#what does your movement actually stand for then if not a peaceful diplomatic state being set up

[jewreallythinkthat]

Did you free Palestine by sending me abuse? Or did you just make the world a little bit more hateful huh?

[cordonian-literature]

Forever Mine

chapter one

❦ summary — The time for Princess Riley to step into her role as queen fast approaches and finding the future king is Cordonia’s top priority. Commander Liam is aware of that, and has plans to make sure the princess ends up with someone suitable.

➺ a/n: most of this story will be told in third person POV, unless stated otherwise

❦ chapter warnings: mild language 

➺ catch up here! 

❦ word count: (+/-) 1750

*all characters belong to Pixelberry, except those unique to my story*

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Hidden in the midst of lively chatter and music, Leo watches as different members of the nobility enter the ballroom. It wasn’t difficult to see who was who under all the masks, and Leo notices many of Riley’s suitors. 

Leo turns his head slightly when Maxwell Beaumont and another childhood friend of Riley’s, Hana Lee, are announced by the herald. Lady Hana hadn’t visited Cordonia in ages. Riley would be glad to see her. 

Leo remembers that Maxwell’s father had been close friends with Constantine before Riley's mother’s death. Maxwell was probably a favorable choice for Riley in the king’s eyes. More than that, Leo trusted Maxwell, remembering when the boy had confessed to having a crush on the princess when they were still children. Leo wonders if those feelings had gone away or resurfaced. 

There was also Ezekiel Theron. Even though he was the son of a diplomat, Leo had rarely seen Ezekiel at political summits and had never heard of his involvement or concern for any issue. Maybe Leo was looking too much into it. If Ezekiel didn’t particularly care for being king, then all the better: Riley would be allowed to rule by her own accord without a power-hungry man breathing down her neck.  

A familiar scent wafts past Leo; he recognizes it as Madeleine’s perfume. She has her arm linked with a distant cousin, Michael. Leo doesn’t know much about him, and he suspects that was purposeful. Madeleine has chosen someone whose image she can mold herself. 

Leo’s shoulders relax once he sees Rashad entering the ballroom. A gentleman well versed in politics, but a businessman as well. If he had the chance to become king, would he abandon his business to rule by Riley’s side? Leo thinks it's unlikely. 

But Leo’s shoulders tense up again when Neville is announced. There was nothing wrong with him that Leo could physically point out, but the way Neville looked at women made Leo uncomfortable; Madeleine had once pointed it out to him early in their engagement.

Moving away from his spot, Leo makes his way through the crowd, looking for a silent way to enter the ballroom. 

Behind him, people’s conversations quiet into whispers once Prince Alexander of Hidar is announced. Leo doesn’t think Constantine would go through with using Riley’s hand in marriage as a peace treaty. But Hidar and Cordonia are dangerously close to war. Leo wonders if Liam would support the option if it were the best for the country. 

Are those all of the suitors? Did I miss anyone? Leo wonders. Some of the Great Houses had not sponsored any young men for the season. The less men the better, Leo thinks to himself. Only six men he has to keep an eye on. 

He enters the ballroom, the shine of jewels and glass and smiles consuming him. Leo lets out a gentle sigh, revealed no one noticed him, then promptly runs into Drake who is visibly shocked at the sight of Leo. 

After an awkward laugh, Drake gives him a pat on the back as a greeting.

“She’s about to be introduced to the suitors,” Drake tells him. Both men look towards the front of the ballroom, where the men vying for Riley’s hand have lined up. 

Constantine sits on his throne with Commander Liam to his left and Riley next to Liam. The princess’ and Commander’s heads are tilted in each other’s direction. The man whispers into Riley’s ear, making her blush and giggle. 

Drake frowns at the sight. Sure, Liam had given Drake every reason to trust him, but that trust would disappear whenever Riley came into the picture; the man was too frank with her. 

Leo admits to himself that Riley being so close to the Commander didn’t seem very proper, but they were close friends and Leo trusted his sister to know her limits. 

From their spot on the sidelines, Drake and Leo watch as Riley fully turns to face Liam. The princess stands on her toes, her elaborate gown shifting with every movement, and whispers something into the Commander’s ear. Leo notices a new piece of jewelry hanging from her neck; it shines like the crystals in the chandeliers. Liam’s hand goes to her hip as he tilts his head down. Once she leans back, they make eye contact and gently giggle. 

“Is she serious? Does her father not see her acting like that?” comes a comment from a small group of nobles to Drake’s left. 

“Maybe they should keep their distance,” Drake comments under his breath. “If you forget that they’re close friends, you could think—”

“There’s no reason to speculate,” Leo interrupts him forcefully. “Look, Connie’s part of the conversation, too.” 

They watch as Constantine shares a laugh with the Commander and the princess. 

Once he stops laughing, Constantine waves his finger, and Liam kneels down to hear something the King says. When he stands up again, the friendly expression is gone and the Commander’s face yields no emotion. 

Once the suitors start greeting the King and Riley, Drake and Leo watch Liam intently, neither of them completely comfortable with how close he seemed with Riley. 

The Commander maintains a stoic expression as the suitors kiss Riley’s hand and give short introductions: Michael is the most charming, Liam admits to himself, Maxwell seems the friendliest, with Ezekiel the most nervous. Rashad was the embodiment of the perfect gentleman, and from the corner of his eye Liam sees Riley blush at the compliment the man hands her. Prince Alexander and Neville seem the most arrogant, but Liam is willing to let them change his mind. 

Once they all walk away, music fills the room. Riley turns to look at Liam, but Neville is in front of her again, asking for a dance. As they walk away, Riley gives Liam a playful frown. He gives her a small smile, and watches as Neville leads her to the middle of the dance floor. 

Liam stares at Neville intently, his gaze darkening once he notices that the man’s hands were a bit too low on Riley’s torso, that Neville had glanced towards her chest one time too many, and that he’s standing too close to her. 

“Hey, man,” Leo’s voice makes Liam’s attention falter. He has to pry his eyes off of Riley and Neville.

“Your Highness,” Liam greets, bowing his head respectfully. 

“Didn’t I tell you to stop with that?” Leo pulls Liam into a quick embrace, giving him a brotherly pat on the back. Once they part, Leo asks, “What were you and Connie talking about?” 

With a sigh, Liam tells him. “He’s declaring war against Monterisso tomorrow morning.”

Leo raises his eyebrows. “Nothing on Hidar?” 

“It wouldn’t be very practical to be hostile with them while their prince is sleeping under our roof.” 

A rough chuckle escapes Leo. “Guess that means more paperwork for you.” 

Liam scoffs, having now fully turned back to face Riley and her dance partner. “Nothing too difficult,” the Commander comments. “I’ll maybe miss a few events here and there, nothing more.” 

Leo follows Liam’s gaze back to Riley. He wanted to ask the Commander about the princess, slightly itching to know Liam’s reason for being so close to Riley. But before Leo can form a sentence, Liam speaks up, still staring at Riley. 

“Will you remain in Cordonia for the season?” 

A waiter passes by them and Leo grabs a glass of champagne. Liam refuses the offered glass, putting up a hand when the waiter stops in front of him. 

After a few sips, Leo musters an answer. “I’ll probably stay for the whole thing. I actually was planning on being far away when the season started, but figured that being here to support Riley couldn’t hurt.”

Liam gives a low laugh. “I’m sure she’ll be thankful for it. She hasn’t been doing too well these past few days.” 

“Anything serious?” 

“No, I’m assuming it’s just anxiety.” Liam remembers the anxiety that he had during his first military ball. That had been long before he met his darling. “I hope I’m enough of a shoulder for her to cry on. I’d hate for her to be alone when she feels like this.” 

Leo feels the grip on his heart loosen; clearly there was nothing between Liam and Riley. The Commander was just concerned for his friend, and Riley had taken the only outlet she had been presented with.

The rest of the evening passes by in a tense blur. Liam, Leo, and Drake discuss each of the suitors and their behaviors with Riley, and when Duchess Olivia finally arrives, she gave her opinions about each of the men as well. Prince Alexander had approached Liam and Leo separately, and both men found the prince to be as arrogant as they had assumed. 

Leo and Drake were also visibly more at ease around Liam compared to how they had been in the beginning of the evening. It was clear that Liam was just being a good friend, and by the way he spoke about Riley, Leo and Drake were convinced that the Commander’s affections were anything but romantic.

And plus, the declaration of war would keep Liam cooped up in his office and away from Riley. Leo tells himself that there’s nothing to worry about.

The Commander, on the other hand, had taken note of the odd questions Leo and Drake asked. As he retired for the evening and walked back to his office, Liam reminds himself that there will be a time when he can present his love for his darling for the entire world to see, but that will have to wait. He had to be more careful around Leo and Drake. Or maybe Leo and Drake should be more careful around him.

When Liam reaches his office, the room in a dark hue, he grabs the new pile of papers and smacks them down on his desk. Through the window, he can see drunk party-goers singing into the night with wild abandon. After turning on a light and taking a seat, the Commander glances over at the sealed pink box on the corner off his desk, filled with the letters he had written to Riley but never dared send. One day, he told himself, he’d be able to recite each letter’s contents to her.

He pries his thoughts away from her and focuses on trying to finish some of his paperwork. Otherwise he won’t be able to attend the Derby tomorrow.

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please let me know if you would like to be added or removed from the tags :)

tags: @twinkleallnight @gkittylove99 @sweatyrysconnoisseur @kingliam2019​ @marshmallowsaremyfavorite @queenrileyrose​ @royalromancer @princess-geek @mom2000aggie 

[ff15trashgoldenslumbers]

So you gave Ravus a S/O as well. Is she like Aunt Avietas or other? I would like to learn more either way. *pulls up chair*

Well in G.S cannon (which I guess would be considered the End of Eos Storyline and like a handful of other drabbles) Ravus is married. I should mention that his wife- Gaza- and Aunt Aevitas both are within the same storyline but like an AU of End of Eos. 

Idk what even my own canon is anymore. Σ(‘◉⌓◉’)

But about Gaza, wife of one Ravus Nox Fleuret. 

Gaza is from Altissia, daughter of a higher aristocrat.

Born with Vitiligo, she was well known in High Society by the white streak in her hair, her long sleeves and dresses

Not many are aware of what the white streak means and assumed she was eccentric

When Gaza becomes of age she meets Ravus at a banquet, not knowing that he was the once crowned Prince of  Tarabene.

The duo continues to meet time and again at banquets and galas that neither wish to be with due to their introvert nature, but guests starting inviting one because they knew that the other would show up.

When it made it back to Gaza’s father that she had been seen with High Commander Ravus at parties, the man began to push further on their relationship, which at this point was just a bonding of two people hating the party they were forced at.

Gaza went into a hiding of sort before reappearing in Tarabene alongside Aranea Highwind

As a joke Aranea suggest that Gaza go and greet the High Commander, when Gaza did on common terms, Aranea was shocked to learn they had a history

Ravus had recognized the woman right away despite having dyed the white streak in her hair

When word gets out that Gaza, who allowed her white streak to reappear, is seen with the High Commander, news is spread quickly that they are courting

Gaza’s Father is adamant that they are to be betrothed, under the false bridge of creating a unity between the peaceful land of Altissa and Tarabene, Gaza angrily states that she refuses to be a pawn for her father and it does not work that way when they hold little to no political stance

Ravus realizing that he actually does enjoy Gaza’s company unlike many others that have attempted to court him inquires as to why she is opposed to the idea

“I am the only child, a daughter to a man. Shunned away from him until I could become of use to him because he did not like my skin. Now that he realizes that he has no sons, I am the one to have to climb the social ladder for one. I refuse to put you in that situation.”

Ravus explains that he can not offer her anything, as he no longer has a title to his name. It is Lunafreya that has the title.

One year later they married only with Lunafreya as their witness, and the officiating their wedding.

Gaza’s father was upset to learn that Gaza signed a prenup which basically stated that she would get nothing should they divorce. 

Both Ravus and Gaza were aware they would not get a divorce as they honestly didn’t feel they could stomach other people, and honestly did love each other

Lunafreya was at first very frightened of her new Sister-in-Law, seeing the woman as very aggressive due to her sharp cold eyes, stand-offish demeanor, and sometimes frightening to be around

That was until one day,Pyrna had slipped while playing outside into a lake. Gaza, without a second thought, rushed in to save the pup and then proceeded to carry the dog home when she realized that Pyrna had hurt her paw

After that Luna learned her sister wasn’t scary but actually extremely shy

Gaza was also the one that talked Lunafreya from marrying Noctis./

“You sure about this? The last time you saw him, you were kids. For all, you know the kid is super picky about his food and has changed a lot. He’s not the young boy you’ve met long ago, he is a man now. You may love Noctis, but is that love different from the one that you believe it to be? It’s one thing to write to someone, another to be in their person and share your life with them. Don’t marry for politics, people only get hurt when suddenly their heart and mind can’t get alone, you find yourself not even loving the person you’ve become.”

“So you married my brother for your heart?” “I married your brother because when he is gone, my entire body yearns for him, my heart, my soul. Do what makes you happy Luna you’re the one that has to live the life you pick. If you marry Noctis for the people, you will have to live with those consequences, don’t do it for me or Ravus, or that sad excuse for a Chancellor, you do this for you. You are young, you have the time.”

Both of them were unaware that Ravus had heard the entire conversation.

A few weeks later it was announced that Prince Noctis had taken a bride, that was a commoner.

Gaza is the only person that Ravus is comfortable leaving Lunafreya with for long periods of time because she speaks to everyone she isn’t familiar with the same tone

Sarcastic rage

Ravus only learned of her Vitiligo on their wedding night, when his wife first changed before him. When he inquired about it, she answered truthfully.

Gaza knew she loved the man, but she knew she would be with him until her dying breathe when he did not shun away from her skin

This was also the same night that Ravus learned the meaning behind her name

“Treasure”

He started to call her such, as she was the one he treasured most

After Ravus lost his arm, Gaza began to act much more cold to many people around the Estate, excluding Ravus, Lunafreya, and the dogs

Ravus moved Gaza to Tarabene when he was ordered to kill Lunafreya, knowing his wife had diplomatic immunity and would hide Lunafreya when she arrived

When Leviathan started her rampage on the city, Gaza actually sprung into action, training she hadn’t used in a long time

Ravus and Ignis found themselves being cornered by Ardyn and a unit of M.Ts only to hear a shot ring out, quickly followed by another both hitting Ardyn square in the chest

“Never did care for you!”

