#said country: becomes unstable

[saharathorn]

Whenever white people post photos of Iran and Afghanistan in like the fifties and sixties next to photos from today and are like “Muslim countries are so backwards!!!” As if western intervention wasn’t the cause of it.

#white people: overthrow a country’s government #said country: becomes unstable #white people: see!!! they’re so barbaric and uncivilized!

[vladajwrites]

Razor’s Edge

Part One || Part Two || Part Three || Part Four || Part Five

Summary; Reader moves to Woodsboro for her senior year of high school. This story take place in the setting of the Scream 4 movie. This story is dedicated to all of the girls living through the current Rory Culkin revival. I love and see you. <3

Also available to be read on AO3 here

It's imperative for me to mention MAJOR trigger warnings for this story; blood, violence, sexual content, alcohol usage, and mentions of abusive situations. I will add and edit tw's as needed.

WC; 4146

Notes; Hello!

The next part should be out relatively soon. Not sure quite yet how many parts will be made and posted. Thank you for any and all support! It truly means the world to me.

(Not Beta Read)

It had been an astonishingly warm night when you returned to the town of Woodsboro. The air around you felt slick with familiar August humidity as you stepped out of the car that once belonged to your father. You stood for a moment, inhaling deeply as if attempting to swallow in the sight around you.

It had been nearly a decade since you had seen the quiet street where your aunt Irina resided. The moon was nearly full, casting a gold tinted glow that rivaled the street lamps near the surrounding homes. Memories of your childhood summers spent rolling in the grass of your aunt’s front yard as she sunbathed beside you flashed through your mind as you stared across the lawn.

A sad smile crept across your lips as you popped the trunk, compiling boxes in an unstable stack within your arms.

You suddenly felt a nervous sting in your stomach as you walked towards the door. Reality seemingly sinking in slowly. You had just turned eighteen only days prior. You dreamt of that birthday for years. It meant that you were now an adult and that in some ways; you were free. Free to leave home and go no contact with your parents. Your parents had plucked you from a town not far from Woodsboro and moved you across the country at the age of nine. They isolated you from the support of any sort of extended family or potential friends. Your mother and father psychically and emotionally tormented you and did so in such a calculating manner that they would never be caught or reprimanded.

You had tried to run away to your aunts once before at the age of fourteen, but your parents had the police bring you back to the home before you could cross the county’s boundary. It was even more difficult to keep in contact with your lovely aunt after that. Your parents monitored the communication between the two of you like a hawk. Your aunt still did what she could to support you and you both knew that when the time came, she would become your safe haven.

You weren’t sure how you’d make your escape, how you would go about hiding the things you were carefully packing away. But it seemed your parents had, by this point, completely checked out. It was as if they quietly understood that you’d all be better off if you parted ways. The final confirmation you needed that this was true was when your dad passed the title of the old car he had kept in the garage and worked on rebuilding over the past years to you just days before your birthday. He committed this action wordlessly, dropping the paperwork in front of your bedroom door to find. You said nothing in return. You knew what it all meant. An action like that from him would never come from a place of love or kindness.

It didn’t take you long after to finish gathering the last of your things. You debated on leaving your parents a note, debated the possibility of initiating a final conversation with them. Using your better judgment, you decided against it. They didn’t deserve anything from you, you knew you’d never receive the closure from them you deserved. Better to just try and forget it all.

You left in the night after hours of pacing your bedroom floor, waiting and listening anxiously until the house grew silent and you could assume your parents were fast asleep. You grabbed your bag containing your phone, wallet, and keys and made your way out to your car that sat adjacent to the curb in front of the Connecticut home that served as your personal hell for nearly a decade.

You started the engine, feeling the car shake as it warmed up. Your hands trembled as they gripped the steering wheel. You were ready, had to be.

Taking a single look back at your home, you felt your heart skip out of step as you caught your mother’s frame looking down at you from her second-story bedroom window. You took your foot off the gas as you met her eyes. You couldn’t have but certain, but by the way her sullen cheeks glinted in the dim night lighting, she appeared to be crying. Her mouth remained pierced and straight, her shoulders and head rigid and stiff in their usual form. Even if she truly were crying, you wouldn’t have been able to bring yourself to care. Too late and far too little, you thought. You snapped your head back to the road and pulled forward down the street, refusing to look back again.

You held your shoulders and back straight, attempting to keep your face stuck in shrewd control. You couldn’t explain the wet, sickly feeling that built and spilled from the corner of your eyes. Couldn’t stop it if you tried.

It wasn’t until you caught a glimpse of yourself in the rearview as you entered the highway that you realized you saw your mother’s face staring back at you. A sudden terrible thought crossed your mind. Could your parents have made you just as cruel and horrible as they were?

You took a deep breath, wiping away the tears that clung to your cold skin. You let your body slack slightly, relaxing the muscles in your face and shoulders. You glanced back up at your reflection once more. No, you thought, there was still a sense of softness in you. You would never be like them. You were going to heal, move forward.

A smile spread across your lips then as another car shot past you. This felt like the first real moment of your life. You reached over, digging in your bag for your phone. You only had one person to call. The phone rang twice before your aunt’s soft-spoken voice answered on the returning line. As if she could read your mind, she asked quietly, “Are you on your way?”

Your smile widened as you answered her, “Yes, yes! I’ll be there in just a few days. I have all my things. I’ll let you know if I run into any trouble.”

The line was silent, you held your breath as you waited for a response. You suddenly felt nervous in those quiet moments. You hadn’t told her that this would be the night you would be leaving. It had all happened so quickly.

Your aunt then exhaled a heavy sigh of relief and your smile returned once more.

“Be safe darling, I’ll speak to you soon. I love you.” Irina spoke.

“Okay, promise I will be. I love you too.” You replied before pressing the button to end the call.

The long drive passed in what now felt like an instant as you stood in Irina’s driveway, boxes in hand, looking up at what would become your new home.

Your aunt Irina greeted you on her front porch, promptly taking one of the small stacked boxes from your arms that hid your face. You sighed in relief at the lightened load.

“Ah dochka, come inside quickly.” Your aunt said over her shoulder as she propped the front door open with foot.

You nodded and followed her, placing the heavy boxes that contained the most important of your belongings on the entryway table beside the stairs. Your aunt carefully placed the box she held on top of the stack as well before turning to face you. You held your arms awkwardly at your side, your fingers twitched as you met your aunt’s gaze. She was all the natural beauty and poise that your mother -her older sister- had without the cutting and sunken look that came from years of contempt and cruelty. You hoped you favored your aunt in that way.

There was a moment of silence shared between the two of you as you took in the sight and presence of one another. Irina’s expression was filled with something indiscernible as she looked you over. You suddenly felt self-conscious in that moment. The last time she had seen you, you were only a child.

“I-“ You began to speak, unsure what your next words would be. You were promptly interrupted as Irina took you into her arms.

“Oh sweet girl, I’ve missed you so much.” Your aunt spoke softly. Her hand slid over your hair, holding your head closer to her own.

You tried your best to get a hold the overwhelming emotions building up inside you as you wrapped your arms tighter around her.

“Listen, don’t worry about any of it right now,” Irina pulled away, holding your shoulders in her hands. “I’ll show you to your bedroom. It’s late. We’ll catch up in all the days to come. As you’re ready, of course.”

She understood you so perfectly. It felt as though no time had passed between the two of you at all. You nodded, wiping away the single tear that slipped past your waterline. “Thank you.” You replied earnestly.

She showed you to your room, helping you carry your things up the stairs. The room was warm and soft, perfectly polished and eclectic, in the style that perfectly encapsulated Irina. You absolutely adored it all.

Your aunt didn’t linger as you swiftly unpacked the essentials you needed for the night. It was nearly reaching the hours of the early morning and you were both physically and mentally well exhausted. You’d let yourself begin to process it all in the morning. For now, you were safe, even happy. It was going to be alright.

The next morning had come and gone. Your aunt woke you with breakfast and the two of you exchanged small pleasantries. In the afternoon Irina stopped you as she caught you on the stairs, a laundry basket stuck to her hip. “We can go tomorrow to enroll you at the high school if you’d like. I have a gap in meetings around noon.”

You picked at your fingernails, tossing up the idea in your head. “It’s okay, I can run by the school on my own tomorrow. I imagine It shouldn’t take me very long.”

Irina furrowed her brow, nodding. “Oh okay then, just shoot me a text when you get everything sorted, will you?”

You smiled and nodded before the two of you resumed your paths apart.

Finding your way to the school the next morning wasn’t too difficult of a task to accomplish. Classes began in a week and to your relief, there were no students hanging near campus yet to be found. Aside from a few members of faculty, the school was entirely deserted.

It didn’t take you much time to locate the staff required to complete your enrollment. The secretary had even exclaimed she knew your aunt quite well. You supposed that everyone must be at least partially acquainted in this town, given its size.

You suddenly felt hesitant as you made your way across the parking lot back to your car. A silver sedan caught your eye as it sped past you. All four windows were rolled down and you could tell the car was full of people that looked just about your age. It seemed you had caught their attention too as you met the eyeline of the driver. She was too far away to make out much detail beyond her short cropped hair and frame.

The thought hadn’t yet occurred to you how difficult it would be to make new friends in a place where nearly everyone grew up with one another. You wished in that moment that you had made more of an effort as a child during your summers spent here to make any friends. But you had always been shy, horribly and painfully shy, as a child. It was just easier to play on your own. In all honesty, you weren’t sure how to make real close friends, let alone keep them.

Still, you shrugged, it would have made this whole transition much easier if you had at least one person near your age in Woodsboro who might have remembered your name.

You tried to keep your mind occupied in the days that followed. It wasn’t much of a hard task to follow. In the afternoon, you mainly kept to your bedroom, flipping mindlessly through a book you had been attempting to finish for the better part of a month. In the mornings you sat in the window bay, hot coffee in hand, remembering the neighborhood boys you used to watch ride by in circles on their bikes. Occasionally, your aunt invited you to eat lunch at the law firm she worked at in town. She’d tell you endlessly how quickly you’d adjust to things once the school year started, reminded you how the home was always open to guests, talked about the possible colleges you could apply to. It was a strange feeling to have someone show so much interest in the day-to-day doings of your life. You figured you’d learn to truly welcome and reciprocate the sentiment in time.

Your nerves had seemed kept safely under control until you began to turn into the Woodsboro High parking lot on the first day of class. Your fingers tapped the steering wheel in anticipation as you pulled into an open parking spot near the back of the lot. Placing the car in the park, you flipped your visor, giving yourself a once over before biting the bullet and getting the worst part of the day on with it. You scolded yourself for unknowingly chewing your lip nearly raw on the drive there, but other than that, you seemed just about alright.

Irina had been so excited to help you get ready for your first day. You knew she had always thought of you as her own daughter. She never had the opportunity to have any children of her own. You gladly let her fuss over your hair and clothing without once interjecting that the curling iron was burning your neck, and the constant outfit changes were exhausting your limited wardrobe. It gave you a sense of confidence, though, knowing that you at least looked your absolute best, regardless of how you felt inside.

You said a silent prayer as you approached the building’s front doors. Groups of students passed by in small droves. Each step felt like sinking through sludge as you noticed the quizzical looks from your new found peers that read ‘outsider.’ Even though your rational brain knew it couldn’t be true, it felt as though everyone in the halls was craning their heads to catch a glimpse. You dug your thumbnail into the palm of your hand as you dropped into an empty chair near the back of your first period homeroom class.

“There’s that new face.” A friendly female voice spoke beside you as she dropped her things on the desk to your right.

You turned to face her and were met by an inquiring smile and a familiar short blonde haircut. You immediately recognized her as the girl you had seen in the school parking lot the day you had registered.

You held out your hand, giving her your name.

She shook your hand in return, “Kirby.” She replied, giving you her own. As the two of you waited for the first bell to ring, you exchanged the usual first introduction sentiments. She introduced you to another girl who sat in the seat in front of you.

“Jill Roberts.” The new girl had stated more matter-of-factly.

“Good to meet you, Jill.” You replied in the same cadence. She gave you a half smile as she onced you over.

You spent the majority of your first few periods staring out of classroom windows or drawing endless little circles on your notebook as your teachers passed around syllabi and gave the same spiel on classroom expectation for the semester. You had learned so many names in just a few hours; you were already struggling to remember even just a handful. You assured yourself it wouldn’t matter much in the grand scheme of things. In a matter of days, most people would lose interest in the new girl thing and you’d slip comfortably by as a nameless face in the considerably smaller student body.

The bell rang for lunch and you were on your feet with your things thrown over your shoulder in a matter of seconds. You carefully squeezed your way through the buzzing hallway and made a direct line to your car, hoping to decompress and catch your breath for a moment.

Just as you planted your first foot on the paved parking lot, you heard your name called, no- shouted, from behind you.

‘Fuck,’ you mumbled to yourself, pivoting in place. It took a moment to locate the person who had called after you. A curly-haired boy awkwardly jogged to catch up, his long-haired counterpart feigned a cooler stepped approach behind him. You couldn’t remember an introduction with either of them.

The curly-haired boy noticing the confused look on your face interjected, halfway catching his breath, “We already got your name from Kirby.” He began, noticing the way your brows furrowed he quickly continued, “I’m Robbie, this is Charlie.” He motioned to the man that stood beside him.

You looked up between the pair, catching Charlie’s line of sight. His eyes dropped just as quickly to his shoes below him, kicking his laces at the ground.

“... Right.” you stated questioningly, dragging your eyes away from the frayed aglet on Charlie’s left shoe to look back up at Robbie.

“Right, yeah,” Robbie stumbled over his next words, “We run the film club. We meet every day after school.” You sucked in your bottom lip, trying to conceal your now amused half smile.

You noticed Charlie now glancing between you and Robbie with dread in his expression at the awkward mess Robbie was attempting to make his way through. Just before Charlie could begin to speak, Robbie rushed to spit out the point he was trying to get to.

“Well, we’d- I’d.” Robbie met Charlie’s eyes for a moment before continuing. “No- we’d love for you to, if you ‘d want to… You should come check it out. After school. Today.”

You rolled the idea over in your head for a moment. You didn’t really believe you belonged anywhere near a film club; you considered yourself an average movie-goer at best. It couldn’t necessarily hurt to go, either. If you really felt out of place, you could just not go back the next day. You squinted up at the pair. Neither of them could meet your eyes. Your aunt would be ecstatic to learn you’d even made an attempt to put yourself out there a bit more. The short contemplative silence hadn’t been a thought that had crossed your mind, but you could tell it was now starting to make them squirm.

“Come on dude, I told you she wouldn’t want to come.” Charlie broke the silence with a quiet plea to Robbie.

Charlie now turned back to face you, “I’m sorry, don’t stress about trying to make it.” The look of defeat in the pair’s expressions brought a pit of sudden guilt in your chest. Just as Charlie grabbed Robbie’s shoulder to drag him back inside the school, you interjected without a second thought.

“I’ll go. I’d love to go. Thank you for the invite.” You drug as much sincerity into your face as you could muster. Both boys stopped in their tracks, exclaiming in unison, “Really?”

Charlie’s eyebrow raised in suspecting confusion.

“Okay, cool! Classroom 120A, right after the last bell.” Robbie called over his shoulder, a wide grin plastered across his face.

You stood for a moment, one foot on the curb, watching the pair make their way back to school. Fixating on the way, Charlie ran his hand through the mess of his long hair.

“See, I told you dude, you just have to make the first move.” You could hear Robbie say, almost out of earshot now. His arm reached out to fall over Charlie’s shoulder, shaking him slightly. Charlie pushed the boy off him. You imagined him rolling his eyes as he brushed off his shoulder.

You laughed to yourself, turning on your heel, heading back to your car to spend the time left of lunch you had in much needed solitude.

The remainder of the school day passed by just about the same way the first half had. In your last class of the day, you took the time counting the heads of the students around you, trying to recount the names of each one you could remember. Once you made your way to the back corner of the room, you noticed Charlie staring down at his lap. He was crumpling, unfolding, then crumpling up the same piece of paper over and over again. You wondered what he could’ve written on that paper, if there was anything written on it at all.

You hadn’t realized how long you sat watching his repetitive movements until he looked up, catching your gaze. His eyes were piercing, deep set, his hair half-way covering the features of his face.

Your face burned hot as you quickly snapped your head back towards the whiteboard in the front of the room.

‘Idiot.’ You groaned in silence to yourself. Out of the very corner of your peripherals, you could feel his eyes still fixated on you from just a row behind. You picked at your nails anxiously, watching the minute hand spin on the classroom clock.

The last bell of the day rang out shortly after and you relaxed into your seat. You slowly gathered your things into your bag on the desk.

“Hey.” A familiar voice spoke beside you. You jumped in your seat at the quiet and sudden proximity. You looked up to meet Charlie’s gaze. He was messing with the loop on the strap of his backpack that rested on his left shoulder. “I can show you to the room we use for film club, if that’d be cool with you.”

You nodded your head up at him. “Yeah, that’s cool.” In all honesty, you had almost completely forgotten about even going.

“Cool.” He said, grabbing your bag off the desk and throwing it over his other shoulder. He began walking to the door, motioning over his shoulder for you to follow him.

You followed closely beside him as you both pushed your way through the hallways packed with students exiting the building. The would-be awkward silence between the pair of you was graciously filled by the loud chatter of people passing by.

“When’d you move back?” You barely caught Charlie’s question. His face was fixed on the wall in front of him.

