#its war and they are children unfortunately in the middle of it all

[weepingtalecowboy]

Fanfiction prompt: considering that wind can see ghosts but instead of hiding it he thinks that everyone can see them because everyone has dealt with supernatural forces

Main while the chain is freaking out because wind keeps talking to nobody and telling them that their his friends or the most unhinged statement he is enemies with the stripes guy who always stands menacingly in a corner trying to be cool (fierce deity)

And the chain starts to worry about wind badly because that is not sane behavior

While another part of the chain (particularly twilight) doesn’t take it THIS seriously because he remembers how Colin spent weeks complaining about his imaginary friend not playing with him and that children can be imaginative especially when bored and that only making him a new toy got him to play with his friend again

And that ends up in the chain thinking that wind must be incredibly bored because they walk all day and not letting him explore and play with bugs and they decided to fix it (but quickly realized that they are in the middle of a forest with nothing particularly interesting)

Wind main while has absolutely no idea what to do with the hand made toy lobster (legend definitely can sew like have you seen him and the ton of outfits he has) or the Fact that Wolfie seems particularly persistent to play fetch ..!.,?! What is going on!? (Twilight quickly realized that he is dog shaped and he also feels extremely guilty that wind is only walking with them)

But also he definitely can’t throw it away because the legend clearly put effort into the thing and he does love lobsters

And he would rather die than let the chance pass to play with Wolfie (that guy never has fun and nobody can make him play anything and the look of pure envy from Wild was totally worth it he is Wolfie's new favorite now , screw you wild)

But unfortunately that one extra toy seems to do nothing about Wind's insistence to talk with walls

And Wolfie tries really really hard to be more interesting than the walls ( he is failing because ghosts will always be more interesting )

The second they enter a town every single link with money goes to ransack the entire town for toys

And wind catches on about their concerns with his mental state and realizes that explaining them how he can see ghosts would probably confirm to them he is crazy

He awkwardly takes the toys and rearranges them in a way that every ghost is next to a toy so that the chain can stop complaining about him because now he has the excuse that he is totally talking to his toys and not any other beings or voices or walls

The chain is happy because they can almost always see him talk to the toys and play with them (the dread they feel when he keeps naming them after dead loved ones of them is something but maybe it is just a coincidence)

Then they catch him playing a game and it’s just the lobster who apparently is named after legend and the bird who he named Marin (Wind was totally only re-enacting Marin's story because he is definitely an adult and only doing the logical thing)

Time later sees him with Wild's majora’s mask (that sits with its face turned like it’s trying not to look at someone) while Wind keeps talking about a big guy with stripes on his face and how he tried to be cool when defeating the demon (war flashbacks activated because that stripes guy seems very familiar)

And legend gets an aneurysm because that lobster story strikes way to close to home for him

They take way to long to figure out in this one (they are the heroes of courage not wisdom afterall)

[sayruq]

In January of 2024, Dr. Bara Zuhaili entered Gaza on a two-week medical mission with a U.S.-based organization, Rahma Worldwide. Dr. Zuhaili dedicated most of his time to Shuhada' Al-Aqsa Hospital in Deir Al-Balah, central Gaza. While this was not his first experience in a wartime or crisis setting — he had undertaken medical missions in Syria and was in southern Turkey during the earthquake — it proved to be his most horrific. As a vascular surgeon, he was tasked with assisting Gazan doctors in one of the ugliest tasks of this war: amputations. A generation of amputees has emerged, with over 10 children losing one or more limbs per day, on average, since the beginning of the war. Dr. Ghassan Abu-Sittah called it “the biggest cohort of pediatric amputees in history.” Even this statistic, reported by UNICEF in December of 2023, is now outdated. The true number of men, women, and child amputees remains unknown, with estimates ranging upwards of 10,000 people. It is a number that will continue to rise as new and unknown weapons destroy tissue and bone, crumbling medical infrastructures and scarce supplies force constant life-and-death decisions, while infections and chronic illnesses — largely ignored — silently kill or handicap thousands.

Is this the first time you've worked in a war zone or in a humanitarian crisis? Did any of them prepare you for this? It was not the first time. Unfortunately, I had experience in Syria, working in the underground hospitals in the besieged areas of Aleppo and Idlib. There, the healthcare facilities were also under constant attack by the Syrian regime. But Gaza was unlike anything I had seen before. To start, the supply chain was completely broken. Supplies were extremely limited in Deir Al Balah, where I was based for most of my stay. The hospital functioned at only 5-10% capacity compared to any similar hospital in the Middle East—I'm not even talking about an American hospital. Then, there were the number of patients. Just to give you an idea: Shuhada' Al-Aqsa Hospital in Deir Al Balah is only equipped for 150 patients. Under extreme circumstances, they could maybe stretch to accommodate up to 200 patients. When I arrived, there were 950 patients, in addition to over 20,000 refugees sleeping in the corridors of the hospital and its complex. Every time we experienced a bombardment, we had anywhere from 20 to 60 patients rushing in simultaneously, in addition to the patients already being treated. It was completely overwhelming and overcrowded. The third issue had to do with the type of injuries. I've seen a lot of trauma before — traumatic injuries are not new to me — but the level of trauma I saw was something I've never witnessed in my entire life. When I was in the operating room, I would get a call from the ER saying someone was shot in the leg and they needed me as soon as possible. In my mind, someone shot in the leg with a bullet would have an entry size of about five to six millimeters and an exit wound size of about two centimeters long. That is what I was familiar with. What I saw in Gaza — which I had never seen before — was literally as if an explosion, an RPG, had exploded into the leg. The entry wound would be about five to 10 centimeters wide and the exit wound would be almost 30 centimeters wide. One bullet would destroy a diameter of 10-15 centimeters… all of the muscle, bone, arteries, and nerves were all gone, destroyed.I'm not a military expert, I don't know much about weapons. But I don't know what kind of bullet can cause that much destruction. With a bullet wound in the U.S., I could get away with doing a bypass to salvage the leg. In Gaza, there was nothing anyone could do to salvage the leg. The amount of tissue damage forced me to do amputations almost every single time. 

Can you describe what a single day would look like? As a rule, anytime a bombardment happened, we would wait between four to eight hours before we received any injured people. In Deir Al-Balah, we would see the missile hitting two to three kilometers away and we knew that there were many casualties, but it would take these people — who were only three kilometers away from us — four to eight hours to reach our location. The IOF (Israeli Occupation Forces) prevented any ambulances from entering the scene, and anyone attempting to help or approach would be shot. I had many cases where the ambulance driver would come to me holding two or three kids. They were dead, and he would swear to me they were alive four hours ago. We lost a lot of lives just waiting to reach us in the hospital. Our days typically began around seven in the morning, and even though the night was filled with attacks and bombardments, no casualties would reach us before the morning. By then, we would go to the ER and try to start the triage process: determining who needs to go to the OR first and who could afford to wait. We would then perform surgeries throughout the day, often not finishing until one or two in the morning. Sometimes, if I had time, I would do my rounds to check on the patients, and by late afternoon, we would have more bombardments and injuries coming in until midnight. Usually, by midnight, things slowed down… not because there was no bombardment, but because they couldn't reach us anymore.

[strangeninjahideout]

In a world that lost its humanity and left more than 2.3 million people who were killed in Gaza, death is not as cruel as the life we prefer to live in the midst of the so-called metaphorical life.. I ask you to help me and my family to go out of Gaza and reach a safe city. We need our simple right to live in peace.

Hello world, I am Muhammad, a nurse in progress, living in North Gaza. This is my story in a few words.

Before October 7th, I was a student at the College of Nursing. I loved life and had many friends, but I lost a lot of them due to the occupation. I lost my college, my room, my home, and my sense of normalcy. October 7th was a turning point for me and my family. The war came without any previous warnings. The Israeli occupation is killing us in Gaza day by day. Circumstances are getting worse, and the suffering has reached its highest levels since the first day of this war.

November 19th was the worst day for us. We survived and came out of the mouth of death when the Israeli occupation bombed our house. Now we are homeless. We will never forget the feelings of fear and panic we experienced. We waited for sunrise to move from the place. We left everything behind—home, friends, university, childhood dreams, and my father. We were trying to survive without food, clothes, or even hope to continue this life. The family dispersed and fled to the south of Gaza, which was supposed to be a classified safe place. The explosions were happening all around us. We saw martyrs and wounded people lying on the ground, and no one could save them. The snipers were everywhere.

We will never forget what we have seen: bodies scattered on the ground, armed soldiers, and huge tanks surrounding us. The fear was evident on everyone's face. We traveled a long distance, each of us carrying a backpack with any clothes we could collect. Finally, we reached Deir al-Balah, thinking we would find safety as the Israeli occupation told us. We are currently temporarily staying with a nice family who hosted us. We are now without any shelter. We don't know what we will do next, we lost everything we had. We went to a small apartment where more than 30 people live. We had no beds or blankets. We struggled to get water and bread. Unfortunately, we are homeless.

My family members include my dad, Hassan, 47 years old, my mom, 45 years old.

And my sister, Lana, who is a mother of a newborn baby girl born at the beginning of the war. Lana lost her new home, her husband's job, and all her dreams.

Ritta, 7 years old, has been shining since her first day at school, coming to her first grades with love, vitality, and brilliance, but the occupation prevented her from playing like other children and deprived her of her friends and school.

My sister, Sama, is studying at middle school, which is supposed to be the stage of launching into the world, forming friendships, and strengthening her personality, but the occupation prevented her from continuing her education and seeing her friends. She lost many friends because the occupation killed them!

This war is still killing us slowly, and we can't go on anymore. The conditions in Gaza Strip are getting worse. There is no pure drinking water, we can't find the food we used to buy, and the prices here are so expensive that they compete with the most expensive countries in the world. There is no shelter and no safe place in Gaza.

Amidst the despair, there is a chance for survival with your generous support. We can escape the horrors of war and cross the borders from Gaza to Egypt. Your donation could mean the difference between life and death for my beloved family. One person who doesn't currently hold a passport costs between $5,000-$10,000 to reach Egypt alone and leave outside the walls of this war. If you can't send money, you can help by sharing my link.

If you got this far, I am grateful that you gave us part of your time. Please, help my family and me write a new happy chapter—one of survival, safety, and hope. Your kindness will not be forgotten, and we will be forever grateful for your support in our darkest hours.

[winterarmyy]

Until Then

A series of random Bucky Drabbles that I can't let go but don't have the brain to make the whole complete plot of.

Summary: A mission back in time brought Y/N to an unexpected encounter with the man she fell in love with.

Words: 2.3k++

Pairing: 40s!bucky / avenger!bucky x female!reader

Warnings: melancholy-ish plot line with fluffy ending

Inspiration: "You still would've turn my head, even if we'd met on a crowded street in 1944 and you were heading off to fight in the war" – Timeless (From the Vault) by Taylor Swift

Read my other works here: Masterlist

It was supposed to be a quick in and out mission. Y/N and Tony were sent back in time to 1944; one day before Captain America and the Howling Commandos deployed to their next mission at the Austrian Alps, in Europe.

The duo were supposed to retrieve some lost files regarding Hydra's hidden bunks and labs back in the days. After the fight with Thanos, there were rumours of the re-creation of Project Winter Soldier lead by an organization that once associated with Hydra. So, they need all the information they could get their hands on; including the ones that are lost decades ago.

Unfortunately for them SHIELD used to be shitty at storing physical files back in the days. To be fair they still do, especially now that technology had advanced. Every single information were at the tip of their fingers; from typical criminal records to the name of every single doctor and nurses who were present when the person was born.

They literally have everything. And nothing at the same time.

And honestly, the mission was quick as they predicted. Tony managed to scanned the needed files and some others that he thought would be important. He's extra like that too, which was a plus.

However quick the mission supposed to be, they barely make it though, especially when the guards were suspicious of Tony's apparently "hippie" beard. It was such a shame. So much for dressing up in 40's style. They kind of nailed the outfit and aesthetics, according to Steve anyway.

However, thankfully by the time they got out of the facility they managed fit right in with crowd. The wave of people lead the duo along its current, more and more people joined in to the point that they weren't able to find any quiet place to activate their time device.

"I thought we're still in WWII? Why is there fucking a parade in the middle of the day?" Tony being unapologetically sarcastic as always.

Y/N looked around as she observed, there was couple of people animatedly, albeit, excitedly exclaimed to the streak of success of Captain America and the Howling Commandos in the war.

A little to the right of them, were a group of children who were semi-cosplaying as Captain America and his dream team, passionately play-fighting with the enemies as if they were in a theater performance.

"I guess they're celebrating small wins. Steve and his team did have several successful raids since the battle at Azzano." It was in fact true; what Y/N speculated was exactly the very reason of the current occasion.

Tony simply shrugged as he stretched his neck higher to hopefully find the end the crowd, "Sure, just keep your eyes open for a place to time jump. I don't want to be stuck in the middle of another war." Y/N nodded as she looked around the sides, wondering if there's an empty alleyway that they could use.

The more sketchy looking it was, the better.

The crowd was chaotic with different mix of conversations and cheers; voices intertwining with one another, each sentences criss and crosses into indecipherable storyline. But even then, Y/N could recognized that breathy, slightly giggly laughter anywhere.

Especially when he brushed right by her.

Y/N was well aware of how madly in love she was with Bucky even with the coy cat-and-mouse game they were playing for months. She knew exactly the hold he had on her soul that at some point, she was conviced that he still would've turn her head in any lifetime.

