#yo everyone is dead

[ryololart]

After the War

Summary: Evanegline teaching at Quantico years after the ending of MWIII

Warnings: Mentions of gore and slight sexual topics if you squint real hard.

Notes: I wrote eight pages on a google doc in two hours because I have barely written anything in months.

I hate teaching. I always have, always will. All the eyes on me in the room like vultures staring from overhead, just waiting for a scrap of meat to fall out my mouth in hope for enrichment. Don’t these kids know I can’t help them?

Price told me this would be good for me. To get out of the house, out of the garage, back in front of people. I wish he knew who was wrong. I was meant to sit there for the rest of my days and sell fixed up cars on Facebook marketplace. Letting my uniform and metals get dusty in the closet. However, according to him, that won’t do. When I left to get on a plane to fly out to Virginia I had to set my profile on hiatus and the messages that flooded my inbox all were in a panic. Where are you going? Sell this to me before you leave? How much for the Rav? I’ll give you 1,000 pound and come get it if you sell me it before you go. My buyers need me, not some snooty rich Quantico recruits. 

These kids need a teacher and I’m barely half a person. Laswell, a friend of his from the C.I.A. apparently personally asked me to come. According to her, my experience in the field and my grit would shape these recruits up. The class itself was about anti-terrorism and who better at the head of it other than one of the two remaining survivors of SAS Team-141. The most famous anti-terrorist team to ever exist says the internet. They make me wear a badge on my jacket with my affiliations and having the skull, wings, and daggers sitting right on my shoulder surely has brought enough unwanted attention in the two days I have been here.  So many gasps and sighs, enough to think this was a porn film. 

All the students are in their uniforms, here at Quantico they are forced to wear black trousers and a tan blazer. They tried to fit me for one, but I waved them off. I told them I wear military pants and a sweatshirt and  nothing more or nothing less. This wasn’t to be different, but I do not need to abide by these standards when I am the one doing a favor here. A boy sits in the front, a few crooked teeth, jet black hair that has been gelled back, and a nasty look in his eyes. His notebook and papers still sit in his bag, unwilling to bring them out until he sees it is fit.  A few rows back and to the right sits a girl with short ginger hair, freckles framing her cheeks, and bright blue eyes. A pen is poised in her hand and she looks at me with almost an alarm in her eyes. These are two kinds of people in this world, those who are passer-byers, ones that are willing to find their way when it comes to them, and those who are willing to grit their teeth and crawl on their hands and knees to get what they want. I found that I have been both of those people and the difference between them is something finite. 

“Hello,” I stand in front of the desk that has been pushed to the front of the room. “My name is Captain Evangeline Thomas, please do not call me that, just Captain or Thomas is fine. I will be clear now, I was asked to teach as a favor to a dear friend of mine. I do not know how I can be of most use to you so please, tell me as we go.” I lean back against my desk, the clinking of the braces on my leg makes me shudder, even so many years later.

“You are really, The Evangeline Thomas? The one on SAS Team-141, the sergeant master?” The ginger girl says out into the open air of the classroom. I can feel the words hit me like glass, clawing its way down my throat and restricting it, closing and pulling shut. I have to cough for fear that the oxygen will soon run out. 

“Yes, I was. I, however, do not hold that title anymore,” So much for introductions. “Why don’t we go around the room and just say our names and ranks. If I am going to teach you I wanna know your names.”

It takes five minutes for the class of twenty to go around and say those basic things. A few stumble on their words or have to ask what we are doing and I nearly throw the yard stick at the front of the class at them. The kid in the front row’s name is Connell, and the girl’s name is Diana. I don’t know why these two kids stick in my head, maybe it is the way she is chewing her gum so aggressively or the way he keeps his stare at the floor. 

“Right so, Laswell wanted me to give a few lectures on anti-terrorism. However, I have never been the academic type. So, how about I give you a few stories and we dissect them,” I move to the board, the short distance between the desk and chalkboard makes me have to plan my steps carefully. “We want to know three things when it comes to cases like this. What is the act of terrorism? How do we stop it? How do we prevent it from happening again?” The chalk skates across the dark green and I forgot how my writing looks like chicken scratch. 

