#BLACK FLAG ARMY | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bfpnola · 8 months

Text

ID 1: Screenshot of a post by @/key48return on Instagram. Background is of a globe with pinpoints of the israeli flag all over North and South America. Title reads in all caps, “israel is involved in oppression all over the world not just in Palestine…” A yellow arrow points right underneath the title. End ID

ID 2: In all caps, “ISRAEL'S INVOLVED IN:

THE RWANDAN GENOCIDE - 1994

ISRAEL EXPORTED SUBSTANTIAL WEAPONS AND ARMS TO THE HUTU MILITIAS WHO MASSACRED OVER 1 MILLION TUTSI CIVILIANS IN RWANDA ACROSS THE DURATION OF 100 DAYS.

WEAPONS USED IN THE GENOCIDE INCLUDED ISRAELI-MADE 5.56MM BULLETS, RIFLES AND GRENADES. THE RWANDAN GENOCIDE IS RECOGNISED AS THE WORST GENOCIDE IN MODERN HISTORY. ISRAEL HAS REPEATEDLY ATTEMPTED TO CONCEAL THEIR ARMS EXPORTS TO RWANDA BEFORE AND DURING THE GENOCIDE, FEARING PROSECUTION.”

Black and white photos below are shown of various Rwandan children in graveyards or in makeshift tents just trying to get by. End ID.

ID 3: In all caps, “ISRAEL'S INVOLVED IN:

APARTHEID SOUTH AFRICA 1948 - 1994

ISRAEL WAS A STAUNCH ALLY TO THE SOUTH AFRICAN APARTHEID REGIME, PROVIDING ANTI-RIOT VEHICLES AND ARMS TO USE AGAINST THE NATIVE BLACK POPULATION, ASSISTING THE REGIME IN CREATING NUCLEAR BOMBS AND ISRAEL ALSO OPPOSED THE GLOBAL EMBARGO AND BOYCOTT OF APARTHEID SOUTH AFRICA.

FOR DECADES, THE ZIONIST FEDERATION IN SOUTH AFRICA HONOURED MEN SUCH AS PERCY YUTAR, WHO PROSECUTED NELSON MANDELA FOR SABOTAGE AND CONSPIRACY AGAINST THE STATE IN 1963 AND SENT HIM TO JAIL FOR LIFE. (FOR WHICH HE SERVED 27 YEARS)”

Black and white photos below showcase a Black man being held in a chokehold by a white man, two Black people on their knees and hands up trying not to get shot, and a sign that reads in english and afrikaans “white area.” End ID.

ID 4: In all caps, “ISRAEL'S INVOLVED IN:

MAYAN GENOCIDE 1960 - 1996

THROUGHOUT THE GUATEMALAN CIVIL WAR FROM 1960-1996, OVER 200,000+ INDIGENOUS MAYANS WERE MURDERED BY STATE FORCES, AND OVER ONE MILLION MORE DISPLACED, IN WHAT IS REFERRED TO TODAY AS THE MAYAN GENOCIDE.

THE GUATEMALAN STATE FORCES RESPONSIBLE WERE ARMED AND TRAINED BY ISRAEL. WHEN THE U.S. GOVERNMENT SUSPENDED MILITARY FUNDING TO THE GUATEMALAN STATE FORCES IN 1977 IN THE MIDST OF THE MAYAN GENOCIDE, ISRAEL GAVE THEM OVER $38 BILLION WORTH OF ARMS TO FILL THE GAP. THE 'GALIL' ASAULT RIFLE, AN ISRAELI-MADE WEAPON, WAS STANDARD ISSUE FOR THE GUATEMALAN ARMY BY 1980, WITH THE STATE OWNED SMALL-ARMS PRODUCTION FACILITY IN ALTA VERAPAZ PRODUCING ITS AMMUNITION UNDER ISRAELI ARMS LICENCES.”

Below are multiple in-color photos of Mayan families mourning, one photo in particular which shows indigenous Mayans carrying a seemingly endless line of coffins off into the distance. End ID.

ID 5: In all caps, “ISRAEL'S INVOLVED IN:

SREBRENICA - 1995

ALSO KNOWN AS THE SREBRENICA GENOCIDE. IN 1995 OVER 8,000+ BOSNIAN MUSLIMS WERE MASSACRED BY SERBIAN ARMY FORCES ARMED AND TRAINED BY ISRAEL. SERBIAN FORCES ETHNICALLY CLEANSED OVER 250,000+ MUSLIMS IN TOTAL ACROSS CROATIA AND BOSNIA.

TENS OF THOUSANDS OF OTHERS WERE WOUNDED, STARVED, WOMEN WERE MASS RAPED AND MANY WERE INCARCERATED IN CONCENTRATION CAMPS. MANY OF THOSE RESPONSIBLE FOR THE GENOCIDE FLED TO ISRAEL, WHERE THEY WERE GRANTED ISRAELI CITIZENSHIP IN ORDER TO AVOID ARREST AND PROSECUTION FOR CRIMES AGAINST HUMANITY.”

Once again, the in-color photos below show various peoples mourning. Two of the photos specifically show people reaching their hands out over extremely long lists of just names of people who have died. End ID.

ID 6: In all caps, “ISRAEL'S INVOLVED IN:

TRAINING U.S. POLICE

SINCE 1990, HUNDREDS OF AMERICAN POLICE OFFICERS, INCLUDING AGENTS FROM THE FBI, CIA AND IMMIGRATION AND CUSTOMS ENFORCEMENT (ICE), HAVE EITHER BEEN SENT TO ISRAEL THROUGH POLICE TRAINING EXCHANGES, OR ATTENDED SUMMITS WITHIN THE U.S. THAT WERE SPONSORED BY ISRAELI LOBBY ORGANISATIONS.

THE KNEE-TO-NECK 'RESTRAINT' THAT DEREK CHAUVIN MURDERED GEORGE FLOYD WITH, IS OFTEN USED BY ISRAELI POLICE AND SOLIDERS AGAINST PALESTINIANS.

BLACK LIVES MATTER.”

Photos below are in-color and show various B.L.M. protests. End ID.

ID 7: In all caps, “ISRAEL'S INVOLVED IN:

ARMING INDIA'S VIOLENCE IN KASHMIR

INDIA IS ISRAEL'S LARGEST ARMS CLIENT, MAKING UP OVER 45% OF ISRAEL'S ARMS SALES. BUYING ISRAELI AMMUNITION AND AIR-TO-GROUND MISSILES, ON THE PREMISE THEY HAVE BEEN 'BATTLE-TESTED' ON PALESTINIANS IN GAZA. ISRAEL PROVIDES INDIA WITH THE ARMS INDIA USES TO MILITARILY OCCUPY KASHMIR AND BRUTALISE KASHMIRI'S.

SINCE 1989, OVER 100,000+ KASHMIRIS HAVE BEEN KILLED BY INDIAN FORCES. WITH OVER 7,200+ KASHMIRIS BEING MURDERED IN INDIAN POLICE CUSTODY, OVER 110,000+ KASHMIRI CHILDREN HAVE BEEN ORPHANED, AND MORE THAN 11,000+ KASHMIRI WOMEN HAVE BEEN RAPED BY INDIAN OCCUPATION FORCES. IN ADDITION, OVER 7,000+ UNNAMED MASS GRAVES HAVE BEEN DISCOVERED WITH THOUSANDS OF VICTIMS.”

The photos below show israel and india’s leaders shaking hands and various armed indian soldiers stopping Kashmiris for unnecessary checks. End ID.

ID 8: In all caps, “ISRAEL'S INVOLVED IN:

PINOCHET COUP - CHILE 1973

CIA BACKED DICTATOR, AUGUSTO PINOCHET TOOK OVER CHILE ON SEPTEMBER 11, 1973. OVERTHROWING ITS DEMOCRATICALLY ELECTED PRESIDENT, SALVADOR ALLENDE. THE NEXT DAY HIS FORCES BEGAN KIDNAPPING ANYONE THEY SUSPECTED OF BEING LEFT WING AND PLACED THEM IN CONCENTRATION CAMPS.

PINOCHET'S SECRET POLICE, DINA (DIRECCION DE INTELIGENCIA NACIONAL) RAN THOSE CONCENTRATION CAMPS AND TORTURE CENTRES, AND THEY FREQUENTLY ABDUCTED, 'DISAPPEARED' AND EXECUTED CHILEAN CIVILIANS. ISRAEL TRAINED DINA AND WAS ALSO ONE OF PINOCHET'S MAIN ARMS SUPPLIERS.”

Black and white photos below showcase various scenes of armed DINA officers, with one photo in particular showing them in a tank over bodies on the ground, presumably dead. End ID.

ID 9: In all caps, “ISRAEL'S INVOLVED IN:

ETHNICALLY CLEANSING ARMENIANS - ONGOING

ISRAEL HAS BEEN FUNDING AND ARMING AZERBAIJAN'S MILITARY SINCE 1988, ARMS WHICH HAVE BEEN USED TO KILL ARMENIAN CIVILIANS THROUGHOUT AZERBAIJAN'S ONGOING ETHNIC CLEANSING OF ARTSAKH. THE ISRAELI REGIME SUPPLIES AZERBAIJAN WITH OVER 70% OF ITS MILITARY ARSENAL.

IN ADDITION TO PROVIDING THE ARMS TO KILL ARMENIANS, ISRAEL ALSO REFUSES TO RECOGNISE THE ARMENIAN GENOCIDE, COMMITTED BY THE OTTOMAN EMPIRE (TURKEY) FROM 1914-1923, WHO SYSTEMATICALLY MURDERED OVER 1.5 MILLION ARMENIAN CIVILIANS.”

Photos below show israel and azerbaijan’s leaders shaking hands, azerbaijan’s soldiers menacingly standing in front of someone wrapped in an Armenian flag, and Armenians mourning over a shrine with their flags all around them. End ID.

ID 10: In all caps, “THE PALESTINIAN STRUGGLE FOR FREEDOM IS CONNECTED TO STRUGGLES ALL AROUND THE WORLD.

BECAUSE OPPRESSORS LIKE ISRAEL ARE NOT ONLY UPHOLDING OPPRESSION AGAINST ONE POPULATION, ITS ALWAYS INTERCONNECTED TO OPPRESSING MANY MORE.

