#Oval Invincibles

[stokesy55]

TC looks like a knock off 2021 Joe Root 😂

[ginerva-mollyweasley]

come on manchester originals !!! 🖤

[famousornotbuthot]

[daveycharris666]

Winning weekend complete! 🙌🏻😁

[namisin]

❝ HOPE WHEN THE MOON GOES—

(—THAT YOU DON'T GO.)

⚝ pairing : gojo satoru x reader.

⚝ synopsis : satoru likes you to a painful degree, dare he say he loves you. everyone but you can see it. the problem? you only want to be friends (with benefits).

⚝ content : 18+, fem reader, tiniest bit of angst, fwbs to lovers, oral (m receiving), college au, piv, pet names, brief mention of dubcon? (drunk reader), mentions of alcohol, rated w for whiny gojo, pet name(s), prὁne-bone, possessiveness, praise bc he's just a sweetie, choking, reader is spoiled but so is he, MDNI.

⚝ word count : 3.2k | 11 min read. y'all idk how this happened

⚝ a/n : gege please dpwm i need my man back this INSTANT. but tysm u guys for the warm welcome !! like, comment &/or reblog for smooches on the mouf ♡

𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 friday night, another club outing satoru did not wanna be on.

granted, it was a setting that would otherwise be right up his alley. satoru was the life of the party after all, the loudest one in the room without fail. but he could distinctly remember the point before your arrangement began, and after.

it didn't matter before that he could get anyone he wanted, have any warm body take up space in his king-sized bed. it didn't matter that you could do the same; dance up on anyone, grind your perfect ass against them until they had no presence of mind but to follow your piper's song to the nearest empty room. then regale your best friends with the details the next morning.

however, after the first time you propositioned him, drunk out of your mind but purring in his lap like a needy cat, it only became harder and harder for him to keep his hands to himself in public. his patience to wait out these parties to get you home wore thinner, to the point of near-nonexistence. obnoxiously thrumming bass, bodies smacking together like mindless fish caught in a net, having to yell and strain to hear his friends standing less than a foot in front of him...things he never minded at all before became all too fucking annoying.

but you've always acted as his life raft, bidding his escape with a, "wanna get out of here, toru?"

and he followed every single time, ignoring shoko's wiggling eyebrows and geto's smirking as you led the way out the door. their jeering bounced right off his skin; he felt damn-near invincible knowing he'd be having his own kind of fun, with much better music.

tonight was no different. you stood by the bar, drumming your fingers against the counter while waiting for the bartender to return with two drinks. satoru's eyes roved over your body shamelessly over the rim of oval glasses, taking in the expanse of your legs that weren't covered by your leather miniskirt and the way your top hugged to your figure. he approached with his bottom lip tucked, much like his hands in the pockets of his pants.

by the time he arrived to stand next to you, the glasses were placed down with a muted "clunk," just barely perspiring as his usual was passed into his freed palm.

"my saviour," he greeted, bent over at the waist to let the words brush against your ear, "what would i do without you?"

"mmm-mm," you shrugged, grinning in return, "probably die of thirst."

satoru exhaled sharply through his nose, rightening his posture to take a sip of his drink. he caught the double entendre he wasn't even sure you meant to drop — there was a constant thirst inside him that you really were the only cure for. a thirst to hear you whine and beg for him, call him toru in that sweet tone that made him want to legally shorten his name.

another long sip.

the way he wanted, no needed, you was almost obsessive. he knew that. but could he be blamed? you were pure temptation wrapped in the most enticing body; you were the raging flame and he was but a moth, acting on pure instinct to capture that warmth for his own. every night he spent with you was a testament to that effort, prodding and caressing your body in every way he knew how. he pulled every trick out of his book to have you writhing on his sheets. satoru was sure the neighbours hated you both, but at least they knew his name well.

"you lovebirds coming over to the table?" shoko raised a thin brow at the pair of you, an unlit cigarette hanging from her lips.

"lovebirds? sho please, you know better," you laughed, crossing the space to link arms with her.

ah. satoru felt a twinge of something pinch in his chest. that problem still remained.

he worshipped the ground you walked on, blessed your name like you were his deity, but you still only saw him as a friend. granted, he was a friend with extensive benefits, but a friend nonetheless. hell, for as long as you two have had this arrangement, you've never spent a full night with him — instead opting to scoop your clothes off the floor, grab a quick shower and bid him a soft goodnight, simultaneously calling yourself an uber as you left his apartment.

his face was much dimmer following behind you and shoko, having dropped a small wad of cash he didn't count on the bar-top, and he drew his glass back to his lips in an attempt to quell that pinching feeling.

it wasn't as if he never offered for you to stay the night, never lifted his messy sheets on the opposite side he always kept vacant for you. but, it was hard to stay persistent when you always answered with some variation of, "thanks toru, but we're just friends, remember? i don't wanna make it weird for us."

he watched your hips sway under your skirt with a furrow in his brow. the hem flapped around the very tops of your thighs, drawing other eyes that weren't his own cerulean pair to its attention. he itched to make a show of you being his — maybe throw an arm over your shoulders or lean down to peck your lips — but knew how well (not well at all) it would go down with the other party if you caught on.

it just meant he had to be the one to get you out of there sooner.

satoru let you have your fun, down a responsible-enough number of shots, twist your hips this way and that on the dancefloor with geto and shoko. they both towered over you, almost forming a protective ring of raven black and coffee brown around your twirling body, and he was grateful for it. the imagery alone of some other person creeping up behind you, grabbing at your waist in an attempt to steal a dance, was enough to tighten that vulnerable spot in his chest.

after downing the rest of his second drink, he stood, leaving another roll of money in shoko's purse and making a beeline for you on the dancefloor. geto parsed him with a knowing look as he squeezed passed them, shoko only gave a thumbs up and a wide grin. they both knew all about what went on between you two, and they knew all too well how much satoru pined over you.

if it wasn't the way he looked at you, or the way he'd mindlessly put his hands on the small of your back, on your hips, around your shoulders, then it'd have to be the fact that he grouched about it at every given opportunity. the minute you left him alone, he'd go on and on until one of them had to smack him in the back of the head to shut up.

so, watching him slot his hips to yours, immediately winding them in tandem to the beat, they understood quickly to leave the pair of you to your little world.

