#i feel it again the call of the fatherland

[mndvx]

maciejmusial_official polska klata w polskiej rzece

[quotesfrommyreading]

In the terrible winter of 1932–33, brigades of Communist Party activists went house to house in the Ukrainian countryside, looking for food. The brigades were from Moscow, Kyiv, and Kharkiv, as well as villages down the road. They dug up gardens, broke open walls, and used long rods to poke up chimneys, searching for hidden grain. They watched for smoke coming from chimneys, because that might mean a family had hidden flour and was baking bread. They led away farm animals and confiscated tomato seedlings. After they left, Ukrainian peasants, deprived of food, ate rats, frogs, and boiled grass. They gnawed on tree bark and leather. Many resorted to cannibalism to stay alive. Some 4 million died of starvation.

At the time, the activists felt no guilt. Soviet propaganda had repeatedly told them that supposedly wealthy peasants, whom they called kulaks, were saboteurs and enemies—rich, stubborn landowners who were preventing the Soviet proletariat from achieving the utopia that its leaders had promised. The kulaks should be swept away, crushed like parasites or flies. Their food should be given to the workers in the cities, who deserved it more than they did. Years later, the Ukrainian-born Soviet defector Viktor Kravchenko wrote about what it was like to be part of one of those brigades. “To spare yourself mental agony you veil unpleasant truths from view by half-closing your eyes—and your mind,” he explained. “You make panicky excuses and shrug off knowledge with words like exaggeration and hysteria.”

He also described how political jargon and euphemisms helped camouflage the reality of what they were doing. His team spoke of the “peasant front” and the “kulak menace,” “village socialism” and “class resistance,” to avoid giving humanity to the people whose food they were stealing. Lev Kopelev, another Soviet writer who as a young man had served in an activist brigade in the countryside (later he spent years in the Gulag), had very similar reflections. He too had found that clichés and ideological language helped him hide what he was doing, even from himself:

I persuaded myself, explained to myself. I mustn’t give in to debilitating pity. We were realizing historical necessity. We were performing our revolutionary duty. We were obtaining grain for the socialist fatherland. For the five-year plan.

There was no need to feel sympathy for the peasants. They did not deserve to exist. Their rural riches would soon be the property of all.

But the kulaks were not rich; they were starving. The countryside was not wealthy; it was a wasteland. This is how Kravchenko described it in his memoirs, written many years later:

Large quantities of implements and machinery, which had once been cared for like so many jewels by their private owners, now lay scattered under the open skies, dirty, rusting and out of repair. Emaciated cows and horses, crusted with manure, wandered through the yard. Chickens, geese and ducks were digging in flocks in the unthreshed grain.

That reality, a reality he had seen with his own eyes, was strong enough to remain in his memory. But at the time he experienced it, he was able to convince himself of the opposite. Vasily Grossman, another Soviet writer, gives these words to a character in his novel Everything Flows:

I’m no longer under a spell, I can see now that the kulaks were human beings. But why was my heart so frozen at the time? When such terrible things were being done, when such suffering was going on all around me? And the truth is that I truly didn’t think of them as human beings. “They’re not human beings, they’re kulak trash”—that’s what I heard again and again, that’s what everyone kept repeating.

  —  Ukraine and the Words That Lead to Mass Murder

[metamorphesque]

its so comforting to see someone unbashedly love their country and culture. the way u write and speak of it its so refreshing to me. im from india and well, the state of our country isnt good our fascist leader is successfully dividing the people and its so rare these days to find ppl just simply love where they come from, culture and language without any hate for anyone else. so i absolutely adore it when i see u talk abt armenia its like one can see how much care u hold for the language and the country. wishing for peace and sending love x

I am sorry, dear, that dark clouds are looming over your bright and colorful land of magic. In my lifetime, I’ve had the pleasure of encountering a few young Indian people (both in real life and online), and I have a lot of love and respect for your nation and its culture. I am sure that brighter days are awaiting both our homelands.

You see, what I’ve noticed is that some people often confuse their fatherland with their government. The hatred that they have toward the latter often taints the love and respect they ought to have toward their homeland. But, once and for all, we must remember that these two are not synonymous. Fatherland is a place where the roots of history, culture and identity intertwine. A fatherland is not just a geographical location; it is a sanctuary of shared memories, values and traditions passed down through generations. It represents the collective spirit of a people, their history, struggles and triumphs. To call a place one's fatherland is to cherish it as a cradle of life, as one’s own home.

To me, the love one has for their fatherland is like a mathematical function that always moves towards infinity (its designated final value) but never quite reaches it. One can never love their fatherland enough. There’s always something more you can do, there’s always something better you can do. I guess the vessel that carries one’s love toward their homeland is only ever fully filled when one gives up their life to protect their fatherland.

I can only speak from my own experience – I was raised historically and, more or less, politically conscious. When you’re a six or seven-year-old impressionable kid and you visit The Museum of The Armenian Genocide of 1915, you see the photographs, the articles, all the documentation that exists – firstly, you’ll never be the same again, and secondly, your naïve childish brain thinks that, as you’ve always been told, whenever someone commits a crime or does something bad, they get punished. Then I looked around and noticed that these heinous crimes, these massacres, were not only left unpunished, but the whole thing was swept under the rug by the world, as if it never happened. Then you grow up, sharing borders with the enemy, the dagger of war swaying upon your head, with every new day bringing more and more deaths of Armenian soldiers serving on the border. You see your enemy disrespecting you, your history and your culture. You see them erasing your history and your culture … and all of this is accompanied by the crickets of the world. Then there’s Western Armenia calling for us, a topic that I plan on writing more about. And at last, our Ararat that you can see so very clearly from Armenia …

And, alongside this, there’s this immense pride you feel in being an heir to a nation that created a culture so distinctly beautiful, a nation that gave birth to luminaries such as Grigor Narekaci, Sayat-Nova, Hovhannes Toumnyan, Vahan Teryan, Eghishe Charenc, Daniel Varujan, Paruyr Sevak, Misak Metsarenc, Silva Kaputikyan, Hovhannes Grigoryan, Vardges Petrosyan, Martiros Saryan, Sergey Parajanov, Shahan Nathalie, Gurgen Yanikyan, Monte Melqonyan, and the list goes on … the nation that invented color television, ATMs, hand-held hair dryers, coffee machines, PET scans, MRI and so much more.

Have all of this brew in your soul and dare not to love and cherish your fatherland – you can’t.

[devieuls]

You called my name...

Xiao x Fem Reader ¡smut!

Warning : Smut 18+ MDNI, many sweet parts, Xiao; Dom, taller, with canines, a little rude but loving. Unprotected sex.

Synopsis : After leaving to explore Inazuma and Sumeru, you return to Liyue after a year from what is your crush. You hoped to meet him and confess your feelings, hoping he would accept them without hating you for running away without saying goodbye.

Length : 4k+

Notes: In the story you will be literally in the shoes of Lumine, obviously the name and characteristics will be yours, but the story is that of Lumine. You are obviously accompanied by Paimon and I did everything to avoid spoilers to new players. P.S clothes are Lumine ones, so imagine yourself dressed like that.

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It had been a long time since you had seen the Wangshu Inn for the last time, about a year from what you had estimated, and you were happy to say the least to have returned to that wonderful place, especially during the dusk of the sky, which made the inn even more fairytale.

You couldn't lie, you were back in that place not only for the breathtaking view and the tranquility that characterized it, but also to see a dear and old "friend", hoping that he could forgive your long absence, after all you were a wanderer, a fatherland or home, therefore you followed the adventure, the discovery and the search of what was your twin brother. You hoped to find him watching the sunset, once again meet those amber eyes that had kidnapped you the first time you met him, his posture so princely and hear his voice calm as water but equally rude and hostile nuance.

You sighed heavily, evidently anxious to see him again, knowing that the adeptus was staying there in total solitude. A childish laugh made space between your thoughts and your gaze fell on your little fluctuating friend, as if to blame her, she knew how much you liked that eternal boy; after all, Paimon was the only one who could stand your long speeches about the green-haired guy, how much you missed him and how handsome he is, laughing when you called him "friend", as if friends had a sexual tension like yours. Everyone understood that, Xiao was completely taken by you and you by him, the only ones who didn't understand it were the two of you, blinded each other by love.

<  Will you stay here? You know he’s there > Paimon said breaking the few seconds of silence, pulling you by the arm towards the rope lift.

< I don’t know... what if he doesn’t remember me? Or worse, if he hates me because I disappeared? Maybe it’s better to go to Qiongji, or a village. > You responded by pressing your feet to slow down your floating friend.

< Y/n! I have to call him? It will be more embarrassing for you. You’re too grown up to have these problems and trust me, he’s the last one who could ever hate you. Come on! > The white-haired girl had finally managed to get you into the elevator and as you climbed slowly, your anxiety rose as well.

You had already begun to shake and arrange your clothes and hair, your foot was impatiently tapping on the slightly damp wood due to a safe previous rain. You looked at Paimon for comfort as your fingers intertwined, your gaze wandered, hoping to have a little more time, time to think about what to say to him, to calm your heart and body, time to accept that you were finally here and that you would see him again.

A last deep breath before exiting the elevator and advancing towards the reception, where Verr Goldet did not waste time to greet you animatedly.  You had always felt a certain affection for that woman, always available and kind to you, even when you showed up at her inn for the first time.

< Two... two rooms please, I have just returned from a long journey > You said with a tone evidently tired, after all you walked and traveled for days, Sumeru was not just around the corner but before leaving to go even further, You had to go back to Liyue, no matter what.

The woman nodded and gave you and your friend a key, reminding you of the room plan and restaurant times in case you wanted to dine or have any kind of meal, but your mind was far away from food. Paimon snorted and started floating through the air, dragging you upstairs to the rooms. Fortunately you had separate rooms, a bit because you needed space to rest and a bit at the request of Paimon who was already expecting who knows what between you and Xiao.

< So you’ll call him? > She asked once you two arrived in front of the rooms that were parallel to each other < You didn’t say his name anymore. Will you call him? > She concluded with curious tone.

< I-I don’t know... he said to call him only in case of need, it would be selfish to call him for nothing. He has duties, he cannot waste time on my whim > you answered by leaning your head on your door, they sigh again.

< He wants to be called by you. Do it or you will regret it > She concluded before entering her room, leaving you in the corridor to reflect.

< Should I call him? Or not... he wasn’t around, maybe he’s on patrol... what should I do? what... > You said between you and you entering the room, and then take off some of your clothes, remaining only with the white negligee and throwing on the desk next to you the whole thing.

The dilemma that had arisen in your mind had almost driven you crazy, you were simply confused and indecisive, which made you depressed to say the least. You leaned against the balcony railing as you watched the sky turn orange and red, giving you the artistic reflection on the water that was right there.

< Oh... Xiao if only it were simpler > You said almost carelessly, and then blush when you realized you had said his name, bringing your hands to cover your mouth. Even the archons did not know how much you desired his presence but by calling his name you had made an involuntary decision, he would be there and you could not stop him, in the end you had called him.

You returned to the room completely red in your face, attaching yourself to the nearby wall, breathing not regularly. You felt a presence on the balcony and you knew it was him, it HAD to be him. How to forget his almond scent? He was standing a few feet from you while you were hiding like the worst thief.

You inflated your lungs and you came out of that hiding place that had nothing hidden, meeting his gaze right away. Butterflies, nay, no, mad elephants danced in your stomach while in your mind only fireworks, noisy and annoying. That look, archons if you had missed, the way he relaxed at your sight and scrutinized you with such devotion, as if you were the most precious thing he would ever see in his long life, perched on the railing with such nonchalance.

