#tunnels traps and ambushes

[eretzyisrael]

"How Hamas Is Really Fighting in Gaza: Tunnels, Traps and Ambushes" writes the New York Times, in the first full article in any newspaper that reveals how Hamas is using schools, homes, hospitals and civilians, while its military fight in civilian garb, what is really happening in the Gaza War between Hamas and Israel....

They hide under residential neighborhoods, storing their weapons in miles of tunnels and in houses, mosques, sofas — even a child’s bedroom — blurring the boundary between civilians and combatants.

They emerge from hiding in plainclothes, sometimes wearing sandals or tracksuits before firing on Israeli troops, attaching mines to their vehicles, or firing rockets from launchers in civilian areas.

They rig abandoned homes with explosives and tripwires, sometimes luring Israeli soldiers to enter the booby-trapped buildings by scattering signs of a Hamas presence.

Through eight months of fighting in Gaza, Hamas’s military wing — the Qassam Brigades — has fought as a decentralized and largely hidden force, in contrast to its Oct. 7 attack on Israel, which began with a coordinated large-scale maneuver in which thousands of uniformed commandos surged through border towns and killed roughly 1,200 people.

Instead of confronting the Israeli invasion that followed in frontal battles, most Hamas fighters have retreated from their bases and outposts, seeking to blunt Israel’s technological and numerical advantage by launching surprise attacks on small groups of soldiers.

From below ground, Hamas’s ghost army has appeared only fleetingly, emerging suddenly from a warren of tunnels — often armed with rocket-propelled grenades — to pick off soldiers and then returning swiftly to their subterranean fortress. Sometimes, they have hid among the few civilians who decided to remain in their neighborhoods despite Israeli orders to evacuate, or accompanied civilians as they returned to areas that the Israelis had captured and then abandoned.

Hamas’s decision to keep fighting has proved disastrous for the Palestinians of Gaza. With Hamas refusing to surrender, Israel has forged ahead with a military campaign that has killed nearly 2 percent of Gaza’s prewar population, according to Gazan authorities; displaced roughly 80 percent of its residents, according to the United Nations; and damaged a majority of Gaza’s buildings, according to the U.N.

By contrast, fewer than 350 Israeli soldiers have died in Gaza since the start of the invasion, according to military statistics — far fewer than Israeli officials had predicted in October.

Yet despite the carnage in Gaza, Hamas’s strategy has helped the group fulfill some of its own goals.

The war has tarnished Israel’s reputation in much of the world, prompting charges of genocide at the International Court of Justice, in The Hague. It has exacerbated long-running rifts in Israeli society, prompting disagreements among Israelis about whether and how Israel should defeat Hamas. And it has restored the question of Palestinian statehood to global discourse, leading several countries to recognize Palestine as a state.

Just as important for Hamas, its war doctrine has allowed it to survive.

Hamas’s leader in the territory, Yahya Sinwar, and most of his top military commanders are still alive. Israel says it has killed more than 14,000 of Hamas’s 25,000 fighters — an unverifiable and disputed number that, if true, suggests thousands remain active.

An analysis of battlefield videos released by Hamas and interviews with three Hamas members and scores of Israeli soldiers, most of whom spoke on the condition of anonymity because they were not authorized to speak publicly, suggests that Hamas’s strategy relies on:

Using hundreds of miles of tunnels, the scale of which surprised Israeli commanders, to move around Gaza without being seen by Israeli soldiers;

Using civilian homes and infrastructure — including medical facilities, U.N. offices and mosques — to conceal fighters, tunnel entrances, booby-traps and ammunition stores;

Ambushing Israeli soldiers with small groups of fighters dressed as civilians, as well as using civilians, including children, to act as lookouts;

Leaving secret signs outside homes, like a red sheet hanging from a window or graffiti, to signal to fellow fighters the nearby presence of mines, tunnel entrances or weapons caches inside;

Dragging out the war for as long as possible, even at the expense of more civilian death and destruction, in order to bog Israel down in an attritional battle that has amplified international criticism of Israel.

“The aim is to vanish, avoid direct confrontation, while launching tactical attacks against the occupation army. The emphasis is on patience,” said Salah al-Din al-Awawdeh, a Hamas member and former fighter in its military wing who is now an analyst based in Istanbul. Before Oct. 7, the Qassam Brigades operated as “an army with training bases and stockpiles,” Mr. al-Awawdeh said. “But during this war, they are behaving as guerrillas.”

At the start of the war, Hamas and its allies fired a barrage of rockets toward civilian areas of Israel, including roughly 3,000 on Oct. 7 itself, often using launchers hidden in densely populated civilian neighborhoods in Gaza. The Israeli Army captured and destroyed scores of launchers, including some it said it found near a mosque and a kindergarten, bringing the rocket fire to a near halt.

After Israeli ground troops invaded in late October, Hamas went further in transforming civilian areas of Gaza into military zones, setting traps in scores of neighborhoods and creating confusion about what a combatant looks like by dressing its fighters as civilians.

Israeli officials say that Hamas’s tactics explain why Israel has been forced to strike so much civilian infrastructure, kill so many Palestinians and detain so many civilians.

Mousa Abu Marzouk, a senior Hamas official based in Qatar, dismissed criticism of Hamas’s use of civilian attire and storage of weapons inside civilian homes, saying that it deflected attention away from Israeli wrongdoing.

“If there’s someone who takes a weapon from under a bed, is that a justification for killing 100,000 people?” Mr. Abu Marzouk said. “If someone takes a weapon from under a bed, is that a justification to kill an entire school and destroy a hospital?”

Other Hamas members acknowledge and defend the movement’s use of civilian clothes and civilian homes, saying the group had no alternative.

“Every insurgency in every war, from Vietnam to Afghanistan, saw people fighting from their homes,” said Mr. al-Awawdeh. “If I live in Zeitoun, for example, and the army comes — I will fight them there, from my home, or my neighbor’s, or from the mosque. I will fight them anywhere I am.”

Hamas militants wear civilian clothes in a legitimate attempt to avoid detection, Mr. al-Awawdeh said. “That’s natural for a resistance movement,” he added, “and there’s nothing unusual about it.”

How Hamas Reacted to the Invasion

Hamas’s response to Israel’s ground invasion on Oct. 27 became a model for its strategy since.

When Israeli tanks and infantry battalions surged into Gaza that Friday, they were met with little to no resistance for the first couple of miles, according to four soldiers who were among the first to cross the border.

Lior Soharin, an Israeli reserve sergeant major, helped overrun a Hamas outpost a few dozen yards from the border. There was no one inside, he recalled.

“We learned in retrospect that they were there — just underneath the ground,” Mr. Soharin said.

Having retreated into their labyrinth of tunnels, Hamas fighters had ceded thousands of acres of farmland to Israeli forces.

That was partly because the Israeli forces advanced along routes that Hamas had not lined with explosives and traps, according to a Hamas junior officer from northern Gaza who left the territory before Oct. 7 and remains in close touch with his subordinates. But it was also because the Qassam Brigades’ strategy was to ambush Israeli soldiers once they had advanced deep into the territory, instead of counterattacking immediately, according to the fighter.

Dozens of Hamas propaganda videos, posted by the group on its social media channels, show small groups of Gazan fighters — often clad in jeans, sweatpants, sandals and sneakers — emerging from tunnels to take potshots at nearby Israeli tanks and personnel carriers; rushing on foot toward tanks and attaching mines near the turrets; firing rocket-propelled grenades from residential buildings; and shooting at soldiers with sniper rifles.

Hamas had been preparing for this moment since at least 2021, when the group began scaling up production of explosives and anti-tank missiles, in preparation for a ground war, and stopped making so many long-range rockets, the Hamas officer said.

It also expanded a vast network of tunnels, creating entry points in houses across Gaza that would allow fighters to enter and exit without being seen from the air but made targets of civilian neighborhoods. The network was fitted with a landline telephone network that is difficult for Israel to monitor and that allows fighters to communicate even during outages to Gaza’s mobile phone networks, which are controlled by Israel, according to the Hamas officer, Mr. al-Awawdeh and Israeli officials.

By the start of the war, Hamas had enough explosives in its underground arsenals for an extended campaign — as well as enough canned vegetables, dates and drinking water to last for at least 10 months, the officer said.

The tunnel network grew so extensive that it ran underneath a major U.N. compound and the largest hospital in Gaza, as well as major roads, countless homes and government buildings. Nine months later, senior Israeli officials say that they have destroyed only a small fraction of the network, and that its existence has stymied Israel’s ability to destroy Hamas.

Hamas’s commandos had also been trained to remain alert and focused during shortages of food and water, the officer said. Before the war, fighters were sometimes ordered to spend days eating only a handful of dates and to sit for several hours without moving, even as instructors splashed water on their faces to distract them, the officer said.

As vast swaths of Gaza began to empty out in October, Hamas fighters began booby-trapping hundreds of houses that they expected the Israeli troops would seek to enter, the officer said. The mines were linked to tripwires, movement sensors and sound detectors that detonate the explosives once triggered, the officer said.

The terrain prepared, the fighters then descended into the tunnels — and waited for the Israelis to arrive.

How Hamas Sets a Trap

In the best-planned ambushes, Hamas squads have lulled Israeli forces into a false sense of security by allowing them to move freely for hours or even days in areas marked for attack.

Hamas fighters and Israeli soldiers say that Hamas tracks the Israelis’ locations using hidden cameras, drones and intelligence provided by civilian lookouts. Five Israeli soldiers said those lookouts include children, who stand on roofs and relay information to commanders below.

Hamas’s ambush squads typically stay hidden until an Israeli convoy has moved through an area for several minutes, or Israeli forces have grouped in a particular place for hours, creating the impression that Hamas has left the area, six Israeli soldiers and the Hamas officer said. After a period of calm, a squad emerges from a tunnel, often as a group of four.

Two fighters are tasked with fixing explosives to the sides of a vehicle or firing anti-tank missiles at it, according to the Hamas officer. A third carries a camera to film propaganda footage. A fourth typically stays at the tunnel entrance, preparing a booby-trap that can be activated as soon as the others return, to kill any Israelis who try to follow them underground.

A well-planned ambush aims to take out not only the initial Israeli force, but also the backup fighters and medics who come to rescue the injured, according to soldiers who experienced such ambushes and the Hamas officer.

One Israeli special forces member recalled how a group of Hamas fighters appeared to have positioned itself specifically so that Israeli backup forces would have to fire across stricken comrades in order to hit the ambushers.

