#spreading the right propaganda around these streets

[dipplinduo]

I've created something absolutely show-stopping that I've desperately wanted for a very long time all thanks to @angelabsol's mentorship. Ladies, gentlemen, & folks, may I present:

[socialjusticeinamerica]

They don’t even know of a time when life was better in America. Actually Gen X was the first generation in America not to do better than their parents. The same being true for the last few years of the Boomer generation. Y also is struggling.

The lady Boomers and X’ers remember what it was like before Reagan took over and busted unions in 1980. Wages dropped, factory owners took their shops to the Deep South where unions had long since been busted or never allowed to set up in the first place. Then the oligarchs outsourced their work and shuttered factories nationwide.

Before Reagan one parent working 40 hrs a week at a union job could afford a mortgage, a new car, medical insurance, and college for their 2.5 kids. That also applied to “minorities” or marginalized people who benefitted from union protections and negotiated standard pay scales.

With Reagan a home went from two years salary to 10+ years salary. Tuition did the same. Cars that cost a month’s salary soared to a year’s salary. Wages have remained stagnant for about 40 years. The wealthy paid high taxes and we had everything. Now the remnants of the middle class pay the bulk of taxes while multimillionaires and billionaires pay little or even nothing. Credit card interest soared to over 20% in some cases while Republikkkans passed laws making it easier for those card companies to sue you whilst making it nearly impossible for you to sue them. Mentally disabled people were literally dumped into the streets causing widespread homeless which is criminalized in affluent areas and red states. Guns and drugs flooded the streets. Bigoted white nationalists became radicalized when Reagan granted Australian Rupert Murdoch citizenship so he could open Fox News and then shut down the Fairness Doctrine so propaganda could be spread under the guise of news.

All the societal problems we suffer today began with the birth of the modern RepubliKKKan party led by their racist Dotard Ronald Reagan in 1980. The GOP became an organized crime syndicate and the government became a tool for the rich. The middle class shrunk from a sizeable percentage of the population to a handful of areas in the north and along the west coast. Many foolish people believe themselves to be in the middle class but in fact they are just perpetual debtors.

If you’re young your first reaction might be to blame the Boomers because that’s incorrectly become a marketed belief. The Boomer generation fought against the GOP and its wars, racism, pollution, big oil, corporate welfare, and black hole military industrial complex. They were the hippies and political activists that marched on Washington and other places. They booted the racist Dixiecrats (southern conservative racist Dems) from the Democratic Party while shifting educated liberals left. Sadly the GOP under Nixon and his colleagues welcomed the racists and conservative nut jobs. Don’t fight a generational war when you should be fighting a class/culture/political war.

The younger generation needs to educate itself about the political parties and how life was better just a few decades back and begin to vote. Vote, then organize in the workplace through unions and in the streets to attract more young voters and to counter protest the Republikkkan right-wing oligarch take-over of America. Complaining and taking refuge in the internet won’t turn things around. Become politically active, become stoke, bring back lower tuition, affordable health care, labor unions, workers rights, voters rights, etc.

[comradekatara]

so do you think that after the war the story of yue's sacrifice spread around the nations and was quickly bastardised into a (very inaccurate) corny romantic tragic play that was shown around the earth kingdom and fire nation and how furious do you think it makes everyone in the gaang but sokka specifically

me thinking to myself: well that literally happened…

you like 5 mins later:

I can't believe i literally forgot that the moon spirit scene plays out in the ember island play 😑 i was thinking more like yue's story would become particularly popular as a singular story, esp as something not part of fire nation propaganda but as romance/spirit tale and would get embellished beyond belief and completely bent out of shape

LMFAO

but yeah yue’s story definitely has all the beats of classical tragedy. spirit-touched princess. forbidden love with a “peasant.” arranged marriage. big climactic battle. noble sacrifice. becoming the literal moon. major chang’e vibes (not an accident that her name is so overtly chinese btw). of course it would be bastardized into a romantic tale, the only question is really how long it would take for it to embed itself in popular culture. if anything, i think it would start in the northern water tribe, as like, a tasteful way to commemorate her sacrifice and honor their princess. and then it would get appropriated over time by other nations who just find the inherent poetry and tragedy of it delicious (and who can blame them to be honest).

unclear whether sokka would actually play a part it in tho. clearly pu-on tim (renowned playwright of the boy in the iceberg) somehow had enough intel to know about her affair (i guess that time they literally kissed on a bridge in the middle of the street for anyone to see wasn’t very prudent of them, huh?) so it might just be public knowledge. although i don’t think arnook would want it advertised that his daughter was a libertine (not that im saying she WAS, simply that that’s clearly how it would be received within their extremely traditional and conservative culture). either way, if sokka ever found out about this narrativization of one of his worst memories, he would obviously not be a fan.

I don’t think he’d care abt its role as a way of memorializing her in the nwt, but he’d definitely get pissed off if it became something widely performed in the ek and fn, especially if it was good. if it’s bad he gets the license to be a hater, but if it’s good he has less reason to object, even though he obviously still wants to. because he still finds it highly disrespectful, but more than that, painful that people seem so intent on reliving something that was so traumatizing for him. especially if people put two and two together and realize that he was her secret lover (im partial to the term mistress) and start invading his privacy over it because like. if he won’t talk about it with his best friend toph, he’s definitely not gonna talk about it with some fucking theater nerds.

katara would also get really up in arms about it, like even more vocally pissed off than sokka, but that’s just because she loves inserting herself into every conversation. she didnt really know yue like that but she’s still like “it’s so SICK and DISRESPECTFUL the way they’d COMMODIFY my GOOD FRIEND’s sacrifice like that!!!!!!” but the only time they ever actually hung out was during a literal siege. sokka’s kind of grateful for it though because he gets to outsource the haterism to someone who simply has the capacity to get more up in arms over this particular topic.

like he just doesn’t have the mental energy to care about this because that would first require acknowledging that it happened and he doesn’t wanna do that at all. so he’s just like “yeah katara, tell them” and then falls dead silent and refuses to contribute to the conversation even as people are like “but you knew her too right? you guys fucked nasty on a bridge, right? you were there when she turned into the moon?” sokka’s just like lalalalalala do not hear it mariachi music starts blaring in his brain he just tunes it out entirely. to cope.

[hoes4hoseok]

how you get the girl part ii: heeseung’s advice on keeping dry in a storm

previous ☆ next ☆ series masterlist

your neighbor, heeseung, gets on your nerves. he’s full of himself, makes more noise than all of your neighbors combined in the middle of the night, spreads anti-superhero propaganda in your political science class, and, unfortunately, is the most attractive man you have ever laid eyes on.

pairing :: lee heeseung x fem!reader featuring :: jake sim, jeon somi, kim sunoo, and more! genres/au’s :: superhero au, neighbors to lovers, enemies to lovers, college au, fluff, angst if you squint, nightwing!heeseung chapter warnings :: mentions of and references to sex, minor violence, suggestive chapter word count :: 6.1k tag list :: @thejjrl @grace1852 @tsunchani @hanniiesuckle17 @mjr4fnaf1997 @goldenhypen @3nh4luvr @hobistigma @ditzie-s @nomy0520 @foreshadxw @koroktsuya @beansworldsstuff author’s note :: prior knowledge of nightwing and DC comics is not necessary to read this work! also ty to @lethekoo for all your help :) playlist :: here’s to you but in this chapter you should listen to umbrella by rihanna and jay-z at the end hehe

two of the plot points in this chapter are heavily based on smallville. the episodes are called 'devoted' 4x04 and 'exposed' 5x06. check them out if you haven't! I love that show so much <3 also! i hope y'all enjoy the little batgirl and starfire references :) && please let me know what you think if you have the time! it really helps me improve and motivates me to continue <3

2. Reliability A woman wants someone who shows up.

THE NEXT DAY…

“He didn’t get away, did he?” Jake asked, spitting his toothpaste into the sink.

“Nope. I got him,” Heeseung replied, sitting on Jake’s bed as his friend got ready. “He took a vial from the chemistry professor’s lab, but I’m not sure what it is. I’ll take a look at the sample later,”

Heeseung had come over to Jake’s place as soon as he woke up—which was 11 AM.

“Then…what is this meeting for?” Jake wiped his face with a look of skepticism, “you said it was urgent, right?”

“I told Y/n that I have a girlfriend,” Heeseung started, “but, obviously, I don’t,”

“So?” Jake shrugged. “You lie to people all the time,”

“Well, I think I need to stop the fake sex thing,” Heeseung added, “she can’t sleep because of it and it’s messing up her life,”

Jake furrowed his eyebrows. “Okay…what do you wanna do instead?”

“I don’t know,” he shook his head, “maybe I’ll make a tape of me singing. Or dancing. That’s loud, right?”

“I thought the whole point was to make it quieter,” Jake reminded him, now sitting on a chair across from his bed, “do you have something to tell me? Did the informal debate really rattle you?”

“No, I feel guilty,” Heeseung groaned, leaning toward his friend. “Last night, I saw her walking around Halyard Street alone and the guy who broke into Lori Lab pushed her out of his way. If I hadn’t been there, she would’ve fallen face-first into the street! But the only reason she was out there in the first place is that I was ‘having sex’ with a girl who I haven’t seen in months!”

Jake was at a loss for words. He had gotten used to Heeseung’s wild stories, but this one was unlike any other he had been told. 

“Okay…” he started, “so…stop faking the sex thing. Yeah, sounds good,”

“What if,” Heeseung’s eyes lit up, “what if you moved in with me? Then, if she ever knocks, you can come up with an excuse for me!”

“No. I will not,” Jake shut down the idea instantly, “you’re a terrible roommate. I know you’re still getting over your last girlfriend, but you’ll be sleeping around again soon enough. Dealing with the walks of shame and the Nightwing shenanigans? Count me out,”

“Fine,” Heeseung huffed, “I could also move out and find a new place. The frat bros won’t mind the noise or doubt its authenticity!”

“You’re not moving out, Heeseung,” Jake rolled his eyes, “just tell her ‘sorry’ and stop the sex. She’s not going to break into your apartment in the middle of the night, she’ll assume you’re asleep, like a normal human being!”

Heeseung paused for a moment to contemplate before nodding, “you’re right. I’m being irrational,”

“Thank goodness,” Jake breathed a sigh of relief, “Y/n has consumed way too much of your time. She’s all you ever talk about,”

“Yeah,” Heeseung agreed, snapping out of his momentarily caring nature, “she’s just always got the snarkiest comments about me—she’s kind of a slut shamer,”

“No, she’s a ‘slut that doesn’t let me get a wink of sleep’ shamer,” Jake corrected the older boy, “it’s basically the only thing you guys fight about,”

“It is the only thing we fight about,” Heeseung reiterated as he stood up from the bed, “looks like I need to break up with my ex-girlfriend,”

So…how does one apologize to their neighbor for being inconsiderate and also putting them in danger without completely compromising their secret identity? Easy! Don’t. Just hope that the wound will heal on its own.

The Scoop’s bullpen was always bustling from sun up to sun down, which was why Somi and Y/n typically liked to work on their side projects at night. It was more private and peaceful that way, especially since they didn’t have families awaiting their return. Yet…they were here at noon on a day with heavy rain—it was not pretty.

“Ugh, we’ve been at this for two hours,” Y/n groaned, her head resting on the desk before her, “every single lead has given us a dead end!”

“We’re close. I can feel it,” Somi insisted. “If our theory is correct and the guy who was chasing you is the same one who robbed your professor’s Lab, chances are we can figure out what he stole using these old articles,”

Somi, after learning about Y/n’s run-in with the boy in blue, had dragged her to the Scoop so that they could work on identifying the man who pushed her—with any luck, it could connect to their own puzzle. Regardless, it would help debunk the ridiculous ‘Crime Rates Soar Upon 2021 Arrival of Nightwing’ article. 

“I know, it’s just that the university section is kind of…bland,” Y/n reasoned, “not to mention the fact that my hand is cramping from all the notes we’re taking,”

“Sorry,” Somi moved her head from behind her computer to give her friend a sympathetic look. “No one has brought in a new printer yet and resources are kind of scarce on our floor,”

“They haven’t taken out the old one, either. This piece of junk is still here!” Y/n added, striking the side of the printer with her palm.