But that idea was only supposed to be one of the secrets in her mind; the thoughts of a hopeless romantic that she was. Certainly, she didn't dreamt of the vision for it come true. But there she was, frozen on her spot when the time stood still on the crowded street in 1944; fortuitously crossing path with man she fell in love with.

There weren't any suitable explanation for this other than it was fate. In that short milliseconds, Y/N saw the resemblance of the sight to a memory of hers in the crowded room a few short years ago; his left arm slung around Steve's neck, letting his weight leaned on his super soldier friend as he let out a hearty laughter.

There were only slight difference from what she saw before and what she currently seeing; Bucky wore an all black suit at that party, now he's wearing his military uniform in a parade. Bucky was dead drunk on Asguardian mead that night, now he's as sober as a soldier deprived of liquor. Bucky's left hand was adorned with high-tech vibranium metal, now that very hand was still made of flesh and blood, still alive.

During that brief moment of revelation, she truly believed that they were supposed to find this.

Whatever this is supposed to be; Fate? Love? Both? She was not sure either.

She was so stuck on holding her gaze on his back as the young soldier walked a few steps away from her that she didn't notice how the people in the surge glared at her unmoving state or how she had been astray from Tony.

Well, at least it only lasted until someone bumped into her and she staggered backwards, inevitably fell on the ground.

Y/N groaned but quickly patted her pockets to find her time device was still there. I mean, she can never be sure if it was just an accident that she fell or someone intended to distract her while pick-pocketing her belongings.

Though other people would probably already stood on  their feet but Y/N was still on the dusty road, as she was busy recollecting her mental state rather than her physical.

That was when a calloused hand reached out to her, offering a kind help.

She didn't think twice to take his hand, let alone looking up at his face when she gripped it tight enough to make a solid foundation to push herself against the gravity, "Oh dear me! Thank you so much, sir. I really..." She lost her momentum when she met the pale blue of his eyes, "...appreciate it." She ended the sentence breathlessly.

It's Bucky. Her brain tried to let her process the thought. It was not her Bucky but still... it's Bucky. Her eyes then fell to where their skin touched. Warm and gentle. His left hand felt the exact same as his right. It made her to cave in the urge to hold it a little longer, to savour the memory of what it could've been; not that she weren't fond of his vibranium arm but curiosity can be such a fickle thing.

Bucky smiled, "Glad to help, my lady." And oh dear does he smiled effortlessly, freely; as if he knew he deserved to feel joy in his life.

Even if she didn't want to, she had to let go of his hand after a few seconds too long of holding it when she was already up and ready to go. She returned his smile though her heart was barely tough enough to stop the spreading of its cracks, "Really, I can't thank you enough."

In reality, it was probably unnecessary to thank him that much for helping her to get back on her feet, but Y/N wasn't really thanking him just for that.

Unbeknownst to him, she was thanking him for not holding back a smile, for not overthinking about the things he might have done to draw a conclusion that he was undeserving have the luxury to smile, for unapologetically just living the life he supposed to have.

She thanked him for it.

Bucky chuckled amusingly as he slightly titled his head to the side. A charming pull on the corner of his lips revealed a smile that could swoon anyone on sight, especially her.

"Well, we're having a little party tonight before deploying to Europe tomorrow. So, maybe you can thank me by letting me bring you to the dance? How about that, doll?" She almost forgot that Steve was there next to him, until Bucky references the word "we".

And especially when his words might just pulled Y/N's heartstrings in ways that she could never thought someone could do. It was awfully slow, almost too delicate of a pull, but each inches of it pained her deeply.

If it was up to her, she would've said yes a million times over but she knew she can't. And the voice in her earpiece reminded her of it, "Y/N, we gotta go." Tony urged as he watched her from the corner of the street.

Y/N tried her best not let her facial expression flatter, "Unfortunately, I can't. I'm going back to my hometown today." It wasn't exactly a lie when she made that excuse.

"Ohh, I see. You're not from here, huh?" Bucky was very honest as his reaction clearly showed his disappointment. Though not at her, just at the situation.

Her brows briefly crunch into an apologizing plead before she boldly grabbed him by the collar of his uniform, slightly pulled him down to her level, while the other hand cupped one side of his face.

She tiptoed herself upwards as she pressed a firm yet sweet kiss on the smooth skin of his cheek and whispered against it, "But, I hope this would do."

Lost for words, heck, Bucky was lost for thoughts. What was left was his own heart thumping hard and loud that he bet Steve can hear it from where he was standing. His cheeks became warmer by the second and the redness spreads even to the tip of his ears.

Of course he had his cheek kissed before, but not like this. None of them felt like this. They were always too fast, too hasty.

Hers was different. It lingered a little longer, gently leaving her imprint on him. He can feel her grip on his collar, the stroke of her thumb on his cheek and of course the soft pressure of her lips on the other side of his face. He could everything so particularly.

Bucky was rendered speechless even after she pulled her lips away; it was too soon for his comfort. Eyes wide open, his lips slightly parted as he let himself lost in the pleasant surprise.

He thought she would parted herself and ran away feeling embarrassed, but she did the very opposite. Y/N lead his forehead to lean on hers, tip of their nose grazed, and her lips hovered above his.

So close, yet refused to merge with one another.

Y/N whispered quietly, as if she was talking to herself, "You'll be fine, James. You'll find home in the future. I promise."

Her voice trembled as Bucky just noticed how wet her eyes were becoming. With that amount of tears in them, he wondered if her sight were all blurry now.

Y/N took in a shaky breath before continuing, "You just need to survive the winter and trust me at the end of that season, you'll reach the sun again." Her thumbs softly traces his cheeks as she spoke.

Bucky didn't quite understand what she was saying but if he loosely translate it, it would mean that 'she believed that he'll be back soon after the war'. But then again, he felt like there were some major things that was missing from the context that he came up with.

Y/N's earpiece send another transmission of Tony's voice, "Okay, seriously. Come on, Juliette. Your other Romeo is waiting for you." She couldn't help but to smile as she closed her eyes, letting the excess tears fall down to her cheeks.

She didn't want to say goodbye, as she knew that this was not where their story ends, at least not his; that's for sure. So, she simply smiled up at him with a reassuring look in her eyes before stepping back. She then, briefly turned her attention to the dumbfounded Steve, gracing him with a similar smile before walking away.

It was just a few steps away when her hand was caught in between someone's, "Hey!" Y/N looked over her shoulder to see Bucky; wide eye, blinking in disbelief and blushing red, all at the same time, "WiIl... Will I see you again?" He asked, though hesitant; wondering if he was being rude.

Compared to what she had done to him, he was just being too polite.

Y/N chuckled dearly, "Of course." Then she replied confidently, "I owe you a dance after all." Her lips parted into a cheeky grin.

Bucky let out a sharp relieved sigh as his lips mimic hers, "I'll look forward to it, doll." He slightly bowed as his hand pulled hers closer to his lips, "Until then." He placed a soft kiss on the back of her hand as his gaze remained on hers.

Apparently, it was Y/N's turn to blush to his antics. She stepped back shyly as her cheeks brightens before scurring away. Maybe, Bucky was right with his prediction prior. She did ran away feeling embarrassed after all.

She jogged towards the next corner of the street, meeting up with Tony. The older might have eyeing her in a teasing manner, but his smirk was the biggest giveaway. Y/N simply rolled her eyes, even if her lips maintained its shape from the aftermath of her encounter with Bucky.

As they entered deeper into the alleyway, Tony spoke, "I gotta admit, young terminator was a hottie. Not hotter than me, of course." he claimed.

Y/N frowned, letting out a scoff, "What do you mean "was"? He still is." Call it bias, but at least she was telling the truth.

Tony shrugged, "Meh. Would argue to differ. But, whatever that floats your boat, I guess?" Tony sassed as they clicked on the time device at the same time, revealing a swirlling portal, in front of them.

Y/N quirked her brow, her hands on her hips, "You're just jealous that he aged like a fine fucking wine and you don't." She purposely challenged his ego.

Tony dramatically rolled his eyes, "Please. He wishes." He walked into portal with an attitude, making Y/N laughed at his childish acts.

She looked back at the alleyway one last time and reminisce the last moments of a past that she never belong in. As she walked into the portal, she thought that maybe, it's time to pay her debt to Bucky.

End.

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: The start of bucky drabbles because why not. This is considered a drabble for me because i feel like there's lack of story building. But, you tell me. And did you enjoy it?

[queenvhagar]

The writers are trying real hard to push the “modern feminism” narrative in a fantasy universe that revolves around a medieval setting. I hate that Alicent and Rhaenyra are in a middle of a civil war and they ’re all acting like no bad blood happened. They both lost loved ones but be like let me reconnect with my former bestie first. They both should feel rage and annihilate everyone who stands on their way. Alicent selling Aegon out is a fine example of character assassination. A Hightower noblewoman whose world revolves around family, power, and prestige then risking it all to rekindle some sort of bond for her petty childhood friend.

The series is so completely divorced from its setting. There is no pacifism or feminism in this world, unfortunately. War is glorified and a means to safeguard family honor. Comparing this so-called war to the ones in Game of Thrones only highlights this fact. Tyrion Lannister is taken captive, so the Lannisters declare war to get him back. Ned Stark is beheaded and Sansa held hostage, so the Starks declare war to get justice. Stannis and Renly separately want to press their claims despite a king already being crowned and sitting the throne, so they have to declare war to take it from him. There's no hesitation about using their hosts in battle and defeating the enemy armies. There's no hesitation in sacking towns. This is how medieval warfare works and its accepted that this is how problems are solved.

Instead HOTD has Alicent's second son permanently disfigured and disabled by the enemy, her honor insulted by her husband the king, her young grandson beheaded in his bed and his mother psychologically tormented. Alicent would want war and the annihilation of her enemy. HOTD has Rhaenyra lose two children, a father, and a throne to the Greens. She should also want war and the death of those who wronged her. Instead we have "sisterhood transcends houses and medieval sensibilities" and "good people are pacifists."

[candycandy00]

Serve Me, Save Me - A Sukuna x Reader Fanfic Part 1

After Ryomen Sukuna inadvertently saves you while killing his enemies, you decide to devote yourself to him as a servant. But the trauma from the attack triggers panic when you find yourself in his bed.

Part 1 | Part 2

Smut (not much in this part). 18+. Slow burn. Softer Sukuna than I’ve written before but he’s still a monster. True form Sukuna. Rape and its aftermath feature prominently as a plot device but rape does NOT occur between Sukuna and Reader. Features PTSD, panic attacks, etc. 

If you’d like to be tagged in future parts (I have no idea how many there will be), comment to let me know! You must have your age in your bio or intro post or just tell me you’re an adult in the comment! Likes are appreciated but comments and reblogs (especially with feedback in the tags) make me feel all warm and squishy! Seriously any feedback at all is so wonderful! Divider by @benkeibear!

You ran through the village as fast as you could, fleeing the men armed with swords who were currently cutting down everyone their blades could reach. They spared no one, not women, not the elderly, not even children. Your parents were among the first victims, your younger brother next. And all you could do was run for your life. 

This village was supposed to be safe from attacks like these. After all, it was under the protection of Lord Ryomen Sukuna. Your village worshipped him, and in turn he cut down any who would attack it, most often in nightmarishly brutal ways that served as warnings to his potential enemies. That’s why this attack was so shocking, so unimaginable. Who would dare? 

But Lord Sukuna was away, conquering some other town, bringing more enemies under his foot. Someone sent a shikigami to notify him of the attack, but who knew when it would reach him, or if he would even bother coming to the village’s rescue. 

Even though you and your village honored him as a deity, none of you were stupid. You were under no illusion that he actually cared about the people of the village. But he did care about his reputation, his pride. And an attack on this village was a clear declaration of war on Sukuna himself. Surely he wouldn’t tolerate such blatant disrespect. 

You reached the outskirts of the village, where a small shrine had been erected for Sukuna. There was a much bigger shrine for him in the village proper, but this one was well cared for despite rarely being visited by him. 

The shrine was the size of a modest home in the village, enough room to house at least five people comfortably. So you had plenty of room to hide inside it, closing the door behind you and trying to be perfectly silent. You thought you had outrun most of the attackers, having stopped hearing pursuing footsteps several minutes ago. 

But you were wrong. 

The door slammed open, and four men stomped inside, kicking and breaking things as they came, gleefully flaunting their disregard for Sukuna’s shrine. They went straight for you, and you prepared yourself to die. You closed your eyes and waited to be cut down. 

Unfortunately for you, these four men were in no hurry to kill you. 

*******************

When Sukuna received word that one of his villages was being raided, he went there immediately to see what fools would intentionally earn his ire this way. He didn’t really care how many villagers were slaughtered, but he was intensely annoyed that anyone would have the gall to attack them when they were technically under his “protection”. 

As he moved through the village, he sliced up the attackers into increasingly small pieces. It took no effort at all, barely a thought, and they were reduced to tiny chunks or ribbons of bloody flesh. 

He found a gang of them in his shrine in the middle of the village, making a mess of the place, the shrine maidens murdered. It was a direct insult to him, so he slowed down, took his time, sliced up their limbs and left them to writhe on the floor in pools of their own blood. He could come back to them later, force them to tell him who their leader was. If any of them survived long enough, he could enjoy making examples of them. His mind was already coming up with creative ways to display them outside the village, preferably still alive. Their screams of torment would work well to discourage future attacks. 

As he moved through the village at a leisurely pace, picking off the remaining enemies who had scattered like insects before his wrath, he remembered the smaller shrine to him. It was on the outskirts of the village, but if the attackers ransacked his main shrine, there could very well be some of them in the smaller one. 

