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autisticlancemcclain · 7 months

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Keith wakes up with terror turning to ice in his veins and his brother’s name clawing its way out of his throat.

He takes a moment, chest heaving, to orient himself. The details of the dream quickly fade, dark caves and towering footsteps, leaving only an impression of fear and the memory of Shiro, falling, crying out for Keith to save him, and Keith being just too late. He peels the sweat-soaked sheets off himself in disgust, tossing them haphazardly on the ground in front of him. Grunting, he forces himself upright, placing his feet on the cold tile floor of his bedroom to force himself fully awake. Sunlight streams through his window, assaulting his bleary eyes, making him grumble as he walks over to the bathroom to brush his teeth and get ready for the day.

Not unusually, his nightmares have woken him hours before he really needs to be awake. He only has one afternoon class, today, and it's frustrating to have one of his few mornings off spoiled so early. As he spits frothy toothpaste into the sink, he tries to rework the whole situation in his mind. Waking up too early sucks, but with the extra time this morning, he’ll have time to wash his sheets. That’s a net neutral, at least.

It doesn’t take him too long to gather up a load of linens and clothes, tossing them into the machine, sipping a coffee as the old thing chugs on. He hangs them to dry once the cycle is over, tossing some overdue marking into his messenger bag and scarfing down a bagel before hopping onto his bike.

His bicycle, that is. He would never take his precious bike to class. The one and only time he had, it had been vandalised by angry students. Never again.

The ride to the school is uneventful, normal, boring. Even the asshole drivers who refuse to give him space on the road, coming within inches of crushing him, are par for the course. He wonders if he looks particularly dead-eyed, or if that’s just how he feels.

“Hey, Pidge,” he says to his lab assistant, nodding at her as he walks into their lab. She shouldn’t even be his lab assistant, really. She’s more brilliant than he’ll ever be, and it’s insulting that she has to answer to him. But she’s only twenty, and whip smart as she is, their field is ripe with rich old white guys who smile condescendingly at her and call her sweetheart. No one will give her a tenured position. So while not ideal, their situation is the best both of them can come up with: Pidge gets total freedom in his lab, any resource that she wants and he can get his hands on, and he’ll publish any finding she discovers with her name as a second on the paper. That way she’ll be credited with dozens of peer-reviewed papers before she even has her doctorate, and once she’s finally got a lab of her own and every intellectual around the globe is interviewing her, she can tell them all where to stuff it and get all the credit she deserves.

“Bad news, Kogane,” Pidge says, glancing up at him with a furrowed brow.

Keith grimaces. If Pidge is looking up from her computer screen, then he’s fucked.

“Is the building on fire?” he says hopefully. That’s a slightly less miserable conclusion than the one he knows is happening.

She huffs sadly, shaking her head. “Nah, check the douchebag waiting in your office.”

Sighing, Keith does. James Griffin, head of the geography department and the resident jackass who’s been trying to shut Keith down for years.

“Keith!” he cries, grinning at him like they’re friends.

Keith doesn’t even pretend to smile at him, staring at him blankly.

“Good to see you, pal,” James continues, either oblivious or uncaring. “Thought I’d drop by and personally deliver the news. I’m getting a new office!”

The absurdity of the sentence makes Keith blink, looking at James in confusion. “Pardon?”

James ignores him, pulling out a tape measure and holding it against the cabinets and counters, barely even making any real effort to measure anything. Keith finally starts to notice the smugness to his department head’s grin, and something like dread builds in his stomach.

“See, progressive volcanology just isn’t what it used to be. Ten years ago it was breakthrough science, today it’s an ancient relic of the past.” He snaps the tape measure closed, turning back to face Keith. He no longer makes any effort to hide his smirk, placing a falsely pitying hand on Keith’s shoulder. Keith shrugs it off immediately. “They’re shuttin’ ya down, bud. I’m taking the space. I’m sure you myriad of adoring students will be devastated, but budget cuts are budget cuts, and this is a decision the department has to make. For the good of the university, you understand.”

Keith knows that pleading is useless. In all likelihood, this decision was made months ago, and he’s only hearing about it now because it’s been finalised. No way would James be so confident otherwise.

But there’s nothing he can do to stop himself from trying.

“You can’t shut us down,” he pleads, throat unfathomably dry. “We’re – we’re on the verge of a breakthrough, James, I can feel it, shutting us down would be spitting in the face of progress –”

“How many of your sensors are even still active?” James interrupts. “One? Two?”

He sounds so smug that Keith can’t bear it. “Three!”

“Right,” James says, snorting. “Three whole sensors.” He turns away, patting one of the overhanging shelves of the wall, crowded from front to back with dozens and dozens of rock samples slowly collecting dust. “It’s not worth the money it takes to keep them going.”

“You can’t do this,” Keith begs, voice quiet and small. He hates himself for his weakness in front of James, of all people in the world, but his hands shake and his blood rushes in his ears and the only thought running through his mind is save the lab save the lab save the lab. “It’s all I have left. Of him.”

To James’ credit, that gives him pause. He’s an asshole, but he’s not a monster.

“It’s been ten years, man,” he says softly. “The lab isn’t going to bring him back.”

Keith says nothing. He stares at him, eyes hard, hatred and pain alike building up in them and spilling over.

Shiro’s sensors. Shiro’s work. Shiro, all over the lab, in every way, the only pieces Keith has of him that are still going, that are not stagnant, and James is taking them away. Whether or not it’s James’ fault directly is irrelevant – Keith hates him for any role he plays.

“I’m sorry, Keith,” James says, and he almost sounds sincere before disappearing out of the lab and down the hall.

Keith sits down heavily in his – in Shiro’s – rickety old office chair as he goes, elbows on the crowded desk, fingers clenched in his hair. Pidge puts a gentle and awkward hand on his shoulder.

It doesn’t matter.

— — —

His classes pass in a blur. None of his students even pretend to pay attention, but that’s not unusual. He can’t remember the last time someone came into his classroom and gave even one eighth of a shit. Hell, the last person in his class to care might have been Pidge.

By the end of the day, he’s exhausted. He dreads the bike ride home, knowing it will take more energy than he has, but he tries to convince himself that the fresh air might make him feel less like the world is collapsing in on itself.

He fails.

By the time he stumbles through the door, late afternoon light spilling over his messy coffee table, he feels like a used battery from 1996. He slides the scattered change he’d found on the road today into one of his near-filled collection bottles and collapses on the couch, face-first, groaning as loud as he can into a scratchy pillow. He blindly flails one arm around until it hits the beeping answering machine, letting it play its onslaught of messages, preparing to delete whatever spam calls have made it through while he was gone.

“Keith, hey. It’s Adam. Just calling to remind you that today’s the day! We just left, we’ll be there around quarter to six? Hopefully. See you soon.”

With a gasp, Keith yanks himself upright with so much force he nearly throws himself off the couch.

Adam.

Adam!

The next message plays automatically. “Hey, got your answering machine again. Getting a little worried. We’re halfway there, and we can’t wait to see you. Right, kiddo?”

A much younger voice mutters something unintelligible, but the tone makes their enthusiasm – or lack thereof – abundantly clear.

Keith sweeps a bunch of junk off his coffee table, frantically searching for his calendar. He finds it under a stack of half-finished books, praying to himself that what he’s hearing is wrong somehow, and today is not the day he thinks it is.

In bold red ben, in the tiny square of the 28th of June, is his niece’s name written in capital letters and underlined no less than five times.

“Hana,” he breathes, and looks in horror at his watch just as the answering machine beeps and plays the newest message.

“Alright, well, we’re ten minutes away, so I hope everything’s okay. Please be ready.”

“Fuck!” Keith shouts, jumping up off the couch and catapulting into action. He can’t believe he forgot! It’s so easy for all the days to blur together, for dates to lose meaning, when everything is so mundane. He’s been thinking that Hana’s visit is ‘months away’ for half a year now, completely forgetting that time is, in fact, linear.

Adam is going to kill him. And worst of all, he is going to be justified.

He starts scooping random shit off end tables and random surfaces, sticking it wherever there’s space. Adam is a neat freak, always has been, and if he looks through that front door and sees the mess he is about to leave his only daughter in for ten whole days he is going to take it out on Keith’s hide. Keith shoves a random stack of cereal bowls into a drawer, stuffs a cabinet full of old newspapers, kicks a pile of discarded sweaters into a corner and throws a blanket over them. His answering machine beeps again, and he whips his head to his clock, watching in horror as the big hand ticks to the 9 – it’s five forty-five on the dot.

“Hope you’re home, Keith, because we’re pulling up to your place.”

A silver car slows to a stop across the street.

“Fuck!”

Keith increases his half-assed cleaning tenfold. He dumps every dish he sees into the sink, hacks up a lung from trying to blow away the accumulated dust, glances in the fridge to see what expired food he needs to toss. Is Adam going to search through his fridge? Probably not.

But there’s a chance.

He sees his brother-in-law approach the front door as he’s holding a stack of greasy car parts and freezes, slowly backing away as the man turns and makes a face at the car. Keith hears the doorbell ring but ignores it, figuring he has about three more rings to panic-clean before Adam gets fed up and picks the lock. He rushes to his bedroom, grabbing the truly gigantic quilt Pidge’s brother had made him, and throws it over his couch, coffee table, and armchair in a half-assed attempt to make the room look less like Keith has not cleaned in several weeks.

It does not work.

The doorbell rings for a third time, followed by rapid knocking.

“Keith? You home?”

Keith takes a deep breath, forcing a smile on his face.

Fine. This is going to be fine.

“Hey, Adam!” he greets, opening the door. Adam glances behind him, taking in the mess, so Keith quickly closes the door as much as he can without squishing himself.

Unfortunately, Adam has always been quick. He raises a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “You forgot, didn’t you.”

“Forget?” Keith laughs nervously. “Of course I didn’t – I didn’t forget! Been looking forward to this for weeks, counting down the days, just been prepping like you would not believe –”

Adam takes off his glasses, cleaning them slowly while making direct eye contact.

Keith sighs.

“Yeah, I forgot.”

“Come on, Keith,” Adam sighs, sliding his glasses back up his nose. “We planned this months ago. Ten days. That’s all I ask. She’s your niece.”

“Just because I forgot doesn’t mean I wasn’t looking forward to it!” Keith says defensively. “I haven’t seen her since she was what, nine?”

“Seven,” Adam corrects flatly.

Keith winces. “Right. Seven.” He follows his brother-in-law to his car, forcing himself not to drag his feet. He is excited. He is. He loves his niece, and besides, it’s only ten days. What can happen in ten days?

“Hana,” Adam says, knocking on the roof of the car. “Say hi to your uncle.”

“Hi to your uncle,” deadpans a young girl, pulling her beanie further down over her eyes and sinking into her seat. Adam sighs, heading to the trunk to dig out some bags, and Keith has to bite his cheek to keep from laughing. He probably shouldn’t laugh when teenagers are being little shits, but that was kind of funny.

“Hey, kid,” Keith says, in the same semi-awkward tone he used to talk to Pidge in until she started decking him every time he did. He inclines his head at the device in her hands. “Whatcha got there? One of those ePod thingies?”

The look she gives him is so dry and judgemental that Keith almost feels the need to both apologise and pull out a fiver to pay for the stupidity of his sentence, which is honestly an insanely powerful look for a thirteen year old to pull off.

Only Adam’s kid, honestly.

“It’s a PSP,” she says, like that’s the most obvious thing in the world and Keith is a dunce for not knowing. “And ePods aren’t a thing. The word you’re looking for is iPod.”

Lordie, this is going to be a tough ten days. Keith should have researched how to make teenagers like him.

Well. Maybe not. That would probably get him on a list somewhere.

“It’s good to see you, Hana,” Keith says, switching gears. He smiles slightly, and it's genuine, because he really is glad to see her. “You wanna head inside? Door’s open, I’ll meet you in a few.”

“Come see me first, baby,” Adam calls.

Hana huffs and walks over to see her dad. He hands her a duffel bag, which she shrugs over her shoulder, and then cups her face tightly, leaning down to kiss her head.

“Ten days, okay?” he murmurs. “Then I’ll meet you in the Ottawa airport.” He squeezes her in a hug, which she returns, if slightly reluctantly. “This move will be good for us.”

“Right,” Hana says, so bitter that Keith actually physically winces. “I am so pumped to leave behind everything I’ve ever known and go live in a new country. Thank you so much for doing this for me.”

Without so much as a backwards glance at her father, she pulls away and stomps inside to Keith’s place.

“Yikes,” Keith says, grimacing at his brother-in-law. Adam isn’t looking at him, gaze following his daughter with an expression Keith can only describe as pained. He doesn’t say anything for several moments, just staring at the house, eyes far-away and deeply sad. Keith’s chest starts to ache, right under his sternum, because he gets that look, too.

