If you follow this blog or have been paying attention to the news, you will know that the Spanish military police tried to stop the Catalan independence referendum by using violence against the voters, including throwing elder people down the stairs and jumping over them, shooting rubber bullets (which are illegal in Catalonia btw) at voters and even at nurses trying to help wounded people reach an ambulance, getting clothes off girls and throwing them to the floor naked while laughing, graing women by their hair and dragging them out f the voting center while kicking them, etc. Over 800 Catalan people were hurt for trying to vote.
Today, to protest police brutality carried out and defended by the Spanish government, there has been an “aturada de país” which means we stopped the country. Practically all businesses have closed, and about 60 highways have been cut (including the border with France) by citizens playing chess or cards in the middle of the road. The economy is stopped and thousands of people are protesting on the streets. Many people also used the day to go bring flowers to the schools that were violently assaulted by the Spanish police.
i dont hate the straights im like totally an ally im not some, haha, you know, im not like a, a heterophobe haha, i just like dont want to see it you know?
like what you do behind closed doors is your business yeah?
but like if im completely honest with you the thing is that i- i just cant stand it when those straights like just start touching swords and knives stuff.
like, cant they just keep to their straight stuff like talking about how much they hate each other or whatever it is straight people do all the time
i mean im not heterophobic or anything last week i went out (not in a straight way we were just out shopping haha ha ha. totally support the lifestyle im just not straight you know) with my straight friend and i bought a ‘i 💕 straight rights’ im wearing it now its just
why are they trying to be gay like that, everyone knows hets can’t use swords
After a SpaceX mission, Elon Musk suddenly closes down all his businesses and disappears. Eight years later, an old Musk owned factory begins to operate again. You find a lucky golden ticket, inviting you for a tour of the factory.
Can you do a solangelo where will spends the night in the hades cabin and then they're really embarrassed
Will hadn’t meant to fall asleep.
He’d just been very tired last night. He’s been working nonstop at the infirmary, his infirmary, and there had been a lot of kids that needed patching up after the round of capture the flag with the Roman kids. Will should know better, and it’s not like he doesn’t trust his siblings, it’s just. A complex, maybe. Anyway, all he remembers from yesterday is that he’d stumbled into the medicine cabinet one too many times, and Kayla had finally had enough, shoving him out the door and into Nico’s waiting arms, telling him to “get some rest before you come back, or so help me.”
And now he’s… here.
Here is inside the Hades cabin, lying in Nico’s bed, an arm trapping him under the covers and something warm pressed against his side. Will blinks again, just to make sure he isn’t still dreaming.
The body beside him shifts, and Will turns his head to find himself face-to-face with Nico’s throat. He freezes. Nico swallows, and Will watches his Adam’s apple bob slightly with the movement.
“Uh,” he says. “Nico?”
Nico stirs. The arm thrown over Will’s chest moves, and then groggy brown eyes are staring down at him. “Oh,” Nico says, yawning. “Good morning.”
“Good, uh, good morning to you, too.” Will pushes himself up slowly. He does feel better rested than he has in days, but he can feel heat quickly rising in his cheeks. “Um. This is—I mean, thanks for, uh, taking care of me last night?”
“It’s fine,” Nico says. He seems to be waking up more rapidly now, shifting backwards to put some space between them. “I thought here might be quieter than your cabin, and then I couldn’t wake you up, so…” He shrugs, eyes anywhere but Will’s face. “Are you feeling better?”
They both stare at separate walls, pretending the blush on their cheeks doesn’t exist. Will can imagine what his siblings will say and the raised eyebrows their friends will give them, but he can still feel the warmth of Nico against him. He risks a glance back and finds the other boy already watching him.
Face still flushed pink, Will chances a smile. “Want to get breakfast with me?”
Nico looks away, but there’s a small smile playing on his lips, too. “Okay.”
The ship touches down and before the door can open completely Matt pushes through, heart still in his mouth, blood rushing in his ears.
He knows he’s okay, he knows he’s been saved (by their enemy, what the actual fuck, when he was right there he should have been the one that helped—) but he can’t emotionally process it; not until he can see with his own two eyes that Keith’s alive and safe and breathing.
He pushes past his friends without apology or excuse, brushes past Pidge and the rest of the paladins (who had cheered after Keith almost died and he shouldn’t blame them he knows he shouldn’t be angry at them they didn’t know but still—) and he’s the first to reach Keith’s side, to arrive by the lone hijacked Galra ship that’s been half destroyed. The door opens and Keith comes out of it on unsteady feet, Blade of Marmora suit as sleek and black as the night, contrasting sharply with his pale skin. His hood is down, so Matt can see his expression without problem—lips bloodless and tightly pressed together, eyebrows drawn in worry.
And the worst thing is, Matt knows the worry isn’t even remotely linked with his own situation.
“Shiro? Where’s Lotor?” Keith says into his communicator.
Of course. Of-fucking-course. Of course the stupid, self-sacrificing idiot would be most concerned with the location of their enemy than the fact that he almost died.
