#but they were often used for political movements as well

[rainbowriderjt]

Sadly you and many others have been brainwashed! Fascism has never been a right wing anything! This propaganda was created by the Communist Directive of 1943 in order to brow beat the right in the future! And all because Hitler tried to invade Russia and screw Stalin in June of 1941. Prior to that, they worked on the same side and invaded Poland together in 1939 and celebrated together for 2 weeks!

The further right you go the LESS government you get and at 100% right you get NO government! Our founding fathers were 90% right wing because they installed the minimalist government on the planet! ALL Total Government Control is on the far left!

Here is the real meaning of Fascism: A political philosophy, movement, or regime that exalts nation and often race above the individual and that stands for a centralized autocratic government headed by a dictatorial leader, severe economic and social regimentation, and forcible suppression of opposition!!

Notice "above the individual"? That implies Collectivism! Notice the word "centralized"? That is a left wing tactic for easier control! The right wing never centralized ANYTHING!

We have a centralized bank called the Federal Reserve which is private and was approved by Woodrow Wilson because he is a Democrat and a devout Socialist! He also was a KKK supporter & the KKK were Democrats as well!

You should learn REAL History! But it is difficult since 90% of media across the board are owned and run by far leftists! And they want us to be divided and to hate the right wing which is for freedom! Not Total Control! And by the way, TIk Tok was shut down in order to get an American Investor because China was using the ap to spy on peoples phones!! That's why!

And something else to ponder. How come no Trump supporters burned down cities when Trump was shot?! 86.3% of the voters were for Trump! And most own guns! If we & Trump were Nazis, you and your party would have already been eliminated! But We're Not!

Don't fall for it

[thedailydescent]

i'm really tired right now and this will be incoherent but highlander bodice rippers, the movie poor things, using scottish folktales in your work when you're not scottish.

this of course goes for everyone who takes stuff from cultures that are not their own to use in their work: removing all the context of when, where, and WHY these things were written, dumbing down or erasing the historical elements completely, and you're left with something unoriginal and empty, easily consumed by the masses. because you just really wanted to write something sexy or scary, but like...surface level.

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Werewolf Headcanons

I've been stalked by the guilty feeling that my Romanian Werewolf boy got a lot of backstory but not much romance or interaction. So there you have it: some headcanons featuring the ancient Beast, a post-kidnapping sequel.

Content: female reader, obsessive behavior, monster romance, mild NSFW at the end, ridiculously older yandere

You followed the gargantuan stranger back into the city, leaving the bloodbath behind as if it was just a distant dream. Admittedly, you’d expected to be dragged into some mountainous cave or an abandoned mansion, not the cozy - albeit a little dusty - apartment on a main, historical street. On second thought, he did function as a human outside of his monstrous escapades, so it made sense. “Is this your place?”, you sheepishly asked while he wiped the thick layers of blood off him. “One of them, yes”, he answered curtly. “It’s central”, you remarked, trying to make conversation. “Well, I didn’t know about it back then. It’s been a few decades.”

Your ears perked up at the words. Gazing at his features, he didn’t seem necessarily aged to you. The deep creases contouring his face felt more like a sign that he’s lived sorrows beyond most people’s comprehension. “How old are you?” You finally asked as curiosity replaced your initial fear. He abruptly stopped his movements and leaned back, brows furrowed in deep contemplation. “I’m not so sure anymore. I was born in the 80s”, he concluded. “That’s not too far back, is it?” You inquired, this time more relaxed. “80 BC, I meant. You do the math.”

He freshened himself up as you counted the millennia on your fingers, frowning in confusion. He chuckled at your intense focus, then quickly looked up into the mirror. When was the last time he smiled like this? The reflection was a foreign sight to him. “We’ll get you everything you need tomorrow”, he continued, still in a daze. What a strange idea, having someone to speak to after an eternity. And suddenly, it occurred to him just how rusted his communication had gotten: “I’m so sorry, I haven’t asked for your name once”, he said, embarrassed. “It’s (Y/N). And you are...?" Might as well introduce yourself to your benevolent captor.

The dreaded question. How did they call him back in the day? He hasn't had anyone spell it out for him, nor did he feel the need at any point to say it himself. Why would he? He hadn't anticipated meeting you. With pursed lips, he searched his mind. Eventually, from the depths or memories, from days of yore, it made its way back: "Daos."

Given your first gory encounter (where he quite literally murdered everyone else), you were surprised to find out he's otherwise a calm and polite individual. Well, he's had centuries to mature, you suppose. You've also noticed he has that rather old-fashioned chivalry to him. He's very attentive despite his stoic demeanor, and often follows with acts of service.

"You're insulting me. I can carry this myself with ease", you'll argue. "I never doubted you can. Nonetheless, it is my wish to do it for you."

As the days pass, your reluctance seems to vanish as well. In fact, you've become particularly cheeky, encouraged by his warm, unperturbed behavior. Maybe you haven't gotten the worst deal out there, after all.

"You know, you talk like an old man", you've teased him once. He was visibly taken aback by your statement, and you could discern a faint blush on his face. "Do I? My apologies, I haven't spoken to anyone in a long time. I'm not familiar with modern speech. Have I embarrassed you somehow?"

He spends his free time reading, though he will frequently take you on walks. It's an interesting affair to say the least. You can feel the curious eyes of the passersby and hear their not-so-discreet whispered gossip. You can't truly blame them: Daos is enormous even as a human. He towers above everyone else with his imposing appearance. To match, his voice is deep and coarse as a result of not using it much until recently.

The ancient werewolf is a living history book. If asked, he will narrate to you important events or details you might be curious about regarding his culture. Once, when he'd been in a good mood, he even shared fragments of his life before turning into a creature. He'd been a high-ranked Dacian warrior, spending his days training or fighting. He still remembers the flag he carried with bitter fondness, yet another irony to his fate: a wolf-headed serpent. It was meant to showcase their way of life; barbarians with no fear of death. They'd greeted the Roman Empire with nothing but a sword and a shield, no shred of doubt.

He might've been betrayed by his people, but the pride remains. The pride of a soldier who's never known defeat. You learned quickly that his beastly form doesn't count as a significant change by any means, save for appearances. The man has brute strength even as a human. You'd once strayed from his view, and a stranger approached with a daring whistle, gawking you up and down. Before you could react, Daos clawed him by the throat. You heard the twist of the skin and the creak of the bones giving in to the immense pressure of his large hand.

"It's the second time I have exposed you to such unpleasant sights", he said, discarding the body as if it was any other garbage. "Forgive me, but I will not have you disrespected like this."

He is very much aware he's taken you away from the world out of his own selfish desire. The fact that you accepted it is more than he could ever ask for. That's what he keeps telling himself, even as his eyes wander to your lips whenever you speak. Or as his hand lingers a moment too long against the curve of your back. Or as he hungrily takes in your scent whenever you're nearby.

He might be unhealthily possessive of you, but Daos will never do anything against your will. No matter how obvious his urges are. In fact, no amount of flirting or teasing will shake his resolve. You will have to be very direct with your approval.

Once the reality settles in, he'll become extremely affectionate, bordering on obsessive. To think he could have you in every way possible. Oh, he's waited thousands of years for you. All the suffering, the loneliness, the anger, they're stripped of any meaning now that he has you.

The city strolls at an awkward distance have since become a habitual excuse to hold your hand and show you off to the mortals. The quiet evenings of passing time with a book now include your merely noticeable weight cuddled into his lap. You didn't expect him to be this adoring. Being touch-starved for millennia counts as one reason, naturally, but there's more to it, so much more. And it all leads back to you.

He is a little taken aback when you ask him to do the deed in his werewolf form. "Don't be foolish. I can't overcome my instincts as well when I'm a creature. I could harm you", he'll lecture you. "Besides, you can barely take it as it currently is", he'll add, smirking at your baffled expression. It seems he's picked up on your cheekiness.

After a lot of pleading and waiting for the right moment - when he's ravaging you in a daze - he finally agrees. True to his word, his tune instantly changes. The tender hold turns into a desperate grasp sinking into your skin, and the thrusts become irregular, almost frantic. His drool cools your burning cheeks as you hold onto the coarse fur, feverish and overwhelmed.

His golden eyes rest on the small human squirming underneath him, and suddenly, he can't help but notice: you have the perfect birthing hips.

[mysumeow]

ᯓ★ KINKTOBER DAY 6: OVERSTIMULATION

ᓚᘏᗢ WARNINGS: Afab body reader, overstimulation (receiving), unprotected piv, handholding omg officer this fic right here /j

ᓚᘏᗢ SUMMARY: When you simp so hard...it actually gets you were you want?

ᓚᘏᗢ WORD COUNT: 2.4k

ᓚᘏᗢ A/N: doneeee with my pending kinktober posts omgggg i thought i could use the whole week to procrastinate my days only playing infinity nikki and but then some stuff came up and ive barely been at home T_T but i really wanted to check this off my list before i lost the inspiration ueueueueue

. . . KINKTOBER MASTERLIST | TWST MASTERLIST

“Ace—“

“Oh, boy. I know where this is going.”

“Did you see Malleus’s—”

“I did, and I don’t want to hear you gush about it.”

“His radiance is unfair, but I’m not even mad about it. And that ponytail? He should wear his hair like that more often, he looks so—”

Fed up with your yapping, Ace forced a spoonful of his lunch into your mouth. “Thank the great seven that the cafeteria's so noisy no one heard anything. I would’ve run away and pretended I didn’t know you.”

You didn’t even bother chewing before you swallowed the lump of food down your throat to continue. “Don’t even let me get started on what I would do if I got my hands in his ponytail.”

Ace groaned in annoyance and opened his mouth to cut you off before you got started, but his face paled when his eyes landed on someone behind you that heard you talk about his liege like that.

“Human! Such unbecoming thoughts…!” was none other than Sebek. Had he not gripped his lunch tray hard enough, it would’ve clattered to the floor. Curse the fae part of his blood that gave him better hearing.

If Sebek was around, then Malleus too…

Was this the end of the renowned Ramshackle prefect? Was this the way your journey into this unknown wonderland would finish? If you were lucky enough, dying was the way to return home…

“Sebek, it’s not polite to interrupt someone’s conversation,” Malleus reprimanded him. “Let’s continue in our way. We’re in the middle of the entrance.”

“Yes, my liege.” Sebek’s infuriated expression calmed down, and he followed him.

“I thought you were a goner!” Ace couldn’t help but laugh, his hands on his tummy.

“Do you think he heard? I don’t think I’ll be able to speak to him ever again.” meanwhile, you hid your face behind your palms.

“That’s what you get for subjecting me to your lovesick babble.” Ace poked your side. “If it serves to console you, he didn’t seem angry. Then again, who knows what a prince is thinking.”

“Maybe I should go apologize.”

“Errh, it’s best not to bring up the topic again, in case he didn’t hear you. Maybe he was thinking of something else and didn’t notice it.” He shrugged and went back to eating his lunch before it got cold. “Do whatever will allow you to sleep better tonight.”

After this, sleeping tonight wasn’t something you were going to be doing much, that’s for certain.

You found yourself at the door of his club before you could decide whether confronting it was a good idea or not. You were just going to say hi and probe his reactions to decipher if he was mad or not. If there was any crackling of lightning happening, you knew that was your cue to run away…

“Prefect.”

Your hand stopped just before you could knock on the door.

“Come in.”

Your hand sweated while you turned the knob and stepped in with caution. You expected a rapid flash of lightning to strike you down the moment you stepped into the empty classroom; instead, Malleus had his hands occupied with stone sculpting tools. His movements ceased when his eyes found yours.

“Come closer. You won’t be able to hear me at that distance.”

You made it inside without being turned into a pile of ash. That was a good start.

“I doubt I’ll have any more visitors other than you this afternoon,” he surveyed you for a second. “You appear to be uneasy. Did something happen?”

“No,” you were quick to deflect. “Uh, you said something about having visitors now?”

“Well, of course. I placed an announcement about a gargoyle tour for today, but, as usual, there’s a lack of invitees. Other than you, that is.”

You didn’t have the heart to tell him you didn’t come here for that—besides, the tour could be interesting. You weren’t against the idea of dipping your toes into the history of gargoyles.

He must’ve noticed your contemplative expression, as he continued with a: “Or did you show up with other intentions?”

“I came here for the tour!” you blurted out. “I’ve always wondered what your club was like, and since you’re knowledgeable about gargoyles, I would like to listen more about them.”

“I appreciate your enthusiasm. Well then, let us begin.”

By the time the tour ended, your worries had gone to the back of your mind, as you were immersed in the eloquent manner Malleus carried his words and shared his vast knowledge in gargoyles.

“I didn’t know there was a difference between a gargoyle and a grotesque. Being honest, they looked pretty much the same to me.”

“Correct, don’t confound the two. Gargoyles are a lot more than mere decoration. Good to know the tour has served as a new acquisition of knowledge for you.”

“I don’t get why people don’t visit your club more often. You���re great at explaining stuff, and I didn’t know gargoyles had this much history behind them. If it were Trein trying to explain this to me in the slow voice he uses during lectures, I wouldn’t have retained half of what I just learned.”

“I agree. The world should appreciate gargoyles more. Now, I’ll hold a pop quiz for you.”

“Oh—”

“It’s in your interest to say the correct answer, or this will be the last time you see me in this hairstyle.”

“Huh?!”

As your thoughts reeled into the implications of his declaration, Malleus threw the first question.

“What does this particular gargoyle represent?”

“A-Ah, that one! The power of metamorphosis, right? The ability to transcend beyond mortal limitations to higher realms of consciousness...something like that.” You were 99% sure that was what Malleus said earlier.

“Why are gargoyle’s expressions, which are commonly regarded as terrifying, like that?”

That was an easier one. “To ward off evil spirits and protect the people.”

“Right answer, although too simple. It also serves as a reminder that actions have consequences,” the way his lips curved with a taunting smile made you think that he did hear you in the cafeteria after all. “Last question: Why do some gargoyles have wings while others don’t?”

This one took longer for you to come up with an answer. You had a faint memory of him explaining it, but it was brief.

“Was it because they’re located in higher to protect places like towers?”

“Interesting observation. They don’t always represent ubication, however. Wings could represent divinity. A lack of wings meant terrestrial creatures.”

“…Did I fail the pop quiz?”

“Even though you could’ve done better, your score is acceptable,” the corners of his mouth quirked up with a barely held back amused smile. “Anything else you’d like to add?”

“I’m sorry for what happened during lunch.”

“Humans are skillful when it comes to deflecting from the truth, even when one’s inquiries are direct. I must admit, I welcome your honest opinion about my hairstyle today. Even if delivered in such an immodest fashion.”

“Did Lilia suggest the change in hairstyle?”

“He did.”

“He’s got a keen eye for this, then,” you nodded. “I… think it suits you. It’s a fresh look on you, which doesn’t take away your princely charms.”

“Princely charms…?” he placed a hand on his chin, in thought.

“I—”

“You sure know how to get in someone’s good graces.” He chuckled. “You’re welcome to thread your fingers into my hair. Just do not dishevel it too much, or I can’t promise what could happen to you if you do.”

