#notes from the front

[6thofapril1917]

hi all! meet chiara cammarata, my entry for this year's @blind-dates-fest. i thought alessia biondi from sas:rh deserved a girlfriend (or at least a girl so devoted to her it blurs the lines between platonic and romantic), so here we are!

///

“I’m sorry, I must be hearing things,” Chiara exclaimed. The wooden floor creaked loudly under her hobnailed boots as she paced back and forth. “The soldiers who just landed here have decided to meet with Cavalli? They’re meeting with the Cosa Nostra, but not with us? Are they simple-headed, or what?”

“No, Chiara,” Alessia reassured her, though she couldn’t fully mask the disappointment in her tone. “They’re just English.”

“I can’t believe this,” Chiara muttered with a shake of her head. “Cavalli’s a snake, and everyone knows it.” 

“And how were they supposed to know that?” Alfredo interjected. “They only landed last night.”

Chiara scoffed in disbelief. “That hardly matters. We don’t have any more time for these kinds of mistakes.”

She stopped pacing and walked over to where Alessia was sitting on the windowsill, placing a hand on the other woman’s shoulder. She took a deep breath in, trying to calm herself. It wasn’t entirely working.

“You know what will happen, Alessia,” she said softly. “Those men aren’t from here, the mafiosi have no reason to honor their promises to them. The moment they do something Cavalli doesn’t approve of, he’ll turn them in, and then where will we be?”

Alessia sighed, leaning back against the window jamb with perhaps more force than necessary. Her long, slim hand reached up to cover Chiara’s shorter, wider one, her thumb brushing over the blistered knuckles absentmindedly. 

“I know,” she muttered. “I don’t like this situation any more than you do. But what choice do we have?” she asked. “They’ve made their decision, and now we have to live with it.”

Chiara smothered the urge to reach out and smooth out the furrow between Alessia’s brows. She settled for a nod, instead.

“So, what’s the plan?” Alfredo asked. He sat at the wooden kitchen table, cleaning under his nails with a butter knife. “Sit here and wait for them to get killed?”

“Don’t be an ass, Alfredo,” Chiara scolded. Beneath her hand, she felt Alessia’s shoulder tense. 

“We’ll be meeting with them,” Alessia muttered.

Chiara’s heart jumped.

“What did you say?”

“I said, we’ll be meeting with them. According to the British, we’ve been invited to sit at the long table.”

Chiara’s heart dropped like a stone. Absolutely not. Not after what they did to my family. She ripped her hand away from Alessia’s shoulder as though she’d been burned, stumbling back from the windowsill.”

“Tell me you said no, Alessia,” she begged. “Tell me you didn’t agree to this.”

Alessia’s mouth was pressed into a thin, white line, but her eyes were soft, apologetic.

“I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t think it would help,” she said.

“What do you mean, help?” Chiara demanded. “We agreed, Alessia. We said we would work with the Cosa Nostra for as long as this war lasted, but we wouldn’t sit at their table. That was the line we said we wouldn’t cross—that you said we wouldn’t cross.”

“I know that, Chiara!” Alessia exclaimed, rising to her feet. “I tried to tell the man in charge—Stirling—the same. He wouldn’t listen.” She sighed wearily. “What’s done is done. The best we can hope for is that we meet these British soldiers before the mafiosi do. Let them know they need to be on their guard.”

Chiara closed her eyes. She didn’t feel at all ready for this – for them – but she supposed that there was no other choice. She’d sacrificed so many things for the partisans already. What was one more?

“Chiara?”

Chiara opened her eyes to see Alessia staring it her with a look that, to an outside observer, differed little from her usual “let’s-get-down-to-business” expression of gritty determination. Chiara wasn’t an outsider, though. It was Alessia who had first brought her to the partisans. It was Alessia who had taught her to fight. It was Alessia who told her what the capo’s men had done to her father. And in Alessia’s eyes, Chiara could see the faint glimmer of an apology. 

