#p: children of the revolution

[lure-of-writing]

Price to Pay

You were his long before she came into the picture. Being the child of parents that were deemed as traitors not many people sought you out in hopes of a friendship, neither did Xaden but nonetheless he took on responsibility of all the marked children in hopes of keeping them alive. It was a freezing wet cold January morning when you met him, purely by accident at that. You were never intended to meet him , at least until you got to the riders quadrant. “There is always a price to be paid my sweet girl, whether or not you know it.” Your mothers voice rang true in your head. In all your life it seems that she was never wrong, not even in death. 

“You are the only person who was being…” The deliberate pause of the man standing before you didn’t go unnoticed, with a slight cough he clears his throat. “Being trained as a healer of some sorts. And seeing as he won’t let anyone else help him you surely understand why I asked for you to be the one who came, right?” The agitated tone of his voice did nothing to soothe the anxiety hurling throughout your body. “I mean after all, I can’t let the boy die.” Ah, there it was. The real reason you were brought here. Never would they allow the leader of the rebellion's son to die before they got a chance to play their death games with him. Pretending to play gods. Something tells you Malek wouldn’t be too happy with their doings. With a heavy sign you give in “Where is he?” After all your mother was just as involved with the revolution as his father was, which means you are not only responsible for the others, mostly out of guilt that your mothers actions caused them to lose their own families, but you also know that your mother would want you to look after the boy like she looked after his father. Shame and guilt have an interesting way of making people do things that they wouldn’t normally do. Such as willing to walk into what could be considered a death wish of a house. 

Xaden was exactly where they said he would be. The room was basically empty besides the bare necessities and random things he must of deemed worth collecting along the way. Hues of tan, white and gold engulf the room in what you could only imagine to be an attempt at not only showing a wealth of money but also a failed attempt at being inviting. If anything it only made the raised, wilted and barely healed wounds lining his back to be even more glaringly obvious, if that were even possible. While observing the marred flesh you noted that you didn’t see his back rise and fall. That was a bad sign, a very bad sign. Quiet but hurried steps made their way over to where he laid in bed. His head was facing you but his eyes were closed. Naturally you stuck your finger under his nose to see if he was even breathing.  “Is it normal for you to stick your fingers under the nose of people you don’t know?” The sudden noise has you pulling back and quickly placing a hand over your heart. “My god, why would you scare me like that? I thought you were dead, you dumbass.” you grumble “In what world would I just be sticking my hands in the faces of strangers?” You swear you heard an attempt at laughter out of him but it could also be a groan of pain. Your second guess was probably much more likely. “What hurts the most?” you stop assessing his back for a moment when you see him peek open his eye “Everything?” His tone drips in disbelief, not that you blame him. It was kind of a stupid question. Sighing you pull over his chair from his desk and take a seat. Another sigh tumbles out while rubbing your face and all you can think is that you definitely have your work cut out for you in more ways than one. 

The path of your relationship had for the most part always been a rocky one. Xaden never wanted to accept not only your help but the role you played keeping the other marked children alive. While he might be the son of the leader that doesn’t make you invisible. Day in a day out you would teach those around you the knowledge you possessed of plants and herbs and remedies in hopes that they would never need to use them. Teaching, training, building children into young adults who understood what they were going to be up against was something you took pride in, even if Xaden frowned upon it. 

He would never say it out loud but he thinks you are not capable of teaching them what they need to know, how to survive in a war college that's meant to kill you. In his eyes you are too soft, too kind, too willing to help, to survive Basgiath War College. And if you couldn’t survive then how would the children that you are supposedly teaching?

Unfortunately for him you are your mothers daughter. Not only were you almost as lethal as him in the challenges, you were quick and smart and strong. Stronger than he ever thought you were capable of. And after many fights about letting you help, letting you correct as much wrong as you humanly could, Xaden finally caved. That is where the tab for your price to pay begins collecting. 

Something about him was like a drug. Constantly pulling you in for more but causing a world of pain when you lack access. You never planned on your relationship becoming more than a begrudging and slightly reluctant friendship. But just like with any drug you think you're good at controlling the amount you need in what doses, but then over time you need more and more until it's all consuming and you can’t function without it. Won’t function without it. You always thought you were better than others at controlling your feelings and never allowing yourself to get too close to someone but everything about Xaden goes against what you know. 

Life had been as blissful in a war college that attempts to murder you at every chance they can get, can be. After fighting the obvious mutual attraction for longer then you would like to admit. You and Xaden found a routine in being a couple in a psychopaths dream scenario. In the three years that you had been there alot had changed. Somewhere obvious, some well…some where definitely not. Like Xaden falling out of love with you. He would never admit it. Violet's sudden arrival to the riders quadrant was unexpected to say the least. Xadens request for her to be put into his wing was even less expected. Obviously you weren’t dumb you knew the saying “Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer” but looking back your unyielding love kept you from seeing the truth and in turn maybe you were in fact dumb after all. 

At first her presence didn’t worry you at all. Did it slightly irritate you? Sure but you were confident that she would be nothing more than a slight annoyance. Oh how wrong you were. Slowly you felt Xaden pull away from you. It wasn’t anything unusual being a wingleader that he was pulled away at different times for varying amounts of time, as were you. This was nothing outside of your usual. A red flag was suddenly raised when Bodhi and Garrick couldn’t seem to look you in the eyes, constantly covering for where Xaden was at and what he was doing. Or rather who he was doing. As dumb as you were you knew without a doubt that their loyalties lie with your boyfriend but you had also hoped that as your friends they wouldn’t turn a blind eye to his affair. You soon learned hope is a useless thing. Hope gives you the ability to pray for change, to see other possibilities, to turn a blind eye at what is happening in front of your very own eyes. Hope is what kept you in the dark, and later would later kill whatever remained of your heart. 

Years down the line you would learn from Bodhi what exactly happened between Xaden and Violet but it would never help repair what had been broken. You would live in the dark of where things went wrong, what signs did you miss because you were too young and in love to pay attention to your surroundings. It was after threshing when you noticed how he looked at her. How he cradled her cheeks in comfort, just like he did with you. When news of Xaden’s dragon being bonded with Violets finally reached you, all you could do was groan in frustration at how much more complicated your life was about to become. “Is it true?” Xaden didn’t need to know what you were talking about, he already knew. With a slight tilt of his head he beacons you into his room before closing the door. Last thing he needed was somebody eavesdropping on a conversation that didn’t involve them. “Yeah.” he drops into the desk chair while you place yourself on the edge of the bed. “What are we going to do?” Slowly he looks at you with a resigned look. “There’s really not much anyone can do about it.” Scrunching your face you look at him in disbelief “But you know what happens with mated dragons as well as I do. They can barely go like a few hours being separated. What are we going to do? Bring her along like we’re her parents or something?” you watch as he crosses his arms over his chest with a raised eyebrow. “Would you like to talk to Tairn and Sagely about this?” 

“Don’t  be fucking stupid Xay you know they don’t give a shit about how I feel about this situation. But you have to admit this is absolutely ridiculous, this isn’t going to work, we graduate soon and will be sent off to gods knows where and she will still be here.”  you gesture to the four walls of his bedroom “Are you really willing to get yourself killed by coming back to this place every other week?” With a shrug he groans before placing his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. “It's either here or out in the field.” While you have grown to accept his air of nonchalance, its about to drive you up a fucking all. “For fucks sake Xaden why are you not concerned about this? About how it will affect us and everything we are working so hard for.” You're met with a cold hard glare “Don’t you dare question my commitment to what I am trying so hard to protect, to those I am willing to help and willing to die for.” You couldn’t hold back the laugh of disbelief that falls out of your mouth “Are you willing to die for her?”

“Goddamnit (y/n) why can’t you see that this is out of my control? This is normal for me to accept what has happened and figure out how to deal with it. So if you’re done questioning my alliances then I think you should leave.” Never has Xaden talked to you like that and you would be damned if you let it happen now. “Who do you think you’re talking to Xaden? Because I know for sure it isn’t me, so I suggest you fix that attitude of yours and try that again.” There is a long beat of silence while you refuse to break eye contact with your boyfriend. He sighs again before lightly motioning for you to come to him with his hand. Blankly you stare at him, there isn’t any way you are going to go to him after the way he spoke to you, not even Malek himself could drag you over there.

“You’re right, I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. I’m sorry. You know it didn’t mean it. I’m just stressed. I now have to figure out how to keep Violet alive because you know if she dies I die, and if you haven’t noticed she's kinda making it more difficult than it needs to be. I mean you have seen her for yourself, she's behind in basically everything.” You don’t even bat an eye at his so-called apology. That was lackluster at best. “(y/n) baby I’m sorry. My stress isn’t a reason to take it out on you just because you are concerned about me. You know that your opinion matters to me more than anything and just hearing your worries adds a whole other layer of stress to this clusterfuck of a mess. I know you’re concerned and you have every reason to be, if this was the other way around I have no idea what I would do. But I promise you I am going to do everything in my power to not let this affect us and what we have going on outside of here. We’re going to figure it out, just like we always do right?” His question hangs in the air like hope. “Right.” you reluctantly agree before giving into his beckoning and plop yourself into his lap. “There isn’t anything in this world I wouldn’t do for you, you know that right?” his eyes pierce into yours and you swear you saw something else dance in those eyes of his and it wasn’t love “I know.” 

Your life was never the same after that moment. The memory is frozen in time, forever memorializing your heart break. It was the night the war games started. You hadn’t seen Xaden all day having been preoccupied with your own wing to have time and check in on him and his wing. After looking for him everywhere the only place left to look for him was his room. You know for a fact that he hasn’t taken off with Sgaely so that only left one place for him to be. Xaden had warded his door so that no one would be allowed in but in the moment of lust with Violet he had forgotten all about the fact that he had also worded it to allow you into his room at any time. Finally you had reached the end of the hall where his room sat diagonally from yours and pushed the door open.

Violet. Xaden. Violet. Xaden. Your eyes didn’t know where to focus. On him? Or on Her? You didn’t hear as violet shrieked in shock or as Xaden uttered your name. For a moment no one moved. No one even dared to breathe, for all hell was about to break loose. “You lied.” it tumbles out of your lips like a ghost. Xaden barely caught the end of what you said. “You lied! YOU FUCKING LIED!” Your heartbroken cry breaks him out his trace pulling Violet off of him and reaching for his pants. He watches as blue bolts of energy strike randomly around the room sending various objects flying. “Xaden we kinda have a situation a-” Garrick and Bodhi appear behind you. Obviously they were looking for him also. Except they were hoping that they found him before you did. 

“So this is what you’ve been doing? You’ve been fucking some first year behind my back? I thought I meant the world to you huh? That there was no one else in this world who was more important to you than me? You remember that, don't you Xaden?’ Never in his life had he seen so much anger consume someone that he could see it dancing in their eyes but he could see it in yours. The way you went from screaming to clam sent a shiver down his spine, and he was not one to scare. Another bolt of energy went flying and this time it landed right next to Violet who was wrapped in his blanket trying to cover her naked body. Without thinking his shadows built a wall between her and your bolts of energy. You watch as the wall of shadows is formed and dissipates before your very eyes. He was protecting her. Protecting her from you.

A loud scoff of disbelief strikes a nerve in his body sending him into action. “(y/n) look at me, baby. This was an accident, a mistake. You know I only love you.” He could see the particles of energy bumping into each other gaining strength and as he goes to step forward closer to you it strikes, keeping him in his place. “I thought you only loved me?” Violet cries out in heartbreak. Shaking your head you laugh “You are such a fucking liar, but I have to admit you had me fooled Xaden.” Slowly you start to clap while staring the man who once held your heart in his hands keeping it safe from everyone and everything but now it lays shattered on the ground into a million pieces. “You truly had me there for a second, I fell for your tricks. I had a feeling that I was never good enough for you, that you were waiting for someone else who was better to come along and I guess you found better huh? Tell me Xaden just exactly how long you’ve been fucking her behind my back?’ He takes a long deep breath while looking at the ceiling before answering “Since threshing.”

