#NOT CALLING THIS MAN PAKISTANI

[what-shitfuckery-is-this-ew]

FUCK YOU INTERNET FOR MAKING ME THINK ASSAD ZAMAN WAS PAKISTANI. FUCK AI BEING USED FOR ARTICLES.

I LITERALLY LOOKED AT HIM AND SAID THAT'S A BENGALI MAN. HIM WITH A BEARD IS LITERALLY MY (RELATED) UNCLE

BUT WHEN I SEARCHED IT UP EVERYTHING SAID PAKISTANI AND I WAS GOBSMACKED, BUT I ACCEPTED IT

AND NOW I FIND OUT HE IS BENGALI

THE SHEER MISINFORMATION CAUSE OF AI ISTG

[starry-bi-sky]

Clone^2 - Separation Strikes

"Why do I have to go?" Damian asks, surly and accent-thick, it sounds more like a demand and a whine at the same time. Sitting on the kitchen table with his arms crossed, in a green t-shirt that Danny bought him at a whim when he was at a thrift shop, and black shorts, he's never looked more like a kid. There's a little backpack leaning against the table leg, Damian begrudgingly picked it out when they went shopping.

His English has grown in leaps and bounds since Danny found him -- er, or more accurately; since Damian was spat out in front of him. -- and very little did they have to use the translator on Danny's phone these days.

Which meant one thing: Damian can start attending school comfortably now. And 'go' was the Amity Smiles Child Care Center. Danny and Jazz went as kids until they were twelve, and Mom and Dad actually managed to convince the center director to let Damian enroll for the summer.

And it was summer; Damian starts today.

"Because," Danny says, trying and failing to hide the smile pulling on his face, his heart warm and soft, and also laughing at Damian's expense; "being cooped up in the house all day isn't good for you, and you're starting school in the Fall. And, in Jazz's words: you need to have interactions with other kids your age for the benefit of your social development. And besides, it's only for the morning."

Damian's nose scrunches up, and his eyes roll so violently that for a moment, Danny thinks about joking that he'll get his eyes stuck like that. He holds his tongue; his little brother already looks like he's five seconds away from committing an act of violence.

"I don't need social interaction." Damian sneers, his cheek in his hand; a neverend pool of pride. "I am--"

"The Blood of the Demon Heir, better than everyone else." Danny cuts off, waving his hand in dismissive circles, his voice mockingly deep. Damian's brown skin darkens in embarrassment, and he scowls at Danny. "I know, bud. But Jazz is right, -- don't tell her I said that, -- you should be around kids your age."

Especially when he starts First Grade in the Fall. Honestly -- Danny was a little nervous to send him to the center. Damian's long since cut the habit of trying to kill or otherwise maim people, his palms ache-burn with gentle reminder, but his tongue was as sharp and as cutting as his sword. He still struggles with trying to quell it when he's upset. Vicious child-weapon that he once was, and will never be again.

Danny knows that it comes from a place of fear and defense, that Damian lashes out because that's what he's been taught. That at the end of the day, he doesn't really mean what he says, and he's learning to express himself better. But the other kids don't know that, and kids can be unforgiving and cruel.

Danny just...

His slow beating heart sighs, melancholy settles behind his lungs.

He doesn't want Damian to be outcasted. He doesn't want him to be alone.

Not like he was.

Damian sneers again, but says nothing, his shoulders crawling up to hide his ears like a turtle receding into his shell. Danny watches him silently, leaning against the kitchen counter with his own arms crossed. The clock hanging on the wall ticks in their ears -- it's almost time to go.

He watches Damian, careful, and so he sees it when his little brother's stone-shell pride and petulance shudders, and cracks. The darkened furrow of Damian's brows weakens, and for a moment, slants back.

Ah, Danny thinks, his own shoulders slumping. Epiphany washes over him, and his sad-heart soothes in warm understanding. So that's what it is.