“Fine,” Chiara stated coolly. “Before Cavalli can put any more ideas into their heads.”

When the first Stuka droned over the long, elegant table, she felt bitter vindication.

[misfitwashere]

Note from the front

#stand with ukraine#war in ukraine#russia is a terrorist state#russo ukrainian war#ukraine

Not gonna lie, my morale is at the lowest point it's been since the beginning of the invasion. Russians are successfully occupying more and more territories and shell frontline regions every day. People are dying, our culture and herritage is destroyed. International aid dwindled significantly because of american bullshit. Mobilization law has been signed and there is a chance that my family members get conscripted soon. Don't even get me started on internal political problems. A bunch of articles in foreign media talking about our defeat and "peace talks" (what a joke).

It feels like there were no at least moderately good news in a while. On top of that, the feeling that we are screaming into the void is stronger than ever. I'm happy when I see a foreigner online supporting us and spreading the word, because it gets rarer. Ukrainians feel like none of what's happening gets outside our info bubble. Most likely no one but Ukrainians will see this post either. Honestly don't know what to make of all of this.

[6thofapril1917]

If You Play With Fire, Then You'll Burn - Chapter 6

Sarie strode right after him. “Are you this much of an insufferable cunt to everyone, or just to me?” Johnny froze, shoulders tensed. When he turned to face her, his expression was pained. “Just… Make sure you don’t get us all killed,” he muttered.

Private Sarah "Sarie" Meyer has hit rock bottom.

A year after her expulsion from high school, she's managed to build a new life for herself as a despatch rider with the South African Women's Auxiliary Army Service in North Africa. Ferrying messages, packages, and relief to Commonwealth units throughout the expanse of the Sahara desert, her life has gained a stability it hasn't had in years—until it all comes crashing down around her.

When a vindictive CO reveals a classified secret from Sarie's past, she finds herself ostracized from the rest of her unit, stripped of her duties, and facing a discharge. That is, until a chance encounter in a Cairo bar leads to a proposition from a new, radically unconventional unit of the British Army.

The SAS breaks with tradition. Sarie Meyer is going to shatter it.

eventual johnny cooper/original female character, multi-chapter

read on ao3: chapter 6 - mik van my hart - 5.3k words

as always, thanks to @reneetoile for beta reading (even while experiencing The Horrors)

taglist: @hesbuckcompton-baby @dcyllom @regseekings @frstcorinthians @lostloveletters @finalgirlmalarkey

[numbuh424]

it's going to go exactly as written.

[booart5]

Reblogging this drawing with the Timelapse because I finally figured out how to add those and I think it’s cool

Took me about 60 hours which is CRAZY,, I call this one The Quark Family when I’m talking about it (which seems apt) and I’ve literally crammed so many references and details and hours into this my life feels so empty without it. Tumblr is butchering the image quality but that’s just what it is ig,,, I’ve tried and I can’t seem to fix it

Progress shots and closeups under the cut (and a full list of the references and stuff I crammed in in the tags bc I have to know that they’re all noticed)

[misfitwashere]

Note from the front

Students of Mykhailo Boychuk Art Academy drawing their school that was hit by russian missile

[crabboytahomaru]

i knew haolin would come in clutch

[6thofapril1917]

If You Play With Fire, Then You'll Burn - Chapter 5

“I’m not bitter,” Johnny spluttered. “But I didn’t join up with the SAS to play nursemaid to a talentless Boer who reeks of engine oil.” “And that talentless Boer drove a hundred and seventy miles through open desert on a tank of siphoned petrol, Cooper,” Mike shot back. “Give her a bit of respect.”

Private Sarah "Sarie" Meyer has hit rock bottom.

A year after her expulsion from high school, she's managed to build a new life for herself as a despatch rider with the South African Women's Auxiliary Army Service in North Africa. Ferrying messages, packages, and relief to Commonwealth units throughout the expanse of the Sahara desert, her life has gained a stability it hasn't had in years—until it all comes crashing down around her.

