#the last one fought nazis

[the-witchhunter]

DP x DC: Ragman

So Ragman is a hero in DC comics. Ragman was originally created to replace the golem and protect the Jewish people over the centuries. The mantle and costume has been passed down over the years and the current Ragman is Rory Regan

Ragman’s costume is an ancient artifact made of rags. The rags are actually evil souls so the dude is running around dressed in souls. He can actually take someone’s soul and make it another rag in his suit. The suit has a collective personality Ragman can communicate with. It enhances his physical abilities, endurance, and gives him some mystical abilities, including sensing evil souls. He can also call upon some abilities and attributes of the souls he has collected.

 He’s a proficient magician and has been part of the justice league, shadowpact, and the sentinels of magic. He was active in destroying demons when they were invading earth at one point

So why am I bringing Ragman up?

So we had Danny, half ghost and tapdancing on the line between life and death, who fought against the Ghost king’s invasion of Amity. Then we have Ragman, cloak in a costume made from evil souls who fought demons to protect earth. 

It feels like there is something there, something we can work with...

[elder-millennial-of-zion]

When I say I’m a Zionist, all I mean is that I want a country that already exists, that has existed for 75 years, to continue to exist. Not the current government, just the country itself. That shouldn’t be a controversial stance.

It’s not normal to need an entire movement around wanting an existing country to keep existing. It’s not normal that there’s an entire movement dedicated to the complete destruction of one singular country and no other.

Even if you insist on comparing Israel to the most evil regimes; Nazi Germany, apartheid South Africa - which you shouldn’t because it’s false and antisemitic, but even if you did - the Nazis were defeated, the Nazi occupation of other countries was defeated, but Germany is still a country. Apartheid ended, but South Africa is still a country. British colonies have fought for and won independence one by one, but Britain is still a country. In the US, slavery ended, segregation was struck down, but the US is still a country. It’s only Israel where people pose the ridiculous question of whether a country should still be a country.

And to everyone who says “I don’t think the US should exist either,” bullshit. You’re not doing anything about that. There is no movement to abolish the United States, and last time there was, that movement was comprised of the racist slave owners.

The fact that the argument over Israel’s existence has been normalized when there is no such argument about any other country in the world, is ridiculous. It’s insane that non-Jews can’t talk about Israel the way they talk about every other country, that they can’t criticize its government, military, or policies without jumping right to “and therefore Israel should be destroyed.” They say this about the one Jewish country and no others, and they really pretend they don’t see anything wrong with that.

Not to mention that abolishing a country is completely impractical in ways that have never occurred to them. Like there’s a sign on a border gate that says “Israel” that they can just paint over to say “Palestine” and that will be that.

Step 1: replace all the flags

Step 2: ???????

Step 3: utopia

[troybarnesbucky]

just returning here after 2 years of not being on this cursed app to say one thing and one thing only. i LEFT this app because of rampant antisemitism and dehumanization that i witnessed two years ago. my last post was about the death of sarah halimi z’l, which you were all silent about. today, six months after the most violent and deadly attack on jews since the Shoah, i return to see how the virulent and disgusting antisemitism that pushed me away from here is even worse than it ever was. i was on tumblr, with various accounts, for more than a decade. it was NEVER this bad but then again, the dehumanization of jews has become so normalized in the last five or six years, so idk why i’m surprised.

well i’m not really surprised. but i’m here because i want to say i told you so, but it’s pointless. you all don’t care. you don’t care that jewish people in your own countries, let alone israel (god forbid lollll) are being abused, attacked, bullied and dehumanized at pre-Shoah levels. you would rather that happen than exhibit nuance, empathy for everyone, or stay silent when you don’t need to say a fucking thing about a conflict miles and miles away from you, in distance and in reality. i’ve lost friends, i’ve lost my last year of education, i lost my mental health, all because when it comes to jews, no amount of repeating the same stupid, violent pattern of dehumanization will teach you non-jews (and yes, some of you jews too) the lesson of antisemitism and its poisonous, conspiratorial and dangerous nature.

we know you don’t care. it’s been made so abundantly clear, not just now but in the last six, seven, eight years. when the only antisemitism you cared about was in a harry potter book, or in trump’s dumbass comments, or in a movie about a jew with a prosthetic nose. and even then most of you didn’t care, you didn’t let us jews define our oppression — so we know you don’t care enough to give us that “privilege” now.

but i know, maybe twenty or thirty years from now, you’ll look at pictures and maybe even history books and remember what you said, did, and fought for. maybe you won’t. maybe you’ll still be sick, poisoned by antisemitism and unable to shake it off. or maybe not, and only then will you realize that you perpetuated this violence, evil, this dehumanization of jews. you called us nazis, you spit at our faces while we begged to be seen, you engaged in violent antisemitism comparable to nazi-era rhetoric. and maybe THEN you’ll feel bad. but then it’ll be too late.

to any jew that comes across this post, you’re not alone. my DMs are always open — i don’t come on this app much but will always be happy to talk. am yisrael chai ❤️

[thebiggerbear]

"Sleep. I'll keep you safe." - Soldier Boy Prompt Response

Summary: You're tired of running and you go to Soldier Boy for protection. He agrees to do it but not without a price.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Female!Reader

A/N: Prompt from @thelonelyempath. The original character I wanted to respond to this prompt with before deciding to make it multi-character. This scenario immediately popped into my head reading the line and I just had to write it. Hope it's okay.

Thank you to my beta @rieleatiel for her services. You rock, girl!

Sequel

Warnings: violence/murder; implied assassination attempts; sexual propositioning; Soldier Boy being himself; starts out as a blackmail type dynamic that appears as if a little dubcon at first; language?

Word Count: 2528

Taglist: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187

SB Taglist: @heartlessdelusions; @nancymcl; @brightlilith

Jensen Taglist: @samanddeaninatrenchcoat

This was recc'ed by @winchestergirl2 here.

"Sleep. I'll keep you safe."

Beau version ✨ Dean version ✨ Jenny version ✨ Tom version ✨ Jason version ✨ Anael version ✨ SDV Alex version

You never thought in a million years that you would be seeking out one of the most dangerous Supes in the world for protection. Then again, you never would have thought that a multi-billion dollar corporation would be after you, intent on seeing you torn apart and scattered to the four winds. You didn’t exactly blow the whistle on them, but you didn’t exactly tow the company line either—something Stan Edgar was less than thrilled with and now the evil son of a bitch wanted you dead.

It was no secret that Edgar and Soldier Boy had a falling out of sorts after the truth about his being handed to the Russians had come to light. His old team may have made it happen, but it was Edgar pulling the strings all along. Surprisingly, the Supe who had been so focused on revenge hadn’t hunted Edgar down after this revelation, which made you wary about going this route. However, after narrowly escaping the latest death squad sent after you, you decided you had no choice but to take the gamble. There was nowhere you could run that Vought wouldn’t find you and you just hoped this would be more of an ‘enemy of my enemy’ situation rather than a ‘handing you right over to your enemy’ situation.

Once you had managed to track him down in Hong Kong while you were busy running yourself, he had shockingly agreed to a meet, and even more shockingly agreed to help you. Not without certain stipulations, of course.

“Let me in that sweet pussy of yours and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

You should have known, especially from the way he had been eyeing you up ever since he caught sight of you. Screwing your face up in disgust, you flat out refused. “Not happening.”

He shrugged and began to walk away. “Then you must not need my protection that badly.”

You scoffed in disbelief. “You’re seriously turning me down because I won’t fuck you? Whatever happened to the ‘Soldier Boy is America’s son’ bullshit? The OG superhero who fought Nazis and protected people?”

Soldier Boy stopped and slowly turned back towards you. “I’d be putting myself on the line to protect you. For that, I deserve one hell of a payment.” 

You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms. “So now you’re blackmailing me into sleeping with you? Unbelievable.” You had heard he was more like America’s Asshole than its Son, but you still couldn’t believe your ears. You had even offered to help him take Vought down with what you knew, so long as he kept you safe. You knew he’d want that kind of information. Why else was he hopping from continent to continent in the last few months, trying to shake Vought just like you were? Instead, his dick was taking top priority. Typical. 

“It’s the least you can do, doll.” He faced you fully again, shield hanging off of his arm as if it weighed nothing. “Like you said, I fought for this country, fought the Nazis, and now you’re asking me to play bodyguard while taking on Vought for you. I deserve something worth all that trouble.”

You ran through all other options in your mind. You still had a contact that could possibly put you in touch with someone that wouldn’t mind tapping into Vought’s offshore accounts that weren’t supposed to exist. You were already on Vought’s kill list; what would a few hundred thousand dollars of theirs matter? “I could pay you,” you offered.

“I’m not interested in money.” His eyes roved over you as he approached. “Besides,” he murmured as he came to a stop in front of you. You tensed as he reached up to tuck a strand of your hair that had gotten loose from under your ball cap behind your ear. ”I haven’t had a looker as pretty as you in a long time. Been locked away.” He gently gripped your chin in between his thumb and index finger, his eyes intent on your mouth before lifting to meet yours. A hint of a smirk started to appear on his handsome face when he most likely heard your heart beat starting to increase.

He released you and even took a step back from you, allowing you physical and metaphorical space. “Your call.”

You bit your lip as thoughts chaotically swirled inside your head. On one hand, you refused to be manipulated or pushed into sex with this asshole. No matter how physically attractive he might be, you weren’t willing to get on your back just so he would help you. But on the other hand, the cold hard truth was that you were tired — tired of running, tired of little-to-no sleep, tired of the paranoia that came with such a flight. Hell, at present, you hadn’t slept in almost two days and you were running on fumes; there wasn’t enough caffeine or energy pills in the world to get you through another day with no rest. Your reaction time was already dragging if your last narrow escape was anything to go by. If you continued this way, you’d be dead before the sun started to warm the sky; you were certain of it.

Soldier Boy stared you down. “What’s it gonna be?”

You didn’t answer. Instead, you glanced behind you at a small noise far off down the street. Thankfully, it was an old woman tossing something out onto the pavement, but you couldn’t deny it put you further on edge. You turned back to the Supe whose eyes stayed trained on you. You took a deep breath to steady your nerves and readied your response. His lips began to quirk upwards into a smile; he knew what your answer was going to be before you even said the words.

Vought Tower had been completely demolished. Luckily, it had been mostly evacuated before the destruction occurred. A fight between Soldier Boy and the now-dead Homelander had caused most of the damage, but the C4 that had been carefully lined throughout the infrastructure is what ended up bringing it down. 

Before it went boom, Soldier Boy had approached Stan Edgar, who refused to cower in a corner. The Supe respected that, but it didn’t change what he’d come here to do. He gripped Edgar by the throat and lifted him in the air, choking the older man and ignoring the fingers that desperately clawed at his hand.

“I thought we had an agreement,” Edgar rasped out.

Soldier Boy shrugged. “She made me a better one.” He then snapped the man’s neck and tossed his body aside like a rag doll. 

“Oi! We ought to get out of here,” Butcher warned after seeing Stan Edgar lifeless on the floor. “Frenchie’s about to blow this place to fucking hell.”

He glared over at the Brit and picked up his shield. He still didn’t trust him, not after what he and his merry band of assholes had tried to do the last time they’d teamed up, but he’d made a deal with you and he was intent on keeping his end of it. The only conditions Butcher and Captain Lesbo had given this time around was: no civilian casualties and Ryan was off limits. He did his best with the first and he could give less than a fuck on the other. As far as he was concerned, the kid was Butcher’s problem as long as the kid didn’t come looking for some payback once he got older, which Butcher assured he wouldn’t. That, and there better not be Novichok gas waiting at the end of this mission for him. They’d reluctantly agreed, knowing they had no other way to kill Homelander and take down Vought all in one swoop.

“After you.” Soldier Boy gestured for Butcher to leave first. The man scowled but obliged, keeping a wary eye out as he moved. Smirking, Soldier boy followed. The Supe might have enjoyed the reaction—or even tried to settle the score from Butcher’s previous betrayal—if he didn’t have you to get back to. He needed to let you know that you no longer had Stan Edgar or Vought to worry about. He’d kept up his end of the bargain you’d both made — now, finally, you were free.

You woke up to the sound of someone moving through the darkness in your room. You grabbed the gun from beneath your pillow and bolted upright as much as you could, trying to get your eyes to adjust so you could get a good shot.

“Relax, it’s just me,” Soldier Boy assured you. 

Recognizing his voice, you slowly lowered the gun and focused on his location. When your eyes finally adjusted, you realized he was near the foot of the bed, completely nude, his hair damp from a fresh shower. “Ben,” you breathed out in relief. “You scared me.”

Through the beams of moonlight shining into the room from the window, you saw him give you a smile and lay his shield down on the floor next to him. “Didn’t mean to.”

You slipped the safety back on the gun and stashed it into the drawer of your nightstand. You hated having it under your pillow at night; it was super uncomfortable and you only needed to do that when Soldier Boy — Ben, as he’d asked you to call him instead — wasn’t around. “Everything go okay?” 

“Better than okay.” You glanced back to see a smirk adorning that handsome face of his, with an all-too familiar gleam in those green eyes. You watched as he slipped on some sweats and then made his way to the opposite side of the bed. You moved onto your side to face him, smiling as he climbed in next to you and sat up against the headboard, turning to grin down at you. Within seconds, he had his arms wrapped around you, pulling you up against him, and he was kissing you a proper hello. He only pulled back when you needed air and tenderly rubbed his nose along yours, nuzzling you. “How about you, doll? Everything go okay while I was gone?”

You nodded and snuggled into his bare chest, letting out a relieved sigh when you felt his warm hands stroking your back. “Everything’s fine,” you assured him, closing your eyes. You’d never admit it aloud, but you felt so much better when he was around. Not only did you feel protected but you just felt better in general. You’d have to be under the pain of torture to admit to him (or yourself) that you actually missed him when he had to leave.

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head and let his lips linger there, continuing to rub your back just the way you liked. “Edgar and Vought are gone,” he murmured. “The Caped Cunt, too. You’ve got nothing more to worry about.”

Your eyes snapped open and you lifted yourself up to meet his gaze, your brows furrowed. “What?” You asked in shock.

“You heard me.” He stroked your cheek with his thumb, his grin now a smug smile. “You’re safe, baby.”    

Your eyes widened when the realization hit you. “That’s where you went?”

Your only answer was the lengthening of that smile. 

“Jesus, Ben.” So many thoughts and emotions swirled within you all at once. You were free, truly free. You no longer had to worry about Vought death squads hunting you down, Homelander coming for you, or Stan Edgar sending after you any ragtag Supes he could scrounge up. You were free. Although, Ben hadn’t told you that he was about to go on his most dangerous mission yet. He might be America’s original superhero and he might be tough to kill, but that didn’t mean he was completely invincible. He’d admitted as much to you over the last few months. “What if… What if you didn’t—”

He kissed you, effectively cutting you off. “I did,” he hummed against your lips. “Told you I would.”

