#weapons restriction orders

[headlinehorizon]

Maine's 'Yellow Flag' Law: A Crucial Tool in Restricting Access to Firearms during Mental Health Crises

https://headlinehorizon.com/Health/Mental%20Health/1369

Discover how Maine's 'Yellow Flag' law has been invoked following a tragic mass shooting, resulting in weapons restriction orders and enhanced law enforcement training.

#Maine's 'Yellow Flag' law #tragic mass shooting #weapons restriction orders #law enforcement training #headline horizon #news #latest news

[she-who-fights-and-writes]

MASTER LIST OF INSTRUMENTAL PLAYLISTS FOR WRITING (OR FOR STUDYING, MAKING ART, ETC.)

I find that the perfect writing playlist can GREATLY enhance the writing experience. Even if it doesn't make your writing "better" (which it can, since it helps writers with visualization, tone, and mood), it can definitely make your writing flow easier!

Personally, words distract me when I'm writing, either by breaking my train of thought or by getting me too into the music so that I'm jamming out to my favorite tunes instead of writing.

Therefore, I've amassed a vast knowledge of instrumental music across a variety of media over a course of many years. Now here I am, deciding to share all of them with you!

Maddy’s Favorite Instrumental Songs

Just like the title says. All of the best pieces of instrumental music I've ever heard, compiled together with no regard for genre. It can be a bit of a whiplash playlist, but some amazing recs in there that I just like listening to in my free time, not just for writing.

Maddy’s Ultimate Instrumental Playlist

A mega compilation of 550+ fantastic instrumental music from a variety of media and genres. Kind of a whiplash playlist if you put it on shuffle, but is a great start for anyone looking to find what kind of instrumental music they like! Playlist Groupings in Order: Independent instrumental songs, live action movies, animated movies, animated tv shows, live action tv shows, video games.

Maddy's Instrumental for Sleep

Some more chill vibe instrumental for people who either A) want to sleep or B) want a relaxed playlist that won't distract you with loud volume and sudden changes in tempo or melody.

MISC PLAYLISTS:

you're a haggard adventurer discovering worlds beyond your wildest dreams

Music to inspire wonder and wanderlust, the kind of feeling you get when you finally reach the end of a mountain hike and see the world stretching out before you.

you're a hero who's just lost everything

Basically the most sad instrumental music I could find. A playlist for grief and revenge.

more beneath the cut :)

you're a cowboy in the great American West

Cowboy instrumental for all of your ambient and writing needs. Or if you just really want to feel like a cowboy.

you're a divine witness

Epic choir music (no English). Most religious, some not, but all kind of have that eerie sacred vibe. I listen to this while writing my book about angels and demons.

you’re a scholar uncovering the secrets of the universe

Great chill study playlist! Has the kind of same exploratory/discovery type feel as the haggard adventurer playlist, but more dark academia.

you’re a villain plotting to take over the world

Villain-coded instrumental! Sinister, dark, and/or unsettling.

you're an academic weapon

HIGH BPM STUDY PLAYLIST! Keeps me focused, hyped, and helps me work faster!

you're an ancient god

Playlist that gives an ancient/eerie vibe. But some ancient gods are merciful- so there are some upbeat songs for wonder and awe!

you're falling in love

Music that encapsulates what I think falling in love feels like. Very beautiful, tender, and uplifting instrumental.

you're fighting the final battle

Intense and epic battle music for all of your fight-scene-writing needs! Good for getting shit done, but isn't necessarily restricted to high BPM like the academic weapon playlist.

you're having a tea party

Refined instrumental for a tea party, including classical, big band, and some miscellaneous goodies.

you're in a chase scene

Music for writing chase scenes. Pretty good hype music, too. Includes soundtracks from classic chase scenes in popular media!

you're in the medieval times

Medieval-sounding music for all of your ambient and/or writing needs.

you’re in your childhood room. the door is open a crack. people talk softly downstairs.

A playlist dedicated to nostalgia, to the feeling of lying in bed with your nightlight on after being too tired to stay awake at your family get-together. Could either make your day or break your heart lmao

you're the happiest you've ever been

Lighthearted instrumental meant to lift your spirits! A playlist dedicated to the joys of the little things.

#writing #writers #writeblr #booklr #creative writing #studying #writing playlist #roleplay #writing tips #writing advice #writing help #writing inspo #writing inspiration #inspo #music #music rec #instrumental music

[inky-duchess]

Fantasy Guide to Education

I'm always asked what sort of education different people recieve throughout different historical eras and since I'm heading back to college soon, I thought it was high time I made this guide.

Disparity

Education is viewed as a right by many but for some and thoughout history it was a privilege. For the wealthy and those of high status, education can be easily accessed. They can afford to tailor an education to fit their needs, they can hire tutors, and they can afford tuitions to top schools. For the poor, education was a luxury. However this doesn't mean that it was available. Some communities would fund a school or send their children to a local teacher - usually they had to pay a daily fee or at least bring kindling for the heating. Many poorer children also worked so they could not attend school consistently or were pulled out very early into their education. However, some poorer students could gain access to high level education if they were extremely bright or caught the attention of a wealthy benefactor who could fund their education.

Education as a Weapon

Education could also be banned for certain groups in society. It could be illegal to fund schools or host gatherings for students of a certain background, race, religion or gender. Education against the law could be punished by imprisonment, exile or execution. This is a measure usually taken by oppressive governments in order to follow a moral code or restrict the betterment of a certain group. An example would be the Irish Catholics under the Penal Laws.

On the otherhand, there is education that is influenced by the state to inject certain values, moralities and Opinions into a population. This is the intense restriction of reading material, removal of books that contest the teachings of the government or the kidnap of children from their culture, in order to forcibly educated them in alignment to their beliefs. An example would be the residental schools of North America and Canada and the AHS schools of Nazi Germany.

Content

As above, content of what children learn usually falls into a certain category. This is also true for the education offered to the wealthy and the poor. The poor would be offered a basic education, learning literacy and arithmetic, usually with an expectation that the children would not go on to any jobs that needs a broader education. Any higher education would be hard to obtain because of cost and the discriminatory view of the enrollment panels. The wealthy would have access to an array of different subjects including: The arts (drawing, music, painting, poetry, dancing), sports (riding, martial skills, rowing, hunting), arithmetic, geography, languages, geography and history. While progression to higher education will still be difficult, any affluent families are legacies of prestigious colleges or can make a donation to grease a few palms. These schools would be where the wealthy make lifelong connections and get springboarded toward opportunities.

Private Tutoring

Whilst some affluent, aristocratic and Royal families send their children to schools, private tutoring in the home was a popular choice. Children would be educated at home but tutors who either lived in the home or come to the house. The children would be educated alongside siblings or the children of courtiers or neighbours. Private tutoring sessions would often be the only education for upper class women recieved, taught by governesses and tutors.

Premises and Equipment

As mentioned above, wealthy and aristocratic families would usually attend established schools or attend school at home. They would be provided any equipment they needed. If they attend school, they would often wear a uniform. Some schools had multiple variations of the uniform for different activities. Many of the schools attended would be boarding schools. Boarding schools offered education to those who boarded and day students, however day students were often looked down upon as lesser than.

Poorer schools would be relient on donations and fees paid by students. As mentioned above, there may be a building reserved for classes - sometimes an designated schoolhouse or a teacher's home or a public building such as a gathering house or sometimes even outside - hedge schools. Equipment would be provided by the school. Uniforms at poorer schools were not a thing but students were expected to show up neat and tidy.

Corporal Punishment

Corporal punishment at schools was the go to punishment for students. Teachers had free rein to strike children for mistakes and bad behaviour. Punishments include insolation, physical stress positions such as standing on a chair all day, getting objects thrown at them, being slapped on the back of the legs with a cane, being rapped on the palms or knuckles with a crop or ruler. Students may also be humiliated by teachers through the use of dunce hats, encouraging other children to bully them or by the use of verbal abuse. Corporal punishment did extend to all classes except for royal children since that was either taken by proxy by whipping boys or left up to parents.

#Fantasy Guide to Education #Fantasy Guide #writing #writeblr #writing resources #writing reference #writing advice #writer #spilled words #writers #Writer's research #Writer's resources #Writer's reference #writer's problems #Writing help #Writing resources writing reference #Writing reference writing resources

[midnightarcheress]

it wasn't my initial plan but let's go stalker!gaz again <3

cw: nsfw. stalking. obsessive gaz. perv gaz in denial lol. f!reader. part one | part two

Kyle sees you again. it's totally coincidental, of course.

the first time was in the market. he had postponed a grocery run for far too long, and a man can’t live solely on takeout, so he headed to the nearest store. walking down the pavement, he sees the familiar blue logo across the street, the same one from your hoodie, and the image of your pearly smile comes fully into his mind for the first time after the encounter.

he had been too obsessive that day, and a part of him felt disgusted by his behaviour. he’s a good man, a good soldier, not one of the creeps in white vans studying women like a hunter waiting to attack their prey. so he shoved the temptation to search for you in the back of his brain, tucked away in a corner with the rest of his dysfunctional urges.

but the other side, the one he maintains caged when he’s home, kept calling for him, itching for the surface, almost slipping his fingers to his cell phone so he could engage in the pursuit of the sweet little thing that invaded his lustful dreams. a side that he managed to hide until his gaze laid on your form on the frozen food aisle.

you looked just as stunning as he remembered. glossy lips, pretty plush thighs, delicate fingers pushing the shopping cart around. your hair was in a ponytail, easy grab, sports bra neatly holding your soft tits, could be my hands, a small drop of sweat sneaking down your exposed lower back, the mere sight making his cock twitch in his trousers. of course you go to the gym. i can train with you. how about some hip thrusts with you on– no. he can’t be thinking like that again.