When a vindictive CO reveals a classified secret from Sarie's past, she finds herself ostracized from the rest of her unit, stripped of her duties, and facing a discharge. That is, until a chance encounter in a Cairo bar leads to a proposition from a new, radically unconventional unit of the British Army.

The SAS breaks with tradition. Sarie Meyer is going to shatter it.

eventual johnny cooper/original female character, multi-chapter.

read on ao3: chapter 5 - meer probeer beheer - 4.3k words

thanks to @reneetoile for beta reading!

taglist: @hesbuckcompton-baby @dcyllom @regseekings @frstcorinthians @lostloveletters

[misfitwashere]

Note from the front

[withthewindinherfootsteps]

I love how the faux-politeness of MDZS' climax takes its themes to its logical conclusion. All throughout, we've seem how sects and cultivators prioritise their reputations, seeking glory and status even when real lives are at danger, keeping up their appearances. We see that in the unwritten rule that major sects won't intervene in problems unless the prey is dangerous; we see it in how Lan Wangji is unique in the way he prioritises helping others over seeking glory; we see that in how the Wen situation plays out, with Wei Wuxian confronting the Jins about a concentration camp while they're focused on having a banquet.

So of course in the Guanyin Temple, even when Jin Guangyao is directly threatening people's lives, the interactions are polite! We're seeing what has always been present – the absolute disconnect between the actions and world of the Jianghu, and the real harm that real people are suffering through (both intentionally and not) as a result.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Gaslight, Gatekeep, Girl found dead in a hidden room.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[6thofapril1917]

hey tal , hope you're doing well !

for the prompt list may i request #72 for sarie+johnny ?

72. “I will knock you on your ass if you even think about it.”

prompt list

Takes place some time in 1943, before the SAS goes to Europe. Established Sarie/Johnny! Alternate title: Their Love Language is Annoying The Fuck Out Of Each Other

Sarie’s back felt like it was on fire.

Despite her light skin, she hadn’t been sunburned since she was a toddler. It was as if her skin cells managed to catch up to the fact that she was living in the Karoo, not Europe, and decided to stop getting damaged by the sun out of sheer determination. She hadn’t walked away from a childhood under the sun completely unscathed—the constellations of freckles sprayed across her face and body were a testament to that. Still, back home, she���d thought herself safe from the worst of the sun’s wrath.

Now, she was learning the hard way that the sun in South Africa and the sun in the Sahara were two very different beasts.

She was lying flat on her stomach in the long shade of the fortress walls, stripped down to her undershirt and trunks as the men around her—men she thought were her friends, damn it—taunted her in her misery. 

“The invincible Sarie Meyer, laid low by a sunburn,” Riley called out, as if he were announcing a new performer at a particularly boring freak show. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

“Scientists had thought it impossible,” Jordan deadpanned, peering at her over his book. “I’ll have to let my colleagues at the Sorbonne know of this shocking new development.”

“A revelation for the ages,” Mike added, passing Sarie a fresh canteen of water. She took it with a grunt of thanks, wincing as the reddened skin on her back pulled.

“You’re all terrible,” Sarie grumbled. “Completely bloody terrible.”

“Who are we calling terrible?” a new voice asked. Sarie glanced up to see Johnny and Reg strolling back into the fortress, rifles slung over their soldiers. Johnny raised his eyebrows when he caught sight of Sarie sprawled out on the ground. “Sarie, what the hell are you doing?”

“You’re woman’s been wounded, Cooper,” Mike drawled. “It seems she’s found the one target she can’t hit—the sun.”

“Count your fucking days, Sadler,” Sarie hissed under her breath. The men’s taunts were bad enough. Johnny was going to be fucking insufferable.

“A sunburn, eh?” Johnny asked, and Sarie could practically hear him struggling not to laugh. “That’s odd. I seem to remember a certain someone making the bold claim that ‘sunburns are for the English.’