Another described Hamas fighters waiting after members of an Israeli unit had been wounded by an exploding mine and then emerging to fire on the rescuing force. In a June 11 attack in Rafah, both Hamas and the Israeli military said that Qassam fighters fired mortars at an Israeli relief force that came to rescue soldiers who had been attacked earlier in the day.

Hamas showed off most of these approaches in an extensive eight-minute video released on its social media channels in early April.

The video appears to show fighters carrying out a multistage ambush that is said to take place in Khan Younis, in southern Gaza.

The video seems to show Hamas fighters, their faces blurred, sitting on patterned mats as they plan the attack. They use pen, paper and a digital tablet to draw simplistic maps detailing where they want to plant a set of roadside mines.

“We ask, O Lord, for the ambush to achieve its goals — let us kill your enemies, the Jews,” the narrator says.

Next, Hamas men — wearing civilian clothes — are seen laying those explosives in the rubble of a ruined neighborhood. Then, the video cuts to what appears to be the planned ambush: Filmed by hidden cameras, a group of Israeli soldiers pick their way through the rubble before being hit by gunfire. That attack seems to lure an Israeli relief squad to the scene, and the arrival of those rescuers appears to trigger the mines.

“This is a miniature sample of what their defeated army is suffering in the mire of Gaza,” the narrator concludes.

How Hamas Uses Homes

In addition to setting traps in houses, Hamas has also used residential buildings to conceal scores of small arms caches across the territory, according to more than a dozen Israeli soldiers who have found such stockpiles.

The soldiers said it became normal to find munitions hidden inside civilian homes and mosques, which is one of the reasons, they said, the army had destroyed so many such buildings.

Some soldiers said their units needlessly destroyed civilian property, or filmed themselves vandalizing it, creating the impression that the Israeli military often had little reason to be searching civilian homes. But others said there was usually a clear military purpose to picking through civilian belongings: One recalled finding guns behind a false wall in a child’s bedroom, while another said his unit found grenades in a woman’s clothes closet. International law requires combatants to avoid using “civilian objects,” which include homes, schools, hospitals and mosques, for military objectives.

Sometimes, Hamas fighters emerged from tunnels without weapons, passing as civilians until they reached a house where other fighters had hidden weapons and ammunition inside the lining of furniture, Israeli soldiers said.

To help its gunmen find these weapons caches, several Israeli soldiers said, Hamas has developed an elaborate system for marking houses that double as military storerooms, or contain tunnels or booby traps. Some buildings were marked with a particular symbol, some had red fabric hanging from windows, and others had plastic barrels or plastic bags outside — all of which told Hamas fighters something about what was concealed inside.

Some Israeli units were eventually supplied with printed guides to help them identify the meaning of each symbol or object, one soldier said.

When in doubt, soldiers entered houses by blowing a hole in their walls, in case the front doors were rigged with mines, according to a senior military officer, Maj. Gen. Itai Veruv, who escorted a reporter from The New York Times in central Gaza in January.

To draw Israelis toward a trap, Hamas gunmen sometimes scattered a building with visible signs of their presence, such as a Hamas flag. At other times, two Israeli soldiers said, Israeli troops were lured inside by a piece of Israeli clothing or identification card, which hinted that hostages might be held within.

One soldier said Hamas used chained dogs to entice soldiers toward a booby-trapped building, hoping that the soldiers would try to free the dogs.

Another soldier recalled spotting a dead Hamas fighter inside an apartment block and making his way toward the body. As he drew closer, he realized the corpse had been rigged with an explosive, he said. When his squad fired at the body, it blew up and set the building ablaze, he said.

Some soldiers said they found weapons in houses that they had searched earlier in the war. It suggested that at least some of the arms had been placed in houses after the start of Israel’s invasion.

Even in areas where Israel claims to have defeated Hamas, Israeli forces have often had to return, weeks or even months later, to continue the battle against fighters who had survived earlier phases of the war.

For Hamas, “it was always about avoiding losses for as long as possible so they can fight another day,” said Andreas Krieg, an expert on military strategy at King’s College London. “They’re nowhere near being defeated.”

[notyourtoday]

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[ur-mag]

Gaza invasion plans REVEALED as Israeli shoot-to-kill ‘tunnel rats’ face booby-trap hellhole with ambushes at every turn | In Trend Today

Gaza invasion plans REVEALED as Israeli shoot-to-kill ‘tunnel rats’ face booby-trap hellhole with ambushes at every turn Read Full Text or Full Article on MAG NEWS

[novaursa]

The Flames We Carry

- Summary: Ser Criston Cole expected for Rhaenys and Meleys to appear over Rook's Rest. To Gwayne's horror, Rhaenyra sent her sister instead: you.

- Paring: targ!reader/Gwayne Hightower

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is Rhaeyra's younger sister and is bonded to Silverwing. These events happen after Skyfall. If you want to read all the parts in chronological order visit my blog, the list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mature 16+ (there is no adult content, but there are visual descriptions of violence, blood and gore)

- Word count: 3 712

- A/N: this was scheduled to be posted tomorrow, but I've decided post extra today. Enjoy.

- Tag(s): @deniixlovezelda @duck-duck-goose2 @aadu2173 @sachaa-ff

Ser Gwayne Hightower had always been a man torn between loyalty and desire, but never more so than in the days leading up to the siege at Rook's Rest. The tension between him and Ser Criston Cole had grown sharper since that fateful day when he let you—the Princess, Y/N—slip through his grasp before their march on Duskendale. He could still feel the warmth of your skin against his, the taste of your lips lingering like a ghostly memory, a sweet torment. You had been his time and time again, even if only in stolen moments, and each encounter had deepened the scars on his heart.

Gwayne knew he should be focusing on the battle ahead, yet his thoughts strayed back to you, his mind replaying that night over and over. The look in your eyes when you realized he would let you go, when you understood the depth of his feelings despite all the bitterness that lingered between your Houses. He had set you free, knowing full well it was an act of treason in all but name, and yet he would do it again if it meant sparing you the horrors to come.

But now, at Rook's Rest, everything was escalating rapidly. Ser Criston's scorpion ballistas and archers were poised in ambush, waiting for the dragon they expected: Rhaenys on Meleys. The war council had been clear, and Gwayne had heard it all through gritted teeth—Aemond and Aegon would flank her on Vhagar and Sunfyre, trapping her in dragonfire and steel. It was a ruthless plan, one that made his stomach churn. He had sworn to protect his family, his king, and yet all he could think about was you.

The skies darkened, a shadow sweeping over the encampment. The men tensed, eyes raised to the heavens as the flap of wings grew louder. Gwayne’s heart pounded in his chest as he looked up, expecting the crimson scales of Meleys. But what he saw instead made his blood run cold.

Silverwing.

The graceful, silvery-grey dragon, once ridden by Queen Alysanne, now bonded to you. Gwayne’s heart twisted painfully in his chest. This was not supposed to happen. It was not supposed to be you in the skies above, facing down two monstrous dragons with only the loyal Silverwing at your side. Panic clawed at his throat, his mind racing. He could see it in Criston's eyes too—the slight widening, the realization that their ambush had just become a slaughter. Not for Rhaenys, but for you.

“No…” The word slipped from Gwayne’s lips before he could stop it. Without a second thought, he rushed toward the nearest scorpion, where soldiers prepared to take aim at Silverwing. His vision tunneled, anger and fear boiling together in his veins. He couldn’t let this happen—not to you.

"Stand down!" Gwayne shouted at the soldiers, shoving one aside with enough force to send the man sprawling. The crew looked at him in confusion, but Gwayne didn’t care. He grabbed hold of the crank, making it impossible for them to load the bolt.

“What in the Seven Hells are you doing?!” Criston’s voice was a venomous hiss as he stalked toward Gwayne, eyes blazing with fury. “You’re sabotaging the plan! Move, or I’ll have you—”

Gwayne spun around, his hand already on the hilt of his sword. “I won’t let you do this, Criston. Not to her.”

Criston’s lip curled in disgust. “Her? You would betray your king, your House, for a traitorous whore who—"

The sound of steel rang out as Gwayne drew his sword, slashing at the scorpion mechanism, rendering it useless. The soldiers scattered, unwilling to get caught in the confrontation between two knights who had both earned their deadly reputations. Criston’s eyes narrowed, and in the blink of an eye, his sword was in his hand, the tip leveled at Gwayne’s chest.

“You’ll die for this treachery, Hightower,” Criston spat, the words laced with venom.

“I would die a thousand times before I let you kill her,” Gwayne growled back, his voice low and dangerous. “I won’t let you harm her.”

Above them, the roar of dragons filled the air as Silverwing engaged with Sunfyre and Vhagar. Dragonfire crackled like thunder, the heat from the flames casting an eerie glow over the battlefield. You were up there, fighting for your life, for your cause. Gwayne’s heart ached with every fiery burst, knowing that each moment could be your last.

Criston lunged, and Gwayne barely parried the strike in time. The two knights clashed, steel against steel, each strike filled with desperation and fury. Gwayne fought with everything he had, driven by the need to protect you, even if it meant cutting down one of his own.

“Do you think she cares for you, Gwayne?!” Criston taunted between strikes. “She’s a dragonrider, a princess—she’ll never be yours! You’re a fool!”

“I know what I am,” Gwayne snarled, knocking Criston’s sword aside and slamming his shoulder into the other man’s chest, sending him stumbling back. “But I also know what I feel. And I’ll not stand by and let you murder her.”

Criston recovered quickly, rage twisting his features as he advanced again. “She chose Daemon over you! The Rogue Prince—do you think she’ll remember your name when she’s ash?”

Gwayne roared in fury, his blade a blur as he pressed the attack. The sounds of battle, of dragons shrieking and flames roaring, were deafening, but all Gwayne could hear was the pounding of his own heart, the desperate need to get to you, to save you. But with every second that passed, his hope dwindled, and fear gnawed at the edges of his resolve.

Then, the ground trembled, a shockwave of heat and force rippling across the battlefield as a massive burst of dragonfire erupted nearby. Gwayne staggered, the distraction costing him as Criston’s sword sliced across his side. Pain flared, but he gritted his teeth, refusing to fall. He couldn’t afford to fall—not when you needed him.

But as the flames subsided, a silhouette emerged through the smoke—Silverwing, descending, with you astride her. Your eyes, burning with determination and fury, locked onto the scene below: Criston standing over a wounded Gwayne, ready to deliver the killing blow.

“Y/N!” Gwayne shouted, his voice raw with desperation.

You didn’t hesitate. With a command, Silverwing unleashed a torrent of dragonfire, forcing Criston to leap back, narrowly avoiding being consumed by the flames. In the brief reprieve, Gwayne stumbled to his feet, clutching his side.

