#fuel price rise

[thecodyagenda]

public transportation kings

[scribblestatic]

Let me tell you something: nothing quite informs you of worldwide events like researching groups of people you previously knew little to nothing about for a short story. And it really shows you exactly how big this world is and how absolutely little you know as an individual.

Like, I'm making an original story I intend to publish on "official" lines, like, submitting it to different publishers and contests for money and the sort. And I decided that I wanted to make a sideline character Kazakhstani instead of Italian, because why not? Why not involve people from groups you don't really hear about so much? It's not like I'm making political statements with the guy, I just want this character to have a different background.

So, I decided I would attempt due diligence and look into what life is like for Kazakhstani people in general. While we're all people, of course, cultural differences alter how we respond to things, and I don't want to base this character on nothing but stereotypes or act like the way they grew up has nothing to do with how they act now at all. Like, I feel like that would've been a bit shite of me.

But in looking this stuff up, I learned about the small amount of Kyrgyz people in Kazakhstan, some details about religious backgrounds in the area—

And the fact Kazakhstan's police gunned down 238 of their own citizens under a shoot-to-kill order from their during fuel protests.

I knew jack shite about this before now, and I'm just kinda shocked.

We really don't know anything. Like, at all. There's too much to know and not enough brain to know it. And even knowing that Bloody January occurred, I can never read enough to know exactly how it all went down or all of the results of it.

It's just something I thought about.

Ah, still, I'm keeping the character Kazakhstani. If I don't try to make him, even as a minor character, I feel like that would erase him, and I don't wanna do that. I'll just need to be careful about relying on stereotypes.

[creativemedianews]

Scavenging fuel from overturned petrol tanker in Nigeria kills over 100

[werothegreat]

The governor of Pennsylvania (the state the Adjuster was found in), Josh Shapiro (who was on the shortlist to be Kamala's VP pick lol) just said at a press conference: “In America, we do not kill people in cold blood to resolve policy differences or express a viewpoint."

What, Josh, exactly, are we supposed to do?

Vote? Thanks to gerrymandering, the electoral college, politicians being funded by corporations, and "news" organizations peddling propaganda, that does shit all.

Protest? We try doing that and we are just ignored. The right makes jokes about running over protestors (because apparently only the lives of rich white people matter).

Call our politicians? They don't fucking care. We've been trying that for decades and they barely passed Obamacare, which Trump now wants to dismantle.

MLK said "a riot is the language of the unheard." We have been screaming at the tops of our lungs that these "policy differences" are killing us. Costly private medical insurance is killing us. Lack of gun control is killing us. Rising food and fuel prices are killing us. Microplastics everywhere is killing us. Fossil fuels are killing us.

And people like you, Governor Josh Shapiro, do nothing except protect your rich friends.

I'm surprised it's taken this long, and I'm surprised there haven't been copycats yet. Let me know when I should grab my torch and pitchfork, because my student and medical debt ridden ass is very ready for some good old-fashioned revolution.

[reasonsforhope]

The World's Forests Are Doing Much Better Than We Think

You might be surprised to discover... that many of the world’s woodlands are in a surprisingly good condition. The destruction of tropical forests gets so much (justified) attention that we’re at risk of missing how much progress we’re making in cooler climates.

That’s a mistake. The slow recovery of temperate and polar forests won’t be enough to offset global warming, without radical reductions in carbon emissions. Even so, it’s evidence that we’re capable of reversing the damage from the oldest form of human-induced climate change — and can do the same again.

Take England. Forest coverage now is greater than at any time since the Black Death nearly 700 years ago, with some 1.33 million hectares of the country covered in woodlands. The UK as a whole has nearly three times as much forest as it did at the start of the 20th century.

That’s not by a long way the most impressive performance. China’s forests have increased by about 607,000 square kilometers since 1992, a region the size of Ukraine. The European Union has added an area equivalent to Cambodia to its woodlands, while the US and India have together planted forests that would cover Bangladesh in an unbroken canopy of leaves.

Logging in the tropics means that the world as a whole is still losing trees. Brazil alone removed enough woodland since 1992 to counteract all the growth in China, the EU and US put together. Even so, the planet’s forests as a whole may no longer be contributing to the warming of the planet. On net, they probably sucked about 200 million metric tons of carbon dioxide from the atmosphere each year between 2011 and 2020, according to a 2021 study. The CO2 taken up by trees narrowly exceeded the amount released by deforestation. That’s a drop in the ocean next to the 53.8 billion tons of greenhouse gases emitted in 2022 — but it’s a sign that not every climate indicator is pointing toward doom...

More than a quarter of Japan is covered with planted forests that in many cases are so old they’re barely recognized as such. Forest cover reached its lowest extent during World War II, when trees were felled by the million to provide fuel for a resource-poor nation’s war machine. Akita prefecture in the north of Honshu island was so denuded in the early 19th century that it needed to import firewood. These days, its lush woodlands are a major draw for tourists.

It’s a similar picture in Scandinavia and Central Europe, where the spread of forests onto unproductive agricultural land, combined with the decline of wood-based industries and better management of remaining stands, has resulted in extensive regrowth since the mid-20th century. Forests cover about 15% of Denmark, compared to 2% to 3% at the start of the 19th century.

Even tropical deforestation has slowed drastically since the 1990s, possibly because the rise of plantation timber is cutting the need to clear primary forests. Still, political incentives to turn a blind eye to logging, combined with historically high prices for products grown and mined on cleared tropical woodlands such as soybeans, palm oil and nickel, mean that recent gains are fragile.

There’s no cause for complacency in any of this. The carbon benefits from forests aren’t sufficient to offset more than a sliver of our greenhouse pollution. The idea that they’ll be sufficient to cancel out gross emissions and get the world to net zero by the middle of this century depends on extraordinarily optimistic assumptions on both sides of the equation.

Still, we should celebrate our success in slowing a pattern of human deforestation that’s been going on for nearly 100,000 years. Nothing about the damage we do to our planet is inevitable. With effort, it may even be reversible.

-via Bloomburg, January 28, 2024

[rebelliousneferut]

fan frenzy | jude bellingham

summary; when jude's fangirls from borussia dortmund don't love you but things change with your move to madrid

genre; angst, smau

face claim; kaaviya sambasivam

note; English is not my first language

masterlist!

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

yourusername

liked by judebellingham, jobebellingham, username and others

yourusername date night 🌉✨

view comments

username can someone explain to me why is jude dating with her??

username jude is too much for her

username he doesn't even pay attention to her, she's always the one who looks desperate

username he needs someone prettier

username fr

username i wait for the day he opens his eyes

swallowing the bile rising in my throat, I scrolled through the comments on my latest photo. the negativity was a suffocating wave, a stark contrast to the joy we shared in the picture.

dating jude bellingham was a whirlwind from the start. we met in dortmund, sparks flying despite our initial clashes. over time, that spark evolved into a love as powerful and exhilarating as his world-class strikes. jude, with his kind heart and dazzling smile, was a revelation. despite his young age and rising fame, his patience and unwavering affection showed me a love i never thought possible.

living the dream alongside the man i adored shouldn't have come with a price tag. but jude, besides being a phenomenal footballer, also boasted a massive, and sometimes harsh, fanbase. the adoration soon turned towards me, morphing into a relentless stream of negativity. hateful messages, fueled by envy, became a daily torment. i shielded jude, who was blissfully unaware thanks to his social media inactivity. but the constant barrage chipped away at my self-esteem, leaving me questioning every aspect of myself and our relationship.

jude's future was bright, and i convinced myself i was letting him down by being a target. so, with a voice thick with emotion, i began, "jude, i think we should take some time."

his hand shot out, his touch warm against mine. "why do you say that?" he pleaded, his eyes filled with a concern that mirrored my own. "is this about the move? because if it is, we can talk about it. we'll figure it out together, like always."

i shook my head, tears welling up. "it's everything, jude. all the hate, the negativity... i can't take it anymore. i don't want to be the reason you're attacked."

jude's brow furrowed, his expression a mix of determination and tenderness. "who cares what they say? they don't know us, y/n. they don't know the way you light up a room with your smile, or the fire you ignite in my heart. you are strong, kind, and more beautiful than any comment could ever diminish."

he cupped my face in his hands, his touch wiping away a stray tear. "you are the woman i love, the thought of facing anything without you is..." his voice trailed off, his eyes searching mine.

taking a deep breath, i confessed, "the comments... they make me doubt myself, jude. they make me doubt us."

jude's jaw clenched for a moment, then softened. he pulled me into a tight embrace, the warmth of his body a familiar comfort. "we'll face it together," he murmured against my hair. "we'll show them what true love looks like. and if they can't see it, then their opinion doesn't matter. all that matters is you and me."

and i decided to trust him.

