#The Year of Moria 2017

[whitehotharlots]

Tara Reade, Christine Blassey Ford, and the bleak limitations of pettiness feminism

For what it’s worth, I found the accusations made by Tara Reade and Christine Blassey Ford both imminently plausible. I’ve never met Joe Biden or Brett Kavanaugh, but I’ve spent more than enough time around entitled white collar pricks to realize that things like non-consensual workplace groping and wacky frat house sex pranks are a part of their worlds. There was nothing about either story that struck me as obviously false or otherwise disqualifying. Both very well may have happened.

But I also believe that there’s a wide chasm between plausibility and proof–especially in criminal matters, and extra especially in regards to the sort of accusations that could result in yearslong jail sentences. Sexual assault cases are notoriously hard to prosecute in their immediacy. If we’re talking about something that happened years or decades earlier, there’s no reasonable way to prove the accusations in a manner that would warrant a formal, judicial response.

By 2020, this belief of mine was considered hopelessly out of date, borderline sacrilegious. The Trump era ushered in a new diligence in regards to how the public was supposed to understand and react to accusations of sexual misconduct: women should be believed, full stop. Accused men should be punished, full stop. The crisis of the moment meant that all the old notions regarding due process and the fixed standards of what is or is not a crime had to be thrown out.

Remember that “Shitty Media Men” list from 2017? God, seems like forever ago. The list was a wholly anonymous Google Docs spreadsheet containing the names of several dozen men in media and a brief description of their alleged crimes. It was written about in glowing terms by publications big and small, heralded as a bold and exciting new chapter of social justice, and the list’s creator–Moria Donegan–was eventually granted status as a star commentator.

Did you read the list? I did. About one in every 15 or so entries contained a very severe accusation–something along the lines of “he raped me in the dumpster behind Arby’s” or “he keeps tricking me into getting stuck in a dryer.” But the vast, vast majority of entries alleged nothing more than minor interpersonal conflict: “he doesn’t respect my work,” “he raised his voice at me one time in 2012,” and other stuff along those lines. One entry really stuck out: the accuser admitted that she had never met the man. “But,” she said, “he must be a creep… just look at the stuff he writes!”

No doubt, at least some of these men were/are grade-A jerks. But the bulk of them appear to have just been disliked by a colleague or acquaintance who felt the need to take advantage of a social justice movement to exact revenge. This is how human interaction works. No one is beloved by everybody; everyone will experience some instances in which they treat others with less courtesy than they probably should; and, well, sometimes two people who are otherwise completely decent despise one another for reasons that are inscrutable to everyone but God.

The malignancy of the Shitty Media Men list is that it caused readers to conceptually associate minor interpersonal conflicts–some of which admittedly did not happen, most others of the sort that would cause no reasonable person to find one party entirely at fault, let alone worthy of expulsion from polite society–with major violations such as rape and assault. This was the new era: every accusation is proof of guilt, and all guilt is of the same severity. It’s too hard to definitively prove that a rape happened, ergo we needed to dismiss the usual evidentiary standards of criminal proceedings in regards to rape. And, also, mildly upsetting a female colleague is now the same thing as rape.

Wonderful stuff. Fantastic stuff.

A year passed. The Notorious RBG ascended to the great rap battle in the sky, and it was up to the dastard President Drumpf to appoint her successor. He settled upon a youth-pastor-cum-jurist who resembled a crude caricature from a late 1800’s anti-Irish political comic. The man had a rap sheet a mile long: lackey to Ken Starr (himself quite the defender of rape), Yalie, anti-abortion, corporate puppet, helped rig the Florida vote in 2000, Federalist Society member, blah blah blah all the horrible shit you expect from a GOP nominee to the Supreme Court.

None of these facts mattered much within the liberal imaginary, however, as they weren’t that far afield from the activities of the sort of justices liberals find inoffensive. No, the #Resistance had an ace up their sleeve: a lady said he had sexually assaulted her 30 years prior, and she was willing to say so in front of congress.

He must have been toast after that, right? Because everyone had spent the last few years hashtagging #BelieveWomen, right? They’re not gonna say they believe women and not believe them, right? It can’t be that this precedent we just set up would only be used to ruin the lives of low-level middle manager type guys who did inconsequential stuff, right? Right?

No. Of course not. Republicans never even pretended to care about that shit.

In the non-conservative press, Blassey Ford was treated as a hero. Her effort was brave, and her failure served to validate the premise upon which it was founded: women are not believed enough, and men can get away with anything.

Another few years passed. Due to a confluence of events of that ranged between skullduggery and outright rigging, the Democratic presidential primary narrowed down to a less-corrupt-than-average politician who was called a “socialist” because he was to the left of Grover Norquist, and a credit card lobbyist who was once accidentally appointed vice president.

The credit card lobbyist should have been considered especially ignominious, considering the degree to which the #BelieveWomen mantra was prevalent on the left. Decades earlier, in a situation quite similar to that faced by Blassey Ford, he led the charge in aggressively dismissing the accusations of a woman who had accused a SCOTUS nominee of sexual misconduct. Surely that was the sort of thing MeToo would not abide, right? Right?

Again, no. The semi-socialist was repeatedly smeared as a racist and sexist for reasons that no one could ever quite articulate. Social media figures openly solicited false allegations of sexual misconduct against him. In spite of being a leftist Jewish man, in spite studies showing that his supporters were actually far less aggressive and hateful than those of Hillary Clinton, he was still the most toxic and evil presence to ever enter into Democrat politics. #BelieveWomen and #MeToo precedents were very effectively invoked: there doesn’t need to be proof, and there doesn’t need even be an accusation. He’s evil because we say he’s evil. His name is on the spreadsheet.

But the guy who got Clarence Thomas onto the Supreme Court? That was regrettable, sure. But it was a youthful transgression! He’s apologized! It doesn’t matter.

Then we got a late-primary curveball: a woman who verifiably worked with Biden claimed he had jammed his hand down her pants. The allegation was decades old and therefore unprovable in a legal sense, and suddenly that was an issue where it hadn’t been just a few months before. The MeToo movement’s purveyors worked to clarify that she was a lying, mentally unstable, and possibly Russian slut.

A year earlier, we were told that due process was a misogynist construct, and that expressing skepticism toward politically opportune allegations was an expression of patriarchy and privilege. Now, faced with allegations that would force them to choose between a semi-leftist or Donald Trump, the progressive vanguard suddenly decided that these old principles of Enlightened Liberalism weren’t so evil after all.

Blassey Ford is about to embark on a book tour, receiving near-unanimous praise (and ample financial compensation) for her bravery. She might not be a household name, but among those who do remember her, she is revered as a hero.

Reade, meanwhile, is a permanent disgrace who had to defect to Russia.

In a sad way, the disparity between how these two women were treated demonstrates the conditions that spawned MeToo: a woman who makes an accusation against an unpopular or hated man will be, at least, believed. She will not suffer negative consequences. She may even be rewarded, even if the man himself isn’t punished. But a woman who goes against a man who is too important, too well-connected? She won’t even get a chance to testify. She’s actually even worse than the abusers. Every aspect of her account and character will be placed under a microscope, and anything she cannot prove with 100% fidelity will be held up as proof of how horrible she is. She’s also on the spreadsheet.

And in an even sadder way, this disparity demonstrates why the MeToo and BelieveWomen stuff was horribly misguided from the start. Removing the structures that allow society to function will not magically result in a more just society manifesting from the wreckage of the old. You might–might–remove some of the most malignant shitheads. But in the process you will ruin the lives of many who are either innocent or marginally guilty, and you will entrench the utter empowerment of those who are, only in some small ways, the lesser evils. There’s no path forward, here. There is no hope here.

[bobbie-robron]

Robron Fanfiction Recommendations (Aug-2023)

The below were recommended during Aug-2023 on Twitter (refuse to call it that other obnoxious name)

Wait for me, I’m here love (2018) 4.6K words, thesnowyswan

With what transpired in hell year and Aaron ‘happy’ with the pointless one, Robert leaves the village. It’s four years later and Robert’s back to be there for his sister’s marrying Ross of all people. Of course Aaron is there and one thing is certain. The love is still there but is it enough to bring them back together (and for Aaron to dump the bland one)?

Getting There (2016) 10.0K words, Miss_Romance_Lover

It’s Robert and Aaron’s big day approaching… getting married at the registry office the next day. For the night before, they decide to go traditional, Robert staying with his sister and Aaron with Adam. But the thing is… Aaron… Adam… beers… and vodka? Nah, not a good thing. But this is Robert and Aaron so what could possibly go wrong? The path to getting married may not be straight and narrow but they’ll get there… just how?

Black tie (2016) 5.4K words, Port_in_a_Storm

Robert asks Aaron to be his plus one to a business do. While Aaron accepts, he feels self-conscious and fears he’ll embarrass his boyfriend. While picking up a tie from Cain, Aaron gets a much needed boost from both Cain and Moria. Read on to find out just how well both Robert and Aaron did at the business do.

Secrets Kept, Secrets Told (2019) 74.1K words, raelee514

Robert was fifteen when Jack came into his room finding him and Mark in a compromising position, one that had Mark gone from the farm and Robert leathered for having been with a lad. But the remnants of those marks were seen by young Aaron who had known about the two and promised to keep both secrets. Moving forward a few years, Robert too promises to keep Aaron’s own secret but soon enough is exiled from the village by Jack. It’s now seven years later that Robert returns for his sister’s wedding those secrets from the past continue to weigh heavily on him. Will Robert have the courage to set himself free to be with Aaron… his home?

Mr. Grump Pants (2016) 7.1K words, SmugdenSugdenDingle

Robert and Aaron were planning on going to a four day business conference out of town, that is until Adam switched things around and winds up going with Aaron instead (just knowing there’d have been less business and more pleasure otherwise). Well, unlucky for the villagers, keeping the boyfriends separated makes for an out of sorts Robert trying to fend for himself the best he can which not only makes him grumpy but having to deal with Scrappy on top of that? Luckily the boyfriends can still text each other to stay close in one manner.

Never Going to Wait (2016) 11.7K words, robron_til_the_end

It’s June 2017, two years since Robert and Chrissie left the village after the affair had been made known. Now Robert is back in the village, divorced and owner of Home Farm as part of the settlement. His reason for returning is Aaron but, unfortunately for him, Aaron has moved on and is with seat filler Matt the last few months. Both are in each other’s blood but Aaron is still recovering from a difficult time the past year which Robert slowly learns about. The seat filler may not be a big hurdle but Aaron’s trauma and how things ended between them… that is what they need to tackle to potentially have a real chance… together.

…All I got was this lousy t-shirt. (2016) 4.0K words, RobronForever

Sandra has gotten a job in Ireland and is relocating there. This means Aaron is heading out to Ireland himself with Liv to help Sandra get settled for the week. Unfortunately Aaron being away coincides with Robert’s birthday which he has completely forgotten and Robert doesn’t have the heart to mention it and make his boyfriend (are they even that yet?) guilty. So, Robert has to settle for texting with Aaron when time allows and impatiently wait for Aaron’s return.

Robron: smiles and learning curves (2016) 12.8K words, baisbais

Ready for some boyfriend domesticity for our lads? It starts off with Robert and Aaron going on a double date with Adam and Victoria at a posh restaurant followed by a game of scrabble which has a very happy outcome for the lads. Then there’s Suggers borrowing some clothes from A which leads to a shopping trip. Throughout there’s thrown in moments they learn more about themselves and how they’ve changed for the better being together.

#robron #robron fanfiction #robron fanfiction recommendations #robron fanfic monday #202308

[teenageread]

Review: The Handmaid's Tale

Synopsis:

Offred is a Handmaid in the Republic of Gilead. She may leave the home of the Commander and his wife once a day to walk to food markets whose signs are now pictures instead of words because women are no longer allowed to read. She must lie on her back once a month and pray that the Commander makes her pregnant, because in an age of declining births, Offred and the other Handmaids are valued only if their ovaries are viable. Offred can remember the years before, when she lived and made love with her husband, Luke; when she played with and protected her daughter; when she had a job, money of her own, and access to knowledge. But all of that is gone now...

Plot:

Gone were the days of bikinis and jeans. No longer did she spend nights in hotel rooms with Luke, listen to her mother complain from her kitchen table, and late night dorm parties with Moria. After her re-education in the Red Center, she became a Handmaiden, and took up her new name of Offred. Going to her placement in the Commander’s house, her life becomes a routine, taking her daily walk with another Handmaid, Ofglen, helping out around the house, and preparing for the “Ceremony”. This is the night in which, between the Commander and his wife, Offred tries to get pregnant. After all, that is what she was there for. With lower birth rates across the country, the government assigned these Handmaids to houses to bear children for the men, because their current wife is unable to. These Handmaids are meant to be daughters to these wives, as they both raise their child up, but for Offred, the Commander’s wife, Serena, will never see her that way. When the Commander starts asking for alone time with Offred, that his wife does not know about, playing scrabble is an illegal game because it is against the law for Offred to know how to read. As Offred finds herself in more distress, she flashes back to the good times with Luke, Moria and her mother, in the hopes that her past can keep her strong enough to face what is to come. 

Thoughts: 

When released in 1985, The Handmaid’s Tale has hit recent popularity with its 2017 television series starring Elisabeth Moss as Offred. With their third season coming our way, people began reading a Margaret Atwood story that the show was based off of. May I just say, wow, what a story. Atwood takes us to a different United States that many are familiar with today. In her version, women have gotten all their rights stripped away, and are now unable to hold a job or own property. Their job was basically what women’s jobs were back in the eighteenth century: run the home and make babies. Offred, whose real name was not given, was the handmaiden that Atwood based her story around. Offred had a life before, in which Atwood gave to us in flashbacks, of Offred and her husband Luke, their daughter, her single mother, and best friend who loved her independents: Moria. Because of this, we got to see the world kind of how it was in 1985, but also today, and how quickly everything changed from Offred to land her in this Handmaiden position. Atwood did this very well, doing an amazing dystopian explanation of how the world got to how it was, and how those changes affected Offred through flashbacks. With compelling writing, Atwood's book flows nicely, bringing up little twists and turns that keeps the book rolling. A major issue of the story is that Atwood left it with a lot of loose ends. There are so many unanswered questions that Atwood could have answered, but chose not to. From the ending, to the people Offred knew and loved before the world turned this way, Atwood just brought up questions that she did not bother to answer. Overall a great book, with a compelling thought that deserves all the hype that people give it.

Read more reviews: Goodreads

Buy the book: Amazon

#The Handmaid's Tale #Margaret Atwood #book reivew

[theeternallylostkinship]

ROGNI IS BACK!! :D

So we finally got a new group-photo! We helped him catch up a bit today, and hopefully we’ll all be able to go down to the Redhorn Lodes next week!

Back, Left to Right: Tendoc, Myrlif, Zinariel Front, Left to Right: Gedga, Isadelle, Rogni

We also got our own Twitter account! You can find it HERE, and we usually update it about once per week with quotes and such from our sessions :)

#The Eternally Lost #Rogni #Isadelle #Zinariel #Tendoc #Myrlif #Gedga #LOTRO #lord of the rings online #The Year of Moria 2017

[yehet-me-up]

It was a love song, after all 🖤

Pairing: EXO Mall Minseok x reader

Genre/Word Count: Fluff, soft Wedding Feels™️ / 2,695 words

Summary: Minseok and Bookworm get ready to tie the knot after two years of mutual pining, a year of dating, and surprisingly soft Christmas Eve proposal. 

A/N: Can you believe that this story started in October 2017?! *having an existential crisis about the passage of time* “anyway, here’s Wonderwall Minseok getting married.” 🎉💍

May 20, 1998

I wouldn’t trade mall air-conditioning for all the mithril in Moria, you think with a sigh of relief as the cool blast of air hits your warm skin. 

Even though it’s not even eight in the morning, the early Summer air is far too humid for your liking. The garment draped over your arm jostles the other various bags and purses strapped to you, as you attempt to make it through the front doors without dropping anything. 