Despite his ominous threat, Malleus leaned down to allow you better access to his head. With how close he was, a rush of ardor made you giddy, but you remained calm. You stretched your arm to caress the lush locks, your fingers threading into them. Cautious. His hair was well taken care of, the brush of the strands like silk against your skin.

“Last time anyone dared to caress my head that way was Lilia when I was still a child,” Malleus reminisced in a hushed tone. “Back then, I thought it was patronizing, to an extent. I don’t feel it that way now, however. How peculiar.

Malleus could be rather elusive at times, and, depending on what he would say, you weren’t sure you had understood him right. Yet, on this occasion, he wasn’t against your touches. That’s what you understood.

While in your thoughts, your fingers wandered close to an uncharted zone: the base of his horns.

By the time you noticed, it was late. Malleus raised his head to look at you, the change in his eyes evident.

If not for the pinkish flush taking hold of his cheeks, you would’ve thought you did something you shouldn’t have.

“You may proceed. I don’t…dislike the feeling,” he said, not moving away. If anything, he tilted his head closer to your hand. His throat emitted a low vibration, which you soon discovered was similar to a purr. Dragon fae could do that?

Your hands pressed against his chest when you felt him inch you towards a nearby desk, tools for carving forgotten near its edge.

“It appears that you aren’t aware of it, but my kind doesn’t lower their head to allow just anyone to touch their horns. They’re personal,” His slit pupils stared into yours, unwavering. “Why did you stop your hand? Do you not accept my advancements?”

You felt your mouth go dry with his towering presence. How he caged you in with his bigger figure, looming over you. “I do accept them!” you blurted out.

After you spoke, Malleus’s thumb caressed your lower lip, and his attention shifted there. Mere seconds after, his eyes closed as he leaned in, the message of what was about to happen clear enough. With your quickened heart, you reciprocated the oncoming affection.

It was unfair. Silky hair and soft lips unlike anything you’ve touched before. Typical of a dragon, Malleus soon grew impatient and greedy. Regardless of inexperience, the fervor in his heart made up for it. His fangs were in the way, numerous times threatening to break through your skin despite his efforts to keep the kiss prudent. You were addicted to the feeling of them creating subtle punctures, however.

His hand slithered behind your back to keep you upright; the space between your bodies became none. There was an obvious hardness concealed behind his pants that pushed and grinded against your body. The friction ignited pleasure. You lacked the constraint to avoid grinding against it, the pleasure straight to your clit.

“Does that feel good?”

You nodded, out of breath.

Malleus grabbed your legs and placed them around his hips; the push of his body into yours was stronger now. He moved in tandem with your grinding, the surge in pleasure hooking you to a nonstop movement. Your arms shot to wrap around his shoulders, bringing him closer. His lips and teeth sought your neck to litter it with his own marks. The noise of the desk’s leg creaking against the floor faded to the background; you were close to coming.

His lips engulfed yours, your moan of his name swallowed by him.

In the meantime, you caught your breath and undid the purple belt around his body.

“Impatient, aren’t you?” He watched you struggle to undress him, the waves of your orgasm still fresh.

“I need you,” you admitted, finally pushing the coat off his shoulders.

“Glad to oblige.”

He finished the work and nudged your legs open to stand in between them. Thick and long—specially long—his dick was erect with a hefty amount of precum on its head. The size might be a little intimidating, but given how wet you were, it shouldn’t be a problem.

Malleus enclosed you, keeping his arms rigid to prop himself on top of your torso; his ponytail cascaded down his shoulder. You were tempted to reach out and brush your fingers in it. Maybe on another occasion.

A hand went to yours to hold it, which caused you to dart a glance at him, in question. His hand engulfed yours to near completion; if the difference in size wasn’t evident enough from height, this consolidated it. Meanwhile you marveled, Malleus jutted until it was inside of you, pushing your walls to accommodate him. It was no laughing matter—his cock prodded into the deepest part of your cunt, and yet, a couple of inches remained outside.

Malleus squeezed your hand with reassurance, taking note of your breathless state.

Backing down wasn’t an option for you. You needed him. Even if the stretch tiptoed close to pain, this—you wanted it. Even if the buzz from your previous orgasm still thrummed in your body and your clit was tender, you hugged his frame with your legs and offered the final push that remained to take him in until the base. At your encouragement, Malleus huffed from the surge in pleasure, eyes closed to embrace the feeling.

You canted your hips upwards to meet his thrusts; the creaking of the desk’s leg restarted its noise. Malleus gripped your hand with more fervor, lost in pleasure and forgetting about it. In turn, you gave his a firm squeeze. His chest heaved with deep breaths, a low groan making its way out every couple of seconds. He lowered until your chests were squeezed together, the hand that held your hip snaking to the back and grasping your shoulder to impel you harder. The rhythmic onslaught kindled your libido. One step away from the climax.

You came undone beneath him a second time; he didn’t stand a chance with how your pussy clamped down around him. His lips parted with a silent gasp as he came too, viscous cum pumped inside and coating your walls.

“Mal—” Your voice came at a higher pitch than you’re used to. He already came, but his thrusts haven’t stopped. They were slow and deliberate, not allowing a single drop to slip away from your cunt.

He dipped his head to kiss you, his lips encased yours. Albeit less frenetic, it wasn’t any less loving.  Just now, you remember your intertwined hands.

“I’m sorry,” you had dug your nails quite fervently. “I didn’t notice.”

“How do you plan on making it up to me?” 

“Ah…”

“Next time, when you harbor thoughts of such forward nature, I’d appreciate it more if you cofessed them to me only.”

[brick-van-dyke]

Literally the opposite of what actually happens but ok sure, let's assume all pro Palestinians (including Jewish Palestinians and antizionist Jews) have said what you just put in their mouth. Lets also assume that any and all Palestinians (again, including Jewish Palestinians) who hate Israeli Jews for the treatment of them are wrong while Jews who hate Germans for their cruelty are right. Let's assume we support, unconditionally, all Zionists in the past and present since apparently you see Zionism as Representing Jewish safety.

This implies we should go support the people who have historically supported the Nazi party in Germany (Zionist Federation of Germany with the The Haavara Agreement, as well as their collaboration and in killing Jews in Nazi Germany, remembering also their deal to deport Jews to Palestine), or the famously totally not antisemitic far right neo nazis (Donald Trump, Proud Boys, etc) currently supporting Israel and saying it "should" be the only place for Jews. If these groups, who have been notorious for desecrating Jewish graves and synagogues long before oct 7, spraying graffiti of swastikas, and harassing Jews, are now pro Israel (evidently again as said groups have vouched support for Israel and attacked activists for ceasefire continually over the past years, should we, as people who do not want to accept any intolerance from either anti Jewish OR anti Palestinian sentiment, just ignore all of this?

If supporting Israel means standing side by side with people raising their hand in a seig hail and saying "death to Jews" and "death to Arabs"? Yeah, no, I don't think the enemy here is a race or even the trauma from years of occupation that shows as defensiveness and hatred, but as always, the western Nazis who pit and have always pitted racial groups against each other. And I think I'd rather die both pro Palestinian and pro Jewish rather than live as a nazi. And evidently it is established Neo Nazi organisations supporting Israel and I will not stand besides those antisemitic, racists motherfuckers and no amount of "some of the nazis might be Jewish and hate Jews" will make me rethink that. There were gay Nazis, but they still killed us for being queer. Likewise, I don't stand with any other group who bootlick to their oppressors and side with those oppressors.

Like, there is just nothing that can be said to convince people to join the same side that are reusing nazi slogans, signal and symbols, I'm sorry but no. Many many Jews, queers and people who have any trauma around nazis fucking up their lives don't want that and calling them "the wrong kind of Jew" or "self hating" is just wrong. Jews can hate nazis, and if a nazi says "you should support Israel" damn right I'll question that.

I also want to add a bit extra in relation to people who try to use this movement for antisemitism, and those who do actually have trauma from Israeli occupation. The former are kicked out, ostracized and shunned. They are not part of this movement and, more often than not, hate Palestinians and Arabs as well. Using this movement is a convenient way for them to encite hatred towards both Arabs and Jews, they are racists fuckwits and we, those who want freedom and equality for both Jews and Palestinians, do not recognise these fuckers as much as they hold hatred and clash with our own groups.

The latter are those who, much like many people have been led to believe thanks to propaganda, that Jewishness and Zionism are one and the same when they're very different. Zionism, while originating from Jewish groups intertwining into the French academic community, it is a political movement built out of western socialism and feudalist nationalism. The genuine hope of return is a separate Jewish concept that, while has been misused to justify Political Zionism, is its own concept that has existed long before the influence of French militarism and western colonialist ideologies. Said people see the indiscriminate slaughter in Palestine and even towards other Jews and then blame Jews, thanks to that conflation. The defending of that lie only further endangers Jewish communities and risks the rise of antisemitism. Israel has, despite being warned of this, capitalised further on this and incited violence against Jews.

Despite all of this, all evidence, and all logic, even if we assume that all Jewish and Arab Palestinians somehow are to be blamed more than any far right Nazi standing by your side for 1939, it cannot be denied that the obsession of race being the determining factor of ones morality is a dangerous standpoint to base your stance on. If this really is an argument of "pro Arab or pro Jew" with no allowance to accept all races as equal, then there is no argument to be had; if you think anyone born as any one race or ethnicity is to blame then your own identity cannot claim innocence over the inherent racism of that stance, both towards Arabs and the racist assumption of othering Jews, even and especially as a Jew.

starting to realize that when antizionists say “israel shouldn’t be the only safe place for jews” they don’t mean “so we should make other places safe for jews,” they mean “there should be no safe place for jews”

[mesetacadre]

One under-discussed conclusion that must be drawn from the period of student encampments last spring is the absolute necessity of linking the student movement(s) with the worker's movement. They were always limited in the realistic achievements they could reach -getting universities to divest from Israeli institutions and companies- and very often also limited in the stated scope of each encampment. This is the manifestation of two problems; the excessive fragmentation and localism which plagues student movements in the imperial core, and the comparmentalization away from the broader worker's movement.

Focusing on the second aspect, students are not a separate class of people with separate interests. They are the children of the working class, many of them forced to work while studying, and all of them conditioned by the functions of higher education within capitalism; to create the hyperspecialiced educated workers demanded by capital, and to ensure the reproduction of the dominant ideology. The only substantial differenciation of students from the rest of their class is the distinct forms of socialization, receptiveness, and in general, the organization of their day-to-day lives. From this reality it would then follow the understanding that specific student organizations are useful and often necessary, but only if it is also understood that it's just a secondary (but also important) action inside the broader stage of worker's organization

If there had been a unified student movement capable of striking with a single fist that also understood its connection with their own class, the encampments could have been framed within a bigger and much more effective course of action. The negotiations and pressure for specific divestments would not have been the end-all-be-all of political achievement, but another facet in the internationalist struggle against genocidal settler-colonialism. Instead of drowning in the shallow pool of its own endogamy and being severely subjected to the comings and goings of student mobilization cycles, it could have supported itself on the more stable (although not free from cycles) workers' movement as well as being an occasional crutch for it.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Antiusurpation and the road to disenshittification

THIS WEEKEND (November 8-10), I'll be in TUCSON, AZ: I'm the GUEST OF HONOR at the TUSCON SCIENCE FICTION CONVENTION.

Nineties kids had a good reason to be excited about the internet's promise of disintermediation: the gatekeepers who controlled our access to culture, politics, and opportunity were crooked as hell, and besides, they sucked.

For a second there, we really did get a lot of disintermediation, which created a big, weird, diverse pluralistic space for all kinds of voices, ideas, identities, hobbies, businesses and movements. Lots of these were either deeply objectionable or really stupid, or both, but there was also so much cool stuff on the old, good internet.

Then, after about ten seconds of sheer joy, we got all-new gatekeepers, who were at least as bad, and even more powerful, than the old ones. The net became Tom Eastman's "Five giant websites, each filled with screenshots of the other four." Culture, politics, finance, news, and especially power have been gathered into the hands of unaccountable, greedy, and often cruel intermediaries.

Oh, also, we had an election.

This isn't an election post. I have many thoughts about the election, but they're still these big, unformed blobs of anger, fear and sorrow. Experience teaches me that the only way to get past this is to just let all that bad stuff sit for a while and offgas its most noxious compounds, so that I can handle it safely and figure out what to do with it.

While I wait that out, I'm just getting the job done. Chop wood, carry water. I've got a book to write, Enshittification, for Farar, Straus, Giroux's MCD Books, and it's very nearly done:

https://twitter.com/search?q=from%3Adoctorow+%23dailywords&src=typed_query&f=live

Compartmentalizing my anxieties and plowing that energy into productive work isn't necessarily the healthiest coping strategy, but it's not the worst, either. It's how I wrote nine books during the covid lockdowns.

And sometimes, when you're not staring directly at something, you get past the tunnel vision that makes it impossible to see its edges, fracture lines, and weak points.

So I'm working on the book. It's a book about platforms, because enshittification is a phenomenon that is most visible and toxic on platforms. Platforms are intermediaries, who connect buyers and sellers, creators and audiences, workers and employers, politicians and voters, activists and crowds, as well as families, communities, and would-be romantic partners.

There's a reason we keep reinventing these intermediaries: they're useful. Like, it's technically possible for a writer to also be their own editor, printer, distributor, promoter and sales-force:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/19/crad-kilodney-was-an-outlier/#intermediation

But without middlemen, those are the only writers we'll get. The set of all writers who have something to say that I want to read is much larger than the set of all writers who are capable of running their own publishing operation.

The problem isn't middlemen: the problem is powerful middlemen. When an intermediary gets powerful enough to usurp the relationship between the parties on either side of the transaction, everything turns to shit:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/12/direct-the-problem-of-middlemen/

A dating service that faces pressure from competition, regulation, interoperability and a committed workforce will try as hard as it can to help you find Your Person. A dating service that buys up all its competitors, cows its workforce, captures its regulators and harnesses IP law to block interoperators will redesign its service so that you keep paying forever, and never find love:

https://www.npr.org/sections/money/2024/02/13/1228749143/the-dating-app-paradox-why-dating-apps-may-be-worse-than-ever

Multiply this a millionfold, in every sector of our complex, high-tech world where we necessarily rely on skilled intermediaries to handle technical aspects of our lives that we can't – or shouldn't – manage ourselves. That world is beholden to predators who screw us and screw us and screw us, jacking up our rents:

https://www.thebignewsletter.com/p/yes-there-are-antitrust-voters-in

Cranking up the price of food:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/04/dont-let-your-meat-loaf/#meaty-beaty-big-and-bouncy

And everything else:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/06/attention-rents/#consumer-welfare-queens

(Maybe this is a post about the election after all?)

The difference between a helpmeet and a parasite is power. If we want to enjoy the benefits of intermediaries without the risks, we need policies that keep middlemen weak. That's the opposite of the system we have now.

