#sanctuary for independent media

[3garcons]

Chris Hedges at The Sanctuary for Independent Media Dec 2023

[patriottruth]

Every male trump voter in the United States is about to learn the truth about the deeply-rooted genetic rage that all living American women and girls of all ages have toward any and every male who voted, or who even would vote, for donald j. trump...

Luke 11:51 from the blood of Abel to the blood of Zechariah, who was killed between the altar and the sanctuary. Yes, I tell you, this generation will be held responsible for it all.

Every generation of American women have been victimized by trash like donald j. trump, nick fuentes, and every worthless piece of shit like them. It's like in Kamala Harris' presidential campaign vs. donald trump's presidential campaign:

Is her laugh perfect? Are her hair, clothes, and makeup flawless and has she avoided wearing a similar-looking outfit and/or fashion accessory more than once? Is she physically fit and pretty? Is she perfectly spoken at all times while being simultaneously pleasant and non-offensive? Is she enunciating perfectly at all times? Is she presenting herself in a refined, sophisticated, and high-class manner at all times, while simultaneously coming across as a lady of the common folks, without sounding fake, forced, condescending, or patronizing?

But donald trump? Lazy, fat slob with caked and greasy spray-on fecal application, wearing the same thing every time, and then there's all of that no-class, low-class, low-IQ, no-IQ, uneducated, boorish, word-slurring, mindnumbingly boring, retarded screaming-at-clouds, hateful Nazi grandpa routine showcasing extreme cognitive decline...and he and everyone like him in the United States gets a free pass, patted on the back, congratulated, awarded, rewarded, glorified, and celebrated as the living avatar of "American Exceptionalism" and genetic perfection while calling any women they work with their "work-wives" and expecting them to dress and act as a 1930's, 1940's, 1950's, 1960's, and 1970's wife should for her "loving" husband (whom she's entirely dependent on and thankful for).

Kamala Harris is being brutalized and treated as if she's the worst failure in American history, yet, if we can actually trust the swing state results, it's possible that trump may have only won each of the swing states by tens of thousands to less than 150,000 in most cases; and at this time, donald trump only has around 3,000,000 more popular votes than Kamala Harris nationwide (Hillary Clinton beat donald trump by 3,000,000 popular votes in 2016 with 5,000,000 less votes than Kamala Harris received in 2024). Why wasn't donald trump brutalized in all the same ways for losing to Hillary Clinton by 3,000,000 votes in 2016?

And then there's the lie that no one showed up to vote for Kamala Harris because of a whole host of reasons you normally hear coming out of the mouths of male domestic abusers; but it's coming from men and women talking heads at the main media outlets. And let's not forget about how those domestic abuser insults include being incapable of managing money (a man's job, a breadwinner's job, but never a woman's job or entitlement). Kamala Harris is receiving massive 1930's, 1940's, 1950's, 1960's, and 1970's misogynistic abuse from every possible outlet that was cordial to her until the last poll closed on November 5, 2024.

American Women Have Only Had a Legal/Constitutional Right to Vote to Advance the Human and Civil Rights of All American Women and Girls Since August 26, 1920 (104 years).

American Women and Girls Have Only Had Access to Real Financial Independence Since October 28, 1974 (50 years).

American Women and Girls Have Only Had Access to Real Business Ownership Since October 25, 1988 (36 years).

The entire American story of real human and civil rights for American women and girls is only as old as most living American grandmothers and their daughters, granddaughters, and great granddaughters.

American males of all ages are about to be tested for their character, qualities, truth, and honor; and the ones who fail the tests they'll never realize they're taking won't be reproducing more donald trumps, nick fuentes', and trump voters.

There are stories all over Reddit about American Thanksgiving and Christmas get-togethers being cancelled and people cutting trump-voting family members and former friends out of their lives for voting to end their human and civil rights, freedoms, privileges, and entitlements that American women and girls of all ages have only started to really enjoy for the last 50 years.

American women in their 90's and 80's placed all their hopes and dreams in their daughters who are now in their 60's and 50's; and those daughters placed all of their and their mother's hopes and dreams into their daughters who are now in their 30's and 20's; and those daughters placed all of their hopes and dreams into their daughters; but because of every last trump-voting male in the United States, all of those American women and girls' hopes and dreams are in the process of being completely and permanently destroyed; and all of those pre-K and K-12 daughters now have less rights than their great grandmothers.

You can't treat other human beings that way and think they're not gonig to feel certain ways about it.

I really wouldn't want to be a male trump voter right about now...

After nick fuentes made his little "Your Body, My Choice," "Men Win," and "There Will Never Be a Female President...NEVER" speech, women doxxed him, showed up at his house, he pepper-sprayed one and kicked her down a flight of brick stairs, police and EMS showed up to care for the woman, and now little nick fuentes is hiding in his mommy's basement so she can protect his "Alpha Male" self.

Fool around and find out is definitely the phrase of the day.

[killeromanoff]

I KNOW YOUR GHOST | ch. 2

summary: Months after Venturer's official approval, Declan O’Hara's latest broadcast takes center stage, his incisive interview style sparking reactions from viewers—and Cassie Jones. Spending the evening at Baz’s bar, Cassie finds herself caught between reluctant admiration and lingering resentment for Declan’s relentless drive.

pairing: Declan O’Hara x Cassandra 'Cassie' Jones (Female OC)

warnings: Mild language, Themes of Corruption, Power dynamics, Age-Gap (Cassie is 25 yo), Moral conflict, Slow-burn tension, Alcohol Use, Realism in Media Industry, Cassie is always in distress mode

w.c: 7k

[prologue], [chapter one], [here]

o2. it felt just like a joke

Declan sat in his study, a sanctuary of muted tones and understated elegance. The polished surface of his mahogany desk reflected the faint glow of the desk lamp, its circle of light casting the rest of the room into a warm shadow. Shelves of books lined the walls, their spines forming a mosaic of knowledge and ambition accumulated over the years.

A hint of cigar smoke clung to the air.

A stack of notes lay before him, meticulously organized yet untouched. He had intended to review them for tonight’s show on Venturer, he has studied and written everything down for the past week. Yet his pen had stilled, his attention wandering far from the political breakdowns and exposés he usually found energizing.

Instead, his mind was tangled in thoughts of Cassie Jones.

The doubt in her eyes was striking—not just a fleeting hesitation, but something deeper, a quiet war between uncertainty and conviction. Yet, it was that same doubt that seemed to amplify the glow of her fierce determination, as if her fears only highlighted the brilliance of her resolve.

Her gaze, dark and willful, resisted him, darting away like a bird wary of being caught.

But in those few moments when their eyes met… It was impossible to look away. There was a rhythm to her words, calculated and unhurried, as though each syllable carried a secret she was daring him to uncover. Her voice was a melody he couldn’t quite place—familiar enough to draw him in, yet distant enough to leave him looking for more.

Her lips parted and closed with the precision of a storyteller, shaping each word in a way that made even the most banal details sound extraordinary. There was a magnetism to her presence, an energy that turned a simple conversation into something unforgettable.

Not that he stared at her lips. He hadn't. If someone asked him about them, he wouldn't know what color they were. A shade somewhere between the warmth of a dusky rose and the faint blush of autumn’s last leaves.

In short, the conversation between them that early afternoon lingered—not as a memory, but as a sensation, persistent and impossible to ignore.

It felt foolish, truly. That was the best word to describe the whole situation.

He couldn’t decide what annoyed him more: the fact that his thoughts were so easily hijacked or that he had let them linger. There were always more pressing matters to deal with—scripts to finalize, segments to tighten, the never-ending negotiations with sponsors… Venturer wasn’t just a television station; it was a warfront, the last bastion of independent media in Rutshire.

And yet, here he was, caught up in the memory of a single conversation.

What made it worse was that it wasn’t even a conversation that should have stood out. He’d met people with stronger résumés, sharper tongues, and more experience in front of a microphone.

But Cassie... She wasn’t polished, and that was the very thing that stayed with him. Her honesty felt raw, untamed—a blade still learning the strength of its edge.

Foolish. The word echoed in his head.

He ran a hand through his hair, letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. What was it about her that unsettled him?

Was it her conviction? The quiet courage hidden beneath layers of uncertainty? Or perhaps it was the vulnerability she carried so openly? The kind that didn’t ask for pity but challenged you to see it and still believe in her strength.

And yet, her resistance baffled him. How could someone so driven, so clearly destined for something bigger, shy away from a platform?

His fingers tapped absently against the desk as he tried to reconcile her fear of the screen with what he had seen in her.

In his mind’s eye, he could picture her features perfectly—the elegant line of her jaw, the soft curve of her cheekbones, the intensity in her eyes when she spoke about what mattered. He could see how the camera would frame her, how the lights would catch the warm tones in her hair, and how her expressions, so honest and unguarded, would translate to the audience.

She didn’t see it, but he did.

Her face was made for the screen, not because of perfection, but because of its authenticity. It would draw people in, hold them captive. She didn’t need to be polished; she was already compelling in a way that made the camera irrelevant.

A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts.

“Come in,” he called, his voice steady despite the jumble in his head.

The door creaked open, and Taggie stepped inside, her auburn hair catching the soft light from the lamp. She was dressed casually, her apron dusted with flour, a reminder of the event she was catering later.

“Still brooding?” she teased gently, holding a letter in one hand while absently smoothing her apron with the other.

A smile tugged at the corner of her lips, but her tone carried genuine concern.

“Brooding?” Declan repeated, his voice amused, “I prefer ‘preparing.’”

“For the show or something else?” she countered, stepping closer. Her gaze landed briefly on the untouched notes before flicking back to him, “You look... Distracted.”

Declan exhales, leaning back in his chair, “I visited Cassie Jones today.”

Taggie’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Cassie Jones? The Cassie Jones? You mean the one from the radio?”

She stepped closer, as though proximity would confirm his words. Her tone changed, and her thoughts flickered back to the previous morning.

Yesterday, the kitchen had been filled with the sound of Cassie’s fiery monologue, her unrelenting voice cutting through the room like a razor. Rupert had leaned in, more amused than anything else, but her father—she remembered her father: he’d been completely still, eyes fixed on the radio with an intensity she hadn’t seen in months.

That explains why he hadn’t had dinner last night, Taggie wondered.

