#pyd

[scottishcommune]

In Northern Syria, 2.5 million people are living in a stateless, feminist, religiously tolerant, anti-capitalist society of their own creation. They call their territory Rojava, and they defend it fiercely. They’re at war with the extremist group ISIS, and they’re doing better than anyone in the world expected — least of all the Western powers who seek to treat them as pawns.

It’s a complicated situation, but we in the rest of the world have much to learn from the Rojava revolution. To that end, we offer this long-form introduction to the history and the present struggle of the Kurdish people.

Long live the Rojava revolution!

[bajibitch]

Do you have it?

Warnings: same violence from the manga

     A few years ago when you graduated college, things were hard although you were told life would be easier with your degree in engineering. You had all the knowledge necessary to apply for the high paying jobs, like everyone wanted you to, but at the time no one accepted your applications. They didn't want someone new, it was comparable to a clique, you had to know someone to be welcomed in. It was a lot being at home after many rejections. Living in a town surrounded by people who trusted you to live out their dream. They didn't care for the details of what happened, or how difficult it was to achieve their goals. All they saw was disappointment and they never failed to mention it. Their encouraging advice was replaced with irritating reminders that you needed to try harder, after all, you were an adult, and suddenly it was too much to let you stay there doing nothing.

     It wasn't long before you started working any kind of job. You didn't care about the toll it took on your body, you just needed money. You knew that's what everyone was more upset about, so you figured if you had it then they'd be more understanding or kind, at least. But then problems started to come when they saw you as some big shot. People would come to you easily, unashamed to ask for money and of course you'd give and give and give. You had to since your parents' voice was always in your ear saying how it wasn't much, you had plenty. They were bleeding you dry, at that point you worked solely for your small town and it drove up the wall, until you broke. Even though there was no physical restraint, you felt as if you could never be happy as long as you stayed there, so you left.

     You had nothing but the six thousand dollars you pulled from your bank account. With the help of a work friend, you managed to get a small apartment in Tokyo. The landlord gave you the space without demanding a security deposit, but in return you had to help with repairs since you had trade skills; she'd pay you for the labor. It was a great deal, and for a while you were happy. You found yourself and enjoyed the fruits of your labor. Buying the things you always wanted and going to places you've remembered hearing people in your hometown discussing. The experience was worth it, but you knew it wouldn't last without money. During your time at home working trades, you'd get paid cash after you finished your job, but working part time was different. You needed your money to buy food but they held your check for a month. It wasn't long before your frustration took control and you were making desperate decisions.

     You were normally careful with your choices but at the time you didn't care to borrow money from the mafia. They gave you so much and with it you brought your food, then realized you needed clothes, and added some shoes since you only had a few pairs. Then you remembered that college was expensive and you had a lot of debt, but with the money you loaned from the mafia, you paid it off. Things were easier when you had their financial aid and with it, you could get that job you spent your life working for. You could make all that suffering worth it, and it was. Even though you had to get it through a generous donation to the company, it was nice to have been given a high position. It wasn't fair to the others but your work was unmatched, so their disgust soon became admiration. You've been through so much, and now you sit in your office updating your latest design, you were so into your work you didn't notice your boss standing in the doorway until he knocked on the wall.

     "Don't stay up late, smart people lose their knowledge if they don't sleep." He laughed but you knew he was serious. Unlike other bosses, he didn't want his employees to overwork themselves. Then again, since you bought the job you never figured when he was being genuine. You looked over your work and made a few notes before you left your office and started your trip home. Your hands were in your pockets as you walked down the street occasionally staring up at the lights. It was beautiful, but you couldn't focus on them for too long when you had this voice telling you to run. You tried to ease the feeling and told yourself it was nothing, maybe you're just hungry from missing lunch. You were doing good ignoring your gut until you spotted a fancy, large black truck. It stopped near you, blocking the walkway and a few men dressed in suits got out. The man in the center, leading the group, had white shoulder length hair and a Bonten symbol tattooed on the left side of his head. It was the executive, Kokonoi. When he said your name you sprinted and didn't look back. You knew what he was there for and you couldn't give it to him. They chased you through the alley way and down the streets but after a while you were able to blend in with the crowd. You took the long way home going through hoops to make sure they weren't pursuing you. By the time you made it home the sun was set and no one in the neighborhood had their lights on. You checked your driveway and made sure there weren't any cars, it was empty. So you went to your door and walked in the house, taking off your coat and shoes before you went further in.

     "We parked a few blocks down." Kokonoi was seated on the sofa while his men blocked the entrance. You tried to go towards the staircase and guns were drawn. "I'm here for the money, but surely you knew that since you ran." He leaned forward and looked in your eyes even though they were shaking from the fear. "So either you have the money and you're being stupid, or you're dumb enough to believe you could skip town. Which is it?"

     "You got the wrong person." Your voice was so low he nearly missed it. He cupped his ear and moved closer and told you to repeat yourself. "Yo-" But he punched you in the face before you could. Blood poured out your nose and you clenched your face groaning.

     "Are done lying?" He pulled out a ledger and tapped on your signature. "You signed your name next to the amount you were given, and it's a lot of money. Do you have it?"

     "Please don't kill me." Your heart sank to your ass and you dropped to the floor with your hands folded, begging him for mercy. You grabbed at his clothes but he kicked you back.

     "You stacked up nearly five hundred thousand dollars, I can't give you a slap on the wrist. Especially not after you ran off and lied about it. Hell we could've sat and talked about monthly payments since you got your new job, but you went about it the wrong way." He snapped his fingers and you were being held up by two men while another stood in front of you.

     "Please no! I can pay you back! Please you said it yourself!" You yelled but he ignored you and prepared his equipment. If you weren't being held, you would've collapsed from the force of the punches being delivered. Memories you thought were long gone suddenly flooded your mind. It goes on for nearly fifteen minutes but for you it felt like hours. At one point you were on the ground trying to protect your face while they kicked and stomped on you.

     "Enough, hold'em up." You felt a cool chill over your wrist as Kokonoi cleaned the area, you were confused until you heard buzzing. You tried pulling your arm but the grip his men had was much stronger. "It'll look horrible if you keep doing that." He hummed as he started to pierce your skin with the needle. Getting a tattoo wasn't something you planned on doing since you knew it'd be painful, but in the moment you were more focused on the pain near your chest and wondering if you would die. The tattoo was similar to his own, but it wrapped around your wrist like a permanent bracelet. "All done." He freed your wrist and you were dropped to the floor. The men took his equipment and left the house, a few paramedics replaced their presence but Kokonoi remained. He followed the medics as they hoisted you into the ambulance. "You work for Bonten now, wait, work implies that you're getting paid. Property is a better word. When you're released from the hospital, there will be someone to pick you up. Don't do anything stupid in the meantime."

