#civil war Tumblr posts

  • Sursock Palace, Beirut, Libanon,

    The recently restored 19th-century palace was one of the treasured tourist attractions destroyed in last week’s massive chemical explosion.

    The Irish-born owner of Beirut’s landmark Sursock Palace and his American wife had finished a 20-year restoration of the landmark building from damage suffered in the country’s 1975-1990 civil war when 2,750 tons of ammonium nitrate exploded like an atom bomb last Tuesday.

    “In a split second, everything was destroyed again,” said Roderick Sursock, owner of the palace that is treasured as one of the most storied buildings in the Lebanese capital.

    The palace, built in 1860, lost the ceilings of the top floor along with many of the walls in the blast that officials now say killed at least 200.

    Roderick Sursock told the Associated Press that the damage is at least 10 times what 15 years of civil war inflicted on the palace, which also survived both world wars and the fall of the Ottoman Empire.

    The palace will only survive with yet another restoration “as if rebuilding the house from scratch,” Sursock said.

    But he will not even contemplate starting until a total change in leadership in what he angrily called a nation “run by a gang of corrupt people.”

    AP/Felipe Dana 

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    Online lecture this evening at 7; registration required.

    #civil war #american civil war #civilwar
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  • Does anyone have a link to that post about how ghost stories were popularized after the Civil War as a way to make peace with many, many families never getting the bodies of family members back? I’m mainly after it for the lecture series that’s mentioned in a reblog.

    #civil war #civil war history
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  • Gettysburg, July 1, 1863. General Buford directs his command on McPherson’s Ridge. By Don Troiani. 

    #union army#federal#civil war #American civil war
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  • Lincoln


    If you ever wonder what a caliber actor looks like, take a look at Daniel Day Lewis’ films. It won’t matter which one you pick, since he commits like no other in each piece and has a presence that few can emulate. His ability goes beyond mimicking or impersonating, rather he embodies a character inside out and aleays retains a playful sparkle in his eyes. It’s like he inhabits another person’s body for a while. Few other actors have that facility to seduce and enthrall an audience the way he does.

    In addition, Steven Spielberg’s direction made this the masterpiece it is. The cast was truly spectacular, particularly a disgruntled Tommy Lee Jones who was my second favorite person to watch onscreen. On the other hand, I love how the story dissects in front of us the complexities of a war-torn, backward-thinking, egotistical, backstabbing society to show us how Lincoln made his way through. It’s as much a biopic and character study as a strong period drama, probably only rivaled by the likes of Darkest Hour in terms of scope, superior acting and impeccable direction.

    10/10 ⭐

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  • Idris Robinson, “How It Might Should Be Done: On Strategic Potentialities Unleashed by the George Floyd Rebellion,” Red May, July 2020

    10 theses on the strategic potentialities of riot, insurrection, and revolution unleashed through the George Floyd Rebellion

    1. A militant nationwide uprising did, in fact, occur. The progressive wing of the counter-insurgency seeks the denial and the disarticulation of the event.

    2. While spearheaded by a black avant-garde, this largely multi-ethnic rebellion managed to spontaneously overcome codified racial divisions. The containment of the revolt aims at reinstating these rigid lines of separation and policing their boundaries.

    3. Avoiding the morbid libidinal core of white supremacy, identity politics, intersectionality, and social-privilege discourse comprise the most sophisticated sector of this police apparatus.

    4. The insurgency cannot be confined within any well-circumscribed sociological category. By necessarily exceeding all classification, it is an excluded remnant detaching itself from whatever binds together the American wasteland. Consequently, this combatant formation can only be defined in terms of its movement and its development, as that which emerged during the first weeks of the revolt and will dissolve itself upon the full completion of the revolutionary project.

    5. The so-called the black leadership, therefore, cannot and does not exist. It is a chimera to be found exclusively in the white liberal imagination.

    6. The current crisis derives from a contradiction that proceeds from the two Janus-faced sides of post-Cold War American governance: an inconsistency between the demands of the sovereign imperial State and globalized biopolitical security. As a result, the metropolitan center has begun to experience the chaos and the instability that it has classically sewn within the colonial periphery.

