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firewalkzwit · 9 months

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runt // jonathan crane x reader. (13)

Chapter 13

cross-posted on AO3

masterlist

To Crane and many others, sex and violence had always been directly correlated. Violence manifests itself in sexual desires, and the lack of sex also often proves itself to be channelled through violence. Similar to when captive chimpanzees are celibate for too long, and they begin to become destructive and aggressive. People also manifest their unresolved emotional conflicts and defence mechanisms they develop from their childhoods in the shape of violent sexuality. The desire to be choked, spanked, beat up, or being the aggressor and finding sexual arousal in it fascinated Crane, as much as he didn't pay studies of sexuality half the time he did to fear, he was immensely passionate on most fields within psychology likewise.

However, it was not until recently that his long forgotten student years, where he first read Freud and Wilhelm Reich, and particularly the latter and his correlation to sexuality and violence, had struck his memory. Him and Freud's apprentice shared a fair amount of discrepancies, yet this didn't mean that when he had his second wet dream with Y/N, the men's names assaulted his mind. Waking up hard again, and with the latent scent of the coffee lingering from his dream, Crane almost felt like his own mind was playing sick games with him. He felt immensely conflicted. He knew even though they were just dreams, the repetition of the same scenery, only this time more vivid and violent, and the remaining sensation that he could hear her being significantly more lucid, had an underlying meaning he tried to refrain from investigating.

What he hated the most, was that trying to avoid the analysis of his dream only continued to prove that his dreams were what hid in the darkest corners of his subconscious desires. The desire to fuck, destroy and contaminate her female purity. The Y/N in his dreams held a knife, and would ask him to get naked, holding the weapon threateningly. He'd see himself in third person, as he usually dreamed in such state. The blurry vision reminded Crane that although he always dreamt in colour, as soon as he woke up he couldn't name any one of them. Once completely naked, she'd eye him down in an expression indiscernible, yet he could perceive her desire to subvert him. Soon, the scenery would switch and the memory of when or how completely disappeared as soon as he woke up -they were in a bed, room being dimly lit, and she was under him playfully resisting as he held her wrists. He could vividly recall the vision of her breasts under his chest, and how the tender meat would quiver along with the rest of her body as she moved.

"Hit me." She'd ask, to which he would initially resist, his visions seemingly panning shots of flames consuming a candle like a film. "Hit me.” she'd whisper.

"No."

"Hit me, hit me!" And finally, he'd comply, slapping as her head darted the opposite direction, finally snapping him awake.

He never got to see her face in the dreams, but he knew it was her. Something about sensory perception in dreams often gets lost in translation, but one can vividly remember paradoxical invisible sights or inaudible sounds one perceives. Dreams fascinated Crane, he often journaled about them as soon as he'd woken up. But those two particular dreams he had with Y/N he refrained from writing them down, something in their sinful nature being scolded and repressed by his conscious self. He sometimes hated to watch himself subject his own psyche to follow the most recurrent, basic archetypes in psychoanalysis. Then again, he was only human, as much as he wished sometimes he could exempt himself from tendencies that seemed so primal. Psychoanalysis breaks down human behaviours and reduces what most presume to be civilised creatures into simple animals, chained to their tendencies and desires. He found solace in the thought that the humanity we live in is only a piece of a process in the evolution of our species, but it ached him to know he couldn't form part of the future generations and their developments.

Her naked body was covered by a silk white dress, and she'd gracefully move in a circle of illumination drawn by the spotlight over her head. Her limbs were lightweight, and she moved with such flexibility that her body often seemed to lose its consistency and shudder like liquid. He was watching from afar, she couldn't see him, smell him or hear him, she just knew. As she danced, she could feel the dress beginning to melt off, becoming milk and dripping down on the floor, exposing her naked body to who, in the dream, seemed to be her captor. As she stood immobile and impotent, unable to help her exposed body or exit the spotlight, his approach rapidly culminated in his lewd touch. All over her body, she'd feel his touch infect the purity of the white milk that had traced down her body. He'd slide his hands up her legs and suck his fingers, drinking off of her and taking the only thing she possessed in that world; her milk.

Unusual dreams were often accompanied by sexual undertones, never arousing her, but always violating her, and the implications of purity in the embodiment of herself in dreams. It particularly caught her attention that this time, Crane was the protagonist of her dream. She recalled in her sleep feeling a sort of hesitant desire, her dream self being prude and even puritanical, yet an underlying desire causing her to reject his touch yet not want him to stop. Until then, the thought of having sex with Crane had been either downright terrifying or nonexistent at all, yet it wasn't until that particular dream that she begun to think of having sex with Crane on a more objective standpoint. Now that they were supposedly going to work together, would he ever want to have sex with her? He never even insinuated it, not even physically coercing the formality between them by touching her in a way suggestive enough to trigger her, in fact he hardly ever touched her at all. She wrote down her dream, and pondered on the potential interpretations to her recurrent dreams on scenes that depicted her desiring her purity to be corrupted in an overly sexual manner. As she reached the end of her memories, she figured she'd ask Dr. Crane about dreams as soon as she saw him.

#jonathan crane #scarecrow #jonathan crane x reader #scarecrow x reader #batman #the batman #batman begins #nolanverse batman #cillian murphy #bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #batman x reader

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pastell0v3 · 2 years

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i have remade my pinned so many times bc it isnt accurate but here we go again . . .

hiya !! you can call me odd, oddie, lee or lily ! my irl name is lily but id like to be called lee when i feel gender neutral, male or just as a nickname !

dni if . . . 18+ ( ask to interact ) , lgbtphobic , racist , boyfriends hater , dreamsmp hater , crazy dream stans , supports doxxing , just a hate blog , countryhumans hater , hater of any of my fandoms

i am an asexual minor . please , be careful with what you say to me , ive already had someone send in an ask saying very nsfw things on my main blog ( that i rarely use ) that then accused me of being a creep afterwards .

my main blog is @thepoweroffluffyboysandmeangirls

i use the mobile website, apologies if anything looks weird

anyways , heres what this blog is about !

i can make x reader stories , layouts , icons , art , dividers , xenogenders , neopronouns , kinnie bingos , and more tba

fandoms i write for are

undertale

deltarune

omori

danganronpa ( blacklisted characters : m.u .ruma , s.y.k. maiz.n. , ruruk. .ndo ) ( i will write older! woh and also ha.j. t.wa )

toilet bound hanako kun

haikyuu !! ( still just starting w it )

my hero academia

five nights at freddys ( au )

stranger things ( i can write will with gn, male or genderfluid reader )

dont toy with me ( not that weird anime or whatever , the game about dolls is what im talking about )

eddsworld

countryhumans ( i only write for france , america , germany , third reich , russia and japan rn and france is genderneutral and japan is female )

genre :

fluff " bubblegum " 🍬

angst ( only a little ) " mint " 🍃

nothing specific " peppermint " 🍭

type :

oneshot " coffee " ☕

headcanon " tea " 🍵

scenario " water " 💧

ill add more when necessary

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flotsam-gazette · 9 months

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The Odessa File

Medium:

https://medium.com/the-book-cafe/the-odessa-file-frederick-forsyth-a-book-review-1522c7302a77

Bookworm X:

https://bookwormex.com/odessa-file-frederick-forsyth-review/

NYT:

https://www.nytimes.com/1972/11/05/archives/the-odessa-file-by-frederick-forsyth-337-pp-new-york-the-viking.html

KIRKUS:

https://www.kirkusreviews.com/book-reviews/a/frederick-forsyth-9/the-odessa-file/

LETTERPRESS:

https://www.letterpressproject.co.uk/inspiring-older-readers/2019-11-29/rereading-frederick-forsyths-the-odessa-file

GUY WALTERS:

https://guywalters.substack.com/p/the-truth-behind-the-odessa-file

THE JC:

https://www.thejc.com/lets-talk/all/bestselling-thriller-opened-eyes-of-world-to-threat-against-israel-WqvMIPisfpfedyzXyFBk2

FOREIGN AFFAIRS: https://www.foreignaffairs.com/reviews/capsule-review/2003-01-01/real-odessa-smuggling-nazis-perons-argentina

the enthusiastic role of dictator Juan Peron in providing cover for major Nazi war criminals as the Third Reich collapsed, allowing them to lead prosperous and protected lives after the war. GUILTY PARTIES = the Vatican, the Argentinean Catholic Church, the Argentinean government, and the Swiss authorities who cooperated through a secret office Himmler's secret service was in Madrid as early as 1944 to prepare an escape route; in 1946, this operation moved to Buenos Aires, establishing its headquarters in the presidential palace. Eventually, this operation's tentacles stretched from Scandinavia to Italy, aiding French and Belgian war criminals and bringing in gold that the Croatian state treasury had stolen from 600,000 Jewish and Serb victims antisemitism, anticommunism, greed, and corruption all fortified these clandestine protection rackets. Today, the stain remains, as does the secrecy. The Real Odessa: Smuggling the Nazis to Peron’s Argentina. By Uki Goni. Granta Books, 2002

RAT LINES (wiki): https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ratlines_(World_War_II)

Forsyth

Philippe Sands

Odessa

-=-=-=-=-

What was Peron's motivation for harboring Nazi war criminals in Argentina?

cvcv-- https://www.thoughtco.com/why-did-argentina-accept-nazi-criminals-2136579

vbn - https://www.chimuadventures.com/blog/2016/11/argentina-nazis/

mnb - https://aish.com/nazi-havens-in-south-america/

wef - https://www.pilotguides.com/articles/nazi-ratlines-escape-south-america/

dsdsd- https://allthatsinteresting.com/ratlines

Evita, the Swiss and the Nazis -- https://www.lootedart.com/news.php?r=OB6C34144541

Uki Goñi -- https://www.h-net.org/reviews/showrev.php?id=9168

Postwar MADRID -- https://www.cambridge.org/core/services/aop-cambridge-core/content/view/6C48E036A479484B4631CD7C17B43F12/S0960777321000114a.pdf/neofascist_network_and_madrid_19451953_from_city_of_refuge_to_transnational_hub_and_centre_of_operations.pdf

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thesourtastelingers-blog · 5 years

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Cuddles Headcanons (Countryhumans) Part 2

I went ahead and picked the previous countries' fathers, If you're confused check out part 1 of this headcanon

This time in part 3 please request a country, Or if you don't I'll just have to randomly pick another country

Note: This is Countryhumans not Hetalia

·Third Reich

-Sharp teeth bean

-He's possessive asf

-I mean whenever you guys cuddle, Third Reich would glare at anyone or anything that's moving

-Even if it's his comrades

-Hecc he would just skip his work just to cuddle or spend time with you

-Just like America he has no shame

-I'm not sure if Third Reich supports PDA

-When a war is happening, Third Reich does give a flying duck, But he just cuddles you while on the battlefield

-Hey! Just at least you saved Poland from Third Reich's clutches

-Is he that cuddly? Isn't it already obvious? Of course, This possessive bean loves you!

-Also, You did notice some of his comrades are missing or some quite beaten up

-Is he jealous? Damn right, That's a yes, Look at the other headcanon above, You'll understand why

-Yeah Third Reich, Unlike his son, Germany, Doesn't care about the word "consent" I mean it's never part of his list

-What I mean is he hugs you out of the blue, Even if it's a very serious matter

·USSR

-Another tall bean like Russia

-He loves you even if he is stoic

-Ehh... Well cuddling really isn't his (cup of tea/bottle of vodka)

-He isn't really affectionate to say the least

-But don't be disappointed, When you cuddle him, He'll follow on

-Basically he needs someone to start first, Then he'll go second

-Is he submissive? That's another topic (But no, He's dominant)

-Just like Germany, USSR rarely has time for you

-Screw that, You're the one who goes to his office and cuddle there (Since you're freaking tired of him being away)

-You cuddle with him just for Poland to escape, And USSR doesn't suspect a thing

-Is he that cuddly? I've answered that, But not really, Like what I stated he needs someone to start first and he'll follow on

-Is he jealous? Yes, Just like Russia, He hides it pretty well, The only time he showed his jealously is the time where Third Reich visited USSR's office, And Third was flirting with you

-USSR punched Third Reich reaaal hard

-But USSR loves you, He doesn't know how to show it though

-You accept it, Even if he is very serious with everything

-Actually the only time USSR cuddled with you first, Is that he was drunk, Just saying

·Britain

-Bean with a monocle

-He actually spends 99% of his time with you

-He always invites you for a tea party, Of course you can't say no

-After the tea party, He would cuddle with you

-He hates PDA, Since it's disgusting for him

-So he hugs you privately

-He's very possessive and overprotective

-One time you accidentally dropped a tea cup, Britain began wrapping your hands with bandages

-"Dear, I'm alright." You reassured him

-"No, No, No, You're not." Britain responded while wrapping more bandages to your hands

-I just realized this is going off topic for a cuddles headcanon

-Is he cuddly? Yes, Especially in bed

-You're still a virgin though

-Is he jealous? Yes, Very much, You just did a welcoming hug to France, And Britain forcefully pulled France away from you

-Mommi France loves you

-Very possessive indeed

-Cuddling sessions after tea party

-(I'm running out of ideas, I'm deeply sorry)

Request some countries for Part 3, Or I'll have to pick some random countries

#countryhumans #headcanons #cuddles headcanons #third reich #ussr #britain #fluff #possessive countries #x reader #reader insert #countryhumans ussr #countryhumans third reich #countryhumans britain

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paulinedorchester · 3 years

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Garrett, Leah. X Troop: The Secret Jewish Commandos of World War II. Boston: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2021; London: Vintage Publishing, 2021.

(The American cover is on the left, the British on the right.)