You nodded, gently tracing his facial features with your hands before gliding down to his shoulders, dipping down the warm expanse of his back and then slowly returning to his chest. As always, he remained patient whenever you did this ritual of checking him for any wounds or injuries, knowing you wouldn’t find any but needing to assure yourself just the same. Truthfully, this man had come to mean more to you than you’d ever imagined would be possible. Hell, there had been a time when it wouldn’t have been possible at all.

When you were done, you met his gaze head on. “Do I want to know?”

Ben remained silent, but his eyes said it all: no, you didn’t want to know. You and Ben may have planned for the downfall of Vought and the ends of Homelander and Stan Edgar, the very same bastards that had put a target on your back in the first place, but that didn’t mean you wanted to hear the gory details of their deaths. You were just grateful Ben had come back to you alive and unharmed. 

You gave him a thin-lipped smile in understanding. “Thank you,” you whispered. 

Ben studied you for a moment, then pulled you in and kissed you again, his fingers slipping through your hair until he grabbed the back of your neck and urged you to meet him more fully. Just as you were getting into it, he broke away and chuckled. “You’re real eager for me, aren’t you, sweetheart?” You shot him a look and the smirk was suddenly back on his face. Without warning, he picked you up to rearrange you in the bed how he wanted you. “Too bad that you need to get some rest. We’re blowing the fuck out of here tomorrow and you’re gonna need to keep up.”

As if he would leave you behind if you couldn’t. “I thought you said Butcher would leave us alone after this.”

“I don’t trust that dicksucking Brit and I trust his bitch of a boss even less.”

You rolled your eyes, smirking when you felt him settle in behind you, knowing how much he enjoyed spooning you like this. “‘Kay,” you agreed. He had successfully protected you this far; you’d follow his lead on this one, too. You shut your eyes and snuggled into your pillow, content to feel his hands on your back caressing you once more. You were just about asleep when you heard him murmur in your ear, “Sleep. I’ll keep you safe.” You smiled when you heard the words he’d been saying to you every night now for many months and your heart lightened when you felt his hands trail from your back to cup protectively over your rounding stomach, rubbing gently. ‘Safe’ is exactly how you felt right in this moment, and the little girl moving to meet her father’s embrace—like she always did when she sensed he was near—only cemented the knowledge that this was the first night neither you nor she were in danger any longer. It gave you a sense of peace you hadn’t known in a long time.

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[mizgnomer]

Behind the Scenes of The Giggle - Part Six Excerpt from Benjamin Cook's DWM #597 Interview with Catherine Tate (with guest appearance by David Tennant)

"Do you know, we went to an escape room with Neil? He loves them. It was his birthday while we were here…” [ Neil Patrick Harris ] celebrated his 49th while filming Doctor Who in Bristol last month. By day, he donned the Toymaker’s tux and shimmied gleefully on the streets. By night, he took David and Catherine out to dinner, then on to Worlds Collide, Bristol’s best – and only – Doctor Who-themed escape room. Players are given 60 minutes to work out how to close a tear in the fabric of spacetime, before the Cybermen break through (the Toymaker has fought the Cybermen!!). “He’d booked it out,” says Catherine. “He’d shut down the whole place [for the night] and they let us in.” “Proper Hollywood,” says David. “Innit, though! That’s old money, that is,” she laughs. “And Jodie [Whittaker’s Doctor] turns up,” says David. “She was on a PA. As if –” “– as if she’s calling you. And there was a scarf. And a sonic screwdriver.” “And a Cyberman.” “A Cyberman head, yeah.” Aren’t Catherine and David… you know, overqualified for a Doctor Who escape room? “I was quite hopeful,” he says. “I thought, these are puzzles I’m going to be able to solve. But then–” “There were chess pieces,” says Catherine, in much the same tone of voice in which Donna once informed the Doctor that Santa’s a robot. “I mean, oh my God! Sorry, but how the hell –?” Neil was brilliant at it, though. “He was annoyingly good.” The Toymaker and his games are quite notorious. “Yes, because then he went, ‘Let’s do another one! We’re gonna do the World War Two room.’ That’s when I came to life.” “It’s true,” says David. “I loved that one. It was great. We were spies and we’d infiltrated a Nazi bunker.” “It involved a bit more role play, didn’t it? Very Toymaker. And zome outrageous ack-sents!” “But after the Doctor Who one,” says Catherine, “it was clear that Neil and David were better at it. There was a clear division between the coulds and the could-nots. So Neil and David went into one room, and me, [executive producer] Phil Collinson, and Charlie [De Melo], who plays… is it Charles Banerjee? [glimpsed in last year’s Christmas Day trailer, rushing through the rain towards Mr Emporium’s toyshop] – went in another room. I’d said to Phil and Charlie, ‘Let’s cut the deadwood and go into a room on our own.’ You do it against each other, and see who gets out first. “So me, Charlie and Phil had a right old laugh,” recalls Catherine, cracking up, “while David and Neil went off and… got out much quicker. Midway through ours, they’d already finished and were watching us scrabble around trying to get out of our German bunker.” She chuckles at the memory. “Then suddenly through the PA comes: ‘DONNAAA!!!’” David says nothing, but he looks very pleased with himself.

Also, from Charlie De Melo's Instagram:

I'm struggling to think of a stranger evening than one, last June, doing a @bbcdoctorwho themed escape room, with The Doctor, Donna and the Toymaker. David and Neil, it turns out, are *very* good at escape rooms. The rest of us, less so. They rushed around the room, picking up clues and turning switches and all manner of other things, whilst the rest of us looked on, utterly bemused (& a little tooty in my case). So on they powered. Leaving us scratching our heads in a room full of disembodied Cybermen ones. Before confusion could give way to frustration, the tannoy crackled. It was David. They'd somehow managed to finish the entire thing whilst we all had stood still where we'd been left. Although he'd lost his lilting, melodic, Scottish brogue. He was now The Doctor. And in the Doctor's voice he began barking orders at us, talking us through the puzzles and guiding us out of whatever wibbly wobbly mess we were in and back to the safety of Bristol. "Donna! Quick! You have to get them out of there, the Cybermen are coming!"

For other posts in this set, please see the #whoBtsGiggle tag. The full episode list is [ here ]

[fuckyeahhistorycrushes]

Tamara Wiszniewska (1919-1981) - Polish actress

Tamara Wiszniewska was born on December 19, 1919 in Dubno, Poland (now a region in western Ukraine) on the banks of the Ikva River. It was here that she spent her younger years during which she picked up dancing, which eventually led her to her career in film. In her 1981 obituary in the Democrat & Chronicle, it was reported that Tamara, at age 15, “Was a ballet dancer, when German film director Paul Wegener discovered her and gave her a role in the historical film, August der Starke (August the Strong)” which premiered in 1936. This German/Polish co-production is a biographical look into the life of Augustus II, ruler of Saxony and Poland-Lithuania from 1694-1733. Although Tamara played only a small role it marked her debut and eventual rise to fame within the Polish film industry.

Following her appearance in August der Starke, Tamara appeared in thirteen other films between 1936 and 1939, including Trójka Hultajska (The Trio Hultajska, 1937), Ordynat Michorowski (Ordinate Michorowski, 1937), and Kobiety nad Przepaścią (Women Over the Precipice, 1938). Wladyslaw (Walter) Mikosz, Tamara’s future husband, produced two of these films. In an interview, Tamara and Walter’s daughter, Irene, states that, "The two met because of their film careers, and were married [late that same year] in 1937".

Life for the Mikoszs was happy for a time. Tamara continued to pursue her acting career through 1938 and 1939 and had welcomed a new born daughter into the world alongside her husband, Wladyslaw. Unfortunately, these happy times did not last long as the Mikosz family experienced the rise of Nazi Germany and their occupation of Poland in 1939 during World War II. The following excerpt from an interview with Tamara in a 1974 Times Union tells how drastically their lives were changed:

"I always played a rich spoiled girl who had lovely clothes, and for a short time I lived that kind of life too. It was a short, beautiful life that ended when the Germans took over Poland in 1939. We were wealthy and the toast of the town then. We’d go to Prague and Vienna just to see an opera or to play in the casinos. When the Germans came, my intuition told me I should have something on me to exchange. I sewed my jewelry into my clothes. Later, it bought us passes to freedom and bread so we were never hungry."

The German occupation of Poland during World War II brought then “beautiful” life of the Mikosz family to an end. Gone were their illustrious careers in film and the rewards that such a life had brought to them. In a later interview, Irene mentioned that her mother "was preparing to sign a contract for a film career in Hollywood, but Hitler’s invasion of Poland derailed the plans". Sadly, Tamara’s last appearance on the silver screen was in 1939 prior to the invasion of Hitler’s Germany; she never again starred in any films.

Although her dreams had been crushed, Tamara and her family did not lose hope. They made the best of their current situation, and were able to survive by selling the fruits of their labors that they harvested during their days in the film industry; their lives had been consumed with a fight to survive rather than a dream to thrive. However, not being ones to live quiet lives, the Mikoszs volunteered for the Polish Underground, the exiled Polish government that fought to resist German occupation of Poland during World War II. As civilians with backgrounds in film, Tamara and Walter were most likely engaged in spreading Polish nationalistic and anti-German propaganda. Such efforts of the civilian branch of the Polish Underground was in support of what Jan Kamieński refers to as "small sabotage" in his book, Hidden in the Enemy's Sight: Resisting the Third Reich from Within: "In contrast of major sabotage, the idea of small sabotage was to remind the German occupiers of an enduring Polish presence, to ensure that they felt a constant sense of unease and generally undermine their self-confidence". While attending to these duties within the Underground, the Mikosz family was separated and shipped off to separate countries: Tamara and her daughter, Irene, to Czechoslovakia (where Tamara’s parents had been sent) and Walter to Bavaria. The family was not reunited until 1945, when they were sent to the same refugee camp in Bavaria. The Mikoszs remained in the Bavarian refugee camp until the year 1950, in which they emigrated to the United States of America. Tamara and Walter lived quiet lives in Rochester, NY after arriving from a war-torn Europe, and did so until they passed away.

Although they have long since passed away from this Earth, the stories of the Polish film star, Tamara, and her film-producer husband, Wladyslaw Mikosz, will live on so long as there are people around to tell it.

[useless-catalanfacts]

I remember exactly what my thoughts were when I first learned what had happened to my great-grandfathers. I used to talk to one of them —the survivor, who lived in Venezuela— on the phone when I was a kid, so I had always known he had had to "leave after the war" (Spanish Civil War), in a very vague sense. When I was in primary school, another class of the last year was studying the Second World War and my mother volunteered to share the letters we still keep that my (other) great-grandfather had sent from the refugee camp and from the front. So I guess it's just normal that at that point they also shared the "secret" with me. Like hundreds of thousands more, and like at least one person in most families in Catalonia, they fought during the war but feared what came after even more than the suffering of war itself. When the fascists won the war in 1939, they crossed the Pyrenee mountains by foot to cross the border with France (they cross into Northern Catalonia, the little bit of Catalonia that was annexed by France centuries ago) and escape the persecution that was mass-murdering antifascists. But when they crossed the border with France, the French authorities locked them in the refugee camps on the beach (my great-grandfathers were in Argelers beach camp), where they had barely any food or drink, no houses besides little tents they made themselves out of reels they could find on the beach, and very little clothes for the winter. Many people died of cold and hunger, particularly the children. When children were born, the mothers buried them under the sand because it was the only way they could think to keep them a bit warm. The humid sand of the beach.

And as I was hearing all of this, my only thought was: how did people let this happen? Why did the French government lock them to make them suffer like this? Why did the guards steal from them and mistreat them the way they did? Why did the people who lived near not give them food or jackets?

And to be fair, many people helped in some way. That's why the Swiss nurse Elizabeth Eidenbenz is a national hero for us Catalans. One of my great-grandfathers managed to escape the camp by being given work by a local man. However, a new war started in Europe (WW2) and the Nazis seemed to be coming near, and Franco (the fascist dictator of Spain) had given orders to the Nazis that any person who had gone on exile from Spain was stateless and could be killed (stateless: the blue triangle in concentration camp prisoners' clothes). My great-grandfather found a way to get to a ship to Venezuela and Mexico —thanks to the open borders of these two countries, thousands of people were saved and started a new life in safety. My other great-grandfather, however, used the only other way to escape the camps: when WW2 came, he enlisted in the foreign legion of the French army to continue the work of fighting fascism. His legion was eventually captured, his friend he had enlisted with was taken to a castle where the Nazis used him for experimenting, and my great-grandfather was taken to Mauthausen concentration camp and later killed in a gas chamber in Gusen camp at the very end of the war. And still, growing up I always heard that we are a lucky family, because at least we know what happened to him. Hundreds of thousands of people are still missing, buried in mass graves. The state of Spain (including Catalonia) is the 2nd country in the world with the highest amount of unfound people, after Cambodia, because of all the massacres of the fascists and the bodies under roadside ditches.

And for all these years I have always had in my mind: how could people do that? And how could people see it and allow it?

Now, we are all like the people of France with a choice of helping or letting it happen. The internet connects the world and we are all witnessing how Israel is committing genocide on the Palestinian people. After having turned Gaza in an open-air concentration camp for decades, now they have decided to completely wipe out its people, homes, cultural heritage, schools, hospitals, universities, shops, streets, sewage system— everything. And just like the people back then, we have the opportunity to help Palestinian people survive.

We cannot save our relatives, but we can do what we wished someone had done for them. If you would have wanted help for your family, if you would have helped mine, please if you can make a donation for Palestinian people.

Here's a list of Palestinian people who are raising funds to escape. Israel has made it impossible for Palestinians to leave the heavily-bombed Gaza strip except for the Rafah crossing (to Egypt); and then Israel went and destroyed the Rafah crossing, too. But the Rafah crossing opens every so often and the people with an Egyptian travel agency permission can cross. To get the permission, they must pay 5000$ each person over 16 years old and 2500$ each child under 16, and this doesn't cover transport nor living expenses. You can collaborate to saving a family by donating to their GoFundMe campaigns. Every donation can make a difference. Click each person's name to go to their GFM page, where you'll find more details of their story.