FREE PALESTINE.” No photos at the bottom of this slide. End ID.

1K notes · View notes

curated-tiktok · 2 months

Text

OP: wizard_bisan1 posted: March 23 2024. link

visual description: Bisan, an arab girl with black curly hair, standing in the street wearing a hoodie. In the background there are four story tall buildings that are white. A couple people are walking in the background and some cars and horses are moving past. One of the cars is an ambulance with the flag of Palestine and the flag of Kuwait. Two red signs with white writing can be seen but the text is blurry.

During the video 3 different pictures are put up on screen. First a photograph of Muhammad al-Nunu. Later two from a news article about the israeli soldiers attacking, one showing the soldiers and one showing a brown tanks, there is text in Arabic. Another of three boys carrying a dead person.

transcript:

Hey everyone, this is Bisan from Gaza. It's the day 69 after hundred of the genocide and the day 13 of the holy month of Ramadan.

And it's the day six of the besieging and invading of Al Shifa hospital, attacking the hospital, the displaced people inside, the doctors and the injuries by the israeli army and the israeli soldiers, the israeli tanks and bulldozers.

So for those who don't know, people are either inside one building of Shifa complex buildings, without water, without food, without the ability to move anywhere or to get outside that building and to be executed.

And talking about execution today, Muhammad al-Nunu, he is a doctor. The israeli army executed Muhammad al-Nunu because he refused to leave the unit that he is working in and refused to leave his patients and preferred to stay to complete their treatment because a lot of the ICU, of the intensive care unit patients died, passed away because there is no electricity, there is no food, there is no staff, there is bombing and burning for the hospital utilities.

So he refused to leave them and he was executed. He was killed in front of the people, in front of the patients. This is what is happening now in Al Shifa hospital.

It is a hospital and this is happening to them.

Thousands of people, women, children and innocent men and civilians are stuck in a building, in Al Shifa hospital without food, without water.

They started to drink the hospital storage saline solutions. It's the only liquids that they have.

And no one is talking about that. No one, no media, not enough media, no government, no one is talking about this.

And this is not the only horrific thing that happened today in the north of Gaza Strip, by the way, today between ten to 20 people were killed by the israeli shooting on the liquid roundabout while they were waiting for their humanitarian aid.

They were waiting for food because they're starving to death. In the north of Gaza Strip, in Ramadan months, they were waiting for food and they were killed by the israeli army.

How many times we need to scream more about that?

The north of Gaza Strip is under attack like it was the first days of this genocide. Exactly.

They are brutally killed and bombed. It is a hospital with thousands of innocent people, medical staff, injuries, civilians, and they are starved - to death. They are without water, without treatment

They are bleeding in front of each other until the death. And everyone is out of the building executed by snipers or inside starving to death.

This is what is happening now inside Al Shifa Hospital now, at this moment, for six days.

transcript end

caption:

North updates, very important.. watch to the end.

#free palestine #palestine #news #shifa hospital #al Shifa hospital #wizard bisan #gaza #north gaza #transcribed video #video #wizard_bisan1 #wizard bisan1 #journalism #TikTok #leve palestina #let gaza live

582 notes · View notes

florencemtrash · 4 months

Text

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Twelve

Azriel x Day Court Librarian Reader

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: None! Familiar faces return to Velaris and Y/n finally gets a chance to explore the city...

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

I’ve been dreaming again. Dreaming of him.

Thanatos. With his milky pale skin the color of bleached bones. Bold brush strokes of black ink mark his clothes and paint his hair and his marble eyes. I should feel unsettled when looking into the face of death. But I don’t. I’m the only one who gets to see him like this. The only one who gets to see his true face and I don’t know why. He doesn’t understand it either, and it frustrates him to no end.

He’s almost as curious as I am. Almost.

He came to the cabin again today, carrying that black lit candle between his spindly fingers like he believed in the Mother and was prepared to pray and sing to her like the rest of us. He says he likes to hear me during the service, tiny and informal as it is, but really I think he’s here because it irks me, and because I’m some tapestry he can’t seem to unravel.

He asked me again whether I’d call upon the Mother for him. He says he has a question that needs answering, and once he has his answer, he’ll be able to tell me how we can defeat Koschei. If it’s even possible.

But I don’t believe that male for a second. He’d sooner carve the world to bits and devour the scraps before helping us like the coyote he is.

Rest assured I will never agree to his bargain. It will take more than that to turn Bethsevah Mordeigh.

Although he said something strange that night, when the candles had dripped and left their waxy marks on the altar.

“You were made to ruin me, Beth,” he said, “And I will let you do it a thousand—a million—times over.”

He spoke in a dozen different voices, but I can’t deny I liked how the sounds came together and became his own.

You jerked awake with your hand still cradling the book against your chest.

Bethsevah Mordeigh.

You had a name.

You had a name!

You burst out of your room.

“Az! Az! I’ve got something.” You beat your fist against his bedroom door. “Az!” There was silence.

The kitchen was empty, dirty dishes scrubbing themselves clean in the sink. A glance at the clock above the oven told you you’d slept in a great deal.

You took the steps two at a time, sprinting down the hallway towards the west wing. The training arena took up most of the second floor stocked with enough weapons to outfit a small army. Wood and stone knobs stuck out from the wall at extreme angles as part of the climbing gym. The ceiling dipped up and down like draped fabric. On any other day you would have seen Valkyries with rippling arms and backs making their way up to the green flag pinned directly above the room’s center point, bodies straining against the pull of gravity. But not today.

Two of the three mats spaced across the room were occupied and you heard the beat of Illyrian wings before you even opened the double doors.

Feyre and Nesta stood against the side wall bracketed by racks of steel swords, glistening throwing knives, and an Illyrian bow as long as you were tall.

Feyre licked her lips, greedily tracing Rhysand’s powerful form as he went toe to toe with Azriel. You couldn’t help but stare as well as they leapt around the ring in a blur of wings and shadow. You’d never seen Azriel shirtless but… well… it was a sight you could get used to.

It was a dance — a dangerous, deadly dance — and although the language of violence wasn’t one you were familiar with, you could read the display well enough to know that Azriel would win this round.

Sweat glistened on his skin, slipping down the curves of his back where leathery black wings fused with his shoulder blades. Tattoos wrapped around his shoulders and across his chest, pulsing with a life of their own as Azriel cleanly side stepped one of Rhysand’s kicks. There was the faintest crease in the High Lord’s brow to let you know he was getting tired.

But Azriel was just getting started. And now that he knew you were watching? He wanted to make it worth your while.

Rhys gritted his teeth, launching out with a strike quicker than lightning. Someway, somehow, Azriel was faster. He dipped to the side, Rhys’s knuckle just kissing his cheekbones and came up for a counterstrike, slamming his fist so hard into his brother’s cheek that he staggered back.

That was unnecessary. Rhys snapped his jaw back into place.

Azriel grinned. Fatherhood suits you. But I can’t let you get soft.

There was a roll of violet eyes. Sure. That’s why you’re trying so hard right now.

Rhys snatched Azriel’s leg out of the air, rolling onto the ground in a move that sent the Shadowsinger twisting in a graceful arch that had your breath catching in your throat. He broke free of Rhysand’s hold, leaping onto his feet like gravity didn’t apply.

You met his eyes, heady and dark, and could have sworn he winked. But it may have just been a trick of the light.

You ducked your head, hurrying across the room towards Feyre and Nesta and hoping they wouldn’t comment on the flush creeping up your neck.

“Fey—” you began urgently.

The High Lady held up a hand and you fell silent. There was a sheen to her eyes that let you know she was honing in on Rhysand’s moves with more than just her eyes.

Nesta smirked at you as you blushed. You struggled to keep your gaze from drifting back to the powerful display, even as you caught glimpses of Azriel’s tan body out of the corner of your eye. Rippling, bold, strong.

“Don’t worry about staring,” Nesta said with a wicked glimmer. “The boys admire us. We admire them. It’s an even exchange.”

One mat over Cassian was sparing with a new female you’d never seen before. Illyrian, but there was something wrong with her wings. They were held strong and proud above the ground, but they dragged in places where Cassian had control over every minor movement. If you concentrated closely enough, you could make out the thin, shiny scars that had snipped the tendon closest to the apex of her wings, just by the arch of her claws.

Your stomach dropped with horror.

Her wings had been clipped.

She held her own against the Lord of Bloodshed. Cassian might have had the advantage of experience and his longer limbs, but she moved with a daring determination. She dodged every blow by the narrowest margin, conserving her energy so when she was able to slip close and find her opening, she slammed her elbow up and into his nose with a sickening crack that echoed throughout the room.

You winced, hands flying up to your face at the same time that Cassian’s did.

“FUCK!” He roared.

“Whooo! THAT’S MY WIFE!” A gorgeous, curvy blond hung off one of the ring posts, legs propped up on the tensioned ropes.

There was only one member of their family that had ever been described as sunlight incarnate. That had to be Mor. Which meant the striking female currently giving Cassian hell on the mat was Emerie.

Emerie blushed, stealing a heavy look for long enough for Cassian to snap his nose back into place. He ducked down and swept her legs out from beneath her, wrestling her to the ground in a tangle of leather and wings. But Nesta didn’t let him have the advantage for too long.

Cassian choked on the teasing words he’d prepared for Emerie when Nesta sent him a particularly candid image of herself in a strip of black fabric.

For later tonight. She whispered down the bond.

Damn it Nes.

Emerie smashed her forehead into his already swollen nose, then her knee surged up with enough strength to crack ribs. She braced her foot against his chest and flipped him over her head and onto his back, wrapping her powerful legs around his neck and pinning him to the ground with his arm forced back in his socket. Finally he tapped out.

“Poor Illyrian baby,” Nesta crooned as Emerie pulled Cassian to his feet. Despite the blood that dripped from his nose, he was glowing with pride at Emerie. “Better luck next time.”

Mor grasped Emerie by the front of her training gear and yanked her close for a long kiss that left the Illyrian stumbling back with red lipstick smeared over her lips and a dark blush across her caramel cheeks.

Nesta yelped when Cassian wrapped his arm around her waist, lifting her off the ground with one arm like she weighed nothing.

“We could try that move tonight. Your legs, my face? But this time I won’t tap out.” Cassian winked and Nesta leveled a sultry glare in his direction, eyes lingering on the sheen of his muscular chest with unabashed heat.

