#if you think for a second you would have stood up to the nazis

[whitesunlars]

targeting civilians. murdering them, raping them, torturing them, and then desecrating their bodies. annihilating entire families. kidnapping babies as young as 6 months and Holocaust survivors as old as 100. shooting down attendees at a rave that was for peace. this is not freedom fighting. this is not liberation. and this will certainly not free palestine.

all this does is cause more suffering for both israelis and palestinians. all this causes is war and death and atrocities.

it is terrorism. if you try to justify it, you are supporting terrorism.

[doberbutts]

Thank you for making the schindler post, it perfectly illustrates why I hate the way people will act like people who hurt others (like active nazis and racists) aren't capable of regular emotion and thought. Second chances are often seen as bad when it comes to violence and crime, but if you never give someone the chance to change, form different opinions, or see the damage they or their associates have caused, they'll just keep taking the path of least resistance, keep following orders. I just want people to take a serious look at a nazi who changed his mind. There is nothing inherently evil about anyone, there are only moral and immoral choices.

It helps, I think, to understand that he did not join the nazi party because he hated Jews. Even what research I did on the real man said that for the most part his reasons for siding with Hitler were purely economical. And, as I've said before, Hitler did not start with "I hate Jews let's kill them all" but with "look how bad the economy sucks! And who is doing well while the economy sucks? The Jews. That means they're the ones behind making the economy suck!" to get people on his side.

I think Schindler did have some internalized antisemitism. How could he not? He thought of the plan to use almost exclusively Jewish slave labor as good business sense. Cheaper than Poles, more desperate for the work and thus less likely to complain about conditions or quit, can't fuss about wanting wages or better hours, what's not to like? Supposedly his workers were treated well. I don't know if that makes it particularly better. I wonder how his workers felt, staring at the emblem proudly pinned to his jacket, knowing it stood for the extermination of their entire people.

I wonder if any of them ever considered it might be a trick. An elaborate long game to get them to trust and slip up. To get them to reveal the hiding places and secret messages and the others striving to find or make a way out.

I think the movie played with that concept a little bit, when the character of Stern (who apparently was 3 different real guys rolled into 1) is portrayed as always being a little standoffish and cold to Schindler until close to the very end. He was afraid of him. Schindler held not only his life but the lives of all of the people working there (plus more, irl) in his hands. He rubbed shoulders with high ranked officials and knew personally more than one known sadistic bastard that actively got off on murdering Jews. All it would take is a single word and it would be more than just those in the factory who died.

But then the ghetto was cleansed. In history, Schindler had advance warning and made his workers lock themselves in the factory overnight to spare them. In the movie, Schindler did not have warning, and saw the chaos from atop a vantage point as he'd meant to pass by.

Either way, both in life and in film, that was the line. He was, at minimum, willfully blind and passive to the evidence of what was happening up to that point. Once he couldn't deny it, he put his foot down and said, no more. I'm not doing this. I can't save everybody but you aren't getting your hands on anyone in my charge. Put me in jail if you have to. This is wrong.

He had everything to gain by continuing to look away. In the movie, Stern says something to the tune of "you'll have to hire Hungarians and Poles. They cost a little more but you'll still be rich" when they're both faced with Hitler's final solution. No more cheap Jewish labor when they're all dead, after all. It is at that point that they come up with the list- to get as many Jews as possible out of Germany before they're all sent to their deaths. He could have just said "yeah, sorry. I tried". Stern even more or less gave him permission to do so, like he was expecting it.

But he didn't. He said no fuck that, it's bullshit. It's not happening. I'm not letting it happen. They can arrest me or kill me if they want but if I'm alive for it I'm not just going to stand back and watch.

But I think it is difficult for people to grapple with that level of complexity. Not everyone he saved thinks he was overall a good person. His motives were not always pure. In fact many times his motives were just about lining his own pockets. But when he saw atrocities happen, he put his foot down and refused to participate. Even at his own cost- he had the equivalent amount of money back then as would be needed to retire early nowadays from his factory labor. He spent it on bribes and rations to keep them safe. He went to jail several times for refusing to back down. He risked his own neck by networking with other factory owners to get them to do the same. He could have been executed for this at any point. Nazis loved public spectacle executions for traitors and for collusion with Jews.

He wasn't a perfect ally. But I think I'd rather an imperfect ally do whatever they can to help, than no allies at all.

[zvaigzdelasas]

[CBC is State Funded Media]

Prime Minister Justin Trudeau has called the decision to invite an elderly Ukrainian Second World War veteran who fought for Nazi Germany an "egregious error" that "deeply embarrassed Parliament and Canada." On Wednesday, he offered what he called "unreserved apologies" on Canada's behalf for the hurt it caused. Many experts say they're skeptical about the prospect of Canada's political leaders and institutions learning something from the now-infamous episode that capped President Volodymyr Zelenskyy's trip to Canada. Many historians will tell you that what we've witnessed over the last several days is history coming back to bite Canada — specifically over its refusal down the decades to acknowledge or own up to the decisions that allowed Yaroslav Hunka, who served with the 14th Waffen Grenadier Division of the SS (1st Galician), to immigrate to Canada in the 1950s.[...]

There was a reckoning of sorts in Canada during the 1980s. A public inquiry, headed by Justice Jules Deschênes, attempted to determine if Nazi war criminals and sympathizers ended up making this country their home and, if so, how many there were. The Galician division featured prominently in that investigation. Jewish groups, notably the Nazi-hunting Simon Wiesenthal Center, gave the inquiry a list of 217 former members of the unit who apparently had immigrated to Canada. (The Deschênes commission concluded that 86 per cent of those named never landed in Canada and "no prima facie case has been established against" the 16 under suspicion.)[...]

Trudeau, in his apology, said everyone in the House of Commons regretted "deeply having stood and clapped even though we did so unaware of the context." The old phrase "ignorance is no excuse under the law" might be modified in this instance to include the word "history." After almost eight decades, it would be easy to chalk this up to a history-challenged staffer working somewhere within the labyrinth of the House of Commons, or to failure on the part the now-former speaker Anthony Rota — someone simply ignorant of the complexities and grievances. That may well be part of the political calculation. With Rota gone and with the prime minister having apologized, the reflex may be to rebury the past and carry on to the next political crisis.

But one war crimes researcher and historian says the international stakes, given Russia's use of the event for propaganda, make a thorough investigation — and public airing — indispensable. "I think the Canadian government owes it to itself to determine how on earth this thing happened," said Efraim Zuroff, a director at the Simon Wiesenthal Center's Israel office and a specialist in Nazi war crimes in Eastern Europe.

It's not just about how such an invitation was extended. It's also about the airbrushing of history — Rota's carefully worded tribute mentioned Hunka having fought against Russia, as though Moscow had been the enemy at the time. "People are so ignorant [of] that history, it's pathetic," said Zuroff. "People suffer from such ignorance when it comes to the Holocaust and other things as well ... And it's a complicated subject. It took place in many different countries and played out to a certain extent in different ways."

Aside from the list involving the Galicia division, Zuroff has personally submitted to the Canadian government another 252 names of other suspected Nazis — or Nazi collaborators — from Eastern European countries other than Ukraine who are believed to have come to Canada. Out of that entire list, only one individual was ever charged. Following the Deschênes commission's report, the Criminal Code of Canada was amended to make it easier to go after suspected Nazi war criminals. Much of that work came to a screeching halt with the failed prosecution of Imre Finta, a former Hungarian police commander who was accused of organizing the deportation of over 8,000 Jews to Nazi death camps. He was acquitted on the defence that he was following the orders of a superior. Zuroff said the Canadian courts that accepted that verdict are the only ones in the world that recognize that legal defence — and consequently, no one else has been prosecuted. Since that case was tried in 1990, Canada opted to go after war criminals through the immigration system.

Any meaningful reflection on the Hunka tribute must include an examination of how Canada has dealt with these cases, Zuroff added.

Beyond the legal context, a leading scholar at the University of Ottawa, history professor Jan Grabowski, said the country needs to acknowledge how people like Hunka — who fought with the Nazis for what he hoped would be Ukrainian independence — got into Canada in the first place. Britain and countries like Italy, where some members of the Galicia division ended up, were eager in the late 1940s to be rid of refugees and surrendered soldiers. Canada willingly accepted them and by 1950 had made a special accommodation for Ukrainians. According to the Deschênes report, the prevailing feeling in the government at the time was that these former soldiers "should be subject to special security screening, but should not be rejected on the grounds of their service in the German army."

The context of the time, said Grabokski, is crucial, because when the Cold War began, Canadians shifted to a totally different "frame of mind."

"Anti-communists were prized above everything else," he said. "So we need to understand that this was a totally different political situation and most of the time, the Canadian authorities knew that they were letting in people who were allies of Hitler. But it was not enough, let's say, to make them hesitate." The B'nai Brith demanded this week that Ottawa take this opportunity to finally open all Holocaust-related records to the public, including the second part of the Deschênes commission's report, which has been kept secret for almost 40 years. Instead of reflection, though, Canadians might be in line for more political theatre.

28 Sep 23

[tex-treasure-chamber]

During the Blitzkrieg

Pairing: Santana Sangreal x Alexander Anderson

Words: ~1,761

Summary: a little teasing on Santana's end just after F. Anderson & co. rescue Sir Integra before the show's events pick back up again

Sir Integra shrunk back in equal parts fear and self preservation as she looked up into the shadowy, smiling face of Father Alexander Anderson, his eyes unseen behind the round, reflective glasses he wore, shining like sharp curved edges of scythes. Despite the fact he had saved her, looking at him felt like looking at two glowing warning signs- make a single wrong move and she was sure he'd strike. Even the nazi vampires, armed as they were with their assault rifles, remained frozen in horror-struck recognition at the mere sight of him.

She half-listened to him as he defended his actions to the protests coming of the fabled Section XIII, his words of only wanting to preserve Hellsing to "inevitably destroy it" because "it was for Iscariot alone to destroy" feeling like a trillion little needles embedding into her skin and while she normally wouldn't care, the bombings had left her feeling just… a tad shaken but it only took a second for her cool, unbothered mask to slip back onto her face. She'd spent years facing men bigger, older, and sometimes more politically powerful than herself, always coming out as the winner in the games and wars they waged with her and Maxwell would be no different- Father Anderson was just his crazed Knight on the board. If he wanted to protect her, so be it- it only served her in the long run.

