#randomly bringing up ww2

[dynamitegun]

You know how Ashley's entire arc in ME1 revolves around her family being ostracized by the Alliance for her grandfather's actions during the First Contact War? (This is the part of the date, where they go to the bathroom and never come back, btw)

I always felt the scapegoating of General Williams was especially horrible because he was thrown into an unwinnable battle. The Turians gained orbital superiority over Shanxi, and began striking anything that put up resistance.

Faced with either complete destruction, starvation or capitulation, an entire colony of civilians under his care Gen. Williams made the choice to surrender.

And apparently putting innocent lives before some pigheaded sense of honor? Paria for the rest of his life. Hell Ashley claims he'll go down in history beside Benedict Arnold (Who betrayed the infant United States to England during the AWI*) and Vidkun Quisling (The Nazi puppet leader of occupied Norway during WW2) when asked about his reputation.

*It's slightly my complicated then that but now isn't the time

He made a tough decision and people didn't like the outcome.

But the reason I bring this up is because I've always draw parallels with Shanxi being besieged and another battle that it reminds me of.

Bataan.

If you've never heard of it? So long as you're not Filipino or American I can't blame you. In those darkest days after the U.S entered WW2 an entire American army was to find itself fighting a forlorn hope on the Bataan peninsula 30 miles west of Manila after the Japanese invaded the archipelago.

For three months the American and Filipino forces fought a delaying action, waiting for reinforcements that were never to arrive. Bombed day and night as their guns fell silent. Artillery crashing down on them as their stomachs grew lighter from hunger. Day by day they were pushed backwards until almost completely out of supply and men having been fought to near exhaustion, their officers made the difficult choice to surrender.

That fell to Gen. Jonathan M. Wainwright, highest ranking officer left in the Philippines. Before his meeting with his Japanese counterpart, in telegram to President Roosevelt he explained his reasoning. I want to highlight a phrase he used that I think word for word describes Williams position perfectly.

"There is a limit of human endurance and that limit has long since been passed."

Something we're all familiar with as Mass Effect fans is having to make hard choices as a leader, that sometimes there isn't a 'Right' answer. Yet hidden in the lore of ME1 is probably one of the hardest choices in the series that we have nothing to do with.

But we understand.

[outerspacesteve]

headcanon #10: steve and bucky’s notebook

[TFATWS EP. 3 SPOILERS]

So... Bucky is using Steve’s notebook, leave me alone to cry, please :’)

Imagine Steve giving him the notebook after Endgame, because there’s finally some peace and quiet, so he suggests to Bucky that he catch up on some of the things he missed since WW2.

And later, when Bucky is flicking through the pages, he stumbles across a note:

“Buck,

If you ever need grounding, if you ever need reminding of who you are, just come here. I know this is an awful thing to think, and that everything you went through was horrific, and I can’t even begin to imagine what it was like, but I’m glad we got to see each other again. 

When I woke from the ice and ran into Times Square, I remember the first thing I thought. It wasn’t confusion, it wasn’t shock or anything like that, no, it was “Bucky would’ve loved this.” It was like something straight out of those sci-fi books you used to read. So, in that sense, I’m happy that you get to see it, that you now have the time, and the peace, to explore.

It’s bittersweet in a sense - they got rid of the old laundromat that was down the road from your ma’s, and the grocery, where you used to sneak some extra food from when Mrs Smith wasn’t looking, that’s gone, too. They replaced it with some modern hipster café thing, I don’t really know, I only went there once. I wouldn’t recommend it though, the coffee wasn’t great. 

But he parks are still fairly similar. I never did find out whether our old apartment was still standing. I didn’t really want to know; felt like finding out they’d replaced it would be like cutting one of the last threads tying me to you, and our old life. 

But I got you back. Can you believe that? You were sent to hell and back, countless times, and yet we still found out way back to each other. That’s some next-level destiny shit, Buck.

You were the one person who always knew me. The real me, not the Captain America bullshit. Just plain old Steve Rogers, the little scrawny kid who you had to constantly check back alleys for, any time you were somewhere without me. You never did care for the whole stars-and-stripes façade, and for that I’m thankful. 

I could write pages and pages of things I’m grateful for, or memories that I treasure, but bottom line is, you were everything to me, Bucky, you are everything to me. I’m not sure what I would’ve done without you. You’re worth so much more than you give yourself credit for. You managed to save my sorry ass more times than I can count. And no matter how many times I told you that I could get by on my own, or that I had them on the ropes, you said you knew, but you stayed anyway. 

Remember in ‘37, and winter had just begun, and I had come down with another bout of pneumonia? It was the first time I was bedridden for weeks on end since my ma died. I remember you doing everything you possibly could to help. Of course I was the most uncooperative son of a bitch on the planet.

I must have been a pain in the ass; coughing all night so you hardly slept a wink and would be dead on your feet the next day at work, being too stubborn to let you help me cool down or warm up, refusing any of the soup you would make me. But none of that ever made you leave my side.

I remember, whenever you weren’t fussing over me, or telling me, “Steve, I swear to god, drink this soup or I’m going to force-feed it to you,” you would be telling me about this new book you’d seen in the shop window on your way to the docks. 

You said it was called The Hobbit. You said it was an adventure book, about a group of dwarves searching for some dragon-guarded treasure. You practically had the blurb memorised! You couldn’t afford to buy it, what with me out of a job, and you spending all your money on food and medicine, but you went to the bookshop every day, just to look at it. You said you tried to read a few pages each time you went, but that Mr Robinson soon caught on and threatened to ban you from the store the next time you left without buying anything. You even checked the library, but it was a new book and they didn’t have it there, either.

You didn’t let me get a new job that winter, said it was better not to risk getting ill again, and that we would be able to figure anything else out. Obviously, I put up a fight, but eventually, you managed to convince me. I did take up a few art commissions, though. And I managed to scrape together enough money to buy you the book for Christmas.

I remember the way your face lit up. Even though our apartment was freezing, and our Christmas tree was tiny, and dying, and all kinds of pathetic, none of that mattered. I was just glad to see you so happy after all the stress that I’d put you through over the last few months. You said you didn’t mind, and you gave me the tightest hug, and said that your present looked kind of meagre compared to the book. It wasn’t, but even if it was, I would have loved it anyway, because it was from you.

You devoured that book within days. I don’t think I ever saw it more than a few feet away from you. The pages yellowed, became worn and thin, the cover faded and creased, but you still carried it around as though it was your prize possession. I was secretly so happy that it was me who had put that smile on your face.

And then the following spring, when I was once again ill and bed-ridden, you would sit by my bedside, and read The Hobbit to me. Even through my fever-induced haze, I could tell how much you loved the book - it shone through into your voice, into the small smile you’d wear when we got to your favourite parts. I don’t remember much of the storyline, but I do remember you. I think I paid more attention to you than to the book itself.

They wrote sequels, you know? And there’s movies now, too. I never did get around to reading or watching them, though. I couldn’t bring myself to do it without you. Felt like that was something I should be doing with you. You should watch them, sometime. Sam says they’re good.

Anyway, I love you, Bucky. Never forget that. None of it was ever your fault, it wasn’t you. But you’re free now, free to do whatever you want, free to be whoever you want to be. And if you don’t believe that, then believe me, at least until you can believe it for yourself. 

Thank you, Bucky. Truly. For everything.

Love, Steve”

And on every few pages, randomly spread throughout the notebook, there’s a little drawing or doodle that Steve has done. Sometimes they’re drawings of memories shared between him and Bucky, sometimes they’re things Steve thinks Bucky would like, and sometimes they’re just completely random things that he felt like drawing. There’s even a cartoon drawing of Sam doing something stupid, and Natasha just stood off to the side, rolling her eyes. 

Bucky loves all of them. But the one he likes best is the drawing of him and Steve on the bench at Coney Island, sat shoulder to shoulder, mouths covered in ice cream, and massive grins on both of their faces.

On the bad days, when his head is too loud and he can’t seem to quiet it, he’ll open the notebook. Sometimes he reads the letter, sometimes he just looks at the pictures. Usually, though, Bucky will open the notebook to one of the lists Steve had written when he came out of the ice, and he’ll watch something that Steve had already crossed out, signifying that he had watched it.

He would imagine what Steve’s reaction to the film or show may be, and what Steve might have thought of it. And sometimes, it really does feel like Steve is right there watching with him.

[justfandomwritings]

She’s Got A Friend (Bucky Barnes)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 9.9k

Warnings: Fluff, Angst and nongraphic “off page” minor character deaths 

Summary: Happy endings are a matter of perspective. At some point in every story, there will always be some glorious, shining moment of hope, love, redemption, success. No good story is complete without it.

And if you end the story then, if you end it on a high, you can almost forget that anything came after that.

Notes: Hospital AU for @captainscanadian​ 1k follower writing challenge! I have taken the “Hospital” in hospital AU rather liberally to mean a field hospital in WW2. I thought I’d try a bit of a different writing style for this. Let me know what you think.

The condolences came in the mail only a few days after the official notification arrived on her doorstep from the mouth of some general or another.

She didn’t bother to remember the man’s name, and why should she? He wouldn’t remember her brother’s, let alone hers.

It was hard to stem the tide of her anger in the face of a man so visibly faking his sympathy for her pain. It was harder still to unleash her anger on him; she pitied him almost as much as he faked pitying her. It was just before sunset, and she was his sixteenth stop of the day, with a further 5 to go before he got off that night.

She imagined that, at some point, months ago, he had cared. He had sympathized and cried with grieving widows and orphaned children. No doubt, he had written them letters and checked on their wellbeing, asked after their emotions and made sure they were well. No more. He’d grown numb to the pain his presence inflicted, and with it less sympathetic to the plight of those around him.

By the time he reached her door, by the time he said “Ma’am, we have received word that your brother’s plane was shot down over Occupied France last week. His body has been recovered from the wreckage and will be on route home at the earliest possible date,” to her, he didn’t mean the “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this news. Your brother died a hero, and if there is anything I can do to ease your pain, it would be my honor to do so in his memory,” that followed.

The nameless general had never met her brother. He called every soldier a hero when he met their families, whether it was true or not. If they asked him about how their loved one died, or if they began to cry on his shoulder, he had a practiced speech about how their son or brother or husband had died fighting, died bravely, died to save the lives of millions, died to protect them all.

(Y/n) knew all of that because, even though she didn’t remember his name, she remembered his face. They’d met before. It wasn’t the first time he’d knocked on her door. He was the same general who had come to inform her of her father’s tragic end a few months prior. The general hadn’t remembered her father’s name either, nor hers.

She didn’t bother to point out their association to the man. She thanked him for his service and left him standing on her front step as a door closed in his face.

It was easier for both of them that way.

The letter that came from her brother’s commanding officer was more heartfelt, (Y/n) assumed, but she didn’t read it.

“Ms. (Y/n), By now you have no doubt received word of your brother’s tragic end. Selfishly, I am glad that I was not the one who had to inform you. Your brother was a flying ace in my squadron and a good friend. Retrieving his body brought me to tears for far longer than my commanding officers would like me to admit…”

That was as far as she read. Her brother was dead. They had his body. She was numb to everything else, as numb as the general who showed up at her door, as numb as her brother’s corpse in the grave.

She couldn’t feel, couldn’t think, couldn’t speak.

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(Y/n) walked into the hospital the next day and handed in her resignation. She was just the next in a long line.

Dorothy had resigned the week before. Her husband had been killed in North Africa. She could no longer afford to live in New York, not that cost of living was at the front of her mind. She was moving back South with her two children, both under 5 years old, to live with her aging parents.

Vera had gotten married to a hotshot factory owner and resigned to plan her wedding. The rest of the ward had scorned her as she trotted out with her chin held high and a smirk on her face. She’d never done the work because she loved it like the rest of them, and she had no qualms about letting them all know it.

Ruth was on her way out the door in a week. She was following her husband to England where he’d be training pilots at an RAF airfield. Normally, that sort of thing wouldn’t be allowed, wives being stationed with their husbands. Ruth, however, was a pretty good mechanic and often worked on her husbands planes in her free time, and without any children to worry about, the Army was really getting two for the price of one.

Juanita’s departure had no doubt hit the hardest. With so many men dying overseas, crime on the home front had been virtually forgotten. Juanita’s son brought it back to life. Too weak to be enlisted in the army, her son had taken up work at the docks that he never would’ve been physically qualified for if not for all the men being drafted. Three weeks on the job, he was mugged by a group of drunken sailors out for their last night of freedom. He died in the hospital with his mother only a few doors down in a different wing.

The most senior nurse on staff, Juanita used to run the ward, but after her son died in the building, she couldn’t even look at the hospital anymore.

“(Y/n),” Mary sighed and scrubbed the heel of her palm into her eyes to try to wipe away the sleep. “We’re short staffed already.”

There was a begging to her tone, and any other day the pain etched across her face would’ve been enough to convince (Y/n) to stay. Mary was her friend, by some accounts her best friend.

“I know Mary, and I’m sorry. I just can’t stay here anymore. I can’t walk past my brother’s room. I can’t ride down the streets my brother and I used to play in. I can’t go in the shop he used to own. I just can’t.”

Mary swallowed hard; when she spoke the lump in her throat became more apparent with each word. “I understand that you’re in pain, but this hospital…”

“That’s just it,” (Y/n) cut her off, slipping into the seat across the desk from her friend. She’d refused to sit when she first came to see Mary, hoping to be in and out quickly, but not now. “I don’t feel anything, Mary. I can’t look at his room because I know I should be heartbroken. I can’t travel down the street because I know I should be in pain. I can’t go in his shop because I know I should be crying. But I’m not. I don’t feel hurt or worried or upset. I don’t feel anything; I’m just numb.”

“Numb?” Mary furrowed her brow. “You’re leaving because you think you should be in more pain?”

“I’m leaving because I loved my brother, because I should be feeling something, but I’m not. I feel nothing, and that scares me even more.”

“Where will you go?”

“I don’t know yet. Somewhere I will feel something.”

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Her brother had been Air Force, but her father had been Army.

She couldn’t bring herself to go to one of the Air Force’s recruiting offices. Part of her was worried she would have an emotional breakdown speaking to the men in charge. A larger part of her was worried she would feel nothing at all, a sign she was heading in the wrong direction.

The Army felt safer. She hadn’t been numb to her father’s death. She’d cried and mourned, and though the thought still overwhelmed her with sadness, she knew she would one day move on. About her brother, (Y/n) didn’t know what to think.

“What experience do you have?”

(Y/n) found herself sat in front of some captain or another responsible for organizing the Army Nursing Corps. He looked bored with her; she doubted managing a bunch of women was what he’d had in mind when he joined the war.

“I’ve worked at Wyckoff Heights Hospital on St. Nicholas in Brooklyn for eight years. I have copies of all of my reviews that show exemplary performance and no reprimands on record.”

The man took the stack of papers from her hand and began flipping through them. He stared at each of them for a long time, occasionally giving a ‘hm’ or ‘huh’ to show that he was thinking.

(Y/n) noticed after two pages that he wasn’t actually reading. His eyes weren’t moving from where they looked thoughtfully at the center of the page, and the noises of contemplation came randomly, even on pages that wouldn’t require much consideration.

(Y/n) turned away from the show to glance around the room. To the left was a door to the waiting rooms. Occasionally, when it swung open she could see the rows of shirtless men waiting for their number to be called up for evaluation. There didn’t appear to be many seats open.

She wondered, to herself, how many of them would be accepted, how many of those would make it back alive.

There were family members milling around the hall. A young woman was already weeping near the exit, and she hadn’t even been rejoined by the man she was waiting for. One of the doctors, (Y/n) assumed the portly, greying man was not one of the recruits, was trying his best to comfort her, but he didn’t seem to be having much success.

For the overwhelming number of men waiting to be evaluated and find a place in this war, there were a surprisingly few number of nurses. (Y/n) hadn’t been shown to any waiting room. There was a bench in the half she’d first entered with half a dozen or so women occupying it when she arrived. By the time her name was finally called only two more had come in behind her. The recruiters desk was in a notch in the hallway, not even its own room. The women were forced to state their credentials and make their case with no privacy to his judgments.

At least a dozen of the people milling around, including the old man and young woman by the door, could hear what was being said to her.

The man snapped her file closed with sharp flip of his wrist. “On your application, you’ve marked that you’d like to be assigned to a field hospital. I’m assuming you know nothing about the war. Field Hospitals are on the frontlines, girl.”

“I’m aware.” (Y/n) smoothly replied.

He raised an eyebrow, but none of his other features changed. (Y/n) couldn’t tell if it was condescension or confusion. “Are you now? The nurses in Field Hospitals are shot at almost as much as the soldiers. You think the Germans will spare you because you have a pretty face?”

“I don’t expect to be spared by anyone.”