"let me take you out of here, y/n," he murmured, you spun in his toned arms to settle into his torso. your arms circled his neck as he pushed his nose closer to yours to bump them together.

"you stole my line," you drawled, "getting impatient on me, toru?"

satoru bit back a groan, the way you spoke coupled with the eyes you gave him from beneath the canopy of your lashes was staggering.

"maybe i am, you're holdin' out on me."

you blew a raspberry of a laugh at his frown, "you saw me last night, you baby."

"twenty-four whole hours too long."

your eyes rolled unconsciously, he could be such a little shit when he didn't have his way. still, you were never one to deny him.

"take me home then, before you start sobbing for pussy in the club."

a triumphant beam overtook his face at that, he actively disregarded the teasing lilt to your words. all he heard was "take me home," and it was like you waved kikufuku in his face.

he picked up you up easily, princess-style, making you squeal and nearly kick a patron close by. you giggled out your apologies, but satoru was already leaving, carting you off to the exit of the club.

your back landed hard against his front door when he put you down again, and his body followed right behind. your lips crashed together with fervor, teeth colliding and tongues looping around each other. you mewled so sweetly into his mouth as his hands wandered up under your top, grabbing hold of your tits over your bra. his cock twitched in its confines, you had an effect on him that would be scary if he didn't relish in it so much.

"lose this shit already," satoru huffed against your lips while tugging the hem of your blouse upwards. you obliged with the nth roll of your eyes, and with the top gone, you pulled him back down for another searing kiss.

you marked your path downward after switching your positions, pushed his shirt up to his chest to lick a wet stripe down his abs, until you came face-to-face with the sizeable bulge in his pants. he smoothed your hair away from your face while you pulled his belt buckle apart. an exhale stuttered in his chest — you mouthed around his bulge from the outside of his boxer-briefs, though with the sounds satoru made, you may as well have shoved the whole thing into your mouth.

deciding to end his misery, you hooked your manicured fingers into the waistband of his underwear, pulling his cock free to smack against your cheek. you licked another matching stripe up the underside, shadowing the pulsing trail that was his most dominant vein, then kitten-licked at his slit once you hit the peak.

with one hand wrapped around the base of his cock and the other on his thigh, you took his pretty pink tip into your mouth, and his face absolutely crumpled.

satoru groaned, long and low, his head thumping against the door as it was thrown back. you could feel the corners of your mouth tingling from the stretch, straining a little to fit around his girth despite making this journey countless times by now.

he stammered out a hiss when his tip hit the back of your throat, you would've laughed if not for the fact that you desperately held off your gag reflex. his grip on your hair tightened, coming to hold it in a fist to both keep the hair out of your face and guide your movements as you sunk further down his length. you breathed through your nose and willed your throat to relax, more broken sounds sprang from his lips as you let him in.

"f-fuck, just like that, pretty," he praised hoarsely, gently bobbing your head up and down his length with his grip on your hair. you powered through the tears flooding your lashline and the rivulets of spit accumulating to drip down your chin.

while he worked your mouth, you pried your lids apart to peer up at him, eyes rimmed red and pupils blown wide.

and that was his undoing.

his body tensed hard as he held your head down, nose right up against his pelvis and tickled with snow-white hairs. his abdomen spasmed under the point of it, undulating as he painted your throat white.

"you're so fucking good to me," he mumbled against your lips after helping you back to your feet. satoru, of course, was the shameless type to make the fuck out with you right after dumping his cum into your mouth; and he did just that. he picked you up again while his tongue swiped over yours, blindly walking you up the stairs to his bedroom.

he plopped you down unceremoniously, pulling your legs apart to sink between them. you'd lost the skirt somewhere along the way, that left nothing but your thong to separate you from satoru's still-leaking, still-hard dick. however, even those got ripped down your legs and tossed to the side — every article of clothing was a victim in his ever-expanding need for you.

"i need to fuck you, will you le'me fuck you?" he babbled in a pitchy, fissured voice, circling your clit with his fingers. he dipped them shallowly in and out of your hole to smear your wetness right across your folds. all he needed was for you to nod the affirmative before he was rapidly replacing his digits with the head of his cock, gathering your syrupy arousal to drench him.

"just suckin' me off has you this wet, hmm? i knew you liked me."

"sh-shut up and put it in already, toru- hate it when you tease."

satoru snickered, but complied, grabbing at your legs again to flip your body over. he knew you loved getting fucked prone the most, you didn't even hesitate to grab a pillow to hold on to. something about the way you seemed to scream for him that much louder, claw at the sheets and burble for him to give you more more more— made it his new favourite position too.

so, with little hesitation, he positioned and pushed his cock into you, slowly enough for you to adjust to his girth. your eyes rolled back almost immediately, the way he filled you up could never get old.

you mewled into the pillow once he found a good starting pace, dragging his cock deliciously slow against your spongy walls. still, it was only a taste of what you knew he could give to you.

"more, toru, want more- shit!"

you barely started getting the greedy words out before satoru was settling a hand on the small of your back, using it and his palm flat against the bed as leverage to drill into you. now that he knew you were adjusted, he didn't hold back — what kind of guy would he be if he didn't give his girl everything she wanted (and then some)?

drool and tears soaked into the white pillowcase while your sticky essence doused his cock, collecting in a ring at the plinth of it. repetitive strings of "fuck yes!" mingled with his deep groans to ring throughout the room, bouncing off the walls in conjunction with his hips bouncing off your plush ass. he couldn't help but free up a palm to smack it, then two, three more times when he heard how much more noisy it made you.