You felt a knot in your throat, as if you wanted to talk and couldn’t, you almost felt blessed for this, if it weren’t for the fact that it would be awkward to remain silent staring at you, so you swallowed the knot and took the floor.

< You... you came... I didn’t expect that you- > You started obviously nervous, playing with your fingers nervously but not breaking the eye contact that there was between you.

< You called... I couldn’t help coming > he answered coming down the railing. The tone was melancholy but sincere. His gaze was swallowing you more and more every second, and as he approached you felt like he had grown tall.

< If you had.... Well, if you’re busy you don’t need to stay... I shouldn’t have- > You started blushing, not knowing what and how to say it. You stood still when the boy arrived in front of you, literally looking down on you, stating your hypothesis about his new height.

You don’t know exactly what happened to you when you hugged him without giving him the opportunity to respond to what you were saying, but you needed to feel him close, to feel his warmth, affection and that he didn’t hate you, in fact he still loved you despite your being gone. You knew physical contact wasn’t his thing, because he would have dropped his arms to anyone who even tried to touch him. You came off like you were burned, with a speed that confused him.

< I... sorry, I forgot that you are not the hugging type > you looked down embarrassed, then be taken from the wrist and pushed against his body, finding the warmth of the boy. Your heart went crazy in that moment, for any other person that was just a hug, but you knew it wasn’t, he had sought you. He wanted that physical contact, he wanted you, and it made you feel so good.

< I didn’t say I didn’t want to... > He said in an embarrassed tone as you sank into his chest, inhaling his perfume and clinging to his shirt.

< I thought you hated me. I disappeared without saying anything, without saying goodbye... I’m a terrible friend, forgive me... > You said sobbing against his chest. < I-I wanted to say goodbye, I swear... b-but I didn’t have the strength, I wouldn’t have left if I had looked you in the eyes once more. Forgive me, please, forgive me Xiao > you squeezed on his shirt, begging for his forgiveness, not knowing that there was no need to do it.

< You did well... I couldn’t bear to see you go away like everyone else, not you... > he said sighing as he held you to him, he needed to hear you, to see that he wasn’t dreaming and that you were really there to talk to him and to embrace him.

You raised your face, looking again for his eyes and finding them when he lowered his head to look at you. His heart, which he hadn’t felt for a long time now, was melting to the image of you in his arms, while your eyes are shiny and sobbing like a tender child. He lowered himself and collided your lips with a delicacy and sweetness that you did not expect. You had always dreamed of the first kiss with him, but you would have thought of everything but this situation, especially with the idea that he would start the kiss and not you.

Your mind was a mess trying to realize that it was kissing your crush, making you blush more and more, so much so that you felt a hellish heat on your face. You started a deeper kiss as he moved one hand over your face, holding you close to him with the other hand, feeling relief to see you so involved in the act.

Your hearts were pounding against your breasts, clearly feeling the nervousness of the adeptus and how his usually firm and decisive grip was uncertain and almost fearful. For a long time he did not feel these emotions, feeling nervous for someone, the heart beating at a thousand as after a marathon done at full speed, for the first time in a long time he finally felt human.

You left the kiss after a long time because of the absence of oxygen, gasping to recover enough to calm your breathlessness. Your stares chained, almost hypnotized by each other, completely drunk from your presence found after a long time.

Red on your face, you took Xiao by the hand and accompanied him to the bed, making him sit on the edge and standing over him, wrapping his arms around his neck and approaching for the second time to his lips, catching them again and focusing on how soft and sweet they were. The boy carried his arms around your waist, hugging you as he kissed you back, caressing your back occasionally covered with the light fabric of your robe.

One of your hands came down on its bare back because of the split, stroking some small and old scars, shivering at the contact with them, then following the arm and pulling off the sleeve that covered it. He was letting you do it, he was not opposing or detaching from you, you felt him relaxed under your body, accompanying your movements as you undressed him. The sleeve ended up on the floor and his gloves and the necklace around his neck followed it.

The green-haired boy made it easier for you to work by taking off his shoes, draperies and objects that he had at his waist, remaining only with his pants and shirt.

Your breath became increasingly absent, the kiss more intense, wet and eager. The boy pulled you closer to him, holding you by the wrist, and then detached from the kiss and changed your positions, leaving you below him. His golden gaze shone with something you’d never seen in his eyes, burning with lust, and all that was because of you.

He began to kiss your wrist, letting you lie under him, as he climbed with the wake of kisses and bites towards your shoulder and then on the collarbone. His face rose on your neck, inhaling your perfume and passing your tongue up to your ear, then blowing on it and leaving small bites and hickeys. You gasped at that feeling, squeezing your legs together as the umpteenth knot in your throat squeezed, taking away your chance to even talk.

The boy carried a hand under your robe, stroking your soft side and squeezing your grip suddenly, making you squeak with surprise.

< You don’t know how hard it was for me... > He growled against your neck, giving you shivers all over your body, you had never felt him so... rude, not towards you. You were almost afraid to ask, knowing exactly what the answer was. < Waiting for you every fucking day for a year. Don't see you... don’t feel you... > He continued with the same tone, making you turn your face and close your eyes. < look at me when I talk to you, y/n > His tone now hard and sharp like blades. He took your face with the hand that was on your side before, holding the grip so much that you groan from pain and open your eyes < Knowing you with others, asking for their help... never calling my name. >

You clenched your legs, not out of fear but because of the excitement that you are creating between them. You would never have imagined that Xiao in these conditions could do this to you, making you feel a virgin at her first touches. You couldn't deny that you had experiences in that year away from Xiao, especially during the trip, you had to vent your cravings that were often caused by the man with green hair that now towered over you, holding your face with so much force that it left its mark.

You sighed from excitement, hanging completely from his lips and gestures.

< It was so frustrating to accept your distance, to miss you. > He went on, locking your wrists to the sides of your head, letting go of your face and slamming you completely on the mattress. He approached your ear, breathing deeply and biting his lip. < Not even the archons know how much I want you... > yet another fool gasps from you after his words, making him sneer < But I will be sweet to you, I would never want to ruin my delicate flower. > He concluded and then join your wrists above you, locking them with one hand, pressing to hold on to you without crushing you, while the other hand ends up between your thighs, plucking them and scratching them slightly. A pornographic moan left your lips as he squeezed his hand on the newly left scratch, followed by panting and gasps for air.

It was the first time you found yourself so under someone’s thumb, but you didn’t care, you were enjoying this new, more dominant and authoritarian side of Xiao that doesn’t blush for your touch or your words. You didn’t know if this behavior was exclusive for that night or it was his glow up after 1 year without seeing you.

Your eyes flared and a scream of pleasure came out of your lips when one of his fingers had entered you so easily; your back arched forward as sweet breaths came out of your lips and that accompanied the slender finger of the boy above you. He was content to see you basking under his expert touch, knowing where to touch and how to touch you, as if he could know your body because he had had it before today.

His amber eyes shone in the shadows, like his pale, toned skin. The sunset lights painted small shadows on his body, making the emerald tattoo on his arm shine. You observed that, seeking comfort from the strong pleasure he was giving you, finding the boy’s bites on his neck.

Xiao’s finger was pumping faster and faster in and out of you, making you moan and grind your teeth in his now ruffled hair, occasionally squeezing the walls of your vagina, limiting the movements of his finger. The green-haired guy smiled at being squeezed by you like that, imagining what it would be like to try it directly on his dick, already feeling his junk numb inside his pants.

With your down toes, you lowered his pants just a little and approached him to you, letting him know what you wanted. He licked his lip, then smiled and showed you his fangs, knowing you always liked them

< Do you want me? Because I want you so much y/n... > he said letting go of the grip on your hand and taking his finger off you, getting a growl of disapproval from you. He stood enthroned above you but watched you with hunger, as if at any moment he could devour you and leave nothing of you.

< I want you, Xiao. I want you so badly. > You said by biting your lip, and then watching Xiao take off his shirt, leaving you open-mouthed for his body and his scars that made him strangely even sexier.

You swallowed observing how he also took off his pants and showed his nakedness with such confidence. He took you by the leg and drew you closer to him, putting himself in the middle of your thighs, then taking off your robe and admiring your naked body under him

< More beautiful than I could dream > He said to then bend over your belly and leave wet kisses and various bites that surely would turn into small bruises. You put your hands in his hair, followed him slowly and he went up to your lips. < I don’t want to hurt you, tell me if I hurt you > He said gently receiving your confirmation after having nodded, and then sliding inside you with a hoarse groan.

He clenched his fist against the bed, letting a hoarse growl leave his throat. Your walls had tightened his cock right away, he loved that feeling but it was fucking hard to hold back after such a start.  You bit your lip as you heard the noises it made and as it was stiff inside you, letting yourself go to some chills. His body bent over you, leaning closer to your arm, placing a gentle kiss on your wrist, choking a growl against it.

< T-tell me when I can move, angel... > he said in a sweet but frustrated tone. You found his caring for you sweet, touching you as if you were something fragile and taking care of your limitations even at such a time. Like he said, he didn’t want to hurt you in any way.

You nodded shyly and looked at his face covered with some green strands, firm on your wrist and waiting for your permission to begin to satisfy both.

< N-now. You can start now... > You said sighing heavily. The boy moved over your neck and twisted your fingers, tightening your grip slightly before starting to move the pelvis slowly, immediately hitting sensitive points that made you bend your back.

You barred your eyes and let out a groan in the room already full of your hormones. You bit your lip until you broke it because you did not expect to feel  so much from him, of course, you were sure that he was gifted, after all he was blessed by two archons. The toes went into the sheets and all you could do was groan and shake the hand of the adeptus. Xiao licked the trickle of blood falling from your lip, slightly sucking the metallic liquid from the split

< Angel, tell me if it’s too much, we can stop whenever you want > He said looking you in the eye, making you miss some beats and start stuttering incomprehensible words. His hips slowly took on a faster but more moderate rhythm, making you feel chills and a feeling of fullness.

< Don’t stop, I beg you. D-don’t do it > You said clinging to his arm with your free hand, leaving some scratches caused by the strong pleasure you were feeling.

The room grew warmer, the air thicker, your breaths labored and moans were the background on that evening just begun. Both drunk of the other, clashing your sexes until you both reach orgasm, not knowing that along with it there was also a red thread that thickened between you.

Once the orgasm was reached, the boy put a last sweet kiss on your swollen lips, during the act he found comfort both in them and on your neck, and then lie down to your side in silence. He didn’t know what to say, whether to stay or go, maybe ask if everything went well? But your legs still trembled because of the apex just reached, giving him confirmation at least of this.

He sighed heavily and blushed when you leaned on his chest covering both with the sheet, his heart back to a thousand and his thoughts a disaster. He remained silent while caressing your bare back and fluffy hair, waiting to see you finally asleep.

Unfortunately the adeptus didn't need sleep, it was just a waste of time for him and he knew that it would not be good to stay for the night. Archons, that feeling that was consolidated in him was not good. Love....

How could he fall in love with a mortal, you would suffer, you did not know all the demons he had and would ruin you, he couldn't do this to you.

Maybe your distance was right, one day you would come home with your brother, leaving him alone and in love. Besides, he didn’t know you’d left everything for him, even your brother when you found him.

He got up on his elbows and went to leave, convinced that you were already sleeping for a long time.

< Don’t leave...me... stay, please. > You whispered in the dark, holding his body for fear that he will leave. Xiao caressed your head with care, returning to the previous position, maybe... maybe for one night he could have allowed himself this.

