#and he (military in not a brainwashed country) lost his shit

[mxwhore]

I want to draw!!¡ but first, education

#reading a paper on the delta delta CT method of relative quantification for rtPCR #my parents came over to deliver us some of their fresh produce and we talked #after 2 years of living the farming life theyre finally ok with me having a weedie plant!! #its the season after all #i still remember the first time i had the weed conversation with my dad... #as u may or may not know. i hate lying to cover my actions. so i went to my dad right away and told him hey dad im gonna try weed #and he (military in not a brainwashed country) lost his shit #now its like. ok bby lemme know where u want it ♡ #thanks parents

[whumpy-daydreams]

Since you mentioned living weapon prompts…

Defiant whumpee with some sort of superpower finally breaking and becoming a weapon?

ooh i love this and now its really long and i want to write more because i have the plot bunnies

CW: electric shocks, brainwashing, needle mention, military indoctrination

Whumpee had been sloppy. They'd trusted the wrong people and been screwed over as a result. And now they had been arrested? Drafted? They supposed the specifics didn't matter.

Whumpee was wondering how long they'd been stuck in this stupid chair when a door opened, pneumatics hissing as a portion of the wall slid aside.

The man in uniform didn't smile. He sat opposite, barely registering them as he opened a file, scanning through the two pages inside. That was good. They clearly didn't have much information about what Whumpee could do.

"Please state your name for the record."

If Whumpee could cross their arms they would have. But instead they just cocked their head, lips pursed. A slight twitch was all that gave away the man's annoyance.

"It would be in your best interest to comply."

"Why?"

"Because it will save me time and you pain." He clasped his hands on the table and leaned forward slightly. "Your name."

"You forgot the magic word," Whumpee smirked. A jolt of electricity burst across their wrists and ankles. Clearly the restraints were for more than keeping them in place. "Shit!"

"As I said, it is in your best interest to comply. What is your name?"

"Fuck. You." Another flash of pain, stronger than the last, and Whumpee cried out through gritted teeth. Their heart was pounding now, sweat beginning to bead on their back.

The man waited patiently. Whumpee just glared.

When the electricity hit again they screamed, back arching. White flashed across their vision. Whumpee wished they could move. Wished they could shake out the growing cramps in their arms and legs. Still the man just watched, waiting.

Whumpee lost track of time as shock after shock hit them, the only breaks in the silence being the sounds of screaming and the same question from the man, over and over and over. Your name.

"Whum-" their voice caught between sobs, "-Whumpee. My name's Whumpee."

They were drenched in sweat now, limbs shaking from the electricity that had coursed through them just moments before. They were so tired.

The man just nodded, not bothering to write anything down. Bastard. He already knew their name. All Whumpee had done was shown how much pain they could take.

"Would you like some water?" The question caught them off guard. After a moment Whumpee nodded. The man reached down, putting a glass of water on the table, a straw already in it, but didn't move it closer.

"You are being recruited into a special division here. There are others like you already in service, and you will receive comprehensive training to complete your missions."

"Why would I do that?" Whumpee rasped.

"To serve your country. You would receive compensation: food and lodging, thorough medical care, as well as a generous package when you retire."

"Can I think about it first?"

"While cooperation is preferable, we do not need any consent from you to enrol you into the program. I will repeat that it is-"

"In my best interest to comply." Whumpee finished for him. They looked at the glass of water and thankfully the man got the hint. He brought it forward, holding it so Whumpee could drink from the straw.

They took a long sip, looked at the man, and spat it in his face. "You can go to hell." He reeled back, wiping the water from himself with a sleeve. To Whumpee's dismay he didn't look angry, or even particular annoyed.

"Perhaps you need some time to think about it." Was all he said before leaving, the door hissing shut behind him.

___

Whumpee sagged forward in the chair, cheeks stained with tears and sweat as their muscles spasmed.

It had been hours. The shocks were random, or random enough that they hadn't been able to find a pattern - though it was hard to keep track when you kept getting electrocuted.

They didn't have the energy to scream any more. Strained whimpers and a rigid body the only sign of the electricity coursing through them. I won't let them do this to me. I won't let them turn me into a monster.

A firm hand on their arm startled Whumpee, who flinched away, silently sobbing. Then a scratch on the back of their hand, the strange feeling of tape keeping something secure. Whumpee didn't have the energy to look.

"Please..."

"Let it run through before shocking again, don't want them dislodging it." A different voice, and a murmur of acknowledgement. A few minutes silence.

"Have you thought about your situation, Whumpee?" The man's voice again, calm and professional. Fuckyoufuckyoufuckyou- "This can all stop if you want it to. All you have to do is cooperate."

It was so tempting. It would be so easy to give in. The exhaustion in Whumpee's body screamed at them to say yes, to accept whatever future they were offering.

With a sob, Whumpee shook their head.

"Why?" The man's voice was different now: softer, gentler. "You have no family, no true friends. Here you will have purpose. People to depend on, a stable place to live, the chance to make a difference in the world."

It was true. Whumpee didn't have anyone they trusted. There was no hope, no purpose, no stability in their future. Because of you. It was their fault Whumpee didn't have those things.

"Just let me leave," they said weakly.

"I can't do that. You belong here, even if you don't realise it yet." Whumpee heard rather than saw the man walk over. He pushed them upright, their head lolling backwards. "What's your name?"

"Whumpee." They didn't know why they said it. Whumpee told themselves it was because he already knew, but deep down that was a lie. It just... happened. They felt pliable, like their brain had been massaged into acceptance.

A video hologram appeared in front of them. It showed people in uniform eating together, playing games, doing training exercises and helping each other. Images of clean facilities, sports and books and tidy bedrooms flashed past one another.

It looked... nice? Not cosy but safe and welcoming. The calm speech of the voiceover repeated itself in Whumpee's brain.

'You'll be part of a family trained to be the best'

Whumpee wanted a family. They wanted to feel safe. Loved. To not have to worry about food and shelter, or who to trust. They're lying to you. The voice in their head took on an uncertain tone.

"Well, Whumpee? Are you ready to cooperate?" Yes. No. Whumpee didn't say anything, their thoughts merging together in a swirling pool of conflicting needs.

The man didn't say anything as he left again. Panic gripped Whumpee and they nearly called after him but it was too late. The door disappeared into the wall.

But no shocks came. Instead another video started, this time an interview of a young woman in uniform. She had powers too. And despite Whumpee's exhaustion they couldn't help but listen.

Another video played afterwards, and another, and another. Each one echoed in Whumpee's head, the voice telling them it was a lie getting quieter until it all but disappeared. Calmness spread over them, making them forget about the shocks, about the fact Whumpee had been kidnapped.

When the man finally reappeared, Whumpee looked at him silently.

"Are you ready to comply?"

"Yes."

#mortiawrites #whump #military whump #electrocution tw #electrocution #brainwashing #living weapon whumpee #defiant whumpee #whump prompt #whump writing

[one-abuse-survivor]

Hi, disassociation anon here! Ah, it seems when I actually gain some footing in my life, the world around me crumbles😅 Aka, guess who's stuck on the wrong side of the russian-ukrainian war and now has to deal with my abusive brother being violently pro-patriotic and an increased amount of conflicts and abuse going on in the house because of the ideological differences and the economy slowly crumbling around us. My plans to go to a desired uni fell through because of the sanctions, everything is slowly going to shit and half of the essentials are missing from shops, but somehow I'm able to keep my cool despite still planning to go into medicine, which would mean that if things go to shit completely I'll be among the first ones they'll send to die (doctors are technically part of the military here and are immediately summoned in case of a conflict)

Despite all of... Well, that, I only disassociatied like once, and that was for a short two hours! For some reason, this is the time my positive outlook on life, which was lost about 10 years ago, decided to return. Probably as a coping mechanism lmao but not complaining

And how are you doing?)

Hi! Disassociation anon here with an unfortunate update, this one will get heavy✌🏻

Things only keep getting worse and worse - not only in the country, but also in my house. My family, who had already been capital A assholes before complete with racism, homophobia, transphobia as well as shitty abusive personalities have been brainwashed by the propaganda (it's insane, I've literally heard my mother say that genocide is okay, what the fuck). Soooo due to that their violent tendencies have exploded.

In the past two weeks my brother has: come home shaking with rage and screamed that he would kill our mother and then himself by the end of the day (I texted some friends and prepared to run if shit hit the fan), stated that he "should've killed me the first time he pointed a gun at me", has started to regularly attempt to harm me and threaten to hurt me or break my bones, and now he's brought another gun in the house claiming that it "needed maintenance". Ha. As if I can't see through his bullshit. So anyway now I regularly have to worry if my own family member will murder me. Yay!

My mother has gotten even more verbally and physically abusive - hitting him, holding screaming matches and rountinely calling both of us a failure and the reason of her misery.

Worst thing is - I'm stuck. My plan was to lay low until graduation and start working in the summer (since I can't exactly do that with 12 hour school days which drain every bit of energy out of me) to hopefully save up enough to move out in some time, but with the economy crashing looks like that might not happen. So... Any tips for searching jobs or maybe working online? A single dollar can get you quite far with the current state of my country's economy so anything will do but I don't even know where to start. I'm sure I'll be fine (unless my brother goes into a murderous rage and kills me) but if you have any words of support as well that would be greatly appreciated¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Hope you have a nice day, sorry for the depressing ask✌🏻

Hi again, nonnie, and really sorry I took so long to reply. 

What you’re going through right now sounds so horrible I honestly don’t have the words, and I have no idea what I could say that could help. I just really hope you’re safe and okay right now. Please remember it’s okay to do anything you need to do to keep yourself safe from your brother and from your family at large.

Unfortunately, when it comes to job searching I don’t have any advice to give :( maybe some of my followers might have some ideas?

Sending the biggest hug and all my love and support your way. I’m really sorry this is happening. I hope things start to look up for you soon and you can take some steps to get yourself out of that house :(

#ask #dissociation anon #current events tw #russian war #abusive brother tw #patriotism tw #abuse tw #war tw #racism tw #homophobia tw #transphobia tw #abusive family #genocide tw #genocide apologism tw #suicide threat #homicide threat #fire weapons tw #death threat #death threat tw #physical abuse tw #verbal abuse tw #emotional abuse tw

[guigz1-coldwar]

'Redemption of a Spirit in a Cold War' chapter 7 is out !

"Fleeing"

Summary : Bell is having her last day in Moscow as Belikov help her prepare her escape to the West

To read it on AO3, click here !

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

I never thought that Belikov will be very trustful and helpful towards me, I was thinking that he was going to be like a typical CIA agent and try to kill me when he will have the chance but he didn't do it and instead, he decided to help me by starting to create a file about me and for sure, I know that I will be leaving the USSR soon.....and it will be with the CIA, I hope that Belikov will find a persuasive way to get me out of the country without having to reveal my identity.

If the CIA declared that I died three years ago in Solovetsky by an 'heroic sacrifice', they will maybe not found out about me but I think that Belikov was aware that some part of the CIA know the perfect identity of the woman we all called 'Bell'.....an Perseus agent that were brainwashed by Russell Adler in order to gain an advantage against the East and that were disposed off by the same guy. Now, I will need to show them that I'm not someone to be dealed off that easily.

I wanted to check the box that Belikov gave me but I fell asleep on his couch without having the chances to give a look to my old belongings. My whole body were hurting me while I was sleeping and I could feel that I was crying during the night. I was thinking of Park and everything else about my old memories : after all these times, they were all coming back and each time, I rediscovered them like it was the first time for me.

I lived a life that I can't even remember right. I'm only able to have those memories coming back in my head each time I closed my eyes while I'm alone or before I go to sleep. Each of them is like a door opening, making me discovering my own life. Am I really a stranger inside my own body ? I still can remember things like my combats skills and maybe cryptography but what happened in my life is like a whole mystery to me and I hope that one day, I will be fully aware of what I lived.

Waking up was very hard for me : my arms were feeling so heavy and my legs were like burning. I had to redress myself multiple times as I was laying down once I was sit. I then succeeded to stay sit on the couch. I had to clean my eyes too that were too dried after crying during all night and winking a lot of times to get my vision cleared enough to see everything right. I looked at outside and it was a sunny weather. I then looked at the watch at my wrist : it was noon.

I slept again for a long time like yesterday and I hope to clear that quickly. Sleeping for so long is not something I really want these days after having spend 3 years in a coma. My eyes fell on the box that was still on the table, I was going to spread my arms towards it but they were still hurting me, avoiding me to move for a while. Then, I heard someone arriving in the room : it was Belikov who was coming with a plate in hand.

"Hi, miss Bell." He said with a smile, seeing that I was awake on the couch

"Belikov." I muttered, grinning a little.

"I prepared something to eat for you." He put one of the plate on the table allowing me to discover the content of it.....a home-made hamburger.

"A hamburger ?" I told him, very curious of that choice of food since we are in the Soviet Union "The CIA must have gave you some goods things to have you eat these kinds of food in here."

"Yes, they gave me this apartment thanks to their money." He looked around happy as he sit on the seat I was yesterday "One day, I even asked for a baseball cap and they give it to me."  He looked at me. "Did you check the box ?" He asked

"No, I fell asleep before I could do that." I replied before I could feel my body getting better. I can finally move without getting hurt and I took the plate in hand. "About...the file you created for me ?" I asked before taking a bite in that burger that was tasting nice.

"I started to work on it when I leaved you but I took a nap before working on it again in the early morning." He responded, joining his hands together "I will be able to finish it before I can take you out of the city to meet with a CIA team."

"You called the CIA ?" I said, worried and starting to sound angry.

"I called them but it was just for saying that I had a defector to give them, don't worry." He leaned back on his seat, seeing my deadly eyes. "They just think that you are another defector." He added, making me relieved,

"What did you say about me ?"

"I told them that you were compromised and you had to kill 2 of your colleagues." He moved away to get next to a TV. "What you did yesterday did make noises." He turned the TV on before getting back to his seat. It was the first time in three years that I was watching something in the TV and it was weird. When the TV got on, the news were happening and by the odds, they started talking about the incident.

"Yesterday, two policemens from the city of Moscow were found dead by gunshot in an alley near the Lubyanka Place. The chief of the police has stated that 'they will do everything to stop the person who commited these horribles on our peacekeepers and to bring them to the russian people'. According to some rumors, this act was premeditated as some witnesses could see a masked person leaving the area before the police and some could clarify that this person were a woman."

The TV was then turned off by Belikov who got up from his seat and go back at his place, looking at me with wide eyes. I can say that I pulled something big from that event and by luck, he gave the CIA the big pretext for me to get out of the country.....what the odds ! The silence striked the room as I was finishing the burger and once it was done, I pulled the plate back on the table.

"You know...." He started, looking worried "I've heard you cry a lot this night."

"I know." I replied, biting my bottom lips

"Did you cry because of what happened to you ?" He asked

"Yes, everything that happened to me in my life." I looked down, joining my hands together as I was thinking about the night "And about Park."

"Park....I wonder how...." He started to said before I cut him, guessing his question,

"I loved her, right ?" He nodded, I guessed right,

"I remember to have heard about you and her from Adler when you arrived in Mosow three years ago." He crossed his arms above his chest, looking curious "He said that he never agreed about you two and he wanted to do everything to stop that relation to progress."

"Last night, it happened that I slept in the same hotel that we were before our attack in the Lubyanka and the receptionist told me that they had a argument about the rooms." I smiled nervously. "I.....I received a letter from Park, dating from 3 years that Adler broke inside my room and make her go."

"Shit, I'm sorry about that." He apologized

"I loved her because she was incredible, close to me and she believed in me....even she was aware of my true state." I sniffed "I'm still am."

"Don't worry, you will find her....I hope too." He smiled at me "That's why I'm helping you, miss Bell !" He affirmed before getting up from his seat "I need to continue working on your file that I will give to the CIA and once it's done, I will prepare your extraction to the West."

"Thanks you again." I said, grinning as he started to walk away back to his room without saying a thing.

I was now back alone in his living room, having eating something good and finally feeling better. After that little talk with him, I decided that it was time to check that box of mine that was standing on the table for the night. I took the box and put it next to me on the floor and I opened it. I was so nervous about opening that box but it was too late. I could realized that there weren't much in it as it wasn't so heavy : something looking like my records and then some pictures that I wasn't able to see because they were turned on the wrong face.

I decided to start by looking at that big file that I presumed to be my records. I could finally discover my whole identity : I'm named Yirina Grigoriev, born May 8th 1952 in Kiev. At four years old, I....I lost my parents from an accident that wasn't explained at all in the records and after that, it was said that I was take in charge by Perseus himself, raising me.....shit, I was like an daughter to him.

In 1968, I apparently became the youngest recruit in the KGB, having Perseus pulled some strings to make this happen and one year later, I have my first operation outside the country and after that, I rosed through the ranks while staying an field operatives agent until I get stopped, staying as a simple KGB officer under Perseus's orders during the remaining years until 1981. It wasn't marked on the file but I presumed that I could have added 'Disappeared the January 13th 1981 left for dead by an Perseus lieutenant' ! This file wasn't updated meaning that something happened before Trabzon and that box wasn't touched by Perseus during all these times.

By looking at these records, I know that it was better for me to take back everything with me and I put these big file in the backpack that I left just next to the couch. Once I'm done it, I decided to put my hand on the box to take a look at those mysterious pictures. There were actually three pictures for me. The first one.....it was me in my younger days posing in a military outfit, either in training or somewhere fighting for Perseus. I wasn't alone because there were also Freya and Perseus himself standing between her and me. I put it on my backpack, resisting to tear apart Perseus from the picture, leaving only me & Freya.

The second picture was still me but I was looking more older and there were a date on it but only the year : 1980. I was looking at the camera with an embarassed look and dressed in the same uniform I was on in my memories, sit in my office. It was just me and no one else on the picture. I was looking pretty on it, giving me a little smile before I put it on the backpack too. Then, I took the last picture in hands and.....there weren't any of my presence on that picture : it was Zasha on it, their arms around an woman I don't know or remember at all. Strange but it could be useful again if I can one day see Zasha again.

I was now done with the pictures and my attention was now on the letter that was the last thing inside this box. I checked the envelope and it was so curious because it wasn't my handwriting at all on it. It was written : 'For my Yiri.....from Zed'. So, it was a letter written by Zasha for me.....or for that woman on the picture. Is this woman also called Yirina ? The envelope was already opened but I was so stressed out about it that I decided to read it later and that's not for me. Like the third picture, I need to keep it in case I see Zasha or that woman now.

I was done with that box : it was empty now as everything was inside my backpack, giving me some more weight to carry on my back. Right now, I have nothing to do except of waiting.....so I laid myself down on the couch again, looking at the ceilling without closing my eyes and trying to think about something but my mind was very busy at this moment and wasn't so willing to let me have a memory back.