“Back? I’m sorry, I’ve never lived here.” You replied, “I moved in with my aunt about a week ago.”

He looked over at you, studying your face for a second before turning away again. He nodded his head.

“What about you? How long have you lived here?” You asked, keeping your gaze directed forward as well.

“Born and raised.” He replied. You nodded in response as the two turned a corner. You could see a plaque that read 120A just ahead.

A trio of guys in football garb made their way past, headed in the opposite direction. The closest of the group carried a large bag of equipment at his side that nearly knocked your knee from under you as you crossed paths.

“Ouch,” you mumbled, missing a step. You were alright, truly fine after shaking it off a bit.

Charlie stopped in his tracks beside you. Turning to face the group. “Watch your shit, Anderson.” He called after them.

The carrier of the bag didn’t bother to stop walking, only looking over his shoulder to seemingly size Charlie up. He laughed, “Yeah, alright Walker. You’re not gonna do shit about it.”

You could nearly feel Charlie tense up beside you. Men and their silly egos.

“I’m alright, let’s go please.” You grabbed Charlie’s forearm and pulled him forward towards the room, letting go once you could feel his resistance lessen.

Once in the room, you let out a sigh and took a seat next to Kirby near the center of the room. The meeting, to your surprise, went by well. Charlie and Robbie both seemed much more sure of themselves when they were talking about things they were passionate about. Although you had to admit it was all pretty dorky, you’d never fault them for the devotion in their interests.

You were practically lost throughout the hourlong meeting, but you believed it wouldn’t be too much of a challenge to pick up on things, eventually. It was all sort of interesting, fun even.

You decided on the car ride home that day you’d make sure to attend the next one.

#fanfiction #fanfic #scream 4 fanfic #charlie walker fanfiction #charlie walker fanfic #charlie walker x reader #scream fanfic #charlie walker x y/n #charlie walker #rory culkin fanfic #rory culkin fanfiction

[murdererofthumbs]

Seeing reactions after this episode is actually slightly hysterical? It proves that this fandom can be so blind-sighted by characters relations, that they forget what show they are watching. Like, I have always been a self-proclaimed Roman-girl, because I find him compelling and extremely psychologically interesting, and like all of these characters, to a certain extent, I do empathise with him on the level of trauma that he went through. But why the fuck are people surprised that THIS is how he behaved in this episode is beyond me. Oh, suddenly Roman is dead to you because he behaved in the way that was very much consistent with who he is? That’s who all of these people are, like come on, what do we think we are watching here? You didn’t really think he will suddenly become a defender of democracy because it serves a greater good of the country? He was the one to fucking choose Mencken as a president, he cherry-picked him for Logan, because he knew that their views align, that Mencken will be a smart business decision. This whole thing is a transactional procedure - they needed to get someone who will be willing to serve their corrupt interests. Roman doesn’t see a problem in having fascist as a president, because he will never be touched by the consequences of having that kind of man in power. He is very much safe at the top of the mountain, and who the fuck cares what will happen to the peasants at the bottom of the chain? In this way, he imitates Logan the most, because in the end of the day, people are units to him, to all of them really, some of them are just more willing to admit this than others.

Also, like, “uuu, Roman was such a misogynist to Shiv this episode, he just didn’t listen to her at all”. Look, can we stop being delusional here for a second or is it some sort of selective memory situation? Roman is a misogynist. Kendall is a misogynist. Shiv, in fact, has a lot of internalised misogyny going on, and her being a woman never stopped her from pushing other women under the fucking bus, so let’s be real here for a second. And that is not to be said in defence of Roman, frankly nothing what I’m saying here is supposed to justify his behaviour in this or any other episode, but it’s more of like… reality check? I know that Roman’s self-destructive spiral and semi-decent behaviour at the beginning of this season might have clouded certain aspects of who he is, but please, go back to season 3 and count all the instances of him throwing misogynistic and, frequently incestuous jokes and innuendo, at Shiv? How many times he undermines her position on the basis of her being a woman? Or how Kendall, for that matter, uses similar arguments in 03x02? All the siblings use aspects of each other as weapons. Kendall is undermined because he is unstable, because he is a drug-addict, because he has a tendency of flying off on the cloud of mania, and crashing in the heap of depression. Shiv is crossed out because she is a woman, because she frankly has no real experience in the firm (which, although people might be super angry about that, because she is such a “girlboss” apparently, but this is a factual argument), because of her relationship to Tom and tendency to take several sides at the same time (with not much thought put into it). And Roman is frequently undermined because he is a freak and a pervert, because “there is something wrong with him”, because he is the weakest dog that is most easily manipulated, who crumples like a wet tissue if only to receive a bit of affection. They all weaponise their “weak” points against each other, because this dog-eats-dog mindset is focal to who they are as a family, to how they were brought up, to how Logan wanted them to be. So please, let’s not be surprised, when Roman suddenly uses misogyny as an argument against Shiv, because it’s not sudden at all, and it’s always been there.

I think what we have on our hands, is the same situation we had in 03x07 during Kendall’s birthday (and previous episode with Mencken), where some people are so outraged by Roman, and by his ability to shove the knife where it hurts, that they suddenly cross him out completely. Again, all these characters are bad people, there was never any doubt about that. They are compelling because of the complexities of their familial relationships, because of their childhood trauma and the consequences that this trauma has on them as adults. But they are still completely reprehensible as human beings, and I think some viewers forget about that and then get outraged when show about awful people features awful people. And I’m sure, either in next or final episode, something will happen and Roman will become sympathetic again, and he will regain his position as a “poor meow meow”, just as he did in the finale of season 3. Its always a fucking carousel with this character and people get sucked in and have their eye’s covered just to realise that nothing really changed, and nothing will change, because in this show people, at their core, remain the same.

#roman roy #this is a ridiculously long rant #but as soon as I finished this episode I just knew what takes I will see on tumblr #it is becoming painfully predictable to figure out what takes people will give #i dont know if i should find it funny or sad because its been 4 seasons and some people still don’t understand what they are watching #like wow #show about bad people have actual bad people? #doing bad things? #the shocker of a fucking century #call all the news channels #but will all of that stop me from liking Roman as a character? #No because there was never any doubt in my mind about the state of his moral compass #or lack thereof #you can’t like characters in this show for them doing good things because they rarely do #this show is interesting and these characters are interesting because of the psychological mechanisms that drive their behaviour #(and im saying this obviously as a psych major so nothing surprising here) #but yeah i had to get it out because it infuriates me when people lack a basic understanding of what they are watching #and are surprised by things that were there to begin with #in the end of the day nothing fucking changed #succession #succession hbo #kendall roy #shiv roy #succession spoilers #logan roy #connor roy #succession s4 #marta rumbles poetically #i will also probably write something about Roman later on when I can fully process this episode and I get my exam done #because there are some interesting psychological things at stake in here

[r0semint]

hey! let’s talk about teru’s relationship with food!

all three of us get the feeling that food is a love language for teru, or at least, we feel like it’s important to consider how food plays a role in his story arc when doing a character study of him.

okay so first off, right from his introduction he is a foil to mob.

[ID: four manga panels featuring teru getting ready for school. from right to left: the first panel shows his hand and a pan frying an egg. the second is his hand holding a remote. the third shows a tv of a meteorologist saying: “today’s weather.” The forth panel is teru pulling on his school blazer, watching the tv. the meteorologist continues: “a lot of sunshine through the country, though the air is a bit unstable. /END ID]

when teru first appears, we as an audience don’t know it yet, but he lives alone and has been living alone without his parents for several years. here he is cooking his own breakfast and getting himself ready in his apartment by himself.

[ID: five manga panels of mob being woken up for school. from right to left: the first panels is a shot of the roof of the kageyama house. the second is mob, asleep on his futon. his mom is talking from off screen. she says: “shige, get up! you’re gonna be late!” the third is mob yawning and stretching his arms about his head. the forth panel is ritsu opening the door to mob’s room. he says “bro. mom said breakfast is ready.” the fifth panel shows ritsu looking at mob. mob is putting on a pair of pants saying: “yeah ritsu. let’s go.” /END ID]

meanwhile mob, is woken up by his mom and is checked on by his brother to make sure he was up in order to get a breakfast that was more than likely made by their parents.

when mob plans on confessing to tsubomi, teru brings up how homemade things tend to make him feel happy when someone confesses to him.

[ID: manga panel of teru being offered a gift from a girl. it reads: “I tend to be on the receiving end of confessions, but…when someone gives me a handkerchief, or a letter, or homemade cookies or something, it makes me kinda happy, so…I was just thinking, there’s that kind of thing too.” /END ID]

also we see teru tend to overindulge when someone (reigen) is offering to buy food for him

[ID: panel from yakiniku omake. teru is ordering food. he says: I’ll have have 4 orders of top ribs, 2 orders of sakura yukhoe, 2 orders of choice salty beef tongue, the extra special zabuton-cut beef, the offal sampler, 3 orders of rice, a tomato salad, and the naengmyeon…and a green tea.” /END ID]

[ID: cropped screencap of official art. teru has finished two ice cream parfaits. the empty glasses sit in front of a third one, which he is using telekinesis to float the toppings near his face. /END ID]

this often played for laughs, but stick with us here…

in the fanbook teru is asked if he cooks for himself and he says yes, and mentions that he’s confident in his pasta making skills.

[ID: cropped screencap from the fanbook that reads: “Q1: do you make your own food? What are you good at cooking?” Teru answers: “I cook lots of different kinds of things! but what I’m confident in is my pasta.” /END ID]

at first this may seem like a very 14 year old answer…I mean, pasta is fairly easy to make. But knowing teru and how he tends to become and expert at the skills he learns, odds are pasta started off as something simple to throw together on a school night. Pasta is easy and convenient and kid friendly, but it is very easy to experiment with and eventually become a speciality.

and one thing we know about teru is that he has too many specialities to list.

this kid has been needing to make his own food 100% on his own since the start of middle school. we can infer he’s getting money from his parents, and we aren’t exactly sure how much or how he spends it regarding food, but the only time we seem him eating alone, he is making a meal for himself outside of something premade or takeout. he said it himself, he makes lots of different kinds of things! he knows how to cook!

but with all things teru something simple and silly comes with tragedy. while it’s nice fore a kid his age to know how to cook, he NEEDS to know because he doesn’t live with his parents. if he didn’t know how to cook he would be relying on others, and that’s just not what teru does. He is fully capable and learns for himself out of necessity. teru is responsible for all of his own meals.

so what happens when he is no longer responsible? it could be an issue with humbleness. it could also be just normal 14 year old boy hunger, but when reigen takes him out to eat there’s no limits. but here’s the thing…when’s the last time teru has had a home-cooked meal that was made for him by someone else? not from a restaurant, but someone making something for him?

this is why we have the omurice scene in backdraft. there’s a comfort in the domesticity of having food prepared for him in a familial setting that he has not realized he has been missing from his life.

we’ve focused on the fear of him getting cut off from his parents and how money scarcity turns into food scarcity. he’s always been in survival mood, it’s just that money was the breaking point for him.

going back to mob. he and his family are normally seen sitting at the dinner table together. a normal domestic setting.

[ID: screencap of the kageyama family eating omurice together]

something teru doesn’t have. he eats alone at a table in his apartment…one with multiple chairs around it.

[ID: screencap of teru in his apartment. In the background, he is getting ready, looking in a full length mirror. next to him is a tv showing the weather. in the foreground is a table with an empty plate, mug and saucer, and a basket with a single roll. two chairs are seen at the table. /END ID]

teru has not invited anyone into his apartment until mob got attacked by koyama.

who are those chairs for teru?

of course, in backdraft we have the restaurant scene that mirrors this. empty chairs for absent parents.

BUT ITS NOT ALL SAD

back to food being a love language and specialty to teru…imagine once he’s no longer in survival mode due to trauma. food as a comfort, not only receiving, but making it for others as well. tying into him wanting to be a teacher, sharing his skills with others…the fact it feels good creating and sharing something. no longer taking care of himself out of necessity, but learning what his skills and hobbies are and genuinely sharing them because they make him feel accomplished and happy! it just ties everything together with this dude.

in short, cooking is more than likely another speciality teru has developed due to needing to live on his own. since mp100 has themes that involve human connection and relationships with others, we feel food is something that brings people together and our boy teru here should experience that firsthand.

that is why it plays a big role in what we have so far in backdraft!

#we talked about this in DMs for a bit but I (rose) felt like it should be shared! #mp100 #hanazawa teruki #teruki hanazawa #mp100 meta #mp100 backdraft #long post

[geekwritersworld]

Where the daisies grow

Pairing : Tommy Shelby x You

Warnings: Angst, description of injuries(mention of blood and cuts)

Summary: as stated in the request below. @luvlyencanto

I wanted to ask a story about: "having Polly Gray as the only mother figure". The reader would be a girl who was abandoned at an Orphanage (hell on earth) she only has bad memories of there. However, Polly and the Shelbys came as a light in her life, the reader is be between 8-9 years old when she's brought to them. And even though she was "adopted", she was always loved, raised and welcomed like a Shelby. Polly kind of adopted her as her daughter, making sure she was always dressed and having what she wanted, and she even bestowed the name Shelby on her. She was a Shelby, because if anyone tried to disrespect or harm her, they would have to deal with the wrath of them all. Ada, Arthur, John and Finn treat her like a sister and Tommy... well, maybe he could have some romantic interest in her??

A/n: let me know what you think :)

He was 16 when the 9 year old child was left in his aunt's care one day. He hadn't even known until he walked in to his aunt's house one evening to see a young girl in his aunt's kitchen.

Tommy had become protective of his siblings during the time that his mother had further grown unstable and his father had become an abusive alcoholic, which made him cautious of the child that had showed up in his aunt's house with no warning.

It was later that Aunt Pol told her leery nephew who was staring at the girl hunched in her chair "Edith dropped her here from the orphanage"

"why?" Tommy shot back, not allowing his gaze to falter from you.

"Because the orphanage treated her horribly knowing who her father was, Thomas" Pol said frustrated," I tried fighting her father to let me care for her after her mother died but he wouldn't let me, let the orphanage drag her away before he left for the country side"

"Why'd the orphanage take her when her father was alive?"

Pol grew more and more impatient at her nephews incessant questions "Because he paid them off to do so"

"makes no sense" Tommy turned away leaving his aunt in the hallway.

You remembered the orphanage in all its unforgiving transparency. The harsh words uttered to you by the caregivers still echoed in your head on dark snowy days. You were 13 now. Having lived with Pol for almost 4 years you'd become one of the Shelby's and were treated as such.

The Shelby siblings came around occasionally, and then more frequently until one day they moved in with Polly. Which you soon learned was because Martha Shelby had drowned in the cut.

Tommy was quiet; dealing with her death and the baby she left behind. Arthur would sometimes snap out of anger, Ada would spend her time doing generally anything to occupy her mind and John wasn't home often.

Then they began to recover to a certain extent; they laughed a little more than before. Tommy laughed, a lot. And often it was because of John.

On your 13th birthday Tommy got you flowers- daisies, you learned they were, not knowing what else to get you that he could afford. The rest of the family did their best to make your birthday special with the little money they could afford to spend at their leisure and you cherished every single moment.

Tommy and Ada occasionally spoke of their mother, and never of their father, which you realized was one of the common grounds you had with them- your very strong hatred for your fathers.

You'd been accepted completely as one of them by each of the siblings. Finn seemed like a little brother to you and you'd grown protective of the little boy.

Pol taught you to sew and Arthur would teach you new games, though you felt he was trying to busy his mind in doing so. John took you on walks and Tommy accompanied you to book shops and sat while you read since you couldn't afford to buy a book. He'd grumble a lot of course about how boring you were for reading. Ada was the older sister you never had. The one you talked to about everything.

At 17 you sobbed, chest heaving and hiccups erupting from your mouth, you clung to Tommy last of all, not wanting to let go. You'd refused to let go of John and Arthur- hoping maybe if you held on to them tight enough they wouldn't go.

But Aunt Pol, shedding tears herself, softly asked you to hug Tommy as well and bid them goodbye.

So you did. And Tommy held your shaking body as you cried into his coat and begged him to stay.

"It'll be alright" he had a few tears rolling down his cheeks as well.

You tearfully watched the Shelby boys except Finn board the train bound to take them, to what you were sure, was their ultimate demise.

Ada busied herself with Finn, Pol was trying to make enough money for the four of you and you- you spent your time sobbing, staring at walls, and watching the door, hoping any of the 3 boys would come barging in, telling you the war was over and they were home for good.

But the war wasn't over, no it had been 2 long years, and you heard enough women wailing in the streets, in their homes, in the shops and flower fields, for their husbands, brothers, sons, uncles and fathers who had become casualties, to know better.

Everyone knew that the families of the dead soldiers received letters, informing them their loved ones were 'killed in action'. And you dreaded those 3 words.

2 years turned in to 3 and then 4, and you feared if maybe they were never coming home at all, maybe the letters were on their way to inform you of it.

And then you heard it one day.

Cheers on the streets outside Pol's door. Cheers of the war being over.

And you froze. Your heart, you were sure had stopped. Turning to look at Ada who'd been sitting next to you was looking right back at you, eyes wide.

"D-"Pol threw open the door, making Finn drop Arthur's hat he'd given his baby brother the day he left.

Ada rushed to the door with you following closely

"The war- its bloody over" Pol sobbed, thick tears streaming down her face. Finn immediately rushed into his aunts arms, and Ada hugged you, crying.

