#but if you said that a week ago you were a violent terrorist with no sympathy for human life

[sleevebuscemii]

this was the problem from the fucking start. the outpour of support for israel after what happened last saturday with absolutely ZERO acknowledgement to who israel IS and what they’ve been DOING and what has been the cause of this for 70 YEARS leading to this current indifference to the death to the fucking massacre of palestinians. ‘end the violence!’ but now its fucking crickets because to them this is all a consequence of hamas’ actions. ‘if palestinians didnt want to be massacred and their children murdered and their homes and hospitals bombed, maybe hamas shouldn’t have done what they did’ ‘im sad for gaza but israel has the right to defend itself’ WHAT WAS ISRAEL DOING BEFORE HAMAS DID WHAT THEY DID. WHAT WAS HAPPENING FOR DECADES BEFORE HAMAS DID LITERALLY ANYTHING. HISTORY DID NOT START ON OCTOBER 7 WITH HAMAS’ ACTIONS.

[sshadowritestoriess]

HELLOOOO im in love with the way you write our beloved rama 😭

i just wanted to know ur hcs about him beginning to realize he feels more about the reader than just friendship and/or how he deals with the first buds of sinful thoughts about their dear human friend? 👀

HI tysm!! Ramattra definitely has my attention hahaha. Sorry this is so long!! I just like writing 😂

Ramattra realizing his feelings

Earning his friendship was a hard enough task on his own. He never made that easy for you, or for anyone of flesh and blood

As much hatred as he has for humanity, he doesn’t outright assume all humans are evil. He understands there is still good in its kind, it’s just a matter of knowing who he is safe to drop his guard around when having more acute interactions

And this is a process he has the utmost forbearance for. As long as a person can express patience with him, then he is more than willing to allow himself to be understood by a human peer

You were probably one of the most respectful humans he had personally interacted with. Your kindness made for a strong first impression, especially in the way you had greeted him as any other person, looked upon him with no surprise in your eyes as if he had just been anyone else. Not a killer. Not a terrorist.

Still, for the ongoing weeks he kept his distance the more he had found himself in the same room as you, assuming his same process of determining whether your behavior was a front or not.

He was as kind to you as you were to him, which made things a little confusing on your end. You weren’t oblivious— you know who he is, and such a name as Ramattra came with a complex reputation. He’s certain he began addressing you as a ‘friend’ the moment you’d inquired why people thought him as ‘cold’

“You’ve been real nice to me,” you’d said, mirth in your tone, “I’m not just getting special treatment, am I?”

It wasn’t the first lighthearted joke you’d made in his presence, but it was the first he’d laughed at. He knew it wasn’t a question that needed answering, and so he didn’t. You were smart enough to assume the reason for rumor

Quickly, you both became close. (Well, ‘quick’ being you set the record for “fastest human to earn Ramattra’s trust”. It took fourteen weeks, but neither of you were counting.)

He was content to admit he admired you, respect drastically outweighing his contempt for what you were. It felt nice, to see you through blurred lines— he felt he finally understood, for just a moment, the bond that his brothers back at the monastery were trying to protect

But the more Ramattra grew to know you, the more he shared about himself. Which, tends to be a normal exchange between friends, certainly. Of the others he would dare call ‘friends’ before you, this wasn’t out of the ordinary

Yet when he would speak too much about himself with you, he felt shame. Embarrassment. He would wonder to himself at times if he should have shared certain things, and worried of your opinion

It made him pull back for a while, and was relieved you remained as patient as you’d always been. You made sure he was fine and he’d kindly dismissed you, to which you respectfully backed off and simply told him you were here if he needed

But… then when he was given the space he asked for, he became somewhat angry with himself. Now he just missed you, but felt so under pressure to be in your presence. It was frustrating.

You knew whatever problem he was facing had to be because of you, since he had told you just a few days ago that he preferred a little distance for now— but here he sat across the room from you, scrolling through lists of weaponry concepts to decide on what to work on next, inquiring your opinion of colors, of all things.

There came a day that Ramattra had a run in with a particularly violent human gang, of whom he’d shown little mercy for after they dealt the first strike— he should have swung the moment one of the strangers drawled about wearing his face as a trophy, “-after I reduce ya to nuts-n-bolts,” they’d said. A pitiful drop of confidence quickly lost into the newly reddened asphalt of the nearest alley

You caught him marching down a corridor, and it finally hit Ramattra like a truck when you’d approached him to make sure he was fine

He didn’t bleed red, you knew this. And something in him clicked when you immediately assumed him the victim, placing careful hands on his chest as you observed him for damage

Oh, he liked you. A lot. Had any other person of flesh approached him, he would have demanded solitude with a killing accusatory tone, a wordless threat of violence if his needs were not met.

But you had came to him, and he was more than relieved that you had. Just seeing you again, he realized why he hadn’t hit his attackers first.

“Are you attempting to domesticate me?” He had blurted, watching you curl your hand into the hem of your shirt and wipe the blood from his fingers. He takes in your baffled expression with a hidden affection- and yet again, feeling awkward for such a poor joke with little context. He fought himself on whether to explain, but decided better of it.

Understanding then why he felt so drawn to you, he felt somewhat justified in why he additionally felt like such a fool in your presence.

He hadn’t intended to feel this way about you, it couldn’t be helped. You hit many marks that he found objectively attractive.

He would spend the next few days observing you to thoroughly analyze his feelings toward you— to which you felt like a specimen being studied with how he kept tossing prolonged stares in your direction

He didn’t mean to appear like a creep, and he ended up feeling so much worse when you finally confronted his “quiet ogling”

“I— I was not,” he’d say defensively, and relaxed quickly when you laughed. “You are merely a fascinating subject to observe, is it so offensive that I watch?”

“Are you calling me pretty?”

“No.” He quickly bites, then immediately froze as he regretting saying it so harshly. He doubles back, “But, I do not mean—“ a pause, “You are fine as you are. But that is not what I was saying.”

Ogling. He was ashamed to find himself doing just that so soon after the amused accusation

The way you smirk before telling a joke, he’d mishear your jest when he was so focused on the way your mouth moved, and imagined running his thumb over your lips

When he’d find you closer to morning, he loved to catch you stretching your arms above your head. Your shirt would ride upward and reveal a bit of your navel while your upper half trembled into the stretch. He wanted to put his hands there, too.

He stole an opportunity to knead at your shoulder once when you complained about being sore from a prior activity, everting inside him lurching with humiliation when you settled comfortably into his lap.

An innocent gesture, sat between his legs while you accepted his kindness— though a deceptive offer, for he had just wanted a reason to have you this close.

He stared hard at your neck, gaze dropping to peer beneath your collar. It was dreadful. But he wouldn’t restrain himself, entirely glad he had a stationary face.

He’d pull at the cables of his mane when he was by himself, shaking his head and his fists at himself for this unrighteous behavior. Being away from you was worse, left alone with unrestrained thoughts of the things he could do to you

And oh, the things he wanted to do to you.

But you were a friend. A human. He was an omnic, and certainly not one built for… that kind of activity.

But then again, he was not made with life in mind, either. As far as he saw it, he could do whatever he wanted with the privilege of having agency

And that has resulted in relieving himself of these indecent thoughts when he shut himself into his quarters, blessed with the ability to create vivid images of what you would look like beneath him.

These solemn hours of the night should be reserved for meditation, and pondering his next move. But now he’s been reduced to touching himself with you in mind, pulling at delicate wires that were not meant to be tempered with.

Imagining you there. Evoking hypothetical risk by trusting you with his body.

But he hadn’t even made his feelings known to you yet. Hell, he couldn’t imagine a situation where he would without it complicating everything, or making you distant.

He knew he was the least likely candidate to end up in a cross-species relationship. So for now, he’d just relish in your friendship

And if ever you hint at wanting to take things a step further, you would find Ramattra quite eager to advance.

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Heather Mac Donald

Published: May 9, 2024

The female voices rose high-pitched and shrill above the crowd:

“Five, six, seven, eight, Israel is a terrorist state.”

“We don’t want no Zionists here, say it loud, say it clear.”

“Resistance is justified when people are occupied.”

The voices that answered them were also overwhelmingly female, emanating from hundreds of students chanting and marching around tents pitched in front of Columbia University’s neoclassical Butler Library, part of an effort in late April to prevent the university from uprooting the encampment.

The female tilt among anti-Israel student protesters is an underappreciated aspect of the pro-Hamas campus hysteria. True, when activists need muscle (to echo University of Missouri professor Melissa Click’s immortal call during the 2015 Black Lives Matter protests), males are mobilized to smash windows and doors or hurl projectiles at the police, for example. But the faces behind the masks and before the cameras are disproportionately female, as seen in this recent gem from the Princeton demonstrations.

Why the apparent gender gap? One possible reason is that women constitute majorities of both student bodies and the metastasizing student-services bureaucracies that cater to them. Another is the sex skew in majors. The hard sciences and economics, whose students are less likely to take days or weeks out from their classes to party (correction: “stand against genocide”) in cool North Face tents, are still majority male. The humanities and soft social sciences, the fields where you might even get extra credit for your intersectional activism, are majority female. (Not surprisingly, males have spearheaded recent efforts to guard the American flag against desecration.) In progressive movements, the default assumption now may be to elevate females ahead of males as leaders and spokesmen. But most important, the victim ideology that drives much of academia today, with its explicit enmity to objectivity and reason as white male constructs, has a female character.

Student protests have always been hilariously self-dramatizing, but the current outbreak is particularly maudlin, in keeping with female self-pity. “The university would rather see us dead than divest,” said a member of the all-female press representatives of UCLA’s solidarity encampment on X. The university police and the Los Angeles Police Department “would rather watch us be killed than protect us.” (The academic Left, including these anti-Zionists, opposes police presence on campus; UCLA chancellor Gene Block apologized in June 2020 after the LAPD lawfully mustered on university property during the George Floyd race riots.) Command of language is not a strong point of these student emissaries. “There needs to be an addressment (sic) of U.S. imperialism and its ties to the [University of California] system,” said another UCLA encampment spokeswoman.

It was not too long ago when administrators started bringing in therapy dogs to campus libraries and dining halls to help a female-heavy student body cope with psychic distress, especially after the election of Donald Trump. “Trigger warnings” were implemented to protect female students from Ovid’s Metamorphoses and other great works of literature. Campus discourse and its media echo chamber rang with accounts of the mental-health crisis on campus, whose alleged sufferers were overwhelmingly female.

Par for the course, then, when the editors at the Columbia Law Review (majority female) adopted the rhetoric of trauma in demanding that Columbia Law School hand out a universal pass for Spring 2024 coursework. A May 1 action by the New York Police Department to evict violent trespassers from an administration building had left them, they wrote,  “highly emotional,” “irrevocably shaken,” “unwell,” and “unable to focus”—in other words, displaying all the symptoms of Victorian neurasthenia.

It was not too long ago when a predominantly female professoriate, student population, and bureaucratic apparatus embraced the idea that students’ “safety” should be protected against the “hate speech” that allegedly jeopardized it. (Males, by contrast, place greater emphasis on academic freedom and truth-seeking, regardless of the alleged emotional consequences of intellectual inquiry.) Examples of dangerous speech included arguments that racial disparities are not caused by racism and that human beings cannot change their sex by proclamation.

Now, while still asserting their own unsafety, the pro-Hamas protesters have done an about-face when it comes to political disagreement and “safety,” at least where pro-Israel students are concerned. Nas Issa, a Palestinian alumna of Columbia University, told the New York Times that she saw a difference between feeling uncomfortable and feeling that you are in danger. Challenges to your identity or political ideology “can be personally affecting,” said Issa. “But I think the conflation between that and safety—it can be a bit misleading.”

It was also not too long ago when college campuses were shutting down or locking students in their dorms as an anti-Covid policy, notwithstanding overwhelming evidence showing that adolescents faced virtually no chance of serious Covid complications. This zero-risk policy, in its inability to balance costs and benefits rationally, was quintessentially female. It is fitting, therefore, that N95 masks have been repurposed as go-to accessories for the most up-to-date anti-settler-colonialist look. Females at the Columbia rally in front of Butler Library passed out the masks to the few participants not already wrapped up like mummies. When asked what the point was, one distributor answered, “to protect against Covid”—an answer that, sadly, could as easily be sincere as duplicitous.

Assuming the latter to be the case, hiding one’s face to escape accountability for one’s actions is the antithesis of manly virtue. The swaddled students would say that they have been forced into such precautions by the risk of “doxing.” But while a home address is properly private and should not be disclosed without permission, a face is public, and participation in public protest fair game for political accountability. The muffled freedom fighters are also aping Third World terrorists, of course, but the worst that might befall these revolutionary wannabes is rejection from their favored investment or consulting firm, not execution.

The dead white males emblazoned on the frieze of Columbia’s Butler Library would not have been surprised by the scene below them. Homer, Herodotus, Sophocles, Plato, Aristotle, Demosthenes, Cicero, and Virgil knew a thing or two about herd behavior and the irrationality of the mob, even if the students knew nothing about the great minds etched above. Our classical forebears developed philosophy, history, and the arts of persuasion to overcome the mind-numbing conformity on display at the greensward.

The founders of Columbia University would have been alarmed, however, to see students illegally colonizing campus grounds and vandalizing college buildings. They would have been dumbfounded to learn that university administrators were meekly negotiating with the vandals and that faculty in neon vests were protecting the trespassers. The idea that student demands should set the school’s agenda would have struck any nineteenth-century academic as surreal.

Universities now assume that students have the right (some would say the duty) to disrupt the system; they bow before students’ every whim. The pro-Hamas protests have unleashed a wave of 1960s nostalgia. They remind Serge Schmemann, a member of the New York Times editorial board, of those “stormy, fateful and thrilling days” of 1968, when Columbia students took control of campus buildings and held an administrator hostage for 26 hours. A front-page Times article on campus activism claimed that college protesters bring “fresh thinking . . . to the world’s most difficult questions.”

Actually, the pro-Hamas encampments have little to do with “thinking,” fresh or otherwise. Like the spread of trans identity among young females, the tent eruptions are a case of social contagion. No change in Israel’s tactics in the Gaza Strip over the last two months explains the ubiquity of encampments now. Rather, they are copy-cat behavior, like the early 1960s hula-hoop craze among teenyboppers—accelerated by the fact, so galling for the participants, that they are about to lose their sympathetic administrative foils come summer vacation.

Schmemann enthuses that disruptive student protests are an “extension of education by other means.” If so, that education now means refusing to engage with contrary viewpoints. At the April 29 protest at Columbia, a masked marcher was wearing a “Fags for Falestine” (not a typo) t-shirt. Asked how far he thought he would get organizing a gay-pride demonstration in Gaza, he stormed off and declined to answer. Every other question posed to the zombie file, such as whether a black protester knew anything about the long history of Arabs enslaving black Africans—a practice ended only by Britain’s naval vigilance—or was aware of current racial views among Arabs, was met with a similar stony silence.

Two days before the march, Iraq passed a law imposing up to 15 years’ imprisonment for gay sex. One of the chants whined out by Columbia’s female chant-callers was:

Hands off Iran, hands of Iraq and the Middle East; We want justice, we want peace.

The protesters’ demands for LGBTQ justice extend only to docile Western powers. They give their Middle Eastern idols’ overt homophobia a free pass—if they even know about it.

Theater requires the willing suspension of disbelief. But to take seriously the narcissistic melodramas played out on campus quads today requires active commitment to untruth—the untruth that the students know enough about the world to deserve attention from adults; the untruth that they are engaged in heroic behavior, when their brightly colored tents resemble nothing so much as childhood forts, well provisioned with cookies and comic books; the untruth that the trespassers and vandals possess any bargaining leverage independent of what the university voluntarily confers on them; the untruth that an American college could have any effect on Middle East politics. These mediagenic morality plays are well-rehearsed; they spring from hundreds of such theatrical interactions over the last several decades between self-involved students proclaiming various forms of victimhood and co-dependent student-services bureaucrats who need performative conflict to justify their jobs.

But while the “uprisings” will have no effect on the Middle East, administrators’ prolonged paralysis in dealing with them, only now cracking up here and there, will confirm their participants’ self-importance—what Schmemann calls the “frightening and beautiful . . . faith that mere students could do something about what’s wrong with the world.” Graduates will take this self-importance with them into what used to be called the real world, now being remade in the image of intersectional theory, with the same teary, excitable females leading the way.

--

This is indicative of the female shift to the far-left, as well as the ideological infiltration of the Humanities. The mere presence of corrupt domains such as "Palestine Studies" proves this.

We're looking at live-action Gender Studies in real time.

[alexiessan]

Senses - Chapter Three - Soulmate AU

AO3

Previous - Here - Next

Master List

Damian was sitting in front of the computer in the Batcave, his hand on the mouse, the pointer hovering on a file with his soulmate’s name. He was hesitating and it annoyed him. He never hesitated, so why now?

After his family met Marinette when she had briefly taken over his body at dinner three days ago, Tim has made his research on the girl, and it was very easy to find everything he needed. His father and his brothers all knew everything there was to know about Marinette Dupain-Cheng, but Damian had yet to open the file.

It wasn’t the first time that they did research on someone like that. It was even a common occurrence, they couldn’t afford to trust people easily, and a background check was the bare minimum they did when a Wayne met someone they would have to interact with more than once. So, of course, they would do the same for Marinette, since she would be a permanent addition to Damian’s life, and that she would one day come to know their secret.

And yet, as Damian looked at the screen, he was hesitating. For three days now, he had sit at the computer, looked at the unopened file for long minutes before leaving the room, unable to open it. There was something in him that screamed at him to not open the file. That he should get to know the girl without checking every aspect of her life.

It also screamed at him that Marinette was respectful of his boundaries, letting him decide if he wanted to share things about him with her and never asking for his last name when he didn’t give her one.

His gut feeling told him that he shouldn’t open this file. Plus, if something were wrong with the girl, if she was dangerous for them or anything, his family would have found it and would have told him right away, not caring about his opinion on the matter.

Damian left the room and the file stayed unopened on the computer screen.

When he left the room, however, he didn’t find himself in the corridor as he should have, but in a very pink room. Marinette was sitting at her desk, scribbling something in a notebook.

Even if he couldn’t see what she was doing, deep inside, he knew exactly what she was doing.

“So, you’re into fashion,” he asked, his voice breaking the silence in her room.

He watched as she stiffened, not jumping at his voice this time. She turned around to face him, frowning.

“How do you know that?”

He shrugged, not really sure how he knew himself. “The bond, probably. I know it because you do?”

Her blue eyes met his green ones and she seemed to analyze him for long minutes before she tilted her head and said, “You like drawing, don’t you?”

He stiffened before forcing himself to relax. So it was really the bond that made them know stuff like that. He nodded and she kept watching him. She turned around abruptly, picking her pen up, and started drawing again, not asking him questions.

On one hand, it was a good thing. He didn’t want her asking questions. On another hand, he didn’t like how good she was at reading him.

“A friend’s birthday is coming up so I’m going to make her a dress. She likes pink and cute things so I’m trying to make it super cute.”

He nodded, not really listening. He didn’t care about her friends. He looked around, wincing at all the pink before his eyes stopped on her bed. There were a lot of animal plushies on it. A big cat, a dog, a hamster…

“You like animals,” he asked, his eyes not leaving the plushies. That’s something they could have in common.

He glanced her way when he felt her eyes on him and she had a fond look and a soft smile on her face.