“I don’t know what to do,” Adam says softly. “I’m just — I’m just trying to do the right thing for her.” And it’s been months since they’ve talked anything but surface level pleasantries but they will always be the same, Keith thinks, and he reaches over and squeezes Adam’s hand because he will always be family. Adam squeezes back, smiling tightly.

“I’ll take care of her,” Keith promises. He swallows against the sandpaper roughness of his throat and tries to stand up straight, to make up for his crumpled shirt and messy hair. The attemlt makes Adam roll his eyes, which makes Keith grin. Adam can never stay mad at him for long.

“I know you will, brat.” He cups Keith’s cheeks identically to the way he did Hana’s, tipping over to kiss his forehead. Keith’s eyes close and his hands come up to grab Adam’s wrists. “I trust you. I just wish you would take better care of yourself.”

He pulls away and Keith lets him go, watching the easy way in which he composes himself, clearing his throat and straightening his jacket and pushing up his jacket, putting himself back together in front of Keith’s eyes. The process has fascinated him since he was little; the way Adam can always pull himself back to full height.

“Besides,” he adds, pulling his car keys out of his pocket and heading for the passenger side. “You have my daughter to look after, now. If she comes home to me in ten days complaining about doing the dishes because Uncle Keith just eats pasta out of the pot, I will fly back here just to smack you.”

Keith snorts. “Noted. Drive safe, Adam.”

He waves as he shuts the door and starts the car. Keith watches him go, then turns back towards his house, peering through the door, looking for a glimpse of the kid. He doesn’t see her, but he can hear the muted sounds of a video game from outside.

“I have no fucking clue what I’m doing,” he mutters to himself, and walks inside.

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ahaura · 6 months

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Abby Martin tweeted (Nov. 7) a link to an interview she did with an former IOF soldier, Eran Efrati, posted in 2017. He describes the standard brutality of the IOF and how the soldiers enforce the apartheid state—protecting settlers; the standard practice of execution by both the IOF and police; the systematic dehumanization of Palestinians; the role and treatment of Arab Jews in the Israeli state; and Palestinian resistance.

Some excerpts:

"I didn't feel like I was protecting anyone, I didn't feel like I was keeping anyone safe. I feel like I'm terrorizing people. [...] I felt like I was the terrorist. And my job was literally to scare people so they cannot think about acting against the Israeli settlers or the Israeli military. That was actually our defined mission. [...] To instill fear in the hearts of Palestinians [...] and that's exactly what we did."

"At the age of 15-16, I began being almost obsessed with trying to understand the Nazi side in the Holocaust. Not only to hear the stories of the Jewish victims and any other victims of the Holocaust, but to try and understand how can a Nazi soldier get up in the morning, give his kids a kiss, a wife a hug and go out to the camps and do his job. I just couldn't understand it. And when I got into the occupied territories, for the first time I understood how there can be a contradiction inside yourself. As a human being you could do your job and be one person at home—be a loving, caring boyfriend or a son or a brother—and at the same time hold people under a regime so oppressive that people are dying not from only your bullets but the amount of calories being entered into their territory like in Gaza, from depression or sickness. [...]"

"Israel is selling the idea that the soldiers are more important than anything, the soldiers are more important than the lives of Palestinians—not just the life of soldiers, but identity, security, feelings—are more important than Palestinian life."

"Israelis are saying in a very clear voice [...] not only will we oppress Palestinians and do whatever we want, but in a very specific way of saying [...] whatever soldiers do in the occupied territories are right. Whatever we're doing is the correct thing."

AM: I want you to talk specifically about the culture within the Israeli military that fosters anti-Arab sentiment, and racism, essentially. EE: I think the system is not only inside the military, [...] that's actually what being an Israeli means. Growing up in the Israeli educational department, you understand that all the Arabs hate you, that they're actually in a way the continuation of the Biblical amalek, or Hitler, or that everybody there want to throw you into the sea. This is what you're growing up with and you really believe in that. [...] Going in the military, you're already so full of hate and fear at the same time that you don't need much to be very aggressive, violent, and racist toward Palestinians. They see the Palestinian women and the Palestinian men as subhuman. The occupied territories are like an ex-territory, when those human beings are not considered human beings."

(In response to attacks on Israeli soldiers) "[...] I learned [...] that if you will not respect existence, you can expect resistance. And this is how people resist. Israel as a state likes to use the idea that Palestinians only understand force, or power, but the truth of the matter is that Israelis only understand power and force. Every other attempt from Palestinians to try and negotiation this situation in a diplomatic way was countered by more attacks, more oppression, and more occupation, more stealing of the land, more destroying of homes, more settlements being built. We decided to call going into the U.N. 'diplomatic terrorism,' and to go into the ICC 'international terrorism.' We basically describe every form of resistance as terrorism because the sole idea of the occupation is not to be safe; the sole idea is to create an ethnically cleansed piece of land only for Jewish people—with Palestinian workers, of course some Palestinians can stay and do stuff for us—but this is our land. What people maybe don't understand is that Israel is creating the conditions in to the situation of constantly having to 'protect' yourself. We're creating this situation by oppressing millions of people [...] [until] they have no other choice but to resist."

"[...] the truth is that Israel do not hear the diplomacy, Israel do not hear the call of the Palestinians for equality. What we are seeing Palestine is what a lot of people like to describe as the most complicated political situation of our time [but] what is probably the most simple political situation of our time. It's a situation about equality."

AM: Would you say that you support the right of Palestinians to fight their occupiers? EE: Absolutely. I support the right of every human being under an oppressive military rule to resist this rule by any means possible. I do not believe Israel has a right to occupy millions of human beings without every decent human simple basic rights for their name. And I do not believe that Israel will change on its own. At no point in history there was a state or a power that had the power and control over other human beings and benefit from it and just decide to let go of this power on its own. It was always forced on them by the resistance of the people underneath them. All the intervention of other forces around the world. And unfortunately, as I do support the Palestinian right to resist, in any way, I do not believe that their resistance is enough. I do believe that the rest of the world has to interfere. And what's going on in Palestine—there's nothing else we can do except for giving all the Palestinians equal rights and starting a new state, a new equality system for all human beings on the ground."

#palestine #geopol #abby martin #when ur own guy says it...!#📁.zip

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kaguraaaa · 29 days

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Bewitched

Lucifer x Witch!Reader

PART 1, PART 2

cw: violence, gore, use of y/n

note: if you haven't read part 1, y/n is mute since her mouth is stitched shut.

In the midst of the bustling crowd, Lucifer, on an errand for his daughter Charlie, the owner of Hazbin Hotel, scanned the flower shop and spotted a familiar figure—y/n Hecate.

Approaching her with a smirk, he initiated a conversation, "Fancy meeting you here again, y/n. Seems like fate has a sense of humor."

Y/n, unruffled, returned the flirtation with ease, "Perhaps it does, Lucifer. Or maybe it's just your impeccable timing."

Lucifer, slightly taken aback by her confidence, grinned, "Well, I must say, your presence makes even flower shopping exciting. Speaking of flowers, what are your favorites?"

Y/n, walking alongside him, replied, "Marigolds hold a special place in my heart. Their vibrant colors and symbolism resonate with me."

As they browsed the blooms, Lucifer sighed, admitting, "I'm not exactly skilled at this flower-picking business."

Y/n grins softly, "No worries, Lucifer. I'll lend you a hand."

With y/n's guidance, they selected flowers embodying purity, rebirth, sacrifice, and strength. Amidst their banter, Lucifer couldn't resist a playful tease, "You know, y/n, you're making it quite difficult to focus on flowers with your charming distractions."

Y/n smirked, "Oh, but isn't that part of the fun, Lucifer? Keeping you on your toes."

Before they could reach the registrar, Lucifer seized an iris flower, adorning y/n's ear with a swift gesture. Her smile widened, and their eyes met, a silent understanding passing between them.

At the counter, Lucifer couldn't help but inquire about y/n's sudden appearance. Her casual reply, coupled with her fondness for flowers, intrigued him further.

After settling the bill, Lucifer expressed his gratitude once more, offering to escort y/n back to the hotel. Politely declining, y/n opted to linger at the shop a while longer.

As Lucifer departed, casting a parting glance filled with warmth, y/n smiled and closed the door of the shop, locking it securely, before turning the open sign into closed. Upon turning back, she found the owner once again in the staff room.

With deliberate steps, her heels clicking on the pavement, she approached, her presence ominous.

A knock, a door opening, and the owner was sent reeling by a sudden force. Gasping for air, terror etched on their face, they looked up to find y/n smiling at them, a chilling glint in her eyes.

Before the owner could utter a sound, their jaw was ripped away, blood staining the floor. The light bulb shattered, plunging the room into darkness, save for the gleam of y/n's golden eyes.

Struggling to scream amidst the blood, the owner choked, their desperate attempts drowned out by a faint laughter echoing in the room which left the owner terrified and confused. Y/n advanced, seizing their hair, forcing them to meet her gaze as her eyes turned blood red.

In the shop, all but the black dahlias wilted, a sinister aura enveloping the space. Y/n, surrounded by the carnage, stood amidst splattered blood, walls adorned with gore, the owner's mutilated form a testament to her cruelty.

With a sadistic smile, she exited the staff room, leaving behind a trail of purple smoke that filled the store, obscuring the horrors within. As she stepped out, a smile playing on her lips, she glanced back, snapping her fingers to dispel the smoke, leaving only an empty, eerie silence behind.

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soosuke · 1 year

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* like a good neighbor ｡

- character(s): midoriya izuku x gn!reader. - word count: 1.1k+ - additional tag(s): pro hero deku, kind of a meet cute? - warning(s): very brief violence mention; deku breaks into your apartment.

A piercing scream drives a knife through Izuku’s slumber.

His body moves faster than his mind, jolting to life despite the sleepy stupor that clouds his brain. He nearly trips as he struggles to untangle his limbs from his bedsheets, already stumbling into his living room before the mental gears begin to turn, and he realizes he doesn’t even know where he is going.

Another shriek, this one longer and more desperate, answers his question, and Izuku feels a strike of terror when he realizes that the sound is coming from the adjacent wall.

It’s you.

The two of you haven’t even formally met, haven’t even laid eyes on each other, but he has noticed the way that the previously vacant unit next to his apartment has been thrumming with life for the past couple of days.

The whir of your blender in the morning, the liveliness of late night tv shows, the one-sided conversation of a phone call, all muffled signs from the other side of his wall that his space is a little less lonelier than before.

He had intentions to introduce himself days ago, when he initially noticed the new welcome mat that had been laid in front of the apartment door. It is a pretty pastel with a greeting on it and, still adjusting the sleeves of his hero suit, he had briefly pondered what its owner looked like as he departed to his agency.

Now, standing in front of that same doormat under these circumstances, its cuteness seems almost foreboding.

One of his hands curls around the doorknob, and he barely gives himself enough time to brace himself for what may lie beyond your front door.

Snapshots of broken glass, limp bodies, and carpet stained maroon all cycle through his mind, and they produce a newfound franticness that pushes him forward.

Your door is locked, of course, but all it takes is another agonized little sob from within the depths of your apartment for him to nearly send it flying off of its hinges.

A single streak of light is pouring from the hallway, the only light source in the otherwise pitch black apartment. If your floor plan is the same as his, then it looks like the light is coming from the bathroom.

Without any doors or walls to mute it, he can hear the sound of you uneven, panicked breathing. He advances towards the lit room in a few quick strides.

You are curled on top of the bathroom counter, hugging your knees and trembling. Your face is stitched with panic, your eyes wild and brimming when they jump up to meet his gaze.

You shrink back at the sight of him, your bottom nearly slipping into the bowl of the sink, and he raises his hands in innocence before you start, rightfully, shouting over the stranger that just broke into your apartment.

“I’m here to help!” He blurts out all at once, his hands hovering outward, as if he is trying to soothe a skittish stray. “I’m– I’m Deku. I just, I heard screaming and–”

A flicker of movement in his peripheral vision makes any explanation die in his throat. You must notice it too, because you slip into another round of hysterics, shrieking as you try to curl even more in on yourself at the sight.

A tiny, dark blur is skittering across the bathroom floor, acting just as frantic as you are.

When his eyes focus on what it is, Midoriya nearly laughs with relief.

A mouse.

---

“There! All taken care off!” He calls out as he pads through your apartment, back to the bathroom where he left you. He is humming, swiping his hands together, nearly giddy with relief. All of those haunting images of abductions and hostages and bloodthirsty villains had culminated into being something smaller than his palm.

Reemerging in the doorway, he finds that you’re still frozen on the sink, eyes scanning the floor like you’re waiting for another pest to materialize out of the bone-white tile.

When you lift your head to the sound of his footsteps, he feels his heart stutter.

You’re cute.

Really cute.

It’s a grossly inappropriate thought, given that he had just broken into your home and you’re clearly, obviously, still distressed, but the realization rips through him all the same.