Deep down Xaden knew the second he saw Violet that he was doomed but he had hoped for both yours and his sake that it was just a thought, he knew that one would compare to you, no one would be able to love and understand him on the level you do. And yet here he is doing the one thing he promised to never do. “Fuck you Xaden Riorson.” The look in your eyes is cold, dead even. The only thing keeping them warm is the hatred he knows you keep for him shimmering beneath the surface. And with that you turn swiftly on your heels and shoulder checked both Garrick and Bodhi who were too stunned to move, “Fucking energy wielders” Garrick mumbles 

You now knew just what the price of loving Xaden was. What dues were to be paid. It was your soul, your heart and everything left you had to believe good in the world does exist. Loving Xaden Riorson was your price to pay. The heart of the girl who used to be is no longer there, all that's left is the gaping hole that Xaden caused when he ripped your heart out that night with his own bare hands.

[sissylittlefeather]

In honor of Halloween...

"Devil in Disguise"

I wrote a vampire fic but PLOT TWIST Elvis isn't the vampire.

YOU ARE!

Warnings: 18+ SMUT MDNI!!!! Kissing, cussing, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), a little girl on girl action, threesome (MFF), p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie, also vampire bites and blood drinking

A/N: this was a fun stretch for me. Please let me know what you think!

You've honestly forgotten how many years you've been a vampire. You know you were turned at the end of the American Civil War as a means of survival for your children, who are all dead now anyway. After your youngest passed, you moved to France. You followed the American soldiers here in 1944, since they had literally been your bread and butter since you were turned. Now, the war was over, but your job as a dancer at the Moulin Rouge was too good to leave and there was still a steady stream of young men, and even soldiers at times, to keep you well-fed and young(ish)-looking. You had been 33 when you were turned, so that was your permanent age, but when you were well-fed the men assumed you were younger and never bothered to ask if you weren't.

None of the other dancers knew what you were except for Anya, who was also like you and had been a refugee after the Russian revolution. While she was younger, she had become your closest friend in the years since you'd come to Paris.

She was the one who alerted you to the presence of one Elvis Presley in the spring of 1959. You'd seen him on television and knew he was in Germany with the Army, but you hadn't expected him to show up here.

"He's on furlough. The girls are fighting over who will get to be with him first." Anya whispers to you as you get dressed. Luckily you've learned to understand her thick accent. She knew you were always looking for a new challenge and she preferred rich, older gentlemen, so she wasn't interested in this boy, as she thought of him.

"Oh, Anya, I don't know. I'm exhausted and he's sure to be surrounded by photographers and fans. It'll be hard to get him alone."

"You're tired because..." she leans in and speaks softly, "you need to feed. And how fun would he be?"

"Maybe. I don't want to compel him, though. That's too easy."

"Then don't. Go out there and show these little girls how a woman works." She slaps your ass and gives you a wink before walking to line up for the opening dance.

******

After your dances are finished, you're sent to mingle with the men in the club and see if you can't score a few extra tips. You see the throng of people and assume that must be where he is. Swinging your hips as you walk, you move to a spot in his eye line, but far enough away to not draw the attention of the crowd. He's got dancers all around him and he must've kissed a half dozen of them already, but you recognize the look in his eye. It's the same look you have on most nights. He's hungry for a challenge, something new and exciting and not the same girls falling at his feet.

That's when his eyes meet yours. They lock for a good thirty second before his gaze moves down your body. He takes in your black and red bodice and fishnet hose, all the way down to the black heels on your feet and back up again to the feathers stuck in your hair. But you know what he wants, so you pull your eyes away from his magnetic stare and start to walk away, a look of disinterest on your face.

You move slowly across the room, talking and flirting with patrons as you do. Still, you can feel his eyes on you, tracking you like a predator with prey. Little does he know, he's the prey in this scenario and he's falling perfectly into your snare.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch him dismissing the girls around him and trying to shake the crowd that follows him, assuring them he'll be right back. But you know better. Once he's yours, he'll be yours for the night.

You keep making your way around the room until you feel a soft hand on your shoulder and a voice in your ear.

"You runnin' away from me, mama?" You turn to face him with a bored smile.

"Should I be?" The hunger in his eyes intensifies with your apathy towards him.

"I'm told I'm a pretty good time. You might not want to run away just yet." He's laying it on thick for you, smiling devilishly, with his lip curled just so. You have to admit, he is very good looking, and you smile in spite of yourself. He leans his head back a little, confident he's got you now.

"Come on, mama. Let's go somewhere we can talk."

That didn't take long. He's less of a challenge than you thought he'd be. Turns out his hunger is your best weapon.

"Follow me." You smile up at him through your lashes and make your way to the door that leads backstage. Once you're back there with a little privacy, you push him up against the wall and kiss him deeply, running your hands down his front to the top of his pants and then back up. At first, he's caught off guard, but it doesn't take him long to wrap his arms around you and pull your body in close to his. He has some skill with his tongue and you realize that you're hungrier than you thought you were. You feel your fangs start to extend, so you pull away quickly and grab his hand, practically dragging him to one of the rooms you use for this sort of thing. He doesn't complain about your speed, though.

When you get inside, you turn and lock the door behind you.

"Damn, baby. Somebody knows what she wants."

"You have no idea." You round on him, trying to keep your fangs hidden until the right moment. You don't want to scare him away too quickly. It takes everything inside you not to just pounce on him, but you take a deep breath and feel your fangs retract.

You push him backwards to the edge of the couch.

"Sit down."

"Yes ma'am." His eyes sparkle with the excitement of being told what to do. You can tell he's used to being in charge, but he's not opposed to letting you take control. You walk over to the record player and put on something jazzy and sensual. The more aroused he is, the more vitality you can derive from his blood. When you get back in front of him he reaches out and puts both hands on your hips.

"Nuh uh." You move his hands back to his lap. "Just look. Don't touch."

"Mmm." He grunts and bites his bottom lip as you begin to move in front of him. You sway your hips seductively and touch your body as you dance. Slowly, you reach behind you and unzip your bodice, letting it fall to the floor. The only thing you have on underneath is your fishnet hose and his mouth drops at the sight in front of him. He adjusts his pants and you know he's well on his way to where you need him. You slide the hose down and kick off your shoes until you're standing in front of him completely naked. He still hasn't closed his mouth or been able to make a sound. You straddle him on the couch and reach for his tie. His hands go to your breasts and again you stop him.

"Did I say you could touch?" He whimpers.

"Honey, please..."

"I will tell you when you can touch me." He whines and flexes his hands before he puts them back at his sides. You begin to undress him slowly, first his tie, then his jacket, and finally his shirt, running your fingers across his chest lightly. He barely even has hair there.

"I need to touch you. Please." He looks at you with puppy dog eyes and bucks his hips up into you. You feel his hardness pushing against his pants. Then, you stand up again and he moans.

"No, honey, I'm sorry..."

"Take off your pants." He does as he's told and frantically removes his pants and shoes and then sits back down on the couch. His cock bounces in his lap and you can't help but be a little impressed by the size of it.

"You want to touch me?"

"Yes, please, mama." He looks at you with his eyes wide, dick twitching. You walk toward him and he reaches out, first cautiously and then hungrily, his hands exploring your body feverishly. He pulls you down into his lap and kisses you passionately. He lays you on your back on the couch and kisses down your neck. You put your hand on the top of his head and gently push him down toward your center.

He smiles. He can do this part well and he knows it. When his mouth makes contact with your clit, you yelp a little because it feels so good. He really is talented with his tongue and it's obvious as he licks and laps at you. Then, he slides two of his long fingers inside you and starts to move them in and out. The sensation is almost overwhelming and you feel your orgasm building deep in your core. He knows he's almost got you there too, so he picks up the pace of his hand and tightens his tongue to a point as he licks over and around your clit. Finally, the waves crash over you, sending heat and electricity to your fingertips and back again. You shudder and pulse around his hand and he does that boyish grin again.

"How badly do you want to fuck me?" You ask as he makes his way back up your body.

"Honey, I don't think I've ever wanted anything more in my life." You push him up into a sitting position and straddle him again, slowly sinking onto his cock until you're stuffed to the hilt with him. He groans and leans his head back on the couch. You feel your fangs extend again with the pleasure and do your best to keep your mouth closed, but his neck is exposed and you're so hungry...

"Honey? You okay?" You realize that you've stopped moving and snap back to reality.

"Mhmm!" You go back to grinding on his lap, pushing him deeper and deeper. That was too close. You have to keep yourself under control better until he's lost in a post-sex drunken haze. Why is he getting to you like this? You need to not let yourself get this hungry.

"Fuck, mama. This feels so good. I'm getting close." You stop and stand up off of him. "What? Why?"

"Not yet." He breathes deeply and leans his head back on the couch again. You grab a robe off the back of the door.

"I'll be right back."

You step out into the hallway and almost run smack into Anya.

"Oh thank God. I need your help. I'm having a hard time controlling myself. Help me finish him off." Anya looks at you concerned.

"Okay. I will help you." This isn't the first time this has happened. You've helped her and she's helped you before. Balancing the desires and hunger as a vampire is a delicate business. Sometimes it takes two of you to keep each other in line.

You open the door again and step in with Anya. He sits up and attempts to cover himself with his hand.

You unzip Anya's bodice and let it fall to the floor, pulling her into a deep kiss, your breasts pressed up against each other. Elvis sits on the couch with his mouth open again, unsure of what to do next. When you both turn to him, he sits up straight and swallows hard. His cock bounces in his hand as he looks at you both there naked in front of him. You sit on either side of him on the couch. Anya's hand goes to his dick and you pull him into a kiss. You add your hand to hers and he groans, watching you both work with his eyes wide.

"Holy fuck." He whispers as you lean in and kiss each other again over him as you touch him. Together, you lay him down on the couch. Anya climbs onto his face and he goes to work. But when you slide his cock into you, you hear him moan audibly. You begin to bounce up and down on him quickly and he grabs your hips. He has a hard time deciding what to do with his hands as Anya sits on his face and you sit on his dick. He gets her to an orgasm pretty quickly, being as skilled as he is and she stands up off of him. He's surprised when you lean in and kiss him, even with Anya's desire on his lips. He thrusts into you from underneath and you feel another orgasm forming, your fangs starting to descend. She can tell you're struggling, so Anya leans in and kisses you hard.

"I think he's almost ready." She whispers with her thick accent. She grabs his hands and holds them above his head while you fuck him.

"'M gonna come, mama." He groans. You don't stop. Instead, you move faster, your own orgasm just a couple of thrusts away. You slam into each other faster and faster, harder and harder, all while Anya holds his hands. Finally, you scream and he cusses loudly.

"Yes, fuck, oh my god!" He pumps into you weakly as he shudders and fills you with warmth. You come too, hard, and your fangs come out one last time. You can no longer hide them and you lean forward to the soft supple skin of his neck.

"What?!" He begs, but doesn't fight back. You gently pierce him with your teeth and suck as the blood comes quickly. It's sweetened with the energy of his desire and his release and it fills you in a way you didn't think was possible.

As you finish, Anya releases his arms and you lick the tiny marks on his neck, knowing your saliva will heal it quickly.

"Did you just bite me?" He asks drunkenly.

"I did."

"I liked it."

"Most of you do, you just don't know it until it happens."

Anya kisses your forehead and grabs her things, wrapping the robe around herself and disappearing through the door.

He sits up and wraps his arms around you.

"Did you get younger?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes."

"Make me like you."

"Oh, no, honey, I would never."

"Why not? Please?" He looks at you with his round blue eyes and you see the pain there. You kiss his hair and hold him close to your chest.