Unexpectedly, the familiar mechanical whirring of the printer began once again. Damn, she should’ve tried that five notebook pages earlier.

“Yes!” Somi exclaimed in happiness, rushing over to Y/n’s side of the desk. “You beautiful genius, thank you!” 

“No problem,” Y/n laughed, looking over at the machine beside her.  “Although…I don’t think I fixed it,” It had begun to print something, they just didn’t know what.

“Oh,” Somi frowned, picking up the first page, which had a large, loopy, and uppercase ‘a’ in the middle of it. “Whoever printed this made the font size way too big,”

“Yeah, and they must have been the first to do it after it stopped working,” Y/n took the paper from Somi’s hand, “I’ve seen this font before,”

“Where?” Somi asked, picking the sheets up as the printer continued to produce more papers. “In real life, or online?”

“No idea. It just looks familiar,” she answered, peeking over to look at the freshly printed pages. “Are they all different letters?”

“Yeah,” Somi replied, “A, E, K, V, U, and N. A is the only uppercase one so far,”

“Wait!” Y/n grabbed the newest sheet, “Our first number!”

After the printer stopped running, Somi scrawled the complete set of letters and numbers onto Y/n’s notebook.

A e k v u n 2 2 5 k 7 u S e 6 n

“We have to unscramble it, right?” Somi asked. “What else could this be for?”

“You’re right, it’s gotta be a message,” Y/n nodded, scanning the large room of busy reporters. “Who do you think it was meant for, though?”

“Mr. Kim, maybe?” Somi began, uncertainty in her voice, “it does seem unlikely though. Why send a message to Mr. Kim through a printer on the first floor?”

“It could also just be a printing error,” Y/n reasoned, “it was broken until a few minutes ago, after all,”

“Nope. What kind of printing error would give us this result?” Somi shook her head, sitting on the floor next to her friend’s chair with a look of determination. “Let’s unscramble it first and ask questions later—a story is a story!”

“I have…save, snake, sunk, skunk, ask, and suave,” Y/n read from her list of unscrambled words, “What did you come up with?”

After seven and a half minutes of silence, Y/n and Somi had collectively come up with 13 words starting with A or S from the letters they were given. Well, minus the repeats. So, more accurately, 11. 

“Anus, sank, sane, suave, avenues, seven, and save,” Somi read, tapping her pen against the table.

“Avenue!” Y/n exclaimed in realization, “it’s an address!”

“You’re right!” Somi gasped, “Skunk Avenue!”

Skunk Avenue was quite possibly the most rundown street in Bludhaven.  It consisted of abandoned buildings left and right, with a couple of bars and motels in the mix. 

“Well, luckily, there should only be a few options that our address could be,” Somi stood up in anticipation, pulling up a chair to join Y/n at her desk. “Could you pull it up online?”

“Sure,” Y/n replied, typing away at her keyboard. “It looks like most of the addresses start with ‘two-two’, so we only have to worry about five, seven, and six,”

“Okay,” Somi took to her notebook once again, writing the possible combinations on the page before her. “22567…22576…”

Y/n shook her head as she scanned the map.

“22756…22765…” Somi continued, “22657…and 22675”

“Bingo,” Y/n grinned, “22657 and 22675 both are real addresses on Skunk Street. Check it out,”

Y/n had pulled up images of both addresses—the first depicted a run-down building with broken windows and a neon sign which read ‘MOTEL 8: HOURLY PAYMENT’.

“Well…that’s questionable enough to be our place,” Somi began, her brows furrowed in focus, “let’s see the other,”

The second image showed a modest gray structure, but it was the name printed below the picture that caught the women’s attention.

‘The Four-Leaf Clover Club’

“Also sketchy…” Somi thought aloud. “We should strike both addresses, for sure,”

“Oh, oh!” Y/n gasped, gathering a few glares from around the room. “I just remembered where I’ve seen the printed font! It was one of my textbooks! Fuck, which one was it?!”

“Political science? Writing?” Somi listed her courses, “Environmental ethics?”

“Nope,” Y/n shook her head, dragging her bag over to pull out a large textbook, “It was biochemistry,”

“Biochemistry?” Somi repeated. “As in the professor who was robbed last night?”

“Yup,” Y/n skipped through the pages, “here. The same font as the puzzle,”

‘Phenylethylamine: The Love Drug’

“That’s great, but wouldn’t every section have the title in the same font?”

“Nope,” Y/n countered, now smiling from pride, “Every chapter has a theme—that’s why this one is all fancy,”

Somi held her hand up for a high-five, “So, we got the answer to today’s question after all. Phenylethylamine was stolen from the lab last night, and, for some reason, someone wants ‘us’ to think it’s linked to the club or the motel,”

“Exactly,” Y/n stood up from her seat in excitement, “get your umbrella, let’s go!”

Despite the fact that they had, in fact, brought an umbrella, Somi and Y/n wound up drenched within an hour.

The motel was a dead-end. It was empty (unless you count a few rats seeking shelter), cold, and Y/n could have sworn they were being watched. Somi wanted to stay a little longer in case something came up or they found a clue, but Y/n insisted it would be easier when it was dry. Luckily, Somi agreed. So, they headed home to recharge before checking out the club.

“Y/n? Hi,” Y/n jerked her head up at the familiar voice as she headed up the stairs to her apartment.

Oh. Heeseung. Typically, there was always something, or some noise, that reminded her of the boy next door—but for the longest time since he moved in, Y/n had forgotten about him (or so she thought).

Naturally, for Heeseung, the opposite was true.

“Hi, Heeseung,” Y/n gave a nod of acknowledgment as she continued.

“You look wet,” Heeseung frowned from his doorstep as Y/n arrived at the landing, “and cold…what were you doing out in the storm without a raincoat?”

“Reporter stuff,” she dismissed him. (I don’t blame her. I’d be eager to get back into dry clothes too.)

“Okay,” Heeseung muttered, sensing her cold attitude. As much as he disliked it, he couldn’t blame her. “Well…I just bought an extra coffee for Jake, but it seems like he’s not going to make it. It’s yours if you want it,”

“No thanks, I only drink decaf,” she replied, unlocking the door to her apartment. That’s right, Y/n. Don’t get closer.

“Perfect. It’s decaf,” Heeseung smiled, backing into his room to retrieve the cup.

“Oh…thanks,” Y/n tilted her head in surprise as she approached him, a smirk forming on her lips, “but how do I know you didn’t poison it?”

Heeseung hummed, leaning against the doorframe before taking a large sip of the coffee. “Mmm. The best,”

“Thank you, Heeseung,” Y/n smiled, grabbing the cup from the man’s grip, their fingers touching momentarily. “I’ll see you on Monday. Or before that, if you decide to be a dick out of nowhere,”

Oh, they’d see each other before Monday, alright.

Heeseung let out a partly suppressed laugh as he swung his door shut, “yeah, see you around,”

That man had infectious laughter. It made Y/n weak. ‘He’s a dick, Y/n. He’s a dick,’ she repeated to herself, heading back towards her door.

“Huh…that’s odd,” she whispered to herself, staring at the cup as she entered her room.

Brenda’s Cafe Start your day with a smile! decaf coffee two sugars two creamers

“Looks like Jake and I have the same coffee order,” she smiled to herself, reveling in the uncanny coincidence before taking a large sip of coffee.

“I’m outside, Y/n,”

“Alright, I’ll be out in just a minute,” Y/n replied to her friend, juggling her phone, lipstick, and bag, “stay dry!” 

It had taken Y/n an absurd amount of time to get ready. Sure, she was only going to a club, but she had been otherwise occupied since getting an internship at the Scoop last summer. She was a little rusty, to say the least.

“Dress hot,” had been Somi’s only instruction, so she opted for a tight blue dress. 

As she looked in the mirror one last time before heading out the door, Y/n took a deep breath and grabbed her raincoat from its hook. After all, Heeseung was right—they’re much more effective in storms than umbrellas.

When Y/n finally reached the ground floor, Somi was standing alone on her phone, a yellow writing pad sticking out of her purse. After noticing that her friend had joined her, she looked up with a grin.

“You look smoking hot,” Somi looked Y/n up and down, gesturing to the glitter and barrette on her head. “I love the hair!”

“Thank you,” Y/n smiled, nudging the blonde, “no hotter than you,”

Somi wore a silver sequined dress and platform boots, making her tower above the other people in the lobby. “Thanks—as much as I’d love to exchange compliments all night, we have somewhere to be,” Somi tilted her head in the direction of the door, “let’s go,”

For some reason, Y/n and Somi had not anticipated being turned away at the door. They probably should have.

“Come on, our friend’s already in there!” Y/n reasoned with the large man before her, “Please?”

“Yeah, it’s her only night in town,” Somi added, impressed with Y/n’s improvisation.

“Sorry, ladies. Private club,” he stood up even straighter than he already was, crossing his arms as if he was guarding the gates of hell. This guy wasn’t going to budge. He probably got paid too much to accept flirting as bribery, either. Somi recognized this fairly quickly.

And so, they walked away. “Alright we need to get in there one way or another,” Somi rubbed her hands together. It wasn’t clear whether she was excited or just cold, but I figure it was both.

“Well…” Y/n gestured to the area behind Somi, where two women stood. One wore a short, colorful peacock costume while the other wore a bedazzled cowboy getup with denim shorts. “...there’s always that option,”

Somi glanced behind her for a moment before turning back toward her friend once again. “Oh my god, you’re right. Our one pole dancing class from three months ago is finally gonna pay off! Lead the way,”

“Okay…first of all, of course, I am…but second of all, there is no way I’m ready to pretend to be a stripper right now,” Y/n shook her head violently, “I need at least three to five business days' notice to build that kind of confidence,”

“Look, if you really don’t want to, I’m not going to force you,” Somi explained, placing her hand on Y/n’s shoulder. “But I’d be right behind you the whole time, cheering you on and/or watching your back. Depends on what you’re scared of. And you’d get to be a really sexy firefighter for a night,”

Y/n paused for a moment of contemplation. Sure, she was scared. But…after all, they do say “if you’re scared to do it, do it scared”, right? And she truly believed that Somi would be there for her. So, what the hell?

“Fine. I’ll do it for the story,” Y/n took the beaming blonde by her arm, “Let’s get in there before I change my mind,”

The dressing room was filled with various leopards in corsets and pilots in garters walking past the imposters, who stood frozen by the door. Y/n felt her chest tighten at the thought of wearing one of their outfits onstage for a crowd of droolers. Do it scared, do it scared, do it scared.

“I probably should’ve asked you this before pulling you into the dressing room, but what is our cover story?” she muttered under her breath. 

“Just follow my lead,” Somi whispered back, guiding Y/n to the costume racks in the back row, “now act natural,”

Somi started rifling through the outfits on the rack: a way too patriotic stars and stripes set, various animals, a sexy leprechaun costume (definitely hopefully a seasonal pick)—the options were plentiful.

“This one will do tonight,” Somi spoke loudly, clearing her throat, “I wore the leprechaun look last night, after all,”

Y/n resisted the urge to laugh as Somi picked a black latex outfit off the rack, “Alright…I’ll take…” Y/n’s eyes scanned the options.

“Look, I’m gonna take this to ‘change’ while I check out that office. I’ll bet it has the info we need—”

“Hey, you two,” A deep voice boomed from across the room, immediately ensuing panic in Y/n’s head, “I take it you’re the replacements Rocko sent over?”

Wow did they get lucky…

Somi turned to face the blonde man as he approached, “Yup,” she started, eyes wide. While Somi being nervous isn’t something Y/n witnessed often, it was fairly easy to detect. 

“Great,” the man nodded, pulling a list from his suit jacket’s pocket. “I have you two booked an hour from now, though…” He looked up from his paper, awaiting an explanation.

Y/n shook her head, glancing at the clock. 8:51. “I don’t know about that. Rocko told me my slot was at 9 PM,” 

“Yeah, mine is at 9:10 PM,” Somi added, “there must have been a mistake somewhere,”

“Well, I’ll give Rocko a call—”

“No!” the women exclaimed in panic.