All I can do was to stay on that couch, look at the ceilling and trying to think this time about what will happen in the followings days : I will be able to return back to West-Berlin next to Park, I will have to face Adler about his choices and after that, I will have no choice than to join Park again to track Perseus down. Now that I know that he's still around, I have to help her and the others in their fight....a fight that was mine and became mine again. If I can find Freya and Zasha again, I could feel happy and save them from Perseus's control.

Hours passed and the evening was coming into Moscow. I didn't move at all from the couch until Belikov got out of his room, a file in hand.

"Miss Bell, I have finished to plan everything." He said, proudly

"Everything ?" I repeated, getting up from the couch, curious.

"Yes, your new file and we are awaited." He handed me the file to let me check it and I took it.

"So." I started, giving a look at it "I'm one of your contacts named Tanya Koslova inside the Moscow police that needed to flee after killing two Perseus agents that tried to kill me."

"It was the best way to convince the CIA." He told me, scratching the back of his head before getting his hand behind his back to grab something "You will need this."

"Bandages ?" I saw that in his hands

"To cover your head." He raised an eyebrow "I told the CIA extraction team that you have suffered from a bad burn on your face and that you don't want to show your face to the others."

"It was to convince them ?" I asked, smirking and not sure about this

"No, to make sure they don't recognize you." He replied, still handing me over the bandages. I hesitated and then, I took the bandages in my hands,

"Are you sure it will work ?" I asked, he nodded sure of himself, as I started to put the bandages around my head to cover it. "I will be looking stupid" I thought to myself, joking. Once I was done with that, I checked myself in the mirror, just my ears, my eyes, my mouth and my nose were not covered.

"You're looking great." He exclaimed with a big smile

"Yeah, sure." I sighed

"Take your bag and it will be time to go." He ordered me as he walked to take his jacket

I took my backpack and then, we leaved his apartment, getting down the stairs and getting inside his car in the outside to leave the city. I wasn't looking so sure about his plan to get me covered with bandages around my head but I started to feel that he was right about this : the CIA has maybe erased everything talking about me in my records but they aren't blind. They can still recognize my face after all these years and Belikov was so helpful about thinking about that.

I couldn't believe it but I was really going to get out of the country to return back to West-Berlin and without knowing, it was the CIA that was going to make this part of the job. They will have to know one moment that it's me but when they will discover that, I will be back with Park and when I will face Adler but not before. Me & Belikov didn't talked at lot during the driving as he was preparing himself in his role and I was doing the same too. I needed to play the woman in need of fleeing....with an russian accent.

It took 10 minutes after we left the outskirts of the city to arrive in a secret location : it was a CIA clandestine runway and we were both getting nervous about what will happen. When the car stopped, a man come out of a abandoned building next to that runway, walking towards our car. Belikov ordered me to follow him and to not make any weird moves. I took the backpack and I got out of the car, following him to encounter this mysterious man.

"Belikov !" The man started, looking curious at my sight

"Tom, my friend." Belikov replied,handing his hand to shake it. Both mens shook their hands but this 'Tom' was still looking at me, weirdly, maybe wondering who I was,

"This is the girl you talked about ?" He asked, removing his eyes from me

"Yes, here's her file." Belikov handed over the fake file he has made and Tom checked it for sometimes before taking it. "So, she's fleeing after getting those 2 Perseus agents killed." Belikov nodded,

"Exactly and she need to join West-Berlin like she asked to me." He added, looking at me, winking not in the other sight

"Good, it will take the others 3 days to get her in there." Tom said, crossing his arms to look at a small plane awaiting for us "This plane will take you to another location outside the Soviet Union and then the rest will be told to you with the others."

"3 days ?" I asked in a surprised perfect russian accent

"Yes, the Reds is getting suspicious with people like us." He rolled his eyes, thinking about this "This commie bastards never changed." He looked at Belikov "No offense, Dimitri." He laughed, followed by Belikov and me who was more silent

"I know, got that joke each time." Belikov replied with his laugh

"Well, she's now our responsability until she's brought to West-Berlin." He looked at me, nodding. "You can get into that plane and take a seat. Belikov, you can go now." He then gestured to get moving and I complied, followed by him, not before giving a goodbye to Belikov, thanking him for his help.

I got inside the plane and I took a seat as the plane engine started to make some noises. Tom arrived to give me some details about what I need to do each time I will meet a new team charged to bring me to West-Berlin and once he was done, he left the plane, leaving me alone with just an pilot. Then, the plane take off as the night started to fall on the russian countryside, I was feeling happy about getting out of here thanks to  Belikov and now, I was feeling that I could get some free sleep as I was so tired after spending a day without moving.....and I could feel a memory coming back....

By looking at it, I was standing in the medical room of.....the safehouse back in West-Berlin.....a memory from my time inside Adler's team. I was next to a operation table and cleaning some medical tools after I did something with it....but what for ?  I was looking to a used bullet when someone entered the room : it was Lazar !

"Hey, Bell." He started before closing the door

"7,62 x 54 mm, guess the gun." I showed him the bullet I had in hand.

"SVD Dragunov, I think." He put his hand on his chin "The russians are using that kind of bullet for that sniper."

"Good thinking." I said with an sad face "Forget my manners, good to see you, Laz'" I continued, still sad.

"I heard of what happened in Ukraine to Park." He said, worried

"Yes, she was shot near her chest by that bullet, I reacted quickly to save her but she passed out after we got out with Mason & Woods."  I put my hands on the table, closing my eyes "I could only remove that bullet here because I didn't have anything on the plane to did that kind of thing."

"I know, it's not everyday that we're taking that type of thing in the field." He smiled but he saw my look "What's wrong ?" He asked

"I....I thought that Park was going to die, that what is wrong for me, Lazar !" I exclaimed, raising my voice before I leaned myself on the table "I thought that she was dead when she receives that bullet."

"Bell, you saved her !" He got next to me "That's the most important thing, right ?" He added, putting his hand on my shoulder

"I know and....." I started before cutting myself.

"And ?" He asked

"I don't know if I can tell you this." I got up from the table to face him "I know that I met only Park for a couple of days but I like her."

"That's normal, you're became great friends." He smiled, happy to hear that

"I mean, I....I love her, Lazar !" I looked down "I have feelings for her, she's so beautiful and so kind to me." I looked at him, he was stunned to hear that from me.

"Wow, I never thought that."  He crossed his arms with an little grin "I'm must say that....it's okay for you to feel those things around here. It's not because we're spies that we can't love."

"But Adler....."

"Adler maybe said that 'you need to keep it professional' but you need to do what you want and not what he want." He told me, sure of himself "He's not the one making your life, you are !"

"You're right, Laz'" I smiled "I need to do what I want !" I repeated, feeling happy

"Did you say that to her ? That you love her ?" He asked

"No." I simply responded

"Soon as she got up, tell her what you think about her !" He then put his hand back on my shoulder "I'm pretty sure she's thinking the same about you." He laughed "I saw it in her eyes that she got something for you."

"You're sure ?" I said and he nodded.

"Park is a good person and you will be better when you two will be a thing." He smiled before getting away from the table. "I'm sure that you will do everything for her, right ?" I nodded, sure of my feelings and sure of that.

"Yes....everything."

#black ops cold war #bocw #call of duty cold war #cod cw #cod black ops cold war #cod cold war #fanfic #fem!bell

[pinepickled]

Hello Pine! I hope things are going well. If you're still accepting asks for the Fanfic Ask game, I have a few. C,D,K,S,T and X? You don't have to answer them all if you don't want to.

Thank you for the ask Shy! And I never feel bad about answering these, so don't worry! They're super fun~

C: what character do you identify with most?

Hmm. I identify in part with many characters, but one sole character who I identify with the most just doesn't exist, I'm afraid. I identify with Mammon for his simultaneous stress reliever role in his family and how ostracized he is. I identify with Rei, from 3 Gatsu No Lion (March Comes In Like A Lion) for his quiet participation in his own life, trudging in an endless march with no reprieve in sight and pain wherever he turns. I identify with Natsume from Natsume Yuujinchoh for his need to hide the ugly, misunderstood parts of his life, even from those who live that very same life and seek to help him, or seek to drag him along the path they walked.

D: is there a song or Playlist you associate with a fic?

I dont listen to worded music when I write 🤣 I usually watch TV or have a lofi beat in the background. I'd say Monochrome Kiss is the closest I've come to listening to a song while writing, and it's a banger.

The song:

The fic it helped me write:

K: what's the angstiest plot you've ever come up with?

Aha, so many. One I currently have the first two chapters written for and I'm just procrastinating on publishing is a dark one for sure. It's a/b/o bc that's just how I roll, and the protagonist has to reckon with the fact that he is constantly at the mercy of Alphas more powerful than him, not because of his own gender as an Omega, but because of the shackles put on him as a consequence of his desire to help people. He needs to abandon his ideals of self sufficiency that arose from the abuse he endured trying to save his kingdom, and rely on the people that society has demanded he rely on from the beginning. It's like?? A double full-circle, I guess. He starts out wanting to help people and being able to ask for help to do so, while also being pressured to give up his ideals and become the good mate he's supposedly supposed to be. In the middle of this circle, he gets brutally beaten into giving up his ideals and is forced to live with the person who ripped this part of his soul out, but as time goes on he begins to sympathize with that man. The man eventually let's him go, but not before he has thoroughly given up his dreams of helping people, deeming them stupid and childish, and has lost all capability to ask for help when he is in pain or danger. Hundreds of years pass, the second love interest (first one being the man that slaughtered his dreams) comes into play, and he regresses/moves forward to relying on the people who hurt him for the power they lend to him out of good will to help people once more. He cannot help people without relying on these people, he cannot rely on these people without crushing his own mental structure again to fit into this mold. He snaps because of this, losing all ability to be upset at his situation, and happily indulges in the privileges of the people he is submissive to. It's a happy ending by all other means, but the journey to get there was long and brutal. Did he win? Depends on how you look at it.

(It should be up on ao3 after Kakashi Bingo and Whoregumi)

Then there's my personal story, a novel I'm writing in hopes of getting it done for NaNoWriMo. My MC, Clyde, has severe anxiety and paranoia. He cannot function without using his husband, Kai, as a crutch- but Kai dies in a freak accident. Clyde, unable to function in the city he currently lives in without Kai, goes back to his home country. The home country isn't very religious in general, as their religion does not really call for much worship and such outside of simply knowing the legends, but Clyde comes across one of their religious symbols: a suit of armor known to drive it's wearer insane yet gifting great power in return. The more unstable your mental state when first putting it on, the more power you gain in return. It immediately latches onto Clyde, and the other suits of armor deem him too dangerous to live. It's really just a chase story. Clyde is being chased by his husband's corrupted spirit, the other suits of armor, and the looming mind break. He wants to live... but he doesn't. Not without his husband, not like this, but he has no other choice because whether these spirits chasing him are the product of the death of his husband or a prank on Kai's part, Clyde can't tell. All he knows is Kai didn't die, and Clyde can't die until he finds him and gives him a solid punch to the face for doing this. It's dark on the sole premise that Clyde's mental space goes down, down, down, and it doesn't really get better till the finale. If you can call it better.

S: any fandom tropes you can't resist?

~SO breaks your heart so you fuck their dad~

T: any fandom tropes you can't stand?

Taking characters wronged by the narrative and excusing their behavior by imagining a world where they didn't rebel. Take Sasuke for example: his entire clan was ostracized, the jobs they could get regulated to police work only so the village would hate them, their children stolen and brainwashed into the military, their precious eyes ripped out to further the village heads power, and then the entire clan was genocided by one brainwashed teenager from their own clan, whom they refused to fight against due to his age and the fact he was from the clan. These are all reasons for the sole survivor, Sasuke, to be upset, yes?

Yet time and time again I see AUs where people "fix it" by "making Sasuke a good guy" and having him live peacefully in the village that killed his people. Like. Fuck off. Sasuke, despite what shitlords like to say, is not the antagonist of Naruto. He is a companion to Naruto, the one that says "you have been wronged. Be angry. Don't hate me, join me."

But kishi doesn't know how to write for shit so that plot was lost very early on.

X: a character you enjoy making suffer:

Uh, let's see

Mammon, Lucifer, Xie Lian, Kaeya, Toji, Kakashi, and Natsume.

Thank you again for the asks Shy!

#pine's asks

[themountainsays]

Ok I'm gonna ask because I saw your tags mentioning another story, and when you posted CoTA you mentioned you had another, bigger, and more political AU. So... Can we know what it's about??? 👀👀👀👀

Omg omg thank you and also, yes! i have this thing! Oh god i don't know where to start because I'm very excited about it! Oh boy haha

It's this very complicated AU uuuuh here's the basis of it:

The Mist never fell and Runeard didn't die. He was severely wounded during the battle and during his recovery, baby Agnarr acted as Prince Regent. By the time he recovered, Agnarr and his weird girlfriend had figured out a way to manipulate him into abdicating and leaving the throne to him, making Agnarr king and leaving Runeard bitterly planning a game of thrones to take the throne back. Agnarr, as a young and inexperienced prince, took the easy route and delegated a lot of power go the church and the bourgeois, reducing the power of the State so he could deal with things more easily. Both the church and the bourgeois had been waiting for this for decades, as Runeard hoarded all the power to himself and gave other political actors almost no room to do anything. This granted Agnarr some very powerful allies and consolidated the legitimacy of his power very easily, ESPECIALY after Runeard got better and the bourgeois turned against him. Also, the people liked him a lot more. Having Runeard again after living under Agnarr's rule for a year or two would have caused an uprising.

The Northuldra are driven out of the forest around a year or two after this due to flooding and the damage of the land caused by the dam. This was part of Runeard's plan, because his military was so small and they had so little budget that they literally couldn't afford to conquer other land, so if he wanted to control the Northuldra, he would have to lure them into Arendelle.

The Northuldra now live within the borders of Arendelle, traveling around as they're a nomadic people, and herding their reindeer like it's nobody's business. they're severely opressed. The whole point of the plan is to force them to assimilate into Arendellian culture, in hopes of better controlling them and to take away their magic (magic = non-institutional violence. Any organized State would try to either eliminate it or institutionalize it). Iduna has been brainwashed by evolutionist antropology or some bullshit like that and she doesn't even dare to be in contact with her people until The Incident happens, when Anna is hurt by Elsa. She's desperate and she takes Anna with her to seek help, leaving Agnarr and Elsa behind. But guess what as soon as she's back with her people she realizes she never should have left, and because of a whole bunch of spoilery reasons she decides to stay with them and raise Anna with her people instead of going back and bringing Elsa along

Uh oh Anna has amnesia! Elsa thinks Anna is dead! ANGST

Anyways Agnarr dies at sea and Iduna "disappears under mysterious circumstances" around the same time. Runeard rises to power as Prince Regent until Elsa comes of age at 21 (as if that's ever gonna happen *evil laughter*).

Oh shit why is it snowing in summer

Elsa is depressed but if i start listing the reasons we're gonna be here forever.

Meanwhile england the Southern Isles is doing a napoleon and trying to conquer all Northern Kingdoms (Arendelle, Corona, Weselton and a few other OC kingdoms I made up). I know this has been done a million times but bear with me! The war already supposes a big punch in the gut for the economy, but add that to so much of the royal budget going to trying to colonize the Northuldra AND the fact that most industries have been interrupted with 1) the sudden death of crops and livestock 2) the lack of raw material entering the productive process 3) the interruption of trade 4) the nearly non-existent industry in Arendelle making it dependant on commerce and 5) the constant strikes among the proletariat factory workers and the miner's guild for a better salary and the reduction of prices (supply and demand baby!) AND the fact that both the industrial and the rural bourgeois HATE Runeard, the economic crisis ends up being a more dangerous enemy than the Southern Isles. The only industry that's doing well right now is the Northuldra reindeer herding industry (and just barely, as the sudden change in the weather didn't give the animals time to get all fat and ready for winter). It would be a big pitty if the Crown decided to expropriate the reindeer huh.

Add that to the constant attacks coming from the Southern Border, the Northuldra armed groups intercepting caravans delivering firearms from the port to the southern border and the formation of independant militias in the south of the country to fill in the void left by the military, and the levels of non-institutionalized violence is driving the State (and the budget) crazy.

Elsa sings this @ the Northuldra

Also, being all alone, Elsa has to hide her magic from her grandfather.

Anna and Elsa find each other again in this shitty context, but they don't recognize each other. It starts with Elsa needing help to translate some documents in northuldra which she thinks may help her stop the winter, but it soon turns into a dramatic story about propperly reconnecting one's lost heritage, navigating a court of people who want you dead, hiding your identity in enemy territory, mastering the four elements, fixing colonialism (ha), winning a war and also an i*cest love story, because I couldn't help myself.

Oh and also! The spirits have followed the Northuldra south and now live within the borders of Arendelle, but things are so out of balance, they're violent and dangerous to everyone. God knows the giants are a problem. You think you hate the giants from Skyrim? Wait until you meet these guys. Only Gale seems to be chill with humans, and that's only because she's fond on Iduna and her daughter. If only there was a fifth spirit to bring balance to the world 🤔🤔🤔 someone who already knows how to deal with spirits. Maybe someone who is already friends with one. It would be super conveniente if that person also sort of had a claim to the throne.

Bruni and Anna become bros.

You have no idea how happy it makes me that you asked 😭😭😭 i have more stuff and i already have 4 chapters (out of 30) written down but if i tell you everything i have in mind i will never stop. It's heavy and it's A LOT and i really really really hope i can finish it and post it some day. Just writing this makes me want to go work on it right now haha. Thank you 💙💙💙

#tagging as #elsanna #kinda #wind and sky au #northuldra!anna #northuldra!elsa #es muy obvio que se me ocurrio la idea mientras cursaba el cbc? jkshdksjdldjsk

[maria-deamor]

Baby (Part Two)

Baby (Part Two)

(MC x Jake McKenzie)- Endless Summer

Plot:

MC chose Rourke's ending and tried to fix everything.

OKAYYY SO THERE'S A STEAMY PART HERE, BEWARE!

MC's PoV

"What are you doing in my backyard?"

I stared at him on awe. Tears started to well in my eyes and I instinctively put both of my hands on my mouth as if trying to drown out the sobs that threatened to escape my lips.

He's really here...

I slowly walked in his direction but stopped on my tracks. God! He doesn't remember me! He has no idea of what's going on. Only that there's a stranger on his backyard, and crying her eyes out. He looked at me with a poker face, weighing out his options. Thinking if I'm going to snitch or not. I never prepared for this moment and that's very stupid of me. I rushed off to a foreign country, in hopes of finding my love but never thought about what to say to him. To be honest, I didn't have that much hope that I'll be seeing him soon. I thought it'll probably take more days, months, maybe.