Yahya Ahmad: 20-year-old Pharmacy student from Gaza wants to evacuate his family including his sick father and young brother, after their house was destroyed and they lost everything. (Verification link) @yahyaahmed5

Mahmoud Khalaf: a PhD student from Gaza in Ireland asks our help to raise funds to get his family out of Gaza. (Verification link: number 151) @mahmoudkhalafff

Muhammad Shehab: Israeli bombs destroyed their home and killed relatives and friends, his family has already been displaced 9 times. They want to escape Gaza and apply to become asylum seekers anywhere possible. (Verification link) @mohammedshehab2

Mahmoud AlBalawi: this family needs help to evacuate for the safety of all and particularly the children who suffer of malnutrition. (Verification link) @elbalawi

Palestine Jad Al-Haq: Palestine gave birth during the war but there aren't medicines nor needed materials to raise a healthy child, her mother is also ill and everyone risks illness as a result of the situation created by Israel (destroying the sewage system, not allowing food and medicine, bombing the hospitals, etc). The whole family wants to escape. (Verification link) @falestine-yousef

Fadi Ayyad: 18-year-old whose family's home has been destroyed, he's taking care of his family including younger relatives. They are very close to reaching their goal!! (Verification link) @aymanayyad82

Abdelrahman: 22-year-old Abdelrahman and his mother. They lost their home and Abdelrahman lost his school where he was studying. They are also quite close to reaching their goal. (Verification link) @anqar

Aziz Zaqout: Heba is a pregnant mother of five, faced a health crisis that took her to seek treatment outside Gaza right before the war started. She was separated from her 1-year-old baby and the rest of her children, leaving them in the care of their father, your donation can help them reunite and save the children and father. (Verification link) @azizzaqout

Abd Alhadi Aburass: the war destroyed his home and advocacy bureau, needs money to save his family and provide healthcare for his children. (Verification link) @abdalhadiaburas

Aya Alanqar: for Aya, her husband and their three children (2, 5 and 7 years old), displaced 13 times after their home was destroyed. (Verification link) @ayaanqarsblog

The children Kareem and Carmen: Yousef Hussein is raising money for his nephews Kareem and Carmen after their family of 8, including their mother, were killed when their house was bombed. They are displaced in a refugee camp with other relatives, they want to evacuate and join their uncle Yousef in the USA. (Verification link) @adham-89

Samer Aburass: Samer, his wife and their 3 children lost their home and businesses, and their children (particularly the youngest one, 1 and a half year old) suffer malnutrition. They want to evacuate for a safe future. (Verification link: number 196) @samerpal

Also consider donating to the Municipality of Gaza's fundraiser to fix the water and sewage system: Gaza Water Project.

These are only a few people, who had contacted me on this blog or on my main blog (with less followers, so it's better to post here), but there are many more. You can also check this spreadsheet of verified fundraisers like this one, follow the Palestinian blogger @90-ghost who verifies fundraisers, or use the site gazafunds.com (every visit shows a different verified fundraiser).

Visca els pobles i visca Palestina lliure 🇵🇸🕊️

[matan4il]

Proportionality in war does not mean what so many of you seem to think it means.

Proportionality in war doesn't mean that an army fighting another military force is standing with their hand on a stopper, counting the dead and waiting for the moment when the number on both sides is equal. Not a single war in history has been fought like that, and it is an insane double standard, that people talk about Israel as if this is how it's meant to fight. In WWII, there were way more German civilian fatalities than there were American or British ones, and NO ONE says the Americans and British carried out a genocide of the Germans, just because the impact on the civilian populations was dissimilar. No one looks at that war and says, "The allies should have totally stopped before defeating the Nazis, once the number of German civilians killed was bigger than their own."

(and all this holds true whether we're talking about a regular army fighting another, such as in most wars, or whether it's this case, where we see Israel facing in this war in Gaza a terrorist organization, that is made up of tens of thousands of armed fighters, with proper military training, backed by tens of thousands of rockets, using even more people as human shields, booby trapping entire residential areas, digging an entire underground network of tunnels and bunkers stretching for miles, dedicated solely to terrorism, and having collaborators from other terrorist organizations in that territory and outside it fighting with them, plus members of that terrorist organization attacking from outside the war zone)

Proportionality in war means that an army's impact must be proportionate to the size of the threat. Not to the number of casualties, to the size of the threat.

Just like when we talk about the allies' response to the Nazis in WWII, we do take into account more than just how many people actually died in the war the Germans started, we take into account what would have happened, had Nazi Germany been successful in conquering even more countries, or reaching even more Jews to exterminate, as the Nazis planned to (demonstrated by, among other examples, their special death squad geared to kill the Jews in Israel had they managed to occupy it, the pressure they placed on the Japanese to get rid of the Jews living in East Asia under Japanese rule, and the lists of Jews to be arrested first in places the Nazis were planning to occupy, but thankfully failed to, including the UK, the US and Canada).

Since Hamas is an extremist terrorist organization, that has repeatedly stated it targets all Israelis and Jews, and has acted accordingly, that means that when Israel is fighting to dismantle Hamas, the threat it's trying to remove is the one posed to:

9.8 million (as of Dec 2023) people threatened in Israel, Jewish and non-Jewish alike (as demonstrated in action on Oct 7, when Hamas murdered Israeli Muslim Arabs as well, for being affiliated with the Jewish state)

about 8.4 million Jews living outside of Israel and targeted by Hamas (as demonstrated in action when Hamas terrorists were arrested last month for intending to carry out terrorist attacks on Jewish targets in at least 3 European countries)

Every single Gazan who might be killed due to Hamas. As Hamas has gotten Gazan kids killed building its terror tunnels, killed Palestinian kids by recruiting teenagers as terrorists, killed Gazan civilians when using them as human shields, killed Palestinian women and Palestinian queers by allowing (even condoning) "honor killings," killed Gazan protestors, killed Gazans affiliated with opposing political parties, and as Hamas is seemingly hellbent on waging this war to the last Gazan, when they didn't have to start it by attacking Israel on Oct 7, and they could have saved so many of their people by surrendering and ending it, all 2.1 million Gazans can be seen as endangered by Hamas

In total, this would mean that there are currently 20.3 million people in the world directly threatened by the very existence of Hamas.

By fighting Hamas in Gaza, Israel is currently actively defending 20.3 million people!

(obviously, minus the 30,000 Hamas terrorists)

That's before we start counting Palestinians outside of Gaza (because yes, Hamas exists and operates in other areas as well, as I mentioned above, and if it's seen as victorious in Gaza, that will strengthen Hamas outside it, too), or what it would mean for the entire Middle East region, or even for the whole world, if the moderate countries in this area see that the extremist terrorist tactics of Hamas are successful at stopping a democratic state from protecting its people.

THAT is the size of the threat. And THAT is what Israel's war impact is in proportion to.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[zvaigzdelasas]

AUUC('s Edmonton Branch) released a statement on the Volunteer Nazi given a standing ovation in Canadian Parliament, read it

[x]

transcription after the cut

The Edmonton Branch of the Association of United Ukrainian Canadians (AUUC) condemns the honoring of a nazi Ukrainian World War II veteran, a member of the notorious 14th Waffen SS Division "Halychyna", in the House of Commons during the visit of Ukrainian President Zelenskiy last Friday, 22 September, 2023.

Our Association, founded in 1918 in Winnipeg as the Ukrainian Labor Temple Association, has an unblemished record of opposing fascism, in word and deed, before and after WWII, in Canada, in the Ukrainian-Canadian community, and abroad. Our members fought heroically in the Spanish Civil War, on the side of the Republican government, against fascism. They fought for Canada, allied with the Soviet Union, against nazi Germany and fascist Italy in WWII.

It is therefore unbelievable to us, as to most other Canadians, that when the individual in question, Yaroslav Hunka, was introduced in parliament as a Ukrainian veteran of WWII who fought against Russia, no one in attendance, all of whom gave him two standing ovations, realized what this meant. We know exactly what it meant.

Now this shameful spectacle has been publicized to all Canadians, and throughout the world. We welcome this publicization. We hope it will lead to a reckoning. Some steps in this direction have already been taken. The speaker of the House of Commons has resigned. An endowment in the name of Yaroslav Hunka at the Canadian Institute of Ukrainian Studies, at the University of Alberta, has been returned. We welcome these steps. But they are only first steps. Much more must be done. The problem is greater than simply one nazi, one speaker, and one endowment.

It is estimated that two thousand members of the 14th Waffen SS Division "Halychyna" were allowed into Canada after WWII. Our Association, immediately at that time, publicized and opposed their entry, to our everlasting credit. This figure does not include other nazis and nazi-collaborators, of various nationalities. That means thousands of Yaroslav Hunkas. Several of them went on to occupy prominent and leading positions in certain other Ukrainian-Canadian organizations, in religious institutions, educational institutions, and state institutions. The Canadian state supports, with funding and semi-official recognition, Ukrainian-Canadian organizations that unapologetically honor these nazis. If honoring Yaroslav Hunka in the House of Commons was a shameful act that had to be corrected, then so must all these other cases be corrected.

We therefore call on the Canadian state at all three levels (federal, provincial, municipal) to halt all state funding to all Ukrainian-Canadian organizations which honor any Ukrainian nazis or nazi-collaborators, including especially veterans of the 14th Waffen SS Division "Halychyna", until such time as these organizations explicitly and unequivocally apologize for having done so, severing all connections with all these nazis and nazi-collaborators, in all forms whatsoever.

We call for the removal and dismantling of two monuments to nazi Ukrainians in Edmonton: the monument to the veterans of the 14th Waffen SS Division "Halychyna" located in St. Michael's Cemetery, and the bust of Roman Shukhevych located at the Ukrainian Youth Unity Complex, preferably by their respective property owners, and if not by them, then by state compulsion.

We call on the government of Canada, and on the Liberal Party of Canada which formed the government at the time, to issue official apologies to our Association (the AUUC), in consultation with our Association, for banning it (then named the Ukrainian Labor-Farmer Temple Association) by an order in council in June 1940, seizing its properties, our halls and their contents (furniture, musical instruments, dance costumes, books, etc., most of which were destroyed), and interning our leaders in internment camps, acknowledging this as a terrible miscarriage of justice and act of oppression.

We call on all Canadians, all progressive Canadians, all decent Canadians, all anti-fascist Canadians, individually and through their various organizations, to support us in these calls for justice, by publicizing this statement, and pressuring their political representatives.

[precious-little-scoundrel]

| Ida’s Law

Introductory Part

Summary: The American War Effort had conceded to the enlisting and commissioning of women into the Air Force at semi-integrated status. Deemed a more reliable if not safer combat post, the going rank of officer in the Air Force was intended to secure fair treatment and combatant status for these women, as it had for their male counterparts. Like most things in war -or life, if one is a woman- such recognition must be fought for.

Warnings: disturbing content- if you made it through last one this one should be a breeze, however it picks up where we left off so expect mentions of war, wounds, illusions to past rapes, Nazis being racist fucks, possibly some internalized misogyny about it all and some hopefully very 🥹🤧 reunions

A Note Going Forward: With this part now published, I am happy to open this series up for prompts. Ideally I’d like this series to end up being exclusively prompt-inspired and will be putting out prompt lists accordingly. I think that will be a fun way to keep the interaction going, stretch my own skills and explore all the different scenarios that may intrigue y’all. You’re welcome to come up with your own prompts, too. All are welcome, none guaranteed but let’s be real -I’m obsessed with this AU so I’ll likely do it. For now I’ll be keeping all writing to POW Camp and Liberation and Post-Liberation timelines.

“Well, what do we know?” Ida Brady asked the first officer out on the other side as they began to filter through the laborious processing of the camp. She counted them down, one familiar face after another appearing through the doorway again with no worse indignity than the new identification tags hanging from their necks.

“I hate a guy named Johann, and I like a guy named Fritz, and the lieutenant guy wasn’t bad.” Maureen declared, straightening her precious cap atop muddy auburn tresses. “Who went and named their son Fritz after the last war? I mean really? Who does that to a kid? It’s like he’s making up for it now, though, awfully nice.”

“Mm, I thought so, too.” Ida hummed, “Might keep an eye on that one, work on him a bit. You think, Kendeigh?”

“Work on him yourself, Ida.” Maureen scoffed.

“Not much to work with.” Ida retorted, the first general reference to her disfigurement she’d made. “What do you know? What’s up?” she left off to inquire after Tallulah Smith who came out the other side of processing looking more than exasperated.

“Know? They don’t know squat.” she said, “Never heard of a Cherokee.”

“I’ll be.” Maureen was grinning sharply. “Wasn't enough being a woman for ya Smith, ya had to go and be a brown one.”

“You’re tellin’ me.” She griped, “They kept insisting I was a fighter pilot. That’s what all the ‘dark ones’ are, according to them. Told them I’d rewire their insides and maybe then they’d take my engineering degree seriously.”

“I’d like to see that.” Maureen murmured, drowsiness beginning to take over at the comparative calm of their new surroundings.

“Looks like we got everyone, yeah?” Ida peered over the heads of the crowing room and counted out her charges in a silent tally.

“Looks like.” Smith agreed. “Got billet assignments?”

“I do. Colonel Clark, most senior prisoner here, said the combines are strict but the rooms aren’t. Let’s try to behave until we feel our way, then we can swap, if they allow.”

“It’s going to smell like feet no matter where and who we share it with.” Smith pointed out and Ida heaved a great sigh as if that were the hardest prospect she’d yet encountered.

“Mm.”

“Buck is out there!” Maureen suddenly cried out, grabbing at Ida’s arm, pointing out the window at the muddy yard.

“How nice. Gotta get this sorted first, eyes in, Kendeigh.”

Maureen reluctantly tore her eyes away from her dearly missed pilot. “Yes sir.”

“All right,” Ida’s voice carried as well as it ever had, commanding immediate quiet and attention, “those in the 350th, 419th, -the hundredth!- on me. Gather ‘round. That’s it, come on. Alright, well, we made it, well done. Truly, well done to all of you. Now I know you well enough to not accuse any of you of being pure idiots, just because we made it to where we wanted to go doesn’t mean any of what’s ahead is going to be easy. Be wary, don’t let your guard down, you don’t know plenty of these men and they don’t know you, I’m sure there are measures in place for spying already. Be sensible. I am certain we can rely on the kindness of those in the hundredth, but even then keep in mind, if you are cold, they are too, if you're hungry, you best believe they are hungrier, the last thing we need is a crisis of chivalry in here. Rely on them, except their help, but don’t ever take from them. Understood? And one more thing, since the human spirit is irrepressible I feel it’s warranted to make one more housekeeping note. None, and I do mean none, no inner relations at all are allowed. I don’t care how cold you are, how sweet he’s been, or how much you’ve missed him. The Red Cross aren’t sending rubbers, and don’t ever take the promise of a pull out. Do you want a one-way ticket to a death camp or a bullet to the head? Get pregnant. Simple as that. You think the Jerries think poorly of you now for being female? Try being a matron. The point is to blend in as much as possible, keep that in mind. Whatever you do, keep that in mind. Understood?”

“Yes sir!”

“Colonel?” One voice demurred, raised hand and respectful title only forerunners for an obvious objection incoming.

“Yes? Sanchez, isn’t it? You’re not one of mine, I think.”

“No, sir, 55th -fighters.”

“Yes, well, welcome. What’s your question?”

“No offense sir but- what about the guards?” Sanchez asked.

“We don’t know yet,” Brady replied with typical candor, “I believe so far we’ve seen a mix here. I’m sure our friends can give us tips on who to watch out for.”

“No sir, sorry I meant-“ Sanchez kept her teeth clenched until her thoughts seemed to form better, “-you said no relations. What about the guards? No disrespect meant colonel and I don’t know about yours, but mine -they weren’t pulling out.”

