#Landmark Deal

[24x7newsroom]

LAC Tensions Ease with Landmark Deal

The significant agreement reached between India and China this week to resolve one of the longest military standoffs in recent history received formal approval on Wednesday from PM Narendra Modi and President Xi Jinping. This bilateral meeting at the BRICS Summit marked their first encounter in five years, during which they endorsed the deal. According to the Indian side, this endorsement from the highest level is expected to further alleviate tensions along the Line of Actual Control (LAC).

During their 50-minute discussion in Kazan, the leaders agreed to promptly hold Special Representatives (SRs) talks on the India-China boundary issue, which has not occurred since 2019. They emphasized the need to advance relations from a “strategic and long-term perspective,” enhance strategic communication and explore collaborative efforts to tackle developmental challenges.

The Special Representatives, Ajit Doval, and Wang Yi have met multiple times on the sidelines of various multilateral events, including a meeting last month in St. Petersburg, but not within the formal SR talks framework.

In the Indian readout, Modi expressed his support for the agreement concerning complete disengagement and the resolution of issues that emerged in 2020 in eastern Ladakh, which included the deadly Galwan clash that year. He stressed the importance of properly managing differences and disputes to maintain peace and tranquility.

Foreign Secretary Vikram Misri stated that Modi also expressed India’s full support for China’s presidency of the Shanghai Cooperation Organization (SCO) in 2025. China characterized the meeting as constructive and of great significance. Read More-https://24x7newsroom.com/pm-modi-and-xi-finalize-lac-agreement-committing-to-restore-relations/

[pettson]

Not Ingrid ending her interview with the Swedish reporter by complementing the swedes on the relay yesterday and saying it was the craziest thing she’s ever seen 😭

[lumalalu]

why on earth do you even want a fe4 remake if you dont want anything to change just go play the original game.

[savvytravelers]

River Cruise Itineraries France

Discover carefully crafted river cruise itineraries in France by savvy travelers, designed to provide the ultimate French experience!

[tanoraqui]

shoutout to my dash and the Democratic Party as a whole right now for being like

Some good policy reasons to get excited about Harris. Gun control! Heathcare! LGBT rights!

Fighting for the fate of the world: has said she’ll make climate change a top national security priority; was one of the original Senate sponsors of the Green New Deal (others: Ocasio-Cortez, Markey), much of which became Biden’s stealthily VERY green Bipartisan Infrastructure Bill and the Inflation Reduction Act

Yes, she was a prosecuting attorney; no, it’s NOT an ACAB situation—highlights of her time as District Attorney of San Francisco and Attorney General of California include enabling a re-entry/anti-recidivism program for young drug users which is now used as a template around the country, pointedly not prosecuting people for marijuana possession (distinctly before it was legal), defending Californians against foreclosures, got the “gay/trans panic” defense BANNED in CA courts, and being the first statewide agency to require all police offers to wear body cams.

As VP she’s spearheaded abortion rights, developed and nearly passed a landmark voting rights bill (stymied by Senate Republicans + 2 Democrats unwilling to change filibuster rules), and quietly built a solid foreign policy portfolio, including firm support of Palastine.

Find out if you’re registered to vote in any state!

Register to vote in any state!

Other voting resources—and DON’T FORGET to vote down-ballot, too! See how much Harris did as County District Attorney and State Attorney General? Those are elected offices!

[spitzobsessed]

Shout-out to that one time in middle school when our art teacher told us to draw fake money as homework lmao

[fieriframes]

[FIERI: Here in Florence, Italy, we're parked at Fratelli Briganti, a family-owned landmark that's been serving up some real-deal Italian since the 1960s. FIERI: Is this truly authentic Italian?]

[perfectlystrangeangel]

[reasonsforhope]

For years, the people of the Kitasoo/Xai’xais First Nation watched over their waters and waited. They had spent nearly two decades working with Canada’s federal government to negotiate protections for Kitasu Bay, an area off the coast of British Columbia that was vulnerable to overfishing.

But the discussions never seemed to go anywhere. First, they broke down over pushback from the fishing industry, then over a planned oil tanker route directly through Kitasoo/Xai’xais waters.

“We were getting really frustrated with the federal government. They kept jumping onboard and then pulling out,” says Douglas Neasloss, the chief councillor and resource stewardship director of the Kitasoo/Xai’xais First Nation. “Meanwhile, we’d been involved in marine planning for 20 years – and we still had no protected areas.”

Instead, the nation watched as commercial overfishing decimated the fish populations its people had relied on for thousands of years.

Nestled on the west coast of Swindle Island, approximately 500km north of Vancouver, Kitasu Bay is home to a rich array of marine life: urchins and abalone populate the intertidal pools, salmon swim in the streams and halibut take shelter in the deep waters. In March, herring return to spawn in the eelgrass meadows and kelp forests, nourishing humpback whales, eagles, wolves and bears.

“Kitasu Bay is the most important area for the community – that’s where we get all of our food,” Neasloss says. “It’s one of the last areas where you still get a decent spawn of herring.”

So in December 2021, when the Department of Fisheries and Oceans withdrew from discussions once again, the nation decided to act. “My community basically said, ‘We’re tired of waiting. Let’s take it upon ourselves to do something about it,’” Neasloss says.

What they did was unilaterally declare the creation of a new marine protected area (MPA). In June 2022, the nation set aside 33.5 sq km near Laredo Sound as the new Gitdisdzu Lugyeks (Kitasu Bay) MPA – closing the waters of the bay to commercial and sport fishing.

It is a largely unprecedented move. While other marine protected areas in Canada fall under the protection of the federal government through the Oceans Act, Kitasu Bay is the first to be declared under Indigenous law, under the jurisdiction and authority of the Kitasoo/Xai’xais First Nation.

Pictured: "In some ways, I hope someone challenges us" … the Kitasoo/Xai’xais stewardship authority.

Although they did not wait for government approval, the Kitasoo did consult extensively: the declaration was accompanied by a draft management plan, finalised in October after three months of consultation with industry and community stakeholders. But the government did not provide feedback during that period, according to Neasloss, beyond an acknowledgment that it had received the plan...

Approximately 95% of British Columbia is unceded: most First Nations in the province of British Columbia never signed treaties giving up ownership of their lands and waters to the crown. This puts them in a unique position to assert their rights and title, according to Neasloss, who hopes other First Nations will be inspired to take a similarly proactive approach to conservation...

Collaboration remains the goal, and Neasloss points to a landmark agreement between the Haida nation and the government in 1988 to partner in conserving the Gwaii Haanas archipelago, despite both parties asserting their sovereignty over it. A similar deal was made in 2010 for the region’s 3,400 sq km Gwaii Haanas national marine conservation area.

“They found a way to work together, which is pretty exciting,” says Neasloss. “And I think there may be more Indigenous protected areas that are overlaid with something else.”

-via The Guardian, 5/3/23

[whetstonefires]

this is a reasonable post except for the ludicrous historical revisionism of trying to argue that a billion-dollar franchise that continued having major motion pictures and theme parks about it was 'forgotten as soon as the books stopped.' like. if that were what had happened this obviously wouldn't be an issue.

why enjoying harry potter related media as an adult in 2023 isn't morally comparable to being a lovecraft fan:

-lovecraft does not personally benefit from cultural relevance or your financial support bc he is dead

-lovecraft is an indispensable facet of literary canon & has a genre named after him, you can't cast him aside even if you want to, which can't be said for your middle of the road young adult series that was forgotten as soon as the books stopped.

-lovecraft fans have done infinitely more to deconstruct and reclaim lovecraft's work than harry potter fans' pure denial/apathy.

[rassicas]

today on splatoon mythbusters: is Agent 4 a country bumpkin?

no lol this is probably the funniest widespread misconception to come out in recent years A big part of it is because people misunderstood this map.

