#Western Frontlines | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

iberiancadre · 1 day

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first the holocaust was turned into the project of a sole madman who had an entire country under a spell, which suddenly vanished at the stroke of a pen when peace was signed, rather than being a continuation of centuries of scapegoating and antisemitism, enabled by western capital, direct funding to the Nazi party in some cases like the British aristocracy's, with the purpose of creating a massive slave workforce and to boost the German economy via looting, expropiation and a reduction in the worker population, an economy that had been reeling since WWI and propped up by directing all jobless people to work in the arms industry.

then, the (incomplete) victory over european fascism (don't look at Spain and Portugal and Greece) was methodically distanced from the true victors, the soviet people. They suffered an invasion and destruction of the majority of their industrial base, save for the industry relocated to the east, more than 20 million dead soviet workers who pushed the fascists from Moscow to Berlin, ending in an artillery barrage the magnitudes of which had never been seen, the symbolic raising of the red banner over the Reichstag and an enveloping of the city that forced many nazi officials to commit suicide. It was also forgotten how the Yugoslavs liberated themselves, managing to keep fascist forces constantly tied up during the war, how the Italian partisans captured Mussolini and hung him in public, the many uprisings throughout Europe and the concentration camps before the frontline reached them, the exiled brigadiers and republicans who first fought fascism in Spain and was later forced to fight fascism again, unable to return to their homes and under threat of being imprisoned. The indigenous resistance against colonialism in east and north Africa and southwest Asia, and the tens of millions Chinese, Vietnamese, Lao, Cambodian, Malaysians, Indonesians, Papuans, Thais, Bengalese, Indians, Filipinos, etc, who suffered both Japanese and western occupation. All of these struggles forgotten and erased, reduced to the USamerican, British, and sometimes French armies. Armies who advanced to witness a fraction of the suffering enabled and financed by their own states barely a decade prior. Even minor members of the western allies, such as Brazil, are often forgotten.

After the Holocaust was reduced to an unexpected and unprecedented event with no connection to reality, and after the struggle against fascism was reduced to the involvement of two or three countries, barely any fascists were punished. Anyone who wasn't a top official could claim to be simply following orders, even someone as important like Speer used this defence, he was allowed to live free and publish an autobiography in which he paints himself as the good Nazi, the mere architect caught up in a madman's rise. As if he ignored the plans for a future Berlin would be built by slave labor from the concentration camps, as if the minister of armaments from 1942 to the end did not know about the reliance companies like Krupp or Volkswagen had on slave labor. As if he didn't listen to Goebbels' speeches about total war and extermination and did not understand his armaments would be used. Some fascists were even integrated into the scientific and military spheres of the western allies, others given citizenship and a cushy home in places like Canada. Japanese fascists who had experimented on and tortured countless Chinese and Korean civilians and POWs to research chemical warfare were offered amnesty in exchange for the knowledge they gained doing these experiments. After German reunification, more eastern queer people were imprisoned than fascists were incarcerated or executed at the Nürnberg trials.

After fascists were exonerated and shamelessly integrated into the western states, and after some time passed, the war was turned into a cultural product. Countless war movies were produced, almost always showing usamerican soldiers in the European or Pacific front fighting a mindless horde with hakenkrauzs on their armbands all lead by a single man, or group of men, ontologically evil. It was too complex to examine the actual reasons for the war. Hitler was simply a charismatic devil who had duped Germany into following him (crucially, he was only charismatic for germans. No true American patriot fell for his tricks). Gradually, the figure of Hitler was transformed into a devil in human form who had appeared in München in 1932 to cause evil and fight freedom.

As a result, German fascism and the Holocaust are nothing more but a historical fact you look at with morbid curiosity, to feel disgust, maybe anger, and sigh in relief that it would never happen again. There is no reflection on how it was allowed to happen, how antisemitism was used, like it had commonly been used throughout history, to blame for economic downturn and how the expropriation of jewish property, the enslavement of other minorities alongside them (Slavs, non-jewish poles, homosexuals, roma, communists...) and the rapid stimulation of a military industry was used to save an recessing economy. No examination of how the Nazi party appealed to the German petit-bourgeoisie and monopolies like the aforementioned Krupp, Volkswagen, or IG Farben, by attacking communists and trade unionists, who were beginning to organize at a bigger scale and actually threaten german capitalists. Instead, some even try to paint the nazis as communists or as similar to them, through terms like totalitarianism, which was popularized by Hannah Arendt, a fascist sympathiser who also saw fit to label decolonial struggles as totalitarian.

Even more insidious than this is how Hitler has been mutated into a shorthand for evil, an entity beyond a single man who personifies the collective hatred of minorities by Europeans, a condensation of centuries of hatred and exploitation into an angry man between 1932 and 1945. By doing this we can rest easy knowing there will never be another Hitler because we are so civil now. It was Hitler's speeches that guided every SS member's hand to execute tens of thousands. It was Goebbels' propaganda that clouded the judgment of the millions of Wehrmacht soldiers who looted and massacred their way through Europe. It was Himmler's threat that coerced countless germans to spy and tattle on their neighbors. It was Göring who convinced the Luftwaffe pilots to bomb and terrorize civilians. It was Dönitz who made the Kriegsmarine target civilian ships and ruthlessly pursue trade convoys. And it was ultimately Hitler who controlled these men, and no German had free will or political conviction between 1932 and 1945.

The peak of this attitude I see most in the internet: Do you want to learn about Hitler's Bunker? Hitler's enormous artillery pieces? Hitler's train? Hitler's plans? Hitler's wife? Hitler's army? Hitler's rise through the party? Hitler's veganism? Hitler's dog? Hitler's car? Hitler's Germania? Hitler's camps? Hitler's possible escape? Hitler's military career? Hitler's architecture? Hitler's political maneuvering in the interwar? Hitler, Hitler, Hitler. Nobody wants to deal with the fact that Hitler was not omnipotent or omnipresent. He and his party was supported by German and western capital to oppose worker organization and to give an outlet to social tension around the inflating currency and failing economy. Just like in Italy and just like in Spain. Hitler is a cultural product sold to liberals so they can be reassured that they would never become evil. No liberal democracy has ever put an entire minority into concentration camps, no liberal democracy has ever used Zyklon B on dispossessed people, no liberal democracy has ever looted a conquered nation, no liberal democracy has ever killed workers for unionizing, no liberal democracy has ever used nationalism and supremacism to rally popular support, and a long etcetera.

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wndaswife · 3 months

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trying your hardest | wanda maximoff & gn!reader

After moving to America to join the Avengers, Wanda wants to finally make a friend to ease her loneliness. She hopes to become friends with you, and frankly, Wanda idolizes you, but her social skills are... subpar at best.

Word count: 5020

Tags: fluff, humour, some angst, emo wanda being a baby, a little thing, a small very tiny little thing, wanda has a very big crush on you :3 (she doesn't know it yet tho cuz she baby)

A/N: for plot purposes, imagine the avengers didn’t have a catfight after aou

gif credit to (i tried really hard and i CANNOT find who made this gif im sorry)

Wanda Maximoff never really had an education as a child. What education was available in Sokovia was expensive, and despite her father’s late working hours, the twins’ parents could only ever afford their apartment’s rent. The twins were homeschooled as well as their parents could teach them, but after the bombing, they were on their own.

Government-funded schooling helped them for only so long. The schools they were sent to were decaying, and always under dwindling government watch from ongoing airstrikes. The ground shook with explosive tremors as they commuted to school on foot. Wanda and Pietro stayed at an orphanage with hundreds of other children whose parents had passed due to the war — and the Avengers.

Even the government’s debt caught up with what was left of Sokovia. Billions of foreign debt not paid, volume of imports that had increased exponentially since Sokovia worked on rebuilding their country weren’t making enough revenue to pay exporters back. Hundreds of children were booted from government care and onto the streets. The twins attempted to learn on their own, to become informed educated people if they were to ever make a difference in the world, but in Sokovia, even resilience could only get one so far.

Then, Doctor Strucker came along, promising them the extermination of the Avengers, the Western terrorists who had made the already politically-unstable and war-torn country their battleground.

In hopes to cure the world from their terrorist reign, both Wanda and Pietro agreed to Strucker’s experiments, but the education they were given intended for them to become weapons. They knew little of real geography and world history — only HYDRA’s propaganda meant to poison their minds with blind hatred and little else.

When it seemed like you couldn’t be any more different from Wanda as it was, you were also the team’s brain. Stark and Banner specialised in physics and mechanics, but you were the team’s hub for everything else. From computer science to philosophy, you knew everything. No one exceeded you in developing team strategy, setting the stages for mission locations, profiling adversaries, and a dozen of other things Wanda couldn’t have even fathomed when she first met the Avengers in person.

