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toxinellebug · 2 years ago

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Supreme Identity theory

Wang Fu if he used the Miraculous to win WW2.

We know from Origins that Fu had tried to entrust Miraculous to holders before when he told Wayz he “only got it wrong once”. We also know from Backwarder and from the first ep of S5 that he was in France during the Nazi occupation, and that he was running from Nazi’s who had somehow discovered the Miracle Box and the powers it contained. We know this because we hear soldiers shouting to retrieve the box.

Now, we know from the episode Feast that the temple was destroyed and he lost the Grimoire, the Butterfly, and the Peacock because he was too young and frightened to think to simply end the sentimonster’s existence with the power of the Peacock.

Imagine this, what if, in Hesparia/Betterfly’s universe, Master Fu’s resentment of the Order of the Miraculous that took him away from his family was far stronger? Imagine if that Wang Fu had created a Sentimonster to destroy the Temple ON PURPOSE, but was able to use the Peacock to destroy the Sentimonster after, and as a result, he kept all the miraculous and the Grimoire.

But he would not be able to return home after essentially becoming a murderer, especially when his family had emphasized what an honor joining the Temple was.

But now he is still an angry teen, with a magic box of unlimited potential, and, having grown up poor, certainly now he can change that… And he has a spellbook that can help him.

Keep in mind that the Temple is in Tibet, which is a part of CHINA, which was originally Imperialist, then Nationalist before becoming communist sometime around the 1950’s.

Now, the ONLY reason Germany and Japan surrendered in WW2 is because they were scared of the Soviets. China was an ally at the time because they hated Japan, and Germany, but they have also always hated Russia. The atomic bomb was a waste of time because Japan did not care; they were willing to keep fighting the allied forces even if the Americans nuked them off the map. They only surrendered to us because Russia advanced on them and they knew the USA would be more merciful.

THIS is why after WW2 we delved into a cold war with the Soviet Union, because even though technically the Soviets won the war against Nazis and Japan, the Atomic threat of the US was nothing to sneeze at, at least until they could develop nuclear weapons of their own to be an equal threat.

REMEMBER that Marianne wanted Fu to use the Miraculous to fight the Nazi’s during the occupation of France, but he refused.

WHAT IF HE HADN’T? What if Fu used the powers of the Miraculous to fight in WW2? He could’ve created a magical army of super-soldiers that could’ve beaten back germany AND japan because the Manhatten Project even became a daydream, and would’ve made the Soviet’s wet their pants.

Of course, by this time, he would’ve had enough time with the Grimoire to uncover it’s secrets, and found ways to exert control over the kwamis and their miraculous even if they were lent out to holders.

As the owner of the magic jewels that brought an end to the second world war, he would become a VERY powerful man. And, based on the values of his homeland, he might even wish to re-shape the world in a more Centralist fashion, appointing himself as the Supreme Leader.

This world would frown on mutual aid. And, as many comics have suggested, (both Marvel and DC) without the creation of the Atom bomb and the effects of nuclear radiation mutating DNA, things like superpowers would not exist (at least not without Magic or extra-terrestrial beings like Majestia). This would mean you can forget about the Untied Heroes of America. And the world would be ruled by one leader, who could grant power to those he saw fit.

We know that in the parallel world of the Paris Special, Gabriel is different because he chooses to move on rather than become obsessed with Emelie. We know that Sabine is NOT a calm and supportive mother her daughter can rely on and find comfort in… which also means no Socquliene (is that how you spell it?) was asked to watch over Marinette, and that is probably why no one else dared to try and talk to Marinette either (let’s face it, before Alya, the other girls were never really Marinette’s friends. None of them were willing to stand up for her or defend her, and not a single one of them even knew she liked Videogames until the Gamer episode, despite having known her for years). We also know that Adrien became obsessed with his grief over his mother’s death and had no interest in making friends.

Therefore, it is reasonable to assume that in that Universe, Wang Fu was not interested in upholding the values of only using the Miraculous for the greater good, but instead decided to use them for his own personal gain.

That would also explain why Adrien and Marinette are the ones who get the ring and earrings. Wang Fu chose them, albeit for different reasons.

This also means he knows who they are; He gave them their miraculous for the purpose of causing havoc, probably because he sensed that they would be tempted to use the miraculous for revenge or to vent out their frustrations, which would draw out the man who stole the Butterfly and the Peacock. And by not warning them of the consequences, he ensured a sort of dependence on him- if they want to live, they NEED the Supreme to fix the damage the Miraculous has caused their bodies, and to do that, they need to Hunt down Hesparia/Betterfly.

The fact that Tikki and Plagg were muzzled suggests the kwamis have tried to rebel/escape before, and the fact that Gimmi was blocked means the Supreme has already anticipated the possibility of being betrayed by holders of the miraculous… It shows he is prepared and has thought ahead.

Meaning he KNOWS who Marinette and Adrien are, where they live, go to school, etc. Also, since the Supreme rules the world and knows/controls all the post powerful people, it would not be difficult to retrieve the Ladybug and Black Cat Miraculous from the foolish teens who dared to defy him by joining his enemy.

We can conclude that the Supreme does NOT know that Gabriel is the one who stole from him because Adrien Agreste is STILL a famous model and his father is STILL busy creating clothes.

The Supreme rules the world, so obviously if he knew it was Gabriel, then he wouldn’t need to hunt him down, and wouldn’t allow his son to enjoy a comfortable life of being rich and famous, nor would he entrust a Miraculous to the son of the man who stole from him… Just as the Wang Fu from the main universe would not intentionally put the black cat miraculous under the same roof as Hawkmoth. Rather, since we saw how easily he was able to break in to drop off the miraculous in Origins, and how easily he snuck in to take them back in Feast, we can conclude that if Wang Fu had known, he would have just Ninja’d Nooru and Doosu back instead of trusting two kids with the most powerful jewels in the world.

Wang Fu being the Supreme also explains why their is no Natalie by good Gabriel’s side; she was an artifact hunter, a female Indiana Jones. But if Wang Fu never lost anything, there would be nothing for Nathalie to find, thus no reason to hire her.

This could also imply that Felix does not exist in that Universe, since we know Felix is younger. Colt Fathom was obviously a powerful and spiteful individual, so even if Gabriel could not bear to let someone else come to harm from using the Peacock, it is also safe to bet that he could not risk telling Colt his secret because Colt could in turn betray Gabriel to the Supreme. This leaves Kagami’s existence up in the air, since we do not know when she was created, but if she is younger than Adrien it stands to reason that she does not exist because again, Gabriel would not wish to risk anyone else suffering Emelie’s fate, and sharing the secret could lead to not only his destruction, but the destruction of Adrien, who has obviously been kept in the dark about everything for his own protection because knowing you aren’t human is already traumatizing… Knowing you are the cause of your mother’s death is almost guaranteed to make you seek out an express ticket to the afterlife.

MY QUESTIONS:

How are the newly reformed Ladybug and Paw Noir supposed to fight against the Supreme? They are 14 years old. They can’t go home or return to school because the Supreme knows their identities and would come after them where they live, and obviously threaten their families snd use their influence to forcibly take the Miraculous back. So by agreeing to join Betterfly’s resistance, they have become homeless fugitives.

How do they not already know Gabriel Agreste is Betterfly? This question applies to the episode Cat Blanc as well; they tracked him down to his butterfly lair, which is located underneath the Agreste Mansion. Can you imagine Spiderman finding the Green Goblin’s secret base in Normon Osborn’s basement and going “Gee, I wonder who the Green Goblin really is under his mask? My buddy Norman sure will be surprised to find out a Supervillain has been living in his house this whole time!”

The Design of Betterfly’s secret hideout is identical to Hawkmoth/Shadowmoth/Monarch’s lair. Even has the same butterfly window.

So Cat Noir being shocked that his dad was Hawkmoth, even after discovering his lair under his house, and Claw Noir complaining about his dad being busy designing clothes, despite having discovered the butterfly man living under his house, is really difficult to accept coming from a kid that excels at particle physics and seems to have an eidetic memory concerning history facts and speaks several languages fluently.

#miraculous paris #miraculous ladybug #miraculous fandom #miraculous world #Mlb #The Supreme #griffe noire #shadybug #gabriel agreste #marinette dupain cheng #wang fu #adrien agreste #paris special

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whoisthispersonwow · 1 year ago

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1.4K words: wip, snippet. Buck and Bucky reconnect after some times after the war, and Gale is shocked to learn that John is married: they go outside, and feel like the other is a stranger, despite having spent 3 years of their existence with him. That's it, that's the pitch! enjoy! (ps: keep in mind that this is a WIP, english is not my first language, and i'm trying really hard ok-)

tw: alcoholism, mentions of nsfw

The toothpick feels rotten in Gale’s mouth as it twists around, sweeping against sharp molars. Bucky’s smell tickles his nostrils, a bitter mix of whiskey and cold tobacco, the hot breath of a drunk man. The whole ordeal feels sour, a pitiful improvised play between two strangers that used to sleep in the same bed, miserably clutching to any sort of normalcy. Grass tickles Buck’s fingers, the blades embedded with thick drops of rain and rendering the back of his trousers wet in something akin to discomfort. During the war, John had never been one to care about those things: he would laugh and pull on Gale’s sleeve until the other Major followed him to the ground, always amused at best, neutral at worst, but certainly never rebutted by anything filthy. Buck looks at the way the man stands propped on his elbows, muscled arms shining with sweat and naked ankles anchored to the floor as he comfortably lies almost entirely on the drenched ground: and a part of him feels pride, seeing that this is a part of Bucky that did not change, that he still knows.

There is a space between the two of them, and it registers as wide as the ocean they had to cross to get to England to Gale. It is a divide that should not be there in the first place, one that he desperately wants to fill as if it would make him forgiven. Despite his discomfort, Gale has always known to respect John’s space. He knows it is not his place to move closer in any way, not this time. Still, it feels wrong for them to be this far from one another, and Buck is reminded of the morning of the day he went down: the numbness in his chest he had felt when Bucky had not been there to briefing, not there to greet him as he climbed up his fort on that wet tarmac, not even there to pat his shoulder, easy as breathing, and tell him to be home for dinner as he always did when he did not fly, grinning from ear to ear but eyes full of the worry of a man who has already lost too many friends. In a way, it had hurt less to be this far from one another when the war was the one thing that kept them away from one another: Bucky had managed to get his way back to him across England and into Germany, for them to spend the rest of the war together, and Gale has managed to loose his best friend when the man lived one state away. Shameful, truly.

“— Cat got your tongue?”

Buck bites hard on the splintering toothpick, wood chipping against his tongue. His head spins to see Bucky already looking at him, intent and unreadable. There is something that reminds Gale of England, in the wetness of John’s mustache and upper lip, the way he licks the chapped skin while suckling on his saliva: and, as it always has, it elicits a disgusting sloshing noise that has Buck refraining from frowning in disapproval. But it’s just the two of them, and the silence of the night makes him remember that there are no songs to make them go back to Thorpe Abbotts, no brotherly arms wrapped around their shoulders as everyone laughs and shouts, no affectionate playfulness carving the features of John’s face. His jaw is tense, the muscles of it flexing as his tongue swirls around his mouth, sweeping across his front teeth: Gale focuses on the way it makes them gleam, still pearly white despite all those years of smoking.

Even John's eyes have lost their warmth, their homely feel that had always eased and led Gale to relax: he looks at them now, red and puffy, their edges roughened by exploding blood vessels that stand out when he looks up at the sky to avoid looking at him. Gale had seen John drunk more than a few times: it was a social endeavor for him, one that made him all baritone voice and gentle pats on the waist, open smiles and kind eyes. Upon coming back, Rosie had told him that Bucky had started drinking when Buck had been declared MIA at first, then every time he started to feel a little blue. To Gale, the relationship that John had with addiction limited itself to harmless little bets and gambles. When he sees him now, he realizes that, perhaps, he had never wanted to face the truth; Gale had never expected to look into his best friend’s eyes and see them covered by the glassy veil only a drunk alcoholic can muster. And Gale is convinced, deep down, that, if he didn’t know any better, he would have thought he was looking straight into his father’s misty eyes after a bad race.