A beat of silence passes, and he belatedly realizes that you are waiting for him to say something – to provide an update on the fiasco.

“The mouse is gone,” Midoriya assures you, giving you his best Hero Smile and offering a hand. “I got it out of the building.”

When your hand slips into his, he briefly marvels at how impossibly soft it is. He tries not to look at the flash of upper thigh that you unknowingly expose as you uncoil your legs and ease off of the sink, your pajama shorts hitching at the movement.

“You’re Deku,” you breathe. Your eyes are still as wide as they were when he first found you, shuttering open and closed like you can’t believe what you’re seeing. “Really Deku…”

Oh. Maybe that’s why you’re still so frazzled.

He nods, his smile easing into something more modest. “And, um, you must be my new neighbor, right?”

“I… I am?”

Your voice trails off as the gears in your fear-raddled mind begin to turn. He watches as your face goes completely blank for a moment, before you’re springing right back into that frenzied panic from a few minutes ago.

You snatch your hand away from him like you’ve been burned.

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!”

You’re bowing, your upper body jerking down so suddenly that he thinks you might give yourself whiplash.

“I—I didn’t know! I didn’t mean to wake you. You probably– No, you definitely need your rest, and here I am, screaming like a lunatic over something so trivial. I just– I’m just–”

You take a breath, composing yourself and fixing your posture to look up at him again. “I really don’t like mice.”

The way you say it, your voice a shaky squeak as your eyes screw shut in mortification, he has stifle his laughter for a second time.

By the time the two of you leave your bathroom, it is nearly daybreak, the sky brightening at the edge.

You sheepishly offer to make Midoriya a cup of coffee as a meager form of compensation his troubles (your words, not his).

Seeing the way you peer up at him after asking, trying not to look too hopeful, he wonders how anyone could ever deny you anything.

From a barstool, he watches as you anxiously flitter about your kitchen, retrieving cups and spoons and an assortment of creamers for the two of you to choose from. He tries to focus on the cityscape rousing itself to life just outside of your window or the rest of your apartment, instead of how cute you look fussing over his coffee.

He was right about your floor plans being the same, but everything in your unit is still sparse, the walls mostly bare and moving boxes occupying a few corners. You have lit a candle - a lilacy vanilla scent - and its little flame is coating the place in a soft, intimate glow. Somehow, empty as it is, your apartment feels homey in a way that his own unit doesn’t.

As you set a steaming All Might-print mug in front of him, he is pulled into an easy illusion of domestic bliss.

He wonders if you have a boyfriend.

He startles himself with the thought, so desperate to admonish his traitorous mind that he downs a mouthful of the coffee while it is still scalding, effectively torching what feels like every single one of his taste buds and every nerve ending in his esophagus.

He has to blink back the pained tears that start springing in his vision, his knuckles turning white as they curl around the coffee mug as he tries not to cry out in pain.

“Does that, um, happen a lot?”

It takes him a moment to realize that you’ve spoken to him, and an even longer moment to realize that you’re talking about the mouse.

“Ah, not usually,” he says, clearing his throat, and his response seems to soothe you a bit. “I’ve never seen one in the building before tonight, actually.”

You look affronted that the mouse picked your apartment to infiltrate out of all of the ones in the building, pouting in a way that Midoriya finds absolutely adorable.

You lean on the opposite side of the kitchen island, drumming your fingers along the side of your mug. You smile despite yourself, a little upwards quirk of your lips that has Midoriya’s heart skipping a beat. He realizes that this is his first time seeing you smile.

“Well, thank you for being my exterminator, Deku,” you say. “You’re my hero.”

Watching the way your eyes gleam with admiration, he selfishly, stupidly, and only half-jokingly hopes that your apartment has a recurring pest problem.

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #midoriya izuku x reader #deku x reader #mine

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anotherhumaninthisworld · 10 months

Note

Bad things that robespierre did.

(I don't know why i don't feel safe by asking this question--)

Well, if we’re gonna speak in those terms, some things off the top of my head go as follows below. I don’t know if everyone on here would consider all of them fully ”bad” given the circumstances, so maybe a better way to see it is as ”ways Robespierre was involved in the period afterwards dubbed ”the terror” that are not all as known.”

On May 26, Robespierre, after having refused to for several months, openly called for an insurrection against deputies of the National Convention at the Jacobins — ”[…] the people must rebel. This moment has arrived. […] I invite the people to join the National Convention in insurrection against all the corrupt deputies.” Three days later, on May 29, he repeated this wish — ”I say that if the people do not rise in their entirety, liberty is lost.” Two days after that, the Insurrection of May 31 took place, with armed sans-culotte storming the Convention and obtaining the arrest of 29 Girondins. I find it hard to believe Robespierre’s words didn’t play a decesive roll for the insurrection to happen when it did.

Robespierre also had a hand in the creation of Desmoulins’ pampleth Histoire des Brissotins (May 1793), which is another piece essential in the fall of the Girondins. This is proven through the following passage from Lettre de Camille Desmoulins, député de Paris à la Convention, au général Dillon en prison aux Madelonettes (1793): ”The true origin of the rigor of the Committee towards you, would it be in a very long note, which was printed following l’Histoire des Brissotins, which Robespierre made me cut out?”

On October 29 1793, when the trial of the Girondins had been dragging on for five days, Robespierre proposed that ”If it happens that the judgment of a case brought before the revolutionary tribunal has lasted for more than three days, the president will open the next session by asking the juror if their conscience is sufficiently enlightened. If the juror answers yes, judgment will proceed immediately.” The motion was passed and became essential in getting the 22 Girondins condemned to death the following day. How many others fell victim to it afterwards I don’t know.

Robespierre also played an important role in the condemnation of the dantonists, who also got a not so very fair trial before being driven to the scaffold. I’ve already written about the different ways he was involved here.

Robespierre personally wrote to several representatives on mission and encouraged them to be bold when punishing counter revolutionaries in the departments. I don’t think such words coming from someone as influencial should be considered insignificant when measuring the repression that was later carried out there:

The National Convention, citoyens collegues, witnessed with pleasure your entry into Lyon. But its joy could not be complete when it saw that you at the first movements yielded to a sensibility way too unpolitical. You seemed to abandon themselves to a people who flatter the victors, and the manner in which you speak of such a large number of traitors, of the punishment of a very few and the departure of almost all, have alarmed the patriots who are indignant at seeing so many scoundrels escaping through a gap and going to Lozère and mainly Toulon. We therefore won’t congratulate you on your successes before you have fulfilled all that you owe to your country. Republics are demanding; there is national recognition only for those who fully deserve it. We send you the decree that the Convention issued this morning on the report of the Committee (this decreee, which contains the infamous phrase ”the city of Lyon shall be destroyed” — a slogan which Robespierre himself had come up with). It has proportioned the vigor of its measures to your first reports. It will never remain below what the Republic and freedom expect. Beware above all of the perfidious policy of the Muscadins and the hypocritical Federalists, who raise the standard of the Republic when it is ready to punish them, and who continue to conspire against it when the danger has passed. It was that of the Bordelais, of the Marseillais, of all the counter-revolutionaries of the South. This is the most dangerous stumbling block of our freedom. The first duty of the representatives of the people is to discover it and avoid it. We must unmask the traitors and strike them without pity. These principles alone, adopted by the National Convention, can save the country. These principals are also yours; follow them; listen only to your own energy, and carry out with inexorable severity the salutary decrees which we address to you. CPS decree to the representatives in the newly entered Lyon, written by Robespierre on October 12.

PS — Punish severely and promptly the traitors and royalists, especially the leaders and principal agents of Girondin and counter-revolutionary intrigues. Beware of the marks of patriotism with which they cover themselves, following the example of the traitors of the Convention, who are their models. Only by purging the den of counter-revolution and hypocrisy can you spare the Republic the new disasters with which it is always threatened in the South. Robespierre in a post-scriptum note added to a CPS decree to representatives in Bordeaux written by Billaud-Varennes (in other words something he really wanted to underline for the representatives)

The representatives of the people near the army of Italy and the department of Bouches-du-Rhône are in charge of these measures: they will have the leaders of the royalist and federalist faction severely punished. CPS decree regarding Marseilles written by Robespierre on November 4 1793

These fears for the suffering public good, which made me decide to come here (Lyon) on your (ton) invitation, were not in vain. Letter from Collot d’Herbois to Robespierre dated November 3 1793. A sign Robespierre played a decisive role in sending Collot to punish Lyon.

Like I wrote in this post, Robespierre and his collegues at the CPS and the Convention were aware of the wholesale repression carried out by representatives on mission like Fouché and Carrier without seemingly trying to do anything about it (so I suppose they accepted what they heard). In fact, none of the decrees recalling the representatives hint that the amount of executions carried out under their stay is the reason for it.

If Robespierre’s role in writing the Law of 22 Prairial is more dubious than what a few historians would have us believe (the only person who’s involvement in the development of the law can truly be established is Couthon) he was nevertheless the author behind the decree for the Commission of Orange on May 10 1794 (1, 2), a decree that has been accepted as the precursor of the aforementioned law. Like the law of 22 Prairial, the decree made it the duty for the commission to punish ”the enemies of the people,” which it defined as ”all those who, by any means whatsoever and with any deeds they may have covered themselves, have sought to thwart the march of the revolution and to prevent the strengthening of the Republic.” The punishment for this crime was always death, and the proof necessary for condemnation ”is all information, of whatever nature, which can convince a reasonable man and friend of liberty.” Within 47 days, the commission pronounced 332 death sentences, 116 prison sentences and 147 acquittals.

In April 1794 was introduced a police bureau subortinate to the CPS (Bureau de surveillance administrative et de police générale). It would appear it was meant to be run by mainly Saint-Just, but that Robespierre took it over when he was away from the captal. Due to Saint-Just’s frequent missions, Robespierre ended up being the actual head of the bureau during two of its three months existence (the notes for the bureau are in SJ’s hand from April 23-27, in both SJ and Robespierre’s on the 28th, only Robespierre between April 28-May 31, both on June 1, only Robespierre between June 2-29, both on June 30 and afterwards occasional reports made by either SJ or Couthon). Unfortunately, only one study exists over the bureau, made in 1930 by the historian Arne Ording. It has been digitalized by Internet Archive, but in super poor quality, so you end up having to rely more on what other historians say about it. Which isn’t that easy either because they all seem to lay out different numbers. According to Albert Mathiez (1930), Ording’s study found 464 decrees from the police bureau between April 24 to July 26 (and 1 814 from the Committee of General Security for the same period ) — 58 of which ordered liberations of prisoners and 250 were arrests. Annie Jourdan (2016) too writes that the bureau contained 464, of which 250 were arrests and 295 looked at officials. But she also adds that only a fifth of the judgments were acquittals, and that, instead of April 24, the bureau functioned between May 23 and July 28. According to George Lefebvre (1931), Ording only consulted 121 of the 464 decrees (out of which 55 were either written or co-signed by someone else than Robespierre, Saint-Just and Couthon), making you wonder how the two previous can be sure about what all the decrees contained… The same thing is claimed by J.M Thompson (1935) but he also adds that, ”out of 775 notes by Robespierre, Saint-Just, and Couthon, only 229 should be found ordering arrest, or reference to the Tribunal, or transference to Paris.” In other words, there would exist more notes than actual decrees… The bureau nevertheless makes Robespierre the CPS member to have signed the second biggest amount of decrees ordering arrests and or/transfers before the Revolutionary Tribunal during the period dubbed ”the great terror” (30, after Saint-Just’s 35, and yes, I have actually counted the arrests found in Recueil des actes du comité de salut public to come to this conclusion🤦🏼‍♀️) and this despite the fact that he was absent for about half of it. I also don’t think it’s impossible he was trying to make the Committee of General Security redundant with the help of the bureau, considering he does recommend making said committee subortinate to the CPS in his last speech.