The man furrowed his eyebrows, glancing between the two. “Sorry?”

“It’s just that we don’t want him to be mad,” Somi clarified, “…in case it’s our fault,”

“We’re willing to go in an hour, the slots you had us down for,” Y/n continued, “we don’t want to cause any problems,”

“No, it’s alright, I’ll take care of it,” He gave Y/n a tight-lipped smile, “better get ready—you’re on in eight minutes. Your outfits are marked on the rack,”

Somi breathed a sigh of relief as the suited man walked away. “Alright…new plan. After we get dressed, I’ll take a peek in the office while you’re on stage,”

“I hate that plan,” Y/n retorted, her breath quickening. “but I did volunteer myself for it, you have the more stressful job, and I think my adrenaline will compensate for the fear,” 

“Great,” Somi nodded, the same determined look on her face from at the Scoop, “Let’s strip,”

The outfit was on. Y/n was getting used to walking in seven-inch heels from all the pacing she was doing. It was now 8:58 PM. Y/n had come to peace with what she was about to do—how? She realized what the best way to handle the stress was—pretending she was a stripper.

So, she pulled on her deep purple get-up, smeared some more lipstick on her lips, and took some deep breaths. She could do it. No problem. Easily. Hopefully. Maybe.

As she walked up to the black steps in her impossibly high heels, Y/n could finally see the stage. There were three poles on it, but only one was being used—clearly, this was going to be a focused show. Lucky her. The final minute felt faster than the ones before it. Time flies when you’re having fun, right?

Before she knew it, it was 9 PM and the familiar beat of Umbrella by Rihanna and JAY-Z had started playing. That’s her cue!

Y/n felt her body take control as she ascended the steps. One foot in front of the other (at least that’s what she assumed). 

“Now, give a warm welcome to…Violet Cherry!”

Y/n felt the stares of the crowd following her every movement as she walked to the center of the stage, where the pole was mounted.

She started by slowly unbuttoning the shirt she had on over her corset as JAY-Z’s verse began, reminding herself that this was her job and that she did this every day—she took that whole ‘pretending she was a stripper’ thing very seriously.

Stripping was awkward. She knew it would be. Y/n wasn’t completely sure how to take off her shirt and skirt in a way that would appeal to the whole crowd, but she pulled it off (haha get it) pretty well. It didn’t feel that way, but that didn’t make it untrue.

And then it started getting easier. Y/n had only learned two things in her first pole dancing class with Somi, but she juiced the hell out of those two things. By the time the chorus began,  she was feeling fairly comfortable onstage. She spun, she posed, she twirled, and she posed again—it was a pretty solid routine for a woman who had an hour and a half of experience.

As the bridge began, Y/n held onto the pole with both arms behind her before sliding down into a squat, when she looked straight into the crowd. While the move was a nice addition to the routine, it was a terrible decision.

There, staring right back into Y/n’s petrified eyes like a deer in headlights, was a much more petrified Lee Heeseung.

Heeseung was not a man who went to strip clubs often. He had a couple of times, for friends’ birthdays or missions, but he never went just for recreation. He did not think a strip club was the best chance he was going to get at finding the lab thief’s boss—his classic waiting and watching usually does the trick, after all. 

Jake disagreed—and unfortunately, he was right. He had to be inside to hear the secrets. Thus, he went. Lucky for him, his platinum credit card was all he needed to show them to enter—they let him right in. Honestly, Somi chose the wrong resident of Safehaven Apartments to befriend. 

After Heeseung gave his name to the bouncer, he was seated immediately in what they called “the best seat in the house”. 

“Hi, welcome to the Four-Leaf Clover Club!” His waitress greeted him warmly, removing the pencil from behind her ear, “What can I get for you?”

“Just water,” he dismissed the woman with a smile. He doesn’t drink on the job, he isn’t an idiot. “I’ve gotta drive home,”

“Sure, one water coming right up,” she wrote on her pad, “have a great night,”

He redirected his attention to the people circulating through the dimly purple-lit room. There were plenty of strippers wearing various types of bras and shorts, some of them dancing near guests while others served drinks. Most of the guests were men of various ages, but a few women were dispersed among the tables and seats.

“Nightwing, come in,” Heeseung adjusted his earpiece, “anyone looking suspicious?”

Jake was going to be his ears for the night—in fact, he usually was, at least now that Heeseung and Batgirl split. 

“It’s Heeseung tonight,” the older man reminded him in a mumble, “and yes—literally everyone looks guilty,”

“I’ll try to ID some people in the security camera footage then,” Jake replied, “For now, you can turn your mic off, maybe actually have some fun. The other ones you set up should suffice,”

“I’m on a mission, I’m not going to—”

“Here’s that water for you!” The recently returned waitress began, placing the condensation-coated glass on the table, “Just give me a holler if you need anything else,”

“Thanks,” Heeseung nodded politely as she walked away, his eyes following her briefly to ensure she didn’t return. “As I was saying, I’m not going to…oh my god,”

“What? What happened? Did you recognize someone?”

He did recognize someone, but not quite in the manner Jake was implying. 

Heeseung did not need glasses. Anytime he wore them in public was purely for aesthetic purposes. But his eyes just had to be deceiving him in one way or another because Y/n was taking off her shirt in the middle of the stage.

“Heeseung!” Jake exclaimed, “What happened?!”

“N-nothing,” he replied, finally tearing his eyes away from Y/n’s body as she tossed away her shirt. “I need to talk to someone in here. I’ll turn my mic on when I’m done,”

“Well, shouldn’t I listen in if you’re gonna make a move?” Jake countered. “...Heeseung?”

It was too late. Heeseung’s mic was already off and he was losing his mind.

He tried not to look at his neighbor’s routine for about twenty seconds until he remembered that he was, in fact, undercover at the strip club.

What was she even doing there? 

Of course, it was possible that she was newly a stripper, but it wasn’t likely—Heeseung was an observant neighbor, after all. Plus, he was watching her now. Yes, she looked good…really good…but her dancing was not ‘the most exclusive club in Bludhaven’ good. So…if she isn’t really a stripper…why was she here?

She was wearing purple. Heeseung liked purple, not that it’s relevant. A purple corset, purple platform heels, purple shorts, and, pinned in her hair, a silver barrette. Her makeup…was blue.

Heeseung didn’t know everything about makeup, but he did know that Y/n wouldn’t have worn blue eyeshadow knowing she was going to be wearing purple. She didn’t know she’d be doing this.

He knew better than to assume Y/n had been forced to do this, but he couldn’t rule it out. So he thought about the last time he saw her back at the apartment building. Was there anything that—Jeon Somi.

No, he didn’t remember Y/n mentioning her friend—he literally saw Somi in the window of the office by the stage. What the fuck were these two up to?

“You can run into my arms, it’s okay don’t be alarmed, come into me,”

And…he was watching Y/n again. To be fair, it was kind of what he was supposed to do while undercover at a strip club.

“So gon’ and let the rain pour,”

As Y/n wrapped her hands around the pole, a newfound type of confidence gracing her performance, cheers and whistles erupted from the audience. Heeseung’s eyes narrowed in annoyance. 

“I’ll be all you need and more,” She sunk down the length of the pole, Heeseung’s breath hitching as she did so. She had a look of lust on her face as she looked into the crowd. Up to the moment where, of course…

She saw him. Fuck, she saw him while he was staring right at her and she was going to think he was a total weirdo because what excuse does he have for being here? And she still thinks he has a girlfriend!

She was clearly just as rattled as Heeseung because she stood up a few seconds later, completely abandoning her previous “who cares” confidence. A pang of familiar guilt rose in Heeseung as Y/n started walking offstage and applause rose in the audience once again. Until he realized that she was headed straight into the crowd. And his table. Oh, God. He needed a cover story. Jake…Heeseung could usually use Jake for his lies in one way or another, right?

“Heeseung! Come in, Heeseung!” What a neat coincidence.

Heeseung fumbled to turn on his microphone, “I’m here. Now is not the best time, though, so—”

“I finished the ID checks of most of the club,” Jake continued, ignoring Heeseung’s words, “the man wearing a rust bowtie in the southeast corner of the building is our guy. The whole table is involved in it!”

“Now is really not the time, Jake,”

“Fine, I’ll tell you the details after you give me the go,” he sighed.

Y/n was getting closer, her eyes shifting everywhere but at Heeseung. As she looked beyond the scaffolding of the balcony, she stopped in her tracks momentarily. She saw something. Heeseung’s eyebrows furrowed.

What could she have seen?

“Hey there…” Y/n finally looked at Heeseung again, approaching his desk with a smile plastered on her face, “...handsome,”

“Hi, Velvet…Cash?” Heeseung struggled to recall her stripper name. Clearly, Y/n didn’t want anyone to know she wasn’t a stripper. He wasn’t about to ruin that. Plus, if it was clear they were friends acquaintances, Heeseung could be putting her in danger. Again.

By this time, she had one hand on the table and another wrapped around the corner of Heeseung’s chair. This club clearly had terrible circulation, because looking up at her made him feel like someone hid a space heater in his suit jacket.

“It’s Cherry. Velvet Cherry,” Y/n bent over further, forcing her words through clenched teeth. “What are you doing here? Last time I checked, you had a girlfriend,”

“Nope, she dumped me,” Heeseung replied in a hushed tone, “I’m just here because Jake wanted me to come, he’s meeting me in ten minutes. He thought it’d be good for my…heart,”

“Try again,” Y/n groaned, trying her best not to roll her eyes, “I know that’s a lie,”

“...fine,” Y/n lifted Heeseung’s chin with her finger as he spoke, “My professor got robbed. I’m here to try to find out who did it. My girlfriend did dump me, though,”

Personally, I think he told her way too much. But honestly, who could think straight with someone as pretty as her in such close proximity?

Y/n’s eyes widened in surprise, her hand falling away from his chin. Oh. Wait. Maybe she thought he was just lying about his girlfriend dumping him. You’re smarter than that, Heeseung. 

“Forgive me,” Y/n stood up straight, pretending to adjust her hair in a moment of hesitation before turning around and taking a seat in the man’s lap.

Heeseung’s eyes widened, scrambling to look away until Y/n guided his face back to her with her hand. “You’re gonna get us caught if you keep looking at me like I’m your worst nightmare, Heeseung,”

The man inhaled sharply as Y/n mumbled, looking straight at his lips. She must have been devoted to this act because Heeseung could’ve sworn he was getting butterflies. “Look, you have to get out of here. The guy behind you is dangerous. Somi found some stuff on him in the office…or something. I’m not sure, she just pointed at him. The point is, you’ve gotta leave as soon as possible. For your own safety,”

“Fine,” Heeseung agreed reluctantly, the gears turning in his head, “I’ll leave you alone. Just get up, I’ve got fragile bones,”

“Thank you,” Y/n stood up confidently, bending down a final time to whisper in the man’s ear, “and do not utter a word to any of your buddies about that so-called lap dance. I do know where you live, after all,”

Heeseung smiled as Y/n walked off, but grew worried when she paused and turned right back around. “What happened?” he asked.

“I’ll explain,” Y/n grabbed Heeseung’s hand, pulling him out of his seat, “but you’re coming with me,”

The last thing Y/n wanted was for Heeseung to get hurt. Okay, that’s overcompensating, but you get the point—he was annoying, but she didn’t want him interrogated and hurt just for talking to her tonight. 

So when she noticed a waitress mention his name to the man Somi warned her about, she panicked.

“Woah, hold on,” Heeseung began, Y/n’s grip on his wrist tightening enough to cut off circulation, “don’t you think these guys are gonna get the wrong idea here?”

“As if I care,” Y/n heaved, pulling the man next to the side door. “I’m gonna find Somi, and then we’re gonna run,”

Heeseung furrowed his eyebrows, mouth agape. “Run where? And why?”