"I said, what are you doing in my backyard? I swear to God if you're Lundgren's men, I'll-"

He was interrupted with Rebecca's presence. "How the hell did this girl get in here?! Do you know anything about this, Rebecca?!" His sister looked down and murmured a sorry. Jake threw his hands in his short hair out of frustration. At last, I found my voice.

"I-It's not her fault, Top gun." I said, casting my stare on the sand and suddenly looked at him when I realized what I just said. Goddamnit! I must be forgetting that the man before me doesn't know who I am! I'm so stupid! He looked at me, wide eyed, after he heard what I just called him. There's a glimmer of hope inside of my heart that he remembered me, even just a tiny, little bit.

He regained his composure and crossed his arms.

"Get the fuck inside." He walked passed me, and my breath hitched the moment we were close even if it's only a few seconds. I stood there for a few seconds, shocked about all the feelings welling up inside me and thinking of my next move. Rebecca beckoned me inside. I nodded and went after her. We went inside the cozy living room.

Jake was seated on the couch, his eyes glaring at me as I sit down in front of him. I tried to relax. There's no need to worry right? You should be happy! You're finally reunited! Everything will be fine!

"Who are you?" He looked at me. I remember this expression of his. It was annoyance. Of course I remember every little thing about him. His mannerisms, his habits, his expressions, and the way he thinks. I was married to this man and I have loved him for more that a thousand lifetimes. In every lifetime that I've lived, We always found our way to each other. It was a mistake to trust Rourke after all the effort The Endless have made. I need to make up for everything that I've done.

"I'm MC. I came here to see you." I said calmly. I'll explain everything to him, hoping that he'll listen. Listen to me, and his heart. "The fuck you mean by that?!" He said, shouting at me. His walls are all up. And it's all my fault. We could've been happy together. Before, I thought that was impossible. How could he happy when we may be together but the whole world isn't? We're being selfish. And If I did saved the whole world... I wouldn't be with him. It's one way or another.

Rebecca sat on the arm rest of the chair I was sitting at and crossed her arms to her brother, glaring at him.

"Hear her out, Jake." She said, with a threatening voice. I breathed slowly, trying to calm my nerves. Yes girl, this is it. Don't fuck it up.

"I-I know everything. And I intend to fix it. I-It's my fault everyone is suffering..." Tears welled up in my eyes again but this time, I didn't dared try to stop it. I want to be vulnerable, just like I've always been whenever I was with him.

I continued. "Don't worry... I won't snitch to you and Mike. I couldn't do that to the people that I love the most." I weakly smiled at him. His eyes are showing confusion and uncertainty but he's curious. 

Curious enough to hear me out.

3rd Person's Point of View

Jake's a wreck. He spent all his time trying to stay out of the grid and suddenly a girl showed up in his place, not knowing if she's a threat or not. How could she not be? The whole world is practically eating out of Rourke's hand. He never really knew why he hated Rourke's gut even when it's Rex Lundgren who framed him and Mike. Now, he's sitting in front of the girl whose name was supposed to be MC.

He listened to her, still with doubts but curious if there's anything that she says that'll solve even the slightest bit of his problems. She caught his attention ever since she called him 'Top Gun'. Somehow, the name rang a bell but he can't put his finger into it yet.

"I know about Rex Lundgren. He sold weapons to the people you were supposed to be fighting. You and Mike found out and planned to snitch. But Lundgren knew about your plan and sent you to a reckon mission, an ambush." MC paused. The last lifetime that she lived, Mike wasn't able to eject on time. MC thought that even with all the chaos around and 'His Eminences' supporters, one good thing came out of this new lifetime. Mike survived, he wasn't brainwashed and broken. She gulped and continued. (A/N: I checked again the Rourke ending and Craig mentioned Jake and Mike on the coffee shop so it made sense that he's alive. If he wasn't, then he would be brain washed and the whole squad thing on ES would've happened. With Mike being Mouse, and sacrificing his self.)

"The two of you ejected. MP’s awaited the both of you and you're now on the run." She finished. The only thing that's on Jake's mind right now is how the hell did she knew? And why is she on their side? He gathered his courage to ask. He wanted to be gentle but he thought she's not being completely truthful.

"How the hell did you knew? Who told you? Are you one of the Military Police? Why aren't you on their side? Wh-" He was interrupted by the girl. And he didn't expected this to be her answer.

"Because you told me." Jake got out of his surprise and looked intently on the girl. Told her how? He never met this girl on his life, or at least that's what he thought. He knew he's right but there's still a feeling that they're acquainted.

He glared at her again. But this time, it's just out of curiosity. Jake went on the risk of trusting her. "I was your wife." Jake looked to Rebecca, trying to find some sort of reaction but she stayed quiet.

"You knew about this stupid story? She's a crackhead!" He harshly said, not caring that the woman was inside the same room as them.

"Did you at least hear her out?" She asked her brother. "I did! That's why I'm saying that she's lying!" He retorted. His mind's now filled with confusion. He felt like his head was going to explode with all the information he got in the span of a few minutes.

"Did you, truly? Open your mind..." Rebecca walked over to her brother and put her hand on his chest. "-and your heart. I know for the fact that she's telling the truth. I feel it, Jake. You just gotta try." She pulled her hand away from his heart and walked out of the scene.

Rebecca wanted the two of them to have their privacy. Even if MC wasn't saying the whole truth, the fact that she knows about Jake and Mike's situation is enough for her to trust the girl. The moment that MC told her the story back on the park, she thought about the dreams Jake has been getting ever since he went on the run.

Rebecca's Point of View:

(A few months ago...)

My boss changed my shift from the normal time to this shit. I thought it'll be easy to adapt to it but it's been a week and my body clock is so messed up. Because of this, I lacked on sleep and I was sent home today from work. My new schedule is from midnight to morning. My apartment is farther than Jake's cabin so maybe I'll just crash there tonight. I'm sure Mike won't mind.

I used my key to get inside the cabin. Mike's still up, reading a book on the living room. He smiled at me and continued on his novel. I went to the kitchen, opened the fridge and took a jug of water. I was pouring it when a shout came from Jake's room, startling me, causing me to spill water on the kitchen floor.

I disregarded it and made my way to Jake's room. He's sitting on his bed, sweaty and panting.

"Jake, are you alright?" He looked at me as if he's expecting someone else to be there for him.

He stared at the air and then suddenly pulled on his long hair out of frustration. He brushed his palms on his face and groaned.

"What a fucked up dream."

"Why? What happened?" I finally found my voice and asked him. "I... Don't remember. All I know is I hate it. I hate this feeling as if I lost someone."

I stared at him. I really don't know how to ease his feelings. I've never felt something like this. I squeezed his shoulder and head out.

"Another dream?" Mike asked and took a sip from his tea cup. I took a seat next to him.

"Huh? This has been happening?" I asked and glanced again at my brother who now lied in bed and stared at the ceiling, his eyebrows furrowed.

"Yeah. It happened a bunch of times already that's why I'm not too shocked anymore."

I looked at the table in front of me, speechless.

"I really don't know how to comfort Jake. I have strange dreams too." I looked at him only to see him wistful and his eyes distant.

"In my dreams, I was brainwashed and became Jake's enemy. But there's this girl that he's with, along with a few more people. They never gave up on trying to get me to their side." I listened intently on what he's saying. Why is it that Mike remembers his dreams but Jake doesn't?

"That girl and Jake though. They look perfect for each other. They're all over each other and I can feel the love through my dreams. I almost thought she's real when I woke up." And he chuckled.

Now, I'm very curious. Never in my life did I see my brother love anyone. Flings? Sure. But my brother isn't like what Mike describes him to be on his dreams as he continued on explaining.

When he finished, I finally asked him a question.

"Does Jake know any of this?" I said and I gripped the hem of my clothes a little bit tighter than I anticipated.

"Hmm? Hell no. I don't want to confuse him more than he already is." Mike is a really great friend. My brother is very lucky to have someone like him.

"Do you remember the girl's face?"

"Yeah. She's very hard to forget. Not that I'm interested okay! She just looks very unique. And I would never forget the woman Jake's with. He's very sappy and sweet with that girl, you know. That's a rare sight."

Mike and I talked through the night as I asked about what he knew about the dream girl that my brother is with.

3rd Person's Point of View

Jake tried. He really tried. But he's afraid that he will be wrong. And he will eventually fuck everything up. If he's the only one going to get caught, it'll be alright for him. But the fact that everyone that he's acquainted with will be dragged with him, it really breaks his heart at the very thought.

This woman in front of him though... She's able to stir feelings inside of him that he didn't even know existed. He may be glaring at the girl but deep inside, his heart is leaping every glance that he took from her.

It's like he missed her after a long, long time when actually he only met her a few minutes ago.

"Anyway... I don't even know why I tried to find you, knowing that you know absolutely nothing of what's happening." She grinned sheepishly at him. His eyebrow shot up as he studied her face, noticing the streaks of dried tears on her cheeks.

"Enlighten me." He coldly said, not trying to let her in. She brightens for a moment after his response but retorted to her anxious manner.

"A thousand lifetimes ago... You and I met." He suddenly felt anger rise up from his body. What is this crappy story? Is this some kind of a prank or a lame ass fairy tale joke?

But just like Rebecca said, try. So he tried and continued to listen.

"You were our pilot. We didn't even know by that time that you were on the run already. You're flying your precious Delilah. You took us to an island called-"

"La Huerta." He finished. The girl looked at him in awe. A memory shot up on his brain and he groaned because of the pain. It's a memory, he's sitting on the cockpit and a blurry faced girl approached him, asking if they should be landing anytime soon. He was annoyed so he gave her a nickname.

"Princess." He called. The girl clasped her mouth with her hand and a tear rolled on her cheek once again. He felt like he wanted to dry those tears away with his own hand but he made no move. He was hurting deep inside but his fear is still there.

The silence is growing too loud for the both of them. The girl tried to break it, even with the feeling, no, a glimpse of hope inside her that he finally remembered her. She's happy. More than happy than she's ever been in all those months.

She continued. "We were stranded in the island, got into fights, but you and I had each other's backs with every problem that we faced. We got married on the Vaanti's village and we promised a year and a day together..." She spoke in between sobs.

'Vaanti'... He tried to find the meaning of that word. And he stood up from his seat, hit with another surge of memory. He remembered those Vaanti shown on the news that Rourke captured who tried to reach out for a man named Diego... and MC.

He remembered being on a huge tree house full of blue skinned people. He's getting married to a girl, she's walking on the aisle with a glowing flower attached on her hair. As she walked closer to him, he finally got a glimpse of her face.

It was the same as the girl who's sitting just in front of him. He knew something that finally made sense. He's overwhelmed by the feeling and was frozen stood on the ground, not knowing what to do. The girl kept on sobbing in front of him with a smile on her face.

In the midst of everything, the door opened and a man came through.

"Man, that line on the grocery is too long for this morning-" Mike strode inside the room, completely unaware of the situation. He heard no response and so, he looked at what's in front of him. Out of shock, he let go of the paper bag that he was holding

"Y-You're that g-girl... You're real...?" He stuttered as he spoke, not caring about the goods that just fell out of his grasp.

"Mike! What the hell are you talking about?" Jake replied, finally snapping out of his daze, and disbelief shown on his face. Why the hell didn't Mike said anything? He looked like he know something and Jake definitely has the right to know if it involves him too.

Mike slowly walked into the girl's direction and he stopped when he's finally in front of her. He put his hands on the girl's cheeks, checking if she's real. Somehow, Jake felt something stir inside of him. Jealousy? Who knows?

Mike pulled his hands away when he realized what he has done. The girl looked shocked to as how Mike is handling the situation. Does he remember me? Jake's reaction is way different than Mike's. What's the difference?

Mike glanced at Jake and sat on the empty seat beside him. Mike was silent but Jake stared at him until he snapped out of his little bubble once more.

"I said, do you know anything? Who's this girl?" Jake insisted. He really wanted to know everything. The situation's giving him a headache.

Mike looked at Jake and replied. "She's... In my dreams." Jake looked at him expectantly and he continued on his story. He sat down on his seat again. "The both of you saved me from myself. The both of you... Are inseparable. She's fought along you when things got tough but, I don't really know her."

A huge pang of pain shot through his head, a lot worse than he's had earlier. He gripped his head and the girl stood up from her seat and went in front of him, worried.

"Jake? Are you okay?" She said. Jake couldn't hear her properly because of the ringing on his ears.

And he passed out.

-

Memories worth a thousand lifetimes flashed through Jake's mind. He haven't realized that he was unconscious. But he's seeing everything, everything that he had done. It was enough proof for him to trust the girl.

He woke up in a haze. All the dreams of his past lives now gone. But he does remember one. His previous lifetime, the one and only successful lifetime that the Endless have created. The one where MC made the choice.

His eyelids fluttered open slowly. He's on his room, lying on his bed and a woman on his right, holding his hand as she slept on a chair beside his bed.

He remembers now.

Oh, how he misses her.

He used his other free hand to smooth out her hair. She looked tired, and skinnier that he remembered her to be. Was she okay on their time apart?

He realized how she felt. The guilt has been weighing in on her ever since she made that choice.

A tear rolled down his cheek. Is it because of sadness or happiness? Maybe both. She stirred and she groggily lift her head up. She looked at Jake and her blue eyes widened when she realized she's been holding his hand. She let go but was shocked when the pilot took her hand back into his.

"J-Jake?" She said, tears welling up on her eyes again. He brought his left hand into her face, drying her tears away with his rough fingers.

"Don't you dare cry now, Princess." He said, his husky voice ringing inside the small bedroom.

"Jake? Do you...?" She questioned and he nodded as he smiled at her. She sighed out of relief and put her cheek onto Jake's palm. She closed her eyes and smiled as she cried tears of joy.

She kissed his hand and looked at him lovingly. "I'm sorry I forgot, Princess. I'm sorry for being rough on you earlier." He said and sat up.

"No! No! I totally get it. You don't remember. I won't fault you for that, Top Gun." She said as she straightened on her seat.

"I missed you so damn much." He said and brought his hands into both of her cheeks. Finally, their lips met. Fireworks burst inside the both of them. They kissed passionately as they both cried their hearts out. They didn't dare stop, thinking if this is just a dream. If this really is just a dream, they would want to make the most of it.

Breathlessly, they pulled away.

"I can't believe you remember me now..." MC said. Jake smiled at her and kissed her forehead.

Their lips connected once more. Jake lifted the girl out of her seat, using his muscles into work. He rested her on his lap and she straddled him as they kiss. He bit her lower lip, asking for consent. She parted her lips and his tongue met hers. They didn't fight for dominance, for she let him take control of her.

The kiss heat up and it was becoming sexual. She rested her hands on his chest while his hands caressed her ass.

They pulled away to look at each other.

"You're so beautiful..." He said and moved the back of his hand into her cheek. She smirked at him. "I know that. And a beautiful woman needs a handsome husband." She wrapped her arms into his neck and they kissed again.

Suddenly, MC pulled away.

"What's wrong?" Jake asked her, worry featured on his handsome face.

"What if someone walks in? Rebecca and Mike is still here, you know." She said.

"Psh. I don't care if they hear. But I don't want to stop either. Just lock it and we'll be fine." He said. He rolled his eyes out of annoyance.

MC climbed down and locked the door. She looked at Jake, who's sitting on his bed and resting his back on the headboard.

"What?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Nothing..." She seductively said. She started unbuttoning her white blouse slowly. He raised an eyebrow again, but this time, he's smirking. "Teasing me, aren't ya?" He said and lifted his hands into the back of his neck. He's definitely enjoying the sight.

Her blouse dropped to the floor and her bra is now exposed. Next, she zipped down her jeans and slowly took it off.

"Come on, that's torture!" He complained, and stood up from his position. He approached her and went to her back. He wrapped his arms on her waist and kissed her back and shoulders.

"Hurry up, Princess. I can't wait any longer." He whispered on her ear. He resumed on kissing her back, and gently bit the side of her neck.

Goosebumps appeared on her skin and she obliged. Her jeans finally joined her blouse, that's lying still on the floor. She felt something hard, rubbing on her ass.

"Feel that? I told you I can't wait." He moved his hand from her waist into her front. If he's turned on, she definitely is too. Actually, more than he is, maybe.

His hand travelled down into her wet core and rubbed it gently. Pleasure coursed through her body and her knees buckled. Her back collided into his chest and she used him as support.

The whole time after this lifetime was created, she never dated anyone. Never even kissed anyone or had a one night stand. She knew it into her heart that her body only belongs to him, to her husband, to her pilot.

The love of her life.

"F-Faster..." She moaned. She felt him smirk on her skin. He took off his hand all of a sudden and she was so disappointed. She looked at him with annoyance.

He chuckled. "Let's get into somewhere more comfortable. I don't want to fuck you on the floor." He said. He brought his fingers into his mouth and licked her juices off.

She saw this and immediately blushed. She smacked his chest and arms multiple times and mind you, HARD.

"Ow! What was that for?!" He shouted as he rubbed his arm because of the sting.

"W-Why did you... T-That was so embarrassing!" She said and and covered her face. He just laughed at her reaction and took her hands off of her face so he could look at her.

"Hey... Don't cover your pretty face. What are you embarrassed for? We're married, baby. And it's not like it's a first!" He teased.

“I know! But why do you gotta- Ugh! I hate it when I need to explain things to you!” She shouted and took his hands off her face. She crossed her arms, covering her breasts so he wouldn’t dare look at them. She knows how much of a pervert Jake is.

He chuckled and amusement shown in his orbs. He’s happy, very damn happy. They’re finally back together and no one will ever separate them again. 

As she was pouting and looking away, he used this chance to take the girl on his arms and carry her onto the bed.

“Hey! Let go of me, perverted husband!” She protested as she kicked her legs, trying to make Jake let go of her. 

“No! I ain’t letting you go! You know you love me too much to not let this happen!” He replied and gave out a laugh. He haven’t laughed like this in years. His wife really is a miracle.

He let go of her, and she landed on the bed with a soft thud.

He smirked at her as he looked at her appreciatively and she immediately felt her cheeks burn hot. Here he go again, making fun of me. Can’t say she doesn’t miss it though. They’ve been separated for too long.

You could say that they had a very wonderful time inside that room, wink wink.

They didn’t mind about anyone else and what those people might say. We all know they probably woke up all the sleeping neighbors from miles away. But that didn’t matter to them.

Because finally, they’re together once more. Forever.