His grilling was catching eyes from those milling around.

“And why would a girl like you want to find herself on the front lines?”

“I just want this war to end with as little bloodshed as possible. Helping where the men need it most seems like a good start.”

“Excuse me, ma’am.”

German.

(Y/n)’s eyes whipped around, as did many others in the hallway. There was a German here.

“My name is Dr. Erskine,” He proclaimed, more quietly this time, “I may have a job for you.”

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Erskine didn’t try to replace her father.

He offered a guiding hand out of the goodness of his heart. He offered a shoulder to cry on because he could see she hadn’t yet grieved. He offered insight, advice, from the wisdom of his own experience.

Erskine wasn’t trying to replace her father, and yet he did so many things she wished her father was there to do.

He offered her a job because he could see she wanted to find her purpose. He put her up in the barracks because he knew she needed space from her past. He accompanied her on walks at night to keep her nightmares at bay. He filled her waking hours with work when she needed distraction and took the load away when it became too much.

Erskine didn’t try to replace her father. No one could ever replace her father. He was a good substitute though. In times as dark as those, family was what she needed.

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He reminded her of her brother.

That was the first thought that came to (Y/n)’s mind when she met Steve Rogers.

Her brother was younger than her by two years, and as a child he’d always been the smaller of the pair. For most of their childhood, her brother could barely reach her shoulder. Stretching his arms as wide as he could, he’d be lucky if his reach went from (Y/n)’s wrist to wrist. Short and scrawny, he’d not caught up to his sister’s size until he was a teen, but once he’d caught up, there was no looking back.

Steve reminded her of him. The size, for one thing, was an unmistakable similarity, but there was an air to Steve, an air of familiarity that made her feel at home. Every time she looked at him, she saw her baby brother. Not the strong, handsome man he was when he died, but the fearless, young boy she wished he would’ve stayed forever.

She monitored the health of all of Erskine’s candidates in the Strategic Scientific Reserve, but she couldn’t deny she paid special attention to Steve.

They all paid special attention to Steve.

Erskine liked his sense of justice. His conscience oozed out of his every pore. No one had ever argued with Steve and been right about it. They were talking about making a superhero here, and yet there was a very real sense amongst them that Steve already had a superpower: always doing the right thing.

Peggy had an immediate fondness for him. He was determined, beyond belief, and she admired that spark in him that refused to be snuffed out. He knew, in his heart, what he believed, and he was more than willing to die for it. Peggy was too.

Only the Colonel, Chester Phillips, doubted Erskine’s decision. He paid special attention to Steve, but he did so only as a foil. He liked to compare Steve to other men in the camp, men he’d chosen for the project, rather than the one Erskine had brought on. “Brown is stronger,” or  “Donalds is faster,” were common phrases in his office.

In truth, they were all stronger. They were all faster. On paper, any one of them would’ve made a better super soldier than Stever Rogers.

“That’s what Phillps does not understand,” Erskine told her one day while they worked in his lab. “It isn’t about what’s on paper. It’s about what’s in his heart.”

“So it’s going to be Steve?” (Y/n) asked.

Erskine nodded. “Do you agree?”

(Y/n) hesitated. She didn’t want to blindly agree with the accolade simply because he reminded her of her brother. She also didn’t want to naively dismiss it to save him the risk because he reminded her of her brother.

She knew Steve Rogers; she would like to think she knew him well. They were friends. Yet the more she got to know him the more she saw her brother in him. That chest cold that wouldn’t go away when her brother was eight, the fight he lost with a boy who’d made a lewd joke about her skirt, the way he’d adamantly stood up for their father’s memory as a soldier; their kind hearted mother teaching him to temper his words.

She knew Steve Rogers well, and the more she knew him the more she saw him as her brother. The more she saw him as her brother, the more she knew he had to do this. He needed to do this.

“I agree.”

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“Steve, you may as well ask her out. If you’re going to spend this much time ogling her, she at least deserves dinner out of it.”

Steve’s face turned as red as the apple she was chewing, and (Y/n) couldn’t hold in her smirk.

“I-I wasn’t…” Steve glanced over his shoulder, checking that Peggy wasn’t within earshot of (Y/n)’s ribbing.

“It’s all right, Steve. I won’t tell her, but you really should.”

Steve shook his head, definitively turning his back to Peggy. “Please, my entire life girls like that have passed me by.”

(Y/n) rested a hand on Steve’ shoulder. “Your entire life girls who look like that have passed you by, but Peggy isn’t like those girls. If you don’t ask her out, you’ll never give her a chance to prove it.”

Steve chuckled and looked off into the sky. “My friend said something like that to me about this girl, Maria, not long before he left for the front.”

“And did you listen to him?”

“No,” Steve admitted. “He was the one the girls always passed me by for.”

“Well, did he ask them out?” (Y/n) chuckled.

Steve hesitated a second before saying, “Yes.”

“Then that’s why they passed you by. Your friend sounds like he has a good head on his shoulders. You should listen to him.”

Steve gave (Y/n) a fond smile. “You remind me a lot of him. It’s easier, having you here.”

“It’s easier having you here too.”

(Y/n) didn’t know if that was true, but she was starting to think it might be. She was starting to feel something. Steve was helping her remember the good times with her brother, before the Army and the War. Back when they were just two kids in Brooklyn.

She missed him.

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Erskine. Gone.

Would this war take everyone from her?

(Y/n) kneeled in a pool of his blood, his body splayed out in front of her.

She’d dedicated years of her life to Erskine’s work. She’d dedicated time, money, opportunities. She’d dedicated everything she had and more. Gone.

His work was gone. Erskine was gone.

He was her friend, her family; and he was gone.

She summoned a tear, more than one.

They came slowly at first and then spiralled uncontrollably. Sobs racked her body as she gripped at his hand.

Someone tried to help her up, but she didn’t want up.

Vaguely, she recognized Stark’s voice. He was calling out to her.

“(Y/n), he’s gone.”

Yes, she already knew he was gone. What good was all of his genius when he could only state the obvious.

What good was all of her years in a hospital, all of her years of training, if she couldn’t save a life when it mattered, the one life that mattered.

It felt like hearing her father was gone again.

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They were taking Steve too, as if she had anything left to give.

“Phillips would just as soon send me home. I’m just a lab rat to him.” Steve spat the word out in disgust. “That’s all I am, an experiment, Erskine’s experiment. They wanted an army, but they got me.”

“That’s all you are to him.” (Y/n) quietly corrected.

“And what am I to everyone else?” Steve turned on her, his eyes as red as hers were. “What am I to you?”

“His legacy,” she answered immediately.

She’d been thinking about it a lot. Erskine had been dead for two days, and all she’d been thinking about was him and Steve and the little family she’d made for herself at Lehigh. Erskine the father, Steve her brother, Peggy her sister, even Phillips, the grumpy uncle who didn’t want to be in the picture.

What did it all mean?

“You are his legacy. If you were any other soldier you’d be just another experiment, but you’re not. You’re Steve Rogers. Erskine chose you. You carry on his legacy; you carry on his work.”

“And how am I supposed to do that?” Steve asked in a desperate tone. He slumped onto the bench and let his head fall into his hands.

“I don’t know Steve,” (Y/n) sat down next to him and put a hand on his shoulder. “That’s for you to figure out. You don’t have to know now. No one’s expecting you to know now, but when you do piece it together, I’ll be waiting.”

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“Stark says you’re going to have your pick.”

Steve was lying on his back next to (Y/n), tossing a ball in the air and catching it repeatedly with a satisfying thunk as it hit his palm.

A few weeks ago, he wouldn’t have been able to catch it once. He had all of the coordination of a newborn foal and would’ve whacked himself, or her, in the face the first time he tried to throw it.

It reminded her, again, of her brother. After his growth spurt, when he finally caught up to her, passed her, when he got tall and filled out. The girls started to notice him; the guys started to respect him.

“That’s what they tell me.”

“Any Allied hospital in Europe…” Steve stopped tossing the ball and glanced over at her, “Know where you’re going to go?”

(Y/n) didn’t meet his gaze. She kept her eyes on a cloud floating by overhead. “I hadn’t really thought about it,” She confessed. “When I applied, when Erskine took me in, I was planning on going to the frontlines.”

“You don’t have to now.” Steve rolled onto his stomach and watched her expressions carefully. “You could go to the evacuation hospitals or England…”

“Would you?”

“What?”

“Would you go to the frontlines? If they let you?” (Y/n) asked. She already knew the answer, but she needed to ask.

“You know I would,” Steve admitted.

“Then that’s where I’ll go.” She’d joked, when Erskine was still alive, that Steve’s real superpower was always doing the right thing. If he’d go to the front, then that’s where she’d be, waiting for him to find his way.

(Y/n) met Steve’s eye finally. “You said your friend was in the 107th?”

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It was only about a month before (Y/n) was running the field hospital attached to the 107th.

They sent mostly inexperienced girls out to the frontline. Supposedly, it was an easy job. They didn’t have time for complex treatment or procedures, so in theory, it was all triage and wound treatment. They claimed anyone with a little bit of training could handle it.

Early on when the fighting had just begun she imagined there might have been some truth to that claim, but as the war slogged on, it wasn’t so simple anymore. Every soldier had some kind of injury. The Army couldn’t afford to send everyone with more than a bump or bruise back from the frontline to an evacuation hospital. There wasn’t the time, manpower, money.

The field hospitals were overflowing with infected wounds, illness, bullet holes, broken bones, and there weren’t enough experienced nurses to go around. Not only did they lack the know-how, many of the inexperienced nurses were just young woman, some girls even, who didn’t properly know what they’d signed up for. They were shaken by the crack of every bullet, the boom of every grenade, the scream of every dying man.

(Y/n) had a sneaking suspicion that the real reason the Nurses Corps didn’t send out any of their trained nurses was that they want to risk their better nurses dying on the frontlines.

(Y/n) had watched a stray bullet tear through the chest of a young girl named Lydia only a week into her time with the 107th. She’d been reliably told by another nurse that Lydia was the fifth to die so far that year.

The second most experienced girl in (Y/n)’s unit had been a midwife for a few years before she shipped out, not exactly a skill that was necessary in an army full of men, but it came with some transferable knowledge. Her name was Maria, and it only took a few weeks before she was happily handing over the reins.

“They’re bringing in a batch of men from the front,” Maria reported to (Y/n). “Nothing serious, a couple broken bones. They took a fall to avoid a grenade; I’m told.”

(Y/n) motioned for Beverly and Viola at the other end of the tent. “We need to clean down some beds.” (Y/n) turned to Maria, “Did they say how many?”

“Not exactly, but I think it was only a few.”

(Y/n) only had a few beds to spare anyhow. There were a dozen cots set up in the field hospital, and six of them were currently occupied by men waiting for transport to the nearest evacuation hospital back West, another two by men with leg fractures. When she’d arrived, the beds were first come first serve, but (Y/n) had quickly started a process of dismissing anyone who could walk back to their own tents to come in to the hospital for regular checks on whatever ailed them.

“They’ve already reached camp; they’ll be here any moment.”

“If the bones aren’t through skin, then I don’t want them hanging around here. We’ll set them and send them on their way. We haven’t had free beds in a week, and I don’t want to take them up with something trivial.”

“Trivial? Glad to know you care about my leg, nurse.”

The tent flap was being held open by two soldiers, a sergeant and a private, around the girth of a much larger man propped up between them.

(Y/n) ignored the jab, “Get him on the bed.”

The two men helped their friend onto the nearest cot, and (Y/n), Beverly, and Maria quickly descended on him.

(Y/n) was the most experienced one there, but she’d made a point of having Beverly watch every bone she set. When things got busy, she might be needed elsewhere, and it was good to know that Beverly knew her way around things well enough to take a few bones off her plate.

“What happened?”

“Bit of an ambush, ma’am.” She recognized Gabe Jones immediately. She’d treated a broken finger of his on the first day she’d got here, followed by a number of bumps and bruises that probably wouldn’t have required her attention if Gabe weren’t such a flirt. “We had to jump into a ravine. Sergeant, here, did a number on his knee, and I got grazed by a bullet.”

“Maria, will you clean Private Jones’ wound?” (Y/n) began inspected the Sergeant’s knee.

“Of course,” Maria motioned Jones away to another open bed.

The third man took a step back towards the tent flap, but before he could get more than a few paces, he crumbled.

“Barnes!” The sergeant in the bed bolted upright. Beverly held him still, as (Y/n) rushed to his side.

“Are you alright, Sergeant?” (Y/n) slipped her arm around the man’s back and helped him stumble back to the nearest bed.

“I guess I’m not,” The man winced as he slumped back against the metal bed frame. “My side is killing me.”

(Y/n) nodded at the other sergeant, “Relocate his knee, while I do this, Bev. Maria can help when she’s done cleaning Jones’s wound.”

With deft fingers, (Y/n) unhooked the buttons down his uniform to check his complaint.

“I’d normally take you to dinner first, Doll.” These men hadn’t seen a woman in a long time, and usually they acted like it. She’d heard every bad joke in the book from the soldiers around camp and a couple from Jones in the bed next to them, but his tone was far more lighthearted, less learing than the others. He was teasing, trying to lighten the mood of how much pain was written across his face.

“Well, the rations around here aren’t very appealing, so you’ll have to settle for…” She found what she was looking for. A bruise spanning his entire right side. “You carried him back like this?” Her fingers probed gently at the edges of the dark blue stain.

“Someone had to; not like Dugan carries his own weight around here.” He winced as she touched a particularly sensitive spot.

“Broken ribs,” (Y/n) told the other girls over her shoulder, “three from the looks of it. He’s not going anywhere anytime soon.”

“That’s alright, Doll. I’ll just get to see more of your smiling face.”

(Y/n) wasn’t smiling. She hadn’t smiled in quite a while.

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“You’re healing well,” (Y/n) observed Barnes’s side, peeking out of the sheets, a few days later. “Right on schedule. You won’t need to be on the next train to the evacuation hospital.”

“Of course not,” Barnes scoffed, “How could I ever leave your lovely company?”

(Y/n) cocked an eyebrow. “That work on the girls back home?”

“Depends on the girl really,” Barnes confessed. “Most of the time a smile and a dance does the trick, but I like the ones that make me work for it.”

(Y/n) rolled her eyes and went back to inventorying the supplies she’d spread out on the cot next to his.

“Where is home for you, (Y/n)?”

It was the first time he’d called her by her name, also the first time he’d asked her a genuine question. “Brooklyn.”

“Brooklyn!” He exclaimed, “I knew there was a reason I liked you. I’m from Brooklyn myself.”

“Really?” She glanced back at him, pausing cataloging the rolls of gauze. She had to remember to put in for that. They desperately needed more gauze.

“Born and raised,” With a wince, he adjusted pushed himself higher in the bed. “My whole family and my best friend still live there. I’ll go back there too, if I make it out of your care in one piece.”

(Y/n) snorted; she couldn’t help it. Her care? They were in a war, and he wanted to joke that he wouldn’t make it out of her hospital. “I’ll have you know my care is perfectly fine. I served 8 years in ambulatory at Wyckoff.”

Barnes’s brow furrowed. “Can’t say I’ve ever been to Wyckoff, but I was a frequent guest at Beth Moses Hospital.”

“You break ribs running from Nazis often in New York?” She jabbed.

“No, but my friend may as well have. He picked a lot of fights. Didn’t win many, but that never stopped Steve.”

(Y/n)’s head jerked around and she dropped the papers in her hands. “Steve? Steve Rogers?”

“Yeah,” Barnes had her attention now, and she had his, “you know him?”

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“I swear, Bucky, next time you come in here you better be losing an arm. You’re wasting my time with these little scrapes.”

Bucky rose to his feet in front of her.

She came face to chest with his shirtless torso, and her ego absolutely refused to allow her to turn her head away or take a step back. Even as she felt her cheeks coloring from his state of undress, she adamantly met his smirking eyes.

“It’s okay to admit you’d miss me, Doll. Around here, I’m like a little slice of home, a breath of fresh air, a…”

“The smell of maneur wafting out of the stables,” She cut off.

Bucky chuckled and began buttoning back his uniform. “One day, Doll, one day.”

Bucky always said things like that. ‘One day, when we’re both back in Brooklyn’, ‘When I finally get the chance to take you dancing’, ‘Me, you, Steve, and a friend’.

(Y/n) never took any of it to heart. Bucky had popped in and out of the medical tent on many occasions since he’d broken his ribs, and he flirted with all of the girls who treated him. She never let it get to her heart, and she tried not to let it go to her head that his flirtations were infinitely more personal with her. He’d teasingly compliment the other girls’ uniforms, make observations about how nice they looked that day, wink suggestively as he ducked out of the tent. She was the only one he made plans for: Brooklyn, Steve, Coney Island, dinner, dancing.