Your gaze met his, and for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. The memory of that last kiss, of your shared moments, hung between you like an unspoken vow. Gwayne knew he had only seconds before the battle resumed, but in those few heartbeats, he saw the truth in your eyes—the love that had never truly died, the bond that still connected you, even through war and betrayal.

But there was no time for words. With a final, lingering look, you turned Silverwing toward the sky, preparing for the next wave of the fight. And as you ascended into the chaos once more, Gwayne knew he would fight until his last breath to protect you, even if the whole world stood against him.The battle raged on, but in that moment, Gwayne Hightower’s heart belonged to only one—you.

The battlefield below Rook’s Rest was a symphony of chaos and death, the sky a canvas painted with fire and blood. Gwayne could only watch in helpless agony as you and Silverwing clashed in the heavens with Sunfyre and Aegon, two dragons locked in a deadly dance of tooth and claw. Overhead, the monstrous shadow of Vhagar circled like a vulture, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Every screech of agony, every roar of defiance, was a knife twisting deeper into Gwayne’s chest.

On the ground, Criston Cole barked orders, his eyes fixed on the battle above. The soldiers scrambled, trying to reload the scorpions, but the dragonfire raining down made their task near impossible. Bolts flew haphazardly, striking neither dragon nor rider, only adding to the carnage below as men screamed, burning alive in dragonflame. Gwayne’s heart pounded in his ears, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the clash in the sky.

Silverwing and Sunfyre circled each other in a blur of flashing claws and snapping jaws, the air thick with the scent of burning flesh and blood. Gwayne could see the desperation in the way you leaned into every attack, urging Silverwing forward with a fury that matched his own. Aegon, though armored in golden scales and atop his mighty Sunfyre, was losing ground; he was not the rider you were, and Sunfyre, for all his pride, was no match for Silverwing’s speed and power.

“Hold fast, Sunfyre!” Aegon’s voice cut through the air, laced with both command and fear. But the king’s bravado was slipping. The once-proud Sunfyre shrieked in pain as Silverwing’s talons raked across his side, tearing through scales and flesh. Blood sprayed like rain, glistening in the sunlight before falling onto Criston’s soldiers below, causing them to scatter in panic.

Gwayne could feel his grip tightening on his sword as he watched, torn between the desire to cheer for your victory and the dread that this battle would consume you. Criston, standing nearby, had forgotten Gwayne entirely, his eyes alight with a mixture of awe and hatred. “If Sunfyre falls, so falls our king,” Criston muttered to himself, though Gwayne could hear the edge of panic in his voice.

But you would not give Sunfyre a moment of reprieve. Silverwing descended with fury, slamming into the golden beast with the force of a hurricane. The clash was brutal, teeth and claws tearing through scales, blood and fire mingling as the two dragons grappled. Sunfyre roared, a cry filled with both pain and rage, as Silverwing’s jaws clamped down on his wing.

“No!” Aegon’s scream echoed across the battlefield, his eyes wide with disbelief as Silverwing’s powerful muscles twisted and tore, shredding Sunfyre’s wing almost completely from its body. The golden dragon thrashed wildly, his flight faltering as the wing dangled uselessly by a thread of sinew and bone.

Gwayne’s breath caught in his throat, torn between elation and horror. You were winning, but at what cost? He knew what was coming next. Vhagar, that ancient beast of war, had been waiting for this moment. With a bellow that shook the very ground, the monstrous she-dragon descended like a nightmare from the skies, her jaws wide and hungry.

“Look out!” Gwayne shouted, knowing full well you couldn’t hear him from so far below. His heart thundered in his chest as Vhagar slammed into both Silverwing and Sunfyre with the force of a landslide. The three dragons collided in a tangle of limbs, scales, and teeth, a storm of rage and destruction. The impact was so fierce that Gwayne felt the ground shudder beneath him.

“No! No, no, no…” Gwayne whispered, his voice cracking as he watched the entangled dragons plummet toward the earth. You and Aegon were mere shadows against the backdrop of fire and smoke, barely visible as the dragons twisted and fell in a deadly spiral. Criston’s soldiers, caught between the descending juggernauts and their own fear, broke ranks, fleeing in every direction as the ground rushed up to meet the falling beasts.

Gwayne felt a cold dread settle in his bones as he watched you, desperately holding onto Silverwing’s saddle as the world blurred around you. You clung on with a ferocity that spoke to your will to survive, but against Vhagar’s ancient fury and Sunfyre’s desperate thrashing, even the mighty Silverwing was struggling.

Criston’s eyes were wild as he watched the battle unfold, his voice a harsh whisper of disbelief. “Vhagar will end it… she must end it…”

But Gwayne wasn’t watching Vhagar anymore. He was watching you. You were still fighting, still urging Silverwing to fight back, but the odds were overwhelming. Sunfyre’s golden scales were slick with blood, his roars more pitiful now as he struggled to right himself in the air. Silverwing’s wings beat furiously, trying to break free from Vhagar’s crushing grip, but the elder dragon’s jaws clamped down on Silverwing’s neck, dragging all three dragons toward the ground with terrifying speed.

The earth shook as the three dragons smashed into the battlefield, the impact sending up a cloud of dirt and debris. The sound was deafening—a sickening crunch of bone and screech of metal as the dragons collided with the earth. Gwayne’s heart dropped into his stomach, his eyes searching desperately through the smoke and dust for any sign of you.

“No…” he whispered, stumbling forward as if he could somehow reach you, somehow pull you from the wreckage of dragons and death. But even from here, he could see the carnage—Silverwing’s body twisted and battered, Sunfyre writhing in agony, and Vhagar looming above them all, a monstrous shadow of death.

For a heartbeat, the battlefield fell silent, every eye fixed on the wreckage of the fallen dragons. Gwayne’s breath was ragged, his eyes straining to catch a glimpse of you amidst the chaos. The dust began to settle, revealing broken bodies, shattered armor, and the mangled forms of the dragons.

And then he saw you—barely visible, still moving. You crawled from beneath Silverwing’s wing, blood streaking your face, your expression fierce even in the face of such overwhelming odds. Gwayne’s heart leaped into his throat. You were alive. Against all the odds, you had survived the fall.

But the battle was far from over. Vhagar’s malevolent eyes fixed on you, a deep rumble echoing from her throat as she prepared to finish what she had started. Aegon, still clinging to the last shreds of his pride, shouted commands to Sunfyre, but the once-majestic dragon was crippled, struggling even to rise.

Gwayne turned to Criston, his voice hoarse with desperation. “Do something! Call them off—she’ll be slaughtered!”

But Criston’s eyes were cold, devoid of mercy. “It’s too late, Hightower. She made her choice.”

Before Gwayne could respond, a deafening roar split the air as Vhagar reared back, ready to unleash a final torrent of fire upon you and Silverwing. Gwayne’s breath caught, knowing he was powerless to stop what was coming. All he could do was watch in helpless horror as the monstrous she-dragon prepared to strike.

But in those last moments, your eyes locked onto his. Even from across the battlefield, Gwayne saw the fire in your gaze—the unyielding determination, the refusal to surrender, even in the face of certain death. It was a look that would be seared into his memory forever.

And as Vhagar’s jaws parted, ready to unleash death upon the field, Gwayne did the only thing he could—he prayed. For you, for Silverwing, and for the love that had been forged in the fires of war.

It felt like time itself had slowed, the moments stretching into agonizing eternity. His breath hitched as the flames began to build in Vhagar’s throat, the light of impending destruction flickering in her maw. It would be over in seconds—everything would be lost.

But then, with a burst of speed that took even Gwayne by surprise, Silverwing jolted forward, her wings beating with desperate strength. As Vhagar’s jaws parted to unleash her fiery death, Silverwing struck. The smaller, silvery dragon lunged at Vhagar’s exposed throat, her teeth sinking into the tender scales. Her bite was unrelenting, fueled by both fury and the need to protect you. Vhagar’s flame sputtered out in a roar of agony, the ancient beast thrashing wildly as she tried to shake off the determined Silverwing.

Gwayne’s eyes widened in awe and terror. Silverwing’s tail snapped like a whip, striking Vhagar’s head with a force that reverberated across the battlefield. The blow landed squarely on Vhagar’s eye, the sound of bone and scale cracking sickeningly loud. The she-dragon’s roar of pain was a monstrous, guttural cry that seemed to shake the heavens. Even Aemond, usually so composed in battle, shouted in fury and alarm, yanking hard on the reins to regain control of his wounded dragon.

Gwayne knew he had only moments to act. Blood was streaming down your face, and even from a distance, he could see the exhaustion and pain etched into your features. You laid on the ground, barely holding on to life as Silverwing thrashed against Vhagar’s deadly strength. It was a miracle you had survived this long, but that miracle was on the brink of shattering. Gwayne’s decision was made in an instant, despite the searing pain in his side and the chaos around him.

Nearby, a riderless horse whinnied in terror, its eyes rolling as it tried to flee the madness. Gwayne gritted his teeth, limping toward the panicked creature. “Easy, girl,” he rasped, wincing with every step. The horse reared, wild with fear, but Gwayne moved with surprising swiftness, grasping the reins and swinging himself into the saddle with a grunt of pain. Blood stained his tunic from his earlier wound, but he forced himself to push through it. There was no time to dwell on it—not when you were up there, fighting for your life.

“Where are you going, you fool?!” Criston’s voice rang out behind him, filled with fury. “You’ll die, Hightower! Come back!”

But Gwayne was deaf to Criston’s commands. He spurred the horse forward, urging it toward the burning wreckage of dragons, toward you. The horse resisted at first, terrified by the scent of blood and fire, but Gwayne was relentless, guiding it with strong hands and determined resolve. The animal finally obeyed, its hooves pounding against the earth as it charged through the smoke and debris.

Criston cursed behind him, and Gwayne heard the clatter of armor as the Lord Commander sprinted after him, but Gwayne didn’t care. All that mattered was reaching you.

Above, the struggle between Silverwing and Vhagar intensified. Aemond’s curses mingled with the roars of his dragon as he tried to force Vhagar to tear herself free, but Silverwing was like a vice, her jaws locked onto Vhagar’s throat. The she-dragon’s great wings buffeted the air, but even Vhagar, with all her size and strength, was struggling against the tenacity of her smaller opponent. Silverwing’s wings were shredded, her silvery scales bloodied, but she refused to let go. She was holding on not just for herself, but for you.