The boy relaxed under you and you smiled happy, knowing that he could not see him, just hear it. < I love you Xiao... > You said sinking on his chest, clearly feeling his heartbeat accelerate. You stared out at him for this reaction, and you held on even more to him who was speechless. < I-I didn’t call you out of fear... I know you don’t love me and maybe you never will. It’s okay, you don’t have to return... You were the first thought when I woke up and the last when I closed my eyes. I looked up at the sky and I thought about all the nights we spent together, the days we spent on missions and... that New Year’s Eve, I know you were there, I saw you. You were so handsome looking at lanterns, you’re always so handsome. I know I’m just a stupid human traveler but you saved me many times and- > you couldn’t finish the monologue because of Xiao’s lips on yours, kissing them gently and leaving you breathless. He stroked your face and moved a strand of hair behind your ear, letting your jaw graze from his thumb.

< Don’t think that 'bout yourself... I dedicated every moon and star in the firmament to you, asking them to bring you back to me every night. I prayed to the sun to kiss your face every day for me. I whispered to the wind to bring you my thoughts and my name. I loved you more than even archons know, so don’t think that. You are not just a stupid human. Don’t you see how jealous I am of you? How much I care about you? It’s not because we’re friends.  > He said once detached from the kiss, leaving you speechless because of his poetic depth.

You tightened the grip on him, happy to be reciprocated after a long time. < I love you more than almond tofu and thick snow. > He concluded, getting a kiss on the jaw from you. You could finally fall asleep in the arms of the boy you loved, letting yourself go.

< Always calls my name, I will be there until our last breath > Xiao closed his eyes and fell asleep with you, even if he did not need it, he wanted to rest with you, not having to hope to dream of you anymore. You were with him.

[ltwilliammowett]

Hark Olufs a pirate victim sold into slavery

Hark or Harck Olufs was born in July 1708 in Süddorf on Amrum. At that time, the island of Amrum was under Danish rule, a time when the island was always fought over and regularly changed crowns.

Now Hark's father was "Captain Oluf Jensen" and as a sought-after North German captain he owned several ships, including "die Hoffnung /the Hope", on which he sent his son Hark Olufs on board as a sailor in 1721. Three years later, what many sailors of that time truly feared happened. When Hark was on his way from Nantes to Hamburg, two of his cousins and the crew fell into the hands of the notorious Barbary pirates and were taken as slaves to Algiers to extort ransom.

Front of Hark Oluf’s talking gravestone (x)

"Here lies the great war hero, resting gently on Amrom Christenfeld. The blessed Harck Olufs was born there on Amrum in 1708, 19 July. Soon afterwards, in his younger years, he was taken prisoner by the Turkish pirates in Algiers on 24 March 1724. In such imprisonment, however, he served the Turkish Bey of Constantine as a casnadaje for 11 and a quarter years, until this Bey finally gave him his freedom in 1735 on 31 October out of kindness to him, since he then happily returned here the following year as A[nn]o 1736 on 25 April. April, he happily arrived here again on his fatherland, and thus in A[nn]o 1737 entered into holy matrimony with Antje Harken, who is now in a sad widowhood together with 5 children. In such marriage, however, they have begotten a son and 4 daughters. Thus they must all feel the death of their father, since he died in 1754 on 13 October, and brought his life to 46 years and 13 weeks.

Of course, Hark's desperate family tried to buy him free, but simply could not raise the enormously large sum demanded, although large fundraising campaigns were initiated. But Hark and his cousins were not the only ones, and since each of them was asked for about 6,000 marks, it was almost impossible to raise this amount. But his family did not give up and even turned to the Danish government, which had a special department for kidnapped sailors. But now there was a problem. The Hope was not sailing under the Danish flag, but under the free flag of Hamburg (the reason why his father was also allowed to call himself Captain, because this title was only allowed to Hamburger merchant Captains, others were only Commanders) whereupon Hark Olufs' application for release was rejected. As if this were not dramatic enough, the Olufs family was further dogged by bad luck. When Hark's father finally had the required sum of money together, he arranged for his son to be ransomed. And indeed, a Hark Olufs was also ransomed, but not his son, just someone else with the same name. All hope for the real Hark Olufs seemed lost and with each passing day, the hope of seeing him alive again faded. But Hark was lucky -

The following text is written on the back of the gravestone: (x)

"May God grant the body a joyful resurrection on the last day.

To my own I call back from the grave these lines for remembrance: Alas, in my younger years I must go to the robbery of the Algiers And hold almost twelve years the Slaverey. But God made me free by his hand. Therefore I say again: I know, my God, I must now die. I will, but one thing I ask. Let not mine own perish. Keep the widow's house. Oh God, because I cannot provide, take thee wife and children."

After being sold as a slave, he worked as a servant to the Beys of Constantine until 1728. On behalf of his owner, he killed many people and gained the trust of his master. Thus Hark not only rose to the position of treasurer, but between 1724 and 1732 he became commander of the bodyguard. Incidentally, he also took part in a pilgrimage to Mecca, from which it can be concluded that he converted to Islam. After Hark had helped in the conquest of Tunis in 1735, he was released in gratitude on 31 October and returned home to Amrum in 1736 as a very wealthy man.

However, he did not seem to leave voluntarily, because shortly after he was released, the Bey died. And with that, Hark lost his protector and leader, which threatened his own life again, and so he returned.

Title page of the first edition of Hark Olufs' Autobiography, 1747 (x)

When he returned to Amrum, he stayed there. He only married after a thorough examination by the pastor and the elders, but after proving that he was still a Christian, he was baptised and accepted back into the church and community. Once and for all fed up with dangerous seafaring, he held several offices on Amrum and even met the Danish King Christian VI. He told him his story and in 1747 his own autobiography was published. Hark Olufs died in Süddorf on Amrum on 13 October 1754. Even today his gravestone, which is one of the talking stones, stands in Nebel in the cemetery at St Clement's Church.  

But it doesn't stop there, because since his death he has been sighted again and again wandering around the cemetery and between the dunes in search of his treasure and obviously cannot find any peace.

[dolphin1812]

I always expect to feel sad because of Jean Valjean when reading this book, but I wasn’t expecting to feel sorry for Hugo! This part of the long paragraph on the changes to Paris that he isn’t getting to see was especially moving:

“So long as you go and come in your native land, you imagine that those streets are a matter of indifference to you; that those windows, those roofs, and those doors are nothing to you; that those walls are strangers to you; that those trees are merely the first encountered haphazard; that those houses, which you do not enter, are useless to you; that the pavements which you tread are merely stones. Later on, when you are no longer there, you perceive that the streets are dear to you; that you miss those roofs, those doors; and that those walls are necessary to you, those trees are well beloved by you; that you entered those houses which you never entered, every day, and that you have left a part of your heart, of your blood, of your soul, in those pavements. All those places which you no longer behold, which you may never behold again, perchance, and whose memory you have cherished, take on a melancholy charm, recur to your mind with the melancholy of an apparition, make the holy land visible to you, and are, so to speak, the very form of France, and you love them; and you call them up as they are, as they were, and you persist in this, and you will submit to no change: for you are attached to the figure of your fatherland as to the face of your mother.”

By beginning with “you imagine,” Hugo stresses that one doesn’t come to value their home by missing it; they always love it, and simply aren’t aware of how much they do until they’re parted from it. He even goes as far as to say that Paris is “holy land” and a “father” (technically “fatherland,” but positioned as an actual parent through juxtaposition with the mother), making the relationship between him and the city (and by extension, his Parisian readership and the city) both sacred and familial. Aside from his frustration with Haussmann’s restructuring of the city (it’s not said outright, but I think that’s what he’s referencing with “demolitions and reconstructions”), Hugo’s break from the narrative here also reminds his audience where he’s writing from: exile. While Hugo’s directly apologizing for any discrepancies between present Paris and Valjean’s Paris and explaining why he can’t write about the present city, he’s also drawing attention to his personal context right before Valjean’s flight from the authorities from the closest thing he’s had to a home in this novel, the Gorbeau house (Montreuil-sur-Mer was a shelter, but I think the addition of Cosette and the love between them in the Gorbeau house makes it a home). Implicitly, then, we’re made to see a link between the 1820s authorities that drive innocents from their home because of a legal system that constantly seeks to punish the unfortunate and the political situation that got Hugo exiled. Valjean and Hugo aren’t the same, of course. Valjean is largely punished for his class, and when explicitly political concerns affect how he’s treated (like that person who was upset he referred to Napoleon as “the Emperor”), they’re still mediated through that lens. Hugo was upper-class and suffered for his political opinions specifically. Still, the shared injustice and loss of safety binds them together and encourages the reader to reflect on present-day France (the 1860s) through the lens of the 1820s.

(Side note: we’ll return to the idea of the country as a parent later on, as part of nationalist discourse)

Now, to return to Jean Valjean:

The hunted stag reference is a very blatant way of showing that he feels like prey, although it’s also a bit funny in how technical it is (giving the specific term, for instance). Given how often Javert is compared to a dog, it’s not surprising that Valjean would choose a dog-confusing technique to throw him off his scent.

I like Hugo’s use of the full moon. Most of the escape scenes I’ve read with the full moon have positioned it as either a guide for the fleeing person (because they can see where they’re going) or a threat (others can also see them). We saw this when Valjean stole from the bishop, the light making his escape very obvious. Here, though, the light is a way of showing us Valjean’s intelligence (as well as his oversights). It’s true that he misses the ways in which this light can be used to hide from him, but he also manipulates the light and shadows to his own benefit, demonstrating his caution, intelligence, and resourcefulness. His ultimate decision to use the light to reveal his pursuers isn’t just a way to raise tension; it’s a way for Hugo to elaborate on his character. Valjean may be very limited in the risks he can take and, consequently, can be forced into really unfavorable situations, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t clever. The image of Javert and his men as ghosts until his face is suddenly illuminated by the moon is also terrifying and, as a result, effective. It’s dramatic, fun, and appropriately scary to Valjean.

[squadron-goals]

It is getting serious!

30 July 1914

The mobilization order has just come. All officers are recalled to their regiments by telegraph. Boelcke and I leave. I still have my mobilization order as an observer. The comrades looked sadly after us. They have to stay behind at school to finish training. But with this operation it can still take months, and by then everything will probably be over? … I'm supposed to report to Großenhain. I interrupt my journey in my garrison in Wittenberg. The streets were black with people. My regiment had to leave the next day: it belongs to the flying brigade. I was only allowed to stay a few hours. I say goodbye to everyone. Who knows if I will ever see any of the dear old comrades again ... Everyone is so sure about a victory! I love flying and yet, what I would have given to be able to go out with my old, dear regiment! O proud regiment, you will fight true to your principles, true to your traditions! You are, after all, a Margravian regiment, a true German core troop, and you have never failed! ... The glass of champagne that I quickly downed as I said goodbye to my comrades tasted quite bitter, a few furtive tears had fallen in ... .