[lephenixkurde]

"Le gouvernement des Kurdes, le gouvernement partisan et ordres sociaux alternatifs", un livre recommandé par l'Institut kurde de Paris

Joyce Blau - cofondatrice de l'Institut kurde de Paris - ne tarit pas d'éloge sur l'ouvrage collectif "Le gouvernement des Kurdes, gouvernement partisan et ordres sociaux alternatifs" qui vient de paraître aux éditions Karthala, sous la direction de Gilles Dorronsoro. Un gage de sérieux pour un livre qui n'a pas d'équivalent jusqu'ici.

Joyce Blau a introduit la conférence de Gilles Dorronsoro, Olivier Grosjean, Hardy Mède et Nicolas Ressler-Fessy. / Photo B. D.

Les nombreux auditeurs de la conférence donnée le 16 décembre à l'IKP ont été particulièrement attentifs aux propos de Gilles Dorronsoro, professeur de science politique enseignant à l’Université Paris 1 Panthéon-Sorbonne, et de trois des co-auteurs (1) venus présenter le livre avec lui, samedi : Olivier Grojean, maître de conférences à l’Université Paris 1 Panthéon-Sorbonne; Hardy Mède, associé à l’Université Paris 1 Panthéon-Sorbonne mais aussi enseignant à l’Institut catholique de Paris; et enfin Nicolas Ressler-Fessy, chargé de cours à l'Institut national des langues et civilisations orientales, par ailleurs membre du programme Turquie de Noria-Research.

Tous se sont penchés sur une période exceptionnelle depuis la fin de l'Empire Ottoman, les trois décennies qui ont vu "la pointe de fer des Etats régionaux" desserrer leur étreinte autour des Kurdes qui sont des dizaines de millions répartis sur l'Iran, la Turquie, l'Irak et la Syrie depuis le Traité de Lausanne signé en 1923. Comme le rappellent les auteurs dans leur quatrième de couverture, cela fait donc un siècle que les Kurdes "se mobilisent régulièrement pour obtenir des droits culturels, une autonomie régionale, voire l'indépendance".

Lire mon article : "Un génocide oublié, 100 ans de solitude pour les Kurdes"

Si la perspective d'un Etat kurde n'a jamais été aussi lointaine pour des Kurdes en partie lâchés par leurs alliés occidentaux après la victoire contre Daesh, toutes les années de lutte n'ont pas été vaines, que ce soit celles du PDK et de l'UPK à Bashur (Kurdistan Sud, au nord de l'Irak), celles du YPG/PYD au Rojava (Kurdistan Ouest, au nord de la Syrie), ou encore celles du PKK à Baqur (Kurdistan Nord, est/sud-est de la Turquie) et chez ses voisins.

Une date constitue à cet égard un moment de bascule, la résolution 688 du Conseil de sécurité des Nations Unies, adoptée le 5 avril 1991, qui crée une "no-fly zone" au-dessus du Kurdistan irakien victime d'un terrible génocide pendant les années Saddam, l'opération Anfal.

Commander mon livre "Un génocide oublié, la voix brisée du peuple kurde"

Protégés des bombardements chimiques et des crimes de masse, les peshmergas des deux principaux partis se livrent bientôt une guerre fratricide, jusqu'à ce que la guerre civile entre PDK et UPK débouche finalement sur un accord signé en septembre 1998 sous l'égide des États-Unis, prélude à la création de la Région autonome du Kurdistan irakien.

La guérilla du PKK qui s'étend de son côté au Rojava ainsi que les interventions américaines en Irak et en Syrie vont par ailleurs favoriser le PYD, fondé en 2003 par des membres syriens du PKK à Qandîl, dans les montagnes du Kurdistan irakien.

Résultat, pour la première fois, des populations kurdes sont gouvernées par des mouvements kurdes. Et c'est bien là l'objet du livre dont il est question ici.

A rebours d’une conception romantique et loin des clichés sur les tribus kurdes, les auteurs montrent la centralité des partis politiques dans l’organisation des ordres sociaux alternatifs en vigueur au nord de l'Irak et de la Syrie mais aussi en Turquie, notamment à Baqur qui va bénéficier entre 2013 et 2015 des bienfaits d'un cessez-le-feu entre le PKK et le pouvoir, au bénéfice du HDP pro-Kurde créé en 2012.

A partir de données originales tirées de temps longs passés sur le terrain en Turquie, en Irak et en Syrie, les auteurs analysent ces «gouvernements partisans» dans toute leur complexité. Un travail d'autant plus intéressant que les mouvements kurdes se trouvent confrontés à la gestion de minorités non kurdes, notamment en Irak et en Syrie, provoquant une adaptation du programme politique ou la mise en place de régimes discriminatoires, selon les cas.

Pour en savoir plus, il faut lire "Le gouvernement des Kurdes, le gouvernement partisan et ordres sociaux alternatifs", sous la direction de Gilles Dorronsoro, Paris, Karthala, 2023, 368p. Vendu au prix de 30€. Gilles Dorronsoro qui a annoncé que l'ouvrage allait être traduit en anglais très bientôt.

(1) Ont aussi contribué à cet ouvrage : Yohanan Benhaïm, Boris James, Sarah Guillemet, Patrick Haenni, Felix Legrand, Jean-François Pérouse, Cléa Pineau, Arthur Quesnay, Clémence Scalbert Yücel.