When Minseok suggested the mall itself for your wedding venue, you were skeptical. 

You’d read about a great deal of fictional weddings over the years and briefly imagined a nice vineyard or the large, flat rock by the river at the start of your favorite regular hike. 

It felt like you should want something more… grand? Dramatic? But as you tilted your head in consideration, biting your lip as is your habit (one of the many that Minseok says distracts him when he should be working), the man in question leaned in and silenced your doubt with one sentence. 

“I want to start the next chapter of our lives where our story began.” 

Holding your hand, he had dragged you out from behind the counter on your lunch break. Minseok stopped at the listening station where he first introduced you to Alanis. His grin is shy as he says it, almost embarrassed to be so boldly, outrageously sentimental. But even as his cheeks redden, his eyes are steady. Certain. 

“Say that again, please.” You step closer into his embrace, drawing your clasped hands to your chest, mouth tugging to the side with enjoyment. “The part about how you want me.” 

He rolls his eyes at your smile and presses a lingering kiss to your lips. “I want you.”

Everyone teases him about how soft he is for you. How no one else can make his intimidating expression crack faster than you can. And you can’t get enough. It occurs to you to briefly to stop making out in the middle of KMS Music. 

But then he lifts his hands to cup your jaw, gives you his signature stare, and whispers, “Forever,” before kissing you again. 

And that shuts you right up. 

Not just your worries about kissing him in broad daylight at his place of business - because really, who cares? - but any concern about the mall being insufficient as a place to tie the knot. 

You got him back, though, for the unexpected attack of emo. 

Without hesitation you told him that May twentieth was the only acceptable date. Your third anniversary of owning the bookstore and thus the day you permanently became a figure in his life. And your one year anniversary of your mutual pining resolving in spectacular fashion. The man had giggled at the idea; the cute sound of delight he’d die before showing to anyone else. 

It’s quite the miracle that you get the gate to Greyhame Books unlocked and open without spilling makeup and shoes and bobby pins all over the tile flooring. You decide to not tempt fate by trying to turn the lights on with your elbow, and instead make your way to the office in the dim light. 

Standing in the normally crowded, chaotic office, the unusual silence stops you in your tracks. Distantly the muzak plays, but in here it’s quiet enough for you to hear your breathing. Which is rapidly speeding up, as it always does when anxiety decides to breathe down your neck.

Oh my god. I’m getting married today. To Minseok. Holy crap? 

You deposit the bags and purses carefully onto the desk and sink heavily into your chair. The thought of what will happen in approximately four hours makes you both outrageously nervous and outrageously excited. Butterflies in your stomach and heat in your face that have nothing to do with the weather. It’s like you suddenly won the lottery - a mix of surprise, joy, and fear all at once. 

If it weren’t for the very real mess of papers, wrappers, and pens on Melanie’s desk, you’d swear you were in a dream. And if you hadn’t spent the last year being Minseok’s very real, tangible girlfriend slash fiancé. Pulse racing, you think back on the last three hundred and sixty five days as they speed through your mind like a montage in a romance movie. And it truly has felt that way. 

The waking up and going to sleep beside him thing, the eating late dinners together after long days at work thing, and the stealing his favorite boots thing. The shared jokes and thousands of kisses and the way his hand fits perfectly in yours. All of it far too vivid, even in your memories, to be a dream. 

Especially not his proposal on Christmas Eve after closing, in this very store. 

The romance section, of course. A busy day that neither of you could afford to take off and a pizza from Barada on the carpet between you. The mischievous look in his eyes when he asked if you wanted dessert. And the utter surprise, followed by tears and a make out session on the floor after he asked you to marry him. 

Normally he was the type to show you how he loved you - with actions and with music.

A foot rub after a long day at work. Bringing you breakfast in bed or pulling on the extra quilt when you got cold in the winter, even though it makes him sweat. An unexpected new vinyl to listen to together, facing each other on the couch like the birthday cake scene in Sixteen Candles. 

The shared looks - of humor at your friends or a dramatic customer, of heat when he raised a brow, silently asking if he’d be getting lucky tonight. And of warmth in his expression whenever you did something cute or funny or thoughtful - those, most of all, were how he showed you he loved you. 

But he proved for the second time in your relationship, after the letter written on a stack of CDs declaring his affection for you, that he can indeed find the words when the situation calls for it. Brevity with a surprising punch of emotion seemed to be his style - minimum syllables, maximum devastating effect.

You pause in your remembrance, looking down at the ring on your finger; the vintage diamond makes you smile every time you look at it. Of course he chose something perfect. The two of you did always manage to be more aware of each other than you let on. It shouldn’t have surprised you he’d find the most amazing ring you’ve ever seen.

“It took me two years to admit that I fell in love with you. I’ve never been more sure of what I want for my future and I don’t want to waste another second without officially staking my claim. Will you do me the honor of being mine for the rest of our lives?” 

Twisting your hand back and forth in the light, you think of how it was the easiest answer you’ve ever given. 

Occasionally the weight of the ring on your finger makes you pause and bite your lip. Not the surprise absence of something that was once there, like a phantom limb, but the surprise presence of something unexpected; a new facet of your identity that always catches you off-guard. 

You’d never given much thought to this part of marriage, the idea of belonging to someone, and them to you. To have and to hold, for better or worse. The responsibility of being the main guardian of someone’s heart.

Well, we’ve already had the worse, you think with a laugh. Almost two years of back and forth, wondering if you were doomed to live without him - close but never close enough. And for the last year you’ve absolutely had the better. 

Now the day is here. You’ll finally belong to each other. Officially. Forever.

Some part of you whispers that things could go wrong, that making such a huge commitment is dangerous. 

Yet again worrying like the day you confessed your love for each other - that it would be awkward if you broke up, given that you work so close together. That your friend groups are now so entwined it would be horrendous to have to untangle or separate them. How sad and lonely you’d be, going without his love after getting to experience it up close; love in full Technicolor. 

With him the fears are usually easy to ignore. With Minseok, the idea of being permanently attached to someone, to him, relaxes something deep within you that you hadn’t been aware of until you met him. With him the only feelings the idea of commitment stirs up are safe and sure. 

But today, your hands shake as you unzip the garment bag and hang your dress up on the edge of the bookshelf. In the empty office, doubt whispers louder. 

Busy hands normally quiet your mind. And so you go about setting everything up, trying to keep the fear at a low simmer. The borrowed white shoes with the blue gem accent from Lavender. The make up that Melanie insisted she be the one to put on you. Earrings and a necklace, your wedding present from Bijoux and Chaneyol, a match to the fancy cufflinks they gifted Minseok. 

Truly the preparations couldn’t have gone easier. The wedding rehearsal dinner last night at Barada - the food and space was Kyungsoo’s gift - was a blast full of laughter and inappropriate stories and the kind of camaraderie you are constantly surprised to find include you. 

Family and friends and coworkers all arriving in a few hours for the ceremony and subsequent dance party at KOKO, the exercise studio. 

Once again, you’re early. At eight-fifteen it’s far too soon to get into your dress. The photographer (Sehun’s girlfriend Starlight) and bridesmaids wouldn’t arrive until nine-thirty. Your friends would kill you if they didn’t get to be a part of the process. 

So you plop into the chair behind your desk and attempt to assuage your anxiety with paperwork. The receipts and quarterly profits and loss statements blur before your eyes after mere moments. Groaning, you lean back in the chair and look at the ceiling. 

“I wish he was here,” you say sadly to the empty office. 

It was your idea - to spend the night apart. Not seeing him until the big walk down the aisle sort of thing. Stupid tradition. 

By the time you realized your mistake, lying alone in the hotel bed two blocks from the mall, away from your usual surroundings, it was too late. With none of Minseok’s cologne or gentle snoring or hand on your back as you curled up against him to fall asleep, it was impossible to relax. Utter nonsense. And now you’re all out of sorts. Delightful. 

The sound of the gate opening to the bookstore makes you jump. Who could be here this early? “Better question,” you whisper. “Who has a key?” The list is not long. 

“Melanie?” you call out, wondering if today is the one day that your maid of honor and business partner somehow decided to avoid being her usual late self. 

“Hmm, guess again,” answers a decidedly male voice from the entrance. 

Welp, today is apparently going to be full of waterworks, you think, if the mere sound of Minseok’s voice is making you cry before the festivities have even started. “Min?” 

Like a punch to the chest, your heart swells with relief. If you’d thought you needed him before, you were wrong. Today, in your most vulnerable moment, you need him more than ever. Standing up, you pause at the doorway to the main hall leading to the store. 

“I believe today I’m the future Mr. Bookworm,” he teases. “I’ll wait by the cash registers if you want. But I couldn’t sleep for shit without you.” 

His voice is more raw than usual - gruff, a pitch lower, like after he pulls an all-night inventory shift. 

Your heart melts imagining him waking up alone, too, with no one to grin at his atrocious bedhead or bring him coffee. You can practically hear all your friends yelling about how obvious it is that the two of you were meant to be once more. They really did know what they’re talking about. You’re a mess without him and it seems the feeling is mutual.

He sighs loudly. “And I just - you know. I needed to hear your voice before this all gets started and we don’t get any time alone.” 

You give all of a second’s thought to keeping the tradition before launching yourself down the hallway. He’s got his hands in his pockets, looking handsome as ever with his “fancy” hair all swooped back across his forehead and his faded jeans and soft Guns N’ Roses t-shirt. But the soft dark circles under his eyes and the nervous rocking on his heels give him away. 

He looks up at your approach and his face blossoms into a smile. His arms open instinctually and he catches you with a soft “oof.” 

“I didn’t sleep either,” you say, muffled against his shoulder. How has it only been sixteen hours since you saw him last? It feels like decades since you were in his arms. “I was getting so nervous without you here. It’s like you read my mind.” 

“We’re more alike than you think, love.” One of his hands leaves your waist to gently cradle your head. Already the warmth of his body relaxes your own. “I don’t do so well without you close by. I should have pushed harder against this tradition thing.” 

Your voice is thick with unshed tears when you pull back. “Oh, fuck the tradition.” You press your palms to your eyes and huff out a laugh. “Who needs it? All I need is you.” 

His hands find your wrists and he slowly pulls your hands away to look in your eyes. If you’re not mistaken, his are a bit watery as well. “Is it forbidden for me to kiss you before the ceremony?” He quirks an eyebrow, his usual sass brightening his face once more. 

“Absolutely not. I can’t think of anything I want more.” Dropping your hands to his shoulders, you lean forward and press your mouth to his. 

“Excellent,” he mumbles with a laugh in-between kisses. His hips meet yours as he starts maneuvering you back towards the office. “Now follow me.” 

An unexpected quickie, a laughter-filled prep session with your bridesmaids, complete with She’s So Unusual by Cyndi Lauper on the boombox, and one very thorough (read: obsessive) review of all the details later and you’re standing in the rock section of KMS Music in front of the love of your life. 

Surrounded by friends and family and all your favorite customers and co-workers, in the Jane Austen-style cream-colored wedding dress of your dreams, you both finally made it here. Not even Alec’s ridiculously oversized tuxedo (or later, his wildly hilarious best man’s speech) can distract you from Minseok. 

With pink cheeks, embarrassed by all the attention on him but persevering, your soon-to-be husband takes your hands in his and swears to be yours forever. 

You’re glad Sehun and his girlfriend are taking pictures and video of the wedding, because you know that the only thing you’ll remember tomorrow is this - being here, with him, and the way all the anxiety has scattered into dust at his mere presence. 

“And I’ll even let you play ABBA sometimes,” Minseok finishes with a wink. 

Truly, the biggest sacrifice of his life. It’s one of the ways you know that this is a love to last a lifetime. 

He doesn’t even bother waiting for the official announcement that he can kiss the bride, just goes for it then and there. So perhaps there’s still some of the rebel that you met all those years ago left, underneath the maturity and comfort that love has given him. You wouldn’t have him any other way.

#minseok #xiumin #minseok x reader #xiumin x reader #exo #exo x reader #exo fanfic #minseok fanfic #xiumin fanfic #exo fluff #xiumin fluff #minseok fluff

[feralthoughtdump]

Only Angel

Part Two of Kiss With A Fist

On the way to Madripoor, Bucky and his acquaintance talk about names. 

Word Count: 5.5K

CW: violence, talk of killing people, TFATWS ep. 3 spoilers, stitching wounds, smut, unprotected sex, sub!bucky, technically a reader x bucky but he gives her a new name.

“So, we’re headed to Madripoor?” She questions, adjusting the straps of her harness.

Bucky adverts his eyes as she unbuttons her jeans, not answering her question, but she doesn’t seem to notice. They were standing in the back of the jet, a curtain obscuring the two of them from Sam and Zemo. 

“Help me really quick. I have a holster in my bag.” 

He reaches into her light blue duffle back, rifling through the articles of clothing and various weapons until his finger wraps around the leather.

“Thanks, you’re a godsend.” She chuckles. “Tell me about this mission of ours. I need to know what I should wear.” 

“We’re going undercover. Zemo is just… Zemo, Sam’s going as some big shot, and I’m… well-“

“The Winter Soldier?” 

He silently nods. 

“You scared?” 

She buckles the holster around her thigh, tightening it so it slightly squeezes at the flesh.

“Not sure.” He grumbles. “I’m worried, you know, I might end up..” his words trail off.

“Relapsing?”

“You can say that.”

She pulls her jeans down past her ankle and places them into her bag.

He clears his throat and looks away, unsure if she’s okay with him looking.

“Oh, don’t be shy, Buck.” She hymns, reaching into her bag. “What do you think? Shorts or a dress?” 

He looks back up, eyeing the black slip dress in one hand, and the leather shorts in the other. 

“Shorts I guess. Easy mobility.” 

“Smart.” 

As she’s pulling the shorts up past her waist, Bucky stares out the plane window. 

“Do you still go by Angel of Death?” He asks.

She looks up at him. 

“I never chose to go by that name, you know? The public did.” Her hands dig into the bag, pulling out a gun and a few knives. “Angels of death are serial killers in caregiver positions and I have nobody under my care. But they gave me that name because they saw me as some vigilante, someone who took down bad people.”

“Do you like the name?”

“I don’t really care. It’s factually incorrect but names don’t matter when you have to kill the person standing in the way of a paycheck.” 

“Is that how you see them? Just another person you have to kill so you can go buy a fancy handbag?” He scoffs. 

“You have no idea who those people are do you? Those people are corrupt. Evil. People who have no regard for the lives of innocent people.”

“And you think you’re any better?”

His tone is less accusing, rather it’s more curious. 

“Maybe not, but at the end of the day, it’s my job. And if my job means I’m killing morally corrupt people, then I really don’t care. And if I’m as bad as them, then maybe you had a right to kill me ten years ago.” 

Bucky shifts on his feet. 

“You know my mission wasn’t to kill you.” He confesses. 

“Then why did you stab me?” 

“I think for the first time, I felt scared. I was confused and I panicked.” 

“Fair enough.” She takes out a dark red trench coat. One made of soft crushed velvet. Bucky runs his flesh hand over it, taking in the feeling of the soft fabric. 

“I was supposed to take you away, hand you over to HYDRA. I think they wanted you to work for them.” 

She snorts, humored by his words. 

“So they wanted me to be a weapon, huh. Fry my brain until all my free will is gone and come up with a few words in Russian to make sure I’ll do their bidding.” 

“Most likely.” He crosses his arms. “You’re good at your job. You’ve wracked up kills in the hundreds, and I thought I was the one with the high body count.”

“Do you know why I’m good at my job?” She laughs, pulling her hair into a tight bun and securing it with a gold hairpin. “Do you know why I’m one of the best female assassins in Europe?”

Bucky shrugs his shoulders. 

“Every time I’m assigned a job, I’m walking into a life or death situation. I need to be prepared for any type of outcome so I won’t get caught off guard.” She pulls a black, satin, dress shirt over her shoulders. “But do you know the real reason as to why I’m the best?” 

Bucky parts his lips. 

“Tell me.”

“It’s because I never let my feelings get in the way.”

“But you have to feel at least something.” 

