#september 5 protest | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

corralinesage · 17 days ago

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Child of September (5/?)

Shoutout to @loveisanimaginarydagger3000 for buying the sexiest blanket in the world and giving me the inspiration for this oneshot ;) <3

18+ SMUT WARNING, MATURE

5. Payback's a bitch

“What do you think about this?” You brought a small, square card to Natasha’s nose, giving her a chance to smell the fragrance you had just sprayed on a thin piece of cardboard.

“Darling, the perfume is for you”, she said softly, giving you a small smile. “You can choose whatever you want”, she reminded you, her brow arching at the sharp scent. The perfume she had gifted you a year ago had run out, and as much as you loved the scent, you felt like venturing out more and trying something new.

“Yes, but I want you to like it.” You were already looking at a new bottle of perfume among the long row of them, clearly not impressed by the sample you had given to Natasha.

“I’ll like anything you choose”, she reasoned, earning an annoyed look from you.

“No, you won’t.” You knew for certain that Natasha was someone who appreciated a good perfume. She was by no means indifferent about smells. When you smelled good, it brought her to you like a moth to a flame. It made her cling to you in a whole different way. You could always tell the difference.

“Fine, let me smell that one”, she relented, receiving another piece of cardboard to smell. You had been at the mall for quite some time that afternoon. Natasha had met up with you after classes to come shopping with you for some essentials that you had been meaning to get all fall. You had gotten yourself some makeup products, missing art supplies, and finally gone sniffing perfumes to find one that you could possibly take home with you. She took a shallow whiff of the next scent, not all that keen on switching up what had become your signature scent over the past year. It reminded her of how you had met and how you had made her feel at the time. She couldn’t imagine finding a new, equally good perfume, let alone a better one. She shook her head gently, her nose scrunching up in protest. “You’d smell like one of those women who have a crusty poodle.” You let out a chortle, placing the bottle back in its rightful place. So that was a no.

“How about this?” You smelled another bottle before spraying it on a piece of cardboard. Natasha eyed the packaging warily, her judgement of the exterior predicting her verdict rather accurately. She shook her head again, her hands reaching for the jar of coffee beans on the shelf before you.

“You won’t find a new one if you keep asking for my opinion”, she warned, breathing in the stuffy smell of stale coffee. “Nothing can top your current scent.”

“You’re a big fan of that one, aren’t you, love?” You gave her a teasing look, Natasha rolling her eyes in good nature.

“It holds a lot of memories.” She had a slight pout on her lips as she eyed the perfumes.

“I told you, darling. I’m getting more of that scent as well”, you said gently, turning to the side to see her face.

“I’m just saying. Nothing can top the one I got you.” You smiled brightly, touched by her rather obvious attachment to your scent.

“You’re more than right.” You continued browsing through the perfumes, sniffing them one after the other, visiting the coffee jar a few times to neutralize your sense of smell before going right back to work. You went through maybe ten, maybe twenty bottles of perfume, discovering a few that you liked, but nothing that quite stood out to you. That was until you found a bit more expensive shelf of scents. Your eyes landed on a gorgeous bottle that immediately stuck out to you among the rest. It was a tall, slender bottle made out of black glass, the name written in gold cursive, a few gold accents decorating the glass. You simply had to know what it smelled like, your hands reaching for the bottle like a child reaching for a ridiculously large lollipop at a candy store. You pulled the cap off, bringing the sprayer to your nose, your eyes widening immediately. You inhaled the smell a little deeper, making sure you were truly smelling what you were smelling. Your eyes fluttered shut on their own. It was one of the most pleasant scents you had come across in a long time. You took another deep breath. It was so rich, but not too stuffy. It was perfectly balanced and exactly what you had been looking for. It felt like it was made for you.

“I think this could be it”, you said in excitement, turning around to find Natasha. “Mmh, this smells so good. God”, you groaned, barely able to move the bottle from your nose for long enough to spray it on a piece of cardboard for Natasha.

“Let’s see then. This one better be good, you’re starting to make noises only I should be pulling out of you.” You felt your cheeks flush with warmth at the look she gave you as she brought her nose forward to smell the scent, its depth and tones catching her by surprise in the most wonderful way imaginable. Her slightly widened eyes turned to you, an approving look forming onto her face. “Mmh, that’s… I really like that one”, she admitted in mild astonishment after having scrunched her nose to the last fifteen perfumes you had sampled.

“Really?”

“I guess there’s only one way to find out”, she mused, taking the bottle from your hand. You had a confused frown on your features when she pulled you close by your waist, her other hand tilting your chin up to bare your neck, carefully pulling back your fluffy scarf. She applied some of the perfume on your skin, the cold spray nearly making you shiver as it settled over your skin. She set the bottle down as she waited for the perfume to dry before bringing you closer, dipping her head down, her nose brushing up the side of your neck. She inhaled deeply, shivers running down your spine as goosebumps erupted over the skin of your forearms. You suddenly felt breathless, your eyelids fluttering shut as your heartbeat picked up into a rapid flutter. Her warm breath tickled your neck as her lips grazed over your skin, hands squeezing your waist, sending a spark of heat through you. She placed gentle kisses up to your ear, the sound of her breathing making your knees weak. “You smell good enough to eat”, she whispered, her hand sliding inside your long coat and over your hip to the curve of your behind, pulling you flush against her, sending a violently strong jolt of pleasure up your spine. You let out a shaky sigh, leaning into her touch, your search for a perfume completely forgotten. “This is the one”, she chuckled quietly, pulling away from you to find that specific look of lust in your eyes, the corner of her mouth quirking up into a smug smirk.

“We’ll get a bottle of that then. What else did you need, detka?” You needed a moment to collect yourself, pushing aside the warmth that stirred between your legs from the pressure of Natasha’s hand on your ass, fingertips a little too low on your body for the public but thankfully hidden by your coat.

“I need… um, uh… lingerie”, you mumbled a bit incoherently, Natasha’s lips stretching into a smug smirk from how affected you were.

“Then we better change sections.” With a packaged bottle of perfume in hand, she guided you into another corner of the department store to find the extensive selection of lingerie that distracted you slightly from the ghost of Natasha’s touch that somehow seemed to linger on your buttocks. “What are you looking for?” She asked as you both browsed through the bras and underwear, Natasha eyeing some of the more casual pieces with the intention of maybe finding something for herself since she was already there.

“A set.”

“What kind of set?” She looked at you curiously, clearly intrigued. You merely glanced at her, going back to skimming over some blush toned lace bras on display.

“Something with lace.” Your fingers touched the different styles of lace, studying the intricate patterns.

“Hmm, you wouldn’t happen to need your bust measured, would you?” Natasha asked without an ounce of shame in her voice, glancing toward the fitting rooms. You turned to look at her, a sly smile finding your face. “The sizing can be tricky with this brand”, she mused innocently, shrugging her shoulders as she looked at the rack of bras before you.

“Uh huh.” You couldn’t help but to chuckle. “We did that last time. What was my size again?”

“A nice handful.” Natasha snickered quietly into her brown scarf, her mirthful eyes lingering on you. She looked downright adorable, her red curls framing her face in the most beautiful manner, a very vivid memory of her in a similar get up on a snowy day the previous winter flashing across your mind. You needed to do a portrait of her in the snow with her comically large scarf and beautiful red curls, blushed cheeks and playful eyes. You smiled to yourself, shaking your head in disbelief as you went back to looking through bras.

“A simple set will be enough for today.” You let out a small hum as if contemplating something, your hands pulling out a soft pink bra, bringing it up in front of Natasha. She eyed you in suspicion as you clearly envisioned the piece on her body instead of your own, her stomach bubbling with warmth at the idea. She took a few steps closer to you, the hand that was holding the bra brushing against her coat.

“And may I ask for what?”

“You’ll see.” You gave her a small smirk.

You came home soon after, immediately setting up your easel for a reason Natasha couldn’t quite decipher. You had no artworks due currently, nor had you really mentioned that you were going to paint upon your return home. She watched you make your favorite warm drink to sip on while you painted, but what made even less sense was the way you assembled a bunch of pillows on your bed and spread a fluffy, red blanket over them as if shaping some kind of still-life setting. She watched in curiosity as she put away all that you had acquired from the shopping trip, her eyes going back to you ever so often to see what you were doing, until you suddenly appeared beside her. You had a look in your eyes, a specific look that Natasha was more than familiar with. She knew that look of dedication, that sense of visionary aim. You had something specific on your mind.

She observed you in mild amusement as your gaze dipped down her body, your eyes calculating but still soft and loving, admiring. Your hands came up to her waist, slowly beginning to untuck her blouse from her straight-cut trousers, the silky fabric sliding right out, your eyes coming up to meet hers. You couldn’t help the slight tug of your lips, your subtle smile rubbing immediately off on Natasha as she stood still and let you undress her piece by piece. Her shirt came off, followed by her bra, Natasha maintaining her confident stance even when you peeled off her trousers and underwear. You would never get enough of the compelling poise of her demeanor. She was so confident in her skin that undressing her had no effect on her. Where someone else might have hunched more in on themselves or tried to hide their most sensitive physical parts when exposed in such a vulnerable way, for Natasha it didn’t matter. She had nothing to be ashamed of and she knew it. You ran your fingertips over her bare abdomen where a few light scars lingered, your touch breaking her skin out in goosebumps, yet she remained unmoving, waiting for you to express your wishes. You pulled back enough to be able to reach the back of your desk chair where Natasha had placed the lingerie set you had bought for her. You grabbed it, coming back to her with a smile that was leaning more toward sensual and playful than anything else.

“Put this on, baby.”

“Mm, bossy”, she hummed in an equally teasing tone, matching your flirt. “I like it.” She received the lingerie set from you, keeping her eyes on you as she slowly pulled the bottom piece on, hiking the lace up her defined thighs, your eyes observing carefully how the lace hugged her hips perfectly. The effect of the bra was very similar as she put it on, fitting her breasts into the lacy cups that were just sheer enough to allow the pink of her areolas to push through. It fit her just right, bringing you one step closer to your vision. You guided her to the bed where the luscious fur blanket was spread, instructing her to lie down on it. The inside of the blanket was lined with slippery satin that felt cool to touch when it pressed up against Natasha’s bare skin. You posed her in a horizontal way, your hands fluffing up the pillows you had assembled to support her upper body. She let her body sink into the bed so you could move and adjust her limbs and hair to your liking, her curious eyes remaining on you as you fussed around her. You pushed her a little further into the pillows, making sure the different textures of the textiles were on display, the fur, the lace, the satin. You placed one of her arms closer to her head, the other resting languidly draped over her waist. Her figure was beautifully accentuated in the position, giving her lace decorated hips the opportunity to shine, the curve of her waist undeniably attractive as she lay on her side. The position made you think of an utterly luxurious nap, a giddy smile finding your face.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. You’re perfect. Oh, my god.” You squealed quietly, girlishly, barely able to contain your excitement, a grin stretching onto Natasha’s lips. She loved seeing you in your element. It was beyond fascinating. “Wait, oh, wait.” You rushed away from her, looking through your vanity for something, soon returning with white pearls in your hand. Natasha eyed them a bit suspiciously but allowed you to drape them around her neck. “Oh, oh.” You looked like you were receiving physical pleasure from how beautiful she looked, Natasha laughed quietly. The pearls gave her such a royal and elegant look, reality overpowering your vision. The image was better than you could have imagined. You adjusted her curls a bit, tousling her red locks to give her a messier look, Natasha giving you a small disapproving frown because she had just styled her curls the night before.

“Sorry, baby.” You gave her a small apologetic pout. “It’s for the greater good”, you said playfully, Natasha rolling her eyes in amusement. Your hand found her chest, cupping her breast to adjust the bra, moving one of the straps off her shoulder before gently peeling down some of the lace to make her look like she had simply fallen asleep after undressing herself from what you envisioned to be a gorgeous ball gown. “You are magnificent.” You placed a wet smooch on Natasha’s forehead before practically skipping behind your easel to begin your painting process. You were beyond ecstatic.

You slathered an acrylic underpainting on the canvas, toning it to a more neutral value that would allow your eyes to pick up on more subtle changes in the hues and values of the paint. You paused for a moment as you waited for the thin paint layer to dry, your eyes fixed on Natasha, an enamored smile on your face as you stared at her like a freak. It made Natasha laugh, a few teasing remarks getting slung your way. You were barely patient enough to wait but you managed to push through, your hand flying to the canvas the second the acrylic paint would let you. Natasha watched you nearly vibrate in excitement as you went back and forth between her and the canvas, your paintbrush sweeping over the primed surface with such ease it was truly a joy to watch you paint. Natasha wished she could have seen the canvas, but alas she had to settle for lying in what was honestly a surprisingly comfortable position for modeling. She might have even dozed off for a moment or two during the next three hours you spent painting, the image on the canvas coming to life piece by piece to resemble the setting more and more the harder you worked.

You tried different brush techniques to create a more texturally balanced and interesting piece, doing your very best to replicate the softness of the fur, the shine of the satin and pearls, the dewiness of her skin, the sheerness of her lace lingerie. You did your best to create a beautiful and complimentary color composition for the piece, making sure the red was deep enough, and her ivory skin delicate enough. You used crimson and ultramarine to bring depth to the red of the fur, noting where the tone was darker and where it was lighter. You studied the way the light reflected off the satin material, observed the meticulous hue shifts in the shadows on her body, spent a long amount of time figuring out how to make the lace of the underwear look as soft and as sheer as it was in real life. You did your very best to make her look peaceful in the painting, just as peaceful as she did on the bed in front of you. She was a picture of elegant beauty, one that you would keep in your apartment, in your bedroom, in your life. You would take it to your grave. It was that gorgeous.

Natasha regained consciousness after an unidentifiable period of napping, her body immediately aware that it had stayed dutifully in its pose the entire time. The fur and the satin felt amazing against her skin, it made her want to roll around on the bed just to feel the smoothness of the fabric. She glanced at you after what felt like hours of lying, noting that you were still your busy bee self, working on the painting like you couldn’t have stopped even if the world fell at your feet. It made Natasha’s confidence skyrocket, or rather, the entire situation had been boosting her confidence from the moment you pictured that lacy bra on her at the mall. Her entire body, her mind, her heart felt so light and airy. She felt so empowered by your enthusiasm, like her physical being was getting periodical doses of confidence and power injected into her. She felt almost high from the sheer knowledge of being able to maintain your interest for such a long stretch of time. It was quite exhilarating to see the kind of passion she stirred within you. It made her feel special, important, and so, so good. Maybe a little too good.

Without even really thinking about it, Natasha moved her hand over her abdomen, feeling the cool skin there, her hand moving over the gentle curve of her stomach. She was getting cold despite the warmth of the blanket beneath her, goosebumps littering her arms, her nail beds a delicate shade of purple. You were so focused on your painting that you didn’t even notice her drop her pose, her hand moving down to the lace of her underwear, feeling over the thin fabric with her fingertips. She was nowhere near anything intimate, her fingers simply brushing over the space beneath her navel, yet her body reacted to the sensation, her skin prickling with goosebumps, her senses becoming more heightened. She played with the lace, traced the edge of it with the tip of her nail, her eyes on you and your focused frown. She smiled to herself. You looked so attractive like that, fully immersed in your art, in the process of creation. Her hand slid lower, fingertips gliding over the lace, but her current position didn’t allow much more, so she tilted her pelvis slightly, rolling more onto her back so she could gain better access to the part of her that she wished to touch the most. She closed her eyes, listening to the steady hum of rain that had appeared during the time she had been asleep, her fingers tracing shapes over the lace, gentle tickles of pleasure spreading down the insides of her thighs and across her lower abdomen.

Her hand slipped beneath the lace, fingertips brushing over the coarse curls there. She felt rather sensitive to her own touch, her lower half already restless from anticipation. She allowed her fingers to dip farther between her legs, feeling over her folds. It felt pleasant, but more so relaxing than anything else. Her other hand that was closer to her upper body moved to her chest, gently cupping her lace-covered breast to simply feel her own body. It felt good, not as good as your touch would have felt, but good, nonetheless. The thought of you made her chest feel tight with excitement, her eyes fluttering open to see you, although you disappeared almost completely behind the canvas, so she shut her eyes again, her hand continuing to fondle her breasts, tugging down the lace cups to feel the skin better.

Natasha’s left hand remained in her underwear, slowly building up the mild buzz that had accumulated there. She knew that she wasn’t quite turned on enough to be wet, so after a moment longer of exploring her dry folds, she brought her hand out of her underwear and up to her lips, wetting them with her tongue. She felt the corner of her mouth tug up into a slight smile when she imagined the moment you would notice just how much she had strayed from her position and what exactly had caused it. Her soaked fingertips found her folds again, gliding smoothly over the silky skin of her sex. She parted her thighs just enough to comfortably fit her hand between them, her other hand circling her breasts absentmindedly. She could hear you work, hear the brushes scratch the surface of the canvas, a dizzying warmth finding her lower abdomen when she recalled what exactly you were painting, and how obsessed you were with your work.

“Hey…” Your words died in your throat the very moment you laid your eyes on Natasha again. You had intended to ask her how she was holding up with her posing but the sight of her was enough to let you know where she was at. Your eyes ran along the entire length of her body, taking in her breasts that had spilled from the lace cups, moving all the way between her legs where the gentle movement of her hand elicited an urgent wave of heat to go through you. With the sudden change in plans, you wiped your paintbrush clean and placed it down on the table beside you.

“Oh, I didn’t realize you got tired of posing”, you mumbled apologetically, trying to ignore the fact that she did not stop touching herself.

“Keep going”, she sighed, the certain heaviness in her tone nothing short of sensual. Suddenly you had no desire to paint.

“I think I’m done. If you’re gonna stop then I should too”, you reasoned, but Natasha tutted you in disapproval. “It’s been hours.”