Declan nodded, his expression contemplative.

“She has potential, Taggie,” he paused, searching for the right words, “Raw, unpolished, but it’s there. I want her on Venturer.”

“You’re recruiting her?” she asked, her voice with a hint of curiosity and excitement, “I didn’t think I’d ever see the day you’d bring someone like her in. Isn’t she—well, shy?”

“That’s putting it mildly,” he admitted, his voice taking on a thoughtful edge, “She’s terrified of being seen, but she’s brilliant. The way she speaks... It’s not just reporting. It’s storytelling. She makes people care.”

Taggie studied him for a moment, her head tilting as she considered his words. There was something about the way he spoke—quiet but charged with energy, a drive that hadn’t been there in a while…

Her father had always been passionate, but this was different. There was a spark, something that reminded her of the early days of Venturer, when everything was just a shot in the dark.

“You’re really invested in this,” Taggie lifted a brow, “Aren’t you?”

Declan didn’t answer immediately. Instead, his gaze dropped to the scattered notes on his desk, their edges curling slightly under the soft glow of the desk lamp. His fingers tapped idly against the wood as he tried to put his thoughts into words.

 “Let’s just say,” he murmured, “It’s been a while since someone reminded me why we started Venturer in the first place.”

“It’s good to see you like this again,” Taggie’s smile widened, “You’ve never been so focused, so determined since we won the franchise approval—it’s like you’ve finally found something that excites you again.”

Declan chuckled, though the sound was tinged with self-awareness, “Don’t read too much into it, Taggie. I’m just doing my job.”

“Sure you are,” she said, a touch of mischief in her tone, “But I’m not complaining. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you looking this... Alive.”

She hesitated for a moment before adding, “Do you think she’ll accept?”

Declan’s expression grew thoughtful, his gaze distant.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, “Freddie’s been trying to bring her on board since we got the franchise approval. She’s always said no. But today…” He trailed off, his brow furrowing as he thought back to their conversation.

“But today?” Taggie prompted, stepping closer, her curiosity clearly piqued.

“She seemed... Torn,” Declan replied, “Like part of her wanted to say yes, even if she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She’s hesitant, scared even, but she’s not someone who backs down easily. If she sees what we see in her... She’ll come around.”

Taggie studied her father again, a knowing expression in the way she furrowed her brows, “You’re really invested in this, aren’t you?”

Declan met her gaze, a flicker of something undefinable in his expression—determination, perhaps, or something even deeper.

“It’s not just about her, Taggie,” he said after a moment, “It’s about what she represents. Venturer was supposed to be about giving people like her a voice, wasn’t it? People who can make others listen, who can make them care.

“Well, I hope she sees that”, a soft smile tugged at the corners of Taggie’s lips, “And I hope she knows how lucky she’d be to work with someone like you.”

Declan chuckled again, though it was quieter this time, tinged with something almost self-deprecating.

“Don’t go turning me into a saint, Taggie. I’m just trying to do what’s right—for Venturer and for her.”

Taggie hesitated, watching him for a moment before stepping forward and placing the envelope on his desk.

“Just don’t let this drive of yours keep you from dealing with this,” she said softly, her fingers brushing the edge of the envelope.

Declan’s gaze followed her gesture, his brow furrowing as he took in the sight of the crumpled edges and the weight it seemed to carry. How it quickly changed his daughter’s humor.

“What is it?” he asked, though something in the pit of his stomach already knew the answer.

“It’s from Mum’s lawyer,” Taggie replied quietly, “The final papers.”

Declan’s breath caught, the words dripping between them like a heavy curtain. Slowly, almost reluctantly, he reached out to take the envelope. The paper felt heavier than it should, as though the culmination of everything—months of silence, arguments, the growing distance—was contained within it.

How could she not answer any of his letters and the first one she sent to them, her family, was the divorce papers?

“I see,” he said in the silence, almost whispering, his grip on the envelope tightened.

Taggie hesitated, her eyes scanning his face as though trying to gauge his reaction, “Are you okay?”

Declan chuckled, but it was devoid of humor.

“That’s a loaded question.”

The corner of her lips twitched, but her attempt at a smile faded just as quickly.

“I know it’s not what you wanted, Dad. I know how hard you tried to hold things together.”

“Did I?” Declan asked, almost to himself. He leaned back in his chair, his gaze falling to the envelope in his hands, “Or did I just try to hold on to the idea of us? To what I thought we were supposed to be, instead of what we actually were?”

Taggie bit her lip, unsure of how to respond. The silence that followed wasn’t tense, but it was loaded as the question of before. There was a shared grief for something that had been unraveling for longer than either of them cared to admit.

“She made her choice,” Declan continued, his tone low, “And maybe... Maybe it’s for the best. For her. For both of us.”

“Maybe,” Taggie said softly, though she didn’t sound convinced.

Declan glanced at her, his expression softening.

“What about you? How are you handling all this?”

Taggie bit her lip, clearly taken aback by her father’s question. She hesitated for a moment, her gaze flickering downward as though the answer might somehow be hidden in the floorboards.

“I’ve had time to process it, I guess,” she responded, her voice quieter than before. She shrugged, slipping her hands into the pockets of her apron, “It doesn’t make it hurt any less, but... I’m not angry anymore. Just… S-S—”

Her voice faltered, the word slipping from her grasp.

“Sad?” Declan offered gently, watching as her jaw tightened.

“Yes,” she said, nodding a bit too quickly, “Sad.”

Her struggle with the word wasn’t lost on him. It was a passing moment, brief but telling. Declan knew how Taggie’s dyslexia sometimes crept into her life in ways she didn’t expect—moments of hesitation or the occasional stumble over a word when emotions ran high.

It wasn’t something she let define her, but it was always there.

Over the past months, with Maud gone and Taggie stepping up beside him, Declan had seen more of it than he ever had before. At first, he had felt like the worst father in the world for not noticing sooner, for letting the chaos of his own life distract him from hers. It took him some time to understand—not just how it was for her, but the quiet strength with which she handled them.

It humbled him, this quiet resilience of hers.

You’ve handled it well, he wanted to say, but instead, he offered her a smile.

She looked at him, surprised by the sudden gesture. But the small, appreciative smile she gave in return told him he had done the right thing. He was still trying, and that was enough.

For a moment, the room was quiet, save for the soft hum of wind and the creak of the floorboards beneath their feet. Declan found himself studying her expression, the way her eyes mirrored his own weariness but had a resilience that was unmistakably hers.

“I suppose sadness is easier to live with than resentment,” he said, more to himself than to her.

Taggie nodded, offering a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Well, I should get back to work. The buffet for Mrs. Spencer’s gala won’t prepare itself.”

Declan raised an eyebrow, “A gala? And they’ve roped you into catering for it?”

“Not roped,” she corrected, “I volunteered. Keeps me busy.”

He gave her a look, one that carried both fondness and a hint of fatherly skepticism.

“Just don’t let them take advantage of you.”

Taggie laughed softly, the sound warm but subdued.

“Don’t worry, Dad. I can handle Mrs. Spencer.”

She turned to leave but paused at the door, glancing back at him. Her expression softened, the hint of concern in her eyes mirroring the quiet care she always tried to mask with humor.

“And you? Will you be okay?”

Declan offered a faint smile, “I’ve got notes to review and a show to prepare for. I’ll manage.”

Taggie nodded, staying for a moment longer before slipping out of the room.

The silence that followed her departure wasn’t empty; it was filled with the echoes of their conversation, the unspoken words that always seemed to hover between them. Declan’s gaze fell to the envelope on his desk, its stark presence a reminder of what had already unraveled. He stared at it for a long moment, his fingers brushing the sharp edges, the sensation grounding him in the heaviness of the moment.

The ache in his chest deepened, not sharp but persistent, like a bruise that refused to fade. Maud’s absence wasn’t new; it had been a constant shadow for months, haunting him at the edges of every room, every thought. He could still hear her voice in the quiet moments, see her smile in the periphery of his mind.

They had tried, hadn’t they? Yet, here it was—the finality of a marriage reduced to paper and ink.

Declan leaned back in his chair, his head tipping slightly as he closed his eyes. The memories pressed in, uninvited but relentless. The laughter they had shared, the fights that had grown sharper over time, the silences that had said more than words ever could. He wondered, not for the first time, if there had been a point where they could have turned it around—if he could have been someone different, better, for her.

The ache tightened, and he exhaled slowly, as if trying to release it. But as his thoughts circled Maud and the void her absence left, another voice crept into his mind.

Cassie.

Her words reverberated in his memory, not as a balm to the pain but something else. The raw honesty in her tone, the conviction laced with doubt, had a way of unsettling him, of pulling his focus from the ache of what was lost to the possibilities of what could be.

That's what she usually talked about in her past broadcasts, right? In the projects she had done in Chicago? How there was always a possibility, a light in the end of the tunnel, despite people locking all your windows and doors?

He sat up straighter, his gaze falling to the notes scattered before him again. The words blurred for a moment, stubbornly refusing to take shape. But as he thought of Cassie—her eyes, her words, her fear—it was as though something clicked into place.

It wasn’t just about giving people a platform, he remembered, it was about finding the voices that mattered, the ones that could cut through the noise and make people listen.

Declan’s lips quirked into a smile, the kind that came unbidden, as he turned his attention back to his notes. The spark of inspiration she had ignited within him was enough to push the rest aside, at least for now.

There was a show to prepare for, and tonight, he felt ready.

The bar was alive in its muted way—a quiet chatter and the occasional clink of glassware against polished wood. It wasn’t the raucous energy of a weekend crowd but the steady rhythm of regulars, the kind of people who found comfort in routine. Cassie sat at her usual corner, her drink untouched, save for the condensation slipping down its sides.

The golden light from the overhead fixtures cast a soft glow on the surface of the bar, making everything look warmer than it felt.

Baz moved with the practiced ease of someone who had owned this space for years. His motions were fluid, as though the rhythm of tending bar wasn’t a job but an extension of himself.

His dark hair, perpetually tousled in a way that suggested he didn’t care—or maybe cared too much—caught the light whenever he turned. His eyes scanned the room, but they kept returning to Cassie, watching the tension in her shoulders, the tight grip she had on her glass.