Every so often, gifs from something called X Company cross my dashboard. When I came across Leah Garrett’s book X Troop, my first thought was that it must treat the same subject, but it seems that that can’t be the case: Garrett maintains that none of this story has ever been told before, because most of the documentation remained classified until very recently. (She claims to have single-handedly declassified many sealed British military records.) X Troop is about No. 10 (Inter-Allied) Commando, 3 Troop, commonly referred to as X Troop, comprising 87 German, Austrian, and (in a few cases) Hungarian refugees, all but five of them Jewish (at least under Nazi racial laws — I’ll get to that). It is indeed an extraordinary story, and occasionally an infuriating one. Garrett has done a tremendous public service in relating this tale, but the book itself has some puzzling — no, let's be honest, irritating — aspects.

The men who would make up X Troop left their native countries in their mid to late ’teens during the late 1930s, most of them without their parents as passengers on the Kindertransport. They occupied themselves in various ways until the middle of 1940 when, apparently without exception, they were interned on the Isle of Man, in Canada, or in Australia, to which more than 2,500 of them were transported on the H.M.T. Dunera, a dangerously over-crowded liner on which they endured conditions so horrific that the officer in charge — Major William Patrick Scott, a gleeful sadist and anti-Semite — ended up being court-martialed.

It is heartening to be able to report that British public opinion appears to have turned strongly against wholesale internment by mid-1941, but it wasn’t until that December that the internees were released from confinement. Those who had been transported overseas were offered immediate permission to return to the U.K. — if they volunteered for the Pioneer Corps, and I’m grateful to Garrett for providing the first detailed explanation that I’ve seen of what that meant. It wasn’t a good situation: they did menial labor and were bored out of their minds.

In the summer of 1942, they were finally offered an opportunity to join in the fight against the Nazis. This appears to be an instance in which the “great man” theory of history is perfectly valid, Lord Mountbatten being the great man in question. Garrett explains:

Mountbatten made a bold suggestion [to Winston Churchill]: they should create a new special unit of commandos, different from anything used before. Rather than coming from the ranks of the army or the navy, No. 10 (Inter-Allied) Commando would be composed of soldiers made up of displaced nationals such as Poles, Norwegians, and Frenchmen. Each of the units . . . would be used for different missions depending on their native languages. They would be unified by the shared desire to drive the Nazis out of their home countries. These commandos, highly trained and highly motivated, would lead the way when the time came for the Allies’ invasion of Europe.

And that’s exactly what happened. There were French, Dutch, Belgian, Norwegian, Polish, and Yugoslavian troops within No. 10 (Inter-Allied) Commando. There was also a troop known as the “British” troop, made up of Germanophones. That was X Troop (a nickname Churchill gave them). “X Troop would be Britain’s secret shock troop in the war against Germany,” Garrett relates:

They would kill and capture Nazis on the battlefield. But that would not be all. They would also immediately interrogate captured Germans, be it in the heat of the battle or right afterward. The men’s fluency in German would enable them to get essential intelligence that would guide the next moment’s choices rather than having to wait to interview prisoners until they were back at headquarters. ... They would have to be in peak form both physically and mentally. And because they were nearly all Jewish refugees from the Third Reich, they also would need to be diligently protected.

The situation was particularly dire because most were stateless — stripped of their citizenship in Germany or Austria, but refused naturalization by the Home Office. As one officer later recalled, “If any of them were captured in battle and their true identity had been revealed, their fate would have been almost impossible to contemplate.” (Those who chose to remain in the U.K. after the war faced an uphill battle in gaining British citizenship, as Garrett relates. She tells us nothing, incidentally, about Jewish personnel in the other No. 10 (Inter-Allied) Commando Troops.)

The first step was to have them adopt pseudonyms. When they arrived in Aberdovey (now Aberdyfi), Wales, for training they were each given 30 minutes to come up with a nom de guerre. They also had to concoct false backgrounds to explain why they spoke English with foreign accents. One man told the couple with whom he was billeted “that his accent was somewhat peculiar because his father had traveled a lot on business,” an unlikely story that they apparently accepted without question.

X Troop personnel were involved in the Dieppe raid — which may have been a mistake, as the troop was just past its infancy and several of the men were killed — and the Sicily landings and their aftermath, but of course all of that was really just a warm-up for the invasion of Normandy and, beyond that, Germany. More than half of the book is devoted to this. Assigned to various units, nearly all of the commandos landed at Sword Beach on June 6th, 1944, and proceeded into Central Europe, achieving victory after victory. Garrett places great emphasis on anger as their motivator: anger at the disruption of their lives and at their uncertainly over the fate of their parents and other relatives.

Leah Garrett is American; she is also Jewish. Like the overwhelming majority of my fellow Jews in this country, she is incapable of acknowledging the possibility of viable Jewish life outside of the U.S. or Israel. Her main piece of evidence for this view, which she hammers home repeatedly, is the fact that all but three of the surviving X-Troopers (22 were killed in action) chose to continue using their noms-de-guerre after the war — and, as she is at pains to point out, all of those who resumed their original names ended up emigrating to the United States! (The book’s excellent index helps the reader keep track of who was whom.) It’s true that names hold an important place in Jewish culture, but coming from someone using Garrett as a surname, her attitude comes across as either oblivious or chutzpadik, I’m not quite sure which. She also seems not to know that, historically at least, Jewish immigrants to Britain have changed their names with an assiduousness that makes the same phenomenon in the U.S. look like a mere blip.

Garrett also informs us, in the written equivalent of hushed tones, that some of the men who settled in the U.K. after the war married gentile women and brought up their children as at least nominal members of various Christian bodies. I share her discomfort with this, to be sure, but in order to maintain her shocked, shocked, stance she has to ignore something that she has in fact explained at some length in the book’s early chapters: a significant percentage of the future X-Troopers had only one or two Jewish grand-parents apiece, were brought up as Lutherans or Roman Catholics, and had absolutely no idea that they had any Jewish forebears until Nazi racial laws forced the issue into view. While I’ve known quite a few converts to Judaism whose initial impetus was the discovery of Jewish ancestry, it’s a bit much to expect that everyone will react that way. On the other hand, it’s dispiriting to learn that the inscription on the monument to X Troop that was raised in Aberdyfi in 1999 does not include the words Jews or Jewish.

Garrett is Professor of Jewish Studies and Director of the Jewish Studies Center at Hunter College, part of the City University of New York (CUNY), a post she has held since 2018; she previously taught at the University of Denver and Monash University. As a former CUNY faculty member myself, I’m in a position to tell you that (a) even as a full professor, she won’t have been hired with tenure, and (b) this book probably won’t help her to achieve it. It’s a great read on an important topic and represents prodigious research, but as a work of scholarship it has several marks against it. It doesn’t come from an academic publisher. It has only a partial scholarly apparatus — end notes, but no bibliography, or even a list of the many abbreviations used in the notes. Those notes aren’t always as useful as one would like, I might add: after relating that some of the men interned in Australia chose to remain there permanently, Garrett announces that they “would forever change the landscape of Australia. They would be known as the Dunera boys and would become leaders in the arts, sciences, culinary arts, and industry during the twentieth century,” but fails to give us any clue as to where we can go to find out more.

She also adopts an informal writing style that alternates between the faintly slangy (“All the evidence I’ve found points to ... ”) and the unnecessarily dramatic: two key chapters are written entirely in the present tense, a strategy that would normally be after my own heart, but which feels contrived in this context. It also seems not to be the case that none of this has ever been written about previously, as Garrett asserts. (Last but not least, Garrett recently resigned from CUNY’s faculty union, which may end up affecting her status there, as tenure recommendations are made by union members.)

Mixed feelings, then; but the book is worth reading, and I can recommend it.

#world war ii #u.k. armed forces #refugees #historical accounts #a long post for sunday #longer than i had intended in fact #with some very long paragraphs #book review #recommended with reservations

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andrewmoocow · 4 years

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Steven Universe: The Fantastic Mutants chapter 3: Enter the Brotherhood (originally posted on July 11, 2020)

AN: Sorry this took so long to come out readers. Coronavirus, online school and all that jazz just had me occupied for a good while. Hopefully you've been keeping yourselves entertained in the midst of this quarantine; I've gotten into Star Wars: The Clone Wars, Scooby-Doo Mystery Incorporated, Cardcaptor Sakura, Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic among others. Anyways, let's get back, at long last, to the Xavier Institute for Higher Learning of Gifted Youngsters (or just Xavier Institute or XIHLGY since that name might be a bit too long for some) and see how the Crystal Gems and their new allies can get out of this one!

A few hours prior to their invasion of Professor Xavier's school, the Brotherhood of Mutants sat around a table examining the exploits of the Crystal Gems to get a good idea of what they'll be getting into. "Don't ya think we're in over our heads?" Juggernaut asked his fellow mutants while watching video footage of Lapis stealing the ocean. "I mean, one of them can literally use 75% of the planet to kill us all!"

"The blue one may have the strongest power, but she is also rather emotionally fragile." Black Tom remarked. "In fact, all of them are pretty unstable once you think about it. Insecure, dependent, obsessed, haughty, cowardly, hotheaded..."

"Quit with the psychology stuff Tommy!" Pyro exclaimed out of boredom. "What I wanna know is how could they brainwash three world-destroying monarchs so easily? Could the same happen to us too?!"

"Well, the boss maybe." Sabretooth answered. "Speaking of which, where is he?"

However when Creed wasn't looking, the master of magnetism was standing behind him with Mystique at his side. "Lemme guess, he's standing right behind me."

"How could you guess? Do you have psychic abilities like Xavier?" Mystique snarked as she sat down next to the clawed mutant. "I've been discussing plans with Erik for the past few minutes, plans on how to infiltrate these Gems. He chose the water-controller as the one I should masquerade as since it would require that I retain my usual skin color."

"He's got a good point, but why are we hunting these down in particular?" Avalanche wondered. "Is it because of how celebrated they became for allying with the Avengers?"

"Not quite everyone." Magneto revealed. "Our current ally Doctor Doom wants the child's gemstone for the purpose of creating his own army of half-Gem warriors. And taking care of them will be so fulfilling for me after Rose had left me all those years ago."

In the present day, the Brotherhood had begun their assault on the Crystal Gems, with their archenemies the X-Men caught in the crossfire and the Fantastic Four as well. The mansion was left damaged in their arrival and the Brotherhood now has the heroes surrounded.

"Now my friends, are we going to make peace by handing the child to me or must we resort to drastic measures?" Magneto purred threateningly, holding out his hand and expecting someone to shake it.

"Like we'll ever let you have Steven!" Garnet stated. "Just a few weeks ago, he was nearly captured in a situation similar to this one, and we refuse to let it happen again."

"So when I want to do what's right, you try to fight back." Erik pointed out. "Yet when those three Diamonds plotted to destroy Earth, you let them off scot-free simply because they were mourning a bratty child that was no better than them? The hypocrisy is quite strong here!"

"Can we just cut the blabbing about our morality and fight already?!" Amethyst complained while wriggling free from Black Tom's vines and pouncing on Toad, tying his tongue around his eyes to blind him. "Why are you always targeting me?!"

With that, the battle properly began. The Crystal Gems charged at the Brotherhood of Mutants with the X-Men and Fantastic Four by their side, tearing up the mansion even more.

During the chaos, Morph snuck around the battlefield in the guise of Garnet and tackled Sabretooth from behind, sitting on top of both his arms. "You little shit, get offa me!" Victor exclaimed in agony while Morph then took the form of Groucho Marx. "I'd have you cry uncle, but you don't really have one as far as I know." He quipped while pretending to hold a big cigar.

Meanwhile Steven & Connie had formed into Stevonnie to gain a better advantage over Magneto, but he used psionic shields against their sword. "Gem fusion! I remember that quite well!" the master of magnetism recalled. "Garnet and Amethyst fused much like you to tear Auschwitz apart."

"Auschwitz?! You mean the Nazi concentration camp?" Stevonnie asked. "You must've been one of the Jews locked up there, right?"

"Indeed, me and my parents as well." Erik answered. "But alas, I wasn't one of the lucky ones."

It was October 7, 1944, towards the end of World War II when Erik's mutant powers awakened. When his mother was heartlessly shot dead by the scientist Klaus Schmidt, Erik promptly went berserk with a loud cry of "NEIN!" followed by manipulating every metallic object in the room, even crushing a pair of army helmets and the heads of the Nazis wearing them.

Klaus was excited at Erik's potential, but his joy turned to fear when a loud crash was heard before a massive purple flail burst through the roof of his office. "Mein gott." The mutant ally of the Third Reich muttered in awe of Sugilite. "Hey small fry!" the brutish fusion grinned while grabbing Schmidt by the collar with two large fingers. "Why don't you try picking on someone your own warped fascist government?!"

"Please let me go!" Klaus begged for mercy. With a toothy smirk, Sugilite gave her word and dropped the man back through the hole made in his roof, landing Klaus on his desk and making him too injured to get up. "Puny Nazi." Sugilite sneered before separating into Garnet and Amethyst.

"Bitte, hilf mir." The boy who would become Magneto croaked while crawling out from underneath the rubble, mildly injured but thankfully not comatose. "Bunte damen, hilf!"

Unfortunately, his voice was too hoarse for anyone around to hear. Not even the Nazis carrying away the bodies of his mother and Klaus were able to pay attention to the young mutant. "Is anyone else in here?" the voice of Rose Quartz called out as she stepped into the ruined office. However, she was able to find a certain young man pinned under pieces of ceiling. "Are you okay young man?"

Still hoarse, Erik was unable to give his name to the Gem. "Hallo, mein namen ist Rosenquartz." Rose introduced herself in some sloppy German. "Kannst du mich verstehen?"

"Rose!" the commanding tone of Captain America distracted her for a bit. "You have to come with me, they're bringing reinforcements from HYDRA!" he urged the Crystal Gem leader. With a small gasp, Rose turned back to Erik with some comforting words. "Don't worry little one." She assured him in English. "I'll be back for you soon."

But unfortunately for Erik, she never did.

