#Suffragists
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estellan0vella · 6 months ago
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The Outlaw and his Radical Woman - Toji Fushiguro AU Word Count: 5.5K Content Warnings: sexism, guns, violence, death Masterlist for Eras AU
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The sun beats down on the small town as you stand on the makeshift stage, a wooden platform set up in the middle of the town square. The crowd is larger than you anticipated, a mix of curious onlookers, supportive women, and a significant number of sceptical, hardened men. The tension is palpable, but you've grown accustomed to it. After all, the fight for women's rights has never been easy, especially here in the wild, untamed West.
Your voice carries across the square, strong and unwavering despite the heat and the murmurs of discontent from some of the men. "We seek nothing but what is justly ours," you declare, holding your head high. "The right to vote, to own property, to be heard and respected as equal citizens!"
Toji Fushiguro stands off to the side, leaning against a post with his arms crossed over his broad chest. His dark eyes are watchful, scanning the crowd for any signs of trouble. Toji is an outlaw, a man with a dangerous reputation, but he's also your fiercest protector and staunchest supporter. Your lover is a walking paradox you find both intriguing and comforting.
His presence is a silent warning to anyone who might think of causing trouble. He doesn't need to brandish his guns or make threats; his mere existence is enough to keep most men in line. You can feel his eyes on you, a steady source of strength that keeps you going even when the glares and muttered insults of your detractors threaten to shake your resolve.
A murmur ripples through the crowd as a particularly burly man steps forward, his face twisted into a scowl. "Women ain't got no place in politics!" he bellows, earning a few grunts of agreement from his comrades. "Go back to your kitchens and leave the real work to the men!"
You pause, letting his words hang in the air for a moment. Taking a deep breath, you step forward, meeting his gaze without flinching. "Is it the kitchen you fear, sir, or the idea of a woman who might challenge your authority?" 
The crowd goes silent, and you can feel the tension ratchet up another notch. The man's face turns an angry shade of red, and he takes a step closer to the stage, his fists clenching at his sides. Before he can make another move, Toji is there, stepping into his path with a lazy, almost casual grace. 
"I reckon the lady's got a point," Toji drawls, his voice low and dangerous. "Now, unless you want to see just how serious I am about keeping her safe, I'd suggest you back off. Unless you don't value the use of your limbs"
The man hesitates, clearly weighing his options. Toji's reputation precedes him, and the gleam in his eyes suggests he's more than willing to back up his words with action. After a tense moment, the man grumbles something under his breath and steps back, melting into the crowd.
You flash Toji a grateful smile, and he gives you a barely perceptible nod and a wink before resuming his position. The interruption serves as a reminder of the stakes involved, but it also strengthens your resolve. Turning back to the crowd, you raise your voice once more, speaking with renewed passion and conviction.
"We will not be silenced or intimidated!" you declare, your voice ringing out like a bell. "Our fight is just, and our cause is righteous. Together, we will forge a future where our daughters and granddaughters can stand tall and proud, free from the chains of oppression!"
The crowd erupts into a mix of cheers and jeers, the women's voices rising in support while the men grumble and curse under their breath. You step down from the stage, your heart pounding with adrenaline and a sense of accomplishment. As you make your way through the throng, Toji falls into step beside you, his hand brushing lightly against yours.
"You handled yourself well up there," he murmurs.
"Couldn't have done it without you," you reply, glancing up at him with a smile. "Thank you, Toji."
He shrugs, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Just doing my part. Besides, I'd hate to see what these small backwater towns would be like without your fiery speeches to stir things up."
You laugh, the tension of the day beginning to melt away. "Well, there's plenty more stirring to be done. This fight is far from over."
"I know," he says, his expression turning serious. "And I'll be right here with you, every step of the way."
You reach the edge of the crowd and slip into the relative quiet of a side street. The sounds of the town fade slightly, replaced by the gentle rustling of leaves and the distant call of a bird. Toji stops, turning to face you, his gaze intense and unwavering.
"You know this isn't easy for me," he says, his voice low and earnest. "Being an outlaw, staying in one place for longer than a few days, it goes against everything I've known. But for you, I'd do it a thousand times over. To see you fighting for yourself and future generations. It's all worth it"
Your heart swells with emotion, and you step closer, taking his hands in yours. "And I wouldn't want anyone else by my side, Toji. You're more than just an outlaw to me. You're my partner, my confidant, my love."
He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "And you're my everything," he murmurs against your skin. "Let's show these little towns, and the world, what we're made of."
