#Forced to fill government support forms

[animatedtext]

[cottagecore-moss-king]

Not so Artificial Intelligence Part 2

When Bruce finally managed to get the time to look at the file Danny had added to the bat computer, it was almost patrol, and the rest of the family was filling in to get ready to head out. Even Jason had shown up, but that was probably just because he was bribed by Alfred with leftovers from dinner. Bruce couldn’t really blame him, Alfred’s food was the best in the world, but he does wish that he would show up more often just to hang out with him and his siblings.

Bruce sat in the bat-chair, graciously labeled with a sticker from a recent prank by Stephanie. She had gone around and labeled everything in the bat cave, but added the bat suffix in front. It had taken forever to find most of them, but he allowed some of them to remain. 

Finding the new folder was easy, it was labeled FROM DANNY, and left in the middle of the screen. Clicking it open and sipping his fresh coffee he glanced at the first document. The folder was full of notes, pictures and videos, but all of the previews were white, green, or black. 

Bruce started to read through the document, and chocked on his coffee at the contents.

Hello Batman and family, I hope this reached you before they do. I didn’t bring this up just incase you knew and were supportive, but how you act and how contaminated you are I will assume you do not. There is a Government Law that declares any being that has come into contact with enough or creates ectoplasm as non-sentient and non-sapient, but at the same time malicious {Abbreviated the AEA}. We are to be turned over to the GIW to be experiment upon and exterminated. This is literal torture, and I have gathered as much evidence as me and my friends could without being caught. I beg you, please be careful if you decide to take these people down. From what is on here, I think that Lazarus Water is a form of corrupted ectoplasm. Also, anyone who has died and come back to life no matter what are counted, and anyone with godly blood within them. Please Please, save us. My parents are the leading “scientists” which is bullshit, and they’ve already tied me down once. I can’t go through that again. Please, Amity and the Infinite Realms need help. If you don’t help us, I’m scared we may be forced to go to war, and I don’t think you can win against the godly dead. 

Please, I’m begging you - Danny Fenton {King Phantom}

“You good B?” Nightwing asked strolling over casually. He didn’t know how to answer, how was he supposed to say ‘Oh yeah, just found out that the government calls us non-sentient\sapient, and we are to be experimented and slaughtered. Also if we don’t stop them our worlds probably going to fall and we’re all going to die a painful death.’ That’s a fun conversation to have.

Clearing his throat he finally spoke up. 

“Red Robin, Oracle, I need you to help me sort through these, Nightwing, get the Justice league ready for an emergency meeting, call the Dark too. Look at this.”

“Are we sure it’s real though? It could be a prank,” muttered Oracle, though even she doubted her words.

“Even so, the threat is there and we should certainly look through this, and that means the League needs to know.”

Batman carefully mourned the loss of a peaceful evening, and his coffee, he was going to need to leave that at the cave, he had an image to keep. 

Nightwing wasn’t smiling anymore, Robin looked concerned, and Red Hood was openly gawking at the screen.

“I’ve called the emergency meeting, you three sort these files out, I’m calling up the JLD now. Guess we should warn Constantine to bring a couple extra bottles huh.” His joke fell flat, but Bruce wonders if he should bring some alcohol and coffee with him, image be dammed. 

“Wait a second, godly blood included? They fuckn’ shittin’ on Diana!”

“That’s what your concerned about Todd? Not that the we both fall under these parameters, along with Father and the rest of the collection? I will go fetch Thomas from his chambers, he will need to suit up to follow us to the watchtower.”

“Good idea Damian, tell him to hurry up. Everyone else, in the Zeta Tube, Alfred, you can stay here if you want.” Bruce gathered his laptop and moved the file over, copying and sending it to Tims laptop as well. 

“Thank you master Bruce, I will wait for the younger masters then I will be up shortly. Run along now.” Alfred excused with a bow, but even his face was shadowed in worry and thinly veiled anger. 

“See you in a bit Alf.” Dick replied, inputting directions to the watchtower in and doing a quick headcount. 

With a flash, the dark gloomy cave was replaced by fluorescent lights and the steel infrastructure of the watchtower. Hopping off the platform another flash of light appeared, and Aquaman stepped out. The group filled out as Aquaman politely greeted them. Making their way to the nearest meeting room, Batman and Red Robin began to set things up as the gathered heroes began to sit. 

“Hey Nightwing, what’s with the meeting, you never call for an emergency meeting, Blüd rarely has big threats.” Flash mentioned as he zoomed into the meeting room, last as always, and began to dig into his waffle plate. Where he got waffles from, Bruce didn’t want to know, they weren’t serving waffles in the cafeteria today, or yesterday from leftovers. 

“This isn’t just Blüdhaven, it’s all of the united States.” He worried, checking over one final time to make sure everyone was here. A collection of the main heroes from the Justice League, they’d need to figure out who counted as ecto-contaminated before throwing people around, and Constantine, Zatanna, and Deadman were gathered to represent Justice League Dark. At least he assumed Deadman was there, as a chair was pulled out and labeled for him. At least they wouldn’t have to race to find him, they could tell him just to stay up in the watchtower if things got bad. Finally, Robin and Signal rushed in, signal tiredly rubbing his eyes and his helmet in Agent A’s hands. 

“As some of you know, a person got stuck in the batcomputer a couple months ago. And was only recently released.” Murmurs and imputed questions rose around, and Nightwing promptly ignored them. 

“They left behind a file for us, and we were looking through it and discovered many hidden crimes from the US government. They have taken and labeled a whole species and group of people as non-sentient and non-sapient, and have been experimenting and committing genocide on them.” Again, a chorus of questions and yelling went up, and Nightwing had to take a moment to pause. A glance at Martian Manhunter reviled a stone cold face, quietly waiting for more information. 

“Oh god… what is this?” 

[aaushie]

On the fifth of August, 2024, the Bangladeshi prime minister was forced to resign the flee the country following civil riots after 16 years of autocratic rule. What followed was political violence against minorities, looting and burning of public property and historical museums. The infrastructure that kept these things in check, the police and the army, had fallen in a matter of hours and 4 days letter the new government has still not formed and neither have the infrastructure.

Yet, after the first wave of confusion, what happened was incredible. Students and citizens alike gathered to clean the city and repair public property to the best of their abilities. Traffic was the best in decades thanks to teachers volunteering to manage them. Food prices halved as the corporate syndicates and cartels fell. Muslim religious schools stayed up overnight to protect Hindu temples and Christians churches. Communities prepared local night guards to protect from thieves. All of this, without a formal government or any sort of authoritarian institute to compel them.

Today might be the last day, as the interim government is formed and volunteers move on to their lives. There was still mob violence, lynching and killing of cops and burning of minority houses, and many of the poorest people suffered immensely from lack of sales and not enough food drives were started to support them.

What i want to say is this: this is living proof than a people can function without government, even if it was for a short time. That when people take responsibility and do not rely on a government or party for their problems, true anarchy emerges. It might all go to waste as the interim government is filled with right winged conservatives and centrists as well as army generals, and the eventual elections are taken by the Islamic fundamentalists and the conservative party. But if i have learned anything these past 3 days, it is to never let anyone tell me anarchy is naive or unrealistic. I have witnessed living proof.

[moonselune]

Also halsin and astarion x werewolf gf

Didn't know if you wanted separate or poly so I went for separate for now....

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Halsin x Werewolf Girlfriend

The forest was quiet, the usual cacophony of nocturnal creatures stilled by the presence of the full moon. You stood at the edge of the camp, your body trembling as the transformation began. Halsin, ever the attentive lover, was by your side, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to the chaos within you.

"It's alright, my love," he murmured, his voice steady and soothing. "Let it come. I'll be here."

You nodded, grateful for his presence. Halsin had been a constant source of support since you had first revealed your lycanthropy to him. His extensive knowledge of nature and the balance it required had given him a unique understanding of your condition.

As the change took over, you dropped to all fours, your senses sharpening and your muscles rippling with newfound strength. Halsin watched with a mixture of fascination and respect, never once looking away.

Once the transformation was complete, you stood before him, a towering werewolf with eyes that still held the spark of the woman he loved. Halsin stepped closer, his hand reaching out to gently stroke the fur along your neck.

"Beautiful," he whispered, his eyes meeting yours. "You are a marvel of nature, my love."

You rumbled in response, the sound a mix of a growl and a purr. Halsin’s acceptance meant everything to you. He had shown you that your lycanthropy was not something to be feared, but rather a part of who you were—wild and untamed, yet deeply connected to the natural world.

With a nod, Halsin stepped back, giving you the space to explore your surroundings. You took off into the forest, your senses alive with the scents and sounds of the night. Halsin followed at a respectful distance in bear form, always nearby but allowing you the freedom you needed.

As the night wore on, however, you couldn't stop yourself from toying with Halsin, and soon enough the inevitable roughhousing began.

Halsin, with his massive frame and powerful claws, matched your every move with grace and power. Despite the playful nature of your sparring, there was an unspoken understanding between you two—this was not just a game, but a way to reaffirm your bond with each other and with the primal forces that governed your lives.

You lunged forward, teeth bared in a mock attack, and Halsin responded with a playful swat of his paw. He circled you, his movements fluid and sure-footed, always keeping an eye on your position. The moonlight dappled through the canopy above, casting shifting patterns of light and shadow across your fur and Halsin's thick coat.

With a sudden burst of speed, you pounced, aiming for Halsin's hindquarters. He twisted at the last moment, avoiding your grasp, and countered with a gentle swipe of his paw that sent you tumbling to the forest floor. You rolled with the impact, quickly scrambling to your feet, your tail wagging in excitement.

Halsin rumbled with laughter, a deep sound that reverberated through the clearing. He lowered his head in a playful challenge, his eyes bright and mischievous. You met his gaze, a fierce grin splitting your wolfish face, and launched yourself at him again.

The two of you continued to wrestle and play under the watchful gaze of the moon, the air filled with the scent of earth and foliage, and the sounds of joyous growls and playful snarls.

As the night wore on and the moon began its descent, you felt the familiar tug of exhaustion setting in. Your movements slowed, and Halsin, sensing your weariness, gentled his play. He nudged you with his massive snout, a silent invitation to rest.

You collapsed onto the soft mossy ground, panting heavily but content. Halsin settled beside you, his bulk providing a comforting presence. The adrenaline of the night's play began to ebb, replaced by a warm sense of satisfaction and peace.

The moon dipped below the horizon, and with its departure, the transformation began to reverse. Your muscles twitched and shifted, bones realigning as you reverted back to your human form. Halsin watched over you with quiet reverence, his bear form shimmering and dissolving into his druidic human shape.

When the transformation was complete, you lay there beside each other, catching your breath and reveling in the closeness of the moment. Halsin reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face with gentle fingers.

"You were magnificent, my love," he murmured, his voice filled with admiration. "I'm always in awe of your strength."

You smiled up at him, feeling a profound sense of peace settle over you. "And you, my dear Halsin, are the most wonderful companion I could ever ask for."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Astarion x Werewolf Girlfriend

The moonlight filtered through the canopy of trees, casting an eerie glow over the clearing. You stood in the center, your breathing ragged as the familiar itch began to take over. Astarion leaned against a nearby tree, his arms crossed and a smirk playing on his lips.

"Ready for another wild night, darling?" he teased, his eyes glinting with mischief.

You shot him a glare, though there was no real heat behind it. Astarion had a way of making even the most difficult situations feel lighter. "You could be a little more sympathetic, you know."

Astarion shrugged, pushing off the tree and walking over to you. "Where's the fun in that? Besides, I like seeing you like this. So... primal."

You rolled your eyes but couldn't help the smile that tugged at your lips. Astarion had always been fascinated by your transformations, finding beauty in the raw power that came with being a werewolf.

As the change began, Astarion stepped back, giving you the space you needed. Your bones shifted, your muscles expanded, and within moments, you stood before him in your full werewolf form. The hunger and wildness of the beast were tempered by the love you felt for the vampire watching you with such intense focus.

"Magnificent," Astarion murmured, his eyes raking over your form. He approached you slowly, his hands reaching out to stroke your fur. "You know, I think you might be even more captivating like this."

You growled softly, a sound of both warning and affection. Astarion laughed, the sound low and rich. "Easy, my love. I'm here to help."

