#Committee of Twenty Five

[ausetkmt]

Knights of Liberty - Wikipedia

Pictured here is Moses Dickson, from the frontispiece illustration of the 1879 book A Manual of the Knights of Tabor and Daughters of the Tabernacle. In 1872, the Rev. Moses Dickson founded the International Order of Twelve of Knights and Daughters of Tabor, an African-American fraternal order focused on benevolence and financial programs. Dickson was born a free man in Cincinnati in 1824, was a Union soldier during the Civil War, and afterwards became a prominent clergyman in the African Methodist Episcopal Church. Dickson showed an interest in progressive fraternal organizations early on – in 1846 Dickson, with others, founded a society known as the Knights of Liberty, whose objective was to overthrow slavery; the group did not get beyond the organizing stages. Dickson was also involved in Freemasonry – he was the second Grand Master of the Prince Hall Grand Lodge of Missouri.

Dickson’s International Order of Twelve of Knights and Daughters of Tabor – or Order of Twelve, as it’s more commonly know – accepted men and women on equal terms. Men and women met together in higher level groups and in the governance of the organization, although at the local level they met separately – the men in “temples” and the women in “tabernacles” (akin to “lodges” in Freemasonry). The Order of Twelve was most prominent in the South and the lower Midwest. The major benefits to members – similar to many fraternal orders of the time – was a burial policy and weekly cash payments for the sick.

What many people today remember about the Order of Twelve is an institution founded in Mound Bayou, Misssissippi in 1942 – the Taborian Hospital. Michael Premo, a Story Corps facilitator, posted his appreciation for the impact that the Taborian Hospital had on the lives of African-Americans living in the Mississippi Delta from the 1940s-1960s. The Taborian Hospital was on the Mississippi Heritage Trust’s 10 Most Endangered List of 2000, and an update to that list indicates that the hospital still stands vacant and seeks funding for renovation. Here are some photos of the Taborian Hospital today.

Want to learn more about the Order of Twelve? Here are a few primary and secondary sources that we have here in our collection (with primary sources listed first):

Dickson, Moses. A Manual of the Knights of Tabor and Daughters of the Tabernacle, including the Ceremonies of the Order, Constitutions, Installations, Dedications, and Funerals, with Forms, and the Taborian Drill and Tactics. St. Louis, Mo. : G. I. Jones [printer], 1879. Call number: RARE HS 2259 .T3 D5 1879

—-. Ritual of Taborian Knighthood, including : the Uniform Rank. St. Louis, Mo. : A. R. Fleming & Co., printers, 1889. Call number: RARE HS 2230 .T3 D5 1889

Beito, David. From Mutual Aid to the Welfare State: Fraternal Societies and Social services, 1890-1967. Chapel Hill, N.C. : University of North Carolina Press, 2000. Call number: 44 .B423 2000

Skocpol, Theda, Ariane Liazos, Marshall Ganz. What a Mighty Power We Can Be : African American Fraternal Groups and the Struggle for Racial Equality. Princeton : Princeton University Press, 2006. Call number: 90 .S616 2006 (1)

(1)  From The National Heritage Museum -   http://nationalheritagemuseum.typepad.com/library_and_archives/2008/05/moses-dickson-a.html

SOME ADDITIONAL INTERESTING INFORMATION ABOUT MOSES DICKSON

Moses Dickson, prior to the Civil War was a traveling barber.  Later he became an AME minister and was known as Father Dickson.

He was one of the Founders of the Lincoln Institute, now Lincoln University in Jefferson City, Misouri.

In 1879 along with others such as James Milton Turner, John Wheeler and John Turner he helped create the Committee of Twenty Five, organized to set up temporary housing for the more than 10,000 travelers who passed through St. Louis each year.

He was President of the Refugee Relief Board in St. Louis which helped to shelter and feed 16,000 former slaves who relocated to Kansas.

Moses Dickson was the first Grand Lecturer of the Most Worhipful Prince Hall Grand Lodge of Missouri upon its foundation in 1865.  He was the second Grand Master of this Grand Lodge and the Grand Secretary in 1869.

In 1876 Companion Moses dickson was elected Deputy Grand High Priest of the Grand Chapter of Holy Royal Arch Masons of Missouri and Jurisdiction.

Moses Dickson wrote the Ritual of Heroines of Jericho penning the “Master Mason’s Daughter,” the “True Kinsman,” and “Heroines of Jericho” degrees. It was sold and distributed by the Moses Dickson Regalia and Supply Co., Kansas City, Missouri and entered into the Library of Congress, Washington, D.C. in the year 1895.

The Knights of Liberty was organized by 12 Black Men in secret in August, 1846 in St. Louis, Missouri.  They were also known as the Knights of Tabor or the International Order of Twelve. Tabor is a Biblical mountain in Israel where the Israelites won a big victory over the Canaanites.

Moses Dickson was a leader of the Underground Railroad.  He and 47,000 other Knights enlisted in the Union Army as soon as Linclon authorized Black men to sign up.

Disbanded by the Civil War many of the Knights of Liberty reformed after the War was over into a benevolent fraternal society named the International Order of the Twelve Knights and Daughters of Tabor. Moses Dickson authored “International Order of Twelve 333 of Knights and Daughters of Tabor,” a book outlining the Constitution, Rules and Regulations of the Temples of the Uniform Rank of Tabor and Taborian Division.

Moses Dickson died on November 28, 1901. A truly remarkable man!

Originally published at the National Heritage Museum’s blog. The National Heritage Museum is an American history museum founded and supported by 32° Scottish Rite Freemasons in the Northern Masonic Jurisdiction of the United States of America.

[logansdoll]

professor

the students are excited to have their old biology teacher back, but you can't be that great... right?

CW: fluffy fluff, the events of Last Stand didn't happen, Logan being Logan, reader is a chlorokinetic (controls plants), love at first sight, Logan's down bad off rip

It was a couple months back when word of your return began buzzing around the mansion.

No one knew where the rumor started, or who started it, but the day wasn't even half over before the entire student body was obsessed.

Whispers muttered during class, lunchtime gossip chains, study group pow-wows.

Many couldn't believe it.

You? Come back?

No way.

Some could've sworn you were supposed to be gone for at least a few more years.

Others thought you weren't supposed to come back at all.

And a small few even believed that your arrival could come as soon as the following month.

But after a week or so of no follow up, eventually, the rumor was put to rest, interest diverted to the next, newest gossip on campus.

...

That is... until the story came out.

Apparently, one of the students—who seemed to have some sort of super-hearing—eavesdropped on a conversation between Scott and Charles, and found out you would, in fact, be returning to the school and your position as the biology teacher.

And that was all the students needed to go absolutely berserk.

It wasn't even a full twenty-four hours later before the first meeting of your welcoming committee was held, the new club already having about twenty-five members.

While they began making preparations and to-do lists for your arrival, another group began going out to your garden on the weekends, trimming the overgrown weeds and planting new flowers in their place, caring for them in the meantime.

Some students even started straightening up your old classroom, cleaning the clouded glass of the greenhouse and redecorating with your favorite blooms.

And, of course, Logan had to return from one of his trips right in the middle of it.

Now, at first, he didn't really give a shit.

But out of curiosity, he asked Rogue what all the commotion was about—especially after some kid ran past him with a trolley full of potting soil—and what he gathered was that you were some professor who left about a year ago to teach abroad.

Apparently, you were nearly every kid's favorite teacher, your fun and interactive lessons, along with your genuinely kind and caring personality, touching the hearts of damn near the entire student body.

Even kids who had never met you before were chipping in, helping out those who needed a little extra manpower.

It was almost unbelievable.

'If this chick doesn't show up, Charles is gonna have a nuclear war on his hands...'

"Guys!" Kitty shouted, running straight through the front door and into the foyer. "I think her car just pulled up!"

The following stampede could've ranked as a 9.0 on the Richter scale.

It was eight in the morning on a Saturday, and half the kids were still in their pajamas, but they all moved with lightning speed, grabbing their signs and noise-makers before running down the stairs.

A boy with super speed sprinted to the lower level dorms and woke everyone else, while a girl with the ability to stretch hung up a welcome banner over the archway.

"Hurry! She's walking up!" Kitty reported, her head halfway through a window.

Quickly, the students formed a crowd at the door, the teachers slowly descending the stairs to join them.

"Mmm. She's here already?" Jean yawned, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she landed on the final step, hand in hand with Scott.

"Still as punctual as ever," he smiled.

"I'll say," Ororo grinned, crossing her robe over her chest, "She wasn't supposed to show up for another week."

Logan was less amused.

No one should have that much energy on a weekend.

Even still, he quietly settled himself off to the side, leaning up against a wall while the others joined the crowd.

'You wouldn't get this kinda reception if the President was the one coming...'

"Y'know..." Ororo started, seemingly out of nowhere, as she joined him on the wall. "I think you'll like her... she's just your type."

He turned to her, raising a brow, "Is she, now?"

Despite his playful tone, he wasn't entertaining the idea in the slightest.

All that true love-soulmate bullshit didn't exist for men like him.

He was 136, going on 137, and had loved and lost enough times to realize that at the end of the day, he'd outlive her.

So why bother?

His life would be one he forever walked alone—a fact he was slowly coming to terms with.

Or at least he thought he was.

Because as you walked through the threshold before him, flashing a heart-stopping grin, he felt all that shit go flying out his head.

You were absolutely beautiful.

And you'd think after 200 years he'd learn...

"Surprise!" the children cheered, proudly holding up their signs and tossing confetti into the air. "Welcome home!"

You gasped, dropping your bags and covering your mouth in shock as you admired the homemade decorations.

"Kids, you shouldn't have!" you smiled brighter than the sun, letting out a small laugh as they all rushed you for a group hug.

And, of course, you were happy to oblige.

"It's good to see you, (y/n)," Scott greeted, he and Jean walking over.

(y/n).

The name sounded like honey on his tongue.

"Logan," Ororo smirked, elbowing her friend in the rib. "You're drooling."

The man cleared his throat, closing his mouth and averting his eyes so they couldn't embarrass him any further.

"Some of you have gotten so big since we last met!" you cheesed, pulling back to examine each of them. "And I see some new faces, too..."

But, against his will, Logan's gaze trailed back to you, Jean's speech going in one ear and out the other.

And when it landed on your face again, he realized he wasn't the only one staring.

Your soft, (e/c) eyes were trained on him as well, their flicker of curiosity and awe completely contrasting your composed demeanor.

It made him feel hot, being subject to your gaze, and he could feel himself thoughtlessly straightening his posture, making himself appear taller, and slightly larger.

You let out a silent laugh, discreetly bringing a hand to your lips to cover it, but not before letting the man get a peak of your smile once more.

Fuck, that smile.

"Can you two quit eye-fucking? It's gross," Scott groaned, joining the two on the wall.

Logan ignored him, looking toward you with a small smirk.

Something about you gave him a good feeling... like things would be different.

Maybe love could exist for him after all...

[vicholas]

July 26, 2024

(...)With the Paris Games starting on July 26, Israel's killing of athletes and players in Gaza, along with its destruction of the enclave's sports facilities, has triggered mounting demands to disqualify Israel from the tournament as activists and spectators question the legitimacy of its participation.

Palestinian writers and sports commentators contend that Israel's Gaza onslaught, which has killed nearly 40,000 Palestinians, also represents an attempt to eliminate sports and athletic achievement.

"It's a genocide ... ethnic cleansing of the Palestinian people, and the attacks on athletes and sports in particular in the Gaza Strip are all very systematic attacks to obliterate and erase sports in the territory," Abubaker Abed, a Gaza-based sports journalist told Anadolu.

Israel's intentions go further than eliminating Gaza's current athletic capacity, according to writer and lecturer Abdaljawad Omar, who held that it was part of a concerted effort by Tel Aviv to undermine Palestinians' achievements in all areas, with sports being no exception.

"Israel systemically seeks to ensure that Palestinian accomplishments and potential in all realms remain dampened and always dwarfed by its own achievements.

"This applies to political, intellectual, economic, and literary fields, where historically, many talented and highly accomplished Palestinians have been targeted. Sports is no exception in this sense," he explained.  

The situation is "extremely worse" for athletes in Gaza, according to football journalist Abed, adding that many players have been killed in the territory.

According to the Palestinian Olympic Committee and Palestine Football Association, about 400 athletes have been killed since Oct. 7, with the football association noting that the war has claimed 245 players in that sport alone, including 69 children and 176 young men.

Some 33 scouts and 70 members of sports unions have also been killed.

According to the association, Israeli forces have also detained players, including 12 in the occupied West Bank.

Israel's attacks have killed several Olympians as well. Sixty-nine have been killed during Israel's ongoing assault, says the Palestinian Campaign for the Academic and Cultural Boycott of Israel, launched in 2004.  

Besides athletes, sports facilities also have not been spared. Dozens, including gyms, training halls, fields, and stadiums, have been damaged or destroyed since Oct. 7.

A total of 42 facilities have been leveled in Gaza, while seven were destroyed in the West Bank, says the Palestinian Football Association.

Abed pointed out how Israel has destroyed football schools, including the Al-Wahda Academy and the Champions Academy, which "was one of the most promising football projects" in Gaza.

He pointed out how Israel has eradicated talent in football, the most popular sport among Gaza's residents, leaving only one stadium, the Al-Dorra stadium, intact out of the enclave's 10.

Israeli forces have been seizing stadiums in Gaza and turning them into detention centers.

Human rights monitor Euro-Med highlights that the Israeli army turned the Yarmouk Stadium in Gaza City into a detention center "to hold and humiliate hundreds of Palestinians, including children, shown naked and stripped of their clothes in footage published by the Israeli media in December 2023."

A report by the group published in May indicates that facilities bulldozed and destroyed include "300 five-a-side courts, 22 swimming courts, 12 covered sports halls for basketball, volleyball, and handball, and six tennis stadiums.

"Twenty-eight sports and fitness centers have been targeted, damaged, and destroyed."  

Israel's offensive has also caused the death of prominent players in Gaza.

This includes Palestine's first-ever Olympian and flagbearer, Majed Abu Maraheel, who died due to kidney failure in a refugee camp in June.