The days that follow are a blur of rallies, meetings, and strategy sessions. Toji remains a constant presence, his silent strength a reassuring anchor as you navigate the challenges of your crusade. You speak to crowds both large and small, in towns and settlements scattered across the Wild West, always with Toji nearby, his watchful eyes keeping you safe.
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The sun is beginning to dip towards the horizon, casting long shadows across the dusty town square as you stand once more on the makeshift stage. The crowd today is even larger, and there's an air of anticipation mixed with the ever-present tension. Your voice rings out strong and clear, echoing your earlier words and stirring the hearts of those who support you.
"Equality is not just a dream; it is a necessity!" you proclaim, your passion igniting the crowd. "We demand the right to vote, the right to own property, the right to be heard and respected as equals!"
The cheers from the supportive women and a few enlightened men are louder today, but the murmur of dissent from the sceptics remains. You glance at Toji, who stands off to the side, his dark eyes scanning the crowd with a sharp, vigilant gaze.
As you continue speaking, a sudden movement catches Toji's eye. A man in the back of the crowd, his face twisted in anger, is raising a gun. The intent is clear, and the sight sends a shockwave of fear through you. But before you can react, Toji is already in motion.
In one fluid, lightning-fast move, Toji draws his revolver and fires. The crack of the gunshot echoes across the square, and the would-be assassin drops to the ground, clutching his shoulder and screaming in pain. The crowd erupts into chaos, some people fleeing while others stand frozen in shock.
Toji is at your side in an instant, his hand gripping yours tightly. "We need to go. Now," he says urgently, his eyes scanning the crowd for any other threats.
You nod, your heart pounding in your chest as Toji leads you off the stage and through the panicked throng. The sheriff, a burly man with a no-nonsense attitude, is already pushing his way through the crowd, shouting for order. He spots Toji and you, his eyes narrowing in recognition.
"Stop them!" the sheriff yells, but Toji is already moving, his grip on your hand firm and unyielding. "It's the outlaw and his radical woman!"
Toji's reputation is enough to part the crowd in places, fear and respect clearing a path. His eyes are sharp, constantly scanning for an escape route. As you reach the edge of the square, he leads you down a narrow alleyway, the sounds of pursuit echoing off the walls.
"Come on," Toji urges, his voice low and urgent. "We need to get to the horse."
You nod, breathless but determined, and follow him through the winding backstreets. Finally, you reach the stables where Toji's horse, a powerful black stallion, is tethered. He quickly unties the reins and helps you mount, then swings up in front of you. 
"Hold on tight," he murmurs, his voice calm and steady despite the urgency of the situation.
You wrap your arms around his waist, and with a sharp command, Toji spurs the horse into a gallop. The stallion bursts out of the stables and onto the main road, hooves thundering against the ground. The sheriff and his deputies are in hot pursuit, but Toji's horse is fast, and soon the town begins to fall away behind you.
As you ride, the wind whips through your hair, and the adrenaline of the escape courses through your veins. The landscape blurs as you speed away from the town, the horizon painted with the warm colours of the setting sun.
After what feels like an eternity, Toji slows the horse to a trot, then finally to a stop. You find yourselves in a secluded glade, surrounded by trees that offer a sense of shelter and safety. Toji dismounts first, then helps you down, his hands lingering on your waist as he steadies you.
Toji looks you over, concern etched into his features. "Are you okay?" he asks, his voice rough with worry.
You nod, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. "Yes, I'm fine. Thanks to you."
His expression softens, and he pulls you into a tight embrace. "I told you I'd keep you safe," he murmurs into your hair.
You pull back slightly, looking up at him with a grateful smile. "And you did. I don't know what I would have done without you."
Toji reaches into his coat and pulls out a small flask, offering it to you. "A little something to take the edge off," he says with a grin.
You take a sip, the burn of the whiskey warming you from the inside out. "Thank you," you say, handing the flask back to him. "For everything."
He takes a swig and then sets the flask aside, turning to face you. "You know, when I first met you, the troublemaking suffragette preaching to a crowd in a backwater town, I never thought I'd end up here," he admits, his voice soft and reflective. "But now, I can't imagine being anywhere else."
You smile, leaning into him. "I know the feeling. You've given me strength I never knew I had, Toji. Together, we're unstoppable."
He wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. "Damn right we are," he says with a chuckle. "And I wouldn't have it any other way."
You sit in comfortable silence for a while, the sounds of the night enveloping you in a cocoon of peace. As the stars twinkle overhead, you feel a sense of hope and determination settling deep within you. The road ahead is long and fraught with challenges, but with Toji by your side, you're ready to face whatever comes your way.
"Tomorrow's a new day," you say softly, resting your head against his shoulder. "A new chance to make a difference."
He nods, his fingers gently tracing patterns on your arm. "And we'll face it together, just like we always do."