On June 7 1794, a letter signed by Robespierre and Barère ordered Hermann — the chairholder of the Commission of Civil Administration, Tribunals and Prisons and put in first place on a list of patriots with ”more or less talent” written by Robespierre — to investigate if there were plans for a breakout in the Bicêtre prison after having received a warning from one of its inhabitants. Six days later, a CPS decree signed by Robespierre and seven of his collegues ordered 15 inhabitants from said prison to be transferred to the Conciergerie in order for them to come before the Revolutionary Tribunal as soon as possible. It further ordered Hermann to send to the tribunal all other Bicêtre prisoners suspected of being part of the same complot. Ten days after that, on June 23, Hermann sent Robespierre a letter in which he suggested applying this procedure to all the prisons of Paris, in order to ”purge the prisons at a stroke and to clear the soil of freedom from these dregs and rejects of humanity.” Robespierre sent the letter back with both his signature and the word approved written on it, together with the counter signatures of Barère and Billaud-Varennes. Two days later on June 25, the CPS confirmed their decision when writing a decree charging Hermann’s Commission of Civil Administration, Tribunals and Prisons ”to search in the various prisons of Paris for those who have been particularly involved in the various factions, in the various conspiracies that the National Convention has destroyed, and whose chefs it has punished, those who in the prisons were trustees and agents of these conspiratorial factions, and who were to be the actors of the scenes so often projected for the massacre of the patriots and the ruin of freedom to make it her own. The charge, moreover, of taking, in concert with the administration of the police, all means of establishing order in the prisons.” The decree bears Robespierre’s signature, along with those of ten of his collegues. Finally, on July 5, a CPS decree written by Barère and signed by him, Robespierre and seven others ordered the same commission ”to make a daily report on the conduct of the prisoners in the various prisons of Paris, and the Revolutionary Tribunal to judge within 24 hours those who have attempted revolt or excited closure.” This was the solution to the so called ”prison conspiracies,” in which on several days, prisoners were brought before the tribunal in big groups to be met with flimsy evidence against them, and where aquittals mostly numbered between about 0-3. In total, 363 people were executed (37 people on June 16, 36 on June 26 (the Bicêtre prison), 60 on July 7, 48 on July 9, 38 on July 10, 25 on July 22 (the Luxembourg prison), 46 on July 23 (the Carmes prison), 25 on July 24, 25 on July 25 and 23 on July 26 (the Saint-Lazare prison)) — about 27% of the 1366 official victims of ”the great terror.” Not only that, but among those executed can be found three 16-year-olds, the youngest people to ever have been executed by the Paris Revolutionary Tribunal. As can be seen from the decrees, Robespierre is certainly not the only one who bears responsibility for these executions (the direct orders to immediately send prisoners from the Luxembourg (signed Saint-Just on July 5) and Carmes prison (signed Saint-Just, Carnot, Prieur, Billaud-Varennes, Couthon and Collot d’Herbois on July 20) before the tribunal would for example appear to not have been made by him), but given his closeness to Hermann and the fact he, along with Barère, is the only one to have signed all of them, certainly shows he’s not blameless for what went down. According to J.M Thompson, the prison reports also built on facts reported by the above mentioned police bureau, which, according to him, makes Robespierre bear a double responsibility.

On August 15 1792, Robespierre was the first person to suggest creating a Revolutionary Tribunal, a wish that was fulfilled two days later (1, 2).

#robespierre #maximilien robespierre #frev #french revolution #ask

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gavisuntiedboot · 1 year

Note

heyy babes!!! idk if ur taking reqs or not but i randomly had this thought of how would pedri and gavi act/behave/be around a gf!reader that's slightly fuller and she's just not in a body positive mood or like in general what's the vibe

unless that isn't up ur alley which i totally get🧍

love u❤️‍🔥

No Other

WARNINGS: mentions of e*ting d*sorders, poor body image, fat phobia?, and other similar themes. Don’t read if uncomfortable!!

"Are you sure you got your correct size?"

You looked up from your phone at the register and the woman standing behind it.

"Excuse me?" You asked, trying to make sure you heard her correctly. You were defensive and put off the question.

"Are you sure you got the correct size? For the lingiere? " She repeats, smiling sweetly at you, still holding onto your items.

"You don't think I'll fit into that size?" You asked, albeit a little more hostile than you intended, but you were mad. You had been feeling rather insecure in the way you looked recently, and this was not helping. You felt like everyone was staring you as you walked around the department store, judging your looks and figure. You felt the sales associate's brows raise every time you picked up something and put it in your bag. And now, as you were trying to make a 4-digit purchase, you were still being perceived as undeserving of the items.

"Oh my ma'am of course not! I'm so sorry I didn't mean it like that - it's just we can't do exchanges on the lingerie items, so we ask everyone to double check the size before. I'm so sorry!" The cashier replied, terror showing in her eyes at the possibility of offending you and having you not purchase anything. Your mouth opened and cheeks heated up, embarrassed at your little outburst.

"Oh, no I- I misunderstood you. My fault." You muttered, grabbing the bodysuit from the counter and checking the size again. It was the right letter, but it still made you sad that the letter on the tag was not an "S". You handed it back to the cashier, who packed you up as fast and silently as possible, thanking every deity she knew that you hadn't been offended. You swiped your card, grabbed your bags, and walked out of the store. Your friend stood there, scrolling through her feed as she waited for you. You walked up to her, glancing at her screen, and saw the last thing you needed: more girls that you thought were prettier than you. Tall and tan, large chests, flat stomachs, big butts and tiny legs.

"You ready to go get lunch?" She asked, recognizing your presence.

"Um," you said, looking down at your feet, "I think I'm going to skip out on lunch today. I'm seeing Pablo later and I don't want to be bloated." Biting your lip, you avoided the inquisitive stare she was sending you.

"You didn't have breakfast though, and you're not seeing him for another what? 5 hours? You need to eat something. Come on, we're going to lunch." She said, grabbing your hand and pulling you in the direction of the restaurant. You sat through lunch, picking little bits off your friend's plate, sipping on a Diet Coke and pretending that you had been hit with a sudden bout of nausea to prevent you from ordering your own plate. Your friend finished her meal, concerned looks persisting despite her saying nothing. She dropped you off at your place, rolling down the window as you walked off.

"Eat well at dinner with Pablo tonight, okay?"

You nodded and gave her a soft smile, waving as she drove off. The house was silent and still, just the environment you needed at the moment. Your phone lit up with a notification as you put your shopping down.

*@urnameoutfits just posted*

You opened the notification, finding photos of you from your date with Pablo a few weeks ago. You were in a pair of black leather pants, a dark green bodysuit, and some Jordan 1s for a casual dinner. You smiled fondly at the photo of Gavi’s arm around your shoulders, the two of you looking deeply at each other and smiling. It has been such a good night, one where you could both go out and enjoy each others’ company without worrying about training the next morning. You knew you shouldn’t, but you decided to take a look at the comments.

@user : they’re so cute together 😭❤️

@user : I neeeeeed those Jordans in my life!!

You smiled to yourself, enjoying the positive attention. You had spent a long time working to be comfortable in your relationship with Pablo. It was heart warming to see the public start to warm up to you as well. But then you continued to read.

@user : why would she wear something that makes her look bigger than the planet Earth???

@user : imagine being an athlete w a fat gf 😳

@user : a restaurant is actually the last place she needs to be right now

You quickly closed the instagram app, tossing your phone on the bed and breathing deeply. Your body image was something that you had struggled with since your early teens. It started with your family, who would always comment on the amount of food you ate and were always curious about your exercise. Then it was your friends in school, who always skipped lunch and using coffee or cigarettes as meal replacements. They would offer you clothes to borrow, but they just wouldn’t fit in the same way. It started to weigh on you physically and mentally.

You did a lot of work on yourself once you met Pablo, but not in the healthiest way. You refused to eat anything “unhealthy” in front of him, and pushed yourself past your limits of exhaustion with your workouts. You would go home after your dates and cry into your pillows, intense stomach pangs of hunger hitting yo through the night. This is how you persisted for the first couple months of your relationship. That was until he decided to surprise you one day after practice and found you on the floor of your bedroom, crying because your jean size had 2 digits in it. He dropped to the floor and pulled you into him, caressing your hair as you shook with sobs. You explained to him what had been going on, and you saw the pain deep into his wide honey eyes. He would have rather been stabbed than learn you were suffering.

Since then, he has worked with you to help your body image, and not just in the “he tells me I’m beautiful” way. One day after practice he found you curled up on the couch, teary eyed and doom scrolling through instagram models. He took your phone from your hand, and went through to remove anyone you followed for “body inspo”. He blocked the word “fat” and several other synonyms from your comments. He helped you find a nutritional therapist that you could talk to and get more help from than Pablo himself could provide. And obviously he reminded you through his actions and words that he thought you were stunning.

You walked over to the bag and pulled out your purchases. You had gotten a gorgeous black lace bodysuit that was going to hug every curve. As much as you wanted to just wear it out to dinner, it was still not socially acceptable to just wear lingerie to a restaurant, and so you paired it with a deep marrow cropped button up and a black skirt. Laying them out on the bed, you moved towards the shower, wanting to feel your best for your date tonight.

When you got out of the shower, you clipped back your hair and slipped into the bodysuit. It was a little tight, and accentuated more of your middle than you would have liked. You put the skirt on as well, and avoided the full length mirror in the room, running quickly past it to do your hair and makeup at the vanity. You smoked out your eyes and dried your hair, wanting to give off a “I was born sexy” type of look. Your phone chimed with a message.

[pablito ❤️‍🔥]: I’ll be home in 20 mins amor. Can’t wait to see u 😚

You smiled at your phone, finishing off your makeup while trying not to hyper fixate on the size of your arms in the mirror. You finished your makeup, and now it was time to finish getting dressed, your least favorite part of the experience. You walked over to the long mirror and stared at yourself in the outfit. Everything was wrong. Your shoulders looked too wide and manly, especially when paired with your arms. You felt your stomach looked larger than you thought it was, with virtually no waist to be seen. You turned to the side, grimacing in disgust. Your legs were too short and stocky. You felt that your face looked too round from the side. Wrong wrong wrong. You felt tears building, and you tried to hold them back as to not ruin your makeup. You didn’t want Pablo to know you had regressed.

You had a lot of low points on this journey. When you first appeared in Pablo’s life, you heard a lot of girls say you weren’t a threat because of how you looked - that they could steal him from you. Just when you had gotten over this incident, you found yourself in a TikTok titled “footballers with fat girlfriends”. And now it seemed everyone was eager to find an opportunity to berate your body.

Pablo walked into the house and shut the door, listening for you. He wanted to surprise you with flowers, and so he peered around the living room looking for you. When he didn’t see you, he moved quietly towards the bedroom, opening the door.

“I hope you didn’t miss me too much while I was- amor what’s wrong?” He asked. He stood behind you, eyes meeting yours in the mirror. Your eyes were red from holding back tears, and once you saw the bouquet in his hands, the flood gates had opened. Tears were flowing freely down your face, taking your makeup and your dignity with them. Pablo threw the flowers on the bed behind him and rushed to you, holding you in his arms once again.

“Baby, what happened? What’s wrong?” He asked, concern and worry evident in his tone.

“It’s me. Im wrong.” You said quietly, tears still falling. He put one hand on each side of your face, cupping your cheeks and pressing his forehead to yours.

“Mi vida, don’t ever say that. You’ve been a blessing in my life since you entered it, and it hurts me more than anything to see you upset. What’s wrong?”

You looked at him in the eyes, seeing the pain and hurt and worry there. You didn’t want to be the cause of Pablo’s distress.

“It’s just… my body again. I know we’ve talked about this a lot but I’m just not happy with how I look. I never am. And when I get closer to accepting it I always have someone telling me I’m gross because I’m curvier. Even tonight I wanted to look good for you and I can’t even do that. By thighs and stomach are too big and stand out too much and I’m sorry that im never going to be pretty enough to deserve you.” You said, your last words coming out as barely a whisper as your tears began anew.

At that last line, Pablo felt something within him break. He was staring at the love of his life, watching her shake with sobs because she thought she wasn’t pretty enough for him. And for what? Not being a size 0? His chest was tight and breathing shallow. He wanted to help you in any way he could. He wanted to give you his eyes from his skull if it meant you could see yourself from his perspective just for a moment. He wanted to declare you the most gorgeous creature to ever grace the earth. He wanted to be beside you at all times, making sure to other man ever got the full pleasure of witnessing your beauty. He wanted you to love yourself the way he loved you.

“Mi Amor, Mi sol, Mi vida. You are perfect. Every since inch of you is the definition of perfection in my eyes. Since the moment I met you, I knew that I would never look at anyone the way that I wanted to look at you. There’s no other hand I want to hold. There’s no other eyes that I want to see. There’s no other lips I would rather kiss than yours. I want to trace every curve you have until I can sculpt you from memory. I want to kiss every inch of skin until you start to believe how much I worship every part of you. I don’t want a skinnier girl - I want you. You’re the love of my life. My soulmate. And I believe, truly, that every single inch of you was created just for me. You are everything I want and more than I deserve, and I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to convince you of that.”

You brought your hands up to rest on top of his as you looked him straight in the eyes. You could tell he meant every word. You were his godsend, his gift from heaven, and he would never question the perfection of the Lord’s creation. He thought every day how lucky he was to be the one receiving your love.

You pulled him in and captured his lips in a slow, soft kiss. Tears were still falling, but now they were tears of happiness. Tears of love. You pulled his bottom lip into your mouth, licking along it, and continuing to slowly kiss him as you wrapped your arms around his waist. Pablo’s hands remained on your face, and he pulled you in closer than you thought possible. The kiss deepened, and neither of you wanted to break it. You both wanted to stay in that little bubble, lips pressed together and hands warm.

Pablo eventually pulled away, going straight back to looking in your eyes as he tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear.

“You look absolutely breathtaking tonight.” You scoffed at this, rolling your eyes slightly.