The 61-year-old Olympic distance runner died as Israel's ongoing blockade of humanitarian assistance left many, including Maraheel, lacking medical treatment and facilities.

Maraheel had competed in the men's 10,000-meter race at the 1996 Atlanta Olympic Games.

In January, the Palestinian Olympic football team's coach Hani Al-Mossader was killed in an Israeli airstrike.

The same month, Nagham Abu Samra, a karate champion who was set to participate in the Paris Olympics, died in a hospital in Egypt after succumbing to her injuries.

She had been severely wounded by an Israeli attack that left her with head injuries and led to the amputation of one of her legs.

(...)With hours left until the Paris 2024 Games' opening ceremony, experts are still questioning the International Olympic Committee's (IOC) decision to keep Israel in the tournament.

"Athletes, whether footballers ... whatever the sport is, they don't belong to political factions ... they are targeted and are illegitimate targets for Israeli forces, and this is absolutely prohibited by all international laws and all FIFA regulations," says Abed.

He argued that Israel's actions show that it lacks the Olympic values of peace, tolerance, forgiveness, love, and sportsmanship.

"So, how could Israel even participate in the Olympics?" he asked.

Russia, meanwhile, has been banned from Olympic and FIFA tournaments after it launched its war on Ukraine in 2022, noted Abed, who maintained that Moscow's actions in that conflict were mild compared to the devastation Israel has caused in Gaza.

This "disgraceful stance," he asserts, revealed the hypocrisy of the IOC, as well as the world governing body for football.

The organizers of this year's Olympics have said their decision to keep Israel in the Games while upholding the ban on Russia and Belarus is due to Moscow's annexation of Ukrainian territory, while Tel Aviv has not formally seized territory in Gaza.

Fadi Quran, senior director at US-based rights group Avaaz, said the Olympics and the IOC's current leadership will be remembered for "turning a blind eye to a country committing what the ICJ ruled is a plausible genocide, and said is apartheid."

He was referring to a preliminary ruling by the International Court of Justice that recognized genocide as a plausible risk in Gaza. Israel stands accused of genocide at the top UN court, which in its latest ruling has ordered Tel Aviv to immediately halt its operation in the southern city of Rafah, where over a million Palestinians had sought refuge from the war before it was invaded on May 6.

Quran expects that athletes will protest Israel's presence at the Olympics and fans will boycott events where the Israeli flag is raised.

"Now that the IOC has refused to ban Israel, activists across the world will take action to ensure that the Paris Olympics are branded as the 'Apartheid Olympics,' or 'War Crime Olympics'," he said.

According to Abed, it will take a decade to revive sports in the Gaza Strip.

"The war on Gaza has changed everything. The war on Gaza has killed the dreams of many."

[juyeoz]

GOOD GRACES — YANG JUNGWON

SYNOPSIS — You and Yang Jungwon were both a part of your school’s athletics committee. Usually, in a club, all the members got along, correct? However, that wasn’t the case for you two. Hatred wasn’t enough to describe what you felt for each other. Although, you two had two different roles within the club, he always found a way to get into your head. Even if you hated that aspect of him, your president took it as an opportunity to make you two work together on a very important task—the athletics section of the yearbook. Seems like bad luck does exist.

PAIRING — volleyball-player!jungwon x photographer-fem!reader (ft. enhypen, woonhak from boynextdoor, yujin and wonyoung from ive, ningning from aespa, shotaro from riize, jisung from nct, hong seunghan, jiheon from fromis_9, jongseong and intak from p1harmony, minju from illit, haewon from nmixx, chaehyun from kep1er, and mentions of other idols too)

GENRES(S) — smau + written, enemies to lovers, he fell first he fell harder, forced proximity (?), tutor x tutee, highschool au, nonidol au, sports au, fluff, crack, and angst.

WARNING(S) — swearing, random timestamps, bantering, insults, spelling errors (on purpose), kys/kms jokes, threats, mentions of gagging, injury, mentions of being sick + fainting, more will be added!

STATUS — ongoing! (wed and sat)

TAGLIST IS OPEN! send an ask or reply to be added! 📔

PROFILES › ONE | TWO | THREE | FOUR

CHAPTER ONE — yang jungwok

CHAPTER TWO — you look schizophrenic

CHAPTER THREE — mistakes my evil twin (0.8k words)

CHAPTER FOUR — OH MY GOD

CHAPTER FIVE — go on without me (0.7k words)

CHAPTER SIX — homozygous

CHAPTER SEVEN — are you stupid? (0.1k words)

CHAPTER EIGHT — BY EMAIL?!$&%

CHAPTER NINE — tell my story thanks!

CHAPTER TEN — road to ***** (0.7k words)

CHAPTER ELEVEN — well….

CHAPTER TWELVE — TAKE IT BACK RIGHT NOW

CHAPTER THIRTEEN — he might fail me yall

CHAPTER FOURTEEN — Who did this to you?

CHAPTER FIFTEEN — that’s kind of kinky…!

CHAPTER SIXTEEN — world pause (1.2k words)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN — at what cost? (1.7k words)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN — what the fuck (0.3k words)

CHAPTER NINETEEN — Lee Heeseung.

CHAPTER TWENTY — yeah so ABSOLUTELY NOT

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE — attacked with a crutch

CHAPRER TWENTY-TWO — fuck you

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE — k so die

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR — Bro?

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE — the return of jungwon…

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX — disgusted (0.6k words)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN — lmaoo wdym ??

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT — no shit ???

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE — Yeah it’s over . bye

CHAPTER THIRTY — for u and ur broke ass

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE —

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO —

MORE TO COME!

© JUYEOZ

[kelin-is-writing]

fwb!touya who despite your agreement on not necessarily having to stop seeing other peoples, has deleted the contacts of the two or three girls he used to occasionally hook up with, when you weren’t around, the moment you two had started your relationship and everytime he crosses paths with them at school he barely even acknowledges their existence. why? ohh that’s because the moment you, the girl he desires on a soul-type of level, has agreed to be in all this with him touya’s eyes haven’t been able to look away from you, not even for a split second.

fwb!touya who a mere call or text for you telling him how much you miss and want to see him, is enough to make him skip practices with his rock band only to run over to your place and spend time with you. be it doing homework, watching movies or those weird reality shows that secretly pique his interest, playing games that usually end up in heated makeout sessions, you putting on nail polish while he styles your hair, cooking together, napping together, having sex four or five times. just you two basically being all over each others at any given occasion. touya wanted you close to him as much as possible and he was going to have exactly that.

fwb!touya who keeps telling himself you two are just ‘friends with benefits’ but from time to time he finds himself playing the guitar, compose and writes songs while thinking about you. he would’ve never wanted to admit it, for the moment, but you’ve been his muse since the first day you guys meet and the major reason for it was your smile, your laugh, your voice… that beautiful spark in your eyes whenever you looked at him… it made his heart warm up and a pleasing emptiness take over his stomach… shit… this wasn’t good at all, he was going into a dangerous territory right there and it wasn’t supposed to happen.

fwb!touya who has never marked any girl he’s slept with before nor has he ever permitted them to mark him, because he has never felt the need to do that with his past flings; yet it took only one week, three days, fourteen hours, thirty-two minutes and twenty-six seconds in your relationship to make him go around the campus proudly, a shit-eating grin on his face, with your glossy lipstick imprint onto the side of his neck right where everyone could see it while you walked around with his teethes’ mark on your neck; a statement dedicated to everybody in the school that told all of them he is yours and you are his.

fwb!touya who never holds back from showing off to everyone your close relationship. you could be talking to a classmate and he would walk up to you surrounding your waist with an arm, pulling you flush against his side, and ask genuinely curious and interested what you guys were talking about while leaning his cheek against your head as he hummed along to the explanation you gave him with that voice of yours that is as beautiful as you are, completely smitten and mesmerized. once you were talking with another classmate of yours, that was assigned as a committee with you for a school festival, about some preparations when he came up to you ignoring the other person’s presence and just fixing his intense gaze on you while asking if everything was alright and if you needed any help while delicately moving a strand of hair behind your ear and then rest it gently on the back of your head to let you know that it was fine to lean on him whenever things became too much.

fwb!touya who keeps telling you and himself that the two of you are just ‘friends with benefits’, but the way he fucks you, talks to you and overall treats you are far from being those of an actual ‘friends with benefits’ and he doesn’t notice until a random guy who’s a schoolmate of you two and fan of his band starts asking him about you, throws glances your way, tries (but fails) to flirt with you and touya is watching over you two seething as he smokes by the fences outside the school’s building, tomura being the one who makes him notices that he’s clenching his jaw so hard they can hear his teethes scratching together. it’s right then that he realizes that the reason he had suggested all that thing between you two wasn’t only because he was attracted to you, but because he has been in love with you the whole time since the start of your friendship.

[txttletale]

how do ml's reconcile with lenin going for a bigbrainhaver hierarchy which just so happened to place him at the tippy top? most of the things he's quoted for writing make a kind of sense in that longwinded academic philosopher way, but, like, russia went from having a revolution against monarchy to having a monarchy, essentially, and what folks do tends to align with their desires, yeah? wouldn't that make everything he said, idk, suspicious?

we reconcile with this because none of this is even remotely true. lenin did not 'happen to be placed at the tippy top' but was in fact elected by the soviets, who worked in a very simple electoral system by which workers and peasants would elect representatives to their local soviet, who as well as administering local services would also elect members to higher bodies. the quote unquote bigbrainhaver hierarchy system in question was as follows:

The sovereign body is in every case the Congress of Soviets. Each county sends its delegates. These are elected indirectly by the town and county Soviets which vote in proportion to population, following the ratio observed throughout, by which the voters in the town have five times the voting strength of the inhabitants of the villages, an advantage which may, as we saw, be in reality three to one. The Congress meets, as a rule, once a year, for about ten days. It is not, in the real sense of the word, the legislative body. It debates policy broadly, and passes resolutions which lay down the general principles to be followed in legislation. The atmosphere of its sittings is that of a great public demonstration. The Union Congress, for example, which has some fifteen hundred members, meets in the Moscow Opera House. The stage is occupied by the leaders and the heads of the administration, and speeches are apt to be big oratorical efforts. The real legislative body is the so-called Central Executive Committee (known as the C. I. K. and pronounced "tseek") . It meets more frequently than the Congress to which it is responsible-in the case of the Union, at least three times in the year-passes the Budget, receives the reports of the Commissars (ministers), and discusses international policy. It, in its turn, elects two standing bodies: (1) The Presidium of twenty-one members, which has the right to legislate in the intervals between the sittings of the superior assemblies, and also transacts some administrative work. (2) The Council of Peoples' Commissars. These correspond roughly to the Ministers or Secretaries of State in democratic countries and are the chiefs of the administration. Meeting as a Council, they have larger powers than any Cabinet, for they may pass emergency legislation and issue decrees which have all the force of legislation. Save in cases of urgency, however, their decrees and drafts of legislation must be ratified by the Executive Committee (C.I.K.). In another respect they differ from the European conception of a Minister. Each Commissar is in reality the chairman of a small board of colleagues, who are his advisers. These advisory boards, or collegia, meet very frequently (it may even be daily) to discuss current business, and any member of a board has the right to appeal to the whole Council of Commissars against a decision of the Commissar.

—H.N. Brailsford, How The Soviets Work (1927)

you might notice that the congresses of soviets were not directly elected -- this is because they were elected by local soviets, who were directly elected, in a process that many people have given first hand accounts of:

I have, while working in the Soviet Union, participated in an election. I, too, had a right to vote, as I was a working member of the community, and nationality and citizenship are no bar to electoral rights. The procedure was extremely simple. A general meeting of all the workers in our organisation was called by the trade union committee, candidates were discussed, and a vote was taken by show of hands. Anybody present had the right to propose a candidate, and the one who was elected was not personally a member of the Party. In considering the claims of the candidates their past activities were discussed, they themselves had to answer questions as to their qualifications, anybody could express an opinion, for or against them, and the basis of all the discussion was: What justification had the candidates to represent their comrades on the local Soviet. As far as the elections in the villages were concerned, these took place at open village meetings, all peasants of voting age, other than those who employed labour, having the right to vote and to stand for election. As in the towns, any organisation or individual could put forward candidates, anyone could ask the candidate questions, and anybody could support or oppose the candidature. It is usual for the Communist Party to put forward a candidate, trade unions and other organisations can also do so, and there is nothing to prevent the Party’s candidate from not being elected, if he has not sufficient prestige among the voters. In the towns the “ electoral district ” has hitherto consisted of a factory, or a group of small factories sufficient to form a constituency. But there was one section of the town population which has always had to vote geographically, since they did not work together in one organisation. This was the housewives. As a result, the housewives met separately in each district, had their own constituencies, and elected their own representatives to the Soviet. Here, too, vital interest has always been shown in the personality of every candidate. Why should this woman be elected ? What right had she to represent her fellow housewives on the local Soviet ? In the district next to my own at the last election the housewife who was elected was well known as an organiser of a communal dining-room in the district. This was the kind of person that the housewives wanted to represent them on the Soviet. Another candidate, a Communist, proposed by the local organisation of the Party, was turned down in her favour.

[...]

The election of delegates to the local Soviet is not the only function of voters in the Soviet Union. It is not a question here of various parties presenting candidates to the electorate, each with his own policy to offer. The Soviet electorate has to select a personality from its midst to represent it, and instruct this person in the policy which is to be followed when elected. At a Soviet election meeting, therefore, as much or more time may be spent on discussion of the instructions to the delegate as is spent on discussing the personality of the candidates. At the last election to the Soviets, in which I personally participated, we must have spent three or four times as much time on the working out of instructions as we did on the selection of our candidate. About three weeks before the election was to take place the trade union secretary in every department of our organisation was told by the committee that it was time to start to prepare our instructions to the delegate. Every worker was asked to make suggestions concerning policy which he felt should be brought to the notice of the new personnel of the Moscow Soviet. As a result, about forty proposals concerning the general government of Moscow were handed in from a group of about twenty people. We then held a meeting in our department at which we discussed the proposals, and adopted some and rejected others. We then handed our list of pro¬ posals to a commission, appointed by the trade union committee, and representing all the workers in our organisation. This Commission co-ordinated the pro¬ posals received, placed them in order according to the various departments of the Soviet, and this co-ordinated list was read at the election meeting itself, again discussed, and adopted in its final form.