    7. As the rebel-slaves did with the periodic outbreaks of yellow fever in Haiti, there is a hidden partisan knowledge to be uncovered surrounding the novel coronavirus pandemic that also can be exploited and weaponized against established power.

    8. The insurrection will involve precise coordination from within the constellation of riots: the paradoxical organization of disorder beyond any measure of control. Accordingly, the problem of insurrection has equal parts social and technical dimensions.

    9. Materialize the ever-present specter of a second, more balkanized, civil war by fragmenting the fragments of a crumbling empire.

    10. The fulfillment of the revolutionary project is ultimately an inescapable ethical obligation that each of us have to the dead and the exploited.

    #idris robinson#red may #how it might should be done #insurrectionary politics #george floyd rebellion #civil war
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  • Not to be too woo on main, but if we don’t address the apocalypse that is occurring inside ourselves we are absolutely going to have an apocalypse in the dense world.

    If we don’t address our inner civil wars and get healed, we will definitely have more in the dense world.

    If we don’t start recognizing that everything going on outwardly is a direct reflection of our innermost issues we are definitely going to face the evidence of this in the dense world.

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    1) Sharp as hell Jawlines and cheekbones to die for…


    2) Fabulous hair…


    3) Puppy dog eyes that you can’t resist…


    4) Cute AF smiles…


    5) Love for knives…

    #bucky#bucky barnes #bucky barnes edit #winter soldier #captain america winter soldier #loki#loki laufeyson#loki odinson #loki prince of asgard #thor#captain america#sebastian stan#tom hiddleston #james buchanan barnes #civil war#ragnarok#loki edit #bucky x loki #catws#cacw#catfa#seb stan#chubby dumpling#sexy seabass #loki king of jotunheim #rightful king of jotunheim #jotunheimen#wakanda#wakanda forever#white wolf
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  • Great to get back to teaching in the classroom, but I look forward to doing so without the mask!

    #civil war #american civil war #civilwar
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  • Road to War

    Part: 5/?

    Pairings: Ulfric x Dragonborn; Brynjolf x OC; Cicero x OC; Ondolemar x OC

    Summary: After leaving Windhelm, the group travel to the headquarters of Ayla’s rebellion.

    Warnings: Descriptions of violence and gore; Skyrim takes on a bit of ‘Game of Thrones’ feeling; May contain controversial themes.

    Wordcount: 1921


    Xaliyah sits atop of her dark brown stallion, Caper, as they navigate the road through the Pale. She brushes a strand of her hair out of her face and glances over at Brynjolf, who sits atop his palomino horse. She quickly looks away when he begins turning his head towards her. Instead, she focuses on the road ahead and at the signs of another snowstorm.

    “Should we make camp?” Xaliyah suggests, looking over at Ayla who is on her black stallion, Paladin she named him. The Dragonborn glances up at the sky before replying.

    “We have a few hours of daylight left and the storm will most likely miss us,” she explains, giving Xaliyah a quick glance over her shoulder, “the base isn’t far from here anyway. We might make it in time,”

    “What exactly is this base you speak of?” Brynjolf questions from beside Xaliyah, staring ahead at the two in front of them, “is it a cluster of tents or a hut in the woods?”

    Kharjo lets out a laugh as he rides is painted mare, “a group of tents or a hut couldn’t hold an entire rebellion,” he explains with another chuckle, “do you think Ulfric Stormcloak or General Tullius has their soldiers living in tents in the forest?”

    Xaliyah bites back a laugh as she glances over at Brynjolf, who seems unamused by the Khajiit’s remark, “of course not,” he says, tone annoyed, “it’s just that you two never really properly described this base of yours,”

    “You’ll see it soon, I promise,” Ayla speaks up, “it’s unlike anything you’ve ever seen,” she adds before they return to a comfortable silence. Xaliyah stares up at a flock of birds as they find a tree to rest on, chirping noisily amongst themselves. Two squirrels hop in the snow as a rabbit chases another rabbit. This is such a peaceful moment and Xaliyah knows she should enjoy it while it lasts. This may be the last peaceful moment for a long while.

    “Here we are,” Ayla says after another hour of traveling. The sun is starting to set, but the entire group could see the looming fortress in front of them. It was obviously dwemer made, given by the dwemer’s infamous architectural style.

