#Liber Oz

[maeviuslynn]

"Liber OZ" or "The Rights of Man" was authored by Aleister Crowley in 1941. It is a valuable peek at central philosophical ideas and values within Thelema. Essentially it is a strong assertion and declaration of individual freedom and liberation whether it be your style of dress, speech, sexuality, etc. This call for freedom within Thelema is a radical departure from the prudishness of the surrounding Victorian Society at the time.

Before Crowley called it "Liber OZ," he called it his "War Aims." This was an expression of Crowley's anti-fascist stance as a response to WWII. It pre-figures the United Nation's Universal Declaration of Human Rights.

[rosario-aurelius]

Love Under Will: An Introduction to Thelema and Its Antecedents

When Aleister Crowley coined the term “the aim of religion, the method of science,” he was advancing the tradition of humanism for the reunion of science and religion into what Eliphas Levi called the catholic or universal religion of humanity. The aim of scientific illuminism is the advancement of uniting these seeming opposites into a fabric whose unit, based on scientific analysis and…

[alephskoteinos]

Still need the 1967 Autumnal Equinox version of that as a poster to hang up in my room.

[mysharona1987]

He is the chosen one needed to complete the trifecta:

[archaeocommunologist]

It's really insane to me to see anglosphere liberals like Oz still doing this whole "why don't you move to China" song and dance. My sister did just that! She lived there for four and a half years and it was great. I visited her and I loved it. You can go on the internet and see what life is like in China, from the perspective of both natives and foreigners. The idea that it's some Stalinist hellhole is very obviously not true.

But Cold Warriors like Oz are unwilling or unable to update their rhetoric. Here's hoping their pigheadedness helps along the West toward its inevitable downfall!

[etruatcaelum]

On Semblances.

As this post mentions, neither Salem nor Ozma have ‘true’ ancient magic anymore: her immense power derives from the pools of light and darkness, and when Ozma created the maidens, they sacrificed their divine gifts but awakened their aura. Both now wield powers functionally identical to the aura and dust-based magic of modern humans; the sole difference between them and ordinary humans is vastly greater experience and, in Salem’s case, the interaction between her infinite aura and her grimmness.

(That is the subject for another post, but in essence grimm flesh and atrum ‘burn’ aura and this reaction can be controlled and channeled just like dust; Salem, who is grimm, uses this to her advantage to mimic ‘true’ magic.)

And, because their ‘magic’ is really just aura trained to a level beyond what any mortal could achieve in a single lifetime, both of them do have semblances.

Salem’s semblance is less an outward projection of her self than an inward one. It developed through the slow reconstruction of her mind and soul after a long period during which she had no sense of identity and was just kind of mindlessly dreaming all the time; her semblance sparked from the need to become whole and to know herself again. What it does, in essence, is immanentize her thinking.

Think method of loci, but crystallized from the imaginary construct into a real, tangible place—in a sense, the interior of her soul, her semblance, is a realm. Not one anything like as vast or complicated as Remnant or the Ever After, but quite a bit larger and more intricate than the vaults, and accessible only through doors she chooses to open.

It’s how she keeps herself sane and also why her sense of identity and conviction are so unshakable in the present: Salem knows herself extremely well and nearly everything that defines who and what she is, she made a deliberate choice to include as a fundamental part of herself. She is capable of change—and in fact capable of changing herself very rapidly and easily, once she decides to do so—but she cannot be forced or coerced or compelled or worn down or manipulated into it. Because the only way she can change is for her to literally disassemble and reassemble parts of herself and her semblance will not let her do that if she doesn’t truly want it to.

Ozma doesn’t know that they even have a semblance, because their semblance fluctuates from one life to the next; they believe the permutations of their own semblance have all been semblances taken from the lives they steal. What’s actually going on is that their very fragile sense of self gave them a semblance that lacks clear definition because it has yet to be fully-realized. It warps and bends and molds itself into the hollowed-out masks of every host, then loses that shape once those masks crumble again to expose Ozma.

There are, however, some constants:

The base essence of their semblance is remembrance and accretion of time. It’s the grasping for another chance and the tearing pain of almost and the venom of what if and maybe then and it wasn’t supposed to happen this way all rolled into one. It’s the aching possibility on the trailing edge of a mistake. Often, it takes the form of small-scale temporal manipulation: with Ozpin, it became an ability to ‘skip’ a second or two here and an idle moment there and ‘save up’ that time to spend all at once, squeezing several minutes worth of action into a single fraction of a second. (<- Ozma still has this ability and Oscar can tap into it for a while, but after the events of V8 it fades as their self-identification as Ozpin disintegrates.)

As themself—once freed from their curse and restored to live as their own person—their semblance is effectively only half-formed: not quite latent, but not truly manifested either. They will need to find themself and know themself before they’re able to fully bring it out. In its true, unalloyed form, Ozma’s semblance is unbinding: the breaking of chains, the opening of doors, the snipped thread of fate to unleash boundless possibility.

In less poetic terms, they will be able to reach back and bring forward the moments when what is now became inescapable. Nothing can be undone, nothing erased: the past cannot be unwritten, but what they can do is create a second chance to rewrite the future, whether by literally making a new possibility that didn’t exist before or by cutting through whatever beliefs or rationalizations a person clings to to pretend that they have no other choice.

Their fully-realized semblance will turn inward and confront them whether they like it or not; toward other people it is entirely under their control. (<- It is also quite likely the one thing capable of reaching into Salem’s head and shaking the foundations of her self, by drawing out her line of reasoning for committing to those choices and asking her to walk those paths anew, decide again.)