“Get a room,” Mor called out and Emerie threw a towel in his direction. It landed over his shoulder with comical perfection.

“Says the pair that had to disappear to another continent after their wedding ceremony.”

Mor flung an obscene gesture his way and Cassian returned it with equal fervor. “Says the pair that made Azriel run for the hills when he was left to chaperone.”

“Hey! That’s on Rhysand. He never should have left us with a chaperone at all.” Nesta cut in.

“You rang.” Rhysand appeared sweaty and spent behind Mor’s shoulder and slung his arm around her. The bruises on his cheeks were turning darker by the second.

Azriel hovered on the edges of the crowd, glancing at Mor and then at you. He was mildly disappointed that you’d been too busy watching Cass and Emerie to see him win at the end of the fight.

“Gross, get off of me.” Mor shoved her cousin away.

Rhysand’s shoulders shook with laughter. He smiled at you, eyes gleaming with happiness. It had been so long since he’d last seen his cousin.

“Mor.” He gestured to you, “Meet Y/n—” He raised his eyebrows in surprise. “I think I just realized I don’t know your last name.”

“Halwynn.” You offered up your mother’s last name. Even though you technically didn’t have any right to it as a bastard, it’s the name you’d gone by your whole life.

“Meet Y/n Halwynn,” Rhysand finished.

“The resident intellect,” Mor said, caramel-brown eyes shining. “Well thank the Mother, you showed up when you did.” She looped her arm around yours easily and you caught a whiff of the perfume she’d dotted against her collarbones — amber and vanilla. A ruby the size of your thumb hung from a gold chain, following the dramatic dip in the front of her scarlet dress that left little to the imagination. You thought she might just be the most gorgeous female you’d ever seen.

“We’d be absolutely lost without you. I hope the Library is up to your standards, although let’s be honest, it probably isn’t.”

You agreed a little too quickly.

“Bethsevah Mordeigh.” Rhysand turned the name over in his mind, testing its familiarity and coming up empty. “Any takers?”

You all stood around Rhysand’s desk, the book propped open beside bottles of jet-black ink, eagle-feather pens, and neat stacks of parchment paper.

Everyone shook their heads.

“Fair enough.” He looked disappointed, but not surprised. “We’re only separated by a few thousand years, give or take.”

You paced in front of the windowsill, nervously picking at your fingernails until they were under threat of bleeding. Azriel noticed and one of his shadows gently wrapped around your wrists and pulled your hands apart. You looked at him gratefully and stuck your hands in your pockets.

“The oldest text I’ve seen dates back twelve-thousand years,” Feyre offered. “I’ve also asked Gwyn and Clotho to begin searching.”

“What about the Day Court?” Azriel looked at you.

“I can ask Helion to search the archives. But I’ll warn you, records dating back that far are few and far apart. And priestesses back then were less keen on recording the movements of their members. But we might get lucky with some of her descendants if they ever joined the order. Work our way backwards through history.”

Mor shot Rhysand a look. “Why ask me to come back here now? I could have been of better use searching for this information on the Continent.”

“Now is not the time for you to be traversing foreign lands. Not with Koschei at risk of being let loose.”

You shook your head. “And it wouldn’t matter. Bethsevah wouldn’t have been born on the Continent. If she ever went, it would have only been to trap Koschei. Our best bet is to search for information about her down south.”

The others stared at you in confusion. You blinked as if the answer was obvious. “Organized religion surrounding the Mother emerged in Southern Prythian and her priestesses didn’t spread out to Hybern or the Continent until the Insynthian Age.”

“Your point being?” Nesta folded her arms over her chest. When it came to the specifics of Prythian history, she and Feyre were about as useful as a glass rod in a lightning storm.

“The bit about the candles is a very, very old ceremony. People would write their prayers in blood and have a priestess burn them on a candle made with a strand of their hair woven into the wick. If Bethsevah was a priestess performing this ritual, she would have been an early member of the order. Before the Insynthian Age.”

“That would narrow things down significantly.” Rhysand nodded in approval. “I’ll reach out to Lucien, see if he’ll be able to find anything out for us.”

You pulled a sheef of paper out from your pockets and Helion’s pen. You scribbled down a note to him about what you’d discovered and within five minutes the words were racing south to the Day Court.

“How on earth do you know this?” Mor asked incredulously, looking at you with a mixture of awe and bewilderment.

“I’m a Librarian.” She looked unimpressed by that statement. “I had a religious phase.” You smoothed your thumb over your necklace, feeling for your mother’s seal — a flowering heather and fountain pen crossed over in an “x”.

“A religious phase?”

“Yes.”

She clicked her tongue, red lips turning up in a smirk. “You Day Court fae are certainly something.”

You blushed. “I’ll let you know if I learn anything else.” You went to grab the book, but Mor’s hand slapped down first, pinning it to the table and you with a stare.

“Nope. Work is for tomorrow,” Mor declared, eyes glittering with fondness. “Today, I want to see my city with my family.”

You tapped the book through your robes, counting the rhythmic swings against your hip like a metronome. One. Two. One. Two. One-

Cassian leaned down to whisper, “You’re doing great,” before waving to a male with ash-blonde hair standing beside an apple cart.

Pink ladies, honeycrisps, and ambrosias were piled high into luscious clouds. Two gestures and a flick of a coin through the air later and Cassian was shoving a small, flimsy basket in your hand. Roasted apples covered in burnt sugar and drizzled with caramel seeped into the wax paper.

One. Two. One. Two.

It was still too early for most of the Night Court, but the hustle and bustle in the Palace of Bone and Salt was unperturbed. Now was the time for the owners of small shops to haggle for prices without interfering with common business. The apple cart you just left had a new customer already — a wispy female with candy-floss hair lugging a basket on wheels capable of carrying three bushels for the bakery two streets over.

“Would you like some?” You held the food up to Azriel, but he only stumbled over a crack cobblestone street before shaking his head no.

He was being awfully quiet today. Quieter than usual.

Maybe he’s sick? You thought to yourself. He hadn’t eaten lunch either, but maybe that was just because he disliked the sandwiches you’d made. Or maybe it was because of a certain blond-haired female who kept giving him side glances with questions eating at her from the inside out.

“Come on,” you encouraged, nudging his shoulder. “You haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

Azriel looked at the apple slice you held out for him like it was a personal torture.

Cassian grinned and slung his arm over your shoulders, peeling you away from Azriel’s side to his relief. The weight was a comfort coming from him and you felt that thrill in your stomach whenever any member of the Inner Circle touched you.

“Azriel won’t starve. I promise, Y/n.”

Nyx thought he might starve. He was a growing boy, and had a stomach to match. He tapped your elbow and you wordlessly passed over the basket to him, but not before snatching a piece for yourself. The sugar crackled, then melted over your tongue, the sharpness from the apple cutting through caramel in a burst of tartness.

“How is Helion doing by the way?” Mor dropped the question casually. “Rhys says you know him well.”

You blinked at her. What did she care about Helion? “I’ve worked on a few projects for him before this one. And he’s doing as well as he can be, I suppose. Things aren’t exactly perfect in the Day Court right now.”

“Ah, Helion,” Mor breathed out, almost wistfully, “He was one of the few good males I ever slept with.”

You choked on your food, sputtering and coughing for long enough that Cassian started to slap your back. You felt your bones shake with each blow.

So… Mor had slept with your father… figures.

Feyre looked at you with concern. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” you said meekly. You shoved more food in your mouth before anyone could ask any further questions.

Azriel felt that familiar pool of jealousy bubble in his stomach at the mention of Helion. You kept rubbing that necklace of yours, Helion’s seal displayed prominently like he’d personally stamped you as his.

He allowed himself to get close enough to brush against your shoulder and a few of his shadows creeped onto your body, weaving themselves into your hair. You looked up at him and smiled.

“You’re in a good mood today.” Azriel’s hazel eyes were brighter in the morning light, flecks of green poking through the amber. “You’re smiling.”

And what didn’t you have to be smiling about? You were finally exploring Velaris. Mor, Cassian, and Nyx had touched you, albeit through the fabric of your robes, and you hadn’t been overwhelmed. And you’d finally been able to take knowledge from the book.

It had been a pinch of information as potent as saltwater. You had gotten a name, and names held power.

Azriel’s eyes glimmered with quiet delight.

“I’m just happy,” you said. “I think things are getting better, with—” You glanced down at where your arms swung side by side and you reached out a finger, allowing it to gently brush against the scars at the top of his left hand. You curled your fingers around his for the briefest moment before letting go. “And… you know.” You shrugged.

Azriel stopped walking abruptly and everyone turned to stare at him. The Shadowsinger was strung taughter than an Illyrian bow.

Mor raised her brow in open appraisal. There was a flash of something like shock in her eyes and then she was buried in Emerie’s hair, whispering something into the female’s rounded ears that had her dark carved eyebrows flying up to her hairline.

“Az?” Rhys asked cheekily, “Everything alright?”

Cassian chuckled and even Nesta smirked.

Last year he was giving Elain and Gwyn the bedroom eyes, and now he short-circuits because Y/n brushes her hand against his? I don’t believe what I’m seeing, Cass.

Some females like their males a little pathetic and lovesick.

You would know.

Cassian chuckled, looping his arm around her waist and burying his lips in her hair. He twirled the face framing pieces between his fingers like he always did, and Nesta tried not to think about how she’d first started leaving them out after meeting the Lord of Bloodshed. It would seem she had once been a pathetic and lovesick fool herself.

I love it when you tease, Nes.

Maybe she still was. Nesta couldn’t help but lean into his touch.

They do make a good couple. She admitted and Cassian was in agreement.

Feyre was thinking the same thing as you twisted towards him, hand still outstretched like there was a string tying your fingers to his. You couldn’t help but want to drift towards him as surely as gravity makes rain fall to the earth.

Does she know? Mor grasped Rhysand’s arm, eyes wide and staring. Does she know they’re mates?

Not yet.

Mor groaned. Are you fucking kidding me?

I wish I was.

Damn you, Azriel.

Azriel shook his head and forced his body to move forward. The world had stopped when you touched him, and it was only just starting to pick up again.

“Sorry,” he murmured.

Nyx munched on his apple slice, staring at you both curiously before following after his mother and father.