"So you're hunting us down partially because Rose forgot about you?" Stevonnie asked. "Honestly, I'm not really surprised."

"I remember what happened that day!" Pearl exclaimed. "Rose couldn't come back for you because she was poofed during the battle and we had to retreat. I am truly sorry we were unable to make do on her promise."

"Sorry just won't cut it!" Magneto boomed, pinning Pearl to a wall with a steel beam using his powers."And no matter how much she tried to make amends when we met again, I still never forgot."

Nearly twenty years later in 1963, the Crystal Gems were touring the city on a sunny day when they found a large group of people gathered before a stage, where a man made a speech. "What are those guys doing?" Amethyst asked her fellow Crystal Gems. "I'm not sure, but I believe we should get a better look." Garnet answered.

As the Crystal Gems blended into the rather blasé crowd, the man continued speaking. "Despite the fact that you lauded such beings as the late Captain America, you also hypocritically look down upon mutants for possessing similar abilities."

"Uh actually sir," a young news reporter with a fake toothbrush mustache spoke up. "There is a clear difference. Captain America was given his powers by science to help win the war. Mutants on the other hand were born with their powers that could go out of control if pushed too far."

"Did anyone ask for your opinion boy?" the man boomed as he glared at the reporter. "Please don't take it out on me sir, I'm just a young reporter!" the newsboy nervously squeaked and then high-tailed it out of there. "But thanks for the story menace!"

"Hmph, children." The speaker rolled his eyes before returning to his speech, or he would've had he not found a familiar face joining his audience. "Wait, I remember you!" he shouted. Using his magnetic abilities, he pushed the spectators away by forming a path straight to Rose using the steel fence that once separated them. "Rose Quartz. How have you been coping with the captain's demise?"

"I'm sorry, do I know you?" Rose asked the mutant. "Of course you'd forget about me." He replied. "I am known as Magneto, the master of magnetism! But I'm sure you'd at least remember me calling myself Erik."

"Oh my goodness, Erik?!" Rose exclaimed. "I am so sorry I didn't come back to you like I promised! There was HYDRA coming for us at Auschwitz, I just didn't have time and-"

"I believe that's enough!" Magneto roared before he proceeded to use the fences against Rose. "You have forgotten me at the camp, and now I shall make sure everyone forgets you!" He tossed the fences at the Gem, but Garnet & Pearl quickly deflected them. "Stay away from her!" Pearl called. "Amethyst, get everyone out of here while we take this one on!"

Amethyst gave a comical salute before she rounded up all the human spectators with her whip and dragged them to safety. "I see how it is." Magneto boomed. "You are just like all of them."

"No, you don't understand Magneto!" Garnet stated. "We've actually met and fought alongside a few mutants before! There was this Canadian one during the war, and we even met En Sabah Nur as well! The Crystal Gems value all life on Earth, whether they be ordinary humans or otherwise!"

"You can try to rope yourself into my good graces all you want Gems!" Erik growled. "Because nothing can ever change the past!"

"That fateful battle was how we first met Xavier. He had an older team of X-Men that saved us from him." Amethyst recalled. "Speaking of which, where could they be now?"

"Wrong time, wrong place!" Sunspot exclaimed while he fired a blast of solar energy at Juggernaut, who was unfazed. "Could this get any worse today?!"

"As a matter of fact, it can." Mystique replied sharply, snapping her fingers to summon a pair of massive blue and purple robots that towered over pretty much everyone. "Pink gem detected, pink gem detected!" the machines noted in unison. "Bring boy to Doom immediately!"

"Sentinels?!" Jean exclaimed. "And it seems this time, they've been modified to hunt him down!" Emma replied as the Sentinels held out their hands to trap Steven in a forcefield. "Guys, a little help?" he called out from inside his prison. "I can't seem to get out!"

"STEVEN!" the Crystal Gems screamed while the Sentinels slowly took off into the sky with the boy in tow. "Don't worry Steven, I'll save you!" Kitty exclaimed. "Storm, give me a boost!"

"You got it!" Storm replied, grabbing the younger mutant by the waist and lifting her up high with her flight abilities. When she was let go, Kitty leaped at the Sentinels and used her phasing powers to pass through the forcefield to rescue Steven. "Don't worry little guy, I got you!"

"Thanks Kitty, but I think we might be too late." Steven thanked sorrowfully, making his new friend look up to discover that the Sentinels were headed for a large airship above them. "Aw crud." Kitty smacked her face in irritation. "Guess I walked into that one."

"Now they got Kitty too!" Scott shouted. "Yeah, I think we got the picture!" Lapis said. "Can't any of you fly up and save them?!" Morph suggested. "You seem to love ignoring obvious solutions!"

Lapis rocketed into the air as she was joined by Angel, Storm, Firestar and Human Torch with intents to rescue Steven & Kitty, but unfortunately they were quickly shot down by the Sentinels, still slowly making their way inside the Brotherhood's vessel and leaving the other heroes behind.

"Let this be a lesson to all of you Crystal Gems." Magneto declared. "You may think just saying sorry will instantly make everything better, but time will never make people forget." He surrounded his Brotherhood in his forcefield and lifted them all up to his ship. When the villains got inside, the ship sped away from the destroyed mansion.

"I can't believe we lost him, just like that." Pearl muttered while on the verge of tears. However, Reed was there to put a comforting rubber hand on her shoulder. "Don't fret, I think I might know where they're heading." Mister Fantastic declared. "They're working with one of our greatest enemies known as Doctor Doom, which means their next destination will be his kingdom of Latveria."

"Latveria? I've read about that place." Connie replied. "Very good that you know about this place Fraulein Connie." Colossus complimented her. "But still, the combined forces of Doom and Magneto might need more than just our three teams here."

"I think our first step would be calling the Avengers." Peridot suggested. "But they agreed to let us solve our own problems unless it was absolutely necessary we needed their help." Garnet responded. "Maybe at least a few of their reserve members would be useful, but not the whole team."

"I do know someone who can help us, but I don't think a few of us are going to like it." Colossus announced, much to Wolverine's irritation. "You don't mean?" Logan growled. "Da, exactly." Piotr replied with a nod and then he turned to Connie. "Connie, the X-Men now have a very special job for you."

"Whatever it is Mr. Colossus, the Crystal Temps will do what we can!" Connie said exuberantly as Peridot, Lapis, Bismuth and Nephrite assembled behind her with goofy grins on their faces.

"I admire your optimism malen'kiy. And please, call me Piotr." Colossus continued. "I cannot believe I am saying this, but we need you to find for us," he ordered her. "Deadpool!"

Wolverine giving a loud aggravated moan followed this up.

Well, this sure took a while, hasn't it?

Bitch, a while doesn't even cut it!

Wait, Deadpool?! How did you get here?

I came here to yell at you for prolonging my long-awaited proper debut for months now! Well I've had it up to here with your lazy-as-shit behavior! Next chapter, you better let me help you out or I'm taking that "ANDY ONLY" folder on your laptop for myself!

You monster, I worked hard to build up that collection! Okay fine, you can help in parts. Deal?

Deal! And what are you still doing here? Get the hell outta here until next chapter, The Deadpool and Peridot Show! Damn, that chapter title really rolls off the tongue.

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terramythos · 4 years

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TerraMythos' 2020 Reading Challenge - Book 20 of 26

Title: Wolf by Wolf (Wolf by Wolf #1) (2015)

Author: Ryan Graudin

Genre/Tags: Alternate History, Historical Fiction, Dystopian, Science Fiction (...ish?), Young Adult, Third Person, Female Protagonist, Duology

Rating: 8/10

Date Began: 7/12/2020

Date Finished: 7/18/2020

In an alternate 1956, the Axis powers of the Third Reich and Imperial Japan won World War II. They host an annual motorcycle competition known as the Axis Tour, in which young people from both powers race across Europe and Asia. Yael, a death camp survivor with the ability to skinshift due to Nazi medical experiments, poses as Adele Wolfe, Germany’s only female competitor. Her goal? To win the race, get a private dance with Hitler, and assassinate him for the world to see.

But years of training and preparation are thrown off balance when Adele’s past relationships come back to haunt Yael in the form of her twin brother Felix Wolfe, and the presence of Luka Lowe, a fellow competitor and former victor, both of whom have complicated, unknown histories with Adele. Now Yael must keep up the charade while still assuring her victory in a difficult and deadly inter-continental race.

Who are you? (On the inside?)

The answer to this question was something Yael had to fight for. Her self-reflection was no reflection at all. It was a shattered mirror. Something she had to piece together, over and over again. Memory by memory. Loss by loss. Wolf by wolf.

Minor spoilers under the cut.

Wolf by Wolf was a surprise; I did not expect to like it nearly as much as I did. While it has a fascinating premise, it's certainly complicated enough to mess up. Alternate history, especially World War II, can be sketchy if not done well. Add in some science fiction elements, and I was skeptical. But while Wolf by Wolf isn't perfect, Graudin does pull it off rather well, and it was thoroughly enjoyable to read. She states in her author’s note that, with the troubling rise of alt-right movements in recent years, books that examine the true horrors and implications of Nazi ideology are important, and something like this could have very well been our world. I find myself agreeing, and I think she treats the subject with both the delicacy and brutal honesty it requires.

The novel’s inherent suspense is excellent. Wolf by Wolf has all the appeal of a spy novel with an extra layer that comes with the skinshifting aspect. All of Yael's interactions with the other leads (Felix and Luka) mean they genuinely think she's Adele, and it's interesting to see how Yael struggles to play the part. There's a lot of tense moments where she says or does something that Adele wouldn't, and she has to use her wits to get through it. I like the "becoming the mask" trope and it's in play here as Yael finds herself becoming attached to the other characters. The inherently fantastical element of skinshifting does protect her, as almost no one would guess it's why Adele is acting odd, so the fact she's able to keep up the ruse despite everything does make sense. That being said, I would have loved to see someone, especially one of the two male leads, figure it out. I spent the novel wondering how a scene like that would play out, and was disappointed it doesn't happen. There are certainly multiple teasing fake-outs. Presumably this will be A Thing in the next book, but it's still something I wish had paid off here rather than consigning it to the sequel. Semi-related, I found the ending twist and callback pretty interesting, and it has some fascinating implications for said sequel. I guess we'll see what Graudin does with all this material.

Probably the strongest aspect of the novel for me, personally, is how the book balances flashbacks. I think Graudin does a fantastic job (with some exceptions) doling out information, and gradually revealing Yael's backstory and pain points. Unsurprisingly, her past is heart-wrenching in a variety of ways. The part where her mother doesn't recognize her and the scene with Vlad and the numbers hit me especially hard. It's satisfying when the full implications of a symbol or line of dialogue aren't revealed until much later in the story. For example, the wolf tattoos are introduced early (literally the second chapter) but the emotional payoff is gradual, and I think that strengthens the impact. The pacing in general is really well done-- slow when it needs to be, and action-packed at other times. This is something I struggle with even in books I adore, so I’m really impressed with how this book handles it.

YA gets a bad (often undeserved) rap, and I adore the genre when it's done right. Unfortunately many YA novels fall into trends and tropes that just get annoying after a while, so I find I have to be selective. For the most part Wolf by Wolf avoids these. Yael is a distinct, interesting character who avoids typical YA protagonist cliches. Her tragic past is all the more poignant for being something real people faced (albeit with creative liberties), and her struggles with identity are extra compelling. That being said, I didn't find the romantic subplot with Luka very interesting. I think there's supposed to be some narrative tension where he seems to be a bad guy but has Hidden Depths etc etc... but it was so painfully obvious that I guessed his entire arc based on the first scene. I think there's some potential considering the Yael/Adele dichotomy, but again, it doesn't really pay off in Wolf by Wolf, which is a disappointment. The few romance scenes just take away from the more interesting base story. From what I can tell we get more of Luka’s backstory and perspective in Blood for Blood, so... fingers crossed that I can appreciate him more in retrospect? In general I found Yael’s interactions with Felix more interesting and genuine.

As for the writing itself, I'm torn. This novel makes heavy use of symbols, and consistently incorporates them into the prose. Usually, this is done to great effect, and there are plenty of excellent poetic and introspective passages. There's also stylistic elements such as heavy repetition and an occasionally-bolded INTERNAL MONOLOGUE. I also noted a lot of dramatic irony and narrative callbacks, which always hit with a punch. When these aspects are done well, it's great. But sometimes Graudin just doesn't seem to trust her readers. There are multiple incidents where the story REALLY wants you to know that X Symbol Means Y Thing and accomplishes this by... just telling you. There's also some clumsy expository dialogue that's jarring to read (very much "as you well know, this thing is true"). These may be in the minority, but are especially noticeable because the rest of the book is subtle about it. No idea why some parts are just like that, and this might be a nitpick, but it really bothers me. Young adults aren't stupid, and it's annoying when YA novels assume they need their hand held. As I said, it only happens a few times, and I am willing to look past it considering the other strengths of the novel.

Wolf by Wolf has its faults, but overall I had a great time reading it. The ending has some fascinating implications, so I'm interested to see what happens in Blood for Blood. From the brief preview at the end, it looks like we get more backstory for Luka and Felix, which I think might smooth over some of my criticisms depending on how it’s handled. I guess we'll see!

#2020 reading challenge #8/10 #taylor reads

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canchewread · 5 years

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Editor’s note: as previously mentioned, I’ve been on a long and involuntary sabbatical from writing until quite recently - you can read more about it here if you so desire. At the moment I’m still struggling a bit with formal essay writing, so please forgive me in advance if the rust shows during my next few articles.

-----

A Short Review of Stamped from the Beginning:

Today’s quotation comes from “Stamped from the Beginning: The Definitive History of Racist Ideas in America” by author and historian Ibram X. Kendi. Released in 2016, this critically acclaimed book explores the shockingly repetitive and enduring history of racist, anti-black ideas in American culture through the representative lens of five influential thinkers who explored the topic of race in their lives and writing - Cotton Mather, Thomas Jefferson, William Lloyd Garrison, W.E.B. Du Bois and Angela Davis.