[kristinhelberg]

Reden über Kurdistan

Analyse und Reportage aus Hasaka für Le Monde Diplomatique Oktober 2023

[alittlefurtheroutoftheway]

Bursa'da FETÖ/PYD Üyesi İhraç Polis Yakalandı

Bursa’nın İnegöl ilçesinde, FETÖ/PYD üyesi olduğu gerekçesiyle hakkında kesinleşmiş hapis cezası bulunan bir ihraç polis, Jandarma Komutanlığı ekipleri tarafından yakalandı. İnegöl Jandarma Komutanlığı’na bağlı JASAT (Jandarma Suç Araştırma Timi) ekipleri, 2017 yılında Tekirdağ’ın Saray ilçesinde Emniyet Müdürlüğü’nde görev yaparken FETÖ/PYD üyesi olmaktan dolayı görevden ihraç edilen ve…

[zerihcom]

Trump’tan Erdoğan’a Övgü: “Suriye’nin Geleceği Türkiye’nin Ellerinde”

1 minute ABD’nin yeni seçilen Başkanı Donald Trump, Florida’da düzenlediği basın toplantısında Türkiye’nin Suriye’deki etkisini ve Cumhurbaşkanı Recep Tayyip Erdoğan’ın rolünü övgü dolu sözlerle değerlendirdi. Trump, Beşar Esed rejiminin devrilmesiyle birlikte Suriye’deki olayların kontrolünün büyük ölçüde Türkiye’nin elinde olduğunu ifade etti. Trump, konuşmasında Esed rejiminin çöküşünü…

[mkn314]

پایان دیکتاتوری بشار اسد

The end of Bashar al-Assad's dictatorship

Continue reading پایان دیکتاتوری بشار اسد

[astrcmoni]

the journals album isn’t spoken on enough and it’s a serious HEINOUS crime.

I miss when he was lightskin😓

[neighbourscat]

𝐒𝐄𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐆𝐘 || 𝙧𝙖𝙛𝙚 𝙘𝙖𝙢𝙚𝙧𝙤𝙣

𓈒  ˙ ꪆৎ   ꣹  ۫  𖨂 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 . .. . president’s son!rafe cameron X crisis manager!black!fem!reader. ||

𓈒  ˙ ꪆৎ   ꣹  ۫  𖨂 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 . .. . lowercase intended! second person reading-perspective. mature language! ‘G’ in ‘God’ & ‘J’ in Jesus is lowercased. age-gap between black!fem!reader (32) & rafe cameron (24) / power dynamic! multiple uses of ‘y/n’ and ‘ms. mcclellan’. mentions of political corruption and doctoring. suggestion of and carrying out of an inappropriate relationship — while engaged to another! political drama! heavily inspired by scandal and how to get away with murder. wordcount :: 3.8k!++

𓈒  ˙ ꪆৎ   ꣹  ۫  𖨂 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 . .. . pyd, justin bieber ft. r. kelly ! || nervous, the neighbourhood !

BY ANY MEANS NECESSARY

with a perfect, manicured nail hovering over the green-call button, you thought of every way the next few minutes could go. each turn, each road block, each scenario more vivid than the next of how your mother would make the conversation / your situation, about her; letting you know what she wouldn’t have done, like ‘lie straight to the chief of staff, the national security advisor, and senior white house counsel’, though she sure would have, or remind you again that the white house just wasn’t the place for you. the courtroom was, by her side. she was batman, you were always robin.

you’ve tried the courtroom with your mother. you’ve tried ‘tegan mcclellan & associates’ law firm. it took you four years to realize that that wasn’t exactly the path you wanted to continue down, for building your own name and your own career was impossible with a.) tegan mcclellan constantly in your ear and b.) within the walls of tegan mcclellan’s fix-it-all firm. you experienced first hand why, sometimes, being employed in a family business does not work.

though, there were good things that came from ‘tegan mcclellan & associates’ .. you guessed your fiancé wasn’t too bad when he wasn’t complaining about work, loathing your mother, or drinking himself to sleep. like your friends, who were ( are ) constantly competing for your mother’s attention, approval, or begging you to put in a good word so they could take charge of a case.

you switched off your cellphone. you pulled open a drawer of your new desk and dropped the device into the empty space. you froze, taking another look at your phone .. and closed the drawer — a single knock sounded at the doorframe. you quickly gathered your thoughts.

“i heard what you did.” announcing her presence; it was gemma sutherland, looking slim and trim in a navy blue dress with white stripes under a plain cardigan, white pantyhose, and dirty red flat heels — this was gemma’s first year as the chief of staff’s assistant. gemma’s job entailed her to run around the west wing; delivering reports, key files, and memos to the chief of staff and the senior advisor. “you are incredible, ms. mcclellan.”

“thanks.” you hummed, unenthusiastic. you glanced over to the door, your expression cool and calm. you waved gemma in. your dark eyes — eyes that had sized up countless opponents in debate, law school — fixed on gemma with the kind of intensity that made her stomach flip. you weren’t just intimidating; you were magnetic.

gemma could hear her heartbeat in her ears, she did her best to keep her face neutral. “i, um, just wanted to applaud you,” she answered, her voice sounding a touch higher than usual, “i actually wanted to speak with you, ask a question or two .. really quickly, before you’re off.” gemma grabbed herself a chair, one of the three that had been lined up against the wall, and set it opposite your desk. without thinking much, she asked: “the recording was ‘doctored’?” not of usual icebreaker variety.

you gave a clean nod — you removed the president’s son from the narrative entirely. the recording was manipulated? a bold lie. a dangerous lie. but in today’s age; a world where digital forgeries were becoming harder to detect, it was plausible. “i know it’s not my place, but .. i’d rather hear about it - all of it - from you than the news, or office whispers in passing, if that - what happened in there?”

gemma knew of you. she knew a lot, but she learned more from the catch-up! category of the insider’s edge ( gemma had followed every article, every piece of gossip ); a self-owned, widely-read platform run by a seasoned political commentator who thrived on breaking exclusive, behind-the-scenes stories from capitol hill to the oval office. the blog’s built a reputation for sharp, incisive commentary, particularly on the role of women of color in washington’s power circles.

you weren’t just any washington insider. you were practically political royalty; the blog had chronicled your ascent from law school — where you showed flashes of brilliance akin to your mother’s — to your internships on captiol hill, and now to your coveted role in the white house.

the insider’s edge had consistently highlighted the pressures you face: navigating your role as a woman of color in a predominantly white, male political landscape while constantly being compared to your mother’s success. the blog didn’t dare shy away from critiquing your every decisions:

the blog’s most recent headlines:

— “following in her mother’s footsteps or creating her own path? y/n mcclellan’s first 100 days in the white house starts today!”

— “does washington have room for two mcclellan women? a look at the legacy y/n has to uphold!”

— “the new! crisis manager to watch: will y/n mcclellan rise above the expectations?”