As he babbled on, Sir Integra paid notice in just how many iscariot priests were in attendance- there wasn't a doubt in her mind that she'd survive this ordeal and when she did, this knowledge would come in quite handy. It was while she was scanning the crowd when she spotted a familiar face emerge undetected from the shadows upon one of the roofs adjacent to the one where the army of iscariot priests stood.

She smirked.

"What do you have to be smirkin' about?" Father Anderson demanded sharply, cutting himself off from his own monologuing to glare down at her like she were a bug that was just a wee bit too close to his shoes for him not to stomp on.

Sir Integra smirked a bit more. "It's just so nice to see an old mate." She replied calmly.

Father Anderson sneered. "I'm not your bloody mate, you Protes-"

"Nosiree y'ain't, but I am! C'mon 'n' catch me, tall blond and handsome! Yeeeeehaaaw!" A sweet southern voice called out from behind him, way up high.

Father Anderson whirled around at the all too familiar, haunting voice and before he could think better of it he held his arms out just in time for Santana to fall into his arms princess bridal style and wrap hers around his neck.

"Muchísimas gracias, Handsome," Santana cooed with a dimpled grin on her tanned face. Before he could say or do anything, she swiftly leaned in and nuzzled his scarred cheek with her nose before jumping out of his arms to do a cartwheel and land just beside Sir Integra with a big smile for such a small person.

Pregnant silence enveloped the attentive crowd and standing in the middle of it was Father Anderson, statue still, his lips twitching in a stuttering hesitation between what looked to be a grimace and a grin, blushing from his neck to the roots of hair.

"Right," Father Anderson said and that was all he apparently had to say before he promptly turned to his team. "Okay you lot; now answer me this! Who are we?"

Finally, someone from the iscariot organization blurted, "Wait, wasn't that a vampire?"

Another one fired back indignantly, "Si! That is!"

One made a grab at their sword. "Don't worry! I'll destroy her for defiling you with her vile touch, Father Anderson!"

"NO!" Father Anderson bellowed, glaring at his crew with an almost wicked stare, "She's mine! I'll take care of that one, alright?" He pointed a large gloved finger at the crowd, "Don't any of yous try to fight her!"

Santana leaned over to Sir Integra, eyes upturned, her lips stretched into a fangless grin. "Did you hear that? He said I'm his!" She drawled loudly, loud enough for Father Anderson and his squadron as well as even the nazi vampires to hear if Father Anderson's flinch was anything to go by, "That he was going to take care of little ol' me!"

Sir Integra scoffed softly. "He meant you're his target to kill, Santana." She deadpanned but there was a twinkle of amusement in her eyes nonetheless.

Santana shook her head, hand grabbing her cross like clutching at pearls, too busy having fun with this game to quit just yet.

"What an honor." She sighed wistfully with a small dimpled smirk, "Alucard will be sooooooo jealous when he hears about it. When do you think he'll be back?"

Sir Integra sighed. "Who knows…"

"You traitor! How could you take their side? You should be fighting alongside us! Your own kind!" Cried a voice from behind them.

Santana turned to narrow her eyes at the group of nazi vampires and in a second, she released one of her favorite guns from its holster and aimed it at the forehead of the leader of the group, the one who had spoken. From his vantage point, Father Anderson could read the inscription on the barrel:

Matthew 5:9

Instantly, the verse came to Father Anderson's mind: 'Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.' He would have laughed at the beautiful, poetic irony of it but held his tongue as he saw the unadulterated look of rage on her normally sweet face and tried not to think about how much he liked it.

"I and I alone choose who I'm loyal to," Santana hissed, her voice cutting through the air like a sudden all-encompassing frost, "and I ain't never nor will I ever side with delusional, racist trash like y'all. Have fun rotting in Hell." She then squeezed the trigger and in a flash, the soldier's head exploded and he turned into nothing more than white ash as the holy bullet ripped through him and sliced through the person behind him, too.

After that, the battle began. Sir Integra ducked away into the safety of the car with gritted teeth as she watched Father Anderson call out to his reinforcements with a series of back and forth chanting and like a wave, they descended on the Nazis in flashes of swords and other deadly weapons. After the members of section XIII came into the fray, Santana switched from offense to defense, hopping along at inhuman speeds to redirect and reflect otherwise fatal gunfire from the enemy and all the while, she laughed and yeehawd like a drunken cowboy much to Sir Integra's amusement. Sir Integra, watching her protect not just herself but the members of the organization that wanted to destroy her own, couldn't help but smile- Santana had told her long ago that she would protect humans in her own way and now, here she was, doing just that.

Father Anderson didn't pay her or Santana much attention, his focus understandably elsewhere altogether as he sliced and stabbed his way through vampire after vampire but when he happened to see Santana catch a bullet meant for one of his comrades between two fingers and viciously fling it back like a dart at the vampire that had shot it, slicing clean through the abomination's neck, he couldn't help but make a mental note of it before refocusing his attention on the next body to dismember. As much as Iscariot taught him about these killings being nothing short of a sacred, holy act of righteous purging, a serious act of divine intervention, he couldn't help but… well. Have f u n.

Santana moved like a gymnast and dancer all in one as she dodged, weaved, cartwheeled, and shot in deadly precision, her crème shirt blooming more and more with blood that was probably hers but mainly the enemy's. She didn't flinch as she felt a bullet rip through her upper arm and turned around on a dime to thrust her hand, suddenly adorned with thick, sharp claws, straight into the chest of a Nazi soldier and rip his bloody heart out of his chest. She didn't look at it; she simply threw it to the ground and stomped on it with the heel of her steel toed cowboy boot before moving on to the next enemy, her normally heavy lidded eyes wide and searching, her lips parted in a sadistic, gleefully serrated smile. Her hand, slick with blood, remained as a claw as she scanned the crowd to find yet another beating heart to rip out, her other hand outstretched and holding one of her precious revolvers to continue to defend the humans she could.

At some point, she morphed her clawed hand back to normal and wiped her hands with a handkerchief. Not five minutes later she ran out of bullets and couldn't be bothered to reload nor did she particularly feel like pulling out her other gun, at least not yet. Inspired by the swords and spears she saw many of the members of Section XIII using, she secured her gun in its holster and from the inside of her trench coat she retrieved a long, solid black baseball bat made of polypropylene- a material strong enough to withstand the force she used to bash in heads and also allow her to grip it snugly in her small hands. On its side was the word "FINIS" in big, bold letters and it didn't take long before she began bashing in kneecaps and skulls.

"Hey batter, batter, swING!" Santana exclaimed giddily before swinging hard and slamming it against the back of the head of a distracted soldier. His helmet gave way like tissue paper under the extreme force and his skull exploded on impact, scattering brain matter everywhere as what little remained of his head flopped pitifully where it still connected ever so slightly to his now exposed spinal column. As he dropped to the floor, Santana whirled around and slammed the front of her bat into another soldier's stomach with a satisfying crunch before quickly pulling it back in to deliver an uppercut blow while he was bent over in pain. The man's baby vampire teeth shattered and crumbled like chalk in an instant, along with his jaw. Santana watched his eyes bulge out of their sockets with detached interest before slamming the bat into the side of his face, crushing whatever remained.

Well. One more down, who knows how many more to go. Maybe she'd aim lower next time, just around the neck, to try and hit a home run- it would make a funny sight, and probably scare a few of their enemies to boot. Santana glanced around with a crooked, fanged smile- now then...

Who else wanted to play?

[luminouslywriting]

Chapter 27 (Mastermind)—MOTA Fic

A/N: This one's a little bit short, so I apologize....chapter 28 coming tomorrow as a little treat! Enjoy and let me know what you think!

To say that Ruth Sharpe was frustrated would have been a gross misstatement and understatement of the entire affair.  She didn’t care what doors she had to break down in order to go to the front lines and to retrieve her brother and Robby, she was going to do it either way.  It’s just that one of those ways happened to be sanctioned and legal and the other happened to be very illegal and she’d much prefer the former than the latter. 

A two hour debate with the current Colonel of Thorpe Abbotts had left everyone on base feeling the tension and frustration that she was now experiencing.  Her terms had been simple—she had asked to be sent to the front in order to record war crimes and accounts of misdemeanors of the Germans from those who had experienced them firsthand. 

Everyone knew that it was a desperate ploy to get herself sent there to find Abe and Robby.  

And after being denied—twice, mind you—Ruth should have had the common sense to listen to people about the entire thing and wait.  But rather than do so, she asked for a telegram to be sent ahead to Colonel Sink.  He was the only other Colonel that she knew personally was in Germany at the moment and might be making his way closer and closer to the Stalags where Abe or Robby would inevitably end up if they hadn’t died upon crash or been killed by the Germans. 

So as soon as another telegram came through with instructions and orders, Ruth was practically ready to sprint all the way to the docks of London if it meant getting to her boys sooner. At the moment though, she was packing her essentials and doing her best to keep the room from falling apart. 

Helen had a comforting arm around Liesel, who was openly sobbing into her hands and shaking her head.  Tatty sat silently, watching Ruth pack up her things—scrutinizing the micro-movements. 

“You’re not really going to the front, are you?” Tatty questioned doubtfully. 

Ruth only paused for a moment.  “Hairbrush—yes, I can’t forget that.” She moved to grab the brush and then glanced over at Tatty.  “And yes, I am going to the front.” 

“You’ve lost your mind!” Helen exclaimed.  “What about Liesel?” 

“I’m leaving her with you two!” Ruth retorted, shoving the brush into her bag.  “Besides, with any luck, I’ll be back in a few weeks.” 

“No you won’t!” Liesel nearly shrieked the words, fear making her small frame tremble madly.  “You’ll die out there!” 

“Have a little faith—” 

“It’s not about faith!” Liesel’s small voice carried throughout the entirety of the bunkroom and Ruth just stood there silently for a moment.  “The Nazis in Germany?  If they find out that you—a Jewish American woman—are there?  They will kill you without a second thought and then I will have no one!” 

All at once, the guilt that had been steadily eating away at Ruth’s heart seemed to take hold.  She moved forward at once, enveloping Liesel into a gentle hug—and she just let the girl sob for a long time. 

“I am coming back,” Ruth insisted, finally pulling away from the hug after a moment.  She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the crown of Liesel’s head.  “I can’t just leave Abe or Robby out there.” 