Oscar does not have a semblance and will not have a semblance until he’s separated from Ozma. If the integration were completed he would eventually produce a new permutation of Ozma’s, but it wouldn’t in any meaningful sense belong to Oscar, because Oscar as an individual would, for all intents and purposes, be dead.

But once he’s separated from Ozma, and once he sorts out who he is and who he wants to be outside of the looming existential dread of becoming Ozma, he’ll be able to discover his semblance.

(<- Also his aura, when not subsumed by Ozma’s, will turn out to actually be orange. Like a pumpkin. Because his Ozian allusion isn’t Tip OR Dorothy, it’s Jack Pumpkinhead)

Oscar’s semblance is… essentially, a hyper-specialized form of empathy: he can take the words people say and unfold them to reveal the things they mean, the feelings they’re trying to express but can’t communicate clearly, and then find the words to articulate those things back. He’s an interpreter, not of language but of emotions. He’s able to very quickly talk through to the heart of a problem, and he’s preternaturally good at listening in a way that makes people feel seen and heard. It also has the side effect of making him almost impossible to lie to.

Even with Ozma in his head, there are traces of this latent ability eking through to the surface—his determination to connect with Ironwood throughout V7, his intuitive sense for what to say to Hazel and Emerald to earn their trust, and even earlier, his realization that Ozpin is lying and his ability to break through long enough to spill Jinn’s name: these are all inklings of what could be, if not smothered by Ozma’s curse.

That sort of rising-to-the-surface is very rare among Ozma’s hosts. With Oscar, it’s happening partly because he’s fighting so hard to hold on for as long as he can, partly because his upbringing gave him a pretty strong sense of identity to begin with, and partly because the nature of his semblance itself resists falsehood and obfuscation. Latent though it is, it still gives him a firm place to stand when he pushes back and asserts himself against Ozma’s resignation. This struggle also has the effect of deepening the potential of his semblance—in effect, training it before it even properly manifests—so that once he’s free and it emerges fully he gets in tune with it fast.

[akechi-if-he-slayed]

he is thirsty

[laidentripstore]

[nando161mando]

Liberals hate the fantasy to be ruined.

[wilderhazard]

It's curious to read liberal Zionist arguments that a single, binational state would be equivalent to a pogrom, and what we need is a "two-state solution." A two-state solution adhering to the 1967 borders would require the expulsion of half a million Israeli settlers from the West Bank, which the same liberal Zionists would also decry as a pogrom if it were actually a concrete possibility. The appeal of the two-state solution is that it will not happen—it has virtually no political constituency in Israel itself outside of a couple marginal Arab parties. A supermajority in the Knesset and in Israeli civil society is in support of annexing all or part of the West Bank, with a substantial minority holding ambitions far beyond this.

I can see two reasons this argument persists. The more charitable reading is a kind of liberal pragmatist fantasy: a "two-state solution," hypothetically, would require no fundamental change to the Israeli state. It could continue to exist as it does with a few modest concessions. This ignores the fact that the Israeli state as it exists is thoroughly committed to expansion. The only debate within Israeli society is how much to expand—will we simply absorb "Area C" of the West Bank? All of the West Bank? The Golan Heights? Sinai? But the liberal Zionist perhaps earnestly wants to believe that Israel as it is can somehow be made content to stay within the Green Line. (This requires either a superhuman optimism, or simple ignorance.)

Alternatively, the liberal Zionist knows that the Amos Oz "fair divorce" fantasy is long dead, and is doing what colonial liberals have always done: providing humanitarian cover for the genocidal project of colonization. "No, we promise, a humane solution is possible within the existing institutions!" If the liberal Zionist in question is writing for a major bourgeois outlet, cynical propaganda is the safe assumption. Anyone who can read a map immediately sees the issue with the proposal of "a Palestinian state, alongside Israel:" where are you going to put it?

[alephskoteinos]

In its own way this is still a classic of Thelema, still in many ways relevant to Satanism and the Left Hanf Path in spite of the obvious humanism, and I would still absolutely like a framed copy of the 1967 Autumnal Equinox Liber Oz poster on my wall.

[mariacallous]

I’m not even sure whether I can taste pure Old Bay anymore, because the condiment is infused with so many memories of home. I grew up sprinkling it on everything—blue crabs, sure, but also watermelon, mashed potatoes, macaroni and cheese—and I can shuffle through decades of pictures from family reunions, county fairs, church picnics, and back porches where the iconic yellow, red, and blue tins keep popping up like someone’s second cousin, not quite front and center yet always in the frame.

If you’re new to Old Bay, get a tin and shake the contents liberally on popcorn or potato chips—a starter dish, from which you can and should expand. You’ll soon find that you can add the condiment to almost anything. One of my favorite dishes that uses Old Bay as an essential ingredient comes via an old family friend. Keith Davis is a Jack-of-all-trades: a fantastic general contractor, but also a church usher, a builder of wheelchair ramps, a Santa Claus when seasonally necessary, and, lately, a food-truck entrepreneur, grilling burgers and deep-frying funnel cakes for every community event and private party in the area. He goes by Mr. Keith; his food truck is known as Fat Boy’s Fixins, named in honor of the man who taught him to grill and whose Santa suit he inherited.

Of all the things Davis serves up, he might be best known for his crab soup, which he makes in ten-gallon batches and lets the local Ruritan Club sell by the pint every fall at the Waterfowl Festival, when somewhere between fourteen thousand and twenty thousand people descend on the Eastern Shore to see the work of hundreds of decoy carvers and local artists, listen to waterfowl-calling contests, and watch demonstrations of dock dogs, raptors, and fly-fishing. Davis is there every year, gossiping with his fellow-volunteers, talking with out-of-towners, and tossing hunks of crab meat into stew pots. Normally you’d have to shell out eight dollars for even just a cup, but here, exclusively for newsletter readers, free of charge, is the best crab soup you’ll ever taste, a shockingly easy, practically pre-made recipe for trying out America’s greatest condiment: Old Bay.