“Mm.” Maureen thought that if Ida smashed her lips together any tighter they’d turn whiter than her skin, the bent aviators she had managed to preserve this entire time did a remarkable job of masking whatever feeling was stiffening her spine to the current degree, but all the same, her spine was stiff, “no offense taken, an excellent point. I’ll inquire about any possible…remedies. Anyone else?”

A multitude of hands shot up and Ida Brady scanned them with bewilderment until she realized her lapse in specificity. “Anyone else with questions, I meant! Saints alive. No? Good, let’s claim our bunks and see about a wash.”

After the dark interior of the building, being processed for hours, the hazy late afternoon light of outside glared painfully against Ida’s bloodshot eyes as she stepped out, leading the way down the three wooden steps to the muddy yard. Monochrome, this place, brown wooden buildings and brown earth and a muddy sky and brown flight jackets one after another.

And there in the midst of it, waiting for them with ever constant patience and thinned stateliness was Gale Cleven and his lost blue eyes and an alarmingly symmetrical set of facial scars.

“Major.” Ida felt her face soften into an odd expression she realized was likely that of relief. Cleven had that way about him, it was better suited to her preferences than Egan’s blustering warm hearted concern, Colonel Harding’s gruff joviality or her John’s perpetually intense concern. Her little brother was, oddly, nowhere to be seen now and that was a comfort in this wide open, highly observed space.

“Colonel.” Gale Cleven’s eyes weren’t a lost blue anymore but a pair of stormy seas and Ida steeled herself for pity. She found smoldering rage in his face instead. Another relief.

“How was it?” he was nodding to the command hut.

“Fine.” she assured.

He was searching for something in her face and Ida was sure it was easily found skin deep along her puffy, purpled left cheek, but if she had anything to do with her expression alone, he’d be kept guessing for ages. “Good.” he decided at last but his smile was tight, “Made John wait in the combine, he’s in there pacing like a madman. They make a note of who’s attached to whom, Colonel,” he explained, “a more discreet reunion seemed in order.”

“We’d appreciate all the direction you—“ Ida had begun but was cut short by Lt. Kendeigh who broke ranks from the processed group and came out of the hut behind Ida like a bat out of hell, running up to Cleven and tackling him in a hug, rather like a dog with their long lost master.

The Major’s lanky frame staggered under her surprise attack, perhaps more from shock and ill preparedness than poor rations and a weakened constitution. Or at least Ida, hoped that was the case.

Well, there went all intentions for discretion about partiality on their part, five seconds had gone by and Maureen still hadn’t let go, her valued cap about ready to knock off her head and his too. Seeing the gig was up, Cleven even belatedly brought an arm up to hug her shoulders, his pleased face bashfully pacifying her intensity. “If it isn’t my favorite bombardier.” Cleven mumbled, his lips failing not to tug upwards in the tiniest of smiles, and he gave her a pat on the back.

“Buck!” Smith was coming in hot behind Kendeigh and knocked Ida’s shoulder in her haste to get around her and join in. “Thank Jesus you’re here.” she grunted as she squeezed him and Kendeigh both, “I mean -we’re sorry you’re here but since we’re here-“

“Glad you’re here, too, Smith.” he assured her gently, another pat on another back and Ida watched Cleven’s composure began to flake as he took stock of their roughened appearances. “It’s gonna be ok now.” he offered, and coming from someone else that statement would’ve sounded a great deal less impressive than it did coming from him. It also sounded hollow without Bucky’s typical parroting of the upbeat sentiment. “Let’s get you girls sorted.” he nodded at Ida who fell in alongside him, if only to distance and displace Kendeigh and her over familiarity just a tad.

“What’s your Kommandant like?” Ida asked by way of conversation as Gale directed them in a trudge along the brown paths towards his specified hut.

“Think I know him as well as you.” Gale admitted, “Tried to stay low, been no reason for socializing. Wouldn’t advise a trip to the camp doctor though.” He added the last part after a beat.

“Why?”

“Your Johnny says he’s got an experimental mind.” Gale smiled wryly but there was a grieved look behind it that made Ida’s pulse pound in alarm, “If you go in with a cold, you might come out with a radioactive arm instead.”

“Noted.” Ida muttured with a shiver, wishing to god her jacket hadn’t been taken off her a couple stops ago, the sun was waning in the dull sky and the breeze was frigid without it. “Speaking of doctors,” she decided to go for it, “is Johnny -my John- is he alright? At the gate it was such a racket, was he…standing?”

Gale paused in his step up into the combine, brows knitted in surprise and she noticed along with him that their little march had drawn quite a little audience from the fellow inmates. Females in a Stalag -what a novelty. “Yeah, John’s fine. He’s fit.” Gale still had that quizzical look on his face.

Ida swallowed hard and gave him another curt nod, one she wanted to come across as grateful but wasn’t sure it did, her battered cheek was responding less and less to her mind’s commands. “Right. This us?”

“Yeah. Figured we’d try to keep as many close as possible.” He explained, “Welcome to paradise.”

“What did y’all name this shack?” Maureen asked him as she stepped over the threshold, it was dark inside and smelled of lumber and smoke.

“We haven’t.” Gale admitted, forlorn at the realization that things like that didn’t occur to people like him. If Bucky had been here, he’d have had it named in an hour, and something awful, too. Something that would make them all laugh.

“Damn oversight, Gingerale.” Maureen teased merrily but Cleven noticed the dimming light in her eyes as she took in the cramped, uninspired utility of the place. One wooden doorway after another.

“Talked it over with Colonel Clark during your processing,” Gale said, “decided it were best if we mingle you all among the men we know. Boys from your squadrons, friendly faces. A few of you in each room.”

“I call dibs on yours.” Maureen unabashedly grinned up at Cleven but Ida saw how a heartbroken look of protectiveness skittered across his features.

“Alright.” he muttered without a fight for once.

“Mm, Smith, Sanchez, Tong, you in here.” Ida decided and having snapped her fingers she was moving on to the next stuffy room. Asking Cleven at each about their current occupants, and with the precision of memory required of a woman who had to memorize her opponents on the promotional ladder, chose their new bunk mates accordingly.

“And where’s Johnny bunked?” she asked him in a low tone as she watched the next set settle in from the doorway.

“In with me, further down the hall, Demarco, Hambone, a few others.”

Ida seemed to hesitate as she eyed up an extra bunk in the current room that the last of her girls were settling into.

“Don’t be a stick, colonel,” Maureen spoke up gently, a surprising liberty even for her, “you need friends right now. Bunk with us. Everyone’s going to be fine. Can’t be all places at all times, ya know?”

Ida didn’t reply but after a moment she admitted, “I should go see John.”

Gale and Maureen exchanged a look and then moved in unison to catch up to her as Ida Brady walked, brisk as if she were back home at Thorpe and about to pick a fight with Jack Kidd, down the long hall to one of the last rooms. “In here?” she asked Gale, pointing at the closed door -they liked to keep it so for warmth and privacy, and to acclimate the guards to it being closed when the radio was out.

“Yeah that’s us.” Cleven replied, reaching out and snagging Maureen back a step as Ida turned the handle. “Let’s give ‘em a minute.” he suggested, referring to the Bradys.

He held her jacket sleeve for a brief moment before turning it to grab her hand, he’d missed those hands. To his horror their usual calloused elegance was a swollen paw of bruises. “The hell, Maureen?” he whispered in shock, turning it over to examine it, grip strong around her wrist before she could pull away. “Who did this?”

Maureen did her best to shrug, “Some bitch stood on them.” she said simply, and surrendered the other hand for a similar heartbroken inspection.

Kendeigh was indeed not as visibly marred as Ida Brady or a few of the others, but still, Gale kept turning her crushed hands over and over, recalling with vivid agony the way he’d admired them at all manner of work before. To hurt them that way, to restrain her so meanly- “Maureen,” she’d never heard his voice dip so low, and his eyes were simmering where they cataloged her hurts, “what’d they do to you?”

“What’d they do to your face?” she shot back, perhaps more perturbed by the immaculately symmetrical scars on his once porcelain face than her own condition. Women expected the treatment they’d gotten, in some twisted way, but this on the other hand, it disturbed her.

Gale looked taken aback by her question and quickly dropped her hand to touch his right cheek as if to remind himself the scar was obvious to everyone. “Flak.” he replied a beat too late.

“Awfully precise.” she snarked.

“I asked you first.”

“I told you, a bitch stood on them.”

“I’m your superior officer.”

“Who it looks like someone had some fun with,” Maureen snapped back, “who did this?”

“What happened to you?” He hit right back but his voice quavered.

“I’m fine now. I wanna go see the boys. Come on.”

“Just- give them another minute.” Gale insisted, pulling her back away from the doorway again, “It’s a lot.” He reminded, “For a brother to see his sister like -that.”

Maureen couldn’t argue with that, besides Gale looked so sad and more fragile than she’d ever seen him, and the gentle hold he had on her jacket was as needy and scared as a child’s. “I’m glad we’re in this together.” she whispered.

“Me too.” he admitted, guilty and sad over how true that was before letting her press her lips to his.

Ida Brady didn’t know what she expected when she opened the door, not much she supposed, just a living brother with any luck. It was a decently tidy room, plates stacked on a rough hewn board at the far end, eight bunks lining the walls, stacked three tall. A table was in the middle and there sat dear old Crank and Hambone too, Murph with Benny. A card game was ongoing.

They looked so fine, quite normal, all in all.

All motion in the small room stopped upon her entrance. Cards were dropped and cigarettes forgotten in open mouthed shock.

“Holy shit -colonel?” Demarco didn’t have a dishonest bone in his body, and his disbelieving horror over her appearance came through loud and clear in his greeting. She hadn’t seen him at the gate.

The same for Hambone’s face, one that had never bothered to be discreet in pleasant circumstances, much less in shocking ones like seeing a notorious superior officer come in looking about as battered as a body could get -although his torn cheek was one to talk. Crank recovered first, in his mild, stammering sort of way, glancing at the lean figure who still stood looking out the lone window.

“Well, if it isn’t Ain’t Pretty Brady.” Crank clapped uneasily, summoning her nickname from basic just to cut the tension, it served to startle John.

He turned from the window abruptly, blank faced and unblinking as he realized the sister he had been watching for had already arrived. If their ole nan from the motherland had suddenly materialized before him he could have hardly looked more haunted or aghast, wide fringed fox eyes and that straight fold of a mouth -always so very held together, her little brother. Even after his third belly landing.

But those startled unblinking eyes...

Ida wanted to tell him to blink, that it was all alright now, that they were both alive and that it was good enough, it had to be. But she seemed to have fully lost all power over her throbbing cheek at last, she could feel her lips move in a motion she realized with supreme panic was likely a wobble of emotion. She ripped her aviators off, as if seeing her eyes might help his to come alive.

“John John?” she croaked in greeting, oblivious of the childish endearment tumbling off her lips in a room full of soldiers. If it were something their family was in the habit of doing, Ida Brady might have rushed him like Maureen did her pilot, or held out her own hand to be held, asked for a gesture from him -after what she’d gone through, surely it couldn’t have been weakness to want a clap on the shoulder, a flick to the bicep, a little “well done” for staying alive.

But she just stood there and watched him clock her shame. She could feel her swollen lip splitting in real time as the swelling and incessant trembling tore the taut skin apart, they’d passed around a single canteen in processing and it wasn’t enough, the walls of her throat felt collapsed together. Maybe she should have asked for a mirror first, maybe Cleven or Kendeigh or Smith should have told her she’d bring a whole room to a frozen standstill by her looks alone. They’d seen her at the gate -were these meager lightbulbs really so much more illuminating?

“Eye-eye.” Johnny let it out in a breathy rush as if he’d suddenly come to, and then he was in front of her, hands cradling the sides of her neck, thumbs hooked gently under her bruised jaw. A calloused pad swiped away the ticklish trickle of blood sliding the crease of her mouth.

Eye eye -his onetime baby babble for Ida, and she’d never let him forget it.

She could have wept at the useless sentimentality of it, of the gentle familiarity of familial hands, at the seething loyalty storming across his face.

“The fuck did they do?” he articulated at last, voice gravelly as shit but also reminiscent of the squeaky olden days when his castrato role suddenly no longer served one Sunday in choir.

“You’ve got legs.” she answered instead, sounding maniacal in her happiness.

He looked at her like she’d gone fully crazy as well as beat, “Yeah? Yeah I do.”

“They said, they said you didn’t.” she chuckled, a bizarre merriment trying to take hold in her relief, “During interrogation, that bespectacled cunt told me you had your legs crushed when you crashed.”

“No? No- no I jumped.” He insisted, then let go of her face to step back and gesture to two fit legs, as long and lanky as she remembered, as long and lanky as her own. “I jumped, I’m fine. They told you that?”

“Yeah.” Ida said, “Told me the longer I didn’t comply the longer you were without medical attention. I -I’ve been so…uneasy…about you.”

“I’m fine.” He repeated, hands back on her shoulders and she was grateful for it despite the bruises he was gripping, grateful for the way he kept touching her like he was going to hold her together with his own two hands, same blood, same flesh, same memories, maybe whatever she’d lost he could supply back like a blood donation. “Those sons of bitches.” he cursed them.

“Plasma for planes.” she agreed.

He kept looking at her, at her cheek and at her ragged hair and at the missing buttons, “You didn’t tell them anything did you?” he suddenly asked, wide eyed. “You know i’d rather die than have you tell.”

Ida scoffed, and gave him a grin, the best one she could manage with her cheek and split lip, “What do you take me for, Johnny?”

“A cold hearted bitch, I hope.” he returned the small smile but his voice cracked, still that hint of something long gone and juvenile.

“That’s what their Lieutenant called me.” Ida confirmed, a little proud, and sensing a renewal of his inquiries, Ida chose to take the offensive and call out for a conspicuously absent Kendeigh, “Candy! Didn’t you want to tell Johnny about your charming admirer? The Lieutenant?”

Kendeigh came round the doorway hastily, her lips puffy and cheeks oddly red. Cleven followed after and matched her, and his blush did nothing but highlight those scars of his. “Brady.” Maureen greeted, boldly hugging Ida’s very stiff brother without care —due to his red cheeks and rigid shoulders Ida concluded Cleven had given his own inner-relations talk to the men—, “Yes, I wanted to -oh hello Crank, Benny you son of gun- wanted to tell y'all about my ticket outta here -hell Hambone, how’d you manage to get uglier? -see my integrator, he found me fairly fetching. I think one of these days he’s gonna roll up in his shiny car and take me away from here and you’re all gonna wish you’d taken time to learn a little know-how about Alligators and their hibernation tactics in the winter. He was enthralled.”

There was an awkward silence hanging in the room, Crank grimaced a smile out of sheer generosity of heart and Benny Demarco still sat with his cigarette neglected on his open lip. Cleven, used to her preening brazness kept a tight lip, though a thousand questions seemed to swirl in his eyes.

“He the one who stood on your hands?” John Brady asked her without hesitancy.