“You keep painting, baby.” She adjusted her position on the bed, arching just enough to get comfortable, a small hum sounding from her.

“But-”

“Listen to mommy, now.” You didn’t even get to finish your rebuttal. You felt a torturous heat rise up your neck at the term she had used, your body reacting immediately to her. You were frozen still, unable to keep painting when all you could think about was replacing her hand with your mouth. She glanced at you pointedly, her firm hand fondling her breasts, squeezing the warm flesh. She could feel your eyes on her as she continued to massage her chest, her mouth falling slightly agape when she pinched a nipple. “Paint.” Her tone was firmer, harsher, unyielding. It was an order, your hand moving to the brush so fast you nearly dropped it altogether.

You did your best to get back into the flow of painting, but there was nothing that you could have done anymore to get your head back in the game. Natasha was on the bed, her knees spread, back arched, lips parted. You could tell that her breath was picking up alongside the speed of her hand, which in and of itself was already enough to make you want to join her, but you knew you couldn’t, sheepishly going back to your work, although this time around you were more than focused on your subject. With your face burning hotter than a bonfire, you began to place paint on the canvas, vehemently ignoring the gentle moans she let out. The room was silent enough to only barely let you hear that she was wet, the sheets rustling quietly as she moved, your eyes fixed on the lace between her legs. To avoid getting scolded for staring, you tore your eyes off her and focused back on your work, but it did absolutely nothing to distract you because the same image was staring back at you in the carefully applied paint. You heard a muffled moan from her, her body jerking slightly when she found the perfect angle against her clit, her teeth sinking into her lower lip.

“Please.” It just slipped. You didn’t mean to be so pathetic, but you could not resist her, sitting helplessly with your paintbrush in hand. You saw the smug smirk on Natasha’s lips, a pitying chuckle falling from her lips, the sound cut short as it morphed into a groan. Your entire body tingled, your heart dropping because you knew the buzz inside you was not going to find relief anytime soon. “I can't focus.” Natasha gasped, her body receiving the moniker with enthusiasm. She couldn’t even try to deny how much she loved it. Unfortunately, witnessing the effect you had on her only made you more restless, which in turn gave you an idea. You may not have been able to touch her while you painted, but you could certainly talk. “At least not on painting.” Natasha’s eyes remained closed, her fingers slowing down, but her chest only heaved heavier from how turned on she was, automatically drawing your attention to her round breasts that looked irresistibly soft and inviting.

“Paint, malyshka (baby girl).” She spoke breathily, arching her back to escape the pressure that was building up in her body.

“I could make you feel so much better”, you whispered. “You know how good my mouth feels.”

“Y/N”, she huffed as a warning, but you rarely tended to listen.

“What, mommy? I just want to make you feel good.” You put on a coy little smile just in time for when she glanced your way. “Remember how good I am?” Oh, Natasha remembered. In fact, she could not forget. “How good my tongue feels? How wet and soft?” Your hands were itching to touch her, squeeze any part of her, your eyes roaming over her toned thighs and glutes, taking in her full hips, full chest, sculpted arms. Natasha’s eyes failed to remain open, her hand taking the speed up a notch. She let out a shaky sigh, squirming slightly under the touch of her own hand. She was getting closer to her release which was only an issue because it wasn’t from your touch but her own. You wanted to be the one to push her over that edge.

“I remember, baby.” She moaned quietly, her head tilting back. “But you need to learn patience.” Right. If you didn’t know her you might have believed that, but you knew that all she wanted to do was tease you.

“I wanna make you come.” Her face screwed up from pleasure, mouth agape, her movements starting to lean more toward spastic. She didn’t respond to you, she couldn’t, any words that she might have wanted to say replaced by breathy moans. In the little time she had spent teasing you, she had become soaked, her fingertips sliding effortlessly over her folds as she massaged her sex, an all-consuming pleasure beaming from her lower abdomen to every inch of her being. She suddenly stopped, moving her hand off her folds, her body threatening to squirm from the pressure that lingered even without any stimulation. Her chest heaved rhythmically, teeth abusing her lower lip all too harshly in your opinion, but she hadn’t come, not yet.

“Please, Natasha-” She gave you a look. One that was laden with pleasure, but chastising, nonetheless. “Mommy”, you corrected yourself.

“We’ll see, detka (baby).” She let out a few long breaths before opening her eyes to look at you, her hands coming down to the lace on her hips, slowly peeling the fabric off. She smiled at you, gave you a taunting little smirk as she tossed the very lingerie you had picked out for her at your feet. Payback was always a bitch. This is what you got for treating her like your personal mannequin. You stared down at the underwear, your eyes quickly returning to her body to see her hand find her sex again. She brought back the same steady rhythm, building her pleasure back up just to show you that she could, but she wouldn’t let herself find release. She was taunting you by edging herself. She knew that every time she brought herself closer to release, you became more desperate to be the cause of it. She was toying with both you and herself to see how long you would last.

“How- how’s the painting?” Oh, she was insufferable. To think that you would give a flying fuck about your painting anymore.

“My model moved.” Natasha laughed in the most genuine way, breaking up some of the tension between you. It brought a pleased grin to your lips.

“What a shame.” There was not an ounce of guilt in her tone, her mouth stretched into a happy smile. You sat helplessly behind your easel, eyes locked on her as her body found a steady tremble again, breath flowing out of her lungs in rapid puffs, a few moans slipping from her whenever her touch felt particularly good. Sitting in your chair was starting to get uncomfortable, the jeans you wore seeming to grow tighter than you remembered them to be. You could feel that you were restless, wishing to move in a way that would allow you to either find more pressure or find relief from the already existing pressure between your legs.

Natasha brought herself to the very edge of an orgasm, clearly starting to get more lost in her pleasure. It was harder to control the sensation the stronger it became. Her moans were no longer purposely slipped to taunt you, but they were becoming involuntary. You could always tell when she had crossed over from performance to authentic pleasure. Her moans turned deeper, breathier, accompanied by whimpers and whines that were completely out of her control as she teetered the very edge of ecstasy. You thought she was going to make you watch her come undone, but just before reaching her peak, she pulled her hand away. She was panting heavily, her gorgeous chest heaving with each gasp of air she took, her legs moving restlessly to prevent herself from falling over just yet.

“Fuck”, you muttered under your breath, cursing the fact that her bent leg and hand were covering up the parts you wanted to see the most. She looked so enthralling, so captivating and straight up delicious that your patience was truly getting tested. You had always been cocky and arrogant enough to think that such cheap manners of teasing wouldn’t get to you, but oh lord, had you been wrong. You were turned on enough to start rubbing yourself against the chair, but you still had enough of your dignity left not to embarrass yourself like that. She let out a little chuckle, one filled with joy, as if she knew just how deep beneath your skin she was getting. You loved when she laughed during sex. There was no better way for her to express just how much fun she was having with you, how well you were taking care of her, than unadulterated glee. You wanted to hear more of it, better yet, you wanted to hear the certain kind of laugh she let out whenever you made her come unexpectedly hard.

She looked at you for a moment, her breath more even, demeanor more serene. The charge between you was undeniable. You almost felt like you couldn’t even move from how charged the atmosphere felt, but Natasha didn’t seem to experience such petrifying awe. She moved slightly, adjusting herself against the assortment of pillows you had gathered under her upper body, directing her lower half more toward you. She smiled to herself, giving you a playful look that made you want to jump out of your seat. You thought that you had been ridiculously and irrevocably affected by her to begin with, but when she spread her knees once more, giving you a completely uncensored look at her sex, you knew that you were one hundred and one percent gone. There was no going back. You didn’t even realize that you stood up, taking a step toward her as if compelled to simply touch her, but Natasha let out a gentle tut.

“Sit down.” She extended her left leg, the sole of her foot pressing over your lower abdomen, just over the button of your jeans, pushing you back. Even that was enough to make your body buzz twice as intensely, but you heeded her command nonetheless, somehow unable to misbehave. Natasha smirked almost smugly. “Oh, I didn’t think you were going to behave today.” You had nothing to say for yourself. She could see from your face that you were waiting for something, waiting for praise, but all you got was a small smile of approval. “Now, watch mommy.” You couldn’t have stopped yourself even if you had wanted to.

She stroked her left hand down her inner thigh, your overactive mind able to recall in vivid detail just how good the tender skin felt both beneath your fingertips and tongue. You wanted to kiss the silky flesh, stroke your tongue over it before wrapping your lips around it to suck a blooming bruise on her. You wanted to feel how warm she was, kiss her until she grew impatient with you. Her hand moved lower, fingertips brushing over her pubic hair, her walls pulsing at the bit of contact. You could see it with your own eyes, feeling an intense flutter of arousal go through you, your body responding to the sight. You could feel how wet you were, your underwear sticking to your folds, your body begging to be touched. You let out a long sigh, watching how her fingertips grazed over the outside of her sex, tracing her shape, refraining from touching the swollen, pink skin that glistened with her arousal.

“Please. You look so beautiful”, you said quietly, hoping that she was going to accept your compliments. You received a gentle hum from her.

“Not yet, baby.”

“When?” You sounded desperate. Natasha didn’t answer, her hand moving again, fingertips reaching her sex. She let out a pleased hum, her hand massaging herself at a tantalizingly slow pace. She let out a slight hiss as if she couldn’t quite handle the burn, her eyes threatening to slide shut, but she managed to keep her gaze on you.

“Take off your shirt for me, baby.” Your shirt had indeed never flown off your body faster. You tossed it to the side, impatiently waiting for more instructions.

“Pants”, she whispered in between silent gasps, her hips already grinding up against her hand. You undressed yourself into your underwear, Natasha’s gaze hot and heavy on you. It made your entire body tingle and burn, every nerve standing on edge, fully alert of what was to come. She slowed down her hand, a small smile finding your face. You were getting to her. “Let me see you, baby.” She said it in a breathy murmur that made your knees weak, your hands moving to the clasp of your bra to remove the garment. “Mmh.” You felt heat rise to your cheeks from her reaction to your breasts, from what you were doing, what she was doing. “Oh, fuck, mmh, you’re gorgeous.” You stroked your hands over your breasts, fondling them for show, pleased that she was so willing to look at you, that you were fueling her pleasure just through your appearance.

“Let me touch you, mommy.” She was so affected that her eyes slid shut, her body writhing in pleasure. “Let me make you feel good.” A part of you wanted to see her finally find release, hear her moans, and watch her come undone, but another part of you, a stronger part of you, wanted to feel it. “You could come against me instead of your hand”, you hummed teasingly, your hands finding your underwear to inch them down your thighs. “Think about it.” Natasha was too wrapped up in pleasure to be able to respond to you, the mental images you were giving her only feeding into the delicious pressure between her legs. “You could come against my mouth, my face. Or if you wanted to, my hand or my pussy.” You trailed your hand down your body, every single nerve standing on end as you dipped your hand between your legs. “I’m so wet.” Your tone was purposely taunting, your fingers feeling around the slick that had gathered between your legs.

She yanked her hand away from her sex, visibly trembling from the tension in her body, but she wouldn’t let herself take it any further. She needed release. She needed it more than anything else, yet she allowed her body to come down slightly and relax further into the bed. She was able to open her eyes again to look at you, an excited, pleased grin finding her face. She was such a sucker for teasing. She loved testing her own limits and tantalizing you in the process. Her eyes dipped down your body before they slid shut once more, her back arching off the bed in an attempt to hold herself off for just a little longer.

“You can touch me, malyshka (baby girl).” You dropped to your knees beside the bed in an instant, your arms hugging her lower body greedily, your hands attempting to pull her closer and closer to you as if you could have fit all of her into your embrace. Your mouth pressed over her sex with visible fervor, your warm tongue flattening against her, Natasha letting out a heavy moan. You were so hungry for her, devouring her with such urgency that Natasha quite literally squealed, the sound making your pussy throb for more. Your hands groped her torso, her chest, giving her soft breasts a squeeze before touching any other parts of her you could reach. You licked over her soaked folds, coating your lips and chin in her arousal before wrapping your mouth around her clit, sucking harshly. It elicited a desperate noise from her that came from somewhere deep inside her. She was drowning in pleasure, her eyes rolling to the back of her head as her body grew spastic and erratic. She was vibrating beneath you, completely lost in her body, in your touch. Her hand found your head to press you closer, the other gripping the dark crimson fur of the blanket beneath her.

It didn’t take much effort from you to bring her over the edge. She was in such a charged state that any kind of touch from you contributed greatly to reaching the peak of her pleasure. The coil in Natasha’s lower abdomen tightened to be unbearable, her focus zeroed in on the warm wetness of your mouth against her equally wet sex. She couldn’t think, she couldn’t function, her body reaching ecstasy with a few good pulses from your mouth. She let out a broken moan that was a mix between a moan and a cry, the sound coming across raw and authentic. It brought goosebumps to your skin, a shiver of pleasure going down your back. She sounded beautiful, just as beautiful as she looked. You could feel her walls pulse against your mouth as you continued to lick her throbbing sex, her body jerking with each dizzying wave of pleasure that she experienced. She let out another unintelligible moan that morphed into laughter of mild disbelief from how insanely good she felt.

“Oh, detka (baby)”, she chuckled quietly, writhing against the bed to soak up every ounce of pleasure she could as your soothing tongue lapped at her folds, cleaning up the excess of come and spit off her. She let out a sigh, her chest heaving dramatically, another laugh falling from her lips, her tight grip on your hair loosening so she could caress your head instead. “God, you know how to eat pussy.” She hadn’t felt such hunger and greed from you perhaps ever before, at least not according to her blissed-out brain. Nothing had ever felt as good as that moment did. You chuckled softly against her, placing a few final sloppy kisses over her clit before pulling away to see her face. She tilted her chin down enough to make eye contact with you, smiling at you fondly. “Moya úmnitsa (my good girl).” You couldn’t help the grin that found your lips as you hid your face against her inner thigh, placing a few kisses there for good measure. “Come here, darling.” She pulled on your arms to bring you onto the bed, adjusting herself enough to fit you comfortably onto the mattress, your body sinking on top of her own. Your cool skin came into contact with her blazing hot chest and abdomen, your body melting into her warmth, Natasha’s firm hands rubbing over your curves as if to ensure that you were perfectly molded against her.

“You’re so…” You failed to find an appropriate word, taking a moment to search for one. “Mommy”, you whispered, kissing her, her laugh vibrating against your lips.

“So mommy, hmm?” She tucked some of your hair behind your ear, kissing the side of your head. Natasha wouldn’t say it, but she could feel her body pulse at the way you said it, at the way it made her feel.

“So mommy.” You chuckled softly, humming at the comfort her touch brought you as she stroked both her hands down your back and over your hips to find your glutes. You pressed your hips tighter against her own when she squeezed your backside. You were restless, leaking against her thigh, which functioned as an effective ego boost for Natasha, not that she needed any more boosting for the day. She smirked to herself, sliding her left hand even lower, her fingers dipping between your legs to see just how wet you were. She hummed in approval when she was met with the distinct and unmistakable sign of your arousal, her fingers sinking further into your sex, eager for more.

“Looks like you made a mess for mommy to clean up. I better take care of this.” You chuckled quietly at her pleased tone, kissing her neck a bit sloppily before humming in agreement.

“You’re welcome.” She flipped you off her and into the sheets, your joyous laughter resonating in the bedroom.

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folk-enjoyer · 5 months ago

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Song of the Day

"Call of the moose" Willy Mitchell, 1980 As you might know, September 30th is Truth and Reconciliation day (more commonly known as Orange Shirt Day), a national day in Canada dedicated to spreading awareness about the legacy of Residential schools on Indigenous people. Instead of just focusing on a song, I also wanted to briefly talk about the history of the sixties scoop and its influence on Indigenous American music and activism.

The process of Residential schooling in Canada existed well before the '60s, but the new processes of the sixties scoop began in 1951. It was a process where the provincial government had the power to take Indigenous children from their homes and communities and put them into the child welfare system. Despite the closing of residential schools, more and more children were being taken away from their families and adopted into middle-class white ones.

Even though Indigenous communities only made up a tiny portion of the total population, 40-70% of the children in these programs would be Aboriginal. In total, 20,000 children would be victims of these policies through the 60s and 70s.

These adoptions would have disastrous effects on their victims. Not only were sexual and physical abuse common problems but the victims were forcibly stripped of their culture and taught to hate themselves. The community panel report on the sixties scoop writes:

"The homes in which our children are placed ranged from those of caring, well-intentioned individuals, to places of slave labour and physical, emotional and sexual abuse. The violent effects of the most negative of these homes are tragic for its victims. Even the best of these homes are not healthy places for our children. Anglo-Canadian foster parents are not culturally equipped to create an environment in which a positive Aboriginal self-image can develop. In many cases, our children are taught to demean those things about themselves that are Aboriginal. Meanwhile, they are expected to emulate normal child development by imitating the role model behavior of their Anglo-Canadian foster or adoptive parents."

and to this day indigenous children in Canada are still disproportionately represented in foster care. Despite being 5% of the Total Canadian population, Indigenous children make up 53.8% of all children in foster care.

I would like to say that the one good thing that came out of this gruesome and horrible practice of state-sponsored child relocation was that there was a birth of culture from protest music, but there wasn't. In fact, Indigenous music has a long history of being erased and whitewashed from folk history.

From Buffy Saint-Marie pretending to be Indigenous to the systematic denial of first nations people from the Canadian mainstream music scene, the talented artists of the time were forcibly erased.

Which is why this album featuring Willy Mitchell is so important.

