#National Reparations Conference

[ausetkmt]

Atlanta is hosting a two day reparations event. if you are interested in FBA/Reparations you might want to check this out Sat Oct 7th and Sun Oct 8th. National Reparations depends on EVERYONE getting into the fight and making it happen for All Freedmen

[reasoningdaily]

Atlanta is hosting a two day reparations event. if you are interested in FBA/Reparations you might want to check this out Sat Oct 7th and Sun Oct 8th. National Reparations depends on EVERYONE getting into the fight and making it happen for All Freedmen.

[theenglishnook]

Opening of the Paris Peace Conference – Shaping the Language of Diplomacy and Global Governance

The 1919 Paris Peace Conference transformed diplomacy and language, introducing terms like self-determination and reparations. It bridged political ideals and public discourse, shaping modern discussions on governance.

January 18, 1919 Shaping Peace On January 18, 1919, the Paris Peace Conference convened in the aftermath of World War I, bringing together delegates from over 30 nations to negotiate the terms of peace. This historic event culminated in the Treaty of Versailles and introduced a transformative vocabulary into the English language. Terms like self-determination, mandate, and League of Nations…

[xndrpndr]

The Final Mix

A/N: Written for a prompt by @woollypoison. Much love for hosting! This is also my first time officially writing smut. Enjoy!

Karina & Hyeri x Male Reader Smut

5.7k words

Now here’s the thing about Lee Hyeri: 

She gets it. 

She’s loud, she’s lazy, and she’s casually filthy, sure. But she doesn’t pretend this is about attachment or romance or whatever else people try to slap onto a good fuck. She moans like a banshee, curses like she’s getting paid by the word, and she’ll laugh in your face if you try to call this passion. 

It's not passion. It's Tuesday. 

You like her for that. That, and the fact that she squirts like a pornstar and doesn’t mind doing it on company time.

Desk, floor, couch, conference table—pick your battlefield. She’ll bring the war. (And open the floodgates.)

Today’s bout happens to be in your vocal booth. 

Or, happened, rather.

“Don’t fall asleep in here,” you remind her, yanking your pants up. “You drool on anything expensive and the label’s gonna think I adopted a stray.”

“Hah,” she laughs dryly. “You owe me lunch, for that one. Or, I dunno, a lozenge. I can’t feel my throat.”

You snort, still half-naked, still sweating—absolutely not in a position to debate sexual reparations.

Meanwhile, Hyeri’s lying across the vocal booth bench like it’s a fucking chaise lounge, panties twirling in her fingers, skirt still hiked up, and blouse open like the concept of modesty just doesn’t apply after three orgasms.

Which, it doesn’t, so you’ll give her that one.

There’s sweat on her chest and something else between her thighs—it yours, obviously—and she’s tracing lazy circles around her navel with one red-tipped nail. “I really think I hit that harmony this time,” she muses. “Like... actually nailed it.” She is, of course, referring to the song you’re supposed to be recording and not the chorus of moans she let out as she came all over you.

You shoot her a sceptical look, shoving a cable out of your way with your foot, hunting for wherever your belt got thrown off to. “You moaned through half of it.”

“Artistic expression,” she shrugs, reaching for a tissue. “Adds texture.”

“It adds me spending an hour editing out your sex noises,” you grimace, pulling your belt out from where she's hidden it under her. “That or we schedule another day to record.”

“Oh no,” she mocks, wiping your cum from between her thighs. “Not post-production work—y’know, the thing you’re paid to do. But,” she’s thinking now, tapping her chin with a finger, “you would like another day with me all to yourself, now wouldn’t you?”

You flick her the bird as you slip back into your button-up. She smiles like she’s won something. She has, technically. Three times, in fact. The first when you ate her out on the bench. The second when she rode you on said bench. And the third against the booth wall, displacing soundproofing with a leg around your waist, your cock in her cunt, and a finger in her ass for good measure.

But unlike your little sexcapade with Hyeri, this was supposed to be quick.

Track the bridge, tweak her verse, maybe do a dry run of the group chorus. Nothing that warranted sweat-slick skin and a room that smells more potent than a fish market. But with Hyeri, quick is theoretical. She’s chaos and lust wrapped in short skirts and high heels—all while masquerading as the Nation's Little Goody-two-shoes.

And then, like the universe itself is showing its disapproval for your pseudo-professionalism, your phone buzzes.

12:15 PM – Karina | Vocal Tracking

“Shit.”

You have exactly thirteen minutes to unfuck the studio.

Hyeri doesn’t look up, popping a mint and digging in her bag for lipstick. “What now?”

“Karina’s coming.”

She looks up. There’s a beat. Then she laughs—not shy, not sorry.

Delighted.

“Did you schedule us back-to-back, again?” she asks, sitting up, buttoning her blouse like it’s a suggestion and not an obligation. “Jesus, you’re bold.”

“I forgot,” you admit, which is true. Sort of.

You remembered the moment Hyeri finished singing the bridge. But when the Nation’s Little Sister is in your vocal booth moaning into the mic and flashing her tits, your list of priorities gets jumbled just a teensy bit.

She cackles, sliding off the bench and onto the floor like this is all the setup to a really good punchline. “Wow. Can’t wait for her to sing backup on the chorus while standing in a puddle of my cu—”

“Don’t finish that sentence.”

Hyeri holds her hands up. “What? It’s a collab.”

Right. The collab. Two idols, one producer, and a track about heartbreak or temptation or something equally ironic. Not to toot your own horn or anything but the beat’s  good. An obvious hit.

What makes no sense is the lineup.

 Hyeri—basically retired idol turned variety darling turned actress. 90% charm. 100% chaos.

 Karina—hot as all fuck, a pillar of fourth-gen K-pop, and somehow still the weirdest girl in the room. ‘A loser in a goddess’s body’ as the internet puts it.

There’s absolutely no correlation between the two other than industry and that they’re both drop-dead gorgeous. It’s like some wacky higherup wanted the most oddball idol pairings possible. And for some reason, you’re the glue holding it all together.

The calendar notification flashes up at you again, sending you hurtling into action. “Fuck, I really thought it was just you today,” you scramble, grabbing the tissue box and frantically wiping off the bench drenched in her sweat and fluids. “Are you gonna help?”

Hyeri just shrugs. “I had bridge duty,” she begins, ignoring your pleas entirely. “And Karina’s laying down the second verse, right?”

“Yeah,” you reply, dejected and slightly annoyed. She’s not doing shit. “Just…” you begin, like this makes up for anything,”— don’t leave your bra again.”

She pauses, looking down at her chest like she only just remembered she owns one. “Shit—did I?”

You both spot it at the same time in the far corner of the room. Lace, red, costs three figures. Definitely hers. You snatch it like it’s a grenade and shove it into her tote without ceremony.

Hyeri simply grins. “Oops.”

“Can’t believe you left it in the booth last week,” you hiss. “Karina walked in and asked if you were doing your laundry in here.”

“What did you tell her?”

“That you got hot.”

“That’s not even a good lie,” she replies, quite obviously amused by the whole fiasco. “You should’ve said I was doing vocals in lingerie—very French. Very sexy.” 

“Very suspension-of-contract,” you mutter.

“Barely noticed it was gone, to be honest. Was it the black one?”

“...Yes.”

“Mm,” she nods. “Thought so. I’ve been wondering.”

“For a week?”

“I’m not particularly sentimental about bras,” she says, like it’s a flex.

You shake your head. “Do you want it back?”

“Nope. Keep it,” Hyeri zips her tote with a smile, “as a memento.”

You shrug. Can’t argue with that.

With one last wipe you finish scrubbing down the vocal booth like it’s a crime scene clean-up, which, given your contractual obligations such as: Don’t Fuck The Talent, might actually be. 

Three sprays of some bergamot mist tries to mask the smell of sex, sweat, and the lastest in your long line of poor decisions. It doesn’t. At best, now it smells like bergamot and sex. 

But it’ll have to do. 

Hyeri simply watches from her place on the floor. She’s mostly dressed now—blouse crumpled but closed, lipstick redrawn, auburn hair finger-combed into something that says either sexually satisfied or hungover. Almost normal is how you’d describe her—the faint marks just visible above her collar put an emphasis on the almost.

With a couple more sprays of  the citrus you and Hyeri are out of the booth, but you’re desk is a mess too: A tangle of wires, half drunk coffee and—

The recording light is still on.

The waveform’s still rolling.

The track: armed. The booth: live.

You lunge for the keyboard.

Stop recording.

Three peaks. Clear as day.

You don’t need audio engineering school to know what they are. You’re staring at the literal shape of her orgasms.

“Wow,” she says, squinting beside you. “It’s like… orgasmic morse code.”

You glance at her. “The fuck does that even mean?”

“Dunno,” she shrugs. “Sounded smarter in my head.”

You look back at the waveform, playing one of the peaks. 

No vocals. No takes. Just moans. Whines. Wet, slick sounds. You. Her. You in her. And then:

“Oh my fucking Gggggggod,” she moans through the monitors.

Hyeri watches your face. Smiles.

“I should delete it,” you say looking back.

“But you won’t.”

“But I should.”

“But you won’t.”

She’s right. You won’t.

Instead:

Export > Documents > Private > ALT_Hyeri_Vocals.wav

“Ooooh,” she sings, nudging you with her shoulder, a little too pleased. “Wait, alt vocals? Not even a cute name? Not even ‘HyeriMOANS_FinalVII_REALFINAL_usethisone.wav’?”

“It’s for the back-up vocals,” you lie as naturally as you breathe.

“It’s for your spank bank,” she retorts.

You don’t answer. Partly because she’s right and mostly because you’re red from realizing how much you moaned, too. Not your finest hour, you’ll admit.

“Shouldn't you be going?” You finally ask her.

“Fine, fine.”