“But you could wait—maybe they’re alive!” Tatty pointed out. 

“I’m not sitting around and waiting for a phone call.  I can’t do that,” Ruth said, shaking her head at them.  “Not when—not when everything is my fault.” 

All at once, Helen was on her feet and taking Ruth’s hand in hers.  “That’s just not true—” 

“Abe’s not even 18,” Ruth blurted. 

Silence fell across the room, stunning both Tatty and Helen to the point of being frozen.  “What do you mean?” Tatty demanded. 

“He’s 17.  He was underage and I should have just sent him home the minute I saw him but I didn’t.  And then Robby and I started fake-dating so that we could distract everyone from the fact that Abe is a runaway.  If the Germans find that out, they will kill Abe.  I am not losing another brother to these bastards,” Ruth snarled out the words.  

“You—” 

“And I didn’t even tell Robby that I love him and I really do and I think that maybe I’ve just been hiding these feelings this entire damn time and he needs to know that he was right and I was wrong and I can’t just do that if I’m sitting here and waiting for him to get back!” Ruth exclaimed.  “The love stories—they all have these grand gestures, right?” 

“Usually from men,” Liesel mumbled. 

“Regardless,” Ruth gestured at her.  “I have to go and find him.  I have to find both of them and bring them back.” 

Another beat of silence between the women in the cabin.  “You are terrifying, you know that?” Tatty said quietly.  And then she took a step forward, placing an arm around Liesel’s shoulders.  “And we’ll look after her.  Don’t worry about Liesel.  She’ll be taken care of and safe.” 

“I know.” 

“And also?” Helen added, a sympathetic expression on her face.  “I’m pretty sure we ALL knew that you and Rosie weren’t really dating but had real feelings.” 

“Seriously?!” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ruth didn’t enjoy saying goodbye to the base—nor did she enjoy saying goodbye to Kidd or Crosby, both of whom begged her to wait at least three days before leaving to go and find her brother and Robby.  But Ruth could not be deterred.  She felt a call within her soul—a need to go and find them herself. 

A cab ride to London, a boat ride to Normandy, several aid stations and two days later, Ruth had arrived dutifully in Germany.  

She wished she could say that she found the country beautiful, but Ruth did not.  In the cold and dead of this place, she hated it.  She hated it for stealing her brothers away and hiding Abe and Robby from her.  She hated it for harboring the downed airmen that deserved to be back on base or back at home with their families.  Most of all though, she hated the country for not stopping itself from becoming a monster. 

How could anyone be complicit in the horrors of war?  She was no stranger to the fact that war made monsters of everyone involved, not just the perpetrator or the villain.  And war was not so black and white as to assume that there were, in fact, villains or heroes.  

Everywhere she went, she drew strange looks.  That part of things, Ruth had at least expected.  It was strange to find a woman on the front—especially a woman who was not a nurse.  Ruth knew that most of these men had not seen a woman in months, but Sink had given explicit instructions to the men escorting her further into Germany and to wherever Sink’s men had set up camp. 

In hindsight, she knew it probably looked strange—a woman in military uniform wearing a helmet and calmly driving through Germany. That calmness was the truth.  Ruth did not flinch or fear being in Germany. 

She just felt unadulterated righteous rage.  She wondered if the angels tasked with her protection were weary of her foolish endeavors or if they were fully on her side.  This was not the place to pray.  This place was godless.  So Ruth kept a silent prayer of justice and protection in her heart as they pressed on. 

And when Ruth finally appeared at the base camp and found Colonel Sink waiting for her, Ruth felt a small flutter of hope in her heart.  Soon.  Soon. 

[skadilothbrok]

Given The Chance - Chapter 9

This mission had started off well enough, but things had gone a little pear shaped about halfway through. “For saying Hitler has jumped off the playing board, you’d think the Nazi’s would be more eager to surrender” you called across to Freddy as he crouched down across from you.

“You wanna try reasoning with them?” he called back as he reloaded his gun.

“I’m just saying” you shrugged as you pulled the pin from a grenade and threw it over the crate you were taking cover behind. The explosion sent dust falling over you and you waited a moment longer before popping your head up.

“We need to set these quick” Freddy quickly stood from his position and started to run towards the hangar that should’ve been taken care of before anyone knew you were there. Breaking into a run behind him you continued to hear gunfire across the other side of the base. Good. That meant the others were still holding their own.

Upon reaching the hangar you and Freddy did a quick sweep before setting about placing the charges on all the planes. You both worked quickly and met up back near the way you’d come in. “Let’s go” Freddy hurried for the door but as he pushed it open a shot rang out and he stumbled backwards.

“Freddy” you panicked as he dropped to the ground. Keeping low, you pulled him back inside the door and dragged it shut once more. Looking over your friend, you saw the blood pooling out of his thigh. “Shit” you quickly pushed pressure onto the wound before looking around for something to help patch him up with.

“The fuses only have a few minutes on them” Freddy was gritting his teeth against the pain “you need to go”.

“I’m not leaving you, you idiot” you left no room for argument in your reply. “Keep pressure on it” you moved his hands to the wound before moving to undo your belt.

“Seems daft for us to both die here” he tried again.

“Neither one of us is dying here” you snapped as you used your blade to cut some of the fabric from your shirt. You folded it over a few times to make it thicker before pushing it against the wound and then using your belt to keep it in place and apply pressure. “Did you see the shooter?”

“Not properly” he managed “shot came from the left”.

“Right” you stood up and moved to the door, gun at the ready. You took a few steadying breaths before kicking the door open and turning to the left. A shot rang out and you felt a bullet graze your shoulder, but you’d located the shooter. He was dead seconds later.

“You’re hit” Freddy complained as you went back to drag him to his feet.

“Barely a scratch” you assured him as you moved to take most of his weight from his injured leg “now let’s go”. You hobbled through the door with him, making a beeline straight across the tarmac and for the cover you’d taken on the way inside.

The explosions started to ring out in a chain reaction. The ground shook beneath you and you felt the heat against your back as you finally got to cover. Freddy hissed in pain as you lowered him back to the ground and you checked on him quickly before checking nobody had seen your position.

“I need to go and deal with the radio tower” you told Freddy “have you got enough ammo for me to leave you here?” He nodded. “You’re not going to faint or anything?” the image of some enemy finding him unconscious and easy to kill flashed through your mind.

“I’ll be fine” Freddy insisted “don’t worry about me”.

“I have to worry” you smiled slightly “who else could me and Anders have so much fun flirting with?” He scoffed at your comment and once you felt assured he would be okay, you checked your weapons before checking the coast was clear.

Freddy handed you his pack with the charges still to be used and you threw it over your shoulder “be careful” he told you.

“I’ll be back in no time” you winked before heading for the tower.

~Anders POV~

They’d done all that they came to do. All they had to do now was get back out. He and Gus met up with Hayesy, Marjorie and Apple on the way out. They were all running high on adrenaline as they made it towards the fence where they’d come in.

“Freddy” Hayes spotted him first and the four of them hurried over to their teammate. “What happened?” Hayes asked as he took in the blood covered cloth belted to his leg.

“I’ll live” Freddy gritted out.

“Where’s Y/n?” the words came out steady, but his heart was caught in a panic at that point.

“Taking care of the tower” Freddy replied.

“On her own?”  he asked.

“She knows what she’s doing” Gus turned and assured him. Not that it did anything to ease the anxiety clawing through him. There were too many things that weren’t as the intel suggested about this base already. What if you ran into more trouble than you could deal with?

It was a battle to remain where he was and not charge off in the direction of the tower. Even more so when shots rang out in that direction. When the fire continued for a good long while, he couldn’t do it anymore.

“Anders” Gus placed a hand on his arm to try and stop him.

“Get Freddy back to the truck” Anders told him “me and Y/n will meet you there”. He could tell by the look in Gus’ eyes that he wanted to argue but the look he gave him in return had Gus backing down. He gave a brief nod before moving to help get Freddy up.

[avid-avian-lives]

1941

The last place he expected to see Tango was in a church. And yet, there he was, hopping about on feet that were burning on consecrated ground.

Jimmy had been tricked by Nazis; one had disguised herself as a British officer, and he thought he would be foiling their best-laid plans. Instead, he was walking into their simplest trap. “You were so easy to fool,” the woman had said. “You so desperately wanted to believe that goodness would win.” Somehow, they’d heard he had a horn that could summon a demon and intended to get their hands on it. Jimmy wouldn’t let them have it. It was a treasured possession, especially since he hadn’t seen Tango since the holy water incident.

But before he was discorporated���he dreaded the paperwork that he would’ve faced, especially amid Joel’s mockery—Tango had appeared, never standing still and eyeing a basin of holy water. “Hi. I think you should know,” he’d said, “that there’s a bomb going to be dropped on this very church. I know what you’re thinking, and they are, in fact, meant to be in the Eastern sector. It would take a miracle to get those planes to change course! But- agh.” Here, he’d stumbled a bit; the ground was obviously hurting him a great deal. “It would take a real miracle for my friend and I to get out of here alive, I think. And, well. If you don’t start going soon, you’ll find yourself. Explodificated. Agh. Into. Tiny bits. Agh. I hate holy ground, did you know that?”

Jimmy had mere seconds of warning before a a bomb leveled the church.

When he opened his eyes, the Nazis were gone, the building was rubble, and Tango stood just beyond the property bounds of the former church. After a moment’s pause, he began to laugh.

“Tango, you’re brilliant! I did it! Oh my goodness, I did it! That was incredible!”

A moment later, his laughs died out in favor of lamenting.

“Tango, I’m so sorry. I forgot your horn. I swear, I’ve been keeping it safe for so long, I can’t believe it- I was never going to let those Nazis have it, but I didn’t want it to get blown up! I’m so, so sor-”

Tango, hopping from stone to stone to avoid the ground, wordlessly pulled a carpet bag from the hand of a buried Nazi. “Here,” he said. “Little demonic miracle of my own.”

Jimmy stared for a moment before snapping himself out of it and taking the bag. His hand briefly touched Tango’s and Jimmy realized something.

I’m in love with him, aren’t I?

in honor of one of favorite good omens aus spontaneously updating today, here's the year 1941 and the event which, among good omens fans, is popularly interpreted as aziraphale (jimmy) realizing he's in love with crowley (tango.) enjoy!!

[blaacknoir]

Re: the Adam Driver post

Someone replied (then blocked, so I had to go incognito to find it): remember when this site didn’t get horny over nazis?

