way you want them to.

The most immediate and pressing issue at this moment is the famine in Gaza. Widely reported today is that a two-month-old boy recently died of starvation, and the World Health Organization is declaring that it has become famine and a mass starvation event, no longer just a threat of one.

At this time, the three greatest factors in that famine are:

Israeli bombardment (destruction of existing food stores and farming land)

Israeli blockades of the Egyptian border into Gaza, preventing aid trucks from places like the US from reaching people

The cessation of funding to UNRWA, which has been the lifeline to Palestinian civilians for decades, and is currently the best and possibly only chance to save the one and a half million dying civilians

This information is being reported by the WHO, UNRWA itself, UNICEF, and more, along with journalists that are in Gaza at this time.

The other issue, more domestically, is the rising tide of concern for US Reproductive Rights stemming from the IVF ruling in Alabama.

Both House and Senate:

Reinstate funding for UNRWA. While the claims made by Israel that employees of the relief agency were involved in Oct. 7th are troubling, THEY are not well supported, and western officials did not do their duty in investigating the claims before cutting funding. This arm of the UN is currently providing food, water, shelter, and medical care to the 2.3 million displaced peoples of Gaza. It is especially disturbing and concerning that the many children of Gaza, who are already suffering due to this conflict, are now having this support revoked. Many sources are also claiming that the evidence is flimsy at best.

Urge both Senate and House to refrain from funding Israel, or to at least put some strings on it. The IDF cannot be given funding without some regulations on what they can do with it. They have proven that they are unwilling to take steps to protect civilians.

Sanctions must also be placed on Israel for its continued impediment of aid intended for Gazans, including aid from the US.

Urge for the US to stop vetoing ceasefire demands in the UN. No, the suggested replacement written by the US is not an excuse.

Not directly related to Gaza: It looks like they’re gearing up for another push at KOSA. The canned email responses I’m getting are really proud of being in support of KOSA, which is… bad. It is also bad for people outside the US, including Palestine, apparently. VOTE NAY.

Not related to Gaza: Alabama's recent court decision has put IVF services in danger in the state, with multiple fertility clinics halting all related services for any pregnancy that is not yet in progress; there were implantation appointments for last week that were canceled with no knowledge of when they might be greenlit. Push for full spectrum reproductive rights protection (fertility services, family planning, birth control, abortion, and more), and if you have a pro-lifer as your elected official, cite the Alabama ruling as a cause for concern of how the lack of codified reproductive rights protection can impact even those who do want children.

FOR THE SENATE: Urge your senator to put their support behind Bernie Sanders and his motion to restrict funding to Israel until a humanitarian review of the IDF’s actions in Gaza has been completed. Cite it as Senate Resolution 504 if your Senator is right-wing enough to react negatively to the mention of Sanders by name. NOTE: This resolution was TABLED by the Senate on 1/16, but it is being brought back in as conditions continue to escalate.

Passed in the House recently, so bother your senators about it, is H.R. 3016: IGO Anti-Boycott Act. Vote Nay. This appears to be intended to force US companies to do business with US allies instead of participating in boycotts. This appears, to me, to be an attack on movements like BDS. To Dem Reps, argue that this refuses the right of peaceful protest to US citizens. To Republican Reps, argue that this is a dangerous government overreach and that it is not the right of the government to force US citizens to purchase products and materials from specific foreign partners.

FOR THE HOUSE: Recommend that they support House Resolution 786, introduced by Rep. Cori Bush, Calling for an immediate deescalation and cease-fire in Israel and occupied Palestine. ALTERNATELY: Urge your representative to put their support behind Rep. Rashida Tlaib’s petition for the US government to recognize the IDF’s actions in Gaza as ethnic cleansing and forced displacement, and put a stop to it.

Alright, now the current big news story.

Warning: Self-harm, public suicide.

I will preface this with an explanation of a recent event.