— “recently engaged. is y/n taking his last name? or is he taking hers? i’d take hers! duh!”

gemma, with her auburn bob and bang swoosh, leaned in a bit — holding both hands over the edge of your desk. when you looked into her light brown eyes, it was just enough to make gemma’s heart rate spike — yeah .. gemma read the insider’s edge a lot, went nowhere without the tab available on that samsung device in her back pocket.

“gemma -“ you had barely exhaled when a harsh knock blared at your office door. rafe cameron stood in the doorway; tie loosened, sleeves rolled up, his usually composed expression shadowed by disbelief. his gaze cut past gemma and landed directly on you.

she looked between you and the president’s son .. not wasting a second — gemma nodded, pushing the chair back. she hurried out, not even brushing past the towering man .. and as she raced way back down the hall, she realised that she had gotten an answer to something that had been bothering her for months.

gemma sutherland was a reddit user. an avid user. months ago, she had stumbled upon a conversation post that had asked what y/n mcclellan smelled like, if one had to guess; many answered ‘too good to be described’, while others answered ‘chocolate’ or ‘vanilla’ or ‘pumpkin’ or ‘sea salt’, like a cool summer night on the boardwalk.

but gemma had an answer: floral. powdery. classic. like baby lotion. or exactly baby lotion.

— he closed the door behind gemma, careful not to let it slam.

“if you’re here to thank me .. don’t.” you started in ( poor ) attempt to lighten the air. and that was no good. you weren’t sure why you even tried. you remembered how he looked at you in the situation room — why would right now be any different? “why are you in here, rafe?” you should have started with that.

rafe took another step closer — hands in his pockets. and then another .. until he was standing directly in front of you, close enough that you could see the way his pulse ticked in his throat. close enough that the toe-part of your pearly-white heels bumped into his shins — you instantly uncrossed your legs .. any type of contact had your mind melting.

low and quiet: “because you lied.”

you should have expected this. “i did what had to be done.” you had lied. boldly. completely. without hesitation. you had taken something that was undeniably real and turned it into a fabrication. a deepfake. a smear campaign. a coordinated attack on the administration.

and the worst part?

people were actually believing it. the press was running headlines about AI-generated disinformation. pundits on cable news were questioning whether the recording could be trusted. the white house’s story was sticking ..

but it shouldn’t have been, because rafe had been there.

the scandal wasn’t just bad. it was catastrophic. it had everything the opposition could have hoped for — a secret meeting, an incriminating recording, and the president’s son; the face of the first family’s younger generation, at the center of it. the tape painted a clear picture: rafe cameron had tried to broker a private deal with a foreign power — one with enough economic leverage to tip the election if they pulled their support.

if the recording had gone unchecked, it wouldn’t just cost the president his reelection — it would have triggered a congressional investigation, accusations of collusion, and a media storm that wouldn’t die down until the administration was irreparably damaged.

and you had just buried all of it. you had stood in the situation room, surrounded by the most powerful men in the country, and rewritten reality with nothing but your voice — maybe your mother would be proud. you did what you always did. you fixed it .. but fixing wasn’t the word for what you had done. you lied. you fabricated a reality that did not exist — “by any means necessary,” your mother had instilled.

“i did it. i did that. i went behind my father’s back - you should have let me take the fall.”

you shook your head, rolling the office chair back .. giving yourself space to stand up. “i fixed it. i handled it.” he scoffed, scratching the scrunch in between his full eyebrows, “th- .. that shit? you call that fucking-shit fixing? handling? really, y/n?”

he watched as you circled around him and take position at the opposite end of your office .. at the liquor cabinet; its contents: high-end and classic. whiskey / bourbon, cognac, vodka, wine / champagne. “i saved you,” you corrected. “i saved you from public - generational trauma and humiliation -“

you snatched up a glass .. you wouldn’t go for something subtle. not tonight. you bypassed the carefully curated diplomatic wines and the champagne meant for toasts. you didn’t reach for the vodka — too clean, too impersonal. no .. you went for the bourbon. something strong and powerful. something with weight. you didn’t bother with a slow pour. two fingers, neat. no ice. no dilution.

“- you are welcome -“

“oh come-the fuck-on!” with lengthy strides, rafe came up behind and stole the glass of bourbon before you could gulp down the rest. “be honest with me, huh? you’re capable of that, yeah? me, not them? right?!”

a deep sigh, annoyed and exhausted. mentally. emotionally. politically. “if i didn’t, the administration would be over.”

“bullshit.” he set the glass down.

you rolled your eyes and reached for another mini glass. “well .. what else do you want me to say?”

“hmm, how about the fucking truth? hmm? for once, maybe? that would be fan-fucking-tastic.”

you huffed when his warm hands stopped yours from taking the bottle of bourbon. rafe then, gripped your shoulders and forcefully turned your front to face him completely. “what .. in the fuck .. were you even thinking?”

again: “the administration.”

rafe dropped his head — “you’re lying.” he removed his heavy hands from your shoulders and started toward your desk, creating distance. he couldn’t breathe anymore. taking a breath felt so much harder on his body. “this .. this wasn’t just about the administration.” rafe met your gaze again, “you didn’t lie to protect my father, his feelings and his job. what-the fuck-ever. you did that to .. to protect me. and i need to know why.”

yeah .. that had nothing to do with the president. and it had nothing to do with the reelection. “you don’t get it.” the answer was short, and way too simple.

“then make me get it.”

you shook your head — grabbing your previous glass of bourbon — because saying it out loud made it real. and if it was real, then so was the madness of what you had done. you had spent this entire year crafting your new career; fighting, clawing your way into the president’s inner circle, making yourself indispensable.

you felt like your mother.

the single woman who raised you to be sharp, relentless, untouchable. the woman who spent her life twisting the truth with ease, making impossible choices, cutting the world open with a scalpel and stitching it back together before anyone noticed the wound — the woman you swore you would never become. the woman who had taught you that power wasn’t about truth — it was about control ..

.. because in washington, that’s what survivors did.

rafe stared hard .. he wasn’t looking at you like a strategist. he wasn’t looking at you like a fixer. he was looking at you like he had just realized you were capable of anything.

“i ..” you were supposed to be above this. above emotions. above personal attachments. but tonight? you lied like a woman who had something special to lose. “.. saved you.” refilling the glass, “i saved you the trouble.”

“what ..?” searching your face for a new angle. “you should have let me fall.”