“Y/N!” Gwayne’s shout cut through the chaos as he neared the spot where you lay half-alive below Silverwing’s wing. He could see that you were barely conscious, your grip weak on your sword as you fought to stay awake. Desperation fueled his every move as he urged the horse closer, reaching out to you. “Hold on! I’m coming!”

Through the haze of pain, you blinked up at him, your eyes unfocused. “Gwayne?” Your voice was faint, tinged with disbelief. “You… you shouldn’t be here…”

“I’m not leaving you!” Gwayne snapped, his voice rough with emotion. With a final burst of strength, he dismounted down beside you, reaching for your arm. The moment his hand grasped yours, you seemed to come back to life, your eyes clearing just enough to recognize him fully.

“Gwayne… you need to run,” you gasped, wincing as another jolt of pain coursed through you. “She’s going to kill us all…”

“Not today,” he vowed, pulling up with him and onto his horse. You were light in his arms, weakened from battle and injury, but there was still a flicker of the fierce spirit he had always admired in you. “I’ll get you out of here, I swear it.”

Criston’s voice was closer now, filled with anger. “Hightower, you’ll be executed for this!” he roared, but Gwayne didn’t even spare him a glance. He dug his heels into the horse’s flanks, and the animal surged forward, carrying you both away from the hellish scene behind you.

As the horse galloped across the field, Gwayne glanced back over his shoulder just in time to see the moment when Silverwing’s strength finally gave out. Vhagar’s claws found purchase, tearing deep into Silverwing’s side, and with a heart-wrenching cry, the silver dragon was forced to release her grip. Vhagar reared up, triumphant and bloodied, but the cost of the battle was clear—her eye was ruined, her scales cracked and bleeding. Silverwing collapsed onto the battlefield, her wings crumpling beneath her, but even then, she snarled defiantly, refusing to bow.

But there was no more fight left in her. Gwayne’s heart broke as he watched the light fade from Silverwing’s eyes, her body slumping in exhaustion. Aemond’s laughter echoed through the sky, dark and cruel, as he urged Vhagar to take the final blow. But before Vhagar could finish her fallen opponent, Gwayne’s eyes caught the movement of Criston as he halted his pursuit.

“Cole!” Aegon’s voice was a ragged gasp, filled with pain and panic. The king lay on the battlefield, unmoving, his once-golden armor scorched and twisted from the flames. His face was barely recognizable, the flesh blistered and raw, his body wracked with agony. Criston’s eyes widened in horror as he realized what had happened—their king was grievously injured, possibly dying. All thoughts of pursuing Gwayne and you evaporated as Criston sprinted toward Aegon, screaming orders for a healer.

Gwayne tightened his hold on you as the horse raced away from the carnage, his heart pounding with a mix of fear and determination. You clung to him weakly, your breath shallow, your strength fading fast. “Stay with me, Y/N,” he urged, his voice trembling with barely contained desperation. “Just hold on a little longer. We’ll find safety. I won’t let you die.”

Your eyes fluttered, and for a brief moment, you leaned your head against his chest, your voice a faint whisper. “You saved me… again…”

Gwayne’s throat tightened, his emotions threatening to spill over. “And I’ll keep saving you, no matter what it costs,” he promised, pressing a fierce kiss to your temple as the wind whipped through your hair. “I’m not losing you. Not today, not ever.”

Behind them, the battle raged on, but for Gwayne, the only thing that mattered was the woman in his arms and the fragile hope that somehow, despite everything, they would both live to see another day.

[sayruq]

After the withdrawal of over 25,000 troops from northern Gaza, the Palestinian Resistance, which had been giving the IDF hell in that region (hence the withdrawal), focused their attention on central and southern Gaza. The past few days however, they've intensified their operations in the north again, tricking the IDF into becoming complacent. This, as usual, undermines the claims by the Israeli government of controlling the north.

The bigger problem facing the Israeli government is that Hamas has started to re-establish civil services in the north including policing and distributing aid services.

Here's an Israeli analyst almost realising what that means

It means the IDF lost in the north and will lose in central and southern Gaza as well.

It won't be long before the rest of the country also realises what this means though like this analyst they'll blame Israel withdrawing too early and not the fact that the IDF failed to defeat the Resistance. The Palestinians are moving like a well oiled war machine right now, sending rockets into the Occupied Territories while taking out tanks, ambushing Israeli soldiers and booby trapping tunnels. They simply can't be beat, not by the IDF at least.

Eventually, the IDF will have to release accurate casualty numbers and Israelis will understand that their army lost against Palestine despite dropping thousands of bombs and killing over 24,000 civilians. What that does to Israeli society will be interesting to see.

[banmitbandit]

Pots 'N' Picks Week 2024: Day 2: Monster

NOTICE. ADVENTURERS BEWARE. Recent shifts in the dungeon's layout have caused new monsters to spawn from it's depths. Keep yourself educated so you aren't caught unawares by these dangerous creatures. The Wyvern Chimera has been shown to be highly intelligent, possessing heightened senses and an intricate knowledge of it's surroundings. Often ambushing prey on higher floors where traps are abundant, it makes up for it's smaller size by letting the dungeon do most of the work for it. Adventurers attempting to take on this creature should be aware that it will hear you long before you hear it. Those interested should parboil, baste with sweet sauces and roast until cooked to perfection. The White Dragon Chimera is an anomaly in that it can quite comfortably survive in both extreme cold and extreme heat. As such, it quite comfortably roams both the frozen lakes and tunnels on floor six and the dwarven catacombs of floor seven. It posesses a high resistance to magical attacks, but Adventurers should take caution in engaging this monster unless they are extremely well prepared. Surprisingly, this creature is one of the only monsters observed actually cooking it's food. Best served as minced breast meat and liver baked into a pie alongside various spices and vegetables.

I like them a normal amount.

[sighmurderbot]

Are you, like me, suddenly obsessed with COD and want to write fanfic, but you don't want to always follow the canon missions?

Introducing: the mission generator. Pick one thing from each catagory and write away. Assembled from various resources and my head.

Objective:

<air strike / aid / arm / assassinate / assault / bombard / breach / build / bypass / capture / clear / contact / contain / control / defend / destroy / disarm / disaster relief / disengage / disinformation / distract / escort / extract / guard / identify / infiltrate / interrogate / isolate / investigation / lead / liberate / medical assistance / neutralize / occupy / patrol / propagandize / recon / recruit / repair / rescue / sabotage / seize / supply / surveillance / train>

Target:

<ship / dictator / informant / army / navy / armor / missile / chemical gas / estate / financial institution / airplane / organization / religious icon / subject matter expert / terrorist cell / journalist / rebels / airforce / drug trafficker / intelligence agency / factory / general / supply chain / submarine / enemy base / hostage / safe house / WMD / monument / leader / deserters / militia / research center / lab / bridge / mountain pass>

Unforseen Complication:

<old rival / dependant / redundant cell / transportation problems / competition / blown cover / legal trouble / old enemy / natural disaster / love interest / old friend / wounded / illness / journalists / bad weather / civil unrest / emergency election / civilians in need / double agent / weapon malfunction / team separated / betrayal / mistaken identity / regime change / deserters / ambush / bad Intel / false flag op / sabotage / traps / hacking / capture / setup>

Location:

<city / town / village / estate / mountains / abandoned house / military base / port / desert / forest / plains / river / ocean / tunnel / caves / swamp / jungle / coast / volcano / ruins / arctic / tundra / hills / canyon / mountain pass>

[sidekick-hero]

(steddie | teen | 3.2k | tags: werewolf!Steve, Human!Eddie, hurt!Steve, Eddie taking care of Steve, minor characters death | @steddielovemonth prompt: Love is feeling safe by @novacorpsrecruit | AO3)

He runs for his life, his paws hitting the snowy ground with heavy thumps. His flank hurts where the bullet buried itself, but it's distant, drowned out by his instinct to survive. He can't afford to slow down, so he pushes through, letting his instincts carry him as fast as his legs will take him.

His pursuers are only human, not equipped to keep up with a nearly grown wolf. But he's hurt, and he's exhausted, and they have guns.

Part of him wonders why he's even trying to save himself.

They killed the whole village. His parents, his friends, his neighbors. They all burned to death, and those who managed to escape the flames were slaughtered by the hunters. All except him, who managed to escape through the secret tunnels beneath their home, while his parents stayed behind to fight off the invaders.

The Harringtons had been the alphas of their pack, and it was their responsibility to protect the pack with their lives.

None of them deserved to die. No one in their pack had ever hurt a human. They hardly ever saw one, choosing to live as far away from their settlements as possible while still being able to trade with them for the goods they couldn't produce.

It didn't matter to the hunters who came late at night and ambushed them in their sleep. In their eyes, they were monsters. His parents always warned him that humans would never understand them, would always fear them, and fear breeds hatred. Humans couldn't be trusted, they weren't safe.

Back when that meant he couldn't be friends with the daughter of the blacksmith his parents did business with, he refused to believe them. But now it seems that they were always right.

Humans are not to be trusted. They're not safe.

It feels like Steve has been running for hours and still he hears them following him, following his bloody trail. They're not even stealthy, branches snapping, shouts and the occasional gunshot. He's not sure how much longer he can keep going, the pain and exhaustion finally catching up with him.

He's so focused on listening to the hunters behind him that he doesn't really look where he's going, just runs and runs and runs.

Suddenly the world turns upside down, the pain in his flank flares up, white-hot, and then everything goes dark.

He comes to slowly, his senses catching up with reality one by one.

It's warm where he lies, the sharp smell of burning wood heavy in the air. Panic rises in his throat and he can't stop the whine falling from his muzzle, it must mean he didn't make it out after all, he's still trapped in the burning ruins of his home. He's going to die here, burned alive like everyone else he's known since he was a pup.

His ears pick up other sounds over the crackling of a nearby fire. Someone is here, Steve can smell them. Smell him. It's a human, a man. His scent is strong, clinging to the soft blanket Steve can feel beneath him. He's humming a familiar tune, his voice deep and melodic, and Steve can't believe he's about to die with the tune of a nursery rhyme stuck in his head.

Heavy footsteps are coming toward him, and Steve hasn't opened his eyes yet, but he thinks the guy is wearing heavy boots. It's winter, after all, and humans don't run as hot as wolves, completely unprotected from the harshness of the season.

His whole body aches, every limb is heavy, and exhaustion is trying to drag him under again. Steve knows he's in no condition to fight, that he won't last more than a few seconds before the human kills him, but he won't die without a fight. That's not who he is.

So when he feels the human stop in front of him and fall to his knees beside Steve's motionless body, Steve attacks.