The big American news of this week that is being talked about on all political news sources, from BBC to NPR to Al Jazeera, is the self-immolation in DC. A US Air Force service member walked to the Israeli embassy in Washingon DC, set up a Twitch Stream, and stated that he refused to be party to the genocide being committed with the support of his country's government. He then doused himself in a flammable liquid, set himself on fire, and shouted 'Free Palestine' on repeat until the fire grew too great for him to do anything but scream in pain. The man was rushed away to a hospital, but has apparently died since. Twitch has understandably removed the video for ToS violations, but the video has been saved and reshared to other sites since.

To be clear, the airman, a 25yo named Aaron Bushnell, explicitly stated that this was an act of extreme protest, but not as extreme as the current lives of Palestinians in Gaza. Please do not allow people to convince you this was just a random act of mental illness. It was tragic, yes, but this very public, recorded, in-uniform, motive-declared suicide was by all appearances a calculated choice based on centuries of precedent.

If your senator or representative claims to be pro-military, bring this up. Even if they don't, bring it up.

"A service member, someone who presumably has access to more information on what is happening 'on the ground' than the average citizen, someone who has proven their dedication to America, is dying in agony to prove a point: that Israel's actions cannot be condoned, cannot be justified, and most certainly cannot be supported with fourteen billion in military aid."

The above is one possible verbiage you can use when you call.

Today, I would also recommend listening to NPR's Politics Podcast as the episode contains some good information on The Michigan Problem, and the Democracy Now podcast, which has some good interviews on the confirmed famine going on in Gaza. I will note that there are some claims being made in the latter about the US government, including comments by Biden himself, using law enforcement and college administrations to punish pro-Palestine groups, from Students for Justice in Palestine to even Jewish Voice for Peace (notable since one of the major arguments for these actions is that anti-zionists are antisemitic). I am saying 'claims being made' as I have not had time to corroborate this with other news sources, and the other casts I listen to have not mentioned it.

If you wish to support my political blogging, I am accepting donations on ko-fi.

Alternately, I would also suggest that you send any spare money to PCRF (Palestine Children's Relief Fund), UNRWA, or Save the Children Sudan, which has been undergoing an incredibly deadly civil war for a year or so now, but that the US has significantly less involvement in on a bureaucratic level, so IDK what any of us in the US can do to help in that regard. But many of us do have money! So there's that.

#current events #Phoenix Politics #Gaza #Palestine #united states #Israel #call your reps #kosa #death mention #suicide mention

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elysiansparadise · 11 months

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Can you talk about pluto in the 6th house

Pluto in the 6th house

These natives have perfectionist tendencies, it is likely that in their past they have been judged for having made a mistake or not having done something well enough. They are demanding of themselves, and their keen eye for detail is often used more often on themselves. They put all their energy and attention into the task at hand and always try to do an outstanding job. They can be high-strung and lack optimism, so they feel like they always have to be alert or ready for whatever comes their way. Thinking about the future causes them great anxiety but they never allow themselves to be nervous or insecure in front of other people. They like to have total control of their actions, which is why they often clash with people who are demanding, possessive, or who limit their personal and creative freedom. They have an excellent mind for strategy and have unmatched organisational skills, they have an excellent work ethic that stands out for loyalty, efficiency and responsibility. Many of them fear making mistakes or failure in any of its forms. Many of these natives feel tormented by uncertainty or not knowing what is going to happen. If the Sun, Moon or Mercury is badly aspected, it is likely that the native gives the impression of wanting to have everything under control.

They are very careful about their personal hygiene, they can be very neat and demanding when it comes to cleaning the place where they spend the most time. Change, especially one that is very abrupt, can cause them some discomfort, since many of them find it difficult to adapt to new things [especially if they lack Mutable placements]. They are people who have wounds related to trust and feeling intimate with someone, surprisingly they tend to help others to heal these same wounds, since they have a stable personality, understanding and above all, very loyal. These people are very devoted in all areas of their lives, but particularly at work. Some of these natives may work as psychologists, psychiatrists, doctors, in the business sector, in any position of power, accountants or a job that requires researching, obtaining or organising information. Something that usually occurs with this placement is that the native can quickly climb in their work environment, becoming highly respected, admired or even feared for their position and abilities. They tend to attract envious people in the work area or people with whom there may be a certain power struggle / excessive competitiveness.