OKAY! I’M FINALLY DONE! I’M SORRY FOR THE LONG WAIT! I GOT THIS MESSAGE FROM ‘WEB NOVEL’ IF I COULD WRITE STORIES IN THEIR APP AND POSSIBLY MONETIZE MY WORK SO Y’ALL COULD SAY I’VE BEEN BUSY. DO YOU GUYS WANT A THIRD PART? I’M THINKING OF MAKING ONE, WHERE JAKE CAN MEET THE GANG AND MAKE THEM REMEMBER TOO. IF I DID MADE IT, I’M THINKING FOR A FOURTH AND LAST PART WHERE THEY’LL BE RESCUING THE VAANTI AND OF COURSE, DIEGO’S LOVELY BOYFRIEND, VARYYN! 

#choices #choices stories you play #jake #Jake McKenzie #jake x michael #endless summer #virtual books #mckenzie #rebecca mckenzie #mike #diego #varys the spider #rourke ending #rourke #jacob #lucas #jacob lucas mckenzie #baby #baby part two #fan fiction #endless summer book 1 #endless summer book 2 #endless summer book 3 #michelle nguyen

[gayyybuckyyy]

sit down, kids

bc im about to tell u a story

ok so abt 2 years ago i was trying to get into comics & i decided if i was gonna do this, i was gonna do it right, so i researched lgbtq+ characters in comics & after bouncing around some wikis for a while, i somehow ended up on the page of a character called Arnie Roth. he’s not a superhero, but he’s credited with being one of the first openly gay comic book characters so i decided to keep digging

& i am so fcking glad i did

this is Arnie Roth:

“But it hadn’t always been like this... No, back when they were both growing up on New York’s Lower East Side, during the depths of the depression, the blond-haired adonis was nothing more than a stick-legged young dreamer with his head in the clouds and his hands forever drawing. Arnie Roth was the same age as Steve Rogers -- but he was bigger, faster, stronger...” (Captain America #270)

sound familiar???/???//

ok but buckle the fuck up bc we just started this wild ride

the parallels between MCU Bucky & Arnie are staggering

they even “”””borrowed”””” ideas for steve’s story arc in tws

“... While Steve grew even more withdrawn after his mother’s death.”

R U SEEING THIS SHIT???

MCU Bucky is literally Arnie Roth. Instead of “they drifted apart,” the MCU tacked on the winter soldier plotline & called it a day. but is there rly any Bucky in this character? James Buchanan Barnes, the boy who was raised and orphaned on a military base, who became their mascot “Bucky” and later (when he was 16 btw) Captain America’s sidekick?? is that the man Steve is trying to recover? no. it’s Arnie Roth, his gay jewish best friend.

so wtf is the point of all this u ask? well, it’s simple:

MCU Bucky is gay.

marvel stole a story from a gay character to skirt a potential controversy, slapped on another character’s name (again, avoiding “controversy”) & they knew exactly what they were doing. now, i don’t know that they don’t have any plans to make Bucky a gay character. i also don’t know if the sun is gonna rise tomorrow but i’m pretty damn sure it will. 

to give an example: half of the mcs in thor: ragnarok are canonically lgbtq+ (Loki, Valkyrie), but there was absolutely 0 indication of that onscreen.

plus there was that whole thing with andrew garfield (tbh im a little murky on the details there but from what i gather it was... not good)

i could go on probably but that’s another post for another day.

the fact is this is so much more than just a character mash-up. this is about our stories, our history being completely erased.

still not getting it??? ok here’s some icing on the goddamn shitcake:

Arnie Roth was written into Cap’s backstory in 1982, around the start of the HIV/AIDS crisis, and became a recurring character. in a 1984 comic, when the LGBTQ+ community was still fighting the Reagan administration for federal aid in a growing public health crisis, Arnie was brainwashed by Baron Zemo & forced to say this:

From left to right: “No wonder the Nazies wanted my kind -- the weak, the misfits -- locked away in the concentration camps with the other pariahs! I’m a menace to society... a disease! and you, star-spangled idiot -- you call me friend! Wh-what does that say about you? Most people simply hate men like me... yet you always treated me w-with respect. C-compassion. Why? Is it because... you’re one of us?” (Captain America #296)

Cap’s response?

“You are not a freak!”

1st panel: “You’re as good and decent a man as I’ve ever known!”

2nd panel: “... They can’t corrupt your love for Michael with their lies any more than they can corrupt my love for Bernie! Do you hear me, Arnie? They’re the pariahs! They’re the disease! They--” (Captain America #296)

but of course this wasn’t just Cap talking to Arnie; he was speaking to the hundreds of thousands of LGBTQ+ youth who were struggling. & maybe it was just a panel in a comic book, but there is something incredible about a great hero, possibly your hero, saying he sees you, he accepts you, & you deserve love. That kind of story, the kind that works into the life of a character and embodies the history of a people, that can’t be forgotten. That can’t be erased.

& now marvel has, unwittingly perhaps, given this story more power than it’s ever had. imagine Bucky, who lost his memory when homosexuality was still against the law, seeing all the countries in which gay marriage is legal. imagine Bucky, who never saw the stonewall rebellion, going to Pride. imagine bucky, who fought in a war in which people like him were locked up in concentration camps, seeing the strength and diversity of the LGBTQ+ community. imagine a character who lived in a time in which he could not be himself discovering 70 years of progress & finding the strength to come into his own identity. 

All of this is within reach.

#bucky barnes #steve rogers #stucky #captain america #arnie roth #marvel cinematic universe #mcu #marvel #disney #marvel comics universe #marvel comics #comics #comics history #disney marvel #lgbtqia #lgbt representation #karleigh talks #this character was appropriated #& here is the proof #im sorry if ur homophobic ass dont like it #but its fact #there are panels from the comics that they replicated onscreen

[abzilp]

The modern German novel begins with The Adventures of Simplicius Simplicissimus (Der abenteuerliche Simplicissimus Teutsch, 1668) by Hans Grimmelshausen (1622?–76). One of the greatest novels of the 17th century, this 5-part, 400-page book is a boisterous Oktoberfest of genres bumping bellies: bildungsroman, picaresque, allegory, (anti)war novel, hagiography, fantastic voyage, romance, ghost story, sermon, and utopian novel. Referring to the frontispiece depicting a leering satyr/phoenix/bird/fish creature pointing at a book, one German critic admitted “the history of literary forms stands helpless before such a Tragelaph.”64 Initially, it resembles a picaresque novel, especially Alemán’s Guzman of Alfarache, which had been adapted into German by Aegidius Albertinus in 1615. Beginning about halfway through the Thirty Years’ War (1618–48), the narrator explains how he was raised nameless and uneducated among peasants until the marauding Imperial army looted his village when he was 12 or 13; he escapes into the nearby forest and is taken under the wing of a religious hermit who names him Simplicius because of his ignorance—he’s never seen a horse, and assumes soldiers riding them are a centaurlike hybrid of man and wolf—and brainwashes him with Christianity before allowing him to read more books borrowed from the local pastor. After the hermit dies, Simplicius returns to the world at war and yo-yos from one camp to another; treated like a fool, he becomes a professional jester until he can work his way up the ranks. He becomes a marauding prankster known as the Hunter of Soest, and on one occasion discovers an abandoned treasure in a haunted house, which seems to ensure his fortune. Knowing he’s betraying his Christian upbringing but powerless to resist, Simplicius then accompanies a young nobleman to Paris, where he becomes an actor and a gigolo, the beginning of a downward moral spiral that takes him back penniless to Germany, where he scrapes by as a traveling quack until he’s forced back into the army. Determined to settle down, he marries a country lass (who turns into a drunk), reunites with his “father” (who tells Simplicius he is actually the son of the hermit who raised him, a Scottish nobleman who abandoned the world in disgust), travels some more (Russia and Asia) before returning home disillusioned with everything, and becomes a hermit—choosing the life that had been forced upon him as a frightened boy. So it seems the entire novel has been a sermon against unchristian behavior, and a religious call for renunciation of the sinful world. 

But Grimmelshausen complicates this picaresque pilgrim’s progress in many intriguing ways. On the one hand, the novel is graphically realistic, much more so than spiritually oriented works are. The attack on young Simplicius’s village is described in sickening detail: the soldiers ransack and torch everything, torture the peasants, and rape the women. Later, peasants capture a soldier, cut off his nose, and force him to lick their assholes before they bury him alive in a barrel; when other soldiers capture the cleansed peasants, “They bound their hands and feet together round a fallen tree in such a way that their backsides (if you will forgive me again) were sticking up nicely in the air. Then they pulled down their trousers, took several yards of fuse, tied knots in it and ran it up and down in their arses to such effect that the blood came pouring out. The peasants screamed pitifully, but the soldiers were enjoying it and did not stop their sawing until they were through the skin and flesh and down to the bone.”65 Young Grimmelshausen was an eyewitness to such atrocities—the first third of the novel is somewhat autobiographical; his handling of a child’s POV is superb—and his willingness to report what he saw so unflinchingly makes Simplicissimus a primary source for historians of the Thirty Years’ War. (You’ll recall the Spanish Estebanillo González is also set during that conflict and captures some of the chaos of war, but Grimmelshausen focuses on the civilian population.) 

Such language also makes the novel a primary document in the rise of realism in fiction; not since Thomas Nashe had any novelist dared to describe the aftermath of battle in such gruesome terms as he uses: “there were heads that had lost the bodies they belonged to and bodies lacking heads; some had their entrails hanging out in sickening fashion, others their skull smashed and the brain spattered over the ground; . . . there were shot-off arms with the fingers still moving, as if they wanted to get back into the fighting, . . .” (2.27). The dialogue is equally realistic: “Pox on you, brother, are you still alive?” one soldier greets another. “By the holy fuckrament, the Devil looks after his own!” (1.26). As a licensed fool, Simplicius doesn’t mince words when asked to describe a fashionable visitor: “This lady has hair as yellow as baby shit and the parting is as white and as straight as if she had been hit on the scalp with a curry-comb. And her hair is in such neat rolls it looks like hollow pipes, or as if she had a pound of candles or a dozen sausages hanging down each side. And oh, look at her lovely smooth forehead, is it not more beautifully curved than a fat buttock and whiter than a dead man’s skull which has been hanging out in the wind and rain for years?” (2.9). Simplicius often embarrasses himself by farting noisily; people vomit, shit, swear, scratch at lice and fleas. There’s sex and some nudity: sailing on the Danube for Vienna, Simplicius “had eyes for nothing but the women who answered the calls from the boats with literal rather than verbal bare-arsed cheek” (5.3).66 The point is religious writers don’t write like this—nowhere in Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress does a farmboy tell a dairymaid “that she could kiss his arse and go fuck her mammy in the bargain” (3.23)—which calls into question the ostensibly religious orientation of the novel. Something else is afoot. 

Though highly realistic, more so than most pre-20th-century novels, Simplicissimus is, on the other hand, highly unrealistic and brazenly supernatural. Grimmelshausen’s novel often reads like a Grimms’ fairy tale, for Simplicius lives in a demon-haunted world where people still cast spells, foretell the future, and consort with devils. When he leaves the forest for the town, some citizens “thought I was a spectre, a ghost or some such phenomenon” (1.19)—phenomena as real to them as the butcher or the baker. In book 2, Simplicius is foraging at night and sneaks into a farmhouse, where he spies a few people who “had a sulphurous blue lamp on the bench by the light of which they were greasing sticks, brooms, pitchforks, stools and benches. Then, one after the other, they flew out of the window on them.” Puzzled, he sits on one of the benches and instantly shoots out the window and lands about 150 miles northeast to witness a witches’ dance, described with Boschean extravagance. Invited to join the dance, “I cried out loud to God, at which the whole crew vanished” (2.17). Simplicius insists this actually happened, and wasn’t a dream; citing similar stories from reputable scholars, including the story of Faust, he dares the reader to disbelieve him: “if you don’t believe it, you will have to think up some other way in which I went in such short time from Hersfeld or Fulda (I still don’t know where I was, wandering round in the forest) to the vicinity of Magdeburg” (2.18). There he is taken into a regiment that includes a prevost-sergeant who “was a true sorcerer and black magician who knew a spell for finding out thieves and another to make not only himself as bullet-proof as steel, but others too.” To find a thief, “the sorcerer muttered a few words and puppies started to jump out of people’s pockets, sleeves, boots, flies and any other openings in their dress, one, two, three or more at a time” (2.22). A little later, Simplicius invents a pocket-sized instrument that enables him to hear things taking place miles away, and again taunts the reader: “However, I am not surprised if people do not believe what I have just written” (3.1). The treasure he discovers is guarded by a “ghost or wraith” (3.12), which is not a product of his imagination, nor is the demon who speaks to him from inside a man undergoing exorcism (5.2). Near the end is the greatest test of the reader’s incredulity: tossing some stones into the “enchanted” Mummelsee, “a supposedly bottomless lake” (5.10)—a real lake in the Black Forest, but now known to be only 55 feet deep—some sylphs come to the surface, give him a magic jewel that enables him to breathe underwater, then take him to the center of the earth for a 16-page tour of their subterranean world and discuss their place in the Christian scheme of things.67 

All this takes place on the “factual” plane of the novel, and doesn’t include numerous instances where people are mistaken for devils, or Simplicius’s allegorical dream of the military establishment as a tree (which allows Grimmelshausen to criticize further the suffering inflicting upon civilians) “with Mars, the God of War, on the top, and covering the whole of Europe with its branches” (1.18). One chapter is entitled “How Simplicius Was Dragged Down into Hell by Four Devils and Treated to Spanish Wine” (2.5), followed by “How Simplicius Went to Heaven and Was Turned into a Calf” (2.6), but these are merely pranks soldiers play on the naïve lad. Later he meets a madman who calls himself Jupiter, whom Simplicius plays along with by referring himself to Ganymede or Mercury, and layered on top of other references to classical mythology and German folklore is an elaborate set of references to Chaldean astrology. It’s tempting to call this magic realism were it not closer to the aesthetics of the medieval morality play, where figures representing devils or the sun shared the same stage as mortals. Christianity is part and parcel of this magical/medieval world: throughout the novel, saints and angels are evoked in the same breath as figures from myth and folklore, supernatural events are defended with citations of similar events in the Bible, and Christian theology is indistinguishable from the world of myth and magic. If you believe in the miracles in the Bible, the novel implies, then you’re no different from those who believe witches ride broomsticks and sorcerers cause puppies to magically crawl out of your pocket. As in Don Quixote, there is a clash between old-world and new-world weltanschauungs, and by the end of the novel, Christianity has been so thoroughly contaminated by its association with outdated mythology that Simplicius’s quixotic decision to renounce the world at age 33 and become a Christian hermit can only be regarded as the act of a simpleton. The novel encourages figurative detachment from the world, not literal. 

Grimmelshausen certainly didn’t drop out to play the holy fool: he managed estates, ran several inns, was the mayor of a small town, had 10 kids, and wrote more than 20 books. He converted from Protestantism to Catholicism when younger (to help his careers, it’s been suggested), but he knew the only real magic is the act of artistic creation. There’s a lovely passage near the end of book 1 in which an officer’s secretary praises writing as a way to make a living; Simplicius thinks he’s talking about magic (and is reminded of “Fortunatus’s inexhaustible purse”), but Grimmelshausen is also praising the novelist’s art of creating something from nothing: 

I once criticised him for his dirty inkwell but he replied that it was the best thing in his whole room for he could draw up out of it anything he wanted: fine gold ducats, fine clothes, in short all his possessions had been fished out of his inkwell one by one. I refused to believe that such magnificent things could be obtained from such a paltry container. He replied that it was the spiritus paperi, as he called the ink, that did it, and that an inkwell was called a well because you could draw up all sorts of things out of it. (1.27) 

Out of Grimmelshausen’s dirty inkwell came this devilishly clever satire on 17th-century society, a world “so full of foolishness that no one takes any notice or laughs at it anymore,” as Simplicius notes (3.17), encouraging him to “castigate all follies and censure all vanities” (2.10). Simplicissimus begins like a picaresque bildungsroman but opens up into a Menippean satire, a blitzkrieg against pretension, hypocrisy, superstition, and especially the alleged nobility of war. There’s no bullshit here about dulce et decorum est pro patria mori, a con kings and politicians have been using to recruit cannon-fodder ever since Horace penned that piece of propaganda. The Thirty Years’ War was essentially a family squabble between the Hapsburgs and the Bourbons for territorial control over Europe (with some Protestant vs. Catholic window-dressing), about as noble as a mob turf war, and though Grimmelshausen sarcastically notes war is good for business (5.5), he rubs his reader’s face in its barbaric nature with a force that wouldn’t be felt again until the antiwar novels of the 20th century. As Simplicius fools his way through war-torn, phantasmagoric Germany, I was remind of Slothrop in Gravity’s Rainbow; Grimmelshausen even indulges in some Pynchonesque personification: on one of his foraging expeditions, Simplicius sees “a sight for sore eyes or, rather, empty bellies: hanging up in the chimney were hams, sausages and sides of bacon. They seemed to be smiling at me, so I gave them a come-hither look, wishing they would come and join my comrades in the woods, but in vain; the hard-hearted things ignored me and stayed hanging there” (2.31). Simplicissimus belongs to the same insubordinate platoon as The Good Soldier Švejk, The Tin Drum, and Catch-22. 

Though Grimmelshausen drew upon personal experiences for the early parts of the novel, he drew mostly upon his extensive reading. Scholars have shown that more than 150 books went into the making of this erudite novel, ranging from classical authors and the medieval Parzival to the 6-page passage from Antonio de Guevara’s 16th-century theological tract that concludes book 5. A German translation of Charles Sorel’s iconoclastic antinovel Francion (see pp. 182–86 below) was a major inspiration, but Grimmelshausen also drew upon Italian novellas and German jestbooks (like Till Eulenspiegel), encyclopedias and almanacs, and manuals on witchcraft like Johann Wier’s De Præstigiis dæmonium (2.8). A battle scene that sounds like an eyewitness report actually comes from a German translation of Sidney’s Arcadia (which should give military historians pause). On one occasion, Simplicius visits a pastor and finds him “reading my Chaste Joseph” (3.19)—a biblical novel Grimmelshausen published in 1666, though it’s only 1639 at this point! That’s so obviously an anachronism that it has to be deliberate, another taunting call for the suspension of disbelief like Simplicius’s magical bench ride and his sylph-escorted journey to the center of the earth. It’s all one to “the old inkslinger” (2.4). 

Cervantes waited 10 years to publish a sequel to Don Quixote, but Grimmelshausen jumped on the unexpected success of Simplicissimus. When the 5-book novel was reprinted in 1669, he added a 6th book simply entitled Continuation (Continuatio), though scholars are divided on whether this forms an organic whole with the previous part, or is the first of several sequels Grimmelshausen published over the next few years. 