“I’m being serious. That skirt, those legs, the color red on you… you look amazing.”

You kissed him once again, and then leaned your weight against his chest. You sniffled slightly, wiping wet mascara tears from your cheek.

“I’m sorry I made us miss dinner. And oh my God the flowers!” You said, bumping up to lit them in water. Pablo watched you scurry around, looking for vases and other things. You looked like you had been crying, but your eyes were softer now, and there was a smile playing on your lips.

“Don’t worry about it, amor. Your happiness is the most important thing to me.”

You walked back up to him, laying against him again as he turned on the TV in the bedroom. He looked down at you, catching a glimpse of lace from his top-down view.

“Amor, are you hiding something under that shirt?”

You looked up coyly through your lashes, blushing slightly and a smile on your lips. You stared undoing the buttons on your shirt.

“It was supposed to be for after dinner, but I think I’m going to retire it after today. It doesn’t look very good.”

You said this as you finished the last button, letting your shirt drop from your shoulders. Pablo took his bottom lip between his teeth, continuing to watch as you stood and removed the skirt as well. You stood before him, only covered by some thin fabric and lace.

“You’re right. It doesn’t look ‘very good’, it looks incredible.” He said, quiet and somewhat breathless. He beckoned you over and you crawled to him, situating yourself in his lap. He played with the hem on your breasts.

“You must have gotten this custom made, Amor. Who else has the body to look this good? Not one soul on this earth.”

You giggled to yourself and tried to hide your face in embarrassment. Pablo notices and started attacking your neck with kisses.

“Thank you, Pablo. I love you, you know that?” You said, sinking into the feeling of Pablo’s lips on you.