When he reached it, he immediately heard screaming coming from inside. A woman’s voice, crying, in pain. He walked inside almost casually, and leaned against the door frame. The people inside didn’t even notice him at first, so caught up in what they were busy doing. 

Four men were in a half circle around a young woman, clearly a villager. She was naked save for some ripped pieces of clothing here and there that clung to her, and one of the men was presently thrusting into her while the others held her down. She was screaming, struggling, trying to break free of their grasp, but it was futile. She was covered in bruises, scratches, even a few cuts from their swords. Her lip was busted and bleeding, one eye already swelling, and various other small injuries littered her form. 

“Having fun in my shrine, I see,” Sukuna said. 

All of the men froze, then slowly turned to look at him. Whatever they had heard about Ryomen Sukuna, they were still unprepared for what they saw: a tall, monstrous man with four arms and four eyes. 

The one raping the village girl pulled away from her and stood up. Before he could pull his clothing back on, his body was chopped into twenty different pieces, his blood splattering all over his comrades and the girl on the floor, who screamed and scrambled to get away from the carnage. The other three men were foolish enough to draw their swords, but they were all just chunks of meat on the floor before any of them could take a step toward him. 

Finished with his task, Sukuna turned to leave, but then he heard a small, frightened voice say, “Thank you, Lord Sukuna, for saving me!”

He looked over and saw the girl bowing low to the floor, her bloody, violated body trembling. 

Saving her? She’d already been brutalized before he arrived. Ah, but the four men would have killed her, probably after raping her several more times. He responded with a dismissive wave of his hand. He’d had no interest in helping her, but if she was “saved” as a byproduct of him killing his enemies, so be it. 

He left the shrine and returned to the center of the village to speak to the survivors. He would need to tell them to clean up his shrines, and he supposed he could give them assurances that the enemies would suffer unimaginably for their crimes. 

For the next week, Sukuna remained in the village, torturing the lone survivor among the attackers into giving up the name of the man who ordered the attack, as well as overseeing some of the repairs to his main shrine. The villagers brought him gifts and offerings, heaping praises onto him for protecting them, even though he’d done very little in that regard and the attack had come in the first place because someone wanted to challenge him. 

One day a young woman appeared at his shrine, her beauty quite striking despite the faint bruises and small scars that dotted her skin. She bowed after being led inside and into his presence. 

“I’ve come to offer myself in service to you, Lord Sukuna,” she said. “You saved my life. It’s only right that my life belongs to you. I would be happy to work in the shrine, prepare your meals, whatever tasks you need done. Even if you choose to kill me for your amusement, I am eager to serve.”

He was sitting in a seat custom built for his large frame, one elbow propping up his head as he leaned onto his hand. He grinned down at the woman. He quite liked this type of submission. “Stand,” he told her, so that he could get a better look at her. 

Just then, he recognized who she was. The girl who was gang raped in his smaller shrine. She looked quite different now, fully clothed with her hair neatly pinned back. “Why offer yourself to me?” he asked. 

She glanced up at him, and he made a motion with one of his hands to signal she was allowed to look at him and speak. 

“I really do feel that my life belongs to you, my Lord,” she said. “And I have no life in the village now. No man will take me as a wife after… after what happened.”

Ah, yes. This village, as well as several others, had the ridiculous custom of requiring brides to be virgins. Sukuna himself never understood it. He’d fucked virgins as well as mothers of several children, and in his opinion the mothers were far more satisfying. But he didn’t really care what their customs were, so he made no rules when it came to things like that. 

Looking at the young woman before him, he thought to himself that the men of this village were fools to pass up a beauty like her for such a stupid reason. No matter. 

“I accept your offer,” he told her, gesturing for her to go deeper into the shrine, where rooms were available for servants. 

She bowed again. “Thank you, my Lord.”

*******************

Walking through the shrine where Sukuna spent most of his time in the village, you feel a sense of relief. After your ordeal during the attack, there were precious few options open to you. The two most obvious ones were becoming a servant or joining a brothel. The latter option was something you just couldn’t bring yourself to do. The thought of sleeping with strange men brought too many horrible memories to the front of your mind. 

You were not naive. You knew that being Lord Sukuna’s servant meant you would probably end up in his bed at some point. But you’d given it a lot of thought. Sukuna was away from the village quite often, and he had other servants he used for such purposes. You decided that you could handle occasionally being bed by one man better than entertaining several men every night. 

And… Lord Sukuna was a god. He was extraordinary, and he was beautiful. If you did have to sleep with someone, better him than anyone else in the village. 

That had been your mindset at the time. Just survive. Just make the best of a cruel situation. Shove the nightmares and trauma to the back of your mind and try to live out your life in relative peace. 

The first few days at the shrine were uneventful. You swept floors, washed laundry, and sometimes helped in the kitchen. You saw Lord Sukuna often, but had little interaction with him besides pouring sake for him a few times. 

All that changed on the fourth night. You were on your knees in the hallway, mopping the floor with a rag, when Lord Sukuna stepped out of the bathing room and walked down the hall. He wore a simple white robe and nothing more. His hair was still wet, water droplets dripping down his neck and to his chest. 

He stopped beside you, looking down. You paused your work and bowed low, waiting for any instruction he might have for you. 

“You,” he said in his smooth voice, “Come to my chambers within the hour.”

Fighting the urge to look at him, you kept your head down as you said, “Yes, my Lord.”

He walked away, and you hurried to finish up your chore as your face burned and your heart pounded. You didn’t think it would happen so soon, but you supposed it was inevitable. 

As you freshened up in your room, smoothing your tied back hair and changing into a robe slightly nicer than your work clothing, you tried to calm your nerves. You kept telling yourself you could handle this. You hadn’t been intimate with anyone since the attack, and honestly the thought of it terrified you, but this was different, wasn’t it? This wasn’t just any man, it was Lord Sukuna! A god to your village! Being invited to his bed was a great honor.

When you walked into his chambers, he was standing by an open window that stretched from floor to ceiling. Sheer curtains were swaying in the warm breeze of the summer night. While yours was not a seaside village, it was quite close. You could have walked to the beach in around an hour. As such, the smell of the ocean often drifted in on the wind. 

He turned to face you, and his tall, powerful form looked imposing. The room was well lit with oil lamps, making every detail of him clearly visible as he untied the silken belt around his waist and opened his robe, then let it slide off his shoulders. 

You couldn’t suppress your gasp. Standing nude before you was the most magnificent being you’d ever seen. He looked like a statue, like he was cast from smooth stone. Muscular, with black tattoos lining his body, he stood with two of his four hands on his hips, one holding the robe he’d removed, and the last touching the back of his neck. Four piercing red eyes sat above a very confident smirk. 

Confident because he’d noticed exactly where your gaze had settled. Between his strong thighs hung two enormous cocks, not even hard yet and already intimidating. You probably should have been frightened of him, of his unusual body, but at that moment you could only think that he was beautiful, that he was divine. 

“Disrobe,” he commanded, and you fumbled with your own sash, hurrying to untie it. Then you opened your own silk robe and pulled it off. You were not especially shy, but you did feel a bit self conscious in the presence of such a perfect being. 

His eyes moved up and down your body, seemingly pleased with what he saw. He stepped closer to the bed, and motioned for you to join him. When you reached it, he pushed you onto your back, and you felt your heart racing as he climbed on top of you. 

At first, you thought you were merely excited. You could feel a slickness between your thighs, and were relieved that you were even still capable of being aroused after everything that happened. But then two of his hands grabbed your wrists, pinning them to the bed, as his remaining hands moved over you, groping and squeezing your flesh. 

Your breaths became rapid and shallow as unwanted memories invaded your mind. You desperately wanted to avoid thinking about the last time you were naked and pinned down while other hands roughly explored your body, but the sensations were there, the fear was there, imbedded in your mind, burned into your body. 

At some point Sukuna had pushed your legs apart, and you felt two ridiculously large erections brushing across your body. You shuddered, images and sounds from that terrible day flooding your mind. Multiple shadows looming over you, men’s voices laughing and mocking, hands grabbing you, hitting you, hard cocks tearing their way inside you…

“No!” you suddenly screamed, bucking against Sukuna’s grip. 

He didn’t hear you, or he didn’t care. His mouth was on your neck, his hands still holding your arms in place. 

You jerked again, trying to close your legs. “Please stop!” you cried, tears bursting from your eyes. “Lord Sukuna, stop!”

At this point you were full on panicking, struggling against his infinite strength, screaming incoherently, sobbing when you ran out of energy to scream. You knew this would anger him. He would probably kill you, but you couldn’t help it. Your brain was full of vivid memories of the worst moments of your life, and you could do nothing to dispel them.

***************

Sukuna had planned to have an enjoyable evening at his shrine. He’d had a fantastic meal and a relaxing bath, and his plan was to fuck one of his servants before getting some sleep. Considering there were several beautiful servants currently living at the shrine who were all eager to please him, this should not have been a difficult plan to work out. 

So why the fuck was the woman beneath him shrieking and crying as if she was being murdered? She had seemed fine just a few minutes ago, not showing even a hint of reluctance even upon seeing his twin cocks. In fact she had seemed quite enamored with them, her eyes drawn to them while her face became flushed. When he’d first laid her on the bed and begun touching her, she was noticeably wet. 

Now she was hysterical, causing him to stop touching her, though two of his hands still had her wrists pinned down. When she realized he had paused, her screams died down and she laid there, panting, staring up at him with terrified eyes. 

Oh. It was her. He’d almost forgotten. He’d invited her to his bed simply because she’d happened to be there in the hallway and looked pretty on her I knees in front of him. He’d given no thought to her history, to what had happened to her during the attack on the village. In all honesty, he really didn’t care what had happened to her. She had voluntarily become a servant in his shrine, knowing what that would entail. 

It wasn’t as if Sukuna had never forced himself on a woman. It was rare, as there was simply no need for it. He could go to any of the villages that revered him and have women vying for the honor of pleasing him. But occasionally he used it as a way to punish his enemies, taking their wives in front of them. In most cases, the wives ended up moaning and cumming on his cocks while their pathetic husbands were forced to watch. 

In even rarer instances, so rare it had only happened a handful of times throughout his life, he had forced himself on powerful Jujutsu sorceresses who had tried to defeat him. Those cases were not even about sex for him, but about power, about dominance, about conquering their bodies to assert who was strongest. There was a thrill in breaking them. 

Looking down at the sniffling, teary woman in his bed, he felt no thrill whatsoever. There was nothing exciting about conquering something so weak, breaking something that was already broken. With a sigh of annoyance, he climbed off her and stood up. 

“Leave me,” he said, picking up his own robe from the floor and pulling it back on. “Your blubbering has made my cocks soft.”

The woman scurried out of his bed, then immediately dropped to the floor in a low bow. “Forgive me, Lord Sukuna!” she cried. “It hasn’t been very long since… since I was…” Her voice trailed off. 

“Since you were raped, I know. I saw.” 

Her face reddened. Was she ashamed that he’d witnessed at least a small part of the assault? Another thing about ordinary human women he didn’t understand. Why was she ashamed of the actions of others? Ah well, it didn’t matter. 

“I haven’t been… with a man… since that happened,” she continued, her eyes on the floor. “I beg for patience, my Lord. I’m sure that after some time has passed, I won’t be so frightened.”

He sighed again. He would have preferred for her to simply leave his chambers without a word rather than prattle on about her problems. “Fine, fine,” he said, waving one of his hands dismissively, “now go. I’ve suddenly grown bored and sleepy.”

The servant quickly pulled her robe on, saying, “Thank you for your mercy, my Lord!” before rushing out the door. 

Mercy? Sukuna scoffed. He’d simply found her annoying and sent her away. He considered sending for another servant, but he was no longer in the mood. So he sank into his bed and let sleep take him. 

[viridwns]

Short drabble I will write into a fic.

Tw: Douma (I think I'm so funny for doing this)

You lived in a pretty isolated village. It was ik the middle of a forest with the neighboring village being a good 5 day travel distance.

Everybody knew each other, and your community was pretty tight.

You loved the place that was your home. Being the village doctor's daughter, you knew your way around the woods and the many properties it possessed. Like healing herbs and poisonous plants. You knew them all by heart.

There was only one problem with your village.

It was plagued by a monster. A human eating, demanding, blood thirsty monster. It comes at night, haunting the streets that were full of energy during the daytime, now deadly silent.

This monster has been torturing your village since before your time. There is no record of it, no visible evidence of how it looks. There has been only one witness to the monster who killed himself only mere days after coming into contact with it.

He said it was the devil. A monster wearing human skin to allure maidens into its den and consume them while they're still breathing.

It had a honey sweet voice, giving you a false sense of security. And that never faltering grin of it, showing off its pearly white canines that have carnaged hundreds.

The man was left alive to send a message.

The monster would leave the village alone if they could provide him with a, preferably female, sacrafice every full moon.

This agreement was set long before you were born. The village chiefs had tried everything to avoid it, but carnage would fall upon the village if it got broken.

To avoid civil war, the village chief made a sacred rule on who would be chosen as sacrafice.

If anyone broke a singular law, they would become the sacraficial lamb.

Of course, there were times unfortunate souls came stumbling upon your lovely village.

They would never make it home.

You found the whole ordeal awful. Although you never worried about being picked, you did pity the souls who were.

The sacrifices ranged from wife beaters to children stealing bread because they were hungry. Even speaking up against the village chief and his family could get you a free ticket to the afterlife.

Trying to leave was of no use. In one way or another, you'd winde up dead. By a human hand or a monster's, it all would end in the same fate.