With one last devious smile, Hyeri pulls on her tote, checks her reflection in the black of the studio glass, and re-combs her hair. “Well,” she says, turning to leave, “have fun explaining our completely professional relationship to Karina.”

“What? Why would I ever—”

“Oh come on,” she cuts in, laughing. “These fourth-gen girls? You think they’ve never walked into a studio that smells like cum and perfume? Please. I’d seriously be surprised if she hasn’t picked up on it by now.”

“Hyeri.”

“I’m serious. She’d have to be Mother Teresa to not know what’s going on in here.” 

You’re mortified. Full-body cringe—It’s delicious to her. “So, unless she’s got a cross under her clothes, you’re not fooling anyone.”

You go pale. She beams.

“You couldn’t have told me this earlier?”

She pretends to think for a second before landing on a simple:

“Nope.”

At the door, she turns, planting a kiss on your cheek—sweet, sinful, smug. “Good luck,” she sings. “See you next week.”

And just like that she's gone.

You’re completely frozen. Save for the moment you spray the bergamot again. 

Five times this time.

Spoiler alert: 

It doesn’t help.

*

Karina arrives at 12:16.

Which is a little late. But when your producer’s secretly been balls-deep in your sexy co-worker, and your body has curves that put cue balls to shame, a little late is just fine.

She pokes her head in, hair in a low ponytail, gray hoodie and sweatpants on, face bare save for chapstick and what you hope is not suspicions of contract violations.

“Hey,” she chirps, offering a small smile. One of those slow, polite things that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Traffic was a nightmare. Did I miss anything?”

Only a live porno starring your dick and Hyeri’s everything.

“Nope,” you lie, voice almost cracking. “Perfect timing.”

She steps inside like she owns the place, which is fair, considering her vocals are probably worth half your paycheck this quarter. Then, she gives you a quick once-over—nothing obvious, but her eyes pause on your sloppy collar, then your flushed ears. You sit up straighter. Try not to look like you’ve just been reverse-exorcised by a woman with zero gag reflex.

Then Karina sniffs.

“New room spray?” she asks, nose wrinkling.

“Uh, yeah. Some limited edition one, I think. Intern picked it up for shits and giggles.”

“Huh.”

You try to make yourself look busy, turning away and absentmindedly double-clicking shit on your desktop, minimising and maximising random windows just to make your screen flash.  You wish you could minimize yourself while you’re at it.

“You, uh… just finished with Hyeri?” she asks, looking over.

There it is.

You nod. Neutral. Casual. “Yeah. She was recording the bridge.”

“Mm.”

Just a sound, not even a word. And yet you can practically hear the subtext screaming: Bridge, huh? Is that what we’re calling it now?

You shouldn’t be scared of her. Of all people, Karina is the probably least intimidating idol you’ve ever worked with—soft-spoken, professionally polite and always just a little behind the tempo of group conversations. 

So then why the fuck does she manage to hit the nail on the head with every word out of that gorgeous mouth?

 “I could tell,” she shrugs. “Smells like her.”

You cough so hard you hit a new vocal register.

But Karina doesn’t say anything. Just makes her way to the booth.

You’re about to ask if she wants water—anything to offset the tension and your crippling anxiety—when she peels off her hoodie.

And fuck you.

It’s not even that it’s scandalous. It’s a black sports bra. Basic. Functional. Nothing that should bring a grown man to his metaphorical and literal knees. It’s gym attire. But it’s her gym attire, and that makes a world of difference. 

The bra doesn’t so much as hide her tits but politely suggest they quiet the fuck down, doing a noble yet futile job of containing what you really wish wasn’t. Because God damn if her breasts aren’t full, shapely—obscene in their perfection, indecent in their splendour. And if that weren't enough for you, right below her stomach tapers in, all sharp lines and lean muscle, just begging for you to run your hands and tongue along.

Karina tosses her hoodie onto the vocal booth bench—the same one you railed Hyeri on half an hour ago. She stretches, arms up, spine arched, that long line of torso on blatant, mouth-watering display. You pretend you’re checking the input levels, but your gaze keeps slingshotting back to her like it’s tied on elastic.

She catches you.

Which, yeah, you’re about as subtle as a cymbal crash.

“It’s really…  stuffy in here,” she remarks as she meets your staring gaze, fanning her face with one hand. “Something must have happened in here.”

Well, if she didn’t know earlier, then she definitely knows now. And she’s fucking with you to boot.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

Your throat works around a lie. Futile, probably. Any moment now she could report your horny ass to a higher-up and have you on the street within minutes. But she hasn’t. So either she’s getting off fucking with you, or she wants something in return for keeping hush. Either one isn’t particularly ideal. 

“A‑ah, yeah,” you stammer. Smooth start. “HVAC’s acting up. I’ll put in a ticket.” You flick a random knob that does absolutely nothing, praying she’ll drop it. “Let’s get your tracking done before the air gets worse, yeah?”

Karina nods. Noncommittal. Disbelieving.

Man, you’re so fucked.

*

Karina nails the verse on the first pass—pitch perfect, emotion dialled, consonants crisp enough to slice butter. And for a little while, you forget about her standing in a room soaked in Hyeri’s cum.

Second pass? Even better. Third? Pure polish. By the time you hit stop for real, you're covered in goosebumps and it has nothing to do with the prospect of losing everything.

Karina’s simply that good.

You press the talk‑back. “That’s the one. Seriously, Karina—gold. Take five?”

She lifts one ear‑cup and flashes a grin. “Sure.”

You breathe a sigh of relief when the conversation ends there. Maybe… just maybe… you’ve dodged a bullet.

You lean back, arms stretching over your head, casual as you can fake it. The worst is over. You’re in the clear. She probably bought the ventilation excuse. Probably thinks nothing of the citrus-and-sex sauna she walked into.

Professional crisis: averted.

Thank fuck.

Perhaps Hyeri’s wrong. Perhaps Karina’s a little too sweet, a little too spaced-out, a little too fourth-gen golden girl to know what a post-sex room smells like.

Karina hums a little under her breath, fiddling with her phone. She looks harmless. Normal.

Just a girl in a sports bra and sweats, checking her messages, laughing at a reel.

But then you let your gaze skate over her bare stomach again. Then those magnificent tits.

And you wonder how that would be possible.

You shake your head. Refocus.

“Seriously, you crushed it,” you say, half to fill the air, half to genuinely compliment. “Some of your best work, period.”

Karina beams, cheeks flushing pink. And for another second, it’s easy to forget the whole ticking-time-bomb nature of this room. To forget Hyeri’s cum still somewhere deep in the booth fibers. To forget everything except how fucking pretty she looks smiling at you.

You even start mentally scheduling next week’s sessions—like you’re gonna get away clean.

You’re an idiot.

Because then she ruins your fucking life.

“So,” Karina starts, tilting her head just slightly, “how long have you been fucking Hyeri?”

You choke on absolutely nothing. Do a spit-take with no drink.

She says it like it’s a joke. Like she’s asking if you’re out of oat milk.

Except she’s not joking.

Not even a little.

 “I—I—what?”

“I mean, I’m assuming it’s Hyeri,” she muses, tapping a finger to her chin. "She did look pretty worn when I passed her in the lobby.”

You wish the ground would open up and swallow you whole. You wish you could eject yourself into the sun.

You wish she hadn’t said it with that much fucking glee.

“Don’t worry,” she says in a half-shrug. “I’m not gonna tell anyone if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Thank fuck.

“There is just one thing though…”

Oh fuck.

"I don’t really like being left out."

What the fuck?

"I want in."

What the fuck.

You stand up, pace around the room. Try to gather your thoughts, try to process what exactly she’s proposing here.

Karina wants to fuck you.

 You won’t pretend you haven’t thought about it. That you’re some righteous saint without the need for fantasy. 

But this is Karina you’re talking about.

It’s one thing for you to be caught with Hyeri, but Karina? Pillar of a whole generation? If the two of you were caught it’d be—

“—A PR nightmare?” she supplies. “A scandal? Headline of the century?”

You nod so fast you almost give yourself whiplash.

She just shrugs again, careless, reckless, hot as sin. "Don't care."

You open your mouth. Close it. Try again. "You—you have no idea what you're asking—"

"I do," she interrupts, stepping closer, breath frosting the booth window. Her voice is silk now. A trap you’re already caught in. "I know exactly what I’m asking."

She walks back to the bench, hands bracing behind her, legs spreading just enough to hint at what’s awaiting you.

“I want you like she has you.”

You’re not strong enough. 

You’re not stupid enough to pretend you are.

But even if you managed to steel your resolve, Karina bites her bottom lip. Runs a hand along her crotch.

"I’ve wanted you since the demo."

And you’re moving before you even register it.

*

You’ve soaked in some legendary sights on the label’s dime.

Dawn over the Han River from sixty stories up, neon Tokyo streets glitter‑wet after midnight rain, front-row seats to an Eiffel Tower light show in a suite. Gorgeous, all of them. Low-end bucket‑list kinda stuff.

But this view might just take the cake.

Sweat slicks Karina’s collarbones, soaks the carelessly lifted sports bra, gathers at the dip between her breasts, slides down to where your hands own her hips. Every grind turns your spine to liquid. Every thrust drives you deeper. And every bounce sends those perfect tits—shape and size defying God and physics—swinging in hypnotic rhythm.

“You fill me so good,” she pants, words cutting the hush of the booth, dirty and devotional at once. “Knew you'd feel this good—just knew it." She braces one palm against the glass, the other yanking her own hair into a makeshift ponytail, dragging it off her glowing face. The move juts her chest higher—an unspoken invitation, one you answer with your mouth. You latch on to the reddened mark just above her nipple, tongue finding its way around the sensitive circumference.

She whines.

You suck harder.

She tightens.

And you’re gone.

You should be thinking your job, about morality, about the very real possibility that a lone intern could wander past and see silhouettes doing something distinctly un‑PG behind the frosted glass. Instead, you’re cataloguing micro‑details: the faint scent of her shampoo under the musk of sweat, the tremor in her thigh when she sinks too deep, the almost reverent way her eyes lock on-to you when you hit that spot.