Despite his teasing, Astarion had always been a steady presence during your transformations. He knew how to keep you grounded, his words and touch a tether to your human side. He moved closer, his hands gentle as they traced patterns in your fur.

"Let's go for a hunt," he suggested, his voice taking on a more serious tone. "It'll help you burn off some of that energy."

You nodded, your senses already honing in on the sounds of the forest. Astarion grinned, his fangs glinting in the moonlight, and together you set off into the night. The thrill of the hunt, the exhilaration of the chase—it was a part of you that Astarion understood and accepted.

As the night wore on, you returned to camp, your body aching but your spirit soaring. Astarion was there, as he always was, to help you transition back, his touch and presence a constant reminder of his love for you.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Hope you enjoyed these !! - Seluney

[fatehbaz]

They’ve built a “Great Wheel” on the Seattle waterfront [...].

The small timber village became a military outpost in the Puget Sound War [...], [and] soon evolved into a trade gateway, with timber tailings and other industrial trash from Henry Yesler’s mill used to fill in the marshlands [...], atop which migrant laborers raised tents and shanties [...] now working to feed raw materials into the furnaces of the Second Industrial Revolution burning in the East. [...] The first nationwide strike ripped across the country’s railways in 1877 [...]. Meanwhile, young financial conglomerates rose after the city-devastating fire of 1889, linked openly to local government [...] in the kind of symbiotic public-private relationship that would become a hallmark of the Gilded Age. [...] [L]ocal elites rebuilt [...] downtown [...] from scratch, hosting the tallest building on the West Coast alongside other new constructs [fueled] with money gleaned from the supply chains linking eastern capital to Alaskan gold. [...]

Over the next century, Seattle would see new sequences of boom, bust, and reinvention. Military investment in the region during the First World War secured the city’s ship-building industry and expanded Boeing from a small lakeside hangar into a massive war contractor. [...] Across Washington state, capital had first poured into the “Third Industrial Revolution,” founded on electricity, chemicals, and massive hydropower projects [in the 1930s] [...], then into the “Fourth” wave of petrochemicals, nuclear, and, in the case of Seattle especially, aircraft and missile technology. Each was followed by periods of dramatic decline [...] paired with rapid financialization and, finally, re-orientation around the new industrial cluster [...]. Today the city - again rebuilt [...] - is seen as one of the primary beneficiaries of the “Fifth” Industrial Revolution in information technology, outshone only by California’s Silicon Valley. [...] The digital was increasingly thought of as somehow "immaterial," sustained by intellectual labor more than physical toil [...].

Silicon Valley myths of [...] "immaterial" labor disguise a more gruesome dynamic in which growing segments of the global labor force are being deprived even of the basic brutality of the wage, instead forced out into growing rings of slums, prisons, and global wastelands. [...]

---

Perched alongside a downtown business corridor [...], Seattle's Great Wheel seems to peer out over [...] [the] prophesied “cooperative commons,” an infotech metropolis abutting the beauty of an evergreen arcadia. But travel below Seattle’s cluster of infotech industries and the image appears much the same as that of a hundred years prior - a trade gateway, squeezing value from supply chains by selling transport and logistical support. The southern stretch of the metropolis bears little resemblance to the revitalized urban core of the city proper. Instead of the “cognitive labor” of Microsoft, it is defined instead by the cold calculation of companies like UPS, founded in Seattle when the city was one link in a colonial supply chain built first for timber, then Alaskan gold, then World War. [...]

In south Seattle, this logistics empire takes the form of faceless warehouses, food processing facilities, container trucks, rail yards, and industrial parks concentrated between two seaports, an international airport, three major interstates, and railroads traveling in all directions. Meanwhile, the poor have been priced out of the old inner city, moving southward [...]. [T]hey can be found staffing the airport and the rail yards, hauling cargo in and out of two the major seaports, loading boxes in warehouses [...]. And, beyond them, the shadow stretches out to Washington’s rural hinterlands where migrant laborers staff a new boom in agriculture and raw materials [...] - and further still into America’s long-depressed interior, where the Great Wheel meets its opposite: Memphis, the FedEx logistics city, watched over by a great black pyramid [the infamous Bass Pro Shop pyramid]. [...]

Every Seattle is capable of creating an eco-friendly, “cooperative commonwealth” tended by apps and algorithms only insofar as there is a Memphis that can provide human workers to sort the packages, a Shanghai to build the containers that carry them, and a Shenzhen to solder together the circuits of the machines that govern it all.

---

All text above by: Phil A. Neel. "The Great Wheel". Brooklyn Rail. April 2015. Published online at: brooklynrail.org/2015/04/field-notes/the-great-wheel. [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me. Text within brackets added by me for clarity. Presented here for commentary, teaching, personal use, criticism purposes.]

[darkmaga-returns]

Outgoing US President Joe Biden is planning to write off around $4.7 billion in taxpayer-funded loans to Ukraine as part of an effort to boost Kiev’s war effort before President-elect Donald Trump takes office in January.

Trump has previously demanded that only loans, not gifts, be provided to Kiev

US Congress has approved over $174 billion in aid packages to support Ukraine in its conflict with Russia.

The latest tranche which was pproved in April, included over $9.4 billion in “forgivable loans” to help fill the gap in Kiev’s budget.

Confirming that Biden is planning to write off half of that amount, or roughly $4.7 billion, State Department spokesperson Matthew Miller said:“ We have taken the step that was outlined in the law to cancel those loans“.

RT reports: Cancelling the debt is in the “national interest of the United States and its EU, G7+, and NATO partners,” the State Department claimed in a letter to Congress dated November 18, according to Bloomberg.

President-elect Donald Trump stated on the campaign trail that he would not oppose Congress approving more aid to Ukraine as long as the assistance is given in the form of loans rather than taxpayer-funded gifts.

Rebranding some of the aid as loans was one of the key adjustments that helped push through the $61 billion April package after a months-long standoff between Republicans and the White House.

Senator Rand Paul has vowed to block the cancellation of the debt, arguing that it places an unfair burden on American taxpayers.

“Tonight, I’m forcing a vote on my resolution to prevent Biden from turning Ukraine’s debt into America’s problem. His proposal places the burden of funding Ukraine’s businesses, farmers, and corrupt bureaucrats on the shoulders of hardworking Americans,” Paul wrote in a statement on X on Wednesday.

The Ukrainian government is almost entirely reliant on Western aid to keep its economy afloat. In September, Kiev adopted its draft budget for 2025, predicting a deficit of 75% and estimating it will need between $12 billion and $15 billion to cover the shortfall.

[mariacallous]

For Bezalel Smotrich, the head of Israel’s far-right Religious Zionism party, these are heady times. While the rest of Israel is preoccupied with the fighting in Gaza, the fate of the hostages held by Hamas, and Hezbollah’s pummeling of the country’s north, Smotrich has been realizing his dream of creating the conditions that will bring about Israel’s annexation of the West Bank. Indeed, the war has in many ways facilitated his plans.

The word “annexation” is rarely, if ever, uttered by Smotrich—who serves as a senior member of Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu’s cabinet. Without a shred of doubt about the Jews’ God-given right to the land between the Jordan River and the Mediterranean Sea, he regards the West Bank not as territory to be added to the State of Israel but as an inheritance that need only be claimed. As he told the Haaretz newspaper in an interview over seven years ago, a Palestinian state would be tantamount to partitioning Israel; absorbing the West Bank into Israel is “unification.” To talk about Israel annexing the West Bank would be like telling the North it was annexing the South after the Civil War in the United States.

In any case, the legal formalities involved in annexation are less important to Smotrich than creating the conditions that will bring it about. To do that, he is employing a two-pronged strategy that on the one side involves changing laws and creating a settler-friendly bureaucracy and on the other helping to foment violence and anarchy in the West Bank. As Smotrich has indicated many times, the signal event in the process of “unification” will be the collapse of the Palestinian Authority (PA), leaving Israel with no choice but to fill the vacuum and reassert control over the entire West Bank.

Smotrich’s main job in the government is finance minister, a powerful post that he has used to implement his policies. But he has a second and, for his purposes, far more important post as minister in the defense ministry, a job he was promised by Netanyahu when the current government was formed at the end of 2022. Smotrich is in effect minister of settlements with powers that extend, to a degree, over the lives of West Bank Palestinians as well.

Since it captured the territory in 1967, Israel has exerted control of the West Bank through a military occupation. The Israel Defense Forces (IDF), through its Civil Administration, has been responsible for the administration of justice and other civilian matters in the 60 percent of the West Bank not under the jurisdiction of the PA. The Civil Administration has long favored settler interests over Palestinians, but officially it remained a part of the military and made at least some effort to consider Palestinian needs. All that changed in February 2023, when a new Settlements Administration was formed with broad powers—including the authority to expropriate Palestinian land, to approve housing construction in settlements, to condemn Palestinian construction as illegal, and to retroactively authorize settlements that were built without government approval, popularly known as “outposts.”

As a civilian body, the Settlements Administration’s job is to promote the interests of Israeli citizens—which means the settlers. And the chief interest of the settlers is speeding up the pace of building and expanding settlements. More than that, the transfer of authority from the military to civilians amounts to a quiet and creeping de facto annexation. “It will be easier to swallow in the international and legal context so that they won’t say that we are doing annexation here,” Smotrich said in leaked remarks from a June 9 meeting with supporters, first published in the New York Times.

In recent weeks, Smotrich has cemented his control further, having Hillel Roth, a resident of the extremist settlement Yitzhar, made deputy head of the Civil Administration with authority over a grab bag of areas ranging from building regulations and water infrastructure to parks and outdoor public bathing locations.

Control over public bathing may seem like a minor business on par with dog catching. But it is not: A big part of the contest for the future of the West Bank is about demographics—increasing the settler population—and control of land. The Settlements Administration is meant to give the settlers the tools to do that more effectively. The natural springs that dot the West Bank serve Palestinian farmers as well as Israeli bathers and constitute one of many battlegrounds for control of the land and its resources.

But Smotrich’s campaign isn’t limited to the niceties of accelerated planning approvals: He has also used his powers to turn a blind eye to construction by settlers. A document obtained by the New York Times summarizing a March meeting of the IDF’s Central Command, which is responsible for the West Bank, warned that enforcement of construction regulations for settlers had all but disappeared since the establishment of the Settlements Administration; even court orders are ignored. Less than one-tenth of the 395 recorded cases of illegal construction last year resulted in a building being taken down, and nearly all of those involved a single case at an illegal outpost, the memo said. And that probably understates the extent of the problem. Because so many inspectors have been called up for reserve duty due to the war in Gaza, suspected violations are not even being investigated. Violators, the memo said, feel free to act knowing that there is no accountability.

The lawlessness among settlers in the West Bank has not been confined to illegal building. The most extreme of the settlers have taken advantage of a government dominated by the far right and the military’s preoccupation with fighting in Gaza to engage in unprecedented vigilantism. The U.N. Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs (OCHA) counted 968 attacks on Palestinians involving serious vandalism and injury in the months since the war began on Oct. 7, 2023. There have been only 10 confirmed cases of Palestinians killed in these incidents (compared with more than 500 in clashes with the military), but the pace if far faster than at any time since OCHA began keeping records in 2008—and the real number is likely higher.

While some of the settler violence has been about vengeance following Palestinian attacks, much of it has been about land. Especially in the Jordan Valley and in the area south of the city of Hebron, extremist settlers have seized control of large swaths of Palestinian pasture land by setting up roadblocks, erecting fences, and harassing shepherds. In many cases, whole communities of Palestinian herders have been forced to abandon their homes.

To be sure, Smotrich is not responsible for policing settler violence. The responsibility for that is shared by his far-right colleague, Itamar Ben-Gvir, who as minister of national security oversees the police—and by the military.

The police have never made much of an effort to investigate settler violence, but under Ben-Gvir all pretense of enforcement has been dropped. Ben-Gvir has been seeking, with a large degree of success, to politicize the Israel Police, pressing it to crack down on anti-government protesters while demanding that it stand aside when right-wing extremists attack trucks carrying aid to Gaza. In the West Bank, Ben-Gvir’s policies have given violent settlers carte blanche. A recent investigation by the New York Times found that of the three dozen cases it had looked into since Oct. 7 involving crimes ranging from theft of livestock to assault, not a single one had led to a suspect being charged.