“i saved you ..” you repeated, wincing after the liquor intake, “.. from ruin. from becoming’a headline. front page of every outlet, broadcasted on every news channel. from the kind of scandal that doesn’t jus’end careers - it destroys legacies.”

rafe released a sharp breath, moving in — furious and disbelieving, “you think i give-a-shit about legacies? seriously?”

“i know you don’t. you’re reckless. i think you have no idea how dangerous that shit was - how one misstep, one wrong word, one leak could have ended everything. everything would have crumbled because of you!” you pointed a finger, hand trembling with restrained anger, “hours and hours and hours of everyone’s time spent into securing your father’s presidency .. wasted because of you!”

“me?!”

“yea’! yea’you! you don’t get to fuck up! you -!” and you stopped yourself. you had to. you couldn’t keep yelling .. especially at the president’s son. anyone could have barged in and caught the sight. you lowered the glass nearby and moved from the liquor station. you settled down on the arm of the lounge chair, much further from rafe now. you crossed your legs again, “you don’t get to be naive,” you said after, folding your hands over your knee. “you don’t get to be stupid. a stupid young adult .. like everyone else. you don’t get to make mistakes and think they’ll only fall on you -“

rafe stiffened, fists clenching and unclenching, his sky blue eyes widening just enough for you to see it. he dragged a hand down his dry mouth, his composure cracking. he needed the room to stop spinning — so he dropped himself down onto a corner of your desk .. looking straight at you. eyes flickering from your face, to the layered jewelry around your neck, to the closed buttons keeping your breast covered, to the glittering engagement ring on your left finger ..

he blinked off then.

“- you are the president’s son. you are the heir to a machine built on power and perception. and if you had gone down for this? if i had let you take the fall?”

a pause.

lethal, intimate: “they wouldn’t have just ruined you. they would have burned and buried you.”

rafe swallowed deeply, his adam’s apple bobbing.

“you would have been reduced to a cautionary tale. a disgraced footnote in your father’s presidency -“ unable to sit still anymore, you slid from the armrest. “- his failure. his shame. and then, rafe? he loses. ‘nd everything .. every policy, every promise, every ounce of work this administration has done - gets erased.”

and you weren’t done. not nearly.

you were marching toward him .. getting dangerously close. so close that he was starting to see the fire in your eyes, the seriousness. “rafe ..” barely a whisper, almost intimate in its intensity, “.. i saved you from a lifetime of being the reason your father lost his second term. i saved you from a shit-storm you would have never recovered from. i saved you from the press tearing into you, from the wolves in that room who would have chewed you up and spit you out before you even knew what was happening.”

rafe sitting on your desk allowed him to finally be eye-level with you. “i saved you from yourself.”

and the words hung between. rafe just stared at you, breathing hard. because now? now he understood. you hadn’t done it because of politics. you hadn’t done it because of strategy. it had felt like desperation. you had done it because it was him. and you cared so deeply about him.

that was the real problem.

you don’t save people. you fix. you manipulate. you control. you lie to keep your clients, your candidates, your president unbeatable.

again, this wasn’t strategy. this wasn’t some calculated political maneuver. because you cared about rafe, you had to save him. and for the first time in your career, you didn’t make a move based on logic or power or control — you made it based on him.

rafe was a weakness.

no. you turned sharply, ready to pack up your belongings and head home for the night. you had said what needed to be said. made your case. explained yourself well enough — rafe’s hand caught your wrist .. his grip firm and hot, locking around the cold silver of your timeless watch, like a restraint and a plea all at once.

“rafe,” a low warning.

but he didn’t let go. “i like when you say my name ..” with little force, he pulled you back in — swift, deliberate, no hesitation.

your body collided with his, and suddenly you were standing between his legs, your knees brushing against the edge of your own desk, your breath coming fast. “wh-no, rafe.” he shushed you softly, shaking his head. he released your wrist, only for a second, to snake both arms around your waist and tug you in even closer.

his gaze — god, his gaze. “no, rafe.” you tried to rip yourself away .. he wouldn’t dare let you go. not right now. your throat was dry and every exhale felt uncomfortable.

softly, “can we stop the bullshit?” rafe tilted his head a bit, careful as he leaned in .. trying to be extra sneaky. “please?” he leaned in some more, just enough for you to feel the heat of his breath against your jawline, and it was infuriating how easily he unraveled you. “please? can we stop the bullshit? please?” he was intoxicating.

when he pulled back to meet your eyes and study your face .. he could see the way your lips parted, the way your next breath caught, the way your entire body seemed to betray you. “please ..?” his fingers moved, maddening and slow, and skimmed the hem of your button-up.

a test. a warning. a promise.

you didn’t stop him. didn’t shove him away. didn’t say the words you should have said. so .. he kept going — his fingertips traced the first button, lingering for just a second before he slipped it free, gentle and precise, like he had all the time in the world.

“let’s stop the bullshit, yeah?” rafe’s fingers brushed against the skin just beneath your collarbone, burning against the cool air now slipping between the fabric. “we can do that, right?” light and easy.

then, the second button.

this time, you sucked in a breath, your pulse drumming beneath his fingertips. rafe lifted his gaze, watching you again — watching every tell. because you could outtalk, outmaneuver, outthink anyone. but your body couldn’t lie. not to him. he moved lower — third button, fourth — his knuckles grazing bare skin, the edge of lace beneath. “tell me we can .. ms. mcclellan.”

and when his slick fingers ghosted over your ribs, you finally reacted — your hand shot up, gripping his wrist, holding him still. your breath was ragged, your pupils blown, and god, you were trying so hard to fight this.

to fight him.