First and foremost, it should be noted that Stamped from the Beginning is a staggeringly important scholarly investigation into the formation, adoption, repackaging and recycling of racist ideas in American history. The key word here being “ideas” - Kendi’s work is not a catalogue of the violence and discrimination inflicted on African Americans by racists, but rather the societal beliefs, theories and propaganda that creates this violence, and indeed drives racism as a whole in the United States. In particular, the author’s research dramatically exposes the way in which the purveyors of racist ideas have responded to societal pushback by simply re-framing prior racist ideological arguments in a new, modernized context and beginning the marketing cycle anew. There is, to my knowledge, literally no other book in history that has explored specifically the recorded patterns and effects of these ideas on American society, with this much depth, candor and attention to fine detail. On that measure alone, I’m inclined to call Stamped from the Beginning an academic triumph.

Importantly however, Kendi’s argument moves beyond proving that there’s largely nothing new about the racist ideas that shape American society today and explores the larger economic reasons behind the ongoing and purposeful propagation of bigoted, racist and anti-black ideas. Thus, in contrast to the frankly missionary approach of the liberal orthodoxy, Stamped from the Beginning successfully argues that racial economic inequity is not the result of popularly embraced racist ideas, but rather that the racist ideas themselves are created and marketed by the ruling classes to defend and justify already existing economic inequity. As anyone who has ever read my writing will no doubt already be aware, this idea puts Kendi’s theories firmly in my wheelhouse and the sheer volume of evidence the author provides to demonstrate this idea’s veracity is invaluable to anyone who writes about the economics of racism in western “democratic” societies.

Finally I should note that despite the book’s undeniable scholastic heft, Kendi’s writing style remains incredibly accessible even to the novice reader with literally zero background in critical race theory or prior academic understanding of white supremacy - which makes it tremendous starting point for aspiring scholars. Indeed, one of my first thoughts after finishing Stamped from the Beginning is that I wished I could share it with most of the white people I know because the work so effectively exposes the often aged origins and bigoted logic behind the racist ideas that so thoroughly capture American society even to this day.

Blockbusting, NIMBYs and Trump’s 2020 Re-election Campaign:

With that out of the way, let’s turn back to our quoted passage and talk a little bit about the practice of “blockbusting” for a moment. What is blockbusting?

In a technical sense, the practice of blockbusting involved greedy real estate agents preying on the latent racism of white American homeowners to acquire property at a reduced value and then eventually selling that property to African American families with fewer housing options, at a greatly inflated value.

Typically this would take the form of convincing panicked white home owners that their property values would plummet when African American families moved into their now desegregated neighborhoods, thus encouraging them to “sell now” at a point well below the home’s market value - or risk losing everything later when the real estate agent’s prediction came true. Once even one home on the block had been “busted” this would in turn actually cause a drop (albeit, temporarily) in recorded property values and in no time at all, petrified homeowners would be falling all over themselves to take whatever the real estate agent was offering. Once enough white families had been scared into selling their homes, the realtors would begin moving in African American families at exorbitant rates and good old fashioned racism would take care of the rest - forcing the remaining white families to sell quickly or accept the promised higher crime rates and social ills purveyors of racist ideas assured them would come from desegregated living.

Of course, the real beauty of these scam for unscrupulous realtors was that not only could they make money hand over fist by fleecing homeowners on either side of the segregation fight - but they actually managed to profit from the arrangement a third time, by selling suburban housing to the very white people who’d just pawned away their family home at a cut rate in the face of a wholly manufactured “black invasion” - as racist scams go, blockbusting most certainly “used every part of the buffalo” as it were.

At its root however, the practice of blockbusting wasn’t really about predatory real estate speculation - the immense profits registered through blockbusting (and other forms of racial housing discrimination) were simply the “reward” for engaging in the behavior. Ultimately, blockbusting was about threatening comfortable white people with alien and unfamiliar brown people and simply letting latent racism and white supremacist beliefs work their course in the marketplace. The often unspoken truth here is that blockbusting was actually more effective when used against moderate, middle class NIMBY (Not In My Back Yard) liberals than overt white supremacists and avowed racists; after all, the bigoted cracker white nationalists were just as likely to refuse to sell to a realtor who dealt with black families as they were to flee. NIMBY white liberals on the other hand could consistently be relied on to “pragmatically” take the money and run to the white majority suburbs - all the while professing their support of the very same desegregated housing initiatives they were now fleeing under the guise of protecting their property investments.

This is important because while blockbusting has long since been replaced by more subtle forms of segregation in our society, the tradition of manipulating white behavior by threatening them with the mere presence of brown people, continues on unabated. Indeed, after watching Downmarket Mussolini gleefully announce his intentions to release undocumented migrants into primarily liberal “Sanctuary Cities” I found it impossible not to think back to Kendi’s book and the parallels between Trump’s behavior and the practice of blockbusting.

While the President’s objectively nativist declaration of his intent to punish his political enemies (liberals who ostensibly support migration) immediately triggered discussions about the legality of going through with such a threat, I think that conversation is largely missing the forest for the trees.

Yes, Trump’s racist bluster plays well in the cheap seats of his Pork Reich re-election rallies and the living rooms of Fox News Nation - but the truth is, Herr Donald isn’t actually talking to his own supporters when he repeats this threat against (again, primarily liberal) Sanctuary Cities. He’s threatening affluent, white NIMBY liberals with brown people and allowing latent racist ideas and white supremacist beliefs in our society to do the heavy lifting. Furthermore, this is likely to be an effective strategy because ultimately, many of the same affluent white liberals who would put on a vagina hat and protest the Trump administration on weekends, are also low-key economic segregationists on the side. It really doesn’t even matter if Trump goes through with the plan quite frankly, he’s already seeded the idea that a vote against Trump is a vote for flooding your neighborhood with hordes of swarthy migrants; from there, the targets of his threat will be encouraged to make their own, inherently racist associations between foreign brown people and increased crime, drugs, terrorism and so on - as was the case with blockbusting.

Throw in a war (or two), a supposedly booming economy, as well as Trump’s bizarre suggestions that he may interfere with or ignore election results he doesn’t like, and you can see the outlines of a focused, race-based strategy to break off moderate “Anti-Trump” conservatives and affluent white liberals from a possible Democratic Party coalition - much in the same way Nixon broke those same moderates and NIMBYs away from McGovern and the Democrats in the disastrous 1972 election. Sadly, it might even work too; if the Democratic Party nominates an out of touch, racist stiff like Joe Biden and in the process continues to suppress their own turnout, then even a marginal decrease in “mighty white” folks voting Democrat could hand Herr Donald a second term.

And that my friends, would be an unmitigated disaster of historical proportions.

- nina illingworth

#stamped from the beginning #ibram x kendi #review #books #essay #racism #blockbusting #NIMBY #sanctuary cities #migrants #Trump #2020 Election #segregation #Pork Reich #Joe Biden

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sunlightdances · 6 years

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One Way to Shut You Up

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female Reader Rating: PG Summary: A good old fashioned post-hunt celebration gives you the courage you finally need. Spoilers for 12x05. Words: Short, drabble length. Author’s Note: I’ve read so much good fanfiction lately! I want to give a shoutout to @deanssweetheart23 @ravengirl94 and @trexrambling for giving me inspiration to write again simply by taking a read through your masterlists!

You and Sam screech to a halt, staring at Dean, who in turn is staring down at the man on the floor below him, his eyes wide.

Sam’s still got his gun aimed. “Dude. You killed Hitler.”

Dean looks surprised. “Yeah,” he says, turning to the both of you with wide eyes and a slowly blooming grin. “Awesome.”

“Holy shit.” You whisper, and return Dean’s smile, a pang of awareness zipping through you when he meets your eye contact.

A few hours later, you’re at the bar, and several beers later, you’re attempting to stop Dean from telling everyone he sees that he killed Hitler.

“Right on, dude,” another drunk patron replies, high-fiving Dean, and you have to bite your lip to keep from smiling at the cocky look that comes over him.

“You know he was more wasted than you are and had no idea what you were talking about, right?”

He turns to look at you, “I am not drunk,” he says seriously.

“Right.” You say sarcastically, and he grins at you as your tone goes right over his head.

“I killed Hitler today.” He says, preening, and you snort, unable to stop yourself.

“Yeah, hot-shot, I know.”

“It was awesome.” He says, his eyes traveling over your face with that smile still painted on, and you can’t help but lean a little bit forward, the alcohol plying your nerves until you barely feel them at all.

You’re always nervous about being this close to Dean. You’re pretty sure you’re in love with the guy, and you’re terrified to do anything to jeopardize what has quickly become your closest and most treasured friendship in only a few short years.

Tonight though... tonight felt different.

“You wanna get something to eat? Soak up all that alcohol?” You ask, smirking when he rolls his eyes.

“I’m not drunk, I’m just having fun. Letting loose.”

“Uh huh.” You flag down the waitress. “Can we get some deluxe nachos and some fries?”

You can feel Dean’s eyes on you, and after the waitress leaves, you turn back to face him.

“Thanks for coming with us on this one,” he says.

You wave him off. “Don’t mention it. Not every day the rise of the Reich is imminent.”

“You should come with us more often.” He tells you, eyes shining from his drinks, and you try not to read into it when he props his chin in his palm, smiling at you.

“Oh yeah? What’s in it for me?” You grin at him, clearing your empty glasses out of the way as the waitress brings over your food. “Get a plate, you need all the carbs you can get.” You add.

“What’s in it for you?” He sounds mildly offended, but he’s still smiling, digging into the food you ordered. “Well, you get to hunt with me, for starters...” He winks.

You roll your eyes. “You really think you’re hot shit, don’t you?” He is.

He leans in. “I killed Hitler today.”

“God. Shut up,” you say, tossing a fry in his direction.

The next few minutes are quiet as the two of you tuck into your appetizers, but the silence is comfortable. You’ve always liked that about Sam and Dean. You’ve never felt out of place with the two of them, never felt like the third wheel.

Dean seems to sober up during the next hour, but is still feeling loose, so you don’t feel as guilty when you loop your arm through his as the two of you walk back to the motel that he and Sam are staying in, making amicable small talk along the way.

Close to the door, you pull your arm from Dean’s and immediately miss his warmth. “I should hit the road.”

Dean considers you, head tilted to the side. “Stay.”

Your breath hitches. “What?”

“Stay tonight and come to the bunker with us. You’ve never been there, and we could all use a few days off.”

“I don’t have anywhere to--”

“Here. Stay here.”

Is it just your imagination or is he standing closer than he was a few seconds ago? You back up half a step to clear your mind. “I-- uh--”

He rolls his eyes, “Come on...”

“Won’t Sam mind?”

“Did you see Sam leave the bar with that girl?” Dean asks, eyebrow raised. “I don’t think we need to worry about him.”

You feel nervous again.

Dean takes a shower after the both of you get settled, and you decide right then and there to woman up and just make a move already. You can’t stand the tension, the anticipation, and your nerves are making you crazy. You’re just going to confront him, get it over with, and find out one way or another if you’re imagining this entire thing.

The door to the bathroom opens, and all your plans fly out the window. Dean’s in his jeans, shirtless. Steam billows out the open door, and his jeans ride low on his hips. He’s toned, cut, but still not over-muscled like you thought he might be. He’s still the best looking thing you’ve ever seen.

Mouth dry, you find you can’t even meet his eyes. So much for making the first move.

“You alright?” He asks, and you swear he sounds smug.

“Yep, fine. Are you done in there?” You get up and grab your overnight bag that you’d gotten from your car, and try to sneak past him to the bathroom.

He doesn’t move. At all.

He’s like a fuckin’ brick wall - solid muscle and that infuriating grin on his face as he says your name to get your attention. “Don’t think I didn’t see you watching me.” He says, voice low. “You can admit it.”

“I literally hate you.”

He laughs, and that’s when you decide you’ve had enough. You press up on your toes and slant your mouth over his, his laugh dying on a low, drawn-out groan.

When you pull away to suck in a much needed breath, his eyes are dark, pupils blown wide. His hands find your hips and pull you closer. His head ducks down and his hot breath tickles your ear. “... this is because I killed Hitler, right?” He asks, and laughs loudly when you smack him in the arm, hard.

“I can’t believe you! I kiss you, and that’s what you have to--”

This time he’s the one who shuts you up.

#dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #spn reader insert #spn drabble

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david-sankey · 4 years

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Fourcorners Gallery till Feb 8th https://www.fourcornersfilm.co.uk/another-eye

https://www.fourcornersfilm.co.uk/another-eye

Biography from https://www.johnheartfield.com/John-Heartfield-Exhibition/helmut-herzfeld-john-heartfield-life/artist-john-heartfield-biography

Bertolt Brecht: “John Heartfield is one of the most important European artists.” John Heartfield is known:

As the founder of modern photomontage (photo montage), a form of collage. Living in Berlin, he risked his life to used his art “as a weapon” to combat fascist propaganda, Adolf Hitler, and The Third Reich. As the inventor of 3-D book dust jackets, book covers that told a “story” from the front cover of the book to the back. For his groundbreaking use of typography as a graphic design For his innovative theater collaborations with Bertolt Brecht. Work that lead the world-famous playright and composer to develop a new form of theater. German artist John Heartfield is a clear example of artistic genius combined with a heroism going far beyond the required courage of any great artist.

John Heartfield Biography John Heartfield’s Art Saved Lives

Heartfield’s anti-fascist anti-Nazi art became famous on both sides of the Atlantic before and during WW2. Heartfield used fascists’ own words and images against them. His message was clear: “You must oppose this madness, escape, or do both.”

