#‘shut down the country’ in an American ‘they shut down the government’ kinda of way. everything just gets a lil noticeably shittier. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

chrisevansredbelt · 2 years

Text

Small World: Three

pairing: steve rogers x reader

warnings: not that many here. fluff and angst. kissing. swearing. nightmare, brock rumlow hehehe. TORTURE. will be in italics so skip all the italicised bits! mention of brock death. sam being a baby. natasha kinda mean. steve being very fluffy. cliff hanger lol.

summary: the affliction.

series masterlist, previous chapter

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And maybe that was all that was meant to happen, he stays in your house, kiss and make up, and then when all is said and done he’s leaving again.

Or maybe you’re being your own worst enemy like always.

What does all said and done even mean? Both literally and in this circumstance? When Steve is no longer a wanted man? When the literal American government isn’t searching for him?

Or is it after Steve has served all of his time for his crimes? How many years would he even be in jail?

A tap on top of your head pulls you out of your thoughts. You blink up at Steve, smiling blankly when you see him looking down at you with a raised brow, “What’re you thinkin’ about in there?”

You sigh, having realised you were caught in your thoughts, resting your head back against the small pillow and shutting your eyes, you shake your head, “Too much.”

Steve gets comfortable beside you on the small picnic blanket that can barely fit him. His ankles hang over the edge and onto the grass, but he hasn’t complained.

The picnic was your idea. Well, Steve had wished to spend some alone time with you, so then you thought of the picnic. And then he had the idea to have it by the tree that he’d found on his run.

It was a good spot too. Perfect actually. It was close by the lake, which you’d both dipped your feet into and cooled yourself slightly from the sun that had beaten you in your journey to the tree. It was quiet, provided a good amount of shade and it was just beautiful.

You missed this.

“Enlighten me.” He spurs, and you turn your head to look at him with a ‘really?’ kind of expression, “C’mon, I’m all ears.”

You pluck a small yellow dandelion from the grass, nervously fiddling with it between your fingers before trying to find your words, “Are you gonna leave again?” You ask, “Not me, but… you’re on the run… you can’t stay in one place for too long, right?”

Steve seems to dread the thought just as much as you did as he purses his lips, “That would be the plan.” He says lowly, and you frown, “I don’t know, I didn’t want to think about it.” He adds, “Didn’t want to think about leaving you.”

Now it’s your turn to purse your lips, “But if it’s not safe- as much as I want you to stay- all of you- I want you safe and alive first.” You tell him, a hand coming to rest on his tricep that your thumb softly caresses. You watch as his face drops, then looks out the field of grass as far as the eye can see, “Now what’s on your mind?”

He looks down at you again and you smile softly, letting him know that he can say whatever is on his mind.

“We could… get away with staying.” He says after a beat. “Here would be the last place they would look.”

“And then what, you’re just gonna be on the run for the rest of your lives in my house?” You’re quick to counter his point, “I mean, I’m happy to keep you all here but is there… no way out?”

“Not unless we move countries and change identities.” He jokes, but also not. That would be an entirely legitimate way out to his situation. You purse your lips on thought and he nudges your shoulder, “France could be nice, you always liked when we had missions in France, right?”

You snort, remembering the few memorable missions in France, “Your French is horrible though.”

He knits his brows together and throws his arms out, “It’s fluent!”

You giggle at how easy it is to rile him up, “That doesn’t mean it’s good!” You shake your head at him and he scoffs.

“Okay, well then we won’t go to France.” He huffs, crossing his arms and leaning back against the tree.

You feel a little bad for insulting his ability to speak another language, but can’t help but laugh at his grouchiness. Steve was the biggest brat when he wanted to be.

You giggle up at him, flipping on your stomach and kicking your legs up as you crawl on top of his chest now, resting your chin on his pecks and titling your head, “You’re Italian’s good.” You grin sweetly and catch a small smile play at his lips, “Maybe we can be lovers across the border.”

He rolls his eyes, pulling you closer to him by your waist and getting comfortable, “Yeah, okay, Y/N.” You bury your face in his chest and laugh at your stupid suggestion. Yeah, as much as living in Italy or France would be nice, you didn’t want to leave everyone else behind. That’s why you never left the country in the first place, you didn’t want to move too far from your home… you know… just in case- and you’re so glad you didn’t because then otherwise, Steve probably would never have found you, “We’ll be okay.” Steve sighs finally.

You look up at him, in each of his eyes before shaking your head softly, “I hate that I always believe you when you say that.” He laughs softly, but doesn’t say anything as he looks down at you. His hand softly caresses your waist but the look that he gives you makes you furrow your brows together, “What?”

“What?” He replies, not entirely snapping out of his daze as he fixes a stray hair out of your face.

“You’re all ogley.” You wiggle your fingers up in his face.

“I just-“ He sighs, “Think you’re really pretty.”

You roll your eyes so hard they probably do a full 360 in your sockets. God, he was so cheesy. Still! You thought you’d seen it all when you first started dating but apparently not.

You can take the boy out of the 40’s but you can’t take the 40’s out of the boy.

After spending practically all day out with Steve, exploring the grass fields and toeing through the lake, the sun exhausted you. Like, that feeling you get when you’ve just been in the sun way too long and you’re like… sun sick.

So after ordering take out from the closest pizza place you could fine, taking it like half an hour to eventually arrive and then having to reheat most of it up, you were straight off to bed.

Steve wasn’t as tired, but he followed suit anyway and just laid next to you while you fell asleep.

You had drifted off into a deep slumber quite quickly. The comfort of Steve’s chest and his big arms wrapped around you felt like heaven, honestly. And his soft heartbeat was like a lullaby.

So, you would think that being so deep in a slumber, you wouldn’t experience much of a nightmare. You know, those sleeps you get and you just don’t dream at all? Yeah, that should’ve been what you had tonight. But as you whimpered softly in your sleep and quickly began to sweat- evidently not.

It was just so real.

You felt yourself strapped in the chair again. The restraints against your wrists so tight you could’ve sworn your hands were about to be chopped off.

You should’ve never opened your door. You should’ve trusted that gut feeling inside and known that only bad things come knocking after 6pm. The second you saw him through your peephole, you should’ve jumped out the window. But who were you kidding, he still probably would’ve got to you. You were outnumbered like 6 to 1.

And as you sat there, tied to the flimsy wooden chair that you usually ate breakfast on, looking up fearfully at all the men circling you- you began crying just thinking about what it was they wanted with you.

Steve looks down at you on his chest when he hears you whimpering, your fingers fisting his shirt. His brows furrow together- and before he can let his mind wander, the tear that escapes your eye makes his smile disappear instantly.

“Hey,” He softly shakes you, to no avail.

He was so menacing looking- they all were. Dressed in all black. No matter how they smiled- it was nothing but evil.

They smiled as they smacked you around, each of them taking turns. Pulling your hair back whenever you’d dip you’re head down to avoid Brock’s stare. You remembered how another traced his knife over your neck many times when you didn’t give a straight answer.

“Where are they?” Brock would ask.

“Who?” You would stupidly reply. The knife at your neck dug underneath your chin, testing you as you looked from the knife bearer to Brock, quickly regretting your reply.

“Your little friends,” Brock smiled, “Your boyfriend…” You swallowed at the memory of Steve and the reminder of what he meant to you. Brock caught this and tilted his head mockingly, “No more boyfriend?” He tsks, tucking a hair behind your ear and you flinch away from his touch. He slaps you then before grabbing a hold of your chin, “Then I guess it won’t matter if you tell me where they are and where the scepter is,” He taunts and you wince, “C’mon, don’t you want to get back at him? What’d he do? Fuck another woman- was it Natasha? Or does he still have the hots for that old bag of bones? Ouch… that would hurt.”

He flinches back when you spit in his face.

Even his men look shocked that you did so and your heart hammers in your chest. But you don’t regret it. It felt good.

“You really shouldn’t have done that.” He mumbles.

You can only watch as he turns to the gas stove beside him. He turns on the gas, the flame emitting in the open. Your eyes dart around the room to his men and you watch as they all start to smile. Fuck. The grip on your hair seems tighter now and before you know it, a random tea towel is being shoved into your mouth.

“Y/N, hey, wake up,” Steve sits you up now, and your hands push against his chest in your sleep, “C’mon, honey-“

You shake your head as Brock brings his knife down towards the flame- heating it up. He places it on the blue part too, watching in delight as the steel slowly lights up under the hottest part of the flame.

You struggle against your restraints, but get put in your place as a knife is pressed to your neck once more.

Brock soon removes the knife from the flame once he’s satisfied with its heat.

“No!” You thrash in Steve’s hold, pounding against his chest and pushing his hands away. It didn’t help that his hands were combing through your hair too- the feel of it much too stimulating.

It’s only when you knock Steve in the jaw a little too hard- and hear the knock of his bones that you realise you’re awake. You’re awake and alive and it was just a dream.

You look up at Steve in fear, more so because you just hit him rather than the outcome of your dream- but the dream still rattled you. You hold your hands to your chest, feeling terrible and also wanting to curl up into a ball and never be touched again.

Your arm burned and stung. So did your thigh. Both places where your wounds were. Though they were well past healed, they felt as fresh as the minute they were given to you after every dream.

“Hey, what’s the matter?” Steve asks, totally ignoring the slight pain in his jaw.

“Nothing,” You shake your head and quickly wipe your tears, “Bad dream,” You quickly mutter out, standing from the bed, backing away from Steve’s hand that’s reaching out, “I’ll be back.”

You practically run for the bathroom, shutting the door behind you and sitting straight onto the floor.

The tiles did well to soothe your skin and cool you down. You steadied your breathing a little, but it was no use because of how the tears came flooding in.

It just felt so inescapable. Every week it felt like you were having these dreams. You hoped that maybe the distraction of Steve’s arrival would postpone the dreams- his secure arm around your waist every night would protect from anything. But no. No, if anything this felt worse.

Two whole years it’s been since it happened and some mornings you wake up feeling like it was just hours ago.

Looking down at your arm, you wince at the small fading window on your arm. What once was a H, burned into your skin, turned into a window by yourself. Then the scar of the knife wound on your thigh. How you then also had to stitch it up yourself.

You felt like throwing up every time this happened.

When they first started, you didn’t even want to sleep you were so scared. You had to lock every door and window about 5 times before you felt safe- and even then you were still weary. Your own bedroom door had to be locked- even if that was a safety hazard for yourself in the event of a fire or something.

You kept an array of weapons around your house. Knives, few guns, pepper sprays, baseball bats.

It took a good year for you to realise that you were safe. If they hadn’t come to get you by now, they probably never would. That didn’t stop the dreams though.

The dreams came almost every night. Sometimes they would vary- a dream starting off good that would soon turn bad, but the recurring one was always a replay of the exact event. That was the worst- having to relive it all.

“Y/N?” You wipe your tears quickly when you hear Steve’s gentle voice at the bathroom door, followed by a soft knock, “Can I come in?”

You go to speak, but since you had just been crying, it comes out weak and more unsteady, “Um-“ And painfully evident that you were crying.

Steve panics at the sound of your voice, opening the door immediately and looking for you- before looking down and spitting you on the floor.

He doesn’t even hesitate to join you, a soft expression on his face as he lowers himself to the ground, “Hey,” He takes your hands in his and rubs them gently, “Are you okay? What happened?”

You purse your lips, shaking your head, “It was just a nightmare and it felt real.” You briefly explain. You’re sure he knew all about nightmares- having some of his own too. You’re certain every other avenger had nightmares constantly. Bucky- for one. You were always there when Steve woke up in the middle of the night when he heard Bucky thrashing in his sleep the next room over and would go to help. You would always bring a bottle of cold water and feel so sorry for your boyfriends best friend. Now you knew what it felt like. “I’m sorry I hit you.” You apologise, softly caressing his jaw where you’d hit.

“I barely felt it.” He scoffs and you smile weakly. It didn’t make you feel any better about it though. No matter how many times you used to spar with Steve, you always hated that you hurt him and made sure he was well loved up at the end of the day, “What was it about?” He asks after a beat, tentatively to let you know that you don’t have to tell him if you’re uncomfortable.

It’s not that you don’t want to tell Steve- or even that you’re uncomfortable in any way. You didn’t know, maybe you just didn’t want Steve to keep thinking that it was entirely his fault… maybe it was, but it also wasn’t.

You softly exhale, playing with Steve’s fingers, “I never liked Brock.” You say, grimacing slightly, “He has such an evil face.”

It honestly didn’t surprise you when he turned out to work for HYDRA. Something about his face was just so wicked- and not in a good way. Like, you knew that man was into some crazy, sadistic shit probably. Even his name just sounds cynical… Brock.

“Was he in the dream?” Steve asks, starting to get an idea of what exactly your dream was about.

You nod, “Always,” The others sometimes had blurred faces but Brock’s was always clear as day. It got to a point where you swear you could vision the pores on his face. And you remembered almost his every moment, barely taking your eyes off of him and anything he did that night.

Steve’s thumb rubs over your knee reassuringly and it surprisingly helps, just knowing that he’s there, “What does he do… in the dream?”

You look over Steve’s expression before you answer. You hadn’t shown anyone your scars. This would be the first time anyone would see them.

So, you pluck a piece of toilet paper from its roll and bring the small sheet to your skin, wiping your arm to remove the thin layer of foundation hiding the window scar on your arm.

Steve’s eyes widen at the sight of the faint scar lingering on your arm.

“It’s always the same,” You start, flinching slightly at the memory thats practically ingrained in your mind at this point. Unlike any other memory, this one is as clear as day- there's nothing foggy about it, no, whenever you imagine or dream it, it is genuinely like it is happening right in front of you all over again, “Reliving the moment he did it all.” You follow Steve’s unrelenting gaze on your arm and you join him in shamefully looking at it, “It’s supposed to be an H.” You knew it obviously was no representation of what you stood for- it was simply a reminder of the torture you endured- but you couldn't help but feel ashamed by it. Their mark on you. Inhaling a breath, you mumble, grazing your fingers over the scar, “And I feel it… I don’t know why it still hurts all the time,” That was a lie- you knew exactly why, because it still haunted you to this day and you still lived practically every waking moment in fear that it could happen again, “It’s like that… that phantom pain.” You trail off, a little worried at how little Steve has spoken.

Then, you watch as he gaze trails down to your exposed thigh- the other scar a lot more visible now that Steve pieces everything together. He had seen the scar on your thigh yesterday... you know, when you’d had sex. But he thought nothing of it at the time. As a matter of fact, he smiled softly at it, because it looked like a heart. But now that he’s looking more intently with his fixed gaze, he can see the small stitch marks around the healed wound.

“Did he do this to you too?” He asks softly.

You just nod silently, running your thumb over it to try and quell the sudden burn. Everytime you looked at it, it seemed to ache.

“This one was because I tried to run.” You say uncontrollably, perhaps trying to lighten the mood a little but you're not sure it works. You remember, Brock had grabbed your ankle as you went to desperately crawl away from him. Dreams and movies were all true in the whole running away from danger thing- it was fucking hard. He pulled you back towards him so easily, and stabbed you right in the thigh. You don't think you’d ever felt such an intense pain before in your life- until, of course, you got burned. You didn’t even scream, just a silent cry. “And this was because I spat in his face.” You point to the window with a frown.

“What is that? A burn?” Steve asks, gripping onto your arm for a closer look. You flinch slightly, both at his tone and the way he grabs you. You’re certain he meant well, but you couldn't help but react- and Steve noticed the second you did it. He loosened his grip on your arm and caressed it softly, rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand, “I’m sorry,”

His apology, however, felt like more than an apology for how he just grabbed you. Rather, as you meet his guilty eyes, it seemed as though he was apologising for much more.

You shake your head, “It’s not your fault-“

“It is- it wouldn’t have happened if I let you stay.” He says harshly, but you believe the tone is more so directed at himself rather than you. YOu swallow a breath, unable to come up with an argument against it. It wasn't his fault, but it was... but in the grand scheme of things, it wasn't his fault. You were just... a victim of the circumstances. He brings your small hand up to his lips and just presses his lips to them, before pulling you into his lap and kissing your head. He kind of just holds you like that for a minute and you’re glad. It soothes your anxious heart, still coming down from the nightmare and Steve hears it from the way your heart beat comes to a steady rhythm.

“He’ll never hurt you again.” Your ears prick up as he speaks suddenly, “As far as I’m concerned, you don’t have to worry about him ever again.”

Craning your neck to look up at him, your knit your brows together in pure confusion, “Why’s that?”

Steve purses his lips momentarily, before answering, “Because he’s dead.” Your lips part in a soft gasp. Your heart drops for some unknown reason. “We killed him… sometime last year. He tried to kill me, suicide bomb, but Wanda held off the bomb and it killed him instead.” He explains. He leaves out the other parts of the story, figuring there was no reason you needed to know any of that. You’d find out for yourself another day. You find tears welling up in your eyes and you don’t exactly know why. You feel so dramatic, but for the first time in a long time, you feel... free. Steve’s thumb immediately catches a stray tear that falls, cupping your face, “I’ll never let anyone hurt you ever again.” He promises, and you nod, “And you can rest easy knowing he can’t hurt you.”

You had come to terms with the idea of never having closure. Of never having a truly peaceful nights sleep ever again, of living your life in constant fear that Brock- or anyone was still out there to get you. And even if HYDRA still existed, Brock was gone.

Brock was gone.

“C’mon, let's go back to bed.” Steve was here.

“No,” You smack Sam’s reaching hand, away from the fruit on the branch. He looks at you- almost offended, so you explain, “That’s not ripe yet.”

He frowns, inspecting it closer while you turn back to your other tree, “It looks pretty good to me.”

“Well, then you can pick all the ones you think are ripe and when it tastes like rust- you can’t have any of ours.” Natasha quips, adjusting her fruit basket as she plucks another orange for her pile.

Sam just scoffs, leaving the unripe fruit on its branch and looking for more, “So mean,”

You laugh over your shoulder, plucking one last orange from your free before going over to Sam now, “Try squeezing them a little, they might look a nice colour but they’re rock hard.” You squeeze the one he had wanted to pick, it indeed being rock hard, “And smell, if it’s not ripe yet, it’ll smell funny.”

Sam squeezes the fruit as well, eyes lighting up when he feels just how hard it is. He smiles at you then, “Thank you, Y/N.” He puts extra emphasis on your name, glaring at Natasha who gives him the finger.

“So, what did you tell her?” Wanda asks Steve. While the rest of you pick fruit from your trees, Wanda and Steve supervise from afar on your back porch, having a much needed chat.

Steve had quite literally been spending all his time with you from the night it all happened that he couldn’t even spare a moment with Wanda to tell her all about it- only fleeting glances across the room or small smiles whenever you held his hand.

“I just said what I felt.” He shrugged, reminiscing on the whole apology, “Stuff I didn’t even realise I felt, but I said it anyway.”

“You were being true to yourself- going off script,” Wanda nods, smiling encouragingly, “You didn’t need my help after all.”

Steve just smiles before sighing and looking over at you. You looked extra pretty today, in a white dress that he really liked, picking fruit with your little woven basket. When you had walked down the stairs with the dress on, Steve’s weak ol’ knees would’ve probably buckled to the floor had he not been sitting already.

After breakfast though, he happily spent a good hour underneath the dress, head between your soft thighs…

He shakes the thoughts off when he hears Wanda clear her throat.

His cheeks flush in embarrassment, but he shrugs it off.

“I don’t even know if we’re dating again,” He says suddenly, changing the topic. Wanda turns to him curiously, “Well, technically we never even broke up… I sent her away and she left town but it was never officially broken off,” He adds. But he guessed a break up never had to be official. Unlike a marriage or anything- that’s kind of the whole point of dating, not having to worry about the legalities of it all, right?“I don’t even know if she knows what we are either.” Steve shrugs, kind of sadly as he plays with a small weeded flower he plucked from the ground.

“I’m sure you’ll both know soon enough,” Wanda nods, “And maybe she’s thinking the same thing and you’re both just biting your tongues.”

Steve stares at Wanda for a moment before shaking his head, “You tell me that as if you can’t read minds.”

Wanda tries to hold back a smile- to not give, both, herself and you away. Listen, she truly tries not to let slip peoples thoughts when unwarranted. But this was a rekindling love story, she couldn’t help it!

“Hey!” Natasha yelps, causing both Steve and Wanda to dart thier attention to the blonde. She holds her arm painfully as she stares daggers at Sam, “That was hard!” Who had just thrown a very hard, unripe orange at her.

She then picks up an orange from the floor, pegging it straight at Sam while he laughs. But his laughter is immediately cut short once the soggy(?) orange hits his jaw.

“Ow!” He holds his jaw, a look of pure disgust on his face rather than pain, “Why was it wet?” He asks, completely forgetting about his basket of mostly unripe oranges as he storms towards Natasha, beginning a chase as he repeatedly asks, “Natasha, why was it wet?”

Steve spots you weaving through the trees to get away from the two siblings, a tired look on your face as you approach him and Wanda with a basket full of fruit.

“God, it’s like having literal children,” You quirk, setting your basket down on the porch next to Steve before grabbing a white pouch and holding it out for Steve and Wanda, “Here, raspberries.” The white pouch turns out to be a paper towel and inside are a small handful of raspberries you must've plucked from the little berry garden you had.

You mindlessly sit on Steve’s lap as they take their share of raspberries from your hand, both humming at the sweet taste of the berries. Steve, however, is more delighted to have you on his lap than the taste of the berries.

You smell so fresh, and your dress- he already said how much he loved your dress didn't he? Well, he truly does love it and you’re really spurring his housewife kink right now- you have been ever since they arrived on your doorstep to be painfully honest.

“You should start a greenhouse.” Wanda hums,

“You know, I was thinking about it,” You inform her, matter of factly as you look out across your makeshift fruit garden. There wasn’t much, only oranges, apples, strawberries and raspberries. But you would love a greenhouse with even more fruit and maybe a few vegetables as well. “I just never had the strength to build it.”

“I’ll build it for you.” Steve chimes in, barely hesitating and you light up.

“Really?”

He nods, “We can build it together.”

You feel butterflies in your stomach- not just at his proposition- but because of the way he looks at you after.

But also, build it together. That very well could mean building it in a matter of the next few upcoming days. But it could also mean, considering the circumstances, that Steve had plans to long overdue his stay and you could take your sweet time in building the greenhouse together.

Before you can pull yourself out of your trance yourself, Sam’s persistent screech as he chases Natasha around the side of the house does the job for you.

“Natasha! Why was it wet?”

With heavy limbs, heavy eyelids and- most notably, a heavy head, you stumble in between Steve’s spread out legs as he sits on the stool against the kitchen counter, practically supervising the rest of you.

He catches you in his arms and you smile hazily up at him, bopping his nose, “You can’t even feel it, can you?”

He glances over at his empty glass, having found the bottom of his mimosa yet it having absolutely no effect on him. In great contrast to yourself.

The juice from the oranges you’d plucked earlier today were just so nice. You couldn’t help yourself as you had 2… 3… maybe 4 glasses.

Steve smiles down at you, bopping your nose back and you swat his hand away with extremely late reflexes, “I’m perfectly fine chaperoning.”

You just smile up at him, closing your eyes then as you rest your head in the crook of his neck. God, he smells nice. Always so nice. Like sweet, but musky. And always so big and strong and… thick.

Steve laughs heartily as you unknowingly speak your mind. The 70’s music is too loud for anyone else to hear, luckily, but Steve heard it all too well as you basically whispered it into his ear.

“Okay, come on, you’re ready for bed.” He pats your ass softly and you frown up at him as he easily picks you up from the ground.

“Are you cutting me off?” You pout.

“Mhmm,” He hums.

Wanda raises her brows at Steve as he passes her, “You got her?”

He nods easily, before eyeing both Natasha and Sam as they drunkenly (and mostly angrily) play cup pong together, “You got them?” Wanda sighs with a small laugh, faking dramatics as she nods, “Good luck,” Steve wishes her before he’s bringing you towards the stairs.

You babble nonsense as he carries you up. You don’t make any sense and Steve is much more focused on actually reaching each next step rather than your attempt at retelling a story.

Kicking the door open to your room softly, he brings you into the bathroom in your bedroom, placing you atop the closed toilet seat to get you ready for bed.

“Do you remember?” You suddenly, coherently ask after finishing whatever story you were telling, shaking Steve’s arm.

He furrows his brows, trying to piece together what you were saying earlier but comes up short. So instead, he just goes back to retrieving a makeup wipe from underneath your sink and hums a small, “Mhmm,” in agreement. You pay no mind to his response as you lean your head against the counter of your sink that was right next to the toilet. Steve, however, has to then lift your head up in order to start cleaning your face. You wince at the coldness of the makeup wipe, Steve’s way of wiping your face tickling you and you can’t stop wiggling around and giggling, “Sit still.” He laughs, though trying to stay firm. You do your best to sit still, your drunken mind realising that if you focus on Steve, you will stay in one spot… “Stop staring at me like that.” Steve boops your nose with a small laugh as he throws out the makeup wipe, before grabbing your toothbrush and putting a dollop of toothpaste on the bristles.

“Okay, Steve.” You hum. Steve then grabs your chin and you part your lips just enough for him to insert your toothbrush into your mouth. You pull away abruptly, the toothbrush hanging loosely from your mouth, “Ow!” You whine, the toothbrush hitting one of your teeth a bit too hard for your drunken liking.

“I’m sorry,” He swiftly sighs before grabbing hold of the toothbrush and gently brushing your teeth to the best of his ability while you begin whining about how gentle he needs to be.