Both men turned to find Gaza a large gun braced against her shoulder, firing a few more rounds into Ardyn, her stroll never stopping as each hit sent the stumbling man back, but the recoil didn’t stop her movement forward

Ravus could only watch in awe as his normal mild-mannered, soft-spoken wife, tossed aside her larger Nilfhelm Unit issued gun, that he was aware weighted quite a bit and proceeded to pull two pistols from her thighs and continue fire on the man before

When those two guns ran out of bullets, Gaza rushed Ardyn with a sword, piercing his sternum and pinning him away from Lunafreya, Noctis and the future Princess of Lucis body

“Get them and lets go! He’s not going to stay down for long!” 

Both men scrambled to pick up Noctis and Lunafreya as Gaza snagged the Princess’s body and begun running.

“Is Lady Lunafreya all right?” The only snappy reply was, “Give her phoenix down, we have them for a reason!”

The men felt really stupid at this.

Once hidden away from Ardyn, Gaza introduced everyone to the woman name Aevitas, one of two persons that can handle Ardyn. Considering that the “Chosen King” was out cold in the other room with his future bride and childhood friend, Aevitas was their best bet.

In a moment of rest and recollection, Ravus and Ignis inquired about Gaza’s knowledge of Lucian History and how she had come to learn to deal with weapons.

“It’s nice to have a hobby.”

Aevitas does in fact “handle” Ardyn and everything is fine to go.

Aranea did let it spill after one too many drinks at the reception that Gaza was known as the “Behemoth” when Gaza would team up with the older woman when they were hired out

“Dragoon and Behemoth! We were something weren’t we Gaza? Could take out entire armies if we wanted to.” “Aranea you are too much.” “Love you Behemoth.”

Ravus and Gaza end up having a beautiful little girl which they named after her grandmother, “Silva”

[ocelysium]

Underestimated

Summary: In an alternate universe, the world is ruled by VOID, a crime syndicate with three leaders. The Justice League are rebels fighting against their regime, and they just caught one of the leading figures of VOID.

Type: Evil AU

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2101

Emma Teague / Black Sapphire belongs to @call-me-emma / @chi-townbatgirl

Avery Yu / Phantom belongs to @audreyandherocs / @audreythetealovingcat

MASTERLIST

The world was scared.

The world feared their great rulers, the ones that oppressed and dominated with an iron fist. They were merciless, they were tyrannical and they would never hesitate to kill. In fact, they take pleasure in doing so.

Stories of their diabolical ways were whispered from one ear to another in an attempt to stop any rebellion, to stop anyone from even thinking against them. To the citizens of the universe they weren’t merely leaders, they were gods and should be treated as a higher being. They were fearless, they were untouchable and most of all, they were unstoppable.

Yes, the world was terrified of them, as they should be.

“My lady,” a messenger scurried over to the foot of the grand throne where a masked figure was seated and kneeled to the floor, “the rebels have captured one of the bases on the east coast,” he informed in one shaky breath, “they have… captured our troops.”

The woman stirred on her throne, her movements slow yet minimal. No one in the room dared to take a breath for they did not know if she was angered or not. The haunting mask concealed all expression and not one part of her face was visible except for the sides of her head.

“Is that so?” she finally spoke, her voice even, “pity.” The lack of empathy in her voice caused the messenger’s eyes to widened.

“A-Are we not going to do anything about it, Lady Phantom?” he inquired hesitantly, “they are our troops, valuable ones and we should… launch a counterattack, s-show them our power!” He tried to reason with her. The guards in the room collectively sighed.

“No, we are not,” Avery responded, “we have the entire universe under our control. A show of power is not necessary, wouldn’t you agree?” Her tone was mocking as she stated the rhetorical question.

The messenger shook his head but the stubborn fool wouldn’t let it go. “B-But My Lady, the base is vital for control of the region.”

“Say something we don’t already know will you?” said another voice. Footsteps were heard and everyone caught the flash of black and blue. They tensed at the arrival of one of their generals.

Emerging from the shadows was Emma, her mahogany hair tied neatly back and her hand on her sword. She approached the messenger and stopped right in front of him. “Enlighten us,” she ordered.

He stared at her with wide eyes, at a loss of what to say. He had never been in the presence of two generals before and he didn’t know whether to be honored or horribly frightened. With a gulp, he found his voice, “the base contains information on our other bases, secret traveling routes, power grid, plans, everything. I-If they get access to those files--”

“Do you take us for fools?!” Emma exclaimed, causing the messenger to flinch back, “we know. We already have our best technicians on the case.”

“But what if the Justice League--”

“Justice League?” Avery laughed, “is that what those traitors are calling themselves now? Oh they do amuse me.”

The messenger was in shock. It was all just some game to them, he couldn’t believe it. Lives were at stake here yet they were… laughing.

“O-Our troops,” he finally mumbled, “our troops are still there. T-They will be killed.”

Emma rolled her eyes at his concerns. “Those cowards will never possess the power to end a life. Besides…” her eyes grew dark, “troops are disposable,” with a strike of her sword that no one saw coming, blood spurted out of the messenger’s mouth and he fell head first to the floor, “like you.”

She sheathed her sword after getting rid of the blood of her latest victim. Behind her, Avery released a tired sigh. “You will stain our floor.”

Emma turned to her friend with a slight look of annoyance. “Then put our workers to use,” she said with no remorse of the poor soul she took the life of.

As the guards were put to use in removing the body and cleaning the blood, Avery asked, “that simple minded creature knows nothing, does he?”

Emma shrugged. “Even if he knew Lillian was in that base, would he have cared? He seemed more concerned about the troops… and remind me to punish them for their worthless set of skills once we recapture the base.”

Avery’s sinister smile made an appearance. “Who would I be if I didn't?”

“Why do we need to bother with such an elaborate plan when we can simply annihilate the rebels?” Emma sighed, leaning against the pillars, “it is not as if they are an actual threat.”

“No, they're not,” Avery agreed, “but we must get as much information out of them as we can. Besides, you know how much Lillian enjoys playing with her meals.”

A smirk made its way to Emma’s face. “She ought to eat it soon, or else I may take it from her.”

“Careful now, we don't want her upset,” Avery warned, “she’ll have her way with them. She’s better than any of us at getting it out of them. All we have to do… is wait.”

“My favorite pastime,” Emma commented, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Meanwhile, on the east coast of what used to be the symbol of freedom, the rebels who called themselves the Justice League were discussing their next plan of action. Seemingly, they had the upper hand now, at least in the area. They took the most vital base of operations, gained access to all files and the database, held in custody the troops and workers and most importantly of all, they had one of the three generals behind bars.

The General known as Nightshadow didn’t show her face often on the battlefield, therefore much of her powers remained a mystery. Their intel suggested that she was their chief strategist and it made sense for she reacted to the attack like a diplomat, not a fighter. They caught her before she made her escape and her shocked face gave them a sense of pride. She didn’t expect to be outsmarted.

Now, she was locked in a holding facility underneath the base and while many celebrated this victory, others questioned it.

“It’s too easy,” Batman muttered, “they’re smarter than this. They wouldn’t let us take it so easily.”

“They’re also prideful, and arrogant,” Superman stated, “maybe they were too overconfident, let their guard down?”

“I find that highly unlikely.”

“Boys, focus on the task here,” Wonder Woman scolded, “we’re not here to debate on the credibility of our success, we’re here to talk about Nightshadow. Batman?”

Batman nodded and pulled up all the information he had on the general, which was not much, “her real name is Keo Lillian--Keo being her family name--born in Paris, France and lived on the streets most her life. Her mother was murdered when she was four. At one point, joined the French mafia and rose to power… became their leader and was recruited.”

“That’s not much,” Martian Manhunter commented, displeased.

Batman shrugged. “That’s all we have,” he turned to the alien, “think you can get more?”

“I can certainly try,” Martian Manhunter responded. He made his way down the facility into the restricted area, where they kept their prisoners.

The most secure cell held the general.

Once he was in front of the cell, Martian Manhunter took time to observe her. She didn’t seem of her nationality but she was absolutely breathtaking. It was easy to fall in love with her.

“General Nightshadow,” he began, “what an honor.” She acknowledged his presence but in no way did she made any response. “You do understand you are in a tight position here. You’re captured, lock in a holding cell and your facility has been compromised,” as he explained her position, he tried to pry into her mind, “why not you help us, and we’ll help you?”

She tilted her head to the side, her eyes seemingly staring into his soul. “You don’t believe that, do you? Why would you help me, your enemy?” a small laugh left her red lips, “no, you wouldn’t help me.”

“VOID wouldn’t help their enemy,” he continued, mentioning the name of the crime syndicate that seized the world, “but we will. We stand for peace, for hope, for--”

“Justice?” she finished, a tiny smirk dancing on her lips, “quite the name you have come up with. Whose idea was it?”

Martian Manhunter winced slightly as he finally entered her mind, seemingly crashing into it like he would a plane into the sea. However, she didn’t seem to notice the intrusion so he played it off. “It was a collective vote.”

“The fact that you all agreed to something so…” she struggled to find the word, “dull-witted irks me more than anything else to date. Perhaps you can come up with a better name? One that doesn’t sound like you were barfed out of some comical children’s book.”

The insult didn’t faze the alien as he was more focused on her mind. She had an excessive amount of information and it was overwhelming, perhaps too overwhelming. Everything came to him at once--something that never happened before… and why wasn’t she fazed by this? Why was it only him?

The blaring of the alarms brought him out of her mind and back into reality. His eyes widened as he heard explosions and gunfire.

“You should join your friends up there,” the general suggested in an eerily calm voice, “they’ll need your help.”

Martian Manhunter gritted his teeth and quickly left the underground prison, but he stopped in his tracks when he heard her ask, “did you enjoy prying through my mind?”

When he glanced at her, she was smiling. It wasn’t a kind smile, it was one that promised death upon them all.

No one saw VOID coming.

One minute, not even a leaf rustled in the wind. The next, chaos rained upon them. They appeared out of thin air and showed no mercy to whoever stood in their way. Leading them were their brilliant generals.

They were a force to be reckoned with, the two generals who were much more well known. General Black Sapphire could never be seen in battle. She was a whirlwind of blades that brought death to anyone near her. She spared no one, even those who begged for their life. Phantom wasn’t any more merciful. If faced against her, she would tear anyone and anything apart within a blink of an eye.

To think that the rebels had a chance was idiotic. They never stood a chance.

Superman clicked his tongue and went to strike Emma but with one swift hand, she intercepted his attack and sent him flying across the compound. Green Lantern made his constructs to counter Avery but it was no use. She destroyed them all and in a moment of pure malevolence, she ripped his arm right off, deeming that simply taking the Lantern ring wasn’t enough to teach him a lesson.

It had only been ten minutes, but in that ten minutes the two generals had single-handedly destroyed the rebellion’s greatest warriors. Loyal VOID troops, raised personally by their generals, took care of the rest of the rebels.

“How--how are they so strong?” the Flash demanded, wiping blood off his forehead. Even his speed was no match for Emma.

Black Canary and Green Arrow were about to answer but Phantom silenced them quickly, shocking everyone by her unexpected attack, literally. The Justice League knew it was hopeless, but they were not one to back down or give up. They had a plan, they always did.

And if they didn't, they weren't going down without a fight.

Suddenly, everyone stopped. The VOID troops finished off the last of the lowly rebels, leaving only their strongest.

“This is when the fun begins,” Emma said delightfully. She grinned as she began to circle the fallen League.

“Wait,” stated Avery, looking at the facility, “Nightshadow?”

“I got everything we need,” said Lillian, walking towards the League as if she had never been captured. That's when they realized she wanted to be captured.

Once she reached her friends, the League saw all three together and realized the sheer terror that they were about to witness. Never had the three generals of VOID assembled together in a battle. They were always assessed individually, but no one knew what kind of power they had as a team.

“Now,” said Emma with a spin of her sword, “shall we teach them what happens to enemies of VOID?”

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @rubyredhoodling!

For rubyredhoodling, who likes BAMF Stiles (and Derek), spark Stiles, Derek comes back, and there may be just a small hint of mafia au. Season's greetings, and I hope you like it!

Read on AO3

*****

Priorities

There were hunters in his town.

Stiles sat behind his desk, picking up the plaque reading "Sheriff Stilinski," only mildly defaced by the removal of his dad's first initial, and turning it over in his hands. There had been five people who held the office of sheriff between the two Stilinskis; the first, and only one elected to the position, had been a deputy that had ties to hunters but hadn't taken part in any activities that could lead to firing or even disciplinary charges. He'd laid low long enough for things to settle down and then used his connections to mount a successful campaign to remove John Stilinski from office - because surely all of the dramatic violence in Beacon Hills had to be due to the sheriff not doing his job.

The former deputy's hunter regime had lasted a year before he was removed from office in disgrace. Not for the harassment and humiliation of anyone even vaguely connected with the supernatural (or somewhat brown in skintone), but for having so grossly mismanaged the department's budget that the county only found out the sheriff's office had run out of money when checks bounced. The forensic accountant that was appointed as interim sheriff stayed for a month, presenting a preliminary audit and her resignation at the same time. The next sheriff had died in what was referred to as either mysterious circumstances or a hunting accident, depending on who was speaking and who was listening, followed by the fourth sheriff resigning by way of an email sent after he got into his car and kept driving after attempting to investigate said mysterious hunting accident. His family had to stop unpacking and reload the moving truck to join him.

By the time the fifth sheriff in two years had been appointed, Stiles had resigned from the FBI and come home on a mission. If his dad wouldn't leave - and he wouldn't - then Beacon Hills had to become a safe place for his dad to live, and not just within the perimeter of mountain ash and totems and runestones and every other type of protection magic that Stiles could find to place around their house. The forces of evil couldn't even see the house, but it wasn't as if his dad would agree to stay inside it forever.

If the fifth sheriff had contented herself with accepting the drop in the murder rate and number of animal attacks, she might have lasted. As it was, she had arrived one night at the high school in time to see the longest-serving deputy remaining on the force go up in flames, a number of people growing fangs and claws, another set of people shooting at everything that moved, and one Stiles Stilinski, holding a baseball bat and smiling. A few tumultuous hours later, she'd listened stonily as Scott did his best to explain things while applying pressure to the gunshot wound in her shoulder and Stiles methodically adjusted the scene to reflect the story he was dictating should be told by everyone.

One hunter had deviated from the story, theoretically supporting the fifth sheriff in her quest to find answers. Caught between what was being whispered in her ear and what she gleaned from Scott, the fifth sheriff made the mistake of finding the middle ground between them, the one thing they agreed on: blaming Derek Hale.