Willy Mitchell and The Desert River Band

This Album was compiled of incredibly rare, unheard folk and rock music of North American indigenous music in the 60s-80s. It is truly, a of a kind historical artifact and a testimony to the importance of archival work to combat cultural genocide. Please give the entire thing a listen if you have time. Call of the Moose is my favorite song on the album, written and performed by Willy Mitchell in the 80s. His Most interesting song might be 'Big Policeman' though, written about his experience of getting shot in the head by the police. He talks about it here:

"He comes there and as soon as I took off running, he had my two friends right there — he could have taken them. They stopped right there on the sidewalk. They watched him shootin’ at me. He missed me twice, and when I got to the tree line, he was on the edge of the road, at the snow bank. That’s where he fell, and the gun went off. But that was it — he took the gun out. He should never have taken that gun out. I spoke to many policemen. And judges, too. I spoke with lawyers about that. They all agreed. He wasn’t supposed to touch that gun. So why did I only get five hundred dollars for that? "

These problems talked about here, forced displacement, cultural assimilation, police violence, child exploitation, and erasure of these crimes, still exist in Canada. And so long as they still exist, it is imperative to keep talking about them. Never let the settler colonial government have peace; never let anyone be comfortable not remembering the depth of exploitation.

Every Child Matters

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nesiacha · 4 months ago

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The Women of the French Revolution (and even the Napoleonic Era) and Their Absence of Activism or Involvement in Films

Warning: I am currently dealing with a significant personal issue that I’ve already discussed in this post: https://www.tumblr.com/nesiacha/765252498913165313/the-scars-of-a-toxic-past-are-starting-to-surface?source=share. I need to refocus on myself, get some rest, and think about what I need to do. I won’t be around on Tumblr or social media for a few days (at most, it could last a week or two, though I don’t really think it will).

But don’t worry about me—I’m not leaving Tumblr anytime soon. I just wanted to let you know so you don’t worry if you don’t see me and have seen this post.

I just wanted to finish this post, which I’d already started three-quarters of the way through.

One aspect that frustrates me in film portrayals (a significant majority, around 95%) is the way women of the Revolution or even the Napoleonic era are depicted. Generally, they are shown as either "too gentle" (if you know what I mean), merely supporting their husbands or partners in a purely romantic way. Just look at Lucile Desmoulins—she is depicted as a devoted lover in most films but passive and with little to say about politics.

Yet there’s so much to discuss regarding women during this revolutionary period. Why don’t we see mention of women's clubs in films? There were over 50 in France between 1789 and 1793. Why not mention Etta Palm d’Alders, one of the founders of the Société Patriotique et de Bienfaisance des Amies de la Vérité, who fought for the right to divorce and for girls' education? Or the cahier from the women of Les Halles, requesting that wine not be taxed in Paris?

Only once have I seen Louise Reine Audu mentioned in a film (the excellent Un peuple et son Roi), a Parisian market woman who played a leading role in the Revolution. She led the "dames des halles" and on October 5, 1789, led a procession from Paris to Versailles in this famous historical event. She was imprisoned in September 1790, amnestied a year later through the intervention of Paris mayor Pétion, and later participated in the storming of the Tuileries on August 10, 1792. Théroigne de Méricourt appears occasionally as a feminist, but her mission is often distorted. She was not a Girondin, as some claim, but a proponent of reconciliation between the Montagnards and the Girondins, believing women had a key role in this process (though she did align with Brissot on the war question). She was a hands-on revolutionary, supporting the founding of societies with Charles Gilbert-Romme and demanding the right to bear arms in her Amazon attire.

Why is there no mention in films of Pauline Léon and Claire Lacombe, two well-known women of the era? Pauline Léon was more than just a fervent supporter of Théophile Leclerc, a prominent ultra-revolutionary of the "Enragés." She was the eldest daughter of chocolatier parents, her father a philosopher whom she described as very brilliant. She was highly active in popular societies. Her mother and a neighbor joined her in protesting the king’s flight and at the Champ-de-Mars protest in July 1791, where she reportedly defended a friend against a National Guard soldier. Along with other women (and 300 signatures, including her mother’s), she petitioned for women’s rights. She participated in the August 10 uprising, attacked Dumouriez in a session of the Société fraternelle des patriotes des deux sexes, demanded the King’s execution, and called for nobles to be banned from the army at the Jacobin Club, in the name of revolutionary women. She joined her husband Leclerc in Aisne where he was stationed (see @anotherhumaninthisworld’s excellent post on Pauline Léon). Claire Lacombe was just as prominent at the time and shared her political views. She was one of those women, like Théroigne de Méricourt, who advocated taking up arms to fight the tyrant. She participated in the storming of the Tuileries in 1792 and received a civic crown, like Louise Reine Audu and Théroigne de Méricourt. She was active at the Jacobin Club before becoming secretary, then president of the Société des Citoyennes Républicaines Révolutionnaires (Society of Revolutionary Republican Women). Contrary to popular belief, there’s no evidence she co-founded this society (confirmed by historian Godineau). Lacombe demanded the trial of Marie Antoinette, stricter measures against suspects, prosecution of Girondins by the Revolutionary Tribunal, and the application of the Constitution. She also advocated for greater social rights, as expressed in the Enragés petition, which would later be adopted by the Exagérés, who were less suspicious of delegated power and saw a role beyond the revolutionary sections.

Olympe de Gouges did not call for women to bear arms; in her Declaration of the Rights of Woman and the Female Citizen, addressed to the Queen after the royal family’s attempted escape, she demanded gender equality. She famously said, "A woman has the right to mount the scaffold; she must equally have the right to mount the rostrum," and denounced the monarchy when Louis XVI's betrayal became undeniable, although she sought clemency for him and remained a royalist. She could be both a patriot and a moderate (in the conservative sense; moderation then didn’t necessarily imply clemency but rather conservative views on certain matters).

Why Are Figures Like Manon Roland Hardly Mentioned in These Films?

In most films, Manon Roland is barely mentioned, or perhaps given a brief appearance, despite being a staunch republican from the start who worked toward the fall of the King and was more than just a supporter of her husband, Roland. She hosted a salon where political ideas were exchanged and was among those who contributed to the monarchy's downfall. Of course, she was one of those courageous women who, while brave, did not advocate for women’s rights. It’s essential to note that just because some women fought in the Revolution or displayed remarkable courage doesn’t mean they necessarily advocated for greater rights for women (even Olympe de Gouges, as I mentioned earlier, had her limits on gender equality, as she did not demand the right for women to bear arms).

Speaking of feminism, films could also spotlight Sophie de Grouchy, the wife and influence behind Condorcet, one of the few deputies (along with Charles Gilbert-Romme, Guyomar, Charlier, and others) who openly supported political and civic rights for women. Without her, many of Condorcet’s posthumous works wouldn’t have seen the light of day; she even encouraged him to write Esquilles and received several pages to publish, which she did. Like many women, she hosted a salon for political discussion, making her a true political thinker.

Then there’s Rosalie Jullien, a highly cultured woman and wife of Marc-Antoine Jullien, whose sons were fervent revolutionaries. She played an essential role during the Revolution, actively involving herself in public affairs, attending National Assembly sessions, staying informed of political debates and intrigues, and even sending her maid Marion to gather information on the streets. Rosalie’s courage is evident in her steadfastness, as she claimed she would "stay at her post" despite the upheaval, loyal to her patriotic and revolutionary ideals. Her letters offer invaluable insights into the Revolution. She often discussed public affairs with prominent revolutionaries like the Robespierre siblings and influential figures like Barère.

Lucile Desmoulins is another figure. She was not just the devoted lover often depicted in films; she was a fervent supporter of the French Revolution. From a young age, her journal reveals her anti-monarchist sentiments (no wonder she and Camille Desmoulins, who shared her ideals, were such a united couple). She favored the King’s execution without delay and wholeheartedly supported Camille in his publication, Le Vieux Cordelier. When Guillaume Brune urged Camille to tone down his criticism of the Year II government, Lucile famously responded, “Let him be, Brune. He must save his country; let him fulfill his mission.” She also corresponded with Fréron on the political situation, proving herself an indispensable ally to Camille. Lucile left a journal, providing historical evidence that counters the infantilization of revolutionary women. Sadly, we lack personal journals from figures like Éléonore Duplay, Sophie Momoro, or Claire Lacombe, which has allowed detractors to argue (incorrectly) that these women were entirely under others' influence.

Additionally, there were women who supported Marat, like his sister Albertine Marat and his "wife"Simone Evrard, without whom he might not have been as effective. They were politically active throughout their lives, regularly attending political clubs and sharing their political views. Simone Evrard, who inspired much admiration, was deeply committed to Marat’s work. Marat had promised her marriage, and she was warmly received by his family. She cared for Marat, hiding him in the cellar to protect him from La Fayette’s soldiers. At age 28, Simone played a vital role in Marat’s life, both as a partner and a moral supporter. At this time, Marat, who was 20 years her senior, faced increasing political isolation; his radical views and staunch opposition to the newly established constitutional monarchy had distanced him from many revolutionaries.

Despite the circumstances, Simone actively supported Marat, managing his publications. With an inheritance from her late half-sister Philiberte, Simone financed Marat’s newspaper in 1792, setting up a press in the Cordeliers cloister to ensure the continued publication of Marat’s revolutionary pamphlets. Although Marat also sought public funds, such as from minister Jean-Marie Roland, it was mainly Simone’s resources that sustained L’Ami du Peuple. Simone and Marat also planned to publish political works, including Chains of Slavery and a collection of Marat’s writings. After Marat’s assassination in July 1793, Simone continued these projects, becoming the guardian of his political legacy. Thanks to her support, Marat maintained his influence, continuing his revolutionary struggle and exposing the “political machination” he opposed.

Simone’s home on Rue des Cordeliers also served as an annex for Marat’s printing press. This setup combined their personal life with professional activities, incorporating security measures to protect Marat. Simone, her sister Catherine, and their doorkeeper, Marie-Barbe Aubain, collaborated in these efforts, overseeing the workspace and its protection.

On July 13, 1793, Jean-Paul Marat was assassinated by Charlotte Corday. Simone Evrard was present and immediately attempted to help Marat and make sure that Charlotte Corday was arrested . She provided precise details about the circumstances of the assassination, contributing significantly to the judicial file that would lead to Corday’s condemnation.

After Marat’s death, Simone was widely recognized as his companion by various revolutionaries and orators who praised her dignity, and she was introduced to the National Convention by Robespierre on August 8, 1793 when she make a speech against Theophile Leclerc,Jacques Roux, Carra, Ducos,Dulaure, Pétion... Together with Albertine Marat (who also left written speeches from this period), Simone took on the work of preserving and publishing Marat’s political writings. Her commitment to this cause led to new arrests after Robespierre's fall, exposing the continued hostility of factions opposed to Marat’s supporters, even after his death.

Moreover, Jean-Paul Marat benefited from the support of several women of the Revolution, and he would not have been as effective without them.

The Duplay sisters were much more politically active than films usually portray. Most films misleadingly present them as mere groupies (considering that their father is often incorrectly shown as a simple “yes-man” in these same, often misogynistic, films, it's no surprise the treatment of women is worse).

Élisabeth Le Bas, accompanied her husband Philippe Le Bas on a mission to Alsace, attended political sessions, and bravely resisted prison guards who urged her to marry Thermidorians, expressing her anger with great resolve. She kept her husband’s name, preserving the revolutionary legacy through her testimonies and memoirs. Similarly, Éléonore Duplay, Robespierre’s possible fiancée, voluntarily confined herself to care for her sister, suffered an arrest warrant, and endured multiple prison transfers. Despite this, they remained politically active, staying close to figures in the Babouvist movement, including Buonarroti, with whom Éléonore appeared especially close, based on references in his letters.

Henriette Le Bas, Philippe Le Bas's sister, also deserves more recognition. She remained loyal to Élisabeth and her family through difficult times, even accompanying Philippe, Saint-Just, and Élisabeth on a mission to Alsace. She was briefly engaged to Saint-Just before the engagement was quickly broken off, later marrying Claude Cattan. Together with Éléonore, she preserved Élisabeth’s belongings after her arrest. Despite her family’s misfortunes—including the detention of her father—Henriette herself was surprisingly not arrested. Could this be another coincidence when it came to the wives and sisters of revolutionaries, or perhaps I missed part of her story?

Charlotte Robespierre, too, merits more focus. She held her own political convictions, sometimes clashing with those of her brothers (perhaps often, considering her political circle was at odds with their stances). She lived independently, never marrying, and even accompanied her brother Augustin on a mission for the Convention. Tragically, she was never able to reconcile with her brothers during their lifetimes. For a long time, I believed that Charlotte’s actions—renouncing her brothers to the Thermidorians after her arrest, trying to leverage contacts to escape her predicament, accepting a pension from Bonaparte, and later a stipend under Louis XVIII—were all a matter of survival, given how difficult life was for a single woman then. I saw no shame in that (and I still don’t). The only aspect I faulted her for was embellishing reality in her memoirs, which contain some disputable claims. But I recently came across a post by @saintejustitude on Charlotte Robespierre, and honestly, it’s one of the best (and most well-informed) portrayals of her.

As for the the hébertists womens , films could cover Sophie Momoro more thoroughly, as she played the role of the Goddess of Reason in her husband’s de-Christianization campaigns, managed his workshop and printing presses in his absence accompanying Momoro on a mission on Vendée. Momoro expressed his wife's political opinion on the situation in a letter. She also drafted an appeal for assistance to the Convention in her husband’s characteristic style.

Marie Françoise Goupil, Hébert’s wife, is likewise only shown as a victim (which, of course, she was—a victim of a sham trial and an unjust execution, like Lucile Desmoulins). However, there was more to her story. Here’s an excerpt from a letter she wrote to her husband’s sister in the summer of 1792 that reveals her strong political convictions:

« You are very worried about the dangers of the fatherland. They are imminent, we cannot hide them: we are betrayed by the court, by the leaders of the armies, by a large part of the members of the assembly; many people despair; but I am far from doing so, the people are the only ones who made the revolution. It alone will support her because it alone is worthy of it. There are still incorruptible members in the assembly, who will not fear to tell it that its salvation is in their hands, then the people, so great, will still be so in their just revenge, the longer they delay in striking the more it learns to know its enemies and their number, the more, according to me, its blows will only strike with certainty and only fall on the guilty, do not be worried about the fate of my worthy husband. He and I would be sorry if the people were enslaved to survive the liberty of their fatherland, I would be inconsolable if the child I am carrying only saw the light of day with the eyes of a slave, then I would prefer to see it perish with me ».

There is also Marie Angélique Lequesne, who played a notable role while married to Ronsin (and would go on to have an important role during the Napoleonic era, which we’ll revisit later). Here’s an excerpt from Memoirs, 1760-1820 by Jean-Balthazar de Bonardi du Ménil (to be approached with caution): “Marie-Angélique Lequesne was caught up in the measures taken against the Hébertists and imprisoned on the 1st of Germinal at the Maison d'Arrêt des Anglaises, frequently engaging with ultra-revolutionary circles both before and after Ronsin’s death, even dressing as an Amazon to congratulate the Directory on a victory.” According to Généanet (to be taken with even more caution), she may have served as a canteen worker during the campaign of 1792.

On the Babouvist side, we can mention Marie Anne Babeuf, one of Gracchus Babeuf’s closest collaborators. Marie Anne was among her husband's staunchest political supporters. She printed his newspaper for a long time, and her activism led to her two-day arrest in February 1795. When her husband was arrested while she was pregnant, she made every effort possible to secure his release and never gave up on him. She walked from Paris to Vendôme to attend his trial, witnessing the proceeding that would sentence him to death. A few months after Gracchus Babeuf’s execution, she gave birth to their last son, Caius. Félix Lepeletier became a protector of the family (and apparently, Turreau also helped, supposedly adopting Camille Babeuf—one of his very few positive acts). Marie Anne supported her children through various small jobs, including as a market vendor, while never giving up her activism and remaining as combative as ever. (There’s more to her story during the Napoleonic era as well).

We must not forget the role of active women in the insurrections of Year III, against the Assembly, which had taken a more conservative turn by then. Here’s historian Mathilde Larrère’s description of their actions: “In April and May 1795, it was these women who took to the streets, beating drums across the city, mocking law enforcement, entering shops, cafes, and homes to call for revolt. In retaliation, the Assembly decreed that women were no longer allowed to attend Assembly sessions and expelled the knitters by force. Days later, a decree banned them from attending any assemblies and from gathering in groups of more than five in the streets.”

There were also women who fought as soldiers during the French Revolution, such as Marie-Thérèse Figueur, known as “Madame Sans-Gêne.” The Fernig sisters, aged 22 and 17, threw themselves into battle against Austrian soldiers, earning a reputation for their combat prowess and later becoming aides-de-camp to Dumouriez. Other fighting women included the gunners Pélagie Dulière and Catherine Pochetat.

In the overseas departments, there was Flore Bois Gaillard, a former slave who became a leader of the “Brigands” revolt on the island of Saint Lucia during the French Revolution. This group, composed of former slaves, French revolutionaries, soldiers, and English deserters, was determined to fight against English regiments using guerrilla tactics. The group won a notable victory, the Battle of Rabot in 1795, with the assistance of Governor Victor Hugues and, according to some accounts, with support from Louis Delgrès and Pelage.

On the island of Saint-Domingue, which would later become Haiti, Cécile Fatiman became one of the notable figures at the start of the Haitian Revolution, especially during the Bois-Caiman revolt on August 14, 1791.

In short, the list of influential women is long. We could also talk about figures like Félicité Brissot, Sylvie Audouin (from the Hébertist side), Marguerite David (from the Enragés side), and more. Figures like Theresia Cabarrus, who wielded influence during the Directory (especially when Tallien was still in power), or the activities of Germaine de Staël (since it’s essential to mention all influential women of the Revolution, regardless of political alignment) are also noteworthy.