“I’ll order a taxi, I don’t know. We’ll figure it out,” Y/n started, trying her best to recall her and Somi’s backup plan. “They know you spoke with me. Considering the fact that Somi and I are about to become their primary enemies and I don’t want your fragile bones cracking under the pressure, I’m taking you with me,”

“Okay…” Heeseung began, puzzled, “it’s just not very fool…proof,”

By the time Heeseung had finished his sentence, Y/n was distracted already, looking across the busy room at the several pairs of eyes focused on them.

“Y/n?”

Heeseung turned in the same direction, his eyes widening as the man in the rust bowtie he was warned about pointed right at them.

“Can you run in those?” Heeseung glanced down at Y/n’s elevated feet in worry.

“Not like I have much of a choice!” Y/n finally pushed the door open, grabbing Heeseung’s hand once again and sprinting—or, rather, trying to. She did not make it far.

“Ow!” she exclaimed, doubling over as they rounded the corner after exiting the club. “Okay, these have to go,”

It was raining harder than it had all day. Y/n was cold, in pain, and in danger. Now was not the time to be decked out in a corset and booty shorts.

“No, no,” Heeseung shook his head, his hair getting wetter by the second as he took off his jacket and tossed it to Y/n. “Wear this. You’re getting on my back,”

“Are you sure you can carry me, fragile bones?” she asked, eyeing Heeseung up and down in an insinuating manner before pulling his coat over her shoulders. To be fair, she did not know he was Nightwing. But still—damn, Y/n, now is not the time for banter.

“Just get on…” Heeseung rolled his eyes, bending his knees for Y/n to get on, “once we get back to my car, we can try to track down Somi. I’m sure she already left,”

“What do you mean?!” Y/n asked, hopping on anyways—her feet did hurt quite a bit, after all. “They’re only chasing us because they know I was with her! We have to go back right now,”

Heeseung began jogging with Y/n on his back, “just…trust me. Please. She’s fine, I’m sure,”

Y/n didn’t have any reason to trust Heeseung on a regular day. But if she went back to the strip club right now, they’d get her like a rat in a trap. She didn’t want to trust him, but there wasn’t much of a choice tonight. So she chose to cling on tight as water and wind hit her face and legs relentlessly—it was safe to assume her hair was no longer as gorgeous as it was ten minutes ago.

Heeseung’s hair looked great though—and it smelled like cinnamon. Y/n usually hated that she noticed that. It typically felt like she couldn’t think about how attractive or not that bad of a person he was in close proximity of him because he’d be able to see right through her and use it to his advantage as if they were in an ongoing war. It didn’t feel that way right now.

“Yeah, we’re on our way. Just meet us at the street parallel to Skunk Avenue, Jasper Way,”

“Who are you talking to?” Y/n inquired, looking down at Heeseung before noticing a small earpiece resting in his left ear.

“A childhood friend. He’s picking us up,”

2. Reliability A woman wants someone who shows up, rain or shine. Support, shield, assist—I can’t tell you exactly which way she’ll appreciate it. Everyone is different.

previous ☆ next ☆ series masterlist ☆ masterlist

[idsb]

Your takes reek of white privilege and I'm not surprised, given that you haven't posted much information about what's going on in Gaza at all. Your reality is one in which you can go to work and talk to friends and listen to Taylor and have a roof over your head and a Palestinian's reality is one in which they have to get limbs amputated without anaesthesia and leave the bodies of the ones they've loved most in the world rotting under rubble. A reality in which they lose 20 kg in 2 months because of starvation, they sleep on the street while rockets rain down on the buildings around them, knowing that they might not wake up, or they might wake up with tonnes of rubble on top of them, pain tearing through their body from their broken limbs and damaged organs, in which case they might start screaming and screaming and even if someone hears them, no one will be able to pull them out. The machines they used to use for this in the beginning can't run anymore.

These are not exaggerations. They are first hand accounts from Gazans. And you sit over there and say that white rich celebrities have no responsibilities to help these people. When Israel is a colony whose existence relies very heavily on propaganda. Everyone's words matter. And here is white indifference to brown pain, being excused- nay, rewarded, over and over again.

The fact that you bring up starving children in Africa goes to show that you view suffering in the global south as something you have the right to close your eyes and pretend doesn't exist. Shame on you. I pray that you never have to endure even an ounce of what these people have to endure. I know it would break you.

I’m sorry but this is so fucking insane lmao - it’s not white privilege to say I know nothing about this, and I am a regular ass uninvolved person and not a confident source of political information. Im not interested in doing any kind of internet performance about it, and I’d rather listen to friends - and relatives, actually! - I have whom it affects, and learn. Imo, and I think in a lot of theirs, it’s on a good day absurd and on a bad one fucking racist to make my voice so loud I’m talking over the people it actually affects, and spreading TONS of misinfo (some of it in good faith, but I’ve seen SO many things that turn out to be incorrect I’m just not interested in spreading that when I can just listen to people I know instead). Im a Taylor Swift blog, and a random Twitter user, and a random girl on instagram.

I am not your deep rooted international conflict news source and neither is Taylor Swift. If you expect everyone alive to be that you’re going to be deeply disappointed.

[menalez]

A leading human rights activist in Iran has written from prison to give the BBC details of how women detained in recent anti-government protests are being sexually and physically abused.

Narges Mohammadi said such assaults had become more common in recent protests.

She is serving a lengthy sentence in Tehran's notorious Evin prison.

The protests were triggered by the death in custody in September of 22-year-old Mahsa Amini, arrested for violating strict dress codes.

She was detained by morality police in mid-September for allegedly wearing her hijab, or headscarf, "improperly".

More than 500 protesters, including 69 children, have been killed, while thousands of others have been arrested, human rights activists say. Dozens of Iranian security personnel are also reported to have been killed.

Many of those arrested have allegedly been subjected to torture and other ill-treatment in custody.

Ms Mohammadi is deputy head of Nobel laureate Shirin Ebadi's Defenders of Human Rights Center. She has received several jail sentences since 2011 and is currently in prison for "spreading propaganda".

This year she was also included in the BBC's 100 Women - a high profile list of 100 inspiring and influential women from around the world.

Prominent political prisoners in Iran like Ms Mohammadi, who are not in solitary confinement, are often able to communicate with the outside world via their families or fellow activists.

'Hands and legs tied to hook'

Ms Mohammadi says in her letter that some of the women arrested during the recent demonstrations were transferred to the women's ward in Evin prison.

That gave her a chance to hear shocking details of the abuse they suffered.

She says that one well-known activist had her hands and legs tied to a hook above her head in the vehicle taking her to prison - and was then sexually assaulted by security officers.

Ms Mohammadi says she saw bruises and scars on her body.

She says another woman who was arrested in the street was taken on a motorbike by two security officers - one in front and one behind - and was repeatedly assaulted.

Iran's state broadcaster has denied reports of security forces using rape and sexual abuse against female protesters.

A report on 19 December said female prisoners were kept in facilities run by all-female staff, adding that claims of rape in the Western media were "rumours" and "baseless".

But Iran also continues to heavily repress domestic reporting of the protests, with one recent report suggesting it was now the third largest jailer of journalists in the world.

Ms Mohammadi says that even though reporting abuse may lead to intimidation of the families of women in detention, she believes it's necessary to expose what's happening - in order to try to put a stop to it.

"Not revealing these crimes would contribute to the continuation of application of this repressive methods against women," she says.

"Therefore, it seems that the assault on women activists, fighters, and protesters in Iran should be widely and powerfully reported at the global level."

She added that this was especially important given the pressure on civil society in Iran.

"In the absence of powerful independent civil organisations, the attention and support of the media and international human rights organisations and global public opinion is essential," she said.

Ms Mohammadi ended the letter by expressing the belief that Iran's "brave, resilient, lively and hopeful women" would attain victory.

"Victory means establishing democracy, peace and human rights and ending tyranny," she added.

"We will not back down."

[mariacallous]

Moldova has made progress towards improving legal protections for LGBT people as it seeks to join the EU. But anti-LGBT disinformation spread by politicians and Russian-language media is prevalent, while wider societal acceptance remains elusive.

On a recent Saturday evening, members of Chisinau’s LGBT community gathered in a small room to make signs for a pro-EU integration rally the following day. Splotches of glitter dusted the bare wooden floor, while magic markers squeaked across cardboard, and scissors cut star-shapes out of yellow paper. Hanging on the walls around them were works by a 19-year-old feminist artist. In one painting, a girl cries rainbow tears. In another, a woman lights her own cigarette as four male hands crowd into the frame offering lighters. The woman casually raises her middle finger, as if to say, “I can do it myself.” Welcome to Queer Café, Chisinau’s only dedicated LGBT venue, where they don’t actually serve food – it’s a ‘café’ in name only – but do offer acceptance and inclusivity. “We started with the idea that we need a safe space and that we could do something for the community that’s open weekly, to have cultural activities and be activists through a cultural perspective,” said Lorelei Grigorita, Queer Café’s 24-year-old administrator. The café, which marked its one-year anniversary in June, hosts a variety of events such as civil society talks, art exhibitions, language classes, cinema and theatre clubs, and workshops on everything from zine making to street art to Dungeons & Dragons. At least once a month, the quiet daytime space is transformed for nocturnal drag shows or parties DJ’ed by local talent.

“It inspires me a lot to see the huge steps that we are taking,” said Marín Bunescu, a 22-year-old regular at Queer Café. “This space is really, really important – it’s like a bit of sunlight in our dark society.” Spurred on by aspirations of one day joining the EU, Moldova has made notable progress to improve legal protections for LGBT people, as highlighted by a recent study. But anti-LGBT disinformation spread by politicians and in the Russian-language media remains prevalent, while wider acceptance in society continues to be elusive. A national survey in 2022 found that 64 per cent of respondents would prefer to “exclude” LGBT people from Moldova. Stela Pascal, a 40-year-old documentary filmmaker, has experienced those limits of acceptance. She transitioned during the height of the COVID-19 pandemic, and afterward started looking for jobs as a salesclerk or secretary. In the end, she gave up her job search after a spate of bad experiences and countless rejections. Often Pascal would initially be offered the job. “They would say, ‘We are taking you on, we like you.’ But when I provided my ID, they said, ‘No, sorry, we cannot hire you under these circumstances’,” she related. The reason was always that her identification documents still list her male birth name and sex, which she said are almost impossible to amend on government documents in Moldova.

At one store, she worked a full day only to be let go the following morning because of her ID. Another job she quit after being slapped by a co-worker. “Now I don’t even want to look for a regular job,” she said.

Public perceptions and propaganda

Discrimination of the sort that Pascal faced is common. And while stigmatisation of the LGBT community is already widespread in Moldova, negative perceptions are stoked by propaganda from Russian-language media and Kremlin-friendly politicians, according to Anastasiia Danilova, executive director of the Genderdoc-M Information Centre, which advocates for LGBT rights in Moldova.

“People remain homophobic and transphobic because of different political forces and public figures who repeat stereotypes and prejudices against LGBT people,” said Danilova. “It is very comfortable for them to have a common enemy, in this case LGBT people, and to manipulate this opinion of society to win votes.”

Their goal, Danilova explained, is to keep society fearful that if Moldova moves closer ideologically to Europe, then all the liberal European values that conservative Moldovans disapprove of, including those related to LGBT rights, will take root in Moldova.

“It’s very hard for us to fight against this huge machine of propaganda because it’s very well organised and very well funded,” Danilova added.

By the fact of its mere existence, Queer Café counterbalances negative perceptions of the LGBT community and helps create bridges to mainstream society in Moldova, said Elvira Drangoi, Queer Café’s community manager.

“One of the main goals of Queer Café is to make allies,” Drangoi said, pointing out that its events, workshops and clubs – which draw a mixed crowd of LGBT and heterosexual attendees – provide a space for dialogue and interactions that might not otherwise take place.

Heteroexual Moldovans who come to Queer Café often know very little about LGBT people or believe in the stereotypes that they’ve grown up with. “But when they come here and talk to people from the community, they can see we are just people,” Drangoi said. The café’s tight knit “family”, as Drangoi calls it, also takes part in public demonstrations such as the pro-EU integration rally organised by Moldova’s pro-Western government, on May 21. More than a dozen from Queer Café joined the rally with handmade signs, bearing messages like “UE Accept Our Friend Request,” or “Moldova Has a Crush on UE”, referring to the EU’s name in Romanian, Uniunea Europeana.