Even if you could leave, you couldn't bare the thought of abandoning your duty as a medic.

You held too much value for your village.

They, apparantly, didn't hold you close to their hearts as you were forced out of your home and tied to a tree.

The village chief's son was standing opposite of you, laughing.

This couldn't be because you rejected his romantic advances, right?

Oh that petty motherfucker.

Night dawned, and you were still trying to wriggle yourself loose. The chief, his son, and two other men were keeping an eye on you. They made sure the package got delivered.

You tried to stiffle your pained groan as you pulled both your thumbs out of their socket to glide them through the tight rope around your wrists.

The sun had set, and you bolted.

You knew you couldn't outrun them and, of course, the fear of running into the monster had you searching for a hiding spot.

It began to rain, both an advantage and a disadvantage.

You eventually hid under a tree. The roots sticking above ground far enough for you to have forced yourself under.

You held still when the four men were right next to the tree you were hiding under. You could only hear their voices, the rain making them almost invisible.

You noted a new voice joining the conversation. The others seemed to freeze at this person's presence.

You waited for the first rays of sunlight to come out of your hiding spot.

You were tired, tense, dirty, and hurt. Adding dehydration and hunger to the mix made you collapse in the middle of the woods. An area you were not familiar with no less.

You were found by people in strange robes. You couldn't even protest as they took you to their home.

They nurtured you, gave you a place to stay and recover. It didn't take long for them to tell them about the cult they were in, where you were housed.

You didn't really care for it. As long as you could stay, get fed and be away from the village that betrayed you, you didn't mind.

In return for their help you stayed as the cult's nurse. Playing along with believing in their founder was a small price to pay, you just wanted to do your job again.

It wasn't for weeks until you actually met the leader of the cult.

You couldn't help but stare a little.

He had outwordly eyes and strange hair, but by the lord was he handsome.

He wanted to get acquainted with the new nurse. It would be rude of him not to officially welcome new members.

He was strange to you. Always smiling, childish, but caring.

You didn't know what to think of him.

He seemed familiar though.

You swore you have never seen the man. You would surely remember someone as charming as him.

But his voice, you swear you've heard his voice before.

It was honey sweet, and whenever he talked to you, you felt safe.

Maybe it's just your mind playing tricks on you.

[old-school-butch]

following the tent massacre, my question is, what should Palestinians do to be safe? What should women and children do to ensure their own survival? If they're told somewhere is safe only to be bombed in their tents, what hope do they have of surviving this war?

Unfortunately, very little. This is why war is so terrible - if only the people who agreed to fight were hurt then I would happily let them go at it. But when you plan for war, you are inherently accepting the deaths of so many innocents. That does not seem to weigh on leaders as heavily as it should.

There have been multiple proposals from Israel about where Gazan civilians can be safeguarded during this war but Hamas doesn't play by any normal rules. Normally, when you set up civilian areas that means that soldiers don't set up combat operations in the middle because that automatically makes it not a safe zone. Israel had proposed creating civilian safe zones in the Sinai peninsula but Egypt rejected the proposal out of fear that a) what if Israel doesn't let them return and they become Egypt's problem and b) Hamas would just follow their civilians into Egypt and start a whole other war since they already cooperate AND fight with IS jihadists based there, so Egypt would end up in a 3 way fight with terrorists and they'd much rather all this be Israel's problem.

So instead camps were setup in Rafah since Hamas' base of operations was further north. However, rockets are being fired at Tel Aviv out of Rafah now, so it's now clear that Hamas has established operations right in the middle of their civilians, putting Israel in a dilemma of how to safeguard their own civilians while removing this threat.

The only thing civilians can do in a war is be as far away as possible from combat. International law regarding combat make this obligation really clear to all combatants involved, which is why Israel is getting blasted for pursuing Hamas into Gaza. But since Hamas isn't a real government, they aren't held to the same standard and that's a problem no one has a good solution to. In the big picture, if using civilians as human shields means you get to win a war, then the terrorists really do win and we will all face non-stop terrorism because they will keep winning with this exact strategy.

But as an individual, if you know Hamas is keeping hostages near you or setting up rocket launchers next to you, your life is in immediate danger. But Hamas is not above terrorizing its own population, and women in Gaza have almost no political power so they are stuck here. Ultimately, Hamas needs to be overthrown and that can happen through Israel but it can also happen when the civilian population has had enough of a leadership that is so thirsty for violence. I mean, ideally, people might also become more wary in the future of voting bloodthirsty leaders into power but those lessons seem a long way off.

Having said all that, I don't agree with Israel's assault on Rafah. Yes Tel Aviv is under missile attack but the Iron dome protects civilians there while some re-grouping can happen to also protect civilian life. While freeing hostages was a clear goal, the theory of victory (i.e. what does it mean to 'win' or meet your objectives) to engage in this war with the goal of regime change is really tenuous. It's really not clear to me how that would happen and even whether Hamas' replacement would be any better.

I think in the face of terrorist and non-state actors, states need to re-think how wars are going to work in the future. You can't have one side that will do ANYTHING to save its civilian hostages facing another actor who appears ruthlessly willing to let their civilians die and not see that concluding this conflict is going to be bloody and prolonged. Israel hasn't really faced this kind of war before and I don't believe they are well prepared for it. For that matter, I don't think the world has a clear, successful strategy to handle terrorists and so far attempts to battle ISIS or al Queda have been similarly bloody and inconclusive. This is, of course, why these groups are spreading so rapidly - because killing civilians (your own an your opponents) until your non-terrorist opponent feels sickened at the slaughter and stops fighting you... works. The fact that Israel gets blamed for it is just icing on the cake.

One of the biggest problems with wars is that once you start them, they are very hard to stop. This is because only one side has to want war to begin it, but both sides have to want to end it. In particular, the loser has to decide they've had enough or the threat they pose to their opponent is ended. I remember watching the celebrations happening in Gaza on October 7th and wondering why these doomed people were cheering the start of war. If Hamas is literally willing to fight to the last civilian, when will they say enough?

[pinkdogplushie]

The ending of My Hero Academia was good, but flawed

And it was not so much disappointing as it was unsatisfying

I think its main flaw is that it tried to wrap up all plot threads except Izuku's. Everyone finds closure, achieves their dreams and finds new goals in life, but Izuku never does: he 'lets go' of the OfA embers, which on itself is not a bad move, except that he does it at graduation, and we never see him even try to be a hero without his powers. This goes against what the entire manga has been trying to say from the beginning, that a hero doesn't need powers to be heroic, only the instinct to save and protect; and yet, when "the greatest hero of all time" didn't have his powers anymore, he never even got the chance to be on the field. He was only able to rejoin through a mechanical suit 8 years after graduation.

Now, again, this on itself isn't a bad narrative move. Given the ending's emphasis on being realistic over being idealistic, you could have Izuku be faced with discrimination against being a Quirkless hero and eventually having to become a teacher to have any work at all. You could show him try to make the best out of his lot in life and yet still be bitter that the world is not ready for a Quirkless hero despite all he has done. You could have him be inspired to help someone else become the Quirkless hero he wants to see in the world and vowing to keep his fight even after returning to the fray of active hero duty.

But none of that happens. Izuku just seems content with not having powers anymore and not being able to perform in the field he sacrificed so much to join. You could say he mourned the loss of his powers and came to terms with his new reality over the 8-year time skip, but it would have been nice to actually see that. He doesn't seem to be even fighting for a cause anymore, not like his classmates are. Shoji is working on peaceful resolutions to conflicts, Uraraka and others are working on providing proper Quirk education, and Izuku... is just a teacher. His sole moment of inspiring someone else is a random encounter with a hero hopeful with a 'weak Quirk' who nevertheless has a better chance of becoming a hero than Izuku himself has. After being portrayed as a force for change throughout the entire manga, Izuku has become stagnant, complacent and seemingly resigned to his fate.

In short, Horikoshi did him dirty.

Now, not everything about the ending was bad. Yes, Mineta is shown to have become a hero despite seemingly never changing as a person, but Shinsou and Aoyama become heroes after all their struggles. Yes, Ochako lost Toga and didn't end up with Izuku, but she has clearly grown as a person, is working to save kids from going off the deep end because of Quirk discrimination, and probably has moved on from her high school crush. Yes, Endeavor is unfortunately still alive, but his children have made it clear they don't forgive him just because he's really regretful, he's out of the field for good and Shouto is respected as a hero in his own right. Crime rates are going down not because there are more heroes, but because heroes are going after the roots of villainy rather than just fighting the symptoms.

So yeah, the MHA manga ending isn't bad.

It just could have been better.

...And that's why I decided to write my own ending.

I present to you, my Epilogue Arc AU:

Aoyama rejoins Class 2-A after 6 months of self-reflection and individual Quirk training when Mineta is expelled in the middle of their second school year due to Aizawa realizing the guy is still a pervert even after surviving a war. Oboro is also returned to life, just with his old Quirk severely modified. Additionally, UA decides to keep the dorm system even after the danger of All for One has passed. 

The constant companionship and support of his friends convinces Izuku to be selfish for once in his life and keep his embers alive past graduation so he can be a hero by his classmates' side, like he has done all this time. He manages to work full-time as a hero for four years, during which he prepares himself for the eventual disappearance of his powers. He mourns the loss of One for All and starts fighting to become a Quirkless hero, but Hawks tells him that unfortunately Japan is not ready to accept one yet, no matter how much Izuku's fought. After reaching a low point, talking with Yagi and Aizawa gives him the strength to keep fighting to make Quirkless heroes a reality one day.

One day, he receives a call from his agency's doctor, who had been helping him manage his diminishing powers. Research conducted during his brief stint as a full-time Pro Hero reveals that, while One for All is gone, Izuku's DNA was irreversibly altered by its presence, which was necessary for it to be transferred from holder to holder. Because of this, he has a simple Quirk with the potential to hold and manage astounding amounts of raw power, which Yagi apparently also has but was unable to notice due to One for All's overwhelming presence and the need for secrecy in regards to it. Izuku decides to name his Quirk Stockpile.

Stockpile is a combination of Yoichi's original transference quirk and the stockpiling one he got from his brother, and behaves like a normal Quirk: it can't host Vestiges nor pass on extra Quirks, and it can only be 'transferred' and combine with others' Quirks through reproduction. Nevertheless, Izuku is not able to use it like he did One for All, only being able to generate very brief flashes of energy throughout his body that don't last long enough to enhance his natural strength and speed, much like what happened with Yagi after losing his embers.

Izuku is amazed at how much technology has advanced to allow for this discovery and happy to know that, in the end, One for All was always meant to become his own Quirk. But he still wants to semi-retire, unwilling to start experimenting with his body or take a new prescribed form of Trigger in order to turn a spark into a flame. He decides to become a teacher at UA, aiming to inspire future generations to become heroes regardless of their Quirks or lack thereof.

Four years after his unofficial retirement, Izuku gets a gift from Yagi, his mother and the rest of 1-A. Thanks to the data gathered through the Armored All Might suit and with the help of Eri's Rewind, Hatsume Mei has created a suit that kickstarts and enhances Izuku's Quirk, restoring his strength and speed to near their original levels without compromising his health. This opens the possibility that Stockpile could return to full power on its own if it's 'jogged' regularly. However, Izuku realizes he is satisfied with his life as it is now, even if he never becomes as powerful as he was in high school again. For now, he is content to return to active hero duty while still being a teacher, and continue bettering society alongside his friends and fellow heroes.

[henrysglock]

Hi can you plz help me to understand. My feed is mainly talking about Palestine, showing the atrocities happening, wanting Palestine to be free and I agree the Palestinian civilians should be safe and the bombings and attacks should stop. But I’m failing to see why people aren’t caring about the Israeli civilians as much? They are also being killed, many innocently at a music festival only to never return home again. But it’s like no one cares about them bc they’re they enemy! But they’re not they’re innocent people. Just like the Palestinian people are. And I kinda get the war between both but also what happened was over 70 years ago most of the people living there now weren’t there 70 years ago so why should they still be talked about as though they’re the enemy when living in Israel is all they’ve known? It shouldn’t be just swept under the rug no and I know everyone isn’t just going to stop and make up and hold hands singing songs but It’s 100% the governments problem I just don’t understand why people now are failing to sympathise with the Israeli victims? And why some Jewish people/celebs are being made out to be bad people just bc they speak up on what’s being done to their fellow Jews? Not sure if you’ve seen Brett’s ig but he’s been very vocal and if I’m honest does seem quite extreme but ppl like Noah just seem like he’s upset and worried and doesn’t want harm to come to either side but ofc he’s going to show support to Israel when he’s been there to learn more about his religion? Idk what to believe in terms of news anymore bc some seem very pro-Palestine and others pro-Israel and some switch between both every other day. It’s just all very confusing but it has made me a little sad to see not many people talking about the innocent Israelis who have lost their lives and are still in the middle of all this too… sorry if this is too much I just needed to say it to someone :/

Okay, anon, I think I know where the disconnect lies: scale.

1,400 were killed in the attack on Israel, and that’s a horrible thing. Loss of civilian life is never a good thing.

However. Over 5,000 and counting Palestinians have been killed by the Israelis just since the Hamas attack. That’s not including the 70+ consecutive years of occupation and mistreatment continued mistreatment enacted on them by the Israeli government (It’s not something that “happened 70 years ago”, anon. It has been constant). They have been and are being driven out of their homes; their lives, livelihoods, and land are being stolen out from under them. 70 years’ worth of children have been and are being murdered or left as orphans.

