#eastern front of world war I

[cid5]

WWI, German Soldiers allowing the firing of sabot-mounted Kugel grenades.

[nevzatboyraz44]

World War I Eastern Front...

Ottoman Empire

[lightdancer1]

Wrapped up the second of the three books:

This one, as the title indicates, covers the experience of WWI between 1914-7, as fought between Hohenzollerns, Romanovs, and Habsburgs. It was and is a key book, the main academic history of the war in its writings, and bluntly indicated that Russia did not, in fact, lose WWI because it had no bullets or artillery shells against an army that did. It lost WWI because its political and military leadership were staggeringly incompetent and devoured millions of lives in inducing a major crisis that contributed to both the collapse of the state and its transformation into the USSR.....and to the first point in time when people outside the Russian Empire were forced to deal with the existence of Ukrainians, Belarusians, Finns, and Balts as actual realities.

I reread this one every so often for the same reasons and in the same spirits that I look at books on the Army of Tennessee, as reminders that authority never deserves respect because of its existence and that people will happily charge headlong into self-destruction thinking they save themselves when they should know better and will double down on failure in the process.

The book does, however, encounter a very hard stop at its end, where it only speaks of 'Russians' and 'Bolsheviks', neglecting the February Revolution altogether and treating Bolshevism with hindsight as the tail wagging the dog. The reality of the end of the war was that it was a mini-1848 and springtime of nations who sought to emerge from the greatcoat of Russian brutality and were forcibly denied this and given a pale ghost of it in a drab Soviet overcoat with a hammer and sickle.

Of course this was also written by a right-wing British historian in the Cold War, so it's not surprising that a Briton would neglect the existence of nationalities in Russia and wouldn't have cared to look at something truer to what was happening in 1917 and later.

8/10.

[opencommunion]

recommended resources on Lebanese resistance and its context

this has been in my drafts for a long time bc I wanted to find more audio resources but in light of recent events I'm posting as is, and will add more later. pdfs for texts without links can be found on libgen ⭐ = start with these 📺 = video resource 🎧 = audio resource Hizballah ⭐ Lara Deeb, "Hizballah and Its Civilian Constituencies," in The War on Lebanon: A Reader, eds. Nubar Hovsepian and Rashid Khalidi (2007)

⭐🎧 Electronic Intifada Podcast with Rania Khalek, "Why Hizballah would deal Israel a deadly blow" (2024)

⭐🎧 Electronic Intifada Podcast with Amal Saad, "How Hizballah Aims to Deter Israel" (2024)

📺 Rania Khalek, Interview with Hezbollah's Second-in-Command Sheikh Naim Qassem (2023)

🎧 Rania Khalek and Julia Kassem, "The Hybrid War on Lebanon is All About Weakening Hezbollah" (2022)

Hassan Nasrallah, "Voice of Hezbollah: The Statements of Sayyed Hassan Nasrallah," ed. Nicholas Noe (2007)

Judith Harik, "Hizballah's Public and Social Services and Iran," in Distant Relations: Iran and Lebanon in the last 500 years (2006) Sarah Marusek, Faith and Resistance: The Politics of Love and War in Lebanon (2018)

Abed T. Kanaaneh, Understanding Hezbollah: The Hegemony of Resistance (2021)

Karim Makdisi, "The Oct. 8 War: Lebanon's Southern Front" (2024) Political theory ⭐ Ussama Makdisi, "Understanding Sectarianism," in The War on Lebanon: A Reader, eds. Nubar Hovsepian and Rashid Khalidi (2007)

⭐ Rula Juri Abisaab and Malek Abisaab, The Shi'ites of Lebanon: Modernism, Communism, and Hizbullah's Islamists (2014)

Ilham Khuri-Makdisi, The Eastern Mediterranean and the Making of Global Radicalism, 1860-1914 (2010) Tareq Y. Ismael and Jacqueline S. Ismael, The Communist Movement in Syria and Lebanon (1998) 2006 war ⭐ Gilbert Achcar and Michel Warschawski, The 33-Day War: Israel's War on Hezbollah in Lebanon and Its Consequences (2007)

The Electronic Intifada with Dahr Jamail, "The world just sat by" (2006)

The Electronic Intifada with Bilal El-Amine, "Lebanon in Context" (2006) The War on Lebanon: A Reader, eds. Nubar Hovsepian and Rashid Khalidi (2007)

Civil war and 1982 invasion ⭐📺 Up to the South, dir. Jayce Salloum and Walid Ra'ad (1993)

⭐📺 Wild Flowers: Women of South Lebanon, dir. Mai Masri and Jean Khalil Chamoun (1987)

⭐ Souha Bechara, Resistance: My Life for Lebanon (2003)

Jean Said Makdisi, Beirut Fragments: A War Memoir (1990)

Bayan Nuwayhed al-Hout, Sabra and Shatila, September 1982 (2004) Ottoman era Charles Al-Hayek, "How, then, did you try to rebel?"

Lebanon Unsettled, "Lebanon's Popular Uprisings"

Axel Havemann, "The Impact of Peasant Resistance on Nineteenth Century Mount Lebanon," in Peasants and Politics in the Modern Middle East (1991) Ussama Makdisi, The Culture of Sectarianism: Community, History, and Violence in Nineteenth-Century Ottoman Lebanon (2000)

Peter Hill, "How Global was the Age of Revolutions? The Case of Mount Lebanon, 1821" (2020) Mark Farha, "From Anti-imperial Dissent to National Consent: the First World War and the Formation of a Trans-sectarian National Consciousness in Lebanon" (2015) French mandate era ⭐ Kais Firro, Inventing Lebanon: Nationalism and the State Under the Mandate (2002) Sana Tannoury-Karam, "Founding the Lebanese Left: From Colonial Rule to Independence" (2021) Idir Ouahes, Syria and Lebanon Under the French Mandate: Cultural Imperialism and the Workings of Empire (2018)

Malek Abisaab, Militant Women of a Fragile Nation (2009) Misc ⭐📺 Leila and the Wolves, dir. Heiny Srour and Sabah Jabbour (1984)

⭐ Fawwaz Traboulsi, A History of Modern Lebanon (2007)

Karim Makdisi, "Lebanon's October 2019 Uprising" (2021)

[ineffable-suffering]

The meaning of "I forgive you"

Alright, hello again, I involuntarily dipped for a bit because real life outside of this lovely Tumblr Good Omens bubble got a little bit stressful, but! I'm back for a quick little post to say that I'm currently reading the script book for Season 1 and seeing this line again, spelled out on paper, just shone some more light on the whole „I forgive you“-scene of Season 2 for me again.

Because really, this first time Az says it to Crowley in front of the bookshop tells us exactly what the second time during the Final Fifteen means.

Aziraphale is not forgiving Crowley for kissing him. Or for using this moment to confess and make things explicit between them.

No, Aziraphale is forgiving Crowley for not trusting and believing (in) him.

Let's shove the Final Fifteen to the side for a second and look at this scene from Season 1 under the cut.

The situation at hand: The World is ending, with utmost certainty. In addition, Crowley is absolutely f*cked and Hell is out to get him. He tries to apologise for their Bandstand fallout and explain the other two things to Az (poorly, but he tries). Because to Crowley, Armageddon is a done deal already. Wherever the actual Antichrist is, he's gonna come into his power and the World will be wiped out for Heaven and Hell to wage their war on. Also, Hastur is coming to kick his demon ass. Time to dip!

And yet, Aziraphale doesn't want to come with him. He is adamant that he will be able to reach the Almighty, talk to Her and turn this around. Because if Aziraphale, Guardian of the Eastern Gate, thinks there's even the slightest, tiniest morsel of a chance that he can turn things around the right way, he will do it. Even if it sounds ridiculous. Even if it's a lost cause to everyone else. Even if all the other angels gang up on him and (literally) beat him up.

Even if Crowley calls him stupid.

Aziraphale decides not to be offended by this.

Because this is what he does. This is what a Guardian does. He stays and protects to ward off the intrusion, until the very last second.

Now listen, I'm the last person to blame Crowley for intrinsically wanting to choose Flight over Fight in this very situation, because Lord knows (literally) what happened to him back when he chose Fight and lost.

But at the same time we have to keep in mind that despite his last name, Aziraphale never Fell. He never made the horrible experience of being chucked away by the one who made you to love Her because you chose to question her ways. And yes, in so many ways this choice of his, to still believe that he can change something by questioning and suggesting (both here and in S2), is utterly maddening and hurtful to Crowley. Because it's a mirror of what Crowley himself did and a reminder of just how big the price he had to pay was. Aziraphale seemingly not realizing or understanding this stings. It does.

And yet.

Yet Aziraphale's choice to not take no for an answer, to not let a punch to the gut derail him from his plan, to not let even the most definitive thing such as Armageddon keep him from fighting back, is the one thing that ends up saving the World.

Because even when it all seems impossible and completely hopeless and bloody Satan himself is erupting from the pits of Hell, ...

... Aziraphale picks up his sword and fights back.

And he wins.

Not without help, of course. But might I remind you of what got Crowley to cooperate and not simply surrender like he'd almost done that second?

You might not see it at first, but tucked in between all the posh hedonism, hidden away underneath that tightly buttoned waistcoat of his, Aziraphale is a fighter. And a good one at that. I mean, for Someone's sake, he got discorporated, beamed himself down back to Earth, found Crowley somehow, possessed a psychic prostitute (love you, Madame Tracy), rode a scooter all the way to Taddfield and fought off Lucifer with sheer willpower (and a bit of emotional coercion).