“Did you hear something?” You stayed by his side, no longer interested in the aromas fluttering in the air from the bakery, the soup shop with its stone vats bubbling in the back, the smokehouse with its slabs of bacon crackling on grease. “From your shadows?”

“No. Why did you think that?”

“You had a look in your eye, like you weren’t quite there for a second. My mother used to say that I looked like that sometimes when using my powers. Like for a moment I was untethered from the earth and at risk of floating away.”

Azriel saved that piece of information, storing it away in his mind next to the knowledge that you had always wanted a dustbear for a pet because they were such simple, mindless creatures and you never felt overcome in their presence.

“I do feel that way at times.” He waited until your little troupe passed by the spice shops. The particles in the air always made Cassian sneeze. “But not now.”

Everyone dipped into a paisley blue building, the bell ringing with a soft clang to announce their presence.

“Right now I feel… settled.”

You grinned at him brighter than the sun, moon, and stars combined. “Good.”

You followed after the others, and while your back was turned, Mor took her opportunity. She clawed the back of Azriel’s leathers, hauling him down the alleyway before anyone could notice.

Azriel’s eyes blew open in surprise when Mor shoved him up against the wall hard enough for a rain of petals to fall over their heads from the second floor balcony. It would have been romantic if it weren’t for the incredulous look in Mor’s eyes and the fact that Azriel was still caught up in your smile and the feeling of your skin against his. Gods he wished you were the one pressing him against this wall. He couldn’t stop thinking about that hug in Rhysand’s office. He wanted to feel the softness of your body against him once more.

“You idiot!” Mor slapped him across the face and it shocked him back to the present. “Why didn’t you tell me you found your mate?” She hissed.

Azriel looked frantically back to the street, half expecting you to be standing there with your inquisitive eyes. It was still a jolt to his system whenever anyone used that word: mate. Equal parts exhilarating and terrifying. It was such a fragile word, and the others tossed it around so dangerously.

“I didn’t—” Azriel stammered. Mor and Emerie’s arrival this morning had been unexpected for everyone except Rhysand and Feyre. “There wasn’t time.” “So?! You should’ve made time.” Mor stepped away, letting the Shadowsinger back down onto his feet. He had the good sense to look sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck while Mor tossed her waist length hair over her shoulder. Her cheeks were flushed pink, tanned and freckled from her time on the Continent.

Azriel felt that familiar coil of guilt building in his stomach and he tried to remember the apology he’d been preparing for this exact moment when he and Mor would be alone.

He cleared his throat and bowed his head to the ground in a picture of reverent apology. “Mor, about what I said—”

She crashed into him again, arms looping around his neck and squeezing him so tightly he felt his ribs crack. And she was… laughing?

“You have a mate!” She giggled through happy tears, bouncing on her feet. Her heels clicked against the granite tiles. “My best friend finally has a mate!”

She kept repeating it over and over again, like she couldn’t quite believe it herself.

“Mor, please. Keep it down.” They were attracting attention and Azriel wordlessly summoned his shadows to hide them from view.

Mor finally let him go, covering her mouth with her hands. “I’m sorry I just—” She squealed.

Azriel let out a long, heavy sigh. This was closer to the reaction he should have had when Mor and Emerie announced their engagement. Instead he’d gone cold and silent.

He should have known Mor preferred females, and maybe he had known all along that Mor could never love him the way he’d once loved her. But he’d done what he always did when it came to love and ran forward with a blindfold on, hoping his aim was true but never bothering to check.

Mor furrowed her brows. “Are you upset by this? Why do you look like that?”

“What?” Azriel hissed like the question physically hurt him. “No. No! I’m not upset, I’m—” He clenched his fists and said in a small voice, “I think I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.” He took a deep breath and winced, “And I’m thinking that you must have felt similarly when you got together with Emerie, and that I royally fucked up by reacting the way that I did.”

He could picture it clear as day — Mor’s radiant smile slipping off her face, left hand dropping behind her back to hide the glittering ruby, the tears that gathered in her eyes when all Azriel did was remain stiff as stone before dropping off the balcony at her engagement party.

Mor hesitated then tucked her honey-gold waves behind her ears like she did whenever she was uncomfortable. “I should have told you sooner.” Azriel knew she was referring to more than just her relationship with Emerie. “I knew you loved me and I let you believe for so long that there might be a chance I could return those feelings. But I was scared because… because I wanted to know there would always be someone waiting for me if…” She pressed her hands over her stomach. The nails may have disappeared from her body without a trace, but they’d been hammered elsewhere in her soul and she hadn’t managed to take them out just yet. “It was wrong of me to use you like that. To keep you waiting for so long.”

Azriel rubbed her shoulders. “I think you gave me more than a few hints that it wouldn’t work out. Chief among them, Cassian.” Mor’s gaze dropped to her feet, but all Azriel did was press a gentle kiss to the crown of her forehead. “I still love you, Mor, and I always will. It’s just a different kind of love now. I’m happy for you and Emerie. Truly.”

“Yeah?” She looked up hopefully.

Azriel nodded. He pulled Mor close, wrapping his wings around her to block out the sounds of bartering happening in the square. They stayed like that for a long while, until the shadows on the wall had dropped another inch.

Mor sniffled and pushed him away. “Ok, enough of this now.” She carefully brushed away at the corner of her eyes, “You’re ruining my makeup.”

Azriel’s shoulders shook with silent laughter, and Mor noted how it seemed to come easier to him now.

The whole day you’d felt that something was amiss, but it wasn’t until a flustered artisan carrying bolts of spider silk fabric crashed into you that you realized what it was.

You stumbled into Azriel’s sturdy arms, feeling the strength and power beneath his leathers as he propped you up against his side.

“So sorry, miss. Please forgive me.” The artisan blubbered. His cat eyes glowed a pale orange as they flickered over you from head to toe, “Can’t see with this.” He lifted the bolt. There was something about his gaze that unsettled you, like he was searching for something. Like he was hungry. Or scared.

“It’s alright.” You adjusted your clothes, tucked the book behind your back so it was pressed up against Azriel’s hip.

That look in his eyes disappeared and he huffed in relief before continuing down the cobblestone streets, too much in a hurry to notice the Shadowsinger glaring at him.

“Are you ok?” He let you find your footing, keeping his hand at the small of your back.

You stared at the male’s retreating form. “He didn’t… he didn’t bow to you. To any of you.” You blinked at Feyre and Rhysand.

She wore no crown, no jewelry except the ring on her finger and the diamonds in her ears, but the male must have known he was in the presence of his High Lady. And there was no mistaking Rhysand and his brothers.

“Like Azriel said when you first arrived here, we take the casual approach.” Feyre said, and as if to make the point, Nyx shoved his hands in his pockets, tilting his head to the side in a manner so like Rhys that Azriel and Cassian burst out laughing. Rhys looked down fondly and brushed back his hair.

Feyre drifted to your side, watching with amusement as Nyx disappeared into the forest of color that was the Palace of Thread and Jewels. Every inch of fabric was too precious to be wasted, and so the weavers collected the scraps and tied them together, end to end, until they became one long chain. They hung from the entrances of shops, from the arches criss-crossing overhead, and from hand-painted signs. They wrapped around doorways and caught on the shoulders of passerbys, whispering of the time and effort spent crafting them.

Nyx weaved in and out of these strands, chased by Cassian and Azriel as they pretended to be tricked by the little boy’s lithe footsteps. You gasped as he turned invisible, then reappeared four inches to his left, jabbing at Azriel’s side before disappearing again.

“He can wrap light around himself as much as he can weave darkness,” Feyre explained, staying close to your side, “I think he might have gotten some remnant of the Day Court’s power from me. It made him an absolute nightmare for about three years when he couldn’t control it. Can you imagine having a toddler waddling around and wreaking havoc that you can’t even see?”

Nesta let out a sharp breath of laughter. “I think that’s an experience unique to you, Fey.”

You had to agree. You’d never turned invisible as a child, although you had to admit it would have been a very useful power to inherit from your father.

“Gotcha! You little rascal!” Cassian said triumphantly.

You heard Nyx shriek with laughter. Cassian and Azriel both had one arm raised above their heads and with a little shake the boy came back into view, dangling upside down from his ankles.

“Don’t break the boy, Cass.”

“I won’t break him, Rhys. Gotta let him grow old enough to beat all those bastards at Windhaven, don’t I?”

Rhys and Feyre’s smiles slipped ever so slightly.

Nyx was lowered to the ground. He kept his arms out and balanced on his hands for a brief moment before walking over onto his feet with a flourish.

“Gwyn taught me that last week. She’s part river nymph. Very flexible.” He brushed invisible dirt from his shirt and continued on, leading the way towards the Sidra like he owned the place — which in some respects he did.

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

______________

Author's Note:

Just another little chapter with more slowburn antics between Y/n and Azriel! And! Mor and Emerie are here! I am slowly but surely collecting characters like pokemon cards because you know I want to have my favorites in Velaris when shit starts to go down...

#azriel x reader #azriel x reader slowburn #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger #the shadowsinger and the inkbird #acotar fanfiction #acotar #azriel angst #azriel spymaster

539 notes · View notes

mockerycrow · 7 months

Text

BUMP IN THE NIGHT (Roommate!Gaz x GN!Reader)

roommate!gaz masterlist

summary; your halloween costume makes kyle feel things.

a/n; i’m an american trying to understand the british school system. 😭 corrections are welcomed!!

AFTER SECONDARY SCHOOL, Kyle stopped going to parties and such. He used to go to parties all the time, at the very least it would be once a week—even if the party was held on a school night. He kept up with his grades and he was pretty responsible, so he saw no reason to stop. He drank, sure—yes, perhaps he got black out drunk a couple of times, but he never did anything too reckless or dangerous. Kyle used to be the type where you would blink and he would wander off, but he grew out of that pretty quickly. He never tried to take his friends’ keys and try to drive their cars or anything, was never the type to need their phone taken away so he wouldn’t drunk-text an ex; nothing.

Even after spending his time in the British army, he didn’t really go out to party with his mates like that. Kyle would go to bars and such, but he wouldn’t try to do drinking games or challenges like he would at eardrum bursting parties held in people’s homes whilst their parents were on business trips. So imagine his surprise when you inform him you’re going to a little party—your words are “get together”, but Kyle’s convinced otherwise—you let him know the invitation you were given also extended to him, but Kyle insisted that he should stay home; hand out the candy and such. Kyle’s never been too big on Halloween, but he did celebrate it in some way. Sometimes it was used as an excuse to get together and party when he was a teenager, and he did participate in trick-or-treating as a child.