Here are some numbers just since 2000:

And there is no “both sides”, here. There is no “war”, Anon, because Palestine has no army, while Israel is backed by the governments of most western countries, the US army included. They have the backing of the most powerful army in the world…against a people with no army. Palestinians, anon, are defenseless. Israel is bombing their hospitals and schools. It’s an unceasing massacre. Gaza is an open-air prison. The Palestinians cannot escape the violence.

So yes, it’s deeply unfortunate that Israeli civilians were killed, and I sympathize with those who were hurt by that attack, emotionally and/or physically…but they are not victims of genocide, here.

Palestinians are.

That is why we’re more vocal about Palestine, anon. The scales aren’t even close to the same.

This isn’t even going into the fact that Hamas was founded and funded to destabilize Palestine. To quote Avner Cohen, an ex Israeli official: “Hamas, regrettably was Israel’s creation”. Meanwhile, the current PM of Israel, Netanyahu, has said “Anyone who wants to thwart the establishment of a Palestinian state has to support bolstering hamas and transferring money to hamas. This is part of our strategy—to isolate Palestinians in gaza from Palestinians in the west bank.”

Israel’s blood is on its own hands.

[faejilly]

hello!! absolutely adore your writing <3 no worries at all it not, but may i request an alternate pre-series meeting in canon / canon-adjacent where valentine is actually dead? always very curious about how malec’s relationship might change if they met and started dating Not in the middle of a really intense war lmao, so i thought maybe their first meeting would be a good starting point? but don’t sweat it if this doesn’t strike the fic muse <33

asdfjklgh thank you! so this MORE THAN struck the fic muse, but I got distracted by a tangent as to how it all Got Very Different™️and have not actually introduced Malec to each other as of yet but if you'd like some Magnus going what the fuck? at the Clave actually being competent this will hopefully be entertaining. AND ISTG I will get to Malec meeting! Eventually?

A familiar flare lit up his apothecary, and Magnus reached out to catch the fire message. The flames sparked brighter, and he blinked away the after-images as something heavier than he'd expected solidified between his fingers.

A single sheet of paper, cleverly folded up to resemble an envelope and keep the message inside; there was the unfortunately familiar black curl of a rune along the edges.

Magnus grimaced.

It was probably some horrifying form letter designed to intimidate him into something that was not remotely his problem, but he was going to have to clean up regardless. Shadowhunters didn't request things, they ordered, and brow-beat, and the only reason they got away with it was because they treated everyone equally terribly, including themselves, and to be quite fair to their militaristic grand-standing, the world was continuing to not be overrun by demons, so it seemed to be working for them.

Even Valentine hadn’t made much of a dent in their self-righteous arrogance. The Lightwoods hadn’t lost possession of the Institute they’d killed to get, buying clemency with their children, from what he’d heard, which was even worse than typical nephilim parenting. Despicable, ev–

He blinked. That wasn't the New York Institute's watermark, it was the Inquisitor's.

He tilted it to let the light from the windows spill across it, but that was very clearly the silhouette of a Demon Tower behind two crossed blades, not the broken stone the Clave had required the New York Institute to use after the Uprising to signify its failure to uphold their so-called sacred duties.

He huffed out a breath in not quite a sigh, and felt a frown starting to form between his brows. It was easier to deal with Inquisitor Herondale and her people than the Lightwoods. (She at least hated Valentine as much as the downworld.) But that didn't mean a formal letter was likely to be a good thing. Whatever had happened in the aftermath of Valentine's attempted coup had been kept very quiet behind Alicante's borders, and everything the downworld got to see had returned to business-as-usual.

He rolled his eyes, because nephilim, but ignoring one of their summons made them even more petty and obnoxious, so he turned it over to unfold.

And stopped again upon seeing how it was addressed.

High Warlock of Brooklyn Senior Scholar of the Spiral Labyrinth Ambassador of the Accords The Right Hon. Magnus Bane

They'd used a fountain pen and written in proper uncial calligraphy and if he hadn't known that the magic for fire messages didn't work on animal skin, he might have thought they'd used actual parchment rather than what must instead be a very high quality paper stock.

"Huh." He peered down at the letters, trying to think if he'd ever seen a nephilim address a notice to a downworlder in the same formal terms they used amongst themselves. And then almost dropped the whole damn thing when he realized that the initials scribbled across the fold in lieu of the wax seal that would have prevented the fire message from activating properly were IWH. And in the exact same calligraphy as the address.

"What the fuck." He spoke aloud, louder than he'd expected or intended, almost loud enough to startle himself even as he flung the whole thing out and away.

He watched as it fell to the floor, and he stared at it.

It still just looked like paper.

It had to just be paper, the rune to send it wouldn't have worked otherwise, but High Inquisitor Imogen Whitelaw Herondale had written on that with her own hand and sent it to Magnus as if he was an equal and what in all seven hells was that about?

He stepped sideways, unable to convince himself to look away from those initials even as his fingers scrabbled across his desk in search of normal paper and pen to send a message of his own.

Ragnor, could you please indulge me with your thoughts for a moment?

He'd half expected he wouldn't get an answer, not even another fire message or a call on the phone in the other room; Ragnor had been even more of a hermit than usual since the Uprising. (Not that Magnus could fault him for that. If he wasn't a High Warlock he probably would have disappeared into the countryside somewhere as well.) But instead he felt the familiar press of Ragnor's magic against his wards as a portal opened almost immediately in the foyer.

"Apothecary!" Magnus called out, still staring at the paper on his floor.

He heard footsteps, felt Ragnor's magic approach, could even see the shadow stretching towards him when Ragnor paused in the doorway. "Ah, you got it too?"

That finally made Magnus blink, the hold of the strange message broken. He turned his head and lifted his eyebrows.

Ragnor shook his head. "I think you need to experience it for yourself."

Magnus snorted, but stepped forward, picked up the paper, and this time he unfolded it and began to read.

And then read it again.

And again, even as Ragnor came to stand beside him.

"What the fuck," he repeated.

Ragnor grunted, apparently not having any more idea than he did.

"Do you think it's real?" Magnus asked, and he could hear the almost plaintive whisper of something he couldn't pretend wasn't hope in his own voice.

"Only one way to find out." Ragnor's voice was dry, but gentle. There was hope hiding in his voice, too. "Shall we?"

*

It seemed real the next evening.

They arrived in front of the New York Institute to find Theo and Gretel from the closest Werewolf pack already there. A pair of fae nobles Magnus didn't recognize, both in full Court regalia, one Seelie and the other Unseelie, arrived a few minutes later, just after the last lingering blush of daylight faded, escorting Raphael and Lily who were here for their Clan.

Magnus almost asked if any of them knew what the fuck was really going on, but did in fact retain his composure and instead just lifted his chin to wait. (He had to admit, even if just to himself, that he was glad Camille was off somewhere being Camille rather than here in New York to represent the vampires and make this whole situation even more uncomfortable.)

They didn't wait long.

The double doors to the Cathedral swung wide open, rather than the main entrance that led to the central hub of the Institute and the Heads' Office. The High Inquisitor herself stepped out, and fucking bowed to them, and Magnus made a small noise of disbelief that he would deny to his dying day if anyone ever asked. (He didn't think anyone would, however, as he had not been the only one. In fact he was pretty sure the only one who hadn't betrayed their surprise was Ragnor, though the fae had managed no more than a slight shift in posture or positioning.)

"We have set up precautions so all may enter." Herondale paused, and tilted her chin towards Ragnor and Magnus. "I understand if you wish to verify before anyone tests my word?"

Magnus stared at her. She'd just admitted that they had no reason to believe her. She'd admitted it out loud and didn't even sound upset about it.

Ragnor bumped his elbow, and Magnus tucked it all back behind his High Warlock mask. He nodded back as formally as he could manage before lifting his arms and letting his magical senses expand.

There was something inside that was still warded enough to prevent him from being able to tell what it was, but its power was passive rather than active, so it wouldn't be able to be turned against them without warning.

There was also an echo of banked power that felt suspiciously like Silent Brother -and- Iron Sister -and- Soul Sword which was a thing the letter had mentioned but he hadn't been sure he'd believed; (especially that it was only there for Herondale to swear on rather than to be used against the rest of them, somehow). Beyond either of those, it was also very clear the resonance from the Angelic Core had been banked, somehow, the blessing to make the ground hallowed had been covered and muted, and it was entirely safe for any downworlder to enter, regardless of age or power level or wards.

He couldn't quite resist a glance at Ragnor, whose expression indicated he was right there with Magnus and his inexplicable conclusion. Ragnor managed to imply a shrug with the shift of his eyes, and Magnus turned to their fellow downworlders. "She's correct, the building is completely safe for us to enter."

He refrained from suggesting that the nephilim in the building were trustworthy, as they'd all already decided to take that risk when they'd shown up in response to Herondale's summons.

He supposed the fae might not have decided so much as been ordered, but regardless. They were already here. And it was time to see if the rest of it was true.

The rows of pews were nearly full of nephilim in mourning white, more than Magnus suspected usually served in New York, all of them eerily silent, heads politely bowed just enough to lessen the weight of their attention on the entering downworlders.

Behind the chancel, in the raised choir stands, there were additionally about a half-a-dozen black-clad guards, an Iron Sister in gleaming white, a Silent Brother in his bone-dull robe, and the Soul Sword itself, the ruby glinting in its hilt.

To the left of the altar were half-a-dozen nephilim children roughly equivalent to elementary school aged Mundanes, only one of whom had the steady glow to Magnus' senses of a runed Shadowhunter rather than the flickering eldritch taste of angelic potential that the young ones carried before they received their first Mark.

Except for one small red-head just under ten who was familiarly blank, and he realized that the Inquisitor must have found the Fairchilds because that was young Clarissa, still under the power of the wards her mother had paid him to build for her.

He hoped Dorothea was safe, wherever she was. He hadn't felt her magic break, so at least he was reasonably sure she was still alive.

He swallowed, let his gaze skip over the draped stand centered on the aisle in front of him, and focused instead on the dozen adults opposite the children, each with a visibly red Circle on their neck, their shoulders all stiff in the distinctive posture of prisoners whose hands were chained behind their backs. Some of them he didn't know at all, a few were only vaguely familiar, but then there was Jocelyn herself, and Starkweather, and both Lightwoods, and someone who looked eerily similar to the Consul himself.

There was one man beside the rest with his hands cuffed in front of him instead of behind, his Circle rune dark and quiescent rather than inflamed, a Chinese Shadowhunter standing next to him, close enough the white of her sleeves brushed against his arm, with neither a Circle rune nor any restraints on her at all.

"Thank you for coming on such short notice." Herondale spoke up after giving them all a moment to look around, and without another word she turned her back to eight potentially hostile downworlders and knelt before the Sword.

The Silent Brother lifted his hands, the pressure of his attention clear even when he didn't say anything. The Iron Sister lifted the sword, balancing it gracefully in such a way that it tilted gently down from her grip until the tip almost rested on Herondale's forehead. The ruby glowed, and the flare of angelic power was strong enough to sizzle against Magnus' skin. Carried along with the magic was the Silent Brother's intent, and the Inquisitor's voice filled the Cathedral, both inside and outside his head, resonating in his bones and his blood.

"The traitor Valentine Morgenstern has been killed, and the only surviving nephilim members of his Circle are here to face their final sentencing, as witnessed by the Downworld Leaders of New York City, in this the soul of the New York Institute, a place most wounded by his actions. This truth I swear, upon the Angel Raziel and His Mortal and Immortal Instruments, as High Inquisitor of Alicante and Idris, Commander of the Gard, Elder of the Clave and Council, Head of the Herondale Family, Blooded Shadowhunter and Mother of Soldiers, Lady Imogen Whitelaw Herondale."

Magnus swallowed, ignoring the burn in his eyes and the faint taste of copper down his throat.

The Soul Sword compelled the truth from the nephilim, but all it required when they swore upon it was that they believed in whatever truth they spoke.

This ritual was something else entirely. The balance of the magic he'd just witnessed, a trio of complementary powers braided together, Brother and Sister and relic, knowledge and skill and power, secrets and vows and faith, with each separate piece enhancing the other two, meant that Herondale couldn't have sworn on something that was untrue at any level, even if she'd personally believed it all the way down to her bones.

"Well, fuck me."

Magnus snorted, barely stopping himself from giggling (possibly slightly hysterically) at Ragnor's sotto voce reaction. Not that he'd been thinking anything any more eloquent.

It was real.

*

The rest of the meeting was less dramatic. Even whipping the cover off the stand in the middle to reveal Valentine’s head encased in silver-edged glass had been less shocking. (Well, to the warlocks and fae, at least. Vampires and werewolves weren’t quite as able to feel the way the ritual had invoked truth magic against the nephilim, so being able to examine (and presumably scent) proof that Valentine was dead was a bigger deal for them.)

The former Circle members were all going to be deruned, exiled, and imprisoned, each alone at a different Institute so they couldn’t work together and their status could be verified by downworlders whenever they wished, unlike traditional prisoners kept in Alicante at the Gard.

There were two exceptions. One: Lucian Graymark, now Luke Garroway, was a werewolf, and the nephilim abdicated their authority and explicitly left his punishment up to the downworld itself. Second: the man who’d been standing slightly separate from the other prisoners, Patrick Penhallow, who had avoided participating in any of the Circle’s true atrocities and was the one who had discovered Valentine was alive and hiding with the presumed dead Herondale heir and promptly informed Imogen personally. He was still to be exiled from the Clave and Council for punishment, but would be allowed to continue as a Shadowhunter and would, in fact, be staying in New York City where he would be an official liaison to the downworld.