"maybe a fresh start in spain would be better," i thought. "maybe they won't hate me there."

the following day, the world woke up to a new post on jude's social media – a photo of us, radiating pure joy.

judebellingham

liked by yourusername, jobebellingham, footballwags and others

judebellingham my rock, my confidante, my love, my y/n. to anyone who has anything negative to say, save your breath. we're happy, and that's all that matters.

view comments

yourusername i love you so much 🥺❤️

❤️ liked by the author

judebellingham i love you more than words can express

username i never understood the hatred towards her, she is beautiful and they make a nice couple

username madrid welcomes you with open arms 🫶🏽

username she makes jude happy and that's all that matters

username i still don't like her

username touch grass

the response was a wave of positivity, drowning out the negativity. the spanish fans, known for their passion, embraced me with open arms. it wasn't an instant fix, but it was a start. jude, by my side, had become my shield, our love a beacon against the darkness. we were in this together, and together, we would face anything.

[narcoticv3nus]

Say You Want Me Too 𝜗𝜚 John Price

Kinktober Day XVII: Honeymoon

summary: the first night after getting married is always special tags/trigger warnings: 18+, f!reader, p in v, fingering, cunnilingus, praise, body worship, sweet lovemaking, fluff wc: 1.2k

MASTERLIST

You let out a fit of giggles, watching your new husband press his face into your thigh, clamping his teeth around your lacy white garter before ripping it off your body, his large hands holding your legs apart.

He gazes up at you, his eyes sparkling with mischief before he drops the garter from the clutches of his mouth, letting it fall to the floor as he yanks your legs over his shoulders, burying his nose into your pubic mound.

With a low growl of desire, John's rough yet warm palms slide up the length of your thighs, his thumbs gently teasing your sensitive skin. He looks up at you, his gaze filled with a mix of lust and admiration. He whispers huskily, his voice dripping with desire, "Never imagined this is how I'd spend my nights. Never imagined I'd be lucky enough to call you mine." Before you can respond, his lips press against your center, his tongue tracing a path of fire as he tastes every inch of you hungrily.

John's gaze locks onto yours, his blue eyes piercing through the dimly lit room. He leans closer, his hot breath tickling your skin as his lips part in a sensuous smile. He slowly trails kisses upwards, along your thighs, leaving a path of warmth in his wake. With a firm grip on your hips, he pulls you closer, deepening the connection between the two of you. His tongue swirls around your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure to make your breath hitch.

The sound of your moans fuels his desire, driving him to please you further. He moves his lips down, delving deeper into your wetness, his tongue exploring every fold and curve.

Raising his head for a brief moment, John flashes a cocky grin, his cheeks flushed with desire. "You taste so bloody perfect," he murmurs against your skin, his voice gruff with need. He gently nibbles on your thigh, sending a shiver through your body.

John's fingers slide lower, teasing your entrance, testing your readiness. He smirks as you squirm beneath his touch, a thrill coursing through him. "You like that, love?" His eyes twinkle with a playful challenge as he circles your clit with the tip of his tongue. The salty tang of sweat mixes with the sweetness of your arousal, an intoxicating cocktail that makes his heart race.

He slides two fingers inside you, curling them expertly while continuing his assault on your clit. The rhythm is relentless, matching the tempo of his racing pulse.

John's eyes never leave yours as he works his fingers in and out of you, his thumb rubbing circles on your clit in tandem with the movements of his tongue.

He savors the feeling of your body tensing underneath him, the way your muscles contract around his fingers. His desire grows stronger, his erection straining against his trousers. He wants nothing more than to be inside you, but first, he needs to see you fall apart in his arms. John increases the pressure, his tongue flicking rapidly against your sensitive nerves.

"Come on,” he breathes your name. “Let go," he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin. He feels you getting closer, your moans turning desperate, your hips bucking against his mouth. John's fingers curl deeper inside you, his movements becoming more urgent. The room fills with the sounds of your pleasure, each gasp and moan spurring him on. He feels his release building, mirroring the storm brewing within you.

Finally, with a keening cry, you shatter beneath him, your body convulsing in ecstasy. John drinks in your pleasure, his release held at bay by sheer force of will. As your tremors subside, he slowly withdraws his fingers, planting a final kiss on your damp skin before rising to his feet.

With a satisfied sigh, John moves up your body, trailing kisses along your stomach, chest, and neck. He cradles your head in one hand, supporting it gently as he looms over you.

He reaches down with his other hand and unbuttons his trousers, freeing himself. John's erection springs forth, hard and insistent. He positions himself at your entrance, savoring the heat radiating from your core. Leaning in, he brushes his lips against yours, tasting yourself in your mouth.

With a fervent hunger, John's lips capture yours in a deep kiss, his tongue dancing against yours as he aligns himself with your entrance. His fingers flex against your hipbones as he pushes inside, filling you. He groans into your mouth, the sensation of you tightening around him sending shockwaves of pleasure through his body.

John breaks the kiss, his gaze never leaving yours as he begins to thrust. Each movement is deliberate and decisive, mirroring the intensity of his feelings. He wants to claim you and mark you as his own. The headboard thumps rhythmically against the wall, echoing the primal beat of their lovemaking. As John drives deeper into you, he lets out a low moan, his eyes narrowing with pleasure. His pace quickens, each thrust more brutal than the last.

John's grip tightens on your hips as he feels your body respond to his, the heat building between you two unbearable. His heart pounds in his chest, the adrenaline of the moment taking over. He leans down, capturing your mouth in another searing kiss, his tongue tangling with yours in a dance as old as time itself. As he moves inside you, John's thoughts become primal—each stroke a testament to his desire, each gasp from you a reward for a job well done.

He can't help but think back to all the times he's been close to death, all the moments he thought would be his last, and how they pale in comparison to this. With a growl, John breaks the kiss and whispers in your ear, "I love you." He nips at your earlobe, groaning your name into your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

He rolls his hips, changing the angle slightly, and you cry out in pleasure. The sound goes straight to his core, pushing him closer to the edge. John's movements become erratic, his breathing ragged. He lifts his head, eyes blazing into yours, and says, "Come for me, love." As if on command, your body tightens around him, and your orgasm crashes over you both. John follows suit, his release powerful and intense. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he rides out the waves of pleasure.

When it finally subsides, John rolls off you, pulling you close to his side. He softly kisses your forehead, his hand idly stroking your arm as he catches his breath. His heart rate slows, and he feels a sense of peace he hasn't known in years.

In the aftermath of passion, John’s body cools down, his breathing evening out as he holds you close. He gazes at you with a tender smile, his thumb drawing lazy circles on your bare shoulder.

Leaning in, John nuzzles your neck, planting feather-light kisses along your collarbone. "My wife," he murmurs, his voice still rough with desire. His eyes roam over your flushed features, taking in every detail of your beauty. "You're mine,"

main masterlist, rules

[ruaafromgaza]

DONT SCROL🙏‼️‼️‼️

PLEASE HAVE HEART AND DONT SKIP

DONT SCROLL! We need you ! Yes YOU!

WE lost everything we owned in the burning of the house we used to live in, including all our winter clothes. We are now without any clothes. I want your help in spreading my campaign so that I can buy clothes for my family. It is very cold now.

Clothes are extremely expensive in Gaza.

They need $600 to buy winter clothes for the family.

Their campaign has only raised €17.

Please have heart and do not skip!

https://gofund.me/4a619aed

IF YOU SKIP ME YOU KILL ME 😢

I’m RUAA from GAZa .

My family and I go to bed hungry every night. There is no food in the world except poor, expired canned goods, with the prices of vegetables rising in the markets due to the closure of the crossings.

We can no longer afford even a piece of bread, a sip of water, basic medicine, or cooking gas.💔

Soaring prices and sealed borders have brought us to our knees. Please, we’re pleading for your help 🙏

your donations are our last hope for survival.

Please DONATE‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️ if you skip me you KILL ME 😢

Every €10 makes a very, very big difference to help my family get out of this holocaust

The surrounding conditions are getting worse every day. Do not delay in donating. You are saving a family from death.

My family consists of 6 adults and 1 child. The challenges they face daily are beyond imagination.

Basic necessities such as water, food, fuel and electricity have become scarce commodities.

Increasing danger and deprivation make their lives a constant battle for survival. Due to the loss of jobs and the absence of their previous sources of income, they are now facing an existential crisis.

sources of income, they are now facing an existential crisis.

Your generosity and support can make a big difference in saving their lives.

Your kindness will provide them with an opportunity to rebuild their lives and renew hope for the future.

I humbly appeal for your compassion and kindness in assisting in the urgent evacuation of my family. Your contributions will be a lifeline that enables them to escape the perilous conditions they currently endure.

Thank you for your compassion and support in this critical time of need.

With gratitude,

https://gofund.me/4a619aed

[55sturn]

for loser!chris & mean girl!reader, what do you think going to the fair/carnival would be like between them? and the ferris wheel 👀

✮ LOSER!CHRIS AND MEAN GIRL!READER BLURB 0.5

disclaimers: unresolved angst, swearing, reader is a bitch.

the domesticity of it all, the slightly charged atmosphere between her and chris, the simmering tension that was built over the last few weeks beginning to rise to the surface as she sits beside him in her car, stresses her out, a lot. not much could be done to ease her nerves. they had only decided to go because chris had been adamant on spending time together, away from the parties and people throwing their money at chris for the endless supply of drugs he had, especially following the way the dock drop off had gone so wrong. and he had finally forgiven y/n for ratting him out to the authorities, also known as her father.

and as they walk through the hoards of carnival goers clumped all around the fair grounds, her nerves were on fire. she‘s overwhelmed and frustrated by her feelings that she’s trying so hard to push down rising to the surface, but the moment chris’ hand slips into her own, his fingers slotting between hers like they were meant to fit there, quieted her mind instantly.