“Been wanting this for so long,” she reiterates, rolling her hips in a tighter circle. “Wanted your cock buried so deep I can’t hit a high note without it in me.”

The image alone nearly finishes you. You grit your teeth, hold your release back with sheer will and bruising fingers at her waist.

“Fuck, Karina—”

Karina leans in, panting against your mouth, grinding harder and harder, chasing her high and yours without a single shred of shame.

“Wanted you so bad,” she whines, breath hot against your ear, “thought about this every time you said my name—every fucking time—”

Your head falls back against the booth wall with a thunk.

You’re losing it.

She feels it—smiles a broken, wicked smile. “Already that close? Poor producer.” She makes a teasing cluck of the tongue, a soft caress to your cheek, then she slams down hard enough to shatter the bench. “Then give it to me,” she growls. “ Give me everything.”

You can’t not obey. 

Pressure builds and so does your pace. Driving into her with a fury you didn’t know you had in you. Karina’s moaning openly now, every last shred of composure thrown to the wind.

Pressure builds then detonates. 

Heat floods every nerve.

You break.

 She follows.

And it’s bliss.

Her cry is earth-shattering, torn from somewhere deep as she clamps down hard around you, milking you for everything you’ve got. Her thighs lock, her body seizes. She’s trembling, gasping, riding wave after wave like she doesn’t know how to stop.

Her nails rake your back, half for balance, half to brand you, and you let her. Let her take. Let her have you. Her breath stutters against your mouth as you kiss through the fallout—sloppy, greedy. A thank-you and a promise and a question all at once.

Aftershocks hit her in uneven jolts, and you revel in the way she twitches around you with each one. You’re still inside her. Still hard. Still pulsing. Still drowning in her.

KArina collapses forward, full-body flush against yours, forehead pressed to your collarbone. Her heartbeat drums against your ribs. You’re shaking. So is she.

For a long, breathless moment, there’s nothing but the sound of your combined panting, then, your lips colliding. 

You’re engrossed. And so is she. So much so that you both miss the sound of the booth door opening.

“And here I thought I came too early,” a voice says from the doorway.

You don’t look right away. You don’t have the mental bandwidth for anything beyond Karina’s skin and the twitch in your cock. 

And besides, you already know exactly what you’ll see.

Your head finally turns toward the door.

Hyeri’s grinning. “You two certainly wasted no time.”

“Hyeri,” you begin, less surprised, more irritated, “ what the fuck are you—”

“Save it,” she interrupts. “You’ll ruin the mood.”

“What fucking moo—”

In an instant Hyeri’s blouse is open again, revealing an absence of fabric over her tits.

You feel Karina tighten.

“Room for one more?” she asks with a sly grin.

You look at Karina.

Karina looks at you.

And Karina—God bless her, damn her, ruin you for life—grins. 

"Yeah," she says, voice high and sweet and so very, very gone. "Okay."

"You good with it, Producer-nim?" she teases.

You are not good.

You are very, very bad.

But Karina’s hips are still pressed against you, and Hyeri’s smile is so knowing, and your cock—traitorous, eager—twitches inside the girl already dripping down your thighs.

You’re fucked.

Yet you nod.

Reluctantly. Helplessly.

(Gratefully.)

Hyeri claps, wickedly pleased. “God, I love consent.”

Then she drops to her knees.

*

You’ve soaked in some legendary sights on the label’s dime.

Dawn over the Han River from sixty stories up, neon Tokyo streets glitter‑wet after midnight rain, Karina, sweat-slick, tits swinging and your name on her breath as she rides you into the Earth’s core.

But this view might just take the cake.

Which is ironic, because there’s no view at all.

Because Karina’s sitting on your face.

Full weight, full warmth, full heaven and hell combined.

Her meaty thighs clamp around your head, her cunt pressed flush against your mouth, slick and perfect and utterly suffocating. Her ass—round, shameless and the urban dictionary definition of fuck you—is covering everything else.

You couldn’t open your eyes even if you wanted to.

And you don’t want to.

Because the raw sensation—the taste of her dripping down your tongue, the way she grinds against your mouth with broken little whimpers—is worth more than any skyline on Earth.

You’re drowning in her.

And if that wasn’t enough?

Hyeri’s riding you at the same time.

Usually, you’d feel her braced against your chest, feel the needy, desperate grip of her hands as she takes everything you have and begs for more with every bounce.

But you suspect her hands are elsewhere: fondling Karina’s bare tits, holding her throat as they duel with their tongues. Either or works. 

Because God if that mental image isn’t Louvre material.

A lick to the clit softens Karina’s grip around your ears and you settle for sound instead.

Wet, filthy kisses sound somewhere above you. Giddy little gasps. The faint slap of a palm against skin. Karina moans into Hyeri’s mouth—or maybe it’s Hyeri moaning into hers—you can’t tell, you don’t care. 

“Fuck, you’re cute,” Hyeri purrs against her, the smacking of lips resuming instantly.

 You feel the words vibrate through Karina’s body, then feel her clench around your tongue.

“Sensitive too,” Hyeri adds. “You like it when I touch you here?” Karina gasps, the result of having her pussy licked and her tits caressed.

Karina tries to answer, but it comes out as a high-pitched whimper instead.

Hyeri laughs softly—not cruel, but giddy, drunk on the power she holds. 

 You hear the slick sound of their mouths meeting again. The sticky, obscene sound of a kiss that isn’t meant for cameras or fans or anything else where clean and polished is the expectation.

Just raw, messy and private.

Karina breaks away from it first, panting hard, lifting her hips just enough that a thin string of slick snaps between your mouth and her pussy.

You catch a glimpse of her when you blink up—face flushed, eyes glassy, lips and nipples swollen from Hyeri’s assault. 

You’d worship her if you could breathe.

But Hyeri’s hand is curling into Karina’s hair, tugging her up—gentle but insistent—and she moans like she’s been waiting for it.

"On your hands and knees, baby," Hyeri coos through another kiss, brushing the hair out of Karina’s sweaty face. "Be a good girl for us."

Karina whimpers, flushed and dazed, but obeys without hesitation, scrambling off your mouth and onto the bench, ass high, head low, presenting herself so shamelessly it’s enough to knock the air out of your lungs.

The second she’s steady, Hyeri slinks in front of her—legs spread, pussy slick and glistening, thighs trembling from earlier—and cups Karina’s flushed cheeks in her hands.

"You know what to do.”

Karina doesn’t hesitate.

She dives in, mouth open, tongue flat against Hyeri’s cunt, licking her like she’s starving for it. Like she needs it more than air.

Hyeri gasps, hips twitching, hand fisting tight in Karina’s hair.  She catches your eye over Karina’s bowed back, grinning like a cat who got the cream.

“Well?” Hyeri says to you, mid-moan. “You just gonna sit there and look pretty?”

You don’t need more encouragement.

You’re behind Karina in an instant, hands gripping her hips—tight, possessive—and line yourself up.

One push. Slow? Yes. Deep? All the fucking way.

Karina cries out into Hyeri’s pussy, body arching towards the flat of the bench. Hyeri laughs, breathlessly. Her hand strokes Karina’s cheek almost tenderly, but her words are anything but.

“Fuck, you’re loud,” she teases. "Who knew you were such a slutty girl?"

You thrust into Karina again, harder this time, savoring the ripple of her ass you do, the obscene wet sounds filling the booth as she tries—and fails—to keep up with both of you.

"He was like this with me, too," Hyeri purrs, hips rolling against Karina’s mouth in lazy, devastating circles. "First time he fucked me? Thought I was gonna cum at the first thrust.”

You’re turned on by the memory, driving yourself intoKarina harder.

Karina whines around Hyeri’s clit, her thighs shaking, her slick dripping down your cock every time you bottom out inside her.

Hyeri threads her fingers tighter in Karina’s hair, guiding her movements now, rocking her face exactly where she wants it.

“She’s a natural, isn’t she?” Hyeri croons, locking eyes with you again. “Makes the prettiest fucking sounds.”

You can’t do anything but nod, the tightness and sight stealing your breath.

Karina's arms tremble where she braces against Hyeri’s thighs. Her moans are constant now—muffled against Hyeri’s.

And you’re so close you can taste it.

Hyeri gasps, grinding down against Karina’s mouth with reckless, frantic need.

"You close?" she teases, voice shaky but still smug. "Gonna fill her up while she makes me cum?"

“Fuck yeah,” you manage to get out. 

Your hand finds its way to Karina’s clit: extra stimulation to make her tighten, to get her closer to her own release, to motivate her to suck Hyeri even harder.  

Your strategy works like a charm, and you’re graced with the sight of Hyeri’s head’s rolling back, a sharp cry escaping her as she cums all over Karina’s face.  “Fuuuuuuck me,” she exclaims, thighs clenching around Karina’s head, hands yanking her closer like she never wants her to stop.

Karina whimpers too, grinding her ass back against you in frantic, desperate little jerks, her own orgasm building with nowhere to go.

And then you snap.

You grab Karina’s hips, pull her flush against you, and empty yourself inside her with a strangled groan, spilling deep into her own trembling body.

Karina falls apart between you both—moaning and sobbing and soaking the bench with her release.

The three of you collapse together, sticky and shuddering and utterly spent.

And despite being suffocated and impaled at the same time, Karina perks up again. She’s still panting, still catching up on oxygen, but that doesn't stop her from asking:

“Now who’s ready for round two?”

*

The booth door swings open.

Hyeri’s hair is a disaster, Karina’s everything is either red, swollen, glistening or all three, and you’re pretty sure you’ve left fingerprints in places you’re contractually forbidden to even think about.

 (And probably teeth marks, if Hyeri’s wincing is anything to go by.)

And yet, somehow, you’re all laughing.