I came across this trivia point on the wiki page for agent 4 while making this post LOL agent 4 has better access to public transportation than 95% of you With all that green on the map and nothing marked in between, It seems that people have been assuming the population density of inkopolis looks something like the image on the left. While it's unclear exactly how big the population is of inkadia and the surrounding area is, going roughly off of how irl east Tokyo and neighboring Chiba prefecture look, i think its safe to guess were dealing with an urban area that looks more like whats on the right.

(side note about population count: i take the account of the Low Water Party with a grain of salt since that isnt even a real number they used. something that is more reliable is that graffiti artist Sally has over 240k followers on social media. while followers can be from anywhere in the world ofc, it sounds like her fanbase is largely in inkopolis. i think its safe to say inkopolis is a very big city!)

If we're to look more at the irl equivalent of the area, it seems the Inkopolis Coastal Connector is based on the Keiyo Line. Following that line roughly to where 4's house is lands us in a ward in Chiba city. It doesn't look like much, but about 100k people live in that area. Not a super crazy urban area like tokyo, but still urban.

(incidentally, a major landmark on the Keiyo line is Makuhari Messe, where 3 of the irl splatoon idol concerts have been held. maybe a coincidence but maybe gives more credence to the idea that that's what the coastal connector is based on?) Apparently on the Japanese side, there's a theory that 4 is from Yotsukaido, which is a little further north of the area i circled. why there? Yotsukaido means "4 town street"...4...haha

Ok enough guessing based on "vibes" and real maps that may or may not be accurate to how things are in the splatoon world. The Actual lore: On Splatoon base it's confirmed they grew up about 40 minutes away from Inkopolis by train, close to the city. That's like a nothing amount of distance.

Another developer interview from 2017 goes into more detail.

Inoue: Agent 3 had a very "I've finally made it to the city" feeling, with a strong desire to become fresh. 4 on the other hand, not so much. Rather than being someone from the countryside, they're more like someone who came from a commuter town within the greater metropolitan area. It's like a place where the limited express trains wouldn't stop at, but the semi-express trains would (laughs).

so agent 4 is very clearly, a city kid. agent 3 is the country bumpkin, from an area so far away its not even on the map. According to splatoon base...

Far enough away that they moved to inkopolis alone. meanwhile 4 lives close enough that they could just go home to their parents after battling.

Also this is something that I never see brought up. Amidst the dubiously canon early concept comics in the back of the artbook, there's a comic about agent 3 leaving their hometown, mentioning they live in a seaside town called [REDACTED] with a population of 5000.

Again, these comics are dubious since theyre so old. but there are ideas in these comics that have carried over to the final games in some form, and this is consistent with agent 3's final characterization that they come from a far away small town and had a longing for the city.

anyway tldr i think its funny how agent 4's fandom characterization/backstory got swapped with 3's all because of a misread map

[weirdmarioenemies]

Name: F.L.U.D.D. (Flash Liquidizer Ultra Dousing Device)

Debut: Super Mario Sunshine

F.L.U.D.D. was Mario's first ever Platforming Buddy! Unless you count the Lakitu Bros. from 64, but they just operate the camera and don't affect Mario's platforming moveset, so I do not. So really, F.L.U.D.D. is- hold on, I really don't want to write every individual period each time I write its name. I'm just going to leave all the periods at the end of the post and you can put them where they belong yourself, or anywhere else you think is funny. Or you can keep them, I don't mind. Put them on a bagel and tell a friend they're poppy seeds!

FLUDD is a big deal. A landmark for the series in terms of mechanics. Not that these specific mechanics returned, but the concept of a buddy granting Mario some new abilities has become a recurring thing. FLUDD even talks, and is fully voice acted! In a robot voice! Like mine! A cute and silly little robot buddy for Super Mario.

So then... why don't I absolutely LOVE it? I feel like I should! But I'm just not getting that urge to imagine it driving a kart or playing tennis like I do with far less important characters. Does it work so well as a Tool that I have a hard time viewing it as a Character? Let's See!

I think FLUDD's design is honestly kind of perfect. The two massive screws that evoke eyes are really clever, and especially great is that they give it + shaped "pupils"! Aside from that, the nozzle's funnel shape is an extremely funny shape for a mouth, and FLUDD does indeed speak out of there. Excellent head! Though I feel like the excitement fizzles out once you look past the head, because the rest is much more "equipment" than "character". That's fine, this IS a piece of equipment! It just makes it feel less like a character, when I'd like it to have a bit of a balance of both. Maybe if the handles also functioned as little feet that it could walk around on? I don't know. Maybe that would be stupid... but I do love when creature designs are stupid!

FLUDD was made by E. Gadd, but that's all the backstory we get. We never learn why it was just there on the Delfino Airstrip, and that's really weird! The perfect tool to combat the game's main conflict is just there immediately when Mario arrives. It could have been a cool little mystery, but I guess the reality is just that some Pianta ordered it when the Goop Incident happened and got express delivery. Or maybe someone already had it and was just waiting for a calamity like this to happen, to justify the purchase!

I don't need to go over everything FLUDD does, right? I'm not the Super Mario Wiki, it's not my job! I'm here for the Weird. And a weird thing is that FLUDD freaken dies.

During the final boss against Bowser's Hot Tub, FLUDD starts stuttering, as if breaking down. And then in the final cutscene... it Dies! Mario goes to it, it tells him it hopes it was of assistance, and it dies. And Mario is sad, because this was his friend. But then in the very next scene FLUDD is back! Some Toads fixed it and it's fine now. So this ends up having the emotional impact of Mario needing to change the battery on his TV remote.

Even though it's our and Mario's friend, FLUDD is still an object, a product. It's technically not just FLUDD, but A FLUDD, one of many, mass produced. I have to wonder if it actually formed any bond with Mario, or if it was a one-sided friendship. Is it even capable of friendship...?

Whatever the case, the others absolutely consider FLUDD a friend, and well, that's just so sweet. During the credits we get to see some extremely compressed pictures of Mario and friends enjoying their real vacation, and FLUDD is there with them! It's not even on Mario's back anymore, or always WITH Mario, for that matter. Sometimes it's hanging out with Peach and some Toads, sitting there independently. I think it is safe to say FLUDD is a real true friend, and likes to just Hang Out sometimes! Even better, maybe it wasn't originally sentient, but learned how to love over the course of the adventure. Such a wonderful robot thing to do!

As expected, thinking in depth about FLUDD has absolutely endeared me to it. Hooray! It's about time. Well, it's too late for FLUDD to be relevant again, probably. I'm not saying it should be a driver in Mario Kart, but I AM saying there should be a kart based on it, and I'm also saying that this kart should canonically be the FLUDD, now upgraded. This feels like something that should have happened long ago!

This has been a long post, but it is far from all FLUDD has had to discuss! So next time, I will post about FLUDD once more, and its various appearances during the GameCube days and beyond! There is milk involved at some point. Get excited to learn what milk has to do with any of this!

Here are all those periods you were promised! I hope you like them.

....................................................................................................

[wndaswife]

(fic request) pls write this w nun!wanda (if you want) 😵😵😵

to worship and submit | wanda maximoff & fem!reader

Being the daughter of the man that leads the church choir means attending the services when you run out of excuses to be anywhere else, but a young woman who's recently joined the parish to become a nun has begun to make your time there worthwhile.

Word count: 7419

Tags: smut, fluff, humour, sacrilege, quite literally fucking in front of a crucifix, even i feel slightly guilty for writing it, strap-ons, rough sex, spanking, slapping, spitting, degradation, praise, daddy kink, mentions of masturbation, sub!wanda maximoff, dom!reader | MINORS DNI

A/N: SO... i did do some research for this fic... but only SOME... meaning some of the info may be incorrect fyi!!!

gif credit to evilly

Every Sunday since your dad joined the church as their choir leader, you’d been making yourself busy in advance just in case he’d ask if you wanted to come to the services. 

You were proud of your dad — really, you were — because he loved music and loved the community the church brought him, and the church was closeby to where your mom worked as an elementary school teacher, so your parents were able to work together when there were community events that involved both the school and the church.

