Nemesis {Pt.1 & 2}
“Get out”
He mouthed, back faced towards you and his head subtly tilted just enough to the right, granting you the opportunity to glimpse at his side profile.
Ghost was handsome, there was no denying it. But you’d deny it anyway since the rivalry made it impossible to keep things real.
You quietly pulled the door shut, as if what you had just witnessed was foreboden. Instead of nagging him, you just left.
The locker room wasn’t his private space to begin with. And it happened to be a coincidence that you walked in just as he took off his balaclava.
There was no reason for you two to hate each other, not in the slightest. However, it was crucial. The silent competitions over everything were feeding your hate towards one another.
Though that is what you believed was the case.
Perhaps it was envy, masked by loathing, that willed you to become a better soldier, there’s that.
Giving and receiving death glares and eye rolls from Ghost had become a habit and a daily routine. Debating over the most insignificant things in a foul manner as well. He would always either leave or have the most unpleasant look on his face when you entered the room.
He absolutely despised you.
Disagreeing with your opinions about practically everything.
And you didn’t let his words fall on deaf ears. Both of your rock-hard heads refused to let the other have the last word.
Seeing his face was the last kind of interaction you expected to have. That day, his image haunted you relentlessly.
And the following day, both of you chose silence as your refuge. It was an unspoken agreement not to mention the subject. Fate, however, had other plans.
The arranged hand-to-hand combat training between soldiers included a duel between you and your sworn nemesis in just 24 hours. That was going to be the peak of your rivalry, deciding which one was the better soldier.
The training ended, and frankly this time there were no conflicts with Ghost. You were positive he felt awkward after what had happened. However, it never coincides with you why that is.
You were sitting on the benches, legs crossed as your foot twitched. The lone ambient was getting to you and thoughts took over. Until a finger tapped on your shoulder.
Price, glancing down at you. His hands were occupied, holding a brown box.
“{Y/N}, do me a favor, and send these supplies to Ghost.”
What could go wrong?
You find yourself walking through the halls, looking to spot Ghost’s dorm with the box in hand.
Your eyes linger across the doors until they stop at one number.
Number 35.
And unexpectedly, the door was creaked open. Feeling your eyebrows furrow, you step right in front of the entrance. Irresponsible fuck, he had left the door unlocked, and slightly open as well. You knew it was wrong, however…
You pressed the tips of your fingers against it and slowly peeked inside.
The sound of rattling water drops and the shower running brought goosebumps down your skin. You had time. Well, a bit of exploring wasn’t gonna do any bad, right?
Invading Ghost’s privacy felt ribby. Although you weren’t looking to go far with it.
Quietly setting the box down on a counter, you wander into his room. It’s dark, and you are far too distracted to turn the light on. Plus the risk of forgetting it, and having Ghost suspect anything wasn’t worth it.
The environment was serene, the sound of water running was the only thing breaking the silence. Ghost was modest, you could tell. A minimalist that kept his place spotless and smelling like heavy deodorant.
You took notice of a black scrivany table. A small light was placed on top of it, the yellow tint was calming to the eye. Taking small footsteps towards it, studying the contents of the drawer connected to it. There was one half-open, a notebook sticking out of it.
You moved with grace toward the drawer, like a cat stalking her prey. Every footfall, a whisper against the hardwood floor.
Quietly With trembling hands, you eased the drawer open, willingly wanting to reveal the journal’s secrets one page at a time. As your curiosity was your sole and only companion, daringly so, you breach the notebook open.
Within the delicate pages, you uncovered a revelation that surpassed boundaries. It was a revelation that overwhelmed your senses and still renders you powerless.
The notebook bore witness to a passion, where your being had been captured in a series of intimate and intensely sensual drawings, with a desire that dared not speak its name.
The scribbles with black ink showed how confidently he had drawn these sketches. Overlapping the outlines of your physique and filling the entire page with aight to Ghost’s passionate ‘obsession’.