The thought was nice, but she left it all there, just a thought.

“Don’t be a stranger, Doll,” Bucky called as he made his way to the door. “I’m sick of faking injury just to see you.”

He gave her his signature wink before he turned and left the tent.

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The SSR had moved in. She saw Phillips riding in from a mile away.

She stood side by side with the commanding officers; everyone over the rank of Sergeant filled in a pseudo welcome party for the reinforcements as they rode in.

None of the men could figure out why she was there, at the front, out ranking them. She wasn’t even properly in the Army. She was just a nurse, a field medic, nothing more or less.(Y/n) couldn’t say she was expecting any sort of comraderie from the Colonel. She’d expected a firm handshake, an acknowledgement of their acquaintance, and a swift dismissal back to her duties.

When Colonel Phillips jumped out, the men behind her became painfully aware of who she was, and she became painfully aware how things had changed.

“(Y/n),” Phillips ignored the officers in charge and marched straight for her. “Good, you’re here. I need someone with a head on their shoulders.” He clapped her on the back and led her towards the truck.

From the back, they came filing out, the men she and Erskine had rejected for the supersoldier program. Each of them a hand picked reminder of her lost companion. All of them could’ve been the poster boy for a ‘join the army’ campaign if things had gone a different way.

She had to remind herself that these men were Phillips choosing, that, even if Erskine lived, none of them would have ever been Steve. These were good soldiers, but that didn’t make them good men. There may well have been a few good ones in the bunch, but being strong, being able, didn’t make them so. She preferred the men behind her, the 107th.

“There’s someone else I know you’ll be happy to see.”

It took a moment more of men filing out of the truck bed before Phillips’ surprise came to face her. She felt her heart building up hope, anticipation, excitement.

Peggy. It was Peggy.

She hid her disappointment well as she smiled and hugged the Englishwoman.

She loved Peggy, but she was no Steve.

Where was Steve? It had been so long since she heard news. She was worried.

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“So you’re a hotshot then?”

Bucky had swaggered up to her the moment she stepped outside of the hospital tent.

“You must be if you have the Colonel’s ear. Everyone’s been talking about it. My little Brooklyn in league with the bigwigs.”

“Your?” (Y/n) chose to ignore the rest of the sentence. She stopped midstep and crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t think you’ll find me ‘your’ anything, let alone all of Brooklyn.”

Bucky smiled mischievously and matched her stance. “Of course you’re not mine, but who do you think’s been keeping the rest of these scoundrels off your back?”

“Oh?” Her lips quirked up instictively in response to his smile. She really couldn’t help it. Steve had told her once that Bucky had that affect on women, that they couldn’t help themselves arounf him. “You’re protecting me from the wandering eyes of your fellow soldiers in hopes that someone will kindly cave into your flirtations.”

“No,” Bucky drawled, taking a step closer. “I’m protecting all of our dear nurses from the wandering eyes of my fellow soldiers because you have more important things to do like treat the broken ribs of a cocky sniper trying desperately to keep from crying like a child in front of his men.”

“Well your service is greatly appreciated.” (Y/n) chuckled, turning back to her walk, “If you must know, I’m not a bigwig at all.”

“Really?” Bucky fell into step by her side. “Didn’t look that way to me.”

“My mentor was a bigwig,” She confessed, her smile turning stale on her lips, “I was just in the right place at the right time.”

Bucky looped his arm through hers and dragged her to a stop, rounding her to face him. “That can’t be true.”

“It is.”

“If your mentor was that important, then you must’ve been pretty great to catch their eye.” Bucky gave her an encouraging smile.

She saw it in his eyes then. She hadn’t seen it before, not even when he was making her laugh with his flirting. She could see the kind heart, the trusting nature, all the things she admired about Steve. They were there, just buried deep beneath a layer of bravado and natural charisma.

She finally understood why Steve would be his friend.

“Have you heard of the Strategic Scientific Reserve?” The question slipped her mouth before she could stop it.

“No,” Bucky’s expression furrowed. “Why?”

It was top secret. She really shouldn’t be mentioning it. She’d already lied to him about how she knew Steve. She should just lie about the SSR, forget she said anything. She should…

She didn’t. “It’s a program my mentor and I founded…”

She told him everything. Everything about the SSR, about Steve, about Peggy, about Phillips, about Erskine.

He led her off to the edge of camp, away from stray ears and wandering eyes. He sat with her under a tree.

She told him about signing up for the war, about the general who delivered the news about her brother and before that her father. She told him about her mother leaving. She told him about her childhood.

She couldn’t help it. Once she started, she just couldn’t stop.

She understood why Steve would be his friend. She hadn’t meant to, but she’d inadvertently trusted him with everything.

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“(Y/n),” Maria came running through the tent flap, not even bothering to push it aside as it draped her shoulder. “Come quick. It’s Bucky.”

(Y/n) was in the middle of handing out rations. She dropped the box on the cot in front of her and bolted for the door.

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“What happened?”

She found Peggy first.

“The regiment was ambushed by Schmidt.” Peggy liked to talk as she walked. In that moment, (Y/n) appreciated that about her. “Only a third of them made it back. We’re doing rolls now, but the men in the yard are all that’s left.”

(Y/n) burst into the square field that functioned as the town center of camp.

There were men, dusty, beaten, bloodied men everywhere. Her small staff of nurses would be overwhelmed by the numbers, but that wasn’t what was on her mind now.

“Where is he?” She left the question and Peggy in her wake, running through the clusters of soldiers. Some supported their injured friends, others laid groaning side by side, a few stood in the center, completely fine. They looked the most lost of them all, as if they were asking God why he had chosen to spare them.

Hodge was there, in the center, one of the men surveying the damage around him. He was fine, completely fine.

“Hodge,” She marched up to him with a fury, “Where is Barnes?”

“Barnes? That kid that’s always following you around?”

Hodge had come in with the other Super Soldier Candidates. He hadn’t had the time to learn everyone’s names, not that he ever would have anyway. He was Hodge; Hodge thought he was too good for that sort of thing.

“Where is he?” She demanded again, not intending to repeat herself a third time.

“He was in the flank with his buddies. They’re gone. All of them, gone.”

Hodge had the decency to look sorry that he was giving her the news.

(Y/n) imagined it was the first decent thing he’d done in his life.

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Was she cursed?

She felt like she was. She felt like a ghost walking through life, doomed to haunt everyone she touched.

Her mother left her. Her father was dead. Her brother followed not long after. Erskine died just as she’d come to think of him as family. Steve was forced to tour around the country like some kind of sideshow because of what she’d helped do to him. Lydia was dead almost as soon as (Y/n) arrived. Now, Bucky.

She hadn’t confided in anyone in a long time until she met Bucky. She’d chatted with Lydia, Maria, her fellow nurses, made nice with them. She’d only told Peggy things she was sure the woman had already read in her file; she told Phillips even less. She told Steve bits and pieces, but she tried not to burden his plate more than it already was. She hadn’t needed to tell Erskine anything; the old man could read it for himself in her eyes.

She’d told it all to Bucky.

Whether it was the heat of war, the charm that came to him so effortlessly, that kind smile or those trustworthy eyes, it didn’t matter. She’d told him everything there was to tell, and as quickly as he knew he was gone.

Caring about her. It felt like the kiss of death.

She was a nurse, and her father bled to death on the battlefield. She was a nurse, and her brother died of injuries from a plane crash. She was a nurse, and Erskine died of a gunshot in her arms. She was a nurse. She was supposed to save people; she hadn’t saved them.  And now, she couldn’t save Bucky either.

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Steve. She knew those eyes anywhere. Even behind that stupid mask, she knew it was Steve.

She watched the show with blank eyes and a blanker expression. Steve didn’t look much better.

Back in Brooklyn, (Y/n) had been rather a catch. Boys had taken her out many times, and often times, when they wanted to seem smarter and more cultured than they actually were, they would take her to a show. (Y/n) had watched more plays than she could count, and none of them had been nearly as bad as this.

Steve couldn’t fake excitement if he tried, and he was clearly trying.

(Y/n) didn’t care about the show though, bad acting or not. She cared about Steve, and she cared about what he could do.

“Steve,” She barged into the dressing rooms backstage.

The girls, the dancers, squealed and made to hide or cover themselves, but they quickly regained composure when they saw it was another girl.

“Steve!”

Steve looked up from where he was sat in a corner doodling.

“(Y/n)?” He dropped the paper aside and got to his feet, hesitantly, disbelieving that it could really be her.

“Steve,” (Y/n) threw herself at him, hugging him close. “I’m so sorry, Steve.”

He held her close. “Sorry? What for?”

“Steve, you have to help,” She pulled back and looked him dead in the eye. “It’s Bucky.”

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(Y/n) didn’t join them on the plane. How could she? Every time one buzzed overhead her brother came rushing back to mind.

She still hadn’t buried him; his body was waiting for her back at home. She was going to bury him beside her father, beside an empty plot she’d reserved for herself, just in case something happened on the front.

She wondered, to herself because Bucky was not there to wonder out loud to like last time, if she couldn’t mourn because he had not been laid to rest. She wondered if she needed the confirmation of seeing his body for herself or the resignation of a coffin and a deep grave.

That hadn’t been true of her father. She’d mourned him the moment the general knocked on her door; she’d wept for losing him. Perhaps, she’d been able to weep because she had more to lose. Perhaps, she wept for her father because with her brother alive she still had a reason to feel. Perhaps, she wept for Erskine because, by the time he left her, she’d found other reasons, a new family.

She wondered if she would ever cry for her brother the way she had her father or Erskine. She wondered, if she started crying for him, if she would ever stop.

Maybe she was just full of it.

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“He should’ve radioed by now.”

She was in the hospital tent, pacing nervously in front of the only cot void of soldiers. Peggy and Maria had sat cross-legged on the flimsy mattress and were watching her with anxious expressions.

Howard Stark stood angrily tapping his foot near the bit of canvas at the head of the bed.

He was the only one who seemed to share (Y/n)’s nerves.

How Peggy was holding it together, (Y/n) had no idea. It wasn’t like she didn’t care. A blind man could see how much she cared about Steve. She had a composure to her though.

(Y/n) envied her that; she wasn’t ashamed to admit it. She wished she were as composed.

“That’s no guarantee that anything happened,” Maria’s voice was a calm guiding hand in the storm. She cared about the missing men, about Steve, but no more than every other soldier. She cared deeply for everyone under her care; it was part of her nature. Their absence didn’t sway her.

“No guarantee,” (Y/n) conceded,”but one hell of a coincidence.”

“Well what can we do?” Howard asked. “Ride into Occupied territory and offer our assistance?”

(Y/n) haulted midstep and looked up at Howard.

“No!” He immediately shot out.

“Yes.”

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She packed a bag of all the essentials: bandages, needle and thread, alcohol, small bottles of antibiotics and medicines she could sneak out of the tent.

The bag was heavy, bulky, but it would fit snugly on the back of one of the motorcycles that that night's messenger had left near the edge of camp.

He wasn’t scheduled to make his next delivery run for three days. She had every intention of being back by then. Either she’d be back or dead.

With all hope, and a little help from Maria, she’d be entirely unnoticed until she rode back into camp. Maria had managed well enough on her own before (Y/n) got there. She could handle a few days.

“Do you even know how to ride one of those things?”

(Y/n) froze. She knew the voice, but she didn’t turn. If she didn’t turn, maybe she could pretend he wasn’t there.

Phillips stepped up to her side. “Is this what Erskine would want for you? A suicide mission?”

“It’s not a suicide mission. What Steve did, that was a suicide mission. I’m just trying to help the odds.”

“And how do you plan to do that?”

“He’s trying to free hundreds of your men from a Hydra base where they’re being held prisoner. At best, he succeeded, and they’re headed back this way.”

“Unlikely,” Phillips butted in.

“At worst, he failed.” She continued without acknowledging his interruption. “There are a lot of scenarios in between worst and best that involve your men out there, injured and dying.”

“And you think one nurse is going to help?”

“I’m not going to hurt!”

Phillips snorted, “Is this about that boy?”

“What boy?” (Y/n) turned back to securing her bag to the motorcycle. It was a tell. Phillips wasn’t stupid. He knew that. She knew that.

“The one Rogers is friends with. The one you sent him on this fool’s errand after. I thought it was just because they were friends, but the men told me you two were close.”

(Y/n)’s hands clenched around the strap of her bag.

“Is that why you want to go? You’re chasing after some lowly soldier.”

“I want to help!” (Y/n) spat, turning on Phillips with a vengeance. “Who cares if it’s because I’m feeling guilty or because I care about him! They are my friends, and I want to help them.”

Phillips watched with a cool, calculating eye for a long moment as (Y/n)’s chest heaved with anger. She looked as angry as he’d ever seen her, and he’d seen her angry many times at Lehigh.

She cared about Steve. There was no denying that, but whoever this sergeant was he was something else, something special.

Reluctantly, he sighed out in defeat. “Your bag’s going to go flying off the back if you tie it down like that.” He turned and started knotting the ropes for her.

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She was seven miles out when she heard it. Something big and loud and powerful barrelling down on her.

(Y/n) stopped her motorcycle in the street and went silent, listening.

Tanks.

She rolled the bike off the road, muscling it behind some trees. It was clunky, weighty, and she didn’t have the strength to get it properly hidden back in the woods. Still, she found a patch of dirt flat enough to roll the bike off the road and made due with laying it on its side behind a bush.

Whoever it was was coming closer. She found the thickest tree there was and stood straight and tall behind it, sucking herself in to be as narrow a target as possible.

She could hear shouting now, though she couldn’t make out the voices. There was a melody to their tone even though the words were indistinct. They were singing something.

It went on for a verse or two, judging by the pauses, before whoever they were were finally close enough to make out words.

English words. American accents.

“The Star Spangled Man! With a plan!” Horribly out of tune male voices echoed through the tree tops without a care in the world for who heard.

“Steve!” (Y/n) rushed out of the trees.

They were at the end of the road, making their way around a bend a few hundred yards ahead, but she’d recognize that God awful costume from a mile away. It stood out plain as day against the swath of brown and green forest and the drab, colorless look of the men at his side.

“Steve!” (Y/n) raced for him.

Steve realized who it was almost instantly. “(Y/n)!” He jogged forward and met her halfway.

“I thought you were dead!” She choked out.

“Come on, little Brooklyn, you have to know we’re made of tougher stuff than that.”

(Y/n) pulled away, positively beaming to hear that drawl of her nickname. “Bucky!”

Bucky tipped a nonexistent cap her direction. “At your service, Doll.”

He dropped the hat charade just in time to catch her as she flung her arms around his neck.

“One day, Doll,” He mumbled into her ear.

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Frenchie was in the bottom of the tank with a seriously mangled stint strapped to his arm.

“I did the best I could,” Bucky was hunched over (Y/n) as she treated his fallen companion. “I’ve watched you enough times, you think I’d have it down by now.”

“Maybe if you were actually watching her hands you would have,” Jones jabbed an elbow into Barnes ribs.

“Hey now,” Barnes chuckled. “I watched her hands.”

“Sure you did.” (Y/n) bit back a grin. “The stint isn’t pretty, but neither is the break. This will take a while to heal.”

Jones prattled off in French, alarming (Y/n) to no end.

Bucky knelt down next to her and explained. “Frenchie doesn’t speak English. We make Jones translate to earn his keep. Only way he’s been useful so far.”

“Oh,” (Y/n) went back to the arm in question.

“I promise I was watching your hands,” He murmured to her with his usual heart-stopping smile.

(Y/n) rolled her eyes, “And I promise you were too busy flirting with my staff to notice what my hands were doing.”

“Not your staff, just you.” He corrected her. They both knew that wasn’t technically true. Bucky Barnes was nothing if not a flirt. That didn’t mean he meant it though. They both knew he meant it with her, and they both knew he didn’t mean it with anyone else.

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“Rogers, I’ve been with these guys on the field for months,” Bucky smacked him on the shoulder and pointed to the table in questions. “They’re all utter morons. Of course they’ll say yes.”

Steve gave his friend a worried look but let Bucky’s smile reassure with enough to take the next step. “Wish my luck,” he patted his friend on the back and marched over to the group of men getting drunker by the moment.

Bucky chuckled to himself and circled around to the far side of the bar to order himself a drink and find a quieter table. He wanted a beer, and he wanted as much distance between himself and that piano as possible. It was giving him such a headache. The beer would help with that.

He wasn’t actually sure that was true. He wasn’t a doctor or a nurse to know, but he was going to tell himself it would. Mostly he just wanted the beer. He’d earned it after the last couple months he’d had, after the last year honestly.

He heard the booming voice of Sergeant Dugan over everything else in the bar and couldn’t help a chuckle. They’d all earned a round.