"Did you hear what the Sheriff called us?" you ask teasingly, grinning up at your lover. "The Outlaw and his Radical Woman."
Toji chuckles, the sound deep and warm in the quiet of the night. "Quite the title, isn't it? Has a certain ring to it. You're an outlaw now, darlin'. Just like me."
You laugh, the sound echoing in the serene glade. "I suppose it does. The Outlaw and his Radical Woman – it sounds like a story for the ages."
Toji's eyes sparkle with amusement, but there's a seriousness beneath the surface. "It's not just a title, you know. Being with me means danger, always looking over your shoulder."
"And being an opinionated woman who travelled alone didn't mean any of that?" you ask, nudging him playfully.
Toji's expression softens, a mix of admiration and concern evident in his eyes. "You're right," he admits. "You've been facing danger long before I came into your life. But now it's doubled, and I just want to make sure you know what you're getting into."
You smile, squeezing his hand reassuringly. "I know, Toji. And I'm not backing down. We'll face whatever comes our way together."
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The next few weeks become a blur of movement and danger, a relentless pursuit by bounty hunters dogging your every step. Each new town brings a fresh wave of threats, and you and Toji find yourselves constantly on the run, barely staying one step ahead of your pursuers.
One afternoon, with the sun casting long shadows through the dense forest, you and Toji find yourselves amidst towering trees, their canopy providing some cover. The sound of approaching horses tells you that the bounty hunters are close. Toji motions for you to follow him, and you both move swiftly and silently through the underbrush, hearts pounding in your chests.
"We can't keep running like this," you whisper urgently, the weight of exhaustion and fear heavy in your voice.
Toji nods, his eyes darting around, searching for a place to hide. "I know. We need to find somewhere to lie low for a while."
Just as the sound of the horses grows almost unbearable, Toji spots a small cave partially hidden by a thicket. He gestures for you to follow, and you both slip inside, the darkness enveloping you as you hold your breaths, listening intently to the approaching danger.
"I swear I saw them head this way," one of the bounty hunters' voices echoes through the forest.
"Keep looking. They can't have gone far," another replies, the urgency in his tone sending shivers down your spine.
You and Toji remain perfectly still, the silence of the cave pressing in around you, until the voices finally fade into the distance. Only then do you allow yourselves to relax slightly, the tension in your bodies easing.
"We need a new plan," Toji whispers, his voice barely audible in the dim light filtering through the cave entrance. "We can't keep running and hiding forever."
You nod in agreement, feeling the weight of exhaustion settling over you like a heavy blanket. "Maybe we can find allies in the next town. People who believe in our cause and can help us fight back."
Toji's expression brightens slightly, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. "That's a good idea. But we have to be careful. We can't trust just anyone."
After a few hours, when the forest is cloaked in silence and the bounty hunters seem to have moved on, you and Toji emerge from the cave, the cool air of dusk washing over you. You share a look before continuing your journey under the veil of the night. 
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The next town you come across is small but bustling with activity, a lively contrast to the tense days of running and hiding. The main street is lined with wooden buildings, their facades weathered but charming. 
You and Toji enter the town cautiously, keeping to the shadows cast by the setting sun. Toji's hat is pulled low, casting a shadow over his piercing eyes, while the collar of his coat is turned up, concealing the distinctive scar on his lip that would give him away. Your hand fan, elegantly decorated with floral patterns, covers the lower part of your face, lending you an air of mystery while hiding your identity.
The tavern, a two-story building with a swinging wooden sign that reads "The Dusty Trail," is alive with activity. The windows glow with warm light, and the sounds of laughter, clinking glasses, and lively music spill out onto the street. You push open the door, and the cacophony envelops you, a stark contrast to the quiet tension outside.
Inside, the air is thick with the smell of ale, roasted meat, and the faintest hint of cigar smoke. The room is dimly lit, with flickering oil lamps casting a golden glow over the wooden tables and the faces of the patrons. People are engrossed in their own worlds—some playing cards, others engaged in animated conversation, and a few simply enjoying their drinks in solitude.
Toji's presence, even concealed, exudes a quiet intensity that makes people instinctively steer clear. You stay close, your fan still covering your face, but your eyes take in every detail, searching for a safe place to sit.
In one corner, a group of men are engrossed in a card game, their laughter loud and uninhibited. Nearby, a woman with a mournful voice sings a ballad, her eyes closed as she loses herself in the music. At a table near the back, a group of women are deep in conversation, their expressions serious yet animated.
You and Toji exchange a glance, silently agreeing that these women might be the ones you're looking for. With a deep breath, you make your way over to them, weaving through the crowded room with ease.