John Heartfield Biography The Photomontages Of The Nazi Period

A John Heartfield biography must begin by highlighting the years when Heartfield’s genius reached its zenith. His famous political art, which he labeled “photomontages” expressed his hatred of fascists, especially Adolf Hitler and The Third Reich. From 1930 to 1938, Heartfield designed 240 pieces of anti-Nazi art for the AIZ [Arbeiter Illustrierte Zeitung], a magazine published by the New German Press, which was run by the political activist Willi Münzenberg. The AIZ had a significant readership in Weimar-era Germany. It may easily have had the second highest circulation in Germany in the early nineteen thirties. After the National Socialists took control, the AIZ was published for German readers in Czechoslovakia, Austria, Switzerland, and Eastern France.

To fully understand a John Heartfield biography, it’s vital to remember his artistic courage was equal to his physical courage. Heartfield was a resident of Berlin until 1933. His vehemently anti-fascist collages appeared on the covers of the AIZ on newsstands throughout the city. This is a vital point. From 1930-1933, Heartfield’s scathing anti-Nazi montages were clearly visible on Berlin Streets. Supporters also pasted posters of his montages on walls and surfaces for any passersby to see.

Although he shined in several other mediums, such as stage sets and book covers, there’s no doubt that Heartfield is best known for the satiric political montages he created during the 1930s to expose the insanity of Adolf Hitler, Herman Göring, and the entire Nazi philosophy. To battle the Third Reich with art, Heartfield created some of his most famous montages.

Adolf der Übermensch and Goering: der Henker are two examples of photo montages Heartfield produced and had widely distributed while he remained under constant threat of assassination by Hitler’s Third Reich.

This 1932 John Heartfield portrait of Adolf Hitler In Adolf The Superman: Swallows Gold and spouts Junk appeared all over Berlin corners placed in newsstands in 1932 on the cover of the popular AIZ magazine. Heartfield used an X-ray to show gold coins in the Führer’s throat leading to a pile in his stomach. Hitler changes his supporter’s gold to lies.

Adolf Der Übermensch: Schluckt Gold und redet Blech (Adolf The Superman: Swallows Gold and spouts Junk)

The famous political artist who created famous WW II anti-Nazi art against Adolf Hitler

In the photomontage Göring: The Executioner of the Third Reich, Hitler’s designated successor is depicted as a bloody butcher. In 1934, Heartfield created this famous AIZ cover that exposed Hermann Goering as The Third Reich’s executioner. Goering had blamed the Reichstag fire that helped Hitler seize power as the work of Jews and communists.

Göring: Der Henker des Dritten Reichs (Goering: The Executioner of the Third Reich)

AIZ Magazine Cover, Prague, Czechoslovakia, 1933 The artist who created famous WW II anti-Nazi art

From 1930-1938, he created an astounding 240 photomontages for covers of the AIZ magazine (circulation around 300,000 to 500,000 at its height). These 240 brilliant works of art were a complete description of the rise of fascism in the 20th century.

Heartfield’s AIZ covers appeared on street corners all over Adolf Hitler’s Berlin. His “Photomontages of the Nazi Period” are a feat of political art that has never been duplicated.

Heartfield lived in Berlin until Easter Sunday, April 1933, when he narrowly escaped assassination by the SS. He fled across the Sudeten Mountains to Czechoslovakia where he rose to number-five on the Gestapo’s most wanted list.

Below is an excerpt From David King’s book, John Heartfield, The Devastating Power Of Laughter. It describes the 1933 Easter Sunday Evening when Hitler’s jackboots came for John Heartfield.

“Berlin, April 14, 1933: They came for him in the night. The paramilitary SS burst into the apartment block and headed straight for the raised ground floor studio where John Heartfield was in the middle of packing up his artwork, knowing that his only chance left of survival was a life in exile; he was on their most wanted list. Hearing them dislocating his heavy wooden door, he dived through his french windows and leapt over the balcony into the darkness. He landed badly and sprained his ankle.

The Nazis made a flashlight sweep search of the darkened courtyard below yet failed to focus on an old metal bin in the far corner on which were displayed some enamel signs, the sort that advertise motor oil, or soap, or an aperitif. Under its battered lid, one of Hitler’s greatest enemies, far from having vanished into the ether, crouched in torment, squashed in a box full of the local residents’ garbage. For the next seven hours he hid there, toughing it out as he heard the nightmare sounds of the barbarians ransacking his studio and destroying his work.

When the raid was over, Heartfield quietly and unobtrusively opened the lid, climbed out of the bin, exited the courtyard and began his nerve-racking flight to Prague. Germany was now enemy territory, there was a high price on his head and he had nothing.”

After his narrow escape from the SS, Heartfield walked around the Sudeten Mountains to Czechoslovakia.

[Below: John Heartfield In Mountain Gear. Credit: John J Heartfield Collection.]

The artist persecuted by The Nazis

Heartfield had been beaten by Hitler’s supporter’s and thrown from a streetcar in Berlin. The artist who openly attacked Adolf Hitler and The Nazi Party while living in Berlin was five-foot-two inches tall, with red hair and blue eyes. His “weapon” was his imagination, scissors, glue pots, dabs of paint, and stacks of photographs and magazine articles. He insisted his montages contained both literal and ethical truth.

From his early work as fledging painter to his embrace of Dada to the anti-fascist montages that made him a Nazi target, Heartfield’s life and work was a profile in courage.

Forced to flee Nazi Germany a step ahead of the SS, Heartfield attacked the Nazi Party from Prague.

You can find more of Heartfield’s collages in ART AS A WEAPON has more of John Heartfield’s anti-fascist collages with historical perspective.

John Heartfield Biography The Frail Artist Who Stood Up To Hitler

Heartfield was born into poverty June 19, 1891 in Berlin-Schmargendorf. He was named “Helmut Franz Josef Herzfeld.” The photo above of a young Helmut Herzfeld with a moustache was taken in 1912. Under the photo at the top of this page is a scan of what Herzfeld wrote on its back [Credit: John J Heartfield Collection].

When he was eight, Heartfield’s parents abandoned him, his younger brother, Wieland, and their two even younger sisters, Charlotte and Hertha, in a cabin in the woods. The children were separated and raised in a series of foster homes. Throughout his life, Heartfield maintained a close relationship with his brother, Wieland. In 1913, Wieland Herzfeld also changed his name, less dramatically to “Wieland Herzfelde.”

It was in 1916, while he was living in Berlin, that Herzfeld became disgusted with the shouts of “God Punish England!” that were so common in the streets of the city. As a protest against the anti-British fervor sweeping Germany, he informally changed his name from Helmut Herzfeld to John Heartfield to become, as David King later described him, “the greatest political artist and graphic designer of the twentieth century.”

It was not until August 27, 1964, that his name was legally changed to John Heartfield.

In 1912, after studying arts and crafts in Munich and Berlin, he found work as a commercial artist. From the beginning, Heartfield was infused with a passionate belief that the purpose of art was not to glorify the artist, but to serve the common good.

In 1916, Heartfield met the eccentric genius, George Grosz. Shortly afterwards, Heartfield destroyed all his paintings [mainly landscapes] except one entitled, The Cottage In The Woods.

Grosz had opened his eyes. Heartfield saw his oil paintings did not reflect his passion for honesty and change. He joined Berlin Club Dada in 1917 and became a central figure in the German Dada art movement. Dada has had a profound effect upon culture, advertising, politics, and society. Early one morning in 1916, Heartfield and George Grosz experimented with pasting pictures together. From this exercise grew Heartfield’s lifetime obsession with “photomontage.”

In 1917, John Heartfield founded the Malik-Verlag publishing house in Berlin. At that time, his beloved brother, Wieland, was serving near the front. The brothers were soon to become partners in Malik-Verlag, with John being responsible for the majority of the graphics.

Heartfield invented the concept of three-dimensional wrap-around book dust jackets. The book dust jackets told a story from the front cover to the back. There’s speculation that Malik-Verlag sold more publications because of Heartfield’s covers than the actual content of the books.

In 1920, Heartfield helped organize the Erste Internationale Dada-Messe [First International Dada Fair] in Berlin. Dadaists were the young lions of the German art scene, rebels who often disrupted public art gatherings and made fun of the participants. They labeled traditional art trivial and bourgeois. Heartfield was a vital member of a circle of German titans that included Hannah Höch, George Grosz, Kurt Schwitters, Richard Huelsenbeck, Raoul Hausmann, and others.

During the 1920s, Heartfield had produced a great number of photo montages for Malik-Verlag Publishing. He created groundbreaking dust jackets for books by Upton Sinclair, Kurt Tucholsky, and many other progressive writers.

In January of 1918, Heartfield joined the newly founded German Communist Party (KPD). The KPD, eventually blamed by the Nazis for the burning of the Reichstag, was the only serious political threat to the rise of Adolf Hitler and The Third Reich. From many of his montages, it is clear that Heartfield blamed the greed of capitalists, especially those that manufactured steel and munitions, for the horrors he had witnessed firsthand during World War I.

It is essential to note that the vast majority of his work demonstrates that Heartfield was a devoted pacifist. CURATOR’S NOTE: My own conversations with my grandfather made it clear to me that he never supported violence in any form. He had faith in people and the truth. He was certain if he brought the two together the result would be a better life for all.

John Heartfield Biography Artistic Genius In The Weimar Republic

The work of Weimar Republic artists, writers, composers, and playwrights had a profound effect upon Heartfield. He, in turn, deeply influenced their work. His theater sets were vital elements in the early works of Bertolt Brecht and Erwin Piscator.

The Alienation Effect [Verfremdungs-effekt] Heartfield played a major role in helping Brecht to realize the concept of the “Alienation Effect” [Verfremdungs-effekt]. The playwright used Heartfield’s simple props and stark stage set. Heartfield’s streetcar broke down one night on the way to the theater. He had to carry his screens for the Brecht’s play through the streets. He arrived after the play had begun. Brecht stopped the play and asked the audience to vote on whether Heartfield should be allowed to put up his sets.

Brecht developed this technique to remind spectators that they were experiencing an enactment of reality and not reality itself. Brecht interrupted his plays at key junctures to let the audience to be part of the action and not lose themselves in it. It’s a form of theatre that continued through decades in shows such as those by The Living Theater and Joe Papp’s Shakespeare productions.

The “Engineer” Heartfield Heartfield preferred reality to artistic pretension. While he referred to himself as a “monteur,” he preferred the title “engineer.” A George Grosz painting The Engineer Heartfield hangs in MOMA, The Museum of Modern Art in New York.

Although he did not wish to be labeled an artist, Heartfield had a full measure of an artist’s passion. His Dada contemporaries tied him to a chair and enraged him just to experience the unbridled intensity of his emotions. John Heartfield Biography. Club Dada Founder

John Heartfield Biography A Fighter For World Peace

One of Heartfield’s most famous montages, The Meaning of Geneva, Where Capital Lives, There Can Be No Peace!, shows a dove of peace impaled on a blood-soaked bayonet in front of the League of Nations, where the cross of the Swiss flag has morphed into a swastika. John Heartfield’s love of all animals and nature is well documented. This image can be considered an especially deep emotional expression.

Der Sinn von Genf The Meaning of Geneva AIZ Cover, Berlin, Germany, 1932 John Heartfield Biography. Most famous political art Never Again! dove on bayonet

You can learn more about this montage and many others, along with historical perspective, in the ART AS A WEAPON section of the exhibition.

Heartfield’s artistic output was enormous and widely display. It was through rotogravure—an engraving process whereby pictures, designs, and words are engraved into the printing plate or printing cylinder—that he was able to reach this audience he coveted.

CURATOR’S NOTE: I’m certain my grandfather would be pleased and fascinated to see his work reproduced throughout the Internet and on this Digital Exhibition.

Forced to flee from Berlin, he continued to use the National Socialists’ own words to expose the truth behind their twisted dreams. In 1934, he montaged four bloody axes tied together to form a swastika to mock The Old Slogan in the “New” Reich: Blood and Iron (AIZ, Prague, March 8, 1934).

In 1938, he had to again run for his life before the imminent Nazi occupation of Czechoslovakia. There were over 600 people on the Gestapo’s Most Wanted List. John Heartfield was number five. He settled in England. He was interned several times in England as an enemy alien. He was released as his health began to deteriorate. His brother, Wieland, was refused an English residency permit in 1939 and, with his family, left for the United States. John wished to accompany his brother, but was refused entry.

John Heartfield Biography East German (GDR) Persecution

In 1941, Heartfield made it clear that he wished to remain in England and did not wish to return to East Germany [see John Heartfield Letter, 1941]. He and his third wife, Gertrud, found themselves with limited options.

Humboldt University in East Berlin offered Heartfield the position of “Professorship of Satirical Graphics” in 1947.

His response was, “Do I have to be a professor?”

Eventually, his brother Wieland convinced Heartfield to join him in East Berlin. He wanted his brother to take the apartment next to him. Wieland convinced Heartfield that he’d been well treated because Wieland had a comfortable position at a university.

In 1950, John Heartfield joined his brother in East Berlin. The artist who had held such strong beliefs in communist philosophy in his youth was greeted with nothing but suspicion because of the length of his stay in England. He was interrogated by the Stasi and nearly tried for treason against the state. For six years, Heartfield was denied admission to the East German Akademie der Künste. He was unable to work as an artist and denied health benefits.

After six years of official neglect by the East German Akademie der Künste [Academy of Arts], Bertolt Brecht and Stefan Heym intervened on Heartfield’s behalf. He was admitted to the GDR AdK in 1956. However, his health never improved. The later years of life were devoted to designing brilliant costumes, stage sets, and stage projection for the East German Theatre.

John Heartfield died on April 26, 1968 in East Berlin, German Democratic Republic.

Almost all of John Heartfield’s surviving original art is held within the Heartfield Archiv, Akademie der Künste, Berlin, Germany. The David King Collection is stored in the Tate Modern London. Hopefully, there will be free public exhibitions soon.