“Alright, Jones,” he said, leaning over the counter with a lopsided grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes, “You’re quieter than usual. Either someone’s died, or you’re brooding about something big… Again.”

Cassie shot him a look, one that was stabbing but softened by the weak tug at the corner of her lips.

“Always with the optimism, Baz.”

“It’s my charm,” he quipped. But the teasing in his tone didn’t mask the concern that was beneath it.

She sighed, her fingers drumming lightly against the bar’s surface, “Let’s just say it’s been a day.”

Baz’s eyebrow arched as he slid a pint across the bar to a waiting regular, his movements unhurried but precise. His attention, however, was fixed on Cassie, the practiced ease in his gaze giving way to a flicker of curiosity. The murmured conversations, the muted clatter of glasses—seemed distant, a backdrop to the conversation they were having.

“A day, huh?” Baz leaned a little closer, his lips drawing into an amused smile, “Sounds vague,” he added, lifting an eyebrow in mock challenge, “Care to elaborate, or should I start guessing?”

“You’d only guess wrong,” she replied almost immediately, a smirk curling at her lips before she took a long sip from her drink.

Baz didn’t miss a beat. Leaning forward, he rested his forearms on the counter, the polished wood cool beneath his hands. His teasing expression softened just a bit, the shift subtle but perceptible.

“Enlighten me, then,” he said, his voice dropping a notch.

Cassie hesitated, her gaze dropping to her glass. But her grip on the glass hardened, her thumb tracing absent patterns against the condensation. She inhaled quietly through her nose, her lips pressing into a thin line as if bracing herself.

“Declan O’Hara showed up at my door this morning.”

The words landed heavily, drawing Baz’s full attention. His playful demeanor faltered, his brow knitting together in thought.

Cassie could see the gears turning behind his eyes, his indissoluble wit piecing together implications faster than he let on. He blinked once, his lips parting as if to speak, but then he let out a low whistle, a sound of disbelief mingled with admiration.

“Well, that’s not nothing,” he said, straightening as his grin returned, this time full of intrigue, “What did the Irish Wolfhound want with you?”

Cassie’s lips twisted into a wry smile, though there was no humor in it. She shrugged, her voice tinged with weariness.

“He wants me on Venturer. Just like you and my uncle.”

Baz’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, his head tilting as he considered her words.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, his voice almost reverent. He reached for a cloth, wiping down an already spotless section of the counter as though the action would help him process the news, “One thing’s for sure—it’s not every day Declan O’Hara comes knocking at your door, specifically your door. I mean, me and Freddie? Sure. But him?” His dark eyes narrowed slightly, “That’s big.”

He set the cloth down, his gaze steady on her, “What did you say?”

Cassie shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her shoulders hunching slightly.

“That I’d think about it,” she admitted, the words clipped as though they’d been dragged out of her.

Baz studied her in silence, his expression unreadable, though his brow furrowed as he watched her fidget with her glass. After a long pause, he leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms.

“You never seem thrilled about this,” he remarked, his tone carefully neutral, “Most people would jump at the chance of joining Venturer—especially if it was me inviting them.” His lips drawn into a lopsided grin, a flash of his usual humor breaking through.

“Yeah, well, I’m not most people,” Cassie replied, her voice sharp, the words a defensive barb.

Baz’s grin softened, the teasing edge fading as he regarded her more closely. He reached for a glass of water, taking a slow sip before setting it down with deliberate calm.

“Alright,” he said, his tone quieter but no less insistent, “Let’s hear it. What’s holding you back?”

Cassie’s fingers stilled on the rim of her glass. For a moment, she seemed to shrink into herself, her expression tightening. Her eyes darted to the counter as she wrestled with words that didn’t want to come.

“It’s not that simple,” she muttered finally, her voice low, almost to herself.

“Nothing worth doing ever is,” Baz countered.

Cassie shifted in her seat, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass again.

“I just… I don’t think it’s for me.”

Baz’s laugh was short and dry, a single puff of air that carried no mirth.

“You don’t think it’s for you? Come on, Cass. That’s not an answer. You’ve got a voice people listen to—even when they don’t want to. Hell, you made headlines just by opening your mouth. And now you’re telling me you can’t see yourself in a chair next to Declan?”

Cassie clenched her jaw, the muscles tensing in her neck. The words were there, but they felt too heavy, too real to say out loud.

Her thoughts spiraled, never giving her a rest—Could I? Be in a chair next to him?

What if I say yes and ruin everything?

The offer, the screen, the lights… It was all too much.

What if they really do see something in me that I don’t see in myself?

But that wasn’t the real issue, was it?

“I can’t do it, Baz,” she whispered, as if saying the words could keep the fear at bay.

The issue was if they saw all the mistakes that she knew that was beneath her skin, her choices and her attempts.

She closed her eyes for a brief moment, leaning her elbows against the edge of the counter, her head hanging low.

It wasn’t the stage, or the lights. It wasn’t even the fear of failure.

Her mind raced with the images—the screen, the questions, the voices of people in her head, judging, scrutinizing, always waiting for her to slip.

“Why not?” he pressed, not giving up so soon over this subject.

Cassie’s breath caught, she had hoped that he would drop it, as he usually did.

Her pulse quickened, the discomfort twisting in her stomach like a knot pulling tighter with every passing second. She knew what was coming, and still, she couldn’t find the strength to articulate it.

To say the words that circled her thoughts.

Why not? Her mind repeated the question and, as if it was a broken record, it started to repeat again and again., why not? Why not?

What was holding her back?

“Cass—”

Why not?

“I can’t even look you in the eye while we’re talking, Baz,” she snapped, her voice trembling, “How the hell am I supposed to talk to a camera? To an audience?”

There it was—the rawness of the truth.

Her fear wasn’t just about the screen. It was about her inability to stand in front of anyone and not feel exposed, vulnerable. She wasn’t ready to show that side of herself, not to millions of strangers, not when she could barely face the people she cared about.

Baz’s reaction was immediate. The mischief that usually animated his features vanished and turned into something quieter, more serious. He straightened slightly, as though anchoring himself to the counter while Cassie’s turmoil unfolded in front of him.

The ambient noise of the bar—a murmur of laughter, the clinking of glasses—faded into a distant sound, no longer relevant in the charged space between them.

For a moment, Baz said nothing. His gaze held her frame—not in judgment, but in understanding. He wasn’t a man who filled silences lightly, and Cassie had come to appreciate that about him.

The absence of his voice gave hers the room to breathe, even as it quaked under the weight of her uncertainty.

“You’ve always been harder on yourself than anyone else,” he interrupted the silence once he noticed she was more at ease, “You don’t trust what people see in you, Cass, and maybe that’s part of the problem. You think you’ve got to hide everything, like people can’t handle the real you.”

She winced, her fingers hurting against the edges of her glass. Baz had an infuriating way of hitting nerves she hadn’t realized were exposed.

Her eyes flicked to the countertop, the wood grain blurring as a knot tightened in her chest.

“It’s not about hiding,” she muttered, “It’s about… Not giving them the ammunition. You don’t get it, people don’t just listen. They dissect. They pick you apart until there’s nothing left, I’ve seen it.”

“You’re right. I don’t get it—not in the way you do,” He let out a breath, rubbing a hand along his jaw, “But I’ve been in enough storms to know that people don’t waste their time picking apart someone who doesn’t matter. The fact that they’re looking at you? It means you’re already doing something worth their attention.”

Cassie shook her head, a bitter laugh escaping her lips, “That’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one they’re staring at right now.”

“No,” Baz agreed, his tone too calm, “But I’ve seen what happens when someone refuses to stand up because they’re scared of the fallout. It doesn’t stop the storm—it just leaves someone else to clean up the mess.”

Her eyes snapped up to meet his figure, a spark of indignation flaring in her chest.

“So what?” she wondered, “You think I owe it to the world to put myself out there? To be ripped apart just because I have something to say?”

Baz leaned closer, resting a hand on her shoulder—not heavy, but firm enough to anchor her. His dark eyes locked onto hers, steady as ever, but there was something deeper in his expression now. Not pity, not even frustration. Just belief.

This time, Cassie tried to force herself to stare at him back, to see what he was gonna say.

“No,” he said, “I think you owe it to yourself.”

Cassie froze, his words cutting through the haze of her spiraling thoughts. They weren’t flashy or grand, but they had a quiet truth that she couldn’t ignore. For a moment, the emotions that were pressing down on her chest lightened, replaced by something that felt disarmingly close to hope.

She couldn’t stop herself before a smile creeped out of her teeth.

Cassie wanted to believe in him, she truly wanted to. Perhaps, that time she would.

Baz’s hand lingered a moment longer before he stepped back, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips in response to hers.

“Now,” he said, his voice returning to its usual easy warmth, “don’t make me pull out a soapbox, Cass. We’ve got a show to watch.”

She managed a weak laugh, the tension in her shoulders easing slowly as he reached for the remote. The television flickered to life, casting a pale glow over the bar as the opening notes of Venturer’s broadcast filled the room.

Declan O’Hara’s face appeared on the screen, his sharp, commanding presence filling the bar as the opening notes of Venturer’s broadcast faded. The backdrop was strikingly simple—sleek, modern lines contrasting with a warm palette that suggested approachability. The kind of visual balance that made the show feel personal without losing its gravitas.

Cassie leaned back in her chair, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. She didn’t say a word, but Baz caught the way her fingers tapped lightly against her arm in a rhythm too calculated to be unconscious.

“You good?” he asked, keeping his tone light, though his eyes didn’t leave her face.

“Yeah,” she muttered, her gaze fixed on the screen, “Just... Curious to see how he spins it.”

Declan’s voice came into the segment seamlessly—a live interview with a city council member who had been at the center of recent housing debates. The guest looked composed, but there was a tension in his smile, the kind that came from knowing you were about to face someone who wouldn’t let a single inconsistency slide.

He was the Irish Wolfhound, after all.

“Here we go,” Baz muttered, leaning in his seat, clearly expecting fireworks.

Cassie didn’t respond, her focus on the screen unbroken. Declan’s approach was surgical, every question calibrated to draw out information without tipping into outright confrontation. His tone remained calm, professional, but there was no mistaking the intent behind his words.