Aziraphale can fight. Smart and hard. And not only that: He can win, too. And he knows it. Because he believes, truly, firmly and wholly, that he can make things right. It's the only thing he will settle for. This, ladies and gents, this is how he ends up saving the World, together with Crowley, Adam and the rest.

Because he didn't accept no as an answer. He didn't look at the impossible and accept it as such. Even when Crowley thought him to be an idiot for trying and even after his initial attempt at talking to God had failed, Aziraphale still found a way to stop The Big Bad Thing from happening.

Which is exactly what his plan is when he ends up being forced to come back to Heaven by the Metatron. (If you still believe this was a voluntary choice, read here). And which is exactly why he is so hurt and still ends up forgiving Crowley for the fact that Crowley doesn't end up coming with him. Doesn't end up understanding, trusting and believing (in) him, just like all the way back at the end of the World in Season 1.

Aziraphale decides not to be offended by this.

[sadclowncentral]

there has been some discussion on here that people should not call themselves central european, as that "doesn't exist, there is only the west and the (ex-soviet) east".

so here is the story of how my parents met. it's a long one snd it features a world war, the cold war and the iron curtain, but i promise it is a love story. here goes:

1936. my german grandfather lives in a small village in eastern pomerania, then germany, with his mother. my polish side of the family, part of an indigenious slavic minority, the kashubians, lives just six kilometers east across the border in poland.

1939. germany invades poland. with the front and the border moving east, my kashubian grandfather is incidentally born on german territory as a german citizen. he is the youngest of eleven - all his siblings are polish citizens.

1942. my german grandfather is drafted into the army and taken as a prisoner of war. the same year, my kashubian grandfather is murdered in a concentration camp for collusion against nazi germany.

1945. my german grandfather has returned from russia. the border has moved, west this time, and his old home is in poland now, and behind the iron curtain. he decides to stay in western germany.

1946. my kashubian great-grandmother, a widowed woman with eleven children, has lost her house during the war. she moves into an abandoned home in a now polish recovered territories.

1982. it's the height of the cold war. my german grandfather has not stopped wondering what has happened to his old home. with a sailing ship, he and my father make it to poland and to his old house. my kashubian grandfather, now married and father of seven children, opens the door. and in true kashubian hospitality, invites them to stay the night. my parents, both teenagers, and without a shared language, meet for the first time. and fall in love.

1987. my father is discharged from the west german army because of his frequent travels behind the iron curtain to visit his girlfriend. my mother gets a german passport issued without a citizen test as her father is technically german.

1996. the berlin wall has fallen, but more importantly, my parents are getting married in poland. their families got over the language barrier, and my grandfathers have gotten over their different sides in the war. the reception is in three languages - german, kashubian, and polish. in the house both my grandfathers grew up in.

a few years later, my brother and i are born. german- polish- kashubian. with two passports and three mother tongues. and then again. from one single house in germany- poland- recovered-territories- kashubia- pomerania.

so we just say we are central european.

[archangeldyke-all]

throne sex with royal!Sevi & royal!reader 👁️👁️

okay okay okay okay gonna combine it with another smutty ask that just goes together with this one tooooo perfectly:

riding sev while she’s tied up 😏😏😉😵‍💫

men and minors dni

your wife's been neglecting you.

learning about, growing with, and falling deeper in love with princess sevika has made this past year the best of your life. you've never been happier; and from what all the servants and attendants tell you; sevika hasn't either.

but last week, her father left the country for a diplomatic tour of the world-- leaving the nation in her hands while he dances and schmoozes and eats his way across the globe.

she's acting as queen, essentially, but she's still only given the limited resources and powers of a princess.

it's exhausting, stressful, and frustrating.

you're going to give the king a stern talking to once he returns about how to properly treat the heir to his throne. (you're the only one in the kingdom who can raise your voice at him, since he can't hang you unless he wants war with your parents.)

but, for now: you have a wife to take care of.

you've temporarily moved into the palace-- both so sevika can be closer to work, and so that she's more protected while she acts as the nation's leader. the hallways are cold, echoing, and entirely unfamiliar to you. you've just now memorized the twists and turns from your chambers to the throne room, and you've been walking this path a dozen times a day for two weeks now.

you sigh, rubbing your tired eyes as you approach the grand doorway. you woke up ten minutes ago to the clock tower striking midnight, and sevika's side of the bed still cold and empty. you should've dressed better-- the palace is cold at night-- but you were still half asleep when you stumbled out of your chambers in search of your wife.

you recognize the guard standing in front of the closed doors. "good evening, lock."

"good evening, your highness."

"is she inside?" you ask.

the knight nods. "she's asked not to be disturbed."

you huff. "do you think she considers me a disruption?" you ask.

lock smirks at you. this is why you like him-- he's not afraid to joke around with you. "i think she considers you the biggest disturbance."

you giggle and shake your head, before reaching forward and cracking one of the giant doors. lock does nothing to stop you. "how soundproof are these doors?" you ask before you slip into the throne room. the knight snorts.

"not enough for someone outside to not hear screams."

"hmm... maybe you should go on a walk, then, lock. return to your post after a nice perimeter check, how's that sound?"

lock just winks at you, shaking his head and laughing as he turns on his heel and heads down the hall. "you've got thirty minutes!" he calls over his shoulder.

you grin, then slip into the throne room.

at the sound of the door slamming closed behind you, sevika lifts her tired eyes from her lap where she's studying scrolls. "i asked not to be dis--" she cuts herself off at the sight of you. "fuck. what time is it?" she asks as you approach her.

you reach out, gently cupping your wife's scarred cheek in your hand. "past midnight." you whisper. sevika cringes.

"i'm sorry, love." she sighs, deflating into the throne behind her. she's adorable, her usual perfect posture melting away into a relaxed slouch as you stroke her face, her eyelids drooping a bit.

"what're you working on?" you ask, picking up the scrolls and maps on her lap and taking their spot. sevika's arms wrap around your waist, her chin immediately hooking over your shoulder as you shuffle through the papers and documents.

"trade routes." she grunts. you cringe and she nods. "it's infuriating. if i could send our troops somewhere i'd be fucking useful but i can't so i'm stuck just... thinking about all the problems."

"well, what are the problems?" you ask, studying the markings sevika's drawn on her maps.

"flooding in the eastern peninsula has collapsed three of the bridges that connect them to the mainland. all non-essential trade's been halted, which is wreaking havoc on the art trade in the southern islands, because they rely on the trade of the non-essential clay and mud from the east for a majority of their pottery and tiles. and without the tile, the northern territories have nothing to build with so they've put the construction of their university and library on hold."

you take in the information for a moment, studying the maps in your lap as you try to remember the local politics and trade agreements of the connecting villages and towns between all the current problem areas.

slowly, a solution starts to form in your mind, and a smile starts to spread on your lips.

sevika squeezes your hip. you blink down at her. "what's that look?" she asks. you giggle, then lean down to kiss sevika's lips. she sighs against you.

"i've got it figured out." you say. you push the papers off your lap, they fall to the floor in a mess. sevika gasps.

"y-you do not!" she protests. you laugh and nod, shifting in sevika's lap to straddle her legs.

"i do. we'll have my parents lend the eastern peninsula some ships while they repair the bridges to ship the clay. they owe zaun anyways, for the aid you provided five years ago when they were recovering from the wildfires in the countryside." you say.

sevika blinks up at you rapidly, and then she curses, throwing her head back dramatically. "fuck!"

"what?" you ask, worried you're hurting her. you scramble to get off her lap, but she reaches out to keep you still.

"i keep forgetting i married a genius. it took you two fuckin' minutes to think of that, babe! i've been lookin' at this shit for hours!" she whines.

you snort and lean forward to kiss her. "you've been coming up with smart shit all day, baby." you remind her. "and it's only been a year. someday you'll remember me..." you sigh dramatically. sevika snorts and pinches your hip and you grin. "but, until then, i'm happy to remind you how amazing i am." you say, leaning forward slowly. sevika smiles up at you, her eyes closing as she anticipates a kiss. you giggle, then hop off her lap.

sevika's eyes pop back open and she whines. "where're you going?" she asks, pouting at you.

her pout quickly disappears when you start to tug at the tie of your plush velvet robe. sevika's back straightens, her eyes get wide, and her tongue darts out to lick her lips. you laugh, shaking your head fondly as you untie your robe.

sevika sits back in her throne like she's expecting a show. you just shake your head fondly, letting her believe what she needs to keep her relaxed and unsuspecting.

instead of shedding your robe, you pull the thin fabric belt free and circle the throne.

"where're you going?" sevika whines again, craning her neck to continue watching you. you just giggle, and start massaging her shoulders. she relaxes again. you giggle and kiss her scalp.

"you made me a promise, sev." you whisper.

sevika hums. "i did?"

"mhm. when we first got to the palace, remember what you swore to me?"

sevika sighs gustily, half ashamed, half annoyed. "promised i wouldn't work myself too hard."

"and do you think you've kept that promise?" you ask, keeping your voice soft and sweet. sevika huffs again.