His head tilts, and his hair spills over his shoulders, messy and fluffy, tickling his neck. Some of his bangs fall into his face. "Hal 'ant easabiatan ya habibi?" He asks, voice low and soft. Just as Damian's English has improved, so has Danny's Arabic. He still stumbles over himself some days, and Damian says his accent is trash, but they can have whole conversations now in Damian's mothertongue.

(Danny was incredibly proud of himself for it.)

Damian's face darkens, his blush spreading across the rest of his face, and he ducks his head down. Grown-out curls, black-brown and springy, falls over his eyes. "La!" He yells, loud and indignant, and not at all convincingly. "La 'asheur bialtawaturi!"

He was nervous. Danny can see it now, in the hunch of his shoulders and the tightness of his face, and faintly, he can feel it too. In the ecto-rich air of the Fentonworks House, it thrums, barely-there, like a hummingbird behind his lungs.

Danny can't stop the little, fond smile that forces itself across his lips and upticks the corner of his mouth. "It's okay to be nervous, little brother." He says, he sounds like Jazz when he says that. He doesn't think she'll mind him borrowing the nickname.

He pushes himself off the counter, and Damian refuses to look at him, hiding behind his hair and in his shoulders. It takes three long strides for him to reach the table, and Danny turns, plants his hands on the ledge, and hoists himself up. Right next to Damian.

Damian leans into him easily when Danny's arm wraps around his shoulders and tucks him close to his heart. He can feel his ear against his ribs. Danny hunches over him, resting his chin on Damian's head. "It's so okay to be nervous, actually. I was nervous, Jazz was nervous." He tells him, scratching the blunt edge of his nails across his scalp. "Everyone gets nervous."

"'Ana last aljumiea." Damian mumbles, as small and feeble as he was the night on the OPS Center balcony, realizing that his mom and the League weren't coming for him. Realizing that he was replaceable.

Danny's half-working heart squeezes; in grief, in rage, and his faucet eyes sting. He breathes in carefully, and presses his nose into Damian's hair in a loving faux-kiss. "You're right, you're not everyone." He says, steady and strong, because if he's not a pillar for his family, who else is he?

He can feel Damian's eyes flick up to him, and Danny smiles into his black-brown curls. Tilts his head to squish his cheek against him instead, hand dropping to thumb below Damian's lashes. "You're Damian Fenton," Because the adoption went through a few weeks ago, and he's still riding that high, "You're my baby brother. O' Artist Extraordinaire, Kickass with a Sword, Vegetarian and Wonderful Co-Ghost Hunter."

Damian tries to stifle a smile, and fails. Score! Triumph gathers in Danny's gut, his smile grows wider. He squeezes Damian tight, and only releases him so he can look him in the eyes. "And if anyone gives you a hard time at school, and I mean anyone--"

Danny has bad memories of the teachers looking the other way when the other kids were bullying him, all because he was a Fenton.

And Danny, bleeding heart, bleeding hands, loves his family more than he will ever love himself, will never let Damian experience the same injustice. Not if he can help it.

His eyes narrow, and the buzzy-film of ectoplasm covers his eyes, making them glow, "--You tell me. And as your awesome great big brother-and-technically-dad-but-only-biologically, I will handle it."

Damian, wonderfully made, full of light, his little brother Damian, giggles weakly at him. A sound that's worth it's weight in gold. The scary eyes dissipate, and Danny matches the sound with a cock-eyed, impish grin, dragging Damian into a soul-crushing, too-tight hug. The kind that only annoying older brothers can give. "Got it?"

That gets a proper, if short, laugh out of Damian. He wriggles in Danny's arms, trying to break free. But Danny does calisthenics, his arms are as big as Damian's head, so it doesn't work. "Understood, now, daeni 'adhhab ya 'akhi!"

Danny laughs, loud and bright, and loosens his hold just a smidge, only so he can adjust his grip and hop off the table with Damian still in arm.