1 August 1914

The farewell to my garrison was still trembling inside me when I arrived in Grossenhain. The journey was terrible. The general state of war moved everything. The trains were overcrowded. I was glad that I was able to come at all. How I longed for my comrades! But the sense of duty drove away all softness, now it was time to be hard on yourself! I didn't see anxious faces anywhere, only seriousness and determination: suddenly we were like one big family: the strangeness that usually hangs over people who don't know each other was completely stripped away. You talk to each other as if you have known each other for a long time. The personal disappears, the community comes to the fore. National sentiment had finally broken through: the love of Germany! O glorious fatherland, you will not perish as long as you still have such sons, as long as you are still able to awaken such deep feelings in everyone! Because now everything is understood, therefore, despite all the excitement, an uplifting calm over everything! At the overcrowded stations, everything waits patiently for hours, No murmur disturbs the calmness. Here in Großenhain everything is deserted and quiet. I still couldn't sleep in my hotel room ... I leaned out of the window. A glorious starry sky arches over the outwardly quiet earth. I dreamt: I let my whole life pass me by. At such an hour, everyone thinks with particular fervour of everything they love. My parents and siblings, I have not seen them! They won't sleep either and be thinking of me now too! But they know that I now belong only to my country, to my people! My home village, my beautiful forest! How I love it all! ... Where will fate throw me now? Will we pilots live up to the challenge? We still have too little practical experience in flying, we are still too young ... The stars are fading. Day is coming. Life begins again ... Ringing of the bells! Seriously admonishing and yet also liberatingly joyful ... Densely packed crowds stream to the church. The German people feel their God again, know that only in God rests true human strength, that faith alone gives strength to weak people in times of need. We will be strong, for God and the law are with us! ... A battalion of infantry passes by. What a joyful and refreshing sight! Singing, flowers in their buttonholes, bayonets flashing on their rifles! Invincible in hope! The market fills up. Men of older age with suitcases in their hands: the last reserves of the Landwehr! Eyes sparkling with joy despite the seriousness. The external differences disappear. March off. Singing. Soldiers ... There is a knock, I snap out of my pondering. My orderly! Duty calls.

7 August 1914

I'm writing this in the compartment. Finally we have finished loading. I boarded the tran two hours ago, I couldn't wait. There are a lot of people outside and comrades who are leaving after us. We're the first of the Fliegertruppen to get close to the enemy, hurray! I almost forgot: my old regiment, my dear 20s, are supposed to have fought heavy battles before Liège, heavy losses! Poor, good fellows! ... Two days we are on the train, endlessly long and yet it is beautiful! Everywhere we are cheered on. There are flowers and refreshments everywhere. Everyone wants to give us something, even the poorest one doesn't want to be left behind ... We ate and drank and smoked our way through Central and West Germany in the truest sense of the word ... Finally we are approaching our final destination. Hours of waiting before the entrance. Military transport after military transport waiting to be unloaded. The evening sky was blood-red. The muffled rumble of the guns in front of Liège gave us an inkling of the hard work that was about to begin.

[spellbook-gayboy]

Drabble 48~

48.

"Ha! You're telling me!" Kyle laughed. He dabbed at his forehead, and winced slightly when they came back spotted with blood. "God, I musta come close to kickin' the bucket 'bout a hundred times by now!" He mused, taking a drag of his cigarette. "Still, invulnerability has its perks and all- gah, what the shit, Red?!"

Pavel lifted his foot off of Kyle's boot, noting the red smear that spread over it. "Invulnerability? The hole in your foot seems to disagree with you, pretty boy!" The speedster sat next to him, looking out over the devastated landscape in front of them. "Did you hear the news?"

"What, from the Pacific? I heard MacArthur and the others captured Luzon. From what Colonel Lake guessed, they'll be at Manila before the end of next January." Kyle answered. "And the hole? Last I checked, most of the Nazis we fought so far come at you with a rifle or a knife. They don't shoot lasers out their fuckin' eyes and punch you through a wall!"

Pavel nodded. He caressed his shoulder, pain flashing in his eyes as his hand ghosting over the scars left behind. "Yes. The superpowered Nazis. When the hell did that happen?"

"You still hurting from that lightning fucker, Red?"

"I'll live. Still, why am I always the one they go after first?" Pavel groaned, annoyed by the fact. "Is it because I'm a socialist? Because I'm Jewish? Both?"

Kyle blinked. "Maybe. They are Nazis, after all. Or maybe it's cause they know they can actually hurt you. They go after Brianna too, and it ain't just because she's from Jamaica. I mean, me and Ross and Holly? We can take tank shots to the face and not get a scratch. You two? Not so much."

"Hmm... who knows? Still, it's strange how long it's been since we got here. Feels like it was just yesterday that we were charging up that beach at Anzio. Now we're in the Fatherland, the lion's den. We're on their turf, and we're just in time to meet Hitler's answer to us. Supervillains." The word felt strange on his tongue, a new and frightening concept to grapple with.

"Supervillains. Never thought anything like that could exist outside a comic book!" Kyle laughed flatly, his face betraying the trepidation he felt inside. "Y'know, it feels like... my head's inside out. I mean, when the war ends, what happens to us? Do we just disappear, go home and try and act normal again? I'm nothing like I used to be, Red. My parents barely recognised me the last time they saw me, and I don't mean physically!"

Pavel looked at Kyle, concern on his face. "I don't know. If you'd told me five years ago that I'd be outrunning the sound barrier one day, I'd have called you crazy! But... you're right. The world's different now. I've watched a woman scream so loud, it shatters concrete. It feels... surreal, sometimes. Like I've fallen into Wonderland."

"You're telling me." Kyle dropped the cigarette on the ground, crushing it under his heel. "Oh well... we should be heading back."

"Yeah. Let's go." Pavel murmured. He couldn't decide which fate would be worse: 1) To never come home at all, to fall in one battle or another in France or Germany, and be carried home in a casket, or 2) To go home finally, to visit his parents in their dingy little home in Leningrad, maybe just in time for all of them to celebrate Rosh Hashanah, only for it to ring hollow from everything he'd endured, numbed to the joy and light of his faith by the multitude of horrors forced upon him. The bodies, the devastation, the sheer evil on display... was there some secret third option? One where he emerged from the din unscathed, able to throw himself back into his studies, into his faith once more?

He hoped that was a possibility. He really hoped it was.

[baga24]

‘’The Crossroads’’ Part 17

I continue to introduce you, dear readers, in text format to the speech of esteemed Egon Cholakian in his landmark video address 

“The Crossroads”.

So:

“ABOUT YOUR FATHER

Under the influence of global anti-cultism, Russia today is turning into the Fourth Reich. But I know the Russia it once was, having worked there.

 Mr. Putin, can you not see the difference? Does it not tear at your heart to see the bloody monster of Nazism raising its head once more on your homeland, with you being made its sacred Führer?

Mr. President, let me remind you of your father, whose photograph you proudly carry during the Victory Parade on May 9th. Your father was a hero who fought against Nazism in the Second World War, which is rightly called the Great Patriotic War in Russia.

Because it was not just a fight for territories. It was a war for the homeland, for humanity, and for the fatherland—for the universal heritage of fathers and grandfathers who carried and passed down the ideals of humanity, freedom, and peace through the centuries. Your father, who served in the submarine fleet and defended Leningrad, your hometown, made an invaluable contribution to the victory over Nazism in that war. His chest was rightfully adorned with numerous medals, a testament to his heroism.

And your mother... Like millions of other Leningraders, she endured the horrors of the blockade in the very city your father bravely defended. His courage and self-sacrifice helped crush the monstrous machine of Nazism.

It is painful to watch as you, the son of heroes, allow the evil they fought so desperately against to be reborn. Do you not feel ashamed to betray their memory and their faith? Do you not feel ashamed to spit in the face of veterans, the millions who gave their lives so that the dreadful burden of Nazism would never again engulf our world? In Russia, there is hardly a family that did not lose someone in the fight against Nazism. And now, you are betraying them all.

I appeal to your conscience, Mr. Putin, and to that part of your soul that still remembers the lessons of the past. You were respected as a man who kept his word, as a person who was trusted, and yet you have placed your trust in Nazis. Wake up before it is too late. For the memory of your parents, for the future of your children—do not let Nazism prevail.

CLIMATE APPEAL

Nazism in your country, Mr. Putin, is not merely a threat to Russian society; it is a catastrophe of global proportions. And this is not only due to the cruel and inhumane nature of the methods and practices of Nazism but also because the force operating behind your back, committed to the resurgence of Nazism, directly obstructs addressing the paramount challenge of our time—the climate crisis. Moreover, it exacerbates this crisis. The consequences of this process are terrifying and irreversible.

You are led to believe that you supposedly control the situation in the country in all aspects. Yet, at the same time, shadowy players determine the country's future without your participation. Under the guise of combating extremism, based on the directives of anti-cult organizations, numerous organizations and groups that pose no objective threat to the country are being eradicated in Russia. 

Furthermore, as I have already said, the organization ALLATRA, whose scientific developments have brought colossal benefits to your country and the world, has also fallen under this repressive wheel driven by Nazi ambitions. 

The scientists of ALLATRA not only warned of the climate danger but also developed and deployed experimental equipment to mitigate climate changes in Russia and, consequently, the world. This equipment served as a reliable shield for a decade, holding back destructive climate catastrophes in the regions affected by its operation.

Now, due to the cessation of ALLATRA's activities as a result of a decisive call from a particular individual in your administration and pressure on the courts and law enforcement agencies, the operation of the experimental equipment has also been halted. The consequences of this decision are evident and, unfortunately, catastrophic—an unprecedented increase in the frequency and intensity of climate disasters in Russia, neighboring countries, and the world at large.

Mr. Putin, let's speak the language of mathematics. Look at these shocking numbers! The graph clearly demonstrates the amount of losses sustained by Russia's budget due to climate disasters from the moment the equipment was shut down in August 2023 to the present day, July 2024. The total losses amount to 114 billion rubles. 

Now, compare this sum of losses over the 11-month period with those over the 10-year period while the equipment was operational—over 10 years, the losses amounted to only 191 billion rubles. Are you not alarmed that the economic damage over 11 months is almost equal to that of a decade?

Material Damage from Natural Disasters

Material Damage from Natural Disasters in the Russian Federation

Total Damage from 6 Natural Disasters from 10.08.2023 to 30.06.2024

Total Damage, billion RUB

Year

Source of data: Ministry of Emergency Situations of Russia

Data on damage are taken from open sources, for 2024 the amounts are preliminary

Year

You have lost nearly as much in just one year as you did in the previous decade! This is not just statistics—it is the real-time devastation of your country's budget.

 Consider another fact: in 2022, the total losses from climate damage amounted to around 7 billion rubles for the entire year, while in 2024, a single climate disaster in Orenburg cost you 40 billion rubles! And this is just the beginning!

As a result of halting the operation of the experimental equipment,  countries neighboring Russia—China, Kazakhstan, Belarus, and Eastern European nations—have suffered immensely.

 A review of the climate news summary for 2024 in these countries reveals a dramatic worsening of the situation and significant economic damage: torrential rains, abnormal hail, record-breaking floods, and winds destroying infrastructure, cities, and people's lives and causing severe budgetary losses.

This is the price you pay for expelling ALLATRA from Russia and organizing its persecution on the territory of Ukraine. Who will be held accountable for this reckless decision that now affects not only Russia but the entire world? 

Those responsible will and must be held accountable—the individuals who falsified expert reports for the proceedings against ALLATRA and those FSB and SBU representatives who dictated the required results of the examinations. Those who ignored state expert opinions in favor of the biased views of dubious anti-cult "experts" from RACIRS will also be held accountable. How long has the opinion of RACIRS, this den of anti-cultism, been above the law in your country, Mr. Putin?

Instead of supporting the selfless people of ALLATRA, your courts have committed a monstrous perversion of justice against them, and law enforcement agencies have unleashed a real witch hunt!

## TO BE CONTINUED…

Please support this important information with likes, shares, comments, and applause!