Like most hastily written sequels, the Continuation isn’t very good. Picking up where book 5 left off, Simplicius’s solitary life as a hermit seems to be driving him crazy, for first he recounts a long, allegorical dream that starts in hell with Lucifer gnashing his teeth at the declaration of peace that ended the Thirty Years’ War, which morphs into a didactic tale of a rich young Englishman who ruins himself through conspicuous consumption. Our hairy hermit then encounters a statue that comes to life, and—after Simplicius decides to hit the road as a pilgrim—he gets into an argument with some toilet paper, who delivers a long economic history of its many metamorphoses from seed to paper (a remarkable set-piece that again brings Pynchon to mind). Mistaken for the Wandering Jew, spooked by ghosts, Simplicius has further bizarre adventures as he travels to Egypt, then is shipwrecked on a deserted island off the coast of Australia, where he leads a Robinson Crusoe-type existence—this section was based on the popular English novelette by Henry Neville, The Isle of Pines (1668)—and there he writes the entire Simplicissimus novel on palm leaves. Refusing rescue by a Dutch sea captain, Simplicius intends to live out the rest of his pious life on his island hideaway, “an example of change and a mirror of the inconstancy of human life.”68 Although the book offers further displays of the author’s outlandish erudition, it’s too didactic, too medieval. 

Grimmelshausen returns to form in The Life of Courage (Die Landstörtzerin Courasche, 1670).69 Near the end of Simplicissimus, our protagonist had boasted of seducing and dumping a beatiful lady, a “man-trap” whose “easy virtue soon disgusted him” (5.6); nine months later, she leaves a baby on his doorstep, who Simplicius reluctantly makes his son and heir. Audaciously blurring the distinction between fiction and reality, Grimmelshausen states in a headnote that this unnamed woman read Simplicissimus and was so insulted at her portrayal therein that she decided to avenge herself by telling the story of her life, revealing that the woman he took for an aristocrat was actually a promiscuous adventuress infected with syphilis—which raises an intriguing possibility: Did Simplicius contract the disease from her? Untreated, it can cause insanity, which would explain the underwater sylphic adventure later in book 5 and the talking toilet paper. Indeed, the entire bizarre Continuation can be read as a neurosyphilitic hallucination. If nothing else, it stinks up the odor of sanctity with which Simplicissimus ends. 

Just as the Continuation anticipates Robinson Crusoe, this short novel anticipates Defoe’s Moll Flanders, but with no apology at the end for the life she’s led. (Grimmelshausen, however, tacks on a homiletic warning against following her example.) Inspired by a German translation of Lopez de Úbeda’s Justina, Grimmelshausen backtracks to the very beginning of the Thirty Years’ War. Born in Bohemia, 13-year-old Libuschka disguises herself as a boy to avoid rape from invading soldiers and joins the army: “I made a great effort to get rid of all my woman’s habits and acquire man’s. I took great pains to learn to swear like a trooper and drink like a fish . . . so that no one should suspect there was something I had not been endowed with at birth” (2). When it’s revealed during a fight she lacks that certain something, she defiantly calls her vulva Courage, which becomes her girl-power nom de guerre in her fight against male prejudice as well as opposing armies.70 Over the next dozen years, she is repeatedly married to soldiers, repeatedly raped by other other soldiers, then becomes a prostitute, then a black marketeer, doing whatever it takes to survive the war, and marrying whoever promises shelter from the storm. (Through no fault of her own, her husbands usually perish before their first anniversary.) She’s smart, as courageous as her name implies, and fiercely independent; she doesn’t really descend into criminal behavior until later in life, when she joins a band of Gypsies. And that child she left on Simplicius’s doorstep? Not hers, but her slutty maid’s. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and Courage takes self-incriminating delight in telling Simplex (as she calls him) how wrong he was about everything. 

Like Simplicissimus, Courage is graphically realistic but includes a few magical elements. The Spanish Justina tried to dodge sexual encounters, but Courage welcomes them: she’s a novelty in novels of this period, a sexually active woman who doesn’t feel guilty about scratching her itch (as puts it). While we have to remember that a man is writing this, Grimmelshausen was a worldly one and knew that women have sexual desires too, which you wouldn’t guess from most novels published before the 20th century. Like Simplicius, Courage occasionally reads courtly romance novels, but only to pick up “pretty turns of phrase from” for the purposes of seduction (5; cf. Simplicissimus 3.18: “these books taught me how to lure the female sex”). Rebelling against the polite romance tradition, Grimmelshausen opposes his hard-core realism to their unrealistic fantasies; like his model Charles Sorel, he was out to destroy the mainstream novel, and Courage is an earthy and bracing alternative to most 17th-century fiction. 

One of Courage’s longer-term relationships was with a lackey/paramour she nicknamed Tearaway, from the time she told him, “Tear yourself away from that cart and go and fetch the dappled grey from the grazing” (16). After she dumped him for drunkenness and domestic violence, this rascal became one of Simplicius’s gang during his Hunter of Soest period. He tells his story in Tearaway (Der seltzame Springinsfeld, 1670), which begins when the young scribe Courage had hired to write down her memoir runs into Simplicius, lately returned from Australia, and his old servant Tearaway at an inn.71 The scribe tells them what Courage dictated to him—Simplicius interrupts to admit he was also banging Courage’s maid, so that baby is his son after all—and also of her life with the Gypsies. (Grimmelshausen may be the first to write about them in fiction.) We learn that Simplicius, as pious as ever, is annoyed that readers are treating his Simplicissimus merely as a jestbook like Till Eulenspiegel instead of the Christian allegory he intended. Incongruously, he is now making a living as a traveling salesman peddling an elixir that improves wine, using a magic book as part of his spiel—another occasion Grimmelshausen uses, like the dirty inkwell, for a tribute to the power of imaginative writing—and after nine chapters of metafictional scene-setting, Tearaway tells how he spent the war. Like much of Simplicissimus, Tearaway is a grim, grunt’s-eye view of war, where greed for booty trumps patriotic duty, and which brings out the worst in everyone. Tearaway admits “Soldiers are there to persecute the peasants and any that leave them in peace aren’t doing their job properly,” but also notes “some peasants were worse than the good soldiers themselves. They not only murder soldiers, innocent and guilty, whenever they managed to get hold of them, when they had the chance, they stole from their neighbours, even from their own friends and relations” (13). This section is sketchy, obviously worked up not from firsthand experience but from the same war chronicle Grimmelshausen used for Courage, Eberhard von Wassenberg’s Erneuerter Teutscher Florus (1647). After the war is over, Tearaway marries a widow and becomes a crooked innkeeper, abandons both, then marries a hurdy-gurdy player and scrapes out a living accompanying her on the fiddle as wandering musicians. This colorful, realistic account of tramping morphs into a fairy tale in which his wife discovers a magical bird’s nest that confers invisibility on its owner; Tearaway’s too cowardly to use it for gain—she isn’t, and winds up being burned as a witch as a result—and the tatterdemalion is still playing for pfennigs when he runs in to his old master. Simplicius tries to recall him to Christian principles, which Tearaway initially dismisses as “a load of monkish tripe” (27), though he repents just before he dies. 

“The Miraculous Bird’s Nest” (Das wunderbarliche Vogelnest, 1672 [part 1] and 1675 [part 2]) is the title of the last two sections of what Grimmelshausen eventually called the Simplician Cycle. In part 1, a do-gooder named Michael uses the cloaking device to obstruct various misdeeds while searching for an honorable way to make money; in part 2, an unnamed merchant, less scrupulous than Michael (and more like Tearaway’s wife), takes advantage of invisibility to commit various acts of greed, lust, and sorcery. The miraculous bird’s nest functions as a “lens through which the bearer perceives reality” (Negus, 124), another analog for one of fiction’s purposes. Simplicius’s son appears in one episode in part 1, but otherwise the 2-part novel is only thematically related to the preceding novels, emphasizing once again the inconstancy of fortune, the prevalence of evil, and the consequent necessity of adhering to Christian principles. Books 1 through 8 of the Simplician Cycle depicted a world at war, but in these final two books Grimmelshausen argues that the world at peace is just as dangerous. They sound mildly entertaining, but as they’ve not been translated, I can only direct the interested reader elsewhere for more on the conclusion to Grimmelshausen’s 10-part, 800-page meganovel.72 

Unlike part 2 of Don Quixote, the second half of the Simplician Cycle isn’t as impressive as the first half (i.e., Simplicissimus), but that doesn’t prevent Grimmelshausen from occupying the same lofty position in early German literature, and his influence on later German writers is profound. He impressed Ludwig Tieck and other German Romantics, the Grimm brothers and Goethe, and his work played a patriotic part in the unification of Germany in the 19th century. Most major German novelists of the 20th century have paid tribute to him: Thomas Mann borrowed from his work for his Felix Krull and Doctor Faust, and in his introduction to a Swedish translation of Simplicissimus, he wrote: “It is the rarest kind of monument to life and literature, for it has survived almost three centuries and will survive many more. It is a story of the most basic kind of grandeur—gaudy, wild, raw, amusing, rollicking and ragged, boiling with life, on intimate terms with death and the devil—but in the end, contrite and fully tired of a world wasting itself in blood, pillage and lust, but immortal in the miserable splendor of its sins.”73 Hesse greatly admired Grimmelshausen, and from him Bertolt Brecht conceived the idea for his play Mother Courage and Her Children (1949). Grimmelshausen’s earthy, erudite, punning language was an inspirational starting point for Arno Schmidt’s even more outlandish diction. I implied earlier that the young Simplicius has something in common with Oskar Matzerath in Günter Grass’s Tin Drum (1959), and Grimmelshausen steals the show in Grass’s erudite critifiction The Meeting at Telgte (1979), an imaginary conference of several German authors in 1647, in which Grass affectionately roasts the old inkslinger: 

In his green doublet and plumed hat he looked like something out of a storybook. . . . [After he] had offered his services in a long-winded speech well larded with tropes, Harsdörffer took Dach aside. True, he said, the fellow prates like an itinerant astrologer—he had introduced himself to the assemblage as Jupiter’s favorite, whom, as they could see, Venus had punished in France—but he had wit, and was better read than his clowning might lead one to suspect. . . . His lies, said Harsdörffer, are as inspired as any romances; his eloquence reduces the very Jesuits to silence; not just the church fathers, but all the gods and their planets are at his fingertips; he is familiar with the seamy side of life, and wherever he goes, in Cologne, in Recklinghausen, in Soest, he knows his way about. . . . Hofmannswaldau stood dumbfounded; hadn’t the fellow just quoted a passage from Opitz’s translation of the Arcadia? . . . His words seemed as trustworthy as the sheen of the double row of buttons on his green doublet. (6–7) 

In this novel Grimmelshausen is still in his mid-twenties, but someday, the narrator predicts, “he would let every foul smell out of the bag; a chronicler, he would bring back the long war as a word-butchery, let loose gruesome laughter, and give the [German] language license to be what it is: crude and soft-spoken, whole and stricken, here Frenchified, there melancolicky, but always drawn from the casks of life. Yes, he would write! By Jupiter, Mercury, and Apollo, he would!” (112–13). 

#steven moore #the novel: an alternative history 1600-1800 #hans jakob christoffel von grimmelshausen #simplicissimus #tom nashe #miguel de cervantes #bertolt brecht #arno schmidt

[edensgay]

Sweet Mrs. Seed

Sweet Mrs. Seed: A Jacob Seed Fanfiction

Relationship: Jacob Seed x Wife (Not the Deputy!)

Rating: All ages!

Summary: The story of Jacob and his wife.

Warnings: Subtle manipulation, blood, death, scars, homelessness, implied sex, brainwashing, bliss.

Word Count: 4,122

Author’s Note: Hey, Nonnie! I had a lot of fun with this one. I hope I did your request justice!

Jacob was at his lowest. Four months ago he'd gotten an honorable discharge on the grounds of being medically unfit for service. Jacob had lost his home the minute the state separated him from his brothers, once he’d joined the military he knew that it would be the only home he’d ever have.

He’d planned to be a lifer, he couldn’t see himself doing anything else. The world had no place for men like him. His only home was on the front lines, serving his country.

But here he was, wasting away in a military hospital. In a year he’d run out of money and be on the streets. He'd given his all for his country, only to find out that his country refused to care for him in his time of need.

His first week in here his old recruiter had stopped by, patted him on the shoulder and told him to call if he ever needed anything. He never would, but he kept the card with the man's number on it anyways, a reminder that someone in this world would be there for him.

Time went on. His friends from his unit moved on, forgetting about him after just a few weeks. He should be there, fighting by their side, not rotting in a hospital that didn’t give a damn about him.

It was hardly the first time he'd gotten wounded, his body covered in more scars than he could count. His first one was on range, he was practically a child when he got it, he’d been in for less than two months. A motivated 5.56 round had landed on the back of his neck, getting stuck in his blouse and burning the shit out of his neck.

He was bedridden a few times after bullets found new homes in his skin, never life threatening and after that he got back on his feet and went back to work. None of them had been enough to get him discharged.

After he and Miller had gotten shot down his leg had housed copious amounts of shrapnel, he’d leaned on Miller as they walked back. He knew only one of them would make it, and despite his own hurt leg he knew Miller would go down first. He’d done what he had to. He’d done it for his country.

The shrapnel had moved around in his leg, tearing through tissue like butter. It had hurt but he’d survived, that was the important thing. He stayed in the hospital, until he was healthy enough to fight once more.

He’d still be out there, fighting the good fight if not for his hospital roommate who heard his whimpers at night and reported them. When he’d just had a bum leg he was fine, he was still useful. But when he superiors found out he had a bum brain they'd written him off before he could even make an argument for himself.

He’d hated that man. He’d ruined his life, if it wasn’t for him Jacob would still be out there.

The loud sound of someone clearing their throat dragged him out of his spiteful thoughts.

“Sir? It’s time for your physical therapy.” The woman was a new nurse, he’d seen her around a few times.

She always looked done, there was a mangled scar twisting through one of her eyebrows and disappearing into her hairline. It only served to make her look more annoyed with her patients than she really was. She’d seen shit, same as him just the opposite end of it. She saw what happened after he did his job.

The other nurses would stand in the hall or in the corner of rooms where they thought the patients were sleeping and whisper about her. They’d whisper about her face, none of them wanted to ask, none of them cared for the truth. They liked their fantasies better.

He grunted and moved to swing his leg off his bed, wincing away from her gentle touch as she helped him into the wheelchair she’d provided. She settled him into it, touching him as little as possible before moving to wheel him out of the room.

“I can do it myself.” He growled at her, catching her arm and keeping her from grabbing the handles on the chair.

She raised an eyebrow and shrugged “Fine by me.” She walked alongside him as he struggled to wheel himself down the hall.

After that the two of them slowly became friends, at first neither of them actually liked each other but they spent so much time together it was hard for them not to become close. They had a gruff sort of banter between them, Jacob would insist he could take care of himself and she’d snort and call him old.

“What happened to your face?” He could have posed it in a nicer way but that wasn’t their relationship, they were crass with each other and neither of them sugar coated shit.

She scrunched her face up at the memory. “I got attacked by a patient. There was construction outside of our hospital and nobody warned him. The noises triggered his PTSD and he panicked. He slammed my face into his bedframe.”  She shrugged, shaking her head as if she could shake the memory off.

Jacob made a promise to himself that he would never hurt her, no matter how bad the nightmares or the episodes he would never hurt her.

She liked Jacob, she saw potential in him. He had a bright future ahead of him, whether he knew it or not.

“The doctor says that if you keep up with your physical therapy your leg should be good as new in a few more weeks.” She sat on the edge of his bed, holding a mirror for him while he shaved his face.

“Trying to get rid of me?” He grinned at her, pausing his motions to give her a soft look.

“Yep. You’re the worst patient I have.” She had a mischievous twinkle in her eye as she gave him an impish grin.

He didn’t last a few more weeks, he didn’t get to finish his physical therapy or say goodbye to his nurse friend. His money ran out and his country officially turned it’s back on him.

It was three years before they saw each other again. He’d been living on the street for three years, he was a shell of the man he once was. He was a far cry from the fine soldier he’d once been, yet again he was like a lost child with no home. Until he heard a voice.

It wasn’t the voice his brother heard, but it felt like salvation all the same.

“Seed?” Her voice was smaller than he remembered, but it was still her. She looked tired, but her eyes held the same mischievous twinkle that haunted his dreams.

He'd seen her face every day for the last three years, painted on the back of his eyelids. The memory of her hands stroking his face interrupted his nightmares.

“Nurse.” He greeted, his voice harsh from years of neglect.

She grinned at him, her face brightening the small corner of the alley he was taking shelter in. “I finally found you.”

His eyes narrowed, she’d been looking for him? She’d actually cared that much about him? “What?”

“When they kicked you out without any warning or anything I called them all ‘heartless pricks’ and told them to eat a dick.” She shrugged sheepishly as she took a seat beside him on the asphalt.

His chest tightened at the sight of her sitting on the trash covered ground beside him. She’d always been better than the others, she actually cared about her patients. The fact that after all this time she still sat beside him like he was the clean cut soldier he had been and not some dirty homeless man made him warm inside.

“Don’t look so sappy. I got pretty decent severance pay.” She punched his shoulder, giving him a soft smile.

“Sure.” He rolled his eyes and shook his head.

After a few minutes in silence she spoke up again, “Alright let’s go.”

He frowned at her, wondering where they were going.

“You’re disgusting. Come back to my place and shower.”

He did.

Her apartment was a shithole. The free clinic she worked for paid like shit and her hours were shit. She’d given up her comfortable life to look for him, she hadn’t taken a vacation and looked for a week before given up she’d searched for him for three years.

They’d only been friends for a couple months before their separation, but here she was. She’d left her job for him, she’d followed him. She’d cared.

After his shower he found himself staring into the mirror, wondering where everything had gone wrong. The face in the mirror wasn’t one he recognized. His beard had grown unruly, his face had thinned out and the bags under his eyes looked like they would never go away.

He stiffened when he felt arms wrap around his half naked form. In the mirror he could see her eyes peeking over his shoulder. “You’re okay.” She mumbled. He hadn’t heard her come in, but her presence was more than welcome.

She’d seen him at his lowest points and yet she was here. When they were in the hospital he’d needed help getting up to go to the bathroom, because he stubbornly refused to use a bedpan or have a catheter. She’d picked him up off the floor when he collapsed in the hall on the way to physical therapy. When he’d woken up in the middle of the night covered in a sheen of sweat from a nightmare she’d sit beside him and play cards until he felt tired enough to sleep again. She’d found him on the streets after years of searching and welcomed him into her home.

“We should get married.” He said, his eyes never leaving hers.