Half-dressed, fully wrecked, riding the tail-end high of the worst—and best—decision you’ve made in years, but still: laughing. 

Karina tugs the hem of her hoodie down like it might erase the obvious evidence of a threesome. Meanwhile, Hyeri buttons maybe one button of her blouse and calls it a day and you’re wiping sweat off your forehead with the sleeve of your shirt when you notice it.

The recording light is still on.

The waveform’s still rolling.

The track: armed. The booth: live.

You lunge for the keyboard. 

Again.

Stop recording.

There are fourteen peaks this time.

You know exactly what they are before Karina even asks, hobbling over as she pulls her sports bra back over her tits.

“What are those?” she asks, peering at the screen with curious eyes.

Hyeri’s already smiling, smugness just emanating from her. “Our orgasms,” she says proudly, like they’re her children.

“Wait, it was recording? The whole time?”

“Courtesy of me,” Hyeri says, with an even bigger smile now. “Turned it on while you two were getting busy. “

“Surprised you’re smart enough to know how,” you tease. And she hits you right back, literally.

“Ow!”

“Gonna fap to this one too, are ya?” she cackles.

“He’s gonna what?” Karina squeaks, slightly turned on.

You barely make it three seconds into the collective laughter before Hyeri steamrolls right through it.

“That’s it!” she exclaims, snapping her fingers. “This could totally work!”

"Work?" you echo. "What do you—?"

“We use this,” she begins with manic glee, dragging the track into the main sequence, “in the final mix.”

Karina’s eyes light up. "Wait, that’s genius!”

You’re frozen. Horrified. Horny.

“We could layer it in,” Karina continues. “Just subtle. Like an Easter egg.”

“A very hot Easter egg,” Hyeri adds, giving you a wicked eyebrow waggle.

You can barely think up a response. Between the countless hours today you’ve spent having sex, agonising about losing your job, and simply dealing with the pair of women before you, the amount of fucks you can currently give is strewn remarkably thin. 

Not thin enough, though.

“This,” you say, pointing to the screen,“is a horrible idea.”

It’s Hyeri’s turn for her eye’s to light up. 

“Hear that Karina?” She steps closer to you, hand going to your exposed cock. “Sounds like he needs some convincing.” 

“Mm,” Karina hums in agreement, fingers making their way up your chest. “Definitely does.” 

You groan, running a hand down your face.

You’ve already lost.

 “...We’ll put it in the song.”

“Yay!” they both squeal at once, pressing quick, sticky kisses to either side of your cheeks.

You sigh, sitting back at the console, exhaustion setting into your bones.

But you’re already thinking about it.

You’re thinking about how those breathy, desperate little sounds could melt into the track.

How no one would ever know except the three of you.

How every time the song plays, it’ll remind you of the heavenly feeling of Karina’s pussy on your tongue and Hyeri’s cunt on your cock.

You sigh.

You’re weak.

But with the two of them broaching yet another round, who could possibly blame you?

Your hand finds the mouse.

Export > Documents > Private > Vocals — The Final Mix.wav

What a fuckin’ Tuesday, huh?

[arverst-aegnar]

Day 30: Time Loop/Time Travel

heck yeah, i completed two days this year!!

the ending is a bit more abrupt than i wanted, but it just was not cooperating with me, and i was afraid that if i left it too long with my other incomplete Zutara Month ideas it might get infected with "takes too long to finish -itis". so here it is.

The word spreads quickly, covering the entire Earth Kingdom in a matter of days and reaching the Northern Water Tribe’s court within a week. Even the remnant of the Southern Water Tribe, all but forgotten at the bottom of the world, hears about it before the new moon.

Fire Lord Ozai is dead. His successor, Fire Lord Iroh, has declared his intentions to put an end to his nation’s war of domination. Petitions for peace and offers of reparations are being extended to all world leaders.

The Southern Water Tribe elders suspect a trap of some kind. Some think the proposed Peace Conference is actually an opportunity for him to kill the other nations’ leadership, leaving them vulnerable to his armies. Others suspect a subtler scheme to conquer the rest of the world through diplomacy, or perhaps a combination of culture and technology. 

For Sokka and Katara, who only hear the news by listening intently outside the elders’ meeting tent, there are more pressing matters at hand.

“Dad’s going to need me with him at this Peace Conference,” Sokka declares. He pulls out his boomerang and takes aim at a snowman some of the little kids built last week. “Whatever the Fire Nation’s planning, it’s no match for Southern Water Tribe ingenuity!”

Katara worries her bottom lip with her teeth. “What happened to Fire Lord Ozai?”

Sokka scoffs. “Who cares? He was a big, fat jerkbender like all of them. Probably set his bed on fire ‘cause he was roasting the Earth King in his sleep.”

She says nothing as her brother goes to pull his boomerang out of the snowman’s head. Nor does she say anything when her father announces that he and his entire family will be attending the Peace Conference, along with several of his best warriors. 

On the ship, she delights in opportunities to use her waterbending to speed it on its way, or to play pranks on Sokka, but often she is found deep in thought, wearing a pensive look much too old for her.

“You’re strangely quiet,” Kya observes as they prepare to disembark. The voyage is over, but the journey to Omashu will take at least another day. “Something eating you, sealpup?” She pokes her daughter in the side, which provokes a giggle that quickly fades. Face unusually solemn, Katara shakes her head. Kya frowns, but leaves the matter be.

The entry into Omashu is packed like salted fish in a barrel, people from all over drawn to the Peace Conference, but an envoy from the king gives their delegation precedence over the rest. Sokka cranes his head back to take in the architecture. Kya’s gaze flits around, trying to take in the variety of clothing worn by native and visitor alike. Hakoda’s attention is on his family, but he makes sure he knows where all his warriors are at the same time. Kanna, riding an ostrich horse graciously provided by the king, seems mostly interested in staying upright, but her head turns every now and then when a familiar scent wafts in from one of the market stalls. Katara, kept at the center of her family unit, has no interest to spare for any of it.

When they reach the palace, they are immediately brought to the main hall, where King Bumi, Chief Arnook, and three of the Earth Kingdom’s Council of Five await them, as well as Fire Lord Iroh. No sooner are the official introductions made than Katara turns to Fire Lord Iroh and, with a hasty bow, demands, “Did Zuko come with you?” A half-second later, flustered, she stutters, “I - I mean Prince Zuko.”

In the chaos of the sudden trip, some things were left to the last minute, and that includes the talk Hakoda and Kya intended to give their children about how to behave in front of foreign royalty. The blood drains from Kya’s face. Hakoda, his face a storm of anger stirred up by fear, takes a step toward Katara, prepared to pull her back to safety. But before he can, to their astonishment a broad smile spreads across the Fire Lord’s face. With a shallow bow, he waves a hand toward a door behind them. “Prince Zuko is in the garden, but I am sure he would not mind the company, if your parents think it acceptable.”

Katara is running towards the door before he finishes speaking.

*****

Katara knows she’s going to get in trouble for this later. It’s her own fault, putting off the explanation for so long, acting like the little girl they believe her to be -- as much as she can, at least. But whatever punishment they think up is nothing compared to what’s waiting for her in that garden.

If he doesn’t remember, if she’s still all alone in this, then no punishment could be worse. If he does …

She’s never seen the garden in the Omashu palace before. It’s more ornamental than the ones she’s used to, and the main features seem to be rocks and crystals more than trees and flowers. But she can sense water -- a fair amount of it, too, like a small pond -- and she doesn’t have to follow it far before she sees him.

Zuko is next to the pond, his back to her. He’s smaller than she’s ever seen him, and not just because he’s sitting down. His hair is long enough to brush his shoulders, even pulled up into the traditional topknot. Like his uncle, he is dressed in Fire Nation red and gold, but the cut of his robes looks different to her untrained eyes -- Earth Kingdom style, perhaps? Surrounding him are half-a-dozen turtleducklings, and the wave of affection that sweeps over her freezes her in place.

“Hey now.” She recognizes that mildly scolding tone, even if his voice is a little different than the one in her memory. “You have to share with your sister. You’re not getting more seeds just because you’re bigger.”

Katara tries to say something, but it seems all the words she wants to say are trying to come out at once, and have jammed up in her throat. She stumbles back half a step.

The crunch of the gravel under her feet gets his attention. His head turns slightly in her direction, then he’s leaping to his feet, turning towards her -- 

Oh.

He doesn't have the scar.

For one moment, Zuko stares at her with wide eyes. Then in the next, he’s closed the gap between them, pulling her into the tightest hug she’s ever had. Katara wraps her arms around him and buries her face into his shoulder. “Katara,” he breathes, and a little sob escapes her at the familiarity and warmth in that single word.

“Zuko,” she manages. Her voice wobbles but does not break on the name like she thought it might. “Oh, Zuko.”

He pulls back too soon, but he cups her cheek with one hand while the other brushes her hair out of her eyes. Katara tries to smile at him, but it’s hard when every emotion of the past three years wants to pour out at once. Instead, she reaches up and gently touches his left cheek. The skin is smooth and whole under her fingers.

Zuko closes his eyes, but not before she catches a flash of pain. Immediately, she knows what must have happened. Why he has no scar. How Ozai must have died.

“I thought I was dreaming at first,” he says hoarsely. “I told him off. Yelled at him for being a terrible father and a worse Fire Lord. Then -”

Katara shakes her head and pulls him back to her. This time he’s the one to bury his head in her shoulder. “I know,” she tells him, her throat still choked. “I know. I did too.”

Later, she thinks, she’ll tell him about Yon Rha. About how in her determination not to relive the worst day of her life, she had pulled on his blood with a ferocity she had only seen herself use in nightmares. What his corpse had looked like, afterwards, and the look on her mother’s face. How what had once been a fantasy of power and relief had, if only for a little while, become a horrifying reality. Maybe she’ll finally find the words to describe the contradictory emotions that have been warring in her ever since, but even if she doesn’t, it will be okay, because now she has someone who will understand.