Though, being happy for your dad didn’t mean you also had to be happy when he invited you to the services.

Sometimes you’d attend special occasions like Easter and other holidays and church events wherein your dad prepared his own assortment of music and such for the choir to play, but only because you were there to support him and what he was passionate about — music and community and his family.

Such events were big deals at the church he volunteered at because it was well-known for its large community; the church itself was closely connected to a nearby convent where it had close ties to the nunnery there, as well as having one of if not the most ornate architecture all preserved within a historically-significant religious landmark.

But for the last few weeks, he hadn’t asked you to go with him because he was so busy with the new influx of students joining from the Catholic elementary school your mom worked at; they were all there singing on the weekends for their volunteer hours, but at the very least, your dad said they were still enthusiastic and friendly kids.

So on the morning of one of the very rare occasions in which you hadn’t had anything planned for the Sunday because you weren’t expecting him to invite you as he hadn’t for the last while, your dad invited you to the service.

You could’ve truly made up an excuse and flat-out lied about being busy, but it’d been a while since he asked and you knew he’d been working hard with the new students in his group, so you supposed it wasn’t so much trouble to accept his offer, even if you did groan it out in a superficial fit about having to get out of bed earlier.

It wasn’t that you not being religious had anything major to do with avoiding going to church, because you didn’t entirely mind when your religious parents brought you to the services for special occasions, but rather because you didn’t very much have the patience or sufficient concern for the readings and worship to attend the nearly-two-hour services.

That was truly your most pressing issue with attending the Sunday services with your dad, but today was different, with an unexpected experience to make you dread going even more than you did previously.

“Excuse me?” a timid, unfamiliar voice chirped from behind you.

You turned to see a young woman standing by the doorway of the back hall where the entrance to the choir balcony was. 

Typically, you sat around there when your dad was conducting because you weren’t very involved in the church enough to sit at the pews nor were you part of the choir. 

But from where you were sitting, you weren’t entirely uninvolved as you could still see and hear the services — it was the perfect spot. 

“You aren’t allowed to sit here,” the young woman told you, running the pads of her two fingers along the edge of her sleeve. 

Her dark brown hair was neatly pulled back into a conservative bun and she was wearing a black plain dress with a modest plain scoop neckline to show the buttons and collar of the crisply-ironed long-sleeved white blouse underneath that all of the church’s nuns wore, but the simplicity of her outfit and the uncovering of her hair meant to you that she was presently studying at the church to become a nun. 

“I’m the choir dude’s daughter,” you said with a polite smile and looked away, expecting for your response to be all the elaboration she needed. 

In a way that was subtle with the intention not to be offensive but in that very manner was offensive in itself because of how irritating her caution was, the woman cleared her throat. 

“I-I know,” she pressed, “but this area isn’t open for seating. For anyone.”

When you didn’t answer for a moment as you stared at her, she quickly said, “I’m sorry. They told me to tell you.”

“I’ll find a spot in the pews,” you answered and collected your things. 

From the corner of your eye, it seemed that she wanted to offer a seating alternative just to make up for what she was forced to tell you, but there wasn’t very much else she could offer. 

That Thursday, you were back at the church to pick up an ironed uniform for your dad; it was for a special event set for the upcoming Sunday, and the church pressed it for him and everything. 

It was a nice gesture.

They were nice people.

On Thursdays, there were only morning services and events for children in another spacious room where they could colour and play with the church’s team leaders and nuns. 

But in the afternoon — which it now was — there wasn’t anything going on. 

When you arrived, the church was still and warm with gentle sunlight shining through the stained glass windows and casting a myriad of colours against the pews. 

You looked over your dad’s text again and walked through the directions he told you to take to get to the back halls of the church, just a few turns from the stairway that led up to the choir balcony. 

The room where you were to pick up the uniform was as pretty as the rest of the church; it was a small prayer room with a pedestal and stained windows and red carpeting, but it was much cozier and probably hadn’t been used for prayer for the group size it was designed for in a little while.

You could see through the glass door the folded uniform for your dad on the windowsill behind the pedestal with a name tag placed on top of it ready for pick-up along with a few other clothes for some other church volunteers. 

Upon entry, you closed the door quietly behind you and stepped into the room where you could now see a small table by the window and a familiar young woman sitting with a notebook, jotting a few things down from what looked like a leather-bound book. 

“Can I just get my dad’s uniform from there, or do I need to sign it off or something?” you asked, announcing your presence. 

She looked up from the notebook and at you then to the uniforms on the windowsill. 

“Oh, you’re…” She paused and thought for a moment. “The choir conductor’s daughter?”

“Yeah.”

“I can sign it off for you,” she replied and smiled. 

She stood from the table and walked around it to the uniforms, where a piece of paper was set beside the line of neatly-folded clothes.

You watched as she jotted down a few things onto the paper with a pen before carefully picking up the packaged uniform and turning to hand it to you.

“Thank you,” you answered. 

“Of course. Have a good day,” she replied and bid you a goodbye before heading back to the table by the window. 

You were on the way to leave the room, but you couldn’t, for some odd reason, take your eyes away from the way she lowered herself into her seat and resumed her notetaking. 

She didn’t notice when you changed your direction and walked towards the table she was sitting at until you were perhaps just a metre away from her, when she then looked up from her notes and up at you. 

“Did I give you the wrong uniform?” she asked, worried and now standing up from her chair. 

“No,” you answered quickly and waved your hand.

She stayed standing, curious as to why you walked back. 

“Hard at work?” you asked, pointing at her notebook. 

Confused for a moment, perhaps by your curiosity in speaking with her, she looked over to her notebook and then back at you with a friendly smile, “Yes, a little. They gave me something to study from. I’m just taking notes.”

Carefully, you reached forward and spun her notebook around so you could read it. 

Her curiosity seemed to spike when you leaned forward to read her notes, and she looked at you with a small smile. 

“Um,” she started awkwardly. “I want to apologise for earlier this week. For making you move seats.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” you replied and looked up from her notes to smile at her reassuringly. “I know they just made you tell me because you’re new.”

The young woman seemed reassured, her shoulders even relaxing a bit when you said it. 

“You’re still… What do you call it? Like, you’re studying to be a nun here? Not fully one yet?”

She shook her head. 

“Yes, I’m in the study period before becoming a novitiate,” she answered. 

Your fingers ran over her delicate handwriting, feeling the indentations of her pen against the paper.

“To worship and submit,” you read aloud from the notebook. “Fascinating.”

She caught onto your twinge of sarcasm but approached it with humour, laughing a little and conceding, “It is a bit medieval, but an important quality, I’d presume.”

Reflecting suddenly on how young the woman seemed much younger than the other nuns, you asked her, “How old are you?”

“Twenty-four.”

She was a bit older than you, but still quite young.

Her hair was down now, though still neatly brushed and free of frizz and tucked behind her ears. She was wearing a white long-sleeved shirt and an ankle-length black skirt patterned lightly with gardenias. 

“How did you get into wanting to be a nun, anyhow?” you asked and moved your attention away from the notebook and towards her. “You don’t seem like the type.”

“I-I don’t?” she inquired, almost sounding nervous at the implication that she wasn’t training herself properly. 

“I mean, pious and submissive — sure,” you said, referring to her notes, which made her seem a bit flustered, “but not like a nun.”

She questioned curiously, “More like…?”

After humming aloud in thought, you turned to her with your hip laying against the edge of the table and suggested, “Elementary school teacher. Vet. I don’t know, something like that.”

She was pretty — truly. 

Cute, even. 

“When I was younger, I wanted to be a vet,” she told you, smiling sweetly. 

“Changed your mind?”

“Younger as in quite young, perhaps around ten,” she recalled. “My parents are both rather religious and ever since I turned fourteen it’s always been their intention to have me join a congregation.”

Interest piqued, you asked, “And your intention for yourself was…?”

“For myself?” she repeated as if taken by surprise. 

You nodded once. 