They’d earn a couple more if they said yes, and as Bucky watched them from over the rim of his glass, he knew they would. They were fighters, like Steve, and like Steve, they wouldn’t back down from that.

Bucky kept his eyes on the men as they all considered Steve’s offer. He could tell the moment the words left Steve’s mouth, the moment they all froze at the proposition. He could tell, one by one, as they all agreed, like he knew they would.

It was written on their faces. It was written on Steve’s face.

He tried not to sound too cocky when Steve came back around to him. “See, told you; they’re all idiots.”

“How ‘bout you?” Steve took up the chair next to Bucky.

Bucky didn’t meet his eye. He knew the question was coming, and he already had his answer.

“You ready to follow Captain America into the jaws of death?”

“Hell no,” Bucky sighed with a smile. “That little guy from Brooklyn who was too dumb not to run away from a fight, I’m following him.”

Steve smiled, relief washing over his features as he took the drink in front of him.

“You’re keeping the outfit right?” Bucky couldn’t help but tease.

“You know what,” Steve looked back at the poster, “It’s kinda growing on me.”

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The singing at the front of the room fell quiet, to almost a murmur.

Bucky and Steve turned to the door, to the woman in the vivid red dress.

“Captain,” she greeted with a formal note to her voice.

She was beautiful. Bucky would’ve been blind not to see it, especially in that shade of red. She looked like one of the girls Bucky used to go dancing with, tight dress hugging her curves, matching lipstick and perfectly styled hair. She was a woman on a mission, and he had a sneaking suspicion that mission was a man, specifically a man named Steve Rogers.

Bucky’s eyes wandered over assessingly. She was way out of Steve’s league, or at least the league he used to be in. He hadn’t been out with Steve since this new transformation; he had no idea what Steve’s league even was anymore. He was taller, stronger; he was famous apparently. But he was still an absolute dork, clueless around women.

It was written all over his darting, nervous eyes.

“I see your top squad is prepping for duty,” she observed.

“You don’t like music?” Bucky smiled.

“I might even, when this is all over, go dancing.” Peggy didn’t bother to look in Bucky’s direction for even a moment.

“Then what are we waiting for?” He asked her.

“The right partner,” Her tone was suggestive; her eyes watching Steve expectantly. For the first time in his life, Bucky wasn’t in on the joke.

“0800 Captain,” She said as she whisked herself away.

“I’m invisible,” Bucky turned back to Steve, “I’m turning into you,” he scoffed, “this is a horrible dream.”

Steve smirked as he turned to walk off, “Don’t take it so hard. I hear she has a friend.” Steve motioned over Bucky’s shoulder towards the doorway Peggy had just left.

Steve took up his old seat as Bucky turned away.

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

What had possessed her to come here, (Y/n) couldn’t be sure.

She knew what she’d told herself. That Captain America was assembling a team of his own, that his team was leaving for deployment, that she wanted to be on the ship when it did.

She could’ve asked him all of that before he left for the bar, or when he came back. It’s not like he’d be drunk; she knew that couldn’t happen.

Hell, she could’ve asked him the next morning. Steve would’ve made it happen.

But when Peggy told her she was going down to the bar to check on the men, something had possessed her to follow.

Maybe she wanted a drink. Maybe she too wanted to check on the boys. More likely, it was how clearly Peggy’s excuse was a rouse to get dolled up and see Steve, and there (Y/n) was, right by her side getting dolled up too.

Jones had cornered her the moment she’d walked in. Gabe kissed the back of her hand like an old-school gentleman and asked her to dance. She politely declined.

“That’s all right,” Gabe smiled knowingly and pointed in the direction of the room Peggy was leaving. “Sergeant’s right in there.”

(Y/n) followed, anxiously, in Peggy’s retreating footsteps with only an encouraging nod from her friend to bolster her courage.

She’d chosen the purple dress, a more understated shade than Peggy’s red but a far more modern cut. She wasn’t there to grab the attention of the entire bar like Peggy was, but she hoped at least to keep one pair of eyes on her.

Steve spotted her first and immediately smiled. He waved a hand in her direction and retreated back to the tables.

Bucky’s back was to her, but whatever Steve said made him turn.

His face went slack, and a little space opened between his lips, as if his mind had formed words his tongue couldn’t speak.

“Well, now I know what Peggy meant,” He mumbled as she approached him.

“About what?”

“The Right Partner.” Bucky offered her his arm, “Would you like to dance?”

“I’m not very good,” she confessed smoothly.

Bucky smiled. Not his usual cocky grin that swept girls off their feet, or the warm, reassuring smile she’d come to trust. It was gentle, somewhere between kind and loving. “I’ll teach you.”

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

Taglist

Forever Taglist:

@maybe-a-fangurl / @libbymouse /  @geeksareunique / @deathbyarabbit​ / @spilltheearlgrey / @ryanbarnesrogers / @bloodorangemoonlight​

Marvel Taglist:

@the-high-queen / @iamverity / @darktownairspeed / @radicalstars​ / @hermione-is-my-queen 

[contrabandhothead]

hellur can i have a ship pls 🥰 you know me very well but i will bullet point 🤩

- i love tea and coffee

- i also have a really bad sweet tooth

- i love reading and history

- i’m 5’ something with brown hair and green eyes

- i love collecting nail polish and now mugs 😅

- i like doing crafts like painting, diamond painting, putting together models, and doodling

- i also love bullet journaling

gif credits: @hbowardaily

A/N: I LOVE THAT YOU INCLUDED A LITTLE LIST JAIJWIEJRERHT YOU’RE SO CONSIDERATE EVEN THOUGH WE BOTH KNOW I DON’T NEED THAT. ALSO, I COULDN’T DECIDE BETWEEN DOC OR BRAD, SO YOU COULD LITERALLY SEND ANOTHER REQUEST AND I’D JUST GIVE YOU A FUCK TON OF OTHER HEADCANONS FOR BRAD

- DOC BRYAN -

- [ general ]

always finding new coffee recipes to create for you, like you just wake up to a brand new type of latte every morning 

you have an entire shelf in one of your cabinets dedicated to different types of tea. literally every type of tea imaginable that he can find, he buys for you 

every time he travels somewhere without you, he brings back a mug for your collection as a gift. doesn’t even matter how expensive it is, he just has to buy it. he never forgets it. ever. 

he’s tried to make a craft for you at least once, and it actually turned out pretty good. it’s a blanket, he learned to knit just to make it for you 

runs his fingers through your hair whenever you’re bullet journaling because he wants your attention but doesn’t know how to ask for it 

he’s a doctor so he isn’t really supposed to be encouraging your sweet tooth yet he’s the reason your snack cabinet is stocked full of sugar... like pick a struggle 

speaking of sugar, he randomly comes home with sugary snacks for you, and his excuse is “i saw it and it made me think of you, so i had to buy it” 

i’ve mentioned a bit that he pulls you into his lap often, but he does it all the time 

it’s literally ridiculous 

Doc doesn’t care about what you’re doing or how busy you are, if he wants you in his lap then you’re going to be there 

he does it in p u b l i c too, he’ll pull you into his lap in front of his friends and family too 

he randomly grabs your face to steal a kiss all the time 

Doc showers with you often, and every time he steps in the shower he’ll press a kiss to the back of your neck before he washes your hair for you 

Doc compliments your eye color all the time, and he’s like “yeah it’s cheesy, but i get lost in them sometimes” 

does your skincare routine for you if you’re too tired or drunk, even though he probably doesn’t understand what half the shit he’s putting on your face does 

he doesn’t even need to ask what order he needs to do the routine in, he’s memorized it after watching you do it so many times 

if your hand ever gets tired or sore, he massages it for you while asking you about how your day has been 

he’s very much an acts of service kind of person, and is more than willing to do chores that you resent doing. hate doing the dishes? boom, he does them for you every night after dinner 

Doc has bought you so many ww2 books for your shrine, and every Christmas you get at least one ww2 model without a doubt. he’d even help you build it 

he plans secret dates which he then randomly surprises you with 

like he just comes home from work and is like “okay we’re going on a date in a few hours, i’m going to get ready” 

Doc has such a good memory, he literally will come home with flowers and his reason is “today is the date of our first kiss” 

he takes you to the car wash all the time and pays for the most expensive wash, just because he knows you like to see all the lights inside 

Doc is obsessed with holding hands, but doesn’t know how to ask sometimes, so he’ll just randomly start grazing his hand over yours before hesitantly lacing your fingers together (giving you enough time to pull away if you want to) 

Doc gets s o jealous of other men even though he knows you love him 

another man will smile at you and he’s like “i don’t want either of us to leave the house for a week” 

he r e a l l y loves taking bubble baths with you, especially because it helps him relax with you often 

loves when you lay with your head on his chest 

honestly any position that involves you basically laying on top of him, he loves 

he likes to paint your nails for you while you relax, and he’s actually pretty good at it 

he’s a really good listener, and will listen to whatever you’re ranting about, no matter what it is 

it could literally be about how sharks are the worst animal, and you’ll know he’s listening because he comments every now and then 

- [ how you two met ]

we talk about this all the time, so i’m not sure if you want me to talk about it... if you want me to DM me, and i’ll do it bb <3 

[paradox-psyc-hoe-sis]

Dating Bucky Barnes in secret would include...

Bucky Barnes x reader, avengers x reader (platonic), Steve Roger's x reader (platonic)

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: I can't really remember, insecurity, there are a few swears, fluff, general stuff like that. No smut :)

A/n: two posts in one day? Who is she. I was really determined to write these and it was quite enjoyable, hope ya'll like it - Aphrodite :D

• So. Much. Sneaking. Around.

• However, you and Buck were already really close before you started dating, so you got away with loads of suspicious stuff.

• For example, when it was avengers family movie night and you all decided to watch a film set in ww2, things got a bit too realistic for Bucky, so when he cuddled up next to you and you started playing with his hair, nobody batted an eyelid.

• Additionally, whenever any of the Avengers walked into the living room to see you asleep on the sofa, your head in Bucky's lap, they didn't give it a second thought. But you both knew you had to br careful with how much you let slip.

• Steve would totally know right from the start. He's known Bucky practically his entire life, so there was a definite change in his behaviour after he started dating you. He talked to Steve about you loads, and he caught Buck staring at you way too much. However, Steve only thought that Bucky had a crush on you, not that you were dating.

• You got Bucky a Polaroid camera for his birthday and he has never stopped taking photos of you since; he has photos of you mid-laugh, photos of you singing karaoke, photos of you in action. He keeps all of the Polaroid in a little box that you decorated for him.

• To help him with his anxiety, he keeps a diary. Every night, he records what happened in the day and hoe it made him feel. You knew about the diary, and you always wanted to see what he wrote about, but you understood that it's his privacy and you don't have the right to see it. He knew how badly you wanted to read it, too.

• So when your birthday came around, he didn't get you anything. All of the avengers gave you presents except for Bucky, which made everyone quite suspicious. To get everyone off his back, he claimed that he forgot when your birthday was. You knew that he had something in store for you later on, though.

• When you went to bed in the evening, you didn't go to your room but straight to Buck's. About ten minutes later he arrived, and he wasn't surprised to see you. He said that he had the worlds best present to give you.

• He sat down and handed you a present, wrapped in dark red paper. Once opening it, all you saw was a small, black leather bound notebook. What an awesome gift indeed.

• But it took you a second to realise that the notebook was his diary.

• "I finished it last night, and I've already bought a new one to start tonight. I really have no use for them once I finish them so I thought you-"

• When he looked up he saw you holding the book to your heart, tears streaming down your face. He thought you hated the gift, that you were expecting something so much better. But you reassured him that the diary was the best thing he could've ever given you.

• It took you a month to read, and you definitely had a favourite entry. February 14th, not only valentines day, but the day you both went on your first date. You agreed to go out and get coffee at a little cafe that you like downtown.

• When you first read it, you were watching TV with Steve in the living room.

• "Today Y/N and I had our first date. I met her at a cafe so we could get coffee. I was so scared that she'd realise how undeserving I am of somebody as good as her, but when I saw her walk through the door, it calmed all of my anxiety. She looked the most beautiful that I had ever seen her, and I regret being too scared to tell her that."

• When you read that, you burst into tears right on the spot. Steve had no idea what had happened, but after you put the notebook down, he gave you a big hug to calm you. He recognized the notebook, as he had seen bucky writing in it a lot, but he didn't say anything. He just held you. Steve's a legend.

• Coincidentally, after that happened, you and Bucky seemed to go on a lot more missions where you had to spend time together. [Thanks, Steve]

• A few days after you came back from a really long mission, everyone had a day off, so you both went out for dinner in the evening. It was the fanciest date that you both had been on; you wore a red silk dress, and he wore a suit and tie. After all, it was the fanciest restaurant in New York.

• Everything was going perfectly, until you noticed Tony and Pepper walk through the door. You and Bucky had never run as fast as you did when you saw them. So instead of getting dinner there, you both went to McDonalds.

• One evening, you were all sat in the living room after just finishing a board game. You were sat next to Bucky, and told him that you were going to bed. Forgetting that nobody knew about your relationship, you leaned in an gave him a small kiss on the lips.

• Steve chokEd on his coffee, I swear.

• Everyone stared at you, and you managed to convince them that you had just found out it was national 'kiss your coworker' day. Not wanting to seem biased, all eyes were on you as you walked around the room and gave everyone a tiny kiss. Steve decided he wanted to fuck with Bucky a bit, so when you went into the kitchen to give him a kiss, he grabbed you by the waist and kissed you for like, 10 seconds, you could feel Steve laughing into the kiss towards the end.

• Bucky was pissed, but couldn't bring it up with Steve because he thought he didn't know.

• Honestly, Bucky is a hoe for attention.

• When all of you are in a meeting or sat at the dinner table, he likes to put his hand on your thigh and trace circles with his thumb.

• His hands are always so cold, and you like to sandwich them in between your warm ones.

• Bucky always randomly brought you gifts. After you got back from a mission? Flowers. After he got back from a mission? Chocolates. Some days he'd just walk into your room and nonchalantly hand you a rose.

• You and Natasha hung out a lot in your room, so it was always a surprise to her when she saw a vase of tulips or roses on your desk.

• "Wow, who gave you those flowers?"

• "Uh, I bought them for myself. They just caught my eye when I walked past the florist."

• Intimacy was a special thing for Bucky. It was never just holding hands or hugging, but it was a really important thing for Bucky to be able to share with you. For a while, he was scared to touch you with his metal arm in fear of hurting you, but you loved holding his metal hand. His arm reminded him of the people he murdered and that repulsed him, but you were determined to change that. So you always held his metal hand, and gave it tiny kisses, maybe massaging it every now and again.

• Sometimes you spent the night in Buck's room. Not to do the nasty, or anything like that, but to just fall asleep in each other's arms with the reassurance that you have each other. But whenever you did this, he had to wake you up really early in the morning so you could go back to your room, just in case anybody came to your room to look for you and found you not there.

• Whenever he had a bad nightmare, he'd come to your room straight away. Lots of the time, you didn't wake up when he came in, and he was gone before you got up in the morning. But every now and again, you woke up to find him cuddling you. You loved it.

• Bucky was never too jealous, unless he knew that another guy was a definite threat. So when you and Steve had to go on an undercover mission and pretend you were married, Bucky didn't take it well.

• On the mission, Steve was reluctant to do any PDA. Although it was what you had to do, he couldn't find it in himself to kiss you or hold your hand. This means that you had to initiate all of it, and you really hated it. You'd much rather be doing all of this with Bucky, but Fury didn't trust him enough with an important mission like this.

• There was this one time where all of the avengers were on a really big mission, and you and Buck were the only ones left behind [thanks again, Stevie]. Taking advantage of this rarity, you both decided to take a shower together. You expected it to be really intimate and relaxing, but it was the opposite.

• "Bucky. Did you seriously just use up the only bit of shampoo I had left!?"

"Yeah, my hair is longer than yours and needs a very precise routine to get it's classic shine!"

[Thud]

"What the fuck, y/n!? Why did you throw your bottle of conditioner at me!?"

• You liked to train with Bucky, but it was annoying how he always let you win. Cute, sure, but you wanted to try and get there yourself.

• Bucky was really self conscious of his body. Yeah, the super soldier serum made him really buff, but he worried that you'd see him as a monster or a freak science experiment. You always reassured him about how handsome he was, and it meant a lot to him.

• You decided to tell the others on valentines day. It would be your 1 year anniversary, and you both knew that your relationship was serious. When you woke up on valentines day, Bucky came in and, with a bit of a struggle, blindfolded you.

• He walked you out into the living room and took the blindfold off, where you saw all of the avengers with party hats on.

• They all shouted surprise, and you were SO confused.

• Turns out, Bucky told them all the night before, and they had planned a day full of fun to make up for all of the time you had lost sneaking around.