Mr. Keith’s Crab Soup

1 lb. crab meat (claw meat best) 64-Oz. bottle of Spicy V8 14.5 Oz. chicken broth 32 Oz. water 1 lb. mixed vegetables 1 Tbsp. Montreal Steak seasoning 1 Tbsp. Old Bay

Mix the V8, chicken broth, and water in a pot. Start heating the mixture, then add the vegetables, then the crab meat, and finally the spices. Cook on medium heat until the vegetables start to soften, stirring occasionally “so it doesn’t stick and burn on the bottom of the pot.”

[autumnleaves1991-blog]

My Home Is You Part 3/3

A/N: Thank you so much for everyone that has read the first two parts and left a comment or some type of feedback. I really appreciate all of it.

Thank you to @kingliam2019 for requesting.

Thank you to: @jellybeanstacey0519 & @mrsyixingunicorn10 @peyton-warren @affabletimelady @arctickat2400 @luftmenchz @mrsevans90 for commenting and leaving feedback! :D

Fandom: The Ministry of Ungentlemanly Warfare

Pairing: Gus March-Phillips x Female Reader (she/her)

Warnings: 18+ for language, Nazi's, canon typical violence, possible spoilers for the movie, and mentions of sexual assault.

Part One Part Two

There is no time to bring up what Gus said with the mission looming so close, and in the morning as the sun streams through the gaps in the wood, you observe the man beside you. He looks so peaceful in sleep and you run your finger over his cheek, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek before you go to climb out of bed.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he grumbles sleepily pulling you back into his arms and pressing his cheek to your own.

“I wanted to make a cup of tea,” you giggle, leaning back in his arms and turning your head to kiss him, “but someone won’t allow me.”

“That’s right,” he nods giving a little hmph, “I’m the mean old man who keeps you trapped in his bed, so he can have his wicked way with you. No tea for you, darling, just debauchery day and night.” He gives out a fake laugh like the Wicked Witch from that Wizard of Oz movie.

“Gus!” you shout, laughing when tickles your side with a laugh. He stops, keeping you close as you catch your breaths. “You’re ridiculous,” you chastise playfully.

“Ah yes,” he agrees with a smile, “but that’s why you love me.” You tense in his arms and he rubs his hands up and down your own, “what’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” you let out an awkward chuckle, “I just need to use the ladies room.” He lets you go with a raised brow as you almost trip over yourself trying to get away.

When you’re alone, you lean against the wall and take a deep breath. Everything he said the night before comes back and you give a soft smile realizing that yes, that is why you love him. The man who liberated you from a living hell twenty-three days prior, who held you through your nightmares, that taught you how to shoot, and make you laugh till you cried. Fuck, you loved Gus with all of your heart. But now was not the time to make such declarations. Not when the fate of the British Empire was at stake.

“You alright, my little Tiger,” you nearly jump out of your skin as Anders comes to lean against the wall beside you. “You seem to be deep in thought.”

“No,” you shake your head with a sigh, “no deep thoughts. I’ve just come to a realization.”

“Do you care to share it with ze rest of the class?” he smiles sitting down on a barrel and patting the spot beside him.

You sink into the seat with a sigh, “I love Gus.”

“Yes,” he nods, “we know. Now what is the realization?”

“That was the realization,” you gape at him, “what do you mean, we know?”

“Oh, it’s obvious, both of you are madly in love with the other.”

“Gus loves me?” you wrap your arms around your waist and lean back, looking at the sea repeating the words back to yourself, “he loves me.”

“The first night we met,” Anders grabs your hand and holds it gently, “Freddy told us that Gus looks at you like he just realized what love was. We live a life filled with blood and death at every corner but somehow in all that mess, you found each other. A love like that does not come every day. But when it does, you need to seize it my little tigress, seize it, and don’t let it go.”

Tears stream down your cheeks and he squeezes your hand and leans forward to press a kiss to your forehead before walking away leaving you with your thoughts. Neither of you notice the figure in the corner. Gus clenches his fist and glances away before marching back below deck to prepare for the meeting with Heron.

The rest of the day passes steadily by and you drop anchor just as the sun begins to set on the coordinates. You’d spent the day tucked away, watching the sea go by as you thought of Gus and how the hell you were supposed to tell him you loved him when he might die the following day. “Someone’s coming,” Henry shouts, and you stand, taking unsteady steps as the pins and needles attack your legs.

Gus stands at the front, his shoulders drawn tight and you move to stand beside him. He quickly glances down at you, his jaw clenched before he looks away. You shrink back from him falling into place beside Apple. He looks between you both with a raised brow. But you don’t have an answer for the icy treatment from the man who's been nothing but kind since the beginning.

“Heron my old pal,” Gus grins, reaching across the two boats to shake his hand.

“Gus,” Heron replies, “may I introduce the Prince of Fernando Po, Kambili Kalu.”

“Don’t I know you from somewhere,” Gus puts a finger to his chin, “I could have sworn I’ve seen you before. Perhaps…do you play cricket?”

“I used to, at Eaton,” Bili poses and Gus laughs.

“Yes! I knew it, I remember seeing your portrait in the hall. Great to have you aboard old chap.”