As for the military, soldiers have been busy fighting in Gaza and on the northern border, as well as cracking down on Palestinian violence in the West Bank. The military says it doesn’t have the manpower to stop vigilante settlers. But the truth is, many of the commanders and soldiers in the regular and reserve military units stationed in the West Bank are sympathetic to the settlers; often they are settlers themselves. Moreover, after the Hamas attacks of Oct. 7, some 5,500 settlers were called up for reserve duty to protect their own communities. Many have taken advantage of the arms and uniforms they were issued to go beyond their official duties to set up roadblocks and attack Palestinians.

An incident near the Palestinian town of Aqraba in April captures the current state of lawlessness. Following the killing of a 14-year-old Israeli by Palestinians, settlers rampaged through the town and surrounding area, killing two residents (two more were killed later). The military initially said there were no soldiers present, although a Haaretz investigation said troops were there and didn’t intervene. Defense Minister Yoav Gallant later issued warrants putting five settlers into administrative detention—prison without trial—for periods ranging from three to six months. In response, Ben-Gvir railed against “Gallant’s persecution against the settlers.” The police have arrested no one.

For Smotrich, however, the collapse of the PA is his biggest priority. Here, his job as finance minister comes into play because the strategy is to strangle the authority financially. Smotrich has the power to do that because approximately 60 percent of the revenues the PA relies on to pay salaries and provide services come from customs and other taxes Israel collects in the PA’s name, transferring the money to Ramallah every month.

For some time, Israel had been deducting from these “clearance revenue” transfers the money that the PA spent supporting families of Palestinians held in Israeli prisons. Shortly after the war in Gaza began, Smotrich tripled the monthly deductions to as much as 600 million shekels—about 60 percent of the overall monthly transfer. In protest, the PA refused to accept any money, forcing it to cut civil servants’ wages by as much as 70 percent.

In late February, a face-saving formula was found under which Norway agreed to put the withheld funds in an escrow account, thereby giving the PA an excuse to take the money still available. Last month, however, Smotrich renewed his pressure campaign, calling on Netanyahu to stop all transfers and demanding that Norway return the escrow funds to Israel. More recently, he demanded steps be taken against the PA leaders, including expelling those found not to be living legally in the West Bank, restricting the movements of others and preventing them from traveling abroad—and charging some with incitement or support of terrorism.

Smotrich is no less determined to exacerbate the troubles of an already depressed Palestinian economy. That not only further pressures the PA financially but also may have the added benefit of coaxing Palestinians to emigrate. To that end, he and Ben-Gvir have also been able to block efforts to allow the approximately 150,000 West Bank Palestinians who had been working inside Israel before Oct. 7 to return to their jobs. By Palestinian standards, those jobs pay well, so their sudden disappearance has an outsized effect on household incomes and the economy.

Smotrich is now threatening to deal another blow to the Palestinian economy by halting the issuing of what until now were routine letters of indemnity to Israeli banks. The letters provide a legal shield to Israeli financial institutions working with their Palestinian counterparts in case some money ends up in the hands of terrorist groups. This correspondent banking relationship is critical to the Palestinian economy, enabling the annual flow of $10 billion of Palestinian exports and imports, all of which go through Israel. If Smotrich acts, it will bring the West Bank economy to its knees.

The defense establishment is opposed to most of Smotrich’s measures, worrying he is fanning the flames of another intifada, or Palestinian uprising. But it is largely helpless to prevent them so long as the political echelon doesn’t act. Even if Netanyahu wanted to stop Smotrich, he needs his ongoing support to keep his governing coalition intact. Smotrich’s party accounts for seven seats in the 120-member parliament. If he withdraws from the coalition, Netanyahu’s government would no longer have a majority.

Smotrich thus has a relatively free hand from his boss.

What he doesn’t have is a public mandate to pursue his program. His main annexation constituency is the settler population, which makes up no more than 10 percent of Israel’s total, and even its support for his annexation project is hardly wall to wall. Much of the settler population is made up of people who moved to the West Bank for economic reasons, including many thousands of ultra-Orthodox Jews. They are not thought to be wedded to the idea of Greater Israel. Among the overall population, support for annexation is far from overwhelming: A recent survey by Tel Aviv University found only about 38 percent of Jewish Israelis supported the idea (and only 14 percent very strongly); a majority opposed it.

Even far-right voters are seen to be unimpressed by Smotrich—preferring Ben-Gvir’s loud-mouthed thuggery over Smotrich’s careful (and often behind-the-scenes) calculations. If elections were held today, according to the most recent polls, Ben-Gvir’s Otzma Yehudit party would win nine seats in Israel’s 120-member parliament; Smotrich’s Religious Zionism wouldn’t receive enough votes to enter the Knesset at all. But then again, for him, the only vote that counts is cast in heaven, and Smotrich is confident he has it.

[voiceoffenrisulfr]

The German and the American

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 -> Winter x Greg (Bucky Barnes x Original Male Character)

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 -> After Tony learns the truth of his parents' demise, he makes it his mission to destroy the Winter Soldier. Fortunately, the Soldier has someone on his side.

Or: Bucky's time in Russia serves him well.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 -> 4620

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 -> (E) Post-Civil War strife, hunted man, gagged and dragged. Smut.

𝐀/𝐍 -> For my sweet sailor - a German of a different kind, though just as magical. Please read the warnings. Check it out below, or on AO3 here!

Prompts used; - ‘Anonymous Sex’ – @anyfandomdarkbingo; - ‘“Kneel For Me.”’, ‘Paying Debts’ – @avengers-assemble-bingo; - ‘Suddenly Toe Sucking (Unexpected/Undisclosed Kinks)’ – @badsexbingo; - ‘German’ – @secretcrypticevents Bingo;

- ‘Face Fucking’, ‘Oral Sex’, ‘Standing Sex’ – @fandom-free-bingo (Flight Edition); - ‘Rough Sex’ – Fandom-Free Bingo (Flight Edition); - ‘Last of Your Kind’ – Fandom-Free Bingo (Frosty Edition); - ‘Crush or Gender Goals?’ – Fandom-Free Bingo (Gingerbread Edition); - “Were You Spying on Me?!�� – Fandom-Free Bingo (Gingerbread Edition); - ‘Saved By a Beautiful Stranger’, “What Did I Tell You? Quiet as a Mouse.” – Fandom-Free Bingo (Tolkien Edition); - ‘Forest Birds’ – Fandom-Free Bingo (Tolkien Edition); - “I’m Sorry, Who Are You?”, ‘Giving Themselves Up or Keep Coming Back’ – @julybreakbingo (6x6); - ‘Dry Orgasm or Wet and Messy’ – July Break Bingo (Summer).

Even in my speed, I made less sound than my pursuers. But they had the advantage - the chopper overhead tracked my body heat, driving the circle of gun-toting militants ever closer.

Goddamn Stark and his money…

I was no stranger to being on the run. I’d evaded armies and governments and mercenaries, and I’d put down more targets than I could count – or even remember – without attracting a scrap of attention.

But I’d never had a furious, vengeful billionaire baying for my blood before now.

The forest birds grew quiet as my armed noose tightened, their attempts at silence making my eyes roll despite the danger.

Until a hand clasped over my mouth, pulling me bodily against a hard chest as I struggled, boots kicking up dry leaves.

“Stop,” a quiet, accented voice growled in my ear. “They will find you.”

No matter how I struggled and strained, I was helpless, eyes widening in panic as a horrified realisation dawned.

Someone must have figured it out.

The only person who had been a match for me a battle of strength since HYDRA had toyed with me was Steve – until now.

If anyone had the resources and intelligence to do it, it would be Howard Stark’s son…

The arm around my waist tightened and I stumbled as they pulled me backwards, supporting my body weight effortlessly when I lost my footing. Branches and brambles tore at my clothes, probing and snagging, and I grunted against the palm over my mouth when thistles scraped against the mangled stump at my shoulder.

I hissed in surprise as I was pulled downwards, dragged into a dank hole in the ground, wet earth scoring along the back of my calves. The spot of sunlight receded as I was forced into the dark, the sounds of my pursuers becoming muffled, my feet shifting in an effort to find purchase and halt my unanticipated descent.

My heel snagged on a root and my captor sprawled as I was jerked free, biting hard on the inside of my cheek to keep from growling as pain flared through my ankle. No sooner had I fought my way to my feet, however – scrambling in the darkness – than fingers closed around the injured site, followed by a body covering mine as I was pulled flat once more, pressing me into the earth and filling my nose with the scent of wet dirt.

“Enough,” they spat, a knee on the base of my spine holding my wriggling form down. “I am trying to help. Stop fighting me.”

“Let me go – face me like a man,” I snarled, struggling to free my arm from where our combined weight had pinned it beneath me.

“I am not interested in fighting you!” they snapped, a hand finding the space between my shoulder blades to halt my squirming. “I am saving your life – if you would only let me!”

Tired from straining against this seemingly immovable mass – and reluctantly acknowledging that the only harm that had been done here was that which I’d caused myself in my struggling – I slowly fell still, panting hard against the dirt. “Fine. Just- Get off me.”

They waited for a moment longer, seeming weighing up any possible risk I posed, before slowly shifting their weight from me, allowing me to drag myself into an uncomfortable sitting position, squinting into the darkness. Despite my enhanced eyesight, the sun was too distant to make out anything more than a vaguely humanoid shape, crouching opposite in the narrow tunnel.

“Who are-”

They turned and continued along the slow decline, almost silent, moving with a speed borne of familiarity. With one last, uncertain glance over my shoulder at the pinprick of daylight, I began to follow, my hand trailing along the wall to steady myself.

It took several minutes of blundering in the darkness for to realise that the top of my head was no longer skimming the roof of the tunnel. Slowly, hesitantly, I straightened my legs, my spine creaking and grinding in protest as I stood upright. Moving forward was easier without the added difficulty of being bent double, and I soon felt the ground cease its decline beneath my feet, becoming drier and firmer.

Next came the light. Not much, at first – just the sudden awareness that I could make out my fingers still trailing along the wall of the tunnel, ghostly pale in the darkness. It took only a dozen paces more to begin to see the dim glow ahead.

I rounded a corner and the light intensified, flickering on a dust-strewn floor, candles and torches shifting in an infinitesimal breeze. The creature – the man – stood before me, unabashed by his nudity even as I averted my eyes. But I found myself quite unable to keep my gaze away, trailing over broad shoulders and defined muscles with automatic appreciation.

His own eyes, as deep russet as the ground he inhabited, bore into mine.

His head cocked and he paused for a moment, hyperfocused, before relaxing into an easy smile. “What did I tell you? Quiet as a mouse. They have lost your trail.”

The smug self-confidence made me glower, unimpressed. “You can hear them?” I scoffed incredulously when he nodded, focusing my own senses along the winding tunnel we’d followed. I could pick out the movement of creatures in the dirt and his steady, unconcerned heartbeat.

“They were getting close. Would have caught you. You are welcome,” he added, brows knitting together in irritation at my lack of gratitude.

“I never asked for your help,” I snapped back. “I’m sorry – who the hell are you, anyway?”

The furrowed brow shifted, one raising. “Am I so forgotten in the world of men that even a Russian doesn’t recognize a German?”

“I’m American,” I corrected, “And you don’t sound very German.”

“Not ‘German’,” he echoed, mirroring my emphasis, “Ger-man. A weather spirit. Even if you are not Russian, you are one who knows much of Russia. How is it that my kind have fallen so far from Siberian minds?”

I shrugged a shoulder, irritated by his maudlin detour. “Well, yes – I’ve spent a lot of time here, but I wasn’t exactly sitting around listening to fairy stories and myths. You’re insane, and I have to be going, so if you don’t mind-”

I’d turned back toward the tunnel as I spoke, but as soon as I stepped from the room, a fierce wind whipped down the passage, sending me sprawling unceremoniously on my ass.

“Leave if you wish,” he growled, his voice low and deadly. “But do not dare insult the one who saved you.”