It took Wanda only several moments to realise you weren’t a frontline fighter from your muffled voice in the Avengers’ earpieces to their callouts of your name as frequent, and perhaps even moreso, than their teammates that fought alongside them on the field despite your physical absence.

Y/N — that was your name.

When she had fought the Avengers in Novi Grad, creeping behind the Western superpowers like a heavy looming shadow, Wanda had looked for you. Strategically, it was a rational move. You were the centre of their battle, the heart of their teamwork.

And yet, you were nowhere to be found.

It was only until she had crept up behind Clint Barton when your voice grew clearer than ever before. From the tiny earpiece, you were controlling the field. Perhaps you were just outside, or maybe you were in another country. No matter the distance, Wanda supposed your hold on the battle would be no less effective.

It was the distraction of thinking about you, perhaps — Y/N, the invisible hand — or Barton’s sole intuition, Wanda did not know, nor did she have very much time to think it over, that had made it possible for him to counter her magic.

Then there was pain — immeasurable pain that Wanda hadn’t felt since Strucker’s experiments. It shot through her forehead like a dozen bullets had permeated through her skull. Pietro grounded her, and soon after, the twins targeted Banner.

Despite the rumours about him, the insatiable angry force he was told to be, his mind was the easiest to corrupt. Mental instability and insecurity racked his mind, and he quickly shifted into the green beast the Maximoffs had heard so much about.

Carrying his younger sister, Pietro took the two of them back to Ultron’s base.

They had won that day.

You were all Wanda could think about even while she and Pietro were off missions. You weren’t the Avengers’ frontline defence like Steve Rogers, nor were you the brute strength of the team like Bruce Banner. You held your team in your hands rather than tugging them along by their leashes although you likely could if you wanted to.

Y/N.

Who were you?

On the television after the fight on Novi Grad, Iron Man and Hulk’s brawl in Johannesburg was on the news. The city was in shambles. Pietro said something about the deaths of innocents and the success of his sister’s magic in having the Avengers turn against themselves. But Wanda could only think of what you had thought when Stark and Banner came back to their compound, beaten and sore from none other than their own fists. Wanda assumed the Avengers’ compound — wherever that was — was where you were too.

Wanda wondered how you were dealing with the fight at Johannesburg. What were you saying about her and Pietro?

Later that day, Ultron approached the twins in their bedroom and turned on the television. Despite having been offered separate bedrooms, they insisted on sharing one. Sitting atop their respective beds on the opposite sides of the room, there was someone speaking on the television about Johannesburg across from the interviewer. Their expression was stern but their eyes were solemn. Eyebrows were furrowed together, masking concern and worry; if Wanda knew anything, it was how to read someone.

“Y/N,” the interviewer began, and Wanda’s eyes widened, her head lifting from being held up by her hands, elbows on her pillow as it laid flat atop her crossed legs. “As the Avengers’ strategist, as many put it, how are you planning on handling the devastation that came upon Johannesburg, and the inevitable contact that the Avengers will continue to have with innocent uninvolved civilians?”

The question was packed, and the news station quite clearly had their own sentiments about the Avengers; they were setting you up.

So that was how you looked. Wanda swallowed and felt her chest flutter.

With your upper lip stiff and your posture unbelievably straight, you answered without equivocation. “A common misinformed perspective of any conflict follows the belief that there is any one party entirely responsible for the consequences of violent confrontation, such as the one we witnessed in Johannesburg,” you were saying. With the way her wide eyes were pinned on the television screen, Wanda didn’t notice the way her brother eyed her obviously peaked interest.

“I don’t believe the Avengers are the world’s most honourable superheroes,” you continued. Ultron shifted and Wanda’s head tipped to the side, her interest in you ever growing. “I don’t think anyone is, no matter whose side you’ve taken since the conflict recently — and perhaps even after the invasion of New York’s in 2012.”

That was The Incident, Wanda recalled, when the Avengers terrorised New York. That’s what HYDRA had always told her and Pietro.

“Despite whose side you may be on, as differing as our collective opinions may be, one thing is undeniable — we are all trying to reach a goal of peace for the world, fighting for what we believe is just. There is nothing more powerful than that. Perhaps, it is idealism that serves to be the strength of humanity.”

Ultron laughed morosely. He ridiculed your words, but Wanda wasn’t listening. Whatever you were talking about wasn’t only about Johannesburg. What were you referencing? Who were your words meant for?

Suddenly, your head turned to the camera and Wanda met your eyes. Everything in her froze, her eyes undeviating from your face.

“Wanda and Pietro Maximoff,” you spoke. Pietro looked over at Wanda, shock written on every inch of his face, and Ultron’s eyes darted between the twins, almost accusationally as he undoubtedly suspected coercion. Wanda almost expected you to step through the television screen and into her bedroom. “I know what you want.”

The screen was shut off suddenly, the black mirror of the television reflecting Wanda’s astonished expression. She looked away, shutting her eyes as she felt the burning gaze of Ultron on her. But your words reverberated in Wanda’s mind until your every feature and movement of your lips was memorised. Like a promise, like an ode, your words were immortalised within her.

Pietro wasn’t there when you took Wanda in your arms and saved her from a falling Sokovia. He wasn’t there when you laid her down onto the Helicarrier, nor when you took her hand and told her she’d be taken care of. Wanda cried into your chest at the sight of her brother’s body.

What would he have said if he saw the way your arm refused to leave from around Wanda’s shoulders as the two of them trailed behind his body while he was carried into the compound?

Pietro liked you, and would’ve loved to meet you. He referenced your broadcasted interview several times during their fight in Sokovia. He was proud to work with the Avengers, and proud to finally work towards their goal to help people just like them. He wanted to meet you.

Your voice was different from what Wanda remembered from the broadcast, and not because her memory had failed her, but because you were just… different. You were real, and not a picture on a wall or an untouchable reality forever separated from her by a television screen. As she watched you talk and laugh with the other Avengers, you were real.

But if Wanda was honest, she was much too shy to even start a conversation with you. Perhaps it might’ve been easier to approach you if you were an admired character on one of her favourite television shows, but it was exactly what made her admire you so much that also made her feel so shy around you.

Granted, there was much to adjust to now that she lived in America and was now a part of the Avengers, and she did believe herself to be a generally introverted person, but she was especially nervous around you.

Wanda had gotten enough confidence to speak with some team members. Natasha was welcoming and kind. Thor was easy not to feel nervous around, but his energy was far too much for Wanda to handle just yet. Bruce was much more comfortable to chat with, and Wanda found that he was able to be rather nice once he forgave her for her associations with Ultron. Steve was always very kind to Wanda and she felt very safe around him, with Steve always trying to make her feel like part of the team, but she found that they didn’t have very much in common.

And there was Vision, who seemed to have taken a liking to her since even before the final battle against Ultron. He was nice company, but she found her mind preoccupied thinking of you while in his company, wishing that it was you who gave her as much attention as Vision did.

However, she’d been wanting to start a conversation with you since the day she arrived at the compound. Initially, she needed time to herself, and along with Steve, you also made the effort to check in on her and give her your support.

Once she was finally able to gain some footing in adjusting to things while shouldering the weight of her losses, Wanda started becoming more active within the team by joining training sessions. During them, she found herself unable to stop looking at you, watching what you were doing, seeing how you interacted with everyone.

Even as the Avengers’ primary strategist that was almost never in the field, you still made efforts to train and stay connected and involved with the team — and Wanda quickly learned that training was a major part of team building.

You were everything Wanda wished she could be more like; you were the kind of person she had never thought existed in a world she believed was only full of cruelty and injustice until recently.

There was an upcoming party at the Avengers Tower in celebration of the assigned team’s return from a successful mission tracking down a recently-located HYDRA base still hiding out. It was almost any ordinary mission, but it was the first step towards steadily eradicating all of HYDRA’s bases, even after Strucker’s primary base was taken down in Sokovia. Though Steve did also tell Wanda that he felt that Tony also primarily wanted to find any reason to celebrate since it’d been some time.

Wanda hadn’t been to any of the parties yet, and she thought that she’d be able to use this one as a chance to start a conversation with you.

Wasn’t that what people did at parties? Talk?

Truthfully, she didn’t quite know for sure — she’d only ever heard about them through the sitcoms she watched as a child. She knew only of dramatised American portrayals of teenage parties through television.

Whatever it was people actually did at parties, Wanda was certain she would be able to make some effort to talk to you. At least in a social setting, it wouldn’t be strange for her to start a conversation with you.