Each stroke of the pencil, each careful shading, spoke of a desire that had been well-hidden, at least until now.
You stood transfixed, not from fear. But from shock by your outrageous discovery of his desire.
Legs spread apart, dripping wet with two fingers scissoring your slit. Though one particular detail caught your eye. Making your breath catch in your throat, your stomach twists and turns upside down. A mole, far between your thighs. There was no way he possibly could have seen it. A detail so intimate and personal, it was impossible to be guessed.
“How do you know, Simon?” You whisper as the sound of water rattling gradually shuts down.
Your heart stopped, ‘fuck’.
Urgently, you close the notebook and toss it back in the drawer, leaving it barely closed. You picked up the box and rushed out of the room, behind the main entrance.
Leaving the door just as creaked open as found earlier, you set down the box and knocked a few times.
Hearing footsteps approach, you run behind the corridor walls and listen as Ghost opens the door and walks back inside after a few seconds, this time shutting the door properly.
Your mind was all over the place, coming to a realization that your sworn enemy had been lusting for you, desiring and imagining things your mind never could’ve reached at.
The intimate drawings, etched into the pages of that notebook, had unraveled the very conceals of reality.
You yearned for clarity, for answers to the questions that threatened sanity.
Without a clue about how you were going to get through a whole duel with Ghost in training, your feet led the way to your own dorm. Sleeping had never been so difficult, so giving up on trying was what seemed like the best choice.
You walk back and forth, was this a sick joke? Or reality you had to accept?
In the morning, you had already made sense of everything. Certainly, he was concealing his lust with hate and annoyance.
Trying to push everything away and ignoring the bulge straining against his pants every time he saw you.
You walked towards the training facility. Unsure what to do, however, you’d try and win this duel.
You see Ghost on the other side of the room, glancing at you with a competitive undertone lurking beneath. A glance you would never see the same ever again, shooting a death glare right back at him.
The training area was dimly lit by the rising sun. The harsh humidity from the night before slowly evaporated from the grass. With the superior’s commands, both stepped into the training arena.
As you circled each other, you’d glare at each other with a mixture of aggression and desire, well hidden by both.
Ghost lunged first, a quick swing that you dodged. Your movements were fluid, graceful, and filled with an undercurrent of sensuality that sent shivers down his spine.
God, you hated his guts, how dare he act tough?
He clenched his jaw under the balaclava, suppressing the desire that threatened to consume him.
You retaliate with a powerful kick, narrowly missing Ghost’s chin. He deftly blocked the attack, his body just inches apart.
You lunged forward, your strikes swift and precise, aiming to dismantle the man that you’d grown to despise. He met your attack with equal ferocity, every block and counterattack a testament to his skill and resolve.
Your bodies moved in a swift movement, a brutal waltz that mirrored your turbulent relationship.
Words, though unspoken, hung heavily in the air, threatening to reveal the truth Ghost hid.
As the duel raged, your movements became increasingly desperate. He was stronger. But was he though?
He lunged towards you and before you managed to block his movements, he twisted your arm around and with a swift move pinned you on the ground.
He got dangerously close to your nape,
“You’re getting slow, {Y/n}”
You were unable to move, his grip had you trapped and as much as you tried, you were met with failure.
“And you’re getting distracted, Lieutenant.” You utter.
“Oh yeah? What do you know about me, sergeant?”
He chuckles
“Good question, how come I never knew you were an artist, Ghost?”
His face went pale, and an aura of fear ate him alive.
“Fuck.” he faltered. His grip loosened, shock had frozen his mind and body. You took the opportunity and flipped him over, wrapping your elbow around his throat.
“Fool.” You grinned,
This was your victory.
With a sense of satisfaction coursing through you, a somehow shocking as well. Ghost had frozen, totally out of it as he processed what you just said.
It indeed was what he feared most, that you knew.
You were well aware of his feelings, of his lust towards you. And of his artistic and passionate enough conceptualization of it.