"Excuse me," you say softly, your voice barely audible over the din. The women look up, their eyes widening slightly as they take in your concealed faces.
"May we join you?" Toji adds, his voice low and steady.
The woman closest to you, a tall figure with kind eyes and an air of authority, studies you for a moment before nodding. "Of course. Please, sit."
You and Toji take your seats, blending into the lively atmosphere as best you can. The women at the table exchange glances, curiosity piqued by your guarded approach. As the conversation begins to flow, you share your story, cautiously at first, but then with growing confidence as you gauge their reactions.
The tall woman with kind eyes, who introduces herself as Eleanor, listens intently, her gaze sharp and thoughtful. "You're the ones they've been talking about, aren't you?" she says quietly. "The Outlaw and his Radical Woman."
Toji gives a slight nod, his hand resting protectively on your knee under the table. "We are," he confirms, his voice low but firm. "And we're looking for allies."
Eleanor and the others exchange meaningful looks before she leans forward. "You've found them. We've been working in secret to support the cause. This town has more sympathizers than you might think."
As plans are discussed and alliances are forged, the atmosphere at the table becomes one of solidarity and shared purpose. Margaret, the seamstress, speaks passionately about organizing women in the town; Lily, the baker, offers her shop as a meeting place; Harriet, the former nurse, talks about tending to those wounded in the fight for equality.
Just as hope begins to blossom among you, the door to the tavern swings open with a loud bang. The room falls silent, all eyes turning to the newcomers—five men with hardened expressions, guns holstered but hands resting ominously on the grips. It's clear from their rugged appearance and the calculating glint in their eyes that these are bounty hunters.
The lead bounty hunter, a burly man with a scar across his cheek, scans the room. His gaze settles on your table, a sinister smile spreading across his face. "Well, well," he drawls. "Look what we have here."
Toji tenses beside you, his eyes narrowing. "Stay calm," he murmurs to you, his hand moving subtly to his side where his gun is hidden as you lift your fan higher.
Eleanor stands, her expression composed but her voice carrying an edge of defiance. "Can we help you, gentlemen?" she asks, stepping between the bounty hunters and the rest of the table.
The scarred man chuckles darkly. "We're looking for an outlaw and his lady. We've heard they might be in these parts. Anyone here seen them?"
A murmur ripples through the tavern, the patrons exchanging nervous glances. The tension is palpable, the room charged with the threat of violence. You glance at Toji, his face set in a grim mask of readiness.
Before anyone can answer, the door bursts open again, this time revealing the sheriff and a few deputies. The sheriff's stern face shows he means business. "What's going on here?" he demands, eyeing the bounty hunters with suspicion.
The lead bounty hunter sneers. "Just looking for some criminals, Sheriff. Stay out of our way, and there won't be any trouble."
The sheriff steps forward, his hand resting on his holstered gun. "This is my town, and I'll decide what kind of trouble we have here."
Without warning, the tension snaps, and the lead bounty hunter draws his gun. But Toji is faster. In a blur of motion, he pulls his revolver and fires, the crack of the gunshot splitting the air. The bounty hunter drops, clutching his shoulder, his gun clattering to the floor.
Chaos erupts as the other bounty hunters draw their weapons. The patrons of the tavern scatter, ducking for cover as gunfire erupts. Toji moves with deadly precision, his shots finding their marks with unerring accuracy. You pull your own gun, a small but reliable derringer, and take aim, firing at one of the attackers who had taken cover behind a table.
Eleanor and the other women move quickly, overturning tables to create makeshift barricades. The sheriff and his deputies flee the fray, leaving you and Toji to face the five bounty hunters, standing in front of the overturned tables to stop innocent townsfolk from getting caught in the crossfire.
A burly bounty hunter lunges forward, his gun aimed directly at you. Time seems to slow as you raise your derringer, your finger squeezing the trigger. The shot rings out, and the man stumbles, a look of shock crossing his face before he collapses.
Toji steps in front of you, his revolver blazing. "Stay down!" he shouts to the townsfolk, his voice carrying above the din. The crowd complies, ducking lower behind the barricades as Toji and you hold your ground.
Eleanor, not content to simply hide, grabs a fallen chair and hurls it at a bounty hunter attempting to flank you. The chair connects with a satisfying thud, and the man goes down, dazed and disoriented.
With two bounty hunters remaining, the odds are slightly more in your favour, but the danger is far from over. The remaining men, sensing their dwindling chances, become more desperate, their shots wild and erratic.
Toji takes a calculated step forward, his eyes locked on the nearest bounty hunter. He fires, the bullet striking true and dropping the man where he stands. The last bounty hunter, a tall, lanky figure with a panicked expression, hesitates, his resolve faltering.