Wanda made herself look nice and presentable, but not too formal since she didn’t want to overdress or bring too much attention to herself. She wasn’t sure what might happen if her plan to talk with you didn’t end up working, and if she was somehow left with nothing to do, she wanted to be able to slip away without anyone noticing, as if she had never made any attempt to come at all.

While deliberating whether it was better to arrive on time or a bit later once the party had been going on for some time, Wanda realised that at some point too much time had passed and her only option now was to join the party a bit later.

It was only once she arrived at the penthouse floor where the party was being held that Wanda finally realised how terribly thought-out her plan was.

What would happen if she didn’t get to talk with you? What would happen if she did, and she only made a fool of herself? Would it be better, then, to stay as two people who’d never conversed so that she might retain what impression you had of her now? Even if that meant she would never get to talk with you the way she wanted?

It was far too late now to change her mind if she wanted to, as she soon found herself walking further from the elevators and into the party.

The party was rather filled; mostly, they were familiar faces, but it looked like many brought guests, and some guests had brought some of their own. It seemed that Steve was right — atop of celebrating the taking down of the HYDRA base, this was also a social get-together.

She was still relatively at the edges of the room, so she was still going unnoticed. As she walked over to the bar, fidgeting with her fingers as she did, she took the time to look around and try to spot you. She reached the bar, crossing her forearms on top of its counter, and tried to draw the least attention to herself while avoiding eye contact with anyone as her eyes raked through the crowd.

Eventually she caught sight of you also at the bar, but at the very edge with your own drink, your back facing the party. Wanda’s chest fluttered and she felt she nearly stumbled moving one foot in front of the other when she turned to walk towards you.

She worried what would happen if someone suddenly approached you from behind, which would force her to then stop wherever she was standing and pretend she hadn’t just failed at her attempt to come up to you.

The pressing concern aided her greatly, and she was well on her way to coming up to you without hesitation. But once she actually made her way to your side and once you raised your head from your glass and looked at her, Wanda damned herself for being so distracted, now without a plan or even a terribly-planned script to follow in making conversation with you. She didn’t even get to look at what you were wearing.

It would be too strange of her to look you up and down before greeting you, right?

“Hi,” she said, hoping that the small smile she felt on her face was actually there lest she look like an absolute fool.

You turned around in your seat in order to face her, and now having your complete, undivided attention made Wanda’s legs feel like mush. “Hi,” you replied with a friendly smile. “Are you enjoying yourself? I don’t think I’ve seen you at a party yet.”

Wanda swallowed and nervously drew shapes against the bar counter with her fingernails, also trying her best to maintain a steady, friendly smile. “No — this is the first I’ve gone to. I haven’t been here for very long. I decided only a moment ago to come.”

“I’m glad you chose to come,” you told her and suggested for her to take the barstool beside you. Wanda lifted herself onto the seat and sat, facing you.

While you were talking, Wanda took the chance to look at what you were wearing. You looked nice, and Wanda thought you always dressed in a way that put-together, respected people did. She saw you in some likeness to the well-dressed characters on the sitcoms she liked — but, of course, modern.

Maybe she had been taking too long to respond, for you spoke again: “How have you been doing? I know that the move must have been rather hard to go through.”

When she took a moment to respond and found that a response wasn’t immediately escaping her, Wanda felt panic settle in her chest. She knew she should have planned out what to say. She looked like an idiot in front of you. She didn’t know the first thing about socialising or making friends.

“It was hard,” she said finally. “It is hard. Not so bad now. I mean, I’m trying to adjust.”

You nodded in understanding and Wanda felt herself losing your interest; she was sure that your responses’ intentions were now only to remain polite, to keep conversing with her because you knew she didn’t make very much effort to go out.

Then you asked, “Did you want me to order you a drink?”

“Oh, I’m okay — I don’t drink,” Wanda answered, fidgeting with her fingers between her knees. Truthfully, she’s never tried alcohol before. Maybe she should have taken you up on your offer.

“How have you been getting along with the team?”

“I think well. I like everyone. They’ve been very kind to me,” Wanda said. She could hear herself as she spoke to you; she sounded robotic and uninteresting. She thought she might try her hand at being honest about what she was thinking then and there. “But Pietro was always the most social of us both. It is hard to get along with others without him leading the conversation.”

Wanda must have not noticed how solemn she became after she mentioned Pietro, for you reached out and brushed her shoulder with your hand supportively, your fingers squeezing gently around her and lingering for a moment before letting your arm drop.

“I understand,” you sympathised. “You don’t need to pressure yourself into anything — really. I think you fit in here well, and I think you’ve been doing a wonderful job.”

That was the first time anyone truly supported Wanda like that; she was supported by the team as she was grieving the loss of her brother, always being told that she had a shoulder to cry on or a helping hand if she ever wanted someone to talk to.

There was something frustrating about the way the team approached her grief. They had to have anticipated that she would feel a bit better at some point — or at least well enough to get back to team member material.

In the way she was spoken to, Pietro and her struggles with his death were always approached as something she would get over at some point or another — like Pietro was something she was going to get over. She didn’t expect anyone to understand how she felt nor to share in her grievances, but it seemed to her that what she was going through was seen only as a temporary distraction to the rest of the team.

They were kind in giving her their support, but her grief never seemed quite real enough to them.

Granted, she was rather new to the team, so she understood, to some degree, their inability to understand her pain. But it was frustrating, nevertheless.

But with you, it was different.

You didn’t talk about Pietro or her struggles and pain like it was something to get over. You valued her as she was now, and saw her efforts as they were now.

Wanda felt slightly pathetic for how worked up she was getting over your response, be it as brief as it was, but what you said meant quite a lot to her. She felt, for the first time, that she was being spoken to as a real person rather than a ball of temporary grief and pain.

“Thank you… I really appreciate–”

She was cut off when you were called to meet one of Tony’s friends, an expert in software development who had even helped program some of the software you used for communication with the team while they were working on the field. Naturally, they wanted the two of you to meet.

For a moment, Wanda forgot how popular you were amongst your colleagues. Why wouldn’t you be? It was only that you had a certain kindness and authenticity about you that seemed signature to you. But if Wanda admired that about you, and if she idolised you, why wouldn’t anyone else?

You looked at Tony calling you over then at Wanda, who was awkwardly staring at the floor in some pitiful stance of defeat. It made your chest tighten.

This was Wanda’s first time joining in at one of the parties, and you were the first she spoke to. Moreover, there was a kind of sensitivity to her that you knew lay beyond her typical timidity.

Through the conversation with her, you could vaguely see Wanda’s eyes flickering behind your shoulder occasionally, where the floor’s balcony was. From there, one would have a view of the spacious training fields and the expansive forests beyond that separated the base from the main roads.

Tonight, there were clear skies and a rather prominent moon.

Gently, you tapped the back of Wanda’s hand that was resting on the edge of the bar to get her attention, and she raised her head and met your eyes.

“Would you like to step out onto the balcony with me?” you asked. “I’m not quite in the mood to talk with them right now.”

Wanda seemed to perk up and she straightened in her seat. She nodded, and when you stepped off from your barstool, she followed and trailed behind you as you headed for the balcony.

She watched from behind as you led her forward. She played idly with the tips of her fingers as she watched your hair brush against your back, watching the back of your head attentively as if it could tell her anything about you.

Frankly, she felt a bit starstruck.

A certain panic settled within her as you opened the balcony door and ushered Wanda outside and into the warm evening air; she didn’t know what to say now.

She wasn’t certain if she was interesting enough at all to have such intimate conversation with.

What could she say that could possibly be of interest to you?

In spite of the disappointed chatter and lighthearted jabs from the rest of the team in response to your very-obvious aversion to socialising, you closed the balcony door behind you until it clicked shut softly until it was only you and Wanda outside.

“Is it okay that you’re out here with me?” Wanda asked, looking at you as she stepped beside you.

“Of course,” you answered and walked forward until you could stand against the rails of the balcony. “Why not?”

Wanda appreciated how easy it was to talk with you, and how your relationship with the team wasn’t all that you were. “I thought that maybe you might prefer being out there.”

“No — I want to be here.”

Wanda flushed and she looked away, using the excuse of looking out past the training fields as an excuse to hide her face from you.

Making a bold move, Wanda thought that she might be honest with you; she had the real opportunity to make a friend, granted she pulled it off. “Y/N, I really appreciate you being so kind to me.” She garnered some confidence and turned her body and looked at you.

“You don’t have to thank me for that,” you replied bashfully, and Wanda noticed that you also seemed a bit timid. She thought you were sensitive, and she liked that.