He was peeling back the layers of the council member’s carefully rehearsed answers, pushing him to explain vague statements and sidestep slippery rhetoric.

“Man’s a scalpel,” Baz said under his breath, shaking his head, “Doesn’t let up, does he?”

“It’s effective,” Cassie admitted, her tone grudging. There was something fascinating about watching Declan work—how he managed to command the room without ever raising his voice, how he drew the audience into the conversation without alienating his guest.

It was a skill she recognized, even admired, though she’d never admit it aloud.

Her attention was drawn even further as Declan leaned forward, his next question landing with deliberate weight.

“As Cassie Jones accused in Dan Murphy’s broadcast at Crawford’s FM yesterday,” Declan glanced down at a note in his hand, the movement unhurried, “there are claims that the council’s housing allocations lack transparency. Specifically, that contracts were awarded to developers with personal ties to sitting council members. What’s your response?”

Cassie blinked, her body instinctively leaning a fraction closer to the screen, as though the words might hit differently if she were nearer. Hearing her name roll off his tongue in that voice—the cadence carefully deliberate, each word with the precision of a blade—was something she hadn’t prepared for.

It wasn’t just that he repeated her accusations; it was the way he positioned them as essential to the conversation, stripping away any lingering doubts about their importance.

But then there was the other thing—the truth of it all. What truly shook her in her seat.

She hadn’t been the one to say those words during Dan’s broadcast.

The story, the study, the facts—they were hers, yes. Yet Dan had been the one to voice them, stealing her moment before she arrived at the station to reclaim it. By the time she had taken control of the broadcast, the opportunity to lay out her findings in full had slipped through her fingers. All she could do then was pivot, focus on the other truth she’d uncovered.

And now? Declan O’Hara, of all people, was giving her story back to her.

Baz’s head whipped toward her, his expression part shock, part amusement.

“He’s quoting you?”

“Looks like it,” Cassie muttered, her voice faint as her gaze remained fixed on the screen. Her chest felt a lot heavier, a strange warmth stirring in the pit of her stomach, though she tried to brush it off.

On screen, the council member’s practiced composure faltered before he recovered.

“I’m not aware of any evidence to support those claims,” he said, his tone clipped, “And I think it’s reckless to give air to accusations of a—”

“It’s not about recklessness,” Declan interrupted him, as calm as he was since the beginning of the show, “It’s about accountability. Jones provided specifics—figures, dates, patterns. If they’re inaccurate, wouldn’t it benefit the council to set the record straight?”

Cassie bit her lip, fighting back the urge to grin. For the first time in weeks, it felt like her work wasn’t just hers—just something she could keep on her shelf. No, it was out there, undeniable.

Different from Dan and Crawford, Declan O’Hara wasn’t stealing it. He was amplifying it.

Declan gave my story back to me, Cassie repeated again, as to remind herself that this day wasn’t a dream.

Baz snorted, “Looks like someone’s got a fan.”

“Shut up, Baz,” Cassie muttered, her voice threatening but there was no bite. Still, she could feel the heat creeping up her neck and onto her cheeks, a flush she didn’t dare acknowledge.

Did Baz mean that she was Declan’s fan or Declan who was her fan. Either way, both made her blush even more.

She folded her arms tighter across her chest, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

The council member stumbled over his response, scrambling to reframe the narrative, but Declan was relentless, pressing for specifics with a calm determination that left no room for evasion. When the segment ended, Declan delivered a closing remark that felt both pointed and perfectly impartial, a masterful capstone to the exchange.

The screen transitioned to a softer feature—a local artist creating murals across the city. The shift in tone was smooth, offering viewers a reprieve from the tension.

Cassie exhaled, her eyes fixed on the screen after a beat.

“He’s good,” she said quietly, almost to herself.

Good as a presenter or a good person? Her mind asked her and, well, Cassie didn’t have an answer for that.

Baz chuckled, “That sounded dangerously close to actual praise.”

“Don’t push it,” Cassie warned, though the curve of her lips betrayed her amusement.

The bar’s energy had shifted as the night deepened.

Voices softened into murmurs, glasses clinked with lazy rhythm, and the warm glow of the overhead fixtures seemed to dim ever so vaguely, making the room feel closer, cozier. Cassie and Baz were still at their corner, both a little slouched, their earlier sharpness dulled by the hour and the lingering warmth of their drinks.

From an outsider's perspective, they might have appeared as companions deep into their cups, the way Baz’s posture had relaxed, one arm draped lazily over the back of his chair, his grin loose and easy. Cassie, by contrast, seemed more guarded, though the light flush across her cheeks and the way she covered her mouth mid-laugh betrayed a rare moment of vulnerability.

A laughing fit took over Cassie as Baz told her a story about a patron mistaking a bottle of soy sauce for whiskey last week. She was shaking her head, trying to compose herself, her cheeks flushed from laughter and the residual embarrassment of the earlier show.

Baz placed a hand dramatically on his chest, “I swear on King’s Ransom,” his grin wide and unapologetic.

Cassie shook her head, rolling her eyes but unable to suppress the tug of a smile.

“Right, because your horse makes you credible.”

“Don’t disrespect King’s Ransom,” Baz shot back with mock indignation, “He’s got more class than you’ll ever have.”

Cassie leaned forward, her elbow propped on the table as she took a sip of her drink. The ice clinked softly against the glass, and she watched Baz with a bemused expression, her free hand lightly tracing a circle on the tabletop.

“You know,” she said, setting the glass down, “you’d make a terrible lawyer. Your evidence is a horse, and your defense strategy is sarcasm.”

Baz grinned, leaning back in his chair as though settling into the role of a court jester.

“A lawyer? Please. Too much paperwork. I’d rather keep slinging drinks, making people laugh and playing polo.”

“Ah, here we go to the noble profession of bartending again,” Cassie teased, raising her glass slightly in a mock toast, “Defender of soy sauce incidents and peddler of questionable anecdotes.”

“Questionable?” Baz raised an eyebrow, his hand dramatically clutching his chest again, “That story was the highlight of my week.”

“Well,” Cassie replied, her lips twitching as though fighting a laugh, “your weeks must be very uneventful.”

Baz opened his mouth to retort, but his attention shifted mid-thought. His expression stilled for a moment, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face before his grin returned—sharper now, edged with mischief. He sat up a little straighter, his eyes drifting past her shoulder.

“Uh-oh,” he murmured, amused.

Cassie frowned, following his gaze halfway before stopping herself. The bar was quieter now, the conversation muted, the warm light softening the lines of every figure in the room.

She turned back to Baz, raising an eyebrow in question.

“What?” she asked, her tone half-curious, half-suspicious.

Because everything that made Baz grin was suspicious.

Yet, he didn’t answer immediately, his smirk widening as though he were savoring the moment before delivering a punchline.

“Oh,” a voice behind her said, smooth and far too familiar, “I thought Rupert would be here already.”

Cassie froze, every thought in her head stalling at once. Her fingers tightened around the stem of her glass, the earlier warmth of laughter fleeing in the face of a sudden, overpowering heat that had nothing to do with the bar’s cozy atmosphere.

Her pulse kicked up, erratic and insistent. She didn’t need to turn to recognize the voice. That deliberate cadence, the trace of an accent—it was as unmistakable as it was infuriating.

Declan O’Hara.

Baz, unbothered and clearly enjoying himself, leaned back further in his chair.

“Rupert’s at Mrs. Spencer’s gala,” Baz replied easily, his tone almost conversational, “Something about giving someone a ride.”

“Hm,” Declan mused, the sound more thoughtful than dismissive, “Taggie’s doing their buffet, isn’t she?”

Baz hummed in confirmation, the sound low and knowing. His smirk teetered on the edge of outright glee, and Cassie could feel it radiating off him like heat.

Cassie still couldn’t bring herself to turn around. Her earlier humor had vanished, replaced by an overwhelming awareness of Declan’s proximity. She could almost feel his breath against her neck, irrational as it was—however, she was sitting and he was standing.

Images flashed in her mind—his piercing gaze earlier that day, his voice echoing through her living room as he made a case for Venturer, and the way her name had rolled off his tongue during his broadcast.

In the end, what did he want with her? Truly? He had already done so much tonight—repeating her accusations, giving her the credit Dan Murphy had stolen, framing her work in a way that no one could ignore. And now, here he was, unbidden and unexpected.

A sharp thought pierced through her tangled emotions: All of this... Was it just to get her attention? For her to finally accept his offer?

If yes, then...

She swallowed hard, trying to force the thought away, but it was already there, fully formed and impossible to ignore:

Bloody hell, he was good.

Her thoughts spiraled, and though she wanted to blame it on the warmth of the room or the residual adrenaline from the broadcast, she knew better. Declan O’Hara didn’t just walk into places—he arrived, every movement perfectly calculated, every word perfectly placed.

And then, the moment she’d dreaded:

“Hi, Cassie,” Declan said, his voice taking on a lighter tone, “I imagine you saw my show tonight?”

The words were delivered almost as a challenge. And, unfortunately, for some reason, her brain was built to never ignore a challenge—so, Cassie, despite every instinct screaming at her to remain frozen, finally turned.

Her movement was hesitant, as if her body was testing each muscle before committing fully to the action. She didn’t know what she expected to see—something intimidating, perhaps, or something too familiar to handle—but the reality was worse.

Declan stood there, relaxed in a way that was almost infuriating, his suit still immaculate from the broadcast, the crisp white shirt open just enough at the collar to suggest he’d taken the edge off a long day but hadn’t fully unwound. The muted lighting of the bar softened the sharpness of his features, but his presence remained undiminished.

His dark eyes found hers immediately, the corner of his mouth lifting in a wide smile. It wasn’t a smirk, not exactly—it lacked the arrogance she might have expected—but there was something inherently self-assured about it. Like he knew exactly what effect he had on her.

The kind of effect that made her unable to look away when he looked at her.

Her lungs burned from the effort of keeping her composure, but Declan didn’t press. He simply smiled, the gesture disarming in its simplicity, and waited.

[alwaysbewoke]

On December 6, 2023, Chris Hedges, a renowned author, foreign correspondent, and Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist, spoke in a lecture titled "The Genocide in Gaza" at The Sanctuary for Independent Media in North Troy, NY.