She paused for a moment to hum thoughtfully before saying, “I was happy to follow whichever path my parents intended for me.”

“You find passion in nunnery?” you asked. “Genuine question — not judging.”

“Of course,” she answered. 

Your phone buzzed in your pocket and you quickly checked it to see that your dad had messaged asking if you were able to pick up his uniform.

“I’m sorry. I’ve been holding you back from something,” the woman apologised and stepped to the side to allow you to leave.

Sliding your phone back into your pocket and adjusting your dad’s uniform in your hand, you replied, “No, not at all. My dad’s just impatient. I should get going now though, since here’s a few errands I have to run before noon.”

She nodded in understanding. 

“It was nice being able to talk with you,” she then said. “I haven’t been able to talk with very many people since I came here. It’s all just been about studying and the church.”

Before you left, you made sure to ask for her name, to which she replied telling you it was ‘Wanda.’

Cute name.

It’d been quite a while since you ever attended the services two weeks in a row. The last you did was during the last half of August the first year your dad started conducting the church choir, during which you had nothing else to do but wait for classes to start — so you went to the services.

This time, because the church was celebrating something special, your dad asked both you and your mother to attend the service because he’d been working on preparing a set of songs for the occasion.

Under the guise of being a supportive daughter, your parents didn’t second guess why you were so willing to attend the service this week, nor did they ask if there was a certain individual you were perhaps a bit excited to see again.

Truthfully, you couldn’t stop thinking of Wanda since you last saw her a few days ago. There was much to her you felt laid dormant and sleeping, awakened only just in the slightest during the conversation you had with her. She was kind and curious, but also painfully naive. 

She was a few years older than you but knew far less about the truth of her own ambitions and strayed perhaps not even a foot’s distance away from behind her parents’ shadows.

Wanda was interesting, but intrigued you for far too long for her to be only that. Though you couldn’t very well figure out what it was about her that made her bounce around in your head like a pinball until an unassuming evening.

It was sincerely an unrelated act when you first started, travelling your hand down between your legs in the silence of the evening to relieve yourself of the pent-up stress from classes that’d come over you during the last few days.

Truly, it was completely unrelated to Wanda and anything and everything about her when you started, and even during, until you reached your peak of release and found your imagination flashing with curiosities about what she looked like under her garments, how she’d squeal if you spanked her ass and if she’d like it, or how she’d cry out in sheer pleasure if you forced her down and made her take her spankings regardless.

For a moment afterwards there was guilt, but every day onwards there was curiosity, wondering for hours about what you’d seen when you reached that point of pleasure during which Wanda was your only muse.

You’d like to tell yourself it was only that curiosity that guided your willingness to attend the service with your parents, but it was something else entirely too — something completely carnal.

For the first hour of the service, Wanda was still nowhere to be seen. Because of the church’s connections with its convent, the nuns had a large role in some of the day-to-day happenings, but mostly during important church events like what you were presently attending.

Wanda wasn’t a nun yet; she was yet to be even a novitiate as she had mentioned, and so perhaps she just didn’t get to attend events like these. 

Though you personally found that counter-productive, you weren't one to complain about the convent’s decisions, but you did wish you got to see Wanda.

If she wasn’t one to be able to attend such events, when would you see her next?

After coming to the realisation that you probably just weren’t going to see her today or perhaps even for a little while, you excused yourself after having been present for nearly all of your dad’s song arrangements and with enough time to be able to be back from the washroom with well-enough time to catch the rest of his songs.

To your surprise, you saw the very woman who’d been on your mind for the last hour was sitting in the hall by the stairway that led up to the choir balcony. She was wearing the same outfit as she had been the first time you met her, with her hair done up in the same way too.

“Excuse me, but you aren’t allowed to sit here,” you teased, approaching from the right and walking into the hallway.

She quickly swiped at her eyes and began to apologise before she raised her head and saw it was you who had spoken to her, and you who now stood beside the bench she was sitting on.

Though she smiled and seemed relieved and happy to see you, you could tell that she’d just been crying — alone in this hallway away from the service and the nuns and sitting at the far end of the bench so as not to be seen by the people attending the mass.

Wanda stood, running her palms down the sides of her dress with a friendly smile while saying, “You’re here.”

“Yeah,” you answered distractedly as you focused on the slight redness of her eyes and the tip of her nose. 

You then asked once you were sure she’d been crying, “Are you okay?”

Suddenly feeling self-conscious after realising it must've been obvious that she’d been crying, Wanda carefully wiped under her eyes again and even tried making herself seem less dishevelled by tucking her hair behind her ears before you took her hands away from her face and made her stop fidgeting with her appearance.

“Seriously, what’s wrong?” you pressed.

Dismissively as to not bring any more attention to herself, she told you, “It’s really nothing. It’s nothing to bother you with.”

“I wanna be bothered,” you answered lightheartedly. “Come on.”

Wanda smiled at your gaiety and you urged her to tell you what was wrong once more before she finally exhaled in surrender though she didn’t sit down before speaking, implying that in spite of the fact of giving in to you, she wasn’t very well planning on delving too deep into what had been bothering her.

“Earlier today, I had accidentally misplaced the leather book I’d been studying from — the one you saw me with a few days prior, if you can remember,” she said. “And I was scolded terribly for it. It was quite deserving as it was an important collection of notes and such, so I do not question from where my scolding had come, but it seems to me that all I’ve done since I started here is get myself in trouble with the other nuns.”

Here, you tried taking her hand and urging her to sit down, but she wouldn’t, and slipped her fingers out of your hold.

“They found the book in one of the small prayer rooms I’d been studying in, so at the very least it was not a mistake of ruining the integrity of the book by losing it completely, but rather the very principle of having been given something so important and misplacing it,” she continued.

Wanda swallowed and seemed to be contemplating whether to go into more detail, and you could tell that there was something else that had been bothering her that didn’t exactly have to do with misplacing the book.

Before she had the chance to make a decision, there was a passerby who came from the service in search of the restrooms, which interrupted Wanda’s train of thought as she and the man exchanged a brief hello.

“We can go somewhere else,” you offered, taking her hand and heading down the hallway with her. She didn’t take her hand away from you this time, but instead told you that she only needed time to be on her own and that she was fine now. 

The only other place you knew was the prayer room you picked your dad’s uniform up in, and fortunately it was unlocked.

You ushered Wanda into the room and she smiled at you from behind and you led her forward to one of the front seats in front of the altar, regarding you with admiration for the effort you put into wanting to express your concern for her and make sure she felt heard. 

The early morning beams of light shone through the stained glass like they had that afternoon you’d come here a few days prior, but the room was far less stuffy now, familiar and almost reminiscent of something nostalgic. 

The feeling could easily be because of the fact that you’d been envisioning what you could remember from it nearly every hour since that past Thursday, with the room in the background of your mental portrait of Wanda. 

She settled down in the seat beside you, feeling encouraged more so because she wanted now to be closer to you rather than solely to sit and talk about what had been bothering her. 

But she could partake in the latter if that was what you asked of her — and it was. 

“I know that I hardly know you, but I’ve been here for nearly a whole month and you are the person I feel closest to,” she confessed.

You felt flattered, though you knew telling you that she felt close to you wasn’t exactly the point of why she said that. 

Wanda further reflected aloud, “I’m getting nowhere I’m supposed to, not finding the call to God like both my parents and the nuns told me about though I have even given it plenty of time. I studied English in college and yet can find not even a little interest in my religious readings.”

While she thought in silence for a moment, you didn’t interrupt her. 

When she found the words to verbalise what she’d been meaning to say, she began with a question: “Do you remember when you asked what my own intentions were for myself? On Thursday?”

You nodded. 

“It’s ridiculous, but I can’t even recall the last time I sincerely asked that to myself, but perhaps in shallower terms, such as wondering where I might be in a few years or what I might do with my time in the convent.

“But never what I wanted — never who I wanted to be.”

After a moment, when you were sure she wasn’t trying to find words to express herself nor contemplating whether to say something, you asked, “And do you know who you want to be?”