These people may have problems accepting their body image and losing weight may be something extreme, or they lose it very easily or it is very difficult for them. They do not usually have a large appetite and may frequently skip meals. These people tend to work a lot or push themselves a lot, some can border on workaholic [enhanced if it's making hard aspects with Saturn, Mars or MC ruler], rone to stress and are likely to have multiple burnouts due to the enormous amount of overexertion. They do not like to ask for help or it can be very difficult for them. They can deeply dislike criticism. These people are very interested in self-knowledge, they know themselves very precisely and, just like with themselves, they seek to really and deeply know the people who mean the most to them. They are not superficial, nor false in any way, they always like to be authentic and firm before what they consider correct or true. In case of having pets, they always try to take good care of them, so that they do not lack anything and many of them can be very attached to them. With Pluto here, it is likely that they experience a phobia of a specific animal [arachnophobia, musophobia, cynophobia, entomophobia, apiphobia, etc.], this may be something they experience as children or something from a bad experience. These people are very protective of pets and may have a dream or desire to help as many animals as they can. They do not tolerate any kind of negligence.

-> Go back to the masterlist

#pluto #pluto in the 6th house #astrology #natal chart #astro note #6th house #birth chart #pluto in the 6th #pluto in 6h #pluto in 6th house #astro observation

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mischivana · 4 months

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History is Written by the Winners

hi this is my first ever piece of writing, please be kind. a prompt list is to come soon so I can start taking requests. NOT PROOF READ!!

Masterlist

Jason Grace x Nike!Reader

warnings: none that I can think of :)

I lurked in the woods, deep in the treetops watching carefully where I stepped to make sure I didn't fall or attract too much attention by disrupting the branches. Being the daughter of Nike, I’m pretty quick on my feet and always kinda knew where they were. Victory is my game and I'm going to win no matter what.

I stalked through the trees looking for the other team's flag, it was Athena vs Hermes, when a strong gust of wind knocked me out of the trees. I was stunned for a moment as a swirled through the air before I landed flat on the ground on the edge of Zeus’s fist.

After I regained myself and quickly drew my sword, I looked around to see who my attacker was even though I’d already known. There was only one demigod at this camp who had the ability to control the winds. Son of Jupiter and love of my life, Jason Grace.

I looked at him with a cheeky grin. I knew Annabeth would put him on the front defense because she knew I would come straight for the flag and he could see through my strategy. Gods, sometimes I hate that she’s my best friend.

He chuckled and gave me a sly grin, his javelin at the ready. “You’re quick on your feet Trophy, but not quick enough,” he said. Trophy, that was his nickname for me. Not only because of my mother but because I beat him at almost every competition we ever had. He always said there was another reason, he never told me what though.

“What’s up Sparky? Care to let me get that flag?” I said with a small laugh. “Not a chance Trophy” he said. I lunged at him and our weapons met. My sword clashed against the base of his javelin. My eyes met his and I winked to throw him off.

He weakened his stance which gave me time to push him pack with my blade. He stumbled a little and I lunged to the right, attempting to slash his leg with my blade in my left hand. He knew me though, he knew how I fought and blocked my attack.

He swiped the end of his javelin across the bottom of my feet, knocking me to the ground. I used my arms to break my fall, when I looked up I was face to face with the sharp point of an imperial bronze javelin.

I stared at him for a sec, huffing my breath. He looked down at me and said “look at this, daughter of victory lost a battle”, he laughed, “isn’t it funny?” he asked me. “What?” I asked back. “Nike is the goddess of victory but her cabin hasn’t won a single game of capture the flag?” he said. I couldn’t help but blush, he was always so hot when he fought. I smiled back at him, he may have been right, but I had a plan.