He soon gets a little frustrated, losing grip of the toothbrush and his rhythm while you talk, “Stop talking.”

But he should’ve known better than to scold you while you were drunk.

“Hey!” You frown, eyes genuinely sad and offended as you look up at him like a kicked puppy. And Steve genuinely feels bad for a second.

He dips his head down, sighing quickly before raising two fingers, “For two minutes, first one to talk is a big loser.”

For Steve knows, both, you and drunk you like the back of his hand, you keep your mouth shut from there. To which, he struggles with brushing your teeth still, but at least you’re not talking anymore.

Once two minutes almost goes by, he sets your toothbrush down on the counter and begins to hold your hair back, out of your face, “Spit,” He instructs, noticing how your eyes were beginning to water from the burn of the toothpaste welling up in your mouth.

You do so instantly, bending over the sink and spitting all the toothpaste out as Steve then rounds you to fill up the small cup with water for you to rinse.

You smile up at him then, “Never heard that one before.” You say as you drink from the cup he handed you before spitting once more. You’re putty in Steve’s hold as he picks you up and carries you the short distance to the bed. He places you down gently and once he does so, you boop his nose, “You lost.”

He’s confused at first, but once he remembers the little game he conducted, he smiles. At your cheeky grin peering up at him, he brings his fingers up to your stomach and begins tickling you- instantly making you squirm and squeal.

“No!” You shriek, curling up around his fingers to somehow get away from them. He soon stops, sparing you as you point a finger up at him, “No tickling.” You warn, getting comfy under the covers- instantly forgetting about the whole thing as you shut your eyes. Steve purses his lips before joining you, helping you out a bit first as he adjusts your blanket so that its actually covering you. You hum softly and sigh, “I love you.”

Steve blinks once- halting his actions. He stares down at you for a second- trying to rack his brain on what you just said. He wasn’t even drunk, but this sure felt like a drunk moment for him as he almost felt dizzy.

What he thinks he heard you say is proven from the way you squeeze his hand after. You always used to squeeze his hand. Before missions, during meetings, at galas.

And, although you’re drunk as well, Steve can’t help but believe you meant every part of it. What is it they say? Drunk words are sober thoughts? Some cliche shit like that.

“I love you too.” He says after a long beat.

His heart drops a little at the way your nose scrunches up and you huff in your sleep, “Thanks, but I have a boyfriend.” You mumble, before cuddling up to his chest and dozing off.

Steve lets out a small laugh at that, before it fades slowly as he caresses your arm, deep in thought.

You’d woken up with a mild headache. It wasn’t too bad but it wasn’t great. Luckily, you had a man sent from heaven, created in a lab (literally) to wake up to as he brought you breakfast in bed with a side of ibuprofen.

He and Wanda were gracious enough to even make some for Sam and Natasha too.

You liked Steve this morning. Well- you always do, but today, it was like he was extra... lovey. You didn't know how to explain it, but just everything he did was so very chivalrous and romantic.

Maybe you’re overthinking it, but c’mon... what normal man gives you a foot massage while you eat breakfast after you slightly mentioned how you think you might’ve stubbed your toe last night? Along with the extra kisses and cuddling.

You weren’t complaining, by any means. Just curious.

Oh, and he also helped you around the house today. You needed to do a few housekeeping things like a few loads of laundry and hanging them up. Plus, you needed to water a few of your plants. As well as fix the broken plank on your back porch from Sam apparently tripping over the step and landing knee first into the withering wood.

Steve helped you with all of it. He fixed the floorboard and watered all your plants. Then, just in time, the laundry was ready to hang and he helped you with that too.

What, honestly, would have taken half your day to complete, was done in about an hour and it only just hit lunch.

And so, after hanging up the washing, you decided to make some lunch for the children. Low and behold, Steve said he’d help with that as well.

As you entered the kitchen, your smile faded as you saw a very bored looking Sam as Natasha set up some board game in front of him and Wanda.

As you passed him, you tapped his head, “What’s got you all down in the dumps?” You ask. You eye the board game, the up to Natasha, before smiling, “Oh, are you losing?” You try and tease but he scoffs and Wanda chimes in.

“Actually, he’s been winning every game.” You raise your brows in surprise.

Steve takes the basket from your hand then and offers to put it back in the laundry. You smile up at him briefly before turning back to Sam. You know this look. It took you a second to recognise it, but you know what it means now, “You’re bored.”

You and Sam, and Bucky as well, were almost like the teens of the compound (kinda, not really). You caused a lot of trouble, pranking other avengers, always wanting to play some kind of game, betting with each other. During a meeting or a slow day, Sam would always give either you or Bucky this look. The same exact mug he's wearing now.

“It’s just that we’ve played every board game and puzzle you have…” He sighs, nodding the the pile stacked up against the chair, “We’re about to play cluedo for the 5th time.”

“You could play cluedo for an infinite amount of times to be fair,” You chip in. Sam just rolls his eyes at you and you sigh. Looking up at the clock, you try and think of something new and fun they can do- perhaps outside of the house. You're aren’t left with many options, considering it's basically impossible for them to leave the house and not worry about being found.

But, one idea crosses your mine... and it’s not bad at all.

“Why don’t we go down to the lake?”

“How much further?” Sam groans from behind the pack, his voice sounding a lot distant than you last remember. Your suspicions are proven correct as the group comes to a halt, staring back at Sam whos about three metres from Natasha.

Steve snakes a hand around your waist as you all look at Sam. You don’t know why, for what reason, but again, you’re not complaining.

“Too unfit for a little hike, Birdman?” Natasha asks as Sam catches up to the rest of you- not without huffing and puffing though.

Despite being the most bored out of everyone back home, he definitely had a lot to say about finally getting out. He’d already eaten half of his sandwich that you’d made before leaving the house. You decided that since it was lunchtime, you would make and pack a whole picnic to eat when you all got to the lake. Everyone had their own little lunch pack and a towel.

“I’m just saying, I feel like we could’ve taken the car.” He exhales, bending over to catch his breath.

But the second he catches back up, you’re all walking again, “Almost there.” You tell him and hear his loud groan and a few pattered steps as he runs to catch back up to you all.

And it really isn't that long until you reach the lake. Steve steadies you over the rocks across the lake that lead to a nice grass patch as opposed to the knee-high blades of grass that you had to walk through to get here.

Wanda helps you set the mat down, hammering it in place before everyone sets down their stuff and begins undressing to their swimmers. You had to lend both Wanda and Natasha a pair since, you know, bikinis weren't exactly on their list of items to bring with them whilst on the run from the US Government.

“Are you sure there’s no fish in here?” Sam calls out tentatively, looking into the water with fear more than curiosity.

You smile a little as you rub sunscreen onto Steve’s face, “Nobody said there was no fish.” You shake your head and watch as Sam’s eyes widen, “They won’t bite you.” You reassure him, before wiping your hands over the back of your thighs to get off the excess sunscreen from your hands.

You take Steve hand and follow Wanda and Natasha out to the water, all of you much more eager to cool off from the journey to get here. Meanwhile, Sam still stands on the picnic mat, fully clothed with his backpack still on.

“What about turtles? Leeches?” He asks again, and this time neither of you answer- instead just laugh at him, “Guys I’m serious!”

Apart from Sam’s initial hesitancy- well it never really went away, he was still very cautious as he swam with the rest of you. But other than that, the lake was a big hit.

A few games of chicken, marco polo. Then a much needed lunch.

You all didn’t intend to stay as long as you did, but it soon hit 3PM and you still wanted to stay. But, you were all getting a little tired and you still needed to get some takeout for dinner which you had all unanimously decided on.

So, you packed everything up, making sure it was all in the exact same condition as you found it with no litter left behind before making the trek back up to your house.

The walk back felt much quicker and there wasn’t much complaining from Sam, apart from the few minutes he was freaking out about a leach being stuck to him... but it was just a leaf.

And soon enough, you were back home.

Despite the day not mentally tiring you, your body was definitely feeling it. Your feet dragged along in front of Steve and you even tripped over your front lawn once you reached it. Steve was quick to catch you though, your knight in shining armour.

So entranced by Steve, you didn't even notice that what you tripped over was a piece of plucked turf... followed by a faint skid mark on your grass, leading out onto the road.

You sighed heavily as you grabbed your keys from the counter, making sure you had everything.

“You sure you don’t want me to come with you?” Steve asks, a hand on the small of your back.

You smile up at him, reassuringly, “As much as I would love it,” You start with a hand on his soft, freshly showered cheek, “I’d rather you not go to jail.” You kiss his cheek, before patting his chest, “I’ll be fine.”

He purses his lips as he walks you to the front door, “Drive safe.” He bids as you get into your car and wave goodbye as you head off to get dinner that you’d ordered at a small chinese place in town.

Once you’re out of Steve’s sight, he frowns momentarily before heading back inside.

Funnily enough, the others are back at the dining table, playing another round of cluedo. As much as they bashed it earlier, they couldn't deny that it wasn’t fun.

As Steve takes a seat at the head of the table, observing the game, Natasha turns to him, “So, where are we off to next?” Natasha had been meaning to talk to Steve about this for a while now. In fact, she wanted to ask him ever since they got here.

She was never opposed to the idea of coming here... just opposed to staying. Somewhere, deep down, she knew this would happen. Of course you and Steve would rekindle your loves for each other... and of course he wants to stay. But they’re on the run. They shouldn’t stay in one place for too long. And, for Natasha, it's already been far too long.

“I don’t know.” Steve sighs, knowing this question was coming but blocking it out of his mind, because like he told you- he didn't want to think about leaving you.

Natasha practically abandons the entire game now, and so does everyone else and Steve internally groans at the lecture he's about to receive, “What do you mean? It’s almost been a week, Steve.”

“I know.” He mumbles, avoiding her gaze as he looks out the window, to the backyard where just moments ago, he was helping you take the washing down. It was such a small task, a minute help in your day- and yet Steve wanted to do it again and again.

The simple serenity of hanging the washing with you, while you thought about what to make for lunch. How you hung the basket on your hip each time you carried it. How you made a quick trip over to your raspberry plant and plucked a few berries for the both of you to sneakily snack on.

That was what he wanted to do for the rest of his life.

“You wanna stay.” Natasha basically reads his mind.

Steve looks over at Wanda, figuring she knew everything he was thinkin and wanted to grasp her view on it all. She seemed conflicted. On one hand, she knew they had to leave, but on the other, she loved it here. Even if she felt like she was intruding on yours and Steve’s relationship, it was nice having a woman friend to bake with and share bikinis with.

“Can you blame me?” Steve asks, now a little agitated. But he doesn't exactly know at what- probably more so himself and the decisions he has to make rather than at Natasha.

“Yes, I can.” Natasha nods, “It’s not safe. Not for us and not for her.” Steve’s ears prick up at the mention of you and he furrows his brows at the blonde, “They find us here and she’ll be taken in as an accomplice. The maximum term of imprisonment for hiding a fugitive is 3 years. God knows how long she’ll get for hiding 4 fugitives-”

“That’s if they even find this place.” Steve interrupts, “We couldn’t even find it. Tony couldn’t find it!” He adds, and Wanda bites her lip at his false statement, “This is the last place they would probably ever look for us!”

Natasha keeps her mouth shut, glaring at Steve a little before turning to a silent Sam beside her with a questioning look. For someone who had a lot to say, he was suspiciously quiet.

He shrugs a little as everyone waits for his input, his eyes darting nervously from Natasha to Steve.

He shrugs, “Maybe he’s right.” He finally says, but very hesitantly. Natasha furrows her brows hard, “They haven't found us by now... they probably never will.” He says. Natasha scoffs then and he adds, “And if Tony couldn’t find this place...” He trails off, not exactly knowing where he was going with that.

2 against 1.

Now they all look to Wanda.

Natasha looks a little hopeful, perhaps another female can make sense of the situation they’re in.

And she does. She does, but she also sees Steve’s side and Sam’s side. Despite what she knows about Tony, she doubts he would do that to you or that he even knows they’re all here in the first place.

“I think we just need to be very cautious.” Is what she settles on, hoping it doesn't offend Natasha in any way. She’s not at all going against what Natasha has said, nor is she agreeing with Steve either. She’s on the fence.

Natasha sighs defeatedly as she slumps in her chair, knowing she was outnumbered. Leaving the group was off the table, she knew it was best if they stuck together.

The air is a thickly tense as they all sit in Natasha and Steve’s heated silence.

So, Sam places his cards down before nodding to the envelope, “Mustard, dagger, in the dining room.”

Your eyes feel a little heavy as you make your way back home. You really can’t wait to go to bed and snuggle up on Steve’s firm chest. Maybe you’ll watch a movie even and fall asleep to it. You know he hates when you do that butt you kinda like riling him up like that. You also like waking up after he realises you’re asleep, watching through heavy eyelids as he begrudgingly turns the movie and light off.

You’re broken out of your thoughts by bright yellow headlights blinding you from behind. You realise your day dreaming must’ve made you lose concentration and slow down a little, which is why they were also so close.

So you put your foot on the gas and get yourself back up to speed.

But they stay close behind you- tailgating you and now flashing you with their high beams.

“What the fuck?” You brake check them and flip them off, but it hardly helps as they keep their lights on high beam, restricting both your vision on the road and your vision on their faces.

You’re speeding now, way over the limit as you try and get away from them.

Your mind immediately goes to Brock- he’s found you and he’s going to kill you once and for all. But then you remember he’s dead.

So you think of the next possible option. Fuck.

From what you can see, the car is quite large- almost a van... definitely enough space to contain 4 people on the run. Black too, so definitely could be some kind of government car. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Your heart pounds in your chest now and you feel like crying. You know you shouldn’t lead them to your house- but if they’ve found you now, you doubt they don’t already know where you live.

You’re half tempted to call the house and let them know, but you also doubt they aren’t somehow tracking your phone call. Plus, you don’t think you’ll be able to drive properly if you’re on the phone and you need to get them off your tail.

So, as you come up against a familiar trail, you barely think before you turn into it. Just as you do so, a car from the other side of the road approaches, effectively cutting the car behind you off from following you as it collides with the other poor car.

You breath heavily as you speed down the road, turning your headlights off to conceal yourself as you make your way back home.

By the time you get there, you end up in the backyard. You don’t think you even turn off your car. Just put it in park and run to the back door.

As you frantically enter, Steve turns to you from his spot at the table and smiles, “Hey-“ Just as his smile fades, confused as to why you enter from the backdoor, you interrupt him.

“You guys have to go!” You yell to them and they all look at you stunned and confused. You grow frustrated as they dont understand, knowing that they’re probably only getting closer the longer you all wait, “They know you’re here!”

“What?” Steve asks, immediately standing along with the others who finally look like they're understanding what you mean as they reach for their backpacks.

“They were following me, but I took a back road. Please, you have to go!” You beg them and Natasha is already shoving things into her duffel.

Thank God they had taken Wanda’s advice and decided on packing emergency bags in the event that they had to run. They just didn’t realise they would have to use them so suddenly.

“Who?” Steve asks again and you feel like screaming.

Before you can even answer, you all hear a car pulling up on your front yard- probably knocking over your mailbox due to the loud thud that sounds. The sound of cocked guns however is what really sets it all in and it doesn't take the others much longer to piece together what the fuck is happening.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*･ﾟ☆

NEXT CHAPTER

BITCH

i’m sorry for the cliffhanger it had to be done

#steve x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers angst #steve rogers series #steve rogers #captain america #steve rogers x y/n

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munsontm · 1 year

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'my most significant influence is just real life.' A candid discussion with Corroded Coffin frontman Eddie Munson. Gerri Miller.

Metal Edge, 8th March 1991.

On the fifth of February, 1991, Corroded Coffin, a four-piece heavy metal band from Hawkin's Indiana, a rural town rife with tragedy and mystery, made Grammy and music history by being not only the first of the genre to win album of the year but said album also happened to be their debut. The album in question, entitled Stranger Things, is being hailed all over the country as a truly original and thought-provoking journey with a multitude of themes contained in a fantastical and, frequently, dark world narrative. I caught up with the band's frontman, Eddie Munson, in hopes of learning more about the mysterious and polarising figure who shot for the stars on his first try and made it all the way to the moon.

It was a rare rainy morning in downtown LA when I met Eddie at The Beverly Hills Hotel. He told me he'd have preferred to meet at Starbucks or something, but management insisted on somewhere 'fancy' in his words. There's not a shred of his theatrical stage wear or make-up to be seen except for chipped black polish on his nails. He's dressed down in stonewash jeans, a black vest, and a red plaid shirt complete with Nike sneakers that he tells me aren't his. Eddie offered me a cigarette once we got comfortable in the hotel bar, and I felt struck by the disarming power of his smile. I couldn't say no to him, and apparently, neither can America.

How's it going, Eddie?

Eddie: Yeah, you know. Pretty good. This hotel is weird, though, right?

You don't like it?

Eddie: Ehh...it's just kinda snobby for my tastes. It's not very me, I guess. And it's not what I'd like Corroded Coffin to be associated with. None of us come from money, and neither do our fans. We're a band for the 99%, and we're determined to stay true to that. I think I'd straight up quit music if someone told me that Bush liked our tunes.

You're not a fan of the president, then?

Eddie: Dude, what do you think? I grew up with Nixon, Ford, Carter, and Reagan, each more useless than the last, and determined to keep up the status quo of anti-queer, pro-guns, and the nuclear family. That's all they do, like glorified caretakers, I guess. People bitch about change, but they still keep voting for the same two dumb fucks every single time. Where's the progression? It ain't there, man.

Anti-queer, anti-guns and the nuclear family are pretty polarising subjects. How do you feel when people in the industry label you as a polarising figure?

Eddie: I fucking love it. I knew years ago that if we ever made it big, people were gonna hate us. I've always been loud and weird and annoying, never knowing when to shut my mouth. But I'm at peace with it, proud even. Yeah, I'm queer. Freddie (Mercury) doesn't hide it. Why should I? Yeah, I'm pro-feminism, anti-government, anti-society, an atheist, anti-guns, pro-abortion, and pro-drugs. Whatever has been said about me in pro and anti-contexts is probably all true. I'm the antichrist to the normie Americans, and that makes me giggle at night. Let them be mad about it and live in fear of the other for once.

People back in my very conservative hometown hated me, too, because I was different and poor. It's no different from that, and I'm not scared about it anymore, like when I was that kid in Hawkins. The difference now is that there are people out there who like my big mouth. There are freaks all over the country who are just like me. It's pretty fucking cool.

Those are some pretty brave statements to make.

Eddie: Nah. Lots of them are already there on the album. I've never been shy about any of 'em, even when meatheads at our gigs decide to throw bottles at us and act like little bitches. Go watch Axel Rose if you want some fresh bigotry with your metal. Although, is it even really a metal concert if someone doesn't throw something at you? The answer is no. The point is that the stage and the studio are my space to say what I want and then reach other people with the same thinking. I'm not going to stop doing that ever.

What's your private life currently like?

Eddie: Private. Next.

You're very secretive about that part of your life, aren't you?

Eddie: Yeah. Cus, like I said, bigots exist. I might like to suck both dick and eat pussy, and be okay with admitting that to the world. But I'm not stupid enough to give away my private life details where any creep can read them. Can we move on now? [This next part was originally redacted by Eddie, but then he changed his mind.] Still, my partner could be the shit outta any phobe. They fought a bear once and won...more than once.

Sure, Eddie. What first got you into music?

Eddie: I think the first time music really crawled inside my brain was when I heard All Along The Watchtower by Jimi Hendrix on the radio one summer. Mmm, I can't remember if I was four or five, but it was around then. It wasn't even about the lyrics. I didn't learn what they were until later. It was the guitar work that blew my tiny baby mind to somewhere else, maybe another plane of existence, albeit temporarily, so unfortunate. But I couldn't get that raw sound out of my mind, and I became instantly addicted, looking for similar sounds everywhere. I'd heard guitars playing before, but never like that. Never that level of genius. It kinda made me wanna cry with the emotions it brought out of me because I grew up in an environment where emotions weren't allowed if you were a boy. Jimi gave me my first outlet, and I'll be eternally grateful for that. Rest in peace, dude.

Is that what music is for you, an expression of yourself?

Eddie: Well, yeah. Music is part of who I am. Even when it's not a personal expression of myself, it's still an expression of my beliefs and ideals. Music is art; music is political and radical. But I also can't deny there's plenty of very personal shit in my lyrics. The day I write a fluff song is the day I'll have officially lost my marbles.

Who inspired you to make music?

Eddie: Haha, I'm pretty sure this is the most well-known fact about me, which is my boner for Black Sabbath and Ozzy Osbourne. In 1972, Children Of The Grave was released, and I was lucky enough to see it performed live on TV. If Christ were real, that moment would have been my coming of Christ. I was like eight then, so the lyrics mattered more. But Ozzy himself was like a fantastic madman, and no one was doing it like him. He just didn't and still doesn't give a shit about what anyone thinks of him. I admire that so much, and I strived to be like that, too, for as long as I can remember. Not giving a shit was my shield in high school. People were afraid of that, that I didn't follow the rules or pretend to be good as gold. Yeah, it invited trouble, too, being loud and annoying. But it felt great at the same time.

How would you describe the music that you typically create? What are your influences?

Eddie: Uhh, if you wanna talk genres, then I guess I'd describe it as horror or fantasy metal. I wouldn't want to be described as your average metal band. That'd be the freaking worst. Many of my influences come from Dungeons & Dragons, Heavy Metal (the science-fiction and fantasy magazine/comic), and Lord of The Rings. But then you got literary influence from Edgar Allen Poe, Stephen King, Mary Shelley, and H.P. Lovecraft.

But I guess my most significant influence is just real life. Take real life and smash it together with all the aforementioned shit. Things get crazy pretty quickly. I've been able to channel a lot of the bad things that happened in my life through those things, and apparently, I'm not the only one that likes it. Although, my dad probably hates that I'm getting rich from what a cunt he is. But I love it.

Who would you most like to collaborate with?

Eddie: Ozzy Osbourne, of course. But there's also DIO too. Slayer would be sweet too—ugh, and Judas Priest. Basically, there are too many potentials to pick from, and I'm indecisive, so I don't think I should be allowed to pick in any realistic context. Gare and Jeff can deal.

What is one message you would give to your fans.

Eddie: First of all, I love them very much. Each and every single one of them made Corroded Coffin possible. Artists are nothing without their fans. Right from the three drunks back in Hawkin's to the dude who flashed his pink nipple tassels at me during every indie gig, he's awesome. We wouldn't be here without them. I hope they continue supporting our madness and being just as mad themselves. The world always needs more freaks in it.

What is the most useless talent you have?

Eddie: I can tuck my dick and balls back and do Gonzo impersonations with em'. Just draw some eyes on my guys, and wiggle it all about. It's a great party trick. But I'm not allowed to show it to anyone because that's embarrassing, according to my partner. And I can quote Lord of The Rings by page number, depending on the edition. Though people in my circle consider that to be pretty cool, just saying.

Do you sing in the shower? What songs?

Eddie: Man, all I do is sing around the house. It drives the neighbours fucking nuts. Fortunately, my partner is fully endeared by it. But I usually sing what comes to mind or whatever trash is on the radio. There's a WHAM song stuck in my head right now, and I hate it. Fully hate it. I want to make it stop.

What would you be doing right now, if it wasn’t for your music career?

Eddie: Honestly, I don't even wanna think about it. Music is all I ever wanted to do. Considering something else was never an option for me.

What's a typical day like for you?

Eddie: I have to be dragged out of bed wherever I'm sleeping. Whether it's at home, the studio, or in a hotel. I'm not a morning person, and it's a lucky day if I manage to hit the toilet rim without a cup of coffee in me. After that, I'm usually writing for most of the day, right now, until my partner makes me eat and take a chill pill. There are also lots of scheduled interviews and shoots going on, what with the Grammy win and all. I'm not used to such hectic schedules, so it's been completely nuts as of late. I only get around four hours of sleep, and that sucks. But it's just part of the job.

What is your favourite song to perform?

Eddie: Fuck. I hate this question because I can never answer it the straightforward way. There isn't one song to beat all, but it's usually a tie between Red and Sword and Shield. They're my magnum opus, at least for now. Because as a musician, I always strive to outdo my last song.

Why those two songs, what do they mean to you?

Eddie: Red is just a sick tune, ya know? I took inspiration from a person in my life, a kid who used to live in the same trailer park as me. She's probably one of the bravest people I've ever met, and my batshit brain couldn't let go of the idea of making a song about her bravery. If it wasn't for them, myself and many others wouldn't have made it out of the Hawkin's earthquake alive. That's why Red is so bassy and riffy, and Gareth even broke a fair couple of sticks while we were recording—the musical energy needed to match her intensity and what she went through to help people. Women's heroics ain't recognised enough in any media, so it was a no-brainer to me to include her story as part of Stranger Thing's overall journey.

As for Sword and Shield, that's way more personal. The context behind that changed my life. It's about two people casting aside preconceptions of one another and fighting their inner demons together cus I found out around the time of writing it that you can't do that alone; fight your inner demons and get past your past. And yeah, there's a splash of homoerotica; sue me. It's one of the...no. It's the only balladesque song on the album cus it's the only balladesque song I've ever written. Most of the music for Sword and Shield was me and a guitar; everyone else is a more subtle background, I guess. It needed to be like that. I needed it to be a private experience for me and my sword.

Your sword?

Eddie: Yup. Next question.

What is the most trouble you’ve ever gotten into

Eddie: Aw, c'mon. Do ya'll really gotta bring it up in every interview? Every goddamn tabloid in the country went off about it. Murder accusations and Satanic worship, which were all overwhelmingly disproven. The state even apologised to me. I'm done talking about that part of my life.