—Pat Sloan, Soviet Democracy (1937)

Between the elections of 1931 and 1934, no less than 18 per cent of the city deputies and 37 per cent of village deputies were recalled, of whom only a relatively small number — 4 per cent of the total — were charged with serious abuse of power. The chief reasons for recall were inactivity — 37 per cent — and inefficiency — 21 per cent. If these figures indicate certain lacks in the quality of elected officials, they show considerable activity of the people in improving government. The electorate of the Peasants' Gazette, for example, consisted of some 1,500 employees, entitled to elect one deputy to the Moscow city soviet and two to the ward soviet. For more than a month before the election every department of the newspaper held meetings discussing both candidates and instructions. Forty-three suggested candidates and some 1,400 proposals for the work of the incoming government resulted from these meetings, which also elected committees to boil down and classify the instructions. These committees issued a special four-page newspaper for the 1,500 voters; it contained brief biographies of the forty-three candidates, an analysis of their capacities by the Communist Party organization of the Peasants' Gazette, and the "nakaz," or list of "people's instructions," classified by subject and the branch of government which they concerned. At the final election meeting of the Peasants* Gazette there was literally more than 100 per cent attendance, since some of the staff who for reasons of absence or illness had not been listed as prospective voters returned from sanatoria or from distant assignments to vote. The instructions issued by the electorate in this manner — 1,400 from the Peasants' Gazette and tens of thousands from Moscow citizens — became the first business of the incoming government.

—Anna Louise Strong, The New Soviet Constitution (1937)

does this mean that the soviet project was some utopian perfect system? no. there were flaws in the system like any other. it disenfranchised the rural peasantry (although not, i would like to add, to any extent greater or even equivalent to the extent to which the US electoral system disenfranchises the urban working class) -- the various tiers of indirect selection created a divide between the average worker and the highest tier of the executive -- and various elements of this fledgling system would calcify and bureaucratise over time in ways that obstructed worker's democracy. but saying that it was 'a monarchy' is founded in absolutely nothing except the most hysterical anticommunist propaganda and tedious orwellian liberal truisms.

even brailsford, in an account overall critical of the soviet system, had to admit:

Speaking broadly, the various organs of the system, from the Council of Commissars of the Union down to the sub-committees of a town Soviet, are handling the same problems. Whether one sits in the Kremlin at a meeting of the most august body of the whole Union, the "C.I.K.," or round a table in Vladimir with the working men who constitute its County Executive Committee, one hears exactly the same problems discussed. How, be-fore June arrives, shall we manage to reduce prices by ten percent? What growth can we show in the number of our spindles, or factories, and in the number of workers employed? When and how shall we make our final assault on the last relics of illiteracy? Or when shall we have room in our schools, even in the remotest village, for every child? Was it by good luck or good guidance that the number of typhus cases has dropped in a year by half? And, finally, how can we hasten the raising of clover seed, so that the peasants who, at last, thanks to our propaganda, are clamoring for it, may not be disappointed?

—H.N. Brailsford, How The Soviets Work (1927)

genuinely, i think you should take a moment and think about where you learned about the soviet union. have you read any serious historical work on the topic, even from non-communist or anti-communist sources? because even imperialist propagandists have to make a pretence at engaging with actual facts on the ground, something which you haven't done at all -- and yet you speak with astounding confidence. i recommend you read some serious books instead of animal farm and reflect on why you believe the things you believe and how you know the things you think you know.

[crunchwrapsnoopy]

Holiday Party Planning Committee [Keigo Takami x Reader]

⋆⁺₊❅.It's Beginning to Look a Lot like Christmas⋆⁺₊❅.

"take a look at the five and ten, it's glistening again, with candy canes and silver lanes aglow!"

Just a cutesy Hawks Christmas-y drabble because Halloween is over and I'm excited for the holidays! ٩>ᴗ<)و

Hawks x F! Assistant! Reader

⋆꙳•❅‧₊⋆☃︎‧❆₊⋆

WC: 627

“Hawks’ looking for you- whaddya do?” one of my boss’s sidekicks asks while lazily leaning against my desk while being careful to avoid messing up my pretty display of knick knacks and trinkets. 

I look up from my computer curiously tilting my head, “Did he say what he wanted? I’m kinda busy.” I ask, not wanting to waste my time, I’m swamped with paperwork as is. 

“Nah. Cool if I take a piece, Ms. L/N?” He eyes my little candy holder filled with peppermints. I nod and he takes two, opening one and popping it in his mouth and slipping the other in his pocket. “But anywho… he seemed antsy, somethin’s ruffling his feathers,” he jokes, “better hop to it.” He taps my desk and walks off leisurely. 

I get up from my desk and go to Hawks’ office, he looks stressed out, several papers draped over his desk. He notices as I come in, looking up and straight at me his face brightens, “There’s my favorite assistant!” your only assistant. “I need your help, it’s urgent.”

“What is it? I was doing your reports from your last mission.” I say as I walk further into the office. 

“It shouldn’t take that long, c’mere,” he beckons me closer and flips his computer screen to show me something. A gingerbread house. I hold back my stressed out bitch face and the urge to strangle this bird. “The holiday party’s coming up- don’t know which I should make this year, do you like this one?” he moves the cursor to a different tab and clicks, showing another gingerbread mansion, “or this one? This one looks a little harder, but I think I could-”

I cut him off, “Hawks, I was doing something important, it’s only November 2nd, this can wait.” 

“This is important, and I need to start planning now so when the time comes it won't be like last year.” Hawks reminds me of our last Christmas party at the agency. He decided we’d have a party a week before the date he set and it ended up being a catastrophe. A sad punch bowl with a pack of solo cups, a package of oreos, and a few loose streamers. This year he clearly was coming for redemption. “And last time I checked, you’re never stressed over reports,” he scoffed. 

I bite the inside of my lip, nervous about admitting to my fault, “I’m behind on a few reports. You did a lot of stuff on patrol last week, it was hard to keep up.” I explain as I rock back and forth on my heels. 

“How far behind are you?” He looks at me curiously, noting how nervous I am for his reaction. 

“5 or 6-” 

He laughs, cutting me off, “You’re worried about 5 or 6 reports? Before I got an assistant- I’d always be twenty or more behind.” 

“No wonder they made you hire me.” I breathe out, my anxieties about the reports practically leaving my body.

Hawks shakes his head, still tickled about how worried I was, “You’re a good assistant Y/N, but you’d be a great one if you’d just shut up and help me pick a gingerbread house.” He nods to his computer screen once more. 

“Right,” I look at the gingerbread houses on the screen carefully, the second one does look way harder, like he said. “I think the first one would be easier to fit in your schedule.” 

He nods thoughtfully, “True, but I like the little gingerbread car on the second one, the first one makes me sad, the gingerbread men have no mode of transportation.” 

“You could just add the gingerbread car to the first one.” I shrug. 

“I didn’t even think of that.”

⋆꙳•❅°⋆❆.ೃ࿔:･*❆ ₊⋆

[msschemmenti]

girl next door 🏠

jemily x reader

summary: jj and emily play welcome committee

a/n: this is a part of this fic i’ve been writing with an oc as the reader. i just subbed y/n for the oc’s name :)

y/n sighed deeply, stepping out of the airport. The DC air was thick and her linen lounge set was the only thing saving her right about now. She gazed down at her phone, checking the status of her uber. The car inched through the line of vehicles and she leaned against her suitcase. This was it, a brand new start and she had a townhouse to unpack before her new job starts.

At twenty-six, y/n felt like she was finally making decisions of her own. An occupation change. A location change. And finally a relationship status change. A new life.The car slowed to a stop in front of a row of townhouses. y/n thanked the driver and slid out of the car. She looked over the yards, all filled with various bushes and toys . Lived in. She wheeled her suitcase up the walkway and rummaged through her purse for her keys. Once the door popped open, she stepped over the threshold. She sighed sweetly at all the boxes lining the house.

“Home, sweet home.”

-

It was well past eleven when Emily maneuvered the SUV into their driveway. The ride home had been a quiet one, but both she and JJ were honestly just ready to be home. Emily tossed JJ the keys and moved to grab both of their go-bags. As both women made their way toward their front door, they caught sight of the light shining two doors down. The bay window’s blinds were high and the light bathed a young woman in a shadow. She looked to be going through a box, leaning against a green couch. Emily was the first to stop and JJ was quick to follow. The house had been empty for about a year since their old neighbor got married. And with their jobs, they hadn’t even realized anyone was moving in.

“Huh, looks like we’ve got a new neighbor.” Emily mused.

“guess so.” JJ observed. She turned her gaze to Emily and nudged her toward the door. “Let’s wait until daylight. I’m exhausted and so are you.”

Emily rolled her eyes but allowed the blonde to push her toward the door. “At least we have the weekend off.”

“Thank god for rotation.”

-

y/n yawned behind her hand for the fourth time since waking up. She stood in front of the coffee machine waiting patiently as the warm liquid brewed. She had another day of unpacking and organizing ahead of her and she’d absolutely need some coffee to get her through it. She was clad in a pink cami and boy shorts and her hair was pulled high off of her neck. Her big framed black glasses rested on her nose and her feet sat snuggly in her fluffy slippers.

As her coffee finished brewing, y/n grabbed her mug and made her way over to the bay window. With the blinds open, she hummed contentedly as she watched the street come to life on a Saturday morning. She watched as everyone seemed to slowly join her in wakefulness. Cars driving by, dogs rushing owners, and a very distractingly attractive blonde running up the sidewalk that lined the townhouses. The ponytail bobbed as she bounded past y/n’s house. The coffee momentarily forgotten, she leaned closer to the window watching as the woman entered the house two doors down.

“Sexy neighbor. This place keeps getting better by the minute.”

-

JJ pulled her earbuds out of her ears as she walked through the house. She rounded a corner into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water and found a sleepy Emily nursing a mug of coffee. She took a sip of her water before leveling the woman with a smirk.

“Guess who caught the new neighbor checking me out in her cute pajamas?”

“Oh that’s not fair! Of course you’d run right past her window looking like that. You’ve already established yourself as the hot neighbor.” Emily groaned.

“You should run more. Maybe you’d get checked out too.”

“What does she look like?” Emily asked.

“Rather adorable in the early morning. Can’t be more than twenty-five. Thick rimmed glasses, thick hair piled on top of her head, dressed in the cutest little pink boyshort set and slippers.” JJ recounted with a dreamy look in her eyes.

“How many times did you run by?” Emily whistled.

“I’m just observant. it’s my job. Are we gonna do the baked goods in a basket “Welcome to the neigborhood”? Or what?” JJ asked.

“We don’t bake.”

“Well yes that’s true. But we know someone who does…” JJ smiled already pulling her phone up to craft a message.

“Oh, tell her to bring some of those powdered strawberry eclairs she was mentioning yesterday too.” Emily nodded, taking her coffee upstairs to get dressed.

-

“Show me the house!” A voice floated through the laptop on the counter. “I really can’t believe you left me for DC. At least show me where I’ll be staying when I come to visit.” Grayson, y/n’s best co-worker/friend from Kentucky huffed.

“Alright, hold your horses. I’ll give you a tour.” y/n smiled and lifted her laptop to walk through the house. She showed Grayson the two-story home and everything she’d set up thus far. “Obviously the guest room is yours whenever you’d like it. Just let me know when because I’d like to actually have things prepared before then.”

“It’s so cute, gosh I can’t wait to come visit. How’s the neighborhood? Met anyone interesting yet?”

“Very homey for sure. Lots of families and stuff. I think it’ll be a good fit. I haven’t met anyone per say, but I can say there is a super hot blonde runner who lives two doors down.” y/n grinned taking a seat on one of her island stools.

“Hot blonde runner, oh you have to get all up in that. You need a new body to get under.”

“Oh my god shut up? I didn’t move to get involved with someone on my second day. But that doesn’t mean I won’t enjoy the view.”

“Is there an HOA meeting you can go to or something? You need to at least make some new hot friends to keep you company without me.”

y/n shook her head in disbelief and opened her mouth to reply when the doorbell interrupted her, “Gray, I’ll call you later. Someone is at the door.”

“Oh fingers-crossed, it's hot blonde. Bye love.”

y/n hung up and quickly made her way over to the door. She looked through the peephole cautiously and was shocked to see the hot blonde with two other women beside her. y/n fluffed her hair a bit and straightened her clothes out quickly before pulling the door open with a smile. “Um hi.”

All three women smiled and the colorfully dressed woman spoke first, “Hello sunshine! My name is Penelope Garcia and these lovely ladies are Jennifer Jareau and Emily Prentiss. Your personal neighborhood welcome committee.” Penelope spoke, practically bouncing on her heels.

“Oh wow, hi!” y/n grinned letting her eyes roam the three women fully. Her eyes lingered on the blonde she now knew as Jennifer Jareau but as her eyes moved to Emily she was just as entranced by her beauty.

“Pen doesn’t actually live here, but Emily and I live two doors down.” Jennifer gestured toward the house she’d entered earlier that day.

“And we brought the typical baked goods basket.” Emily offered, extending the basket of pastries toward the younger woman.

“Well it’s lovely to meet y’all. Would you like to come in? I’m sure I’ve got something in here to go with these sweet treats.” y/n asked, gesturing over her shoulder.

“We’d love to!” Penelope jumped happily following the younger woman into her home. With JJ and Emily following closely behind. As they all settled in the kitchen at the island, y/n turned suddenly as if remembering something.

“Oh where are my manners, I’m y/n! Inviting guests into my home without even telling them my name, my mother would have my head.” The younger woman smiled sheepishly before grabbing plates and mugs for everyone.

“Oh your accent is just precious, where are you from sweetness?” Penelope asked eagerly.

“Haha, I’m originally from Georgia. But I relocated from Kentucky.”

“A true Southern Belle.” Emily mused, causing y/n to blush with a smile.

“Something like that. Thank you all for welcoming me to the neighborhood. My former co-worker Grayson was just saying I should get out and meet some people.”

“She worried about you?” JJ asked.