“I love you more. I’d do anything to see you smile.

~~~

A/N: hey guys! I got a couple requests to do something like this so I hope y’all liked it!! I said this in another post but I’m not a super curvy or plus size girl, and I don’t claim to me. I just would like to add some requested diversity in what the reader might look like. As always, I love reading feedback, so feel free to leave it in the comments or send it to my ask box. Love y’all ❤️‍🔥

#gavisuntiedboot #pablo gavi #gavi #gavi x reader #pablo gavi x reader #gavi x you #pablo gavi imagine #fc barca #gavi imagine #footballer imagine #pablo gavi fanfiction #gavi fic #gavi fluff #pablo gavi fanfic #pablo gavi fluff #gavi fanfic #gavi one shot #pablo gavi one shot #eating disoder trigger warning

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waffliesinyoface · 1 year

Text

the akatsuki, ranked by how good of a retail coworker they would be:

Deidara - 6/10. He is not here to work. He is here to go off on wild tangents, and does not give a shit about things like “a professional environment” or “caring about customers”. Bonus points because I could, with little effort, aim him at the more annoying customers and have him Be Himself at them, ensuring they never return. Loses points because I am very easily stressed out by a lot of customers, and he would not care. There is a line, deidara, please at least be slightly helpful. You can talk about Art all you want just get the next customer before we have to deal with the manager. Occasionally just does not show up to work, which is also. Very Stressful.

Sasori - 3/10. Much like Deidara, he also does not really care about this job. He will show up exactly on time and leave exactly on time, regardless of whether or not the person scheduled for the next shift is here. Loses many points because he does not care for coworker chit chat and he also does not do companionable silence well either. Would likely find my habit of coming into work 5 minutes late all the time very annoying. Customers aren’t even here yet, dude. Please stop glaring at me.

Itachi - 7/10. He will regularly show up and actually do his job efficiently and without complaint. Silence feels much less hostile, but also feels like he’s ignoring you. This is because he is, most likely, ignoring you. Has his own insane method of organizing the supplies that is “clearly the most efficient” (read: its the way he likes it, and he has convinced himself that everyone else is Wrong about the way they like things.) Can be made friendly (well. friendlier.) with the cunning application of a caramel mocha frappuccino with extra whipped cream and chocolate syrup.

Kisame - 10/10. He is very large and intimidating, but not in a mean way. The kind of coworker you could shoot the shit with. The only coworker on this list who, should someone else call in, you could reliably get to help cover the shift so it’s not just you behind the counter dear god. Notably, he’s not the only one on the list who would be willing to come in, but he’s the only one who is both willing and you would actively want him to come in. Given his introduction to Itachi being “I Hope You Like Shark Facts,” I feel like he would enjoy me spouting off random tangents I remember from college classes. I also feel like he would be willing to weaponize his intimidation skills on Problem Customers. Not like, customers who are just irritating, but specifically the kind of customer who follows girls to their cars after closing shift.

Pein - (Specifically, only Yahiko’s body. We do not need 5 more of him.) 5/10. Has political beliefs and is willing to share them. These political beliefs may or may not lean uncomfortably close to domestic terrorism at times. Very competent when at work and is possibly a department manager. Occasionally cannot be reached at all, and does not give excuses the next day. Whereas Deidara is simply playing hooky because he does not care, maybe you don’t want to know what Pein was doing yesterday. Plausible Deniability, and all that. You have absolutely no idea what his and Konan’s relationship actually is.

Konan - 4/10. She’s like Pein but her range of facial expressions does not begin and end with “Stoic glowering”. Is usually the first person in, and is in charge of ordering supplies and The Schedule. Somehow has perfect make up and hair despite showing up at 6am in the goddamn morning. Is willing to give you the day off if you inform her ahead of time. Unexplained absences will involve her having A Talk with you. You will not enjoy this. Not an actual manager with the power to fire you, but she has Expectations for things and you will do your very best to meet them, is that clear. If you Succeed in Performing to her and Pein’s Expectations™, she might ask you to do “small, non-work related favors” for her. Saying no very quickly stops becoming an option.

Tobi - 1/10. Points for occasionally being entertaining. Loses... so many points because working with him is an actual nightmare. You thought Deidara not actually working was bad, Tobi manages to invent new problems that you have to solve. He will “accidentally” start a fire if left unsupervised. Has somehow not been fired, despite everything. Displeasing Konan runs the risk of having to work the same shift as him. Tobi is willing and able to cover shifts whenever the need might arise. Even when you didn’t call him to ask. Usually, it’s because someone else (*cough* Deidara *cough*) decided to helpfully ask him to cover their shift for you. Tobi is helping! Tobi is not, by any stretch of the imagination, helping.

Hidan - 0/10. Pein and Konan may be slightly scary and probably secretly doing shady things together outside of work, and Tobi might be extremely annoying to work with, but Hidan has absolutely killed someone before. Possibly multiple people. Working alone with him is extremely uncomfortable, because he will talk at you at length. Disagreeing with him runs the risk of him getting shouty and possibly violent with you. Agreeing with him runs the risk of him deciding that he should talk to you more often. Neither of these is a good thing. Will steal your nametag and be ruder than usual to customers while wearing it.

Kakuzu - 4/10. Unpleasant to be around. Large and intimidating but absolutely in a mean way. He does not care if you slack off at work, provided it does not mean more work for him. Does not give a single shit about this job other than it being a paycheck. Will come in to help cover if someone else calls in, but only if you pay for his gas money. And lunch. And the minutes on his phone spent during this phone call. And also $20 just on principle. Will do a perfectly fine job otherwise. Actively checks job postings and possibly his stock portfolio while at work. Is willing to be a buffer against Hidan - not because you feel uncomfortable (unless you’re paying him to be a buffer), but because Hidan is annoying him.

Zetsu - 5/10. He’s... polite? Not very interesting to talk to, but not really uncomfortable to be around. Once gave you what you suspect was a slightly-weed laced brownie. Several months after you’ve left this horrible job, you see him on a news report, having been convicted of several murders. You are extremely glad that you no longer work there.

#naruto #i spent far too long on this

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bracketsoffear · 11 months

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Spiders-Man (Marvel) "He’s a collection of sentient spiders that are Peter Parker and took his identity. They are spiders, but they also manage to maintain the role of spiderman, keeping control over New York City, and probably terrorizing more than one person with the fact that they can disassemble themselves and crawl all over people."

Director Lee Harvey Oswald (The Department of Truth) "In The Department of Truth, the protagonist’s boss (and the director of the titular department) is a much older Lee Harvey Oswald, though it’s not explicitly known which version of him he is. As in, what story of the assassination is true? Is he the CIA stooge? The innocent patsy? The lone gunman? Our protagonist muses this question in the second issue and can only conclude: “He’s probably not the one killed by Jack Ruby.” And looking at the picture the comic paints of who he is now, he seems much more the type to spend his time in Howard Hunt’s circles than Kerry Thornley’s, if you know what I mean. He has become the image of the perfect Cold War-era fed with his browline glasses, dark suit, quips about a new generation gone soft, and an ever-present cigarette. And that’s because he always has been that. He joined the Department as an agent when he was 19, working to counter the Soviets and gain information on their country’s equivalent of the D.o.T. And we, the reader, do not know what happened on November day in Dallas, but neither does he, it seems. Kennedy stood against the Department and it was his job to take him out, but in that book depository, he saw the Scarlet Woman (see the Extinction poll) holding a sniper rifle, ready to tear apart the country’s sense of truth with a bullet. (Well, three.) But as the story of the assassination spread, so did the idea of Lee Harvey Oswald, the concept of the shadowy assassin that was seen on the front pages, the conflicting theories and paranoias made manifest. To quote Hawk Harrison (another character), “the living embodiment of every horrible thing people think the government is capable of, filled up into a man-shaped thing.”

And we don’t know which one was saved and which one was killed. And neither does he. He’s left contemplating whether or not he’s truly real or simply another fiction, but at the end of the day, it doesn’t matter. Reality is relative, he’s no less real than this country is. No matter how human he may or may not be, he might as well be American paranoia personified in function. He’s a man desperate to do whatever it takes to uphold the ideal of what America is supposed to be, that Shining City on a Hill; a man fighting in a war of propaganda and information and disinformation, a war of stories and ideas. To quote Indrid Cold, he’s simply a “dream this country is having.”

For a brief moment though, he tried to escape from what he is in the way so many privileged young people of the 1960s did: growing his hair out and running away to San Francisco in search of drugs, free love, and an answer to his problems and existential malaise. He found the first two, the last is debatable. He finds himself in bed with an unnamed woman with whom he shares his fears about his nonexistence, about the country's nonexistence, only to pull a gun on her when he realizes that she laced his blunt with LSD. ‘Who the hell are you, and who do you work for?’ He asks, pointing the weapon in her face. “Do you know who I am?” She simply answers: “You’re not going to hurt me. I’m just a pawn in a bigger game. A patsy.” She knows. Of course, she does, she’s Company, a CIA agent involved with MKULTA, the agency’s infamous failed attempt at brainwashing its own citizens. “Was it you?” he asks, “Did you pull the trigger?” She tells him that they’re not the ones in control, that “Everyone misses the real conspiracy, don’t they? We’re the little shadow puppets they control. We do what they tell us to do. Some very smart, very dumb people thought they could control what America was without getting blood on their hands. They thought they were storytellers. They thought they were selling Coca-Cola and Chevrolet and hot dogs. They wanted to tell America that “It’s a Wonderful Life,” and they wanted America to believe it. Isn’t that right, Lee? But it’s not a wonderful life. People know that. People don’t want to get along. They want to fuck and feel good and feel righteous. The Department of Truth is selling America its own version of The Truth. Telling everyone Why We Fight. Why We Buy. Why We Believe. But it’s not working, is it? You know it’s not working. You can see the cracks forming all around us. You can see the fracturing. The Counterculture… It’s such a perfect little weapon. These kids think they’re fighting against some big war in Asia, but they’re on the front lines right here in Haight-Ashbury. They eat the lotus flower and they see themselves as little gods, and see their desires as something larger than they are. They sing their little protest songs, but they’ll be voting Republican before their first grays come in. I’m just a pawn. A patsy. I feed the kids the drugs and my bosses tell me that it’s to wash their minds, to see if we can push them, control who they are and what they think. It’s not working… This whole MKULTRA thing… Not how the men in suits want it to work, but me and the kids on the ground, we’ve been seeing it. They do it all on their own. They brainwash themselves. They become rancid, and bloodthirsty, and we have to feed them the blood they want.” “I don’t understand,” asks Lee. “Who killed Kennedy?” “You’re so fucked up that you can’t even how funny that is…” she continues, “Is it my bosses in Langley? Eisenhower’s military-industrial complex? The big bad commie-hating war machine, not willing to back down in the fight against the hammer and sickle, even if means having to kill our best and brightest? Is it Queen J. Edgar Hoover and his black-suited goon squad terrified that the kids are going to rise up and shoot their parents in their sleep? Is it the Italian mob, and Hoffa, and all their mobsters and teamsters angry that they’re losing their foothold,” No, she says. “It’s the same as it was in ‘63. It wasn’t any of them. It was you. It was me. It was all those kids smoking reefer on the street and thinking about free love. You can’t just tell them that things are going to be better forever like your idiot bosses thought. The kids want to fight for themselves. They want to own it for themselves. You need to let them taste glory.”

Lee wakes up with a campaign button in his hand: “NIXON’S THE ONE!” The next time we see him, he’s meeting the new president in the oval office, once again wearing a suit with his hair cut short. He has become almost exactly what the unnamed agent described, with one major difference. He succeeds.

History is, of course, written by the victors, and facts can be rewritten by them as well. After his “death”, the previous Director (Frank Capra, director of It’s a Wonderful Life) put him in the Department’s archives to try and figure out who the Scarlet Woman was, only for him to use the research to find a new way of doing things, a way to shift reality through manipulating what people believe to be true on a large scale through media, and symbolic imagery, and simple lies that serve to reinforce what the public wants to believe about this country, and for that, Richard Nixon appointed him to the job we know him in, Director of the D.o.T. Director Capra was a naïve idealist who truly believed that the American Dream was not only real but could be achieved through hard work. Lee knows that the American Dream is a lie, but my god, he will do what it takes to make it real, no matter how underhanded the tactics. If you can control the narrative, you can control the Truth.

For most of his tenure, it was the height of the Cold War, there was a distinct enemy to push against. It was a conflict of countries, of ideologies, of two superpowers trying to keep their way of life at the expense of the other, and it was the U.S. that won out. There is another version of the 20th century, the one that was once real, where the founding ideals of the USSR were much closer to being realized within its border, it was something better than what it became, but the U.S. won the propaganda war and what was once simply a fact had become a hazy fiction that never happened. And so the victor rewrites history. And how does one become the victor? Through whatever means necessary, from fabricating events that later became real, to assassinations, to media manipulation, to the creation of the Satanic Panic itself, playing off paranoia and Christian nationalism to strengthen the idea that America is something that exists, that the American Dream is worth fighting for. (And of course, in the case of the latter, to deflect media attention from the whole Iran-Contra Deal.)

And what did this victory get him? A hell of a lot of guilt and a shattered, post-truth society that he’s left trying to clean up the pieces of. The Department is no longer fighting an ideological battle against an equally matched enemy, they’re floundering against the misinformation and conspiracies they once spread, desperately trying to keep reality from falling into the hands of far-right reactionaries using their own methods (and in Lee’s case, his own stories) to try and rewrite reality in their favor. The D.o.T. is rotten to its core, an organization founded to uphold American hegemony, but now, they’re the closest thing to the heroes of this story simply because the other side is so, so much worse. Like Pandora desperately trying to stuff the evils she released back into the box, they’re trying to contain the lies they wrought upon society.

The phrase “post-truth society” is often thrown around concerning the present political moment, but the comic posits that this isn’t new. There has never been a unified societal truth. But it sure as hell is worse now when any internet fascist can go and rant about whatever fucking bigoted conspiracy they stake their brand on and sway thousands to their side. And we need to fight that at all costs. But preserving the status quo is not the way; I mean, look where attempting to do that left us. No, there’s another way. And that’s coming clean about everything. No more secrets, no more attempts to shape the narrative towards your ideal, the public needs to know. (And that’s the power of government transparency and the Fourth Estate, babey!)

Finally, I leave you with this monologue: “I know you don’t trust me. I don’t care. I’ve done enough bad shit, and spent the last sixty years of my life lying through my teeth every goddamn day. I don’t need you to trust me. But I need to trust you to know that the ends justify the means. You’re sour over your star-faced man. Hawk told you that he stoked the fire there, tried to make it seem realer than it was. That we had a vested interest in people believing that Satan was lurking behind every corner. I was younger then. I was stepping boldly. I was trying to defend the dream of what America was supposed to be. Not let those Russian fucks dictate our future. I’ve done many things that haunt me, more than you can imagine.”

#web poll #the magnus archives #the web #poll #marvel #the department of truth

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imaginedreamwrite · 1 year

Note

Actor!Ransom x Pregnant!Reader

Ransom introducing reader to Harlan and the rest of the family finds out so they ruin it by showing up to Harlan’s house.

“Do you have plans for Thanksgiving?” Ransom cornered you before you left to visit your mom in Connecticut, trapping you against the counter in the kitchen.

“Why? Are you gone?” You we’re busy making tea, adding just the right amount of sugar and milk.

“I’m going to visit my granddad outside Boston.” Ransom had leaned against the counter, his arms crossed over his chest with his sweater bunching. “I want you to come with me.”

“Is that a request or a demand, diva Drysdale?” You had teased, thinking he was joking only for Ransom to cup your chin and make you look at him.