“Yeah, I do. I always wished we could have a pet, but with the bakery, it’s not possible. I wanted a hamster for the longest time because it wouldn’t leave hair everywhere as a cat or a dog would, but even that was a big nope,” she sighed. “You like animals too, right? You seemed to love Titus very much.”

He nodded. “I also have a cat and a cow,” he shared with her. That was the only thing he was willing to share at the moment, he didn’t trust her with anything else.

“That’s nice,” she said softly.

But then, he wasn’t in her room anymore but in his, aware that he had made his way back to his room when the other part of him was with Marinette.

Alfred the cat was napping on his bed next to him and Damian sighed as he petted him softly, careful not to wake him up.

“I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t open that file…” he whispered to himself.

Just this once, Damian decided it would be better to learn to know Marinette the normal way.

Who knows how long it would take for her to gain his trust, or for him to gain hers — even if she shared things about herself with him, it was obvious that her trust was not easily gained. Something told him that it wasn’t always like that though — but he would do it the normal way.

Ladybug cursed at the sight in front of her. Paris was completely destroyed. Buildings had collapsed on themselves, people were screaming in the street, and Chat Noir was panting beside her, just as exhausted as she was.

An Akuma had appeared a little bit less than an hour ago and had done so much damage already. She didn’t care about their name and she didn’t think that this particular Akuma even gave them one in the first place, she only cared about how they were going to defeat him.

The Akuma could create shock waves, small ones, and big ones, which explained the collapsed buildings. Whenever they approached the Akuma, they would create a small one that would throw them away from her, and damn did it hurt.

She had hurt her head pretty badly earlier, and she was sure that she had a concussion if the way her vision blurred and how she struggled to speak full sentences were any indicators.

And then, to make things worse, Damian had to appear beside her right in the middle of an Akuma attack.

“What the hell…” was his reaction when he saw the amount of destruction in the French capital.

He then looked at her, his eyes widening. Yeah, she knew that she looked like hell, and like she was about to collapse any second now, thank you very much.

“You’re a hero,” he said in a serious voice.

Not really what she was expecting him to say, but then again, he was seeing her as Ladybug and not Marinette, so fair enough.

So much for secret identities.

“Now is not the time for that,” she said or tried to at least as her words came out in yogurt.

“What did you say,” asked Chat beside her but she paid him no mind.

Damian was in front of her in an instant, his hand cupping her face, inspecting the left side of her head where the blood was coming from. It was the first time they touched, she thought, and she could actually feel him, feel his warmth and it was weird but right at the same time and… And she couldn’t think straight with her head pounding like that.

The green-eyed boy cursed. “You got a concussion. A pretty bad one. Your partner needs to end this as soon as possible.”

Ladybug shook her head, making Damian release her face. “I can’t. I have to help him. I need to call my luck charm,” she said, but the look on her soulmate’s face told her that her words were yogurt once again.

She turned away from him and towards her partner who was looking at her, waiting for her to form a plan, to go back into the action, to just do something, but Ladybug didn’t know what to do anymore, she just wanted to lie down and sleep, and her head was killing her and-

And before her thoughts could spiral more, she called her lucky charm.

She honestly couldn’t remember what her lucky charm was, what her plan was nor what they did, but the Akuma was dealt with, the white butterfly released, and the Miraculous cure cast.

And Damian was still there, staring at her, his left eyebrow raised as if he was judging her.

“Are you going to talk?”

Ladybug sighed. It’s not like she had much of a choice now, did she?

Damian found himself on the Bat computer once again, researching Hawkmoth and the Akumas. Marinette had told him about the day the terrorist appeared, taking control of one of her classmates to wreak havoc in the city. How she had found her Miraculous and was basically told to go save the city. Her, a thirteen-year-old at the time, without any training or adult supervising her.

Who could be so stupid to throw a teenager in such a mess like that?

Yeah, Damian was younger than she was when he became Robin, but he’s been raised in the League of Assassins since his birth, he knew what he was doing, unlike Marinette who was acting on instinct.

Tim appeared behind him, his footsteps were silent.

“So you found out about her being Ladybug?”

Damian glared at him. “You knew?”

Tim raised an eyebrow at his younger brother. “You didn’t?”

Damian scowled and turned his attention back to the screen. “I didn’t open your file. I found out because I visited in the middle of an attack and she was in her hero persona.”

Drake was silent for a moment before he asked, a bit hesitant. “Why didn’t you open the file?”

“I just didn’t!” he snapped.

The oldest of the two raised both his hands as if surrendering. “Fine, fine! Is the situation there as bad as it’s shown in the French media?”

Damian nodded. “The city was completely destroyed when I was there. The Akumas are very violent and it’s only to Ladybug’s cure that it doesn’t stay like it or that they’re all still alive.”

“Nothing we can do, though,” said Tim, “the guy took control of a fucking baby more than once. Just a little bit of negative emotion is enough to be at his mercy. Better not get there.”

Damian had to agree with his statement.

It was supposed to be a good day, Marinette thought with a frown. She had woke up on time and got in class with five minutes to spare. Ms. Bustier wasn’t even here yet! She had told Damian everything about her situation two weeks ago already, and she was relieved that such a big secret was revealed already. That meant that she could be a little bit more open with him.

And she had been, in the last two weeks, they had seen a little bit more of each other. He opened up a little, but he really didn’t trust her enough to give her more than a little bit of information about what he liked or didn’t like here and there.

It was okay, she didn’t trust him 100% yet either. They would get there when they would.

Damian was cold and rude but she could tell that he was a good person. He was brutally honest, but she kinda liked that.

Getting to know her soulmate helped her move on from Adrien. She didn’t blush anymore around him, and her heart didn’t miss a beat or sped up anymore when he was around.

That was such a relief, to her, and to her friends, who were happy to see her moving on.

It didn’t mean that she was falling in love with Damian, though. She couldn’t even call him a friend yet.

But even if things were looking good and that it was supposed to be a good day, the sight in front of her told her that it would be anything but a good day.

Marinette frowned as she looked around. Everyone had changed their seats, the only one open was next to Adrien. She frowned even more at that. She was moving on from the model, she hoped that it wasn’t Alya deciding all of the sudden to pair them or something.

Speaking of, Alya waved at her in an attempt to get her attention.

“Hey, girl! Sorry, we moved the seats! Lila is coming back today, you see, and with her ear problem we thought she should get a seat in the front row, so we all moved to accommodate her,” she smiled at Marinette before pointing to the desk on the last row. “You’re over there by the way.”

Marinette looked at the back of the classroom to see the empty desk. They had put her alone in the back without even asking her.

“Alya,” she started, her hesitation obvious in her voice. “It’s not that I mind accommodating for Lila,” she did, because Lila was a liar, she probably didn’t have a hearing problem, but she was willing to give the girl a chance. “But why did we have to move everyone? Only one person needed to move,” she said in a small voice.

She noticed that Damian has appeared beside her, scowling at her friend.

“Well, Adrien volunteered to help Lila so Nino had to move but I didn’t want him to be alone. And then, Mylène wanted to sit with Ivan, and you know how it is, when more than two persons move seats, everyone wants to move too.”

Marinette bit at her lips. “But…”

But what about me? She wanted to ask, but wasn’t it selfish, to ask that? They all moved seats for selfless reasons, to accommodate a disabled classmate and they didn’t know that Lila was probably lying about that.

She didn’t have the time to say anything else as Ms. Bustier entered the room with Lila.

“Everyone, please, give Lila a warm welcome!”

Everyone talked at the same time, making it hard to understand anything, but Lila beamed at her classmates, clasping her hands together. Her voice alone made everyone shut theirs to listen to her.

“Thank you, everyone! I’m so happy to be back! My trip to Achu was amazing but so tiring! Helping Prince Ali to come up with ideas to fight world pollution was exhausting!”

Rose squealed somewhere in the class but she could only focus on Damian who scoffed. “The guy only works with children.”

“Tell me about it,” she whispered to him. Thankfully, no one heard her. Everyone knew about her soulmate and wouldn’t question her when she talked to herself, but she didn’t want Lila to know about this particular information.

“Oh!” Lila’s cheerful voice caught their attention again. “Did you leave the front seat open for me?” Everyone nodded and Lila smiled again, delighted. “Oh, guys! I’m so glad you remembered that I got tinnitus from saving Jagged’s cat from getting run over by a plane! Thank you so much!” She exclaimed as she took her seat next to Adrien and got closer to him until only a few inches separated them.

Damian let out a humorless laugh next to her, “As if. If that happened, she wouldn’t get tinnitus from it, she would be deaf. Engineers wear ear protection for a reason, imbecile.”

Marinette almost smiled at Damian’s comment but she was feeling a bit too bitter to let herself smile.

“Marinette,” Ms. Bustier’s voice resonated in the room. “Get in your seat so I can start the lesson!”

Reluctantly, Marinette did as she was told, and Damian followed, not wanting to just stand in the middle of the classroom, even though no one could see him.

“What, are you just going to let them order you around like that?”

Marinette just shrugged. She didn’t want to make a fuss about it. She would talk to Alya later about them forcing her to the back without asking her first. She knew that Alya only had the best intentions when she did it, so she wasn’t really mad about it, but she was a bit bitter with how easily she’s been disregarded, and she didn’t want to leave that unsaid. Alya would understand where she’s coming from.

Damian raised an eyebrow at her, watching her as she took her things out of her bad. Bustier was still getting ready to start the class and her classmates were whispering to each other waiting for the teacher to begin the lesson.

“So, what, you’ll let that slide?” he taunted. In the last few weeks, he had learned to know that she hated liars — he had laughed at the irony, what with her being Ladybug — and injustice.

The blue-eyed girl looked at him. “I’ll talk to Alya later. It’s not like I can just yell that she’s a liar.”

Damian’s eyes narrowed at her and suddenly it felt like she was forced out of her body. She was where Damian was supposed to be and Damian was in her place.

“Did you-” she sputtered indignantly, “did you just take over my body?!”

Damian looked at his hand — her hand — in wonder. “Huh. So I can do that on purpose,” he whispered. “Good to know.”

He then looked at the front of the class, where Lila was discussing happily with Alya, Nino, and Adrien — and why was Bustier taking so long to begin teaching, damn it?! — and he smirked.

Marinette shuddered at the sight.

He was going to get her in so much trouble, wasn’t he?

His voice — her voice — resonated in the class, getting everyone’s attention.

“You know that if you really were that close to a moving plane, you would have gone deaf, right?” he said in perfect French, his gaze locked with Lila’s.

Marinette gripped his arm — her arm, damn it, even if he was in her body, she saw him and not herself, and how weird was that? — and shook it a little, panicking.

“Stop. Please, stop!” She begged him.

She could see some of her friends scowling faces and, Gods, she hated that it was meant for her.

“What- What are you talking about, Marinette? I mean, I get where you’re coming from. I was lucky that I only got tinnitus from that incident.”

Damian scoffed in her body. Some of her classmates were confused, and she couldn’t blame them, it was so out of character of her.

“Bullshit,” he said and some gasps could be heard.

“Marinette!” the teacher exclaimed as Lila’s eyes were gathering tears. Clearly fake, Marinette and Damian could tell. “Apologize to Lila immediately.”

Damian was about to say something else, Marinette didn’t know what, but it wouldn’t be good for her, so she tried to control the bond, however it could be done, she just wanted her body back.

And she got it back, she realized.

Thanks, God.

“I’m sorry,” she said as soon as she got her body back, averting her eyes from the rest of her classmates.

She glanced at Damian, who was pursing his lips and frowning and he looked back at her, ready to say something.

But then he was gone.

She didn’t want to be mean or anything, but she was relieved that he was gone for the moment. He got her in enough trouble as it is.

Lila made a big scene of forgiving her and Ms. Bustier finally began her lesson.

She saw Alya giving her a look that told her they would talk later.

Marinette sighed. It was going to be a long day.

Next

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[ejm513]

9-11; MY STORY AS A CHILD WHO GREW UP CLOSE TO NEW YORK

I know it’s now 9-12 but I was working all day on the 11th and this just took me a long time to write...and I know this is now what I normally write, but I need to say what I need to say. 

When I’ve had a moment to look through Facebook all I’ve seen is people expressing how they remember where they were that day, where they were the moment they found out a plane had hit the North Tower of the World Trade Center and how they felt. 

I am no different I suppose-expect my story is I have no story. I was six years old on that beautiful sunny day. I was in the first weeks on Kindergarten. My school was either let out early or I was picked up early, either way my brother (who was one at the time) and I were brought home under the guise of the president giving us the day off because we were being good. It was just my dad, my brother and I until the evening because my mom’s place of employment wouldn’t let her leave early (just let that sink in for a second).

I only know this because I was told this about five years later, when my mom sat me down with a magazine that had the face of Osama Bin Ladin on it. I still remember that picture and the chills it gave me. I was lucky. I was sheltered. And yet despite that the horror of the day still haunts not just my life but all of our lives twenty years later. I was in Learning Center with twins who lost their father that day, and I’m sure they were far from the only kids I shared the halls with who lost someone. I spent what must amount to hours in lines waiting to get through airport security, holding my breath as I was being patted down almost every single time (a consequence of being short my pants bunch at my. ankles) and as they searched through my bag at least once (all I have was medication for a sinus infection). I know that’s more than what people of color and especially Middle Eastern people have had to endure, but it’s still unnerving having someone put their fingers in your hair because you chose to wear it up. 

My country has been at war for the majority of my life and I have had the privilege of being blissfully unaware despite having family in the military…. I don’t know how to feel about that fact.

My friends in college probably know this, but I live  in a town in Connecticut that is 30 miles from New York City-in fact my town in more or less a suburb of Manhattan. Whenever someone says they’re going to the city we all know they’re talking about New York. I’ve gone there at least once a year since I was six years old-the first time being three months after the attack to see The Nutcracker. 

I’ve actually see The World Trade Center, both in its ruins and as it was being built again. 

I was ten years old when I first went down there on a bus tour with my grandmother. We were doing touristy things that had included climbing to that top of the Empire State Building and in that moment we were bus a tour. The bus took us to a ditch/crater that was surrounded by a blue fence. People were walking around in there, what they were doing I’ll never know and I don’t think I want to know. I remember the tour guide saying “World Trade Center” and “Terrorist Attack” but those words meant nothing to me. I said nothing. All I could think was “Why are they taking us to a ditch?” 

Flash forward six years later and I am all too aware of what had happened almost ten years before. I was down there again, this time standing in the middle of a world being rebuilt. I stared up a creation that was attempting to reach to the sky in defiance of the horror of that day. Beside me was the same blue fencing, where a memorial was being built in the ruins of two giants. 

I remember the silence.

  Despite being in the middle of Down Town Manhattan and a construction site (though no one was working at that moment) there was something eerily quiet about the place, as if the world seemed to pause and stop the moment you entered it. 

The kid I was with had made comments about body parts being scattered there in an attempt to scare me. I snapped at him that it wasn’t funny-and it wasn’t funny because he was right. 

People may ask why we will keep bringing up this day, after all it was more than a life time ago. I do understand people use this day as an excuse to air their ugly hatred against Muslims who do nothing but live their lives as we do. I understand people use this day to dig into their fanatical patriotism which was someone who does consider herself a proud American I can’t stand. 

I understand… but I also say this to those who ask why; This day is for the people who woke up on that morning, hugged and kissed their loved ones goodbye and expected to return home after a mundane if beautiful day-whether it was in New York or in Washington D.C and never made it home. Some families never had a body to lay to rest.  

This day is for the firefighters and police officers who ran to the terror and horror while others ran away (not that I judge or blame them for a single moment). They are braver than I will ever be.They risked their lives and gave the ultimate sacrifice to save as many people as they could. Whole squads and companies were lost.  Not only that, this day is for those that survived and staid to dig through the rubble at the expense of their physical and mental health.

 This day is for the people on those ill-fated flights, who had boarded expecting to safely reach their destination. 

This day is for the people on Flight 93, who once again are braver than I will ever be. They decided to quiet literally look terror in the eye and fight back. These souls saved our country from what would have been a fourth attack on either the White House or the Capital Building, and lost their lives in the middle of an emerald field Pennsylvania. 

This day is for the innocent lives that were lost, and the brave souls who tried to save others and fight back. This day is to remember them and the fact they lost their lives in such a violent and senseless way. As a matter of fact did you know survivors are still suffering to this day? The first responders who lived to tell their harrowing tale are riddled with cancer or disabled.

That is why we remember and we must, and cannot ever forget that day. 

But alas it seems the country has forgotten. It seems to have forgotten how we railed together to rebuild what we lost and to support each other. Imagine what it would be like if we continued to lift each other up and support each other as we did in the days after. 

Like I said… I guess despite of never vowing to forget a lot of the country did. 

I leave you with this one last tid bit. 

After that day my mom made it a point to always say goodbye and I love you whenever one of us leaves or parts. She makes it a point to never go to bed angry and to always say goodnight and I love you.

 It all started after that day.

 Hug the ones you love. Let them know you love and if you are parting even for what seems a normal day always say goodbye and I love you. You never know what will happen. 

May the 3,000 souls who lost their lives continue to rest at peace with our Father above. May they and our Lord continue to watch over the ones who were left behind and the ones who survived. 

May they Never. Ever. be forgotten.

[alfredosauce50]

What makes me human [Cyberpunk! America x reader] 11

Wordcount: 5,150 Rating: M for strong language, ideologically sensitive and mature themes, gore “In a society that normalizes cybernetic enhancements, many forget what it is to be human. He never did.” Chapter synopsis: Allen and Arthur race to find you both, but it proves to be harder without knowing your whereabouts. Meanwhile, you've successfully helped Alfred find the chip. Before leaving, you have a long-awaited conversation with your father to realize he's more insane than you thought. The reader is referred to as she/her.

Songs to listen to while you read (in order as found in playlist): Cyberninja,  Trouble finds trouble, Tower Lockdown, Me!Me!Me!, Pt. 2, Him & I (with Halsey), Atlantis. I have indented song titles throughout the chapter so you can change accordingly. Starting now:

Cyberninja

Before Arthur could even buckle himself in, Allen rammed his foot into the gas pedal. He was thrown back in a violent manner, and hit his head against the headrest. But the mechanic never complained. He looked stressed enough as is, continually scanning the road while murmuring to himself as if he’d really gone mad. “Hell, that motherfucker could be anywhere in the whole fucking city right now.” He hissed, pulling out of the driveway and into the main road.

“We can’t call him. Track him. Nothing. Same goes for (F/N). They’re off the map.” Turning to his companion numerous times in distress, he sped through the streets, though he had no particular destination in mind.

The indicator clicked. Allen cursed at the car in front of them, but never made a move to overtake. As Arthur became overwhelmed by these stimulants, he opened his mouth, defeated. “If you’re in such a hurry, why--why bother following traffic rules? You never have before, so why now?” He asked with a shake of the head, earning a loud scoff from the other.

The car windows glowed with a flurry of pinks and purples as they moved closer to the commercial district. They were near their first stop.

“Trust me, I wouldn’t give a damn if I didn’t have to.” The whites of his eyes reflected a mosaic of color as he never looked away from the road. “But that was when I was working for my boss. I had protection. I could do a hit and run if I wanted, and without the running part.” The redhead breathed. Then, he stuck his head out of the window with a huff. Immediately, he was choked by the city smog, and deafened by the blaring of car horns.

“Friggen’ prick...” He flipped off the driver in front of him. Sitting back into his seat, he flashed Arthur a grin, though the man couldn’t return the energy.