“Yeah, the move was pretty spontaneous. I know literally no one here and my closest relative or friend is in New York. Safe to say she’s a bit concerned.” y/n supplied, leaning against the counter to dig through the basket of baked goods.

“Well you can tell her you’ve met three awesome ladies who’d love to be your friend. Two of which live right on your street!” Garcia grinned and y/n reciprocated. y/n grabbed a few muffins from the basket and peeled the paper back to take a bite. The women watched as the younger woman’s eyes fell closed in pleasure.

“Oh wow, this might be the best muffin I’ve ever had in my life. Where did you get these?” y/n moaned, eyeing the three women. Both JJ and Emily seemed positively stunned by the sound and sight of y/n tasting the muffin. Penelope noticed almost instantly and jumped in to save them.

“I made them! I’ve spent quite a while perfecting my muffin recipe, so I’m so glad someone is appreciating my hard work.”

“Oh that’s amazing, you’ll have to show me how you’ve mastered it. I’ve always loved a sweet treat so I bake pretty often.”

“Oh that sounds great, these two are completely useless in the kitchen. I’m happy to know there’s someone on the street who’ll keep them fed. Isn’t that right Jayje?”

“We’re not that bad!” JJ whined.

“Emily is literally not allowed to stand near the kitchen.” Garcia deadpanned, causing y/n to giggle watching the women bicker.

“I’ll be happy to share, I’m still really bad about portions anyways. So you’d actually be saving me.” y/n said sweetly.

“We’ll definitely have to take you up on that.” Emily nodded.

“You all seem like really close friends, have you known each other long?” y/n asked curiously, offering the women some of the goods in the basket.

“We all work together, Pen and I for longer but all of us now.” JJ answered.

“Oh, what do you all do?” y/n asked curiously. “That’s a pretty low turnover rate, you must really like the job.”

“We’re all FBI Agents. Part of a Team called the Behavioral Analysis Unit.” Emily supplies, watching the younger woman’s face frown in confusion.

“FBI, like the FBI?” y/n asked incredulously. All three women nodded. “Can’t say I was expecting that at all. So you like actually fight crime with your badge and gun and everything?”

“I don’t do the whole gun or fighting thing, but These two? Absolutely. The amount of doors they’ve collectively kicked down is crazy.” Penelope mused nudging JJ playfully.

“Well, that’s hot.” y/n mused nodding as her eyes glazed over a bit. “You’ll have to show me your badges one day, I’ve always wanted to see one in real life.”

The younger woman took a drag from her mug and turned to throw her muffin paper away. As soon as her back was to the three women, JJ’s eyes were wide and gazing at Emily. Garcia was poking JJ’s side conspiratorially, and Emily was trying not to give into either woman’s knowing looks. The younger woman turned back to them with a curious smile before asking another question.

“So what exactly does being an FBI agent look like? You said you all worked for a specific group. The Behavioral Analysis Unit? What does that team do?”

Emily cleared her throat and answered, “We’re a team of profilers who work with local law enforcement teams to locate and detain serial killers all over the US.”

“Oh wow! That’s got to be some heavy stuff—lots of traveling. Thank you for your service.” y/n said with a salute toward the women. They couldn’t fight the laughter that bubbled between them and Emilly and JJ watched as y/n’s cheeks reddened and she giggled.

“Enough about us, I have to know what an adorable southern woman like you does!” Garcia grinned resting her chin in her palms.

“I’m in education, not as lively as chasing serial killers.” y/n answered sheepishly.

“Oh are you a teacher?” JJ asked curiously.

“Professor actually. I’ll be starting at state school this coming academic school year.” y/n supplied with a smile.

“You’ve definitely piqued my interest, what are you teaching?” Penelope basically bounced.

“Vocal Performance with a concentration in Musical Theater and Jazz.”

“A singer? You’ll have to give us a little show sometime. Em loves Jazz.” JJ winked over at the brunette.

“I guess it’s only fair since I’ve asked to see your badges. I’m sure we can arrange something.” y/n smiled warmly at the two older women.

“A professor? Forgive me, but you seem far too young to be a professor. How old are you?” Emily asked skeptically.

“I’d normally take offense but you’re right, I just turned twenty-six earlier this year. I’ve always been the youngest in the room, but I kinda love it. At the last school I taught at, everyone in my department was well over 50, I found that students really enjoyed a younger perspective.” y/n explained with a shrug.

“Makes sense. So you’re some kind of musical prodigy? Zoom through high school, undergrad, and your masters?” Emily continued.

“No, no. I was in a dual Undergrad and Masters program for music education and vocal performance so I was able to fast-track my road to being a professor. As far being hired so early, I’ve been told I’m rather charming.” y/n shrugged with a grin and a wink.

“I definitely see the appeal. I can’t believe you guys got such a fun and cool neighbor. All I’ve got is that mean old lady. Best believe I’ll be visiting way more often.” Penelope said facing both Emily and JJ. She quickly turned back to the younger woman. “We need to be friends, what are your socials?”

y/n smiled brightly at the tech analyst, “Of course, I’m y/n on everything.”

Penelope frantically pulled the accounts up and was quick to follow on all platforms, “Got it! We’ll have to get together soon before the school year starts and you get busy. I love meeting new awesome people.”

It wasn’t long before the women brought their little impromptu brunch to a close. y/n walked the women to the door and smiled softly as they turned to wave goodbye. As soon as the door closed Penelope looked at the other two women unimpressed.

“Come on you guys, you’re lucky I was here.” She groaned.

“Hey, what does that mean?” Emily scoffed in offense.

“It means I’m starting to wonder how you brought so many women into your bed. That was terrible flirting.” Garcia reasoned as they walked up the steps to their house.

“I wasn’t even trying then, thank you very much. Plus there’s a lot of thought and conversation that goes into something like that. She only moved in yesterday. We don’t need to overwhelm her. Plus we don’t even know if she’s into women.” Emily reasoned.

“She literally called you both hot to your faces.”

“No, she called us kicking down doors hot. She could have a thing for demolition for all we know.”

“Semantic. I’m calling it now though, she’s more than interested in women. Especially women in the FBI who wield guns and kick down doors.”

“Let’s hope you're right.” JJ finally added in collapsing against the couch with a dreamy look on her face.

[anonymousewrites]

A Not-So-Disastrous Romance (Book 2) Chapter Twenty-Three

Saiki Kusuo x Reader

Chapter Twenty-Three: New Year's Premonition and Valentine's Day Gift

Summary: Saiki is forced to go to a New Year's party and Valentine's Day arrives, but at least he has (Y/N). (Honestly just a sappy chapter).

            How did I get roped into this? thought Saiki. Kaidou called my mom, so I had no choice but to go. My brother is home, so I don’t really want to be there, anyway, but being forced out is annoying. I’ll leave once everyone falls asleep. Saiki rang Kaidou’s doorbell. At least (Y/N) will be here.

            “Hey, Saiki,” yawned Kaidou as he opened the door.

            “You look tired.”

            “Come in. Nendou and (L/N) are already here,” said Kaidou, yawning again as he let Saiki in. “Sorry I’m yawning so much. I didn’t sleep much last night.”

            “I see,” said Saiki, following Kaidou.

            “Yesterday, I went to a secret meeting, the ‘Dark Committee.’ It’s held at the end of the year among the sixteen chosen ones,” said Kaidou. “It’s members are—”

            “You’re putting me to sleep.”

            The truth is, I was so excited about today I couldn’t sleep, thought Kaidou.

            What a child.

            “But don’t worry. I’ll stay up until midnight for the New Year’s celebration,” said Kaidou, opening the door to his room. “Come in. Nendou, (L/N), Saiki is here.”

            “You’re late, pal,” said Nendou. He also looked tired. He yawned.

            “Don’t sleep in my bed!” said Kaidou.

            “Sorry, I was up late playing games,” said Nendou. “Don’t worry, I can stay up New Year’s Eve.”

            You, too?

            “Hey, Kusuo,” said (Y/N), smiling and waving. “Welcome to the party.” They laughed at the tired faces of Kaidou and Nendou.

            “At least someone isn’t tired,” said Saiki.

            The doorbell rang, and Kaidou went out to grab the next person. It was Kuboyasu, who was, like the other boys, very tired.

            “Sorry, I stayed up late. Since I was coming here, I had to take care of some things beforehand,” explained Kuboyasu, yawning and sitting down.

            “Take care of what?” exclaimed Kaidou.

            “New Year Biker Gang Brawl,” said Kuboyasu.

            “It’s not the new year yet,” said Saiki, deadpanning.

            “Can you schedule that type of thing?” said (Y/N) curiously.

            “Don’t worry, I can stay up for New Year’s,” said Kuboyasu, though the circles under his eyes didn’t inspire much faith.

            “All that’s left is Hairo,” said Kaidou. “Pretty unusual for him to be late.”

            As if summoned by the mention of his name, the doorbell rang, and a tired Hairo was let in.

            “Sorry, I suddenly passed out,” said Hairo, bowing apologetically. He yawned.

            “You stayed up late, too?” said Kaidou.

            “No, I slept for eight hours,” said Hairo.

            “Then don’t complain! I haven’t slept at all!” said Kuboyasu.

            “Sorry,” said Hairo. “All I did was run fifty kilometers, practice swings three thousand times, and do five hundred push-ups and sit-ups each. I’m so out of shape!”

            “Go home and rest.”

            “Just considering that makes me tired,” said (Y/N).

            “But I will make it to midnight!” said Hairo.

            “Come on you guys, it’s New Year’s Eve!” said Kaidou. “And we still have five hours left.”

            “Don’t worry, this is important to us,” said Kuboyasu.

            “Yes,” said Nendou.

            “A piece of cake,” said Hairo.

            “We’ll keep each other awake,” said Kuboyasu.

            “Someone should keep Kaidou awake,” said (Y/N), watching his eyes slide closed even as he stood straight up.

            “Shun?” said Kuboyasu.

            Kaidou blinked and jerked awake.

            “You too?!” exclaimed the other boys.

            (Y/N) sat down next to Saiki, who sighed as he realized some ridiculous things were coming—hijinks always ensued with this group.

            “I fell asleep?” said Kaidou groggily.

            “If we mess up, we’ll all pass out,” said Kuboyasu grimly.

            “I might be able to leave pretty early,” said Saiki. He looked at (Y/N). “Do you want celebrate the two of us?”

            “Sure,” said (Y/N), smiling.

            “Saiki and (L/N) seem pretty awake,” said Kuboyasu.

            “No, I’m sleepy, too,” lied Saiki. He glanced at (Y/N). They shrugged.

            “That’s almost all of us!” said Kuboyasu.

            “If we mess up, we’ll all fall asleep and miss New Year’s,” said Kaidou.

            “Yeah, but we’ll have had fun together, and I think that’s what matters,” said (Y/N), unconcerned.

            “I think I’d just sleep through an alarm,” said Kuboyasu.

            “My parents are away on a trip to Hawaii, so they can’t help,” said Kaidou.

            “Three more hours,” said Hairo.

            “We can play cards to pass the time!” said Nendou, holding up a deck. “Let’s play old maid.” He handed out the cards. However, as soon as he began his turn and reached for a card, his eyes began to close, and he nearly dropped off.

            “Wake up! Not you too!” said Hairo. His head dropped next, even as Nendou opened his eyes.

            “I’m just resting my eyes,” he lied. “I’m up.”

            “Snoring while you’re awake is interesting,” chuckled (Y/N), leaning against the bed with Saiki.

            “I’m up!” said Hairo, head jerking up.

            “I’m going to splash my face with water! That’ll keep me up!” said Kuboyasu. A couple steps to the sink and he was nearly collapsing, though, the effort too much.

            “Wake up!” shouted everyone.

            This isn’t going well.

            “Two more hours,” groaned Kaidou as everyone struggled to keep their eyes open. “It’s almost the New Year.” He glanced at his friends and blinked tiredly. “Wake up, Nendou.”

            “Huh?” said Nendou, trying to open his eyes.

            “This coffee woke me up.” His words were confident, but Kuboyasu was staring at nothing with empty eyes. His coffee drippled down his shirt

            “I’ve overcome the worst now,” said Hairo, blinking furiously. “Hey, Kuboyasu!”

            “I passed out again,” groaned Kuboyasu.

            “I’m kind of impressed by how easily they fall asleep,” giggled (Y/N).

            “It’s entertaining at least,” agreed Saiki.

            “Time for some exercise! This will wake me out!” Hairo did push-ups, going up and down at breakneck speed.

            “That’s why you were tired to begin with,” pointed out Saiki, but he wasn’t going to stop him.

            “Look, it’s 10:30. Hairo’s bedtime,” said Kuboyasu, noticing the clock.

            “It’s definitely bedtime for him,” said (Y/N), watching the pushups stop abruptly as Hairo collapsed and began snoring.

            “Hairo, wake up!” said Kaidou, alarmed.

            “He isn’t waking up! Hairo!” shouted Kuboyasu.

            Nendou grabbed a bucket of water while Kaido and Kuboyasu shook Hairo, but nothing was waking him. Even being soaked in cold water didn’t change a thing.

            “I’m a little jealous of how well he’s sleeping,” said (Y/N).

            “We can’t wake him up at all,” said Kaidou incredulously.

            “You can’t break a habit, I guess,” said Kuboyasu.

            “Hairo is done for,” said Kaidou grimly. “At this rate, we’ll end up like that. I have an idea. One hours until midnight. What if we take turns sleeping? We’ll have fifteen minutes each.”

            “I guess with four people we don’t all need to stay awake,” said Kuboyasu.

            “Okay, let’s nap!” said Nendou.

            “Wake me up when it’s time,” said Kaidou, climbing into his bed.

            “Hold on!” said Nendou. “Why do you get to go first?”

            “Then we’ll decide by rock-paper-scissors! The winner goes first!” said Kaidou.

            “One, two, three…”

            Saiki—who played because he was being “tired”—won, of course. He lay down in the bed, and the others trudged dejectedly away.

            “Are you really going to nap?” asked (Y/N) curiously.

            “No.” Saiki sat back up pretty much immediately. “Check the other room.”

            (Y/N) peeked in and laughed. “They’re all asleep on their feet. They really need it.”

            “Let’s go and enjoy New Year’s,” said Saiki, putting on his coat.