he bites back the urge to follow you. or even spark a conversation, to test if you’re good with faces. it would be weird. but then he gets lost in the movements of your hips, in how gorgeous you look slightly bent down at the waist, reaching for a lower shelf and prancing your ass up, in how easy it would be to cause you any harm in that position. wouldn’t even hear me sneaking up with those headphones on. 

the second time was outside of a cafe. he had just ordered a coffee and was waiting by the counter, aimlessly looking out the front window when he saw you, walking out of a bookstore with a big bag. hi, sweetheart. he promptly steps out the door, the barista calling his name fading in the background as he rushes to you. or at least, rushes to a safe distance from you. 

he wishes nothing more than to take the heavy bag from you, interlock his fingers with yours and stroll back to his flat like a perfectly happy couple. he’d even build bookshelves for you. buy you an entire library, if you wanted. make you tea while you read, caress your hair, lazily eat you out for hours, hearing your muffled moans as you try to remain focused– fuck, quit it, Garrick.

but he doesn’t quit. he can’t. not when you’re so beautiful, so easy, so soft. such a good girl. not when he notices some guys eyeing you up on the street and he silently curses the lack of a weapon on his hand. not when you look over your shoulder and don't see him as a threat. do you recognize me, love? not when he finally looks at his surroundings and realises that he’s in his street and that you’re entering the building across from his. 

he takes that discovery as a sign from the universe. it must be fate that you’re so close to me, right? it’s a blessing, a sign from god that his thoughts are justified. the green light he was waiting to reveal the worst part of him, to unleash the demon gnawing at his self-control.

with a few clicks, he finds all of your socials. too easy. some were restricted, some were open, and some barely had content, but he doesn’t mind, the few pictures on your instagram are enough. at another time, he’d teach you about online safety – how there are bad people out in the world who yearn for an easy catch, and how a smart girl like you shouldn’t allow it.

his dick aches in his boxers as he studies every pixel of your photos. he feels it throbbing, leaking, painfully craving for any kind of friction, but he refuses to provide. he knows that once he starts, he would never stop, and the idea of spending his cum on anywhere that isn’t you – your cute little mouth, displayed on your tummy, your warm cunt – is not worthy.

the third time was in a pub. he had finally caught you on your kitchen window, looking a little too dressed up to be staying at home and downing what seemed like a shot of vodka. so, when you stepped on the sidewalk, he knew he had to follow you. pretty girl going out at night? alone? not on my watch.

the bar is a couple blocks from where you live, known for being filled with college students. very different from his crowd, but he doesn’t care, watching you from afar acts like a remedy for the headache caused by the loud noise of the place. just a peek at your sheer blouse, exposing the lacy bra underneath was sufficient to clear his heart of any cracks. 

but, not everything is perfect, and he immediately tags the face making its way to you. Marcus. just as ugly as in the tiny contact picture he saw. fuck, is she back with him? 

he gets his answer quickly – you push him aside and go back to your friends, chugging the rest of your pint like a lifeline. good girl. the man's left with an open mouth and shocked expression, and Kyle doesn't miss the flash of anger in his eyes. 

the next few minutes are a blur. Marcus stepped out in the back for some fresh air after nearly throwing up due too many drinks, and he didn't notice the guy following him. stupid prick, should've used your brain. 

Kyle re-enters the bar in no time, thumb brushing the edge of the switchblade in his pocket. he admires you in your booth – lips parted in a laugh, locks of hair cascading on your face, and a hazy aura pairing over you. well, aren't we tipsy, sweetheart? good thing i'm here to look over you.

he heads to the counter to get a drink, and he almost jumps when you appear by his side, finishing your tab for the night. your eyes shine when they land on his, brightness shared by your wide grin, “hey, i know you! you're the plane guy!” 

you do recognize me. fate. he gives you a once over, feigning that he doesn't instantly recall your face to hide the excitement bubbling in his chest. like he hasn’t been dreaming about stuffing your pussy with his thick cock and hearing your mewls every night. “yup, that's me.”

“nice seeing you again– oh, are you alright? you got some,” you motion to his forearm, “blood on you.” 

shit. he forgot he needed to clean up after his last activity. his mind scrambles to find an excuse, but a thought pops in his brain and he can't contain the growing bulge in his pants. look at you worried about me, love. such a sweet girl. “it's nothing, i was just a little clumsy,” he brushes off, watching the concern on your face evolve into a timid smile, “you leaving already?” 

“yeah, got an early day tomorrow. shouldn't drink too much,” you answer, putting your jacket back on. he stays glaring at you, mind too blank to form a coherent sentence. alone? this late? drunk? do you even know how many men are lurking outside, waiting for a minor slip-up to rip you open? “so... goodnight, then.” you say, giving the counter one last tap and heading to the door. think fast.

“wait!” he calls out, “you shouldn't go alone, it isn't safe.” your head tilts to the side, and his eyes trail down your pretty neck, just begging to be bitten. focus, Garrick.

“it's just a couple blocks from here, it's alright.” no. no it isn't. don't be stubborn, sweetheart. do you want me to throw you over my shoulder for being a brat? give your pretty ass a slap?

his eyes narrow, but the soft smile on his lips does a damn good job of luring you in – a trick he learned over the years. “may i walk you home then? i'd hate to see something bad happen to a sweet girl like you.”

you ponder for a moment. you shouldn’t accept, he’s still a stranger, and if the alcohol wasn’t fuzzing your brain, you would say no. but his smile is so convincing, the dog tags around his neck are so reassuring of his good intentions that you don’t even notice when you nod. 

he smirks, and the tent between his legs gets even bigger. he’s such a good man. won’t let anything stain your soft, pure flesh. i’ll protect you, sweet girl.

#kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick #gaz garrick #gaz cod #gaz x reader #gaz x you #stalker!gaz #gaz smut #kyle garrick smut #cod mw #cod mw2 #cod mw3 #cod x reader #nyx writes ☾ #midnightarcheress

[sayruq]

Like all foreign news organizations operating in Israel, CNN’s Jerusalem bureau is subject to the rules of the Israel Defense Forces’s censor, which dictates subjects that are off-limits for news organizations to cover, and censors articles it deems unfit or unsafe to print. As The Intercept reported last month, the military censor recently restricted eight subjects, including security cabinet meetings, information about hostages, and reporting on weapons captured by fighters in Gaza. In order to obtain a press pass in Israel, foreign reporters must sign a document agreeing to abide by the dictates of the censor. CNN’s practice of routing coverage through the Jerusalem bureau does not mean that the military censor directly reviews every story. Still, the policy stands in contrast to other major news outlets, which in the past have run sensitive stories through desks outside of Israel to avoid the pressure of the censor. On top of the official and unspoken rules for reporting from Israel, CNN recently issued directives to its staff on specific language to use and avoid when reporting on violence in the Gaza Strip. The network also hired a former soldier from the IDF’s Military Spokesperson Unit to serve as a reporter at the onset of the war.

#yemen #jerusalem #tel aviv #current events #palestine #free palestine #gaza #free gaza #news on gaza #palestine news #news update #war news #war on gaza #media

[catws-anniversary]

Today is exactly 10 years since the LA premiere of CA:TWS! As good a day as any to release all of our prompts so you can plan for the anniversary event.

Kicking off on March 26th, we'll be celebrating a decade of CA:TWS with 8 daily prompts to choose from, ranging from thematic prompts and quotes, to more general prompts and character-specific ones. These can be interpreted in any manner you choose and do not need to be linked to the daily theme.

As a reminder: this is an open event (see rules and FAQs - content does need to relate to CA:TWS), and the use of our daily prompts is entirely optional. They’re there to inspire, not to put up restrictions.

You can always contact us if you have any questions. We're so excited to see your creations!

MARCH 26 THEME: ON YOUR LEFT

The Smithsonian

First Meetings

Endurance

Mission

PTSD

"I'll put it on the list"

Favorite quote

MARCH 27 THEME: STEVE ROGERS

Camp Lehigh

Elevator

Motorcycle

Steve's list

Guilt

"It kind of feels personal"

Favorite Steve quote

MARCH 28 THEME: SHIELD

The Triskelion

Compromised

Surprise Visit

Neighbor

Weapons

"It's called compartmentalization"

Favorite scene

MARCH 29 THEME: NATASHA ROMANOFF

Mall

Disguise

Redemption

Matchmaking

Trust Issues

"Did I step on your moment?"

Favorite Natasha quote

MARCH 30 THEME: TWS CAST

Press Conference

Character Bleed

Photoshoot

Social Media

Stunts

"I'll take this one"

Favorite cast member

MARCH 31 THEME: SAM WILSON

Department of Veteran's Affairs

Partners

Soundtrack/Music

Wings

Missing Scenes

"I never said 'pilot'."

Favorite Sam quote

APRIL 1 THEME: HYDRA

Lemurian Star

Project Insight

Politics

STRIKE

Post-Credit Scenes

"Order comes through pain"

Favorite fight

APRIL 2 THEME: BUCKY BARNES

Bank

Metal Arm

Memories

Ghost Story

Revenge

"But I knew him"

Favorite Bucky quote

APRIL 3 THEME: CAP QUARTET

Washington DC

Breakfast

Bedside Vigil

Uniform

Found Family

"When do we start?"

Favorite duo

APRIL 4 THEME: TO THE END OF THE LINE

Helicarrier

1940s

Devotion

Identity Porn

Reunion

"Schoolyard and battlefield"

Favorite Stucky scene

Happy creating!