"You don't really want this. I promise."

"What if I really do?"

"I'm not turning Elvis Presley into a vampire."

"Then I'll find someone who will." You look deeply into his sex-drunk eyes.

"We'll talk about this in the morning." You curl up next to him on the couch as sleep approaches both of you.

"I'm not changing my mind."

You drift off in his arms, thinking about what it would mean to release him into the world as a new vampire. Is that a responsibility you're willing to accept? Is it really what he wants? Can you be the vampire that makes the most famous man on the planet immortal?

You don't know. But tonight, you were the vampire that fucked and drank Elvis Presley. And who else can say that?

******

Hope that was a fun treat!

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Taglist:

@ccab @elvisfatass @elvisalltheway101 @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @ashtag6887 @your-nanas-house @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows

Sorry if you didn't want a tag in this one! Either way, I hope some of you enjoy this little Halloween treat!

[mo-the-gremlin-dandelion]

Happy Coradrag AU - Holding Luffy

Coradrag Humor + Tragedy

Happy Coradrag AU

Would you look at this! Looks like I can write! Badly, but I did it! Everybody is probably out of character though but whatever, it’s an AU. Another long one though.

Summary: Luffy’s closest family members holding him for the first time.

Dragon holding newborn Luffy:

When Dragon doubled over in pain and peed his pants in navigation, he wasn’t expecting this.

He wasn’t expecting the pain to be him in labour and the “pee” to be his water breaking.

Dragon just thought he had a stomach ache and that he just had to push through it until either the meds kicked in or the day was over.

He’s not coming back from this is he? His reputation is ruined. 

What is he even going to do with a baby? His baby? He was fine with taking Ace because Ace was able to run despite being 3. He could run before he even crawled (stupid D genes). He’s a biter as well so he is not completely defenceless.

Should he send the baby off to his father? Ace too? No, not with how Garp raised him.

Rosinante? Dragon hadn’t been with anyone else other than Rosinante so he could only be the other father. God he missed him. Rosinante was one of the few people who didn’t mind Dragon’s grumpy personality. 

What was he going to do? Contacting Garp or Rosinante could go very wrong if the wrong people found out. What if there were complications? What if- Then he heard crying.

“Here you go Dragon, a healthy boy. Make sure to support the head.” The RA doctor said while placing the baby in Dragon’s arms. 

Dragon stopped his doom spiral and looked at his son. God he was so little. The baby was so tiny! No wonder he didn’t know he was pregnant, the baby was the same size as his hand!

He was so cute! The last time Dragon saw something so beautiful was when his father handed him Ace. Oh god Dragon has two children. Two very young children. He is running a revolution with two small children.

Before Dragon could spiral into a panic attack, the baby made a noise of displeasure and started squirming. Dragon didn’t realise he was crying onto the baby. He couldn’t blame him for being grumpy, he’d be the same way if someone was crying onto him.

“Shh.. It’s okay. I’m here,” Dragon hushed to the baby while gently patting him, “You made quite an entry didn’t you? You're going to cause a lot of problems aren’t you?”

Dragon could have sworn he saw the baby smirking. He decided it was just the hormone infused whiplash he was currently experiencing making him see things.

God he needed a nap and some pain killers.

Ace (3 years old) “holding” a couple hours old Luffy:

Ace was confused and scared at the moment. 

Ace woke up from his “unneeded” nap and didn’t know why he couldn’t see his Dad now. He wanted his Dad. He heard him scream and then Ivankov told him he couldn’t see him for a little while. He wanted his Dad right now! It’s been forever since he’s seen him and he’s scared. His Dad said he could come see when he was scared. Why couldn’t he see him now!? He didn’t even want the meat that people kept trying to give him. Ace was trying not to cry but it was getting harder to hold it all in. He WANTED his DAD! He wanted his Dad’s cuddles and to know that everything was okay. He was going to burst if-

“You can see him now Ace.” Ivankov told him.

Ace snapped out of it and rushed to push past Ivankov into the hallway, but he wasn’t fast enough and got scooped up. Ivankov carried the squirming, biting Ace to the ships infirmary where Dragon was.

“Hold still would you!? Stop trying to bite me! You’ll see your Dad in a minute!” Ivankov told Ace while struggling to not drop him. Dragon was very hormonal at the moment and would probably go through with his (usually joking) threat of killing. Ivankov set Ace down outside the door and was about to tell him that he needed to be quiet, but Ace finally got a bite in and burst into the room. 

Thankfully the baby is a heavy sleeper.

Ace ran to Dragon and crawled up onto the bed, face planting into Dragon’s stomach.

“Oof, Ace be careful please.” Dragon told Ace while groaning. He moved Ace up towards his chest and started rubbing his back trying to sooth the crying child.

“I didn’t know where you were! I was scared! They told me I couldn’t see you!” Ace sniffled while burying his head into Dragon’s neck.

“I know, I’m sorry. But I have a surprise for you. You want to see?” Dragon asked while hushing Ace. He waited until Ace nodded before he motioned Ivankov to give him the baby.

“Remember when you asked me how babies were made? And when you asked for a brother? Well turns out there was a baby on the way. Ace, this is your little brother Luffy.” Dragon told him.

Ace looked at the squishy thing in the blanket with curiosity. He thought babies were supposed to be cute. 

“He’s ugly.” Ace pouted.

Dragon let out a small laugh, “Most babies are at first. You want to hold him?”

Ace nodded his head, still a little unsure about Luffy. With a bit of help from Ivankov, Ace was now holding Luffy with Dragon’s arms helping to support him. Luffy let out a little grunt and wiggled before settling.

“Luffy’s really small.” Ace said.

“So were you Ace, all babies are. He’ll get bigger just like you. And you can help teach him things.” Dragon told him.

“Really? Can I teach him how to run from shitty gramps?” Ace asked sweetly, getting excited now.

“Not for a while, but yeah…” Dragon replied sighing.

While this was going on, Luffy was moving his arms around, looking for something to hold onto. Ace was startled a bit when Luffy’s little hand latched onto his fingers. Ace looked down at his new brother and thought that maybe he wasn’t so ugly after all.

Rosinante holding 3 week old Luffy:

Rosinante had a child! A son! He couldn’t be more happy or confused.

He was happy because he had a baby, but he was confused about why Dragon didn’t tell him. Did he lie when he found out about where Rosinante came from? Oh god, did Dragon hate him now?

Rosinante ran to the Monkey D. house with Garp and Sengoku following behind. He burst through the front door, startling Dadan who was resting in the living room after putting Ace down for a nap.

“You’re the other father I assume? First door on the right.” She told him while pointing to the stairs.

Rosinante quickly thanked her before he stumbled up the stairs to where Dragon was. After face planting on the floor, he got up and stood in front of the door. He was hesitant to knock. What if Dragon really did hate him now? What if he resented him for getting him pregnant? What if-

“You can come in here Rosinante.” Dragon told him from the otherside of the door. He sounded tired.

Rosinante cringed before slowly opening the door and stepped into the room, shutting the door behind him. “How’d you know it was me?”

“My father wouldn’t have been quiet or polite enough to ask, Dadan just put Ace down for a nap, and Sengoku probably needs a minute to comprehend everything.” Dragon told him while he slowly sat up against the headboard, “Also, I heard you fall up the stairs and face plant.”

Rosinante cringed again and rubbed the back of his neck feeling awkward, “Heh, sorry about that… Are you.. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good. Are you?” Dragon asked cautiously.

“I’m fine, just overwhelmed? I mean I’m not mad, but…”  Rosinante rambled, “Why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant?”

“I didn’t know. I just thought I was sick from guilt of leaving the marines,” Dragon told him fiddling with the blanket, the ‘and you’ went unsaid, “I only found out when I gave birth. I thought I peed myself.”

“You really didn’t know? I thought you left because you hated me.” Rosinante said, relieved that it wasn’t because Dragon resented him after finding out about his past. 

“I could never hate you, why would I? I thought I was sick from the guilt of leaving you behind. I wanted to leave you a note, but I also didn’t want to endanger you or make you think I was using you for information. I didn’t want you to hate me.” Dragon told him a little panicked while finally looking at him, “I also didn’t want to make you feel like I was taking advantage of you. I’m too old for you, I didn’t think you’d actually want me.”

“I couldn’t hate you either Dragon and you’re not too old for me! If you were, I would have never have tried to use all those horrible pick-up-lines Bellemere gave me or pulled you into the coat closet for the first time! I thought you hated me because of my past and that is what broke the camel’s back. Then Garp told me what you were doing and I don’t hate you for trying to make the world better.” Rosinante replied sitting down on the other side of the bed.

Dragon let out a relieved sigh and wiped away some tears before reaching out to hold Rosiante’s hand, “I’m so sorry. I should have told you about when I was leaving.”

Rosinante moved closer to Dragon and hugged him tightly, “It’s alright, we both suck at communicating. Do you think we can have a relationship?”

“How? I’m a criminal and you're a marine?” Dragon asked.

“Your Dad is insane and mine is the Fleet Admiral. We’ll work something out.” Rosinante confidently replied.

Dragon laughed wetly, thinking that maybe some of Garp’s insanity rubbed off onto Rosinante, “You want to meet our son?”

Rosinante won’t admit this, but he forgot that was why he was here. He nodded his head so fast he almost fell off the bed. Dragon caught him thankfully.

“Sit against the headboard and I’ll get him.” Dragon directed.

Rosinante situated himself against the headboard and watched as Dragon went over to the bassinet in the corner of the room and lifted a tiny bundle out of it. Dragon gently placed the baby in Rosinante’s arms after adjusting them.

Rosinante’s breath was blown away and he started to softly cry. This little baby was his. Dragon’s and his. His son was so tiny and wiggly! Rosinante has never seen a baby so small, he met Ace when he was a toddler, this baby fit in his hand.

“He is so beautiful Dragon,” Rosinante said softly, “What’s his name?”

“I named him Luffy. I hope that’s alright.” Dragon replied, a little nervous, while wiping away Rosinante’s tears.

“It’s perfect. Thank you Dragon.” Rosinante said, never taking his eyes off of Luffy.

Dragon hugged Rosinante closer and sighed, maybe everything will work out after all.

Garp holding 3 week old Luffy:

Garp couldn’t believe this was his newest grandson he was holding. 

Seriously, what the hell is this thing? This couldn’t be Luffy. It was a tiny, deformed,  squirming potato in a blanket. How could HIS son make such an ugly baby? 

Actually, Garp didn’t even think Dragon knew how to make a baby. Maybe those drawings he made helped him after all. Or maybe Dragon just picked this thing up off a road somewhere. However, his son did hit him when he asked that; although that could just be for calling the baby a thing or ugly. Garp decided he was blaming Rosinante’s genes for this outcome; just look at his ugly, older brother!

Luffy let out a coo and grabbed a hold of Garp’s beard, trying to pull it off.

This might not be so bad. With such a strong grip, maybe he could train this one into a fine marine. Garp is bitten by Ace everytime he tries to train him. Maybe this one will join the marines and not cause world changing problems. 

Sengoku holding 3 week old Luffy:

Sengoku couldn’t believe this was happening. His son had a kid. A kid with an older man who happens to be the most wanted criminal in the world at the moment. Garp’s marine deserting, revolutionary starting son who is much older than Rosinante. Goddammit, what has his life come to?

Dragon being older than Rosinante wasn’t really the problem. Sengoku would be a hypocrite if that is what he focused on, but he also isn’t about to tell his son about his own past relationships and “meetings” in coat closets.

The problem wasn’t even that Dragon was a criminal. Sengoku has a lot of regrets from his career, so he understands where Dragon was coming from when he started the Revolutionary Army. He knows that Dragon is a good man at heart and that he would treat Rosinante well. Would he have liked Rosinante to be with a civilian or a marine? Sure, but he just wants his son to be happy.