“Glad to be of service. These Germans, they’re bad for business. I heard you could use a few more men,” he shouts something in another language and men come pouring out of every crevice of the tugboat. “Fourteen of my best men.”

“We have additional weapons,” Gus turns going to help Freddy hand over a box when Bili raises a hand with a laugh.

“I think we’re covered. You might want to borrow some of ours.” Bili shouts and the covers unveil an arsenal of weapons and bombs.

“Jolly good,” Gus grins, putting his hands on his hips. “Let’s get everything moved around and discuss the plan before it gets much later.” He turns back to you and the boys and gives the order, everyone moving to do a job but you.

“Gus,” you step towards him but he turns back towards the front of the boat to pull out the map laying it down on the small table. Heron comes aboard and pauses giving you a raised brow when you quickly say your name, “The boys found me with Appleyard.”

“Ah,” he nods, “well glad to have you with us, miss. Marjorie, my associate will be glad to have another woman around for company.”

“Where is she now?” you ask looking around, “did you bring her with you?”

“Oh no,” he shakes his head, “she is getting ready for the party tonight at my Casino. Her mission is different from our own I’m afraid. But we all have the same goal.”

“I see, well I look forward to meeting her when this is all said and done.”

He smiles, shaking your hand, “I’ll be happy to see you again, miss.”

“Heron!” Gus shouts, looking over at you but not keeping contact, “Come on. We have work to do, you can smile at the pretty girl later.”

That does it. “What the hell is your problem?” you shout, putting your hands on your hips. The rest of the men fall silent looking between the two of you. “What did I do wrong, Gus?”

“Nothing,” he lets out a tired sigh, “you did nothing wrong. It’s me that should be sorry.”

“What the hell are you talking about?!” you throw your arms up exasperated.

“I shouldn’t have pursued you, made you uncomfortable when all you wanted was Lassen.” Gus drops his shoulders, “it was wrong of me. You can move bunks and we never have to talk abo-”

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Gus freezes watching you step over the ropes and boxes that litter the deck. “No seriously, did you hit your head?” You reach him, putting your hands over his head feeling for a bump.

“Uhm, no,” he grabs your wrists gently, lowering them back down. “I saw you two together.”

“What did you see? Hmm? What is it that you saw between me and Lassen that made you think I would be in love with anyone but you?” His eyes go wide but you’re on a roll, “and for that matter, when something is bothering you, you talk to me. You don’t ignore me and sulk like a child, do you understand me-”

He puts a hand to your mouth with a grin, “sorry darling, but could you repeat that last part?”

“Get off me,” you push his hand down, “what did you see between Lassen and I that would give the impression that I wanted to be with him?”

“That’s not what you said,” he frowns.

“Tell me!”

“I saw him kiss you on the forehead and hold your hand!” Gus shouts pointing back at Lassen.

“He was comforting me because I realized I was in love with YOU, you idiot!” Gus freezes, a smile slowly spreading across his face.

“You said it again,” he grins, cupping your cheeks, “you said you love me.”

“I do, you buffoon,” you say quietly, “I do love you, Gus. I just didn’t know how to tell you and then Lassen talked to me and I was planning to do it but you ignored me. You hurt me, Gus.”

“Darling,” he runs his thumb over your cheek, brushing away a stray tear, “Darling, please don’t cry. I never meant to hurt you. I was hurting, thinking you were choosing Lassen over me. God, I love you so much, woman. You are my sun and stars and everything in between.”

“You love me?” you whisper, moving closer to close the distance between you.

“More than you’ll ever know,” he presses his lips to your own and you melt into the kiss. The boat erupted in cheers from both sides and Bili slapped him on the back.

“Good show, old boy,” he shouts, breaking the two of you apart. Gus tucks you into his arms, a smile beaming on his face as he presses several kisses to your forehead. “Now,” Bili grins, “let’s kill some Nazis.”

As the night descends the chill sets in and you shiver, watching the harbor lights glow. A jacket drapes over your shoulders and you smile, as Gus puts his arm around you. “It’s a beautiful evening,” he presses a kiss to your cheek, “shame it’s going to be ruined by bloodshed.”

“Hopefully none of ours,” he holds you tighter sitting down and you turn wrapping your arms around his neck, straddling his waist. “I couldn’t bear to live without you, Gus.”

“I know Darling,” he runs his hands up and down your back, “the feeling is mutual. It kills me to know you could be in any danger tonight.”

“I chose this team,” you run your fingertips over the nape of his neck, massaging, “I chose to fight alongside them. To fight alongside you.”

“You remember the plan? You’re in charge of the boat, you have an arsenal of bombs to deploy if needed, otherwise when we give the signal you get the hell out of here.”

“I’ll be away from all the action, Gus. I’ll be safe.”

He nods, “I know, but can’t blame a man for worrying about the love of his life being in harms way.” You smile and he kisses you softly, pressing his forehead to your own, “I meant everyword of it darling. I love you and one day I’m going to make me your husband.”

“I like the sound of that,” you giggle, kissing him softly, “not you making me your wife but you my husband.”

“Well we both know who the boss is in this relationship, my love. You tell me where to go and I follow. Till death do us part.”

“Till death do us part, Gus. But please don’t let that be tonight.”

“I don’t make promises I can’t keep,” he kisses you again, “but I dare them to try to take me away from you.”

“The lights should be out any minute now,” Bili comes to stand beside you, “we should get ready.”

“We’re ready,” Gus stands putting you on your feet. Suddenly a bomb goes off, and the lights of the harbor fade into darkness. “Show time.”