Maureen whirled round then, comedy hour over and an angry flush creeping up her neck at his directness. “No.” she snapped. “Can’t some of them be alright?”

“A German’s a German.” he countered.

“There’s Fitzs and then there’s Johanns.” she disagreed nebulously and only Ida got her reference.

“And a shower is a shower,” Ida butted in before this became an experiment in an immovable object meeting an unstoppable force “which we need, badly. We’re…filthy.”

“We’ve got working sinks, trough sinks.” Cleven clarified with an apologetic look as if it were his fault the showers only ran once a week and poorly at that, and the water they had was frigid already in autumn.

“Water is water.” Ida reasoned in return, wondering when Johnny was going to finally let go of her arm.

“We’ll clear it out for ya.” Cleven said.

“And we’ll guard the entrance.” John added emphatically.

“Thanks.” Ida muttured, “Some of us could use to mend our uniforms.” she added, refusing to blanch at the subtle inventory of her jagged tears and crusted blood being made by every man in the room.

Maureen at least had her jacket intact. Her cap, too.

“Here, you can have my trousers while I stitch yours.” her John decided and was unbuckling his belt before she even registered the hand gone from her shoulder.

“What?” Ida balked, “You’re going to go ‘round in your skivvies?”

“Not as uncommon around here as you’d think, Ida.” Gale said, a small smile on his face. “I’m afraid order and decorum has gone to shit without you.”

“Well I’m here now.” she replied sternly but didn’t stop Johnny as he stripped.

“And so am I.” Kendeigh grinned and all Ida could do was to bless the saints for having let only one terror into the camp, were Bucky Egan to be here too, things would become intolerably lax. As soon as she thought it she repented it, sending up a prayer for the poor, absent bastard.

“Say Benny, you’re shorter, can I have your pants?” Maureen pleaded.

“Why mine?” Demarco protested, only offended at the height implication.

“Because Cleven’s too tall and I’ve already been in his pants.”

“Maureen!”

“Ida, order somebody to give me their pants.”

“You can have mine.” Crank offered kindly, and then stood up and bashfully began to unlayer. It left him in skivvies, a snuggly sweater and his flight jacket.

“It’s a good look, Crank,” Maureen grinned at the finished product as he handed the trousers over. “I’m seeing you in a different light.”

“Maureen!”

“Just sayin-“

“Take the pants with you to the washroom!” Brady interjected desperately as Maureen looked ready to strip right here and now. “Jesus, Kendeigh.”

“Touchy, touchy.” Maureen ribbed him, out for blood in her tired state and if she couldn’t have that of the Germans she would of her friends’.

“Alright let’s - let’s settle down.” Gale implored, a tired expression firmly etched onto his face and Ida herself considered giving up on the wash altogether and tumbling into the available bunk to court the oblivion of sleep. Were it only blood and dirt she just might, her usual tidiness be damned.

As it was -it was, there was…the filth was so much worse.

And if Ida thought on it too long she’d go mad and want to pour boiling lye on herself to wash herself clean and to kill the shame of it. She’d have to scrub the pants before she gave them to Johnny to be mended, it was bad enough for a brother to see the blood and busted seams.

“Yes, settle down for God’s sake.” she echoed Cleven, and something about her hoarse voice compelled Maureen to temper herself more than any direct order could. “A wash, come on, let’s get the girls. Oh and one more thing, Cleven-“ Ida turned to Gale and found him alert, eager to help. She was afraid she was only setting him up for failure but she had to make an effort to find those “remedies” she’d promised Sanchez. “There any lemons around?”

The incredulous look on his face suggested he thought she knew better, but he was ever polite in his reply, “No, colonel. No lemons.”

“Mm. Nutmeg?” she tried to recall each wicked trick she’d heard condemned when a girl got herself in the family way without the needed family in place.

“No, no nutmeg.”

“Mm.”

“Nothing but potatoes and cigarettes, ma’am. Do you- why?” he asked.

“Nothing.” she assured, “Just, a hot toddy sounds good right about now. You know?”

“Uh,” he floundered, half in suspicion and half in genuine confusion, “never had one.”

“Well then,” she grinned as she passed him, “that’s something to add to our to-do list for when this is all over. Jameson, though, none of that Kentucky stuff.”

“Yes ma’am.” his tone was vacant, smiling concern brittle, “You uh, you alright, Colonel?”

Ida gave him a withering look and then Gale too, had cause to be repentant.

“Come on Kendeigh, let's get the rest.” Ida gestured as she followed Gale back into the hall, aware of Johnny’s eyes still on her, still taking stock, “They better not be in bunks without a wash. Come on, showers, everyone! Out, come on out. You can sleep afterwards. Out! Would one of you be so kind as to wake us up in time for roll call?” she inquired of the male officers straggling behind her in the hall.

“Course! Yeah, for sure.” about five offers went up.

“You wake Me up.” she clarified coming to a full stop, wary of the enthusiasm, “I’ll wake up the rest.”

“I’ll get you up.” Her John said.

He’d probably sit and watch her sleep, too, needle and torn pants in hand, like a creepy little owl but that was one of those things she figured make or break a family, you either find it endearing you have a brother who rarely blinks or you go mad. Today, after all of it, she didn’t mind having a guardian Angel. Or a watchdog. Speaking of-

“Hey,” she asked him, “you two flew out together, where’s Bucky?”

But no one had an answer for that, not even Little John.

💋Hope you enjoyed AND REMEMBER -prompts are now open.

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[verybadatwriting]

A Prequel to Dog Tags

Summary: A blurry recounting of the first few years of your life. 

Warnings: Medical problems (seizures, broken bones), experiments, Nazis, HYDRA, war, needles, kidnapping, child death, major child abuse, swearing

Notes: Prequel to Dog Tags, which you can read here. Dada/dad=Bucky, Papa=Steve

Fem!reader

Word count: 5,386

The first memory you have is the cage. It’s tall enough to stand in without hitting your head. Around you are a few other kids, all the same age, roughly two, maybe three. Scars from constant needle pricks litter everyone’s inner arms, especially around the inner elbow. It’s cold, and you’re all wearing identical beige shirts and shorts. You have a faint feeling that there’s someone missing. Like there used to be more of you. 

Through the thin twisting wires, you can see a small handful of people in long white coats working at desks, storing documents in massive metal cabinets lining the walls. Soon, they leave.  

The dim overhead lights turn off quickly after that, tossing all of you into darkness. You curl up together. Dirt and grime from the floor gets everywhere. Your hair, skin, nails, and clothes are all layered with it. Your eyes drift closed, and you dream of a woman whose face you can’t quite remember holding you.

You wake up when the boy curled next to you starts shaking violently. The other kids wake up, too. All you can do is watch. Most times this happens, the kids wake up fairly quickly, cry a little, and are fine.

One of the dreaded men comes in to monitor the fit. He wears a white coat which goes to his knees. When the shaking stops, he waits a moment. The boy doesn’t move. He pulls a stethoscope from around his neck, presses it to his chest, listens for a moment, then lifts the boy up and takes him away. 

You remaining kids cuddle up in an even smaller pile than before and try your best to sleep.

Another memory is from a long time later. It’s just you and another girl in the cage now. You’re maybe four years old, and have just woken up. 

Two white-clad men walk in, and as one reaches to unlock the cage, you and the girl scamper to the opposite side and press yourselves against the metal. Clinging to the bars is futile, as he simply reaches in, grabs your ankle, and drags you out. He passes you to his companion, and reaches back in for the second girl. 

She bites his hand and he curses quietly, but keeps his grip and pulls until he has a screaming, thrashing child in his arms.

“This one,” He says, shaking his head, “Always biting.”

“Calm that thing down,” The man holding you said. “These are the last two, we can’t risk losing another one.”

Their harsh voices echoed off the walls as they walked. Through the doors, straight, left, up a flight of stairs, and through swinging double doors. You’d made this trip more times than you could count, which wasn’t saying much since you were four.

The man put you down on a cold, metal table, and helped his coworker strap the other girl into a chair. It was so tiny. Specially made for her. She fought against the straps, like she always did. She was strong, for a child. She helped you feel safe. 

They pulled a curtain around her, and that was the last time you saw her. Things get worse after that. Since there was no one else left for them to poke and prod, all of that fell to you. The cage felt colder at night. 

One day, just as the overhead lights rattled on, very loud noises and shouts echoed through the halls. Raised voices weren’t super uncommon, the guards weren’t the most peaceful of people, but this was louder. 

You scrambled as far from the cage’s door as you could, hands clamped over your ears. Something rammed against the door once, twice and it burst open. Men carrying large guns swept the room. One saw you. 

He had a dark blue jacket, brown pants covered in pockets, and short dark hair. 

“Hey, Dumdum,” He called quietly to one of his friends, “Look at this.”

A short man with a large mustache walked over, brow furrowed.

“A… child?” He asked. “I knew they were twisted but…”

The blue-clad man took a step closer, and you shrunk even further into the shadows. 

“You’re okay,” He said, putting his hands up, palms facing you. He crouched slightly to be at eye-level with you. Your eyes fell on the gun that was now slung across his shoulder. He followed your gaze, and made a big show of putting it on the ground.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” he said.

You didn’t move at first, but your grip on the metal cage loosened. Slowly, you put one hand on the ground, and started crawling towards him. He held out his hand, and you took it after another moment of hesitation.

He picked you up out of the cage and held you with one arm. 

You were scared, yes, but you could tell he wasn’t with the scientists, so maybe wherever he was taking you was better. You looped your arms around his neck and propped your chin on his shoulder. You watched the cage get smaller as the man walked towards the door.

The mustachioed man stayed behind, looking through papers from the many filing cabinets. 

You’re carried through the halls, at first familiar, then they grew stranger. Eventually you reach the final door. He walked though it and you were bombarded by vibrant greens and blues. There’s people walking everywhere, all with such purpose, from trucks to the door, or back out again. Mud caked the ground where they walked, their many feet had quickly worn a path through the grass. Most people had guns strapped in holsters. The trucks had extras, too. The light was so bright, unlike anything you’d ever seen. 

It was all too much. You tucked your face into the crook of the man’s neck, blocking out most of the light. 

“It’s bright,” You said quietly. 

“Jesus,” He whispered, “Did they not take you outside?” He didn’t really need an answer. He already knew. 

“Is this better?” He asked after a moment. You looked up, and saw you were inside one of the trucks. It was darker, and quieter. You nodded.

“Alright,” the man said. “We can stay here.” 

You looked around some more, still not daring to let go of the man’s jacket. Something shiny caught your eye, and you pointed. The man followed your finger, and picked up the metallic thing.

“This?” He asked. You nodded.

“It’s a canteen,” he unscrewed the cap and took a sip. “Want some?”

The two of you stayed there for a while. You’d point to something, and the man would explain it. After everything in the truck had been thoroughly investigated, you pointed to him.

“Me?” He asked. “I’m Bucky. Who are you?” 

“I don’t know,” you said. 

“Well, what did they call you?”

“Number Sixteen. But I don’t like that. I think–” 

You were interrupted by the canvas cover of the truck being pushed aside, and about a half-dozen people clambering in. They were loud; you shrunk into the space between Bucky and his arm, tiny fingers digging into his jacket sleeve. 

He shifted to make room for someone to sit next to him, and moved you so you were sitting on his leg. The truck’s engine rumbled to life and it lurched forward. You leaned against him and closed your eyes.  

“I found her file,” the man next to Bucky said, passing a folder to him. His eyes skimmed over the pages. There were photos of experiment setups, logs of their results, growth milestones you reached, every little thing about you from the past four years. Stapled to the back page was the information from when they caught you.

“It says her parents named her Y/n Y/l/n.” 

Somewhere deep down that name resonated with you. You curled up in Bucky’s arm, and fell asleep. 

You half-woke up when the truck stopped. You felt Bucky stand up, still cradling you against his chest. He started to pass you to someone standing on the ground, and your eyes instantly snapped open. You shrieked, and clawed out of his hold. You scrambled across the dusty ground, and snuck under the truck. 

The rest of the world continued on, people unloading trucks, and moving boxes. All you could see was their boots stomping by. The truck shook slightly, like someone had just hopped off it, and soon Bucky’s face peeked under the truck.

“What’re you doin’ down here?” He asked. 

“I don’t know him,” you said, referring to the person Bucky had passed you to. 

“Well, we can fix that,” Bucky smiled. “His name’s Steve. He’s my best friend, and I promise he’s nice.”

Having successfully coaxed you out from under the truck, and introducing you to Steve, Bucky brought you to the mess hall. You had to stand on the bench just to see over the tabletop. Bucky sat to your right, and Steve was to your left. 

While eating, Bucky introduced you to a few other people. He called them the Howling Commandos. It was a little overwhelming to be suddenly bombarded by so many new faces, but you were alright so long as Bucky was close by.

“I’m gonna take her to the medical tent,” Bucky said to Steve, as you were wrapping up your meals. “So they can give her a once over.”

“I’m going the same direction,” Steve said, “Might as well walk with you.”

The dirt paths through the camp were lined with long, dry grass. You walked with one hand in Bucky’s and the other trailing through the thin strands. A grasshopper sprang out in front of you. You stopped suddenly, and crouched down to get a better look. Its little shiny eyes stared up at you.

“Come on,” Bucky gently pulled your wrist, and you continued onwards. 

“What was that?” You asked, twisting around to try and see it. 

“Just some bug,” Bucky said. “We can look at more after the doctors make sure you’re not hurt.”

“Okay,” you said, glancing over your shoulder one last time. Steve parted ways with you at a tent with a large red cross on it. You and Bucky went inside, where there were rows of beds. He set you down on one, and talked to a woman wearing a blue blouse with a white apron and a long white skirt. Again, on her chest and hat, was the red cross.

She stood in front of you and introduced herself as Nurse Boyd.

“I’m just going to make sure you’re alright,” she said. She washed your face, listened to your heart, and did a general check up. 

“You seem to be all good,” she said, writing down measurements and such on a clipboard. She turned to Bucky and said, “I am a little concerned about her lack of medical records. Is there any chance they could be passed along to us?”

“No,” Bucky shook his head, “Everything we found in that base has to be screened before we can send it to you – if we can release it at all.”

“That’s a shame,” Nurse Boyd said, shaking her head. “To be on the safe side, we should administer the vaccines for typhoid, yellow fever, and tetanus.”

Bucky nodded in agreement.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Nurse Boyd said. “Do you have any clue what they were trying to do there?”

“Last I heard, it was called Project Prophecy, but that’s about all we know.” 

“You’d better get those files to me the moment they are cleared,” Nurse Boyd’s voice was ice cold, and Bucky quickly agreed.

Despite a World War actively raging, you were having the best time of your life in the Howling Commano’s Camp. You’d given many people nicknames, mainly Dada for Bucky and Papa for Steve.

They’d heavily altered some uniforms to fit you. It looked like you were just a very, very small soldier. Even just having you around boosted morale.  Once you got comfortable with the sheer amount of people, you were confident strutting around camp on your own.