“No. I don’t think I really feel anything.” She tucks the hem into the shorts. “I haven’t felt anything in a very long time.”

He doesn’t know what to say. As he observes her concealing weapons within her outfit, he thinks about the past few decades of his life. One mission after another. He thinks about the bloodshed. He thinks about Yori and his son. Did he feel anything when he put a bullet in that boy? Not at the time. But now? All he feels is guilt. Shame. But here she stands in front of him, dressed to the nines, hidden weapons strapped to her body. I haven’t felt anything in a really long time.  No guilt, no shame, no emotions. The silence hangs over them like a thick, heavy fog.

His mind wanders to their first interaction. Though he can’t remember much, he often revisits it in his dreams.

Don’t you want to know my name?

The question she asked him before he plunged the knife into her abdomen. 

“Ten years ago, you asked if I wanted to know your name.” 

“I did.” 

“Were you ever going to tell me?”

“No. I would’ve just given you a fake one.”

She sits down on the leather seat and stuffs her feet into a pair of heeled boots. Bucky takes a seat next to her.

“What name would you have given me?”

“I was reading Anna Karenina at the time so probably Kitty.” 

“Do you have a name?” 

“I have many names.”

“No, a real name.”

She zips up her left boot.

“I do. Well, I did.” She sighs, moving her fingers to zip up the right. “I don’t remember it anymore.” 

Bucky frowns.

“Do you want to remember?” 

Her head falls onto his shoulders and she nuzzles her nose into his neck. 

“Not really. Sometimes I think it’s better that I’m nameless.” 

Bucky doesn’t want to say he pities her, but he does. Maybe it isn’t pitying, rather sympathizing. 

“Can I give you a new one?”

She smiles, relishing in the feeling of his stubble against her skin. 

“Sure.”

“I’d like to call you Angel.” 

A hum of content passes her lips and she presses a soft kiss on his skin. 

“I’d like that too.” She whispers. “I’ll be your angel.”

They sit together for a good five minutes, syncing their breathing together, enjoying each other’s company.

“We should go back to your friends.” She mutters, grabbing the coat. 

“We probably should.”

Sam gives the two of them as they walk past the curtain. Bucky sits across from him and he watches with a slightly annoyed eye as she takes the seat across from Zemo. 

“How do you two know each other?” Sam queries.

“Oh. Bucky stabbed me ten years ago.” She bluntly states.

A humored smile crosses her face as Sam’s eyes widen and darts between the two. 

“He stabbed you?”

“Hey, I wasn’t really myself back then.” Bucky quickly defends himself. “Plus, she tried to kill me a few hours ago.” 

“In her defense,” Zemo interjects “being stabbed isn’t something you can just forgive and forget.” 

“Oh, and you know everything about forgiving and forgetting.” Sam shoots back. 

Sensing oncoming tension, she quickly changes the subject. 

“Bucky told me you three needed a tour guide. Someone who knows the place well.” 

“I’d consider myself-“

“Oh Baron,” she laughs “after everything you did in 2017, I doubt it’s easy for them to trust you.”

Zemo’s eyes widened. 

“You know who I am?”

“Of course I do. I’ve been to Sokovia before.” 

Sam furrowed his brows.

“What led you to Sokovia?”

“Business meetings.” 

“Jesus, Bucky, who is this girl?” 

“Oh, yeah, I never actually introduced myself. I’m Angel.” Bucky smiles at the use of her name, affection blooming in his chest. “I work for a small company based in Europe. We mostly sell cosmetics.”

Bucky’s impressed by her ability to spit out a convincing story with no hesitation. 

Sam doesn’t seem to buy it, but he lets it go. 

“Anyways, what role do you three want me to play?”

“Well,” Zemo shifts in his seat, “I was thinking you could be my date-“

“No. No” Bucky grouses, a deep frown cutting across his face. “Absolutely not.”

“Relax, James. I won’t try anything with her. I know you two are… close.” 

Bucky scrambles out of his seat to wrap a hand around Zemo’s neck but he steps away at the feeling of Angel’s gentle hand on his bicep. 

“Calm down, Bucky. Everything’s going to be fine.” She looks at Zemo with an amused grin. “Alright. I’ll play the part, but I have a few rules.” She points her thumb up. “One, no kissing.” Then her pointer. “No silly pet names. I don’t want to hear you calling me baby or kitten. It’s patronizing.” Finally her middle. “And three, I don’t drink. My tolerance is low.”

Zemo and Sam nod in agreement and eventually so does Bucky, but the anger in his eyes refuses to fade away. 

It’s nighttime when they arrive, but the bright, neon lights illuminate the city. 

Loud music seeps out from the clubs and the air smells of smoke and booze. They’re surrounded by crime, and Angel smiles at the familiarity. She can spot a few familiar faces, but she never bothers to say hi. It’s best she stays faceless, unknown, invisible. 

Zemo wraps an arm around her waist and Bucky side eyes him. She can read his annoyance. His jealousy. Yet, his cold, emotionless expression doesn't change. He’s fallen into character and he’s doing a damn good job of it. 

Whispers of ‘is that the Winter Soldier?’ pour around them as they enter the bar, but they all do their best to pay no attention. 

“Wasn’t expecting you, Smiling Tiger.” The bartender nods towards Sam. 

“His plans changed. We have business to do with Selby.” Zemo interjects. 

Selby. 

Angel remembers that name. She’s heard it in whispers on the streets. 

Angel takes a seat on Zemo’s lap, leaning her head against the fur on his coat. 

“Who’s the girl?”

“Close friend of mine,” Zemo smirks.

“I’m Moria.” She extends a hand and the bartender politely shakes it. 

Bucky glances down at his fingers. Of course, her name here would be fake. 

“The usual?” The bartender asks.

Sam and Zemo reply with a nod. 

The four of them watch as he pulls a snake out of a jar, cutting its organs out and placing them in a shot glass. He moves on to pour out a shot of vodka for Zemo.

She grins and runs a hand from the fur collar of his coat to his chest. A soft, flirtatious giggle slips past her lips. Oh, Bucky wanted to take Zemo’s shot glass and throw it at the wall but he can’t. Not when the stakes are so high. 

She suppresses a giggle as she watches Sam struggle to down the shot. 

“Got word from on high,” A man approaches Zemo. “You ain’t welcome here.”

“I have no business with the Power Broker. But if he insists, he can either talk to me…” 

He gestures towards Bucky.

Angel surveys the bar, observing the patrons around them. Most of them are staring at the four, suspicious eyes being thrown their way. 

Her concentration is broken when Zemo speaks.

“Winter Soldier” He orders in Russian.

She remembers Bucky’s words on the plane. He’s afraid of relapsing. 

“Attack.”

Compassion, something she hasn’t felt for a long time, floods her body and before he can strike, she finds herself twisting the man’s fingers. Another approaches them and Bucky takes the lead, kicking the man to the ground. Men charge towards them and she fights along with him. He’s throwing kicks, punches, a sight that Angel is all too familiar with. Bucky takes hold of a man thrown his way, slamming him down onto the table, metal arm wrapped around his neck.

They freeze at the sound of weapons around them. Her eyes dart around the room, seeing the guns trained on them. Slowly, she reaches under her shirt, feeling the knives she has strapped to her body. 

Sam places a hand on Bucky’s arm and Zemo quickly stops him. 

“Stay in character or the entire bar turns on us.” 

They all stand as the bartender turns to them. 

“Selby will see you now.” 

She looks at Bucky, then Sam, then Zemo who opens his arms, beckoning her towards him. She lets him place a hand on her hip as the four of them walk away.

“You should know Baron,” Selby’s voice rings through her ears. “People don’t just come into my bar and make demands.”

“Not a demand, an offer.” Zemo replies. 

“Well, a lot has changed since you were last here. By the way, I thought you were rotting away in a German prison. How did you escape?”

“People like us always find a way, don’t we?” He chuckles.  Zemo releases his hand on her. 

“You’re taller than I heard, Smiling Tiger.” She purrs at Sam, who glances away. “What’s the offer? The girl?”

“No. Something better.”

He walks over to Bucky. 

“Tell me what you know about the super-soldier serum and I’ll hand him over.” Fingers trace over his face, from his cheekbones down to his chin. “Along with the code words to control him. He will do whatever you want.”

A Cheshire cat smile cuts across Selby’s face. 

“Now that’s the Zemo I know.” She settles into her couch. “Yeah, you were right to come to me. Arrogant but right. The serum is here in Madripoor. Dr. Wilfred Nagel is the man you want to thank… or condemn.” She shrugs. “Whatever side you’re on.” 

“Is Nagel still in Madripoor?” Zemo inquires. 

Selby stands. 

“The breadcrumbs, you can have for free, but the bakery’s going to cost you.” She sighs. “Your arm candy, Baron, she’s extraordinary. There’s no way a little bird” Selby points her finger up and down at Angel “can fight like that without years of training. Come here, darling.” She beckons her over. Angel turns to Zemo, and then to Bucky, a worried expression on her face. Zemo falters for a second and releases his hand on her shoulder. 

“Go ahead, darling.”

She stands and walks over the Selby, who looks her over with an inquisitive eye. Selby runs a manicured finger along the collar of Angel’s coat. 

“I’ll tell you what,” Selby decides. “You hand both of them over to me, and I’ll tell you everything about Nagel.” She grins, pulling back the strap of Angel’s thigh holster and snapping it back onto her skin. 

“Don’t touch me.” She snarls.

Selby cocks her head, an amused smirk on her face. 

“I have to say, she’s quite the fiery one. I’d like to call her my little firebird. Have her sing for me.”

“A firebird and the Winter Soldier.” Zemo seethes. “Clever.”

Their attention turns to Sam when his phone rings.

Selby saunters over to him. 

“Answer it.” She demands. “On speaker.”

Angel bites the inside of her cheek, waiting with bated breath as Sam speaks to Sarah. He rambles on about money laundering and having a banker killed until Sarah calls him Sam. 

Her blood runs cold. 

“Sam?” Selby questions, voice laced with accusation. “Who’s Sam? Kill them!” 

Without hesitation, Angel pulls the gun out of her holster and unloads a bullet in the woman. 

“We need to get out of here.” She yells, stuffing her gun back in place.

One of Selby’s bodyguards cocks his gun and Angel sends a throwing knife into his head, Bucky takes down the other, knocking him out with his fist. 

“Jesus Christ, Angel!” Sam yells. 

“We don’t have time to unpack that.” she pants, ripping the knife out of the bodyguard’s head. “The second people get word that she’s dead, we’ll have a million-dollar price tag on our heads.” She shoves the knife into a pocket on her holster and bolts to the door.

The four sprint out of the exit and onto the streets, laying low, trying not to get noticed. They walk at a brisk pace, shoulder forward, eyes straight. 

The sound of rapid gunfire sends them scrambling. 

“I can’t run in these heels!” Sam yells.

“Oh, tell me about it!” She replies. The shock from her boots meeting the pavement sends pain up her calves.  “I’ve been running in heels for years and it still sucks.”

“That’s not humanly possible. How do you do that?” He pants.

“I got used to it.” 

Angel grabs her gun and cocks it. She one bullet after another and when the wind blows back her coat, Bucky can spot another pistol tucked in the waistband of her shorts. 

Motorcycles start to barrel towards them and they pick up their speed. A bounty hunter throws a dagger, slicing at the skin of her thigh. Despite the gash, she can’t feel the pain. Not with the adrenaline coursing through her veins. 

They cut to a halt when they find themselves in an alleyway, surrounded.

Gunshots ring through the air saving them from impending death. 

“Looks like we have a guardian angel.” Zemo notes, his run slowing down into a walk. 

They look around, catching their breath.

“Well, this is too perfect.” The four turn to see a blonde walking towards them, gun pointed in Zemo’s direction. “Drop it, Zemo.”

“Sharon?” Bucky inquires. She rolls her eyes and turns to Angel. 

“Nice to finally meet you, Angel of Death.” 

“What? How do you know her?” Sam asks.

“I was investigating a politician’s death a few years ago. I managed to get my hands on her picture but Bucky over here caused a bit of a stir.”

She chuckles. “Nice to meet you too, Agent Carter. 

“I used to be an agent, not anymore.” Sharon states. 

“What are you doing here?” Bucky asks.

“I stole Steve’s shield, remember?” Her words, laced with bitterness. She points her gun at Sam “I also took your wings” then to Bucky, “so you could save his ass” finally, to Zemo “from his ass. Unlike you, I didn’t have the Avengers to back me up.”

Angel stands by, watching Bucky ask for Sharon’s help, paying no attention to the cut on her leg. Unfortunately, the adrenaline finally wears off, sending pain up her leg. Her hands press on the bleeding wound, covering her fingers with blood. She hisses in pain, causing Sharon to turn to her, brows raised. 

“This isn’t over.” She spits at them and makes her way over to Angel.

“You might need some stitches for that.” She sighs, handing her a tissue. “I have a place in High Town. You’ll be safe there.”

… 

Bucky takes a seat next to Angel, who is tending to her wound on Sharon’s couch, legs propped up on a glass coffee table.

“She’s stitching herself up.” Sharon smiles. “Best you don’t distract her.”

“I’ll be fine.” Angel murmurs, eyes trained on the needle piercing her skin. “Thanks for the suture kit by the way. I left mine on Zemo’s jet.” 

“No problem. I got myself some first aid supplies when I was on the run. Figured they would come in handy.”

“My calves hurt. You have anything for that?” She grumbles, carefully knotting the thread. 

“There’s probably some ibuprofen in there.” Sharon chuckles. “Those heels are gorgeous but damn, they look painful.”

Bucky gently wraps his fingers around her ankle and looks at her. 

“May I?” 

“Such a gentleman. Of course.”

She places her legs on his thighs and sighs with relief as he massages the sore muscles of her calves. 

“Does it hurt?”

“My calves? Or cut on my thigh.”

“Your thigh.”

She shrugs, pulling the thread.

“Not too much. It’s nothing Advil can’t fix.”

Sharon throws them an amused look. 

“So, what’s going on between the two of you?” 

“James seems to have formed a little bond with her. In more ways than one.” Zemo smiles at them over a glass of whisky.

“I’ll knock that drink right out of your hands.” Angel barks. 

“I have to say, it’s quite ironic. James, you swore that you’d leave your assassin roots behind, yet you’ve taken up the company of one of the most prolific hitwomen in Europe.” 

“He’s got a point,” Sharon says, rifling through racks of clothing. “The irony part, I mean. When I was working the Death Angel case, both the FBI and the CIA profiled you as a psychopath. Someone unable to form proper emotional bonds with others-“

“Sociopath.” Angel interrupted with a roll of her eyes. “Not a psychopath. Psychopaths have no moral compass. But I’d say I do. Sociopaths are still able to discern right from wrong.” 

Sam walks into the room, shrugging a jacket onto his shoulders.

“So why’d you become a hitwoman?”

Though he asks out of curiosity, Bucky still notes the way her eyes narrow, the way her lips twist into a frown. 

“I was getting paid. Plus, they aren’t the type of people you’d like to have dinner with.”

“Let’s drop this, yeah?” Bucky grumbles. “I don’t think Angel wants to continue this conversation.”

Angel. She still hasn’t gotten used to that new name, but she likes it. 

It was nothing like the names the authorities and the public had slapped on her. Killer, psychopath, evil, monster. 

The hardened shell she had built around her has started to crack, but only for Bucky.

For the first time, she wonders what it would be like. To be free from the title of an assassin. 

Maybe she’d live in a quiet Parisian apartment or a sun-filled home in northern Italy. Maybe she’d be alone. She’d be okay with that. Maybe she’ll be with someone else. Maybe with Bucky. She’d be more than okay with that. 

She envied him, even if she shouldn’t. She didn’t go through what he went through. Being taken away, stripped of any control, and then having to live in a world he knew nothing of.

However, Bucky had something she didn’t have. He had good within himself. 

She’s pulled from her thoughts when Sharon hands her a small pile of clothing.