Drangoi said it felt important to show their support at the rally, “because being in the European Union is about having your human rights respected, about not being discriminated against”, and about pursuing the right to same-sex marriages.

Improving legal protections

Moldova has arguably already made significant gains on improving LGBT rights as it seeks to turn its candidate status into full EU membership. In 2022, Moldova’s government amended the country’s criminal code to include more explicit protections for LGBT people, specifically mentioning sexual orientation and gender identity. And last year marked Moldova’s largest and longest Pride march to date.This year’s is planned for June 18.

“It’s a very good sign, another proof that Moldova really wants to be closer to Europe and protect people despite their sexual orientation and gender identity,” Danilova said.

However, hate crimes targeting the LGBT community continue to take place, though many go unreported. Exact figures are hard to come by, as the police don’t compile such data.

“People are really afraid to report those cases even to us, but we know that hate crimes based on sexual orientation and gender identity still happen in Moldova,” Danilova said.

Already this year, for example, Queer Café has been threatened online and had to contend with hate speech at some events.

In another case documented by Genderdoc-M, a 27-year-old trans woman was assaulted in April by four teenagers on a trolleybus and again after she exited the bus. The youths pulled her hair, made derogatory remarks, and then dumped polyurethane on her head. The substance hardened and could not be washed out, so her hair had to be cut off.

Beyond Chisinau

Outside the capital, homophobia is even more deeply ingrained in society. Over 96 per cent of the population of Moldova are Orthodox Christians, and it remains a socially conservative society marked by intolerance towards minorities of all kinds, especially LGBT people.

In Balti, around 130 kilometres northwest of Chisinau, very few LGBT people are comfortable being open about their status. “In Chisinau, people are more accepting of the LGBT community, but in Balti it’s still like a city from the Soviet Union,” said Valeria Bejenaru, the 25-year-old manager of Safe Space Balti, a pilot project that has been operating since November 2022.

Much of Balti’s population is influenced by anti-LGBT propaganda and cling to stereotypes leftover from the days of the Soviet Union. Consequently, while Safe Space Balti hosts regular events, they remain far more low-key than at Queer Café.

Some LGBT people are even hesitant to attend the events “because they are afraid someone will follow them and see where they are going,” said Bejenaru. Others ask that the door remain closed so outsiders can’t see inside or wander in off the street.

In the coming months, Safe Space Balti will hold outreach events in an effort to improve public perceptions of LGBT people. “If no one is talking to them, if no one is showing them the right way, they are going to stay close minded,” said Bejenaru, stressing the need for more funding and support for safe spaces in cities outside the capital.

Back in Chisinau, Pascal, who has long since given up on applying for day jobs, is now pursuing documentary filmmaking.

With encouragement from Grigorita and others, she took part in a workshop through the Queer Voices International Film Festival last year. Her film, about the difficulties trans people face in Moldova, won the top prize. She is now working on a full-length 90-minute film.

She credits the support she received at Queer Café with helping her find her purpose. “I got out of my depression because I have work to do, because I am working on my film,” said Pascal.

[theivorybilledwoodpecker]

Ms Mohammadi is deputy head of Nobel laureate Shirin Ebadi's Defenders of Human Rights Center. She has received several jail sentences since 2011 and is currently in prison for "spreading propaganda". This year she was also included in the BBC's 100 Women - a high profile list of 100 inspiring and influential women from around the world. Prominent political prisoners in Iran like Ms Mohammadi, who are not in solitary confinement, are often able to communicate with the outside world via their families or fellow activists.' Hands and legs tied to hook' Ms Mohammadi says in her letter that some of the women arrested during the recent demonstrations were transferred to the women's ward in Evin prison. That gave her a chance to hear shocking details of the abuse they suffered.She says that one well-known activist had her hands and legs tied to a hook above her head in the vehicle taking her to prison - and was then sexually assaulted by security officers. Ms Mohammadi says she saw bruises and scars on her body. She says another woman who was arrested in the street was taken on a motorbike by two security officers - one in front and one behind - and was repeatedly assaulted. Iran's state broadcaster has denied reports of security forces using rape and sexual abuse against female protesters. A report on 19 December said female prisoners were kept in facilities run by all-female staff, adding that claims of rape in the Western media were "rumours" and "baseless". But Iran also continues to heavily repress domestic reporting of the protests, with one recent report suggesting it was now the third largest jailer of journalists in the world. Ms Mohammadi says that even though reporting abuse may lead to intimidation of the families of women in detention, she believes it's necessary to expose what's happening - in order to try to put a stop to it. "Not revealing these crimes would contribute to the continuation of application of this repressive methods against women," she says. "Therefore, it seems that the assault on women activists, fighters, and protesters in Iran should be widely and powerfully reported at the global level." She added that this was especially important given the pressure on civil society in Iran. "In the absence of powerful independent civil organisations, the attention and support of the media and international human rights organisations and global public opinion is essential," she said. Ms Mohammadi ended the letter by expressing the belief that Iran's "brave, resilient, lively and hopeful women" would attain victory. "Victory means establishing democracy, peace and human rights and ending tyranny," she added. "We will not back down."

[traceofexistence]

The rise of far right politicians is because the average politician around the world is a geriatric child rapist war hawk who wants to bomb the Middle East one more time before their grease slicked hearts pop like grapes because they got too angry seeing a minority in the street, and THEY are the ones who decide who gets a piece of the pie, not us. The electoral college is the worst thing to happen to the United States since that grotesque cunt Columbus managed to reach the pristine shores of turtle island.

Blaming the failures of your government on ‘Russian chaos agents’ is McCarthyist bullshit that gives them a free pass to do whatever they want.

nice try russian bot

here's all the documented bullshit russian has pulled

my own fucking country is 90% deep into russian propaganda, with politicians getting paid by russian, on both sides.

also orthodox church, and the monastic mountain place where russian leaders meet with orthodox church, and conspire on how to spread their bullshit anti- everyone campaigns.

[ardn632-haydenmiddleton]

THE HISTORY OF PHOTOGRAPHY AND THE TRUTH OF AN IMAGE PART 2

Article Here: https://photo.org.au/channel/a-brief-history-of-photography-and-truth-2/

In this article the power of photography is explored. Like mentioned in the last part of the article, photo manipulation has been around since the camera was invented and then was only improved upon once the Kodak Brownie snapshot camera was made available to the public, and at 1USD at that! Of course though back then the people had not built up this mistrust of cameras and photos just yet and so people’s likelihood to believe something was much higher, like Elise and Frances fairy photography in 1917, which even saw the backing of spiritualists. It was also in a time where people wanted to believe in these things, like spirit photography which saw a massive profit off of the loss and grief of family members to soldiers who had died in the American civil war. A lot of these photos were simple scams but it’s then the staging of war photography that gets a bit more iffy.

The Cottingley Fairies Hoax by Elise Wright and Frances Griffiths (1917)

Photography, still having this reputation that any and all image that came from it was fact, worked well as a powerful propaganda tool. It is claimed that people probably staged the raising of flags after battles were won especially after it was done by the Soviet Union and their win over the Nazi’s. Allegedly now there are stricter rules surrounding photo journalism but it still causes us to question the likelihood of war imagery everywhere. It’s also interesting how people could simply change the context of their own image by changing what they meant by taking the photo like the ‘American girl in Italy’ photo taken for the sake of showcasing how awesome it was to be a solo women travelling where it really depicted a women being beckoned and called over by a lot of men. Then when the image was taken and used to spread awareness about these very real dangers of women being harassed in the street the photographer and model of the photo then came out to say that that was not what they were trying to showcase in the image and did not reflect the positive experience of travel they had experienced.

Despite widespread use of the new cheap snapshot camera, when important texts were published about photography only the perspective of a lot of white men in photography was taken in to account. It’s interesting how sometimes a lack of information or decision to withhold information can also change the context surrounding events.

Reading this article reminded me of when I learnt that a lot of photo journalism for newspapers and historic events were actually done in black and white because it was quicker to develop for a fast paced publication, despite colour camera being invented around 1932. This changed my perspective on a lot of historic events and the photographs surrounding them as the black and white imagery can make it feel like a lot of these events were very far away when they actually were a lot more recent when you check the facts, like the Martin Luther King civil rights movement.

[stirlingmoss]

Chapter Four

1953

Chained

In the dusty, cool space of that shop filled with books and fountain pens and ink bottles, they continued to meet. The unwanted boys appeared at every street corner, but the one Roya actually felt charged by was only to be seen on Tuesday afternoons at the Stationery Shop. He asked her things like what she thought about Saadi’s Golestan poems. Roya was surprised at her own solid answer. Her voice came out a lot more confident and stronger than she’d thought it would. Before long (because it did not take very long when Roya was seventeen and in Iran and simply dreaming of bigger things), she was convinced that he was the most intelligent boy she had ever met and possibly the best-looking.

He was an activist. He told her that he dispersed pro-Mossadegh articles at the University of Tehran and at high schools in the nearby neighborhoods. He delivered National Front newsletters and pamphlets throughout the city. Where did he get his political material? From Mr. Fakhri. In the storage room behind his counter, Mr. Fakhri apparently had a vast collection of more dangerous political material. Roya panicked when Bahman first told her this. She remembered the day the police had come for Jaleh at school, how Jaleh had jumped in the air to avoid the savage force of the water. How she had landed in the pool of it. The police could just as easily target Bahman and accuse him of spreading anti-Shah propaganda. They could arrest him. And to think Mr. Fakhri was helping him! She never would have guessed Mr. Fakhri to be part of such clandestine political activity. She had underestimated the quiet, calm shopkeeper behind the counter.

Bahman told her not to worry.

Fissures between the political groups grew. Violence at rallies increased. A few protestors were shot by the police, chased and cornered into an alley with bullets. But even though Roya feared for Bahman’s safety, it was impossible not to admire his cause. He believed in the prime minister’s policies wholeheartedly, with more fervor even than Baba, if that was possible. Things were changing, he said. Iran had a future and it was bright and the prime minister was going to give them everything they needed. Only there were those who would stop Mossadegh, and Bahman was determined not to let them thwart the prime minister.

She melted into the spines of the books as he whispered in her ear, his body close to hers, his hand daring to touch hers again whenever they were alone. Before long, there was no place she’d rather be.

*

Roya browsed the novels in the foreign translations aisle, waiting. The door flew open. There he was. White shirt, khaki pants, red cheeks, hair puffed up from the wind, breathless. He scanned the shop, and when his eyes landed on her, his face broke into a huge smile.

“Hello, Bahman Jan,” Mr. Fakhri said from behind the counter. “How are you, Mr. Fakhri?” Bahman didn’t take his eyes off Roya. Mr. Fakhri stiffened as Bahman and Roya stared at each other. For a moment Roya thought he would actually tell them off. But then he sighed and said he had to check inventory. His voice was strange as he said it. She heard him march to the back storage room.

“Chetori? How are you?” Bahman asked, addressing her in the tense of the Farsi verb used for intimate interactions. He had dropped the formal “you.” 

Roya swallowed hard. “I’m fine.” She bent to put Anna Karenina back on the shelf. When she straightened up, he was next to her. He scooped his arm around her waist, and she froze like a statue.

“Come,” he said. His arm was strong and solid against the small of her back. “It’s gorgeous. We should be outside on a day like this!” She mumbled a modest protest, but allowed him to lead her out into the bright light of the street.

He was right. It was a gorgeous day. The city was lush with spring and everything blossomed. Roya blinked at the glory of the world. She couldn’t believe they were going out in public. They weren’t engaged or married, and she had not told her parents much about Bahman, only that she’d met a studious boy at the Stationery Shop, one from a good family who was very dedicated to the prime minister’s cause. She knew this last piece of information would impress Baba. She’d told Zari much more, though, including details about their first Tuesday afternoon meeting, and later the word “fire” after she’d first spoken to him and asked what followed in Saadi’s poem. Zari was curious but skeptical. She said politically active boys were overrated, she didn’t care how wealthy his dumb family was, he seemed like a silly idealist obsessed with the prime minister, as if anyone but the Shah could change politics in Iran, for God’s sake, and that Roya should just grow up and realize that if she was going to net a man, then at least throw the net around a better one. And yet she wanted to know everything about how Roya fell for him.