"Never!" He crows, hoisting Damian slightly. One eye flick at the clock, and in one quick move, he secures Damian under one arm like a football, and hooks his foot under the strap of his backpack. Kicking it up, he tosses it into the air and catches it with his free hand, and slings it over his shoulder. "Now, to the car, my boy! Before we're late and Mom and Dad get charged."

Damian groans, childish and dramatic and long, but his face is all squished up with a wide grin and glee. Danny can taste his joy beneath his tongue.

"And, if my little pep talk didn't encourage you," He says, reaching the door to the garage, flipping Damian up onto his hip instead. "If you have a good day today, I'll make you bal mithai when you get back."

Like all kids at the promise of sweets, Damian's eyes widen and glitter. Danny loves seeing Damian be a kid, it's his favorite thing in the world. "I will!"

[edwinisms]

it’s actually so wild to me that this fairly quirky YA type show gave both of its main characters deaths that can, in one way or another, solidly be considered hate crimes. they were both flat out murdered as a result of being A) gay and effeminate or B) brown (south asian, specifically) and you could argue whether or not those kids thought of it that way in the moment or whatever but the bottom line is that they would not have been in the situations that killed them if they weren’t of their respective minorities. like legitimately that is a ballsy choice for this kind of netflix show, let alone for the two Main Characters, and i respect it big time

[kindaasrikal]

Little sisters can either be the biggest menaces or the biggest sweethearts.

My 12 yr old sister could and has walked into room, started singing in the dumbest, loudest way, and leaves. Before walking back in over and over again with a “i need to tell you something again-” in the span of five minutes.

Yet today, when i have a slight cold, and can’t help but feel overall ill, she looked at me, an 18 yr old, and was like “make sure to call me if you need anything, alright?🤨” as she went downstairs to play roblox.

Best part is, I’ve said that to her every time she’s ill (which is often). Best know your little siblings learn from you and your habits, and will reciprocate them when or if you’re in the same position as them.

[aashiqeddiediaz]

dil dhadakne de, dil mere piya piya, jaanam

[ID: two gifs of Amanda Delara singing a lyric from Piya Piya Calling, swaying as she sings into the microphone and then lowers it. A man walks behind her, one hand in his pocket, his gaze fixed on her as he nods along to the beat. Amanda meets his eyes with a smile before turning towards the next singer, Chirag from Karpe. /end ID]

[violentdevotion]

The thing that really pisses me off with their narrative of ‘celebrating Oct. 7th’ is that literally didn’t happen the way they say it did. All the videos I saw that day of happy Palestinians had a lot to do with the people of Gaza finally being able to walk beyond the barbed wired fence, some for the first time ever. I’m meant to criticize that?

also like.... even if they were celebrating i can't blame them? zionists act as if flattening gaza is a proportionate and rational response to one act of retaliation and will go on marches begging for more palestinian blood but palestinians celebrating a single 'victory' is something the world should condemn? like,,,, fuck off maybe?

[fazcinatingblog]

When my boss listed the people coming to the Christmas lunch, she's like "there's five downstairs, two upstairs, Simon (IT guy), Simon's wife...." and I just had a thought that if Colleen was repeating that list, she'd add the dog and the cat as well plus anyone walking past

[feministfang]

Three brave women beat up a shopkeeper in islamic republic of Pakistan for harassing them and all the Pakistani men are so pissed off that they’re sending death threats to those women for taking action in their own hands instead of tolerating and calling some male authority or police. That piece of shit also filed a case against those women for abusing him and as a citizen of this trash country, i can tell he will win the case.

A 20 years old girl, Sania Zehra, was brutally tortured, raped and murdered by her husband, syed ali raza bukhari, when she was pregnant with her third child. This also happened in Pakistan on 8th of July. Now the same men are silent over this or trying to shove the issue of Palestine on feminist pages posting about Sania’s case because "far worst things are happening in the world". Meanwhile, Pakistani women are busy dick worshipping the victim’s father because "he must be so traumatised after losing his daughter like this. oh poor man!" As if that bitch isn’t at fault for making her daughter marry that old beast when she was probably 16.