You plan on drinking at this get together, so Kyle’s been waiting by the front door with his jacket on, sneakers tied, keys in hand. He's going with you for once, but he didn’t have time to grab a costume, which you insist that it’s fine. You said you’d be done putting your costume on at least ten minutes ago, so Kyle is curious about what's taking you so long. He nearly starts walking to your bedroom to knock and check in on you, maybe you’re stuck—hell, he doesn’t even know what you’re going as—but the second his muscles twitch, he hears your door squeak open. He mentally notes that he should oil the hinges for you. “Close your eyes!” You call from behind the corner. Kyle huffs and closes his eyes. “No peeking!”

“I won’t!” Kyle responds, crossing his arms. He hears you shift around, a closed mouth sigh escaping your throat for a moment. His ears pick up your feet walking closer—you sounded, heavier? Like there was more weight on you somehow. “Wait, m’not done yet.” You grunt, adjusting something that had velcro on it. Kyle can’t stop the lip twitch at your irritated tone, like something wasn’t completely going your way and it was amusing. You shift something else, fabric rubbing against fabric. “Okay, you can look now.”

Kyle opens his eyes and his jaw drops ever so slightly when he sees what he sees; you, wearing tactical gear. Albeit, it’s airsoft tactical gear, but it’s tac-gear nonetheless. You have woodland camo on; the frogs camo jacket as well as pants on—marines inspired, he thinks—with a matching green vest, decked out in magazines of both a rifle and a pistol, some pair of scissors taped to some pliers in a pocket. There’s some fake smoke grenades and flashbangs attached to your tactical belt, and you have a radio in a pocket, a wire trailing up to your ear. You’re holding a rifle that has bright blue tape on it to indicate it’s fake—you’re going to a party, for god’s sake—and you have a thigh holster for a pistol he’s sure also has blue tape. You even have combat boots on, and your ankle bulges as if you have an ankle holster. You have a little pack attached to your tactical belt, and he spots some zip ties in an offhand pocket. The only thing you’re missing is a flag badge on your chest and your shoulder, as well as a unit badge. There’s eyeblack messily smudged underneath your eyes. Kyle laughs in disbelief and amazement, speechless for a moment. “What the fuck?”

You laugh, knowing his reaction is positive. You hold your rifle close to your chest, practicing good trigger discipline as your finger rests outside of the trigger guard. “You like it?” You ask, doing a little spin for him, allowing him to take in the details you put the effort in making. Kyle notes how heavy you sound and he laughs again. “Bloody hell, I didn’t know you were gettin’ this together! Yeah, I like it!” Kyle exclaims, approaching you. He reaches out and grabs your shoulders, moving you about as he pleases, clearly appreciating the detail. You grumble a bit as a complaint, but you let him do what he wants. “Jesus, how long did this take?” Kyle asks with an astonished tone. He’s quietly nitpicking it a bit—he is special forces, his brain cannot help it—but he overall really does like your aim for accuracy.

“Hm, well, maybe a month? A month or two?” You guess out loud, shrugging. “I wasn’t really keeping track.” Kyle snorts and shakes his head before looking at the rifle. “Before you say anything,” You utter, handing him the rifle. “It’s not an airsoft rifle, and it’s not real. My airsoft one is locked away.” Kyle blinks for a moment as he checks out the rifle, his eyes flickering between you as the gun sits in his arms so naturally. “You have an airsoft rifle??” Kyle asks, truly confused because last he checked, you didn’t play. You hum and you adjust your vest, the velcro ripping as you do so. “My friend wanted to get me into it so they gave me a lot of their old stuff. I’ve played a round or two, it’s actually fun.”

His eyebrows raise for a moment in acknowledgement and Kyle looks at you once again. His eyes slowly trace every detail of the uniform clinging to your body, the details, and the way your eyeblack is very poorly applied. Something tightens in his chest as you begin to ramble about how much research you did about tactical gear and how many pictures you used as reference. You’re murmuring something, but Kyle isn’t paying attention. His face feels a bit hot as his eyes are glued to you; he never understood why people liked tactical gear so much until now—something was.. feeling off inside of his gut.

“Kyle.”

He blinks rapidly before offering a smile and a questioning “hm?” You laugh and cross your arms in front of you, causing Kyle’s eyes to flicker away for a moment. “You spaced out.” You say, uncrossing your arms and taking the rifle from him. Kyle waves you off and rubs the back of his neck, his eyes looking towards the front door. “Mm, sure, c’mon. Let’s go.” Kyle laughs, a nervous feeling bubbling in his gut—a feeling he doesn’t understand. He opens the front door, swinging his keys around his pointer finger as his heart pounds hard in his chest. “Gonna be my DD?” You tease, Kyle hearing you close the door behind you two, hearing the gear you’re wearing shift around. Kyle refuses to look at you in fear of throwing up—he doesn’t understand why he’s suddenly so anxious—but he laughs, unlocking the car. “It is my turn, isn’t it?”

443 notes · View notes

cryptotheism · 2 years

Note

Isn't Ben Shapiro's other novel/foray into literature the one where some racist Irish cop named Potate O'Famine or whatever randomly kills a eight-year-old for having a toy gun, and we're meant to feel bad for the cop? Buck wild

That's True Allegiance and Oh my god it's so much fucking worse.

In it, an Iranian terrorist leader and a black civil rights leader collaborate to pay an eight year old black boy in detroit to threaten a racist Irish cop with a toy gun. They do this to provoke a false flag shooting, which the black civil rights leader will use to gain power. Their eventual goal being to open up the US-Mexico border so the terrorist can activate his sleeper armies and invade the US through Mexico.

3K notes · View notes

lyjen · 2 months

Text

Under Attack

Summary: Dropped out of high school, joining the army to follow her brother’s footsteps. When the group of soldiers gets attacked while they are flying in the helicopter, (y/n) is the one to try and get them out of the situation. But when they’re celebrating the 4th of july, it brings her right back to that day on the field.

Request by: @shauna-carsley

✨My requests are open! You can send them in by sending me a chat or in “ask me a question” ✨

9-1-1 masterlist

Taglist: @oliviah-25 @shauna-carsley

______

Afghanistan, 2015

With the sound of the blades of the helicopter slicing through the air, (Y/n) let the scissors slide through the fabric of the soldiers t-shirt.

They were on 10.000 feet high in the air, flying back to their homebase as they picked up wounded and hurt soldiers that needed treatment back on base.

“Base, this is actual. We’re ten clicks out heading back with wounded. Prep the med tents.” The voice of the helicopter pilot sounded through the radio.

(Y/n) placed a piece of gauze on the wound and grabbed the tape from the bag. She held the tape between her fingers as she took a length and tore it off by placing her teeth on the tape and giving it a pull. She could hear her boyfriend grinning by the way she struggled with tearing the tape. “Something funny Buckley?” she asked as she quickly connected the tape with the soldiers skin and the gauze so she could secure the wound from getting dirty and protect it.

“Just admiring your work” Evan smiled as he gave her another glance.

Evan and (Y/n) were together since high school, he was a senior while she was a junior. He would be the one who always got into trouble, which made him a walking red flag. But they became inseparable as they started hanging out more and more together.

Her brother was already in the army, and she looked up at him. She really did.

One day she decided to turn the wheel, and join the army when she was in senior year, she was already getting bad grades, and she already had problems with her parents. So why not make them more angry by dropping out of school and joining the army with your boyfriend, who was also her best friend.

She was now a medic in the army, and helped treat the wounded just like her older brother did.

She focussed herself on the last tape she needed to connect on the gunshot wound of the soldier, she was alerted by a loud beeping sound.

“Incoming!” a terrified voice called through the small space of the helicopter they were in. A rocket had been aimed at the helicopter. The chopper makes a hard left turn, trying to avoid the explosive they had fired. But the chopper was too slow.

The vehicle they were in started to spin as they received a hard bang on the side and the chopper started to fill the space with smoke.

The helicopter made a nose dive, crashing right into the desert sand and they came to a stop and her vision went black.

A loud frequency sound through (Y/n)’s ears as she slowly gained back consciousness. A groan left her lips as she sat down on the floor with her back pinned against the inside of the helicopter. When her hearing went back to normal, she could hear bullets hitting the metal sides of the helicopter, multiple times per second.

She quickly scanned the small space she was in, she was on the floor, with her back against the side of the chopper. “Break, break, break” she spoke into her radio as she pressed the button. “We’re pinned down. Taking fire.” her voice panted as adrenaline started to build up inside her body.

“Two clicks north of our last reported position.” she groaned as she pushed herself up to her feet. (Y/n) moved inside the helicopter, patting the pilots on their shoulder to hear if they were alive and okay. As she heard them groan, she knew enough.

She turned around to face Evan, who was still in his seat.

“Buckley!” She grabbed his upper arm and pushed and pulled him back and forth. “Buck wake up!” she called out again.

It felt weird for her to call him Buckley or Buck. Normally she would call him Evan. She knew the majority of the people called him Buck, and he preferred that. But since she was the only one calling him Evan, apart from his sister and parents, it was like a nickname for him.

Evan’s eyes opened slowly as she patted his cheeks and in his reflex his hand shot up to grab her wrist. “We’re under attack. Come on.”

“We gotta get everyone behind those rocks over there.” She pointed to the rocks that were lightened up slightly by the lights of the helicopter. “Yeah. Copy.” Evan absently said as he realized what had happened just a few minutes ago. Evan was sure he had some bruised and maybe some broken ribs, but he was okay.

(Y/n) grabbed her rifle, which hung on her back and slung it over her shoulder as Evan unbuckled from his helicopter seat belt. “You ready?” She looked Evan in his ocean blue eyes, and her heart made a jump as his eyes connected with hers.

“Ready” he said, determined as he threw his rifle over his shoulder. (Y/n)’s foot stamped against the crushed and broken side door of the helicopter. With one hard kick her foot the door broke open, smooth as butter.

She stepped outside as she aimed the rifle towards the attackers so Evan could jump out after her, with also his rifle in his arms.