#catws #catws10 #marvel events #ca:tws anniversary #fandom events #trackmarvel #captain america #steve rogers #sam wilson #bucky barnes #natasha romanoff #cap quartet #captain america: the winter soldier

[zvaigzdelasas]

[Calcalist is Private Israeli Media]

"We have a huge deficit of ammunition not just in Ukraine but all over the world. We understand we should produce this here in Ukraine because all around the world it’s finished, it’s depleted. All the warehouses are empty," said Ukrainian Prime Minister Denys Shmyhal to the "Financial Times" in October of last year, addressing the ammunition situation of the Ukrainian army, which is interconnected with the challenges faced by the IDF.

The increased ammunition usage in the wars in Gaza and Ukraine has led to an unprecedented global shortage of ammunition of all types. While the IDF tries not to address the issue publicly, Major General Eliezer Toledano admitted last month that the IDF is reducing air attacks, emphasizing the necessity to "manage the economy of armaments" because the war will last a long time. Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu also commented on the matter, stating that "we need three things from the U.S.: armaments, armaments, armaments." At a press conference two weeks ago, Netanyahu announced that Israel is preparing the Israeli defense industries to "cut off dependence on the world," a goal that is not realistic in any way.[...]

[L]ast week the Director General of the Ministry of Defense Eyal Zamir concluded a huge deal with the American government for the supply of aerial ammunition in the hundreds of millions of dollars, and so far over 25,000 tons of weapons have been sent to Israel since the beginning of the war in about 280 aircraft and about 40 ships. The Israeli defense industry is also tasked with filling the IDF's stocks. About two weeks ago it was published in Calcalist that the Israeli companies postponed the supply of weapons worth more than $1.5 billion to their customers across the world to divert resources for the IDF's combat needs and that in the last three months, the Ministry of Defense ordered more than NIS 10 billion ($2.7 million) worth of weapons from them. It should be noted that the shortage does not stem from a lack of budget but from a lack of supply, and the Treasury does not restrict the IDF from purchasing ammunition of any kind.

The tremendous need for armaments stems from the unusual amount of bombings that the IDF has carried out in Gaza since the outbreak of the war. Two weeks ago, the army announced that 30,000 targets had been attacked in Gaza. A security source told Calcalist that the rate of fire the IDF is using in the current war is similar to that of a "superpower," is comparable only to the capabilities demonstrated by the U.S., and probably also exceeds the number of armaments of the Russians in the campaign against Ukraine.[...]

Another reason [for the increase in targets bombed] is that in the current war, the IDF adopted a policy of a lighter finger on the trigger [sic] regarding damage to infrastructure and Hamas operatives who are in a civilian environment, thus increasing the ability to hit targets that were not previously attacked. In addition to these reasons, there is also the added pressure from the political level, as well as from the [Israeli] public, who demand an increase in air force bombing to prevent as much as possible a risk to the forces on the ground.[...]

[O]ne should ask whether, considering the existing ammunition stockpile, this policy may not harm the IDF's readiness to carry out future missions, especially given the existing security challenges and the probable scenario in which the IDF will be forced to [sic] carry out an attack in southern Lebanon as well. The IDF may be forced to better clarify its limitations to the politicians to avoid reaching an extreme scenario of an ammunition shortage, or in the words of General Toledano: "There is no infinite army."

28 Jan 24

[jewish-sideblog]

Another thing about this whole situation that frightens me is the intentional hypocrisy. Intentional hypocrisy is the hallmark of fascism— it’s the core of what enables unjust stratification. It is the mechanism that allows Nazis to insist that Jews are powerful manipulators who control the whole world, while simultaneously insisting that we are a lesser and inferior race. It is the mechanism that allows MAGA alt-right Republicans to insist that theirs is the party of law and order despite being led by a convicted felon.

This ideology creates a tiered social system for its adherents. If you can get people to believe contradictory information, then you can create a society where governments and morals should exist to benefit and support Good People, while simultaneously restricting and punishing Bad People— even when those people are doing the same thing.

And now, it is the mechanism that allows leftists to circumstantially and selectively abandon their core ideologies. For them, mass shootings are good when they kill Zionists. Queer Pride is bad when it happens in Tel Aviv. Extreme religious fundamentalism is good when it’s weaponized against Zionism. Decolonization and land back are bad when they happen in Israel.

If this kind of ideology and behavior isn’t excised soon, it will have disastrous consequences for the future of leftist activism.

[najia-cooks]

[ID: A purplish-grey stew topped with olive oil and garnished with piles of pomegranate seeds. Plates of green peppers, bitter olives, olive oil, taboon bread, green onions, radishes, and za'tar surround the dish. The second image is a close-up of the same stew. End ID]

رمانية / Rummāniyya (Palestinian pomegranate stew)

Rummaniyya (رُمَّانِيَّة; also transliterated "rumaniyya," "rummaniya," and "rummaniyeh") is a Palestinian stew or dip made from lentils, eggplant, and pomegranate seeds, flavored with nutty red tahina and a zesty, spicy دُقَّة (dugga) of dill seeds, garlic, and peppers. A طشة (ṭsha), or tempering, of olive oil and onion or garlic is sometimes added.

"Rummaniyya," roughly "pomegranate-y," comes from رُمَّان‎ ("rummān") "pomegranate," plus the abstract noun suffix ـِيَّة ("iyya"); the dish is also known as حبّة رُمَّانَة ("ḥabbat rommāna"), or "pomegranate seeds." It is a seasonal dish that is made at the end of summer and the beginning of fall, when pomegranates are still green, unripe, and sour.

This stew is considered to be one of the most iconic, historic, and beloved of Palestinian dishes by people from Gaza, Yaffa, and Al-Ludd. Pomegranates—their seeds, their juice, and a thick syrup made from reducing the juice down—are integral to Palestinian cuisine and heritage, and images of them abound on ceramics and textiles. Pomegranates and their juice are sold from street carts and cafes in the West Bank and Gaza.

Today, tens of thousands of tons of pomegranates are grown and harvested by Israeli farmers on stolen Palestinian farmland; about half of the crop is exported, mainly to Europe. Meanwhile, Palestinians have a far easier time gaining permits to work on Israeli-owned farms than getting permission from the military to work land that is ostensibly theirs. These restrictions apply within several kilometers of Israel's claimed borders with Gaza and the West Bank, some of the most fertile land in the area; Palestinian farmers working in this zone risk being injured or killed by military fire.

Israel further restricts Palestinians' ability to work their farms and export crops by imposing tariffs, unexpectedly closing borders, shutting down and contaminating water supplies, spraying Palestinian crops with pesticides, bulldozing crops (including eggplant) when they are ready to be harvested, and bombing Palestinian farmland and generators. Though Palestinian goods have local markets, the sale of Palestinian crops to Israel was forbidden from 2007 to 2014 (when Israel accepted shipments of goods including tomato and eggplant).

Gazans have resisted these methods by disregarding orders to avoid the arable land near Israel's claimed borders, continuing to forage native plants, growing new spices and herbs for export, planting hydroponic rooftop gardens, crushing chalk and dried eggplants to produce calcium for plants, using fish excrement as fertilizer, creating water purification systems, and growing plants in saltwater. Resisting Israeli targeting of Palestinian food self-sufficiency has been necessary for practical and economic reasons, but also symbolizes the endurance of Palestinian culture, history, and identity.

Support Palestinian resistance by calling Elbit System's (Israel's primary weapons manufacturer) landlord; donating to Palestine Action's bail fund; and buying an e-Sim for distribution in Gaza.

Serves 6-8.

Ingredients:

For the stew:

1 medium eggplant (370g)

1 cup brown lentils (عدس اسود)

600g pomegranate seeds (to make 3 cups juice)

3 Tbsp all-purpose flour

1/4 cup red tahina

1/2 cup olive oil

Salt, to taste

Citric acid (ملح الليمون / حامِض ليمون) (optional)

Red tahina may be approximated with home cooking tools with the above-linked recipe; you may also toast white tahina in a skillet with a little olive oil, stirring often, until it becomes deeply golden brown.

For the دُقَّة (dugga / crushed condiment):

2 tsp cumin seeds, or ground cumin

1 1/2 Tbsp dill seeds ("locust eye" بذور الشبت / عين جرادة)

5 cloves garlic

1 green sweet pepper (فلفل بارد اخضر)

2 dried red chilis (فلفل شطة احمر)

People use red and green sweet and chili peppers in whatever combination they have on hand for this recipe; e.g. red and green chilis, just green chilis, just red chilis, or just green sweet peppers. Green sweet peppers and red chilis are the most common combination.

For the طشة (Tsha / tempering) (optional):

Olive oil

1 Tbsp minced garlic

Instructions:

1. Rinse and pick over lentils. In a large pot, simmer lentils, covered, in enough water to cover for about 8 minutes, or until half-tender.

2. Meanwhile, make the dugga by combining all ingredients in a mortar and pestle or food processor, and grinding until a coarse mixture forms.

Dugga and components.

3. Cube eggplant. A medium-sized eggplant may be cut in half lengthwise (through the root), each half cut into thirds lengthwise, then cubed widthwise.

Cubed eggplant, red tahina, and pomegranate seeds.

4. Add eggplant to simmering water (there is no need to stir).

5. While the eggplant cooks, blend pomegranate seeds in a blender very thoroughly. Strain to remove any gritty residue. Whisk flour into pomegranate juice.

Pomegranate juice being strained.

6. Taste your pomegranate juice. If it is not sour, add a pinch of citric acid or a splash of lemon juice and stir.

7. Add dagga to the pot with the lentils and eggplant and stir. Continue to simmer until the eggplant is very tender and falling apart.