Within twelve hours of Derek being brought in and held for questioning, the sheriff's hunter lover was in FBI custody on multiple weapons charges, with more possible charges pending, and the fifth sheriff was implicated in facilitating the transfer of illegal weapons over state and national borders. The blood and DNA samples the fifth sheriff had forced to be taken during Derek's pre-detention medical screening were discovered to be too contaminated to use, lawsuits had been filed, and more than half of the officers on shift had called in sick.

"You fucked up," Stiles had told her when he came in, his hands empty and his clothes casual. "But you can still turn it around."

Maybe if she hadn't fallen so deeply in love with her hunter, she would have listened. If Stiles had had more time to prepare, maybe he would have been able to be more persuasive, or at least diplomatic. Definitely things would've gone better if he'd been able to get his dad to go talk to her, even if it would've meant Stiles was left talking to all the guys on the force that were spending their 'sick' day at a barbecue in the Stilinski back yard.

But, then again, the fifth sheriff thought it was a good idea to respond by threatening to arrest Stiles, so maybe not.

She had been politely asked to leave her position, and less politely invited to cooperate with the FBI into the investigation of her lover's ties to organized crime, before Stiles had finished checking his email as he sat in the police station lobby. Lingering let him give Derek a ride home when he was shortly released from custody without ever being formally arrested. The sincere, formal, and voluminous apologies delivered to Derek by the elected representatives of Beacon Hills carried more than a whiff of 'please don't sue,' and Stiles had to turn away to keep a straight face as Derek thanked them gravely for their commitment to justice.

The impression he had gotten was that they'd beg his dad to come back - they'd done it before, after all. Instead someone had the bright idea of appointing him to the job, anticipating his ten-year plan by at least eight years. Stiles had had to sit there and deal with it as his dad laughed himself sick.

And now, after six years of making damn sure his town was a safe place for all of its citizens, after everything he'd given up and everything he had lost, after a year of peace and calm, there were hunters trying to move back in.

"Sheriff?" One of the baby deputies peeked around the corner, both sets of eyelids blinking convulsively with nerves. "There's someone here to see you."

"Take five," Stiles said, putting the plaque back on his desk as he stood. "I'll speak to them."

There weren't many people in the station; Stiles was a big believer in having his officers out in the community as much as possible, and if it also kept the possibility of casualties down in case of an attack then all the better. That didn't stop all three deputies that were there, even the young naga, from making a point of having a clear line of sight to both Stiles and the visitor. "Alpha... Viel, isn't it? I hadn't been notified you were planning a visit."

"I wasn't aware I had to report my movements to the local law enforcement," the alpha said, still leaning against the wall in the waiting area and examining his fingernails. "This is America. Free country, or haven't you heard?"

"See, I was taught that good manners are important no matter where you are." Stiles swung open the pass-through, breaking the mountain ash line. "But, whatever, you're here now. Did you want to talk out here, or is my office okay?"

Extending one hand, the alpha tilted it from one side to the other, as if critiquing a manicure. "Do you get a lot of werewolves stupid enough to walk into a trap?"

Stiles shrugged and closed the station doors with a gesture. "You tell me, since you walked into someplace you can't walk out of just to have this conversation. I mean, I'm not all that interested in keeping you, but you asked."

"You think you're funny, don't you?" The alpha's claws came out and he lunged forward, laughing when Stiles flinched. "Now that, that was funny."

Waving to his deputies to get them to stand down, Stiles said, "Was there a point? Because I feel like I could probably deliver your lines from the script, and I have actual work to do."

"Does your script include the fact that I've got your pack?"

"It might surprise you to know that comes up a lot," Stiles said. "The only real question I have is whether you're working with the hunters that showed up or if they came here looking for you."

The alpha's smug smile fell and he lunged again, not feinting this time, only to be brought down before Stiles could even lift his hands defensively. His roar cut off with a crunching noise, and Stiles shuddered as something bounced off his foot. "Was that his fang? Did you break his fangs?"

"You're welcome," Derek said, still kneeling firmly on the alpha's back, one hand grinding his face against the floor. "Your dad said to tell you we're having quinoa casserole for dinner."

Stiles groaned. "You should never have told him about that spell I found to unclog his arteries. This reign of terror is endless."

"It would have taken a year off your life, if it didn't kill you," Derek said. "I regret nothing."

The alpha stopped trying to buck Derek off his back, and Stiles squatted down next to him while Derek yanked his head up. "So, you were saying something about my pack."

"They're dead," the alpha said, blood running down his chin. "You're all dead."

"Lydia's fine, she and her mom are at your house with your dad," Derek said, ignoring the alpha's muffled curses as he got pushed into the floor again. "I don't know about any of the others."

Shaking his head, Stiles said, "Bring him, he can go in the special cell while we check on everyone. And we've got hunters, by the way. Cora called in to let me know when they checked into the motel."

Derek grimaced. "I hate that place." It wasn't a new observation, but Stiles didn't feel the need to defend Cora's choice to buy and run the local no-tell establishment. Especially since it might've been partly, a little bit, due to Cora losing a bet with Stiles. Just a little bit, though.

They almost had the alpha in the cell, struggling and cursing, when the front doors blew open and distracted Derek's attention long enough to lose his grip. The alpha didn't waste any more time posturing, making a break for the closest window and ripping his claws through the deputy that happened to be in his way.

"Stop!" Scott's alpha roar did nothing to slow the retreating alpha, but it made Lewis hesitate in reaching for his radio to call for an ambulance. Derek was already kneeling next to Sams, discreetly assessing his injuries and applying his first aid training. Stiles tried to remember if there was anything supernatural about Sams that would require warning the hospital, but if there was he couldn't think of it.

Warning his people was the next priority. There were probably municipalities that did not have codes in place for supernatural shenanigans, but it hadn't made sense not to anticipate Beacon Hills being Beacon Hills. Scott was trying to demand answers, but only Lewis was paying attention to him; Stiles didn't have time to deal with it as he got a hold of Yang's shoulders, turning the naga to bring their eyes in contact. "Hey. You with us? Breathe, deep breaths, everything's fine now. You protected everyone as much as you could."

"I froze," Yang muttered, ducking his head. "Sams--"

"Will be fine," Stiles said. "And freezing was better than charging in."

The wail of the ambulance siren cut through the air and Stiles gave Yang a final nod with eye contact before moving to make sure the path was clear for the emergency crew to enter. Not for the first time, Stiles contemplated briefly whether kidnapping his dad would be a viable strategy for actually leaving Beacon Hills behind.

***

"Derek, do you think the spark is gone?"

Rolling his eyes, Derek joined Stiles where he was leaning on the hood of an anonymous dark blue Camry, significant mostly for how hard it would be to distinguish from the number of Toyotas on the street. "Stop trying to make 'Spark' happen. Deaton using a corny metaphor does not make 'Spark' a thing."

"Hey, it's a thing! It's my thing!" Stiles spread his arms and wriggled his fingers. "I didn't spend all those years in sparky magic school to be--"

"Austin Powers, really?" Derek's look of disdain would have crushed a lesser being. Luckily, Stiles was used to it.

"I need to use references old enough for you to get them, since you're practically a senior citizen." Stiles gave his best angelic smile. "Don't think I missed that you actually attended bingo last Sunday."

With a sigh, Derek said, "I go to bingo every Sunday, or did you forget that someone promised the Daughters of Thoth that we would attend to them on a regular basis?"

"Oh." Stiles rubbed the back of his neck, dislodging the collar of his plaid shirt. "I kinda wondered why they hadn't said anything, but I haven't had time to get to them."

"You can't do everything yourself," Derek said. "No matter how much you keep pretending that you can."

Sputtering, Stiles waved his arms around. "Dude! Not fair! I'm here specifically waiting for you, just so that I'm not going alone to deal with these assholes."

Derek's lips twitched. "And it only took how long to convince you not to go by yourself?"

"About as long as it took to realize I wouldn't end up having to stop to protect you." Stiles pushed himself off the hood and picked up the baseball bat that he'd leaned against the side of the car. "Although I'm still waiting for you to realize how sexy I am and agree to post-fight makeouts."

The flick of Derek's finger against the back of Stiles's neck was a brief sting, and a familiar one. "Focus."

"Right." Stiles climbed into the passenger seat, keeping one hand on his bat and the other near the release for his seatbelt. After a few minutes of driving in silence, he said, "I bet you five bucks that they ambush us on the blind curve behind Old Mill Road."

Derek took his eyes off the road long enough to glance at Stiles. "No bet. Except they may be smart enough to have one wait, pretend they're not working together so that they surprise us when the evil cavalry rushes in."

"Okay, one, the fact that you just said 'evil cavalry' turned me on just a little bit," Stiles said. "And you're totally right, they are absolutely that dramatic. Do you think we should stop early and, like, walk in? Do our own big show of 'ha HA, I am not alone!'"

The noise Derek made would've been called a huff by anyone who hadn't put the time in over the course of years to recognize it as a laugh. "You just don't want anyone to know you're driving to the scene of a crime in a sensible mid-size sedan."

"With an impeccable safety rating," Stiles said mournfully. "It's terrible."

"You'll live." The blind curve was coming up, and Derek slowed just enough to lock eyes with Stiles and share a brief nod before he gunned it around the corner. The spikes in the road made the car fishtail, but Derek's reflexes were good enough to keep the car on the road, pulling to a skidding stop just a few feet from the treeline.

Stiles stepped smoothly from the car, bat hanging loose in his grip. "You have no business in my town."

The hunter was just a little older than Derek, with hair that touched his collar and a brown leather jacket. Stiles had thought the man was a waste of oxygen when he'd read some of the reports from the official background check and the unofficial victim and witness statements from his hunting activities, but the fact that the man was tall and good-looking somehow made it worse.

"You're harboring fugitives," the hunter said, flashing a smile that made it clear he knew exactly how handsome he was. "Doesn't seem right, a lawman sheltering the lawless."

In a flat voice, completely free of inflection, Stiles said, "Oh, what a clever argument, I am undone."

"You think you're clever," the hunter said. "You got Brent all riled up - thanks for confirming you're a spellcaster, by the way, good to know - but you don't know as much as you think you do, and you're definitely not going to live to see morning."

"The only thing I don't know is why you're here," Stiles said, his grip on the bat tightening. "But I'm guessing you felt like destroying something beautiful."

The hunter smiled again. "Fight Club. Great movie."

"You'd be the type to think so." Stiles knocked the bat against the inside of his sneaker before bringing it up to his shoulder. "So, who goes first, do you go first?"

Raising a pistol he'd been holding in the shadows next to his leg, the hunter fired three shots directly to center mass. Stiles stood impassively as his protective spell took the impact that the kevlar didn't, preventing the shots from even bruising him. Whatever magical kryptonite the hunter thought he had, he either hadn't deployed it yet or it hadn't worked. "My turn." Stiles lifted the bat, dug a foot into the ground, and swung as if he was trying to send the hunter's jaw to the outfield.

The hunter had his own magical protection, but it wasn't enough; the crunch of teeth and bone was loud in the air as blood spattered onto the trees behind them. "I'd say you could still leave, but that's not an option," Stiles said, swinging the bat again, this time at the hunter's stomach. "You can still live long enough to go to prison, if you surrender very quickly."

More shots rang out, one coming close enough that it tore through the shoulder of the overshirt Stiles was wearing. Turning his head slowly from one side to the other, Stiles felt a coldness rise inside him, creeping over him and lifting the corners of his lips. "Evil cavalry's here. Let's see how that goes."

Five targets, closing in to surround him; his own backup lurking in the darkness and making sure no more surprises were hiding in reserve. Cover fire for the sixth and primary target to escape. Car behind him, partial shield, but also a risk if someone thought to light up the gas tank. Moving quickly, Stiles broke the main hunter's shoulder with a strong sweep of his bat before seizing his neck, holding him up long enough to block two shots before throwing him down towards the trees.

"Down," he heard, but he'd already stooped to pick up the hunter's gun and just turned his head to see Derek fly past, half shifted and running a few steps on all fours before throwing himself in the air and landing in full wolf form with his fangs buried in a hunter's bicep. He always tried to avoid tearing out throats during a fight but it might not matter; the chunk gouged out of the attacker's arm was bleeding so heavily that the man might not make it to the 'ask questions' portion of the night.

Lifting his arm, Stiles listened to his own breath whistling in and out of his chest as if traveling through a huge, empty cavern. One shot, two shots, pause and fire again, shift stance and fire again. Three targets now, with three down, and Stiles was still calm as the coldness blanketed everything except the calculations needed to get through the fight.

The alpha roared, leaping to the top of the car and flashing his eyes red as he looked down at Stiles. After a flicker of a glance, Stiles turned away from him, concentrating on the two hunters still firing in his direction. The alpha wasn't a threat worth thinking about, because Derek was already charging, a blur of black fur and blue eyes dripping a trail of blood from his flashing teeth.

"I'm still willing to let you live," Stiles said, not bothering to raise his voice. "Limited time offer, one time only."

He waited, his head tilted and a faint, pleasant smile on his face, until the crack of another gunshot rang out. He was tired enough that he brought his left hand up, palm flat out, to support with the gesture the spell to stop the bullet that had been aimed at his forehead. It fell to the ground and he shrugged, stretching his arms out before returning fire with the last of the bullets in the gun he'd held onto. "Okay, death it is."

Leisurely, Stiles moved to the closest downed hunter and stepped on the man's hand before taking his weapon and the fresh clip he'd been trying to load. With a wink, Stiles said, "Ah-ah, no trying to be sneaky. Either you're down or you're dead."

"Fuck you!" The hunter was struggling to get off the ground and Stiles allowed it, using the time to slam the clip in place and take the shot to eliminate the next closest target, peering out of the brush cover to attempt another attack and instead getting a neat hole between his eyes for his trouble.

The hunter at his feet managed to get a knife in his hand, lunging towards Stiles with one last burst of strength. Stiles just sidestepped and ended him with a shot to the back of the head, attention momentarily caught by the fight between the werewolves. The alpha had Derek pinned in a canine restraint position, and the coldness in Stiles flickered as he wondered whether the man had veterinary experience. It didn't last long; Derek shifted back to human form and threw the alpha to the ground in a crack of broken bones, and Stiles still had business to attend to.

The one hunter left standing wasn't firing, and Stiles moved to where the leader was rolling on the ground, clutching his broken arm and yelling for his men as best he could through broken teeth and a fractured jaw. Crouching next to him, Stiles pulled the man's backup piece from his ankle holster and placed it in his left hand. "There you go. Sporting chance, right? Can't just kill you if you're helpless - then I'd be just like you!"

"Except, no," Stiles said, standing up. "Because I didn't hunt you down. I didn't go to your home, I didn't set up an ambush for you, and I sure as fuck didn't decide to devote my life to the pursuit of genocide by targeting the most peaceful, helpless people I could find."