            “I feel a bit bad that they’ll miss New Year’s, but we got to hang out, so I think it’s alright to leave them. Right?” said (Y/N).

            “Yes.” Saiki wanted to hang out alone with (Y/N) anyways. He took their hand and teleported them out. They ended up in a park that he knew would be empty.

            (Y/N) checked their watch. “It’s almost midnight. I wonder if there will be fireworks.”

            “Probably,” said Saiki.

            “Are you sure you don’t want to head back to your house? What about your parents?” said (Y/N).

            “What about yours?” said Saiki.

            “What do you think my answer will be?” said (Y/N) sheepishly.

            Saiki sighed. There was a reason his parents were bringing (Y/N) into their family (besides being his partner). “Kusuke is back for the day.”

            “Ah, that explains avoiding your family,” said (Y/N), chuckling. They watched the clock at the edge of the park click towards midnight. “But we’re with each other, so it’s not too bad.”

            “Not too bad?” repeated Saiki.

            “Don’t worry, it’ll be good soon.”

            “How?”

            The clock rang midnight, and fireworks exploded above in the air.

            “Like this.” (Y/N) smiled, held Saiki’s collar, and pulled him in for a kiss.

            Saiki could have sworn the fireworks were going off in his heart as he closed his eyes and kissed back.

            Okay. This is a good New Year’s.

            The clock continued to ring. It grew louder and shriller, and he furrowed his brow.

l

            Saiki sat up in confusion, his blankets falling off of him. He was still in his own room, and as he looked around himself, trying to establish his whereabouts, he noticed his alarm going off. It was still New Year’s.

            Was that a dream? he thought, confused. Phew. I’m not stuck at Kaidou’s for New Year’s Eve—

            He paused as a headache began.

            Oh, no. That wasn’t a…premonition. Was it?

            “Kuu!” called his mom from down the hall. “You have a call from Kaidou.”

            Saiki groaned, then he paused. He lifted his hand to his lips and smiled slightly. “Tell him I’m coming.”

            He wasn’t going to give up the chance for such a moment with (Y/N). He loved them, after all.

l

            “You were pretty eager to leave school today,” said (Y/N). They chuckled. “Does Café Mami have a sale going on or something?”

            “No, I have something to show you,” said Saiki, leading them towards his house.

            (Y/N) tilted their head curiously but smiled. “Alright!”

            They arrived at his house, and he led them inside and up to his room. He opened his desk drawer, cleared his throat, and turned back around. He held a small package wrapped in pink paper and a white bow.

            “Happy Valentine’s Day,” said Saiki.

            (Y/N)’s face lit up. They had given Saiki chocolate earlier, but they hadn’t expected anything. Saiki showed affection in other ways, not gifts typically, so this was a pleasant surprise.

            “Kusuo, thank you so much!” (Y/N) threw their arms around his neck, and he caught them while levitating the gift.

            “You haven’t even seen what it is,” said Saiki, confused.

            “I know, but it’s from you, so I’ll like,” said (Y/N), letting go with a grin.

            Saiki stared as (Y/N) said the best words he could possibly hear while they just turned away and opened the gift. They took the top off the box and smiled.

            “Oh my god!” They pulled out a stuffed animal. It was a little white cat with green glasses and a familiar collar with pink barrettes on it. It was Saiki as a cat. “So cute!”

            Saiki smiled slightly as (Y/N) hugged the cat stuffed animal. He had transformed into his cat from once in front of them, and he had never gotten so many cuddles from them. Obviously, they liked cats, so, Saiki had decided to surprise them.

            “Thank you, Kusuo,” said (Y/N), smiling again.

            “Anything for you.” Saiki watched (Y/N) with a soft smile. Wow, he really did love them.

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[janeyseymour]

hiii!! i hope you’re doing well. i was hoping to request a melissa x reader. where the reader is really struggling with mental health and her gf (melissa) is starting to notice it.

one day during work (they school) the reader gets into an argument with one of the other teachers and the teacher says some rude stuff to her which hurts her a lot. the reader leaves the school for the day w/o telling melissa.

(hurt, comfort, some fluff)

Hi! I'm so behind on writing because of my school situation at the moment... but I hope this is what you were looking for! As always, not edited in the slightest

Good Days, Bad Days

wc: ~2.6k

You’ve been struggling lately. You hate to admit it to even just yourself, much less anyone else. But you are struggling. You don’t really know why.

Okay. You do know why. 

You’re taking on too much- school is overwhelming between the kids and the extra tasks you’ve decided to take on (why you thought being part of the curriculum development committee is beyond you), things are getting more serious with your girlfriend, and you have to admit you aren’t doing a great job of balancing everything. You’re trying your best, but it’s getting really hard. Your ideas are shot done more and more. You feel like you barely see Melissa, and when you do, the two of you are arguing about God even knows what. It always ends up with the two of you in bed holding each other and promising you aren’t upset with each other and that you love each other, but it’s becoming a sick cycle- and not a cycle the two of you necessarily want to be in. 

And the fiery redhead is starting to notice the way that your mental health has been declining. She’s been watching it steadily for the last month or so. The way you haven’t been eating as much, the way you can barely keep your eyes open at times, how you fall asleep almost every time you’re sitting still. You’re constantly irritable, and you burst into tears at least once a day.

“My love,” she whispers as she pulls you closer. 

You sob into her shoulder. “I just- I don’t know what I’m doing wrong!” you blubber.

“You aren’t doing anything wrong, honey,” she tries to reassure you, although her words fall upon mostly deaf ears. Your tears are uncontrollable, and at this point, you’ve lost yourself. You don’t even know why you’re crying this time.

“C’mon, amore,” she rocks you gently. “Let’s get you up to bed. You need some rest.”

“I- I can’t!” you whine. “I have to come up with more ideas for the curriculum meeting tomorrow, and I have to grade the kids’ social studies projects, and I- I-” You struggle to catch your breath as you hiccup out a sob.

She takes a few deep breaths, hoping you’ll follow her motions. You do, just barely. She smiles softly and praises you. “Good. Keep breathing, honey. You’re okay,” she mumbles against your head.

After a bit of calming yourself down, you reach for your students’ social studies projects and start to grade them again. Melissa settles on the barstool next to you and grabs her own stack. She helps you grade them, and then the two of you head to bed. She holds you until she falls asleep, and then she reaches for her laptop that’s on the nightstand. She finds a few new ideas for curriculum that might help to benefit the students, emails them to you, and curls up around you again. 

You wake up the next morning dreading the day. You have your meeting during your prep, meaning you won’t have time to prep the materials you need to for the science experiment today and will instead be setting everything up during your lunch. You have recess duty today, so you really won’t be able to settle at all today. 

“Y/N,” Melissa shakes you awake gently. She’s already ready for school, makeup and all. “It’s time to wake up, hon.”

You whine as you roll over. “Five more minutes, babe.”

“I already let you sleep twenty extra minutes,” she tells you gently. “You gotta get up. You can eat breakfast in the car, but you’re eating breakfast today.”

You sigh and roll out of bed. You get yourself ready for the day before stomping off towards the vehicle. Melissa brings you a bowl of breakfast casserole and gets into the driver’s seat. You only take a few bites before you start to feel nauseous and close your eyes for the rest of the drive. Your girlfriend rests her hand on your thigh as she drives, and she gives it a gentle squeeze once she parks the car.

“We’re here, amore,” she sighs quietly. “I know you’ve been stressed about your meeting today, so I sent you a few curriculum ideas last night. Why don’t you look over them and finish up your breakfast?”

“You did that for me?” You tear up at her thoughtfulness.

“I did,” she smiles at you softly. “But you don’t have time to cry about it right now, hon. You have to prep, and finish breakfast.”

You groan, but you know she’s right. You grab your bags, take the bowl, and head into the school. You settle at your seat in the teachers lounge and start prepping for your meeting at 11, forgetting about your breakfast. The only reason you remember is because Melissa is sitting next to you holding the fork up to your mouth. You blush and take the bite gratefully.

Before you know it, everyone else has filed in, Jacob is playing the news all too loudly, and you pack up your things to work in your classroom. You give the redhead a kiss to the cheek before heading out.

You don’t expect her to follow- you know how much she loves watching Channel 6. But she does with a confused look on her face.

“You okay, hon?” she asks you softly as she pulls up a chair next to your desk.

“Just can’t get distracted today,” you sigh. She doesn’t know how much is riding on this one meeting. 

“You can usually work with the news on?” she furrows her brows and purses her lips.

“I- It was just a little overstimulating today, okay?” you tell her, hoping this smooths everything over. “Go watch the news with them. I’ll be fine.”

“Okay,” she sucks a breath in. Melissa gives you a soft kiss before seeing herself out. She knows when to leave you be at this point, and you clearly need to be alone right now.

The kids come in far before you’re ready for them. But still, you stand from your desk and meet most of them at the door with a bright smile and a hug if they want one. But Melissa can see the tension in your shoulders and your body language.

Your students are genuinely pretty well behaved today. They’re quiet, they get their independent work done, and you continue to prep for your meeting. You silently thank God for that. You don’t know what you would’ve done if you had to handle behaviors on top of your meeting today. 

They line up, head down to music, and you head into one of the meeting rooms in the office for curriculum development. The lights are too bright. You can hear them flickering. You don’t feel okay in your own body right now- your clothes are itchy, and you can’t stand the way that the chair feels against you.

None of your ideas are received well, and you struggle to hold back tears at this point. Shaina, One of the older teachers upstairs is just digging into every little bit of your being now. You don’t even know what to do- you aren’t even talking about curriculum anymore.

“Maybe, and hear me out guys,” the woman addresses the group. “Instead of focusing so much on developing a new curriculum, when this one works so well for most of us already, we address the actual issue in the room: the shit teachers we have here.” She looks directly at you. You can feel your cheeks flush red and the tears spring to your eyes.

“Hey,” one of the kinder teachers sighs.

“No, no!” Shaina argues. “I’m being serious! We can get rid of the new teachers who think they know everything and can’t teach for the life of them with better ones!”

“I- I think I teach well,” you mumble. “My kids love my lessons that I do with them.”

“Oh please,” the older teacher laughs in your face. “Your kids only pretend so they don’t hurt your pathetic little feelings, Miss Sensitive.”

“I-If they didn’t like my lessons, I think I would know,” you mutter. 

One of the other teachers tries to get back to the focus of this meeting, but Shaina just won’t quit. 

“The only reason they kept your lazy, pathetic ass around here is because of that stupid, bitchy girlfriend of yours,” she comments. “No one wants to fuck with Schemmenti, and certainly no one wants to fuck with you. Hm… maybe that’s why the two of you found each-”

You don’t even bother gathering your notes or laptop. You just head out of the meeting. You can’t stop the red, hot tears that begin to pour over as you run down to your classroom to grab your purse. You can’t be here right now. You just can’t.

You head back into the office, and you can hear the committee still in the conference room now going after Shaina for upsetting you, but you don’t care. You head straight into Ava’s office.

“Ava, I- I need to go home.”

“I don’t have time for-” the principal sighs as she doesn’t even bother to look up from her phone.

“Ava,” you say emphatically. “Please.”

Only then does she look up at you, and she takes in your appearance. She has a bit of a soft spot for you. “Oh, Y/N, girl, what happened?”

“It- it doesn’t matter. I just can’t be here right now, please. I need a sub right now, I’ll even take Mr. J.”

“Should I pull Melissa for you?” she asks, clearly concerned.

“N-no. She was excited to teach her math lesson with them today, so just… she’ll figure it out,” you stutter out. “I’ll just take the bus home. I just- fuck. I need to go home.”

The principal nods and starts making the announcement over the intercom that the janitor needs to report to her office immediately. She gives you a sad nod, and you head out. 

Melissa, not knowing that you’ve gone home, heads into the staff room for lunch. She pulls your lunch out and sets it at your spot for you. But you never show. You’re already about half a bottle deep in wine and drowning your sorrows. When you don’t show after fifteen minutes, she sighs and heads down to your room, fully expecting to find you asleep at your desk. But your bag is gone, your laptop isn’t there, and your mug of coffee is still sitting on your desk half finished. She raises a brow as she heads back down to the teachers lunch room.

“Anyone seen Y/N?” the second grade teacher asks.

“Not since this morning,” Barbara says. “Was she not in her room?”

“No. Her bags are gone too, and her laptop isn’t there?”

“Maybe check the conference room?”

“She does like to work in there sometimes,” Melissa mulls it over as she leaves again. She makes her way down the hall and towards the main office. She finds your laptop, but you’re still nowhere to be found.

“Oi,” she grumbles. “Woman’s lost her damned mind.”

Ava appears behind her. “Your girl went home.”

“She what? She couldn’t have. I drove us in today?”

“She said something about taking the bus,” Ava shrugs. “I ain’t never seen that girl cry the way she was crying. Must’ve finally snapped.”

“Who has her kids?” your girlfriend asks, and she’s immediately fumbling for her phone to call you.

“Mr. Johnson,” the principal shrugs. “She said she would even take him, and I sure as hell don’t got the time to wrangle a bunch of third graders today.”

You see your phone light up with Melissa’s name and the sweet picture you have of the two of you. You send it to voicemail.

“She’s not picking up,” Melissa grumbles.

“She looked pretty beat, like she could fall asleep standing up,” Ava shrugs. 

“She did that the other night,” your girlfriend sighs. “Poor thing.”

“Well, what’re you waiting for? Go save your princess,” the principal chuckles.

“I don’t got no one to cover my class,” she points out. 

“I got it,” Ava tells her. “Anything for Y/N.”

The redhead, while shocked, doesn’t have to be told twice. She heads into the teachers lounge to grab the rest of her lunch and your lunch.

“I’m heading home for the day,” Melissa tells the usual crew. When they give her a questioning look, she just shrugs and continues to pack up your things. It’s none of their business why she’s leaving early.

She rolls through most of the stop signs on the drive home, and only once does she run through a red light where she sure a cop isn’t lingering out of sight. 

When she pulls in, she notices that all of the lights in the house are off, and your car is still sitting right where you left it last night.