"...no." she admits. you grin, and then move faster than sevika can process. in a flash, you've got her hands tied behind the back of the throne with the soft belt of your robe. sevika gasps, struggling against her restraints as you laugh and circle your trapped wife. "what the fuck!?" sevika squawks.

you giggle and straddle her lap again.

her eyes are drawn to the small gap in your robe, your cunt on full display for just a moment as you settle down on top of her legs. there's a shy, excited smile playing at the corner of her mouth. fuck, you love her.

"in my country, i could have you hanged for breaking your word to me." you say. sevika blinks up at you dreamily.

"yeah?"

you laugh and nod. "yeah. i kinda like you, though, and we're in your nation, so... i figured i could come up with a different punishment for you." you whisper.

sevika's eyes are dark and wide, her chest heaving even though she hasn't moved from her seat. "doesn't seem like much of a punishment." she says. you giggle, and lean forward to kiss her lips.

she'll think differently in a few minutes. for now, you enjoy the feeling of your strong wife rendered helpless beneath you.

sure, she could break through the flimsy loose knot you've tied her with. she doesn't, though, because she likes it. it's clear as day, written all over her excited face-- princess sevika's got a secret subby side.

it's in your top ten favorite things about her (on the sexual version of the list.)

you kiss her until she's putty in your hands, slowly, mindlessly grinding against her lap.

when she starts to whimper and her feet start to shuffle on the floor beneath her, you pull away with a smile.

"need something?" you ask.

"fuck, please." sevika whines. you laugh.

"please what baby? you didn't even ask for anything." you tease, cupping her blushing cheeks in your hands.

sevika gulps and scrunches her eyes shut to focus on her words. "i-i wanna see you." she whines.

you laugh. "so take my robe off." you say, pushing your chest forward. sevika groans. "y'know. i was waitin' naked in bed for you." sevika shivers underneath you. you giggle. "was kinda hopin' you'd come to bed and take advantage of me-- maybe i'd wake up with your hands on me..." sevika's enraptured with your story, nodding up at you to get you to continue. you smile down at your sweet girl, and kiss her nose. "but since you decided to be bad, i woke up freezing cold and all alone instead."

sevika actually whimpers. you try (and fail) to bite back your grin at the sound. "i-i'm sorry." she whines. you giggle.

"not as sorry as you're gonna be, baby." you promise her, kissing her pouting lips.

sevika's predictable once you get to know her.

it's one of your top ten favorite things about her. (on the not sexual list)

she likes a big breakfast in the morning, and then smaller meals throughout the day. she prefers her stiff, utilitarian military uniform to her flouncy royal gowns; and if she can help it, she'll wear pants. and, since the day she had the royal artisans hand craft a strap for the two of you: sevika hardpacks when she goes to work.

it makes her feel hot, and it honestly helps her fill out her (customarily men's) uniform pants. plus-- more times than not, watching sevika work gets you worked up. it's just more convenient for her to put it on every morning.

so, when you unclasp her pants and push them down her hips, you're counting on the bulge in her boxers. the sight of it makes you grin. "one of these days i'm getting my own cock made." you sigh as you start to stroke her bulge.

sevika shudders, both from your words and from the pressure of your hand. "you wouldn't know what to do with it." she huffs.

you giggle. "probably not. i'm sure you'd figure out something to do with it, though." you laugh. sevika blushes bright red, and you laugh, leaning forward to nibble her ear.

"sh-shut up." she whines.

"oh please, like you're not soaking your pants thinkin' about me fuckin' you." you tease. sevika's thighs clench together and you cackle.

"b-baby." sevika whines.

"you just never know sev. one of these days, you'll be crawlin' under my skirts to taste me 'n i'll get to fuck your throat instead." sevika shudders, squeezing her eyes shut and burying her face against your shoulder. you giggle. "you like that?"

"yes." sevika's voice cracks, and her answer comes out as a squeak.

"mmh. me too. 'm so wet thinkin' about it, look." you whisper, before you reach under your robe and swipe two fingers up your wet cunt.

sevika lunges forward, wrapping her lips around your fingers before you can even properly show off your arousal. she moans at the taste of you, her eyes locked on yours as she swirls her tongue between your digits.

your cunt squeezes around nothing at the feeling, and you moan, shoving your fingers further into her mouth. sevika takes it perfectly, her spit trailing down your wrist as you start to fuck her mouth with your fingers.

"fuck, princess." you groan. "thinkin' about suckin' my cock, huh?" you ask. sevika's eyes roll back in her skull, and she nods around your fingers. you shove a third past her lips, wanting to fill her completely. the little wet noises coming from her mouth only get louder. "'m thinkin' about it too. thinkin' about fuckin' you over the balcony at home so you can tell the entire kingdom how fuckin' good i feel."

sevika chokes on your fingers, her eyes go wide, and then she falls apart beneath you, shivering and shaking in her throne as she cums in her pants. you groan, pulling your fingers out of her mouth only to replace them with your tongue, your grip on her jaw possessive as you fuck her mouth with your tongue.

"shit, sev, did you just fuckin' cum?" you gasp. sevika's still shivering and whimpering, and you kiss her again. "fuck, baby, that wasn't even your punishment! you weren't even inside me yet!" you laugh, your words interspersed with the kisses you're pressing to her face and neck.

"shut up!" she whimpers, embarrassed. you kiss her again.

"absolutely fucking not. that was so hot, shit-- i was gonna tease you so much more," you whine as you pull her cock out of her boxers, lining it up with your cunt, "but now i fuckin' need you."

sevika collapses against the throne when you sink down on her like she can actually feel you. she's still shaking from the aftershocks of her orgasm-- her handsfree orgasm-- and the reminder of it only makes you more desperate.

"fuck!" you squeal. sevika's cock is big. she usually takes her time with you, warming you up with her mouth and fingers before she finally pushes inside. but this-- this almost painful stretch-- it's making you see stars.

"baby--"

"shit, sev, you feel so fuckin' good." you groan.

"fuck, love."

you start to rock your hips and both of you whimper at the motion. "mmmfuck. can't wait to stretch you out like this." sevika gasps at your words and her head flops forward so she can bite at your throat, muffling her moans. "i'll fuck you so good, baby, i promise. fuck all the stress outta you..."

sevika growls against you-- a sound that you only ever hear when you're about to be in deep shit in the best fucking way. you're too lost in your pleasure to notice, starting to bounce on her lap as you let your fantasies and the feeling of your wife carry you away.

"fuck, sev, i'll fuck you so good i knock you up, baby."

a loud ripping sound rings thoughout the throne room, and before you can even open your eyes to figure out what's happened, sevika's launching forward, tipping both of you out of the throne.

you yelp your arms flailing uselessly as you fall, only for sevika's arms to reach out and grab you before you can crack your head open on the stone floor.

it occurs to you, very quickly in the split second that sevika takes to gently set you on the ground, that sevika's ripped through her bonds.

it's the last coherent thought you have for the rest of the night.

sevika fucks you like an animal, growling, clawing, and biting at you as you both slowly, slowly slide across the stone floor in front of the throne.

the smacking sounds of her hips meeting yours are bouncing off the high walls of the throne room, your shared moans reverberating until it melds into a constant, pleasured echo.

"sevika!" you wail. "fuck, fuck, sev, you-- baby, i love you!"

one of her hands is holding your thighs open, the other is smacking and pinching at your tits. she grins down at you, before swooping down to kiss your lips. "cum on my dick." she demands. "c'mon princess, cum for me."

the moment her hand trails up your thigh to touch your clit, you fall apart, screaming sevika's name as you soak your robe and her pants.

she grins down at you in admiration, kissing your cheeks, neck and chest as you try to catch your breath. you burst into giggles the second you've got enough air in your lungs.

"what's so funny?" sevika asks, though she's grinning like she's just as amused as you are.

"i hope lock took a really long walk." you huff.

sevika bursts into laughter, and she collapses on top of you. "fuck. i love you so much." she sighs happily.

you smile up at the arched ceiling and reach up to scratch your princess's scalp. "i love you more."

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@shimtarofstupidity @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @realgreeniebeanie @k3n-dyll

@sevsdollette @ellieslob

[qqueenofhades]

-Runs back into the room from having been wrapped up in the Sub Shitshow- context PLEASE on what’s up with Putin!?

Lol okay buckle up:

Yevgeny Prighozin is (well, as of now) one of Putin's closest allies. He is Putin's former chef and now the CEO of Wagner Group, the Russian private army of mercenaries who have spent a decade plundering Africa and destroying Syria in the employ of various terrible local dictators. Since the invasion of Ukraine, Wagner has become one of the Russian army's mainstays, mostly because they're the only ones who seem able to actually do anything. Of course, it did still take them nine months to take Bakhmut, Ukraine's *checks notes* 53rd largest city with very little strategic value, but given what a shitshow the regular Russian army has been, that's good. Or something.

The Russian army is mostly good at destroying dams and bombing civilians, which are obviously terrible for many reasons, but not that useful in the military scheme of things.

However, Wagner are also -- I hasten to stress -- thoroughly terrible people. Aside from all the shit in Africa and Syria, they've done likewise in Ukraine and will continue to do so. Legally speaking, they technically "don't exist," which has allowed them to get around a lot of the usual rules and regulations that are supposed to "bind" (ha) the Russian army. They are obviously in Ukraine directly at Putin's behest and doing Putin's bidding, but it turns out that giving an ambitious and amoral psychopathic warlord his own private army of criminals, rapists, killers, and whoever else they can dredge out of Russia's prisons to throw at the front line and die en masse may not be a good idea?