The cold and emptiness drained away as Stiles stood and lifted his gun. The hunter dropped the smaller gun Stiles had given him and started pleading, but Stiles fired before he could manage more than one word.

A howl behind him made Stiles turn around, just in time to see the alpha lunge at Derek, fangs bared. Stiles raised the gun, feeling shaky and almost too tired to lift it, but it wasn't necessary; Derek sidestepped smoothly and took hold of the alpha's hair, using it to pull his head back and expose his neck. The arterial spray shot over Derek's claws as he dug deep into the dying alpha's throat, almost as red as the glow overtaking the blue in Derek's eyes.

"There's one unaccounted for," Stiles said, because he'd trained himself so well on prioritizing threats that it was the first of the thousand thoughts in his mind that coalesced into speech.

Jerking his head to one side, Derek said, "Pissed himself back there. Hasn't moved since."

Stiles sighed. "Come out here. If I have to go find you, it won't end well."

"There's one on the ground that might make it," Derek said. "I'll need your shirt."

With a quick glance over Derek's naked, blood-spattered body, Stiles handed the overshirt over. "Yeah, it's a bit chilly out."

"Or I could make bandages." The last hunter crept out of the treeline, white-faced and shaky. Derek sighed as he headed to help the wounded hunter. "They get younger every year."

"Because we're getting old," Stiles said, although the hunter really was a kid. "Jesus, what are you, twelve?"

Shaking his head, the kid said, "Sixteen."

It was enough to make Stiles feel a rush of sympathy which drained the last of his energy and the chill of battle from his system, leaving a welter of confusion where there had been a clear emptiness. "Didn't anybody tell you to be home early on school nights?"

"Werewolves killed my mom and dad," the kid said. "These guys killed the werewolves, said I could help other people. Then we came here."

"Aw, crap." Dropping the gun, Stiles retrieved his baseball bat and ended up using it as a cane when it became apparent that something had turned his ankle into a mass of pain at some point while the adrenaline and emptiness had kept him from feeling it. The kid didn't move throughout, not even when Stiles sank down on the front bumper of the Camry and rested both hands on top of the bat to help himself stay upright. "So, hi, I'm Stiles Stilinski. I'm the sheriff around here, and I don't take kindly to people coming to town and planning to murder people."

Frowning, the kid said, "But--"

"I'm going to stop you there," Stiles said, holding a hand up and then putting it back on the bat when the kid flinched. "The next thing out of your mouth is probably going to piss me off, and I'm tired, so. First off, werewolves are people. Second, while some werewolves are murderous fu-- jerks, so are some humans." Stiles gestured to the hunters on the ground, including the one Derek was stabilizing.

"I've heard swearing before," the kid muttered, but Stiles ignored the comment in favor of continuing.

"Thirdly." Stiles had to pause for a moment before he could remember where he'd been going with that. "If I can handle things legally, I will. I offered the chance to surrender and be arrested, and I didn't kill anybody that didn't try to kill me first - but I'm not about to be stupid enough to let someone live who's just going to come back and try to kill me again."

The kid went paler, which Stiles wouldn't have bet was possible, and stood up so straight that it made Stiles ache in his lower back just to look at him. "So you're going to kill me?"

"What? No, weren't you listening? You didn't try to kill me, I don't kill you." It only relaxed the kid a little bit, but it would have to be enough. "I don't know what I'm going to do with you, but death is currently off the table."

A shot rang out, making them both flinch, and they both turned to see Derek, still stark naked, holding a pale hunter in the air by the neck. The hunter was trying to break his hold with one hand, the other covered in blood dripping from the wound that Derek had bandaged with the ripped up plaid shirt. "Where's the fucking gratitude, I ask you? That was my favorite shirt!"

"It was an eyesore," Derek said, still easily holding the hunter as he tried scratching and kicking his way to freedom. "What do you want to do with this one?"

"Check him for any more weapons and then bring him here," Stiles said. "If he wants to die, he can off himself after he's answered some questions."

This earned him an epic bitchface from Derek, who threw the hunter to the ground in front of where Stiles sat. "They never answer questions."

"I hardly ever get to ask," Stiles pointed out. "There's wipes in the trunk, clean up a bit before you get your clothes back on."

"You clean up," Derek muttered, but disappeared behind the car anyway.

Stiles waited quietly while the hunter cursed and blustered, although he noted with interest that the kid flinched away from him and circled around to get Stiles and the car between himself and the injured hunter. At length, the hunter got himself to his feet and faced up to Stiles, holding his injured arm and looking around the small clearing. "You won't get away with this."

"Me?" Stiles tilted his head in confusion, looking from side to side as if he was on The Office or there would be someone there who could confirm what he just heard. "Are you serious right now?"

"You're building up this underworld empire, providing sanctuary for all sorts of vermin just to build an army - we're on to you." The hunter lifted his chin defiantly. "Jeff had a crappy plan, but he had the right idea, and there's others. We'll be back, and next time we'll kill you."

Scratching the back of his neck, Stiles thought about what the guy was saying. "So what you're saying is, your group went off half-cocked because you guys thought I was getting too powerful by, what, allowing people to live somewhere without having to be afraid for their lives 24/7?"

"Fuck you," the hunter said, even as he swayed and half staggered from the blood loss. "I am one, but I represent legions."

Stiles watched him as he fell slowly forward, eyes fluttering. "You realize that quote is about demons, right? You just pretty much used your last words to say hunters are demons."

The hunter twitched as if trying to get up again, but fell unconscious without managing it. His breath was becoming shallower as the bandage around his arm finished unraveling and blood seeped out. "So, Derek? Kid? Anyone feel like heroic measures? Because I'm tired, and he tried to kill me."

"It's too late anyway," Derek said, coming back around the car as he pulled a t-shirt down over his head. "If we'd gotten him to the hospital for a transfusion before he tried to shoot me, maybe. Since he wouldn't even let me stop the blood loss, he basically killed himself already."

Sidling along to peer around the car, the kid said, "He was a creepy fucker. Jeff was talking once about the birth rate and I asked if he meant, like, sterilizing, and Chase laughed and said direct extermination was quicker."

"And you didn't think to question that at all?"

"Did you say this guy's name was Chase?"

Derek and Stiles spoke at the same time, then exchanged a glance that had Derek raising his eyebrows and Stiles shrugging. "Kid in a cult doesn't question the cult, especially if there's guns. But, dude." With a wave to the corpse, Stiles said, "He was a hunter named Chase. It's kind of hilarious."

"There is something seriously wrong with you," Derek said, rubbing a hand over his face. "Your sense of humor isn't twisted, it's a spiral."

"Don't front, you love it." Stiles moved to stand up and then winced when pain shot up his leg. "Okay, not doing that. You're on body duty, I'm going to hop along into the car and start the paperwork."

Derek frowned and picked Stiles up, carrying him to the back seat before kneeling to inspect his ankle. "It's probably just sprained, but you'll need an x-ray."

"I just want a shower and my bed," Stiles whined. "Can't I deal with it tomorrow?"

"No, because you'll try to use magic to heal it and make yourself worse." Carefully, Derek helped him maneuver himself into the car with his ankle propped up, then tossed a package of wet wipes at his face as soon as he was settled. "Try to clean up. We'll go as soon as I get the bodies out of sight of the road."

"Love you too, boo!" Stiles chuckled as Derek gave him the finger without turning around, even if there was a slightly bitter edge to the humor. He settled down to cleaning off his hands and wiping his face, only to jump when a throat was noisily cleared from just next to him. "Holy crap, kid, you scared me!"

With a shrill laugh, the kid said, "I scared you?"

Stiles dragged a thumb over his mouth, trying to hide the laugh trying to escape. "Fighting is different. If I'm not in a fight, I don't need to be all..." He trailed off with a gesture towards his own face and the night outside the car.

"Scary as shit stone cold killer?"

"I was going more for hyper-focused, but okay." Gesturing to the front passenger seat, Stiles said, "Go ahead, sit down. You might as well ride with us to town while we figure out what to do with you."

Gingerly, the kid slid into the seat and even buckled his seatbelt. Stiles was starting to get fluffy kitten feelings about this child, which was going to be a hell of a thing to explain to his dad. "I don't really have a place to go? Jeff was my foster dad."

"And isn't that a scathing indictment of the entire foster system." Stiles sighed and rubbed his face with his hands, then grimaced and deployed a new wet wipe. "What's your name, anyway?"

"Noah. Noah Kowalski." The kid started to reach back to shake hands, but got tangled in the seatbelt and then pulled back after Stiles pulled the filthy wipe away from the half of his face he'd managed to clean. "Uh. I'd say it's a pleasure to meet you, but..."

Nodding, Stiles said, "No, totally understandable. Stiles Stilinski, I don't remember if I said. Noah is my dad's middle name. He's still the one everybody calls Sheriff Stilinski - everybody ends up calling me Sheriff Stiles, it's kind of a thing."

The kid didn't seem to know what to do with that, just gave a small "ah" before they fell into an awkward quiet. Finally, just as Stiles could feel the river of babble reach his lips and threaten to burst forth, Noah said, "So how long have you and that guy been together?"

Stiles choked on thin air and the words that jammed up on his tongue as his brain rebooted. "You-- he-- wha?"

"Sorry!" The kid retreated into himself like a turtle. "I was just, you know, never mind, it's not my business, I'm sorry I asked!"

With a small cough, Stiles said, "No, it's whatever, we're just not - we're not like that."

Over the years, Stiles had been the target of all sorts of pointed looks, but somehow the one Noah gave him just then managed to combine the distilled platonic ideals of all them - pity, condescension, disbelief, amusement, and indulgence were all represented in this sixteen year old's judgmental stare. "You don't have to pretend, it's not like I'm homophobic or anything. You even just said you love him."

"Lots of people joke around saying things like that," Stiles said. "And, anyway, he barely puts up with me. He'd never be-- he'd never want--" Breaking off, Stiles cleared his throat. "Anyway, yeah, nothing like that."

"It could be! He's totally into you, it's obvious!" Noah's eyes were sparkling now as he turned around in his seat to look directly at Stiles for the first time. "You could just tell him how you feel, or, or, I could help you set up, like, a super romantic atmosphere and--"

"Kid! Seriously?" Stiles kind of regretted crushing Noah's enthusiasm as he hunched in on himself again, but no way was he indulging any matchmaking delusions from a child that had probably shot at him. That way lay madness, and trying to sing along to Adele while under the influence of alcohol and/or sugar. "No Parent Trap moments, okay? Derek doesn't need to deal with that."

Crossing his arms and facing forward, Noah said, "Whatever. It's not like I care about a werewolf and some hick sheriff who murders people."

"Says the kid who--" Stiles cut himself off with an internal reminder that he was supposed to be an adult. "I've got some calls to make."

He'd barely gotten his phone out when Derek slid into the driver's seat and started the car. "I already got a hold of Parrish. Your dad's going to meet us at the hospital to take temporary custody of Noah."

"Hey, how'd you know my name? And you can just drop me off at the bus station, I'll get home by myself."

Derek made some sort of answer, but Stiles couldn't hear it over the blaring alarms in his head repeating "you fucked up, you fucked up, you seriously fucked up" in ever-increasing volume. Not only was Derek a werewolf, he was an alpha again - he'd probably heard every word they'd said, especially since he would've wanted to monitor Stiles for any signs of pain or discomfort, because that was the kind of caring, considerate asshole that had made Stiles fall in love with him. There was no way things wouldn't be weird now.

Or, maybe? What exactly had he said? Stiles racked his brain to try to remember the exact phrasing he'd used, wondering if maybe there was a chance of playing it off. Had he actually, out loud, admitted that he was hopelessly in love with Derek? He couldn't remember.

They pulled to a stop, Stiles barely noticing the lack of noise from the engine, until his dad opened the door across from him and leaned his head in. "Hey, kiddo, you okay?"

"There's many kinds of love! Love doesn't just have to be romantic!"

His dad paused for barely a moment. "Okay. So, I'm going to let you talk about that with Derek while you get your leg looked at. Good to know you're doing okay."

Hitting his head against the back of the seat in front of him seemed like an excellent idea. It was unfortunately too well-padded to knock him out, and so he was fully awake and aware as Derek helped him out of the car and kept an arm around him for support as Stiles limped his way into the ER. "Okay, Mr. Cassidy, slow down. You're overdoing it."

Stiles gave him a look of blank incomprehension, and Derek's ears turned faintly pink. "Hopalong Cassidy? Your dad's childhood hero? There's a poster in his office, Stiles, you've got to have noticed it."

"I never paid attention to Dad's westerns," Stiles said. "Are we there yet? This is kind of a little excruciating."

As he should have fully expected, Derek just swept him up and carried him the rest of the way into the ER, depositing him gently into a wheelchair the triage nurse provided. He was promptly whisked off for poking, prodding, and intense questioning about the state of his health insurance despite the fact that Scott's mom had made him a "frequent customer" card for the hospital years ago. By the time they delivered him back to the waiting room with a bandage, a boot, a prescription, and a stern lecture about not putting any weight on his ankle, he half thought that Derek might have left to deal with the fallout of the rest of the night.

Only half, though, because it was still Derek, so of course he was sitting in a horrible plastic chair, pretending to be asleep while the other people waiting to be seen watched him with wariness or fascination. Stiles suppressed a sigh, because, well, same. "Come on, Sleeping Beauty. I'm about to turn into a pumpkin."

"Stop mixing fairy tales," Derek said, stretching as he stood. "And it was the carriage that was a pumpkin, so unless you're giving out ri-- No."

On any other day, Stiles would've had about fifteen 'jokes' in a row about giving Derek a ride. For now, though, he waved a hand and said, "Too easy. Just take me home."

Derek's lips twitched, but he didn't say anything as he left to get his car, the anonymous Camry having been driven away to be cleaned and hidden away again in the depths of the impound lot. The Camaro might not have had room for him to sit in the back and stretch his foot out, but he had both standards and pain medicine. They'd make it the five minutes it took to reach the Stilinski house.

Or even the ten minutes it took to get to Derek's apartment. "This is a lot nicer than my usual kidnappings."

"You just need a better lair to take people to," Derek said. "Having to take people you've kidnapped to your dad's house really limits your potential."

"Oh, ha ha." Stiles crossed his arms and pouted as he was swept once again into Derek's (strong, dependable, sexy) arms. "Living with family is a valid life choice and a cultural norm for most societies."

Derek smirked. "Sure, Stiles. Remind me again, who made snide comments for a solid week about the Henderson pack?"