Apologies, Eddie. You're right. What is the best advice you’ve been given?

Eddie: Smooth recovery, buddy. Alright. I've had plenty of decent advice from people like Ozzy, Doro, Dio, and Dave Mustaine. Lots of D's, for some reason. But, I think my Uncle Wayne probably gave me the best life advice, which was always to be myself. Never pretend to be someone you're not, even when it's hard. He told me that when I was thirteen, and I've always stuck by it. What you see is what you get. I don't have a stage persona like a lot of people do. It's all just me. I don't think I'd be able to handle this kinda life if I had to pretend to be someone else, ya know? Being true to myself and my vision is what has gotten me here, that and my boys, my fellow losers and freaks.

If you could change anything about the metal industry, what would it be?

Eddie: Well, shit. That's a loaded question, and it's gonna get one of those so-called controversial replies that I always apparently have. There are not enough women in this industry, at least not in the American mainstream, aside from Doro, and she takes a lot of shit. Bands like Girlschool, Black Knight, Messiah Force, and Rock Goddess, they're all absolutely badasses, who are just as good, if not better, than many of their male contemporaries. Man Metal, let's call it that for a moment, has way too many tunes about sexualising cars and having sex with women and boohooing about our drug problems. It's all repetitive, gets boring, is boring.

I think heavy metal should be more of an open genre. Manufactured pop music always has centre stage in the music industry, sadly. But rock 'n roll is about rebellion and doing what society doesn't deem normal. Why is the heavy-metal movement just entrenched in working-class dudes? Bearing in mind I am one of those dudes. We've got more in common with the many marginalised groups in this country, mainly that the government hates us, instead of the upper classes who use pop culture, music included, to promote the fake American Dream. If we could all come together under the power of rock 'n roll. I think beautiful things could happen. We could have a revolution.

What do you think are the chances of such a grand scale thing happening?

Eddie: Uhh, pretty much zero.

What’s next for you?

I'll be writing Corroded Coffin's next album while on a national tour that I think is being announced next week. I can't remember. Maybe I wasn't supposed to talk about that. Oh, well. Surprise! I've also been asked to pose for Playgirl, which is fucking wild. I didn't see that coming in a million years.

What? Like full frontal?

Eddie: God, I fucking hope so. The pearl clutching will be spectacular.

Corroded Coffins album, Stranger Things, is out now via Mercury Records.

#v. volume 6 / arc: los angeles feat. harringtontm #𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚗 : 𝚖𝚢 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍? 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚊 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎. 🎸#𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 : 𝚐𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚕𝚜 𝚘𝚗 𝚊 𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚣𝚢 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚗. 🎸#idk what to tag this as

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pynkhues · 2 years

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Hi! I was reading your tags on your black phone ask and it actually reminded me of something similar I’ve experienced recently with ST. I found out that both my mom and aunt didn’t realize Billy is racist.

My mom is still convinced that he didn’t like any of the boys for being “nerds.” My aunt had wondered if Billy might be racist but said that she decided he wasn’t bc that would be a mean thing to think of someone. Which is like a lot to unpack from both of them.

I know you mentioned in your post that you feel like there’s a lack of media literacy but do you also feel like this is connected to the anti-intellectualism culture shift that we’re going through as a society and how do you feel like it’s affecting things you see as somebody so steeped in fandom?

I know that’s like a really big question that somebody could probably do a dissertation on (which is actually why I stayed on anon so you don’t like hate me lol) but I always enjoy your thoughts and figured if it was something you didn’t want to delve into you could just ignore.

Love your blog. 🤍

Hey! Thank you for your kind words, anon, and I don’t hate you sending a complicated ask at all! I love complicated asks!

It’s actually kinda good timing too, because I’ve been reading a bit about race and Stranger Things at the moment and especially recommend Kaiya Shunyata’s article on Roger Ebert The Antagonism of Blackness in Stranger Things and Khalisa Rae’s article on Jezebel The Black Kids in ‘Stranger Things Never Get the Story They Deserve, both of which are brilliant, incisive reads. I know racism in the show / Billy being racist isn’t actually what your ask is about, but still! I love to spruik great criticism, haha.

That’s so interesting about your mum and your aunt, especially your aunt realising and then feeling the need to correct herself, and I think does speak to the inherent bias we bring to the stories we consume, and that even when that’s challenged, as it seems it was with your aunt, the ways we’re socialised can still have our heads trying to flip the switch back, so to speak.

I love that you asked me about anti-intellectualism, because y’know - - I’m Australian! Which as a country is one that I think is very anti-intellectual, and I hope you don’t mind me speaking to that for a second, just because I think it’s kinda relevant here.

The Land of Luck

I’ve actually had a lot of long conversations with @foxmagpie over the last few years about the difference in cultural identity between America and Australia, and in the process of that we’ve talked quite a bit about these sorts of ‘national slogans’ as almost like, this type of cultural endorsement.

America is ‘The Land of Opportunity’ and Australia is ‘The Lucky Country’ and how that filters down into a public consciousness is pretty different.

Being The Land of Opportunity creates a sense that everything in America is yours for the taking, which means that any failure is an individual’s alone. An American has every chance to succeed, so anything less than that is not America’s problem. Being The Lucky Country though means ultimately you’re lucky to live in Australia, and if you don’t like it, you can fuck off.

As cultural messages, weirdly, they’re not actually that different on paper, and certainly have similarities in the sense of how they shut down criticisms of country and culture, but they also have very different outcomes, with America putting a lot of onerous on individuals to eschew community and government responsibility, whereas in Australia, I think it does sort of the reverse. There’s this contempt for individualism and the country has a severe case of Tall Poppy Syndrome, anyone who rises above the field, particularly to challenge the status quo, is swiftly cut down to size.

What’s interesting to me right now is the different political trajectories of the countries.

We had an election recently where a very anti-intellectual, incompetent, religious zealot prime minister was ousted in favour of a softer-spoken, more empathetic, intelligent and progressive prime minister who's an atheist (and one, importantly, from a very working class background who grew up with a single mother in government housing – he was of the people, for the people, and the fact that he reflected the background of many Australians was important – he’s a part of the field, not seeking to outgrow it, and for once that feels like a positive), and he’s built a government that will hopefully reflect that over the next few years.

It's kind of this fascinating thing, because I do think that the election was in part a result of people seeing the rise of anti-intellectualism in other countries, and this conservative regression in both the UK (after all, Australia’s still a part of the Commonwealth) and the US which as you said, seems to be experiencing a very significant culture shift at the moment. There’s a lot to be said about Australia having a ‘little sibling’ mentality with a lot of countries, particularly UK and the US, and I think the culture shift that’s happening in Australia right now – in my most hopeful moments at least – is indicative of a sort of national coming of age in response to her ‘big brothers’.

Again, that’s very optimistic though, I know, because I also do think something we’re seeing now more than ever, is that national identity is kind of irrelevant and that these sorts of things are cyclical – times of progress are met with backlash, and that backlash is usually felt in the rise of conservatism, which in turn results in loss, both literal and metaphorical, and eventually enough pain and anger and purpose is built again to claw forwards in a way that feels like progress, and then the cycle repeats.

Time isn’t a flat circle, it’s a human centipede, and I do think Australia’s at the nicer end of the chain right now, but at the end of the day, we’re all still eating shit.

Pop Cultural Powers

In no small part, a lot of that is because America does have a stranglehold on pop culture and media. I’m not saying that in any sort of accusatory sense, it’s just a reality, and I think it does shape global issues, both for the better (shows like Pose and When They See Us for instance creating international dialogue around trans history and the wrongful convictions of Black men, issues topical in every country) and for the worse (Joe Rogan springs immediately to mind).

There are other powers of course – Kdrama and anime and what feels like a once-in-a-generation British property juggernaut that swoops in to flatten any and all competition (James Bond and One Direction leap to mind) – but at least in the West (and lbr, outside of the West too), American pop culture tends to dominate.

I could talk a lot here about the reasons for that, but I don’t really think it’s relevant. What I think is relevant is that the rise of conservatism in America has trickle down effects that impact media consumption the world over. American platforms like Facebook, Twitter, TikTok and even Netflix go global, and they snuff out local competition while bringing with them an American centro-ism, and with that, ultimately, their politics.

And when the politics are fucked, everything is, and we saw that with the way separatism under Trump compounded through social media, as did the rise of Christian evangelicalism, the alt-right, and QAnon; and in these new global platforms, other countries throw their own grenades into the mix with fake news and bot armies and deepfakes and their own conservative governments, and we’re left with a pop culture that’s become synonymous with actual culture and politics and social issues and international discourse, and oh my god, how does anyone keep up?

And then we hit the natural breaking point –

Maybe people don’t want to.

A quick note on the technological revolution

I feel like this is really important to include here.

Do you remember in highschool or college when people talked about the Printing Revolution, the Agricultural Revolution and the Industrial Revolution?

Well, there’s a huge argument to be made that we’re in the Technological Revolution (also known as the Fourth Industrial Revolution) right now.

When I was studying history in my undergrad back in 2009, one of my lecturers said it to the class, and it was the first time I’d ever heard it, but it pops up a lot these days. Revolutions are a time of sudden, radical or complete change, and they usually involve the overthrow or renunciation of a government or ruler, so - -

Take that as you will.

Another quick note on social progress (and another on revolutions)

Another sign of revolution?

A fundamental change to society.

What we’re seeing at the moment is a lot of radical change. To bring it back to your ask a little – think of Friends. Think of the jokes they could get away with, the cast they could get away with twenty years ago. I know in so many ways progress feels non-existent because change has been met so bitterly by some, but the way we consume media and what we expect of that media, has changed so radically in the last thirty years that it shouldn’t be surprising people aren’t willing or able to keep up.

Technology itself is an instrument of social change, and revolutions are a time of invention and political upheaval usually as a result of said social change and invention, and those things together create - - well - -

A Time!

For everyone!!

An Era in History!

It’s always progress and regression and depression and anger, and they’re often tied up with things like plagues (does this sound familiar?) and there are people who can’t keep up, people who don’t want to keep up and, genuinely infuriatingly and despicably, people who weaponise both.

Ch-ch-ch-changes

It’s also I think a time where the reality of social issues comes to the fore again.

I could talk a lot here about how feminism in particular has been watered down to give women permission to do whatever they want, instead of being a political movement that yes, seeks to protect all women, but also is fundamentally about challenging the patriarchy and the political structures that imprison women, and as a result, the women who are complicit in that, but feminism is just one movement reconnecting to itself.

We’ve seen this in the last few years with a wide range of civil rights movements, from Black Lives Matter and the backlash to copaganda and military-backed blockbusters, to Anti-Asian racism and quite specifically Asian women feminism in response to MRAsians, to the urgency in protecting trans rights, gay marriage and more.

The backlash to progress is always an attack on the human rights that have been fought for already, because Western society is a white patriarchy, and without systemic change, all progress is temporary.

As the saying goes, those who don’t learn from history are doomed to repeat it, and we are repeating it. I used this expression in a post a while ago, but I'm gonna use it again – just because we’re no longer handcuffed to the bed doesn’t mean we're out of the house.

Between the witch trial of Amber Heard and the repeal of Roe v Wade and the resurgence in modern day lynchings, that’s becoming increasingly apparent.

Okay, so let me put my benefit of the doubt hat on

I’m a pretty hopeful person, and I like to think the best of people, and in saying that, I want to say that this resurgence of conservative ideas and anti-intellectualism are a symptom, not a cause. I think this is a time of huge social revolution and a pandemic that is devastating people’s lives and livelihoods, and I think broadly people are afraid of change and the internet is bombarding people with information and misinformation all the time, and they’re being asked to take that on and dissect that without being given the tools to actually do it.

I think some people create often-but-not-always faceless campaigns under the cover of platforms like Facebook and TikTok to prey on and reinforce people’s ignorance, anxieties and insecurities, as well as deep running social bigotries and minorities’ internalised hatred as a result of said social bigotries, and use those to further a conservative agenda.

But what does this mean for fandom?

Well, I mean, fandom doesn’t exist in a vacuum, y’know?

Just like your mum and your aunt struggled to put aside their inherent bias when watching Stranger Things, I think a lot of fandom feels their interpretation of a show is inherently the right one and one that – particularly if they like the show – shouldn’t be challenged.

Fandom’s been around forever, but the current wave really is inherently entwined with the Technological Revolution a few times over – with the invention of the internet and social media and even the pandemic – and it makes sense that it would be tied up in current social issues too. The reality is that the internet has broken down a lot of walls in terms of location, accessibility, class, context, race and background which has some amazing positives, particularly when it comes to diversity of opinions, but it can also be a bit of a melting pot for negatives too.

In particular, I think it’s easy to find an echo chamber, which can reinforce someone's opinion as a fact, which I’ve seen a lot of, oh my gosh, haha. It also creates space for bad faith arguments and for cults of personality (which the latter I try very actively and very hard not to be – I really do just try to be myself on here – but know at points in time I likely have been).

In many ways too I think it both entwines with and weaponises a lot of the social issues and civil rights moments that are currently so prevalent globally as a result of the times that we’re all living in. We saw that especially disgracefully with the Deppford Wives and the Amber Heard and Johnny Depp defamation trial which was treated concurrently as entertainment, a showcase of internalised misogyny catfishing as moral grandstanding for male victims (would love to see some of these ladies defending actual male victims like Anthony Rapp), and lack of media literacy.

Anti-intellectualism definitely feeds into that.

It's a culture of individualism that tells people they know better than others, and the perceived amount of work I think it takes these days to actually explore a topic. It's an encouragement of personal interest, comfort, want and even desire, over reality. Because the new world is complicated, and the one they know is safe.

On my most hopeful days, I think it’s not deliberate. I think that we have a generation of people who are overwhelmed by the current state of flux and the information they’re bombarded with and an education system that hasn’t caught up to teach them how to truly engage with it. On these hopeful days, I think these are people who are socialised in a certain way, and as a result rely of that socialisation form their opinions, and don’t necessarily realise that critical engagement is more than a feeling, a keyboard and a platform.

On my least hopeful days - - well.

I don’t think that, haha.

Regardless though, we all bring our shit to what we watch – we’re all a part of the human centipede!! – and I think that’s always going to open up doors to interesting conversation, especially during times of real social upheaval, like we see now. I think stories though always offer the space to open doors to conversation and real change, regardless of media literacy, and the fact that you sent me this ask, it seems like maybe you’ve had the conversation with your mum and your aunt, and personally I think that’s where the real dialogue happens.

Change, education and literacy (media and otherwise) starts at home, and I think it’s awesome that you’ve started that at yours. 😊

#i'm SO sorry #this is so long and rambly hahaha #anyway #SUCH an interesting question #thank you for sending it!#😊😊😊#fandom #netflix stranger things #sorta #welcome to my ama

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the1975attheirverybest · 9 months

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sorry if this is kinda out the blue but i've been thinking about it for a bit and i'm not sure where to talk about it, but i have a friend who i know in person who is queer and malaysian and she thinks that what matty did is probably going to make it worse for actually queer people in malaysia because the government will just use this as an excuse to further the anti-lgbt agenda there and it will harm people more than it will help and I'm not sure what to think about it all

Obviously, I’m not Malaysian so I don’t think that *MY* view on this should be more valid than what your Malaysian queer friend says.

My guess is it’s true in certain ways. In fact, if I had to guess, it’s probably why the festival decided to shut down completely after having sent out emails telling people they could come to Saturday and Sundays shows. I’m guessing they feared that other international artists would feel emboldened by what the 1975 did. Like they didn’t want some other American/ British artist to suddenly get up there and be like “shout out to the 1975 standing up for what’s right! I support their choice!” Etc. it would become PURE CHAOS for them. Similarly, I can imagine the government being like “these shitty white boys inspiring kids and planting ideas in their heads. We gotta make it really clear that we WILL target you if you’re queer.” So they’re probably be stricter for a while. Until this whole thing dies down, at least.

Malaysia is, unfortunately, one of the most homophobic countries in the world. Their minister straight up says “we don’t have anything ‘like that’ in our country.” Meaning no queer people exist here, lmao. And they do, unfortunately, prosecute their citizens on two different levels if they’re Muslim. Like there are documented cases of people suing the Malaysian government for anti-LGBTQ laws and for discriminating against them while they visited the country etc. it’s an issue that’s been constantly brought up in their government.

But if you look into it, like actually read up about it, various activities and human rights organizations have raised concerned about their refusal to recognize queer people in their country and the government actively promoting conversion therapy etc. they’re not allowed to have an official LGBTQ right non profit or anything like that.

They’ll probably crack down on this stuff to make sure nobody feels encouraged to act against the law as a result of this whole thing.

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arcticdementor · 3 years

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Other possible Holocausts: why pro-lifers are lying to us, and why thats a good thing

…

Ive had a running argument over the past few years that the raw lack of anti-abortion terrorist action proves no one really thinks abortion is murder, ie. intentional 1st degree murder of a life equal to yours or mine.

Ive always gotten pushback to quote WillyWang:

The "revealed preference" of those that oppose abortion but don't firebomb clinics and kill doctors? It won't help, you'll be made an example of in the negative sense, and civilized norms are more important than a useless symbolic point. One clinic destroyed won't end abortion, after all.

From which this Effort-post got its Genesis:

Would you say the same about those who participated in the french resistance or Warsaw Ghetto rising to Nazi Germany?

Everyone of those claims applies there: they were likely to be made examples of, they were damaging civilized norms, and any given action had relatively little to no impact.

Yet the same people who insist abortion is murder, and thus that America is committing a holocaust, yet denounce any of the people who employed violence against abortion doctors or clinics, and can’t distance themselves fast enough from any call for violence... none of those people apply the same logic to the first holocaust. None of them say the frenchmen who bombed german police stations where dangerous terrorists who deserved their executions, none of them denounce the Warsaw ghetto rising as an attack on civilization.

…

If anti-abortion advocated genuinely believed a fetus was a equivalent human life to yours or mine or the little kids they see walk to school, and that this was an ongoing holocaust of American Children at a scale possibly 10x or more what was done to the jews... they wouldn’t need to come up with ad hoc reasons why they don’t resort to violence, their mind would be screaming at them to take bloody vengeance 24/7 in righteous outrage, demanding that oceans of blood and fire be unleashed that it might wash clean the horror, that nuclear fire would be be an acceptable emergency shut off to end such wanton and cruel slaughter... and if thinking through all the logic they concluded that no violence wouldn’t help and they must pursue some peaceful negotiation to stop the slaughter, then their minds recoil and call themselves cowards and the moment of coming to that conclusion would be an ongoing trauma they’d carry with them for the rest of their life, even if they knew they were 100% right. They would meet the “pro-choice” and barely be able to conceal their desire to see them dead or imprisoned... they would meet women who had had abortions and scream bloody murder at them and tell them they deserve the death penalty, the way many of the same people react when presented with women who’d murdered their children, but after their children had left the womb.

The people who were jailed for assassinating abortionists, or fire-bombing clinics would be folk heroes lionized in songs and crowd funded hagiographic documentaries and folk traditions, like John Brown, or John Wilkes Booth, or Louis Reil, or Saco and Vancety, or Huey Newton, or Malcolm X, or David Koresh, or Levoy Finecolm... or hell even just Jesse James, or Killdozer.

Americans abort on average 1 million plus babies a year... that means if abortion is murder and those are human lives, then the 50 years since Roe vs.Wade has been a worse crime than the holocaust, slavery, or the crimes of Stalin, and we’d have to consult a historian to see if they were worse than Mao (on a per capita basis, certainly)...

This would be the worse crime ever commited, the greatest mass slaughter ever perpetrated in human history, and 50 years later our society would remain committed to repeating it in the next 50 years.

If that does not demand violence, then nothing in human history ever has, no even defensive war has ever been justified, and only Jainists and Jehovah’s witnesses are morally acceptable actors. An extreme unexceedable pascifism we know the vast majority of anti-abortion advocates do not endorse, since they overwhelming supported or at-least did not conspicuously oppose the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan (over a mere 3000 Americans dead, and a less than a years abortions worth of Iraqis killed by Saddam) and continue to conspicuously “Support our troops” troops that exist to carry out violence, despite their moral commitments saying they can apparently never in human history be justified.

When i say this proves “Pro-lifers” clearly do not believe a fetus is an equal human life, thats me being incredibly charitable. That is me extending a overwhelming large olive branch, that is me expressing a stupendous care and concern and sympathy and brotherly love to rival the best 19th century dinner host, the dearest of friends, a benevolent older sibling, a lover, a parent, a mother who on hearing the taped confession of her son to serial murder, doesn’t hesitate once before screaming “you monsters you’ve drugged and tortured him! What threats have you made to my grandchild! He would only say such things to save his daughter’s life!”

My claiming they are full of shit and lying to themselves, to you, and to me, is an expression of love and faith in my fellow man which until now I did not realized I possessed nor was capable of...

Because if I merely took them at their word? If I believed that they believed what they say they believe? They would be monsters.

Lets play a game called “Other Possible Holocausts”. Approximately 800,000 babies where aborted this year.

Lets imagine the US government has just announced that crime has gotten to cumbersome and that over the next 3 years it plans to execute every single one of the 2.4 million people in US prisons jails and Jeuvenile detention centres.

Lets imagine that to reform education, the US resolves to kill the bottom 1% of all 80 million students in the country based on an age adjusted standardized test every year.

Lets imagine hatred of the obese takes off, and a policy is passed to resolve America’s 30% obesity rate by the mass instituting of bounties on hunting and killing the obese... that every year 800,000 to 1.5 million tags will be issued for a fee to allow the hunting of the obese in return for monetary rewards on successful hunts and getting to keep the carcasses for meat base animal foods and the manufacture of fuel, or fat based household products. These bounty hunters become known a “whalers”.

Lets imagine the US announces its done with African Americans... if the problem hasn’t been solved since 1619, its not going to be... and so they’re going to genocide all 40 million African Americans at a rate of 2% a year, for the next 50 years.

Lets imagine opposing extremists get in charge and decide the racists rednecks have to go, and so they’ll be forming death squads to roam the South, Appalachia, and the rust belt, with the objective of killing 800,000 poor whites a year, “until the problem is solved”... with many happily stating 50 years of this would be acceptable, while others state it’d be perfectly fine to renew it another 50 years after that.

…

These are all American lives, and according to pro-lifers of equal moral value to the babies aborted every day, no better, no worse.

By saying this and by saying violence is not and cannot be justified to resist it, they are saying that their reactions to any one of the above eventualities would be to continue to live their lives as they have lived the past 50 years.

I do not know how to respond to that. Even if Abortion is truly murder of an ensouled equal human life... The Pro-choicers committing the murders don’t think it is... hell the Nazis murdered 6 million jews and a further 5 million undesirables, but they didn’t think of them as human, they thought they were monstrous and “life unworthy of life”, like a burning man begging you to shoot him so he doesn’t suffer or hurt his fellows... a mercy in a way.

Pro-lifers on the other hand claim these are equal viable human lives of equal status to yours or mine or perhaps even greater.... They’re Children.

And their reaction to the greatest mass slaughter in human history, the reaction of almost half the electorate, who regularly talk about the need to resist tyrrany and defend the weak (as both left and right in the US do, in their way), their reaction is to vote every 4 years, and have it perhaps not even be the #1 issue if the economy seems bad, they have the opportunity to vote for the first black president, or the Orangeman says something crude about Mexicans... they won’t be single issue voters even when it comes to the greatest crime ever committed in human history?

I refuse to believe it. Even I, cynical as I am, have to believe we are not that far gone, and the age of men has not come crashing down... i would believe the US capable of such a crime, but to believe that a double digit percentage of Americans could look at that, recognize the victims as their fellow humans,recognize their state and society as committing mass murder of their neighbours, future friends, and relatives...to recognize that they have a moral imperative to act on this... and then just go “welp them’s the breaks, gotta be civilized” because 9 people in black robes said it wasn’t murder?

Holy fuck. No that is not how people work, that is not how humans behave, I cannot accept that, and leftists who spent the summer rioting in response to fewer than a thousand police killings of black men a year, who remember the civil rights and anti-war movements, who kinda vaguely recall that they’re supposed to remember Huey Newton, or Saco and Vanseti, or those Rossen...something people... who like to imagine they’d have been abolitionists in the 19th century. They’re right to call bullshit.

They’re right to call the pro-lifers liars who don’t believe their own messaging, and instead just want to control women’s bodies, after a lie like that to their face, they’re right to treat them with scorn.

…

Pro-life is rescuable as a sentiment and an activist movement...

But not while it claims a Holocaust is going on and somehow magically no violence could ever be justified to resist it, thus lining up all the arguments that will allow the next holocaust to be committed without resistance.

There have been a double digit, perhaps even a triple digit number of mass murders and genocides in the hundreds of thousands or millions of people, since the 20th century. America is enabling its ally Saudi Arabia to commit one against the Yemenis right fucking now.

We need to be very fucking clear about what it is justified to do to members of a regime that commits such a crime, and what it is definitely justified to do to the immediate perpetrators of the murder. And That we will back violent resistance to such a horrible crime by the state even if it serves only to make the resister a martyr we’ll praise, or it degrades “civilization” (what civilization could remain in such a regime?), or it ultimately has no effect (it is on the survivor to try harder)... The major members of the House of Saud deserve the Gallows under international law for what they’re doing in Yemen , as do their American attaches and core enablers... and if that comes from a Judge in the Hauge or from a convoy of irregulars in pickup trucks, or from lone assassins who manage to get through to them, It is justice, and i will praise it.