[sataniccapitalist]

Chris Hedges "The Genocide in Gaza"

Best-selling author, foreign correspondent, Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist Chris Hedges addressed the Middle East crisis with a talk titled "The Genocide in Gaza" on December 6, 2023 at The Sanctuary for Independent Media in North Troy NY.

www.mediasanctuary.org

[luvly-writer]

“You are my sunshine”

Part 35: We give thanks

——————————————-

Jason Todd x Latina! Reader

Social Media Au

Status: Finished

Warnings: tooth rotting fluff, Jason receiving the love he dESERVES.

Author’s note: Honest,y, I love you guys so so much, you literally, your feedback, seekng you guys enjoy this story as much as I love writing gives my life! Thank you so so so much. Btw! I had to divide it into two parts, so this is just Thanksgiving part one.

Taglist: @lorosette @nanas-teatime @izukuisbaby @writing-for-the-hell-of-it @unofficial-jaytodd-wife @graywrites5567 @addictedtothefictionalworld @halleest @randobeetlehouse @prettyacademia00 @tamimemo @jasontodd-artemisgrace4life @mxtokko

Series Masterlist:

——————————————-

The last few weeks have been a blur to you. Between helping Nola by sketching some things for her newest photo shoot background, to working with the finishing touches at the sanctuary, signing the contracts with Wayne Enterprises, Queen Industries, and Star Labs and working with all the paper work required, starting a new design for a gazebo in the Wayne Garden’s as a surprise gift for Alfred for Christmas, and spending time with Jason and his family, you were exhausted. You would have gossip sessions at lunch with Stephanie and Nola, a duo that was so chaotic and hilarious you left each meal with your stomach hurting from laughing so hard and visit Cass and Duke at the manor to watch movies. You would take Damian with you every time you went to the sanctuary and would take him out for ice cream after. Even some times, Jason would join you both and you guys would go to the arcade and just have fun. Alfred would invite you on Saturdays to have tea time with him, he would deny it but he was INVESTED in your family tea. Dick would drop by and watch KUWTK and the Bachelor with you (Nola and Jason would join and the three of them SWORE they were the best critics ever, it was hilarious). Jason and you would go to dinner twice a week and he quite literally spent the majority of his time at your apartment. He would crash there after patrol claiming “it was closer to the manor than his apartment and he didn’t want waste much time” knowing it was a big damn lie because his apartment was 15 minutes away from the manor and yours was 25 minutes. SMH, this man. You closet was half your clothes and half his, he had his essentials there, the only thing this man needed was to just say he lived with you and that was it. But he would be caught dead before admitting it because he was a little shit and liked seeing you roll your eyes and laugh in exasperation at his sheer audacity. “I am an independent man, I can live on my own” he would say as he is washing his face with YOUR headband, and you’d laugh and respond, “yeah? When was the last time you slept at you apartment?” To which he would roll his eyes dramatically and mutter, “…that’s not the fucking point” making you wheeze out a laugh.

Before you knew it, Thanksgiving day had arrived. It was three hours and a half before the time you had to be there and you were staring at five outfits in your bed trying to decide which one was better. You had already showered and straightened you hair. Now, you were just standing there on your towel looking at your clothes trying to decide. Jason had already finished getting dressed and was just sitting at your vanity chair in his phone. Soft music played was playing of the background since you had connected your phone to your speaker in order to get ready with music. You kept on alternating between outfits and muttering to yourself in Spanish, stressed cause you still had to do your makeup. Jason locks his phone and decided to just look at you, admiring his girlfriend in her in all her natural splendor. He already had the date where he would go with Bruce and Alfred to search and buy the ring and couldn’t help but feel a giddy sensation in his stomach with just the thought of calling you his wife. He started to smirk slightly hearing you curse in Spanish, finding it so amusing how invested you were in getting the perfect outfit. “Me cago en la madre……este no por que se ve muy de trabajo pero está lindo y este no porque aunque se ve lindo se ve casual. Does this make my shoulders look too wide? Does this shirt even match con el pantalón? Quejesto? (I’m writing it like this cause this is how it sounds with my accent, sorry if some don’t understand, it means “Que es esto?”) Ay noooooo……y si le mando una foto a mami? Ella nunca me dejaría salir fea.” The young girl mutter and Jason couldn’t help but laugh, finding her turmoil absolutely adorable. He stops once she drops her towel, finding her naked body as the most gorgeous thing to exist. He fucking swore, if she were to be a goddess, he would be her most devoted servant. He whistled lowly and when she looked at him as she started was putting on her shirt, he winked, making her giggle. She finally put on the outfit, took a picture and sent it to her mom, then did the rest with the other outfits. “Why do you send them to your mom and not ask me, I’m an amazing fashion critic” whined Jason. “A) the judgment of a Latina woman regarding clothes on a holiday never fails, and b)” she said nearing him and lowering her face to his, “you will say I look good on everything or that it would look better on the floor of the bedroom” she finished giving him a peck on the lips. He smirked in response and said, “which both are very valid answers and I stand by them” making her laugh. Her mom finally answered and she decided liked the choice that her mom suggested so she went with it. She changed to her fit and shooed Jason away from her vanity chair to start her makeup. He began to help her by putting away the rest of her clothes that laid on her bed and then threw himself on it to watch her finish getting ready. He stared at her in awe and she looked at him through the mirror and smiled at him. Oh……Jason was a goner, that girl, man, that girl literally owned his heart. She was his everything. He swore that if all good things in life were to be mixed and became one person, it would definitely be her. Time passed and finally,she finished getting ready.She looked for her purse and her shoes and once she had everything, she told Jason she was ready. He walked up to her and gave her a sweets kiss and grabbed his keys. They went down to the lobby and the apartment complex garage and got in the car. Before starting the engine, Jason looks at you and asks, “ready to meet everyone?” And you nod, your excitement to meet Wonder Woman was beyond the roof.

The ride felt too fast for your liking. You said you were ready but omg you were nervous. Wonder Woman was your fucking icon ok? You had the poster, you dressed up as her more than once you when you were growing up and frankly now that you thought about it, you were kinda embarrassed. It most have shown on your face because Jason laughed and teased you with, “you better not be backing out just because you were a little Wonder Woman fangirl” and at that you look at him him exasperated making him laugh harder, “if I recall correctly, according to everyone, you were also a Wonder Woman fan, so te callas” you shoot back and he nods his head laughing. “Touché, mi sol, touché”.

Finally, Jason parks the car. You got half an hour early, just like Damian requested because he wanted to spend time with you before everyone else arrived and stole your attention away. You both get out of the car, and start walking inside, hands intertwined. You walk into the living room and find Stephanie, Duke, Cass and Tim in a heated game of Mario Cart, oh……that won’t end well, knowing that- “I want next” said Jason from beside you, childlike wonder in his eyes and you hear Dick scream as he comes down the stairs, “So do I!” And you laugh at their antics. “There are a few other controllers there, knowing both of you would want to play and so would Kara, Conner, Roy, Damian and Jon later in the night.” Jason stiffened when he heard Kara was coming as well. She had quite the tendency to flirt with him at ANY chance possible and now that he had his girlfriend here he wasn’t sure how this would turn out. He knew YN trusted him and she wasn’t an insecure woman (I mean duh look at you, you are gorgeous) but he knew Kara had the tendency to be….excessive sometimes. His brothers would constantly tease him about it, since she was young and just crushing on him REALLY BAD, but it had gotten to a point sometimes where it was excessive and even they grew annoyed or uncomfortable. Before he could carry on going downward on a spiral, Tim continued, “But you will have to wait until we finish this one!” Steph pushed her elbow to his, “STEPHANIE STOP FUCKING CHEATING!” Tim screamed, “I AM NOT, YOU JUST SUCK!” She screamed back. “OH GOD HELP ME SO, I SWEAR TIM IF YOU FUCKING THROW THE SHELL AT ME I WI- TIM WOOOOOOOOW REAAALLY TIIIM ITS BECAUSE IM BLACK ISNT IT!?!” Screamed Duke, causing Dick, Jason and you to erupt in a big fit of laughter. Soon you felt two arms on your waist and look down to see Damian clinging to your waist. “Hi, mi pajarito, how are you?” You say as you crouch down and hug him tighter and you can feel his smile on your shoulder. “Good, now that you are here, I must present you to Batcow and Jerry the Turkey, they are most excited to meet you. Alfred the cat and Titus are enlighten to see you again” he says as he pulls you away and you laugh waving at the rest. After going and meeting all his animals, you settled in one of the living rooms of the second floor and you heard him talk about how nice his art club is going and that he met this girl whose name was Miranda and that’s she was “adequate” to hang out with. He told you about their growing friendship and that she talked a lot, specially about her crush on another girl in their class called Katie and how he considered her a terrible match for Miranda but he would be supportive as long as she made his new “ally” happy. You were happy to listen to him talk about his adventures in school. Honestly, happy is an understatement, after knowing all the shit the boy has been through, you were fkn ecstatic. He deserved to enjoy things people his age usually do, whether it was art club or hearing about his friends crushes, Damian Wayne deserved to be a kid. You were sitting on the couch with Damian’s head on your lap when your ever so loving boyfriend walks in. He looks at Damian, who you feel stiff at being caught so vulnerable, and you glare at his, daring him to say something that will make Damian mad. Thankfully, Jason catches the hint and tells you both, “The Kents, the Wonders, and Roy just got here, so Alfred told me to find you both.” And Damian perks up at the sound of Jon’s name. “Thank you, Todd” he says quickly before heading downstairs to his totally not best friend. You laugh and stand up walking towards Jason. You kiss his cheek and began to walk towards the elevator when Jason grabs your hand and pulls you to him, kissing you softly. “One last thing, mi sol” he says once you pull away and you look at him curiously. “Whatever Roy or Artemis say about me, it’s a lie” he says seriously and you bust out laughing, “I’ll be the judge of that,Jason” you say as you pull him towards the elevator and he laughs.

God, nothing could compare to how happy he is whenever you are with him.