"Okay, no, there's living with family and then there's whatever sister wives, dear leader culty bullshit was going on there." Stiles relaxed into the couch as soon as Derek set him down, letting himself sink into the perfect squishiness of it. "Seriously, I am going to steal this couch someday. It's like laying down on a cloud that can hug you."

"You can have it," Derek said, sounding unusually serious. "You can have anything you want that I can give you."

Cracking an eye open let Stiles see that Derek was sitting on the coffee table, directly in front of Stiles and looking... Stiles couldn't define how he looked, just that it made him breathless and he had to close his eyes again to try to get his own heart under control. "I don't need pity."

"Good, because I don't have any," Derek said.

Stiles hauled himself to a sitting position, facing Derek and the music. "You heard the kid talking about us being together."

"I did." Derek's face was impassive, but there was so much emotion in his eyes that Stiles couldn't bear to look at him even as he couldn't tear his eyes away. "I also heard you tell him it was because I wouldn't want it."

"Didn't I also say something about people joking--"

All of the words Stiles knew dried up and disappeared when Derek took hold of both his hands, cradling them gently. "It's okay. If you were joking, if you didn't mean it that way... I don't expect anything from you."

"Okay," was a harsh, croaking whisper, all that Stiles could manage as years of half-formed hopes were crushed and died with one simple sentence. "Okay, that's fine."

Derek's eyes swept down and Stiles started to pull his hands away, but Derek held on. "No, Stiles, you don't-- You're under no obligation, if you're just joking or you really just love me as a friend, that's enough, I won't pressure you or talk about this again. That's... Whatever you want, that's what I want."

It turned out hope wasn't dead, but it hurt. "You-- what are you saying?"

"I'm saying... I guess I'm saying that I'm in love with you." Derek let out a breath, his shoulders relaxing like shedding a weight even before tightening to brace for a blow. "And that you don't have to love me back the same way."

This time it was Stiles clinging to Derek's hands, preventing him from moving away. "What if I want to?"

Derek flinched. "I don't need pity either."

"Good," Stiles said, still not letting go. "Because we are super compatible. There is no pity here. None at all. We're kind of a little famous for it."

"So we're repeating things now? That's what we're doing?" Derek arched an eyebrow, but stopped trying to pull his hands back. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that I'm in love with you, too," Stiles said. "Asshole. Do you know how long I've been in love with you? And you're here--"

Stiles glared over the hand that Derek put over his mouth, but Derek just smiled. "Now, I could let you keep talking, since I know you like that. I could stand to hear a little about how long you've loved me, since it might make me feel a bit better about how long I've been in love with you."

He stopped there, waiting, while Stiles practically vibrated with curiosity. Curiosity and rage. And maybe some anticipation. A lot of anticipation. "Or?"

"Or you could sit in my lap and we could make out. Just a little." Derek's smile was everything sinful and tempting. "Or, now that I know you actually mean it, a lot."

"Oh, I mean it. I mean it very hard." Stiles was scrambling to try to reach Derek, but somehow not making any headway. The problem was solved by Derek lifting him up and arranging them so that Stiles was not just comfortably situated on Derek's lap, his (mildly) fractured foot was supported by some pillows and the arm of the couch. "I never really knew I had a manhandling kink until now."

Derek's eyes flashed red, just for a moment. "I did."

That statement needed to be explored, because one of them owed the other a shitload of teasing over it and Stiles was pretty sure he could work out how to be the one dishing it out. On the other hand, Derek's alpha eyes went straight to the danger = hot kink he was already well acquainted with, and he'd been expressly invited to make sexual advances on the man of his dreams. Priorities were important.

Kissing Derek was a revelation, better than he'd ever dreamed it could be, because he'd never imagined the noises Derek made, could never have anticipated the electricity of Derek moving softly, desperately against him. Stiles was allowed to touch, allowed to run his fingers through Derek's hair, allowed to lose himself and moan and grind and laugh a little at himself and at Derek, because he'd forgotten about his stupid ankle and having Derek jump up and growl while still holding Stiles against his erection was just funny.

It was okay, because this was Derek, and Derek knew him. The mood wasn't gone just because Stiles had laughed, or because Derek had snorted and rolled his eyes, making Stiles laugh harder. Instead it was part of it, part of them, and they would be okay. "I love you. I do, I love you, because you're amazing and you, you're mine."

"I like the sound of that." Derek lifted Stiles so his legs went around Derek's waist and his back was to the wall, holding him up and kissing the hell out of him until he couldn't think. "I'm yours."

"Damn right," Stiles panted, giving a light tug to Derek's hair. "And you're going to stay mine. Right?"

They were in the bedroom before Stiles could think coherently again, and Derek was looking just smug enough that Stiles licked his lips and waited only for Derek to finish undressing before beckoning him closer, close enough that Stiles could nip his earlobe and whisper hotly, "After we fuck the wildness out of our system, we can make love nice and slow. I'll kiss you when you cry afterward. We'll deal with the rest of the world sometime tomorrow, or maybe the day after."

"Priorities," Derek murmured, dragging a claw over Stiles with just enough pressure to cut through his clothes without harming the skin underneath.

"Okay," Stiles said, unbearably turned on and fairly certain he was going to combust. "Maybe the day after that. We'll have time."

[newstfionline]

The Day of Shame

By Uri Avnery, CounterPunch, May 21, 2018

On Bloody Monday, when the number of Palestinian killed and wounded was rising by the hour, I asked myself: what would I have done if I had been a youngster of 15 in the Gaza Strip?

My answer was, without hesitation: I would have stood near the border fence and demonstrated, risking my life and limbs every minute.

How am I so sure?

Simple: I did the same when I was 15.

I was a member of the National Military Organization (the “Irgun”), an armed underground group labeled “terrorist”.

Palestine was at the time under British occupation (called “mandate”). In May 1939, the British enacted a law limiting the right of Jews to acquire land. I received an order to be at a certain time at a certain spot near the sea shore of Tel Aviv in order to take part in a demonstration. I was to wait for a trumpet signal.

The trumpet sounded and we started the march down Allenby Road, then the city’s main street. Near the main synagogue, somebody climbed the stairs and delivered an inflammatory speech. Then we marched on, to the end of the street, where the offices of the British administration were located. There we sang the national anthem, “Hatikvah”, while some adult members set fire to the offices.

Suddenly several lorries carrying British soldiers screeched to a halt, and a salvo of shots rang out. The British fired over our heads, and we ran away.

Remembering this event 79 years later, it crossed my mind that the boys of Gaza are greater heroes then we were then. They did not run away. They stood their ground for hours, while the death toll rose to 61 and the number of those wounded by live ammunition to some 1500, in addition to 1000 affected by gas.

On that day, most TV stations in Israel and abroad split their screen. On the right, the events in Gaza. On the left, the inauguration of the US Embassy in Jerusalem.

In the 136th year of the Zionist-Palestinian war, that split screen is the picture of reality: the celebration in Jerusalem and the bloodbath in Gaza. Not on two different planets, not in two different continents, but hardly an hour’s drive apart.

The celebration in Jerusalem started as a silly event. A bunch of suited males, inflated with self-importance, celebrating--what, exactly? The symbolic movement of an office from one town to another.

Jerusalem is a major bone of contention. Everybody knows that there will be no peace, not now, not ever, without a compromise there. For every Palestinian, every Arab, every Muslim throughout the world, it is unthinkable to give up Jerusalem. It is from there, according to Muslim tradition, that the Prophet Muhammad ascended to heaven, after tying his horse to the rock that is now the center of the holy places. After Mecca and Medina, Jerusalem is the third holiest place of Islam.

For the Jews, of course, Jerusalem means the place where, some 2000 years ago, there stood the temple built by King Herod, a cruel half-Jew. A remnant of an outer wall still stands there and is revered as the “Western Wall”. It used to be called the “Wailing Wall”, and is the holiest place of the Jews.

Statesmen have tried to square the circle and find a solution. The 1947 United Nations committee that decreed the partition of Palestine into an Arab and a Jewish state--a solution enthusiastically endorsed by the Jewish leadership--suggested separating Jerusalem from both states and constituting it as a separate unit within what was supposed to be in fact a kind of confederation.

The war of 1948 resulted in a divided city, the Eastern part was occupied by the Arab side (the Kingdom of Jordan) and the Western part became the capital of Israel. (My modest part was to fight in the battle for the road.)

No one liked the division of the city. So my friends and I devised a third solution, which by now has become a world consensus: keep the city united on the municipal level and divide it politically: the West as capital of the State of Israel, the East as capital of the State of Palestine. The leader of the local Palestinians, Faisal al-Husseini, the scion of a most distinguished local Palestinian family and the son of a national hero who was killed not far from my position in the same battle, endorsed this formula publicly. Yasser Arafat gave me his tacit consent.

If President Donald Trump had declared West Jerusalem the capital of Israel and moved his embassy there, almost nobody would have got excited. By omitting the word “West”, Trump ignited a fire. Perhaps without realizing what he was doing, and probably not giving a damn.

For me, the moving of the US embassy means nothing. It is a symbolic act that does not change reality. If and when peace does come, no one will care about some stupid act of a half-forgotten US president. Inshallah.

So there they were, this bunch of self-important nobodies, Israelis, Americans and those in-between, having their little festival, while rivers of blood were flowing in Gaza. Human beings were killed by the dozen and wounded by the thousand.

The ceremony started as a cynical meeting, which quickly became grotesque, and ended in being sinister. Nero fiddling while Rome was burning.

When the last hug was exchanged and the last compliment paid, Gaza remained what it was--a huge concentration camp with severely overcrowded hospitals, lacking medicines and food, drinkable water and electricity.

A ridiculous world-wide propaganda campaign was let loose to counter the world-wide condemnation. For example: the story that the terrorist Hamas had compelled the Gazans to go and demonstrate--as if anyone could be compelled to risk their life in a demonstration.

Or: the story that Hamas paid every demonstrator 50 dollars. Would you risk your life for 50 dollars? Would anybody?

Or: The soldiers had no choice but to kill them, because they were storming the border fence. Actually, no one did so--the huge concentration of Israeli army brigades would have easily prevented it without shooting.

Almost forgotten was a small news item from the days before: Hamas had discreetly offered a Hudna for ten years. A Hudna is a sacred armistice, never to be broken. The Crusaders, our remote predecessors, had many Hudnas with their Arab enemies during their 200-year stay here.

Israeli leaders immediately rejected the offer.

So why were the soldiers ordered to kill? It is the same logic that has animated countless occupation regimes throughout history: make the “natives” so afraid that they will give up. Alas, the results have almost always been the very opposite: the oppressed have become more hardened, more resolute. This is happening now.

Bloody Monday may well be seen in future as the day when the Palestinians regained their national pride, their will to stand up and fight for their independence.

Strangely, the next day--the main day of the planned protest, Naqba Day--only two demonstrators were killed. Israeli diplomats abroad, facing world-wide indignation, had probably sent home SOS messages. Clearly the Israeli army had changed its orders. Non-lethal means were used and sufficed.

My conscience does not allow me to conclude this without some self-criticism.

I would have expected that all of Israel’s renowned writers would publish a thundering joint condemnation while the shooting was still going on. It did not happen.

I would have expected that the dozens of our brave peace organizations would unite in a dramatic act of condemnation, an act that would arouse the world. It did not happen. Perhaps they were in a state of shock.

The next day, the excellent boys and girls of the peace groups demonstrated opposite the Likud office in Tel Aviv. Some 500 took part. Far, far from the hundreds of thousands who demonstrated some years ago against the price of cottage cheese.

In short: we did not do our duty. I accuse myself as much as I accuse everybody else.

But what topped everything was the huge machine of brain-washing that was set in motion. For many years I have not experienced anything like it.

Almost all the so-called “military correspondents” acted like army propaganda agents. Day by day they helped the army to spread lies and falsifications. The public had no alternative but to believe every word. Nobody told them otherwise.

The same is true for almost all other means of communication, program presenters, announcers and correspondents. They willingly became government liars. Probably many of them were ordered to do so by their bosses. Not a glorious chapter.

After the day of blood, when the army was faced with world condemnation and had to stop shooting (“only” killing two unarmed demonstrators) all Israeli media were united in declaring this a great Israeli victory.

Israel had to open the crossings and send food and medicines to Gaza. Egypt had to open its Gaza crossing and accept many hundreds of wounded for operations and other treatment.

The Day of Shame has passed. Until the next time.

[thran-duils]

A Fine Idea

TITLE: A Fine Idea (RISE FOR YOUR KING P3) PAIRING: READER/AU KING!CASTIEL SUMMARY:  THE READER WAS BETROTHED TO THE PRINCE BUT WHEN A NEIGHBORING KING DECIDES TO DOLE OUT JUSTICE TO YOUR FUTURE FATHER IN LAW, HE DESTROYS THE ROYAL FAMILY, LEAVING YOU WITH THE TWO YOUNGEST PRINCESSES. THE MAGE KING TAKES AN IMMEDIATE LIKING TO YOU, LETTING YOU LIVE. WHAT WILL YOU DO WITH THIS OPPORTUNITY? WORDS: 1,990

PART 2 || Part 4 || MASTERPOST  || Fanfic masterpost

Castiel twirled the straw around his fingers, taking a long drink. The ale was rich and it was cooling him on this warm summer day.

You were sitting next to him, smiling at the twins playing with one of the knights down the garden. The king had just come back from a week long trip meeting with some of his allies. You wondered how anyone thought they could refuse him if he wanted an alliance. You would be afraid for your kingdom if you refused him considering his might. It seemed other kingdoms felt the same as you. Except, there was still a rift among the citizens. It was bothering the king.

He cleared his throat, “The kingdom needs something to bring them some sense of normalcy and peace.”

“Your ball was bountiful and quite charming,” you pointed out, turning your attention back to him.

“Yes, it was,” Castiel agreed. “But, there is more we can do. The harvest of course would be a good time to show our devotion to the people by assisting and bringing supplies to people working the fields.”

The way he kept saying ‘we’ and ‘our’ still drew an indescribable feeling out of you.

Nodding, you agreed again, “Yes. King Orin –” you stopped yourself. That was the first time in weeks you had uttered his name, let alone the first time you doing it being in Castiel’s presence.

Castiel’s eyes flashed before he told you, “Don’t be afraid to speak of him in front of me. This was his kingdom, you saw a little of how he ran it. It is… educational for me.”

You took what he said before continuing cautiously, “King Orin would bring clean water and game – a small deer or so – down for the people in the largest field to feast on at the end of the harvest season.” You watched him consider this.

“That is a fine idea,” Castiel complimented before taking another drink. He paused before stating, “But there’s one I have been thinking about. Quite extensively.”