“Here, these seem to be your style. I know some higher-ups so I’ll ask about Nagel. So, while I’m at it, enjoy the party.” 

“Thanks, Sharon.”

“I’ll let you get changed.” Zemo stands and walks away, offering her privacy. 

Sam and Sharon nod, leaving the room, but Bucky stayed behind. 

“Are you okay?” He quietly asks. 

“Yeah. I’m okay.” She curtly nods. 

Bucky reaches for a pad of gauze and presses it to the closed wound. 

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. You don’t need to worry about me.”

He holds the gauze in place while she tapes it down. 

“You’re really good at that.”

“Thanks.” She huffs. “YouTube has some great tutorials on bandaging.” 

The music from the party downstairs echoes through Sharon’s home, bleeding into the room. 

“Alright.” Angel stands and grabs the clothing that Sharon gave her. “I’ll change and we can head downstairs.”

She walks into the bathroom and shuts the door.

Bucky cleans up the used suture supplies and throws them in the small trash can in the corner while waiting for Angel to finish. 

He wonders what would have happened if he had successfully completed his Berlin mission in 2013. What would have become of her? Everything she does, she does it with a flair. From the way she dresses, to how she acts, even in the way she kills. She was spirited, creative, and clever. He can’t bear the thought of anyone, not just HYDRA, taking that away from her. 

“Hey, Buck?” She walks out of the bathroom, holding her hands across her chest. “Can you help button me up?” 

His mouth goes dry when he sees her. She’s ethereal, not of this world. The forest green satin of her dress compliments her gold jewelry, illuminated by the soft lights of Sharon’s home. 

“Um,” he swallows. “Sure.” 

She walks over to him and turns around so he can hook the buttons through the loops. 

“Pretty isn’t it. Sharon has great taste.” 

“Yeah.” He breathes. 

“Do you like it?”

“I guess so.”

She turns to face him with a mischievous grin. 

“What do you mean ‘you guess so’?” 

“I was born in 1917, I know nothing about modern fashion. You look beautiful, though.” 

Bucky sits back down and she crawls into his lap. “You’re so sweet to me. Maybe too sweet.” She giggles. 

“Oh, by the way.” Her hands rest on his shoulders. “I never returned the favor from this morning.” 

She leans in and presses her mouth against his, kissing him with fervor. 

Bucky tucks her lower lip between his teeth and bites, smiling at her little yelp. He reaches up to cup her face in his hands, rubbing his thumb over her soft skin. She deepens the kiss, letting her tongue brush against his lips. 

A whine leaves his lips as she pulls back and stands. 

He pouts and reaches his arms towards her, hands making a grabbing motion. 

“Another kiss. Please?” 

“Oh, Bucky,” She giggles, lowering herself onto her knees. “You’re too cute.”

Her hands reach for his belt, undoing the buckle. She pulls his jeans down, letting them pile around his feet. He stops her hands right as they reach for his briefs. 

“Wait, I-” He stutters. “I haven’t done this in a long time.” Blushing in embarrassment. 

“If you don’t want to, we can stop.” She says sweetly.

“I want to.” He lets go of her wrist and lets his hand rest in her hair. “I just forgot how it feels.”

“If you want, I can take control for a little bit.” She rests her head on his thigh. “Make you feel good.” 

Bucky blinks owlishly and nods. 

“Yeah. I’d like that a lot.”

That was the green light. She pulls his briefs down and Bucky kicks them aside along with the jeans. He grins as he watches her eyes widen. 

“You-” She gasps. “Oh, wow, you’re big.” 

“Yeah?” He chuckles, reaching down to stroke himself. “You think you can take me?” 

“I can try.” 

She spits on her hand and wraps it around his cock. He sucks in a sharp breath when she thumbs over the tip. 

“Oh.” He gasps when she licks the underside. “Oh!”

“Feels good?” She presses a kiss on his thigh. 

“Yeah, really good.”

Her lips wrap around his cock, saliva dripping past her tongue and onto his skin. 

He lets his head fall back, a quiet groan slipping past his lips. 

“Oh, Angel, you’re amazing.”

She flutters her lashes and looks up at him. 

It’s a beautiful sight, he thinks, the way she’s all doe-eyed and blushy. 

He grabs a fist full of her hair and pulls her closer, letting his cock hit the back of her throat. 

She gags around him and tears prick at her eyes, yet she doesn’t pull away. She bobs her head back and forth, sending electricity through his veins. 

Spit dribbles down her chin and Bucky tightens his grip on her hair. He lets his other hand cup her cheek. 

“Relax for me, love.” He murmurs. He holds her head still and pushes his hips forward. She squeezes her eyes shut and grabs onto his thighs. Bucky hisses at the feeling of her nails digging into his skin but the pain is overshadowed by pleasure. Her mouth is so wet, so warm around him and he can’t get enough. 

He’s only had his cock in her mouth for a few minutes but he can already feel himself getting closer. 

“Wait, wait!” He gasps. 

Angel pulls off, eyes wide with worry.

“Are you alright? Did I hurt you?” She asks. 

“No,” He caresses her face. “You were perfect. I just- I’m gonna cum soon and I want you to feel good too.” 

She smiles affectionately. 

“Oh, baby, you’re too good to me.” 

As she moves to straddle him, Bucky takes hold of her waist and pushes her onto the couch so she’s lying underneath him.

“Don’t want you hurting yourself.” He kisses her nose. “Your wound is still healing.” 

His hands push up the hem of her dress, the satin pooling around her waist, exposing the soft skin of her tummy and the scar he left her. He leans down to press a gentle kiss on the scar and he playfully nips at her skin. 

“No biting, puppy.” 

He whines at the name. It makes him feel all soft like he wants to give all of himself to her. His head rests on her tummy and he blinks at her with soft eyes. 

“You wanted me to take control, so I’m taking control.” She coos, running a hand through his hair. “Give me a kiss, baby.” 

He kisses up her body and when his lips meet hers, she takes this as an opportunity to roll themselves over. 

She straddles his hips, letting her cunt rub against his cock. Her eyes close and she sighs in pleasure. 

“You want to fuck me, baby?” She giggles. 

“Yes.” He groans. “Oh god, yes.” 

“What do you say?” she taunts, voice laced with authority. 

“Please.” Bucky pants. “Can I please fuck you?” 

“Mmm. Asking so nicely.” She muses. “Of course you can.” 

His eyes roll back, chest heaving. His mouth drops open but she presses a hand against his mouth. 

“Gotta stay quiet. Don’t want everyone hearing you do we?” 

Bucky nods, biting down on his lip. 

“Good boy.” She leans down and kisses his forehead. “So good.” 

She lifts her hips and presses his cock against her entrance. 

Bucky rests a hand on her hips but she intertwines their fingers and presses his hand onto the couch cushions. 

“No touching.” 

Unfair. She’s being unfair. 

As she lowers herself onto him, Bucky squeezes his eyes shut, trying not to moan. 

“Beautiful.” She whispers, eyes hooded and lips parted. “You’re beautiful.” 

He thinks he could cum right then and there. 

“Am I making you feel good?” She whispers. 

Bucky nods, quiet moans on the tip of his tongue. 

She gasps and tightens around him. Bucky bites down on his lip. Hard. 

“M-move.” He whimpers. “Please.”

She replies by moving her hips back and forth. 

“You feel so good, sweet thing.” 

Bucky hums in content. 

“Thank you.” 

With every movement she makes, with every sound that leaves her lips, Bucky’s convinced she’s going to kill him. 

“Do you know what la petite mort means, baby?” She asks him.

“Mhm.” Bucky opens his eyes. “It’s French. It means a little death.”

They’re nose to nose, both gasping into each other’s mouths. The gold necklaces she’s wearing dangles in his face and he bites down on a chain with a smile. 

“It means more than that, baby. La petit mort refers to an orgasm. And from the looks of it,” She teases, “I think you’re coming close.” 

Bucky groans, letting go of the chain. 

“You’re gonna be the death of me.”

“Are you close, baby? Are you gonna cum?”

“Yes.” He whimpers with desperation. “Can I cum? Can I cum for you?”

“Tell me I’m your angel.” She whispers into his ear.

“You’re my angel. Can I please cum?” He begs.

“No, not yet.” She laves her tongue over the shell of his ear. “Tell me I’m your only angel.” 

“You’re my angel. My only angel.” 

She squeezes around him and quickens her movements. Her hands press down on his chest as she lifts her hips and sinks back down onto him. 

She’s an angel. His angel. In this moment, he’d do anything for her. Anything for his angel. 

“I’m gonna- fuck.” He groans. 

“Gonna cum?” She asks, voice silvery and low. “Gonna cum for me baby?”

All he can do is nod. 

“Alright.” 

She lifts herself off of him and before he can protest, she’s got her lips wrapped around him. He bucks his hips forward and empties himself into her mouth. 

He watches in awe, chest heaving post-orgasm, as she swallows him down and pulls off of him. With a quick swipe of her hand across she smiles. 

She crawls up his body and places a gentle kiss on his cheek. 

“So good. You were so good for me.”

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #tfatws #fanfic

[rpgsandbox]

After thousands of votes, we now have our annual list of most anticipated tabletop RPGs for the coming year. As I do every year, I recently took nominations for the most anticipated tabletop RPGs for the coming year, and then opened the floor to voting. Here are this year's winners - the most anticipated tabletop RPGs of 2021! Previous winners include 13th Age (2013), Star Wars Force & Destiny (2015), Rifts for Savage Worlds (2016), Trudvang Chronicles (2017), Vampire: the Masquerade 5th Edition (2018), Savage Worlds Adventure Edition (2019), and Dune: Adventures in the Imperium (2020). Who will join their ranks this year? Read on to find out!

10. SLA Industries, 2nd Edition (Nightfall Games) SLA Industries is a role-playing game of urban horror, set in The World of Progress; a vast world of ruin and decay. At the very heart of this world lies Mort City, a false beacon of hope upon an otherwise dystopian planet. Under the skin of this sprawling city are the Operatives of SLA Industries. These agents, investigators and trained soldiers do the company’s dirty work, cleaning the streets of serial killers, cultists and Carrien vermin, whilst being sure to make the right impression for the cameras. The original was published over 25 years ago.

9. Werewolf: The Apocalypse 5th Edition (Renegade Studios/Paradox) Werewolf: The Apocalypse takes place in a fictional version of our Earth: the World of Darkness. In the World of Darkness, werewolves, vampires, magicians, and monsters are all living among us. An entire supernatural world hidden in plain sight. You are one of these monsters, pretending to be human but fighting for survival and supremacy among mysteries and conspiracies that threaten the existence of humanity.

8. Brancalonia - The Spaghetti Fantasy RPG (Acheron Books) An all-Italian medieval, roguish and picaresque setting for the 5th Edition of the most famous role-playing game of all time. This game will be releases in Italian and English. “Spaghetti Fantasy” is a new fantasy genre: imagine a Spaghetti Western – with swords instead of guns – based on Italian folklore, history and pop culture.

7. Pathfinder for Savage Worlds (Pinnacle Entertainment Group) A bombshell announcement in November 2020, the Pathfinder for Savage Worlds core rulebook will include an adaptation of the Savage Worlds game mechanics for players to make and evolve characters, and for game masters to create games of their own design, for play in Pathfinder’s world of Golarion. The Pathfinder for Savage Worlds boxed set—as typical for Pinnacle Entertainment Group—will include the core rulebook as well as other elements of game play for Savage Worlds like Bennies, Action Deck, Templates, Game Master Screen with adventure, Powers Cards, and more. Kickstarter coming this month, with a release in late 2021.

6. Rivers of London (Chaosium) At #7 on this list last year, Rivers of London has claimed one place for 2021! Based on the novels by Ben Aaronovitch, and powered by a customized version of the Basic Roleplaying System, the Rivers of London series follows an ordinary constable turned magician’s apprentice, as he solves crimes across London in a sensational blend of inventive urban fantasy, gripping mystery thriller, and hilarious fantasy caper.

5. Level Up: Advanced 5th Edition (A5E) (EN Publishing) Ready to level up your 5th Edition game? Welcome to Level Up, the standalone 'advanced 5E' backwards compatible tabletop RPG coming in 2021! A crunchier, more flexible version of the 5E ruleset which you know and love. If you love 5E but would like a little more depth to the ruleset, Level Up is the game for you!

4. King Arthur Pendragon 6th Edition (Chaosium) Pendragon was Greg Stafford's masterpiece, and this 6th edition has been a decade in the making. "Pendragon veterans will find that the fundamentals of the game remain the same, with subtle modifications reflecting the culmination of nearly three decades’ refinement of Greg’s vision of Arthurian fantasy." You can can download a free adventure and preview at the link. This is Chaosium's second entry in this year's list.

3. The One Ring 2nd Edition (Free League) Taking over the franchise from Cubicle 7, Free League will be updating both The One Ring and Adventures in Middle Earth, as well as producing Moria: The Long Dark. This is second edition and continuation of the game published by Cubicle 7, combined with the open-world elements found in their Forbidden Lands roleplaying game. And now, for the first time ever, we have a joint winner! The following two games got exactly the same number of votes - which, with thousands of votes being cast, is as improbable as it is true! Congratulations to them both on being 2021's most anticipated tabletop RPG. Even if one of them is on the list for the third year in a row!

1 (joint). Dune: Adventures in The Imperium (Modiphius Entertainment) Last year's winner, and the third year running it has appeared in the Top 10, Dune: Adventures in the Imperium is 2021's joint most anticipated tabletop RPG! The Dune: Adventures in the Imperium roleplaying game takes you into a far future where fear is the mind killer so be sure to keep your wits about you. The Imperium is a place of deadly duels, feudal politics and mysterious abilities in a universe where a blade can change the fortunes of millions. Build your House, carve your place in the universe or rebuild an ancient lineage and fight for the Imperial throne.

1 (joint). Twilight 2000 (Free League) The top two entries in this list were neck and neck. Free League's second entry on the list the year gets the joint top spot as the coming year's most anticipated tabletop roleplaying game! Another few minutes of voting, and who knows what would have happened? But as it is, both got the same number of votes. Just like the original game, the new edition of Twilight: 2000 is set in a Poland devastated by war, but the game also offers an alternative Swedish setting, as well as tools for placing the game anywhere in the world.

#RPG #gaming news #SLA Industries #Werewolf the Apocalypse #Brancalonia #Pathfinder #Savage Worlds #Rivers of London #Level Up #Pendragon #The One Ring #Lord of the Rings #Dune #Twilight 2000

[tolkienmetallist]

Dwarrowdelf

Music Style: Epic Black Metal

Country of Origin: England

Years Active: 2017-Present

Current Member: Tom O’Dell - Everything

Discography: The Sons of Fëanor (2018) Of Dying Lights (2019) From Beneath the Fells (2019) Evenstar (2020)

Tolkien Band Name Reference: Dwarrowdelf is the Westron translation of Khazad-dûm (aka Moria), the greatest city of the dwarves

Website: No official website, but does have a Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/DwarrowdelfUK/ and a Bandcamp: https://dwarrowdelfuk.bandcamp.com/

Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCACeKNdo9QeNh-tQ7M5Wxog

Spotify Monthly Listeners: ~850

My Thoughts: I hope you like European black metal solo projects, because we’re looking at another one today. While I did enjoy all of Dwarowdelf’s albums, I will primarily be focusing on one in this discussion. Before I get to that, overall, I think O’Dell’s strengths are his clean vocals (especially when he layers multiple vocal tracks) and his guitar work.