“Let’s go!” she said as loudly as she could so her voice would overtake the sounds of the bullets which were swinging around her head.

In order to get more of their people out. She needed someone over at the rocks to cover her, so she could get people out. Some bodies and some wounded but alive. She couldn’t live with herself as people died in the helicopter and their families didn’t have a body to bury.

She wanted to bring them home.

They speeded across the open field as they shot their way through. Evan and (Y/n) dropped down behind the rocks as they made it to the otherside of the field.

“Hey!” (Y/n) spoke up. “Cover me.” she commanded Evan, it wasn't a question. “Copy!”

Evan leans over the rocks, and starts shooting at the enemies.

(Y/n) reaches the crashed helicopter again, as bullets were flying around and hit the side of the helicopter she was passing by as fast as she could. She crouched down and swung her rifle back on her back. When she reached the nose of the helicopter and made contact with one of the pilots in the cockpit. “Okay, time to get out of there. Let’s go.” she said as she tapped his shoulder through the broken door of the helicopter.

“Come on.” she grabbed his arm as she put it around her neck so he could lean on her. A groan fell past his lips as his body dropped down to the ground and he grabbed his arm. “Hey hey! Can you move?” she asked as she tried to get his attention, as he was currently focussed on the pain he felt.

“Yeah.” he panted.

“Get over there with Buckley, I will cover you!” She said as she grabbed her rifle from her back again and started shooting back at the shots which were clearly aimed on her.

The man she helped get out of the helicopter ran as fast as he could to the rocks where Evan was shooting.

“Diaz, I’m stuck!” The other pilot called out. She shot a few more bullets. “I got you!” she said as she made her way towards the other side of the chopper. “My leg!” he groaned as he reached out for it. “The bone broke through” she concluded as she took a quick look at his leg. The bone broke through his skin, snapped in two. ”I got to get a tourniquet on it.” she said as she looked around for something to use as a tourniquet. “This will do.” she gasped as she cut a large piece of seatbelt off with her knife and binded it above the man’s wound as tight as she could so the blood flow to his leg was cut off.

“I have got to get out.” a voice from the back sounded through the narrow space of the helicopter. “Norwahl! Stand down!” she warned him, but he got out of the helicopter as if he was just going to take a peaceful stroll. “Fuck.” she whispered to herself as she just finished up tightening the tourniquet and saw the other soldier walking along the side of the chopper.

“Norwahl!” She called out his name repeatedly as she ran around the chopper to reach her teammate. Her eyes fell on him, as she could see blood splashing from his chest into the air. He falls down on his knees, while the enemies are still targeting Norwahl and (Y/n) now.

Bullets kept on flying around her head, as she pushed Norwahl to the ground and Evan kept on shooting to cover them.

(Y/n) puts his arm over her shoulder. “Hold on Norwahl!” she spoke as she helped him back onto his legs and he leaned on (Y/n) to reach the rocks again. But when she reaches the rocks. A shocking pain ran through her right leg.

A scream fell off her lips as her leg fell down to the ground as if hands came out of the floor and dragged her right leg down to the ground. “(Y/n)!” Evan called out her name with a terrified sound.

When that scream fell off her lips, he could feel his heart dropping down to the ground.

She had to hold on. She had to fight, and drag herself to safety. She pushed her hands into the sand as she pushed herself up on her left leg. She limped towards the rocks as she let herself fall down against the rocks.

“Diaz? You okay?” Evan tried to remain professional. Keeping his emotions to himself as he asked that question. A groan fell past her lips. “Yes. I’m okay.” she panted as she squinted her eyes at the torturing pain her leg was giving her.

“Switch with me Diaz!” Evan commanded his girlfriend.

She crawled towards Evan, and when she was on her stomach next to him, she swung the rifle from her back towards her chest.

They were switching roles.

But when Evan started running across the open field and towards the helicopter, a grenade launcher launched its explosive towards the helicopter and landed a few feet beside Evan’s body.

Evan’s body connected with the helicopter, as if he got pushed in the back. Evan groaned as he rolled onto his stomach, trying to stand up again. He coughed, his ears were ringing of the loud boom when the pin was pulled from the launcher.

The man in front of the chopper needed his help.

The soldier who was dead had to be brought back to his family. They needed to bury his body, not an empty basket. Evan grabbed his arms and slung his limp body over his shoulder and ran.

He ran so hard he could almost feel his feet slipping away from underneath his body.

Evan placed the body of the deceased soldier on the floor against the rocks and slung his rifle back over his shoulder and helped (y/n) with shooting.

“Shit!” (Y/n) said as her rifle refused, she pulled the trigger a few more times, but nothing. ”I'm blank!” she spoke as she got down and pushed her back against the rocks again. Her hand traced down to her leg as she got her gun out of its holder. It wasn’t good enough, but at least it would buy them some time.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” Evan cursed as his rifle did the same thing after he shot a few more bullets.

That was it. That was their story.

The bullets were still flying around their heads. He leaned with his back against the rocks, just as (Y/n) did. He could hear her cries, the one that broke him, the one which made his heart drop down in his chest.

Her leg hurts. She saved every single one of them, only to see them die just minutes after the disaster. She squeezed her eyes shut as tears were flowing over her cheeks. She didn’t want to die. Not like this.

Evan panted. With every explosion, every gunshot he could feel (Y/n) moving closer.

He grabbed her hand, and let their fingers intertwine with each other. He held on as tightly as he could and pressed a kiss to the back of her hand.

“I love you (Y/n), I want you to know that.” At that moment, she only wanted to cry more. This sounded like a goodbye. “No. Don’t do that.” she said as she shook her head. “Our story doesn’t end like this.” she continued as she tightened her grip on his hand, like it was her mission to push all of the blood out of his hand. “I’m afraid it does.” Evan said as he looked her in the eye.

But not even a second after that, a helicopter flew by and started raining fire. They were coming to rescue them. Evan looked up at the sky as a smile spread over his face. “Tell me you love me in a few hours again, Buckley.”

______

“Hey! How was your appointment?” Evan said as (y/n) opened the front door and limped inside.

She shrugged her shoulders as she closed the door behind her. “It was fine. I guess..” she sighed. It wasn’t her best day. She had hoped for better news from her physiotherapist, but unfortunately he didn’t have that for her.

“Are you sure? Because the way you just told me, doesn’t really make it sound fine to me.” Evan said. As he folded his arms over one another and pressed his lower back against the kitchen counter. She really didn’t want to talk about it, which became clear to Evan as she let her keys slide onto the dining table and dropped her bag on the flat surface loudly.

“Hey what’s up?” Evan asked as he could see her face going from a slightly sad one morphing into an annoyed one and she tried to walk away from the conversation.

She stopped in her tracks as her name fell once more off of Evan’s lips. “I really don’t want to talk about it, Buck.”

“Well, that’s too bad. Because I do want to talk about it.” he told her.

(Y/n) knew she couldn’t talk him out of that thought. Whenever Evan had a goal, he was determined to reach it no matter what. And right here, right now the goal was: getting (y/n) to tell him what was on her chest before she could burst and fall back into a dark place.

Her body spun around as she rested her hands onto her waist. “It’s just… my physiotherapist.. he told me that the chances of my kneecap healing are low. Like.. really low. He was talking about fifteen to twenty percent.”

She pressed the palm of her hand against her forehead as she shook her head. She couldn’t believe it. After all the time and effort she spent on physiotherapy, little exercises she had gotten as homework from the therapist and this is what came out. All her hard work felt like nothing now that he told her the odds of the further healing process.

“Wait what?” Evan pushed himself off the kitchen counter he was leaning against.

“My kneecap isn’t healing anymore.” she sighed as she started fidgeting with her fingers, something she always did whenever she was anxious. The bullet she received during saving her team, ended up fracturing her entire kneecap.

Evan moved closer, moving along the kitchen island until he met his girlfriend who was standing a few feet next to the dining table. He laid his hands on her upper arm as he tried to comfort her. “So I’ll probably be stuck with this stupid brace for god knows how long.” She pointed at her hand at her right leg with the brace secured to her knee..

Evan sighed. He didn’t know what to do or to say. He had been there for her these past months, years, just like he promised her on the side of that hospital bed back in Afghanistan. “Come here.” Evan said as he opened his arms and pulled (y/n) to his chest. He folded his arms around her body, he was almost like a human blanket.

She laid the side of her head on his chest as he let his head rest onto her head. His hand rubbed her back, following her spine up and down.

The sound of his beating heart made her body calm down and her anxiousness leaving her body. “You know, a low chance doesn’t mean that there isn’t a chance at all. There’s still hope.” Evan tried to make the best out of it, and pressed a kiss on the top of her hair.

Her arms tightened around his body, it felt comforting standing like this. No flying bullets, no alarms sounding, it was just them. “I know.. it’s just.. hard to be positive after all the time and patience I have put into it.” She mumbled into his chest.

It had been months, years, since the bullet had crushed her kneecap and destroyed her entire career along with it. A lot has changed over the years. They left the army, both of them, (Y/n) because of medical reasons, and Evan wanted to support her and be with her. Evan searched for a new purpose and started with the fire academy, while (y/n) had to take a break from all the action and started applying for jobs that didn’t require putting too much pressure on her leg. So she was now working as a receptionist at an office in Los Angeles.

She didn’t like it, sitting and waiting around. But she didn’t have a choice. Not if her leg was torturing her like this.

“You know, I know I said we would go out today. But, I’ve got a proposal.” Evan spoke up as he looked around the space they were in. “What if.. instead of going out, we did a movie night, hmm?” Evan asked.

She pushed her head off his chest and pressed her chin into it instead, looking up as her eyes met Evan’s. “Are you sure? I mean.. It’s the fourth of july?” she asked him with a soft voice. Evan nodded his head, “Yeah.. It has been a while since we did that, and besides I really don’t have the energy to party right now”.

A smile spread widely on (y/n)’s face. “Ugh, good. Because I’m exhausted.” she sighed as Evan pressed a soft warm kiss to her forehead.

“I’ll make the popcorn” Evan said as he loosened his grip, and moved his hands to her waist. “No you’re not.” (Y/n) spoke up. An offended look flooded over his face, as he furrowed his eyebrows. She straightens her spine as she smiles at Evan’s reaction. “You always burn the popcorn. Let me do it. You can choose the movie.”