Celebrities here are more concerned about men’s deteriorating mental health in this country as these lunatics think catering to men’s feelings will somehow fix them. What else can you expect from them when the entire world outside has progressed, but these dumbfucks are still portraying the same old cringe fairytale stories where a simple beautiful, but unfortunate girl falls in love with some ugly psychotic man and tolerates his abuse because "that’s true love 😍" and in the end, she’s successful in fixing him.

But when we speak a word against the atrocities women face in this country, all these people lose their minds and try to silence us to ensure the image of their fuckin country is not at risk of defamation and the lovely Pakistan can become an example of how peaceful islam is. Pakistani men (and most women here as well) are intolerant when it comes to the vilification of the image of their country and religion. And their asses start burning when they see someone ruining it. They even stoop so low to the level of satanism that they would not hesitate to send death threats to anyone making them look bad globally. A girl i was friends with on FB wished Malala another gunshot on her face by Taliban because of her anti-marriage stance.

This is why i urge y’all to please don’t stay silent on the issues women are facing in Pakistan. I never see global feminist pages talking about female oppression in this garbage country. Some feminists living in west also act like brown men are somehow better than white men and they’re more oppressed than white women because of racism, or that muslim men are better than christian bigots. Stop victimising brown muslim men. Not only are they hideous but also the misogyny the south asian society has shoved in their assholes is extremely disgusting and they keep shitting it on women everywhere they go, including white women.

I wouldn’t expect support from brainless libby feminists as they’re probably busy pulling their pants down on their favourite OF platforms or fighting misandry online, but i would love to see all the radfems speaking up for south asian women. Please make it known globally how the Pakistani islamic community is constantly oppressing women day by day.

Use the examples i stated above. Speak up for Sania Zehra!! Demand justice for her globally, and keep bashing corrupt Pakistani law system. Also, don’t forget to defame their religion. These people are most protective of their culture and religion. I don’t see any hope in this country for women, but there’s a chance they will start taking action and give proper justice to the victims in order to protect their so called dignity.

[transgenderer]

The mango cult (Standard Chinese: 芒果崇拜) was the veneration or worship of mangoes in Mainland China during the Cultural Revolution period.[1][2][3] On August 5, 1968, Mao Zedong gave a box of Sindhri mangoes, given to him by the Pakistani Foreign Minister Mian Arshad Hussain, to the Worker-Peasant Mao Zedong Thought Propaganda Team stationed at Tsinghua University.[4]

Mao gave them to the workers stationed at Tsinghua University. His refusal to eat the fruit himself was seen as a personal sacrifice for the benefit of the workers. The workers believed that the mangoes were symbolic of Mao's gratefulness. The gift of the fruits coincided with the transfer of the Cultural Revolution’s stewardship from China's intelligentsia to the working class.[5]

Very few people in that region of China at the time knew what mangoes were, leading to many people being in awe of the fruit, and comparing them to the Peaches of Immortality from Chinese mythology.[7]

The original mangoes were preserved using chemicals such as formaldehyde and were displayed in various Chinese colleges.[6] Workers soon began to venerate wax models of mangoes and parade them around the country, punishing anyone who disrespected them as counterrevolutionaries. One dentist from Fulin, Dr. Han, saw the mango and said it was nothing special and looked just like sweet potato. He was put on trial for malicious slander, found guilty, paraded publicly throughout the town, and then executed with one shot to the head.[8][5]

After more than a year, the cult of the mango had declined significantly, and some people even began using wax mangoes as candles when the power went out.[1][7]

In 1974, when the First Lady of the PhilippinesImelda Marcos visited China with a box of mangoes as a gift, Mao's wife Jiang Qing tried to reignite the veneration of mangoes by giving the box to the workers once again.[7] Jiang Qing later directed a propaganda film called The Song of Mangoes.[1] However, before the film was finished, Mao Zedong died, representing the loss of the revolutionary figurehead of the Cultural Revolution. Within a week of the film's release, Jiang Qing was arrested, and The Song of Mangoes was taken out of circulation. This marked the end of the mango cult.[7]

man the cultural revolution was crazy huh

[useless-catalanfacts]

Hi, so as far as my family knows, our family name is Catalan, but we can't trace our family line before we moved to Cuba. So I was wondering if many Catalan people moved to Cuba when it became outlawed in Spain? Or in the times leading up to it being outlawed?