8. Add pomegranate juice, tahina, and olive oil to the pot, and simmer for another 5 minutes, or until stew is very thick and homogenous.

Bright pink pomegranate juice in stockpot.

9. (Optional) In a small skillet, heat a little olive oil on medium. Fry minced garlic, stirring constantly, until golden brown. Add into the pot and stir.

10. (Optional) Mash the stew with the bowl of a ladle or a bean masher to produce a more homogenous texture.

Serve rummaniyya hot or cold in individual serving bowls. It may be served as an appetizer, or as a main dish alongside flatbread, olives, and fresh vegetables such as radishes, green peppers, green onions, carrots, and romaine lettuce. It may be eaten with a spoon, or by using كماج (kmāj), a flatbread with an internal pocket, to scoop up each bite.

#Palestine #Israel #food #Palestinian #Gazan #eggplant #lentils #pomegranates #red tahina

[opspro2005]

Understanding the Second Amendment:

“A well-regulated militia, being necessary to the security of a free state, the right of the people to keep and bear arms, shall not be infringed.”

The term “well-regulated” was commonly used before 1789 and continued to be for a century after. It described something being in proper working order, calibrated correctly, and functioning as expected.

The term “militia” refers to all citizens capable of military service. The National Guard did not replace the militia, as clarified by the Militia Act of 1903. The National Guard is the organized militia, while able-bodied men between 17 and 45 are part of the reserve militia. The Militia Act of 1903 repealed the requirement for men to provide their own firearm under the Militia Act of 1792.

The term “to keep and bear” is very easy to understand. “To keep” means to have or possess. “To bear” in this context means to carry and to hold. The phrase very simply means that you can have the item in your possession.

The term “shall not be infringed” means to wrongly limit or restrict. This acts on the previous phrase, “to keep and bear”. The language is clear and concise.

The Second Amendment, in more modern terms, would read like this: “A properly armed people are necessary for a state to be free and safe. American Citizens can have weapons in their possession, and you can't do anything about it.”

Understand this; The US Constitution is a limit on government, not citizens, and our rights don't end where your feelings begin. You have no right to infringe on our inalienable rights.

#2A #Maine #AR-15 #gunrights #cope and seethe

[probablyasocialecologist]

The context of the Hamas attack on Israelis, however, is completely different from the context of the attack on Jews during the Holocaust. And without the historical context of Israeli settler colonialism since the 1948 Nakba, we cannot explain how we got here, nor imagine different futures; Biden offered us, instead, the decontextualized image of “pure, unadulterated evil.” This weaponization of Holocaust memory by Israeli politicians runs deep. In 1982, for instance, in the context of Israel’s attack on Lebanon, the Israeli PM, Menachem Begin, compared the Palestinian leader Yasser Arafat in Beirut to Adolf Hitler in his bunker in Berlin at the end of the war. Three decades later, in October 2015, Benjamin Netanyahu took this weaponization to new levels when he asserted in a speech to the World Zionist Congress in Jerusalem that the Palestinian grand mufti Haj Amin al-Husseini planted the idea to murder Jews in Hitler’s mind. And last Tuesday, Netanyahu described Hamas in a press conference, together with the German chancellor, Olaf Scholz, as the “new Nazis”. The Israeli defense minister, Yoav Gallant said: “Gaza will not return to what it was before. We will eliminate everything.” Nissim Vaturi, a member of the Israeli parliament for the ruling Likud party, to take another example, called for “erasing the Gaza Strip from the face of the earth”. There are many other such expressions by Israeli politicians and senior army officers in the last few weeks. The fantasy of “fighting Nazis” drives such explicit language, because the image of Nazis is one of “pure, unadulterated evil”, which removes all laws and restrictions in the fight against it. Perpetrators of genocide always see their victims as evil and themselves as righteous. This is, indeed, how Nazis saw Jews. Biden’s words constitute therefore a textbook use of the Holocaust not in order to stand with powerless people facing the prospect of genocidal violence, but to support and justify an extremely violent attack by a powerful state and, at the same time, distort this reality. But we see the reality in front of our eyes: since the start of Israeli mass violence on 7 October, the number of Palestinians killed in Gaza has surpassed 4,650, a third of them children, with more than 15,000 injured and over a million people displaced. Israel has also escalated the violence against Palestinians under occupation in the West Bank, including the killing of more than 95 people and an intensification of expulsions, including the destruction of whole communities. Hamas wields no power in the West Bank, but the reality that we can all see means little for Israelis fighting, in their minds, Nazis.

#israel #palestine #holocaust #gaza #antisemitism #emphasis added

[redgoldsparks]

Transphobia Makes Chest Binding More Dangerous

Chest binding, or wearing anything to flatten the chest in order to appear masculine or androgynous, is one of many ways that transmasculine and nonbinary people can affirm their gender identity and harmonize their physical presentation with their sense of self. Some people bind in order to “pass” as male at times when being visibly transgender could be dangerous. Others bind for the mental health benefits, documented across multiple studies, of being able to move through the world feeling at home in an authentic identity. But despite these life-changing benefits, anti-trans activists focus on the risks of binding, such as shortness of breath, skin abrasions, or shoulder pain, and seek to restrict the practice.

(read the rest of the article below the cut or here online)

Binding scares anti-trans activists because of its accessibility. Unlike hormones, binding requires no prescription; unlike state-ID changes, it requires no paperwork. Binding is often one of the first ways that trans and nonbinary youth who are assigned female at birth can flexibly, reversibly—sometimes quietly under their clothes and unbeknownst to anyone else—“try on” a new gender identity to see how it feels. This accessibility makes binding terrifying to those who want to eradicate trans people from public life. Their usual tricks are powerless to stop binding: there is no teacher they can gag, no librarian they can defund, no doctor they can criminalize to stop people from binding. Unless anti-trans zealots are willing to ban sports bras, bandages, tape, shapewear, or even swimsuits and tight shirts, there is no way to render binding completely inaccessible.

It is no surprise then that anti-trans activists hyperfocus on the health risks of binding, often misrepresenting studies on binding to inflate the physical risks of binding and ignoring the sometimes life-saving mental health benefits. We know because one of us (Sarah Peitzmeier) conducted most of those studies. Tired of seeing statistics from these research studies ripped out of context and weaponized against the very communities who participated in and supported the research, we began to discuss turning the findings from these studies into a book. Breathe: Journeys To Healthy Binding, is a resource for those who have questions and concerns about binding, and for those who already bind and want to do so in ways that maximize the mental health benefits and minimize the physical risk. We want to help people bind in ways that are affirming, yet gentle on the body.

Anti-trans activists who claim to be “protecting” people from the harms of binding by trying to restrict binding specifically and trans people more generally are in fact making binding more dangerous. In our research and lived experience, here are six ways we have seen transphobia make binding far more dangerous than it should be for trans and gender diverse people.

Legislative attacks on medically necessary healthcare

Binding is the only option left to mitigate chest dysphoria in states where best-practice medical care has been banned. Anti-trans bills blocking medical or surgical affirming care for trans youth have been passed in 24 states, with politicians inserting themselves between patients, families, and their doctors. Trans youth who go through puberty early without access to puberty blockers may have to manage severe chest dysphoria for a decade before they are even legally allowed to pursue top surgery, assuming they have the financial resources to access it. We know that receiving puberty blockers, compared to wanting puberty blockers but being unable to access them, is associated with 70% lower lifetime odds of suicidal ideation – so this is lifesaving care. It seems particularly cruel, then, for the same people who advocated for these laws denying healthcare to also attack binding. If anti-trans activists truly cared about the potential risks of binding for trans youth, they would not simultaneously advocate for bans on medically necessary care.

Marginalization in healthcare

Trans patients who do experience injuries or health issues from binding often don’t have access to knowledgeable and compassionate treatment. Even trans-affirming providers generally receive no training in how to counsel patients to reduce their risk around binding, as medical and nursing schools typically see trans-specific topics like binding as “specialty” topics. At worst, providers may be actively prejudiced against trans people. Laws against providing gender-affirming care in 24 states can be interpreted broadly and scare providers from offering any kind of care to trans adolescents or even adults. Binding-related medical issues are thus left to worsen without quality clinical care.

Binding can be necessary to navigate transphobic spaces

Being visibly trans can expose people to discrimination, and binding is sometimes the only way to safely move through a hostile world. It is still legal to discriminate against trans people in employment or housing in 30 states, and trans people are banned from using the restroom that matches their gender in 10 states. Some trans people may present as otherwise masculine but for the appearance of their unbound chest, which would “out” them as transgender. Until we live in a world where people can safely express a range of gender presentations without living in fear of assault or discrimination, binding is essentially the only option for many transmasculine people who need to “pass” for their own safety. These people may also have to keep binding for safety reasons regardless of any symptoms they may develop.

Concealing binding due to stigma increases the risks

The health risks from binding are increased by the need to conceal it. For instance, teens who are trying to conceal their binder from their parents often have trouble washing their binder regularly without their parents seeing it in the laundry. As a result, the dirt and sweat buildup on their unwashed binder predisposes them to skin complications. Without parental support, many teens cannot purchase a binder, which is typically ordered online with a credit card. Some of these teens resort to using ACE bandages, which are more readily available but far more dangerous because they are designed to compress inflammation. One 2020 study by researchers and clinicians at the Children’s Hospital of Los Angeles found that teens with parents who opposed binding were almost twice as likely to have used ACE bandages to bind their chests. Teens with supportive parents had access to safer options.