Of course, you had to let go of his throat, so you withdrew your arms and stood up. Ghost slowly raised his gaze, locking eyes with you, his expression a blend of disbelief and uncertainty.
Your victory was unfair, using your words wasn't quite the proper way to win a duel. You knew he would’ve won if it wasn't for your ‘confession’.
However, with a smug grin on your face, you walked out of the arena and back into the facility.
“Fuckin’ snake.”
Ghost hissed as he stood from the ground and watched you leave. He was all over the place, unknowing of what to do, nor think or percept the situation at hand.
He made a decision, a regrettable one.
He followed you, his jaw clenched as he walked with furious steps. His boots hit the hard floor with loud thumps.
Hearing that, you quickly turn around, just to see him right behind you. Ghost guided you into a supply room, your spine making unwelcome contact with the cold wall, as the door was forcefully slammed shut. His grip on your arms was unyielding, and his pupils flared like embers beneath furrowed brows.
“Who the fuck you think you are, huh?” Ghost's voice bore a threatening edge as he loomed over you.
“Do you think you can barge into my room and just invade my privacy like that? You're proud of what you did?” His words felt demanding as if disregarding his own doings
“No, Simon. But, if I may ask, how the hell did you know I have a mole right between my thighs?” The satisfaction, evident in your tone, and by his stare you could tell it caught him off guard.
“Shit.”
He uttered as the tensioned grip on your arms loosened.
“I don't remember ever spreading my legs for you Lieutenant” Those words ignite his imagination like a skyrocket, his pallor evident even through the mask and he knew he would indeed have to confess to his actions sooner or later.
“Very well,{Y/n}, you drive me fucking crazy. And it ain’ intelligent to sleep with your windows wide open.”That confession drove you wild, he did what?
“You're a fuckin’ heavy sleeper.”
he chuckled mischievously as he still glared down at you. Your expression faltered, straddling a fine line between shock and fascination.
Ghost went back to that night when he crawled into your dorm window just to merely steal a fleeting glimpse at you. When he ran his fingers across your skin as you slept soundlessly, completely unaware.
When he spread your legs and took in every inch of your half-naked body. With his dick straining against his pants, he left your room back from where he came from.
Though he couldn't keep using his own hand for long.
“It's not intelligent to shower with your main entrance unlocked, too”
You advised with a glare, one capable of bringing a soldier to his knees immediately.
“So that's when you did your little ‘exploration'?.. Ghost uttered.
Next time, just join me.” A hot whisper met your neck, god, the persuasion. He was a little too good at it. The words hit hard, and a silent gasp escaped your throat.
“I didn't just explore, lieutenant, that drawing… Do I have that much impact on you? That you'd have to stoop so low?” You utter as your head tilts closer to his, your eyes locking together.
“You’re playing a dangerous game, {Y/n}.” Ghost snarled as he took in a sharp inhale. His voice, lower and huskier than before, was ever so slightly muffled by the balaclava.
His hands, which had loosened their grip on your arms, now move to your waist, pulling you even closer with tellable desperation.
You tilt your head to the side, exposing more of your neck to him.
"That's the pretty thing about it, the danger it offers.”
Your tone gets him worked up, dripping with seduction and lust.
Your fingers make their way up his balaclava, slowly lifting it to the bridge of his nose and reveal his lips.
The lips you remember seeing during that awkward encounter, where you saw his face on accident in the locker rooms.
Ghost can't resist any longer.
He crashes his lips against yours with unspeakable aggression, and the two of you lose yourselves in a passionate, overly heated kiss.
The supply room suddenly feels like the hottest place on Earth as the tension between you blisses into a desire that can no longer be contained.
Your tongue swirls around his as Ghost grabs your waist and pushes you against the wall with urgency. Desperate sighs of lust fill the supply room.
Your lips drip with saliva, Breaking the kiss had never been so difficult, but you had to breathe.
“I hate you, but I desperately need you as well.” Ghost whispers breathlessly with his lips brushing against your neck.