“y’want anything sweetheart?” he hums, gesturing to the line of food trucks selling various over-the-top and slightly grotesque food combinations that had her stomach turning just at the sight and smell of them, and they were being sold at such low prices to fuel the overconsumption of the world, but in true carnival celebration, she points to the fresh tacos, as she nods.

he gently pulls her along behind as he moves to stand in line, and the elderly couple ahead of them turn around to smile at chris and y/n, and the older woman’s heart melts at the sight of the two younger kids, chris’ arm wrapping protectively around y/n’s shoulders, and the woman can’t help but ask,

“don’t mind my asking, but the two of you look like the sweetest couple, have you two been together long?” the woman hums, catching both chris and y/n off-guard, and as chris goes to gently correct the woman, much to both of their surprise, and slightly to y/n’s dismay, she cuts chris off.

“we’ve been together going on six months.” y/n smiles, and she doesn’t know what took over her, what compelled her, to say that. they weren’t together, they hadn’t even been fooling around officially for six months, but doing that, telling the kind older woman that they were together felt so natural to y/n, and her face warms with embarrassment as she meets chris’ unreadable stare.

“ah, young love, make sure to cherish it, it feels new and fresh now, but in the blink of an eye, you’ll staring down fifty years together.” the woman sighs wistfully, her eyes flitting to her husband’s face as she smiles at him before turning back to face the line ahead of her.

and the silence between chris and y/n is palpable, and her the doubt swirling in her mind is beginning to eat away at her but as if he could read her mind, chris’ arm tightens around her shoulder and he squeezes her bicep gently, as if to let her know it’s okay.

the two eat their food in comfortable silence, watching people go about their evenings before lining up for the ferris wheel. and as they sit in the carriage, y/n leans her head on his shoulder, the two of them finding peace in y/n’s false proclamation. and before they know it, they’re at the top, the wheel pausing as the conductor lets more people off and chris takes this opportunity to kiss y/n.

the kiss is soft, tender, the tiniest bit rushed, but that makes it all the more romantic to her as she pushes into the kiss, but it’s cut short as chris pulls away, looking into her eyes so intently that it forced her to break the contact they held, and chris chuckles as he tilts her head up, forcing her to look at him as whispers an unmistakable confession that has her stomach twisting with guilt.

“i love you, y/n, i have since we were fourteen.” he hums, his heartbeat picking up as her face twists with anger and disgust, it shocks how easily she can switch from being the kindhearted, sweet girl she hides beneath the surface, and the cold, rude, selfish girl she proudly and outwardly shows to the world. and his heart breaks from the way she rips away from his touch, spit firing harsh words with such venom it makes him physically recoil.

“chris, don’t. i’m warning you, do not do this. don’t embarrass me. don’t fucking ruin the night because what i have to say is only going to hurt you.“ she snaps, watching as chris’ brows furrow with confusion and unbridled sadness, he thought that they were finally getting somewhere.

“but you said-“ he starts, and she’s quick to cut him off with a pitiful scoff and she looks at him incredulously, unable to believe that he truly is that stupid and naive,

“what i said to that old bag was nothing but a lie to make her happy, you didn’t actually believe me did you? because if you did, you’re an idiot. we’re not together and you know that, i know you do. i don’t love you, i don’t want to love you. i’m only with you for two things, the sex and your drugs. that’s it. i can’t be with you, i don’t want to be with you, you’re such a fucking loser chris, i can’t believe you thought i meant what i said.”

the way y/n narrows her eyes at him, her posture rigid as she speaks to him, the way her anger begins manifesting from every pore has him scoffing and shaking his head in shame, he can’t believe that she still fights what she feels for him, when it’s so blatantly clear that she feels the same, and the words she spat at him in that moment proved that maybe, just maybe, his friends were right.

“you’re such a selfish bitch. every time one of my friends tell me t’get over you, to let you go, t’give up on ever getting through to you, i tell them that you’re worth the fight. every time they tell me you’re just another selfish druggie tryna to find her next high, i defend you, i tell them that they don’t really know you but the thing is, they’re pretty fuckin’ spot on. but m’done, don’t fucking text me, don’t call me, don’t even fuckin’ think about me until you sort your shit out y/n. find a new fuckin’ dealer.” chris spits, watching the way she physically recoils from the strength and truth to his words, before turning away from and watching the crowd below them as the ferris wheel lowers.

as they’re let off the ride, chris is quick to walk ahead of her, maneuvering his way through the crowds of people, leaving y/n stranded behind him, her arms winding tight around her body as the reality of what just happened sets in, regret and guilt settling deep in her bones, and she’s quick to curse herself for being so cruel to chris. the image of the hurt flashing across his face being the only thing replaying in her mind.

STARS CORNER oops! also you’re not getting the story in chronological order bc i feel like it’s more fun that way! and i know i asked for fluffy asks but i couldn’t help making it angsty bc it hurts so good in their story

MASTERLIST HERE

[lunarw0rks]

sweet thing | part one

˖⁺‧₊˚ read it on ao3 | masterlist | ask box | next part

price takes a liking to his neighbor. vulnerable, expecting, and in need of his helping hand. it's a good thing he always wanted a family.

john price x pregnant!reader (based on this idea of mine.)

warning(s): MDNI (18+); NOT EDITED, price is touch starved and kinda pathetic, pregnancy, angst/depression, alcoholism, fluff, fem!reader [wc: 1.3k]

Involuntary stress leave, they called it.

But for John, it was just short of decay. Sedentary, bitter—restless. Stuck at home while there's still a fight to be fought, men who need guidance. His men.

Before the stress does him in, he figures boredom will close in on him first, and it would be less merciful than any bullet or blade. Chores are a necessity, and hobbies are nothing more than a temporary soothe to his aches.

Every morning, irony wakes him up cold. Takes its pound of flesh. The world he devoted his adult life to fighting for, has nothing in it for him.

(Stiff fingers, heaving chest, bile in his throat, tremors marring his nervous system.)

It's hours before he can shake the feeling, so he compromises by rising at ungodly hours and fulfilling a rigid routine—still a trained soldier to his core. And by nightfall, he nurses a bottle until he's warm again, ready for the reset at dawn.

As they gaze out the window, his eyes search for purpose. Two fingers parting the blinds. Something, anything, please. But nothing. The sharp sting of cheap booze rushes past his teeth, and he's ready to retreat.

He winces through the taste before he's at attention again. The rumble of an engine cut short right next door. He angles himself to catch a clear view of the person. Instinct yells for him to be vigilant, but the sight in front of him snuffs the bellow.

The flow of a slip dress in the breeze, sticky strands of hair pulled back, glowing skin, a nurturing hand resting on the bump that shows through the fabric.

You look anything but thrilled while you wrangle your bags and fight the wind gusts, and you're well aware of it.

All John sees is bloom. Purpose. Duty.

Before he can gather all his wits, he's closed the front door behind him, his spilled bottle dribbling along the end table. It's not so much your beauty that drives him; he isn't a superficial man and can't afford to be.

A living, breathing person is what quickens his stride. Someone to talk to. Someone to touch and study. As of late, the only people near have been on the other side of the TV screen, fueled by dramatics and in character.

You find yourself stuck in your headspace again, mentally listing all the tasks that await you inside your house. Chores, mostly, some grocery shopping—and loads more of that endless baby planning. Relaxation wasn't an option and you're actively learning to accept that. Although, it's admittedly difficult to feel any other way when you've got another human to consider now.

John clears his throat. "Let me take tha' for you, darling."

He waits until you meet his stare to extend a hand, fingers grazing the flimsy straps of your shopping bags. You freeze, soaking in the sight of him.

"Hm?" Your brows knit together, and it's only then that you catch up with him.

"Your bags."

The man has already taken them before the words finish rolling off his tongue, but he stays in place.

A soft chuckle comes out of you to crack open the sheet of embarrassment. "Sorry, I'm a little out of it today."

Pregnancy brain, you want to blame it on. But deep down you know it's because kindness is a new taste nowadays.

Most are courteous and accommodating, making way for you. Others look at you like dirt on their shoes. Fatigue draining your features doesn't help, and neither does the absence of a wedding band. Early on, you were naive enough to believe society had moved beyond the stigma. Wrong, more wrong, and a fool is all you are nowadays, even if only in your head.

Exhausted, not out of it, he analyses, and his heart aches.

"It's alright." His voice is smooth as nectar, leaving goosebumps on your skin that you'll chalk up to the wind. "Shouldn't be carrying all this by yourself, anyhow."

You fight the urge to scoff and instead lead the way to the front porch.

He's right. You shouldn’t be doing any of this alone.

Turning the key, you step inside and let the words spill. “Yeah, I, uh— I didn’t have anyone to call.”