“Amore?” she calls softly as she kicks off her shoes at the front door. She enters the living room, and there you are, eyes rimmed red. Your curled up under your favorite blanket, wearing one of her Flyers sweatshirts, with a glass of wine and a carton of ice cream and an empty Wawa hoagie wrapper at your side. Your comfort movie is playing, and you sigh deeply.

“Why are you home?”

“Because when my girlfriend disappears midday and Ava tells me she has me covered, I come home,” Melissa tells you gently as she drops her bags on the bench. She hands you your lunch and settles in next to you. “You wanna tell me what happened?”

You explain what happens, but only after your girlfriend promises you she won’t murder Shaina for upsetting you. When your finished, she’s fuming.

“Babe, you promised you wouldn’t-”

“Yeah,” she grits out. “I lied. That’s worse than what I thought you were going to say.”

“I-it’s not a big deal,” you sigh, trying to smooth it all over. “Today was just a lot for me in general. I was going to get set off no matter what.”

“No, I’ll show her who the shit teacher is… in a non-threatening way,” she adds on. 

“Mel, it just isn’t worth it,” you tell her. “I’ll get over myself, and the other teachers were trying to get her to back off. I’m sure someone will go to Ava about it, but for now… I just want to wallow in my self-loathing and self-pity, okay? I’ll be fine.”

“Can I do anything to help?” she asks softly as she wraps an arm around you and tugs you in. Your head falls on her shoulder, and you sigh.

“Can we have a day in? Just sit with me and let me wallow?” you ask quietly. “I just need today to be sad, and tomorrow I’ll be okay.”

“Let me change, and then I’ll do whatever you need me to do,” she promises you. With a kiss to your head, you let her up. She’s back quickly in a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt- leather pants now gone. Her hair is tied up in a messy ponytail, and you can’t help the small smile that appears on your face.

“What, hun?”

“Just… you,” you tell Melissa as you reach for her. She settles in next to you.

“What about me?”

“I can’t believe I got you by my side,” you mumble as you curl into her side. “Having you makes everything so much better.”

“I’m always here for you, my love.” The redhead kisses your head again as she takes your hand in hers. “Through the good days, through the bad days… all of it.”

[somedaylazysomeday]

Good Intentions Part Twenty-One

You finally have to make good on your promise to Silco.

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5,300

Warnings: Shifting morality, mentions of drugs, spit as lube, unprotected piv sex, double penetration (both kinds), anal fingering, creampie.

Previous | Next | Masterlist

---

The first meeting of the Undercity Innovation Committee took place a little later than expected. 

The original meeting had been canceled, and the explanation Jazper had given you was that everyone wanted to wait until the other businesses were completed. The second meeting had been canceled as well. That time, it had been because the businesses that had opened were training their staff and focusing on the early days of their businesses. 

You had started to suspect that the Committee was nothing more than a dream, a hypothetical idea that would be pushed further and further off until it eventually faded. It wasn’t ideal, but the Committee itself wasn’t what mattered. You were overjoyed to see commercial businesses and properties move into the Lanes, and you didn’t care whether you got to be a part of their growth beyond watching it happen. 

The Undercity was changing; that much was undeniable. It had been well over a year since Silco had pulled Shimmer from the streets around the Haven, and there were noticeable changes. One of the biggest was the steady flow of recovered addicts flowing from the Haven to Stonesea and beyond. You rarely saw patients who relapsed - most of them seemed vehemently anti-Shimmer as soon as they were free of its grip. 

It typically took around six weeks for people to fully recover from the effects of Shimmer and examine the forces that had driven them toward the drug in the first place. When caught early enough, the physical effects of a Shimmer addiction were minimal. The psychological effects lasted far longer - feelings of powerlessness and frustrations at the limitations of a human body were common. But with help from the therapists and psychiatrists you kept on retainer, you often saw the average stay end after two months. 

The HexTech donations had been put to good use. You received a new check at the start of every month and you sent back summaries of the work you had done with the previous month’s money. 

One of the larger changes was that you were able to find a surgeon for the Haven. They didn’t perform surgeries in-house or take funding from the Haven, but they consulted with patients whose Shimmer addictions had left unwanted physical scars. The reminder that their permanent marks could be removed helped your patients’ mental state tremendously. 

Silco hadn���t mentioned joining the Undercity Innovation Committee since you had agreed to his terms. Your meetings with him had continued and neither of you brought up the HexTech donations. Silco hadn’t pushed any more donations on you, either. 

The slow and steady pattern of improvement had been interrupted when you received a note from Jazper. The first official meeting of the Undercity Innovation Committee was to happen a week from that day, barring any outstanding events. To your surprise, the meeting was not canceled as the previous two had been, and you soon found yourself in a room with the other five members of the Committee. 

Ronid was the one responsible for building a second apartment complex. They were building it from the ground up, drawing heavily from Jazper’s plans both for structure and intended operations. Ronid was the only member of the Committee whose business had yet to open, but they were eager to get started. They split their time between observing operations at Stonesea and training their own recently hired staff. 

Micah and Nimi were the couple who owned the grocery store. Micah - a round-faced, perpetually smiling man - was an expert cook who delighted in trying new recipes with local ingredients. The grocery store had been a small vacant building before the couple had started the renovations. They had an apartment on the top floor while the second story was taken up by a commercial kitchen. Micah offered cooking lessons for anyone who bought an unfamiliar food item and wanted to learn how to prepare it. He was filled with stories of strange and adventurous foods he had tried, and children delighted in listening to him. 

Nimi - a tall but muscular woman - was in charge of ordering new shipments of stock for the store. She had spent much of her early life working with different shipping companies, loading and delivering stock in Upper Piltover, and she had retained those connections. “A lot of them don’t recognize me anymore,” Nimi had explained with a laugh, “but they know I know where to get the best deals!” 

Cipanni was the last of the new business owners. She was short and stocky, but her small hands were incredibly skilled with repairs. She owned and operated the newly opened mechanic’s shop. Though the store had been open a relatively short time, she had started hiring employees and training them before the renovations had even started. Her mechanics were hired throughout Upper Piltover and the Undercity, performing the repairs they could and reporting any challenges back to her. Cipanni could often diagnose the problem without seeing it in person, then give advice on how to make the necessary repairs. 

They were a delightful group, and you were grateful to Jazper for letting you join the Committee, even though the Haven wasn’t a business. Other than the section about profit margins, you were able to follow along with or participate in the other parts of the meeting. 

“Well, that’s everything on the agenda,” Jazper summarized, glancing down at the paper he had been making notes on. “We should have more to discuss when the Rise opens.” 

“If the Rise opens,” Nimi muttered, tossing a teasing grin at Ronid. 

Ronid gaped theatrically, clasping a hand to their chest. “Well if the electrician would work a little faster…”

Cipanni splayed her hands helplessly. “Hey, I convinced Crow to wire the building and take on a few apprentices. I’m not going to ask him to work faster as well.” 

You beamed at that. Crow was a Piltover electrician, one whose work was highly in demand. Cipanni had convinced him to take on three of her shop’s employees who were interested in learning to do electrical work. Electricity was not Cipanni’s specialty, and she had insisted that they would be better off with Crow. For his part, Crow had been so impressed with the apprentices that he had agreed to two of their requests to come back to Upper Piltover to continue their apprenticeships. 

The third apprentice hadn’t asked yet, but there were good odds she would. Crow had already told Cipanni that he would accept her as well. 

“I’m surprised you’re not worried about anyone leaving your shop to start their own,” Micah said to Cipanni, breaking you out of your thoughts. 

Cipanni shrugged. “I wrote a clause into their employment contracts. If they leave my shop, they can’t start another shop in direct competition within a five block radius.”

“I thought we agreed on no non-compete clauses?” Jazper asked with a frown. 

“I know,” the mechanic admitted, rubbing guiltily at the space between her brows. “But, if it helps, I didn’t make one just to keep my business running. I did it because I want them to spread what they’ve learned, just not right next door. My hope is that they’ll start their own shops in other parts of the Undercity. Preferably with the same anti-Shimmer rules we all have in place.”

You watched Jazper closely. He had been on-edge lately - he was spending most of his time working on another apartment building in the Undercity. The construction site was near the Haven, but on the opposite side of the rest of the businesses. You loved the idea, and wanted to watch development spread, but it was clearly wearing on Jazper. He had his businesses in Upper Piltover along with Stonesea, and he was trying to help Rovid with the Rise whenever possible. He was spread thin, and it made him a little erratic. 

“That makes sense,” you decided, cutting through the tension in the room. Cipanni’s shoulders relaxed. “After all, we’re all here because we want to see the Undercity continue to change for the better. We want those changes to happen in other places than just the Lanes.” 

At last, Jazper nodded. “That brings me to our last topic of this meeting: we’ve had a request to join the Committee. It concerns all of us, so I want everyone to have a say. However, there is one person who gets to make the final decision.” 

Everyone glanced around curiously, but your stomach sank. You already knew exactly who wanted to join the Committee and why it could be a problem. 

“Silco has submitted an official request to join the Undercity Innovation Committee.” You had already known what was coming, but it still sent a pang through your chest. Jazper glanced at you before he continued. “He made the case that he runs a small business in the Undercity, contributes to the local economy, and employs two dozen people. He would be joining based on his ownership of The Last Drop, not because of any rumored ties to Shimmer.”

Loaded glances and murmured conversations filled the room, but Jazper’s gaze stayed firmly fixed on you. “If there are any objections, we will not allow him to join us.”

“If there isn’t any concrete evidence linking him to Shimmer production or distribution…” Micah mused, “it doesn’t seem like we have a choice.” 

“It might legitimize us to have a business owner who’s actually from the Undercity,” Ronid interjected. 

“And he’s a well-known name down here,” Cipanni agreed, folding her arms. 

“I don’t love the things I’ve heard about his business practices,” Nimi said with a foreboding frown. “But maybe we could influence him to treat his employees better if we let him join the Committee. I vote we let him in.” 

“And you?” Jazper asked softly. “We hear what we hear and know what we know, having worked in the Lanes as long as we have. And you’ve been here longer than me. What do you think about Silco’s request?”

You sighed, letting the sound dangle in the room for a moment. You had already made a deal with Silco about this very issue, but you longed to refuse, if for no other reason than that these people didn’t know what they were getting into with Silco. They all seemed like practical people - they might listen if you warned them about him.

But you didn’t. 

“He has brought jobs to the Undercity. Many jobs,” you added in a sulky mutter. “He probably does have a right to a seat on the Committee.”

Jazper continued to watch you for a long moment. When you didn’t add anything else, he gave a decisive nod. “Then it’s decided: we will allow Silco to join us at next quarter’s meeting.” 

It was strange, you reflected as you watched the room. The Undercity had a way of taking a toll on its residents, even when nothing had seemed to change. You and Jazper were the only ones who seemed to understand the momentousness of what had just happened - you held eye contact even as the other began to gather their belongings and leave Stonesea. 

Eventually, Ronid caught his attention with something else and Jazper looked away. The spell had been broken, but the implications echoed through your mind. Did Jazper know about you and Silco? Did Silco have some kind of leverage over Jazper? There was no way to know for certain on either count, but you were filled with an inexplicable sense that something had been lost when you failed to argue Silco’s entry into the Committee. 

But there was nothing for it. 

You rose, leaving Jazper and Ronid to their private chat in the near-empty room. You could feel Jazper watching as you left, but there was nothing to say. Nothing to do. Certainly nothing that could be said or done with Ronid in the room. 

The tangle of your thoughts kept you occupied on the short trip back to the Haven, but an odd tension reigned on the street in front of the building. That was enough to pull you back to yourself - the streets of the Lanes were never quiet. Children played and laughed, vendors hawked their wares, and there was usually at least one fight happening at any given time.

A single upward glance told you exactly what was going on: Silco was standing on the street in front of the Haven.

With his calf-length coat on and his hands clasped behind his back, Silco cut a lean and menacing figure. He looked mysterious and sharp, deadly as any blade. His Shimmer eye glowed in the gathering dusk, the orange pinpoint of its light visible from halfway down the block. 

There was a swath cut through the crowd, a half-moon of space that was almost comically wide. At least, it would have been comical if you felt the least bit like laughing. 

You walked up to the Haven’s doors, watching as Silco straightened at your approach. You didn’t have any way of knowing how he reacted when you moved past him without an acknowledgement. 

He called your name, referring to you by your title and last name, as if you were strangers. You would have appreciated the attempt at distancing himself if he hadn’t come to your outreach at the busiest time of day in full view of the entirety of the Lanes. 

“What do you need, Mr. Silco?” you responded, turning to face him at last. 

Silco’s mouth was set in a displeased line. “I need to speak with you. Privately.” 

“Now is not a good time.” You hauled the door open and tried to dart inside, but Silco’s arm barred the entrance at the last possible moment. 

“You may find endless trips across the entirety of Zaun to be ceaselessly entertaining,” Silco said loftily, “but I do not. Now may not be particularly convenient for either of us, but we will meet regardless.” 

He dropped his arm, you stepped inside, and he followed you in. 

“What is all of this-?” 

“Your office,” Silco interrupted. That seemed to be all of the explanation he was willing to offer, so you clenched your jaw and started for the privacy of your office. 

You rounded on him as soon as you finished closing the door behind you both. There was an ugly admonishment bubbling on the very tip of your tongue, but it disappeared in a cloud of confusion as Silco seized you by the shoulders. 

Instinctively, your muscles went taut as you braced for an attack of some kind. The proud smile on Silco’s lips was your first hint that things were not going quite as you had expected. 

“You did it, my clever little darling,” Silco congratulated warmly. “I received word that I am to join the Undercity Innovation Committee, and no one is the wiser about any connection between the two of us. You could not have accomplished the task in a more effective manner.”

“How-?” 

“And your manner outside of the Haven?” Silco continued, the lavish praise sounding simultaneously natural and utterly alien coming from him. “Perfection itself. The protesting philanthropist dreading a meeting from the chem baron she cannot stand, but agreeing anyway for sake of keeping the peace.” 

“What are-?” 

“I must confess that I am impressed,” Silco interrupted again. “And because of that, I have a special offer for you.”

You watched him sharply. Not just because of his newfound generosity, but to see if he was going to interrupt you a third time. He seemed to be waiting impatiently for your response, but you decided to keep things short just in case he was determined to drive you up the wall. “An offer.” 