First of all, it was solely about his looks and appearance. Regardless of what you think of Kylo Ren (a fictional character) this wasn't about him. It was about the appearance of Adam Driver vs. Oscar Isaacs and John Boyega.

Second, Kylo Ren isn't a Nazi, because Kylo Ren exists in a fictional universe. He has never, to my recollection, displayed any hint of white supremacy, homophobic attitudes, or anything else Nazis stood for.

Third, the arc of Kylo Ren Ben Solo is incredibly important to me. He was an abuse victim, groomed from birth by Snoke via the Force. He was assumed to be evil because of his lineage. His lineage which was hidden from him. And he woke up in middle of the night to find his uncle--a man that he loved and trusted, both as a family member and a teacher--about to fucking murder him. When he was a teenager. When he was a fucking child.

(His uncle, by the way, who never apologizes for trying to murder him.)

He continues to be abused by Snoke as he gets older, torn apart because of the conflict within him--the dark that he tries to embrace, because he feels as though it's his only choice, and the light that he feels he doesn't deserve. He became a monster because that's how he was treated.

And yet.

And yet.

There was good in him. There was always good in him. And finally, finally someone sees it. Someone tells him that he is good. He is worthy of love. He is not owed forgiveness, he is not exempt from the horrors he's committed, but nonetheless, he is still worthy of love. He has done monstrous things, but he is not a monster.

And do you understand how important that statement is? To people who have hurt others? To people who have been hurt by others?

I got into Star Wars in 2016, about a year after I cut my dad off for Reasons. He hurt me and has never showed any sign of apology, or any interest in reconnecting. But in 2016, Ben Solo's inevitable redemption arc gave me hope that... maybe he would. Maybe there was a possibility that my dad would redeem himself. It offered me hope that someone who had been very important to me might realize he hurt me. And... that helped me through a hard time in my life.

I was also struggling with the fact that I'd made some stupid decisions when I was younger and said some stupid stuff, and it helped me realize that I wasn't defined by that either. I could grow and change, and be better than the person I had been.

I don't "simp for fictional Nazis." I relate to the story of a manipulated kid who ended up realizing that he was more than that. A story about growth and redemption resonated with me during a time when I needed it.

Honestly, if you look at Ben Solo and all you see is "fictional Nazi" then... that's a you problem. And if you look at Adam Driver's large nose and ears, crooked teeth, and pockmarked skin and think there's something wrong with me for finding that attractive?

Then I'm really not sure what to tell you there.

[princeescaluswords]

If I may get your thoughts on something. The fandom likes to throw out that because Malia was in a coyote state for x years that's used to say she should still be a child mentally. Not to completely defend him but shouldn't that also be the case for Peter. According to Derek he himself was still in high school when the fire happened. And with Peter being Peter with the flashbacks we probably say he was about 21 22 when that went down. So his selfish ways, although not forgiven, make a lot more sense when you realize this dude is still barely out of educational years. He's smart and cunning but he has no idea how to be an adult about things.

To truly grapple with your question, there are some matters of lore established by the show that I think we all need to bear in mind.

Fully shifted werecreatures possess the cognitive abilities of humans, not animals. Talia understood the importance of the meeting in the distillery and timed her entrance for maximum impact as a high-status alpha. Derek recognized the tactical situation at La Iglesia and made decisions accordingly. Malia was able to analyze the crime scene with Alex's parents while a four-legged coyote.

Werecreatures' physical appearances do not match up with their chronological ages the same way humans do. Noshiko Yukimura looked in her twenties in 1943 when she was near 800 years old and in her forties in 2011 when she was near 900 years old. Satomi Ito looked pretty much the same age in 1943 and 2012. Cora Hale was seventeen "in how you measure in years."

Werecreatures (and humans with a motivation to do so) manipulate human institutions in order for the supernatural to remain hidden. They're quite proficient at it. The Argents had agents placed throughout the government and law enforcement and were able to get Gerard and Victoria installed in the local high school. Jennifer managed to create an entire identity for herself that passed muster. The Hales were pillars of the community without anyone suspecting they were werewolves. We can joke about a Nazi werelion teaching physics, but he was also facile enough to infiltrate the upper levels of the German military.

In other words, while an engaged viewer might question the quality of the presentation of Malia in terms of socialization and emotional development, there's no reason to insist she would have to act like a feral child. She wasn't a coyote, as Scott pointed out, she was a werecoyote. If we're going to accept the supernatural abilities that deny scientific reality -- and we have to in order to engage with the show -- we have to accept the story's rules as they are presented to us.

Which means, unfortunately, that I have to disagree with your second premise, mostly because we can't be sure about Peter's chronological age. His physical appearance is not admissible as evidence nor is the age given on his medical admission papers in Monstrous (4x10). This means that we have to rely on the position taken by the story itself, and that implied that Peter was fully an adult. Neither Young Derek nor Older Derek treated Peter as a peer; Peter always stood in the position of mentor and elder. After all, in Peter's own words when talking about Triskelion: "Talia used it to teach Laura; I tried to use it to teach Derek." Why would Talia put someone she considered a teenager in charge of something as important as her son learning self control, especially after the disaster with Paige? Cora treated Peter far differently than she treated Derek; in my opinion, she treated him like a member of the older generation.

All of the show's characters treated Peter as an adult who should have known better, including Cora, Lydia, Melissa, the Sheriff, Stiles, Malia: all of their words and actions clearly express this point of view. Even villains such as Kate, Jennifer, and Deucalion treated Peter as an adult and a peer. I think Derek's treatment of Peter is the key; I find it telling that Derek treated the twins differently than he treated Peter. Derek never acted as if Peter had diminished capacity or limited freedom to make decisions the way he did with Aiden and Ethan, and it certainly wasn't because he liked the twins better or because they hurt him less. The only person to express hope for Peter's rehabilitation was Scott, and that was seen as such an extreme position that Stiles used it against Scott during their argument in Parasomnia (5x02).

Some people choose to be selfish; some people choose to act ruthlessly and unethically. We're not supposed to believe that everything Peter's done is due to his inability to process the fire and the resulting coma. I've witnessed too many people expressing disbelief that Peter would work with the person who burned his family, and I want to shake them: that's the point! There's no trauma pushing him to work with Kate in Season 4; he chooses to do it because it's the most effective means to get what he wants. Peter is not a victim in Seasons 1-4; he's an opportunist. He uses Kate because she has the power and the history to distract everyone from what he's trying to achieve, just as he used Jennifer's threat in Season 3 to distract everyone from his plans and to remove Derek as a possible obstacle to those plans without killing him.

His selfish ways make sense because he's selfish. He manipulates people to gain power because he wants power. He's not one-dimensional by any measure, but the narrative makes it clear that until he realizes that people exist to be more than just means to his ends he will be an antagonist. Until he accepts that -- which he starts to do in Season 6 -- he will be exactly how Scott described him "always a monster."

[wittynameme]

how do I put this

I want to preface this with

NOt every Jewish person is a Zionist. You can be antizionist and hate antisemitism

A lot of horrible people have always used free Palestine as a dogwistle. They never liked either Jews or Palestinians

I do not like the violence, of course I don't

I dont know why I'm sitting here on my bed texting on Tumblr what MY opinion is on this war. Like I know anything or have any authority on the matter.

I am a 21 year old American. I live all the way across the sea on another continent where a country full of colonist war-profiteers pump out tons of pro-isreal propaganda.

Case in point the famous"we would need to make an Israel" speech.

I can only impart what I know from my experiences.

I've been in BLM protests and seen with my own eyes how horrible the police treat the protesters and how the news twists it in their favor, depicting them of being bloodthirsty violent rioters and when they can't in any way rationalize that they at least say there was "wrong on both sides".

I've researched propaganda, particularly blood lible in order to understand how people condemned Jewish people and perpetuated theofacist nationalism.

I've seen the ridiculous double standard we have for violence. Why do we only cry "violence isn't the answer" when someone who doesn't benefit the profit of the state does it but in any other case they were acting alone or defending themselves or "the cycle of violence is complicated and theirs nothing we can do about it"?

When Russia invaded Ukraine , claiming it was there territory actually and that they were freeing it from terrorism, we were record breaking levels of fast to call Putin out on his bullshit. In an unpresidented display of across the table unanimity we agreed to fight Russia. We also still viewed the Russians as victims and not as a monolith.

We associated it with the other times we've faught in Europe. WW1 and WW2 , times we have glorified to high hell and back as the war the USA taught valiantly in single handedly and definitely did nothing wrong. It was the last time we faught a unanimously "good" war. The Nazis were evil and we killed them...we definitely didn't join the war late. Inspire gas chambers and sell them tanks...and uh...what we did to Asia....well uh...we had too, war is messy and we picked the greater good. Now shut up before I send you to the principal and finish up that 5 page report on WHY we did the right thing when we dropped that bomb... And that other bomb.

When Israel invaded Palestine , claiming it was their territory actually and they were freeing it from terrorism ...we sided with them and stood by for 75 years as they became that theofacist ethnonation . They committed a genocide, they nearly erraticated the Palestinians. How many babies do you think died in their holy war?

Then word gets out that some of them killed babies in retaliation. I'm yet to see any evidence of this but it instantly got the whole UA up in arms . They viewed the entire rebellion as the same. All of our anti propaganda training just whent out the window in a second. Where's the "they were acting alone" or the "liberation is messy" or the "wrong on both sides "?

No. I don't condone war. There is no such thing as good war. It's always fucked.

But I find it insanely hypocritical, entitled and audacious to even use the word "condone".

This is an excellent example of people getting angry only when people fight back.

It would be remice of me to tell these people "yes I know they started it, but don't you dare try to end it, just sit there and take it because violence is wrong even when other people do it".

Who the hell am I to say anything?

At least I'm philosopically consistent. Are you? How do you neutralize the contradictions the government makes about violence?

[krazykiki05]

Theres Not Enough Hours in the Day

Zemo accidentally had a daughter at 16 with a 17 year old. When she found out what he was doing back in 2016, she teamed up with the Avengers to help fight her father at the age of 19. During this time, she helped Bucky and they grew close.. She moved to Wakanda to help him readjust to modern life. When Bucky came back from the blip, he lived with her. He would miss therapy if it wasn’t for her. She would have never seen her father again if it wasn’t for him. 