    “It’s dwemer,” Brynjolf says softly after a few moments of staring at the building.

    Ayla chuckles, “that it is,” she replies, “it used to be a ruin, but we rebuilt it in a few months time, trying to keep it similar to its original form,”

    It’s massive. Built literally for a rebellion. Xaliyah grabs hold of the reins as Caper tosses his head, a frightened neigh leaving him as he takes a few steps back.

    The source of the horse’s nervousness shows itself as it flies above them, letting out a loud roar, causing several flocks of birds to fly off. The group watches as the dragon lands on the roof of the base.

    “Shall we?” Ayla asks, urging her horse forward and the group follows. Xaliyah looks over at Brynjolf to see him giving her a questioning look. She shrugs in response before urging Caper to gallop forward to catch up to Ayla and Kharjo.


    “What do you think, lass?” Brynjolf asks her from the doorway to her new room for the next year or so, “is it everything you hoped for?”

    Xaliyah takes a deep breath and runs a hand through her brown curls as she sits down on her bed. The room is pretty large, a fireplace against the main wall surrounded by a few chairs. A window shows the snowy mountains surrounding the base.

    “It is different,” she replies, meeting his gaze quickly before looking away, “less familiar than the cistern, but I can get used to this,” she adds with a small smile.

    “Definitely a lot more fresh food than what the Flagon offers,” Brynjolf says with a chuckle, one Xaliyah returns. As much as she likes the Flagon and enjoys spending most of her free time in the small tavern, the food wasn’t always as fresh as it was in other establishments.

    “I am so going to tell Vekel that you said that,” Xaliyah threatens and watches as the redhead lifts an eyebrow, a hum leaving him.

    “Not if I can stop you, lass,” he challenges, his mouth slowly forming a smile as Xaliyah stares at him, eyebrows raised as she processes his challenge, “I don’t need Vekel taking away my ale when we get back,”

    Xaliyah rolls her eyes as she stands, “even if you do stop me, I can still prohibit you from drinking ale as well, lad,” she responds, arms crossed and a small smile on her lips. Before Brynjolf can reply, a new voice joins them.

    “Sorry to interrupt this…moment,” Ayla says, peering around Brynjolf, who still stands in the doorway, “but we have business to attend to,” with a smile, Ayla disappear back into the hall and Xaliyah sighs.

    “Right. We’re at war, not on vacation,” she breathes out, mainly to herself as she opens her eyes, “there is plenty of things that need to be done before we get back to Riften,”

    Brynjolf pushes himself off of the doorway, “I need to go finish unpacking my things,” he explains, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder and out the door, “I’ll come to find you two when I finish,” he adds before walking out the door, revealing a smirking Ayla leaning against the doorway, playing with an arrow.

    “What?” Xaliyah questions as she walks out of the room and past Ayla, who turns around by rolling onto her right shoulder before pushing herself off of the wall and catches up to her friend.

    “You and Brynjolf,” she says and Xaliyah closes her eyes. She knew this conversation would happen the moment Ayla interrupted, “you finally talk about your feelings? It was getting pretty hot in there,”

    Xaliyah sends her best friend a glare as they walk, “of course not,” she says with a shake of her head as they round a corner, “we were just joking around about me telling Vekel to forbid Brynjolf any alcohol, that’s it,”

    Xaliyah can feel the Dragonborn’s gaze on her and knew that her words didn’t end the discussion, “it wasn’t joking, more like teasing,” Ayla responds as they near a set of grand doors leading to somewhere important.

    It is then that Xaliyah realizes that there are a bunch of soldiers around them, not escorting them of course. Most groups are mindlessly walking and talking while others are jogging with a general is yelling commands at them.

    “You let your soldiers train inside?”

    Ayla glances at the jogging group and shrugs, “it’s a massive place,” she explains as she pushes the doors open, “they get a lot of exercise and stay out of the bitter wind and freezing temperatures outside. It’s a win-win,”

    “I see,” Xaliyah says softly as she follows Ayla through a vast library. Scholars walk around, each with a book or two in their hands. Several sit and study the writings while others are busy putting away their books or finding new ones to study.