Restricted access to information on safer binding that does exist

Because discussing gender identity is banned or restricted in schools in 14 states, trans and nonbinary people often struggle to access information about trans-specific issues such as binding. We have a growing evidence base and clinical expertise around how to reduce risk associated with binding—including taking one day off from binding each week, avoiding use of ACE bandages, and stretching muscles and ligaments that may be constricted by binding—but in an era of book bans and gag rules, many trans people have no way to learn these important tips. Instead, they may assume that binding is inherently painful and this is just the price they have to pay, which is unequivocally not true. We now know there are so many ways to make binding safer.

Unmet need for gender affirmation

When there is a gap between how people fundamentally see themselves and how the world sees them, they are more likely to engage in risky (but identity-affirming) behaviors to help close that gap. When trans people are chronically misgendered at work or school and are banned from medically affirming their gender, binding may be one of the only tools they have to affirm their gender. They will be more likely to ignore signs that their body is struggling with the side effects of binding, as they have nothing else to affirm them. Combine this with lack of information about how to bind more safely and lack of healthcare to address problems that emerge, and people can end up with serious binding-related symptoms.

Forty percent of trans adults in the U.S. have attempted suicide at some point in their lives. Binding can help people imagine a future for themselves that feels worth living. As one of our research participants said, “Binding gave me the freedom to exist.”

Many people successfully bind with minimal physical side effects even in today’s world. If every trans person who wanted to bind could do so with a properly fitting binder, while living day to day without fear violence for being visibly trans, all while having access to knowledgeable and affirming medical care (including puberty blockers or top surgery as desired and appropriate), binding could become safer for everyone.

It’s on all of us to create that world. We call on everyone to fight back against anti-trans legislation, disrupt anti-trans hostility, and to support the trans youth and adults in our communities as they become their most authentic selves.

By Maia Kobabe and Dr. Sarah Peitzmeier

May 8, 2024 7:00 AM EDT

Kobabe (e/eir/em) is author of the award-winning and bestselling memoir Gender Queer, the most challenged book in America for the last three years. Peitzmeier Ph.D., MSPH (she/her) is a social epidemiologist and assistant professor in the Department of Health Behavior and Biological Sciences at the University of Michigan. Kobabe and Peitzmeier are the authors of BREATHE: JOURNEYS TO HEALTHY BINDING, a graphic guide to chest binding with real-life stories and research-backed advice.

#maia kobabe #binding #breathe: journeys to healthy binding #chest binding #trans health

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

Soundly (Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader)

Summary: You’ve injured your arm, leaving you frustratingly helpless to complete everyday tasks, like cleaning yourself. Your boyfriend and colleague Simon understands your apprehension towards accepting help for such a task and tells you how he does.

AN: Working title was “Sprain” for those of you who voted in the poll. I’ll be posting the Soap fics shortly and posting another poll for my other upcoming fics afterwards! Meanwhile, let me know what you think in replies or inbox me, tell me your thoughts on fics - present or future. 

I just want Ghost to feel loved and to recover from all the shit he went through. I did a fic for that and sharing a bed, so I’m doing this one for the reader a.k.a. me. Plus I like the head canon that Ghost is actually kinda talkative, like in the Alone mission. I know he’s probably partly chatting to Johnny to because he’s trying to keep him focused, guiding him to regroup and survive. But he’s telling dumb jokes and joking about watching his torture video. He’s got banter and trauma!

Content warnings: Allusions to Ghost’s time being tortured by Roba and the Mexican Cartel - specifically his SA as well as the reader’s. Reader is GN, no use of Y/N

Masterlist // AO3

For “just a sprain”, your elbow hurt like a bastard. It was resting in the hammock of the sling your doctor ordered you to keep on. Almost smugly, it sent a few stings across the bone when you were also instructed to restrict your movements and get support to complete day-to-day tasks before you were signed off on a month’s medical leave – pending review at the end of it for being brought back to work.

It was half your fault. The sprain in the first place was caused by some asshole who would not go down quietly and attempted to dislocate your limb. Thankfully, your training automatically twisted you into a position preventing that but then you had to shoot that asshole and your gun was in the arm he’d injured. The bullet that you fired solidified the damage and you were forced to focus hard on aiming with your non-dominant hand whilst slugging it over to the Heli half a klick to the west for recon. You didn’t have to shoot the guy straight away. You’d kicked him down and he was too far from his own weapon to have made it before you could have swapped your gun to your other hand and ended his life the same miserable way. But nah, in the heat of gunfire, you’d decided to end the fight as quick as possible then ran like a bat out of hell back to safety where the rest of your crew was headed.

Simon had known you long enough – and dated you long enough – to not treat you like glass. He wouldn’t insult you like that. Therefore you were very grateful that he was the one to take you home, and that his driving was a lot steadier and smooth on the motorway.

Letting you open the front door, he carried both his and your bags inside, ready to start your medical leave this instant. He was heading out of the hall with his shoes dropped loudly onto the rack when he asked:

“You want anything specific for tea?”

“Nah, I’m good with whatever.”

Despite years of therapy, this injury had dealt a hefty blow to your pride; you didn’t want to be any more of a burden than you were going to be over the next few weeks. Thank God you’d been to his place enough times for it to be considered familiar.

From the airing cupboard, you collected the towel that Simon had bought you after your fifth stay here and smiled at the memory of shopping for it together. He’d asked for what colour you preferred then gathering other items into the trolley that were the same shade: toothbrush, wash cloth, cup to sit by the bathroom sink. He was nice like that.

The bathroom door locked behind you, the final ebbs of afternoon reaching in through frosted glass. You thanked the sun for enabling you to keep the lights off; the buzz that accompanied their stark spark on the silky tiles was always too much for you. However as warm as the daylight was, it failed to soothe your state. When you tried to retrieve the memory of how you’d gotten this t-shirt on in the first place, your mind offered you a blank slate and tears of frustration bubbling over, stinging worse than the injury as you tried to warp it against its will. But to no avail. Your bitten tongue surrendered so that the crying could commence with your t-shirt still stuck on your body.

Gentle rapping at the door didn’t halt anything. Surrendering felt like an admission of weakness, failure, and it poisoned you against yourself as you twisted the lock in the handle and slumped on the rim of the bath.

A pair of plain-socked feet appeared at the top of your line of sight, lingering on the cobalt carpet side of the door frame.

“Can I borrow your scissors please?” You asked, toying with a stray string dangling from the hem.

“You gonna stab me?” Simon inquired semi-sarcastically.

“Yes.” It was a pathetic little reply. But Simon pushed off the bath, belongings tinkling against one another as he rooted around then retrieved a small pair of scissors from the top shelf.

He sat down beside you on the rim, holding out the scissors by the blade, “It’s a nice shirt.”

You wiped your nose on the hem before taking the scissors, “It’s just Primark.”

“I can help you out of it, if it is Primark’s finest.”

“Was just cut it off.”

But of course your dominant hand was tied up in the sling, and you only just realised now.

“I could help you take it off.”

You’d never been undressed around Simon. The closest you’d gotten were jogging bottoms you’d cut into knee-length shorts and the sleeves of your t-shirt pushed onto your shoulders whilst you both worked out at opposite ends of the gym. Towards the end of your set, you mopped at your brow with the hem of your shirt once and the sliver of skin nearly sent Simon into anaphylactic shock.

He knew why you grappled with the notion of undressing. But he didn’t ever linger on you going elsewhere to change. Across your relationship, and even before it started, he’d shown you love in so many other ways that you would forget about what had happened to you.

Today was the first time he addressed it: “I understand why you wouldn’t want me to help.”

Without moving your head, your watchful stare latched onto his adjusting to the nuisance of sitting on a thin perch of porcelain. He withdrew his skull balaclava from its suffocating in his pocket and began kneading at it until the eyehole faced the ceiling you’d stared at many times, wishing you could be more intimate with the man you loved more than life.

 “Your reasons aren’t so different from mine.” And he held out the mask to you.

The olive branch was accepted and you thumbed over the skull plate as best you could with the scissors still in your grip. Only when your thumbnail caught against the paint depicting a cheekbone did it dawn on you what your boyfriend was referring to.

“Simon-”

“None of that,” He interrupted you, gently, firmly, “I get it. I don’t wanna bother you if you don’t want me here.”

He rubbed along your shoulder as you matched your deep breaths to his, resting your eyes to bask in his comfort and crushing the mask in your loose fist. You’d always equated it to anonymity. Never had you thought of linking it to another form of comfort.

“You can bathe with your clothes on,” Simon suggested after a minute’s silence.

“Do you know how hard it is to remove wet denim?” You muttered with a crooked smile.

“I do,” and he pressed a kiss to your forehead – his preferred place to do so. “Let’s give this a go.”

You handed back his balaclava and took in his bare face, the medical mask – the one he’d been wearing whilst you were in the hospital and all the way home - gone, his expression carefully crafted to be neutral so that you didn’t have to be.

He eased your sling off you after the taps were thundering steaming water into the tub. Then he vanished to his room, returning with a pair of baggy sports shorts. Cradling them like a baby, your nose welcomed their softness and the steam whilst Simon knelt onto the fluffy bathmat, nodding after splashing the bathwater and twisting the taps into silence.

“I’m gonna stink if I don’t wash properly,” You whispered.

After opening his palms to you, Simon took your shorts and arranged them on the floor, “I’ll get you some wet wipes to use while we wait for your arm to heal up.”

You held onto his shoulders whilst he undid your jeans and eased them down your legs, his hands careful to stay hidden in the fabric whilst you stepped out of them and into the shorts. Simon to pulled them up to your hips.

“Why did the magician take a bath?” He asked you as you lowered yourself into the water.

“I dunno, why?”

“To clean up his act.”

Your chest quivered, struggling to hold in your groans and giggles whilst Simon pumped some blueberry body wash into his palm, “That’s good.”

Tenderly he circled the soap across your forearm, “Fancy another?”