She simply quirked an eyebrow. “Well aren’t you a walking stereotype?” She squeezed him tighter, nuzzling her face into his damp shoulder.

“That a no?”

“You only want me for my health insurance.” She chuckled and pulled away from him, staying close but not too close.

He turned around, crossing his arms and frowning at her. “I’m serious.” He was, she was pretty and she cared, that was more than he’d had in a long time.

“I’ll think about it.”

Jacob had started picking up odd jobs to help out with rent and food money, his schedule was questionable at best and every day he woke up not know what he’d be doing that day. It was almost familiar.

One thing that never changed was that he’d walk to the clinic at the end of her shift so they could walk home together. He could handle himself, walking through dark streets towards the sketchy alley that housed the free clinic, he was imposing. Nobody in their right mind would screw with him, but she was delicate. A woman walking alone at night was dangerous, after all that she had done for him the least he could do was keep her safe.

When he came around the corner he saw her waiting by the door, a soft smile crossed his expression as he saw her. It faded when he saw a man approach her, something in the way he walked was off. His hand instinctually found the knife he kept in his pants, he had no qualms about using it.

She let out a small shriek as the man grabbed her, he attempted to shove her into the wall but she fought back. She bit the hand he put over her mouth and threw her elbow into his stomach. Jacob didn’t hesitate, he pulled out his knife and charged, knocking the man off of her before slitting his throat.

He pulled away, staring blankly at the gurgling man on the floor. Death hadn’t affected him in a long time, but he found it hard to look at her. He was afraid of how she might react.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here.” She murmured, grabbing his arm and dragging him back towards their apartment.

They didn’t speak on the way there, both of them caught up in their thoughts.

Jacob knew this was it, he’d shown her how truly fucked up he was and she was going to kick him out. At least he’d protected her, even if she did end up hating him.

As soon as they stepped into the apartment she shoved him into the wall, her mouth covering his. It wasn’t sweet, it was frantic. Both of them kissing and clawing at each others clothes like they thought the other would disappear.

“Let’s fucking get married.” She whispered into his ear, nipping at the soft skin of his neck.

They were only married for a few weeks when Joseph and John appeared at their door. Jacob was hesitant, his brothers didn’t know who he was, they didn’t know what he’d done.

His wife knew, his wife accepted him. When his brothers showed up he almost didn’t go with them, he was afraid of disappointing them. They both remembered him as their big brother, the protector, their hero. How would they react to his fall from grace? She’d swallowed his fears, kissed them away until he had no choice but to go with his brothers.

She’d taken the move easier than him. As soon as they’d arrived in Montana she got a job at the veterans center, her first day she met two Deputies who had responded to a disturbance.

The deputies invited her to the Spread Eagle that night, as a Welcome to Hope County gesture. Jacob stayed back at the ranch with his brothers while they plotted their next move.

The locals took to her while they remained wary of the Seed brothers. Something about her made her easily approachable, the scar that had previously caused vicious whispers now viewed as the mark of the lionheart.

Word spread quickly about the sweet Mrs. Seed who so boldly wore her good intentions on her face. It made it easy for people to trust her, she was a healer. Joseph saw potential in her. Jacob wanted his brother to stay away from her.

She was his, she was his light. He was afraid of what might happen if Joseph sunk his claws into her.

“Jacob, do not worry. Your wife will be an important part of our future. She will walk through Eden’s Gate with us.” Joseph would say whilst cupping his face.

She accompanied Joseph when he went to say hello to Father Jerome. She shook the priests hand as he welcomed her family and congratulated them on their congregation. She and Joseph left as his flock slowly shuffled into the building, she noted each person in the pews.

The two went to church every Sunday, even though they’d never been religious. Jacob went for his brothers and his wife went for him. They watched for months as the flock grew, faces from Father Jerome’s church started appearing in their flock. The stolen members shaking her hand, none of them realizing how easily they had abandoned their convictions.

Mrs. Seed was a sweet public figure, she provided badge shaped cookies for the Sheriff’s Office’s booth every year for the Testy Festy. Every year the Veterans Center had a fundraiser, she baked cookies for that, too. She was a trustworthy face.

“Kitten, Joseph wants me to be a herald.” She was cooking dinner, dancing around the kitchen and humming while he sat at the counter and watched her.

She turned to him and raised an eyebrow. “A herald?”

“He wants me to train our people. Eden’s Gate has no place for the weak.”

She snorted as she continued to stir the pasta sauce on the stove. She knew Jacob was only there for his family, he had little cares for the religious aspect of it. Her husband had searched for his purpose for as long as she had known him.

He’d always had a lost look in his eye, his family had alleviated some of it. If he’d found his purpose as a herald training soldiers in a cult then far be it from her to crush his dreams. He was finally rising to the potential she’d seen in him all those years ago.

“Suits you.”

He nodded, looking down and picking at his fingernails. “He wants to speak with you.”

“Okay.”

Her meeting with Joseph was outside his chapel, in a small garden behind the building. He spoke to her in hushed tones, holding her hand the entire time. He whispered about how they needed Faith, and without Faith they would have nothing.

She politely told him that she wasn’t his Faith, but that she would help him look.

He agreed, she wasn’t Faith. She had a gift from God, it would be a waste for her ignore it.

A few nights later they were having a family dinner, Joseph sitting at the head of the table with John at the opposite end. Jacob sat to Josephs left and to Josephs right sat a young dark-haired woman named Lana.

During dinner Joseph centered the conversation around Lana, when she excused herself to go to the bathroom he asked what she thought of the woman.

“She’s weak.”

Joseph nodded thoughtfully, “I agree. She is not strong enough to lead our people through Eden’s Gate.”

That night Mrs. Seed and Lana took a walk, Lana never came back to the house.

Jacob adjusted to his role slower than his wife adjusted to hers. But once he settled in he got right to work training his Chosen.

The Chosen had to be the strongest, they were the protectors of the flock, of his family. He would cull the weak, he would never lose his family again.

Most nights he came home covered in blood, his wife never questioned it. She’d climb into the shower with him and wash the blood off, chatting nonchalantly about her day. He’d tell her about his in return, every day he expected to see her recoil in disgust.

He waited for the day that she flinched away from him. It never came, his wife was a strong woman.

Weeks later a new woman named Selena joined the fold, this one showed more promise. Her blonde hair giving her a radiant glow, she certainly looked more angelic than the former. The two women spent a lot of time together, gardening and exploring the Henbane together.

Mrs. Seed kept her job at the Veterans Center, though she spent more time working for Joseph. Her work at the center was part time, Eden’s Gate was her future.

She brought Selena to the center as a test to see how capable of recruiting the woman was. On the drive home they stopped to go to the bathroom in the woods, Selena didn’t get back in the car.

Then Rachel came along.

John, Jacob and Joseph were all skeptical. None of them thought she would make it, she was a scared teenage girl. Someone else thought differently. Mrs. Seed took Rachel under her wing, and thus Faith was born.

“This one. She has potential.” She murmured to Joseph as she eyed the tattoo on the bleary girls wrist.

Since Jacob and his wife had started their missions they hadn’t seen each other as much, but once Faith fulfilled her duties Mrs. Seed was slowly relieved of hers.

She went back to full time work at the Veterans Center, keeping her job for the next few months until slowly the work pattered out. The center was eventually abandoned. The fear of the world ending was more important than a musty building where men gathered to recount the horrors of what felt like a past life.

Suddenly everyone in the County was a doomsday prepper, all of them building bunkers and staying home as much as they could as they waited for the end. Eden’s Gate offered solace to those who didn’t have their own to retreat to.

People were being recruited at twice the rate that they had been before. The recruitment methods were becoming less than desirable as Faith filled her role. Faith turned out to be exactly what they had needed, she was more ruthless than previously thought.

Jacob was happy to let his wife retire for the most part, he told her she shouldn’t be on her feet so much these days anyway.

Joseph prophesied that it was almost time, soon the collapse would be upon them. The locals had started fighting back, though their attempts were weak. Joseph’s heralds easily kept their uprising at bay.

A group of three brought the beginning of the end. Snakes in their garden. Two of them were easily disposed of while the last folded into their midst, and sent to the Chosen trials. Joseph had held high hopes for her, based on the fact that she planned to join the military. She had let them all down.

“Joseph says tonight is the night.” Jacob said as he trimmed his beard in their bathroom mirror. His wife stood behind him, leaning against the bathroom door and watching with mild interest. “Stay home, just in case.”

She nodded. She understood her role. “You’re mine, Mr. Seed.” She murmured as she nuzzled into his side.

“You’re mine, Mrs Seed.” He chuckled, holding her tight to his side. “Only mine.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead and placed a hand on her stomach before he left.

That night she looked out her bedroom window, watching the plume of smoke that stemmed from Josephs island.

So it began.

A few weeks later her new lapdog told her that Jacob had something to show her. He held her steady as he helped her down the stairs, his hands shook.

She turned to him and smiled, “Do not be afraid. Fear makes you weak.” Her words were soft and the man in the rumpled uniform beside her relaxed as her hand moved to cup his cheek.

Mrs. Seed was a good person, it wasn’t her fault that her husband had turned out to be a monster. Sweet Mrs. Seed who put herself in harms way to protect her patients couldn’t be one of the bad guys. Sweet Mrs. Seed that baked cookies for fundraisers couldn’t willingly be apart of a cult that killed people. She was a trapped housewife. That’s how the community rationalized it, when they saw her around they all felt swells of pity for her.

The resistance thought she had potential, she had a moral compass unlike the rest of the Seeds. If they could get her over to their side they might have a chance.

She watched from a distance as her husband stood stock still in front of a cage, he had an unreadable expression on his face as he gazed at the slumped form before him. The man by her side shrank in on himself as they approached her husband.

“Good boy, Peaches.” Jacob said, nodding at Pratt as he held his arm out to his wife.

Jacob wrapped his arms around her as she snuggled into his side, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek. “What do you think?” He asked, his eyes never leaving the cage.

She squinted at the cage, looking over the bruised and battered figure. The person in the cage had their cheek in the mud as they squinted up at her. Judging by the hazy look in their eyes they were riding out a Bliss high.

“This is the Junior Deputy?” She asked, rocking on her heels as Jacob’s arm around her waist traced circles on her stomach.

He grunted in acknowledgement.

“This one has potential.” A shark-like grin appeared on her face, the soft look in her eye replaced with a cold gaze.

In that moment the resistance members in the nearby cages, Deputy Pratt, and Rook all realized something. As they looked up at Jacob Seed and the heavily pregnant Mrs. Seed they realized that sweet Mrs. Seed that baked cookies and cared for the greater good didn’t exist, she never had.

“Take my wife back to our room.” Jacob ordered Pratt, finally taking his eyes off of the Junior Deputy.

“Bye, Daddy. Don’t stay up too late.” She cooed, pressing a kiss to her husband’s lips.

He gently kissed her back, holding her as if she would break at any minute. His hands cupped her swollen swollen belly, as he whispered to his wife and unborn child that he would be home soon.

#I'm kind of proud of this one #Jacob seed fanfiction #jacob seed fic #jacob seed fanfic #jacob seed x wife #far cry 5 #far cry 5 fanfiction #far cry 5 fanfic #far cry 5 fic #fc5 fanfiction #fc5 fic #fc5 fanfic #fc5 jacob #far cry 5 jacob #edens gate #project at edens gate #lexa writes

[toblkflys]

A Little Brain Scrub

I have a family member that believes there is no pandemic. How is that? I guess there is a whole movement that believes this. So, people are dying how? In 7 months 2 million people have died worldwide. In the same time period, there have been 10 million people in the US that tested COVID positive. What do we call this?  Of course, many people are using the TV/movie/book version like The Hot Zone, as a point of reference, “now that is what a pandemic looks like,” they say. They think if it were a real pandemic people would be “dropping like flys.” If it truly got to that point we would really be screwed worldwide. That would be worse than a pandemic, it would be an extinction event. The definition of a pandemic is “(of a disease) prevalent over a whole country or the world.” That is all it means. What about this is a pandemic is incorrect? People are getting the sickness/disease here, people are getting the same sickness/disease across the country and people are getting the sickness/disease in other countries. That fits the definition. I find nowhere in the definition, no matter which dictionary I look in, does it say “people must drop like flys.” Obviously, this group of people knows something even the scholars don’t. Speaking of, this group of people is quite a bit bigger than one would have guessed. That is disappointing. We have that many people in the country who prefer not to think for themselves. That is truly frightening. Of course, I am referring to my friends the Trumpsters.  And I was amazed or maybe I was horrified, I’m not sure which, the day after the election. I live in a nice retirement community with over 55 adults and most are quite a bit over 55. I drove down my street and several of the houses were flying their flag, nice, right? Not. They were flying them half-mast! Are you fucking kidding me? Just because Trump lost? Now that is a slap in the face to democracy and patriotism. These people think they are patriots, who tout the flag and talk about their rights and pro-America. These same people are basically shitting on the flag. They might as well burn it. Flying the flag at half-mast is not to be taken lightly. Only the president can order the flag to be flown at half-mast (and guess what Trumpsters, Trump lost and he is NOT your president).  “Those individuals and agencies that usurp authority and display the flag at half-staff on inappropriate occasions are quickly eroding the honor and reverence accorded this solemn act,” says the American Legion and I fully agree! I mean Wells Fargo is doing this as well! WTF?  What about flying the flag at half-mast is patriotic? Are they going to do it all four years? I get so angry every time I pass the neighbor’s house because I see it. It is an affront every time. I even printed out 20 flyers with the American Legion saying above on it. I wanted, and still want, to throw them all over their fence into their backyard. I wanted to tape the flyers to the windshields of their vehicles. I want to strike back or strike out.  Speaking of, have you ever noticed what vehicles Trumpsters drive? Trucks, SUVs, muscle cars and American-made sedans. It is horrible to stereotype says you, and you are right. But it is true. What vehicles are parked at rallies? What vehicles do you see all decked out with American flags, the bigger the better? Trucks, the higher the better, big tires, lots of modification, maybe they rock climb with their truck or they pull their toy hauler with their Polaris, going out to the dunes to drink beer and drive their UTVs around. Maybe they will take their guns so they can target practice because drinking beer, driving UTVs, and shooting guns all go together, especially the beer. Just sayin. I have another relative who, unfortunately, married a Trumpster (actually I have two, eye roll). They have a little boy. Dad is in the military and mom, my relative, used to be normal but now follows her husband. The little boy is obsessed with war movies and they encourage it. They bought him military gear, a helmet, a tactical vest, an ammo belt and of course a replica M4. They sent a picture of him all geared up, holding the machine gun at the ready with a scowl on his face. They think it’s cute.  What about dressing your child up like a killer is cute? But god help them, they need their guns, especially their fully automatic M16s because they hunt deer with them. Yeah. Are the deer shooting back or something? Are they that afraid of the deer that they need a fully automatic weapon? Or maybe it is the scary sounds in the wild while they are hunting. And these people teach their kids how to hold a gun and how to shoot as soon as they can. I remember my brother being taught and I was jealous I wasn’t because I was a girl. And this is patriotic. Dressing my 8-year-old like a sniper is patriotic. He will likely grow up hating Democrats and he will not really know why. He will join a survivalist group, hate queers and liberals, and believe that men are superior to women. He will shoot guns, practice being a sniper, learn hand-to-hand combat, all to be a patriot. Because that is the American way. War not peace. Force not negotiation. Show strength not compromise. Shoot first, not ask questions. That is patriotic.  Trumpsters have no idea where they were/are headed. Welcome to Jonestown, line up for your kool-aid, never mind the people in pain and dying. An incredible phenomenon. Trumpsters don’t see what is so very obvious to the rest of us. They are so sure that the sky is green because Trump said so. We look up and nope, still blue. But don’t infringe on the Trumpsters' rights to call the sky green!  It is so interesting to me because I have always been fascinated with Nazi Germany and what happened there. I have wondered what it was about Hitler that people followed with no question. I mean how can people do that? How can they not see what was happening? How could they let it happen? And now I know. I still don’t understand it but I have had the opportunity to witness how a leader mesmerizes a huge section of a country to believe anything he says no matter how irrational. How the leader can literally say and do anything and get away with it.  And they follow blindly. They listen to his propaganda. Definition,“information, especially of a biased or misleading nature, used to promote or publicize a particular political cause or point of view.” See, Hitler did this with the Jews. He villainized the Jews. It could have been anyone but he chose the Jews, lucky them. They became the enemy that everything wrong could be blamed on. There’s a shortage? It’s the Jews, they take the bread out of your child’s mouth.  And then he offers a solution. Only I can solve your Jew problem. Trump did the same thing with immigrants at first and eventually with Democrats. Now the Democrats are the downfall of the country. They are evil, horrible, liberal people. They hate god, they hate family, they hate America and want to destroy it and make America a socialist country. This is all Trump propaganda. And people listen. And they believe. Despite no proof, they don’t ask for proof. They don’t ask for examples or evidence that it is true. Like Democrats are evil and horrible. Okay. What Democrats do you, Mr. Trumpster, know who fit this bill? If they are evil and horrible they must be doing evil and horrible things, what things are they? Ask a Trumpster. Then, once the people are properly brainwashed, he proceeds to cut the country off, starts to close our borders. Hitler closed Germany’s borders, it’s called isolation. Kind of like North Korea, ever heard of it? North Korea is a good modern example of a country that has closed its borders. Not only would we keep the immigrants out, but Trump would also have kept Americans in. I believe that leaving the country would be defecting and would not be looked upon kindly in Trump’s America. Once he had all of that buttoned up and our country was “self-sufficient” he would start introducing his own police force to keep the peace. He was already headed that way. They would be deployed slowly in more and more places, eventually, there would be no local police, it would be federal and more specifically, Trump’s force. Say hello to the neo SS.  And people, through all of this the Trumpsters are clapping and holding up the American flag, which would eventually be modified to include something Trump. Their rights would be secure! They finally had a voice in Trump and he is getting things done! It’s about time that we had a real police force that came in and made everything safe and secure! It’s okay that they are everywhere with their M4s and you have to show your passport when asked. Better be safe than sorry! Since concentration camps have worked before there is no point messing with success. Put the immigrants/minorities in several which would have been built. And any outspoken Dems. In fact, herd all of the Dems up and put them in certain cities or certain parts of the city. We need to protect our white American children from the undesirables. White supremacy would reign once again. Yes, Trump would have saved this country (from democracy). The funny thing is that Trump didn’t even hide that he was a fascist or that he was promoting fascism. Dictatorial leader, severe economic and social regimentation and forcible suppression of opposition. Boom. There you go.  So, let them fly our flag at half-mast in protest. Biden and the Dems took away the Trumpsters rights to have a fascist America. They never even got to chant Hail Trump! Or maybe they did and I don’t know about it.  They have the right to disgrace the American flag. They have a right to spread a deadly disease. They have the right to purchase and use a fully automatic weapon. They have a right to vote for a dictator. They have the right to a fascist America. And I guess a serial killer has a right to kill. The rapist a right to rape. Because it’s about me, not you. And I have the right to do what I want to do because I’m free white and American. Isn’t it beautiful? Read the full article

[enkelimagnus]

Paperwork

Bucky Barnes Gen, 1832 words, rated T for Hydra shit

Jewish Bucky Barnes, pre TFATWS, post Endgame

Bucky struggles with paperwork, and thinks about his relationship with military service.