No, Sengoku’s problem with this whole situation was that Dragon was GARP’s son. That means that they are now in-laws. Now not only does Sengoku have to see Garp at work, he now has to have family dinners with him! Again, no offence to Dragon, but he would’ve taken literally anyone else OTHER than Garp to have as an in-law. Not only that, but if he did his maths right, Dragon might also be Gol D. Roger’s son as well. Dragon is also raising Ace. God Sengoku has never wanted to drink more. 

Now as he is sitting stiff in the Monkey D. house on Dawn Island, contemplating his life choices, Rosinante carefully walks over with a wiggly little bundle.

“Look Dad! Isn’t he cute? Here hold him!” Rosinante told him cheerfully.

Before Sengoku knew what was happening, Rosinante was adjusting his arms and gently placing Luffy into them. Sengoku blinked and then he looked down.

Luffy was smaller than he expected, considering both of his parents were over 8ft tall. He was wiggling around like a worm and reaching upwards. Sengoku knew that Luffy was a couple weeks shy of being able to smile, but he felt that is what Luffy was doing. Maybe he was an early bloomer; he definitely had Rosinante’s smile. Luffy looked like Dragon otherwise. 

Maybe being in-laws with Garp wouldn’t be so bad. He’s got two grandsons to spoil now after all.

[haggishlyhagging]

In her book My Fight for Birth Control (1931) [Margaret Sanger] is quite clear about the fact that while birth control may have served economic ends, and while it was a practice consistent with her analysis of society, it was none the less a response to women's needs - and not to men's needs of a revolution - that induced her to take on the double task of finding out how pregnancies (and births) could be prevented, and then of distributing the knowledge to women. While today we may think that the greater problem is finding safe and satisfactory means of birth control, in Sanger's time the greater problem was providing women with the information of the means.

The law stated - in Sanger's own words - ‘that no one could give information to prevent conception to anyone for any reason’ (1931, p. 152). It was illegal to publish such information or to send such 'obscene' material through the post. Because of this 'conspiracy of silence', it is understandable that many women thought there was a ‘secret,’ known only to the privileged few. This was the case with Sadie Sacks, whose experience Margaret Sanger cites in her own account of her commitment to the struggle for birth control.

Mrs Sacks already had three young children when she became pregnant again, and because she could not afford another child, physically or financially, she procured an abortion and Margaret Sanger arrived as the nurse who afterwards battled for her life. The woman survived but was very despondent, informing Sanger that another baby would kill her (either through abortion or birth) and that she was desperate to find a way of preventing it. She asked the doctor what she should do and he treated the whole issue facetiously; he scoffed at the idea that she should want to have her cake and eat it too, and suggested that she ‘ban’ her husband to the rooftop. After the doctor's departure, Mrs Sacks implored Sanger to tell her the secret, and Sanger states with rage and frustration that she simply did not know how you prevented pregnancy.

Sanger too left Mrs Sacks's home and over the next few months felt uneasy - even guilty - about the fate of Mrs Sacks. Then she was called once more; this time Mrs Sacks died from the abortion. Sanger returned to her own home, stunned, but gradually convinced throughout the course of the night that ‘uncontrolled breeding’ was the central social problem and determined to do something about it. She writes that at that moment she renounced all palliative work for ever. ‘I would never go back again to nurse women's ailing bodies while their miseries were as vast as the stars. I was now finished with superficial cures, with doctors and nurses and social workers who were brought face to face with this overwhelming truth of women's needs and yet turned to pass on the other side. They must be made to see these facts. I resolved that women should have knowledge of contraception. They have every right to know about their own bodies … I would tell the world what was going on in the lives of these poor women. I would be heard. No matter what it should cost. I would be heard’ (ibid., p. 56).

In 1916, Sanger opened a birth control clinic in Brooklyn - the main emphasis being on contraception, not abortion - and while it was designed to provide women with information it was also a deliberate attempt to test the law. News of the clinic quickly spread, women flocked to its doors, and poured out their feelings of terror and pain on this issue which haunted their lives but which was a socially and legally taboo topic. The premises were raided, the women arrested and Sanger says, ‘We were not surprised at being arrested, but the shock and horror of it was that a woman, with a squad of five plain clothes men, conducted the raid and made the arrest. A woman - the irony of it!’ (ibid., p. 158). There can be no doubt that Sanger saw women as a group, with shared interests and a common cause. There was panic among the women in the waiting room - who were being bullied by the police in the attempt to obtain their names so that they could later be subpoenad to testify - and there was chaos outside (women, baby carriages, children - all waiting to get into the clinic). When Sanger and Tania Mindell were taken away, one woman ran after them, screaming wildly for them to come back and help her. The clinic was closed; the court declared it a ‘public nuisance’. Sanger was imprisoned but went on to fight again - and again.

-Dale Spender, Women of Ideas and What Men Have Done to Them

[nordleuchten]

I just stumbled upon a letter Lafayette sent to his wife on tumblr and wanted to know more about the context but couldn’t find the original letter. Do you happen to know where this is from?

“…I shall let you know later, to be sure of finding you alone, for I determined and am very much hoping to take you in my arms between eleven and midnight…”

I Don’t know if it is just the style that he wrote or, just a French thing, but it looks like he wanted to show a little love and it’s hilarious 😂

Dear Anon,

this is a letter written by La Fayette to his wife Adrienne on Sunday, January 23, 1785 in Rennes. Here is the full text of the letter. I marked the excerpt you send me in bold.

Rennes, Sunday evening [January 23, 1785] Here I am, very near you, my dear heart, very impatient to arrive, and very happy to feel behind me the distance that has separated us. What crowns all my joy is to learn that my aunt is settled in Paris. I arrived in good health, t and this evening I stopped by Montmorin's intending to leave immediately, but the Estates of Brittany have assembled, and it has been decided that I should make an appearance tomorrow at eleven o'clock, with arrangements too special for me possibly to avoid it. I shall arrive Wednesday evening at Versailles, surely so late that I shall not pay a visit, but since I must meet with the ministers the next day, I would rather sleep there and could pay my court Thursday, so that Friday we could go to dine with my aunt, sup at Mme de Tesse's, and take up our former way of life again. Or rather, if you prefer, we shall go on Thursday after dinner to Paris. Although I shall let you know later, to be sure of finding you alone, I am very much hoping to take you in my arms between eleven and midnight, unless we are detained en route. Give my news to Mme de Tesse, your sisters, and father and mother. I have instructed Le Brun to go to Charlus's, M. de Poix's, and the vicomte's, and I am writing a word to Mme d'Henin and Mme de Simiane, so you see all my friends are forewarned. I am also sending a note to my aunt. Farewell my dear heart, I am very happy. I love you very much, and I am very impatient to tell you so myself. I would very much like our children to come to Versailles. Please give my news also to Mme de Boufflers. It is late, and I want a little sleep.

Idzerda Stanley J. et al., editors, Lafayette in the Age of the American Revolution: Selected Letters and Papers, 1776–1790, Volume 5, January 4, 1782 December 29, 1785, Cornell University Press, 1983, p. 292-293.

As you see, your quote was a little bit taken out of context. This was just La Fayette’s way of saying when he hoped to arrive at home … although I would never put is past La Fayette to have other things in mind. :-)

I hope this helped and you have/had a lovely day!

[otmaaromanovas]

On June 26, it was 125 years since Grand Duchess Maria Nikolaevna was born

Family friend Lili Dehn recalled how when she “first knew the Grand Duchess Marie, she was quite a child, but during the Revolution she became very devoted to me, and I to her, and we spent most of our time together — she was a wonderful girl, possessed of tremendous reserve force, and I never realised her unselfish nature until those dreadful days.“

Maria was noted for her love of children, frequently visiting the local orphanage, and in 1914 wrote to Olga Vorovona, a friend who was the wife of one of the family’s favourite officers, how she enjoyed visiting the “such awfully sweet darlings” at the orphanage. “We gave them all presents and they were so happy with them and each one showed their nanny what they got…. I love little children so awfully much, play with them and carry them in my arms. Do you love babies?" In her memoirs, Olga Voronova described Maria as “kindness and unselfishness personified.”

Happy birthday Grand Duchess Maria!

Sources:

Helen Azar, George Hawkins, Maria Romanov: Third Daughter of the Last Tsar: Diaries and Letters 1908-1918, (Yardley: Westholme Publishing, 2019), see December 1914. 

Yulia “Lili” Alexandrovna Dehn, The Real Tsaritsa, (Boston: Little, Brown and Company, 1922)

Olga Voronova, “Upheaval”, (New York: G. P. Putnam’s Sons, 1932)

Main photographs, slide 1 and 10: Grand Duchess Maria in 1914. Both photographs from RomanovsOneLastDance.

[lotus-flower-writes-history]

The Unofficial Black History Book

Huey P. Newton (1942-1989)

'The Revolution has always been in the hands of the young. The young always inherit the revolution.' - Huey Newton

This is his story.

Huey Percy Newton was born on February 17th, 1942, in Monroe, Louisiana. The youngest of seven children to Armelia Johnson and Walter Newton, he was named after former Governor of Louisiana, Huey Long.

His family relocated to Oakland, California, in search of better economic opportunities in 1945. His family struggled financially and frequently relocated, but he never went hungry or homeless.

Growing up in Oakland, Newton recalled his white teachers making him feel ashamed for being African-American, despite never being taught anything useful. In his Autobiography, ‘Revolutionary Suicide’, he wrote – “Was made to feel ashamed of being black. During those long years in Oakland Public Schools, I did not have one teacher who taught me anything relevant to my own life or experience. Not one instructor ever awoke in me a desire to learn more or to question or to explore the worlds of literature, science, and history. All they did was try to rob me of the sense of my own uniqueness and worth, and in the process nearly killed my urge to inquire.” 

He also had a troubled childhood; he was arrested several times as a teenager for gun possession and vandalism.

Huey was illiterate when he graduated from high school, but he taught himself to read and write by studying poetry before enrolling at Merritt College. 

During his time there, he supported himself by breaking into homes in Oakland and Berkeley Hills and committing other minor offenses. He also attended Oakland College and San Francisco Law School, ostensibly to improve his criminal skills.

He joined Pi Beta Sigma Fraternity while still a student at Merritt College and met Bobby Seale, a political activist and engineer. Huey also fought for curriculum diversification, the hiring of more black instructors, and involvement in local political activities in the Bay Area. 

In addition, he was exposed to a rising tide of Black Nationalism and briefly joined the Afro-American Association, where he studied Frantz Fanon, Che Guevara, Mao Zedong, E. Franklin Frazier, James Baldwin, Karl Marx, and Vladimir Lenin.

Huey had adopted a Marxist/Leninist viewpoint in which he saw the black community as an internal colony ruled by outside forces such as white businessmen, City Hall, and the police. In October 1966, he and Bobby Seale founded The Black Panther Party for self-defense, believing that the black working class needed to seize control of the institutions that most affected their community.

It was a coin toss that resulted in Newton becoming defense minister and Seale becoming chairman of the Black Panther Party. Newton’s job as the Minister of Defense and main leader of the Black Panther Party was to write in the Ten-Point Program, the founding document of the Party, and he demanded that blacks need the “Power to determine the destiny of our Black Community”. It would allow blacks to gain “Land, bread, housing, education, clothing, justice, and peace.”

The Panthers took advantage of a California law allowing people to carry non-concealed weapons and established armed patrols that monitored police activity in the Black Community. 

One of the main points of focus for the Black Panther Party was the right to self-defense. Newton believed and preached that sometimes violence, or even the threat of violence, is required to achieve one's goals. 

Members of the Black Panther Party once stormed the California Legislature while fully armed in order to protest the outcome of a gun bill.

Newton also established the Free Breakfast for Children Program, martial arts training for teenagers, and educational programs for children from low-income families. 