#Allatra #ClimateChange #EgonCholakian #TheCrossroads #GlobalChanges 

[the-firebird69]

Rammstein: Paris - Du Hast (Official Video)

a germn beer with she and i its makers with jc and mary.  real german recipe nd of his and hers fromt he past nd picked by mysefl and Hera

a new real supercar designed by Hera and i and fast as hell

my basic ladder design she and panels and floor.  actual German input on the balance.  and porche the maker of the rear engine supercar.  and me related Hera related by marriage and designed in the Fatherland  made by two characters who ran germany for a time during wwii.   granson of the makeer of citty chitty bang bang to escape them.

a classic tale o hosery...but then this nd he was silent

we past this

The ship was launched on 14 February 1939 and during the elaborate ceremonies was christened by Dorothee von Löwenfeld, granddaughter of Chancellor Otto von Bismarck, the ship's namesake. Adolf Hitler made the christening speech

..it means they curseed it yes and it is a huge ship unstoppable suppsoeldy.  and ordreed to be built by hitler and they call our son that he is  a baby looks it too. lol.

this the Bismark and nmed after Otto Von Bismark who passed away to allow the nazis in.  he was full german blood. but not our kind. and well thought of and remembered.  this a challnge and sign to germans and from mac proper we feel they will follwo up.   and show them the ode we see it. 

the car fits in.  and beer.  make it beefy hefty no mke it right and powerful the beer co and car. and they sink it they say. but ok. they raise it. and we do see  they plan to.  shortly.  and the names re close Lowenfeld and Lowenbrau and nearby too in germany.  we use it too.  they mean this.  and to do  this. found the code yes. and after. mb. we think so.  made it possibly.  and then tis nope we knew it.  and due to the bug or beetle. they think so. nad we do this. and work.  the car will be famous.  and a line after a time. same frame and power plant good.

the engine is performance. was for porche no vw yes. and fast. need it now and we shall start.  and good.  we hv you do stuff and the guys we coordinate with say when we think it should be and good  we do it now

we usualy do y es good and we like it now

Black God and Goddess Zues side

we do this i love it and he sys i can have al the memorbelia i want and car and good. lol. i help design the others.  we keep it the same ood he says accross the line and we hope so yes

Hera you too car and memrabelia and the car the cart and yes  i think so they do it. bismark.  hmm small.  nd auto by bismark or business mark and we see it 

daves plan a bit nd it is.

we see it

Hera again

we so this now 

Black God and Goddess Hera’s side

[eugenesmorphine]

Hi! Can I request for some Ronald Speirs with a women from an enemy side,like a german nurse/prisoner smth like that😁

AN: I have returned. I know, from the hole of depression and school. I hope to be more active, so imagines will be coming out more. This one isn't my best since i'm trying to get back into the swing of things. But, regardless, I hope you enjoy.

First Sightings // A Ronald Speirs Imagine

Words: 2,365

Taglist: @alienoresimagines @ricksmorty @punkgeekcryptid !@hellitwasyoufirstsergeant @valterras @adamantiumdragonfly

It was early within the morning when Easy Company quietly invaded a small town overtaken by the German army. About three in the morning to be exact. Hiding beneath the cover of the darkened sky, the moonlight shining down dully between the trees and clouds.

The town had been converted into a small base, or headquarters for the Germans. Most of the homes were clearly not in use as the enemy had forced the remaining habitants out from their homes. Just a few homes were being used at barracks, and it seemed like the small town hall had been used as their aid station.

Four officers took a knee on a hill whilst using the brush as cover. Winters, Speirs, Nixon, and Compton all kneeled within a small line, close together, staring down their own scopes. Ronald Speirs pulled his scope down first and let out a scoff. Causing the three other Paratrooper officers to lower their scopes to turn towards the officer.

“Only a few guards posted out on a few balconies. For being such a “strong force”, they’re situational awareness seems to be at an all time low,” he whispered. Winters let out a quiet chuckle and turned back to the front. Bringing the scope back up to his eye. Peering over to what seemed to be their aid station. Small jeeps continued to pour in and out hourly to drop off wounded Nazi soldiers. Two nurses continued to rush in and out. Same two nurses each time. Blood covered the aprons and dresses they wore, along with their hands. It was clear even from a decent distance away.

“Looks like that aid station is quite busy. Just two nurses it seems though, got to be careful of them,” Winters stated quietly. To which Ronald just scoffed again.

“Why would they ever decide to side with them? To nurse those son’s of a bitches back to health just to come and kill our men?” Ronald asked. His eyes now steadying on the nurses in the distance. Nixon was the one to pipe up this time.

“A lot of them don’t make the choice themselves. Some of them don’t have a choice. Kind of like how we draft men. They’re people just like us. They don’t want to kill our men, the soldiers do. They merely just want to get home. Just like us,” he told him. Nixon was right. And Ronald knew that, but he didn’t want to admit it. He wasn’t going to, because he wasn’t that type of man. So instead, he didn’t.

“They all have a choice. Just like us,” Speirs responded. Keeping his opinion voiced. Gritting his teeth. Nixon went to sarcastically respond, but Winters clapped a hand on his shoulder and pulled him back slightly. The location officer turned to look at his higher up. And Winters just shook his head. Knowing that his dear friend Ronald Spiers wouldn’t give up his opinion. Making the “come along” motion and quietly walking away. Nixon just sighed and followed his tail closely.

Speirs sat alone for a bit longer. His dark eyes staring down at that aid station.Watching the two nurses now standing outside as they washed blood soaked linens and bed sheets in old horse troughs filled with water. “Yeah, we all have a choice,” he repeated below his breath. Knowing no one would hear him. A small grunt came from his chapped lips and he stood up quietly. Grabbing his Thompson and turning around to follow his fellow officers back to their foxholes. They were to be invading soon, he just needed to prepare a bit.

///

It didn’t take long to take over the small base. Maybe an hour, and only minor wounds and just one fatal casualty. Speirs and the other officers had been working with the rest of the Paratroopers to take care of the prisoners and organize them to take them to the holding base.

Ronald had been hanging back a bit, just watching over the small process of everything they were doing. It was going smoothly. Until one thing popped into his mind. His back straightened and his head went up. He looked up at all the groups of captured Nazis, and even around at the bodies. They weren’t there. Where were the nurses?

In a flash he turned and began to briskly walk towards that aid station. He didn’t see their pale blue dresses and white aprons anywhere. Even as he searched while he walked. His eyes fell back towards the building where medical supplies had been being hauled out crate by crate. But still no nurses. He grumbled slightly and picked up his pace. Pushing past some soldiers and walking through the large wooden doors. Pausing when he saw a bunch of bodies laying down with sheets over their heads. Clearly the men the nurses were trying to save. He huffed and looked up. Seeing a group of men with their guns pointed at one of the nurses. The other one is still yet to be seen. The nurse with the soldiers around her all peered down at her. Her hands behind her head in surrender.

“Please, please let me see if I can help her,” she pleaded through a strong German accent. Ronald pursued closer. Wondering what she was bantering about. But as he walked closer, the officer was quick to understand. The other nurse, a pretty blonde woman, had been laying on her side. A pool of blood coming from her stomach. Ronald’s eyes widened. As much as he hated the Nazis, and what he had stated to the fellow officers, this was a war crime. And the sound of the other H/C nurse crying didn’t make him feel any better.

“Was this any of your bullets?” he asked sternly. Snapping his head towards the group of paratroopers, and weeping woman who still knelt on the wooden floor of the church. The woman was dead already, her body already beginning to turn ghost white, while the blood had stopped flooding from the wood. And her breath could not be heard. The downed nurse’s chest did not rise, nor fall.

The young paratroopers jumped at the menacing officer. Swallowing fast as they all shook their heads. One decided to finally speak up. “The woman was on the ground before we came in here, sir. We heard a gunshot and some German and rushed in here. The little lady was on the floor bleeding out, and a Kraut standing with a gun to this one’s head. He is over there,” he spoke, pointing to the dead German who was slumped against a wall. His head bent over, as he too was dead.

“They are speaking the truth, it was the German soldier that had shot her. I was next, they thought that we were the ones that had been giving information to you Americans when you first stormed here,” she paused as she tried to look away from her dead friend. Tears continued to pour down her face. “Please, I am not a threat. I had no choice but to be a nurse. I want nothing from this war. They would have killed me if I didn’t. Please, I do not want to die,” her English was broken. But so was her voice. Ronald stood there for a moment, wondering what he should do. She seemed sincere. And genuinely scared.

“I’ll bring her to Roe, he could probably use the help,” was all Speirs said. Leaving the men a little shocked. The woman slowly stood and wiped her eyes. Briskly walked past the corpses of her fellow nurse, and the rest of the bodies that were within the church. Following the paratrooper officer closely. Her flats hit the mud that was outside of the church, splashing up her legs and all over her shoes. She chose to ignore it for then, keeping silent as she walked behind the cold faced officer.

They walked in silence for quite a bit. The young nurse felt as if she was in fact a prisoner. The stares of the other Americans, her eyes stayed focused in front of her. Staring at Speir’s back.

Speirs had gotten sick of the silence. He was one for it, but sometimes it was boring. And with this woman, he felt compelled to speak to her for some odd reason. Just an itch that he wanted to at least learn her name. “What is your name, little lady?” he asked bluntly. To which the nurse perked her head up nervously yet quickly.

“My name is Y/N L/N. May I ask you yours, Army Man?” She responded. Ronald nodded to himself. Taking in her words and taking a deep breath. Rounding a corner of one of the run down buildings, continuing to head towards the aid station where the other medics had been stationed.

“My name is Ronald Speirs, Captain Speirs is what you can call me,” he responded. Y/N sat there and practiced the name under her breath. Repeating it quietly until she had gotten it right.

“You have a nice name, Captain Speirs,” she complimented. Making Ronald’s ends of his lips quirk upwards with a smile. He didn’t even realize he did it. “I wanted to thank you, and your men. For not killing me. You must know that it wasn’t our-” she paused for a moment and took a deep breath. “It wasn’t my choice to be this way and help the Nazi party. Many people were trapped under the work of the Nazis. Many men and women did sign up for the role for the fatherland, but many were forced, sir,” she tried to explain. Y/N was merely afraid of the worst. To be sent away and jailed, or killed. “All I wanted was my family to be safe,” she finished.

Ronald stayed silent for a moment. He remembered what he said to Winters, Welsh, and Nixon. He knew the truth, and he was just an angry type of man. But with how this young woman said certain things, how scared she sounded, how she wept and begged when they first entered that church. It made his eyes open just a little bit.

“Are you hungry?” he asked bluntly. Y/N just lifted her head a little confused at the question. She had been thinking that she was a prisoner of sorts. She didn’t exactly know how she would be treated, but definitely not like this. To be asked if she was hungry, unlike when she worked for the Germans. They pretty much told her when she was to eat, sleep, drink, use the bathroom. It was odd hearing the question after a while of just being given so many orders she was forced to do.

The young nurse didn’t understand the truth of the Americans. She wished for liberation. Prayed for it even. She was still scared she would be arrested or killed. Much like what the Russians did to the German forces. But with the company of the rather quiet, intimidating officer gave her a bit of comfort. Especially from the looks of all the men that the two walked by. The hatred filled the eyes of some, who just screamed out to blame her for helping the Germans. Y/N merely tried to ignore it, just swallowing hard and looking forward. Continuing to step through the mud.

///

When Ronald had brought Y/N to Eugene , Eugene stared up at her with surprise. “Doc, this is Y/N, she is a nurse. She is going to help you out with the wounded for now. I’m going up to HQ to figure out if we are sending her with the other prisoners or not,” he reported. Eugene just gave a respectful nod towards the officer. Y/N took a few steps towards the medic.

“I wish to help. My English isn’t the best, but I am good with my hands. I promise,” she said softly. It seemed her voice was almost permanently soft due to the harsh cold that attacked all of the soldiers. No matter what side.

Eugene just nodded and outstretched his arm to jester to the few wounded men that sat around. Y/N didn’t hesitate, she went. Kneeling in the mud and aiding a soldier that had a large shrapnel wound across the thigh and down the leg. Muttering soft prayers within her language as she began to suppress and wrap the wound.