“But also,” Wanda added, taking in a small breath, “I really appreciate your effort in being sympathetic towards Pietro and I, even when we did not deserve it — especially after Johannesburg. Before your interview broadcast, I had never known of such kindness. It seemed you knew more about what Pietro and I wanted before even we did.”

Without a thought behind it, Wanda’s eyes left yours and she added, “I wish he was able to meet you. I am sure he would have felt equally as stunned by you.”

You asked, “I stun you now, do I?”

Surprised by the realisation of what she said aloud, Wanda looked at you and at the sight of your slight smile, also realised that you were teasing her. She flushed and rubbed her warm cheek with the back of her knuckle and distracted herself with two of the party guests walking through the field.

Wanda reminded herself that she came to make a friend — to be friends with you. So she spoke again. “To be honest, yes,” she replied. “I think you are admirable; everyone seems to like you very much, and the kind of bravery and kindness you have is of a kind I did not previously know could ever be sincere.”

She finally said it, and now, Wanda felt anxious about what you might say next.

You shifted and repositioned yourself as you pondered for a moment in consideration. “Well, I have to confess that most if not all of my bravery is rather insincere — I’m truly not as brave as you might think. In fact, I would argue that you’re more brave than I; you’ve experienced so much, undergone so much change, and yet you seem to have more drive than anyone to try your hardest at adjusting and getting back on your feet.”

You thought she was braver than you? Wanda could collapse. She felt her chest flutter.

“But… the kindness,” you said, “is very sincere. I’m glad you see it that way.”

Wanda found herself stepping closer to you, feeling more comfortable in your company and feeling that she wanted to be closer to you physically, to hear your words within a closer vicinity and to see your face free of the soft shadows that the moonlight casted along the curve of your nose and the angle of your cheekbone.

“I think you’re really special,” you told her. “I’m happy that you’re a part of the team. I’m glad you’re here.”

In all her life, there was only one place Wanda ever felt she belonged — with her family. Over some time, what this meant was redefined with the bombing of her home when she was ten and, recently, with the loss of her brother. There was a feeling of loss, an empty pit that burrowed itself within the deepest depths of Wanda’s identity where Pietro and her family and some sort of identity should have been.

It was not only others and her country that she lost, but a part of herself, when all the landmarks she had ever belonged to were stolen from her. But if she could learn anything from still being able to stand where she was and try her best and be brave — like you said — in spite of all her loss and grief, it was that she was not all that she identified herself with.

She still existed, and was still worth something, even without all that was lost.

It would be difficult to even begin finding who she was, exactly, without Pietro and Sokovia and her parents and the truths of herself and the world that HYDRA had always taught her. But she hoped that you might be at least the first step to her self-discovery — you were her first friend.

“Are you alright?” you asked, tipping your head down slightly to try getting a better look at Wanda’s face.

Wanda had lost herself in her thoughts and forgot to reply to you. She must have been silent for a bit of time. “Yes, I’m okay.” She subtly swiped at her cheeks when she realised she was crying — perhaps it was from thinking of her family or of Sokovia, though she couldn’t pinpoint exactly when the moment was that she started crying — as she looked over at the field for a distraction again.

Without another word, you stepped forward and wrapped an arm around Wanda’s shoulders, bringing her against your body in a soft hug. It was wordless and quiet and casual — support and comfort without any conditions.

Every time Wanda believed that she’d fully grasped the world’s capacity for kindness, believed that there couldn't possibly be something more gentle than what you have thus far shown her, you prove her wrong.

She hoped she would never be right.

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x y/n #marvel #marvel fanfiction #elizabeth olsen

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probablyasocialecologist · 5 months

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Israel, pound for pound, is the best investment the US has ever made. Israel is the purest expression of Western power, combining militarism, imperialism, settler colonialism, counterinsurgency, occupation, racism, instilling ideological defeat, huge profitable war-making and hi-tech development into a manticore of destruction, death, and mayhem. From Israel’s victory in the 1948-1949 war, US planners saw the country as a regional military power that could contain Arab military and political ambitions. Amidst France’s imperial sunset in the Arab region, the country aligned with Israel – trying to deliver a blow to Nasserist Egypt through the 1956 Tripartite Aggression with Britain and Israel, and armoring Zionism for its successful 1967 war against radical Arab nationalism in the frontline states. Green-lit by the US, the war left the Syrian Ba’athist fusion of Arab nationalism and Marxist-Leninism in shambles and slammed the Nasserist national development project. Israel also became a useful assassin, eliminating Arab radical luminaries from Mehdi Ben Barka to Ghassan Kanafani. From 1970 onwards, US military aid into Israel turned the country into a unique asset: an offshore arms factory; a regional irritant to Arab peace, stability, and popular regional development; a destructive gyro of world-wide counterinsurgency; a black hole drawing in regional surpluses and devoting them to endless defensive and offensive armament, away from social-popular welfare spending and non-military development. Uniquely, the US allowed Israel to keep the military aid partially within the country, slowly and steadily building up a massive military industrial capacity. Meanwhile, US-based capital inflows accelerated, taking advantage of Israel’s highly educated workforce in the defense sector, resting upon super-exploiting the Palestinian colonial underclass in other sectors. In return, Israel armed reactionary forces world-wide: from Argentina to Brazil to Chile, helping evade Congressional restrictions on arms shipments to the Nicaraguan Contras and advanced armaments to the South African apartheid regime. On a world scale, Israel has protected the political architecture of global capitalism. And its US domestic adjunct, the Anti-Defamation League, presaged wider Zionist capitalist investment in repression by carrying out wide-ranging spying on anti-racist, anti-Zionist, Arab-American and anti-apartheid movements.

#israel #palestine #zionism #geopolitics #usa

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apas-95 · 8 months

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“American officials are worried that Ukraine’s adjustments will race through precious ammunition supplies, which could benefit President Vladimir V. Putin of Russia and disadvantage Ukraine in a war of attrition. But Ukrainian commanders decided the pivot reduced casualties and preserved their frontline fighting force.

“American officials say they fear that Ukraine has become casualty averse, one reason it has been cautious about pressing ahead with the counteroffensive. Almost any big push against dug-in Russian defenders protected by minefields would result in huge numbers of losses.” …

In an article published Thursday titled “U.S. intelligence says Ukraine will fail to meet offensive’s key goal,” The Washington Post cited anonymous “U.S. and Western officials” to report that the massive losses Ukraine has been suffering in this counteroffensive had been “anticipated” in war games ahead of time, but that they had “envisioned Kyiv accepting the casualties as the cost of piercing through Russia’s main defensive line.” …

In an article published last month titled “U.S. Cluster Munitions Arrive in Ukraine, but Impact on Battlefield Remains Unclear,” The New York Times reported unnamed senior US officials had “privately expressed frustration” that Ukrainian commanders “fearing increased casualties among their ranks” were switching to artillery barrages, “rather than sticking with the Western tactics and pressing harder to breach the Russian defenses.”

“Why don’t they come and do it themselves?” a former Ukrainian defense minister told The New York Times in response to the American criticism.

The Wall Street Journal reported that unnamed western military officials “knew Kyiv didn’t have all the training or weapons” needed to dislodge Russia, but that they had “hoped Ukrainian courage and resourcefulness would carry the day” anyway. …

In the same article, The Wall Street Journal cited a US Army War College professor named John Nagle admitting that the US itself would never attempt the kind of counteroffensive it’s been pushing Ukrainians into attempting.

“America would never attempt to defeat a prepared defense without air superiority, but they [Ukrainians] don’t have air superiority,” Nagl said, adding, “It’s impossible to overstate how important air superiority is for fighting a ground fight at a reasonable cost in casualties.” …

Last month The Washington Post’s David Ignatius wrote an article explaining why westerners shouldn’t “feel gloomy” about how things are going in Ukraine, writing the following about how much this war is doing to benefit US interests overseas:

“Meanwhile, for the United States and its NATO allies, these 18 months of war have been a strategic windfall, at relatively low cost (other than for the Ukrainians). The West’s most reckless antagonist has been rocked. NATO has grown much stronger with the additions of Sweden and Finland. Germany has weaned itself from dependence on Russian energy and, in many ways, rediscovered its sense of values. NATO squabbles make headlines, but overall, this has been a triumphal summer for the alliance.”

“Other than for the Ukrainians” he says, as a parenthetical aside.