But only if the downworld representatives summoned agreed.

Magnus wasn’t complete sure which part of that was supposed to be mercy and which part was punishment, but he was surprised enough at the validation offered to himself and the other representatives that he did, in fact, agree to it along with everyone else.

That wasn’t even the last surprise though.

No, it got better.

Worse?

Magnus wasn’t sure anymore. He was going to tell Catarina about this and she wasn’t going to believe a single damn word he said.

Instead of re-opening their Academy in Alicante, the nephilim were going to train their children at the Institutes, and would include exposure to and lessons from former mundanes and current downworlders. The children there in the chapel for this meeting were the orphans of the Circle, whose parents were all formally being removed from their bloodlines, and this new generation would be raised in New York City.

Imogen Herondale herself was going to be acting as Head of the New York Institute with Jia Penhallow (Patrick’s wife, who had not ever been part of the Circle) as her Co-Head until such time as as the downworld agreed that the next generation of nephilim seemed sufficiently un-Circle-like and one of them could be appointed.

(That wasn’t, of course, how she’d said it, but it was clear enough.)

Magnus was mostly in shock and just nodding along at that point.

When she’d confirmed that the downworld was reasonably accepting of all of that, and had even told them how to contact Patrick directly with any questions or concerns, she slipped into something that looked like parade rest, and without a bit of warning that Magnus could recognize, the entire chapel-full of nephilim all stood at the same time, chanted “ante faciem Angelus” all together, and then they bowed, too. All of them, each with a hand over their heart, respect and responsibility and something that felt like an apology ringing through the air. From nephilim. To downworlders.

“Fiat justicia!” Herondale called out in response, and the nephilim filed back into their institute, and the black-clad guards very politely escorted the downworlders the other direction and shut the big fancy doors behind them, and Magnus was blinking at Ragnor in the street outside the Institute again.

“What the actual fuck.” Gretel broke the silence first.

Magnus started laughing, and nodded in agreement. That absolutely covered it.

The Clave had said they’d dealt with the Circle, and requested the downworld’s input, and claimed that things were going to be different this time, and it was all really, truly, completely, real.

[heliads]

Separation

Based on this request: "Y/n is Bree’s Twin Sister. Y/n is dating Wyatt except her parents didn’t know, one night Wyatt snuck in at midnight until her parents saw and took him away. Her friends teamed up & went to get Y/n & told her they will save Wyatt. Y/n told her parents that Wyatt is not a monster he is the love of her life & her parents accepted their relationship."

a/n in the original request sent to me by someone on wattpad, wyatt was literally jailed for being seen with reader (and he proposed at the end??) so great liberties were taken to,,, not do that,,,

masterlist

It is very important to be normal in a town such as this one. Seabrook fosters its complacent children, nourishes them on the drink of supposed independence and keeps them hemmed in by clipping their wings each and every time they try to fly. This is not a place of doers, only of dreamers. Sometimes that’s enough for people. Sometimes it isn’t.

It makes no sense that a town blessed with the two perfect parts of a story, the monsters who run wild and the heroes who live vicariously through them, would cut themselves off from a wonderful existence by trying to separate one half of its populace. The zombies were the first to be kicked aside, and although they were tentatively welcomed back recently, the werewolves are the next to be removed.

Tensions are highly fraught, nerves as tightly wound as a spool of wire. One day, they’re all going to snap, and then what will come of your perfectly manufactured town? The supposedly perfect ones have all taken up pastels as their chosen colors; the blood will not wash out easily, the stain will always be seen.

War has forever been a distant foe, however, an ending that both parties would rather avoid. Conflict only leaves scars, it never heals. Both the monsters and the townspeople prefer to find a solution that doesn’t avoid fighting. It is unfortunate, then, that solutions from both sides are so drastically different.

The humans want a more palatable existence. It is easy to forget that people are different if you force them to blend into your society. They’ll be forced to cut away every part of themselves that doesn’t fit within the ‘normal’ box, and after that, everything will be fine.

The zombies and werewolves, on the other hand, want to be proud of themselves. They desire a life for them, not for the humanized versions of themselves. Is it really so much to ask for a world that could stand to look them in the eyes for longer than a second? Yes, Seabrook whispers back, yes it is.

That leaves everyone in some sort of transient middle ground, a constant escalation of tensions that can only end badly. Everyone’s waiting for the pin to drop, the first blow that will finally let the battle begin in earnest. All anyone needs is an excuse, and then things can really get going.

In the meantime, while everyone waits for proof that they were right all along, you’re doing your best to imagine yourself in a world that’s significantly more welcoming. You were one of the first to greet the zombies with open arms and hearts. You befriended Zed, Eliza, and Bonzo along with your close friend Addison and your twin sister Bree.

Everyone told you that you were making a mistake for trying to get to know the zombies, but you can gladly prove them wrong now. Zed and the others are some of your best friends. Sure, you might not have green hair to match, but that doesn’t stop you from having the exact same sense of humor or spirit to do well in school or sports. They’re good people, and the fact that they aren’t human should not be enough to automatically disqualify them from the life they deserve.

Now, you’re doing the same thing with the werewolves. Funnily enough, Zed initially distrusted the werewolves once they first arrived, but you’ve never doubted them. They’re just another group in Seabrook, ready for a shot at making the life they want so desperately.

You’re not just interested in the welfare of the werewolves for the sheer purpose of making new friends, though. Truth be told, you’re far more attached to one werewolf in particular than any other, and that boy would be Wyatt Lykensen. It only took you a few weeks to start liking him in earnest, and ever since you’ve been unable to let him go.

As it turns out, Wyatt feels the exact same way. You don’t know that you’ve ever felt happier than when Wyatt first asked you out, but now you get to experience that same joy every single day that you can wake up and know that he loves you just as much as you love him.

The only problem is that the rest of Seabrook does not feel quite so delighted with the whole affair as the two of you. Seabrook may avert its eyes when letting werewolf students through the door of its high school, or tolerate neighbors who aren’t human with all the barely restrained impertinence it can manage, but it draws definite lines in the sand when it so desires.

This, as it turns out, would be one of such instances. Addison, Bree, Zed, and the rest of your friends all know about the fact that you’re dating Wyatt, but no one else does. That’s as much for your personal safety as the threat of judgment. You know it’s for the best, but you hate feeling like you have to hide the best part of your life like some terrible secret.

It’s eating away at you, the constant spread of white lies designed to shield you. You end up spending sleepless nights thinking about what it could be like to live in the bright light of the truth, to exist in a world that wouldn’t hate you just for who you love.

On one of such nights, you can bear it no longer. The rest of your family is asleep, so you have no qualms about texting Wyatt. You didn’t ask him to visit, but when you hear a series of sharp raps on your window within about ten minutes, you certainly don’t mind throwing open the sash and letting Wyatt in.

His arms are around you in a matter of moments, and just like that, you feel infinitely better.

Wyatt laughs against your hair. “Lonely, are we?”

You swat him on the shoulder, but you can’t find it within yourself to put much ire into the gesture. “You’re the one who rushed over here.”

“Yeah,” Wyatt says, very pleased with himself, “I did. I’m very glad I did, too. I couldn’t have my best girl moping around for no reason, could I?”

“No,” you smile, “you couldn’t. I’m glad you came.”

Wyatt nods, pulling away slightly so he can get a better look at you. “What’s wrong, Y/N? You’ve been so strong this whole time, what happened?”

You sigh. “I’m just sick of all this, you know? I hate running around and hiding. I just want to love you without having to feel like I’m committing a crime. Is that really so bad?”

Wyatt lets out a slow breath. “You know I want you more than anything, and if you feel like you want to tell people, I’d do it without a second thought. I just need to know that you’re not going to get hurt by this. I don’t want people talking badly about you behind your back.”

You grimace. “That’s going to happen anyway.”

Wyatt gives you a lopsided half smile. “Doesn’t mean it’s right.”

“I know,” you begin, but your voice drops off when Wyatt holds up a hand.

“Wait, what was that?” He asks.

Your brow furrows. “What was what?”

Wyatt cocks his head to the side, listening hard, and his eyes widen. “Someone’s coming.”

You feel a knot of panic twisting in your stomach. “You have to go. Now!”

Wyatt starts to lunge back towards the window, but it’s too late. The door to your room is flung open, and you’re greeted with the terrifying sight of both your parents standing over the threshold.

Their faces contort in twin expressions of horror. “What is he doing here?” Your father demands.

From the emphasis he puts on the pronoun, you’d think that your father was referring to a convict or criminal, not a fellow student, and especially not the boy you love.

Wyatt’s face pales. “I’ll be going now. Sir.”

Your father shakes his head. “Not a chance.”

Before either of you can do anything, your father grabs Wyatt by the arm, pulling him back out of your room and down the hall, where they disappear out of sight. You try to follow them, but your mother holds you back. No matter how much you plead for her to let you go, she stands firm until you can hear nothing more.

They refuse to tell you what happened to Wyatt. In fact, you have no idea if your boyfriend is even alright until school the next day. You show up to Seabrook High in a state of complete disorder. The entire night, you were plagued with fears that he had been seriously hurt, all because you missed him.

Addison rushes to your side the second she sees you. “Y/N, are you okay?”

“You look terrible,” Zed asks helpfully. He changes his tune once Addison elbows him sharply in the ribs. “Ouch! I mean, you look scared. Is everything alright?”

“No,” you say miserably, “I was up late talking with Wyatt last night and my parents found out. My dad dragged him out of my room and I have no idea what happened to him. I’m terrified that–”

Your voice breaks off, and your friends’ faces twist in expressions of identical horror. Before anyone can try to lie and assuage your fears for the time being, the doors to the school open and the very boy you’ve been wanting most to see walks in.

If Zed thinks you look terrible, Wyatt must be on an entirely different level. The hollows under his eyes are dark, and he shuffles as he walks, like something had happened to him to stop him from being able to stand or even exist normally. What’s more, as he limps past you, he averts his eyes, and puts as much distance in between the two of you as possible.

Even though the two of you have been previously hiding your relationship, you have at least been able to be friends. Wyatt avoiding you now is certainly not a good sign.

Zed winces. “I’m going to figure out what’s up with him. You stay here.”

You don’t know that you could move if you tried. Addison pats your shoulder sympathetically. “Hey, I’m sure it’s going to be okay. Don’t assume the worst until we know for certain what happened, alright?”

You nod haltingly. “I think it’s going to be pretty bad regardless. Look at him, Addison. He won’t even acknowledge that I’m here.”

You watch as Zed approaches Wyatt. Although you can’t hear exactly what is being said, you can see that Wyatt looks unwell. He moves slowly, unwilling or perhaps unable to commit to any great display of strength.

Soon enough, Zed is jogging back to you. “Your dad took him to the Z-Patrol,” he relates, “they shook him up real good.”

Your hand flies to your mouth. “Is he okay?”

“Not really,” Zed winces, “but he doesn’t blame you, trust me. He made me promise that I’d tell you that. It’s just that they are watching him to make sure he doesn’t get any closer to you, and he really, really doesn’t want to find out what they’d do to him if he broke that rule.”

You lean back against your locker, feeling completely devastated. “This is all my fault. I shouldn’t have brought him to my house. I knew exactly how it would turn out.”

“No, you didn’t,” Addison says soothingly, “none of this is because of you. Wyatt knows that, we all do. Wyatt made the choice to show up. Besides, I think I have an idea as to how we can fix this.”

You glance at her questioningly. “And how’s that?”

Addison allows a small smile to cross her face. “We petition the Z-Patrol themselves. I’ve had my experience of wrangling with them back when I first started dating Zed. Trust me, I can get them to leave you and Wyatt alone.”

You nod. “Let’s do that as soon as we can.”

After school you, Bree, Addison, and the rest of the friend group hurry over to the headquarters of the Z-Patrol. Addison leads the way inside, and you take the fact that the chief officer groans upon seeing her arrive as proof that she has indeed spent a lot of quality time getting her way in here.

“What do you want this time?” The officer asks, irritated.

Addison crosses her arms across her chest. “I need you to back off of Wyatt Lykensen.”

“No can do,” the officer grumbles, “the L/Ns said they wanted him kept away from their daughter. That would be you, I’m assuming?”

You nod when he points at you. “Yeah, and I want the restraining order gone. He’s not a danger, trust me.”

The officer glowers. “Rules are rules. I’m not lifting that thing.”

Addison’s brow furrows. “We’re not leaving until you do. Wyatt is a good person. Get rid of the order.”

It only takes half an hour of Addison badgering the officer for the order to be removed. According to her, that’s a personal best, which makes you wonder just how long she’s been in there before. She certainly seemed confident that you would succeed, if that’s any indication.

Once you have signed and documented proof that it’s alright for you to see Wyatt again, you all but sprint back to the home of the werewolves. Willa greets you there, and although she looks hesitant to let you inside, she backs off quickly when she sees you’ve got proof that it’s alright for you and Wyatt to be together again.

“He’s been absolutely crushed by this,” she whispers as the two of you walk, “although I have to say that you look pretty rough too.”

“I just want him back,” you say, “he didn’t deserve any of this.”

“I know,” Willa says after a pause, “but you didn’t either. Come on, he’s right in there. Go give him the good news.”

You don’t make her repeat it. You rush into Wyatt’s room. It takes him a few moments to realize what’s happened and that it’s okay to be together again, but after that initial discovery, he’s beaming ear to ear. He catches you up in a hug and you can finally, finally start feeling better again.