“Go on.” You were nothing if not his little enabler, indulging in his humour even after the rest of 141 had lightly roasted him for it.

“Knock, knock.”

Your free hand fiddled with the sodden hem of your t-shirt, “Who’s there?”

“Dwayne.”

“Dwayne who?”

Soaking the flannel and wringing it out over your arm, Simon began to wash the suds away, “Dwayne the bathtub before I dwown.”

Your smile was not dampened by the tears that rolled down your cheeks and dripped onto the shallow waterline. Instead, you focused your blurry vision on Simon’s hoodie sleeves that were pushed up to his elbows, those broad forearms sprinkled with droplets and soapsuds.

When Simon was lathering up some more body wash, you offered your own joke: “What did the man say after he swallowed a clock and went to the toilet?”

“What?”

“Watch out.”

Simon snorted loudly whilst carefully manipulating your injured arm amidst the blueberry bubbles.

You wiped a new tear away on your shoulder: “I’ve already told Kyle but you can tell it to Johnny.”

“Much obliged.”

With permission and a slow touch, he started soaping up your shins. His contact always lingered for hours on your skin. This felt like a polish, not a scratch or a dent, which is why you felt so overwhelmed now, just as you did that first time he gave you a proper bear hug. You didn’t mind the blueberry, something else to focus on instead of letting yourself meander towards conjuring disturbing imaginations of what you’d just learnt about Simon’s capture in Mexico.

He let you take over for washing your thighs, sitting on the toilet still talking to you with a smile that cracked up his face like the scar, from lip to brow. His eyes never strayed from your face, though it never felt like you were a target down his scope, more like feeling the sun first thing in the morning with a delicate breeze that danced around your being. Such a gaze wasn’t alien to Simon, even if he rarely showed it to you, and never to anyone else. You were just grateful that he was able to be like this, and that he still chose to.

That same stare, he held it whilst draping a towel around your shoulders, patting over your arms before he gathered it at the front for you to hold in your healthy hand. Then he collected a pile of clean clothes from the bedroom, placing them onto the closed toilet lid, you noted the crisply ironed button up folded on top. You settled for nestling your head against his chest since you were unable to hug him.

“Thank you.”

“I’ll make dinner.”

The door was locked after Simon disappeared behind it. You did end up cutting yourself out of the shirt, rest in peace. Fogged-up, the mirror wasn’t so bad to stare at whilst you moisturised with your good hand. You could still feel where Simon’s calloused hands had brushed over your skin, tingling in each follicle, and it was protected by the button-up you were able to slide on – one of the few Simon owned. His bulk was once again your gain; the shirt was loose enough to give you some wiggle room whilst dressing.

Clattering from the kitchen caught Simon in the act of putting away the ironing board. He was taking loud and rehearsed deep breaths that hissed through the fabric of his freshly-donned balaclava, the board under his arm before he tossed it into its assigned slot. His hand shook as it released the cupboard door handle, searching for something to distract himself with until he latched his stare onto you bunching your shirt in the front.

“I can’t do my buttons up,” You said quietly.

Your stomach impulsively sucked in on itself when his hands reached for the buttons before it, joining them with the fabric. Nevertheless, your gaze found solace in the thatch of fine chest hair growing in the lowest peak of his V-neck.

Simon started from the bottom button and made his way up. With each wince, his fingers stalled. But you knew he’d never hurt you, never on purpose and never like that. He made steady progress until complete and even helped you replace your sling. But then he sniffed and brushed his nose briefly, stepping away and back to the kitchen. For five minutes he alternated between sifting through the cupboards and staring helplessly into the fridge, his face washed out by the stagnant light inside. You took the time to help him in one of the ways you knew how.

“I’ll order us a takeaway.”

Immediately he slammed shut the fridge door, “You’re a fucking star.”

You were not put off by his pacing back and forth, nor were you by his hovering over you like a gargoyle whilst you tapped at the screen – which you held in a way for him to see clearly in case he wanted to add something. A wide berth allowed you to approach him on the couch with the takeaway when it arrived half an hour later (always reliable, hence why it was your go-to takeaway place). Simon also accepted the drink you brought him, but only because he’d already gotten you one plus two pain meds he made sure you took after getting some food into your stomach first.

The cushioned lap trays you’d invested in were already paying for themselves.

Dinner inhaled and rendering you quite soporific, you mirrored Simon’s earlier actions and tentatively shuffled closer to him, “Is this ok?”

“Yeah.” His arm dropped to around your waist, and you tugged on his wrist to keep it there. Only then did you tentatively wrap yourself around his full belly.

“Fuckin’ softie,” He said under his breath. That didn’t stop him from giving you a little squeeze – his hand no longer trembling - and sinking himself lower so that there was no pressure on your sprain. He turned the volume down a little, which sparked inspiration in your mind.

Half hiding in his t-shirt, you projected loud enough for him to hear you: “The local TV controller museum shut down due to no visitors. Turns out people aren’t remotely interested.”

“Have you been researching these instead of doing your paperwork?”

“What makes you think I haven’t been doing my paperwork?”

Simon looked down at you, those expressive eyes communicating both the “are you fucking for real?” and the “you’re lucky you’re cute” in equal parts. But from the way his balaclava was balanced on his face, you could tell he was smiling at you. So you smiled back at him then snuggled back against him with a contented sigh and the existence of your new joke book still a secret (for now).

The next time you opened your eyes, it was much darker in the living room. A blanket was tucked around your legs. The glow of “Are you still watching Phil Wang: Philly Philly Wang Wang?” from the flat-screen, despite that not being what you were watching when you first drifted off, bathed you in enough low light to allow you a comfortable adjustment period. You squinted up at your boyfriend. Head back in the pillows, his chest was rising and falling with each breath he drew and released through his nose. You adjusted the blanket around to cover his legs too and, tucking yourself back into your bundle, both you and Simon slept soundly.

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley fanfic #simon riley oneshot #cod #cod mw2 #mw2 #cod x reader #cod fanfic #cod oneshot #mw2 fanfic #my writing #r: gen #wc: >2k

[madlori]

Yes, criminals need rights.

So I move in a lot of true crime communities. I’ve been a fan of true crime since, oh, 1980 or so (so enough with this “oh this brand new true crime trend” which has in fact been happening for hundreds of years). 

Sometimes there are opinions there which...trouble me.

Mostly when people express frustration about the rights of the accused, how rigorously they need to be defended, and the wish that criminals just had no rights and we could do whatever we want them.

Stop. That’s BAD.

But what about the rights of the victims and their families?

Here’s a hot take: the rights of the accused - and even the convicted - are more important.

Not because criminals, or those accused of crimes, are widdle babies who need protecting and we want to make things easy for them. That is not the reason.

We have to vigorously defend the rights of the accused, not for their sake, but TO PROVIDE A CHECK ON THE POWER OF THE STATE.

Lemme say that again.

THE RIGHTS OF THE ACCUSED MUST BE DEFENDED IN ORDER TO CURTAIL THE POWER OF THE STATE.

If you are going to give the state the power to punish, to restrict someone’s liberty indefinitely, or in some states take their life, then you better make fucking sure that the rights of the people at risk of this are being defended to the utmost extent of the law. The state can never, never assume that it will be easy to throw someone in jail. It must always know that it will have to prove its case beyond a reasonable doubt, respect the rights of the accused, and that the accused will be defended by people dedicated to that purpose.

If the state starts finding it easy to throw people in jail, or mistreat them during that process, you are handing it a tool to use against its political enemies. Which might at some point include you.

Should an honorable state require such countermeasures? Ideally, no. But the Constitution was written by men who understood the need for checks on governmental authority, and the right to incarcerate or execute citizens is one of the most dangerous rights the state has. 

So the victims and their families have rights, of course. But they are not the ones facing the state’s punishment. Their liberty or life is not in jeopardy.

If someone has committed a crime and the state needs to exercise its right to punish them, they should do so. But only after a rigorous process. Yes, it’s frustrating. Yes, guilty people walk free. Yes our emotions sometimes make us want to just see them hurt, damaged, or violated. But as they say, don’t ever hand the state a weapon it could use against YOU.

The state must have the hardest job in the room when someone is facing imprisonment or execution. That’s why their rights are important.

#criminal justice #constitutional rights #thinky thoughts

[blackypanther9]

I keep my words

WARNING!: Blood x gore, murder, cursing, violence, graphic (?) murder scenes AND MORE ! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED !!!

TAGLIST: @l0liamk @dilucragnvindr-my-beloved

(I hope the tags work TvT)

A/N: This is the second part of “I’ll protect you”. Art belongs to rightful owner (I just get this shit from Google)

Words: 3 401

It had been three days, since M/n’s breakdown and when he vented to Alastor about how bad his biological parents really were. As soon as Alastor did his job, he grabbed a sleeping M/n and returned back home. The next day they got a restriction order against M/n’s biological parents and then Alastor let another day pass.

This was day three and he was ready to kill them. His adopted Son told him where they lived and he spied on them the last day. They were arranging everything to make a kill and run. They had weapons and started to pack their things. They were really planning to kill him and M/n and then to run away.

‘Not while I am still alive.’, Alastor thought grimly.

He told M/n the lie, that he had to get to his job without him, it was a last minute call. The boy pouted, but let him go, after Alastor tucked him into bed for an early night rest. Alastor wore the clothes he usually wore when he went killing, hunting knife with him.

He made his way to M/n’s former home. The house was pretty far away from any neighbors, hence why no one knew what happened in that house. He saw an open window and rolled his eyes.

Why would any idiot leave their window wide open in the middle of the night, knowing a killer is on the loose too ?