For a brief moment — half of one, really — Wanda looked thoughtful, and then she said and gestured to her clothing and the prayer room, “Not this.”

“So then, what?” you inquired further. 

You teased, “A vet?”

Wanda giggled and sat back a bit in her seat. “Perhaps if I were ten,” she said. 

Then more seriously, she added, “But now, I’m not very sure.”

“How did you come to realise what you were interested in?” Wanda asked. “For example, your studies. What are you studying?”

She was talking fast, obviously very invested in your conversation together and also rather curious about you. 

You thought that was cute; you liked Wanda. 

“I’m studying philosophy,” you told her to which she straightened and was eager to hear more about. “But with studies, it’s different, because you’re talking about more personal matters. Academics are far different from personal paths.”

Wanda seemed a bit disappointed because she was looking for a definite answer, but what you explained certainly made sense to her. 

She pondered about something then instead asked, “So about personal matters, then. What about those?”

“What about them?”

“Give me a principle to follow,” she sought. “Something I might be able to apply here. Something as general as you’d like it to be, but applicable.”

Her steadily growing smile made it clear that though she was certainly looking for advice, she also thoroughly enjoyed exchanging quips with you and exploring more about you. 

In a way, she was as eager to learn about you than how to help herself, if not more so. 

You hummed thoughtfully and Wanda watched as you were deep in thought. 

“A principle for you,” you said, “could easily be that it’s okay to be selfish, to think only of yourself when you’ve spent so long doing anything else.”

Wanda asked, slightly amused but far more curious, “You recommend hedonism?” 

“To you?”

She nodded. 

You replied, “Indubitably.”

If you hadn’t already been thinking of Wanda in painfully great amounts before that morning, then you certainly were afterwards. 

The third week came around and by then Wanda was banging against every square inch of your skull like an intruder, necessitating the need to be seen and thought of every other minute in any way you could.

Perhaps the relationship you developed with her thus far was one of friendship and nothing more, yet her persistence that never strayed too far from your mind seemed to you that she had become reminiscent of something greater than a platonic figure. 

In any case, you had to muster the ability to ask your dad in the most nonchalant manner you could if it were possible for you attend Sunday’s service. 

You did it in a way that did not make it seem to him that you were about to become a familiar face in the church, but rather that someone had simply happened to ask you for help during the last service and wondered if you might be able to attend the next — which is quite literally what you told him. 

It wasn’t a lie. 

Not even when you said that it was a young woman who was studying to become a novitiate at the convent that was curious about the choir and the other volunteers and had asked you about it last week, because Wanda did truly ask about the choir and the other people who volunteered at the church once. 

But that wasn’t at all the reason why you wanted to attend the service that Sunday. 

“Y/N,” a voice called in a hushed tone when you passed the hallway leading up to the choir stairway where your dad had already walked up towards. 

You slipped away from the people filing into the pews and quickly came to Wanda’s side. 

“Don’t you have places to be aside from fraternising with the guests?” you teased as she took your wrist and led you towards the room you both seemed to like talking in the most. 

“After last week’s ordeal with the book, I’ve been put on some kind of probation from participating in the services so I have more time to study independently,” she told you, not seeming particularly worried.

She added, “On Sundays, the convent is rather empty, so they wouldn’t notice that I’m off not studying. Though I could very well say I chose to study in one of the extra prayer rooms here.”

“And I’m sure they remember how much you love the prayer rooms here,” you said, wiggling your eyebrows at your reference to her having lost the book in one of them. 

Wanda faked a laugh in the driest manner you’d ever heard and you nudged her arm to which she told you to stop joking around with her so she could tell you something important. 

She closed the prayer room door and sat you down beside her. 

From a small bag on the chair to her left, she pulled out a small dictionary. 

Here, you were tempted to make fun of her and ask why she was carrying around a dictionary so tiny, but you recalled that she had wanted to ask you about something serious. 

She flipped open to a page she had bookmarked. 

“Hedonism,” she read aloud. “In philosophy, the belief that pleasure and the absence of pain is the most important principle in determining the morality of an action.”

Wanda looked up at you from the dictionary. “This is what you meant?” she asked. 

You nodded. 

Curiously, you inquired, “Do you agree with it?”

She looked back down to the page in which had written three definitions of hedonism, the third being the one defined by philosophy. 

The first two you could not quite read upside down. 

“I have never heard of it in such detail before the time you mentioned it last week,” she said, running her eyes over the words in contemplation, “but it’s interesting.”

“What would be your first endeavour to pleasure, if you had to make a guess?” you asked her.

Wanda ran over the words of the definition again with her eyes, perhaps still deep in thought about it or absently doing so while she contemplated an answer to your question. 

“My first?” she repeated. 

You looked down at the dictionary page now that she was holding it at a slightly different angle that oriented the letters better for you. 

The first definition read, ‘Pursuit of pleasure.’

And the second — you had to tip your head to the side a bit to decipher it — read, ‘Sensual self-indulgence.’

During your deep concentration, Wanda had come to an answer to your question, and it wasn’t until she leaned forward and kissed your unsuspecting lips that you realised she had even stopped looking at the page. 

It was the uttering of her muffled words against your lips that triggered something deep within you, perhaps equally as restrained as her own. 

An unfinished sentence, but one on its own nonetheless. 

‘I want…’ she had uttered, breathless and with one hand cupping your cheek and feeling with the pads of her fingers the softness of your skin. 

With that, you hastily reached forward and grasped at her ass, lifting her from her seat and stripping her down so she was in nothing but her undergarments. 

The paths of your nails streaked red against her pale skin while you devoured her every step of the way, your lips following every inch of skin that became exposed to you while your hands made quick work of unzipping her dress and unbuttoning her blouse. 

She sighed when you kissed her breasts and squeezed your hands around her waist and hips, taking her selfishly and finally spreading her legs and sitting her down in your lap. 

“Are you…” you began between breaths, pausing to figure out your wording and sitting back in your seat to look at her. “Have you had sex?”

Wanda giggled, finding your question amusing. “Of course I have,” she replied and took your hands and placed them on her hips again. 

“Cocky,” you jested, hooking your thumb under the clasp of her bra and releasing it so it snapped against her back, causing her to arch her body into you with a soft gasp. “Thought you might’ve been abstinent or something.”

“I don’t mean to be cocky,” she said in a low voice. “But I am certainly not abstinent.”

“Should I be jealous?”

“Only if you choose to be.”

“I choose to be,” you said with conviction. “So for whom should I be jealous, then?”

“College students.”

You gasped superficially.

“You fuck college students? Exclusively?”

“No!” she laughed. “I mean I haven’t been very active since my time in college.”

“Haven’t had sex since college?”

She corrected, “I didn’t mean that either.”

“So what did you mean?”

“This conversation is like pulling teeth.”

“Why? You want me to fuck you hard against this floor right now, baby?” you asked. The very crudeness of your words, albeit teasing, made Wanda’s breath hitch, and so within that reaction you found her first tell. “No foreplay or anything?”

“This isn’t foreplay?”

“Hardly.”

“Then what is?” she asked though sounding slightly pouty about it. 

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re all turned on and impatient from just that. Teasing gets you off?” you pressed. “Didn’t even have to be told how I wanna see your gorgeous ass bruise when I fuck your cunt from behind like you’re my sick little fucktoy whore?”

Her hips twitched. 

“Y/N…” she muttered, perhaps out of impatience or forewarning for how you were teasing her, either way you could not tell and weren’t very rushed in trying to figure it out. 

You pulled her bra down and released one of her breasts, slapping it lightly with your fingers and causing her to gasp before pinching one of her sensitive pink buds. 

There would be no indulging her past what you were willing to indulge; you were careful not to touch her more than what was intentional. 

You bucked your hips up under the guise of adjusting your seating, grinding your stiff cock against the soaking panties which were now beginning to soak your pants. 

Her cunt was sensitive beyond the thin fabric, causing the strap to rub her perfectly through her soft, swollen folds; you could practically hear how sticky she was without even looking. 