I want to spend a little more time on Dwarrowdelf’s debut album, The Sons of Fëanor. Before I even listened to this album, I was super excited for it. The Silmarillion as told through the fates of the sons of Fëanor is an amazing concept for an album. But even more amazing than the concept is the execution. O’Dell clearly has a deep understanding of not only the lore, but the tragedy of the Silmarillion. There a glimmers of this thread of tragedy throughout the album, starting from the very first song, “Amrod”, where Amrod says his “life is penance for the kin that we have slain”. The tragedy kicks up at the halfway point with “Caranthir”, when Caranthir seems to become aware of the direction this story is going. “Glorious sons of Fëanor, / What have we become? / Marching ever forward, we all fall one by one”. In my opinion, the climax is in the penultimate (and shortest) song, “Maedhros”. In this moment, the moment of their victory, the moment when he finally has a Silmaril in hand, his past cruelty catches up with him, and he commits suicide. The pain and sorrow of Maedhros really shines through in O’Dell’s vocal performance. However, while that is the climax, the most painful song is probably “Maglor”. It is one thing to die a tragic death, but another thing to be forced to endure with no hope of the release of oblivion. The album leaves Maglor on the shores, crying out for the return of his brothers. “Oh bring back my brothers to me, / From senseless tales of tragedy / I await them by the shores of life “

On that cheerful note, I highly recommend The Sons of Fëanor. If you want something a little lighter in topic, I would recommend Evenstar, which is primarily a character study of Aragorn.

#tolkien metal #heavy mithril #Dwarrowdelf #lotr #silmarillion #the hobbit

[thethief1996]

The EU has announced they'll allow Ukrainian refugees to live in the EU for up to three years with humanitarian visas.

The EU has an agreement with Turkey to hold back refugees coming from Africa and the Middle East in exchange for political support. Last March, the Syrian war intensified and a great influx of refugees tried to reach Greece through Turkey, so Turkey "opened its doors."

Greece suspended the right to ask for asylum for the entirety of March. All refugees trying to reach Greece through sea were captured and locked in offshore islands, in camps like Moria and Samos, in subhuman conditions.

Priti Patel, the UK's home secretary, didn't allow children living in these camps to reunite with their family living in the UK. In September, Moria's refugee camp caught on fire. The 20k people living in the camp were moved to an old military site, with the danger of active bombs.

Both asylum seeking and family reunion are uncontestable international refugee rights, under the UN's Convention for Refugees and the Conventions on the Rights of the Child.

This is an strategy used since the 90s to ward off refugees. Refugees trying to reach Australia by boat are locked up in islands in Papua New Guinea so they can't reach sovereign Australian territory and ask for refuge. Manus Island, one of the largest camps, where refugees were given salt water once a day and developed sickness from having to eat in the same environment as they had to relieve themselves, was only closed in 2017. Now the EU and the US are following their example.

Behrouz Boochani, a kurdish journalist who lived in the island, typed an entire book on his phone about the plight of refugees in Manus. He's not even 40 and, now that he's free, advocates for the accountability of the politicians that enabled his torture.

Listen to them. Take a second to actually click through these links. The last one leads to Boochani's Twitter account. Hear what refugees have to say about their struggle and advocate for them.

#bia.txt

[cloudravine]

Hiii everyone! I’ve got a bit of time on my hands and thought I could do something nice and fun for those of you who are interested 🌸 Send me one or several of the following symbols and I’ll tell you what vibes you give me! 💞

🌻 —one direction

aesthetic:

album (band): four | midnight memories | mitam | take me home | up all night

album (solo): fine line | flicker | harry styles | heartbreak weather | icarus falls | lp1 | mind of mine | walls

band member: harry | liam | louis | niall | zayn

friendship: larry | lilo | lirry | narry | niam | nouis | zarry | ziall | ziam | zouis  

lyric (band or solo):

song (band or solo):

year: 2010 | 2011 | 2012 | 2013 | 2014 | 2015 | 2016 | 2017 | 2018 | 2019 | 2020

+ bonus of my choosing:

🍃 —lord of the rings etc.

antagonist: balrog | cave troll | goblin | gollum | haradrim | nazgûl | orc | saruman | sauron | shelob | uruk-hai | warg

dwelling: bree | gondor | lórien | moria | rivendell | rohan | the shire

fellowship member: aragorn | boromir | frodo | gandalf | gimli | legolas | merry | pippin | samwise

female character: arwen | éowyn | galadriel | rosie   

object: andúril | elven rope | evenstar | glamdring | legolas’ bow | light of eärendil | mithril | one ring | palantír | red book | sting

race: dwarf | elf | ent | hobbit | man | wizard 

vala: aulë | mandos | manwë | nienna | oromë | ulmo | varda | yavanna

+ elvish word of my choosing:

✨ —harry potter

core class: astronomy | charms | dark arts | dada | flying | herbology | history of magic | potions | transfiguration

elective class: alchemy | apparition | arithmancy | care of magical creatures | divination | muggle studies | study of ancient runes

house: gryffindor | hufflepuff | ravenclaw | slytherin

magical creature: centaur | dragon | hippogriff | house-elf | merperson | niffler | phoenix | thestral | unicorn | werewolf

potion: amortentia | calming draught | felix felicis | polyjuice | veritaserum | wolfsbane

spell: alohomora | expecto patronum | expelliarmus | incendio | legilimens | lumos | protego | rictusempra | riddikulus | wingardium leviosa

wand core: dragon heartstring | phoenix feather | unicorn hair | veela hair

[poesia-vivir]

Almost every morning on my commute to work, I would blast Will Reagan and UP’s “Looking for a Saviour” on repeat, and there’s always that stand out lyric in the chorus that I never quite understood, “May a broken God be known.” Wait, but how could perfection be broken?

God is not broken in the way that He needs to be fixed. Rather, He is like a beautiful oxymoron. He is both the Lion and the Lamb. He came as fully human, but still fully God. A divine King who takes on the brokenness of man. That’s how Nathan Fray (co-founder of United Pursuit) explained it.

I take that the song is generally about the addiction to certainty, and truth. I listen to this song and I am always brought back to August 2017, when a couple of friends and I flew off to Greece. We visited Athens, but stayed on the island of Lesvos for 3 weeks, serving at a refugee camp that held the very brokenness of man.

There were days at this camp where my faith really wavered. The stories were heartwrenching, the camp was overpopulated, the tension between people groups was nerve-racking for such a reason that a fight could break out at any moment. You could feel the hopelessness linger on your skin, even when your shift was over. I was warned about what I was walking into, and I have read and seen so many photos or footage online, I thought I was prepared. They say cameras add 10 pounds, but the heaviness you felt walking through those gates was completely raw and overwhelming. I don’t think any type of warning could prepare you for the moment you enter Moria. You walk in the camp, a former prison. Gates after gates. Volunteers as guards. Barbwires. Cargo containers. Tents on the road. The scent of feces, garbage, and dust. First week in, my questions were growing more than my faith was. “Where are you God?” I expected Him to hold my hand because I needed Him to be more tangible than ever.

Then He came to me, but in the form of a 2 year old Syrian girl who actually held my hand, and begged for me to carry her. She sat with me most days when I needed to guard her gate. She played with me, and sat on my lap with her leaky poopy diaper. She’d cry to me when her older brother would be unfair. Her cunning little smirk that always meant she was about to run away to make me chase her. Her and her family moved to another camp, a safer one, thankfully. I never got to say goodbye, but she left a lasting mark. I still pray that the family is having a much a better life than the one they had to leave behind.

But I saw God in that camp. I saw Him in those men, women, and children begging for more food, more water, or more milk formula for their new borns. I saw Him in the Yemeni woman who helped translate for a stranger having a panic attack. I saw Him in the little boys wanting you to play soccer, shouting from afar, “my friend, my friend!” I saw Him in the older Afghan woman who carried her autistic child on her back up a steep hill. I saw Him in the young girl who’d greet me with a warm embrace and a kiss on the cheek. I saw Him in the man who would dance and sing to make me laugh. The man who built shade over my head when the day got hot. I saw God in the man teaching me Farsi, the man teaching me Kurdish, and the little boy teaching me Arabic. I saw Him in the face of the man who had scars on his wrists, with a little hope in his eyes. In the restless. The numb. The grieving. The joyful. The hopeful. I saw God but in that broken way, where even though He is Lord, He is also “the least of the these.”

Humanity is broken, but I acknowledge that I am merely cracked. As in, I live a very comfortable life and I complain that it is too mundane. I live in one of the most livable cities on Earth, and yet some days I’m still itching to leave. I was born into a life of privilege. I’ve never had to worry about my family or my own life being taken out by a bomb. I’ve never had to flee my country because it was safer anywhere else. It is actually easier for me to fix my “first world problems” than those whose lives have completely shattered. There’s just no reason why I would deserve any basic need more than anyone else. “I worked hard for this life” belittles the hardworking teacher I met whose classroom fell apart over his head due to a bomb attack. Or the man who was an activist and advocate for women’s rights and had to flee his country because that would have gotten him killed. The doctor, the pharmacist, or the entrepreneur of a soap company. It is not fair to the little Syrian girl who is now here, getting her ears checked almost every month because she lost her hearing at 4 years old due to a bomb that nearly took her life. I cannot look her in the eyes and tell she doesn’t deserve these treatments. It’s not fair to the Syrian family that lost their little girl to suicide due to bullying. I cannot even look her mother in the eyes, because they did not leave a place of despair only to find it again here.

We don’t need to go to a war-torn country, or volunteer in a refugee camp to realize that the time is now. We are in a time of adversity and tension. So the time is now. We start to bridge that gap, we mend that brokenness, and we end that division. That we stop holding an entire religion or people group to the poor representation on our televisions. There is still something common amongst us all and that is kindness, compassion, goodness, warmth, pain, grief, and empathy.

As countries are crying out for mercy. Christian’s, my heart is that we would bring what comes after this down, in the here and now; the beautiful picture of every tribe, every tongue, every nation. No wall, all barriers broken. Truly believing that there is beauty in the making, and firmly believing that every tear will be wiped away. We refuse to let evil get the last word and refuse to accept weariness and division be our world’s narrative. In 2020, I want to believe in the beautiful transformation of the Jericho Road to a restored Garden of Eden. Will you believe, act, and pray with me?

#personal #diversity #refugee camp #refugees #immigrants #God #faith #hope #love #revelation

[wftc141]

Blackwatch Chapter 1: We Are Blackwatch

In 2014, the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) formed a covert black ops unit, bringing together members from the shadows with a certain set of skills, all curated from the best with the best. They operate in countries that revolves in reconnaissance, rescue, counter-terrorism and assassinations. If they are compromised, NATO was not involved. They do not exist, they do not have records. They are ghosts. They are Blackwatch.

5:06 AM, Local Time

Ukraine

April, 2017

Elsewhere far towards the yet to be risen sun, the War of Donbass continued to rage on in the distance. The gunfire and the roars shut out the outside world between the Russian army and the Ukraine forces. Footsteps and war cries rattled the village as a rocket obliterated a chunk of a house.

Dust, debris and glass powdered as a group of armed and masked(with the exception of certain members) operatives evade and escape from an army of Kadyrovtsy soldiers and Pro-Russian rebels, peppering after them with their rifles. Their mission was to rescue missing CIA agent Clint Goddard who was captured by Chechen forces and set to be executed. But when the captors have Pro-Russian rebels on their contacts list, what do they do? Now they were on the run, desperately making their way for the helicopter evac a few blocks away.

Gabriel Reyes, ex-Delta Force and the front man, turned around and fired automatic bursts with his 10 inch barreled HK416 fitted with an Eotech sight, a tactical foregrip, an AN/PEQ-15 ATPIAL and a suppressor while the team ran past him. His signature skull balaclava topped with a black hood glared at the rebels, designed to strike fear into their hearts, thus earning his nickname, Reaper. Doesn't seem to be working so far.

He stopped shooting and retreated, catching up with Amélie Lacroix, the team's sniper and second in command. Apart from the others, she was armed with a HK417 with custom attachments consisting of a RIS foregrip, a suppressor, a Harris bipod and a laser designator. As one of the most deadliest snipers from France, Amélie was known for her sharpshooting skills and her combined use of hand-to-hand combat and ballet dancing. Therefore, the others knew her as Widowmaker. Shortly, Reaper's earpiece from his comms radio brightened alive.

"Ghost Rider to Shadow 1, get your asses moving. I'm running out of fumes here and I'm getting shot at, over!"

"We're on the move right now! Stand by, over!" Reaper replied while hopping over uneven terrain.

Making their way down a hill through a blasted hole on a wide fence, American country-man Jesse McCree turned around and burst rounds with his AR-15 5.56/223 Carbine attached with a Crimson Trace lasergrip and ACOG scope against their pursuers. Everybody was quick to call him a cowboy based on his thick beard, ragged hair and the cowboy hat whenever he wasn't on the field. The Japanese Genji Shimada was also beside him, doing the same thing with his TDI Kriss Vector SBR .45 ACP attached with an extended mag, Trijicon SRS sight and an Osprey suppressor. He also had a hood over his balaclava.

Another operator assisting them was the newest member in Blackwatch. Keenan Cortell, AKA. Marvel, straight out of the US Air Force bringing in his experiences as a fighter jet pilot. Unlike everybody else, he only carried an automatic Glock 18, firing rapid bursts. He always preferred a pistol over an assault rifle but if he had to choose, his first pick would be his custom UMP-45. After taking down a group of rebels, another wave of them clambered after them, forcing the three to fall back.

"This mission was supposed to be clean and quiet!" McCree yelled while sliding down the rocky but short hill.

"How would it be if we're in the middle of a goddamn war-zone?!" Marvel retorted, following him.

While the rest of the team ran through the wide dry area, Irish operative Moira O'Deorain carried Goddard by his shoulders. Even though he went through some beating sessions, he was still able to walk on two feet. Ex-Delta Force operative, Nicolas Beltrán or Nico for short fought back against the rebels trying to flank their east using his camo AK-12 with Eotech sights, AFG grip along with the Mexican, Sombra. Nobody knew her identity when she joined, not even the FBI. Her beanie covered her purple highlighted hair with sunglasses. Her custom silver blue MP7A1 attached with a suppressor, vertical foregrip and an Eotech sight was able to pick off a row of rebels charging after them.

"It would be better if you guys lent me a gun." Goddard croaked.

"Sorry sir but you're our mission and we can't risk you getting killed." Moira said.

The operatives caught up and they formed a line, fighting back against the pursuing rebels far from their distance while Moira brought Goddard to the front. After what felt like forever, their pilot in a PZL-Świdnik Mi-2 arrived and landed in front of the team. The rotors hovered, blowing away the remaining grass on its landing zone.

"Ghost Rider to Shadow 1, we're here. Get your asses in. I don't wanna stay long."

"Copy, Ghost Rider."

As the rest of the team provided covering fire, Moria quickly placed Goddard into the helicopter. Once he was strapped in, Moira stepped near the doors and called after the team.

"Objective secure, everybody in the helicopter now!"

Genji and Marvel were the first to jump in while the rest continued to shoot back. One by one, the team jumped in while taking shots. Now it was Nico and Sombra's turn to get in. As Sombra removed her clip while backing towards the helicopter, Nico's gaze fell upon to his west where he saw one of the rebels crouched and aiming something pointy at them. It didn't take long for him to realize what it was.

"RPG!" He shouted.

Wasting no time, Nico pushed Sombra out of the way just in the nick of time. As Sombra fell to the ground, Nico was unfortunately standing on the radius of the missile seconds away near him. As soon as it landed, an ear-crunching thwoom erupted and smoke formed the area. The explosion damaged the helicopter, which almost had it tilting to its right with its rotors grazing the ground. As the smoke cleared out and the team got back to their senses, Sombra who had covered herself from the blast looked up and found Nico on the ground but he wasn't responsive.

"Nico?" Sombra called. He didn't move or cough, prompting her to get up and check on him. "Dios mios, Nico!"

When she got to him, it wasn't a pretty sight. Sombra almost felt something forced up her throat. Nico's body has almost turned into a limbless statue with both of his legs and left arm missing, as well as burns all over his chest and face. A puddle of blood formed underneath him, soaking the dry grass. His eyes were shut tightly as if something dug inside it.

"N-Nico's down! I repeat! Nico's down!" Sombra yelled.

Everybody gasped silently and gave each other glances except Reaper. He jumped out of the helicopter while bullets continued to rain after them. He went up towards Sombra and helped her pull Nico to the helicopter while the rest of the team provided covering fire. Moira got out as well armed with a spare HK416, managing to take out a pair of rebels closing in.