The Black Panthers believed that in the Black struggle for justice, violence or the potential for violence may be necessary.

 The Black Panthers had chapters in several major cities and over 2,000 members. Members became involved in several shoot-outs after being harassed by police.

On October 28, 1967, the Panthers and the police exchanged gunfire in Oakland. Huey was injured in the crossfire, and while recovering in the hospital, he was charged with killing an Oakland police officer, John Frey. 

He was convicted of voluntary manslaughter the following year.

Huey was regarded as a political prisoner, and the Panthers organized a 'Free Huey' campaign led by Panther Party Minister Eldridge Cleaver. And Charles R. Geary, a well-known attorney who was in charge of Newton’s legal defense.

Newton was found guilty of voluntary manslaughter in 1968 and sentenced to 2-15 years in prison. However, the California Appellate Court ordered a new trial in May 1970. The conviction was reversed on appeal, the case was dismissed by the California Supreme Court, and Huey was acquitted.

Huey renounced political violence after being released from prison. Over a six-year period, 24 Black Panther members were killed in gunfights with the police. Another member, George Jackson, was killed in August 1971 while serving time in San Quentin Prison.

The Black Panther Party, under the leadership of Newton, gained international support. This was most evident in 1970 when Newton was invited to visit China. Large crowds greeted him enthusiastically, holding copies of "Quotations from Chairman Mao Tse-tung," as well as signs supporting the Panther Party and criticizing US imperialism.

In the early 1970s, Newton's leadership of the Black Panther Party contributed to its demise. He oversaw a number of purges of Party members, the most famous of which was in 1971 when he expelled Eldridge Cleaver in what became known as the Newton-Cleaver split over the party's primary function.

Newton wanted the party to be solely focused on serving African-American communities, whereas Cleaver believed the party should be focused on developing relationships with international revolutionary movements. The schism resulted in violence between the factions and the deaths of several Black Panther members. The Black Guerrilla Family (BGF) was one of several factions that had broken away from the main party.

Then, in 1974, Newton was accused of assaulting a 17-year-old prostitute named Kathleen Smith, who later died, raising the charge to murder. Instead of facing trial, Huey fled to Cuba with his girlfriend at the time, where he remained for three years. The key witness in the trial was Crystal Gray. And three Black Panther members attempted to assassinate her before she gave her testimony.

Huey returned to the States in 1976 to stand trial but denied any involvement. The jury was deadlocked, and Newton was eventually acquitted after two mistrials.

In 1978, he enrolled in the History of Consciousness program at the University of California, Santa Cruz, and earned his Doctorate in 1980.

"War Against the Panthers: A Study of Repression in America," his dissertation, was later turned into a book.

On charges of embezzling Panther Party funds, Huey P. Newton was sentenced to 6 months in prison followed by 18 months on probation in 1982.

On August 22, 1989, Newton was assassinated by a member of the BGF, named Tyrone Robinson.

Huey was 46 years old at the time of his assassination. Robinson was convicted of Huey’s murder in 1991 and sentenced to 32 years to life in prison. 

His wife, Fredricka Newton, carried on his legacy. 'Revolutionary Suicide,' his autobiography, was first published in 1973 and then republished in 1995.

Huey Newton was not perfect, but he did fight to protect the rights of the Black Community. The rights that we're still fighting for today.

__

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Ruby Bridges

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Henry "Box" Brown

___

My Sources

[27thfirefly]

i have been getting kind of interested in the idea of family abolition lately but i dont really know anything about it. i know its something that you’re pretty into so do you have any recommendations of things to read to start learning about it?

MY AGENDA YAAAY. ok ill list out the main couple of works that concern themselves with the abolition of the family - i've not read them through properly yet, but i'll try to include some choice excerpts for each:

friedrich engels - origin of the family, private property and the state, 1884

one of the first analyses of the changes of familial structures throughout society following economic developments, though not without its flaws in its anthropological terms. it details the mechanisms through which private property and thereby inheritance would become a driving force in creating what we recognize as the patriarchy today. less of a direct call for abolition than the next two but still very concerned with understanding and analysing the family as a tool through which capitalism reproduces itself.

"The original meaning of the word “family” (familia) is not that compound of sentimentality and domestic strife which forms the ideal of the present-day philistine; among the Romans it did not at first even refer to the married pair and their children, but only to the slaves. Famulus means domestic slave, and familia is the total number of slaves belonging to one man." (p. 31)

in general i'll always refer to marx or engels as the starting point for analysis of a lot of things, so you can also just take this as a blanket recommendation for their works. marxist feminism in general lays the foundation for family abolition, so i'd also recommend you read up on reproductive labour and other general feminist theory.

sophie lewis - abolish the family: a manifesto for care and liberation, 2022

a very comprehensive introduction to the concept of family abolition, with a lot of references to other authors and works to sink your teeth deeper into. i went to a talk about this book this summer with her as one of the speakers, so although i haven't read it yet, i can say that she presents the topic in a very engaging way. she stresses the intersectional nature of family abolition, discussing race and queerness and how these factors tie into family abolition and the tensions that can arise due to the family's role as a safety net and community.

If the family is a combined-and-uneven form of thriving, denied to some, while being a combined-and-uneven mechanism of violence, concentrating power in the hands of others, it is foolish to imagine that there is an interpellative strategy we could “safely” choose that would also be adequate to the magnitude of the problem that is the family. One option is to specify, when we talk about abolition of the family, that we mean the white, cisheteropatriarchal, nuclear, colonial family. This might feel safer, but might actually pose more dangers in its invitation to excuse or romanticize the political character of all nonwhite, mixed, gay, and/or indigenous homes, while neglecting most people’s family-abolitionist needs and excluding them from family abolitionist politics!

m.e. o'brien - family abolition: capitalism and the communizing of care, 2023

a general run-through of a. the violence enacted through and within the family, and how the idea of the family as a private household serves to reproduce capitalist society, b. the history of the family and its forms throughout capitalist society, and c. speculations on how an anti-capitalist revolution would necessitate a total rethinking and restructuring of how we approach care and the labour that is currently being done within the family rather than through communal efforts or larger systems.

"Family abolition is the horizon of collective love. We place vast hopes and desires in the family: for care, for sex, for consistency over time, for unconditional support, for material aid, for entertainment, for providing stability in daily life. At these, the family is generally a catastrophic failure and often an alienated disappointment. Our available alternatives are rarely any better. These positive human needs can only be fulfilled in the overcoming of the family and all the institutions of capitalist society. It is only through our collective emancipation that we can forge the relationships of love and care that we all yearn for, that we all desperately need." (p. 250)

m.e. o'brien has also co-authored a speculative fiction book together with eman abdelhadi called everything for everyone, which takes place in a near future after a revolution and the establishment of a commune in new york city. from the excerpts i've read it seems like a very interesting take on how communal care could look like in a modern society.

feel free to contact me if you want pdfs of the books mentioned in this post!

[kemetic-dreams]

"The original "Uncle Tom",

Rev. Josiah Henson and wife; Dresden ,Canada (c1907)

Josiah Henson (June 15, 1789 – May 5, 1883) was an author, abolitionist, and minister. Born into slavery in Charles County, Maryland, he escaped to Upper Canada (now Ontario) in 1830, and founded a settlement and laborer's school for other fugitive slaves at Dawn, near Dresden in Kent County. Henson's autobiography, The Life of Josiah Henson, Formerly a Slave, Now an Inhabitant of Canada, as Narrated by Himself (1849), is widely believed to have inspired the character of the fugitive slave, George Harris, in Harriet Beecher Stowe's Uncle Tom's Cabin (1852), who returned to Kentucky for his wife and escaped across the Ohio River, eventually to Canada. Following the success of Stowe's novel, Henson issued an expanded version of his memoir in 1858, Truth Stranger Than Fiction. Father Henson's Story of His Own Life (published Boston: John P. Jewett & Company, 1858). Interest in his life continued, and nearly two decades later, his life story was updated and published as Uncle Tom's Story of His Life: An Autobiography of the Rev. Josiah Henson (1876).

Josiah Henson was born on a farm near Port Tobacco in Charles County, Maryland. When he was a boy, his father was punished for standing up to a slave owner, receiving one hundred lashes and having his right ear nailed to the whipping-post, and then cut off. His father was later sold to someone in Alabama. Following his family's master's death, young Josiah was separated from his mother, brothers, and sisters.His mother pleaded with her new owner Isaac Riley, Riley agreed to buy back Henson so she could at least have her youngest child with her; on condition he would work in the fields. Riley would not regret his decision, for Henson rose in his owners' esteem, and was eventually entrusted as the supervisor of his master's farm, located in Montgomery County, Maryland (in what is now North Bethesda). In 1825, Mr. Riley fell onto economic hardship and was sued by a brother in law. Desperate, he begged Henson (with tears in his eyes) to promise to help him. Duty bound, Henson agreed. Mr. R then told him that he needed to take his 18 slaves to his brother in Kentucky by foot. They arrived in Daviess County Kentucky in the middle of April 1825 at the plantation of Mr. Amos Riley. In September 1828 Henson returned to Maryland in an attempt to buy his freedom from Issac Riley.

He tried to buy his freedom by giving his master $350 which he had saved up, and a note promising a further $100. Originally Henson only needed to pay the extra $100 by note, Mr. Riley however, added an extra zero to the paper and changed the fee to $1000. Cheated of his money, Henson returned to Kentucky and then escaped to Kent County, U.C., in 1830, after learning he might be sold again. There he founded a settlement and laborer's school for other fugitive slaves at Dawn, Upper Canada. Henson crossed into Upper Canada via the Niagara River, with his wife Nancy and their four children. Upper Canada had become a refuge for slaves from the United States after 1793, when Lieutenant-Governor John Graves Simcoe passed "An Act to prevent further introduction of Slaves, and to limit the Term of Contracts for Servitude within this Province". The legislation did not immediately end slavery in the colony, but it did prevent the importation of slaves, meaning that any U.S. slave who set foot in what would eventually become Ontario, was free. By the time Henson arrived, others had already made Upper Canada home, including African Loyalists from the American Revolution, and refugees from the War of 1812.

Henson first worked farms near Fort Erie, then Waterloo, moving with friends to Colchester by 1834 to set up a African settlement on rented land. Through contacts and financial assistance there, he was able to purchase 200 acres (0.81 km2) in Dawn Township, in next-door Kent County, to realize his vision of a self-sufficient community. The Dawn Settlement eventually prospered, reaching a population of 500 at its height, and exporting black walnut lumber to the United States and Britain. Henson purchased an additional 200 acres (0.81 km2) next to the Settlement, where his family lived. Henson also became an active Methodist preacher, and spoke as an abolitionist on routes between Tennessee and Ontario. He also served in the Canadian army as a military officer, having led a African militia unit in the Rebellion of 1837. Though many residents of the Dawn Settlement returned to the United States after slavery was abolished there, Henson and his wife continued to live in Dawn for the rest of their lives. Henson died at the age of 93 in Dresden, on May 5, 1883.

[beevean]

We finally watched Nocturne.

... what? No, no endless post this time :P not only because it's just one season. It's just as I expected: it's not as infuriating as its big sibling. (unless you're familiar with the French Revolution coughcough@the-crow-binary)

We only watched the first four episodes so far, and I have already said a lot, so let's go.

The thing I complained the most about, I noticed, was the worldbuilding, mostly how vampires work. The original show "elfified" vampires, only keeping the basic traits "need blood, don't like sunlight or running water, can turn into things like bats and mist". They were portrayed as this ancient rage, one with its own culture (much superior than the dumb humans who forget everything because church bad): they sleep normally, they can eat food if they so wish, apparently they can have sex with zero issues lol, and infamously child vampires are treated as, well, innocent children and not as poor human kids suffering a terrible fate. Trevor even kindly tells us that the reason vampires hate crosses regardless of their faith is because their eyesight is so advanced that they freak out at the sight of geometrical shapes. The only monstruous trait they have is that apparently they have a tendency to go insane and crave power. Honestly, they kind of remind me of Twilight.