“— You know…” And Gale doesn’t know, feels like he knows nothing of Bucky anymore, but remains silent. “I never thought I would get married. Was never the settling type, you know? I just didn’t see it, for me. Why only get one girl, when I can get a new one every night? Why bother at all, get into all this trouble of dating and meeting in-laws and so on, when I could just get into a bar and fuck into a girl by the end of the night if I was lucky?” He shifts with a small grunt, heavy body gliding against wet grass without a care in the world for the stains rubbing his thighs against the ground would certainly cause. “But then I came back, and guess what Buck,” the name feels heavy as his lips curve around the syllables, as loaded as it is sacred. “I realized that once the war was over, my way of living, uh, well, it didn’t matter. Now that it’s all done, no one cares enough to fuck just for fun, forgetting in the morning and leaving a trail of hickeys on a stranger, because everyone clings desperately to a pretence of normalcy and prays to God that it becomes reality. And it does.” He pushes on his elbows, looks right at Gale as he does, eyes unfocused and perhaps a little lazy: he frowns, trying to convey how serious he is, Buck supposes. “And I decided that with or without you as my side as a friend, Gale, I deserved to try. I deserved to have a beautiful wife at home who pops out children for me chastise, who sucks my dick as she kneels in the kitchen and is delighted, like it’s a privilege to be performing her marital duty. I deserve it, and it doesn’t matter how I felt about this whole type of life in the first place. I had to get it, one way or another. I just had to, you know, either that, or dying alone like a fucking coward who accomplishes nothing, leaves nothing of himself on this God forsaken Earth, not even a fucking wife to cry him. And if I had chosen to do that, then why would I have even bothered surviving the war at all, uh? Why not just get my head chopped off by a piece of burning flak in the cold belly of a B-17? It could have been a quick death too, I betcha I wouldn’t have felt nothing. But it didn’t happen that way, so why did I survive, if not to try to be happy?” His mouth quivers, a subtle thing that he tries to hide by looking away, biting into his lower lip with force: Gale notices anyway. “Fuck, after everything, I just wanted for it to be gone, bury myself deep in a woman and forget I even have a name as she screams it. When anyone talks about war, I wanna be as numb as a fucking corpse, feel nothing as if I didn’t drop bombs for a living for God knows how long, just go on and live a normal, happy life. The entire country is moving on, and so am I. After those god awful three years, I deserve to be happy, Gale, don’t I? And I am, now.” He snorts, inhales sharply. “I am.” He adds, as if the words had run out of his mouth, voice smaller. And Buck, for all he trusts Bucky with everything he has, does not believe him.

#clegan #bucky x buck #mota #buck x bucky #john bucky egan #gale cleven #snippet #wip

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baggebythesea · 7 months ago

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The Muppets version of Goncharov was amazing, sure, but the story of how it came to be was - in classical Goncharov fashion - even more bonkers than the movie itself.

The whole thing started as a joke. Some people at the Jim Henson company (who for legal reasons will remain unnamed) was playing around with the muppets and, since Goncharov was just about to hit the theaters* they decided to make a sketch. None of them had seen the film, but one of them had heard the infamous dutch radio drama (extremely illegal, of course), so they actually nailed the scenes with eerie accuracy.

*) That is, the SECOND US theater release, but that's a whole other fiasco

Anyway, they had their fun and made their little five minute film and that would have been that, but due to a mixup, the reel was put in the wrong box and delivered along with some charity film to a small TV station in Canada. The people who received it assumed it was part of the rest of the show, and broadcasted it to a small audience of - presumably confused - Canadian children.

That would have been all, if not for the fight over the Goncharov broadcasting rights between East and West Germany, which became part of a general dick measuring contest between the East and West powers. At this time Canada and the Soviet Union had started at tentative relationship over (what else) Ice Hockey, and a Soviet team was in Canada for some 'friendly' games. Which means that when the Soviet hockey players chill in the hotel with some TV, what would they see if not a low budget Muppet version of a blatant disregard for Soviet-US-Agreemens(TM) which during the height of the cold war is a bit, as they say, frowned upon.

Word gets home to Moscow, and on to the United Nations, where the Soviet cultural attaché gleefully grabs this unexpected piece of diplomatic ammunition with both hands. This make waves all the way up to Spiro Agnew, who demands his staff find a way to save face. The FBI raids the Henson Company and the poor people involved (their identity is actually still classified) fess up. Since Agnew refuse to tell the soviets that they made a simply mistake, the solution his staff cook up is to release the Muppet version as the official US version (which is why there is a THIRD theatrical release), which they actually have the rights to, which would place the Canadian broadcast as promotional material (still allowed under the agreement).

Only problem - they don't have a movie, just the five minutes goof a few bored puppeteers put together. So under the 'helpful' eyes of FBI, the Henson company drops everything else and work around the clock to create a muppet version of Goncharov. Matteo JWHJ0715 is flown in from Spain (which put a spanner in the work for the lawsuit against him for smuggling, but that's another can of worms), and even Martin Scorsese gets involved, even if it's a bit murky what - if anything - he actually did. They finished the movie with a few hours to spare (and in true Henson Studio overachievement fashion made a banger of a film) and the reels are flown to New York and the movie premier with a by then highly experimental Dassault-Breguet Super Étendard fighter jet on loan from France (which incidentally caused a few UFO sightings).

Everything's well that ends well. The movie was shown to a very confused audience, US could claim they had not broken any international broadcasting rights agreements, and Canada and Soviets could get back to the important business of hockey. No more clouds in the sky.

Right?

Not so quick.

This was at the same time as the fight went down between Matteo JWHJ0715 and the Italian government (you know, the one where the mafia got involved), which among other things meant that he lost the rights to the movie in Italy, which propagated throughout Europe and the US.

Normally, the rights would have defaulted to Martin Scorsese (but due to the animosity between him and Matteo JWHJ0715 they didn't) or the production company (but because of the heavy money laundering allegations, they were out too). This, together with the fictive but legal connection the FBI had forged between the original production company and the Henson studios, Jim Henson, in late 1973, found himself the sole rights holder to Goncharov (1973).

He quickly realized what a hot potato it was and - deciding that being raided by FBI once was enough for him - quickly reached out to Martin Scorsese to give the rights back (which pissed off Matteo JWHJ0715 to no end, which led to the whole film festival debacle, but that's another story). But for a while there, the Muppets Goncharov 1973 was not just A Goncharov - it was THE Goncharov.

(Oh, and this was actually the first appearance of Animal, as Ice Pick Joe. Sadly, they had to retcon it later for legal reasons and claim that the Ice Pick Joe muppet was a completely different muppet than the 'real' Animal that debuted 1975, but obviously no one was fooled).

The Muppets as Goncharov (1973)

the only goncharov remake I want is a muppets version

#goncharov #unreality

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mephistosfaust · 1 month ago

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One Word Prompts: Drinks | 1863 | Germany + fellow cadets

A/N: After the failed 1848 revolution, Prussia lost patience with Ludwig’s defiance. With Austria more or less sidelined, he sent the boy to the cadet school in Potsdam to instill proper discipline. It’s now late November, just months before the Second Schleswig War—soon to be the first spark in a chain of conflicts leading to unification. Ludwig is about 17 year old.

------

“Prussian obedience is that of a free decision, not of submissive servility,” I read aloud.

“Huh?” Georg mumbles, his mouth full of lukewarm oatmeal. “What did you say?”

Georg is built like a sack of flour, round and soft in all the wrong places. He means well, always cheerful in that way people are when they’ve never been expected to do anything with precision or grit. Always the last to finish drills, always the first to laugh at his own incompetence. He’s too lenient for the army, let alone statecraft. His parents would do him a favor if married off east of the Elbe, giving him a manor house, a few fields to ruin, and a plump wife to raise him five children – and then three more – each by a different maid.

I nod toward the mess hall wall, where the motto is painted in bold black letters. Der preußische Gehorsam ist der einer freien Entscheidung…

“Just thinking how ironic it is,” I mutter. “How can we build a nation of free spirits when this is our gospel?”

“Ludwig,” Georg leans in, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “If you just stop doing anything stupid for once, you’ll be wearing a crown before the decade’s out. I overheard two officers. Troops are being moved to the Danish border.”

“You know war isn’t—”

Two hands slam down on my shoulders from behind, squeezing hard enough to pinch. I tense, already knowing who it is before I turn.

“Ladies,” Theodor drawls, shoving August aside to sit next to me, “why so serious?”

“Germany was lamenting his failed revolutions again,” Georg says with mock solemnity, spooning the last of his oatmeal.

I shoot him a look. Asshole, I mouth, and roll my eyes.

Theodor throws an arm around me, dragging me into a side hug that reeks of smoke and leather polish. “Stop brooding. Empires aren’t built on poets and thinkers, but on blood and iron,” he says with that obnoxious grin of his, then pulls me into a headlock for emphasis. “Think the French will surrender if you recite Goethe at them? No, you’ve got to shove a bayonet right up their—”

I elbow him hard in the ribs and shove him off. “You’re an idiot.”

“Poetic,” Georg deadpans, pushing away his tray.

Theodor just laughs, brushing it off. “Alright, alright. Truce.” He leans forward, eyes glittering. “I’ve got something to loosen that iron spine of yours.”

I raise an eyebrow.

He nods discreetly toward the exit, where Officer Strelec is inspecting the cadets as they form their morning lines. “See old fatty Strelec over there?” Theodor smirks. “I pulled a few strings. He’s not locking the south gate tonight.”

I frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Dawn. Sharp. And bring some money,” he says, standing up and ruffling my hair like I’m some wayward child. “You’ll thank me later.”

I watch him swagger off. August opens his mouth. “Can I co—”

“Fuck off, August,” Theodor says, pushing August’s face down into his empty oatmeal bowl as he struts past.

Typical.

I sigh and stand. The motto still glares down from the wall: obedience as a free decision. I don’t know whether to laugh or salute. Maybe both.

---

At dawn, I stand by the south gate, boots crunching softly on frost-hardened gravel. One by one, boys from my year emerge from the shadows, their coats buttoned up, collars turned against the cold, and eyes shining with anticipation.

Theodor arrives last, of course. Fashionably late and smug as ever. He nods toward Strelec, who huffs and shifts his weight like a grumbling bear. As Theodor passes, he slides a folded bill into the officer’s coat pocket and gives his round belly a friendly pat. “Blessed are those who turn a blind eye,” he says under his breath, grinning.

No one speaks as we march out through the unlatched gate and into the still-dark outskirts of Potsdam. We follow Theodor along winding backstreets, through an empty stable yard, past silent workshops. At last, we come to a squat stone building half-buried into the earth – a storage cellar, at first glance. But when Theodor knocks, it’s in a deliberate, rhythmic pattern, like a code.

The door creaks open.

A wave of sound and scent crashes into us: beer, tobacco, sweat, laughter. Warmth spills from the low-ceilinged room beyond. It’s not a tavern, not officially. It’s something older, rowdier. A Burschenschaftskneipe. A fraternity pub.

Inside, the air is thick and golden with lamplight. Heavy wooden benches line the walls, all filled with young men – students, most of them already deep into their second or third drink. They wear sashes, cockades, colors. Some smoke cigarettes, others argue loudly over politics, while a few just belt out drinking songs with the certainty of gods.

At the bar stands a young Silesian woman, cheeks pink from heat or from too much attention – it’s hard to tell. She eyes our uniforms as we file in, and I watch her expression flicker between amusement and wariness.

Theodor snaps his fingers. “Attention, gentlemen!” he declares, voice cutting through the din. “The first round’s on me. After that, you're on your own.” There’s a cheer, but he’s not done. “And whoever manages to sneak a peek beneath the fair maiden’s skirt by the end of the night earns a second drink from yours truly.”

The waitress flushes deep red. Laughter erupts. I glance at her. She meets my gaze for just a heartbeat before looking away, lips twitching with the faintest smile.

The first round lands hard and fast – smooth beer passed down the table. The room swells with noise. Somewhere behind me, a group of students starts singing, loud and proud: “Stimmt an mit hellem hohen Klang…”

Some of the cadets join in without hesitation. I sit still, nursing my beer, letting the sound roll over me like a memory I’m not sure I’m allowed to have.

