#day 6: protection

[moo-chemia]

randomly decided to join tododeku week on the second to last day. this is for day 6 AU: Royalty ; Theme: Protection

[coochiequeens]

On the 35th anniversary of The École Polytechnique massacre never forget the 14 women who were killed for being women in science

The École Polytechnique massacre (French: tuerie de l'École polytechnique), also known as the Montreal massacre, was an antifeminist mass shooting that occurred on December 6, 1989 at the École Polytechnique de Montréal in Montreal, Quebec. Fourteen women were murdered; another ten women and four men were injured.

Perpetrator Marc Lépine, armed with a legally obtained Ruger Mini-14 semi-automatic rifle and hunting knife, entered a mechanical engineering class at the École Polytechnique. He ordered the women to one side of the classroom, and instructed the men to leave. After claiming that he was "fighting feminism", he shot all nine women in the room, killing six. The shooter then moved through corridors, the cafeteria, and another classroom, specifically targeting women, for just under 20 minutes. He killed eight more women before ending his own life. In total, 14 women were killed, and 14 others were injured.

The massacre is now widely regarded as an anti-feminist attack and representative of wider societal violence against women; the anniversary of the massacre is commemorated as the National Day of Remembrance and Action on Violence Against Women. After the attack, Canadians debated various interpretations of the events, their significance, and the shooter's motives. Other interpretations emphasized the shooter's abuse as a child or suggested that the massacre was the isolated act of a madman, unrelated to larger social issues

The incident led to more stringent gun control laws in Canada, and increased action to end violence against women. It also resulted in changes in emergency services protocols to shootings, including immediate, active intervention by police. These changes were later credited with minimizing casualties during incidents in Montreal and elsewhere. The massacre remained the deadliest mass shooting in Canada until the 2020 Nova Scotia attacks over 30 years later.[4]

Contents

Timeline

Sometime after 4��p.m. on December 6, 1989, Marc Lépine arrived at the building housing the École Polytechnique, an engineering school affiliated with the Université de Montréal, armed with a Ruger Mini-14 rifle and a hunting knife.[5] He had purchased the gun less than a month earlier on November 21 in a Checkmate Sports store in Montreal. He had told the clerk that he was going to use it to hunt small game.[6] He had been in and around the École Polytechnique building at least seven times in the weeks leading up to December 6.[5]

The perpetrator first sat in the office of the registrar on the second floor for a while, where he was seen rummaging through a plastic bag. He did not speak to anyone, even when a staff member asked if she could help him.[2] He then left the office and was seen in other parts of the building before entering a second-floor mechanical engineering class of about sixty students at about 5:10 p.m.[7] After approaching the student giving a presentation, he asked everyone to stop everything and ordered the women and men to opposite sides of the classroom. No one moved at first, believing it to be a joke until he fired a shot into the ceiling.[8][9]

Lépine then separated the nine women from the approximately fifty men and ordered the men to leave.[10][9] He asked the women whether they knew why they were there; instead of replying, a student asked who he was. He answered that he was fighting feminism.[9][11] One of the students, Nathalie Provost, protested that they were women studying engineering, not feminists fighting against men or marching to prove that they were better. He responded by opening fire on the students from left to right, killing six—Hélène Colgan, Nathalie Croteau, Barbara Daigneault, Anne-Marie Lemay, Sonia Pelletier, and Annie St-Arneault—and wounding three others, including Provost.[9][11] Before leaving the room, he wrote the word "shit" twice on a student project.[10]

The gunman continued into the second-floor corridor and wounded three students before entering another room where he twice attempted to shoot a female student. When his weapon failed to fire, he entered the emergency staircase where he was seen reloading his gun. He returned to the room he had just left, but the students had locked the door; he failed to unlock it with three shots fired into the door. Moving along the corridor, he shot at others, wounding one, before moving towards the financial services office, where he shot and killed Maryse Laganière through the window of the door she had just locked.[12][11]

The perpetrator next went down to the first-floor cafeteria, in which about 100 people were gathered. He shot nursing student Barbara Maria Klucznick near the kitchens and wounded another student, and the crowd scattered. Entering an unlocked storage area at the end of the cafeteria, the gunman shot and killed Anne-Marie Edward and Geneviève Bergeron, who were hiding there. He told a male and female student to come out from under a table; they complied and were not shot.[13]: 30 [11]