“What is that, your majesty?”

“Us.”

The words came off his tongue easily and he sounded firm about it. He had his eyes trained on you closely, gauging your reaction.

“Us,” you repeated, sounding far less confident and enthused than him.

He noticed the lack of excitement in your tone and cocked an eyebrow, “Does this displease you?”

He wanted to be with you. You had a feeling from the start. The stolen looks, his lingering eyes, his far more than upfront behavior.

“I am not royalty.”

“They believe you as such. Have you heard them chanting your name?” You said nothing. “You are held in high regard. Not just for your standing. But your persona, your appearance, the stature you present. It is engaging, my lady.”

“Do you believe it best?”

You were shocked you were keeping it together this well. Or at least you thought you were. Castiel smirked slightly at your embarrassed behavior. He could tell, you believed, it wasn’t about being uncomfortable because you weren’t interested but because you were interested.

“It is a smart diplomatic move, but please don’t disregard it as simply as that. I would praise you more, my lady, from my own personal feelings. But I can tell you are overwhelmed.”

You were overwhelmed. You needed to gather yourself.

“May I… may I gather my thoughts?”

“Of course, Lady Y/N.”

“Thank you.” Your voice was quiet before you pushed yourself up off the chair. “Thank you for the company, your majesty.”

His hand was tight on your arm, stilling your movement.

“You consider it. I would not force you. No matter how much I want it.”

There was something in his expression and tone that he meant the complete opposite. He was pulsing with want, holding into you as if he could transfer it. You forced yourself to nod.

“Thank you, your majesty. I appreciate it.”

When his hand left your arm, you turned away from him, walking off quickly down the path. You felt his eyes on your back and knew that you were going to have to make a tough decision and do it quickly.

To be Queen or refuse him?

<> <> <>

“He wants to… “ you trailed off, not being able to say it.

Castiel had only proposed the idea to you less than two hours before and even so, you had immediately felt the need to discuss it with someone. And who else better than Aideen?

Aideen got it just the same. She swallowed, looking disappointed. “I knew he was… desiring something of that sort.”

“Reyvin offered a way out.”

“Y/N…”

“Please, hear me out. Reyvin has been nothing but kind to me. Or anyone really. Why would he try to lead us astray?”

Aideen offered, sounding doubtful, “He may have switched alliances.”

You shook your head, arguing, “No, he would not do that. He loved King Orin too much.”

Aideen sighed, resuming her knitting. “You have a hard decision to make, Y/N. I think you know what the right choice is. What else do you have? Would you risk angering him and have him kick you out on the street?” Of course you had considered that. “You are comfortable here. He may be a usurper but if he has eyes for you, would not a little self-preservation do you some good? The kingdom and the people would understand.”

But would they?

“Child, I do not want you to be hurt. That means physically or emotionally. You should think about it but I hope you consider my words.”

“I will,” you responded quietly. You swallowed and Aideen tore her eyes away from you, looking down at her blanket she was knitting. You picked up your needles again and began knitting with her. You wished you could knit yourself a way out of this situation. The stress was becoming too much.

<> <> <>

Y/N was draped in her silk night gown. She had wandered into his room. On accident, she had claimed but Castiel felt a current underneath her words. No… it wasn’t an accident.

The silk inked over her skin, especially the thigh high cut, exposing her bare skin to him whenever she moved. What he would do if she would only let him kiss up her bare skin towards her middle.

She stopped by his fireplace where he was standing. Cutting right to the chase, she informed him, “I found something odd in the maps room.”

“I told you to not go in there.”

“But Dasher did. I had to chase him. There are markers on a map on the neighboring kingdom. What is –”

She was cut off by Castiel’s finger against her lips and she looked at him curiously. He moved behind her, turning her a little towards the fireplace. She shuddered a little when she felt him close the space between them, his hands gentle on her.

“That damn dog,” Castiel murmured, his breath hot on her skin. His lips trailed against her neck and she didn’t recoil from him. “Causing you worry. I’ll have to tell the servants to not give him treats tomorrow. You need to relax, my lady.”

Y/N opened her mouth to protest but stammered when she felt his hands on the sash of her night gown. He undid it with ease, letting it drop from her shoulders. She was silent, except for her shallow breathing.

Castiel turned her to face him and he smiled down at her, seeing want dance behind her eyes. The little minx. She could try to play it off in the daylight that she wasn’t interested but the night told a different story.

He toyed with her nipples, eliciting a small, pleasured inhale from her, before he pulled slightly. She gasped quietly and he let go, her gorgeous breasts bouncing back into place. He almost drooled at the sight. This was one thing he loved about being immortal… a never-ending supply of ample, shaped women. And she was one of the finest he had had the pleasure of bedding.

“You like that, princess?” The title came off his lips in an arousing manner.

“Yes, your majesty.”

Castiel shuddered at her voice. She uttered his title so beautifully every time it dropped from those perfect, full lips… it almost drove him over the edge. Those lips – not to mention those innocent, doe looking eyes –  were just begging for him to corrupt them. Show her what a man felt like. Not like her prince she seemed so attached to still. No, she needed to be full of a man… a king.

He had her in bed quickly, tearing her underdress from her. He couldn’t wait another second.

Y/N was a virgin. He knew she was a virgin. None other would be pledged to a prince and he was more than eager to dive in. He gave no worries about marrying after coupling.

“Your majesty… I…” she tried to warn him in a small voice. She looked adorable, irresistible in her distress.

Castiel soothed her with a quiet voice, grinding his bare skin against her naked frame. He brushed her hair away from her face and vowed to make it as easy and pleasurable for her as he could. Castiel dulled her pain and she fell into it instantaneously. He gripped her hips, pounding in and out, relishing on her whines and pleads for him.

She was beautiful, whimpering and writhing underneath him… begging for more –

Castiel woke up in a cold sweat.

It had only been a dream.

Blinking away his sleep, Castiel muddied through his feelings of arousal still lingering from that dream. Y/N haunted him even when she was not there. His cock was erect and he sighed. He had almost forgotten he had laid with one of the servants until he felt her hand on his arm. He shot her a slightly annoyed look at touching him without permission. Why was she still here?

“Would you like help?” the girl next to him offered in sultry, hushed tones. “You must have been having quite an eventful dream…” Her fingers tip toed up his bare thigh, brushing him.

Castiel pushed her hand away. “No.”

She actually looked offended and Castiel almost laughed. What a naïve little thing to think she would matter so much to him. Still, she asked much to Castiel’s annoyance, “Was I not to your liking?”

“Of course you were. I’m just not wanting it right now. Which begs me to ask, why are you still in my chambers?”

Without waiting for her response, Castiel threw the covers off of himself before getting out of bed. He didn’t look over his shoulder at her as he stalked to the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He eyed the closet to put another door in between him and the servant – if she hadn’t already started clearing out – before deciding that it didn’t matter if she heard him. He didn’t care.

It didn’t take him long to relieve himself, the dream still fresh in his mind. He came onto his hand, a loud series of grunts leaving his throat.

When he returned to his bedchamber, he found it empty, the fire not having been rekindled. He would have to reprimand the little wench for that. He waved his hand at it, the flame lighting up again with minimal effort.

Climbing back into bed, he pulled the covers up and settled in. The empty side of the bed made him scowl, disappointment clouding his mind. He would rather have the girl gone but the emptiness just made it more blatant that Y/N hadn’t given him her decision since he had proposed it more than a day ago. He didn’t expect her to refuse him. What better offer would she have? And the little thing seemed to have some interest in him which gave him hope.