You stood there in shock and wrapped your arms around Ada, wondering when the boys would be home.

"Pol" you finally rasped out " do you suppose they'll be back soon then? the 3 of them?"

Polly looked up, Finn still clinging to her "we haven't got a letter like so many, I suppose they should be home soon then" She let out a sob and then "all 3 of them" she smiled.

So you waited. And on your 22nd birthday, you wished yourself a happy birthday in the dark of the house and downed your glass of liquor before blowing out the candle.

But you didn't fall asleep.

It had been 4 months since the war was over, neither of the boys were home and there wasn't a letter either.

Maybe, you swallowed the lump in your throat, maybe there were so many casualties that the boys were just lost among them. Too many bodies to identify maybe, they were just laying somewhere-gone buried under the rest of the hundreds of dead soldiers.

letting out a shaky breath you turned over, covered your ears and willed yourself to sleep.

"We come home from war and she fuckin sleeps"

Shooting up from your cot, you turned around.

You leapt into John's arms sending him stumbling slightly as you latched on to him like you did when they were leaving. And you cried. And cried harder still when you saw Arthur behind John and nearly fell over your own feet in a hurry to hug him.

You were afraid, that you'd wake up and this would all be a dream. John chuckled behind you, you didn't have to see him to know it was forced.

Arthur hugged you tighter as well. John slipped out to where Pol and Ada were, whom he'd already seen.

"Arthur" your voice wavered " Where's Tommy?" you legs felt shaky at the thought of the fact that he probably never returned.

"He's outside, with Pol and Ada" Arthur led you out to where Tom stood, bickering with a sobbing Finn.

Looking up at the sound of your footsteps he asked Finn to give him a minute and hurried over to you.

"Tommy" you whispered hugging him tighter than ever. You'd convinced yourself he was going to tell you he had to go back, so you gripped him tightly.

Pol ushered everyone into the house, wiping her face. She placed down cups for tea and lit a cigarette between her lips.

Finn was now in John's arms and Ada poked his side telling him he was too big to be carried around now.

Sipping on their tea, everyone was sat around the old, wobbly wooden table.

You constantly kept placing your hand on Arthur or Tommy, who were sat on either side of you. They both knew you were trying to assure yourself that they were really there. Sipping his tea, Tommy watched you quietly, as a shell of a man he once was, at the woman you had become.

Tommy's horse trotted next to him quietly. The streets hadn't changed all that much since they'd left, Tommy noted.

Moreover the betting shop was doing well. It cost him a lot of nights and early mornings but he was only grateful for the nights he had something to occupy his mind.

He tucked the flowers in his coat and tightened his grip on the horse's leash.

You didn't see him home often. Occasionally he'd come home for a cup of tea, but otherwise he remained busy at the shop or the Garrison.

You knew the war had changed all 3 men. You knew they'd seen unspeakable things and it made your heart ache that you couldn't do much to help them.

It didn't go unnoticed by you that Tommy had changed the most by far. He didn't laugh- rarely even smiled. Arthur and John tried to use humor to cope where Tommy used silence. He hardly ever spoke to anyone anymore. When he did though, he spoke only of the business he'd indulged in weeks after returning.

He'd grown more observant, careful and on edge. He would watch you converse with Finn from the doorway and then quietly slip away. He came home late most nights, you knew this.

But the boys were trying. There were parts of them that died at the war, that was buried under the dirt and blood in the trenches. And here all the way back at small heath, they were barely surviving with whatever they had left in them.

Still as time went on, the business grew more chaotic and dangerous. Pol had now begun working in the betting shop and Ada would disappear for hours each day and you didn't bother asking where.

You, like Ada, weren't allowed to work with the rest of the Shelby's in the shop, so you occupied yourself at home with the little that you could. You took to teaching Finn and looking after him, occasionally you'd walk to the book shop and wander, until one day the owner offered you a job there. Having consulted Polly, the two of you agreed it would be good for you, so you'd begun spending most of your days working at the book shop.

Though not too many people bought anything you didn't care since it gave you time to read.

Closing the door, you walked past the kitchen table to pour yourself a glass of water. You weren't expecting anyone to be home soon since it was still evening and everyone usually returned towards the night. And Finn was with Pol so you had the house to yourself.

Before you could sit though, you heard the front door open. Looking up you leaned a little to get a better view of the door way "how are you home so early Tommy?"

Slipping his coat off and hanging it, he turned to face you pulling the flowers out of the coat he just hung "came to give you this"

Walking over to where you were seated he handed you the bouquet of flowers.

White Gerbera daisies. The ones you knew grew at the edge of small heath. The same ones he gave you when you turned 13.

You let out a breath and smiled slightly "I'd forgot I was turning 23 today" you chair scraped the hardwood floor when you got up to place the flowers in water.

"How come?" He leaned against the kitchen top, watching you.

"Don't know, Doesn't mean as much as it did when I was younger" Tommy hummed but said nothing " I suppose it was a exciting getting to grow older when I was young, now it's just a another year wasted and gone"

"wasted"

"yeah" you sighed "wasted. I haven't done anything with myself or helped anyone or changed anything. So wasted it is."

He wouldn't tell you. Not yet. Maybe not ever. It wouldn't be appropriate would it? He was almost 9 years older to you. He couldn't tell you.

In the following months he would linger around at home more often. When Ada had Carl and Freddie died, you helped Ada. You were the only one she spoke to every now and then and the only one she would meet with, because you weren't a Shelby by blood. Tommy would ask you how she was doing, and you'd tell him knowing he probably already knew.

You and Tommy spent time together more frequently, after he hired you as his assistant because he no longer felt you were safe working at the book shop, after what had transpired between the peaky blinders and their enemies.

Of course in the process of convincing you Tommy lost the leisure of getting to spend time alone though he didn't mind spending time with you, since you agreed to work with him if he swore to spend time with you more often.

You feared that you'd made your feelings too obvious to him with your 'non-negotiable precondition' but luckily he never caught on.

Polly did however, and rolled her eyes "And I thought you were too smart to fall for him" she said once Tommy had left the house.

Your face grew hot but you feigned ignorance " Don't know what your talking about" mumbling you got up and put your cup away.

"it would do you good next time to be more careful" you were walking home after having worked with Tommy the entire day. But you weren't sure if you were even moving at all leave alone walking.

The ground was rough underneath your sore palm. The dirt and water of the ground seeped into your cut palm as you tried to stable yourself. All you felt was pain. Everywhere. So much pain.

Your left eye was swollen shut, your nose, you think, was bleeding. You weren't sure but you felt something wet dripping down your lip and you assumed it was blood because you didn't have the strength to lift either of your hands to check.

You couldn't breathe, it hurt and you had to take shallow breaths to avoid the pain shooting across your chest. And when you thought it was finally over, your jaw was gripped. Tightly, roughly, straining your wounded lip.

"Tell Tommy it's not over" you couldn't see who it was. Your right eye was blurry and you sure as hell couldn't open your left eye. Your jaw was let go off and your already pounding head thud against the wall.

Letting out a small whimper you let your arm fall from your lap and slouched even further against the wall behind you.

"John, have you seen Y/n?" Tommy had come in sometime back and looked for you wanting to ask you about the letters he'd had you send out that afternoon.

"No, thought she was with you or Pol?" John put down the cigarette to look at this older brother.

Shaking his head, Tommy didn't say a word instead he grabbed his gun off of the table where he placed it only a second ago and slammed the door shut behind him meaning to go to the betting shop to see if you'd gone back for some reason.

You'd left almost an hour before him, Pol was still at the shop with Arthur and he hoped you were there too. He hated the idea of you out this late at night, but you threatened to snip his coats if he persisted on the idea of you being accompanied home.

His heart pounded and his fingers were turning numb from the cold. He hadn't taken his overcoat when he left in a hurry to find you. All he had was the suit coat he had on which didn't help much against the harsh cold and the rain that was beginning to pour.

"Pol?" he called from the door way of the shop not bothering to go in if you weren't there.

"What is it Tommy?" Pol asked, a pile of papers in hand

"Is Y/n here?" His eyes took in the surrounding hastily hoping to spot you.

"She's not here, didn't she leave an hour ago?"

"Yeah, she's not home either- ARTHUR" upon hearing his younger brother practically bellowing his name, Arthur almost choked on his liquor before quickly swallowing and rushing over to Tommy.

"Come with me" Tommy spoke quickly "Pol, send John out to look for her at the cut" Arthur followed Tommy and Pol rushed to close the betting shop.

It shouldn't have taken you more than 15 minutes to cross over two streets and get home, Tommy worried. He was breathing heavy and he walked frantically across the two streets and came into view of there home.

Arthur kept squinting, walking into alleyways to see if you were there, and every time he did, Tommy grew more and more uneasy. If you were spotted in any alleyway it would involve you being hurt in some way, and Tommy could barely cope with just the thought of you slightly bruised he didn't want to think of anything worse than that.

It was only when they were at the last damp and dark alleyway right before their home, that Tommy heard it; a small thud. Barely audible over the pouring rain Tommy heard it loud and clear. There were a couple of people walking past who paid it no attention.

Arthur and Tommy immediately ran over into the alley and Arthur watched his younger brother fall to his knees in front of your body.

Arthur couldn't tell if you were even alive or not. You white shirt was drenched in blood, your eye swollen shut, your arms had cuts all over. Your lip was cut deep and looked swollen and your ear was split from the impact of someone hitting your head on the ground. You weren't moving.

Tommy was kneeling next to you desperately feeling for a pulse, the water and blood off the floor seeped into his pants where he kneeled and he wanted to throw up.

He'd seen a lot, but nothing made him shiver the way the sight of you limp, bleeding, cut up, beaten and bruised against the wall in the dark cold alleyway did.

His hands shaking, Tommy slipped off the coat and wrapped it around your shoulders then took his hat and put it on your damp hair to shield you from the rain.

"Arthur" Tommy shivered " bring the car around- now"

Arthur took off immediately towards the house to get the car parked in front.

"Come on love, please" he whispered slipping one arm around your shoulder and the other under your knees, picking you up he walked towards where Arthur was bringing the car.

It took everything in Tommy to not give in to the quivering in his legs. He carefully sat you in the back of the car and then slipped in beside you himself. And Arthur sped to the hospital the moment the door was shut.

Tommy kept caressing your hair. Arthur watched him do so, his breath shaking as well. He knew his younger brother was doing so because if you weren't going to make it and you were in fact slipping away in his arms as it seemed, then Tommy wanted you to know you weren't alone in the ghastly cold alleyway anymore, and were now in his arms; safe. He wanted you to know you weren't dying alone. He wanted you to know it would be alright.

#tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby imagines #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby angst #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby x you #tommy shelby request #thomas shelby x reader #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders angst #peaky blinders x y/n #peaky blinders #peaky blinder imagine #tommy shelby #thomas shelby imagine #where the daisies grow #Tommy shelby x reader

[mariacallous]

Last month, Philippe Lazzarini, the head of the United Nations Relief and Works Agency for Palestine Refugees (UNRWA), said that the agency had reached a “breaking point.” After Israel accused 12 agency personnel of involvement in the Oct. 7, 2023, Hamas attacks, 18 states announced in January that they would suspend funding to UNRWA, including its two top donors: the United States and Germany. On Saturday, the U.S. Congress barred funding to the agency through March 2025.

Although Lazzarini has dismissed 10 of the employees (the other two are dead), and the U.N. promptly launched an investigation into the allegation, most donor states have refused to resume funding until the investigation is finished. The European Commission, Sweden, and Canada have released some of their pledged funds, but the agency continues to exist “hand-to-mouth” amid the very real risk of being forced to shut its doors.

Now that Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu has outlined his postwar plans for the Gaza Strip, which include closing UNRWA, the agency’s future looks even more unstable. Yet to shutter UNRWA would be a betrayal of Palestinians. The agency, which provides essential services to 5.9 million Palestinian refugees, has been a stopgap for almost 75 years as the international community has failed to find a durable solution for Palestinians.

UNRWA—which I worked for between 2019 and 2022—cannot solve the root causes of Palestinians’ dispossession, but for decades, it has managed to address the symptoms. It has also become Palestinians’ only effective representative on the international stage. In the absence of a political solution, the international community owes it to Palestinians to ensure that UNRWA remains operational amid one of the worst humanitarian crises in its history.

UNRWA originated as a makeshift solution to a thorny problem. After the creation of the state of Israel in 1948 displaced around 750,000 Palestinians, the U.N. General Assembly (UNGA) passed two crucial resolutions. The first, Resolution 194, enshrined Palestinian refugees’ right to return to their homes and established the U.N. Conciliation Commission for Palestine to promote a durable solution for Palestinians. The following year, Resolution 302 set up UNRWA as a subsidiary organ of UNGA to conduct “direct relief and works programmes” that would incentivize Palestinians to settle in neighboring countries.

The fact that UNGA endorsed two such differing approaches just a year apart reflects the deadlock that diplomats faced. Months after the Conciliation Commission for Palestine was founded, it came to a dead end; the only solution acceptable to Palestinians was return—a solution that Israel would not consider. Diplomats had to come up with an alternative.

In September 1949, the U.N. sent an Economic Survey Mission to countries to which Palestinians were displaced. The mission concluded that “relief and public works” programs would “increase the practical alternatives available to refugees, and thereby encourage a more realistic view of the kind of future they want and the kind they can achieve.” The implication was clear: Palestinians should be encouraged to stay in their host countries, such as Jordan, Syria, and Lebanon.

UNRWA was thus established in 1949 with a yearlong temporary mandate to serve “persons whose normal place of residence was Palestine during the period 1 June 1946 to 15 May 1948, and who lost both home and means of livelihood as a result of the 1948 conflict.” Aid workers quickly began providing rations to 950,000 refugees, and the agency offered a modest income to the Palestinians who assisted in the delivery of relief.

Yet diplomats’ dreams of turning beneficiaries into well-integrated, self-sufficient employees soon faded. Palestinians, relegated to overcrowded camps, faced high levels of poverty, malnutrition, and disease. In any case, refugees would not give up on returning home. Nor would Arab states encourage integration within their borders. From their perspective, doing so would allow Israel to evade its responsibility to Palestinian refugees.

They also feared upsetting delicate sectarian balances. In the case of Lebanon, the 100,000 predominantly Sunni Palestinians it hosted constituted around 10 percent of the country’s population, leaving its sectarian power-sharing system based on a 1932 census dangerously out of date.

With the political avenue dead and no Palestinian state established, UNRWA soon took on a role that diplomats had not foreseen. The agency grew to become a quasi-state, delivering services that a government would normally provide. Today, UNRWA is the backbone not just of Gaza and the West Bank, but also of Palestinian refugee camps in Jordan, Lebanon, and Syria, providing education, maternal care, social work, university scholarships, camp infrastructure, and vocational training. It employs 30,000 Palestinian refugees, providing a lifeline amid economic deprivation.

Despite its outsized role, UNRWA remains strictly a relief agency, unable to fix a problem far beyond its mandate. The U.N. High Commissioner for Refugees, an agency mandated to aid every refugee population except for Palestinians, advocates for durable solutions for refugees. It defines these as integration in the host country, resettlement in a third country, or return home. But UNRWA has no power to advocate for a durable solution for Palestine refugees.

In the words of Ardi Imseis, who worked in the UNRWA’s legal division before becoming a legal scholar, UNRWA has taken “a development approach to what is a legal issue.” It provides relief and employment to people whose dispossession and exile cannot be resolved through humanitarian assistance. UNRWA’s narrow mandate means that it can never work itself out of a job: A political solution must be found first—until then, UNRWA duct-tapes over the cracks.

Although its weak mandate simply perpetuates the status quo, the agency faces regular political attacks. Those who wish to prevent Palestinians from returning often criticize UNRWA, whose existence serves as evidence of Palestinians’ protracted exile.

“Israel would like there to be an existential threat to UNRWA because they mistakenly think if you get rid of UNRWA then you suddenly get rid of the [nearly 6 million] refugees and their right to return,” former UNRWA spokesperson Chris Gunness recently told Reuters. In December 2022, when UNGA renewed UNRWA’s mandate until June 2026, 157 member states voted in favor; Israel objected; the United States, Canada, and eight other countries abstained.

UNRWA’s detractors have only ramped up the pressure in recent years. Pro-Israel pressure groups such as IMPACT-se and U.N. Watch (which has no affiliation to the U.N.) frequently release so-called research reports that resort to tactics such as filming students outside of UNRWA schools and using the children’s statements about their villages of origin in historical Palestine as evidence of alleged propaganda in the agency’s educational system. Monitoring the Facebook pages of UNRWA employees—many of whom work sporadically on day-laborer contracts and live in active conflict zones such as Gaza or Syria—also provides ample fodder for detractors.

Palestinians have also demanded more of UNRWA—namely, to push for the right to return. Yet they have no way of influencing the agency’s priorities, and in any case, UNRWA is unable to meet these demands. Because it is not a state, it cannot advocate for a political solution for Palestinians on the international stage or collect taxes and fund their strategic priorities. Its temporary relief and works mandate can only be altered by UNGA. That Palestinians haven’t lost all faith in UNRWA shows how poor their political prospects are.

UNRWA’s response to the pressures it faces on both sides is to reaffirm its neutrality. It is the only U.N. agency that has a “neutrality team,” which monitors staff conduct, vets all personnel and beneficiaries, inspects the use of its buildings, and seeks to ensure that the curricula taught in UNRWA schools cannot be perceived as biased.