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zvaigzdelasas · 6 months

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[France24 is French State Media]

All elections including the presidential vote set to take place next spring are technically cancelled under martial law that has been in effect since the conflict began last year. "We must decide that now is the time of defence, the time of battle, on which the fate of the state and people depends," Zelensky said in his daily address. He said it was a time for the country to be united, not divided, adding: "I believe that now is not the (right) time for elections." The frontline between the warring sides has remained mostly static for almost a year despite a much-touted Ukrainian counter-offensive, with Russian forces entrenched in southern and eastern Ukraine. Officials from the United States and Europe -- Kyiv's key allies -- are reported to have suggested holding negotiations to end the grinding 20-month-old conflict. But Zelensky has fiercely denied that Ukraine's counter-offensive has hit a stalemate, or that Western countries were leaning on Kyiv to enter talks.[...]

Zelensky's approval rating skyrocketed after the war began, but the country's political landscape has been fractious despite the unifying force of the war. Former presidential aide Oleksiy Arestovych has announced that he would run against his former boss, after criticising Zelensky over the slow pace of the counter-offensive.

Sorry Bud, not the answer western countries are looking for right now [7 Nov 23]

#hope no personal harm comes to him but hes probably gonna get couped #'nobodys talked to me about concessions for negotiations' may very well be true is all im saying

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alcestas-sloboda · 9 months

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The last time I was genuinely happy was in the summer of 2021.

My grandad called me and told me to come outside so he could buy me some ice cream. We stood there discussing what I was planning to do in Odesa, and he joked about our grandmother being a hard woman to live with, but we loved her nonetheless. Five days later, I would lose him. Six months later, the full-scale invasion would start. Nothing would ever be the same again.

That could've been you in Bucha, you know that? they didn’t choose who to kill, they killed everyone on their path? Your luck, then, that you were born in the western part of the country. The only thing you lost are your childhood memories of Crimea, Melitopol, and Zatoka, not your home. But the war continues: your flat could still become the final destination of a hypersonic missile. Don't forget it. Hopefully, you won't hear the siren that night and will die in your sleep. Hopefully, they will find the remains. Hopefully, it will be the entire family, so you won't suffer without each other. Because at the end of the day, your death would mean nothing but pain for your loved ones. The world will keep on spinning; missile parts will be sent to Russia. People will still pity the Russians, but they won't pity you or your family.

Suddenly, you realize that you no longer believe in what you believed before. Do you believe in something good? Well, your small, naive inner child is still alive then. Barely. What? You thought those institutions were meant to maintain peace? That's funny. Probably, that peace is more needed in expensive restaurants hundreds of kilometers away from the frontline.

I genuinely don't know why I'm writing this post again. Is it to be seen by the same 10 people? I know they feel the same. We just sit here together, slowly going mad, hoping someone will finally react. Maybe someone who reblogs your fandom post will find some sympathy. But sympathy is not what I need; I want to be heard.

Fuck you watched "Don't Look Up" with an ironic smile on your lips. And now, you are the main character.

All of you here preach about giving voice to the oppressed, but are you really doing it? The moment you become uncomfortable, it suddenly becomes not your business - "keep ___ out of politics." God, I would've loved that. I would've loved to not know anything. Not to know the names of military equipment. Not to understand that your life can literally depend on the presidential election in a completely different country.

I'm so tired of fighting for my right to be heard. I'm so tired of having to prove my right to live, to speak my own language. "Your country doesn't exist," "Your language is artificial; speak human (Russian)." Don't be too emotional. Don't hate Russians. Don't wish them anything bad. Don't open your mouth. Don't call out organizations. Just shut the fuck up or die.

No one will care if the biggest country in Europe disappears. No one will care if millions die. If your culture will finally be dealt with, if Russia will finally succeed in doing so. A thousand years of history can burn down in just one night. No one will bat an eye.

The world will keep on spinning.

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cerastes · 10 months

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What are some of the greatest/most impressive feats of strength in Arknights’s story?

Taking the overall narrative and worldbuilding into account, I believe the most effective aspect of Arknights' narrative is that they managed to make Terra feel like a breathing, living world and setting instead of a vehicle for the point-of-view character to exist in and act upon. This is specially remarkable for a mobile gacha game, as settings in these tend to be exactly that sort of vehicle instead of world that give any hints of existing when outside the player's immediately vision. The way I like to think about it is, "if a tree fell somewhere in this setting while my intended point-of-view or self-insert character isn't there to see it, did it make a sound?”. In Arknights, Girls' Frontline and SIGH Epic Seven (credit where it's due), the answer feels like a yes to me, whereas in every other game of this kind, it feels like a no, if you know what I mean.

This is intrinsically tied to the cast of characters: It is an inevitability that games where a guiding principle is to release an immense number of characters throughout its lifetime will have characters that will never have any relevance whatsoever besides existing as a minor piece in the world, and Arknights is not immune to this. Even other works of a different base nature and with a much smaller casts will be victims to this: In Trails of Cold Steel, for example, you have a pretty big cast of playable characters, some of which are very well developed and have a lot of screentime and development, and others who are Gaius Worzel. However, this leads to two aspects of Arknights as a narrative and as a game telling a story and fleshing out a world that I appreciate:

The first is that those characters that do get used, are for the overwhelming majority fun and interesting to see and accompany throughout their narrative, and rarely for me, I include the usual point-of-view character in this, Doctor. I tend to have a pretty big dislike, if not disdain, for characters you're meant to self-insert into, I sincerely cannot stand them. Doctor definitely has a big of a self-insert nature to them, but there's also a lot of the Doctor that is actually pre-established, such as them being a weirdo, tending to be very effective but also causing troublesome aftermaths that others then have to clean up, and being particularly good at bonding with assassins and underworld types, among other things. More importantly, Doctor is not present in most side-stories. This is fantastic and leads to the second aspect I appreciate.

This second aspect is that the cast has legs to stand on without needing the protagonist or POV character. You'd think this is a problem mostly limited to gacha games due to their usually flimsy narratives and structures, right? Except, this is actually a huge problem in pretty much every corner of narrative art! I can think of countless comics, manga, cartoons, anime, light novels, novels, and much more, eastern and western, that just tend to have worlds and casts that center entirely around the protagonist, for the protagonist. Whether it be a US author writing out their post-apocalyptic hoarder fantasy or a Japanese author detailing the trials and tribulations of a relatable nobody that a myriad of girls want to have sex with, and even some other pieces of art perhaps not so comically easy to make fun of, it's a consistent aspect of them that the protagonist is the center of the universe, both in terms of events and what the rest of cast thinks about, talks about, and takes action upon. Obviously, this results, in my opinion, in weak worlds and weak casts that have no legs to stand on. I appreciate that even without Doctor around, Arknights does a good job of having protagonists of their own little stories in the side stories: Olivia Silence is a joy to follow when she takes the lead in a Rhine Lab story, Kroos has been one of my favorite characters to be able to experience events through with the Sui stories, Skadi and the Abyssal Hunters are exciting to watch in Abyssal Hunter stories, and the latest event as of the writing of this post filled me inspiration, seeing Reed star in a character piece that tells us more about someone so immensely reticent to open up. It's by having interesting world events occurring throughout Terra that don't have the input of Doctor, and thus lets us see more and more of this huge cast of characters taking the lead that I think is a fascinating experience for me as a reader that keeps things fresh. It's even allowed me to come to appreciate characters I initially didn't care about, such as Bagpipe and Magallan, and see, in most games of this nature, if I don't care about a character frame one, it's probably going to stay that way because, well, if I didn't care about what their limited assortment of pre-cooked lines had to sell me on, then I'm likely not going to care about that character likely not showing me a new aspect of themselves impactful enough to change my mind in an event they'll likely just be an accessory to.

It's upon this base that I think Arknights stays interesting and fresh: A solid foundation that I can agree with and that keeps things dynamic and interesting. Specific events and story beats that I think are interesting are a natural result of these baseline aspects, but it all traces back to the cradle, to these baseline aspects that facilitate those cool narratives in the first place.

#arknights #sanspapyrus683

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mansnooziesmoosmutzel · 1 year

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#all quiet on the western front #illustration #fanart #loved the scenes in the book when the whole group of comrades were resting behind the frontlines - talking and eating in uneasy peace #kat #paul #tjaden #AQOTWF #erich maria remarque #finally some time for repairing stuff or a bit teaching #my art

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allthecanadianpolitics · 8 months

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Last August, my family and I embarked on a road trip through Southwest China to the Tibetan areas of Sichuan province, a Chinese jurisdiction famous for its spicy cuisine and commonly referred to in the West as Szechwan.

At the time of our adventure, China was in the midst of a record-breaking heatwave dubbed by the scientific publication New Scientist as “the most severe [heatwave] ever recorded in the world.” Rivers dried up, wildfires raged, crops wilted, people died from heatstroke and rolling blackouts hit major metropolises, resulting from the severe drought’s impact on hydroelectricity generation. Hundreds of weather stations across the country either tied or set heat records.