“You know just how to make it look like it could be readable but when you get a good glance it goes right back to scribbles.” His voice echoes in my head like it always does and suddenly the ring on my finger starts to itch again. 

“What happened to your legs dude?” A voice breaks out as I finish the last question mark. His eyes find mine and I notice they are almost orangey-brown, like the dirt in morocco. His notebook has moved from his bag to his desk but it remains under open. The question itself does not surprise me, that is something everyone asks. Over the years I have found silly ways to answer, since technically, it is classified. I told Price’s daughter when she was old enough to ask if it was a bear attack and that I won. Ethan and Lukas were told that I was working on a plane and it blew up in front of me. I suck in a breath before answering, almost being able to taste the gunpowder and blood on my tongue again. Smell the charred flesh and feel the  bits of plastic melting into my skin. Acknowledge it.. Let it flow down the stream. I give a small smile before responding. 

“I got caught by a pack of C4 under a table on a mission to track down the worst Russian-terrorist in history,” I write down Operation Kingfish. “Our first mission we are looking at Operation Kingfish. Does anyone have any clue what this is or is too classified and buried underneath the books.”

A boy in the back of the class raises his hand, he has thick black glasses, shaggy brown hair, and his blazer isn’t buttoned and creased on every inch. “I have been working on cleaning the database of missions, specifically on anti-terrorism. Operation Kingfish was the mission where Team-141 thought they knew where Vladimir Makarov was hiding out.”

“Good,” I wrote Makarov, “What is your name kid?”

“Tyler.”

“Know anything else?” I ask.

“The date was October 8th, 2013, otherwise no.” He says, I hear the slight lisp on his th’s.

“Ight, pay attention cause I ain’t telling this story twice,” I pull the chair from behind that desk that squeaks in protest across the room right in front of the first row. “Take notes if you want, I ain’t assigning no work or nothing. I have no stake in your education, so what you get from this class is up to you. What I am about to say is heavy so don’t be wussing, you hear me?” 

I begin the story and swallow all the resentment for myself. This moment is surrounded by black tar that bubbles and threatens to pull me down head under. I haven’t spoken of this moment since I wrote the report so many years ago, but Cindy, Price’s therapist of a wife, tells me it's good to talk about it. That I have to, or else the tar will drown me. This entire memory feels like a snake bite, it hurts fast and quick and then the ache sets in. 

“As our darling Diana told us at the beginning of the class, I was the sergeant master of the team, meaning for those who aren’t military here, I was the main technician. However, I didn’t just work on our equipment or vehicles. When we had missions like this that were high-stakes, trying to capture the literal head terrorist of our war, all of us were on deck. I also was in the office when we planned it. General Shepard hadn’t betrayed us yet and he would frequently ask me as one of the only American’s on the team for my thoughts on the plan. I would suggest different weapons or carriers. This mission took place in the Karkonosze mountains, located in Ukraine. The elevation and where the base was located needed a specific plane to fly overhead.  Specter 6-4, an AC-130 Gunship is the reason the boys and I got out of these that day. There was not enough cover even with a Delta sniper. He told me he wanted me on the ground if I wasn’t flying the plane. So there I was in combat after a while of being over watch or comms. It was I, Captain John Price, Sergeant John MacTavish who we called Soap. Lieutenant Simon Riley called Ghost, and my boy sergeant Gary Sanderson AKA Roach. Sandman and Frost, two other members of the Delta team, were back up waiting for us. This would be the first of the battles with Makarov himself and changed the course of history.”

I stop and look out into the room, I had gained all the eyes on me at this point. I said the names of the most famous soldiers in the world as if they were nothing. Price, Soap, Roach, Sandman, Frost, and Ghost. Soldiers who were beloved and regarded as heroes. All of them died, other than Price and I. However, Connell’s notebook still sat closed.

“What was your name in the field, Captain?” A girl from the second row asks me. She reminds me of someone I knew and I have to blink before I speak again. She had tanned skin and long black hair braided into a bun. Moles cover her face and arms like constellations and if I didn’t recall her name as Mary I would have called her Liana, my best friend growing up from home. Liana is dead and so is Marcus, her brother. 