“What was it you said to me the last time I was burnt?” he continued. “‘You soutie bastards think you’re the kings of the world, and you can’t even handle a bit of sun!’” Johnny recited.

“Is that meant to be a South African accent?” Sarie asked, laughing in spite of herself. “You sound like an Aussie who’s had one too many drinks.”

“I think it sounds impeccable, thank you very much,” Johnny shot back, feigning offense. He dropped his rifle to the ground and plopped down next to where Sarie was sprawled on the dusty cloth mat. He eyed the sunburn painting her shoulders and upper back with a grimace.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered. “How on earth did this happen?”

“How do you think, genius?” Sarie grumbled. “Went out on my bike. Stayed out too long, I suppose.”

Johnny only hummed in response. She could feel his eyes assessing the damage to her back the same way he assessed a target. She could feel his hand tracing the damaged skin lightly with his fingertips. It was almost hypnotic, and Sarie’s eyelids began to droop which each pass of his hand over her skin.

He was quiet. Too quiet. Then, he chuckled, and suddenly, his fingers were gone. 

Oh, this bloody arsehole.

In a flash, and despite the protests of her aching flesh, Sarie rolled onto her back and grabbed ahold of his wrist, wrenched back in preparation to strike.

“I will knock you on your arse if you even think about it,” she spat.

Johnny batted his eyelashes. “Think about what?” he asked with a smirk.

Sarie scoffed, gesturing to where his wrist was still held firm in her grasp. “Do you need me to spell it out for you, or what?”

“No, I wouldn’t dare of making you do any work,” Johnny said, though he made no move to wrest his hand from her grasp. “Not in your fragile condition.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Sarie muttered, releasing his wrist and swatting him on the cheek before turning back to lay on her front.

“Will do,” Johnny responded, nipping at her palm before she could pull her hand away.

Neither of them moved. Soon enough, Sarie could feel his fingers tracing patterns on her back once more.

[moeblob]

Gavin mentally: wait... that doesn't add up........

[sophsun1]

#oh how the power dynamic has changed

[daisybell-on-a-carousel]

[6thofapril1917]

sarie ethnicity musings (with historical context!!)

It’s hard to overstate just how much Sarie’s Jewishness impacts her as a character, specifically how she views herself in relation to other people. Afrikaans-speaking Jews (Boerejode) lived mainly in rural areas where knowledge of Afrikaans would be needed in daily life (mainly the rural Cape and the Transvaal). However, the biggest waves of Jews immigration came from Lithuania in the 1880s and 1890s, followed by an influx of German Jews in the 1930s. Most of these immigrants (with the exception of people like Sarie’s mom who married into Afrikaans-speaking families) settled in cities like Cape Town, Johannesburg, and Durban, where knowledge of Afrikaans wasn’t needed. So right off the bat, Sarie is alienated from the vast majority of her community by virtue of being Afrikaans-speaking.

But that doesn’t mean she belongs among the Afrikaans-speakers, either! White Afrikaans-speaking (Afrikaner) identity is fundamentally tied to adherence to a deeply-rooted Calvinist tradition (non-white Afrikaans-speakers are generally split between Calvinism and Islam). For a nationalist hardliner, it’s impossible for a Jew (or even a Catholic or an irreligious person) to be considered an Afrikaner, regardless of how White or Afrikaans-speaking they are. And in the 1930s and 1940s, these kinds of hardliners were everywhere.

The intensification of Afrikaner nationalism in this period would culminate in the accession to power of the National Party in 1948, which would go on to enjoy both the near-unanimous support of Afrikaners as well as considerable support (albeit less fervent and at times more tacit) from white English-speakers for the next forty-odd years. Expanding on the structures left behind by English colonial rule, the successive National Party governments would institutionalize the draconian policies of mass disenfranchisement, arbitrary displacement, censorship, economic disempowerment, imprisonment, and segregation — all enforced through brutal violence against non-white populations — that we know as apartheid.