"g'nna cum for me? yea?" he took note of the way you started to quake beneath him, your cunt clenching and releasing uncontrollably around his length. he knew your tells by now, and that quiver in your moans told him everything without you needing to say a word. satoru secured his hand around your throat, squeezing just enough at the sides for your brain to go foggy and remaining thoughts turn to mush.

like a thief in the night, your orgasm stole through you, bringing the simmer in your blood to a boil. heat flashed through your body, collecting to pulse through the walls of your cunt that clamped down against satoru's battering. with another ruined groan, he was right behind you, cock twitching and throbbing wildly inside you. rope after rope splattered your insides, though that didn't stop his hips from jerking in a fractured pattern.

you both came down panting. you turned in his arms to look up at him, his softened eyes were already centered on your face. as mean as he was when he fucked, he was always otherwise gentle with you — tender in a way that made a part of you melt with every touch. but he was your friend, and you both had a good system going. what would be the point of ruining it?

"what're you thinkin' about so hard already?" satoru's usual pouty cadence returned quick, successfully knocking your thoughts off track.

"i need a shower," was your only reply, and you moved to crawl from beneath him. your bed-partner's features toppled into a genuine frown; he knew exactly what that meant.

you were leaving him again.

but he wouldn't let it happen this time, not if he could help it.

"wait, y/n," he moved to gently grasp your arm before you could scoot off the edge of the bed. you turned to him with question in your gaze.

"let me join you," he propositioned, and a hint of a smile pulled at your lips.

"i don't know if i have the stamina left, toru."

"i won't- we can just shower. y'know, together," he started, freeing your arm to rub at the back of his neck, "and you could, y'know, stay."

your expression turned wry, "toru, you know why i can't-"

"no, actually, y/n. i don't," he scowled, "why can't you? why don't you? we've been close enough for so long, slept together for so long. you know i can take care of you."

exasperated, you stood. he followed quick, moving to hold your arms again. even in his own displeasure, he was mild. you were melting again.

"you tell me all the time we're just friends, but what if- what if i want more? need more, than just friendship with you?"

you gawped up at him, blinking in place of something to say. of course, you always had a kind of a feeling — satoru was not the man known for his subtlety — but it was another thing to hear him say it to you, much less with this desperately pleading intonation.

"satoru, i..." you sighed, "i can't fuck this- we can't fuck this up. you're too precious to me."

"but what if we don't? you're precious to me too, y/n, more than you even know."

and for all you knew, he could be right. he was always sweet with you — patient, attentive, doting, so painfully soft. it wasn't like the thought hadn't crossed your mind before, either. you contemplated staying with him several times before, fantasized on what a 'morning after' — many 'morning-afters' — would even look like. but shit, what would you do if you one of you found a way to mess things up? topple a best-friendship you've had going for more years than you could even trace back?

"i just- i can't lose you, satoru."

"you won't. you're stuck with me forever, pretty, we promised."

he moved to cup your cheeks, holding your face akin to the way someone held precious china.

"i like you way too much. shit, at this point i think i love you."

your bottom lip wobbled. this snow-haired fuck really did always make it hard to say no to him.

"i-i like you too, toru. a lot."

"so you'll stay," he gleamed, making a statement more than he was asking a question, "please say you'll stay."

"yes, toru, fine. i'll stay."

with his smile still very much in place, he leaned down to kiss you.

god, he couldn't wait to finally wake up to you tomorrow.

[trashogram]

I have to ask for that devil summoning sexy roleplay scenario with our dear Luci.

Kinktober Day Twenty-Nine — Roleplay

Warnings: Demon Sex, Blood, Ritual Hodgepodge

In a circle of salt with Summoning Demons for Dummies in your lap, you watched the candles flicker all around you. Their light cast shades and shadows on the attic walls, the kind that stretched and morphed into frightening creatures if you looked too long.

You winced, squirming on the floor as if you might be able to escape the oozing cut on your leg. Blood glistened in the soft crush of light, sliding down your knee until a drop fell to the floor.

The entire room groaned.

Something appeared in the corner of your eye — something too bright and moving — but it fled before you could turn and view it properly. The trick flipped to the other side of the room, evading you when you faced it. You sucked in the icy air, skin fraught with horripilation as you felt your control of the situation slipping through your fingers like sand.

Rain splattered against the oval window of your room, the only other sound to rival the sudden scrabble of something else in front of you.

Yellow eyes illuminated before you, stopping your heart in your chest. They hung suspended in a darkness too full of ichor to be real, untouched by light until it was blacker than black.

“Curious.” The voice was an overlap of tones, hushed and high and low and deafening. You felt it raise your flesh and crawl inside, tickling over your nerve-endings as it slithered inside and up your bones.

“What is?” You couldn’t move, chest heavy as a lead weight.

The eyes rolled over your body, red slits glowing like ruby crevices. “You’re such a soft thing. I could tear you apart like wet paper.”

Your torso jerked back violently, ignoring the meek protest in the back of your mind. The Summoning instructions stressed the importance of remaining calm as much as they did staying in your circle. Your reaction was so telling, you felt the rumble build up to shake the floorboards before you heard the demon’s laughter.

“Does that scare you, sweetheart?”

The darkness spreads like a living thing before you can blink. It moves like water, quickly flooding every inch of free space it can reach while that yellow stare closes in on you. The candles around you blow out one by one, shadows disappearing in the overflow of tangible night.

It chills you. Your eyes are so wide in your skull, yet you can hardly comprehend the change. The demon has bathed your attic in total darkness, save for where you sit in your silly little circle.

Golden sickle eyes regard you like a joke. You’re nothing but an amusement to toy with, a mouse scared to death while at the mercy of a clever feline.

“It does scare you.” The demon teases. “But there’s more to it than that, isn’t there?”