Theodor drops down beside me and slaps my back hard enough to make me spill. “Still brooding, Ludwig?” He grins. “Come on! Raise that voice of yours. Sing! ‘Der alten Barden Vaterland…’ You know the words.” He sings directly into my ear, tuneless and passionate. I try not to smile – but I do. And he keeps my mug full, making sure I don’t stay quiet for long.

As the night wears on, the room becomes one heaving body, cadets and students tangled together in drink, song, and furious debate. Arguments ignite and vanish with each new beer. Someone declares we ought to seize Paris before the French even blink. Another argues that the Slavic shouldn’t deserve a nation of their own. A red-faced law student insists that only Jahn’s teachings will save the moral soul of Germany.

And somehow, I’m in the middle of it all.

We raise our glasses to the Fatherland, to unity, to destiny. In this chaos, in this brotherhood of half-drunken boys with too many ideals and too little patience, I feel something I hadn’t realized I’d been missing. I feel welcomed. Not tolerated. Not inspected. Not prepared. Just welcomed.

The Silesian woman catches my eye again. This time, she doesn’t look away. Her smile is small. Real. I nod, shyly, and she turns back to her bar with the grace of someone who knows she’s being watched and doesn’t mind.

Theodor clinks his glass against mine, almost knocking it over. “See?” He says. “Told you. This is the real Germany. Not the drills. Not the salutes. This. This is what we’re fighting for.”

I look around, the noise, the laughter, the tangled arms and bright eyes. For a moment, I think back to the Hambach Fest, those old dreams of banners and marches and speeches on hilltops. A time when the dream of unity still felt like a choice, not a strategy. In this smoky basement, something like that dream lingers – older, rougher, maybe, but alive.

---

I wake with a start.

The world slams into me like a hammer. Bright light, ringing bells, the sour taste of stale beer and regret. My skull pulses like someone’s playing a war drum inside it. My stomach lurches. The clanging from the garrison church cuts through the fog in my mind like a sabre.

Artillery corps Inspection.

“Shit.”

I launch myself from the wooden bench I passed out on, nearly tripping over someone else’s legs sprawled across the floor. Half-dressed boys are still snoring, arms draped over empty mugs and fraternity flags. Somewhere, someone groans.

I don’t have time to think. My body works on pure instinct. Shirt, trousers, wrong buttons, collar twisted. I shove my boots on, grab my uniform jacket from under another cadet’s arm, and tear out into the morning air, tasting bile.

The school courtyard is already stirring. I sprint, praying to every god I’ve ever heard of that I make it in time.

And somehow I do.

I charge around the corner just as the last cadets are being arranged in formation. The moment they see me, a few boys widen their eyes, but no one says a word. Georg nudges Theodor, who turns his head, eyebrows raised. He mouths, you idiot, and gives me one last shove into the front row.

I stumble forward and snap to attention.

We’re lined up like statues under a dull grey sky. The cold bites, but I barely feel it over the heat still pounding through my head. My stomach keeps turning, warning me that this isn’t over. But I lock my legs, square my shoulders, and stare dead ahead. I fix my eyes on a tower in the distance like it’s the only thing holding me upright.

Then I hear the horse. Hooves clack against the cobblestones covered with a blanket of last night’s snow. I don't dare look, but I know the sound of that dismount. Precise, like everything about him.

Prussia.

He walks the line, slow and silent. I feel the tension ripple down the row. Cadets pulling themselves even straighter like he’s puppeteering us by sheer force of presence.

And then he stops. Right in front of me. Of course, in front of me. I don’t move. Don’t blink. I can feel him looking. And I know exactly what he sees: hair a mess, buttons uneven, my collar half inside out. Sweat crawling down my neck like a confession. I try to breathe through my nose, slow, steady. Hide the shaking in my knees.

He says nothing, and just walks on.

Relief slams into me so suddenly that my legs almost give way. I unclench every muscle in my body—too fast. A second later, my stomach revolts. I gag, bend forward and vomit. Right onto the gleaming boots of the commander walking just behind my brother.

The gasps are instant. Shocked, stifled laughter crackles down the line. Then silence. Horrible, thick silence. And finally his voice. Cold. Commanding. Sharp as steel drawn from a scabbard. “To the commander’s office. Now.”

I squeeze my eyes shut. I don’t argue. There’s no point. And my legs move on their own.

The rest of the day, I’m on my knees—bucket in one hand, brush in the other—scrubbing mud-caked stone outside the latrine while officers and cadets pass without so much as a glance. My back is screaming. My fingers sting. My stomach’s still churning, and I swear the beer is sweating out of me in waves.

On my third trip to dump the bucket, I catch Theodor stepping out of the latrine, fixing his belt, grinning like he just won a bet. “What a performance,” he says, almost impressed, strolling over like I haven’t been cleaning the grounds with my pride.

“But chin up. Someone will pin it on August before dinner. Kid looks guilty even in his sleep.” He slaps my shoulder and strolls off.

I shake my head, letting out a dry laugh as I snatch the brush and hurl it across the yard, nailing the target.

“Oh! That’s it! This drink is on you!” Theodor calls, still amused. He grabs the filthy bucket, and I manage to spring up just in time—wincing, laughing—bone-tired, but weirdly contented.

#one word prompts mephisto's edition

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dower · 2 years ago

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Is Europe the wimpy kid with noodle arms?

Since the end of World War II, the nations of Europe have increasingly relied on Washington for its security. Despite having one of the most powerful economic blocs, with a GDP of $18tn, that power - specifically the hard power - has waned over the last thirty years. With the UK leaving Europe, this military might has fallen to less than 25% of that of the USA - despite having a population 30% greater. When the USA spends 3.5% and the UK 2.2%, the EU spends a paltry 1.3%. Europe really has lost its fighting edge, relying too much on soft power, diplomacy, and trade to keep foes at bay.

So what went wrong?

Germany has led an EU appeasement methodology (Ostpolitik) using soft power and shifted the bulk of military onus onto France. That might now seem nuts looking back to February 2022 and Russia’s expansionist plan westward. What’s even more crazy is that the EU is not militarily in step with itself and seems to think that our cousins across the pond will jump in and save them. Except, the US now has to be focussed on the tensions in Asia/Indo-Pacific. So, what stops Washington from stepping back from the crisis in Europe and leaving the EU to look after its own playground? Or quitting NATO, as Trump threatened to do?

The EU has a GDP of $18tn, yet defence spending has dropped continuously since the fall of the iron curtain - from 3% during the cold war to something too close to 1%. Yet in the last 35 years Russia’s has grown it’s defence spending may times over to become the third largest global spender. Post-Crimea things are getting better but, boy, is the EU slow and uncoordinated. The remaining European powerhouses, Germany and France are still treading an appeasement line, looking to help Russia “off-ramp” out of the war, keep some conquered lands … and whilst we’re at, turn on the cheap gas taps.

The reality is that the EU needs to up it’s spend past 2% of GDP - a 50% uplift on 2022 numbers - at a minimum. Europe has some of the best military companies in the world, deploying 2%+ of GDP into those industries would boost those economies and provide a strong enough deterrent to keep Russia quiet for the foreseeable future. The countries immediately bordering Russia are already pulling their fingers out, Poland spend 2.4%, and if the whole of the EU bloc can pull it’s finger out the benefits are huge; it would keep Russia out of Europe, keep the US onside and provide a fearsome platform for NATO and the UN should the Indo-Pacific thing kick off.

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drowndrawn · 2 years ago

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Because they are too busy removing the corpses of their children of the rubble after yet another Israeli bomb (because they have already dropped the equivalent of a quarter of an atomic bomb there).

Do you think they have time to march the streets when they entire families have been wiped out?

The Palestine ambassador lost 7 members of his family, including 2 children, and the interviewer just keeps asking him to condone Hamas. She's not even able to give her condolences in her blindness.

It's easy for you to think to go out in the street in protest, to leave your comfortable home with your belly full to express "what you think it's right", but they barely have water, their homes aren't safe, they don't have food (all of it because Israel bombed them and cut off their access to the things most basic for a human to survive, Hamas didn't do it, it was Israel who decided to take revenge on all Palestinians in Gaza).

How come they would protest if they don't even have time to give?

Another thing to note is that, different than protests of white people in the safe heavens of west, Palestinians are severly repressed by the Palestinian Authority themselves. The last time a 12 year old girl was killed by them.

You're also drawing the wrong parallels with Nazi Germany (don't forget that ethnic cleansing is an euphemism for genocide).

Beyond that, to think they should protest to "remove" or "hand out" Hamas, their so to speak resistance goes as the argument below.

youtube

We are told that most Palestinians do not support Hamas.

Very well.

Where then are the large scale Palestinian protests demanding Hamas release the abducted hostages - children, toddlers, grandparents, civilians - immediately and unconditionally?

Where then is the sole Palestinian protester standing in Times or Trafalgar Square with a sign that says “Not in My Name”?

Where is the one Palestinian intellectual who will write an op-ed expressing deep shame that acts of the greatest cruelty in human history were carried out in the name of “Free Palestine” and “From the River to the Sea”?

If the PLO, Fatah and Palestinian Authority represent moderate Palestinians, where is the outcry? The horror? The heartfelt denunciations? Why must international pressure be fruitlessly brought to bear to try to elicit even a pale shadow of them?

If Hamas is not supported in Gaza, where then is the Palestinian in Gaza who will come forth with information about the hostages?

Even in Nazi Germany, when some Germans understood that Hitler was bringing disaster on their country, there were those who attempted to assassinate him. Where are the Palestinians in Gaza who will take action against Hamas?

And why is it that the instinctive response of so many to these questions is to make excuses as to why not even one of these things should be expected of any Palestinian anywhere?

We finally have courageous Arab and Muslim inspirational voices expressing those feelings and ideas. Why then is so little expected of Palestinians?

#Israel #Palestinians #Gaza #genocide in gaza #apartheid #Youtube

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pieceofcqke · 3 years ago

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GENERAL CLASSIC MEDIC HCS

(This is only my interpretation, as he has no canon personality or interactions besides how he functions in game.)

MILO : The name is of German origin and means "soft-hearted, merciful". It is also thought to be of Latin origin and means "soldier."

To start off, this guy is very different than TF2 Medic, despite the possibility of them being related. The only similarity between the two is their occasional streaks of arrogance.

Milo doesn’t let anyone tell him how to do his job. On top of that, he has difficulty admitting when he’s wrong. He’s not openly aggressive about it, like you would imagine C.Heavy would be. He’s more so the fuming-on-the-inside, too-stubborn-to-say you-were-right-all-along kind of guy.

He rarely ever lets his frustration show. He prides himself in being calm and collected, especially when dealing with his team.

He has a hard time letting his guard down and expressing genuine emotions around people, which makes him come across as distant and unfriendly. It takes him a very long time to warm up to somebody.

Past his cold exterior and stiff demeanor is a man who truly cares about the people he assists, though it may be hard to tell at first glance. He holds a level of empathy lost on many of the other mercenaries.

Militaristic and strait-laced, he has his own moral code he abides by and does his job as a combat medic effectively.

He is very averse to unnecessarily risking the lives of his teammates, or anybody for that matter, unlike his TF2 counterpart. To some degree, he values human life. He has never experimented on his coworkers. Milo has a personal obligation to help people, whereas Ludwig only does so to benefit his own twisted interests.

Cautious, disciplined. He’s skilled in fighting and quick on his feet, second fastest out of the team behind TFC Scout.

He’s originally from Germany, but came to the United States for his mercenary job in the 1930’s.

Due to aggression and anti-German sentiments in the U.S. after World War 1, Milo made an effort to hide his origins. (It’s debatable whether the Team Fortress universe overlaps with real world history in this way, but I digress.)

His English is almost perfect, but there are still hints of an accent in some of his pronunciation, vague enough to brush off. Sometimes he struggles to translate a word from one language to the next, leaving the gears in his head turning.

With the help of his medkit, Milo is able to infect the enemy team with a contagious virus that slowly drains health. As he doesn’t strike me as the mad scientist type of person, he probably obtains the weaponized virus from Mann Co., and is the only person from his team that has the cure.

He’s pretty much always suited up, as his mask helps prevent him from getting infected.

He prefers to keep his distance from his teammates outside of matches. He’s not close to anyone in particular, but I can see him spending some time with Fred Conagher in his workshop on rare occasions. The others personalities don’t mesh well with his.