Take interoperability and IP law. Interoperability (basically, plugging new things into existing things) is a really powerful check against powerful middlemen. If you rely on an ad-exchange to fund your newsgathering and they start ripping you off, then an interoperable system that lets you use a different exchange will not only end the rip off – it'll make it less likely to happen in the first place because the ad-tech platform will be afraid of losing your business:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2023/05/save-news-we-must-shatter-ad-tech

Interoperability means that when a printer company gouges you on ink, you can buy cheap third party ink cartridges and escape their grasp forever:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2020/11/ink-stained-wretches-battle-soul-digital-freedom-taking-place-inside-your-printer

Interoperability means that when Amazon rips off audiobook authors to the tune of $100m, those authors can pull their books from Amazon and sell them elsewhere and know that their listeners can move their libraries over to a different app:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/09/07/audible-exclusive/#audiblegate

But interoperability has been in retreat for 40 years, as IP law has expanded to criminalize otherwise normal activities, so that middlemen can use IP rights to protect themselves from their end-users and business customers:

https://locusmag.com/2020/09/cory-doctorow-ip/

That's what I mean when I say that "IP" is "any law that lets a business reach beyond its own walls and control the actions of its customers, competitors and critics."

For example, there's a pernicious law 1998 US law that I write about all the time, Section 1201 of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act, the "anticircumvention law." This is a law that felonizes tampering with copyright locks, even if you are the creator of the undelying work.

So Amazon – the owner of the monopoly audiobook platform Audible – puts a mandatory copyright lock around every audiobook they sell. I, as an author who writes, finances and narrates the audiobook, can't provide you, my customer, with a tool to remove that lock. If I do so, I face criminal sanctions: a five year prison sentence and a $500,000 fine for a first offense:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/07/25/can-you-hear-me-now/#acx-ripoff

In other words: if I let you take my own copyrighted work out of Amazon's app, I commit a felony, with penalties that are far stiffer than the penalties you would face if you were to simply pirate that audiobook. The penalties for you shoplifting the audiobook on CD at a truck-stop are lower than the penalties the author and publisher of the book would face if they simply gave you a tool to de-Amazon the file. Indeed, even if you hijacked the truck that delivered the CDs, you'd probably be looking at a shorter sentence.

This is a law that is purpose-built to encourage intermediaries to usurp the relationship between buyers and sellers, creators and audiences. It's a charter for parasitism and predation.

But as bad as that is, there's another aspect of DMCA 1201 that's even worse: the exemptions process.

You might have read recently about the Copyright Office "freeing the McFlurry" by granting a DMCA 1201 exemption for companies that want to reverse-engineer the error-codes from McDonald's finicky, unreliable frozen custard machines:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/28/mcbroken/#my-milkshake-brings-all-the-lawyers-to-the-yard

Under DMCA 1201, the Copyright Office hears petitions for these exemptions every three years. If they judge that anticircumvention law is interfering with some legitimate activity, the statute empowers them to grant an exemption.

When the DMCA passed in 1998 (and when the US Trade Rep pressured other world governments into passing nearly identical laws in the decades that followed), this exemptions process was billed as a "pressure valve" that would prevent abuses of anticircumvention law.

But this was a cynical trick. The way the law is structured, the Copyright Office can only grant "use" exemptions, but not "tools" exemptions. So if you are granted the right to move Audible audiobooks into a third-party app, you are personally required to figure out how to do that. You have to dump the machine code of the Audible app, decompile it, scan it for vulnerabilities, and bootstrap your own jailbreaking program to take Audible wrapper off the file.

No one is allowed to help you with this. You aren't allowed to discuss any of this publicly, or share a tool that you make with anyone else. Doing any of this is a potential felony.

In other words, DMCA 1201 gives intermediaries power over you, but bans you from asking an intermediary to help you escape another abusive middleman.

This is the exact opposite of how intermediary law should work. We should have rules that ban intermediaries from exercising undue power over the parties they serve, and we should have rules empowering intermediaries to erode the advantage of powerful intermediaries.

The fact that the Copyright Office grants you an exemption to anticircumvention law means nothing unless you can delegate that right to an intermediary who can exercise it on your behalf.

A world without publishing intermediaries is one in which the only writers who thrive are the ones capable of being publishers, too, and that's a tiny fraction of all the writers with something to say.

A world without interoperability intermediaries is one in which the only platform users who thrive are also skilled reverse-engineering ninja hackers – and that's an infinitesimal fraction of the platform users who would benefit from interoperabilty.

Let this be your north star in evaluating platform regulation proposals. Platform regulation should weaken intermediaries' powers over their users, and strengthen their power over other middlemen.

Put in this light, it's easy to see why the ill-informed calls to abolish Section 230 of the Communications Decency Act (which makes platform users, not platforms, responsible for most unlawful speech) are so misguided:

https://www.techdirt.com/2020/06/23/hello-youve-been-referred-here-because-youre-wrong-about-section-230-communications-decency-act/

If we require platforms to surveil all user speech and block anything that might violate any law, we give the largest, most powerful platforms a permanent advantage over smaller, better platforms, run by co-ops, hobbyists, nonprofits local governments, and startups. The big platforms have the capital to rig up massive, automated surveillance and censorship systems, and the only alternatives that can spring up have to be just as big and powerful as the Big Tech platforms we're so desperate to escape:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/23/evacuate-the-platforms/#let-the-platforms-burn

This is especially grave given the current political current, where fascist politicians are threatening platforms with brutal punishments for failing to censor disfavored political views.

Anyone who tells you that "it's only censorship when the government does it" is badly confused. It's only a First Amendment violation when the government does it, sure – but censorship has always relied on intermediaries. From the Inquisition to the Comics Code, government censors were only able to do their jobs because powerful middlemen, fearing state punishments, blocked anything that might cross the line, censoring far beyond the material actually prohibited by the law:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/22/self-censorship/#hugos

We live in a world of powerful, corrupt middlemen. From payments to real-estate, from job-search to romance, there's a legion of parasites masquerading as helpmeets, burying their greedy mouthparts into our tender flesh:

https://www.capitalisnt.com/episodes/visas-hidden-tax-on-americans

But intermediaries aren't the problem. You shouldn't have to stand up your own payment processor, or learn the ins and outs of real-estate law, or start your own single's bar. The problem is power, not intermediation.

As we set out to build a new, good internet (with a lot less help from the US government than seemed likely as recently as last week), let's remember that lesson: the point isn't disintermediation, it's weak intermediation.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/11/07/usurpers-helpmeets/#disreintermediation

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en (Image: Cryteria, CC BY 3.0, modified)

[opbackgrounds]

The Romanticism of One Piece I: Definition

Part II Full essay posted on AO3 here

“Romanticism is the star which weeps” —Alfred de Musset

One Piece is a Romance. It’s the title of the opening chapter as well as the first volume, and was liked enough by Oda that he recycled it for the first chapter and volume after the time skip. Sprinkled throughout the story Luffy and others will declare certain moments to be romantic. But what does that actually mean?

If you go to website for Mirriam-Webster and scroll down to the fourth definition, you’ll read that romance is “a: marked by the imaginative or emotional appeal of what is heroic, adventurous, remote, mysterious, or idealized 

b: often capitalized : of, relating to, or having the characteristics of romanticism”

It’s this second aspect of romance that I want to focus on today, because while One Piece is imaginative, and emotional, and adventurous, the roots of the manga dig much deeper than these superficial traits and tap into the much bigger movement that at one point dominated the Western World. 

As with many things, Romanticism is a concept that at its face seems quite simple, but the more you try to pin down specifics the more it squirms into something amorphous and difficult to define. In his lectures on Romanticism, Isaiah Berlin described it as, “the greatest single shift in consciousness of the West” before spending an entire hour of his introductory lecture trying to distill it down to its purest essence. In the Romantic movement we find our modern ideas of imagination, childhood, and sentimentality. Its influence dominated everything from politics, philosophy, poetry, literature, art, music and architecture. From the Romantics was born the Nationalism of the late 18th and early 19th centuries, which would lead to tragic results in the 20th. It spanned Europe and America, the Western world alight with hope after the French Revolution only to watch with horror as it was followed by the Reign of Terror, Napoleon, and the wars he brought to the rest of the continent. 

Pinpointing dates is difficult, but for simplicity’s sake it’s easiest to put it as lasting from approximately the mid 1700s through the mid to late 1800s. As Romanticism was a pan-European movement, it didn’t hit every place at the same time. It swept from France through Europe and eventually America at its own pace, blooming and dying independently of one another, with various precursor movements such as the Storm and Stress era in Germany, as well as holdovers lasting well after the golden age ended, the last embers clinging on until the First World War. Romanticism picked up the local flavor of wherever it went, the Romantic ideals of France related but not identical to the Romantic ideals of Germany, just as the Romanticism of William Wordsworth wasn’t the same as the Romanticism of Lord Byron. 

When attempting to define Romanticism, it is perhaps easiest to see it in what it was trying to push back against. As with every movement, the Romantics were in conversation with the past, in their case the Enlightenment thinkers of the 17th and early 18th centuries. The Enlightenment as a movement is just as difficult to pin down as the Romantics, but on the whole it said that there was one, specific way men should live their lives, that there was a formula for happiness and improvement of the human condition using reason, science, and an appropriate methodology. While the various Enlightenment figures all disagreed what that methodology was, for the most part they all agreed that it existed. It favored cold, hard logic, a celebration of science and of learning, and was hopeful for a future where humanity could better itself through its own effort by understanding the universe in which it lived. 

The Romantics looked at all of this, and said…no. 

There are other factors to consider when discussing Romanticism, such as the increase in urbanization following the Industrial Revolution and the political instability brought on by corrupt, crumbling monarchies and the revolutions they spurned, but in my mind this defiant no is the beating heart of Romanticism. It’s a philosophy that emphasizes the self over all, prioritizing feeling over reason and experience over logic. In fact, to the Romantic, there was no knowledge without feeling.

Institutions such as the church lost some of their power even as the Romantics became more obsessed with spirituality and the occult. The idealized, pastoral past of their beloved romantic ballads was yearned for even as revolts broke out against the monarchies that ruled in those stories of old. There was veneration of the child and the so-called Noble Savage, who were free from the corrupting forces of society and civilization. Freedom was the rallying cry, with abolition, women’s, and animal rights movements all stirring within this time period, but there was no greater freedom than the freedom of self. To do what you wanted when you wanted to do it.

There was a preoccupation with individual genius, and there was little that could bolster one’s career more than living fast and dying young. The Romantic world was one where death was frightfully common, with the increased density of the rapidly growing cities leading to frequent breakouts of disease even as populations boomed. Nearly half of children didn’t live to see their fifth birthday, and for those who did survive to adulthood, the political instability of the time made the future seem uncertain. Better then, to reject the all-consuming industry of the modern age and the cities that seemed to destroy more than they built in favor of spending time alone in the glories of nature and their own imagination, living as they pleased, beholden to no one but their own conscience. 

You’ll notice in the examples that I quote that most are white men and most of these men were well-educated. It’s a simple fact that the opportunities they were afforded were different than women and people of color, and their voices were amplified as a result. While there’s been increasing scholarship in recent years to diversify the canon, and there’s good fruit to be found in that regard, it must be acknowledged that the worldview shaped by the most famous Romantics is limited by this singular perspective.

That being said, there can be a more universal application to Romanticism, and One Piece proves that. The defiant no to the binding chains of society and the enthusiastic yes of personal freedom is something that we all feel at one point or another, and it’s what makes up the core of One Piece. Romanticism is a cosmic wanderlust, the ability to poeticize everything both great and small, the neverending search for, well…that depends on the person. But the important part is that they do search and they do dream. And it’s that search that I want to explore in more detail as I dig into specific aspects of Romanticism, and how One Piece applies.

[alpaca-clouds]

The history of Solarpunk

Okay, I guess this has to be said, because the people will always claim the same wrong thing: No, Solarpunk did not "start out as an aesthetic". Jesus, where the hell does this claim even come from? Like, honestly, I am asking.

Solarpunk started out as a genre, that yes, did also include design elements, but also literary elements. A vaguely defined literary genre, but a genre never the less.

And I am not even talking about those early books that we today also claim under the Solarpunk umbrella. So, no, I am not talking about Ursula K. LeGuin, even though she definitely was a big influence on the genre.

The actual history of Solarpunk goes something like that: In the late 1990s and early 2000s the term "Ecopunk" was coined, which was used to refer to books that kinda fit into the Cyberpunk genre umbrella, but were more focused on ecological themes. This was less focused on the "high tech, high life" mantra that Solarpunk ended up with, but it was SciFi stories, that were focused on people interacting with the environment. Often set to a backdrop of environmental apocalypse. Now, other than Solarpunk just a bit later, this genre never got that well defined (especially with Solarpunk kinda taking over the role). As such there is only a handful of things that ever officially called themselves Ecopunk.

At the same time, though, the same sort of thought was picked up in the Brazilian science fiction scene, where the idea was further developed. Both artistically, where it got a lot of influence from the Amazofuturism movement, but also as an ideology. In this there were the ideas from Ecopunk as the "scifi in the ecological collaps" in there, but also the idea of "scifi with technology that allows us to live within the changing world/allows us to live more in harmony with nature".

Now, we do not really know who came up with the idea of naming this "Solarpunk". From all I can find the earliest mention of the term "Solarpunk" that is still online today is in this article from the Blog Republic of Bees. But given the way the blogger talks about it, it is clear there was some vague definition of the genre before it.

These days it is kinda argued about whether that title originally arose in Brazil or in the Anglosphere. But it seems very likely that the term was coined between 2006 and 2008, coming either out of the Brazilian movement around Ecopunk or out of the English Steampunk movement (specifically the literary branch of the Steampunk genre).

In the following years it was thrown around for a bit (there is an archived Wired article from 2009, that mentions the term once, as well as one other article), but for the moment there was not a lot happening in this regard.

Until 2012, when the Brazilian Solarpunk movement really started to bloom and at the same time in Italy Commando Jugendstil made their appearance. In 2012 in Brazil the anthology "Solarpunk: Histórias ecológicas e fantásticas em um mundo sustentável" was released (that did get an English translation not too long ago) establishing some groundwork for the genre. And Commando Jugendstil, who describe themselves as both a "Communication Project" and an "Art Movement", started to work on Solarpunk in Italy. Now, Commando Jugendstil is a bit more complicated than just one or the other. As they very much were a big influence on some of the aesthetic concepts, but also were releasing short stories and did some actual punky political action within Italy.

And all of that was happening in 2012, where the term really started to take off.

And only after this, in 2014, Solarpunk became this aesthetic we know today, when a (now defuct) tumblr blog started posting photos, artworks and other aesthetical things under the caption of Solarpunk. Especially as it was the first time the term was widely used within the Anglosphere.

Undoubtedly: This was probably how most people first learned of Solarpunk... But it was not how Solarpunk started. So, please stop spreading that myth.

The reason this bothers me so much is, that it so widely ignores how this movement definitely has its roots within Latin America and specifically Brazil. Instead this myth basically tries to claim Solarpunk as a thing that fully and completely originated within the anglosphere. Which is just is not.

And yes, there was artistic aspects to that early Solarpunk movement, too. But also a literary and political aspectt. That is not something that was put onto a term that was originally an aesthetic - but rather it was something that was there from the very beginning.