You dig your nails into the flesh of your thigh, trying to center yourself. Taking a breath, you picture your skin turning into a diamond hide. Invincible.

“I brought you here to do my bidding.” You stated. “You cannot act without my permission, and I will command you at my will.”

A kernel of something, youthful and lilting, sounded through the layers of the demon’s laughter. An image sprung to mind, of a young man with silvery-blond hair and rosy cheeks. And with that came the unbidden thawing of your heart.

The demon stopped laughing, claws crackling over the wood floor as it moved at the edge of the salt line.

“Command me then, Sinner.” That youthful tenor solidified, backed by whispers.

Lucifer had dragged you across the floor and underneath him, still mostly camouflaged by the darkness as he dove down to claim your lips.

You had broken the salt circle of your own accord, wriggling your toes through it like sand. The Devil had taken his chance to snatch you, groping your ass and lifting you up to . Whatever empty platitudes he’d rehearsed to coax you out and continue the game were abandoned when he plunged his dick into your weeping cunt.

The King couldn’t help but cry out at the feeling of you wrapped around his sheath. His overgrown claws raked down your alright sliced thighs at your answering squeal, creating lines of blood to glide down your soft skin.

You’d pleaded with him to handle you roughly, to scratch you up.

‘Just a little bit.’ You had mumbled into his neck in between hickies.

You knew just how to drive him to madness, take him into your arms and drink him up. Lucifer went cross-eyed as your hand came into view, wet with your own blood.

“Just a little bit.” You smirked with slivered eyes, moaning as Lucifer obeyed, curling his forked tongue around your fingers.

[classicmarvelera]

Captain America: Making of a War Hero into a Symbol of Hope

We all know that Captain America debuted in a title named after him by Joe Simon and Jack Kirby in 1941. He was seen punching Hitler right in the face but many may not know that this was done well before the US had decided to enter World War 2. In fact, at the time, the US was more concerned about its Pacific theater than the Atlantic. Nevertheless, Timely publishes the issue and Captain America gets established as a war hero from the start, who alongside his sidekick Bucky, is fighting fascism in continental Europe which is falling to the Reich like a house of cards

Cap at the time is the symbol of Freedom, anti-fascism, or as he would later be called the Sentinel of Liberty but there was one thing missing at Marvel. The House of Ideas lacked an inspiring figure like Superman among its flagship characters. The Fantastic Four, Spider-Man, The Incredible Hulk, The Invincible Iron Man, and even the Avengers had issues with themselves as well as with each other but a figure whom readers can look up to was something not present. Cap remained a 'man out of time' when he gets discovered by the Avengers but it takes a decade for writers to get him accustomed to the realities of America that were haunting the country from the streets to the Oval Office (Thank You, Jack Kirby and Steve Englehart)

Well into the bronze age era of comics, and under Jim Shooter's reign of the bullpen, a young J.M. DeMatteis shows his potential for storytelling with his first assignment of Captain America no. 261 which would introduce Nomad to the readers for the first time. This issue was supposed to be a collaboration with the real-life Captain America TV movie starring Reb Brown but Jim had other ideas. Issues 261-263 would find Steve Rogers going to California to meet Galactic Films for the upcoming movie about him (in Earth-616) but his real mission was to investigate Nomad's activities on the streets of LA which would turn out to be a deep conspiracy by one of his oldest arch nemesis

After becoming a regular writer on the Captain America series, DeMatteis, Mick Zeck, and John Beatty wrote a story that was way ahead of its time. Today's resurgence of the far left in the world and in the US and the reactionary rise of the far right was being seen by comic book writers like DeMatteis way before many had thought of it. Surprisingly it was a feeble populist villain by the name of Everyman doing the talk, not the Red Skull

In the story, the disenfranchised youth who looked up to Everyman realize their mistake of choosing 'despair over hope' but what causes them to see this is the humility Cap showed despite being spit at multiple times (literally). His eagerness to listen to the young, to the future of the country and their grievances with America, the American Dream leads to a change of heart

This single-issue story would showcase Cap in a different light. Steve Englehart had given Cap a rude awakening that patriotism can't come at the expense of truth and justice in Secret Empire. He showed Cap's disillusionment with the powers that be in America. DeMatteis took the opposite route to show Cap what's corrupting the country's future, and giving rise to the 'enemy within' who can cause anarchy. It wouldn't be wrong to say that Christopher Nolan's Bane (Dark Knight Rises) reminds us of Everyman but what's important to remember is that it was J.M. DeMatteis who warned us before anyone else did

This story is just the tip of the iceberg. The entire run by DeMatteis is one of the most underrated as it gets overshadowed by the works of Jack Kirby, Steve Englehart, and Mark Gruenwald. Like his works for Spider-Man and Doctor Strange, his work for Cap remains one of the best runs ever

[kesbeacon]

And the items generator update is LIVE! This is a massive update, with new content in virtually every area, and two entirely new types of found everyday items that you can generate: textiles and containers (with their contents).

Stay tuned this week for an art bonanza of characters modelling magic items!

Some example items under the cut:

a magnificent dulcimer made of bone and bright lead. it bestows knowledge upon you, but it can only be used a limited number of times. it is spoken of in dusty academic tomes. it was made by a dying god, in a time of wondrous learning and high dreams.

a printed novel by a grifter with the best of intentions. its subject is magical lifehacks.

an ancient pack of cards. it has been implicated in the highest crimes of state.

an oval bronze coin. it has an ear of corn on it. it is not recognised by any country you have visited.

a patched pair of embroidered gloves made of cotton.

a fragile envelope. when you cut it open, you find sketches by a god.

an elaborate bag. when you part the folds, you find records of taxes owed and unpaid by a vicious warlord.

an elaborate scientific instrument made of rough granite and translucent flesh. it bestows the power to wound the invincible upon you, but it is already partially broken and drained. it was the possession of a legendary wizard. it was made by a wizard's captive.