Milo takes on sort of a leadership role within in the team without being front and center. They all turn to him for their injuries, inevitable to his scrutiny. He has no problem keeping them in check and calling them out on their bluffs, yet his words usually fall on deaf ears.

He has many subconscious habits stemming primarily from his job, such as fidgeting with his mask, cracking his knuckles, and addressing people by sir/ma’am/comrade.

He always has things planned out in advance. Packs med kits days before a match, double checks his weapons, thinks up of strategies long before combat. Basically one of those people that has an emergency plan for an emergency plan. And if all else fails, then he says fuck it.

Though the classic mercenaries respect him for the work that he does, they don’t respect him as an individual. They see him as more of an advantage to their team if anything.

They only truly realize his worth after he decides to leave and they are forced to hire Ludwig.

Pertaining to the comics, I believe he probably left of his own volition, not wanting to be involved with the classic mercenaries plans. I like the idea that he’s working with the RED TF2 Engie behind the scenes, as neither of them make an appearance in the comics.

Authors Note: Completely self indulgent :) I think we need more TFC content, specifically for the game, not the comics.

#team fortress classic #tfc headcanon #tfc medic #team fortress #tfc

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maple-the-awesome · 3 years ago

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We'll Meet Again...I Know When || Chapter 4

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x GN Reader

Words: 3,052

Overview: Given your old-fashioned personality and obsession with all things 1940s to 1980s, it’s no wonder that most people refer to you as an ‘old soul’ who would’ve rather lived back then than in the modern era. Little do they know, you already did, but with your previous life as Hollie Stark cut short, you’ve been left with some…unfinished business, to say the least. Top of your list? Finally getting to marry your thought-to-be-lost fiancé.

Series Masterlist 🤎 Marvel Masterlist 🤎 Fandom Masterlist

CHAPTER FOUR: SHATTERING TRUTH

Everyone's faces become luminated by the laptop screen's light the second it finally powers on. Without looking back at those who practically hang over your shoulder watching, you raise an open hand in demand," drive."

Natasha's quick to pass the item in question over, allowing you to plug it in before beginning to work your magic. Thanks to Hollie's password, there's no need for you to hack into anything. Granting you instant access to the data, you can immediately start tracking the location from where the information on the flash drive has been sent.

Due to her position in the middle of the back seat, you miss the way Natasha’s eyebrow raises when you easily enter the system after a single attempt,” that was quick.”

You merely hum with disinterest," I'm no amateur."

"New Jersey?" Steve reads from one glance at the map you've pulled up.

Yet again, you hum, zooming in a bit to get a better look at the exact location. Wheaton, New Jersey...? It takes a moment to scratch the depths of your memories to find out why that particular area sounds so familiar. Hollie used to live in Alpine, but there was one reason for her to travel all the way to Wheaton.

"Recognize this place, Steve?" You lean the screen towards the soldier in question who reminds you just how old he is by the way he squints to see better. It almost makes you roll your eyes and crack a joke, but you refrain.

"Yeah, I do," without needing another word, he turns the keys in the ignition to start the engine and begin the long journey ahead of yourselves. It's best you all get going soon anyways. It's only a matter of time before someone calls in to report the stolen truck parked suspiciously in the shadows of an underpass.

"Somewhere important to you two I'm guessing?"

'Yeah', you think a bit too bitterly when Steve shakes his head.

"It's where my old boot camp was."

"It's also one of the original SHIELD headquarters...was anyways," you fill in, deciding to explain further once earning a confused glance from him," after you went under and the war ended, the camp was transformed into a base with the office hidden in an ammunition bunker. SHIELD used it for a few years before eventually upgrading to more modern facilities that weren't so dark and cold."

"You really know your SHIELD history, huh?" Natasha comments, staring at the back of your head as if all your secrets would suddenly be revealed to her. Of course, you can't blame her for looking at everyone twice especially given the current situation, but you fear even a brilliant spy like herself won't be able to find the impossible truth.

"You could say that," while she doesn't worry you quite yet, you don't like being stared at which turns your attention to Steve who's seemed pretty impatient this entire trip despite it really only just beginning," hey, where'd you learn to steal a truck? I thought you're supposed to be a righteous stars and stripes kinda guy; the 'do no wrong, Rogers'."

Of course, you know who taught him, but despite your effort of lightening the mood, he doesn't even crack a smile.

"Nazi Germany, and we're not stealing, we're borrowing."

"Oh~ Borrowing. Got it...Then how come you always get mad at me when I borrow your sweatshirts?"

"You have your own sweatshirts," finally you spot a slight turn to his lips.

"But yours are bigger and, like, super soft! Plus it's good practice being able to sneak into your room and see how long it takes you to notice your stuff's missing. Keeps you on your toes.”

Even Natasha's smirking at this point," you know, usually people only steal clothes from their boyfriends. Are you guys sure you're not dating behind my back?"

It's a harmless comment and a joke Natasha's made on various occasions before without any ill intent meant, but it makes the truck go quiet anyways. Steve's face becomes painted in red while you scrunch your nose and move to look out the passenger window with your head rested against your palm,"...positive."

"This way. Don't get lost," you don't even bother looking at the exact location twice, knowing the path through the abandoned camp like the back of your hand even if it's now overgrown with weeds and all the buildings are beginning to fall apart.

Natasha follows right on your heel, deciding to examine the area while walking. Meanwhile Steve keeps falling behind despite your warnings, stopping to likely reminisce on old memories which you can't blame him for. You've been there countless times before.

"Where are we going? The signal was the other way," Natasha reminds you kindly, looking over her phone with confusion as you continue to head straight, clearly on a mission.

"I have a good feeling about this place," you stop outside a munitions storage building, touching the lock on the handle before turning to Steve who's only just then catching up with both reality and the reason why you've picked this building out of all the others," wanna do the honors, Rogers?"

It takes him far less time to bust off the lock then it would've taken for you to pick it. In seconds, the doors open, allowing you all entrance into the office building you haven't stepped foot in for decades yet it's just as cold as you remember it.

There's a thick layer of dust over everything and even when the lights are turned on, there's still enough shadows to make you question how anyone ever did their work down here to begin with.

In a way, it reminds you of a time capsule. Desks are home to various old office supplies and there's still chairs pushed up against them as if employees had planned to return after the weekend. A part of you wants to explore it all, taking time to examine each room to remember the good o' times, but instead you force yourself to follow Steve and Natasha's lead to the main office which is just as bare and dusty as everywhere else except the founders’ pictures still remain hung on the very wall they always have been.

"There's Stark's father," it's really no surprise that Natasha's able to recognize the family resemblance. It's always been clear to you when looking at Tony that he's a copy of Howard’s better attributes including looks.

Ever so slowly, you step forward and let your hand stretch out to fix your brother's crooked photo, assuring that it's straight like all the others. Your hands then fall to your own photo, fingers ever so slightly brushing against the glass which coats them in dust not that you care.

It's always strange looking at photos of your past life while knowing you don't look the same yet it's you nonetheless. Back then, your hair had been dark and long, pinned in a pompadour style that began to curl the further back it got. While the photo is in black and white, you know you were wearing your typical tan uniform with Bucky's tags kept secretly secure in your left breast pocket, closest to your heart where he's forever remained.

"Who's that?" Natasha asks from behind, breaking you from whatever trace you've been in.

"Hollie Stark, Tony's aunt," you blink before sucking in a breath and stepping back to smile at Natasha," then there's Colonel Phillips and Peggy Carter."

Maybe you would've explained more, but your attention is stolen by Steve's retreating figure which etches a frown upon your lips.

"If you're already working in a secret office-," he examines a particular case before grabbing the side of it and forcing it open to reveal a hidden hallway,"- then why would you need a hidden elevator?"

Natasha walks ahead, scanning the keypad to find the code. Once punching in the four digit code, the elevator door creaks open, allowing all three of you entry before taking you down to the bottom floor through a silent ride.

The real magic happens when exiting the elevator. Upon closer expectation, the automatic lights blink on, allowing a better view of the giant yet outdated computer. It's a bit funny running your hand over the dusted boxes, remembering how they used to be quite the achievement all the way back then. Now, they're ancient and only a fragment as impressive as the small handheld device kept in your pocket. Oh, how times have changed.

"Maybe we have the wrong place. There's no way the data was sent by something so ancient."

"Careful, Nat. Steve's older," you smirk at the disapproving look the blond sends you before turning your attention to the front desk. There's a thick layer of dust covering it, however, it's been disrupted around the keyboard," someone's been here recently...and would you look at that? Not everything here is as ancient as Steve."

You step back, gesturing to the only modern device in sight; a small plug in for the flash drive. Natasha places the drive just there which seems to set off a chain reaction. All lights in the room turn on as does the computer itself, although it takes a bit longer to power on. All too slowly, the camera at the front desk moves up and the screen lights up with green letters typing across it: Initiate system?

Natasha's brave enough to reach forward to type 'yes', signaling for the computer to continue powering on. A smirk tugs at her lips," shall we play a game?...It's from a movie-"

"-I know, I saw it," Steve brushes off her joke, his eyes glued to the screens as they begin lighting up in green after the system gives a few beeps.

"Rogers, Steve, born 1918..." a robotic voice announces, the camera moving from a confused Steve to Natasha then yourself," Romanoff, Natalia Alianovna, born 1984...(L/n), (Y/n), born 1990."

"It's some kind of recording?"

"I am no recording, Fraeulein. I may not look to be the man I was when the Captain took me prisoner in 1945, but I am," the lights of the main screen begin to take a shape oddly similar to a face; a familiar one at that. Sure enough, one of the smaller screens showcases a picture of a recognizable man that makes both Steve and you furrow your eyebrows with concern.

Steve takes slow steps around the computer, perhaps searching for any clues that would prove this to be some sort of humorless prank," Amim Zola was a German scientist working for Red Skull, but he's been dead for years."

"Correction number one: I am Swiss. Correction number two: just look around yourselves. I can assure you, I have never been more alive. You see, in 1972, I received a terminal diagnosis. While science could not save my body, my mind was worth saving on 200,000 feet of databanks. In other words, you are standing in my brain," Zola explains matter of factly, making a chill run down your spine.

"How did you get here?" Steve demands, circling back around at the same time that you step back.

Turning, you gaze around the entire room of databanks, realization sinking in faster than Zola can confirm," Operation Paperclip...After the war, we recruited German scientists who held strategic value. We figured they could be put to some use- redeem themselves by helping a new cause to our benefit."

"Correct, but what SHIELD did not know was that I was also helping my own," Zola adds, earning your immediate attention as you glare back at the screens.

"And what do you mean by that? HYDRA fell after the war. How could you aid a dead cause?" You demand with balled fists.

Operation Paperclip had always been a risk. While you never trusted any of those scientists further than you could reach them, it couldn't be denied that they offered intelligence beneficial to an organization born from the soot of war. Of course, nothing is free. The price for knowledge was welcoming possible enemies and while SHIELD had hoped to keep a handle on the situation, you're beginning to realize now more than ever that it's impossible to control every movement of evil. Somewhere along the lines, it managed to slip past you.

"Cut off one head, two more shall take its place," all of the screens turn on, creating a slideshow of recordings and newspaper clips surrounding the war," HYDRA was founded on the belief that humanity could not be trusted with its own freedom, however, we did not realize that if you try to cage freedom, humanity resists. The war taught us much, including a new strategy to achieving our means: freedom must not be taken, but surrendered willingly.

"After the war, SHIELD was founded and I was recruited. The new HYDRA grew as a beautiful parasite inside of the enemy. For seventy years, we have been secretly feeding crisis and war. If history did not cooperate, then history was changed," the screens show pictures of the infamous Winter Soldier in whom Natasha and Steve have already informed you played a role in Director Fury's death which confirms that Zola must be tied to the data on the flash drive.

"That's impossible. SHIELD would've stopped you," Natasha's argument perks your attention and casts your own doubt over Zola's claims. She's right, after all. You had kept a close eye on everyone within SHIELD including the scientists on Operation Paperclip. You even made a secret password just to check the systems to ensure nothing was hidden under your nose. If HYDRA was truly hidden within SHIELD, Hollie would've found out. Even beyond her death, someone else surely would've seen.

"Accidents will happen," Zola's remarks coldly, the screens switching again. While most of the pictures he's shown until this point have only managed to either confuse or irritate you, this newspaper headline makes your heart skip a beat and a terrible sickness fills your stomach.