You spend quite a bit of time just talking with Wyatt and making sure that he’s alright. After that, he insists on walking you home. All goes well and you’re having a wonderful time just being with him again until the two of you linger a little too long at your door and your parents show up again. They look ready to throw a fit again until you hold up a hand. This time, you’ll be standing your ground. 

“Don’t,” you say decisively, “I’m not leaving him. I don’t care what you do, I don’t care what you do, I’m not leaving him.”

Your father’s face is stony. “He’s a werewolf.”

You fold your arms across your chest. “And, unfortunately, I’m not. It would be extraordinarily cool if I was, but I’m not.”

Your father blinks in surprise. “But you were born a human?”

“And Wyatt was born a werewolf. Neither of us can change, so we don’t hold it against each other. Why should you?”

Your father opens his mouth to argue, but your mother steps forward again. “You’re sure you love him?”

You nod. “More than anything.”

By your side, Wyatt breaks out into a radiant smile, one that can’t be stopped even when your father directs the full force of his glare towards your boyfriend.

Your mother nods once. “Alright, then. If you’re so sure, why would we stop you?”

Your father blinks in surprise. “What?”

Your mother spreads her hands. “I’d rather know it’s happening than have these two sneaking around our backs all the time. Besides, we haven’t actually seen Wyatt do anything wrong yet, have we?”

It looks like your mother may have felt more than a small shred of remorse over sending Wyatt away that night. You’re certainly not going to argue against it.

You beam at Wyatt as your parents walk back into the house. “That actually went pretty well.”

Wyatt chuckles. “Yeah. I like it when you try to be intimidating. It’s very cute.”

You pretend to frown. “I thought I was doing a good job of being scary.”

“To anyone else, maybe,” Wyatt grins, “I can see right through it, though.”

You arch a brow. “Can you really?”

“Very much so,” Wyatt assures you. To prove it, he pulls you in for a kiss. Your spirits are lifted just like that.

disney tag list: @rogueanschel, @lovesanimals0000, @thatfangirl42, @amortensie

[unhonestlymirror]

Technically speaking the modern state of Israel practices settler colonialism insofar as it follows a policy of ethnonationalist/religious favoritism of one group - Israeli Jews mostly descended from post-1945 immigrants from Europe and many nations throughout the Middle East - over another, the Palestinians, the people indigenous to the land Israel now inhabits, who have lived on that land for centuries prior to the mass immigration of Jewish settlers outside of Palestine. Taking land from an indigenous population forcibly to give to another is the definition of occupation; as a Ukrainian, you should be more familiar with that than most. From an anthropological POV Israel is as much of an occupier state as the US, Canada, or Australia, and any credible historian, anthropologist, and political scientist would confirm as much. Citing one (1) Israeli historian is a weak argument; visiting Egypt five times/Jordan once/"speaking with Egyptians about Palestine" or whatever even more so. I personally like your blog and I appreciate your insight into the Russian invasion and occupation of Ukraine, and I believe Hamas is as harmful to the people of Palestine as any other terrorist organization and do not support them, but your recent posts come off as terribly arrogant and performatively pseudointellectual, especially your conflation of anti-Zionism with anti-Semitism, which is a red herring logical fallacy. People are angry with Israel not because they love Hamas, but because Israel is murdering thousands of innocent civilians in cold blood and in disproportionate measure to the original attacks. People are not endorsing Hamas, they are pointing out that occupied and aggrieved people will inevitably fight back against their occupiers, absolutely have the right to do so, and unfortunately may turn to drastic measures to do so. I suggest with all due respect that you do more research on why exactly Palestine has grievances with Israel and perhaps show more empathy and grace to the people of Gaza than you have thus far, because all you've done so far is cry "anti-Semitism!" and argue that Palestine actually does deserve all of this death and terror "because Hamas", and it's getting tiring. After all, anyone could argue that Ukraine deserved all the shit it's gone through in the past decade, because you've consistently chosen corrupt and greedy politicians in democratic elections, and "most people in Ukraine speak Russian anyway, so maybe Russia does have the right to take Ukraine back, I mean historically Ukraine has always belonged to Moscow, and Ukraine doesn't have the right to fight back because it's not a legitimate state" ad nauseum. But nobody does that, because that's stupid. Yet you feel entitled to pass such judgment on Palestine because of Hamas and it shows your utter hypocrisy and lack of understanding on the matter in its entirety. Do better.

Wha-

This is an astonishing accusation.

First of all, yes, I highly recommend you to read

These

Three

Texts

I still highly recommend you to read Nadia Lipes, who is not just some historian but a world-famous Ukrainian-Jewish historian, a genealogist, who created a huge Jewish genealogy database, who helped a lot of people to find their relatives killed by nazis or communists or someone else.

I've already written multiple times why the russo-Ukrainian war and Israel-Palestinian war are not the same at all, although they are connected through russia, which finances both of them. As well as many other genocides, but it's not the point.

"The Palestinians, the people indigenous to the land Israel" - are you telling me that Jews are not indigenous of Judea, with Rachel's Tomb and stuff???

They bought the land back. They didn't take it by fire and sword. Palestinians were pretty okay with it until soviet union started financing hamas.

"Disproportionate measure" - oh come on. I've never heard about Israeli raping Muslim women. En masses. Burning them alive. Shooting children etc.

"Occupied and aggrieved people will inevitably fight back against their occupiers, absolutely have the right to do so, and unfortunately may turn to drastic measures to do so."

Is this what you call fighting back? Have you ever heard about Ukrainians doing to russians the same things Hamas and Palestinians did to those poor people on festival?

Charred remains and a CT scan of the remains show a parent and child who were bound together and burned alive on Oct. 7. Two spinal columns—one of an adult and one of a child—can be seen in the scan. The pair were likely embracing as they burned.

Could you please tell me when have I ever said that "Palestine actually does deserve all of this death and terror "because Hamas"? Could you please tell me when have I ever said this? What Palestine has to go through is horrible because they are literally LDNR of the Middle East.

"Anyone could argue that Ukraine deserved all the shit it's gone through in the past decade because you've consistently chosen corrupt and greedy politicians in democratic elections [...] But nobody does that because it's stupid." - Ahaha. Nobody does that, you say? Then whom do you quote? You clearly haven't talked with people enough. Also, lmao, bringing the corruption topic? When Hungary, Slovakia, Netherlands, Poland, Germany, UNITED NATIONS AND INTERNATIONAL RED CROSS exist?

The only person who is showing utter hypocrisy and lack of understanding right now is you, dear anon.

You may not trust me, but you should trust Nadia Lipes and Rami Aman.

[ao3wasntenough]

I am seriously crying writing angst not Sam in tfp.

From my observation if we fused bay and prime time. Tfp take place one or two years after revenge of fallen, and that incident quite big at same time Sam change into cybertron. And I can guess government want autobots to hide and side Sam part of cybertron government hide him also and and government kind want 'poking' Sam , optimus definitely not like it so he take action and the best action to make government stay away is that isolation, isolated Sam from all humans and he meant all it's meant all. And it's work government stopping poking Sam.

Optimus actually can sneaking to Sam meet his parents but unfortunately mearing is they aliason/ambassador and she very strict and even not like gollway, mearing more fierce to get what she want. So in that situation optimus hands are bound

Until Fowler becoming they new ambassador, and while Fowler is strict , he willing to broke rules and hide things for them (in limited things of course) Fowler considering as 'easy going' , optimus actually planning to Sam meet his parents again but well decepticon active again, the kids also he not sure about Sam meet his parents again after years, optimus fear that Sam parent rejects Sam and lead Sam into more depression.

And well optimus never forget who was Sam, he actually keep remember that Sam was human and not stuck permanent in middle of war. Optimus actually feel guilty that he can give best things to Sam and like it or not optimus feel failed to protect Sam despite all things he did. And when Sam say that he wish they never met it's broke his heart but optimus accept Sam hate to him because he feel Sam losing everything because of him.

it wasn't meant to work out like this.

"I'm sorry Witwicky. It may just be a case they've left the country or changed address or and contact details one to many times and haven't been updated yet" fowler rubbed the side of his neck. The open lack of a answer probably hurt Samuel more. More for his mind to ruminate over in sleepless nights.

Optimus truly wanted it to work. Wanted to give Samuel slight comfort or a fulfilled wish. for his long battle to connect as ambassador for them and human government again to give him something in return. Optimus cant recall the last time Sam asked for something for himself outside of materials or information to aid them all.

Optimus watch Sam's shoulders for the drop of grief, the bend of ache he was no doubt feeling. Primus knows how Optimus felt like that himself. So maybe it was worse it never happened.

"You know" he shrugged, "It happens, hard to keep an eye on everything right? even a hyper surveillance country can loose a few right?" his shoulders raised like he was releasing tension or trying to seem unaffected. By Fowlers own deepening frown Optimus wasn't the only one not buying it.

Samuel seemed to judge Fowlers reaction at loss, he didn't turn back to see Optimus's reaction. Putting his hands in his pockets he twirled to the Hallway only he and Fowler had access to.

Even if Samuel and Fowler had warmed to the children being in the base they seemed content to leave Samuel his own retreat amongst them all.

He shouldn't let Sam walk away, Optimus knew he needed to tell his friend he would keep trying, pushing, reaching out. That he couldn't let Sam think Optimus Prime had put his first Human relation on the backburner amongst new changes to the live they had lived with each other.

"Samuel I-" he was cut off, Samuel didn't even turn around

"OP its okay, I'll be okay" He tried to convey in a soothing tone, something Samuel often only used on Bumblebee. Something in Optimus spark ached.

Sam shot a small nod over his shoulder. one to Optimus and another to agent Fowler with a tight but kind tired smile.

"Really, Thanks for trying guys-" he seemed to stop like he was about to finish his sentence before scrunching his face up and shaking his head. banishing a thought perhaps.

"I think their probably being smart, trying not be tracible to me and this life" The Door closes.

And with it whatever Optimus was using to hold himself straight is cut. and he bows with a deep sense of grief and another tally of failure he's accumulated under Samuels name.

[thezeinterviews]

L'Express: Olena Zelenska, First Lady of Ukraine: "Don't forget us!"

The wife of President Volodymyr Zelensky reminds us that the Russian-led war is still raging throughout her country.

Propos recueillis par Eric Chol et Charles Haquet

Publié le 08/11/2023 à 10:57

She doesn't dress in khaki like her husband, Volodymyr Zelensky, but she too is on the front line defending her country. On November 8 and 9, Olena Zelenska is in Paris to inaugurate a Ukrainian cultural institute and raise funds for her humanitarian foundation. While the world's attention is focused on the Israeli-Palestinian war, and the Middle East is on the brink of explosion, the First Lady sends this powerful message to L'Express: "Don't forget Ukraine!" And let's not turn away from the soldiers fighting in the trenches of Bakhmut and Robotyne. Because their freedom is our freedom too. And Vladimir Putin will not stop at the borders of the former Soviet Republic. "The nature of an empire is to expand," she stresses. "It only stops if you stop it."

As one war drives out another, the mistake would be to consider that we cannot hold two fronts at the same time. And to admit that opinions "only have room in their intelligence and emotion for one conflict", in the words of philosopher Bernard-Henri Levy, co-author of a remarkable film on the Russian-Ukrainian conflict.

In Washington, the most radical Republicans, unconvinced by the Ukrainian counter-offensive, want to dissociate the aid given to Israel and Kiev. All the better to torpedo the latter. As US President Joe Biden says, Hamas and the Kremlin share the same goal: "to annihilate a neighboring democracy". Who, then, to favor? In reality, our only option is not to choose.

L'Express: Almost two years of war in Ukraine, a frozen front, a Russian army stepping up its bombing: how are the Ukrainians doing?

Olena Zelenska: It's a very difficult life. You'd think we'd get used to this stress, this constant upheaval, but that's not possible! A month ago, we experienced a great tragedy with the bombing of Hroza, in the Kharkiv region, where a Russian missile killed almost a third of the village's inhabitants. Imagine a funeral in every house… To top it all off, these people were gathered to attend a funeral, so it's the deaths that lead to other deaths, individual deaths, collective deaths. On October 21, the whole of Ukraine was shaken by the destruction of a postal sorting center in Kharkiv. Six employees working in the depot were killed. Some people abroad, and even here at home, sometimes imagine that there is a part of Ukraine where there is no war, where life is in full swing, where everything is going well. But this is not true! Because no matter where you are in the country, you can never be sure of being safe, of waking up the next day, of being able to go to work… The forecast horizon for Ukrainians has become very short. But we must continue to live, to develop, to rebuild, to raise our children. We must learn to plan each day, to adopt strategies, even if they may not be implemented. To my mind, it's a way of life, with the hope of victory on one side, which will come quickly, and on the other the constant trials that bring us down, but from which we have to get up every time.

As a frequent traveler in Ukraine, what is the story that has struck you most in recent weeks?

To tell the truth, I'd like to travel more in my country to meet the people who have suffered the most, but unfortunately this isn't always possible. Every discussion with my compatriots leaves a new imprint on my emotions. Let me tell you what has always impressed me. As part of my foundation's work, I meet regularly with foster families who take in children, most of them orphans, and these families are often made up of internally displaced people. They have fled occupied, bombed-out regions to settle in other parts of Ukraine. Unfortunately, in most cases, this is not the first time these families have fled: back in 2014, they had to leave the Donetsk region. Today, they have to leave their homes once again. Imagine their emotions! We're dealing with families who are constantly forced to flee the war, but it keeps catching up with them. To tell you the truth, I can't imagine how anyone can survive in this situation, how anyone can live when they're being chased by war. Because it's not a tsunami or a forest fire that forces them to leave: those who target them are people who come to kill, and that's what's so frightening!