Sarie is born at the tail end of 1921, meaning she comes of age in the mid-to-late 1930s. This is where it’s necessary to elaborate on the role that the Depression played in the upswing of Afrikaner nationalism. Lord Kitchener’s scorched-earth policy in the second half of the 2nd Anglo-Boer War (1899-1902) destroyed thousands of Afrikaner farmsteads across the northern Cape, Orange Free State, and Transvaal. Afrikaners had always been an agrarian people; in 1947, less than thirty percent of all Afrikaners worked outside of agriculture. The loss of land forced a majority of mid- and small-scale Afrikaner farmers to either become sharecroppers for English and wealthier Afrikaner landlords, or go into mine or factory work in the cities and towns along the Rand. And as in all societies, these groups were hit hard by the Depression, leaving many Afrikaner workers, poor to begin with, destitute (farmers, especially wool farming families like Sarie's, would also be significantly affected). Suddenly, Afrikaners found themselves living in the same slums, standing in the same job lines, and eating the same food as their Black counterparts — and this is what sparked alarm in the middle-class and wealthy Afrikaner establishment.

Fearing that Afrikaner destitution would erode the myth of white supremacy which legitimized minority rule (or, to take a more Marxist perspective, that the poor Afrikaners would gain class consciousness), Afrikaner nationalists and their English supporters spent untold amounts of time and effort trying to rectify this supposed reversal of the “natural” racial hierarchy. This would culminate in the Carnegie Commission of Investigation on the Poor White Problem in South Africa, a 1932 report by the Carnegie Corporation which recommended racial segregation as a solution to the “problem” Throughout the 1930s, Afrikaner nationalists would appeal to the mythical Voortrekker (pioneer) past to foster increased national affiliation. This would culminate in the 1938 Voortrekker Centenary, which saw Afrikaners reenact the trek from the Cape to the interior taken by their ancestors a century earlier.

Sarie would have felt this increase in nationalism acutely, not just as someone whose religious affiliation excluded her from the mainstream Afrikaner milieu, but as a woman. The ideal Afrikaans woman, the “boeremeisie” (farm girl) or “volksmoeder” (mother of the people), was, in the words of author Lize van Robbreck’s high school principal, “proper, humble, and chaste.” Van Robbreck was the daughter of Catholic Flemish parents, and while she had spoken Afrikaans her whole life and been raised on a steady diet of folk dance and traditional songs, in her Afrikaans high school she realized that her Catholic heritage fundamentally differentiated her from her peers. “I could never be one of them, no matter how hard I tried.” Sarie, as both a Jew and as a woman who is neither proper, humble, nor chaste, already finds herself distinctly isolated from the other girls at her school.

And yet, at the same time, I think that Sarie does, to an extent, resent this exclusion. While she frowns on the racial discrimination and antisemitism inherent in Afrikaner nationalism of this era, and as much as she takes pride in going against the grain (manifesting in an admittedly not-like-other-girls attitude towards her fellow Waasies), a part of her is still desperately searching after the validation from her peers, the validation of inclusion, that she was never going to be able to receive. This, I think, is what fuels her continuous affirmation of her South African — and Afrikaans/Boer — identity amongst her fellow soldiers in the SAS. In the SAS there’s nobody who can call her out, who can deny her Boer identity — even if it’s just by virtue of the fact that they don’t know enough to say otherwise. However, I don’t think that Sarie herself would realize that this is what’s pushing her — to her, she’s just explaining her identity with the same aggression she has always had to use to justify herself. I think that there's a reason that Sarie only ever refers to herself as a Boer or a Boerejood, and never, ever, as an Afrikaner.

I’m probably going to follow this up with a whole other essay just about her gender but I spent all of today flying home and there’s hockey on TV and I’m tired so this is all you’re getting for now. Thanks for reading this absolute fucking thesis of an OC post <3