___________________________________

<3

[thoughtportal]

On December 6, 2023, Chris Hedges, a renowned author, foreign correspondent, and Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist, spoke in a lecture titled “The Genocide in Gaza” at The Sanctuary for Independent Media in North Troy, NY. Chris Hedges, the former Middle East Bureau Chief for The New York Times, spent seven years covering the news in Israel and Palestine. The talk was co-sponsored by Jewish Voice for Peace, Albany Chapter; Muslim Solidarity Committee and Project SALAM; Bethlehem Neighbors for Peace; Palestinian Rights Committee-Upper Hudson Peace Action; RPI Muslim Student Association; UAlbany Muslim Student Association; Women Against War. {watch}

[beardedmrbean]

The overwhelming majority of New York voters blame President Biden for letting the migrant crisis spiral out of control, a new poll released Tuesday reveals.

The Siena College survey found that a stunning 84% of voters consider the influx of migrants a serious problem, with 57% identifying it as a “very” serious problem. Only 12% of respondents said the problem is not serious.

“It’s a sad case and Biden doesn’t even care. This is a federal problem and has always been a federal problem,” said Maria Ortiz, 37, works in retail and says she constantly sees migrants begging on the train with their babies.

“I’m not voting for him. I voted to get him in office and it’s [been] my biggest regret since,” she said at Jamaica Station in Queens. 

Nearly two-thirds of voters — 64% — flunked the Biden administration’s handling of the migrant influx, while only 29% approved.

The poll suggests the crisis at the southern border that has swamped the Big Apple with the thousands of asylum seekers is dragging down Democrat Biden’s popularity even in blue-leaning New York.

“While other issues in Washington and abroad have largely driven the news cycle over the last few weeks, the influx of migrants to New York remains top of mind for voters, with 84% saying it’s a serious – 57% very serious – problem for the state,” said Siena College pollster Steve Greenberg said.

“Seldom do we see an issue where at least 79% of Democrats, Republicans, independents, men, women, upstaters, downstaters, Blacks, whites, Latinos, Catholics, Jews, and Protestants all agree – that the migrant influx is a serious problem.”

The survey indicates that even immigrant-friendly New York has reached the breaking point with the unrelenting crisis.

Nearly two-thirds of voters, 64%, say New Yorkers have done enough for new migrants and must now work to “slow the flow” of migrants from the border, compared to 29% who say the state should accept and work to assimilate them. That’s a higher figure than the 58% of voters who said so in August.

Mayor Eric Adams was roundly criticized for saying the migrant crisis would “destroy New York City” without aggressive federal intervention. But 58% of voters said they agreed with Adams’s statement, and the support of his dire claim was consistent from all regions of the state.

54% of voters said migration has been more of a burden, while just 32% said it’s a benefit, a worse figure than in the prior August poll.

Biden, 80, has trouble with his own base. A majority of New York Democratic voters — 52% — said they want a nominee other than Biden to be the party’s standard bearer for president. Only 41% of Democrats said they want him as the nominee for re-election.

Thomas Barnes, a 44-year-old transit mechanic, predicted a “huge red wave” in the 2024 contest.

“If this election goes any other way, I think it is time for the American citizens to take a good look at our election system.“ 

“Biden’s funding two proxy wars, Americans are not only broke, it’s getting worse — the crime rate is sky high. Law abiding citizens are afraid for their lives. I’m a transit worker, I see shit every night. Democratic policy is what got us to this point,” he said, while adding he also blamed Republican Texas Gov. Gregg Abbot for sending migrants to sanctuary cities.

“The working class is getting squeezed to nothing. We got nothing left. It’s our tax dollars, not the rich. I think Donald Trump has a really good shot [with] demographics that have historically voted Democrat — it’s all over social media. Black people are done with the Democrat party. It’s promise after promise during election season. Tons of pandering and no follow through. No delivery.” 

His favorability and job approval ratings are underwater and he leads former Republican President Donald Trump — who is fighting four indictments — just 46% to 37% in a hypothetical matchup, with the rest of the voters undecided. His lead over Trump is shaved to 7 percentage points if Robert Kennedy Jr. and Cornel West run on minor party lines.

Republican Rep. Nicole Malliotakis, who has fought the opening of migrant shelters on her Staten Island turf, said, “New Yorkers overwhelmingly disapprove of Democrats’ open borders.

“From President Biden to Governor Hochul to Mayor Adams, they have created an unsustainable and unsafe crisis at the expense of their own citizens,” Malliotakis continued.

“Senators Schumer and Gillibrand should stop holding up our Border Security Act that passed the House in May and end this madness.”

Former Democratic Rep. Max Rose, who lost his seat to Malliotakis three years ago said the president “can’t ignore” the migrant issue.

“The Biden administration and Democrats have to show they can effectively and humanely manage the migrant issue or face serious election consequences,” said Rose.

“This could make the 2022 backlash over riots and crime look like a walk in the park,” he said.

Rose predicted Biden will carry New York in the presidential race next year because of the overwhelming Democratic vote in NYC. But Democratic candidates for Congress could lose if Biden fares poorly at the top of the ticket in the suburbs and upstate, he said.

In terms of popularity, 52% of voters said they had an unfavorable view of Biden compared to 45% who had a favorable view. Similarly, 51% of respondents disapproved of his job performance while 46% approved.

A staggering 65% of New Yorkers say the United States is going in the wrong direction under a Biden presidency, while just 25% said it’s on the right track with the remainder undecided.

Felix Ramos, a 26-year-old security worker, said if the polling trend continued, Biden would have to blame himself. 

“New York might just become a red state, and that’s when you know you did a bad job as a president.” 

Democrats outnumber Republicans by more than 2-1 and the last GOPer to carry New York in a presidential race was Ronald Reagan in 1984. But last year, Republican Lee Zeldin ran a competitive race for governor against Democratic Gov. Kathy Hochul and the GOP picked up congressional seats.

“And also true is that right now, Biden has his worst-ever New York favorability and job approval ratings,” said Siena’s Greenberg. “The good news for Biden is the election is more than a year away. The bad news is there’s more bad news,” Greenberg said.

“While 70% of Democrats view Biden favorably, and 70% of Democrats approve of the job he’s doing, 52% of Democrats say they want a different presidential nominee in 2024.”

Zeldin, for his part, said “President Biden should start preparing a concession speech” if the trend continued.

“If New York is close, you can only imagine where voters are heading in swing states,” the former Long Island congressman said.

“There is an intensified desire for a correction over disastrous one-party Democratic rule in New York.”

Only 30% of voters statewide approve of Adams’ handling of migrants’ issue while 46% disapprove. Even in New York City, 50% of Adams’ constituents disapproved while 41% approved.

Only 30% of voters statewide approve of Adams handling of migrants’ issue while 46% disapprove. Even in New York City, 50% of Adams’ constituents disapproved while 41% approved.

Only 37% of respondents statewide approve of Hochul’s handling of the migrant crisis, while 52% disapprove.

Public safety remains a major concern — 59% of voters statewide say crime has gotten worse over the past year, while just 9% said it’s gotten better and 28% said the same.

In New York City, 51% of voters said crime has gotten worse, while 33% said the same and just 12% better.

That’s a potential problem for Adams, who made bolstering public safety his top campaign pledge for City Hall in 2021.

The survey of 1,225 registered voters was conducted from Oct. 15-19, after the terrorist group’s Hamas invasion and slaughter of Israelis and Israel’s counter-offensive in Gaza. It has a margin of error of 3.4 percentage points.

The poll found that 57% of New Yorkers support providing more military and economic aid to Israel, compared to 32% opposed.

Meanwhile, 51% of responders back providing more military and economic aid to Ukraine while 38% were opposed.

“New York needs help and we have been asking for help but all [Biden] does is send help to other countries and lounge on the beach. Pathetic,” said Ortiz, the Queens straphanger.

On the Middle East war, 50% of voters agreed with the statement that Israel must do everything it can to get back the hostages taken by Hamas, but Israeli attacks in Gaza will largely hurt innocent Palestinian civilians more than anyone else

But 32% of voters agreed with the statement that after the surprise terrorist attacks Hamas carried out on Israeli civilians, Israel must do everything it can in the Gaza territory to make sure it never happens again, regardless of casualties.

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

I really need to share this with someone and I’m not sure where/who to go to. I am afraid I’ll lose interest in Ewan like I did with Joseph Quinn. I was so excited for him, I thought he did an amazing job, and then the rumors and the digging in his personal life, following him on the streets, doxxing his family members started and now I just feel absolutely nothing for him. I know he’s going to be in the new Quiet Place movie, but I’m going to watch it more because I’m a fan of the movies and less because of him. I am afraid it’s starting to happen with Ewan to me as well. There is so little content about him and his works, but whenever new things are coming out it’s people saying he’s ugly, does not deserve his role as Aemond, apparently as I’ve just read in your asks people are doxxing workers of the talent agency? I’m guessing it’s the woman who was on the red carpet with him we thought was his sister? It’s just so offputting, it makes me want to distance myself from every platform ever. I already don’t have social media as is, except my Tumblr I’ve had for 14 years, I’ve deleted myself off everywhere else because people are so vile and I have to use for this energy, but the one sanctuary I’ve been able to come to has become so poisoned… I remember the Ewan tag on the day the first episode he was in came out. There was nothing. And now it’s filled with shit. I hate it here and above all I hate it that people are making me lose interest in entertainers whose work I otherwise adore. I’m sorry for the rant, feel free to ignore, I just needed to let it out.

That really sucks, I’m sorry to hear that. I was never a part of the Joseph Quinn hype, so seeing people go absolutely rabid and refuse to have boundaries over Ewan is a brand new and terrifying experience for me.

Thankfully, the bulk of shitty behaviour seems to be confined to other platforms (like you, I don’t do social media, so Tumblr is very much a comfy bubble for me)

I agree that the Ewan tag is a trash fire now though. I’d recommend staying out of it where possible and just following a few solid accounts that are posting genuine content - it’ll save you a huge, huge headache.

The woman being doxxed works as an assistant at Independent Talent and was the person who attended the premiere. She’s not dating Ewan. I am honestly disgusted that people are targeting her. She must feel terrified. Not to mention the awful rumours that people are starting could lose her her job if taken seriously. People need to get a grip!

My only advice to you would be to not let other people’s behaviour influence your enjoyment of something, you’ll drive yourself mad otherwise. And if you do lose interest, it’s no big deal. He’s just a person at the end of the day, your life is no better or worse for appreciating or not appreciating him, and interests fading is a very natural part of life. Keep your chin up and don’t let the arseholes grind you down!