And somehow Nocturne manages to get it worse.

Now, yes, vampires in Nocturne bite far more often than in the OG show. I think in that other show we see them doing that... twice? And Carmilla and Lenore lick Hector's blood; then they just drink from their stock of blood à la Drac from SoTN. Anyway, Nocturne is more willing to show them as beasts, so good job. Hell, Sun Thundercat even turns a human!

But in this setting, vampires seem to not even have those few weaknesses they had in the OG show. For a story centered on how Sun Thundercat will bring eternal night to the world because sun is the number 1 obstacle to vampires, it's baffling how easily they can just walk around in plain daylight. Olrox looks out of the window with his face illuminated by the sun. Drolta can literally walk just fine, even without a parasol. @spinningbuster98 kept asking "why don't peasants or slaves just destroy the windows of the places where they know vampires live?" - well clearly they'd be fine!

And special shoutout to Drolta who openly mocks the concept of her being hurt by being in a church. At least in S1, Blue Fangs explained its presence in the Bishop's church by blaming his heinous actions for pushing God away.

Vampires are also shockingly well integrated into society. These extremely pale people, with visible pointy ears and long fangs, can chill around in a nice palace or stroll into a theatre, and no one bats an eye. How? In the OG show, vampires could be in a position of power (see the council of Styria), but they mostly worked from the shadows. Did humans just... accept the presence of these monsters?

(the cross weakness becomes way funnier now. Vampires are weak to the religion they used to believe in, so Annette can ask the help of the Christian God to harm previously Christian vampires. I actually like this. But then this makes that OG "vampires have super freaky eyesight" scene even stupider than it used to be)

Another point for the clumsy worldbuilding. Hey, remember how I complained that N!Hector wearing Hector's CoD outfit makes no sense? Because that's what he could cobble up from his old Devil Forgemaster uniform and it's basically the best he can wear for running through the country and fighting, while N!Hector 1) is still in Drac's service in S2 so you'd expect a more professional uniform from him, like the one worn by N!Isaac, and 2) he very much does not fight, making details like the arm guard and the single glove look redudant. We have a similar issue here: Maria, whose design was taken straight out of DXC, complains in the first episode that her mother is too poor to pay taxes. You can tell that she doesn't look that poor. To make things even worse, in the second episode, Tera is able to offer bread to Annette and Edouard: the French Revolution started, among other reasons, because even bread got ridiculously expensive for common people! So which is it? Is Maria one of the common people, or a well-off young woman who really has no business leading the revolution?

And this... is tied to other problems.

The French Revolution is nothing more than a shallow backdrop for the main plot being the Vampire Messiah being hyped up as the greatest evil to ever evil. You can tell the writers did not care when they cast Vaublanc, a real person who fought against slavery, as a vampire slaveowner. I think. I think you shouldn't do that.

The point is, it becomes increasingly jarring when you see that the main protagonists, the ones who spout the most generic "liberty, equality, fraternity"... are not even French. Maria has Russian origins, and as I've shown she seems to be doing well. Richter is a Romanian who grew up in the US. Annette, who gets to make a super epic speech about freedom, is a runaway from Saint-Domingue. Edouard is a rich opera singer, also from Saint-Domingue.

Oh, Annette.

You know, I want to say something. I'd have much more patience for her abrasive, ungrateful, condescending behavior, I'd justify it as a result of her trauma, if it weren't for how mean-spirited she is and for how no one seems to even react to her.

bruh.

You did that, huh. Richter has been nothing but kind and supportive to you, relating to the loss of your friend and of your mother - this isn't a Trevor situation where you can fall for what the story tells you and believe he's actually rude, no, Richter is on-screen a very nice guy! And you say that? To his face? After he revealed to you that the Belmonts used to do magic but he can't because he lost his mom? Something you should know how devastating it feels? And you THROW THAT TO HIS FACE??

Richter is the one who gasps, by the way. Maria and Tera over there? Nah they're just eating popcorn as this stranger is deliberately hitting Richter where it hurts the most. Thanks girls.

Oh but she's not done!

I know what this is. Look at her, the Stronk former slave who suffered Hardships which inherently makes her more Mature and World Wise, looking down on the two white French people who obviously had it so easy in their lives.

Hey, Ms. Adult. Who's the one who lost control of her powers, leading to Edouard becoming a Night Creature? Richter is too nice to throw that in your face. I'm not :)

Hey, Ms. I Suffered More Than You. Who's the one who only managed to save herself from the plantation only due to magical god-inherited powers? Which is also incredibly insensitive to the real-life slaves who managed to escape with nothing more but human skills and intellect?

Hey, Ms. I'm More Mature Than You Whiteys. Who's the one who needed the help of a rich half-white man to be protected? Not that you even know the concept of being grateful.

Uh, and Tera? You mind chiming in? You mind defending your daughter and your adopted son from this stranger who keeps being rude and disrespectful? No? Okay. She just suggests how to save Edouard, but lets Annette's words slide. You and Lisa can compete for the title of Mom of the Year.

Oh, but this is not a sexism or racism issue. This is literally the same thing as Alucard in S2 being the biggest hypercunt to Trevor, making fun of his traumatic childhood, cruelly mocking his family and his legacy, and treating him like he's nothing more than a failure of a drunkard when the dude has been nothing but a help in fights and gave them access to the vast Belmont Hold... and Sypha always rushed in Alucard's defense because boohoo his depression is an icy well of sadness, he Suffered More Than You!

This is just the writers shitting on the Belmonts, and I am sick of it. Trevor did not deserve this, and Richter doesn't deserve this.

Anyway, characters. I have little to say. Richter is the best one, being reasonably cocky as you would expect from him; not to an insufferable degree, just yeah he comes off as an immature young man who needs to grow up. I like him. Maria is a parody of teens on Twitter talking about seizing the means of production, and I kind of forget she's there. Annette, yeah :) Edouard got retroactively characterized after his death, but I still don't know how to describe his personality beyond "helpful" and "source of infodumps". Tera exists. The abbot is profoundly stupid for allying himself with vampires for the sake of crushing the "Godless" Revolution (there's an N!Hector joke to make here but it's not worth it). Drolta is basically Isaac who slapped a pair of tits on himself and just like that she's a beloved slay queen icon. Templar Agent Stone Mizrak is mere bara bait so far. Olrox... well, so far he's mildly intriguing for being outside of the hero/villain dichotomy. Kind of a tryhard, though, and I still don't know why he didn't just kill Richter.

My last complaint is that it's really boring how they hype up Sun Thundercat as this harbinger of DEATH AND SUFFERING AND PAIN AND TERROR way before we even see her. It reminds me of Alucard exposing how a world without humans would be: just this empty, edgy narration with nothing to show for it. But at least by then we had a taste of Dracula's anger and powers, so this is even worse. You need to try harder to build up an antagonist.

and finally, have the best moment in the whole franchise

BUT, AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

[thirdmagic]

its just not right that its been a year and there are still hostages who aren't home, whose families are still living in fear, uncertain of the fates of their children, parents, siblings, having to live every day not knowing if their most loved ones are even alive or not. its not right. i want to celebrate this new year joyfully, to go all out on the jewish joy and remember that am israel fucking hai that we are here and alive and keepig going no matter what all those who hate us wish for us, in spite of the best efforts of those who want to take that joy away from us and who want us to associate our most holy, sacred days with sadness and pain as a psychological terror tactic.

and yet. i also can't not think of the families of the murdered and the hostages, living every day in either grief for their losses or horrible, painful, sadistic uncertainty over whether their loved ones are aive or not. i cannot imagine simply living like that, i cannot imagine even surviving such a horrible pain, i feel it in me and i don't know how to deal with it even as jew and an israeli who doesn't know these victims, let alone as someone close to them, because they are my tribe and my people too.

how are we suppose to live like this. i refuse to give in to the pain and psychological terror that those who want us dead are trying to inflict on us, but i am also a human with felings, and this agony is just too much to bear. this is after all still my tribe, my family, and i feel their loss as if they were my immediate family. i don't know how to get through this kind of rosh hashanah i dont know how to fight this psychological terror that is being inflicted on us successfully despite our best efforts.

i was fortunate. i did not lose any family to the war and october 7th. i lost my grandfather to illness and human sturggle that kills many other people. i know he spent his past year stuck in a failing body, horribly humiliated that a brilliant mind like his that contributed so much to history and research was forced to endure being treated like a child, unable to even speak his own feeling and thoughts, and that hurt enough. I knew that hoe active brillian tried el hard to communicat to us and show us that he's still capable and aware in spite of the spitw of the failngs of his body. i cant not think or worry about the idea that i might lose them, every day. i am terrified of thunderstorms, i have panic attacks, i just heard booms in the distance while writing this that terrified me. and im still doing well compared to some of my friends, my classmates, family friends, people who lost their family, people who were called upon to serve knowing they might not survive it and might not see the bright future their youth promises. i cant not remain painfully aware that if any of my loved ones were lost to this cruel, hateful, sadistic violence, all my spite would not be enough to keep my spirit alive, and i feel as if by even speculating about this very extremely hypothetical idea i am inviting the ayin ha'raa.

i dont know. how do you move on? how do you live like this? how do you just survive this? i know my ancestors and parents and grandparents, my grandpa (z"l) survived this under a time where there was no israel as a safety net, survived the pogrom in proskurov and then lived in a place that was once the most jewish city in ukraine, renamed after the monster who incited that pogrom and its victims discarded in the name of a particular concept of revolution. my grandpa who lost his parents who were exiled to siberia and he was forced to survive on fishing with his grandmother in a barely habitable north without his parents, only because his mom wanted to honor our traditions and treat him as the jewish child that he was.

i know it can be worse, and still i am hurting so, so much, and i don't know what to do with that hurt. i dont know how to survive that pain as a tribe member not directly affected, and i dont know how to survive that pain as a parent, a child, or sibling. how do you keep going like this.

[strangedreamings]

S2E6 (spoilers abound)

Do we have to see Jaehaerys' body in the opening credits every week now?

Hi, Jason! Glad to see you're just as full of yourself as ever. He doesn't want to make a move without Aemond and Vhagar. Wow, and here I thought Tyland got all the brains.

"I am the Prince Regent, not a dog to be called to heel." Honey, you're both, and the sooner you can accept that, the happier all of us will be.

Ironrod suggests marrying Alicent to the Red Kraken (the current Lord Greyjoy). Dude, who do you think you are, Otto Hightower?

"The longer we wait, the more chance (Daemon) will prevail." No, no, keep waiting -- Alys and the curse of Harrenhal will drive him completely mad soon enough.

"My uncle is a challenge I welcome, if he dares to face me." I don't know how to break this to you, Aemond, but this crush of yours is not reciprocated.

Aemond fires Alicent from the Small Council and is a misogynistic dick about it. Alicent accuses him of still being angry about losing an eye. Honey, you're the one who wanted his nephew's eye taken in revenge, where did you think talk like that would lead?

Corlys wearing his Hand of the Queen pin. It looks good on you, dude.

Ah, the Sowing of the Dragonseeds. Rhaenyra's desperation for additional dragonriders is going to get a bunch of people killed or maimed.

The Small Council knows she is reaching and for fucking once, I agree with them. Maybe they'd take her seriously if she didn't sound like she was talking to her younger children.

Ser Steffon has so little Targ blood in him that it's not going to matter. Rhaenyra, this is such a dumb idea.

"Then perhaps the gods will favor us." Not unless the writers are going off-book (again).

Hi, Daemon. Which dead family member are you going to see tonight?

And he's back in the throne room, lovely. "The Heir for a Day" shit again? That must be really pressing on Daemon's conscience now that Viserys is dead.