“you know i don’t beg, ms. mcclellan ..” and for you he would, which you knew. “we’re not doin’ th’bullshit anymore, right?” instead of responding, you brought your hands to his chest, fingers dragging against the soft, expensive fabric of his blazer.

he didn’t move. didn’t breathe. didn’t dare break the moment as you slowly pushed the suit jacket off his shoulders. the fabric slipped down his arms, and when he let it fall onto the desk behind him .. you found the first button of his crisp white shirt and drew downward; you were crossing a line you could never uncross.

his shirt parted just slightly, exposing the smooth skin of his collarbone, the faintest hint of muscle underneath. you continued on .. you weren’t thinking about the scandal. you weren’t thinking about the lie you had told to protect him, about the fact that you had risked everything for him.

you were thinking about how rafe cameron had always been off-limits ..

he didn’t speak, didn’t smirk, didn’t push — like he knew this was something you needed to do .. and this was something you needed to do.

daydreaming: two bubbles had been floating around in his mind. rough .. gentle. the two words were bolded and in their own unique, distinct font. and then, more words swept in. the question: ‘how was she in bed’? reserved? kinky? passionate? placid? dominant? submissive? too lost in his own world, he opened his mouth and almost asked the question —

— without so much as a warning, he felt your thumb on the underside of his cock .. you took in a low breath, heavy and wanting as you crept all the way to the tip. the pad of your thumb teased and gently dipped into his slit before you lifted your chin, finding his eyes.

rafe’s face twisted up as he let out a wounded noise. his whole body locked, gasping .. he hadn’t felt when you unzipped his fresh slacks and dipped your hand below, into his boxers. with a deeep gulp, he grumbled out: “i can’t do this ..” there had been enough build-up. there had been far too much sexual tension the last couple of months. he couldn’t do the foreplay. he couldn’t do the teasing, the edging, the whatever else before the sex. “i can’t -“ swallowing a sloppy mess of saliva that waved over his tongue.

in one swift motion, he took two fistfuls of your button up and tore it back — loud and deafening, you couldn’t react quick enough. rafe unfastened the safety straps, spun you around, and unzipped your mini-printed pencil skirt. the professional attire crumbled at your heeled feet .. again, he twirled you back and giving you zero time to adjust, lifted you up into the air — as if you weighed nothing, his strength an effortless vigor you couldn’t ignore.

for a second, everything stopped .. the world quieted. you were so caught in the moment, so heated and so caught up in him .. you didn’t hear what he had said. yeah, you saw his lips move .. but no sound was produced.

“put it in .. need you t’do it.” a sweet whisper. a whisper too good, you hadn’t thought twice.

[scottishcommune]

To all supporters of the Kurdish liberation struggle, anti-fascists, socialists, feminists, anarchists, communists, environmentalists, and those dedicated to a better world: Turkey has launched probably the most widespread bombing campaign North-Eastern Syria has faced so far. Since October 5th, Turkey has conducted over 30 airstrikes, primarily in the Cizîre region and Kobanê. These airstrikes have targeted vehicles, villages, and especially critical civilian infrastructure, including oil- and power plants & gas stations, resulting in civilian casualties and casualties among internal security forces. Large areas experienced a total power blackout, with many hospitals, bread factories and other critical public institutions without electricity. The attacks continued this morning when a Corona Hospital & a power station were targeted. Despite the obvious war crimes, no reaction has been heard from the international community so far.

[m1ng1ology]

pyd .

hongjoong x black fem!reader

song : pyd by justin bieber

"after the club, in the parking lot. i don't care, anywhere, who could pick the spot, whatever. i'ma put you down, yeah. and all the way down, yeah"

warnings : studio sex, audio recording, oral sex fem! receiving, protected sex, curse words, praise kink, vague mention of implied object insertion

wc : 2.1k

synopsis : your boyfriend is once again spending more time focusing on his music instead of you. so you finally decide to visit him to do something about it.

your phone lights up the darkness of your shared bedroom with hongjoong as you check the time. you sigh as the clock reads 2:17 am. despite the comeback promotional period already ending and being granted a break, hongjoong consistented on continuing to work. you shoot him a text:

y/n : "joong, when are you coming home?"

a few minutes go by with no response.

y/n : "hello???"

suddenly the message gets marked as read and he's typing a response immediately.

joong : "i'm in the middle of recording some demos right now"

you take a deep breath before texting back.

y/n : "i don't understand why you cant take a break hongjoong... its getting ridiculous"

as hongjoong reads your text, he runs his hands over his bare face. "fuck..." he knows you're right, he's just stubborn and you know it.

joong : "i know, its just this one song. ill be done soon okay?"

you roll your eyes at his message.

y/n : "okay hongjoong ."

you turn your phone off and try to go to sleep. hongjoong reads your text and visibly flinches at your obvious irritation. he groans as he tries to work on the song. another hour goes by and he's still stuck on the same part. he stares at the computer screen blankly as the chorus repeats itself. he sighs as he puts his head down on the messy desk, covered in papers of endless lyrics and peppermint wrappers. he stays in that position for ten minutes. i sits up and harshly pauses the repeating track. his body slumps back against the chair and his arms cover his eyes.

in the silence of his studio, soft knocks sounded. he jolts up and looks at his phone to check the time. it reads 3:44 am. "who's still here?" he whispers to himself before clearing his throat. "come in." he says a bit louder. the door opens slowly to reveal your disheveled appearance. you're wearing one of his hoodies with plaid pajamas pants and slides. you wore a silk wrap around your hair indicating you were going to bed. hongjoong immediately recognizes the look on your face: you're upset with him. "baby..."

you ignored him as you walked over to him to stand behind the chair. "you look exhausted joong" you say in a tired voice as you rest your hands on his shoulders. hongjoong tilts his head back to look at you.

"so do you. why are you doing here? you should be in bed." he asks, rubbing your hands. you lean down to place your head in the crook of his neck, while your hand drape over his chest.

"i missed you.." you mumbled. hongjoong rubs up and down your arm to soothe you. he frowns out of guilt as he feels you relax.

"im sorry baby" he apologizes softly. you hum, too tired to fully respond. you turn your head to press a kiss to his neck. "baby?" hongjoong asks. you hum again as you press another kiss. "what are you doing?" he asks, already knowing exactly what you're doing. "you need me?" he eggs on. you nod. "say it." he says.

you sigh, sending shivers down hongjoong's body. "i need you. its been so long" you say softly in a tired voice. hongjoong takes a breath, knowing he hasn't been able to touch you properly for a full month. it was eating him up on the inside as much as it was getting to you. all his pent up energy were put to the side to focus on the group, disregarding your needs in the process. hongjoong removes your arms and turns around in the chair to look at you. you stare back at him.

he finally stands up, wrapping his arms around your waist and gently holds your chin. he presses his lips against yours in a calm desire. you hold onto his sweatshirt as he kisses you. the kiss wasn't rough nor rushed. it was slow, like he wanted to express how much he was sorry. he slowly backs you down onto the couch then kneels in front of you. hongjoong rests his hands on your thighs. "let me make it up to you." he says as he looks up at you. you take in his messy hair and bare face as you nod.

you watch as he pulls your pajamas down, slightly spreading your legs. he presses light kiss along your inner thighs. "joong.." you sigh.