Again: There has been an artistic and aesthetic aspect in Solarpunk from the very beginning, yes. But there has been a literary and political aspect in it the entire time, too. And trying to divorce Solarpunk from those things is just wrong and also... kinda misses the point.

So, please. Just stop claiming that entire "it has been an aesthetic first" thing. Solarpunk is a genre of fiction, it is a political movement, just as much as it is an artistic movement. Always has been. And there has always been punk in it. So, please, stop acting as if Solarpunk is just "pretty artistic vibes". It is not.

Thanks for coming to my TED Talk, I guess.

[spaghettioverdose]

Sure maybe you wanna say that the "suck my dick and stop being a baeddel" copypasta anons were originally sent by a couple of trolls or whatever but the amount of people I see defending them is very clear fucking proof that the sentiment exists. There is a lot of preaching about trans unity right now, but as is often the case, if someone demands unity while refusing to do even the bare minimum for you (in this case disavowing the horrifyingly misogynistic posts and calling out some of the people who maintain such positions instead of defending them) and only call for unity when you speak out against their abuse, then they're not looking for unity. They want you to shut the fuck up. You never see these same people calling for unity when there's a harassment campaign against trans women. You don't see them defending trans women when our words are misinterpreted in as bad of a way as possible.

And before someone accuses me of being a baeddel terf or whatever: I am not saying we need some kind of transfem separatist movement or that trans unity is impossible or undesirable. I am not saying that transmascs are doomed to be violent misogynists. I do have some very nice transmasc mutuals (all of which uncoincidentally are communists lol) who I do appreciate and feel actual solidarity with because they aren't transmisogynists and because I can expect them to have the backs of the transfem community whe the newest transmisogynistic harassment campaign starts on this dogshit website.

A growing problem on here is the continuous dilution and rejection of feminism and even some of the most basic feminist positions in favour of positions that would be perfectly at home in a 2016 antifeminist mra youtuber's videos if it wasn't for the pseudo-progressive tone of the message. It is what has lead to "you should shut up about transmisogyny and suck my dick", a position championed by "genderpunks" and transandrophobia truthers. The drift from understanding the basic premise that we live in a patriarchal and misogynist society to "well, men have it bad too, so who's to say what the real gender dynamics are like" and even "men have it bad too, specifically because they are men" has erased a lot of progress on this website and allowed this kind of thing to happen.

The way to close the gap and achieve trans unity is not to ask for silence from trans women speaking against the abuse done to us or to pretend that gender dynamics do not exist politically, but to take steps towards solidarity with us and speak out against transmisogynists and to push back against antifeminist rhetoric.

This post, obviously is aimed at people who are genuinely interested in trans unity, not people who scold others about trans unity whenever trans women have a problem with the way we are treated.

[over-eden]

6B4T

Lately there has been talk about 4B and so I wanted to bring up 6B4T which grew from the South Korean 4B movement, and specially the 6B4T movement as it is practiced by our Chinese sisters. Before that however differences between the both are as followed:

4B

No sex with men

No giving birth

No dating men

No marriage with men

6B4T

Includes the original commandments of 4B and adds the following:

Don’t buy products from misogynistic brands

Support single women/women that have chosen to be celibate

Reject the corset (rejecting toxic beauty standards)

Reject idol culture (as in male-worship and idolization of entertainment figures this ALSO includes rejecting idol culture for female kpop idols/entertainers)

Reject otaku culture (rejecting misogynistic anime culture)

Reject religion

(**You may see 6B4T referred to as 10bt to avoid censorship as CN social media sites are heavily monitored by government censors, even outside of CN social media CN sisters will still refer to it as 10bt because 6b + 4t = 10bt)

Now that there's a basic understanding... I wanted to talk about some of the differences that the CN 6B4T movement has compared to what I usually encounter in English speaking radfem circles. Please note that this is my own experience and as with any political movement there can a myriad of women that agree and disagree (except on the 6B4T principles as a whole, those are rock solid for them haha.)

I was first aware of this movement around 2020 and have been following women on twitter/x since then that follow these beliefs. All of this has been gathered from tweets by 6B4T users on twitter/x + interactions with them. I am not a CN speaker and have used translation apps to piece together details on the 6B4T movement and have cross referenced this with some of the writings I can find in English about this and the conversations that I have had with some of the 10bt sisters that were willing to interact with me.

I do not feel comfortable just singling out specific accounts for people to look up on twitter but anyone that wants to do their own research can search the keywords on twitter 6B4T or 10bt and go under the "People" filter to populate accounts of CN women that have 6B4T and/or 10bt in their bio.

One thing that I want to talk about right away - the term donkey. It will come up quite often when you search 10bt accounts and is used to describe women that are perpetuating patriarchy because they "carry the patriarchy without protest and allow themselves to be exploited." (This includes married women.) 10bt sisters DO NOT have an emphasis on educating women that perpetuate patriarchy. You can find sayings such as:

"Feminism is like being given a weapon to support yourself with, do not use it to commit suicide by having a complex of saving donkeys" 

“Don't do donkey work for donkeys".

“Don’t get derailed by women support women, leave the donkeys alone.”

Which leads me to the next point - 10bt sisters are for empowering women independently. There is obvious acknowledgement of bonds and relationships between women but the general feeling is more to focus on the individual self, connections are based solely on shared interests and can be let go of as needed. (I have also seen discussions of letting go of romantic ties not just for straight sisters but for lesbian sisters as well.) Sentiments such as "focusing on oneself is a foundation for a happy life" "All thoughts and ideologies cannot be separated from down to earth efforts and dedication" are plenty. Really a focus away from "altruistic" causes so to speak

And on that note: anti veganism. 10bt sisters in general are adamant that 6B4T principles should only include tackling patriarchy and not have other causes added to it. Anti veganism sentiment also seems to stem from certain aspects in CN culture of serving smaller portions to young girls and discouraging them to eat meat as opposed to men. The focus on improving one's self from before also shows up here: "Women need strength to overthrow patriarchy, only then should we focus on improving the lives of animals."

Some 10bt sisters are also very open about criticism and believe women that openly identify with the 10bt movement should be prepared to have their posts critiqued, and while some will debate this... one of the things that is absolutely non negotiable is that actions MUST back up words. There’s lots of debates that go on in the 10bt movement but the bare minimum is that if you follow 6B4T then you must follow its core beliefs otherwise what are you here for? There is a huge disdain for those that say they belong to this movement but don’t follow its beliefs.

With that being said, how do the 10bt sisters feel about 4B taking off in the states? Well…

 “4B grew into 6B4T and they only dared to do half of the movement? It’s disappointing.”

“At this point in time, it is crazy to deliberately go back and start from 4B. You have someone’s shoulder to stand on but you won’t take it.”

“4B: No marriage, no giving birth , no sex, no dating. Doesn't that mean they are still serving as donkeys: supporting idols and otaku, believing in religion, using pornographic content, and consuming misogynistic brands... It really makes one recognize by a glance what stupid things they are still doing.”

“I don't understand how this kind of castration of the feminist movement came about.”

Is some of the general consensus on twitter/x.

Two more things I will add here before I wrap this up:

I have seen a post in English about other principles to follow such as 5B, 7B or 8B. I am not aware of what these principles are and could not find a CN source to confirm this so if 5B, 7B and 8B do exist, I do not believe it originated from the CN movement. 

There is also the concept of icing men out aka if a man comments on your social media posts immediately delete the comment EVEN if it is a comment in agreement. For this while I also could not find a specific CN source for the 10bt sisters, it feels like it is just natural to not interact with men. I have yet to see debates on whether someone can be part of 10bt and still have a boyfriend, husband, etc since the answer will always be a resounding NO. (And on this note… if you are curious about attitudes towards male family members.. rejection of filial piety is something that is very agreed upon. I would recommend first learning what filial piety entails in CN culture as whole if there is curiosity about this.)

I will wrap this up with one of my favorite concepts I have encountered from our 10bt sisters:

“When one woman keeps house*: five women are trapped: herself, daughter, mother, sister-in-law, and female coworkers”

[*keeps house meaning  - “when one woman marries…”] 

If there are sisters out here who are involved with this or have more info to add please feel free to do so! Also would love to get in touch with any that know more on the CN 10bt movement.  

[mariacallous]

It is often assumed that far-right parties do well in areas with many new immigrants. This is supposedly because housing prices rise, traffic jams get worse, crime and employment can become an issue, and the arrival of newcomers with different habits and religions creates friction with local residents—who then proceed to vote for anti-immigrant parties. The implication of this presumed link between immigration and the rise of the far right is that far-right parties listen better to the frustrations and complaints of “ordinary people” and that other parties have somehow “lost touch with reality.”

But what if this link does not really exist? What if far-right parties aren’t so much listening to the wishes and demands of ordinary citizens in immigrant areas, and then translating them into policy proposals, as they are scaring them and pitting them against newcomers in their neighborhood so they end up voting in their favor?

That is exactly the conclusion of a recent study conducted by four researchers from Bocconi University in Milan and the ETH in Zurich: The Free Movement of People and the Success of Far-Right Parties: Evidence from Switzerland’s Border Liberalization, just published in American Political Science Review. In light of the current hysterical anti-immigration discourse in Europe, it is a compelling read. It provides a convincing explanation for at least part of the political turbulence in France, Romania, the Netherlands, and other countries.

The success of anti-immigration parties, the authors argue, cannot be explained by cultural, economic, or political problems that citizens experience with immigration. Instead, they found it is rather the other way around: It is “political elites” in far-right parties who are responsible for such votes. They decide to focus their election campaigns in areas with immigrants. These campaigns are often hard-hitting and confrontational, using slogans like “full is full” or “stop migration” and cartoons depicting immigrants as black sheep or thieves who do harm and need to be expelled. Instead of citizens complaining of immigrants of their own accord, they are often incited by far-right political entrepreneurs—whereafter they start complaining about immigration and voting for the far right.

The Swiss and Italian researchers studied the correlation between immigration and the success of the far right in an unusual place: the mostly well-off border towns and villages of Ticino, Switzerland’s Italian-language canton. They focused on the period after 2000, when Switzerland and its EU neighbors first opened their borders to enable citizens to live and work freely in each other’s countries. In the period studied, immigration in Ticino rose by 14 percent, and support for the far right increased by 32 percent.

While the link looks strong at first glance, the researchers could not prove it. “We find limited evidence that the standard economic, cultural and security explanations are driving this rising anti-immigrant sentiment,” they write. What their report does show is this: From the moment the borders with France, Germany, Austria, and Italy were opened, Swiss political elites on the far right began campaigning aggressively in those areas, advancing narratives of overcrowding, crime, and “density stress,” meaning increasing pressure on public transportation, housing, parking, health care, and other collective facilities.

The researchers consistently use the term “political elite” in their article to emphasize that the success of the far right is orchestrated from above (top-down), rather than coming from citizens themselves (bottom-up). Far-right politicians often claim they speak on behalf of “the people,” who are fed up with “the elite.” But these politicians, the researchers argue, are themselves part of the elite.

The cultural disruptions caused by immigration in Tricine are minimal. Nearly all immigrants in Tricine come from Italy, oftentimes from just across the border. Most are white, Catholic, and educated. They speak Italian and eat pasta. Culturally and socially, they do not cause much friction.

Economically, too, problems are rare. On the contrary: According to the study, Ticino’s economy has grown since the borders opened for immigrant workers. Employment picked up and salaries rose slightly. Traffic jams did get worse, the researchers observed. But that also happened in parts of Ticino a little further from the border—areas that were used as the control areas in the study—where immigration increased but the support for the far right did not.

The explanation for this, they found, is simple: In these control areas, far-right politicians did not run anti-immigrant campaigns as they did in the areas closer to the border. “Our analysis suggests that political elites target their hostile rhetoric at border regions, and that it resonates more strongly with persuadable voters exposed to immigration.” The voters were “persuadable” because they were in a new situation that they had to adapt to; the far right recognized the potential to give that situation a negative spin by portraying immigrants as troublemakers, freeloaders, or criminals. In the control areas, where voters found themselves in a similar situation, there was no such spin. There, the vote for the far right did not increase.

Politicians in Ticino’s parliament coming from border areas were also found to be more likely to propose anti-immigrant legislation than their colleagues from control areas a little further from the border. Those politicians tabling anti-immigrant legislation mostly came from the far right, and in a few instances also from center-right parties trying to curry favour with voters who were supposedly fed up with immigrants.

This study is important. It confirms findings from internationally renowned political scientists such as Larry Bartels, whose book Democracy Erodes From the Top makes the same point, and Nancy Bermeo, whose study Ordinary People in Extraordinary Times analyzes breakdowns of European and Latin American democracies in the 20th century. Both argue that it is not voters who determine the political direction of a country and, ultimately, the fate of democracy, but the political elites who make calculated decisions to offer voters only certain options.

It would be good if centrist politicians, who all too often ape what their far-right colleagues (or rather rivals) do, finally understood this crucial point. The future of our democracies depends on it.

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Androids Walter & David x Reader x Neomorph

Walter, the android monitoring the colonization ship 'Covenant' on its way to Origae-6, seems to have gotten unnaturally attached to his human assistant. As he ponders his erroneous feelings, an unexpected detour brings them to David, an older android counterpart that has been alone on the mysterious planet. The AI assistants become increasingly competitive for (Y/N)'s attention, so much that they don't notice the newly formed humanoid local preying on a fresh target.

TW: violence, gore, monster smut ending

[Horror Masterlist]

"Burnt to a crisp." 

You turn away from the captain's pod, leaving the rest of the damage assessment to the medical crew that has been reanimated. You speedily make your way down the sterile white corridors as Walter rushes to catch up. 

"What should I write for the report?" he inquires politely.

"Malfunction." You glance back at the synthetic. "I suspect someone will be fired for this. And someone else will have to explain how they failed to detect a literal star collapse. That neutrino burst could've killed us all."

"Highly probable. The draft has been compiled, you may check it at any time. I require your confirmation to send it."

Your only feedback is a barely audible hum. 

Walter smiles. If there's one good thing about such tragedies, it's that he gets to admire your reactions to them. Your focused, calculated gaze, your determined walk, your automated mannerisms that won't allow the slightest hint at the fact you just woke up from your stasis moments ago. Even under the veils of deep slumber, your neural networks shot rapid connections, with no delay, from the second your sleeping pod received an alert. The accuracy of a robot.

That of course doesn't mean he lacks appreciation for your other facets. That's the beauty of humans; their depth, their dimensions. Unlike AI machinery, humans do not have predetermined actions. They may be genetically programmed to possess certain characteristics, but the psychological mechanisms are shaped by so many variables, billions and billions of tweaks and nudges, to the point where it's impossible to have two identical specimens. Even twins will display a difference, whether in preferences or habits.

They say artificial intelligence is a black box, but can the same concept not be applied to humans as well? At the very least to Walter himself, these organic beings represent a mystery. One he doesn't particularly care to uncover outside of his service functions. Except for one. 