“Bahman, slow down!” He walked so fast; she had to almost jog to keep up.

He stopped. “I’m sorry. Of course.” When he walked again, it was at a much slower pace, and soon their strides were in sync. “You okay?” he asked. “Yes. I mean, no. I mean, what will I tell my sister? My parents!” 

Bahman looked amused. “You tell them, anyone, that you went for a walk with your beau.” He squeezed her hand. 

She might explode; her heart could burst. She loved his hand in hers. And his words. Her beau. 

As they turned the corner and entered one of the city’s main squares, shouts filled the air. 

Another rally. Another political demonstration where people screamed. Barricades had been set up at the front of the square. People chanted pro- Mossadegh slogans as a megaphone blared. Roya’s hand grew slack in Bahman’s and blood throbbed in her ears. Her immediate instinct was to take flight and avoid the raucous crowd.

“Bahman, let’s get out of here.” 

“Don’t you want to see what’s going on?”

“No. It’s dangerous.”

“We’ll be fine.”

“Zari says the police keep track of protestors. They have spies embedded in

the crowd. . . .”

“Don’t be scared.” He held her hand tight and led her not away from the crowd, but right to the center of the action. Cries of “Ya marg ya Mossadegh!” rang through the square. “Give me Mossadegh or give me death!” Her body tensed. Were Mossadegh’s supporters really ready to die for him? Was Bahman? “This,” Bahman whispered in her ear as the cacophony of the crowd got louder, “is how it happens. This is how we ensure democracy. We can’t just sit at home and say nothing and let the king and foreign companies grab more control. This is where we make ourselves heard.”

He pulled her farther in and led her past rows of people to the very front near the barricades. As they pushed through, Roya was surprised at how many people seemed to recognize Bahman. They made way for him. One or two of the young demonstrators clapped him on the back, and an older gentleman winked. Had he gone everywhere delivering the speeches and pamphlets? Despite her fear, she felt a sense of pride being his companion. There was no questioning the respect that others held for him. When they got to the front, Bahman nestled her against the barricade, shielding her as much as possible from the rest of the crowd. His arm was strong against her back.

An electric energy buzzed in the air: a sense of camaraderie, of purpose. She would never have come to a place like this without him. She would have been too shy, too scared. Maybe Bahman was right. Maybe she should stop worrying and allow herself to listen and to speak. Was that even possible? Bahman made it seem possible.

He was in his element here. He was absolutely riveted, lit up. He opened his mouth, and she expected him to say something like “Isn’t it amazing?” She was now predicting what he would say—imagine that! As if she even really knew him all that well. But she did know him. He was exciting and unpredictable but also just . . . him.

“We can have everything,” Bahman said.

“But the communists are against Mossadegh and might—”

“I mean you. And me. We can have the world.”

Standing there with him in the crowd, she felt like the future was bigger and more limitless than she’d ever dared to imagine. She leaned into the barricade and joined in the chants. There was something strangely arousing about being there. Every part of her felt a rush, a sense of promise. As her confidence built, she shouted louder and louder. The sun burned her face and her braids bounced against her chest as she pumped her fist. Perspiration ran down her back and eventually soaked her Peter Pan collar. She had been hiding for too long. Why? Bahman was right. None of these people looked scared. They all had to fight, to protest, to march. So Mossadegh could get his agenda through, so the country could have true freedom. As she leaned against the splintered wood of the barricade with Bahman, everything did seem possible. They were one with each other and with the whole billowing, unified crowd. They would fight. They would both change the world.

“You seem to be enjoying this!” Bahman said. She smiled and continued to chant.

“We don’t have to stay long. I just wanted you to see. To feel what it’s like out here. I don’t want you to think you have to be afraid of it. It’s just people. People like us. It’s all we have. You know?”

The sound was like the swoosh of a sword. When she replayed it over and over in the coming weeks and months and years, she knew she’d also heard a small clang, like the ring of a mangled bell. Suddenly Bahman was doubled over. He wheezed. She leaned over him as he struggled to breathe. When she looked around, three men behind them smirked. They all wore black pants and white shirts and dark bowler hats. The man in the middle held a baton embellished with a jagged chain. Bahman continued to gasp for air. A large gash at the back of his neck began to bleed. Had the three men been behind them the whole time? Or had they pushed and shoved their way through the crowd to get to Bahman? As blood dripped from the chain at the end of the man’s baton, Bahman coughed. For what felt like an eternity Roya rubbed his back and shouted his name, and then finally and with much effort, Bahman straightened up. His face was twisted in pain. A pink-red stain spread through his collar and across the top of his shirt.

“Just a little warning, Mr. Aslan,” the man with the baton-chain said. “Don’t spread so much nonsense. It’s not good for you.”

Roya wanted to lunge at him. She wanted to find the police, yell for the men to be arrested, handcuffed, dragged away.

The man in the middle shrugged. “You National Front Mossadeghis are all the same, if you ask me. Every single one of you is worthless. This country would be better off without you.” He sounded lazy, almost bored.

Bahman touched the back of his neck. He looked at his blood-soaked hand as if it belonged to someone else. Then he took Roya’s hand with his clean one. Without one word, he pushed past the three men and out of the crowd. They made their way onto the streets away from the demonstration, away from the square.

When they were safely on a quiet side street, Bahman stopped. “Are you all right, Roya Joon? Are you okay?”

“You need a doctor, Bahman.”

“I am so sorry. I should never have taken you there.” The stained shirt stuck to his skin. Blood dripped down his neck.

“I’ll come with you to the hospital.” 

“No. Let me take you home.”

“They cut you! You need stitches. We have to tell the police.”

Bahman’s eyes glazed with tears. “They are the police.”

“What?”

“They work for the Shah.”

Just then a tall boy about their age ran up to them, breathless. Between gasps and pants, he spoke. “Saw what happened, Bahman Jan. Saw it all. These low-life plebeians. Uneducated vermin. Don’t know how those in power can hire these thugs. Well, actually, I do, and so do you. Hello, Khanom, excuse my manners.” He lifted his hat to Roya. “I’m Jahangir. Pleased to meet you.”

Jahangir wore an expensive-looking fashionable green vest and beige shirt. His mustache was lacquered. He was dressed for a soirée, not a rally. “I’m Roya. Pleased to meet you,” she mumbled.

“Enchanté.” Jahangir touched his hat again. Roya had never heard that word. “Will you be okay, Roya Khanom, getting on by yourself? I need to take this boy to a doctor. He’s in bad shape. I’m sure you agree.” Jahangir touched Bahman’s arm, avoiding the blood on the top of his shirt. He crossed one ankle over the other as though posing for a photograph.

“I’ll come to the hospital too,” Roya said. 

“Who said anything about a hospital? I’m taking him to my dad’s clinic.” 

“Oh. But I can—”

“You don’t need to come, Roya Joon. I’ve exposed you to enough harm for today,” Bahman said.

“Yes, don’t you worry. I’ll take good care of him. I always do.” Jahangir smiled. His teeth looked like a cinema star’s. Roya suddenly felt odd and out of place standing with what appeared to be two very good, trusted friends. “Yes, well then. I suppose—”

“We’ll walk you home first, Roya,” Bahman said.

“You need antiseptic, my friend!” Jahangir said with a tense smile. “You’re

bleeding. Let’s go before you get infected.”

“We need to get Roya home,” Bahman said. “I should never have taken her to

the demonstration.”

“I’ll be fine. Just please take care of yourself, Bahman,” Roya said. Jahangir tipped his hat to Roya, Bahman nodded through the pain, and Roya walked off in the direction of her parents’ house.

As she walked, she replayed the scene at the demonstration in her head. Bahman would have been justified to strike back, to retaliate. No one would have blamed him if he grabbed the man who’d assaulted him, hit him. He had every right to. But of course he hadn’t. He knew that would only make things worse. And he was worried for her. He’d just wanted to get her out of there and have her get home safely. The boy who would change the world continued to surprise her with his decency.

She worried about his wound. She worried about the blood, a possible infection. She worried about a country where paid government thugs could strike a teenager in a crowd.

[9ilsantos]

The first time I was made aware european propaganda in the streets of Lisbon was in the of 2022. I took notice of the outdoor posters spread around the city and couldn’t help but feel like this was some kind of a bad omen. As euro child and euro dreamer I still see Europe’s hypocrisy when playing the moral compass of the world. 🌍

This poster was inspired by the use of kamikaze drones, @miamatangi “Mata Life” and my love hate for this utopian union. 🇪🇺

All the rights belong to M.I.A..

MUSIC M.I.A.

ART DIRECTION Gil Santos

[fatehbaz]

Genuinely asking, but that thing with the laws in Texas about felony for blocking access to a hospital or emergency vehicle with its lights on is a felony that sounds like reasonable? Unless the idea is that a cop car with its lights on is an "emergency vehicle"? But blocking an ambulance with its lights on should absolutely be punished

Well, I don’t think anyone ought to be imprisoned by the state -- especially in the US where slave labor is legal, and especially in regions of the US where prisons are built atop slave plantations in extra-humid and hot environmental conditions, and especially since the US uses drug laws and felony convictions to deliberately target and disenfranchise multiple generations of non-white people -- and so I don't trust any legal maneuvering that allows the state to more-easily achieve felony convictions.

Does this complicate the situation and put me in kind of a weird moral predicament, if, for example, reactionary “Virus Truthers” or whatever are blocking access to hospitals? Sure. But the understanding in this case seems to be that Texas is really just targeting Black Lives Matter-type protestors.

Also, this is Texas. And not just Standard Texas, but Texas-in-Desperate-Defense mode under Abb*tt, violently convulsing and lashing-out in response to the perceived threat, however minor, of black/Latin communities reaching a critical mass point where they might potentially achieve even a meager amount of state-level power in the aftermath of Blue Georgia, etc.

Do you trust the State of Texas when it says it’s concerned for your safety?

(This discussion, by the way, is in response to early September 2021 news of the Texas legislature simultaneously passing the infamous abortion restrictions; funding for “the 1836 Project” to white-wash history materials and use state-affiliated offices to spread state-ordained propaganda; prevention of public school students from receiving credit for “civic engagement” activities; requiring professional sports teams to play the national anthem before games; punishing any city that cuts police budgets; etc.)

Texas, Florida, Alberta, etc., all clearly used the p@ndemic as cheap, shallow, and obvious cover to criminalize racial justice and anti-fossil-fuel protesting. In June 2020, Alberta passed the Critical Infrastructure Defense Act, which can be interpreted by courts to mean you can be charged $25,000 a day and held in jail for 6 months for, like, walking down a highway or gathering on the street with more than one other person. These US states also used the reactionary DC Capitol Hill event in January 2021 to re-direct concern-trolling back towards leftist-ish protesting.

In the aftermath of Blue Arizona and Blue Georgia and whatever, when those in power realized that gerrymandering alone might no longer be enough, and that social awareness might be swinging away from the full-on reactionary standards that the US is usually accustomed to, in merely 3 weeks in January 2021, 9 US states introduced 14 major anti-protesting bills, most of which used “protestors could block emergency vehicles” language to fear-monger. Nebraska’s bill would categorize a disruptive gathering of more than 2 people as a “riot”. Also, Nebraska could deny bail to anyone arrested at a “riot”. The version of this law in Nebraska, Mississippi, and Indiana would also punish anyone who “aided” the “riot”, which could include charging/imprisoning someone’s older sister, miles away, at home, for getting on social media to say something like “I support you guys!” The bills in Arizona and Kentucky would allow law enforcement to detain people without charge for 12 hours.