He would have to push the matter tomorrow.

~~~

CASTIEL TAGS: @prince-halfblood, @splendidcas, @klaineaholic, @letsthedogpackandthecats, @alexastacio, @winchesterforever12 @seirensou  @tacos-and-trenchcoats @the-amaranthine @intheir-dreams @study-me-misha @marisayouass @demonicguardianangel @afanofmanystuffs @holyheadharpies-quidditch-blog @misscherryberry @too-lazy-for-this-world @dragonchantant

[alexsmitposts]

Georgian Protests: Not Spontaneous and Not Ordinary—Part of Wider US Agenda?

Upwards of 10,000 protesters attempted to storm Georgia’s parliament building on June 20. The crowd swarmed the building during what at first glance appeared to an anti-government rally. They demanded the resignations of top officials, allegedly in response to a speech made by a member of the Russian Duma. It now continues on a daily basis, however, with less violence.

As reported by Georgian and Western news sources, “tensions flared up when Sergei Gavrilov, a Russian MP, addressed an assembly of lawmakers from Orthodox Christian countries from the physical seat of the Speaker of the Georgian Parliament.”

Gavrilov was taking part in the Inter-parliamentary Assembly on Orthodoxy (IAO), a meeting of a body set up by the Greek parliament in 1993 to foster relationships between Orthodox Christian lawmakers. From a political standpoint, it will never be a good idea to allow a Russian MP to sit in the Speaker’s chair, in Georgia or any other country which fought long and hard to escape Russian domination through the Soviet Union. However it would also be ridiculous for either Georgia or Russia not to be part of the IAO, given their credentials and shared values as Orthodox countries.

One thing is certain in any such mass protest – few, if any of them, are spontaneous protests by ordinary citizens. Careful planning goes into any attempted coup or regime change—and that usually comes from the West. This has especially been the case in Georgia, dating back to the so-called Rose Revolution of 2003, and even earlier, to the free fire zone days of the early 90s.

Now Georgia is again in the news, not only over how the weaponisation of gay pride is part of a larger programme of CIA destabilisation. Little of what is happening now in Georgia has anything to do with the country’s less than pristine record on human rights, or efforts to regain territorial integrity. Still less does it have to do with the present Georgian government, which is the most benign the country has seen, and unlike previous ones is genuinely attempting to introduce the Western values the population actually want, such as democratic pluralism, rule of law and transparency.

Keep in mind that what happens in Georgia doesn’t stay in Georgia, and is more often than not part of a larger regional agenda. The real news is not as the BBC reported on June 21, Thousands storm parliament over Russian MP’s speech, but what is REALLY transpiring in Georgia with outside assistance.

Not Spontaneous and Not Ordinary

One just needs to consider the statement of Giga Bokeria, now described as “an opposition MP for the European Georgia party”, who told AFP that the rally outside parliament was “a spontaneous protest by ordinary Georgians.”

Bokeria’s track record is well-documented, as are the names of his backers. He’s a teller of BIG lies—consider his activities in Georgia dating back to the days of the US-funded Liberty Institute, which is credited with topping former president Eduard Shevardnadze and bringing Mikheil Saakashvili to power, only for him to suffer the same fate.

The appearance of Russian MP Gavrilov in the Speaker’s chair in Tbilisi was considered an insult to Georgia, given the continued Russian influence in Georgia’s two breakaway regions of Abkhazia and South Ossetia, and indeed it was, even though not intended as such by the Georgian government to cause problems. These regions effectively gained their final independence as a result of the 2008 Georgian Russian conflict, as recognised by the Russian Federation in the wake of the Kosovo precedent.

But based on years of reporting on Georgia and the region, this appears a well-crafted effort to destabilise the current government, which did not decide to put Gavrilov in the chair. This decision was made by the Greek Embassy, which is trying to improve its political position within the EU to avoid further punishing bailout terms. It fits well with the Gay Pride rallies being forced on reluctant local gays, the continued EU refusal to discuss the UNM’s many crimes and the continued liberty of Saakashvili and his worst cronies despite all the arrest warrants out against them in all the countries they have been transplanted to.

The present Georgian government has done little but say “we are not the UNM criminals, so vote for us” during its six and a half years in power. But it is more balanced in its foreign policies between Russia and the West than the Saakashvili regime was. The various headlines on US funded websites, such as Furious Anti-Russia Protesters In Tbilisi Demand Speaker’s Resignation, Clash With Police speak for themselves as to the agenda which is being rolled out—and who apparently stands behind such provocations.

Sideshow with Front Seats

I asked one Georgian journalist who lives close to the Parliament, “do you have a front row seat for what is going on in Georgia as of yesterday?” He replied, “Not only a front row seat, as I live close to the parliament, but I happened to be passing by when teargas was finally used at about midnight … and the crowd scattered like leaves.”

We both think there will be a repeat performance soon, and that interesting days are upon us. I also suspect the provocation has something to do with the 250 million USD in weapons recently funded for Ukraine, and the agenda which has been set into motion for Iran.

Georgia likes to think it is the centre of the universe, though few have heard of it, because it is on the historic Silk Road. The revival of the Silk Road has become a major international project. However this project has been constructed to disguise the real importance of Georgia’s location: as the gateway to Iran, Ukraine, Syria and any other place now turned into a trouble spot. Without Georgia, we wouldn’t be witnessing half the death and destruction we see today, and these conflicts keep Embassy holdovers in jobs.

Tired Script for Crisis Actors

Having watched the early stages of yesterday’s protest, and seen the same familiar Saakashvili-era faces during the lunch break on live TV , I am further convinced that all what transpired was, and continues to be, carefully scripted.

Upwards of 80 people are reported to have been injured in the protests, including 30 protestors and 39 police officers. Police used water cannon, rubber bullets and tear gas to disperse the demonstrators. However the media reports vary, and it is becoming difficult to get accurate information.

Georgian PM Mamuka Bakhtadze has told the press that “what we witnessed is absolutely unacceptable,” and that a demonstration that had “started in a peaceful manner,” turned “violent”.

He added that

“It is an attempt by an aggressive group, the National Movement (UNM), party of former President Saakashvili, to move Georgia out of the legal framework, but they will fail to do it… I would like to address the youth – I am beside you in your frank protest, but we have to deal with narrow political interests, which are beyond any limits… violence is unacceptable and an adequate response will be made.”

Nino Burjanadze, former presidential candidate and once acting Head of State, has described the events as being political in nature, and maintains that purported pro-Western political parties are now using the people’s anger for their own benefit. It is clear that the situation may well spin out of control if the government keeps making the same mistakes again and again. Burjanadze should know, as her peaceful protest with many protesters “beaten-to-death” was broken up by the former government back on May 26, 2011.

Many of the photos used in this referenced report by the Georgian Young Lawyers Association were contributed by Georgian Bureau Chief for US online journal Veterans Today, Jeffrey Silverman. GYLA expressed special gratitude to G. Abdaladze and Jeffrey K. Silverman as the source of an important part of the photos used in that 2011 report.

The dreadful events of that day helped bring down the Saakashvili regime. So it is ironic that the same political party, the United National Movement, is now screaming foul over its failed attempt to take over the Georgian Parliament and topple the government by violence.

What happened back in 2011 was a peaceful protest against the UNM. This time it was an attempted coup by the UNM. Most people won’t be fooled, but a significant number are always ready to be bought off, as always happens in Georgia.

What is now happening is the street is like wolves leading sheep, as this could result in the total destabilisation of the Georgian State. Georgians must be cleverer, or they could lose so much, with one part of the population turned against another because of the actions of a few. Both these protests, and further actions being planned, are part of a larger regional geopolitical plan of destabilisation, which will also harm Georgia even if it resolves its internal problems.

I asked in a recent article, who says that politics and religion don’t mix? They mix very well into the fatal cocktail almost ready to be served up on the Georgian people. As this is going to press, the protests continue, not only as a result of the initial provocation, as described but in response to the government using excessive force and rubber bullets at close range, blinding several protestors.

Russia’s reaction to the treatment of a Russian diplomat and the behavior of the protestors was to be expected, and swift, out of concern for its citizens and initial gut reaction. It will ban air flights starting in July, curtailing tourism, and have its citizens now in Georgia return as soon as possible. Most definitely those who planned these protests had this in mind.

It is hoped that those on all sides will understand who is benefiting from “bad relations” between countries, Russia and Georgia, and from division among the Georgian people. They need to carefully evaluate what has actually transpired and who stands behind such unfortunate incidents. One thing is sure, the current government has not delivered, however, the previous one is no better—change is needed and with new blood.

[clubofinfo]

Expert: One of the people who did 9/11 once yelled at me, quite angrily. I wish I could remember why. I can’t. Nothing remains of his chastisement but Trombone Shorty’s plunger mute, waa wwa, mwaa waa mwa. The occasion was some briefing or other. Searching my soul with Augustinian scrupulosity, I cannot rule out that something in my bearing or demeanor might have inadvertently signaled that I didn’t take him seriously. I didn’t have to take him seriously, in the scheme of things, he had the military cookie-cutter stamp, OCD and not too bright, all at sea when hierarchy fails him. He wasn’t my client so I didn’t need to kiss his butt. Perhaps some inappropriate joke failed to go over his head. Somehow, at any rate, I annoyed one of the most infamous criminals in history, and lived! That’s like short-sheeting Hitler, or giving Pinochet an impish purple nurple. Because in retrospect, he took thousands of American lives as a pretext for wars of aggression that killed a million more. Myers knew about the white jet, the one they saw in Shanksville, the jet CIA sent to do his job for him, the job he trained his whole career to do but fucked up in the most important hour of his life. He didn’t call the other one off, Cheney did, but Myers didn’t seem to mind some doughy draft dodger taking over his job and doing it wrong. Myers took all that failure and disgrace in stride. No seppuku for him, he’s a warrior – he sees to things in his department. It’s too much to expect that he might look into why he bobbled the hijack alerts from FAA, nose around and ask Mitre what they were doing squiring dastardly Saudi terrorists around critical government agencies, showing them how to blind the Air Force while CIA watched their every move. But then, failing to mind my own business is my besetting sin. I made a Mitre functionary quite irate with a different impertinent question. They had installed her on the 9/11 Commission, to give us closure. And I was only asking about those ludicrous dogfights with big fat civilian planes. Imagine if I’d ribbed her about Ptech! Now in his dotage General Myers sits slack-lipped on corporate boards, and at some school, Faber College, I think, maundering at other people and they don’t take him seriously either. They give him cookies, cookies with, one imagines, jelly centers, like in other old soldiers’ homes. He’s harmless again. General Myers, a synecdoche of the USA: an infamous criminal lightly disguised as a bumbling idiot acclaimed as a hero. He failed his way to success. Now he’s a spent force. Just because they exterminated millions, that’s no reason to take them seriously. They’re clowns. We simply don’t see it, downtrodden and brainwashed as we are, not until they come up against someone minimally competent. The СБРФ, Russia’s Security Council, is cheerfully grinding CIA to powder in Syria. They interdict and expose US sneak attacks in strict accord with law, enforcing long-neglected UN Charter Article 47(3) at gunpoint. They leapfrogged the Pentagon with stand-off weapons to continuously counter escalation. They’re now the world’s most influential advocate for rule of law. Russia complies with the Paris Principles, the world standard for institutionalized human rights under expert international oversight; the USA does not. China’s Politburo Standing Committee outwits CIA at every turn, effortlessly appropriating US state secrets and winning over US allies with better deals. Just look at their essential principles of unrestricted warfare – necessary, minimal, restricted, limited, particularly non-military – it looks suspiciously like peace. Imagine poor Myers trying to cope with that. In its peculiarly non-military fashion, in treaty bodies and charter bodies China fights to get you the economic and social rights your government says you can’t have. China’s Five Principles of Peaceful Coexistence are a straightforward précis of the UN Charter. Just one of the five principles mentions China’s national interest. It’s downright alien to those of us accustomed to the USA’s neurotic fixation on vague threats from every nook and cranny of the earth. What does China want? China wants equality and mutual benefit. Iran’s Sepāh, the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps, won the war in Iraq by watching us lose. While mediating for regional states and popular mobilization forces, Sepāh has held the US to feckless bluster with a canny grappling strategy, sprawling and grapevining to impede US moves until lawfare can be brought to bear. Iran’s world-class jurists compile a lengthening catalog of grave US crimes and wrongs for the World Court to judge. Iran, founding member of the G-77 comprising 80 per cent of the world, past president in the crisis years of unchecked US aggression, diplomats primus inter pares who shepherded the Tehran Consensus into being; Iran, nuclear/chemical disarmament envoy of the Non-Aligned Movement for peaceful coexistence, half the world’s people and two-thirds of its countries. Step into court and full-spectrum-dominate that. Worse yet, long-time US puppets now say no. Germany and Austria joined the free world in repudiating US economic coercion that breaches UN Charter Articles 41 and 421. The European Union and the IMF refuse to join the US in reneging on its nonproliferation agreement with Iran. Iraq ejected its US occupiers by the simple expedient of denying them impunity. The head of state of the Philippines burnishes his overwhelming popularity and public trust by mocking US officials’ sanity, paternity, character, and sexual practices. That shocks the US government, which has been warring on or waterboarding its Malay colony into submission for more than a century. That’s your USA: Monty Python’s Black Knight, dismembered but undaunted. By some masterstroke of KUBARK mind-control, Americans don’t get the joke. Everyone is laughing at their laughingstock regime but them. We Americans are indoctrinated with pompous monkey see, monkey do. The state puts models before us: tweedy Ivy-League mediocrities solemnly blithering about The Presidential Character or the stultifying ceremony of installing public figureheads. We retain a few of their slogans, but more importantly, we learn to make the faces. The judicious face. The face of regret. The grave resolute face you make when they tell you it’s time to blow up more wogs. Want to be a leftist? Then you make the lugubrious hangdog face Chris Hedges taught you. Back when he worked for the New York Times, Hedges taught us the pop-eyed “Oh no, Saddam’s sending terrorists to get us!”2 face. But what about the face for Russia ripping Turkey out of NATO? That’s the 4chan Lenny smirk face. Where’s the face for Russia lawfully snatching away the best parts of Ukraine, leaving scheming NATO stooges with the Chernobyl exclusion zone and a mob of flat-broke Nazis? (You know, this one, :-D) And what about the face for Iran hijacking the US RQ-170 stealth drone, reverse-engineering and improving it? Or for catching CIA at illegal warfare, deftly taking all their cyber-weapons and giving free samples and countermeasures to the world in paralyzing water-torture dribs and drabs, spouting obscene broken-English gibes and insults all the while? Surely you must recognize that one. Go ahead, think about it, you’ll make the face. They call it lol. It’s not as though you’re being disrespectful. Your ruling junta had a good run. Now it’s over. America’s indifferent ‘rivals’ casually make fools of CIA. If you didn’t notice, that’s because you read the news, or did your high school homework too intently. Here is what actually happened. The Dulles administration extended from 1949 to roughly 1966 (like popes, CIA potentates subside gradually into incontinent senility.) Dulles established clandestine crime as US policy. He took control of government with secret moles and gave CIA impunity with sub rosa legal pretexts. He purged elements supporting rights or rule of law, and recruited vanquished Nazis to set up a US Gestapo. He consolidated the wartime press into state-controlled organs of public information termed “the mighty wurlitzer.” He crippled and corrupted the UN Secretariat and killed the one stray Secretary-General who wasn’t a tool. After he got deposed, Dulles’ CIA killed an insubordinate head of state, JFK, and put FBI to work covering up CIA crime, the prime directive it retains today. The next administration was the Safari Club. The CIA regime diffused its leadership to the point that some acting directors were foreign nationals. The Safari Club was not an interregnum but an organizational expedient dictated by international resistance to crimes of the CIA regime. The UN member nations denounced US torture and aggression under explicit warning of general nuclear war. This emboldened the old constitutional institutions to mount challenges of their own. The Senate and the House probed CIA. In five months at CIA James Schlesinger extracted the family jewels, a bill of indictment of ultra vires crimes, and purged a thousand agents, dwarfing the subsequent Friday Night Massacres of Stansfield Turner and R. James Woolsey. Jim Schlesinger. Now there was a man to take seriously. He got the point of a briefing, a point I was prevented from making out loud, by reading the mathematical entrails of a massive Soviet-style central planning simulation at a glance. Schlesinger got himself fired in 1975 for declining to wage war on Cambodia. Under siege by the world’s best and brightest, CIA retreated and regrouped. Adnan Kashoggi and his CIA factotums3 ran a hunting lodge and tasteful whorehouse in Nanyuki Town in Kenya. There CIA plotted with spooks from its satellite states and handed off the worst of their clandestine crime. CIA also colluded with foreign counterparts in other clubby venues like the Pinay Circle. This enabled a ruse: we’re not concealing crimes, we’re keeping the confidences of our allies. The blatant porky worked, when everybody went along, and gave CIA room for maneuver. CIA sacrificed Nixon as a scapegoat and wrote the Pentagon Papers to frame the Pentagon for CIA’s Vietnam War. They led the Church Committee in harmless circles. CIA defanged the more threatening Pike Committee: they inserted a ritual incantation (CIA works for the president!) and stuffed everything else down the memory hole. Then CIA put Congress in its place with the melodramatic bribery-cum-treason snares of the ABSCAM investigation. They deployed the mighty wurlitzer to neutralize avowed human-rights president Jimmy Carter and his straight-arrow DCI Turner. CIA directed their secret agents in Congress, State, and Justice to vitiate binding US commitments to demobilize, disarm, and stop its torture, murder, armed attack, racial discrimination, weapons proliferation, and coercive foreign interference. The Bush administration took power in 19804 and continued until circa 2001. Bush shifted the focus of foreign interference from Latin America to the Middle East. He fought the world consensus on economic and social rights, wrecking countries that governed in accordance with those rights. Bush squelched a feeble Congressional investigation with multiple preemptive pardons. To dispel “the Vietnam syndrome,” Americans’ revulsion against war, Bush entrapped his Iraqi client state with petty resource disputes as a pretext for US invasion. Capitalizing on the unforeseen collapse of the USSR, Bush militarized the UN Security Council, dispatching