I looked over my shoulder as the wind died, finding him stood over me with a scowl, hand lowering, and my mouth worked wordlessly. “… There’s no way,” I muttered eventually. With a smirk, he flicked his fingers in my direction, and I yelped as a brief but intense squall fell upon me, quickly soaking me to the bone and leaving me trembling with cold – and, I admitted distantly, fear.

“Who are you?” I asked again, quieter now, and with – embarrassingly – a hint of reverence. “How did you know that I needed- that I was being hunted? Were you spying on me?”

Another shift of his hand raised the temperature, my shivering subsiding, and his eyes narrowed infinitesimally as he considered me. “I know all who pass through my lands,” he replied at length, ignoring the first of my questions. “I have no need to ‘spy’, as you call it. The weather sees all. I recognized you the moment you stepped foot over my borders – different than before, but still the Cнежинка Cолдат – the snowflake soldier. More, in some ways. Less in others,” he added, sparing a glance and a sad smile for the ruined remnants of my left arm.

But I was blind to his sympathy, fingers curling into a fist by my side as I got quickly to my feet, a growl building in my chest. “So you are one of them. HYDRA. Another experimental attack dog doing their dirty work, huh? So what now – you drag me back to them and I have to do it all again – the brainwashing, the killing?” My voice had risen to a shout, dust and dirt raining lightly upon us, but he looked unmoved, which only added to my anger. “Well, I won’t! Do you hear me? I won’t go! I’ll die first. I’ll die before I let them-”

I’d moved closer in my fury, a heavy blow arcing toward the maddening creature’s head. But he caught my fist without the slightest indication of effort, halting my assault, both verbal and physical.

“I am not of those humans,” he answered quietly, his gaze soft and sincere as it met mine. “Not one of them, nor one of their creations. I am older than any one of them – older than the organisation, older even than the word itself. I predate humanity, let alone their petty cluster.” With a shrug, he released my hand, leaving me to flex my fingers uncomfortably. “My kind goes where they like, or where they are needed. You passed through my territory further north many times – though you were less then. Less… Colour,” he offered after a moment, frowning.

“Less colour seems right,” I agreed reluctantly, grimacing. “Less myself, certainly.”

With a nod, he squatted in the dust, inclining his head for me to join him. I was intrigued despite myself, and found myself mirroring his position opposite. Once more, I tried to keep my eyes from roaming over thick thighs and the sharp cut of his jaw, confusion bubbling inside me. I wasn’t sure if I longed to fuck him or be him, or some combination thereof.

He smirked as I blushed and averted my eyes once more, elbows resting on his knees. “Does nudity bother you, Cнежинка Cолдат?”

There it was again – Snowflake Soldier. The same name, but different somehow. I scowled at the heat in my cheeks, glowering. “Not in appropriate setting,” I snapped back, and he laughed aloud.

“Oh? And what ‘setting’ is that?” he pressed, making me squirm with embarrassment.

“Don’t play coy,” I replied, glaring. “It isn’t cute.”

His grin widened, white, even teeth glinting in the candlelight and sending a chill down my spine. “You seem flustered.”

“No.”

“Hm.”

I looked down, ignoring the amusement in his voice, and trailed a finger through the dust absently. “Thanks. For, uh… You know. Helping.”

He let out another low chuckle, pushing himself to his feet once more and stalking around the space thoughtfully. “You’re very welcome. Once upon a time, I was looked upon quite fondly. It is nice to feel useful again.”

“What did you do?” I prompted, curious about the seemingly ageless creature before me. His paces stuttered, a gentle frown briefly marring his features before it flickered and vanished, his cockiness returning.

“Oh, you know. Nothing too special – weather stuff. But, oh…” His smile returned once more, eyes turning misty as he remembered. “My kind were worshipped. Revered.”

“You were?” I prompted, unable to keep from sharing his grin at the ethereal joy gracing his features, and he nodded.

“Offerings, prayers, vigils… There were these dolls that they used to make – clay and woven grass, and ceramic and glass and metal as the times begin to change. And they often showed their appreciation after we brought the rains, too,” he added, smirking, and he raised a suggestive eyebrow when I simply blinked blankly, bringing a blush back to my cheeks.

“Oh.”

He snorted and nodded again, offering a sheepish shrug. “It was considered a great honour to lay with a German. Women would beg for the privilege.”

I scoffed, one eyebrow arching. “You certainly have a high opinion of yourself, don’t you?”

His grin broadened, and he turned his back to me, kneeling to shift through long grasses at the perimeter of the room. My eyes instinctively followed the taut muscles of his back, teeth tugging gently on my lip as my gaze skirted the curve of his ass, both envious and aroused. When he straightened, I dropped my eyes quickly, grateful for the object in his hands upon which to focus my attention.

Moving to squat before me once, he offered the item to me, and I turned the statue over in my fingers gently, murmuring in surprise. “This is amazing…”

My hands shifted, and I gasped aloud with amusement and shock, quickly reddening. “That’s, uh…”

“Pronounced?” he offered, smirking, and I barked out a laugh.

“Pronounced,” I agreed, eyeing up the statue’s emphasised phallus reaching almost to his knees.

“A great honour,” he reminded me, his grin widening. “And an experience that they would never forget.”

Despite the voice in my head repeating that I shouldn’t look, really, don’t do it, don’t- I found my eyes flicking between his thighs where he squatted before me. His flaccid length was impressive, but not as surreal as the statue had suggested.

I feel like I’ve been slapped, there’s so much blood in my face…

“It’s somewhat emphasised,” he acknowledged, shaking his head in amusement, “though I’ve never had any complaints.”

“Is that why you saved me?” I asked, eyes narrowing as the thought struck me suddenly. “You’re becoming forgotten, and you wanted a way to get your dick wet again?”

His face became impassive, one eyebrow arching coldly. “I saved you because helping people is what I do. As I’ve said – you’re free to leave whenever you like.”

My lip found its way between my teeth, and I worried it uncertainly, a new kind of shame prickling uncomfortably under my skin at his offense. “I… I’m sorry,” I murmured, head lowering. “And- and I really am grateful. I… Don’t think I’d have been able to get out of there without you.” My hand found his arm, soft and unsure. “Thank you.”

Our gazes locked, and he offered me a weak smile. “It’s an honour to be of service again,” he replied quietly, tentative fingertips petting my hand.

“I’m… That is… I’m happy to repay my debt. However you’d like,” I added timidly, warmth flushing my cheeks once more.

There was a brief, shocked pause, and his eyebrows raised. “I only lay with eager and willing participants – not those who do so under duress or a sense of obligation, or-”

“No!” I interrupted quickly, hand tightening in alarm. “I- no, I- I was reluctant when I thought I didn’t- that there wasn’t- that is, that I didn’t have much choice.. But if it’s truly up to me…” I trailed off and flushed deeper, eyes lowering shyly.

“You’re sure?” he murmured, and I met his gaze once more as I swallowed dryly.

“I’d consider it a great honour,” I breathed, the teasing note to my voice falling flat as the air seemed to grow thicker around us.

And then he was knelt before me, his weather-roughened hand holding my jaw with unexpected tenderness as his mouth found mine and I let out a quiet whimper of surprise and pleasure, his lips twitching in a smirk. My own fingers moved to curl against the nape of his neck, resting there only for a moment before he drew back, pupils blown wide.

“Kneel for me,” he whispered.

Since I’d been freed from HYDRA control, I resented orders. Commands and demands had been met with a deadly glare; anything less than an entirely optional request was almost guaranteed to find me stubbornly doing the exact opposite.

But this order, issued so tenderly and with his fingertips ghosting affection over my jawline, I felt no drive to baulk. I could only nod, transfixed by the depth of desire in his eyes, and move without any thought of complaint or disobedience.

He stood before me and glanced down, humming as he considered the dirt streaking his body. His hands danced in a delicate, captivating display, filling the air around us with beads of water that coalesced into perfect droplets before swirling around him, his form becoming hazy through the self-summoned shower.

When the fine mist cleared, his skin shone, sun-kissed despite the cold climate he inhabited. I pressed trembling fingertips to his abdomen, finding the taut flesh damp and cool to the touch, mesmerised into silence. With a soft purr, his hand tangled in my hair, encouraging me closer to the cock I now found myself eyeing hungrily.

Distantly, acknowledged that I didn’t even know his name as he passed between my lips, and my eyes closed. The taste of him filled my senses, his grip on me guiding me slowly along his length as it thickened. His movements were gentle and courteous, even as my mouth began to strain around him, the tip of his cock brushing against the back of my throat.

Until his hand in my hair tightened, holding my head still as his hips moved faster, his length shifting between my lips as he groaned aloud. “Gods, that’s good,” he grunted, and my lids parted to gaze up at him, finding the black pupils like pits ringed only by the thinnest strip of mahogany. “That mouth is a thing of beauty,” he murmured, and I could only hum in response, tongue held fast by the weight of him.

When he drew back at last, letting me breathe – albeit with a reluctant whine – and I caught sight of his length in its entire glory, I bit my lip. I’d been with only one man before – my childhood best friend, Steve, who was on the higher end of ‘average’, even after Howard Stark had played around with his genes. He was the only one I had trusted enough to see me in my entirety, and his scrawny, pale body hadn’t been a big draw for him in our adolescence, either. We’d found an accord; an agreement that proved mutually beneficial and didn’t extend beyond the dark confines of one of our bedrooms.

But this was another thing entirely. My stomach ached at the thought of it, but the hand in my hair shifted to cup my chin, his thumb brushing gently over my cheekbone. “I’ll be gentle with you,” he assured me softly, and I nodded once. “On your feet, Cнежинка Cолдат.”

I obliged immediately, standing before him, my muscles tense and unsure. We were evenly matched for height, but he was, I admitted reluctantly, far stronger than I, and had powers I didn’t at his disposal. If he decided to take action I didn’t like, there would be little I could do about it.

But despite my reservations, I moved closer, letting his hands find the hem of my shirt and slide underneath to ghost over my skin, leaving goosebumps in his wake. I raised my arm obediently as he lifted the fabric, my fingers moving self-consciously to raw stump of my shoulder, the vulnerable flesh visible through ragged cables and severed metal. He simply ignored the carnage, gaze roving over my exposed skin as his thumbs hooked in my jeans. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured, pressing gentle kisses along the curve of my throat and earning a blush for his troubles. So entranced was I that I was barely aware of the fabric around my hips becoming loose and falling down my thighs until his fingertips on the base of my spine shifted me forward, and I kicked off my shoes as they snagged.

My palm found his chest and I took a half-step back, needing to think clearly. “I-I should- Before we… There’s something you-”

“I know, Cнежинка Cолдат,” he reassured me softly, his lips brushing against mine once more. “You have nothing to fear.”

I sighed into the kiss, tension melting from my muscles as his hands slid into the back of my underwear to cup my ass, kneading and squeezing as I whined against him. My shoulders met the wall with little notion of how I got there, and he dropped to his knees, trailing his mouth over the soft skin inside my thigh before working the boxers down my legs.

Shyness threatened to overcome me – but I hardly had time for the thought to occur before my knee was hooked over his shoulder and his lips were upon me, earning a gasp and shuddering groan of pleasure. If my mouth was beauty, then his was sin – the sounds I made echoed around us as I quivered, his tongue lapping hungrily at the wetness between my thighs. “God- F-fuck, you can’t- I can’t- Th-that’s n-not-” I trailed off into another deafening groan as he slipped his tongue inside me, humming with pleasure, the vibration making my back arch. “God, don’t stop, please don’t stop…”

Obediently, he worked me harder, alternating between driving his tongue inside me and sucking lightly at my clit until my muscles trembled, fingers knotting needily in his hair. “Yes- please, yes, please, I-I-” With a grunt of acknowledgement, he buried his face further between my thighs, fingers tightening against my hip as I cried out, my own hands all but pinning him to me as stars exploded behind my eyes.

No sooner had I barely begun to unclench my muscles than he was on his feet, his mouth pressed to mine needily. The taste of my own orgasm made me whimper weakly, reaching for him, but my fingers had hardly grazed his hard length before I was turned, my cheek pressed into the dirt of the wall as he pulled my hips back.