Once Reaper and Sombra got in with Nico's body, Moira stopped firing and hopped back in. The helicopter began to lift from the hot-zone and Marvel shut the slide. The rebels continued to shoot at them but the ceased shooting proved that the rebel's efforts were fruitless.

As the helicopter flew out of sight from the village, Reaper bent down near Nico's body and pulled his mask off along with hood, revealing his brown goatee. He began to apply CPR while Goddard and Moira came to assist with cleaning up and bandaging the missing limbs with the provided first aid. Blood was now forming on the surface, slowly sliding downwards.

"Come on, Nico! Wake up!" Reaper begged as he pressed his chest repeatedly.

There was no response. No cough or a faint feeling of a breath. Reaper didn't want to believe it. He kept on pressing his chest while the team waited for a miracle. Moira was the only person who knew an injury like this wasn't bound to be healed.

"Nico, don't you fucking die!" Reaper growled, raising his voice progressly.

He continued to press his chest to the point where it was starting to get pointless. Goddard and the team couldn't do anything but watch as Reaper slammed his hands on Nico's almost limbless body while throwing his entire energy on him. Eventually, Reaper stopped while heavily panting. His hands were covered with Nico's blood and went limp onto the surface. The fact that they were together in the Delta Force added further injury to his pain, like a bullet to the heart.

"Goddamn you, Nico," he whimpered as the wine red blood reached the end of the door slide, dripping off the gap. "Goddamn you."

(1 Year Later)

Even being awake, the alarm clock continued to beep without even stopping. Reaper was already up, sitting on the side of his bed while staring down at the floor. Only dressed in worn sweatpants with his old dog tags, the rest of his body was not so pure. There were multiple healed wounds on his body, a healed gunshot wound on the waist with an exit and another on his right shoulder. There were several more on his back, including some healed burns. His right arm also had a healed burn wound. As the alarm beeped mindlessly, Reaper sighed, fed up and turned off the alarm clock.

8:23 AM, Local Time

Rome, Italy

Embassy of the United States

May, 2018

Blackwatch was never assigned any stations but the associates from NATO were kind enough to lend in the Embassy of the United States in Rome as the team's station. The Embassy was big enough for Blackwatch to fit in their own quarters and their operation centers for their missions, similar to the CIA and the DSS. Reaper parked his rented Fiat at the nearest parking garage and got out, dressed in all black rolled up shirt and pants with a NATO ID badge, because Blackwatch isn't an official unit. He didn't have time for breakfast since he wasn't much of an eater.

Reaper had to meet up with Widowmaker as the two have a debrief with Major Salvatore of NATO. After getting checked by guards and processed, Reaper picked up the FNG at the front entrance as ordered yesterday and made their way down the hallway, going into an elevator. While in the elevator, Reaper briefly glanced at the FNG. He was a black guy with a temple fade haircut and a beard. He looked like any average soldier: standard build and six feet tall. He also wore a navy blue t-shirt with tan pants and carried a backpack.

Before he went to the meeting, Reaper took the black guy to Blackwatch's quarters. When the two entered the room, the team who were inside stopped what they were doing once Reaper stepped inside. All of the members were in their casual clothes.

Genji was leaning at the corner, wearing a grey sweatshirt with the hood completely shading half of his face alongside black jeans. Marvel had a grey polo shirt and a cap topped with Ray Bans. McCree had his signature cowboy hat with a brown leather jacket over a blue tucked in shirt and tan pants.

Sombra's appearance has made some drastic changes for the past year. Although her shaved side hasn't grown back, her remaining hair was shorter and red highlights replaced her original colour as well as her clothes, shifting into a burgundy raglan tee and black skinny jeans. Other than Reaper, she had a NATO ID badge on her belt. Moira had her usual black shirt with a purple waistcoat. Their pilot, Tamara "Fio" LaPaglia, stood next to Sombra in a green open short sleeve shirt with a white t-shirt underneath. Born with a Brazilian descent, Fio shared similar experiences with Marvel as a US Marine pilot with the exception of a fighter jet.

"Who's this guy, Reaper?" Sombra asked, pointing at the black guy.

"This is...the FNG," Reaper answered. He didn't sound enthusiastic. "Sorry, didn't really catch your name."

"Raymundo Owens. But you can call me Ray."

The team were surprised about the news since nothing bad happened after the death of a former member but nonetheless, none of them had a problem with the news. However, Sombra didn't seem to like the new guy. Its like questioning a nobody in a top secret covert unit sent to replace a previously deceased member. Reaper also noticed that Widowmaker wasn't anywhere to be seen.

"Where's Lacroix?" He asked.

"Already waiting for you at the meeting." Sombra replied, ignoring Ray as much as possible.

"Alright, while I'm at the meeting, you guys make Ray feel at home," Reaper then turned to Ray. "And you...don't cause any trouble while I'm gone."

He replied with a nod. Shortly, Reaper was out of the room and the door swung shut. There was nothing but silence surrounding the room as the team stared at Ray. The silence was eventually broken once McCree got up from the cases he was sitting on and approached Ray. His index finger was tapping intensely on his upper thigh as if he really wanted a cigar.

"Well, I suppose we make ya feel comfortable," he held out his hand. "I'm McCree, Jesse McCree."

Ray shook his hand back. "Nice to meet you."

He seemed warm enough. McCree then let go of his hand.

"So, which branch you from?" He asked.

"Army, 75th Rangers. You?" Ray replied.

"Marines, Force Recon. Those were the days, partner."

McCree then turned around and planned to introduce the team. He first gestured towards Moira.

"This is Moira, ex-Irish Army Ranger Wing. She's our field medic but if you're a bad guy who just got shot or just piss her off in general, she'll murder you slowly and painfully."

Moria warmly smiled and waved like it was a normal thing. After a moment of awkward silence, McCree then pointed towards Fio.

"This is Fio, our pilot. When it comes to any sort of aircraft, she'll fly 'em."

Fio simply smiled and nodded at him, prompting him to do the same. McCree then pointed to Sombra.

"Over there is Sombra, NSA's top cyber security agent and hacker. Her past is a mystery and that's why the NSA want her. She's wicked smart and asks no questions. Ask her to break into Elon Musk's servers, she'll get it done in no time." When Ray looked at her, Sombra avoided eye contact. McCree wasn't surprised at all. "Oh, don't worry about it. She's not so into new guys. She'll soften up eventually."

McCree turned towards Marvel where he was staring at Ray.

"That's Marvel, fresh out of the US Air Force. He's a pro with a fighter jet and he can take on just anybody with his hands. Trust me when I say you'll only last three seconds on the mat."

"Hey." Marvel uttered without waving.

Ray nodded. McCree eventually got to the last part, pointing at the hooded guy.

"And last and not least, Genji Shimada, our other hand-to-hand expert. Actually kicked Marvel's ass a buncha times."

"Once, actually!"

McCree ignored his comment and continued.

"Genji's a former Japanese officer from the Special Assault Team. Had a great record of locking up many bad crooks, especially one of the most ruthless Yakuza clans of Tokyo."

Genji just showed him a peace sign without a word.

"Widowmaker's our leader's second in command but she's currently in a meeting with the boss. You might get to meet her later. I'm gonna assume it's gonna be 'bout our next mission so don't get too comfy. But other than that...welcome to Blackwatch."

McCree patted Ray on the shoulder with a smile before walking away, leaving Ray alone. As everybody else got back to whatever they were doing, Ray stood there, figuring out how to get used to being in a special black ops unit. It was quite hard, especially for new guys like him.

As soon as Reaper and Widowmaker entered the briefing room, they were greeted by Major Salvatore, serving NATO for twenty years, sitting at the middle of the room with a desk containing folders along with two chairs. A pair of guards were also stationed at the corners. As the two sat down, they noticed the two folders conveniently placed for them.

"We have a situation in Zambia," Salvatore stated. "Two days ago, a squad of peacekeepers from the United Nations were captured and publicly executed during their routine patrol by a local militia group. We caught the word when a group of villagers came to one of our nearest bases in Zambia with the decapitated heads of the peacekeepers."

Reaper opened up the folder and picked up a file, showing four seperate pictures of men with blue berets. Underneath were some bullet points and additional notes with one of them by the name of 'Ejner Lütken' highlighted for whatever reason. Maybe he was the leader. Either way, Reaper had some divisive opinions on the decision.

"Obviously it was a stupid call to send in a four man team unarmed into a bad neighborhood." He said, leaning back on his chair.

"They were only ordered to observe and possibly maintain order there." Widowmaker added.

"She's right, Reyes," Salvatore said. "Zambia is still a war-zone and the UN were trying to maintain the peace by using their hearts and minds, not automatic weapons."

Reaper scoffed. "I've seen the work the UN does and with all due respect, this shit ain't working at all. It's just making the situation worse. I hardly believe they're even brave enough to handle this or even give a rat's ass about it."

Salvatore wasn't fazed by his comment but he just handed Reaper another folder. "Either way, this is a Blackwatch operation, Reyes. We've identified the militia who executed those peacekeepers."

Reaper flipped over the folder and took out the paper with a blurry photograph of a black man with braids and sunglasses, standing beside a couple of armed men in shemagh scarves.

"Your target is Arno Macaba. Younger brother of former warlord, Dede Macaba who was killed by the Namibian Defence Force five years earlier. Arno is trying to finish what his brother started by taking full control of South Africa. They had control of both Zambia and Namibia earlier but ever since the death of Dede, Namibia is in the government's hands which leaves Zambia, the only hole left for Arno to fill. The NSA has managed to pinpoint his location at a large camp which is 3 miles away from the village where the UN peacekeepers were killed. Airstrikes are a no go because the NSA has also found out that the militia are using the villagers for labor and we can't risk casualties or worse, have the CNN snoop around on NATO's activities. Which is why we need you and your team on the ground to eliminate him. Keep the mission as quiet as possible. We can't afford any traces leading to NATO. The C130 will be wheels up at 10. Good luck."

After that, words were exchanged and the two left the room. They went down the corridor towards the elevator where they passed a man carrying some files. It was dead silent on their way back.

"Heard about the new teammate." Widowmaker said, breaking the silence.

"You okay with that?" Reaper asked.

"Oui. You think I don't like newcomers?"

"I do, actually. Hell, I don't even want any more members on the team."

Widowmaker chuckled for a moment. The two both stopped after arriving at the elevator. "There's nothing wrong with having a new member on the team, Gabe. You didn't say anything when Marvel first arrived."

Everything went silent again as they stood together. The elevator sign above changed numbers.

"Considering what happened back in Ukraine, it shouldn't be a big deal with the new guy on the team."

Reaper sighed, silently admitting she had a point but he was still concerned.

"Lets just hope the kid won't screw up the mission and get himself or all of us killed."

The elevator arrived just as he finished and they were silent again for the rest of the trip back to the quarters.

10:20 AM, Local Time

Flying over Africa's Airspace

Prior to the boarding of the C130, everybody swapped into their compatible clothes to blend in the dark. Their weapons, each different, were also packed in containers for the mission. Marvel and Fio piloted the aircraft as part of their skills. Shortly, the aircraft went for the sky and made an estimated time of a twelve hour trip to Zambia.

Two hours has passed during the flight and everybody has been minding their own business. As the aircraft rumbled and shook lightly on the sky, Ray looked around where the team were. Sombra and Genji were resting, McCree had earphones on while napping, probably listening to some country music by the looks of him and Widowmaker was writing something on a notepad. Moira was reading a book titled "The Human Anatomy" which seemed to unsettle Ray but he pretended as if it wasn't a big deal. Sighing underneath his breath, Ray looked at the ring on his finger. A small smile slowly grew across his face.

"You're married?"

Ray looked up and noticed Reaper standing above him. He laid his finger off the ring.

"I am, sir."

Reaper nodded and handed him a small container. Ray looked at it in confusion before looking back at the leader.

"Leave the ring in the C130 once we get out," Reaper said. "We don't let our enemy know what we have in life for them to use against us…"

Ray's eyes slowly descended down to the surface of his ring. He had a point there.

"Plus you make us look bad. We're still single." Reaper added.

That comment was enough to make Ray chuckle, brightening the tension a little bit. After taking the container from Reaper, he left him to himself and Ray pulled the ring off his finger, placing it into the container. Just as he removed it, Ray seemed to feel a sense of guilt and pity. Maybe he never had taken the ring off for a while. Could be.

10:43 PM, Local Time

Zambia, Africa

Militia Camp

After arriving in Zambia, the team made another half hour ride towards the marked camp with the supplied helicopter. Fio landed them a few miles away from the camp before taking off. Apart from the other villages where it was pitch black, the camp was decently lit well enough to expose their presence. Prior to their mission, they all suited up in plate carriers although Marvel and Widowmaker had chest rigs and Kevlar under their clothes, ballistic helmets with night vision goggles, bandanas and ski masks except Marvel and Widowmaker and go bags.

First impressions of the camp: easy but looks don't fool anyone. The voices coming from the camp seem to give away more than just a group of useless goons. Shouts and wails can be heard from a distance. It was also surrounded by a line of fence which doesn't look professionally set up. Everybody else was fully armed.

While the rest of the team are moving to the camp, Sombra and Moira stayed back to keep watch in case any reinforcements arrive with Sombra using her personal tri rotor drone controlled by a tablet. The drone hovered above the camp where it was dark for anybody on the ground to see.

"Mini drone's activated." Sombra said on the comm.

The rest of the team moved through one part of the fence at the side of the entrance which was torn open where Reaper suddenly raised a hand, prompting the team to freeze. In front of them was a guard in a tank top with a chest rig standing in an isolated area. Smoke was visible in front of him.

"Genji, take him out." Reaper whispered, gesturing towards the guard.

Just as ordered, Genji moved forward while the team snuck behind the huts, consuming themselves in the shadows. The guard remained unaware of the green visor lighting up the shadows behind him. As the guard continued smoking, Genji slung his suppressed HK416C rifle. Once he was close enough, Genji went for the strike. He kicked the guard's calf, sending him on one knee and wrapped his elbow around his neck. Genji pulled him away from the open and towards the dark while he held onto his neck tightly. Once he stopped struggling, Genji slowly placed him aside and finished him off with a suppressed P229 Elite.

"Clear." He said with elusiveness within his tongue.

The team advanced from the shadows and towards the opening where light was with their weapons raised.

"Shadow 2," Reaper ordered. "Take the overwatch position and prepare to provide cover once we capture our objective. Shadow 5, provide cover for Shadow 2. Shadow 3 and 7, take the east side of the camp. Shadow 8, with me. Engage all hostiles with discretion and silence. Now let's move."

Everybody moved out once Reaper made a hand signal to confirm his command. Eventually, the team dispersed without looking back. Reaper and Ray made their way to the center of the camp where activity was more active. There were several posts with loudspeakers positioned around the camp and if they were to be activated...

While the team moved on, Widowmaker advanced towards the area of makeshift huts. She side glanced the huts around her for a brief moment before moving past a guard sitting on a pile of crates while sharpening his machete. He had just saw her walk past him once he looked up. He let out a shout and grabbed his rifle, calling after her. Before he could move towards her, he loosened his grip on the rifle and slumped onto the ground, face first. Blood began to form from the surface of his face. Genji appeared from the shadows, aiming his HK416C to his body.

Widowmaker unsurprisingly paid little attention to the scene and continued to make her way towards one of the towers nearby. Genji simply went off and dispersed into the shadows. Widowmaker climbed onto the top of the tower and the first thing she noticed in front of her was a guard on a chair asleep. His rifle was also on the floor. Widowmaker slung her rifle away and took out a fibre wire attached to her belt.

Slowly walking up to the guard, she quickly wrapped the wire around his neck once she reached a suitable distance. The surprise attack was enough to jolt the unsuspecting guard awake, causing him to writhe around and make choking noises helplessly. Her strength was intense, having dug into the skin of the neck with the wire. He tried to reach for the wire holding him back, only to pull himself off the chair, giving Widowmaker an even deeper choke. Shortly, he began to relax and his hands went limp. She dragged his body to the corner and unwrapped the wire off his neck.