Your constant amazement and pure joy at the most basic of things was infectious, like when you’d first seen a grasshopper. Since then, you could always be found in the small grassy patches, looking very closely at small things. 

There was always someone watching you, or at least there was supposed to be.  More than once, you had slipped out from Nurse Boyd’s watchful gaze, or snuck past a distracted Stark to scale a tree. You never quite thought about how to get back down. It always turned out alright in the end, since Bucky or Steve would climb up after you. 

Since you knew they’d come get you, it wasn’t scary. The first three times. The fourth time you shimmied up a tree, something bad happened. Your eyes grew unfocused. They couldn’t tell up from down, which can be rather dangerous when high in a tree. 

Your fingers clawed the tree bark. You knew what came next, but normally you’d get a bit more warning. Your limbs started to shake violently.

Strange images flashed before your eyes. A woman with red hair getting shot. Papa and a masked man fighting. The man shooting then lunging at Papa with a knife. His arm shined, like it was made of metal. A red star painted on the shoulder. Papa kicked him into a car, but he just got right back up and kept fighting, then chucked him across the pavement. He brought his metal fist down, slamming it into the concrete just as Papa moved his head.

They moved too quickly to keep track of. It was overwhelming. Eventually, Papa managed to flip the man and toss him. His mask fell off. 

Dada?

Then, blank nothingness for a split second. Peaceful, blank, nothing. All too soon, your eyes opened, to see Bucky and Nurse Boyd standing over you. The canvas walls and rows of beds told you you were in the medical tent. 

You felt dizzy, your head hurt so much, and your arm, too. But most of all, you were scared. Dada and Papa weren’t supposed to fight each other, and they weren’t supposed to let you fall.

You sat up, despite the dizziness, and reached a hand out towards Bucky. 

“Dada?” You asked.

“I’m here,” he said, taking your hand and crouching down next to you. 

“Where’s Papa?” 

“He’s on his way,” Bucky reassured you. He moved to sit on the edge of the bed, and you crawled over next to him. He hugged you. You could tell he was scared. 

“It’s okay,” you said. “It’s over now. It won’t happen again for a little while.”

“This has happened before?” Nurse Boyd asked, eyebrows knitting together.

“Mhm,” you nodded, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt, already over the whole thing and starting to explore the world again.

“Y/n,” Nurse Boyd prompted, “I need you to tell me about the other times this has happened.”

“The world goes fuzzy,” you began, a small frown scrunching your face. “Then I see things and shake a lot. But it's fine after a little bit. I'm okay now!”

As if to prove this, you stood up on the bed and did a little jump. Bouncing on the mattress, even though it was fairly soft and springy, made your arm hut. 

“Ooh,” you said, looking at it. “That hurt a little.”

“Let me see,” Nurse Boyd held her hand out, and examined your little arm. It bent a little too far the wrong way.

“You'll be alright,” she said, “just need a cast.” 

As she said that, you spotted your Papa enter the tent, eyes wide and face serious. Nurse Boyd noticed him, and after flagging down another nurse to cast your arm, she went over to talk to him.

Bucky stayed on the bed next to you, and held your other hand while this new, unfamiliar – and therefore untrustworthy – nurse tended to your arm. 

He kept you distracted, which helped, although you were still scared.

“I don't give a damn about procedure!” Nurse Boyd yelled from her and Steve’s secretive huddle in the corner. The whole tent went quiet as she continued. “This girl just had a seizure for God's sake, I need her medical records.”

“I'll see what I can do,” Steve replied, notably quieter, but not calmer. “I think this incident will be enough to convince them.”

“This “incident” might have been avoided if I had been given the necessary information any basic physician requires.”

“I know,” Steve's voice was stern. “If I had it my way you'd have gotten them the day we found her.”

“Good to know we're on the same page.”

A few days went by before Nurse Boyd finally got her hands on your records, and had time to study them. In those days, she kept a very close eye on you. She eased her watchfulness once she started listening to your heart and giving you medicine. With help from Stark, she was able to find the right balance of medications to help with the seizures. These meds made it so you'd only fall asleep and twitch a little, instead of violent shaking. 

The one thing they couldn’t fix, which just seemed to steadily keep getting worse, was your heart. It went from a minor source of worry, which Nurse Boyd was passively keeping an eye on, to a clear danger that heavily interfered with day-to-day life. 

Stress grew, soon and all the Commandos were on edge. One surprise, one scare, one tantrum, and your heart could give out. Being five years old was all the more dangerous, since anything could upset you. 

After yet another close call, Nurse Boyd suggested an… unorthodox idea to your Dada and Papa. They seemed reluctant, but agreed it was the best course of action. They didn’t tell you what the plan was.

The night it was put into motion, y'all were eating dinner and everyone seemed sad, despite a recent victory. They tried to hide it. You knew there was something more going on, but they were very good at distracting you.

“Ooh, I'm full,” Bucky said, pushing his plate away.

“Me too,” Steve replied. “I don't think I could eat another bite.”

“But we have all this dessert left! Whatever shall we do?”

You smiled and raised your hand high in the air. They pretended not to see you.

“I guess we'll just have to throw it out,” Dumdum sighed.

“I don't see any other option…” Bucky shook his head with mock sadness.

“I have an idea!” You declared. “Give it to me!”

The adults looked at each other in amazement.

“Why didn't I think of that?” Bucky said as Dumdum comedically slapped his own forehead. They slid over the little bits of deliciousness, and you gobbled away. They still looked sad… but how could you be expected to fix that with all these sweets to eat?

Then, after an hour or so where everyone seemed solemn and were way kinder than normal, Bucky and Steve took you on a trip. They had a truck, like the one you’d been in the day Bucky had found you. 

The rest of the Howling Commandos, plus Nurse Boyd, Agent Carter, and Mr. Stark gathered to send you three off. They all had similar smiles that didn’t reach their eyes. There were lots of hugs, and goodbyes. Why they were doing all this, you didn’t know.

As Steve drove away, you looked out the back. The little group seemed to deflate, shoulders sagging, once you were in the truck. They didn’t see your little eye peeking out through the curtains as they grew smaller and smaller in the distance.

You drove all night, wherever you were going was far from the frontlines. Most of the trip, you just slept. Finally, the sun pulled up over the horizon, just as you came to a stop outside an already bustling building. It looked too small for all the people and crates going in and out. 

“This is a Strategic Scientific Reserve base,” Bucky explained. “It’s where a lot of big ideas come from.”

“These are the people who tell us what to do,” Steve added. 

“Woah,” you said. “So they’ve gotta be really strong!” 

“Um, they’re more smart than strong,” Bucky said. “They’re some of the smartest people around.”

The two men sat there, looking at the building.

“Why are we here?” You finally asked.

“You know how your heart isn’t so strong anymore?” Steve started.

“Yeah.”

“The people here think they can help,” Bucky said. “Nurse Boyd and Mr. Stark have been working with them to come up with a solution.” 

“Then let’s go!” You jumped up, beaming.

They had no choice but to oblige. 

It was very exciting to get to see so many new faces and interesting things – still a little scary though, so you kept Bucky close.

He didn't resist, or try to get you to hold Steve's hand instead. Even before you got into the building, you got distracted by a line of ants marching in perfect order. An SSR agent nearly stepped on them, which caused quite a hubbub. 

Bucky didn’t hurry you along to go up the steps and in the door. He didn't pull you down along the hall when you inevitably got distracted again. He just let you walk at your own pace through the hallways, accepting whatever little distractions or treasures you found joy in. 

Neither Steve nor Bucky were talking much. They’d respond when you said something, most times, and they’d nod along while you talked. They kept exchanging little glances. You didn't understand why, but you'd find out soon enough.

The three of you reached a large set of double doors, marked with some warning labels. This part of the base was deep underground, so no sun or outside sounds got in, which was already enough to upset you. 

Bucky had picked you up. Upon opening the door, it became clear why. The room was filled with machinery, a large blue cylinder teeming with wires and metal, and a dozen doctors. 

Their white coats filled your vision. Every one of them had the same distorted evil smile and the same empty eyes. Their pockets were teeming with chemical-tasting mixtures and sharp metal things, knives and needles, ready to poke and prod and experiment and zap and hurt and hurt and hurt. 

You realized you'd been scratching and thrashing only when Bucky handed you to Steve. Now you were back in the hallway outside. Steve was sitting on the floor, arms wrapped around you partly to calm you down, and partly to keep your hands away from his face.

You whipped your head around to see where Bucky was, and calmed down once you saw he was nearby, wiping off a scratch on his cheek. He hadn’t been as quick as Steve.

“We've gotta remember to cut your nails,” he said, glancing over to you.

“I hurt you?” You asked, shocked. “I’m sorry…” Your lower lip wobbled, eyes filling with tears.

“It’s okay,” Steve reassured you, loosening his arms. 

“Yeah,” Bucky added. “I’m fine. It’s just a little scratch.”

“Lemme see?” 

He scooted over next to you, and you reached out a little hand to touch his cheek. 

“I think he’ll pull through,” Steve said, eyes lingering on his old friend’s cheek.

“I think so, too,” Bucky agreed.

The three of you stayed there, on the floor, leaning on the wall for a moment before the door swung open again. 

A young, frazzled doctor looked down the hallway, and only saw you three as he was turning to go back inside.

“Oh, hello! Is everything alright?” He asked, noting y’all were on the floor.

His white lab coat set you off screaming again. Bucky swatted him away, motioning for him to go back into the other room. He looked confused, but complied.

“You got her?” He asked Steve.

“Mhm, go take care of it.”

Bucky stood up, promised to be back in one second, and went into the room full of horrible labcoat-wearing people.

“Noo!” You reached out after him. Steve didn’t let you follow. You wriggled around and forced Steve to look you dead in the eyes by holding his face still. “They’ll hurt him.” 

“Bucky and I beat the evil scientists that used to hurt you,” he reminded you as he pushed your hand off his face. “He’ll be fine.”

You listened for the sounds of your dad beating them up. Instead, you heard him talking to – no, scolding – the doctors.

“... in an underground bunker surrounded by nothing but metal and Nazis in labcoats, so of course she’s fucking terrified of them! And…”

This went on for a few more minutes, you and Steve still sitting on the floor outside the doors. He looked so sad, just listening to his friend through the metal, and looking forlornly at your little frown.

“Dada’s not supposed to use that word.” 

“Hmm?” Steve said, as though he hadn’t been listening.

“The eff one. He’s not supposed to.”

“Oh, well, adults say things when they’re really sad or angry, even if they're not supposed to.”

“Why is he sad?”

“It’s… it’s because we might not get to see you for a little while, that’s all, and we’re gonna miss you.”

“Where am I going?”

“Somewhere really, really cool.”

“Where they’ll fix my heart?”

“Yeah…” he trailed off.

The doors swung open once more.  

“C’mere,” Bucky said as he reached down to scoop you up from Steve’s lap. He held you up by his face, and looked you in the eyes. “You’re gonna have to be brave for me, okay? Can you do that?”

“Mhm,” you nodded, determined.

“Good,” he nodded back, casting a glance at Steve to make sure he’d follow. 

With more effort than normal, Steve stood up. It was like he was carrying a heavy weight, like his bones had been turned to lead, or at the very least his heart. 

Bucky, who’d been doing a fairly good job at pretending to be happy today, also moved differently. He walked slower, as though he was dreading his destination. He paused before the double doors, and once more looked to Steve.

“It’s for the best,” Steve placed an arm on his shoulder. 

“Yeah,” Bucky nodded, as though he was trying to convince himself. “The best.”

They finally pushed the door open, and you hugged tightly to your dad’s neck, burying your face to avoid seeing any of the scary machines. You felt Bucky walking a few paces. 

“Y/n,” he said softly. “It’s time for me to show you something.”

You slowly looked up. You glanced around the room, and found not a single labcoat in sight. Before you towered the blue chamber. Now that you were closer, you could see it had a little seat-like thing, except for standing in. It was perfectly made for you. Unease growing, you remembered the other girl’s chair from all those years ago. 

Steve saw your eyes flicking around, and probably heard your heart rate pick up.

“It’s okay,” he said. “You just have to stand there for one minute. I promise we won’t let the doctors hurt you. Imagine this tube is another one of Stark’s new toys.”

“Yes,” you whimpered between small sniffles. “I like machinery. It’s not scary.”

“Brave, remember?” Bucky reminded you, voice wavering just a little bit as he walked even closer to the tube. He slowly lifted you up and into the seat. 

A small team of doctors descended to connect all sorts of little monitoring devices to your arms and head. Despite their labcoatlessness, this still freaked you out, and you jerked your arm away.

“It’s okay,” Bucky said.

Once they finished, a glass plating started to slide down between you and the outside world. 

“Dada!?” You panicked, “Papa?!”

“We’ll see you… soon,” Steve said, his voice breaking and going all husky on that last word.

The door sealed with a hiss. The temperature suddenly dropped, it was like ice rushing through your veins. A small puff of breath fogged the glass before it, too, started to crystalize. Your eyes stayed open just long enough to see Bucky break, start crying quietly into Steve’s shoulder, and Steve to pull him into a hug.

They faded away, and were replaced by images flooding your head. Little visions, thousands stacked on top of one another. Scenes swirling around you. 

It felt like you were only in there for a minute before the door hissed and began sliding upwards. The ice crystals were gone, and the tube wasn’t as cold as it had been a moment ago.

The room had changed. How did the room change? Bucky was gone. Steve was there, but in different clothes. A handful of doctors were hovering around you. One minute ago, there wasn’t a single labcoat in the room. Now, it was full of them.

Instinctually, you lunged away from them. Your body didn’t move right, it was slower than it was supposed to be. The floor tilted, pitching you forward, but you managed to scramble towards Steve. 

He said something – you couldn’t hear, like you were under water – but whatever he’d said didn’t matter. He crouched down to scoop you up, and held you tight. Rubbing your back soothingly, he spoke softly. 

Slowly, slowly the room stopped tilting. Just as slowly, the warmth returned. Finally, your hearing came back. 

“... We’re gonna be fine,” Steve was saying.

“Where’s Dada?” You asked.

“He’s not here right now.”

“Why did he leave?”

“He didn't want to, he'd never leave us if he had a choice…”

“I was only in there for a minute. How could someone make him leave?”

“It’s been a lot longer than a minute.”

You took in that idea as you looked around the room. It had changed quite a bit. The walls were a different color, a calming blue, and they weren't made of metal anymore. It was warmly lit, almost comforting if you could ignore the medical supplies at the ready and the child-sized freezing tube.

The doctors crept closer, as though asking permission to approach.

“So long as you take off the coat,” Steve nodded. In almost unison, the doctors shed their lab coats, and one stepped forward. 

She put a stethoscope against your back, and explained that she was making sure your heart was alright. She put a cuff around your upper arm.

“I'm supposed to tell you that this'll feel like a really tight hug,” she said. “But it doesn't. It just feels like a machine squeezing your arm. It's so that I can see how strong your heart is.”