The shooter then walked up an escalator to the third floor where he shot and wounded one female and two male students in the corridor. He entered another classroom and told the men to "get out", shooting and wounding Maryse Leclair, who was standing on the low platform at the front of the classroom, giving a presentation.[13]: 26–27  He fired on students in the front row and then killed Maud Haviernick and Michèle Richard who were trying to escape the room, while other students dived under their desks.[11][13]: 30–31  The killer moved towards some of the female students, wounding three of them and killing Annie Turcotte. He changed the magazine in his weapon and moved to the front of the class, shooting in all directions. At this point, the wounded Leclair asked for help; the gunman unsheathed his hunting knife and stabbed her three times, killing her. He took off his cap, wrapped his coat around his rifle, exclaimed, "Oh shit", and then killed himself with a shot to the head, 20 minutes after having begun his attack.[14][13]: 31–32  About 60 unfired cartridges remained in the boxes he carried with him.[14][13]: 26–27 

After briefing reporters outside, Montreal Police director of public relations Pierre Leclair entered the building and found his daughter Maryse's stabbed body.[15][16]

The Quebec and Montreal governments declared three days of mourning.[15] A joint funeral for nine of the women was held at Notre-Dame Basilica on December 11, 1989, and was attended by Governor General Jeanne Sauvé, Prime Minister Brian Mulroney, Quebec premier Robert Bourassa, and Montreal mayor Jean Doré, along with thousands of other mourners.

The Victims

Geneviève Bergeron (born 1968), civil engineering student

Hélène Colgan (born 1966), mechanical engineering student

Nathalie Croteau (born 1966), mechanical engineering student

Barbara Daigneault (born 1967), mechanical engineering student

Anne-Marie Edward (born 1968), chemical engineering student

Maud Haviernick (born 1960), materials engineering student

Maryse Laganière (born 1964), budget clerk in the École Polytechnique's finance department

Maryse Leclair (born 1966), materials engineering student

Anne-Marie Lemay (born 1967), mechanical engineering student

Sonia Pelletier (born 1961), mechanical engineering student

Michèle Richard (born 1968), materials engineering student

Annie St-Arneault (born 1966), mechanical engineering student

Annie Turcotte (born 1969), materials engineering student

Barbara Klucznik-Widajewicz (born 1958), nursing student

[bread-wizards]

Love Laudna wanting Orym to be the one to cut her down if need be because she feels he can make hard choices, and Travis like "uh hello? What about Chetney? You want to put Orym through that anguish? I am right here" like damn, he right tho

[anxiously-sidequesting]

so im too physically ill right now to post the full analysis of ambrose and his weird hangup with the death school rn but in the meantime can we talk about how necromancers are just doomed by the narrative

[migueldiax]

something something this scene reminded me of two cats licking each other something something

[faunandfloraas]

just saw the take that Seungmin is actually like Evil to Chan for sleepily and jokingly threatening to punch him and I'm just sitting here like ..... >> yeah he looks heart broken. Deeply hurt. So troubled.

[sprucestairs]

hhhhhh I need to properly reread Percy jackson again. This post brought to you by the fact I was about to make a post about a scene I very vividly remember of Will Solace trying to convince Pollux not to keep fighting with his good arm broken before Percy manages to convince him not to bc he promised Dionysus, then thought to myself "huh maybe I should fact check that- I mean I did also convince myself that Travis stoll died in this battle when he actually just went to college." And guess what? That scene ✨️didn't happen.✨️ Pollux was trying to convince Percy to let him rejoin the fight very half heartedly, while propped against a tree, and Percy was just like "hmmmm... no"

[goatsandgangsters]

counterintuitive maybe, but a cloudy day in winter is SO much easier on my seasonally affected brain than a sunny day in winter

because on a sunny day, by like 1 PM the sun is already hanging way too low in the sky and by 2 pm the lighting is sending out alarm bells going WRAP IT UP, WRAP IT UP, DAY IS ENDING, RUNNING OUT OF TIME!!! and you can feel the scant daylight hours slipping so rapidly through your fingers and you cannot grasp them nor can you feel the warmth, for the sun is a liar and it is a cold, harsh light

but on a cloudy day it's like "ah yis, nice and consistent lighting all day long. feels so nice and cozy too" and I don't even notice it getting dark earlier because it's cloudy, it's supposed to feel like that. that's what it's supposed to be doing

[katyspersonal]

Fears that I've been repressing and not addressing, telling myself to stand tall and "not show weakness", started to slip into my nightmares.

I just want to crawl under my blanket and cry, cry, cry until I've cried myself to sleep... and wake up in a better parallel world, where my paranoia is not eating me alive, where I can feel trust and comfort.