For the moment, she holds him close as they both succumb to tears.

[loneliest-20s-ch]

The Paris Peace Conference started January 18, 1919. It is likely that it started on that day to be a dig at Germany, since it was a symbolic day, being the proclamation of the German Empire, and the establishment of the Kingdom of Prussia.

The “Big Five” controlled the conference, the group consisted of the United Kingdom, France, the United States, Italy, and Japan. Japan, however, played a small role, and the other four, or “Big Four” (pictured above), dominated the conference.

What came from the conference was: the establishment of the League of Nations, the five treaties with the defeated countries, awarding overseas possessions as mandates, reparations from Germany, and the redrawing of borders.

Britain wanted German colonial claims to go to winning countries, wanted Germany to pay 30 million in debt, wanted to rid the threat of the German navy, and wanted to ensure the security of France.

France wanted to weaken Germany and also found Wilson’s fourteen points frustrating.

Italy expected to get the territories promised from the Treaty of London: Trentino, Tyrol as far as Brenner, Trieste, Istria, most of the Dalmatian Coast (except Fiume), Valona, a protectorate over Albania, Antalya (in Turkey), and possibly colonies in Africa. Though they also thought that they should get Fiume due to the Italian population there. They also wanted to split up the Hapsburg monarchy.

Japan wanted former German colonies including Shantung (including Kiaochow), the Marshall Islands, Micronesia, the Mariana Islands, and the Carolines. They also wanted the inclusion of the racial equality proposal. However, they only got some of the territories and the proposal didn’t pass.

The United States primarily wanted the pass of Wilson’s fourteen points, and also thought that the treatment of Germany was too harsh. They did not believe it was fair that Germany was being blamed solely for the war. They did not sign any treaties with former Central Powers until 1921.

China wanted their former territories that were claimed by Germany, but said territories were given to Japan. China would refuse to sign the Treaty of Versailles due to this.

[mrpagesfrontispiece]

March 23, 1933.

On that date, Adolf Hitler put the Enabling Act up for a vote before the Reichstag. The passage of this act marked the end of the Weimar Republic, and German democracy as everyone knew it. But there was resistance. Otto Wels, one of the greatest speakers to ever live and Chairman of the Social Democratic Party of Germany, stood before his peers in the assembly, many of whom were ready to capitulate to Fascism, and gave the following speech.

Ladies and gentlemen! We Social Democrats agree with the foreign policy demand raised by the Reichskanzler of equal treatment for Germany, all the more emphatically since we have always fundamentally championed it. In this context, I may be permitted the personal remark that I was the first German who stood up to the untruth of Germany’s guilt for the outbreak of the world war before an international forum, at the Bern Conference on February 3, 1919. Never was a principle of our party able to or did in fact prevent us from representing the just demands of the German nation to the other peoples of the world. 

The day before yesterday, as well, the Reichskanzler made a statement in Potsdam to which we subscribe. It says: “From the lunacy of the theory of eternal winners and losers came the madness of reparations and, in their wake, the catastrophe of the world economy.” This statement is true for foreign politics; it is no less true for domestic politics. Here, too, the theory of eternal winners and losers is, as the Reichskanzler says, lunacy. 

But the words of the Reichskanzler remind us of others that were spoken in the National Assembly on July 23, 1919. At that time it was said: “We are defenseless; defenseless but not without honor. To be sure, the enemies are after our honor, there is no doubt. However, that this attempt at defamation will one day redound back upon the instigators, that it is not our honor that is being destroyed by this global catastrophe, that is our belief to the last breath.” 

This appears in a declaration that a social democratic-led government issued at the time in the name of the German people before the whole world, four hours before the truce expired, in order to prevent the enemies from marching further. – That declaration is a valuable supplement to the statement by the Reichskanzler. 

A dictated peace is followed by few blessings, least of all at home. A real national community cannot be based on it. Its first prerequisite is equal law. The government may protect itself against raw excesses of polemics; it may rigorously prevent incitements to acts of violence and acts of violence in and of themselves. This may happen, if it is done toward all sides evenly and impartially, and if one foregoes treating defeated opponents as though they were proscribed. Freedom and life can be taken from us, but not our honor. 

After the persecutions that the Social Democratic Party has suffered recently, no one will reasonably demand or expect that it vote for the Enabling Act proposed here. The elections of March 5 have given the governing parties the majority and thus the possibility of governing in strict adherence to the words and meaning of the constitution. Where such a possibility exists, there is also an obligation to take it. Criticism is salutary and necessary. Never before, since there has been a German Reichstag, has the control of public affairs by the elected representatives of the people been eliminated to such an extent as is happening now, and is supposed to happen even more through the new Enabling Act. Such omnipotence of the government must have all the more serious repercussions inasmuch as the press, too, lacks any freedom of expression.

Ladies and gentlemen! The situation that prevails in Germany today is often described in glaring colors. But as always in such cases, there is no lack of exaggeration. As far as my party is concerned, I declare here: we have neither asked for intervention in Paris, nor moved millions to Prague, nor spread exaggerated news abroad. It would be easier to stand up to such exaggerations if the kind of reporting that separates truth from falsehood were possible at home. It would be even better if we could attest in good conscience that full protection in justice has been restored for all. That, gentlemen, is up to you. 

The gentlemen of the National Socialist party call the movement they have unleashed a national revolution, not a National Socialist one. So far, the relationship of their revolution to socialism has been limited to the attempt to destroy the social democratic movement, which for more than two generations has been the bearer of socialist ideas and will remain so. If the gentlemen of the National Socialist Party wanted to perform socialist acts, they would not need an Enabling Law. They would be assured of an overwhelming majority in this house. Every motion submitted by them in the interest of workers, farmers, white-collar employees, civil servants, or the middle class could expect to be approved, if not unanimously, then certainly with an enormous majority. 

And yet, they first want to eliminate the Reichstag in order to continue their revolution. But the destruction of that which exists does not make a revolution. The people are expecting positive accomplishments. They are waiting for effective measures against the terrible economic misery that exists not only in Germany but in the whole world. We Social Democrats bore the responsibility in the most difficult of times and for that we had stones cast at us. Our accomplishments for the reconstruction of the state and the economy, for the liberation of occupied territories, will stand the test of history. We have established equal justice for all and a social labor law. We have helped to create a Germany in which the path to leadership of the state is open not only to princes and barons, but also to men from the working class. You cannot back away from that without relinquishing your own leader. The attempt to turn back the wheel of history will be futile. We Social Democrats know that one cannot undo the facts of power politics with mere legal protests. We see the power-political fact of your present rule. But the people’s sense of justice is also a political power, and we shall not cease to appeal to this sense of justice. 

The Weimar Constitution is not a socialist constitution. But we stand by the principles enshrined in, the principles of a state based on the rule of law, of equal rights, of social justice. In this historic hour, we German Social Democrats solemnly pledge ourselves to the principles of humanity and justice, of freedom and socialism. No Enabling Act gives you the power to destroy ideas that are eternal and indestructible. After all, you yourselves have professed your adherence to Socialism. The Socialist Law has not destroyed social democracy. German social democracy will draw new strength also from the latest persecutions. 

We greet the persecuted and the oppressed. We greet our friends in the Reich. Your steadfastness and loyalty deserve admiration. The courage of your convictions and your unbroken optimism guarantee a brighter future.

These immortal words burned brightly in the minds of all who fought for Democracy in the years that were to come. And another thing; Democracy did come! The Nazis lost! Because, as the great Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. once said, “The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward Justice.” The night is dark, but it is joy which comes in the morning. No power on earth has been able to resist Democracy for long, and no power ever will. Four years of Hell are nothing compared to what we shall feel once the ideals we hold sacred triumph again, and I guarantee you that they shall triumph. If ever you should feel hopeless, remember Otto Wels, and imagine what must have gone through his mind as he watched his nation burn itself to death. But so too remember Otto Wels as the Russians marched into Berlin, as the Allies stormed the beaches of Normandy, and take heart knowing that like him you too shall see your country born again, brighter than ever before.

We greet the persecuted and the oppressed. We greet our friends in America. Your steadfastness and loyalty deserve admiration. The courage of your convictions and your unbroken optimism guarantee a brighter future.

[roseride01-blog]

"We Know One Thing for Certain"

The dignitaries seated around the conference table looked uncomfortable, shifting in their seats. They didn’t expect the Avatar to defend the new Fire Lord with such intensity, and it had honestly startled them. 

Zuko had come to Ba Sing Se with the Avatar to discuss the reparations that the Fire Nation was going to pay to the Earth Kingdom. The two had already been discussing the prospect of de- commissioning half of the Fire Nation’s navy and giving it to the Earth Kingdom, Toph’s new metal bending making it an even more valuable resource. 

The two had brought it up at the conference, intending for it to begin the negotiations (Zuko didn’t feel right with only that— there was more he knew he could do, he just had to know what). However, some of the Earth Kingdom officials had demanded Zuko step down completely, and to allow the Earth Kingdom to occupy the Fire Nation under King Kuei’s rule (the Earth Kingdom monarch had said nothing at the head of the table opposite Zuko, and looked increasingly uncomfortable, eyes darting around as if he was looking for Bosco). Aang, who sat at Zuko’s right, seemed bewildered at the notion. 

“No. That's out of the question. To do so would upset the balance of the world even mores than the fire nation had,” he huffed, exasperated, 

“Sozin’s bloodline is full of monsters.” 

Aang’s head whipped up to find who said the words. it had been Councilman Di, a middle-aged man with graying hair and a beard that came to a sharp point. He had been a solider before a politician, and his aggressiveness reminded Aang of a fire bender much more than an earth bender. 

“What was that?” Aang’s tone seethed with venom, but he was going to give the man a chance to retract his statement.