Seeing his chance, Toji strides forward, his revolver aimed steadily. "Drop your weapon," he commands, his voice cold and unwavering. The bounty hunter's eyes dart around the room, realizing he's outmatched and outnumbered.
With a defeated sigh, the man lets his gun clatter to the floor, raising his hands in surrender. Toji kicks the weapon away, his eyes never leaving the bounty hunter's face. "Smart choice," he mutters.
As the chaos subsides and the tavern settles into an uneasy calm, you and Toji find a moment of respite amidst the lingering tension. Ignoring the curious glances of the townsfolk, you lean into each other, sharing a brief but tender kiss—a silent affirmation of your bond and your shared resolve.
In the aftermath of the shootout, Eleanor and the other women continue to tend to the wounded and offer comfort to the shaken townsfolk. Their bravery and determination inspire a newfound sense of unity among the patrons, and whispers of gratitude and admiration fill the air.
As the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, the bond between you and Toji only grew stronger, fortified by the shared trials and triumphs of your journey. Together, you found solace and strength in the company of like-minded individuals, forming a ragtag family united by a common purpose: the pursuit of justice and equality.
With each town you visited, your message resonated with more and more people, drawing them to your cause like moths to a flame. Together, you traversed the rugged landscapes of the Wild West, from bustling towns to remote settlements, spreading your message far and wide.
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Twenty-nine years later, the air in the Montana town square is crisp and cold, a sharp contrast to the stifling heat of those early days of your crusade. Autumn has given way to the first whispers of winter, and the town is adorned with the last remnants of fallen leaves. The crowd gathered today is larger than any you've seen before, their faces a mix of anticipation, joy, and a hard-earned sense of victory.
The makeshift stage, now a well-worn platform of polished wood, stands proudly in the centre of the square. It's adorned with banners and signs, their bold letters proclaiming messages of equality and celebration. You stand at the podium, your breath visible in the chilly air, feeling the weight of history pressing down on you. At 49, your face is lined with years of struggle and triumph, your eyes still bright with the same fiery determination that propelled you all those years ago.
Beside you stands Toji, his presence as solid and reassuring as ever. At 54, he carries himself with the same easy grace and quiet strength that drew you to him in those early days. His dark eyes, though touched with the wisdom and weariness of age, still hold that spark of fierce protectiveness and love.
Toji Fushiguro, protector, partner, and father to your son, remains a formidable figure. His reputation has softened with time, the once-feared outlaw now revered as a hero and ally in your shared fight for justice.
Megumi, now 20, stands with you both, his tall, broad-shouldered frame a testament to his father's strength and your unwavering spirit. The green eyes he got from his father, a striking combination of your determination and Toji's intensity, survey the crowd with a mixture of pride and resolve. He's inherited your passion for justice, and today, he stands as a symbol of the future you've fought so hard to secure.
Flanking you are the women who've become your closest allies and dearest friends over the decades—Eleanor, Margaret, Lily, and Harriet—each one bearing the marks of a lifetime dedicated to the cause. They are your sisters in arms, your found family, and together you've built a legacy that will endure for generations.
As you step forward to address the crowd, the murmur of voices quiets, all eyes turning to you. You take a deep breath, the cold air filling your lungs, and begin to speak, your voice carrying the strength and clarity born of years of public oration.
"Today, we stand on the precipice of a new era," you begin, your voice unwavering despite the emotions swirling within you. "For decades, we have fought tirelessly, facing opposition and adversity at every turn. We have marched, we have spoken out, and we have never wavered in our belief that equality is not just a dream but a necessity."
The crowd listens intently, their faces reflecting the weight of your words. You can see the pride and determination in their eyes, a testament to the shared struggle and the collective triumph.
"On this historic day, November 3, 1914, we celebrate not just the victory of securing the right to vote for women in Montana, but the realization of a dream that has driven us forward through the darkest of times. This right is not just a victory for women, but for all people who believe in justice and equality."
Cheers rise from the crowd, their voices a harmonious chorus of celebration and relief. You pause, letting the moment wash over you, before continuing.
"We owe this victory to the countless women and men who stood with us, who faced the threats and dangers with unwavering courage. We owe it to those who could not be here today, whose sacrifices paved the way for this moment. And we owe it to the future generations, who will grow up in a world where their voices are heard, their rights respected, and their potential recognized."
You glance at Toji and Megumi, drawing strength from their presence. Toji's eyes meet yours, a silent affirmation of the journey you've shared, while Megumi's expression mirrors the pride and hope that fills your heart.