“Did you get fired? Or did you quit?” This wasn’t the best time to ask about the past, but he had been dying to know why he wound up half-dead on his doorstep. So what better a time to do it than now?

“I quit.” Allen answered point-blank. “Old man didn’t take it well. Decided to kill me. Didn’t.” Slowing the vehicle, they arrived at a parking-lot surrounded by backdoors of multiple piss-poor establishments. One of which was illuminated by a flickering red neon sign that read ‘no-tell motel’.

“He thinks I’m dead, so the rest of the city has to think that too.”

Arthur gawked at him. “That makes you no better than a fugitive! And it’s not just anybody after you--Allen, he’ll kill you when he finds out you’re still alive!”

“And that’s why he won’t find out.” Tapping the side of his neck for a flap to open, the said man slotted a small disk inside. “Disables cybernetic upgrades in a twenty foot radius. Means I can’t use mine, but it stops other people from figuring out who I am.” He dug through one of the compartments for a muffler, which he wrapped around the bottom half of his face.

What he did next was alarming, however. Sticking his hand further in, he pulled out a gun and cocked it.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! What the hell are you doing--!?” Arthur exclaimed, fumbling with a face mask Allen tossed his way. He didn’t see a silencer anywhere either. “If I can call the police without any upgrades, so can everyone else!”

His statement couldn’t ring any truer, and yet, it never slowed down the other’s movements as he climbed out of the car. Unsatisfied by his silence, he wound up getting out to follow him. “Oi, say something! At least let me know you’re not gonna shoot up a restaurant!” Whispering that part out, he had to speed up a few steps to catch up with the man, now marching to the backdoor of a motel.

“Put the mask on.” Allen murmured without sparing him a single glance. But he paused briefly to process what he said. “... A motel, you mean. But I’m hoping we won’t have to resort to that.”

Arthur’s eyes went round. “You were considering--”

He could share the desperation to save Alfred’s life, but he had a hard time following how. Shooting up a motel? What was he thinking?

“Yes.” Attaching his hand to the door, it creaked open. Before Allen took another step, he faced him with a serious glower. “Now when we get inside, I want you to walk up to the receptionist. He’s programmed to greet you. Ask him for a room, and while you do, I’ll approach him from behind and deactivate him. Kapeesh?”

But then again, he was in the dark here. Arthur hadn’t the slightest clue on what Alfred’s circumstances were, as mysterious as the man was, so he had no idea how he was on the verge of dying.

So naturally, he wouldn’t know how to save him either.

But he trusted Allen to know what to do.

“... Alright. You better not make me regret this, you tyke.” 

“You can call me anything you want, just not that. I’m not a kid anymore.” Those words would become apparent as they walked inside, where their plan went by without a hitch. They heard the automated voice of superficial kindness, which stopped abruptly to the sound of an android powering off. Its body fell to the ground to reveal Allen standing behind. Without wasting a second, he leaned over and typed furiously on the keyboard of the computer.

Trouble finds trouble

“Lemme see if this has a log of everybody who came by...” A few moments later, he started nodding at what he saw. “Bingo...” On their private encrypted server, stored the history of all the guests who booked a night. “Well, what do you know... Alfred checked out two days ago. But he’s on the move.” Pulling away to stand up straight, he jogged over to the exit.

“Even if someone tried to look for him in one a’ these places, he’d have to get behind the reception and do exactly what I did.” This someone referred to Matsumoto, but death already followed Alfred wherever he went. Not that Alfred knew that. “The perks of a no-tell motel. Even if they reek of piss, so long as there’s crime, they’ll never go out of business.” He beckoned Arthur to follow him with a tilt of the head. 

“One down, twenty-seven more to go. And that’s only in the direction he’s going... And under the assumption he’s only staying at these motels. So, uh, let’s hope he didn’t try to be too unpredictable.” 

The Brit huffed. This wasn’t going to be easy. 

“I think he’d be predictable to do that if you asked me.” He murmured. “But you call the shots. I’ll just be... Moral support.” 

Allen already disappeared out the door, but his head poked into the doorframe at that. “Nah. You have the most important job outta’ the both of us.” 

That was right. He didn’t tell him yet. He really should’ve a while ago, but he got caught up in the chase. 

“Whether you remove a chip from his head or not will determine if he lives or not.” 

Arthur paled. 

“He’s the guy my boss wanted me to kill. Remember the dude I told you about? The one who tried to steal a prototype chip three years ago?” Now that he mentioned it, he recalled the conversation a few weeks ago. But wait a minute. 

The mechanic felt his face scrunch up as he was hit with a major epiphany. That was Alfred? The terrorist Allen had been updating him about? He was the man who tore up three floors of the headquarters of Matsumoto Optics, and simultaneously, the same customer he had been serving for the last few years.

Before he could even process his shock, he was presented with even more appalling information. 

“He stole it this time. That’s what he and (F/N) disappeared to do. But now that it’s in his head, it’ll overwrite his consciousness until he’s a fucking vegetable.” 

Arthur was horrified. “Then why would he even--” 

“Because he doesn’t know.” Allen cut in with a grim expression. “He thought the chip was supposed to give him immortality, so he wanted to keep it from falling into the wrong hands. Like my boss. But no. It’s the opposite. It was all a ploy to kill him.” At this point, the blonde was at loss for words. As a doctor and mechanic, he was quite frankly terrified of how devilishly clever Matsumoto was. But he couldn’t expect any less from him, could he?

They made it back to the car, and he could only stare aimlessly out the windshield, paralyzed. 

“That’s why we need you.” He heard him say. Turning to the man, albeit slowly, he felt a hand slap down on his shoulder. Allen gave him a lopsided grin. “You’re the smartest guy I know, second to my boss. You were always great at fixing stuff. Cars, enhancements, people--so what’s a mixture of all three?”

Arthur dug a hand through his hair stressfully. “... You’re kidding.” And yet, he already knew he was on board. “... Are you calling him a car?” 

The other flattened his lips. “... He technically could be.” 

“Just to be clear, I fucking hate you.” 

Allen laughed. “Sure.”

“But otherwise, we’re wasting time.” He couldn’t believe the words falling from his lips. This was really happening, wasn’t it? After taking him in as an apprentice for his auto shop, the roles were finally reversed. He no longer took charge as the teacher. Or rather, he became the student caught up in the most difficult assignment yet. Having a taste of Allen’s work. 

“That’s what I’m talking about!” 

***

Tower Lockdown

You had all the reasons in the world to be anxious coming home. 

On top of worrying over Alfred, who had hundreds of trained assassins coming at him all at once, during every minute of the heist, you had to face an aspect of reality you avoided until now. You were in the building, and he had already stolen the chip. It was slotted comfortably in his head, ready to leave the premises.

 How come your father never appeared? Was he really just going to let you go just like that?

But the real question was this--should you stay or leave? 

Yes, you hardly approved of anything he’d done. Done to the world like Alfred always mentioned, and to Alfred himself. But you weren’t prepared to abandon him yet. He was still your father, and the only family you had. If you had to make a decision, you needed some closure. If not, a discussion. 

And you expected him to give it to you as the least he could do. 

As Alfred stood among a pile of dead bodies bathing in red, his mantis blades trembled against a katana blade. Even with his hands full, he made the time to check on you. “(F/N)! Stay away from walls! Just hang on for a second longer!” He shouted, turning to you briefly before diverting his attention back to his opponent. “We’re nearly home free!” 

Pulling away to give him a swift jab in the chest, blood sprayed onto his face, but he wasn’t fazed.

What did, however, was the sight of you being thrown over the shoulder of one of the bodyguards. Color drained from his face and he burst into a sprint. 

“(F/N)! No!” Watching you disappear into an elevator, he slammed right into the closing metal doors. “Fuck!” He slammed his fist against them to hear a loud bang. Before he could linger too long, he hastily made his way to a door adjacent. The emergency stairs would take a hell lot longer, but as if he’d wait for the elevator to come back down. 

Even if he needed to climb up a hundred flights to get to you, he would--all the way to the penthouse where Matsumoto was. 

When those men approached you, there was no struggle on your end. You knew where they were going to take you. And you wanted them to. It could even be said you were relieved, because that meant your father was thinking of you. After a minute or so, the soft whirring fell silent, followed by a soft ‘ding’. 

They moved outside the elevator, and after a few steps, they set you down on your feet. Right in the middle of your father’s office. At the very end behind a desk sat the man himself, and he was eyeing you with an unreadable expression. Upon returning his stare, came an onslaught of emotions. But the most prominent was incapacitating anxiety.

Even as his daughter, you could never see through him. He was impossible to read. So you had no idea what to expect. 

“Dad... We need to talk.” You began, walking up to him warily. This was what you wished for at the start, cried for, even. To return home. And yet, the nervous pounding in your chest seemed to worsen with every step you took. It was jarring to confront how much had changed since then. So while you barely managed any words, you were already overwhelmed, struggling to choke back tears. 

“For once, I need to know what you’re thinking.” 

He inhaled deeply before responding. “I was under the same impression that we’d have this conversation.” Standing up from his chair, he furrowed his brows at the sight of you clenching the fabric of your pants. “Don’t look so nervous, child. You haven’t done anything to anger or disappoint me.” Reaching out to your head, he settled a hand on it. 

“... Really?” You whispered out. Hearing his assurances calmed you down a touch. But when you saw the forlorn gaze he cast down at you, your heart was crushed. “... Dad?”

Me!Me!Me!, Pt.2

Any existing contempt for him melted away just like that, but you weren’t upset at yourself for it. Your father hardly expressed any emotion besides calm indifference. And when he did, it always felt like the world was ending. 

“I’m the one who deserves your anger.” He clarified, lowering his hands to your shoulders. “I’ve left you by yourself for far too long, (F/N). I hope you don’t hold it against me that you had to come home yourself.” You hung your head, unable to meet his saddened gray eyes. If you were to hold a grudge at him for it, you’d start by avoiding his gaze. “And I understand why you would’ve wanted to help him. He has a way with words, and a naïve sense of justice. But it’s a warped perception of reality.”  

You’d hate to admit it, but no matter how cruel he seemed to be, there was a method to his madness. 

And you were perhaps the only person in the world to know it. 

That was why you were so torn. Torn between hating him and understanding him. After all, you couldn’t have both. “You can’t blame him after what you did to him.” Glancing up at that, you felt bile rise in your throat. Then, your vision blurred. “I don’t know what you’re aiming for--for this company, and this world. But you can’t expect him to accept this world you created when you stole him from his. He had a life!” 

Staring at him through hot tears, he breathed out a soft sigh before rubbing them away with a swipe of the thumb. “I’m not asking for your forgiveness. And I won’t expect you to forgive me even after telling you the reasons for my actions.”  

He pulled away from you to begin walking back to his desk, but not to sit down. Instead, he stood by the window to watch the blinking lights of skyscrapers and small moving dots of cars on the streets. “In a society that normalizes cybernetic enhancements, many forget what it is to be human. He never did. So of course, he would reject the idea of immortality. The destruction of the most human quality there is.” 

He paused briefly to scan the landscape.

“Mortality. One’s inevitable end gives everything they do meaning.” 

Wrinkles creased between your brows. It was confusing to hear him speak so highly of death, frustrating, even. Wasn’t he the one investing billions into correcting it like a flaw? “If that’s what you really think, then why? Why would you make something that would take that all away?” 

He held his hands behind his back. “To serve the greater good. A sacrifice, if you will.” The man turned to you, this time with a serious glower. “Alfred thinks I would commercialize it. Sell it to the public. But he’s wrong. Immortality will only be available to the leaders of the world.”

By leaders, you could only assume he meant people like him. Not politicians, but business men and women. Company owners. The most powerful forces of the present. “The inability to die is a curse. You never move on because you’re still breathing. But that may be just what the world needs. Stagnation. An absence of change.” 

It was daunting to know this man was your father. You couldn’t say you were born with half as many of these attributes he had. Intelligence was easily passed down, but there was something else written in his genes you could never dream of having. “With every passing year, decade, and century, humanity frays like a rope. Society continues to deteriorate... All until self-destruction becomes a matter of time.” Facing the window again, he scanned the impressive architecture he was proud to call his own. And it looked as pristine as it did yesterday. 

“The only way to stop this was to take control of it myself. And that’s how I came to found this company. I’ve found a way to govern the people. To invest in science as the world’s last and only hope. But it’s a job that will last eons, so I was prepared to do it until the end of time.” 

He was right in saying that society was inevitably doomed with the direction it was heading. That technology was the only solution, along with a world government. Matsumoto Optics. A cosmocracy with jurisdiction over the whole planet. There would be no wars. No conflict. And with only one state to call the shots, things could be done so much faster on a global scale. 

It was a radical concept to grasp, but you couldn’t say there was no logic to it. “Alfred was meant to do it with me. To reincarnate again and again as my closest aide on my quest to preserve the world. But he ended up being the opposite. My foil.” Matsumoto shook his head. “Alfred is a nostalgic soul. He’s too attached to the past. But the way of the old can never last with how fast it makes the world burn. Even if he realized that, he would want to exact revenge on me after what I’ve done to him.” 

“So before he destroys everything I’ve created, I have to destroy him first.” 

Him & I (with Halsey)

You tensed up all over, but before you could ask him what he meant by destroy, the doors burst open. The very subject of the conversation had appeared, and just in time for the conclusion of it. His arrival caught you completely off guard, successfully derailing your train of thought, but your father merely acknowledged his arrival. “Ah. Speak of the devil.” 

“Speak for yourself, you fucking demon.” He spat, marching over to your side to pull you into his chest. Immediately putting his hands all over your face, he was riddled with concern as he inspected you. “You okay? I’m sorry I couldn’t get to you in time. What are you still doing here? C’mon, let’s go.” While he reached down to your hand to lead you away, you stayed put. 

As relieved as you were to see him here, you couldn’t follow him out yet. You gave his hand a squeeze, then a soft smile of reassurance. Then, you turned to your father. 

This time, you held him in a firm stare. 

“Even if everyone thinks you’re crazy, I always knew you’d have some kind of justification for everything.” You started. Little did you know, you would take back this statement in the very near future. “But I can’t forgive you for what you did to Alfred. He never ended up doing anything you wanted him to, so giving him all those adjustments was pointless for you. But not for him. If you wanted to get rid of him, it wouldn't be easy.”

Matsumoto closed his eyes as if to agree. That was what you interpreted it as, at least. But unbeknownst to you, he was doing anything but. “I wouldn’t know what’s best for this world.” 

“But what I do know is that I won’t let you hurt him.” 

You spoke those words with a conviction so strong, Alfred’s eyes widened when he heard it. It wasn’t news you cared deeply for him, but to hear you say it to your father like that, and Matsumoto, no less, it made his mechanical heart pound more than he could fathom. You were actively disobeying him, a man you previously revolved your life around, for his sake. To say he was infatuated would be an understatement. 

You felt his grip on you tighten. 

“Say what you will, and I’ll respect your conviction. But I will come for him.” The bearded man murmured in a foreboding tone. A sinister light glinted in his dark gray irises. “And in the most unexpected way he could ever imagine. You will never want to see me again when that happens.” 

“If.” Your voice was a little strained. As much as you wanted to hate him and move on, you couldn’t. Every single fiber of your being was urging you to find a reason, any reason, to not despise the man who raised you. “If, dad. Because if you did, I really will never forgive you. I’ll hate you forever.” 

A grim expression contorted at his face. In his many decades on the planet, he’d never felt more dread. But one had to wonder if that was the right word. The regret had already arrived, because he’d already done something unforgivable. It was only a matter of time before you’d find out. “I’ve already done something to earn your unconditional hatred, child.” 

That was right. He’d killed Allen, your best friend and only other semblance of family in your life. And perhaps, the person you held the closest to your heart. “Soon, you will learn what it is. So I’ll let you leave today because you will never want to come back. I’d imagine that to be more… Convenient for you.” 

It was only your ignorance that blessed him this last moment. The last moment where you’d see him as your father with eyes unclouded by hatred. But it was short-lived. 

It didn’t take long for you to put two and two together, and in your short silence, you came to remember someone that had been gone for a while. Allen. 

Atlantis

You woke up in a cold sweat. For just one measly second as you oriented yourself, you weren’t tortured by a fury. Betrayal. Disgust. But it all came rushing back to you like the memories of that Godforsaken day you met with your father.

Sitting up with a deep frown, you felt heat build up around your face. It would be etched in your mind forever. The memory of Allen laying in the dump. Tossed out like a broken toy. Then, the stench of blood and rust as he was left for dead. 

You always knew your father was mad, but he kept on surprising you with how mad he was. Turning to the figure beside you, tears only overwhelmed your waterline to see his chest rise and fall steadily. 

He was still here. Alive and well. You could only hope the same for Allen.

It had been ten days since the heist. There hadn’t been a single sign of Matsumoto or his men, meaning Alfred really did do his research on the best places to hide. Climbing onto his form, you wound up laying on his chest. Then, you peered down at his sleeping face. 

As you got comfortable, you felt a smile creep onto your lips. If the you from a few months ago saw what you were doing, she’d be flabbergasted. Since when did you like him this much? 

Your cheeks grew a little rosy as you became self-aware of the position you were in. Full-on embarrassment hit you when he began to stir, but before you could get off of him, his eyes fluttered open. Uh oh. Now this warranted an explanation. 

For a second, he was confused, but when he saw that it was just you, he grinned lazily. “Morning, babe. Care to tell me why you’re not sleeping on your side of the bed?” 

He’d totally cornered you. And did he just call you babe? “Um... I, well... I woke up on you, so don’t get the wrong idea. I was just about to get off.” Sliding yourself off of him at that, you tried your damndest to simmer down. But he never gave you the chance. Rolling over to face you, he pulled you in around your waist much to your surprise. “Hey!” 

You never got around to pointing out that pet name, either. 

He caught you in a serious stare. “Don’t be so shy. We’re close, aren’t we?” Alfred was never one to beat around the bush. You knew that better than anyone, but that didn’t mean you were used to it. Lowering your head at that, you fixated on his chest. 

“... I guess so. That doesn’t mean I can sleep on you like that, though. And plus, it must’ve been uncomfortable.” 

“Nah. You’re light as hell.” He hummed. Sitting up with you on his lap, his statement became more apparent in how effortless he made it seem. “You’re like a few grapes, really. So don’t worry about it.” 

Why he chose to focus on that part of your argument was beyond you. Did he really not see anything wrong with what you were doing? Or maybe he did, and didn’t want to mention it. He’d been hugging you a lot lately the past week, but that wasn’t as deserving of your attention as spooning you while he slept. 

Wasn’t he pushing the envelope? It would make sense he was just trying to comfort you after your run-in with your father, and your discovery that he was the one who attempted to off your best friend. But wasn’t this a bit much? 

He wrapped his arms around your neck. There was nothing between you both, and yet, he was holding you like there was. Like you were his. 

"...” It was in his smile. It was different to how he always looked at you, as if there was finally something behind those electric blue irises. Something alive. Something hot. As you played around with the idea, you lit up like a Christmas tree and pushed his mouth away. “Don’t look at me like that.” 

Almost as if he read your mind, he relented. But only reluctantly. Picking you up from under your arms, he set you onto the mattress so he could get out of bed. Looking back at you over his shoulder, he gave your cheek an affectionate pinch. “Whatever you say. I’ll be back after a piss.” 

When he left the room, you were left to your own devices. As you brought your knees to your chest, you came to realize how tight it was. He’d only left for a few seconds, and you were already waiting for him to return. It was ridiculous to think about, but it was almost as if you missed him. Already.