I chronicled my family’s vacation on the frontlines of climate change for a guest essay in The New York Times, noting the troubling things we witnessed in Sichuan. To finish the story, I wrote, “What happened in China this summer has made it abundantly clear: Even with concerted and aggressive global action to curb carbon emissions, it’s going to be a rough ride.”

Less than one year after penning those words, I again find myself with a front-row seat to another unfolding environmental catastrophe: the wildfires scorching northern and western Canada.

In the Yukon, 146 wildfires are burning across the territory, with more than 220,000 hectares burned as of Aug. 29. [...]

Tagging: @politicsofcanada

#cdnpoli #Yukon #Indigenous persecution #environmental racism #environment #climate change #natural disasters

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nightcourtseer · 10 months

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Nyx’s Nightmare

Summary: Nyx wakes up in the middle of the night from a bad dream - to be expected, as war is on the horizon. Elain comforts him, with the help of someone else.

Pairing: Elriel

Read on A03

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Nyx woke with a start in the middle of the night.

Cool air swept through the window of his bedroom, flung wide to let in fresh air and the comforting sight of the multitude of stars twinkling brilliantly above Velaris.

His father was always telling him that whenever Nyx missed him or his mother, that he should look up to the stars. That Nyx’s mother and father would always be there for him, no matter how far away they were, along with the High Lords and Ladies before them and their family and friends from long ago - they would all be there, among the stars, watching over him.

But that night, not even blinking his sleep-heavy eyes at the expanse of the night sky could comfort him from the nightmare from which he had just awoke.

For war was approaching, and quickly. And no matter how carefully his family tried to shield him from that fact, there were also difficult conversations had with Nyx, at a delicate 5 years old, to prepare him for the possibility of the worst.

One such recent conversation revealed the ultimate bond made between his parents. A bargain that comforted him in the fact that his parents would never again be without each other. But could also leave Nyx an orphan.

They had told him in his parent’s study, where Nyx felt more like a High Lord’s son than solely Nyx. The oversized leather chair in which he had sat made him puff out his chest, tracing the buttons beneath his fingertips as his father began speaking, first gesturing him to the constellations mapping the walls of the skies above them, and the skies above worlds that they did not even have access to.

His father had reminded him that no matter what, he would never be alone.

There were so many who loved him, who took care of him like their own son. His Uncles Cassian and Azriel, Aunts Nesta and Elain, Amren and Varian and Aunt Mor and Nuala and Cerridwen and Lucien and Gwyn and Emerie and the priestesses and the Valkyrie…

But he had only two parents. Who he could lose at once in the snap of a finger.

Each night since they had sat him down to tell him this, the same nightmare had plagued Nyx’s normally sweet dreams.

A bloody battlefield, his parents on the frontlines. Side by side. Facing a horde of beasts and monsters and somewhere in the crowd among them, a cackling evil, a nameless and deathless god whom Nyx had only gleamed whispers about while lurking around the meetings he had no business overhearing.

What he had wished his father had told him was that the stars were also protecting Rhys and Feyre.

Nyx’s covers suddenly felt restricting, the typically comforting tuck pulled up to his chin by his Aunt Elain, his caretaker for the evening while his parents were away in Day. Nyx always loved when he got to spend time with his aunt, one of the most patient figures who took turns caring for him. He loved gardening with her, learning about each unique plant that resided in the garden. And he loved baking with her, the product of which sat upon his bedside table. A plate of cookies with a small note that cheekily read, “For Emergencies…”

Judging by the moon’s position in the sky, it was still the middle of the night. But even though Nyx was far too old to be clinging to his aunt because of a nightmare, he shook with the need to be held. His small hands tremoring as he blinked away his tears ashamedly, slipping out from under the covers and padding barefoot across his room.

He passed under the posters of constellations gifted to him by his father, and the paintings that he had done with his mother.

Reminders of those who loved him filled the space, never making it seem too large or empty. A wooden sword was propped up in the corner, a rocking pegasus in the opposite one. The western windowsill held a flourishing garden, where Nyx was tending to a pot of night-blooming jasmine with his aunt’s help. A small piano resided on the wall opposite his bed, upon which rested a silver crown adorned with an obscene amount of tiny rubies. It was joined by a stuffed fox on the tiny wooden bench, which looked as if it were about to start playing with the keys, a mischevious look on its red-orange face.

Nyx turned the knob of his door, which was tied with a pale blue ribbon.

The dark hallway loomed menacingly ahead of him. His aunt’s bedroom on the opposite wing from that of his and his parent’s.

Winnowing was not allowed in the house, he had been expressly told by his parents, except in the case of an emergency or injury.

His parents had told him it was rude to winnow, and that it was especially forbidden to winnow into their bedroom, or any of his aunt’s and uncle’s bedrooms, unannounced.

But to Nyx, his small body still shaking with fear, this felt like an emergency.

So he squeezed his eyes shut, picturing his aunt’s warm bedroom with the pale yellow quilt and the vase of flowers never empty on her nightstand. The ornate wooden jewelry box filled with pretty things and a cobalt blue cloak hung on the back of the door.

And then Nyx winnowed, an easy task as he had been practicing with his parents whenever allowed.

His aunt’s back was to him as he appeared inside the dark room. Her windows also open wide, overlooking the garden she tended down below.

Elain’s form moved up and down rhythmically, fast asleep in the late hour of the night.

But as Nyx’s eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room, he started in surprise to see that she was not alone in the large bed. A dark frame held her close to him, wings pulled in tight behind him as he slept on his side. Midnight hair swept over his face and hid it from view as Elain slept soundly next to him, her own face burrowed in his tattooed chest. No shadows to be seen - Nyx figured even they must be sleeping.

“Aunt Elain…” Nyx hesitantly reached out to touch her shoulder.

Elain woke with a small gasp, turning around abruptly to see who had woken her. Nyx took a small hesitant step back, twisting his hands nervously in front of him - even though he had never once been chastised by his Aunt Elain, the gentlest of his many caretakers.

“Nyx!” She breathed, squinting through sleep-bleared eyes. “What’s wrong?”

The concern in her voice threatened to send a new wave of hot tears spilling down Nyx’s pink cheeks, which flushed in embarrassment. Future high lords were not meant to cry over a bad dream.

To distract himself, he addressed his initial source of confusion.

“Why is Uncle Azriel in your bed?”

Elain froze, kind brown eyes wide as she stared at her nephew.

Nyx looked over her shoulder to where Azriel still slept, unaware of the conversation taking place. He hadn’t seen his uncle in weeks - and often went long stretches wondering where the spymaster was.

Elain went to open her mouth, but Nyx whispered again before she had the chance to speak.

“Are you scared too?”

“Oh, baby…”

Elain’s arms reaching for him sent the first tear falling as Nyx tried to furiously blink it away. His aunt’s gaze softened as she lifted the covers, carefully moving from beneath Azriel’s heavy arm to pull Nyx closer to her, replacing the blanket back over the top of them once he was settled.

“Having Uncle Azriel here makes me feel better,” Nyx whispered quietly, as if to console his aunt as Elain wiped the stray tears from his face, brushing back his dark hair away from his eyes.

Her warm touch soothed him, her calloused hands still somehow soft.

“He makes me feel better too,” Elain admitted with a soft smile, eyes crinkling in the corners. “He’s very, very tired tonight, so we’ll have to try not to wake him.”

“But what are you afraid of, Aunt Elain?” Nyx inquired, already feeling calmer in his aunt’s reassuring presence, his uncle’s quiet breathing another balm to his worried mind.

“You helped win the last war. You’re not afraid of anything.”

“It’s okay to be afraid,” Elain murmured, not fully addressing his question. She paused, and then lifted a finger to tap twice on top of one of the stars embroidered onto Nyx’s soft sleep-shirt - where Nyx imagined his heart must be.

“To fear is to love, honey. It means you have a big heart - and you love something, or someone, very much.”

Nyx looked down, and then back up to his aunt’s loving face.

“I’m afraid of war. Of what could happen to mama and papa.”

The words hung heavy in the quiet night, and Nyx held his breath - afraid that even whispering them might speak that awful scene into existence.

Elain nodded slowly, a stray curl falling in front of her face as she leaned in to press a kiss to Nyx’s forehead, pulling him closer for a hug.

“You’re a very brave boy, Nyx. And I promise you, your mother and father will do whatever is in their power to always come home to you.” Nyx nodded, willing his aunt to be right. “They love you very much. We all do.”

And Nyx knew that to be true, without a doubt. He let that love surround him, as he nestled into the warmth of the blankets and Elain’s touch which continued combing through his hair. The rhythm of it a gentle lull back into sleep.