Shocking, I know.

Anyway, Prigozhin has spent months ripping into the Russian Minister of Defense, Sergei Shoigu, for what a whole shitshow clusterfuck this whole stupid war patently is. (Not, however, that this has stopped him from continuing to eagerly carry it out, since he's just as much or indeed even more of a zealot as the rest of Putin's government.) This has included blaming Shoigu for equipment losses, underprovisioning of Wagner troops, general strategic numbnuttery, etc. Prigozhin has not, however -- again, until now -- attacked Putin directly, or backed off from getting his losers killed in Bakhmut and/or wherever else. One suspects that Putin has been perfectly happy to let Prigozhin scapegoat Shoigu for the war's failures, since this means Shoigu can always just conveniently fall out a window or something if it gets too necessary to make a public show of displeasure, and not Putin.

HOWEVER, things took a turn VERY FAST today, within about 12 hours. Prigozhin has, as noted, spent months tearing the Russian military leadership a new asshole -- not because he's a good guy (he's a fucking war criminal on like, 10 different levels), but because it is plainly obvious what a shitshow this is and even a war criminal has his limits as to how much totally pointless murderous bullshit he wants to go through, I guess. (That includes telling the truth about why the war started -- i.e. to steal Ukrainian stuff/land for the oligarchs, and not any of Putin's other stupid excuses.)

Today (June 23) Prigozhin accused the Russian Ministry of Defense of orchestrating a rocket attack on Wagner's camp in eastern Ukraine (near the Russian border) and causing massive casualties;

We don't have proof of this yet, or indeed much else of what Prigozhin is talking about, BUT he finally decided to put his Coup Hat On and get serious about "punishing" Russian military leadership, i.e. presumably Shoigu, declaring that "there are 25,000 of us [Wagner soldiers] and we're coming into Russia to sort out this chaos"

So -- again, according to Prigozhin, who is not the world's most reliable source on anything -- he turned his army of yoinks around, left Ukraine, and marched into the southwestern Russian city of Rostov-on-Don, where the Russian military command in charge of the assault on Ukraine is headquartered;

For a while, there was nothing but Prigozhin's various unhinged rants on Telegram to prove any of this, but it's now early tomorrow morning in Russia and there are indeed a lot of videos of what DOES IN FACT LOOK like Wagner mercenaries rolling into Rostov and storming Ministry of Defense buildings;

Firm information on what is going on is almost nonexistent, even for Russia, but Putin is clearly taking this seriously; Moscow is shut down, there are armored vehicles on the streets, Google is down in Russia, and Russian newscasters are interrupting their broadcasts to insist Don't Look, Everything Is Fine Here, Totally Fine, Do You Hear Swan Lake? I Don't Hear Swan Lake!

Nobody can find Putin either, allegedly, but don't worry! He has been "briefed on the situation and everything is under control!"

The Russian FSB (successor to the KGB) has meanwhile issued a warrant for Prigozhin's arrest, said they'll charge/prosecute him for treason and armed rebellion against the state, and ordered him to stand down/his own men to arrest him

This, uh, does not appear to be working

ANYWAY, Putin's basically fucked no matter how this ends. Wagner literally just led an armed mutiny, he can't feel good about sending his ex-bestie Prigozhin back to Ukraine with any confidence that his orders will continue to be obeyed, it's Russian-on-Russian open war in the streets of Rostov and God knows where else, he's totally lost control of the narrative, the war, the domestic political situation, Wagner, probably good chunks of the Russian military command/elite establishment, etc., and we all know what happens to dictators in Russia who can no longer dictate

(And yet the Russian army is still finding time to lob some missiles at civilian buildings in Kyiv tonight, because they suck).

This is obviously a huge lucky break for Ukraine as well, since if the Russians are busy fighting each other, they can continue to push for a big breakthrough on their counteroffensive.

So yeah. Pride Month really wheeling out the big guns here, after Putin was the top option picked for Lady Karma to do her thing on in my poll a few weeks ago.

Stay tuned.

[girlactionfigure]

This #VeteransDay, discover the bravery of Master Sergeant Roddie Edmonds who stood up to the Nazi commandant at a POW camp to save Jewish American prisoners of war.

Master Sergeant Roddie Edmonds of Knoxville, Tennessee, served in the US Army during World War II. He participated in the landing of the American forces in Europe, fought in the Battle of the Bulge, and was then taken prisoner by the Germans. Together with 1,000 other American POWs, including 200 Jews, he was taken to the Stalag IXA camp near Ziegenhain. In line with their anti-Jewish policy, the Germans singled out Jewish POWs, many of whom on the Eastern Front were sent to extermination camps. 

In January 1945, the Germans ordered all Jewish American POWs to line up in front of the barracks. Those who refused would be shot. Master Sergeant Edmonds, the highest-ranking non-commissioned officer and in charge of the prisoners, ordered all of the POWs—Jews and non-Jews alike—to stand together. 

The next morning, when the German officer in charge saw that all the camp’s inmates were standing in front of their barracks, he turned to Edmonds and said, “They cannot all be Jews.” To this Edmonds replied, “We are all Jews.” 

The German took out his pistol and threatened Edmonds, but the Master Sergeant did not waver and retorted, “According the Geneva Convention, we have to give only our name, rank, and serial number. If you shoot me, you will have to shoot all of us, and after the war you will be tried for war crimes.” 

The German gave up, turned around, and left the scene.

One of the Jews saved that day, Paul Stern, told Yad Vashem in his testimony: “That critical confrontation occurred in a few short moments, yet it remained vivid in my mind these many years, and I blessed Sergeant Edmonds for his heroic act of courage…(his) shining example is something for all of us to remember, and try to emulate in our own lives…”

“Although seventy years have passed,” said Stern, “I can still hear the words he said to the German camp commander.”

Yad Vashem: World Holocaust Center, Jerusalem

Source: l.facebook.com

[randxmthxughts]

Chosen by Eywa - The Dream Hunt - Chapter 1

chapter 2 →

summary: eywa makes no mistakes... in the midst of his preparation to become the future olo'eyktan, neteyam is told to be with a chosen mate. guided by the signs of eywa, tsahik picks y/n, a woman orphaned by the war, whose heart already belongs to another

contains: arranged marriage, mentions of war and grief, angst, one-sided enemies to lovers

wc: 4.6k

a/n: i just wanted to say a major THANK YOU for 4k and for the support you have shown for this series before i even posted anything 😭 i hope this meets your expectations, and i am very excited for the next chapters

chosen by eywa masterlist | general avatar masterlist

Eywa makes no mistakes. Y/N had clung to these words her whole life, since the day her parents were taken by the merciless war against the sky people. She found comfort in knowing that her journey was already prewritten, destined for a greater purpose. But she had never expected for Eywa to turn her world upside down, forcing her to question everything she believed in, and lead her to a love that she never imagined possible…

The scent of smoldering herbs filled the air, mingling with the soft groans and hushed whispers of the healers attending to the small party of warriors. Y/N's deft hands worked quickly, spreading the last thick layer of healing poultice over the gash on his arm. He winced at the searing pain, then let out a weak chuckle at his own reaction.

"Mawey," she murmured to the injured warrior, her voice sweet with warmth that she failed to conceal, “We are done.” Their eyes met briefly, and a blush crept up Y/N's cheeks.

She turned away, to hide a small smile that tugged at the corners of her lips, and stepped closer to Kiri to search for another remedy in their shared basket. Neteyam, sitting beneath his sister's tender ministrations, winced slightly. His eyes then spotted Y/N, who was rifling through the herbs and ointments, though her thoughts seemed to drift somewhere else.

“What are you looking for?” Kiri asked, poking her head out from behind her brother.

“Oh,” Y/N turned, flashing the siblings a sheepish smile, “Was just making sure that we had enough eanean.”

Kiri nodded, though she was hardly convinced. Having worked with Y/N side by side for years now, she had grown to read her subtle moods. Over the past few months especially, with the increased work, the two women had become closer, and Kiri had suspected that there was something going on between Y/N and Kaye, the warrior she was just tending to. But she ultimately decided not to intervene. 

“I still don’t understand how you even crossed paths with those skxawngs at the Eastern border,” Kiri returned to the conversation she was having with her brother.

"They were lying in wait," Neteyam answered, his gaze still fixated on Y/N, "I don't know how they figured out we'd be there today, but they attacked us from above."

"That's very bad," Kiri sighed, applying fresh bandages to his back, “What if there were more of them?”

She circled to stand in front of her brother, while her eyes darted around the spacious tent. The healing tent had been expanded due to Mo’at’s request, who had decided that the old one was too cramped. Mo’at also took on more students because of the attacks from the sky people, and the clan now boasted a larger number of healers than ever before.

"We probably wouldn't have made it out alive," Neteyam sighed, disappointed. 

The future Olo’yektan saw no point in hiding the intensity of the day’s event; he had barely escaped his own death earlier. He was assigned to lead the party, and the weight of bringing his warriors to safety was heavy on his shoulders. How could he ensure they would never end up in the same situation again? Getting trapped by the sky people, almost facing death. He couldn’t help but feel insecure in his own ability as the future chief, maybe he wasn’t ready to pass his Dream Hunt yet.

Kiri's shoulders slumped in response, though the answer wasn't difficult to guess. She stole a quick glance at Y/N, who seemed to be frozen in place, listening to the conversation. If anything happened to Kaye, if she lost another person she loved to the war, would she be able to bear it?