I

I  Part 9  I

I 

“Karli Morganthau, you’re under arrest.” Walker announces our presence. 

“So this is what that was?” Karli asks. 

“No, Karli, wait.” Sam tries to reason.

“Tricking me until backup arrived?” She concludes. Walked puts a hand up to Sam. 

“No, I think we had enough time to talk.” Walker argues. 

“You Nazi.” Karil insults to Walker. Bucky tries to shove Lamar away, but of course he fights back. I didn’t know what to do. That was, until Karli shoved the shield, sending it reeling and hitting sam. Samdin both men down. I ran to help Sam. He grabs my wrist and I pull him up. It hurt like a bitch. 

We all run in opposite directions. Bucky went after Karli, Sam was going to try and intercept her. I ran a whole new way. Which ran me into my father. “Papa!” I say. He looks at me and grabs my arm. Of course he got out of those cuffs. We started waking down a Musty hall. 

I didn’t know Papa had taken out a gun until we ran into Karli and he shot at her. “Papa!” I scold, attempting to take the gun. He shoves me back. 

“Stay out of this.” He growls, following Karli, gun out, shooting every chance he gets. Luckily she dodges all of them. My wound starts hurting worse, affecting my movements. I can’t take the gun away. I can barely follow him. A shot nicks Karli, sending her over a table, the table flipping over. 

“Papa stop, please!” I plead. He doesn’t listen, shooting Karli’s hand when she tries to take a vial. Wait, the vials. 

“Is this what I think it is?” Papa asks. Super soldier serum. He picks one up. 

“No! No.” Karli mumbles. I stood back, knowing what he was going to do. The very mission he put himself on personally. Destroy all creation of super soldiers. He slams the vial in his hand down to the ground. The glass shattered into a million pieces. 

I notice movement in the upper corner of my eyes. A man. As soon as Karli sees him, she bolts. I take one step to try and catch her, but it hurts too much. My father continues dancing on the vials, attempting to get every last one. That’s when I noticed Johan Walker. He’s about to toss his shield at my father. 

“No!” I yell, standing in front of my father. The last thing I saw was a flying frisbee coming to my head. The pain. Then blackness. 

Zemo’s POV

I heard a thud behind me. I look just in time to see my daughter fall to the ground. “Annika!” I call. But I was knocked out before I could help her by a punch to the temple. 

~*~*~*~

Sam comes running in, a second too late to see John pocketing the last vial. Bucky walks in to see his girlfriend on the floor. He runs down the stairs to her. “What’d we miss?” Sam asks. Bucky glares at John. 

“Karli...did that.” John lies, pointing to Annika’s unconscious body. Bucky kneels down to inspect her. She was alive. Just sleeping. He decides to inspect something else. Lifting her shirt, he finds that her bandage has bled through. She did pop at least one stitch. He sighs before picking her up bridal style. “We gotta take her back.” He says to Sam. His friend nods.

[oldbutnotyetwise]

Collateral Beauty

     There is a term out there that most of you are probably familiar with, it is Collateral Damage.  It is defined as Injury inflicted on something other than the intended target, specifically civilian casualties in a military operation.  How two words like Collateral Damage can sum up the destroyed dreams, homes, and bodies of adults and children, well there is just something fundamentally wrong with that.

     There is another term out there that is not as common, although I wish it was.  It is called “Collateral Beauty”, and it means no matter how dark or how difficult the time is, there is something beautiful that is happening right there.  You just have to look, you just have to see it.

     So let’s talk about some examples of Collateral Beauty.  Let’s go back to Nazi Germany where horrible atrocities had become the norm and people were exterminated and were subjected to inhumane conditions beyond the understanding of almost all of us.  Where was the collateral beauty there?  I would suggest that it was there in the people who hid the persecuted people, that smuggled people out to safety, and just showed kindness to mostly strangers, even when it put them at risk of becoming the persecuted. 

     What about the front line healthcare workers, overworked, understaffed, working to exhaustion because if they don’t then their patients don’t receive the care that they need.  I can remember years ago stopping in at a Palliative Ward at a hospital, it was a horribly depressing, hopeless place, but I saw this nurse working there who despite her heavy work load took the time to actually connect with her patients, hold their hands, look them in the eyes, or share some kind words.  That was Collateral Beauty.

     I remember at my father’s funeral as I stood there greeting the people coming to pay their respects.  You know what I remember from that day?  I remember the guy that came up and shook my hand and said that I wouldn’t remember him but he used to live down the street from me.  When he was little he didn’t have a bicycle and when my Dad found that out, my Dad bought a used bike, fixed it up, painted it and then gave it to him.  He hadn’t seen my Dad in years but when he saw the obituary, he came to pay his respects to this man who had shown him this kindness when he was a child.  That is the most distinct memory I have of my father’s visitation, and I am forever grateful to that person for sharing it with me.  That was Collateral Beauty twice over.  First when my Dad gave him that bike, then when he came to the funeral home all those years later and shared that story with me.  It brought a warmth to my heart on a day when it needed it.

     If you are fortunate enough to have a young child available to you, go for a walk with them, hold their hand and just listen, and I mean really listen to them.  It is like young children have a PHD in Collateral Beauty, they will point out that dandelion growing out of that crack in the sidewalk, the shape of a cloud that looks like some animal, the bird other creature, all things that if you were walking alone you probably wouldn’t have noticed because you’re to busy thinking about what just happened, or what is about to happen, or what you need to get done.  Our busy world robs us of the ability to see Collateral Beauty.

     I remember after my second marriage broke down and my future was not looking hopeful.  I lived in this tiny one bedroom apartment and sometimes when I was really struggling I would walk out of my building, turn left, walk 6 or 7 blocks down to the other end of the street where I would knock on Suzanne’s door and she would open her door, give me one of the best hugs known to mankind, I would thank her and wander back home feeling that just maybe I could make it through another day.  Had I not been in such a terrible place I would have never known the huge difference that a simple embrace could make in someone’s day, I compare it to throwing the life ring to a drowning person.

     Dare is say look for the collateral beauty on 9/11?  Think about it though, first responders coming into work on their day off without being asked, everyday people doing extraordinarily heroic feats, saving friends, coworkers and strangers.  Is that not Collateral Beauty?

     Think about the old couple where illness and their advanced years have ravaged their once young and able bodies.  Look at them as they shuffle down the street holding hands despite all their challenges, that is Collateral Beauty.

     I have sat it Cancer Hospitals while my Mother or friends received treatment.  On the one hand it is a place where there is so much hardship. Pain and heartache, but on the other hand there are people in these places who work or even volunteer and are often able to bring just that little bit of joy to someone struggling so hard.  If you are looking for angels on earth, a Cancer Hospital might be a good place to start.  I remember when my Mom had lost her hair due to her treatment and we went to the front desk where the volunteer pulled out a box and offered my Mom a few kerchiefs that had been made and donated by volunteers.  Imagine that, people doing something for a complete stranger, something that I am sure touches the heart of the Cancer patient, and they are doing it anonymously, no one is sticking a cell phone camera in their face so they can later post to Social Media about what they have done.  

     I was hiking on my property one day and I startled a Buck in one of my fields.  He went bounding off but I just stood there not moving.  After he was about sixty feet away he stopped and looked back at me.  Then over the next twenty minutes or so as I stood still he slowly came back until he was ten or fifteen feet away from me.   Apparently he was as curious about me as I was about him.  We stood there looking at each other for ten or fifteen minutes.  It was magical and I savoured the time shared with this buck, and my cell phone camera remained in my pocket.  Eventually he wandered off and I finished my hike basking in the Collateral Beauty I had just been a witness to.

     When my Mom was nearing the end of her Cancer Fight I remember a Palliative Doctor who came to the house.  The Doctor sat on the floor in front of the chair where my Mom was sitting.  She held my Mom’s hand, took the time to learn a little about her and then asked her how she would like this last stage of her life to go.  She was asking my Mom how she wanted to die, yet it was done so gently and with such kindness that it still moves me to this day.  That is Collateral Beauty.

     Collateral Beauty does not have to be some big gesture, it can often be the smallest of gestures yet still have a profound effect.  Think about the person who helps the senior across the road, the person who stops and helps someone at the side of the road change a flat tire, all the volunteers that coach sports teams giving freely of their time, maybe the person who just stops and and thanks that overworked cashier or waitress who is having a rough day and has just dealt with a difficult customer.  All these are examples that you might not notice as you live your life at breakneck speed.

     Here is your Homework, or a Request, or maybe just something I am asking you to consider.  Next time you have ten or fifteen minutes I would like to ask you to just sit down somewhere, in a mall, in a park, in a hospital, in a public building or anywhere that people are.  I want you to look around, and I mean look hard to see the Collateral Beauty that I suspect will be there.  There is a quote by Carl Van that applies here; “You will find what you are looking for, therefore look for what you hope to see”.  

    The other thing about Collateral Beauty is that the more you look for it, the more you will see it.  Before you know it you will be seeing it several times a day, and there is a good chance it will bring a smile to your face, and a warmth to your heart.  

     Now that you know what it is, will you actually slow down long enough to notice some Collateral Beauty in your world?

[auxiliarydetective]

Love and War, Chapter 13

The End

i. | ii. | iii. | iv. | v. | vi. | vii. | viii. | ix. | x. | xi. | xii. | xiii.

AO3

▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄✼▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄

Landsberg had been a shock. But Anita hoped it would be the last. Already the next morning, Easy continued on to Berchtesgaden, the city where every high-ranking Nazi had a house. Anita felt it was a cruel irony how beautiful the town was. It could have come directly from a fairytale with its painted facades, ornamented balconies and the scenery of the mountains around it. In the center of the town was a large hotel, the Berchtesgadener Hof. This was where the officers would get their billet. It was the only ugly house in the town, in Anita’s mind. Gigantic swastika banners hung at either side of its entrance. The entrance itself was beautiful again, large golden letters spelling out its name over a wooden door with stained glass windows. Inside, a metal bust of Hitler stared at Anita as soon as she entered, making her grimace. Nixon stood behind the front desk, looking through the different bookings.

“This reads like a newspaper,” he said when he noticed Anita approaching. “All the big names. Ministers, generals…”

“Like a second Berlin,” Anita remarked, “only smaller and a lot more beautiful, I bet.”

“Have you ever been to Berlin?”