Thanks!

Hola!

Cuba is one of the countries with a largest Catalan diaspora. Catalan people were forbidden from going to the Americas (who were Castillian colonies) until the year 1778, and it still took a while for people to start going in large numbers.

Catalan people first migrated to Cuba in the 19th century, a few were rich people who went there for commerce (even involved in slave traffic! 😱) and soon more poor people started going, too, after their lives were turned upside-down by the phylloxera pest. Back then, in many parts of the Catalan Countries most people worked in the vineyard fields or related trades that had to do with winemaking, but in the mid-1800s the phylloxera (an insect from North America that destroys vineyards' roots) arrived to Europe and destroyed the fields. The effects of the phylloxera were absolutely devastating: thousands of people lost all their vineyards, whole areas lost their income, poverty reached the extreme. With the countryside ravaged, people desperately looked for new jobs, and many found that the only option was to emigrate. The vineyard-making rural areas suddenly lost population, who were going to the cities or abroad. Most of these Catalan farmers who went abroad went to Cuba, because it was seen as a land of opportunity where people could make a good living. Usually (and like many economical migrants nowadays), they had the idea that they would go, make money, and come back home, but (not unlike many economical migrants nowadays) most did not make that much money, and decided to stay in Cuba. Many Catalan immigrants in Cuba ran corner shops, they were so poor that they slept behind the shop's counter because they didn't have any other home than the shop. I have read that in 19th century Cuba, people even used the expression "to go to the Catalan on the corner" (el catalán de la esquina) or just "to go to the Catalan" (el catalán) to mean going to a corner shop (same as now many European countries say "to go to the Pakistani"). Besides these ones, a strong network of Catalan merchants also established itself in Cuba, trading with sugar and coffee.

Of course, the "corner Catalans" could not afford to come back, but the ones involved in slave trading or commerce with products grown by slaves often could. The poverty at home and the return of these rich people created the image of the "indiano" or "americano", meaning someone who had gone to Cuba (or, less commonly, Puerto Rico), had become rich, and had come back dressed in elegant fashionable clothes, the man smoking a thick cigar, and built a beautiful house in his hometown. The "indiano" became part of the collective imagination, and was a very prestigious person. These "indiano-style" buildings (they sent the command to start building the house from America, before coming back) and the presence of the "indianos" promoted the idea of Cuba as a place of opportunities even more. Still nowadays, in Catalan we have the expression "fer les Amèriques" ("to do the Americas") meaning to get very rich.

Examples of indiano houses in Begur and Cadaqués.

Examples of indiano houses in Sitges.

And the same happened the other way around a bit later: in Cuba, art nouveau was introduced in large part by Catalans, and the early houses built in this style were called "catalanadas" by Cubans.

In Sitges, there's even a pair of "giants" that represent these "indianos". "Giants" are a traditional element of Catalan folk culture, they're hollow figures that represent the mythical founders of a town or someone important from their local history or legends. In the case of Sitges (like in many more towns that used to be the border between Muslim and Christian kingdoms when they were founded), it's a pair of Muslim nobles and Christian nobles from the Middle Ages. But in the 1960s they decided to add another pair of smaller giants to represent the "indianos". This goes to show how the idea of the "indiano" almost as a mythical category has survived.

The "americanos" giants in Sitges.