My experience at UNRWA was that in practice, resources focused on neutrality can verge on the absurd given the agency’s dire financial straits. When I worked on neutrality, I was frequently challenged by my Palestinian colleagues about the millions of dollars spent on related processes—for example, quarterly inspections of schools and health clinics for graffiti that could betray any preference for a party to the conflict—while services for refugees were cut. (I reached out to UNRWA for comment but received no response.)

After a pressure group accused UNRWA of promoting jihadism in its schools, I was tasked with scanning thousands of lesson plans for words with the Arabic root j-h-d. I produced reams of talking points to explain to donors the distinction between the word mujtahid (“hard-working”) and jihad (“struggle,” but often taken to mean “holy war”). As I worked on these sorts of projects, often late into the night, it often occurred to me that the money and time poured into neutrality would better be spent on rations in Gaza and Syria.

The agency-wide obsession with neutrality is, however, understandable: Every accusation of bias can harm UNRWA’s ability to provide basic services. UNRWA frequently faces suspensions of funding after poorly evidenced attacks on the agency, followed by periods of costly reform. After then-U.S. President Donald Trump withdrew funding from the agency in 2018, citing the need for reform, it was plunged into financial crisis and experienced months in which it failed to pay staff salaries.

Palestinians thus live in constant fear of budget cuts to discretionary, voluntary assistance from donors. Indeed, UNRWA has been mired in financial crisis since its inception: Its first report to UNGA in 1952 concluded that “[r]elief cannot be indefinitely provided. This is an inescapable and significant fact, for the time is rapidly approaching when voluntary contributions for the provision of relief for the Palestine refugees will no longer be forthcoming.”

The news of UNRWA employees’ potential involvement in the Oct. 7 attacks is extremely serious. Yet given the severity of destruction in Gaza, donors’ hasty decision to suspend funds cannot be divorced from the broader politicization of UNRWA.

The irony of this is that UNRWA’s woes are of the international community’s own making. In the absence of any conciliation process—nothing has filled the gap of the ill-fated U.N. Conciliation Commission for Palestine since the 1950s—UNRWA has proven an easy target for critics from all parties to the conflict.

However, without a peace process, there is also no exit strategy from UNRWA. The international community has promoted the agency as the service provider of all relief and employer of thousands of Palestinian refugees. No humanitarian actor can fill the gap; UNRWA provides logistics, storage, and transport to other nongovernmental organizations and U.N. agencies. Moreover, if UNRWA were to close, its 30,000 personnel and their family members would soon be added to the list of aid agencies’ beneficiaries.

After refusing for decades to take Palestinian statehood seriously—15 of the states to withdraw funding have not recognized the state of Palestine—the decision now to cut UNRWA’s funding is an illogical stance as good as a death sentence. It is the international community’s duty to follow through with its humanitarian assistance until a solution to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict is achieved.

[violentchronicill]

Tinsel | König x Gn!Reader

hiiiii guysusyusys i haven't posted any writing in literal years but i love könig so fucking much i had to do something for him even if it's short 🫶 . a lil something Christmas-y to get me into the holiday mood! not proofread my bad g 🫡 

summary: königs first Christmas! a little bit of hurt/comfort but it's fluff i promise. he deserves good things only. the reader is gender neutral no descriptive features in the fic.

word count: 969

Being home for the holidays wasn’t anything out of the norm for most people but it was anything but normal for you and König. The little time he did have outside of his work he loved spending with you, so when he mentioned how he had vacation time he needed to fulfill before the year ended, excitement couldn’t describe how you felt. You could tell there was an uneasiness about König once he started seeing the many decorations you began putting up around the house. 

The first thing he noticed in the dining room was a new tablecloth, adorned with different snowflake patterns and candy canes. You had also bought a couple of new mugs with snowmen and gingerbread men designs etched across them. This wasn’t the end of it, however, as the holiday decor slowly began to appear in the next room over. Several different candles were displayed across the mantle, which soon enough had the room emanating different holiday-inspired scents as the days passed. Ones he could recognize included fresh sage and pine, cinnamon, and.. sugar cookie? The latter which he wasn’t particularly fond of as it became overwhelming the longer it burned. 

It didn’t take long before the entire length of the staircase at the forefront of the home had garland strung tightly around each rung of the hand railing. Little red bows were carefully placed at the top of each bunch of faux greenery. It honestly resembled something out of a Home and Gardens magazine. While he couldn’t say he didn’t find it beautiful, it caught him off guard. He was seeing his home transform before his very eyes into something he could only imagine in a dream.

Even though his home country was very much for the celebration of Christmas or rather Christtag, he often didn’t celebrate as a child or even into his teenage years. Christmas was a holiday centered mostly around being with your loved ones, baking, and caroling. Königs unstable family dynamics never really allowed for him to indulge himself in the holiday spirit so it became something almost foreign to him as an adult. As the years passed while he was active in the military, he could only watch on as his comrades left around this time of year. Assumedly going home to their respective families to celebrate. He would be a liar if he said it didn’t tear him up a little inside thinking about it but he never let it get to him. 

“It’s just a holiday, one day out of the year.” he would repeat to himself. 

The very next day, he came downstairs, turned into the living room, and stopped dead in his tracks. Before him stood a tree, a real pine tree. It was completely bare not a single decoration on it. In front of the tree were two large storage bins labeled “CHRISTMAS” in what he recognized to be your handwriting. He stepped closer and stared at the bins, not entirely sure how they got there but he had a pretty good idea.

“You ready to help me decorate our tree?” he heard from his left. He turned and saw you standing in the doorway to the dining room, smiling softly. Leaning on the doorframe with one hand holding a cup of what he assumed to be coffee and the other hand gripping at the loose material of your sweater. Our tree? He looked back to the tree as you started to make your way toward him.

Setting your cup down on the nearby table, you slowly brought both of your hands to his left arm, wrapping them around entirely hugging it close to you. “Our tree?” he asked aloud. “You want to decorate with me?” he asked panning his eyes down at you. You could see his gaze become soft, eyes glazing over in something you could almost recognize as hope. You released your grip on his arm and raised your right hand to his face, which he leaned into blinking his eyes slowly.

“Of course I do love. I wouldn’t want to do it without you,” you said softly. Your voice filled with reassurance and adoration as you looked at the man before you. You smiled again “I even went through the trouble to go up into the attic to get these boxes down, so you HAVE to help me now.” He huffed out a half chuckle and closed his eyes. Of course you did, of course you wanted to celebrate with him. What was Christmas without family after all? He opened his eyes again and let a small smile appear on his lips. “Well if you put it that way…” he took your hand that was on his cheek into his own and pulled it down to his side, lacing his fingers between your own. “I guess I will begrudgingly oblige.” he teased. His smile grew larger as you playfully shoved him and moved to sit down on the floor in front of one of the two bins.

You opened it to see various styles of ornaments and lights inside. Garland and tinsel weaved in between various shades of blue, green, and red ornaments which you slowly began to detangle. “Well..” you started, craning your neck up to make eye contact with him. “What do you think? Should we use the white tinsel or the red tinsel on the tree?” you asked while holding up both in your hands. He moved down to the floor and sat across on the opposite side of the bin, the smile he had never leaving his face. He looked at you as you grinned at him, eyes crinkling at the corners. God, he was so lucky. Humming softly to himself as he pondered your question. “Definitely both.”

#könig mw2 #könig #mw2 #könig needs a hug :( #könig x reader #könig x gn!reader #cod modern warfare #cod modern warfare 2 #könig fluff #konig #konig mw2 #konig cod #cod mwii #könig x you

[loneberry]

Notes on Palestine

The geopolitical situation right now is extremely unstable. In such moments it always feels like incentive structures are such that all parties are pushed toward war and escalation. I saw how this all unfolded with 9/11; it left an indelible mark on my psyche–to observe the world careening, the hysteria, the march toward endless war. The Iran hawks in the US are out calling for war with Iran (US intelligence and even the IDF have said Iran did not help *plan* the Hamas attacks, though the idea that Iran was behind the attacks is being presented as fact). 

Days before the Hamas attacks, I was in an article + podcast rabbit hole focused on Iranian nuclear politics, Saudi-Israeli relations, and the current situation in the “Middle East” (I prefer the term “South West Asia and North Africa”/SWANA but will use “Middle East” for readability). I had also been reading that the US’s attempts to broker a US-Saudi-Israeli deal would piss off the Palestinians. It filled me with immense grief—nobody, not even Muslim Arabs, seem to care about Palestinians anymore. The international community has failed. Now it seems that the world has consented to a protracted genocide of Palestinians. It used to be the case that Arab countries would not considered normalizing relations with Israel without Israel making concessions to the Palestinians. The sad reality is that since the Arab Spring, the resolution of the Palestinian issue has become a low priority for many countries in the Middle East, many of whom have their own feud with Iran and see pivoting toward Israel as a path toward greater security. Of course I’m talking about the Abraham Accords, the so-called “peace deal” brokered by the Trump administration that enabled the normalization of relations between Israel, the UAE, and Bahrain, yet excluded any input from Palestinians. That event had brought me so much grief. It really felt like any hope for the Palestinian cause was dying. There seems to be little political will from any side to put pressure on Israel.

In moments of crisis like these I try to be sober and pedagogical, but such a task feels nearly impossible when it comes to the “Israeli-Palestinian conflict”. People say the conflict is “complicated” and rooted in hundreds of years of religious hatred. It is really not that complicated and only requires basic knowledge of 20th century history. Prior to WWI, the territory of Palestine (and much of the Arab world) was under the rule of the Ottoman Empire for over 400 years. The Allied Powers (Britain, France, Russia, and others) were at war with the Central Powers (Germany, Austro-Hungary, the Ottomans, etc). The Brits saw Palestine as a crown jewel and coveted Jerusalem in particular. They recruited Arab assistance in the war by whipping up hundreds of years of resentment against the Ottomans and promising the Arabs that they would break up the Ottoman Empire and help the Arabs create their own nations (see theMcMahon-Hussein correspondence). Yet the Brits were also keen on recruiting Jewish support on the side of the Allied Powers. In 1917 the British government made a declaration (the Balfour Declaration) that announced British support for the creation of a national home for the Jewish people in Palestine. At the end of WWI (which, as you likely know, ended in Allied success), the European empires on the winning side sought to expand their empires while Woodrow Wilson believed more in self-determination. The compromise was the “mandate” system, where the Europeans on the winning side took administrative control of territories lost by the Central Powers—France and Britain carved up the Middle East. Enter the British mandate for Palestine. The Arabs had been betrayed by the Allied Europeans (no surprise there). One form of colonial rule was swapped for another. 

Prior to the end of WWI, the Zionist movement was gaining momentum, partly as an answer to the perennial problem of European anti-Semitism and partly because of the 19th/early-20th century discourse around nationalism. The idea of creating a Jewish state in Palestine began in the 19th century, but it was really in the 1890s that modern political Zionism began with the figure of Theodor Herzl. European Jews began to immigrate to Palestine to form settlements. Yet when the mandate was established, the Jewish population was still relatively small—around 9%. While the territory was under British rule, the Brits facilitated a dramatic increase in European Jewish immigration to Palestine. Between 1922 and 1935, the portion of the population that was Jewish grew to 27%. It’s hardly surprising that violence broke out between Arabs and Jews, as well as Arabs and the Brits (see the Arab Revolt of 1936-39). 

The Brits promised a territory to an oppressed people (the Jews) that was never theirs to give away in the first place. The Arabs were quickly being displaced from their home. All of this would come to a head in WWII, when Europe’s vile anti-Semitism was on full display with the Holocaust. How would Europe atone for the atrocities committed against the Jews? There was much momentum around creating a physical state for the Jews in Palestine. This was also a convenient solution for deeply anti-Semitic Europe, as they preferred that the Jews leave rather than be integrated into their societies. In 1947 the UN voted to partition Palestine into a Jewish state and an Arab state, with Jerusalem coming under international administration. 13 voted against the partition (basically all the countries in the Middle East, plus India and several others). 55% of the land would be set aside for the Jews. War broke out soon after the UN resolution. The (WWII) battle-hardened Zionist paramilitaries (backed by European countries) undertook a campaign of ethnic cleansing and captured additional territory. Between 1947-49, 750,000 Palestinians became refugees—around 40% of the entire Palestinian population. 78% of historic Palestine was taken by Zionist forces. This is the event of settler violence and ethnic cleansing that Palestinians refer to as the Nakba (or catastrophe). 

There is so much obfuscation about the roots of the Israel-Palestine conflict. What ultimately happened: Europe decided it wanted to create a nation for Jews. It picked the territory of Palestine for this project (other territories were also considered) because the Brits controlled the territory and because of its religious significance. There were already people who lived on the land that was to be used to create a Jewish state. Now Palestinians are stateless and live under a brutal military occupation (the West Bank) and even more punishing blockade (Gaza)—or as refugees. Palestinians were ultimately made to suffer for the sins of European anti-Semitism. 

*

There is a lot more I can say here, about the history of the Cold War and how it relates to the US’s alliance with Israel, about internecine conflicts in Palestinian politics (the split between Hamas and the PLO/Palestinian Authority), about the current geopolitical situation, about contemporary domestic politics in Israel (which currently has the most right-wing govt in Israel’s history) and the Hamas attacks themselves. I see friends gleefully posting about the murder of Israeli civilians. I just can’t get on board with that. Neither can I get on board with Israel bombing hospitals and shelters in Gaza, or calling Palestinians “animals.” All life is sacred, all life is grievable. (People are right to point out that most of the world does not grieve the loss of Palestinian life.)

Events do have a context. Gaza is one of the most unlivable places on the planet. Around 67% of Gaza's population are refugees displaced during the Nakba. It has been under a brutal blockade for 16 years. It’s the 3rd most densely populated place on the planet—over 2.1 million people are crammed into a space half the size of London. The residents have been deprived of electricity, clean drinking water, medical supplies, and food. Nearly half of residents are unemployed and civilians have died by thousands under Israeli bombings (6,407 Palestinians have been killed since 2008). It is referred to as an “open air prison” because the residents are literally hemmed in by a high-tech fence. Given these dire conditions, an eruption of violence did seem almost inevitable. 

What I fear: a ground invasion of Gaza. A broader conflagration involving Lebanon and Iran, and potentially the rest of the world. The US going to war with Iran. If the world genuinely wishes to see the end of the “cycle of violence,” Palestinians must be free. Any attempt to bring about “regional security” while ignoring the Palestinian situation is destined to fail.

[l1xvanter]

Blueberries // Lee Felix x Reader

genre: distopian au

sypnosis: A meteor struck down on your country, completely destroying all sense of what you had previously known to be normal. Because of the effects, you are now forced to collect a substance called Ortaux to continue surviving. You're struggling to stay alive, and you nearly die, but someone saves you right before you do.

word count: 4.4k

contains: gn reader, angst, a bit of fluff, no happy ending (sorry), strangers to lovers(?), felix loves baking, reader is scared of lightning, lmk if I missed anything!

note: This is my first time uploading a story, and I'm kinda excited haha. This isn't proofread, and is really just an extreme edit to a school assignment I turned in last year lol. It's 2am and my mind is blurry, so let me know if there are any mistakes!

Your body felt numb, all You could feel was the pounding in your head, your mind was in a frenzy, and your vision had become nothing but muddy blobs of color. On the bench of what used to be a busy bus stop, you sat alone, experiencing what you thought would be your last moments alive. It had been 3 weeks since you had taken any Ortaux, and while desperately trying to find anything, anyone, to get some from, you could feel your body becoming more and more unstable every morning when you awoke. You could barely keep your eyes open, and thinking about trying to hunt any animals, or crawl your way to a store, made you feel even more hopeless. ‘Maybe this isn’t all that bad’, You thought. You had lost your family when the meteor had hit, and since then you’ve just barely managed to survive this long by scavenging for random items and exchanging them for some Ortaux. Everyone in your country has been experiencing this, dealing with it in their own ways. With no help from anyone else, may you add– they were scared that whatever modification had been made to our bodies by the meteor would spread to them if they ever let you out. It's been like this for the past 5 months. It felt like an eternity, and it’s exhausting. You could feel your body completely giving up, and you swear your heart stopped for a second before you felt something poke into your neck. Suddenly, the pain in your head was fading away, the blurs that made up your vision were readjusting themselves back into defined shapes, and your mind was no longer plagued with panic, but confusion. ‘Huh? What just happened? You could’ve sworn–’

“You okay?” A deep voice came from behind you. You turned your head to catch a glimpse of the body accompanying it, and You were met with the sight of a boy-- a man, actually.  He looked around your age, maybe a bit older, his fair skin had been coated with smudges of dirt, his ashy blonde hair not in any better condition- it reached down to about his shoulders, and from what you could make out right now,  it looked like a grown out mullet. He was wearing some very worn out clothes, his jeans were ripped all over, clearly not because of a fashion preference, and his thick black sweater fit loosely around his figure. 

“Hello?” It took a second call from him for you to snap out of your little trance. You finally met his brown eyes, looking up at him with curiosity.

“Sorry, you just.. Scared me a bit.” You didn’t know how to respond to him. You were just dying about 30 seconds ago, your mind didn’t seem like it could really process anything at the moment. …Why weren't you dead? You looked around, when your eyes finally landed on a syringe in his gloved hand, drops of shining blue liquid still dripping from the tip. Then it hit you. 

“Did you just inject that into me?” When he nodded in response You started to panic a bit, but was mostly in shock. What had you done for this miracle to come to you? “Oh my god, thank you so much! What can You do to make it up to you?” You said in disbelief. 