“No, never. But I can’t imagine much that’s more beautiful than this. If it wasn’t for the swastikas everywhere. – Speaking of which, sir, do I get to tear those banners down?”

“Go wild,” Nixon said with a smile. “But don’t forget about the billets while you’re at it.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sir,” Anita grinned. “I imagine Colonel Sink gets the best and we keep companies together?”

“Exactly. Here’s your keys,” he said, handing her a large keyring with dozens of keys.

So, Anita started exploring the hotel, looking at the rooms, deciding who to place where, getting caught on almost every balcony. On her way, she found great joy in tearing down every swastika flag or banner she saw. Her mind kept going back to the Hitler bust in the entrance hall. The longer she thought about it, the more she wanted to put a bullet between its eyes. But would the bullet even do anything to the metal? Besides, she had promised to stay away from guns.

Finally, every room was assigned and Anita found herself in the entrance hall again, piling up all her torn-down banners and flags behind the front desk. She had even grabbed a ladder to take down the ones higher up. A bit of gasoline and these would make a lovely bonfire. Just like Nixon before, Anita opened up the book with the previous guests and started pouring through the names. It really was like the news. She had never seen so many big names in one place. The biggest ones, like Göring and Himmler, were missing, but only because they probably had a house in this town.

After preparing the billets in the hotel, Anita went looking for the post office. She didn’t know for how long Easy would be staying in Berchtesgaden, but if it was a longer span of time, she would be spending her time there, probably. Then again, they hadn’t been staying anywhere for long recently. But maybe, that was about to change. She certainly didn’t have anything against it, considering the sheer beauty of this town.

The post office was in a three-story building with a beautifully ornamented façade and multiple balconies. Its interior was graceful, the front desk and shelf behind it made of shiny wood. Out of sheer curiosity, Anita felt herself pulled towards the letters still in the shelf. For some reason, she hoped to find a letter to Göring or maybe even to Hitler. She might vomit if she read it, considering it was probably full of ideological garbage, but the pure proximity to someone that had been like a legendary villain to her for years… In the end, she found nothing. Maybe it was for the best. Otherwise, she might even think they were human.

That was when the door to the office opened, the small bell at the entrance ringing lightly.

“I knew you’d be here,” Don said.

A wide grin was plastered across his face. Since weeks, no, months, Anita hadn’t seen him so happy. He seemed so light, as if nothing could weigh him down. He went straight up to her, meeting her behind the desk, taking a hold of both of her hands.

“Happy V-E Day.”

“Happy… what?” Anita mumbled, looking at him with large, confused eyes.

“Victory in Europe, Annie, the Germans surrendered!”

It took a few seconds for those words to sink in. But when they did, Anita grinned just as widely as Don and let out a small squeal of happiness. Overjoyed, she placed her hands on both his cheeks and pressed a kiss on his mouth. It was over! It really was over! She could already see them heading back home to the states, in peace, with nothing to worry about.

Hand in hand, Don and Anita went outside. The streets were filled with soldiers embracing each other, cheering and celebrating.

“Hey, Anita!” Luz called from the crowd. He held up a bottle of champagne. “There you are! C’mon, have a drink!”

“Where’d you get that?” Anita asked, marvelling at the label. It looked awfully expensive for all she knew.

“We’ve got a whole truckload. It’s from Göring’s house. Got a wine cellar as big as a concert hall. – C’mon, take the whole bottle, we’ve got plenty!”

So, Anita took the bottle into her hands and poured the golden liquid down her throat. It reminded her of her burlesque club at home, of New Year’s Eve, of the Fourth of July. It tasted like victory.

That night, various banners and flags were piled up in the town square, along with picture frames, statuettes and other Nazi symbols, drenched in gasoline and then set on fire. Everyone cheered and drank, gathered around the fire as its sparks climbed into the sky. Finally, the Nazis were done for. It was over, and now they were burning their pride, their hubris that they thought they could have won this cursed war. But now that they had admitted their defeat, it would soon all be over.

Already well tipsy and drunk on happiness, Anita got an idea. She excused herself from her conversation with Janovec and started searching the crowd for one specific person. It took her a while, but she finally found him. Liebgott was a little off to the side but looking as bright as ever, grinning across both cheeks. He spotted her as she came closer, grinned even wider and waved.

“Hey, Anita! Haven’t seen you all night! Where’ve you been?”

“By the fire, where’ve you been?”

“Here! Couldn’t be bothered to come looking for me, wish me a happy V-E Day?”

“Happy V-E Day, Joe.”

“Happy, V-E Day, Anita. Want a drink?”

“Thanks, I’ve already had enough. – Listen, I was wondering if you wanted to tag along and kill Hitler.”

Liebgott laughed. “You’ve gotta be really drunk. That fucker’s been dead for a while now!”

“I don’t mean that Hitler. Come on, you’ll see what I mean. Come on.”

So, she grabbed him by the arm and started dragging him through the streets, towards the Berchtesgadener Hof. She pushed open the front doors. Immediately, that awful metal bust stared her in the face, fueling her conviction.

“That Hitler,” she said, pointing right between its eyes.

Liebgott grinned. “Nothing like an act of vandalism.”

So, they heaved the bust off its pedestal and dragged it to the elevator. As they waited for it to reach the higher floors, they grinned at each other like teenage troublemakers planning the prank of their lifetime. With the ping of the elevator arriving, they laughed and maneuvered the bust out. They carried it to the next best room with a balcony. There they stood in the gentle night. Both of them leaned over the railing to gaze down at the rugged mountainside beneath. They looked at each other and nodded. With one final effort of strength, they heaved the metal Hitler over the edge of the balcony. Under their triumphant calls, it tumbled down, crashed onto the rocks and shattered.

The next morning, Easy Company had to move on again. Nobody wanted to leave Berchtesgaden. That was until they saw Austria. The whole way, Anita was mesmerized by the beauty of her surroundings. Tall mountains covered in snow, green meadows, sparkling lakes… Not only that, but the people they drove past waved at them in joy – what a contrast to Landsberg. Every once in a while, the soldiers would break out into a song from home, oftentimes led by choirmaster Luz. Anita would sing with them, closing her eyes and dreaming she was back in Arizona. To her, the war was over.

This time, she had no billets to prepare. They were staying at a hotel and the owners had been informed they were coming. All rooms were already assigned. At the front desk, a kind-looking woman awaited Anita. In an English with a heavy accent that Anita found very endearing, she welcomed her and told her about the shelf behind her, how every room had its own cubby where letters would usually be stored. They talked for a long time about life, about beauty, about the surrounding nature.

What started now was a time of bliss. Every morning, Anita would take a walk to the nearby lake through the forest, breathe in the fresh air, enjoy the view. The weather was great. Even on days when it rained, Anita wouldn’t let her mood be tinted. She would either play cards with her friends or curl up in her room with Don, just the two of them.

But there was one thing that tainted the beauty: Rumours were that the 101st Airborne would be reassigned and sent to the pacific. Now, all that mattered were a soldier’s points – and none of her friends had enough. It was cruel. It was unfair. These men had been in the army since a year before D-Day, had fought in so many battles, were known as war heroes because of many of them – and yet they still didn’t get the points. Anita guessed why: They were all too young. What got a soldier the most points were kids. Twelve points for a child. A medal only got you five. Because of how young they were, it was only natural that none of her friends had kids, and so they were usually left only a few points short. Anita thought it was unfair. War was robbing them of their youth. If no miracle happened, they would go to the Pacific. And then what would happen to her?

But that was only a small worry. One especially lovely evening, Don took Anita out to the lake for a picnic. They picked a spot on a hill near the dock and put their blanket down there. The sun glimmered on the surface of the water and the air was light and breezy. Enjoying the warmth, Anita closed her eyes and unbraided her hair, letting it flow in the wind. Don took her hand in his and caressed it gently.

“I still can’t believe it,” he murmured.

“Believe what?” Anita echoed, opening her amber eyes to look at him.

In this light, his hair looked fiery red and she felt like she could count each and every one of his freckles.

“How did I deserve someone as pretty as you?”

Anita smiled and placed a hand on his cheek. “Let’s see… You’re kind, you’re caring… you’re perfect, Don.”

“Aw, shucks.”

“No, I mean it.”

“I’m supposed to be the one saying that.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t say it. You’re perfect. I wouldn’t want to be with anyone else.”

Don smiled. He got up from the blanket and pulled her up with him. Together, they walked onto the dock, into the dancing reflections glistening from the water.

“Don…” Anita said slowly. She hated to destroy the mood, but she needed to ask. “Is it true? That they’re sending you to the Pacific, I mean.”

Don sighed. “Yup. We don’t have a date yet, but… it’s pretty much set that we’re going.”

“And you still don’t have the points to go home?”

“No. But… don’t worry about that. It’s all gonna be alright.”

“I just hope it never gets that far. Hopefully, the Japs just surrender before they can send you away.”

“But if they don’t… What are you gonna do?”

Anita looked at her feet, then at the mountains at the other side of the lake. “I’m going home. You know just as well as I do that, if they really send you to the pacific, I can’t follow. I’m not a paratrooper, I can’t jump with you. So… I’ll quit my service in the army and go home.”

“Well, if that’s the case,” Don said, “I’m even more glad I’m doing this now.”

“Doing what?” Anita asked and turned to look at him.

What happened next almost made Anita fall off the dock. In the warm sunlight, Don got down on one knee and pulled a small box out of his pocket. He opened it to reveal a ring inside, a tiny jewel on it sparkling in the light. Anita forgot to breathe and covered her mouth in shock. Her heart had come to a full stop.

“Annie, will you marry me?” Don asked, his voice shaking with nervousness. “I promise I’ll love you forever and I’ll stay true to you, no matter what happens. Once this war is over, we’ll build our own life together and we’ll make it paradise. Alright?”

“Yes!” Anita gasped as tears of happiness formed in her eyes. “Oh my god, yes! I thought you’d never ask!”

Don got up from the ground with a wide grin on his face and pressed his lips on Anita’s, wrapping her in his arms. Even decades later, Anita still counted this as one of the best moments of her life. Don put the ring on her finger and she admired it in all its beauty in the sunlight.

“I’ve been carrying that ring with me since Berchtesgaden,” Don confessed. “I just never found a good opportunity or the confidence to actually go through with the proposal and I didn’t tell anyone because I was worried rumours would get to you and you’d find out before I was ready.”