Napoleonic Era

Films could have focused more on women during this era. Instead, we always see the Bonaparte sisters (with Caroline cast as an exaggerated villain, almost like a cartoon character), or Hortense Beauharnais, who’s shown solely as a victim of Louis Bonaparte and portrayed as naïve. There is so much more to say about this time, even if it was more oppressive for women.

Germaine de Staël is barely mentioned, which is unfortunate, and Marie Anne Babeuf is even more overlooked, despite her being questioned by the Napoleonic police in 1801 and raided in 1808. She also suffered the loss of two more children: Camille Babeuf, who died by suicide in 1814, and Caius, reportedly killed by a stray bullet during the 1814 invasion of Vendôme. No mention is made of Simone Evrard and Albertine Marat, who were arrested and interrogated in 1801.

An important but lesser-known event in popular culture was the deportation and imprisonment of the Jacobins, as highlighted by Lenôtre. Here’s an excerpt: “This petition reached Paris in autumn 1804 and was filed away in the ministry's records. It didn’t reach the public, who had other amusements besides the old stories of the Nivôse deportees. It was, after all, the time when the Republic, now an Empire, was preparing to receive the Pope from Rome to crown the triumphant Caesar. Yet there were people in Paris who thought constantly about the Mahé exiles—their wives, most left without support, living in extreme poverty; mothers were the hardest hit. Even if one doesn’t sympathize with the exiles themselves, one can feel pity for these unfortunate women... They implored people in their neighborhoods and local suppliers to testify on behalf of their husbands, who were wise, upstanding, good fathers, and good spouses. In most cases, these requests came too late... After an agonizing wait, the only response they received was, ‘Nothing to be done; he is gone.’” (Les Derniers Terroristes by Gérard Lenôtre). Many women were mobilized to help the Jacobins. One police report references a woman named Madame Dufour, “wife of the deportee Dufour, residing on Rue Papillon, known for her bold statements; she’s a veritable fury, constantly visiting friends and associates, loudly proclaiming the Jacobins’ imminent success. This woman once played a role in the Babeuf conspiracy; most of their meetings were held at her home…” (Unfortunately for her, her husband had already passed away.)

On the Napoleonic “allies” side, Marie Angélique, the widow of Ronsin who later married Turreau, should be more highlighted. Turreau treated her so poorly that it even outraged Washington’s political class. She was described as intelligent, modest, generous, and curious, and according to future First Lady Dolley Madison, she charmed Washington’s political circles. She played an essential role in Dolley Madison’s political formation, contributing to her reputation as an active, politically involved First Lady. Marie Angélique eventually divorced Turreau, though he refused to fund her return to France; American friends apparently helped her.

Films could also portray Marie-Jacqueline Sophie Dupont, wife of Lazare Carnot, a devoted and loving partner who even composed music for his poems. Additionally, her ties with Joséphine de Beauharnais could be explored. They were close friends, which is evident in a heartbreaking letter Lazare Carnot wrote to Joséphine on February 6, 1813, to inform her of Sophie’s death: “Until her last moment, she held onto the gratitude Your Majesty had honored her with; in her memory, I must remind Your Majesty of the care and kindness that characterize you and are so dear to every sensitive soul.”

In films, however, when Joséphine de Beauharnais’s circle is shown, Theresia Cabarrus (who appears much more in Joséphine ou la comédie des ambitions) and the Countess of Rémusat are mentioned, but Sophie Carnot is omitted, which is a pity. Sophie Carnot knew how to uphold social etiquette well, making her an ideal figure to be integrated into such stories (after all, she was the daughter of a former royal secretary).

Among women soldiers, we had Marie-Thérèse Figueur as well as figures like Maria Schellink, who also deserves greater representation. Speaking of fighters, films could further explore the stories of women who took up arms against the illegal reinstatement of slavery. In Saint-Domingue, now Haiti, many women gave their lives, including Sanité Bélair, lieutenant of Toussaint Louverture, considered the soul of the conspiracy along with her husband, Charles Bélair (Toussaint’s nephew) and a fighter against Leclerc. Captured, sentenced to death, and executed with her husband, she showed great courage at her execution. Thomas Madiou's Histoire d’Haiti describes the final moments of the Bélair couple: “When Charles Bélair was placed in front of the squad to be shot, he calmly listened to his wife exhorting him to die bravely... (...)Sanité refused to have her eyes covered and resisted the executioner’s efforts to make her bend down. The officer in charge of the squad had to order her to be shot standing.”

Dessalines, known for leading Haiti to victory against Bonaparte, had at least three influential women in his life. He had as his mentor, role modele and fighting instructor the former slave Victoria Montou, known as Aunt Toya, whom he considered a second mother. They met while they were working as slaves. They met while both were enslaved. The second was his future wife, Marie Claire Bonheur, a sort of war nurse, as described in this post, who proved instrumental in the siege of Jacmel by persuading Dessalines to open the roads so that aid, like food and medicine, could reach the city. When independence was declared, Dessalines became emperor, and Marie Claire Bonheur, empress. When Jean-Jacques Dessalines ordered the elimination of white inhabitants in Haiti, Marie Claire Bonheur opposed him, some say even kneeling before him to save the French. Alongside others, she saved those later called the “orphans of Cap,” two girls named Hortense and Augustine Javier.

Dessalines had a legitimized illegitimate daughter, Catherine Flon, who, according to legend, sewed the country’s flag on May 18, 1803. Thus, three essential women in his life contributed greatly to his cause.

In Guadeloupe, Rosalie, also known as Solitude, fought while pregnant against the re-establishment of slavery and sacrificed her life for it, as she was hanged after giving birth. Marthe Rose Toto also rose up and was hanged a few months after Louis Delgrès’s death (if they were truly a couple, it would have added a tragic touch to their story, like that of Camille and Lucile Desmoulins, which I have discussed here).

To conclude, my aim in this post is not to elevate these revolutionary, fighting, or Napoleonic-allied women above their male counterparts but simply to give them equal recognition, which, sadly, is still far from the case (though, fortunately, this is not true here on Tumblr).

I want to thank @aedesluminis for providing such valuable information about Sophie Carnot—without her, I wouldn't have known any of this. And I also want to thank all of you, as your various posts have been really helpful in guiding my research, especially @anotherhumaninthisworld, @frevandrest, @sieclesetcieux, @saintjustitude, @enlitment ,@pleasecallmealsip ,@usergreenpixel , @orpheusmori ,@lamarseillasie etc. I apologize if I forgot anyone—I’m sure I have, and I'm sorry; I'm a bit exhausted. ^^

#frev #french revolution #napoleon #napoleonic era #women in history #haitian revolution #slavery #guadeloupe #frustration

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accio-victuuri · 6 months ago

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xiao zhan elle september issue cover story

Xiao Zhan believes in simplicity. But in acting, he increasingly likes multi-faceted and complex characters.In other words, this is an authentic state of human existence. At a time when everything is being simplified, Be willing to admit that people are different,Seek communication possibilities, Be sensitive and defend complexity, This must require love and courage.

01.

After entering the entertainment industry, these things quickly became part of his daily life - cameras, spotlights, display screens, shields. Due to his profession and popularity, countless "Xiao Zhan" have emerged, including huge portraits on the facades of high-end shopping malls, the projections of an astonishing number of fans, or the appearance of characters in the film and television dramas that have been released one after another.

Right now, in the dressing room after the shooting, Xiao Zhan is holding his box of whole grain salad, vividly imitating the scene of meeting director Zheng Xiaolong.

"I was a little confused, so I asked the director whether he wanted me to be thinner or stronger. He said, 'Thinner, of course thinner, it will look so good and sharp.'" After a while, when we were taking the final photos, Zheng Xiaolong saw him again, "He said, 'Wow, you look good like this.'" From then until now, he has lost more than ten pounds.

Xiao Zhan, the source of all fission, is decent and relaxed. The glamour seen by the outside world is an added value for him. Sometimes he even forgets about it, "Really no one will care about you." Then he continues to talk about his work.

The most recent one is "Legend of the Hidden Sea", which was filmed in Hengdian for 5 months. The previous one, which also took 5 months to shoot, was "The Legend of the Condor Heroes: The Greatest Hero" directed by Tsui Hark. This is often the case with large-scale movies and long TV series. Once you join the crew, it takes four or five months. In 2022, his main filming work was "Where Dreams Begin" and "Sunshine by my Side", in 2021 it was "Yu Gu Yao", in 2020 it was "Ace Troops", and in 2019 it was "Douluo Dalu" and "Oath of Love".

There are constant offers for plays, so sometimes I can’t decide whether to lengthen or shorten the time between plays.

In the second half of 2019, when filming "Oath of Love", Xiao Zhan filmed during the day and recorded the variety show "Our Song" at night. Both were very challenging. The former was his first time to play the leading role in an urban drama, with little experience and great pressure; the latter was difficult because of the harmony, "You have to memorize all the harmonies that are different from the tune of the song and not be carried away."

"At that time, I felt it didn't matter. I would sleep for an hour or two and wake up feeling healthy again. But now my mind says it doesn't matter, but my body is protesting."

This year, he was filming in Hengdian. Later, one day, he found that his tonsils were inflamed and swallowing was very painful, but he went to work as usual. It was not until the director came over and asked him, "What's wrong with your eyes?" that he saw his eyes swollen in the mirror. By the afternoon, "I looked like a frog."

He had to go to the hospital. The symptoms themselves were common and could be stopped by taking medicine. But what he couldn't do was exactly what the doctor advised most: you need to rest.

More importantly, "My perception will become dull. I am really afraid of this, afraid of becoming mechanical and formulaic." He put the emphasis on the word "really". He chatted with his seniors, "They also said that you have to live and experience life."

In fact, a life in the spotlight is somewhat contrary to the life of ordinary people, but the profession of an actor requires him to touch as many wrinkles of life as possible.

A while ago, he watched a monologue in a variety show that depicted the current workplace situation of young people. Before entering the entertainment industry, Xiao Zhan had a studio and worked. He could understand the depression brought by work, but the new vocabulary and new tools that appeared in the workplace weakened his sense of resonance. He found that he was gradually disconnected to a certain extent.

02.

In early June, Xiao Zhan had a short vacation and went back to his hometown Chongqing. He likes to take walks very much, and one night he walked for several hours, visiting the old street, Jiefangbei, and the place where he used to work.

In 2014, 23-year-old Xiao Zhan graduated from university and worked as a designer in a design studio. Every weekday morning, he would transfer from Line 2 to Line 3 at Niujiaotuo Station, push through the crowds, and squeeze onto the light rail. Several times, he was pressed so hard that his face was pressed against the glass window.

He simply leaned against the glass to look at the Jialing River below, the strange reefs exposed in the dry season and the various people, some swimming in winter, some jogging, some fishing, with a very optimistic spirit.

He still likes to observe the people around him——

"Why are you still here so late?"

"People walking hurriedly must have just got off work and are in a hurry to go home. Their expressions and behaviors are just like when I used to catch the subway. It's the last one and you have to run. They are very panicked. Some takeaway guys are rushing forward regardless of their own safety. There are also some very leisurely people who sit there drinking beer, and then go home and start a new day."

"Everyone has their own wonderful story. It is everyone's life that makes up our society. So it's wonderful. Everyone is the protagonist. We are all filming our own biographies. What will the story of tomorrow be like?"

At that moment, he was like all those who have been busy working in a foreign country for a long time, and finally found that "I haven't been here for a long time, and there have been quite a lot of changes." "In fact, I am not particularly happy, and I don't have any other feelings. I am living, that's all."

Two and a half days later, Xiao Zhan left Chongqing for work and returned to Beijing, then to Shanghai, and then to France. This time he also called his parents. This was a long-awaited family trip, from France to Switzerland and back to France in a week. Every detail of the trip was magnified, their happiness, quarrels, or just ordinary walks, "all very vivid."

On the day they parted, they finished their meal at a restaurant in the south of France. The car that came to pick him up arrived and he had to leave first. Before leaving, his mother hugged him and told him to take care of himself. Rarely, his father also hugged him awkwardly.

"I used to think that work was everything and life wasn't that important. It was nothing more than having a place to sleep, getting up, going to work, finishing work, and resting. But now that my parents are older and I haven't lived with them for a long time, you feel as if each other's lives, even family members, are getting further and further apart." He especially doesn't want this to happen.

The way to avoid suspension and regain a sense of reality in life is not difficult to say. "When you have time, go out and take a look. The important thing is to feel life and the world. Even if it is something terrible or cruel, it is life, and it will burst out with energy when you need it."

03.

Halfway through the interview, Xiao Zhan suddenly said that he had a conflicting attitude towards long interviews. On the one hand, he was worried that he was not growing enough and would appear timid during the conversation. On the other hand, he wanted to unearth some subtle feelings through the conversation because he felt he was not good at recording them in words.

Observation, feeling, understanding and expression are the key to an actor's creativity.

"Dialogue is also muscle memory." Xiao Zhan said, "Although I am very i, I am not autistic. Because I think actors need to learn to express, express your inner thoughts, and digest the content handed to you by the other party."

Before the filming of "Sunshine by my Side" began, he met with the main creators and held several script meetings to deepen their understanding of each other and the characters. In the early stage of "Legend of the Hidden Sea", the producer also mentioned that he would discuss the script in detail and talk about a scene with many of his own understandings.

Xiao Zhan is not a professional actor. When he first entered the industry and filmed "Fights Break Sphere" and "The Wolf", he had strong doubts and asked himself, am I suitable for this? Constantly denying and overthrowing himself made him lose confidence.

Sometimes he is asked what he would be doing now if he had not participated in the talent show, debuted, or entered the entertainment industry at the age of 23. He has thought about it, but he has not looked back.

If you can't act well, then spend extra time taking acting classes, watching the monitor more often, and asking seniors for advice. With your full strength and hard work, you will slowly find the way.

Later, when the filming of "Sunshine by my Side" started, Xiao Zhan played Xiao Chunsheng, a child of a Beijing compound, who was completely different from him, even his accent was very different. He felt insecure. Before filming many scenes, director Fu Ning ran over and whispered to him, Zhan Zhan, don't be afraid, just speak bravely, if you feel it, just say it, in fact, the audience can feel your emotions and what you want to express.

He also gradually gained more self-awareness: "Technique may not be my forte, it depends more on feelings. Only when I have my own feelings can I have the confidence to interpret it. If I rely purely on some techniques, I think it is not moving enough."

It has been 8 years since Xiao Zhan made his acting debut. Looking at his resume, he has played leading roles in various TV series and movies. But he still feels that he is a newcomer and hopes to work with more experienced production teams in the future.

He doesn't think too much, and he doesn't actually know the work plan divided by year very well. He only cares about what the work arrangements for the next stage are, rather than "asking about things too far ahead."

"I still feel like a child, but actually I'm not anymore. It seems like I'm still in high school, but actually I've grown up." A child's mind means having curiosity, desire to explore, and imagination.

He puts these curiosities and explorations into the characters. "I mean, for me, when I dig into the character's background and past, I discover the complexity and contradictions of the character as a person and present them. In this way, some of his choices and motivations may be understood by the audience, and the work may be good, and you will have the current audience, right?"

source

#xiao zhan #oh so many things to unpack #but yeah gege you must rest! and we all should learn from that tbh the lack of sleep will kill you #his realization about his life and his parents makes me wanna cry #accio victuuri translation

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the-garbanzo-annex-jr · 8 months ago

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by Barry Shaw

This brainwashing is being introduced into high schools and even into the elementary educational system in America.

One example, quoted in a Jerusalem Post article on June 7, 2024, titled ‘Portland’s teacher union creates anti-Israel program,” reported that the Portland Association of Teachers are promoting an indoctrination program for children as early as pre-kindergarten to high school in which the next generation of Americans will be brainwashed to delegitimize Israel, describing it as an “illegitimate settler-colonial state.”

American children are being taught to participate in Palestinian protests turning them into anti-Israel activists.

Together with a group known as Oregon Educators for Palestine (OGP) they have created a curriculum that includes courses such as “Know your Rights in Teaching,” “Organizing for Palestine within Portland Public Schools,” and “Teach Palestine! Resources for Portland Public Schools” lesson guide.

Their document provides counter definitions to reduce the legitimacy of Israel by using key terms. For example, they deduce Anti-Semitism as being a “European Christian phenomenon” and Zionism as “a settler colonial political ideology and movement.”

Their guide recommends teachers to have the academic freedom (restriction) to select (reduce) writings on Palestine only to that written by Palestinian authors, as they put it, “to offer content and context based on the authors backgrounds and opinions.”

Part of their indoctrination removes words such as “terrorism” particularly when applied to acts of Palestinian terrorism. Instead, they replace it with the word “resist.”

Everything is wrapped around concepts such as “Occupation” even if that applies to areas from which Israel withdrew its citizens in the search for peace.

Based on that novel concept, the barbarous attacks of Oct. 7, or mass killing by Palestinian suicide bombers and gunmen, can be translated into acts of “resistance to the occupation,” even when committed by Palestinians emerging out of their self-governing territories to kill thousands of Israelis in their hometowns inside Israel.

I know. I became one of the members of the Netanya Terror Victims Association after a procession of suicide bombers and gunman targeted my hometown that hugs the clifftops of the Mediterranean, the sea defined by their slogan of a Palestine “from the River to the Sea.”

In the quest for this homeland, they murdered dozens of Netanya folk, some of whom I knew.

Now social studies lessons for grades 3-5 in America will include a week-long curriculum on “settler colonization and Palestine.”

The Portland Association of Teachers represents over 4,500 educators. In their description of the events of Oct. 7, we can clearly define what they consider progressive to be utterly regressive.

PAT educators handed out documents claiming that the horrendous massacres, tortures, rapes, and hostage-taking were, in the words of PAT, justified “resistance.”

In May, Mosaic magazine featured an article entitled “Anti-Israel Indoctrination Starts in Elementary Schools.”