    “Ah, Ayla, good to see you’ve returned!” a voice says and Xaliyah looks forward to see a High Elf woman with white hair, unlike her fellow High Elves. She had a cheery expression on her face and her white colored pupils shine, “I have heard that your mission to ally with the Stormcloaks was successful. Definitely helped with the moral here,”

    “Thank you, Asteria,” Ayla says as they begin walking through the large library, “how have things fared here since I’ve been gone?” the elf, who wears her hair in a messy bun with curls falling out of it, follows Ayla.

    “The soldiers remain strong and fit and ready for battle,” Asteria informs the woman, “Vilkas has made sure of that. The wizards here have trained long and hard to learn their respective skill. Plus we continue to learn about various lost treasures scatted around Skyrim, each one with the potential to aid our cause should you find one,”

    “Thank you, Asteria,” Ayla says, coming to a stop in the middle of the library, “and have you received any news about Athena or Tal?”

    The elven woman shakes her head, “I’m sorry, but no,” she says before her gaze lands on Xaliyah, “I see you managed to talk the leader of the Thieves Guild to fully join the Rebellion,”

    Xaliyah shrugs, “when the home of your base is under Imperial control and lead by a power-hungry woman, it tends to give you more reason to fight,” she explains and Asteria smiles before a scholar approaches them, whispering something into the elf’s ears.

    “I’m sorry, but something important needs my attention,” she says, returning her gaze to the two women, “one of the destruction class mages set a training room on fire. Again,” she then turns and rushes off, following the scholar.

    “Who is she?”

    “Asteria,” Ayla explains, “the headmistress of the College of Winterhold. Very knowledgeable in every subject of magic and, with the help of the College’s librarian, has a book on every subject known to man,”

    “How did you manage to recruit the Thieve’s Guild, Dark Brotherhood, the Companions, and the College to your cause?” Xaliyah asks, shaking her head as they begin walking to the other end of the library again, “do you bargain with gold? Horses? Weapons?”

    “Freedom, Xal,” Ayla interrupts, “I promise them with a life of freedom. That and we’re friends with their leaders, well, I am anyway,” she opens another door and this leads to a room with a long table and in the middle is a map of Skyrim.

    “This is where all our planning will be taking place, I assume,” Xaliyah observes, glancing around the lit room. There are no windows in the room nor any chairs surrounding the table. Bookshelves line the walls and adorn a few books on each shelf. A chandelier made of metal hangs over the table with eight candles on it. Stone makes up the walls, ceiling, and floor of the room.

    “Every single plan we make will be made in this room,” Ayla confirms as she walks over to the table, “soon Athena and Tal will be here and we can begin our assault on the Thalmor,” Xaliyah watches as Ayla smiles at the last part.

    “You really want them gone, huh?” she asks the raven-haired woman.

    “Of course I do,” Ayla replies, standing up straight, “they have caused too much pain and suffering to the people of Skyrim. That needs to end,”

    “Is this justice you seek or personal vengeance?” Xaliyah questions the Dragonborn further.

    “Both,” is her reply, “I will not hear anything else on this subject,” Ayla adds before walking out of the room and back into the library, “Athena and Tal should be here tomorrow and that is when we plan our next move against the Thalmor,”

    Xaliyah nods in understanding as they walk back across the library, “with a base like this that holds a large army, we might as well attack the Thalmor headquarters directly,”

    Ayla shakes her head as they walk out of the library, “we’d lose,” she explains, leading Xaliyah down the hallway, “the Thalmor are masters with magic. Most of my army would be dead before we pass the walls,”

    “Then how do you expect to win this war?” the thief asks and the woman beside her smiles.

    “Time, strategy, and the fall of an Empire,”

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  • Snowed In

    Part: 4/?

    Pairings: Ulfric x Dragonborn; Brynjolf x OC; Cicero x OC

    Summary: An alliance has been struck and the tides of the war is about to shift as a result.

    Warnings: Descriptions of violence and gore; Skyrim takes on a bit of ‘Game of Thrones’ feeling; May contain controversial themes

    Wordcount: 2300


    ‘To the one that receives this message, the offer was finalized and another banner joins ours.