“It was Tex,” I narrowed my eyes. “I was called an EMT as a joke when I worked at my first base in southern Texas. When I moved to England and joined the team they renamed me Tex for Texas. Soap said EMT was stupid and I never corrected him.” 

I can hear Soap’s brittle voice with his stupid accent say my name. “Evan, you let them call you EMT? That’s crazy bonnie, you are surely too tough for that. We’ll call you Texas from now on, Tex really.” His laugh was contagious and for someone I had only known for a few hours, he made me laugh harder than anyone before. 

“Tex, I like it.” A warm hand brushes a hair out of my face as I stand before him in the cover of the front door. Even if we are standing before our house, the moment itself: with his hand on my cheek and me on my tiptoes, stealing a kiss from his lips made me feel something I had never felt before. Home. 

I shake my head and continue, the memory fading just as quickly as it came over. “The day couldn’t have been planned better, the weather, the timing, everything. According to reports we had gathered for months, Makarov had been hiding there. God, when we got there ourselves his shit was everywhere. As you can tell where this was going he wasn’t actually there and the entire mission was a bust, yet we did get something out of it. Intel and a folder, all information he had forgotten that kept his trail alive. This is where we knew his real plans for the war, not just the ones that were clear with the start of WW3. No, nothing would prepare me for seeing the knife on the wall holding a picture of my team and X’s threw the faces we had lost. To this day I can tell you every member of that team, how they died, where they died, when they died, and who I had to send their dog tags back to. He had planned to kill every single one of us with detailed notes on who we were. My folder had information about myself I didn’t even know. My fucking deadbeat father’s middle name was on that shit. In anti-terrorism, a lot of the time they wipe our traces clear. No record of our existence. No birth certificate, social security numbers, ID’s, god even my pilot’s license. Everything is highly classified and protected or down right removed. This corner is tricky business as any information on you will be used against you, and most of the time those people are dangerous to a new level. These aren’t your typical war criminals. These are seasoned killers, cyber-hackers, and experts in weapons you couldn’t name in your dizziest daydreams. The room where this information was, was deep in the base. It took going down so many hallways and rooms, we were tired and the fear was heightened. Scepter 6-4 was raining down bomb after bomb and after so many flashbangs my head was pounding. We all were not right when we got in that room and saw the record of our friends' deaths being tracked, no one was looking out for a pack of c4 under a table. Price called the bomb too late. I had always had bad hearing and should have never been in the field. I worked on planes and different kinds of loud machinery that damaged my hearing and I could never have  heard the beeping of the timer. If he hadn’t called it, I would not be standing here. I managed to push off my feet towards the door but it was too late. The damage was done.” 

I stopped and noticed that everything was silent. In the first part of the story, people were whispering quietly or tapping their pens. Now, everything has ceased. Not a single person made a sound. I sigh and slip the coffee from my bag out and take a sip. I found that coffee was better than Adderall, the high of caffeine was smoother than a straight stimulant. Cindy made me go clean, and said I would never meet Thalia if I didn’t. Price and her kid is my entire world and I couldn’t imagine not being in it. So, I quit the drugs and became a babysitter. A weird turn of events for sure. My man always told me he wanted to make me a mom someday and  I told him if he ever fucks me and we aren’t on some form of birth control, I’d chop his small British dick off. He never brought it up again. 

“So, the gorey details now. My legs almost got blown clear off. The initial explosion shattered my left leg and the right leg collapsed under pressure from the right one not standing up well. I won’t go into everything as it even makes me uncomfortable.” Even talking about it, remembering the white flash of pain, makes the nauseous come back. “They say breaking your femur is the worst pain, and as someone who broke two, I can confirm. Soap hit his noggin pretty hard but otherwise I took the brunt of the hit. Luckily for me, 141 was my family, literally. One of the members was my husband and the rest were basically my blood brothers. Even when I couldn’t recognize their faces because every bit of sense I had was being overclocked by pain, Gary carried me out so that the rest of the team could shoot our way through the lines of soldiers coming to finish the job. If he hadn’t carried me out, I would have died on that floor, still moaning from the pain, unable to even conceptualize a scream.” 