“You taste so good,” he muttered, and I swallowed, feeling his tip probe lightly at my still-twitching hole. “So good… But I bet you’ll feel even better wrapped around me…”

True to his word, he was gentle as he pressed his way into me, his hand on my waist to guide me onto him, pausing with every minor gasp and whimper. I trembled desperately when I felt his pelvis meet mine, inebriated by the feeling of fullness, I squirmed, and he groaned. “Like a vice,” he hissed, his fingers scoring lines down the bare skin of my back. I could only pant and whine, my own nails clawing at the earth desperately. “So good…”

“Please,” I gasped, glancing over my shoulder to meet his gaze. “God, please, just- just move, just-”

The feeling of him dragging back, of leaving me empty and deprived, almost had me cursing my words. My knees had already begun to quiver with pleasure, the orgasm unravelled easily from my body by his talented tongue having taken its toll on my body despite the enhancements, and every minute movement had me mewling.

One hand snuck between my legs, while the other found my hair, pulling me tightly against his chest as I gasped. “Say please, Cнежинка Cолдат,” he breathed, and I shuddered with delight.

“Please- please, fuck me, I- I need you to fuck me, please…”

The fingers from my hair curled around my thigh, shifting my weight to set up a gruelling, earth-shattering pace, my body pressed firmly to the dirt wall as he obeyed willingly. The gentle fingers strummed me with expert precision, teasing and guiding, an elegant contrast to the bruising thrusts as he impaled me on his length.

Helpless. Held fast and unmade.

It was a situation I was painstakingly familiar with, but never in this way. Never had the act of being undone felt so much like a prayer. A blessing, not a curse. An act of devotion and passion, not hate and torture for torture’s sake. Base instinct given entirely new light.

And the ethereal glow seemed to radiate from my chest as he held me tighter, heat fizzing beneath my skin, every molecule of my body vibrating with the strength of it. I almost feared what was coming as the low keening took up residence in my voice and I lost all concept of time, knowing nothing of the wall that supported me or the ground beneath my feet. There was only this, now. The feeling of him moving inside me as he caressed me so deftly, mouth on the side of my throat, the bruises I knew were forming on the pale skin of my ass.

His voice surprised me when he spoke again – my wails seemed to fill the space so completely that I was surprised there was room for anything else.

“Come for me, Cнежинка Cолдат.”

The order was obeyed without question or hesitation, my vocal cords alight as I cried out, the vice-like clamping around his length almost painful as he continued to drive himself into me without mercy. Over and over his hips met mine, an arm around my waist becoming the only thing that kept me upright as I sobbed my pleasure weakly.

It wasn’t until my tremors had faded that he finally let himself surrender with a harsh grunt and one last, jerking thrust, burying his cock inside me as the warmth flooded my senses.

He looked down at me as I traced patterns on the bare, sweat damp skin of his chest, still dazed and disoriented. “An experience you’re likely to remember?” he asked softly, his own fingertips teasing my hair.

“An experience I’d very much like to repeat,” I replied, stretching languidly against him, a comfortable ache settling low in my abdomen. “I, uh… Quite liked being told what to do. Wouldn’t think I would, given everything – I don’t normally, but…” With an easy shrug, I smirked. “I suppose you just have that power over me, huh?”

He chuckled and pressed a gentle kiss to my doubtlessly dirt-streaked forehead, holding me closer against his side. “… I can keep you safe, you know.” I frowned, looking up at him, and he offered me an uncertain half-smile. “From whatever – whoever – is hunting you. I… I can look after you.”

“What about the others? Ones… Like you? And aren’t you needed? The things you told me, your job-”

“-has long lost its prevalence in this world,” he interrupted softly, the smile tinged with sadness. “Very few people still seek the services of my kind. Most of us are scattered, seeking other sources of satisfaction. Life, love… Companionship, I suppose.” Another shrug, and he rested his cheek on my hair. “I haven’t seen one of my own in a very long time. It’s not impossible that I am the last. And I can find meaning in this – and joy in your presence. You can be safe with me.”

“That’s all you want me to stick around for? So you’ve got something to do?” I clarified, a little incredulous, but made no attempt to move from where I lay against his side. He laughed sharply, and shook his head.

“I want you around because I enjoy your company, and – when you’re not biting my head off – I think you enjoy mine. I want you around because I enjoy you, and would like to make sure you’re safe.”

I considered his words – considered my place in the world now that I had a billionaire hell-bent on revenge. If asked a few months ago, I’d have been certain that the rest of my life would be spent catching up with Stevie, maybe sharing in a few more adventures before I met my end – probably in a dramatic and ridiculous way – whenever that may be. But now, kept apart by the actions of my past… I had nothing and nobody who needed me around.

I had no reason to stop myself from saying yes.

Well… Maybe one.

“I still don’t know your name,” I noted dryly, chin finding his chest to gaze up at him.

He smiled at that, teasing a hand through my hair. “I was named Grishenka, long ago. Though I suppose you can call me Greg.”

[dwellinginthewylde]

A little note on current events:

tldr: feeling big feelings, but wanted to stand in solidarity with my community (lgbtq+, POC, immigrants, witches/pagans, etc.) and friends and everyone else. The U.S. is FUCKED right now, but I'm not bending any knees to our shitty governing system and I ain't backing down for anything. I stand firm in my resolve to continue moving forward and being as much myself as I possibly can, making sure I fight so others can also continue to be as much themselves as they possibly can, and y'all have a safe space and ally in me, ALWAYS.

Things are looking rather grim in the U.S. of late. The powers that be are on the war path, in an effort to break us down and mold us into something they can abuse and take advantage of. We are currently being bombarded with so much violent information, forced censorship and such drastic, unrelenting and discriminatory change that I often feel mentally and emotionally overwhelmed. Understand... that is what they want to happen. Our government is in shambles, our communities are in battle mode. Those in power want to divide us further, to weed out the undesirables that will not stand to push their hate filled agenda and it is frightening, it's degrading, it's disgusting, but it is a clear, observable tactic. We are not sheep, we are not stupid, we are not as illiterate as they are trying to make us into. We KNOW our history, we KNOW the history of the rise and fall of other empires seeking to pull the same tactics, both ancient and contemporary. They never last, they never end well for the jerks up top, and through it all the rest of us always persevere.

We are all strong, we can and will stand up against injustice, discrimination, misogyny, hatred of any and all kinds. We have to remember, despite our torrent history, despite the atrocities our own ancestors have done to build this country, what we learned from that history, how our present has been reshaped to include EVERYONE, how we've evolved to be more empathetic, more compassionate, how we continue to strive to fix the remaining injustices and micro-aggressions that still pervade an ever evolving system and how our understanding of one another and our goals to be more than what we are now evolves right along with everything else, that isn't fake, that isn't fantasy. I am frustrated, angry, scared, sad, disheartened, pained, miserable, disgusted, just as much as the rest of you are, I'm sure. But, believe it or not, through it all, I am hopeful, I am persistent, I am encouraged and I am determined to live how I am supposed to live, free, safe, loved and respected in all forms, just as the rest of you deserve as well. Keep hope, Keep faith, if in nothing else, then at least in your community who is going to fight right beside you and support you every step of the way, through it all. I am 1 small, short, white trans dude with 20 bucks to my name and too many incomplete crochet projects to count, but my resolve is strong and I won't waver from where I stand. I will help where and when I can. Give yourself time and space to feel, remember to breathe, to drink water, to hold close your loved ones, human, furry, or otherwise, and know nobody is alone. You are all safe with me and in my space. You have an ally in me no matter what. And we will all get through this, one way or another.

[notaplaceofhonour]

I know on here I’m fairly articulate & well-spoken and clearly have the ability to process & analyze certain kinds of information well enough, so people might not know just how over-the-top difficult & draining it is for me to do a lot of very simple tasks that would be trivial to other people.

people often assume “you’re intelligent, you can do it; all you have to do is x or y”, but as capable as I may be at analyzing a piece of media or culture & history, there are types of processing skills where that just doesn’t carry over at all and I’m either completely incapable of doing something at all or it is such a complicated and costly task just to force my brain into the right shape to do that processing that I will take an entire day (or days) doing a task that might take the average person at most 30-45m—and even after that, I’ll be so exhausted from that it burns me out for days after. It’s physically the way my brain is structured on a neurological level.

like I know enough from my experiences applying to government aid, grants, job searching etc in the past that even with someone directing me to resources or helping me fill out forms, the actual process of making myself process what information I need, where to find it, hunting down all the documentation, and actually filling out those forms is unreasonably costly for my brain. sometimes it’s necessary to do it anyways, of course. but i have to borrow spoons i don’t have, and that comes with interest, and leads to burnout after the fact.

on top of that, my bad experiences from burning out doing that mean I also have an added mental block because my brain refuses to let me do that to myself—so I have to devote even more energy just to get over even that hurdle, which leads to even worse burnout

with going from traumatic childhood to traumatic adulthood to losing almost all my friends bc i converted to covid to traumatic roommate experience to housing insecurity to traumatic roommate experience to housing insecurity to October 2023 & its aftermath, to being homeless again, and now my aunt dying, the trauma adds up, and it doesn’t just stay in its own lane; it compounds all the disabling aspects of autism and whatever else I have that’s undiagnosed

the slightly new development is that I have (i guess) agoraphobia? (i haven’t been able to leave the house to see anyone who could tell me lol). like I have left the house a total of twice in the last couple months, and it took me weeks of trying to finally make myself do even that.

which yeah, I know, it incredibly wild. this makes me somehow “low support needs”?

[specter319]

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓'𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄? (Ace Combat x CoD 141)

A/N: As a little Christmas present, I decided to work on a little something something, seeing a random anon state in @mockerycrow's Ask about fighter jets and Task Force 141 got my interest real quick, having been someone who got introduced to these two fandoms 1-2 years ago I absolutely adore the storyline in regards to Trigger and Count, but also the storyline as a whole, neatly wrapping up the reason why three strikes is called three strikes, if only a certain other game could have the same sort of stable plot- Complaints about the plot aside for those who stumble upon it have fun with this little short story that's been brewing in my head! Please enjoy the Homoeroticism of Ghost and Soap Trigger Warnings: Mention of Blood Word Count: 2.5k Words Characters: John 'Soap' MacTavish x Simon 'Ghost' Riley, mentions of Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick and Johnathan Price.

From the moment John MacTavish’s Scottish blue eyes gazed upwards into the beautiful atmosphere above him, he knew he was utterly and completely fucked. It all started with one moment in time, watching the infamous ‘Ghost’ launch one of their newly brought F-35s testing it out for another squadron, making sure all systems were in check. Watching it from the fences as the utter decimation of their ears thanks to the lack of protection were good faith to the man taking it, for what seemed to be a joy ride. And as Kyle and John stood there, seeing it hovering just mere meters above the runway, their joy was all but uncontainable in knowing just who was behind the sticks.

Conversations were the only thing that took over the engines' mighty roar as Kyle and John yelled at the inanimate object in celebration.

“Ooh yeah! Ooh yeah!” Kyle yelled out.

“Ooh, go ‘un, go ‘un” John egged right back.

And then, just as it pulled up, sure it was now at best pulling upwards of 5 gees, the men on the ground cheered.

“Go on you fuckin’ beauty!” Just as it was making its way further into the clouds, graciously curving its own form into the shape of them. 

They were ecstatic, joyful, even, at least one was, to see a man so tall, almost built like a damn statue from ancient history managing to tame a beast so wild, and wicked. And yet, knowing that it was almost second nature in that man's blood to fly it, because that bastard was the only one allowed, thanks to the great charm of the bastards in the west, to have an F-22 Raptor. The only one in the UK, belonged to a man who had no name, never showed his face to the people he didn’t know, including the two men who stood there on the grassy knoll outside of the airbase cheering him on. 

What a weird shitpot of luck that was, almost as if the gods of fate above had been watching the two men above, seeing them be so supportive of a man who never had the cheers of his fellow squad members, but instead, feared him. Tried to rebel against him, just to get a far enough away distance to stay away from a man and his, as some people called it ‘Raptor’s Ghost’.

Those that had seen it, had been lucky enough to tell the tale, at least, on the side he came back to, fellow squadron and captain, but those who had been on the receiving side of those guns as they lifted from their molded seam, only saw a wisp of a dark gray aircraft, before a fiery explosion filled their cabin.