His hands rush to remove the gloves covering his skin, and he hesitantly slides his hands under your shirt, aggressively stroking your sides as he gasps against your ear.
“You’re something fucking else LT.” you chuckle.
Ghost grabs your wrists, and bluntly places both your hands on his body. One on his chest and one on his crotch. You gasp as he does so.
“Any idea what you do to me, {Y/n}? Here it is.”
You feel the hardness between his legs, throbbing for release. Begging to feel you.
You feel his heart thumping out of his chest.
“Feel. I suppose you can tell why I hate you now.” He hissed
“Walking around with my dick hard around the base isn't fun, {Y/n}. And I'm tired of using my own hand.” Those words sunk in, and the realization made your back tingle.
“I believe you want me to do something about that, and I could.” You teased with a grin. Ghost looked at you with lust and ran his hand through your hair.
“Then kneel.”
Hearing those words, you fall to your knees and fumble with his belt. Slowly, purposely to edge him. With your fingers, you unzip his pants and slide your hand underneath his boxers.
As your hand gracefully wrapped around his length, Ghost gripped your hair as his lip quivered.
You teased his slit with your tongue, tasting the precum leaking down, planting soft kisses around it. Sliding him in your throat with provocation. It took every ounce of self-control he had left not to just slam in your mouth.
It was irrefutable that he ached for this, longed to feel the warmth of your body for the longest time. Ghost groaned and rolled his eyes to the back of his head. The satisfaction and pleasure were sending him to unimaginable places.
“Fuck, {Y/n}” he moaned. Making you take 6 and a half inches in your throat.
Tears welled your eyes, and he led your head back and forth. Holding onto his hips, you followed the movement.
Thrusting into his hand could never compare. And being carried away, he began moving his hips as well, hitting the back of your throat and sliding just slightly back again.
Handling that must have been difficult, but seeing him squirm and hearing him moan was enough to keep you going.
The hand tugging your hair never loosens its grip, occasionally reaching for your neck too. Ghost was feral, his desire for you had never been so enticing, so captivating. You were all up on his brain, tying his mind on your fingers and playing it like a puppet on strings.
Mostly, he had no choice but to let you.
The audible panting and wet noises filled the entire room. Ghost felt himself getting closer and closer, with every thrust, his mind clouded even more. The tears streaming down your face an exotic blend of pleasure and weariness.
“{Y/n}, I’m too close..” Ghost moaned out, telling you was a regrettable decision. Since you stopped yourself and looked up at him. Slowly taking him out of your mouth, you wipe saliva off your lips.
“I suppose you'll have to use your own hand after all.” That sentence drove him crazy, the teasing was heating his body and evaporating every ounce of self-respect into the air.
With that desperation, he would agree to get on his knees and beg you for it. Though you refused to give him the chance.
You get up and step away, Ghost’s nostrils flared.
“Snake.”
He hissed as you left the room.
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(...) Il merito principale del presidente argentino Javier Milei non è tanto quello di aver vinto le elezioni, quanto l’aver creato un movimento, una figura e soprattutto un messaggio capace di dare il via a un cambiamento culturale (...). Già le sue manovre iniziali hanno provocato un vero e proprio sconquasso (...) e pure la paura di molti leader populisti che l’esempio argentino, in caso di successo, possa provocare un effetto domino di prospettive per ora non quantificabili (...), sensazione che si percepisce (...) anche in alcuni Paesi europei e specialmente in Italia (...).
È curioso notare come la stampa mainstream nostrana lo ha perseguitato nel corso dell’intera campagna elettorale e anche dopo, attribuendogli politiche di estrema destra e addirittura ipotizzando una dittatura (...). Ma anche se Milei si è tolto il vestito da Beppe Grillo (...), continua la persecuzione a suon di interpretazioni fasulle di certe sue decisioni iniziali e attuali.