What we cannot do is pretend that genocides and mass slaughter on unconscionable scales are occurring and then come up with excuses for why we should do nothing and anyone who does resist is a criminal. Or else those excuses will be the ones that allow the next real genocide in the west or on US soil to actually happen.

If there is a genocide or democide or whatever you want to call mass slaughter. You must recognize the justice the violent resistance to it, even if you personally do not participate, or you must admit you were lying about there being such a crime... to say otherwise, to say a state can commit such a crime and still retain its right to your loyalty, to say a people up to and including its victims must obey such a thing, a creature made of bureaucracy that has set its sights on massacring humans by the thousands if not millions... it is to side against the human race in a war of extermination.

And as someone whose pro-choice as they come, I’d much rather, if the pro-lifers really believe its murder, I’d much rather they start a bloody civil war, than for it to become the norm that that is ethically acceptable.

#kulakrevolt #reddit #the motte #food for thought

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mostweakhamlets · 4 years

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genuine question: why is staged cringe?

I want to preface this by saying that I loved Staged initially. I thought it was a super cool concept with actors I’m fans of. I still think that it is a really cool concept! I think it’s great that these actors hatched this idea of acting from home over video chat. I love it when people are experimental. I love it when people break the status quo with art.

However, I think that this is one of the downfalls with Staged. There’s so much potential there, and you really notice how much of that was squandered when you start noticing the things about the show that don’t sit right with you. At least, that’s how I felt.

It really is a matter of, “I feel like this show aged poorly. For the love of God, make series two different.”

I have a lot to say about this, so I’ll put it under the cut and in sections haha

Superwomen

This was my biggest peeve with Staged. I felt like the women (mostly Anna and Georgia) couldn’t just exist. It felt so unnatural and so forced. Like “Look, these women are just any women.”

I know that Georgia Tennant already has this sort of public image of being this super productive mom (which I have more feelings about but won’t go into it here). I think that’s awesome! But Staged hammed that up. I know that it was supposed be a satire version of her, but come on. She’s Supermom to the point that her husband is incompetent? That he really can’t make dinner for his own children? That he has to just reheat something she made that week?

We see Georgia as the perfect woman—helps a friend with childbirth, writes a book, she apparently does all the cooking and cleaning (judging by how surprised she looks when she notices all the laundry folded and put away when she returns from the childbirth), and is the perfect mom and wife. And I know that she had little screentime, but why couldn’t we see any actual flaws? Why does she have to be Supermom every time we see her while her husband seemingly dicks around on Zoom all day?

And then there’s Anna. She’s much more private than Georgia is irl, so she doesn’t already have this crafted public persona. We see less of her in Staged. The Tennants have more of a story than she and Michael do. And with that time, they really made sure to make… smart. I guess you could call it that.

It felt like there was an attempt to make her smart when she had all this information about—what was it? Italian fascism?—on the top of her head. But it definitely felt “smart” in the way that men often think people are “smart.” They can just regurgitate facts rather than actually say anything constructive. It felt like she had just played Trivial Pursuit a lot or binged watched every single episode of QI. I’ve no idea why they felt the need to just awkwardly shoehorn that in when there are so many other ways to show that a woman is intelligent.

It makes me wonder what the creative team thinks of women—at what point is a woman valuable in front of a camera? Could a character like me, who doesn’t know a lot of trivia or isn’t an exceptional cook or can be a birthing partner, earn screentime in a production by these men? Are women allowed to be flawed beyond “Haha yeah I’m eating cake while watching yoga videos” and agreeing to put recycling in someone else’s bin?

Is there an oversaturation of the male ego in Staged? Kinda. It was all about three men’s shit show while girlfriends and wives stood in the background as flawless house partners. It feels like that bland brand of feminism that’s like, “Women can do anything! And that includes compensating for their male partner’s shortcomings!”

Covid Insensitivities

Back in March, we were all different people! We thought we saw a light at the end of the tunnel. We were watching TikToks and staying home and supporting essential workers. But things got very much worse. As an American, I’m terrified of what’s going to happen in my country alone. Much of the world has been hit hard, and government leaders all over are proving to be incompetent.

But early summer/late spring was a different time. And when they filmed Staged, they had a Covid subplot with Michael’s neighbor. At the time, it felt fine. But now it feels icky, in my opinion. It feels wrong for rich people, safe in their homes, to craft a storyline where a fictional woman has Covid, and “It really affects me, Michael Sheen. I’m worried about this.”

At the time, I felt like, “Is this really the angle they should have taken with such a serious global issue?” And now I feel like, “This is definitely not a subplot they should have gone with. Oh my God, I physically cannot watch Michael Sheen fake crying while on the phone with a doctor.”

Their hearts were probably in the right place, but it aged terribly. I really hope that they don’t return to subplots like that in series two.

Which brings me to my next point:

The Oh So Relatable Lives of Celebrities

The Covid-neighbor subplot felt wrong for another reason: it felt like a misguided attempt to look relatable to an audience who is probably a bit more exposed to the virus than these people sitting in their massive homes.

I won’t go into this much because I don’t see it as a major issue. Again, at the time it felt fine. We thought we were all in this together, and these rich people really did get the common struggles: dealing with childcare, being cooped inside all day, etc.

But again, things changed.

I’m honestly tired (and a bit bitter) of seeing rich people trying to pose as having the same set of problems the rest of us do right now. Sure, it must be hard to raise five kids right now. But when this is over, the Tennants get their nanny back irl. Yes, it’s hard to stay inside all day with little outlets. But Michael Sheen irl 1) has actually been acting quite a bit during this, as we’ve seen now, with plenty of press and 2) has a huge garden and a magical little park he could always walk to.

I can’t help but feel bitter as I sit in debt, unemployed, watching very well-off actors get irritable over lockdown.

In General

In general, Staged was fun at the time. It was cute, and I enjoyed watching it when it came out. It was during the “hopeful” stage of the pandemic, as I like to call it. Loans payments and rent payments were paused. Eviction was illegal. People who could, stayed home and watched TikToks. But now we’re in a different stage.

A lot has happened, and a lot of places are refusing to shut down states/countries again for the sake of the economy. People are starting to realize how little their individual livelihoods matter to our governments. There are tense elections all over the world. There’s no relief being provided for people who desperately need it.

I think that the sort of quirky Covid stories like Staged aren’t going to be necessarily enjoyable right now. Really, the last thing I want to see is rich people pretending like they’re struggling in their huge homes and with their presumably unlimited resources.

I’m really holding my breath with series two. I hope that they go in a different direction than they did last time, or it’ll be a completely tone-deaf show to me.

Like I said, there is so much you can do with a setup like Staged, but I think that they dropped the ball so many times that it just feels like someone else should take over this format.

I’d completely understand if people disagree with me. These are just my criticisms of the show.

#this is very long i'm very sorry #staged #michael sheen #david tennant #these are just my opinions!!#Anonymous

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batboyblog · 4 years

Note

Something I’ve noticed about all these communist wannabes on twitter is they’re usually really homophobic towards gay men despite trying to champion LGBT rights, like last time I’ve checked it’s still illegal to be gay in many parts of the world.

So to take these two things apart.

A) Yes it is illegal in a lot of places to be gay, indeed in Iran they are still publicly killing people for gay sex. You are also seeing a scary roll back of gay rights in places like Poland with their “LGBT free Zones” covering about half the country? and Russia, where same sex parents are facing the threat of their mass arrest and their children being taken. In Chechnya (which is kinda a part of Russia, it’s complicated) there’s been mass murder of gay people by the government and it’s supporters which has been called a genocide

B) now to address “woke” leftist twitter/the internet... okay so it’s complicated and I’m tired. But basically there’s always been this largely white male idea that rejects “social issues” in general. Marx basically believed that everything was class based, of course he was a white male European so.... but left thinkers again largely white and male (and straight) have felt like things like civil rights, gay rights or feminism were distractions from class interest that if one could just get the “working class” to “wake up” they would realize that being racist, homophobic or sexist was silly because working class black, gay or female people were clearly friends and allies against the bosses!

come forward to 2015-16 you get Bernie Sanders who is semi-on the record as having felt like Obama focused on “identity politics” (the 21st century term for social issues) and this is what lost us “White Working Class” voters. That he could bring them back with big New Deal/Great Society/Socialist programs like Medicare for All or Free College. Now this energized many who’d felt that way for a long time and brought them from the fringes of American politics into the Democratic tent. It also empowered lots of young (white) college kids many male who had felt sidelined by conversations about “social issues” where their privilege was the problem in society. Much nicer to be told this was a “distraction” from issues that “really matter”

You still see it, on the post thats going around about Biden’s LGBT rights record someone declared that what Queer people “really need!” is health care. You see this a lot, a declaration that what minorities need is the same as everyone else (health care being the most often used) which is a backdoor way to shut down the idea we need to address their problems at all. Of course a few seconds of though will lead you to realize LGBT Americans need different rights when it comes to health care. Trans Americans need their health care covered not as out of pocket cosmetics, but the same way as a knee replacement or heart medication.

Which of course ignores that LGBT need laws that protect them from being fired, makes it a crime to refuse to rent or sell a home to an LGBT person, etc. there’s a whole generation coming up who don’t understand why we fought SO! hard for gay marriage. Will NEVER hear the horror stories of partners of 10, 20, 30 years refused entry to their loved one’s hospital rooms, spouses told that they had NO right to make medical choices for their partner but some second cousin their loved one hadn’t seen in 20 years was next of kin. People not able to go to the funeral of their loved one because their homophobic family got the body and not them.

Sorry to rant, it’s just the very dismissiveness of the whole gay marriage thing sets me off. You see a lot of that, “oh the homos just wanted a house in the suburbs with a white picket fence and to be non-threatening to straights”

any ways you got a lot of straight white boys who think that because they’re leftist they must be anti-racist, pro-LGBT, pro-woman, but they’ve never really reflected on what its like and they think, it’s like trickle down economics, if M4A is good enough for everyone it’ll in some way fix the other problems, if we make college free, if we do this or that it’ll trickle down and fix hate. It won’t.

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soyouareandrewdobson · 4 years

Text

Things Dobson mocks because he is too ignorant...

One “talent” Dobson seems to have, is the ability to alienate a lot of people through his opinions. And while he claims to be proud of that talent because he believes those he alienates are just assholes and racists who disagree with him CAUSE he attacks their abhorrent worldviews, the reality is much simpler; On average, people just don’t like him cause Dobson has no idea what he is talking about, which won’t however stop him from mocking the mere existence of certain things/interests and the people enjoying them. And those people tend not to be racists who want to see non-white people go extinct, but simply nerds and enthusiasts who like to enjoy their hobbies without the input of someone who won’t get over how he was bullied as a nerd back in school, but at the same time will bully you for being “nerdier”.

I could go into more detail how I mean that by analyzing a lot of his anime related SYAC strips as well as his soapbox strips on comic culture in a row. However, for the sake of “simplicity” I just like to go over one of his oldest strips, published around 2011. Back when Dobson was portraying himself still as a human. This strip alone will show how even a decade back, Dobson could just be an asshole to any “nerd” who dared to be into stuff he wasn’t, how he could manage to piss off many people all in one going AND be unfunny.

Now the first thing I want to put out is that I do not even think that Dobson’s primary intention with this strip was to mock others and their interests. See, one thing about So you are a cartoonist especially in its early days was, that it was in a way Dobson’s attempt to make himself look likeable in the eyes of others. He portrayed himself just as an Average Joe, wanting to make comics. This strip itself was even part of a series of strips I like to call “Things Dobson likes/dislikes”, which really were just him in each panel pointing at something he is into or not.

And honestly, part of me does not mind it. It is just Dobson’s attempt to show others how “quirky” or contrarian he is. The problem really steams more from the following two facts: a) It is not really a cartoon or comic if you think about it, because there isn’t a joke, punchline or story attached to them, just Dobson showing off what kind of person he is and b) that his “things I do not understand” comic is really mean spirited compared to the others if you look just a bit deeper into it.

Right from the beginning the strip is just indicative that this will be more mean spirited than Dobson will later like to claim it was. Otherwise he would not feel the need to say “chillax” as a sort of semi defense mechanism, cause if he really intended to make his grievances heard through “good fun” he would not need to say that. So from the gate we can assume its snarkier and more hurtful than it needs to be. So lets get through the things he does not understand, shall we?

Sports: I will admit that I am not really into sports myself, neither as a fan or someone participating in it competitively. I go to the gym however in order to feel good about myself and do something for my health instead of going every Friday to McDonalds. In addition, as long as you do not go overboard with being a fan or participating in it, I understand how sport can unite people (see events like the Olympics and Soccer worldcups) , and while I am baffled upon the fact that the salary of many people in sports (particularly soccer and football) are ridiculous high in addition to money they make with advertisement deals etc. I have respect for them. Respect for how they can stick to a hard training schedule, can take injuries, will do stuff for charity etc. Furthermore, unlike Dobson, I do not believe people who are into sports are dumb. Yes, I know the stereotype about college footballers and sports who only graduated because of their sports activities and are otherwise “meatheads”, but that stereotype does not apply to everything in reality, Dobson. Ever heard of NFL lineman Duvernay-Tardif, who also has a degree as a surgeon? Granted, he made that title only in 2018, seven years after the comic was made, so look a bit further and see what we find… Oh, look: Myron Rolle, college football player and later members of the Tennessee Titans and Pittsburgh Steelers around 2010/12: Has a bachelor degree in exercise science and in 2008 studied for a Master of science for medical anthropology in the UK.

Ron Mix, famous AFL and NFL football player forever immortalized in the Hall of Fame has a Juris Doctor Degree and after his work as a sports became an attorney.

And that are just three examples googled up in relation to American football. Other famous sports worldwide have degrees in medical and sports related sciences. Heck, one of Europe’s most famous boxer’s in the 2000s, Vitali Klitschko, not only has a doctors degree in sports, he is nowadays head of the governing party of Ukraine, following the independence of the country in 2014.

So stop wiggling your three sets of eyebrows and cease your smug grin and shove that periodic table up your ass, Dobson. I bet you yourself don’t even fucking know the chemical symbol for silver or titanium you Agonizing Twat who never got over the fact some popular kids in school bullied him.

Final Fantasy: I doubt Dobson ever even tried to play Final Fantasy or ANY JRPG, honestly. Heck, not only does Cloud look pretty wrong (anime hair seems to be another thing Dobson can not draw) but frankly, the statement of Cloud being an emo is false and is based on misinterpretation. Bear with me for a bit; Final Fantasy 7 is in my opinion a good game and it had a major impact on the series and the perception of JRPGs in the west. However, I do also believe that many people overhyped its quality over the years. Including SquareEnix themselves, who particularly around 2005 released all sorts of tie in and sequel games, including also the movie “Advent Children”. Or as I like to call those things, Tetsuya Nomura’s wankfest, because now all of sudden everything is related to some guy called Genesis, we have even more characters to supposedly care about than we already got through the original game, happy end override happens almost on every corner and “goth” aesthetics are everywhere. And Cloud himself became an embodiment of that emo/loner stereotype in anime and manga around that time, despite never having been like that in the original game if you ask me. Yes, Cloud in the original game went through a lot of emotional trauma and he was not like some happy go lucky laid back shonen manga protagonist. But he also didn’t come off as a pretentious fucktard who never showed emotions and shut himself off from his friends and allies. He was more of a determined person who still cared for others and wanted to stop Sephirot so no one suffered like he did. His most “depressing” moment was when Sephirot revealed his false memories, making Cloud question his own existence as an independent being to the point he was broken enough to hand the Meteor sphere to Sephirot, but that was about it. But hey, “emos” sell better, so SquareEnix tried to sell that aesthetics and others were just so dumb and further misinterpreted it as emoness being Cloud’s main character trait, when in reality freaking Squall Leonhard in his original game was worse than Cloud in comparison.

I also find the implication of Dobson, that Final Fantasy is pretentious in that panel funny as fuck. Cause Final Fantasy 13s’ pretty dumb story and wankery of clicheed anime tropes not withstanding, the average Final Fantasy game has a straightforward fantasy plot of good guys vs bad guys, with some twists and anime tropes thrown into the mix. The most pretentious guys in those games really are just the bad guys when they talk on average about how the world is suffering and misery, and even that is just straightforward nihilism to justify why they want to destroy everything. It is in fact so straightforward, most little kids will get it particularly in the first 6 games of the series, which are just set in more “classic” fantasy worlds to begin with. I am not saying the Final Fantasy franchise as a whole is flawless (I really am not a fan of 13 and its sequels, but if you like it, you do your thing) but you do not need a thesaurus to get why people enjoy it or individual games from it. So stop hating on an entire game series, which btw has actually some pretty awesome female characters in protagonistic roles in it too.

Twilight: Both an example of Dobson’s hypocricy and idiocy. Idiocy cause frankly, what is hard to understand why people liked the books? Twilight (in my opinion) was just a professionally published self insert fanfiction, in which Bella/the reader fell in love with the local bad boy who just happened to also be a vampire. Sure, a vampire in name only (seriously, if you asked me, the Cullens could be replaced with a lot of other fantasy creatures and it would barely affect anything), but that is beside the point. Shameless romance stories about someone falling in love with the bad boy who deep down has a heart of gold and just needs someone to fix them, are nothing new. So I was not surprised that people, particularly teenaged girls and other women, enjoyed it. It was the romance literature equivalent to fast food which just happened to explode in popularity because Young adult novels were a simultaneous hit and something needed to fill the void after Harry Potter. I read the first book myself and I thought nothing in particularly wrong with it, aside of the fact I thought the book itself was plotwise kinda dull. But that was not why people bought it, they wanted Bella getting together with the bad boy. The fact Dobson did not understand on what the popularity was build up on, is just an example for how Dobson does not even in theory understand how stories work and what it is on a pure technical level that makes them interesting and sell worthy to others.

As for the hypocritical aspect, that comes up nowadays when Dobson claims he feels bad for mocking Twilight all those years ago and how people were bad for making fun of it and Stephenie Meyer. That those who did it were like women hating assholes and still are if they do not apologize. Cause frankly, I feel a majority of people “apologizing” are just dishonest with themselves now. Apologizing primarily because in the eyes of some other people they look up to, if they do not they will be pariahs. Especially when extend of their initial childish disdain for Twilight becomes clear. I e.g. do not hate Lindsay Ellis aka the former Nostalgia Chick, but the fact she made a big apology video on Meyer was laughable when you see how she “stood” to her opinion back in the day to the point she wrote a novel to mock the kind of story Twilight did. Sure, she admitted to a lot of her own faults back in the day so there was also some self reflection to it and I respect that. But I think in a way this was also a tactic to just appease some other people and it does not take away that initially she had those thoughts about Twilight. And frankly, Twilight is problematic in a way.

Again, I read the first book and I did not consider it the worst thing in the world, just kinda dull for my taste. However, having read on a lot of things that happen in the book series itself, it is clear that Bella and Edward are some pretty horrid and selfish characters who barely get called out or face consequences for terrible actions. Take also into account the pacing of the story and you get on average a book series that deserved a certain amount of criticism from a technical point of view and Meyer’s at least being questioned about some of her decisions in the writing process. It did however not deserve book burnings or people mocking and harassing fans and the author, the former being mocked by Dobson here funnily enough.

Transformers: And what is it you find weird about people caring for cars? This is not even me being a cars fan here or something, I just ask because even that “explanation” is no explanation at all. He is just saying “I don’t care for X because I also do not care much for Y”. The correlation between the two is missing.

As for why people care about those two things Dobson, perhaps it is for the following:

Cars because people like the aesthetics, the technics, like to build stuff or get a rush by driving them. Transformers, because people just like action as well as the lore to the franchise and think giant robots turning into vehicles is cool, as long as Michael Bay is not involved in creating a story.

Furries: As with cars, likely aesthetics. Anthropomorphic animals have been part of our culture even long before cartoons (just look at fables, fairy tales and legends all across the world involving animals) so I assume there is even something more subconsciously involved with it. And frankly, I like furries myself. Some of them are way better artists than Dobson could ever be. That said, I do as an individual draw a line at furries that harass other people and show creators, hurt animals or are combining their interests with some really weird sex fetishes (two words: diaper fur). Which I guess do many other people cause there is a healthy amount of furries and non furries who have standards. The thing is just Dobson seems to think all furries are the same. Not to forget that for a long time he did everything denying he was interested in furries, citing his college as a reason for it cause people there installed a hatred for furries into him. A wonder then he would even enjoy Looney Tunes anymore. And honestly, himof all people mocking people for having a “sick” fetish? I am sorry Dobson, but compared to the kind of inflation you drew, I would say the average furry (as in someone who just draws two adult fursonas making out with each other under consent) is less “disturbing” than you. Someone who did not just inflate the female, at times underaged victims, but also made them pop/killed them.

DnD: I wish I had the comment Dobson posted on deviantart under the comic, as in it he digged himself even deeper with every panel and the explanations he gave. Just to show I am not pulling it out of my ass when I say for DnD one of the main reasons he hated it was that he thought nerds made the fantasy genre even nerdier by adding math to it.

Oh no. The fact people have to add numbers from a couple of dices together is too high of a math concept for Dobson. So those people must have absolutely no lives and are all just fat, bald and with acne.

Seriously though, fuck off. I am not into table top gaming, but whoever is, they shall just have fun. And stop body shaming nerds with the way you draw the DnD player here (and in that other infamous DnD comic he did), especially when you yourself look like a shaved egg in real life. Heck, did you know of all people Vin Diesel enjoys DnD?

Just let the people enjoy their adventure campaigns and come together once in a while instead of being shut offs like you, whose only experience with an interactive fantasy story involves playing Skyrim at 10 fps.

And yes, I am aware that Dobson has changed his opinions on DnD now thanks to some podcast. But based on his record, I feel that Dobson only did join it because it is now the cool thing to care on average about DnD as nerd. In addition he also did not own up to his past “mistake” till people just called him out on his bullshit often enough.

Klingons: Okay, I am not much of a Trekkie myself, but again, I get that people just like the aesthetics of them and the story crafted around Klingon culture within the franchise. So, just let them have fun with it. What is even the “joke” here? That people enjoy it despite it “just” being black Asian barbaric samurai in space, which is a very simplistic, in my opinion even outright racist description based on the choice of words here? Frankly, I am glad he did not just also add a racist Japanese accent to the guy here.

So there you have it: Things Dobson does not understand and essentially mocks for existing. And don’t get me wrong, I have no problem with Dobson not “getting” those things. Everyone has their own tastes, likes and dislikes as well as reasons why they are into it or not. I e.g. understand that people enjoy Bob’s Burger, but I myself really do not like the show much, because most characters come off as annoying to me in terms of personality and quirks. That said, I understand the visual appeal to it, if you like it that is fine and if you ass why I don’t like it I will give an explanation to it. What I will not do is make a comic mocking the existence of it, imply that my disinterest is correlated to me thinking there is also something inherently wrong with you if you enjoy it and build my disinterest on none existing issues with the thing in question.

Dobson however seems to have done that quite a couple of times and combined with his self righteous nature, it becomes kinda obvious why people began hating his stuff to the point that almost all of 4chan and tumblr developed a stern disdain for him.

#adobsonsartwork #adobsonartwork #syac #andrew dobson #twilight #final fantasy 7 #final fantasy #ff7 #sports #western comics #dobson being a prick to nerds #so you are a cartoonist

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quentinblack · 3 years

Photo

Smoke and Mirrors

Word Count: 5K words

Chapter 14 - Harry IV: The Camden Raid (link to full story on FF.net)

Featuring: Harry Potter, Ernie MacMillian, Savage, OC

Warnings: Racism, Slightly graphic violence

The relatively busy tube almost entirely emptied as it stopped at Tottenham Court Road station, with the eclectic carriage of muggle tourists of all colours and creeds emptying out to enjoy the shopping opportunities on offer.

The commercial London street had much darker connotations for Harry himself. He vividly recalled the destruction that had been caused when they had encountered Antonin Dolohov and Thorfinn Rowle in that dingy café during the aftermath of Bill and Fleur’s wedding.

Sometimes he wondered how many deaths that the two dark wizards had been personally responsible for after they were defeated that night.

He knew deep down that the three of them had made the right moral choice to show the men mercy, that to kill them would have sunk Harry, Ron and Hermione to the Death Eater’s level – but that didn’t stop him from playing devil’s advocate in his mind.

Dolohov and Rowle were both stone-cold killers and the three of them had inadvertently let them go on to wreak more havoc on the wizarding world. It killed Harry to think that this may have led to the deaths of Tonks, Remus, George or any of the others that ultimately lost their lives.

The former and possibly more dangerous of the duo was at least now safely behind bars, but the erratic Thorfinn Rowle was still at large and possibly in cahoots with the other five missing Death Eaters.

It was two of those missing Death Eaters, Rabastan and Rodolphus Lestrange, that had led Harry and the eight other magical passengers onto the Northern Line service that evening. As the scattering of muggle passengers alighted the carriage Harry could once again see the other two groups of three Ministry staff huddled together throughout the train.

The furthest to Harry’s group at the rear of the carriage were Femi Wakanda, dressed in a flamboyant, yet still quite practical purple gown and Neville, in a comfortable looking grey hoodie, both gripping a hand onto the bars above their head, whilst the considerably shorter Conrad Proudfoot could only reach a bar that was many inches lower below his colleagues. Wakanda and Proudfoot seemed to be having a hushed conversation, as Neville remained silent, with a deep and thoughtful look in his eyes.