“Wait,” you grab his arm, pointing in the distance at a series of flashing lights, “what’s that?” Suddenly the wireless goes off downstairs and you follow behind Gus down below deck, Bili hot on your trail.

Gus sits at the controls, taking notes and cursing with each word. “Shit,” he whispers, before looking up at the men and clearing his throat, “they’ve reinforced the hull, the ship is unsinkable.”

“We can’t sink it?” you repeat, sliding into the seat beside him.

“Not with the amount we have,” he shakes his head, “goddamn it.” Gus reaches for the headset and switches it off so we can all hear, “M? Come in M?” Static meets them before the signal clears, “we have a situation, the tin has been reinforced, the corned beef cannot be cracked, do you copy it cannot be cracked.”

“Copy,” a voice says from the other end, “standby.” We all wait on bated breath before a new voice sounds on the radio. “Gus March-Phillips, this is Admiral Parker, I order you to abort the mission, do you copy? Abort mission and return home at once. This is an unsanctioned, unauthorized mission. Do you understand?”

“S-ssorry,” Gus pretends to cut out the signal and you grin as he makes noises like static, “can’t hear y-y-you, please fu-fuck o-off.” With that, he turns off the radio and puts his head in his hands, “well, what do we do now?”

“When did they reinforce the hull? Like between the last report and now, when did they have time to do that?” Freddy asks, scratching his head.

“That’s not important,” Gus interrupts, “the problem is, they did it.”

“No, it is important,” Freddy argues, “I’d like to know when in the twenty-something days we’ve been sailing did they manage to reinforce the hull?”

“He’s got a point,” Henry agrees before Gus shouts, shutting them both up.

“It’s not important right now! We have a mission to complete and I have no idea what to do.” The boys shout out ideas, each one more ridiculous than the last before Apple speaks up.

“If we can’t destroy the ships, let’s steal them.”

“Say more,” Gus encourages, pulling you into his lap and running his hand comfortingly over your waist. You all listen with bated breath at Apple’s plan. “It’s just crazy enough that it might work.” Gus looks at you with a grin, “And we all know what a mad bunch we are.”

Mad they may be but their professionalism wins out when it comes to pulling a plan out of their ass. In minutes, Bili was filled in on the plan and the boys sprung into action. “You remember what I taught you?” Henry asks, gently touching your shoulders, “the boys and I won’t be here to help you.”

“I remember Henry,” you nod, brushing off his hands, “I got this. I know the plan.” Henry nods before giving you a quick hug. The young Irishman was almost like a brother to you, and you’d hate to lose him. You tighten your arms before letting go. “Eh, do me a favor?” He nods, waiting expectantly, “Don’t die.”

He laughs, “I’ll try, but what are you always telling us? Don’t make a promise that ya can’t keep.” Henry lifts his cap before walking to the tug boat and climbing inside.

“I guess this is the end,” Freddy yawns, “It’ll be a terrible bore if we came all this way and died.” Freddy gives you a tight hug before pressing a device in your hand. You glance at him quizically and he winks, “You’ll know if and when to use it.”

“I’ll try to keep an eye on the old boy,” Apple takes his place giving you a quick squeeze and a kiss to the cheek. “Keep yourself out of trouble, won’t you?” You nod, feeling the tears well up, before a Danish Hammer forcibly pushes Apple aside.

“Oh, my little lamb is now a fierce tigress,” Anders chokes up, pulling you in for a hug so tight you’re sure some of your bones crack.

“Let her go, Lassen,” Gus pushes him away, “If you harm a hair on her body I don’t care if you’re my friend you’ll go for a dip in the Atlantic.”

“Gus,” you chastise, before turning to Anders, “take care of yourself, my friend. Though I know you don’t need it. I wish you luck.” He smiles, turns to the tug boat freezing, and turns slowly around when you clear your throat, “Don’t have too much fun.”

He grins like a child, caught with his hand in the cookie jar, “I’ll try for you.”

“It seems they have all fallen in love with you as much as I have,” Gus grinningly wraps his arms around your waist. “It’s hard to imagine them not.

“You’re biased, my love,” you press your forehead to his own, taking in a shuddering breath and closing your eyes over the sting of tears. “Gus…I.”

“Shhh,” he runs his fingers down your back, “let’s not do the dramatic goodbye. Let’s just say I’ll see you soon. Because I will,” he pulls you back, one finger on your chin, tilting your chin up. You blink your eyes open and the look in his eyes renders you speechless, utter devotion and love shine back at you. “I will see you again, either in this life or the next.” He leans in pressing his lips to your own, he’s warm and the scent of leather and cologne invades your senses leaving you drunk on him. He licks inside your mouth, tangling your tongues together as you grab the collar of his coat, tugging him closer. Before he pulls away with several small kisses to your lips, his mustache twitches with a smile, “I’ll see you soon, my love.”

“See you soon, Gus,” you reply breathlessly, releasing him and watching till he disappears into the tugboat and they pull away.

The waiting is infinite and you jump with every pop of a gun. The sea sways like a mother trying to calm her young, and you tighten your hand on the control Freddy gave you. It’s almost impossible to follow the figures of Gus and Henry as they move on the dock, taking out as many soldiers as possible, but you follow like a hawk, stalking her prey.

“Come on, come on,” you whisper, waiting for the anchor to blow. It seems to take forever but when all falls silent, and the boats move into position the blast comes. It’s loud, sending a ripple through the waves and the dock becomes a fury of activity. Soldiers come pouring out of the only lit warehouse, like champagne pouring out of a bottle. “Oh fuck,” the shooting starts and you clutch the remote tighter. The lights are almost blinding and you stand going over to the wheel and holding yourself steady with the other hand.