But the man didn’t back down; “Fire Lord Zuko should step down. And not be replaced by General Iroh or Princess Azula. A new monarchy must be established in the wake of the royal family having wreaked havoc on the other nations for well over a century.” The man’s eyes narrowed at Zuko, “Sozin, Azulon, Ozai…all his forefathers. He was taught, born to war— it’s in his blood. So, if we want peace, he simply cannot be allowed to rule.” 

Silence hung over the room, but only for so long.

While those who didn’t know them would have expected Zuko to jump up to defend his family’s honor, those who did know him knew that his reckless fire had calmed much in the past few months. In the end, it was the Avatar who glowered in fury. 

“I can't believe this.” Aang said, a look of angered disbelief. “I mean, to occupy the Fire Nation? To do exactly what it is we’re trying to undo? To upset the balance even more than it already has been?” Aang’s eyes narrowed at the council, causing some to narrow their eyes back, but most to look guilty. 

“And you want Zuko, the first Fire Lord who actually wants peace, actually fought for it, to step down?” 

“You want to displace the actual heir to the throne, the person who actively fought against the Fire Nation, the fire bending master to the Avatar, and for what? A show of bravado? Just because you think you can? That’ll he’ll roll over and let you walk all over him as if he isn’t here to discuss what is best for all the nations?”

Aang was silent for a moment. 

“I am the last air bender. I am the sole voice for an entire nation, the nation that was absolutely obliterated by Fire Lord Sozin, and yet, I sit here and tell you that, without a doubt, the war would not have been ended without Zuko’s help. That’s it. Full stop.” 

Aang felt the agreement of Roku, of Kyoshi, of Kuruk, and of Yangchen. His past lives, representatives of each nation, all agree— Zuko was meant to be the Fire Lord. 

“The Earth Kingdom will be receiving a fourth of the Fire Nation’s navy to do with as they please, and that’s it. We will discuss the colonies at the later date, with more respectable representatives!”

At Aang’s last sentence, the windows of the room all shattered. 

It would be the talk of the entire world for the next few days, how the Avatar had so vehemently defended the young monarch. How he had yelled at the Earth Kingdom council. How he shattered the windows, the call of his past lives voicing their thoughts. 

A young dignitary, who was re-invited to the peace talks the next day, walked out of the chamber with another ambassador from the North who had been seated next to her.

“Well, we know one thing for certain,” she said, almost jokingly, “the Avatar is scarier than the fire lord when he’s mad.” 

[arcane-fanfic]

Beneath the Crown - Final Act "Beyond the Crown"

Chapter 1 – "The Last Silence"

The Crown had never been louder than when it was silent.

For days after the final evidence leaked (covert surveillance programs, forced disappearances, illegal intelligence funding, and buried abuse cases) there was no official statement. Only the slow, grinding sound of an empire cracking.

But then, a message. Unexpected. Broadcast across all national and international channels.

The speaker was not the Queen, nor any of her polished heirs. It was the Head of the Royal Council, Lord Whitmoore, ancient and sharp-eyed, a man who once made fear feel like order.

He sat alone on a simple wooden chair in front of a blank backdrop. No crests. No flags. No guards.

"The Crown has failed you," he said.

There was no preamble. No denial. Only a steady unraveling.

"We failed to protect the innocent. We silenced the wounded to protect tradition. We weaponized power to preserve illusion. And we punished truth-tellers to maintain control."

He looked straight into the lens.

"Power without accountability is not sovereignty. It is tyranny by inheritance. We forgot that. We buried it beneath the Crown and laws made in our image alone.

We told you we were your protectors, but we protected only ourselves. We honored heritage over humanity. And the silence we demanded in return, we called it loyalty. But it was fear. It was trauma passed down in palaces."

He paused. Not out of hesitation, but to let the weight land.

"We do not deserve your forgiveness. But we will make room for your justice. Starting today, the Royal Council will dissolve itself. And a new commission, composed of citizens and survivors, not nobles, will begin the work of truth and reparation."

In the days that followed, the Royal Council made good on the declaration. Several senior ministers were placed under immediate investigation. Arrests followed; intelligence officers, palace operatives, and two key financial advisors responsible for the hush money pipelines that buried decades of abuse.

Elisabeth Kiramman was not arrested.

But she stepped down quietly, publicly, and permanently.

A letter of resignation was delivered to every major publication, penned in her own hand. In it, she wrote:

"My silence made me complicit. My fear turned me into a coward. My daughter showed me what courage looks like. And for the first time, I will not hide behind duty. I will answer to truth."

The girl, no longer a footnote, but a survivor with a name, a voice, and now a platform, appeared beside Caitlyn in a press conference weeks later. She didn’t tell everything. Just enough. Just what was hers to share.

Caitlyn stood beside her, offering not protection, but solidarity.

And then, she took the microphone herself.

"Today," she began, voice unwavering, "a new independent commission will begin its work. Its task is clear: investigate every abuse, audit every silenced case, ensure every voice is heard, not because we’re told to, but because we must."

She looked over the crowd, the cameras, the survivors.

"And I have agreed to serve on it. Not because I wear a title. But because I gave it up. Because I’ve seen how power corrupts when it answers only to itself. I will not let this be another committee swept under velvet. I will not let it be quiet. I will not let it forget."

The crowd applauded. No one cheered.

They simply listened.

In the background, Vi moved quietly, organizing relief efforts, negotiating safety protocols for the still-growing crowds, and redirecting the fire of the people into something sustainable.

She worked with Juliette’s independent media group, Viktor’s encrypted watchdog platform, and Ekko’s growing network of decentralized organizers. What began as chaos had become a structure, a living one. Adaptable. Leaderless, but not lost.

And for once, the silence from the Crown wasn't an attempt to hide.

It was the beginning of listening.

Chapter 2 – "The Table"

The Pit had been rebuilt, not as a bar, but as something more vital. A community hall, a gathering space where the bruises of revolution were being nursed into something real. The same old bricks, now stronger for the fire.

A long table ran the length of the space, mismatched chairs pulled close, food laid out in communal bowls and chipped serving plates. It wasn’t elegant. It wasn’t meant to be. It was honest.

Juliette sat at one end, a glass in her hand, watching as Ekko tried to explain encryption to a group of wide-eyed college kids. Viktor leaned against the wall nearby, his voice low, patient, oddly gentle. Survivors filled the benches. Volunteers. Organizers. A few former staffers of the old regime, now tentative allies.

Caitlyn arrived late. Everyone seeing her as she was now. Not the face of rebellion. Not royalty. Just Caitlyn. One of them.

She took her seat beside Vi without a word.

The noise softened as Vi stood.

"I never thought we’d make it here," she said simply. "But we did. Because every one of you showed up. Again and again. With your voice. Your anger. Your hope."

She paused, glancing around. At Viktor. At Juliette. At Ekko. At the girl whose voice had broken centuries of silence. At Caitlyn.

"We didn’t win because we were loud. We won because we listened. And now... we build. Together."

Everyone shared a short reflection or hope for the future, not monologues, but glimpses into who they’d become. Some of it was heartfelt. Some funny. Some unexpected.

A survivor spoke of starting a school. Ekko mentioned building something bigger than even he’d dreamed of. Juliette joked about publishing the full uncensored story, “if only to finally piss off every remaining royal in hiding.” Viktor quietly offered to develop open tech for transparency tracking, "no more secrets dressed up as safety."

Caitlyn stood last. She lifted her glass.

"We raise this not to victory," she said. "But to accountability. And to truth. The kind we fought for. The kind we’ll keep fighting for. Together."

A soft ripple of clinking glasses, shared glances, quiet tears.

They toasted.

Not to triumph. But to vigilance.

Last chapter – "The Two of Us"

Later, when the laughter faded into background music and the candles melted low, Caitlyn slipped away. Vi followed, she felt the thread between them tighten again, invisible but unbreakable.

They ended up on the rooftop with just enough space for stars and silence.

Caitlyn sat first. Vi stood beside her for a moment, uncertain.

Then Caitlyn reached up and pulled her down.

They didn’t speak for a long time.

"You didn’t stop," Caitlyn finally said. "When I couldn’t see a way forward, you carried the map."

Vi smiled faintly. "I only walked it because you lit the first flare."

They leaned into each other, foreheads touching. The air buzzed with something quiet and holy.

Caitlyn's voice, low now: "I was so afraid of becoming my mother. Of inheriting her silence. But now... I think we’re both becoming something new."

"You already have," Vi said.

Caitlyn pulled something from her coat pocket. A single silver ring, simple, unpolished, clearly handmade.

"I’m not asking for forever," she whispered. "Just... tomorrow. And the day after that. Until we decide what forever looks like. Together."

Vi took the ring. Slid it on. Pressed their foreheads together again.

"Can I be your home now?" she asked.

Caitlyn didn’t cry. She just answered: "You already are."

They kissed. The kind of kiss that sealed something sacred.

Below them, the city breathed, healing, not perfect, but real.

And above them, the stars finally witnessed peace.

The end.

[fuckyeahmarxismleninism]

By Struggle-La Lucha New York bureau

A news conference was called on Jan. 9 to support the petition of South Africa to the International Court of Justice charging “Israel” with genocide. “Keep hope alive” was the event’s theme, which was held in front of the South African Mission to the United Nations in New York City.

The conference was called by the Palestinian Assembly for Liberation (PAL), Al-Awda NY: The Palestinian Right to Return Coalition, and its Commission on War Crimes, Justice, Reparations and Return. 

[kermiethefroog]

Lessons from a Global Ecological Restoration Conference

I know this is not the usual thing I post on here, but I wanted to gather my thoughts in a place I know that I'll check in the future. I hope that this is somehow useful for others and provides insight to work in this field.

1. Ecologists do have hope for the environment!

If there's one main takeaway I've had so far, it's that people working to restore and protect our natural habitats is that they have passion and a deep hope that their efforts will make a difference.