Did spending all this time with him give you some kind of separation anxiety? 

Or was it something more? 

You couldn’t tell. 

The fact that he mentioned ‘I’ll be back’ suggested he was aware of your attachment to him. You buried your face into your knees. 

Turns out, you weren’t the only one having a hard time processing your feelings. 

When he disappeared into the bathroom, he pressed his back against the wall. Reaching up to his chest, he scrunched up a part of his shirt as the pounding in his heart subsided--his metaphorical one. Alfred didn’t think it was weird to find you on top of him like that, let alone dislike it. In fact, he loved it. It gave him a shred of hope that maybe, you did like him the way he liked you. 

But that didn’t change the fact that he couldn’t be with you. 

This was the fifth motel he’d been to after the heist. There was no saying he’d be dead by the end of the day. Not when your father was after his head. So he wasn’t about to start anything. That would be too selfish, even for him--though one had to wonder if ‘selfish’ could even describe him anymore. He was anything but. At least, for you he wasn’t. 

Alfred would only be proven right when he took a step towards the toilet. His vision started to glitch. Then, he lost his balance, falling over the sink and slamming his head against the mirror. “Fuck--!” Stumbling back onto his feet, he was engulfed in black for a few seconds. What the hell was going on? 

His bout of disorientation lasted for far too long to be normal.

Before he would start accepting the prospect of going blind, his vision returned. He thought he would celebrate that moment, but he forgot what he was even fussing about. What happened? Lowering his gaze to his hands, he stared at them for a while before looking back up. What was he doing here? Where was he? 

That was right. He was in a motel. With you. Running away from uncertain death. It took a minute or so to recall all of these things, and that was what alarmed him. It seemed like his body wasn’t accepting the chip very well. 

Temporary memory loss and blindness was just apart of the transition, right? 

Little did he know, it was anything but. 

Outside that very district sat two men in a car. Bags hung under their dull eyes as they scanned the streets as vigilantly as their sleep deprivation let them. It had been two days since they slept, but they wouldn’t rest until they found him. There were only four days until the damage was done.

If they didn’t get to the man before then, he would be as good as dead. 

[nothisis-ridiculous]

Take Me Home Now: Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight: They Are Cryin'

Set after the events of ME3.

A rewrite. Ao3.

FemShepxKaidan

"Fuck."

It wasn't a painful awakening; she actually felt damn good. Clearer, like the tiny neurons in her brain fired without a jolt of pain. The sweet moment of clarity after the removal of an infected tooth. Bliss. If only a familiar face could loom over her, a happy embrace of the one she loved. A blissful reunion.

The aging woman who looked over her with a sour expression erasing her gratitude and any field of butterflies illusion. Along with the confusion of waking up in unfamiliar territory.

Right, she was dying just a moment before.

"Where am I?"

This sloppily white-painted interior was not part of the shopping center she recognized. The medical machine that counted out her vitals was also out of place, but that was a minute detail. Jane had woken up from the dead once already, just not inside of a shipping crate. Make that one low she had not yet met.

"Just outside of London," the woman's scowl relaxed, "you're with the Special Operations Biotic Company. Luckily for you, I understand you had a rattled implant."

Her hand was grabbed before she felt her spirits utterly bottom out, the woman's dark brown eyes peering out at her from behind black and white streaked hair. A moment of shared pain passed between them before Jane could not manage to keep up the contact, "how about the LT? My home?"

"The latter is in one piece. I'm not familiar with the person you speak of," the lady spoke gently, "you were rushed here after an injury. But let me introduce you to the person that saved your life, Doctor Balcan."

Jane's gaze shifted to the person arriving on the other side of her bed, the most beautiful creature she had ever beheld. Dark brown hair and eyes loomed over her; the soft smile set upon full brown lips looked perfectly primped without a touch of makeup. The simple doctor's smock hung perfectly on her body, the garment unable to smear an ounce of the poise this woman possessed. As the female nodded in greeting and her long lashes crested her cheeks, Jane was infected with jealousy.

"Thank you, Helen," even her voice was sweet, not in an artificial way, but in the vein of the sweetness of a ripe strawberry, "I think I can handle Jane for the moment if you wouldn't mind grabbing her meal."

The woman waited for Helen to leave before speaking again, "how long have your biotic powers been misfunctioning?"

"Since the Reapers fell," time was a funny thing to Jane anymore.

"Just shy of seven months," the minuscule movement of her eyebrow hardly seemed surprised, "though, I wasn't expecting to be fixing an L5n implant."

"Who else would be stupid enough to bullrush a krogan," any vanguard worth their salt knew how other biotics could view them. Rash. Stupid. Bullheaded.

"I think your stupid luck is what saved your life. You should have had severe seizures attacks, if not died from them, months ago."

Jane continued with a snarl, "but the mall. How... did everyone make it?"

"It was unkind of us not to tell you immediately, but only one civilian casualty," the doctor proffered a soft smile, "the Special Ops group got to your compound in time to repel the brunt of the attack. We had heard there was a pocket trying to rebuild; we just weren't sure if you were friendly, so the entire team did not come along. They had to rush you back here. The equipment is too fragile to move quickly."

She was even nice, gross.

"I was asked to pass on the message that you keep your ass down," at least the swear word brought her down from the utterly ethereal.

Jane's smile cracked, slightly painful against the cybernetic scars that littered her cheek.

"Your body is a curious piece of work; the sheer amount of upgrades and scarring at a microscopic level is fascinating," the woman pulled out her datapad, scrolling down what Jane assumed was a list of medical notes, "synthetic weaving to reinforce bones, microfibres in your muscles, synthetic skin fibres as well. I can't imagine the cost of that modified biotic amp."

Jane looked at her blankly, "you certainly poked around."

"Somebody wanted you alive," strawberry remarked, undeterred, "I'd think you're some sort of mad scientist experiment -that's a foolish notion. But I have my bets on Special Ops... N7."

Jane's eyes snapped into a glare, setting her jaw hard. Teeth grinding into her following biting statement, "don't attempt to bite off more than you can chew."

The woman returned the statement with tempered pity, lips tucked into a frown. The kickback from her calloused words came back twofold as a sharp pain seared across her orbital bone, requiring a hand to staunch the heat before it ended out in a cry. Jane should be thankful, instead, she was pissed. Most of the angst directed inward, some at the patheticness of the situation, little at the well-meaning doctor.

"Can I go?"

"I'll need you here for a couple more weeks minimum."

Fucking perfect.

The doctor continued before Jane's snarl turned into an attack, "you know you need to keep your biotics offline for a while. During that time, we can prepare to merge our groups as one. We'd like your help in escorting us back."

The last line was a platitude, but the LT's message made more sense. The guilt of their previous encounter started to trickle into her psyche before she squelched it away with a flinch, "any more orders, doc?"

"As you are The Commander, I think I should be deferring to you."

"Come again?"

The female laughed behind her hand, "it's obvious who you are. You may fool everyone else with the fancy scars, wilted demeanor, and blonde hair -which by the way, looks fabulous- but your unique physiology and enhancements give it away. I struggled with the thought briefly because how could the savior of the galaxy be here? You charged in with the strike team that went to activate the Crucible. But by God's grace, you're here."

"You can't be-"

Strawberry waved away the protest with her hand, "I'm more than some yokel surgeon. I don't get to be a spec ops field doctor without further training. You won't fool me."

"You bitch."

"Language, miss!"

The sharp crack of the older's woman's words snuffed the faint glow Jane had unconsciously started to accumulate. But it did not dim her glower, blue eyes pinned on the female tapping something into a datapad. Jane was still, frozen in the moment until the second snap of warmth from a small body clambering into her bed shook her from a blind stupor. The little hands and the mound of mousy hair looking at her with barely disguised disdain.

"But I already know those words," Evelyn murmured, only to increase the scrutiny Helen placed on her patient.

"Why are you-" the room immediately thickened with another aura, a solemn shake from the salt and pepper haired woman stopped her question, "are you here because Pater sent you?"

"It is my job," the girl declared bravely, "Pater said that I was to stop you from fighting with anymore krogan. Or just fighting."

"It was my fault, Evelyn...Helen," Strawberry squeaked, "I poked Mar- sorry, I meant Jane without telling her."

Jane's attention returned to the Doctor, pupils narrowing. That was no longer her name.

"I'll excuse it this time, Rahna," Helen's voice returned to a gentle timbre. Handing over the plate of rations, prepared in a manner that was meant to be appeasing. Simple rations that Jane was not thrilled to consume, "eat up. Biotics need energy. I've seen you guys crash before. I don't want you accidentally breaking something expensive."

Rahna.

Rahna...

Rahna.

The woman raised an eyebrow in her direction, plump lips playing into a smirk. Jane was had. Jealousy sunk deeper into her guts, bordering on hatred. How could Kaidan call her beautiful after seeing this divine creature? Beautiful on the Citadel. Beautiful after the first night they had bunked together. Beautiful every time they fucked after. Beautiful in the small moments. Beautiful in the big and the in-between. Had he meant Rahna all along?

"Two weeks."

"What now?" Jane snapped away from the grip of her thoughts.

Rahna crossed her arms, Evelyn giggled, and Helen spoke, "biotics."

"All of this commotion is probably a little too much for her, right now," Rahna cautioned to a sulking child, "let Jane eat in peace while I run a few more tests."

"Yup, super hungry," Jane murmured under her breath.

The patient's gaze did not stray from the Doctor, laser-focused on the slightest movement she made. Waiting for her to do something rash, her temper barely holding behind her tongue. Violent thoughts collided in her head, the desire to do something impetuous a string she had yet to completely cut. It was the easier way, the brutish way- but it was not the way Shepard did it. Shepard would resist, The Commander famously turned the other cheek. Chose kindness. Some of her could still seep through.

Even if it was in the form of stony silence.

"Why hide who you are? You are the one person who could reunite everyone."

A bloody icon. Hero. Butcher. Madwoman. Lover. Terrorist. Murderer. Savior. Pathetic.

"There's nothing to explain," a surly statement only dampened by a flinch, "I don't owe you anything."

"So, it wouldn't matter if I told everyone?"

Jane's silence was the answer.

"This is Major Alenko's squad, I'm sure everyone would be interested," Strawberry continued, placing her first foot away from the bedside, "Let alone you being Shepard, the Major's fling is a very juicy topic. I'm sure meeting the woman would be a top priority."

Rahna took several steps away, gliding out of the retrofitted container. Someone pulled her back, Jane regretted the breeze against her exposed backside. Luckily nobody seemed to pay them much mind in the moment.

"No," her eyes lit with tears, "don't. I can't."

Kaidan knew it was the end; Mary couldn't bring herself into accepting that. Luck. Stupidity. Credits. Spite. They had all stopped her death, had prevented her from reaching a low she could not climb out of. The brutal murder of her parents. Losing her unit on Akuze. Hell, even the deaths of friends during her campaign against the Reapers. They hurt like hell, but it never brought her to her knees. Now... in this moment. In the reality of losing Kaidan, she crashed. Tears, sobbing, railing against the ground. It was pathetic.

Was it the loss of her entire family aboard the Normandy, or just one man?

Dark brown eyes met her on her level, gentle the hint of moisture in her deep eyes, "everyone here mourns him."

"Fuck you."

Rahna laughed, offering out her hand and pulling the woman up to her feet, "I won't tell your secret, but I think you should talk to someone. We have-"

"No, nobody else."

"You know the risks of PTSD; you can't push through it."

"I'm fine."

Jane's stare hardened the emotions out-drying the tears riveting down her scarred cheeks.

"Or how about a deal, my silence for a few talks? Nothing official, just friendship."

She considered for several long moments, biting back each bitter comment that fought to come out. It wasn't the time for resistance. Talking wouldn't hurt, especially if it meant Rahna kept silent. What was she supposed to do for the next two weeks? Stare at the wall? Teach a child to swear? Avoid Kaidan's squad as much as humanly possible?

"Friendship may be pushing it."

[random-mha-thoughts]

hey bby! ni anon back again after kicking plagiarist ass! i just saw this crack ship between shiggy and miruko called dustbunny and it’s lowkey kind of cute and you know i sensed some tension between dabi and the kitsune quirk reader so what about a fic set in that same scenario where they’re mirukos little hero sidekick and they come across dabi and shiggy and find out about some unresolved tension between their partners and the villains who’s asses they’re supposed to kick? a crack fic u know

No Idea (A Week Later...)

Genre: Crack

Characters: Mirko, Shigaraki, Dabi, Reader

Word count: 986

Tags:  @yuki-osaki​ @liviitehe​ @iamsoftsodonttoucheume-blog​ @bunnythepipsqueak​

a/n: First of all ni anon babe, I'm sorry I kept you waiting! This has been in my draft box because I was really stumped on how to tackle this. But! After consulting my dear friend @league-of-imagination, I’ve come up with a pretty funny little scenario that you’ll hopefully enjoy!

This comes as a mini sequel to No Idea, but you don’t necessarily need to read that one to read this one. And there’s no Bakugou, sorry...  Enjoy~

"I'm not gonna leave you alone without backup, not after you almost died."

I sigh, rolling my shoulders as we walk down the street.  "If it wasn't Dabi, I would've been okay."  At least I'm recovered from that fight; no major injuries, just severe dehydration that I recovered by chugging two gallons of water every day for a few days afterward.

"Yeah, I heard your boyfriend was pretty scared.  He must care a lot about you."  Mirko cheekily smiles at me.

"Ah, maybe a little too much..."  Bakugou didn't allow me to train for at least two days after I was discharged from the hospital, even when I insisted I was fine.

"It's okay, I'll be here to protect you now, even on the off chance that we run into Dabi."  She flashes an overly-confident thumbs-up.

My mentor's confidence surges right through me.  "Yeah, what are the odds we'll run into him again so soon?"

Right as I look forward again, two hooded figures are stopped in front of us, one of them with obvious pale-blue hair in his face and the other with even more obvious piercings and staples lining the burnt half of his features.

Yeah, what are the fucking odds?

Just as I lift my hands up in a defensive position, Mirko slams her hands on my arms, "Chill out, (Y/n), they don't seem hostile today."

"Someone's just a bit too on edge after they almost died a week ago," Dabi smirks.

I clench my fists and try to rip my arm away from my mentor.  "Exactly, you asshat, you almost killed me!"

"Cool it, cool it!"

I turn on her.  "Shouldn't we be, I don't know, apprehending them?!"  Why aren't we doing anything?

Mirko shrugs.  "They're not doing anything, let's leave them alone for now."

"Yeah, we're not being particularly bad right now, sweetie."  Dabi's lips quirk up into a smug smirk.

I scowl at him before flitting my head back to the supposed pro hero in front of me and start waving my hands frantically.  WHY IS SHE SO CALM ABOUT THIS?!  "Sure, it's not like they're wanted criminal terrorists or anything-!"

"Anyway," the bunny hero completely disregards my protests and wraps an arm around my shoulder, "I couldn't help but notice that there's some unresolved tension between you and Burnt-Chicken over there, maybe you guys should work that out while I take on Handsy over there."

"What- No-"

Before I can offer anymore protest, Shigaraki runs away towards the back alley and Mirko follows him, leaving me alone with Dabi.  The minute he makes the smallest movement to look at me, my hands are up again.  "If you dare touch me-"

"Relax, kid, we're not here to start trouble," he drawls casually.  "This is just a conjugal visit."

I freeze in my position.  "What do you mean?"

"Wow, you're dense as usual," he rolls his eyes.  "Either that or you're still new."  He notices the confusion still plastered on my face and he sighs.  "Don't tell me you didn't notice how those two were eyeing each other intensely."

"I mean, I'd believe it, you guys are villains, Mirko-san probably wanted to stay wary abut you guys."  I relax into a standing position, but still carefully observing.

"Yeah, you're just dense."  Dabi rotates around towards the alley the pair just disappeared behind and crosses his arms.  "Those two are up to something, trust me."  He hums in thought as he slowly walks towards the alley and I follow close by.  "Let's see.  Ten bucks says they’re fucking.”

I gape at his insinuation.  “Twenty says they’re fighting!  Mirko isn’t like that.”  How dare he think of my mentor like that.

“You don’t know Handjob then, or your precious hero," he cackles.

I scoff, resisting the urge to choke him.  “Thirty says you’ll shut the fuck up.”

“Forty says you’ll sleep with me.”

I freeze up again, almost missing a step.  “I'd rather die than go back to you.”

“That can be arranged.”  One of his palms lights up with a small blue flame before it disappears.  "Just not today, I have a bet to win."

"You're gonna win, get over yourself."  I roll my eyes at him, finally turning the corner as the pair comes into view.  Mirko has Shigaraki pinned against the wall by his shoulders.  A well-satisfied smirk plasters on my face as I hold out my hand to Dabi.  "Pay up."

Next thing I know, she pushes his head into his.  At first, I think it's a headbutt maneuver.  Turns out, they're violently making out.

My jaw drops to the floor.  What. The.  FUCK?!

Dabi holds out his own hand.  "Told ya so."  He looks over when I don't respond, my eyes still peeled onto the horrific scene in front of me.  "Aw, you look so cute when you're humiliated like that."  His hand closes my chin.

Mirko hoists Shigaraki up by his scrawny legs and continues ravaging him.  "Oh fuck's sake!" I scream before escaping from the scene in disgusted panic.

Dabi cackles behind me, doubling over at the crisis I'm having.  "Now do you see how some of these 'heroes' are?  Don't be so surprised."

"Shut up, don't talk to me."  If only there was bleach for my eyes.

Mirko and Shigaraki stumble out of the alley, both of their hair disheveled and their clothes pulled around.  Some of Mirko's pale pink lipstick is smeared all over the boy's face and neck.  It's disgusting.

"I'm outta here," I mumble to myself.

"I'll collect my twenty next time they wanna meet up, kid!"

"YOU'RE NOT GETTING IT!"

Mirko jogs up next to my fuming figure, hastily wiping the smeared makeup and saliva (gross) from her face.  "So-"

"Stay the hell away," I whirl on her and give her my deadliest glare before turning back on my heel.

"Aw, come on, villains are simps too-"

"I SAID STAY AWAY!"

[1234-waystodie]

The Israeli-Palestine conflict

*for the disclaimer - this message was written by an Israeli citizen who is following what happens in Gaza closely from news all over the world*

Thank you for reading this message. I will start with the fact that I’m not going to refer to the start of the conflict (who the land belongs to, who was here first) because it’s not relevant to the point that I’m trying to get to. This message talks about the present-day - Israel is a state, Gaza is not. Israel is a democracy, Gaza is being controlled by Hamas, a terrorist organization. Those are facts and you can look them up at Google if you don’t believe me. Okay so - let’s talk about the present conflict, “Shomer Hachomot”. It all started with what happened in Jerusalem. Frankly, I’m not going to get into this either because you can look at this both ways but I will say this - nobody shot anybody just because they were in a certain place. Jerusalem is a very complicated story and I’ll admit I didn’t really dig about what happened there. The fact is that after what happened in Jerusalem a group of Israeli-Arabs radicals who lived their whole life in peace with their neighborhoods, Israeli-Jews, made violent acts across the mixed cities (Lod, Ramle, Jerusalem, Haifa)... Cities that just a couple of days before were safe and happy for both sides became war zones - Arabs (again, radicals, there are a lot of Arabs that are against the way others act) lit things on fire, broke things across the city, tried and killed a citizen that was on his way home and made a lot of damage both to the city but more importantly to the trust of their neighborhoods who did nothing wrong.