Well, he tries. But his body won't cooperate, the pain makes him so dizzy that he almost loses consciousness as he tries to rise enough to sink his teeth into the human's soft flesh. He sinks back down, with pained whimpers he tries to suppress but can't.

"Shh, hey, it's okay, buddy. I'm not gonna hurt you. I promise. I'm trying to help you, but you are gonna have to stay still and let me, okay?"

It doesn't make any sense, none of it, but he's so tired and the voice talking to him sounds so nice, warm and soothing. It makes him want to lie still and let it wash over him. With the last of his strength, he blinks his eyes open to look at the man who is about to end his life, no matter what his alluring voice promises.

The last thing Steve sees before the pain and exhaustion pulls him back under are the man's eyes. They were a rich, dark brown, like melted chocolate under a gentle heat. Their warmth held a soft depth, inviting and comforting, reminiscent of a cozy fireplace on a chilly evening. With each gaze, it was as if the soft flicker of candlelight danced within them, creating an aura of quiet reassurance.

The next time Steve is awake, he feels better. He's still weak, but the bone-deep exhaustion has eased. So has the pain, a dull ache rather than a white-hot agony that sets his nerves on fire. As he comes more and more to himself, his brain clearing the haze of sleep, he takes stock.

He's still alive.

He's still surrounded by the scent of the man who found him.

He's comfortable, a soft surface and blankets beneath him.

He's starving.

As if he heard Steve's thoughts - or more likely his growling stomach - Steve hears the man approaching again. Opening his eyes blearily, Steve sees him standing in the doorway with a plate in his hand, and the smell that hits Steve's nose makes his empty stomach cramp with hunger, and saliva floods his mouth. Roasted chicken, Steve's favorite.

"Look who's awake," the man says, and Steve wonders if he knows who Steve is or if he's one of those guys who talks to animals. He really hopes it's the latter, because that makes his chances of survival at least a little better.

The man takes another two steps towards him, but then stops and looks at him cautiously.

"Okay, last time didn't go so well, huh?" He asks, but Steve thinks it's more rhetorical. "I've got food for you, so please don't bite me? God, it's a good thing Wayne isn't here or he'd think I'd finally lost it, talking to a wolf."

Shaking his head, the man comes closer and Steve takes in his appearance. He doesn't look particularly dangerous, rather slender with dark curls and a pale complexion. He doesn't carry any weapons, but he does have an ugly scar on his face. It must have been a deep cut, and it runs in a jagged line across his cheek.

Steve tries to lift his head when the man is close enough to strike, but he only manages a few inches before sinking back down with a soft whine.

"Hey, hey, hey, you shouldn't move yet, sweetheart. It's a miracle nothing's broken, as far as I can tell, but that bullet really did a number on you, almost like it was poisoned. Bastards to do this to another being."

Silver bullet, Steve thinks. That explains the intense pain and weakness.

Then he forgets all about it the moment the smell of the chicken intensifies as the man reaches out to Steve's muzzle with a large chunk of meat between his fingers. The man, if you can call him that, probably about Steve's age, looks terrified as he does so, but he doesn't stop until Steve can close his teeth around the meat and pull it into his mouth. When the meat is gone, Steve chewing happily and the guy still in possession of all five fingers, his host breathes a sigh of relief.

"Shit, man, that was scary," the man laughs, his dimples popping. He beams at Steve as he hands him another large chunk of chicken.

This human is so weird, Steve thinks. Talking to a wolf like it's a human, chastising hunters for wounding it with what he thinks is a poisoned bullet. Feeding it its own rations by hand, during a harsh winter, no less.

Whatever plan is behind this: Steve doesn't understand it. But he's too weak to think much about it, because as soon as the plate is empty and his stomach comfortably full, Steve sinks back under.

He dreams of soft hands stroking his fur, and of someone softly singing to him the lullaby that his mother used to sing to him when he was a pup and woke up from a nightmare.

It becomes routine as Steve's body fights off the effects of the silver bullet.

The man, whose name was Eddie, as Steve learned during one of the many times he was sort of talking to himself, fed him meat by hand, and sometimes broth and potatoes. Every two days he would also dress his wound, always clicking his tongue at the state of it and muttering about asshole hunters.

Eddie always talked while tending to Steve, at first telling him how his body was healing and what Eddie was doing to help him. But after a while, he began to tell Steve about his days and his chores, regaling Steve with tales of his adventures while gathering firewood or preparing meals for them. It was surprisingly comforting to listen to Eddie talk, his stories always funny and dramatic, with a hint of self-deprecation.

It didn't make sense to Steve why Eddie was doing all this until one night he started talking about his uncle, who had gone to the city to find work to better support them and hadn't been home in months.

It was then that Steve realized that Eddie was lonely.

He'd been alone in that cabin in the middle of the woods for months until he found Steve lying in a ravine and carried him home.

Steve was the closest thing Eddie had to a companion in months.

Knowing that eased some of the apprehension he felt toward Eddie, because it seemed that as long as the man didn't know that Steve wasn't an ordinary wolf, he didn't have to be afraid of him.

Three weeks after Steve first woke up in Eddie's cabin, he manages to get up on weak legs and take a few tentative steps before collapsing again.

Eddie is there to catch him and by then his hands are welcome on Steve's body.

They are always gentle with Steve, stroking his fur and snout, scratching behind his ears just right. Eddie touches him all the time now, and Steve has no idea how he feels about it.

That's not entirely true, he has an inkling of what the warmth means that spreads through his body when Eddie lies down behind him on the mattress he'd put in front of the fireplace so Steve would be warm while he healed. Every night, Eddie would bury his face in Steve's fur right at his neck, a vulnerable place only close members of a pack were ever allowed to put their snouts, and stroke Steve's side and belly with gentle hands until they both drifted off to sleep.

Everything smelled of Eddie. Steve smelled of Eddie.

And Eddie had begun to smell of Steve.

It made his inner wolf purr with satisfaction, and that was such a phenomenally bad idea.

That's why Steve is trying to get back on his feet as quickly as possible, so he can leave before these feelings that have started to grow in his heart get any worse.

Eddie is human.

Humans are not to be trusted. They are not safe.

But Eddie feels safe.

Worse, he is starting to feel a lot like mate, and Eddie has no idea what that even means.

"Careful, Koda. You're still healing. There's no rush, y'know. You can stay here as long as you want, okay? This is your home now, too."

Steve whines softly at the ache in Eddie's voice and licks his neck and face to comfort him. The wet tongue probably tickles because it makes Eddie laugh, and he buries his face in the thick fur at the front of Steve's neck.

And Steve just lets him, lets him press his mouth against his throat while he nuzzles behind Eddie's ear and breathes in his scent.

Steve is fucked.

It all comes to a head a few weeks later.

Steve is now back on his feet and uses his new mobility to follow Eddie around and keep him company while he does his chores, often dozing next to him while he cooks or chops wood or sorts through their rapidly dwindling supplies. Soon Eddie will have to go hunting to keep them stocked with meat, and Eddie hates the thought. He doesn't want to hurt another creature.

That's why Steve decides to go hunting for his human. He can provide for him.

A week later, he leaves in the middle of the night, carefully slipping out of Eddie's arms around him and trotting through the little door that Eddie built into his door so that Steve could relieve himself whenever he needed to.

It goes better than Steve expected, his muscles still not back to where they used to be, but stronger and faster than he would have thought after weeks of lying around. He follows the tracks of a deer for almost an hour before he finally finds it. The hunt itself is short, the wind comes from the right direction, and the deer clearly doesn't sense him until it's too late.

Steve kills it as quickly and painlessly as possible, sure that Eddie would want him to. He thinks he would do anything to make Eddie happy.

When Steve comes back from the woods, he's dragging the deer's body with his snout, wishing he could just shift back into his human body because it would be so much easier with his hands. But the shift takes a lot out of an already weakened body, and he can't risk it. In a few weeks it will be as easy as breathing again, he's sure of that, but right now it could be a serious setback in his recovery.

He can already see the cabin through the trees when he hears Eddie's voice calling for him. He sounds panicked and Steve immediately drops his prey to run to his mate.

Eddie is not even wearing a jacket, his breath coming out in clouds of condensed air as he stumbles through the glittering snow, calling for Koda.

He calls for his wolf with panicked tears in his voice and Steve barrels into him without a second's hesitation. Eddie falls to the ground, his arms full of Steve, his hands clutching Steve's fur as if he's afraid this is a dream and Steve will disappear again.

"Koda? Oh my God, where the hell have you been? I was worried sick. I thought you just disappeared." Eddie sits up, his arms never letting go of where they are wrapped around Steve, and Steve can smell the tears on his face. He carefully licks them away as more and more follow. "Please don't leave me, please, please, please," Eddie keeps begging him, his whole body shaking and Steve wants to shift so badly. He wants to take his mate in his arms and hold him, soothe his pain and fear and promise him that he'll never leave him.

So even though he knows better, he does.

One moment Eddie is holding a big, brown wolf in his arms, and the next he is holding a very human, very naked man in his lap.

If Steve wasn't scared to death of how Eddie will react, he would laugh at the high-pitched squeal Eddie lets out when he realizes what has happened.

"Hi," Steve says, waving at Eddie with fluttering fingers. Not his smoothest moment, but to be fair, this isn't how he usually approaches someone he's attracted to. For once he is usually wearing a lot more clothes.

"Uhhh, hi?" Eddie asks, stunned. "Who... Wait, not important right now. Where is my wolf? My Koda. I just got him back."

Steve is pretty sure that Eddie must be in shock and not thinking clearly, but it warms his heart how attached he is to Steve's wolf. He hopes he can get him to like his human side just as much.

Deciding it's best to just come clean with Eddie, Steve exclaims, "Tada," and does a very silly imitation of jazz hands.

Eddie just blinks at him with big eyes.

Okay, Plan B it is, Steve thinks. "I'm him. I'm Koda. Or, well, no, I'm Steve, but you couldn't know that. But, um, yeah, I'm your wolf?" Steve cringes at the your, but it's too late to take it back, and besides, he really wants to be Eddie's wolf.

He wants to be Eddie's everything.

"I knew it!"

Eddie's sudden outburst startles Steve so much that he almost falls off Eddie's lap before Eddie's arms tighten around him.

"Sorry, sorry. It's just... my mom told me about wolves that could turn into humans. She used to tell me stories about how they used to be the protectors of villages and towns, the friends and companions of humans, before some humans turned against them, jealous of the admiration and status they had with the villagers, and drove them away. Mama said that when a wolf chooses you as a mate, you are blessed for life. She always wanted to meet one of you."