Price should be more shocked by your words, but he isn’t. He is really, and truly, desensitized to all the misfortune around him. And it’s not any different with you. His eyes—conditioned to spot every minute detail of a person—took milliseconds to notice your left hand.

Feel her out. Find out more.

“That so?” He questions softly but doesn’t give you a chance to respond. You’ve painted the whole picture and more.

His words are full of every sensibility possible. “That’s a shame.” Pity. Empathy. Grief. Outrage. All except condescension; none of this is your fault, he can sense it.

You expect admonition.

Leading a stranger inside is bad enough, and walking the fine line between small talk and oversharing is worse.

But you can’t bring yourself to taste it. Outside of some coworkers and your mother, this is your first taste of organic interaction, and it’s been overwhelmingly amicable so far. Not something you can take lightly; loneliness is prevalent.

You let out a tired sigh, letting the silent gesture speak for itself. What else can you say? He's already got you pegged after spending all but two minutes with you. Makes you wonder how you haven't noticed him sooner, though you remember his driveway is usually vacant and the blinds are always closed.

By now, it's obvious that if he had ill intentions, he would've acted on them by now. The silence isn't thick or stiff—it's refreshing, oddly enough.

When his mouth upturns, the crow's feet around his eyes are made visible. They've witnessed things, awful things, no doubt. But he's also got a world of wisdom in them.

This is the part where you find a farewell, something moderately polite so you don't feel awful for kicking him out. (Not your fault you need to rest your feet. At least you get the sense that he'll understand.)

In search for the words, you place a hand on your stomach, "well, it was kind of you to bring that in, uh—"

"—John." He interjects.

Out of habit, you form a clumsy smile and ache to get the proper words out. "It was very kind of you, John. Thank you."

Without any further direction, he's able to pick up on your hints for him to make his exit. The bar is so low these days, it's almost shocking. Shuffling to follow him to the front door, your hand seizes the knob.

There's a lot left unsaid, despite meeting your handsome neighbor only a short time ago. The voice inside urges you to keep it short. Send him off, get out of his hair. He was just being nice.

"I should thank you again," you blurt, almost abruptly. Price turns on his heels with little surprise, a leer written on his thin lips. "Next time, I'll take another trip to carry the bags."

"No next time, love." A purr and a new nickname.

Too smitten to even notice the ruffle of some paper when he reaches a hand in his pocket. Even stole the pen off your entry table (a.k.a the junk-pile-of-mail-table) and you were none the wiser. Dated, the way he scribbles on the crumbled receipt and hands it to you between his index and middle.

Heat rises up your neck and to your face when you inch closer to retrieve the number, somehow finding it within yourself to not break eye contact. John's gaze stays genuine, despite the puff of his chest and the way he breathes your scent in shamelessly.

Albeit frazzled—you weren't born yesterday; he's attractive and extremely luring and you're single and hormonal. Wouldn't take much for something to happen.

And if not, you know you'll have fond daydreams, at the very least.

"You ever need anything, give me a call. 'M good for more than bag carrying."

[dostoyevsky-official]

this a view of someone who's ignored european developments since 2007, opting for a rosy, outdated view of european politics, i.e. the exact type of american committing the exact type of mistake i'm warning about.

to address this point by point: not only has inflation been a global issue, but the US has consistently enjoyed the lowest inflation of any developed economy. american CPI has remained below the british, polish, and eurozone average numbers. european economies have to deal with fallout from the russian invasion of ukraine that the us can ignore: notably, in energy prices, as the US became self-sufficient in energy (and never imported any from russia to begin with, something squeezing the german economy). america is also not hosting millions of ukrainian refugees.

when discussing european instutions—and "europe" in general—one has to be more specific. do you mean the overarching institutions of the EU, criticized for a democratic deficit that many have pinpointed as one source for euro-skepticism and the rise of the far right? the EU Council, widely ignored and headed by charles michel, an incompetent, blatant nepobaby appointment whom everyone grinds their teeth over? the EU parliament, recently filled with a fresh batch of far-right hooligans, which functions more or less as a rubber stamp for the commission? the EU commission itself, headed by VdL, the latest in a string of failed local politician commissioners (who remembers the alcoholic swindler juncker?) masquerading as technocrats? the ECB, which smothers the monetary (and through the maastricht criteria, the fiscal) policy of eurozone members, thereby fueling resentment, far-right movements, and economic disparity? and all of this held hostage by the veto of one orban or fico, —or the german supreme court, when it decides it's had enough with public investment. those institutions, which remain so opaque that even educated americans—and europeans—aren't entirely aware of their function?

or do we mean the institutions of individual countries, ranging from undemocratic autocracies like hungary to the fief of the jupiter king, who called elections in june, lost them, refused to nominate a prime minister from the winning coalition, didn't name any for over a month, and then appointed a rightwing politician from a party that scored dead last, sidestepping his own centrist party? the UK, where sir keir is handing out five years in jail time to climate protesters, raising tuition fees, relying on private investment companies, and through rachel reeves' plan to fix the alleged budget hole left by hunt before further investment, again enacting austerity? this is all front-page headline news from the last half year.

european countries indeed have cheaper healthcare costs, better pensions, and other public goods that the united states does not. when considering "quality of life," remember, however, that most european countries have unemployment rates considered astronomic in america, especially for under-35s:

to focus again and again on european social democracy is to ignore that it has been steadily eroded since the end of the cold war and especially since the great recession by neoliberal political forces that crush the left and open the door for the far right. in the most blatant example, beside's macron's legislative politricks, the IMF-ECB-EC troika cut off euro cash liquidity flow to greece when syriza was trying to undo austerity under varoufakis. the greek collapse consigned a generation to economic failure, killed seniors, and curtailed possibilities for the youth. this erosion happened even in the nordic model, long imagined by americans as nothing short of a utopia:

In part due to the scrapping of wealth and inheritance taxes and a lower corporate tax than both the U.S. and European averages, Sweden has one of the most unequal distributions of wealth in the world today: on a level with Bahrain and Oman, and worse than the United States. Perhaps most dispiriting for Sanders, Sweden also now hosts the highest proportion of billionaires per capita in the world. Many of the country’s trademark social services are now provided by private firms. Its private schools even benefit from the same level of state subsidy as public schools—a voucher system far more radical than anything in the United States and that Democratic politicians would be crucified for advocating. Both here and there, right-leaning commentators in 2020 decried Sanders’s portrait as little more than what Johan Norberg, Swedish author of The Capitalist Manifesto, has called a 1970s “pipedream.” On this, Swedish observers on the left gloomily agree: despite official rhetoric, the “Nordic welfare model” is now more nostalgic myth than reality. (x)

to problematize further, there's an unadressed first world perspective: who's getting the good quality of life, why are the main economies of the EU so wealthy, and how does the EU continue to enrich itself? there are certainly many living outdoors today, drowning in the mediterranean, or dying of exposure in białowieża. fortress europe is a crime against humanity—and it doesn't beat back the far right. it weakens civic and human rights, undermines legal oversight, and criminalizes humanitarian engagement, allowing an authoritarian creep.

you shouldn't understand the political and the historical as a snapshot in time, but as a moving train. this is the state of europe today. all of the above is necessarily a simplification and an abbreviation, but there's a trajectory you can begin to trace out: given all of the above, where do you think europe is headed?

[shizuturnspages]

PLEASE hear me out yan ajaw whether hes taken over kinich or made a contract with us like kinich has POTENTIAL and ill DIE ON THIS HILL

and if its the latter u can annoy him and he cant do shit we finna become a bully with this one

... how about both?

I LOVE YOUR IDEA SM.

Let's have Ajaw be the one in control for one sec, and be a victim of our bullying the next sec

Ajaw Taking Over Kinich

❥ When Ajaw takes over Kinich, you’re no longer dealing with just a yandere—now you’ve got this ancient being level of possessiveness wrapped in Kinich’s body. His obsession? Fucking amplified. Ajaw doesn’t just want you—he needs you like a force of nature, like the sun fucking needs to rise. You’re not just a person to him; you’re his divine claim. And this isn’t some subtle obsession—Ajaw’s got that “I will literally destroy worlds if you leave me” kind of energy. It’s overwhelming and all-consuming.

❥ Kinich might still be in there somewhere, but Ajaw’s taken over, and he’s using Kinich’s love for you to fuel his own fucking twisted desires. Imagine that—Kinich still loves you, but it’s buried under Ajaw’s possessive rage, and that makes this shit even more terrifying. Ajaw’s merciless, and Kinich’s gentle nature is just another weapon to get you to submit. One minute you’re being coaxed in softly by Kinich’s memories, the next? Ajaw’s locking you away, claiming you’re his and only his. Forever.

❥ With Ajaw in control, you’re untouchable—but it comes with a fucking price. You belong to him, and he’s going to make sure everyone knows it. This isn’t just regular protection—it’s on a divine level. Anyone who even looks at you? Gone. He’ll bring down the full force of his godly power to keep you safe, and if that means erasing threats from existence? So be it. You’re his, and he’ll ensure no one ever comes between you, even if it means sacrificing the world to keep you close.