Harry had at first thought his pureblood friend had just felt a bit uncomfortable on what would possibly be his maiden muggle tube voyage, but then he remembered the obvious connection and extra investment that the sole son and heir of Frank and Alice Longbottom would have in this mission.

The closer trio, at the front-facing side of the carriage, was the attractive young muggle-born witch Farzana Badwal, alongside the foreboding figure of Robert Williamson and his flustered young protégé, Ernie MacMillan, who certainly was feeling quite uncomfortable on his first trip on the London Underground. He had not at first grasped the concept of holding onto the bars to keep your balance, so as soon as the train had departed Charing Cross he had been violently flung into Farzana - who had wasted no time in giving him a stern telling off, with many muggle strangers quietly laughing nearby.

Rhea Savage and Josh Morris, who Harry was grouped up with, had both also laughed at Ernie’s mishap, much to his horror. Savage and Morris were both muggle-borns themselves so were no doubt more up to speed with using non-wizarding transport – and indeed, also wearing non-wizarding clothes, as they both blended in fairly well with their respective leather and denim jackets.

Josh Morris looked particularly sharp as he wore his faux-wool collars up, with a low cut white t-shirt underneath it that showed off his muscly frame. His fingers were adorned with several eye-catching rings, the most noteworthy of which was in the shape of a golden eagle. Harry had even noticed a couple of the young female muggle tourists eyeing him up, although Josh himself had been completely oblivious to them.

“So… since we have a few more stops and some time to kill, tell me, did you see much action in New York?” Rhea probed, as she shot her brawny colleague a slight wink as they each sat down in the now vacated seats.

Harry recalled in his mind the time that Ron had commented on the wacky designs and patterns on muggle public transport – and his horrified reaction when Hermione had said that it was primarily only to help hide the dust and the dirt.

“Erm… well there was the odd bit of bother here and there… but nothing massively exciting, I spent most of the time floating between the Transport and the Magi-… the Creatures department,” he quickly corrected, as he remembered they were still in the presence of a few muggles scattered about the carriage.

Harry was pretty sure though that even with Josh’s belated amendment that there was no such equivalent department for ‘creatures’ in the muggle government.

“Guessing they thought I’d want to avoid too much action given I’d transferred from Britain,” Josh continued. “Still, it could’ve been much worse if Kingsley stuck to his original plan to send me home to Manila. It would’ve been nice to see my parents a bit more, but man, way too many…”

He silently mouthed ‘dragons’ to the two of them.

“…causing all kinds of shit all of the time. It’s crazy how lapse the Filipino Ministry are about them, it’s a different world out there, man!” he said as he enthusiastically gestured his hands about whilst talking.

Rhea scoffed slightly, as the train briefly stopped at Goodge Street, as the last of the muggle passengers remaining on the carriage left the train.

“That’s great Josh, but I wasn’t talking about that kind of action…” she replied, rolling her eyes at him as the doors slammed shut and they began moving again.

Josh burst out laughing as soon as he realized what she had meant.

“For fuck sake Rhea!” Josh jeered.

“What?!” she replied in a mock incredulous tone. “An attractive fashionable bloke like you with a nice British accent and those muscles, you must have had all of the American witches queuing up for a go like you were Harry Potter or something!”

Harry laughed awkwardly as Josh sniggered slightly at Rhea’s remark, with the muggles now all off the train it seemed that they could now speak more freely.

Rhea crossed her legs, putting her right over her left, as Harry caught the outline of a brightly coloured Holyhead Harpies tattoo that was partially on display through her ripped black jeans, which were tucked into a well-worn pair of purple doc martens boots.

“Well, there was this one girl…” Josh began, as Rhea smiled enthusiastically.

“Details! I need details, Josh,” Rhea snapped back quickly. “Do you know how many lesbian or bisexual witches there were in Paris? Nil-pwa, mon amie!”

“Alright… alright, keep your hair on… so on this one assignment when I was in the Department of Transport I got chatting to this one chick, Kimberley, she was from Texas…”

“Ooh, Kimberley from Texaaas!” Rhea ribbed in a mock Southern accent, which caused Josh to laugh involuntarily.

“Well you know me, I have a soft-spot for blondes, so we kinda hit it off from the get go and yes… she did love the British accent… we were seeing each other almost every other day after work at her place for well over a month and then one night…” he stopped mid-sentence, looking a bit uncomfortable.

“And then what?!” Rhea demanded, on the edge of her seat in anticipation.

“… and then one night her husband came home! Of course, she never told me about him now, did she?”

“Bloody hell,” Harry muttered.

“You can say that again!” Rhea added.

“And it’s not what you think. She wasn’t that sort of girl… well, not really. It was a pureblood arranged marriage type deal that their parents had set up, or rather, her parents had set up with him. He was this rich potion-maker, much older than her, almost old enough to be her dad…”

“Jesus…” Rhea mumbled with a disgusted look on her face.

“I felt a bit bad for her… but as you can imagine it went down like a sack of shit with him. It turned out he was reasonably influential at the MACUSA too… he was one of their biggest suppliers of potions in the entire country and he winded up being the main reason why I got transferred to the Creatures department outpost in Arkansas.”

“Tough break, mate,” Rhea sympathised. “We’ve all been there.”

“You’ve been caught sleeping with a married woman too?” Josh quizzed back, with a look of real intrigue on his face.

“A lady never tells,” Rhea said in a faux-posh accent, as the train pulled into Warren Street and a group of three muggle-men, all armed with beers cans in hand, stumbled on board their carriage and started arguing among themselves.

“I’m fucking tellin’ ya Trevva, Hoddle ain’t got a clue. He ain’t got a bloody clue! How’s he not gonna take Gazza to the World Cup?”

said the shortest of the three men, before downing the rest of his can and belching loudly, which drew a rather disgusted groan from Farzana Badwal on the other side of the carriage. The man, who had a buzz cut and a poorly kept beard, did not notice her, nor did either of his friends..

“Don’t worry Mark bruv,” replied the tallest of the three, who was wearing a black baseball cap and slurring his words quite considerably. “He knows what he’s doing. It’s coming home!” he cheered, as he took a large swig of his own can of beer.

“Ere chuck us anuvva Stella then Tel,” the short man with the buzz cut light-heartedly ordered the man in the middle, who had spiked up hair and was wearing a creased black shirt that was much too big for him.

‘Tel’ obliged and passed Mark, the shortest man, another beer, as the baseball cap wearing muggle, Trevva, began eyeing up Rhea, before his eyes eventually fell on Harry.

“What’d you reckon four-eyes?” he asked, before briefly stumbling as the tube hit a bit of a bump. “You think it’s comin’ home?”

“Oh yes… definitely,” Harry replied, as he attempted to not rise to the jibe about his glasses. He had absolutely no idea what they were talking about. Besides, they were on an important mission and the last thing they needed was any trouble with a group of rowdy drunk muggles, so he gave him the answer that he thought he would want to hear.

“See it’s fuckin’ comin’ home lads!” Tel announced triumphantly to his two cronies, as he enthusiastically poured a large amount of lager into his mouth, spilling some over both himself and the floor of the train in the process.

“What do you think sweet cheeks?” Mark said to Rhea, as he too started to eye her up.

Harry noticed that Josh no longer seemed to be in the jovial mood he had been in before. It was almost as if he was anticipating and preparing for some kind of trouble. The look on Savage’s face certainly suggested that there may well be some on the cards, although Harry was sure that the Head Auror would keep her cool.

“I don’t care much for football… and I certainly don’t care much for men who call me sweet cheeks,” she hissed, whilst giving the three of them a cold stare, before suddenly rising to her feet. Josh jumped to his feet too, with Harry following his lead.

“HA! She’d be so lucky ehh lads?” Mark said, addressing both of his friends. “Ugly fucking greebo anyway. Off to go slit your wrists at the rock show are you, love?” he goaded, as Trevva and Tel laughed along, eyeing up both Harry and Josh as they did so.

Josh initially looked like he might rise to their attempts at provoking them – but Rhea shot him a fierce glare which kept him at bay.

“Aww, you not gonna defend your girlfriend? Must have a tiny pair of bollocks to go with that tiny little cock of yours!” Tel jested, daring Josh to react. Harry ran his fingers along the shaft of his wand through his jacket pocket, ready to use it as discreetly as he could should the time come.

“Is there a problem here?” Williamson demanded, as the tall wizard came to their aide, presumably having noticed the commotion.

The large Auror towered over the drunk trio, even Trevva, the tallest of the three troublesome muggles, but they showed no sign of backing down – in-fact, Williamson’s arrival to the scene, with Ernie and Farzana in tow, only seemed to increase their desire for some kind of conflict.

“Who’d you think you’re talking to? Long haired cunt. Only problem here is your fucking barnet!” Trevva joked, which caused Tel and Mark to laugh too, although Harry thought the shortest of the three, Mark, did seem at least a little intimidated by the comparatively giant Williamson.

“Well, I say,” Ernie uttered in a dubious manner. “That is quite the insult from a man so insecure about his own haircut that he conceals it beneath a hat.”

“Ernie!” Robert berated under his breath, although Harry thought that for a moment Williamson had shown a slight smile and possibly even a fondness for Ernie at coming to his defence so quickly.

Harry thought he even caught a momentary grin from Farzana Badwal at Ernie’s albeit quite passé retaliation at the muggle.

“You’ll be insecure about having no teeth in your fucking mouth in a minute you fucking toff,” Tel raged at Ernie, as he threw his now empty beer can aside and raised his fists for a fight.

“Don’t worry about it Robert, they’ll be getting off at the next stop,” Rhea calmly instructed, as she saw the pony-tailed Auror losing his patience, with both Ernie and Josh also clearly ready for some kind of altercation, should it come to that. Harry felt more confident about Josh’s chances than Ernie’s and even his own should it wind up being one without wands.

“Oh yeah, so who’s gonna make us get off then, you dirty goth slut?” Trevva asked incredulously, as his two friends stared the rest of them down in a quite antagonistic manner, as Josh and Williamson exchanged a quick knowing glance.

“We’ll be at Euston soon,” Farzana said quickly, with a tone of frustration and impatience in her voice. “Let’s just confundus them now and be done with it.”

“You won’t do nuffink you blimmin’ paki!” Tel spat – and that was when it suddenly all kicked off.

Ernie MacMillan directed a punch at the much taller Tel as soon as the racist slur had left the muggle’s mouth. He stumbled slightly, but his friend Trevva soon got a strike of his own away, right into the former Hufflepuff prefect’s prim and proper face, sending him hurtling to the ground in a heap.

“You stay out of this,” Rhea ordered under her breath to Harry, as Williamson instantly jumped in to Ernie’s defence, as he sent a thundering right hand into Trevva’s nose, knocking him back a few steps, but surprisingly not down to the floor.

Morris laid a punch and a kick into Mark, who retaliated instantly by hurtling his half-empty beer can at Josh, splashing beer all over the muggle-born auror’s denim-jacket, whilst Rhea landed a heavy kick on Tel, who felt the full force of the half-French witch’s boot to his shin before she whacked him in the chin.

Farzana fought her way through and hit Tel with a vicious slap of her own as a receipt for his insult to her, before Willamson connected with another right hook to Trevva that did finally floor the tall baseball cap wearing muggle.

Harry jumped in to stop Tel from hitting Rhea, with the muggle’s knuckles slightly knocking into Harry’s head in the process. He felt momentarily dazed for a moment, before he heard a still-on-the-floor Ernie MacMillan yell “STUPEFY!” at the top of his lungs, soon after upon which a jet of red light hurtled into Tel, causing him to crash into the carriage door and down onto the floor.

Morris had a clearly defeated Mark pinned to the door, as the short man with the buzz cut looked absolutely horrified and in fear for his life having just witnessed his friend be knocked unconscious by magic.

The next station is Euston

“What in Merlin’s name has happened here?!” Femi Wakanda demanded, as she marched over with a concerned looking Neville and Conrad Proudfoot, who had rushed over from the other side of the carriage.

Harry gave Williamson a hand pulling a slightly bloodied and dazed Ernie MacMillan back to his feet, as Williamson told Ernie off for using magic, before checking that his young trainee was alright and fussing over his injuries.

“The muggles started it. Couldn’t be helped,” Williamson said quickly in Ernie’s defence, as an embarrassed looking Rhea pulled out her wand and started obliviating Trevva and Tel, as Morris did the same to Mark.

“All the same we’re on a tight schedule that doesn’t factor in fights with muggles or breaking the international statute of secrecy,” Wakanda grumbled, clearly unimpressed with the events that had transpired.

The train pulled into Euston and between Josh, Rhea and Harry they quickly managed to jostle the three muggles off of the train and onto the platform, as Williamson and Farzana began patching up Ernie’s face.

Wakanda used a voiceless spell to shut the carriage door as soon as the drunken muggles were off the train. Harry was not sure what type of magic she had used, but the electronic doors stayed shut even when several bewildered would-be passengers pressed the button on the door to get on.

“Luckily for us they don’t have any security cameras on these wretched things,” Wakanda muttered under her breath in a condescending fashion, as she shot Rhea a deeply unimpressed look.

Savage led the way as they made their way through the Camden Town underground station exit and into the night.

“BUY OR SELL FEEDER! FEEDER BUY OR SELL!” shouted a tall middle-aged white man in a thick black coat.

“FEEDER TICKETS BUY OR SELL!” bellowed another similarly dressed dark skinned muggle.

“There must be a gig on tonight,” Rhea noted to Harry and Josh as she guided them past without looking at the muggles. “They’re ticket touts. When a gig is sold out they sell tickets for it at double the price,” she added, with the sound of disdain and loathing in her voice.

“But how do they get the tickets if it’s already sold out?” Josh asked.

“They purposely buy a load when they go on sale specifically just to sell them on at a profit closer to the time,” Rhea replied.

“Is that even legal? To sell them on like that, just for a profit?” Harry enquired.

“No, not strictly speaking, but the muggle police don’t really bother enforcing it,” Rhea said. “I’m sure in the future when you can just buy and sell tickets on the internet it will cut these scummy touts right out of the equation though,” she added in a hopeful tone, as she checked behind to ensure that the other two groups were just behind them – they were, as Harry spotted a now blood-free Ernie MacMillan, with Williamson and Badwal making their way through the crowded Camden street.

“BUY OR SELL FEEDER TICKETS! BUY OR SELL-

Harry spotted the next ticket tout abruptly stop his hollering, as he noticed a pair of muggle police officers dressed in the customary fluorescent yellow night-time wear. The muggle man calmly put his hands in his pockets and casually strolled off in the hope they hadn’t spotted him – and he was in luck, as they hadn’t.

The first two touts they had initially walked past at the station were not as fortunate though, as Harry looked behind and could see that they hadn’t notice the two coppers walking towards them.

“See look at that,” Josh began incredulously. “It’s so much easier for the muggle police. Those three drunk blokes would’ve never started on us if we were coppers.”

“Yes… quite,” Rhea added slightly absent-mindedly, seemingly caught in a deep-thought.

“BUY OR SELL TICKETS!” yelled a tall man with a deep voice directly ahead of them. “FALMOUTH FALCONS BUY OR SELL!”

The large figure stepped into the light and Harry instantly recognized him as Kingsley Shacklebolt.

“Minister,” Rhea uttered formally, as Kingsley shot Harry a quick wink. They formed a semi-circle in-front of the Minster for Magic, with Williamson, Ernie and Badwal quickly joining, before Wakanda, Neville and Proudfoot formed in behind them too.

Harry saw Kingsley mutter something under his breath, but it was so quiet it was barely audible. His wand hand was still in his jacket pocket, so Harry guessed it must’ve been some kind of enchantment to stop passing muggles hearing what he was about to say to them.

“As I’m sure you’re all aware from your venture on the muggle underground,” Kingsley began, speaking quickly. “We’ve got an anti-apparation barrier secured in the area a mile wide in all directions. We can’t get in or out, but neither can they – and that’s all that matters. The Floo-network is on lockdown. Peasegood and Podmore are acting as air support, just in-case they have brooms and attempt to fly out.”

“Minister, surely you’re not going to be-

Kingsley interrupted the Head Auror with a heavy sigh of frustration.

“You will be pleased to know that I have heeded the Head of Magical Law Enforcement’s concerns that as Minister for Magic I should not be taking part in raids,” he said in an annoyed tone.

“Gawain is waiting for you not far from here, just keep walking straight ahead until you reach the phone box at the end of the road,” Kingsley said, before he gave Rhea a stern look. “I’ll be in the Mexican restaurant just across the street. If anything serious goes down you will send your patronus for me immediately… and that’s an order.”

“Yes Minister, sir,” Rhea replied swiftly, as Kingsley smiled a little, possibly still not used to being addressed as Minister or sir.

“I wish you all the best of luck,” Shacklebolt said, as he began to slowly stroll off in the opposite direction.

“And Rhea…” Kingsley barked, turning his head back round to face them all.

“Yes?” she replied confidently, although Harry sensed some nerves in her voice.

“Try not to take too long, girl! They’ve got 2 for 1 mojitos all night at this place. I can’t be duelling drunk at my age,” he sniggered.

“Just make sure you save some for us!” Josh shot back hopefully.

“You guys lock up those damned Lestrange brothers tonight – I’ll get you all so many mojitos that Proudfoot there will end the night puking up on another pair of Robards’ loafers!”

They followed the path that the pavement took them on for a few minutes in relative silence, until they reached the phone box and Robards revealed himself.

“Quickly! Behind me, single file,” he ordered, as Rhea formed a line behind their boss. Robards weaved through a back alley at a frantic pace that was as close to a sprint as he could manage, then led them out to a large opening by the lock.

“It’s that house over there,” he said quietly, pointing in the direction of a very derelict looking property about fifty metres away.

Harry thought it was quite generous to even call it a house. It looked more like a shack, not all that unlike the hut on the rock that Vernon had ferried them off to all those years ago.

“Took us a while to uncover it and make it visible to the naked eye. The muggles still can’t see it though,” Robards said. “It had some damn good protective charms on it. We’ve not breached the inner defences yet, so if they are in there they won’t know that we’ve found them yet.”

“Willamson,” he commanded.

“Yes, boss?” Williamson replied.

“Take MacMillan and Longbottom and secure the perimeter. You join them too, Proudfoot.”

Williamson and Proudfoot did as they were told without hesitation, ushering the two young apprentice Aurors along with them as they started casting protective enchantments around the nearby area as an additional defence.

“We’ll need heavy firepower to break the house’s defences,” he continued. “Savage. Wakanda. You’ll join me at the front. Badwal and Morris, you’ll act as cover.”

“Potter,” Robards muttered, as he put his hands into his worn-out woven woolly jacket.

“Yes,” Harry replied, eagerly anticipating his own orders from the Head of Magical Law Enforcement.

“You’re on air support with Peasegood and Podmore,” he said sternly, pulling out what looked like a Cleansweep Eleven from an enchanted bag in his pocket.

Harry tried to hide his disappointment at what he felt was Robards trying to keep him out of harm’s way, but his boss seemed to have an innate ability to spot what he was thinking.

“You’re the best flyer we’ve got, son. Podmore’s not bad on a broom, but he’s no Harry Potter. Now get up there and sit tight,” he added, before giving Harry a firm pat on the back and heading over to the house with Savage, Wakanda, Morris and Badwal.

Harry did as he was told and got onto the broom and quickly ascended into the cloudy sky.

He saw what looked like Sturgis Podmore directly ahead of him, with another figure who he guessed must be Arnold Peasegood to his left.

The warm spring wind brushed against his exposed face as he flew up to meet them, before he banked left and turned to watch over the house like the other two were doing. Podmore gave him a nod of acknowledgement and Peasegood winked at him.

From where they were positioned they really did have a perfect bird’s eye view of the proceedings on the ground, as Harry could see Robards, Savage and Wakanda all armed with their wands slowly approaching the front of the house, with Morris and Badwal close behind them on either flank.

In the distance he could just make out Williamson and MacMillan setting up additional shield charms on one side, with Neville and Proudfoot doing the same on the other.

“You reckon those bastards are in there?” Peasegood pondered to nobody in particular.

Podmore didn’t respond, instead rolling his eyes slightly as he appeared to want to silently focus on the mission at hand.

“Life in prison’s not good enough for those scumbags,” Peasegood continued. “Sooner we catch ‘em, the sooner they can go the way of their master.”

Suddenly there was movement on the ground.

“EXCINDO TUTELA!” came the distant cries of Robards, Savage and Wakanda, as blinding bolts of blue came flying out of their wands and crashed into the front of the house.

Harry could not tell if they had broken the inner defences of the property, but Robards sent a probing bolt of yellow sparks, which seemed to go straight through the front door unopposed.

Gawain raised his arm and ushered the others to follow him onto the porch, before he stopped abruptly just outside the door, with his wand pointed out cautiously.

Harry heard an odd flickering type noise.

It almost sounded like the noise a golden snitch would make when it was fluttering around in the nearby vicinity.

He adjusted his ear slightly and thought that it rather sounded like a ticking kind of sound, like the one a muggle alarm clock might make.

It looked as though Savage and Robards were having a heated discussion about something on the ground, with Robards waving away whatever it was that Rhea was saying to him.

“Anyone else hear that weird ticking sound?” Peasegood enquired. “Almost sounds like a bomb or something-

“OH FUCK!” Podmore yelled, as Harry saw Josh Morris suddenly barge past both Savage and Robards, thrust them out of the way and loudly cast “PROTEGO!” at the top of his lungs.

The initial explosion of the bomb almost threw Harry off of his broom.

He scrambled to cling onto it as shards of debris and smoke came flying up into the sky at random.

Harry ducked and dived on instinct alone as his glasses became fogged up and he lost all of his senses.

His ears had been deafened by the great sound that came from the detonation and all he could hear now was a migraine inducing ringing noise piercing into his ear-drums.

As he slowly gained his composure he flew out of the now thick, black smoke and plummeted to the ground as quickly as he could.

He could just make out the figures of Podmore and Peasegood who had just landed themselves.

Harry pulled up alongside them as they rushed to survey the damage.

The derelict house that had once stood in-front of where they were standing was now nothing more than a pile of fiery rubble.

Harry saw an uncharacteristically weary looking Gawain Robards in a heap on the floor.

He was covered in black smoke and debris, but he was still breathing and alongside Peasegood and Williamson who had now rushed onto the scene they helped pull him up.

Robards coughed heavily, possibly having inhaled a lot of smoke.

“Don’t fucking worry about me,” he wheezed, taking a deep breath before coughing again. “Where are the others?!”

To their right Badwal and Ernie had spotted Wakanda and were slowly helping her rise to her feet. She looked like she’d injured her left leg when she’d fallen to the ground, but other than that she did not look too bad, although her once vibrant violet dress was now a shade of dusty, dirty brown.

“Savage!” Podmore cried loudly, as Neville and Proudfoot helped him magically elevate a large pile of wooden debris which looked like it was once the front door.

The door had shattered into several pieces and seemingly crashed straight into the Head Auror, striking and then trapping her onto the ground, although aside from a few cuts and bruises on her face she looked relatively unharmed in the grand scheme of things.

“Where’s Josh?” was all she could muster, as she too coughed heavily, having probably also inhaled a lot of smoke in the blast.

Harry helped the others as they used wingardium leviosa and other charms to quickly lift the fallen remains of the property to try and find Josh Morris amongst the wreckage.

It took a few minutes to find him, but Harry knew they must have located Josh when he heard Rhea cry out in horror.

Morris lay flat out on his back in a huge pile of blood, eyes closed, with his left arm laying prone and clearly broken.

Yet, it was his right arm that had taken the most damage in the explosion – as it lay five feet away from him, no longer attached to his body.

The flamboyant golden rings still sat on the fingers of his severed and crimson-soaked right hand, with the golden eagle staring directly up at Harry.

Podmore was the quickest to reach his fallen colleague, as a distressed Savage froze up in fear for her friend.

Sturgis put his hand out and reached down towards Josh’s neck, softly feeling around for a pulse.

“He’s still alive…just… but we need to get him to St Mungo’s… now!”

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pappycakes-21 · 4 years

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So, I've noticed something....

I have never seen a scene in an apocalyptic/survival/dystopian movie/book/ game that shows you the early days after everything goes tits up.

Sure, you have shows like Fear The Walking Dead that show you snipits of how things went down and the immediate aftershock, but we never really see things crumble down around the characters feet.

How would the power grid finally die out, if not all at once? What about the aftermath of an atomic bomb, and everything goes out at the same time, or over the span of a few minutes? The TV show 'Life After People' on the History Channel kinda goes into this, but not enough for me personally.

How would scavenging for supplies happen? How would someone react to walking up to a seemingly empty house or store, only to see the light from a fire or flash light bouncing off the walls? I know food, camping supplies, and weapons/ammo tends to go first, but what do looters usually take after that?

Money no longer is viable, so what do people resort to when things kinda stable out? The old barter system or something else? Or, maybe, money stays the main way to get things from other people for a few months at least, but what about after that? The "Fallout" franchise uses the metal caps off of twist-top glass soda bottles as currency, but this is just an example.

And what about family documents and photos? Do people just leave them behind, or do you take the most important ones? I would personally take my birth certificate and a few photos to remind my self of certain things, or to prove to someone that I am who I say I am in the next few days.

What happens to governmental figure heads (I.E. monarchs, presidents, etc...)? Do they suffer like everyone else, or are they placed under lock and key until everything (hopefully) goes back to normal? Or, are they currently unable to get to anytype of bunker, so they are placed under house arrest in a random home, surrounded by secret service, or the equivalent of the secret service, until everything blows over, praying that no one tries to attack them?