(I) ben 340 decreti presidenziali emessi già la prima settimana di lavoro , mettono in moto un cambiamento radicale di un universo politico, economico e sociale che ha permesso a quella che, fino al 1947, era la terza potenza del mondo anche a livello di riserve auree nelle casse dello Stato, già nel 1953 di non avere in pratica nulla (...), proseguito fino ad arrivare a portare la nazione (a) default continui, ma anche di tracolli sempre più grandi come l’ultimo (:) la povertà è salita al 50% con un’indigenza infantile che ha raggiunto il 67%. Bei risultati, non c’è che dire.
La stampa italiana rispondente al Pensiero Unico Radical-Chic ZTL ha immediatamente parlato (...) di tutta una serie di “scioperi generali” dichiarati nei prossimi mesi dai sindacati legati al peronismo (...), ma anche sbandierando il licenziamento di ben 7.000 dipendenti pubblici, privatizzazioni “selvagge” delle aziende statali e cessioni di terre ai grandi investitori stranieri.
A parte che quest’ultima affermazione è una gigantesca bufala (o fake se preferite), pure le altre sono frutto di una interpretazione totalmente (deviata). È da giorni che chi scrive riceve telefonate da persone che lavorano presso i Ministeri, dove pare che (...) risulti impossibile trovare sedie nei vari uffici (...), scrivanie e strutture utili al lavoro.
No, non c’è stato un furto di massa di suppellettili, bensì una presenza totale del personale (:) da un giorno all’altro si sono presentati al lavoro migliaia di persone che negli ultimi 4 anni non si erano fatte vedere, ma si è pure scoperto che circa 159.919 di loro percepivano stipendio (e) ricevevano pure sussidi che spendevano in viaggi all’estero con aerei, navi, auto. Una truffa resa possibile da un sistema che elargiva benefit a persone vicine a partiti o organizzazioni sindacali in cambio di (...) “militancia”. (...) Tra questi si registrano pure coloro i quali (i famosi 7.000), per decreto, sono stati (assunti) dall’ex presidente nell’anno elettorale (...).
Altro particolare non di poco conto, inserito nel decreto definito “omnibus” (...) è quello che prevede che i Parlamentari e tutte le cariche dello Stato provvedano al pagamento dei propri viaggi privati di tasca propria (...). Milei ha firmato la settimana scorsa un decreto dove ha sottoscritto di non ricevere alcun compenso da parte dello Stato, cosa già da lui attuata da deputato. (...)
Il citato Decreto Omnibus (...) prevede tutta una serie di decisioni che configurano cambi epocali nella gestione non solo dello Stato ma anche dei suoi doveri nei riguardi della cittadinanza. Saranno privatizzate 41 aziende pubbliche (quasi tutte con deficit colossali o attivi “pompati”), riformata la legge sulla concorrenza, creata l’Agenzia per i mercati, liberalizzate le tariffe delle compagnie assicurative (...). Si introduce la sentenza diretta per reati inferiori ai 5 anni, la legge sulla legittima difesa (dove se chi commette un reato muore non ha diritto a nessun risarcimento), la possibilità di divorzio senza intervento giudiziario.
Per quanto concerne l’istruzione, le Università potranno tariffare la presenza di studenti stranieri non residenti e i professionisti non insegnanti potranno partecipare al processo educativo. È altresì vietato l’ingresso nelle scuole superiori di alunni che non abbiano completato con un diploma la scuola secondaria.
L’Argentina inoltre ha comunicato la sua uscita dal gruppo Brics, la sua adesione agli accordi di Parigi sul clima e alla Convenzione internazionale sulla protezione delle nuove varietà vegetali, stabilita nel 1991.
Come si vede si tratta di un vero giro a 180 gradi di una nazione che vuole uscire al più presto dalla gigantesca crisi nella quale il populismo peronista e kirchnerista l’ha inserita da decenni, in un processo nazional-popolare che ha aumentato la ricchezza della casta politica e i suoi privilegi e portato la povertà a livelli inaccettabili (...).