“What is that?” she quickly asked, looking down between her thighs. She tried moving back to get a better look, but you quickly held onto her hip with your other hand and pulled her harshly back to her original position, making her throbbing clit rub directly onto your cock. 

A strangled yelp was breathed past her lips. 

“Don’t move unless I tell you to, you understand?” you told her. 

She nodded.

“Everywhere else in this building, there is only one God, but here in this room, I am yours. You will listen to what I tell you and take what I give you, even if it hurts. You’ll be grateful that I make you hurt as much as you will when I give you pleasure.”

In spite of everything, Wanda repressed a tiny smile and said, “You’re scary when you’re authoritative with me.”

You laughed through your nose and replied, “I can get scarier.”

Her smile widened into a grin and Wanda’s hand came to the back of your neck when you leaned forward and kissed her, one arm circling around her waist and carefully slipping her off your lap as you stood from your seat. 

“We’ll get caught,” she voiced concern against your lips.

“Then be the lookout.” 

You made sure she didn’t trip on her way up to the podium, and soon you had her chest laid flat against the lectern and facing the front doors, the shadow of the large crucifix behind the both of you casted against the red carpet from the morning sun shining from behind the stained glass. 

Wanda listened as you unzipped your pants and when she made an attempt to turn her head and look at what you were doing, you put your other hand against her upper back and pressed her back down, reducing her line of sight to your face and shoulder and nothing else. 

Her clothed cunt was prodded at, the stiff tip of your strap finding her hole through her panties and nudging at it teasingly. She groaned impatiently and reached back to take hold of your hand, to grab onto anything and urge you forward.

In response, you spanked her harshly and made Wanda yelp out in surprise and wince.

“You dirty, impatient slut,” you spat.

She immediately whimpered, “I’m sorry, daddy.”

That satisfied something in you that you hadn’t even known you wanted, and you were more than happy to share in that satisfaction.

You hummed and tucked a finger under the waistband of Wanda’s panties, making her twitch impatiently while also doing her best to listen to her orders. Then you laid your hand flat against her lower back, rubbing her supportively and making a warm flush form across her face.

“You’re a good girl, aren’t you, Wanda?” you asked, looking up her bent-over half-naked body to the back of her head.

She nodded.

“Good girl,” she confirmed with a nod.

Gently, you squeezed her ass and danced your fingers up to the waistband of her panties that you finally pulled down, exposing her gorgeous, glistening cunt.

It took just as much resistance from you not to shove your cock right into her as much as it took Wanda to not thrust her hips back and grind her clit against your strap.

“Why don’t you tell me all you’ve been studying about the last little while?” you said, running a hand down her ass and sliding a thumb into her pussy, feeling heaps of pride with the way you slipped inside with no resistance. 

She was incredibly wet and so, so warm.

Distracted by the way your thumb probed shallowly at her hole, giving her just enough pleasure to make her throb but just short of enough to satisfy her entirely, it took Wanda a few moments to regain her focus before she finally asked, “S-Studying? About what?”

“You’re a smart girl, Wanda,” you encouraged, slowly sliding your thumb out and grazing the pad of it lightly over her swollen slit and across the hood of her clit. “Methods on how to be a proper nun. For example, swear yourself to the Lord, abstain from sex, so on and so forth.”

Wanda swallowed and tried her best to focus with the way your thumb began spreading her cunt out, revealing to you the glistening folds of her pussy. She began stuttering and finally squeezed her eyes shut hard enough to be able to recall some of her studies.

“Um, there was…” she uttered and ran her fingers along the edge of the wooden lectern, “living in modesty; not showing off one’s body in any crude manner, not partaking in pleasures of the flesh.”

Three of your fingers began rubbing slow circles against Wanda’s hole, squelching against her dripping cunt and making her tremble and moan shakily.

“And what next?” you asked.

“I-I can’t… Can’t focus…” she told you helplessly.

Your thumb flicked at her clit and Wanda’s body jerked forward. 

“One more,” you urged. “Come on. Give me one more good one and I’ll fuck you with my cock. You want that, don’t you?”

Intentionally, you began to focus on her clit now, having your index finger graze it as your middle and ring finger slowly began delving in and out of her sticky hole, purposefully making it even more difficult for Wanda to find the words for herself.

“I want… I want that,” she shuddered, hanging her head and squeezed her eyes shut again.

“So, then, give me one more.”

Wanda’s breathing deepened as she tried her hardest to focus. 

With every intention to make it more difficult for her, you reached up with your other hand and pulled her bra down, allowing you access to knead her breast and feel her nipple harden against the palm of your hand.

She whimpered into her arm and bit down on her bottom lip.

You stepped forward and removed your fingers from her cunt to rub the length of your strap through her pussy, wet fingers taking hold of its base and running it through her swollen folds.

“A-Ah, Y/N, please…” she mewled, though neither of you were quite sure whether she was begging for you to stop and allow her to think thoroughly or for you to have mercy on her completely and just fuck her.

“One more,” you reiterated and aligned the tip of your cock with her entrance. 

You placed both hands on her hips and began pulling her backwards, fucking her shallowly and watching her pussy take your cock with just as much anticipation as Wanda was struggling to withhold.

She hugged around you beautifully and it was truly only the tip; you couldn’t wait another moment to fuck her until she was begging for you to fuck her until it hurt.

“A-Another,” she finally trembled out, “is to be, by nature, a woman of submission, to worship your God and seek no amount of personal domination over–”

Fully satisfied with her answer and terribly impatient yourself, your fingernails dug into Wanda’s hips and you jerked her ass back against you, forcing her to take your entire cock in one swift movement.

She cried out and you wrapped a hand around her waist, running your nails down her side and feeling an inexplicable need to mark her, to cause her pain, to reduce her to a whimpering trembling, bruised mess so cock-drunk that all she’d feel for the next three days is the aftermath of being rough-fucked like a slut.

“Hit me, please, daddy,” she begged, wrapping her fingers around the edge of the lectern and arching her back.

So you did — repeatedly. 

You spanked Wanda over and over, having the sound of your palm meeting her ass echo through the room and only reiterating to the both of you how she was much less of a nun or a student or any reflection of purity, but a braindead nympho whore good for nothing but getting her pussy fucked raw.

She was a loud fuck, crying out in whimpers and moans and other strings of partially-comprehensible words telling you how good your cock felt and how much she loved getting fucked by you.

The playing organs and belting choir playing during the service muffled Wanda out, but Jesus Christ, if any of them out there had been able to hear her getting fucked down the hallway, they might just think for a moment that it was the calling of an angel or at least something in some way divine.

But none of them would ever know what it looked like to fuck Wanda from behind, pulling her up with their hand around her neck so you had access to slap her face and spit into her mouth like you could, pinching her clit and fucking her through to her third orgasm.

How beautiful she looked, sweaty and a mess with her long brown hair fanned out and stuck in strands against her back, crying out in equal parts pain and pleasure and finding herself incredibly pleased by being used like a filthy object.

And you’d make sure no one else could get the chance to see the sight but you.

“I’m gonna come again, Y/N,” she cried, breasts pressed against the cold wood of the lectern and arms pressed against her back. “This is my last, please, I can’t take anymore.”

You let go of her wrists and wrapped an arm around her waist, lifting her from the lectern. She was arched at a slight angle so your arm could assist in continuing to fuck her, but she was now much closer, and she was now able to loll her head back against your shoulder.

“This is the closest thing a slut like you will ever get to heaven, angel,” you told her, kissing her temple. “Make your God proud and come on my cock, filthy whore.”

Wanda reached back and held onto you for support while her eyes squeezed shut, her lips parting as a silent cry escaped her, her third and final orgasm coming over her without mercy.

You squeezed at her breast and leaned your head down and bit at her shoulder and up the back of her neck, getting in as many markings of your ownership as you could.

She sighed out and uttered your name, to which you ran your hands up her stomach, one hand moving up to her face and gently tilting her head over so you could kiss her lips.