[marzipanandminutiae]

The danger is over and everyone is safe, you're allowed to grieve the part of your life you lost. They're just "things" but they're things you had because you loved them, made with your own hands because you felt it was worth it to create and bring you joy in its existence. Every piece you lost is a part of a life you put together for yourself. It's a testament to your existence as the unique individual you are. You don't have to apologize for mourning them

Thank you.

I just. I can begin again, and I will. I'm even a relatively quick seamstress, when properly motivated. It feels like such a herculean task, though, especially for things that can't be gotten easily or cheaply again- colorful silks the discount fabric store no longer carries, my stash of antique and specialty reproduction trims, certain buttons or accessories...

I feel like I'm staring up a mountain I have to somehow climb all over again, after reaching a peak and then falling back to the bottom

[ofekma]

"how can you be an animorphs fan and support Israel?"

I don't know, how CAN I be the fan of a book series talking about kids being forced to grow up too fast due to being a part of a war that has been going on for longer than they're alive, trying to defend their home against an invading force?

Seeing how this situation affects their mental state, world view and relationships with each other? Not being able to fully trust anyone else because they can turn out to secretly wish for your demise?

How can I be the fan of a series that mirrors the way I grew up, of feeling scared and lost and small but knowing that you have to keep going because there's no other way?

Knowing that the other side has people who are like you, who never really wanted to hurt anyone but are being forced to fight too, who were brainwashed from birth to not see people like you as people?

Knowing that innocents die in war, that cruel, messed up, unjust things happen in wars but not seeing another way forward?

Wanting to save your loved ones who are now being kept hostages?

YEAH I HAVE NO IDEA WHY IN THE WORLD WOULD I, AN ISRAELI PERSON, BE AN ANIMORPHS FAN?

[the-type-a]

Duncney Week 2023

(9•15) Day 6: Protective

AO3 | FanFic | TikTok | Twt

Testing the Limit

(Read under break)

Courtney periodically looked past the pages she read to the man standing by the window. His arms were crossed as he scanned the room before settling on her. He gave her a flirtatious smirk, which she returned with a vulgar gesture. She missed her old bodyguard but couldn’t say anything because her Papá was the one who hired everyone. Her old bodyguard minded his damn business and did his job correctly. This new guy? All he was good for was giving her a major migraine on a daily basis.

Her muscles ached from the pure irritation this man gave her. Courtney rolled her shoulders back and took a deep breath. She focused on her book while waiting for the family room to be unoccupied. In reality, Courtney should have been in her room, far away from whatever was happening behind the closed doors, but she refused to feel afraid in her own house.

Courtney Rosales was the daughter of a wealthy man, Mateo Rosales, whose business ran deep underground, earning him several enemies. Her new bodyguard, Duncan Robustelli, was apparently the only vile man smart enough to complete her Papá’s extensive boot camp. Ever since Duncan set foot in her home, he had taunted her and called her a ridiculous pet name. On top of that, he had simply refused to wear the uniform her Papá had given him.

He’s quick on his feet and knows how to hold his own. The words her Papá said to her echoed in her mind. Courtney had tested that statement on her own. She had sent alarming messages to Duncan, hoping he would barge into the room to prove why he was given the position– but he never did. In fact, Duncan would walk in casually and raise his eyebrow at her. As if he knew she was testing him and refused to give in to her stupid games. She prayed to God she was never in real danger if that was how he would react.

“You’re a shit bodyguard.” She mumbled.

Duncan laughed as he stepped toward her, the natural light that gave her the perfect reading setup being drowned out by his shadow. “And you’re a shit client.”

Her book snapped shut as she looked over her shoulder, her nose scrunching up at him. He smelled like mint and firewood, but she would never tell him so. “You could always save us both some misery and quit.”

“And by quitting, that would mean what exactly?” Duncan teased as he leaned down to her level. His breath tickled the back of her neck. “Oh right, it would give you satisfaction that I walked away. I think I’ll pass.”

“I wish I could fire you.”

“You’d miss me too much, Princess.”

Heavy thuds shook the ground before them as Courtney turned fully around to remind him what her name was. Duncan moved so fast Courtney barely noticed the doors swinging open with random people running out holding onto fresh wounds. Before she could even scream, Duncan had her securely behind him as he whipped out a gun to finish off whatever was left of these men. Courtney screwed her eyes shut and held her hands over her ears, waiting for the awful popping sound the gun would release, but nothing came. She took a peek and instantly regretted it. Bodies were sprawled across the floor, pooling in their own dark blood as her Papá casually walked and inspected one of the men on the ground.