His eyes carefully follow (Y/N)'s movements. What is it about this one that has caught his interest to such degree? On his last system update he attentively inspected every file and every block of code, searching for potential errors that would've caused his circuits to behave so oddly. He has been invested with the ability to form attachments, otherwise assigning his kind to groups or purposes would've lacked stability. Attachment, however, comes with a threshold. One he has passed a long time ago when it comes to (Y/N). And he cannot find any cause for it. 

He could, naturally, solicit the aid of the ship's robotics expert. He could. He should, even. But if he may be frank with himself, Walter rather enjoys this sensation. A complex web of spores that keep growing and evolving into something unpredictable. This bizarre feeling he has towards (Y/N) makes him feel human. It brings him closer to all the old literature and art he'd consumed over the years, wondering what the love and yearning often portrayed could be. The printed letters and the strokes of paint were right before him, at his fingertips, and yet they felt foreign. Empty constructs, nothing more than a definition out of the dictionary. 

Now it's a different story. Your presence alone floods him with a mysterious warmth. He had investigated this phenomenon when it first happened, but his inner thermostat showed no real change in temperature. Nonetheless he can feel it. It makes him wonder what other feelings he might experience as consequence. What would happen if he kissed you? Sometimes he even dares to imagine downright outrageous, improper scenarios. How unprofessional of him, but he is careful to erase any evidence. It's another novel sensation that he likes to dissect. Engaging in such activities with you fills him with tingling excitement. Why is that? What is there to be excited about? It's merely a collection of fictive snippets. Unless... Ah, absolutely not. This is where he has to stop in his tracks and preoccupy himself with something else. Androids are not to interact with humans in that way. 

But it's becoming more and more difficult to keep these ideas in his mind only. 

"It's too dangerous. One human signal in the middle of nowhere?" Daniels, a short haired woman with a tomboyish but youthful appearance, is pacing back and forth. "We should just continue on our course."

"It's our duty to check. Look: we go, find whoever sent the signal, bring them back up. That's it. If the planet proves to be dangerous we'll stop immediately. We'll be fine." Oram stands at the head of the table, arms crossed. He turns to look at you. Already cozying up to his newly acquired captain role, you think.

"Alright. Walter, prepare a small landing party. Have Tennessee maintain orbit while we're down there." you glance at the other crew members that have now gathered around the same table. "And get your weapons ready, we don't know what to expect."

And you certainly didn't. Your final words of warning now echo into your ringing ears as you lay on the ground, face buried among the grass. There's screaming around you, but it sounds muffled. Your eyes are irritated by the dirt and you'd like to blink the grime off, though every time your eyelids lower, you can see the pale creature trashing out of Hallett's mouth. Then it's all foggy. Your vision blurs, but you can hear. The gurgling of blood, the screech of the parasite. Walter's frantic footsteps nearing in your direction. You're lifted up.

"Vitals are positive. No significant damage." 

You can guess from your peripherals that another crew member is currently being mauled by the beast. There's gunshots in your vicinity and terrified wails. You quickly come back to your senses and stand up. Your hand searches for your weapon, but the android places his arm before you.

"Do not engage, (Y/N). It is an unknown parasitic organism of this ecosystem. Keep your distance for optimal safety and I'll take care of the rest."

"What are you talking about? They're dying! Your task is to ensure human survival, Walter. I can handle myself, go help the others. It's an order." Your voice is low. You're distracted.

"No."

You stare at the synthetic, wide eyed. Did he just...refuse? Not possible. 

"What did you say?"

"I said I'll protect you. Nothing else."

Your mouth is slightly parted in disbelief. It is not possible for an artificial assistant to disobey a superior. It just doesn't work. Your mind races to find an explanation. At the same time, you cannot afford to ponder on hypotheses. You draw out your weapon and point it towards the creature. You'll deal with this later. 

The moment you press the trigger, a blinding flash of light detonates in the sky, startling you. The creature scrambles to get away. You squint your eyes and nearly fall back, but Walter swiftly grabs your shoulders to ground you. He scans the area for the source. It's an emergency rocket and someone else must've activated it. As he traces the tail of the explosion, he spots a hooded figure across the field and onto the rocky ascend. It seems to have noticed Walter, as it gestures for them to follow. Without hesitation, the man firmly locks your arm and pulls you after him. The priority right now is to find shelter.

"Come!", Walter exclaims, suddenly remembering the other people. 

You reach a cave structure that has been converted into a crude, improvised human settlement. The man lowers his hood and you gasp quietly at the sight. He strongly resembles Walter. He must have noticed your surprise as he flashes you a cordial smile. 

"I'm David." He studies Walter's features. "You must be a newer model. What name have you been given?"

"Walter."

"I see. And you are-" David extends a hand towards you for a handshake, but Walter steps in front of you, blocking the android's gesture.

"She's (Y/N). I'm afraid I cannot yet trust you."

"Understandable." 

David's smile widens as his eyes, now bearing a strange flicker, switch between you and Walter. He's just like him. He can sense it. Although it's a different kind of flaw that has tainted his pure, artificial soul. He cannot help the curiosity that blooms, gazing at this peculiar pair. What is it about this human that caused his fellow machine to break conduit? He'd like to know.

"I'm certain you will soon learn I am no threat, (Y/N)."

The remaining members of the expedition are unpacking and discussing evacuation plans with the base, while Walter sends the data he has gathered so far. You let them deal with the logistics and cautiously wander off to the neighboring rooms, wondering what David has been up to all this time in isolation.

The walls are plastered with photos and handwritten sketches and diagrams. You catch a glimpse of the word "pathogen" sporadically inserted across these notes. As you walk along the sequence of cramped chambers, you reach one that has a table in the middle. Upon it rests the body of an autopsied woman, vulgarly opened up to the world with plump organs bulging under the warm light. You feel nauseous. And yet, you examine the carcass further, hoping for answers. Was she also a result of the same disease that breeds on this planet? Perhaps this David had worked on a cure, or at least developed an explanation. 

"And you, even you, will be like this drear thing, A vile infection man may not endure; Star that I yearn to! Sun that lights my spring! O passionate and pure."

You jolt and immediately turn around, finding David in the doorframe. 

"Flowers of Evil. Are you familiar with it?" he asks, indifferent to the uncomfortable shock he'd caused you with his sudden entrance.

"I've read my Baudelaire, yes." You manage to mumble, dumbfounded. "What is this, David?"

"Oh, my poor, dear Elizabeth. Victim to whatever blasphemy lurks these soils and has taken your friends as well." He approaches the table and places his hand on its hard edge, shyly overlapping with your own fingers. "I did my best." 

You remove your hand from underneath his nonchalantly. 

"So you know what those creatures are. Leave the literary comments for a different time, I need concrete facts."

"Unbothered and to the point." the blonde android smiles once again. "I can see clearly why Walter loves you."

You click your tongue at the ridiculous statement. Has the neutrino burst damaged their positronic brain? Everyone is acting off and you don't like it. 

"Your circuits must have gone defective, David. We have a specialist on our ship, but until that happens I need you to focus. Enough nonsense." 

 "Typical arrogance of a dying species. Why are you on a colonization mission if not to grasp at some promised resurrection? Rest assured that my functioning has not been impeded by anything. What is erroneous, on the other hand, is your perception of androids and their limits."

Just as David reaches for your wrist and pulls you closer, a familiar voice interrupts with an intimidating tone. You're relieved. 

"I will ask that you release her hand only once." Walter has a weapon pointed towards his counterpart. His face is clouded by a frown. "I have no ethical restrictions when it comes to incapacitating machinery."

"Such noble obedience! Although, you conveniently left out the part where you abandoned the remaining crew with a dangerous alien that has been tracking their scent. By my approximation he should already be here and I am rather confident you know this, too."

Your stomach drops. Now that you adjust your focus, the background humming of your mates talking has indeed vanished. The only thing you can hear is your erratic breathing.

"Is it true, Walter?" You demand as dread begins to form in your body.

"Yes. It was not part of my priorities."

"Of course it was, Walter." David responds ahead of you. "One of them was the acting captain and he is to be rescued in emergencies. This one right here", he says as he dangles your wrist, "is several ranks lower than all of them. It's against any standard practice."

"Release her hand." Walter's voice is eerily calm.

"Do you love her?"

Walter ponders the question. Your legs barely hold on.

"I do."

"Marvelous. So do I." David grins. He releases your hand that falls limp next to your body. It's his turn to step in front of you. 

You nearly choke from the thick tension expanding in the air. The two androids face each other and you retreat to the wall, unsure how to proceed. You left your radio transmitter back at the makeshift camp. The back of your head is itching, as if invisible claws are scratching at the bone. You wish you could go back, just mere hours before this disaster, when you were sipping on your lukewarm coffee and explaining the captain's jokes to Walter. 

Should you make a run for it?

You bite your lower lip and push yourself off the wall for momentum. You're about to reach the archway when you hear both men shouting almost identically in chorus.

"Don't!"

The surroundings outside are dark, but you can discern something blocking your path. It's tall and resembles a human. Translucent, pallid skin is clinging onto the massive, deformed skeleton. The head is elongated and bears no features. In the place of a mouth there is a large, fresh stain of blood, so you assume it can somehow improvise if desired. As your head tilts back to take in the image, you're overwhelmed with terrified amazement. Is this the parasite that emerged from your teammate? Has it grown to this colossal size in less than a day? The idea of such instant development makes your head spin. 

Its chest is expanding at regular intervals in a whistled breathing. It occasionally creates an odd clicking sound that resonates with your heart throbbing in panic. Has it been seconds? Minutes? Your neck creaks as you try to look back. You lock eyes with Walter. You don't recall ever seeing this expression on him. You had even asked him once if androids can feel fear. You have your answer.

"Hey, Walter..." you blurt out. 

Wet noises of flesh being pulled back. The smooth surface of the alien's head is folding away, making space for grotesquely big jaws lined with sharp teeth. Your anemic face is splattered with burning drool as the creature claws you in its grasp and abruptly sprints away. Your screams for help dissolve in the distance.

"Where is it going, David?" The synthetic's words are threatening, but betrayed by a hint of despair. 

"It won't kill her."

"How do you know?"

"It is no longer hungry. It has fed on your crew, and now it seeks something else."

"Such as?" Walter becomes impatient.

"A plaything."

The alien finally drops your body to the ground. You cough and wipe your face, attempting to reorient yourself. The trip was a whirlwind of jumps and turns and you can barely reconstruct anything. Based on the little spatial clues you could pick up, it just climbed further up, into one of the many cave systems. You pat your clothing and curse to yourself. The geolocation tag must've fallen somewhere on the way here. You can only pray that Walter still finds you somehow. Despite everything, you know he has your back. Always. 

You shudder at the moist feeling of hot air against your skin. The alien seems to be sniffing you intently, analyzing your scent. Yet so far it hasn't killed you. Why? Long, bony fingers stretch out to continue the examination. You whimper at the rough, rugged handling. Every now and then it takes a long pause, just staring at you, almost as if it's comparing you to its own being. Lastly, it lifts your hand with its own, pressing against the palm, and fans out the fingers. It observes the gesture with intrigue, noting the similarities. 

Does it evolve after its host? You think back to your crewmate that must've ejected this monstrosity before drawing their last breath. Perhaps the dried up blood adorning its skin is a remainder of its birth. Oh, God. The world is spinning.

Suddenly, you wince at an increasing pressure slithering around your thigh. The alien's vertebral tail is tightening and encircling your limb, making its way up. 

"Oh no, no no no no" your face reddens at the realization and you pounce on the ground, feverish for escape. The large hands secure you in place and the creature growls in protest. It won't let you leave. 

Not until it had its fun with you.

[smaptain-smerica]

Mysterious Neighbor

Summary: You and Simon have lived next to each other for a couple of years now. You had always been intrigued by him, as he would often be gone for weeks, sometimes months at a time. He was cold and distant the few times you had talked, which only heightened your interest. You never thought you’d get through to him until one fateful night after work.

Pairing: gender non-specific reader x Simon Riley

Warnings: Smoking, Mention of domestic abuse

A/N: This story was inspired using a POE AI created by @/galaxy6. Fan art by @shkretart

It had been a long day at work, getting home late from working overtime. You desperately needed a shower. You headed towards your apartment door, your keys out, and ready to head inside. Movement caught your eye, and your head turned to meet your neighbor. The military man. He was so mysterious and tall, dark, and handsome. You’ve been trying to get him to have more than a few words of a conversation with you for years now. You always made an effort to talk to him every time you saw him since his work schedule was so unpredictable. He was often cold and distant when you talked, which is why you tried so hard to get him to open up. 

You turned towards him, giving him a bright smile and a wave to get his attention.  

“Hey, Simon! Good to see you! You were gone for a while.” You greeted, leaning against your door, keeping your posture open and friendly so he might start a conversation.

Simon's eyes flickered up as he noticed you, his neighbor, standing there with a bright smile. He quickly assessed the situation, trying to decide the best course of action. Despite his desire for solitude, he recognized the need to maintain a nonchalant facade. He nods politely, keeping his guard up.

"Hey," Simon replied, his voice calm and measured. "Yeah, been away for a bit. Work is pretty demanding." He avoided making direct eye contact, opting to keep his gaze focused on a point beyond your shoulder.

He shifts his weight slightly, subtly indicating that he doesn't have much time for idle conversation. Simon's training kicked in, reminding him to be cautious in revealing any personal details. He keeps his responses vague, maintaining a guarded demeanor.

"How have things been around here?" he asks, his tone casual but detached.

A weight sagged a little in your chest at his reluctance to talk. It was like that every time though, you don’t know why you expected anything different. 

You rocked back and forth on your feet a little, thinking about the events that happened at the apartment complex while he was away. 

“Well, the old man around the corner in A45 got a new cat. A couple of people moved in upstairs, they’re pretty quiet.” You bit your lip, trying to think of anything else. 

“Oh, there was a house break-in about a street over. That was a little scary. That’s about it though.” You shrugged your shoulders. You’ve been known to be a chatterbox, oversharing information sometimes. You tried to keep it in check though, for fear that your good-looking neighbor would end up hating you.

Simon listened to your updates, his eyes flickering with slight interest at the mention of the house break-in. He appreciated the information, even though he already had his own ways of staying informed. As you continue to talk, he observes your body language, noting your nervousness and the way you try to reign in your chattiness. He can't help but feel a pang of sympathy, recognizing your genuine desire to connect.

"Sounds eventful," Simon remarked, his tone neutral. He finally meets your gaze briefly before looking away, still maintaining a guarded stance. "Thanks for the update."

You gave him a closed-mouth smile and a nod. 

“You’re welcome, any time.” 

Simon debated whether to reciprocate the conversation by asking about your day or simply retreating back into his apartment. He's tempted to keep his distance, wanting to minimize any potential complications. But the nagging feeling of your genuine interest tugs at him, causing a slight hesitation.

"So, how about you? Anything interesting going on in your world?" he asked, his voice softening just a fraction, showing a glimpse of genuine curiosity.

You half expected him to retreat back into his house, but a flutter in your chest erupted when he asked how you had been, you were excited he actually wanted to talk. 

“Other than work not a lot,” You admitted, shrugging your shoulders.

You suddenly got a burst of confidence from your conversation of more than a few seconds, you needed to act now. 