This is the opening phase of a Jihadi education in America. One that accurately copies Hamas and Palestinian Islamic Jihad brainwashing.

There is a battle going on in the California school system. Last September, a law suit claimed that a California school district tried to impose an anti-Israel curricula.

#jihadi education #brainwashing #portland teachers union #anti-israel education #portland association of teachers #from the river to the sea

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intersex-support · 2 years ago

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hello! i newly figured out i am intersex, however i haven't been able to find much content talking about intersex experience, history or community, when i first realized i was queer originally i found a lot of content like that and found it helpful, and i was wondering if there's any recommendations you might be willing to give about any content on being intersex or intersex creators who you think people should know about!

Hey!

This ask honestly made me really happy, because when I was searching for people and resources to share with you, I realized how much stuff has been created in the past 5 years. When I was diagnosed as intersex, I felt like there was so much less stuff than there even is now, so it makes me really happy to know there is more stuff, even if it's still hard to find.

Some of the things I've put on this list are outdated or might include perspectives that I don't completely love, but might include important historical context. It is also a very US centric and English language centric resource, although I have linked to organizations in other countries and would love if people added on recommendations to intersex resources in a variety of languages. As always, take what resonates with you and leave behind the rest!

Books:

Cripping Intersex by Celeste E Orr

Bodies in Doubt: An American History of Intersex by Elizabeth Reis

XOXY: A Memoir by Kimberly Zieselman

Intersex (For Lack of a Better Word) by Thea Hillman

In September, Alicia Weigel is releasing her memoir Inverse Cowgirl.

In August, Pidgeon Pagonis is releasing their memoir, Nobody Needs to Know.

Fiction books:

An Unkindness of Ghosts by Rivers Solomon

Intersex #ownvoices books, collated by Bogi Takács

Films:

Every Body directed by Julie Cohen is in theaters right now, and will eventually be on streaming services.

Ponyboi directed by River Gallo

Intersexion directed by Grant Lahood

Articles + misc:

Hermaphrodites with Attitude newsletter-content note for h slur and some other outdated language. Very important history though <3

Jazz Legend Little Jimmy Scott Is a Cornerstone of Black Intersex History by Sean Saifa Wall

What it's like to be a Black intersex woman by Tatenda Ngwaru

9 Young People on How They Found Out They Are Intersex by Hans Lindhal

Teen Vogue's series of intersex interviews

After years of protest, a top hospital ended intersex surgeries. For activists, it took a deep toll by Kate Sosin

Intersex Awareness Day: A Demonstration that Inspired a Movement

Normalizing intersex: Narrative Inquiry in Bioethics

Music-Ana Roxanne

Youth&I-intersex youth zine

Juliana Huxtable-Visual Art

Youtube channels:

Emilord-videos about AIS and surgery.

Jubilee Intersex video

Hans Lindhal-videos on a wide variety of intersex topics.

What's It Like To Be Intersex? | Minutes With | UNILAD

What It's Like To Be Intersex As/Is

Pass the Mic: Intercepting Injustice with Sean Saifa Wall

Intersex Organizations:

Link to org list

People/orgs to follow:

Sean Saifa Wall

Alicia Weigel

River Gallo

Hans Lindhal

Fàájì/funk

Jahni

Justin Tsang

Intersex Awareness (fabulous direct action organizing in the US-keep an eye out cause we're gonna do more this year!)

Liat Feller

Jubilee

Crystal Hendricks

Mari Wrobi

Intersex people, please feel free to add on more resources, art, writing, and people that you like!!

#actuallyintersex #intersex #intersex resources #intersex positivity #intersex history #intersex books

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evilgothmisandrist · 4 months ago

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“Gender wars in 2024 is insane 😭🙏”

Ok here is list of other things that happened in 2024:

Asia

1. January 15 - Bangladesh: A woman was killed by her husband after requesting a divorce.

2. February 5 - India: A brutal attack in Uttar Pradesh left a woman mutilated.

3. March 23 - Pakistan: A woman was murdered by her husband in Punjab in a femicide case.

4. April 14 - Nepal: A woman was assaulted by her partner; her family reported prolonged abuse.

5. May 3 - Malaysia: A woman was beaten to death by her partner.

6. June 21 - China: A woman was severely injured in an attack at a restaurant in Tangshan.

7. August 9 - Philippines: Several women were sexually assaulted during a party.

8. September 28 - Kazakhstan: A woman was murdered by her ex-partner in a femicide case.

9. October 15 - Sri Lanka: A woman was murdered by her husband in Colombo.

Africa

1. January - South Africa: A woman was murdered by her partner, sparking protests in Pretoria.

2. January - Kenya: At least 10 women were murdered in femicide cases; protests erupted in Nairobi.

3. February - Malawi: A woman was killed by her partner after trying to leave him.

4. February - Tanzania: A women’s rights activist was attacked by her ex-partner.

5. March - Nigeria: A woman was found dead in Oyo, in a suspected femicide case.

6. March - South Africa: A young woman was murdered in a rural area, leading to protests.

7. April - Kenya: Over 500 femicides reported since 2016, sparking outrage.

8. May - South Sudan: A woman was raped and killed during an armed conflict.

9. June - Uganda: A woman was attacked and murdered by her partner in Kampala.

10. July - Ethiopia: A series of women were killed in rural areas, raising concerns of femicide.

Europe

1. February 12 - Spain: A 45-year-old woman was murdered by her partner in Barcelona.

2. March 4 - France: A femicide in Lyon where a woman was stabbed by her husband.

3. April 20 - Italy: A woman was killed in Rome by her ex-partner after reporting him.

4. June 7 - Germany: A femicide in Berlin where a woman was murdered by her husband.

5. July 29 - United Kingdom: A woman was murdered by her boyfriend in a prolonged abuse case.

6. August 15 - Poland: A woman was murdered in Warsaw by her partner in a femicide case.

7. September 10 - Spain: A young woman was found dead in Madrid after reporting domestic violence.

8. October 18 - France: A femicide in Marseille; the woman had previously reported abuse.

North America

1. January - United States: A woman was murdered in Texas by her partner, despite having a restraining order.

2. February - Canada: A femicide in Toronto, where a woman was murdered by her ex-boyfriend after trying to leave the relationship.

3. March - United States: A woman was killed by her husband in a Chicago suburb in a domestic violence case.

4. April - Canada: A femicide in Montreal, where a woman was attacked by her partner after reporting abuse.

5. May - United States: A femicide in California; a woman was murdered by her partner in front of her children.

6. June - Canada: A woman was murdered by her husband in Vancouver after years of abuse.

7. July - United States: A woman was murdered in New York by her partner in an attack caught on video.

8. August - Canada: A femicide in Alberta; a woman was found murdered in her home by her husband.

9. September - United States: A woman was killed by her partner in Florida, highlighting the ineffectiveness of protective laws.

10. October - Canada: A femicide in Ottawa; a woman was murdered after months of harassment by her ex-partner.

South America

1. January 14 - Argentina: A 24-year-old woman was killed by her ex-partner in Buenos Aires after months of harassment. The case sparked protests demanding stronger measures to protect women.

2. February 9 - Colombia: In Bogotá, a woman was murdered by her husband, who had a history of domestic abuse. The victim had filed multiple complaints but received little protection.

3. March 3 - Brazil: A femicide occurred in Rio de Janeiro, where a young woman was found dead after being attacked by her partner. The country’s high rates of violence against women remain a significant concern.

4. April 20 - Chile: A woman was killed by her ex-boyfriend in Santiago. The incident highlighted the growing issue of intimate partner violence, with activists calling for increased enforcement of protective measures.

5. May 15 - Peru: A 30-year-old woman was murdered by her spouse in Lima after years of documented domestic abuse. The case ignited a public outcry for better legal responses to gender-based violence.

6. June 4 - Bolivia: A woman was killed in La Paz by her partner, who had previously been reported for abusive behavior. Her death added to the growing number of femicides in Bolivia.

7. July 10 - Ecuador: In Quito, a woman was murdered by her husband in a case of domestic violence. The incident underscored the country’s challenges in addressing violence against women, despite existing laws.

8. August 8 - Uruguay: A woman was brutally attacked and killed by her ex-partner in Montevideo. The case raised concerns about the effectiveness of restraining orders and protective laws in the country.

9. September 25 - Paraguay: A young woman was found dead after being assaulted by her partner in Asunción. The case prompted discussions on the inadequacies of the justice system in dealing with gender-based violence.

10. October 13 - Venezuela: A woman was murdered by her husband in Caracas. The case shed light on the country’s increasing rates of domestic violence, which have been exacerbated by economic instability.

Global

1. February - India: A woman was murdered by her obsessive ex-boyfriend in New Delhi.

2. March - Brazil: A femicide in São Paulo, where a woman was murdered by her partner.

3. April - Turkey: A woman was killed in an honor killing in Istanbul.

4. May - South Africa: A femicide in Cape Town where a young woman’s body was discovered.

5. June - Nigeria: A woman was raped and murdered in a rural area, sparking protests.

6. July - Mexico: A student was abducted and murdered, raising alarm over violence in the country.

7. August - Philippines: A woman was murdered by her husband in a domestic violence case.

8. September - Afghanistan: Increased violence against women in rural areas, including forced marriages.

9. October - Pakistan: A woman was murdered in a suspected honor killing.

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wooahaeruby · 8 months ago

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Chapter 2: Nothing is Easier Than I Thought

Chapter Word Count: 3,654

Anything in Bold Italics are Korean/Another language.

Master List | Prev | Next

September 2015

Why you took a 6:30 PM class your first semester, you will never understand. Some part of you said it was to cram as many classes into one day to maximize your time on other days for homework, studying, and your part time job, but your already tired brain protested. Linguistics was already a hard major to begin with, you were learning three languages; Spanish, Japanese, and Korean, but you debated Mandarin, each you knew to some capacity.

The past couple days, you have been able to feel the anxious and restless feelings of your soulmate. Whoever they were, they haven’t let you have a single day of proper sleep in the past week and with it only being the second week on campus, you were already sick of it. You had hoped your soulmate was feeling your agitation and exhaustion.

Halfway through your two hour long class, an unexpected wave of tiredness washed over you. All the energy you previously had from the energy drink earlier in the evening was wiped away in an instant. At the front of the room, the words coming from the professor were falling on deaf ears, barely able to keep your head up at this point. Your own exhaustion mixed with your soulmate’s feeling had brought you to the brink of passing out. The anxiety that once nestled beside your emotions had faded and yet a burst of joy and excitement filled its space with ease.

For a moment, you rested your head down on your notebook, scoffing quietly to yourself at the odd mix of emotions. Whatever they were going through hopefully is worth it. Although agitation still rested under your skin, a sense of amusement came from your end.

As the rest of class dragged on, you kept yourself awake and coherent enough to take notes and get back to your dorm. Bursts of energy and excitement were pushed through from the bond you shared, your limbs felt strained, on fire even, but the longer it went on the more you got used to the sensation of physical exertion. The walk back to your dorm hall was a feat, honestly you don’t know how you managed to get up three flights of stairs and unlock your door before falling face first onto your bed. Your roommate wasn’t home, she usually came back later after studying until the library closed, which gave you the peace to just take everything and hopefully let it lull you to sleep.

In your semi-conscious state, you wondered who your soulmate was. All the emotional states they had placed you in the last couple months were not what you expected, but the curiosity was eating you up some inside. When there was a feeling of genuine joy that came amidst it all had you compiling a list of exactly what type of life they lived. Were they an adventurous person that explored things outside of their comfort zone? Were they a normal person with everyday anxiety that found happiness in overcoming their fears? Did they gain the physical strain from a demanding job?

Honestly you couldn't tell what their schedule was either. They slept at random hours, and had sudden bursts of energy throughout the day. It confused you when you tried to think about the life they lead.

Slowly, your thoughts did lull you into a deep sleep knowing your alarm was already set for your afternoon shift at the bookstore on campus.

Their first comeback was highly anticipated, but literally blood, sweat, and tears were shed to make it happen. For months on end, Jihoon had been working on compositions and lyrics, some songs even created before their debut. Sleepless nights, countless fights, and inevitable injuries from overworking themselves has led to this very moment.

It was 5:30 in the morning and he couldn’t catch a wink of sleep. Now sitting in the greenroom, makeup artists, hair stylists, and one of their managers were calling out for members to get ready. The contagious yawns passed through the room ten times over, some younger members were asleep after getting ready, however Woozi wasn’t able to settle in for a short nap. His leg bounced with nervous fidgeting and he messed too much with his clothes to attempt to keep himself calm. Within the next hour the group was to have an easy run through on the stage prior to the pre-recorded video. In the later half of the day, the studio would gather fans and they would perform their newest song, Mansae .

Truthfully, he felt bad for his soulmate. The bout of insomnia he had been experiencing was no doubt putting a damper on their mood, he definitely felt the discontentment and unrest through their bond. With staying up, he noticed how their mood shifted throughout the night for him. It at least gave him the solidified idea that they were from another area of the world. Pushing that aside, it seemed they were stressed as of recent. Nearly two weeks back, there was this underlying emotion of distress that was layered beneath anticipation and determination.

Somewhere in the final rush of costumes, hair and makeup, Jihoon felt a firm pat to his back and that same arm wrapping around his shoulder as they walked down the hall to the elevators.

“ Jihoon-ah! Let’s give it our best out there! ” The loud and energetic voice of Soonyoung rang loudly in his ear, making him wince slightly.

“ I’m right next to you, why are you yelling? ” Jihoon’s nose scrunched up as he grimaced, rolling his shoulders to remove the other’s arm from his body. “ And don’t yell, you will hurt your throat. ”

Soonyoung only laughed, a wide smile spreading on his face and he continued to walk beside his shorter friend. “ Energy needs to be up, I’m nervous as hell but I can’t let that stop me. ”

With a roll of his eyes and a small shake of his head, Jihoon watched as Soonyoung walked off to throw himself over Seokmin’s back. Their practice run was simple enough, camera direction and mic checks came back positive. Stylists went around fixing any outfits, hair, or touching up spots in their make up before they were ready for the recording.

Jihoon shook out his limbs before adjusting the mic in his hand. Taking his position on stage towards the back, he let the nerves drive him once the music started playing through his in-ear headset. No matter how fast the adrenaline made his heart race, no matter the difficulty in some of the choreography, he took the stage by storm with his members. It was one of the longest three minutes of his life up until now, sweat matted parts of his pink and blond hair, his feet hurt and his limbs were already growing sore from the tired strain.

However, he felt happy, overjoyed even. As the production crew gave praise for their expressions, hard work, and perseverance, excitement bubbled in his chest at the thought of performing in front of their fans further into the day. Getting back into the greenroom was no different, words of praise came from Seungcheol, their managers and staff were proud.

What he didn’t expect in the end was the outside feeling of amusement that wedged its way from the soulmate bond with fading agitation and fatigue. His heart grew a little bigger at that moment.

2016

How could one person be so…focused? But happy about that focus.

It was a question you asked yourself on a nearly constant basis the last few months. Back in September, there was a nearly month-long period of debilitating tiredness all hours of the day pushing through the bond. It made your ability to stay awake and attentive in class hard and by the end of the day, you were crashing while barely getting through your homework and work. Now, in your second semester of college and a more spread out schedule, the breaks you gave yourself seemed to help with your soulmates physical exertion.

Spring break had brought you home to your maternal grandparents who had been begging you to come visit sooner. They had welcomed you into your childhood home, still the same old decorations that never truly passed the test of time.

“Sweetheart, go freshen up upstairs, take a nap, you’ve been working so hard and you barely stayed too long during your winter time off.” Your grandmother ushered you off towards the stairs, taking your backpack and small suitcase. “And don’t come down until you at least get an hour or sleep, you hear me!?”

A laugh bubbled out of your throat, rolling your eyes. “Yeah yeah, Mimi, just don’t start blasting your old lady music until I’m awake!” As you ascend up the stairs, you hear the huffing scoff and a muttering of your words in a mocking tone.

It was early, close to mid-morning, and you had caught the first train that brought you close to your hometown. It was quiet between watching the scenery and feeling the rumble of the train as you sat. For the first time since the semester started, you felt at peace both mentally and physically. You knew once you got back to your dorm, you’d only have a month and a half before the semester was over., You had an amazing internship lined up at an international business that handles multiple different contracts and if you did well they’d be willing to help with your education and continue on your classes regarding business.

The idea alone had put you at ease to say the least. It gave you hope for a brighter future compared to the treacherous childhood you had been through.

To say practice was brutal was an understatement. With only a month left until their new album was to be released, the member’s schedule was packed and tension was high. The lack of sleep and diets have put people on edge, new choreography needed to be hammered out, and with it being a full album, they had a lot riding on their shoulders.

“ Let’s run it from the top again.” Soonyoung called out, but five minutes after they finished their most recent run.

“ Hyung, it hasn’t even been ten minutes, we are gonna wear ourselves out before we even get going again. ” Mingyu protested, lifting his shirt to wipe the beads of sweat that descended down his face from his hairline.

Laying flat on the hard dance room floors to catch his breath, Jihoon let his eyes stay shut to regain any strength in his body. His legs felt like jello and a headache was starting to come on. Lifting his arm and cracking his eyes open, he groaned at the time on his watch: 4:49 PM. They still had over an hour to finish the rest of practice. The worst part? He knew Soonyoung would get annoyed and a fight – verbal one thankfully – would break out between some of the members, which would ruin practice.

Jihoon was even starting to grow frustrated with the recent events. He hated the fighting and he hated seeing his friends – no, his family – suffering for the reality that was being an idol. It wasn’t fair, he knew that like the back of his hand, but this was the life he did sign on the dotted line for.

“ If we get up and get it all done, maybe we can get out of here earlier, right? ” Dino spoke up, sitting beside Jeonghan and Seungkwan on the floor against the mirrors.