#Photomontage #John Heartfield #Fourcorners

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thesourtastelingers-blog · 5 years

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Third Reich x Reader Part 1

Title of the story: Childhood Friends

Word Count:1746

Third Reich, the most feared leader of the world. That's the title that mostly everyone gave out for him, but is he really that cruel? No one can say, not even the wisest ones, and that's why you're hiding;

Hiding away from him.

Such country with a huge artistic potential, turned into such sadistic leader. It pains you, since he was your great friend when you guys were young. Both of you would paint drawings throughout childhood. But then, he eerily disappeared from anyone. No sight of him at all.

And suddenly he appears to the world. But instead of being a popular artist Third Reich always dreamed of, he instead turned into a leader, a childish and a sadistic one.

Well, why were you hiding away from him?

Such a simple question. He wants you and only you. Dead or alive, he doesn't care, just atleast it's you.

Now you're hiding inside a abandoned house together with Poland, how did Poland enter the picture? You rescued him. Away from both USSR and Third Reich.

You and Poland rely on the rations left in the house, and conveniently there's barely any rations left.

So, now both of you would have to go farther away from civilization, and have a gleaming hope that there's food in the hiding spot.

Poland worriedly glanced up to you "Hey (Y/n), when do you think this event would be over?" He asked such puzzling question

"Soon Poland, soon." You simply replied to his question

"But when is that 'soon'? Is it next year? Or maybe next ten years?"

"Time will tell, Poland."

He meekly nodded at your monotone response.

You finished packing all the stuff both of you need. The items aren't really that much, but it's plentiful for anyone who's planning to run away from home.

"Come along Poland, we'll be leaving away from this place." You motioned the country to follow you, and so he trailed on with you

You guys travelled from house to house, and alas there's no resources. All of the houses doesn't seem to have electricity, no food, and no water.

"(Y/n), I feel tired from all this travelling, could we please just rest in one of the houses?" Poland suggested

"I'm sorry Poland but we have to move forward. The Nazis might go and ambush us." You explained to Poland

Poland pouted but he can't just say no to his savior. He just can't survive without them.

You heard him pout and so you sighed "Here Poland, I'll give you a piggyback ride." You squatted down for him to sit on your back

Poland gladly accepted this and so he sat down on your back.

"Thank you (Y/n)! But just tell me if you're tired, I'm going to dismount your back." He hugged you tighter, for him not to fall off your back

You smiled brightly "Sure thing Poland." You then continued to march forwards

...

While you finally found a house with sufficient supplies, Poland is sleeping soundly on the couch.

The house could make you guys last out for approximately 2 weeks. It isn't enough but you just can't complain.

Then you realized that the house is eerily close to the Nazi's base. But you and Poland need food and water, and so you took the risk to call the abandoned house as your home, also it's because going outside for now is very risky. You did thankfully remember that you told Poland to never go outside.

Five days has passed by, and thank god the Nazis hasn't come and barge in the house.

"Hey (Y/n), do you think the Nazis will find us?" Poland approached you

"I can't assure you that they'll never find us. But it seems like the odds are quite high." You explained

Poland jolted up "Really?"

"But don't worry! They may not find u-" And then you heard Men speaking German

Your heart dropped at what you heard "Quickly Poland, go and be at the backdoor. I'll be packing our stuff." You calmly instructed him

"But I wanna help."

"No, just go. I promise that I'll be safe."

Poland nodded and so he quietly dashed towards the backdoor

You went in the kitchen to pack up the food, then the bathroom to pack the hygiene kit, and the bedroom to pack the clothing and the other necessities.

Then you heard a knock at the front door.

You quickly brought all the stuff and placed it on the floor near the backdoor and you told Poland to go hide in the woods together with the supplies.

He hesitated at first, but gave in since you reassured him that you'll be fine.

Before Poland would go run off, he gave you out the last goodbye and thank you before running off towards the woods.

The knocks became louder and impatient

"Coming!" You called out while rushing towards the door

You opened the door and it revealed Third Reich... And his comrades...

"Third Reich..." You muttered, and of course he'll hear it

Third Reich grinned and it showed his sharp teeth "Guten tag (Y/n)!" He held out his hand while anticipating a hand shake

You did not respond to his handshake but you're forced to do such action since his comrades held out a gun that is pointing at you.

Third Reich's grip on your hand is harsh and quite bone crushing to say the least.

He released you from the handshake and you're thankful for it, since it quite hurts.

You turned your back "Why did I actually not follow Poland? I'm such an idiot..." You mentally noted

"Oh (Y/n)~ What must be the problem Liebling?" Third Reich tapped your shoulder

"Nothing..."

"No need to lie! After all I love you oh so much, before and after I disappeared!"

"I was depressed when you left us, Third Reich..." You sadly mutter

"But everything is now fixed! Now that I'm here. Don't you love me?" Third Reich asked

You harshly sigh "You're such a sick twisted country! Why should I love you? I wish you were your past self!" You shouted while tears are quick to follow

He rose an eyebrow from what you said "Liebling~ I am my past self."

"Liar!"

Third Reich sighed "You're making this more complicated (Y/n), I am my past self. You're just so naïve back then and now." He sternly stated

Third Reich slowly approached you.

"Where's your new paintings then?" You hit the nail in the coffin

Third Reich did an iron grip to your wrist "Oh so you saw behind my smoke and mirrors?" He darkly chuckled "I see you aren't naïve at the present." He harshly dragged you out of the house

"Hey! Let go of me." You struggled

Third Reich showed a pill and then his comrades restrained you from moving.

He then force shoved the pill in your mouth "Nighty, night (Y/n)."

And then everything went black.

You woke up on a unfamiliar bed and to your side you see Third Reich sleeping soundly.

It gave you happy memories when you invited him for a sleepover at your place when you guys were young.

But this time everything isn't really all joyous and peaceful, It's all pain and suffering.

You got off the bed until you felt a hand cling onto your wrist.

Welp, you're forced to be back on the bed since you don't wanna wake up the sadistic leader.

You mentally groan since it's still nighttime and you have to survive it with Third Reich. You hope for the best that he's not gonna rape you.

And then he decided to hug you. By the waist might I add.

Also, also, you realized that you're not wearing your normal clothing, you're wearing pajamas.

Then realization hits you like a bus, Holy fuck. Third Reich actually saw your body, what a pervert.

Third Reich then did a dick move and he pulled you closer to him.

You glare at him straight at the eyes.

Your childhood friend being such a dick for so many years of hope for him to be back, you just can't bear that such thing will happen again to anyone. The feeling of distrust and betrayal hurts like spikes stabbing through you.

Then again, you actually had hope for Third Reich to be good before he was a veteran of doing bad deeds, but alas you lost your trust for the country since your hope remains futile.

You did actually remembered that Third Reich confessed his feelings towards you and his evil motives. You shrugged it off as if he were joking. But it was all true.

~A look through the past~

"(Y/n)! (Y/n)! (Y/n)! Look at the drawing I made for you!" A young Third Reich called out for your younger self

The drawing depicts a scribbled young (Y/n) and a scribbled young Third Reich. Hearts are drawn between young (Y/n) and young Third Reich. The most eerie part is that hanged men and blood was the background.

But it seems like young (Y/n) is not fazed nor concerned about the drawing.

"I love you! That's why I drew this!" Young Third Reich didn't explain why he drew the hanged men and blood

"Thanks, for the drawing, Third Reich." Young (Y/n) responded

"Make sure to hang this on your bedroom wall!"

"I will. Thanks again."

Young (Y/n) did happen to hang the picture on the wall of their bedroom and soon their parents were quick to notice and so they threw the picture away even without (Y/n) noticing.

Young (Y/n)'s parents argued towards Young Third Reich's caretakers about Third Reich's mental issue or problem.

They all concluded that Third Reich is a born psychopath.

And then Young Third Reich went missing, without a trace at all...

Young (Y/n) felt gloomy on what happened to their friend, and they hope that he'll be fine and alive.

~Back to the present~

You woke up and finally you looked to your side to see Third Reich is gone, presumably doing some work.

You sigh since your dream is just all about the past.

And everything worsens since you're held captive by the Nazis.

You're the main love interest of the most sadistic leader of the world.

And to put the cherry on top, he may never let you go away from his sight.

So for now you'll wait and see what Third Reich will do to you.

#countryhumans #countryhumans third reich #third reich #x reader #reader insert

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itunesbooks · 5 years

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Secret Aircraft Projects in the Third Reich - David Crocker

Secret Aircraft Projects in the Third Reich Germany’s Aeronautical Programs 1940 -1945 Aircraft Projects by Luftwaffe’s Leading “Skunkworks” David Crocker Genre: History Price: $1.99 Publish Date: April 4, 2013 Publisher: Blurb Inc. Seller: Blurb, Inc. This book is a compilation of aircraft projects that were ongoing in Germany between the years 1940 and 1945. The projects were selected for their advanced technological content and their unorthodox approach to aircraft design. To the reader many of these programs may have a familiar look and that is not too surprising; since they were to be the inspiration and source of engineering data, for most aeronautical research work, that was to take place in the world throughout the later part of the century. Aeronautical development that took place in the West and also in the Eastern bloc had their beginnings in Germany during WW2. This trend was to continue for at least three decades following the end of hostilities in Europe. Familiar war-birds such as the Sabre Jet and the Mig 15 are direct descendants of projects which started at Messerschmitt and Focke Wulf. Who can deny the resemblance of those fighters that emerged in 1950’s to the Ta 153 and the ME P 1101 of the 1940’s. The so called groundbreaking supersonic Bell X series of aircraft flown by legendary test pilot Chuck Yeager in the 1950’s had their beginnings in the high-speed research programs of the Nazi regime (8-346 supersonic research aircraft). The material in these volumes includes more engineering data than our earlier book. A wise professor once said that unless you could quantify a fact it was of little value. Following this thought, data is assigned to each project as far as possible for the aircraft appearing in these volumes. The project material in this book has been arranged by manufacturers or design bureaus, making it more convenient for the reader to follow the development work that was proceeding in the company’s advance design offices (“Skunk-Works”). Although it is true that many of these projects never survived to see the light of day, as full grown aircraft weapon systems. They never the less did have an influence on the future of aviation development. http://dlvr.it/R1PGvg

#History

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sadistically-switching · 7 years

Text

Traditional Weddings and Little Toy Rings

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 4,683

Author: Ruby 2.0 [daddyslittleraven]

Quote: "I'm actually kind of drunk. Me likey."

A/N: This fic is for Lau's AU Funny Quote Challenge. The challenge was to incorporate a quote that we chose into a AU fic and submit it. If you like this, there will be more in the future. :) Also fair warning, I am absolute shit at writing smut, but here it is.

AU: There's actually a bunch of au's that I'm mashing together, so I'll just throw all of the main ones into one big sentence: "Our apartments are across from each other so we always see each other in the morning, and I always see you with your partner and then I saw you really sad because they stood you up at dinner and I haven't seen them for weeks and I just wanna see your smile again so please let me come over."

Warnings: Huge drabble? Swearing, drinking, smut more than likely, cheating boyfriend (not Dean-o), angsty-undertones.

@dancingalone21

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The air was cold on the balcony, the crisp September air biting at my exposed skin as I stepped out to water my flowers. I inspected an amaryllis as I watered it, trimming off a dead stem while humming to myself. The view I had from my balcony was beautiful. To the east and west was beautiful skyline, to the north was more buildings, and to the south was even more buildings. The southern buildings were different: the occupants stirred greater interest in me. I reached for my phone to send a text to my boyfriend, Joe, making sure plans were still on tonight to celebrate our anniversary. I can't wait to see you tonight, I texted.

I smiled at my phone as I headed indoors to get ready. Joey had seemed to distance himself from me lately, but hopefully this would bring us closer together. I selected a nice cocktail dress, one he had complemented in the past. I went through my usual makeup routine, spritzing a light amount of perfume on my neck. As I headed to the kitchen, I looked through my window and saw my neighbor, Dean. This was abnormal, as I typically saw him late at night through my windows.

He was an attractive man: candy apple green eyes, tousled brown hair that was just light enough it would trick you into thinking he was a dirty blonde with freckles speckling all over his tanned skin. He was muscular, and tall. He waved to me, smiling. That smile. I was a taken woman, but that smile. That was the type of smile that would make buildings bend to its will, the type of smile that would make even the most stubborn of people weak at the knees. I pushed my kitchen windows open, leaning out until he did the same.

"Date tonight?" He yelled across the way. Having an apartment on the top floor in one of the windiest cities had its disadvantages.

"Yeah," I smiled. "Are you going out tonight?"

"Just hitting the bar."

"Sounds like fun."

"You'll have to join me sometime that you aren't on a date." He chuckled and my grin broadened.

"Speaking of, I better start heading out. I'll talk to you later!" He nodded a farewell and we closed our windows. I slid on my flats and grabbed my purse, heading down the stairs. I hailed a cab and headed to the restaurant, waiting for Joey to show up.

The city rushed by in a whirl. Sometimes I couldn't believe I made it here: I was just a florist- an entrepreneur in the larger world of business. I opened my shop on the strip, firstly living in a small apartment above it. Business started booming. Eventually I had earned enough to upgrade to something a bit more suitable for my tastes.

I was lucky. I could have moved into a building where across the alley way was a married couple into exhibition, or a man who was a white supremacist and into the third Reich. Instead, I got Dean. A man who, the first time he saw me, was confused. He had no idea as to why there was a girl sitting on her balcony, drinking straight from a bottle of champagne and crying.

"Uh... Are you okay?" He had asked, confusion and concern flooding his features. I had been stunned in that moment, seeing this extremely attractive man talking to me, asking why I was wallowing myself in my sorrows.

"I'm fine. I'll be fine." I had wiped at my eyes, scrubbing the mascara from my cheeks. "Just found my boyfriend cheating on me. Some chick named 'Veronica'."