Steve knows about Eddie's mother, another story he told Steve under the protective cover of night as they lay on their mattress, Steve's fur soaking up Eddie's tears as he talked about losing his mother when he was only ten.

"Aren't you afraid of me?" Steve still has to ask, his heart beating as fast as the wings of a bird taking flight.

Eddie looks at him as if the thought had never occurred to him. "Afraid of you? Koda... I mean, Stevie, can I call you Stevie?" at Steve's nod Eddie continues, "Are you going to hurt me?"

Now it's Steve's turn to look at Eddie in disbelief. "What? No! Never! Eddie, I promise I would never hurt you. I just thought that you..."

"That I would hurt you if I found out what you are?" Eddie asks quietly, his thumb stroking Steve's collarbone.

"Yes," Steve admits in a low voice. "But not anymore."

"No?" He sounds so hopeful when he asks this, so trusting in the way he holds Steve in his arms, even after learning of Steve's true nature. Steve smiles down at the man who saved him, who tended to him, who cared for him.

His human.

His mate, if Eddie will let him. Steve thinks he might.

"No, I feel safe with you."

Eddie's answering smile is blinding, and Steve has to kiss him, right here in the snow, sitting buck naked in Eddie's lap, the morning sun bathing them in its hopeful light.

[matan4il]

Daily update post:

Three more bodies were retrieved from Gaza by the IDF and identified. At least two of them were Israelis taken hostage on Oct 7, who were seen alive in vids published by Hamas as they were being led away, and today it was confirmed that they were murdered in captivity by these terrorists. They were both 19 years old. On the right is Ron Sherman. On the left is his friend, Nick Bizer. In the middle are the last text messages Ron sent to his mom. They read, "Bye mom, I love you all" (followed by five heart emojies), then "That's it," "They're here" and "It's over."

The third body was identified as 28 years old Elia Toledano. He was kidnapped by Hamas terrorists from the Nova music festival on Oct 7. As far as I can tell, there's no confirmation yet of when he was killed.

May their memories be a blessing.

The IDF revealed today how Hamas is trying to lure Israeli soldiers into an ambush in a booby trapped area, with armed terrorists lying in wait: by using child-shaped mannequins, school bags and speakers playing recordings in Hebrew and of sobbing, to make the soldiers think hostages might be held there.

Yesterday, the IDF finished a 60 hours operation in Jenin, where the Palestinian Authority is supposed to be responsible to fight against Hamas and terrorism, but in reality, the PA does nothing. This was the longest IDF operation in Jenin since Opoeration Defensive Shield (Mar to May 2002, which started following a wave of suicide bombings, and specifically after the murderous terrorist attack on Park Hotel in Netanya, where Jews eating a Passover meal together were targeted and murdered). During the operation that ended yesterday, the IDF uncovered 10 shafts leading to terror tunnels. That's not in Gaza. Let that sink in.

Also, if you see anyone saying, "But Hamas only operates in Gaza!" you'll know they're either ignorant or lying. Hamas only rules Gaza, but it absolutely operates outside it.

Another case in point for that last statement, that Hamas operates outside of Gaza, too. Remember that I posted in my daily update yesterday about the people arrested for having intended to carry out a terrorist attack against Jews in Denamrk? We have more info about that now, and it turns out that 7 people were arrested in total, not just 4, and that they were arrested in 3 countries, not just 2 (so in addition to arrests in Denmark and the Netherlands, terrorists were arrested in Germany as well), and most importantly, the people arrested included Hamas terrorists.

Again, let that sink in. When we tell you that Hamas wants to kill all Jews in the world, that's not just idle talk. It's not just a recent statement, either. Here's a Hamas senior stating as much back in 2019, and they also said as much in their founding charter.

Maybe just as importantly, these terrorists were taken down thanks to the Mossad's work.

So when we tell you that Jews are safer with Israel existing, that's not just in the case of Jews finding sanctuary from danger in Israel. That's true as well. But there can be Jews, even anti-Zionist Jews, who will lead their entire lives outside of Israel, never realizing that behind the scenes, an antisemitic terrorist attack that could have killed them, was stopped thanks to the fact that the Mossad (Israel's equivalent of the CIA) is in charge not only of protecting Israelis worldwide from terrorist attacks, it's responsible for the safety of all Jews. That's the kind of protection people would rob Jews of, when they advocate for the destruction of Israel, or even "just" the destruction of Israel as a Jewish state.

I thought this was a great response. From Letters to the Editor, Los Angeles Times:

Hanukkiahs lit in honor of the Israeli hostages, in the Jewish Quarter of the Old City of Jerusalem, on the last night of Hanukkah (the song is Come Back by Idan Raichel, performed by Roni Delumi, and its chorus goes, "Come back, come back, today / I so wanted you to arrive / I wish you'd come without announcing it this very day"):

These are 26 years old Yovel Sharvit and 27 years old Mor Trabelsi:

They married exactly a month before the Hamas massacre. On Oct 7, they were at the Nova music festival. Yovel survived, but Mor was shot to death in front of her eyes. Yovel participated as a model in a special fashion show, meant to call attention to the victims of Hamas, and especially to the sexual violence perpetrated that day. Yovel wore a wedding dress reminiscent of her own, with blood stains on, and groping hands. The dress also features sentences in Hebrew and Arabic that Yovel heard on or about that day. The dress is torn at the top, as per Jewish mourning customs. The make up artist recreated Yovel's real wounds on her back, and just as importantly, the deadly gunshot wound that killed Mor, on Yovel's forehead.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[saltysaltdog]

Just because it's been boiling my brain, the fandom agrees Ratau is the reason there's so many traps and ambushes in cult of the lamb, right? Because he was a stealth main who vanishes into underground hiding spots/tunnels, taking down units one by one, and sneaking into temples, right?

Because that giant screaming bell thing seems like it'd be a pain for rogues: since it only goes off when enemies are alerted/an enemy dies, then follows the player around till all enemies in that area are defeated. Total stealth killer. They made it especially for him.

Thus the best way to defeat Ratau was to have traps, stakeouts, and ambushes. Instead of general patrols, checkpoints, and unit check-ins since a rogue would just sneak past those. Because unless those doors have a "fixed*" entry point, it's pretty weird to have your whole place covered in traps just in case a crown bearer comes through.

[evolutionsvoid]

Though belonging to a group of animals known for their slow speed, Decapitator Slugs are actually a serious danger and are capable of racking a substantial body count over their lifetime. They dwell in dark and forgotten places, like tunnels, caves and abandoned buildings. Their sluggish nature makes the pursuit of prey impossible, so they rely on ambush to take down their food. Their typical tactic is to slither up onto ceilings and wait for a target to pass below them. Once prey is detected beneath them, they will peel their front half free and stretch their heads down to reach their food. What used to be simple tentacles and eye stalks have now developed additional grasping tendrils and hooked barbs. They are quick to reach down and snare prey, digging in their claws and holding on tight. Their strength and sticky mucus make this grip quite difficult to break, no matter how much the prey struggles. It is then the maw of the Decapitator Slug descends, yawning open to reveal horrible blades and a slicing radula. The slug will latch onto the victim's head and use its highly flexible mouth to slowly swallow the entire skull until its cutting jaws are positioned round the neck. It is then they begin slicing and sawing through skin, flesh and bone, eventually shearing through the spine. The head is cut off and swallowed whole, while the body is left to drop like a useless sack of meat. With prize in gut, the Decapitator Slug latches back onto the ceiling and then slithers to its lair to digest its new meal.

It appears that these slugs feed primarily on the brain organa, which many find fitting due to slugs' association with Phlegm. All soft parts of the head are digested, and eventually the skull is excreted as waste. However, it does not discard these bones, rather it scoops them up and holds onto them with its muscly foot. Decapitator Slugs carry a morbid collection of skulls, all taken from previous victims. Studies found that they store their eggs in these skulls, using them as a protective shell for their young. Some suggest that these slugs even leave some digested brain matter inside these things to help feed their children as well. When the young are ready to live on their own, they slither out from their bony homes and venture out to new feeding grounds.

The diet of the Decapitator Slug makes it a menace to all, but what makes it more horrific is the slow excruciating manner of death. Those snared by its tendrils are forced to struggle in vain, all while the deadly maw creeps closer to their heads. And if they cannot cut themselves free, the mouth begins the lazy journey of swallowing your head. The entire time this happens, you are alive and aware, watching in horror as its gullet creeps over your eyes, nose and then mouth. Your screams are muffled in its throat, and your only hope remaining is that you asphyxiate before the teeth begin sawing through your neck. This is why they are despised and slain wherever they are found.

Their populations were once kept in check, and they were little more than scary stories for children, but now that the war has dragged on, they have found their opening. Less hunters and more places to call home. The menace spreads, and not always on their own. Some unsavory types have found these slugs to make good guards and living traps, placing them where intruders and easy targets may wander. The slugs will eat those who don't belong, and the bandits get the spoils from the corpse. Plus, the slugs provide a fine source of skulls and bone for those who need forging materials or intimidating trophies. However, it should be warned that these slugs know no loyalty. They simply eat whatever passes below them. Thus many drunken bandits have met their end to their own guard dogs when blindly wandering into the wrong places.

---------------------------------------------

"Decapitator Slug"

A creature drawn before my FOI redoing and then slapped into that setting once I saw the fit. Thus why its design and colors are a bit different then one would expect for a FOI slug.

[dreamingofyeo]

𓏲๋࣭ ࣪ A siren's song࿐࿔𖦹ִ

Chapter 6: Passage of hope ࿐࿔𖦹ִ

~ details in masterlist

~ playlist

~ 1,372 words

~ chapter warnings: none

~☆彡 tumblr's algorithm works off of reblogs so please consider it if you like my work :)

Playlist song key

🕸️ambush

🕯️rain

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yeosang pov

The appearance of the blue bird had been the first indication, it resurfacing in the market had been confirmation. San at the bar had been a beacon of hope, his magical healing gifts no match for any petty potion Vervona could acquire. Mingi and Wooyoung in the shadows had been the trigger in their plan. My crew, they finally found me. A single subtle nod toward San was all they needed to act first and ask questions later regarding rescuing my new friend with me.

As the arms I recognise as Jongho’s wrap under my own I can’t help but grin. The sharp inhale of breath to my left an indication of a scream about to escape, I clamp my hand over her mouth and she thankfully takes the hint. With that, Jongho and, to take a guess Yunho, pull us from our seats and down the hidden trapdoor beneath the rug. To be fair to her, when the elixir arrived in front of us, all it took was as a pointed look for her to take the hint, she’ll fit right in.