Her knees buckled out and you carefully set her down on the floor before sitting down beside her. Wanda panted heavily into your chest, one hand on your knee and the other arm wrapped around your shoulder. 

You had your arms around her waist, rubbing her back supportively and whispering in her ear words upon words of how beautiful she looked, how good she’d been for you, then soon confessing how much you’d been thinking of her over the last few weeks, how much of your mind she occupied and how much of your time you spent thinking of her.

Wanda liked hearing that last part most, but she particularly enjoyed when you told her how it felt to masturbate to her, to imagine her looking up at you and choking on your cock at your final point of release, and how really being with her was plenty more enjoyable and, quite frankly, more beautiful than you ever could’ve fantasised about on your own. 

The both of you were on your knees, sweaty with the labour of sex and kneeling in each other’s arms at the foot of the towering crucifix, whispering and giggling to each other all the equally sweet and dirty confessions you could exchange before the service was over.

[mesetacadre]

hi, i hope you dont mind me asking this question! i often come across lists of reading recommendations for communists, and they are usually focused entirely on communist theory. which is important and im already on that, but i wonder if you also have recs for learning about history? especially the history of the soviet union, but also other past and present socialist states. i sometimes find myself reading theory and understanding the concepts in a vacuum, but with very little understanding of the historical context they were written in, if that makes any sense. and id like to get a basic grasp of the history of various socialist projects that isnt just the typical western "the ussr was evil!!!!" thing

Hi, historical context is indeed very important for works of theory, especially if it's more than a hundred years old. Lenin's What is to be Done, for example, is very conditioned by its historical context of Russia still being predominantly feudal, with only a timid appearance of the proletariat in St. Petersburg and Moscow, and therefore the very first trade unions, which he talks about. The understanding of these texts is amplified, and quite often enabled by knowing at least the basic historical context. Below I'll list the historical works I've read (and others) with some commentary, but I encourage anyone who has something to add to do so, since I am as of only recently getting more into historiography.

Anything by Anna Louise Strong (I've read The Soviets Expected it (1941) and In North Korea (1941), there's also The New Lithuania (1941), The Stalin Era (1956) and When Serfs Stood Up in Tibet (1959) for example). Her works, which I'd consider primary sources since they are written from her own experience witnessing events and talking to a lot of people, are extremely useful if you wish to form an idea about how some aspects of socialist states worked. The limitation of her works also resides in this specificity and closeness, these are not works that present a broad view of long processes, but a slice of the present with the sufficient historical context. They are still very, very good.

The Open Veins of Latin America (Spanish versrion), by Eduardo Galeno (1971). This one is focused on the history of imperialism in Latin America, how it evolved from the moment the first Spanish foot touched ground to the time it was written in (It talks about Allende before he was assassinated but after achieving power, for example). Perhaps it's not exactly what you're looking for, but it contains very important general context for any social movement that has happened since 1492 to 1971

The Triumph of Evil, by Austin Murphy (2002). I have mixed feelings about this book. While it insists on this weird narrative of absolute evil, which IMO takes away a lot of value from the overall points made, it is an astonishingly in-depth analysis of the economic performance and general merit of socialist systems against their capitalist counterparts. Most of the book is dedicated to comparing the GDR to the FRG, and both the economic and social data it exposes was very eye-opening to me when I read it about 2 years ago. If you can wade through the moralism (especially the beginning of the introduction), it's a gem. I've posted pictures of its very detailed index under the cut :)

Blackshirts and Reds, Michael Parenti (1997). Despite the very real criticisms levied against this book, like its mischaracterization of China, it is still a landmark work. Synthetically, it exposes the relationship between fascism, capitalism and communism.

Red Star Over the Third World, Vijay Prashad (2019); The Russian Revolution: A View from the Third World, Walter Rodney (2018). I'm lumping these two together (full disclosure, as of writing I'm about four fifths of the way through RSOtTW) because they deal with the same topic, Prashad being influenced by Rodney as well. Like both titles imply, they deal with the effects the October revolution had on the exploited peoples of the world, which is a perspective that's often lost. Through this, they (at least Prashad) also talk about the early USSR and how it functioned. For example, up until reading Red Star, I hadn't even heard of the 1920 Congress of The Toilers of the East in Baku, or the Congress of the Women of the East.

From here on I'll link works that I haven't (yet) read, but I have seen enough trusted people talk about them to include them

How to Cast a God into Hell: The Khrushchev Report, by Domenico Losurdo (2008). This one talks about how the period of Stalin was twisted and exaggerated through destalinization.

Devils in Amber, by Philips Bonoski (1992). This is about the Baltics and their historical trajectory from before WW1 to the destruction of the USSR (I'm not very sure on those two limits, perhaps they fluctuate a bit, but it definitely covers from WW1 to the 60s)

Socialism Betrayed, by Roger Keeran and Thomas Kenny (2004). This one deals with the process leading up to and the destruction of the USSR itself.

The Jakarta Method, Vincent Bevins (2020). This is about the methods the US used in the second half of the 20th century to stamp out, prevent, or otherwise sabotage communist movements and other democratic anti-imperialist movements.

I know some of these aren't specifically about socialist states, which is what you asked, but the history of its opposition is just as important to understand because it always exists as a condition to these countries' development and policies chosen.

[savvytravelers]

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France Itineraries

Choose from a variety of unique 7-night and 14-night Grand River Cruises, with most itineraries allowing for convenient back-to-back journeys and a 10% savings on consecutive sailings.

New for 2025: 14-night Grand Seine & Bordeaux

New for 2025: 14-night Grand Seine & Rhône

New for 2024: Flavors of Burgundy

Impressions of the Seine & Paris

Colors of Provence

Essence of Burgundy & Provence

Taste of Bordeaux

Paris & Normandy

Unforgettable Land Packages

Enhance your France river journey with optional land packages, staying at four and five-star hotels and enjoying convenient transfers and included amenities.

Explore cities like:

French Riviera (Nice and Monaco)

Bilbao and San Sebastián, Spain

New! Madrid and San Sebastián, Spain

Loire Valley, France

Paris, France

St. Malo, Brittany, France

Geneva, Switzerland

Barcelona, Spain

Local Viticulture and Cuisine

Experience France’s iconic wines and regionally inspired cuisine aboard our ships. Delight in local flavors such as flaky croissants, French onion soup, Normandy seafood, and a variety of rich French cheeses.

Elevate your travel experience with our luxurious river cruises through France, offering a seamless blend of culture, history, and breathtaking landscapes!

[eat-limes-bitches]

Southern Cookin'

PAIRING: Female Reader x FATWS!Bucky Barnes

SUMMARY: When Bucky and Sam get stranded in a Storm, they go to the nearest place they can, Bucky’s country home, but what happens when Walker shows up at the front door too?

WARNINGS: Fluff! Touch of angst, angry southern woman (this is a definite warning, if you've lived with one, you know."

Word Count: 1844

A/N: It's been storming its butt off here down south and as I was baking brownies this idea popped into my head and made me giggle, so I hope yall get a chuckle out of it too! Stay safe out there <3

Enjoy! <3

Dividers by Rookthorne

The mission was a disaster. Not only had they just got their asses kicked, but they also had to deal with the Bullshit from John Walker and then the country sky opened up with an early summer thunderstorm, drenching the two men with its torrential downpour.  

“We are hours away from the nearest safe house.” Sam sighed, looking at the database.

 Bucky looked over at his teammate, Sam was suppressing a shiver each time the wind blew. His split lip and bruised cheek getting more gnarly with each passing minute. He looked up at the sky, the dark swirling clouds showing no signs of letting up any time soon. Fearing for Sam's health and with no other option in sight, Bucky let out a sigh. 

“I know a place.” Sam raised a curious eyebrow but didn't ask any questions, the idea of a warm shelter too tempting to risk Bucky changing his mind. Bucky looked around for a moment, to Sam it almost seemed like he was calculating his location based on the landmarks before giving a little nod.