She realized why Duncan’s gun had not sounded off as she watched him tuck it back into his waistband—a silencer. Everything had happened within a matter of seconds. Courtney didn’t know how to handle the heat racing up her neck at the thought of almost being a target to these men. This is why you stay away, her mind screamed at her.

Duncan’s body concealed her perfectly as more guards rushed into the foyer and into the room. They ordered Duncan to keep watch as they cleaned up the mess and then shut the door. Courtney’s Papá nodded at Duncan before turning towards his room to clean himself up. Only then did Duncan move aside. His hands were immediately on her; Courtney would have slapped him if she hadn’t realized Duncan’s hands weren’t feeling her up but making sure she was intact.

His palms were cold against her skin as he inspected her arms, neck, and face, but Courtney swore her skin turned darker with every touch.

“Wh– you saved me?”

“It’s my job.”

“You could have died!”

Duncan finally let his hands fall to his side. He took a deep breath to get his thoughts right. He had been in this position plenty of times but with Courtney? Something in him knew he would have massacred the entire house if anything happened to her.

“You could have died.”

Something sparked within those icy eyes that froze Courtney’s mind. Maybe he wasn’t such a terrible guy after all.

[smtown-tourist]

Why can I just picture Taemin sitting backstage with a pair of scissors, laughing maniacally as he cuts his crop-top just enough that his stylists won’t notice a difference?

[amberfreemans]

i need y’all to stop saying agatha is dying next week thank you

[lover-of-midnight]

Medication

Chuuya's frown deepened as he cleared out Dazai’s medicine cabinet, anger brewing under his skin as he took more sleeping pills out. The urge to glare at Dazai, but he kept it down, still he couldn’t help but feel sad when he saw the younger curl up tightly in a ball as he tried to keep his sobs down.

Body shaking as the drugs ran its course, another failed attempt. A sign slipped through his lips as he flushed another batch down the drain before he went to sit down next to Dazai, gently running his fingers through the matted hair.

“What happened Osamu?” He wanted to kick himself, he needed to see this, Dazai was getting more withdrawn, but at the same time, he was still his annoying self.

Fingers clawed into his shirt as Dazai settled against his chest, and immediately tears soaked into his shirt. Still, he just gently ran his fingers through Dazai’s hair. Giving him a chance to answer.

“I’m tired.” The words were a mere whisper. “Why did you stop me?” He tried to glare up at Chuuya, but it wasn’t as intimidating as he wanted it to be. Fresh tears immediately rolled down his cheeks.

Before Chuuya had a chance to respond Dazai continued. “It was the only change I had, to stop this vicious cycle, of always trying to self-medicate.  Trying to be better. Why did you stop me?” The last part came out with a whimper.

Chuuya was at a loss of words, as he held the sobbing boy against his chest, wondering what on earth happened. This wasn’t the first time he found Dazai after a suicide attempt, but it was the first time he was being vulnerable, normally he just tried to push Chuuya away as fast as possible.

“I stop you because I care about you. What happened, this is the worst one yet?” Chuuya just had a feeling deep in his bones it had something to do with the last mission, Dazai wasn’t the same since then.

“Mori. Punishments were worse than usual.” The words came out bitterly. Dazai refused to lift his head where he was hiding against Chuuya. He could still feel the tremors running through his body.

“I just wanted to be done, Chibi.” He whispered the words as he tried to make himself smaller against Chuuya. Just for a second, he wanted to forget. To just go on with life. Well, do not go on, just die. He didn’t want Chuuya to find him. To be forced to puke up the sleeping pills. It would all have been done.

Chuuya gently hushed him, as he just held him, letting Dazai cry it out against his chest. Pain stabbing against his chest, at the despair that was going off Dazai. But there was nothing he could do at the moment, but hold him whispering reassurance, wondering if any of it was true.

He tightened his hold, wishing he could repair the broken soul.

Ao3 Link

[incorrectquotesideas-deactivated]

Person A, when the gang’s car breaks down: Okay, guys. You know the drill.

Person B and Person C: [hold hands]

Person A: Por favor, Santa Francisca de Roma, ayúdanos! [takes a deep breath] One, two, three.

Person A, B and C: [do the cross sigh across the chest and blow a kiss at the sky]

Person A: [restarts the car in pure faith, which they don’t have cause no one from the gang even believes in god]