Matt snarls. “Who the fuck cares where Lotor is?” The words are rough and angry, tinted with fear and concern that Matt does not care to hide. Keith startles and looks up, gray-blue eyes widening in surprise as they connect with Matt’s.
“What the fuck were you thinking?” He isn’t quite sure when he got so close to Keith, but both hands are now on his shoulders, shaking him a bit. His eyes roam over his face, cataloging every twitch, every spot of dirt. “Are you okay? You’re not hurt? Fuck,
you ever do that ever again.”
His hands are no longer on Keith’s shoulders. They are on his arms, on his forehead, running through his hair, down his neck, cupping his cheeks, making sure that he is, in fact, as uninjured as he seems to be.
Keith is like a frozen statue, barely breathing. His eyes are blown so wide and there’s such a lost look in them that Matt’s heart breaks.
“I don’t—I mean—”
“You almost died, Keith. You—” Matt closes his eyes and tilts his head back, trying to keep the tears he can feel prickling at his eyes at bay. There’s no use. They roll down his cheeks when he looks down again, making Keith’s eyes widen even more. Matt tries to smile, but it’s a tremulous, fragile thing that’s more a grimace than anything else. “You tried to sacrifice yourself.” He swallows. “Why?”
Keith snaps his mouth shut, and then there is a moment of silence in which it seems that he’s not going to answer. His eyes are shining, though, fiery and defiant and full of stubbornness.
A tic, two, and then—Keith’s shoulders slump; he averts his eyes. “It was the only way. The team, the blade, the coalition… everyone would have died if the weapon wasn’t destroyed. And…” His eyes find Matt’s again. He straightens his spine, juts out his chin. “I was the only one who could do something about it. So I did.”
Matt closes his eyes and breathes deeply through his nose. He thinks he’s trembling (Because of fear? Powerlessness? Suppressed rage? He isn’t sure.)
The thing is, Keith is so… so convinced that what he did was what was best, that everything would have been fine after he…
“Hey. I’m—I’m fine, aren’t I? It’s fine. You don’t need to worry about me.”
Matt whines—a high-pitched, wounded noise in the back of his throat that he can’t suppress—and crushes the stupid, stupid brave idiot with a heart of gold and too much worth that he won’t see why to his chest in the tightest hug he’s given anyone since his reunion with Pidge. Keith grunts, small and confused, but readily hugs him back, and Matt just tightens his hold on him, hiding his face on the crook of his neck.
Then Keith’s team is there: Shiro and Pidge and Hunk and Lance and Allura and Coran, all of them hugging Keith—and therefore Matt, because Matt was there first—and talking one over the other while crying.
“What he said… Is it true?”
“Keith you didn’t—”
“Why would you even—”
“You can’t do that, mullet, what the fuck—”
“Oh my God, Keith, are you—”
“I’m so sorry I didn’t—”
“—not fine why —”
“—n’t do this without you—”
“—Voltron needs you, we need you—”
“—n’t do that again!”
The arms around him twitch, then squeeze. The fingers on his back tighten around the cloth of his uniform, and then Matt can feel dampness spreading on his shoulder, there where Keith has hidden his own face after the avalanche of words and feelings started.
Keith’s crying. He’s crying with them, clinging to them, and Matt feels that he can breathe easier.
It’s a small step, just a breach of the barrier, a scratch on the surface of the problem, but they’ll get there. He doesn’t know why Keith thinks so poorly of himself, why doesn’t he see his own worth, and he isn’t sure he even wants to know. (He’s afraid of his own reaction.) But one thing is certain: he isn’t going to let that stand.
He runs his hand through Keith’s hair; Keith hiccups and pulls him closer still.
No, he isn’t going to let that stand. He’s going to help, whatever it takes.
In cities around America, thousands of construction companies, restaurants, and other businesses are bracing for “A Day Without Immigrants,” a combination boycott/strike that highlights the contributions of immigrants to U.S. business and culture.
The movement is a response to President Trump’s immigration agenda, which includes a pledge to seal the U.S. border with Mexico, and a travel ban on citizens of seven majority-Muslim countries (which is now on hold).
Some businesses are closing for the day; others are staying open and pledging to contribute a share of the day’s proceeds to non-profits that aid Latino communities. In a number of cases, business owners are abiding by their staffs’ wishes, after holding votes to decide whether to open.
Every Sunday since Hurricane Maria ripped through Puerto Rico, Ada Reyes and her four children have walked half an hour to church. Down a winding road, dodging fallen trees and debris, they walk past cement houses still bearing flood marks, and finally cross the Vivi — a small river in Utuado, a city in the central mountain region.
The Iglesia Cristiana Monte Olivar church is small: one room, with a few rows of chairs all facing two podiums up front. There are about 30 people, all standing when we arrive. Two associate pastors offer a prayer and members pray over each other, some in tears and embracing each other as they pray.
It’s been a hard few weeks in Utuado. Many roads nearby are still too dangerous to drive because of heavy flooding and strewn debris. Schools remain closed. Businesses that are open, including a Walgreen’s and an AutoZone, are powered by generators and have long lines and full parking lots seeding traffic jams.
People here are about to start their third week without electricity or water. Nearly 90 percent of the island is still without power.