"We are not done," you declare, your voice rising with conviction. "This is just the beginning. We will continue to fight for equality, for justice, for a world where everyone is truly free. Together, we will forge a future where our daughters and granddaughters can stand tall and proud, unburdened by the chains of oppression."
The crowd erupts into applause, their cheers echoing through the crisp air. Your heart swells with pride and hope as you step back, allowing your fellow ralliers to speak. Eleanor takes the podium, her voice carrying the same fire and determination as she recounts the struggles and victories of the movement.
Toji steps closer, his arm slipping around your waist in a gesture of solidarity and love. "You did it," he murmurs, his voice filled with pride. "We did it."
You lean into him, the warmth of his embrace cutting through the chill. "We did," you echo, your voice choked with emotion. "And we'll keep fighting, together."
Megumi joins you, his arm slung casually around your shoulders. "You've both taught me what it means to fight for what's right," he says, his voice steady and full of conviction. "I'm proud to be your son."
Tears prick at your eyes, and you squeeze his hand, grateful for the strength and determination he carries forward. "We're proud of you too, Megumi. You're the future we fought for."
As the celebration continues and the speeches give way to joyous mingling and heartfelt congratulations, you take a moment to look around at the faces of those who've become your family. These people, bound together by a shared struggle and a common dream, are the heart of the movement that has changed the world.
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As time passed, you continued to witness the seeds of change take root and flourish. Women around the world stood up with one united voice, demanding equality and challenging the status quo. Through your unwavering dedication and tireless advocacy, you helped pave the way for a more just and equitable society.
But time is a relentless force, and eventually, it took its toll. You departed from this world, your spirit ascending to join the stars, leaving behind a legacy that would endure for generations to come. Toji, unable to bear the thought of living without you, followed not long after, his spirit bound to yours in an eternal bond of love and devotion.
Together, you are said to roam the rugged landscapes of the Wild West, your spirits intertwined in an eternal quest for justice and equality. Wherever there is oppression, wherever there is injustice, you are there, following the whispers of your names, serving as a rallying cry for those who dare to dream of a better world. Your legacy lives on, a beacon of hope in a world still striving for change.
On a moonlit night, your ghostly forms stand side by side, gazing out over the vast expanse of the prairie. The wind whispers through the grass, carrying with it the echoes of your past adventures and the hopes of a brighter future.
"Do you remember the first time we rode through these lands, Toji?" you ask, your voice a ghostly echo of its former self.
Toji's ghost turns to you, a wistful smile playing on his lips. "How could I forget? It feels like a lifetime ago, yet somehow, it also feels like yesterday."
You reach out, your translucent hand finding his, the touch sending shivers down your spine. "We've come a long way since then, haven't we?"
Toji's ghost nods, his eyes shining with pride. "We have indeed. But our work is not yet done. There are still battles to be fought, injustices to be righted."
Together, you stand in silent solidarity, your spirits intertwined in a bond that transcends time and space. As the stars twinkle overhead, you know that wherever there is oppression, wherever there is injustice, you will be there, fighting side by side as you always have.
And so, the legend of The Outlaw and His Radical Woman continues to inspire, a testament to the power of love, courage, and the enduring quest for a brighter tomorrow. As long as there are hearts yearning for freedom and voices raised in defiance, you will never be forgotten.
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taglist- @sad-darksoul
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redditreceipts · 2 months ago
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anti-suffragette postcard, from ca. 1911
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adventuressclubamericas · 25 days ago
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Chair and officers of the National Women's Party, Washington, DC. 1920, before the 19th Amendment was ratified.
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catherine-montvoisin · 2 years ago
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On the revolutionary concept of women in practical clothing
“Although there was more than a symbolic connection between the suffocating confinements of women’s long skirts and the suffocating restrictions that defined women’s roles, the dress-reform movement of the 1850s became an excruciating personal torment and a political mortification to the American heroines of women’s rights.
 Among the pioneers [of the “rational dress movement”] were Elizabeth Cady Stanton, Lucy Stone, the Grimke sisters and the self-effacing Quaker organizer Susan B. Anthony, who later recalled this time in her life as “a mental crucifixion.”
[...] Elizabeth Smith Miller, the daughter of abolitionist Gerrit Smith, [created “the short dress”] which she had originally stitched up for working in the garden. [It] had a somewhat Turkish look. The lower part consisted of a pair of ankle-length pantaloons with an overskirt that came to the knees. To the knees! No trailing skirts to get caught underfoot, stepped on, ripped or soiled. No undulating petticoats to gather up and hold with dainty grace while turning a corner or sitting down, in order to avoid a mishap. On a visit to Seneca Falls, Lizzie Miller gave Lizzie Stanton a practical demonstration. She showed her cousin how confidently she could walk up a flight of stairs with a baby in her arm and an oil lamp balanced in her other hand, without fear of tripping. Mrs. Stanton, who already had four of her seven children, was instantly converted.