“Come with me, I want you to meet my grandad.” He spoke in a way that nixed any possible amusement, catching your breath in your throat.

“You’re serious…” you stilled stirring the spoon, your eyes held by his.

“Come with me.” Ransom spoke again, another soft demand.

“I don’t think this is a good idea, I should go.” Your opportunity to turn and run was squandered when Ransom steeled his arm around your shoulders to tuck you into his side.

“You would have to walk, I wouldn’t drive you.” He tightens his arm and holds your bags in his left hand, walking with you toward the door. “You wanna walk all the way back?”

“Yes, good idea. Exercise is good for pregnant-“

“Don’t,” Ransom drew himself away to whisper an idle threat, “make me spank you.”

“Ransom you wouldn’t.” The door opened and a blast of warm air hit you, and a woman approximately your age, came to the door.

“Ransom, you’re early.” There was a soft accent to her voice, her brown eyes bright yet confused. “Why are you early?”

“Ya see the snow outside? Its getting worse.” He stomped his boots on the mat and stepped inside, helping you in.

“Don’t be an ass, its not flattering.” You scolded him, lightly smacking his chest.

“Marta, this is Y/N.” Ransom shrugged his coat off before offering to take yours, the bags still set by the front door. “Marta is grandad’s nurse.”

“Its nice to meet you.” Your voice was quiet as you took in the sight of the house, the old architecture and muted colours were comforting, cozy.

“You too,” Marta’s eyebrows had become furrowed, but regardless she took to the stairs and called up, “Harlan, Ransom’s here!”

“Your family isn’t coming?” You questioned Ransom, shivering when he dusted his hands across your cheeks to remove the scarf around your neck.

“I fucking hope not.” He scowled, tossing the scarf with the rest of your coats. “Why do you think I spend so much time in Hollywood and NYC? They’re terrors.”

“Ransom,” Harlan’s voice drifted from the top of the stairs, his soft blue eyes taking in the sight of you two, “and…”

“Grandad, this is Y/N.” Ransom stood close, impossibly close, and instinctively rest a hand on your baby bump.

“Its nice to meet you.” You spoke softly, nervously shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “Ransom talks highly about you.”

“He talks about you as well.” Harlan stood before you and Ransom, first looking at him and then you. “How far along are you?”

“About five months.” Your nervousness bled through, and you hiccuped softly.

“Five months,” Harlan hummed, glancing at Ransom again, “Ransom talks a lot about you.”

“Harlan, your meds are ready in the kitchen.” Marta interrupted the moment, stealing Harlan away.

“You talk about me?” Your head whipped around, your eyes growing wider ever so slightly when the faintest blush crossed his cheek.

“Overextending,” Ransom rolled his eyes and departed your side, taking the path that led to the kitchen, “barely mentioned you.”

“That’s okay,” you bit back your smile, “I’m not a very interesting topic.”

You hid your laugh, tried to hide the grin that wanted to crack, all because Ransom had cast you a dirty look and pursed his lips.

“Ya want some cookies or not?” He finally questioned, waving a pack in his hands.

“I love Biscoff.” You went to reach for one of the cookies, only for Ransom to pull them away and hold one out for you to nibble on.

“Big baby-“

“-you hand fed me.” You nudged him, smiling softly.

#actor!ransom drysdale imagine #actor!ransom drysdale imagines #actor!ransom drysdale x reader smut #actor!ransom drysdale x reader fluff #actor!ransom drysdale x reader angst #actor!ransom drysdale x reader #actor!ransom drysdale x pregnant!reader #actor!au

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the-garbanzo-annex-jr · 2 months

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by Sean Durns

The United States has given copious security assistance to the Lebanese Armed Forces (LAF). In September 2022, the U.S. State Department called the aid “a key component of U.S. Lebanon policy” that “strengthens Lebanon’s sovereignty, secures its borders, counters internal threats and disrupts terrorist facilitation.” This, of course, is an absurdity. The precise opposite is true.

As Tony Badran, a Tablet magazine columnist and longtime analyst of Lebanese affairs observed, “Hezbollah, in fact, is Lebanon.” The terrorist group controls the Levantine state’s borders and ports of entry. Michel Aoun, the last president of Lebanon and commander-in-chief of its armed forces, has declared that Hezbollah’s growing arsenal “is not in contradiction with the state.” As the saying goes: who holds the gun holds the power. And in Lebanon, Hezbollah wields both.

In August 2021, a senior U.S. State Department official testified that the U.S. funded, trained and equipped the LAF to ensure that “they serve as an institutional counterweight to Hezbollah.” But as counterterrorist analyst David Kilcullen noted in a 2022 FDD monograph, an examination of the LAF’s performance since 2006 finds that the period of enhanced U.S. security assistance coincides with “a significant increase in Hezbollah’s influence.” Kilcullen argues that “crisis driven thinking” has dominated U.S. strategy toward Lebanon. It is also fair to lay the charge of naiveté. Washington may have bankrolled the LAF in the hopes that it will serve as a counterweight, but the nation’s armed forces have even colluded with the terror group.

As one Israeli official told the Times of Israel in 2018: “We see them working together, traveling in the same jeeps. Sometimes we see Hezbollah soldiers in LAF vests.” There are numerous other reports of Lebanon’s armed forces assisting Hezbollah. The LAF, it seems, is taking America for a ride.

Indeed, Lebanon has utterly and completely failed to enforce U.N. Security Council resolutions that remain the basis for U.S. and international support.

After the 2006 War between Israel and Hezbollah, the U.N. Security Council adopted Resolution 1701 which ordered that the area south of the Litani River be made “free of any armed personnel, assets, and weapons other than those of the Government of Lebanon and [and the UN Interim Force in Lebanon, or UNFIL]. But this manifestly has not happened.

Instead, as the ret. Israeli Gen. Assaf Orion noted in a January 2024 report for the Washington Institute for Near East Policy, Hezbollah has spent the intervening years building up its capabilities and flagrantly violating the resolution. In fact, Hezbollah’s very existence in Lebanon also violates UN Security Resolution 1559 which, like 1701, calls for Hezbollah to be disarmed.

Washington, however, has failed to recognize these realities. The U.S., France, and others have recently floated plans that would rely on the LAF and UNFIL to take a greater role in southern Lebanon. Yet more of the same is not the answer. The United States must acknowledge reality: its Lebanon policy is failing. And the dire consequences are coming into view.

#lebanese armed forces #hezbollah #lebanon #washington #the united states

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eretzyisrael · 7 months

Text

by Dion J. Pierre

Adrian Mysliwiec, a pro-Hamas protestor, was charged by the New York City Police Department (NYPD) with petit larceny and harassment for walking up to a Jewish student and snatching his Israeli flag. Photo: Gideon Maskowitz.

A pro-Israel City University of New York (CUNY) Hunter College student was a victim of petit larceny — taking or withholding property from its owner — and harassment while counter-protesting a pro-Hamas demonstration near the campus, according to details of the incident released by the New York City Police Department (NYPD).

On Thursday, Hunter College student Gideon Askowitz was standing in a section reserved for pro-Israel counter-protestors near Lexington Avenue when Adrian Mysliwiec walked over from a pro-Hamas section and snatched his Israeli flag.

“The suspect then proceeded to walk away with the flag,” an NYPD spokesperson said in a statement shared with The Algemeiner. “There were no injuries reported to the police. The suspect was taken into custody without incident.”

Askowitz told The Algemeiner on Friday that he is grateful that NYPD officers standing by immediately intervened and apprehended Mysliwiec. Jewish students, he added, spent all of Thursday dismayed by the outpouring of support CUNY students expressed for the atrocities Hamas terrorists committed during an invasion of Israel’s southern border on Saturday.

“People were clearly very scared and very emotional,” Askowitz said. “Two or three were crying.”

His Israeli flag continued to draw attention after he went back to school to walk a friend to class, he added, saying, “Someone was like, ‘Yo, what flag is that?'”

The CUNY consortium of colleges has been a hotbed of support for Hamas and other extreme pro-Palestinian ideologies.

On Saturday, amid the circulation of footage showing gruesome acts of violence committed by Hamas terrorists against Israeli civilians, CUNY) Law School’s Jewish Law Students Association (JLSA) shared a tweet containing instructions for making Molotov cocktails while appearing to defend Hamas’ terror campaign.

“Soak a cloak in flammable liquid … resoak [sic] the exposed wick and light it,” the text read. “Target a hard surface, such as an engine grill. Repeat until the invading occupiers retreat.”

JLSA also declared solidarity with Hamas on Saturday, tweeting, “We stand in unwavering solidarity with the Palestinian people in their righteous and determined struggle against murderous settler colonialism and apartheid! Palestine will be free!”

Wednesday’s incident at CUNY isn’t the only act of intimidation that Jewish students have experienced on college campuses in the aftermath of Hamas’s surprise terror attack.

At Drexel University, an unknown individual set on fire the door of the residence of a Jewish student whose pro-Israel beliefs are widely known. An arson and hate crimes investigation is ongoing.

“Unfortunately, we were made aware of a distressing situation that included destruction inside of one our residence halls,” the university said in a statement on Tuesday. “We are investigating to determine if bias, discrimination, or hate, which we do not tolerate at Drexel, was the motivation behind this incident.”

#cuny #jewish law students association #adrian misliwiac

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tinyozlion · 10 months

Text

TinyOZlion's GW Episode Guide for People Who Aren't Gundam People: Episode 01 - “The Shooting Star She Saw”

ᕕ( ᐛ)ᕗ OH boy oh BOY! It's time for PGW's first episode analysis! Let’s get started!

First let me pop in my 20 year old VHS tapes! ...Wait, I can’t. I don’t have a VCR player anymore, huh. Well, okay, let me just pop in these 20 year old DVDs! ...Nope, I can’t, computers stopped having disc drives in them. So... I guess. Uh.

Okay. Listen. Hear me out: I’ve bought this entire series on TWO redundant formats already. I’ve bought every manga. I’ve bought posters. I’ve bought model kits, I’ve bought figurines, I’ve bought toys.

I HAVE PAID MY DUES TO YOU, BANDAI! NO MORE!!

–80 minutes and 2 seeders later–

Wow, so this is the Blu-Ray edition huh? Let’s check it out, how different could it bbbvvhOLY SHIT

It’s so…… crisp.

This feels intimate. I shouldn’t be seeing the Gundams like this. They’re… they’re so… clean. I don’t recognize any of these people without the artifacting, the scan lines, the VHS blur.

I can see all the cel jitter??

No… NO! This is wrong. This is DISRESPECTFUL.

God never intended 90’s anime to be viewed at 1080p! It wasn’t DRAWN in 1080p!

And yet… the color quality… that seductive line definition …

Fine, The Crispness, you win. I’ll watch my anime in high definition, but I WILL NEVER FORGET MY ROOTS!!!!!!

...Actually fuck that, this is gorgeous and I’m never going back. If I ever have a few hundred bucks burning a hole in my pocket I guess I’ll just buy it AGAIN. To be responsible.

OKAY. Now we can start.

Note!: While this Episode Analysis is sort of 1/2 walkthrough for new viewers and 1/2 refresher + commentary for returning Wing fans, what it ISN'T intended to be is a full episode summary (for really good episode summaries, you can go here!) However, I am going to be going over this particular episode with a fine tooth comb, because episode 01 is by far the worst offender of the series. It’s got it all: bizarrely worded dialogue, mistranslations, delivering a bunch of new information to us by taking it out of the fridge and pouring it directly down the back of our shirts... Later in the series I will be grouping episodes together to cover more ground, but this one is a doozy, so it’s getting its own solo entry. Get ready: The pacing of this first episode is BONKERS. Things are going to move very fast, and a lot of new concepts are going to be dropped in quick succession.

*Ahem*

With high expectations human beings leave earth to begin a new life in Space Colonies. HOWEVER– (the way Optimus-Narrator says “However” lives in my brain as a permanent sound bite) the United Earth Sphere Alliance gains great military powers, and soon seizes control of one colony after another– in the name of “justice” and “peace”. The year is After Colony 195– Operation Meteor: in a move to counter the Alliance’s tyranny, rebel citizens of certain colonies scheme to bring new arsenals to the Earth, disguising them as shooting stars. HOWEVER– the Alliance headquarters catches on to this operation...

This intro is actually very succinct, clear, and to the point– IF you already know what to expect from this genre. (In my section on the history of Gundam in Japan and North America, I talked about how Wing's opening exposition was written based on the assumption that everybody watching would already be familiar with the basics of the Gundam franchise, so all that needed to be explained for Wing was what was departing from the original.)

--The main takeaway from the exposition is that A) There are Space Colonies, B) The earth is oppressing them via its military, using big robots to terrorize the small squishy people living in the space hamster wheels; and C) during something called “Operation Meteor”, an unspecified resistance group from the colonies sent secret weapons to earth.

Earth Big Military Bad, Space Colonies Oppressed, Space Colonies Send Five Mystery Weapons To Earth To Do Something About It. Okay we’re all caught up.

--Oh, what are the big robots? They haven’t been introduced yet– presumably because every single person watching this Gundam show already knows what Mobile Suits are, and knows that a Gundam is a big, special Mobile Suit, right? Unless you’re me, and nine years old, and watching it for the first time in America in the year 2000 AD. So just in case you're me from then and I'm me from now, let me clarify: the big robots are called “Mobile Suits” and this is a show about them. They aren’t Transformers, they need a person inside to make them go.

Let’s meet some of them, shall we?

--In this really very pretty opening sequence, we are shown the five mysterious capsules shooting down to the big blue marble that is earth. Fun science note: compare these to the Apollo command modules, and other vehicles designed for reentry!

--We cut to an Alliance surveillance satellite. The crew has picked up the Secret Colony Weapon Gashapons on their radar, but have no idea what they are. It’s probably just space debris, but just in case it’s Something Bad, they decide to let the closest available military person know about it, so someone with guns can deal with it.

--It is indeed Something Bad, and the military person they tell about it already KNOWS it’s bad, because he’s a main character and his name is Zechs Merquise. He’s the handsome fellow wearing a strange helmet/mask.

He is immediately dismissive of the Alliance satellite crew, because to him it’s obvious that space debris wouldn’t “ride the wave course to earth”. I have tried my best to identify what a “wave course” is, to no avail. I’m assuming that here it means a standard or safe path for reentry vehicles to take.

(EDIT: It turns out "wave riding" is a thing from Zeta Gundam! It is indeed a procedure mobile suits use to "surf" with a heat-shielded device for safe atmospheric reentry! Now we know!)

--As alluded to by the Narrator, the Alliance (or at least, this particular and very significant group of people currently associated with the Alliance) does in fact know something about Operation Meteor (or “M”). They being to close the gap on the one capsule out of five that they can catch up with.

–And here’s our first round of confusing dialogue! Goodie!:

Zechs: “One would do just dandy. A hired front line soldier mustn’t rush to battle.” Soft-Spoken Zechs Groupie Who Doesn’t Get A Name So I Will Call Him “Milo”: “That’s quite the bold statement, sir.” Zechs, chuckling: “I told you. I am a True Soldier.”

–Now, what the fuck does any of that entail. Allow me to explain:

Firstly: Zechs indicates that catching up with only one capsule is fine (or “dandy”), because Zechs suspects this encounter will lead to combat of some sort, so even if it WAS possible to catch up with more than one capsule, it would be risky to engage multiple targets of unknown abilities. “A hired soldier” would be especially unwise to do so, because they’re not fighting for anything particularly meaningful– they’re just there to do a job, and why be in a hurry to die for your salary?

--This is our first introduction to Zech’s ethos on fighting and what it means to be a soldier, or “True Soldier”. This is also our first introduction to one of Gundam Wing’s Big Important Vocabulary Terms! Which you can find explained in detail in the Dictionary Section.

Unfortunately for us, “Soldier” and “True Soldier” will sometimes be used interchangeably, but they mean very different things.

Zechs is a man deeply concerned with chivalry, honor, and purpose– the morality and aesthetics of combat. A “soldier” might be someone paid to fight, enlisted with no particular goals, or deployed on a mission that doesn’t involve them– but a “TRUE Soldier” is someone fighting to prove something, to advance their goals, to test their own limits in battle with a worthy opponent, to discover something about themselves in the process of fighting.

Soldier-I’ve-Named-Milo gives him a Look™ and says “that’s bold of you sir” because Zechs is most certainly not a hired soldier-- as we'll soon learn, he's OZ's ace pilot (more on OZ later), known for his exceptionally fast reflexes and high speed MS combat, which has earned him the moniker "Lighting Count". So while he isn't actually the type to jump into things before understanding what’s going on-- unlike some other people we're about to meet in this episode-- not rushing in combat isn't really what he's famous for.

Also, he’s being kind of a prick! Calling everyone else hired guns and then doubling down by reminding them that HE is a True Soldier?? Yikes!

...Or at least, that’s how the scene reads in English.

First-Episode-Zechs is really laying it on thick for us. And if you’ll take a quick peek behind the curtain with me: Zechs isn’t written this way past this episode. Or really, past this HALF of the episode.