TW: this contains mentions of the Holocaust and antisemitism

Read on AO3

Part 12 of Making a Home - the Jewish Bucky series

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

Bucky has been through a lot. He’s fought in most, if not all, wars since 1950, several of which involved aliens, has murdered hundreds of people. He has been a prisoner of war, has been tortured in every way known to man, has been experimented on, has lost everyone he loves; he has seen it all. He has been through it all.

But the absolute fucking worse of it all is probably the paperwork he has to do for the U.S. Army.

That’s a very specific brand of fucked up, and he’s this close to calling out mistreatment of the elderly on Lieutenant General Henricksen’s ass.

The desk they let him use is cramped and stuck between a wall and a copy machine. It’s constantly noisy and messy, with people coming in and out. He barely has space to sit comfortably. They all underestimate how much space he needs to be comfortable. He might not be large, like Steve used to be, but being stuck in small spaces and behind small desks make him want to run.

Besides, he’s generally terrible with paperwork.

At least that was the one advantage of being a brainwashed assassin for seventy years, he never had to do paperwork. He didn’t have enough free will to write reports. Small fucking mercies.

It would be nice if he could smoke, but that’s not allowed anymore. Which makes sense. But they’re truly making his life difficult.

He could just walk out of the base and go home, they would let him. He’s not actually a prisoner here, he just has very good incentive to stay. If he doesn’t keep on the straight and narrow path to ‘fix what he was responsible for’, he’ll be back in the Raft really quickly.

And despite his hatred for this desk, this office and this work, they’re a hundred times better than a Raft cell.

He doesn’t know exactly what it is with work and the base that put him in such a terrible mood. The people aren’t bad, per se. The actual building isn’t either, even if it will never lose its fragility in Bucky’s eyes. Perhaps he should punch one of the beams supporting the main entrance, see if it will sustain the full force of a vibranium arm and a supersoldier’s muscles.

There’s just something that happens in his mind when he’s sitting at this desk, on this uncomfortable chair emblazoned with the mark of the U.S. Army, with a slightly out of date computer in front of him and the report template open, cursor blinking stubbornly at the start of the empty line where his explanations are supposed to be written.

He suddenly finds himself calling onto every ounce of self-control he’s ever managed to train into himself so he won’t just walk away and flee the country. He just sits there, staring at the cursor, brain empty of any real thought except Get me out of here and Я готов отвечать.

He’s tried writing his report on the last mission five times now. He started in English and switched to badly transliterated Russian in the middle of it twice now. He can’t do it. He’s struggling to keep himself to only English, and that’s when he manages to vocalize what happened during the mission in a way that makes sense.

They need him to recall the specifics of what he did, in a specific amount of detail, and he struggles with that too. Half of the time, when he’s in combat, a part of him shuts off. When he comes out of it, he has the tendency to push all of it away and lock it behind a door in the back of his mind.

The paperwork, the reports, force him to open that door and analyze it further than just giving a target status update and a general maintenance report. It’s torture to him. He hates every second of it.

And then, there’s the stuff he has to sign without being allowed to read, files redacted to extremes so the only thing he can read is his name. He’s never told exact locations either, and he’s not allowed to know what they recover when they raid. His clearance level isn’t high enough.

He just stands on the sidelines until they tell him to go in, attack, and does what he’s told. When his job is done, they put the muzzle and leash back on him and make him wait in the corner.

And then they make him sign it. He hates signing stuff he can’t read. He doesn’t know what his name is being used for. He doesn’t know what’s under the black blocks. It could be horrifying acts that he is testifying to having committed. He could be tricked into confessing to something he didn’t do. And years down the line when he wants out, when his amends are made, they could keep him under their thumb by showing him those documents, by threatening to take him to justice for things he hasn’t actually done.

Fuck, he used to trust the army.

Or at least he used to believe in what they represented for the country, for the world. He used to be proud of that uniform they gave him when he was drafted. He used to be proud of the opportunity to serve, especially because he knew what was happening in Europe.

They’d known from the beginning. It had started with letters from loved ones in the shtetl, in the old country, telling them of heightened violence, of ghettoization. Accounts of the rising threat, of hiding necklaces under clothing, of putting shabbos candles in the corners of the house the farthest from windows. Accounts of cousins being harassed and assaulted.

And then, the first ones had managed to come by boat, through the tightening net of American immigration. They’d been worried, they’d told stories of how they feared for their families, of how they’d been put into boats with all the money their parents had, with the pictures and the items of value. How they’d been put into boats with the knowledge they would not come back, and that they were carrying with them the entire family’s survival.

Jews know when death is coming. That’s what his ma used to say. We’ve been through it too many times. We know in our bones. And they’d been right.

Soon, the persecution became big enough that ships came every week, filled with desperate faces and tearful eyes, seeking safety and half of the time, being turned away. The neighbor’s little cousin was supposed to come by ship and never made it. Katya cried for days.

There were bills, but none of them made it into vote, there were pleas but they were not heard. Bucky remembered hushed conversations between his ma and the neighbors, plans to send the kids to the countryside if it got worse. His mother had taken his hand one night once the girls were asleep and had told him: You’ll take care of them. We’ll send you with them. You’ll keep them safe. They’d packed suitcases, just in case.

The letters kept coming, telling stories about fear and lost jobs, violence in the street, people breaking into buildings to set fire to Jewish homes. Rabbis everywhere pleaded with the government, but the government did nothing to help. They kept the boats from coming.

And some families stopped getting letters. They all knew what that meant.

There was no official word on what was happening in Europe by then, but they all knew. They all knew silence meant death.

It took them so long to actively enter the war. Too fucking long. He had to be drafted in, he was old enough when the conscription was announced, and despite the fear that came with war, a part of him wanted to protect his people. Fighting was what he was supposed to do for his country, for his people.

Steve was mad at him for the almost casual way Bucky talked about it, especially when he himself couldn’t fight. So was his family. But he’d seen the fear and the pain, and he wanted to help. He’d been fighting all his life, mostly to get Steve out of trouble, but for himself too, and in the boxing championships. It felt… like the right step for him, despite everything. That, and the uniform looked good on him.

But he saw what war was really like. He felt it. He heard the brass making decisions that would send young soldiers to their death. He raged against it silently, because he respected the chain of command, because he believed that even if it felt unfair, it had to be right. They had to be doing this for the best strategic reason.

Eighty years of fighting and war later, he’s seen the torture and the cruelty, and the way governments will send people to die without much of a thought. He’s seen that to a lot of people, even some of the brass, the people that die are just numbers on a sheet.

The pride he used to have, the belief he kept, that’s gone. It died years ago. It survived the first months of the war, even the weapons’ facility, it survived until Steve rekindled it as Captain America, until the Howling Commandos gave him something to believe in. And then it died, with him.

And now, in 2024, he’s sitting at this fucking desk, chained to the United States Armed Forces who have never done anything for him, or for anyone. It feels like it’s never going to stop.

He’s probably stuck here forever now, with his signature on endless pieces of paper he’s not allowed to read. He doesn’t matter. He knows that. He’s a very useful Asset to the Army, and that will always be the extent of what he is to them. An Asset.

It’s bitter. He remembers the pride, and it still blooms into his chest sometimes, when someone calls him Sergeant. The way the Army functions is the most familiar thing about 2024. The Army never changes, and he hates how comforting it is to him. He hates how much comfort he takes in being someone’s soldier. Someone’s Asset.

He’ll never escape it. It’s hardwired into him. The brass knows that. Raynor knows that. SecDev knows that. He’s pretty sure the President knows that.

He guesses that’s why being here unnerves him that much. He just knows he can’t escape. That this computer, this desk, these sheets of papers, those are his hell. He just hopes that one day, he’ll have expiated his wrongdoings enough to make it out.

But he doesn’t hold his breath.

So he desperately tries to put his reluctant brain to work on another report, corrects his grammar and translates his thoughts into English, his country’s language. He’s an American, after all. At least, he’s supposed to be.

American soldiers don’t think in German or Russian.

#bucky barnes #jewish bucky barnes #fic #marvel #mine

[fapangel]

The North Korean government is allegedly the largest and most sophisticated international organized crime enterprise in the world, with a focus on smuggling all kinds of shit all over the place. How confident are we in the ability to prevent unconventional delivery methods of assorted WMD in the event of escalation?

That’s a very good point, and speaks directly to the entire looming issue of North Korean asymmetric tactics, infiltration, and special-operations forces. 

There’s two huge things weighing in our favor right now - chemical weapons are very hard to properly distribute, and their nuclear devices are crude, bulky, heavy and easily detectable. 

Chemical weapons present several problems, the main one being distribution. North Korean agents would have to get their hands on a light crop-dusting aircraft (not terribly difficult) but they’d have to get two or three to make a truly sizable impact, and they’d have to overfly dense urban centers at the right altitude for optimal distribution. In this modern day and age, a small flight of crop dusters - or even one - heading into downtown wherever, well below the tops of the skyscrapers (absolutely screamingly verboten to aircraft,) and a damn good ways away from any farmland they’d have business being over, would attract immediate attention - from armed air defense fighters. The lessons of 9/11 haven’t been lost on the world, and this exact scenario has been discussed more than once. Then there’s the difficulty of infiltrating sufficient quantities of the chemical weapon itself. Smuggling it in in pure concentrate form would help greatly, but if they do, then they’ll need to process/prepare it via dilution or whatnot without killing themselves… which would require suits and equipment they’d also have to acquire somehow. Against a modern, wealthy, stable nation with top-notch border security and competent intel agencies like Japan and South Korea, this is no simple task. 

Nukes present their own problems. Things like the W54 warhead and the proposed Special Atomic Demolition Munition (the prototypical “backpack nuke”) represent the peak of American nuclear weapons refinement - the W54 is pretty much the smallest nuke you can possibly make, the very limits of criticality, and that kind of miniaturization is neither easy nor cheap. The consequences of North Korea having that kind of weapon - which they would instantly sell to any asshole with hard cash, as they are wont to do - are dire enough that I can say with confidence that not even the Russians would willingly give them that kind of tech - the city that’d go up in flames might damn well be their own. 

So we can presume the North Koreans will be stuck with their current devices, which are all low yield (20kt or so, since they’ve only just developed the H-bomb, and would have had infiltrated their earlier primitive fission bombs,) bulky, and not very well shielded or “hidden.” The passive radiation that weapons-grade plutonium gives off can be detected by sensors designed for such jobs - and then there’s the size and bulk of the thing. This is also something that gives every security/spy service on Earth nightmares, and it’s absolutely the most closely-watched element of North Korea’s clandestine services and related smuggling. Typically, North Korean smuggling requires the tacit allowance or underhanded co-operation of other states to get away with their smuggling - such as Egypt, which was recently busted before they could take delivery of some 5,000 practice RPG-7 warheads probably destined for their regular army troops - or Syria and Iran, which have done a brisk weapons trade with North Korea. Infiltrating an atomic warhead into someone’s backyard who absolutely doesn’t want you there is no simple task. It can be done - witness the snatch-and-grab abductions of Japanese citizens right off their own shores by North Korean agents - but once you get the bomb in, your agents have to stay hidden, somehow. Maintaining a permanent presence like that is not very easy without some official foothold in the nation (i.e. an embassy,) and North Korea’s embassies are often rented out for parties (one of them even ran a goddamn slaughterhouse) and other things to make money for the cash-strapped regime (or did, until Trump’s pressure saw many of them closed recently.) When you’re using your embassies to host wedding parties because you need cash that badly, using them to support clandestine agents squirreling away atom bombs in-country…? Lets just say that it’s one hell of a stretch to believe that they could get that past the Five Eyes alliance and the vast resources - including personnel - that they can bring to bear on that problem. 

This does, however, raise the specter of special operations forces in more traditional asymmetric applications - i.e. on the Korean peninsula itself. Much hurf has been blurfed over North Korea having the “largest special operations force in the world,” (it’s commonly acknowledged that they probably count every cook and courier as an OPERATOR to puff up that number,) and the dire tales of their mad-villain preparations (like digging TWENTY TUNNELS UNDER THE DMZ) are constantly repeated. 

First, let’s apply a dose of reality. North Korean soldiers are commonly used for manual labor around the nation - they’re as much a civil work force and/or the workforce as they are a military one - and even the armed forces, which receive priority in all things, never get enough to eat. Any picture of a North Korean soldier taken clandestinely shows that they’re malnourished as hell. Assuming the special operations forces get the best treatment of all, then you have a group that’s primarily remarkable because they actually get fed on-par with, oh, everyone else in the civilized world. 

That doesn’t mean we should underestimate North Korea’s special forces, especially considering how completely brainwashed, fanatical and suicidally aggressive they can be - but neither should we fear them or credit them with prowess to the point of refraining from our own offensive action out of fear or apprehension. We must remember that Allied special forces have the three massive benefits of co-operative training, actual combat experience and proper leadership. North Korean commandos brainwashing makes them dangerous, but zealots are rarely fantastic tacticians - a dead martyr might take one MG team with him, but he can’t help his team flank the next one. Plus, the ROK special forces are legendarily terrifying motherfuckers that have fought with NATO forces in wars since Vietnam, and regularly do co-operative training with US/Australian special forces that’ve been fighting in every clime and place pretty much everywhere for decades - to say nothing of the 16 years of counter-terrorism operations worldwide since the Twin Towers fell. All the zealotry and obstacle-course jumping in the world can’t trump that. 

But there’s a final consideration - actually getting them to their objectives. Their current airborne plan is to use Anatov AN-2 biplanes to paradrop units in South Korea, counting on the relatively small RCS of the Anatov to conceal them. Against vaccum-tube radars of eras past, this might’ve worked, but modern radars can pick up even artillery shells in flight - and many of those counter-battery radars are also capable of area air-search, as well. Anyone trying to cross the DMZ in those suicide tugs are as good as dead, and survivors will only get through via dint of luck and limited SAM magazines - to hit the ground scattered and without enough immediate support to avoid being mopped up piecemeal. 

Then there’s the magic tunnels - which I’m calling bullshit on. Some of the claims - including tunnels that go “straight to Seoul” - don’t even pass the laugh test. (The latter tunnel would produce so much waste dirt that it’d make a new mountain.) Also consider that technologies such as ground-sonar (as seen in Jurassic Park) are commonplace and highly refined these days, and that coalition forces have been dealing with insurgents hiding in deeply buried tunnel networks for almost two decades now - not counting our experiences in Vietnam - and I’d say the myth of twenty undiscovered tunnels that can move hojillions of troops under the DMZ in hours that we haven’t found is bullshit at worst and deliberate misinfo aimed at the Norks at best. 

The biggest threat - and the one the Norks have the most practice with - is infiltration via watercraft, an especially attractive option given the peninsular nature of Korea and the shallow seas on either side. It’s estimated that they can sealift up to five thousand troops behind the DMZ via various means. A great number of North Korean spec-ops insertion craft have been observed or discovered, including semi-submersible vehicles carrying defensive torpedoes, mock fishing boats with opening stern-ramps to let out landing craft, and conventional insertion from subs or mini-subs. Most troubling is the high number - dozens - of small coastal naval bases the North Koreans maintain for launching light craft like these (including their usual small gunboats and missile boats.) 

While coalition air and sea supremacy will be largely unquestioned, DPRK forces will try to challenge them long enough to let the “small fry” slip through in numbers sufficient to be effective. Fortunately, there’s a way to put those small bases out of action - mines.  

The United States has long operated “Quickstrike” mines; just (another) strap-on kit to convert normak Mk-8X dumb bombs into sea mines. Recently however, they added GPS capability to them - combined with the glide-bomb wings of the Australian JDAM-ER, it turns the Quickstrike mine family into precision standoff munitions. This vastly increases the efficiency of the mines, as you can lay them out in any pattern desired, rather than having to drop X number in Y area to achieve roughly the desired density. It also makes them standoff munitions, allowing a single B-52 sortie to mine waters from up to 80 kilometers away, keeping the big bomber safely away from hostiles (at least, not RIGHT OVER them.) It also helps that the enemies won’t know they’ve been visited by aircraft at all. With a CEP on the bottom of only six meters or so, this’ll allow optimal distribution of mines to take out anything that sorties - Quickstrikes are some of the best available and have all the nasty fuzing features to customize what you kill. A few B-52s can demonstratively shut down these DPRK sea bases (and their underground sub and missile boat bases, for that matter.) We’ll have to come back and hit them later, of course, but in the initial hours it’s enough to neutralize the threat while most of our airpower is going after much more crucial targets (WMD and SRBMs.) Even better, the accuracy trivializes after-the-fact minesweeping (since you know where each mine landed to an accuracy of just six meters.) 

Which brings us to the last consideration - special forces in reverse, ours used against the DPRK. Not for nothing is the ROK publicly bragging about forming a “decapitation unit” to hunt down Rocket Man, and showing off their spec-ops transports at every opportunity (one was in the air during the recent B-1B jaunt over the Northern Limit Line, for example.) This serves two purposes. One, it exploits Rocket Man’s well-known (and sensible) fear of being assassinated, both pressuring him more and (hopefully) influencing him to keep more of his vaunted special-forces troops back for defense of himself and his cronies, rather than out conducting offensive ops against us. 

And two, it serves to distract him - and any troops he might retain for defense - from the real goal of these special forces. It won’t be assassinating Rocket Man, that’s for sure. In 2015 a truly massive special-forces exercise called Jade Helm was held in the US, and though it made headlines at the time for panicking all the compound-dwelling militia types, the really noteworthy thing was the sheer scale, which even SOCOM admitted to at the time. Obviously there’s not much information out there about Jade Helm (that isn’t full of shit and being spouted by retards hawking their pet conspiracy theory) but there’s enough (attributable) pictures and comments to make it clear that at least one or two sizeable helicopter-borne insertions were done, in addition to the usual cross-border infiltrations on foot. Some have suggested that the training areas involved - rural areas in arid, hilly places that are lousy with abandoned hard-rock mineshafts - point to preparation for a massive special forces assault against North Korea. 