[mariacallous]

As a devastating crisis continues to unfold with the horrific bombardment of Gaza, there is little sense of how it will end. As a lifelong student of Israel-Palestine, I found my mind racing through many historical dates to find parallels, meaning, and direction.

Perhaps the date that comes to mind for most people is Oct. 6, 1973, the start of an Arab war effort to regain land taken by Israel in 1967. The 1973 surprise attack, which was 50 years and a day from the Oct. 7 Hamas assault, caught a recalcitrant and hubristic Israel off guard and fundamentally changed the way it thought about its policies toward Egypt in the years that followed, paving the way for a historic peace agreement a few years later.

I thought about the 1968 Battle of Karameh. This battle, little known in Western narratives of the conflict but hugely consequential in Palestinian ones, came after the 1967 war, when Israel enjoyed an aura of invincibility. PLO fighters alongside Jordanian soldiers fought the Israeli military, destroyed some military equipment, and captured more. The battle sent the message that Israeli power was not what it seemed, and it helped swell the ranks of militant factions across the region.

But a more important date stands out: Sept. 6, 1972. The day prior, Palestinian guerrillas had killed an Israeli coach and athlete and taken nine other members of the Israeli team hostage at the Munich Olympic Village, where all the cameras of the world had assembled, and by the time a botched rescue attempt by the German police had concluded, all the hostages and most of the Palestinian guerrillas were dead.

The world watched this all play out on live TV. Before that moment, and perhaps since, no set of events has had a more consequential impact on the emergence of what I call the terrorism framework: a set of policies and practices that defines how such moments should be understood, responded to, and prevented.

At the time, the Nixon White House was scrambling to figure out how to respond. Its foreign policy at the time was focused on detente with Moscow in an effort to manipulate Soviet and Chinese relations as the U.S. war on Vietnam raged. The Middle East, a massive arena of U.S.-Soviet competition, could easily derail all of this. President Richard Nixon’s now infamous tape recorder gives us insight into the thinking at the time.

On Sept. 6, Secretary of State William Rogers had a conversation with Nixon in the Oval Office in the presence of National Security Advisor Henry Kissinger and other officials. Rogers’s message to Nixon was straightforward: What happened in Munich was a symptom. “Say Israel retaliates and blows up something in Lebanon, that doesn’t help anyone,” Rogers told Nixon. “What this does indicate to the world is that we’ve got to solve the problem. It’s a hell of a thing to have 11 Israelis killed, and it’s a hell of a thing to have millions of people homeless all these years. So the problem has to be solved.” Nixon was receptive to Rogers’s argument, but Kissinger sat quietly and was alarmed.

Kissinger left the Oval Office and telephoned the Israeli ambassador in Washington, Yitzhak Rabin, to tell him about the meeting. Kissinger had his calls taped and transcribed as well. After hearing about the Oval office meeting, Rabin feared “that those who carried out the action in Munich succeeded beyond their expectations.” Kissinger urged Rabin to go to the U.N. Security Council to try to build a global consensus around fighting terrorism even if the United States and Israel would be isolated there.

Kissinger told him going to the Security Council would “not lead to any practical results but it will focus the problem on an issue on which we can talk jointly while the great danger that I see is that in a few days people will say—as was said at the meeting this morning—we must remove the cause of this.” He urged him that they should do it “before people start thinking about the problem.”

Kissinger was concerned that if the global debate about Munich was not immediately redirected toward uniform condemnation of the Palestinian guerrillas, the more people might think about the root causes and Palestinian grievances.

Herein lies the trap of the terrorism framework. It ostensibly aims to counter political violence, but it does so in a way that ensures political violence persists—by exceptionalizing it as a form of violence that comes from a vacuum. Unlike most forms of political violence—such as interstate conflicts and civil wars, insurgencies, rebellions, or political repression—terrorism is not something we are encouraged to understand the causes of; at best, reductionist explanations chalk up motivations to ideology, which, in the Palestinian case, is transparently flawed since Palestinian political violence has always transcended ideological divides.

By adopting this framework, opponents of this violence position themselves as standing with the victims of it and condemning the perpetrators. But in reality, they are merely condemning them all to continued and more horrific rounds of carnage.

It is a framework that allows leaders with the greatest capacity to prevent such violence—in this case, the leaders of the United States and Israel—a way to absolve themselves of responsibility at the expense of the very people whom they have a responsibility to protect. At the end of the day, it is always ordinary people, not states or policymakers or the media outfits that amplify them, who pay the highest price for this commitment to not thinking.

Israel, of course, would go on to blow up many things in Lebanon after 1972, and its invasion of southern Lebanon 10 years later led to a nearly two-decade occupation and the birth and strengthening of Hezbollah into a force that now requires U.S. aircraft carriers to help Israel deter.

It is easy to react to this by claiming that understanding the causes amounts to justification. That is precisely what this dangerous framework encourages us to do: It flattens political violence into a question of good and evil—to which impulse, not thought, is the only fitting response.

The reality is that political violence is part of the human condition and always has been, long before Zionism and long before Palestine. When humans commit to study pathology, it is not out of some desire to justify the diseases that plague us but rather to try to eliminate them; to the extent that there is any evil in this equation, it is in the ideological commitment to refuse to examine the cause of the disease. Without a genuine understanding of why this is happening—one that does not exceptionalize the problem or the perpetrators of violence on any side—it becomes impossible to heal what ails Israelis and Palestinians alike.

The terrorism framework absolves leaders of responsibility to address root causes, but it can also be manipulated in ways that magnify its harm. There is no better example of this than Israel’s policy toward Gaza over the last decade and a half. It was precisely because Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu knew he could rely on the terrorism framework absolving him of any responsibility for Gaza that he preferred to keep Hamas in power there so he could prevent any diplomatic progress toward ending the occupation.