And what about those on vacation in a different country? They, most likely, have little to no knowledge of the local language(s)/dialect(s) or customs, and they're stuck in a strange land surrounded by strange people speaking a language that you most likely don't know more than three words in. I'm an American, who only remembers less than 50 words of Spanish from three years of it in middle/high School, so I know I'm shit outta luck if I get stuck somewhere were English isn't widely spoken because our school system fucking SUCKS.

And what about people who are in cruise ships or cargo barges, and they are completely in the dark because their radio/gps systems went out days or weeks ago? How would they react when they get to the port and see that everything went to shit and practically every one was gone?

How would governments crumble? The American government shut down for a hot minute because they couldn't agree on weather or not to let people look in the general direction of a hospital or ER without going into thousands and thousands of dollars of medical debt, so you damn well know that that shit would crumble in a millisecond if something catastrophic happened.

I could go on and on, but I wonder if anyone else wonders about this also.

#apocalypse #fear the walking dead #survival #dystopian #we're fucked #it's three am #i need answers #i need sleeeeeeeeep

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wiener-soldiers · 4 years

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operation omega - recon (iv)

summary: years after the avengers dismantle HYDRA, the group remerges more dangerous than ever. their modus operandi? infiltrating foreign governments, stealing and reproducing their weapons, and selling them to terrorist groups. when the us government approaches the avengers for help on a secret operation with a secret asset, they are reluctant to agree. it isn’t until their quinjet almost gets shot down in the middle of nowhere when the understand that omega means business.

pairing: bucky barnes x SEAL!reader

words: 3.7k

warnings: swearing, recounting of violence/morally ambiguous acts, slight angst

a/n: italics are flashbacks (but yall alrdy knew that) and it kinda gets intense. and i barely edited this ha.

taglist: add yourself here!

OPERATION OMEGA MASTERLIST

Bucky’s been on hundreds of missions before, but for some reason, he’s nervous about this one.

Logically, he knows he has no real reason to be: Omega was the most skilled people the world had. If the Avengers didn’t have enhanced individuals, he knows that Omega would be running circles around them.

But from where he sat in the hot, dusty market, he could feel is heart thump in his throats as he listened to Y/N give orders through the comms. Every time she spoke, Bucky could feel his throat tighten. He knows it was his own fault that he wasn’t helping Natasha and Dr. Marge break into the suspected HYDRA factory. Instead, he sat at an outdoor patio in a chair that was way too small for him.

---

“You’re late,” Y/N says in full Captain mode as Tony scurries inside the command room.

“Semantics,” he said weakly before her stern glare quickly shut him up.

“I know we’re friends,” Y/N started as she paced around the front of the command room, “but on the field, I am your Captain. If I give an order, you will follow it. I don’t tolerate people going off and shooting the shit. This isn’t just your reputation on the line, it’s ours too. Do I make myself clear?”

She gets a chorus of affirmative responses.

“Chain of command is me, then Steve, then Jack, then Abigail. If Abigail loses the chain of command, you make an emergency abort, clear?”

Another chorus of affirmative replies.

Y/N’s lips crook upwards. “Good.”

---

Steve sat across from him, sipping tea and pretending not to look suspicious. Hordes of people were walking through the market—if they only knew how many deadly soldiers were in the market with them.

Or, of course, that the factory mass producing high-tech weapons smack dab in the middle of the market.

Steve’s disguise was more elaborate than Bucky’s; while Bucky was relatively unknown compared to the other Avengers, Steve was an international symbol of American patriotism. Y/N had almost forced him to sit the mission out and take a tactical role as opposed to an operational role. Steve only convinced her to let him on the ground just in case there were enhanced guarding the building.

Y/N only barely agreed.

Bucky wore a loose linen blouse—light enough for him not to fry under the blistering sun, but loose enough to easily hide an ultra-thin, Vibranium tactical vest and an array of small firearms and combat knives. His hair was tied up in a half-up bun with tendrils falling to hide any distinctive facial features. Steve, however, had to wear a cloaking mask, similar to one Natasha used when she infiltrated Alexander Pierce’s office. His face was barely recognizable, and his tunic was extra baggy to hide any muscle. What made Steve especially uncomfortable was that he didn’t have his shield.

“Everyone in position?” Y/N finally asks through the comms.

“Nat and I are in position,” Marge says quietly, trying to stay hidden from any possible guards.

“I got eyes on I have visual on Stark and Wilson. Oversight is in position,” Dom says from the jet silently hovering above them with cloaking on.

“I’m clear,” John says from the other side of the market. Bucky can see the tint of his reflective sunglasses from the corner of his eye.

“Abi and I are clear,” John says from a rooftop on overlooking the market.

“Bucky and I are clear,” Steve says from across the table.

“Good,” Y/N says. “It’s fourteen-hundred hours. Nat and Marge, you’re clear to enter the building. And for the rest of you,” she pauses, “if you fuck this up, I’ll kill you myself.”

Bucky gulps and give Steve a wary glance.

“You okay, Buck?”

“Peachy.”

“Our mission is to infiltrate this building,” Y/N calls out as the projection of the map in the command room zooms into a satellite photo of a market. “A couple months ago, Omega gathered intel confirmed by the BND that this is HYDRA’s main manufacturing plant.”

“It’s small,” Sam comments.

“It’s efficient,” Y/N corrects. “It’s smack dab in the middle of a market, so it’s easy for their parts suppliers to make deliveries disguised as legitimate businesses. They only assemble the weapons here; they get their parts elsewhere.”

“What’s the point storming the building if they can just send their parts to a new facility,” Tony asks the obvious.

“Because HYDRA loves efficiency, meaning this is most likely the place where they have information on all their suppliers, who they’re delivering the weapons to, and who their assets are.”

“Assets?” Bruce asks.

Y/N nods, “Moles within every global superpower, we suspect.”

“Jesus…” an Omega team member whistles.

“So, what’s the play?” Steve asks from his spot beside Bucky.

With a swipe on her phone, the collage of information on the large screen changes to show a map of the area surround the factory, as well as blueprints of the building itself. Y/N crosses the room as she speaks, “Natasha and Marge have the most experience gathering intel and getting in and out of a building undetected as fast as possible. I want you two to get inside that building and copy every single piece of information you think is useful. Make sure not to take anything with you; I want it to look like we were never there in the first place.

“Stark, Wilson, Barton, you guys will handle the aerial surveillance. Barton, I want you stationed on the roof across from the factory. You’re the extra set of eyes and ears on the inside. Stark, Wilson, I want you suited up in stealth mode and surveying a five-block perimeter. If anything, suspicious comes anywhere close to the factory, I want to know. Dom will be hovering the Quinjet in stealth over us, but aerial support is an emergency level plan. The minute we expose the Quinjet, it’s game over for Omega.

“The rest of us are going to be on the ground in different areas of the market with me running point from a hotel room guarded by Jack. We’re there for backup support only if necessary. We only make ourselves known if Nat or Marge’s tracker goes down.”

“Wait,” Bucky cuts her off, shifting his weight off the desk behind him to his feet. “You’re telling me that if something goes south in there, we can’t go get Natasha or Marge?”

Y/N rolls her eyes, but her gaze tenses on Bucky’s face for a second. Why are you challenging my authority? she wants to say. Bucky had been nothing but kind and was great company. But he’s stupid to think that Y/N would tolerate this level of subordination.

“Do you realize what happens if we expose ourselves?” Y/N quips snarkily instead. “It’ll take seconds before the international community realizes that foreign military is deployed in a country outside our jurisdiction, which might I add is hostile towards almost every country in the UN. Then amidst all the political chaos, HYDRA goes back into hiding and we’re back to square one. We’re treading on thin fucking ice, Barnes.”

Bucky admits that she makes a good point, but he doesn’t fully trust her. Not yet, at least. “So, hypothetically let’s say Nat or Marge gets caught, tortured, and possibly brought to a secondary location; we can’t get them?”

“As long as their trackers are live, we don’t engage.”

“But what if—”

“If what Barnes!?” Y/N shouts, her steely stare piercing through his skull. “You’ve been here a couple of fucking weeks, so as much as you think you’re fitting in, you don’t know how we run missions here. Nat and Marge will have cams, and Clint is our extra eyes just in case. God forbid things go south, we proceed with our emergency extraction protocols to make it look like we just happen to be the regular military rescuing hostages and not secret operatives! If they ever get brought to a secondary location, we follow their trackers through satellite and jet until the moment they go down, but by then we probably have satellite tagging on them anyways!”

Bucky knows she’s made her point and that it was premature for him to publicly question her authority. But he let his pride get away and his mouth run faster than his common sense, “You could have told us all that in the first place.”

Y/N is livid. She slowly struts towards Bucky, the people in her way slowly moving to the side like Moses parting the Red Sea. She stands far closer to Bucky than she’s comfortable with, but the quick flash of fear in Bucky’s eyes at her body language is enough to make it worth it.

“No, I didn’t,” Y/N says, eerily quiet. “Do you know why, Barnes? Because as long as you are on my fucking base, I am your Captain and I will not tolerate your blatant fucking disrespect. Your orders are to not engage unless Nat or Marge’s trackers are down, do I make myself clear Sergeant?”

Bucky gulps, “Crystal.”

Y/N smirks slightly before turning on the heel of her boot and continuing the briefing.

“Marge, Nat, you’re clear to enter the building,” Y/N says into the comm. She’s in a hotel room facing the market with Jack. While Jack is assuming another surveillance position, Y/N is seated at a desk with a laptop which monitors Marge and Nat’s video feed.

“Copy,” Marge says quietly, “We’re entering the building. We’re limiting verbal contact…now.”

“Ya know,” Jack says from his spot at the window. He has a sniper scope trained through a window of the building in case something goes wrong inside. “You didn’t have to go so hard on Barnes during briefing.”

“Yes, I did,” Y/N mumbles, attention still focused on the video feed in front of her.

Jack chuckles slightly. “He’s an Avenger,” he says, “not a SEAL. He may not know how we do things.”

“He was army,” Y/N says, sending him an annoyed glance.

“Like…90 years ago. And wasn’t the whole ‘Howling Commandos’ thing to liberate POWs and shit? Seems like a field where you would question orders to me,” he retorts.

Y/N turns to look at him with an exasperated. “Who’s fucking side are you on, anyways?” she bites back. Jack only chuckles.

Y/N returns her attention back on the screen. Though she’s trying to concentrate on the video feed, her mind wanders back to Bucky. She gnaws at her lip; Was I too hard on him? she thinks.

No, she eventually decides. But deep down, Y/N feels a sense of hurt. She liked Bucky—he was kind, a good listener, and very understanding. She didn’t let just anyone join her on her morning run. Worst of all, Y/N thought that Bucky respected her. Clearly, Y/N decided, he did not. Why else would Bucky question her authority and her orders not only in front of the world-famous Avengers, but also her own teammates?

Stop being distracted, you’re working, Y/N quickly tells herself. She takes a deep breath before glancing at her watch. Marge and Wanda have been inside the building for five minutes, meaning they have five minutes remaining before extraction.

“Status report on all teams?” Y/N asks into the comms.

Bucky barely hears her voice in his ear. He barely registers each team reporting their status. Instead, he focuses on the man sitting a few tables away from him. The man, most probably a local, is staring straight at Bucky’s face while quickly talking to someone on the phone. Bucky’s instincts begin to kick in.

In the middle of Clint’s status report, Bucky nudges Steve with his foot. “I think we’ve been made,” he says, trying not to look panicked.

Bucky watches a flash of panic flash across Steve’s eyes before he says, “What?”

Bucky turns his head slowly in the direction of the man, “The man at that table has been staring straight at me and is on a phone call like his life depended on it.”

Steve purposefully knocks a teaspoon off the table so he can bend down and properly look at the suspicious man. Sure enough, the man was talking on the phone erratically while staring in Bucky’s direction. Steve frowns and looks slightly past Bucky at another table. At that table, a woman and a man are seated, presumably on a date. The woman appears to be having the time of her life while the man, Steve notices, is giving knowing smirks to the man on the phone.

Steve sighs, “Buck, I think that guy is just jealous of the date going on at the table behind you.”

“Are you sure, because I swear—”

“Rogers, Barnes, status report?” Y/N’s voice through the comms finally cuts them off.

Steve gave Bucky a look as if telling him to drop the subject before speaking into the comms, “We’re clear—”

“Negative. We’re not clear. I think we’ve been made,” Bucky cuts him off.

“What!?” Y/N screeches into the comm, “Jack, Clint, I want eyes on Barnes and Rogers!”

“Who am I looking for?” Clint replies.

“Guy in the green tunic a couple tables down, north of the patio. He’s talking on the phone,” Bucky says, shifting in his seat slightly.

The line is silent for a few seconds before Jack says, “Barnes, I think you’re clear.”

Bucky seemingly ignores his update and asks again, “Clint, you got a visual?”

Steve gives him a confused look, as if asking him what the hell he’s doing. Bucky ignores him.

“I don’t have a visual,” Clint replies, “but I’d go with what Jack said.”

“I have a visual,” Wanda suddenly cut in. She was at a fruit stand across the street, pretending to be shopping. “You’re clear, Barnes.”

Bucky looks across the street and catches Wanda’s gaze. Can’t you read his mind or some shit and figure out if he’s made me? he thinks to her.

Wanda rolls her eyes before tapping her head twice, No.

Of course, it doesn’t work that way, Bucky thinks.

“I’m sorry but you guys can’t see the way this guy is looking at me,” he says stubbornly, “I’m taking this guy out.”

Bucky goes to stand up and Steve reaches his arm to stop him when Y/N voice rips through the comms again. “No!” she shouts and Bucky grimaces.

“If we’re made, backup is going to be here any minute now, and Marge and Nat are still in there!” Bucky hisses.

“We have intel that the people in this village aren’t aware of what’s going on in that factory, Bucky! There’s no backup that this prick can even call! And I’m not letting you kill an innocent fucking civilian,” Y/N yells back at him.

“Well fuck your intel, I’m going after this guy—”

“I am your commanding officer and you will stand down!” Y/N finally shouts, sounding more like a drill sergeant than the girl he goes on morning runs with. “That’s a fucking order, Sergeant. Do you copy Barnes?”

Bucky is silent. Instead he clenches his jaw so hard he’s afraid his teeth might shatter.

“Do you copy, Sergeant?” Y/N repeats again, eerily quiet and deadly serious.

Bucky’s nostrils flare up in anger, but he resettles himself back on the seat.

“He copies,” Steve finally says into the comm.

The rest of the mission goes off without a hitch. Bucky was wrong about the man on the phone. As Marge and Natasha exited the factory, unharmed and undetected, the man on the phone got up and in a jealous rage, stormed over to the happy couple behind him.

He tried his best to prepare himself for the berating he was going to get from Captain Y/N later, but nothing could prepare him for the treatment he was getting now.

Y/N was silent the entire flight back to the Omega compound. Instead of yelling at him like there was no tomorrow, she quietly prepared the intel to be sent over to her commander. When they landed back at the base, he got sympathetic pats from his teammates as they unloaded the Quinjet. ‘You’re in for it, Barnes’ and ‘Tell me if you make it without crying,’ the Omega team members told him seriously.

As he unloaded the last crate of equipment, Y/N briskly walked past him and said with deadly fierceness, “Command room. Now.”

After everything that happened earlier in the day, he didn’t need to be told twice.

Bucky slowly opens the metal door towards the command room and has to shut his eyes tight for a few seconds to allow his pupils to adjust to how especially dark the room was. As Bucky wandered inside, he noticed the only light source was from Y/N’s desk on the loft overlooking the rest of the command room. Her voice stops him dead in his tracks.

“Your paranoia is going to get us killed,” Y/N says, her voice echoing through the room.

“Y/N—”

“No, you don’t get to talk yet,” she cuts him off once again. He watches her silhouette stand from the desk and walk down the stairs to stop in front of him. He can barely see her face but can make out some features.

“When I was in the SEALs, I was Jack’s unit commander,” Y/N tells him, her voice getting softer, “We were in a remote fishing village off the coast of South America rescuing high profile hostages. There was a fiesta that night and the entire town gathered on the beach for a party. It was the perfect time to rescue the hostages because we were disguised by the music and the lack of civilians in town. While I was on a base somewhere, hundreds of miles away, Jack sends a panicked message to mission control over the comms. There’s a group of people close to the site where the hostages were being held. It was too dark for them to make anything out, but that group of people started shooting at them. Not close enough to hit them, but I was paranoid that they might get hit even though they were wearing full body armour. Jack asked if he had permission to engage because taking them out was against the rules of engagement for that mission—they were only supposed to shoot at adult individuals that they could clearly identify. As the commanding officer of that mission, it was my call. And I gave Jack the go ahead to take the shot.”

Y/N stops to take a shaky breath, and he swears he hears a sob. “They were just kids, Bucky, no older than fifteen. They were used by the captors as easily dispensable firepower who were just doing that to make a few extra dollars to take home to their families. We could’ve easily averted them and tied them up. But I was the one who gave them the permission to take the shot.”

Bucky reaches for her, but he can’t find her arms. He sighs, “That’s not your fault, Y/N. You know that. You were worried for the safety of your team.”

“Then why have a felt haunted by it ever since?” she cries.

Instead of gently trying to search for her arms, Bucky quickly steps forward with his arms open. Bucky rams Y/N into his chest and her arms immediately wraps themselves around his waist. Bucky holds her closely while she sobs choked tears into his chest.

A tear escapes Bucky’s eye as well before he has the heart to ask her, “Is that why you left the Navy?”

Y/N lets out an ironic scoff. “No,” she retorts, “it’s because they awarded me the Navy fucking Cross. And I know I don’t deserve it.”

“I know what I say won’t change what you’ve done and how you feel about it,” Bucky tells her honestly, “But those SEALs are alive because of you. Jack is alive because of you. They got to see their families because of you. I know we don’t trade lives or value someone’s life after another, but your orders were to first and foremost bring those SEALs home safely. And you did that.”

They stay like that for another ten minutes—Y/N burying herself into Bucky’s torso and Bucky resting his nose in the crook of her neck.

“My paranoia is what kept me safe from HYDRA,” Bucky says honestly, murmuring into her neck. “After I escaped from HYDRA, I didn’t trust anyone. I didn’t trust Steve, the rest of the Avengers, or myself. When I was in HYDRA, the longer I trusted my own fucked up brain that what I was doing was right, the more unspeakable shit I did. When I started fighting the brainwashing, I started being paranoid of everything and look where that got me? I’m alive because of it.”

“No,” she whispers, “you’re alive because you learned to how to trust again. You’re alive because you know that even though trusting is scary, it’s better than living in constant fear. You’re alive because you’ve found things that are worth trusting.”

Bucky’s speechless. He pulls away slightly, glancing down at her. He still can’t fully make out her facial features, but he can tell she’s staring at him with a sternness that reminded him of his mother.

“Do you respect me?” Y/N whispers.

“Of course,” he replies without hesitation.

“Do you trust me?” Y/N asks again.

Bucky’s voice catches in his throat. He feels his Adam’s apple bob and his heart pound against his ribcage. Yes, he wants to say so badly. But he can’t and he can’t say why, and he’s embarrassed for it.

But Y/N offers him a small, gentle smile. She reaches up in the dark to cup his face, but her hand lands on his neck instead. “You don’t have to trust me,” she tells him, “I’d like it if you could trust me, but you don’t have to. But I need you to respect me in the field and in front of our teams. I’m still your CO, Barnes. And as much as I like you, I’d really hate to have to yell at you again.”

Bucky chuckles softly, “Is that an order, Captain?”

“It is, Sergeant. Do I make myself clear?” she says in a light tone, grinning at him.

“Yes, ma’am,” Bucky replies, lazily grinning back.

FIVE: YES MA’AM

---

tags:

operation omega: @marvelsangels @1-800-schmacked

marvel: @milea @marvelsangels @thecurlsofgod @schnapped

bucky barnes: @emilielskov

#bucky barnes imagine #sebastian stan imagine #bucky barnes x reader #sebastian stan x reader #bucky barnes fic #sebastian stan fic #bucky barnes #sebastian stan #bucky barnes fanfiction #sebastian stan fanfiction #bucky barnes series #marvel imagine

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queenie-in-the-beanie · 4 years

Note

Please elaborate on the english teacher enemies. (And the cryptid appearance stuff)

Ooooh story time!

Teacher number one, who we'll call Karen, was my public speaking teacher in freshman year. She was also an English teacher.

Now, she was very very openly conservative. Straight up had a big white flag with the Republican elephant brandished over that hung on her back classroom wall. Plus there was the little cups of miniature American flags and the cardboard cutout of Edward Cullen in the corner. No joke

Ghastly interior decorating aside, there were a lot of little things she did that raised red flags, like how on day we had a classroom discussion about accusations and truth, during the Kavanaugh hearing. She made it clear that she thought the accusations we faked to get 15 minutes of fame to ruin a man's career. Now, there's always more harm in doubting and turning away potential victims than there is in believing the possible weight in the claims. Plus all her talk on how his career would be ruined forever because of a potential lie ended up getting proven wrong when that man got the seat anyway.

Then there was that time when I forgot to send her the PowerPoint for a presentation and she gave me an immediate zero without hesitation. She only reconsidered once the other students spoke out because I was clearly having an anxiety attack about it. The next day when I gave my presentation and she gave it high praise, not an apology was heard at all.

Now, here's real the real meat on the bone is. One day she gave everyone an assignment to write a persuasive speech with a free choice of topic. The speech also had to address a counterargument and have the topic approved by her. My friend in that class decided to do a speech on trans rights in the wake of the then recent Trump trans military ban. When she went up to Karen, Karen decided to provide to provide counterargument ideas, but her own opinions quickly seeped through that veil. She said amount other things "so a guy dressing up as a girl can take advantage of a free surgery?" and "why should they be given *extra* rights?"

My trans ally ass hears this so I peep in and try to educate her that cross dressing and being Transgender are not the same thing at all. She said "okay, but why should the military pay for their surgery then?". My friend and I argued about the importance of having access to gender-transition medical care is, but it didn't really get through her thick, close-minded skull.

Later that day, I did some research and emailed her a full ass government research paper about the cost of gender transition medical care being added to the military budget and how it was less that a 1% increase of spending. It was the perfect cocktail of statistics and facts to shut down the arguments that banning Transgender people from the military was a way to "cut costs" when it wouldn't really anything other than perpetuate transphobia.

The following is an exact quote from what she emailed back to me:

"" I am really not a “ban those trans genders from serving”-type person. However I am a “ban anyone who wants to USE the military to get what they want” person. I think anyone who TRULY wants to serve their country should be able to in most cases. However, my father was denied service because of his eyesight. My friend because of his asthma. People have “conditions” all the time that eliminate their ability to serve. I don’t know if I fully believe that all trans genders shouldn’t serve, but I’m probably more of a “don’t ask, don’t tell” type of supporter. That might sound bigoted, but I don’t mean it to. I don’t think we have to verbally diarrhea all facets of our lives to be “happy,” tho the current generations seem to believe so. ""

We don't have time to unpack all of that but basically:

Fuck Karen :)

Second teacher isn't a bigot (thank god) but was one of the most unorganized and weirdest English teachers I've ever had. I'm going to call him Wombat Man and just put a list of all the bad teaching he's done:

Had such a messy desk that he lost multiple students tests which they all had to redo

Took anywhere from weeks to months to grade assignments, which would negatively affect our grades

Would spend a lot of classroom time playing "brain break" activities instead of letting us work on assignments. For context, we were a classroom of all 15/16 year olds throwing around a ball in a classroom instead of learning

Wombat Man also had a rule where no technology was allowed and if he saw it he'd put a bag on your desk which you were expected to put whatever you had in and then leave on his desk.

Additionally if he ever saw you breaking one of his rules and he wasn't able for whatever reason to tell you to stop, he told us he would stare at us until we stopped. Hello 911?

He once said that people shouldn't care as much about marijuana legalization as much as they should mass incarceration even when THOSE TWO ISSUES ARE DIRECTLY LINKED YA DUMB BUTT

When the district writing essay topic was about whether to ban cell phones in schools said "you teens are so addicted to your phones you'll through logic out the window" after a discussion with some valid arguments he chose to undermine and ignore.

Once said "Shakespeare was really nasty" which was creepy as fuck and kinda out of no where

There was once an assignment where we had to talk about our choice read book to him and he'd give us points for it. It's simple enough that one would have hope he wouldn't fuck it up...

So anyway he forgot to record the score for my friend which ending up dropping their grade. After several emails which he never responded to, my friend marched over demanding an explanation. He said that the two email addresses my friend sent multiple emails too were for work submissions only.

That's right, he had two separate emails, both only for submitting work, and didn't bother to tell my friend that after several emails sent.

Eventually my friend put his foot down and said he wasn't leaving until his grade was submitted. Wombat Man caved but still took a whole ass month to finally put in the grade

There was also once this story from his last year student that after not respecting Wombat Man in class, Wombat man followed the student out to their car once class ended at the end of the day and demanded an apology.

I could go on but you basically get the point. Wombat Man was unprofessional, unorganized and straight up weird as fuck to the point of fucking up grades and making his classroom a living hell.

Ironically enough, Karen and Wombat Man had classrooms right next to each other. Two hellish teachers, one hallway. Lucky me.

As for my cryptid appearance, I look like the very basic starter pack of a confused lesbian. I've got glasses, long brown hair that I don't know how to manage, a solid 5"5 stature, nearly always wear a beanie so my strong gay vides are even more visible, and I apparently walk very weird which now that I think about it, yeah.

I have that kinda face which is a solid 6/10 which can look either good or bad based in how your standards are.