armed peacekeepers everywhere on any excuse. He manipulated regional rivalries and the UN Secretariat to thwart reform of the P-5 nations’ veto impunity. Bush père skydives to prove his mettle, plummeting to earth in the arms of a SEAL much as Mao would drift inertly down the Yangtze River in his dotage. But the Gates administration is in power. Bush protégé Gates rose to power in a process recalling late-Roman dynastic succession of adoptive sons, with Bush’s bloodline heir as presidential figurehead. While maintaining his predecessors’ rackets, Gates used 9/11 as a pretext to implement longstanding plans for counterinsurgency warfare at home and aggression abroad. He boosted Afghan opium production by a factor of 40, culling Americans by shortening their lifespan, and made the subject population pay for the greatest financial crime in history. Gates obstructed international efforts to end impunity and regulate the arms trade. He adapted to the debility and corruption of the commercial arms industry by relying on foreign armed irregulars for covert aggression. Gates’ critical test lies before him: after a quarter century of CIA cadres installed to front for the regime (Bush, Clinton, Bush, and Obama) a president under insecure control has taken office at a juncture when CIA again faces multiple threats to its impunity: – Legally mandated release of all unshredded NARA records bearing on CIA’s 1963 coup d’état; – International legal pursuit (in inter alia Italy, Spain, Poland, and Canada, with international civil society including CCR and CJR) of systematic and widespread CIA torture and disappearance amounting to crimes against humanity; – Concerted civil-society legal challenges to CIA’s gravest crimes including Saleh v. Bush, Abdul Wahed Shannan Al Rabbat v. Blair, and prospective JASTA suits. When quashed in CIA-controlled national courts, these cases support ICC admissibility of crimes the state is unwilling or unable to prosecute; – Nonproliferation treaty bodies openly denouncing US proliferation effected by CIA assets such as Marc Grossman, Will Cathcart, and Robert Garry, in the 2015 NWC Review Conference and in ministerial-level Russian statements exposing US efforts to thwart the object and purpose of the BWC.5 – Dawning public awareness of CIA attacks on the domestic civilian population as pretexts for intensified repression. That’s what all this “fake news” censorship is for: CIA wants its exposure and denunciation to go unnoticed here at home. The related saber-rattling and war hysteria also takes people’s minds off CIA crime. The synthetic desperation of it promotes the CIA line that rule of law is fighting with one hand tied behind your back. See? Postwar US history is simple. Just keep your eye on CIA. Though the government fixes your attention on the danger of the suicidal nuke war it continually threatens, the real threat to the regime has always been international consensus. Throughout each new CIA junta the international community methodically constructs a binding legal regime. You can read a hundred US histories and never see a word about it. The world codified America’s Nuremberg Principles to curb criminal commanders and, with the Rome Statute, set up a court free from national interests to try them. The world codified the UN Charter’s mandate of pacific dispute resolution with state responsibility principles. The world set out your rights in law, consolidating them under the two overarching aims of the UN member nations: your right to peace and your right to development. The old second world, renewed and esteemed, enforces law that issued largely from the Non-Aligned Movement and the G-77.6 Contemporary history is largely the story of CIA’s pitched, doomed struggle against rights and rule of law. Held to these standards, the US government is exposed as a shabby throwback. Uncle Sam is dead – in the likes of Gates and Myers we’ve reverted to an old familiar mascot of another washed-up empire, Don Quixote, scrawny, skint, and delusional. Let Thomas Harrington describe the poor thing’s dream world: The cheesiest and most hackneyed evocations of national grandeur. Page 1: a quote from the Star-Spangled Banner in a lithograph-like image of The War of 1812. Page 2: Lincoln’s famous quote about ‘government of the people, by the people and for the people.’ Pages 3-4: a multicolor image of an eagle and a flag… And on and on for 24 more pages with graphic backdrops such as Mt. Rushmore, the Liberty Bell, and yes, buffaloes roaming across the open plains. That’s the passport they make you carry. The kindly border guards of the outside world try hard not to roll their eyes at it. Remember, Don Quixote has a happy ending: in innumerable slapstick melees strapping peasants beat some sense into the old scarecrow before he dies. That’s what’s happening to CIA right now. Join the fun, world, get your licks in while you can. He’s on his last legs. * As articulated for the world by the Special Rapporteur on Coercive Measures. * “Defectors Cite Iraqi Training for Terrorism,” The New York Times, November 8, 2001. * Miles Copeland and Ed Moss of Booz, Allen and the mob, respectively. * CIA’s formal instauration was scheduled for March 31, 1981, in OPERATION NINE LIVES, but it was bungled and had to be deferred. * Illegal US biowarfare is under investigation by civil society and by treaty parties. * Russian FM Lavrov is speaking to a global audience. http://clubof.info/

[joronomo]

5 Reasons Why Donald Trump Is An Inspiration To Us All

New Post has been published on https://joronomo.com/5-reasons-why-donald-trump-is-an-inspiration-to-us-all/

5 Reasons Why Donald Trump Is An Inspiration To Us All

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Okay, hear us out – you can disagree with everything Donald Trump does and stands for as President of the United States, but he exhibits a lot of qualities that we could (and should) all take to heart. Sure, it’s not exactly ideal for him to be exhibiting some of these qualities as President (and to the DEGREE he exhibits them), but it’s hard to deny that President Trump has some lessons to teach us all.

  1. Did the one thing everyone told him he couldn’t do

For years, it was a running joke that Donald Trump would PRETEND to run for president purely to garner attention, grab some headlines, and maybe give a boost to the ratings for The Celebrity Apprentice before dropping out once the actual work of campaigning began. The press, other candidates, and comedy outlets like The Daily Show had a good time with it – Donald Trump? Running for PRESIDENT?! Can you imagine?

So what did he do? What did the reality show host, occasional celebrity spokeperson of the birther movement, onetime Home Alone 2 cameo-ist do? He decided to actually run for President and see it all the way through – and to the shock of pretty much everyone (including, purportedly, himself), he WON.

Honestly, if you ignore the race-baiting, inflammatory comments against minorities, mocking of POWs and the physically-handicapped, bragging about sexual assault to Access Hollywood hosts, and almost literally every other aspect of his personality, Donald Trump is practically The Little Engine That Could.

2. Regularly practices self-care

If you can say one thing about Donald Trump, it’s that he cares DEEPLY about the feelings of Donald Trump – and isn’t afraid to do something about it. He goes on vacation to one of his properties virtually every weekend of his presidency (breaking precedent to the degree that his frequent personal travel costs have depleted the annual Secret Service budgeting a mere 7 months into his term), he has aides provide him with a dossier of positive news coverage about him twice per day, and he won’t let aides and advisors keep him off of his favorite personal outlet, his Twitter account.

Despite massive criticism surrounding virtually all of these self-serving activities, Trump continues with all of them – because he knows taking care of himself and his own spirit needs to come first, even if at the cost of the American taxpayer and the safety of the nation.

3. Overwhelmingly confident

I’m honestly not sure if there’s a single person on this planet as blindly confident in their own abilities than Donald Trump – who frequently talks about how much people praise him, how he’s “the greatest” at various skills, how he’s the only one capable of “fixing this country,” and refuses to ever admit any mistake or fault. While the rest of us are at times timid, humble, or less willing to brag or be overly forthright with their achievements (both real and imagined), Trump is out there taking credit for everything and anything he can think of and propping himself up as the “2nd greatest president who ever lived” (behind Lincoln).

And while this level of confidence may not be advisable for most, we could all stand to take a page from him and be a little less self-deprecating. Well, maybe not a page from HIM because holy crap he’s going to get us into World War III, but you get what I’m going for.

  4. Keeps his family close

Family means a lot to Donald Trump – he’s given his sons, Eric and Donald Jr., high-ranking positions in his company, despite their lack of business savvy, questionable ethics, and (at least in the case of Donald Jr.) wild personal ineptitude. He didn’t care about the grumbling of other, more talented employees who were cursed with not being related to Trump – he went ahead and promoted them anyways, because they’re family. Eric Trump even admits that nepotism was responsible for his blessed life.

And taking it a step further, Trump has placed an inordinate amount of faith and responsibility in his son-in-law, Jared Kushner – literally entrusting the future of peace in the Middle East to his daughter’s husband, a real estate empire scion who failed at pretty much every opportunity handed to him by his silver spoon upbringing.

Being a Trump is like being at the Olive Garden – when you’re there, you’re family.

  5. Isn’t afraid of conflict

Most people go out of their way to avoid conflict or confrontation, but not Donald Trump – who has recently:

A willingness to confront others when you feel strongly about something is definitely a good quality to have! Maybe not when you’re ultimately responsible for the country’s diplomatic relationships and can wreak unspeakable havoc with your words and actions, but…well, you get it.

….really hope he doesn’t start a nuclear war, though.

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[mihiruj]

Kashmir: Burning snow

The article consists practical, theoretical and psychological views on the Kashmir issue, also considered as Illegal occupation of Kashmir by Pakistan. We will basically discuss these topics briefly:

1) Article 370

2) Plebiscite, why not ?

3) PoK occupation

4) Militants and separatists

5) Stone pelting and Military Ops

6) Lutyens’ Delhi: Media Hypocrisy

 Article 370

If you are unaware of Article 370, it is the temporary provision which gives J&K the special ‘autonomous’ status, in short, the certain special rights. It actually came from the

clause 7

of ‘

Instrument of accession

”. While, at that time, the provisions were taken to preserve culture of J&K, nowadays, the topic is used more as a vote-banking and political tool. As once former CM Omar Abdullah said, “

Either Article 370 will exist, or J&K won't be a part of India”

. Note that the whole statement can be stated as strategic, political statement. Vote-banking, appeasement and sympathy has been one of the main tactics of winning the chair in J&K. It’s no hidden secret that Article 370 is been told to Kashmiri people more like a ‘comfort’ and ‘ease’ from India than the mere reality. Yet, people are made to think that the provision are their hope of surviving throughout. But, let’s talk some practical reality, shall we? The provision has actually been a hindrance in the peace and development of the J&K. The first and common problem is: the undefined, over-powers given to the forming government of J&K, also hence making it a tool for their votes, while it might sound bit harsh for the people of Kashmir, but due to the immunity from the Lok-Sabha bills, J&K is left aside from overall development and that is also can be questionable the forming governments of J&K, but Mr. Abdullah will never tell you about the other side, cause why? Cause they can’t afford to lose that special power of a CM, given which sometimes subtitle them as “PM of J&K”.  Who would ever want to leave that?   Further since, no private property can be accessed or purchased in the state of J&K, it makes it harder, actually impossible for private sectors to have their footstep in the Valley, hence a kill of a chance in increment of jobs and business acceleration for and between the people of Jammu and Kashmir.   Yet, the sensitive and important impact of Article 370, I would discuss is the psychological game. Let suppose, there is an ‘equilibrium’ in a state of a country. The equilibrium that is the unity and progress with the nation comes when there is a certain moving of people from one state to another. Taking an example of city like: Delhi, how many here are the natives? Only a few, people from different states came here for their progress in jobs or businesses. Likewise, Bangalore, it’s now a IT hub, but, all the engineers didn’t decide born in there right? People moved there. These type of mass movements also result in communal and cultural sharing, hence a strengthened tie between the people of the country. While, the Article 370 turns out to be a wall standing in between, creating a wall between Kashmir and other part of the country. While many of the people, if you are a Kashmiri and after reading till now, might think that the abolition of Article 370 is faulty and against the people. But, the real interest of people in the development of the place. Neither me, nor probably anyone is anti-Kashmiri, Kashmir and the people of Kashmir are the part of India, and everyone matters to us as same as all other citizens. Especially, to the army, who works hard every day to settle peace in the Valleys and helping the people, the forces are the

defender of the people

, not the

enemy

, this is totally pointing to those international or maybe some of own news agency and media who show the Army in bad light and are always trying to increase the gap between the people and the forces. Indeed, even after numerous and continuous attempts of separatists, militants and Pakistan combined, the forces has proved that the righteous always prevail.  

Plebiscite, why or why not?

As after Pt. Nehru took the Kashmir issue to the UN: international court of justice.

UN’s simple and actually undefined solution, ‘resolution 47’, which in short stated to have a plebiscite that is, let the people of J&K decide their fate, by democratically voting. But, then why there hasn’t been a plebiscite? Shehla Rashid still cries for this, yet what she always ignore that the fact: the plebiscite would only be done after the 3 steps: firstly, Pakistan had to withdraw their forces from the occupied region, secondly, India will have it forces at a ‘minimum’ along the whole J&K, third and last: do the plebiscite with appointing all major political parties, return of refugees and all prisoners indeed.

But, firstly, Pakistan never left the occupation of Kashmir. Not only that, after waging 3 wars against the country, how could one expect to do a plebiscite. Not only that, Pakistan made a courtyard and command-house of their evil-deeds and terror and now it’s called Pakistan-Occupied-Kashmir. So, if someone ever still continues to argue for a plebiscite, remind them about the terms on which the resolution could be acted upon, moreover it’s too old, especially when you wage war against and lose 3 times, and also not forgetting the real deal: ‘Instrument of Accession’. The agreement between last ruler Hari Singh and India, agreeing on Jammu and Kashmir be the integral part of this country.

 The PoK problem

Here come the most recent and actual issue for India. Pakistan-Occupied-Kashmir, they also call it Azad-Kashmir, another diplomatic game. PoK consist of Gilgit-Balistan and some other part of Kashmir, lately as Pakistan has been trying to uproar for J&K, India has played a master-stroke for getting Kashmir back, that is strategically and diplomatically isolating Pakistan to take back Gilgit-Balistan. Recently, in the UN council, when Pakistan tried to take help from UN for the Kashmir issue, India reminded them of the Shimla agreement, and stated to vacate the occupation of PoK. If you are unknown to the Shimla agreement, it’s the agreement signed between the Republic of India and Pakistan after the 1971 war, stating that all the conflicts will be issued bilaterally. No doubt, it was a nice and reflective decision by Indira at that time. But, if PoK is India’s part, why India just not take it? The answer is quite complex, at first, when Nehru took the issue to UN, Line of Control was put in place, to keep peace till the issue is solved. Then after, 1965 war, the Tashkent agreement to revert back the forces and maintain the old lines of border. Later, after the Bangladesh freedom war, the peace treaty that was Simla Agreement also stating to solve any conflict bilaterally and peacefully. Since, then both nation has achieved nuclear power and Pakistan is already numskull, so India has kept its promises to keeping the violence to the lowest, also developing a respect in the United Nations for this resistance.  

 Another than the diplomatic and army power, India has indirectly also been supporting the free-Baloch movement, to help the innocent of Baluchistan receive freedom, yet it’s true that only Baloch-movement can’t defeat Pakistan, but it does give burns to Islamabad, yet the cruel part is, a lot of innocent are killed by the Pakistan armed forces, they have kept suppressing Baloch, it’s next to impossible for Baloch alone getting freedom.

 In future, only India’s pre-planned act against Pakistan and acquiring our left Kashmir can help the Baluchistan to be a reality from a dream seen by many, what frightens Pakistan the most is, if ever there is a Baluchistan formed, the left part of the country will be locked between, degrading and finishing itself.

  Militants and Separatists

I am not even sure if these two are different terms or not. One is engaging terror with arm, other with words and ideologies. At last, both of them are like to be the same. Separatists are more like a job of some in the Valleys, feed on the mind of the people, making them engage in hatred, irrespective of any rationality. Separatists are yet not any powerful, they are like that girl in your school, who ranted about everything. Militants, indeed a hurdle while creating peace in the Valleys. But, the Indian army undoubtedly has given a tough time to these insects. The main objective of these militants is quite unknown or actually they never actually reveal it. Militants say they fight for the freedom of Kashmir, yet their superficial sympathy for Kashmir is nothing more than a joke, anything they have to fight for is terrorism, aided by the world-terrorism factory: Pakistan. Not forgetting, the so-called misguided youth: stone-pelters, it’s not been a long time, when the social media got visual proof of how you can have a career in stone-pelting, also being done by Pakistan. COAS Bipin Rawat is actually right upon the strict action against these half-wits, yet the forces should be using more real guns more often.

 Stone-pelting and Military ops

Tourism or terrorism, one could create a tunnel from the same stone, while one could throw it at the armed forced, said by our PM Modi. Indian Army has been doing continuous military operations against the militants. While trying to block these army operations, the militants backed by Pakistan use the local people, well its like buying them, paying them for pelting stones and blocking the way of the military vehicles, so that the militants can get away. What shouldn’t be ignored is, not only stones, but petrol bombs have been used by the militant supporters, it’s the compassion and mercy of the forces that they resist to use any real guns against the pelters. Also, in 2016 almost 88 people joined the militancy, while about 300 Kashmiri joined the Indian Army. 2017 starting, also saw about nine-thousand young Kashmiris to participating in Army selection, 99% students appearing the school boards. These facts and figures are slap on the face of separatists, and before Yasin Malik or Geelani starts cringing for some injured stone-pelters, who are getting free hospital service, I would put light on the Media’s Hypocrisy.

 Lutyens’ Delhi: Media Hypocrisy

By media hypocrisy, the first name in our mind that came would be Barkha Dutt.

But, let’s discuss some basics first. Lutyens’ Delhi media refers to the lazy journalism, spending time in their offices, making theories, assuming them as reality and just trying to justify their dimwitted theories to people. Media always play a serious role in revealing the truth to the public. They can hide Umar Khalid’s plans under fight for ‘Freedom of speech’, call Arunachal Pradesh a ‘disputed state’ but also can uncover the whole separatist propaganda of separatists and stone-petlers.

But, how is Kashmir’s local media? Don’t they misguide people. Yes ,they do and have been. Spicing up, raging people against might be the only way for them to earn a living, cause only few and they are on Social media are the agencies will disclose the truth in Kashmir. There is no needed proof, if the local media can address Kashmir Pandits as cancer, they can possibly do anything. The point to be observed is: how these agencies has been indirectly placing violence and communal insecurity between people, not only in Kashmir, but also between the Kashmiri people and the rest of India. These sources of anti-venom are doing nothing but misusing the freedom of expression given in India.