Speaking of, hi, Viserys! Good to see you in (relative) health again. I hope HBO is paying all these cameo actors well, they all seem to be having a blast tormenting Daemon again (who looks truly devastated right now). HBO, you'd better be getting Matt's For Your Consideration campaign ready for next year's Emmys.

Ooo, a Rhea mention, even if we don't see her! I'll take it.

It's entirely possible that none of this is actually Alys or the curse's doing -- Daemon's conscience has more than enough fodder to torment him with. He hurt his brother, all three of his wives, and his daughters. It's about time all of that bothered him.

"...Stop watching me." And you still think you're fit to take KL by yourself? You're never leaving the Riverlands, Daemon.

"Daemon Targaryen asking for help?" "Counsel." He's losing his mind one night at a time but dammit, he's still got his wit.

"In three days' time, the winds will shift." Grover Tully is gonna die.

It's so dark in this cave that I can't tell which dragon that is. In the book, Steffon attempts to ride Seasmoke. Oh, it is Seasmoke. Thank God somebody said his name because he looks nearly black in the darkness.

"Do not show fear." Too late, Steffon is freaking the fuck out.

Just burn/eat him already, the tension is driving me nuts.

Is that dragontamer seriously just holding a long stick? Against a giant fire-breathing flying reptile?

Finally! Holy shit, that took FOREVER.

The Hull brothers are so goddamn hot. But don't think I didn't notice, Ryan, that the first person we see after Seasmoke's little barbecue is Addam. :P

So, is this madam TRYING to start a rebellion or what? "And his rightful heir denied her seat." Yep, she's trying.

"You have forgotten to fear me." You're going to have to do more than slap him, Rhaenyra.

Oh, the madam is working for Mysaria, got it. This really could work.

"This becomes you." Yeah, a sword in her hand so she can actually do her own fighting. Too bad nobody taught her how to use it.

Didn't the French Revolution start because of a famine? The smallfolk don't care who's on the throne as long as their bellies are full.

Oh Dear God, Otto as Hand to Aemond? Well, at least those Small Council meetings won't be boring.

Aemond's going to smother Aegon II with a pillow, I just know it. Aegon whimpers when he sees Aemond and you can't blame him. TGC is killing it with the agony, he needs a For Your Consideration campaign too.

"I remember nothing." I don't believe you and, unfortunately, Aemond doesn't either.

Rhaena and Joffrey come across a scorched area but they're in the Vale, who could've done that? Now she's in Aegon III and Viserys II's nursery with the boys and a baby dragon that I assume is Aegon's Stormcloud. Cute little dragon.

"You hate it here." Jeyne, you're not doing a damn thing to change her mind.

"Wild." So, are we talking Grey Ghost, the Cannibal, or Sheepstealer? Fuck, I guess this means the Rhaena-Nettles fusion rumor is true, if the wild dragon is Sheepstealer.

Rhaenyra is sending care packages to the people of KL. I fucking LOVE this!

Dammit, I don't want to like Gwayne Hightower but the actor has been making that fucking difficult. "He's kind." The delivery of that, you can tell Gwayne knows that's what Alicent wants to hear.

Rioting in the streets over Rhaenyra's care packages. Okay, maybe this was a bad idea, but it's certainly sowing rebellion.

Larys was born at Harrenhal? That explains SO MUCH. Him aligning himself with Aegon II is interesting and he's right, Aemond wants to kill his brother. Let's see where this goes.

Daemon's vision again. Looks like Aemma's death, great. I truly think Daemon loved Viserys, he was just too self-centered to express that love properly.

"Lord Grover is dead." Called it! Oh, Alys absolutely fucking killed him.

Addam and Seasmoke. Seasmoke misses Laenor and he can presumably tell that Addam is Laenor's kinsman (half-brother).

Is Seasmoke LAUGHING at Addam?

Holy fucking shit, I did not appreciate that jump scare!

Mysaria's backstory is fucking dark, even for GRRM.

Well, this is a ship I never thought I'd see on this show. I don't ship it but I'm sure there are fans out there who are absolutely thrilled right now.

Rhaenyra on Syrax, there's something we haven't seen in a while.

They're ending the episode there? We know it's Addam on Seasmoke, this isn't exactly news to the audience. Bah.

Preview for next week. "With these dragons, peace will be restored." *laughs from having read "Fire and Blood"* And they call Helaena a Dreamer.

[arwcn]

isopod update!

one of the porcellionides pruinosus molted and left his shirt on a leaf for his children to find (former shirt-owner pictured in the background) and i fully thought he had been guillotined in a tiny french revolution 😭 then i was like OH he molted. thank goodness

speaking of the p pruinosus, their current baby count is 39 (i just count the ones that i can see without taking the lid off or disturbing them) and the total pod count is over 50 (?!) it’s been less than two months and the 10 adults have really turned on the printing press. the bebbes love hanging out on the cork bark and nibbling the moss!

the american magic potions are still chilling out, they just eat their moss and nap all day. no bebbes, but that might be a good thing haha

[haggishlyhagging]

[Note: Written in 1990. Long quote but a good analysis of how leftist men reacted to second wave feminism.]

The second wave of the women's liberation movement was born a brief twenty-two years ago. A large segment of this movement was generated by left-wing women who painfully discovered that their male comrades dismissed their struggle as trivial compared to the "larger issues" of classism, racism, capitalism, and imperialism. The male mentality could not, or would not, grasp the premise that women, as a sex, suffered from discrimination, rape, and battering, whether located in the gilded cages of suburbia or the slums of the inner city. After many bitter confrontations, these women came to understand that men, whether Marxists or reactionary warmongers, were equally reluctant to forego their male prerogatives. So they struck out for themselves, and created the radical arm of the women's liberation movement.

When the sit-ins, street theater, antiwar demonstrations, and student rebellions dissipated in a conservative climate no longer conducive to their protests, the revolutionaries of the 1960s and early 1970s exchanged Karl Marx, Mao, and Che Guevera for the teachings of Eastern gurus, Werner Ehrhart (EST founder), the American Civil Liberties Union, and the Human Potential Movement. They moved from collective freedom to freedom of the spirit, from group action to self-assertiveness, from the rights of the oppressed to the individual right of Nazis and pornographers, and from radical change to superficial reform. The radicals of the 1960s became the liberals of the 1970s and 1980s and in the process undermined the work of the women's movement.

For a while "women's liberation" was a household word and it was no longer fashionable to belittle its impact. The simultaneous emergence of the "sexual revolution," however, became a convenient, though erroneous, synonym for "feminist revolution." It offered some free thinkers the comfortable illusion of tolerating feminism without depriving men of their legacy of sexual privilege. They could support issues favoring birth control and abortion; these issues eased sexual access to women without the responsibility for unwanted pregnancy. They could with good conscience, enjoy Playboy and Penthouse as women-loving feminist publications and still retain the identification of women as sexually available playthings. Others, who wanted in on the then-exciting attention-getting women’s movement, adapted the principles of feminism to a masculine cause. The “feminine mystique” was replicated by the "masculine mystique"; women as "sex objects" were matched by men as "achiever objects," and the stifling sex roles which socialized women to be passive and dependent were equated with stifling sex roles which conditioned men to be brave, strong, domineering, and independent. Just as women sought to free themselves from the constraints of sex roles, so men wanted to break the bonds of machismo (Joseph Pleck and Jack Sawyer, 1974). From the rib of the women's liberation movement, the men's liberation movement was born.

Men's meetings and consciousness-raising groups were organized. Books and articles appeared announcing that men's emotional lives were stunted. Being a master was a burden. Men no longer wanted the strain of competition or of living up to a masculine image of strength, success, and sexual performance. Warren Farrell, prime organizer and founder of this movement, said in his book The Liberated Man: "This is the only revolution (women's) in which the alleged oppressed is in love with and sharing children with the oppressor. . . . Therefore this makes it possible for the growth of one person to benefit from the growth of the other" (Warren Farrell, 1975: p. 5). This struck a chord in many women. He offered the possibility that these newly sensitive men understood the plight of women and wanted to change and grow by embracing and integrating the precepts of feminism.

On the surface, the pleas of the men's liberationists were very appealing; but closer examination and personal experience revealed a self-serving program and a disarming strategy to defuse the threat to male hegemony posed by our movement. Male liberationists overlooked the fact that, no matter how much women tried, their association with "feminist" men was opportunistically exploited in the work place, the home, the family, and in bed. This oversight was the logical consequence of misinterpreting female emancipation as a boon to men. The financially independent woman, Farrell claimed, will share the breadwinning burden, will no longer use men as "security objects," and will give men more time to spend with the children. The woman in control of her life will not feel the need to control her husband and, in case of divorce, will relieve him of alimony and child support. And, most important, since men traditionally make "the pass" and expose their "fragile egos" to the "emotional hurt" of refusal, the sexually free women will do the asking and men will have the opportunity to do the rejecting. But, Farrell warned, "Men cannot be expected to participate in these changes unless women's liberation is redefined as a two-sex movement which provides enough benefits for men to make the change worthwhile" (Warren Farrell, 1975: p. 161).

What changes is Farrell talking about? Farrell and his followers managed not to notice that working women have always shared the breadwinning burden and, in today's standard two-income home, they do so more than ever. They ignored the fact that men have always availed themselves of women's income and labor as much for their own security as the reverse; that men have always had the greater need to exercise control over either financially dependent or independent women; that they rarely use leisure time with children, rarely meet alimony and child-support obligations and that men, traditionally in the driver's seat, more often than not humiliate and reject women sexually and otherwise. Farrell's platform for a two-sex movement was carried a step further by the Berkeley Men's Center Manifesto. It proposed that "human liberation" is the only ultimate goal because "all liberation movements are equally important; there is no hierarchy in oppression" (Joseph Pleck & Jack Sawyer, 1974: p. 174). Clearly, these men had not the slightest understanding of what the women's movement was all about. Had they bothered to learn, they might know that movement women never sought to entice men with rewards nor make compromises in exchange for their support. Had they bothered to investigate sexist history, they might know that, vis-a-vis men and women, there has always existed a hierarchy of oppression, that even the most subjugated and enslaved men have always kept women in a state of subordination.

The concept of male liberation has no basis in history because men, as a sex, were never oppressed within age-old established patriarchal ideology, which still controls our social structure and its institutions. Consequently, male liberationists invented their own agenda, which would allow them to continue to enjoy their existing advantages at the expense of women's existing disadvantages. And their goals for human liberation—more cooptation than a mutually beneficial alliance—could only dull the sharp edges of sexist politics to nonthreatening ineffectiveness. Their platform merely reinforced the entrenched sexist status quo. And when women would not buy their proposals, would not accept them as our benefactors nor allow them to piggy-back off our movement, male liberationists did not retreat graciously; they became angrier and nastier.

-Florence Rush, “The Many Faces of Backlash” in The Sexual Liberals and the Attack on Feminism

[nordleuchten]

The Story of Adrienne (1800) and Pauline (1797)

I often go on and on about how fascinated I am by the time the La Fayette’s and the Noialles’ spend in exile at the estates Wittmoldt and Lehmkuhlen. Many modern books and publications cover this episode only sparsely – and to be honest, at first glance, events like the American and French Revolution for example appear to be the more interesting, more important and more dramatic chapters in La Fayette’s life. I would like to make the point, that the families time in exile should not be underestimated and that many things happen there, that profoundly influenced the La Fayette’s and their kin. This episode is also a fine example of the family interacting with people outside their usual sphere. People from a different country, a different culture, often with different perceptions.

The other day I was reading a book about Wittmoldt, both the Wittmoldt estate as well as the small village by the same name nearby. The book was written by the head teacher of the local school and a large part of his book deals with the school, its pupils and former teachers throughout time. The book mentions a former head teacher, Detlef Ludwig Petersen, who lived at the Wittmoldt estate during a time where Wittmoldt had many different owners and inhabitants – Madame de Tessé, Adrienne de La Fayette’s aunt, among them.