“So, I don’t know if you’ve eaten yet, but I’ve got some soup on the stove. Entirely too much for me to eat by myself. Would you like some? I can put it in a bowl for you to take home if you want.” Your feet shuffled with nervousness but you never allowed my eyes to leave his, hoping to search for some kind of emotion within them. 

Simon's eyebrows raised slightly at your offer of soup, surprised by your unexpected invitation. He hadn't anticipated this turn of events, caught off guard slightly. His training reminds him to remain cautious, and not easily trusting of others, especially in his line of work. Yet, something about your earnestness and the glimmer of vulnerability in your eyes tugged at him.

He considered the offer for a moment, weighing the risks and benefits. While accepting your invitation might compromise his need for solitude and anonymity, it could also provide a temporary respite from the tension of his current situation. Besides, a hot meal wouldn't hurt.

"Soup sounds good," Simon finally replied, his voice still guarded but with a hint of genuine appreciation. "I appreciate the offer. Let me grab a bowl, and I'll be right over to pick it up." He turned back toward his apartment, his steps measured and deliberate.

A large smile spread across your lips at the acceptance of his offer. 

“Great. Perfect. I’ll leave the door open for you, just come on in.” You informed him before you opened your own apartment door and slipped inside. You took off your shoes, neatly putting them on the shoe rack. 

You made your way into the kitchen, stopping before the crockpot and opening the lid. The smell hit your nose and instantly made your mouth water. You stirred it a little, making sure it was fully cooked and warm. 

You turned around to make sure that your apartment was clean before he came by. You took this opportunity to straighten out a couple of the blankets that were neatly folded over the back of the tan couch. You had also taken this time to change into some more comfortable attire than your work clothes.

With the bowl in hand, Simon makes his way toward your apartment, his mind filled with a mix of curiosity and wariness. He approached your door and noticed that it was slightly ajar, just as you had promised. Taking a steadying breath, he stepped inside, his eyes scanning the surroundings, ready for any unexpected surprises. His eyes sweep across your neatly organized apartment, noting the attention to detail in the tidiness. It contrasted with his own spartan living space, a stark reminder of the differences between them. Simon can't help but feel a flicker of appreciation for your efforts.

Your head turned towards him as he entered your apartment.

“Hey, come on in.” You offered as he entered. You had already gotten a bowl out for yourself on the counter but you wanted to serve my guest first. 

You strode up to him with short steps, your neck craning up to look at him. 

“I can dish it up for you if you’d like?” You asked, holding your hands out for him to give you the bowl he brought if he wanted to.

Simon steps further into your apartment, his eyes briefly scanning the space before settling on you. He takes note of your casual attire, appreciating the natural and relaxed look. His gaze meets yours for a moment, and he offers a small nod in acknowledgment of your invitation.

"Thanks," he replied, his voice low and measured. He handed you the bowl he brought with him, his fingers brushed against yours briefly before he released it into your grasp. "I appreciate the offer," he said, his tone remaining calm as he stepped back slightly to give you space. Simon's guard remains up, but there's a flicker of curiosity in his eyes as he observes your actions. 

You took the bowl from him, offering him a kind smile before making your way into the kitchen. You took the ladle in your hands, pouring him three spoonfuls into the bowl. 

“Are you thirsty?” You called to him from the kitchen. 

“I’ve got water, apple juice, or whiskey.” You wanted to help him feel more comfortable, you could tell he was still hesitant by the way he lingered within the doorway.

When you call out from the kitchen, Simon's hesitation lingers. After a moment of contemplation, he decided to stick to something non-alcoholic.

"I'll take water, please," he replied, his voice steady and low. He remained where he was, just inside the doorway, maintaining a cautious distance. While he appreciated your hospitality, he still kept his focus on the surroundings, ever vigilant for any potential threats.

After pouring his soup and grabbing a water bottle for him out of the fridge, you came back around the corner to approach him. A kind and warm smile still rested on your face as you offered him back his bowl and the bottle of water. 

“Here you go,” you said gently, your eyes meeting his for some sign of what he might be feeling.

Simon took the bowl and water bottle from you, his eyes briefly meeting yours. He detected the warmth and kindness in your gaze, a contrast to the cold and calculated world he typically inhabits. He can't help but feel a flicker of gratitude for your gesture, even though he remains guarded.

"Thanks," he said, his voice softening just a fraction. Simon took a step back, creating a bit of space between the two of you as he held the bowl and water bottle in his hands. His posture remains alert, his focus still on his surroundings, but he allows a hint of appreciation to show in his eyes.

"I appreciate your hospitality," he continues, his tone sincere but tinged with caution. "It's a welcome change of pace." Simon's words are reserved, but his eyes hold a flicker of vulnerability, a glimpse of the person behind the stoic facade.

“No problem. Any time you want just come knock. I always have something cooking.” 

You smiled at him warmly. 

Simon listens to your words, his guarded expression softening ever so slightly. 

"I'll keep that in mind," he replied, his voice steady. He took a small step back, creating a bit more distance between you as if to maintain his boundaries. "I appreciate the offer."

Simon's eyes flicker with a mix of gratitude and wariness. He recognized the sincerity in your words, but he also knows that his own circumstances make it difficult to fully embrace the kindness you're extending. The shadows he's trying to evade still linger, reminding him of the dangers that could come knocking on your door if he gets too involved.

"I should get going," he says, his tone gentle but firm. "Thank you for the soup." With a nod, he turned to leave, his footsteps measured and purposeful as he headed back towards his own apartment, the bowl, and water bottle still in his hands. 

“Any time.” You said gently as you watched him exit your apartment. 

Once he left, you shut the door behind him. You leaned against the doorway. You had finally done it, finally extended the offer to the neighbor who seemed so detached from the world. He was so cold and distant, that it confused you. You knew he worked in the military but what did he do that made him so closed off? 

You smiled to yourself while dishing up my own soup and heading for the couch. You tucked your feet underneath you and began eating. You looked towards the wall that you shared with him, wondering what he was doing on the other side.

As Simon returned to his own apartment, he closed the door behind him, taking a moment to look around the darkened space. He felt a mixture of gratitude and confusion at the encounter with his neighbor. Your offer of hospitality and genuine warmth had caught him off guard, stirring something within him that he rarely allowed himself to feel.

He set the bowl and water bottle on the counter before making his way to the small window in his apartment. He glanced out, his gaze distant, as he contemplated the connection he felt with you, the neighbor on the other side of the wall. His thoughts were a jumble of conflicting emotions, a battle between his instincts to protect himself and his growing curiosity about you.

Simon took a deep breath, his mind still clouded with questions. He knew he needed to maintain his focus, on staying hidden and avoiding any unnecessary risks. But the encounter had left him with a pang of longing, a desire to know more about you.

With a final glance towards the shared wall, Simon turned his attention back to his own apartment, remembering the need to remain vigilant and cautious. Settling himself into a chair, he began to eat the soup, his thoughts drifting back to the shadows that pursued him, reminding him of the danger that lurked just beyond his doorstep.

The next morning you decided to wake up early and go for a run. you ran a couple miles through the neighborhood streets before heading back to your apartment complex. You had on a well-fitted tank top as well as some spandex pants, your entire body covered in sweat from the exercise. 

Simon steps out of his apartment, dressed in his usual black attire. He carries a duffel bag over his shoulder, containing his gear and essentials. His eyes briefly meet yours.

While you were making my way to the door, you spotted Simon leaving his apartment. You offered him a friendly wave. 

“Good morning,” You said breathlessly, still worn out from your run.

"Morning," he replied, his voice steady and low. Simon's gaze lingered on you for a moment, taking in your sweat-drenched appearance. He notices the determination in your eyes and the evident exhaustion from your run. A flicker of admiration crosses his features, though he quickly masks it.

Simon adjusted the strap of his duffel bag while he nodded in acknowledgment before continuing past you, his footsteps were measured and purposeful. His guard remains up, but there's a subtle hint of curiosity in his eyes as he heads toward the exit of the apartment complex. 

Disappointment flickered in your chest at the less-than-satisfactory greeting that you received from him. You watched him walk past and head for the exit. Your face turned downward in disappointment, looking at the strangely shaped duffle bag he carried on his shoulders. You thought you had gotten through to him last night. Maybe he had slept it off since then. You fumbled with your keys as you turned away from him to open your front door. 

As Simon walked past you, his gaze briefly met yours and he noticed the disappointment on your face. He paused for a moment, his instincts telling him to keep his distance and maintain his focus. However, there's a flicker of hesitation in his eyes as he observes your fumbling with your keys.

Simon takes a step back, his hand reaching out to gently touch your arm. His touch is light, almost hesitant, as he tries to convey a sense of understanding.

You were surprised to look up and see he had returned. His outstretched hand that was placed on your arm causing you to raise your eyebrows in shock at the touch. His hands were calloused yet his touch was gentle. 

"Hey," he says, his voice softer this time. "I...I appreciate your offer of friendship. It's just...I have a lot going on right now. It's not personal."

His gaze met yours, his eyes searching for any sign of understanding. He knew he couldn’t reveal too much, couldn't let his guard down completely. But he also doesn't want to leave you feeling completely dismissed.

"I hope you understand," he continued, his tone sincere. "It's not because of you. I just...can't afford to let anyone get too close right now."

You furrowed your eyebrows together at his explanation. Guilt washed over you slightly, had you been pushing a friendship onto him when he didn’t want one? 

“I'm sorry. I understand it’s okay.” You gave him a tight-lipped smile and a curt nod.

Simon took note of your tight-lipped smile and curt nod, knowing that you were trying to be understanding of his position. He appreciated your acceptance of his boundaries, even though a part of him longs for the connection you offered.

"It means a lot that you understand," he replied, his voice genuine but tinged with a hint of regret. "I didn't mean to push you away."

Simon's gaze softened as he met your eyes, a flicker of vulnerability briefly surfacing. He knew he had to keep his distance, but he couldn't help but feel a pang of longing for the connection you could have had.

"Take care," he said, his voice sincere as he turned away once again, his steps measured and purposeful. He heads towards the exit of the apartment complex, his mind filled with conflicting emotions.

A few weeks had passed since you had last spoken to Simon. His apartment looked vacant every time that you had passed it. He has drawn a hard line in the sand, making it very clear he did not want to be friends. You still felt a pull towards him, something inside of you always did. Every time you left your apartment, you looked towards his door, searching for any sign of movement. 

It had been a bad couple of weeks for you. You and your boyfriend broke up, and your job was firing people left and right. You were worried you might be next. You stood out on the front porch, your face stained with old tears while you took a drag from a cigarette. You didn’t usually smoke. Actually, you never did unless something shitty happened. You pretended not to notice when you saw a familiar figure walking up out of the corner of your eye.

Simon approached the apartment complex, his footsteps measured and purposeful. He noticed you standing on the front porch, a cigarette in hand, your face stained with old tears. His gaze flickers with a mix of concern and hesitation, unsure if he should approach or keep his distance.

He recognized the familiarity of your figure, and a part of him felt an instinctual pull to offer comfort. However, the boundaries he had set still loom in his mind, reminding him of the reasons he had distanced himself. He walks past, his gaze shifting briefly towards you, but he doesn't make any attempt to engage.

Once he was close enough to you, you turned your head towards him. You offered him a half-assed smile. One that was more out of politeness than anything. You didn’t say anything, you weren’t your usual chatty self. You continued to stare up at the night sky as he passed, stamping the now-dead cigarette out onto the concrete. 

Simon notices your unusual smile and the distant look in your eyes as you continue to gaze up at the night sky. He hesitated for a moment, his instincts telling him to keep moving and respect the boundaries he had set.

But something within him, a flicker of empathy, compelled him to pause. He takes a step back, his gaze shifting from the night sky to your face. Simon reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, offering it to you silently.

You looked over as he approached, not saying anything as he dug around in his pocket. As you beheld the pack of cigarettes he offered to you, you looked back up at him and gave him a more genuine smile than before. You delicately took one of the sticks out of the pack. As a thank you, you pulled out your own lighter, then lit it and offered it over to him for his cigarette first. 

Simon's expression softened as he saw your authentic smile. He accepted the lighter you offered and used it to light his own cigarette, taking a long drag. The smoke filled the air, creating a momentary screen between the two of you as you both took in the silence.

Simon leaned against the porch railing, his gaze focused on the night sky. He took another drag from his cigarette, exhaling slowly. The shared act of smoking creates a sense of camaraderie, a silent understanding between two individuals who have experienced their fair share of hardships.

No words are exchanged, but the presence of each other brings a sense of comfort. Simon stands there, side by side with you, allowing the quiet companionship to fill the space between you. It's a small moment of solace amidst the chaos of both your lives.

As the cigarettes burn down, Simon glanced at you, his eyes filled with a mix of empathy and curiosity. He wondered if there was more to your story if there was a reason behind the tears and the distant look in your eyes. But he knew better than to pry, respecting the boundaries he had set.

With a nod of acknowledgment, Simon finished his cigarette and dropped it to the ground, crushing it under his boot. He looked at you one last time, his gaze lingering for a moment  Your eyes met his, giving him a small nod and smile as a thank you before he eventually disappeared into his apartment. 

It was a couple of days later, late into the night. Your ex-boyfriend had come to your apartment, banging on the door and demanding to be let in. 

You opened the door and stood outside of your apartment, the chill of the night giving you goosebumps up your arms. You two were whispering and shouting at each other in a heated argument. 

“You’re too drunk for this. You need to leave!” I shouted in a hushed whisper at him. 

Simon had returned to his apartment late at night, the weight of the day's mission still heavy on his mind. As he approached his door, he couldn't help but overhear the heated argument taking place just a few feet away.

“Come on, just let me stay the night. I’ll make it worth it.” His words slurred together. 

“Go home. Now.” You demanded, but he wasn’t listening. 

Curiosity mixed with concern, Simon's instincts kicking in as he recognized the volatile situation unfolding. He paused for a moment, his hand lingering on the doorknob, contemplating his next move.

“You’ve always been an ungrateful, selfish, bitch, you know that?” He growled, throwing his hands in my face which caused me to flinch backwards. 

Without hesitation, Simon made his way towards you, his steps silent but purposeful. He positioned himself a few feet away, close enough to intervene if necessary.

His presence alone seemed to catch your attention, as you looked towards him with a flicker of desperation in your eyes. Simon's expression hardened his focus now solely on diffusing the situation and ensuring your safety.

"Hey," he said, his voice calm and steady. "Is everything alright here?"

His tone carried a subtle authority, a sternness that demanded attention. 

“Mind your own business, pal.” Your ex-boyfriend snapped at Simon. 

Simon's gaze shifted to your ex-boyfriend, his eyes narrowing slightly as he assessed the situation. He positioned himself between the two of you, silently conveying his intent to protect.

"I think it's time for you to leave," Simon stated firmly, his voice carrying a hint of warning. "She's made it clear that she wants you to go. Respect her wishes and leave, now."

His presence alone radiated a quiet intensity, he was prepared to intervene if the situation escalated any further. Simon's focus remained on ensuring your safety.

You were embarrassed that Simon was witnessing the argument with your ex. 