Widowmaker raised her suppressed HK417 with the safety off. She looked through her Leupold Mark 4 scope, revealing a much proper view of the camp. She adjusted her scope, focusing her sights on the other tower placed across the camp. Two guards, both awake and on duty. Without skipping a beat, she picked off the guard behind the one watching. He suddenly turned but he too was taken out, joining his partner's fate. Thankfully, none of them fell off the tower. Soft smoke escaped the hole of the suppressor, disappearing into the sky. There was still enough bullets in the mag.

"This is Shadow 2, hostiles on the towers have been taken care of, over." She said, tapping into her earpiece.

After the notification, Widowmaker caught sight of Reaper and Ray below. She held her gaze at them, watching behind their backs.

"Shadow 1 and 8, drone's picking up three heat signatures in a hut, fifteen steps from your position. Possible location of the HVT, over." Sombra said.

"Copy. Moving to that location, out." Reaper replied.

As Ray and Reaper walked down between the huts, they noticed a figure a couple of steps away from them. They approached him closer and they find a guard in a shemagh scarf and a teal striped polo shirt smoking while leaning against a pile of weapon crates with his back facing the duo. Reaper slung his LWRC M6A1 carbine over his shoulder and took out a knife from his sleeve as he slowly approached the guard. Ray followed him and hid behind the crates he was on.

Once the time was right, Reaper grabbed the guard's shoulder and pulled him onto the crate's surface. He plunged the knife into the guard's torso rapidly before dragging his body off the crate. Blood was left behind on the surface. Just then, Ray caught another guard walk out of a hut near them. He had just discovered the absence of the guard when Ray aimed his SIG 516 at him. He opened suppressed rapid rounds, bringing the unsuspecting guard down with bullets in the torso. Reaper stood up from the body and noticed the dead guard Ray shot before equipping his rifle and continuing to move. While the two searched for the hut, Ray froze on the spot after looking at something shocking.

Through a wide gap from the huts, there was an open field heavily lit as if it was important. There were guards with rifles supervising with kegs of water placed around the area. Ray stared at the villagers digging something up at the middle of the field. He counted more than a dozen children, five slender and frail elders and almost half of the women. Even worse, he discovered a pair of them pregnant. Ray remained fixated on the field, having that urge to save the villagers. His hand on the foregrip tightened and his finger on the verge of slipping on the trigger. Suddenly, he felt a hand slap his shoulder and spun him, directly towards Reaper.

"Hey, we're not here for them. Macaba's our mission. Let's move."

They continued moving although Ray was still focused on the villager's suffering. Shortly, they found the hut with their target, evident by the flag attached to the front door. The two stacked up next to the door, holding their rifles tightly. They were able to hear muffled voices from the room. Reaper tapped on his earpiece, exchanging communication.

"This is Shadow 1. Me and Shadow 8 are preparing to breach on possible HVT location, out." He said.

Reaper made a hand signal, indicating breach and Ray nodded. The two got their rifles ready and Reaper turned the doorknob open. They went in, aiming their rifles. There were three men standing by the desk with their backs on them and the man in the middle had the same dreads from the picture but with a floral shirt and worn cargo pants. In front of them were some pictures attached on a board. That was definitely their target, Macaba.

One of the guards wearing a dirty sweatshirt under a Kevlar vest had just looked behind his shoulder to discover some uninvited intruders and said something in his own language to Macaba. The other guard also caught them once he let out some noise. However, they weren't quick enough once Ray and Reaper dispatched them instantly. Ray fired suppressed bursts at the guard with Kevlar to his nose and mouth while Reaper fired rounds at the other guard to the forehead.

Both of Macaba's guards fell to the ground with blood sloshing from their heads onto the wooden floor along with their rifles. Just as they took care of them, Macaba had fast reflexes to grab a M1911 from the desk. Ray had just noticed Macaba aim his pistol, directly at Reaper's line of sight.

"Look out!"

Ray swiftly stepped in front of Reaper just as Macaba pulled the trigger. The bullet struck Ray's left chest, stinging him hard. The loud gunshot rang across the entire room and possibly the majority of the camp. As he fell to the ground, Reaper caught the chance and shot Macaba, hitting him in the upper arm. Macaba let out a shriek and pressed his gun to the bicep before trying to retaliate by aiming back while leaving his arm to soak in blood. Reaper quickly finished him off with the 5.56 bullets sawing into his chest. As he slammed onto the desk, his pistol went off at the same time, hitting the wall. Reaper approached his body and shot at what once was the would-be warlord further with a suppressed Glock 17, staining the desk and the photographs with blood.

Confirming he was taken out, Reaper slipped his pistol back into his waist holster and ran up towards the new guy on the ground. That bastard's crazy, he thought. He bent down near Ray who was feeling for the spot where the bullet hit him. Surprisingly, he was fine.

"I'm good, sir." Ray assured. "Round only caught the plate."

Reaper silently sighed with relief. "Then get the fuck up. We gotta move now. Everyone sure as hell heard that shot by now."

Reaper held out his arm, prompting Ray to grab him by the forearm. After getting Ray up, he handed him his SIG 516. As Ray ejected the mag in exchange for a new one, he took point with Reaper following. They opened the door and prepared to hit back with anything the militia's got. Through Widowmaker's scope, all of the guards have begun to take their duties even serious and ran around, searching for the gunshot while the villagers stood in confusion.

"Chicos, you got hostiles moving towards your location, over." Sombra warned from the comm.

"Copy we're exfiling now. HVT has been neutralised." Reaper replied.

Widowmaker moved her focus onto Reaper and Ray. They stopped and took cover behind some rusty sedans as several guards approached their position. Widowmaker shifted her scope and aimed at the guards firing at the intruders. With immense accuracy, she managed to take out the group trying to waste them. Meanwhile, McCree and Marvel made their advance to the east entrance with McCree leading the escape. Suddenly, the two get a warning from Sombra.

"Shadow 3, you got three incoming hostiles approaching from the left corner."

Just as she said so, two guards ran past the left corner of the hut in front of them, just noticing the two. Before they could react, McCree mowed them down like cheese with his modified M4A1. However, the last one wasn't present. Marvel left a signal, prompting McCree to stand by while holding his rifle high. He hid behind the corner and slightly raised his suppressed FN Five Seven, the only weapon he brought with him. He moved a few feet back to make sure his shadow didn't give away his position. The guard's shadow below him got closer and once he appeared from the corner, Marvel shot a round at his foot, causing the guard to shriek and lose balance. Marvel shot his head as he fell forwards. Once the guards were dispatched, the two took a brief breather as if they ran a mile.

"Thanks for the heads up, Shadow 4!" McCree said.

There was a sudden pause. "Not a single thanks for my Azúcar?"

"That thing's got a name?"

"It's the only reason you two are still alive."

McCree turned towards Marvel, only to receive a glance from him. Marvel slightly waved a hand from his hip.

"It's kind of a cool name." He commented.

Meanwhile, Widowmaker continued to cover for Reaper and Ray, taking out guards trying to approach them with their rifles. At this point, most of the guards were aware that one of their tower guards aren't doing their job. Which was why Genji remained in the shadows, taking care of guards trying to reach the tower. After emptying the rest of the mag on the guards, Widowmaker ejected the mag with a tap on the mag release. As the empty clip bounced on the wood, she reattached a new clip from her pouch and retracted the port.

She regained her sight through her scope, noticing the villagers spinning around in confusion. Some of the guards were rushing towards them and mouthing orders at them while raising their rifles, scaring them back into the digging point.

"Shadow 3 and 7 are out." McCree notified on the radio.

Elsewhere, Ray and Reaper arrive at the eastern entrance but stop at the very spot. They crouched and positioned their rifles behind them, aiming across the area.

"Shadow 2 and 5," Reaper said. "Me and Shadow 8 have reached the east entrance. We'll provide covering fire for your escape. Get outta there now."

"Copy, Shadow 2 out." Widowmaker replied.

Widowmaker lowered her rifle and climbed down the ladder, landing back on the surface where Genji was waiting. As they head towards the east entrance, Widowmaker took point while Genji covered their rear. He still remained a stranger with that ski mask under his helmet. Shortly, a group of guards armed with rifles appeared in front of them and opened fire. Widowmaker hid behind a parked pickup truck while Genji disappeared into the shadows. As they continued to fire at them, Widowmaker picked off a flashbang grenade from her chest rig.

"Flashbang!" She exclaimed, tossing it out in the open to where most of the guards were.

There was a thunderous explosion, ceasing the gunfire. It appeared the militia has never heard of a flashbang before. Switching her rifle into automatic mode, she appeared from the truck and opened fire with rapid bursts, gunning down the blinded guards. At the same time, Genji appeared from the corner and shot down the remaining two guards, kicking one of them into a pile of crates. The two continued to head out of the open.

"Shadow 2 and 5, you have two hostiles about to cut you off." Sombra warned.

As usual, two more masked guards appeared from the corner of the remaining huts. Widowmaker quickly slung her rifle and pulled out her suppressed MK 23 from her waist holster. With extreme precision, she dropped them down one by one with a headshot for each. As they both slumped to the ground, the two walked past their bodies and headed off where the gunfire has seemingly started to die out.

The two finally made it to the east entrance where Reaper, Ray and the rest of the team were waiting. As they escaped to the extraction area, Ray hesitated for a moment. He looked behind, feeling concerned for the villagers who were still in the camp. A couple of seconds later, Ray eventually turned away and caught up with his team.

11:25 AM, Local Time

Aviano Air Base, Italy

After another flight back to Italy, the C130 touched down at the Aviano Air Base miles away from Rome. As the team walked down on the platform with their weapons in their crates, Ray slipped his wedding ring back on while everybody else went on their way. Several vehicles passed them and loud aircraft occupied the airfield.

"Hey Ray, hang back for a bit."

Just as he stepped on the surface, Ray heard Reaper call him. While the others walked away, Ray got back into the aircraft where Reaper leaned against the side. Ray felt uneasy, worried about his actions earlier. It would make sense since he wanted to try to rescue the villagers from the militia. Reaper let out a sigh before looking back at Ray, uncrossing his arms.

"Listen," he started. "I appreciated your intention to protect me back at that camp but you need to understand that this unit is not your average team. I have responsibilities and I'll be damned if I lose anymore of you. So I'll keep this brief. Don't ever try to sacrifice your life again just to save mine. I also get that you wanted to help those people back at the camp, believe me, but you must understand that the mission comes first. There were other ways we could save those villagers without getting them killed in the crossfire."

The scariest thing about what Reaper said was...he was right. Who knew what could've happened if he actually did let the villagers loose. This would've resulted in the villagers getting hit and possibly killed in the crossfire. Reaper sighed once again and looked back at Ray with a slight sight of gratitude.

"Other than that...you did good." He said, patting him on the shoulder.

As Reaper walked past him and stepped onto the surface, Ray could only stand there wondering. He looked back at Reaper who was still heading off while the vehicles passed and soldiers marched away. Ray still felt uncertain about his position in a black ops unit.

1:00 PM Local Time

Rome, Italy

Embassy of the United States

While the rest of the team stayed in the embassy doing whatever they usually do, Reaper had just finished his report on his mission for NATO and eventually took the rest of his alone time on the balcony on the third floor. Although there were guards patrolling the area, it didn't bother him. In front of him was the open view of the city of Rome. The baby blue sky occupied the horizon with no sign of any clouds. From a distance, he watched a plane silently fly off above and beyond.

"I knew I would find you here."

Reaper didn't need to look behind. The French feminine voice was enough to give away her presence. As he remained attached to the horizon, Widowmaker approached beside him, joining him.

"Guess the rookie did alright for his first mission." She said.

"He did." Reaper replied, trying to drive the conversation away.

"Then what seems to bothering you?"

It was normal for Widowmaker to be persistent. She always found out, eventually. That's what makes her good at her job. After all, she was his second in command and the deadliest of the team. Reaper sighed deeply and took his hands out of his pockets.

"The rookie took a bullet for me."

"And that's a bad thing?" Widowmaker asked. "Je ne comprends pas. He saved your life."

"Yeah but he almost died. Who knows what could've happened if the bullet penetrated the armor."

She wasn't surprised. It was a normal thing since she was with him for years.

"Gabe, we all knew the risks when it came to jobs like this and you forgot that it's our job to keep all of us in one piece."

Reaper stayed silent. He didn't look in the mood to continue the conversation. Widowmaker got his message and started to turn away.

"Maybe you're right," Reaper suddenly said. "I just hate losing more people on this team."

Widowmaker didn't expect him to reply at all. She sympathized with his idea of losing another member close. It started to remind her about her loss of someone dear to her. Widowmaker eventually walked away, leaving Reaper to himself.

#blackwatch #overwatch fanfic #overwatch fanfiction #overwatch blackwatch #black ops au #modern black ops au #fanfic #fanfiction #my fanfic #my fanfiction #fanfics #fanfictions #my fanfictions #my fanfics #wftc141's fanfics #wftc141's fanfictions #wftc141's fanfic #wftc141's fanfiction

[wellesleyunderground]

Wellesley Writes It: Interview with Kwan Kew Lai ’74 (@KwanKew), infectious disease physician & author of LEST WE FORGET: A DOCTOR’S EXPERIENCE WITH LIFE AND DEATH DURING THE EBOLA OUTBREAK

Kwan Kew Lai ’74, M.D., D.M.D., is an infectious disease specialist who has volunteered her medical services all over the world and the author of Lest We Forget: A Doctor’s Experience with Life and Death During the Ebola Outbreak. In 2004, after the Indian Ocean earthquake and tsunami, she spent three weeks in India, caring for survivors. She soon left her position as a full-time Professor of Medicine in Infectious Diseases and Internal Medicine at UMass Memorial Medical Center and created a half-time position as a clinician, dedicating the other half of her time to humanitarian work. 

Since 2005, Lai has volunteered as a mentor to health workers addressing the HIV/AIDS epidemic in Vietnam, Tanzania, Uganda, South Africa, Nigeria, Malawi and has provided earthquake relief in Haiti and Nepal, hurricane relief in the Philippines and drought and famine relief in Kenya and the Somalian border. She has also worked with refugees of the Democratic Republic of Congo and internally displaced people in Libya during the Arab Spring and South Sudan after the civil war and treated Ebola patients in Liberia and Sierra Leone. Most recently, she served as a medical volunteer in the Syrian refugee camps in mainland Greece and in Moria refugee camp on Lesvos, Greece for refugees from Syria, Afghanistan, Iran and the countries of the Sub-Saharan Africa and in the world’s biggest refugee camps for the Rohingya in Cox’s Bazar, Bangladesh. Lai has blogged extensively about her experiences.

Originally from Penang, Malaysia, Lai came to the United States after receiving a scholarship to attend Wellesley, where she studied molecular biology. “Without that open door I would not have gone on to become a doctor,” Lai wrote in her Doctors Without Borders bio. 

Lai has received numerous awards for her work, which include being a three-time recipient of the President’s Volunteer Service Award. In 2017, she was awarded Wellesley College Alumnae Achievement Award. In addition, Lai is the lead author of many publications and presentations. Her research has included HIV studies, infection control, hospital epidemiology, and antibiotic trials. She has served on many committees, task forces, and boards, including the Governor’s Advisory Board for the Elimination of Tuberculosis in Massachusetts. She is also an avid marathon runner and paints when she is inspired.

Wellesley Underground’s Wellesley Writes it Series Editor, E.B. Bartels ’10, had the chance to converse with Lai via email about Lest We Forget and about her experiences at Wellesley and beyond. E.B. would also like to make note that Lai made time to answer these questions even while busy with her 45th Wellesley Reunion! 

EB: How did Lest We Forget come about? What inspired you to write the book?

KKL: I first became aware of the Ebola outbreak in March of 2014, I began to follow it very closely. I read about Ebola when I was in my training as an infectious disease specialist. It is a deadly viral infection but it usually occurs in Africa and I knew that it would be unlikely for me to see a patient with this infection. In the summer of 2014 when WHO finally acknowledged the seriousness of the situation, the nightly TV images of people desperate to get into a hospital and bodies lying in the streets because they were too infectious to be touched, moved me. I knew I had to be in West Africa to volunteer. 