This logic has been explained by multiple Israeli officials over the years. In 2005, when then-Israeli Prime Minister Ariel Sharon decided to remove Israeli ground forces and settlers from Gaza, it was billed by many as a concession toward achieving peace, but, as his advisor Dov Weisglass explained in a 2004 interview, it was a move designed to do the exact opposite.

By keeping Gaza separate from the West Bank and ensuring Palestinian political fragmentation and a failed statelet in Gaza, Israel was creating an excuse to never make peace that it knew would be accepted. This “no-one-to-talk-to certificate,” which Weisglass said would be approved by Washington, says: “(1) There is no one to talk to. (2) As long as there is no one to talk to, the geographic status quo remains intact. (3) The certificate will be revoked only when this-and-this happens—when Palestine becomes Finland. (4) See you then, and shalom.” This approach, Weisglass added, “supplies the amount of formaldehyde that’s necessary so that there will not be a political process with the Palestinians.” Netanyahu, according to the Jerusalem Post, told his associates in 2019 that propping up Hamas in Gaza would keep Palestinians divided and that “whoever is against a Palestinian state should be for” it.

The PLO had renounced terrorism and recognized Israel (even though Israel never recognized Palestine’s right to exist), and those shifts in PLO positions brought it out of the terrorism framework and into the peace process. But Hamas didn’t follow the same path, in part because the group saw how that path had failed to produce any results for the PLO. Netanyahu, who was always opposed to Palestinian statehood, understood that Hamas represented a get-out-of-talks-free card, just as Weisglass had envisioned.

The costs of the failure to think about the problem have never been higher. More Israelis were killed on Oct. 7 than at any time in the country’s history. More Palestinians have been killed in Gaza in three weeks than in all of Israel’s previous military operations in Gaza combined. Save the Children has said that the “number of children reported killed in Gaza in just three weeks has surpassed the annual number of children killed across the world’s conflict zones since 2019.” The horrific and ever growing bloodshed underscores the failure of military solutions.

How many Israelis and Palestinians would still be with us had we committed to thinking about the problem—rather than avoiding it—in 1972?

Breaking from this continued pattern of violence requires an understanding of the difference between justice and vengeance. The lesson that the Greek playwright Aeschylus taught so many years ago is as easily forgotten as vital to remember: The difference between the two concepts is law, which exists only to the extent that there is faith in the equal application of it.

When illegal violence, including war crimes, committed by one side is routinely condemned and the perpetrators held accountable and illegal violence by the other side, including war crimes, is never condemned and the perpetrators are instead excused and enabled to continue perpetrating such violence to ever greater extents, law exists not as an instrument of justice but an instrument of oppression; vengeance reigns; and we lock countless more innocents into lives of horror.

This is precisely where the terrorism framework has led us.

[ironwoman359]

trick or treat!

Have a sneak peek at the second chapter of The Secret History of the Invincible II, my ISWM post-canon fic!

Invincible crew interviews, session 1 - Recorded by Dr. Mariette Bennett. [Dr. Bennett sits in a meeting room at an oval conference table. Six officers of the Invincible’s crew sit around the table, each with a lav microphone clipped to their uniform.]  Dr. Bennett: Let’s start at the very beginning, shall we? Describe for me the process of getting the Invincible ready for her voyage across the stars!  [The crew members look around at each other, and Mark shifts his weight in his chair.] Mark: Well…if you want to start at the very beginning, it’d make more sense to start with the construction of the Invincible herself. Dr. Bennet: Ah, of course! You were the lead engineer and designer for the project, can you tell us a little bit about how the Invincible came to be? Mark: Well, her design is something I’d tinkered with on and off for most of my career. The idea of a human colony on another planet…that was always a dream of mine. But it was a dream that logistically was made very difficult by the sheer vastness of space.  Celci: Even with the advancements made in cryo technology that made journeying into deep space viable for humans, the closest habitable planet was still much too far for any ship to travel before running out of fuel.  Burt: The world is large, when its weary leagues two loving hearts divide.  Mark: For a long time, my designs for the Invincible were purely theoretical. Without faster than light travel, colonizing the stars was nothing more than a dream. But that all changed when…when we… Captain: When we discovered the warp core. 

trick or treat

[famousornotbuthot]

x

[monasteryicons]

What was it like to meet the Virgin Mary? CONTEMPORARY ACCOUNTS

When Saint Paul preached in Athens, he did so on Mars Hill at a place called the Areopagus. There he was heard by Dionysius, a member of the highest court in Greece. He and his wife, Damaris, were baptized by Saint Paul, and in time Saint Paul made him the bishop of Athens. Saint Dionysius traveled some time with Saint Paul and became acquainted with the other Apostles.

Wishing to see the Virgin for himself, he went to Ephesus. Afterward he wrote this wonderful letter to Saint Paul describing his experience:

“I have seen with my own eyes the most holy Mother of our Lord Jesus Christ, Who surpasses in sanctity all the Angels of heaven. By the grace of God, the good favor of the Apostles, and the unutterable goodness and mercy of the gracious Virgin, I was granted this meeting.

Again, I confess before the Almighty God, before the grace of the Savior, before the great glory of the Virgin, His Mother, that when I was introduced to the beautiful and most pure Virgin, together with John, the first among the Evangelists and Prophets, who, while living in the flesh shines like the sun in heaven, a great divine radiance shone about me from without and lit up my soul.

At the same time, I sensed such a wonderful fragrance that my spirit and body could hardly bear this manifestation of glory and foretaste of eternal bliss. From divine grace and glory, my heart and spirit were prostrated.”

“I bear witness before God, Who dwelt in that most honorable virginal womb, that no honor and glory of men can compare with that beatitude that I experienced, unworthy though I be. That moment in time for me was one of extreme happiness. I thank my most high and most gracious God, the divine Virgin, the great Apostle John, and thee, O Paul, the adornment of the Church and invincible leader, for having mercifully granted me such a great blessing!”