The familiar touch of Kaye's hand on her back broke Y/N out of her thoughts. As he passed by, uttering a grateful "thank you," she blushed deeply, but the worry in her eyes was not lost on Neteyam.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Y/N dipped her feet into the cold water, feeling the soreness starting to slip away from her body. The river was serene, calming her, as she had been on her feet all day, working under the watchful eyes of Mo’at and tending to the injured warriors. Kaye, who sat next to her, nudged her thigh with his. She could feel the warmth of his body against hers, his canines peeking out with a small smirk.

“You know I don’t like it when you are upset with me,” he said, nudging her again playfully, “Y/N.”

Her ears twitched, as she turned to look at him with a hint of annoyance at how unserious he was being. He had accidentally blabbered about his stupid idea to take on two geared up sky people at once and almost lost his arm during the encounter.

“The Great Mother may have looked after you today, but it won’t always be so,” she said firmly, “I lost my parents to a slip-up like this. Eywa does not intervene in these matters.”

“I know,” Kaye cupped her cheek tenderly, recognizing the reminiscing in her eyes, “I will be more careful.”

She leaned into his touch, eyes closing for a moment with a small sigh. Her mind wandered back to the memories of her parents. It was a pain that never fully went away, a constant ache that still kept her up at nights.

“I worry about you, Kaye,” she murmured.

“And I worry about you,” he replied softly, his thumb rubbing circles on her cheekbone, “Which is why I think it is time to tell my family about us.”

Y/N blinked at him, feeling the familiar spark of hope ignite within her, but she quickly pushed it aside. She had heard these words from Kaye before, a promise that he had broken time and time again. His family held importance in the clan, his parents were strict, determined to arrange a mate for Kaye, just like they did for the rest of their children. And she was never worthy of their attention. She had nothing to offer to them. Kaye knew that too well, but he continued to give both of them false hopes of a bright future together.

“You don’t have to, it is no rush,” she mumbled, wondering if her devotion to him would ever be matched, “I don’t want you to fight with your parents.”

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Like in the womb of Pandora, surrounded by the elders and the Tsahik, Neteyam proudly wore the white paint on his body as he silently took a seat in the middle of the circle. His mother lingered behind with a mixture of worry and pride on her face; she had looked forward to the day her firstborn passed the Dream Hunt, but the earlier encounter with the sky people had shaken her slightly. What if Neteyam was too tired and wouldn’t survive his uniltaron? Jake threw an assurring arm around her shoulder, pulling her into his chest, and she gratefully complied, peeking at her son with a smile. Jake was grinning, confident that Neteyam, who had already accomplished so much at his age, would pass his trial with ease. He had prepared for it for months, what’s one more rite?

The chanting began to pick up with the beginning of the ritual, and knowing his role too well, Neteyam opened his mouth willingly when Mo'at approached him with a glowing worm hanging from her fingers. The worm wiggled around as Neteyam closed his lips around it and chewed it down. The smoke from burning herbs filled his nose and eyes, burning all the way to his lungs. 

The chant grew louder and more hypnotic, and the taste of the worm on his tongue numbed his buds like a torch. Neteyam felt his body vibrate involuntarily, and as his father placed an arachnoid on his neck, he felt it stung him twice mercilessly. Neteyam squeezed his eyes shut, blocking out the noise and the pain, as his mind began to slip into a trance. He could feel his lungs give out with a sharp pain and as he desperately gasped for air, it seemed like he was falling, spiraling down with nothing to grab onto. His heartbeat suddenly was louder, faster in his ears, thumping in a rhythm as he plummeted it down. The world went dark, and when he opened his eyes, Neteyam saw himself in the forest, surrounded by mist.

His body went limp for a moment, bright sunlight blinding his vision. He gathered his energy and barely moved to his feet, when with a sudden gust of wind, a banshee flew right above him, so close to the ground that it almost threw him off. Instinctively, Neteyam reached to cover his eyes with his hand, and then he was no longer himself.

His body ached, as it began to stretch out. His hands were growing, transforming into wings, as venom flowed through his blood, he was suddenly floating above the forest. It was like he was on the back of his ikran but the feeling was more intense. Unmistakably, his mind was no longer his own, Neteyam saw and felt through the banshee.

A rush of adrenaline burst through him, and Neteyam, for the first time in his life, was free, as he soared through the sky. He couldn’t express it, but he could feel it somewhere in his heart that this is what he was meant to be. One with Eywa.

As he flew over the trees, he spotted and neared closer to himself. His own Na’vi body stood small and fragile from the new point of view. But there was also somebody else standing next to him. A woman holding his hand. She was laughing, her voice vibrantly filled his ears with a pleasant sound. A long necklace wrapped around her neck and hung all the way down to her stomach, adorned with big beads, glistening under the sun, and blue feathers. Her hair was let down in soft waves, and her face… When Neteyam tried tracing her features, he realized he couldn’t. The image began to slip away from him, and he felt his body betray him once again…

Suddenly, his eyes flew open, the darkness of the cave enveloping him. His trembling body was arched, palms digging into the soil beneath him, sweat rolling down his face in big drops. Neteyam took a moment to regain his breath, heart pounding.

“It is finished,” Mo’at’s voice broke the silence, words echoing through the cave.

Neteyam winced slightly at the loudness and rubbed his eyes to regain his vision. He could feel the eyes of elderly on him, then the relief in his mother’s voice, as she rushed to his side. Her hands reached for his face, massaging his temples.

“Did you see your spirit animal?” Neytiri asked with a smile, her eyes brimming with curiosity.

Neteyam nodded weakly, a small smile of his own stretching across his lips. 

“I saw an ikran… I was the ikran!” he exclaimed, his laughter filling the cave.

Jake and Neytiri joined in his giddy laughter, the rest of the circle smiling in approval. Neytiri pulled her son into a tight embrace.

“We are very proud of you, son,” Jake said, crouching down next to them and patting Neteyam’s head, knowing exactly what he went through.

“Thank you,” Neteyam smiled, then as if he remembered another vision from his Dream Hunt, continued, “But I saw something else too!”

Mo’at approached him hastily, making a room for herself, as she splayed her fingers against Neteyam’s face. She peered into his amber eyes with curiosity, urging him to continue.

“I saw a woman,” he smiled, the memory returning to him, “She was holding my hand… well, the hand of my Na’vi body.”

Neytiri gasped softly, her eyes widening with shock. Mo’at’s expression remained stoic, though she gripped Neteyam’s shoulder. 

“Did you recognize her, child?” she questioned, concealing her surprise.

“No, I couldn’t see her face,” Neteyam shook his head with a slight disappointment, “She was a Na’vi woman. But I couldn’t see her clearly.” He looked to his father, seeking answers, but found only confusion there. 

Neytiri and Mo’at shared a knowing glance before rising to their feet. Neytiri brought her hands to her chest, anxiety etched onto her features. Jake registered it immediately, now alerted too by their reactions. 

“Is something wrong?” he whispered to her.

She looked back at him, confusion marring her expression. She wasn’t really sure what it meant, only knew that Eywa very rarely sent a vision during the uniltaron. Mo’at circled around Neteyam, the air thick with tension. He waited patiently, his eyes trained on his grandmother, though he was already a little worried by how long she waited to speak. She took a step back and motioned for him to stand up. He complied, his body still weak.    

“The Great Mother had blessed you with another vision, a peek into your destiny,” Mo’at’s tone was serious. 

Jake’s ears perked up, unsure if it should excite him or scare him. He looked around the cave, seeking for a similar reaction, but everyone except him and Neteyam seemed to have an idea of what it meant. 

“What does it mean, grandmother?” Neteyam asked carefully.

“It is time, Neteyam,” Mo’at spoke with a glimmer of pride in her eyes, “The Great Mother thinks you are ready to take a mate. Your journey begins now.”

Neytiri wrapped her arms around her son once more with a bittersweet smile. She seemed relieved by the explanation. Neteyam, like the perfect son, had passed every rite on his own. Now it was time for him to face the rest of his challenges with a woman by his side, someone he would love and cherish. He wouldn’t have to be alone anymore. Jake watched with the same confused expression on his face, ever so often glancing at Neytiri to try and understand how he should react.

“If you have already chosen a mate in secret from the clan, you must reveal it now, child,” Mo’at spoke again. 

“No, grandmother, I have not chosen,” Neteyam shook his head firmly, “I am not mated with anyone.”

“Very well,” Mo’at heaved a sigh, then tilted her head slightly, “Do you have anyone in mind for the role?” 

“No,” he shook his head again, this time slightly embarrassed by his own answer. It was the only thing he lacked so far, “I didn’t have time for that.”

The words brought a pang of guilt to his parents. They both lowered their ears immediately, feeling fully responsible for raising their son with such a weighty burden on his shoulders.

“Good. Then the search begins,” Mo’at announced, “You will hear the answer soon.”

Neteyam felt his heart sink. His mouth hung open, as he looked around the cave for support but the elderly only seemed content with the decision and began to disperse. He would hear the answer? Were they going to decide for him? Of course, arranging bonds was quite common and successful in his clan, especially within the line of Olo’eyktans. Their mates were chosen carefully, keeping in mind that the couples had to be strong enough to lead their people through thick and thin. But he was content with his life as of now, exploring the forests and working on his skills. Neteyam didn’t feel ready, despite his vision. He glanced at his father, who was now frowning and clearly holding himself back from speaking, biding his time until they were left alone to discuss the matter further.