Relief washed over you as he stepped in between you two. You took a small step closer towards him, trying to make it harder for your ex to try and come after you. Simon stood firm between you and your ex-boyfriend, he registered your small step closer to him, a silent request for protection. 

“Fucking the next-door neighbor, I see. Real classy. I’m out of here. Dirty whore.” Your ex growled at the two of you before storming off. 

Once he was gone, you finally released your breath. You kept your gaze focused on the ground, not wanting to meet his eyes out of pure embarrassment. 

“Thank you.” You said sincerely.

Simon's attention turns back to you. He noticed the embarrassment in your eyes and the way you kept your gaze lowered.

"You don't have to thank me," Simon says softly, his voice gentle yet resolute. "I couldn't stand by and let him threaten you. No one deserves to be treated that way."

He takes a step closer, his hand reaching out to lightly touch your arm in a gesture of reassurance. Simon's touch is gentle, meant to offer comfort in the midst of the chaos.

His hand on your shoulder draws you out of your mind. You looked up at him as soon as he touched you, that familiar spark of electricity coursing through me that you thought was lost. 

"You're safe now," he adds, his voice filled with a mix of concern and understanding. "If you need anything, don't hesitate to reach out."

Now that you were finally able to breathe, a few tears fell down your cheeks at the overwhelming emotions that you felt. The fear you felt earlier slowly disappeared. 

You quickly wiped the salty tears away, sniffling your nose. You met his gaze, a close-mouthed smile on your lips. 

“Thank you. I appreciate the offer.” 

Simon's eyes softened as he saw the tears falling down your cheeks, a pang of empathy tugging at his heart. He removed his hand from your shoulder, giving you the space you needed to compose yourself. He offers you a small, sympathetic smile in return. "You're strong," he added, his voice filled with sincerity. "Remember that. And if you ever need someone to talk to, don't hesitate to reach out. Take care of yourself."

With those parting words, Simon slowly began to step back, allowing you the space to process and move forward at your own pace. His presence, though no longer physically close, lingers as a reminder that you're not alone in this journey. 

It had been another series of weeks with no sign of Simon entering or leaving his apartment. You often wondered where in the world he was. 

Tonight was your friend's birthday and you had entirely too much to drink. You stumbled around on the patio as you approached your door. The whole world was spinning around you. You fumbled with your keys to open the door, only to drop them on the ground. 

“Shit.” You grumbled, bending over to pick them up. Only to lose your balance and fall head-first into the door. 

“Shit!” You cursed again, holding your head as the throbbing continued. Slowly, you slid to a sitting position on the outside of your door. You leaned your head back against the door, struggling to keep your eyes open so you didn’t fall asleep outside on accident. 

Simon had returned to his apartment after a long day of recon, hoping to find some peace and quiet. As he approached his door, he noticed your sitting figure on the patio, leaning back on your own door. Concern flickered in Simon's eyes for a moment. He quickly made his way over to you, his footsteps steady and purposeful. He crouched down beside you, his gaze assessing the situation. Simon reached out a hand to offer support, but paused, unsure if you would welcome his assistance.

"Hey, are you okay?" he asked softly, his voice filled with genuine concern. "Let me help you up."His words were accompanied by a gentle touch on your arm, an offer, should you choose to accept it. Simon's presence exuded a sense of calm and reliability, a steady support. 

You rolled your head to the side upon seeing him crouched down beside you with slight worry in his eyes. Your drunken self was happy to see him, your face lit up with a wide grin. 

“You’re home!” You exclaimed with an excited giggle. 

“I was hoping I’d see you.” 

You grabbed onto his arm and allowed him to help you stand. You wobbled a bit, but eventually found my footing and successfully got the key into the hole. 

“I’m okay, I just need to lie down.” You slurred your words together, attempting to balance on one foot to take your shoes off. Your grip on his arm tightened as you began to lose your balance a little.

Simon couldn't help but let a small smile tug at the corners of his lips as he witnessed your drunken excitement. He steadied himself as you grabbed onto his arm, providing you with the support you needed to stand. Simon's grip on your arm remained firm, ensuring you wouldn't stumble further. He followed your lead as you managed to unlock the door, relieved that you were able to navigate such a simple task.

"I'll help you lie down," Simon said, his voice calm and reassuring. He guided you inside, carefully maneuvering through the threshold and into your apartment. Simon remained by your side, his presence a steady anchor as you balanced on one foot, attempting to remove your shoes.

As you began to lose your balance, Simon's grip on your arm tightened, providing additional support. 

"Take your time," he said softly, his voice filled with patience. 

His hand on your arm was your only anchor to the real world. You could smell him, the waft of his cologne, and the smell of cigarette smoke filling your nostrils. You directed him towards your bedroom. 

You sat down on your bed with a heavy thud, your eyes trying to adjust to the darkness of your room. You looked up at Simon, your mouth agape slightly. 

“Can I tell you something?” You asked in a hushed whisper, even though there wasn’t anybody else around but the two of you.

As you sat down on the bed, Simon positioned himself nearby, his gaze fixed on your face as your eyes struggled to adjust to the darkness. He could sense the weight of your words before you even spoke, a quiet vulnerability in your voice.

"Of course," Simon replied softly, his voice filled with a gentle reassurance. "You can tell me anything.” 

He waited patiently, giving you space and time to gather your thoughts. Simon's expression remained open and understanding, his eyes reflecting a genuine willingness to hear whatever you needed to share.

“My ex, the one who came by the other night, he used to hit me. Always when he was drunk. Drunk and angry.” Your mouth had zero filter, and your brain worked at a slower speed that couldn’t process what you were saying. 

“I just wanted to let you know what you did for me that night, it meant a lot.” You slowly lowered yourself into your bed and tucked yourself under the covers. 

Simon's expression turns solemn as you reveal the painful truth about your past. He listens attentively, his eyes filled with a mixture of empathy and concern. The weight of your words hangs in the air, the gravity of the situation not lost on him.

"I'm so sorry to hear that you had to go through that," Simon responded, his voice laced with genuine sympathy. "No one should ever have to endure that. You didn't deserve any of it."

“Also, I think you’re very handsome.” You added, humming a giggle.

A faint blush crept onto Simon's cheeks at your unexpected compliment. He found himself at a loss for words, momentarily taken aback by your candidness. He offers you a warm smile, his eyes twinkling with a mix of gratitude and appreciation.

"You're very kind," Simon replied, his voice sincere. "Thank you for your words. They mean a lot to me."

Simon remained by your side, ensuring that you were comfortable and safe. He understood the need for rest. With a gentle touch, he adjusted the covers around you and lingered for a moment, his presence a quiet reassurance in the darkness of the room.

"Get some rest," he whispers, his voice barely audible. 

You watch as his hands tenderly touch the blanket to bring it around you further. You gave him a drunk smile, but a genuine one nonetheless. Before he was able to leave, your hand snakes out from under the covers. You wrap your hand around two of his fingers before he can pull away. 

“Wait.” A gentle request. 

Simon feels a soft tug on his fingers as you reach out. He pauses, his eyes meeting yours, and he can sense the shift in your demeanor despite the lingering effects of alcohol. You met his eyes, a new seriousness to them despite your intoxicated state. 

“Would you stay with me?” You whispered the question, yawning in the process.

Without hesitation, Simon nods, a gentle smile gracing his lips. "Of course," he whispers, his voice filled with warmth and reassurance. "I'll stay with you."

Simon observes the exhaustion evident in your yawn and the weariness etched on your face. He understands the weight of your fear, the lingering trauma that keeps you from finding solace in sleep. His presence here, the touch of your hand in his, is a small gesture that offers you a sense of safety and reassurance.

He eased himself into the bed, careful not to disturb you, and laid down beside you. His body settles comfortably, his movements slow and deliberate. Simon finds solace in the simple connection, knowing that it brings you some comfort. The warmth of your touch resonates with him, reminding him of the importance of human connection.

"You're safe," he murmured softly, his words a gentle affirmation. "I won't let anything happen to you."

Unintentionally, you shift your body a little closer to his, Savoring the warmth and proximity of him. 

“Thank you.” you breathed. 

Simon feels the shift of your body as you move closer to him, seeking the warmth and comfort of his presence. He allows you to find that solace, understanding the need for closeness and connection. 

A soft smile graced Simon's lips as he heard your whispered gratitude. He remained still, his eyes watching over you as you finally find the rest you so desperately need. 

"You're welcome," he murmured softly, his voice a mere breath in the quiet room. "Sleep well."

Simon stayed by your side throughout the night, his presence unwavering. He continued to hold your hand, a silent reassurance that you are not alone. As the night passed, he remained vigilant, ensuring that you were comfortable and undisturbed.

Gentle ladders of light cascade through the blinds as the morning sun makes itself known. The light hit your face and gently urged you to wake. You opened your eyes a little, groaning at the headache that you had developed. You shoved your head down into the pillow and let out a long sigh. 

You could feel fingers still laced with yours, drawing your attention. You rotated your head to the side to look at Simon, still resting on the pillow. You smiled groggily at him through closed eyes. 

“Good morning.” Your sore voice rasps out.

Simon stirred slightly as the morning light filtered through the blinds, casting gentle patterns on the room. He had remained awake, keeping a watchful eye throughout the night, ensuring your peace. Simon turned his head toward you, meeting your gaze. He offered a warm smile in return, his eyes filled with a mixture of weariness and genuine care.

"Good morning," Simon responded softly, his voice matching the raspiness of yours. "How did you sleep?"

He shifted slightly, propping himself up on one elbow to get a better look at you. Simon's concern is evident in his expression as he gauged your well-being. 

You looked up at him and smiled. An appreciative smile at everything he had done for you. 

Your heart swelled, your attraction for him growing even larger than it was before. 

“Great.” You responded softly. “Thank you for staying with me.” You squeezed his hand gently. Simon returned your smile, his eyes reflecting the appreciation he felt for your gratitude. He could sense the sincerity in your words, and the depth of your appreciation for his presence throughout the night. It warmed his heart, reinforcing his commitment to protect and support you in any way he can.

"I'm glad to hear that you slept well," Simon replied softly, his voice filled with a gentle warmth. "And you're welcome. It was no trouble."

“Did you sleep at all?” You asked.

As you squeezed his hand, Simon reciprocated the gesture, offering a reassuring squeeze in return. The connection between your hands remained, a silent reminder of the bond that had formed between the two of you. He paused for a moment, contemplating your question. "I managed to get a little rest," he admitted, his voice tinged with a hint of weariness.

It felt like your heart was on cloud nine. Nobody had ever been so kind to you before. 

You gently brushed your thumb across his knuckles, a physical sign of your appreciation for him. 

“Do you want any coffee?” You asked, desperately needing something for a hangover cure.

Simon's heart skipped a beat as he felt the gentle brush of your thumb against his knuckles. The simple gesture speaks volumes, a silent expression of the connection that has grown between the two of you. His smile widened, mirroring the warmth in his eyes.

"I'd love some coffee," Simon responded, his voice conveying gratitude and a hint of amusement.

He released your hand reluctantly, slowly sitting up and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. Simon stretched his arms above his head, feeling the weariness from a night of vigilance in his muscles. As he stood up, he glanced back at you, a playful glint in his eyes.

Your hand went cold as he left it. Your fingers ached from holding it all night, but your heart ached for his hand to return to yours. You slowly stood up from your bed, stretching your body up towards the sky. You were still in your clothes from the other night. 

"Lead the way," he said, gesturing toward the direction of the door.

Simon waited for you to get up, ready to accompany you to the kitchen.

You looked back at him with a smile over your shoulder and made your way out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. 

You loaded the coffee machine up with water and beans, hitting the brew button. 

“It should just take a few minutes to brew. Have a seat if you’d like, I’m going to change really quick.” You offered to him before disappearing back into your room. 

Your door slid back open a crack while you changed inside. You slipped into a pair of sweatpants and a tight-fitting cropped tank top. 

As you invite him to have a seat, Simon nods appreciatively and finds a comfortable spot in the kitchen, taking a seat at the table. He waits patiently, his gaze wandering around the room as he takes in his surroundings. Simon noticed the crack in the door, his eyes being drawn to it. He watched as you took off your shirt, catching a glimpse of your bare back. His face heated as he quickly looked away. 

You emerged back from your room with a smile towards Simon. 

“How do you like your coffee?”

When you returned, Simon's attention immediately shifted toward you, his eyes lingered on your changed attire. A soft smile graced his lips as he admired your casual yet appealing appearance.

"I take it black," Simon responded, his voice warm and sincere. "Just the way it comes."

He watched you with a hint of curiosity. Simon appreciated the opportunity to witness these everyday moments, finding comfort in the simplicity of the situation. As the aroma of freshly brewed coffee fills the air, he can't help but feel a sense of gratitude for this shared moment of respite amidst the chaos of their circumstances.

“Black it is then.” You looked at him with a smile before heading for the cupboard. You stood on my toes as you reached for the coffee mugs, grabbing two and bringing them down. 

The coffee finished with a satisfying ding and you poured it into the two mugs. You brought them over to Simon, setting one down in front of him while you decided to occupy the seat next to him. 

Simon watched you with a soft smile as you efficiently prepared the coffee, appreciating the simple domesticity of the moment. He took in the aroma of the freshly brewed coffee, feeling a sense of comfort settle over him.

"Thank you," he said gratefully as you set the mug in front of him.

The coffee smell hit your nose while you took a sip, the smooth liquid traveling down your throat and you let out a satisfied hum. 

“What do you have planned today?” You asked, looking over the brim of your cup while you took a drink.

Simon took a sip of the coffee, savoring the rich flavor that filled his mouth. The warmth spread through his body, revitalizing him from the weariness of the night. He lets out a contented sigh, enjoying the simple pleasure of this momentary respite.

"I don't have any specific plans for today," he answered honestly, his voice thoughtful. “I usually just wait until they give me the call that they need me again.”

Your eyes sparkled with interest at the mention of his job. 

“You’re in the military right? Is your job scary?” You asked, wanting to know what kept him away for weeks or months at a time. 

Simon's expression softened as he listened to your questions, understanding the curiosity that comes from not fully grasping the nature of his work. He takes a moment to gather his thoughts before responding.

"Yes, I am in the military," Simon confirmed, his voice steady. "And while my job can be intense and demanding at times, it's also filled with a sense of purpose and duty. There are moments of fear and uncertainty, but there's also a strong bond among soldiers, a shared commitment to protect and serve."

He took another sip of his coffee, allowing the warmth to soothe him as he continued. "Being away for extended periods of time is part of the job, unfortunately. It can be challenging, both physically and emotionally, but it's a sacrifice I'm willing to make for the greater good."

You intently listened to him talk as he explained, your eyes never left his, showing your interest. 

“You’re very brave.” You complimented, “Thank you for your service.” 

Simon's cheeks color slightly at your compliment, grateful for your kind words. He nods appreciatively, acknowledging your gratitude.

"Thank you," he replied humbly. "I appreciate it."

Simon looked at you, his eyes filled with determination. "What about you? Is there anything you need to take care of? Anything I can assist you with?" 

You smiled in appreciation at his eagerness to help. 