Alastor climbed inside through the window and took the cold frying pan, that was on the stove. He sneaked around and saw Fred L/n first. He went right behind him and then swung the pan with all his might.

BAM !

Fred flinched in shock, then passed out and hit the floor. Alastor had so much rage and disgust in his eyes for that man. He reminded him of his own Father. Vile !

“Fred, honey ? What happened ?”, Gorgia’s voice called.

Alastor quickly hid in the shadows, almost invisible, thanks to the poor light and dark clothes he wore. She came down the stairs and soon entered the room, she sighed in annoyance.

“Again ? Why are you such a heavy drinker ?”, she complained.

As soon as she wasn’t looking anywhere near Alastor’s direction anymore, he dashed out of the shadows and slammed the frying pan into her head too. She yelped in pain and then was passed out on the floor.

Alastor panted softly and eyed her with as much rage and disgust as he eyed Fred, while he had a sinister grin on his face, the whole time. He was so ready to kill them. And he won’t make it quick, oh, no, no, no~

-Time skip-

Alastor tied Fred and Gorgia up in their basement, remembering that his adopted Son mentioned that it was the most vile place, in the house, and the place they loved to torture him most in, with Linda.

He waited for them to wake up already. While he waited he looked around in the house, looking for diaries, pictures anything they had that revolved around their kids. Nothing of these sorts were there. It was like they never had children to begin with, which angered him even more.

Then there was a yell and Alastor grinned more sadistically. He returned to the basement and saw them both wide awake, trying to get out of their bounds. They stopped when they saw Alastor.

“Who are you ?!”, Fred hollered in anger.

“Please, untie us !”, Gorgia begged.

Alastor chuckled at first then it turned into a full cackle. He looked at Gorgia’s pathetic face. She had tears and snot running down her face.

“My, oh my~ For the big mouth you had, on my Radio Show, you seem very pathetic now.”, Alastor said to Gorgia with a voice full of disgust.

The two adult’s eyes widened. Gorgia was in utter shock and horror, while Fred scoffed and glared even harder. Then he struggled even harder.

“I will KILL you, you Bastard ! That damn brat was supposed to DIE !”, Fred hollered.

Alastor laughed and played with his hunting knife. The two froze again and looked at the object, Alastor wielded. He shot them a sinister grin.

“You know, that’s funny, my good man ! Since when do we blame our own children for our own actions, hmm ? Do tell~”, Alastor teased out.

Fred scoffed with a glare.

“That mistake had it coming, let her own Sister get taken and killed and then dared to blame it all on us !”, he yelled.

“And he was very useless and unhelpful in the house.”, Gorgia added.

Alastor rolled his eyes, but his sinister smile never fell. He ran his fingers up and down the side of his blade.

“Hmm, I have to disagree with you there ! You see, since the kid has been with me, he proved himself rather useful, helps around a lot and even provides some entertainment ! And what was the boy supposed to do, as his Sister got taken, hmm ? He tried to chase down the car and even notified the police. You are the adults, you were supposed to be their guardians, yet here you are, proving to me that you are nothing more but worthless scum !”, Alastor said happily.

“Watch it, shit talker !”, Fred threatened with a growl.

Alastor laughed and then gave the man a piercing, daring glare. One, that made Gorgia gulp in fear. He came closer and put the tip of his hunting knife near Fred’s throat.

“Or what~?”, Alastor asked in a teasing, yet challenging tone.

Fred didn’t back down and glared at Alastor.

“Or I will kill you in a very painful way, Fucker.”, Fred sneered out.

Alastor gave him a lips closed sharp grin, then cocked his head to his right, partly amused.

“Oh, really ?”, he asked in a tone, that said he didn’t take the threat seriously.

“Really, Bastard. You are too much of a little wet Pussy to kill one of us. You are just fucking bluffing.”, Fred stated with a smirk.

“Are you sure about that~?”

Fred gave him a wolfish grin and nodded. Alastor didn’t drop his smirk as he moved his hunting knife.

“AACK !!”, Fred gasped in pain.

Gorgia screamed and sobbed, while Alastor gave him that same grin, his hunting knife in Fred’s lower stomach. The man looked back up at Alastor, fear and pain evident in his eyes. Alastor chuckled and playfully tutted at him.

“You should never be too confidant, Fred L/n~ Now look what you made me do, my good man ! Oh, such a terrible deed, indeedy !”, Alastor mocked with a happy voice.

Before the man could reply or beg, Alastor dragged his knife up, more blood spilled, Fred let out strangled screams, while Gorgia was wailing. Alastor’s smile grew more and more sinister the higher he sliced with his knife. He tore it out as it was at his sternum, forcefully, then he stepped back and Fred’s organs started to fall out, he gargled on his own blood and pain, while Gorgia screeched in terror at the display.

She stared at Alastor in horror. He still had his eyes on her Husband, relishing in the scene he created. She saw that his eyes didn’t seem brown anymore, like they were before, but from the angle she looked at his eyes now...they seemed to be red. It terrified her.

Alastor laughed at the still slowly dying Fred. He looked at his hunting knife amused and satisfied.

“Do you know...that the human body can suffer like this for many hours ? My good man, you are going to die slowly for long, long minutes !”, Alastor informed them both.

“No ! No, please ! He already can’t be saved anymore ! Please, at least end his suffering !”, Gorgia pleaded.

Alastor snapped his head to look at her, close lipped smile still there, eyes wide, but it wasn’t from surprise, it was from bloodlust and to show that he is all ears. He put his blood covered, yet gloved, hand on his chin, mocking to be thinking about it.

“Hmmm....No.”, he replied as he grinned at her, flashing his teeth at her.

She stared at Fred helplessly. She was wailing as she knew, that she couldn’t change the Radio Host’s mind.

“Why are you crying, hmm ? It’s not like he will leave you ! And you won’t die all alone either ! See that as a merciful act !”, he said happily, mocking her.

She knew that he wanted to kill her too, maybe she can weasel herself out of it...

“I’ll do anything you want, if you don’t kill me ! Anything, I promise !”, she begged.

Alastor looked at her amused.

“HA ! No.”, he replied.

“Please ! I can be useful !”, she tried to change his mind.

“Hmmm... No.”, he answered again, with a shit eating grin.

“I can show you a good time !”, she tried as her last resort.

It always worked when she offered her body, but not with this man. The Radio Host recoiled, like he was smacked, and stared at her.

“No, thank you. I don’t need a harlot. Not interested in such things, who knows how many diseases you have, from having spend some nights with other men. I don’t wish to be infected.”, he denied.

He felt revolted in disgust at that suggestion, in his mind. Who did that woman think she was ? Hot shit ?

“Please reconsider-!”

“Dear...do you ever shut up ?”, Alastor asked with his happy tone.

Underneath that happy tone, Alastor was annoyed and fuming. Gorgia was sobbing loudly and it was ugly, which annoyed Alastor even more. At first it was fun and entertaining, now it was boring and annoying as hell.

He went in front of her tied up form and she whimpered, trying to quiet down. Before she could plead again, the Bayou Killer boxed her into the throat. It knocked her breath away and she wheezed. She tried to talk again, but her voice was barely audible.

“Much better, Dear !”, Alastor cheerily said and left her side again.

The Radio Host took the fallen out organs one by one and started to decorate the basement with them, which made the woman wail silently, while Fred was still slowly dying. Alastor hummed happily as he decorated, thinking about a way to torture Gorgia to her end.

Then he got his sadistic idea and his smile, which seemed to get even more sinister than before, said that it was a fantastic one.

“After I am done decorating with these organs, you better pray that I am not missing something as decoration, otherwise you will have to pay the price, Harlot !”, Alastor informed her happily.

More tears fell and she stared at the Killer in fear.

After a few minutes he was done and looked around, tapping his chin in thought.

“Hmm...Oh goodness, this won’t do !”, he said disapprovingly.

He waited a bit, then spoke again, hearing her quick breaths and sniffles.

“I am missing a few things, such a scoundrel !”, Alastor exclaimed in mock disappointment.

At that the woman had big eyes of terror and she sobbed harder. Alastor slowly approached her.

“Seems like, I have to take the other decorations from you, Darling~”, he said and drew out his hunting knife again.

She shook her head, wheezing out pleads, that fell on deaf ears. The Killer looked at her left hand, that was tied up and his eyes flashed. She saw the red hue again in his brown eyes and she shivered in fear.

He gave her a smile, that might have looked charming, if he wouldn’t be killing her right now. He grabbed her left hand and made her straighten out her pointer finger, then he slammed his hunting knife down, while she struggled and pleaded more, knowing what he will do.

Her voice seemed to return as she screamed in pain, as he chopped off her left pointer finger. It hit the floor, but Alastor was far from done.

“Perfect, nine more to go.”, he said darkly.

She screamed and begged, struggled and wailed for mercy. But Alastor didn’t care and continued. Each time he chopped off a finger, she screamed in agony and his sadistic grin grew.

-Time skip-

Gorgia was sobbing and hiccupping as Alastor finished decorating the entrance to the Basement, with her chopped off fingers. He would have loved to detach more from her body, but he had no saw or axe and he was also running out of time. He laughed as he saw Gorgia’s and Fred’s miserable faces.

He drew his hunting knife and approached them with a sinister grin. Fred passed out for a few seconds about three minutes ago, now he was back awake, and weak.

“Hmm...who am I going to kill first ? Will I kill you or your husband first ? I don’t know...”, Alastor feigned conflicted.

“If you...kill us both anyways....then why does it matter....who dies first ?”, Gorgia got out weakly, her voice hoarse and weak from all the screaming and wailing.