Holiday Stark Killed Outside Her Mansion In Alpine, New Jersey

The twisting of your nerves only increases when similar reports replace the first, one for your brother and the other for Director Fury. Each only remain on screen for a few seconds, enough to taunt you with the reveal of why your past life's murder had never been solved...why it had even happened in the first place...

Hollie's death is something you've never been the best at remembering, not that you've ever really tried to. It normally came in the form of nightmares during the younger years of your life, becoming one of the first true signs you had to realize you've lived once before.

You’ve always been disappointed to learn your killer has never been brought to justice, the case having gone cold despite how much Howard fought to avenge his little sister. All this time, you believed it to be an assassination due to your status. Never once did you think it was to prevent you from finding the snakes slithering around you in SHIELD.

"HYDRA created a world so chaotic that humanity will finally be ready to sacrifice freedom in exchange for security. Once a purification process is complete, HYDRA's new world order will arise as it was always destined to," Zola's words are numb in your ears while you stare blankly ahead. So are the increasing breaths from Steve who stands at your side with a clenched jaw," we have won, Captain. Your death amounts to the same as your life: a zero sum."

Steve suddenly punches the main screen with a grunt, shattering the glass yet much to everyone's dismay, the face of Zola merely changes to the next screen, continuing without missing a beat," as I was saying-"

"-What's on this drive?" Steve demands, stepping closer as if prepared to smash the current screen, too.

"Project Insight requires insight, therefore, I wrote an algorithm for the occasion."

"What kind of algorithm?" Natasha peeks over Steve's shoulder before glancing at you. She raises a worried eyebrow at your pale features which make you look ready to faint.

"To answer that question would be fascinating, however, it would also be a waste of time seeing that you will all be too dead to hear it," on cue, the doors leading to the elevator begin to creak shut.

Despite Steve's attempt of throwing his shield to haul them, they complete their mission by locking you all inside. Seconds later, Natasha's phone beeps, capturing her attention with worry," guys, we've got a bogey heading this way. Short range ballistic, thirty seconds tops."

"Who fired it?"

"...SHIELD…" you mumble finally, not needing to even glance at Natasha's phone to know the answer. Snapping back to reality, you peer to her then Steve while biting down on your lip," he’s been stalling this entire time and this bunker isn't designed to withstand a strike!”

"You are correct. You must admit it. It's better this way. We are, both of us, out of time, Captain.”

Despite Zola's taunting, Steve doesn't hesitate to scan the room in search for cover while Natasha and you grab the drive before hurrying to his side. In the meantime, he effortlessly rips a vent off the ground, throwing it aside then turning to reach his arm out for the two of you.

Natasha's the first to jump down into the vent. Just as you feel Steve’s arm wrap around your back, a blaring explosion sets off at a close enough range that makes your ears buzz and the heat of the flames lick your bodies. This makes him practically toss you down out of the way before jumping in as well.

Within milliseconds, his arm is back around you, pushing you to his chest and pulling Natasha close, too. From there, all three of you huddle together, Steve holding his shield above while Natasha and you duck your heads with hands over your ears. Nevertheless, you can still hear the building being torn apart from all angles and the debris bouncing off of Steve’s shield.

Despite your eyes being squeezed shut, you can see flashes of light lightly from the explosion and electricity. With each breath, you inhale dust that makes your lungs burn, resulting in you slowly losing consciousness. Soon, your head falls against Steve’s chest and the last thing you remember is Natasha falling limp against your shoulder as well, neither of you able to handle the fumes.

NEXT CHAPTER➡️

⬅️PREVIOUS CHAPTER

#bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x y/n #bucky x reader #bucky fic #bucky barnes x reader #james buchanan barnes #winter soldier #captain america #marvel #x reader #stark!reader #bucky barnes

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historicity-was-already-taken · 3 years ago

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As a holocaust historian, how do you feel about Star Wars? Specifically the use of aesthetics and terminology from Nazi Germany as a way of getting across to the audience that the empire is evil. As a Jewish person I've been having increasing discomfort with the combination of "people not knowing/understanding that aspects of the empire are based on Nazi Germany" and "the way that over time the empire's image had been softened so that people can have fun with supporting either side of the conflict (an example of this being the thing you can do at Disneyland where you choose whether to be on the side of the rebels or the empire, and then earn points for your side)", especially given the increasing antisemitism I've been noticing. But I'm interested in getting other perspectives about this topic.

This is a really good question, but the honest answer is that this isn’t something I’ve given much thought to. Not because it’s not important! But because I have to kind of pick and choose what I’m going to be angry about when it comes to the use and misuse of Holocaust memory in politics and pop culture.

Further, I only really fuck with the original trilogy because it lives in a comfy part of my childhood nostalgia fondness brain that still has all the previews from the Lion King VHS memorized (Pocahontas: coming soon to a theater near you this summer, 1995). I’ve seen all the prequel films and the first two of the new trilogy. And YEAH the Nazi imagery was, if anything, more blatant than ever in the new ones.

But at the same time, entertainment execs exist to make money, not a point. They don't care what kind of harmful shit they put out there as long as they make enough bank to maintain their private jets, coke, and access to a hot new wife every 5 years + yacht girls.* They know that we’re in a fucked up moment where fascism is back on trend and supporting the good guys is just virtue signaling sj bullshit. They hit us upside the head with the almost insultingly obvious Nazi imagery, but then are all like “idk man, like, moral ambiguity ok it’s not my place to tell fascists that they’re wrong plus like, their candidates support my tax breaks.”

I sound blasé not because I think any of this is fine, but because as I've gotten older and gotten deeper into Holocaust/genocide history, I've become deeply cynical and have learned to expect the worst. It’s not a good thing.

And, of course, complicating this further is the fact that the Cold War is no longer a part of our day-to-day lives the way it was when the original trilogy was released. Yes there’s Nazi imagery, but there was also a whole heck of a lot of Cold War symbolism and propaganda that gets completely lost in analysis of all the media created after the original three.

So, my perspective is that you're right to be uncomfortable; it’s bullshit. Harmful, capitalist, money-grubbing bullshit; and it's all the more harmful when combined with decreasing levels of knowledge about Nazi/WW2/Holocaust basics. I think you’re absolutely right to see it and be pissed off about the fusion of Nazi imagery with blatant catering to the worst parts of Western political culture.

*I’m not shaming the women who marry these men, or the yacht girls who bang them for the equivalent of my yearly salary. Like, get money bitch Yolanda Foster Hadid fucking won that game. I’m shaming the men who see and treat women as disposable fucktoy accessories. But also, that disgusting fucking pig Randall Emmett can you tell I watch Bravo.

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scottguy · 1 year ago

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Yes, Chris, laws and morality are strong, but POWER is stronger.

The ONLY way we guarantee that Trump won't murder his opponents is to massively vote down Trump.

If he gets power what is right and what is moral... won't matter.

Murder and war were wrong in Germany too, but the people consented. Entranced with POWER and being promised to be the GREATEST POWER was too seductive for the naive population and they gave away their morality and consented to the murder of six million innocent Jews.

At least one third of Germans never consented. They knew Hilter was amoral, wrong, and a sociopathic murderer. But, Hitler gave all the *other* sociopathic murderers in society permission to be that way.

Do you want to argue with a guy with a machine gun?

In the film Schindler's List: Would the guy who murdered the innocent Jewish engineer woman in cold blood (just because she gave the concentration camp commander bad news) have done it if Hitler wasn't the leader? Of course not. But Hitler gave him permission to be a murderer. So, why not? No consequences! That moment was fictional, but you can be absolutely certain murders like that happened daily in Hitler's Germany.

The rule of law WILL NOT HOLD if a sociopath gains control. The sociopaths with their AR-15s (and you KNOW they have them!) will rule their neighborhoods with the power those pathetic losers have always yearned for. Can you imagine how awful they'll be? It's easy. This is how the Taliban acts. Pathetic losers with guns who finally get power by brandishing their weapons and threatening violence.

Look what happened to just flight attendants during Covid! Trump gave assholes "permission" to resist a perfectly reasonable request to wear a mask. Those assholes punched out innocent flight attendants! It was okay because masks were "bad" and "liberal" and "against freedom." Some went to jail, but several didn't.

If any Republican is elected president, expect near infinitely worse. Why? Because it won't just be four years. These guys have NO INTENTION of losing their grip on power over religion, land, and money for the quaint notion of democracy.

Do the people rise up and stop Putin?

Nope.

Why? He has the power to murder dissent.

Do the people rise up against autocrats in China? Nope.

Why? Because they'll be thrown in jail.

Right DOES NOT WIN because it is ethical. Right wins when it us granted power by the people.

The PEOPLE lost that power in Russia and China and they may never get it back.

Chris ODonnel is right that there is decency at the heart of America. But the TIME to show that preference is NOW. After liberals lose the election, ethics will be irrelevant.

If we let Trump, or any Republican win, it won't matter how decent most Americans are. We will have given EVIL absolute power to do its worst... legally! (According to the Supreme Court last week.)

If you want a nation of laws you'd better speak out NOW.

If EVIL takes power... all the good intentions and what is actually moral will NOT matter.

Sadly the saying "might makes right" (even when it's utterly wrong) is true. Your morals won't stand a chance against fanatics who legally possess weapons ... all because the good side lost the vote and granted power to people (unbelievably including the Supreme Court) who have OPENLY ANNOUNCED their intentions to destroy democracy and the rule of law.

What more warning do you need to wake up to the DIRE situation Americans find themselves in right now?

Even if you are willing to die for what is right... it won't help your family or your country because a few murders are NOTHING compared to the power of a Nazi-like American government granted the power of the presidency.

Writing a letter to the editor or posting anti right-wing messages online will just get you arrested or even murdered or because THAT is what fascist regimes do.

Don't expect mercy from a form of government that is utterly unwilling to grant it.

Don't let Americans end up like the Chinese and the Russians.

There's been an understandably apocalyptic reaction to Monday’s ruling from the Supreme Court. People are, rightly, horrified by the idea the president of the United States can now act with near-total criminal impunity if their behavior can be described as an “official act." It's a notion that cuts against the very fundamental values of this country’s history.

But there's something we need to keep in mind as the fight to preserve American democracy takes another dark turn: Those of us who believe in the core tenets of liberal democracy and the American experiment can't prematurely surrender to the worst impulses and machinations of those who want to destroy it. And that means not surrendering to the idea that if Donald Trump is re-elected, it will automatically be the end of democracy as we know it.

#chris o'donnell #what's right versus the power to do wrong

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justalost4girl · 4 years ago

Text

" If anything can go wrong, it will."

Good night!! (Here it's still night :p )

A few weeks ago I said I would do a oneshot Lorraine Broughton x F! Reader, but it got too big so I decided to follow the initial idea and turn it into a mini series. I have two chapters written and I'm going to post them here and in Ao3, I think there will be 3 or 4 chapters in total, but I'm not sure yet.

English is not my first language, so all mistakes are mine.

Enjoy!!

warnings: mention of violence, R cursing, forgery of documents (?)

Words: 4573

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1989

Berlin, East Side

You feel in your bones, when you wake up, the consequences of last night and think that the famous Murphy's Law decided to test you. On this side of the wall few things go right, but having an order in your head two days after joining STASI's wanted list proves that nothing is so bad it can't get any worse. Courtesy of a dumb customer who messed with the wrong people and thought revealing where you find your customers would be enough information to escape death. The Local Gang (or Angels, as they call themselves) loves to eliminate competition from the market.

Now he's dead and you have to deal with the STASI AND the Local Gang (you refuse to call them Angels).

The local fucking gang that sent a team of idiots to break into your favorite bar and made you run out the back door before meeting a customer who was going to pay well. The local fucking gang who must be pissed that you shot the six dumbest members you've ever had to face in your life. No really fatal shots, but of course that won't matter as they do business with the KGB.

Sometimes you want to ignore the rules you've made for yourself, especially "never kill someone unless it's in defense of yourself or someone you love", but you think killing six agents who don't have the ability to set up an ambush of success would be a great waste of bullets. Now you know you're going to have to leave town soon and you have no idea how to break the news to your brother/partner, how do you honorably abandon a war before it's over?