    I depart for the Base today and ask for you to meet me there so we can formulate a plan to defeat the enemy.

    I’ll go into more details once everyone is in the same room.

    ~ Ayla’

    Ayla folds the two pieces of paper and pours some melted, red wax on the edge before stamping her symbol on it. A dragon surrounded by fire.

    She lets the wax dry as she stares at a portrait on the wall in front of her, biting at her lips. It is late into the night and they were going to leave to the base that houses her rebellion in the morning.

    She lets out a sigh as she taps her fingers on the surface of the desk, traveling into her thoughts. She just made an alliance with the Stormcloaks. The chances of winning this war against the Thalmor just went up.

    She smiles to herself just as the wooden door to her room swings open, revealing a joyous Xaliyah, laughing at herself and on the way to being drunk.

    “Whata you smiling bout?” Xaliyah asks, leaning against the door.

    Ayla looks down at her desk before meeting her friend’s gaze, “just today’s success,” she replies and Xaliyah stares at her in silence for a few seconds before walking forward and grabbing Ayla’s wrists and trying to tug the Dragonborn onto her feet.

    “Then celebrate it at the bar,” Xaliyah suggests as she tries to pull Ayla to her feet, “Bryn and Kharjo are there as well,”

    Ayla sighs and shakes her head, sending the brunette an apologetic smile, “as much as I would like to, Xal, I got a few more things to do before I go to bed,”

    Xaliyah sighs as she drops Ayla’s wrists, “you’re such a workaholic, Ayla,” Xaliyah says with an eye-roll, “have some fun tonight. You’ve earned it,”

    “I’ll celebrate when we have won some victories against the Thalmor,” Ayla responds, walking over and grabbing her cloak, tossing it over her shoulders and putting the hood over her head before picking up the two letters on the desk.

    “Who are those for?” Xaliyah asks, following the raven-haired female out of the room.

    “Athena and Tal,” Ayla replies as she walks past the bar where Brynjolf is ordering a few more drinks.

    “Aye, Ayla, joining us for a few drinks, are ya?” Brynjolf asks, holding up a tankard filled with ale. Ayla turns around when she reaches the door.

    “Not tonight, Brynjolf,” she replies as she holds up the two letters in her hand, “got business to take care of,”

    “It’s going to be a big blizzard tonight, dear,” the owner, Elda, says from behind the bar as she hands Brynjolf another mug of ale, “don’t stay out too late,”

    Ayla smiles politely at the older woman, bowing her head in respect, “I’ll be fine,” she says before glancing over at Xaliyah and Brynjolf, who is now walking up the stairs and to the second floor, “don’t be afraid to yell at them if things get too wild,” she adds to Elda before opening the door and stepping out into the wind.

    She hears the howling of a pack of wolves outside the city walls and the footsteps of someone walking past her. She gives them a friendly nod before heading towards the city gates in search for a courier at the stables. But she slows to a stop after taking three steps.

    A courier is the most common mode of sending messages in Skyrim. Ayla knows that the Thalmor intercepts any couriers they come across. These messages will not be safe from the Thalmor, or the empire for that matter.

    So she turns around and heads straight towards the Palace of Kings. She jogs up the steps, cloak flowing behind her as snow starts to fall. She needs to hurry or risk being stuck in the Palace. Not that she would complain; it would be heated and she would have food and shelter, but she would probably be given a bed meant for the soldiers to take a quick nap on. She much prefers the comfortable beds of Candlehearth Hall.

    She pushes the door open and shuts it behind her. As she gets used to the silence of the hall compared to the windy weather outside, she turns around and examines the room. Empty. Of course. She had no idea where the ravens are kept and knew that poking around would be unwelcome.

    Just as she was about to walk back outside, a cough and footsteps stop her. She looks over her shoulder to see the steward of the Palace, “excuse me, sir,” she calls out, removing her hood and walking forward several steps. The man stops walking and looks over at her.

    “May I help you at such a late hour?” he questions, obviously confused, as Ayla stops a few feet in front of him, “I’m afraid Jarl Ulfric is asleep right now-”

    Ayla shakes her head, “I’m not here to talk with him,” she explains, “I’m actually wondering if you have any ravens I can borrow to send a few letters,”

    The man furrows his brows, “why not find a courier?”