• You both appreciated each other so much, and that's all that matters. You were madly in love.

[theprocrastinatingredkitty]

So, seven years ago, I got my ma (who’s generally not much of an anime fan) into AoT. First season and first episode in, she already cried at Carla’s death and left the room only to return moments later and asked me if it was a series.

She got hooked since then. Then at around season 3, my dad got curious about this odd show that kept popping up on Netflix. Fascinated by the visuals of the way the humans were drawn, he started watching AoT but got shookt when he read a few panels of the manga bc the drawings were so far from the original in his opinion. Hence, he kept watching the anime (he’s now watching season 3)

My pa’s 76. My ma’s 65.

My pa grew up watching lots of war movies and such, and my ma was raised in a war veteran’s household (both grandparents were involved in WW2), so pretty much I grew up learning a lot about the wars and stuff

So when my ma watched S4 with me, she kept telling me to never skip the opening. I really don’t skip any AoT OPs tbh, but I guess something struck a chord with her in S4′s opening. Personally, I really like the part with the marching soldiers. It’s both fascinating and frightening at the same time. I’m guessing that’s her favorite part, too.

I gotta say, I haven’t told any of them about the people who’s about to die this season. I have a feeling my mother will bawl her eyes out. If she had been distraught with Carla’s death alone, I can imagine how she’d feel if the rest of the cast would go down, too

My dad, tho. He just kept watching. Says his fave one is Erwin until the end, for being such a great commander, and hopes the ‘little one’ would be great as well

I just want to say thank you to Isayama for, despite all the pain you have put the fandom through over the years, bringing us together to watch the show until the very end

Every episode, my ma and pa would randomly point out about striking comparisons from the show to a real life event, just like in the video, and the possible metaphor and symbolic meaning. I have never bonded with my family through anime before, so it really made me happy. I get to learn things and they get to learn things about the show itself as well

(They keep throwing possibilities on how the show might end, and I’m sitting in the corner quietly, not wanting to spoil them) 😂

[readsky]

June 2020 Reads - Minireviews

5 books this month, including a BIG one. June was a bit slower; I am still not back in work and the weather was pretty terrible, so I didn’t get out much. Lockdown rules have been relaxed a bit, so we’ve had a few friends round that we haven’t seen since Feb. Was nice to just have a few drinks and play some card games (Exciting!). Now, to the mini-reviews!

The Eye of the World (Robert Jordan) I wasn’t planning on reading this, but one of my friends has been telling me to read it for years now. I’ve heard all the “it’s just LOTR fan fic/rip-off”, so I put it off since there’s always so much more original content on my reading list. Then I randomly found it in a charity shop for £2. I took it as a sign that I should read it, and I’m really glad I did! A group of young lads discover that they are being targeted by some very scary and dangerous folk, and set off on a quest with a warrior and a powerful female warrior-mage to find out why the forces of darkness are rising and why they are so interested in them. Are there a ton of LOTR parallels? Yes. Does it feel like Robert Jordan just wanted to be a modern-day Tolkien? Yup. But did I care? No. I recently started reading The Lord of the Rings (I reviewed The Fellowship of the Ring a few months ago), and god damn is that shit a slog. It took me MONTHS to read The Fellowship. I think the only way I could sum up The Fellowship is “dense, whilst simultaneously lacking in detail”. I finished TEOTW in exactly 2 weeks, and while it is dense, the story flowed well, most of the characters are interesting, there’s some badass ladies and there’s enough genuinely well-developed mystery surrounding the characters that I’m very keen to keep reading (although 14 x 800 page books is a lot of reading time to devote to one series, but we’ll see how it goes!). So, was TEOTW special or unique? Nope, but I found it an easy and entertaining read despite its size, and it was different enough from LOTR to keep me interested. Very good. 4/5

Broken Stars: Contemporary Chinese Science Fiction in Translation (Translated by Ken Liu) I’ve already used a bit of my blog to wax lyrical about how great Ken Liu is. And I’m going to do it again! He’s great! What a guy! In this follow up to Invisible Planets, Ken has picked 16 more short sci-fi stories (and some with fantasy elements) written by some wonderful Chinese authors and again translated them for English speakers. This is just as strong a collection of stories as the ones picked for Invisible Planets and just as varied in their ideas and themes. Particular highlights include Baoshu’s What Has Passed Shall in Kinder Light Appear which is a kind of historical fiction where time for the characters progresses linearly, but major world events such as the Second World War and the Chinese Cultural Revolution are happening in reverse. This instalment also includes some more fun stories, such as Fei Dao’s The Robot Who Liked To Tell Tall Tales which is a really cute story about a King known as the biggest bullshitter in the kingdom, but doesn’t want to die with that reputation, so sends a robot out into the world with the mission to become a bigger bullshitter than the King. And finally, Ma Boyong’s The First Emperor’s Games is a short and fun read that will delight anyone with an interest in video games. I enjoyed every minute of this book and hope Ken will continue to bring Chinese sci-fi to western readers. 5/5

Daughter of Smoke and Bone (Laini Taylor) This was another charity shop find (50p!). Looked like fantasy (judging book by its cover, I know!) and then saw that Patrick Rothfuss had given it a glowing review. Turns out it was well deserved. Karou is an art student studying in Prague and seems relatively normal to her friends. However, she moonlights as an assistant to demonic beings who brought her up after she was orphaned, collecting teeth for a purpose she does not yet know. After a chance encounter with an angel, she finally finds out the truth. This is a beautifully written book. The writing is so visual, and it was extremely easy to picture the characters and their surroundings. The way the author describes Prague made me want to jump on the next plane and go. If I were any good at drawing, I would probably have had a go at creating some fan art. My only gripe would be that I’m not a fan of over-the-top, unobtainable, supernatural type romance, and the last half of this book is exactly that. However, once you start to realise what an important element this is to story, you do start to forgive it. Fast-paced and beautifully written. 4/5

The Book Thief (Markus Zusak) I don’t read a lot of historical fiction, so this was different for me. Since I mainly read fantasy, there’s always a certain “epic-ness” to everything I read. The Book Thief is not epic, but that doesn’t detract from this beautiful story based on some of the most tragic events of the last 100 years. The story follows Liesel, a young girl who is forced to live with foster parents after her own are taken to a Nazi concentration camp during WW2 for being identified as communists. This is a story of her growing up in a poor town just outside Munich and the stories of the people she meets along the way (and her growing obsession with stealing books). But to give it a bit of quirkiness, the story is narrated by Death himself. This was probably my favourite aspect of this story, as it gave an “alternative” view of Death. Death is extremely thoughtful and talks in a manner of helping people “cross-over”. I imagine that the author didn’t have the stereotypical black cloak and scythe combo that we usually picture Death to look like. The vast array of characters makes this book an endearing one and it is one I will not soon forget. 4/5

Senlin Ascends (Josiah Bancroft) I would have to put this into my most unexpected reads category. I’m finding it hard to compare to anything. Thomas Senlin is a school headmaster and all-round fuddy-duddy. He keeps to himself and never gets into any trouble. When he eventually marries Marya, a beautiful, fun, and upstanding young woman, eyebrows are raised. They decide to spend their honeymoon visiting The Tower of Babel, a marvel of modern-day engineering with unique societies on every floor. A tower so tall, no one can see the top and no one can actually confirm how high it is. Senlin has learned everything he knows about The Tower of Babel from a visitor’s guide that describes it as a utopia; the pinnacle of modern and civilised society. However, when they arrive Senlin immediately loses Marya in the dense crowds just outside the tower and he quickly learns that this place is as far from utopia as it gets. This is extremely unique science fiction with steampunk elements throughout, and follows the change in Senlin’s personality and outlook as he ascends through the tower, desperately trying to find his wife. I will admit to feeling a bit deflated about this book about halfway through. The lack of strong and/or independent female characters had me worrying and it seemed to be turning into a “save the damsel in distress story”. However, I was breathing a sigh of relief as I approached the conclusion of the book. Not every female character was a victim! Phew! Overall, a great start to this series and I’m looking forward to reading the second book. 4/5

[featuristicfilm]

Movies of Fall/Winter 2019 (and 2020) that I’m really excited to see

With awards season kicking in, the movie release slate is about to bring us some incredible pieces of cinema. There are many films this year that sound fun, interesting, profound and promising so here is a shortened list of the ones that get me giddy with most anticipation. TOP 5 let’s go! (and a few honourable mentions)

5. Lucy in the Sky (Noah Hawley, December 6th, 2019, UK)

Randomly stumbling upon its trailer on Youtube, I was surprised as to why I haven’t heard anything about this film at all because it actually looks super intriguing. Even though the notion of a space movie can feel fairly worn-out, and there is only so much originality you can bring to that kind of concept, Lucy in the Sky looks like it’s going to be a completely shifted take on space dynamics and exploration. In fact, it seems it’s going to be a story fully centred around one character’s individual, self-reflective, very personal journey, with space acting only as a narrative device that creates the background, rather than it being at the forefront of the film’s events. Natalie Portman seems completely in her shoes in this trope of a study of a character who’s deeply damaged and emotionally transformed by whatever trials she undergoes. The trailer is put together so perfectly as well. It tells just enough information for us to understand what is the movie’s premise while also creating a dramatic and suspenseful energy. Also, to me the imagery feels very grounded and serious but also kind of weird, daring and eccentric in some shots, so if the creators managed to balance a kind of art-house approach with some epic, grandiose visual elements it is going to be one hell of a film. To be fair, I was kind of excited just ‘cause it’s Natalie Portman but the more I think about the story the more interesting and promising it sounds. Unfortunately, it comes out October 4th which means its going to have a biiiiit of a competitor in the box-office in the form of Joker.

4. Jojo Rabbit (Taika Waititi, January 3rd, 2020, UK)

This one exhibits several traits that make the film very enticing. First of all, of course, the subject matter. I think it’s fair to say that a little boy interacting with Adolf Hitler in the shape of an imaginary friend is as crazy and amusing an idea as it gets. And, of course, many of us have our understanding and reaction towards the people and events of the WW2 era but to have that portrayed in a comedy genre is definitely going to cast a whole new light on the subject, at least as seen on the big screen. This will most likely be a story exploring harsh realism through imagination and fantasy but also through the earnest and innocent eyes of a child and it will likely be a surprising take and not what anyone expects it to be. Due to many reasons, it is, obviously, going to be a widespread conversation piece and for that alone I have to see it. The other thing that perfectly complements the idea of this project, is the man himself, Taika Waititi. I don’t think a better combination between the material and the creator can emerge because it is hard to imagine someone else taking on such a bold proposition. He’s just the type of writer and director that is so unique in style and taste that you just believe anything he makes is going to turn out special in one way or another, and having creative will and freedom and integrity might be exactly what made this whole thing possible in the first place. Plus Waititi himself is playing Hitler which, I’d imagine, just raises the scale of humour and energy and dynamics of the whole piece. 

3. Jumanji: The Next Level (Jake Kasden, December 13th, 2019, UK)

I know, a not so popular of a choice. Compared to the way every other film is awaited based on their technical and creative merits, with this one I am so genuinely eager to experience the fun. After all the amusement Jumanji: Into the Jungle brought to the franchise, I don’t see why anybody wouldn’t be excited about this next instalment. I absolutely loved that film, it was so so so funny and entertaining! The story was really great because not only did it bring that fantasy and adventure aspect once again but also the way the avatar/game player narrative approach was incorporated was so unique. So, after seeing the trailers for this sequel, it sparked even more excitement to see how else can they possibly spin that concept. With that in mind, bringing in Danny DeVito and Danny Glover, well regarded comedic figures and over all talents, to the mix is genius. Them trapped in the bodies of Dwayne Johnson and Kevin Hart is, honestly, a hilarious thought and having old guys interact with the other teenage friends and deal with challenges in the desert, jungle, mountain tops will be no less than a thrilling journey. I think this is going to be just the right film to kind of step back from all the serious and deep dramas that will be in full motion for Oscar season at the time, and switch to some good-old light-hearted cinema. With holidays coming up during its release (December 13th) - nothing better than to go see a fun family movie. And if the playfulness and humour combined with the fond spirit of the story lands at least the same way as it did with the previous film, it’s going to win over people’s hearts and probably the box-office. Can’t wait to just fully enjoy the action and immerse myself in the wonder of this adventure all over again!

2. Joker (Todd Philips, October 4th, 2019, UK)

I have to admit, while initially I was very interested in this new iteration of Joker purely on a general movie-goer level, it was maintained and gradually piqued as time went on largely due to everyone talking about it so much. The sheer amount of hype and anticipation this announcement has managed to create is baffling. Every film coverage outlet, magazine, blog was discussing it. And maybe it’s just that I follow a lot of superhero genre loving people and maybe the idea of this film, in fact, doesn’t concern the general viewer as much, still it has kept many eagerly waiting. The thing that gives it an edge, though, is the fact that this is not simply going to be your general superhero action blockbuster but rather an intense psychological drama reflecting on certain societal issues applied to a familiar mythology. The character everyone knows as a rival to Batman here seems to be a troubled man, beaten down literally, as well as emotionally due to social injustice and his own mental complications. Therefore, this film will probably not rely on epic showdowns and comic tropes as much but actually will give the concept of an ‘origin story’ a different meaning. It’s exciting that DC took it upon themselves to make a bold and creatively charged version of their beloved character, and with Joaquin Phoenix as the lead and Todd Philips as director I think they can be confident about their vision. Whether it is going to be received well or not, that’s the question. While it did already receive heaps of acclaim, including the Golden Lion in the Venice Film Festival, the early audience reviews are quite widely mixed. Nonetheless, it is very intriguing. I have to say, it’s shaping out to be one of those films, and performances, in particular, that have the ability to stay in the minds of the viewers long after. Not long to wait now and we’ll finally see if it lives up to what it set out for. ‘Cause let me tell you, the standard’s high, for sure.

Knives Out (Rian Johnson, November 29th, 2019, UK)

For the longest, this film and Joker were up to par for the number one place on my list of the most awaited movies of the rest of year. Every trailer amped up the excitement so much more and, ultimately, when I felt that I could’t stop thinking about Knives Out, counting days ‘till it’s release, I knew which one has won me over. No surprise, though. I absolutely love whodunnits!!! There’s just a certain thrill to a mystery or a detective style film that cannot be found anywhere else. There’s always so much room for exploration of characters and narratives and the story can take so many directions. If a screenplay for a murder mystery is done right, and all the twists and turns are unexpected and smartly placed, it’s just the best. I also love the interactive aspect of it. Even though I know I can’t change the way it all plays out, I have the ability to have my own reasoning and conclusions that I can apply in my head as the events role out. So with this film I was instantly hooked. Chris Evans’ attachment to the project definitely helped me discover it, though. I’m a huge fan of his and I was curious already to see what kind of role he is about to take on next after the culmination of his journey as Captain America in the MCU. Since I find him to be a very intelligent actor, I think I can trust his judgement on what kind of material is interesting to explore and what kind of people are worth collaborating with. That in mind, this cast looks absolutely incredible! Some really experienced ‘veterans’ in Toni College, Jamie Lee Curtis, Christopher Plummer, a big big star Daniel Craig, as well as some less known but promising names such as Ana de Armas and Katherine Langford, for example. And that’s just to name a few… Wow. With the nature and genre of the story, given it’s a suspenseful mystery but with a comedic flare, a good ensemble of performers is crucial, as is their dynamic. Hopefully, writer/director Rian Johnson has managed to create a rich, powerful and unique film that will entertain and won’t disappoint. I do believe that will be the case, as that much talent on screen and behind the camera is usually a recipe for success.

If not for the short list… I have so many other films that have caught my attention and that will absolutely have me in the cinema seat on opening night. These include Bombshell whose team is worth an applause for that amazingly well put teaser trailer; Just Mercy, for a true story that will no doubt have an impact on me and for what seem to be astounding performances by the lead cast; and Marriage Story because it will make me cry… Stories about family, love and relationships always hit close home, this one might break my heart but there’s pain and joy in life all the time, I look forward to seeing the often difficult reality reflected on screen.

[prismdelta]

HELLO Part 2 of Generation human which inspired by @incorrectgenerations

Silent Gen

Okay she is everywhere, that means she is probably outside doing something and could be couped up in her home, making Deserts with Wartime Ingredients, such as Mock Apple Pie, Water Pie, Woolton Pie, Wacky Cake, etc, all at same time.

This lady just learnt how to function the Internet but rarely uses it, only using it for Baking and Cooking Recipes, especially when Gen X and Millennials bring their Friends over and she randomly provides Food from all Cultures and cooking styles, she is Masterchef Personified.