"Oof, rough." I nodded in agreement.

"I jacked this from their room service tray. They don't need it. Wanna share? I don't backwash, I swear." Dean had chuckled, and I smiled in spite of myself. He agreed, and walked over. We drank and shared stories of woe, stories of love, and stories of glee. We stayed up until we saw the sunrise, learning who the other was.

Dean had introduced me to Joe. Probably the only bad thing Dean has ever done for me.

After three trays of free breadsticks, two glasses of water, a bunch of pitying glances from passersby and still no word from Joey, I put my head in my hands and started to accept the fact I had been stood up. I rubbed at my face, asking the waiter for my check. As I handed over my card, I grabbed my phone and dialed the number that was all too familiar. The number I wouldn't need anymore.

"Hey, uhm. I know you knew about the date, because I talked to you about it earlier today. I'm not sure if something came up for you or not, but usually you would text me," I sighed into the phone. "Joe, this is the fifth time you've done this to me... I can't handle it anymore. I would do this in person, I hate to do it over voicemail, but you aren't here. I think it's best to say it's over for us. I'm sorry."

When I got home, I headed straight for my balcony. I rested my arms on the ledge, breathing deeply. I wished for the cold air to wash away the sorrows I had prepared myself for months in advance.

Like he knew I needed a shoulder, Dean's sliding door opened and he came outside, sitting down in his lawn chair.

"I thought you were hitting the bar."

"Decided against it. What happened to your date?"

"I dumped him. He stood me up again." I sighed.

"I'm sorry." I shook my head at him. We sat in silence together for awhile. He sat back, watching me as the wind swirled around us, breathing in the refreshing air. Winter was almost here, there was a bite in the air that signaled frost. With winter came the end of old things. Soon spring would be here, to bring in the new.

"Are you busy tomorrow?" Dean suddenly asks. I shook my head quietly as he smiles. "I'll be right back." He heads back inside and I stay in place. I turn around as I hear the door click open, seeing Dean there with two wine glasses and a bottle of Pinot Noir. I laugh, confused.

"What's this?"

"Here's the plan. Tomorrow, you're going to come with me and we're going to go pretend to be engaged. I know how much you love wedding cake, so we're going to go and try different types. They'll give us champagne," his nose crinkles in mock distaste, "and we'll have some good ass cake. As for tonight, even though I'm not a wine guy, we're going to drink classily and watch some Skin Wars. So go get out of that dress. We're gunna party like we're rich."

"Dean," I laughed, but it was void of all humor, "you don't have to do this. I'll be fine, trust me."

"Look, Y/N, I see you almost every day through the windows. I saw you every day that Joe was here, how happy you were. Then all of a sudden he stopped coming, and you stopped smiling. I'll do anything to see you smile again. It kills me seeing you like this. So please. Let me do this."

"Dean..." I felt something slip down my cheek with his hand following it.

"Please," he whispered. I nodded, telling him I'd be right back. I headed to my room, putting on some jeans and a tee-shirt. I quickly scrubbed off my makeup as I heard Dean digging around in the kitchen for some food. When I came back into the sitting room, he had set up a small food tray on the coffee table, and was pouring the Pinot into the glasses.

"I thought you weren't a wine guy?" I asked as I took the glass he offered me, sitting down.

"I'm not, but I know how much you love wine, so I keep a bottle on hand." He smiles at me.

"Why?"

"Because. Now, let's judge some people."

"No!" I yelled at the TV as Dean laughed.

"I told you he would get kicked off!"

"But his was easily the best! How could they. I had faith in you, Ru." I folded my arms as I pouted and Dean continued to laugh at me.

"You always pick the people who get kicked off, it's cute."

"Shut up, you just like it because you win."

"I just like being right," he chuckled as we clinked glasses, drinking what was left. "I gotta admit, that was some pretty decent wine." I smiled, looking up at him. The way his eyes shined in the soft light, and how his cheeks grew slightly red from the wine was simply beautiful.

"What?" Dean's voice interrupted my thoughts.

"Nothing, just zoning out. What time are we going out tomorrow?"

"Uhm..." Dean looked at his watch, "How does six sound?"

"Sounds good. So, since we're officially 'engaged,'" I said the word with air quotes around it, smiling, "won't we need to know a little bit of backstory? When are we getting married? How 'bout the ring?" Dean laughed at me as I wiggled my ring finger, showing it was bare. He pulled one of his off and put it on his ring finger, and handed me a small ring that was in a plastic ball. I looked at it, confused.

"It was out of one of those toy machines," he shrugged. I nodded and cracked the container open, sliding the emerald gem onto my finger. "How about a September wedding?"

"Ooh, I like. Outdoors?" Dean nodded. As we went over our fake wedding plans, we found ourselves speaking more so of things we actually wanted.

"The last girl I was with, she wanted an outdoors, March wedding." I sucked in some air.

"March? That's when it's all slushee out." I could feel Dean nod. I had shifted in my spot, leaning on Dean with his arm around me, staring at the ceiling. "You were going to get married?"

"No," he shook his head. "I didn't want to. She did, but we hadn't been together for even a month. She left me a week later, said I wasn't committed enough." We stayed quiet, enjoying each others silence. "Were you and Joe going to get married?" He asked quietly, as if he was afraid of the answer.

"I thought so," Dean stayed silent and still. "But then he started skipping dates, getting more and more distant. I found him out with another girl, but he promised she was a friend. They were catching up. I got tired of it. You know the rest." I felt him nod again.

"If you would have gotten married, what type of wedding would you have wanted?" I thought about it for awhile, long enough he thought I fell asleep. "Y/N?"

"I'm awake. I don't know, nowadays it's almost cliché to have a non traditional wedding. I want something traditional. White gowns, black tuxedos. Three bridesmaids and groomsmen. Not seeing each other until the moment of. Walking down the aisle of a church, or maybe outside. Probably a church, with a reception outside. Something in June, maybe August. Just something small."

"That's what I want, too."

We sat in each other's silence for a while, just enjoying the company of the other. Slowly, my eyes shut and I drifted into sleep.

I felt the coolness of my satin sheets, sighing as I stretched. Realizing where I was, I sat up and looked around. My alarm clock read 12:13 PM and I groaned. Rubbing at my eyes, I looked to my dresser. There was a glass of water and some Advil on it, as well as a piece of paper stuck to the mirror. I walked across the room and shook out a couple of pills, downing the water as I read the note.

"Y/N, we fell asleep on the couch. I woke up around seven and put you in bed before going home. I'll stop by around 5:30.. Don't forget we're supposed to be engaged." I placed the note back on my dresser, grabbing what I needed to shower. After making my bed, I went about my morning routine.

"Come in!" I yelled from my spot on the couch. I was curled up on the couch with a bowl of cereal, watching the morning news when Dean walked in.

"Someone woke up late," Dean smiled as he sat next to me.

"Shut up, I've been up since noon. Just now having breakfast," I said around a mouthful of cornflakes. "You ready to be engaged for the day?" He nodded.

"Yep! There's a cab waiting for us downstairs."

"Sounds good." I put my bowl in the sink and threw on my shoes, slipping into the jacket Dean held for me. He held the door open for me, and we began our day as an engaged couple.

"You ready?"

"For delicious cake? Hell yeah." When we got in the cab, we rode in silence for most of the way.

"Dean, how did you get an appointment for us? Aren't these usually planned out in advance?"

"That's my secret," he said as he winked at me. "You are just supposed to enjoy the cake and champagne and have fun with me." I smiled at him as we pulled up to the bakery. It was a small place, nestled between a book store and a pharmacy. Through the window I could see a petite girl working the register in a green apron as she handed change to a man. Dean got out first and held the door open for me, offering a hand to me as I stepped out. I smiled at him, and we walked into the bakery. Immediately I was hit with a warm breeze that smelled like freshly baked bread.

"Dean!" The lady spoke, smiling at him. "Sammy, Dean's here!"

"Wait, your brother?" Dean grinned at me as Sam stepped out. I had met him once before, but his size always surprised me.

"Hey, you two! Right back here," Sam lead us into the back of the bakery where a table was set up in a cream colored room that was loaded with various pieces of different cakes, as well as various bottles of champagne. He told us what each cake was, and poured us each a glass of the expensive champagne before leaving us alone.

"Well?" Dean asked after we tasted a few of the cakes.

"This is amazing!" I exclaimed around a mouthful of cake. Dean smiled, finishing off his second glass of champagne.

"I'm actually kind of drunk. Me likey." I laughed at him, taking a drink of my own champagne.

"Me too."

"Should we go get more drunk?" Dean turned to me, suggestively wiggling his eyebrows. I nodded, giggling. He stood up and offered me his hand, bending at the waist in a mock bow. "M'lady, after you." I laughed again, taking his hand and putting on a horrible accent.

"Thank you, my good man." He mimed tipping his hat to me as he lead me from the bakery, saying 'bye' to Sam.

"Alright, where should we go?"

"Uhm... There's that bar that's by our house," I suggested. "Or even a club."

"Let's go to a club," Dean grinned as he flagged down a taxi and opening the door for me. We slid in and he told the driver the name of the club and handed him the cash. We drove for awhile, still laughing. We pulled up to the club and I could feel the bass pumping in my chest, even though it was around eight and we were part of the early crowd, it was still loud. We walked in and found a booth the perfect distance from the stage and bar where we could people watch. I slid into the seat, Dean sliding in across from me as a waitress comes to us to take our order of mozzarella sticks and beer.

We watched the crowd start to grow as we chatted over our beers. I was watching the crowd when I saw a familiar face.

"Oh, no..." I half whispered.

"What?" Concern flooded Dean's face before he followed my gaze and it turned to one of anger. "I'll go talk to him."

"No, no," I stopped Dean as he started to stand. "Look, Joe and I broke up. The fact that he's here with- who is he here with?" My train of thought was completely derailed as I tried to look over the people to see the girl my ex-boyfriend was with.

"You've only been broken up for a day."

"I know, but I wanna see who he's with..." I muttered in frustration. Dean appeared to have caught a glimpse of the girl, whose hair was all I could see of her.

"You're not going to like this."

"What? Who is it?"

"Veronica." The name itself sent my head into a whirl. Veronica. The name sounded like poison on my tongue. She was the girl who I caught with my first boyfriend here in the city. I had seen texts between the two of them before, hoping and praying it was someone else. But, it had been the same girl.

"Fuck."

"What do you want to do?" I sighed, running my hands through my hair.

"You're right, we've been broken up for a day. I don't care who he's with." Dean smiled at me.

"I'm glad, 'cause you're with me tonight. Let's go dance- get your mind off of it." He offered his hand to me and I grinned up to him. I drank the rest of my drink and took his hand as he lead me to the dance floor. He pulled me close to him and we danced for song after song after song. He spun me around during a slower song and I laughed as I ended up flush to him.

"Joe's watching." I stiffened slightly as Dean said these words in my ear. "Relax, don't let it show you know." By this time, the alcohol had hit me enough that all inhibition had been thrown out the window carelessly, and I knew Dean was the same.

"Well, let's give 'em a show," I grinned up at Dean, who smirked back at me. He pulled me even closer, which I couldn't believe was possible and dipped me low, beginning a dance that I knew. I threw my head back at laughed, recognizing the tune from an episode of "How I Met Your Mother". We continued the routine, in a fit of giggles. The last move was a lift, and when Dean slowly lowered me down at the end, we were both breathing hard. I smiled, as did he, before returning to our booth.

"Hey, do you maybe wanna go back to my place?" Dean said after awhile of catching our breath. "It's getting late."

"Sure," I smiled, taking Dean's outstretched hand, and followed him past Joe. Dean winked at him and I stifled a laugh at the look that crossed Joe's face before we rushed back out. We laughed the entire way back to Dean's apartment, which wasn't far. When we arrived, I flung myself onto his couch.

"Do you want some sweats?"

"You read my mind," I smiled at him.

"I'll grab you a pair," he laughed as he left to grab them. I slid off my shoes, rubbing my feet. He brought the pair to me as well as a sweater, before going back to his room to change. I slid into the clothes quickly, discarding my dress over the back of the couch. By the time Dean had returned, I already had the TV on Netflix and was finding something to watch.

"Wanna play a game?" Dean asked suddenly.

"Sure," I smiled. "What's the game?" He took the controller from me and pulled up a raunchy movie, full of sex scenes. I raised a brow at him before he settled behind me, pulling me to him to rest on his chest.

"First one to touch themselves," he whispered into my ear, "will lose. Winner has their way with the loser." I shivered and nodded.

"You're on." I managed to squeak out the words as Dean rested his head on my shoulder, watching the movie.

Around the third or fourth sex scene in the movie I started to shift in my seat, closing my legs a little tighter as I felt Dean chuckle behind me. I knew this was all from the alcohol, but I didn't care. I didn't think Dean did either. I jumped as I felt Dean's lips press against my neck. Kissing up to my ear and nipping my earlobe before going all the way back down to my collarbone made me shiver. I let out a quiet moan that did not go unnoticed.

"Enjoying the movie?" Dean murmured in my ear, continuing his torture.

"Mm..." I moaned, trying to focus my attention back on the movie. He won't get away with this, I thought. I stood up, pulling myself from Dean's arms before resituating myself over him as I straddle him. He stared up at me, biting his lip as he placed his hands on my waist. I card a hand through his hair and speak in a low voice, "Did you think you'd get off scot-free?" I gently pull at his hair as he groans.

"You want this?" He asks me in a sultry and restrained voice.

"Yes," I whisper into his neck as I nip at him. He brings a hand up to my face, cupping my cheek as he pulls me to look at him. Slowly, he leans toward me, the hand on my waist bringing me ever closer. The movie and challenge long forgotten, he presses his lips to mine slowly, kissing me tenderly. It quickly grows to more as his fingers cling to my hips tighter and mine pull on his hair. He moans, wrapping my legs around his waist as he stands. He carries me to his room, laying me out on his bed. He positions himself over me, kissing me as he grinds his hips into mine.