Seungkwan leaned his head onto the youngest’s shoulder, speaking gently to him. “ You have wishful thinking, Hoshi-hyung is brutal, you know that. ”

Still with some protests, practice went on, repeating the same dance over and over and over in mind numbing succession. By the time they had wrapped up and were ready to get home, many were close to falling asleep where they stood. The walk home was close, thankfully, yet getting inside and everyone taking showers was a feat still. No one truly had any sense of personal space or quiet with all thirteen sharing a dorm together.

Crawling into bed, Jihoon let the weight of the day slowly slip from his limbs. The tense muscles, pounding headache, and frustration that presented itself to him sometimes were overwhelming, however tonight was different.

Through the bond him and his soulmate shared, there was a creeping feeling of tranquility. It felt so…breathtaking, like fresh air was hitting his lungs for the first time. That peace was mixed with sleepiness, not the usual exhaustion that pushed through. A part of him would laugh if he wasn’t so tired, finding it comical that they were feeling completely opposite states of mind.

“ Goodnight to whoever you are, Soulmate. ”

2017

How could he describe the discomfort in his chest that was throwing him off his entire game?

This year, Jihoon and the rest of his group had done so much. While last year only brought an Asia tour, they successfully finished their first world tour. Not long after settling at home, they released their second full album, Teen, Age, where the group recently finished album promotions.

Sitting in his studio, Universe Factory he called it, Jihoon let the notes of his most recent composition soothe the discomfort that built up. Over the course of a few weeks, the bond had pushed an encroaching amount of hopelessness from his soulmate. It was eating him alive, keeping him awake when he needed the rest to recover from the year. Eating became difficult, motivation was dwindling to even get out of bed even when the feeling wasn’t his own. He was lucky that he made it to the studio tonight.

The members had been hounding him to leave his room, Mingyu specifically since they were sharing a room together in their new dorm. Seungcheol and Jeonghan had offered dinner, Soonyoung offered to go see a movie, and Joshua had suggested just going to the second dorm and watching anime. Each time, he declined, only wanting to stay in and ride through whatever depressive episode they were going through.

Looking about the room now, he sunk back into his chair, contemplating some way to counterbalance this…dejection. It wasn’t easy to fix this, though he didn’t think there wasn’t a way to fix this. You were someone unknown to him, hell he had figured out you were most likely on the other side of the world. The time on his wrist taunted him with the knowledge that both of you had a lengthy time until you were to meet.

A huff left him, raising both hands to rub them over his face to clear his head. He couldn’t even be there to provide any comfort which for one reason or another made him feel immensely guilty.

“ You look like you are going through every emotion at once.” The voice that called out had Jihoon jumping out of his skin.

Meeting the other’s eye, his shoulders deflated at the sight of his leader, holding a bag of what he assumed was takeout food in hand.

“ You know, for someone that tells the other’s to eat, sleep, and stay healthy, you are really bad at following your own advice.” Seungcheol snorted, taking a seat on the couch just behind Jihoon’s desk. He took the time to take the food containers out of the bag and set the spread out for both of them.

With unseen weight pushing down on him, Jihoon trudged his way to the couch and barely managed to miss Seungcheol as he limply sat back on the couch. “ I’m trying to but every time I try to sleep, they are awake feeling so hopeless. I go to eat and I just lose my appetite. I want to be able to help them, I do, but I can’t because destiny says we can’t meet for like 5 more years.”

Quietly, Seungcheol handed a pair of chopsticks to the younger man which were taken and with slight reluctance, Jihoon began eating.

“ Sometimes we have to accept that there is nothing you can do, you realize that, correct? ”

Jihoon hated how right he was, but he would never admit it. Well, maybe he would but not right now. Not while the irrational part of himself was still blaming himself for his soulmate's depression.

In relative silence, the two ate. Beside him, Seungcheol was keeping a watchful eye to see if the other was truly eating and was satisfied he was able to feed the other without much of a fight.

“ Think of it like this, ” Jihoon perked up, “ Channel it into your music, make something for them that makes you feel good. Maybe lifting your mood can help lift theirs?”

Wracking his brain. Seungcheol swore he saw a light bulb appear above the shorter man’s head. Jihoon stood from his spot and hurried over to his computer, nearly smashing the keyboard for the screen to light up again. As soon as he could see, he was clicking around for a file, an unfinished composition that he didn’t know what to do with. The BMP was on the higher end, high energy. He played through it once, twice, and behind him, his leader was already packing up any leftover food to bring back to the dorm at this point.

Coming up behind him, Jihoon jumped when Seungcheol’s hand landed on his shoulder.

“ I’m going to get out of your hair. Be back to the dorm before it gets too late or I’m having Soonyoung or Mingyu drag you back.”

“ Mm, Bye hyung.”

And with that, he began his work once more, a re-found feeling of inspiration and creativity. It took a few hours, much faster than some of the other times it took to refine a piece and perfect lyrics to convey what he wanted. The work flowed easily, a second natural at this point for the young producer. As he worked, Jihoon failed to notice the tiny smile that was spreading across his face.

He let his hands dance across the keyboard, hitting enter as he finally named the file; Run To You .

Pulling up his email, Jihoon sent it to his manager and a few of their album production staff, stating he needed it on the special album, no buts. It needed to be there; for himself and hopefully for his soulmate if they listened to his group.

You felt like you were sinking. The more you attempted to swim up for air, the more you were dragged down by the heavy weights around your ankles that you called life.

Back last month in November, only six or so months since you began your internship. They had offered you a full time job, willing to pay for the rest of your bachelors and fund your masters degree if you stuck with them. You made the agreement to go part time with schooling, exclusively online, 3 classes per spring and fall along with 1 per summer and winter semesters. You already did a decent amount of credits your first four semesters, so you weren’t too worried until the new fall semester hit.

Ever since August, you felt the weight start to build up and push down on you. At first, it was small. Your higher up gave you a lot of responsibility, a large role to fill – your boss said – explaining that your ability to translate and review documentation were exemplary. The fall semester brought your classes for both your majors in order to graduate on time. You were keeping up between lack of sleep and a, somewhat thankfully, eight to four job.

Sure, it wasn’t ideal, you lost time with seeing your friends on campus, but you made just enough money to find a small studio apartment and your grandparents were willing to help with whatever you needed. You were learning to take care of yourself alone, albeit with financial help. With the months passing, you were growing tired, not of your job, honestly you enjoyed the work you were doing, but college was tiring mentally and it ate up any free time you thought you were going to have. Nonetheless, you were doing okay in your classes, As and Bs, you were proud of yourself.

Though, as you sat in the silence of your apartment in the odd hours of the night due to insomnia, you felt so alone…

Your grandparents lived upstate, your friends were on campus near there, everything you knew and found comfort in from your hometown was so…far. It was getting difficult to field your grandparents calls, you were telling the truth, you were working hard, you were doing great in your classes, but you withheld the truth about your mental state.

Curled up under the covers, staring blankly at the yellowed paint of the wall opposite of the windows to your room, you couldn’t sleep. You have barely eaten recently, you know you lost some weight, and you haven’t slept properly in about a week but you were functioning somehow.

A part of you felt guilty. Guilty that you were feeling this depressed over something you would consider so trivial and guilty that your inability to regulate your mental stability that your soulmate was most likely suffering as well. Another part of you wanted to curl up in a corner and just ride it out the best you could, but you knew you had responsibilities to yourself, to your family, and to your soulmate to stay around.

Now in December, you already requested some time off around the holidays to see everyone. Deep down you were praying the time away from everything after finals would be able to help your melancholy mood.

#seventeen #seventeen x reader #svt #seventeen jihoon #woozi x reader #svt woozi #soulmate au #seventeen soulmate au #seventeen fic #svt x reader

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gunsandspaceships · 15 days ago

Text

MCU Timeline: Guardians of the Galaxy

Before creation - six singularities exist.

The Big Bang - the remnants of the six singularities are forged into the Infinity Stones.

~1014-2014 - war between the Kree and the Nova Empire.

Hundreds of years before 2014 - the Tivan Group sends workers to extract organic matter from the skull of a dead celestial being (a place known as Knowhere).

Few months before Meredith Quill's death - she is diagnosed with terminal brain cancer.

2:30 am, ~April, 1988 - the death of Meredith Quill. Her son Peter is abducted by The Ravagers.

Note: based on visual cues, it's either April/May or September. What if? S2 E2 takes place 6 months after the abduction, but still in 1988. It can't be later than September/October, so the match would be April.

1988-2014 - Yondu Udonta raises Peter Quill. Peter becomes the Ravager "known" as Star-Lord.

The main events take place in 2014.

The Official Timeline says it's summer, but I can't post that here because I can't confirm or deny that claim with the movie itself, and any statements from Marvel Studios tend to change.

Since we are not on Earth in this film, there will be no dates or time coordinates. The exact number of days that have passed cannot be determined either, since we are talking about interstellar flights, various celestial bodies and extraterrestrial technologies. Seasons, coordinate systems and the length of the earthly day do not apply here.

Shortly before Day 1:

The Kree Empire and the Nova Empire sign a peace treaty.

Thanos lends Gamora and Nebula to Ronan the Accuser to help him find the Power Stone.

Day 1:

Peter Quill steals the Orb containing the Power Stone from the planet Morag. He is attacked by Ronan's men led by Korath, but manages to escape.

Riots across the Kree Empire protesting the recent peace treaty signed by the Kree Emperor and Xandar's Nova Prime.

Peter dismisses Yondu's demand to give him the Orb, and Yondu puts a bounty on Peter with the condition that he be brought alive.

Ronan awakens on his ship, the Dark Aster, and kills a Nova Corps officer.

Korath returns to the Dark Astra and tells Ronan about the stolen Orb. Ronan sends Gamora to retrieve the artifact.

~Day 2:

On Xandar, Peter fails to sell the Orb to the Broker. He is attacked by Gamora, Rocket, and Groot. They are all eventually arrested by the Nova Corps.

Ronan destroys Xandarian outposts across the galaxy.

The Kree Empire refuses to respond to Ronan's crimes.

Nova Corps officers process Gamora, Quill, Rocket, and Groot and send them to the Kyln prison to await sentencing.

~Day 3:

The four arrive at the Kyln.

Night - prisoners attempt to kill Gamora. Drax the Destroyer intervenes, wanting to do it himself. Gamora is saved by Peter, who offers Drax the chance to kill Ronan instead.

Peter, Gamora, Rocket (and Groot) agree on a plan to escape and sell the Orb to the Collector.

~Day 4:

Other tells Ronan about Gamora's real plan and that Thanos demands his presence at his Sanctuary.

Ronan comes to the Sanctuary and kills Other. Thanos threatens to kill Ronan unless he brings him the Orb. Ronan and Nebula head to the Kyln.

The future Guardians of the Galaxy escape from prison.

They head to the Collector's base on Knowhere.

Ronan and Co arrive at the Kyln just after GotG has escaped the prison. Ronan orders the Necrocraft to be sent after the escapees and kill the guards and prisoners.

Yondu visits the Broker to get information about the Orb's buyer.

The collector orders his slave Carina to clean the display cases containing his "exhibits".

~Day 5:

GotG arrive on Knowhere.

The Collector makes them wait. Peter almost kisses Gamora, Drax and Rocket (and Groot) almost kill each other. Drax leaves drunk and challenges Ronan to a fight.

Tivan finally invites Gamora and Co. He tells them about the Infinity Stones and is about to complete the deal, but Carina touches the Power Stone and it explodes, destroying the place and killing her. Tivan, some of his "exhibits", and GotG survive.

GotG takes the Orb back and finds themselves surrounded by Ronan and Yondu.

Battle of Knowhere.

Ronan's men take the Orb. Quill saves Gamora's life, Groot saves Drax. Quill and Gamora are taken by Yondu.

Ronan learns that the Orb contains the Power Stone and calls Thanos to tell him that he no longer needs his help. Ronan grabs the Stone and places it in his hammer. He then threatens to kill Thanos when he is done with Xandar. Nebula joins him in hopes of revenge.

Peter makes a deal with Yondu to help save Xandar in exchange for the Stone. GotG reunites on the Ravagers' ship.

Peter convinces the others to try to stop Ronan. They come up with a plan.

~Day 6:

Gamora and Quill explain the plan to the Ravagers. Everyone prepares for battle. Quill sends a message to Nova Corps officer Rhomann Dey.

GotG+Ravagers and Ronan approach Xandar.

Rhomann Dey informs Nova Prime of Quill's message.

The Battle of Xandar.

The death of Garthan Saal, a Nova's Denarian, and most of the Nova Corps pilots who participated in the battle.

Drax kills Korath.

Groot sacrifices himself to save his teammates.

Nebula escapes.

The Dark Aster and Milano are destroyed.

GotG annihilate Ronan with the Power Stone.

Peter gives Yondu the orb without the Stone, and the Ravagers fly away.

Rocket picks up a twig left from Groot.

GotG hand the Stone over to the Nova Corps.

For a sufficiently long number of days after:

Nova Corps expunges Guardians' criminal records.

Rhomann Dey is promoted to Denarian.

Nova Prime informs Peter that his father is not from Earth.

Nova gives the team a restored Milano.

Peter finally unwraps his mother's gift with the Awesome Mix vol.2.

From Groot Sr.'s twig grows Groot Jr.

The Guardians leave Xandar.

MCU Phase One Timelines Iron Man 3 Timeline Thor: The Dark World Timeline CA:TWS Timeline

#marvel #mcu #mcu timeline #gotg #guardians of the galaxy

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mostlysignssomeportents · 1 year ago

Text

Union pensions are funding private equity attacks on workers

On October 7–8, I'm in Milan to keynote Wired Nextfest.

If end-stage capitalism has a motto, it's this: "Stop hitting yourself." The great failure of "voting with your wallet" is that you're casting ballots in a one party system (The Capitalism Party), and the people with the thickest wallets get the most votes.

During the Cultural Revolution, the Chinese state would bill the families of executed dissidents for the ammunition used to execute their loved ones:

https://www.quora.com/Is-it-true-the-Chinese-government-makes-the-families-of-executed-people-pay-for-the-cost-of-bullets

In end-stage capitalism, the dollars we spend to feed ourselves are used to capture the food supply and corrupt our political process:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/04/dont-let-your-meat-loaf/#meaty-beaty-big-and-bouncy

And the dollars we save for retirement are flushed into the stock market casino, a game that is rigged against us, where we are always the suckers at the table:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/07/25/derechos-humanos/#are-there-no-poorhouses

Everywhere and always, we are financing our own destruction. It's quite a Mr Gotcha moment:

https://thenib.com/mister-gotcha/

Now, anything that can't go on forever will eventually stop. We are living through a broad, multi-front counter-revolution to Reaganomics and neoliberal Democratic Party sellouts. The FTC and DOJ Antitrust Division are dragging Big Tech and Big Meat and Big Publishing into court. We're seeing bans on noncompete clauses, and high-profile government enforcers are publicly pledging never to work for corporate law-firms when they quit public service:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/09/nein-nein/#everything-is-miscellaneous

And of course, there's the reinvigoration of the labor movement! Hot Labor Summer is now Perpetual Labor September, with 75,000 Kaiser workers walking out alongside the UAW, SAG-AFTRA and 2,350 other groups of workers picketing, striking or protesting:

https://striketracker.ilr.cornell.edu/

But capitalism still gets a lick in. Union pension plans are some of the most important investors in private equity funds. Your union pension dollars are probably funding the union-busting, child-labor-employing, civilization-destroying Gordon Gecko LARPers who are also evicting you from the rental they bought and turned into a slum, and will then murder you in a hospice that they bought and turned into a slaughterhouse:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/26/death-panels/#what-the-heck-is-going-on-with-CMS

Writing for The American Prospect, Rachel Phua rounds up the past, present and future of union pension funds backing private equity monsters:

https://prospect.org/labor/2023-10-04-workers-funding-misery-private-equity-pension-funds/

Private equity and hedge funds have destroyed 1.3 million US jobs:

https://united4respect.org/press-release/people-who-work-at-walmart-sears-amazon-formerly-toys-r-us-more-join-forces-together-as-united-for-respect-2-2-2-2-5-3/

They buy companies and then illegally staff them with children:

https://www.dol.gov/newsroom/releases/whd/whd20230217-1

They lobby against the minimum wage:

https://pestakeholder.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/04/Insire-Brands-memo-on-15-wage.pdf

They illegally retaliate against workers seeking to unionize their jobsite:

https://www.hoteldive.com/news/dc-hotel-workers-enlist-us-representatives-to-fight-sofitel-union-busting/650396/

And they couldn't do it without union pension funds. Public service union pensions have invested $650 million with PE funds. In 2001, the share of public union pensions invested in PE was 3.5%; today, it's 13%:

https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1B0vv26VEFmwtfw5ur6dSDMY8NftvZKij/

Giant public union funds like CalPERS are planning massive increases in their contributions to PE:

https://www.calpers.ca.gov/page/newsroom/calpers-news/2023/calpers-preliminary-investment-return-fiscal-year-2022-23

This results in some ghastly and ironic situations. Aramark used funds from a custodian's union to bid against that union's members for contracts, in an attempt to break the union and force the workers to take a paycut to $11/hour:

https://www.bloomberg.com/news/articles/2012-11-20/pension-fund-gains-mean-worker-pain-as-aramark-cuts-pay

Blackstone's investors include the California State Teachers Retirement System (CalSTRS). The PE ghouls who sucked Toys R Us dry were funded by Texas teachers.