“The first one will be able to go first, free of their pain of course ! It matters, because I can’t decide who shall be relieved first. I am a Gentleman usually and that would mean, that you would be the first one to go, but at the same time, you hurt both of your kids an awful lot and didn’t suffer as long as your husband. He suffered longer and is in more pain, but he physically abused his kids more than I would like to have known. So...I have a very big issue now.”

He wanted to see if Gorgia was selfish. She looked at her husband, even though she cheated on him a few times, she didn’t hate him. She looked at Alastor, determined.

“Kill him first.”, she said.

He didn’t show it, but Alastor was surprised. She chose him over her, at least she had a little bit of love for him there. He went in front of Fred and Gorgia screwed her eyes shut, as Alastor shoved his hand inside her husband’s chest and ripped his heart out. Fred’s body stiffened for a second, then went slack. He was dead.

Alastor threw the heart against the basement wall to his left. As it made contact it popped, like a water balloon, and painted the wall red. He approached Gorgia and made her look at the spot, the heart popped. She sobbed again, but no tears can be shed anymore.

“I am impressed that you chose him to die first, I’ll admit that. Even though you two were pigs, I suppose for that one I cut you some slack, Madam.”, Alastor told her, amused.

She looked at him, before she could say anything else, she gasped in pain and wheezed. Alastor drove his hunting knife into her stomach, his grin sadistic and his chocolate brown eyes holding a red hue in them. Then he continuously tore his knife out and stabbed her again. She was gargling on her own blood, Alastor was covered in it, but he didn’t stop.

He only stopped as her body had gone limp long ago and she had at least 120 stab wounds in her torso. It didn’t take long for him to recover, catch his breath, make sure he left no evidence of himself behind and then to leave the house the way he entered, to return home.

As he arrived back at home, he rushed to the bathroom and threw his clothes into the bathtub, then let in cold water. After his clothes were soaking in the cold water, where he added a bit of cleaner inside, he jumped into the shower and showered the blood on his body off.

Then he cleaned his clothes and hung them over the heater in the room, letting them dry. He checked on M/n after that, who was still sleeping, and then he went to bed himself. Sleep quickly consumed him as the blood rush and adrenaline went down.

-Three days later-

The police didn’t find the bodies yet, which was good and at the same time irritating, in Alastor’s opinion. M/n didn’t sleep properly last night, but wanted to come with him to work anyways, so the Radio Host packed a pillow and fluffy blanket into a small bag, just in case. M/n was snuggled into it at the moment, napping the day away.

Alastor lifted his cup of coffee to drink and was shocked when nothing entered his mouth. He looked into his mug.

‘Already empty ? Guess I have to refill it. M/n will be fine alone for five minutes, right ?’

Alastor was worried and conflicted. He knew his Boss was busy, but he never took any chances since he knew that he was...INTERESTED in M/n, if you catch the drift. He looked at the door and then back at M/n. Then the male took a deep breath and got up, opened the door and left.

‘Only five minutes. Nothing will happen to him in five minutes.’, Alastor tried to reassure himself, to calm his nerves.

He was soon at the Coffee machine and prepared his beverage.

‘Only five minutes...’

-Five minutes later-

As he returned he froze in shock and rage. In his office, was his Boss, in front of M/n’s sleeping body, blanket pulled away. The pervert stared at M/n’s ass, like it was dessert. Alastor had to do something ! Quick !

He can’t stand up against his Boss, without getting fired. He had a mixed skin color and not white, his Boss was and he was just as racist as almost the rest of New Orleans.

He carefully set his mug down on the floor, not making a sound. Then he pulled out a switchblade from his pants’ pocket, he flipped it open, then quietly approached his Boss, who had his back still towards him. Just as that perverted old man was about to touch Alastor’s adopted Son’s thighs, the Radio Host slammed the knife down and into his Boss’ head.

The man jerked up and tried to yell, but Alastor covered his mouth quickly and then tore him away from M/n, who was luckily still asleep. He tore him to the small closet that was in Alastor’s office and then slit his throat. Renold Floyd started to choke on his own blood and his life was draining fast from him. Alastor closed the closet door behind him, glaring at his dying, soon to be, ex Boss.

“Don’t touch my fucking child, you vile pig.”, Alastor growled out.

Renold tried to fight against his fate, but he soon enough was dead anyways. Alastor scoffed and then exited the closet, locking the door in case. He checked his clothes and there was no blood stain on him. Good.

He looked at M/n. His Son.

In shock he shook his head. What was he thinking ?! M/n is NOT his Son !

He looked at the boy again, who was unaware and sleeping peacefully. He was safe and sound. It warmed the Killer’s heart.

Yes...M/n is his Son. HIS only. No one is allowed to touch him.

‘I promised that I will never let anyone else hurt you or even touch you, without your consent. I swore to you, to protect you. I am planning to keep these promises, my Son.’

He approached the sleeping boy and pulled the blanket back over his small body.

‘I always keep my words. I will protect you, no matter what, until the day I die.’

He gave a soft kiss onto M/n’s forehead, which made the boy smile in his sleep softly. It almost killed Alastor. The boy was so much cuteness at once. The man smiled in adoration, then he collected his mug of coffee and sat back down on his microphone, waiting to get back on air.

He knew that his Son will be safe with him.

Always.

Masterlist HERE !

#read warnings above #male!reader #fanfiction #alastor the radio demon #radio demon #alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel #Alastor x Reader #Father!Alastor x Son!Reader #Human!Alastor #I keep my words – Human!Father!Alastor x Son!Reader #Alive!Alastor

[saphronethaleph]

RTKM

“I can’t speak to him until tomorrow?” Obi-Wan checked.

“I am afraid not,” Taun We replied, with a conciliatory gesture. “It is a shame you have come all this way to meet with such inconvenience, but perhaps if you had commed ahead…?”

Obi-Wan nodded.

“That would have worked better,” he decided, thinking. “Would you be able to run me through some of the key decisions made on the specifics of the army? I’m afraid they were taken several years ago, and I’ve only come to this particular project quite recently – I’d like to make sure I wasn’t missing anything.”

“Of course,” Taun We agreed. “In addition to providing the template, Jango made many of the decisions on training – that is not our speciality, as we prefer to allow our clients to make the appropriate arrangements in doctrinal matters.”

“Naturally,” Obi-Wan agreed, pacing down the hallway. “What weapons and equipment are included in the contract?”

“A basic load for the first two hundred thousand units has been procured,” Taun We replied. “All part of the initial purchase, naturally. We are aware that our clients may need to take urgent delivery. Any upgrades, however, will have to be provided by the client.”

She gestured, indicating one of the staging areas. “Rothana Heavy Engineering has provided much of the heavy equipment. Several large orders were made.”

This was getting more and more involved, and Obi-Wan’s worry was only increasing.

How much money was involved with this army?

“You mentioned behavioural modifications?” he asked.

“Naturally,” Taun We confirmed. “Neural inhibitor biochips are a standard installation on most of our clone lines. Our products are designed for maximum obedience through a careful inculcation of a culture of volunteerism, but overrides are always considered useful.”

She took out a datapad, tapping on it, then held it out for him. “A full list of the commands. I hope you’ll find that the details are entirely within the contracted parameters.”

“I hope so as well,” Obi-Wan replied, paging through the datapad.

He’d been wondering how a clone army could work, on a practical level, but seeing some of these commands it was apparent what would be involved. The clones would be trained in all military skills, and in showing initiative, but the dozens of indexed commands would erase or alter specific factors of their behaviour.

They would retain the same skills as before, but their free will would be restricted, causing them to obey as readily as droids. One of the commands on the datapad was to discard their communicators immediately, while another was an order to charge a position, regardless of casualties – and Obi-Wan had seen enough of conflict to know that that would be able to win some battles all by itself.

So long as you didn’t see the ten-year-old clones who’d be doing it as who they were. As much children as adults.

Then he stopped, and stared.

“Is something wrong, Jedi Kenobi?” Taun We asked.

Obi-Wan shook himself.

“My apologies,” he said, turning off the datapad and stowing it in his robes. “While I hope it won’t cause any problems for you, I’m going to need to check something later… are there any exercises going on at the moment?”

“Of course,” Taun We replied, pleasantly. “Would you prefer close combat exercises, heavy weapons, or long arms?”

“You’re going to need to hear this, Masters,” Obi-Wan said. “I’ve arrived on Kamino and found that Master Sifo-Dyas had ordered a clone army that was – supposedly – to be used by the Jedi, at the request of the Senate almost ten years ago.”

“Killed before that, he was,” Yoda replied.

“That was my impression as well, Master,” Obi-Wan replied. “But the clone army has neural override chips in them – standard practice here, I understand – and I was given a list of the commands.”

He cleared his throat. “Order number: 66. Authorized to be used by: the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic, voice command, no other authorization required. Approved propagation: Command Clones may spread this order down the chain of command. Effects: Eliminate all previous affection or comradeship towards Jedi subjects of order, specified at time of use. If undefined, all Jedi are subject to order. Order subjects are to be designated traitors and eliminated immediately, maximum priority. Clones not acting in compliance with order are to be designated traitors.”

Mace Windu inhaled.

“That would be-” he began, but Obi-Wan raised his hand.

“Sorry, Master, but I hadn’t finished,” he said. “The effect section continues: redesignate Supreme Chancellor as Lord Sidious.”

Mace and Yoda both stared at Obi-Wan through the scrambled hologram link.

“Hell, kriffing,” Yoda said, eventually.

Mace started giggling.

“Master Windu?” Obi-Wan asked, worried.

“This is why you always read the manual,” Mace said, between giggles.

#star wars #obi wan kenobi #clone troopers #order 66 #mace windu #kamino #read the manual