Just for those who don’t understand how bad things got - my father bought a week before everything went down in Ramle meat from a nice Arab man who gave coffee and a warm welcome as my father was new to his shop. I used to get into Umm al-Fahm, An Arab village, to buy stuff. Now people are afraid to walk the street - a jew that lived all his life in that mixed city was killed when he drove through it, people broke his window, took him out of his car and hit him with a brick to his head and he died. Murdered.

So, as “support” Hamas started firing rockets from Gaza to Israel and that’s how “Shomer Hachomot” - the current operation started. Now, the drill is this - Hamas is firing rockets at the citizens of Israel. Israel tells them to stop and if they don’t they fire in Gaza and that’s the part you need to read closely. 

Israel is not firing at civilians. It’s a fact and if you don’t believe me you can look at videos such as https://www.facebook.com/ynetnews/posts/10159905254995572 Translation: “Check if there are any children here.” “There are kids here, they are moving fast.” “Wow, we think there are kids here. We are stopping this.” “Right? there is a big one and a couple of small ones.” “We are suspecting that there are kids and we will not do it, we wouldn’t risk their life.” “Yes.”

So, why Israel was planning to fire in that place in the first place? Simple this is the point that I feel that most of the world doesn’t understand. When Israel fires at Gaza it doesn’t aim at civilians. Hamas is firing missiles and building headquarters where the civilians are so when Israel will come and kill Hamas members the citizens will be in the crossfire as well and then they would say “Israel is killing civilians!” 

Now you would say “this is not an excuse they are still firing at civilians!” Wrong. 

Israel is giving a couple of hours’ notice before they are attacking a building with civilians in it. Just a couple of days ago a big news tour was brought down - one of the reporters, from the Gaza side, who worked there wrote a breaking story about how they got a short notice, about how he couldn’t get most of the things he holds dear out. About how people that are leaving there are homeless. What he ‘forgot’ to say was that the building was the headquarters of Hamas, and they were the target of this Israeli raid. All the citizens by the way are well and alive because, as I said, Israel always tells beforehand so that people wouldn’t get hurt. 

A couple of days ago we saw the picture and video of a young girl (6) that was rescued from the distraction of her home after an Israeli raid destroyed a building close to hers. Tragic. Again what the media left out was that Hamas build tunnels underneath the city so he could hide from civilians and Israelis alike and when Israel destroyed a building that was related to Hamas the tunnels underneath collapsed which, unexpectedly, led to homes of innocent civilians collapsing as well - hence what happened with this 6-year-old. Israel doesn’t want innocent civilians to be killed and there was no way to know this would happen - a thing that Israel by the way said and apologized for as it was not planned to happened.

I don’t remember when but sometime in this operation a rocket that was fired from Gaza and was supposed to lend in Israel landed in Gaza and killed kids. Do you know what the media in Gaza did? That’s right kids - they took pictures and posted that Israeli rid killed those kids. Because that’s easy to blame the enemy when the whole world thinks it’s their fault anyway so why not make things worst? Another point that makes people hate Israel is the Iron Dome. Fewer people in Israel are getting killed because of that - for those who don’t know what the Iron Dome is, it’s “is a mobile all-weather air defense system[8] developed by Rafael Advanced Defense Systems and Israel Aerospace Industries.[7] The system is designed to intercept and destroy short-range rockets and artillery shells fired from distances of 4 kilometers (2.5 mi) to 70 kilometers (43 mi) away and whose trajectory would take them to an Israeli populated area.[9][10]” (taken from Wikipedia)

That is the face of Israel - defend and protect citizens while Hamas is doing everything he can to attack Israeli citizens without thinking twice about the life of people in Gaza.  

Funny story, did you know that Israel gives Gaza food, fuel, electricity, medicine, aid, money, and far more? Every month? Yes, taxes from people like me and my friends go to Gaza to help them. My money goes to help Gaza citizens, my government tries to help Gaza citizens and it’s been happening for the last 20 years.

Now let’s talk about what happened world-wild. When things are bad for Israel do you know who the rest of the world blames? Jewish people. Notice how from anti-Israeli the hate became to be anti-Semite. In London, my favorite place on earth, people called out to “rape all the Jewish girls.” In Montreal people are looking to find Jewish houses to attack the people in the house, my friend told me that she knows a girl our age that is afraid to go out of the house. They called a mutual friend of hers who is Christian to threaten her if she doesn’t give them her location so they could hurt her friend. Only a month ago a citizen from my city was murdered in the US for being Jewish. He was there to celebrate the wedding of his family and was murdered. For being Jewish. 

Believe me when I say that non of the citizens of Israel are happy for how people in Gaza are suffering. It’s awful. But, and it’s a big but, it’s not Israel’s fault it’s Hamas. So yes, #freeGazafromHamas is the hashtag that needs to go around, it doesn’t have to be Israel VS Gaza, us or them, life if not black and white, it needs to be #IstandwithIsrael while also saying #freeGazafromHamas. 

To sum up - please read more than one source and don’t believe everything that the media is saying. I know it became a trend to hate Israel because a lot of celebrities see what’s on the media and decided not to question anything and hate a country that is just trying to protect itself. And please, god please, stop hating Jewish people who have nothing to do with what happens in the middle east. If you have any more questions or if you want to make a civil conversation you can always write me <3

[luna-rainbow]

Sam, Steve and Bucky meta (part 2)

This is a meta exploring their relationships through Sam's POV. Part 2 covers events in Civil War.

Steve and Sam spent the next two years trying to find Bucky.

When a Russian trained assassin wants to go underground, he's impossible to find. It didn't help that Steve wanted to keep the search a secret. Sam was resorting to inventive ways of getting leads from his contacts without making it clear who they were tracking down.

He's read the thin file Natasha gave them cover to cover a hundred times now. The file was impersonal, almost depersonalising. He knew the man's date of birth and capture, the dates of entering and exiting cryostasis, his measurements, his allergies, the languages he could speak, and his responses to the experimentations. He knew the dates of some of the assassinations, but he knew nothing of what was inside.

Steve was always grateful for any leads Sam came up with, but didn't like to talk about him. Maybe it pained him to recall the man in the past, when he's almost unrecognisable in the present.

Sam wondered what it was that made the Captain so determined. Sometimes he thought Steve would do this for anyone he fought alongside, and then sometimes he remembers Steve's quietly muttered, "Even when I had nothing, I had Bucky."

Sometimes, when bored, Sam would try to profile "James Buchanan Barnes". He should be supportive, loyal, trustworthy. Maybe also caring. Strong-minded, to have survived the initial experiments from Zola. Brave enough to fight beside the Captain as a small team. An excellent shot...Sam would stop himself there; it was so easy to default to external attributes.

Sam wasn't sure he wanted to join the Avengers. He was just a regular guy in a jetpack, and saving the world was for people with fancier powers than himself.

When Steve finally convinced him to meet the group, Tony Stark took an instant fascination to his wings and had an upgrade for him in a week. He was surprised, because out of all people he was most wary of this wayward billionaire who is media's favourite badboy. He heard countless rumours of the guy's ego, and Sam's main hesitation was that he did not want to take orders from superiors who didn't know where their head's at.

But the Avengers had a more egalitarian relationship. Things were discussed as a group and everyone's opinions considered. Tony's love for theatrics was balanced by Steve's groundedness, and both had an earnestness for doing good.

He decided to stay, and just as he was settling in, the Avengers family had their first divide over the Sokovia Accords. Tony, having just been confronted about his own culpability over what happened in Sokovia, wanted to sign. Steve, who had just personally - and at great personal risk - dismantled an infiltrated government organisation, was much more reluctant.

"If we sign this, we surrender our right to choose."

As a vet, Sam experienced first hand military directives that threatened his personal beliefs, and it was one of the reasons he left. He stood behind Steve.

Before things could proceed, the unthinkable occurred.

There was a terrorist bomb attack on the UN Convention. In an instant, the monicker "the Winter Soldier", his association with Hydra, and his real name and image was broadcast across the world. The ghost story had become a real threat in everyone's consciousness.

"If he's this far gone, I should be the one who brings him in." Sam heard Steve say on the phone, "Because I'm the one least likely to die trying."

Steve still believed there was a goodness in Bucky. He still hoped that, two years from their last encounter, the man might do what he did last time and choose not to kill him.

Even after the man had just blown up a building with over a hundred people inside.

Sam wanted to believe the image of Bucky he had created for himself - steadfast, strong-willed, perhaps a little like Steve in his stubbornness. He wanted to hear the man's story, because he would either lead them to any remaining forces of Hydra, or he had another justification. There must be a better explanation for why he would stay quiescent for two years then suddenly do something so dreadful. Secretly, Sam also believed that the legendary Winter Soldier who nearly killed him twice would not have been so amateurish.

The realisation of this thought made him shudder. This guy had been sitting on his mind for too long, and it was twisting his judgement.

He knew it was futile, but he asked Steve whether he was sure he wanted to continue this quest.

Steve's answer was at once unsurprising, exasperating and touching in his faith. "He'd do it for me."

It was hard not to be envious of this guy who had fought alongside the Captain more than 70 years ago, who had left a string of murders and atrocities in his wake, yet was still regarded as a companion.

"The people who shoot at you usually wind up shooting at me," Sam pointed out.

He thought Steve hesitated for a moment. Perhaps he understood, perhaps he chose not to. Bucky was like a curse on both their minds that would not rest until they find him, but Sam just hoped that if shit does hit the fan, Steve has enough sense to remember that there was someone else he could believe in that wasn't Bucky.

He breathed a sigh of relief when Bucky was finally apprehended. It was perhaps the best outcome for everyone - Steve would be happy he's still alive, everyone else would be relieved he's in their hands, and at least he would have the chance to plead his case.

Except things went downhill from there.

Bucky flipped back to Winter Soldier rage, and the psychiatrist who was there when it happened vanished into the panicking crowd. This time, it was Steve who pulled the unconscious Bucky out of a river.

Sam was at the end of his patience. The guy had just torn through half the Avengers. He was a menace and a ticking bomb, but Steve refused to take him back. In the end, they reached a compromise and kept him clamped down.

"Which Bucky am I talking to?" Steve demanded when the man woke.

Still dazed, Bucky muttered, "Your mum's name was Sarah." He then chuckled to himself, "You put newspapers in your shoes."

Steve let out a small sigh of relief, "You can't read that in a museum."

As the two men dissolved into doltish smiles, Sam couldn't believe it, "Just like that, we're supposed to be cool?"

Bucky was cordial and cooperative with everything Steve asked. Sam could see from Steve's manner that the Captain believed he had his best friend back, but Sam had learned about biases in psychology class. Sometimes you want to believe something so badly because you have craved it for so long and needed it to be true.

Sam told himself that he needed to stay rational, because on this matter alone, Steve seemed to lose his levelheadedness. Fortunately, any pity he had for the former assassin was quickly evaporating under his bristly attitude.

The Avengers clashed at the airport. The match was tight, and time was short. Zemo might already be at Siberia, which would mean 5 more super soldiers unleashed on the world.

When Steve told Bucky to head to the jet, Sam cut in and told them to both go. There was no way he was going to let a volatile murder machine go off to Siberia on his own and meet up with his winter soldier comrades. Who knew which way he would turn?

The likelihood of them all flying out was too low, and they just didn't have the time to fight it out. Bucky knew the way, and he needed to go with someone who can control him - and at that moment Steve was the only bet.

Did he regret it when they ended up in the Raft? Only a little. If there hadn't been the threat of the super soldiers, if they didn't have the Sokovia Accords overhanging them, he would have preferred to convince Steve to bring Bucky back, rather than put his entire team in jail over a violent enforcer who would eventually have to face the law.

When Steve came to find Sam, he was alone. In typical laconic form, Steve recounted the brawl in Siberia with a few sentences. As he finished, he said, almost emphatically, "What he did all those years, it wasn't him. He didn't have a choice."

Sam understood that, but he also understood Tony's grief. What victim could accept "he didn't have a choice" from a murderer? What about their choice when he went after them?

But what he heard next surprised him. Bucky had chosen to go back into cryo because he couldn't trust himself to control the Winter Soldier.

He was free, but he put himself back in chains because he didn't want anyone else to be hurt.

That was the first time Sam separated Bucky from the Winter Soldier.

[garciaswebhistory]

Crushed; Reader x Spencer

warnings: mentions of torture, rape, possible death

summary: the one time you take off a case and your boyfriend goes, he ends up as a hostage inside of a violent, religious cult

based around S4, E3 timeline “Minimal Loss”

Vacation time. An unknown concept of a job for an FBI agent, especially a BAU member. Every day, the air was sick with energy and adrenaline as the constant cases flooded in.

Of course, as you looked down at your wrapped up foot that had been itching like crazy for the past five and a half weeks, you realized how boring vacation was. Especially when your boyfriend had gone back to work, even though he hadn’t wanted to. 

But his job needed him and his brain more than you needed him to give you a massage every five minutes and follow you around like a lost puppy.

 Always a conference call, neighborhood serial killer, an issue with the public media, or the occasional terrorist kept everyone on their toes, and it was addicting. How or why would anyone ever want to leave?

Sure, seeing a dead body at least twice a month, or the occasional fear of being taken as a hostage was always there. The fact that your life was more at risk than others, or that it was more common to get shot than not on the daily?

 Again, good reasons. But that was what kept you coming back day after day.

You were 25, having joined the BAU three years ago, and like the adrenaline junkie you were with a thing for men in uniform, you fit right in. Not to mention your team that was more of a family then your biological relatives, and your wonderful boyfriend and now fiancé Spencer Reid.

He was 30, with a baby face, sharp jawline, and curly brown hair. He was a doll baby, sweet and sensitive but could take down someone if he had to. You two were just perfect for each other, and it was obvious to everyone who saw you two in the same room. 

You gravitate towards one another, smiling, winking playfully, giggling, and playing footsies. You two were like small children with one another… best friends and the love of each other’s lives.

Just two nights ago, he had proposed to you after 15 months, 2 weeks, and four days of being together (you knew this thanks to your lover boy computer), so you had given him the obvious answer. 

Some would have said that you were moving too fast, but that was just the life of a federal agent who put their lives on the battlefield for the sake of others on a regular occasion. Never once had you questioned him being your soulmate, and you never would. 

After him being kidnapped and shot multiple times, and you being raped and tortured horribly on separate occasions, life just was too precious for you to beat around the bush. Plus, even 

Rossi said that he knew what a failed relationship looked like, and that failed relationships didn’t cook with one another, draw faces on each other while sleeping, or put their lives at risk for one another. 

Again… soulmates. :)

Maybe that was why you had been so happy when you had taken a pregnancy test just minutes ago and had now found it positive. You ran to the couch, trying your best to ease your broken foot that was so close to healing. 

Grabbing your phone, you opened it to dial your boyfriend’s number when the tv in front of you caught your attention. You always kept the News on when Spencer was gone, fearing you’d miss something. Plus the missing people reports and traffic jams in your city were no news to you.

“Here I am, right outside of an underground facility in La Plata County, Colorado that is said to be hospitalizing a cult. Among the cult are women, children, and three child services agents held hostage who went in earlier to do a wellness check. Federal units are doing their best to get everyone out safely but so far the progress has been minimal. I will have more on this story as we continue this.”

You stopped cold, remembering JJ give the evaluation of the case to everyone just hours before you had to say goodbye to the team. It was a call from a teen girl about underage marriages and Cyrus, the cult leader, taking advantage of his young, female followers. The cult was on a ranch, and was its own society basically. 

You had wanted to go, but had been told to stay home by everyone on the team. Spencer had wanted to stay with you, but he was a valuable part of the plan. He was to go with Pretniss and a real child services agent to disguise themselves and not cause any panic. But now… He was a hostage.

You dialed Garcia’s phone, knowing that she would be the one most likely to have their phone and not be preoccupied, although that was already a long stretch. Fortunately though, you remembered that you were Garcia’s third favorite person after her boyfriend and Morgan. 

“Thank you for calling Fairy Godmother and Gizmos, your fairy godmother speaking.” She chimed in, sounding stressed but like she was trying to put on a brave face. “Hey, it’s Y/n. I’m sorry to call like this but I need to know what’s going on.”

You could head typing on her keyboard before she cleared her throat. “Alrighty, here’s what we know but it’s not much. Reid and Prentiss went in with another agent to check out the call and then there was a raid we weren’t aware of. Right now, they don’t have any reason to hurt any of them. I- What? Oh god, oh god.”

You suddenly became terrified, screaming into the cell phone as your eyes laid glued onto the tv screen. “Garcia? What? What is it?” You asked as you heard her heavy breathing on the other side. “Hotch gave me access to their radio so I can listen in, and… they just… Oh my god.” You hated the pause, wanting to both hug and kill her in that moment.

“One of the agents got hit in the raid, but they’re not saying which one. Hold on, I’ll forward you to Hotch.” You heard her clicking her keyboard even more. “Oh and Y/n? Whenever you get in touch with our boyfriend, tell him I’m going to kill him if he doesn’t come back in one piece.” 

“Not if I do it first.” You heard Garcia chuckle at your response, but you didn’t feel like smiling even though she was trying hard. Spencer was in danger. You stayed on the phone until you heard Rossi’s deep tone.

“Hello? Agent Rossi.” He picked up on Hotch’s phone, and for a second you thought Hotch was in trouble too. “Rossi! I… I need you to tell me what’s going on. The news isn’t giving me anything and I… I don’t know what to do. I knew I should have come.” You began crying, letting the hormones control you.

“Hey, listen to me. Reid needs you strong. We all do. Reid is in there, but we have no reason to think he’s been injured.” He tried to explain, but it didn’t help the tears streaming down your face. “What about Cyrus? He said one of them got hit.” You heard a sigh from Rossi and began crying even more.

“Yes, the agent Pretniss and Reid went in with died. But it wasn’t the cult’s doing. I don’t think they’re going to hurt him.” Rossi tried to make you feel better, and he did, but it only gave you more questions.

“What do they want with them?” You asked as Rossi sighed. You could tell he was just at a loss like you were. “If we get the women, children and our agents out, Cyrus knows that we will have no reason to hold back. He has to keep them alive or else he’s as good as dead.” 

“Just… bring him home Rossi. All of you better be at the agency tomorrow at 7 on the dot. Please. I’ll call you back if I hear something happens.” You began to hang up before you heard Rossi chuckle lightly. “Yes mam.”

You sighed in relief as you grabbed a pillow and hugged it against your body, squeezing it tightly. All the times you had taken Spencer for granted, telling him to go to work and not waste his time with you. 

Now, all you wanted was to be in his arms. You wanted to comb through his hair with your fingers and give him a massage for once. Did he know how much you loved him? Did he know how obsessed you were with him? How you would trade places with him right now without a second thought. 

God, you should have gone. Fuck your bad foot, you could stand there and watch. You could watch a building from a safe distance like all of them were doing. You could even go in, and maybe they would take it easy on you and not suspect anything if they saw you were injured.

Anything was better than having your one and only in a building of armed, mentally disordered people with secrets and something to die for. You gripped the pillow tighter, and began silently crying again. You just wanted him there. Was that too much to ask?

Finally, the News updated. “Live from the source. After speaking with the federal agents, it is known that one of the two alive hostages right now is an FBI agent. I am looking right now at the ranch, which is circled with SWAT vehicles. We can only hope that this won’t be the bloody battle it’s leading up to.”

You froze, dropping the remote and watching the back of it snap off, sending the two batteries rolling across the floor in opposite directions. Your immediate reaction was the call Rossi, and with your hand shaking, that’s exactly what you did. 