"sh, its okay. i got you" he says softly. suddenly, an idea pops into his head. "baby?" he perks up. you look at him with a raised brow. "can... can i record this?" your eyes shoot open.

"hongjoo-"

"no, not video! audio. i just need something more natural for the background adlibs." you stare at him. "you can say no-"

"okay" you cut him off. he looks stunned.

"really?" he asks. you nod. he stands up and goes over to his computer. he clicks a few buttons then moves the microphone closer to the couch. "you still want to?" he reassures. he watches as you nod and shakes his head. "say it baby."

"yeah... i want to" you say as he smiles and moves back over to kneel between your legs.

he kisses your covered clit. you shiver.

"my poor baby. so sensitive after not being touched for a month." he says as he slowly pulls down your underwear. "did you miss me baby? or did you miss my mouth?" hongjoong says as he breathes against your pussy. you moan softly.

"everything. i missed everything." you breathe out. he continues to blow on your clit as you writhe around.

"im here now pretty girl, its okay" and with that he immediately attaches his mouth to your pussy. your hands grab at his hair.

"joong!" you moan as he continues to eat you out. you pant as his tongue works in different patterns at different paces. one moment he's lapping at your clit, the next he's pushing his tongue in your hole. he pulls back to look up at you. his face glistening with your arousal, eyes blown wide.

"gonna make you cum on my tongue. want that pretty?" he asks with a smile. you nod.

"yes! please joong."

"yeah? gonna make you cum on my tongue, then my fingers, then my cock. can you handle that?" he smirks as he kisses your thighs again. you nod frantically.

"please joong.."

"please what?" he raises his eyebrow.

"please make me cum. i need it. so bad.." you beg as he smiles.

"good girl. my baby still knows what i like" he says as he repositions his arms to hook under your thighs and pull you down slightly.

he starts to lick up your pussy again, much more passionately. you moan his name loudly and freely, knowing the studio is soundproof. his hips buck against the couch for friction. he notices the change in your moans and pulls back slightly. "my baby gonna cum? you're doing so well baby. cum on my tongue." he sweet talks before sucking harshly on your clit. your back arches as you moan his name. you cum hard, panting as you try to catch your breath.

hongjoong releases your thighs to pull himself up closer to you. he kisses you again, this time deeply. he pushes his tongue inside your mouth immediately claiming dominance. you wrap your arms tightly around his neck as you taste yourself. he pulls away. "you ready for my fingers baby? can you take it?" you nod as you spread your legs. he kisses you again as his thumb finds its place on your clit.

you moan out softly. "joong... please".

"please what? tell me baby." he asks as he pulls back to look at you.

"need more." you say. he smiles as he teasingly inserts one finger. you whine.

"you gotta be more specific baby. what do you want me to give you?" he ask as he pushes his middle finger slowly.

"two fingers please." you choke out.

"good girl" he whispers in your ear as he pushes in his ring finger. you moan at the stretch, clenching around him.

"fuck." you gasp out. hongjoong kisses and sucks all over your neck, whispering praises in your ear. he angles his hand to find that spot he knows you'll loose yourself. you let out a gasp and grips his wrist as he pushes against your g-spot.

"i found it baby? you like it? want me to add more pressure like this?" he pushes deeper and you moan loudly. "so good for me baby. so responsive. you gonna cum again? i feel you sucking in my fingers so well baby." he continues to talk as you moan uncontrollably.

"cum y/n. cum all over my fingers. make a mess for me baby." he kisses you again, swallowing your moans as you cum again. he helps you ride out your orgasm before removing his fingers and licking them clean. you pant against the couch. legs slightly shaking, hands gripping the pillows. hongjoong chuckles. "come here" he says.

despite him telling you to come to him, he comes to you. he maneuvered your body to lay on the couch. he quickly pulls down his sweatpants and boxers revealing his hard cock. it leaks with precum. he notices your stare. "not today, im taking care of you" he says. he smiles at your frown. he reaches over to his small box on a shelf and grabs a condom and puts it on. he lifts your legs and wraps them around his waist. he lines himself up before pushing in.

you both moan in unison. "so fucking tight.. fuck." he moans as he throws his head back. you whine as he grabs onto your hips, pinning you down to avoid moving against him.

"hongjoong.." you draw out.

"i know baby. i know." he begins to move slowly, taking his time as you let out quiet moan.

"please move faster baby" you whine.

"oh yeah? want me to go faster? want it harder?" he says with a slightly harder thrust. you nod harshly. hongjoong smiles.

his hips set up a faster pace as he fucks into you. both of you moaning loudly without a care in the world. "you like it when i fuck you in my studio? like it when i can fuck you anywhere i want. was this one of your little fantasies? for me to put you down and fuck you without stopping? what's next, backstage at a concert?" he grunts. you moan louder in agreement.

hongjoong leans over you to press kisses against your neck. you moan at the angle change as he consistently hits your g-spot. "dont stop baby." you choke out.

"i wont" he grunts as he continues to penetrate you deeply. his moans turn whiny. "you deserve everything i give you baby."

"cum with me joong. im close" you whisper in his ear. he whines as he buries his face in your neck. his hips stutter as you clench around him. "cum for me baby" you say as you scratch your nails against his scalp. he lets out a high pitched moan as he cums inside the condom. you cum along with him. he collapses on top of you as you both catch your breaths.

"im so sorry for neglecting you baby" he whispers softly. you run your fingers through his hair.

"its okay joong. i just dont like you overworking yourself." you say as he holds you tighter. you two stay like that for a moment before he finally decides to pull out of you. he ties the condom and throws it away and stops the recording. he hands you your underwear as he pulls up his own. he plops back down on the couch and grabs a blanket to put over you two.

he positions himself to where you can lay your head on his chest. "you know... i didn't think you'd agree to let me record us having sex" he speaks up. you chuckle.

"might as well use our resources" you shrug off. he glances down at you with a mischievous look.

"so, can i use my resources more often with you?" he asks. you raise a brow as you look at him.

"like what hongjoong?" you say already done with what he could possibly say.

"have you ever thought of using a microphone?" he asks. you look at him puzzled.