This field is full of so many challenges when it comes to funding and politics, so it was inspiring to see that despite present barriers people from all over the world are trying their hardest to make things change for the better.

2. This conference has set a precedent towards integrating and including the input from Indigenous and First Nations peoples internationally

The entire theme of the conference was to center and uplift voices of Indigenous people from around the globe who are working in habitat and ecocultural restoration.

This is exciting! Many countries do not have formal systems in place to allow Indigenous voices to be major informants and decision makers on projects that occur on their land. It has been and will always be important to include those who are traditional stewards of the land when considering any sort of restoration or land management decisions.

I cannot be sure what the results of this initiative will be. It is a small step in the right direction though and I hope that this conference created opportunities for connections, lessons, and more conversations in the future.

We all have a part to play in recognizing the First Nations Peoples who inhabit or inhabited our land in the past (this goes without saying that this applies internationally) and working toward a future that creates proper access to funding, land, recognition, reparations, and true reciprocity for Indigenous and First Nations Peoples.

If you have not yet invested time in learning, now is a better time than ever. Research your area, connect with community, and raise your voice to make a difference.

3. Collaboration is Key

Most talks I went to and projects I read about lived and died by their ability to collaborate with a diverse group of people who have stakes in each restoration project.

It works best when implemented early, if all groups are equally represented at all levels of decision making, and if factors like environmental outcomes and the human/social dimensions of planning are considered first before the financial.

The most successful projects in ecosystem restoration were only possible due to connections that spanned industries, cultures, generations, and modes of work.

If we want our planet to thrive we need to be willing to have everyone in the room so as many people as possible can have a hand in creating a better future.

4. Things are still an uphill battle

While many of the presentations I witnessed were hopeful and fulfilling, perhaps just as many lacked a positive or negative conclusion that could wrap everything in a neat bow. Navigating government systems, changing climates, barriers to accessible and affordable resources for restoration etc. are all things that impacted various projects discussed this week.

It's also without saying that governments themselves, the policies they hold, and the rates they pass legislation will always create a delay in working towards restoration of our environment in order to prevent further harm and degradation. This of course goes for most policy making (though I suppose it depends on the country).

Climate change still presents unprecedented challenges and will impact all aspects of our livelihoods. That being said, no one atteding suggested any of the efforts being made were futile. I know it can be challenging to see any bright future with the way climate change is discussed in the media so I want to approach this subject with some cautious optimism.

Beyond policies and politics specifically, it is clear that so many people care about and for the planet that we live on. So much so that I think that it can be taken for granted at times or looked over. Yes the science is bleak, yes the outcomes are scary, yes things are going to change no matter what. We still have time to determine the trajectory of that change.

Scientists, government workers, NGO workers, nonprofits, citizen scientists, and many more groups of people at this conference had a staggering sense of hope that was unexpected and so refreshing. As one of the presenters I watched said, "It's better that we at least try. If the outcome isn't ideal we can at least say we gave it a shot." and I think that's a beautiful way to approach any uncertainty. In this field or otherwise.

I would be happy to discuss my experiences more or elaborate on any points made. I put this together hastily at the end of the conference to make sure I didn't forget anything important.

[hassanatforusmk]

6 million Jews were killed by the Nazis.

A narrative adopted by the Zionist movement and emphasized every year during Holocaust Remembrance.

The story of the Holocaust...

The word "Holocaust" is of Greek origin, meaning destruction by fire. It's used to describe the genocide the Jews suffered at the hands of the Nazis. Before the genocide,this term was used in Jewish religion to describe a sacrifice offered to God, completely consumed by fire.

More than 9 million Jews lived in Europe before World War II,residing in countries later controlled by the Nazis (Germany,Poland,Yugoslavia,Czechoslovakia & others). After the Holocaust,the Zionist movement claims that one in three Jews was killed. So,how and why did this happen?

Let's go back a bit in history. After losing World War I,Germany faced poverty, despair & other heavy consequences. A party known as the Nazis emerged,gaining popularity by promoting two fundamental ideas

The first idea was the superiority of the Aryan race,the elite of nations..

The second was the establishment of a national state for the Germans, a sharp nationalist discourse evolving with the birth of the modern state, strengthened by the colonial European mindset that viewed African and Asian colonies as inferior.

In light of this, the Nazis targeted those they deemed subhuman, either due to their racial status or political non-acceptance. This means that the Jews were not the only victims of the conflict.

The Nazis also targeted Romani people, Slavic peoples, some Arabs, along with other groups like Communists, Socialists, trade unionists, homosexuals, and the disabled. By the way, among the victims were also Christian religious believers.

The Jews, along with others, faced systematic persecution policies leading to the "Final Solution" (extermination). Their books were burned, they were dismissed from jobs, their properties were confiscated, and they were uprooted from their homes to live in isolated ghettos.

They were forced to wear a distinctive symbol on their clothes (the yellow Star of David) and were sent to concentration camps, subjected to forced labor until death.

The victims of the Nazis exceeded 20 million people, so why focus only on the Jews?

Jewish groups possessed financial resources, media institutions, research centers, and academic voices that shed more light on the victims of the Holocaust among the Jews. However, the number of Holocaust victims remains one of the most prominent historical debates to this day.

People are divided into groups: some deny the genocide, some believe the results are exaggerated, and some accuse the Zionist movement of exaggerating it for the benefit of the establishment of Israel. Here, let's pause. How did Israel benefit from the Holocaust?

During the initial months of Nazi rule, an agreement was signed between the Zionist Agency and Nazi Germany, aiming to facilitate Jewish migration to Palestine, provided they give up their assets to Germany. This is the only known official contract between the two parties.

While it was later criticized by all sides, this agreement allowed more than 60,000 Jews to immigrate to Palestine early on and opened the door for similar migrations that greatly increased with the rise of Nazism, leading to the Nakba (Palestinian exodus).

This agreement, along with other documents, led some to the idea that Hitler supported Zionism, prompting former Mayor of London, Ken Livingstone, to declare this belief openly, which eventually resulted in his suspension from the Labour Party in 2016.

The Holocaust's narrative of persecution and suffering dominated the world, paving the way for Jewish migration to Palestine. But, did the story end like that?

After Germany's defeat in World War II, Axis countries, including Germany, were obligated to pay significant reparations to war-affected countries (Potsdam Conference, Paris Agreement). Later, Germany signed an agreement with Israel to compensate for ...

victims of racial persecution and Nazi victims, payable to the Israeli government and the World Jewish Congress.

Over six decades, Germany paid 89 billion dollars until 2012 as compensation to Nazi victims. Reparations were not only financial but also material

More dangerously, under the agreement, Germany became a major arms supplier to the Israeli state (1960-1970), helping Israel in a critical phase in the history of a newly born country.

Germany, which criminalized Holocaust denial in 1994 with the threat of imprisonment, still pays huge reparations for the consequences of World War II to a state that didn't exist when the genocide occurred.

Greeks, Serbs, Yugoslavs, as well as Roma people (Romani), all suffered, but German compensation to these victims doesn't match the payments to most Holocaust victims among the Jews.

The Holocaust, far from being a transient tragedy, continues to be a topic of denial. Dozens of large museums in various international capitals commemorate the tragedy, sparking global interest in the event, despite similar atrocities against other peoples.

Genocide of any people based on their race, gender, or religion is entirely rejected, warranting strong condemnation. Holocaust condemnation is a moral demand, but...

Israel, the biggest beneficiary of the Holocaust, uses Nazi ideologies as a basis for ethnic cleansing against Palestinians. The main ideology behind the establishment of Israel rests on religious, national, and geographic foundations, nurtured by Nazi ideologies.

People who have survived genocides or witnessed massacres are likely to experience PTSD when they encounter similar events .. but the case is totally different with zionist Israelis ..

This message was sent in an Israeli WhatsApp group after #jabalia massacre. DISGUSTING

Here comes the most important question, amidst the lies spread by Israel during ongoing oppression.

How can we believe their narrative of the Holocaust ?

[plethoraworldatlas]

On August 27, African faith, farming, and environmental leaders came together to launch an unusual statement. Their open letter was addressed to “the Gates Foundation and other funders of industrial agriculture.” It charged these funders with promoting a type of corporate, industrial agriculture that does not respect African ecosystems or agricultural traditions.

The letter was organized by the Southern African Faith Communities’ Environment Institute (SAFCEI), and has over 150 signatories. Its release was timed to influence the Africa Food Systems Forum in Kigali, which starts today. Partners of this conference include the Rwandan government, AGRA, the Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation and other philanthropies, agribusiness companies, and aid organizations.

The open letter takes particular aim at two linked organizations. The Gates Foundation is primarily known for its public health investments, but has also made major inroads into agriculture. In Africa much of this work extends through the Nairobi-based AGRA (previously known as the Alliance for a Green Revolution in Africa). The Gates Foundation is a cofounder and the largest donor to AGRA. Other large donors include the UK and US governments.

Under a basket of policies dubbed the “green revolution,” AGRA, the Gates Foundation, and likeminded institutions have sought to substantially increase the use of synthetic fertilizers, pesticides, and commercial seeds in Africa. This has centered on developing new seeds and a network of sellers. The aim has been to dramatically increase agricultural output, in order to reduce hunger and elevate farmer incomes.

But by AGRA’s own admission, it failed in its goal to double crop yields and incomes for 30 million farmers by 2020. In fact, some critics argue, AGRA has made things worse.

According to an external assessment by Timothy A. Wise of Tufts University, severe hunger in AGRA countries increased by 30% between AGRA’s founding and 2018. Crop yield increases have been modest, and where they exist, they haven’t always been enough to cover the higher cost of farming with commercial seeds and agricultural inputs. Dependence on fertilizer has increased the debt and financial precarity of the small farmers who make up the majority of farmers in Africa. In some cases the limited yield increases have also been temporary, as soil fertility has diminished due to monoculture farming and fertilizer use. For instance, Ethiopian farmers “will say that the soil is corrupted, meaning it cannot produce food” without synthetic fertilizer, reports Million Belay of the Alliance for Food Sovereignty in Africa (AFSA).