Damn Murphy's Law

You know you need to sort this out, but you refuse to stay in bed crying over what's already written and decide to leave the wonderful Egyptian linen sheets you got from your favorite client last month to face the world and it's impossible to face the world without a good amount of coffee. After a quick shower with a cup of Blue Mountain in hand, your newest addiction, you sit in a robe in a nice armchair, look out the window at dying Berlin and thank heaven for the comfortable life you've earned by working with one of the greatest smugglers on this side of the wall, perhaps from all over Germany. Some desperate customers offer you valuable items from them in exchange for passports and unlike your idiot “brother”, you don't have a rule about only receiving cash. Almost everything here comes from gifts, from the sofa, pictures, bags, clothes and even some books on your shelf. You don't even remember buying that cup, or the coffee set, for gods' sake.

If he saw you now he'd complain about being soft with customers and say something about how items aren't a bargaining chip in the real world, you'd get into a tiresome discussion about enjoying the finer things in life and how bills don't compare in the importance of yours. silver chain with moon pendant that was once an amulet for more than three generations for a French family.

At the end of the day, Merkel has a large information network and an office that takes up half the block, where she keeps as much money as she has secrets, and you have a house decorated by other people where each object symbolizes someone you've helped.

Four walls don't make a house

The thought takes away some of the almost peace you feel and you decide to finish your coffee before it gets cold.

After a quick glance at the calendar you remember about the march that will take place in Alexanderplatz square and decide to go scream for Germany one last time, hopefully you'll be able to hide long enough to see the fall of the damn wall that divides this country. It's not your country, not really, you don't even like to remember how you got here, but the experiences you gained wouldn't be exchanged for anything, not even for an original Van Gogh. Also, Merkel asked you to go and bring a black umbrella, the reason was not explained and you didn't feel like asking, sometimes you think Gordon Merkel is not his name, but how to judge the man who is your only family in this end of the world? You smile when you remember that he shouldn't have an umbrella with a story as cool as his and decide to piss him off for it.

Your phone rings, and you notice you've lost track of time. Merkel was helping a blonde woman named L, he didn't give you more details other than a few stories about how she was a perfect and dangerous assassin that you should keep your distance, as few people know how to deal with her. You thought he overreacted, but you had to take over some business from him while she was in town. She seemed important considering the way he told you about her and you knew better than to deny help to the person who always supported you and declared himself a brother, you trusted him because not even the best agent in the world could fake so much sincerity and affection in claiming this title for himself.

You reach out, pick up the phone, and decide to answer it. “Hey little sister, how are you out there? I called to say that everything is fine for dinner today, but there was a mishap and the wine ran out, bring the best Bordeaux you have, I'll return the courtesy as soon as possible." A code, of course.

He needs your services ASAP. Wine is a passport, Bordeaux means two elements, courtesy involves a child.

You can combine business with pleasure "Hi brother. I'm looking forward to today, I'll take the best wine I have, don't worry. I already know how you can thank me. I need to clean the house and go to the office first, but I'll be there on time. wait for me." you say in a voice that oozes normalcy, you never know when someone's listening on the phone especially now that you're a fugitive, disgraced customer. Your body sinks into the armchair noticing the oncoming cloud of worry

Merkel now knows you need his help, as cleaning the house means getting away and going to the office shows you're in a hurry.

"Alright, do you want me to send the driver?" He asks like he's not freaking out and offering the bloody job of one of his mercenaries

“No, bro, thanks, I know the way.” You say as if you really have an escape plan besides getting a fake passport, emergency backpack and all the money you can find.

“See you later, don't forget the wine. Are you sure you don't want the driver?" You wonder if he has forgotten that knowing the way literally means everything is fine

“Relax, see you later” It takes a few seconds for him to hang up and you can hear his sigh.

He will be SO pissed.

You put the phone down as you get up to gather the passport forgery materials and put them in a briefcase. Your cookbook is already there along with some banknotes from different countries. As you pick up the black backpack of standard clothes and accessories that always waited for you in the corner of the door, you decide to wear the first jacket you bought, the dark blue jeans, the combat boots you got from a skinhead, the wristwatch you bought. you got for your brother's birthday, thick leather gloves and a thin white shirt that matches the rest of your outfit. After all, if you can die when you open the door, then die well dressed. Be sure to keep the Colt 1911 around your waist and the Russian dagger around your ankle, after yesterday you never know, Your pocket watch with the coat of arms of the Brazilian imperial family indicates that 15 minutes have passed since Merkel's phone call

You take one last look at the house you've been so proud of in recent years, snap a photo with the Polaroid you've won, and, with a bittersweet smile, close the door. One day when the wall comes down, the government changes and your face is forgotten, you can come back here, until then you will have to make do with the photo album you keep in your backpack and this photo.

Putting on your sunglasses, you arrive on the street and decide to take a taxi on the other corner, make sure you look around before leaving your home, no one knows your address, but you can't be sure the local gang is so stupid to the point of not following you after last night.

Getting a taxi was relatively easy. Neil, the driver, thanks to the boots, mistook you for a revolutionary and talked for 10 minutes about how he hoped he could take down the wall with his bare hands, you thought it was cool, but as you passed the big river that was just a few blocks away from the your brother's office, you couldn't hear a word from him.

A sign signaling that the river was closed to visitors made your eyes fill with tears. You used to go there when the day was bad, spread a blanket in a corner and watch the stars, or just laugh at the distinct reflection the water made of the moon and stars. Merkel accompanied you on anniversaries, justifying them as bonding experiences. After some freaks started swimming in the river and executions increased, STASI took over and you replaced the dark water for the restaurant's bright lights. But seeing it tightly closed gave him a feeling of anguish and rancor. You would silently curse the wall builders for the rest of the trip.

Neil seemed to notice but didn't comment on it, you thanked him, wiped your tears and left a good tip as you descended a block away from your final destination. This time you didn't need to look around because even though Merkel was super busy, he made sure to leave some security close to where your landing place was.

A tall man dressed in a red T-shirt approached you and hugged you as if he hadn't seen you in a long time. You've known him since the beginning of last year, when he arrived at Merkel's office begging for a job, and from the first moment the way he turned grief over his brother's death into a thirst for revolution made you admire the young man. The two of you walked through the great gate hand in hand as you asked about his life with genuine interest, and Klaus increasingly believed in Merkel's theory about you having such a pure heart that you didn't care about motivation or the number of lives they took, your explanation of the judgment not being your responsibility, crossed the man's head before he escorted you to the main office.

You thanked him with a smile, opened the door and stood in front of the table in the windowless room, where your brother was already waiting for you.

"What the hell happened? Are you okay? I was about to send J to get you, please tell me what happened"—he said hurriedly as he got up and pointed at the couch for you to sit on. J was one of the most dangerous women in the building and you were grateful for not wasting her time.

Putting your backpack and umbrella aside, you answered:

"I'll explain later, little brother, now let me help you. You need passports urgently, don't you?" Yes, you were stalling and postponing the conversation. He'd call you an idiot for going out on the street right after you got on the wanted list, and he'd feel guilty when he found out why you didn't tell him. Merkel wasn't going to understand that her fear of failing him was no one's fault but yourself.

Your sentence seemed to give him some responsibility back, but still, as he held out a glass of water for you, his eyes met yours with a glint that warned that this conversation was far from over.

"Yeah, I really do, but don't think I'm going to forget about it. Let's talk when this is all over. Even if it's the last thing I do today."

You accepted the glass with a bit of trepidation and stood up towards the large center table while opening the briefcase with the supplies you were going to need, if Merkel noticed the bills he didn't say anything. Once at the table, you made two passports for mother and daughter in record time. According to the clock, 10 minutes passed, faster than a car, this deserves a celebration. It would have been six if Merkel hadn't been so curious to make you waste time pulling your watch out of your pocket just for him to analyze.

Everything was going well and there was only one last detail for mother and daughter to be taken by one Percival to the other side of the wall. Percival, according to Merkel, was strange and fickle. Unreliable and extremely dangerous, you should also keep your distance from him, as this man had crucial contacts on both sides of the wall.

"He must have fewer contacts than you", you would answer

If a loud noise didn't break the silence

The annoying noise of the door creaking made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up and you almost missed the last signature, it made your body vibrate with irritation and your eyes follow to the offensive source of the sound. A tall man with short hair and blue eyes was holding the doorknob with a military posture and before you could release your anger and explain something about how people shouldn't be violent inside Merkel's office you noticed he was accompanied by a woman.

AND WHAT A WOMAN!

Your eyes connected to a pair of fierce, intent green eyes, surrounded by a pale skin tone and hair so blond it looked like snow. The barely perceptible frown showed she was surprised to find someone other than Merkel there, yet she looked ready for a battle. You looked into her eyes again and nodded in acknowledgment, this must be L, the woman he was talking about.

She looked at you suspiciously, but also as if she could see into your soul, and what must have been frightening, you found endearing. A few stories of murders orchestrated by her crossed your mind, but all you could imagine is how beautiful she must be when she's mad.

They say green eyes darken when we're high on adrenaline, does that happen to her?

Her analysis of the intriguing blonde ends when she notices that the man accompanying her has raised his voice and from his furious expression, it's not the first time he's repeated the question. You interrupt him before you hear him and make sure to direct the ghost of anger before him:

"Have you lost your mind? Who walks into the office without knocking? Surely you should be here asking about passports, but if it weren't for my experience and steady hands, they would be in the trash by now. Learn to be civilized. You're under two paws not four, so act human and not animal" you say in an explosive but articulate tone to make sure he understands what you say. Sometimes when you speak fast, you are betrayed by faulty diction. Not today. Today you want this man to feel every fiber of irritation that went through his body.

Hearing Merkel holding a nervous laugh, you try to relax, but judging by the cold, almost murderous look of the man in the doorway, you've definitely gotten yourself in trouble. Looking at the organized clothes, you notice it's an old police uniform, probably taken by your brother, and unless Merkel has hired new employees, you've never seen it around here. His eyes snap back to his and something inside you warns that this must be Percival. He probably wants to kill you.

Damn Murphy's Law

A brief silence settles in the room and you shake off the fear and turn away, refusing to play the glaring game with a man who almost spoils your art. On other days you might look at him at a party, but today you want to make him swallow the ink on the stamp in his hands and invite the blonde to dinner

And it's her voice that breaks the silence.

You're flipping through the two passports for failures when she says

"Sorry, miss. My friend is an unprecedented idiot. Shall I close the door and knock again? Perhaps your highness too--"

You turn her body towards her when you hear the slightest hint of irony in her tone and interrupt her with a fake smile as you look into her eyes.

"It's not necessary, I accept your apology, Miss. I always said that Merkel should have someone armed at the door to remind everyone of the need to knock on the door. Anyone who didn't knock would lose his mind as the law of my reign says. Perhaps I should start. for him, since the top head is the last thing he wears lately" you joke look at Merkel who doesn't seem offended by the statement, shrugging you look at those blue eyes again and say "the passports are ready. Let's get out of here."

You close the passports, reach for your backpack and umbrella and start moving towards the door, both agents let you lead the way and judging by the blonde's expression, she's not used to being interrupted, nor is she used to seeing someone talking like that with Merkel, but today it was acceptable. You really think she's adorable, but you know better than to let someone make fun of you, especially in front of your brother who wouldn't let you forget about it. Either she doesn't care, or she's a great actress. Anyway, that idiot is still by her side and you refuse to be the reason for his possible laugh.

Her friend probably didn't have the same acting classes and his resemblance to the local gang members, like he's going to kill you in the blink of an eye in a cowardly way, is almost frightening. If Merkel hadn't said L is a woman, you'd be scared. It makes you shiver a little and look for Merkel, but he's not following you. Looking over his shoulder you see him putting a few more piles of dollars and euros into your briefcase. With a snap of your fingers you get his attention and before you walk out the door, you hear the briefcase click closing.

Once out of the room, you look around and realize that nothing has really changed, all faces are familiar, except for three people: a couple talking to a child. After a brief analysis you find yourself facing the passport clients, mother and daughter. The man doesn't look older than 60 and has kind eyes, almost as if he doesn't live on this side of the wall.

They don't seem to notice you

Your observation is interrupted by Merkel's loud, proud voice, right behind you. Here it comes

"This is Elizabeth Loyd and Percival, two trusted clients. Elizabeth and Percival, this is my little sister, she will be on the march today, if you need anything in the future you can talk to her."