The Officer had found himself staring. His mind was a mess. He was a close minded, but very smart man at times. Very wise for his young age. He wanted to understand. But he knew everyone had a choice. Though, he wasn’t as angry, just wanting to understand why it made her want to protect her family in a way to help the people she hated. It was a question for another time. Ronald glanced at Roe and back to the female. “If you have any problems, let me know. But other than that, keep an eye on her,” The officer spoke to the medic. Roe gave a stiff nod and looked back at his patient. A man with a bullet wound in the shoulder. And Spiers turned around and began to walk off.

As he walked, he quickly began to feel frustration bubble within himself. The image of fear etched across Y/N’s face when he had first seen her within the church, had remained burned within his mind. This was the first time he felt genuine remorse. He couldn’t tell if it was from how pretty he had found her, or the sincerity in her begging for her life. Or was it both. He hated it. He didn’t like feeling soft. Only hard and just his normal intimidating stature of an officer in charge. He wanted to brush it off, but the remorse filled his stomach with an odd feeling. He thought he was sick at first. But instead, it was butterflies. He hated it. He didn’t know why he was feeling it. But he was.

A story of love at first sight. And he didn’t know it. And neither did she.

[saltiestgempearl]

So I want to talk a little this passage here, namely to ask what it means because I feel as though it’s very important backstory but I can’t quite follow it.

“We Szekelys have a right to be proud, for in our veins flows the blood of many brave races who fought as the lion fights, for lordship. Here, in the whirlpool of European races, the Ugric tribe bore down from Iceland the fighting spirit which Thor and Wodin gave them, which their Berserkers displayed to such fell intent on the seaboards of Europe, ay, and of Asia and Africa too, till the peoples thought that the were-wolves themselves had come. Here, too, when they came, they found the Huns, whose warlike fury had swept the earth like a living flame, till the dying peoples held that in their veins ran the blood of those old witches, who, expelled from Scythia had mated with the devils in the desert. Fools, fools! What devil or what witch was ever so great as Attila, whose blood is in these veins?" He held up his arms. "Is it a wonder that we were a conquering race; that we were proud; that when the Magyar, the Lombard, the Avar, the Bulgar, or the Turk poured his thousands on our frontiers, we drove them back? Is it strange that when Arpad and his legions swept through the Hungarian fatherland he found us here when he reached the frontier; that the Honfoglalas was completed there? And when the Hungarian flood swept eastward, the Szekelys were claimed as kindred by the victorious Magyars, and to us for centuries was trusted the guarding of the frontier of Turkey-land; ay, and more than that, endless duty of the frontier guard, for, as the Turks say, 'water sleeps, and enemy is sleepless.' Who more gladly than we throughout the Four Nations received the 'bloody sword,' or at its warlike call flocked quicker to the standard of the King? When was redeemed that great shame of my nation, the shame of Cassova, when the flags of the Wallach and the Magyar went down beneath the Crescent? Who was it but one of my own race who as Voivode crossed the Danube and beat the Turk on his own ground? This was a Dracula indeed! Woe was it that his own unworthy brother, when he had fallen, sold his people to the Turk and brought the shame of slavery on them! Was it not this Dracula, indeed, who inspired that other of his race who in a later age again and again brought his forces over the great river into Turkey-land; who, when he was beaten back, came again, and again, and again, though he had to come alone from the bloody field where his troops were being slaughtered, since he knew that he alone could ultimately triumph! They said that he thought only of himself. Bah! what good are peasants without a leader? Where ends the war without a brain and heart to conduct it? Again, when, after the battle of Mohács, we threw off the Hungarian yoke, we of the Dracula blood were amongst their leaders, for our spirit would not brook that we were not free. Ah, young sir, the Szekelys—and the Dracula as their heart's blood, their brains, and their swords—can boast a record that mushroom growths like the Hapsburgs and the Romanoffs can never reach. The warlike days are over. Blood is too precious a thing in these days of dishonourable peace; and the glories of the great races are as a tale that is told."

[kassies-take]

Super Shadowed (Finale)

Summary: Kasa finds herself and shows her true colors in the face of death, unafraid of the monster in front of her.

Warning: cunning, lies

A/n: I have nothing else better to do than to continue one shots that I actually have ideas for. Also I will probably not be writing any other parts to this. 

Tag list for Pt.2 @becka107 @bluerey8a 

Kara Danvers x sister!reader, Alex Danvers x sister!reader, Baby Danvers

Word Count: 2144 

Part 1 || Finale  

For Kasa, hiding her powers came easily. However since the Nazi’s arrived she held herself back from smashing her sister’s doppelgänger’s head into the metal of the Waverider, their version at least. 

The younger Zor-El rolls her eyes at the handcuffs power dampeners that are placed on her wrists. She follows this tyrant closely.

“I know you know that Kryptonian promises are not meant to be broken, so these handcuffs are unnecessary.” Kasa spoke to Earth X Kara.

“It’s a safety precaution.” Führer growled.

The walk is long and cold. Kasa knew this wasn’t her sister. Her sister, her Kara, had hope and compassion for all. But a part of her couldn’t help but feel like this Kara was a mirror image of her.

Broken, alone, no place to call home. So she takes it out on power, to make herself a home where everyone loves her.

“Kara.”

Führer stopped and turned towards Kasa. He breathed down on your face, unbothered by the rotten smell coming from his mouth. “You don’t get to call her that.”

“And as you know I’m the one saving your wife. I don’t know about your Kasa.” Kara-X stopped. “But I was training for the Warrior’s Guild.” You lied.

“Just remember that we need your heart not you.”

Führer moved out of the way. In a blink of an eye the older blond marched towards Kasa.

“Leave us!” Kara-X commanded and pushed you into the MedBay.

Führer and Kara-X shared a kiss and the MedBay doors closed behind him. The room turned red after. Kara-X rids Kasa’s handcuffs off. Kasa took her place on one of the MedBay beds.

“We’re going to be in here for a while, before your skin is soft enough to cut into. Why don’t you tell me about what my sister has been up to.” Kara-X crossed and gestured for her sister to speak.

“Well that depends, do I call you Kara? General? Sister? Ooh better yet can I call you ie (sister)?”

“General, is preferred.”

“I have a question, General.” Kasa continued without Kara-X’s approval. “You were shocked to see me protecting Kara earlier,no? You aren’t 100% sure that my heart can save yours. Thawne doesn’t know that.” Kasa hopped off the bed and paced around the room.

“Yet you agreed to a Kryptonian promise. I have to say it doesn’t make sense to me, the Girl of Steel, SS General to the New Reich, ruling over with an iron fist! Submits to an outdated Kryptonian promise.”

“I DONT SUBMIT TO ANYONE OR ANYTHING!” Kara-X stood abruptly.

“Your actions say otherwise,” You smirked and winked. “You still need my heart and you can’t kill me right now knowing my heart would not be useful if I was dead and my skin not soft enough. Plus no powers for either of us.”

Kara-X huffed and glared back towards you.

“See I think you were so quick on accepting a Kryptonian practice after growing in the Fatherland because it reminds you of a home you once had. And seeing that neither of us wears our family’s crest, easily tells me you didn’t feel at home with Uki (dad) and Jeju (mom). The only one you felt at home with was Kasa.”

“She was weak! She stayed behind like a coward. She wanted to stay with Jeju and Uki, when they were the ones who brought our planet to it’s destruction! They favored her! Loved her! Even Aunt Astra loved her! Love is for the weak!” Kara-X was triggered.

“And yet you are married? Or do you only love him because he chooses you? Do you only rule this world because they value you and see you? The all powerful said, normally anyone who surrenders is weak but anyone who faces their death with no fear is honorable.” You mocked.

Kasa stalked closer to Kara-X. The almighty clutches her fists. She shakes violently replicating an earthquake that roars in pain.

“You only honor it because not only did my promise save my dear sister’s life but it saves yours. And for a split second, you remembered how it felt to be truly loved.”

Kara-X headbutts Kasa causing her to stumble backwards. “ENOUGH! I am the most powerful being on Earth! I am a god! And I will not be bullied by WEAKNESS!”

“You are no god! Just meat with bones!” Kasa ducked under a punch. “Under a red sun, you are nothing!”

Kasa smacked aside one of Kara-X’s arms and lowered the other by heading into a squat. Quickly twirling her around and pushing Kara-X onto the ground with a heavy growl.

The younger El ran to the control panel on the wall, smashed it with her elbow pulling the wires out so the door locked in place. Kryptonian technology and the futuristic ship were very similar. A hiss and white smoke erupted from the ceiling, pressurizing the door.

Kara-X charged towards her sister. To counter Kasa threw a punch. Kara-X smacked the punch downwards, snatched Kasa’s punching arm with her left, and turned counterclockwise into her sister to wrap her arm around Kasa’s neck and threw her onto the metal ground.

Kasa tripped Kara-X and locked her in a painful bone crushing hold. A crack echoed in the room. She didn’t hesitate to throw a few punches at the blond.

With a heavy breath Kasa raced towards the prism.

“There’s a difference between you and me Kara. We have a very similar background. Everyone loved Kara. But where you stand in love as a weakness, I see now that it is my strength. And where you a not yet ready for death, I am.” Kasa raised her the prism over her head.

“no,” Kara-X whispered. “No, NO!” She cried.

Kasa smashed it into the ground.

“For as long I live I will make sure you don’t get another heart, and I assure you I would not let you get another prism to finish the procedure either.”

“You promised!”

“That’s another difference between you and me dear sister,” Kasa moved the hair away from Kara-X’s face. “Krypton is dead! And so are it’s customs! It has been dead to me the moment I saw it’s debris floating in the phantom zone! But there is one thing I keep from the dead planet. And it’s a blood bond you no longer understand.” Kasa whispered emphasized each syllable of the last word.

“Open the door!” Führer urged. You both turned towards the shut door.

Kara-X pushed Kasa onto her side and twisted her knee. The agonizing scream echoed around the ship once the door opened.

Führer pulled an arrow at Kasa.

“No, we leave her to torture when we get Kara. I want her to see her little sister die before I RIP OUT HER HEART!”

“The prism.” Führer checked on his wife.

“Don’t worry about that, well use Kryptonite! Ready the troops to attack!”

“What do we do with her?” Führer nodded toward you.

“You strap me to the bow,” Kasa laughed.

Kara-X stepped on Kasa’s broken knee and earned a groan.

“She gets a front row seat to a new mausoleum.”

Kara-X and Führer shared another kiss. An arrow pierced through your hand.

“Son of a bitch!” Kasa yelped her veins glowing green.

Führer and many other soldiers walked off the ship as Kara-X dragged her sister by her hair.

The yellow sun began to regain your powers, unfortunately that included Kara-X. She broke Kasa’s left arm to prevent her from pulling the Kryptonite out faster.

“You’re as weak as they come.”

“I came into this knowing I’d die. But your clock is running out too.” Kasa’s whole body glowed sickly green. “No one hurts my family and lives. No one.” Kasa weakly chuckled. “You’ll get what’s coming to you Kara. Jeju would be so disappointed.”

Kara-X hovered over the control panel.

“KILL ME YOU COWARD! PROVE TO ME YOU’RE THE GOD YOU SAY YOU ARE!” Kasa taunted.

Kara-X only turned her head towards her sister, a flash of longing left as fast as it came. She marched towards Kasa and squeezed her throat. She stared into the eyes of her sister, released her grip and harshly pushed Kasa onto her side.

Kasa chuckled to herself. “So you do have mercy left... too bad you’re dying soon. You’re right though, this planet makes people soft, and that includes you.”