He smiled at you, his eyes crinkling into little crescent shapes. “It's nothing, I have a lot at home, and I always bring some with me. Besides, you’re the one who always leaves the blueberries here, right? I’m the one who keeps coming back for them, they’re great for making muffins.” He explained, in a light tone “I came by to pick them up, but I found you here instead.” 

Your eyes grew even wider than before, if that was even possible. ‘Oh yeah… You were supposed to go out for berries today.’ Truth be told, the first time you had left them here was because you had accidentally picked some while you were out on your weekly berry- collecting trip. It was a bit darker than normal, so it was harder to tell them apart from the others you would normally get. You're allergic to blueberries, and cursed yourself in the morning when you saw that you had accidentally picked so many. You didn’t want them to go to waste, and you highly doubt anyone would trade anything for some measly blueberries, so you left them on a bench at a bus stop the next morning on the way to go look for some Ortaux plants, ‘maybe someone will want them’, You thought. When you passed by the bench again on the way back home, you stopped for a second when you saw that they weren’t there anymore. As a little experiment, you picked some more again the next time you were out, left them on the bench again, and waited until the evening to check if someone had taken them again. A slight smile grew on your face when you saw that they were, once again, gone, leaving the bench empty. Since then, it was routine for you to spend a little extra time each week picking blueberries for this mystery person who seemed to enjoy them. Now, the said mystery person was kneeling in front of you, and just saved you from dying. 

“Anyway, from the looks of it, You assume you’re out of Ortaux?” You could only nod your head hesitantly in response, “Well if you want, you could come to my place so I could lend you some.”

You were reluctant at first, who wouldn’t be? A guy you just met was not only inviting me over to his place, but was also offering me some Ortaux? Just him saving you was a miracle on its own, his offer seemed too good to be true. For god’s sake you don’t even– 

‘oh my god.’ 

Sheepishly, You muttered, “You don’t even know your name.”

All he did was let out a breathy laugh before responding, “It’s Felix. I don’t think I know yours either, do I?” 

“Hah.. my bad…” You replied to him shyly, telling him your name. He smiled at you, holding out his hand for you to shake, which You accepted.

 “Nice to meet you.” 

You nodded in response to him, and after thinking about his offer again, you concluded that the worst thing that could happen was that you die, and that didn’t seem like that much of an issue to me just a few moments ago, so you decided to go with him. 

The walk there was, admittedly, a little awkward. It consisted of mostly silence, but there was a bit of small talk thrown in there too. With your mind no longer in shambles, You were able to get a better look at him. And he was way prettier now that you could see him clearly. He had a sharp side profile, and from the side you could see, he had multiple piercings on his ear. A silver chain hung from his earlobe, his other piercings decorated by matching silver studs. Even in the dark, you noticed that he had faint freckles adorning his cheeks. 

‘Cute.’

The walk didn’t take long, it only took about 5 minutes to reach a small one-story house. When the two of you entered, a faint smell of Vanilla entered your nose. Although the cream colored walls and furniture were covered in a bit of rust and dirt, he sure did a decent job of keeping the place organized. There was warm light emitting from the fairy lights that had been hung up, the shelves in the kitchen were filled with jars with labels on them; mostly ingredients, you noticed. The wooden bookshelves in the small living room were filled with literature, You wondered if he’s actually read any of those. You were shocked at the quality of the place. There weren’t a lot of places that had working electricity, so he must’ve gotten really lucky finding a house like this. It seemed cozy-- comfortable. It was somewhere someone could actually consider to be a home in this area. 

“Here, let me get the Ortaux, it’s in my room, I’ll be back.” He disappeared from your sight, and into the hallway.

You examined the area a bit more, looking through a window and seeing what seemed to be someone’s former backyard- the white picket fencing was still somewhat intact, along with the remains of some sort of garden. That’s when you noticed it had gotten a lot darker outside in the short time that you had spent here. Summer had just passed, so you were still adjusting to the shorter days, and sun setting earlier. Your eyebrows scrunched together, now a bit nervous about having to walk home while anything outside was barely visible. 

“This should last you about another 2 months or so,” he informed, returning from his room.

You turned around to face him,“Thank you so much, this means a lot, really.” You said with a smile. 

He walked you to the door, and as he was about to open it for you, you could feel your stomach start to churn. Walking in the dark was never ideal. Just looking out into the dark yard in front of his house gave you an unsettling feeling. You always made sure to get home quickly before the sun left the sky, but that clearly wasn’t how it worked out today.

Apparently he had sensed your uneasiness, and turned to look at you, “You know, if you don’t want to walk in the dark you could stay here for the night. Only if you’re comfortable, of course.”

You turned back to look at him, waving your arms in protest, “No way. You’ve already done a lot for me today, I don’t want to burden you too much.”

“It's fine, really. I wouldn’t be offering if it wasn’t,” he reassured. “The couch pulls out to be a bed, I’ll just go and get some spare blankets from the closet for you.” And before you could say any more, he was already walking into the hallway again. You sighed in defeat, making your way to the couch, moving the table in front of it before stretching it out into a bed. Not too long after, he came back with a blanket and a few pillows; even a cute little stuffed bunny.

Grabbing the items from him, You asked with a playful grin, “What’s its name?”

He chuckled lightly, a boyish smile on his face, “Bubbles.” 

You thought it was a little silly, but kind of endearing in a way. You set Bubbles down against a pillow before thanking him once again. 

“Take it as a thank you for all the blueberries these past few months,” He laughed, “Get some rest. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight Felix.” You greeted him back, pulling the blanket over yourself as he left the room. It didn’t take long for you to drift to sleep. 

You woke up the next morning to the smell of something sweet, and the sound of someone in the kitchen. You sat up slowly, looking towards the source of the noise, just to see Felix at the stove cooking something- breakfast, maybe?

My thoughts were interrupted by his voice, “Good morning! I hope you like pancakes. If not, I guess you’ll just have to miss out on breakfast today.” He joked, turning back to look at me, the sun from outside illuminated his face as he flashed a small smile. He even had a cute flower apron over his pajamas. 

“Good thing I love pancakes then.” You said, returning the smile. You sat there for a while in disbelief while he had his back turned to you. You had been struggling to find food and to just, survive, these past few months, and here he was; cooking breakfast like it’s some normal Saturday morning, as if a meteor didn’t crash and change everything around 5 months ago. You got up and sat at the dining room table, and you started chatting a bit more. Just casual conversation, which eventually led to him asking you why you always left the blueberries instead of eating them. You quickly explained that you were allergic, and he gave a tiny pout at the information. 

“Guess I can’t make you any of my blueberry muffins then, huh?” He complained, scraping the warm pancake from the pan and onto your plate.

This guy really liked making sweets, didn’t he? “Guess not. A real shame.” You breathed out, frowning playfully while thanking him for the pancakes. 

Breakfast was mostly quiet, but unlike last night, there wasn’t a screaming sense of awkwardness, it was calmer now. The pancakes, by the way, were delicious; that’s how they tasted to you, at least. You can’t remember the last time you had eaten, let alone eaten something that was actually prepared and wasn’t some scrap you found in an old grocery store. Felix had chuckled lightly at you when he saw how quick you had finished the sweet meal he had cooked for you.

“I was going to ask how the pancakes were, but I feel like I don’t need to.” He teased, taking a bite off his fork. 

“Yeah, they were awful, actually.” You told him, matching his tone. He smiled at your response and continued to finish what was left on his plate.

  After you guys were done, the two of you washed the dishes together and put away all the ingredients he had used back into their places on the kitchen shelves. While you went to the living room to put the couch back to how it was, you couldn’t help but feel relaxed at how normal it all felt-- how domestic the whole situation was. You wished that everyday could be as calm as it was right now. 

Gathering all the Ortaux he had so graciously gifted you the night before, he gave you a bag to carry all of it in, and guided you to the door. 

“Thank you for everything again, if you ever need anything at all, I don’t stay too far from the bus stop. It's a small blue shed that's about a 2 minute walk away, don’t hesitate to drop by if you need anything,” You expressed your gratitude, glancing at him, “Or if you just want to come visit, that’s fine too.” 

“Good to know, You’ll keep that in mind.” He spoke with a toothy smile. You grinned at his bright expression, deciding then that you wanted to make him smile like that again someday.

With that, You stepped out the door, offering him one last wave before strolling your way over to your place with a fond smile on your lips. 

The next few months were…a bit different. You had gotten back into your normal routine, but this time instead of constantly being by yourself, you had Felix accompanying you. In the first few weeks after he had met you, he would come to visit a few times a week, and when he wasn’t visiting you, the two of you would sometimes run into each other at the bus stop. After a while, you had started to wonder if these were just coincidences anymore, it happened pretty often. On those days you would just take a break from everything to talk for a few minutes.. Or a few hours. 

Because of how put together Felix has been compared to you, you didn’t have to go out and scavenge nearly as much as you used to, giving yourself a lot more free time. Guess where all that free time went. You almost spent no time in your tiny shed that you had previously found solace in, but now found yourself spending your days-- and nights-- at Felix’s cozy house. Sleepovers were a regular thing, spending nights together on his bed talking about everything and nothing, which would normally end in the two of you falling asleep next to each other. You won’t ever forget the first time you woke up in his bed. 

Slowly opening your eyes, you felt a weight around you. You blinked the sleep away from your eyes, and when you finally came to your senses, you realized that Felix’s arms were wrapped around you, and his face was right in front of yours. Your breath got caught in your throat, but calmed down a bit when you fully processed that he was still asleep. You observed his features with a soft look; your eyes traveling all across his face. You scanned his long lashes, his soft lips that were slightly parted, releasing steady breaths, and the freckles scattered across his cheeks. Your eyes darted from one freckle to another, connecting them like stars. The sunlight leaking through the window behind him casted a warm glow on him, making his blonde hair glow. You smiled, thinking that you could get used to this view every morning. 

It wasn’t until after you were finally done staring at him that you noticed the slight twitch of his lips. You sighed, slightly embarrassed. 

“Please don’t tell me you’re awake.” He chuckled at you and finally opened his eyes, his lips curing up into a smile.

“You were staring at me, weren’t you?” He smiled, his voice slightly deeper than it normally was, since he had just woken up. 

You buried your face down under his chin, into his chest, “I wasn’t.” You denied. 

He brought a hand to the back of your head to run his fingers through your hair, laughing at your response. 

“It’s okay, I think it’s cute.”

You learned a lot about him during the time that you had spent with him, and now your mind had a list of random things that you had remembered about him. 

Apparently the house he was currently living in was actually his, and he lived there with his parents and two sisters before everything happened. Like you, he had lost them, and now you were the only other person who he had any interaction with. He had gotten his cooking skills from his older sister and mother, and he even taught you how to bake some of those sweet treats he loves so much; turns out he has a whole book filled with his mother’s handwritten recipes. 

He actually had, in fact, read a lot of the books that sat on display in his living room, and he even lended you some of his favorites for you to read. You didn’t even like reading that much, but you still had ended up finishing a couple of them for whatever reason.

 He had a bunch more stuffed animals in his room, scattered across his shelves and bed. He had names for all of them, and could tell you exactly where he had gotten each one, whether it had been a gift from someone, won at an arcade, purchased at a store, all of it. He had dyed his hair blonde when he was younger, and hasn’t gone back since, which you laughed at. He did complain, however, since considering your current situation, he hasn’t been able to dye it anymore; his roots growing out, revealing a decent amount of his brown hair. 

“It looks awful.” He whined, his fingers reaching up to run along his scalp. 

“Nonsense. It looks a little silly, but I don’t think it’s awful.” You teased him, laughing. 

“You’re so mean to me!”

Felix had basically become part of your daily routine at this point. 

The weather had been really bad these past few weeks, which made a few things significantly more difficult— actually everything had been more difficult. Hunting and collecting  plants had been your guys' main source of Ortaux for the past 3 months or so, but the constant rain and heavy winds gave you quite a bit of the struggle. You were running low, and you hadn’t run into Felix for about 2 weeks, which had been really concerning you. Whenever you went to his house to check in on him, there was never an answer to your knocking. You told yourself that perhaps he was sleeping, or out collecting plants, anything. However, you knew something was wrong when the batch of blueberries you left for him the last time you visited was still outside his door the next time you found yourself back outside his house three days later.

That night, the rain was heavy and the thunder outside did nothing to calm your senses. Normally when the weather was this bad, you were at Felix’s house sleeping over, cuddled in his arms while he comforted you through the storm. It was dark and cold, and you were terrified out of your mind right now, your mind only taken up by  the ruckus outside and the feeling gnawing at you regarding Felix. You tried to calm yourself down by breathing, and told yourself that you would go back to his place in the morning when the storm had hopefully calmed down by then; but that got changed when suddenly a bolt of lightning struck dangerously close to your tiny shed. You jumped up from your lying position on the cheap futon, and smelt something burning not too long after. Your eyes darted around, trying to find the source, only to see the left side of the ceiling burning. Feeling your heart begin to race, you quickly grabbed everything you could carry as fast as you could, and you started running towards Felix’s place. Rain was clouding your vision, or maybe they were tears, you didn’t know, you didn’t care. Your breath kept getting caught in your throat, your legs feeling like they could give out at any moment, and it was starting to get hard to breathe- You don’t think you’ve ever run this quick before in your life. 

As you finally reached his porch, you started to bang on the door, no answer. You were cold, terrified, and him not answering his door did absolutely nothing to calm you down. With each knock he didn’t answer, You could feel your heart dropping deeper and deeper. ‘Is he asleep? No way, everything is way too loud for him to be asleep right now. Why isn’t he answering me? Is he okay?’ Your harsh breaths scratching your throat, and your hands trembling, you gave up on knocking, grabbed a spare bobby pin, and tried your best to pick the lock. The rain made it hard to control it in your shaking hands, but eventually- 

Click

Your hands fumbled as you roughly reached to turn the doorknob and opened the door to his house, your presence being met with nothing. Absolutely nothing. Slamming the door behind you, you looked around in a panic, running around the house trying to find anything of him. The dishes in the sink were dirty, a mess had been scattered around his living room, clearly having not been cleaned in a while. You checked every single room, closet, bathroom, the backyard, but you were left empty handed. 

Your sore feet brought you back to his room, and you practically collapsed on his bed, your legs giving out from exhaustion. You were so tired. The area used to bring you so much warmth and comfort, but right now it brought you nothing of the sort. You felt...hollow, You didn’t know what to do. Tears pricked in your eyes, and it only took about a second for you to completely break down into a sob. Your breathing uneven and tears clouding your vision as your shivering form laid on his cold bed. You didn’t know what exactly it was that you were crying about. Was it because Felix wasn’t here, leaving you with absolutely nothing? Not even a single note, a single sign to where he was, if he was okay or not. That you were worried about him? As far as you knew, he could be dead right now. You pushed that thought out of your mind before it ate you up any more. 

After what felt like hours of just crying, you made yourself get up and find some dry clothes. You definitely  needed rest, and if you laid here any longer you were sure you were about to pass out from exhaustion on his bed, still in your drenched clothing. You went through his closet, your tired eyes scanning through his clothes. Your hands found a random hoodie and some sweatpants, and changed into them with slow movements. They still smelled like him.

 You grabbed Bubbles close to you as you laid in his bed, trying your best to fall asleep. My mind was clouded by your thoughts, and you finally realized something you had noticed while searching for him. All the Ortaux in the house was nowhere to be found when you checked earlier. ‘Did he take everything and leave to live somewhere else? Everything else of his was still here… did he..?’ You didn’t even notice the tears starting to fall from your eyes again until You felt something wet drip on the hand that was holding Bubbles. You shook your head, and tried to get comfortable in the bed you had only ever shared with Felix. You fell asleep after endless tossing and turning, tears staining your face, and thunder crashing outside. 

Waking up the next morning, you had initially refused to believe that the previous night was real. You turned over to face the other side of the bed, where Felix should’ve been, but your heart ached when you found it to be empty. You don’t even remember anything you did that day, and the next few weeks felt like a complete blur to you. 

Felix never came back, you don’t know what happened to him, and you probably never will. You started living in his house after that night. Really, it’s not like you had anywhere else to go anyway, your shed was long gone by now. Besides, Felix’s house was way more spacious, it was filled with ingredients, food, entertainment, a place to cook food– it had everything you needed. Except for a certain freckled boy with blonde hair. You tried convincing yourself that all the practical things were the only reason you stayed there, but deep down you know there’s a part of you that finds comfort in living here, and that same part of you is the same one that’s aimlessly hoping that he’ll return.

#felix x reader #felix fluff #felix angst #stray kids #skz x reader #skz #skz fluff #skz imagines #lee felix #lee yongbok #skz yongbok #kpop #stray kids au #felix lee #stray kids oneshot #stray kids imagines #felix scenarios #stray kids fluff #stray kids angst

[caniscathexis]

"Theorist Grégoire Chamayou has described the contemporary paradigm of drone warfare as having instigated a “crisis in military ethos,” transforming the terms and terrain of engagement altogether as it proposes an unstable approach to acceptable targets. In an era of the global war against terror, Chamayou writes:

Armed violence has lost its traditional limits: indefinite in time, it is also indefinite in space. The whole world, it is said, is a battlefield. But it would probably be more accurate to call it a hunting ground. For if the scope of armed violence has now become global, it is because the imperatives of hunting demand it.