Yes, there was one thing to be known about this ‘Ghosts’ jet — he’d specified that he must have it in a darker gray. Just a couple of shades darker than what the original metal was painted as. And the thing was? Somehow, amongst his captains ranking, the government and even the fuckers down in Lockheed — they’d said yes to the request. Even if a few bureaucrats in the Pentagon were waving the red flag from the start.

So he guessed that’s what the plan was then, to go and catch a sneak in the middle of the night of what it looked like, though Kyle tried with all of his might to persuade him otherwise, John was dead set on seeing the beauty that stood in the dead of the night in Ghost’s hangar, wielded far away from the rest of the base, but close enough to know that the rest of the team always, haunted by a Ghost, he guessed that’s where the name came from then. Given that this was usually seen beside the B-2, a call sign of Ghost would’ve been fitting for someone in a something like this. And it seemed like fate was tempting him all and amongst this, because, as John approached the hangar, as big as it was, there was a crack left open, not closed, like all the other times he’d passed it in his own jet. Only to then realize this was the reason why they had called him Ghost to begin with, no one thought he was around, until it was too late.

Everyone knew this Ghost, was a guy, they’d heard his voice, never heard him laugh, was only ever a man of a few simple commands and went off when requested. What caught John MacTavish off guard however, was not only the hangar open, but the place had reeked of oil and fuel, only to be diverged its acoustics of the tin metal in the sound of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata, a far cry from the throat roar of the hotdogged engines, John could already tell what Ghost had been doing to the poor thing. Either someone had been here recently or there was still someone here, but that never mattered as his Scottish blue eyes once more, got him fucked over, classical music be damned.

The metallic gray was no longer present, much like he had seen on the various photos that had beautifully given the thing a personality of beauty, and yet deadly. But instead, it was given a more, mature grayed look, as if it was a rehashed version of the F-35, the very same one he had been seen in this afternoon in a reskinned jet. Sudden realizations hit the man when thinking in Ghost’s logic, not too shabby for a Ghost when John had realized that much to his enemies disliking, when they suddenly realized that the jet was no longer a most recent US fighter, it was too late to break off anyway.

And much akin to John’s own footsteps, he’d realized that he was pulled in by the absolute sheer squared beauty of the thing and had moved right into the Ghost’s trap.

“What are you doin’ in my hangar?” Ghost lowly spoke, standing to the side, having seen him since he strolled in here. 

“Jesus wept!” John spoke as he suddenly turned around, the closed distance between them was something almost scary at just how close and personal this man had gotten, and all amongst that, he seemingly had the goal to wear a bloody balaclava, all the while wearing a stripped down version of the gear they would have to haul around on their bodies. Was he really that comfortable in wearing the same shit each day? At least the only thing invading his senses was oil and fuel. 

“I said what are ya doing here?” Ghost questioned before his eyes glanced over at the hangar “Squadron leaders gonna know about this,” his voice loomed.

“Sorry,” That’s all the weak bastard had as he tried to pick himself up faster than he could pull back on his own stick. “A’m interested in that piece of art ye’v got there, heard you were the one flying the Lightning around this mornin’”

“So you were the two hanging around the fence”

John stiffened at the sheer mention of that, he’d seen them? He didn’t think he had given the height already gained as he passed the pair of them from the runway.

“Wanted to watch her give her a proper launch, sir” John hesitated as Ghost only snorted and shook his head at the mention of the last word.

“Flight Lieutenant to you” This Ghost guy seemingly didn’t want to have him out of his hangar after all, but there was no doubt that heavy brown eyes were on him, painted darker then the plane before him as his eyes registered on MacTavish’s uniform still barely on given the zip that was seemingly fought with, the sheen of sweat that was just above the ridgeline of his eyebrows gave away just how much he’d been working during the rest of his day, when he seemingly wasn’t cheering this man on, then again. MacTavish did seem like a familiar last name, what could hurt but to take a guess.

“Apologies,” John moved ever so closer to the jet, almost as if he were to go ahead and, to the thought running in the back of Ghost’s mind, steal it. Poor bastard, probably wouldn’t be able to handle the ride as well as he could. “Does that mean I get to call you LT then?”

The cocky chatter over the radio, often with another teammate, only gave Ghost all the more confidence to take that stab in the dark to try and pinpoint just who he was.

“You can, so long as you tell me if you’re the one flying that bloody F-16 around.”

John’s eyes suddenly went wide, and of course, that cocky Brit saw it, and with his own pair too. His soul had actively left his body in the acknowledgement that someone had noticed his maneuverability, everyone else had F/A-18’s. But MacTavish was the one that stood his ground when he said he wanted a former fighter pilots F-16, ready to be given back to the Americans, decommissioned, probably in a scrap heap, and yet, here he was, breathing new life into it and treating it like it had just come off the factory rollers. Though, his only fault that he seemingly had with it, was that of the lack of gun ammunition, paling in comparison to something like the beast that stood before him.

“Uh, and why would tha’ be?” 

Ghost paused, raising a brow in confusion, maybe he was going to have to talk to John’s squad leader, had he really not seen beyond his two feet at just who he had under his wing, the man could maneuver the thing as well as he could like the jet he stood before and maybe, if he ever took the chance (which, in high unlikely doubt he would) he could probably pilot Ghost’s, if not, with just a bigger amount of hesitation.

“Just wanted to give a recommendation to the squadron leader as to who to take under our wing, old talents retiring at the end of the year, figured I’d give whoevers flying that F-16 and the one with the yellow strip along the body of the ‘18 a fighting chance at joining the 141” He brushed it off, like it was a chance to come clean. Ghost knew that MacTavish was the one flying the thing, often put in a good word about it to Price. And Price often agreed, that and ‘Gaz’ who was often his wingmanaccording to Price’s notes were often hotshots, but never in an egotistical, ‘wanting to show who’s boss’ way, it was always one of teamwork, and he quite enjoyed seeing them chant as one of their other teammates took down a target before they did.

“The 141?” MacTavish asked

“Yeah, just need to find out who the pair are in the two jets first” Ghost was toying with him as he finally made a move over to his own, inspecting the various scratches that were seemingly evident in the light, but gave the aircraft a seemingly weathered look, one that, Ghost admired. 

“There a reason why they call you the Ghost?” Quick this one was to change the subject, avoiding it, but copying him all the more in his movements as John did the same, placing a gentle hand along the aircraft as his calloused fingers felt a deep scar along the face of the jet, maybe that’s why he rarely had repairs done to the thing other than ones that were required. Maybe that’s why he wears the mask, he’s damaged, just like the bird before him – but he still flies, still finds meaning in the daylight and blue hues of skies.

“There a reason why you’re dancing around the question?” Their hands moved along the surface of the steel at almost the same time, unknown, but as if they were tracing one another's patterns as the question was left in the air for a bit too long before they finally moved to the nose of the aircraft, having no choice but to look at one another as they did so.

“Could say the same,” He watched as Ghost moved towards him, facing him, how he towered over the man with that stature of power, and yet, the only real dominating power he seemingly had left was his rank, and the jet. Because all the smug bastard did was place his hands behind his back and look down at the Scotsman, as if inspecting him as he did the jet, to see if like him, he too had scars beneath that mohawk and blue eyes that seemingly contrasted ever so beautifully along the dark gray. “What happens if one of us already knows the answers?” 

“Then I guess one of us will have to await the answers of the future, but if they already know the answers, they shouldn’t have to wait too long” They both knew one another were staring, helplessly, but stopping it neither as eyes behind that mask squinted ever so gently. So he did have his scars, one on the chin, must have had a bad accident for it to get that bad, and the blood from it too.

“Then I guess I’ll ‘ave ta’ see me way out of this museum then huh? Wouldn’t want ta make a scene now aye?” John smiled, physically having to retch himself from the spot he stood in, not wanting to move away from the view that was before him.

“Don’t quite appreciate customers making a scene and disturbing the nature of this art” So he wasn’t the only one to quickly move along with what he was suggesting as he followed him, only ever a few steps behind, maybe that’s why he got that name, loud as anything in a jet, then he never exists once the engines shut off.

Ghost eventually stopped following him as John made his way out near the doors of the hangar, lingering around just a bit more before he stopped in his tracks, just maybe, if he really did have the answers, he could see how his future LT would respond. “Don’t think I could handle two pieces of art in a museum, never been able ta handle more than one” He swore up and down he saw the man’s head snap into place about that comment, a slight squint at the body language that John was trying to portray as he moved through the hangar doors. “Have a good night, LT”

“Officer Mactavish.”

Payback time.

“Aye sir?” And they’d fallen into line already, a wingman, of sorts, to a Ghost.

“Call me Simon”

Now MacTavish was standing there, being a complete idiot, baffled by the fact that he, of all people, managed to get into the inner circle of a man named Simon, a Ghost. A snort was then heard through the airy atmosphere as he suddenly turned around and walked back towards the stairs of his office, looking back over his shoulder, leaving him in a scrambled state that was the brain of John MacTavish.

“You’re not too bad yourself,” He paused, “For a F-16 Pilot.”

So that’s his name.

[eriisaam]

The unstoppable fairy of 'LET ME HELP YOU' dreams vs The immoveable guilt-ridden guilty-prince

Dropping a small bit of lore as an intermission of sorts. (I'm not done with the last two parts of Book III lore just been easily distracted in between that and finishing the last 4 sprites 2 summoners art-wise).

So... Spectabilis. Aka, Ephrel's alfr alt, aka, the Fairy of Longing Dreams.

You've seen them, you've heard me pepper in references to both their human alt and alfr alt (especially when I originally posted this piece way back when), but for context-sake, let's go over their dream powers a little bit, as set-dressing for the actual point of this lore dump.

So Spectabilis - like Triandra, Plumeria, and the other two ljolsalfarians - governs over dreams of a certain theme, and their theme in particular focuses on dreams that serve as the deepest and strongest heart's desire of a host, but for whatever reason the host believes is impossible to fulfill.

By the very nature that they are a dokkalfarian, unlike Peony, who serves to govern dreams of a similar form of want that can spark joy and happiness, the original intent of the dreams Spectabilis was assigned by Freyja were to dangle the host's deepest wants like a carrot on a string, just to make it that much more devastating to stab them, pull the rug under them, and then twist the knife for good measure, when they are buried under the realizations and devastation that they know what they wanted most is impossible to actually have.

However Ephrel, being Ephrel even in this state, is very much versed in the Art of Malicious Compliance, and in a show of 'Sure thing, Lady Freyja. :) You can trust me. 🤞:)", proceeds to exploit the shit out of reading the fine print of "dreams the host thinks are impossible (and not necessarily, objectively impossible)" to turn most of their dreams into either a challenge of the host's strength to 'defy fate', a sign of a lot of unresolved issues to unpack theraputically, or as a point of inspiration, rather than demoralization. 'That's you. Maybe it's not you yet, but that could be you if that's what you want and will it to be."

Even their supports are not immune to Ephrel being rather versed in their deepest, unfulfilled desires, and in fact walking through them with their supports had been large pillars to what started and strengthened their relationship upon their return, far moreso than the preface otherwise of 'yeah, so after your (second) death, your widow went out and found love while still yearning for you, and now here's three other spouses alongside them. Welcome back, my love!"

They've known everything from dreams like Chrom wishing to have Ephrel back (mission accomplished! See? Not so impossible after all!), Sparrow having insecurities trying to find herself after the misguided and confused preface of trying to fill in for their shadow, or Robin trying to unpack where 'Robin' ends and 'Grima' begins, only to have boatloads of unresolved trauma that buried the Grima-shaped suitcase they simply confused as Grima-related, and that's still a whole mess-and-a-half to work out with him too.

And then there's Lyon, the main subject of today's lore-dump.

Spoilers for Sacred Stones ahead, cuz the biggest spoiler of them all is the key part of this lore dump. You've been warned.

So for those who hadn't played Sacred Stones, the briefest and probably-not-great-but-gets-the-point-across summary of what happens to Lyon in his original canon, is that he dabbled into the dark arts in experimenting and researching into stones of a similar make and model of the titular sacred stones that bind Fomortiis firmly into dormancy, invented the dark stone, the aforementioned dark stone gave Fomortiis just enough of a foot in the door to possess Lyon, and everything went to shit thereafter between Fomortiis weaponizing Grado's forces to turn on all the rest of Magvel, very narrowly missed destroying all the sacred stones one by one in the process, and in Lyon's last moments, was nigh entirely consumed to bring back Fomortiis mostly-in-full before he was destroyed and Magvel tried to pick up the pieces of what the fuck just happened.