Well, maybe. And maybe not. But do know this - the United States and its regional allies have been worried about North Korea for a long, long time, as well as Iran. These are the kinds of dire times that the military anticipates and trains endlessly for. Things like the Massive Ordinance Penetrator, which is a bomb originally destined for North Korean bunkers, upgraded to take out Iran’s deeply-buried nuclear centrifuges, and now aimed at North Korea again, demonstrate this - we’ve entire expensive weapon programs prepared for these remote but devastating eventualities. It’d be insane to think we wouldn’t prepare our ground forces in the same fashion. 

And when it comes to the unique challenges of a heavily dug-in North Korean military, well, thinking outside of the box is mandatory. Much is made of our ability (or inability) to seal up the underground tunnel-hangars they hide their SRBM TELs in… but nothing will close one of those exists off as conclusively as a platoon of Green Berets with a Carl Gustav or two. 

[stark3000forever]

I'd like to clarify something

I love Tony Stark, adore him even. I don't like Steve Rogers. At all. But I don't have to HATE Steve to like Tony. To me, Steve Rogers is a man who isn't in the right place. I don't think he should lead the Avengers because, let's face it, the man is literally out of his own time. He doesn't know how the world has changed, he hasn't seen how the politics of being an icon work. Mentally the man is only 26 (I think?) and so he's pretty young himself, especially compared to most of the other Avengers. People put Captain America on a pedestal and made him seem perfect despite him being just a man and so he's held to a higher standard; he's America's Golden Boy. He had just lost his best friend and figured he was going to die saving his country only to wake up and realize all his friends were gone and that the woman he loved was an old woman he wouldn't have for long. Steve Rogers had a lot of shit on his plate and now he has to navigate a brand new century with aliens and technology he never imagined so he's going to make a few mistakes and bad calls. Tony Stark has been in the spotlight all his life, from a naive child, to an ungrateful, spoiled rotten teenager, to a narcissistic weapons dealer who knows he's smart and handsome and uses it to however he can, to what he is now; a man trying to redeem himself. If Afghanistan and Obadiah had never happened do I think Tony would've stopped dealing? Honestly I don't. If he'd never had to face what his weapons had caused I don't believe Tony would've become a better man. But he did see what his weapons did, he saw his weapons being sold to terrorists and he was tortured. When he came back Tony had obvious PTSD, gee I wonder why! You get Cap and Tony's first meeting and it's already going south. Tony heard all about Steve Rogers all his life. Howard told Tony stories about how great he was, about how perfect, Tony was neglected by Howard while Steve was so important to Howard. It doesn't take a genius to figure out why Tony resents Steve and he is petty when he calls Steve those names and acts like he does. Steve on the other hand, can't figure out how Tony is related to someone like Howard because the Howard he knew was so different to the one Tony knew. He thinks Tony is this narcissistic bastard (which to be fair...yeah he kinda is) and he is pretty much repulsed by the guy because there's no way his friend's kid should've ended up like that. Then we get into Tony hacking SHIELD because he's Tony and knows something isn't being explained. Steve is a military man, he follows orders, you don't go hacking the higher ranks because you don't like what you hear. Tony is being smug because he knows Fury needs him and Banner to track the Tesseract while Steve is basically useless. Steve can't believe that Tony is blatantly doing stuff like this but once he hears how Fury is the top spy and his secrets have secrets he gets suspicious. Because they work together (to spite each other so does it count as working together??) they figure out why Fury is so desperate to get the Cube back; that's Steve's first big slap in the face that humans haven't changed and that people are still trying to do whatever it takes to get ahead. Then come Ultron. To be honest I don't think Tony and Steve ever got away from those first impressions because they never really trust each other. When they get Loki's staff, and after Wanda has played with Tony's head, he asks Thor's permission to do tests and research on the staff to which Thor says yes. When Tony and Bruce realize the stone is, essentially, a very advanced AI Tony realizes that these specs could be the key to unlocking Ultron, a world wide defense. Bruce says it sounds like cold world but agrees to help him research. Bruce was there people! As they go to the party they say they are nowhere close to an interface. The gem, which is an alien artifact with intelligence, is what creates Ultron; Tony didn't set up the program, he wasn't even close to it. But Ultron comes to life and kicks the Avengers' collective asses. This is where my first major problem comes from. So Steve and team grill Tony (but not Bruce at all who cowers and hides back while Tony takes all the heat) and get in his face about SECRETS and how they're dangerous. Tony tried to explain how they weren't even close and he doesn't know how this happened but then Thor, a GOD, attacks Tony who is OUT OF HIS SUIT, but no one makes a move to help him. Cap doesn't say a word to intervene he just lets Thor hold Tony by the throat. Okayyy but he's the team leader right?? Aren't leaders supposed to, I don't know, step in at this point? I get it I'm Tony biased, but Tony is a civilian and not trained like most of the other people in the room. SOMEONE should have stepped in, it didn't have to be Steve but as the leader one would expect him to wouldn't they? Then Tony is blamed for Ultron the entire time and, yes the program was his idea, but he didn't create Ultron, the gem did and that's explained even. By the end of the movie Steve takes in Wanda, who he sees as just a kid, and brings her in without a word to anyone else. This girl invaded their minds, including Steve's!, and unleashed the Hulk on civilians and let herself be turned into a weapon but Steve willingly takes her into TONY'S home and she never, that we saw, apologizes for her actions. That's my first big problem. Civil War was a cluster fuck, there's no way around that. With the grief of Peggy and his mind constantly on Bucky yeah, his judgement is gonna be a bit clouded. He's grieving the love of his life and his last tie to his time; I don't blame him. Tony is trying to lay low after Ultron because he blames himself and others blame him as well. When the Accords come up he's trying to stay on the law's side on this one because he's already on thin ice. But look at it this way. The Avengers burst into countries, take out the bad guy and half the city, and then leave. Tony takes care of the damages, not them. In the beginning scene they were in that country trying to stop Hydra agents and Wanda lost control her powers. She didn't mean to buy the resent is the same; people, innocent civilians, were killed. Countries probably feel a bit...annoyed that the superheroes cause so much damage while saving them. Yes they get saved but look at the aftermath of it most of the time. 117 countries say they want to be able to bring in the Avengers, not let the Avengers just waltz in. These aren't just rules to tie them down people are actually voting this way! They want the Avengers to back off. Steve says no because it ties their hands and they can't help everyone despite telling Wanda earlier that 'sometimes people die and you just have to keep going' and I get the sentiment but I still think that was the wrong thing to say, it made him, to me, sound so self-righteous. Steve wants to help and doesn't trust the government because look at how deep Hydra was!! Ross is bad news and everyone knows it. Tony knows this, he understands. But he also knows you can't make change if you don't compromise. He's been in this game all his life and he knows how to play it; Steve doesn't. He just will not listen and thinks Tony is just trying to save his own ass. And maybe he is but 117 countries are telling the Avengers that they have a major problem with them. Then comes Bucky and that's Steve's blind spot. Okay no one knew Bucky was innocent. All we saw was a tape and it showed the Winter Soldier, or at least a look alike. Steve rushed in because they wanted to take him out but Steve wouldn't allow that. Look at all the damage he caused trying to get to Bucky. He's his friend and he wants to help him but look at all the damage he caused! That only brought more trouble in. When they bring him in Tony almost got Steve to sign and Bucky would've gotten help but once he hears about Wanda the deal is off and I'm sorry but being confined to basically a mansion with the man I'm in love with after accidentally killing people? I can think of worse! Steve was idiotic to shut down that offer because of something like that. Tony should've explained yes but Steve should've thought it through, it was a miscommunication. Then Bucky breaks free and hell breaks loose. We have the battle and Spider-Man and no Tony shouldn't have brought in a kid to fight but Steve dropped a fucking tanker said kid so sorry boys but you both lost points with me there! Only later did they find the proof needed to show that Bucky was innocent but Steve never told anyone! He kept it to himself even when it could've helped! Steve what are you doing? Then Tony shows up in Siberia willing to help only to find out that Cap knew his parents had not only been murdered but by the hand of his best friend he'd jeopardized everything to save. Tony should not have gone off like that because it wasn't Bucky, it was the brainwashing!! But this all caught Tony by surprise, he'd never known any of this!! And Steve had kept this whole thing SECRET. This could've been if Steve had told him. A lot of people say 'well why was it Steve's job!?' okay but didn't Steve get in Tony's face about secrets and how they can damage things? If Tony had already known these things Siberia would never have happened. (And let's not go into TWO SUPER SOLDIERS VS A CIVILIAN because that'll get ugly so no) My point is; yes I'm Tony biased but I don't think he's perfect. Tony Stark made a lot of mistakes! Steve Rogers made a lot of mistakes! I just happen to agree more with Tony's decisions than Steve's.

#tony stark #Steve Rogers #bucky barnes #avengers #civil war #age of ultron

[austied-blog]

My thoughts

I still feel like shit, but I'm not at the bottom of the wave anymore. I don't know if I should get out or stay in. Initially going into the Military I wanted to stay in until retirement. My recruiter didn't lie to me. He told me joining the Infantry was a bad idea. I wanted to go fight though. I wanted to rid the world of terrorist. I remember 9/11. The countless acts of terrorism I've seen on TV. I remember being 16 years old and watching videos online of terrorist cutting people heads off. For what reason I don't know. The whole Middle East is a fucked up situation. I get mad at myself because It feels like I haven't made a difference. Little kids parents are getting murdered by these people. Theses kids are then raped, killed, sold into slavery, put into camps where they are brainwashed and eventually become Child soldiers. I remember on my first deployment. I was having to hold security on this person that was being operated on. His body was bloating up real fast from internal bleeding. I'm sure he had a spinal injury because his penis was erect. He was squirming around in such agony. He had already lost his voice, but you could tell he was trying to scream. I could see where the bullet had entered right above his collar bone, and exited out his lower back. To me it seemed like there was no saving him. The crew working on him didn't think that. He eventually died. I really don't know how long it took. I was impressed that he was able to fight for so long. He was 13 years old, and got shot in a firefight. The sad part is that was his childhood. He was fighting for his country, and family at 13 years old. Meanwhile we have 13 year old kids trying to figure out what their fucking gender is. I've come to realize that everyone's struggle is relative to them, and them only. Like the worst thing that child experienced is not going to be the same as what another kids worst experience is in America. I think struggle is good for us. Like my girlfriend is struggling right now, with a lot stuff. I'm going to help her with this path to greatness. Sometimes I feel like maybe I should let her struggle. Maybe that important lessons won't be learned if I totally help with everything. I can't do that. I don't like to see her sad, or doubting herself. I will help her with everything I have. She is strong willed, hardworking, has gorgeous eyes, beautiful lips, and so many dreams I want to see her accomplish. I don't know why my mind is all over the place. That's why I started typing my thoughts out. My girlfriend gave me the idea. She bought me a journal to help me figure out my emotions. I love her so much. I really do. I'm so thankful for her. -My Mind

[ladimelanina]

There's Hurt and Pain Around My Beautiful Dark Skin

God told me to write this. She said, “You’re entering the next stage in your life and you won’t be able to bring this shit with you.  You have important work to do and this baggage will only continue to hold you back from your purpose.”

To those I’m speaking of: I’m not sorry if the way I remember your behavior offends you.  These are my memories and my truth from my perspective.  If I’m fucked up, broken and dysfunctional it’s because of you, but I allowed it.  And being aware of that,  it is now on me to change it - to heal it.  

Be aware of the internal, psychological, spiritual, and emotional damage you may be causing someone.  It’s way more than “kids having harmless fun.”  Don’t teach your kids that stupid shit.  #sorrynotsorry

All I ever hear these days is how beautiful and rich my complexion is.  It was odd to me at first, especially coming from Black people.  White people and foreigners have always found me beautiful but with my people, it was like NOW they wanted to be around me BECAUSE of my dark skin when, before college, it had basically been a “black people repellent”.  I was in the twilight zone so I couldn’t always tell if they were fucking with me, complimenting me so they could get something out of me or if they were actually sincere.  I’ve experienced a little bit of each.  I still struggle with being able to tell the difference today because some people get off on being nasty to others for no reason.  I have plenty of experience with those types.  

Looking back on the first time I became aware that my looks were undesirable to the people in my own community makes me sad for us due to the intense brainwashing into self-hate that we have endured.  I was 5 or 6 when an adult, at least 30 to 40 years my senior, said something negative to me about my complexion, all because my front tire accidentally entered her yard as I was falling off my bike. I forever saw her as an evil bitch after that and did my best to avoid her and her evil daughter who is another story altogether.  But we lived on opposite ends of the same 4-house unit in the projects where I grew up, so it wasn’t an easy task. What kind of mentality does a person have who would call a 5 year old out of their name instead of helping a little girl who fell off her bike?  If my adult self could go back in time, there’s no telling the words I would have with her but also the positive vibes I would instill in that little girl so that she’d be prepared and unbothered by the host of negative encounters to come. 

I always loved my family but I hated those overnight trips to visit my grandma’s sister.  The colorism was real over there and I was always isolated.  The cousins in my age group wouldn’t touch me with a 10-foot pole so I just spent those days sitting alone, watching them play and take time out of play to laugh at me.  Nobody ever stopped it as far as I can remember.  The last time I saw my great aunt before she passed, she said, “You turned out prettier than I would have thought.”  I was stunned and I wasn’t gonna talk back to an old woman so I just thought, “Wow!  You actually thought of me as an ugly child and didn’t think there would be any hope for me to one day be a beautiful woman because I’m dark.”

I learned early on that nobody had my back and everyone, including family, had the potential to hurt me.  (Naturally, I have trust issues.)  I have a great uncle, to this day, that never really asks me how I’m doing or takes much interests in what’s going on in my life but when my lighter-skinned family members come around, he hangs on their every word and action. 

The day I knew I was really alone was when I was at my aunt’s house.  It was just my cousin, who I consider my brother because we were both raised by our Grandma, and my aunt’s god daughter who was kinda my friend but wasn’t as much a friend to me as I had been to her.  I’ve heard so many insults over the years that I’m not even sure what he said - blackie, purple, burnt, crispy, stay out of the sun - just pick one.  But it sparked a fit of rage where I lost control of myself and proceeded to beat him into every room on the top floor, crying and screaming hysterically while he laughed and she looked on giggling here and there.  It was one of the worst hurts because I thought I could at least depend on him to stand up for me but there were times when he would join in on the ridicule and I’d just be forced to wander off and cry alone.  From that day, I would subconsciously embark on a life of not drawing attention to myself.  Being sure to keep myself in the background and in the shadows of whatever was going on around me. 

I didn’t go to school dances and other events.  I didn’t go to my high school prom.  I don’t even think I had a birthday party beyond the age of 10.  In the 10th grade I would wander around the military base (yea, I’m a former army brat) at lunch time with my discman and go into stores and look at magazines and books because I didn’t have any friends to eat lunch with.  I avoided wearing bright colors like yellow, pink and orange because it emphasized my darkness even more.  No matter how girly I really wanted to be, I dressed like a boy until I was about 19. I guess it seemed like a pretty good disguise at the time.  

Along the way, I learned that insults from boys were usually a one and done situation but the girls, even the ones who claimed to be my friends or hang out with me when no one else was available, would constantly pick at me as if trying to break me down little by little everyday.  My “friends” would do it in front of people they were trying to impress.  In middle school, my homeroom teacher asked us to bring in old pictures of ourselves to share with the class.  As my kindergarten picture (above) got passed around, one girl stopped everything by saying, “Who is this?  She’s cute but damn, she black!”  If I could slap the shit out of her today I would.  I was scared to even try to make friends with other black girls.  I got to a point where I just assumed that every time one of them laughed or whispered they were talking about me. That paranoia still haunts me.  I easily made friends with boys but any girl that I was friends with was one who approached me first.  I really don’t even know how to make friends because I’ve always stayed in my box until I was approached.  Any best friends I had in the different states and countries I lived in was usually more like an ONLY friend.   

I’m more introspective and reflective than quick witted so I never really knew how to stand up for myself, which is one of my only regrets.  My comebacks always came hours or days later when I was alone in thought, in the shower or listening to music.  I would beat myself up about not responding then promise myself that next time I would say something and be quick about it.  There’s only one instance I can remember where I actually said something.  The details are fuzzy, but just the feeling of saying something as simple as “shut yo ugly, bitch-ass up” was soooooo worth it!  No one was expecting that because I was known for being quiet and shy and I usually just walked away with my head down.  Everybody laughed at him and it felt good.  I wish I’d done it more often but it is what it is.

One thing that kinda kept me sane, but still dysfunctional in my isolation and loneliness, was the fact that although no one ever told me, I never thought I was ugly.  I always had this theory that I was actually pretty but no one could see it because they were distracted by my skin.  In fact I knew I was cute, I was a dark skinned version of my mom and people are always talking about how pretty she is and how I am her spitting image.  I have beautiful aunts and handsome uncles that all resemble each other so it was impossible that I was ugly.  And my dad, although I never knew him and his family well, my grandma always said he was very handsome. Sometimes before my mom got home from work I would slather on her foundation to change me to her brown complexion for a few minutes and look in the mirror.  I didn’t wish I was light skinned but if I could’ve changed it, I would’ve chosen her brown over my black.

I was told by a family member to be sure to marry a lighter skinned man when I grow up so that my children won’t have to go through the same thing I did.  I need y’all to see me shine now because no child should have to go through any of that.  Wishing they were lighter and having to activate dysfunctional defense mechanisms to get through each day.  Allow children to be their unique selves and be proud of it.  As I said before it was a grown-ass woman who took the first stab at me, a child; and her daughter inherited her mean nasty attitude.  You, the adult, need to change so that your kids don’t model your sickness. Yes, it’s sick and kids only do what they see you doing.  As far as I’m concerned I was ridiculed by the children of a lot of sick adults who are now adults themselves and probably teaching the same level of dysfunctional behavior to the next generation.  STOP IT!  Heed your grandma’s age old advice - If you ain’t got nothin nice to say, keep you damn mouth shut.

It’s been a rough road for me emotionally but if I hadn’t had to build myself up from the very bottom of self-esteem, worth and confidence I might have turned out to be a conceited little asshole that believed that I had to put others down in order to assert my own self-worth.  I’m multi-talented, I’m nice to everyone I meet, I’m interested in the uniqueness of others, and it may be cliche but I care about making the world a better place.  I’m proud of the person I’ve become thus far and I’m still learning and growing.  This is just the beginning.  

Although this really is only the half, a gigantic weight has been lifted from my soul.  I think I can move on now.

Thanks for reading!

#deeplymelanated #lifestyleart #darkskin #therapy #melaninpoppin #selfesteem #ladimelanina #woman #women #queen #goddess #pain #childhood #colorism #black #buyblack #blackwallstreet