——————-

It must not have been too much later, as Elain was still awake when new movement roused Nyx once again. He blinked open his eyes, readjusting once more to the darkness of the room.

Nyx peered over the top of his aunt’s shoulder. His uncle had started murmuring something in his sleep, muffled by the pillow as scarred hands knotted and twisted in the casing.

“I think Uncle Azriel is having a nightmare,” Nyx said frowning, concern coloring his voice as he noted the furrowed brow on his uncle’s face.

“What does he have bad dreams about?”

Nyx could not fathom the formidable spymaster, his kind but stoic uncle, being afraid of anything.

“Yes, he does have bad dreams.”

“About what?” Nyx asked curiously. He couldn’t make out what his uncle was saying.

Elain turned to look slightly over her shoulder, at the male sleeping next to them.

“He’ll tell you himself when you’re older.”

Nyx knew not to protest this rationale by now - he knew well that when one of his parents or caretakers said he had to wait until he was older, there was no argument to be had.

Even if he wasn’t yet allowed to know what his uncle was dreaming about, Nyx didn’t want his uncle to suffer. Remembering his own nightmare just hours before.

He reached a small hand over Elain to nudge his uncle’s shoulder, but Elain was faster, capturing his wrist in her hand before he could touch Azriel.

“Gently,” Elain warned softly, but firmly. “Sometimes Uncle Azriel is confused when he wakes up, and he doesn’t remember where he is. We don’t want to startle him, especially since he will be very surprised to see you.”

Nyx nodded seriously. When it came to all matters of his uncles, he never wanted to disappoint them.

“Okay,” Elain affirmed, twisting and lifting Nyx so that he now lay in between his aunt and uncle. Still guiding his outstretched hand, Elain led Nyx to gently lay a palm on Azriel’s cheek. His skin was cool beneath Nyx’s touch, soon enveloped by the warmth of his aunt’s palm as she gently stroked both his uncle’s face and Nyx’s hand.

Nyx knew the second his uncle woke, as shadows swarmed from the corners of the room to fly about their master, tickling Nyx’s cheeks and nose in their haste to get to Azriel.

The shadows had never frightened Nyx, but seemed to trail after him once in a while like a stray puppy. Probably by the will of their commander, but Nyx appreciated their presence all the same. It was like an extension of his beloved uncle, even when he wasn’t there.

“Elain?” Azriel muttered dazedly as his brow tightened even further while he fought to open his eyes.

“We have company,” Elain murmured back carefully to his uncle, a kind of warning in her tone. Nyx waited with bated breath.

He didn’t have to wait long, as Azriel’s hazel eyes opened fully at her statement, landing quickly on Nyx who was mere inches from his face.

“Holy mother-“

Nyx couldn’t help but let out a small giggle at his uncle’s surprise, having never once been able to actually startle his stealthy uncle before.

“What’s wrong?” Azriel rasped, pushing up to his elbows to look behind Elain and Nyx toward the still closed door. A few of his shadows darting out beneath it into the quiet hallway.

“Everything’s fine… Azriel.”

Elain’s voice was just as soft as it had been with Nyx.

“Nyx had a bad dream, too, and winnowed here.”

Azriel’s shadows settled closer to him once more once he had determined that neither Nyx nor Elain were in any real danger.

Nyx’s cheeks turned bright red, and he hoped the darkness might hide the fact from his uncle.

“I’m sorry, I know I’m not supposed to winnow in the house.”

Azriel’s expression softened, hazel eyes lowering toward Nyx’s wide blue eyes and wobbling lip.

“It’s alright, Nyx.”

Elain chimed in gently, suggesting, “Why don’t we take you back to your room and we’ll wait until you fall back asleep?”

She squeezed his shoulder reassuringly.

“Yes, please,” Nyx answered bashfully.

Elain led the way out of the room, shadows twisting around her ankles affectionately as Azriel followed behind them both. Nyx had never seen his uncle so casual before. He padded barefoot and bare-chested in a pair of soft sleep pants, hair mussed every which way.

It had been strange to discover him in his aunt’s bedroom, as every i interaction he had ever witnessed between the pair before had been polite, cordial, but nothing more. But clearly, they were good enough friends that Elain turned to him when she was frightened, too.

He was grateful for both of their presence that night, and the memory of his nightmare was quickly fading.

A small hand reached forward, grasping Azriel’s and then the other reaching just behind him to grab Elain’s.

Azriel gave a small smile to Elain over the top of Nyx’s head, while Elain beamed.

The walk down the long hallway no longer seemed so frightening to Nyx, as shadows twisted and danced along their path, the dark shapes leading the way back to Nyx’s room.

Once inside, and Nyx was settled back underneath his covers which once more seemed comforting rather than restrictive, Elain and Azriel sat on either side of him, Elain fussing while Azriel sat quietly, his tired eyes bouncing between the boy and his aunt.

“Uncle Azriel, will you sing?”

Nyx’s small voice was already fading as his eyes drooped with exhaustion.

Elain flashed Azriel a pretty smile, which made the corners of his uncle’s lips turn up before he started to sing quietly, a song that he had sung to Nyx since he was in swaddling clothes. It was in a language he did not recognize, but comforted him all the same. His uncle’s voice was rich and deep, like the roots of a tree digging deep into the earth.

The last thing Nyx thought about before he drifted back to sleep was that he hoped his aunt and uncle would not have any more bad dreams that night either. And that the stars would watch over them too, just as they remained bright and twinkling outside of his bedroom window.

———————

Once they were sure Nyx was resting peacefully, with no nightmares in sight, Azriel and Elain quietly took their leave back to Elain’s bedroom.

As soon as the door had clicked shut behind them, Azriel scooped up Elain and carried her down the rest of the way down the hallway, against her whispered protests.

Now that he was awake and sure that his nephew was sleeping soundly once more at the other end of the hall, Azriel had no intentions of falling asleep again anytime soon.

“We’re lucky that I needed that nap before properly greeting you,” Azriel murmured, pressing teasing kisses up and along Elain’s throat. “Otherwise we would have needed to have a much different conversation tonight.”

Elain huffed a laugh, even as she gripped his shoulder tighter, urging him on.

“I’ll figure out what to explain this as in the morning, to keep him from saying anything to Rhys or Feyre.”

“Is something distracting you from devising a plan right now?” Azriel murmured against her neck. Elain could feel the curve of his lips turn in a teasing smile.

“I’ve been waiting for this distraction to come home to me for weeks, so I would say yes…” Elain retorted, pushing him away and on his back with surprising strength and hiking her nightgown up in order to straddle him.

“Now, distraction, show me exactly how much you missed me.”

Tag List: @ultadverb @reverie-tales @123moiaussi @demarogue @gracie-rosee @impossiblescissorspeachpaper

#elriel #elain archeron #azriel #acotar fanfiction #pro elriel #elain x azriel #pro elain #elriel fanfiction #azriel shadowsinger #elriel fic #baby nyx #hurt/comfort #fluff #acotar fluff #elriel fluff

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submalevolentgrace · 3 months

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Rough sleepers who present as suicidal to hospitals are being turned away or discharged back into homelessness due to a lack of beds, emergency housing and mental healthcare availability. In two cases identified by the Guardian, homeless Indigenous men linked their hospital presentation directly to their homelessness. One told staff: “It is hard to find a reason to live when you have nowhere to live.” They were discharged and found dead a short time later. Rough sleepers are dying needlessly after encounters with police and the justice system on trivial matters, which lead to use of force or deaths in custody. In at least four cases seen by the Guardian, deaths occurred after arrests for minor public order offences, such as drinking in public and public urination. Frontline workers say the chronic underfunding of specialised homelessness health services means easily treatable injuries and illnesses are being missed in early stages. This is compounding the significant toll homelessness causes on physical and mental health. Homeless Australians are being subjected to brutal, sometimes fatal violence while sleeping rough, and being found in parks, squats and on the street shot, stabbed or bashed. In one case, that of Sydney rough sleeper Roger Davies, police decided there were “no suspicious circumstances” despite evidence he had sustained fractures to nine ribs about the time he died and had complained of being subjected to violence and constant robberies while sleeping in a burnt-out squat house in Granville. They then failed to notify his family until more than two years after Davies was buried in a pauper’s grave. In Western Australia, Indigenous families say the state government is evicting public housing residents even when it knows this will lead to homelessness. Guardian Australia is aware of at least two families whose loved ones died by suicide shortly after losing housing and becoming homeless. The state’s department of communities said terminations are sought only as a “last resort” and that they provide support to tenants facing eviction.