The tugboats strain under the heavy weight of the ship, and bullets ricochet off the side. You can hear the shouts of the men, begging the boat to move and a pained cry has you on your tiptoes trying to get a glimpse of the injured party. The situation is grim and you look between the controller in your hands and the scene before you, take a deep breath, and press the button.

The blast is almost powerful enough to knock you over and you have to look away as the light from the explosion threatens to blind you. You slowly open your eyes, standing straight and mouth agape at the sight of the large ship coming straight toward you. “Fuck,” you manuver out of the way, falling into position behind them as you all make a mad dash out of the harbor.

“Those S-boats are gonna be on us soon!” One of the men shout from Bilis crew. Suddenly a second explosion rocks the boat and you turn wide eyed at the collection of S-boats exploding high into the sky.

The men cheer and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, taking the helm and leading the boat out into open water. You try to catch sight of Gus but it’s dark and the boats are moving at full speed. You turn to see the burning harbor when you notice one of the tugs waiting, a familiar head of hair, standing at one end looking off in the distance.

Lights appear across the water and you fumble for the gun Gus left you. You aim, looking down the barrel as the boat gets closer, you can hear Bili shout that they need to go but something gives Gus pause. “It’s Heron!” he shouts, “don’t shoot!” You let out a gasp and lower the gun, adrenaline humming.

They pull alongside the tug and Heron and a beautiful woman in a white dress climb aboard before the tug starts moving closer. When they get about two feet from the edge, Gus runs across the deck of the tug and jumps aboard.

“We did it!” He grabs you, throwing his arms around you and spinning you around with a laugh. He lowers you to the ground, kissing you with his arm wrapped around you with his right, and attempting to steer with the left.

“If you crash, my ship, I’ll kill you boss!” Henry shouts and you break apart, gasping at the blood soaking through the cloth wrapped around his shoulder.

“Henry! You’re hurt!”

“Eh, it’s just a scratch,” he shrugs with a smile.

“Nice timing sweetheart,” Freddy shouts with a smile. “I was worried you weren’t gonna press it.”

“Freddy, I’d blow up a hundred harbors to keep my family safe.”

“Your family?” Gus smiles, “I like the sound of that.”

“Do you?” you ask, wrapping both arms around his waist. “How about another title.”

“What’s that?” He grins.

“My husband.”

Gus keeps his arm around you the entire time, the clock ticking on your time together as the small blip that is the destroyer becomes larger and larger. The ants atop the ship become humans, all standing in crisp white uniforms in a row, one more decorated than the others with a scowl on his face.

“I see we meet again,” the Admiral puts his hands on his hips, “you disobeyed a direct order-”

“We have something for you,” Gus interrupts, “found this ship just abandoned in the Atlantic. Thought it might be helpful for you.”

The Admiral raises his brow looking around your ragtag crew, “I see you’re in cahoots with pirates now?”

“Excuse you,” Gus shouts, “show some respect, you’re in the presence of royalty!”

Bili lifts an imaginary hat with a grin and the Admiral seems less than pleased as he scoffs. “All of you are under arrest by her Majestys government. Come aboard at once.”

“Gus,” you whisper, holding tighter around his waist as he presses a kiss to your head.

“We knew this was coming, Darling, just follow my lead.” He unwraps from your hold and moves around the ship, helping his men aboard the ship till the last one is loaded. Bili’s men stay aboard the tugboat, awaiting his orders.

“Admiral,” Bili bows, “my men and I have finished our work here. Your army will regain control of the Atlantic. I just ask for me and my men to return home to Fernando Po so we may begin the cleanup. We have a nasty bug, that I would very much like to stamp out.”

The Admiral raises his head, his mouth agape from reading the manifest of the ship and two tugs before coughing to clear his throat. “Uhm, yes,” he nods, “I suggest you and your men leave before I change my mind.” He turns to the rest of the crew with a frown, “as for the rest of you, it’s the brig for you.”

Everyone bids Bili goodbye as they are slowly ushered below deck to the brig to await arrival back in England. “This one doesn’t belong,” the Admiral stops the progression pointing to you, “you’re not in the report as a part of the mission. Who is she? What is her purpose here?”

“She’s not a part of the mission,” Gus hurries, halfway pushing you behind him, “we saved her from a Nazi garrison, she was being held captive with Captain Appleyard. I couldn’t leave her behind on that island so we brought her along until we could safely return her to England.”

“Did she have any role in this nonsense?” the Admiral gestures to the three ships floating nearby.

“No. We kept her below deck, away from the action. She’s just a civilian.”

“Gus-” you interrupt but go silent when he gives you a stern look before he masks it with a charming smile.

“She had not role in the plot sir, she’s innocent.”

“Very well,” the Admiral nods, “find her a room. But you go to the brig, March-Phillips. I’ll see you locked away for the rest of your life for this.”

“Gus,” you reach toward him but one of the soldiers holds you back, “let me go!”

“Get your hands off her,” Gus shouts, brushing off the soldiers trying to usher him below deck. “Admiral,” Gus turns towards the man, looking back and forth between the two of you. “Are you able to perform a wedding ceremony?”

“What are you bloody on about March-Phillips?!”

“You said I’m going to be locked away for the rest of my life, right? Well if that’s the case, sir, I’d rather leave my home and all my belongings to someone that needs it. Since I won’t be needing it where I’ll be going, sir.” Gus locks eyes with you, “that is if you’ll have me, darling?”

“Oh Gus,” you shake off the soldier's arm, “yes, a million times yes.”