“Neteyam, you should go to the celebration, your brother and sisters have been waiting for you this whole time," Neytiri spoke softly.

"But mother -" Neteyam tried to protest.

"No buts, boy," his father interjected, “You did well. Go celebrate."

“Fine,” Neteyam nodded, his voice falling to a whisper.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

It has been a few days since Neteyam passed his Dream Hunt, but he was already impatient for his grandmother’s decision. It could take her months to make it, yet he couldn’t help the anxiousness. Was he too late to choose a mate for himself? What made it worse was the conversations he overheard between his parents. He tiptoed around the corner of his family tent, his mind already racing with conflicting thoughts. He had gathered every argument and piled it into a high tower, ready to unravel it onto his parents, but as their voices grew louder, he couldn't help but eavesdrop.

"I can’t believe you’re going along with this, Neytiri," Jake's voice echoed, his tone growing more exasperated by the second. "He should have a choice in who he wants to spend his life with."

"He didn’t make a choice in time," Neytiri replied, her voice firm, "But the Great Mother has. A mate has already been chosen by Eywa.”

“And what if he doesn’t like this arrangement? You were in his place once,” Jake was upset. He had never expected Neytiri to agree with Mo’at’s decision.

“Ma’Jake,” Neytiri sighed, “Eywa makes no mistakes. Neteyam received a clear sign, it would be foolish to ignore it.”

Neteyam's heart skipped a beat at her words. His mother seemed determined that it was the right step to take, and deep down, he thought he agreed with her. He had to trust in the wisdom of Eywa. Yet, Neteyam was scared because of his own helplessness. 

“I don’t know…” Jake trailed off. 

It wasn't fair play, arguing with Tsahik’s decision, with Eywa’s signs. Jake may have lived on Pandora for over 20 years, having been reborn as a Na’vi, but he still felt like an outsider when it came to the traditions of the clan. He wasn’t going to enforce his opinions with his position as Toruk Makto and go against everyone. But he also didn’t want to see his son suffer.

Neteyam sighed before stepping into the tent and revealing himself. Both of his parents stiffened, having suspected that he overheard their conversation. He felt caught between two and he had no other choice but to put a stop to it.

“‘Itan,” Neytiri’s expression softened, sensing the uncertainty in his eyes. She walked up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder, “I know that you might feel confused but I believe that accepting Eywa’s sign will lead you to being a strong leader someday. Sometimes we have to make sacrifices, but ultimately the Great Mother looks after us. Our fate is already written.”

“Whatever your grandmother decides, you don’t have to go along with it, if you don’t want to, Neteyam,” Jake added with a strained voice, “Trust your heart.”

Neytiri nodded with a small sigh. She too was conflicted, torn between her trust and her love for her son. The vision during the Dream Hunt was a rare blessing, and Neytiri didn't want Neteyam to miss out on it.

“You have been destined for greatness, ‘itan,” her expression softened, “We will be with you every step of your journey.”

“Thank you,” Neteyam looked between his parents, “But I decided to accept the sign. And I want to make you proud,” he added, his voice barely above a whisper.

Jake and Neytiri exchanged a glance. Neteyam could feel the weight of his clan's expectations heavy on his shoulders, like he couldn’t refuse, no matter how much his parents expressed they would support him. Now, as he looked at their worried faces, he knew he had to put his own desires aside for the sake of his people. 

“Grandmother sent me over to get you. She has her answer,” Kiri’s voice trembled slightly as she delivered the news, interrupting their moment.

Her ears were flat against her skull, face etched with worry for the burden placed upon her brother. She could only hope that he would be happy and at peace with whatever will be decided.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

One man's joy is another man's sorrow. 

Becoming the future Olo’eyktan’s mate, getting accepted into his family, being his family, filling the hole left by the death of her parents. To be granted the ultimate praise and be chosen by Tsahik, be approved, be enough. After losing everything, it all seemed too good to be true to Y/N.

Her heart sunk deep in her chest, voice hitching in her throat before words of protest could even escape. How could she agree to being with Neteyam? Sure, he was handsome, skillful, he was respected and would be sweet to her. But he wasn’t Kaye, wasn’t the one she wanted. Not the one who promised to be hers. No. It was going to be Neteyam, the future Olo’eyktan. The guy who had grown up with the eyes of the whole clan on him. Who was performing all the time, concealed his true feelings. Someone whom she didn’t know well, whom she never saw that way. 

“Y/N, do you accept?” Mo’at asked, her voice louder this time.

Y/N’s thoughts raced faster at the gravity of the question. Mating with Neteyam would fulfill her duty to her people, a duty to carry on the traditions, an opportunity to belong, to be part of something bigger, greater. To finally feel useful, be able to give back to her clan. She glanced at Tsahik and could see the disapproval etched on the older woman’s features. 

Any girl would kill to be in her position. It felt like a slap to even consider rejecting Neteyam, Mo’at was convinced that her grandson was going to be everything and more. She had seen him in her visions since even before he was born. He had a strong heart, was destined to be a leader, guide his clan to a better future, make a happy one for himself too. 

The atmosphere was thick with anticipation, each breath Y/N took felt like a burden on her chest. Jake and Neytiri, who stood nearby, waited patiently, hoping for the answer they wanted to hear but also expecting the one they feared. It was hard to tell apart which was which. Y/N stole another glance at Neteyam, whom she had greeted only a few minutes ago, just before his grandmother revealed her vision of Y/N being mated with him. He looked guilty, chewing on his bottom lip, muscles tense, as he desperately seeked for a reaction from her, anything. He felt the guilt eating away at him, he wasn’t blind, Neteyam had seen they way she was around Kaye. He just couldn’t understand why they had never announced it to the clan. Maybe things wouldn’t be so difficult now… 

“I-I,” she stuttered, “I don’t know what to say, it is a great honor but…”

“But you deny?” Mo’at raised her eyebrows in disbelief, completely baffled with her answer.

“No - yes,” Y/N stammered, shaking her head, “I am only saying that there are many women in the clan who are worthy of becoming the mate of the future Olo’eyktan. Women better than me, who would know how to lead a clan.”

Mo’at pursed her lips together, clearly dissatisfied. Y/N wanted to scream, to run away, to hide from the responsibility that was thrust upon her so unexpectedly. Neteyam's eyes bore into hers, pleading silently for a chance. But she didn't know him, not really. How could she possibly agree to mate with someone her heart didn’t long for? Neytiri shifted uncomfortably, nudging Jake to do something, anything to ease the situation. He sighed, stepping forward to Y/N.

“I know it can be hard to let people take care of you, kid, but sometimes it is okay to let yourself just be,” he placed a hand over her shoulder, his features etched with sincerity, “Your parents were great people. I thought very highly of them, I truly mean it.”

“I know, Olo’eyktan, they respected you too,” Y/N nodded weakly. 

Ever since their passing, Y/N could feel Jake’s protective gaze on her. He had been looking out for her for years now, making sure that people in the clan treated her well. It was him who had asked Mo’at to take Y/N as a student because he saw the potential in her to help others. But now, it was time for him to be taking all that back, and the realization made her heart clench painfully.

“I’ve never told you this but before your mother passed away, I was there with her,” he paused for a moment, “She asked me to take care of you, to make sure you had a place in the clan. And I know of no better way to fulfill that wish than this.”

As he spoke, Y/N's felt like shrinking under the weight of his arm still resting on her shoulder. She couldn’t tell him that her heart belonged to someone else, someone she could never have because she had nothing to offer. Nothing to give, nothing to make his family think she was worthy of him.

“The sign of Eywa was clear,” Neytiri chimed in, drawing attention back to her, “Neteyam had a vision during his Dream Hunt. He saw his mate.”

“But that’s… that never happens during Dream Hunts!” Y/N seemed baffled too.

She looked at Neteyam, hoping for a further explanation, but he seemed to be lost in his own thoughts. Shame and pressure showed on his face, as if the argument made by his mother put him into an even deeper pit of despair. 

“It happens rarely,” Neytiri continued, then smiled softly, as if catching up on with her own thoughts, “Very rarely, Eywa sends these signs to exceptional Na’vi. It must be her way of saying that it is time to let somebody else help him on the rest of his journey.”

Useful. It was the precise word Y/N used, whenever she asked for Tsahik’s help during the lessons. When her eyes would go red from the amount of tears she shed when she felt unwanted. When she hid herself from the man she loved because his parents would never accept her. Y/N had always been a hard worker, eager to prove herself in the clan, but no matter how much she did, it never felt enough.

Neteyam watched her with fear and desperation. Now the more he thought about it, the more he wanted to make things work. The pressure of being the perfect son, the future leader, was a weight that he needed to share with someone strong.

Then they saw it. A single atokirina’, a sacred seed that had last appeared to Y/N on the day her parents were killed, floated around her, casting a soft glow over her features. For a moment, nobody spoke, watching the seed with adoring smiles. Y/N's expression softened too, feeling as if the Great Mother herself had blessed her. Eywa had spoken.

“It seems like Eywa tries hard to convince you, my child,” Mo’at's words were soothing, her voice softening as she spoke with adoration for her world.

"To be chosen by Eywa is a wondrous thing,” Neytiri added with a grin.

Y/N’s gaze met Neteyam's, his eyes searching for any sign of what she was thinking. Did he feel the same pressure as her? Did he want this, or was he as trapped as she was?