#queenie talks #asks #teacher stories #bad teachers #transphobia

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lovelylapins · 5 years

Text

okay so i saw this au made by @bevvydraws and had to write something abt it (although i’m pretty sure i went a bit off the rails with this one oops)

ko-fi, ao3

No one had really known what to do with the kids when the abilities first appeared. Suddenly, as if overnight, kids appeared with the sudden ability to do things. A kid in Peru lifting cars over their head with glee on their face and a schoolbag at their feet. An American toddler rushing down a hallway with a quickness the camera could barely pick up, stumbling in their onesie and laughing up at their parent. A kid from Russia with superhuman strength, crushing a block of concrete to smithereens with one punch.

A teen from Italy grinning up at a camera moments before she short-circuited the system and made off with almost $1.3 million in jewels. Another kid in a viral video, becoming transparent in a store and reappearing moments later with dozens of high-end clothing in their arms. A bullied teen shoving several of her bullies into a dark hole conjured up by her, not appearing again until weeks later when she was forced to release them.

Suddenly, astonishment turned into fear, and the joy a parent felt when their child appeared to have the ability turned to terror.

The international governments hadn’t the closest idea of how to deal with the chaos. Kids, several too young to even be controlled by their parents -much less a higher authority- were now armed with unfathomable powers. Should they be raised wrong or influenced by the wrong people, who knew what could truly result from them?

Several meetings were held to discuss the issue, but even as more and more kids became discovered, it seemed less and less likely they’d find an ample solution, and soon before utter chaos unfolded.

And then, Gabriel Agreste had entered the scene.

A multi-millionaire fashion designer, who had recently come out and spoke on his own child, Adrien, an admired and respected young model in the making. Adrien, just thirteen years old, who had discovered he had an ability as well, and while Gabriel didn’t go into details with the press, rumors surged it was destructive and dangerous, one that could very well lead to trouble in Paris.

Gabriel stepped into the picture and proposed a fix of sorts. An academy, one where he would accept any kid who held an ability of sorts, and out of his own money provide food, clothing, and housing as they grew up and learned to handle their powers. A place where the young ones wouldn’t be persecuted or feared but accepted and taught their abilities were gifts, not curses. A place, he continued, where voluntary studies would be done out of the children’s choice only, and where they could see the extent to what most abilities could do.

His son was the first student enrolled, and which little persuasion several world leaders gave money to help fund the school as the months went on. The plan had merely been to build a school in Paris, but as the years went on and interest grew worldwide, too many students to enroll in just one academy, Gabriel proposed an even greater idea. He suggested expanding and having academies in several countries, allowing for kids to both go to school and be closer to families, and to create a sense of normality with the gifted ones and normal kids.

And, seeing the growth of those enrolled, his plan became a reality. Gabriel spent many weeks and months going to each academy, seeing new students and checking in with those enrolled at the academy for longer periods. Toddlers were now beginning to read and write, teens were on the verge of graduating and beginning a career in the real world, and several students themselves saw a future where maybe their ability could be used for the benefit of the world.

It was a miracle, a way to deal with the worries the world first faced. Sure, there had been a few ones unwilling to go to the school, and several others who turned to more dangerous and chaos causing antics, but with the research they had made in the academy, it became easier and easier to apprehend the gifted who acted out, and to keep them jailed without fear of retaliation. It also became easier for many to live normal lives and do normal things, without the stares and pointing that had resulted in the first few years of the emergence of abilities.

The first school founded, just three years earlier in Paris, was the most known academy out of the others. Gabriel had originally accepted any student to that one, but over time suggested it would be best if the more talented ones were enrolled there, where they could be separated from the abilities not needing as much attention and gentle guiding. Those abilities, which went far from simple house tricks and into the realm of manipulating the rules of time, space, and matter, were rare and much more challenging to control.

As such, Gabriel spent the most time there as opposed to the other academies. There, he spent time observing classes and most importantly observing students, seeing how they progressed throughout the class days and used their abilities in everyday life. He watched the unique skills and made notes on certain students, wondering what else would come from them.

Unbeknownst to them, however, he didn’t observe merely for signs of development. No, Gabriel Agreste was more interested in something else, a darker need. He wanted to see the true extent of their power and see if it could be applied to something else for his own benefit.

He wondered if, through his academy, he’d find a way to bring life back.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng was an especially important student to him. She had been sought out by the academy two years prior, and finally, after much convincing finally joined. Unwilling to join the academy when she was younger, Marinette was now the same age as his son Adrien, sixteen and on the cusp of adulthood. It was better now than never that she was enrolled, and he hoped that by careful observation he’d be able to thoroughly find out what she was capable of before she was cast out into the real world.

Creation had been written in her files, he noticed. Manipulating matter into objects called forth by her own imagination, and making various real objects come to life in the blink of an eye. It was an ability he hadn’t discovered before, and he wondered if just perhaps, could she create life with time and practice.

It was also to another benefit. Creation worked in tandem with destruction, and after years spent trying to contain his son’s behavior and outbursts he finally had a way to contain it, Adrien having spent the past few years destroying everything he could with the tap of his fingers whenever he pleased to, causing vast damage to several parts of the building and causing Gabriel to shield him from the others, far away in an abandoned section of the academy.

Marinette smoothed out her shirt as she went down the long hallway. She had been assigned a room in the vacant section of the building, untouched by other students and closed off from virtually the world. She’d been assured, however, that she would be allowed to participate in the same classes and activities as the other students and was only put there per Gabriel’s orders.

Frowning, she looked at the walls as she walked. Cracked, some bits of paint peeling off and many doors damaged as she went by. Stopping before a wall, she placed her hands on it and closed her eyes, picturing a new and fresh wall instead. A warmth came from her hands to the object before her, and when she opened her eyes, she saw that it all had been repaired.

She continued fixing as she went through the hallways, clutching the room number slip in her other hand. Marinette didn’t mind the fix as she would be living in these halls, but the slight tingle in her hands as she did so reminded her to be cautious with the amount of force she used. There was still much she had to learn, she told herself, and this place would help with that.

Stopping before the door her slip of paper had written down, she noticed that it was the most damaged of all the others. She placed a hand on the doorknob, and as she repaired it she swung the door open, letting herself in.

It was spacious, she noticed. One bed on one side of the room, with her box of things from home, sat on top of it. Her side, she assumed. Looking to the other, she spotted another bed, of whom she expected would be her roommate. However, she didn’t see her anywhere, twisting her neck around in the hopes they were hiding in the shadows, or sitting down somewhere she didn’t notice, or-

“Who are you?” a voice lets out, and Marinette’s head snaps over across the room, where a room she can only think of being the bathroom is. A guy’s stepping out, with a towel wrapped around his waist and eyes narrowed at her from across the room.

Marinette blushes, shielding her eyes from his frame and wishing something came between them and throwing her arms out in front of her. She felt the warmth in her body start up again, and when she looks in front of herself again, she sees a wall, tall and strong, dividing the two and effectively keeping her thoughts pure and innocent.

“Oh, no, I’m sorry!” she exclaims, hands threw over her mouth in shock.

“Did… did you just make that wall?” he calls out, voice muffled.

“Uh… yeah. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to, I just kinda… thought it up.”

“No, it’s okay. I guess. It… It gives me a way to change in privacy, that’s for sure.”

Marinette blushes as she hears him rummaging around, drawers slamming open and shut. She looks down at her feet, wondering if she’s being pranked.

“You know, this is pretty cool,” he says, and he sounds much closer, as if he’s just on the other side of the wall across from her and what she can only hope is changed.

“Thanks,” she lets out softly.

“So… you create things, right?”

“Yeah, I guess that’s my ability. But I can only create. I can’t uncreate something, so I’m not sure how to exactly get this wall down... if we can even get it down. I’m really sorry. Maybe we can call someone who can get someone to get this down, and then they can figure out where I belong.”

“You know,” he starts, “I think you’re right where you belong.”

Another second, and Marinette hear a large thud on the wall before she starts seeing tiny cracks emerge. The longer she watches, the more cracks appear, sprouting from the same place until the wall begins to crumble. In less than a few minutes, it’s all gone, with dust in the air and destroyed pieces of the wall on the floor. Standing behind it all is that guy, staring at her.

“I’m Adrien,” he introduces, clapping his hands to free them of the dust and holding one out. “Adrien Agreste.”

Hand still out, Marinette slowly goes to shake it. A part of her is worried about what just happened to the wall will happen to her, but better logic tells her that abilities just don’t work like that. One needs to have the intent to do something, after all. Shaking it, she relaxes a bit at his touch, before thinking through his name. Along with that, his face, which looks oddly familiar.

“Agreste… Like the school?” she asks, before looking down at her room assignment again. Was she really in the right room?

He chuckles, moving a hand back to rub at his neck.

“Yeah, that Agreste. Not that my dad will ever admit it, though.” Adrien looks down at her, at this girl with bright blue eyes and her mouth agape, holding just a small piece of paper in her hands. He squints, spotting the number written on it.

“You’re in the right place, after all,” he says, seeing the numbers written on it the same that was framed on his door. “I guess my dad thought you’d balance things out around here and finally assigned me a roommate. Although, I didn’t think I’d get paired with a girl. Usually, they’re pretty strict around here with those sorts of things.”

“You’ve never had a roommate before?”

“Nope,” he says, smiling. “Not that I’m complaining though. It’ll be nice having someone to talk to.”

“Are you not allowed in classes or the dining hall?”

He spreads his hands out, motioning to the room. While decorated with plenty of lavish things, there were cracks in the wall and debris littering some parts of the room. It looked like repairs had been done plenty of times, but nothing strong enough to hold him back.

“I’m not really someone they want to just run around the academy, especially since this is the one my dad likes to show off the most. I’m pretty destructive, you know.”

“I’m pretty sure I can help fix some things,” she says, smiling up at him. For what it was worth, he seemed nice enough. A bit sheltered and a bit hot tempered she supposed, but nothing she couldn’t deal with.

After all, she didn’t really have enough people to call a friend anyways.

Walking over to one of the walls, she places her hand down on it, Adrien watching as she fixed it with ease. Already moving to another part of the room, she repaired the room a bit more, fixing marks and damage done that hadn’t been fixed in years or bothered to be attended to. Adrien kept his eye on her as she did so, admiring the gentle way she brushed her hand on the surfaces. The more he watched, he saw a slight light emerge from her hands as if the energy within her came out and help create new matter into the world.

“You’re pretty powerful,” he comments, noticing that once she was done, she didn’t appear to show much weariness. Looking at him, she grins.

“My mom and dad really supported me growing up,” she explained, smiling at his compliment. “While I wasn’t at the academy learning how to really master things, I spent a lot of time drawing and creating clothes, bringing them to life. And then, after dodging invitations from the academy for the past few years and not really going anywhere with public school, we just decided we might as well see what they could offer me here.”

“So, you’re a designer?” Adrien quirks his brow. He’d assumed someone like her would’ve flocked to the school first thing, and especially someone with her power. His dad, before devoting most of his life to running the academy had been a well-known designer himself, and she could’ve learned firsthand from him.

“Aspiring, at least. No one’s really wanted to be around me long enough to try on the clothes I made so I guess I can’t tell how good they really are.” Making her way over to her box, Marinette rummaged a bit before pulling out a sketchbook. She flipped through it, seeing various dresses and clothes she designed in the past few years. Many of them had been brought up to life by her, but she spent long days spent just seeing them hung up, no one to model them for her.

It had been hard making friends and as sweet and nice she was to everyone, it seemed there was still a sense of apprehension around her. While her ability wasn’t that dangerous, it was more powerful than the other kids who decided to stay in public school, prompting concern from several parents and classmates about what could result if she snapped one day.

“I mean, I’ll model them for you if you want,” he suggested. Adrien had been a childhood star with modeling, and while his power and temper kept the masses away, he still drew plenty of attention with the promotional shoots his father forced him to do, promoting the school and encouraging gifted kids to apply. It had been some while since he was actually made to try on clothes though, and he wouldn’t mind trying them on for his new roommate and the first person he’s made contact with that wasn’t a teacher in a few years.

“That’s really sweet,” she said, looking over her shoulder to beam at him. He smiled back, feeling his cheeks burn as she looked at him.

“It’s no big deal,” he says, waving his hand in the air and feeling his cheeks turn warmer. “Just consider it something friends do.”

“My first friend here.” She sets her sketchbook down and sits down at her bed, looking at Adrien on the other side of the room.

Mine too, he thinks to himself.

“I just hope it won’t be my last,” she comments, looking out a window to where the courtyard was. Dozens of students walked, all in uniforms and laughing amongst themselves. As she looked longer at the mirror, she spotted cracks in it, most likely victim to Adrien’s destruction. She made a note to fix it later.

They both stare out, watching the vast number of students crossing into different buildings or sitting on benches, enjoying the outside. Adrien wondered how it must feel, to be free and able to do whatever, even while carrying abilities and able to do wondrous things.

“Well, we should probably settle this whole roommate situation,” Marinette says after a moment, breaking the calm. “I don’t think I’m being rude when I say I want a little privacy.”

“No, not in the slightest,” he agrees. “I’m sure you were onto something when you created that wall, but personally I want something that won’t completely cut us off from each other or leave one of us trapped in the room until it’s been destroyed again.”

“You’re right. We need something better, something that won’t need constant use of our energy.” Marinette frowned, thinking.

“We could have a divider?” Adrien suggests. “Like, an easy access one where we could slide it open if we needed to get to the other side of the room, but we had locks on both sides in case we needed privacy?”

Marinette nods. Imagining one in her brain, she thought up how it’d look in the room. Not wanting to put any intent in it however, she quickly stilled her thoughts in case she created one without a moment’s notice.

“It’d work,” she finally says. “It wouldn’t completely close us off but let us kinda have our own room of sorts.”

Motioning for him to step onto his “side”, Marinette finally began to picture it. A divider, one smack dab in the middle of the room and giving the two space, an area for each to actually have privacy. She held her hands out in front of her and feeling the warmth spread through her body again, let the energy come out and create before her.

When she finally opened her eyes again, she smiled.

“It worked!” she said, clapping her hands together. Running to the divider, she clasped her hands onto the sliding panel and pushed it open, revealing Adrien on the other side. “Can you believe it?”

Adrien grinned, unable to say anything. She was incredible, he thought. In mere seconds she conjured up something and made it so nice and there and real he couldn’t process anything other than inner praise for Marinette.

Creation, he thought to himself. How miraculous.

#ml fic #miraculous ladybug #uhhh #agreste au #is that what this is called??#idk but i love it #adrienette #idk i kinda wanna upload this to ao3 and continue but with ops permission #ladybug #chat noir #marinette dupain-cheng #adrien agreste

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anewworldorderseries · 5 years

Text

A New World Order (BB x NB AU) - Chapter 1

Author’s Note: Hello! I have updated both the prologue and this chapter to reflect the changes to the story I’ve decided to make. The biggest difference is Isabel (my BB mc) IS a vampire because this is now set after book 3. This also makes some changes to the canon epilogue because the secret about vampires is still going to come out involuntarily instead of by choice. Also both Jax and Lily are still alive and will be present in future chapters and Isabel isn’t married or living with Adrian yet (that will be after the events of this series are done).

Also, for the first few chapters (including the prologue) I’ll be posting them both on here and on my main blog @adrianadmirer . But, eventually, I’ll only be posting them on here so if you’re following me there and not on here and want to stay updated, be sure to do so!

I’m still working on chapter 2 but I hope to finish it some time in the near future. I just want this all to be good quality so, it won’t always be quick releases between chapters. I will be writing one-shots of Bloodbound and other fanfic on my main blog so, you can read those when I post them in the meantime.

Characters: Isabel Martinez (BB MC), Adrian Raines, Kamilah Sayeed, Phoebe Laskaris, Cal Lowell, Zelenia Laskaris (NB MC), Nik Ryder (briefly)

Rating: PG-13

Summary: When the Order of Dawn rises from the shadows once more, it lifts the veil of secrecy that’s protected the vampires in New York and puts them and humans in danger.

@endlesshero1122 , @kinda-iconic , @lovemychoices , @desiree-0816 , @bloodboundismylife , @embarrassingsmartphonegame , @voseho , @something-in-red , @mrsmatsuo , @galaxyside-0 , @jlpplays1 , @brightpinkpeppercorn , @tabithacarlisle , @shelley-parah , @ladykateofhousebeaumont , @ella-raines , @furiouscloddonutpeanut , @itlivesinpixelberry , @fluffy-cat-whisper , @strangelycami , @heatherfilliez , @edgaluten , @parrotdrama

Manhattan, New York, USA

Watching the still darkened streets of the city through the windows of her new apartment, Isabel smiled as she sipped her scalding cup of coffee. It was a necessity for waking up at this early in the morning despite being a vampire and needing less sleep in general. This was one of many changes that came with her recent promotion to VP of Operations and even though she already had a week under her belt, her nerves still threatened to drown her. Ever since Adrian first broke the news that she had been chosen by the board, she still had doubts about her abilities.

She had been with the company barely over a year now and at almost 24 she was still the youngest executive at Raines’ Corps. But, somehow six out of nine old mostly white men thought her limited experience was better than the three other candidates in the running. Adrian in fact had nothing to do with the process expect signing off the board’s choice.

Letting out a sigh, the sound of her phone going off pulled herself out of her head the self-critical thoughts that clouded it.

A crease formed between her brows as her gaze latched onto the shiny new device on the kitchen counter. She set her coffee mug on the table and picked it up, frowning as a sense of foreboding coiled in her veins when a video popped up all by itself.

Had her phone been hacked?

The dread grew as she remembered the last time this had occurred. It had been awhile but, being a Bloodkeeper meant being unable to forget much. Back then, it had brought death and destruction. Swallowing, Isabel tapped on the small white triangle and after a minute of loading, it began to play.

At first, the screen was staticky like from the old TV her parents still kept in the attic. The black and white dots cleared to reveal grainy security footage that made a chill run up her spine. The familiar pink and red surroundings of Serafine’s club were easily discernible. Isabel’s eyes widened in horror as her intuition worked its magic. That night in Paris soon after Gaius’s return.

“No.”

Much to her dismay, the familiar images of the raid from months earlier appeared. First, the empty VIP room that they had just vacated. Then the Order of the Dawn stormed in and Jax and Seraphine running inside, the first of their group to do so. Isabel then saw Adrian run in before she followed a minute later.

She already knew what came next but, she couldn’t make the video stop no matter how hard she tried. She was forced to watch his chilling massacre of the Order soldiers, ripping their hearts out one by one and her desperate pleas for him to stop. The video continued until the footage finally cut right before she had gotten through to Adrian.

Isabel barely had time to process the footage when the much clearer image of an older brunette woman appeared. A loud gasp sounded as she recognized her as Derek’s aunt. His family had always given off a strange vibe, being oddly secretive and around all the time. Then, her gaze homed in on the tiny gold pin engraved with the Order’s emblem fastened to one of the white lapels.

Her mouth went dry and she almost dropped her phone as she realized that the two were connected and that they were back.

"Good morning my fellow Americans. I am Phoebe Laskaris,” the woman stated, her voice as hard as steel. “You know me as President of Laskaris Industries, the proud leader in the safe and reliable source of fossil fuel energy around the world."

Isabel’s impression of her hadn't changed since the last time they had seen each other. She was too pristine and a bit abrasive and had always made her feel like she wasn't good enough for Derek's highbrow family. Both she and his father had even blamed her for his abuse of her. Only Phoebe's daughter, who Isabel had befriended during their relationship expressed any concern for her until she abruptly stopped talking to her.

The plastered on smile disappeared on the woman's face and her expression hardened.

"But, today I come to you as the co-leader with my brother Alaric of a different organization--The Order of the Dawn. We are a society that is dedicated to the protection of the public from the darkness that has lived among us since the Mayflower landed at Plymouth rock. It is time that you become enlightened aware of the truth that our government is trying to hide. The occult, monsters of the night including vampires are real and every bit as cruel and ruthless as the legends have stated. They have even climbed to the top of our society to bend us to their will in secret. You have just seen the video of what these wretched creatures have committed against our people. Since ancient times they have gotten away with murder and bloodshed. But, their reign of terror ends now. Because the Order of the Dawn is here to stop it--to keep you safe. We just need your support. Together, we can take our country and the world back. This is only the beginning, there will be more to come so that you will know the truth once and for all. Goodbye for now, and may there be peace and order soon."

Isabel sat there paralyzed as the screen cut to black, immediately understanding what this all meant. The Order had come back stronger than before with a plan to eradicate all vampires, and Derek’s family including his own father and aunt were leading the charge. She wondered why she hadn’t run into any of them during the raid in Mydiea but quickly dismissed it since it didn’t matter.

What did was that her past was threatening what she had now, the best thing that had ever happened to her. Her worst fears were coming true.

Running over to the living room where the TV was, Isabel fumbled with the remote and switching through the news channels, they all showed the video with panicked headlines about vampires overtaking New York City. She felt herself become slightly nauseous with anxiety as the remote clattered to the ground.

The one thing that had guaranteed their safety for decades had in fifteen minutes been ripped away.

It seemed that everyone got the video at the same time and the news would make sure that those who didn’t saw its contents. She hastily turned off the TV and dashed into her bedroom to get ready. She had to be there immediately now that they suddenly had a dangerous crisis on their hands. Isabel threw on the first outfit that came to mind and headed into the bathroom.

She brushed her teeth and ran a hairbrush through her thick mane just enough to get the tangles out before throwing it into a bun. It was just enough to be presentable. She didn’t even bother putting on any makeup, tossing the products into a small bag instead to take with her for if she needed it later. Right now, it only kept her from being where she wanted and needed to be.

Taking one brief look in the mirror, she sighed. Her suit and blouse were still covered in wrinkles and her face and hair made her look as distressed as she felt. But, this would have to do for now. Slipping on her shoes, she grabbed her things and rushed out the door. A minute later she was in the elevator.

While it made it’s way down, she sent a quick text to Adrian letting him know that she was on her way. As soon as it reached the lobby she dashed out and exited the building.

She swallowed, her stomach tightening as she saw the crowds of people swarming the streets, panicked shouts and screams filling the air. Chaos and fear had already begun to set in and she felt painful anguish for the city she had become completely enamored with. It had already gone through so much when it was destroyed by Gaius while his humanity was still shut off. Now, it was having to go through yet another upheaval that threatened to be even worse.

Passing through Times Square, she stopped suddenly, her face frozen in sickening shock.

The Order had hacked into every billboard, Adrian’s annihilation of their soldiers and Phoebe’s chilling message on full display on the large screens in an endless loop. Her already increased heartbeat now skyrocketed as anger and panic surged through her. She increased her pace to a full sprint, but was careful not to go inhumanely fast.

Eventually, when she finally saw the silver skyscraper within view, she was hit with a swarm of reporters. Slowing down, she pursed her lips. Patience was never something she had much of, especially when she was in a hurry.

“Ms. Martinez, did you know about this?” one of them asked her, sticking the microphone in her face. “Do you still have confidence in Mr. Raines?”

Isabel plastered on her best smile as she took a step back. “I have no comment at this time.”

She thanked God her parents made her take speech and debate as one of her many extracurriculars in high school. as she deftly evaded giving them a substantive answer. As she made an effort to step around the man, another recording device entered her personal space causing her annoyance to turn into full aggravation.

She bit down on her tongue as unpleasant thoughts raced through her mind for a minute.

“Is what was in the video true? Are you working for a vampire?”

Closing her eyes, she forced herself to take a deep breath. Now was not the time to let her fire out and make this worse. She would have to resort to tactics she only brought out for men who she couldn’t call out for being misogynistic in business meetings.

Turning to the gaggle of people with cameras behind her she told them in a commanding tone, “I cannot tell you anything or answer your questions right now but, I’m sure there will be an official statement sometime soon. For now, that is all I and the company will say on the matter.”

With that, she spun on her heels and weaved through the reporters and the public still trying desperately to get more out of her. But, she was able to outmaneuver them and make it into the building.

But, there was little relief and she let out a small groan. It was every bit as frenzied inside as it was out. Only a handful of the couple hundred employees had known who Adrian truly was. The rest had found out twenty minutes earlier, just like the rest of the country. Unlike her abrupt introduction, there was no gradual process or a hand to guide their way through. Instead, they were thrown into the very deep end and that meant fear and bedlam.

She ignored the bombardment of questions and exclamations from her co-workers as she made her way to the elevator. Digging into her purse, she found her key card and inserted it. The doors opened a few seconds later and she stepped inside the empty space.

As she traveled up to the executive floor, Isabel’s scattered thoughts drifted to Adrian. He had to have gotten the video at the same time as everyone else did. She knew that he wouldn’t handle this well. He already hated himself for what happened ever since that night and since then he was working tirelessly to put that darkness away for good. He even helped her overcome her own in the opera house.

This attack also put the company in jeopardy since investors and clients needed to trust him and now that was in danger of disappearing. He would take all the blame and self-punishment for the risk his employees faced. All of this meant that he was probably devastated and in need of her now more than ever.

Pulling out her phone, she became concerned when she saw that he hadn’t answered her text. Even in the most hectic times, he always made sure to respond. He was either not there or sitting in his self-destructive thoughts and both scenarios were equally troubling.

Swallowing, the doors finally reopened onto the executive level and she hopped out, her long strides allowing her to quickly reach the closed door to his office. She pounded on the door harder than what was necessary.

“Adrian? It’s me.”

Hearing no response, she pressed her ear to the ornate wood and discovered that he was in there, the muffled sounds easily audible to her acute hearing. He just didn’t want to let her inside.