Silent Gen and Boomers have a somewhat Strained Relationship, okay it's not that they hate each other it's more like Silent Gen knows that Boomers tried to change the world but Failed because of their stubbornness and Boomers call Silent Gens cowards for not attempting to Change said world not realising they have failed in doing so.This cause Silent Gen to usually try to maintain its traditionalist attitude because to them Change is not worth the risk, rather finding loopholes is the key to success.

Silent Gen usually don't interact with any other Generation not even Gen Z with their unholy Chaos, but recent years they have taken interest to Gen Alpha for some Reason.

Greatest Generation

Trauma....just Trauma, despite their age, they are the fittest among the Generations, they are the Original Chaotic child that have mellowed down after witnessing the WW2, yes they are still Traumatized but they powered through it, they themselves don't realize they are Traumatized by their experiences.

Now here comes Gen Z, they are suffering also from Trauma and Depression but rather they power through they talk about it, this what interests Greatest Gen alot that he is not the only one suffering from these things and they're many other people too.

Gen Z is a Ball of Chaos and Greatest Gen sees Gen Z as somewhat like Nostalgia and that despite all the pain they didn't fully lose their innocence, Greatest Gen wants to protect that Innocence, that's why even if Gen Z does something that affects badly for everyone around them, Greatest Gen may be Angry but not disappointed at them.

Also let's just say they both Fashion advices when absolutely Needed trying to find a middle ground between two generations, especially Gen Z wants to wear something formal for like Prom, Greatest Gen won't give them money to buy clothes but rather, ask them to make one.

Their Relationship with each other is so Wholesome that when Boomers insult Gen Z, Greatest Gen later intervene and argue with his Greatdaughter until she moves away, 1 fun fact of Greatest Gen is that he hosts a week of Fitness tests and Warfare Tactics for Gen X, Gen Z, Millennials and Gen Alpha, teaching them how to survive in different environments like Trench Warfare and Guerilla attacks.

This is the one time where he shows no mercy to his family.He also has a Schedule for this like dear god imagine doing swimming with your hands and Legs tied, Swordfighting while Blindfolded, hunting without Guns (Which Gen Z does very well, they have a whole Medieval fantasy Archer cloak for a reason) and finally Theory lessons like Gunsmithing and Blacksmithing bin General.

{THERE WILL BE PART 3 WHICH IS FINAL ONE}

[rametarin]

Just a weird childhood memory.

I often speak of the sorts of weird kids that seemed.. programmed to behave a certain way. Maybe by their parents, maybe by whatever friends their parents knew.

 But they were the Baby Radfem types. Or the kinds of kids that’d just randomly conversationally bring up Nazis for no reason, and they weren’t even WW2 buffs- When you’re a kid, you need context and reason. And these ones weren’t WW2 aficionados because of the normal reason kids read about WW2, which is cool stuff like tanks, battleships and romantic era jingoism/soft Baby’s First Pop Nationalism That Doesn’t Mean Anything Because You’re Not Even In First Grade Yet. These ones were just weirdly and specifically anti-Nazi despite being like, 6-8. With curiously strong opinions for seemingly no reason. Not even Jewish, or anything. Just, out of nowhere; anti-Nazi kindergartener/preschooler.

And fair enough, the Nazis were/neo-Nazis are bad. But context. Young kids don’t just read gigantic tomes of history and comprehend everything without being coached or influenced or having that media laid out for them where they can read it. So it’s very weird when kindergartners or first graders have a vitriolic hatred towards Nazis, even if there’s no reason not to hate them. That points to a kind of intellectual and emotional grooming.

And I remember it varied. The girls got the specific radfem brand, while the boys had the more generic, not-specifically-for-boys-but-not-radfem brand of it. The sort of asshole that might break the ice upon knowing you by being snide and hair-trigger offended about something, accuse you or being a Nazi and insist you address the accusation or else by not denying it, you confirm their suspicions, and they’ll use that to justify continuing to talk to and treat you like shit. When you start arguing you’re not a Nazi, they start laying out kafka traps and expanding the umbrella of definitions of Nazi-like behavior and thoughts, and of course, not thinking like them is adjacent to republicans/conservatives/religious fundamentalists, whom are synonymous with right-wing, whom are synonymous with Nazis. But nevertheless, feigning being hot blooded and just ohh soo anti-Nazi was how they segued into the subject of Nazism and the accusation of you being one. To start that conversation.

And that’s how, “I’m not a Nazi,”  “You’re closer to a Nazi than I am” came about. That’s manipulation. That shit is something children are taught. That’s fucking indoctrinated psy-op shit. Kids didn’t just randomly do this shit without coaching and prompting, and having strangers that I hadn’t even met randomly opening a conversation starter with a “hot blooded” (and totally not premeditated) accusation because they’re just SooOooO up ons hating Nazis makes sense.

But anyway. I told you about this weird profile to tell you about another weird quirk about this sort of person I remembered. Often they were problem children that’d act the fool. And when they finally pushed too far, tested and then couldn’t bully or coerce the other person by aggressively dismissively giggling like “we” were having fun, justifying cold blooded assholery and attempts to emotionally manpulate by playing off being a prick as a joke, knowing they’d burnt the bridge, they apologize and get emotional and want, “to start over from a clean slate.”

Always, always, always, that, “lets start over from a clean slate/square one/let bygones be bygones and start again from a new beginning!” It meant you weren’t ALLOWED to hold their previous bad actions against them. If you agreed, they’d keep repeating the same shit over and over again like they were sneaking it by you. Just to exposure you to it, just to antagonize you with it, just to try and make you submit to the reality that they were going to behave like this, this was normal, and you’d better just accept it whether you like it or not. Because, “:^) TEEHEE I’M SO CUUUUUUTE. I’M CHARISMATIC.”

Well one time I remember having had enough and made very clear, no, we would not be “starting from square 1 and forgetting everything.” He just repeated, “we’re starting over! Back to square 1!” And I can remember him getting a bit rough, again, which made me cry. He just kept doing that, false apologizing, declaring that we agreed and we’d start over from scratch again, pretending he wasn’t being an abusive little shit.

So I finally just started beating the shit out of him. Knocked his ass around the daycare, did not pull my punches. I remember kicking him in the belly so hard he hit the wall with his back. Oh this wasn’t even ADHD, “kid gets overly rowdy and aggressive and doesn’t mean it,” I mean, I was deliberately and consciously deciding to just kick the shit out of this little bastard to teach him a lesson in aggression and commitment. He fought back, but being a weak and violent little shit and getting potshots in when someone else doesn’t want to go all out is different from someone very meaningfully deciding to whoop your monkey ass. I threw him around like a fucking sock monkey and he fucking knew it.

Let him recover a bit, stopped hitting him. He came over sad and asking, pleading, “why I hit him :(”. So I belted his face again and mocked him with, “LeTs StArT OveR fRoM SqUaRe OnE! LETS START OVER FROM SQUARE ONE!” every time he got close. Just the same as he did, every time we, ‘started over from square one,’ and just gave him another opportunity to betray trust, mistreat and go too far without consequences.

And I didn’t let up on this. After having heard the excuses for him acting like a little shit and then kind-of sort-of apologing but using very selective language to skip the admitting wrong while trying to still be friends and resolving things without saying he wouldn’t do them again, I finally caught on he was doing that on purpose. Because in his cold blooded mind, that was acceptable so long as he could get me to agree to it.

So I took him up on his offer, let bygones be bygones and start over from square one.

Then started beating the shit out of him again, to make my fucking point. “WE’RE STARTING FROM SQUARE ONE! CAN’T HOLD BEFORE AGAINST ME! STARTING FROM SQUARE ONE!!”

I let him fucking have it that day. I was so fucking pissed off at his attitude and false apologies, which were nothing more and nothing less than theatrical pseudo-apologies. Something close enough to that childhood act of seeking apology and moving on that you fill in the dots and assume that’s what’s happening. But no, this kid, whether natural born psycho or just taught to differentiate “I am sorry” from, “I can continue to badger them if I can make them THINK we’re consoling.” this fucker knew what he was doing. That was cold blooded performance dressed up like an apology, allowed to be assumed one, but loopholed..

Ranted at him, too. Didn’t have the extensive vocabulary, but my sentiments came through, I think. Let him know I figured out damned well he wasn’t sincere and wasn’t apologizing, he just wanted more opportunities to grab my fingers and yank them at the sockets because he thought doing that was clever and getting one over on me.

Then let him know, no. There would be no starting over from square one. There would be no more trusting him as if he didn’t do that violent and antagonistic shit with no filter. My guard would be up for the rest of my time I was around him, and I would not give him the benefit of the doubt or drop my guard to be friends with him. Which hurt him terribly. He didn’t like people assuming the worst of him and citing the past to justify it. That meant consequences. That meant distrust. That meant punishment. That meant no surprise pokes or slaps or punches and then a quick forgiveness so he could do it again with no expectation it was coming.

Telling him we could be friends if he apologized and stopped acting like that, because the next time I was not going to stop until his family pulled me off of him. But he was going to stop doing that or I was going to hit back, and not stop hitting. Which he allegedly wanted, he just wanted to be friends minus the whole, “remembering he was an abusive dick” part of knowing him.

He did not want to be friends, after that. Affirming my suspicions the only reason he wanted a “friend” was someone to treat as a submissive subordinate and hurt.

Even wee-me wasn’t having that bullshit.

[megacircuit9universe]

Protocol P?

WED MAR 17 2020

Well, Biden won all three states, Illinois, Florida, and Arizona tonight... by large margins.

I’d been hoping the current pandemic crisis would swing the voting public back to Bernie (FDR of health care) but I was wrong.

I didn’t stop to think about the fact that voter turnout would be low... thanks to fears of contracting the virus, especially in largely populated Illinois, and Florida.

I also hoped that since all the schools had closed, all the college students would be home near their polling places and go and vote but... that didn’t materialize either.  Some did, I’m sure.  I saw two young guys at my relatively tiny polling place.

But this week is also Spring Break, which meant a lot of college aged voters were in fucking Florida, out on the beaches, with no intention of either voting, or even bothering to take social distancing seriously.

And then lastly, there is the 2008 factor, which I mentioned two entries ago.

It’s not just the stock markets now, but the growing realization that all of the quarantining, and closing of businesses is gonna last for months, rather than weeks... ensuring a lengthy recession, rather than a brief economic slowdown.

That fear, at least today, overshadowed those of a health care crisis, and I think gave Biden the edge, as he was on the ticket with Obama back in 2008 when we had our last serious economic storm... thus feels a safer bet.

Also, we all know the economy was key to Trump’s invulnerability... to special council investigations... to impeachment... to any kind of defeat.

With that now scuttled... and with Joe Biden having miraculously made it through the final debate of the primary season without betraying any cognitive decline... sure why not go with Joe?  

Suddenly Trump looks totally defeatable by Joe Biden.  

Now, I would argue that the primary voters are all missing the bigger picture.  Yes, everybody remembers 2008... and yes, over the past 12 years of nonstop economic growth, it’s come to be fairly mythical... even being now referred to as The Great Recession.

But 2020 also has strong resonance with the Great Depression itself... even if that’s left the realm of living memory. It resonates with WW2, with complaints about hoarders, and talk of rationing... and just the general feel of that we are all going to be making sacrifices together for a common cause.

If people took modern history seriously... they’d be looking for another FDR, as opposed to another Obama.

But... boomers don’t give a shit about anything that happened before 1960... Millennials, apparently don’t give a shit about anything... and GenZ is  just too young to comprehend that history has just arrived to fuck them over... like it did to Millennials... and that it didn’t have to be this way.

At this point, it looks like it’s over for Bernie Sanders... barring some miracle.  But since Joe Biden seems to have the market cornered on miracles in this primary contest... I’ve got to admit, Bernie is now toast.

The best hope, now, I suppose, is that Biden beats Trump because of the coming recession... but is also forced to lead the way toward universal health care against his will... because of the immense pressure of the Covid19 crisis, and it’s long lasting after effects.

That, however, is a game for the fall.

For this reason, however, I do think Bernie should stay in the race until the convention... to keep that pressure on the DNC.

Okay... all of that said, let’s look at my model!..

Collective Unconscious, Aliens, Time Travelers, and AI...

The concept of the collective unconscious hasn’t changed much in the past several months. If anything, the few new discoveries on the quantum scene still tend to support it’s possibility, but it remains just as useless as ever, as a tool to get any big social change to happen over a short period of time.

Aliens, of course, are still aliens... just trolling the military once in a while, but pretty much staying out of world affairs as always. 

Time Travelers, however... this is interesting to think about right now.  Because at this specific point in history, where Covid19 is ravaging the globe, but there is not yet a vaccine... ya might think time travelers would steer clear.

Nobody wants to show up in 2020, only to accidentally bring a novel virus back home to their 2038, or 2045, or 2062.

It could be a virus specific to just our timeline that they have no immunity to.  In fact, we would expect any pandemic virus to be specific to only one timeline, given the way that viruses evolve and cross species so randomly. 

But if so, then no time traveler would have any warning about Covid19 before landing on our specific timeline for the first time.

It therefore makes sense that time travelers would probably be working under a protocol to be extremely careful in the field, and undergo quarantine when arriving back home.  

This would mean that time travelers, like us today in 2020, would probably all be very much loners, avoiding all social contact, keeping their distance from people, using PPE, washing their hands a lot, and also just taking the time after a landing, to assess whether or not a pandemic was going on in the worldline... in which case... leave immediately.

This does, however, leave the possibility of rogue time travelers actually spreading diseases between timelines.

But, if that were the case, we’d expect pandemics to start out of unexpected localities... rather than Wuhan China all the time... which is historically where they always come from, dating back to the black plague.

Could Covid19 be a deliberate plant, by a Time Traveler?  Not likely, given my model’s assumption of their top rule which is, First Do No Harm, as discussed in past entries.

Not unless leaders in the future had overwhelming intel coming in from all the explored worldlines of the hyperverse, that the ones in which Donald Trump... (known threat to Democracy in the teens and twenties where his hyperversal twins exist)... fails to establish a dictatorship once in power... are always ones in which a pandemic strikes the globe in his first term.*

If that were the case, then it would be a last resort, but still justifiable, if the loss of life due to the pandemic was far less than if Trump established a dictatorship... with the hardship on the people of the world being far less brutal as well.

In such a scenario, we would expect the viral agent to be one which spreads rapidly enough to grip the globe in a matter of months... but not deadly enough to claim many lives... and one which spared the lives of infants and children completely.

This is what we have... and it took hold in China just after Trump was impeached by the House, when his acquittal by the Senate seemed a certainty.

However, for such a “Protocol P (for Pandemic),” to work, it would have to be deployed, not by a human time traveler, but by the bots they’ve left behind in the timelines (who, in earlier entries, I’ve examined, can actually get updates from the future.)

It would require there to be an existing candidate virus strain... in the time period (2000 to 2028, say)... in a vial in some known lab on Earth, perhaps among some family of viral strains which are all very similar, and all labeled as... not very effective for biological warfare, but we’ll keep them on file anyway... that could be obtained through mischievous means by AI bots, and deployed in Wuhan, so that it looked like a natural outbreak from China.

The economy bots were clearly very much against taking this path, but with impeachment failing... the more sophisticated bots from the future had no choice but to overrule them, and implement Protocol P.

Does this cause a rift in the bot coalition?

Maybe?

Maybe instead it provides our native economy AI bots with a new set of challenges, which will allow them to learn and grow in ways not possible when the pre-Trump status quo was the order of the day.

We do still have the gig economy and Venmo, we still do have unprecedented channels for money to flow, be they dollars and cents, as opposed to millions and billions.

Like Bush2, in his last months, Trump is beginning to embrace extremely socialist measures to keep the system from crashing... throwing billions at the markets, proposing to throw billions more at the health care industry, and even to the people.

Today he floated the idea of giving every citizen a thousand bucks a month until the quarantine is over.

Human critics say, all the money he’s throwing around will just get sucked up into a black hole, but... this is the kind of thing our self driving economy bots were designed to keep from happening... by allowing for endless little branches off the main river, for liquidity to flow into remote locations... to remote individuals... and allowing individuals novel means of generating income online, even if they only have a phone to work with.

Am I getting to spacey here?  I’m pretty far out in the weeds right now, huh?

Okay, suffice it to say, Covid19 is probably just a natural outbreak that happened to take place in an election year, when a would-be dictator happened to be President, when he happened to defeat Impeachment, and his rival party also happened to knee-cap his only viable opponent, for their own myopic reasons, and the youth did not rally to that opponent’s defense at the polls, for their own myopic reasons, and the stage was set for an inevitable dictatorship.

Or... this is Protocol P.

I dunno.

I’m just spit-balling here.

And it’s late now, so I’m going to bed.

*The idea here is that hyperversal Trumps always spend their first term dismantling the machinery of democracy and the press, to the point where they get the easy win for a second term, and then establish the dictatorship.