“Yes, pet,” he confirmed. “We can have our meeting today. I know you enjoy being together in your office when possible, and I enjoy the confidence it gives you.” 

You narrowed your eyes. “Your offer is to let me have sex with you now that you’ve pushed your way into my office?”

“Precisely.” 

The scoff you gave held more laughter than you wanted it to, but it was only because of his daring. “And if I decide to pass?” 

Silco shrugged. “Then we will postpone our meeting until the original date. And, of course, you will have to come to the Last Drop and risk being seen.” 

You fought back a snarl. The Committee meeting had been a wonderful breath of fresh air until the reminder that you were connected with Silco. And now he was here, pushing for you to fulfill your payment early. Perhaps worst of all, his arguments made sense. 

“What do you get out of this?” you demanded. “Why move up the date?” 

Silco watched you steadily. “I believe in rewarding good behavior as soon as it happens. And your increased comfort here was a factor I considered.” 

Before you could answer, his brows furrowed and he took a slow step toward you. “If I didn't know better, pet, I would believe you don’t want to see me.” 

Was there actual hurt in his eyes? Surely not… You shook your head slowly, letting yourself look somewhere other than Silco. “It’s been a long day. It’s not that I don’t want to see you. It’s just… a surprise.”

“I understand that much,” Silco told you. “But I would think moving up our meeting could provide an excellent distraction.” 

“Sometimes, sex can’t distract you,” you countered with a shrug. 

Instantly, you knew it had been the wrong thing to say. Silco’s face took on a relishing sort of expression, like you had offered him an irresistible dare. And you may as well have. You were fully expecting the motion when he moved closer, especially since it left your bodies brushing each other’s. 

“Is that so, pet?” he murmured, close enough that you could feel the slight rumble of his velvety voice. 

“Silco,” you warned. At least, you had meant it to be a warning. It came out breathy, more an anticipatory exhalation than a stern reminder that he needed to behave. 

He leaned closer, delight filling his expression. “My original aim was to reward you, but perhaps you would be best rewarded by urging your thoughts away from your difficult day. Does that sound like a fair reward?” 

You nodded, mouth dry. Yes, you were still discomfited by the way Silco had managed to worm his way onto the Undercity Innovation Committee - not to mention the role you had played in his place on the Committee - but your body was crying out for a distraction. In your own defense, you rarely had him so close to you unless you were making a payment. It made sense that you had conditioned your libido to be ready for him. 

“Apologies, darling,” Silco said, sounding utterly unapologetic. “I couldn’t hear you.” 

When you tried to speak, a rasping croak was the only thing you could force out. 

Silco managed to force his expression into one of regretful confusion, but you could see the amusement glittering in his mismatched eyes. “I don’t understand.” 

You scowled, but Silco ducked and pressed his mouth to yours in a deep, searing kiss. When he pulled back, he was smirking openly. “I believe I now understand your opinion on my proposal. If you-” 

You interrupted him, grabbing fistfuls of his elegant jacket and towing him back down until you could kiss him again. Silco’s noise of surprise was muffled against your lips, but he responded eagerly. 

As desperate as your kiss got, Silco never walked you anywhere specific. You were just standing in the middle of your office, lost in each other’s kiss. It was an enjoyable way to pass the time, but you were confused when you finally pulled away and found him watching you expectantly. 

“Do you want to move this somewhere more… horizontal?” you asked. 

“Wherever you want, pet,” Silco agreed, eyes darkening. “So long as I get to decide what we do when we get there.” 

The prospect - along with the lethal promise in his voice - made you shiver and you led the way to the chaise lounge you kept in one corner.

You would die rather than admit it to him, but you had been influenced by Silco’s couch when you had chosen the chair. Not necessarily because you expected to spend time with him on it, but because it was convenient to have a comfortable place to sit or catch a quick nap if you were working long hours. 

And you especially wouldn’t tell Silco how the sturdiness of the chair’s frame had played a large part in your decision to purchase it. 

There was no point in subtlety, not when you had been ready for him for so long. You undressed quickly, spreading a dark throw blanket over the material. It was soft and plush, and you only hoped it would protect the lounge as well it kept you warm during your occasional office naps. In any case, a blanket was infinitely more washable than a chaise lounge, so you were willing to take the risk. 

By the time you tucked the ends of the blanket around the cushion of the lounge, Silco had undressed as well. He was fully bare, something that had been happening more and more often as your deal stretched on. The sight of his lean body was still enough to take your breath away, and you bit your lip to keep from making an embarrassing noise. 

“Lovely blanket,” Silco complimented. “Perhaps you should take a seat on it.” 

You did as he suggested, lowering yourself down until your hips and ass were cradled against the softness of the blanket. From that newly intensified angle, Silco looked even more imposing… all of him did. 

When you managed to pry your eyes from his hardening cock, Silco was smirking openly. You made a face at him, but you couldn’t be too irritated. He was just as stunned by your body and you knew how great that admiration was for your ego. How could you fault him for feeling the same way about your reaction?

Silco joined you on the lounge, crawling onto the seat with a dangerous grace that made your body tighten. Your reaction didn’t have a chance to ebb before he leaned up to capture your lips again. 

At the same time, he let his lower body drape across yours. Silco’s slender form was still heavy, certainly heavy enough to push your knees apart. In an instant, the hard length of him was pressed between your legs and you were lifting your hips to grind up against that pressure.

“Distracted enough already?” Silco asked, releasing your lips with a savoring lick across the full curve of your bottom lip. 

You pretended to think about that. “Not yet. Maybe with a little more…”

“Your wish is my command,” Silco assured you. When he leaned down again, he ducked toward your neck, fastening his lips against a particularly tender place. His hand crept between your hips, fingers finding their way unerringly toward your clit. 

In only a moment of that combination, your hips had jumped toward Silco so violently that he had to use his free hand to hold you against the chaise lounge. He stroked everything not currently pressed against his cock, and you were writhing as much as you could manage while being pinned down in so many places. 

“Silco,” you gasped at last, hands locking around his wrists. 

“Close, darling?” he asked, fingers slowing minutely. 

“Need you,” you panted, trying not to let out a desperate sob. “Inside.” 

Silco’s expression softened for a moment before he gave a determined nod. “Very well.” 

You weren’t entirely sure of the mechanics of what happened next. One moment, you were on your back with Silco on top of you. The next, he had wrapped both hands around your thighs, holding you against him. A moment later, you were on top of him, staring down with wild eyes as he held you poised on your knees. The very tip of him was pressed against your entrance, but he wasn’t letting you sink down yet. 

The whine that was ripped out of you didn’t hold a single word, but your point came across clearly enough. 

Silco’s hands loosened, releasing you instead of forcing you down onto him, but you seized the opportunity. The moment you could move, you sank onto his length, letting him fill you almost to the root in one decisive stroke. 

He arched beneath you, shoulders lifting from the surface of the bed in a combination of shock and pleasure. Your head fell back, leaving you staring at the ceiling of your office with a sense of overwhelming fullness wreaking havoc on your muscle control. It was only by happy accident that the twitching of your leg muscles left you sinking down more firmly onto Silco. 

When you managed to look down at him, Silco’s lips were parted, revealing flashes of chipped teeth behind them. His natural eye was heavy-lidded and his chest rose and fell quickly with the speed of his breathing. The expression on his face held too much to be easily deciphered, especially when you were distracted by other things, but it seemed to be made of mingled pride, possession, and adoration. 

If you had been thinking more clearly, that combination would have worried you. But with your focus on how good he felt inside of you, all you could think about was how good that expression looked on him. Instead of concern, you felt only need.  

It was enough to spur you onto your trembling muscles. You planted your knees more firmly to either side of Silco’s hips and lifted yourself slowly up from your seat. Your hands were splayed on his chest, helping you balance your weight as you experimented with finding the right angle. 

Silco shuddered with the feeling of his body leaving yours. You could relate, but your focus was firmly set on controlling your movements. 

You surged up and forward, lifting yourself almost free of him before slamming your hips back down. The drive of him up into you was breathtaking, and the impact left your fingers trembling against Silco’s chest. 

He clutched at your hips, a garbled word bursting from his parted lips, but the motion was its own reward. You started a steady, driving rhythm, thrusting Silco’s length into and out of you as quickly as you could manage without losing your balance. 

Silco’s hands were steadying your hips, but you noticed that one was creeping steadily around the back of you. The stroke against the top of one buttock could be normal, but when he started to work his way toward your rear entrance, you gave him a look. 

“If you’re going to do anything ass-related, you’ll have to figure out lubrication yourself,” you warned him. If you weren’t so distracted, you would have been embarrassed by your matter-of-fact tone when discussing such delicate matters. “I don’t keep lube in my office.” 

“You have quite a store nearby,” Silco wheedled, thrusting his hips upward slightly so you would be sure to know what he meant. “I only need you to pause for a moment.” 

You slammed yourself down, gasping even as you watched the way Silco’s lashes fluttered. “Do you really want me to stop? Because I don’t want to. Figure it out.” 

Silco’s natural eye narrowed. As you kept moving on top of him, he brought his hand to his mouth, sucking one finger between his lips. You watched his jaw muscles work, and the sight made your own mouth go dry.

When his hand disappeared around your body once more, you tensed with the expectation of being pierced with a finger that was only slick with spit, but Silco’s finger didn’t press against your rear. Instead, he waited until you were at the top of your stroke, then placed it alongside his own shaft. 

You didn’t realize what was happening until you had sank halfway down his length. The extra stretch provided by his finger made you cry out as the muscles in your body frantically worked to figure out whether the intrusion was a punishment or a reward. 

Pulling up and off of him was a longer process than usual. The way your core muscles were squeezing around him, you were almost shocked that you had managed to lift off of Silco at all. 

The man himself was smirking at you, clearly proud of himself. “Thank you, pet.” 

Then with a slight sense of pressure and a twist, his finger speared into you just as you lowered back down onto him. 

The stretch of being impaled in two places at once was intense. When you were finally fully settled on Silco’s lap, you squirmed as you tried to get used to the feeling. 

Silco gave a half-muffled groan. “The way you feel around me, darling… I could live here forever.” 

You couldn’t think clearly enough to do anything as ambitious as speak, but you were surprised at just how strongly you agreed with that. Whether you were determined to show him what you were feeling through ways other than speech or because your body demanded not to balance on that precipice any longer, you started to move. 

You worked up and down on Silco’s length, your inner muscles working over him as you went. Silco’s hand - minus a single finger - gripped your ass as you rose and fell, feeling the muscle bunch and release with your movements. His finger stayed buried inside of you as you went, an ever-present reminder that you had been fully claimed by him. 

With everything going on, you couldn’t be surprised when you felt your orgasm approaching quickly. Your hands clenched against Silco’s chest and your rhythm started to falter. In only moments, you had slowed to the point that you were hardly moving. 

“Up, pet,” Silco ordered, hissing the command through bared teeth. 

You stared blearily down at him and his free hand anchored on your hip, pushing you up to full extension on your knees. The tip of him was barely inside of you, but your orgasm was so close that it was nearly inevitable.

Silco started thrusting up from under you. His cock drove in and out of you, your breath stuttering with every harsh punctuation of his hips. Your head tipped back again, but your view of the ceiling was interrupted when Silco grabbed your chin, pulling your gaze down to meet his. 

With your eyes locked, you both came. 

Simultaneous orgasms were rare, so much so that you had largely considered them to be a myth, or used to show the perfection of a couple in a romance novel. But this one felt almost like a death knell. Coming at the same time with your eyes staring into each other’s soul? It felt like you were binding yourself to Silco, in a way somehow more permanent than your deal or your slow softening toward him had done. 

The pulsing of him matched the throbbing of you… or perhaps vice versa. By the time your orgasm drew to a close, you weren’t entirely sure where you ended and he began. Your elbows trembled and Silco welcomed your gentle collapse onto his chest with a pleased hum. 

The slide of his finger from your ass made you squirm, as did the pull of his cock from the depths of your core. His cum followed in a thick rush, but neither of you moved. 

There would be time enough to face reality later. Just then, you wanted to live in that moment a little longer.

---

Author's Note - I'm so excited! I'm working a few chapters ahead and things are really starting to wrap up. I think this story will end up around 30 chapters long and I love how things are turning out. I hope you'll feel the same way.

Thanks for reading and I'll see you next month!

[haggishlyhagging]

On March 9, 1977, Francine Hughes returned from business college to her Dansville, Michigan, home and put a frozen dinner in the oven for her husband, James. He didn't like it. Francine, he said, should be at home preparing meals for him, not running off to school. He beat her up, as he had done many times before; and to drive home his point he tore up her schoolbooks and term papers and forced her to burn them in the trash barrel. Twelve-year-old Christy Hughes called the police, who came to the house long enough to calm James down but declined, as they had many times before, to arrest him. They left James, tired from beating Francine, asleep in his bedroom. Determined to "just drive away," Francine piled the children into the family car. "Let's not come back this time, Mommy," they said. She carried a gasoline can to the bedroom, poured the contents around the bed where James lay asleep, backed out of the room, and set a match to it The rust of flame sucked the door shut.

Francine Hughes drove immediately to the Ingham County sheriffs office, crying hysterically, "I did it. I did it." She was charged with first-degree murder.

Dansville adjoins East Lansing, home of Michigan State University and consequently of many social-action groups. Within two months feminists and other interested people in the Lansing area had formed the Francine Hughes Defense Committee to raise money and public awareness for her defense. They were careful to say that they neither advocated nor condoned murder, but they held that women confronted with violence have a right to defend themselves. They argued that "Francine Hughes—and many other women facing similar charges—should be free from the threat of punishment," for Francine Hughes was a battered woman.

At the time wife-beating was a growing feminist issue, following close on the heels of feminist attacks upon rape, a crime it resembles in many ways. Both rape and wife-beating are crimes of violence against women. Both are widespread, underreported, trivialized, and inadequately punished by the legal system. Both are acts of terrorism intended to keep all women in their place through intimidation. In fact, rape is often part of wife abuse, though so far only a few states acknowledge even the possibility of rape within marriage. The chief difference between the two crimes is that while the victim of nonmarital rape must live with a terrifying memory, the abused wife lives with her assailant. Rapists are, in Susan Brownmiller's phrase, the "shock troops" of male supremacy. Wife-beaters are the home guard.