Ajaw’s Contract with You

❥ In this scenario, Ajaw’s not taking over Kinich—he’s making a contract with you. And let’s be real, he didn’t want this shit. He’s a powerful, ancient entity, and now he’s bound to you, someone who’s more than happy to mess with him at every turn. And he can’t do shit about it. You’re his contracted partner, and he’s supposed to be controlling the situation, but you’ve turned the tables. He’s stuck, and you’re having the time of your fucking life making him squirm.

❥ Now that Ajaw’s bound to you, he’s technically at your command—but he’s not happy about it. You can push his buttons, tease him, and get under his skin in ways no one else could dare. He’s used to being worshipped, feared, and obeyed. But you? You’re treating him like a toy, poking fun at his divine powers and reminding him he’s stuck with you. And that pisses him off in the best way. He tries to act all cold and detached, but deep down? You’re the one driving him fucking crazy.

❥ The more you tease him, the more fucking obsessed he gets. Ajaw isn’t used to someone who doesn’t cower in front of him, and that only makes his obsession burn hotter. He tries to keep control, tries to act like h.e’s the one in charge, but you keep flipping the script. You bully him, annoy him, and he can’t do shit to stop it. And the worst part for him? He likes it. You’re the only one who challenges him, the only one who doesn’t fall in line, and it fucking drives him wild.

❥ You know those moments when you’re really pissing him off, and he wants to punish you but can’t? That’s where the petty god shit comes in. He’ll try to get back at you in the most ridiculous ways—subtly messing with your day-to-day life, making things inconvenient, like blocking the sun for a few hours or causing minor natural disasters just to make you mad. But the more he tries to assert dominance, the more you push back. You two are in a constant back-and-forth, and honestly? It’s fucking hilarious.

❥ Even though you’re bullying the hell out of him, Ajaw’s possessiveness never fucking fades. If anyone else tries to get close to you? Oh, they’re fucking gone. He might be bound to your contract, but he’ll still pull some divine shit to make sure no one else gets near you. And deep down, you know he’s obsessed. No matter how much you tease him, at the end of the day, Ajaw’s burning need for you is so intense it practically consumes him. You hold all the cards, but fuck, does he love playing your game.

[velvetures]

Omg I love your stories so much especially the cod ones 😍😍😍 could you please write a ghost x reader oneshot where the reader maybe gets shot taking a bullet meant for him and maybe they are in an established relationship please with a happy ending

Ignoring Orders & Accepting Lead

A/N: I loved this req. and I hope you're okay with the direction I took this in. I'm trying to get the other asks I've been sent finished in a somewhat timely manner... haha! Honestly, I never thought anyone would enjoy my writing as much as all of you have. <3 Summary: Established relationships mean occasional arguments... You and Ghost have one before a mission. And the make-up conversation is a little less than standard for most couples. T/W: Canonical Violence, guns, knives, Blood, Death (non-major characters), severe injuries, tension, hurt/comfort, HAPPY ENDING, Ghost being a bit overprotective, Reader being a smartass, not proofread.

Arguments with Ghost happened a lot more frequently than anyone would ever suspect. While he liked to stay quiet when the opportunity arose, it was also know that if you could avoid a conflict, you would just to make sure the temperature of the situation didn’t rise too high. As a pair, it made you great operators, just for the skill-set you each had as well as the predisposition to get things done quickly, and quietly. As for being in a relationship, your character’s held zero influence on the way that you cared about each other of how that would display itself during moments of tension or disagreement. Especially in moments during missions where things weren’t going to plan, and your ideas severely countered Ghost’s.

One of those fights had occurred right before you’d been dropped into a very small town outside of Culiacán, Sinaloa. At HQ, Price was splitting everyone up for their distinct purposes, and you’d been immediately assigned with Ghost for an infil job. One requiring both of you to get in and get out of the well-known cartel stronghold without getting caught or being killed. Naturally you accepted the task without so much as flinching, whereas Ghost didn’t have such an easygoing attitude about it.

He was fucking furious.

First he tried threatening Price, demanding that you not be listed for that and go with Soap for the much less risky job of tracking down a small-time dealer who’d been listed as having information valuable to the task force. Price wasn’t stupid enough to not recognize where Ghost’s rage was coming from, and just simply said that if you wanted the job, there was nothing he could do about it since you’d already read the briefing and knew the entire plan just as well as anyone else. It wasn’t what he wanted to hear from the Captain, and that made things all the worse for you when you said you weren’t going to let him go in alone.

One of the worst fights you’d ever had with Ghost since your partnership became a fully-fledged romance happened right off the helipad being fueled-up for your departure. God it was miserable, and it hurt every ounce of you to have to defend yourself over the one thing that you were certain you could do. Your job. Understanding Ghost’s protective instinct was one thing, but there had to be a line drawn where him throwing his weight and rank around to limit your exposure to risk couldn’t be done anymore.

He’d been totally insensitive to your side of the story, and was obstinate that if you got on the helo, he’d not do a damn thing to keep you safe once you got to Culiacán. Merely to prove the bullshit point that you couldn’t to the job without him. That statement alone had you strapping into your flight harness quicker than Ghost could utter ‘jesus christ’ under his breath. Totally stonewalling you for the entire flight and practically acting like you didn’t even exist. Hell, he wouldn’t even go over the mission plan as was typical, leaving you fully to fend for yourself and follow his lead without even a hand signal to lead you through it.

Everything on entry went smoothly.

No guards were stationed in the underground sewer tunneling, leaving you very dry and unhindered on the half-mile walk from your drop-point to the access ladder leading up into the basement of a massive chapel-turned-base of operations. Whether or not you’d been keeping up or not didn’t appear to phase Ghost in the slightest, and he continued on and up into the basements without so much as glancing your way. You were quickly losing your patience, and getting than much more hurt with hoe easily he could turn off the affection and care that he always had for you. Sure, he wasn’t the coddling type, but you’d never wanted that from him; but this��was a whole different level of coldness.

Inside the basement there were stockpiles of cocaine, pre-packed on shipping crates with a printed docket of everything contained on each. Just seeing that much shit all in one room made your head spin. It was one thing knowing it existed, and understanding that tons of it were being shipped all over the world, but actually being in a room surrounded by it from almost floor-to-ceiling was quite overwhelming. And Ghost’s own utterance of the sheer volume confirmed that it wasn’t just your own imagination leading you to think this was way too fucking much to handle. Bad part was, you couldn’t touch any of the shit or destroy it, and were solely on the objective of cloning their hard drives and bringing them back for examination.

Clearing stairwell after stairwell, and only needing to dispose of two guards -quick work with a sharp knife- you’d been able to access their massive data stores collected in what appeared to be nothing more than a personal server farm. Kept extremely cold for the benefit of the rows of towers, you’d been given the small cloning chip needed to transmit data back to HQ. But you needed a window of up to fifteen minutes to ensure everything was fully copied. You -and Ghost- both knew that fifteen minutes was far too long to just stand around with your thumbs up your asses and just hope that no one wondered why the two guards you’d shanked hadn’t checked in, or come to make a round inside the server room.

Ghost very instinctively covered the access door to the room, not even bothering to demand you give him the chip or take care of the data itself. A small reminder that he wasn’t totally untrusting of your skills, but still not large enough of a show that made you feel any less miserable about how your relationship was quite strained at the moment, all of something as small as a fifteen minute window of gathering information. By some miracle, you watched the progress on a small tablet linked to the chip and HQ’s data stores, watching it hit one-hundred percent in just under eight minutes. Perfect. It couldn’t go much smoother than that.

You were tapping Ghost on the shoulder, and giving a small thumbs-up just as the sounds of footsteps running up the stairwell outside began echoing. More than just one or two. It was actually a lot more than you even had the ammunition to handle, considering the job was deemed covert. Neither you or Ghost went without some protection… but you’d been packed out a lot lighter than normal. Right away he was stepping back from the door and checking his watch with a stern look in his eyes. One you recognized as realization that you’d have to fight your way out of this. Ugly, bloody, and violent.

Exactly what he didn’t want in the fuckin’ first place.

Ghost was inside of his own mind, trying to balance out the fear of you being in the middle of a cartel fire-fight and the rage he still felt when you just wouldn’t fucking listen to him right from the beginning. He knew what cartels did to women, and a pretty one like you wouldn’t have the mercy of just being killed. No. They’d fucking torture and toy with you until there wasn’t anything human left inside of you. That’s why he’d been so goddamn adamant that you stay behind for this one.

The data you’d copied over was bullshit compared to you living and breathing for another day. And Ghost couldn’t stand to think he’d walked you right into this place without at least trying to show you that he cared enough to see you live. Dying wasn’t a fear of his, but there was nothing he dreaded more than the mental image of you bleeding out in his arms all because of his own fucking mistakes.

Yet, here he stood. Having to make the decision on what to do or how to get you both out of here alive if he could even manage that in the first place. Part of him was already preparing to let them take him and give you enough time to slip away. You were fast enough. Small, so they’d have a far harder time picking you out in a crowd. But if he’s assumptions were correct, the tunnels would still be clear.