“Is this really how it works?” Y/N asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

“Eywa speaks to us in many ways, my child,” Mo’at nodded.

chapter 2 →

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[cid5]

Russian and Austro-Hungarian officer together during ceasefire on Eastern front, December 1917

[stillnaomi]

World War III and the Fall of Imperialism

A speech by Booker Ngesa Omole, The National Vice Chairperson of the Communist Party of Kenya

As we gather here at the 7th International Conference of the World Anti-Imperialist Platform, we stand at a critical juncture in our shared struggle against the scourge of imperialism. Today, I want to discuss a stark reality that looms over our world: the inevitability of World War III, driven by the unrelenting aggression of imperialist powers. This war is not a distant possibility but a present danger, rooted in the insatiable greed of monopoly capital.

Imperialism, in its various manifestations, poses an existential threat to the sovereignty of African nations. Initiatives such as AFRICOM serve as instruments of this imperialist agenda, undermining our autonomy and reducing our countries to mere pawns in the geopolitical chess game orchestrated by Western powers. These military strategies are designed not to protect our people but to secure the interests of the imperialist elite.

In Kenya alone, we host three foreign military bases, a glaring testament to the erosion of our sovereignty. These bases are not just symbols of military presence; they represent a direct violation of our independence and dignity. They subjugate our military and intelligence agencies to the whims of U.S. imperialism, turning our institutions into extensions of foreign powers. This scenario is replicated across the continent, where foreign military presence is a common thread in the tapestry of imperialist domination.

The spectre of World War III is already haunting us, as conflicts rage on multiple fronts. In West Asia, the struggle against Zionist aggression is an anti-imperialist, antifascist war. In Eastern Europe, we witness the brutal realities of NATO-backed conflict in Ukraine. And in East Asia, tensions simmer around Taiwan and the Korean Peninsula, echoing the same imperialist ambitions.

Lenin, in his classic work “Imperialism: The Highest Stage of Capitalism,” eloquently articulated the dynamics of imperialism and its inevitable contradictions. He described how imperialism seeks to escape internal crises through external wars. Today, we observe this in the provocations and military exercises conducted by the United States and its allies, which serve not just as a show of force but as desperate attempts to maintain their declining hegemony.

Yet, amidst this chaos, the anti-imperialist camp is rising, united in its struggle against oppression. Comrades in Russia, China, the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea, Iran, and various resistance movements across the Global South are not seeking war; they are prepared for a just struggle against imperialist aggression. The unity and operational strength of the anti-imperialist front underscore a powerful truth: we are not alone in this fight.

The reliance of imperialism on proxy wars and economic sanctions reveals its strategic limitations. The imperialist powers fear direct confrontation, knowing the consequences of nuclear escalation. This hesitation will be their downfall. While they aim to exhaust nations like Russia, China, and Iran, we can turn their war of attrition into decisive victories across multiple theatres of conflict. These victories will not only weaken imperialism militarily but will also trigger a political and economic collapse. The fragmentation of NATO, the decline of the U.S. dollar’s hegemony, and the emergence of BRICS and other alternative institutions signal the end of the US imperialist order.

The eventual defeat of US imperialism will pave the way for a new global order defined by national liberation revolutions and the defeat of all neo-colonial projects across Africa, Asia, and Latin America. This new order will also see the inevitable resurgence of socialist revolutions and the establishment of people’s democracies. Additionally, there will be a true commitment to peace, independence, and self-determination as guiding principles for global governance.

As we face the challenges of our time, let us reaffirm our commitment to the struggle against imperialism. The victory belongs to the people. The end of imperialism will not only reshape global politics but empower nations to pursue socialism, democracy, and peaceful coexistence.

In conclusion, as we confront the spectre of World War III, let us remember that this is a final confrontation between the forces of imperialism and those of anti-imperialist resistance. Together, we shall emerge victorious, heralding a new era of hope, freedom, and progress for all.

Death to Imperialism!

Long live International Socialism!

[6thofapril1917]

6thofapril1917's Eastern Front Reading List

So, you're an HBO War fan who wants to learn more about the Eastern Front. Maybe you, like me, wanted to know why Masters of the Air's depiction of the Nazis was so much darker than in Band of Brothers. Below is a list of books on the topic that I've been assigned during my time studying Eastern European and Soviet History. Most of these are scholarly monographs, not pop history, but I found them gripping regardless. I've provided Internet Archive links when available, and links to booksellers when not. If anyone else has suggestions, feel free to add them in reblogs - I focus primarily on Russia, Belarus, and Ukraine.

The Eastern Front, 1941-1945, German Troops and the Barbarisation of Warfare; 2nd edition by Omer Bartov (Palgrave Macmillan, 2001). Available on Internet Archive.

Originally published in 1985. The first book in English to comprehensively challenge the Clean Wehrmacht myth. Examines the experiences, indoctrination, and crimes of Wehrmacht soldiers.

Ivan's War: Life and Death in the Red Army, 1939-1945 by Catherine Merridale (Picador, 2007).

Looks into the day-to-day life and experiences of soldiers in the Red Army. Probably the most accessible of the books on this list in terms of writing style.

A Writer at War: A Soviet Journalist with the Red Army, 1941-1945 by Vasily Grossman, trans. Anthony Beevor and Luba Vinogradova (Pantheon, 2007).

A collection of primary sources and writings from Soviet journalist Vasily Grossman, who was embedded with the Red Army.

Russia at War, 1941-1945: A History by Alexander Werth (Barrie & Rockliff, 1964).

Similar to Grossman, Werth was a British journalist for the BBC and the Sunday Times during the war. Details his experiences while embedded with the Red Army.

The Unwomanly Face of War by Svetlana Alexievich, trans. Richard Pevear and Larissa Volkhonsky (Random House, 2017).

Originally published in the USSR in 1983. Nobel Prize winner Alexievich's Groundbreaking oral history of women who served in the Red Army during the Great Patriotic War. One of my personal favorites.

Last Witnesses: an Oral History of the Children of World War II by Svetlana Alexievich, trans. Pevear and Volkhonsky (Random House, 2019).

Originally published in the USSR in 1985. Covers the experiences of Soviet children on the Eastern Front, soldier, partisan, and civilian alike.

Marching into Darkness: The Wehrmacht and the Holocaust in Belarus by Waitman Wade Beorn (Harvard University Press, 2014).

Examines the Wehrmacht and its crucial role in carrying out the Holocaust in Belarus.

Fortress Dark and Stern: The Soviet Home Front during World War II by Wendy Z. Goldman and Donald Filtzer (Oxford University Press, 2021).

Comprehensive overview of the Soviet home front over the course of the war, including the mass evacuations of people and industry into Siberia and Central Asia. An absolutely fascinating read.

The Myth of the Eastern Front: The Nazi-Soviet War in American Popular Culture by Ronald Smelser and Edward J. Davies II (Cambridge University Press, 2008). Available on Internet Archive.

Analyzes the creation of the Clean Wehrmacht myth by German war veterans, the myth's popularization in American culture, and its impact on Americans' understanding of the Eastern Front. Spoiler: Band of Brothers does not come out of this unscathed.

[ppurinpu]

"World Leader Pretend"

Shortly after the war in Ishval, the soldiers at Eastern Command participate in their annual training against Briggs. A wayward Roy wanders over to Riza's station, and conversations about their shared past ensue—although much is left unsaid, as always.

I made the illustration for this beautiful fic by Richard @koussevitzky ✨ Read it here!

Alao, lease go check all other great fics and arts from this BIG BANG project too! ⬇️

AO3 compilation here

PDF ebook here

Thank you for the amazing works @royaibigbang teams! 🥹⭐

------------

My thought about the fic: (just in case might contains spoiler)

When I read this fic, I can imagine the beautiful scene Roy and Riza had when they were talking. The scenery, the warm ambience, the intense yet peaceful interaction, it's written very beautifully 😭💛💙 I can feel the conflict in their heads, how they feel towards each other, what they really WANT to do...❤️‍🩹

I could create this art because I can feel it—them. The breeze, the atmosphere, as if I can see them right in front of my eyes and watching them having interactions 🥹

Once again, thank you Richard for writing it beautifully ✨

[mesetacadre]

Aviation in the USSR

A collection of excerpts from Anna Lousie Strong's The Soviets Expected It, compiled for @czerwonykasztelanic

[...] Or the guerrilla detachment which captured six German planes, destroyed five of them, and sent the sixth to the Red Army, piloted by an amateur air enthusiast, who was a tractor driver in ordinary life. Lt. Talalikhin’s initiative is already a Soviet aviator’s tradition. Exhausting his ammunition in a fight with three enemy planes, he rammed the tail of one enemy with his propeller, smashed the tail of another enemy plane with his wing tip, and then bailed out of his own plane safely. Moscow parks displayed the wreckage of the German planes, and other Soviet pilots quickly copied the tactics. An aviation technician, Konikov, won renown by attaching the fuselage of a plane he was repairing to the front platform of a military train whose locomotive had been bombed by the enemy; he thus pulled the most necessary parts of the train to safety.