For these reasons, there is a long list of famous Cubans of the Catalan diaspora, including the president of the first independent Cuban constitutional assembly (Asemblea de Guáimaro) Bartolomé Masó, Facund Bacardí (founder of the Bacardí rum company), the revolutionary and Cuban independence hero Leoncio Vidal, the musician and conductor Xavier Cugat, the poet José Martí, la reina del bolero Olga Guillot, the dancer Aurora Bosch, the anti-Fulgencio Batista intellectual Mario Llerena, the anarchist thinker Fernando Tarrida del Mármol and his uncle the Cuban independence general Donato Mármol, among others.

Besides Catalan-Cubans being involved in Cuban independence from the Spanish empire, they also were involved in the Catalan independence movement. For example, the flag of Catalan independence (estelada) was created in the early 1900s by a Catalan in Cuba, who used the triangle of the Cuban flag that means independence.

The Cuban flag and the Catalan independence flag.

The Catalan diaspora in Cuba also created the first "Casal Català" ("Catalan house") in 1840 in Habana. A Casal Català is a social centre where Catalan emigrants meet, for example to celebrate the Catalan holidays, and also open Catalan culture to other people, such as by offering Catalan classes. Nowadays, there are 128 Casals Catalans in all 5 continents.

Another way in which Cuba has had a deep mark in Catalan culture is the music genre havaneres, which are melancholic songs that fishermen, sailors and emigrants sang.

The other moment with a highest number of Catalan emigrants (refugees and exiles) was after the fascists' victory in the Spanish Civil War (1939), but few of them went to Cuba then. Most went to Mexico, Venezuela, and France, and some also to Chile, Argentina, Colombia, and to a lesser extent the UK and the USA.

[antisemitism-us]

This is what happens when politicians and the media support the protesters calling for the murder of Jews, instead of treating them as the vile blood-thirsty antisemites they are.

--- A Pakistani man was arrested in Canada this week and accused of plotting a mass shooting at a Jewish center in Brooklyn on the one-year anniversary of Hamas’s October 7 onslaught that sparked the war in Gaza, federal authorities in the United States announced Friday.

The would-be attacker had shared with undercover agents his plans to attack a Chabad center in Brooklyn, where the Hasidic sect is headquartered.

US Attorney General Merrick Garland said Muhammad Shahzeb Khan had attempted to travel from Canada, where he lives, to New York City with the “stated goal of slaughtering, in the name of ISIS, as many Jewish people as possible.”

[khush-chronicles]

A brief history of Bangladesh and why it is relevant to the current situation

The Indian subcontinent liberated itself from the British in 1947. Two new countries were born, India and Pakistan. The Bangladesh we know today was a part of Pakistan.

In 1952, the students of Dhaka University, along with my other, marched on the streets, protesting that "Urdu"-the national language of Pakistan- would not be the national language of East Pakistan, now known as Bangladesh.

The reason behind this was that 52% of the people in the entire Pakistan spoke Bangla. There was no logic behind declaring Urdu as the national language of Pakistan as a whole. Much like India, there was no need to have a national language.

Students marched on 21st February, ignoring the red alerts. 7 students were martyred, shot by the police. But we protected our mother tongue, we established our rights, and their bloodshed was worth it.

Now, why is it relevant now? Because the history is repeating itself. Only Bangladesh's own government is playing the role of the autocratic Pakistani government. Worse, our prime minister is the daughter of the man who was the prime force behind the liberation of our country.

Bangladesh is the only country in the world that has 256 kinds of quotas reserved for various kinds of people. Even 10% for women. All are applicable at various levels, starting from primary school admissions to government jobs. 56% are reserved for quota holders altogether. 44% are for normal people.

Now, if it had been the other way around, no one would've been that angry. Bangladesh is a country of 200 million people. let's just say 1/4th of them are students. 50 million. The population of quota holders is 200 thousand. Is it not laughable? The 200 thousand students have the right to study, and get jobs and the remaining 49+ million have to fight for 44%? What kind of joke is this?

See the similarities? Trying to give everything to the minority?