    “Too risky, especially now in the times we live in,” she explains and the man slowly nods, “now if you could point me in the right direction-”

    “We keep what ravens we have up in the tower with the court wizard, Wuunferth,” he explains, nodding over at a door to the left of the entrance to the Palace, “but seeing that it is so late at night, I assume that he is asleep as well,”

    Ayla sighs in disappointment. She hoped to get these letters sent tonight so the two they are addressed to receives them in the morning, “Oh, I’ll just come back tomorrow morning then,” she says, stepping back a few steps, “thank you for your help,” she adds with a smile and turns back towards the door.

    “Ma'am,” the man says and Ayla looks back at him, hoping that he will take her to the ravens instead, “it’s snowing pretty heavily at the moment. I would suggest that you stay here for the night,”

    Of course, that is what he says. She wasn’t in the palace for that long, how fast did this snowstorm pick up? Ayla opens and closes her mouth, trying to think of an appropriate way to decline his suggestion.

    “Dragonborn or not, this weather is not suitable for travel, even if your destination is down the road,” he adds firmly and Ayla sees no point in wasting her breath arguing with him. With an irritated sigh, she runs a hand through her hair before crossing her arms over her chest, sending the steward a pointed look.

    “Fine,” she sighs, the exhaustion slowly getting to her, “where do I sleep?” she figured he would reply with a simple 'in the barracks’ since that would be a simple and easy solution.

    “If you’ll follow me, I can show you to your temporary quarters,” the man says with a warm smile before walking to the door that he said lead to where the wizard was.

    “Isn’t this..”

    “Wuunferth has a room in this section of the Palace,” the man explains as they walk up a set of stairs, “there are several other rooms here where we let our more esteemed guests sleep,” he rounds a few corners before stopping in front of a door, unlocking it and swinging it open for her, “this will be your room for the night,” he adds as Ayla walks in.

    It was a modest room with a large bed in the middle, a window showing the dark outside, and a fireplace surrounded by wooden chairs. A set of table and chairs sit in front of the window, a bottle of wine and a tankard sitting on the table.

    “Thank you, Mr…” Ayla says, turning back to the steward, who smiles in response.

    “Just call me Jorleif, ma'am,” he says, grabbing the door handle to close it, “and if you need any help in the morning, please come find me,” and with that he shuts the door, leaving Ayla alone in the foreign room.

    She takes her cloak off and drapes it over the back of one of the chairs before sitting down on the bed, listening to the crackling of the fire over the windy storm outside. Just one night. Tomorrow morning, she will send the letters and then be off to her base.


    Ayla couldn’t find Wuunferth. She checked the only spot she could think of that a court wizard would be, but he wasn’t there. And the only other people in the section that she was in were the three people who seem to hate her so much. After putting her cloak back on, she descends the stairs and returns to the main hall.

    The three people are seated at the table, eating and conversing with each other in hushed voices. Ayla glances at the throne and sees it still empty. She blinks as she looks to the right of the throne and sees Jorleif standing there. She smiles as she approaches him.

    “How may I help you today, ma'am?” he questions and Ayla glares over her shoulder at the blonde woman who had scoffed at Ayla.

    “I can’t find the court wizard anywhere,” she explains, fingers running across the letters in her hand, feeling embarrassed that she can’t find someone as simple as a court wizard, “I was asking if you could help me,”

    Jorleif nods in response, laughing a bit, “of course,” he says, leading his way back towards the door she just walked out of. Ayla follows close behind but looks back at the table when she overhears a commotion.

    “Are you just going to let that hag Maven remain the Jarl of Riften?” the blonde woman says angrily, standing up and staring or glaring, Ayla couldn’t tell since the woman’s back was towards her, at Ulfric as he approaches his throne, “it’s been days, Ulfric. You said I’ll have Riften back by now,”

    “And I am working on that, Laila,” Ulfric replies with a sigh as he sits down, giving the woman a tired look, “there are more important things at the moment. Riften will still be there,”

    Laila Law-Giver. That’s her name. Former Jarl of Riften. Exiled when Ayla agreed to give Riften to the Empire at the cease-fire meeting between both sides of the Civil War so long ago. It was a decision she regrets. She would have preferred if the Imperials stayed out of her favorite city and especially if Maven wouldn’t have been made Jarl in place of Laila.