“Does it hurt?”

“It's definitely not comfortable, but it shouldn’t hurt. Let me know if it does and I'll adjust it.”

She recorded the results, did a few more tests, took a few more measurements, and finally, Steve was allowed to take you home. You assumed you were heading back to camp.

Boy were you wrong.

He carried you outside, through different halls than you remembered, and out into a city. It was much busier than camp, or the main base. Short trucks zipped by, all different colors, and Steve hailed a bright yellow one. He spoke briefly with the driver, and buckled you in. He sat right next to you.

He told you about the city you two were in, Washington DC. He told you about cherry blossoms, museums, and giant statues. He told you about boardwalks and Rock Creek Park. He explained that you were in downtown right now, the place where a lot of people work, which is why the buildings were so tall and everyone was so busy.

He told you about a little two bedroom apartment, and a really good hospital. In a few days, you'd go there and they'd fix your heart. No more worrying about it getting worse, it'd be all fixed.

“After that,” he said. “I see no reason why you shouldn’t go to school. I think you’ll like it.”

“Maybe,” you warily agreed.

Steve wasn’t talking anymore. You kept looking out the window. As the city rushed by out there, only one question came to mind.

“Where’s Dad?”

@arctrooper69

[dragoneyes618]

The expression "like lambs to the slaughter" is taken from a verse in Psalms (44:23; see also Isaiah 53:7) in which the psalmist describes Jews dying for God's sake, and beseeches God not to hide His face from the Jews' affliction. These very words had been cited years earlier, when poet Abba Kovner called on his fellow Vilna Jews to revolt: "We will not be led like sheep to the slaughter....Brothers! It is better to die fighting like free men than to live at the mercy of the murderers. Arise! Arise [and fight] with your last breath!" (January 1, 1942).

While a significant number of Jews did rebel, there are several reasons why the overwhelming majority did not. The most important reason is that almost no Jews had weapons, and arms and legs are of little utility against machine guns and an organized army. (Indeed, while most American Jews support gun-control laws, the few Jews I know who oppose them invariably argue that had European Jewry been armed, many more Jews might have survived.) Few people realize that because of their lack of arms, almost none of the several million prisoners taken by the Germans fought back, including several million Russian soldiers, a large percentage of whom died in Nazi camps.

There was also a moral reason for the relatively low number of revolts: The Jews knew that other Jews would be the ultimate victims of any act of rebellion, even a successful one: The Germans would murder them in retaliation. A prominent Jewish philosopher has articulated the moral dilemma that would-be resisters confronted:

"Was it morally right to kill an SS officer if, as a consequence, hundreds and even thousands of men, women, and children would perish immediately?" - Eliezer Berkovitz (1910-1993), Faith After the Holocaust, page 30

In one notable case, Jewish fighters attacked a German police detachment in the old Jewish quarter of Amsterdam; the German response was terrible:

"Four hundred and thirty Jews were arrested in reprisal and they were literally tortured to death, first in Buchenwald and then in the Austrian camp of Mauthausen. For months on end they died a thousand deaths, and every single one of them would have envied his brethren in Auschwitz, and even in Riga and Minsk. There exist many things considerably worse than death, and the SS saw to it that none of them was ever very far from their victims' minds and imagination."

- K Shabbetai, As Sheep to the Slaughter? The Myth of Cowardice. The survivors' sensitivity to charges of cowardice is underscored by the fact that Shabbetai's book was published by the World Federation of Bergen-Belsen Survivors' Association.

Yet many instances of Jewish resistance did still occur, the most famous in the Warsaw Ghetto:

"The dream of my life has become true. Jewish self-defense in the Warsaw Ghetto has become a fact. Jewish armed resistance and retaliation have become a reality. I have been witness to the magnificent heroic struggle of the Jewish fighters."

- Mordechai Anielewicz, April 23, 1943, four days after the outbreak of the Warsaw Ghetto revolt, in a note to Yitzchak Zuckerman, a unit commander in the revolt

Only twenty-four years old when he helped organize the Warsaw Ghetto revolt, Anielewicz realized that the Germans intended to deport and murder every remaining Jew in Warsaw. The revilt was triggered by word that yet another Nazi deportation was imminent.

The Warsaw Ghetto fighters held out for about a month, longer than the Polish army withstood the 1939 Nazi invasion.

Yitzchak Zuckerman, the heroic unit commander to whom Anielewicz addressed the above note, was among the few Warsaw Ghetto fighters who survived the war. Some forty years later, he was interviewed by Claude Lanzmann for the movie Shoah:

"I began drinking after the war. It was very difficult....You asked my impression. If you could lick my heart, it would poison you."

Despite the Warsaw Ghetto revolt and other acts of resistance, during the 1961 Eichmann trial it became fashionable among some Jews and non-Jews alike to express shock and a certain contempt for those Jews who "failed to resist." Elie Wiesel responded:

"The Talmud teaches man never to judge his friend until he has been in his place. But, for the world, the Jews are not friends. They have never been. Because they had no friends they are dead. So learn to be silent."

- Elie Wiesel, "A Plea for the Dead"

- Jewish Wisdom, Rabbi Joseph Telushkin, pages 532-535

[mariacallous]

Lithuania’s Jews and Yiddishists around the world are mourning the passing of Fania Brantsovsky, the last surviving member of the Jewish underground in the Vilna ghetto and a keeper of the flame of the city’s once glorious Yiddish past, who died at the age of 102 on Sunday in Vilnius.

Brantsovsky escaped the ghetto in 1942 and fought against the Nazis and their local collaborators in the Rudninkai forest with a group of Jewish partisans under the command of Abba Kovner. 

In the years after the war, she became a lifelong advocate for the memory of Lithuanian Jewry and their Yiddish language, serving as the librarian and beloved teacher at the Vilnius Yiddish Institute and an ambassador to visitors she brought to view the landmarks, many vanished, of a city that had once been known as the “Jerusalem of Europe” for its rich Jewish culture. 

It was a role that brought her world-wide acclaim and eventually local hostility, when Lithuanian nationalists began to equate her Soviet liberators with the Nazis, and tried to discredit partisans like her who had once considered the Russians their allies.

For all these roles, Brantsovsky was hailed by Yiddishists around the world who consider her death the end of an era.

“She lived so long that she came from a completely different universe than ours, like out of a history book,” Alec “Leyzer” Burko, a Warsaw-based Yiddish teacher, told the Jewish Telegraphic Agency.

“We’ve lost the last exemplar of interwar Yiddish Vilna, someone who could impart the spirit of the Yiddishist movement of interwar Vilna and its secular circles. We lost our last active veteran of the Vilna ghetto and the Jewish partisans,” said Dovid Katz, an American-born Yiddishist and co-founder of the Vilnius Yiddish Institute.

“And on a personal level,” he added, “we’ve lost a dear friend whose warmth, enthusiasm, encouragement, and desire to help, show and teach was a huge inspiration.”

Brantsovsky was born Feige Jocheles in 1922, in the then-Lithuanian capital of Kaunas but her family moved to Vilnius, then a part of Poland, when she was just five years old. 

As a young girl, she was active in the rich Jewish life of Vilnius. At the time, Vilnius was home to more than 60,000 Jews and boasted over 100 synagogues, the largest of which had seating for more than 2,000. With a Jewish community that had been flourishing when Napoleon passed through the city in the 18th century, Vilnius was more than just a religious center. It was home to a rich cultural and political scene, all in the Yiddish language. 

While she hailed from a secular family, which Brantsovsky noted kept neither kosher nor Shabbat, she completed her entire traditional education in Yiddish-speaking schools, and as a teenager was active in Jewish political youth movements

That world was shattered in 1941, when Vilnius fell under the control of the Germans and Brantsovsky, along with Vilnius’s tens of thousands of other Jews, were herded into the cramped conditions of the Vilna ghetto. 

From the first days of the Nazi occupation of Lithuania, they began taking Jews from Vilnius to be killed in the nearby Ponar forest. Over 100,000 people would be killed there, including 70,000 Lithuanian Jews and 8,000 Roma, making it the second-largest mass grave in Europe after Babyn Yar in Ukraine.  

“Our life was more of existence, really,” Brantsovsky once described the ghetto in an interview with Centropa, a European Holocaust memorial organization. Every day was a struggle for survival, and one slip-up or turn of fate could mean starvation, or deportation to Ponar.

Brantsovsky recalled hearing of a resistance movement forming in the ghetto and quickly requested to join. 

“The underground organization of the ghetto united all parties and trends such as communists, revisionists, Bund etc. Their common goal was to fight against fascists,” she told Centropa. 

That group would be remembered as the United Partizan Organization, or by its Yiddish initials, FPO. 

The FPO had considered instigating an uprising in the ghetto, as would later take place in Warsaw. After the capture and execution of it’s leader Yitzhak Wittenberg by the Gestapo, the movement’s leadership decided instead to take its fighters out of the ghetto and into the nearby forests where Soviet-backed partisans were harrying the rear and supply lines of the German army. 

Brantsovsky bid farewell to her family and was smuggled out of the ghetto on Sept. 23, 1943. She would later learn that on the same night, the Germans began their final liquidation of the ghetto, killing most of its inhabitants. None of her family would survive the Holocaust.

In the Rudninkai forest, which has been immortalized in partisan literature under its Yiddish name, Der Rudnitzker Vald, she joined up with a partisan unit composed of Jews under the command of Abba Kovner, known as the Nokmim or Avengers.  

In the forest she trained with weapons and explosives and took part in military operations against the Nazi occupation. 

“We blasted trains and placed explosives in the enemy’s equipment. We shot and killed them,” she told Centropa. “Yes, I did, I killed them and did so with ease. I knew that my dear ones were dead and I took my revenge for them and thousands of others with each and every shot.”

In the forest, she also met her future husband Mikhail Brantsovsky. Nearly a year after fleeing the ghetto, Fania returned, rifle in hand, as the Soviet Red Army captured the city. 

Less than a month after returning she and Mikhail married. 

“We were intoxicated by the victory, our youth and love,” she recalled. 

After the war, her commander Abba Kovner would gain fame as one of Israel’s poet laureates, and infamy for an aborted plot to kill 6 million Germans in vengeance for the Holocaust. 

Brantsovsky took part in none of that: She stayed in Vilnius where she and Mikhail built a life together and had two children. 

In the years after the war, it quickly became clear to Brantsovsky that the world of her youth had been lost. 

“There were hardly any Jews left in Vilnius. When I saw older Jews, or they looked old to me considering how young I was, I felt like kneeling before them to kiss their hands.” she once recalled. 

Fania quickly went to work, helping to document what had been lost, and assisted Soviet Jewish writers Ilya Ehrenburg and Vasily Grossman in the “Black Book of Soviet Jewry,” a 500-page document that recorded the Nazis’ crimes in the occupied regions of the Soviet Union. 

While it was first published in the USSR by Der Emes, the Yiddish-language arm of Pravda, the book would later be suppressed as the Soviet policy towards the Holocaust shifted to present the genocide as solely an atrocity against Soviet citizens, not one that specifically targeted Jews.  

Though Mikhail and Fania had been present and honored in Moscow’s Red Square during the victory parades of 1945, their enthusiasm towards the Soviet regime dulled after experiencing the antisemitism of Stalin’s later years. 

Mikhail passed away in 1985, and Fania retired from her job as a teacher in 1990 just before Lithuania gained its independence. 

In retirement, Fania found a new purpose: In an independent Lithuania, there was renewed interest in recording Vilnius’s Jewish past and studying the Yiddish language of its Jews. 

In the early 1990s, Fania and a group of other survivors, including another former partisan, Rachel Margolis, worked to establish a Holocaust museum in Vilnius known as the Green House. 

In 2001, Katz, a professor of Yiddish who had previously worked at Oxford, relocated to Vilnius and established a Yiddish institute at Vilnius University. 

“When I founded the Vilnius Yiddish Institute in 2001 my first executive act was to hire Fania as librarian and that choice was a success from day one,” Katz told JTA.

Fania, who worked as a teacher much of her adult life, originally trained to do so in Yiddish for students in the city’s Jewish school system. The Nazis shattered that future, but decades later, the Vilnius Yiddish Institute represented a return to her roots. 

“She understood that she was the carrier of so much of the living Yiddish culture of the interwar period, especially its secular Yiddishist incarnation,” Katz explained.  

The Institute lasted for 17 years, until it ultimately closed down in 2018. Every year it ran a summer program attended by students from around the world, and Fania became a fixture of the experience, telling students about the city of her youth, the experience of the ghetto and bringing them out to the remains of her partisan camp in the Rudninkai forest well into her nineties. 

She is remembered fondly by nearly everyone who passed through.

“I feel really blessed to have had an opportunity to work with her,” Indre Joffyte, who helped run the program, told JTA. “Fania’s energy, determination and passion in everything she did was an inspiration to everyone around her. I will always remember her caring nature, our girly conversations, her preparedness to help, and her inner youth despite her age and tragic life experiences.”

In independent Lithuania, Fania became a prominent figure in its Jewish community as well as in diplomatic circles, guiding visiting leaders on tours of the former ghetto and Ponar where so many of her relatives were killed.

But the increased attention also invited trouble. 

In the years since the fall of the Soviet Union, a nationalist narrative arose in the Baltic states that equated the actions of the Soviets with the Nazis.  

Known as the “double genocide” theory, it has been largely rejected by Jewish and western Holocaust institutions, but has become the standard presented in Lithuania and the other Baltic states. 

It resulted in a smear campaign directed against Brantsovsky and other surviving Jewish partisans, such as Margolis and Yitzhak Arad who was the director of Yad Vashem from 1972 to 1993. 

For fighting in units allied with the Soviets, they were accused of being war criminals on the same level as Lithuanians who collaborated with the Nazis. 

“I agree completely with all the anti-Communist pronouncements. What I disagree with is, of course, the equalization of the people who committed the genocide at Auschwitz and the people who liberated Auschwitz. They’re simply not the same.” said Katz.  “As much as one should hate the Stalinist Soviet Union between 1941 and 1945, we were in the American-Anglo-Soviet alliance, and the Soviet Union was the only force fighting Hitler in Eastern Europe. So of course, Fania’s partisan union was aligned with the Soviet partisans in the forest who were fighting.”

For Brantsovsky, the issue came to head in 2008, when Lithuania’s chief prosecutor publicly demanded that she be questioned over her alleged connections to a massacre of Lithuanian civilians during the war. 

Katz believes that the demand was in retaliation for increased pressure from the Simon Wiesenthal Center and other Jewish institutions for Lithuania to investigate its own wartime collaborators.

The charges were dropped that same year, but the incident had a notable effect on Brantsovsky, resulting in her receding somewhat from public life in Lithuania. 

She didn’t stop teaching Yiddish, however, and was active in working with students and guiding tours until her 99th year, when she had a fall on the eve of the COVID-19 pandemic. 

With her passing, another thread connecting Eastern Europe’s Jewish past and rich Yiddish culture has been severed. 