~🕸️

The shouting and gunshots continue above our heads as the trap door closes and is jammed shut by Jongho with a strategic placement of some kind of plank. There’ll be time for reunions later, for now we’ve got to move.

We begin to run down the passage way, carefully placing our steps in the darkness. My new friend, obviously not called Cara Jones, grasps my wrist and pulls me to a stop, speaking in a flurry of panic. I can just make out her features in the darkness; they’re paralysed in a state of shock and fear, yet when her eyes meet my own they somehow soften.

“Yeosang, who? Where-“

“My crew, there’s no time to explain right now we need to move.”

I feel bad for cutting her off, but she’ll thank me for the time saved on explanation later. With that, we begin running again. The sounds of gunshots are fading now, thankfully.

The tunnel goes on for what feels like forever, it must be an old smugglers passage, I hope she’s not afraid of spiders, there are cobwebs undoubtedly all over us by this point.

I call out to my crew members, the relief evident.

“Yunho, Jongho how the hell-“

It’s my turn to be cut off now apparently.

“No time for that right now Sangie, save it for Capt’n.”

Yunho clips back excitedly. Jongho laughs under his breath.

The sliver of light in the ceiling at what must be the end of the passage brings with it all the hope imaginable. Upon reaching it, Yunho delivers 1 firm knock followed by 2 scrapes of his dagger; the exit trap door opens and as I look up I see the face of my Captain’s first mate. Park Seonghwa.

~🕯️

He spares a moment to smirk down at me, shaking his head as he laughs into his chest before extending a rope down. I look over at my friend, she is looking at me with an expression akin to relief. I stifle a chuckle when she registers the cobwebs coating her and her features morph into horror. She frantically gestures and pleads with her eyes for me to swipe them away, I do so gladly. Yunho and Jongho gesture for me to take a hold of the rope, and so I do.

After a minor struggle we all get safely out of the passage, resealing and camouflaging the trap door. When satisfied, I look at my surroundings, we’re in a secluded dune on a beach. Palm trees reach high above us, effectively hiding our forms from the worst of the sun’s unforgiving rays.

Seonghwa’s voice snaps me out of the momentary daze. His tone thick with the kind of authority I’ve taken for granted all these years, a tone I’ve missed dearly.

“The Illusion is about 10 minutes from here, had to hide her in a cove. Let’s move. You can explain our extra crew member to Hongjoong when we’ve put some distance between us and the Crimson.”

“Aye.”

The contrast in emotions from now to the last I spoke that word is immense, and reminds me again how much I’ve missed everything.

I can’t help but grin at him, before gesturing to my friend to follow. I really hope she entrusts me with her real name soon.

The slow trudge through the sand feels even longer than the passage, not for the distance, for the anticipation. Seeing the ship’s billowing white sails after so long is a feeling I fear I will never be able to do justice to with words. I’m home.

The feeling of climbing aboard tops that; setting my feet down upon those all familiar planks, they creak as if to say ‘welcome back’.

Readers POV

The amount of emotions which have coursed through your body in the past 20 minutes is beyond description, terror and confusion taking centre stage. These pirates are different though, they’re Yeosang’s crew. If he trusts them then you will at least attempt to.

The door to the main cabin swings open and the remainder of Yeosang’s crew run to you all- or more specifically to him. Though you’re now stood rather awkwardly to the side, you’re more than happy to watch the scene of such pure chaos and joy unfold.

A man with hair similar to the navigator’s in length bounds over like a puppy and practically tackles him to the deck. You can already tell he will be a lot to handle simply from the positively manic expression across his countenance. His sheiks of excitement sounding across the deck remind you of seagulls, you suppress a chuckle at the thought. Yeosang’s muffled greeting into his shoulder makes you smile just as wide as the man though. From this, you learn his name to be ‘Wooyoung’.

Another - the man from the bar you suddenly realise, shows some level of restraint. His eyes and soft despite his wide smile. He opts to simply rest a hand upon Yeosang’s shoulder before crushing him in another hug when he’s released from his first. You catch his name too, it is ‘San’.

A third man ducks out of the cabin, black hair cropped close to his head with the top framing his face. His face changes from stern and intimidating to the very picture of happiness, his smile wide and crinkling at his eyes. There is a long gun of some sort across his back, he must be responsible for the lanterns going out. He doesn’t bother to wait, instead opting for a group hug- to which Wooyoung eagerly joins. The final choked greeting from Yeosang informs you that his name is ‘Mingi’.

One last man exits the cabin, his posture leaking with authority. Though he wears no signature hat, he must be the captain. The others back away from Yeosang and give them space for a more formal reunion, after a firm hand shake the captain also wraps him in a warm embrace.

The man you assumed to be the captain steps away and observes his crew with a content smile before speaking up. His tone is loud and authoritative, yet unable to mask the sheer happiness emanating from him even if he wanted to.

“Now then men.”

Everyone instantly settles down, you could swear even from the distance apart you were that there are tears in Yeosang’s eyes. His smile settles from wide and gleeful until it is almost akin to a pout, holding back whilst receiving word from his captain.

“We’ve achieved our mission. But before we can celebrate our reunion, we need a little distance. So, to your stations.”

He smiles kindly at Yeosang who practically hops skips and jumps to the cabin where you assume the maps to be held, he pulls himself up though and beckons for you to follow.

Before you reach him, you feel a hand close over your shoulder.

“We will address the elephant in the room when we’re at a safe distance, his safety is my priority right now.”

Though laced with kindness and reassurance, you feel a shiver go down your spine at the captain’s words…

<-chapter 5 ~ chapter 7->

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist (open)

@baek-at-it-again95 @amalialoved @lilactangerine

@vampzity @edenesth

[ur-mag]

Gaza invasion plans REVEALED as Israeli shoot-to-kill ‘tunnel rats’ face booby-trap hellhole with ambushes at every turn | In Trend Today

Gaza invasion plans REVEALED as Israeli shoot-to-kill ‘tunnel rats’ face booby-trap hellhole with ambushes at every turn Read Full Text or Full Article on MAG NEWS

[bonefall]

I know we’ve learned a lot about Blossomfall but can you tell me why she defected so late in the battle and why she ended up defecting? I would love to know how the battle went for her, was it because of Ivypool she defected? Since it was stated they had a brief relationship

I'm still working out the full logistics of the battle, but the full outline of the Night Of The True Eclipse goes kinda like this;

ThunderClan knows their exact plan because of Ivypool, and as soon as she vanishes, tries to get to convincing the other Clans to rally together

"They want to kill everyone in power and take over our Clans, just like they did to Shadow"

The politics here are patchy but Shadow is probably easy to convince, since they aren't looking for a repeat of Apple/Red/Rat's little stunt.

And WindClan has too many defectors to have much choice

RiverClan needs more coaxing

I want to write a speech here that convinces them to all unite because I LOVE rallying speeches like that

DARK FOREST

At the launch point, Tigerstar is getting the soldiers organized

They will move in blocks, and use the tunnels to jump out wherever they need

They don't need to slaughter everyone, stay focused on your targets.

Beetlewhisker is killed around this point

Icewing goes into Protect Mode, gathering the softer cats and defending them

But those cats, Mousewhisker, Minnowtail, Harespring, they're united in finding some way out of this

Ivypool asks her mentor Hawkfrost: "do you think we have a chance?"

Hawk: "......" (no)

There will be 3 battles, as the plan falls apart

FIGHTS

The Clan cat plan was to mix up the fighters in each camp and scramble the attacker's expectations, setting traps and ambushes and ensuring that NO NONCOMBATANTS (elders, kits) were present.

The first fight demonstrates this, showing how caught off guard the demons are.

In this fight comes the first set of defectors, Mouse, Hare, Minnow. Cats who turned as soon as they had the chance.

Featherwhisker is a DF cat who defects here as well, tending to the wounds of all cats

Ivypool planned to break it off here, but Blossom, Hawk, and others are still here. She can't leave them.

She meets Dovewing's eyes and charges off

The SECOND battle is even larger, now everyone is being more indiscriminate knowing this cannot be a Blitz to just kill the leaders.

A lot more cats die in this one, it's a proper middle ages clash of armies

There is a sea of screeching and yowling cats, tangled like a solid, writhing pelt

Lionblaze is a one-man-army but there's too many cats! The Clans can't keep up with their ability to teleport out of tunnels and get instant reinforcements

I am also adding: Spirits heal faster than the living. What could take out a mortal for days is healed in an hour for a spirit, because they do not have physical bodies.

Spiderleg catches Toadstep in his mouth during this moment and stops just short of snapping his neck

Everything goes quiet for him in this moment, the screaming and hissing, and all he can hear is the gargle of Toadstep choking. The taste of blood stings his tongue

He drops him, frozen in place as he realizes what he's doing

Either Rosepetal or Lionblaze shows up here though and BONKS him hard, and he runs off

When the Dark Forest retreats, they stream away like a wave lapping the beach and leave a floor of bodies behind them. Dead, dying, bleeding cats. Some of them are moving, but so mauled they aren't recognizable.

Some of the Dark Forest trainees are with them, Sunstrike is so badly injured she can't move. Furzepelt is trembling, clinging to her and trying to apply pressure to one of the wounds, begging for mercy

Marshwing is laying next to the body of Applefur, having fought her to exhaustion. When Birchfall runs up to his old journey friends, Marsh grins,

"We sure came a long way just to end up in deep dung, aye?"

Perceiving this carnage is too much for Jayfeather. What's the good of his stupid powers?! What's the point of STARCLAN if the damned cats are able to do so much more than them??

He's pissed, he's furious, he takes his stupid stick and jams it into the ground. Rips a clump of fur off a dying Dark Forest warrior, takes the blood of a dead mortal, and hesitates before biting his pinky claw clean off.

Blood of the dead, pelt of the damned, claw of a spirit from beyond StarClan

Featherwhisker: "ooo channeling on a moonlit night? Love that"

He leans his head on his staff as the hum of stars churns into a roar in his ears

MEANWHILE the Dark Forest cats are regrouping

The losses were baaaad.

Even some of the most ardent supporters are wavering.

Tigerclaw's newest plan: HURT THEM. If the Clans remember this night in infamy, that is a victory. Make an entire gap in the generational record, time to target the children

Hawkfrost reaches the final point on his redemption arc: "no im not doing that"

FIGHT

Hawkfrost is considered the second strongest fighter, and Tigerstar WRECKS him, mauled.

Ivypool is UPSET

It was brutal and most of the followers are terrified. Tigerstar says, "anyone else want to argue?"

Ivy drags Hawkfrost off, and as a final chapter with him before he fades JUST as they reach the Dark Forest Meadow.