In this description, the remote killing characteristic of drone warfare is not just a safe or expedient means of carrying out war as before—this technical innovation corresponds to a new and rapidly shifting geographical model, where violence is no longer limited to demarcated combat zones but simply licensed by the presence of an enemy prey, “who carries with it its own little mobile zone of hostility.” State sovereignty and territorial integrity are contingent features of this model of warfare, and can be violated at will by an imperial hunter whose technical power and jurisdiction operates vertically.

The geopolitical layers of this methodology are many and complex: for example, the MQ-9 Reaper drone that killed Soleimani was likely launched from Qatar, but operated from Clark County, Nevada, where self-proclaimed “hunter” pilots proceeded to attack a diplomatically protected target visiting a third country with whom they were not at war—at least nominally. At the very least, this is novel; but the legal ramifications must be known.

As noted, Israel’s assassination of Arouri strikingly coincides with the anniversary of the Trump administration’s killing of Soleimani, which was justified in turn with reference to Bush Jr.’s extralegal innovations. But these Republican presidencies flank the drastic expansion of jurisdictionally ambiguous drone warfare under President Obama, whose office presumed authority to use lethal force outside of legally defined combat zones on an unprecedented scale during a “global” war on terror. These policies drew heavy criticism from international legal observers, as the Obama administration authorized more than 500 drone strikes in Pakistan, Somalia, Yemen, and beyond—locations where the situation, however grave, could hardly be described as one of armed conflict between organized groups. Lacking such criteria, the years of drone attacks around the world appear not only deadly, but illegal.

Even so, lawyers love an ignoble cause; and this remote assassin’s paradigm keeps many of them entertained. Legal scholar Michael W. Lewis argues that the application of international humanitarian law to the transnational deployment of drones constitutes an unacceptable constraint, where “it would effectively grant sanctuary to and confer an important strategic advantage upon unprivileged belligerents,” themselves apparently excepted from the protections of the Geneva Convention.

These are the sticking points of any legal theory of the drone, and the cause for which apologists must seek a portable state of exception, adhering to individual targets as they move about the world. Jonathan Horowitz and Naz Modirzadeh describe the seemingly contradictory situation of a “transnational non-international armed conflict,” where the law of armed conflict is analogized to a cloud, hovering above the head of an itinerant prey."

– cam scott, "israel's drone age"

[dilatorywriting]

Hi!

Sorry English is not my native language, I will make mistakes.

First. I love your lyrics! they are amazing!! I am ready to kiss your amazing diligent hands (of course with your consent) Your texts make me smile stupidly and giggle softly like a schoolgirl who was invited by the most enviable person from the whole school to an event.

So, I'm here because of that post with Howl's Walking Castle.

Good, good. Vil is the Witch of the Wasteland.

Then……Rook Hunt……… Is this Howl? (Not Jack)

Blond? Yes Short hair with a square and straight bangs? Yes. A charming wizard? YEAS

Perhaps in the past, the paths of Vil and Rook diverged because of the views on the world and goals in life that have changed over time. But they warmly remembered their friendship and their small events.

Now I can't get rid of the story that the Rook is a Howl. He am very upset that Suleiman has taken away the magic Power from his dearest friend - Vil. With whom they once studied together with the aforementioned sorceress.

And now this crazy woman is hunting for all the sorcerers, wizards, magicians to sentence to eternal work for a stupid king and endless wars?

No.

He won't stand for it. But what can he do now that his magic power has become so unstable because of the curse?

He almost loses himself.

****

Rook - aka Howl. He was so fascinated by the ignorant owner of the hats turned into an old man. Come to his endlessly walking castle - to avoid the oath. With a strong request that they need a job. And the castle passed by their town very "in time", and they could well take up cleaning in the castle.

Speaking of cleaning….

Rook looks around with embarrassment at its castle overgrown with dust and cobwebs. With a bunch of different stuff and "loot" from his secret hunt. Oh, what a shame. He is so embarrassed that his house looks so inhospitable to others.

Since that day, Rook has noticed significant improvements in its castle. Cleanliness replaced all the garbage and dirt. The ashes no longer scatter all over the living room, unpleasantly tickling the nose. Everything is tidy, shining with gloss, as if delivered just from the store. Products no longer spoil due to the fact that they forgot to remove or cook. While the owner himself is running around outside the castle on his own business… The clothes smell pleasantly of powder and salty air from the shore of sapphire lake. Maybe a pinch of pollen from flower meadows. How much energy is contained in this "cursed old man"?! ****

Forgive me for my invention, but what if the Damned Hat Seller has a very strong magician friend from another country?

Wil is horrified looking at the letter with the coat of arms which he swore that he had seen only Suliman on very rare documents, one or two no more.

-Where… is it from…a letter?

-Oh, it's that statue guy! So, my letter with the address reached him!! - The cursed owner of hats looks with affection at a black raven with a green short ribbon on its paw holding a rather weighty letter.

Vil and Rook look at each other in complete confusion, uttering the unvoiced question "What's going on?!"

-Who?

-Ah… well…Tsunotaro? I was talking about him. This guy was cursed into a stone statue. The poor guy can only move by jumping…..He was very kind to me. When… well….I had to leave my city.

Briefly quieting down and feeling extremely awkward and painful memories of the past, they change the subject.

-He helped me get to the hills. He made me a cane out of a prickly blackberry bush. He said there might be some magicians here who could give me a job. Due to the fact that they are often on the road, there is no one to look after their homes. And I can be hired for a pretty good fee, or just as an assistant…When we helped with his curse, he said that he was now in my debt for the rest of his life….Oh, he writes that he is very glad to know that I am doing well! And yes……I….um….I'm sorry, I asked about your situation…he said that this could easily solve the problem. There's some magical gibberish, I don't really understand it…

-Wait a minute……….. are you saying that you lifted the curse from that stone demon?!

-First of all, he is not a demon. And secondly, he was very polite…Unlike one person who just cursed me at the first meeting. . Third, he seems to be a prince? Now he is putting things in order in his country while he was away a lot of work has accumulated.

Vil rolls his eyes. The old record again.

-I told you I can only cast curses, not remove them. Who even thinks of such a thing?!

-Oooooh, really?And look what this has led you to, "Mr. crunches back is even worse than mine" is only worth turning your head.

-Oh, are you!!YOU!!YOU!!

Vil tries to throw a pillow at the wit from his seat.But it was a futile attempt. The damned owner atelier of the hats suddenly starts laughing merrily. And their curse weakens for a moment. They are young again. Their previously wrinkled cheeks are now decorated with a healthy bright blush. Their hair is no longer gray, their laughter is not hoarse and raspy, but sonorous and pleasant. It only lasts for a moment, and then time devours their body again for the curse.

Schoenheit wants to go back to the past and knock himself out of the past so as not to curse this person…and enjoy this laughter and embarrassed giggling more.

Rook just smiles meekly - Ah, it seems that help will come to us from where we did not expect it at all. Isn't that wonderful~

****

Oh, yeah….

I think Epel is Markle. The guy who works instead of Rook while he wanders somewhere outside the castle. And sells potions and herbs for the townspeople in their shops. He gives the money to his family in one of the villages.

Epel at the sight of Vil - ARE YOU CRAZY, IT'S THE WITCH OF THE WASTELAND?!

Vil leaning on the hands of the Cursed MC to sit down on the sofa, because there was no trace of his previously imperious light, confident gait. - what a loud ill-mannered child..

-I know, but now this grandfather is not dangerous. Vill you put the kettle on, Epel? I'll cook dinner.

-Grandfather?!Excuse me???How dare you address me like that?!I am a great magician and wizard!!No one even dared to cast an unwanted glance at me for a split second!!

-Yeah-yeah, calm down…are you going to eat porridge?

-I hate you…

-Well, you don't have much choice. Or you stay here and you don't have enough problems. Or you get up on your own and leave here on your own two feet since you don't like it here. - The damned MC snorts, taking out an apron and groceries to cook dinner. Easily and confidently soaring in the kitchen to cook everything on time.

-Damn it…..I cursed you to be an elderly man, a crumbling, decrepit crone…and you have more energy than 10 young men and women combined…I don't understand where you got it from…

-Oh, look, he's already started grumbling like a grandfather~

-IT WAS WORTH TURNING YOU INTO A PUMPKIN AND PUREING YOU AND FEEDING YOU TO GEESE!!

Epel covering the ears - MC….why did you bring this angry, loud old man into our house?..

The damned Mc only giggles merrily, covering his smile with his palm, watching the exchange of these two. Suddenly a thought strikes them.

-Oh shit…..I should have asked the Hunter's permission…it's not my house…

I'm sorry it was too long.ahaha..

I can't believe I never considered using Rook as Howl. My guys have the same blonde bob and everything.

But yes! I'm glad I can drag more people into this Howl AU hell with me

#Asks #Howl's Moving Castle AU

[theblogtini]

I think Meghan is also very aware that people are now seeing it for what it is: HE left his country and family and role in the institution aka his job for her. He doesn't speak to his friends or family. He is completely isolated from who he was 6/7/8 years ago, and it's all happened since she's come onto the scene. If you flip their genders, he would absolutely be publicly called out for being an abusive partner, and rightly.

She's distancing herself from it because everything that's happened has happened in her presence. Yeah he was always a shit, but you can see times where he was clearly happy around his family and at events, now he's just angry all the time. Meghan doesn't want to keep getting the blame for everything, even though she was most certainly the instigator/enabler. She has no choice but to distance herself and set up this narrative of her being "gently concerned" because in a divorce battle, they will each paint the other as an abuser, and all we have proof of right now is her abuse towards him. She needs to portray herself as the ultimate innocent victim of everything, but it's likely already too late.

She'll make him out to be unstable and dangerous, but as everyone will point out: she removed him from his support network and his medical professionals who would have been working with him for years. She can't win, imo. She didn't stick it out long enough to win.

Mmmmhmm yeah. You're right - this is all self-preservation. Not just to get back into the RF's good graces but because she needs to make sure that when push comes to shove and things really start to unravel (IF they do - I don't actually think they'll get divorced and I am certainly not rooting for it) she needs to have laid the groundwork for the public to see her post-royal self in a "favorable" light.

Meghan looks bad all the way around, and with what Harry's doing she comes out of it looking even worse because, like you said, we can literally SEE the shift in Harry over the years. We have photographic evidence - and now a book of his own "truth" - where you can follow along as you watch his relationship with his family and his happiness deteriorate throughout the course of his relationship with her. And SHE was the catalyst.

He might have always been unhappy with the press, but he never did a single thing about it throughout his entire life - not for Chelsy (who I do think will forever be "the one that got away") and not for Cressida. Chelsy and Cressida wanted him to be happy, so they made him happy. They tried to just steer him away from his battles with the press because they knew it wasn't worth it. Meghan wanted to control the narrative so she fed into Harry's paranoia and anger at the press to get him to do what SHE wanted - which was sign huge Hollywood deals and become "financially independent."

[half-oz-eddie]

My OC! Nero Castiel Ramsay

TW for graphic depictions of violence, death, mass murder, suicidal thoughts (and angst!)

For context, the military has seized control of his country, killing, weaponizing and experimenting on people with abilities. After causing a horrific accident with his fire ability, he eventually meets a girl who went AWOL from the military, who took her away from her father as a child so they could use her as a weapon. The two team up to find out where their abilities came from and what the government has planned.

His full backstory is below the cut!

"My story? Well..." My name is Nero Castiel Ramsay. I’m 25 years old. I was born July 26th in Shrill City General Hospital. 

When I was born, I nearly blinded the midwife. They had to wrap my hands in foil gloves and give me cold baths. My temperature was nearly 200 degrees. 

My mother said the pregnancy was difficult. She always had hot flashes and indigestion, but at least labor and delivery was easy, right? 

When I was brought to NICU-II, my father had my files deleted and destroyed, which is an easy task when you're the hospital director.

None of the nurses really wanted to take care of me, let alone touch me, except Evander. It was a blessing to have an older brother that was a nurse. 

It was a blessing to have siblings that loved me the way they did...

When I was brought home, my family wasn’t nearly as ready as they thought they were. 

I was burning through mattresses in my sleep for the first 2 years of my life, until the fire was a bit more under control. It wasn’t as explosive anymore. 

For awhile, my family thought maybe...it went away. Until I would throw a tantrum and set my high chair ablaze. 

I was only a toddler, and yet, I still remember the horrified look on my mother’s face. 

After that, she was always dumping me on my father and my siblings. I hardly saw much of her. She’d peek into my room, say good morning or good night, and keep walking past.

Physical contact was never really happening before anyway. Vega used to put foil around her hands and arms to give me hugs or head pats, but I was a really unstable kid. 

I was constantly uneasy and had anxiety. If I was really upset, I’d burn through the foil too.

Vega was covered in burns from always trying to interact with me. She’d hold my hand when I was scared, until her hand was blistered. 

When I got a bit older, I convinced her to stop coddling me and just help me become stronger. 

She was 12 when I was 7, so she was teaching me whatever she was learning in school. My mother hardly did any homeschooling with me. I’m surprised I’m not stupid. 

Vega studied a lot of pyrotechnics. She told me to try lotion on my hands and body to keep it slick so I wouldn’t set anything on fire. The lotion worked a bit, but then my hands were still too warm to touch. 

So then, we tried gloves. I’d burn through them within a week or so, and then need replacements. 

Then...finally...we tried both. Vega kept a “burn chart” for me. And as long as I kept my hands lotioned every 3 hours and kept my gloves on, I was able to manage for an entire month without setting a single thing on fire. 

My body was still too warm, though. I tried going outside on the front porch, instead of just staying in the yard like always. 

I saw a baby, and I ran inside and had a panic attack. 

I imagined accidentally setting the baby on fire and I lost it. 

“I’m too dangerous.” I cried. 

Vega held me and tried her best to calm me down. She held and squeezed until it was too warm, too hot, burning. I burned her clothes onto her body. She was in so much pain. 

Luckily it wasn’t as bad as i thought it was. Mom, being a retired nurse herself, was able to tend to her wounds. 

“I told you, don’t touch Nero. I’m tired of seeing you covered in burns. What if he burns your face next? People will start asking questions!”

“I don’t care about questions! I care about my little brother. He’s 13 years old, and he has no friends. You won’t even let him go to church!”

“If I take him to church, everyone will just think he’s the devil.” My mother snapped. 

I overheard everything from the doorway. I ran out into the yard and climbed the big oak tree. It was at least 20 feet tall. 

I looked up at the moon, then down at the grass. I was getting ready to jump from the highest branch and kill myself. 

I heard Evander slide the back door open. “Nero, you out here? You want some pizza? I’m buying...Nero? Yo!”

I didn’t reply. I wanted him to go away so I could finally die. 

“Please don’t look up, Please don’t look up.” I told myself. 

He took out his phone, turned on the flashlight, and looked up.

Damn.

“Hey, get down! That’s dangerous.”

“I know. I was...just trying to get a view of the city.” I came up with a quick lie. 

“I told you, if you’re willing to take some pills, I’ll drive you around. Your fire seems to be triggered by your anxiety. And since we can’t take you to the doctors, I’ll get you a script for something.”

“I...I don’t know if that’ll work. I don’t know if anything will work...”

“Wait...are you trying to kill yourself?”

“No, it's just..I um...”

“Idiot. I’m coming up.”

Evander scaled the tree like a superhero and sat next to me. 

“This is really high up, Nero. You actually can see the city from here.”

I shrugged. “I’m not supposed to be alive. What if I really am the devil like mom said?”

“She said that?!”

I answered with an embarrassed nod.

“Nero. I’m so sorry, kid. I know that hurts, but I think you were born this way for a reason. You have to discover that reason. You won’t get answers from death.”

“Maybe.”

“You can get pizza though, and extra cheese if you get down.”

My brother always knew what to say. 

I decided to keep on living, and keep trying to be better. 

Vega convinced me to try finger painting to calm myself. 

I spent a lot of time in the backyard painting, imagining what the rest of the world was like. 

My father started taking some of my paintings around and sold them. He put money in a trust fund for me, so one day I could have a life of my own. 

Lots of people around the city wanted to meet me, but my father would lie and say I had a very serious autoimmune disease and couldn’t be around others. 

Really...I was the disease. 

“As the years had gone by, I was trying to get better, but I was just fucking up everyone’s life, honestly.”

“It wasn’t your fault.” His friend said comfortingly. 

“To me it was...”

Vega had declined a full ride scholarship to the top university in the country because she didn’t want to leave me. 

Evander was putting his life on hold. He was working per diem hours making below his salary because he considered me a priority. 

My mother just seemed pale and miserable. Our relationship was strained for such a long time, until I turned 17. 

I found it helpful to intentionally let out a little fire every once in awhile. I’d burn wood in the fire pit, and then started finger painting with soot. 

One day, my mom asked me to paint her. When I was finished, she smiled, then pulled a piece of foil out of her pocket, placed it on my forehead and kissed me over the foil. 

I cried a bit, after she took the canvas inside. Then, it started raining. I’ll never forget that day. It was one of the few good days of my life. 

I felt like things were going to start getting better.

I started going out front again. The neighbors wouldn’t stand too close, since they thought I was so susceptible to germs. But, they’d say hello. They were kind. 

I started painting out front. About a week in to my porch painting, I noticed a new family was moving into the house across the street. 

It was an older looking couple, older than my parents, a son around Vega’s age and a daughter around my age. 

God...she was beautiful. Short with long hair, a cute voice, even cuter laugh, warm green eyes. I wanted to...