"a microphone for what?" he smirks as he whispers in your ear what he wants to do. you pull back and look at him insanely. "kim hongjoong you are not going to put a micro-" he cuts you off with a kiss.

"just think about it, okay. it'll be my personal customized one." you groan.

"go to sleep. you're talking nonsense right now." you say as he chuckles.

"goodnight baby." he says. you hum. "mhm good night".

[veganlogicdinamo]

BOP TIKIR TIKIR İŞLİYOR!

Emperyalistlerin ve yeni Osmanlıcıların Suriye’nin birliğini cihatçı HTŞ’nin sağlayabileceğini umduklarını düşünmüyorum. Aksine HTŞ’nin iktidara çöküşüyle birlikte katliamların başlayacağını ve Suriye’nin her an müdahaleye açık bir hale geleceğini hesap etmiş olmalılar. Çünkü laiklik olmadan Suriye’de birlik sağlanamayacağını öngörmek için dahi olmaya gerek yok!

Emperyalizm, kravat taktırdığı cihatçı teröristlerle anlaşınca Türkiye’ye de ülkeyi 40 yılı aşkın bir süredir kana bulayan ve zaten YPG’ye dönüşmüş olan ABD destekli terörist PKK ile diyalog kurma görevi verildi. Bahçeli’deki ani dönüşümün nedeni budur.

Bölgede olanları iyi incelerseniz, Türkiye’de de Suriye’dekine benzer bir planın uygulamaya konulduğu açık. Suriye’deki mezhepçi bölünmeden sonra, KCK bileşeni bir terörist örgüt yeni rejime entegre edildi, PKK’nin Suriye kolu YPG/ PYD, komşumuz oldu.

Şimdi Türkiye’de Öcalan açılımı ile aynı anda anayasa değişikliğinin gündeme getirilmesi rastlantı değil. Anayasaya sokulmak istenen etnikçi/ dinci maddelerle üniter ulus devletin hedeflendiği açık. Türkiye Cumhuriyeti devletini anayasal ilkesi olan laiklikten uzaklaştırıp etnikçiliği ve mezhepçiliği köpürtebilirlerse, gelecekte yanı başımızdaki cihatçılarla başımıza örülebilecek belaları düşünün!

[rhiezus]

i can't believe you have that picture on your wall. // zyian x sobin

bringing a guy to her room wasn't on her first list of doings when dating this so-called guy, not because she was ashamed of the pictures on her walls or the stuffed animals and comfy cushions on the bed but because her parents wouldn't allow that to happen if she wasn't at least married to him. and this wasn't even her room anymore, for a long time now actually. it was the room of the girl she used to be and tucked inside a backpack and some luggage to live a in dorm with a thousand other girls who might as well have a room just like hers — full of dreams and ambitions to be on someone's wall to someday. these decorations didn't even compare to the ones in the dorm, but it wasn't like zyian would ever be invited to see them. maybe he could catch some glimpses in a video on youtube or a live of theirs if he ever saw one, but she wasn't going to give him any hope of that knowing how strict their managers are.

and this guy was different for two reasons. first being that he was practically part of the family since her sister and her brother decided to unify in matrimony. which explains why no one would give them a scolding for hiding in her room for a few minutes to get out of the craziness of the gathering once their families got together. second and most importantly (and equally embarrassing) was he being one of the guys in the pictures on the wall. right there under the two big pyd posters, was one of his group as well. she might argue that he was one of their best as a group, they never did have that teammate essence just as the other groups on her wall but damn they look good. they have a different kind of essence that's hard to find in a kpop group like ever and she used to be obsessed with their dance's as well. sobin lost count of how many nights she used to put her headphones on and her phone on the group, catching every move. her mind was as alive as her memory, she could still perform it just as well as she did when she first decorated them probably even better than the owners of the movements themselves — honestly, it wasn't that hard.

"well, it is undeniably the best comeback. just the concept, the title track... and that shot! like who is doing this? no one." she teased, but she was sincere and letting just a taste of the fangirl that she is. sobin couldn't hold back who she was just to appeal to a hot guy, especially if this hot guy in question was one of your favorite idols and probably the most handsome guy you ever met in person. — except maybe for dino and pilkyu, oh and hyuntae! definitely hyuntae. they bonded over her admiration for him and her overall necessity to know everything about him. saying it like that it might as well say she was crazy and annoying, but there was an adorable concept behind that interest that made zyian fall for her inquisitive talks and her quirky and not-so-subtle flirting. "you can't even compare it. it's unfair." unfair in the sense that they had a shitty company and a half-baked dream of making easy money, but she wouldn't touch that scar unless zyian brought it up and he did constantly, pointing out that picture was already arguing how ridiculous she was for believing it. yet she didn't care, if she didn't wish on a group like theirs she wouldn't have trained to be on a group of her own and wouldn't also have the opportunity to kiss his lips instead of the cold paper on the wall. the reality was far better than the fantasy, that's why sobin would never stop dreaming.

[zerihcom]

Çelik'ten Suriye Açıklamaları: Türkiye, Tarihin Doğru Tarafında Duruyor

4 minutes AK Parti Genel Başkan Yardımcısı ve Parti Sözcüsü Ömer Çelik, Suriye’deki son gelişmelerle ilgili önemli açıklamalarda bulundu. Çelik, Cumhurbaşkanı Recep Tayyip Erdoğan’ın liderliğinde Türkiye’nin bölgedeki politikalarıyla tarihin doğru tarafında durduğunu vurguladı. Çelik, AK Parti’nin halkla olan bağlarını güçlendirmek ve Cumhur İttifakı’nın mesajlarını net bir şekilde iletmek için…

[hamitbyd-blog]

Her Evden HDP’ye oy istenirken Beraber iyi salladık derlerken HDP barajı geçtiği için etli pilav dağıtırlarken Güneyde komşumuz Suriye olacağına PYD olsun derlerken Ne işi var Demirtaş'ın içerde çıksın istiyorsanız CHP’ye oy vereceksiniz derlerken Gezi Eylemlerinde PKK lılarla Öcalan posterleri önünde çeşit çeşit pozlar verilirken !!

Onlara ÖZERKLİK sözü verirken Terörist cenazelerine giderlerken Size Mustafa Kemal’in itleri diyenler ile halay çekerken Kent Uzlaşısı diyerek PKK'lıları belediyelere doldururken Sesi çıkmayanların hepsi bugün vatan, millet, şehit, gazi sever olmuş…