Ed è anche chiaro che questa serie di riforme (che al contrario di quanto annunciato anche dai media italiani ha provocato manifestazioni ben poco “spontanee” e partecipate) se potrà essere attuata, lo ripetiamo, provocherà un effetto domino che potrebbe investire anche il nostro Paese.
via https://www.ilsussidiario.net/news/diario-argentina-la-cura-anti-crisi-di-milei-che-non-piace-alla-nostra-stampa-mainstream/2639760/
SPERIAMO.
Applausi a scena aperta per Milei, un Grillo che ce l'ha fatta (perché non é gretto come Grillo, si basa non sui mal di pancia ma su un (anzi IL) sistema di riferimento positivo socioeconomico scientifico solido a supporto, non la boita Casaleggio&Associati).
Il 2024 si presenta come anno di crescenti pianti mainstream e forge di fake per i medioman su Milei: un anno tutto da godere.
Mica solo sul piano economico sociale, anche su quello della politica estera: supporto a Israele in primis, fanculo Cina e ciaone al satrapo retrò Putin, en attendant dello sciacquone pulisci Biden a fine anno che tutto quanto sopra risolverà (le sue lavanderine ucraine seguiranno automaticamente).
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“Dalla donna che sono
mi succede a volte di osservare
nelle altre le donne che potevo essere;
donne garbate
esempio di virtù
laboriose brave mogli,
come mia madre avrebbe voluto.
Non so perché
tutta la vita ho trascorso a ribellarmi
a loro.
Odio le loro minacce sul mio corpo
la colpa che le loro vite impeccabili,
per strano maleficio
mi ispirano;
mi ribello contro le loro buone azioni,
contro i pianti notturni sotto il cuscino
di nascosto dal marito,
contro la loro vergogna della nudità sotto la biancheria intima
stirata e inamidata.
Queste donne, tuttavia,
mi guardano dal fondo dei loro specchi;
alzano un dito accusatore
e, a volte, cedo al loro sguardo di biasimo
e vorrei guadagnarmi il consenso universale,
essere la “ brava bambina”, la “donna per bene”
la gioconda irreprensibile,
prendere dieci in condotta
dal partito, dallo Stato, dagli amici,
dalla famiglia, dai figli e da tutti gli altri esseri
che popolano abbondantemente questo mondo.
In questa contraddizione inevitabile
tra quel che doveva essere e quel che è,
ho combattuto numerose battaglie mortali,
battaglie inutili, loro contro di me
– loro contro di me che sono me stessa –
Con la “psiche dolorante”, scarmigliata,
trasgredendo progetti ancestrali
lacero le donne che vivono in me
che, fin dall’infanzia, mi guardano torvo
perché non rientro nello stampo perfetto
dei loro sogni
perché oso essere quella folle, inattendibile,
tenera e vulnerabile,
che si innamora come una triste puttana
di cause giuste, di uomini belli e di parole
giocose
perché, da adulta, ho osato vivere l’infanzia
proibita e ho fatto l’amore sulle scrivanie nelle ore
d’ufficio
e ho rotto vincoli inviolabili e ho osato godere
del corpo sano e sinuoso di cui i geni di tutti
i miei avi mi hanno dotata.
Non incolpo nessuno. Anzi li ringrazio dei doni.
Non mi pento di niente, come disse Edith Pia£.
Ma nei pozzi oscuri in cui sprofondo;
al mattino, appena apro gli occhi
sento le lacrime che premono,
nonostante la felicità
che ho finalmente conquistato
rompendo cappe e strati di roccia terziaria
e quaternaria,
vedo le altre donne che sono in me, sedute nel
vestibolo
che mi guardano con occhi dolenti
che brandiscono condanne contro la mia felicità.!
Assurde brave bambine
mi circondano e danzano musiche infantili
contro di me;
contro questa donna
fatta
piena
la donna dal seno sodo
e i fianchi larghi
che, per mia madre e contro di lei,
mi piace essere.” Gioconda Belli ( Nicaragua )
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