My legs were laying in between his on the ground, before he could question why I still looked so confident. I had spread my legs out in different directions, throwing his balance off and taking the chance to roll back onto my feet.

Before he could swing his javelin back at me I’d taken the hilt of my celestial bronze blade and knocked out the backs of his knees, sending him to the ground. I ran up Zeus’s Fist and grabbed the flag, Jason on my trail.

I turned around, flag in hand, and took Jason by surprise with the tip of my blade on his throat. I smiled at him, I let out a small chuckle and said “don’t you know Jase? victory is my game and I play to win. Sure, Nike has never won capture the flag. But history is written by the winners, that’ll be why you’re so surprised right now” and I bolted off leaving him standing on Zeus’s Fist.

I could tell he had started to chase after me, I heard his feet on the leaves and sticks, but being the daughter of Nike I was much faster than he was. I saw the river in the distance and ran like my life depended on it.

I jumped the river and crossed the border just in time for Jason to see. I heard Chiron blow the horn, signifying the end of the game. The other cabins came rushing to see who’d gotten the flag and my siblings tackled me with delight. Finally, the Nike cabin had a victory.

We watched as the flag changed to show a light golden banner with a pair of laurels, the symbol of my mother. I looked back at my boyfriend and saw him smiling, happy for my cabin's victory.

I handed the flag to one of my siblings and walked over to him. “I've always wondered what your other reason for calling me ‘Trophy’ was, care to share?” I asked. “I call you Trophy cause you, my love, are my greatest treasure” he responded. I planted a quick kiss on his lips and said “I love you Sparky”, “love you too Trophy” he said back as we both looked to see my siblings celebrating my cabins victory.

thanks for reading my first piece. If you have any request or pieces of advice I'm all ears!!

#jason grace #jason grace x you #jason grace x reader

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On February 2nd, the Associated Press analyzed satellite imagery which showed “new demolition along a 1-kilometer-wide path on the Gaza Strip’s border with Israel.” The images, which revealed the recent destruction of Palestinian farmland, warehouses and other buildings, suggested that Israel had started creating what it has called a “buffer zone” in areas of Gaza adjoining the Israeli border, a project that Israeli leaders have been trying to pursue as part of their invasion of Gaza following Hamas’s October 7th attack. Israeli officials claim that such a step is necessary to allow residents of communities in the south of Israel to return to their homes without fear of another attack. “[All along] the Gaza Strip . . . we will have a margin. And they will not be able to get in,” Avi Dichter, Israel’s agriculture minister, told reporters on October 19th. “It will be a fire zone. And no matter who you are, you will never be able to come close to the Israeli border.”

For months, United States and European officials have repeatedly voiced opposition to the idea of Israel’s permanent militarized border zone within Gaza, with Secretary of State Antony Blinken saying in November that there should be “no forcible displacement of Palestinians from Gaza” and “no reduction in the territory of Gaza”—both outcomes that would likely result from such a zone. But the AP’s analysis, coupled with other recent events, indicate that Israel is forging ahead with creating its “fire zone” despite such objections. Indeed, on January 23rd, Israeli soldiers in Gaza were actively laying mines in and around two buildings in central Gaza close to the border with Israel, intending to destroy them, when a grenade fired by a Palestinian militant caused the explosives to go off, killing 21 soldiers. In the aftermath of the attack, three Israeli officials anonymously told the New York Times Israel was demolishing the buildings to create a “security zone,” while an Israeli military spokesperson said the soldiers who had died were operating to “create the security conditions for the return of the residents of the south to their homes.”