“This is utter madness,” the Admiral scoffs before turning to his second, “Go to my quarters and get the bible off my bedside.” The man runs off and Gus steps closer, reaching out for your hands.

“One more request sir,” Gus turns, “would our friends be able to attend? I would very much like Captain Appleyard to be my best man.”

“And I’d like Anders Lassen to stand at my side,” you add, turning back to Gus with a smile.

“Very well,” the Admiral says, less than pleased with the whole situation.

In ten minutes the entire crew, your friends, and the Admiral stand at attention as you and Gus say your vows overlooking the Atlantic ocean. Anders stands at your side, holding the makeshift bouquet one of the soldiers fashioned out of knotted rope. “By the power vested in me by the United Kingdom and her Majesty’s Royal Navy, I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

Gus beams, pulling you close and dipping you into a passionate kiss as the ship explodes into thunderous applause. Anders sobs loudly, Marjorie handing him a handkerchief as he tries to muffle his tears. When Gus rights you, he presses another quick kiss to your lips, “I love you, and I’ll continue to love you for the rest of my life.”

“I love you too,” you cry, wrapping your arms around him, “I’ll be waiting Gus. I’ll wait forever for you to come home to me because my home is you.”

“Sorry to interrupt this happy moment,” one of the soldiers cuts in, “but you need to go back to the brig, sir.” Gus glares him down and he drops his head stepping away as Gus gives you a dozen more kisses before going with the soldier. He holds your gaze till the last second and you can’t help but feel a part of your soul go with him.

The rest of the journey feels endless, knowing the man you love and friends are below you locked in a cage awaiting trial. The men that call this vessel home are kind, bringing you meals and escorting you around the ship for a walk. And when the boat docks a week later you wait after disembarking hoping for a glimpse of your husband.

“Miss,” a man comes up beside you, “I’m Lieutent Fleming, I’ve been instructed to bring you home.”

“I want to wait,” you frown, “I want to see him.”

“I’m afraid that’s impossible, they’ve been instructed to wait till you’re gone before unloading the prisoners.”

You glare, “those prisoners, are the most loyal soldiers I’ve ever known. Do you have any idea what they’ve done for this country?!”

His eyes widen, “I assure you, I am well aware of their sacrifice. Please, let me get you home and safe and I’ll explain everything. We have a plan to get them out. Please,” he holds out an arm towards the waiting car. You glance back at the ship one last time before biting your lip to hold back the tears and follow him into the car.

As he drives the tears stream down your face and you try to keep the sob clawing at your throat at bay. “Don’t worry, miss,” Lieutent Fleming assures, “we will get them out.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” you whisper, burrowing down into the seat and closing your eyes.

The next six weeks pass in a blur of cleaning, coffee, and meetings with Ian. Lieutenant Fleming kept to his word and he’s been working alongside his boss, the mysterious M to get the boys and Marjorie from the military prison.

The day comes seven weeks and two days since you married Gus. “It’s time,” Ian quickly phones before the car arrives. You lock the door, pocketing the key and getting in.

“Good Morning Ian,” you smile, buckling up, and freezing when you notice it’s not Ian Fleming sitting across from you.

“Expecting someone else, were you?” Winston Churchill smiles across from you and you visibly swallow your mouth going dry. “Mrs. March-Phillips, I presume?” You nod, speechless, and he chuckles pleased, “you may call me Winston.”

“Oh, Mr. Churchill, I could never dream addressing you so informally,” you stumble over your words. “I just want my husband back, sir.”

“I understand,” he nods, putting his cigar back in his mouth and grinding down on one end while he talks. “You’re husband is a hero, and we need more like him. Men who are willing to take orders and give their own spin on them. Less yes sir, and no sir and more thinkers. I wish I had a hundred like him.”

You giggle, “I think theres no one out there quite like Gus.”

“Touche,” he grins, “I understand he’s been quite vocal about allowing visitors. The guards tell me they have a bag of letters for you upon arrival. He writes several daily but with the trial he was unable to send them. Another point he is most vocal about.”

The gate of the prison looms and your eyes widen as the car glides through and around the back out of view near the service entrance. “We can’t have anyone knowing I’m here.” You nod, following behind him as he gets out of the car and puts his hat on his head. A truck pulls up behind you and several soldiers disembark with baskets and silver tray ladden with rich foods. “I have to honor them somehow,” Mr. Churchill gives you a wink before he sets his face in the trademark scowl you’ve seen in the papers.

You follow as he walks down a dark corridor, his cane tapping on the floor almost soothing. “Stay here,” he stops just before the door, “you’ll be my last gift to them.” You pause, almost running around the corner but you know the anticipation is worth it. Mr. Churchills speech leaves tears gathering at the corner of your eyes and you ring your hands together as the soldiers carry in the food spreading it out on the table before them.

“And one last thing,” you perk up when you hear the chairs scrape across the floor as your friends prepare to dig into the feast. “Although this one is for you Captain March-Phillips than the rest of you. Come along, dear,” Mr. Churchill calls and you step around the corner, your heart nearly beating out of your chest.

Gus’s eyes nearly bug out as they trail over every inch of you, the tap of the cane fading as the silence grows. His hair has grown out and his facial hair is unkept but he’s still as handsome as ever. “Hello,” you whisper, your hands clenching at your side nervously, “did you miss me?”

Freddy snorts, “Miss you?! God woman that’s all he bloody talks about!” Marjorie slaps him up the back of the head and you laugh before Gus launches himself at you.

“Darling,” he shudders, holding you tight and putting his face in your neck taking deep inhales, “god, I was going mad without you.”

“Can confirm,” Freddy shouts.