But, if one is looking for an in-character explanation for this dialogue as it stands, it’s possible that First-Episode-Zechs is a glimpse into what a cocksure ace pilot raised on Treize’s idealism (more on that later) is like, right at the peak of his so-far spotless career, and in the last moments he’ll be able to afford this kind of unbridled arrogance before the world conspires to humble him.

Honestly, that would be in keeping with the way ALL the characters are depicted in these early episodes: each naive or overconfident in their own way, not yet having been forced to challenge their ideals.

–But! this might also just be one of many localization fumbles. A fan translation of this scene indicates that what Zechs might actually be trying to say here is more like:

“No need to chase after more work than we signed up for, we’re all just grunts on the front lines together after all”

and Soldier-I’ve-Named-Milo is therefore responding to him more like:

“That’s a bit cheeky of you to say, Mr. Best-Friends-With-The-Colonel Ace Pilot The Lighting Count Merquise.”

(...I’ve lamented this before but it’s DAMN HARD to find alternate translations of GW's script, and I'm limited by being a feeble monolingual English speaker. If you’re reading this and have more expertise than I do on this matter and want to share your insights / sources, please know that I'd sign over my soul to see them.)

–On a side note, I love how super crunchy Zechs’ voice is in this first episode. As one astute comment I read once suggested: you can tell Brian Drummond was coming down from playing Vegeta. He still had some of that ol’ Saiyan phlegm in him.

– And now for a brief interlude from our scifi high-politicking to witness some relatable familial drama!

I appreciate this contrast! The important takeaway from this scene is that Relena is the daughter of Vice Foreign Minister Darlian, an important dignitary who mediates between the Earth Sphere Alliance and the Space Colonies. They’re on their way home from one of his frequent business trips to space.

A vague spoiler, but I find it bittersweet how Zechs is unaware that Relena is on the shuttle about to be caught in the crossfire, and by showing up, he is saving her life.

OMG IT’S HAPPENING. IT’S HERE. IT’S TIME TO TALK ABOUT THE “BATTLE SEED”:

Zechs: “So that’s their little battle seed, all ready to sprout into new battles.” Soldier-I’ve-Named-Milo: “Ha. Operation M.”

--I get the feeling that Milo is used to Zechs-isms by now and is just like “Oh lieutenant, you kidder,” whenever he says some wild allegorical shit he just made up.

Anyway, here’s the thing about “battle seed”– this is obviously an idiom that we've done poor service to. But in the original, it’s apparently “Battle EGG”, or perhaps, “EGG OF WAR”. Does that help? No? Well that’s all I’ve got for you. Sorry.

Soldier-I’ve-Named-Milo: “It moves just like a bird…”

Aw, Soldier-I’ve-Named-Milo, you’re so cute when you talk about the enemy death machine. Of course it moves like a bird, it hatched out of a Battle Egg!

Soldier-I’ve-Named-Milo: “Let’s wake him up with our machine gun!” Zechs: “No. No machine gun for him– Shoot him down!” Otto: “But, Lt. Zechs…!” Zechs: “We were told the purpose of this operation was to bring in the weapon, but it’s not the weapon, (the real target) is the fighter pilot inside!”

Now, I know “don’t shoot him with the gun, shoot him DOWN with the gun” sounds stupid, but really he’s just saying “No warning shots.”

Whatever kind of new technology they’re up against, strafing it with a machine gun would be like hitting it with spitballs. What they need to do is get the enemy craft out of the air and capture the pilot, and the carrier ship’s machine guns just aren’t going to cut it. --Which is why Zechs is about to hop out and try and fuck it up with a Mobile Suit.

Fucking things up with a Mobile Suit is what Zechses like best.

--It is worth noting that Zechs immediately clocked the pilot as the most dangerous and valuable part of the enemy operation (because of course! Pilots are warriors, and warriors have honor, and a warrior’s honor is proof of humanity’s worth). Mind you, this is moments BEFORE they see the actual Gundam, but nevertheless, this is a significant value statement that will be important throughout the series: It’s the people that matter. It’s always the people that matter. The weapons are secondary. Even if superior technology grants someone an edge in battle, a weak person behind the controls will always betray themselves.

This is partly why Zechs doesn’t use the Aries MS that’s designed for flight, despite this being aerial combat; he goes in his preferred Leo suit, which is your bog-standard humanoid canon fodder Mobile Suit used as ground troops. This seems like a suboptimal choice, but Zechs lives by the idea that a good pilot can overcome the limitations of their machine.

And this is put to the test literally the instant he drops.

–The unfortunate aspect of this scene happening in Episode 01 is that the viewer will have no context yet for exactly how absolutely, impossibly, ludicrously impressive this stunt is. Zechs not only isn’t dead after this, but he manages to fuck up a Gundam using a Leo, which is testament to exactly how much of badass this guy is.

Oh hey speaking of which check it out, it’s a Gundam.

–Two of Zech’s backup squad are instantly blown away in one shot from the Wing Gundam. This is barely commented on, and I think that’s one of the bigger mistakes of this episode. Those two guys aren’t named, and Zechs’ only remark is that it's "not too shabby" / "unbelievable". Considering how much the death of his subordinates weighs on him later, this seems remarkably flippant.

Soldier-I’ve-Named-Milo: “Are you alright?” Zechs: “Yeah. Sorry to worry you. I did everything I could.”

See? That’s the kind of rapport Zechs and his subordinates usually have; they keep it professional, but the people who work with Zechs respect him immensely, and as their officer he tries to do right by them.

Zechs: “There’s no bright future for soldiers scurrying for their reward.”

This is a fancy-pants way of expressing disdain for the Alliance sailors who weren’t involved in the fight, but were more than happy to claim the spoils. In the fan translation of this episode he literally says “tell them the treasure sunk at these coordinates”. To him, these are just pirates after loot, not True Soldiers.

___

We just talked about Zechs for a long time. Now let’s talk about Heero Yuy.

Unfortunately for our first Gundam pilot, he took a long, precarious, silent shuttle ride all the way to earth only to be discovered immediately by the Alliance military. He fails to shoot down the civilian carrier that's seen him, and then he fails to shoot down the OZ mobile suit carrier ("Wait" I hear you say, "OZ mobile suit carrier? What's OZ? Aren't Zechs & co. from the Alliance?" Aha! Sharp-eared listener, you miss nothing! Have no fear, we will discuss OZ shortly).

Heero barely has time to dry out the wings of his Wing Gundam before he’s blindsided by OZ’s ace pilot and crashing his infinitely valuable Mobile Suit into the ocean. He makes it out alive by the skin of his teeth.

Not a great first day on the job for our boy Heero! Bad luck meeting Zechs Merquise first thing upon entering earth’s orbit.

But a surprise encounter with OZ's top pilot notwithstanding, this... probably could have gone better, right? Why would our first introduced Gundam pilot be so cavalier about crashing and burning the second he makes it to his destination? Why would he recklessly reveal his Gundam and pick a fight on a stealth mission? And what’s with this giddy energy he’s got after making a fresh kill? Heero isn't exactly a cheerful guy; he only seems to laugh when he's exhilarated about having gotten away with something. This is one of those times, and it is his very most unhinged cackle. Finally, he gets to DO something. Feels good. Feels right.

...It’s almost like this boy has zero sense of self preservation and no investment in his future; shooting down enemies for him is a game with no stakes.

–For the returning Wing viewer: if you're familiar the gist of Operation Meteor, remember that it would have been slated to happen directly before the series started; that’s when all the Gundam pilots (at the urging of their Doctors) independently decided to steal their Gundams and ignore the original premise. So Heero just recently made off like a bandit with the Wing Gundam. He stole that motherfucker right out the display case. His primary objective at the moment isn't primarily to take down OZ and the Alliance (though that's obviously the long-term goal), it's to make sure the Barton Foundation DOESN’T get the Gundam. So really, getting shot down immediately upon arriving on earth isn't the worst thing that could happen. Heero smiles when he finally sees the earth because it means maybe this will be over soon. Mission accomplished. Now all he has to do is die! :)

___

Relena Darlain’s father is a very important, very busy man who never has any time to spare for his daughter, even on her birthday, and in this telenovela of her own life, she’s going to graciously pretend like this doesn’t bother her and make her strong, independent, teenage girl way home on foot, narrating her predicament out loud along the way. She’s the main character, after all, the center of the world. Her troubles are the only troubles that are real.

*Record scratch*

Lying there on the beach is someone who is actually in trouble. She’s the only one here. She HAS to help.

___

–Alright, okay. I see what you did there, Wing.

--The gentleman in Napoleonic cosplay is Treize Khushrenada. He is a Major General (for now) in the Alliance military (for now), and his eyebrows are so big because they are full of secrets.

He and Zechs are best buddies forever and ever, they have matching charm bracelets, and they can finish each other's sandwiches. Whenever these two are on screen together I am going to have to decipher every. single. word. because Treize and Zechs are ALREADY cryptic bastards, and when they're together they talk in friend-speak where only half of what they're communicating actually gets said.

Just this once, as a treat, they are having a fairly intelligible conversation. First one's free.

...But really Treize, taking a call DURING the performance? Bad form old chap, bad form.

SIDE NOTE: Based on the teeny tiny figures, this could maybe be Petrushka? And I desperately want this to be Petrushka because:

It means Treize has good taste

Petrushkranada

–To put this conversation in perspective: Gundanium is a very sophisticated type of semi-metallic ceramic-like compound that can only be refined correctly in outer space. Think of it as something you’d have to spend all your faculty funding on to buy a gram of for your science department. Suddenly, someone rolls up with a six-story building made out of the stuff. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me” is the only appropriate response.

Treize: "Something like this never would have happened if you and I had been in OZ 15 years ago; that much is for certain."

--If I may humbly direct your attention to my Policy of Ignoring Stupid Shit, this one of the many reasons why we are going to glance at Zechs and Treize's canonical ages, do the math, realize that 15 years ago, Treize and Zechs would have been 9 and 4 years old respectively, and then we are going to gently slide those numbers into the garbage and crank them both up to a respectable adult age in our minds.

--OH RIGHT! OZ!! Remember, we were going to talk about OZ? Well, Treize is going to tell us about it here in a minute, I'm going to tell you about it now, because we need to know what OZ is in brief before we can make sense of this exchange:

OZ is a secret paramilitary organization hiding inside the official Earth Sphere Alliance military. As an organization, it's responsible for a great deal of clandestine political skullduggery and foul play that has left the Colonies and Earth in a state of easily-manipulated perpetual turmoil. OZ has been around for a while-- that's because its even MORE clandestine and sinister parent organization is even older. In its current incarnation, OZ is hiding out inside the elite mobile suit division called the "Specials", which Treize commands. In addition to being the Special's commander, he personally trained many of its top members when he was serving as an instructor at the Lake Victoria Military Academy. Zechs, and a number of other important characters we'll meet, all graduated from this academy under Treize's tutelage, and now serve him as elite mobile suit pilots in the Specials. Which is OZ. Which is the even more shadowy and sinister organization beneath that. It's a turducken of villainy.

What makes the Specials / OZ noteworthy in the ranks of the Alliance is that they are given free reign to act on their own initiative in combat. They don't answer to the Alliance military, they answer to Treize. This pisses a significant number of significant people off.

Treize pisses a significant number of significant people off. He's under the age of 65, which makes him an infant in the ranks of the brass. He's got elusive, powerful aristocratic backing that makes him untouchable. His followers are fanatically, and I mean FANATICALLY loyal to him. And he has the absolute chutzpah to be really good at everything he does. GOD he's the worst. His eyebrows are insured for $10,000.

--When Treize is lamenting that he and Zechs weren't in OZ fifteen years ago, he is referring to a very, very important sequence of events that began around AC 180 (give or take, if you're following my advice about stretching the timeline); events that brought the Earth and the Colonies within an arm's reach of unification and peace, only to be catastrophically and violently ripped apart, to the detriment of both.

(This is a very important date for Zechs, in particular. It's a very important date for the Gundams as well.)

Treize is making the point that if he and Zechs had been in charge back in the day, well, all this revolutionary sentiment wouldn't be necessary. We would have handled that mess far more sensibly, wouldn't we, Bestie?

-- Zechs has already absorbed this subtext and skips ahead to say "Gundams are on earth." Emphasizing that yes, shit really is popping off. The thing we heard scary bedtime stories about is real and it's happening and we get to be the ones to deal with it. Exciting times we're living in.

Treize: "I'm sure you're aware, but this is an important period. Do not do anything to anger the Alliance." Zechs, smirking: "I fully understand."

The Gundams aren't the only scary thing under the Alliance's bed. Lots of volatile elements are about to collide, all at once, very soon. Treize is just giving Zechs a wink and a nudge-- hey, I know you already know that big things are afoot, I trust you not to rock the boat too early.

--Oh! For the record, OZ stands for Organization of the Zodiac. You may have noticed that the two standard Mobile Suits we've been introduced to so far were called "Aries" and "Leo". OZ is inseparable from the history of Mobile Suit development, and all of its MS are therefore constellation-themed. ...But it's also just straight up a reference to "The Wizard of OZ", because OZ's signature mascot is--

--A LIIIIOOON!!!

...Yes! Thank you Tinylion, now we know why you're here. Back in your teapot now, sweetie. There you go.

--It's a lion, and the insignia for the OZ space corps is the Tin Man. The series lead scriptwriter Sumisawa loves him a book & film reference, you will find them all over Wing.

___

–Gosh, Treize is so SASSY in this episode. Look at this delinquent, showing up late for War Class because he was at a concert and on the phone with his boyfriend. Here he is giving lip to his supervisors, answering questions with totally undisguised disdain. He can’t keep getting away with it. He’s a naughty, naughty boy. Someone should teach him a lesson.

–God yes, General Septem. Fuck yes. The best worst voice acting in the show. Iconic. Immortal. Powerful. Showstopping. Brave. Go off, Nappa.

-VALUABLE KHAMBET RESAWRSEZ

–Treize is sitting at the war table like a fox in a chicken coop, biding his time and thinking: “I don’t owe these complacent, arrogant fools answers for anything. They haven’t left their desks in decades. They’ve never seen the cost of human life first hand. In the depths of their ignorance they think they’re the ones who can steer the course of the future. Hilarious. Thank god for Me.”

MEANWHILE: Relena is still on the beach trying to figure out what to do with this sick feral cat she found.

The TNR crew finally shows up with a kitty crate but the cat wakes up and tries to chew its own head off in self-defense. Having failed to die, it bites everyone, hijacks their car, and gets the fuck out of Dodge.

“Ma’am have you had all your shots?”

Relena is not listening. Relena is introducing herself to the Heero-shaped dust cloud that’s still lingering in the air, because what the fuck else are you gonna do.

Oh hey look it’s more Gundams!

The Gashapons of War have touched down in different parts of the world and set to work wreaking havoc immediately.

Unbeknownst to the Alliance or OZ, any appearance of coordination between the Gundams is an accident– none of them have any idea there are other Gundams besides their own.

They’re all in the same position as Heero: they refused the original premise of Operation Meteor and now they’re on borrowed time fighting whatever enemies come up on their radar. Each of them thinks they’re in this alone (except for Quatre, who has groupies).

However, just because the pilots aren’t coordinated doesn’t mean the mysterious people giving them orders are. But we'll learn more about that later.

--- Let's meet the rest of the Gundam boys!

–Duo: LEEEEROOOOY JENKINS we only get old memes in the colonies –Trowa: New phone, new name, new Gundam, who may I ask is calling –Wufei: Stealth missions are for casuals who can’t fight their way out of impossible odds. Skill issue. –Quatre: I am literally begging you to not fuck around so I don’t have to make you find out.

Speaking of Quatre: Hey! If this were a different series with a mature audience rating, this scene would be unmentionably gruesome!

___

-Awww, Soldier-I’ve-Named-Milo is bad at math! He’s just like me for real. Anyway, there are (4 + 1 = 5)....Five. Five Gundams total.

-Zechs correctly makes the assessment that the game has just changed, and it’s about to get extremely serious very quickly.

___

And now, the moment we’ve all been waiting for:

Spicy feral kitten arrives at Relena’s school. Relena is more confused than ever, but now this is officially a Mystery. She likes mysteries. She likes Mystery Boy. He’s the perfect foil for her, the main character, in this YA novel that she is the protagonist of.

Feral Mystery Boy suddenly makes it 100% publicly clear that he has no interest in playing nice, or in playing at all. Mystery Boy leans in real close, and says a thing that you might hear from, say, a guy in a black suit you accidentally witnessed murdering someone in a back alley, who then followed you to school.

The telenovela of Relena’s life is hitting its mid-season dark plot-twist, and

She.

Loving.

It.

Tune in next week for Episodes 2 - 3!

~TinyOzLion, out.

#Parsing Post #Gundam Wing #Gundam Wing Meta #Gundam Meta #Gundam Wing Episode Guide #Episode Analysis #tinyozlion pgw

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