Evan looked up at the ceiling, pretending to think about his answer. But as soon as his eyes fell back on hers, he gave her a small smile. “Hmm.. okay.” She pressed a quick kiss to his cheek as she wriggled herself out of Evan’s grip and proceeded to walk towards the kitchen.

Microwaved popcorn, it wasn’t that difficult to make, but somehow Evan succeeded in burning the popcorn multiple times. She opened the hot package of popcorn she had just microwaved, filled a bowl with it and added some melted butter to it.

She grabbed the bowl and walked towards the living room, “We’re going to watch Mean girls!” Evan said as he leaned forwards on the sofa with the TV remote in his hand. A chuckle left her lips, “After all these years, you still know how to surprise me-”

Her head shot to the right as a loud bang entered her ears. She was taken by surprise, she was so shocked that the glass bowl she was holding in her hands dropped to the ground and fell into a hundred little pieces.

The colorful fireworks burned onto her retina, as she squeezed her eyes shut when another bang roared in her ears.

“We’re pinned down. Taking fire.”

Her heart thudded in her chest as her hands were starting to tremble. “Woah, you okay?” Evan’s muffled voice asked when he took place in front of her, which she didn’t even notice.

“Buckley!”

Her breathing started to fasten as she looked with panicked eyes through the window and flashes from that night flashed before her eyes. Short, shallow breaths were leaving her lungs. She was terrified.

“Buck wake up!”

“We’re under attack. Come on.”

It’s all coming back to her now, that night she wanted so desperately to forget, but her mind clearly didn’t and couldn’t. Tears were starting to fall down her cheeks as she was still focussed on the fireworks outside.

“(Y/n)!” Evan’s voice sounded over the radio as a scream fell off her lips.

Breathing was hard, it felt as if she had just run the Los Angeles marathon. She brought her hand up to her chest as she tried to take deeper breaths. “(Y/n)!?” Evan’s voice sounded as he tried to figure out what was happening to her. Evan had called out multiple questions to her, that didn’t seem to come through.

But when Evan wanted to reach out his hand, to comfort her and try to help her, she lashed his hand away and stumbled backwards. Her vision was starting to become blurry, she blinked to try and gain back her vision, but nothing worked.

She couldn’t hear any words Evan was asking or telling her, she couldn’t even read his face.

It became harder and harder to breathe, as if her airways were being pushed together and the trachea became smaller with every breath she took. As another bang sounded dull through her ears, she ran.

She ran towards the first door she saw, the closest one of them all.

Their bedroom door.

As she was running, another firework exploded in the air. The explosion made her right knee feel weak and broken again, it made her limp her way towards the door. It was almost like the bullet hit her kneecap all over again.

With a bang she closed the door shut behind her and locked it. A horrifying scream came out her mouth as she cried. Before she could even process what she was doing, her hand lashed out and multiple photo frames hit the floor.

(Y/n) pushed her back against the concrete wall, as she slid down to the floor while she could still hear and see the flashes of that night back in Afghanistan roaring in the back of her mind.

Tear after tears were falling down her cheek as her boyfriend called out her name on the other side of the door.

______

“Hey, thanks for coming so fast.”

Evan opened the front door of their apartment, almost getting pushed to the side as Eddie barged in. “I didn’t know what else to do.” Evan said as he closed the front door.

“Where is she, Buck?” Eddie asked his brother-in-law as their eyes connected.

“Bedroom, I tried to talk with her.. But it seems like she’s.. not here, mentally?” Evan asked himself if what he was saying made any sense. Eddie placed his hands on his hips and nodded. “Okay, I will talk to her.”

Evan nodded, as he ran a hand through his hair and he let out a deep sigh. While Eddie turned away from Evan and walked towards the bedroom door.

Eddie gently let his knuckles knock on the wooden door as he tried to catch his breath. He didn’t have the time to wait on the elevator to reach the ground floor, so he chose to run up the stairs to the fifth level.

“(Y/n)? Are you in there?” Eddie’s voice carefully asked, as he panted and let his hand rest on the doorframe while he let his other arm rest against the door. He waited a few seconds for a response.

Silence.

“It’s me. Can I come in?” He asked as he tried to open the door, which was locked. “Shit.” He cursed as he tried to turn the doorknob, but it didn’t move. “(Y/n).. please.” Defeated he lets his fist fall against the door.

Eddie could hear her crying through the door, the ones that made his heart ache.

“(Y/n) stay away from the door okay? I’m coming in.” Eddie said as he pushed himself off the door and walked backwards to let him create more momentum. He kicked the door in with his right leg, and it swung open.

His eyes scanned the room he had just kicked open. “(Y/n)?” his worried voice filled the room. He could hear the sobs falling from her lips, when his eyes finally found his sister, he rushed towards her.

With her legs up to her chest locked into place with her arms and her head dangling between her thighs, she cried.

“Hey, what’s going on?” Eddie asked calmly as he let himself fall down onto his knees next to her. She shook her head as sobs fell off her lips and slowly looked in front of her. “We’re under attack.”

Eddie furrowed his eyebrows, “What? No, you’re safe.” he reassured her.

She shook her head. “They’re out there, I’ve heard them.” A sigh left Eddie’s mouth as he realized what was going on here, he let his hand rest carefully onto her shoulder. When his hand connected with her skin, her eyes shot at her brother’s.

“It’s okay” He gave her shoulder a slight, soft squeeze. ”You’re having a panic attack.” Eddie concluded.

“No. That can’t be. I’m.. I’m not crazy.” She said as a tear traced down her face, when she tried to calm herself down as she huffed out oxygen. “It’s okay.. we’re going to get through this.” Eddie says as he grabs both her hands, and looks her in the eyes.

“Take deep, slow breaths with me. Okay?” His thumbs rubbed over the back of her hands as she closed her eyes and copied her brother’s breathing.

“Good. That’s it.” He supported her as she cried through her attempts to take deep slow breaths.

When her breathing calmed down, Eddie sat down next to her, folding his legs over each other. “Now, you want to tell me what happened?” Eddie carefully asked (y/n).

She remained silent as she looked at her legs and fidgeted with her fingers. “I’m not leaving until you tell me, you know that.” he reminded her.

(Y/n) let her head fall against the wall so she was looking up at the ceiling as she shook her head. She knew that Eddie was going to sit there for another twenty four hours if he had to, maybe even days. And if she wouldn’t talk, he’d find a way to get her talking. He may be a firefighter just as Evan, but he could just be as much as an interrogator.

“I was making popcorn.. and when I walked back, I heard fireworks.”

“And the fireworks triggered something.. I get it.” Eddie finished her story. She nodded and a sigh left her mouth. “Fireworks and explosives don’t sound the same. But somehow.. I was back again. In Afghanistan. With a damn bullet in my leg.” her voice was on the edge of breaking down, it was shaking as she tried to stop crying, holding back her tears.

A loud silence sounded through the bedroom.

“I’ve had them too.” Eddie confessed. He could feel his sister’s eyes drawn to him. “Panic attacks, flashbacks..”

“You never told me that.” she reacted. Normally Eddie would be an open book to his sister, and yes she knew that of course he would have secrets. But she wasn’t exactly expecting him to keep something like this from her.

“I know.. I should’ve told you. But the point is.. I told myself I was fine, until I had a panic attack in the middle of a store. And I ended up in the ER with a cardiologist.” Eddie told her as he didn’t look her in the eye.

“ I wish I could promise you that it will get better. But it won’t.” he tells her as he looks her in the eye now. “We chose back then, for that life, for the consequences. And we may as well just have to live with it.”

She knew exactly where she signed up for when she dropped out of high school. Her mom and dad asked her a hundred times if she had thought this through.

“But please, when this happens again. Accept the hands we’re holding out, to keep you from drowning.” Eddie begged his sister. “That’s what you had then, and that’s what you have right now. No one wants to see anyone suffer like that.”

Eddie held out his hand with his palm up towards his sister. She took a glance at the hand he was holding out, and laid her hand on top of his. Her head turned to his as he gave her a small smile.

“Come here.” Eddie says as he opened his other arm and moved the one her hand was resting on towards her back, as she moved hers behind his. “You can always talk to me.” Eddie whispered as he felt her arms tightening around his back.

#911 #911 fox #911 abc #911 imagine #buck imagine #buck x reader #evan buckley imagine #evan buckley x reader #evanbuckley #imagine #eddiediaz #eddie diaz

213 notes · View notes

panimoonchild · 18 days

Text

Life goes on for the world, but for Ukrainians, it never will be the same

Farewell to Taras Onyskiv. Azov. The son of a Hero is presented with the flag of Ukraine, the country for which his father died. Glory to Heroes🇺🇦

There is nothing fair about war. We have to remind ourselves of this too often, especially when young people die.

As today, when a medic who started his career in the ranks of the Hospitallers, 21-year-old Oleksandr Kucheriavenko, call sign "Kuzma", died while performing a mission.

Died saving others. According to the battalion's press service, Kucheryavenko had recently mobilized to the Defense Forces.

"A man with an incredibly keen sense of justice. A professional who has worked at all levels of pre-hospital care. An idealist who was always where he had to be. A hospitalist to whom more than one Ukrainian soldier owes his life. A man his mother and bride were proud of and loved. A comrade-in-arms whom we miss.

He lived, loved, and fought. He died saving the lives of others. We will never be able to comprehend this incredible loss for Ukraine, the Battalion, his fellow L20 crewmates, and family," - this is how Oleksandr's brothers and sisters-in-arms, who together evacuated wounded soldiers in 2023 and 2024 as part of the L20 Hospitaller crew, remember him. "Young, hot-tempered, he was one of those who found his calling early on. And he followed it to the end, despite fatigue, pain, and loss," emphasized Yana Zinkevych.

Oleksandr Kucheryavenko died on May 14, 2024, while providing aid to the wounded.

"The Hospitallers urge to support his family, who will have a hard time without their son and loved one.

Cards to help the family:

Mono - 4441 1144 2069 5403 Kucheryavenko Lesya (mother)

Mono - 4441 1111 3547 1013 "Privatbank - 4149 4390 4847 6521 Valeria (bride)

Second brother died in the war @ maryzalipa. You can support the family of the fallen defender here

I'll show you handsome Mykola, now I can. He's in Sweden on a psychological rehabilitation program for combat medics.