He gave you one last look, and grabbed hold of your vest to pull you behind him; Hearing the footsteps of more than six men filling into the large room outside of the server farm. Some barking orders to check down the hall, while others were meant to stay posted at the stairs to block off anyone flushed out. Ghost felt his own body starting to get cold. So desensitized to the violence he was already prepping himself to commit that if it wasn’t for you being there, he’d had already burst through the door and met them head on.

“Fuckin’. Listen,” He snapped as quietly as possible. Your ears perked up, happy to have just heard him speak, even if he sounded downright vicious. Your little hand tapping at his ribs as confirmation you were paying attention sent a shiver up his back.

“Don’t engage unless they’re right in your way. Take the tunnels out, I’ll be right behind you.” He barked out the orders under his breath.

Ghost couldn’t help but feel your hand fist into the material of his shirt. You didn’t like that one bit, and he didn’t need to see your face to know better. Because for whatever reason, you had it in your thick little head that he needed protecting as much as you did. Like it was your job to make sure he didn’t get hurt. Cute and a little bit amusing, Ghost hadn’t the slightest clue where you got the idea from or why it was such a massive trigger for him to challenge it. But right now, there was no fighting about it. He’d not take no for an answer, and when you didn’t give a confirmation right away, he growled in impatience.

Reluctantly, you gave it with a small tap rubbing your thumb over his hip bone.

One minute, Ghost was pushing open the door and spotting only three men within direct threat distance and seeing only one man standing at the top of the stairs. A split second of decision had him throwing two knives, and charging at the third to ensure that you’d only have to take care of the one remaining. He sunk a third knife in, feeling the man sink to his knees and drop to the floor, retrieving two of his blades before turning around right as the sound of a pistol registered. Ghost realized his fatal error in the squeeze of a trigger too late.

Only you saw what was coming, and Ghost watched you crumple to the floor between the shooter and himself; Stopping the man from shooting him in the back, but catching you somewhere of your front that residual splatter from the rained over his mask and tac vest. Everything around Ghost slowed, nearing an entire halt to the earth as you fell limply to the ground. Not even moving to try and cover your wound or catch yourself from the fall to the marble floor. Nightmares couldn’t compare to the sight of you crumpled in a heap of gear and bulky material after watching you purposefully allow your life to be traded for his.

The shooter wasn’t lucky enough to squeeze the trigger again for the knife that embedded itself in his forehead. Retribution. Quick but not as instantaneous as it would’ve been with a gun of his own. He was forced to see his own death approach with the snapped rotation of a throwing knife Ghost had sharpened days ago. He wanted to it last longer… make the bastard pay for it. Torture him for as long as his body could take, then give him just enough time to recover and start all over again.

But you needed him… Fuck. He needed you.

On the ground, you knew you’d taken a shot. But the adrenaline and immediate blow of it had you frozen on the floor. You couldn’t really tell where you’d been shot, or how bad the damage was. Truthfully you’d never experience it, and while many of the stories you heard over the years of your service, nothing they ever did to explain it was touching the utter fire radiating through your body. What you did know was that you were bleeding, and the shot had missed your tac vest; A small stream of blood was rolling through the grout lines in the floor, staining the white marble a sickening color.

Seeing Ghost on a knee in front of you, eyes wide and searching over your face was the next hazy image you recognized. His mask was shifting with the motion of him talking, but your ears were ringing. A pitchy and high whine blocked any other sound, even Ghost’s voice which you’d always been so very keen on paying close attention to. You felt awful. Putting him through this after you’d literally just had the fight about you getting hurt. Guilt flooded your limited emotional capacity, and as Ghost readjusted to pick you up, you felt tears rolling down your face.

You’d not had a single second to react to the fourth man in the room, him having the jump on visualizing Ghost facing the other three. It made him a vulnerable target. And in the split second you had to do something, you’d jumped in the way. Laying out totally flat to use your entire body to shield his. Hoping to god luck was on your side. At this point, hanging over Ghost’s shoulder limply as he rushed down the stairs on his way towards the basement, you weren’t sure if luck was on your side or not.

Thankfully, your hearing was slowly coming back in certain frequencies.

Sounds of gunfire and sirens blaring from the street level let you know that everyone within a few miles of the cathedral would be on the lookout for intruders. With all of the people who’d seen you, killed, no descriptions could be sent out or blared to citizens under control of the cartel. It didn’t help that Ghost was the largest man in the city who just happened to have on a skull mask and carrying a woman leaving behind noticeable drips of blood as a gruesome kind of trail to follow.

“C’mon baby, answer me!” Ghost panting yell finally registered, and you were able to manage a weak pat on his lower back. You felt his hand squeeze the back of your thigh for a moment before his pace slowed from a quick run to almost a crawl.

“We got company…”

There hadn’t been any men in the tunnel. But now that Ghost was less than fifty yards from their extraction point with a “medical” heli waiting for their return; three men were posted at the gated slope leading up to the hillside entry. The Lieutenant could feel your blood soaking into his shirt, wetting his shoulder. A bad reminder that you needed to get the fuck out of here right now. But he couldn’t get rid of those fuckers unless he put you down.

He squeezed at your thigh again to get your attention.

“I need - need to -fuck- set you down…” Saying those words utterly destroyed Ghost. You were the only thing he cared about right now, but the longer he put this off, the risk of you dying loomed closer.

“Need ya t’stay right here… okay? Don’t come out…”

Carefully you felt him settle you behind a large sewage drain pipe connecting from the street into the small walkway. Easing your back against the curved brick wall and once again taking a very hard look at you. This time, he could see where the bullet had just missed the edge of your tac vest, entering through the ripped hole in your shirt just below your collarbone. Every hopeful fiber in Ghost wanted to believe it wouldn’t be non-lethal. But if it shattered your collarbone, the bullet fractured and clipped a vein or small artery, there was plenty to be concerned about.

He would’ve packed the would just to stave off the blood flow. But he didn’t have the luxury of time. And whether or not Ghost would ever admit it to himself, repeatedly shoving his finger into your wound would render him down to a shell of a man. He couldn’t hurt you. Fuck, he couldn’t hurt you.

“Stay here… I’ll be right back.” He whispered against your forehead, pressing his masked mouth to your forehead.

You leaned into him, hearing his words and consciously noticing just how difficult it was to understand the words after hearing them. Almost like you couldn’t natively speak english and the meanings just weren’t instinctual anymore. God it took everything to comprehend that he was planning to clear the rest of the way, leaving you here. Eyes trailing after him sluggishly, you fought with your own arms to try and scoot back just a little further to peek between the large pipe you were leaning against to see if you could spot Ghost or the targets.

Being told to stay was always a difficult order for you. Even if you weren’t shot and struggling to manage simple bodily functions. Surprisingly, you were able to see the shadowed figured standing guard right at the gates you’d come through, holding rifles and totally unaware of Ghost lurking within such easy range. You wondered why he didn’t just shoot them, and get this over with.

Why he needed stealth when the entire city was looking for you didn’t make a lot of sense in your mind. Until you saw five more men walk down to join the others. With one cut of your eyes to look at Ghost, you realized he had anticipated more and planned of making quick work. It’d been a long time since you watched him work alone. Nearly two years. Attempting to shift your shoulder it rocked your entire system. Biting your jaw to keep from making noise, you tried focusing through the tears in your eyes as the only man who held the key to not only your life, but your heart in his fist.

Ghost kept reevaluating his odds with each step closer. Feeling distracted in the worst way with the guilt of leaving you unprotected, and in no position to defend yourself in the case that he wasn’t able to take all of these men alone. Those odds -either realistic or narcissistic confidence- didn’t phase the Lieutenant in the slightest. He was fueled with rage. And while these bastards hadn’t done anything, just being in his path was a death sentence.

The fight started smoothy and efficiently, taking out the largest of the men and using his half-dead form as enough of a shield to eliminate the threat of three 12.7x99mm wielders, too surprised to shoot off five rounds. Another three surrounded him with nothing more than machetes swiping through the air with near misses. One smooth draw of his own pistol dropped two men, and when Ghost turned around to face the third the butt of a shotgun smacked across his vision, dropping him to his knees and hearing his pistol slide across the floor out of reach.

He hauled himself to a knee, watching the man throw the empty shotgun away and approach with a knife, glinting in the sunlight just on the outside of the tunnel. Ghost could actually hear the rotor blades of the helicopter cranking up, set into motion by the small tracker in his belt giving the pilot a comm-less tip off. He’d have to fight this hand-to-hand, and while he didn’t feel the least bit tired, Ghost knew a long fight only risked you further. And fuck if making you wait didn’t make his hair stand up on edge. Even in your state, he knew better than to think you wouldn’t start getting worried in the next couple of minutes.

His opponent took the first blow and used the hilt of his large blade to connect fully with Ghost’s jaw. A heavy crack sounded, but the Lieutenant merely flinched; Throwing his own weight on the weight-matched man, and there ensued a grappling match that risked deadly knife wounds being grazed against straining forearms and a battle of wills that totally opposed one another on every basis… Save for being the last man standing. For the second time in a single mission, Ghost found himself at the razor’s edge of a knife pressing against his throat and no really foolproof tactic of getting out of it.