Anita chuckled. “Oh, baby, you could’ve proposed to me in the middle of a rainstorm while we were both getting soaking wet and freezing and I still would’ve said yes.” She gave him another kiss and they swayed lightly from side to side.

Suddenly, a whistle sounded from the forest. George Luz came strutting towards them with Bull and Liebgott following behind. From the looks of their clothes, they had come to go swimming.

“Hey there, lovebirds!” Luz called. He hopped onto the dock. “Sorry to ruin your moment, but you’re not alone at this lake anymore.”

Don scoffed. “If you’d done this only a minute earlier, I would’ve chopped your head off,” he declared, trying to sound upset – he probably was upset – but the happiness still shone through everything.

“Why?” Luz asked.

Instead of responding, Anita held her hand up to his face and pointed at her ring, a wide grin on her face. For a second, Luz only stared. Then, he beamed and called out:

“Hey, I won!”

Immediately, Anita grabbed him and shoved him off the dock. He fell into the water with a loud splash.

“Bastard,” she scoffed, but couldn’t help but chuckle.

“What the hell was that about?” Don asked.

“A bet with Buck over whether we’d be together by the end of the war.”

Luz broke through the surface again and shook his wet hair. He was still grinning across both cheeks.

“I knew it”, Liebgott beamed as he stepped onto the dock. “Haven’t I always been saying you’d marry?”

Bull gave him a light smack over the head. “You’re supposed to say ‘congrats’, boy.”

“Yeah, yeah. Congrats, guys.”

“Right, how could I forget,” Luz said. “Congrats.”

“Congrats, you two”, Bull said with a kind smile. “When’s the wedding? Hope I can make it.”

“Well…” Anita said slowly and gazed over at Don, “I think we should try to get married before you guys get moving again.”

“Yeah, me too,” Don agreed. “That might mean our families can’t be here, but I want to tie the knot as quickly as possible.”

“Besides, we have our second family right here. That’s what you are to me, anyway.”

“Awww”, Luz said. “Now there’s just one question remaining.”

“What?” Don asked.

“Who’s gonna be the best man?”

“You’re out for it, aren’t you?”

“I give great speeches.”

“Thank god I don’t have to worry about that,” Anita said. “My pick for maid of honor is gonna be way funnier anyway. – By the way, getting a good look at my panties down there, Luz?”

“Perfect.”

“You’re shameless. Get back up here.”

In the end, the pick for best man did fall onto George Luz. Anita never ended up picking a maid of honor – simply because there were no women around – but Liebgott informally took over that task. He and Bull were always at her side throughout the whole planning process, calming her down whenever she got in over her head. By the hotel, Anita was provided with plain white bedsheets and Liebgott helped her secure some lace from a nearby fabric store so that she sewed herself a simple yet elegant wedding dress. That was the elegance she allowed herself. She could have married in her uniform, but for the first time in so long, she wanted to rid herself of her military shell, at least for one day. The officers had a surprise for the wedding too, but that would only become clear the day of the wedding itself.

Anita was sitting in her room, staring out the window. It was still too early to get ready, but she had nothing else to do. She was so terribly nervous. That was when there was a knock at the door.

“Come in!” Anita called without looking at the door. Her thoughts were spinning.

“Well, well, Anita Reed…”

Anita couldn’t believe her ears. Could it be? It couldn’t be. She jumped up from her seat.

“Bill!”

Really, there he stood. Bill Guarnere, shoring himself with a cane, a grin on his face. In utter disbelief, Anita stared at him for a few seconds, then wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tightly.

“Last time I’ll be callin’ you that, huh?” he said and squeezed her.

“Yeah. I, uh, I still can’t believe it,” Anita stammered.

“What, that you’re getting married or that I’m here?”

“Both!”

“I’m not the only one who’s back. Major Winters reached out to us. Figured we’d put a smile on your face.”

“Wait, let me guess, the other person is Buck.”

“You got it. He’s with Malark right now.”

“He’s gotta be so happy.”

“Well, I’d better get going,” Bill said. “I wanna talk to Malark too and you’ve gotta get ready. Something tells me you like takin’ your time.”

“Oh, you don’t even know.”

Seeing Bill and Buck again had been the best wedding gift by far. It turned a wedding destined to be great into a wonderful one. When Don and Anita passed through beneath the arch of rifles, they were beaming with pride, practically glowing with happiness. The day was filled with laughter, song and dance and speeches for eternity. No matter what happened next, this day would always remain as the best in Don and Anita’s lives.

[the-writers-wrench]

I posted 573 times in 2022

That's 17 more posts than 2021!

13 posts created (2%)

560 posts reblogged (98%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@irishironclad

@tiny-dragons-tea-room

@supreme-leader-stoat

@she-is-amused

I tagged 208 of my posts in 2022

#writing advice - 35 posts

#writing refs - 23 posts

#sd - 17 posts

#tmatow - 11 posts

#characterization - 8 posts

#lotr - 5 posts

#writing - 3 posts

#heehee - 3 posts

#but good - 2 posts

#huh - 2 posts

Longest Tag: 133 characters

#that might be causing me problems now but i wouldn't be in a position to have those problems as a writer if it weren't for fanfiction

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Thinking about editing (while transcribing from paper to word doc): Ugh, this is the worst. I hate reading back over my stuff

Actually editing: I think I might've been hyping this up

0 notes - Posted March 14, 2022

#4

I just used character names in my Pathfinder Campaign as NPCs. Now to see if anyone actually reads the chapters I send out.

0 notes - Posted February 2, 2022

#3

Me, starting Harry Turtledove's Southern Victory series: Oh neat what an interesting take on how the Great War might've gone differently

Me, six books in: Okay so this was basically the Great War and interwar if it was also fought on the American continent. The CSA is now Nazi Germany and about to pull a fast one on the "Totally not the French" USA

3 notes - Posted August 23, 2022

#2

You have a typewriter? Lemme see it and also where do I get one I want one it’s the only weird writing shit I don’t have.

I have two actually! First one I got was a 1969 Smith Corona Super Sterling. Named him Wesley Smith O' Rona for reminding me of Smith and Wesson and being a Corona in the Corona pandemic (it might be weird to name typewriters, but IDK). Interesting feature is that the top part slides forward instead of hinging up like most typewriters.

The second one I got was a Royal Quiet De Luxe from (I think, based on serial numbers) 1951. She is named Reine Ginny De Luxe Tranquil for being a Royal Quiet I got in Virginia. She is from the era when typewriters didn't have a 1 key, and instead used a lowercase L to denote 1s. That's why many older fonts have 1s and Ls look very similar. Of the two, she is in a bit better material condition and the one I use the most. Fun fact, apparently Ian Flemming and Ernest Hemingway both used them extensively. Flemming even bought a gold plated one as a reward for finishing Casino Royale and wrote the rest of the James Bond stories on it.

See the full post

14 notes - Posted May 10, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Forget Dante’s Inferno, C.S. Lewis’ “The Screwtape Letters” is the Christian fan fiction we should base our public interpretation of hell on.

One of the things that draws me most to it I think is how insidious screwtape is. You pick up early on that he’s a demon writing to another younger demon, but the way he writes seems like he genuinely cares about his nephew wormwood and his client. Kind of like how sin is starting out. Gentle and welcoming, enticing you with the good side. It’s not until wormwood begins to fail or stumble repeatedly that screwtape’s letters turn more nasty and mean. IRL with sin, that’s when after it’s got hooks into you and you begin to chafe against it. It’s not until the end that we see the true nature of screwtape and wormwood’s relationship. Rather than the familial (if increasingly frustrated) relationship portrayed, the only thing wormwood truly means to screwtape is the ticket to another meal. We get hints of this throughout the book, but I think the final letter really hits it home. One way or another, screwtape is getting a meal. And as much as a small part of me wanted wormwood’s blunders to be part of a realization of God’s grace and the beginning of a redemption arc, I also knew that if the roles were reversed the end result would be the same. The reversal of the meanings of “My dear Wormwood” and “Your affectionate uncle” sent chills down my spine.

Another thing that stood out to me was screwtape’s opinion of “the enemy”. Most of the content of his letters alternate between offering suggestions for wormwood to tempt his patient (more than a few had me going introspective to my own actions) and railing against God. None of the demons seem to understand why God does what he does, because they seem incapable of understanding who he is. All they see is someone standing in between them and a feast of souls. Therefor, he must be the bad guy, and they must win in the end because humans are dumb cattle and he’s the bad guy.

The last bit, a later addition where screwtape proposes a toast to the graduating class of the demon college, is more political than the first book, but something that could’ve been written yesterday. Screwtape had talked about social issues previously, but this was a cranking up of the dial. Everything from how we’re being turned more adversarial against fellow man, how equality of outcome is being turned into the definition of democracy, these are issues we’re facing to this day. I had to check when C.S. Lewis wrote this and when he died, just to be sure he hadn’t somehow survived into the 21st century. Perhaps it’s more political than the previous letters and makes a bit of a jarring transition, but considering 20 years passed between the original book and the toast, and the fact they weren’t originally meant to be bundled together, I’m willing to give it a pass. That, and the fact we were dealing with the same issues 60 years ago is strangely comforting. Nothing new is under the sun. It was here already, long ago; it was here before our time.

32 notes - Posted June 28, 2022

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[vergess]

The good Samaritan IS the 'localized' version. The thesis is, "your internal beliefs are less valuable than your external actions."

Another version, eg, is the Reason for the Atheist

It's a story about identifying a person's actions not their background data. And, I think it's worth emphasizing that the audience is, in fact, a specific character within the narrative, same as Jesus himself.

With that in mind, I have 2 points to make.

First: The people who pass the dying man aren't a cop and a priest. I get that "priest" is how people translate rabbi, but it really interferes with the way people conceptualize rabbis at all. And I'm certain christian Americans don't generally know who/what levites even are.

The people who pass the dying man are more accurately a teacher and a doctor. Both are, in this case, members of groups that are trained to save lives and handle emergencies around dead bodies (American school shooting statistics are... dismal).

Those are the people who turn away. Who don't even check if the thing on the side of the road is alive, though they would have obligations to a corpse too.

And THEN the foreigner from the other side of the war, stuck in the same neighborhood by careless colonizers. THEN, after a DOCTOR walked away from his maybe-dead body... this person we don't know, who walks like a soldier and clearly fought for the other side. This person that WE, THE AUDIENCE have been taught to see as the insurmountable Other comes along, and he walks towards the could-be corpse. At best WE expect him to be killed quicker.