Israel’s work on the zone comes amid widespread speculation about the future of Gaza after the eventual end of Israel’s ongoing genocidal assault, which has already killed at least 27,000 people. American, Arab, and Israeli officials have debated what comes next for the coastal enclave, with Western governments pushing for a revitalized Palestinian Authority to govern Gaza—which Israel opposes—and far-right Israeli ministers advocating to expel Palestinians from Gaza and build renewed Israeli settlements. Yet even as these policy discussions remain unresolved, Israel is unilaterally exerting control over Gaza’s post-war reality by constructing a militarized zone inside the enclave that materially shrinks the amount of Palestinian land while leaving open room for Israeli Jewish resettlement of the Strip. The strategy recalls Israel’s modus operandi in the West Bank, where Israel has built hundreds of settlements in order to create “facts on the ground” to entrench its control before the international community can do anything about it.

Current and former military officials portray the creation of a militarized Israeli zone inside Gaza as necessary to prevent another attack on southern Israeli communities near the border. “People coming back to their homes [in Israel] don’t want to see someone [in Gaza] take out a rifle or an anti-tank missile or come to the fence, cross it, and kill them,” said Jacob Nagel, a former national security advisor to Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu and a senior fellow at the Foundation for the Defense of Democracies, a neoconservative think tank that advocates for US intervention in the Middle East. “We have to show them that the area there is empty. Otherwise, it would be very tough for them to come back.” But Muhammad Shehada, a Palestinian writer and analyst from Gaza, said creating a so-called buffer zone through the demolition of Palestinian homes and neighborhoods will only fuel more violence. “In the areas that were systematically razed and wiped out, you’re giving people a very strong revenge incentive,” he said. “Israel is basically creating a recruitment poster [for Palestinian militant groups].” Indeed, the creation of the zone is likely to add to the list of Israeli war crimes committed in Gaza since October 7th. According to research by Corey Scher, a PhD student at the City University of New York’s Graduate Center, and Jamon Van Den Hoek, an associate professor of geography at Oregon State University, Israel has destroyed or damaged 143,900 structures throughout Gaza since October 7th, around 1,329 of which were in the proposed zone. Human rights experts have said that the destruction of civilian buildings and infrastructure may constitute war crimes. And if the Israeli zone continues to be created, more such homes will likely be demolished. “If there are no concrete, direct security grounds for why these houses have to be torn down, the destruction of civilian homes is completely illegal,” said Miriam Marmur, public advocacy director at Gisha, an Israeli human rights group focusing on Gaza. Nagel, however, is not concerned with such complaints: “There are no civilian buildings in Gaza,” he said, claiming that most buildings in the Strip are filled with weapons or contain tunnel entrances.

Keeping Palestinians out of the zone is also likely to involve further violations of international law. Some former Israeli officials have suggested laying mines in the border area, though the Israeli army has not publicly committed to this idea. Nagel predicted that the zone would be enforced by live fire. “I like to call it a ‘killing zone,’ but since ‘killing zone’ is not a nice term, we use the words ‘buffer zone,’” Nagel told Jewish Currents, clarifying that regardless of what the area is called, he thinks that “someone [who] is moving there without permission is going to be dead.” Such a policy would be illegal under international law, said Omar Shakir, Israel and Palestine Director at Human Rights Watch. “No territory can ever be a free-fire zone,” he said. Shakir added that, under international law, live fire force can only be deployed during war if it is proportionate—meaning that attacks on a military site must not include harm to civilians that is excessive in comparison to the expected military advantage of an operation—and if it discriminates between civilians and combatants.

There is precedent for Israel using lethal force to limit Palestinians’ access to land near the Israeli border. Since Israel pulled soldiers and settlers out of Gaza in 2005, the army has violently barred most Gazans from coming within 300 meters of the Israeli barrier—a policy that has led to indiscriminate attacks against Palestinian civilians in that zone, according to the Palestinian Center for Human Rights. From 2010 to 2017, Israeli soldiers opened fire 1,300 times in the 300 meter area, killing 161 Gazans there, according to Gisha. In 2018, when Palestinian protestors started the Great March of Return, congregating near the border to call for the end of Israel’s blockade of Gaza and the right of return to lands they were expelled from in 1948, Israeli snipers responded by shooting and killing 223 Palestinians. Over the years, Israeli soldiers have also cracked down on Palestinian farmers and herders working in the zone, sometimes spraying herbicide or razing farmland in order to enforce the prohibition on Palestinians coming near the Israeli barrier. Marmur said that many of these enforcement measures violated international law. “There is little reason to believe that the new buffer zone would be enforced differently, raising concern over an expansion of Israel’s illegal practices,” she said.