American feminists took up the issue of wife-beating when they learned in 1971 of the work of Erin Pizzey, founder of Chiswick Women's Aid, the first shelter house in England exclusively for battered women and their children. Rainbow Retreat, the first American shelter for abused families of alcoholics opened in Phoenix, Arizona, on November 1, 1973; and in St. Paul, Minnesota, Women's Advocates, a collective that began with a phone service in 1972, opened Women's House to battered women and their children in October 1974. Rainbow Retreat, during its first two and a half years, sheltered more than six hundred women and children. In St. Paul the five-bedroom Women's House sheltered twenty-two women and fifteen children during its first month of operation; less than a year later Women's Advocates were negotiating to buy a second house. Across the country the shelter movement spread to Pasadena, San Francisco, Seattle, Boise, Albuquerque, Pittsburgh, Ann Arbor, Boston, New York. To open a shelter was to fill it beyond capacity almost overnight. Suddenly it seemed that battered women were everywhere.

While activists opened shelters, researchers and writers set about documenting the problem of wife-beating or, as it came to be called more euphemistically in the academic literature, "domestic violence." The records showed that 60 percent of night calls in Atlanta concerned domestic disputes. In Fairfax County, Virginia, one of the nation's wealthiest counties, police received 4,073 disturbance calls in 1974. During ten months in 1975-76 the Dade County Florida Citizens Dispute Settlement Center handled nearly 1,000 wife-beating cases. Seventy percent of all assault cases received in the emergency room at hospitals in Boston and Omaha were women who had been attacked in their homes. Eighty percent of divorce cases in Wayne County, Michigan, involved charges of abuse. Ninety-nine percent of female Legal Aid clients in Milwaukee were abused by men.

The FBI guessed that a million women each year—women of every race and social class—would be victims of wife-beating. Journalists Roger Langley and Richard C. Levy put the figure at more than 28 million. Some said that one in four women married to or cohabiting with a man would become a victim; others said one in three. In some areas the incidence seemed even greater. In California the experts said one of every two women would be beaten. And in Omaha, the Mayor's Commission on the Status of Women estimated that 95 percent of women would be abused at some time. There scarcely seemed need of additional evidence, so the same statistics began to turn up in every new account, but repetitious as they were, they showed all too clearly that wife-beating is a social problem of astounding dimensions.

-Ann Jones, Women Who Kill

[todaysdocument]

Circular from Committee of the Inhabitants of St. Louis to the Citizens of Upper Louisiana

Record Group 107: Records of the Office of the Secretary of WarSeries: Unregistered Letters ReceivedFile Unit: W, Misc. (1804): Wilkinson, James to SW? and Enclosures

Circular

The committee of St Louis to the citizens of the territory of upper Louisiana

Gentlemen:

Several of the inhabitants of the town of St Louis a short time after becoming citizens of the united States were alarmed at some news concerning the new administration of this country.

Considering that every citizen of the United States have the right of petitioning to congress who dictates their laws, some of its inhabitants to the number of twenty two, assembled and named five from amongst themselves whom they authorized to convoque a general assembly of the citizens of this town and vicinity and it was proposed that all the necessary measures should be taken to invite all the citizens of the different Districts of upper Louisiana French and american which distinction should not hereafter be known, even in the name, for in case of necessity to make such representations and such demands as may be thought necessary by a Majority.

The general meeting of the citizens of this town take place the fifteen of last april and ratified almost unanimously the resolutions of the first meeting. Named seven Deputies in order to accomplish the union so much desired.

The news that were spread about having been in part contradicted, the committee of seven, thought it most sage to defer their operations for some time.

But at present being certain that his excellency Wm H Harrison governor of the inidana territory has received orders to come here on the first of october next to form such laws amongst us as he may judge most suitable to our situation.

The committee think that it is of their Duty to invite you gentlemen, to appoint in each particular District a committee chosen by the free votes of all the citizens, with which the committee of other Districts may correspond on the general interest of this territory. The representatives of St Louis thinks that it may be necessary that one or two Deputies from each District agreeable to the population should meet fifteen days or there about before the arrival of his excellency the Governor of the indiana territory at this or any other place where he may fix his residence; in order to be ready to give him such information to the advantage of this territory, as he may have occasion of and at the same time to make such representations as some laws may require that may not appear to the advantage of the citizens of upper Louisiana.

Also to claim the rights which are guaranted[sic] to us by the treaty which conceded this territory to the United States if circumstances require it, and lastly to take such resolution as a majority of the union of Deputies may judge most suitable.

It is we hope, gentlemen, you think as we do, that these measures may procure some

[ana-chronista]

Meow there 😸💛💛, I hope you are well 💛.

For the kiss prompt i would love bojure 17 ... to distract + 48 ... out of habit, please.

Have a nice day 💛💛💛💛💛

First, sorry for the delay - one of these came easier than the other but I wanted to wait until I could share both! (The one that was harder actually went through a whole premise change...) Secondly, thanks for the prompts - this is my first time writing Bojure! I hope I did it justice.

17 ... to distract

The thing about Jure is that he doesn’t get nervous. Bojan’s certainly never seen that look on him, and he’s fairly sure Jure would need a dictionary definition of the word before being able to confirm that he’s never experienced it in his life. “What time is it now?” No, what Jure gets is impatient. “It’s five minutes after you last asked, Muca.” Right now he’s little more than a vibrating ball of energy, hunched over and drumming on his thighs with his palms. “So why haven’t they called yet?” And Bojan gets it, he really does. The committee had told them they’d call by 11am to let them know if they’d been picked for next year’s Eurovision – because for all that there’s no national selection this year, there’s still a process to follow – and there’s nothing that puts you on edge quite like waiting to hear if you’ve managed to land the biggest opportunity of your career so far or not. Jan and Nace are at least twenty minutes into their stress smoke somewhere outside, and Kris is busy pacing the practice space below, organising and reorganising their equipment while speaking rapidly with someone on his phone in a voice too low to catch. Bojan had retreated to the loft to focus on his breathing, and Jure had joined ten minutes later, muttering something about feeling better from a higher vantage point. The fact is, they’re all more than a little tense as the seconds drag by, and he understands fully, a hundred and ten per cent, what Jure is feeling right now. “They just said around 11. It doesn’t mean they’re always going to be dead on, you know?” But his bouncing on the couch next to him is doing nothing to soothe either Jure or himself – in fact, it’s only agitating them both worse. “You’ve definitely got the volume up on your phone?” Bojan’s not sure he’s ever felt so incredulous as he does in that one moment of looking over at his friend. “Seriously, Jurček?” “Well, I don’t know!” Jure huffs in protest. “You might not.” “Do you not think that’s the first thing I would have checked?” He hates that his fingers are now itching to actually do just that. Irritation flares up white-hot inside of him, gritting his teeth and tensing his muscles. “I don’t know! Knowing you, probably n-” Bojan has moved before he even realises it, the only thought in his head that Jure needs to not be talking right now. Suddenly he’s pulled Jure close by his shoulder and the back of his head, crushing his mouth against the drummer’s to cut him off. There’s barely any time to register anything past the warmth of his lips before he breaks away “Boj-” Before he can start up again, Bojan reels him back in for another kiss, this time less hurried but more forceful. He can take it all in properly this time: how Jure’s mouth falls open for him, how he reaches up to brush Bojan’s hair back behind his ear, how much he pushes right back. Jure’s body has stilled now as though all of his energy is just being channelled into this one point of contact, and Bojan can’t pretend it’s not the same for him. His heartrate steadies and his muscles uncoil. It’s like the whole world has narrowed down just to the man next to him on the couch. In fact, it’s narrowed so much that it takes Kris calling him from the floor below to make him jolt back. “Bojan, answer your phone!” It’s only then that he registers his phone ringing at long last. Cursing, he fumbles to answer the call, answering Jure’s laughter only with a dig in the ribs that makes him squeal and squirm away even as Bojan does his best to sound professional and mature. When he next kisses Jure just five minutes later, it’s in celebration instead.

48 ... out of habit

Bojan can’t remember when, or even exactly how, the whole kissing thing had begun. If he had to guess, he’d put it somewhere within the first few months after Jure officially joined the band, probably at some party or on a night out with the others. He’s not even sure if he made the first move or if Jure did, but one of them must have done, because suddenly the tradition was born. Greeting each other for the first time after weeks apart? A kiss on the cheek. Saying goodbye after a night out? A kiss on the cheek. Congratulating one another after a successful gig? A kiss on the cheek. There were rules, of course, unspoken but still there. It had to be as over the top as possible. Why bother if it didn’t involve sweeping in, grabbing the other one dramatically, and landing the biggest, loudest, longest kiss on the cheek known to man? That was all part of the fun. Then, naturally, it became too funny not to do it all the time. Managing not to misplace a suitcase while travelling? Welcoming each other back to the room after five minutes? Celebrating a win in the never-ending Joker Out Uno tournament? No incident was too small to mark with another kiss on the cheek – jokingly, of course. And sometimes it might evolve to a kiss on the lips instead. Bojan did remember how that one had started, the time he’d come in too quick and accidentally caught Jure’s mouth instead as he turned his head. But the laughter had been instantaneous, and Jure had returned it with even more spectacle, so it was all fine. The rules remained the same for the odd time it happened, though usually it devolved into them wrestling to dip the other one first and laughing too much for them to ever make it to each other’s mouths.

And if anyone had ever asked, he’d have to say he’s never really thought about it. It’s not like he hasn’t kissed each of his other bandmates at one time or another, and he knows they’ve all done the same. They’re all just that tactile with each other, like good friends tend to be. So what if he and Jure have this long-running joke just between them as well? That’s also something that good friends do. And he carries on never really thinking about it – except for maybe the odd plan to ambush Jure in ever increasingly over the top ways – until one night in London. Or early one morning, really. It’s just after three, and while the others had dispersed to their rooms after they all bundled in from the pub, Bojan had decided to sit up for a while to work on the rest of the lyrics for their new song. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but the buzz of enthusiasm had long since dried up once the words pinging around his mind decided that they just didn’t want to go onto the page properly. All he had to show for the last couple of hours were pages of increasingly frustrated scribbles and crossings out. “You’re still up?” Bojan jolts at the sudden noise, head whipping up. Jure is in the doorway, dressed for bed and hair all over the place. He’s clearly just woken up. “I thought I heard something.” he explains before Bojan can muster a reply. He nods towards the pages that Bojan had already given up on, torn from his notebook and now crumpled up and scattered by his feet. “Not going so great, huh?” The sound Bojan heaves in response as he buries his head in his hands is somewhere between a groan and a sigh. Caught up in his own frustration, he doesn’t realise that Jure has crossed the room until he feels the couch dipping next to him and a hand wrapping around his, pulling it from his face. All of a sudden he’s aware of just how much his own hand hurts from scratching away with the pen for so long as Jure smoothes out his fingers, kneading at cramped tendons and aching muscles. But before he can say anything – a protest that he should really get on with these lyrics or a joke that Jure should open a massage business as a sideline – Jure brings his palm up and presses his lips to it gently. The touch is barely there but it lingers for a moment longer than a joke should and Bojan finds that any and all words die in his throat. This isn’t something either of them have ever done before, but Jure’s eyes are still locked with his, calm and almost challenging. And then the moment is over. Jure gives his hand one last squeeze but doesn’t let go as he stands.   “Come on. Come get some sleep. This can wait until actual morning.” It sounds so straightforward, so matter of fact, that all Bojan can do is nod and let him pull him to his feet. He’s right – there’ll be plenty of time later, and for now he’s got too many other questions on his mind to be able to concentrate.

[gatabella]

Gina Lollobrigida and Yul Brynner, Solomon and Sheba, 1959

"Yul didn’t waste any time making himself known. As soon as he got to Madrid, he sized up the situation. If Gina arrived twenty minutes late, he managed to arrive twenty minutes after her. If she was escorted by five or six people, he had himself preceded by a whole battalion: valets, bodyguards, secretaries, chauffeurs. Slowly, he would ascend Solomon’s throne. Then he would snap his fingers. One of his slaves would offer him a cigarette, another a match, and a third would hold out an ashtray.

Yul was no fool. He had decided to out-star the star. But as soon as he was away from King Solomon’s throne and back with his friends, he would make fun of himself. For Yul’s heart belonged to an activity which he considered far more important than the make-believe of technicolor. Without ever mentioning it, he had been working for UNICEF for several years. Many of those who had escaped the slow death camps during the war now found themselves in other camps where death was even slower. Yul visited these refugees, collected funds to help them, struggled with governments, committees, prison guards, and laws to release them from this hell. I take my hat off to the man."

-Jean-Pierre Aumont, Sun and Shadow, autobio (1977)

[transgenderer]

israeli abortion law is kind of weird:

Under a 1977 abortion law, a termination committee can approve an abortion, under sub-section 316a,[10] in the following circumstances:

The woman is younger than the legal marriage age in Israel (which currently is 18, raised from 17 in April 2013),[12] or older than forty. (This was later amended to also include women under the age of twenty.)[11]

The pregnancy was conceived under illegal circumstances (rape, statutory rape, etc.), in an incestuous relationship, or outside of marriage.

The fetus may have a physical or mental birth defect.

Continued pregnancy may put the woman's life in risk, or damage her physically or mentally.

In practice, most requests for abortion that qualify for the above are granted, and leniency is shown especially under the clause for emotional or psychological damage to the pregnant woman. The committees approve 98% of requests.[15]

this part says its very lenient, but...

It was reported in 2012 that about half of all abortions in Israel were performed in private clinics, i.e., without committee approval. Women who undergo such an abortion do not face criminal penalties, but physicians who perform them face a fine, or up to five years' imprisonment; however, there have been no known prosecutions of physicians for performing non-committee-approved abortions.[9]

so presumably a lot of women know theyll be rejected and so dont bother applying

allowing it in the case of unmarried women seems really odd to me, from like...an ethical behavior. either abortion is murder, in which case its definitely not okay in the case of an unmarried woman, or its not murder, in which case its obviously fine for a married couple.