“Should be just on the other side of this field. 15-minute walk give or take.” Bucky concluded, making his way through the field, Sam not far behind him. 

Soon, the pair found themselves on the front porch of an old country farmhouse, the white porch swing swaying violently as the storm picked up. Bucky reached for the doorknob before pausing and looking over his shoulder at Sam, fixing him in his infamous glare before uttering a low warning. 

“Not a word of this to anyone. You hear me?”

Sam was used to Bucky’s gruffness at this point in their partnership but this was a new level of protectiveness that he hadn’t seen before. He raised his hands in a placating motion before agreeing.  The tension that seemed to be permanently engraved in Bucky’s form disappeared as soon as he stepped through the door. The sound of their entrance caused a woof to erupt from a room on the other side of the downstairs. Bucky toed off his boots, motioning for Sam to do the same when a rusty-colored dog came rushing into the room through a dog door barking his head off.  Bucky let out a chuckle, catching Sam by surprise, watching as Bucky then crouched down to greet the dog.

“Hey whiskey, it’s just me bubba.” Bucky cooed, scratching the pup behind his pointy ears.

“Where’s your momma little man?” Bucky asked the pup, removing his hand as the dog darted off back through the dog door before poking his head back through, watching the two men. 

Bucky stood, and followed after the dog, waving Sam along with him. The pair walked through a second door and they were both hit with a wave of warmth, causing Sam to let out a little sigh. The house smelled of cocoa and sugar, the sound of the storm outside blending into the calming atmosphere while a record played in the background. Just as Bucky was about to walk through a little hallway, Sam caught his shoulder, turning Bucky to look at him.

“Man, where the hell are we?” He asked, and then nearly fell out when he saw pink flush the ex assassins cheeks. 

“Uh, this is my home. I uh, I live here.” Bucky mumbled shyly refusing to look Sam in the face. Sam raised an eyebrow.

“You live here on your own?” He pressed a little further. Bucky shook his head.

“Nah, I live here with my girl.” 

A person appeared from around the hall corner as if on cue, the little red dog hot on her heels. She looked at the two men, her gaze fixing on Bucky. She smiled at him sweetly, brushing her hands off on her apron, leaving floury handprints in her wake. 

“Bucky! You’re home!” She waltzed over to him and pressed a kiss to his cheek, pulling back realizing how cold his skin was. 

“James you’re freezin’ and gettin’ water all over my hardwood floor.” She scolded him a country accent slipping out as she spoke. She then noticed Sam standing behind him and pursed her lips before fixing Bucky in a glare.

“You brought company over here in an even more sorry state than you and haven’t offered him anything to dry himself off or a fresh change of clothes!” She proceeded to chase the two men up the stairs giving strict instructions to change and dry off while she put a pot of coffee on. 

Sam let out a chuckle as the woman made her way back to where he presumed the kitchen was as the pair made their way upstairs. 

“She’s a spitfire huh?” Sam asked, taking the change of clothes from Bucky who just shrugged slightly, a soft smile decorating his features.

“Yeah, you could say that. 

Now in dry clothes, the two men wandered into the kitchen right as she pulled two batches of brownies out of the oven. She looked up after setting the brownies on the counter, giving a nod of approval seeing the men in a more presentable state. She wandered over to a cabinet throwing it open and reaching for the coffee cups on the top shelf, just out of her reach when Bucky appeared behind her, pulling them down from the shelf and placing them in her hands.

She smiled sweetly up at him before standing up on her toes and planting a quick kiss on his lips. 

“Thank you darlin’” She smiled softly.

“Of course doll.” Bucky smiled right back, stepping out of her way as she moved away to pour the coffee. 

“Sam? How do you want your coffee honey?”  She called out, pulling out the cream and sugar. 

“Uh, just black is fine. Thank you-” His words faded out, not knowing this woman's name. She handed him a mug with a chicken on it before handing another mug with a goat on it to Bucky before she spoke.

“Y/n.” She sent him a sweet smile before picking up her own mug and leaning into Bucky’s side who had lifted his arm to make room for her. 

Sam had a smirk on his face looking between Y/n and Bucky as he spoke, “I didn’t know Bucky had a girlfriend,” He drawled out the word girlfriend, watching Bucky’s cheeks get darker as he looked anywhere but at his partner as Y/n laughed. 

“Yeah, he doesn’t want to tell too many people. Somethin’ ‘bout worryin’ for my safety.” She shook her head as if the thought of Bucky trying to protect her made her laugh. 

Sam nodded in an understanding fashion. “Does anyone know about your little secret Buck?” Sam teased lightly. Bucky gave a soft smile with a faraway look in his eyes. 

“Steve did.” At the mention of the name, the room grew heavy with sadness. Y/n seemed to shift a little deeper into Bucky’s embrace before stepping away cutting the brownies and giving each man a piece. 

“So you knew Steve.” Sam started, looking at Y/n thoughtfully. 

“Yes, I did.” She started with a sad smile. “It was a bad storm like today, he and Bucky showed up at my door looking like two drowned rats, thinking it was one of the safe houses. Well, they were so pitiful lookin’ that I couldn’t just turn them away. So much like you two, I brought them inside, put them in dry clothes, and made them some coffee.” 

Just then there was a knock at the door. Bucky set down his coffee cup and went to investigate, leaving Sam and Y/n alone in the kitchen. Y/n reached over the counter and placed a hand over Sam’s.

“Look sugar, I understand why you did what you did.” She said softly. “Do I agree with it? No. Does Bucky agree with it? Of course not.” She let out a sigh before continuing. “But I understand it. But if there is one thing I know about Steve Rogers, is that he wouldn’t have just left anyone with that shield.” She concluded, patting his hand when Bucky let out a shout, causing the pair in the kitchen to dart to the front room.

When they arrived, there was a soaking-wet John Walker and Lamar Hoskins standing on the front porch. Y/n walked up to stand next to Bucky before looking at the two men.

“Can I help you two boys?” She asked, glancing from one to the other. John, seeming to puff up in the presence of a pretty lady, extended his hand out. 

“Good evening ma’am. John Walker, Captain America.” Y/n looked from his hand to his face, making no move to accept his handshake. 

“Your name very well may be John Walker, but you’re mistaken on the Captain America part sweetheart.” She gave him a once over before continuing, “You look more like a sorry excuse for a rodeo clown on the fourth of July than Captain America, but either way, that didn’t answer my question.”

She took a step up to Walker looking him dead in the eye. “Can I help you?” John seemed to deflate, stuttering over his words trying to make some sort of logical sense. Y/n raised her eyebrows waiting patiently for this worm of a man to get his act together and with no end to his incoherent mumblings in sight, she sighed. 

“Well, if you don’t need anything, I’ll have Hades show you out.” She said sweetly. Bucky chuckled lightly before backing up to stand next to Sam.

Sam leaned over to Bucky. “Who the hell is Hades?” Bucky just nodded towards the door as Y/n let out a loud whistle.

“Hades! We have some guests that need to be escorted out.” As soon as the word “out” left her mouth, a huge black Doberman appeared out of nowhere, growling and barking at the two men at the front door. With one loud bark, Walker went flying off the front step and back down the path to where their car was waiting, Lamar, hot on his heels as Hades bounded down the steps chasing them off with Whiskey following suit. 

The two dogs watched attentively as the car drove off and once they deemed the men to be far enough away, came bounding back into the house, tongue lolling out of their mouths, causing the trio to laugh until the dogs were inside making a mad dash for the living room.

“Boys! You get back here!” Y/n shouted, grabbing a towel off a nearby chair and chasing after the two soaking wet dogs. Bucky, still laughing, walked over to the door closing it before walking back over to Sam, who clapped him on the shoulder. 

“You’ve got yourself a good one,” Sam concluded. “Don’t let her get away.” Bucky smiled watching on in amusement as Whiskey ran by with the towel that Y/n had grabbed to dry him off, with her hot on his heels.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”