The militarized zone Israel is now planning to impose within Gaza would triple the size of the pre-October 7th iteration, severely impacting Palestinians in the Strip. The demolitions would worsen the housing crisis in the enclave, where nearly 70% of homes in Gaza have now been damaged or destroyed by Israeli bombs. In addition to leaving potentially thousands with no home to return to, the zone would deepen food insecurity in the Strip, since a third of Gaza’s agricultural land lies in the proposed zone. Due to Israel’s restrictions on humanitarian aid entering the Strip, Palestinians in Gaza already face a hunger crisis and virtually every family skips a meal every day, with 400,000 people at risk of starvation. The loss of further farmland will only compound this situation. In addition to these dire short term effects, the new Israeli zone may permanently “eat away Palestinian lands, adding to years of systemic dispossession of Palestinians,” Marmur said. Israeli officials claim that their control of this land will be “temporary,” but Nadia Hardman, a researcher in the Refugee and Migrants Rights Division of Human Rights Watch, told Jewish Currents that the scale of the destruction in the region indicates that Palestinians won’t be able to return their homes there “at any point in the foreseeable future.”

A permanent Israeli zone inside Gaza stands to significantly reshape the balance of power in any post-war scenario. In addition to allowing Israel to take over parts of Gaza’s territory—in the process creating, as per Shehada, “conditions that would push people to leave the territory”—such a zone could also pave the way for the building of new Israeli settlements. Resettling Gaza has been a long-standing demand of the Israeli right, one that has gained new momentum since October 7th. Indeed, on January 28th, a thousand Israeli settlers and their supporters—including 12 ministers from the ruling Likud party, along with national security minister Itamar Ben Gvir and finance minister Bezalel Smotrich—joined a Jerusalem conference to promote the resettlement of Gaza. Members of Likud have also proposed legislation to repeal the ban on Israeli civilians entering Gaza, which would allow settlers a foothold in the territory. Observers say a permanent Israeli zone in Gaza is likely to accelerate this process. “We have watched this play out again and again in the West Bank and also in Gaza before 2005: Israeli settlements always start off with a security justification,” said Zaha Hassan, a human rights lawyer and a fellow at the Carnegie Endowment for International Peace. “It starts with a military base going up somewhere and then the area being declared a no go zone. And then slowly that security justification becomes muted—and then we start seeing settlements.”

Yet even as human rights advocates raise such alarms about the consequences of the zone, the US may be softening its opposition to the project. That opposition was never particularly forceful: “There’s been very little outrage from the US administration about the creation of the buffer zone as it’s been happening in real time,” Hassan said. As a result, Israel has proceeded by simply disregarding the US’s reservations, an approach that seems to have paid off. Last month, Blinken hinted the US may accept a temporary Israeli buffer zone inside the Gaza border, saying there may need to be “transitional arrangements” to ensure Israel’s security and “make sure that October 7th can never happen again.” But according to Hassan, “there’s not a lot of credibility regarding Israeli assertions that these things are going to be temporary.” She pointed to how Israel’s separation barrier in the West Bank was originally portrayed by Israeli officials as a temporary security measure, only for it to remain standing 20 years later—with Israeli officials coming to openly describe it as a permanent border between Israel and the occupied West Bank. Israel’s temporary measures, Hassan concluded, “have a way of sticking around for a long time.”

-- "An Israeli “Buffer Zone” Could Shape Gaza’s Post-War Reality" by Alex Kane for Jewish Currents, 6 Feb 2024

#palestine #gaza strip #gaza

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