“General,” a soldier caught Kara-X attention.

“Any word of this I will rip your tongue out and feed it to you!”

“We’ve got inbound.” The soldier placed his hand behind his back.

“Then fire countermeasures!”

“We can’t it’s hovering directly off our bow.”

Kara was here. Kara’s here to save the day.

“General, care to step outside.”

Kara-X flew out towards Kara.

The ship vibrated and whined, splitting out deadly seeds to the city below. Seeds that took the nutrients from human beings and drove them into the ground. The screams and multiple tiny explosions amplified like wildfire.

It became hard to distinguish the hell fire and the thumping of her own heart. The smell of gunfire burned her nose. The red and orange flashes transported her back to Krypton.

Holding Jeju’s hand Kara and I ran onto the platform. Explosions came from the right, Kal-El’s pod had already launched. Tears threaten to fall from my eyes.

“Your pod’s coordinates are interlocked with Kal-El’s. You will follow him to Earth.” Uki addressed Kara.

“I’m not afraid, father.” I heard Kara say.

Me. I was so afraid. What if this new world was not so accepting as Jeju says.

“The trip is long, but you both will sleep most of the way and we will be with both of you in your dreams. You’ll journey to Earth to look after your baby cousin and your little sister. Because of the Earth’s yellow sun you both will have great powers on this planet. You both will do extraordinary things.” Jeju explained.

“I won’t fail Kal-El, Kasa or you.” Kara smiled.

Jeju kissed Kara’s forehead. I hugged onto Jeju’s leg. An explosion went off in the distance.

“Will I ever see you again?” I asked quietly.

“Rao will let us meet again, but not for a long time. Promise you’ll have great stories okay.” Jeju kissed my temple and carried me into the foot of the pod.

Kara and Jeju hugged a long while as Uki turned away with tears in his eyes. When Kara got in the pod doors materialized. The pod picked up speed and launched into space.

Jeju had taken Kara and I to other planets before but the launch was so much  scarier than any before. The planet flashed an orange and yellow.

Anger grew inside of me since that day. Kara had it all. But on the brink of death I knew that Family is Power and Kara was the hero everyone needed.

I was ready to share my story with Jeju with the new realizations from telling them. To see the things I couldn’t see before.

“Amaya! It’s Kara’s sister, Kasa” A girl in dark leather and a red necklace came to Kasa’s side.

“Ladies the ship is going to explode!” Cisco shouted.

Kasa was consumed by the blue portal. Her eyes hazed and tried to adjust to the difference of lighting.

Frosty pulled out the arrow and froze over the wound.

“You’ll be okay.” Frosty smiled.

“I’m detecting dangerously high radiation levels.” A robotic voice spoke over the speakers.

“Computer voice lady’s right Supergirl-X is about to go supernova.” Cisco warned.

“Supergirl you doppelgänger is about to have a meltdown.” The man piloting the ship said.

“Kara?” Kasa managed to pull herself off the gurney.

“Wait hey, you are in terrible form to even stand.” The brunette with the yellow suit guided the kryptonian back towards the gurney.

“Nate caught your sister, she’s gonna be fine, kid. We don’t need another death on the ship.”

“Zari...” The yellow suit lady scolded.

“(Y/n)!” Your D.E.O sister ran towards you with Kara behind her.

“Is she gone?”

Kara nodded and caressed your cheek. “(Y/n)! I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“I’m okay with Kasa too. I feel really tired.”

“We found your sister on their Waverider. Broken arm, leg, kryptonite arrow in her hand.” Caitlyn said.

“That was so dumb of you! We don’t trade lives!” Kara scolded.

“Liar, you were willing to put your life aside to save everyone on this Earth. Earth needs their hero, and I need my sister alive. El Mayarah.” You smiled up to both your sisters.

“Hey you stole my line.” Alex kissed your forehead.

“I’ll tell you all about it after my nap.” Your eyes shuttered.

“Heal up, we will get you home.” Kara kissed your forehead. “Jeju would be so proud. I’m proud of you too!”

“Home is where you and Alex are.”

[josefavomjaaga]

Helfert, Joachim Murat, Chapter 6, Part 4

Sorry as usual for the long delay. I really had to finish some other work. When we left off, Murat was still in Corsica, planning his landing on Neapolitan soil.

In Ajaccio, Murat's imminent arrival was soon known, and on the 23rd, when he made his entrance, a reception awaited him that sealed his doom. For now he was drunk from joy and a feeling of victory. His pride, his ambition, together with his adventurous, extravagant imagination, won over him to such an extent that he remained completely deaf to calm ideas, to rational arguments. "This is how my Neapolitans received me," he exclaimed to Franceschetti in the evening, "whenever I returned from the field to their midst!" And after a while: "Yes, so be it! I will live or die among my people! I want to go to Naples, let us not miss a moment to be there!" To make the measure of his delusion complete, a letter from Count Borgia of Rome, sent to him via Porto-Longone, came into his hands in these days, describing the mood in Naples as immensely favourable to him, and King Ferdinand as hated everywhere. Lambruschini, who could teach him otherwise, was, as we know, not even in Naples at that time, let alone that any news had arrived from him, which, incidentally, in the mood in which Murat now found himself, would hardly have changed his decision.

The next few days were spent preparing for departure. As a side piece to the Bogognano Manifesto, he now had a "royal decree" drawn up which could almost be called Napoleonic, so much thought was given in it to the most insignificant details. The constitution is to come into force on 1 January 1816, and the convocation of the chambers is to be initiated without delay" (Art. 1). "All civil servants, officers and dignitaries discharged since May 21 shall immediately resume their official positions; the former division of the army shall be restored; all grades, all allocations, all promotions, honours and rewards made during the last campaign shall remain in force (Art. 2, 8, 10). On the other hand, all those appointed since that day shall immediately leave their posts, otherwise they will be declared rebels, inciters of civil war, traitors to the fatherland, put outside the law and treated as such (Art. 3, 4). Neither the royal palaces, summer residences and estates were forgotten, for which the former court servants would once again have to take care, nor the king's horses, equipages and carriages, for which the chief stable master and his staff were made responsible (Art. 13, 14). "All our adjutants and orderly officers must appear without delay at Our Headquarters and rally around Our person" (Art. 18). . . The decree, consisting of 20 articles, was calculated to 36. It provided for the composition of the ministry, for the filling of the leading military posts in the capital and in the provinces. But because it was pointed out to the "King" that a premature appointment of these personalities, most of whom were in Naples, would only expose them to Ferdinand's revenge, Murat agreed to the relevant articles being suppressed. The decree and the manifesto were then sent to the printers at Ajaccio, in order to have a sufficient number of copies of both at hand at the first moment. The place and date of execution were left open; both headings were to be filled in as soon as they were in place.

On 28 September, everything was ready for departure. The desired vehicles were prepared and equipped as needed: there were five trabacoli and one felucca, larger barques (gondoloni), as the Barbaresks used them for their raids; the crew to be embarked, officers, soldiers and seamen, numbered about 250. Immediately before embarkation, the "King" promoted all officers by one rank each and awarded the Order of Both Sicilies to those who were not yet decorated with it. The relevant decrees were written in all royal chancery style, so that the clerks available in Ajaccio had to be diligent enough in their work.

Joachim entrusted the supreme command of the flotilla to the frigate Captain Barbara, a Maltese by birth, who had been given the baronate by Murat.

On 25 September, Colonel Maceroni had arrived in the port of Bastia, from where, after learning that Murat had departed from Vescovato, he had telegraphed his imminent arrival in Ajaccio. At noon on the 28th, he arrived in the capital of Corsica and went to Joachim without delay to inform him of the conditions of the Great Powers, to hand over the travel documents for the journey to Trieste and to enclose his most urgent ideas not to reject the offer made to him out of hand. At the same time, the British Captain Bastard, who had long ago arrived in the port of Bastia with the frigate Mäander and two sloops of cannon, offered to take the ex-king across the sea. But it was impossible to have a sensible word with him. If the Corsicans, for whom he had never done anything, had welcomed him so enthusiastically, would this be less the case in Naples, which he had showered with benefits as king? And should he abandon the hundreds who had now joined him to the revenge of the French government? And if his enterprise failed, what could happen to him? That his person should be secured and that he should be kept in some remote place like his brother-in-law! - When his faithful congratulated him on the unexpected salvation opened up to him by the offer of Emperor Franz, he exclaimed: "Of course, I will go to Austria, so that one morning I may be found strangled in the bosom of my family! I would rather go to Constantinople! But no, even there I would be killed!" Nevertheless, he wrote a letter to Maceroni in which he did not necessarily reject the proposal of the allied powers, but reserving the right to consider it as soon as he would be with his family. He explained that he had to decline Bastard's invitation because it had been made in an improper manner: "une sommation trop peu mesurée"; no doubt the captain had addressed him simply as "Marshal Murat".

Carabelli also arrived in Ajaccio that day and had a conversation with the ex-king, without achieving anything other than encouraging the ill-fated man in his intentions.

Helfert comments on the arrival of the Neapolitan Carabelli in a footnote with reference to two other reports:

Franceschetti p. 39-41 and Colletta-Gallois p. 30 f. present the matter as if the Neapolitan government had sent Ignazio Carabelli, who is supposed to have joined his brother Simone after his arrival in Corsica, in order to play the agent provocateur with Murat and lure him to Naples. This is not only contradicted by Ricciardi's explicit testimony, but also by the entire situation and mood at the Court of Naples, where Murat's ventures were feared, not desired. It is downright nonsensical when Colletta-Gallois add the remark: "Ainsi on était informé à Naples de tout ce qui se passait en Corse". Was there an undersea telegraph at that time? Lambruschini, who certainly hurried to bring his well-meant warnings to the ex-king, needed seven days from Rome to Bastia, 6 to 12 October, and Ignaz Carabelli was certainly not sent by Minister Medici before mid-September, probably only after the 18th, when Jablonovski had his conversation with the king. Now Carabelli, who no doubt had a government ship at his disposal, may have managed his passage to Bastia more quickly than Lambruschini; but from Bastia he still had the arduous land route or the circumnavigation of Cape Bianco in the north or Cape Bonifazio in the south - Maceroni had taken a full three days from Bastia to Ajaccio!  - so that he certainly did not meet Murat before the 28th, which is also consistent with explicit witness statements. And then one should have been informed in Naples "de tout ce qui se passait en Corse"!

The text continues:

Before midnight Murat wrote a second long letter to Maceroni, in which there was no longer any question of yielding: "I will never accept the conditions which you have been instructed to impose on me; for me they are nakedly and simply tantamount to an abdication, for which I am offered the sole advantage of being allowed to live in perpetual slavery and under the arbitrary control of a despotic government. I have not abdicated, I have the right to reclaim my crown if God gives me the strength and the means to do so! I place freedom above all else; captivity is death to me. What treatment have I to expect from these powers who made me spend two months under the daggers of the assassins of Marseilles! I have laid down my life a thousand times in battle for the fatherland: shall I not be allowed to lay it down once for my own interest?"