There have been knock-on effects, Belay says. For instance, Zambian farmers who have become indebted, due to synthetic fertilizer purchases, have had less money for food and their children’s education.

In other words, many farmers’ families are poorer and hungrier than before, while the land itself is less productive.

While AGRA hasn’t managed to double farmer income and yields, it has succeeded in shifting government policies for the worse, according to Belay. These include the dilution of regional biosafety regulations and fertilizer regulations, Belay says. In Kenya, farmers can now face prison time for saving or sharing seeds.

A new AFSA briefing note states that AGRA is seeking to place consultants within government offices and “directly crafting policies at the continental, national, and local levels.” This includes a new 10-year policy for agricultural investment in Zambia.

All, in all, it’s a highly commercialized, elite, and often rich-world vision of African agriculture. Tim Schwab writes in The Bill Gates Problem: Reckoning with the Myth of the Good Billionaire, “Rarely, however, do the targets of Gates’s goodwill, the global poor or smallholder farmers, have a seat at the table. In the case of the Alliance for a Green Revolution in Africa, or AGRA, the allies include a bevy of corporate partners: Syngenta, Bayer (Monsanto), Corteva Agriscience, John Deere, Nestlé, and even Microsoft.” AGRA has been criticized for aiding its agricultural partners to expand in Africa.

[yetisidelblog]

In a press conference with Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, President Donald Trump announced plans for the U.S. to "take over" the Gaza Strip while resettling Palestinians elsewhere.

The death toll in Gaza climbs every day. While a temporary truce brought momentary relief, the humanitarian catastrophe still continues to get worse everyday. Ultimately, the violence won’t end unless the U.S. stops arming Israel and starts holding it accountable.

That means we must call for more than a ceasefire. It means ending the blockade strangling Gaza. It means Israel withdrawing from occupied Palestinian territories and halting illegal annexations. It means allowing Palestinian refugees to return home and ensuring reparations for decades of dispossession and war crimes.

The International Court of Justice (ICJ) has already ruled that Israel must prevent genocide, dismantle illegal settlements, and end its apartheid system. But Israel ignores these rulings, confident that U.S. military aid and diplomatic cover will shield it from consequences.

The world is watching. Add your name to demand President Trump and Congress take action: impose an arms embargo, cut U.S. military aid, and push for Palestinian self-determination.

Palestinians deserve the right to live freely, with dignity, in their homeland. The blockade must end. Aid must flow freely. Homes must be rebuilt. Families must be reunited. And Israel must be held accountable for war crimes, not rewarded with billions in military aid.

That’s why the United Nations overwhelmingly backs a resolution demanding an arms embargo and sanctions against Israel until it complies with international law. Yet, the U.S. vetoes accountability at every turn, allowing Netanyahu’s government to continue its devastating assault.

For decades, U.S. leaders have claimed to support a just solution while actively funding occupation and apartheid. That hypocrisy ends when we demand real action. No more blank checks for war. No more silence in the face of genocide. No more delay in fighting for Palestinian human rights.

The movement is growing. Across the U.S. and the world, people are rising up to demand justice. But we need our elected officials to listen.

Join Congresswoman Rashida Tlaib by adding your name to the call for Palestinian self-determination and liberation now.

@upontheshelfreviews

@greenwingspino

@one-time-i-dreamt

@tenaflyviper

@akron-squirrel

@ifihadaworldofmyown

@justice-for-jacob-marley

@voicetalentbrendan

@thebigdeepcheatsy

@what-is-my-aesthetic

@ravenlynclemens

@thegreatallie

@writerofweird

@bogleech

@anon-lephant

@mentally-quiet-spycrab

@therealjacksepticeye

[reasoningdaily]

After Black Lives Matter - CEDRIC G.JOHNSON

THIS BOOK IS A FREE DOWNLOAD FROM THE BLACK TRUEBRARY CLICK THE TITLE TO DOWNLOAD

Contemporary policing reflects the turn from welfare to domestic warfare as the chief means of regulating the excluded and oppressed The historic uprising in the wake of the murder of George Floyd transformed the way we think about race and policing. Why did it achieve so little in the way of substantive reforms? After Black Lives Matter argues that the failure to leave an institutional residue was not simply due to the mercurial and reactive character of the protests. Rather, the core of the movement itself failed to locate the central racial injustice that underpins the crisis of policing: socio-economic inequality. For Johnson, the anti-capitalist and downwardly redistributive politics expressed by different Black Lives Matter elements has too often been drowned out in the flood of black wealth creation, fetishism of Jim Crow black entrepreneurship, corporate diversity initiatives, and a quixotic reparations demand. None of these political tendencies addresses the fundamental problem underlying mass incarceration. That is the turn from welfare to domestic warfare as the chief means of regulating the excluded and oppressed. Johnson sees the way forward in building popular democratic power to advance public works and public goods.  Rather than abolishing police, After Black Lives Matter argues for abolishing the conditions of alienation and exploitation contemporary policing exists to manage.

Review

"A virtuoso performance! Weighing the successes and limitations of Black Lives Matter, Johnson concludes that identity-based mobilization—confusing what people look like with what they need—cannot substitute for majoritarian political coalition-building." —Barbara J. Fields, Columbia University "A brilliant scholar who is first and foremost concerned with equality and justice. It’s those very commitments that lead him, in After Black Lives Matter, to question today’s antiracism and its nostrums." —Bhaskar Sunkara, founding editor of Jacobin and author of The Socialist Manifesto "Essential reading for those weary of platitude-driven texts on race and criminal justice and in the market for an empirically grounded political analysis that points to practicable solutions to one of the biggest problems of our day." —Touré F. Reed, author of Toward Freedom "A provocative and expansive critique from the left of the loose collection of protest actions, organizations, and ideological movements-whether prison abolition or calls to defund the police-that make up what we now call Black Lives Matter...After Black Lives Matter should be commended both for the clarity of its message and the bravery of its convictions." —Jay Caspian Kang, New Yorker

About the Author

Cedric Johnson is professor of African American Studies and Political Science at the University of Illinois at Chicago. His book, Revolutionaries to Race Leaders: Black Power and the Making of African American Politics was named the 2008 W.E.B. DuBois Outstanding Book of the Year by the National Conference of Black Political Scientists.  Johnson is the editor of The Neoliberal Deluge: Hurricane Katrina, Late Capitalism and the Remaking of New Orleans. His 2017 Catalyst essay, “The Panthers Can’t Save Us Now: Anti-policing Struggles and the Limits of Black Power,” was awarded the 2018 Daniel Singer Millenium Prize. Johnson’s writings have appeared in Nonsite, Jacobin, New Political Science, New Labor Forum, Perspectives on Politics, Historical Materialism, and Journal of Developing Societies. In 2008, Johnson was named the Jon Garlock Labor Educator of the Year by the Rochester Central Labor Council, AFL-CIO. He previously served on the representative assembly for UIC United Faculty Local 6456.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Given the sheer scale, magnitude and diversity of 2020’s resurgent Black Lives Matter protests, many pundits, scholars and activists celebrated the George Floyd rebellion as an historic watershed, one where the possibility of real reform came into view. For too  many, however, the euphoria of the moment suspended any criti- cal analysis of what it all meant. This is a deeper problem on the  US left—the tendency to read protests as always prefigurative rather than contingent, and as a manifestation of real power rather than a reflection of potential. Such wish-fulfillment think- ing, however, forgets that mass mobilization is not the same as  organized power, and that mass mobilization is much easier now with the endless opportunities for expressing discontent provided by social media, online petitions, memes and vlogging.

The scale of protests can be misleading, and their actual effectiveness, regardless of their size, is dependent on historical conjunctures, such as the balance of political forces, the organized power and  capacity of opposition and the clarity of objectives among activists. Throughout the opening decades of this century, ever larger  protests have proved incapable of consolidating in a manner that might effectively oppose ruling-class prerogatives. In recent memory, we have witnessed successive mass protests—turn-of the-century demonstrations against global capitalism, protests against the Bush administration’s so-called War on Terror, Occupy Wall Street encampments, anti-eviction campaigns, the March for Our Lives following the Parkland High School mass shooting, protests against police violence and ICE deportations, among others—but these have done little to depose capitalist class power and the advancing neoliberal project.

If anything, the hegemony of finance capital, the war-making powers of the national security state, the criminalization of immigration, the power of the gun lobby and the unaccountability of police are as entrenched as ever. THIS BOOK IS A FREE DOWNLOAD FROM THE BLACK TRUEBRARY

[sapropel]

I was listening to a talk today from a doctor from Jordan and wow, I really was thinking the whole time how the imperial core has just extracted so many resources from the rest of the world. The healthcare workers in Jordan are brilliant, and they've done incredible things to help their patients and their people. But there is only so much you can do when your nation's money is tied up in neoliberalism and the IMF and the World Bank and the US military and infrastructure from living in an excessively + purposefully destabilized region of the globe.

It is a horribly vicious cycle. Empire demands of the global south to give everything up to It. Then the doctors of these countries have inadequate resources to treat their patients and are decades behind the "gold standard" because the gold standard was purchased with the blood of foreigners. Then the West calls the doctors from exploited countries savage, backwards, inadequate, and some exceptional doctors will claw their way to the top of the field, and at international conferences they are asked to give a talk about how Jordan has struggled with brain cancer, and we learn of how Jordan has universal cancer insurance and centralized institutes of medicine . . . The token Good Brown Country that gets to be inspirational and had been chosen to be lifted up out of obscurity by the whims of Empire, yet still without any of the reparations we owe to Jordan and their people. Imagine the groundbreaking research Jordan could contribute to the world and to its own people without neocolonialism's grip so tight on it and many countries like it.