It was one of the habits he had that frustrated her to no end. The times he needed people the most was when he stubbornly wanted to be by himself. But, she couldn’t let him drown in his sorrows alone and quickly decided to take matters into her own hands.

Luckily, she had recently learned a new psychic power of hers. Concentrating on the metal knob she willed it to move. Ten seconds later, she heard the lock click. Sighing with relief, she pushed the door open and stepped inside. However, she didn’t get very far, abruptly stopping just a few feet from the door frame.

Adrian sat at the giant desk, his head buried into his hands. This was the image of a man whose previous wrongdoings had all come back to haunt him at once. Hard. She had seen him at many low points since fate had brought them together. This though stood out among them as one of the worst.

Leaving her purse by the doorway, she rushed to his side in mere seconds. Hearing her light footsteps, he brought his head up to look at her. Her heart broke when she noticed the pink staining his eys and the glistening wet tears that traversed down his cheeks.

“Oh Adrian...” she murmured, engulfing him in a tight embrace.

His strong arms locked onto her torso, clinging to her in despair.

“This is my fault,” he lamented. “All of it. And now people are in danger, including everyone here. All because of me.”

“Hey.” She gently brought his face down to hers. “No, it’s not. You weren’t yourself then. And we all suspected that The Order would come back, maybe even stronger without Xenocrates.”

He shook his head adamantly. “No, it is my doing Isabel. If I...if I hadn’t lost control that day...they wouldn’t be able to use that...use me as a means of terror. And now our people all over the world are in danger. Everything we’ve worked towards...us trying to live in peace, creating a better world. It's all gone.”

The amount of pessimism in his words startled her. It didn’t take much for his idealism to wear thin these days, a permanent scar from what they went through to defeat all their enemies. But, she hadn’t seen it this low since that one conversation they had in The Order’s headquarters. She had proved him wrong then, and it looked like she would have to do the same now.

“That’s what they want us to think,” she reassured him. “But it definitely isn’t. We just have to find a way to win over the public again, be more convincing than they are.”

He blinked at her dubiously. “Fear is hard to overcome Isabel. Especially if it turns into hate, history has proven that. After everything we’ve done to each other, there may be no peace with vampires in it. Maybe...maybe we were doomed from the start, ever since the sap left that damned tree.”

His voice shook with emotion and her already knit brows moved closer together. She opened her mouth to speak but, before she could do so a familiar voice entered the space.

“Adrian, are you in here?” Kamilah asked, her commanding tone filling the room as she stepped inside.

Her appearance was unusually unkempt and her eyes were enlarged, shooting around the room before they fixed on the two of them and a hint of recognition and greeting flashed. Upon seeing her, Isabel felt the need to be a little more professional and untangled herself from Adrian’s arms. She quickly found a chair to sit in beside him instead.

“I’m assuming you’ve seen everything?” she asked.

She received a weary nod. “Unfortunately. I can’t believe they managed to get it on those billboards.”

Adrian’s eyes widened in horror. Apparently, he hadn’t realized that. “What?”

Isabel bit her lip before confirming it. “They’ve got the video playing on a loop, every single one in Times Square. I saw it on my way here.”

“That’s not all,” Kamilah said. “They’ve also just released a list with the names of every branded vampire in the country. Including everyone on The Council and our clans.”

After Rheya’s defeat, a new version of the Council was created with three new leaders and some changes to make it more democratic and egalitarian. Every vampire in the city received their protection now.

A new surge of anger coursed through Isabel as their situation went from bad to worse. “They really wanted to make sure everyone knew.” Then, a pang of guilt welled up in her as she thought back to the last few meetings. “I’m sorry I’ve been pushing so hard for you to come out in the open. If I had known that these would be the consequences...I wouldn’t have even suggested it. This should’ve never happened.”

“No, it shouldn’t have. But, don’t be sorry, you were right Isabel. I knew we couldn’t stay a secret forever, it was a matter of when not if. I didn’t think we’d be outed like this before we could do so ourselves. But what’s done is done. We can’t debrief 300 million people even if it were possible, it wouldn’t be right. All we can do now is figure out how to stop the Order and adjust to living out in the open.”

Adrian reiterated his sentiment from before Kamilah arrived. “Is that even possible? You’ve seen what they can do, especially now that they’re all mortals and the American public can be quick to hate with not a lot of rhetoric. They’re only going to get stronger and their arguments are right. We’ve done so much harm, Kamilah, it might be too late to change that now.”

His oldest friend quickly sported an incredulous expression which matched Isabel’s inner feelings.

“Do you even hear yourself? Of course, we still can, we can at least try. And we have to try. If not for our people, then for them. Humanity. Because we all know that the Order won’t hesitate to kill as many mortals as it takes for our destruction. You and Isabel are the ones who taught me that Adrian, that they’re worth fighting for. Our job should be to save them not hurt them.”

There was a pause as the weight of Kamilah’s words continued to flow through the room.

Then, Isabel nodded, standing up as tense energy flowed through her. “I agree. It’ll be extremely difficult, but it’s not impossible. Nothing is. We just have to figure out how to play their game and then beat them at it. Turn the public against them. All we have to do is tell the truth, expose who they really are.”

At this, Adrian’s expression only became more troubled. “I don’t know. There’s no way anyone will have confidence in me after this. The whole country thinks I’m nothing but a monster.”

“I don’t,” she countered immediately. “Adrian, I was in the room when that happened, mere feet from you. I’m still here, believing in you. I know I won’t be the only one. People are more understanding than we give them credit for. They just need to feel like that’s okay.”

“But I--”

She couldn’t take it anymore, her brown eyes becoming ablaze.

“Adrian Henry Raines, listen to me!” she yelled, the bluntness of it shocking him into silence. “If you don’t want to let people down, if you don’t want them to think that you’re a monster, then prove to them that you’re not. We can make a better world by being the ones to end the cycle that Rheya created. None of you have to be like her, or like Gaius or Xenocrates. They’re all dead. Take it from me, the person who came the closest to becoming her.”

Taking a deep breath, the fiery heat extinguished almost as fast as it started to burn.

With a softer tone, she continued. “I know that the majority of people can still be reached if we put in the effort. Remember that one recruit we spared in the tomb? If he could be persuaded so can they, I promise you. But, the longer we sit here and do nothing, the closer The Order gets to winning them over.”

Her demeanor softened as addressed what he had told her before Kamilah arrived. “Because you forgot about hope, Adrian. The one thing that is stronger than fear. We still have it, but we won’t for long. Unless we do something, stand up for what is right.”

Both her and Kamilah’s gazes fell on him expectantly. After a minute, resolve slowly hardened on his face as their words sunk in.

“Okay,” he told them with a nod. “Let’s fight, for them. Even if we don’t make it out ourselves.”

Isabel sighed with relief before it vanished as the gravity of their situation weighed them down once more. A sense of urgency began to flow through her once more.

Looking at the two of them, she asked, “What should our first moves be?”

Her mind began to conjure up possible remedies and tactics but, her insecurities about her work made her want to hear their opinions first.

“Well, for starters we’re definitely going to have to call an emergency Council meeting,” Kamilah told them. Then, a grimace appeared on her face. “We’ll have to talk to our own Clans too. If we are to stand a decent chance against the Order, they’ll not only have to be on the same page, but fight with us too when the time comes.”

Isabel traded an uneasy look with Adrian, both sharing her apprehension about this task. The new Clan system had tried them since it’s recreation. While the leaders were all friendly with one another having been hand-picked, the members within each continued to struggle with getting along. This new crisis would only make that worse.

Adrian expressed this sentiment out loud muttering, “I don’t like asking them to risk their lives for us, and it’ll take a lot of convincing for them to do so.”

“I know,” Kamilah sighed. “Arguing against their self-preservation has never been easy, even when there is this noble of a cause. However, it must be done. They have to join us or they’ll be in danger.”

Isabel followed along with this conversation etching the important details permanently into her memory. Until suddenly she became more than just a spectator.

“As for managing things with the public, what do you suggest Isabel?” Adrian asked her.

She looked at him with a start as it took a moment for it to register that they wanted her opinion, that this was her job now. When it did, she sat up straight as her mind worked on overdrive.

“Well, reassuring all our employees is the most important thing,” she eventually replied. “I think a company-wide meeting is one of the first things we should do. I also recommend addressing the public with some kind of statement soon before The Order can release any more propaganda. The press nearly trampled me as I was on my here. They’re anxious for answers.” Then, she came up with an ambitious idea. “In fact, I recommend that we do a full press conference.”

He carefully considered her advice. “Hmm...why’s that?”

Even though she knew that he simply wanted to hear her reasoning it still unnerved her. Luckily she already had her answer.

“Because they need to hear our side of the story unedited while their minds are still pliable. The best way to do that is to have the reporters come to us. If we do that, we control the narrative and there’s less chance of our words being misconstrued. Plus, we need to reach a large, countrywide audience and this will likely be broadcasted by both the local and national outlets.”

Kamilah nodded approvingly. “It’s bold Adrian, but that’s exactly what we need to be right now. I would have this be first and then your company meeting.”

“How come?” he questioned.

“It will calm some of their fears and make them more comfortable being in the same room as you.”

A ghost of a smile touched his lips before it flattened. “That’s what we’ll do then.” His eyes flicked back to Isabel. “But, you should be the one giving it,” he told her.

Her eyebrows rose off her forehead. “Me? But, wouldn’t they want to hear it directly from you?”

“Yes, and they will eventually. But, right now they’re scared and less likely to listen to what I have to say, to believe it. They need to be reassured first. You’re the perfect person to do that.”

It didn’t take long for her to catch on. “Because I wasn’t turned that long ago.”

“Exactly. You’re the person who can bridge the gap between us. If they see you, having confidence in me, that will go a long way.”

It made perfect sense to her immediately. Plus, PR was the department she was in charge of directly. “Okay. But before I do, I need a moment to freshen up.” She pointed to her haphazard appearance. “Right now this...does not inspire confidence.”

The comment caused Adrian's lips to twitch up in amusement. "Go ahead, you've got a key to upstairs. I'll call the other council members in the meantime."

"And I'd better check on things at Ahmenet," Kamilah said. "If I'm not back sooner, I'll be here for the meeting. Good luck Isabel."

“Thanks.”

With a final nod, the senior vampire slipped out of the office, Isabel following suit a minute afterward.

A little less than thirty minutes later, she stood in the lobby of Raines' Corps, trying not to be blinded by the flashes of cameras in her face. Outside, she herself had installed a TV monitor showing a live video where a large crowd had gathered to hear the words. It was also being broadcast on every local and national news channel. A million butterflies fluttered aggressively in her stomach as she went over what she wanted to say in her head.

Sighing, she flashed a composed smile, looking back at Adrian. He stood a few feet behind her and despite his stoic expression, she could see the anxiety behind it. Meeting her gaze, he gave her a reassuring look. Even though it wasn’t completely authentic it instantly melted her nerves away enough for her to look forward once more, ready to begin.

Clearing her throat, she stated, "Hello everyone. I'm Isabel Martinez the new Vice President of Operations for Raines' Corps. I'm here to make a brief statement on behalf of the company and Mr. Raines himself about the Order of Dawn video and then I will open things up for some questions from you. Anything that we can answer we will, we want to be as transparent with you as possible regarding what has surfaced today. That includes confirming that the video of the nightclub is real and so is the existence of vampires. This also means that it's true Mr. Raines is one of them." Closing her eyes, she felt her fang descend before she opened them again. “And so am I.”

A cacophony of gasps and shocked whispers erupted from the reporters and she could see a similar reaction from the crowd outside through the special protective windows. It took a few minutes for her to get them under control again enough to speak.

"I know that a lot of you are shocked and frightened right now. I was too when I first discovered the truth, in a similar fashion to you more than a year ago. But, as someone who has worked closely with and befriended many Vampires since then, and then become one of them, I can assure you that there is more to us than what the Order of Dawn wants you to believe. It is true that over the course of history, our kind, including Mr. Raines have done some unspeakable things to humans. But, it's because of how we were taught to behave by the first generations of vampires. Since ancient times, they espoused that humans were the enemy and that there could never be peaceful relations between us. And for a long time, it went unquestioned. Yet, for the past century, this ideology has begun to change. We have begun to realize that there is a way for both worlds to live and thrive without hurting the other. Mr. Raines was one of the first to commit to this idea and since then the amount of vampires who want to cause harm has decreased significantly. And to be honest humans don't really have a right to judge, when they’ve been an equal participant in this bloody conflict since the beginning.”

She paused, her eyes briefly flicking down to the microphone in front of her. As she thought about the Order and what they'd done across the centuries, her blood began to boil with a simmering rage.

“The truth is The Order of Dawn is no innocent victim. They may have started out with a desire to end the violence but for centuries they’ve become just as bad as vampires. I was there that night, you can see me in the video. So believe me when I tell you this: The Order is the one who started this by attacking the nightclub. They slaughtered both vampires and humans alike. They were just collateral damage to them. Adrian and the other vampires were defending themselves and the humans that were in there, including myself at that time.”

Looking back at him, she collected herself before saying, “Now, that doesn’t excuse his actions, the fact that he went overboard. He knows this and ever since that night, he’s hated himself for it. That person in the video is only a tiny part of who he is. He is still the caring man who is trying to help humanity all around the world. The person who’s helped our city recover from the attack a year ago. He wants you to be safe. A lot of them do. In fact, the very reason why this was kept from you was for your protection.”

She took a sip of water before getting to the crux of her impromptu speech. Her hands curled around the sides of the podium, leaning in towards the crowd.

"Because this is what it all boils down to,” she stated. “Both sides have been fueled by fear and self-preservation for millennia and in response, have hurt each other. It can't go on this way. Which is why we're going to do everything in our power to find a better solution, one where we can live together in peace. And that starts with getting rid of the Order because until they're gone, there will be more violence. We're not expecting you to adjust to this revelation overnight, we know that this news will take time. But, we're hoping that while you do that this doesn't discourage you from your normal routines and we'll do everything we can to help you with that. We've just brought this city back to life after the events of last year and we want to guarantee that it remains safe and thriving for years to come. That will only happen if our two kinds can learn from one another and realize that we are so much better together than we ever were apart."

As she said the last sentence she realized that everyone was completely silent, their attention squarely on them. They had listened. This meant her damage control strategy working, something that surprised her more than it should have. She also realized that because they weren't so afraid, now they would be receptive to Adrian as well. In fact, they probably needed to hear from him. He could explain the details of his world to them better than she could. This caused a daring idea to suddenly fly into her head, one that he would certainly balk at. But, her intuition told her that this risk was worth taking.

And so without his permission, she went with it.

"Now, I will let Mr. Raines answer some of your questions about vampires.” She could imagine what his expression looked like, and she felt herself begin to sweat. “Like I said at the beginning, we're not going to disclose everything today but, hopefully, we can provide you with enough information to reassure you we are nothing to be afraid of."

She stepped to the side and finally looked back at him behind her. He stared at her with widened eyes, his complexion now a few shades paler than normal.

"Look, I know I put you on the spot, but they need to hear from you. I know you can do this," she whispered reassuringly. "All you have to do is answer their questions in the same way you did for me."

After a brief hesitation, he gave her a nod and approached the podium, toying with the microphone. "Who wants to go first?"

A young man in the front raised his hand. "How long have vampires existed?"

Adrian gave him a startled look before it faded into a smile. He obviously didn't expect them to be so benign. "Good question. My kind has been around since the 8th century BCE. Here in America, since the 1700s. Next?"

"How old are you?" A petite blonde asked next before her pale skin reddened. "Oh, was that rude? I'm sorry, I'm just curious!"

At this he had to bite back a laugh, the corners of his eyes creasing. "You're not being rude, that's the first question a lot of people ask. I'm 265."

The reporter's eyes widened. "Woah, that's...pretty old."

"To you yes. But for us vampires, I'm still pretty young. I know some who are thousands of years old."

“Seriously? Wow, that’s...amazing.”

Again, this comment took him aback, and he had to pause for a moment before his smile returned. “You know what? It is, I’ll be sure to pass that onto my friends. Thanks for the question.”

Soon, he had settled into a rhythm and visibly he started to relax.

"Is it true that the sunlight harms them?"

He nodded. "Yes. However, there were a couple of really old vampires who could walk in the sun without repercussions, but they've all been killed over the years."

"Do you actually drink human blood?"

"Yes, we'll die without it. But, we don't have to kill to get it. The amount that's necessary at one time is small enough that it can easily get replenished naturally. About the same as a small blood donation. In fact, here in New York, we have rules about this."

"What are they?"

"Well, one is that we can't feed on anyone who doesn't give us permission. And you'd be surprised how many people let us. There have been some vampires who have broken these rules but, we've been able to discipline them."

An older man raised his hand next. "Does the government know about vampires?"

Isabel's breath caught. Tapping Adrian on the should he met her gaze. "You don't have to answer this one if you can't."

"I'm sure no one will mind if I do," he told her before looking at the crowd once more. "Yes," he announced. "In fact, several decades ago I and five other high profile vampires made a deal. Protection in exchange for secrecy. That's why most people haven't been informed until now. It was for the safety of everyone."

Then, the first reporter asked another question. “Gaius Augustine...the person responsible for the attack last year. Was he...one of you? A vampire?”

Adrian exchanged another look with Isabel. “What do you think? he whispered away from the mic.

She swallowed, then told him, “Tell them the truth. They...deserve to know.”

He nodded and turned back to the crowd. “Yes, he was. At first, he...wasn’t so cruel. But, he was influenced to develop a personal hatred for humans, partially from what the Order has done. While most of us are nothing like him, he tried to manipulate his progeny, myself included, into believing the same for centuries. What you saw in the video was leftover from that. But, I don’t believe that and I’ve been working hard to move past what remains of his teachings. Even Gaius, before he was killed a couple months ago in opera house incident.”

The man’s eyes widened. “Does that mean Rheya Apostolus was one too?”

“Yes. She was the first vampire, turned by the sap of a special tree thousands of years ago.”

This seemed to satisfy him. Adrian answered several more questions as the topics shifted from fearful ones to curiosity about what was fact and what was fiction. In fact, they were similar to what Isabel wanted to know when she was first catapulted into all of this. They were slowly becoming fascinated instead of frightened.

Eventually, she decided it was time to end the press conference while they were on a high note before the atmosphere could turn negative once more. She could only imagine what The Order had up their sleeve next.

Taking the helm once more she issued a closing statement. "Thank you so much for coming out and letting us tell our side of the story. I'm sure that as the days and weeks go by that we'll be able to provide more information and reassurance. We wish you didn't have to find out this way, but now that the information is out there, we hope that we can continue our mission of making a better world for everyone."

Stepping away from the podium, she stood with Adrian for a moment so that the press could get their photos before ushering them back outside.

As soon as the last of the press left the lobby, Isabel let out an audible sigh of relief. "That went better than I thought it would."

When she met Adrian's intense stare, she found it tinged with adoration. "I know. How you captured their attention, how you pacified them...it was incredible."

She felt her face become scalding hot at the comment.

Biting her lip, she responded, "It wasn't that special. I just...told them the truth, that we're nothing to be afraid of. And my delivery was definitely not perfect, I counted at least ten mistakes." She fretted frustratingly, her nerves ticking back up again. She could never go without her constant self-critique for too long. "But, still...somehow it reached them anyway."

He responded with an incredulous scoff, his gaze softening at her while it filled with even more warmth than before.

"Iz, I know you can't help it, but please don't sell yourself short," he expressed tenderly.

He knew almost as well as she did where the self-doubt stemmed from and tried not to take any of her insecurities about herself or their relationship to heart which she was grateful for.

Taking her hand in his, he continued. "I've seen no one in the nearly three hundred years of being alive who can inspire people the same way you can. Winston Churchill would be envious of you."

At this, her eyebrows rose at his praise, especially with his mention of one of history's greatest orators. "You think I'm really that good?

"I know so. Isabel, I almost gave up today...I came so...so close. More than...I ever have," he stressed, taking her hand in his. "Just like every time before, you're the reason why I didn't. Every time I've come close to the edge, you're the one who's brought me back. Because you're right, hope is stronger than fear...and your words and you're ability to bring people together is why mine is still burning. And now, you've given millions of people that gift too."

She stood there speechless for a few minutes, his remarks stunning her, despite all the times he'd made similar statements before.

When she regained the ability to think, all she could do was close the gap between them and press her lips to his. The kiss didn't have the feverish intensity they usually did, but it still left them both breathless. It was the kind that spoke of sweetness and security, a warm blanket that made Isabel feel like no matter what chaos they would go through, everything would turn out alright in the end.

"Mmm," she murmured, reluctantly pulling back and bringing them back into the real world. "Thank you, I needed that."

He gave her a fake pout. "I'm sensing a but here."

Their biggest enemy filled her head once more, and another tense exhale escaped.

"You're correct. The Order isn't going to destroy itself and we have a lot to do today, we can't celebrate this first accomplishment too much longer. Especially since we've only just begun to win them over. They're still terrified Adrian, I felt it on them even as they left. It's going to take weeks if not a few months for it to go away completely, and I'm sure whatever the Order does next will extend that timeline even longer."

"I really hate that you're right," he replied.

Her smile returned briefly. "I know, so do I. I love you."

"I love you too."

Neither one of them made a move to let go, savoring this last minute or two of tranquility that they would have for a while. Then, Isabel's phone rang and she was forced to untangle herself from him to answer it.

Fumbling with the expensive new device, she didn't even look at the Caller ID before answering.

"Hello?"

"Isabel, thank god you're not busy," a male voice she knew well said.

This caused her to gasp. "Cal, hi.”

The name made Adrian's brows rise with curiosity. It wasn't weird for him to call them since they had all befriended him a year earlier. He had done so countless times afterward. In fact, he even paid them a visit only a couple of months ago. However, the timing of this one gave them both pause. This had to be more than just to say hi.

Swallowing she asked, "You sound tense, is something wrong?"

She vaguely heard the sounds of a bar in the background. A very noisy one.

"I...uh...yes," he replied. "We got the video of you guys here in New Orleans.”

She let out a groan. “I figured as much. How are they handling it down there?”

“Not great. They released a bunch of names of the families of vamps here. Everyone is freaking out, both supernatural and not. Which means things could turn ugly at any moment and my three Nighthunter friends are the only ones who are equipped to police it all."

Isabel's high spirits took a nosedive. It was worse there than it was in New York. Way worse. Looking around, she realized they couldn’t discuss things in the open like this. Not before they had a chance to address everyone.

"Okay, stay on the line while I find somewhere more private and then I’ll put you on speaker," she told him.

“Roger that.”

She took off towards the elevators, urging a now concerned Adrian to follow. The closest place she could think of was her new office which was located halfway up the building. Frantically getting inside she smashed the button to close the doors until they shut.

"What did he--?"

She turned to him with and briefly summed up with Cal told her

The implications hit him immediately and his face hardened. "They don't have the rules against killing humans like we do. If they can't get it under control...no one will be on our side.”

"I know. Which is why we can't have any of the employees eavesdropping on us. I guarantee they won't want to be employees anymore if they do."

After what felt like an eternity, the elevator finally stopped on the thirtieth floor and they quickly walked to her office. Stepping in, she locked the door behind them and finally put the phone on speaker.

“Hey Cal, are you still there?”

“Yep.”

Then, they heard several voices in the background. But, there was less overall noise so, it was clear he had relocated as well.

“Who’s there with you?” Adrian asked after saying hello.

There was a brief pause. “Oh! Um, these are two of my Nighthunter friends. You know, the ones I’ve told you about. I told them that I knew you and they...want to talk to you. Since you are the people this cult has used to start all of this.”

“What do you need us to do? I’m assuming if your friends are hunters they don’t really trust us.”

“Correct,” a husky baritone remarked before telling them, “You better have some answers for us before this city turns into a freaking bloodbath!”

He was hushed by a bell-like voice. “Nik! We need their help and insulting them won’t help. Sorry about that, he doesn’t think of you New York vampires very highly. I, on the other hand, am reserving judgement for now.”

Isabel had stopped paying attention after the first few words, her mouth open in frozen shock. As soon as she heard the girl's voice, it triggered a wave of bittersweet memories all at once. She hadn't expected to hear it again for a long time, maybe ever.

Seeing her demeanor change, Adrian's brows furrowed. "What is it?"

"Z-zelenia? Is...that you?" she finally whispered, feeling numb from all the emotions suddenly coursing through her.

She heard a sigh on the other end. "Hey Isabel. Things have certainly changed since I last saw you.”

The exchange left Adrian speechless and there was silence on the other end as well.

"Wait, what? You two...already know each other?" Cal exclaimed.

Isabel nodded even though Adrian was the only one who could see it.

Meanwhile, she heard Zelenia exhale.

"Yeah...it's...a long story," she said.

She was right about that. Isabel had so many lingering questions about the way things ended between them, ones she couldn’t ask out loud. But, one thing was clear to her. While most of Derek’s family seemed to be involved with the Order’s new reign of terror, she felt certain that Zelenia wasn’t one of them. That she had finally rid herself of them.

Her intuition began to tug at her once more and she sensed that this was only just the beginning. That they would have to bring their two circles together and unite the vampire communities to defeat the Order and in the process, she would also get those answers she’s craved for so long.

She thought she would be angry talking to her again and while she did feel hurt she also felt relief as well. Maybe even a twinge of happiness. It was her family that was the problem, not her.

After a minute, she replied, “One that’s...apparently not finished yet.”

~*~

#playchoices #choices stories you play #bloodblound #nightbound #adrian x mc #adrian x isabel #a new world order au #adrian raines #kamilah sayeed #cal lowell #nik ryder

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