He did all of this in the name of trying to save, then bring back, his terminally-ill father, even after Vigarde succumbed and died to his illness, all in a bid to try to save Grado from an imminent vision of disasters to come, only to end up being the one who made Grado's fate a self-fulfilling prophecy, all the while he was eaten alive on a soul-level by a demonic parasite, who some parts indoctrinated Lyon badly enough to bring out the worst inhibitions of him to stab Ephraim and twist the knife with, and other parts straight up hijack him entirely so he can toy with Lyon's emotions, forcing him to watch as he tried to break Eirika in front of him, using his identity and body, to say nothing of the countless of people across all of Magvel he harmed or maimed or outright killed, directly or indirectly otherwise, all throughout.

Eirika and Ephraim in particular were his childhood friends, the two people he was the closest to, and prior to shit hitting the fan in all of the above, both of the Renais twins were arguably among the people he cared about and loved most (perhaps in varying degrees of what kind of love even), that even in the present with all of his new lovers in his supports, both twins shadowed over him enough to paint over his first impressions of them, prior to him moving on and recognizing his supports on their own merits and as their own people far differing from either twins. It was also why Fomortiis had keen interest in hurting these two in particular the worst of all whenever he could, and gloating at Lyon while doing so.

It comes as no surprise, then, that Ephrel knows Lyon's greatest wish was to have the friendship they used to have, back before things went so horrifically wrong for all of them, back before his father died, and back in happier times and brighter moments in their past.

Back to the way things were.

A nostalgic dream tainted by the grief in knowing he ruined so much of their past bonds well past the point of no return, through pain and sorrows he can't even begin to imagine how to atone or make up for, and would be well in the right of the twins to never forgive him or want to see him again for. It will never be possible to go back to that friendship ever again, and he knows it.

Then again, does he really?

As it happens, Eirika of the two is friends with Sparrow. Both twins are on friendly terms, but Eirika in particular is much more eager to pull Sparrow off to the side to hang out and talk. They got close, enough so that Sparrow was all too aware of how either twins felt about Lyon, and with Sparrow being one of the two summoners this Lyon was supported with as a lover and partner, it wouldn't be difficult to arrange a meeting of sorts for a talk.

Yet no matter how easy, how accessible, or how simple, it was Lyon who kept that door firmly closed. No matter what Eirika's or Ephaim's approach - to get closure, to walk back and figure out what happened in full from both perspectives, hell, even the very real possibility Eirika and Ephraim wanted to rebuild the gap and mend the fences between them after all - it was Lyon who would not only close the door, but firmly bolt-lock it from the inside.

What he did was beyond forgiveness, beyond atonement. It ws beyond anything he deserved to entertain, let alone deserved to be offered. That dream of rekindling their friendship was thus made impossible, but my Lyon's own preemptive unwillingness to allow it, rather than objective impossibility.

Yet the Reinais twins still didn't give up the attempts, despite Lyon remaining firm otherwise to keep the dream impossible. Why?

Let's walk back for a moment on how we got here, with the summoners.

Throughout Zenith, thanks to the inherent powers of all summoners, let alone the six these two particular interconnected Zeniths had, it was a fairly common sight to see not only various heroes across various worlds, but even different, separate like-heroes who hailed from wildly different circumstances from one another, despite being technically the same person. Sometimes, it can be experiences that shaped them unique to their own inherent timeline. Sometimes, they were pulled from different moments of their original world (and canon timeline therein). Sometimes, staying long enough in Zenith, they had chance circumstances cross their way, that fundamentally changed them forever, post-summoning.

So many factors can contribute to just as many unexpected, happy reunions of heroes parted due to canonical tragedies, just as it can contribute to subjecting heroes to tragedies cruelly unique to them, for which happier canon-kinder alts of theirs serve as painful reminders of what they lost.

Sparrow and Ephrel's supports were already subjected to this once before, in the form of their Chrom and Robin.

Ephrel's Chrom and the Robin Sparrow eventually met afterwards, were both completely separated from the rest of the Shepards, but for vastly different reasons. Chrom was separated even from any sign of a typical Robin, due to Ephrel's unique role as a former Robinsona, and leaving Chrom widowed in the process. Robin, mirroring this, was a widow of his own, having lost his own Chrom so soon after their marriage in his own world. Both stuck out like a sore thumb in their dodgey avoidance of like-heroes of their would-be worlds, and their glaring absence of their other-halfs, and yet, both found a way to reunite, and with them, join Ephrel, Sparrow and Lyon in doing so.

When a hero seems to noticeably avoid the friendships they normally should've had, or avoid having the relationships another alt of theirs not only jumped into, but is often already happily in, it becomes glaringly easy to notice. Much like the Chrom and Robin example, Eirika and Ephraim saw many different Lyons come and go, but they usually fell into certain categories:

A) Pre-Stone'd - before the main events of their home world. Free from Fomortiis, but only by virtue that Lyon had yet to be corrupted by or interfered with. Sometimes, he might be so far back before tragedy struck, that it was a Lyon from their literal childhood. Ultimately, these Lyons were already equipped closely with their own Eirikas and/or Ephraims, and so any attempt to try to get close to these Lyons feel almost like "stealing" from them. It would be unfair.

B) Currently-Stone'd - A Lyon who already fell to his fate. He was already corrupted, and Fomortiis already left his mark and started feasting on his soul. He's already lost to what fate has in store for him. To try to befriend this Lyon otherwise would just re-open the wounds the twins already suffered through once before.

C) Stone'd beyond saving - This is no longer Lyon. He's so far and well past the point of 'gone' that this is nigh entirely Fomortiis and nothing else. There's nothing to be gained or helped getting close to this.

Which leaves Ephrel's and Sparrow's Lyon as the only exception.

He is a post-Stone'd Lyon who is entirely himself. Despite everything, this Lyon is Lyon, with no trace of Fomortiis left. That's not to say he won't pretend otherwise, when it suits him, but this is a Lyon free from the shackles of his tormentor, though not the scars of the grief that came from this experience.

He is a Lyon who by all accounts shouldn't exist, which contributed to why he was such a rare outlier to the Lyons Eirika and Ephraim saw, and that's what made him stand out so much, to the point they were so willing to keep trying to extend an olive branch to reach out to him, no matter how scared he was to ever take it.

So then how did we get this Lyon then? By the end of his fate, he was entirely consumed by Fomortiis. By all accounts - and even by his own admission to Sparrow, Chrom, and Robin - there shouldn't be anything left of him to salvage, to save, or to even give him this chance in the first place.

But this Lyon barely scraped by, through efforts Eirika and Ephraim watched in mixed feelings of horror, then relief, of how this Lyon came to be.

Through a chance encounter, Lyon had a shred of his soul remain, and had just enough of a will to live to attract the attention of Ephrel. It was enough that the alfr magnified his signal for Robin and Sparrow to sense, notice him, and reach out to him, and in a desperate attempt not to let what little of his soul fizzle out and die in the process, Sparrow and Robin exploited what they knew of the digital world's workings to try to fill in the blank, at least just enough to keep him alive for a plan B.

All that remained of Lyon's original soul was one of his eyes. The rest of him suffered from digitization - a state uncommon yet known among the denizens of the digital world that tamers run the risk of being subjected to - where their body becomes digitized and destabilized in such a way that they assume a form Teru is all too familiar with as a missingno, where the digitization can physically manifest and overtake the parts of the affected patient's body that destabilized. One such high profile case of this condition was Aiba:

And for a time, this was a state Lyon assumed, mid-treatment as Sparrow, Robin, Chrom, and the rest of their friends and family attempted to figure out how to properly save Lyon.

Unfortunately, the unpredictability and inherent dodginess of this destabilized state was already heavily taxing on the patients affected with this condition even under normal circumstances. It can strain the body in ways that vary from a mundane novelty to terminal levels of strain through unpredictable factors.

Before Fomortiis ruined him, Lyon himself was already weak, frail, and very sickly. Being subjected to this state bought him time, but couldn't sustain itself as a long term solution. Even with an attempt at a hail-mary solution, Lyon's body - as loosely defined as it was at that state - was already shutting down on itself.

In a last ditch effort to save Lyon, they turned to the tree in the center of the crossroads of the two interconnected Zeniths, the point in the aether resort where the two overlapped.

The tree was the dormant remains of a xerneas of ancient times - a pokemon who once served the ancient summoners Sol and Hilo - and whom sacrificed itself upon expelling all of its energy to offset the effects of its counterpart yveltal's power to protect the ancient masses of the Askran and Emblan's kingdoms, as an answer to repell Hel long ago from an event that eerily mirrored the eventual repeat attempt events plaguing Book III. The plan was to gather their strongest and most potent healers, and in a collective effort, heal Xerneas just enough to revitalize it, so that the ancient slumbering legendary can then use its power to grant Lyon a new, proper body with its immense healing abilities.

The plan to revitalize the deer to full glory worked, but the deer - through ages worth of slumber and a still-weakened state to wake up to - wasn't quite even up to a fraction of the original power it had prior, and even with its willingness to attempt to revitalize Lyon in recognizing his body was shutting down, it alone was still not enough to fully help Lyon to a completely restored and functional state.

So in Kyo's own hail mary, upon recognizing they had no time left for other options, he transformed into a duplicate of Xerneas. Being in close enough proximity, Kyo could assume the full powers and strength of Xerneas in his transformed state, even in regards to Xerneas's still-sluggish health and power, so when one of it wasn't enough, two instances of it was thankfully more than enough to push Lyon's recovery the rest of the way into his second chance... give or take side-effects that led to how Kyo gave Kamui a pair of Kanas, but that's for another post. Sparrow still felt so guilty ever since.

Unfortunately, even having such a dicey experience of near-death bordering on near-nonexistence, and a far more dramatic resurrection compared to Reinhardt or Tethys just... existing... this still wasn't enough for Lyon to fully forgive himself to come to terms with what he did to the twins no matter their attempts at reaching out, and thus, the ultimate 'Impossible by his own making' dream still persists...

[fanaticsnail]

This is just me being overwhelmingly annoying, but Star Wars is literally my main fandom and I am neck deep in Mando lore (both canon and legends....... I need help).

Okay. What if the big fours of the Kid Pirates were Mandalorians in some way (in Disney canon all shown Mandos are humans but I love Legends canon more, so I'll go with this version.) So, considering Killer never removes his helmet, he is definitely a Child of the Watch. And since him and Kid go way back I imagine so was Kid, although after they left the Creed, he broke the code. Killer never did. (Kid with a beskar arm save me, KID WITH A BESKAR ARM SAVE ME. He definitely has a flamethrower installed in it. Mandalorians love flamethrowers.) They are both foundlings. Zabrak Heat who might be a descendant of some of Maul's supporters during the Clone Wars (the Armourer has little horns on her helmet, so we know Mando helmets could be adapted for a horned creature). Maybe Mirialan or Chiss Wire, once again a foundling, with a trident made of pure beskar that pierces through practically everything. Maybe Victoria was also part of the Children. Maybe her life was taken by a Death Watch member which lead for the four to break their ties with the Creed.

Or maybe, they had a Force bound lead.

And since the Mandalorians' worst allies are the Jedi....

Former Jedi Law, Bepo, Penguin and Shachi. Jedi Researcher Law who battles the call of the Dark Side as his thirst for revenge against certain Warlord rises with every passing day (now I'm thinking about Zygerrian Celestial Dragons -> Zygerrian Cora and Doffy......), who uses his missions for looking for information to fill the gaps of knowledge in the Jedi Archives to gather intel about Doflamingo. Jedi Sentinels Shachi and Penguin who use their missions among the common people to do the same and are first-eye witnesses to the corruption of the Galactic Government. Jedi Temple Guard Bepo who not only keeps the Temple safe but also has certain access to the Senate building and uses it to help Law. In the end, when Law leaves the Jedi Order, they follow him (and slowly gather the Heart Pirates).

And of course, they definitely cross paths with a certain mischievous Force wielder, the Light Side itself reborn in a human form, brighter than the Twin Suns of Tatooine, kinder than a smile.