With the bounding enthusiasm for which she was famous, she applied the scissors and needle to her own long skirts and began to evangelize among her many friends in suffrage and abolition, offering to make a present of the short dress to Susan Anthony, a promising new ally from the temperance movement. [...] Stanton wrote to her cousin. “We can have no peace in travelling unless we cut off the great national petticoat … Stand firm.”
There were many exhortations from one feminist to another in the years 1851 and 1852 to stand firm. Wrote Ida Husted Harper, “… the press howled in derision, the pulpit hurled its anathemas and the rabble took up the refrain. On the streets of the larger cities the women were followed by mobs of men and boys, who jeered and yelled and did not hesitate to express their disapproval by throwing sticks and stones.” Many a votes-for-women rally turned into a circus when an unruly mob invaded the hall to gawk at the [short dress]. What began as a personal convenience had turned into a painful political principle, the right of a woman to wear comfortable clothes. In December 1852 while visiting with Mrs. Stanton, Susan B. took the plunge, shortening her skirts and cutting her hair to make a total statement. “Well, at last I am in short skirt and trousers!” she anxiously wrote to Lucy Stone. She was the last of the great suffragists to adopt the style. 
Within one year, she would be among the last to still wear it.”
- Susan Brownmiller, Femininity
This is the “short dress” that women, well-known activists and organisers who were at the front of a massive social revolution, had to withstand physical and verbal harassment and public humiliation to wear:
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I don’t think men have become any less committed to enforcing decorous object status on women, what with stilettos and 2-inch long fake nails, and clothes that can’t be moved in without constant re-adjustment or restriction. 
The best I can say is they’ve lost some of the power they had to force their way. And for that, we thank these women.
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prolekult · 1 year ago
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Yesterday marked the death of Sylvia Pankhurst - one of the finest revolutionary communists to have ever graced Britain's shores. We have rarely seen such fighters on this earth.
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Sylvia was the most tortured suffragette, targetted for her insistence on including working class women within the demands of women's suffrage (much to the disdain of her mother and sister). She did not balk against repeated forced feeding, hunger striking and sleep striking.
She was one of a handful of communists in Britain who opposed the first world war. Her criticism of the war was ceaseless. Practically isolated, she organised relief for working class people in London with cost-price restaurants, free child care for mothers, and more.
She broke with the Labour Party over this, and never returned despite the enormous pressure put upon her by the British labour movement and, later, the Third Internationale. Her arguments with Lenin remain a key debate in communist and British politics.
Pankhurst stood resolutely with the Bolshevik revolution at its outbreak, and was pivotal in organising the "Hands Off Russia" campaign in Britain - which culminated in dock workers across the country refusing to load any munitions to ships.
Pankhurst was an outspoken opponent of racism. Her newspaper - then the Worker's Dreadnought - was the first newspaper in Britain to hire black journalists. When articles written by the Jamaican journalist, Claude McKay, were viewed as seditious, she went to jail for him.
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Her support for Irish independence never wavered. She supported Larkin, the Irish Transport and General Workers' Union and United Builders' Labourers Union during the Dublin lock-outs. She stood by the Irish Citizen Army during the Easter Rising.
She was one of the first in Britain to recognise the dangers of fascism, her warnings and agitation beginning as early as 1920. Through this struggle, she became deeply involved in Ethiopian national liberation, where she spent the last years of her life.
All of this is just the tip of the iceberg of the contributions Sylvia made in her life. She did all of this at great cost to herself, enduring her mother and sister denouncing her in the press repeatedly, endless slander, rejection by the mainstream communist movement and worse.
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Sylvia also belongs to the great pantheon of disabled revolutionaries, being diagnosed with endometriosis whilst in prison. This, along with the damage done to her organs by forced feeding, left her with often crippling stomach problems.
"I am going to fight capitalism even if it kills me. It is wrong that people like you should be comfortable and well fed while all around you people are starving." She fought until she died, but capitalism didn't kill her. At aged 78, Sylvia passed on.
She was given a state funeral in Ethiopia, and remains the only foreigner buried in the front of Holy Trinity Cathedral. An Ethiopian migrant, cited anonymously in Rachel Holmes' biography of Pankhurst, summed up what she meant to him thus:
"After God, Sylvia Pankhurst".
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To learn more about Sylvia, we highly recommend Rachel Holmes' biography, "Sylvia Pankhurst: Natural Born Rebel".