The quota most applicable is the "freedom fighter" quota. The people who fought during the liberation war in 1971. Utmost respect and love towards them. But why should their grandchildren benefit from their participation? What is the guarantee that these grandchildren won't harm the country, the same country that was liberated by their grandparents' blood?

The freedom fighters who are still alive, they are ashamed. The population during the war was 70 million. 3 million were martyred. But more than half of the population fought, and the women gave shelter, food, and help in any way they could. Not every one of them collected their certificates. Most of them were illiterate, they didn't even know what a certificate was. And those who knew but didn't collect, and are alive, are saying that they didn't fight so their grandchildren could take advantage, they fought to save the country, they didn't fight for glory.

Our Prime Minister fled the country during the war. There are no records of her brothers fighting in the war either. Her father gave speeches in his white clothes but never picked up a rock to throw.

That aside, now students from almost every university in Bangladesh are protesting against the quota system. So many students cannot be wrong. And the government cannot again be right. It's the minority vs majority all over again.

Another uncanny similarity, 7 were martyred today. 16th July 2024, 7 were given their lives again, for the right study and do jobs and serve their country. What a downfall it is when our friends, seniors, and juniors are giving their lives, just for such simple rights. Where is democracy? Where is liberation? Is this what our grandfathers fought the war for?

The situation is worsening every hour. On 25th March 1971, Pakistani military forces raided homes. Not universities, not halls, HOMES. Of the general public. This was called "Operation Searchlight". No electricity, no light, no warning. Only breaking into homes and massacring men, women, children, and old, children without discrimination or thoughts. Again, something similar is happening.

There is this group called "Student League", they are students of various universities as well, but they are basically bootlickers of the prime minister. They follow whatever she says without any sense of morals.

The minister for education paid them to attack students in halls- confessed by a member of the Student League.

They entered the halls, and hospitals, beat up injured students, locked the hall rooms, and harassed the female students. The video clips that were shared, the screams of the girls, the way they were saying "Brothers save us", it's giving me goosebumps while I am typing it.

They stabbed many students who were returning home. They beat up many many girls who were silently standing by the roads. They harassed the general public.

Both sides are students. Only their teachings are different.

What's about to happen? How many more are dying? The internet connection is off. We can only access through VPN and Wifi. There is a red alert around the areas where most universities are situated. They are cutting off electricity where the protests happened and raiding houses. Again, the similarities. They are checking the homes of the general public if they are housing student protestors. If yes, the students are being dragged out on the roads. Where is freedom?

There is much more happening, which I am not even writing about right now. Much more to come.

Is this what Liberation is? Then I do not want it. If this is what freedom is, I would rather be in a cage.

My account isn't very big, but I am still posting about it. If yours is or if your friends' is, if you come across this post, spread it. Let the world know what an autocrat that woman is. What a tyrant she is.

PS: About a month ago Bangladesh was deemed "The most Peaceful Country in Asia" which is a blatant joke.

I have never been so ashamed and proud of my country at the same time.

[riding-with-the-wild-hunt]

"Those in Númenórë who had no wish for marriage or the taking of lovers were often drawn to serve in the temples of Ulmo or Nienna, the two of the Lords of the West who like them went unpartnered, and yet were whole."

@aspecardaweek day 4 ⇢ worldbuilding + community || RELIGIOUS ORDERS OF NÚMENOR

[ID: an edit comprised of four graphics in shades of beige and soft grey.