Hearing her name, you notice that Merkel really wasn't creative at all. Who would use the initial letter of a surname as a symbol? Anyone who heard the stories about L and met a loyde who knows a Merkel would make the connection. As you turn around, you swallow your nervousness and try to put on your best smile as you say your name to them. The blonde woman who finally has a name, Elizabeth, leans closer, her eyes never leaving yours, and you wonder if she can feel the jumble of emotions that is unraveling inside you.

She smiles a smile that makes you sure she does and reaches out and greets you with a firm grip, if she noticed the sweat on your hands, she didn't let on. She also looks a little more comfortable.

Maybe because she noticed you said her real name, idiot.

You hate yourself for one second and the next you want to be without gloves because it feels soft and warm.

The man, Percival, comes next and looks at you suspiciously and the smile fades from your face, you wonder if no one else can smell the strong smell he gives off, a smell of cheap whiskey and arrogance. Still, he holds out his hand and this time you thank the gods for the gloves. Make sure you don't bow your head or fail in your posture. He still looks at you like you killed his son. Useless even to pretend, for God's sake.

Merkel watches the exchange from afar and nods to Elizabeth, she responds and Percival walks away looking uneasy. You look around uncomprehendingly, feel a little left out, and wonder which computer must have Tetris installed.

You would kill for a distraction right now.

Going out on the street in a crowded march while being chased by two groups still makes you sick.

Your brother approaches and extends his hands around you. You've missed him for the past few weeks. He still wears the perfume you gave him for his birthday and it makes you sink deeper into the hug. You know he's going to be mad when he finds out what happened so you enjoy as much affection as you can

"Little sister, in addition to our conversation I need to tell you something" his voice is low in tone and you doubt you would understand the words if you weren't so close to him "but I can't do that until the march is over. Meet me at usual table at the restaurant where we celebrate our achievements, It's very important"

His even low voice is charged with strong emotion and you are genuinely worried, Merkel has never been like this before.

"I'll do it, brother, I promise. Whatever it is, we can work it out together" you say with all the certainty you can muster in your voice, because you need him to understand that this is true.

You feel eyes on you and as you look up you notice that Elizabeth keeps an eye on your exchange with Merkel while talking to the little girl's father, from the distance she probably can't understand anything and you don't know if she celebrates or cares with so much attention received. A little further away is a Percival who pretends to be busy with the coat he's wearing. He also pays attention to your exchange, but his talent for discretion is as effective as his ability to open doors.

Your eyes return to the concentrated blue eyes that are in front of you and Merkel speaks in an almost inaudible way:

"When I whistle, I need you to raise your open umbrella and stay alert. The three people we're going to cross are very important, nothing can go wrong. But if it does, I'll be at the restaurant, whatever happens find me there."

Noticing the proximity of Percival and Elizabeth, you place your hand on your brother's shoulder and smile as you speak a little louder:

"Don't worry man, it's always a pleasure to help you. I'll leave my briefcase here, then meet you to get it. Good march."

Merkel shows that she understands his strange move and smiles, you greet some friends of his that you haven't seen in a while and as you head towards the exit, you meet a pair of deep green eyes. Elizabeth is gleaming in the cold lights that are refracted by the mosaic of the gate, she looks into your eyes, ever alert, looks at the object in your hands and nods her head with a half smile, do you think the guard's idea black rain was hers.

As you wave back, you can feel that a pair of eyes haven't left your back since the moment of your brother's embrace, as the old man is saying goodbye to the family, you know who they belong to and decide not to look for them. If the STASI, KGB or local gang find you, he doesn't own the pair of eyes you want to remember before you die.

Taking a deep breath, you walk through the gate and blend into the crowd.

..........................................................................................................................

After leaving Merkel's office block, you take a hat out of your backpack and wear your sunglasses as you look around, not that a local gang member is here but because if he sees you in disguise he will ask a series of questions and he has enough problems already, plus STASI must be monitoring this area and the last thing you want is to be arrested. You decide to tuck your coat into your backpack to change your look, and while internally debating your ability to ignore the cold, your eyes catch the almost snowy blond hair in the crowd.

This signals that they are already on the march and you decide to get a little closer to them, but make sure you do this without drawing attention to yourself since the nasty man is still there. Elizabeth is on your diagonal absorbing all the extraneous details that might be a possible threat, she seems so focused on the job of passing the owner's gentle eyes in a safe way that it makes you wonder how important he is and if she's noticed you.

A few meters later a familiar noise floats through the march and you open the umbrella almost instantly, as do other protesters.

Out of the corner of your eye you can see Percival taking the man's family across and sometime later Elizabeth does the same. You notice that her posture has changed and when she decides to stop for a better look, the crowd drags her and you can no longer locate her.

Her feet continue forward and as some signs are raised by the protesters, you try to find your brother. Unsuccessfully. You decide to trust their ability and hope that you can meet him again at the restaurant.

You also want Elizabeth to be okay.

Continuing on the march, after two or three long blocks you notice the familiar silhouette of one of the STASI bosses, he is watching the crowd as if looking for someone, but he doesn't seem to notice you. You notice observers on top of buildings and decide to leave the streets. Whether it's the Local Gang, KGB or STASI itself you don't know and decide you don't want to know.

Your brain tries to design routes to escape and your body mimics the movements of the closest protesters so as not to draw attention to you, but when some agents in black point in your direction and make space in the crowd, you run between people to seek shelter in somewhere you know and at every step you are sure that the day will be worse than you thought.

Damn Murphy's Law

#lorraine broughton x reader #lorraine broughton #atomic blonde #charlize theron

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mercurygray · 4 years ago

Note

what do you not like about enemy at the gates?

With the movie, or the book? I have issues with both.

The Book: (1974)

I'm fortunate enough that the military museum I volunteer for runs a book club - every month we read something and then discuss it; everyone in the group is extremely well-read and the discussion is always good. This year, one of the books we picked was Enemy at the Gates, and then we watched the movie.

When it was first published in 1974 , William Craig's book was extraordinary for its depth of field on a battle that hadn't been talked about by Western historians. He interviewed extensively in both Germany and Russia, no mean feat at a time when Cold War tensions were still high, and the book provides an extremely thorough overview of a very large battle (Stalingrad) through the eyes of the men (and women, on the Soviet side) who lived through it.

It sits oddly, with me, however, when I get to the end of a book and feel bad for the guys who invaded and lost. Towards the end of the book, Craig mentions more about the retreating Germans than he does the Russians, and ending the book on such a note sat...wrong, with me - a theme that was picked up by contemporary reviewers, one of whom accused him of siding with the Nazis. Also he may have...made some stuff up. More on that later.

TLDR: I have friends who specialize in Eastern Front history who would recommend different books first.

The Movie: (2001)

The movie, which, to its credit, claims to only be loosely based on the book, takes this huge World War Two battle for one of the largest manufacturing centers in Russia and strips the bulk of it down to focus on Vassily Zaitsev (played by Jude Law), a sniper, and a sniper duel that played out over several days between himself and Major Erwin König, (played by Ed Harris, still in an American accent, which honestly is for the best.) There's also a love triangle with the political officer managing Zaitsev's propaganda (Joseph Fiennes) and a very heavily fictionalized up and coming sniper, Tania Chernova (Rachel Weisz.)

I remember liking the movie when I first saw it in high school, but coming back to it as an adult who'd read the book, the love story is pretty flimsy, Chernova in the book is MUCH more badass than the version they got into the movie, though how much of that is true is up for debate, and the ending is painfully Hollywood and bears no resemblance at all to what the book says happened.

Zaitsev occupies perhaps one chapter in the book, and Craig's interviews with Chernova have been called into question by other historians. Sir Anthony Beevor, writing thirty years after Craig and with access to different documents, has written that this duel was imagined and was created solely for propaganda purposes.

TLDR: This is an interesting battle and they picked possibly the least interesting (and very fictional) bit to film and did so in the worst way possible.

#enemy at the gates #military history #i feel like i should add that i'm not a trained historian?#But I talk with several extremely regularly #william craig #world war two

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emwritesstuff · 4 years ago

Text

as the world caves in | ch. 6 | bucky barnes x reader

synopsis: You are a ghost story. A former Air Force pilot who had her plane shot down by Germany in 1945, but here you were in 2023, alive and frozen in your 25-year-old body.

You haven’t seen Bucky since the 1940’s, before his fall, before you went on a suicide mission only to come back alive. You aren’t sure reliving those memories – and being a living memory of everything the man has lost – is the best for him.

But you and Bucky won’t be apart for long.

This will loosely follow the plot of TFATWS - so spoilers ahead, specially regarding episode four. Thread carefully!

masterlist | AO3

notes: The following chapter is finally here! It took me a while to revise it because I wanted the action scenes to not suck super badly, so yeah.

(warnings: mentions of death, gunshots, blood, injuries) (word count: 3K)

six: shield

You sat next to Sam as he typed in a computer and Helmut Zemo nursed his headache. Once he gained consciousness, he’d showered you in gratitude and niceties, and you were already close to knocking him out yourself.

T-minus what, four hours? The Dora Milaje would be there soon enough.

It’s he the one to break the comfortable silence, only filled by the soft clicking of Sam’s keyboard before.

“Were you ever offered it?”

“What?”

“The serum.”

“No.” Sam said, raising an eyebrow at you with an amused expression. You shrugged.

“If you had been, hypothetically, that is, would you have taken it?”

Sam’s mouth turned down, and he slowly turned to Zemo.

“No.”

“No hesitation, that’s impressive.”

You got up from the table, making a round so you could watch Zemo’s face as he spoke. He’d seen you usher Karli Morgenthau out of the factory basement, and you wondered what he had made of your actions.

“Sam, you can’t hold out hope for Karli.” His eyes met yours as he said that, and you looked away, circling a pillar and walking to be on the other side of the couch, by his feet. “No matter what you saw in her, she’s gone.”

You sighed. “You talk in absolutes. People aren’t like that, Zemo.”

He studied you again.

“And we cannot allow that she and her acolytes become yet another faction of gods amongst people. Super Soldiers cannot be allowed to exist.”

Zemo spoke with such conviction that you were sure you’d be also be harboring a bullet if he knew who, and what, you were.

“Isn’t that how gods talk? And if that’s how you feel, what about Bucky?” Sam’s eyes flitted to you, and you offered him a tight smile. “Blood isn’t always the solution.”

When Steve had talked to you about handing over the shield for the first time you were doubtful. He was grieving the loss of his own time – your time, too – and second-guessing his own claim to it.

You never stopped believing in Steve when he did. You and Bucky were war. Steve was… the end of it. And not just because of the serum. He was that since you all were small and scrawny, him a little scrawnier and a little smaller, as he stopped you and Bucky from butting heads.

For Steve, you, and Bucky as well, that shield meant everything. It meant the salvation of the world from true evil, that in the 1940’s was personified in the form of a little man with a moustache. Whoever carried it carried the responsibility of being the harbinger of that freedom. Of relief, justice, and most of all... hope.

So when Steve talked to you about handing over the shield a second time, this time to capable hands instead of a glass dome, you understood – it was time to pass the mantle to someone who was, indeed, a new beacon of hope.

Safe to say, the fact that John Walker now carried the shield you put so much importance into felt wrong.

“Something’s not right about Walker.” Bucky strolled in, seemingly in a sour mood. You chuckled, and watched as he discarded his things on the counter.

“You don’t say.”

“Well, I know a crazy when I see one. Because I am crazy.”

“Can’t argue with that.” Sam quipped, and you patted his shoulder affectionately when you walked past him to get Bucky to make you a drink too.

You swiped his jacket off the counter and hanged it neatly on the back of one of the barstools. Bucky licked his lips and shook his head as you mouthed ragamuffin at him.

“Pour me one.”

“Can you hold your liquor now, sugar?”

You narrowed your eyes at him and grabbed the glass he had fixed for himself.

“Now you pour yourself one.” You took a sip, smiling into the glass.

Bucky glared at Sam. “Shouldn’t have given him the shield.”

You shot Bucky a disapproving look. He raised his eyes briefly at you while pouring his drink, and shrugged.

“Buck—”

“I didn’t give him the shield.”