“Shut up, you wanker!” Henry hits him in the shoulder, “They haven’t seen each other for seven bloody weeks.”

The room fades away as they quarrel at the table, but you only notice Gus. The feel of his muscle through the prison jumpsuit, the scratch of his facial hair against your skin, the warmth from his mouth pressing kisses to your neck. “Gus,” you whisper, running your hands through his hair as his mouth seeks your own, and he presses a kiss to your lips for the first time in nearly two months.

“Fuck,” he groans, “I missed you.”

“The feeling is mutual. Home is too quiet without you, and I can’t fucking sleep without you, Gus. I’m not sure I ever want to again.”

“You won’t,” he nuzzles your cheek before closing his eyes and keeping you pressed into his arms, “I won’t ever leave you again, darling.”

“Did you say home?” Henry interrupts, a mouthful of meat pie filling his mouth as he talks between bites.

“Yes,” you nod, “I moved into Gus’s home while he’s been away. Ian Fleming helped me.”

“Ah-ha!” Food splatters across the table as he points at Freddy, “You owe me ten pounds!”

“The bet was, she would go home with him at the end of the mission! He never went home, so actually you owe me ten pounds!”

“You bet on us?” you ask, with a chuckle, Gus leading you over to the table and pulling you into his lap.

“Ja,” Anders nods, “there were several bets actually.”

“And this bet was if I would go home with Gus at the end of the mission?” they both nod digging back into their dinner. “Well then, Henry would win,” Freddy opens to his mouth to argue but you hold up a hand silencing him. You take the fork out of Gus’s hand feeding him bites of pie as he leans against your chest with his eyes closed, a smile stretched against his face. “Because as soon as you completed I went home with Gus. Maybe not physically but I’m his wife and he’s my husband and wherever I go he’s in my heart and I his.”

“That’s not how it works,” Freddy pouts.

“Don’t bet on me then, if you don’t like the outcome,” Gus laughs opening his eyes and pulling you down for a kiss.

His eyes are warm as he rubs his hand against your cheek, his friends laughing and teasing one another surrounded by good food. All's right with the world and in an hour they’ll be free. Gus pulls you in for another kiss his lips lingering a second longer as he whispers against your lips, a smile splitting his face, “that’s my girl.”

Requests are open. Got another idea for this fandom? Send them my way! Thanks for reading!

[neinsev]

For the uninitiated who are seeing Wicked for the first time and aren't theatre kids who have experienced this piece for years:

• Yes, they sing a lot

• Yes, the story is political and "woke"

• Yes, the Wizard of Oz is the bad guy who is a totalitarian dictator who uses marginalized people to achieve power and then discards them

• Yes, this musical was written in 2005 based on a book from the 1990s

• Yes, it's an examination of how marginalized people fight fascism (Elphaba) and their white liberal friends think they're doing good when really they're just being performative about being good while actively benefiting from the systems of oppression (Glinda)

• Yes, there's a Part 2 coming next year and if this first one is any sign, it'll be FANTASTIC!

[halalchampagnesocialist]

liberal zionism imo is such an interesting phenomenon bc you can have different kinds of liberal zionists depending on who/where they are. i think that's why it ultimately fails bc some people are liberal zionists for the sake of feeling good about themselves wo doing anything to help palestinians and if they do it's v bare minimum while other ppl who are liberal zionists have those politics stem from a place of superiority (ie right wing libzios such as fania oz-salzberger types) and despite wanting similar things for different purposes they end up clashing at some point

[bestworstcase]

Do you think ascension can be reverse? Like if a person who died but don't want to change to someone else because he like his old life?

no. lol

the purpose of ascension is to change. you can’t go back. not "can’t" as in "not allowed" – it isn’t possible. the river flows to the sea, the rose grows and goes to seed, the world keeps turning, this is the most essential thematic foundation of the show.

this is not a hypothetical. like the red king tried to do exactly this—ascend without changing himself at all—and what happened is it turned him into a toddler. a diminished, stagnant, profoundly unhappy shadow of himself who drove everyone who cared about him away until somewhat helped him realize not just that he could change, but also how he needed to change and (most importantly) that he wanted to change.

It Is A Metaphor. it is a metaphor. ascension is a metaphorical realization of the idea that life goes on with or without you; you can embrace it and keep changing and growing in this continual journey of being alive or you can stand still and stagnate emotionally, but you can’t ever go back. in order to grasp what ascension is doing narratively, both in terms of how it services the plot and what the ‘rules’ are, you gotta understand the metaphor. and like, the thematic treatment of death more broadly. (<- failure to engage with these ideas is how we get the abjectly unserious handwringing about how ruby’s life-affirming experience in the tree “”glorifies suicide“” and whatnot. lol.)

also,

ascension doesn’t change you into ‘someone else’ – it changes you into the you you choose to be when you’re you, to phrase it the afteran way. you don’t Become Someone Else. you Become Yourself. you’re just who you always were, differently. you’re not what you were but you are who you are. (famously! they only repeat this like a million times!)

this is a critical distinction because it stands in sharp contrast to ozma’s situation (his curse changes him against his will into someone else) – ozma’s curse is a corrupted ascension forced upon him by the god-who-refuses-to-change and must be set right by restoring his self-determination. whether this looks like literally taking oscar and oz to the tree for help or some other method of liberating ozma from oscar’s head is devised remains to be seen, although i think the latter is more likely. regardless, the purpose of ascension narratively from this point forward is to 1. precipitate ozma’s healing and 2. resolve matters with the god of light (& darkness of dark hasn’t already ascended).

it isn’t, i can’t emphasize this enough, a ‘get out of death free’ card.