1: A rectangular image on the right side of the panel shows two models embracing. Both are wearing grey hijabs and brown robes and looking at the viewer calmly. The model on the right is shorter, young, and tan-skinned, while the model on the left is a bit older, has dark brown skin, and is taller. White and brown cursive text to the left of the image reads "Devotees of Nienna" and below it, white italicized serif text reads "In the days of the Faithful, many Númenoreans entered into the service of the Valar, often at the behest of dreams, omens, or consultations with seers. One of the most long-lasting orders created at this time was that of Nienna, whose domain is sorrow and pity; it is said that some of those called to her temples possessed gifts of foresight, and were given to mourn the ruin of Elenna long before it came to pass. They were known to render much aid to the dying and those wounded in spirit, and went always dressed in veils and mantles of grey." The graphic is framed on two sides by white and brown lines / 2: Two horizontal images with a thin slice of beige background showing between. The top image shows an arched stone hallway lined with statues, with glass lamps hanging from the ceiling, while the bottom image shows a white flower lying on a pale cloth / 3: Same format as Image 2, but the images show ocean waves crashing against cliffs (on the top) and dried white sea sponges (on the bottom) / 4: Same format as Image 1, but the orientation is reversed, with the image on the right and the text on the left. The picture shows a punjabi pakistani man with a black beard, wearing a brown shawl and white turban and looking seriously at the viewer. The heading reads "Devotees of Ulmo," with the bottom text saying "The service of Ulmo attracted many Númenoreans, for they loved the sea and its creatures, having come from it, they said, themselves. Numerous of those who bound themselves to the Lord of Waters were wanderers, roving solitary along the margins of the island and seeking communion with the waves. They gained in this way a reputation for great wisdom and the power to see both near and far, and many kings and knights sought them for their counsel. It is said even that Elendil Lord of Andúnië was advised by an augur of Ulmo, though their name is lost to time." //End ID]

[shesnake]

tbh I don't think it's fair 90% of the time to call originality into question when criticising lgbt stories, especially those centering on further underrepresented lgbt people of colour. like so what if a movie about a south korean trans woman visiting her hometown is similar to a movie about a black butch lesbian filmmaker in america that's similar to a movie about two school boys in japan that's similar to a show about a divorced persian bisexual woman in england that's similar to a show about a non-binary pakistani electrician in canada that's similar to a movie about a gay half-egyptian man living in the same city that's similar to however many movies about white gays who were lucky/privileged enough to be given chances earlier????

just because a lot of these stories follow similar plot beats doesn't mean they aren't worth telling, or watching. their "predictability" is not something that you can always chalk up to tired tropes and lazy writing. there is so much truth in the consistency, and I think it's so important for us to keep diversifying our art and putting as many variations of our shared experiences onto the screen/page. of course, I'd love to see more genre movies about lgbt people doing shit like running scams, escaping time loops, fighting zombies, solving murders at hairdressing contests etc, but I will always love a 'simple' story about another lgbt person somewhere else in the world that makes me feel like I'm not alone.

[crowsnest]

intro post.

call me crow! I am a 22 year old bi trans man writer who's pakistani and white. I love fantasy, horror, science fiction, and fantasy. And I also love writing these stories, of course. I'm currently writing two stories that are at admittedly two different stages but I hope to keep track of my progress through this blog.

a diamond in the sea - Johnny Rodrigues grew up on Solitam romanticizing pirates, especially his big brother Bruno, captain of the Sun Pirates. His own dream is to be a pirate someday. One day, the members of the Sun Pirates all come back but one person is missing-Bruno. Johnny will soon embark on a journey to find his big brother with the help of his crew he meets along the way.

status: first draft in progress

project dress up doll - Mellie grew up never fitting in with other people around her and when she got into college, she expected that to be the same. But one day, when she's paired up with the girl she's had a crush on since freshman year, Samrina, she learns they have more in common than they thought.

status: plotting

[afuturewithoutus]

don't know much about the climate on the tumblr fandom but every time i see the twitter fandom i really am filled with rage. i see too many people refer to sam as “indian” as if it's his canon ethnicity, despite his ethnicity being unconfirmed and his voice actor (shahan hamza) being welsh-pakistani. i know the fandom is very full of people who are a) white and b) western or whatever but how hard is it to not assume a man's ethnicity based off his accent? because i know that's why people are calling him indian; they hear the accent, and it's the only south asian country they know, so they assume. having a desi accent doesn't make you indian!

it's fine to headcanon him as indian but as of now all we know is that he is desi!