Now, a lot of this legal precedent and language had been practiced in state-level anti-protesting legislation from the past couple of years in South Dakota, Oklahoma, and Louisiana especially, states basically completely owned and operated by energy corporations, where the legislation was specifically designed to target Indigenous protestors and others who demonstrated against fossil fuel pipelines. The term "critical infrastructure" was used to designate railroads, corporate headquarters, pipeline peripheries, etc., as "essential" to public good/health or whatever. Therefore, it would become a felony with severe consequences and mandatory minimum sentencing if the operation of these facilities was disrupted.

In the January 2021 round of legislation, “obstructing traffic” could be considered a felony riot-related offense in the legislation in Oklahoma, Arizona, Florida, Indiana, Rhode Island, Kentucky, and Mississippi.

In Oklahoma, Florida, and Mississippi, the legislation protects drivers who, when “fleeing a riot,” strike and kill protestors with their vehicles.

In April 2021, much fuss was rightfully made about how DeSantis signed into law one of the scariest anti-protesting pieces of legislation. And this is Florida, where 20 million people have to put up with this bullshit. The law provides immunity to drivers who strike/kill protestors “obstructing traffic”; makes “blocking a highway” a felony offense; and denies bail to anyone arrested at a protest until their first court appearance. It also created a new felony crime called “aggravated rioting”.

If you think this had anything to do with protecting emergency vehicle traffic flow, DeSantis made it pretty clear when announcing his decision at a press conference in April 2021, saying: “If you look at the breadth of this particular piece of legislation, it is the strongest anti-rioting, pro-law enforcement piece of legislation in the country.” And: “But I can tell you that case was bungled by the attorney general there in Minnesota. They didn’t handle it properly.” (Referring to BLM/Chauvin protests.) And: “We also saw around the country people toppling monuments of people like George Washington. This bill protects all monuments in Florida. You have no right to go in and take down monuments, we’re not going to let the mob win the day with that.”

Texas, Florida, Oklahoma, Alberta, etc., don’t give a shit about “health” or “public safety”.

[tenkasato]

Anchored to Where You Are

Scenario: Eren had always had strong wings that could carry him across places, but your heart is gripped with fear. Tonight, under the streetlamp outside Jean’s home and amidst the blaring music, you bare out your vulnerabilities. College AU.

Pairing: Gang member!Eren x reader

Dedicated to the anon who asked if I write for other SnK characters. Hope you like this.

You were walking out.

Eren did not expect you to blow up like that at Jean’s drinking party when he had fully thought you came to make up with him. You were wearing the dress he bought you (with the help of Mikasa), after all. But when he finally gained the audacity to actually walk up to you, albeit with two bottles of beer in his hands, you had shot him the fiercest glare, slapped his hand away and began running your mouth, effectively gaining the attention of everyone in the vicinity. Appalled at your own outburst, you shrugged off Armin’s hand and stalked out of the house.

He huffed under his breath. Talk about a ruined night. He followed you all the way to the corner of the street where a tiny streetlamp illuminated you both before reaching the end of his patience.

"What, so now you're leaving again?” he spat. “When will you have enough courage to actually talk things out? You can't just keep on running away from me like this like a cowar— "

Undergoing grueling football training for 7  years and counting, on top of hand-to-hand combat training in his free times, did not give Eren Jaeger adequate reflexes to dodge it. Spending his entire childhood with you did not give him enough preparation to elicit an appropriate reaction, because until now, he found himself unable to respond on time as you clocked him square in the jaw.

He turned to give you a look that could have frozen the Sahara desert but even before he could twist his face into a vicious glare, his teal-colored eyes met your stormy ones—so full of anger, pain, angst, longing, lust and disgust. Raw emotions swirling into those pits of endless void in ways he could never in his life comprehend.

Eren always knew you were beautiful in your own way, but he thought he had already seen it all. Never did he think that you would be this breathtakingly hypnotizing as you were now with your flaring cheeks, bloodshot eyes, tear-streaked face. To him, you looked as if you were ready to reduce him to a bloody pulp or jump on him and shower him with predatory kisses. 

He didn't know.

He remained  speechless as he waited for you to continue on raining him down with punches but you just stared back. You crossed your arms indignantly.

Finally, he relented, "Let's talk about this like normal people, okay? No more boxing."

"I've already said everything," you huffed, tearing your gaze from his face, "A while ago."

"I get it, damn it. But somehow I wish you would try to understand where I’m coming from too! I’m trying my best here."

"How can you get me when you're always out there doing dangerous things in that gang or whatever you call it, and I don’t know if you’re going to make it out alive? Can you even try to imagine putting yourself in my shoes?"

He shook his head in utter dismay. He understood you worried for his safety. Mikasa and Armin have never lacked in warning him and giving him an earful about his well-being, too. 

"We’re standing for the right thing. What we’re doing is for the sake of the majority of the student body," he said.

"Yes, but illegally!" you exclaimed disbelievingly, "What do you think’s going to happen if you get caught with all your propaganda. You’re going to get yourself killed."

He almost laughed at that. "You're overreacting. They're not that murderous."

"I’m not talking about the uni admin. I’m talking about your rival gangs—"

"They don’t stand a chance," he scoffed.

"Look here, you little jerk— " you stopped midway, then, "Look, Eren, I’m just worried. We’ve known each other for so long already, so I know how passionate you are to the point of recklessness. You… you’ve always had these clear eyes, like you know what direction you’ll take no matter how strong the winds blow against you. Don’t get me wrong. I love everything about you. I especially admire you whenever you spread your wings and fly above the clouds. It’s just that, I’m just scared of you disappearing.”

For a moment, all he could hear was the soft RnB music resounding from Jean’s party. It took him a while to realize that it was your favorite song.

"Hey, you—I—I’m not going anywhere, you know," he sighed as he took a step to you, placing his hands gingerly on the sides of your neck. "I’m still here, see? Hey, look at me, please?"

Your eyes stayed down for a few seconds of hesitance, but as you gave in and averted your eyes towards his. He felt the desperation creeping deep inside his chest.

"If only you could've told me you felt that way. If only I knew. Damn it, I just had no idea how you felt because of me. Please, don’t think like that."

You bit on your lower lip and started chewing on it nervously, then you held on both his wrists. "I’m afraid that day will come when I’m not able to reach you anymore."

He wanted to tell you that no, he couldn’t possibly fly that high. And no, there would never be a time when he disappeared from your sight. You were his lighthouse after all. The beacon his eyes search for amidst the dark haze and stormy turmoil that both surrounded and filled him inside. 

"This," he whispered as he pressed his lips on your ear, "And this." He proceeded to kiss your cheek.

"This." Your closed eye.

"This." Your forehead.

"This." Your nose.

"This." Your chin.

"This." The base of your throat.

"And this," he growled lowly as he nibbled on your bottom lip. Leaning his forehead against yours, he said, "I could show you more, though that probably won't be appropriate in a place like this. But every part of you... every part of you makes me anchored to where you are."

You shivered against his touch. You closed your eyes and rested your head on his chest. 

"How can you say I’ll leave you when I’m hopelessly enthralled with you?" he whispered, arms encircling possessively around your waist, "Trust me, okay? Even when I don’t seem like myself… trust me. I’m doing this for you, too."

You frowned, your body shaking slightly as you too wrapped both arms around his tall muscular frame. "Alright."

"That’s a good girl."

"Good luck talking to Mikasa and Armin," you told him, "I was sure Armin was ready to throw hands a while ago."

He blinked. "Armin and violence? Doesn’t seem to fit."

"You’d be surprised."

He laughed, swaying you in his arms fondly and said with an unconvinced tone, "Right."

"Just be careful, will you? If anything happens to you, I’ll have to call in Professor Ackerman to beat you up," you said. 

Eren paled. “What? No way.”

“And you need to pepper me with kisses, more often, okay? As compensation to my sleepless nights of stewing over your safety.”

He felt your fingers interlocking with his as you dragged him back inside the dining area where you left your friends.

He shot you a sexy smirk, though you couldn't see him. "With pleasure."

[azhdakha]

How common are the Z symbols in Russia now? Is it very widespread? I see a lot of videos on instragramm and twitter, and people comparing Russians to Nazi Germany here in Germany and speaking of collective Russian guilt. I feel guilty myself, but i have a hard time dealing with it.

Oh wow... I've heard a lot of things about people hating on Russians right now so I've been wondering if that's true.

I should tell you that a big part of the population is deluded by the government propaganda. It was an insight even to me to find out how many people are actually ready to approve all of the Putin's actions believing that he's protecting us from the NATO/American threat. On the other hand the Z symbolic if often pushed by the government. For example, they give orders to students/workers etc to go out and support it promisng money, or how they did with students - for food. So that's forced, bot actually genuine.

There are also several people that choose to remain deciding that they have too little if true information and hearing contraditctive opinions from the friends from Donbass etc

But never forget about Russians that protest on the streets against it putting themselves in danger, that agitate or talk to their relatives, that donate and spread awareness by means possible. That's around 20% of people minimum. And saying that we're also guilty is... I don't know how is that supposed to work.

Personally I'd tell all my foreign followers this - by hating all Russians you do no help. Especially by hating those that are abroad Russia right now. You only enforce the stereotype that all the west is rusophobic that our government is using for it's profit.

[evienyx]

DSMP Citizens POV 3: The L'Manburg Librarian

Got an ask requesting a dsmpsona, specifically from someone who wanted to see a part of this series with @thesmpisonfire and their dsmpsona. Luckily, I follow them, and so I'm well-prepared for this one. I took a bit of liberty with their canon deaths, so I hope that's all right. Mostly that they weren't blown up for the first one.

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DSMP Citizen POV Masterlist

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Everyone knew that the L'Manburg Revolution was a turning point for the server. It marked the first nation separate from the Admin's rule. The Revolution was a celebration when people reminisced in the streets of a freed L'Manburg.

Still, many people failed to remember that there had still been a war for that freedom.

Of course, those who fought in that war would never forget the blood that was shed, the lives that were lost for the sake of their freedom. Included in these numbers was the L'Manburg Librarian.

Also known as Des, the L'Manburg Librarian had been a part of the country since the beginning, joining the nation as soon as word of it reached their ears. Unlike some, the Librarian fought hard and true for the new country's independence, and when a sword was shoved through them as a splash potion of poison ate away at whatever was left of their life, they simply grinned and returned their enemy's blow with one of their own. Their dogs came to finish the job, and then sat with the Librarian as they sprawled back on the grass, watching the clouds pass by with the sun on their face and a smile on their lips until their body finally gave out and the server returned them to their bed, one life ticked off of their count.

The Librarian shuddered, steadied their trembling hands, grabbed their weapon, and sprinted back toward the battlefield.

When L'Manburg's independence was finally secured with VP Tommy's sacrifice of his discs, Des was sure that they cheered the loudest.

For a while, things were peaceful. Des was given confirmation to build a library up within the country, and people donated books or they would gather them themself, building up a collection that stretched to the ceiling.

When the Election arrived, the L'Manburg Librarian didn't care much for it until SWAG 2020's campaign was announced. Suddenly, then, there was weight to the election, and they weren't about to watch the country that they had died for go up in flames without them having a say in it. So, they listened to every debate there was, mulled over the campaigns and what each party promised. They were partial to Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit, of course. President Soot had led them in the revolution. He had build this country with his own two hands, surely he would know how to care for it.

Then, though, COCONUT 2020 announced their candidacy, with Fundy Soot and Niki Nihachu, who promised free cookies and ice cream for all should they be victorious, and Des abruptly knew exactly who they were voting for.

(And it wasn't President Soot.)

When the results came in, though, much to their chagrin, COCONUT 2020 hadn't won. In fact, they had been disqualified entirely for supposed hacking.

It was announced that POG 2020 had gotten the majority, and Des was satisfied, until the word 'coalition' left President Soot's mouth and everything seemed to come crashing down at once.

Des whirled around as ex-President Soot and ex-VP Tommy were forced to flee, the older giving one last shove to his right-hand man before falling to the ground. A moment later, Wilbur Soot disappeared, and a heavy feeling swept over the citizens of L'Manburg. The man who had built their country from the ground up, who had led them all to freedom, was now on his last life.

The L'Manburg Librarian swallowed, listened with clenched fists as the country that they had died for was renamed 'Manburg,' and then retreated to their library. At least they could find solace in their books.