Given what we know of our Trump, this plan relies on a healthy economy through the first term, and a lot of finger pointing at his opposition as being out to get him.

This strategy not only stands up well against isolated natural disasters... which are limited to small regions he can throw money at, or... if it’s California, blame the Democratic leadership... but it also stands up well against major movements like impeachment... which he can spin as a Democratic witch hunt, and arm twist the compliance of a Republican Senate.

A Pandemic, however, is global... and has no individual human, or political party to blame.  It also does not differentiate between rich, poor, Democratic, or Republican, in the victims it claims.

Pandemics also, of course... will severely tank any economy, self driving or not, that doesn’t factor them in... which America’s does not, because it has no national health care system.

Thus, a pandemic would seem the best, last hope of derailing a Trump dictatorship.

[cheeseanonioncrisps]

The thing with Crowley is that being ejected from Heaven, and declared Iredeemably Evil is that it's allowed him to develop his own moral code, completely independent of Heaven and Hell.

"Not kids. You can't kill kids. That sounds more like something my lot would do."

Hell would kill kids. Heaven, clearly, would quite happily kill kids. Neither Absolute Good nor Absolute Bad have any qualms about killing children, but Crowley consistently shows discomfort with it.

If anything, his instinctive belief that you shouldn't kill kids, that it's Wrong on a fundamental level that even he, as a demon, won't sink to, is closest to human morality. (Humans will kill kids, and have on numerous occassions, but the prevailing consensus is still that it is a Bad Thing.)

He also has a very strong sense of fairness. You can't just leave a big fruit tree there with a 'do not touch' sign and then be upset when people end up eating from it. You can't start one person off in a castle and another off in a warzone and judge them by the same standards. His brand of evil is based very much around pissing people off enough that they're in the mood to potentially do some sinning on their own, rather than directly making them do it. He won't make you do anything you weren't going to do already.

Again, this isn't a Heaven or Hell thing. Hell randomly kills its demons (in at least one case permanently) on what seem like whims; Heaven sentences Aziraphale to death for trying to bring peace and protect humanity, exactly what they've been telling him to do for centuries.

Heaven and Hell don't care about fairness, Crowley does. As OP says, it's comes through especially during the apocalypse. It's almost certainly something he got from the Fall. Cast out for asking questions, considered unforgiveable and doomed to spend the rest of eternity tempting others into damnation— "bit much for a first offence"— I'd be pretty obsessive about fairness as well.

There's other stuff as well. He thinks that dead bodies or serious injuries would ruin the fun of evil. He sounds actually offended at being accused of working with Nazis. He has to go and get drunk for a week after witnessing the Spanish Inquisition.

Crowley is no longer bound by the laws of Heaven, and refuses to accept those of Hell, and as a result may, ironically for a demon, be one of the most moral celestial characters, since he's moral purely for the sake of it, rather than because God said so.

Aziraphale has a similar thing going on. He gives away his flaming sword, because it's Wrong to leave the poor humans at the mercy of the world. He's clearly uncomfortable with the Flood and the crucifixion. By WW2 he's activeky fighting against the Nazis, even though protocol dictates that he leave actual thwarting to the humans.

It's one of the main reasons why Crowley likes him, but he doesn't embrace it. He supresses impulses that conflict with Heavenly orders, or feels guilty about carrying them out, or tries to twist things to convince himself that he's really doing what Heaven wants (he's not trying to prevent the apocalypse and go against the Divine Plan, he's just thwarting Crowley!). He's still convinced that these feelings are wrong, at least until the moment of armageddon when he finally realises that there are no 'good' sides except their own.

Crowley is basically like that from day one. He has no reason whatsoever to maintain a moral code, and in fact it's actively dangerous for him— neither Heaven nor Hell have any patience for people who don't stick to their assigned roles— but he does so anyway, in spite of God Herself, because it's the right thing to do.

Also somebody who’s watched Good Omens needs to come have Crowley feelings with me, specifically–because while yes, I have lots of hearts and love for Crowley/Aziraphale etc etc and all the joy and love they have for each other, I’m floundering a lot in an ocean of thoughts and emotions about what it means to be an angel who sauntered vaguely downwards and then discovered too late that he couldn’t get back up.

There are a few themes and stories that I come back to and resonate with over and over (I think we all have them!), and one of mine is very much, what’s on the other side of the moral event horizon?  What does a person become when they’ve become unforgivable?  When redemption cannot be had, not by any path?

And Crowley is so vicious about rejecting the very suggestion that some part of him could still be good, that he could ever be redeemed.  And Crowley loves humans and loves Earth and loves one angel in particular, and he never learned to love any of it until he was already damned.  He fights and protects because he wants to keep his best friend, his comfortable Earthly existence, and it’s maybe mostly selfishness and it could be just a smidgen of altruism and there’s no way to tease the two apart in any case.  He shouts at God, you’re supposed to have a plan, you’re supposed to be good, you said you were going to test them but you shouldn’t test them to destruction.  It’s not fair.  What you did to me hurt, and maybe I earned it and maybe I didn’t, but what you’re doing to them is not fair.

I don’t have smart words or good conclusions, not for this, not yet, I just have that tight this story means a thing to me feeling in my chest about a demon who does the right thing not because it’s the right thing, but because it’s the only thing, because he loves and he cares and he wants and he’s greedy and selfish and also maybe, maybe, humans deserve to be protected even from God (he never was).

[sinesalvatorem]

Summaries of Randomly Chosen Sparrow Songs

I listened to a shuffled playlist of songs by the Mighty Sparrow (one of the most famous Caribbean musicians of all time and a favourite of mine) and noticed that they are all so incredibly strange. So I decided to summarise the first eight of them so Tumblr can know that it’s not just Dancehall - everything we listen to is insane.

Mr Walker: I need to keep poking at Mr Walker to let me marry his daughter, because she was promised to me and it’s the only way I can make bank. I mean, sure, she’s unattractive, and I can sing about all the reasons why. However, do consider: If she weren’t so fucking ugly, I wouldn’t have a cat’s chance in hell. Honestly, it’s better for by bank balance if I just close my eyes and think of England.

Jean & Dinah: You know what’s the best part of WW2 being over? No, not the end of the Holocaust - all the American soldiers who were stationed here are gone! And you know what that means, right? Demand for sex workers has plummeted! Which is bad for the sex workers, I guess, but consider: I’m now rolling in cheap pussy! Give me pussy until I drown! You have no idea how far two shillings can stretch, oh my G-d...

Saltfish: I really love eating saltfish. What is saltfish, you ask? Salted tuna, of course! What, you thought I meant its colloquial usage as “vagina”? Heavens no! I just want to express how much I love to have my face in saltfish every moment of every day. Give me saltfish until I drown! And you, my dear, have the tastiest saltfish. So fine, in fact, that I bet every man in this room has already eaten it. But I’ll admit that, if you have to eat, all saltfish is pretty sweet.

The Lizard: ...Honestly, I don’t think I can summarise this thing better than the fucking chorus: The Lizard run up she foot and it disappear, Everybody keep searching everywhere, Where the lizard, teacher Mildred? (Under she dress, taking a rest) The way she jolly and happy, I swear the lizard must be tickling she! ...Sparrow, my buddy, my pal, my dude - what the fuck even is your fetish???

Obeah Wedding: Come on, Melda, give up! I already told you I’m not getting married to you because you’re unattractive (and, presumably, not rich enough to counterbalance that). The fact that you’re using literal witchcraft to try to control my heart doesn’t actually make this any better. Besides the fact that your magic doesn’t work, it also makes you do disgusting things. If you invest in hygiene instead of hexes then you’ll find some idiot to get hitched with you.

Pussy Fraid Water: It is very unfortunate that cats are afraid of water. For this reason, it is rare that I find a well-washed pussy. It’s quite a shame, really, since cats smell much nicer when they are well-groomed. Otherwise, they may have nine lives, but they’ve only got one smell. Nine out of ten vets agree that pussycats would be much healthier if they would just bathe. Pussy-owners should certainly take note of this. “Rat and cat don’t agree because rat told pussy it’s too damn nasty.”

Drunk & Disorderly: I constantly get drunk and make stupid decisions. I drink so much that I bring shame upon my family. But who can blame me when every day is Christmas? Good Friday could fall on Wednesday, for all I care. Daylight or dead of night; wine or beer or rum or gin - I don’t care, I’ll be drinking. Everyone I know has gotten good and tired of this bullshit so, even though I’m in jail every weekend, no one will bail me out.

Congo Man: There were two white women travelling through the Congo when they were attacked by a cannibal. He cooked them well and then ate them. Personally, I’m quite jealous of this man. No matter how hard I’ve worked, I’ve yet to taste white meat.

So, yes, this is basically all what an American might consider parody music. And yet it’s par for the course for the Calypso genre (especially older Calypso), which is the primary genre of my part of the Caribbean. Of Calypso artists, The Mighty Sparrow is widely regarded as the best, and there’s even a monument to him in my home country (where he was born but otherwise spent little time in).

[broadway-book-badger]

April Reads

Hey everyone, its that time again. It’s now May, which is crazy, and I’m back at uni for the final term of my first year. The Easter holidays just weren’t long enough! Exams are in 2 weeks, and I’m like not prepared at all, and over the next few weeks when we could be revising, we have to do this massive group design project. We’re half way through now and its not too bad, but I could really just do without it…. I went on a Star Wars pub crawl the other night, dressed up as Rey, which was a lot of fun, and there are balls and other exciting end of year things coming up. I can’t believe how quickly this year’s gone - I’m done with uni on 7th June, and then I have about a week before I fly out to the US for the summer which is very exciting! But also, time passing, very scary, all the rest of it.

Anyway, over April I managed to read 4 books, all of which I will be discussing under the cut. As always, full spoiler warnings in case I go into specific plot points - enjoy!

1) The Graveyard of the Hesperides by Lindsay Davies

The Roman Mysteries by Caroline Lawrence is one of my favourite childhood book series, and I saw this a while ago and thought it looked like the same sort of thing, but for grown-ups! I actually didn’t realise until I started reading that this is actually like the 4th book in a series that’s a spin-off of a different series, but that didn’t really matter and I thought it worked pretty well as a standalone. I feel like maybe I’ll read more at some point, because I enjoyed the characters and its a period of history that I love. 

I thought it was an interesting mystery, and thought it was cool to see a different side to life in that period to what I’ve read before, as this centres around the bars and prostitutes in a pretty rough bit of Rome, and the contrast between the terrible and sometimes quite uncomfortable to read about lives of these girls compare with Flavia Albia’s big wedding and happy home life. I can’t work out how old Flavia is supposed to be though, because she has younger sisters who are in their teens, but she’s marrying a guy who’s about 40, but back then they often used to marry older guys anyway, so I’m just not quite sure, but that’s just a stay though that bothered me a little bit.

The mystery didn’t go where I thought it was going to go, but I was pretty happy with the resolution that we got, even if I thought that the murderers being randomly struck by lightning and killed was pretty silly.

2) Return to the Little Coffee Shop of Kabul by Deborah Rodriguez

I read The Little Coffee Shop of Kabul back in 2014, and really enjoyed it, so it was really nice to pick up this sequel and see what all the characters are up to several years later. Firstly can I just say - I cant believe she killed off Jack! He was such a great guy, although I appreciate that it did then give Sunny a nice storyline about trying to work out what to do next. I really loved Joe as a character, and I cried at the part where he told her about his experiences in the internment camps in WW2.

As with the first book, I enjoyed reading about life and the culture in Afghanistan because its a part of the world that you see a fair bit of on the news, often not in the best way, but you don’t actually know a lot about it, so I found all that really interesting. Halajan is an absolutely brilliant character; I love the way that she’s seen so many different regimes come and go that she almost seems to know that things will change for the better again and does what she wants and doesn’t care. One of the storylines I enjoyed the most though, was the culture clash between Kat and Layla in America, because it is really interesting to see both sides of that “Why do these people do that?” sort of thing. Also because they’re both teenagers so I can relate a little bit more than I can to the older women.

The storyline with Zara wasn’t quite what I thought it was going to be. It’s not that I thought it would play a bigger part (it lead to the coffee house having to close after all), but I think maybe I thought that it would have a happier ending, like Yazmina’s story did in the first book. But I suppose that’s what makes it more realistic - that these things do happen and they often don’t have happy endings. I did love that they turned the coffee shop into a women’s refuge though, I thought that was a nice touch and I liked that all the characters were reunited at the end, even if its just for a visit!

3) Blue Lily, Lily Blue and The Raven King by Maggie Stiefvater

Aaaaahhhhh, so I read these back to back because I just had to finish the series and it was so good! Although, I did have more thoughts when I finished Blue Lily, Lily Blue that I now can’t remember because the Raven King happened and oh my god. I have a lot of feelings and yes, I cried.

First, what I remember thinking during book 3, I loved the bit where Maura was thinking about the note she left, and wishing it had been more specific, and I thought Gwenllian was an interesting twist - “When I didn’t mention the second sleeper, I did not mean bring her here!” Blue and Gansey’s developing relationship was so cute, and everyone’s increasing magic and powers were really cool too. The bit in the cave at the end where Gansey wakes all the bones was so good, as was the bit where Gansey and Ronan show up for Adam’s court case. Alex told me that someone got killed off near the end of this book, but Persephone! I wasn't expecting it, until just before when I realised where it was going, and got sad. Then the scene in TRK about how the 3 psychics met was perfect, but also sad because Persephone. Finally, that ending. Yeah, I sort of screamed a little bit then immediately picked up the next one. I’m glad I didn’t have to wait!

Now, book 4. One of the things I love is how well this series balances all the weird magical stuff with mundane teenage stuff, like college applications and the toga party scene. The toga party was great. I thought the demon was very well done, especially all the descriptions of it unmaking Cabeswater. Horrible, but at the same time good, especially as it got stronger towards the end and took over Adam and stuff. I was nearly late for something because I was trying to finish it, and my friend rang me after I’d been crying and wasn’t sure if I was ok. I mean I was upset when I read the prologue and was like - Gansey knows?!?!?!

But yeah, the ending. She went there. I know it’s been promised for the whole series, but Gansey died, and I cried because it was so well written and his sacrifice and the kiss and everything. I was hoping that they would find a loophole and I was so glad that they did, and I’m happy with what it was. It didn’t feel like a cop-out which those sort of things sometimes can. It was when he went into the cave where Glendower was and he had Henry’s jumper on and the water was dripping on his shoulders and I was like no, no, not yet, it can’t happen yet! I also thought that Gansey was going to die at 6:21, and that was the significance of all those chapters where the time had stopped and it was freaky as hell. It wasn’t, but that would have been cool. I had another theory to do with Gansey actually being Glendower reincarnated, but that was neither proved nor disproved and I'm not sure how I feel about it now. I also thought that Glendower being dead worked really well for the story even though Gansey’s breakdown and decision afterwards was heartbreaking.

I think that the sort of circular time thing is a little bit hard to get your head around, even though it works with the sort of vague rules of the magic, it can be a little confusing, like how that Ronan dreamed Cabeswater but it existed before that and Noah was the one who told Gansey to find Glendower in the first place because he’d stuck in a loop. Speaking of Noah, I understand that he had to move on, it was the only way I could really see his story ending, but I wish he’d gotten the chance to say goodbye to the rest of the Gangsey. I like how Adam finally managed to make his peace with his old life, and that Blue, Gansey and Henry are going on a road trip.

Finally, just a couple of favourite quotes: “Trees in your eyes. Stars in your heart.” Basically, I love everything about that scene with all the psychics in the bath talking to Blue about her future. Also, “He was a book, and he was holding his final pages, and he wanted to get to the end to find out how it went, and he didn’t want it to be over.” Words guys. Words. I’m going to stop now because this got incredibly long and rambly, but I loved this series and all its characters a lot, so there’s that! 

[goatyellsateverything]

Final Thoughts: Ouija (and sequel)

These were good. These were very good. I’m even wanting to add these to my own collection, I liked them so much. I dont go looking for specific movies to buy when I buy horror, usually. The only ones I specifically sought out to get were the original IT, the remake IT, and Krampus. I’ve got a bunch of others but they were all just picked up randomly at pawn shops and dollar stores.

Typically, for me, most horror movies are just one watch and done. Even ones I like, I dont often want to watch them again. I think its because the scares aren’t usually interesting anymore. I’ve seen it so whats the point? Usually, it takes really good effects, unique and interesting writing, or its just a cult-y cheese fest thats fun to dive into from time to time.

The Ouija movies fall into the first two points.

The effects were great. They had this really great effect of white smoke taking over the eyes that was just beautiful. The lip sewing was really realistic looking. It wasn’t massively gory, but it was realistic enough to make me physically cringe whenever they showed it.