“We saw Y/n, we saw. I don’t know how they knew that but it’s… it’s not good.” Rossi confessed. losing your attention for a minute. “H- Is he going to die? Are they going to kill him? Rossi answer me!” You yelled into the phone, hearing muffled yelling but no answer.

“I’ve got to go Y/n. I’m sorry. I’ll call you back when any of us can talk.” And he hung up on you, leaving you feeling empty and alone on the couch that you had once sat on with Spencer, in the apartment you both paid for. You glanced at your stomach and sighed, putting your hand on it.

It looked normal now, but in just weeks it would become obvious. When would you take off work? When would you tell the team? Who would be the godfather and mother? When would you tell Spencer? Would you ever even be able to tell Spencer?

No. You slapped your hand. You can’t think like that. You have to be strong. For Spencer. For yourself. For everyone.

You held your legs to your chest and put your phone down, staring at the tv and then at your phone. Please give me an update. Please give me something. 

Hours passed, and although the News did hourly updates, the only change was that it was now nighttime. Finally, you picked up your phone and dialed JJ, knowing she’d be updated on everything and possibly free.

“Y/n? How are you holding up?” She asked, and you again were reminded why JJ was the BAU’s voice to the public. Her soft voice could almost convince you that your boyfriend and team’s life wasn’t at risk.

“Nobody is answering my calls and I’m so scared JJ. I… Just tell me straight. Please.” You explained as you heard her sigh on the other end. “Reid and Pretniss were questioned and Pretniss confessed that she was the FBI agent. She got beat up pretty bad.”

You felt relieved, but also guilty for feeling such. Poor Emily had confessed to save your boyfriend from a painful fate, and you would remember to give her a nice gift if and when she came back. 

“They gave us almost half of their people, and we don’t know why. Right now, we think they’re going to commit mass suicide. There’s no evidence that they’re going to hurt Reid. Just… Just relax.” JJ tried to comfort you, but you still felt uneasy. 

“I just… I…” You stared at the tv as they were doing another hourly update. It looked like nothing had changed. That was, until a large light hit your tv. You put on your glasses with regret of taking your contacts out, and then stared at the tv screen in horror.

A large explosion replaced where the church had sat, and it took a moment to register that the explosion had been the mass suicide JJ had just told you about. “Oh my god!!” You screamed, dropping your phone as you raised your hands to your mouth.

“Y/n? Y/n? Answer me!” You heard the phone click as JJ hung up, but you didn’t care. You stared at the tv, and couldn’t help but feel your heart drop. Spencer was inside. Pretniss was inside. JJ would have told you if either of them had come out. He would have called you surely.

“N-No.” You stuttered, unable to grasp the concept that he was gone. He was hurt. He was… dead. No… You were about to cry out, but your phone began buzzing, snapping you out of it.

You grasped it slowly and brought it to your ear with your shaking hand. “Hello?” You spoke, feeling your voice quiver from the sobs threatening to come out. “Y/n? It’s Hotch.” You nodded, realizing the let down when you realized it wasn’t Reid, but your boss.

“Everyone is okay. I just called to tell you that.” You froze, just holding the phone without noticing the man on the other line trying to get your attention. “What time are you getting to the airport?” You asked, already getting your shoes on. 

“Six thirty, why?” Hotch asked, but you had already hung up. You fixed your hair, put in your contacts, and grabbed the keys, ready to go.

The car ride to the airport was long, but the wait inside the building was even longer. Every minute felt like an hour, and every brown-haired man in the building looked like Spencer from afar. You just needed to see him. You wanted to see him.

You would have called him or texted him, but you now knew he was on a plane, and you just had to wait.

Finally, though, six-thirty came, and you prayed that Hotch would stick to his word like every other time. You waited at the gate, and after checking it three times in five minutes, you knew you just had to play the waiting game of misery. Around you, airport security and employees gave you pitiful glances as you paced, sniffled, and tried to hold yourself together.

Slowly though, you began to sink into your seat and drift off into a light sleep, only to be awakened by your boyfriend. “Hey Baby.” You murmured before closing your eyes again.

Wait.

“Oh my God, Spencer!” You jumped up and wrapped your arms around him, dangling like the shorty you were. “I… Oh my… I hate you so much.” Spencer laughed lightly, feeling your grip around him tightly. “I… I thought you died. I thought… I’d never see you again.” You began crying, finally letting all your emotions resurface. You felt his grip on you tighten as he lowered you back to your feet.

“You were inside and then I saw the bomb and I-” The tears kept you from talking as you buried your face into his chest. “I hate you so much.” You whispered, holding onto his shirt tightly. “Don’t ever leave me again. We need you here.” You looked up at him as he stared at you with confusion. “We?” 

You patted your stomach and grinned slyly. “I-I’m pregnant.” You confessed, watching his eyes light up with happiness and surprise. “Y-You’re kidding. That’s… Oh my god!” He looked overjoyed, lifting you up by the waist and twirling you around.

“I’m going to be a Dad!” He shouted, the few other people around the terminal giving applause. “Oh my gosh, there’s so much to do. So much to buy. So many people to tell. I have to read all those parenting books!” Spencer began to pace around before you brought him back to reality with a hug. “Just kiss me to start.”

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

August 27, 2021

Heather Cox Richardson

America is in a watershed moment. Since the 1980s, the country has focused on individualism: the idea that the expansion of the federal government after the Depression in the 1930s created a form of collectivism that we must destroy by cutting taxes and slashing regulation to leave individuals free to do as they wish.

Domestically, that ideology meant dismantling government regulation, social safety networks, and public infrastructure projects. Internationally, it meant a form of “cowboy diplomacy” in which the U.S. usually acted on its own to rebuild nations in our image.

Now, President Joe Biden appears to be trying to bring back a focus on the common good.

For all that Republicans today insist that individualism is the heart of Americanism, in fact the history of federal protection of the common good began in the 1860s with their own ancestors, led by Abraham Lincoln, who wrote: “The legitimate object of government, is to do for a community of people, whatever they need to have done, but can not do, at all, or can not, so well do, for themselves---in their separate, and individual capacities.”

The contrast between these two ideologies has been stark this week.

On the one hand are those who insist that the government cannot limit an individual’s rights by mandating either masks or vaccines, even in the face of the deadly Delta variant of the coronavirus that is, once again, taking more than 1000 American lives a day.

In New York, where Mayor Bill de Blasio has required teachers to be vaccinated, the city’s largest police union has said it will sue if a vaccine is mandated for its members.

In Texas, Governor Greg Abbott on Wednesday issued an executive order prohibiting any government office or any private entity receiving government funds from requiring vaccines.

In Florida, Governor Ron DeSantis has also forbidden mask mandates, but today Leon County Circuit Judge John C. Cooper ruled that DeSantis’s order is unconstitutional. Cooper pointed out that in 1914 and 1939, the Florida Supreme Court ruled that individual rights take a back seat to public safety: individuals can drink alcohol, for example, but not drive drunk. DeSantis was scathing of the opinion and has vowed to appeal. Meanwhile, NBC News reported this week that information about the coronavirus in Florida, as well as Georgia, is no longer easily available on government websites.

On the other hand, as predicted, the full approval of the Pfizer coronavirus vaccine by the Food and Drug Administration has prompted a flood of vaccine mandates.

The investigation into the events of January 6, when a mob stormed the U.S. Capitol to overturn the results of the 2020 presidential election, also showcases the tension between individualism and community.

Yesterday, after months in which Republicans, including former president Donald Trump, called for the release of the identity of the officer who shot Capitol rioter Ashli Babbitt, Capitol Police officer Lieutenant Michael Byrd, the 28-year veteran of the force who shot Babbitt, gave an interview to Lester Holt of NBC News.

Right-wing activists have called Babbitt a martyr murdered by the government, but Byrd explained that he was responsible for protecting 60 to 80 members of the House and their staffers. As rioters smashed the glass doors leading into the House chamber, Byrd repeatedly called for them to get back. When Ashli Babbitt climbed through the broken door, he shot her in the shoulder. She later died from her injuries. Byrd said he was doing his job to protect our government. “I know that day I saved countless lives,” Byrd told Holt. “I know members of Congress, as well as my fellow officers and staff, were in jeopardy and in serious danger. And that’s my job.”

The conflict between individualism and society also became clear today as the House select committee looking into the attack asked social media giants to turn over “all reviews, studies, reports, data, analyses, and communications” they had gathered about disinformation distributed by both foreign and domestic actors, as well as information about “domestic violent extremists” who participated in the attack.

Representative Jim Banks (R-IN) immediately responded that “Congress has no general power to inquire into private affairs and to compel disclosure….” He urged telecommunications companies and Facebook not to hand over any materials, calling their effort an “authoritarian undertaking.” Banks told Fox News Channel personality Tucker Carlson that Republicans should punish every lawmaker investigating the January 6 insurrection if they retake control of Congress in 2022.

Biden’s new turn is especially obvious tonight in international affairs. The U.S. withdrawal from Afghanistan, a country we entered almost 20 years ago with a clear mission that became muddied almost immediately, has sparked Republican criticism for what many describe as a U.S. defeat.

Since he took office, Biden has insisted on shifting American foreign policy away from U.S. troops alone on the ground toward multilateral pressure using finances and technology.

After yesterday’s bombing in Kabul took the lives of 160 Afghans and 13 American military personnel, Biden warned ISIS-K: "We will hunt you down and make you pay.”

Tonight, a new warning from the State Department warning Americans at the gates of the Kabul airport to “leave immediately” came just before a spokesman for CENTCOM, the United States Central Command in the Defense Department overseeing the Middle East, announced: "U.S. military forces conducted an over-the-horizon counterterrorism operation today against an ISIS-K planner. The unmanned airstrike occurred in the Nangarhar Province of Afghanistan. Initial indications are that we killed the target. We know of no civilian casualties."

Biden’s strike on ISIS-K demonstrated the nation's over-the-horizon technologies that he hopes will replace troops. Even still, the administration continues to call for international cooperation. In a press conference today, Pentagon Press Secretary John Kirby responded to a question about U.S. control in Afghanistan by saying: “It’s not about U.S. control in the Indo-Pacific. It’s about protecting our country from threats and challenges that emanate from that part of the world. And it’s about revitalizing our network of alliances and partnerships to help our partners in the international community do the same.“

Meanwhile, this afternoon, news broke that the Taliban has asked the United States to keep a diplomatic presence in the country even after it ends its military mission. The Taliban continues to hope for international recognition, in part to claw back some of the aid that western countries—especially the U.S.—will no longer provide, as well as to try to get the country’s billions in assets unfrozen.

A continued diplomatic presence in Afghanistan would make it easier to continue to get allies and U.S. citizens out of the country, but State Department spokesman Ned Price said the idea is a nonstarter unless a future Afghan government protects the rights of its citizens, including its women, and refuses to harbor terrorists. Price also emphasized that the U.S. would not make this decision without consulting allies. “This is not just a discussion the United States will have to decide for itself.… We are coordinating with our international partners, again to share ideas, to ensure that we are sending the appropriate signals and messages to the Taliban,” he said.

Evacuations from Afghanistan continue. Since August 14, they have topped 110,000, with 12,500 people in the last 24 hours.

Perhaps the news story that best illustrates the tension today between individualism and using the government to help everyone is about a natural disaster. Hurricane Ida, which formed in the Caribbean yesterday, is barreling toward the U.S. Gulf Coast. When it hit western Cuba today, it was a Category 1 storm, but meteorologists expect it to pick up speed as it crosses the warm gulf, becoming a Category 4 storm by the time it hits the U.S. coastline. The area from Louisiana to Florida is in the storm’s path. New Orleans could see winds of up to 110 miles an hour and a storm surge of as much as 11 feet. Louisiana officials issued evacuation orders today.

The storm is expected to hit Sunday evening, exactly 16 years after Hurricane Katrina did. But this time, there is another complication: this is the very part of the country suffering terribly right now from coronavirus. Standing firm on individual rights, only about 40% of Louisiana’s population has been vaccinated, and hospitals are already stretched thin.

Today, President Biden declared an emergency in Louisiana, ordering federal assistance from the Department of Homeland Security and the Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA) to the region ahead of the storm, trying to head off a catastrophe. The federal government will also help to pay the costs of the emergency.

—-

Notes:

https://www.rev.com/blog/transcripts/pentagon-officials-hank-taylor-john-kirby-press-briefing-transcript-august-27-afghanistan-update

https://www.cnn.com/2021/08/27/weather/tropical-storm-ida-friday/index.html

https://apnews.com/article/health-louisiana-coronavirus-pandemic-1a2264b5a43033ed70fe9790c2e89437

NYPD story is from the New York Post, but a citation from them always stops the delivery of lots of letters, so I’m going to suggest people look for it themselves.

https://gov.texas.gov/uploads/files/press/EO-GA-39_prohibiting_vaccine_mandates_and_vaccine_passports_IMAGE_08-25-2021.pdf

https://www.whitehouse.gov/briefing-room/statements-releases/2021/08/27/president-joseph-r-biden-jr-approves-louisiana-emergency-declaration-2/

://www.washingtonpost.com/world/2021/08/27/afghanistan-kabul-taliban-live-updates/#link-KFQMWZKFSNH4DBBMK2VAJMAZF4

Meredith Lee @meredithlleeCENTCOM: "U.S. military forces conducted an over-the-horizon counterterrorism operation today against an ISIS-K planner. The unmanned airstrike occurred in the Nangahar Province of Afghanistan. Initial indications are that we killed the target. We know of no civilian casualties."

78 Retweets151 Likes

August 28th 2021

https://www.usatoday.com/story/news/2021/08/27/afghanistan-live-updates-taliban-kabul-news/5611093001/

https://www.nbcnews.com/news/amp/ncna1277715

https://apnews.com/article/lifestyle-health-education-florida-coronavirus-pandemic-1908088a0b5c5b02d89fd7e007822408

Ryan Struyk @ryanstruykThe United States is now reporting 1,194 new coronavirus deaths per day, the highest seven-day average since March 19, according to data from @CNN and Johns Hopkins University.

246 Retweets677 Likes

August 27th 2021

https://www.nbcnews.com/news/us-news/officer-who-shot-ashli-babbitt-during-capitol-riot-breaks-silence-n1277736

Jim Banks @RepJimBanksRead my letter to 1/6 Chair @BennieGThompson about his norm shattering decision to spy on his colleagues. @ATT @Verizon @TMobile @Facebook @Twitter @FCC

136 Retweets311 Likes

August 27th 2021

/photo/2

https://news.yahoo.com/gop-rep-jim-banks-republicans-195845753.html

https://www.cnn.com/2021/08/27/politics/us-military-airstrike-isis-k-planner-afghanistan/index.html

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

[creepingsharia]

“An Injustice Crying Out to Heaven”: Muslim Persecution of Christians, July 2020

by Raymond Ibrahim

A Muslim man broke into the historic Holy Cross Church in Turkey and started crying “Allahu Akbar.”

The following are among the abuses inflicted on Christians throughout the month of July, 2020:

The Slaughter of Christians

Uganda: A group of Muslims beat and drowned a pastor and another Christian for sharing the Gospel with their coreligionists.   Peter Kyakulaga, pastor of the Church of Christ, and church member Tuule Mumbya, had begun to sail across Lake Nakuwa, where they would meet and evangelize to Muslims.  More “hard-line” Muslims disliked this:  “We have discovered that your mission is not to fish but to hold Christian meetings and then convert Muslims to Christianity,” a man told them.  “We are not going to take this mission of yours lightly. This is our last warning to you.”  On the next day in late June, Christian villagers came knocking on the door of David Nabyoma, a local leader:

They were requesting help, saying Muslims from Lugonyola had invaded the area around the lakeside, and several Christians were reported to have been injured, including my son.  Immediately we rushed to the scene of the incident with several Christians. We hired four boats and drove to the lake and found out that two of the Christians had been badly beaten and drowned in the lake and died instantly.

Pastor Peter, 25, is survived by a wife and two children, 2 and 4; congregant Tuule, 22, is survived by a wife and a 2-year-old child.

Mozambique: Islamic militants have been responsible for “escalating extremist violence” in Cabo Delgado Province, where they have been attempting to carve out an Islamic state [on August 14, ISIS captured the port], and “where multiple churches have been burnt, people beheaded, young girls kidnapped, and hundreds of thousands of people displaced by the violence,” according to a July 23 report.  More than one thousand have been slaughtered since 2017, when the Islamic uprising began.  In one week in June, 15 people were beheaded in the Christian-majority nation.  Discussing the situation, Bishop Lisboa said:  “The world has no idea yet what is happening because of indifference.  We do not yet have the solidarity that there should be.”  One of the worst incidents occurred on Good Friday, when the terrorists torched a church and massacred 52 people.  After explaining how five or six chapels were torched in just one recent month, the bishop described what happened to the historic Sacred Heart of Jesus mission:

They attacked the church and burnt the benches and a statue of Our Lady, made of ebony. They also destroyed an image of the Sacred Heart of Jesus, to whom the parish is dedicated. Fortunately, they were unable to burn the building itself, only the benches.

What is happening is “an injustice that is crying out to heaven” he concluded.  Paulo Rangel, a Portuguese Member of the European Parliament, also discussed the situation in Mozabique: “The international community is nowhere to be seen in regard to the problem,” he said:

The people were already living in extreme poverty, facing grave difficulties. [The] problem is that at the present moment these people are facing the threat of death, of losing their homes, of becoming uprooted…. At present we know that there are young girls who have been abducted and enslaved, forced into sexual slavery by some of these guerrillas, these insurgents, these terrorists…We know that the recruitment of boys and adolescents, some of them very young, aged 14, 15, 16, is also happening. It is obvious that these young boys are under coercion. If they refuse to join the group, they could be killed.

Nigeria: In a 35-second video posted July 22, Islamic terrorists executed five men, three of whom were Christians. Blindfolded and on their knees, with the executors standing behind them, one of the terrorists said,

This is a message to all those being used by infidels to convert Muslims to Christianity.  We want you out there to understand that those of you being used to convert Muslims to Christianity are only being used for selfish purposes.  And that is the reason whenever we capture you, they don’t care to rescue you or work towards securing your release from us; and this is because they don’t need you or value your lives. We therefore, call on you to return to Allah by becoming Muslims. We shall continue to block all routes you travel.  If you don’t heed our warning, the fate of these five individuals will be your fate.

Then the speaker says bismillah—meaning, “in the name of Allah”—and the executioners shoot their captives in the backs of their heads.

Additionally, at least 171 Christians were slaughtered by Muslim Fulani herdsmen in the space of roughly three weeks: Summaries of some follow:

On July 10, Muslim herdsmen massacred 22 Christians — “mostly women and children” — and torched many homes. “They killed two of my children [and husband],” recalled Bilkisu James from her hospital bed. They also “hacked another five of Bilkisu’s relatives to death with machetes including a mother and her baby daughter and a mother and her two sons.”

On July 11, a neighboring village was raided: “ten women, a baby and an elderly man were burnt to death in a house where they had taken refuge. Another seven villagers were injured and four houses burnt out.”

On July 19, people attending a wedding celebration were among at least 32 Christians massacred in Fulani attacks.

On July 23, a “horrific night attack [was launched] during a torrential rain storm … [A]t least seven Christians died… as militants brutally hacked unarmed men and women and children to death with machetes.” The report adds that “This was the second attack on the village within days, with seven murdered in an attack days earlier.”