I moan into a kiss as he trails down my jaw and to my neck, nipping and sucking. I knew he was leaving marks as his trail, and that I'd have a hell of a time covering them but I didn't care. My back arched into him as he slowly peeled off the sweater I was wearing, kissing at the new skin Dean was exposing before resuming his trail down to my sweats. I shivered as he kissed around the waistline of the sweats, slowly peeling them off. I let out a whine when he stared up at me as he kissed me through my panties. He came back up to kiss me, tangling a hand in my hair as he did so.

"Fuck," I moaned as he rubbed me through my panties. He chuckled at me as I kissed his neck and tugged at his shirt. He sat back and pulled it off, allowing me to take it all in. I had seen him shirtless before, but never like this. I ran my hand over his stomach and chest as he kissed me again. I was fueled by this, flipping us as I ground my hips onto Dean's. He groaned, kissing wherever he could reach. I moaned loudly, my head tipping back and he gripped my breasts.

"Lose the pants," I groaned, sliding off of him as I searched in his bedside drawer for the familiar foil package. He complied, quickly pulling them off as I tore open the package. I crawled back onto the bed as he pumped himself, biting his lip. Oh, fuck me. The way his body shone with the thin layer of sweat, it was like something out of a teen girls fantasy. His chest heaved as he panted, lips slightly parted. His hair was disheveled, as I was sure mine was. Our eyes met, and we both laughed. He leaned forward and kissed me while I slid the condom on, taking over his job of pumping him. I laid back on the pillows, watching him as he lined himself up.

Dean looked up at me, smiling. I smiled back, and he took my hand in his as he slowly pushed himself in, both of us groaning in pleasure. As I adjusted to him, he laughed again, pressing his forehead to mine as he kissed me. I smiled up at him as he started thrusting, setting a nice pace. Dean was gentler than I expected, going slowly. We stayed at this pace for awhile, only picking up speed when Dean was about to cum. I was a moaning mess, groaning and cumming shortly after Dean before falling asleep in his arms.

I awoke the next morning on Dean's chest, hearing his heartbeat and feeling mine in sync with his. I didn't move, just basked in the early morning sunlight and the warmth of his body. I could feel the sheets wrapped around us and could hear the morning traffic outside the apartment. I smiled to myself, knowing what I did the night before and not regretting it. I felt my eyes shutting again, willing myself to go back to sleep when I felt Dean stir.

"Y/N? You awake?" His husky morning voice asked me, rubbing his eyes. I nodded.

"Mhm... What time is it?" I yawned as I asked. There was silence as Dean looked at the clock.

"Eleven," he groaned. I did the same, before getting up and off Dean. As I stood, I caught a glance at myself in the mirror- I had hickies all over, my hair was a tangled mess, and there was a handprint on my hip. I watched Dean eye me, before smiling at him. He came and stood behind me, wrapping his arms around me and kissing my collarbone.

"I'm sorry," He whispered as he nuzzled me.

"What?"

"I'm sorry," Dean repeated his statement, meeting my eyes in the mirror.

"Why on Earth are you sorry? I've had one of the best nights of my life, Dean."

"And you owe it all to me?" He grinned cheekily as I swatted at his hand.

"Yes. You have no reason to be sorry, I loved it." There was a long silence as we stood in each others arms. We were bare- open to each other like we had been to others, but also different. Others had seen our bodies and glimpses of our souls, but Dean and I had opened ourselves up fully to each other. We saw one another at our best and our worst. Nothing in the world could change what happened. Dean took another glance at both of us.

"Y/N...?"

"Yes, Dean?"

"One day, I'd like to have a wedding. Something traditional, with white gowns and black tuxedos. Three bridesmaids and groomsmen. All of those traditions, like not seeing each other until the moment of. Walking down the aisle of a church with a reception waiting outside. Something small in June, maybe August." I smiled, recognizing the words I had said to him not three days prior.

"That's what I want, too."

"Would you maybe give that to me sometime?" He asked quietly.

"What do you mean?"

"I want you to be the one. You are the one. I want to have a traditional black and white wedding with you. What do you say?"

"Yes. I say yes." We kissed, and from that moment the little emerald ring from the plastic ball in a toy machine became more. We never dated, but we didn't need to. We would have a traditional wedding, with white gowns and black tuxedos. Three bridesmaids and groomsmen, with all of the silly traditions at a church with an outdoor reception in June or August. And I was happy with that. I needed nothing more. All I needed was Dean.

#dean winchester #au #supernatural #dancingalone21 #laus quote challenge #lau's au funny quote challenge #reader insert #dean winchester smut

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joannalannister · 7 years

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aurembiaix submitted:

Hi! I promise I’m not a Jaime’s redemption apologist but still wonder: what’s his degree of implication or intellectual authorship in the Lannister regime? He obviously profits from it, he killed Aerys, pushed Bran, attacked Ned’s men, fought Robb… but the two main Lannister war-crimes, raiding the Riverlands and the Red Wedding, were rather Tywin’s responsibility. To me, Jaime seemed an action man, ready to carry any of Tywin’s (or ocasionally Cersei’s) ideas without a second thought, but not exactly a plotter. He seemed content with his life as Robert’s guard, could he have urged Cersei to kill him? What do you think?

I believe Jaime is content to be the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard for life, but I don’t think he was involved in Cersei’s plan to get Robert killed. (Maybe I’ve forgotten something in the text, though?) That being said, I think Jaime would have happily killed Robert without a second thought if he felt he had cause. Even Robert believed Jaime would have killed him, given cause, which is why he never hit Cersei on the face.

Ned touched her cheek gently. “Has he done this before?”

“Once or twice.” She shied away from his hand. “Never on the face before. Jaime would have killed him, even if it meant his own life.“

What’s Jaime’s degree of implication or intellectual authorship in the Lannister regime?

What degree of implication do you assign to Erwin Rommel in the Nazi regime?

… um … this post is gonna get wild. Assume this post contains mentions of everything you might expect as soon as I bring up Nazis (possibly extremely triggering), as well as some things you aren’t expecting. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

For anyone who doesn’t know, Rommel was one of Hitler’s favorite generals, as well as a close personal friend. He “worshiped” Hitler.

(Rommel once said, “I have loved the Führer, and I still do.” According to historian Maurice Remy, Hitler and Rommel had “a dream marriage” and they talked enthusiastically on the phone for at least an hour everyday for a while discussing the latest technological advancements, so if anyone was looking for an idea for some WWII RPF slash, maybe in the manner of The Producers, well, there you go.

Rommel: “Marry me, Hitler. Stand up before the Reich and say it’s me you want.” Hitler: "I would, if I dared. But the Fatherland—” Rommel: “You’re Germany’s Führer, and yet you won’t be mine.” Hitler: “I want you at my side, I want you in my bed, I want you inside me. Nothing has changed between us. Let me prove it to you.” Don’t forget the pineapples.)

ANYWAYS, Rommel was an extremely popular general who “did everything in his power to make his country strong again” (Thomas Vogel). Rommel had a reputation for being “a chivalrous, humane, and professional officer” who romanticized and “desired to simulate the knights of the past, who also led from the front” [x]. He profited quite a lot from being so close to Hitler, though allegedly Rommel had no political ambitions and instead preferred the life of a soldier. (Is this reminding you of anyone we know? Because I’m getting there.) Many people argue that Rommel didn’t have “strong racial views”. He supposedly didn’t employ excessive uses of force. Rommel didn’t commit any war crimes that I know of.* Many people praise him as “one of the great captains of history.”

But no matter how ~clever~ and ~chivalrous~ and ~respected~ Rommel was, he was still a fuckin’ Nazi** who wanted to conquer North Africa and the Middle East for Hitler. If Hitler had gained control over the Middle East, especially Palestine but other countries too, a lot more Jewish people and other people Hitler considered “undesirable” would have been murdered.

(Gimme a time machine and a gun and a guarantee I won’t distroy the space-time continuum, and I’ll go punch Rommel and Hitler in the face before I shoot both of them.)

Rommel was still a fuckin’ Nazi, and Jaime is still a fuckin’ Lannister.

If you’re actively supporting a morally bankrupt regime, I don’t think it matters that you, personally, are not committing the war crimes.

If you’re working on behalf of horrible people, even if you yourself are not doing The Evil Thing, you’re enabling those regime leaders to do The Evil Thing.

Maybe Rommel didn’t personally believe in murdering Jewish people (debatable), but he still fought for Hitler. Rommel held off the Allies for a long time, which allowed Hitler to murder more people. So does it matter that Rommel didn’t author the Final Solution? Does it matter that Rommel wasn’t a rapist? Does any of that matter when the people you’re working for are committing evil acts, and you’re happy to work for them?

Like, this is really important to me, it’s something I’m addressing in my Lannister fascism essay, that you don’t have to be the idea man or the top brass to be responsible for the Evil that is happening. In WWII, SS officers shot people, and then they would go home to their wives, who would have dinner cooked and who would smile and comfort them and sympathize with what a ~difficult~ day the SS officer had ~~”cleansing”~~ the world of “undesirables” and maybe they would set out a clean uniform for hubby because the one he’s wearing got blood splattered on it. It’s sick.

Evil has a support system, and Evil has invisible labor (often done by women) that no one even thinks about. (Which is why, after WWII, a lot of people painted the women of Nazi Germany as innocent victims, instead of people who were actively contributing to Hitler’s Germany. There was only one Hitler, but there were millions of people who supported Hitler and worked very hard to keep him in power and carry out his ideas.)

So sure, Jaime wasn’t the first man into the Riverlands, but he was happy to pick up the fight. Maybe Jaime doesn’t believe in Cersei’s dwarf genocide, but he’s happy to keep Tommen on the Throne and Cersei in power, which allows Cersei to commit her dwarf genocide. And sure, Tywin orchestrated the Red Wedding so he gets the blame for it, but … look at what Jaime’s doing in AFFC/ADWD … he’s still acting as Tywin’s enforcer to make sure that the outcome of the Red Wedding is put into place, that the Freys get Riverrun and the Riverlands come under Lannister rule and any opposition is eliminated.

Sure, Jaime makes sure Riverrun falls bloodlessly. And some readers praise Jaime for this!! You know what else fell bloodlessly?? Austria, in 1938.

The Lannister Regime commits Evil acts.

It doesn’t particularly matter to me if The Evil Thing wasn’t Jaime’s idea, because Jaime actively chooses to do things that keep an Evil regime in power.

(And like … if we’re setting the bar at “Don’t commit war crimes,” that bar is so low, it’s not even on the floor, it’s under the floor.)

Although idk if I would argue that Jaime commits no war crimes. As you mention, Jaime murdered Ned’s men. Like, they’d effectively negotiated a peace between the two groups of combatants, and then Jaime ordered everyone but the enemy commander slaughtered. so idk, maybe not a war crime. Even if it’s not a war crime, it’s definitely a deplorable act committed on behalf of the Lannister regime to ~punish~ the Starks for arresting Tyrion. It reminds me of Joffrey punishing Sansa for Robb’s victories. Like father, like son.

And Jaime definitely played a major part in the Riverlands invasion:

“Your brother has been covering himself with glory,” his father said. “He smashed the Lords Vance and Piper at the Golden Tooth, and met the massed power of the Tullys under the walls of Riverrun. The lords of the Trident have been put to rout. Ser Edmure Tully was taken captive, with many of his knights and bannermen. Lord Blackwood led a few survivors back to Riverrun, where Jaime has them under siege. The rest fled to their own strongholds.”

Jaime didn’t have to participate in this unlawful invasion, but he chose to lead very significant battles.

So, to answer your question, I consider Jaime’s degree of culpability to be very high. No, he did not orchestrate the Red Wedding, but he remains, even in ADWD, Tywin’s top field commander, working to keep the Lannisters in power on a Throne which they have no right to hold. Even if Jaime is "just following orders,” that doesn’t excuse him from the horrors House Lannister has committed.

I wanna make sure everybody hears this from me: the things the Lannisters do are Evil. Tywin unquestionably commits war crimes like murdering babies. Cersei literally gives people to Dr. Mengele. Jaime subjugates whole kingdoms and puts them under Lannister rule. I scream at everyone that I love these characters, and I do, because these fictional constructs George has made are fascinating, but I want my thoughts on this on the record - the Lannisters commit evil acts. They’re bad people. I love them but they’re bad people.

That doesn’t mean that I’ve written the Lannisters off. Tyrion is actively against the Lannister regime now. Maybe Jaime will turn against the Lannister regime in what I call “Operation Valkyrie”.*** idk.

But right now, Jaime is very much a fuckin’ Lannister who will do everything in his power to keep Tommen on the Throne and to keep the Lannister regime strong.

*While I’ve always been very interested in WWII, I’m not a military historian and I hope someone will correct me if any of my WWII facts above are incorrect.

**Some people like to split hairs over this but I’m not gonna do that; if they fought for Hitler, they were a fuckin’ Nazi.

***Rommel was one of the people suspected in the 20 July Plot attempting to assassinate Hitler, and Hitler forced Rommel to commit suicide afterwards. But no, I don’t believe in the “Rommel myth” that Rommel was a great guy who was just a victim of the Third Reich. He was a fuckin’ Nazi!!!!! Like, what else needs to said, when someone’s a Nazi! They’re a Nazi!

EDIT: I want to make it clear that I’m not making a 1:1 parallel between Lannisters and Nazis -- I’m trying to discuss degrees of culpability, which was central to the question being asked. Culpability isn’t something that’s easily quantifiable, so instead I chose to examine this issue relatively.

#my blog is wild #i'll take incorrect jaime/cersei quotes for 1000 Alex #asoiaf #lannister thoughts #aurembiaix #replies #jaime lannister #submission #rommel #erwin rommel

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