“Seré el que te mate, fantasma..” The man breathed hotly against Ghost’s ear, jerking the knife closer and fighting the sheer strength in the Lieutenant’s arm. “Colgaré tu cabeza en mi pared, bastardo.”

Ghost fumbled with his other hand under the pressure on his throat began taking away the normal dexterity he functioned with; Trying to find a knife on his belt, or any kind of weapon at this point. Only all of them had been embedded in the dead bodies scattered around them. It had been a bad decision to listen to Price when he said to pack lightly. It would be the end of him.

Simon Riley didn’t show himself often during missions. Always locked away in the recesses of Ghost’s mind, quietly biding his time until there was the few-and-far-between moment for him to appear for a few moments. Typically in the darkness of your shared bedroom with your face pressed between his shoulder blades and your little arm wrapped around his waist.

Simon loved feeling your hand against his belly, twitching your fingers in your sleep and reminding him just how soft and loving you were; Happy to hold his hand tightly in the middle of unconsciousness just like you did when awake. Ghost did everything he could to protect Simon from anyone and anything that could hurt the other half of himself. But hearing another pistol register loudly in the tunnel, echoing back and forth for almost a whole minute; Ghost found himself losing control to Simon.

He felt the man above him slump in dead weight against his back. Muscles slack and the knife held to his throat clanged to the concrete. Looking in the direction of the shot, whatever protective grasp Ghost had on himself utterly dissolved. You’d managed to lay yourself out on the floor, hardly propped up on one elbow with your smoking pistol shaking in your hands. Tears spilled over your cheeks and with each second that passed, he could visualize the pain you felt from such a rough kickback in how you abruptly dropped the pistol in front of you and collapsed flat on the floor with a low groan.

He couldn’t have moved to your side faster.

Immediately picking you up again and making the very short but tense run back to the heli; all the while the pilot was looking between his instruments and the sight of Ghost holding you close to his chest in the floor.

“No one… threatens… to kill you… but me…” You mutter pained, bearing a muddled smile up at Ghost.

Unbelievable… Ghost hardened his stare, putting pressure to your wound and watching in quiet grief that he needed to cause you pain.

“Good shot… did good baby…,” He whispered back weakly, burying his face in your neck and squeezing you against him. Desperate to get you home and safe.

“Gonna ignore how you refused to follow a superior’s orders three times…” He added stiffly, feeling you twitch when a spasm in your shoulder seized. You just bit out another pained noise, coughing a bit with the dust being kicked up from the helicopter lifting off.

The look you gave him couldn’t be seen as anything other than pure, innocent, and unflinching devotion. It nearly ripped Ghost out of the body you clung to, leaving Simon bracing you against his chest as the pilot at the front started giving information to the rest of the squad about fifty miles away at a safe house. Much too long for the Lieutenant’s liking. But close enough that he could get you to his squad and they could ensure you didn’t leave him.

He couldn’t stand losing you, and they’d make sure you didn’t.

“Simon,” Sweet and weak, your hand cups his cheek as you bring him out of an initial trigger. “M’not leaving you anytime soon. Love you too much.” Your eyes close as your head leans agains him trustingly.

His chest crumbled in on itself. “Love you too, baby… I love you too.”

Reblogs & Comments are Appreciated! <3

[briefalpacashark]

~Meeting 141~

The first time you meet the members of task force 141.

Warning: mentions of violence, death, blood.

================================================

It was a typical mission. Neck deep in shit and halfway to hell. The mission was simple. It had two parts. The first part was to collect information off a computer. It was a two team mission, Alpha consisting of Gaz, Soap and Ghost. And Bravo, consisting of Price and Roach. Currently, they were both making their way through an oil rig in the early hours of the morning, with the cover of night. A nice little base for some black market operations. The second part of the mission was harder. Extracting the asset. And asset Price informed them beforehand would be joining their team.

“What ya recon he's gonna be like?” Soap asked as he stood in the main office room, gun raised at the door, ready for anything. The group had many guesses of who the newest member of their team would be. Price wasen't necessarily secretive about them, but he didn't tell them anything about them either. “He's a medic. Probably likes sticking stuff up ass’s,” Ghost, who was positioned by the door, said, making the two guys smirk. “Youll love that then, won't you?” Gaz asked, not taking his eyes off the computer screen in front of him. Soap chuckled at Ghost's dead panned look. “Come on Gaz, you know he's sensitive about that sort of thing,” Soap joked. “I hope you both get shot in the ass,” Ghost grumbled. “Done,” Gaz announced. “Alright, let's move,” Soap said. Getting into formation, they peeled out of the room. “Ghost to Price, we've got the package, on the move out of er,” Ghost spoke into the com's. “Copy that, Asset secured, see you soon,” Price's voice cracked over the radio. They moved through the oil rig quietly, their shadows barely noticeable in the dark as they moved down the outer side of the buildings, the metal racks slick with the rain that had just started. Then it started, a lucky spot, a glint of metal perhaps brought attention to team Alpha. They were set upon by a volley of bullets. They bucked behind the cover of a building, trying to return fire as best they could. Ghost, who had taken point, peeked around the building taking out two men. That was until he felt his leg buckle as pain erupted up his thigh. “FUCK!” he exclaimed as he dropped to one knee.

“WE'RE TAKING HEAVEY FIRE! GHOST GOT HIT!” Gaz yelled into the com's as he helped Ghost to the ground. He took one look at the bullet hole, his face washing itself of colour. It was spurting blood like crazy. “He's hit bad!” Gaz added. His worry for his friend was quickly forgotten when a group of men came around a corner to their left. He raised his gun and started shooting. “Theres too many,” Soap grunted as they tucked themselves behind a few barrels. They were pinned down, unable to return fire and stuck like sitting ducks. They couldn't use explosives, one wrong flame could set the whole place up like a tinderbox. The enemy team slowly moved forward, laying the cover on heavy as they approached the barrels. The soft rapid patter of feet on metal drew the lad's eyes high. And there you were. Your small five foot three frame throwing itself of a higher level soaring across the sky. Knife and gun in hand. Your hair long and braided, whipped in the wind behind you. The assaulting team barely registered your presence before you landed upon the lead. Your knife burying itself beep into his neck, His body toppled over with the hit. You used the momentum to roll up to your next opponent, you dragged the knife across the back of his knee, pulling him into a kneel. Rising up you shot him in the head before propping his body up as a shied as you delivered three more accurate shots. The small assault team now all lay dead at your feet. Fueled with the adrenalin, and the absurdity of the stunt you had just pulled, you slowly tuned around to the three guys peeking over the barrels with shocked looks.

“Friendly,” you raised both your hands. You chest heaved, your eyes scanning over them to see if they would believe you. “Macgyver, the fuck was that!” You snapped around to Price, who stood at the edge of the level you had jumped from. Seeing if from that angle you could see that you drastically underestimate the height of it. “Improvisation?” you shrugged, you didn't really know yourself. You had never done anything that crazy before. yet you had seen your team mates in danger. And you acted. “Fucking hell. Patch Ghost up and let's get the hell out of here! We'll provide cover!” he ordered. You nodded, tucking your gun and knife into the back of your pants. You rushed up to the barrel, vaulting over it and landing in a crouch over the legs of who you assumed was Ghost. What stared back at you was a skull mask, revealing only the dark pools of his eyes. He certainly was a sight. One you didn't know whether to be scared of or impressed by. “Ghost?” You asked. In your adrenaline fueled state, you didn't notice how close you were to him. He could feel your hot breath fanning his face. He could smell the lavender soap you had used that morning. He gave a curt nod, but you had already moved your eyes down his body, looking from the issue. Finding it the gapping whole you quickly knew what it was. The bullet had hit an artery. Your hands ran down the Ghost's vest, searching for the familiar tourniquet. Soap shared a look with Gaz as you practically fondled their friend. Finding the tourniquet, you undid it, slipping it up his thigh. It was a high shot, so your hands were placed dangerously close to his groin as you quickly worked your magic. Ghost didn't know what to do or say as your small hands touched his so closely with no remorse. After all, you were a medic. You didn't care about that sort of stuff. Still, you could feel a blush dusting the tops of your ears. “He's hit an arty, we need to get him out. I've stopped the bleeding, but I need tools to fix that,” you said absentmindedly peeking around the corner of the building. You quickly ducked your head back as bullets volleyed towards you.