Then there's KKR, one of the most rapacious predators of the PE world. Half of the investors in KKR's Global Infrastructure Investors IV fund are public sector pension funds. Those workers' money were spent to buy up Refresco (Arizona Iced Tea, Tropicana juices, etc), a transaction that immediately precipitated a huge spike in on-the-job accidents as KKR cut safety and increased tempo:

https://www.osha.gov/ords/imis/establishment.inspection_detail?id=1675674.015

Petsmart is the poster-child for PE predation. The company uses TRAPs ("TrainingRepaymentAgreementProvision") clauses to recreate indentured servitude, forcing workers to pay thousands of dollars to quit their jobs:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/08/04/its-a-trap/#a-little-on-the-nose

Why would a Petsmart employee want to quit? Petsmart's PE owner is BC Partners, and under BC's management, workers have been forced to work impossible hours while overseeing cruel animal abuse, including starving sick animals to death rather than euthanizing them, and then being made to sneak them into dumpsters on the way home from work so Petsmart doesn't have to pay for cremation. 24 of BC Partners' backers are public pension funds, including CalSTRS and the NYC Employees' Retirement System:

https://prospect.org/culture/books/2023-06-02-days-of-plunder-morgenson-rosner-ballou-review/

PE buyouts are immediately followed by layoffs. One in five PE acquisitions goes bankrupt. Unions should not be investing in PE. But the managers of these funds defend the practice, saying they "facilitate dialog" with the PE bosses on workers' behalf.

This isn't total nonsense. Once upon a time, public pension fund managers put pressure on investees to force them to divest from Apartheid South Africa and tobacco companies. Even today, public pensions have successfully applied leverage to get fund managers to drop Russian investments after the invasion of Ukraine. And public pensions pulled out of the private prison sector, tanking the valuation of some of the largest players.

But there's no evidence that this leverage is being applied to pensions' PE billions. It's not like PE is a great deal for these pensions. PE funds don't reliably outperform the market, especially after PE bosses' sky-high fees are clawed back:

https://papers.ssrn.com/sol3/papers.cfm?abstract_id=3623820

Pension funds could match or beat their PE returns by sticking the money in a low-load Vanguard index tracker. What's more, PE is getting worse, pioneering new scams like inflating the value of companies after they buy and strip-mine them, even though there's no reason to think anyone would buy these hollow companies at the price that the PE companies assign to them for bookkeeping purposes:

https://www.institutionalinvestor.com/article/2bstqfcskz9o72ospzlds/opinion/why-does-private-equity-get-to-play-make-believe-with-prices

To inject a little verisimilitude into this obvious fantasy, PE companies sell their portfolio companies to themselves at inflated prices, in a patently fraudulent shell-game:

https://www.ft.com/content/646d00f4-af5d-4267-a436-54fb3bc1697b

What's more, PE funds aren't just bad bosses, they're also bad landlords. PE-backed funds have scooped up an appreciable fraction of America's housing stock, transforming good rentals into slums:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/01/27/extraordinary-popular-delusions/#wall-street-slumlords

PE is really pioneering a literal cradle-to-grave immiseration strategy. First, they gouge you on your kids' birth:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/10/27/crossing-a-line/#zero-fucks-given

Then, they slash your wages and steal from your paycheck:

https://papers.ssrn.com/sol3/papers.cfm?abstract_id=3465723

Then, they evict you from your home:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/05/vulture-capitalism/#distressed-assets

And then they murder you as part of a scam they're running on Medicare:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/05/any-metric-becomes-a-target/#hca

As the labor movement flexes its muscle, it needs to break this connection. Workers should not be paying for the bullet that their bosses put through their skulls.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/05/mr-gotcha/#no-ethical-consumption-under-capitalism

My next novel is The Lost Cause, a hopeful novel of the climate emergency. Amazon won't sell the audiobook, so I made my own and I'm pre-selling it on Kickstarter!

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marwritesgood · 2 years ago

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Hide and Seek | S. Harrington

Pairing: Steve x Hopper!Reader

Timeframe: Season 5

Summary: It's time to take down Vecna once and for all and, much to Steve's protests, Y/n puts herself on the frontline.

warning description of violence and injury

PREVIOUS PART

series masterlist // main masterlist

a/n: and we're back to the main storyline :) this part was not initially planned, but it felt awkward moving forward without addressing what goes down during the big battle with Vecna! hope you enjoy :)

September 21st, 1978

Y/n sat at the kitchen table quietly, stewing in her nervousness as she waited for her mom to explain further. She had called her eldest to sit with her, which wasn't what made Y/n anxious. It was when her mom called her by her full name. That was never a good sign.

From underneath the table they sat at, Y/n's mom held up her daughter's school bag, unzipped it and pulled out a sheet of paper. Y/n hung her head, cursing herself for not just throwing it in the bin like she initially contemplated doing. Seeing her reaction, Y/n's mom softened her gaze.

“Why didn’t you tell me there was a school trip coming up?”

She could not understand it. Y/n was not the type to hide things from her mom, nor was she the type to pass up an overnight school field trip.

Y/n locked eyes with her mom for a short moment before averting them quickly. Her face was burning up from the embarrassment. She never meant for her little white lie to turn into a whole thing.

“I forgot.”

“Y/n, don’t lie to me.”

The young girl hung her head once more.

“There’s a fee. I didn’t know if we could afford to…”

She couldn't bring herself to finish her sentence. Not after the sharp inhale her mother took almost immediately. Y/n glanced up at her momentarily. She had seen her mother do a heck of a lot of crying over the last few months, but never like that, and never over her.

The older woman rose from her chair and sped around the table, pulling her daughter into her embrace.

“I’m so sorry, Y/n,” she said softly, before finally pulling away. “I know your dad and I have been fighting a lot, and constantly going back and forth about Sara, instead of making sure we were looking after you.”

“I get it, mom,” Y/n whispered.

Her mother felt her stomach drop further. This was the last thing she wanted for Y/n. Her sweet, vibrant Y/n who had gotten far too good at and far too accustomed to pulling a brave face. The older woman lifted her hands to the sides of her daughter’s face and frowned regretfully.

“We’ll do better, I promise,” she said before glancing back down at the sheet of paper on the kitchen table and taking it in her hand once more. “Starting with this field trip, because there’s no way you’re missing out.”

“Mom, you don’t have to-“

Y/n’s eyes widened as her mom held her hand up, stopping her from saying anything further. She pursed her lips tightly, giving the field trip handout a onceover before looking her daughter dead in the eye.

“I’m the mom, you’re the kid, ok?” She snapped, her voice filling the room to the brim, startling Y/n at first and then filling her with relief. She nodded.

The entire time Sara had been sick, nurses and doctors and family friends were commenting on how strong and mature her big sister was, shouldering extra responsibilities to help out her parents and spending all her free time with Sara all while keeping her grades up at school. Y/n never wanted to be strong and mature, but by the way everyone spoke about her, it was obvious that’s what everyone needed her to be.

Y/n’s mother sighed. The fees and the finer details were not to be any of Y/n’s business, she declared to herself. That was hers and Hopper’s. All she wanted from Y/n was a simple answer, and then she would move however many mountains necessary to make it work. The woman gazed intently at her daughter.

“You wanna go on this trip?”

Y/n opened her louth and hesitated for a moment before answering in a hushed tone, “I-I do.”

Her mom nodded once and looked at the handout yet again, her eyes searching for the information on the fee. It would be a stretch, but the woman’s mind was already decided. One of her girls was going to have some semblance of a nice year if it was the last she did.

“I’ll talk to dad. We’ll make it happen.”

Y/n blinked, dumbfounded. It was that simple? She had spent weeks analysing every sentence on the hand out, contemplating if the trip was even worth bringing up to her parents and contemplating ways she could come up with the money herself.

In one conversation, her mom had fixed it all for her.

The young girl was grinning ear to her. With glossy eyes she stepped forward and hugged her mother tightly. It was a small but immensely meaningful win for her, and she needed her mom to know that.

“Thank you.”

The woman felt her breath hitch. After several months of hell, a thank and a hug from a happy daughter was more than she could have asked for. She kissed the top of Y/n’s head and hugged her just as tightly, with no intention of letting go until she did first.

***

November 27th, 1984

Y/n needed a second to breathe. She left Steve with the kids for a few minutes so she could lock the backdoor and the windows, but she found herself standing in the hallway and catching her breath.

When Y/n finally made her way back to the living room, she did so slowly, puzzled by the gruff voice coming from the living room where the kids were. She could only just make out the words being spoken.

“You know what happens when I get angry, Max. I break things."

Her stomach turned as realisation hit and she raced towards the sound of the kids screaming. Billy Hargrove was yet again causing trouble. By the time Y/n reached the living room, he had already broken one of Joyce’s plates and held a petrified little Lucas against the wall by his shirt.

Instantly fuming, Y/n made her way towards him with clenched fists, her thumbs tucked in just as she had been taught by her old man.

“Hey asshole,” she shouted, pulling Billy back by his shoulder as hard as she could. Once he let go of Lucas and turned to Y/n, she swung her right fist with all her might and aimed right for his stupid face.

Billy doubled back, lifting his hand to his nose and kissing his teeth when he saw blood on his fingertips.

“Yeah, kick his ass Y/n!” The kids were cheering from the corner of the room, making Y/n forget about the pain in her hand, but only just for a moment. Billy laughed dryly.

“You know, I’m getting real sick of you butting your nose into my business,” he hissed, starting to get the impression she was more than just an old babysitter to the little boys who kept hanging around Max. “Just ‘cause your dad’s the stupid police chief, doesn’t mean you run this town.”

Y/n furrowed her brows, resenting being referred to nothing but the chief’s daughter, even moreso from a dingus like him. He inched forward, trying to intimidate her, but Y/n straightened her back and planted her feet.

“Just shut up and go pick on someone your own size, Billy,” she spat, still fuming. It was bad enough he had a habit of beating up unsuspecting freshman at school, now he was terrorising her kids.

Billy kept moving closer to her, the crease between his brows remaining steady, and it started to dawn on Y/n that if he had no issue with hitting a kid as sweet as Lucas, there was very little chance he would have an issue with beating her up. Her feet shifted backwards ever so slightly, and Billy took immediate notice of it. He smirked.

“Already did,” he taunted, nodding his head towards the window facing the front yard. “Didn’t you see your little boyfriend on the ground outside?”

Y/n was swinging her fist again before it could even register, but unfortunately Billy caught it before another blow could be made to his face. Just as his lips instinctively curved into what Y/n knew would be another infuriating smirk, Y/n jolted her foot upwards until it came to a sudden and aggressive collision with his groin.

Billy doubled back yet again, wincing momentarily and then donning an expression far more sinister. He recovered his stance in a seconds and was glaring daggers at Y/n, completely fed up.

“Oh, you are so dead,” he growled, moving forward with his hands balled up and winding back ready to swing. If he was holding back before, he clearly did not plan to anymore. Y/n stumbled backwards. Before she could remember to tuck her thumbs, a pair of strong arms pulled her out of the way.

“No you are.”

Steve, bloody nose and all, caught Billy’s fist mid-swing and sucker-punched the left side of his face before he could see it coming. Instinctively, Y/n lunged forward and reached for her boyfriend, startled by the injuries already evident on his face.

“Steve!”

While relieved Billy didn’t get the chance to punch her, Y/n did not have time to feel grateful for Steve’s impeccable timing, nor did she have time to watch him get into fight with Billy Hargrove.

Her fingers barely grazed her boyfriends arm before he was following Billy. Y/n stepped back and signalled for the kids to stay out of the way. She knew Steve had had a bone to pick with him ever since he got to Hawkins, so there was no telling where things would go, but something told Y/n it was gonna get ugly. Billy began laughing maniacally, clapping his hands sarcastically before shoving Steve back.

“So you do have a bit of fire in you,” he chuckled. “You know, I’ve been waiting to see the King Steve everyone’s been talking about.”

“Just leave,” Steve hissed, shoving him back just as hard. Billy’s smirk never faltered, despite losing his footing for a split second. Instead, he stood tall and inched forward again, narrowing his eyes at Steve tauntingly, as if testing to see what would set him off.

“Didn’t realise all I had to do was go after his bitch-“

Y/n inhaled sharply. Before Billy could get another word out, Steve was jabbing his face and his torso repeatedly. He could tolerate Billy poking fun at him, but not at Y/n. Never at her.

The kids were back to cheering again, and Y/n was grasping at straws trying to de-escalate, before one of them ended up seriously hurt. Sure, maybe she thought Billy deserved a few sucker-punches to the face, and maybe she didn’t mind if Steve was the one handing them out, but there was a bigger battle at hand and time was not on their side.

The two of them brought their fight into Joyce’s kitchen, where Billy took a plate and smashed it against Steve’s head, giving him the upper hand. Y/n muffled a shriek behind her hand and decided it was time to step in. Billy showed no evident intention of slowing down anytime soon, even with Steve on the floor and him towering over. Y/n sped forward and tried to pull him back like she had done before.

“Billy, get the hell off him!”

Steve was already losing consciousness, but Billy just kept going. Y/n tried to get a good grasp of his arm to yank him back, but he was moving too quickly. He swung his fist back just as Y/n leaned forward again, hitting her in between her eyes and sending her backwards.

“Uhh-“ she groaned as she tried to regain focus. Her ears were ringing and her vision was beginning to blur. The last she remembered was seeing Max’s faint figure come marching in wielding something. Then she lost consciousness for a few minutes.

When Y/n finally did begin to see and hear things clearly, Max had a strange bat in her hands and Billy was lying on the floor with a needle sticking out of the side of his neck.

***

March 31st, 1986

The days following Vecna’s attack on Y/n came by like a series of punches, not giving anyone a chance to recover. From kissing Steve in his bedroom, helping Eddie evade an angry mob and then helping Steve and the kids lie to the police about why they were all at lover’s lake in the middle of the night. Y/n could not wait to have a good night’s sleep again.

Unfortunately, the end was nowhere in sight. Everyone gathered around Nancy in Eddie’s living room as she explained what she saw— what Vecna showed her before she and Robin could leave the upside down. Almost immediately afterwards, a few of them started to discuss what to do next. Y/n, on the other hand, could only think about El.

She left to call the Byers’ house phone, but after twenty minutes of nothing, Y/n started to fear for the worst. She came back to the living room just as Dustin came up with a bright idea about thinking Vecna and his powers as another version of El’s.

“That all sounds great in theory, but we don’t even know when he’s going to attack next,” Robin argued, “we don’t even know who he’s gonna attack next.”

Y/n's breath hitched. Suddenly it was beginning to make sense why she still did not feel like herself again. Though she was definitely much happier than she was when Vecna was first targeting her, she could not definitively say her symptoms were completely gone.

“Yeah we do,” she said, looking up and seeing everyone's eyes glued on hers. Y/n had become accustomed to their worried expressions since recovering from Vecna. She knew they were going to be on the fence on what she was about to propose, one of them in particular

“I can still feel him," Y/n clarified before clearing her throat. "I think… I think I’m still a target. Still cursed.”

The room was silent. Everyone exchanged looks with each other. Everyone but Steve, whose attention never left Y/n. She couldn't be serious, he thought. But she was. If she wasn't before, she was now that she knew El might be involved.

“So, maybe I ditch the Bee Gees. I draw his focus back to me... and I keep him busy long enough so that you guys can get into that attic," she proposed. “Then you can chop his head off… or stab him- I don't know.”

Y/n shrugged her shoulder and finally looked up, meeting everyone's intense gaze. If she was going to do this, it meant they would have only a small window to do what was needed, to kill the son of a bitch once and for all.

“Just try not to miss.”

Steve furrowed his brows. His frustration grew as he looked around and saw everyone seemingly accept that as the official plan. Like there was nothing alarming about sacrificing his girlfriend to Vecna.

“Woah, hold on, time out," he scoffed, walking towards Y/n and taking hold of her hand, pulling her into the kitchen and out of earshot from the other. Y/n sighed, knowing any lecture he was about to give her would be in vain.

“Steve, don’t try to talk me out of this-“

He narrowed his eyes at her incredulously.

“What, so I should just let you get yourself killed?!”

“I’ve dealt with him before,” Y/n pointed out.

“And you were this close to dying,” he argued, holding his index finger and thumb up to show just how narrowly she escaped the same fate as Chrissy and Fred.

“But I’m not dead! I survived that, I can survive this too.”

She had to tell herself that. She had to force herself to believe it too. If not for her own sake, then for the sake of her loved ones, both in and out of Hawkins. The crease between Steve's brows persisted, and Y/n knew she had to get him on board.

“No one in California is picking up the phone. I’ve rang about 5 times already,” she explained shakily. “I have this… this gut feeling that they’re in trouble. And if Nancy’s right-“

“And what if she’s wrong?” Steve questioned, knowing he would never be able to live with himself if Y/n got hurt or died unnecessarily.

“But what if she’s right, Steve?” Y/n sniffled, her eyes brimming with tears. She was not happy about it either— far from it actually, but what other option was there? She pressed further. “I mean, what if me doing this is our best chance at putting an end to all of this?— An end to Vecna?”

He paused for a moment and realised she was right. If they didn’t go after Vecna with their best foot forward, there was no telling where things would go or how many more people he would hurt.

Even so, he still couldn’t bring himself to be ok with it. Steve wanted to find another, any other course of action that didn’t involve putting Y/n’s life in the palm of Vecna’s hands again. He knew his reasoning was selfish, but to hell with it.

“I just got you back, Y/n.”

Y/n sighed, her shoulders slumping and lips pursing to form a frown. A lump formed in the back of her throat as it dawned on her what he meant. She did not just come back from the clutches of Vecna, she came back to Steve and they found their way back to each other. Inching closer to him, Y/n placed her hands against the sides of Steve’s face.

“And I’m not going anywhere,” she murmured reassuringly, before dropping her hands and weaving her fingers with his. “This time is different. We have the upper hand, because I know Vecna’s moves.”

“You do?”