Epiphanius of Cyprus (320-404 A.D.) has given the following description of the Virgin Mary from the traditions with which he was acquainted.

“She was grave and dignified in all her actions. She spoke little and only when it was necessary to do so. She listened readily and could be addressed easily. She paid honor and respect to everyone.

“Her complexion was of the colour of ripe wheat, and her hair was auburn [very dark brown with a reddish tint]. Her eyes were bright and keen, and light brown in color, and the pupils thereof were of an olive-green tint. Her eyebrows were arched and deep black. Her nose was long, her lips were red and full, and overflowing with the sweetness of her words. Her face was not round, but somewhat oblong [oval]. Her hand was long and her fingers were long.

“She was wholly free from all ostentatious pride, and she was simple, unpretentious, and inclined to excessive humility. She wore garments of natural colors [i.e., undyed], and was content with them, a fact which is even now proved by her holy head-cloth.

“And to sum up, she was filled with divine grace in all her ways.”

[unrestrainedbalderdash]

I usually don't care about sports but there's a cricket team called the Oval Invincibles and THEY LOOK LIKE RIDDLER

[endlessrise]

Name: Kefla Age: 61 Height: 213.36 centimeters Birthdate: 05/01

Gender: cis-male | cis-female | trans-male | trans-female | non-binary | agender |

Sexuality: homosexual | heterosexual | bisexual | pansexual | asexual |

Hairstyle: crew cut | pixie cut | bob | shoulder-length | elbow length | hip length or longer | ponytail

Hair Texture:  straight | straight-wavy | wavy | wavy-curled | curled | extra curled | ultimate curls | thick-straight

Hair Color: black | dark brown | brown | light brown | auburn | red | ginger | strawberry blonde | dirty blonde | blonde | platinum | gray | silver | white |

Eye Color: brown | hazel | amber | blue | green | gray |

Body Type: muscular | athletic | average | scrawny | curvy | fat | chubby |

Skin Tone: pale | fair | golden | beige | bronze | ebony | tan

Markings: scar(s) | tattoo(s) | piercing(s) | beauty mark(s) |

Posture: upright | neutral | slumped

Face Shape: round | oval | heart | square | long

Physical Needs: glasses or contacts | hearing aid(s) | braces or similar | wheelchair

Physical Conditions: lesion | partial or total paralysis | blindness | deafness | muteness | missing limb | terminal illness

Mental Conditions: depression | anxiety | autism | PTSD or ASD | psychopathy | sociopathy | personality disorder | panic disorder | OCD

Physical Health: dying | could be better | can’t complain | pretty good | immortal |

Mental Health: kill me | ugh | can’t complain | aww yeah | I AM INVINCIBLE |

IQ: 60 or less | 61-80 | 81-100 | 101-120 | over 120

Gestures: never | rarely | sometimes | often | wildly | animated like a toon |

Direct Family: mother(s) | father(s) | brother(s) | sister(s) | son(s) | daughter(s)

Relationship Status: single | in a relationship | it's complicated | engaged | married | divorced | widowed

Pets: dog(s) | cat(s) | bird(s) | hamster(s) | turtle(s) | fish | mutant wolf

Social Class: very low | low | middle-low | middle | middle-high | high | very high | space race asshole

Education Level: less than high school | high school | college | masters | doctorate

Residence: dorm room | studio | loft | apartment | city house | suburb house | mansion or manor | penthouse | yacht | trailer |

Housemates: family member(s) | friend(s) | landlord or landlady | none |

Mode of Transportation: public transit | taxi | ride-share | hired driver | motorcycle | scooter | bicycle | car | camper | teleportation | flying | spaceship

Usual Outfit: formal | casual | lazy | sport casual | uniform |

Grooming: lazy | stylishly unkempt | average | prettied up | meticulous

Most Common Smile: sheepish | happy-go-lucky | arrogant | smirk | sadistic | in love | literally doesn’t smile |

Social Life: non-existent | limited | it’s there | active | constant

Preferred Drink: water | alcohol | juice | coffee | tea | carbonated drinks |

Preferred Food: sweets | meats | fruits | vegetables | carbohydrates

Preferred Sports: team sports | water sports | martial arts | athletics | gymnastics | mind sports | extreme sports

Preferred Environment: big city | small town | suburbs | arid desert | woods | rainforest | mountains | open fields | beach |

Strong Point: brute force | agility | stamina | intelligence | wisdom | charm | creativity

Weak Point: brute force | agility | stamina | intelligence | wisdom | charm

Perceptiveness: oblivious | dull | average | sharp | mind-reader

Speech: vulgar | basic | average | polite | educated | pretentious

Creativity: dull | conventional | average | unconventional | prodigy |

Best Intelligence: nature smart | music smart | numbers smart | people smart | self smart | picture smart | language smart | body smart

Inclination: arts | sciences | mathematics | humanities

Criminal Record: underage drinking | drunk driving | assault | arson | manslaughter | murder | attempted murder | sexual crime | protest or activism | false accusations | black mail | nothing that can be proven |

Moral Code: self-interest | utilitarianism | universal law | religious

Luck: witchcraft | stereotypically Irish | average | really? | high | historically Irish

Sense of Humor: constant | sassy | normal | can take a joke but can’t say one | slow but there | stick in the mud

Preferred Comedy: none | slapstick | absurdity | potentially offensive | stand-up | wordplay | cultured

Self-Discipline: what is that | noooooo | when they want to | decent | militant

Easily Embarrassed? shameless | pretty tolerant | average | sensitive | don’t even talk to them

Shows Affection: doesn’t | rarely | sometimes | often | at every chance

Likability: non-existent | when they try | pretty okay | cool person | godlike

Irrational Phobias: bugs | wild animals | darkness | touch | birds | crowds | the ocean