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really-shitty-poetry · 7 months ago
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My boyfriend wants kids.
I do not.
Four months into the relationship
He paints a picture of cherubs bouncing on his knees, a mom-and-dad-and-baby in a big house
I see an operating room, masks and scrubs swirling through a blood tinted fog
Painkillers, but not quite enough to numb
Because no really, she’s just being dramatic
He dreams of a warm bundle of joy swaddled in innocence
I think of stitches that will be placed against my consent, of thread used to ensure
My innocence is maintained
My tightness is maintained
My husband’s pleasure is maintained while he’s inside me
He fantasizes about blood (mine has already been spilt so many times), about passing on a legacy
I think of the wounds my mother inflicted on me, and her mother inflicted on her
(Where does it end?
I know I can be better
But will it be enough?)
Yes there’s daycare yes there’s epidurals yes there’s antidepressants yes there’s pumps yes I’m sure you’ll be a great dad but
I think of all the people who have come before me.
People who gave up everything
People who were expected to give up everything
(I am just a mother I am just a mother I am just a mother I am just a mother I am just a mother please god let me be more than just a mother)
~ i am twenty years old and still just a vessel for him to use
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newyorkthegoldenage · 1 year ago
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Christabel Pankhurst, right, the British-born suffragist and evangelist, speaks to three businesswomen at the John Street Methodist Church, October 30, 1931. Daughter of the famous suffragist Emmeline Pankhurst and radical socialist barrister Richard Pankhurst, she moved to the U.S. after World War I and became an evangelist for the Second Adventist Movement.
Photo: Associated Press
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emvisual · 2 days ago
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Este libro contiene todas las razones por las que las mujeres no deberían votar
Publicado por la National Woman Suffrage Publishing Company en 1917. Todas las páginas del libro están en blanco.
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love-for-carnation · 9 months ago
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'Carnation, Lily, Rose' - suffrage banner honouring Mary Moser, 1908 This banner was used in Jun 1908 National Union of Women's Suffrage Societies (NUWSS) Procession Mary Moser and Angelica Kaufmann were among the founding members of the Royal Academy of Arts (RA). It may come as a surprise that when the Royal Academy was founded in 1768, there were two women among the 34 original Members – fairly progressive by eighteenth-century standards. Angelica Kauffmann (1741–1807) and Mary Moser (1744–1819) were both painters, Moser specialising in portrait and floral paintings and Kauffmann focusing on historical and allegorical subjects. And after Mary's death in 1819, it was over a century before a female Academician was elected.
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ceooftheshitshow · 1 month ago
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Woodside Library, Glasgow.
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nicknumber · 6 months ago
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Graves of gastroenterologist Bertram Welton Sippy and suffragist Mabel Lamberson Sippy at Rosehill Cemetery, Chicago
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womeninfictionandirl · 9 months ago
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Alice Paul by Allison Adams
"Unless women are prepared to fight politically they must be content to be ignored politically."
Alice Paul (1885 -1977) was a leading civil rights activist and organizer responsible for the final push and success in winning passage of the 19th Amendment (woman suffrage) to the U.S. Constitution. After staging an 18 month long picket line outside the White House, she and many others were beaten and sentenced to prison for seven months (on the charge of “obstructing traffic”). In prison, she went on a hunger strike, but she was force-fed and temporarily institutionalized. Journalistic sympathy for their plight helped turn public and presidential support toward the cause, and in 1919, both the House and Senate passed the 19th Amendment...ending a 73-year battle for the right to vote.
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i-eat-homeless-people · 3 months ago
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GO LISTEN TO SUFFS. NOW. PLEASE ITS CONSUMING MY SOUL
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adventuressclubamericas · 22 days ago
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On 10 November 1917, 33 women were arrested for silently protesting at the White House for the right to vote. They were sentenced to the Occoquan Workhouse, just outside of Washington. All of them were clubbed and tortured. Lucy Burns was hung by her wrists from the ceiling of her cell and left hanging overnight. Dorothy Day had her arm twisted behind her back, and was slammed against the back of an iron bench - twice. Dora Lewis's head was smashed against an iron bed, knocking her out. Thinking Lewis had been killed, Alice Cosu suffered a heart attack. She was denied medical treatment until the next day.
This is the price they paid to win you the vote.
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nando161mando · 7 months ago
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"I don't want equal rights with the white man; if I did, I'd be a thief and a murderer."
— Fannie Lou Hamer
Image: White women protesting for suffrage in America. They won the right to vote in 1920.
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retropopcult · 2 years ago
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“Woman suffrage -- hikers arriving in Washington from New York”, February 1913.
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