(And now I want to write it *bites fist*.)

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

NEVER STOP, I FREAKING LOVE THIS!!! AAAAAAAAAAAA.

KID WITH A BESKAR ARM, HELL YES. IT HAS ALL THE TRICKS IN THERE, TOO. WHISTLING BIRDS, FLAMETHROWER, LIGHTNING CHAINS YES. Weaponsmith Kid, tho 👀

Foundling Zabrak Heat was my immediate thoughts, to be honest. Just look at him. He belongs to the Mandalorians now, the beautiful sweetheart.

Okay, but what if Victoria was the reason Kid broke his vows under the Child of the Watch. Something, something, CPR, something. CHISS WIRE, ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME?? AAAAAAAAAAAA

Zygerrian Doflamingo!!!!!

Grey Jedi Mihawk. Jedi padawan Zoro. Away from order Law who is still a skilled force user? AAAAAAAAAAAA.

Galactic Government Celestial Dragons and Marines 😭😭😭😭😭😭. Council of Warlords. I just love this so much.

LUFFY A JEDI OF THE LIGHT WITH A BRIGHT SMILE TO COUNTER THE DARK SIDE OF THE FORCE AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.

Trust that every time I write "AAAAAA~", I am absolutely screaming, fanning face, giddy, and grinning ear to ear. I have been a Star Wars (and Lucasfilm) and Star Trek fan before I was born (to two cosplaying parents). I love it (although the Christmas special was hard to get through).

If you write this, I will be reading the ever loving hell out of it. I just love it all so, so much. Beautiful thoughts, I can't. I just AAAAAAAAAAAA.

[aeharbour]

🪧Masterlist

🪧Parts: one I one.5 |

🪧Genre: Fantasy, Horror, Alternate Universes

🪧Pairing(s): Hyunjae x Reader, Q x Reader

🪧Summary: Seoul is in lockdown after a horrific outbreak. Separated from her family and fiancé, a young woman joins forces with three strangers to reach her family. A desperate fight for escape unfolds as they race against time and the growing chaos to survive.

🪧Word Count: 2,450

🪧Warning : Mention of virus, mature language

net: @deoboyznet

Jaehyun rubbed his eyes, exhaustion seeping into his bones after another long shift. The military base in Yangju had been buzzing with rumours for days, but the official announcement of the virus hit them like a tidal wave. He hadn’t had a chance to check his phone since he messaged you, and the anxiety gnawed at him.

The barracks were eerily quiet, the usual chaos replaced by a tense silence. Soldiers moved with purpose, but the weight of uncertainty hung over them all. Jaehyun’s unit had been briefed earlier that morning. They were on high alert, prepared for any orders that might come their way.

He glanced at the clock on the wall—3:15 PM. Visiting hours were supposed to start soon, and he had hoped to see you. But with the lockdown, those plans were fucked.

He had no way of knowing if you were safe.

Jaehyun tried calling you again this morning. It rang, but there was no answer.

“Squad 11!” A voice called out, snapping him back to reality. It was his commanding officer, Captain Kim, a stern but fair man who had seen his share of crises. “I need you in the briefing room. Now.”

Jaehyun nodded, slipping his phone back into his pocket. He followed Captain Kim through the maze of corridors, his mind racing with thoughts of you. The briefing room was already filled with his fellow soldiers, all wearing expressions of grim determination.

“Listen up,” Captain Kim began, his voice steady and commanding. “The situation in Seoul is deteriorating rapidly. The government has issued a city-wide lockdown to contain the outbreak. Our orders are to prepare for potential deployment.”

Murmurs spread through the room.

“Intel suggests the virus spreads quickly but isn’t lethal,” Captain Kim continued. “Our primary objective will be to support medical teams. We have to be vigilant and ready for anything.”

As the briefing concluded, Jaehyun watched as Hwang Jisoo approached Captain Kim. “Sir, permission to speak?”

“Granted,” Captain Kim said, eyeing him with curiosity.

“My younger sibling is in Seoul,” Jisoo said, his voice barely steady. “I haven’t been able to reach her. I’m worried about her safety.”

Captain Kim’s expression softened slightly. “I understand, Jisoo. We all have loved ones we’re concerned about. I’ll see what I can do to get a message through, but right now, our priority is the mission. Stay focused. She’ll need you to be strong.”

Jisoo nodded, a lump forming in his throat. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

Returning to his bunk, Jaehyun pulled out his phone once more, this time sending a quick message to his mother, asking her to try and contact you. He knew it was a long shot, but it was all he could do for now.

As he suited up, his thoughts kept drifting back to the last time he saw you. Your laughter, your touch, the way you scrunch your nose when you are deep in thought. He clung to those memories, using them for comfort to fall asleep.

Hours later, Jaehyun found himself standing guard at a checkpoint on the outskirts of Seoul. The city’s skyline loomed in the distance, a stark reminder of the crisis unfolding. Every now and then, he would look in the distant direction of your apartment and wonder if you’re even alive.

[sapphire-weapon]

you wanna hear something really spicy that I’ve been keeping to myself throughout this whole debacle about Leon’s wiki page? bc the whole thing forced me to go back and read through Darkside Chronicles files, and um...

We say that Leon was STRATCOM prior to the DSO being formed. There is absolutely no evidence to support this. The citation that the wiki gives for it does not say that that’s who he worked for, either. According to the games (and that interview), Leon was just... vaguely military, referred to as a “military operative” until RE4, when he formally gets the title “Agent.” In the actual RE games, STRATCOM is only mentioned by name in RE: Dead Aim, which Leon has nothing to do with. 

The only time that Leon was ever mentioned by anyone in Capcom as being part of STRATCOM was in an interview about an early build of RE3.5, which was ultimately scrapped and turned into Haunting Ground. 

The version of RE4 as it was released had Leon fill the role of federal law enforcement with the title of “Agent” -- a title that Bruce McGivern, the only known STRATCOM member in RE, did not have.

You could maybe assume that Leon was in STRATCOM prior to RE4 because that’s the purview under which the Anti-Umbrella Pursuit Investigation Team fell, but there’s no evidence of that anywhere in the games or any supplemental material other than a comment made about a version of RE4′s story that doesn’t exist.

In fact, the conflict/story in the version of RE4 that actually released had nothing to do with Umbrella, so it doesn’t make sense to me that the US would reach for someone in the Anti-Umbrella Pursuit Investigation Team for a mission like rescuing the President’s daughter. This is made even more evident by the fact that the intro to OG RE4 has Leon stating explicitly that his role in the federal government was protecting the President’s family -- not pursuing anti-Umbrella leads.

It seems very weird to me that Leon being STRATCOM is accepted so widely as simple canon fact, when Capcom seems to have gone out of their way to avoid saying that that’s where Leon was or what he was doing. If Leon ever was STRATCOM, he stopped being it at some point between Operation Javier and RE4 -- which is what, I think, was implied by the statement of Adam Benford “headhunting” Leon. Leon was pulled out of whatever military ops program he was in and shifted to federal law enforcement between OJ and RE4.

Though -- it is important to note that this delineation is only made in the OG timeline. Remake seems to imply that Leon is still in the same whatever federal organization that he’s been in since day zero with the government -- but even then, Remake does not use the word “STRATCOM.” It’s only referred to as a “top-secret government program.” And USSTRATCOM itself is not a top-secret government program, as evidenced by the fact that they have their own website with photos of their highest ranking officers plastered right on the front page LOL

And, completely unrelated --

going through those DSC files made me realize that what little Spanish Leon can actually string together was very likely taught to him by Krauser, who is fluent. There’s a file of him talking Spanish to a local during Operation Javier. So, there’s a little bit of fun trivia for you guys.

[starwarslover1999]

♟️Checkmate | General Hux AO3

✨A Star Wars story✨

Written By starwarsporg99

-Category: F/M

-Fandoms: Star Wars Sequel TrilogyStar Wars - All Media TypesStar Wars

-Relationship: Armitage Hux/Original Female Character(s)

-Characters: Armitage HuxBen Solo | Kylo RenKylo RenRey (Star Wars)Snoke (Star Wars)Dopheld MitakaLuke SkywalkerOriginal CharactersOriginal Female Character(s)Leia OrganaPoe DameronFinn (Star Wars)Rose TicoThe Resistance (Star Wars)The First Order (Star Wars)Chewbacca (Star Wars)Han Solo

-Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Star Wars SettingEnemy LoversHyperspace Travel (Star Wars)Slow BurnAlternate Universe - 1920sNew York Citysassy generalEventual Romancehux is irritated most of the timeWormholesgalaxy portal science poopscience I don't understandStrong sexual tensionhux is a stubborn arrogant assInvasion of Earthapocalyptic I guessRomanceBetrayalKidnappingStockholm SyndromePost-Star Wars: The Last JediForce Bond (Star Wars)Hand-Wavy Force Powers (Star Wars)CaptivitySuspensePlot TwistsMinor Character DeathCharacter DeathStarkiller Base (Star Wars)the supremacy splitsRivalryHand to Hand CombatBlasters (Star Wars)

-Language: English

-Words:18,730 -Chapters:6/?

——————————————————

Summary:

In 1929 New York City, a small-town farm girl from Missouri has an unfortunate fate. The life she once took for granted, after the tragic loss of her father, she soon deeply regrets when she's thrown into another far away galaxy conflicted with war. Held captive by a ruthless, intergalactic regime, cruel in their ways, she is forced into a new fate. A new purpose in protecting her home world and galaxy from the impending threat at hand. She must master the General's strategic game before he can take her planet in his grasp for his Order's taking. Meanwhile something is brewing, a ticking bomb that could mean drastic change of fates. A truth within her that could aid her in achieving her victory in his wicked game of submission. But control and unmanaged grief becomes her biggest challenge as well as taming her own growing conflicted emotions caused by a callous deception...the General.

——————————————————

Chapter 6: Auld Lang Syne

“You really don’t understand, do you?” He leaned back on his heel, gloved hands clasping behind him.

Then, he drew a carefully sought breath.

“Starkiller base…it was a demonstration,” he began, turning to pace at the foot of the bed. “and a necessary move to thwart the Resistance’s forces.”

Katerina’s eyes stayed glued on him as if to keep him warded off while she reluctantly listened to his reasoning for such a despicable act.

“Our galaxy” He froze mid-step, solemn faced as he gazed across the bed.“ This galaxy has been in a destructive cycle since the beginning of time. Endless wars have thrown innocent people into chaos for thousands of years. No government could successfully hold order. The Empire was closest to achieving control but they were weak and corrupt. The First Order, guided by my vision, lays out an immaculate Order. One that can preserve what is left of this galaxy and beyond. We can provide stability and peace among planets. However, the Resistance…their fear mongering creates more of a challenge. And the New Republic encouraged it. They went against our deal and supported the Resistance, allowing its filth to spread.” He raised his chin. “You remain ignorant and I realize that it’s not your fault.” It pained him to admit Perming’s prognosis out loud. “ As I’ve previously stated, your galaxy is in its infancy. Your planet hasn’t been exposed to a galaxy wide suffering. Your people are unburdened, filled with optimistic innovation, for that I cannot fault your clumsy understanding of this reality.”

The General’s presumptuous speech ignited a fury within Katerina “Unburdened?” her arms slid down her knees as she straightened her cowered form. “My planet has been through countless wars, the most recent was the bloodiest of them all! So many lives lost and even after years, victims suffer! I lost my father in that war! And my mother she-” Her mouth clamped shut, she wasn’t about to share her whole life story to this man –she only wanted to make a statement but her emotions were far too intense.

“Yes,” He tried his best to be patient with her difficulty in grasping the gravity of his own galaxy’s prolonged suffering. She hadn’t a place to form any opinion, respectfully so. Her naive behavior needed to be addressed–they could not afford such distractions–nor could he tolerate her consistent defiance, regardless if it was unintended.”So I’ve been informed.”

He inhaled a sharp breath as he slowly made his way back to the bedside. “I don’t doubt your people have been through…trifling times but this galaxy has suffered far worse.” Then, with his index finger, he forced her to look into his eyes. “What I did was for the greater good, Katerina”

[Check out the whole chapter on Ao3 <3]