Now, what is so special about Petersen? He and his wife had four children. Three of them were born in Güsdorf, a neighbouring village, before the Petersen’s moved to Wittmoldt. While living at the Wittmoldt estate they had one last child, a daughter named Adrienne Pauline. My interest was immediately peaked since the name was not only very French – in contrast to the very German names of the first three children, but also the names of the French inhabitants of Wittmoldt at the time.

La Fayette’s wife and her aunt were both named Adrienne and there was also a younger sister, La Fayette’s sister-in-law, who stayed at Wittmoldt and that was named Pauline. This could hardly be a coincidence! I had a look at the archival records and found the entry of Adrienne Pauline’s baptism.

Landeskirchliches Archiv der Evang.-Luth. Kirche, Kirchenkreis Plön-Segeberg, Plön, Taufen 1764-1800, p. 247.

The child was born on April 23, 1800 and baptised four days later on April 27.

But wait! That is not all!

While going through the records, I found a second child with a name too extraordinary to be a coincidence.

Landeskirchliches Archiv der Evang.-Luth. Kirche, Kirchenkreis Plön-Segeberg, Plön, Taufen 1764-1800, p. 203.

Pauline Adrienne Alexandrine was born on September 23, 1797, and baptised on September 29. Not only is her name a direct reference to the two sisters and their aunt, but the record also reveals that both Madame de Tessé, as well as Pauline, Marquise de Montague were witnesses to the proceedings.

The name of Pauline Adrienne Alexandrine’s father does not ring a bell for me, but her mother’s maiden name was Petersen. Now, Petersen is and always has been a very, very common German surname and therefor this could be two different Petersen-families. But Wittmoldt is still a very small village with few inhabitants and things were not looking any different at the turn of the 19th century. It is therefore entirely possible (and in my opinion quite likely) that not one, but two couples in the Petersen-family decided to name their daughter after Adrienne and Pauline.

(I think that the Adrienne, Madame de Tessé, played a bigger role here then Adrienne, Marquise de La Fayette since de Tessé owned Wittmoldt, lived there longer than her niece and was directly referred by name in the records of the 1797 baptism.)

This might not be a big and flashy story compared with some of La Fayette’s exploits during the American Revolution for example, but I like to believe that this is a very human story. The little things, the silent connections that speak of respect and intimate relationships - stories that are history without making history.

[dailyanarchistposts]

F.8.2 What was the social context of the statement “laissez-faire?”

The honeymoon of interests between the early capitalists and autocratic kings did not last long. “This selfsame monarchy, which for weighty reasons sought to further the aims of commercial capital and was… itself aided in its development by capital, grew at last into a crippling obstacle to any further development of European industry.” [Rudolf Rocker, Nationalism and Culture, p. 117]

This is the social context of the expression “laissez-faire” — a system which has outgrown the supports that protected it in its early stages. Just as children eventually rebel against the protection and rules of their parents, so the capitalists rebelled against the over-bearing support of the absolutist state. Mercantilist policies favoured some industries and harmed the growth of others. The rules and regulations imposed upon those it did favour reduced the flexibility of capitalists to changing environments. As Rocker argues, “no matter how the absolutist state strove, in its own interest, to meet the demands of commerce, it still put on industry countless fetters which became gradually more and more oppressive … [it] became an unbearable burden … which paralysed all economic and social life.” [Op. Cit., p. 119] All in all, mercantilism became more of a hindrance than a help and so had to be replaced. With the growth of economic and social power by the capitalist class, this replacement was made easier. As Errico Malatesta notes:

“The development of production, the vast expansion of commerce, the immeasurable power assumed by money … have guaranteed this supremacy [of economic power over political power] to the capitalist class which, no longer content with enjoying the support of the government, demanded that government arise from its own ranks. A government which owed its origin to the right of conquest … though subject by existing circumstances to the capitalist class, went on maintaining a proud and contemptuous attitude towards its now wealthy former slaves, and had pretensions to independence of domination. That government was indeed the defender, the property owners’ gendarme, but the kind of gendarmes who think they are somebody, and behave in an arrogant manner towards the people they have to escort and defend, when they don’t rob or kill them at the next street corner; and the capitalist class got rid of it . .. and replac[ed] it by a government of its own choosing, at all times under its control and specifically organised to defend that class against any possible demands by the disinherited.” [Anarchy, pp. 22–3]

Malatesta here indicates the true meaning of “leave us alone,” or “laissez-faire.” The absolutist state (not “the state” per se) began to interfere with capitalists’ profit-making activities and authority, so they determined that it had to go — which the rising capitalist class did when they utilised such popular movements as the English, French and American revolutions. In such circumstances, when the state is not fully controlled by the capitalist class, then it makes perfect sense to oppose state intervention no matter how useful it may have been in the past — a state run by aristocratic and feudal landlords does not produce class legislation in quite the right form. That changes when members of the capitalist class hold state power and when the landlords start acting more like rural capitalists and, unsurprisingly, laissez-faire was quickly modified and then abandoned once capitalists could rely on a capitalist state to support and protect its economic power within society.

When capitalism had been rid of unwanted interference by the hostile use of state power by non-capitalist classes then laissez-faire had its utility (just as it has its utility today when attacking social welfare). Once this had been accomplished then state intervention in society was encouraged and applauded by capitalists. “It is ironic that the main protagonists of the State, in its political and administrative authority, were the middle-class Utilitarians, on the other side of whose Statist banner were inscribed the doctrines of economic Laissez Faire.” [E.P. Thompson, The Making of the English Working Class, p. 90] Capitalists simply wanted capitalist states to replace monarchical states, so that heads of government would follow state economic policies regarded by capitalists as beneficial to their class as a whole. And as development economist Lance Taylor argues:

“In the long run, there are no laissez-faire transitions to modern economic growth. The state has always intervened to create a capitalist class, and then it has to regulate the capitalist class, and then the state has to worry about being taken over by the capitalist class, but the state has always been there.” [quoted by Noam Chomsky, Year 501, p. 104]

In order to attack mercantilism, the early capitalists had to ignore the successful impact of its policies in developing industry and a “store of wealth” for future economic activity. As William Lazonick points out, “the political purpose of [Adam Smith’s] the Wealth of Nations was to attack the mercantilist institutions that the British economy had built up over the previous two hundred years. Yet in proposing institutional change, Smith lacked a dynamic historical analysis. In his attack on these institutions, Smith might have asked why the extent of the world market available to Britain in the late eighteenth century was so uniquely under British control. If Smith had asked this ‘big question,’ he might have been forced to grant credit for Britain’s extent of the world market to the very mercantilist institutions he was attacking.” Moreover, he “might have recognised the integral relation between economic and political power in the rise of Britain to international dominance.” Overall, ”[w]hat the British advocates of laissez-faire neglected to talk about was the role that a system of national power had played in creating conditions for Britain to embark on its dynamic development path … They did not bother to ask how Britain had attained th[e] position [of ‘workshop of the world’], while they conveniently ignored the on going system of national power — the British Empire — that … continued to support Britain’s position.” [Business Organisation and the Myth of the Market Economy, p. 2, p. 3 and p.5]

Similar comments are applicable to American supporters of laissez faire who fail to notice that the “traditional” American support for world-wide free trade is quite a recent phenomenon. It started only at the end of the Second World War (although, of course, within America military Keynesian policies were utilised). While American industry was developing, the state and capitalist class had no time for laissez-faire (see section F.8.5 for details). After it had grown strong, the United States began preaching laissez-faire to the rest of the world — and began to kid itself about its own history, believing its slogans about laissez-faire as the secret of its success. Yet like all other successful industrialisers, the state could aid capitalists directly and indirectly (via tariffs, land policy, repression of the labour movement, infrastructure subsidy and so on) and it would “leave them alone” to oppress and exploit workers, exploit consumers, build their industrial empires and so forth.

Takis Fotopoules indicates that the social forces at work in “freeing” the market did not represent a “natural” evolution towards freedom:

“Contrary to what liberals and Marxists assert, marketisation of the economy was not just an evolutionary process, following the expansion of trade under mercantilism … modern [i.e. capitalist] markets did not evolve out of local markets and/or markets for foreign goods … the nation-state, which was just emerging at the end of the Middle Ages, played a crucial role creating the conditions for the ‘nationalisation’ of the market … and … by freeing the market from effective social control.” [“The Nation-state and the Market”, pp. 37–80 Society and Nature, Vol. 2, No. 2, pp. 44–45]

The “freeing” of the market means freeing those who “own” most of the market (i.e. the wealthy elite) from “effective social control,” but the rest of society was not as lucky. Kropotkin makes a similar point: “While giving the capitalist any degree of free scope to amass his wealth at the expense of the helpless labourers, the government has nowhere and never … afforded the labourers the opportunity ‘to do as they pleased’.” [Anarchism, p. 182]

So, the expression “laissez-faire” dates from the period when capitalists were objecting to the restrictions that helped create them in the first place. It has little to do with freedom as such and far more to do with the needs of capitalist power and profits. It should also be remembered that at this time the state was run by the rich and for the rich. Elections, where they took place, involved the wealthiest of male property owners. This meant there were two aspects in the call for laissez-faire. On the one hand, by the elite to eliminate regulations and interventions they found burdensome and felt unnecessary as their social position was secure by their economic power (mercantilism evolved into capitalism proper when market power was usually sufficient to produce dependency and obedience as the working class had been successfully dispossessed from the land and the means of production). On the other, serious social reformers (like Adam Smith) who recognised that the costs of such elite inspired state regulations generally fell on working class people. The moral authority of the latter was used to bolster the desire of the former to maximise their wealth by imposing costs of others (workers, customers, society and the planet’s eco-system) with the state waiting in the wings to support them as and when required.

Unsurprising, working class people recognised the hypocrisy of this arrangement (even if most modern-day right-“libertarians” do not and provide their services justifying the actions and desires of repressive and exploitative oligarchs seeking monopolistic positions). They turned to political and social activism seeking to change a system which saw economic and political power reinforce each other. Some (like the Chartists and Marxists) argued for political reforms to generalise democracy into genuine one person, one vote. In this way, political liberty would be used to end the worse excesses of so-called “economic liberty” (i.e., capitalist privilege and power). Others (like mutualists) aimed at economic reforms which ensure that the capitalist class would be abolished by means of genuine economic freedom. Finally, most other anarchists argued that revolutionary change was required as the state and capitalism were so intertwined that both had to be ended at the same time. However, the struggle against state power always came from the general population. As Murray Bookchin argued, it is an error to depict this “revolutionary era and its democratic aspirations as ‘bourgeois,’ an imagery that makes capitalism a system more committed to freedom, or even ordinary civil liberties, than it was historically.” [From Urbanisation to Cities, p. 180f] While the capitalist class may have benefited from such popular movements as the English, American and French revolutions but these revolutions were not led, never mind started or fought, by the bourgeoisie.

Not much as changed as capitalists are today seeking maximum freedom from the state to ensure maximum authority over their wage slaves and society. The one essential form of support the “Libertarian” right wants the state (or “defence” firms) to provide capitalism is the enforcement of property rights — the right of property owners to “do as they like” on their own property, which can have obvious and extensive social impacts. What “libertarian” capitalists object to is attempts by others — workers, society as a whole, the state, etc. — to interfere with the authority of bosses. That this is just the defence of privilege and power (and not freedom) has been discussed in section B and elsewhere in section F, so we will not repeat ourselves here. Samuel Johnson once observed that “we hear the loudest yelps for liberty among the drivers of Negroes.” [quoted by Noam Chomsky, Year 501, p. 141] Our modern “libertarian” capitalist drivers of wage-slaves are yelping for exactly the same kind of “liberty.”