pg. 14

The Soviet people glimpsed and felt victory. For the first time they began to feel that they were no longer “backward Russians.” They were beginning to challenge the world. With this went a proud sense of their unity as a nation. Cotton growers in Turkestan exulted, “We have conquered the Arctic,” though they themselves would never see the snow. Bearded peasants, who had never sat in an airplane, began to talk about “our conquest of the air.” Young Nina Kameneva expressed the mood of the country’s young people when she broke a world’s altitude record in parachute jumping and remarked on landing: “The sky of our country is the highest sky in the world.”

pg. 46

Moscow can make all the implements of war, including planes and motor trucks, inside the city. [...] Moscow’s sky is covered by an air defense that was the marvel of the London experts who visited it after the war began to make suggestions and found it far superior to London’s. Anti-aircraft shells make a thick blanket at four distinct levels to London’s one, and observation planes patrol the heavens night and day. Moscow’s four million people also offer a night-and-day defense.

pg. 51

Alma Ata, the capital of this area, has grown from a town of 60,000 to a proud young city of 260,000 in the ten years since the railroad reached it. Its life has leaped at once from the nomad epoch to the airplane. The railroad is too slow to tame the wastes of Kazakstan. From Alma Ata Airport the planes shoot forth, east, west, south, north, on new discoveries. [...] Kazakstan is only one of the energetic regions behind the Urals. South of it lie the lands of the Uzbeks and Tadjiks, where some of the largest textile mills of the U.S.S.R. work up the locally grown cotton and where automobile and airplane parts are produced by mass production in the historic city of Samarkand.

pg. 58

I have traveled many times on the Trans-Siberian. In the spring of 1935, I went from Vladivostok to Moscow with a stop-over in the Jewish autonomous territory whose capital is Birobidjan. The train was crowded with pioneering people in warm woolen clothes and padded leather jackets, engineers, Army men, developers of the Far East. [...] An army engineer who shared my table at dinner was celebrating his return by airplane from the northern wilderness by consuming a whole bottle of port and bragging about the Far Eastern pioneers.

pg. 59

According to Pierre Cot, the French Air Minister, who visited Moscow in 1933, the Soviet air arm was at least equal to the best in Europe in numbers, technical equipment, and, above all, in the productive capacity of the aviation industry.‡ Thus, by the end of 1932, which ended the first Five Year Plan, the Soviet Union had reached the level of Western Europe in armaments – a fairly modest level judged by standards of later years.

pg. 65

Other official indications of the extent of the Red Army’s mechanization come from Voroshilov’s report in 1934 [...]. Five years later [...]. He claimed that the “bomb salvo” of the Soviet air force (the number of bombs that can be dropped by all planes at once) had tripled in five years and had reached more than 6,000 tons.

pg. 66

Soviet airplane pilots also hold many world records, both in altitude and long-distance flights. Their conquest of the Arctic and its difficult weather has accustomed them to the severest conditions. Americans well remember the Soviet pilots who twice made world records by flying from Moscow to America. These were individual exploits, but the development of Arctic aviation on which they were based was the work of large numbers of pilots and implies a whole air tradition

pg. 67

Parachute jumping has become a national sport in the Soviet Union. Soviet people are probably the most air-minded people in the world. Training for air-mindedness begins in the kindergarten. Small tots play the “butterfly game” and jump around with large butterflies pinned on their hair, gaining the idea that flying is fun and a natural activity. Children in their teens make jumps from “parachute towers” which are far rougher and more realistic than the parachute tower in the New York World’s Fair, which was copied from them. The sport is popular not only in the cities but on the farms. Several years ago a Ukrainian farmer told me of his trip to the nearby city with a group of farm children, all of whom immediately formed in line in the recreation park to go up in a tall tower and jump off under a parachute. “I thought it very terrifying,” he said, “and wondered why the park authorities allowed it. Then I saw that my own thirteen-year-old daughter was at the head of the line. These children of today aren’t afraid of anything.” At an older age, Soviet young people jump from airplanes, learn to operate gliders, or even become amateur pilots in their spare time. Every large factory, government department, and many of the larger collective farms have “aviation clubs,” which are given free instruction by the government. Probably a million people in the Soviet Union have made actual jumps from parachutes. It is not surprising that the Red Army was the first to use parachute troops in active service several years before the Germans adopted them. In 1931 a small detachment of parachutists surrounded and cleaned up a bandit gang in Central Asia. The making of airplane models by young people is taken seriously in the U.S.S.R. In 1937 over a million school children were spending after-school hours in aviation model stations. At a later stage, young people of talent create real airplanes and demonstrate them at Tushino aviation exhibitions. Owing to the wide interest in aviation and the public ownership of factories, a bright Soviet youth who invents a new type of airplane may get it constructed by his factory sports club and show it off. At one of the aviation festivals I attended, I saw a score of different amateur planes, including every possible shape of flying object – short, stubby ones, long thin ones, others shaped like different kinds of insects. They added greatly to the gaiety of the occasion. Whether or not they produced any really valuable new invention, they at least encouraged the inventiveness of their makers.

pg. 72

In the past two years, especially, all this training has been given a very realistic turn. [...] Only a month before the Germans attacked the Soviet borders, 7,000 Moscow citizens practiced a special drill in repulsing parachute troops over the week end. The large numbers of such trained citizenry, both among recruits entering the Red Army and among the older citizens assisting it, greatly add to the Soviet Union’s total defense.

pg. 73

[princeloww]

The Real St. Judes: Gartloch Hospital - History (abridged)

The Scottish Lunacy Act of 1857 saw the creation of the Glasgow District Lunacy Board. The act, through these boards, aimed to establish and operate "district asylums", which would house patients unable to pay for the already existing "Royal Asylums".

In 1889, the Gartloch Estate was purchased by the City of Glasgow for approximately £8600 (~1 million today). The Glasgow District Lunacy Board were to turn it into an asylum for the mentally ill, and Gartloch Hospital would open in 1896.

In the early 1900s, a tuberculosis sanitorium was opened.

During World War II, Gartloch was temporarily transformed into an Emergency Medical Services Hospital; the psychiatric patients were transferred and housed in other hospitals. After the war, the tuberculosis sanitorium was shut.

Gartloch would fall into the hands of a different board (Board of Management for Glasgow North-Eastern Mental Hospitals), after joining the NHS in 1948.

Although there were 830 beds in 1904, by 1990 there were apparently only 530 - this being just under the amount available when it first opened.

In its last few years, Gartloch would fall under the Greater Glasgow Community and Mental Health Services NHS Trust. In 1996, the hospital officially closed, and was essentially abandoned, until 2003, when plans to turn Gartloch into a village began.

Now, there is a village, "Gartloch Village", surrounding the hospital. The main body, the iconic front we see in Donna Franceschild's TOTA, standing derelict and with boarded windows.

Oh, it's also apparently haunted, according to two nurses.

What was the hospital like?

I've nabbed these (like most of the other information - although I cross-referenced the rest (such as the years) from wikipedia and some other archives) from this article on hiddenglasgow.com.

I was born and lived at 2280 Gartloch Rd (East Cottages) of Gartloch Hospital. My Father, Bill Milne was the Bacteriologist at Gartloch Hospital Laboratory. My Mother was Helen and was the hospital hairdresser. My memories of Gartloch are the most wonderful memories ever. We had the most perfect childhood. The children of employees were involved in lots of differant ways. I remember especially the farm. Our house looked onto the busy fields and the Bishop Loch. We spent many happy summers pickinf tatties with the patients. And in the long cold winters, skating on the Bishop Loch. Christmad parties in the hospital involved all the staff, their children and patients. We got to know many of the patients who had been there most of their lives. Some had been admitted the the unit because of ''having a child out of wedlock'' I have so many stories to tell this page is not big enough! I would love to hear from anyone who remembers Gartloch or who lived/worked there.

Pattie Milne [04/02/2004]

I was talking with my gran t'other night about Gartloch (her maw died in there!) and she remembers these two women that used to walk about when she went visiting. One of them was about 4 foot nothing and the other about 6 foot. They walked up and down the hall, not saying a word to each other, but every now and then the taller one would repeatedly slap the little one on the head (that story seemed funnier when my gran told it!).

Crusty [30/01/2004]

There are a few more interesting stories on the linked article, so if you're interested, I recommend you check them out.

Finally: Takin' Over the Asylum (and other pop culture)

Takin' Over the Asylum aired on the 27th of September, 1994. The six-part drama was filmed in a disused wing of Gartloch, while the hospital was still open and functional. The hospital would close only 2 years after the airing of the show.

Gartloch's iconic, gothic towers would play a key role in the show, and be instantly recognisable to any viewer of TOTA.

Although it shut down in 1996, TOTA would not be the only media produced about the hospital. Wikipedia states that a film was produced in 2005, named (appropriately) "Gartloch Hospital", that covered the history of the hospital. This film went on to win an award in 2007, at the Scottish Mental Health Art and Film Festival, for "Best Factual Film".

Although hidden away, Gartloch hospital has an undeniably interesting history. Personal accounts from the hospital seem to paint it as a fun place, where patients and staff seemed to get along. Knowing the horrors of early mental health treatment, and the abuse many would suffer in these sort of places, we can only hope that these accounts are true and create an accurate image of life surrounding the hospital.

And I wrote all this because I really like David Tennant. Good night

Note the decorative peaks on the towers - they are absent from the rest of the photos. They were reportedly removed in the late 1930's.

SOURCES

Very interesting archive that goes into the history of Gartloch: (link) (source of above images)

Timeline and personal memories: (link)

Overview: Wikipedia (gartloch, Takin' Over the Asylum)