Common Fears: buss | wild animals | darkness | death | untimely death | ridicule | isolation

Type of Drunk: happy | sad | risk-taker | angry | philosophical | doesn’t get drunk | doesn’t drink

Vices: smoking | drinking | self-harm | illicit drugs | prescription drugs | murder | torture |

Deadly Sin: pride | wrath | gluttony | greed | envy | sloth | lust

Heavenly Virtue: humility | patience | temperance | charity | kindness | diligence | chastity

Theme Color(s): black | brown | dark blue | light blue | dark green | light green | yellow | orange | red | pink | purple | white | gold | silver

Favorite Input: novels | textbooks | magazines | newspapers | TV shows | movies | sports channels | documentaries | radio | blogs | music |

Favorite Output: non-fiction | fiction | poetry | songwriting | drawing | painting | sculpture | crafts | photography | film | vlogging | sport | sleep |

Favorite Genre: comedy | romance | thriller | horror | mystery | science fiction | fantasy | contemporary | historical | literary | action or adventure | drama | tragedy

[news365timesindia]

[ad_1] India after defeating Australia at the Optus Stadium, Perth (PC: Debasis Sen) RevSportz Comment In the eyes of millions, Indian cricket came of age at Eden Gardens in March 2001, with a victory after following-on against Steve Waugh’s Invincibles. But it was other victories, away from home, in the same decade that truly established that Indian cricket was on an upward trajectory and not inclined to look back. Each was unexpected, as much a bucking of the odds as the World Cup final triumph in 1983, and because they came in the format where the better team invariably prevails, they became benchmarks for future generations to follow. At Headingley in 2002, Sourav Ganguly disregarded the bowler-friendly conditions at the toss and decided to bat. Rahul Dravid’s painstaking century, and a valuable 68 from Sanjay Bangar set up the game, and punishing hundreds from Sachin Tendulkar and the captain himself led India to a famous innings win, with Anil Kumble and Harbhajan Singh taking 11 wickets in the match. Less than 18 months later, India gave up 400 runs in a day and 556 in total in the first innings at the Adelaide Oval. But with Dravid and VVS Laxman reprising their Kolkata heroics by adding 303, and Ajit Agarkar summoning up the spell of his life (6-41), India eked out a four-wicket win almost as unreal as the Eden success. At the Wanderers in Johannesburg in 2006, Mickey Arthur, then South Africa’s coach, asked for pace and bounce. Dravid, again, and Tendulkar gritted their way through the toughest phase, before Ganguly made a sprightly half-century to lift India to 249. Sreesanth’s immaculate seam position, with support from Zaheer Khan, did the rest, as the hosts were skittled for 84 in their first dig. For the Latest Sports News: Click Here Australia vs India, Perth Test (PC: Debasis Sen) In Perth in January 2008, on the heels of the Monkeygate fiasco that nearly saw the tour cancelled, Australia unleashed Shaun Tait, The Wild Thing, at the WACA in Perth, alongside Brett Lee, Mitchell Johnson and Stuart Clark. But with Dravid, who else, making a gutsy 93, and Tendulkar contributing 71, India put 330 on the board. Their ‘pedestrian’ pace attack of Irfan Pathan, RP Singh and Ishant Sharma then took 14 of the 20 wickets to fall in a famous 72-run victory. The highlight was a teenage Ishant’s spell to Ricky Ponting on the fourth morning, with the Australian skipper put through the wringer before being put out of his misery. An emphatic 10-wicket win in Hamilton set up a first series win in New Zealand in over 40 years (2009), but equally noteworthy was the magnificent rearguard action that saved the next Test in Napier, spearheaded by none other than Gautam Gambhir, the current coach, who batted 643 minutes for his 137. Nearly two years later, on a lightning-quick Kingsmead deck, Sreesanth and Zaheer were to the fore as South Africa were routed again. Sreesanth’s bouncer which had Jacques Kallis jackknifing like a puppet on a string remains one of the most-played clips among Indian Test aficionados. India after winning the Perth Test vs Australia (PC: Debasis Sen) The impact of those wins What each of these victories did was ensure that the Virat Kohli-Cheteshwar Pujara-R Ashwin-Ajinkya Rahane-Rohit Sharma generation didn’t travel with the baggage or inferiority complexes of the past. Starting with Umesh Yadav and Mohammed Shami, there was a steady influx of genuinely quick bowlers into the XI, culminating in the inspired decision to give Jasprit Bumrah his red-ball debut at Newlands in January 2018. Over the past decade and a bit, India have won at venues as diverse as Lord’s, the MCG, Trent Bridge, Newlands, Adelaide, the Gabba in Brisbane and now the Optus Stadium. These results are no longer seismic shocks. And while no one takes them for granted, it’s now accepted that Indian cricket has what it takes to fight fire with a flame-thrower. In the 20th century, India played 157 Tests away from home, and won just 14. Of those,

two came against Australia’s Packer Era second-stringers, and one apiece in Sri Lanka — before the glory years — and Bangladesh. The first three overseas wins were all against a New Zealand then considered the international game’s basement side. This century, India now have 47 wins from 132 overseas Tests. If you narrow it down to the last decade alone, they have won more (23) than they’ve lost (18) on foreign fields. Nearly half of those (11) have been in the SENA countries where India once went as lambs to the slaughter. Ganguly may have frequently polarised opinion both as a player and leader, but it’s impossible to overstate just how much that brave call at the toss in Leeds all those years ago transformed Indian cricket. There have been hiccups aplenty along the way, but there would have been no Optus Stadium celebrations without the spadework done by Dravid and Bangar under the cloudy Yorkshire skies. Also Read: How a Durga Puja gave India’s Test team its Bumrah X-factor The post Headingley 2002 to Perth 2024: How India went from travel sickness to the top of the mountain appeared first on Sports News Portal | Latest Sports Articles | Revsports. [ad_2] Source link