Immediately afterwards, he went to the ships, the anchors were lifted and they set out into the open sea. The citadel of Ajaccio, whose crew had not dared to take any action against the Muratists, sent a few live rounds after the flotilla, which, however, did no damage because the flotilla was already out of range. The sky was clear, the sea calm. But on the 29th a storm came up and the small squadron had to drop anchor on the 30th at the deserted island of Tavolara, on the north-east coast of Sardinia. On 1 October, they set sail again and on the 4th were so close to the coast of Naples that they could see Vesuvius. The ex-king's mad plan of taking Ferdinand by surprise in Portici now flashed through his mind again, but he let himself be talked out of it and they steered south towards Calabria. On the 6th Paola was in sight. Efforts were made to anchor: a storm arose and four of the ships were driven far out to sea, only the felucca of Battalion Commander Courrand remained near the vessel carrying the "King". On the 7th they waited for the others to return; when they did not show themselves, a landing was nevertheless to be attempted. A muleteer and one of Joachim's old guard came along the way and Major Ottaviani was disembarked to question them. Their answers did not inspire confidence; they also attracted the attention of the beach guard, from whom two blind shots were fired, demanding obedience. Ottaviani was again put ashore, then two sailors and Baron Barbara, who identified themselves to the local authorities as "Frenchmen on a journey to Tunis"; for Barbara had provided himself with passports to that effect in Corsica. Nevertheless, the officials became suspicious and detained Ottaviani and one of the sailors; only the other sailor and Barbara were released. Murat did not want to abandon his men, but in the end he followed prudent considerations and set sail for Amantea and then even further south.

Courrand's behaviour now became so suspicious that Captain Pernice and Lieutenant Moltedo, who were on his ship, insisted on being transferred to Barbara's barque; indeed, Courrand disappeared with his vessel the following night and was never seen again. Murat had only one ship left, and now for the first time pusillanimity came over him. He had only a handful of men with him; he saw that his enterprise would be foolhardy. He ordered Galvani to throw the copies of the manifesto and the decree into the sea and decided to sail to Trieste in order to make use of the offer of the Emperor of Austria and of his passport, which he had prudently kept with him. But for this they needed money, food and above all a larger ship. They were near Pizzo and Murat wanted to disembark here in order to procure what they needed. Barbara objected to this plan, an exchange of words ensued, Murat became passionate, and all his good intentions were blown out of the water. The ideas of the more superior, and the entreaties of his faithful valet not to run to his ruin, did not succeed: he, the "king," commanded, and the others had to obey. "I have only done good to the Neapolitans," he cried, "they cannot have forgotten me, they will hasten to my aid!"

The barge struck the shore, the officers were eager to jump out of the ship, but Murat refused them: "It is for me to be the first to set foot on the soil of my kingdom." And with that he was ashore. He had enough deliberation left to order Captain Barbara to lead his ship into a sheltered bay close by to be ready for any eventuality. It was on the 8th of October, a Sunday, between 11 and 12 o'clock in the morning.

[noshitshakespeare]

I read in multiple places that Coriolanus has been performed "both as pro-fascist and pro-communist" and I desperately need to know more about that, but none of the places I've read it elaborated in any way. I guess I'm asking, what leads to those - so drastically different - interpretations? And do you know of any good examples of both?

Thank you for this great question! The staging history of Coriolanus and the politics of it all is a really fascinating subject (lots has been written on it). 

Many of Shakespeare's plays can be interpreted in drastically different ways, because the representation of the characters and their positions tend to be pretty nuanced and even-handed. the plays themselves don’t always give a full sense of who it sides with, or who the audience ought to side with. Even characters who do great evil, like Macbeth, are given the kind of psychological depth that makes it difficult to condemn him outright, though the case there is a little clearer than in Coriolanus. 

The chief reason that Coriolanus invites such diametrically opposed interpretations is because of the central themes: the class conflict between the patricians and the plebeians, war, patriotism, and the right to rule and authority. There’s some historical context for this. When Shakespeare wrote the play sometime around 1605-10 there had been especially bad harvests and high food prices for a few years, which led to the Midland Uprising of 1607-8 (pretty close to Stratford-upon-Avon). One of the chief complaints here was that rich people were storing their grain in order to drive the market price up so that when they do bring out their store to sell they could sell it for more. It’s precisely what the rioters complain about at the beginning of the play: ‘They ne’er cared for us yet: suffer us to famish, and their store-houses crammed with grain’ (1.1.76-78). But the bigger question here is who has the right to authority over others, control of land and food? These are issues that are not quieted easily, and in one form or other, led to the Civil War of 1642 that dissolved the monarchy.  

To put it very simply, what splits interpretations is whether you see the play as about the people rising up against an unfair government and potential dictator, or whether you see a potential dictator overcoming a corrupt democratic government and a weak-minded mob. Is it more patriotic to rise up and take control of a bad government, or to support power and expansion at all costs?

Coriolanus wasn’t a great favourite, and wasn’t performed in its original form in England for a very long time after Shakespeare’s death, but these questions remained and made it a very topical play all around Europe in the early twentieth century. For instance, just before the second world war, there was a big scene in Paris in 1933 when the Fascist Party, Action Française, got the Comédie-Française to put on a production of Coriolanus. The production presented the protagonist as a hero against a corrupt democratic government in protest against the then left-wing and scandal-ridden French government. The show even featured something that resembled the Nazi salute at the moment Martius returns in victory from the battle in Corioli. There were shouts then of ‘Bravo, Hitler’ in the audience, and, indirectly or not, the theatre became the focus for a riot that led to 15 deaths and 1300 injured people. Before this point, Coriolanus hadn’t been performed much in France after Napoleon banned an 1806 performance because he thought the Martius in the production was modeled too much after himself. Evidently, he didn’t think it a straightforwardly flattering enough portrait of martial prowess to risk the potential subversion that could be read into the play, especially given the fall of the hero at the end.  

But the real focus here has got to be the treatment of the play in Nazi Germany itself. Germany has a long history of love for Shakespeare, and even before the war, there were more performances of Shakespeare in Germany than by any native German playwright. This was, of course, some embarrassment to the emerging Nazi government, but instead of banning Shakespeare as a writer from an enemy country, they appropriated Shakespeare by emphasising that all great artists belong to the world, not to a particular country. And given the beauty of the Schlegel-Tieck translations of Shakespeare, Germans were even inclined to say that Shakespeare is better in German than in English (I still hear this sometimes. ‘Unser Shakespeare’, as they say). 

Coriolanus became part of the school curriculum in Nazi Germany, used to show the 'Hitler Youth the unsoundness of democracy and to idealize Martius as an heroic führer trying to lead his people to a healthier society “as Adolf Hitler in our days wishes to lead our beloved German father-land”’ (Oxford Shakespeare Coriolanus, p. 124). Coriolanus was perfect because it showed the military power of Rome, like the Germany Hilter was trying to create, and because it could be used to show Martius as a powerful warrior above the common people, with a personality that is ‘above’ democracy. Thus, translations of the play in Germany at the time called Coriolanus ‘the true hero and Führer’ against the plebians, who were ‘a misled people, a false democracy’. The strength of this teaching was so powerful that the Allied forces banned the play in Germany during their occupation, and it wasn’t performed in Germany again until after 1953. There’s no particular version you need to read (unless you can get your hands on a copy from the time and read it in German). The point is that they got this version mostly via interpretation, so the play itself is not changed very much. 

The communist readings obviously emphasise the other side of the divide and sees Martius as an anti-democratic fascist. There were, apparently, quite a lot of Soviet stagings of this play that emphasised this aspect, but, unfortunately, there aren’t very many records of those. You can readily see, though, how the play might be presented as the destructive power of egoistic individualism at the cost of social order and cohesion. The most obvious choice if you want to read one, would be Bertolt Brecht’s Coriolan, which is a re-written version of the play that was staged in East Berlin after his death. The focus there is on class warfare and the power of the plebeians in ending the tyrannical rule of Coriolanus. In other words, it centres on the dictatorial rise of Coriolanus and the plebeians’ restoration of democracy at the end instead of lauding the power of Coriolanus himself. This version is especially powerful when you consider that Brecht chose to write and stage it for an audience that would have been educated mostly under the Nazi regime and were used to seeing Martius as the representative of the heroic individual and power of the fatherland. 

To move away from these political nuances, many productions (especially in England) tried to focus more on Coriolanus the individual for many years, especially the Freudian interpretation of Martius’ relationship with his mother -- as in the famous RSC Olivier production -- or on his incredible rage. The key, it seems, was to try to focus on Martius as an individual -- his feelings and motivations -- rather than on the political circumstances of his rise and fall. But I think it’s difficult to divorce Coriolanus from this hero versus the people dichotomy, perhaps even more so after the political upheavals of the twentieth century, and maybe now once again in our politically unstable times. How power should be distributed; whether power lies with the people or the government; what to do when a government or leader is corrupt or tyrannical; and how to balance the amount of leadership someone has at times of war with national defence, are all complicated questions that will never cease to be relevant while we have borders, leaders, and governments, and the play contains a lot of potential for all sides to argue their case. 

[squadron-goals]

Days at the front and stories about old friends

21.10.15

Today I was sitting in the dugout and was suddenly visited by Schwarze, whom I hadn't seen since Prény. He told me about some extraordinarily daring patrols he had made. Once he had to spend a whole day in the rain in a shell hole because he was constantly coming up against French wire. When he realised there were French, he moved away shouting "Qui-vive?". Together with the famous Golz, he once invaded a French trench. An officer and two women were sitting in a dugout. They threw three hand grenades and escaped. As a prisoner later testified, all three were dead. Schwarze, whom I knew from the Wunstorf secondary school, also arranged a patrol with me. A few nice patrols would be among my best war memories. During the night, two of our men were wounded.

23.10.15

Schwarze told me today that Lieutenant Prömmel doens´t allow the patrol. But he wants to contact the lieutenant colonel, who knows him from previous patrols. I also want to ask Brecht, because there seems to be very good patrol terrain in front of our section. By the way, the patrol with the women is called "whorehouse patrol" by the soldiers' humour.

24.10.15

Back in Douchy today. I'm the sergeant on duty. I took a look at our cemetery. There are already quite a few lying there. In the middle there is a beautiful stone with an artistic design. On one side the saying: For he who found death in holy battle, rests also in foreign soil in the fatherland.

26.10.15

Today, once again, there was a visit to the Betaillon under the dignified leadership of Major von Jarotzky. Some lieutenants were slaughtered to the point of pity. As an uninvolved spectator, I was of course delighted, but suddenly received a huge lecture about proper dress. I lapsed, in keeping with my temperament, from cheerful phlegm into droopy phlegm, but soon straightened myself out by the determination to armor my hero's chest against future attacks from superiors with a triple layer of indifference. By the way, yesterday I had a chat with Hugershoff, who called in sick with his usual suppleness and was lazing around in the station. I drank a large bottle of champagne in bed out of anger.

5.11.15

Wonderful is life after all. Yesterday I was sitting in the candlelight in the narrow shelter next to Herbst, chatting with him about this and that, when he suddenly said the name Walter Giesecke. Giesecke! - Comrade of my first major youthful pranks. A bright little fellow at the time, well-read, adventurous, wrote in a splendid style, wrote poetry, raved about tropical heat and jungle night, in short, the two of us fitted together like seldom before. I learned the following about his fate: he passed his exams at about the same time as I did but then didn't feel like going back to school. He learned to be a young businessman somewhere, but the office stool and writing desk didn't appeal to him for long. He wanted to go to the South-West and pushed through it, despite his bitter father. With little money, he finally sent him out, tired of his endless pranks, to let him go through the school of life. There he had to make his way, sometimes like this, sometimes like that, in the land of thorns and diamonds. Now he is missing; his parents have not had any news of him for a year and a half. Did he die fighting our hated enemy? Is he in an English concentration camp? Hopefully. Hopefully I'll hear from my friend Giesecke soon, who may also think of me sometimes, because there is a core in him that has value and substance and it would be incredibly sad if his bones had to bleach in the sand dunes of South Africa.

23.11.15

Class for officer candidates this afternoon. Things were disturbed by some shrapnel bursting over our heads. If Monchy hadn't covered us with a roof, we could have had a mess.