    Maven Black-Briar. A name and person Ayla hates and one day hopes to rid the world of. When she first met Maven, Ayla could tell all the woman cared about was benefiting herself. No one but her and her family. Xaliyah’s own hatred fueled Ayla’s even more. If the Empire put people like Maven on the throne, then that is all the more reason to rid Skyrim of them.

    She is pulled from her thoughts when Laila sits back down. Ayla stares at the blonde for a few seconds before looking over at Ulfric, who is already staring at her. Ayla’s gaze hardens before she closes her slightly opened mouth and looks back at Jorleif as they finally reach the door.

    “Wuunferth, you have a visitor,” Jorleif says and an elderly man turns around and smiles when he sees Ayla.

    “Ah, the Dragonborn,” he says, still smiling, “I heard that you were visiting. It is an honor to meet you,” Ayla returns his handshake with a smile and a 'thank you’, “now, what brings you here today?”

    “I have a few letters I need to send by raven,”

    Wuunferth raises his brows at her in shock at such a request, “ravens? What for? What happened to the couriers?”

    Ayla smiles, knowing that question would be asked, “these letters hold valuable information, ” she explains, “I will not give them to a courier with the risk of them being intercepted,” she watches as Wuunferth studies her for a few seconds before nodding.

    “We live in a time filled with so much war that it is no longer safe for a courier to bring letters to people,” he says before walking towards the back of his room, where Ayla can hear a few caws, “two letters, two birds,” he says, unhooking a cage and letting a raven step onto his wrist, “tell them the location and person and they’ll be off,”

    Ayla rolls the letters up and ties one of them to each bird’s feet. She watches as they both fly out of the open window beside them, “thank you, sir,” she says, turning away from the window as Wuunferth closes it. The two walk out of the back room and into the main area of his room.

    “Anything to help the Dragonborn in these trying times,” he replies as he goes back to his work. Ayla takes that as her cue to leave and retreats back into the main hall of the Palace. It barely changed in the ten minutes she was gone. Laila continues urging Ulfric to go liberate Riften from the Empire’s grip and the Jarl dismisses her words with a wave of his hand.

    Ayla turns her attention back to the door and lifts her hood over her head as she nears it. She needs to hurry to the stables so she can get to her base in a few days time. When she arrives, that is when this war gets deadlier than it was before.

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  • I wrote an angsty poem for the @stevetonygames !

    This is 616 Stony for the bingo prompt: Only one bed

    Once Upon

    Once upon a deadly plot the clock was ticking down

    He dies in increments and cell by cell

    the legend finally fell.

    Lungs gasp and fill with red red red

    (Don’t breathe or America’s dead)

    A kiss, a gasp, he takes him in and comes alive again.

    That night they cling to one another

    fills him with fingers, and cock, and sweet words of praise.

    His stark, his heart, his man of iron made

    somehow still here in their bed.

    He whispers thank God,


    Once upon a battlefield they raised swords

    against each other

    Friends and foes now foes and friends

    until the battle comes to its bloody end

    Struck blows of gold and red red red

    (bang bang bang - three shots America’s dead)

    He falls asleep on crisp white sheets

    an empty space beside him

    It’s done, he’s won, their songs been sung.

    He cannot take back what’s been said

    It wasn’t worth it,

    echoes in his head.

    Once upon a second war, they get a second chance.

    I’ll stay by your side, got nothing left to hide

    You’re my compass, my path, my last romance.

    A smile, sharp teeth, it plays out too neat

    A blow, nothing left in his head.

    With sleeping beauty’s bed now a glass coffin

    There’s no one left to stop him.

    Don’t you see? Can’t you hear?

    I’ll whisper it to you My Dear

    (America’s already dead)

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  • Tony when he found out that Bucky bashed his dad’s face in and choked his mom to death:

    #tony stark#bucky barnes#civil war #captain america: civil war #ca: cw #james buchanan barnes
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