I opened a bank account (in my mother's monobank) for those who want to help our family.

The worst thing is that my mother is crying now and saying, "We asked you to stay, but we couldn't save one of them, even if you had." And, of course, she is right. Mykola had the right to demobilize after Pasha's death, but he didn't want to.

These losses cannot be accepted. It is indeed a black spring for Ukraine. Don't be indifferent. Make Russia pay. Please hear our cry out to the world, keep spreading our voices, and donate to our army and combat medics (savelife.in.ua, prytulafoundation.org, Serhii Sternenko, hospitallers.life, ptahy.vidchui.org, and u24.gov.ua).

106 notes · View notes

mothgenes · 5 months

Text

My self-directed final for my digital illustration class, an illustration of this poem by Hanan Mikha'il Ashrawi. Free Palestine.

Alt text underneath the cut.

Alt text: First image: This is an illustration contained in a white boarder with an uneven frayed appearance. In a war-torn scene absent of human life, streams of missile smoke rise from behind the central figure against a red sky that grows increasingly yellow towards the center immediately behind the central figure. The central figure is an Israeli Occupation Forces operative with his Israeli flag patch visible and a single blue eye with a white Star of David to reflect the flag inside it, the other eye consumed in shadow. The face is devoid of all visible expression, and a crack is visible coming from the shadowed eye over the clay-like skin of the soldier, meant to reference the concept of the IOF as a golem. The IOF officer raises a smoking automatic rifle and gazes down the composition with a lack of feeling. He stares down a little girl with long hair blowing in the wind who's back is to the viewer, with a bleeding crosshairs over half of her face where her eye would be. She wears a Palestinian flag over her shoulders that is also blowing in the wind, and the red triangle moves beyond its borders through the bloodstains that are on it. In the wreckage visible around the soldier, there is a fallen cross visible, close to the subtle shadow of a human hand, and destroyed buildings, bringing to mind the common lie that it is a religious conflict by reminding the viewer that churches and Palestinian Christians are also being murdered and struck with missiles. In the center of the image there is white handwritten text, of the first verse of the poem "From the Diary of an Almost-Four-Year-Old" by Hanan Mikha'il Ashrawi. It reads, "Tomorrow, the bandages will come off. I wonder will I see half an orange, half an apple, half my mother's face with my one remaining eye?" Page 2 alt text: The background is black with a trail of red smoke crossing the composition from the bottom right up and over to the top left in an uneven organic curve. At the bottom right there is the shattered clay head of a golem in a broken army-green helmet. One eye has been shattered and most of the face has been destroyed. There is a smear of blood over a shatter mark on our left's side of the forehead of the golem, as though made by a stone from a sling intended to subtly reference David and Goliath, with the IOF as Goliath. The smear of blood covers the first of three characters that make up the text usually down on the foreheads of golems. In folktales, the way to deactivate a golem is to wipe away the first character of their text, which normally reads "emét", which is truth in Hebrew. Removing the first character makes it say "mét", which means death. This calls for the retirement of the IOF as an entity as it does not help anything- only harms. White text is the main focus of this piece. The white text reads: From the Diary of an Almost-Four-Year-Old" by Hanan Mikha'il Ashrawi Tomorrow, the bandages will come off. I wonder will I see half an orange, half an apple, half my mother's face with my one remaining eye?

I did not see the bullet but felt its pain exploding in my head. His image did not vanish, the soldier with a big gun, unsteady hands, and look in his eyes I could not understand

I can see him so clearly with my eyes closed, it could be that inside our heads we each have one spare set of eyes to make up for the ones we lose

Next month, on my birthday, I'll have a brand new glass eye, maybe things will look round and fat in the middle— I've gazed through all my marbles, they made the world look strange.

I hear a nine-month old has also lost an eye, I wonder if my soldier shot her too—a soldier looking for little girls who look him in the eye— I’m old enough , almost four, I've seen enough of life, but she's just a baby who didn't know any better.

#free gaza #free palestine #gazaunderattack #gaza genocide #gaza ground invasion #palestine #hanan mikha'il ashrawi #palestinian poetry #artists for palestine #iof terrorism #fuck the iof #israel is a terrorist state

135 notes · View notes

cheezbites · 8 months

Text

Dating Ghost Part 2

︵‿︵‿︵୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿

✎: Part one’s my blog with the most notes, so I’ll give you guys a part two<3!!

♡Summary: Wholesome headcanons of dating Ghost PT.2

Bf!Ghost is an extremely light sleeper. His time in the army caused him to be on guard 24/7, even when he’s asleep. Slightest movement or sound? he’s grunting himself awake. Every once in a while, you’d have nightmares. Some more scarier than the others - but the one you had this night was unlike any other - it felt all too real, traumatising and daunting. You jolted yourself awake and steadied a hand to your shaky chest to regulate your breathing, a few uncontainable tears trickling down your face.

You unknowingly twisted and turned in the midst of your unpleasant dream, so the moment you woke up Simon was already conscious. He has a concerned and worried expression etched onto his face; he caringly held both arms out to coo soft reassurances into your ear as he planted soft kisses on your temples. He didn’t need to know anything else, the moment he spotted any pain was the moment he became your personal shoulder to cry on.

He held you close in his arms whilst he stroked your hair - making you fall asleep ten times faster. Simon found himself having a better time sleeping with your comforting figure in his hold, too. So if you’ve got a nightmare and you’re in need of physical reassurance, you’ve already got it without even asking.

Bf!Ghost is a compulsive tea drinker - no big surprise to anyone. He had an urge to drink tea at an ungodly hour, same with you having an uncontrollable thirst, needing to be immediately quenched. Finding no water on your nightstand, you cursed yourself under your breath before drowsily entering the kitchen.

Your fatigue blurred your awareness of your surroundings, making you fail to realise that Simon wasn’t besides you when you stirred yourself awake. You jumped when you entered the kitchen and were met with the kettle faintly churning in the background as Simon was leaning against the countertop, awaiting his boiling water.

“Hello, stranger.” You said, filling a cup with water and greedily chugging it to your heart’s content.

“Why are you awake?” he asked, vaguely smiling, registering the irony of his question.

“I don’t know… why are you awake?” you swiftly rinsed your cup before placing it on the dish rack.

You found yourselves having a brief bantering conversation around the dinner table before heading off to bed. You, with your third glass of water, and Simon, with his savoured cup of black tea.

Bf!Ghost would mutter a distinguishable “Fuckin’ hell,” under his breath whenever something upsetting or irksome happens. Like accidentally spilling juice and so on.

You inattentively dropped a glass, frustratedly clenching your fists to your sides, a “Fuckin’ hell..!” reflexively flew past your lips before you knew it. You didn’t even realise it in the moment, but Simon did. He just stood there for a moment, like he was confirming if it actually happened - and when he finally did, he heartily chuckled to himself before infinitely teasing you about it. From that point on, “Fuckin’ hell” was now your guys’s inside joke.

Bf!Ghost enjoyed the little things with you. He loved your occasional walks at late noon or night (sometimes when it rains) as you both share an AirPod. It’s like a utopian escape from everything and everyone - nobody is out. It’s just you two, your music and definite love for one another.

Bf!Ghost was an undeniable ass guy. The constant ass grabbing started from a harmless joke you incited. You were behind him as he was walking up the stairs, you couldn’t help but playfully grab his ass and let a, “Nice ass,” slip out.

You never heard (or felt) the end of that.

His hands would constantly be cupping, squeezing or even spanking your ass at times. Depends on how mischievous he’s feeling.

Bf!Ghost is possessive of you in public - not in a red flag way. Planting a sudden passionate kiss on your cheeks or lips when any dude would stare at you, holding your hand or purse for you as you walked down the street, or tying your laces for you. Anything for his princess, really.

Bf!Ghost also loved going on late night drives with you, to do anything or go anywhere - it doesn’t matter. It’s always fun as fuck when it’s just you two and an unplanned drive down any accessible road. Either visit somewhere you’ve been meaning to go or watch the night sky twinkling around the city lights. It never seemed to matter what you did, what did matter was that you were both having a really good time with each other’s comfort.

Bf!Ghost is a really wonderful cook. Outside of fish chips tea and gravy and all that mumbo-jumbo he can cook. Hand him some random seasonings and meats you’ve brought from the market and he’ll have a delicious three course meal prepared in no time. He even lets you try small samples of whatever he’s cooking up by teasingly spoon feeding you.

“Seriously, Simon?” you groaned, darting your gaze between the spoon nearing your lips and his playful expression. He always had a quick smart-mouthed reply to your complaining like, “Say ahhh” or “Aeroplane’s coming, sweetheart,” and you’d contently giggle as you gave in and allowed him to feed you. If there was a minor spill he’d gently pat your face down with a tissue, making you roll your eyes and teasingly nudge him.

And before you knew it, you’d greedily finish whatever he’s allowing you to taste, even when you were meant to have only a teaspoon. He didn’t really mind, though - he took it as a compliment, even, promptly refilling your plate each time you asked for more.

Bf!Ghost took taking care of you really seriously, maybe too serious. He knew all the right medications, techniques and ways of comforting you when you were experiencing any type of discomfort of cold.

He made frequent visits to the pharmacy, daily check ups, nourishing teas and all that good stuff. You felt horrible and nauseous every time you were sick, from your raspy and stuffy voice to the irritating dryness in the back of your throat. At the same time, you felt like the luckiest girl in the world knowing your boyfriend cared and put so much time and effort into you.

Bf!Ghost doesn’t really know how to apologise; it’s just ‘not in his nature’. As much as he hated seeing you all pouty and upset after any mild argument or disagreement, he felt as if he’d somehow manage to fuck up the situation even more by apologising. So, he’d give you your space then make you your favourite beverage, just the way you liked it. (He randomly memorised the oddly specific way you like your tea/coffee), he would make himself a cuppa - he settled your drink in front where you were situated, you were watching some TV show in the living room, your eyes defeatedly lit up as you both endured in a comfortable silence, sipping your beverages as the TV faintly played in the background. You slowly began talking again, like you were rekindling a fire, and before you knew it you were both giggling and chatting away - discarding the unpleasant past and leaving it behind you guys.

But you knew Simon loved you; he didn’t have to express his sorry’s through words. His thought out actions always spoke louder.

PART THREE IS OUT FOR THE GREEDY MFS😋!!