“Well Steve definitely didn’t.”

“James Barnes!” Goddamn Bucky and his hard-headed self.

Bucky looked at you like he used to look at his mother, wide eyed, like he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. It only lasted for a second, his bewilderment falling into a scowl right after. Behind you, Sam chuckled.

You shook your head at Bucky, but you had no time to fall into an argument. The one and only John Walker and Lemar Hoskins were bursting in, demanding to take Zemo. Ordering, really.

“Hey, slow your roll.” Sam said firmly. “Man, let’s be clear. Shield or no shield, the only thing you’re runnin’ in here is your mouth.”

You bottomed up your whiskey, knowing whatever was to come couldn’t be good.

“Now, I had Karli and you overstepped. He’s actually proven himself useful today. And we’re gonna need all hands on deck for whatever’s coming next.”

Walker challenged Sam next. He looked eager and ready for a fight, and as much as you’d loved to keep your real abilities hidden, you figured your time out of the spotlight was running out. Bucky looked at you from the corner of his eye, relaxed stance contrasting with the tightness of his jaw. Zemo paced behind Sam, still clutching his own drink.

The moment Walker put down the shield an iron spear cut the air and lodged itself into the pilaster, separating him and Sam.

No, not iron. Vibranium.

The Dora Milaje.

“Even if he is a means to your end… Time’s up.” Ayo announced in Xhosa. You grimaced.

You sighed heavily when John decides to one-up them, too. Ayo swings the spear at his arm when he touches his shoulder and a fight breaks out. You reached for the liquor again.

There wasn’t enough alcohol in the world.

The fight was only Walker and Hoskins getting absolutely overpowered by the warriors while you, Bucky, Sam and Zemo stayed out of it.

“We should do something.”

You swirled your drink, taking a small sip. “I am. I’m observing.”

“Looking strong, John!” Bucky shouted, making you have to hide a snort. Sam exhaled heavily.

“Such a diplomat, you. Bucky…”

“I’m a lot of things, Samuel.” You shrugged, but finished your drink anyways and hiked up your sleeves.

You, Bucky and Sam all ran to take one of the Doras each. As one kicked Hoskins to the couch you stepped in front of him, blocking the hit of her spear with your forearm.

You met her eyes and tilted your head apologetically. When she raised her weapon again you twisted your body and landed a back kick to her middle.

She staggered back a couple of steps but was back at you in an instant.

Hit. Block. Kick. Another hit to your shoulder.

Even if the fight was fairly balanced, Super Soldier against Dora Milaje, you knew you had a slim chance of actually winning. You hadn’t been in a fight in years, much less with someone this capable and trained.

After blocking another of your strikes with her spear, she hit the side of your left knee. It’s your bad one.

East Berlin, 1987. You had been undercover for nearly two weeks now, tracking a lead about the existence of a HYDRA lab that was conducting experiments with new Super Soldiers.

The wind that cut through the rooftop of the building you stood on testing the very limits of the overcoat you wore on top of your tactical suit. So damn cold. You tried not to dwell on how frigid your toes were inside of your boots, instead concentrating on watching the sun slip behind the skyline.

You were waiting on a man that would give you the next lead. Intel said he would be there before you, but he wasn’t when you got there. 10 minutes had gone past the accorded meeting time, and you were starting to think that no one was coming.

A bullet ricocheted on the concrete pillar you were stood behind, and you realized why S.H.I.E.L.D.’s contact was running late. You grabbed your own pistol, still hidden by the concrete, and peeked in the direction the shot had come from.

A man and a woman, in full leather. You saw the red star etched on their left arms as they marched towards you. HYDRA.

You had two exit options, one that was across the rooftop or jumping down into River Spree. Either way, you’d have to deal with the two HYDRA agents that approached you.

You ran to another pillar, shooting at them. You hit the woman on the leg, and she buckled down. Her counterpart didn’t even spare her a look, continuing his way to you. You kept shooting, missing a few and landing the rest on the both of them, the guy barely flinching.

You didn’t understand why he wasn’t using his own gun. Maybe he didn’t feel the need for one.

There was no time for thinking. The man was onto you; swatting your gun away, blocking your punch, hitting your chest. You crashed into concrete.

The woman joined in, landing a hard blow to the side of your skull. Your eyes widened. They were just as strong as you.

Super Soldiers.

You crawled away from them, hand swatting at your leg for your knife. It landed in the woman’s throat with a squelch. One down.

The man was much stronger it seemed, you barely able to keep the fight balanced even with another of your knives. You cut and ripped, but it was like your blade was a feather on his skin.

He backed you up until the edge of the building. You could see the river below.

You groaned when he headbutted you, and you go stumbling down. The blood was hot against your face and metallic on your lips.

He stomped on your knee. Again. And again. You choked on your own agony.

His voice was all you heard before he kicked you off the ledge. You plunged into the freezing air.

Hail HYDRA.

Familiar pain laced through you, making your hairs stand on end. You cried out, nearly tumbling straight to the ground.

The clank of metal hitting the ground and a spear shot at the direction of the shield ended the fight. Bucky’s vibranium arm laid limp and detached on the ground, his expression even more perplexed than when you had scolded him earlier.

You straightened yourself up as the pain subsided. Ayo opened the doors to an empty bathroom.

Zemo. He has slipped right through your fingers while you were busy defending John Walker’s ass from the Dora Milaje.

You helped Sam to his feet as they were leaving, Ayo giving you one last stern look before leading the way out. It felt like a reminder of a debt.

“Did you know they could do that?” Sam said, looking at a limbless Bucky. The arm seemed to snap back into the right place, thank goodness for that. A failsafe, then.

“No.” Bucky rotated his arm, an indecipherable expression on his face, even for your standards.

The room was filled with tension as the three of you gathered yourselves again and John Walker sat defeated on the ground, with only Lemar to check up on him. You walked past them to get inside the bathroom, frowning at the drainage hole Zemo had made his escape through.

“I can’t believe he pulled an El Chapo,” Sam murmured.

“I can.” Bucky clenched his jaw. “Come on.”

Bucky led you through the backstreet and to the back of the building, though you weren’t sure exactly what you were looking for. A lead, maybe, but neither of you knew if Zemo had made his way all the way to the underground or escaped to the streets once he was out.

“You okay? You got hit pretty bad back there.” Sam said, looking at you. You all had taken a decent beating, but the hit to your leg had taken you by surprise. Bucky frowned.

“I’m good.” Bucky frowned deeper, and you shook your head at him, clapping Sam on the shoulder. “I got a bad knee, it’s all. Replacement cap and everything.”

Sam laughed.

“You’re 106 and have a prosthetic kneecap? Wow, you’re starting to sound your age.”

“You know what, Wilson? I think you should respect your elders.”

Sam raised his hands, still laughing. “Okay, okay. But only ‘cause I saw you kicking ass back there. Girl, where the hell have you been?”

Bucky grumbled something, and threw an arm around your shoulders.

“Retired.”

You patted his cheek lovingly, and laughed a little when you caught him fighting a smile. Sam got ahead of you, sending you a look of mischief and wiggling his eyebrows.

You urged Bucky forward, earning a huff from him as you got to Sam’s side.

Compartmentalizing was necessary. Zemo was on the loose, Walker was verging on unhinged, and there was still Karli to deal with. Whatever was going on with you and Bucky – and the insistent feeling that tugged on your heartstrings whenever you looked at him – would have to wait.

You listened to Sam’s conversation on the phone, his tone growing more concerned at every pause. Sarah. Overnight bag. Take the boys.

“What happened?” Bucky asked and you slipped from under his arm.

“Karli called Sarah. She threatened my nephews.”

Shit.

“Sam, I got a safehouse in New Orleans.” You said once he hung up. He nodded at you, and you took his phone to get his sister’s contact.

Karli was entering dangerous territory. Before, you considered her a fighter on a rightful cause, but as if predicted by Zemo, she was escalating. You feared that it was a fight you couldn’t let her win, or run free.

“Karli wants to meet. She left a contact number.” Sam’s phone chimed. “She said come alone.”

“I’m comin’ with you.” Bucky looked at you. “We are.”

“Let’s gear up, boys.”

---

You were grateful you had kept your old tactical suit inside your closet for a rainy day.

The suit was carbon black, except for the blue-grey Kevlar plating on your chest, back and upper legs. It had a faint resemblance to an armor, and the amount of impact it could absorb made you protected and difficult to take down. You completed your gear with your trusty boots and hidden knives.

Sam had changed into his wings and Bucky into his peculiar one-armed leathers.

“Damn, you look cool.”

A laugh escaped your lips. “So do you, Sam.”

Bucky cleared his throat. “We should go.”

The sky was cloudy and the air dry, and still you could feel a storm coming. You walked into the empty building, you and Bucky tailing Sam.

“Karli!”

The redhead revealed herself, standing on the second floor. Sam went to talk to her, leaving you to watch them from a distance.

Karli looked at you and Bucky there, her eyes lingering on you for a few seconds more. You realized how menacing you must have looked, the three of you in full gear, and you wondered if Bucky felt as strange about your rigid stance as you did about his.

The two of you really had changed.

“I was gonna ask you to join me. Or do the world a favor and let me go.”

If only things were that easy.

Sam looked at the screen on his wrist and turned to you in alarm.

“It’s Walker.”

A trap. Bucky was the first to leap to the ground, colliding with Karli in the process. You and Sam landed at the same time, and you hoisted Bucky up while Sam clashed with the girl.

He sent Karli to the ground with a flying kick.

“I’ll send you the location, go!”

You and Bucky leapt into the street and broke into a fast sprint as Sam took off.

“You’re fast!”

You looked to your side at Bucky, smirking. He was just a little behind you.

“I’m lighter!”

“No fair!”

“You have a metal arm!”

Bucky led you to the location Sam had sent him. Riga had plenty of empty buildings, it seemed. You were running up the stairs when a Flag Smasher jumped on you, then another on Bucky.

The guy and you dragged yourselves all the way to the top, exchanging punches. You saw his eyes widen under the mask when you landed a boot on his chest and he went flying backwards.

Taking the free time you had bought yourself, you searched for Bucky below you. As soon as you found him the Flag Smasher tackled you, hoisting your body up. You hit his shoulder blade with your elbow and he bumped into the railing, quickly turning and hanging you over the edge.

“Y/N!”

Bucky was upside down. No, that was you.

He reached for you as the other Flag Smasher had him locked in a rear choke.

“I’ve got this!”

Tightening your legs around the man, you let yourself fall, taking him with you. You crash at the bottom of the building.

“You said you had this!”

Bucky jumped to your level.

“I do!”

You stared at his scowl for a brief second before roundhouse kicking your foe and finally putting him down.

Bucky returned to you after dealing with his own Flag Smasher. He looked furious.

“You’re so fucking reckless!”

Oh, Jesus H. Christ. You couldn’t believe Bucky, wanting to argue.

“I am fine! It wasn’t that high.” You huffed. “We have no time for this, James. Let’s go.”

You ran to the top of the building, Bucky trailing behind you. He caught a flying knife right before it lodged itself on your face. He glowered at you as if to say you don’t got this.

Not sparing him a response, you busy yourself with fighting another of the Flag Smashers, this time a woman. It was like all you needed was a little warming up, because you’re clearly in advantage as you blocked her punches and grabbed her torso, slamming her into the ground next.

You looked up. John Walker was staring at you.

He didn’t have much time to dwell on whatever he saw, one of the men coming from behind and immobilizing him.

Karli screamed as she ran towards Walker. She was in it for the kill. Hoskins tackled her before she could do it. All you could make out was the blur of an altercation.

Lemar Hoskins slammed into a pillar with a crack.

Your stomach churned.

Everything stilled as Walker ran to his partner, desperately trying to get him to wake up. He slumped sideways, his head lolled down.

He was dead.

Karli and her group took advantage of the tumult and ran, her shooting one last look at the rest of you as they took off. You couldn’t let her get away this time, though, so you immediately go into pursuit.

You shot one look behind you, seeing Bucky and Sam follow you as you whizzed through the streets of Riga. You’re the first to get to the square, making your way to the middle of the crowd hastily.

Walker stoop upright, holding the shield over the body of one of the unmasked Flag Smashers.

It was broad daylight; there were dozens of people around you.

The city was silent.

He was dead.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x y/n

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