But the Man We Distrust checks for a pulse. Cleans and bandages the wounds. Feeds and hydrates the body. We, the audience, know the traveller is alive. We never actually see the traveller respond to any of this treatment; we can only assume.

What matters is not the traveller, after all, but the kindness shown to the traveller. What matters is the shared respect for human beings, between the audience and the Samaritan. The "we're not so different after all."

It's a story about the hypocrisy that exhaustion breeds, and how to identify both failure of duty among each other, and the responsibility of kindness to each other.

Both Jews and Samaritans were exhausted, colonized peoples. And tension from that exhaustion could easily lead to Yet Another War.But resolving that tension allows one to direct the anger of exhaustion to the people responsible.

See, my second point is, we keep forgetting, there is a villain in the story.

Here's how I would localize it today, for the rural baptist area I grew up in.

Dying man: A little blond white child, still dying

Rabbi: Elementary school teacher, social worker, etc

Levite: Pediatric doctor, nurse etc

Samaritans: An "obvious gang of thugs." Mostly Latino and Black men. Wearing similar clothes and """walking aggressively"""

The gang of thugs from the actual story itself: Cops who thought the kid was a school shooter. TERFs who thought the kid was trans. Nazis who heard the kid was Jewish. Rich businessmen who starved the kid to death in the streets. Whatever actually hurt the dying child in the first place.

The moral is, simply, that our allies are not defined by the names they use or their mere proximity to us. They are defined by HELPING US AND EACH OTHER.

And who is "Us?"

Not the people actually hurting us, that's for damn sure.

The closest a cop is getting to being in this story is as the gang of thugs who nearly killed the traveller in the first place.

I'm attaching an English la copy of the parable below.

Courtesy of Wikipedia:

Behold, a certain lawyer stood up and tested [Jesus], saying, "Teacher, what shall I do to inherit eternal life?"

He said to [the lawyer], "What is written in the law? How do you read it?"

[The lawyer] answered, "You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbour as yourself."

[Jesus] said to him, "You have answered correctly. Do this, and you will live."

But [the lawyer], desiring to justify himself, asked Jesus, "Who is my neighbor?"

Jesus answered:

He said to [the lawyer], "What is written in the law? How do you read it?"

[The lawyer] answered, "You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbour as yourself."

[Jesus] said to him, "You have answered correctly. Do this, and you will live."

Random thought brought on by seeing a veterinarian sign on the drive to Coffee Land, but I think Jesus would really appreciate people localizing his parable of the Good Samaritan.

Because, like, it's a good story, right? When the administrator-guy and the holy man wouldn't help the injured, the Samaritan went out of their way to make sure the injured man was able to get the help they needed, paid out of their own pocket. And that's good and all, but what even is a Samaritan? Do you know?

Well, they're a ethnoreligious group from northern Israel who follow Samaritanism, which split from Judaism sometime around the 11th century BCE. There's only about a thousand of them left. But around the time of Jesus, they were not very popular with your average Hebrew. Remember the Seleucid empire that was oppressing jews? There's a yearly celebration about it, involving a candle that lasted for 8 nights. Yeah. So at the time the Samaritans had taken the opportunity to point out they're not Jewish, they're Samaritans, so they wouldn't be persecuted. So they were seen as, like, selling out their brothers and sisters in the faith. Then by the time the Romans took over the whole area, the province of Judaea contained Samaria.

So basically the Jews and the seen-to-have-sold-them-out Samaritans were stuck in the same province, thanks to some Romans consolidating the areas they'd conquered. Tensions between the two groups were high, and I don't imagine either of them liked each other very much at all.

To a Jew of the first century CE, a Samaritan is basically the worst kind of person you could be, and that's exactly why Jesus used them in the parable of the Good Samaritan!

The parable isn't about Samaritans. It's about how the worst person you can imagine is a better person than the people you idolize and uplift, if that person takes care of their fellow man. It's about how you should love your neighbor as yourself, and who is your neighbor? Everyone. All people are your neighbors. Help them when they need help!

And that's why I say it should really be localized. You should tell this parable differently than it was told in AD 29 or whenever. Do you hate Samaritans? Probably not! You probably barely know who they are, even after I did some explaining up there. So why use them as your example? If Jesus was here, I don't think he would have done that.

So like, if you were giving a sermon on the good Samaritan in the 1960s to a white church, you should be like "so the policeman walked past, and the pastor walked past, but then a poor black guy saw the injured man, and got him help at the local hospital."

In the 80s, his rescuer is Soviet. In the 2000s, they're a Muslim, from Afghanistan or Iran.

Today? Maybe they're trans.

As an American, there's been many times that "Mexican" would have been the best choice. Maybe even today, especially if you specifically make them an undocumented migrant.

But yeah, the point is that you pick the group of people most hated by the audience you're talking to, and make the point that THEY ARE A BETTER PERSON THAN YOU and ALL THOSE YOU UPHOLD AS PILLARS OF THE COMMUNITY if they help their fellow man. If your worst enemy is lying injured in the street, you call the ambulance, you pay their doctor, you get them help. That's what Jesus says you should do. That's loving your neighbor, that's the Great Commandment.

And in the Roman province of Judea back in the first half of the first century, when talking to a Jewish audience, that meant the rescuer was a Samaritan helping a Jew. That was just the context for that one particular telling of the story. It shouldn't be told the same way today, or in the future. It should be an evolving parable, always changing, always adjusting the nationalities and situations and genders and everything. It's not a story about a specific event, it doesn't pretend to be history, it's a metaphorical lesson about what makes you a good person.

This parable is basically in the form of an "X, Y and Z walk into a bar" joke, and just like jokes, it should be updated over time. Those don't stay funny though the decades, as cultural attitudes shift. And this parable hasn't been updated in nearly two millenia, so it's long overdue.

[deanwasalwaysbi]

The Winchesters Pilot - What do we know about the box? Was that Samuel Campbell at the beginning?

The paper Mary found describes a magical box and says:

Follow the path of 1 toward Heaven. Second spot is four less seven Find the forth behind Hells door, Six suns set on the Western floor I will always lead you here, Ending the darkness that we all fear

My first thought was THE EMPTY - and I Screamed. but once I calmed down I started thinking dimensions and the Acreda. there are also strong Amara vibes I am choosing to ignore.

We have seen a demon get sucked inside, into this tiny box. So either it's a trap or it's a door. If it's a door I would expect it goes to another dimension.

Either way - what happens if a person we care about at some point gets sucked into the box too? 🤔 hrmm (don't hurt Lata!)

The MoL locked it up for a reason - which they wouldn't do if this awesome piece of tech was a no downsides monster trap. So maybe it can suck people in or the Acreda can use this to cross over. Per @greatcometcas Akreda is ancient Greek for Locusts and doesn't that just have Vibes.

The paper also had these symbols on it, one of which Samuel someone with a bag with the initials S.C. wrote in blood to open the Manhole of Letters at the beginning of the episode. (A bit of digital manipulation and highlighting) I was convinced the symbols would combine together to create the Men of Letters symbol. No such luck yet. Unless we separate them into their base ancient ruins. ...

Started with the assumption that this person was Samuel - possible Tom Welling stand-in notwithstanding - that leads me to some questions.

Apparently the symbol he drew into the dish is called an Odal Rune or an Othala. (thank you @swordofsun!) Unfortunately I know it as a symbol co-opted by nazis, but it's is one of the oldest and most widely used runes in ancient Norse, Germanic, and Anglo-Saxon cultures. It was used for the “o” sound and is symbolic of lineage and genetic inheritance.

So - so I had been assuming this Indiana jones looking man was Samuel Campbell, but is he? I still think that is most likely but it feels like this symbol should have been drawn in MoL legacy blood to open the door. We've seen that before. I'm fine with that being unnecessary, but it would be fun if that meant 1) Samuel had ties to MoL 2) The Campbells have some history with the Acreda or 3) That isn't Samuel.

This is about when @wigglebox asked me if that man looked like Jensen and, now that you mention it.... I don't see bow legs, but it does kind of look like the back of his head? Is this Jensen/Dean? Is this Henry/Gil? Is this just Samuel/Tom? IDK. Someone tell me who this looks like to you, where my hand freaks at?

I want it to be Dean, he's a legacy and it would be a fun twist, but I think Dean would be better able to handle himself and he's wearing a wedding ring so for that to be Dean he'd have to be married to Cas at this point - Which obv means I am fully on board 😂💙💚. Nah, I think it was likely Samuel.

Symbols on the paper (bear with me there are a LOT of interpretations online and I do not know what I'm doing):

MoL Symbol - Unicursal Hexagram associated with symbolic magical, and spiritual connections. "Our crest. The Aquarian Star, representing great magic and power. They say it stood at the gates of Atlantis itself." Combination of 2 Kauną (see below) and an ᚷ? (top right)

Apparently this is a combination rune used for protection - or protection of family. I feel like this looks like it's a combination of the two symbols Inguz - fertility or love and Isa/Isaz - ice or death. ᛝ + ᛁ (Top left)

Raido ? - Journey - combined with the symbol for message / god / odin. AR . Also seeing people referring to this as Energy - getting real "the heroes journey" vibes, Robbie. ᚮ + ᚱ

upside down Othada - apparently the main meaning of a reversed othada is “loss of home”? ᛟ

This one I could not find - the only combination I was able to come up with was a double ᛜ a ᛜᛜ which is an inguz from a different culture. Meaning seed, or energy. Creation. - Maybe the duplicate means destruction / the darkness? Like a reverse? It could just as easily be 2 Othadas doubled back on themselves which would be fun thematically.

Othada / Odal- Heritage/Legacy/genetic inheritance or separation or possession ᛟ

combination of Kauną/Kenaz & Igus ᚲ + ᛜ - getting so many interpretations off of these - Kenaz - love/relationship/fire, Igus seed/energy/creation.

If I didn't know better - and I think I do - I'd think this was about Amara - the elusions to god (reverse) and the darkness. But given what we already know I expect this to be about the Acreda. Mostly I think this is a warning about an interdimensional door. I was clowning for a second when I found an interpretation relating to a journey in time, but I don't think it holds up.

Thank you to @escapingpurgatorypodcast @endofthebookpod & dearly to @deanncastiel for the image source!

I sincerely hope someone who knows better can make some sense of this