In that second I can’t bring myself to continue. Seeing their faces in my mind, Johnny, Gary, Simon, makes the world around me swirl. Nothing can stop the grief from filling my body. It is as the atoms that make me up decided they can’t bond anymore and want to separate. Pulling me in all different directions, slumping me to the floor. The familiar feeling of pain overrides my public embarrassment to be in this class. These stories shouldn’t be told in a classroom, no, they should be shared around friends and family at a bar table. Remembering those who brought us here, that makes this world livable. Everyday I wake up and I see their photo framed on my nightstand. I say good morning to them, each one by name, and I start my day. These were real people, ones I loved, and they should not be examined by those who will analyze every move they made. They should be cherished by the ones who knew them, for everything they did right.

“Thank you.” Connell says, the words catching me off balance. His notebook is open now, and my story is jotted down in simple lines, but only the ones that detailed a circled name at the top. Roach. The anger that was in his eyes is now plain admiration. Not for me, for those I tell in my words. Then I know why I know his eyes, they are the same as Gary’s. I knew him, he was the little boy who received Gary’s burnt dog tags. I look at the name tag on his blazer which was perfectly ironed and set, Connell Sanderson. 

“I don’t personally remember the rest of the story,” Feel it and let it pass, the sweet voice sings in my head. “The record says that in the attempt to escape with Delta right with us, due to our gunship being shot down, Price stayed behind to make sure we got to the evac helicopter. His sacrifice let me keep what was left of my legs. He was in a Russian Gulag for three years until we rescued him, even though we thought he was Makarov. He was asserted K.I.A. the day we lost him and I remember waking up in my hospital bed and seeing my best friend and my husband crying together for him. Those boys don’t even cry when they lose a finger, no, but the loss of our Captain brought them to hiccupping sobs. The moral of this story is that being a part of this, takes everything from you. Your identity, your friends and family, your life. Personal honor does not justify any of this, most joined not out of pride, but out of duty. I joined the military to pay for my brothers’ educations and to get out of the hell that is the border of Mexico and Texas. I stayed in the military because I saw what I had to lose and I joined in the fight to protect it. I lost so much, but you find meaning again. That is the nature of us humans. Simon Riley and Gary Sanderson were lost in 2016 when General Shepherd betrayed us. Simon was my husband and Gary was one of the men I was closest with. He was Simon’s best man at our wedding and often stayed with us when we had breaks since he didn’t have a house in England.  I lost John MacTavish only months later to Makarov himself, he was my best friend. He stayed with me when Simon got deployed without me and taught me every drinking game I know. Only John Price and I remain for the team of over twenty. What I leave you with today, is know what you are walking into as we go over these cases. They only get worse from here, this is just one of hundreds of missions I was on. Next class we look at the beginning of the end, be ready.” 

I leave the class still sitting in these seats and an email in my inbox. 

SAS. OUTLOOK.GOV

From: Kate.Laswell@CIA.GOV To: Evangeline.Thomas@SAS.GOV  Subject: Regarding Class

Thomas, I don’t know what you said, or what you did. I don’t care, don't tell me, just show up everyday for the rest of the semester and I’ll make sure I send you a huge check and an Edible Arrangement from The Commissioner himself.  Better yet sign on for two semesters and I will get you a house in DC. Keep up the good work Captain. Signed,

Kate

Kate Lawsell, Station Chief Case Officer, CIA

[deer-with-a-stick]

The more time I spend explaining Tolkien lore to my brother the more I realize that Tolkien was just batshit insane

[abstract-hellbender]

JOHN MARSTON !!! Giggles and runs around

[averageclawcodeenjoyer]

You will never be able to unconvince me that, when given the chance, Ganke would absolutely do the anime glasses thing where the reflection gets so bright you can't see their eyes.

Nobody knows how he does it.

The lighting is never bright enough.

He just.... possesses that zest I guess.

The face he makes afterwards ^

[achillesuwu]

I keep writing snippets about this fic at some point I think I will accidentally write the whole thing snjsbzbsbs

[killa-trav]

wtf do u mean this vegas gp has a contract for 10 years?? jfc what an embarrassment

[thatonecrookedsmile]

Transmission 3 in a nutshell. (Or alternatively,what happened during the 5 minutes the transmission was down)

It's been 2 years since Dawn of the Dimetrix was released. Jesus,has it been so long? How times fly. I didn't get to do anything too big for this year,honestly. And considering what I did last year? I don't have much of a problem with something smaller. But hey,it's still a celebration anyway. I've had this idea for a while,and I thought it was funny. There was no way I could not do this.