[local-hellhound-steals-spaghetti]

Yes Mark Simmons go off 👏

It really is ridiculous that they were trying to introduce a stretcher to a novelty-averse 50+ year old orca who was still on antibiotics.

The “care team” that was Friends of Toki were not zoological professionals. In fact most of them didn’t have a single day of experience working with orcas or developing behaviour plans.

The vets were independent and had experience but they were likely feeling pressure by the constant media releases of how they were going to transport Toki by the end of the year.

Toki was old. I don’t think there’s conspiracy about her death. But I do think that the way she was talked about as a “symbol” for the anti cap movement was not putting her best interests at heart.

These people want whales to experiment their sea sanctuary idea with and have a “win”. Just like they did with Keiko and Naomi Rose said quote “he wasn’t the best candidate but he was the only candidate.”

They knew Keiko had chronic heath issues of recurring pneumonia but they had gotten up enough public momentum that they could pull it off. So they did. And that orca suffered a very sad end of deprivation and stress before those health issues caught up to him.

Mark Simmons knows this better than most people because he was one of the people who had to walk out of the Keiko project because the higher ups insisted on forcing him into paths of wild orca even though he showed significant stress responses.

The zoological industry has a lot to be accountable for as well. It has a lot of work to do to make sure what happened to Toki never happens again. Especially accrediting organisations that have STILL allowed MSQ to keep their accreditation after they were caught starving their dolphins.

Toki deserved better. And I’m sad that she lost her trainers of 20+ years because they couldn’t work at MSQ anymore with the Dolphin Company’s disgraceful conduct.

So she probably didn’t even get to die with the people she knew and loved the most. Even though I’m sure her current trainers adored her and gave her the best passing they could.

Everything about this is exhausting and frustrating and quite frankly makes me glad I’m no longer a part of this industry. I’m so tired.

[fettfleisch]

why do you have so many blogs ??

one reason is because i like to divide content depending on camera type, medium, etc. ...

the other reason is (and this goes out to @staff tumblr support) i really have trust issues towards Tumblr. this blog has been terminated already twice! out of sudden! with support explaining it to be a glitch or an error in the system every single time. shadowbanned has this account been once, too! "glitch" again.

has someone out there made similar experiences? i heard of a lot of people who have and on reddit there is even one single forum dedicated to it. check it out, it can spend support, if you are in a situation like that:

https://www.reddit.com/r/TumblrAcctTerminated/

and yeah it's really like an unhealthy toxic relationship with Tumblr for me. it feels unstable. always threatened to loose everything. do you know this feeling?

you give lots of love into it, year over year. you build something up, make it your home. find your community. but underneath it all, you always have to have the feeling of loosing it all. like being kicked out of the door. like loosing trust in the person or the environment, which should be your field of trust #1.

Tumblr, this here, is the environment where people like we belong. where we feel at home at. Tumblr should never be a place to feel unsafe and withdraw confidence. we support Tumblr. we make it happen. so Tumblr should support us, too...

that's how it is and unfortunately it hasn't really changed for me. and because i have tons of content and produce all the time with different cameras and such, i decided to put out more on the one hand and on the other to use the other blogs as some kind of backup/sanctuary

they give me peace of mind, and that speaks a lot about social media and our relationship towards them nowadays. social media should make us independent. Not dependent...

what's your story?

[faithtales]

2022: Yearly Round-Up

First things first: Happy New Year!!! Look at you, you made it through to tell the tale! And what a year 2022 was! For me, the highs were very euphoric, and the lows were the absolute worst. From January 2022, I wished the year would just end already. I had a very painful start to the year. In February, my only surviving grandmother passed away, and the day I got the news will go down as one of the worst days of my life. I miss my gogo dearly, but I’m also happy she is finally resting. The last long conversation I had with her was very deep, and left me inspired to live a life she would be proud of. 

This was also the year we experienced devaluation, inflation, a fuel crisis, persistent blackouts and the list goes on and on. I couldn’t have picked the worst time to move out. Prices skyrocketed, and Little Miss Independent here called mum, dad, and her big sister Charity when she met any inconvenience (baby steps, guys, baby steps). But despite all that, I have really enjoyed living alone and the peace that comes with it. Honestly, it is not as scary as most people portray it. I truly love it here - highly recommend.

The good parts were really good, too. I loved quality time with family and friends, and the wins were nothing short of miracles. I significantly reduced the time I spent on some social media sites and deleted some apps while at it, and I'm glad I did. I also had a fairly great year at work, mainly because I enjoy the work I do, and I am surrounded by some really awesome workmates. It was a year of lessons, too. The biggest lesson is that when God says His mercies are new every morning? He means just that! That He loves you unconditionally? Never ever doubt it. I am walking into 2023 with all the lessons in mind and asking for God’s grace to take me through.

So, as per tradition, before we move on completely, here is my round-up for the year 2022:

Top 5 places visited:

1. Zomba Mountain - William Falls and Songani Lookout

Took a hike very early on in January, and got to see the amazing William Falls and went all the way to Songani Lookout with my girls. Zomba views will never ever get old.

2. Rumphi

This year was my first time going up north beyond the city of Mzuzu. All I can say is, the north really is underrated. I went all the way to Karonga, and Chiweta was a marvel. This was a work trip so I didn’t get to do much, but it just made me itch for a proper Rumphi trip. I have always wanted to visit Mushroom Farm and Nyika Plateau… What I saw of Rumphi made me realise this is one of the most beautiful districts in Malawi (by far, too!).

Photo credits: Adventures with Colby, and Herman Is Out of The Office

3. Makokola Retreat

I remember going to Makokola Retreat when we were younger during school holidays (called Club Makokola back then). When I visited this year, I felt so nostalgic! It is still as amazing as it was, and I’m so glad the standard keeps going up. This is truly one of Mangochi’s finest establishments.

4. Kefi  Hotel Café

The newest Instagrammable location in my beautiful hometown! Kefi is located near the Zomba Botanical Gardens. They have really great food, and I love that they maintained the good old Zomba colonial style exterior and blended it with aesthetic interior design. I truly enjoyed the calm and quiet here.

I don’t know if you can just show up now, but last I checked, you have to book ahead, so plan accordingly if you ever want to visit.

5. Maravi Coffee 

I finally fulfilled my promise to check out this place inside the Nature Sanctuary, right in City Centre. Such a cosy place, surrounded by trees and cheeky monkeys. For a second, you forget you are in the middle of dusty Lilongwe.

Top books Read

Let me not even lie guys, I did not read enough interesting books to come up with a list for this year’s round-up. What I did do though, was get into podcasts so that’s how I am making up for not coming up with a list of my top reads.

Fav Podcasts

I discovered that a very great way to spend time in slow Lilongwe traffic is a good ol’ dramatic story by Wondery! Wondery is by far, my fav publisher of podcasts. The drama. The scandals. The history lessons – oooh yes!

Here are my favourites, with my personal rating

American Scandal:

Edward Snowden (4/5)

Watergate (3/5)

The Clinton-Lewinsky Affair (4/5)

Tuskegee Syphilis Study (5/5!)

British Scandal:

Spy Cops (5/5)

The Coughing Major (5/5)

The Litvinenko Affair (3/5)

The Canoe Con (5/5!!!!)

The Murdoch Phone Hacking (3.5/5)

Business Wars:

McDonald's vs Burger King (4/5)

15 songs that were stuck on replay in 2022

Since Spotify decided to discriminate us this year and not give us our well deserved Wrapped, I had to come up with this list manually, so I hope I'm not too far off.

The one thing I have loved about this year is the amount of Malawians putting out quality music on streaming platforms. It gives me so much hope for what's to come.

1.     Jehova – Ryan Ofei

2.     Somebody Knows – ELI-J

3.     The Commission – CAIN

4.     Bwenzi Langa – Free Worship Malawi, Simplice Bless

5.     He’ll Be There – Lynual Younce

6.     I Am Yours – Terry Clark

7.     Standing By The Bedside – Cox Family

8.     Shall Not Want – Elevation Worship, Maverick City Music, Chandler Moore

9.     There Was Jesus – CAIN

10. No Words (ft. Leon Timbo) - Jason Nelson

11. Never Lost - CeCe Winans

12. You're Gonna Be Okay - Jenn Johnson

13. Capable God - Judikay

14. You I Live For - Moses Bliss

15. Alipo - Kelvin Sings, Beracah  (why is this song so short tho? 🥺)

You can find this playlist on Spotify 

Honourable mentions - songs I replayed on YouTube:

https://youtu.be/oF7EUyQArPQ

https://youtu.be/WZAzTGsEnHI

https://youtu.be/PJDRmhaPAaQ

 And that’s it! I wish you a great new year, until the next round-up, God willing, enjoy 2023!

-Fai

P/S: My website is down at the moment, so I’ll use Tumblr till it’s up and running again.

[heretic-child]

Alevis and Yazidis in Afrin threatened with extinction

Situation of Yazidis

Before the Turkish occupation, there were about 20,000 to 30,000 Yazidis living in Afrin. Now, there are only 1500 Yazidis left. Almost all Yazidi villages or villages with a Yazidi population in the region between Afrin and Mount Simon – such as Basufan, Baadi, Barad, Kimar, Iska, Shadere, Ghazzawiya, Burj Abdalo, and Ain Dara – were attacked by the Turkish air force at the beginning of 2018. The Yazidi village of Qestel Cindu had already been attacked by IS and other Islamist groups in 2013. Even back then, Turkey supported or tolerated Islamist fighters in Northern Syria. Many Yazidi olive groves and fruit trees were destroyed, and their livestock was killed. During the clashes between rivaling pro-Turkish Islamist groups in early June 2010, it had become known that the Arab-Sunni Hamzat militia was operating secret prisons for women in Afrin. Pictures of naked women being held there circulated in social media. Five Kurdish women, among them a Yazidi woman, were identified in videos and pictures.

Situation of Alevis

Before the Turkish occupation in March 2018, Afrin was inhabited by a tolerant Muslim population. Under the Turkish occupation regime, the situation changed fundamentally. Turkish President Erdogan uses religion – in this case Islam – as a weapon, inciting against anyone who rejects a strict interpretation of the Quran.