She thinks he's dead, and he kinda is. We won't see him for several more arcs.

BUT NOW Jay is in heaven bringing StarClan Warriors down.

He resurrected his long-dead stick, and it stands as a massive tree in the stars. He fits as many angels as can fit onto its branches;

Firestar, Moleflight, Russetfur, Deerfoot, Stonefur, and the blue meanie and cowboy curtis and jambi the genie robocop terminator captain kirk darth vader lo pan superman every single power ranger--

AND THEN he brings them down on the tree like an elevator

But this is taking time, the tree is growing before their eyes and Jayfeather is open-eyed and stars are dancing in his sightless gaze

Then a sopping wet, brown tabby appears, breathless

It's Lizardtail, a DF trainee, he desperately explains that they are attacking the kits, please help

Dovewing confirms he is not lying. They've changed the plan and she can hear them barreling towards the noncombatants

They haven't reached them yet though, Lizardtail bought them time

He falls to the ground exhausted, having run, swam across the lake, and then run again

Mistystar makes an awed comment about his hallowed flight, which will become his honor title later. Hallowflight.

FINAL BATTLE

Dustpelt goes down swinging, reinforcing the bramble walls, assuring his kits Lily and Seed that he won't let anyone hurt them

Millie and Blossomfall face off, Blossom vowing she'll end Briarlight

Briarlight cuts through, "Bloss... do you really hate me like that?"

"YES I DO!" (pause. No she doesn't. However they do get interrupted in the chaos)

The first of the Clan combatants show up, pairing off with their rivals.

Ivypool is back, looking absolutely destroyed. She ends up pleading to Bloss that she doesn't want to lose her too

This is when she defects.

Up next, the Tiger/Scourge/Black battle

When Tigerstar wins the match, the sky brightens, and the stars begin to fall.

And that's when Firestar and the StarClan Reinforcements come in to end this

Brackenfur and Thornclaw face off. Mistystar fights alongside her brothers. Many such cases

When Firestar wins, ending Tigerstar's reign of terror, the battle is over.

The last of the DF fighters who fought to the end are captured. The dark forest warriors who stay too long become incorporeal as the Eclipse passes over the moon, leaving just the trainees.

[workersolidarity]

🇵🇸⚔️🇮🇱 🪖💥 🚨

SARAYA AL-QUDS BRIGADES LAY COMPLEX TRAP TO AMBUSH THE FORCES OF THE ISRAELI OCCUPATION ARMY

📹 Scenes from the Military Engineering Corps. of the Saraya Al-Quds Brigades, belonging to Palestinian Islamic Jihad (PIJ), set a complex trap and ambush for the forces of the Israeli occupation army as they invade the Al-Taqaddum axis, in the Al-Shujaiya neighborhood, east of Gaza City.

After the resistance lures a unit of Israeli occupation soldiers into a house booby-trapped with explosives set into the mouth of a tunnel network, in conjuction with mines laid under unexploded American-made ordnance, the Al-Quds mujahideen detonate the explosives, collapsing the building on top of the invading Zionist soldiers.

#source

@WorkerSolidarityNews

[clangenrising]

Month 6 - Greenleaf

“He just abandoned the kid!” Yarrowshade cried, tail lashing as he paced. “I can’t believe him!” Crouched near the river, Goldenstar winced sympathetically. Yarrowshade had been furious since yesterday and she could see why. The news of Toadpaw’s capture had been jarring to say the least and he and Russetfrond had never gotten along very well in the first place. 

Turning her gaze back to the water, searching for a flicker of scales under the surface, she said, “I’m sure he did what he thought was necessary.” 

She thought back to the assessment they had taken together as apprentices where their mentors sent them to investigate a ‘missing patrol’. She, Russetpaw, and his sister Heatherpaw had discovered his mentor, Darkrush, ‘wounded’ in a set of tunnels. Before they could figure out what had happened, Sunstar (Sunblaze at the time) had descended on them pretending to be a fox. Russetpaw had made the choice to abandon Darkrush in favor of falling back to set a proper ambush for the fox in the next chamber and Goldenpaw had felt terribly about it, even though no one was actually hurt. That had been around the time her crush on him had started to fade, she recalled. 

She twitched her whiskers and forced her vision to refocus on the water. A second too late her paw flashed into the water, just missing the little silver fish she had been aiming for. 

“Mouse-dung!” she hissed under her breath and stood, deciding to move to a different spot on the shore.

“Just because he thought it was necessary doesn’t mean it was right,” Yarrowshade grumbled, kicking a stone. It clattered along the pebbled strand. A few tail lengths away, Scorchplume’s face parted the grass as she poked her head out to scowl at them. 

“Do you think you could gripe louder?” she huffed, “maybe then you can scare off the deaf mice too.” 

“Sorry, Scorch,” Yarrowshade’s ears wilted. 

Scorch shook her head and slunk out of the grass to come stand within a more conversational distance. “Look, I can settle this once and for all. Did you see the trap this Toadpaw got stuck in?”

“No,” Yarrowshade shook his head, “but Russetfrond said it was made of cold silver lines that were as thick as a mouse’s tail and stronger than stone.” Goldenstar shuddered again at the thought. What a strange and frightening thing. Once again, she found it hard to focus on the river over the conversation behind her. 

“Then your Russetfrond was right,” Scorchplume said matter of factly, causing Yarrowshade’s brow to furrow deeply. “Those traps are specifically made to catch cats. Once you’ve triggered them there’s no way out. Sometimes if you’re fast you can get caught under the door and wiggle your way out but you’re more likely to lose the fur on your tail.” She shrugged as if that was that. Yarrowshade definitely wasn’t satisfied. 

“But there must have been something we could have done!” he protested. “The twolegs can open them easy enough, there has to be a way.” 

“Sure,” Scorch laughed, sitting down with a swish of her ginger tail. “Once you grow those long twoleg toes let me know and I’ll show you how to get the traps open. I’m telling you, beebrain, unless you have a couple hours to try and flip it over, you don’t have a chance.” 

“Have you seen many of them?” Goldenstar asked curiously, looking over her shoulder, all pretense of fishing abandoned. 

“A good amount,” she nodded, casting her cool gaze in Goldenstar’s direction. “There are plenty of them in the city. You have to get good at spotting them if you don’t want to get caught and altered.” 

“Altered?” Yarrowshade asked, still frowning.

“Yeah,” Scorch shrugged. “You know, notched? Fixed? Emptied?” Both Yarrowshade and Goldenstar stared without recognition for a moment. Scorchplume sighed. “They make you sleep and when you wake up your bits are gone and your ear is notched. After that you can’t have kits. Do you guys really not know about that?” 

“Oh,” Goldenstar said, “We call it going to the cutter. I’d never heard of them notching your ear though. Why would they do that?” 

“Apparently it’s a mark of shame,” Scorchplume rolled her eyes, seemingly not convinced of her own explanation. “To show the world you’re unworthy of their love. House cats that get altered don’t have their ears notched.” 

“Weird,” Yarrowshade screwed his mouth to the side, eyes drifting to the ground in thought. Goldenstar had to agree with him. Seemed to her that a twoleg deciding they didn’t want to keep you was a blessing, not a curse. 

“The point is,” Scorchplume said haughtily, “Your Russetfrond was right. There was nothing they could have done for the kid. Better him than the rest of them.” 

“But that’s so cold hearted!” Yarrowshade protested again. 

“Maybe,” Scorch shrugged, “but that’s life. You either look out for yourself or you get killed.” 

“Not here,” Yarrowshade glared, not necessarily at her but at her words. “Here we look out for each other. I would gladly die for my Clan.”

“Alright, you have fun with that,” Scorchplume scoffed and Goldenstar noticed her squirming slightly. She frowned. 

“I’m glad you feel that way,” Goldenstar said, crossing to brush her tail against his leg. “But sometimes getting killed only means one more grave to dig. I think we could stand to remember that.” 

Scorch smiled slightly and blinked slowly in her direction. “Well said, your excellence.” 

“I guess,” sighed Yarrowshade. “I’m just tired of losing cats and being powerless to stop it.” Sullenly, he nudged another stone with his toe. Goldenstar leaned her head against his shoulder and purred sympathetically. 

“I know,” she sighed. “Me too.” 

Scorchplume watched them for a beat and Goldenstar caught a small glimpse of a twinge in her throat and something distant and choked and forlorn inside her gaze. It made her want to reach out but knew the other she-cat would probably be uncomfortable with sudden physical contact.

“Well, I’m probably going to head back to camp,” Scorchplume said eventually. “All the prey around here has probably gone to ground for a good while.” 

“I think I’ll join you,” winced Goldenstar. “I can’t seem to focus on anything. What do you think, Yarrowshade? I’d say a nap is in order.” 

“Yeah, alright,” he shrugged. “I’ll see if I can go out with Pantherhaze after sundown and recoup our losses.” 

“Sounds like a plan,” Goldenstar said. Flicking her tail in Scorchplume’s direction, she started the trip back to camp. 

~~~

As they neared the ridge, Russetfrond and Branchbark passed by them, likely getting an early start on the dusk patrol. Goldenstar faltered in her step at the sight of him.

“Everything alright?” Scorchplume asked softly, eyes flickering from her to Russetfrond.

“Yeah,” Goldenstar nodded. “I’ll catch up with you.” Scorch dipped her head graciously and slid up beside Yarrowshade, almost hiding from Russetfrond’s subtle glare in his shadow. 

“Ignore him,” Yarrowshade said, loud enough for everyone to hear, “He’s just jealous.” 

Russetfrond scoffed but the ginger cats were already too far gone for him to give a proper retort. His eyes caught on Goldenstar as he focused on the path ahead and he frowned. 

“Hey,” she said, throat suddenly tight. “Have a moment?” 

“I suppose I could spare one,” he said, sounding artificially cold. When did he start hating me? Goldenstar wondered. Branchbark shuffled awkwardly, glancing quickly between the two of them. 

“Should I…” he trailed off, tail tip starting to twitch.

“No, you’re alright,” Goldenstar smiled, then said to Russetfrond, “I just wanted to say I think you did the right thing yesterday.”

“Oh?” he asked, one brow lifting. 

“Yeah,” she nodded. “Thank you for making the tough call. I know that must not have been easy.” 

Russetfrond nodded. “I’m glad you understand.” 

Goldenstar’s stomach fluttered hopefully. “That’s all. Good luck on patrol.” 

“You too,” Russetfrond said automatically. She bobbed her head and slipped past him. Maybe things between them weren’t so bad after all.