I was laughing through most of the process. I loved how Abe turned out,and Dovahcom is just that specific frame from the OB transmissions. They look silly,there's no way I can't giggle.

Also,my first drawing with Pre-Explosion Goliath. He also turned out good.

I don't have much to add,so straight to the point: Happy Anniversary of the Dimetrix! I love DOTD so much. The hype and wait for the album/the era of transmissions/the release of the album were moments in IRIS history that I treasure. It brought great songs,some that would become my favorites (Dimetrix,basically lol),and overall, it's a good experience that I like to revisit. Again,I can't believe it's been 2 years already. 2021 seems so far away now.

Here for another 2 years,and for a new wave of IRIS material to come in the future. I can't wait for what's to come!

#HavokReignsForever

[euclydya]

thinking about [ ] and hoq apparently there's literally a tw for shipping [thing] i think that's really funny or this one artist we found is just downright hilarious

[freshcut-chetney]

The people saying those who can afford a $6 USD subscription are rich need to go outside and stop basing their worldview on shit people say on this webbed site good lord

[staryarn]

I love yo sang sm

[oh-meow-swirls]

imagine being nate/katie n just having to deal with world-ending schemes or whatever four summers in a row. possibly just over the span of like three summers-

[ultraviolencced]

*finds out who trapped and injured my cat*

my mom: shows up at his door with a bat

[sadpeopledancing]

x

[hauntingblue]

Evangelion movie hello

[hairydykecunt]

i think it’s very silly asking to borrow money from me after i lent a lot already and have been mentioning how little money i have 👍 like super silly 👍 can you think for once 👍👍 can you please 👍👍👍👍 and then basically be like nvm i’m good i borrowed the money from someone else 👍👍👍 and lowkey you were definitely supposed to be invited to hang out but we’re lowkey ignoring u bc we hate you 👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍

[starlightseraph]

house md will always be remebered as the most insane thing ever broadcast because of how unabashedly feral everyone involved was.

a short collection of things that happen on the show, just off the top of my head, not even scratching the surface:

- house shoots a random dead body in the morgue and then sticks him in an mri machine, which pulls the bullet out of the dead guy’s head and destroys the machine, costing the hospital millions

- foreman gets bitten by a person with rabies

- chase kills an african dictator

- cameron steals drugs from a patient after possibly getting hiv from said patient

- house induces a migraine and then takes a drug made by his arch nemesis (who he’s been stalking for 25 years) to get the drug taken off the market. he then takes lsd (in the hospital, in the middle of a case) to cure the migraine.

- chase goes into anaphylaxis after doing body shots

- house stops an elevator so he can perform a cavity (vaginal) search on a teenage heart transplant patient who’s in cardiorespiratory arrest

- they give a neurosurgeon mushrooms to cure his food poisoning, then they stick him in an operating room. the neurosurgeon strips in front of a health board assessor.

- kutner dies for gay marriage

- house sets an autopsy room on fire while trying to juggle flaming bottles

- house gets recruited by the cia

- taub gets held at gun point after diagnosing a stripper with skin cancer

- in almost every single episode, the team breaks into multiple houses

- house fakes terminal brain cancer so he can get drugs implanted directly into the pleasure centre of his brain

- house cons us immigration to get his fake wife a green card. he also uses his fake wife’s ukrainian food truck to spy on people

- house tries to get wilson, his closet case boybestfriend, into bed every few episodes. every other sentence out of house’s mouth is about wanting to rail wilson.

- taub has a kid with his ex-wife, after they divorce, at the same time he has a kid with his 25 yo side piece. the kids’ names are sophie and sophia.

- house and wilson have a bet on who can hide a chicken in the hospital the longest without anyone finding out

- house tries to kill himself like 6 times and always fails (insulin shock, overdoses, electrocution, jumping off a building, cutting, etc)

- house fakes his death to get out of a prison sentence after violating his parole so he can live out his bi love story with his gay best friend who has 5 months to live