In March 2018, a new era in Afrin’s history began. Within two years, much of what the people had built up over centuries was destroyed. The Kurds are suffering under the Islamization and Turkification policy practiced by Turkey. For the few Alevis who stayed in Afrin, but also for the Yazidis, Erdogan's policy could lead to complete extermination.

Afrin's Alevis speak "Kurmanci" – the same Kurdish dialect that all Kurds in Afrin speak – and feel closely connected with other Kurds. Many Alevis identify themselves Muslims, but want to be recognized as an independent religion. The Alevis strictly reject the Islamic Sharia law. Also, other rituals of Islam play no role for them. While women are usually seen as inferior to the men in Islam, men and women are equal in Alevism. They pray together at the "Cem". Also, women are not required to wear a headscarf.

Even though Afrins Alevi community was only a small minority until the Turkish occupation, they played a major role in the political, cultural, and economic life of Afrin. One of the founders of the first "Kurdish Democratic Party" in Syria was the Alevi Muhammad Ali Khojah (1916 - 1965).

Many Alevis found refuge in Afrin when they were forced to flee from Turkey. Thus, one of the most famous leaders of the Kurdish freedom movement, the Alevi Dr. Nuri Dersimi (1892 - 1973), was able to find a new home in Afrin. Many of Dersimi's relatives were massacred by the Turkish military in 1937/38. Dersimi worked as a veterinarian in the northern Syrian metropolis of Aleppo for several years. According to his wish, he was buried in a cemetery not far from Afrin. His wife was buried there as well. Before his death, Dersimi made sure that a burial place was established there. The last time a member of the STP visited Dersimi's grave was in 2015. Dersimi's grave was desecrated following the Turkish occupation. The cemetery chapel was looted and partly destroyed.

Other Alevi cemeteries and sanctuaries were destroyed as well. The existence of many places with the addition "Dede" or "Baba" shows that many Alevis lived in Afrin. Gradually, the Alevi community was forced to convert to Islam in the Ottoman Empire. The recent Turkish occupation could mean an end to Alevism in Afrin – as the Turkish state is continuing its policy of Islamization inside and outside of Turkey with all its rigor. The disappearance of the Alevis, Yazidis, and Christians in Afrin will lead to an end to religious diversity there.

[desireswitch]

Eleanor Beauchamp Hatter was born in a small town in northern France, where the icy sea winds blew fiercely and the quiet streets held secret dreams. At the age of 12, her talent was discovered unexpectedly when a renowned modeling agency passed through her town and was captivated by the unusual radiance of her beauty and her magnetic smile. From that moment on, her life transformed into a remarkable journey through the world of fashion. With her light-hearted spirit and charming demeanor, Eleanor quickly won over the world of runways. Always cheerful and fun, her captivating personality made her an unforgettable presence, both in front of the camera and behind the scenes. From Paris to Tokyo, Milan to New York, her name became synonymous with elegance and authenticity. By the time she was 18, she had already become the face of some of the most sought-after luxury brands, shining brightly in the glamorous and competitive world of haute couture. Today, at 26, Eleanor lives alone in the Hamptons, a place that reflects her independence and freedom. Constantly traveling for events and fashion shows, she has built a solid career without ever losing her natural charm, her empathy for others, and, of course, her unique way of being. While her professional life is marked by fame and recognition, she remains true to who she truly is: an authentic woman, passionate about art and her freedom, embracing her sexuality with pride and fearlessness. Single and bisexual, Eleanor lives life on her own terms, balancing her professional success with an ongoing pursuit of self-discovery and happiness. To the world, she is one of the most sought-after models, but to herself, true beauty lies in the freedom to be genuine to herself and to her principles.

Despite the relentless glare of camera flashes and the glossy covers of magazines, Eleanor has never allowed the glamour to overshadow the essence of who she truly is. The lights of the runway may be dazzling, but it’s the quiet sunset over the ocean, viewed from her home in the Hamptons, that she considers her true sanctuary. Between photoshoots and events, it is in that silence where she finds peace. Her carefully chosen circle of friends knows her deeply, as a woman who seeks meaning in the small things. No matter how far the world of fashion takes her from her origins, she never forgets her roots or where she came from. In her personal life, Eleanor is open-hearted yet reserved when it comes to her privacy. Despite her fame, she is careful to keep her life out of the media’s prying eyes, maintaining a close-knit group of friendships and relationships. Those who know her understand that she is intense, passionate about life, music, and the intimate moments she shares only with those she truly trusts. Her relationships are marked by sincerity, and it is this honesty, combined with her natural magnetism, that makes her connections so special and unforgettable. Her name may be associated with luxury brands and the most prestigious fashion shows, but Eleanor refuses to be defined solely by her profession. She takes pride in being a woman who, despite all the challenges, has never allowed herself to be shaped by the expectations of the spotlight. Steadfast in her convictions, she serves as a source of strength and freedom for other women who look up to her, whether through the pages of magazines or in everyday life. Looking to the future, Eleanor has big plans. She dreams of expanding her horizons—perhaps by creating her own line of clothing and accessories, or even exploring photography or interior design. Whatever she decides to pursue, it will always be done with the same perfectionism and passion she brings to everything she touches. For Eleanor, beauty isn’t just in the clothes she wears or the campaigns she stars in— it’s in the way she lives her life, without regrets, without excuses, and, above all, with a heart wide open to all the world has to offer.

[goindiacharityfoundation]

Donate for Blind and Support Go Shelter Bhubaneswar – Transform Lives with Go India Charity Organization

At GoIndia Charity Organization, we believe in the transformative power of kindness and the strength of collective effort. Through our initiatives such as “Donate for Blind” and “Go Shelter Bhubaneswar”, we are striving to create a better, more inclusive world. This article explores the profound impact of these programs and how your support can change lives.

Donate for Blind: A Vision for the Sightless

Millions of people worldwide face the challenges of visual impairment and blindness. In India, the situation is particularly concerning, with approximately 20% of the global visually impaired population residing here. Blindness is not just a medical condition—it also poses economic and social hurdles that restrict access to education, employment, and basic human rights.

Why Donate for Blind? Your contribution to our Donate for Blind program helps us achieve the following:

Empowering Education: Providing Braille books, digital devices, and other learning tools to visually impaired children and adults.

Skill Development: Offering vocational training and resources to enable financial independence.

Health Interventions: Funding eye surgeries, medical treatments, and vision restoration initiatives.

Technology for Inclusion: Supporting the distribution of assistive devices like screen readers, walking canes, and mobility tools.

Success Stories that Inspire

One of our beneficiaries, 12-year-old Ritu from Odisha, lost her vision at a young age. With your donations, Ritu received a Braille kit and access to online classes designed for visually impaired students. Today, she is excelling academically and dreams of becoming a teacher.

By donating to this program, you’re not just providing financial aid; you’re giving individuals like Ritu hope and a chance to live with dignity.

Go Shelter Bhubaneswar: A Safe Haven for the Needy

In the heart of Bhubaneswar, Go Shelter Bhubaneswar stands as a sanctuary for the homeless, orphaned, and abandoned. This shelter is more than just a building—it is a place of hope, nurturing, and second chances.

Who Benefits from Go Shelter Bhubaneswar?

Children in Need: Providing a loving environment, education, and care for orphans and abandoned children.

Elderly Citizens: Offering support and shelter to senior citizens who have been left destitute or neglected.

Homeless Individuals: Ensuring a safe space for those living on the streets, giving them a chance to rebuild their lives.

Facilities at Go Shelter Bhubaneswar

Accommodation: Clean, safe living spaces with adequate privacy.

Healthcare: Regular medical check-ups, emergency care, and mental health support.

Education: Access to formal education for children and skill development programs for adults.

Rehabilitation: Counseling services and reintegration programs to help individuals regain their footing in society.

How You Can Make a Difference

The success of our programs depends on generous contributions from individuals, organizations, and communities. Here’s how you can get involved:

1. Donate

For Blind: Even a small contribution can provide assistive devices or fund an eye surgery.

For Go Shelter Bhubaneswar: Your donation ensures shelter, food, healthcare, and education for the residents.

2. Volunteer

Join our team in Bhubaneswar to teach, counsel, or assist with the day-to-day operations of the shelter.

3. Spread Awareness

Share information about GoIndia Charity Organization and our initiatives on social media, within your community, or with your corporate network.

4. Organize Fundraisers

Host events or campaigns to raise funds and bring people together for a common cause.

Why Choose GoIndia Charity Organization?

Transparency: We ensure every penny donated is accounted for and utilized effectively.

Impact-Driven: Our programs are designed to create measurable, sustainable change.

Community-Centric: We work closely with local communities to identify and address their unique challenges.

When you support GoIndia Charity Organization, you’re not just donating; you’re becoming a part of a movement that believes in the power of humanity to create a better tomorrow.

Join Us in Transforming Lives

Your contribution to Donate for Blind and Go Shelter Bhubaneswar can illuminate the lives of countless individuals. Together, we can empower the visually impaired, shelter the homeless, and provide hope to those who need it the most.

Visit our website www.goindiacharity.org to learn more about our initiatives and make a donation today. Every act of kindness counts, no matter how small.

Let’s build a future where no one is left behind—because every life matters, and every person deserves a chance to thrive.

Together, let’s create brighter futures with Go India Charity Organization.

[ferrolano-blog]

¿Cómo es posible que en Occidente ni siquiera haya lugar para la empatía hacia las víctimas inocentes de Gaza? Cómo se ha llegado a esta degradación ética, espiritual de Occidente? La empatía está ahí, pero no en los círculos de poder. Esto se debe a que el lobby israelí ha comprado a casi todos los políticos de alto nivel de Estados Unidos y ha invertido millones de dólares en campañas para derrotar a quienes tienen el valor moral de desafiar a Israel... El poder del lobby israelí se puso de manifiesto cuando fuimos testigos del descarado aplauso de la mayoría de los miembros del Congreso al primer ministro israelí, Benjamin Netanyahu, cuando se dirigió al Congreso en pleno genocidio de Gaza... La interferencia masiva en nuestros asuntos internos por parte de Israel y el lobby israelí, mucho mayor que la de cualquier otro país, lleva a la conclusión de que Israel es el dueño de nuestra clase política (Chris Hedges, Premio Pulitzer)