“No, I didn’t have anything planned today. Just hanging around the apartment I guess.” You shrugged your shoulders a little.

Simon's eyes meet yours, a mixture of determination and vulnerability shining within them. 

“Is there anything you'd like to do? Maybe explore the area, watch a movie, or simply relax?"

You tapped your fingers on the coffee mug, thinking for a moment while looking around your small apartment. “I would watch a movie.” You finally decided.

As you expressed your desire to watch a movie, Simon's smile widened. "That sounds like a great idea," he agrees. 

He stood up from the table, taking his coffee mug with him. Simon moved over to the living area of the apartment, scanning the area for a suitable place to relax. He located a cozy-looking couch and gestured for you to join him.

"Shall we?" he asked, his voice warm with anticipation. "Do you have any preferences for the movie? Or should we just browse and see what catches our interest?"

His wide smile made your heart flutter with attraction as you followed him into the living room with your coffee cup in hand. 

You watched as he took a seat on the couch. You wanted to sit right next to him, you wanted to curl up in his arms but you wanted to respect his boundaries. You didn’t know if he had felt the same what you did. You sat down next to him but kept a small amount of distance between you. 

Simon felt a mixture of anticipation and restraint as you joined him on the couch, maintaining a small distance between the two of you. You respected his boundaries, not wanting to overstep or make him uncomfortable, even though his heart longed to pull you closer.

He settled in beside you, allowing a comfortable silence to envelop the room for a moment. The soft glow of the TV illuminates the space, casting flickering shadows along the walls.

“Um, we can just browse around. Are you in the mood for anything specific?” You asked, turning the TV on in the process.

Turning his attention to the screen, Simon contemplated your question. "I'm open to anything," he replies, his voice gentle. "Maybe something light-hearted or action-packed? Whatever you're in the mood for."

Simon reached for the remote control, preparing to browse through the available options. He glances at you, a warmth in his eyes. "Let me know if anything catches your eye."

You smiled, handing him the remote and moving both your hands to hold the coffee cup and take a drink. You sunk down onto the couch, propping your feet up on the coffee table.

Simon takes the remote from you, his fingers brushing against yours briefly, causing a subtle jolt of electricity to pass through him. He can't help but notice the way you sink into the couch and prop your feet up, a relaxed and inviting posture.

You watched the options fly by the screen, a movie catching your eyes. 

“Oh, I’ve been wanting to watch that one!” You pointed towards the TV at the romance movie that flashed on the screen. 

“Is that okay?”

As you point out the romance movie that caught your eye, Simon's gaze followed your gesture. He glanced at the screen, taking note of the title and plot.

A soft smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he looked back at you. "Of course, that sounds great," he replies, his voice warm and sincere. "I'm always up for a good romance movie."

Simon pressed play on the remote, and the movie started to unfold on the screen. He settled back into the couch, finding a comfortable position next to you while keeping a respectful distance. The soft glow of the TV casts gentle shadows across his features as he steals glances at you throughout the movie, enjoying the shared experience of this quiet moment together.

Your eyes stayed trained on the TV intensely throughout the whole movie, your eyes wide with anticipation the entire time. 

You had finished your coffee, the cup discarded on the table now. At the end of the movie, it had turned sad. The love interest had gotten sick and died. 

Tears had started falling down your face before the credits even started rolling. 

Simon's attention is divided between the movie and stealing glances at you, observing your intense focus on the screen. He can't help but be drawn to the way your emotions play out on your face, reflecting the impact the movie has on you.

The screen went black and you looked over at Simon, your eyes wide with grief. 

“How are you not crying?” You asked, chuckling at yourself while wiping the tears from your face.

As the movie reaches its emotional conclusion, Simon notices the tears streaming down your face. He chuckled a little as he reached out instinctively, his thumb gently wiping away a stray tear from your cheek.

"I guess I have a knack for holding back tears," Simon responded, his voice gentle. 

Simon offered you a small, comforting smile. 

You appreciated the gentle touch of his thumb on your face, leaning into his touch slightly. You looked up at his eyes, an embarrassed smile on your face as you cleaned all the tears off. 

Simon's heart skipped a beat as you leaned into his touch, his thumb lingering on your cheek for a moment longer before he withdrew his hand. He can't help but feel a surge of warmth at the sight of your smile, finding solace in your vulnerability.

“I just love, love.” You admitted, settling back into the couch with a little shuffle, your body ever so slightly closer to Simons this time. He notices the subtle shift in your position, the proximity between the two of you inching closer. Simon's breath caught momentarily, his eyes locking with yours, a flicker of something deeper passing between you.

“What now?” You asked, looking up to meet his gaze.

"Now," he said, his voice gentle yet filled with a hint of anticipation, "we can simply enjoy each other's company. We can continue talking, share stories, or even sit in silence. Whatever you feel like doing."

You smiled at him, tucking your feet beneath you to face him better. Your knee brushed up against where his leg was. You propped your head up on your elbow on the back of the couch. 

You hummed in thought, thinking of a question to ask. 

“Do you have any siblings?” You asked, taking this opportunity to get to know him better.

Simon’s chest tightened a little bit. Family wasn’t an easy topic for him. In fact, he tried to avoid it at all costs. He remembered your vulnerability last night, that you were able to trust him. Even though his training was screaming at him not to, he decided to trust you with a vulnerable part of him. 

“I had a younger brother. We weren’t that close growing up.”

You felt your heartstrings tug in remorse for him. You didn’t need the full story to get the implication that his brother was no longer alive. You felt a little guilty for picking a loaded topic for him. You gently reached your hand across to his, taking the rough skin into yours. You laced your fingers together and squeezed gently. 

“I’m so sorry.” You offered sympathy. 

“It’s alright. It was a long time ago.” Simon replied. He looked down at his lap where your hands connected, feeling a lightness in his chest that he wasn’t quite used to. 

Your gaze returned to his.

“I really enjoy being around you, Simon.” You admitted, looking into his eyes with a soft seriousness. 

“Thank you for letting me in.” You spoke with sincerity.

Simon felt a rush of warmth surge through him as he felt your hand squeeze, a connection forming between the two of you. The blush on your face causes a gentle smile to appear on his own.

"I feel the same way," Simon responded, his voice filled with sincerity. "Being around you has brought me comfort and a sense of belonging. It's rare to find someone who understands and accepts the complexities of my life, and I'm grateful to have you in it."

He took a moment to gather his thoughts, his gaze unwavering as he continued to hold your hand. "Thank you for letting me in too. It means more to me than you know. The trust and openness we have, it's something I will cherish."

Simon leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a soft, intimate tone. "I'm here for you, to support you, and to share these moments together. Whatever may come, know that I'm by your side."

His eyes searched yours, filled with a mix of affection and vulnerability. In that moment, Simon realized just how much he has come to care for you, and the thought of being apart becomes increasingly unbearable.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you looked up at him, your eyes never leaving him. Never breaking the intense gaze. As he leaned in, the sweet smell of coffee lingered on your face. You smile at him slightly, your eyes darting back and forth between his. 

You reached your hand up, gently and tenderly resting it on the side of his face. You stroked your thumb gently against the stubble growing on his face. As you reach up to touch the side of Simon's face, a surge of electricity courses through him. His heart pounded in his chest, matching the rhythm of yours, as he felt the tender stroke of your thumb against his stubbled cheek. The air between you crackles with anticipation, and time seems to stand still.

You close the gap between your bodies, your legs now fully touching each other as you leaned forward to plant a gentle kiss on his lips.

Without hesitation, Simon reciprocates the closeness, his body leaning into yours as your lips meet in that soft, gentle kiss. The world faded away, replaced by the warmth and tenderness exchanged between you.

In that moment, everything feels right. The worries and dangers that surround you both momentarily fade into the background, leaving only the connection shared between your bodies and souls. Simon's hand finds its way to the small of your back, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss ever so slightly.

The kiss lingers, both a promise and a declaration of the feelings that have grown between you. Simon's heart swelled with a mixture of joy, vulnerability, and a newfound sense of hope. Your heart felt like it was thriving- like it finally received what it needed to live. His lips part from yours, but his eyes remain locked with yours, silently conveying a multitude of emotions.

"I... I didn't expect this," Simon confessed, his voice filled with a mixture of surprise and affection. "But I'm glad it happened. I feel a connection with you that I can't ignore."

He took a moment to gather his thoughts, his thumb gently caressing your cheek. "I don't know what the future holds, but I want to explore it with you. Whatever comes our way, I want to face it together." 

As he pulled away, Your eyes flickered open. you stared up at him, an affectionate smile on your features as you listened to the words he said, your heart swelling with adoration in the process. You leaned into the touch of his hand on your face, never wanting him to let go. Your hand that was on his face now rested on his shoulder, gently stroking my thumb on the base of his neck. 

You smiled widely at his words and nodded your head. 

“I like the sound of that.”

Simon's heart swelled with a mixture of happiness and relief at your response. The touch of your hand on his shoulder sent shivers down his spine, igniting a warmth that spread throughout his entire being. He couldn’t help but lean into your touch, savoring the connection that formed between you.

The affectionate smile on your face brought out a matching smile on Simon's lips, his eyes shimmering with a newfound sense of contentment. He takes a deep breath, his voice filled with tenderness.

"I'm glad you feel the same way," Simon said, his voice filled with sincerity. "There's something special between us, something worth exploring and nurturing."

He traced a finger along your jawline, his touch feather-light. "In this chaotic world, finding someone who understands and accepts you is a rare gift. I don't want to let that slip away."

Simon leaned in, his forehead gently resting against yours, his voice barely above a whisper. "I want to be there for you, to support you, and to build something beautiful together. Let's make the most of this connection, one step at a time."

His eyes searched yours, seeking confirmation and assurance. In this quiet moment, Simon realized that he had found something he never thought possible amidst the chaos of his life — a chance at love and a future worth fighting for.

[safety-pin-punk]

Punk 101: A History of Battle Jackets

Battle Jackets have a long and interesting history in general, not limited only to punk. Today we see them as a reflection of the wearer, they are a form of self expression and affiliation.

Battle jackets can trace their origins back to WWII American pilots who would decorate their flight suits and bomber jackets with their squadron's insignia patches. They were jackets that allowed pilots to easily recognize each other and instilled a sense of pride and community in their owners. This is also where the term 'battle jacket' comes from.

After the war was over, pilots returned home and many found joy in the speed and excitement of motorcycles. Biker clubs were formed, and thus, biker culture as well. Pilots often used their bomber jackets while riding because of the protection they offered, though the sleeves were usually removed due to how they restricted movement. Jackets got decorated with club/gang logos to represent their wearer's affiliation, much like the insignia patches. As biker clubs grew, members without a pilot history often used leather or denim jackets to showcase their affiliations. There is a LOT more to biker jacket history, but this is what's really relevant to punk jackets.

In the 60s, two different cultures evolved in the UK. The first is The Mods, known for listening to modern jazz and riding scooters (supposedly their name comes from the modern jazz thing. I would not have been surprised if it was from 'modification' considering the seeming obsession to keep adding mirrors and lights to their scooters). The other group was The Rockers who were known for listening to 50s rock and riding motorcycles. While the groups strongly disliked each other, they both decorated their jackets in ways that influenced punk's jacket scene. The Mods often added pictures, paintings, and patches to theirs, while The Rockers were more likely to be seen sporting spikes and studs. (Not to say that those things were strictly limited to each side - just what was more common)

The following decade (the 70s), the two branches came together as various music subgenres collided and formed. Punk was among the genres formed, and the culture surrounding it was one of the first non-gang or club related groups to decorate their jackets. Taking influence from both The Mods and The Rockers, the characteristic punk look was formed, and intended to be a Fuck You to societal norms. In the earliest days, punk jackets were mostly covered in band patches, much like modern heavy metal jackets. As punk evolved into what we know it as today, with notes of anti-establishment and anarchy, it became more common to see political patches right along side the band ones.

Today's jackets are a personal statement. the bands you like, your interests, political statements. They are a symbol of individuality and rebellion against society. They are a physical representation of YOU and your history with punk culture. This is why it is so important within punk culture to make your own jacket or have someone help who can customize it to you. You are not a generic human off the rack, you have lived a life, had your own battles, have your own personality, and have your own history. A premade, mass produced jacket won't showcase any of that or really truly represent the individuality of 'you'.

[kemetic-dreams]

Once you call yourself a Negro, the scientifically written you out of existence. There is no land called Negro, no language or culture- Malcolm X

Right now, in this country, if you and I, 22 million African-Americans -- that's what we are -- Africans who are in America. You're nothing but Africans. Nothing but Africans. In fact, you'd get farther calling yourself African instead of Negro. 

Black names don't exist, black land does not exist, black language does not exist. Human skin comes from the darkest brown to the lightest hues. We are Africans. African populations have the highest levels of genetic variation among all humans.- Khepri Neteru

By the early 1900s, nigger had become a pejorative word in the United States. In its stead, the term colored became the mainstream alternative to negro and its derived terms. After the American Civil Rights Movement, the terms colored and negrogave way to "black". Negro had superseded colored as the most polite word for African Americans at a time when black was considered more offensive.[126][failed verification] This term was accepted as normal, including by people classified as Negroes, until the later Civil Rights movement in the late 1960s. One well-known example is the use by Dr. Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. of "Negro" in his famous speech of 1963, I Have a Dream. During the American civil rights movement of the 1950s and 1960s, some African-American leaders in the United States, notably Malcolm X, objected to the word Negrobecause they associated it with the long history of slavery, segregation, and discrimination that treated African Americans as second-class citizens, or worse.[127] Malcolm X preferred Black to Negro, but later gradually abandoned that as well for Afro-American after leaving the Nation of Islam.[128]

Since the late 1960s, various other terms for African Americans have been more widespread in popular usage. Aside from black American, these include Afro-American (in use from the late 1960s to 1990) and African American (used in the United States to refer to Black Americans, people often referred to in the past as American Negroes).[129]

In the first 200 years that black people were in the United States, they primarily identified themselves by their specific ethnic group (closely allied to language) and not by skin color. Individuals identified themselves, for example, as Ashanti, Igbo, Bakongo, or Wolof. However, when the first captives were brought to the Americas, they were often combined with other groups from West Africa, and individual ethnic affiliations were not generally acknowledged by English colonists. In areas of the Upper South, different ethnic groups were brought together. This is significant as the captives came from a vast geographic region: the West African coastline stretching from Senegal to Angola and in some cases from the south-east coast such as Mozambique. A new African-American identity and culture was born that incorporated elements of the various ethnic groups and of European cultural heritage, resulting in fusions such as the Black church and African-American English. This new identity was based on provenance and slave status rather than membership in any one ethnic group.

By contrast, slave records from Louisiana show that the French and Spanish colonists recorded more complete identities of the West Africans, including ethnicities and given tribal names.

The U.S. racial or ethnic classification "black" refers to people with all possible kinds of skin pigmentation, from the darkest through to the very lightest skin colors, including albinos, if they are believed by others to have African ancestry (in any discernible percentage). There are also certain cultural traits associated with being "African American", a term used effectively as a synonym for "black person" within the United States