Since the Hamas attack on Israel on October 7, all eyes have been on the Middle East. Do you fear that the world is turning its attention away from Ukraine?

First of all, I'd like to say that, like everyone else, we feel very strongly about what's happening in Israel, and we share the suffering of the Israeli people. We watched this terrorist attack by Hamas with great horror, but without surprise. It proves once again what we have been saying since the beginning of the war: if aggression is not stopped, it will continue in different forms and in different parts of the world. But we are not protected by the arrival of another tragedy, and that doesn't mean that the one in Ukraine has gone away. In fact, this war in the Middle East is only making the current tragic situation worse.

It is precisely for this reason that we hope the world will see how reacting slowly to tragedy only reinforces the desire of other aggressors to act. Impunity gives carte blanche! Particularly to those who have forces lined up behind them, enough financial and military resources around the world, and who feel that the time has come to act as they please, because they can. Unfortunately, this is the truth, which is why it's important to react quickly to all these aggressions, and not to each one separately, because they're all linked.

What is your message on this subject to the West, and in particular to France, where you have just arrived?

As I just said, it's vital not to let the world's attention wander away from Ukraine. We are already seeing that military aid to our country is arriving too slowly to bring about positive change on the front line. It's too slow, too quiet. It seems that Europe remains placid, and doesn't seem too frightened by the prospect of Russia's borders closing in on it. Yet this prospect is very real! Let's think about what would happen if Ukraine hadn't held out. In our place would be Russia, and hundreds of kilometers closer to you, to your homes. I wouldn't want other people in Europe, other mothers in Europe, to be afraid, not just of the possibility of Russian attacks, but of the physical sensation of that danger. Today, we are the barrier against this Russian advance. As long as we hold out, there's a chance they won't advance. But the empire won't stop if we don't stop it. Its nature is such that it must constantly expand. Otherwise, it ceases to be an empire! It's always looking to expand, and today, it's on our account. That's why we keep repeating that Ukraine defends the interests of the whole of Europe. Let's not forget that, and let's do things together!

You speak of a Europe that is too calm. How can we make sure it doesn't forget Ukraine?

We mustn't let it fall asleep! We often see this scene in the movies, of a person who's too cold, starts to freeze and falls asleep. If you don't want that person to die, you have to prevent them from falling asleep. I think the current situation is comparable: this sleep is dangerous for Europe. We can't fall asleep, we can't let Europe close its eyes today. I very much hope that my visit to France will serve as a reminder that the danger is still there. It is hanging over us now, and if we do nothing, it will unfortunately fall on your heads. I hope we can stop it.

During a recent visit to Washington, you said that the Russians wanted to destroy Ukrainian culture. As we know, war is fought in the trenches, but also on the cultural front. What can be done to counter the Russian narrative?

For a long time, Ukrainian artists and our country's cultural values and wealth were considered Russian by the rest of the world. Belonging to the Russian empire automatically made an artist Russian, which is not true. Today, our aim is to restore the place of this cultural heritage and tell the world what it really represents. I imagine that most French people don't always understand the boundary between Russian and Ukrainian. Many Ukrainian works around the world are still considered Russian. Take, for example, the dancers by French painter Edgar Degas. For many years, a painting was titled Russian Dancers. It was only recently that the National Gallery in London, then the Metropolitan Museum of Art in the USA, renamed it Ukrainian Dancers. The girls depicted are indeed groups of dancers in Ukrainian dress.

It's an example of the cultural battle we have to wage, even though we clearly don't have the means to devote so much money or administrative effort to beating Russian propaganda. We just can't. But we have to start disseminating more information about Ukraine in order to push back Russian lies. That's why I'm taking part in the inauguration of the Ukrainian Institute in Paris on November 9. This institute, the second to be opened abroad after Berlin a few months ago, is taking up residence at the Gaîté Lyrique in the heart of Paris. Its mission will be to disseminate knowledge about Ukraine and promote our culture throughout the world. Obviously, this work cannot be carried out solely from Ukraine - that would be too difficult. This is why this Parisian institute will be able to host artists' residencies and provide them with support, with the aim of creating cultural encounters and cross-cultural events, and strengthening cooperation with French cultural and scientific institutions. This will strengthen our ties and ensure that Russian stories are transformed and become Ukrainian stories.

Destroying Ukrainian culture also means stealing its future, in other words, its children. Several thousand of them have been deported to Russia: how can we get them back?

More than 19,600 Ukrainian children have been taken to Russia, according to our social services. It's a tragedy. I'm thinking in particular of this father from Marioupol, imprisoned by the Russians, whose three children were kidnapped. When he was released, he looked for them everywhere, he was desperate. Until one day, his son called him. He was in Russia and told him he was going to be adopted.

The longer the children stay in Russia, the deeper the psychological impact. The 380 children we were able to bring back to Ukraine all tell of the same ordeal. When they arrive in Russia, they are subjected to a patriotic education. They must learn to love their new homeland. To do this, they must be convinced that they have been abandoned and that no one is looking for them. It's real mental torture.

Unfortunately, there is no official way of getting them back. The Russians don't want to hear about it, they won't answer our questions. Our only recourse is action by the international community. At the last UN General Assembly, I proposed the creation of a mechanism that would at least enable us to establish a dialogue with the Russians, via a third country for example. For us, it's a question of making sure that these children are all right and that they can return home. As soon as possible.

You're very committed to the subject of mental health. What is the psychological state of Ukrainians after more than six hundred days of war?

Ukrainians are suffering from two types of illness. Firstly, there are those who feel fear, uncertainty and the inability to plan ahead. They have loved ones at the front who could be killed every day and every night. It's a constant source of anxiety. Our all-Ukrainian mental health program is working on this, with an emphasis on education. People need to understand what they're suffering from and know that they can be treated. Then, we need to deploy services that enable them to quickly get in touch with specialists, close to their home or workplace, free of charge.

And then there are the victims of post-traumatic syndromes - both military and civilian. They all benefit from adapted programs, including children, who are not always able to ask for help. We need to raise awareness among parents, who are sometimes reluctant to alert the relevant services. For example, the manager of a new rehabilitation program for traumatized children told me that their parents refused to let them go to a therapeutic camp, because they didn't understand how it could help them. We need to break this taboo.

Speaking of children, how are yours coping with this situation? What words do you use to reassure them? And how do they see the future?

The worst thing for us is not being able to make plans. We live from day to day, hoping for tomorrow. I have two children. My eldest daughter is 19, so she can already be considered an adult. She's at university. Half the courses are online, but she goes there from time to time, which is very good for her socialization. It allows her to make plans for the week ahead, it gives her a rhythm to her life and forces her to move forward. My youngest son is 10, and can go to school because the school has an air-raid shelter. This means he can attend certain classes face-to-face, have friends and communicate with them. It's a real blessing.

But when my children ask me, "When will we go to the seaside on vacation?", I can only reply, "Not now, but let's think together about what we'll do after the victory." This way of putting off all pleasant things until later, of not being able to give a date, obviously limits children in their dreams, in their projects. And it's the same for all the country's children. Youth is a time of dreams, and dreams should know no boundaries. Unfortunately, our children's dreams have limits, and these cannot be exceeded.

In 2022, you set up a foundation dedicated to humanitarian aid, health and education. What are the first results?

A positive one. In Izium, we are restoring the hospital, half of which had been destroyed and looted by the Russians. We have started work on the most critical unit, the four operating rooms. We now need to continue its reconstruction. Another priority is helping large adoptive families. Many of them are displaced persons who no longer have a home, and it is very difficult to find them a new one. Our project will enable us to build 14 apartment blocks for these families. The first residences will be available in December, the others in the spring. After that, we hope to build more. The need is great: at least 80 large adoptive families have lost their homes because of the war.

Secondly, we are trying to support our education system in the regions near the front. Our children and teachers need resources such as tablets and laptops. It's difficult to get materials to them because of the security situation. Last month, a Russian missile hit a school in Nikopol, southwest of Dnipro. The buildings were destroyed. We thought the laptops, donated by the United Arab Emirates, were lost. But when we cleared away the rubble, we realized that they were intact. We were able to deliver the laptops to the students, so that they could prepare to enter university and continue their studies. In one year, the foundation handed out almost 50,000 devices to children and teachers. Access to education, even in wartime, is a key issue.

And then there's the problem of bombing. In Ukraine, one school in seven can no longer accommodate children because it has no air-raid shelter to protect them in the event of an air raid. We are therefore building shelters in six schools and one kindergarten in the Chernihiv, Poltava, Dnipro and Kirovograd regions, and we plan to implement similar projects in other parts of Ukraine.

Finally, there's humanitarian aid. We are helping those most affected, especially those living in the Kharkiv and Kherson regions. When the Russians targeted our energy system last year, we supplied these people with dozens of electric generators. People were living in half-destroyed houses, with no heating, no electricity. They were suffering. We helped them heat their homes and provided them with basic necessities. We're preparing to do the same thing this year, because unfortunately there's no hope of Russia abandoning its destructive plans against our energy system.

How has the war changed you and your husband?

I feel as if the year and a half we've just lived through counts as ten years… It's been an extremely emotionally draining time. I hope that this ordeal won't change us forever, and that it won't prevent us from looking to the future with optimism.

Afterwards, knowing how I've changed, how my husband has changed… I think we'll be able to answer that question in several years' time, when we'll be able to take a cold look at all this madness. For the moment, it's not possible.

Article

[the-garbanzo-annex-jr]

The news that Palestinian Authority summer camps are training children to use weapons and glorify terrorists is a troubling reminder that some regimes view children as little more than tools to be exploited.

Hundreds of thousands of children have been used as soldiers in various international conflicts in recent decades, according to human rights groups.

The Ugandan rebel group known as the “Lord’s Resistance Army” has made the abduction and enslavement of children “its main method of recruitment,” experts say.

In Bolivia, an estimated 40% of the army consists of teenagers who were forcibly conscripted.

The participation of Palestinian Arab children in terrorism against Israelis has become so commonplace that it has attracted the attention of Palestinian advocates in the United States. They’ve persuaded a handful of members of Congress to introduce legislation to restrict U.S. aid to Israel if the Israeli military detains minors who engage in violence.

A Nazi Version of Cinderella

Dictators in previous generations likewise prioritized training children to hate and kill. Adolf Hitler, for example, viewed Germany’s schools as a breeding ground for raising an entire generation of Nazis.

Following Hitler’s rise to power, German school curricula were radically revised to reflect Nazi ideas, and traditional text books were replaced with Nazi versions. Biology texts now advocated the theory of “Aryan” racial superiority. Atlases focused on the alleged danger to Germany posed by surrounding nations and the supposed theft from Germany of various territories. History books presented justifications for renewed German militarism. The Nazis even concocted their own version of Cinderella, with the prince choosing a racially pure young heroine and rebuffing her racially alien stepmother.

At a press conference in September 1934, President Franklin D. Roosevelt expressed concern that the German government seemed to be preparing young people for war with Germany’s neighbors. He related a story he heard from an American tourist in Germany, about an eight year-old German boy who in his bedtime prayers each night would say, “Dear God, please permit it that I shall die with a French bullet in my heart.”

Unfortunately, that did not change FDR’s policy of maintaining friendly diplomatic and trade relations with Nazi Germany in the 1930s.

Disney Exposes the Nazis

During World War Two, Disney created a series of short cartoon films to support the American war effort and expose the nature of Nazism. They were shown in movie theaters, prior to the main feature. One especially striking nine-minute film was called “Education for Death: The Making of the Nazi.”

The storyline follows a German child, Hans, as the Nazi school system turns him into a worshipper of Hitler. When Hans’s teacher shows the pupils a fox capturing and eating a rabbit, Hans makes the innocent mistake of expressing sympathy for “the poor rabbit.” As punishment, he has to put on a dunce camp and sit in a corner, while another student gives the “correct” answer: “The world belongs to the strong…The rabbit is a coward and deserves to die.”

Finally surrendering to peer pressure, Hans agrees that the rabbit was “a weakling” who got what it deserved. The teacher then provides the moral of the story: the German people are “an unconquerable super race” who will “destroy all weak and cowardly nations.”

The Disney narrator describes how Hans’s upbringing then proceeds with endless “marching and ‘Heil’-ing, ‘Heil’-ing and marching.” The little boy becomes almost a robot, blindly heeding the Nazi Party’s orders to “trample on the rights of others.” The narrator concludes: “For now his education is complete–his education for death.”

Nazi-educated German children filled the ranks of the Hitler Youth movement. Its members took part in numerous atrocities, from forcing Vienna’s Jews to scrub the streets with toothbrushes in 1938, to the mass shooting of Jews swimming from sinking boats in the German harbor of Lubeck, just before Germany’s surrender in 1945.

In addition, many of those who graduated from Hitler Youth joined the Gestapo and participated in the mass murder of European Jewry. While other branches of the Nazi apparatus collapsed or surrendered in the waning days of World War II, Hitler Youth remained fanatically loyal to their Fuhrer to the very end, which is why they are often mentioned in accounts of atrocities that were perpetrated in the spring of 1945.

Menachem Weinryb, an Auschwitz survivor who was forced to take part in a death march from Poland to Germany, later recalled how when the prisoners reached the Belsen area on April 13, 1945, the German guards went to a nearby town “and returned with a lot of young people from the Hitler Youth [and local policemen]…They chased us all into a large barn…we were five to six thousand people…[They] poured out petrol and set the barn on fire. Several thousand people were burned alive.”