He studied her closely as he traced circles with his thumb against the back of her hand. She shuffled even closer until their hips met and nodded her head.

“I think so,” she answered quietly, thinking back to how she escaped Vecna before, a memory still vivid in her mind. “It’s like he uses my memories— my really bad ones, to make me vulnerable and easier for him to attack.”

It started when she was looking back at the cabin, she remembered. Then she saw her dad and everything got worse. Y/n tried not to reminisce for too long. That wound was still fresh.

“Oh,” Steve muttered beneath his breath before letting out a defeated exhaled. He hated that Y/n went through that, knowing just how bad things were and everything she had been through. He couldn’t stomach the thought of her going through it again just to stall Vecna.

“But when I survived the last time it wasnt just because I heard the song, but because I thought about good memories,” Y/n explained, smiling weakly, knowing that pulling a brave face would be in the best interest. Luckily, she had years of practise doing just that. “Shouldn’t be too hard to do again.”

“What if he does something unexpected?”

“I just think of a really good memory.”

Thankfully, she had a good number of those. Some with her mom and Sara, a lot with El, but most were with Steve. Her eyes locked with his and, without saying it aloud, Y/n knew it was mutually understood.

“But, even if something goes wrong, I’m not worried, because…”

Her eyes never left his. Y/n knew Steve was running out of reasons to be against it, but she also knew that no matter how much of a fight he put up, if she was going to through with being Vecna bait, Steve was going to be right there with her.

“I know you’re not gonna let anything happen to me.”

All she had to worry about was what would happen in her mind nad in Vecna’s territory. She knew Steve would keep her safe in the real world until she was back.

He gave it another moment’s deliberation. In a perfect world, it would not have come down to this, but there was clearly nothing he was going to be able to do to change her mind. Steve sighed.

“Ok.”

Y/n smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. He pulled her closer to him and took the time to appreciate it all— the feeling of her waist beneath his fingertips, her head against the crook of his neck and the smell of her perfume.

He knew it before and he knew it then. Whatever trouble she found herself in, he was always going to be at her side.

***

April 2nd, 1986 - 6PM

Y/n tested her flashlight a couple times against the doors to the Creel house and then turned back to the the other three. The plan was for her and Steve to lure Vecna out by going inside what was apparently his childhood home, with Erica and Max keeping an eye from the outside, while the others were headed into the upside down.

She had manage to pull a brave face for the last few days, but standing at the doorstep was beginning to test what little bravery Y/n had left.

“Max, you and Erica will be ok on lookout?”

The young girl nodded, "yup, we got it covered.” She then gestured towards Erica who was already setting up base on the front yard. Y/n watched Max head off and turned back to the front door, her hand reaching out to open it only to be stopped by Steve's.

“Wait, um..." He looked at his shoes, then at the door, then at his shoes again, trying to find the right words without putting a damper on morale. He licked his lips and sighed. "Just be careful, please.”

“I will."

Steve continued to hold her hand firmly, his expression beginning to morph from concern to desperation. He knew once they entered the house, there was no going back.

“If you start to feel like something’s wrong, just-“

“Steve. I will," Y/n assured him, knowing where he was going. Just let me know, she presumed.

Y/n did not need to be reminded that Steve had her back and would be ready to step in if things went south. It was already common knowledge to her. However, that was not what Steve was concerned about.

“You don’t need to put yourself on the line anymore than you already are," he croaked, his tone almost pleading. Y/n drew her brows together.

“What do you mean?”

“I know you, Y/n,” Steve whispered. “Don’t do anything reckless.”

Her breath quickened as she met Steve's gaze. Sometimes it felt like he could read her mind. Like he knew she made peace with the chance of not returning if it meant killing Vecna and any plan he had to destroy home and her loved ones.

“This is bigger than just us," Y/n reasoned. Steve kissed his teeth, frustrated. She gripped his hands tighter. "If Nancy’s right about what she saw, the whole of Hawkins could-“

“To hell with this shithole of a town," he scoffed. If the cost came at Y/n's life, it was never going to be worth it to him. Never. Steve narrowed his eyes. "If it comes down to it, I need you to promise me you’re gonna save yourself.”

Y/n froze. No one had ever asked anything like that of her, at least not that she could remember. All her life she had grown used to giving. Her time, her love, her kindness and her patience. There were times she seriously questioned if her selflessness was her primary source of value.

Steve inhaled sharply, trying to keep his composure, as hard as it was. Too much had happened over the last few weeks, much less the last three years. Even so, he knew exactly where his breaking point was, or rather who it rested with.

“Vecna’s taken enough people. And if he takes you too, I don’t-" He shook his head, not daring to finish his sentence for fear it would speak the worst case scenario into existence. Instead, Steve squeezed “Just, please… promise me.”

Y/n nodded, feeling a new and strange sensation in her gut. For so long she had been hyper-fixated on her death- humouring the thought of it, wishing would come sooner and then fearing it would arrive too quickly. Now, all she wanted to do was come back and live to have another burger date with Steve at the lookout and then some.

***

April 2nd, 1986 - 8PM

Steve and Y/n's first couple of hours in the house were spent wandering around and playing hangman while the Bee Gees played on the cassette they were borrowing from Eddie, until finally they found it.

She signalled for him to turn the music down and, while hesitant, Steve obliged. He gave her space to sit and try and lure Vecna out, but didn't stand too far away. Steve wanted a clear view of his girlfriend so he could begin timing from the moment her eyes turned grey. 15 minutes and the Bee Gees were to be back on and at full volume, not a second delayed.

Y/n sat down, placing her torch in front of her and crossing her legs. She was unsure where to begin. Hey Vecna it's me again, seemed an inappropriate start. She thought back to what he showed her and he said through the image of her dad, the very words that had been weighing heavily on her.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said…."

The dark and horrid words he said and he accusations he made, all of which were too heavy for her to repeat aloud even to Steve. It took her a while to realise why they haunted her so much.

"Because it was true.”

Y/n hated every second of realising it, but there was no denying it anymore. Vecna was just echoing thoughts that already existed in her mind. She took a deep breath in and out. If she needed to make herself vulnerable, she knew just the thing to talk about.

“My dad was a ghost after my mom died," Y/n began, the lump in her throat growing as she continued to remember it.

The police at the doorstep explaining that there had been a car accident, the moment at the hospital, the funeral and the memorial he was too inebriated to show up for.

“He stopped looking after himself. Stopped looking after me. Then, he started drinking all the time, and then... he just became the worst.”

He was a shell of a person who came in and out of the house, most times without saying even a word to his daughter. Even so, Y/n remembered the few nights he came home and lashed out at her for no particular reasons more than she did the nights he said nothing at all. Her anger and resentment grew and grew over time with nowhere to go but inwards.

“It was true, I used to wish I had died when Sara and our mom died," she admitted, her eyes falling down to the floorboards. There was no shame in admitting it anymore. If Vecna infiltrated her mind, he would have already known.

Steve's grip on his torch was beginning to weaken. Y/n had told her bits and pieces of the same story, but never this part. He wondered how she was able to this to herself for as long as she did.

“I felt like- um," Y/n sniffled, briefly wiping her eyes and clearing her throat before continuing. Steve did not like where this was headed. "I felt like maybe, to my dad, I was just a walking reminder of them, and of the fact that they were still gone... Maybe me living was just insult to injury.”

When Hopper did speak to Y/n in the years following his wife and Sara's death, he never called her a walking reminder in plain words. He didn't need to. His actions said more than enough.

“But then my dad sobered up,” Y/n continued, her tone and expression turning bitter. The day she had prayed for for years, and it came in a way that left her even more wounded and angry. “- and he cleared the heavy stuff out from the bathroom cabinet, and I thought things were finally turning around… But he was still awful to me.”

Perhaps not in the same way. Hopper and her talked more often and he did not lash out at her as often as he did before, but he still found a way to neglect her and inadvertently let her know she was both an afterthought and a burden. And it hurt Y/n all the same.

“And so, I guess between that and watching him be a better parent to El, I just… I started to hate him," she confessed. The thought used to terrify her, but Y/n had since come to terms with the fact that there was no other way of putting it. “I hated that he was good to her. I hated how he made me feel like shit, and I hated how everyone praised him for getting clean.”

From the people at the station, at her school and even at the post office. All people saw was a grieving father father turn his life around for his daughters. Y/n resented it and, because of it, she resented her dad even more.

“Then, I started to realise… I hated him so much, I didn’t want him to be around anymore," she squeezed her eyes shut. The thought came to her over time, but when it did it was vivid. “I wanted him gone, so all the pain and anger could go too.”

Y/n wanted that more than anything. The anger and the pain was all she knew for so long, but she didn't want it anymore and didn't know how much longer she could carry it all.

“It got to the point where some nights, I wished my mom and my sister had never died and I wished he had instead. And I told myself that maybe it was ok to think that, because I…”

This was it, she thought to herself. This was what the tipping point.

“I could never imagine my mom doing this to me.”

Steve squeezed his eyes shut. He never knew that- any of it, and it killed him she was only just talking about it now, in the Creel house attic of all places. When he opened his eyes and turned his focus back to Y/n, he realised she was still and silent but her eyes were wide open.

“Y/n?”

He waved his hand in front of her face, hoping for a reaction but there was nothing. Steve let out a huff and began to count in his head, trying not to think too much about whether the entire plan was a massive mistake.

***

April 2nd, 1986 - 9:00PM

The first time Steve took her to the lookout. That was the good memory Y/n held onto and focused in on once she was sure Vecna had come for her. She was inside Steve's BMW when Vecna himself appeared, only to be sent flying backwards into the woods. Y/n got out and scanned the empty parking lot until her eyes landed on a familiar silhouette. She was instantly running towards it.

“Is it really you?”

Her head was shaven and she was dressed in white, but Y/n recognised her El. Her little sister. She placed her hand on the sides of El's face, touching and tugging it, unsure if she really was El or just another illusion.

The younger girl held her big sister's hands and smiled, “it’s me.”

Y/n scrunched her brows together, puzzled. She knew this time would be different, but she never expected to see El.

“How?”

“I piggybacked from a pizza dough freezer.”

The older girl blinked, unsure if it was worth questioning further.

“Are you… are you ok? Are you safe?”

El nodded and Y/n felt instant relief. She glanced back at the woods where Vecna would undoubtedly reappear from anytime soon, then turned back to El. There was a chance they might never see each other again, and Y/n could not get past it or past the one thing she had been dying to say to her- that she know she would regret not saying.

“El, I’m so sorry," Y/n cried, her words spilling out in a panicked hurry. "I’m so sorry for every mean thing I’ve ever done or said to you.”

It was the first few weeks after moved in and the weeks following Hopper's death. Y/n was frustrated, resentful, and angry which resulted in being less than kind to El, who was the least bit deserving of it. She needed her to know she was sorry.

“Y/n stop,” the younger girl pleaded, gripping her sister's arms and shaking her slightly. “Don’t think about it.”

It would only make her more vulnerable to Vecna, which was the last thing El wanted. Besides, she never cared about those moments. El had plenty of moments herself where she was the same to Y/n. The memories El held onto and treasured the most were the times Y/n looked after, cheered her. Those moments outweighed the bad ones by miles.

Y/n shook her head. Maybe it wasn't the best time, but there was a decent likelihood it was her only chance at getting it off her chest.

“I never thought I’d get to have a little sister again," Y/n whispered. "I’m so lucky it was you, El.”

“I’m lucky too," the younger girl responded, not missing a beat.

Before anything more could be said, Y/n was lifted off the ground by dark vine-like tendrils outstretched from the woods where Vecna emerged from and began walking towards El.

“Y/n!”

The young girl screamed and lifted her hands, trying to fight back, but Vecna’s grasp on her sister only tightened. Y/n tried to fight it, but the tendril wrapped around her neck suffocated her windpipes. The last thing she saw was El, fighting with all her might to fend off Vecna. The last thought she had was was of how much she wanted and hoped for El to make it out ok.

Then she lost consciousness.

***

April 3rd, 1986 - 12AM

El was running and searching. Though still haunted by Vecna’s dying words, El could stand to worry about it later. First she needed to find her sister snd make sure was ok. El closed her eyes and focused, then she heard it— the sound of Steve screaming.

She could see where they were. She watched from a distance as Y/n’s levitating body come crashing against the floor beneath her. El started to run, praying Vecna hadn’t done irreparable damage.

There were gashes along her arms and legs and she was unconscious from the fall, but her limbs were still in tact and her eyes were unharmed. El let out a sigh of relief, counting it as a win.

“Y/n, Y/n wake up!”

El watched Steve pull Y/n into his arms and shake her roughly, shout her name and begging her to wake up, but to no avail.

Panicked and desperate, the young girl placed her hand atop Y/n and closed her eyes, chanelling all her focus and power into guiding her big sister back to consciousness, back to her body and back into Steve’s arms.

Y/n’s life flashed before her eyes, only it was the good parts. The best parts. All her best memories with all the people she lived— her sisters, her parents, Steve and everyone in between.

Then she heard the faintest voice whisper to her.

“I’ll see you soon.”

Back in Hawkins, Steve tightened his embrace around his girlfriend’s unconscious figure, tears streaming down his face as he continued to call out Y/n’s name, desperate for her to wake up. The cassette player gave out and there was no telling when the ambulance Max called would arrive at the scene. Steve was willing to try anything, do anything.

“There’s a light,” he croaked, his voice coarse from the screaming and shouting. Even so, he owed to Y/n to keep going. “— a certain kind of light, that never shone on me.”

Y/n fingertips moved first, then her eyes and then lips.

“Steve?”

“Oh my god,” he cried out, tears flooding his eyes as he watched hers slowly blunk open. Relieved, Steve leaned down and kissed her temple fervently. “Oh my god, you’re ok!”

Y/n tried to moved her arms so she could sit up, but with every slight movement came a piercing ache in her bones and a burning sensation against her skin. She sunk back into Steve’s embrace and groaned painfully.

“Max already called for help, an ambulance should be here soon,” he explained.

She took deep breaths and glanced up at Steve, smiling weakly.

“You used to hate singing that song.”

“I think I’ve got a newfound love for it now,” Steve quipped, a faint laugh beneath his breath. That Bee Gees song saved his girlfriend’s life twice now. As far as Steve was concerned, it was the best song in existence.

Y/n’s eyes drifted shut as the energy it took to stay conscious came to be too much. Steve shifted his arms and stroked the side of her face.

“Hey, c’mon… Baby, you need to stay awake.”

She opened her eyes and used all the energy she had to stay alert, but the linger she stayed concious the more time she had to remember what had happened— what Vecna said to El about everything that would happen to Hawkins. Y/n began to pant as tears formed in her eyes.

“It’s not over, Steve,” Y/n whimpered. Vecna may be gone, but they weren’t out of the woods. “It’s not over yet.”

“It’s over for now,” he assured her. Whatever it was was not important. Not to Steve and not in that moment. All that mattered was that she did what she needed to do and she made it back alive.

***

April 6th, 1986

Y/n placed her last box of donations on the table. The older woman smiled gratefully and passed to one of the volunteers for sorting. She turned back to Y/n, her eyes darting towards the bandges along her arms.

“How are you healing?”

Y/n came to the shelter at the school gym for three reasons: to donte, to volunteer and to get bandages for her injuries.

“It doesn’t hurt or bleed as much.”

“That’s good,” the woman smiled, remembering how much Y/n was in when she came to get her bandages changed the first time. “Just be sure to take it easy until everything fully heals, ok? And come see me if anything gets worse.��

“I will,” Y/n nodded, “— and hey I’ll come by tomorrow with a few others to help out for the day.”

With more and more families turning up seeking shelter or supplies, Y/n knew they could use as many volunteers as they could get. The woman nodded gratefully.

“That would be really great, Y/n. Thanks.”

Y/n turned around and fished her keys out from her bag as she weaved through the cots and headed for the exit. She looked up and saw a young girl sitting next to an older man.

“How long are we gonna be here dad?”

Y/n frowned as she listened in. Seeing the kids that came to the shelter always brought a pain to her chest. She watched the old man wrap his arm around his daughter and sigh.

“I don’t know, bug,” he huffed.

Y/n froze for a brief second, then quickly sped off before anyone nlticed her staring. When she started the car and turned the steering wheel, Y/n’s hands were shaking. She listened to the radio the entire drive home and by the time she reached the driveway, Y/n was thinking about something else.

Y/n parked Steve’s car in front of the cabin. As she got out and approached the front porch, she was puzzled by the strange vehicle parked adjacent to the house.

When she walked inside, she saw Steve sitting on the couch and tossed him his car keys. Then, when she turned towards the kitchen, she saw a woman standing with her back towards her. Y/n’s bag fell from her shoukder and she went racing towards the woman.

“Oh my god, Joyce!”

The woman wrapped her arms around Y/n, hugging her tightly and then letting go so she could get a good look at her.

“Oh, I’m so glad you’re ok,” Joyce smiled, placing her hand against Y/n’s cheek. She had a million burning questions.

“Wh-where’s El? And Will and Jonathan?”

“I-I don’t know,” Joyce answered honestly. “… I was in Russia.”

Y/n blinked, unsure if she heard her correctly. Of all the explanations for not answering the phone when she called before, Y/n was not expecting that to be it.

“You were what? How did you get here then?”

Joyce started grin and patted Y/n’s shoulder, which left her puzzled. There was something going on, but Y/n had a feeling Joyce was not going to outright tell her what it was, and she had no clue what to make of it.

“I’ll tell you later, honey,” the older woman answered, knowing there was something else far more important for Y/n to do. The girl knitted her brows together.

“Why not now?”

Joyce nodded her head towards the door to one of the bedrooms, her smile never faltering, not even for a moment. The woman’s demeanour left Y/n greatly unsettled but also extremely curious.

“There’s someone waiting for you in the room.”

NEXT PART

***

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