On July 29, Muslim herdsmen murdered another 14 Christians — 13 of whom belonged to one extended family. Only one member of the family remained alive; his wife, all his children, aunt, uncle, brother, and other relatives were slaughtered.

Attacks on Christian Churches

Turkey:  A Muslim man broke into Holy Cross, a historic Armenian cathedral in eastern Turkey, and proceeded to recite the adhan—the Islamic call to prayer traditionally made from mosques—while others videotaped him.   He repeatedly chanted “Allahu Akbar,” and proclaimed the Islamic creed or shahada.  He also wrote graffiti on the church walls:   “Raising the Adhan in the church’s sanctuary has brought life back to it.”  The July 2 report adds that,

Most churches and monasteries in Turkey have been left abandoned following the genocides of Christian peoples in the early 20th century and the mass emigration of Christians from the country due to decades of persecution. As a result, many churches in Turkey were left to ruin or turned into mosques or stables for animals.

In a separate incident, right before the start of Sunday worship service on July 12, a Turkish man appeared at the Antalya Bible Church and asked to speak to church leadership.  He was told to return on the next day, and did so—only to issue death and arson threats to a pastor: “You and Özgür [another church leader] are dead. I broke the window of this church a few months ago, will attack again and, if necessary, burn it.”  Security intervened and he was asked to leave before police were involved.  Later it was revealed that police had apprehended him when he first broke the church’s windows, but released him because he had expressed “regret.”

Pakistan:  A church was forced to take down its cross.  Barnabas, a Christian resident of the village, explains:

 We constructed three floors of minarets on a church and fixed the cross on top of that.  However, it was removed after we received threats from local Muslims. The Muslims demanded we remove the cross and all three floors of the minarets, therefore, we had to obey them. Now, the building does not look like a church. It’s just a room and therefore we are sad.

“With broken hearts,” a local pastor added, the congregation agreed to take the cross down—even though “it was an illegal demand against Pakistan’s constitution, which guarantees religious freedom to all citizens.”

We took this decision for the safety and protection of Christians in the village…. Muslims threatened that if we don’t remove the cross, they will ban the prayer services and take the church property.… The authorities must look into this matter and ensure freedom of religion to all the segments of society.

In a separate incident, police violently interrupted a Christian prayer service.  According to a brief July 13 report,

A priest was leading a prayer before providing a free meal for the poor when police officers appeared, and without further notice, they started damaging the stuff for prayer service….  Policemen turned down the meal, thrashed the pastor and people present. They captured the small sound-system, and beat men and women.

Another report offers more details concerning the fate of Raja Walter, the event organizer, who works to “raise funds to help people who are unfortunate or who have been severely affected by the coronavirus”:

[A]rmed policemen without a badge identifying them came to the food point and attacked him. He was beaten and tortured. Agents also smashed the loudspeaker he uses to motivate people and recite prayers before handing out food.  The attack began as Raja was handing out food. As they struck him, the agents threw away his heart medicines and mobile phone. When they tried to arrest him, women present at the scene began to cry and pray for Walter, who by then had lost consciousness.

“It is ridiculous to treat Mr. Raja Walter like that,” a beneficiary of the free food said:  “He has never done anything wrong to anyone. He is like an angel; he supports the poor and needy.”  The attack, notes the report, “was likely caused by the use of speakers for praying.”

Canada: On July 28, a 16-year-old Muslim refugee from Syria pleaded guilty to four counts of terrorism.  His schemes—including “a solo operation in the next few days”—were shared with and exposed by an undercover FBI agent posing as a fellow ISIS supporter online.  “Churches,” the Muslim youth had written, and other “crowded places filled with crucifix believers” were among his primary targets.  “Detonators, containers filled with white powders that turned out to be explosives, and diagrams of improvised explosive devices were among the 95 exhibits they seized. It was a bomb lab,” says the report.   His sentencing is set for September.

France: After fire broke out in the Cathedral of Nantes—caused by an asylum seeker—“Muslim [social media] users, mostly of Arab origin, and their leftist fanboys in Central Europe express[ed] their enthusiasm and glee online, according to a July 19 German-language report.  Such expressions appeared all throughout social media, but “especially Facebook,” where “the sympathizers of Islamization bluntly celebrated their satisfaction: through laughing or smiley emoticons or ‘like’ clicks they expressed what they think of burning Christian houses of worship.”  The report further observed that “this type of expression of opinion … does not lead to the deletion and blocking of the users by social media teams—whereas masses of [other types of] comments are deleted as ‘hate speech.’”

Attacks on Converts to Christianity

Kenya: A pack of seven Muslims beat Fozia, a Christian woman, aged 21, till she lost consciousness.  They also broke the teeth of her sister, Asha, aged 19, and beat their 18-year-old brother.  Problems began when “Muslims started questioning us why we were not attending Friday worship at the mosque,” Fozia explained.  “This interrogation continued for several months.”  Then one day, when the siblings went outside their home to restore its water supply, they saw a raucous group of Somalis approaching: “There were noisy shouts calling us infidels,” recalled Fozia:

They said, “We know you do not belong to us. We have got hold of you today – we have no mercy on you people. You need to return to where you came from.”  They began hitting me with sticks and a blunt object, which injured my back and my right hand.  There I fainted for five hours and regained consciousness at the hospital [where she remained for two days].

“The attackers injured me by hitting my head against the wall,” her sister Asha added. “My two front teeth got broken, and the attack caused the left side of my body to swell…”  According to their widowed mother, the family has been “running for their lives from Muslims of Somali descent who have attacked them for nearly 10 years:

[And now we] are receiving threats that my children should withdraw the case from police if we are to remain safe.  But we demand compensation for my three ailing children and medication for them. Three weeks have now gone by, and my children are constantly on pain killers.

These are not the first attacks on the apostate family; according to the report,

In 2016 Somali Muslims attacked another of her adult sons, beating him unconscious. Muslim Somalis in Nairobi had seriously injured the same son on Oct. 27, 2011, after they learned that family members had become Christian. The Somali neighbors hit him with a metal bar on his forehead and face, and he lost two teeth and sustained knife wounds to his hand. They left him for dead. Her family has suffered various attacks since embracing Christ. After she filed a police complaint about an attack by Somali Muslims in Kenya in 2014, no fewer than 10 Islamic elders visited her to warn that she was risking her life by doing so. Somalis generally believe all Somalis are Muslims by birth and that any Somali who becomes a Christian can be charged with apostasy, punishable by death.

Morocco: “Converts to Christianity in Morocco have been repeatedly arrested by police as part of a campaign clamping down on the Faith,” says a July 17 report; some have been arrested as many as three times in one week.  Jawad Elhamidy, president of the Moroccan Association of Rights and Religious Liberties, elaborated:

Most are released after interrogation—but are often put under pressure to return to Islam, and face abuse when they refuse….  The penal code holds that all Moroccans are Muslims, so those who convert to Christianity face legal problems, beside threats to their security.

As one example, he gave the story of Mohamed al-Moghany, who converted to Christianity, and “whose employer had waved a gun at him and threatened to kill him.”

When Mr. Al Moghany filed a complaint with police, he was told not to speak about his conversion and threats were made against his family.  Six months later, following an argument with his employer, he was arrested and sentenced to six months in prison. His wife was interrogated as well….  If a Moroccan enters a church, one of two things can happen—either a policeman sitting in front of the church arrests him or her, or the cleric in charge of the church asks the person to leave, unless the purpose is tourism….Moroccan Christians worship in secret house churches to avoid state sanctions or harassment from society.

The report elaborates:

[I]t is even more dangerous for Christian converts when allegations of blasphemy are made—Christians have been held for several days and there have been incidents of violence….  Unlike foreign Christians, converts do not enjoy freedom of worship under the law….  Foreign clergy are said to discourage Moroccan Christians from attending their churches because of fear of being criminally charged with proselytism.  Under Moroccan law, proselytising or converting to another religion is a criminal offence punishable by between six months and three years in prison.

Generic Abuse of Christians

Pakistan: A group of 12 Muslim men, led by one Muhammad Irfan, broke into a Christian man’s household, “and tried to kidnap his [13-year-old] daughter, Noor, who they planned to rape and forcefully convert to Islam,” says a July 26 report.   When the man and his family intervened, the Muslims thrashed them.   “He often teased and disturbed my daughter in the streets, but we always ignored,” explained the girl’s mother:

Finally, Irfan forcibly entered into my house and intended to kidnap my daughter. However, we resisted. In response, he attacked and beat my entire family who got multiple injuries. My husband and others got injuries in the attack.  However, police have not registered the case against Irfan and medical staff have not provided medical aid to the injured.

The report adds that “Local supporters of Irfan have issued threats against the family… [They] have threatened to burn down their house if they pursue legal action against Irfan and the other attackers.”

Yemen: “Christians living in Yemen,” a July 28 report says, “request prayer as they experience persecution amidst ongoing war, food shortages, and COVID-19.”

These challenges have created a significant burden of isolation, both spiritually and physically. The Christian population, which once numbered approximately 40,000, is reduced to only a few thousand. Most live unaware of each other’s existence and in great fear of discovery from their neighbors…  [The current] environment has led to persecution that keeps the church underground.

Germany: Two knife-wielding Muslim men attacked and injured a Christian refugee from Syria in the streets of Berlin.  According to the July 7 report, the victim, Kevork Almassian, who is of Armenian descent, had started receiving death threats a year ago, after “Syrian Islamist activist” Nahla Osman began accusing the Christian refugee of spreading “hate” through his work at a German magazine, which eventually capitulated to Islamist protests and fired Kevork.

Lebanon/Turkey:  As a sign of growing Turkish influence, Neshan Der Haroutiounian, a Lebanese television host of Armenian descent, will stand trial in Lebanon for “insulting the Turkish president and the Turkish people,” apparently in the context of the Ottoman Empire’s genocide of Armenians. At one point during the live show he accused someone (unclear if a caller in or panelist) who was accusing him of being a dishonest troublemaker of being “A son of a million malicious people … Erdogan, the regime, the Ottomans, and the Turks.”  Turkey’s authorities responded by calling on the Lebanese Foreign Ministry to take measures against the television host; the Turkish Embassy mobilized protesters in front of the television station.  They “raised Turkish flags, chanted slogans in support of the Ottoman Empire and Erdogan and called on Al Jadeed TV and those in charge of the programme to ‘apologise for what happened.’”  The Beirut public prosecutor responded by announcing that charges would be filed against Haroutiounian, who is scheduled to stand trial in October. The report notes:

A Lebanese journalist, who spoke on condition of anonymity, said that there were no grounds for the judicial charges against Der Haroutiounian.  “This is a matter of a historical dispute that has no prospect, knowing that it is about a great crime against the Armenian people — a crime that Turkey refuses to recognise. This in itself continues to provoke Armenians wherever they are,” the journalist told The Arab Weekly…. Some Lebanese Armenians’ harsh criticism of Turkey seems to embarrass Lebanese authorities, who have tried to intimidate them into observing certain ‘red lines.’ There are numerous external forces pressuring Lebanon, starting with Iranian proxy Hezbollah. Turkey is now attempting to curb Lebanon’s hard-fought freedoms, of which its citizens are rightly proud, by also exerting pressure on Lebanese authorities.

Egypt: A Christian wife and mother who disappeared for nearly three months—supposedly because she had willingly converted to Islam and no longer wanted any connection to her “infidel” husband and three young daughters—was finally returned to her family.  Ranya ‘Abd al-Masih, 39, a high school teacher of English had disappeared on April 22.  A few days after her family contacted state security, she appeared in a one minute video dressed in a black niqab (female Islamic attire).  In the video, and in between tears, Ranya insisted that she had finally and formally converted to Islam, which—“praise be to Allah”—she had been secretly following and concealing from her family for nine years.  Accordingly, she no longer wanted anyone—her husband, children, family—to bother about her anymore.  From the start, her family refused to believe the video and gave compelling reasons why.  “We’ve no problem for her to go [to Islam] of her own free will—based on conviction—but not as a person who is threatened and coerced into doing so,” her brother, Remon, explained: “She was definitely kidnapped and forced to make that video, due to threats against her or her husband and children if she refused to comply.”  For nearly three months, Ranya’s family and the Coptic Church pleaded with local authorities—even sending a special petition to President Sisi—until she was finally returned, on July 15.  A Christian spokesman said that Ranya and her reunited family are currently staying in an undisclosed location, “until calm returns” to the region.  Due to the delicate nature of the situation, the spokesman gave no other details concerning her disappearance and reemergence, other than to say that “Ranya remains a Christian who never once converted to Islam.”

Tunisia: A July 21 report sheds light on the “lack of full citizenship” rights and “societal stigmas” surrounding the Christians of arguably the world’s most tolerant Arab nation.  According to its abstract:

Although Tunisia is usually presented as ethno-religiously homogenous when compared to other countries in the region, its minorities have long undergone a process of invisibilisation and/or assimilation into the dominant Arab-Muslim identity. Moving from a status of dhimmi [second class citizens] under Muslim empires … is the quest of Tunisia’s religious minorities for full citizenship still ongoing?… [T]he research shows that religious minorities, although having acquired a certain set of rights, still lack full citizenship to some extent and face societal stigma.

Raymond Ibrahim, author of the recent book, Sword and Scimitar, Fourteen Centuries of War between Islam and the West, is a Distinguished Senior Fellow at the Gatestone Institute, a Shillman Fellow at the David Horowitz Freedom Center, and a Judith Rosen Friedman Fellow at the Middle East Forum.

About this Series

The persecution of Christians in the Islamic world has become endemic.  Accordingly, “Muslim Persecution of Christians” was developed in 2011 to collate some—by no means all—of the instances of persecution that occur or are reported each month. It serves two purposes:

1)          To document that which the mainstream media does not: the habitual, if not chronic, persecution of Christians.

2)          To show that such persecution is not “random,” but systematic and interrelated—that it is rooted in a worldview inspired by Islamic Sharia.

[humblehowardblog]

Larry Correia’s calm and rational response to the left

He posted it to Facebook, but fortunately Mr. Reynolds reposted Mr. Correia’s explanation, as as Second Amendment supporter, to the foes of the Right to Keep and Bear Arms.

———————————————————————-

A friend of mine posted about seeing this: “Where are all you gun owners now that the federal government and police are attacking citizens in the streets?? Now that the National Guard is out oppressing citizens? I thought this was the moment you’re waiting for? So why aren’t you out there fighting them with your guns? You’re nothing but a bunch of fucking cowards!”

My response was the GIF of Nelson Muntz going HA HA.  :D

But I’ve seen this sentiment a lot too over the last few days, so please if you are so incredibly fucking dumb that you are actually wondering why America’s gun culture aren’t commuting into the democrat cities you have banned us from in order to get into gun fights with the National Guard on your behalf, allow me to elaborate.

Hypothetical Liberal “Ally” Who Lives in the Suburbs Which Aren’t On Fire – “Hey, gun owners! Here is some civil unrest! Why won’t you come and help us?” Snort. Fuck off. :D “Pussies! Why not?”

Well, every single gun nut in America has spent their entire adult life being continually mocked, insulted, and belittled by the left. You’ve done nothing but paint us as the bad guys.

In Hollywood, we’re always evil, stupid, violent, malicious, redneck, racist, murderers. That’s so ingrained in the liberal religion that when “ally” Harvey Weinstein was trying to get out of being a sleazy rapist, his repentance consisted of promising to make more movies about how the NRA is bad.

In the news, everything is always our fault. If there is a mass murder, we can always count on the vultures to swoop in and blame America’s gun culture. They flog it for weeks on end, 24/7 coverage, hoping for gun control. And if the identity of the shooter doesn’t fit the narrative, it drops off the news in mere hours.

And then at the local, state, and federal level, legally speaking, the left fucks us at every opportunity. You ban everything you can get away with. You ban things that literally make no sense. You ban shit just out of spite. When we fight back against gun control laws, you declare we are stupid because only the police should have guns (hey, aren’t those the guys you are protesting right now?)

“Stupid racist rednecks! We live in a civilized society! Don’t you realize the police will protect us?” until when your democrat cities are on fire, and you call 911 and the operator tells you sorry, the police can’t come to your house right now, please try not to get murdered… How is that strict gun control working out for you?

Then you did everything in your power to chase gun owners out of your sainted liberal strongholds. You passed laws. You banned everything we like. Forced all the shooting ranges to close. Forced most of the gun stores to close. And just generally let us know that our kind is not welcome there.

But now you’ve started some shit, YOU want US to go into democrat cities, with democrat mayors, and democrat police chiefs enforcing democrat policies which cause strife among democrats, in order to get into gun fights on your behalf? How fucking gullible do you think we are? :D Like holy shit. Damn dude!

Because we all know that literally 30 seconds after a gun nut blows away a government employee on your behalf, then all the national media coverage of the riots will instantly cease (sorta like the Corona Virus coverage did) and it’ll be back to the news breathlessly reporting about right wing extremist gun nuts, and all you useless fucks would go back to whining for more dumb ass gun control.

You’ve already thrown the black community under the bus, cheering as their neighborhoods get burned and yours are safe. Seriously, white liberals are the shittiest “allies” in history, and your moral foundation has the consistency of Play-Doh. Your moral compass is a wind sock.

Just a little while ago, gun nuts had a massive peaceful protest in Virginia. Tens of thousands of people turned out to protest gun control proposals from a democrat with a penchant for wearing black face (he still considers himself an “ally” though!) They didn’t break any windows. They didn’t kill any puppies. They didn’t burn any horses. They didn’t flip any police cars or murder any security guards. They were downright boring. They were polite, and even cleaned up their litter.

Except then you called them domestic terrorists, and were super sad that they didn’t get massacred by the government (said government you are now mad at for killing people, because again, you fuckers ain’t exactly consistent).

Liberal “allies” are quick to call gun nuts the bad guys, but we’re not trying to disarm people. We want everybody to be able to defend themselves. It’s a common thing to see some meme on the internet, showing a black family shooting or posing with their guns, with some caption like “bet this offends the NRA”, which is liberal projection, because in reality in my social circles everybody is like, “fuck yeah, good for them”. And the harshest complaints I’ve seen have been about trigger finger discipline or lack of eye protection.

My side isn’t the one that wants the state to have a monopoly on force. We know the 2nd is for everybody, regardless of skin color or where you live. You fuckers are the ones who keep declaring we can’t fight the government with AR-15s because they have tanks and nukes, but then you bumbling fuckheads try it by throwing rocks?

So not only no, but hell no.

rivertoriver1818

[thebarkingraccoon]

Saṃsāra

Vajra’s story, slight AU. Happy Ending. Takemura x V romance Smut WILL happen - probably a lot

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝟷

Summary: After the failed Heist, Vajra wakes up to a hostile engram and calls a friend.

Word count: 3,067

Warnings: Language

“And you? Who’re you?” A voice echoed faintly, waking her from her sleep.

The apartment was empty and dark. Misty had left an emptiness that slowly consumed the room until Vajra could think of nothing else but how alone she felt.

She tried to think of anything else, anyone else. Those final breaths, feeling his hand go limp in hers... Everything had gone perfectly and they made it to the Relic with little resistance. It wasn’t until an unexpected AV dropped by that pushed them over the edge. Literally, as they had jumped from the ledge to escape.

Every time Vajra found a moment of peace, the sounds of Night City always brought her back. It would remind her of her youth, of meeting Jackie, and getting herself in heaps of trouble that he always came to rescue her from. They were inseparable, even Misty would comment on their companionship. A joke here or there about how Jackie and Vajra were so close she had believed them to be dating when she met Jackie. As soon as Jackie and Misty started dating, Vajra was quick to step back and let them have their privacy.