The writing was great. They use the fake out several times flawlessly and even use it to foreshadow events later. The twist in the first movie was great. It seems to be more and more rare these days in horror media that if there is a mother or father figure ghost they aren’t the evil one and are just trying to keep their child from killing indiscriminately. Its a fairly common thread in “true” haunting stories, but its becoming less and less common in media unless its based on a “true” haunting story. I dont know. I just really like the misdirection in movies. At least when its done well.

I dont want to just gush about these movies as if there is no criticism to be had.

Because, boy, have I got quite a bit of criticism for them.

These movies suffer from what I call the Annabelle syndrome. They made a good movie with a vague notion of what happened before but nothing concrete, then the movie becomes a hit and they decide to do a prequel sequel BUT the original writer and director aren’t involved in the second movie. Because the original writer and director aren’t involved, some key details are missing or retconed.

Spoilers, btw, like all my final thoughts tend to be.

The first movie brings up news stories that laid out a pretty clear timeline. Daughter goes missing for a period of time, enough for an investigation to happen, and enough time for people to begin speculating the mother had something to do with it. Then, after some time, the older daughter kills the mother during a supposed mental breakdown and she confirms the accusations that her mother killed her sister. Fast forward to the movie when older sister tells the protagonist to find her sisters body and cut the threads on her mouth. Protagonist and friends find the sisters body, laid out on an alter, covered in a sheath, with what I think is amethyst on her eyes. Its an extremely significant detail when you learn that amethyst is used to sooth negative energies like anger, hatred, guilt, sorrow, and pain. It encourages acceptance of lost ones and helps the living heal, move on, and let the dead rest.

In my mind I’m thinking, little sister will be overwhelmed by the evil spirits and the mother will be forced to kill her own daughter in order to trap the evil spirits. She’d use amethyst to try and sooth her daughter’s spirit that was overwhelmed by the evil she allowed into their home through the board. Then, some time later, the older sister is taken over by the evil spirit and she kills her mother. She comes to and due to the grief over her sisters death, the guilt of killing her own mother, and the overwhelming evil spirit riding her like a sports car her mind breaks. But the spirit isn’t totally gone from her and it continues to torment her because it wants its original host back, so when protagonist comes to her, the demon tells her it will leave her if she lets it back in its original host.

Thats not exactly what we got.

The backstory of the house and the evil inside are elaborated on and its actually really interesting. Through some pages written by Doris (the younger sister) while she was possessed. They were written by a Polish immigrant named Michel who came to the US after WW2. He’d been held in one of the Nazi camps, I’m betting Auschwitz, and was experimented on by “the devils doctor.” He ended up on the streets in the US and was eventually put into a mental institute. While there, he recognized the doctor from the camp and the doctor knew he’d been recognized; so he takes Michel from the hospital to his home where he’d continued his work in secret. Michel says dozens of others were in the house and tortured by the doctor. Their tongues were cut out, their vocal chords were severed, and their lips were sewed shut just so they couldn’t make noise when people were in the house upstairs. “Doris” eventually reveals that the spirits were still inside the house (because their bodies were still there, thus they played the “game” in a graveyard) and they were now controlling her body.

Great. Ok. So mom put the amethyst on Doris’ eyes to sooth the other spirits in her body after being forced to kill her. Right?

NOPE.

Lina, the older sister, is the one who sewed up her sisters mouth. Her dad (whos dead) told her to do it through some ghost mumbo jumbo. Mom (who had been chained to the stone table the doctor had used) wakes up after the fact and finds her little girl, well, dead with sewn up lips. Lina tells her she had to, to stop the voices. She comes up, seemingly to comfort her mother, only to stab her and reveals her clouded eyes that showed she’d become the spirits new host.

From there, my original theory was pretty correct. She ends up in the mental institution and her “sister” (the spirits) is still with her.

But the timeline laid out by the newspapers in the first movie no longer exists and all the fan fair around Doris’ body is never explained. We just go straight from Lina sewing her sisters mouth shut to Lina stabbing her mother to Lina in the institution. Who covered her with the burial shroud? Who put the amethyst on her eyes? Who boarded up the doctors old room? Who took all their mothers fake psychic stuff and put it in that room? Who REMOVED all of the doctors tools (because they aren’t there in the first movie)?

If you dwell on these inconsistencies it can sour the ending of the second movie if you allow it to BUT I think the good of these movies outweigh the bad.

The lack of answers IS a big negative but I think the story overall, the characters, the acting, the effects, and the atmosphere outweighs the retcons introduced in the second movie.

I really enjoyed these movies and I highly recommend them.

[jonboudposts]

Winston Churchill and the British Fear of History

This piece is adapted from a broadcast of All the Rage due to be played on Trax FM on 20 February 2019.  It will then be available for streaming and download; I thought it was worth putting into a readable piece too but please excuse the tone if it sounds like a radio show.

Sometimes when the deadline for a radio show approaches, I can be rather panicked.  It can be a struggle to address interesting subjects in the right detail, or at the right time and I often have weeks wandering around stressing about what we should talk about.

This is not one of those weeks; because often, especially in Britain, anything from a serious issue to a seriously-not one drops into my lap from the wider world and our wonderful media - this week it has been that ghost of British history’s appalling past in the shape of one of Britain’s worst sons, Mr Winston Churchill.

The reason he is back in the news is because a few people recently have mentioned how he was not a wonderful person unlike his historical profile; the one getting the most attention is Labour Shadow Chancellor John MacDonnell, who was asked if Winston Churchill was a hero or villain; he replied villain and qualified this as being based in his actions as part of the Tonypandy riots. It caused the usual bullshit response from the usual people and lots of pathetic apologetic behaviour too.

Personally I wish they ha asked me because my response to Churchill would cause mass pearl-clinching hysteria in these circles no doubt.

Now, this will not be a biography on the bloke; I am not going to note his school life, every position he ever held or what so-and-so said about him. This is about facing some of Britain’s most terrible history and how it affects life in the country today – and what position Churchill takes in all this.

Straight out the gate, he is my position:

I hate Winston Churchill.   I hate the things he believed, the things he did based on those beliefs and how he holds a heroic position in much of British culture.  As a working class political activist and believer in the importance of knowing our history, he is a figure of oppression. As an active anti-racist, he is a figure of evil.  He is class privilege personified and someone who has become a Jesus-like figure to the far right and centre and an example of the cultural inertia we face today.

More importantly, I hate the way it has become taboo to raise any question about him or anything about the Second World War, including setting certain facts straight.

If you are someone who feels saying such things about people like him or feel any criticism of the generation he supposedly represents is not acceptable, we will never agree but I would ask you to listen and hear a totally different view that while perhaps repellent to you, is sincerely held and formed.

Churchill represents so much that I hate about British culture and society and he was a terrible man.  Let’s look at his worst hits:

Racism – Churchill was a white supremacist and is today considered a hero by people who have the same opinions.  He saw Indians, whom he starved and Kurds, who he wanted to gas as ‘beastly people’ of a lesser worth and talked of wiping out the Japanese.

Whites were a stronger race according to him; better than blacks or quote ‘red Indians’ and this justified taking their place an land, mass slaughter, etc.  Ironically for his modern supporters, he had more respect for Islam then they like to admit but one does not cancel out all the others.

He was also not opposed to fascism; he in fact had admiration for Franco in Spain and spoke admiringly of Mussolini in Italy.

Famine – most acts of mass starvation are caused by human action and Churchill was fundamental to the Bengal famine in India where 4 million or more died and it is estimated the Indian population suffered the equivalent of a loss up to 100 million.

Ireland – he suppressed Irish people, their culture and anyone who believed in independence including sending the brutal Black and Tans to subject the population to violent suppression, with thousands killed during the War of Independence.

Miners – during the miner strike of 1910-11, where strikers attempted to improve their terms and conditions that were being kept deliberately low.  Mr Churchill decided to send in the troops and many in the working class community and especially Wales have never forgiven him.

He was a racist, extremist and enemy of the working class – simple as that.  He was totally led by ego and getting his name into the history books just like some of his political decedents, although most of them have not managed to rack up the bodies that Winston has on him.

This of course feeds into the subservient attitude of today’s British (or more specifically English) culture that detests change and difference and while refusing to show decency and respect to so many types of people and viewpoints, demands obedience to the things they hold dear – such as war and dominating other parts of the world.

Every far right group, politician or general gobshite uses the war and ‘respect’ for soldiers as a shield usually for their own racism or similar hatred.  It is a mindset like many religions or cults try to enforce – of not thinking or questioning what you are told.  This foul representative of the ruling order somehow becomes a ‘man of the people’ through the power and privilege bestowed upon him by his class position.

In the modern context, we now see ludicrous comparisons with Brexit to the ‘Blitz spirit’ and a need to believe in Britain to get what you want; this was of course what won World War 2 and nothing to do with the Soviet army smashing the shit out of the Nazis at the expense of around 27 million soldiers and civilians on their part.

Worse, some people seem to like the idea of the Blitz; when bomber planes randomly took out houses and people every night; this is something that can only be thought by the dangerously ignorant and disconnected, not to mention a great insult to those who survived it, not to mention those not so lucky.

Winston Churchill did not win WW2; he did not even fight in it.  He toured the sites of warfare after the bodies were cleared away and after the war, when the British electorate put him out of a job, he spent time writing himself into the history books; in fact many of his quotes are quite useful here – ‘history will be kind to me for I intend to write it’.

What he did is make speeches calling for unity and strength, which he acted on by leading a coalition government.  But this was his job and not the only speeches he made.  He also praised Mussolini, Franco and even seems to have admiration for Hitler.  In fact his view as we noted earlier is that fascism was only a problem if it invaded Britain; it could do what it liked on the continent.

Winston Churchill did not save Britain in the war; everyday people fought, planned, sacrificed and died.  Most importantly, the generation who fought in the war knew this.

Post-WW2: Birth of the Welfare State

The generation that fought in the war, who we lionise more than we ever talked to, had far less delusions about Winston Churchill; so much in fact that upon returning home and perhaps remembering how badly the returnees from WW1 had been treated, they demanded a better country to live in with a welfare state that took care of it’s people rather than privileged the rich.

Churchill was up for none of this – so they voted him out.  A ruling class thug could never bring himself to allow the rabble to have any control over their own lives nor the country they had just fought for.

Fortunately the Labour Party was offering free healthcare via the NHS and all the benefits of a decent welfare system that treated people with decency and respect – and fortunately for all of us, the public voted for it.

Churchill’s Cheerleaders

Boris Johnson – this bell-end has written a book on the man and has nothing but unqualified and uncritical praise.  For those of you not in the know, Boris Johnson is another egotistical upper class prick who has come into politics as his birthright – he is also utterly useless and never takes responsibility for his actions; sound familiar?

During the last week, when it was announced that the budget for a planned garden bridge that was never build during his time as London Mayor ran to £53 million of public funds, you would think the media might have been chasing him over this and a few other gaffs.  But no, he was able to flap about John MacDonnell and the great insult to daddy Winston.  Talk about a snowflake.

Also like Churchill, our Bodger Boris loves to indulge in racism such as against Muslim women and their ‘letterbox’ face vales, or claiming that when President Obama said Britain would not get preferential treatment for trade deals upon leaving the EU, that he was motivated by his ‘Kenyan roots’ to ‘hate Britain’ – so at least Boris has some understanding of British history.

Jacob Rees-Mogg – the living epitome of class privilege and the awful right wing politics that goes with it.  Old Jacko cuts a ludicrous figure and that is probably the most dangerous thing about him; for like Mr Johnson he comes across as someone not to take seriously – but we really should.

Along with his retro-views on women and LGBT rights, he loves the Victorian era and was once exposed attending a dinner hosted by The Traditional Britain Group, who among other things feel no one non-white can be British and advocates other ethno-nationalist themes.  They have advocated for the deportation of non-whites including Doreen Lawrence. They also hosted Simon Heffer and Richard Spencer as speakers.  

His recent hit was to claim that the British invention of concentration camps during the Boar War was for their own safety and all those who died were just part of what happened years ago when more people just died…this was part of his answer to the question of Churchill.

All of which slots nicely into his hard right political position

Sadiq Khan – I don’t like to take a pop at the London Mayor as in a lot of ways I like him; but he is a centrist and on issues like this, he is a little too cautious for my liking; not perhaps a cheerleader but part of those who have equally failed to tackle the true meaning and human weight of the actions that Churchill committed.

While co-hosting a regular phone-in last week on LBC Radio, the question came up and he talked about understanding Churchill ‘in context’. What exactly the context for understanding a mass murderer who hated non-whites and the working class is, Sadiq did not go on to note sadly.

In fact this liberal unease at condemning Winston Churchill is probably more disgusting that the right wing open praise and hero worship; after all, it is their nature to cheer a right wing white supremacist whose actions led to the death of thousands – what’s your excuse liberal boy?

No doubt it relates to the hatred in liberal centrist circles for the left; during the Blair and Brown years they thought the political inevitably of capitalist realism meant we had been cast into history forever.  But that is not the case and they have been having daily breakdowns ever since Corbyn became Labour Party leader.

Perception

Earlier I referred to the perception of Winston Churchill in this country and what I am specifically talking about is how he has become an icon who cannot be criticised; when people do criticise him, responses can range from complete dismissal of you as a person to outright death threats.

But it was not always such because once again we have seen a cultural movement that has taken even more drastic hold in the last thirty years’ class war.

Despite what media and modern discourse might have you believe, it is not uncommon – and was more so for the war generation – to find working class communities and people who have no time for Winston Churchill, my family included. He was seen as the elitist rich boy he was and all the things he did were informed by that and the need to preserve the status quo.  People from Wales to India have no trouble assessing him based on everything he did, not just his hyped-up war record.

So many of the ideals of the far right come from Churchill; his belief in the lesser worth of other nations’ people and religions; his belief in mass slaughter; that ethnicities like Indian people ‘bread like rabbits’ and even closer to home, his contempt for the Irish and working class in general.

Subservience

All of this is also tied into British history in regards Empire and all the evils done there.  Too much of English-dominated society either does not want to face this history, or has no problem with it; this is the reason for racism, xenophobia and the silly idea of English exceptionalism

Now I have my theories about why this is but none of them are complete so I may have to conclude with a question rather than an answer; why are people so subservient to power?  We can look nationally, in which case no doubt it involves the class system but then America is just as bad if not worse.  They of course have a class system that is rarely talked about traditionally but also the overt worship of position in hierarchy, which they probably inherited from the British.  It does not matter how you got power, just that you have it.

So is it a western problem?  Not entirely although that may be a particular type but plenty of countries in Africa, Asia, Latin America, anywhere you choose to mention has a love of ‘strong man’ leaders.

But then again many other parts of the world – from Europe to wider – have also had working class-led revolutions and Britain has not.

Recently Lord Finkelstein – a Tory Lord – published a piece in The Times saying that Churchill was a racist and life-long white supremacist.  Even someone on the political opposite gets this, so what’s the problem?

Conclusion

Winston Churchill was one of the worst people Britain ever produced who cynically wrote himself into history as a more important man than he was.

I feel no affinity to country or nation and I will not surrender my critical faculties for anyone especially a self-serving member of the elite.

This brings us back to the culture war again and links into wider blathering about ‘Western Civilisation’ and how anything foreign (read non-white or Jewish) is degrading the greatness of our beloved culture – that would be the thing whose biggest exports in the last 20/25 years have been a game show about becoming a millionaire and a supposed-talent show about torturing my ears. ‘Western Culture’ is again a concept with roots in colonialism, anti-Semitism and racist assumptions about impurity brought about by mixing.  

As Owen Jones pointed out, our rights and freedoms were not given to us but won by everyday civilians demanding them; suffragettes, trade unionists, political campaigners and today kids striking for the future of the planet.

The hero worship of Winston Churchill is a way of airbrushing out the work done by all these people; real people like you and me who give and gave everything as oppose to Churchill who only ever acted for himself.  Hero worship and patriotism will get you nowhere and require wiping out large swaths of actual fact and history in order to make your side look better – a side to which you have added nothing, merely been born into and taken for granted that you have a right to certain things above others.

Now, for the first time in my life, we have the chance to really change society – to make life better with stronger rules and laws governing working; the opportunity for a foreign policy that does not involve terrorising weaker countries; to make life more equal and demand those with the most pay their way. We also need to get with the programme in regards climate change otherwise we will not be here much longer.

Ditch the worshipping of anyone but especially these appalling establishment toads.  The class war has not managed to destroy us despite throwing everything at the job; now we need to stop doing it for them.

Recommendations

Winston Churchill by Clive Ponting (Sinclair-Stevenson, 1994)

A far more honest and comprehensive study of the man’s career

Contrpoints video on The West was very informative and funny

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hyaftqCORT4