I started blogging a few years ago when I went to volunteer to enable my family and close friends to keep abreast of my situation and so I did the same when I started volunteering in the Ebola Treatment Unit (ETU). Deeper into my volunteering I was very moved by the courage and resilience of the patients and the dedication and dogged determination of the people who worked alongside me and who risked their lives working in the frontline. After my first stint in West Africa, I was interviewed by NPR international health correspondent, Nurith Aizenman, about my experience and she had urged me to write a book. I had thought about that as well before she brought it up but I was too taken up into my second stint of Ebola volunteer by then. When I was in Sierra Leone doing my second Ebola volunteering, I was also contacted by an agency who wanted to represent me with either writing a book or making a documentary. However just before I left for Sierra Leone, I signed with my first agent about my book on Africa which is about my experiences as a volunteered doctor in HIV/AIDS and my work in the refugee camps. I did not feel it was ethically right to deal with another agency. Nevertheless, writing a book about Ebola became more urgent, I wanted to write this in honor and memory of the people afflicted by Ebola and the frontline bola fighters who put their lives on the line. It took me awhile for me to convince my agent to present my book on Ebola first before my book on Africa. 

EB: Lest We Forget is a work of nonfiction and, not only that, a book about a very intense topic. What was challenging about writing about that subject? What kept you wanting to write the book, even if it was difficult? And how did you handle writing about people's personal experiences, especially when dealing with sensitive medical information?

KKL: Keeping a daily blog helped to lighten the burden of writing about the trauma of the people all at once. The blog became my fact book that I could go back to if I did forget an event or a person. As I stated before, the book was written as a tribute to the people I wanted to honor and remember, that helped the process a great deal. I changed the names of the people as much as I could to preserve confidentiality. Keeping a blog daily also provided me an emotional catharsis while volunteering in the ETU. I also wanted to rejoice with the people who recovered from this grave illness.

EB: Is Lest We Forget is your first book? What was challenging about writing it, and what was rewarding about the process?

KKL: No, it is not my first book. In February 2014, I signed with an agent for my Africa book which I had been writing for a couple of years before Lest We Forget, which is about my volunteering experiences in Africa. Before then I attempted to write a book, a sort of coming-of-age story for my children, this has not been presented to anyone. My years of writing on my own have taught me that I still have a lot of work on that book and it would have to go through many more draughts. Keeping a blog or diary helps with one’s writing. Reading a lot and writing, both help with my writing.

I also learned a lot through trying to find an agent or publisher for my book, if there is no market for the topic of one’s book, it will not likely to be accepted by either. My book on Africa, tentatively titled, Into Africa: A Journey from Academic Medicine to Bush Medicine has been accepted a few months ago for publication next year, I found a publisher without the help of my agent. It will now go through many months of work with the editors, etc. before the actual date of publication.  I was told nine to fifteen months from May. 

EB: What advice would you give to someone writing a book? Perhaps someone also writing a nonfiction book about an intense topic?

KKL: Writing and rewriting many times over. Keep a blog on your experiences, despite the intensity, you would be surprised how your mind works to block the painful parts of the experiences. If you have some willing readers, it may be helpful to let others read your draughts.

EB: In addition to your work as an infectious disease specialist, have you always enjoyed writing? Did you write at all before this book? Did you study writing while you were at Wellesley?

KKL: As a professor of medicine, I presented in national and international conferences, wrote and published many scientific papers, and a few medical essays.  As foreign students, we were all required to take a course in English as second language during our first year, I did not find this very helpful but it was required. In my junior year, I took a writing course in which we were required to write and critique each other’s writings. We met once a week at the professor’s home. I did not find this helpful either. It seemed quite subjective and I think it was an easy course for the professor who I think did not offer helpful advice on our writing. I find scientific writings tend to be precise, cut and dry, very different from creative writing and as my background is in science, I have a great deal to learn.

EB: How did your time at Wellesley influence you and your career path, if at all?

KKL: I was more influenced by what I read during my teenage years. Wellesley provided a safe and secure place for me to grow. Coming from an Asian background, we are not taught to seek guidance and friendship from the professors, they are often put on the pedestal to revere and not as someone you could seek advice, reveal your vulnerabilities, or share your ambitions with. In my later years, I’m often jealous of Wellesley classmates who kept up friendship with their professors after they left college. My foreign student advisor at Wellesley advised me not to apply to medical schools because many excellent foreign students in the past did not get admitted and that I should apply to other allied health professions instead. I was accepted at the Harvard School of Dental Medicine after my junior year but I realized that Medicine was still my first love and after my dental degree I went back to medical school.

EB: Who at Wellesley made the biggest impact on you and your career? Faculty, staff, fellow students? Which particular individuals?

KKL: As I expressed above, I wished I was freer in finding advisors in my professors. Jeanette McPherrin, who became the Dean of Foreign Students during my last years at Wellesley, will always be remembered by me as a friend who kept up a correspondence with me until she passed. I found her to be non-judgmental, genuinely kind, and interested in all foreign students as individuals. 

The biggest impact for me was when Wellesley College offered me a full scholarship, this gave me the opportunity to get an education and fulfil my ambition to be a doctor. I remember being inspired by Dr. Tom Dooley and Dr. Albert Schweitzer who went to underdeveloped countries to provide medical care and Wellesley College’s motto of non ministrari sed ministare also spur me on to pay it forward. 

EB: What else would you like our readers to know about you and/or your work?

KKL: I currently live in Belmont, MA and have three children. Last week, I received a letter from the Dean of my medical school that they have selected me to receive their Distinguished Alumnus Service Award in October 2019.

EB: That’s wonderful! Congratulations!

#wellesley #wellesley college #wellesley underground #wellesley writes it #wu #class of 1974 #wellesley '74 #kwan kew lai #e.b. bartels #eb bartels #class of 2010 #wellesley '10 #lest we forget #ebola #ebola outbreak #wellesley writes it series

[theeternallylostkinship]

TEL has reached the Mines! :D

If someone finds @krawall return him here, yes?

#The Eternally Lost #Rogni is AWOL #LOTRO #lord of the rings online #The Mines of Moria #The Year of Moria 2017 #Rogni come home #We're worried OK?

[writing-after-the-disaster]

Detail from Richard Mosse’s ‘‘Moria in Snow, Lesbos, Greece,’’ 2017.

Teju Cole, in what is sadly his final column for The New York Times, writes,

“For how long will these radically unequal societal realities endure? Many affecting photographs have been made during the huge waves of international migration of the past few years. These pictures issue, as usual, from the presumed rights of photographers to depict the suffering of people ‘out there’ for the viewing of those ‘back home.’ But in looking at these images — images of war, of starvation, of capsized boats and exhausted caravans — we must go beyond the usual frames of pity and abjection. Every picture of suffering should elicit a question stronger than ‘Why is this happening?’ The question should be ‘Why have I allowed this to happen?’”

Teju Cole, When the Camera Was a Weapon of Imperialism. (And When It Still Is.), The New York Times. My emphasis.

#teju cole #photography

[doc-boredom]

Top 5 Mount Eerie songs?

I JUST WROTE SO MUCH FUCKING SHIT FOR THIS AND I ACCIDENTALLY CLICKED OUT OF THE FUCKING TAB BECAUSE I WAS CHECKING ON A LYRIC FOR FUCKING THROUGH THE TREES IM GONNA COMMIT

ANYWAYS

YOU’RE GONNA GET THIS IN ALL CAPS BECAUSE IM MAD. IT WAS A LOT MORE ELOQUENT BUT I GUESS ILL GET TO THE POINT NOW INSTEAD.

1) BETWEEN TWO MYSTERIES- FIRST SONG I GOT INTO BY MOUNT EERIE, ENJOYABLE BECAUSE IT’S AN HOMAGE TO TWIN PEAKS WHICH SUCCESSFULLY CAPTURES THE DREAMY NIGHTMARE HAZE OF LYNCH’S SERIES NOT JUST BY SAMPLING BADALAMENTI’S SYNTH WORK FOR LAURA PALMER’S THEME AT THE BEGINNING AND END, BUT BECAUSE ELVERUM GREW UP IN THE ANACORTES AND HAS AN INTIMATE FAMILIARITY WITH THE DISQUIETING POTENTIAL OF WASHINGTON AND WHATEVER THE DARKNESS MAY HIDE.

2) MOON PART 2- THE MOON IS LITERALLY ONE OF MY MOST FAVORITE SONGS IN ALL OF PHIL’S DISCOGRAPHY AS BOTH MOUNT EERIE AND THE MICROPHONES. WHAT I LIKE MOST ABOUT PART TWO IS THAT IT’S NO LONGER A SONG ABOUT “THEM” (THAT SHADOW THAT PHIL’S SO DESPERATE TO ESCAPE FROM WHILE SIMULTANEOUSLY TRYING TO FIND AGAIN) BUT NOW RATHER ABOUT HIM AS HIS OWN PERSON. HE COMES TO THIS REALIZATION ABOUT HIMSELF, AND WHAT HE NEEDS, NO LONGER HIDING BEHIND THAT SAVAGE DRUMMING OF HIS OWN MAKING, HIS VOICE UNWAVERING AS HE SINGS OVER HIS ACOUSTIC GUITAR (GOING FROM “YOU’RE GONE, YOU’RE GONE, YOU’RE GONE” TO “WHAT GIVES, THERE’S NO ANSWERING SOUND, AND THERE’S NOBODY AROUND, AND THEN MY ANSWER IS FOUND.” LIKE WHOO DAMN G R OW TH)

3) SORIA MORIA- NOW LISTEN. MY SAD GAY ASS HAS LISTENED TO THIS SONG ON TOP OF A FROZEN LAKE UNDER THE FULL MOON, TRYING MY BEST TO JUST REFLECT ON A LOT OF SHIT THAT HAD GONE ON LAST YEAR (2017 INTO 2018 SPECIFICALLY.) THE ENTIRETY OF A CROW LOOKED AT ME HAS THIS AMAZING STARKNESS TO IT THAT WILL SWELL AT RANDOM POINTS, THE BUILD UP MADE UP OF PHIL’S EMOTIONS AND HOW HE SHAPES THE MUSIC AROUND THEM. IF I’M REMEMBERING CORRECTLY, HE SPOKE TO SUN KIL MOON A LOT ABOUT SPOKEN WORD GRIEF, AS HE HAD WORKED ON IT IN BENJI. KOZELIK’S GONE ON RECORD SAYING YOU CAN’T SING THE SAME SONGS YOU SANG AT 25, AND THAT SHOWS IN PHIL’S EVOLUTION AS WELL MUSICALLY AND LYRICALLY. DEATH HAS ALWAYS BEEN THIS CONCEPT THAT HAD A MUTABILITY TO IT FOR PHIL IN HIS MUSIC, BUT AS STATED IN REAL DEATH, IT’S SOMETHING THAT’S VERY, VERY REAL, AND SOMETHING THAT’S NOT TO BE MADE LIGHT OF. THE FACT THAT HE REVISTS HIS YOUNGER YEARS, WHAT HE NEEDED TO DO TO BE THE RIGHT MAN FOR GEN ONLY TO HAVE THAT SLIP BETWEEN HIS FINGERS. HE HAS TO MAKE THIS WILD DECISION TOO OF GIVING UP THEIR CHILD BECAUSE HE CAN’T TAKE CARE OF BOTH OF THEM, AND EVEN THEN HE FINDS HIMSELF IN THEIR BED ALONE IN THEIR HOUSE REVISITING THOSE LYRICS FROM THE MOON (”I WENT BACK TO BE ALONE AGAIN.” LIKE HOLY SHIT THE FUCKING THEMING, THE TRAGEDY, THE POETIC GENIUS...) NOT TO MENTION THE CONNECTION BETWEEN SORIA MORIA THE PAINTING AND PHIL’S OWN REALIZATION THAT GEN IS THAT SHINING KINGDOM AND HE’LL NEVER BE ABLE TO CROSS OVER THAT CHASM TO GET TO HER. LIKE FUCK ME UP.

4) SUMMONS- SUMMONS IS FUCKING MAGIC MADE REAL. PHIL LITERALLY LISTENED TO THE WIND WHISTLE-ROAR-SONG THAT SURROUNDED HIS HOUSE IN THE MOUNTAINS AND CRAFTED SONG AFTER SONG FOR IT. HE’S NOT AFRAID EITHER, WHICH IS GOD DAMN BEAUTIFUL. HE IMPLORES IT, LISTENS TO IT’S WORDS AND DEMANDS, RESPECTS IT’S POWERS. THIS ALSO TOUCHES UPON LOSS AGAIN, AS PHIL’S KNOWN TO DO. IT TELLS HIM THAT IT’S A PART OF LIFE, AND TO ACCEPT IT, AND I THINK HE DOES BUT NOT TRULY IN HIS HEART. ONCE AGAIN IT’S A CONCEPT, FOREIGN AND FLEETING TO HIM, MORESO AN IDEA OF A FEELING RATHER THAN SOMETHING THAT HE’S EVER TRULY FELT. 

5) THROUGH THE TREES PART 2- THE FIRST PART IS FEATURED ON WIND’S POEM AND THE SECOND ON CLEAR MOON. IT’S A PERFECT OPENING TRACK BECAUSE IT HAS THIS SENSE OF MYSTERY, LIKE YOU’VE PARTED THE FOG AND STEPPED PAST THE TREES AND YOU’RE NOT QUITE SURE WHAT YOU’VE FOUND. THERE’S AN INTERESTING COMPARISON TOO WITH PART ONE FOCUSING ON “THE LAND OF DREAMS” WHEREAS PART TWO HAS “THE NATURAL WORLD.” IT’S LIKE A RETURN TO REALITY AFTER WAKING UP FROM A STRANGE, MAYBE EVEN TERRIFYING DREAM. SOMETHING INEXPLICABLE AND YET SOMETHING YOU FIND YOURSELF ENAMORED TO BECAUSE IT WAS UNDENIABLY YOURS. NATURE IS EXTREMELY SYMBOLIC FOR PHIL. HE GREW UP SURROUNDED BY IT AND USES IT THROUGH VARIOUS MEDIUMS, AND TOO MANY PEOPLE SEE IT TOO REALISTICALLY FOR HIS LIKING. “CAN YOU FIND WILDNESS IN YOUR BODY AND WALK THROUGH THE STORE AFTER WORK, HOLDING IT HIGH?” CAN YOU FIND MAGIC IN EVERY DAY MOMENTS? CAN YOU FALL IN LOVE WITH THE WAKING WORLD AND IT’S DREAMING, DARK SIDE. PHIL IMPLORES YOU TOO, AND YOU SLIP INTO IT ALL TOO EASILY IF YOU LET YOURSELF BELIEVE IN THIS WORLD HE’S NOT SO MUCH AS CRAFTING AS HE IS REVEALING TO YOU.

HONORABLE MENTION) EMPTINESS- “’MORE EMPTINESS’ I SAID ‘AND MORE, AND MORE.’” WHAT A WAY TO START A SONG. EMPTINESS IS DESOLATE WITH THE MUFFLED ORGAN AND EVEN PHIL’S LOVE FOR DRUMMING SOUNDING DISTANT AND FAR AWAY. IT’S DESOLATE, BUT ALSO DEMANDING, AS PHIL IS CONSTANTLY QUESTIONED FOR HIS NEED FOR NEEDING THAT EMPTINESS/TO BE SOMETHING LESS INSTEAD OF SOMETHING MORE. IT’S A VERY STRANGE SONG, LIKE MOST THINGS ARE ON SAUNA, BUT I THINK IT’S MY FAVORITE OUT OF ALL OF THEM.

#long post #mount eerie #i feature a lot of his music as themes in between two mysteries because everything he makes has this unrealness to it before a crow looked #and i love that #i also do love a crow looked at me and now only but for very different reasons #Anonymous