“Fuck her?” His friend interrupted. 

Nero narrowed his eyes. “Paint her. I wanted to...paint her...and I did. A lot.”

When she made eye contact with me as she headed into their new house, I felt my heart skip a beat. 

Later that day, my family was heading over to do their neighborly welcoming committee bullshit...and of course, I stayed behind. 

I was staring at that girl through the window. 

“Want me to ask her name for you?” Vega said, startling me. 

“What? Are you fuckin crazy? I can’t talk to no girl.”

“Sure you can. You haven’t hurt me any more than I’ve let you. You can at least make a friend.”

I watched my family head over with a casserole and the father welcomed them into the house. 

They were in there for hours. I guess they were really nice. 

Later that evening, Vega came rushing into the house first. I was sitting at the table eating the food my mother cooked.

“Her name is Corinne. She asked about you. She wanted to know about ‘the boy whose eyes look like sunlight that was sitting on the porch.’ So I told her a million great things about you.” She smiled at me. 

I felt like I was going to be sick.

“Oooh you’re blushing!” She gushed. “So her name is Corinne Baker. She’s your age. She wants to be a veterinarian, she likes to sing, she was a Girl Scout, and her family moved here from Senkil because her father got some fancy schmancy corporate job offer.”

“She uh...sounds nice.”

“Her whole family is really nice. The brother seems pretty shifty, though. Call it my gut.”

I shrugged off what Vega was talking about. I knew getting close to anybody was a terrible idea. 

The next day, I was back to my front yard painting, when Corinne came outside. I tried to stay hyper focused on my newest piece, but I noticed out the corner of my eye, she was coming closer. 

“Hello!” She called out from the driveway. “I’m Corinne. You’re Nero, right?”

“Uh...yeah. Nice to...meet you.” I hoped she wouldn’t come closer.

She didn’t. She’d come back everyday, stand in the driveway, and ask about my paintings. We’d exchange idle small talk. She’d tell me about something funny at school, or her homework. I liked seeing her every afternoon after school, and in the mid-morning on weekends. 

One day, she decided to ask vague questions about my health. 

“I’m not contagious, you know. Is that why you stand so far away?”

“N-no! I didn’t think that...I just...was worried I could get you sick. I-I go to school a-and I-I—“

I laughed. “I’m just messing with you.” 

I started getting comfortable with her.

“You can come a little bit closer. You know. So you can see what I’m painting.”

She slowly ascended the steps, and stayed a few feet away from me. My heart was fluttering. 

“It smells like smoke.”

“I paint with soot, that’s why.” 

I smelled like soot, and she smelled like flowers. We were like life and death. 

One day, she came by during a thunderstorm. I wasn’t expecting to see her. I wasn’t even painting that day. I just liked rain. It was the only time I could be comfortable outside. 

“Why’d you come today? It’s pouring!”

“I come see you everyday!”

I sat in the grass, and she plopped down near me. 

“You’re gonna get dirty. You’re...too pretty to be covered in dirt.”

“I love the rain.”

“Me too.”

We sat a few feet apart, and she revealed something really personal to me.

“Really? What’d she say?”

“I’m omitting that part.”

“What?! Why?”

“I’d never tell another woman’s business. What kinda man do you think I am? Anyway...”

I asked her if I could paint her. I worked on it for months. I never let her peek, no matter how many times she came back. 

I finished it toward the end of the school year.

“It's so, so beautiful! Can I take it with me? To college, I mean.”

“Oh...you’re going away to college?”

“Yeah, but I’ll come home for breaks. And we can video chat. Do you...have a phone?”

“No...”

“Please get one!” She begged with her eyes sparkling. 

“Um...okay.”

I knew damn well I couldn’t have a phone. It would fucking explode in my hand. 

But, of course, Vega had a plan.

“Here.” She said as she plopped a tablet onto my nightstand. “You can video call with Corinne. And it’s voice activated, so you don’t have to worry about blowing the shit to bits.”

“Um...thank you.”

Once Corinne was at university, she’d video call me all the time. 

To tell you the truth, I found it weird. I didn’t understand why she wanted to talk to me so much. She told her friends about me and everything. I guess it didn’t really occur to me that she liked me too. 

Over the years, she’d gotten a few inches closer to me whenever we sat together on the porch. 

I was getting older and controlling my fire much better than before. 

I was able to hug my sister and only feel a little warm. I couldn’t stop the fire from coming out of my hands, though. So I had to keep up my lotion and glove regimen. 

Fast forward to two years ago...

I was going out more often. I had even gotten a job at the mall kiosk. 

My boss was a good friend of my dad’s. So he told him I needed these bathroom breaks every 3 hours because of my condition. It worked. I was able to lotion my hands during my breaks and keep interacting with the customers.

Life was fantastic for once. 

6 months in to my job and nearly normal life, Corinne had moved back home for good. She was a college graduate and a veterinarian. 

“So, you seem to be doing better now. Can I...have a hug yet?”

I didn’t want to lose her. 

“Let’s...work up to that.”

She sat inches away from me. “Fair enough.”

We went to parks and beaches together all the time. One day, we went to a restaurant. 

“Is this a...date?”

“I...think so? I do like you. B-but it doesn’t have to be a date.”

“I want it to be a date.”

I liked Corinne so much, but I was so scared. What if I had to tell her about my abilities one day?

I walked her to her door, and said goodnight. 

“Nero! I don’t get a hug at least?”

“Uh...well. I’m really old fashioned. I don’t want to make any physical contact too soon. It uh...gives us time to work on the bond.”

She looked at me like I was a dumbass, but she went along with it...

For about 2 weeks.

One night, she video called me. 

“Nero. I have feelings for you. Deep feelings. I want to hold hands and kiss you. I know maybe you’re worried about your illness, but I promise I’m healthy, and your parents say you’ve gotten better. You haven’t been sick at all lately, right?”

“Uh...well I ha—“

“So, tomorrow! After you get off work. Meet me at the park across the street from the mall. I want to kiss you.”

“B-but—“

“Nero! We’re not kids anymore. I have needs too.”

“Needs...?”

“Yeah, like closeness. Physical touch...maybe...more?”

When she said more, I got nervous. The last time I thought about sex, I set my bed on fire—again. I tried to stay focused.

“Uh...okay. Let’s meet tomorrow.”

The next day, I went to work, nervous and uneasy. I didn’t know what would happen if I kissed her. 

To make my day even more stressful, my boss’s son was filling in for him. He wasn’t as understanding about my breaks. I asked to take my first one, and he groaned about how much I was needed since we were 1 person short. 

I was feeling the warmth underneath my gloves, between that and the thought of kissing Corinne, or seeing her naked...I felt nauseous. I wanted to touch her, but I didn’t want to hurt her.

I asked for my second break. Still a no. 

Now I was getting scared. I felt it coming. I knew if I set that kiosk on fire I was gonna GET fired. And have to lock myself in my house again. 

I asked for my third break...I fucking implored. 

“Please wait 20 more minutes Nero? Regular break time is around then. I really need you out here.”

I couldn’t think straight.

My gloves were getting hot.

I was supposed to kiss Corinne today.

My gloves were hot.

Corinne’s lips. 

I waited 10 more minutes, then asked if I could go home early. 

“Seriously, Nero? Just wait 10 damn minutes. I promise you can take an hour break, okay?”

My face was covered in sweat. The thoughts swarmed back again. The customers came in droves. My hands were shaking and I was breathing heavily. 

I tried to calm myself with happy thoughts of painting once my shift was over. Then, I started thinking of excuses to not kiss Corinne, and the customers were crowding and making so much noise, and my gloves were starting to burn.

Suddenly, I lost control. Flames flew from both of my hands and body at an unbelievable degree, charring through people and stores. I heard agonizing screams and saw people turning to ash, begging for mercy as their skin melted from them within moments. 

I heard brief shrieks as the flame ate away at them. 

I was horrified as I watched everything burn. It felt like hours but...it was probably 2 or 3 minutes. And for some disgusting reason, I was the only survivor. 

I ran like hell from the rubble...and kept running, and running...and running. I had no intention of seeing my family, or Corinne ever again.

I knew my family would resent me, and I knew I was too much of a monster for Corinne. I hid in an alley for 2 days until there was a thunderstorm. That was my sign that it was time to say goodbye forever.

“Then, I met Yuka in the Obsidian Forest and killed more people, this time soldiers, and this time on purpose. Then...wound up here.” Nero shrugged. “Your turn.”

#ivy's precious OCs #OC: nero ramsay #ivy.doc #writing

[nicklloydnow]

“When we spoke this week, she made clear that the decision of whether Ukraine wins or loses is now on us — almost entirely. As Congress debates how much more money to authorize for Ukraine’s assistance amid growing Republican opposition, she says that what we are really debating is our own future. Do we want to live in the kind of world that will result if Ukraine loses?

Hill is clear about her answer. A world in which Putin chalks up a win in Ukraine is one where the U.S.’s standing in the world is diminished, where Iran and North Korea are emboldened, where China dominates the Indo-Pacific, where the Middle East becomes more unstable and where nuclear proliferation takes off, among allies as well as enemies.

“Ukraine has become a battlefield now for America and America’s own future — whether we see it or not — for our own defensive posture and preparedness, for our reputation and our leadership,” she told me. “For Putin, Ukraine is a proxy war against the United States, to remove the United States from the world stage.”

(…)

“The problem is that many members of Congress don’t want to see President Biden win on any front,” she said. “People are incapable now of separating off ‘giving Biden a win’ from actually allowing Ukraine to win. They are thinking less about U.S. national security, European security, international security and foreign policy, and much more about how they can humiliate Biden.”

“In that regard,” she continued, “whether they like it or not, members of Congress are doing exactly the same thing as Vladimir Putin. They hate that. They want to refute that. But Vladimir Putin wants Biden to lose, and they want Biden to be seen to lose as well.”

(…)

Ukraine has succeeded so far because of massive military support from European allies and other partners. So in that regard, we’ve now reached a tipping point between whether Ukraine continues to win in terms of having sufficient fighting power to stave Russia off, or whether it actually starts to lose because it doesn’t have the equipment, the heavy weaponry, the ammunition. That external support is going to be determinative.

(…)

It’s a question of whether Ukraine has enough resources, financial resources, not just to keep going on the battlefield, but also to keep the country together at home. And up until now you’re still seeing a lot of European countries stepping up. Not just you know, the United States, but definitely the EU, Japan, South Korea and others. Japan recently made an offer of additional major financial support. The Germans have said that they’ll make sure that the Ukrainian economy will continue to not just survive, but thrive, and over the longer term, they’ll help rebuild. This is still somewhat positive.

On the political side, however, we’ve got the problems of the policy battlefields on the domestic front. Ukraine has now become a domestic political issue in a whole range of countries, not just here in the United States, but in countries like Poland, Slovakia, Hungary, Germany and many more. And that’s an issue where it’s going to be very hard for Ukraine to win. Because when you get into the transactional issues of domestic politics, and you’re no longer thinking about national security, or these larger imperatives, then Ukraine dies a thousand deaths from all of the transactional efforts that domestic politicians engage in. Most political constituents, no matter the country, can’t really see beyond their own narrow interests.

(…)

One thing that we need to bear in mind here is that Putin turned for assistance to two countries that should give Americans and members of Congress pause — Iran and North Korea. Russia has had significant shortfalls of ammunition and sophisticated technology because of sanctions and other constraints. Ammunition has come from North Korea, which continues to provide Russia with all kinds of rounds for shells, and Iran has stepped up with the production of drones. Iran and North Korea both see this as a kind of international opening for them. If Russia prevails on the battlefield, you can be sure that Iran and North Korea will get benefits from this. We already see Russia shifting its position on the Iranian nuclear front, and we also see Russia making a major shift in its relationship with Israel. Putin has gone from being a major supporter of Israel, to now an opponent, and has switched from what was always very careful public rhetoric about Israel to pretty antisemitic statements. Putin never denigrated Jews in the past. On the contrary, he presented himself as a supporter of the Jewish population. This is a dramatic shift and clearly because of Iran. Now, whether Iran asked Putin to do this, I honestly can’t say, but we can all see this deepening relationship between Russia and Iran. That is a real problem for the administration and for others who are now looking at the Middle East and trying to figure out how to stop a broader war with Lebanon, with the Houthis in Yemen, and all of the Iranian proxies, because Iran and Russia have become fused together now in two conflicts.

(…)

But it’s not just China and Russia who are learning from this war. So are we. We’ve seen the impact of drone warfare and we’re thinking about how we deal with this ourselves. We’ve been kind of shocked to see how much wars like this take up ammunition stocks — this is not the type of war that we’ve fought for a very long time. When we’re thinking about our own defense, our own national security, we need to be looking very carefully at this conflict. The way that Putin has played with the idea of using tactical nuclear weapons, the use of drones on the battlefield, the use of mines, the use of ships and blockades in the Black Sea, the difficulty of pushing forward in a counteroffensive against these deep entrenchments, how various military systems including defensive equipment actually perform in real time and conditions. We can see how effective our ATACMS were, for example, our Patriot batteries. This is, in a way, a proving ground for our own equipment.

(…)

Well, there’ll be multiple ways he will define it, one of which is defeating the United States, politically, psychologically and symbolically. If the United States doesn’t pass the supplemental [bill to approve aid to Ukraine], and we get this chorus of members of Congress calling for the United States to pull away from Ukraine, Putin will be able to switch this around and say, “There you go. The United States is an unreliable ally. The United States is not a world leader.” And there will be a chilling effect for all our other allies. In the past, Putin has actually, for example, approached the Japanese and said, “Look, we can be your interlocutor with China. The United States is not going to be there to assist you in a crunch.” And that’s certainly what this is going to look like. The Japanese, the South Koreans, the Vietnamese, others that we have bilateral treaties with, are going to wonder, “OK, the United States made such a push here to support Ukraine, along with other European members of NATO, and now they’ve just walked away from it.” And you put that on top of Afghanistan and the withdrawal, also the withdrawal from Iraq, withdrawal from Syria, and the whole fraught history of United States interventions in the last two decades, and Putin will be able to present a pretty potent narrative about the United States’ inability to maintain its commitments and forfeiting its role as an international leader. So that that becomes a major political win.

(…)

We’ll be at each others’ throats. There’ll be no way in which this is going to turn out well. There’ll be a lot of frustration on the part of people who thought that this was the easier option when we reel from crisis to crisis. There’ll also be the shame, frankly, and the disgrace of having let the Ukrainians down. I think it would create a firestorm of recrimination. And it will also embolden so many other actors to take their own steps.

One key challenge is going to be the nuclear front. There’s several different ways in which we can look at the nuclear front. There’s the moral imperative. We pushed Ukraine to give up the nuclear weapons that it had inherited from the Soviet Union in the early 1990s. And we gave assurances along with the United Kingdom, that Ukraine would not end up in the situation that it is in now. We guaranteed its territorial integrity and sovereignty and independence and also assured Ukraine that we would step up to help. This opens up a whole can of worms related first to the moral jeopardy of this, that we obviously don’t stick to our word.

But also in terms of nuclear weapons, we could face proliferation issues with Japan, South Korea, other countries — even NATO countries who currently see themselves covered under the U.S. nuclear umbrella. They will start to worry about how much we would actually support them when they needed it, and how vulnerable they are to pressure or attack by another nuclear power. Think about the dynamics between India and Pakistan, for example, or China and India, or China and South Korea and Japan; and the predicament of leaders in other countries who will be thinking right now that, “I’m going to be extremely vulnerable — so perhaps I should be getting my own nuclear weapon.” You’re hearing talk about this in Germany, for example. You hear it all the time in places like Turkey, and Saudi Arabia, we know that they have nuclear aspirations. So this opens up a whole set of different discussions.

(…)

That it’s actually being spent at home! That’s the irony. Because every time you send a weapon to the Ukrainians, it’s an American weapon. You’re not buying somebody else’s weapons to go to Ukraine. It’s also a fraction of our defense budget.

It’s really a circular process here. We are providing weapons to Ukraine, we’re buying them from major manufacturers of defense systems here in the United States, which are obviously providing jobs for the people who are making them. And then we’re going back and we’re ordering more because we’re replenishing and upgrading our own weapons stocks. This is all part of our own system. These defense manufacturers account for huge numbers of jobs across the whole of the United States, so arming Ukraine means significant job creation and retention across the United States and also in Europe and elsewhere.

People in Congress know that, it’s just that they’re playing a different game. They want to play up this issue of “it should be spent at home” because of the transactional nature of congressional supplemental bills.

Let’s just put it frankly — this is all about the upcoming presidential election. It’s less about Ukraine and it’s more about the fact that we have an election coming up next year. The problem is that many members of Congress don’t want to see President Biden win on any front. People are incapable now of separating off “giving Biden a win” from actually allowing Ukraine to win. They are thinking less about U.S. national security, European security, international security and foreign policy, and much more about how they can humiliate Biden.

In that regard, whether they like it or not, members of Congress are doing exactly the same thing as Vladimir Putin. They hate that. They want to refute that. But Vladimir Putin wants Biden to lose, and they want Biden to be seen to lose as well.

For Vladimir Putin now Ukraine has become a proxy war. It’s not a proxy war by the United States against Russia. We’re trying to get Russia out of Ukraine, period. But for Putin, Ukraine is a proxy war against the United States, to remove the United States from the world stage. He’s trying to use Gaza, and Israel like that now, as well. He’s trying to whip up anti-United States sentiment wherever he can. I’ve just come back from Europe and from a whole host of conferences where there’s just so much rage and grievance about the United States and Putin is fanning the flames.