While Jackie’s relationship with Misty did result in Vajra and him spending less time together, it never changed their friendship. Misty wasn’t intrusive, she was perfect for their tight-knit group. As the old cliche goes; Misty was the puzzle piece they were missing. She gave them both a new perspective they needed and Vajra thought of Misty as family.

Now that Jackie was... gone forever, Vajra could think of nothing but how his absence was hurting her. Misty, the poor girl, had fallen head over heels for Jackie. Without him, Vajra wondered how Misty would fare and if Misty blames her. Vajra blamed herself so she assumed Misty did as well.

Vajra swallowed hard, her throat dry. It took everything in her not to sob as she thought of Jackie’s face. How he’d drag her out of bed, insisting that her sleeping in was keeping her from experiencing everything Night City had to offer. Which didn’t make any sense, Vajra had lived in Night City her entire life. There was nothing new for her to see, but she always humored Jackie anyway.

Her body felt heavy, her wounds partially healed yet still leaving behind a soreness she would have to work through. Slowly she dragged her legs over the edge of the bed. Her bare feet touching the cold floor and she curled her toes, focusing on standing up. There was no doubt in her mind she was unlikely to stand for long. All she wanted was a glass of water, then she could go back to sleep and wallow in her grief.

“Need a smoke, where’d you stash yours?”

Vajra’s eyes widened as she froze in alarm. That voice was here, in her room, and unfamiliar. Her eyes darted around the apartment until she spotted the figure directly beside her. She jumped back, hissing in pain as she pulled on a sore muscle. This man was leaning against the wall looking rather unimpressed by her shock.

“I... don’t smoke.” Her voice sounded so unlike her. The two weeks of downtime really took its toll on her. “How- how are we...?”

“How the fuck should I know?” The dark-haired stranger grunted. Somehow he managed to look even more disappointed in her daze. “The fuck kinda joytoy are you supposed to be?”

Vajra shook her head slowly with a sigh. She didn’t know what to think of this stranger, she had assumed this was the engram in her head that Viktor warned her about. Johnny Silverhand, a rockstar turned terrorist that bombed Arasaka tower fifty years ago. Either she was actually speaking to the engram or she was going crazy; either way, she wanted some water and more sleep.

Turning around to get that glass of water turned out to be a mistake. As she saw her goal, Johnny immediately materialized in front of her. She only had a split second to see the annoyed look on his face before he threw her to the floor. Pain shot up her back and resonated through every sore muscle in her body. Before she could protest his attack, he stepped over her with a fist raised.

“Who do you work for?! Start talkin’!” When he pointed his finger at her, her hand followed suit. It was as if someone had grabbed her hand and started moving it around, she had lost control of that arm entirely.

As the realization set in, Johnny backed away from Vajra. He looked at his hands, to hers, and suddenly a flood of memories came rushing in. There were some gaps and a wealth of memories that were not his own. He moved his hands and Vajra’s copied it. As he recalled a memory it also came into Vajra’s mind, she could see what he saw.

“Fuck...” Johnny was just as surprised by this as Vajra. Neither knew what to do, but while Vajra just wanted some water, Johnny wanted to take his frustration out on her. As he figured out what was happening he grew angry. “Fucking chip. I’ll rip the thing out myself!”

Vajra panicked, “No, no! Wait-!”

Her hand yanked at the chip in her head and her vision went black. There was static, the sound being corrupted as her cybernetics tried desperately to reboot.

By the time her vision came back, she was holding onto the ledge of her window. The weeks she spent unconscious caused her to lose her strength, she needed time to get back up to speed. Yet with Johnny controlling her, she felt just as strong as before. Vajra was helpless as Johnny reeled her back and smashed her head into the glass.

“I’ll take control!” His voice in her head, the smash against the glass; she couldn’t think straight. Her head was throbbing in pain as he forced her into the glass again. “I’ll find a way!”

Vajra was so dazed she couldn’t really make sense of what he said anymore. “You hear me?!” With a final slam, Vajra collapsed to the floor. Johnny lost control as she blacked out.

It was only a minute before Vajra opened her eyes again. She moved her hand relieved to have her body back. Pushing herself off the floor she turned to see the blue pill bottle resting on the ledge of her bed. Johnny paced in front of her, his body flashing in and out as the Relic struggled to project him.

As fast as she could, Vajra snatched the bottle from her bedside and gripped the lid. “Get out of my head!” Only for Johnny to smack it out of her hands, the bottle rolling across the floor.

“Not like that! Stick some iron in your mouth and pull the trigger!” The back of his hand came without warning, forcing her to the floor with the bottle. She was stunned that he could do that, that he could touch her without her own body. Panic grew as she recognized the danger he posed to her. If he wanted to kill her she was in no shape to resist.

“I can feel it... our minds... touching.” Johnny was as confused about it as she was. They both knew what this was, but not how to handle it. This was a first for the world, an engram overwriting a living person. “I’m like mold on fruit... creeping into you. Nothing I can do about it...” He sounded somewhat forlorn about that.

“You hear me?!” Johnny yelled, practically snarling as he bombarded Vajra with this mess of thought. As his mind raced he wondered where he is, what happened to him; Vajra was seeing the same mixed in with her own. The violent whirlwind of disjointed thought and images caused Vajra a terrible migraine.

“I’d puke if I fuckin could!” Every time he spoke his projection teleported around the room. Blue lines of corruption from the Relic kept blinking him in and out of her sight. “It’s just a copy of the engram - I’m out there somewhere, gotta be...”

As he paced, Vajra worked her way to the pills. She wanted this to be over, her head hurt so terribly she felt it might split in two. Looking at Johnny, it might be too late anyway. Vajra dragged her weak body across the floor, “Get out... of my head...” Her voice was so weak she could barely get the words out.

Johnny was unable to take control again though he tried. He had to watch as Vajra snatched a pill from the floor and swallowed it. She rolled onto her back, staring up as Johnny stood over her. He didn’t say a word, only glared from behind his aviators as the medicine began to work.

Within moments Johnny vanished, suppressed by Viktor’s medication. Relief washed over Vajra as she felt the pain beginning to subside. Still sore and laying on the hard floor, she was far from being pain-free. Still, having Johnny out of the way, for now, was a start.

Vajra woke in the early morning with the sun still rising. She groaned as her stiff body protested against her movements. Cold and sore, Vajra felt as though she had slept on a rock. Pressing her palm under her she realized she had passed out on the floor exactly where she was when Johnny was repressed. There was simply nothing left in her after Johnny attacked her so she had closed her eyes where she was.

Hearing her back pop she knew she would regret it for the rest of the day. There was nothing but joint stiffness and exhaustion in her future.

She had to get moving again, there was work to be done, and laying around her apartment won’t help her. Viktor warned her the Relic was killing her slowly and she had to find a way to have it removed safely. There was no time to waste, she had already been out for two weeks. That was lost time spent recovering from a gunshot to the head, but it still meant she had to play catch up.

Grabbing a drink from the vending machine, she turned to her desk to check her messages. As expected it had been filled with spam. Several male endowment products, some about cybernetic enhancements for work and daily life. Finally a message from her complex stating that her rent is overdue... Vajra sighed as she imagined what late fee they were going to give her this time.

Taking one long gulp of her drink she was startled by her ringtone. Vajra coughed as she looked at the ID. Takemura? She didn’t know anyone by that name, but the image on the caller ID showed her his face. Though her memories of that day were incomprehensible, she did recognize the face.

Saburo Arasaka’s personal bodyguard. The man that had begun to scan her and Jackie inside Yorinobu’s penthouse. He wasn’t just any Arasaka agent; he was the best of the best. Saburo made him his bodyguard for a reason. This man was undeniably dangerous and Vajra truly did not want to get involved with him. Whatever he wanted she assumed it wouldn’t be in her best interest.

It didn’t take her long to decide to reject his call. The ringing stopped and Vajra tried to put him out of her mind... Though she had an issue doing so. She remembered the junkyard, Takemura killing Dex, and pulling her into his car. That look on his face told her more than she wanted to know. She couldn’t tell if it was hatred or just how he looked. Some people had the misfortune of resting bitch face. Didn’t much matter, he was Arasaka and though he brought her to Viktor, it didn’t change that he was a threat to her.

So she tried even harder to pretend she never heard his call. As far as she was concerned there is no man named Takemura and...

Vajra looked down solemnly to her drink. Takemura saved her, he pulled her from the junkyard and they survived an attack together. After they crashed things go blurry, but she recalled reaching Delamain. The next thing she saw was Takemura leaning over her, inspecting something. Delamain gave him instructions to save her and Takemura hesitated for a moment before the A.I. cabdriver warned him she would die anyway.

He saved her. Vajra felt a bit guilty for rejecting his call, some need to thank him for saving her... but she worried he would want something from her. Life debts were simply not in her moral code. She owed no one her life and she wanted no one to owe her theirs.

While she was grateful to be alive she knew she was on borrowed time. She was dying and there was nothing Viktor, much less Takemura, could do about that. Whatever Takemura called her for was his business, she wasn’t about to do business with an Arasaka agent.

Vajra winced as she thought of her friend, Ryker. He was with Arasaka for a while before he got pushed out by a higher up. Those corpo rats were corrupt and Ryker was nearly killed. When Ryker was still with Arasaka she did do work for him, helped him whenever he needed it. So she had done work for Arasaka technically.

It didn’t matter, this was different. Ryker is her friend, someone she trusts with her life and trusts her in return. Takemura is an unknown, someone whose morals were whatever Saburo Arasaka deemed them to be. Even worse, she was there when Saburo was murdered. Takemura may believe her to be the murderer. After all, why would he believe her over Saburo’s own son? She had less credibility than Yorinobu from what she could see.

He might wish to take her in, as it were. Pin the murder on her and Jackie...

That made little sense, if he wanted to do that why had Arasaka’s own send a hit squad after them both?

Vajra groaned in frustration. So much had gone wrong so quickly, she had lost control and she hated losing control. The feeling of her life slipping through her fingers, unable to do anything about it left her in such a terrible state. She was defensive, cornered. On one hand, she was trapped with Johnny, an engram slowly killing her and threatened to kill her anyway. The other was Arasaka, the events in Konpeki, and Takemura.

There was no graceful way out of her situation. As of now, Vajra was forced to take a defensive stance against everyone. She wasn’t safe in her own head and she had to remain inconspicuous on the streets, lest Arasaka finds her.

She slipped into her clothes and headed into her stash. There was a collection of her things from the night she returned from Konpeki. A duffle zipped and secured, brought in by Misty. As she dug into the bag she pulled out Kongou, the weapon of Yorinobu Arasaka. It was a fine weapon, she wasn’t going to pass it up.

Clothes in the bag were laundered yet her shirt and jacket of that night were missing. She was thankful for that, Viktor likely having tossed them entirely. They were stained with Jackie’s blood and Vajra never wanted to see them again.

Lastly, Vajra pulled out a katana she had stolen from Konpeki. The blade of Saburo Arasaka; Satori. She slotted it into the stash wall on display before making her way out of her apartment.

Once she breathed in the thick air outside, she felt an immediate pain of loss. It was the understanding that Jackie would not be waiting for her outside, he would not be asking to borrow her car to take Misty out. She would never see him again and it took the wind out of her.

She needed to hear a friendly voice, she had to.

As her list of contacts flashed, she found Ryker’s name and called him. Vajra needed to hear him, she was desperate to know someone was still here. Jackie was dead and she had this irrational fear that somehow Ryker was too. Though he was not in Konpeki when everything went down, he had been in the hotel before that.

The second it started ringing, Ryker answered.

“Vajra!” Seeing him even over a call was a relief like no other. He seemed distressed and she understood why. “You’re awake. Vik said he’d call me when you woke up.”

She leaned over the railing, looking down to the floors below. “I’m sure he just wanted to make sure I had some time to myself. It’s been... rough.”

Ryker nodded, his eyes searching for something to say, anything that would help. “Do you... want to talk? I can meet you, I got some free time.”

“Ryker, you’re the busiest person I know. You never have free time.” Vajra narrowed her eyes suspiciously at him. Though she started to smile, Ryker took this far more seriously. He wasn’t one to mess around when a friend was hurting and while he grieved Jackie’s passing, he knew she would need him.

“I’ll make time.”

With a drawn-out sigh, Vajra shrugged. An out of place smile on her face, “If you insist. Can we get something to eat? I’m starving.”

Quick to agree, Ryker finally returned with a faint smile. “Meet me at Jinya? Could go for some good ramen.”

“Be there in about an hour.” With a nod, Ryker ended the call. He seemed stressed out, which wasn’t uncommon. He was a hard worker and the last two weeks weighed heavily on him. So much time passed without a word from Vajra. When Ryker saw the news about Saburo and got a call from Viktor, he expected to be told Jackie and Vajra were dead. Instead, that was only partially right.

Vajra made her way to the elevator, slowly working off her stiff joints. She was excited to see Ryker, but there was a creeping fear he held her responsible for Jackie’s death. Nothing was telling her that, only her own deep-rooted fear.

She hit the ground floor button and waited. Even with all these people rushing through the streets, Night City felt dead without Jackie to light it up.

[tinyshe]

The shadow government of ousted former lawmakers in Myanmar has formed an armed militia aimed at opposing the military junta that seized control of the country in a coup on February 1 and killed more than 760 people who protested against the army takeover, organizers said Wednesday. The National Unity Government said the creation of the People’s Defense Force was exercising the authority given to it with the landslide victory of Aung San Suu Kyi’s National League for Democracy in November elections. The three-week-old NUG said the force is necessary to prevent killings and other violent acts against the people by the junta, which calls itself the State Administration Council. “Today, May 5, we formed the People’s Defense Force. Preparations for this army were made a long time ago. A lot of time has gone into training,” said Khin Ma Ma Myo, the NUG’s deputy minister of defense. “Training is more important than manpower and weapons. A defense acquisition department has been established under the Ministry of Defense,” he told RFA’s Myanmar Service. The NUG statement called the PDF a precursor to a “Federal Union Army” which would team up the majority ethnic Burman militia with Myanmar’s many armed ethnic rebel groups to fight the well-trained Myanmar military. The ethnic groups have been supporting anti-coup dissidents by providing shelter and training, but many powerful ethnic armies have sat out the conflict so far, and some remain distrustful of the NUG, which is made up of representatives of the government they were fighting before the coup. The Karen National Union, which represents the Karen ethnic minority, whose state in eastern Myanmar has been under attack by junta warplanes, voiced support for the new militia, and is discussing “fighting a common enemy,” according the group’s top foreign affairs official, Padoe Saw Tawnee. “I think there will be a lot to discuss, such as the formation of units,” he told RFA. Hla Kyaw Zaw, a Myanmar-based political and military analyst, told RFA the important lesson from the opposition against the coup, called the “Spring Revolution,” is the need for an armed uprising. “People have learned two valuable lessons from all this. They have learned that they have to fight back with weapons … and that all ethnic groups must unify to fight this military dictatorship,” said Hla Kyaw Zaw. ‘David and Goliath’ The NUG is also attempting to gain recognition from the international community. At a U.S. House Foreign Relations Committee hearing Tuesday, Myanmar’s representative to the United Nations, Kyaw Moe Tun, who was appointed prior to the coup, called on the U.S. and other countries to offer support to the NUG. “The international community's recognition and engagement with the NUG is a critical step to take, and it could pave the way to end the violence, to save the lives of innocent civilians and protect them from the military’s brutal and inhumane acts, to restore democracy in Myanmar, and provide humanitarian assistance to the people in need,” he said. Despite the NUG’s optimism, the defense force’s goal of taking on the Myanmar military is unrealistic, said Thein Tun Oo, a former army officer and executive director of the pro-military think tank the Thayninga Institute for Strategic Studies. “They have issued many statements and most of their officials are just working on paperwork for the rival government,” he said. But in a sign that support for the junta among some ethnic groups is eroding, the Arakan National Party, which represents the Rakhine people in the country’s westernmost state, announced it had halted its cooperation with the junta, which had given a Rakhine leader a seat on the SAC. The military regime had not met demands for the repeal of the terrorist designation of its affiliate, the Arakan Army, and the release of arrested on terror charges during a two-year-long war, the ANP’s leader said. “We have made requests and proposals in the interests of our state, but they were all ignored. … We are not happy with the current situation and there is no point of going on like this if we want to see some positive development,” ANP Chairman Thar Tun Hla told RFA. Anthony Davis, a Bangkok-based security analyst who writes for IHS-Janes security and defense publications, told RFA last month that a fight between an alliance of ethnic armed organizations and the Myanmar military, known as the Tatmadaw in Burmese, would be a "David and Goliath contest" "If you look at all the ethnic armed organizations in Myanmar, you’re looking maybe at around 75,000 to 78,000 armed troops. Now, on the Tatmadaw side, the army is in total probably around 350,000, so it’s significantly larger," he said, speaking before the formation of the NUG in mid-April. He added, however, that a loose combination of ethnic armies "in their own areas conducting operations against the Tatmadaw at the same time … would be a very, very significant problem for the Tatmadaw despite their firepower and despite their numbers." Local militias kill troops Recent days have seen local militias kill junta troops in Chin state, near the border with India, and the downing of a military helicopter in northern Kachin state, as well as a series of attacks in other parts of Myanmar in which outgunned civilians have taken up crude arms and killed more than two dozen security forces. In the Chin state capital Hakha, the Chin Defense Force said an army soldier was killed in a shootout in front of the Innwa Bank Tuesday night, the latest of nine soldier deaths since May 2. In a township outside Mandalay, the country’s second-largest city, about 20 people armed with machetes and knives attacked a police post guarding a Chinese oil pipeline at dawn on Wednesday, killing three police guards. "I heard gunshots around 5 a.m.  What we learned is that five policemen were on duty at the police post and two escaped. Three died,” a local resident who requested anonymity told RFA. “The military later came to our village and were checking people’s movements and searched houses.” An unknown attacker threw a hand grenade into the house of the administrator of a village near Tamu in the northwestern Sagaing region, killing his mother, daughter and granddaughter,” a local resident told RFA. “The administrator was asking people to hand over their arms and was checking houses. This started an exchange of fire between the Tamu Defense Force and the military. During the commotion the house was bombed,” said the resident of Tamu, a city near the border with India where locals had killed 14 soldiers in a series of attacks in late March and early April. In Myanmar’s largest city, Yangon, bombs went off in front of the junta-aligned Moe Gaung Hospital and some ward administrators were attacked and killed, witnesses said. The bombing followed another bombing Tuesday night of a building that had formerly been the Armed Forces Records Office building and was just opened as a hospital by junta leader Gen. Min Aung Hlaing last weekend. There were no reported injuries in the earlier blast. RFA attempted to contact military spokesperson Maj. Gen. Zaw Min Tun for comment on Wednesday’s violence but he could not be reached.   According to the Assistance Association for Political Prisoners in Myanmar, security forces have killed more than 769 people across the country since the coup. Nearly 3,700 people have been arrested, while nearly 1,460 are at large but facing arrest warrants. Human Rights Watch and over 200 other nongovernmental organizations from around the world on Wednesday called on the United Nations Security Council to impose an arms embargo on Myanmar. “No government should sell a single bullet to the junta under these circumstances,” the groups said. “Imposing a global arms embargo on Myanmar is the minimum necessary step the Security Council should take in response to the military’s escalating violence." Report by RFA’s Myanmar Service. Translated by Khin Maung Nyane. English version edited by Eugene Whong.  source