The Australian government does not count the number of homelessness deaths each year, setting it apart from other western nations. Correspondence seen by the Guardian show the former federal government and state governments rejected or ignored the homelessness sector’s pleas in 2021 to build an annual tally, including by commissioning the Australian Institute of Health and Welfare to develop a reporting framework for hospitals, homelessness services and coroners.

#auspol #homelessness

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nerevar-quote-and-star · 3 months

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Okay, here are my current notes on the Markarth Incident. This is more of an evolution of thought rather than a final product, 'kay? 'kay. XOXO

4E 174 – The Empire recalls all Legions from the far corners of the Empire to participate in the final assault against the Aldmeri-held Imperial City. Every town and city not on the frontlines is left with a skeleton garrison.

The Reachmen of Western Skyrim chooses to capitalize on this movement. The Reachmen populate an area of Western Skyrim, Eastern High Rock, and Northern Hammerfell. Although they appear similar to the Bretons of High Rock, they are wholly distinct, worshipping gods completely detached from those of Breton culture. During the Second Era, they once ruled Cyrodiil as the Longhouse Emperors; in recent history, they have lived subject to other races, primarily the Nords, who rule much of the Reach. More often than not, Reachmen are second-class citizens, though very rarely have they received decent though not preferential treatment from a Nordic Jarl.

When the Empire recalls their Legions, the capital of the Reach, Markarth, is left functionally undefended. A Reachman leader, Madanach, takes this opportunity to seize the city and install a Reachmen government in place of the Nords. Madanach declares himself King of the Reach and succeeds the Reach from Skyrim. Contemporary Imperial documents show that Madanach sent emissaries to Emperor Titus Mede II in an attempt to have the Reach recognized as its own Imperial Province wholly separate from Skyrim. Titus Mede appeared to have taken this into serious consideration, though he was unable to give it his full attention as the Empire was planning their attack on the Imperial City.

Conflicting reports on the time frame of the Reachman takeover exist. Reports vary between the takeover beginning in Fourth Era 174 and 177 when the conflict was over. Contemporary Imperial and Forsworn documentation claim that Madanach’s rule was relatively stable, saying he was fair to the Nords, his people ousted from power, and allowed them to remain in the city so long as they recognized his government. It is said that live around Markarth continued in the same way as before, though under the Reachmen rather than the Nords. It may be important to note that Nord landholders who “mistreated” their Reachmen servants were put to death.

The Nordic perspective (as shared by Jarl Igmund in Fourth Era 201) claims that the Reachmen takeover was violent, leading to a chaotic period in which Nords were heavily discriminated against and no civil cooperation between races.

[Madanach’s version of events MAY be closer to the truth. N.B: During his rule, he seems willing to help a group of dissident Blades in exchange for a favor.]

The White-Gold Concordat is signed 11th of Sun’s Dusk, Fourth Era 175; Surviving veterans of the Battle of the Red Ring return to their homes, including large populations of Nordic legionnaires. Talos worship is outlawed. Talos temples are closed, though many continue to worship him in private. Ulfric Stormcloak takes offense to the banning of Talos worship, viewing it as a central aspect of Nord culture. His father, Hoag, the Jarl of Windhelm and Bear of Eastmarch, does not legalize Talos worship despite Ulfric’s religiosity. It may be that he wishes to avoid a conflict with the Empire. Jarl Hrolfdir of Markath, in exile by Madanach’s government, promises Ulfric and his supporters religious freedom should they take back the Reach from the Reachmen. This is in blatant disregard of the White-Gold Concordat.

Ulfric leads a militia across Skyrim to the Reach where they took back Markarth. A few Reachmen leaders were imprisoned, though others were killed, along with most of their warriors, though some were driven off into the surrounding wilds. The survivors in exile began to call themselves the Forsworn. They attack Nords and the Empire indiscriminately due to anger and feelings of betrayal.

Most of the Reachmen leaders are killed. However, allegedly at the request of the Silver-Blood family, Madanach is taken prisoner and held in the depths of Cidhna Mine. The Forsworn claim that the Nords, under Jarl Hrolfdir and Ulfric Stormcloak, took back the city through an excess of unnecessary violence, putting to death or imprisoning anyone who had even spoken to Madanach or said his name. It is also said that the family members of those who were deemed to be against the Nords’ rule were imprisoned or killed, even down to young children. Purported Imperial propaganda puts forth that Ulfric himself killed everyone in Markarth who would not join his cause.

It is true that there was bloodshed and death of innocents during the retaking of Markarth. The factuality of this claim can be traced to those Reachmen who survived the incident, sharing their experiences twenty-five years afterward.

Jarl Hrolfdir was assassinated during attempted peace talks with the Forsworn after the retaking of Markarth. It may be that the incident only grew violent after this point due to Nordic retaliation.

Why would Ulfric and Jarl Hrolfdir use that much unnecessary violence and brutality against the Reachmen if they intended to negotiate with them afterward?

Perhaps Igmund instigates the brunt of the violence against the Reachmen following his father’s death.

Jarl Hrolfdir was marked for death by the Dark Brotherhood. It is unknown who performed the Black Sacrament on the Jarl. It is possible someone from outside the conflict placed the contract on Jarl Hrolfdir’s head as a means of sewing chaos between the opposing sides (it could have been Igmund or Raerek [crack theory; maybe the brother was trying to Lion King his way into power and failed miserably? Or one of them opposed making peace with the Reachmen], or perhaps it was the Aldmeri Dominion?). Regardless, the Jarl’s death is the probable instigator for the deaths of many of the Reachman remaining in Markarth.

The Imperial Legion shows up not long after the city is retaken. They are seemingly thankful that Ulfric’s militia took back the Reach. When Ulfric lets them into the city, he asks that they recognize the free worship of Talos that Jarl Hrolfdir had legalized in the Reach; otherwise, the Legion would be fought off. The Imperial Legate (or general?) present at the time okays Ulfric’s request, effectively breaking the White-Gold Concordat. Again. Not long after, the Thalmor discovered this and took issue with this breach of treaty. They give the Empire an ultimatum: disband Talos worship in the Reach or prepare for the Great War to be renewed.

Ulfric and his followers are arrested and imprisoned by the Empire as Talos worship is again banned. The Empire must crack down on cases of Talos worship across the province. In consequence of the incident, the Thalmor gain access to Skyrim for their Justiciars through an Embassy. This is allegedly to enforce the terms of the White-Gold Concordat after it had been broken by the Nords in Fourth Era 176/7, but on an underground level, this allows the Thalmor to hunt, capture, and torture suspected Talos worshippers. The coming of the Thalmor Justiciars to Skyrim is technically a domino effect caused by Ulfric’s demand for free and open Talos worship.

Jarl Hrolfdir’s assassination happens during Ulfric and his supporters imprisonment. It may be possible that it was Ulfric OR one of his men who performed the Black Sacrament (though how could they do this while in an Imperial prison? Ulfric had to smuggle out his eulogy for his father’s funeral – what is the Imperial prison smuggling system like? Could any of them have had access to a dead body? Smuggled in or that of a fellow prisoner?). Whoever performed the Black Sacrament on Jarl Hrolfdir is the root cause for the retribution killings of the Reachmen. (Perhaps it was Thonar Silver-Blood?)

Ulfric is an uncooperative asset to the Thalmor, not because he ever cooperated with them in the first place, but because he is the (unintended) reason they have such a strong foothold in Skyrim now.

#yes I know the timeline is conflicted by different parties #but since tes lore is conflicting all the time i reserve to take what makes sense to me and run like oblivion #ulfric is at fault here not because he crazy killed people but because he was a stupid guy in his late 20s and he didn't get subtlety yet #i guess? also how long after his imprisonment/torture by the dominion was this? dude's head was HOT #kinda thought igmund would be the funny choice here but nah a silver blood makes more sense #everyone here is an idiot except hoag who had the good sense to NOT be a part of this #this is important now because leara is going to markarth in keeping count act ii and I HAVE ALWAYS WANTED HER TO MEET MADANACH #saw a thing comparing madanach to nerevar indoril as they both were the only ones to unite the warring tribes/clans/house of their people #i also need to take a crash course in reachmen and figure out what the HECK cael's deal is #neither cael nor the markarth incident were supposed to be in keeping count AND YET HERE WE ARE #gladly accept feedback and thoughts but also please don't hurt me lore is too messy and he said she said what even the crap to get mad abou #I didn't know you were keeping count #ulfric stormcloak #markarth incident #forsworn #the great war #the elder scrolls #tes #skyrim #mod post #stuff like this is why I don't do lore posts #lore #meta #maybe? dunno ANYWAY #aldmeri dominion #madanach

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