Putin sees Biden as a major opponent. He is an obstacle for Putin to be able to win on the battlefield of Ukraine. So Putin wants Biden to fail. Putin would be thrilled if Trump would come back to power because he also anticipates that Trump will pull the United States out of NATO, that Trump will rupture the U.S. alliance system, and that Trump will hand over Ukraine. So right at this particular moment, Putin sees an awful lot that he can get out of undermining Biden’s position.

Now, the problem, of course, is that currently many members of Congress and others are thinking about whether they want to run to be vice president for Trump, and what they should perhaps do now to support Trump and pave the way for his presidency. So the idea of giving Biden anything that could positively affect the election is just a bridge too far.

(…)

We’re not doing anything to put Putin in political jeopardy. We’re just fighting with ourselves all the time. And we can’t see past that. Biden’s got to try to help Ukraine, but can he get enough people to see past the election and also see the jeopardy we are in? We are in peril. We don’t see it. There’s such an anti-American wave that’s out there in the world. People want to see America fail and pulled down to size.

Ukraine has become a battlefield now, for America and America’s own future — whether we see it or not — for our own defensive posture and preparedness, for our reputation and our leadership.

American leadership is still very important. But other countries are starting to make plans for a world without us at this particular point. And you can be sure that Vladimir Putin, and President Xi and many others will be pretty ecstatic if we give up on Ukraine. And that could happen just as soon as December or January, because if Congress goes home for the holidays without passing the supplemental, and everyone’s back in their constituencies, there’s a lot of stuff that can happen in their absence, in that vacuum, that void that we have created. Everybody else in the rest of the world would be wondering, not just, “Where is America?” but, “What on earth has happened to America?” And if President Trump thinks that he’s going to be the leader of the free world when he comes back into office — well, think again. There won’t be a free world to be leading at all. And that’s not an overstatement. That’s just a fact.

(…)

So the best case scenario is, of course, one in which Ukraine continues to be able to hold its own and if we helped build it up militarily, where it can make another push or another series of pushes. If we think about World War Two and other wars, there were multiple offensive efforts, counteroffensives, and you just kept on trying until you succeeded. It will be very difficult to have an absolute victory over Russia. But what you want to have is Ukraine in a position to have a negotiation, a diplomatic solution, on its terms, not on Russia’s terms. A solution in which Ukraine is recognized as the party in the right, as the aggrieved party by the whole of the international community, and where Ukraine is, if not completely in territory, but materially and in every other way possible, made whole.

Another aspect of having this war resolved on Ukraine’s terms is that Russia is going to have to pay for or contribute to the reconstruction of Ukraine in some fashion. That is another major reason why Putin would see the U.S. and its allies stepping back as a major win, because then there’d be no leverage whatsoever or pressure put on Russia for rebuilding Ukraine. Russia could just step back, wash its hands of all of this and let everybody else fix what it broke.

So the best possible outcome here, beyond Ukraine being able to prevail on the battlefield, is a negotiated settlement that is in Ukraine’s favor, that leads to commitments to its security and reconstruction, and leads to some soul searching in Russia. That’s not going to happen under these current circumstances. The only way that that happens is when Russia believes that everybody else has the fortitude and staying power for this conflict. And right now, that’s not what we’re displaying at all. Actually, we’re looking pretty pathetic, I can’t think of any other way to describe it. And for Putin, this is just such a gift. This is such a gift.

(…)

He’s about to, and it’s on us. We’re at the point where it’s on us. If we leave the field, then he will win. His calculation is that our domestic politics and our own interests override everything, and that we no longer have a sense of national security, or of our role in international affairs. This is a moment for him to get rid of not just Pax Americana, but America as a major global player.

(…)

The decision is ours, this decision is entirely ours. We’re just falling all over ourselves to engage in self-harm at the moment. Ukraine shouldn’t be a partisan issue. I just hope that people are going to be able to dig deep, and realize the moment that they’re in.”

“The skeptics are correct that our recent counteroffensive did not achieve the lightning-fast liberation of occupied land, as the Ukrainian military managed in the fall of 2022 in the Kharkiv region and the city of Kherson. Observers, including some in Ukraine, anticipated similar results over the past several months, and when immediate success did not materialize, many succumbed to doom and gloom. But pessimism is unwarranted, and it would be a mistake to let defeatism shape our policy decisions going forward. Instead, policymakers in Washington and other capitals should keep the big picture in mind and stay on track. A Ukrainian victory will require strategic endurance and vision—as with our recent counteroffensive, the liberation of every square mile of territory requires enormous sacrifice by our soldiers—but there is no question that victory is attainable.

(…)

The current phase of the war is not easy for Ukraine or for our partners. Everyone wants quick, Hollywood-style breakthroughs on the battlefield that will bring a quick collapse of Russia’s occupation. Although our objectives will not be reached overnight, continued international support for Ukraine will, over time, ensure that local counteroffensives achieve tangible results on the frontlines, gradually destroying Russian forces and thwarting Putin’s plans for a protracted war.

Some skeptics counter that although such goals are just, they simply aren’t achievable. In fact, our objectives will remain militarily feasible as long as three factors are in place: adequate military aid, including jets, drones, air defense, artillery rounds, and long-range capabilities that allow us to strike deep behind enemy lines; the rapid development of industrial capacity in the United States and Europe as well as in Ukraine, both to cover Ukraine’s military needs and to replenish U.S. and European defense stocks; and a principled and realistic approach to the prospect of negotiations with Russia.

With these elements in place, our effort will bring marked progress on the frontlines. Yet that requires not veering off course and concluding that the fight is hopeless simply because one stage has fallen short of some observers’ expectations. Even with significant challenges, Ukraine has achieved notable results in recent months. We won the battle for the Black Sea and thereby restored a steady flow of maritime exports, benefiting both our economy and global food security. We’ve made gains on the southern front, recently securing a bridgehead on the eastern bank of the Dnieper River. And elsewhere, we have held off enormous Russian assaults and inflicted major losses on Russian forces, including by thwarting their attempts on Avdiivka and Kupiansk. Despite their gargantuan effort, Russian troops failed to secure any gains on the ground.

(…)

The problem is not just that a cease-fire now would reward Russian aggression. Instead of ending the war, a cease-fire would simply pause the fighting until Russia is ready to make another push inland. In the meantime, it would allow Russian occupying troops to reinforce their positions with concrete and minefields, making it nearly impossible to drive them away in the future and condemning millions of Ukrainians to decades of repression under occupation. Russia’s 2024 budget for the temporarily occupied territories of Ukraine, amounting to 3.2 trillion Russian rubles (around $35 billion), is clear evidence of Moscow’s plan to dig in for the long haul and suppress resistance to Russian occupation authorities.

Moreover, whatever the arguments that such a scenario would be less costly for Ukraine and its partners, the reality is that such a negotiated cease-fire is not even on the table. Between 2014 and 2022, we endured approximately 200 rounds of negotiations with Russia in various formats, as well as 20 attempts to establish a cease-fire in the smaller war that followed Russia’s 2014 illegal annexation of Crimea and occupation of Ukraine’s east. Our partners pressed Moscow to be constructive, and when they ran into the Kremlin’s diplomatic wall, they insisted that Ukraine had to take the “first step,” if only to demonstrate that Russia was the problem. Following this flawed logic, Ukraine made some painful concessions. Where did it lead? To Russia's full-scale attack on February 24, 2022. Declaring yet again that Ukraine must take the first step is both immoral and naive.

(…)

Skeptics also argue that supporting Ukraine’s fight for freedom is too expensive and cannot be sustained indefinitely. We in Ukraine are fully aware of the amounts of assistance that we have received from the United States, European countries, and other allies, and we are immensely grateful to the governments, legislators, and individuals who have extended a helping hand to our country at war. We manage the support in the most transparent and accountable way: U.S. inspectors of military aid to Ukraine have found no evidence of significant waste, fraud, or abuse.

This support is not, and never has been, charity. Every dollar invested in Ukraine’s defense returns clear security dividends for its supporters. It has enabled Ukraine to successfully rebuff Russian aggression and avert a disastrous escalation in Europe. And Ukraine has done all this with American assistance totaling roughly three percent of the annual U.S. defense budget. What is more, most of this money has in fact been spent in the United States, funding the U.S. defense industry, supporting the development of cutting-edge technology, and creating American jobs—a reason that some local business leaders in the United States have publicly opposed withholding or cutting military aid to Ukraine.

Moreover, while the United States is Ukraine’s top defense partner—and Washington’s leadership in rallying support for Ukraine has been exemplary and essential—the United States has hardly borne the burden alone. As NATO’s secretary-general, Jens Stoltenberg, recently noted, other NATO members, including European countries and Canada, account for more than half of Ukraine’s military aid. A number of countries have provided more support as a percentage of GDP than the United States has: the Czech Republic, Denmark, Estonia, Finland, Latvia, Lithuania, the Netherlands, Norway, Poland, Slovakia, and the United Kingdom. Germany's assistance continues to grow, making it Ukraine's largest European supporter in absolute terms.

Attempts by some skeptics to brand Ukraine’s fight for freedom as just another futile “forever war” ignore these facts. Ukraine has never asked for American boots on the ground. The deal is fair: our partners provide us with what we need to win, and we do the rest of the job ourselves, defending not only our borders but also the borders of global democracy.

The United States has spent decades, and hundreds of billions of dollars, building and protecting an international order that could sustain and protect democracy and market economies, thus ensuring security and prosperity for Americans. It would be foolish to give up on that investment now. If democracy is allowed to fall in Ukraine, adversaries of the United States will perceive weakness and understand that aggression pays. The price tag for defending U.S. national security against such threats would be many times higher than the one for supporting Ukraine and could spark decades of global turbulence with an uncertain outcome.

(…)

At the end of last month, I attended a NATO ministerial meeting in Brussels. What struck me most was the disparity between the mood inside the chamber and the mood outside it. On the sidelines, reporters opened their questions by asserting that the war had reached a “stalemate” and that “war fatigue” would cripple support, before wondering why Ukraine wouldn’t offer to trade territory for peace. Yet such defeatist narratives were absent in the official discussions, with ministers making a firm commitment to additional military aid and sustained support.

However prevalent a false narrative of attrition becomes, we should not allow it to set policymaking and our shared strategy on a disastrous course. Nor should we be duped into believing that Moscow is ready for a fair negotiated solution. Opting to accept Putin’s territorial demands and reward his aggression would be an admission of failure, which would be costly for Ukraine, for the United States and its allies, and for the entire global security architecture. Staying the course is a difficult task. But we know how to win, and we will.”

#fiona hill #dmytro kuleba #putin #trump #biden #russia #ukraine #war #nato

[starlitheaven]

AZUL PLS I NEED MORE CRUMBS 🥹 i love your perspective of geto in any au <3

geto in the y2k au is the antithesis to geto in the toji bodyguard au!

takes place in the mid 2000s in NYC mainly! very trashy—think TMZ, perez hilton, mugshots, clubbing every night, night in jail stints.

when you meet geto, he's already a little jaded from the industry & fame. he has his own toxic relationship with being a famous rockstar and has accepted that he needs vices—drugs—to survive. but he's slowly unraveling and losing himself (and takes it out on your relationship).

you'd meet at a photoshoot & totally hit it off! it's a whirlwind and moves way too fast to be healthy, but neither of you are really making sound decisions. it's hot & heavy at first—both of you fall deep and hard. fucking before & after concerts, going on dates all around the world when you're in the same country, spending his birthday in a large rose-petal filled bathtub in a penthouse suite in tokyo, falling in love when he takes you to his small hometown. he also surprises you in paris with an engraved lock for you in the Love Bridge.

but geto can be callous and sharp-tongued while you're stubborn and like to push his buttons. a lot of petty arguments, a lot of explosive fights, and the tabloids fiend for it. they're everywhere not only because of your shared fame but because of all the drama.

amongst this, you and geto truly love each other. with you, he's able to be the person he used to be before he became famous: considerate, caring, selfless, a little more quiet and level-headed (more like geto before plasma vessel arc). but there's only cracks of his real self due to the craziness of tours, interviews, photoshoots, clubbing, drugs, paparazzi.

it just gets increasingly toxic and always ends with fucking no matter where you are in the world. and the reason you two continue to hurt each other is cause you always take the other back—it's never definite.

like i said earlier, geto is slowly unraveling throughout all of this. it fucks with him to see his relationship being picked apart and granted no privacy, to see how the world treats you differently just cause you're a woman, how much of a spectacle his life has become. it obviously affects his work and even his record label is close to cutting him, no matter how much money he makes them.

geto's breaking point would be haibara dying. this is the mid 2000s after all (think britney, paris, lindsey), so the media is ruthless. yuu is one of geto's closest friends in this au and he completely snaps in the aftermath of his death; dealing with the sudden loss is bad enough, but the tabloids are relentless in covering the story. like they're no longer being treated as humans, just the next segment in a developing story that slowly shocks the world.

you're not in the country when it happens so it doesn't reach you right away, but geto is being followed and harassed constantly. it takes a darker turn and he becomes completely unstable (sh, violence).

that's as far as i've thought of it tbh! i've had this au in mind since 2021 but never got to elaborate like this so thanks for the ask <3

#jay 💌 #this was long i'm SORRY #y2k au #geto x reader #geto suguru x reader

[mariacallous]

Deborah Lipstadt, the State Department’s antisemitism envoy, is tasked with monitoring discrimination against Jews in countries across the world.

But since Oct. 7, she’s also been paying attention to antisemitism closer to home, in her native New York City, where the NYPD has documented an average spike of over 100% in antisemitic hate crimes reported monthly since Hamas’ invasion of Israel and the ensuing war.

In the past four-plus months, Lipstadt said, she has seen antisemites in the United States and abroad inspire and feed off of each other. She told the New York Jewish Week that in New York City, where she gave a speech to a crowd of hundreds on Tuesday night, she hopes Jews will not begin hiding their identity and “go underground.”

“I think we’re going to be fine, but I hope we won’t dramatically change our lifestyle,” she said in an interview ahead of her talk at Central Synagogue, the large midtown Reform congregation. “I really hope people will not remove their mezuzahs from outside their door.”

She urged the audience at Central to “bring the joy” of Judaism to their lives despite growing antisemitism. “Being Jewish is not something you do defensively,” she said.

“We have to be as much propelled by the pulls as we are enraged by the pushes,” she added, drawing applause from the crowd.

Lipstadt, a renowned Holocaust scholar who has served in the ambassadorial role since 2022, has helped the Biden administration combat antisemitism, including through the administration’s strategy to counter antisemitism, which was rolled out last year before the Oct. 7 attack.

She told the New York Jewish Week that the administration had not changed its approach to combating anti-Jewish discrimination since the attack, but that it had “intensified” its efforts. Weeks after the Hamas attack, the Biden administration met with Jewish leaders to discuss a reported nationwide spike in antisemitism. The White House has prioritized addressing campus antisemitism in particular, and has also expanded Lipstadt’s staff.

Lipstadt said the hatred has become a “two-way street” between the U.S. and Europe, largely due to social media.

“It used to be that what happened in Europe sort of migrated to the United States and now we’re seeing it going both ways,” she said. She also repeated a message she has been advancing for months, predating Oct. 7: that antisemitism is a threat to democracy.

She told the congregation that bad actors, particularly autocratic regimes, are fanning the flames of antisemitism to undermine faith in democracies, and that “all government leaders” agree with that assessment, as do members of the U.S. intelligence community.

When members of the public buy into antisemitic conspiracies claiming Jews control elections, the media or banks, they have “essentially given up on democracy,” she told the audience at Central Synagogue, indicating a loss of faith in the system or that the government cannot ensure their welfare.

She said that trend had become more pronounced since Oct. 7. She highlighted increased antisemitism on social media platforms controlled by the Chinese government, speculating that promoting antisemitic messages could be a way to subvert American interests.

She compared efforts to stoke antisemitism to a “cooking spoon to stir up the pot” of societal discord. If people don’t feel safe due to real or perceived threats, they lose faith in their governing system, she told the congregation.

“If you think you’re a failed state, if you think the government can’t protect you, if you think terrible things are going on, then you feel unstable,” she said.

Lipstadt was in New York for a series of meetings, including on Wednesday at Columbia University’s School of International and Public Affairs. Ahead of the trip to New York, she traveled to Germany for the Munich Security Conference and held meetings in London. Her visit to Central Synagogue and conversation with its rabbi, Angela Buchdahl, was co-sponsored by the synagogue and UJA Federation of New York.

During her visit this month to Europe, she met with American United Nations representatives and U.N. Secretary-General Antonio Guterres, whom she applauded for speaking “passionately” about Hamas hostages and antisemitism. Guterres has come under fire from Israel and its advocates for saying in October that the Hamas attack “did not happen in a vacuum,” as well as repeatedly expressing concern about Israel’s military operations in Gaza alongside his condemnations of Hamas.

Lipstadt decried rhetoric from others in the international community, however, saying recent statements by the U.N. special rapporteur for the Palestinians, Francesca Albanese, were “beneath contempt” and “overtly antisemitic.” Albanese, who once said that the “Jewish lobby” controls the U.S. and has compared Israel to Nazi Germany, said this month that Oct. 7 victims were not targeted because of Judaism, but because of “Israeli oppression.” The statements drew public rebukes from Israel, the U.S., France and Germany.