“She was one of the last witnesses of prewar Jewish life in Vilna, a proud graduate of its Yiddish school system where everything from chemistry to Latin and Shakespeare was studied in the Jewish community’s native language,” Jordan Kutzik, a former deputy Yiddish editor at The Forward, said in a memorial post on Facebook.

“After nearly her entire family and cultural milieu were murdered and then her native language suppressed for 50 years, she wasn’t wasting any time in helping to document her city’s history and encouraging others to explore it.”

[velandvithestarlightgullwings]

Moral Superiority and the 2024 Election

I think a lot of those that are looking to either vote third party, vote for GOP, or not vote at all don't understand nor realize that a lot of the rights we have today as American citizens were won in hard and bitter fights that often led to people dying. From job rights, civil rights, gender rights, and more, our elders suffered from bigotry, hate, greed, and severe violence to get us to this point and as we reach the eve of the 2024 election, we are on the cusp of losing everything our elders fought, bleed, and died for because of a myriad of reasons.

Many will claim that general apathy and pure ignorance would be two of the biggest reasons, and I would agree when it came to the 2016 election, but the biggest reason is we could lose it all in 2024 is moral superiority.

So many people I've spoken to on tumblr, twitter, reddit, canvassing, and people I personally know have stated the democrats need to "earn" their vote by doing this, that, and the other or they won't vote/vote third party.

Many don't/won't understand that the main third party candidates this year in Jill Stein, RFK Jr, and Cornel West are different shades of MAGA with their various ties to Putin, Trump, and general MAGA Superdoners (something people better have me have illustrated in their own posts) and actively bury their heads in the sand and ignore that any vote to them will actively bring us closer to a Trump Victory, and thus, a Trump dictator ship.

On the other side of it, many simply won't vote and will not listen to reason, not understanding that their vote is their voice and if they willingly silence themselves, they lose any right to complain later because they failed to speak up when their voice was actively needed.

In the last couple of months, I've heard every excuse in the book, from "Both Sides bad," and "I'm in a deep red state and my vote doesn't matter," both being equally false considering that only one side is actively trying and succeeded to strip away rights and recently, we've seen deep red states, such as Texas and Florida, inch ever so closer to blue by people going out to vote more.

But the biggest thing people cite is the Palestine/Israel conflict, something that has been going on longer than any of us have be born and was recently inflamed by both Trump moving the US embassy from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem, thus officially recognizing Jerusalem as the capital of Israel, and the October 7th attack.

The attack on Israel on October 7th was a horrible act but the retaliation that Israel took on Palestine in their "hunt" in Hamas was down right heinous and in our generation where the internet is widespread, we've all seen absolute horrors that Israel has enacted on the Palestinian people in a looooooooong list of heinous acts they've inflicted on the Palestinians.

We have every single right to be angry by it. Personally, as a Black Woman who has spent years studying discrimination, a lot of the horrors instilled on the Palestinian people reflect those that happened to my race during and after slavery and that had me marching in the streets and arguing for the Palestinians every step of the way, thus losing a lot of close friendships and family members in the process.

We have every right to hold our government accountable for this as for decades, longer than many of us have been alive, have been allies to Israel. Many will say that Israel, much like Nazi Germany, learned from the United States how to inflict such cruelties and I will not disagree.

However, with all of that said, due to the actions and personality of Donald J. Trump, Racism, Homophobia, misogyny and every other -ism has been on the rise to the point that since 2016, we've been in a fight to defeat the rising dictatorship that Trump and the GOP have been salivating to instill on us, with 2024, in my opinion, being the the final round.

We, as the American people, have seen the GOP and Trump actively skate by and make a mockery of the laws that many of us are still adhered to while also watching not only our rights being stripped away, by the world we live in being ravaged by climate change, all by the actions of the GOP and the billionaires that fund them.

But instead of us all banding together and trying to stop them from completing their plans for Agenda 47 and Project 2025, many will opt to...do nothing because of the Palestine/Israel conflict, thus allowing a Trump Dictatorship to potentially win.

These people understand what is at risk and they understand that people around them will suffer, but they refuse to fight back and instead do nothing to help because of their rage that no one is doing anything about the conflict.

I don't know if they don't believe that these things can happen, outright ignoring what's going on in Louisiana, Georgia, Texas, and Florida or our country at large since 2016, or that they hope it will happen so they can build the "perfect society" from the ashes of what America used to be or that they'll be a glorious revolution.

But what I do know is that many believe that by not participating in fighting the dictatorship that is knocking on their door, they can retain their moral purity.

And I'm not talking about Palestinian-Americans. They have all the right in the fucking world not to vote and unless that want to, I will not convince them because they are hurting.

I'm talking about the Performers, the clout chasers, the puritans. Those people don't care about Palestine and her people. They care about looking good to the people around them. Much like the BLM movement, where they put a black square on their pfp and dusted their hands like they did something, it's all performative to them.

They care more about being right than the suffering. Because if they did care, they would know that many people in Palestine are hoping that anyone but Trump and his ilk win in the white house. I even posted an article from a Palestinian website saying as such.

And there are plenty of Palestinians that I spoke to in my personal life and during canvassing that are voting for democrats in order to help their homeland because they understand the risk to not only those in Gaza but to themselves in the states.

If they did care, they would be out in this streets, protesting and raising hell. Not only against the democrats, which they love to target, but to the republicans as well, which have been conveniently ignored everywhere that I've looked.

And if they did care, they would understand that if Trump wins, Gaza, along with the Ukraine (something I'm sure many have forgotten about) would be gone, along with the United States.

Because many of us do care, but we also know what is at stake for a lot of fucking places alongside Palestine so we vote to fight because If Trump and the GOP win, there will be no revolution or reclaiming the united states from the ashes. Why? Because half of the country love that God-King Trump and his GOP are hurting the "others" in this bullshit culture war and they are counting on a lot of the single issue voters to sit this out. They are practically begging for it as they have been losing in the polls lately since Biden stepped down and Harris stepped up.

Trump, the GOP, and the mindless followers of MAGA don't care what happens after Trump wins, as long as they get to say their slurs, beat POC and Trans in the streets and act like they are the "Master Race chosen by the "Christian" God" while keeping women in the chained in the kitchen, popping out babies until they die.

These mortal puritans will say "I don't care about your first world problems," while forgetting that they live in the same country. I've even seen tweets saying "The US can burn to protect Palestine" ignoring that Palestine will be done and dusted if Trump wins.

Trump has said time and again that Israel needs to "Finish the job" and has used Palestine as a slur. When he says this, it is not a joke. And yet people will allow him to win because the Democrats are not doing enough, while not understanding the political tightrope many are walking on due to this conflict.

Can the democrats be harder on them, yes. they can. I was not pleased to know that Biden was sending weapons to Israel at all, nor was I pleased to learn that he's a zionist, which made me loath voting for him.

And I really didn't want to vote for him a second time in the first place because I did NOT forget how racist Biden was when I was younger.

But so far, Harris seems more sympathetic and harder on Israel than Biden is (don't not make me a fool Harris) and that, along with everything else, makes me want to vote for her.

But the biggest reason we need Harris to win is because once she does, we know that protesting and letting our voices be heard can sway her to be harsher on Israel. Versus Trump, where he is on record talking about giving all officers Qualified immunity and making protesting illegal.

And we all know the infamous photo-op during 2020.

So to all of the moral purity performers that are just looking for the next trend to catch, either put your money where your mouth is and vote to help, or admit to what you are and your lack of care and then be true to yourself and let Trump win.

[alalaya2]

Tim Drakes Sleeping habits save the earth

10 the Crows are coming

In Celtic Mythology Morrigan is either Three sisters or one Goddess with Three Forms the Triplicate goddess. First there is Badb the Crow she is the foreshadow of the carnage to come in war, next is Nemain the havoc of war, and then there is Morrigan the Phantom Queen herself she is Death and Victory of battle. The truth of the Infante Realm is that it’s just a ‘Genetic Quirk’ on her mother’s side of her Family to have Three forms. Clockwork’s were three different ages, she had forewarning of war, war on the battlefield and when the war is won. If Pala Gotham hadn’t been Cursed, she would show her other two forms as well. As it was Morrigan was covered in Crows feathers she could Feel the stir of the battle Brewing in the air.

The Realms seem to be holding its breath the normal ebb of the Ectoplasm was stilled. This part of her was the part that knew things before they happened. It was the part that told her that she would fade and come back. It was the part that told her that her children would suffer, and it was better than the alternative. Normally this part of her would bother her but not today. This was going to be a battle worth it, normally war is not something that she looks forward to she is a Ghost, and a Goddess. The Fighting part is never a big issue, in fact she loved a good fight. It’s the Carnage, the loss of family and life that she doesn’t like.

This Battle, there were no large grey areas. The GIW were the ones in the wrong and everyone that mattered knew it. In the last 200 years there was only a hand full of groups that really deserved the beating they received, not all the individuals mind you, but the group as a majority did. The Nazis were such a group of leaders that deserved the thrashing they received. Morrigan Bared her teeth in anticipation at the injustice being corrected. It was time to join her daughter and with their reunion her curse would be broken.

Gothemites like the Celtics of old were part of the reason there were sayings like ‘Fuck around and you will find out.’ Lady Gotham got her Temperament from her after all. As she stepped through the portal that would take her to the spot ever one would be meeting at, she knew The Green Lanterns and the Justice League were going to start a Riot.

Fright Knight had offered the use of a portal to get to them to Earth faster he was happy to see his father, but he wanted to save the young king first then he would Celebrate the return of his family. A Pre reunion fight would be a good way to start the Celebration, plus His sister would kill him if he started the party without her. About 50 Lanterns were ready to come with him. If they took too long to contact them the guardian would send more, and earths government would fall under their rule until a new world government could be created. Phantom would not be happy if things went that far, and Fright would eat his helmet if they couldn’t handle the upcoming fight before they got to that point.

He was looking forward to seeing how his sisters Knights would handle the fighting back before she had been Cursed, she had been one of the best fighters in the realm and was the first in line for the throne. If Parish had not taken out their father and Pala was injured when she fought him, she would probably be the Queen of the Infante Realms. As it was she would only accept the best of the best her people had to offer.

Pandora gave him a knowing look “I am looking forward to see how my sisters have progressed with their fighting skills as well I think they will take out more than your families Knights.”

Fright huffed “like my sister would choose weaklings as her Knights”

Pandora Smiled slyly “A wager then, my sisters have better fights you take me on a date your Knights fight better than my living sisters I’ll take you out.”

Fight Knights Sputter is echoed by Clockwork and Frostbite in the Ghost Zone. Fright Knight Straighten up and Bowed to Pandora “I’ll take your wager on one condition I would like to use this fight as our first courting Fight together.” He gently reached out to take one of her hands and squeezed a little.

Pandora squeezed back and Grind showing all her sharp teeth “I accept!”

“Finally it only took you two over a thousand years to get your shit together” yells Lazarus as he throws his hands up in exasperation. “You to have been Mooning over each other I was going to help Clockwork with his Matchmaking if you had taken any longer.”

The new couple Flinched Clockworks Matchmaking planes did work but they were not fun for the people who were involved.

Fight cleared his throat a little in embarrassment “The portal is Ready lets talk about this later” He shuffled a little not taking his hand off Pandora's.

Lazarus Smiled at his son knowingly but didn’t say anything.

The Bat Clan were fascinated as Lady Gotham and Alfred worked together in a terrifyingly competent way planning how to take out the laws and the GIW. Congress, Judicial and President Puck Velasco to Repeal the law as the were looking at the largest Revolution gathering in America since its beginning. President Nightingale had a team going though all current laws to make sure nothing else that would cause problems. It was going to take a while as there were a lot of Laws, and the UN was not going to let something like this slip through for any Country on Earth as the Anti-Echo Acts were breaking Galactic law.

With each moment getting closer, all the teams moving to take out every GIW building. Lady Gotham Seemed to be getting stronger less gaunt and her gray skin looking less chalky. Gotham had always had a muggy feeling in the air, it was always there Night or Day, Hot or Cold, Rain or Very rarely Sunshine it was fading. The Gotham Knights were on edge from it as they had Grown up with the feeling for most of there lives. Bruce had enough “what is going on?”

Dora blinked in surprise and looked up from the plans she was reading at Gotham. Her jaw drops in surprise “her curse has broken.”

This causes the rest of the clan to really look at her “How?” asked Bruce.

“No Idea” Dora’s face became predatorial “she is healing fast she should be fighting fit by the time we are ready to leave. Before she was cursed, she was the top fighter of the realms. This is going to be so fun.”

Gotham Smiled “Yes, it is I can Finally give my knights the full protection I have never been able to give them before. I’ll be at half strength by the meet up time it will take me a few months before I am back to full strength, but I’ve only been about 5% power for the last 200 years.”

Bruce Blinked again “That explains some things.” The Clan looks up at the portal opening in the Cave it was go time!

Previous. Ao3 Next

[whencyclopedia]

Treaty of Versailles

The Treaty of Versailles, signed in June 1919, was an agreement between the victors of the First World War (1914-18) which redivided parts of Europe and imposed reparations, armament limitations, and total blame for the war on Germany, one of the conflict's losers.

Although designed to guarantee a lasting peace, overturning the treaty's harsher points became a goal of successive German chancellors and then the Nazi leader Adolf Hitler (1889-1945) through the 1930s. Indeed, the ill-feeling towards the treaty was one of several reasons for the rise of national socialism and, ultimately, one of the causes of WWII (1939-45).

Aims of the Treaty

The First World War was fought between the Central Powers of Germany and Austria-Hungary (plus their allies) and the Triple Entente of Britain, France, and Russia (and their allies, which included Italy and the United States). Germany and Austria-Hungary lost the war and an armistice was signed on 11 November 1918. The victors, particularly Britain and France, now sought to impose such peace terms that Germany, in particular, would never again be able to threaten peace in Europe. The horrors of WWI, when 7 million people were killed and 21 million seriously injured, must never be repeated. There had been tremendous material costs, too. According to the historian F. McDonough, "the total estimated cost of the war has been put at £260,000 million" (43).

The victors first wanted an official recognition from Germany that it had started the war. Secondly, they wanted to be directly compensated by Germany for some of the material costs of the conflict by extracting hefty reparation payments and redistributing some German territory and all of its colonies. Germany's industry remained intact throughout the war, and the victors were wary of its ability to rebuild. To ensure the German armed forces could not wage war in the future, severe limitations were imposed on the country's military capabilities. The victors did not want to completely destroy Germany since it could remain a valuable market for their exports, however, most historians recognise that the Allies may have gone too far with their demands and, in the end, only pushed Germany towards the very destination they had hoped to avoid, another world war. The other losing states of WWI: Austria, Hungary, Bulgaria, and Turkey would be dealt with in separate, equally controversial treaties.

Newspaper Front Page Declaring the Signing of the Treaty of Versailles

Kallen2021 (CC BY-SA)

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