“Ok, can't go that way, Come on,” You swiveled yourself to Ghost's left side, taking his arm and hooking it over your shoulders. You huffed as you heaved him to his feet, They were momentarily surprised at the strength your little body possessed. Gaz quickly took his other arm and you lead them quickly to the rendezvous point. Where you practically threw ghost into the boat. The poor lad grunted as he hit the bottom of the boat taking Gaz with him. “Sorry,” you apologized jumping over them to the controls of the boat. “Were at the rendezvoused, where are you?” Soap asked into the com's. “Look up,” Piece said. You all did just in time to see their bodies plunge into the water beside you. You waited till they were pulled into the boat before you slammed the throttle down. The sun slowly started to rise, casting a golden hue over you. “Both assets secured?” Soap asked. Price nodded, wringing his hat out, Gaz doing the same as he lifted up the hard drive. “So,” Soap trailed off. "She's a woman," he stated. "Great deduction skills," Ghost commented. “That is Sargent Y/L/N. Australian special forces. Best medic out there. Can do anything a doctor can do,” Price stated. “Oh Cap, you're making me blush,” you said, looking back at them with the brightest smile you could muster. A smile that seemed to be awfully contagious. “Men meet the newest member of 141,” Pierce smiled back at you. “Glad to be on board,” you nodded before your eyes fell back to Ghost. “Can someone take over?” You asked. Roach happily obliged. Walking over to Ghost you pulled your knife and started cutting away at his pants. “At least buy me dinner first, love,” You chuckled slightly, placing your hand on his bear thigh gazing deeply into the bullet hole. Your hand slipped around the back. “No exit wound. Looks like I'm gonna have to dig it out when we get back,” you muttered. Ghost wasn't listening, he was fixated on the feeling of your hand running across his bear skin. Aside from the burning pain of being shot, it felt pleasant. “I think I might have a bullet hole too,” Soap interjected, raising his hand. "I'll put one in you," Price warned.

And that was how you first meet the 141. Literally dropping into their lives.

================================================

--COD Master List Here--

================================================

[simply-ivanka]

How the Biden-Harris Economy Left Most Americans Behind

A government spending boom fueled inflation that has crushed real average incomes.

By The Editorial Board -- Wall Street Journal

Kamala Harris plans to roll out her economic priorities in a speech on Friday, though leaks to the press say not to expect much different than the last four years. That’s bad news because the Biden-Harris economic record has left most Americans worse off than they were four years ago. The evidence is indisputable.

President Biden claims that he inherited the worst economy since the Great Depression, but this isn’t close to true. The economy in January 2021 was fast recovering from the pandemic as vaccines rolled out and state lockdowns eased. GDP grew 34.8% in the third quarter of 2020, 4.2% in the fourth, and 5.2% in the first quarter of 2021. By the end of that first quarter, real GDP had returned to its pre-pandemic high. All Mr. Biden had to do was let the recovery unfold.

Instead, Democrats in March 2021 used Covid relief as a pretext to pass $1.9 trillion in new spending. This was more than double Barack Obama’s 2009 spending bonanza. State and local governments were the biggest beneficiaries, receiving $350 billion in direct aid, $122 billion for K-12 schools and $30 billion for mass transit. Insolvent union pension funds received a $86 billion rescue.

The rest was mostly transfer payments to individuals, including a five-month extension of enhanced unemployment benefits, a $3,600 fully refundable child tax credit, $1,400 stimulus payments per person, sweetened Affordable Care Act subsidies, an increased earned income tax credit including for folks who didn’t work, housing subsidies and so much more.

The handouts discouraged the unemployed from returning to work and fueled consumer spending, which was already primed to surge owing to pent-up savings from the Covid lockdowns and spending under Donald Trump. By mid-2021, Americans had $2.3 trillion in “excess savings” relative to pre-pandemic levels—equivalent to roughly 12.5% of disposable income.

So much money chasing too few goods fueled inflation, which was supercharged by the Federal Reserve’s accommodative policy. Historically low mortgage rates drove up housing prices. The White House blamed “corporate greed” for inflation that peaked at 9.1% in June 2022, even as the spending party in Washington continued.

In November 2021, Congress passed a $1 trillion bill full of green pork and more money for states. Then came the $280 billion Chips Act and Mr. Biden’s Green New Deal—aka the Inflation Reduction Act—which Goldman Sachs estimates will cost $1.2 trillion over a decade. Such heaps of government spending have distorted private investment.

While investment in new factories has grown, spending on research and development and new equipment has slowed. Overall private fixed investment has grown at roughly half the rate under Mr. Biden as it did under Mr. Trump. Manufacturing output remains lower than before the pandemic.

Magnifying market misallocations, the Administration conditioned subsidies on businesses advancing its priorities such as paying union-level wages and providing child care to workers. It also boosted food stamps, expanded eligibility for ObamaCare subsidies and waved away hundreds of billions of dollars in student debt. The result: $5.8 trillion in deficits during Mr. Biden’s first three years—about twice as much as during Donald Trump’s—and the highest inflation in four decades.

Prices have increased by nearly 20% since January 2021, compared to 7.8% during the Trump Presidency. Inflation-adjusted average weekly earnings are down 3.9% since Mr. Biden entered office, compared to an increase of 2.6% during Mr. Trump’s first three years. (Real wages increased much more in 2020, but partly owing to statistical artifacts.)

Higher interest rates are finally bringing inflation under control, which is allowing real wages to rise again. But the Federal Reserve had to raise rates higher than it otherwise would have to offset the monetary and fiscal gusher. The higher rates have pushed up mortgage costs for new home buyers.

Three years of inflation and higher interest rates are stretching American pocketbooks, especially for lower income workers. Seriously delinquent auto loans and credit cards are higher than any time since the immediate aftermath of the 2008-09 recession.

Ms. Harris boasts that the economy has added nearly 16 million jobs during the Biden Presidency—compared to about 6.4 million during Mr. Trump’s first three years. But most of these “new” jobs are backfilling losses from the pandemic lockdowns. The U.S. has fewer jobs than it was on track to add before the pandemic.

What’s more, all the Biden-Harris spending has yielded little economic bang for the taxpayer buck. Washington has borrowed more than $400,000 for every additional job added under Mr. Biden compared to Mr. Trump’s first three years. Most new jobs are concentrated in government, healthcare and social assistance—60% of new jobs in the last year.

Administrative agencies are also creating uncertainty by blitzing businesses with costly regulations—for instance, expanding overtime pay, restricting independent contractors, setting stricter emissions limits on power plants and factories, micro-managing broadband buildout and requiring CO2 emissions calculations in environmental reviews.

The economy is still expanding, but business investment has slowed. And although the affluent are doing relatively well because of buoyant asset prices, surveys show that most Americans feel financially insecure. Thus another political paradox of the Biden-Harris years: Socioeconomic disparities have increased.

Ms. Harris is promising the same economic policies with a shinier countenance. Don’t expect better results.

[mohammedatallaah]

The reality of the people of Gaza:

Hello, can you help by donating, reblogging and sharing?🍉 Your donation is very important because every donation, even if it is small, matters to us in treating Mohammed, who needs a bone transplant in his left hand, and meeting the basic needs of the family and children, Amir and Malak. We need your donation and prayers for us. The situation is dangerous in Gaza,💔 tragedy, hunger and fear. Please do not pass by without contributing. My campaign has been documented by @90-ghost 🇵🇸🙏🍉

https://gofund.me/8b2ac999

🔴War: Gaza lives under the burden of repeated wars and continuous Israeli aggression, which leads to massive destruction of infrastructure and property, great loss of life, and displacement of the population.

🔴Siege: The Israeli occupation has imposed a stifling siege on the Gaza Strip for many years, which limits the entry of basic materials such as food, medicine, and fuel, and leads to a sharp rise in prices and a scarcity of goods.

🔴Hunger: As a result of the siege and poverty, many residents of Gaza suffer from hunger and malnutrition, especially children and the elderly.

🔴Fear: Gazans live in a state of constant fear due to the threats of ongoing war, security instability, and the destruction of homes and infrastructure.

🔴High prices: Due to the siege and scarcity of goods, the prices of food and basic materials are rising dramatically, making life very difficult for citizens, especially those with limited income.

In short, the people of Gaza live in extremely difficult humanitarian conditions, as they are exposed to war, destruction, siege, poverty, hunger, and fear. These conditions greatly affect all aspects of their lives, and make them live in a state of instability and uncertainty.

@fancysmudges

@brokenbackmountain

@anyonghalimaw

@zigcarnivorous

@aleciosun

@fluoresensitivearchived

@khizuo

@schoolhater

@timogsilangan

@appsa

@buttercuparry

@sayruq

@malcriada

@palestinegenocide

@sar-soor

@akajustmerry

@annoyingloudmicrowavecultist

@feluka-blog-blog

@tortiefrancis

@feluka

@flower-tea-fairies

@tsaricides

@riding-with-the-wild-hunt

@visenyasdragon

@belleandsaintsebastian

@ear-motif

@kordeliiius

@brutaliakent

@raelyn-dreams

@troythecatfish

@theropoda

@tamarrud

@4ft10tvlandfangirl

@queerstudiesnatural

@northgazaupdates2

@skatezophrenic

@awetistic-things

@camgirlpanopticon

@baby-girl-aaron-dessner

@nabulsi

@spooksier

@junglejim4322

@heritageposts

@chososhairbuns

@palistani

@dlxxv-vetted-donations

@imjustheretotrytohelp

@mnty-bubblegmyum

@nine-one-wanton

@bangpop91

@bidisasterevankinard

@typicalopposite

@bucktommyscones

@mmso-notlikethat

@rdng1230

@racerchix21

@thecarrott

@theotherbuckley

@dadbodbuck

@bibibibuckleykinard