Until, a week-and-a-half later, while Des was sorting their book collection on one of the lower shelves and stroking a cat at the same time, the door opened and in stepped President Schlatt.

"Mr. President," the L'Manburg Librarian said, inclining their head just a bit. After what had happened at the inauguration, they didn't really want to get on this guy's bad side.

"Librarian," Schlatt said, his voice hard. He took another step forward, and Des noticed then Secretary Underscore standing behind the president on one side. Vice President Quackity was nowhere to be seen.

"What can I help you with?"

"Cut the shit, already, I know what you are," Schlatt said, his voice dropping and eyes narrowing. The L'Manburg Librarian felt a pounding in their chest at his words, and leaned back despite the fact that he was not very close to them at all.

"What... What are you talking about?"

"You're a rebel," the president hissed.

"A what?"

"Oh, don't play dumb! You think I don't know what you're doing here in your little 'library,' spreading propaganda, telling lies to the people."

Des blinked. "These aren't lies, Mr. President. They're history books."

Eventually, it seemed as though as long as they stood their ground, they weren't getting banished anytime soon, which was nice.

(Their taxes were still increased, though, the same way that Niki Nihachu's were, and the L'Manburg Librarian didn't find that particularly fair in the slightest.)

Still, despite the whole thing with the taxes and constantly being accused of being a rebel (which Des totally would be, were they not so thoroughly entertained by the Manburg Cabinet), life in Manburg was all right. It was dreary, sure. Everyone seemed a bit downtrodden, everyone walked a bit quieter, their shoulders a bit more tense, but other than that, it was all right.

(The L'Manburg Librarian still cried when the flag went up in flames. They had been there when that flag was first hung. Now it was gone, like it had never even been there in the first place.)

(The number of visitors to their library increased after the burning for a few weeks, and the number of tears shed were enough that Des started just offering tissues at the door.)

(They understood, of course.)

(That was why they did what they did.)

After the execution of Secretary Underscore, one that the L'Manburg Librarian both hated to watch and couldn't look away from, jotting down every detail in a notebook before running as soon as Technoblade turned on the crowd, Des felt that there was more tension in the air than there had been before.

Then, one day, as they went for an evening walk through Manburg, they heard yelling coming from the White House. They ducked behind a pillar, and watched as Vice President Quackity jumped on the President and beat him to death.

"Holy fucking shit," Des breathed. Schlatt's body disappeared, Quackity fled from the scene, and the L'Manburg Librarian found themself a bit disappointed that most of the original Manburg Cabinet was gone. The drama would be drastically decreased, now, and that was one of the only reasons they stayed in this Prime-forsaken country to begin with.

During the war between Manburg and Pogtopia, Des joined up with the Pogtopia forces, if only because they had never been accused of being a rebel by having historically-accurate books when they were under the previous administration.

"Take that, Emperor Fuck-Face!" They exclaimed, laughing as they set fire to a Manburg flag.

"Language!" BadBoyHalo, the head of the Badlands, cried. The L'Manburg Librarian, fully done with everyone's shit and excited to have their country back, raised a middle finger to the sky and dashed back into battle.

They watched as TommyInnit passed the presidency to Wilbur Soot, who then passed it to Tubbo Underscore. Des grinned, wide and a bit manic, as the teenager gave a speech, promising to build the country back better, to heal from the wounds that the previous administration had caused.

Then, they all heard the hissing in the ground below them, and the crowd barely had a chance to run as the nation exploded around them.

The L'Manburg Librarian went at the Withers that Technoblade spawned with a ferocity that surprised both no one and everyone.

It didn't stop their library from being destroyed, though. Nor their house.

President Tubbo, though, gave them government-allocated funds to rebuild, and so they did. And maybe then some. Hey, if the government was paying for it, what was the harm?

Des grinned and wiped the sweat off their brow as they finally rebuilt their library in New L'Manburg. The first night, though, they dropped down the ladder from the second-floor to find someone sifting through their books.

"Uh, hello?"

The face turned to them, and it was that of President Soot. Who was dead. His body was grayed out, save for his bright-yellow sweater and the blue that was splattered across it, the same color leaking from his eyes, so dark that it was as if Des was looking into the void itself.

"Oh, hello!" President Soot said, with all the pep that he hadn't had in life. "What's your name?"

The Librarian was a bit taken aback. President Soot had always been rather supportive of the work that they did, collecting books and keeping tabs on the events that happened, so that future generations could read about the history of their nation. "Uh, I'm Des. Most people know me as the L'Manburg Librarian."

"Nice to meet you, Des the L'Manburg Librarian!" President Soot said. "I'm Ghostbur. You might have known me as Wilbur Soot, but I don't remember much about being Alivebur, so I couldn't really tell you anything."

"Oh. You're dead?"

"Yep!" And with that, the ghost went back to sorting through their books.

"Uh, sorry, the library is closed right now," Des said, moving forward to put a hand on the ghost's wrist. The skin was cold, and they were sure that if they put a bit more pressure, their hand would slide right through him.

"Oh, no, I'm just getting books to take back to my sewer!" Ghostbur said, as if his words weren't absolutely insane. "I'm making a library there. I want to collect all the books on the server, so that they're protected and the history can be read about for generations!"

The L'Manburg Librarian blinked. "There's no need for that. That's what I'm doing. I collect these books so that people can always learn about the country's history."

Ghostbur frowned, looking rather confused. "That's what I'm doing."

And so began one of the oddest competitions. Ghostbur would steal books from Des's library, Des would steal them right back. This went on for months until the day came that President Tubbo announced to the people of L'Manburg that their country had one day left to live.

"Technoblade, Dream, and Philza are all coming tomorrow to destroy our country," the teenage president said to the people gathered. "Get everything valuable, everything that you wouldn't want blown-up, all of your pets, all your friends and family, and evacuate. King Eret has graciously offered all of our people sanctuary. You may move everything to the land of the Greater SMP, where we have erected a temporary campsite for everyone to leave at." The president cleared his throat, and it hit the L'Manburg Librarian just how exhausted the teenager looked. "We are going to be trying to fight against them. Anyone who wishes to join us in the battle, may, but know that there are incredible risks. It is likely many of us will lose lives. We will do our best to keep our nation standing, strong and free." His words were broadcast through the communicators, and the whole of the country could hear them.

Des moved their pets to the Greater SMP that night, not wanting to take any risks. As they called their friends who lived in other nations to assist them in transporting the books from their library, Des did their best to reminisce on the good memories that they all had back before the L'Manburg elections.

"Des," their friends all said for what felt like the hundredth time, "We are not fighting for L'Manburg again. We have lost too much shit, and over half of us have lost a life, and we don't even live there anymore. That country is going to go down."

"Not if we fight for it!" The L'Manburg Librarian exclaimed. "Guys, c'mon! It stands for freedom! You remember how we fought for it in the Revolution! How we built it together!"

"Yeah," their friends said, deadpan. "And we died. Because of Dream. Who is coming with Technoblade, the Blood God, and Philza, the Angel of Death, to blow it down to bedrock."

"Whatever. I'm still going."

Their friends frowned. "Just... don't die, Des."

Des had never been the best at listening.

The next day, in the afternoon, with a grid of obsidian dropping TNT from the sky and more Withers than they could count soaring through the skies, the L'Manburg Librarian launched themself at Technoblade with a scream.

Before they could even reach him, a bomb from above fell on their head, exploding and launching them backward. Their ears ringing, spots dancing in their eyes, Des flew through the air, down, down, down into the crater below. They heard a crack through the ringing, and then everything was gone.

They sat up in their bed at the campsite once the server reclaimed their soul and brought them back, tears streaming down their face and hands shaking. They gasped on their breaths, and their face felt as if it was on fire. Their fingers ran over their skin and felt bumps, scars from the explosion that had rocketed them back into the crater. Des took a deep breath, dug their nails into their palms, grabbed their weapons, and set off back toward the battle.

When all was said and done, L'Manburg was gone. The nation that they had fought for, that twice they had died for, was nothing more than a hole in the ground. There was no rebuilding from this, and the L'Manburg Librarian knew this. They built up a cottage, technically on King Eret's land, moving their books and pets into the new home.

One day, about a week after Doomsday, they returned to the cottage to find King Eret there, standing outside of their door with one of his knights at his side.

"Hello," King Eret smiled, adjusting her sunglasses. "How are you, today?"

Des shrugged.

King Eret hummed. "Well," they said. "I was wondering what you were doing on my land?"

"I lived in L'Manburg," the Librarian said, their voice level, emotionless. They were rather drained. "Fought for it in the Revolution. Died for it. Twice. I... I didn't realize that this was your land. Sorry."

King Eret furrowed his eyebrows, face turning sympathetic. "I did many things to wrong L'Manburg," she said, hands moving to adjust her sunglasses. "Now, it's gone. The least I can do is help the people who used to live here." King Eret offered a soft smile. "Feel free to stay here as long as you like."

Des nodded, their throat a bit dry. King Eret inclined their head before turning to head up to the castle, the knight following close behind.

The Librarian stood there for a moment before pushing open the door to their cottage and stepping inside.

They adopted two more dogs, within the following few weeks, after seeing the animals on the street for a few days. Des focused in on caring for their pets, both old and new, helping both the animals and themself through the trauma that seemed to be a given with living on the Dream SMP server.

A bit after the destruction of L'Manburg, though, the Librarian was sitting in their home, stroking one of their dogs, when there was a sound from the other room, where their books were contained.

Des had learned to not take chances. They grabbed a splash potion of poison, one of harming, another of weakness, and their sword. The dogs followed them as they moved quietly toward the small library where their books were. They pushed open the door, saw someone standing in the shadows, hands reaching toward the books, and immediately threw all three potions.

The Librarian rushed in and slashed at the figure, who just barely managed to raise a shield and stop their blade.

"Leave," Des said. The dogs entered the room, flanking either side of them, growling at the intruder.

"I was hired to destroy everything that remains of L'Manburg," the figure said, and the Librarian recognized the voice as the mercenary, Punz.

"I don't care," they replied. "You are in my house, threatening my property."

The mercenary repeated what he had said.

"I am under the protection of King Eret," Des said, trying their luck at something that they weren't quite sure of the validity of. "And you are trespassing on their land. If you even touch these books, I will be forced to contact the authorities." The Librarian's hand tightened around the hilt of their sword. "And you best pray that they get here before I can finish with you."

Punz was still for a moment before slipping out the open window and disappearing. Des sighed, shoulders untensing just a bit, and they ran their fingers over the spines of their books before leading the dogs out of the room and closing the door.

The Librarian began to borrow money, after that, to build a new library, one with good security. King Eret allowed them to construct it next to the Museum, where the history of the server could all be in one place. In the process of borrowing the money, though, Des ended up accidentally falling into debt with Quackity, the old Vice President of L'Manburg and the current leader of Las Nevadas, a new power on the server.

"It's easy," Quackity said when he confronted them. "You owe me. You work for me, and that will repay your debt. If not, I might be forced to consider... other means."

The Librarian, though, knew what this man could do, and they nodded and took the job.

(Maybe, though, it was also because they wanted a purpose. They wanted something that made them feel the way they had when they lived in L'Manburg.

They wanted a nation that they could care about. They liked living on King Eret's land, but they didn't care about the Greater SMP. The library was still under construction, and would be for a while, especially in order to be secure enough to protect so much history. Des had nothing, at the moment.

And so, they moved their pets over to Las Nevadas in order to work off their debt.

And maybe they also did it because they wanted to start anew.

When they saw Wilbur Soot again, though, alive and well, with a shock of white in his hair, and when they saw Fundy Soot, walking at night in the woods with troubles on his lips and fear in his eyes, and when they saw Foolish, a god who helped others because he didn't want to face his own problems, and when they saw Charlie, a guy who definitely knew how to be a person, they realized something. This nation was for people who had nowhere else to go.

And now, with L'Manburg gone, with a library unfinished and land that wasn't even their own, Des the L'Manburg Librarian counted as just another person on the server with nothing left at all.)