#“There is shock in the local community on hearing news of these threats by a dissident grouping against a protestant man doing a day’s work

[girlactionfigure]

Rabbi Reuven Israel Kott was a Torah prodigy whose cleverness and chutzpah saved thousands of Jews from annihilation by the Nazis.

Born in a Polish shtetl in 1897, Reuven was one of fifteen children. His family were Hasidic followers of the Ger Rebbe.

Reuven’s exceptional intellect was apparent at a young age. He was a gifted scholar of Talmud and Jewish scripture, so precocious that he was given rabbinic ordination when only 17 years old.

The Rebbe took a special liking to Reuven, and every Friday night Reuven sat next to the great man at his festive Sabbath gathering. Small in size - he stood only 5’1” - Reuven was known for his big brain, and big heart.

Reuven was selected by his community to represent them as the Jewish voice on the local provincial council. When the Polish president died in the 1920’s, young Reuven stood at the graveside with other clergy and delivered a eulogy on behalf of the Jews of Poland.

Although life seemed fairly good for Polish Jews at the time, the Ger Rebbe sensed that big trouble was coming. He urged his followers to get out of Poland and move to Eretz Yisrael (the Land of Israel), at that time British Mandate Palestine.

As the Rebbe’s right-hand man, Rabbi Reuven Kott threw himself into the mission of helping Jews leave Poland and return to their ancestral homeland.

The British had a quota system restricting the number of Jewish families they let in. Reuven took advantage of a bureaucratic loophole defining “family” as two parents and an undetermined number of offspring.

Reuven collected money and bribed Polish authorities to get blank birth certificates. He would then “create” new families, matching people up, changing names and identities as needed. Every “family" had at least a dozen children.

Reuven told those he helped that they must stick with their fake identity. Most people complied, but a few didn’t and were caught. Under threat of being sent back to Poland, somebody gave Reuven’s name to the authorities.

Reuven and his brother were on a train in Warsaw when three plain-clothes officers approached. After verifying his identity, they arrested Reuven for bribery and forgery and threw him in jail. As a pious Jew, Reuven couldn’t eat the non-kosher jail food, so every day his daughter brought him a kosher meal - a two hour journey each way.

After several long months, his brother finally got word that there was going to be a hearing in the case. He went to visit Reuven in jail, told him the news and asked which lawyer he wanted to hire.

Reuven scribbled something on a scrap of paper, folded it up and slipped it through the bars of his cell. Outside the jail, Reuven’s brother unfolded the note. He was shocked to read the contents: “Hire me the most anti-Semitic lawyer in Warsaw!“

Reuven’s family was baffled. With so many top-notch Jewish lawyers, why would he want an anti-Semite? Had his incarceration led to a mental breakdown? Reuven’s brother assured them that he was of sound mind, and he went to Warsaw and found an attorney notorious for his fierce hatred of Jews.

The day of the hearing arrived, and the courthouse was packed with hundreds of Hasids from Reuven’s community. Reuven was allowed only three minutes with his lawyer, and then the hearing began.

To everybody’s shock, Reuven’s lawyer stood up, made a brilliant argument, and got the case dismissed.

Back home in the shtetl, everybody wanted to know what Reuven had said to his lawyer in those three minutes. Reuven said his Talmud study had taught him that in a business deal, if you get three “Yes” answers, the deal will close.

He asked his lawyer three questions:

- You hate us Jews, don’t you?

- Do you want to see me rot and die in jail?

- Would you like all of us Jews gone from Poland?

The lawyer answered yes to all three questions. Reuven immediately shot back, “What good would it do if one measly Jew rots in jail? If you set me free, I can get all the Jews out of Poland!”

Reuven got what he wanted by blinding the lawyer with his own hate. He continued his work “creating” large families and helping them move to Palestine. The anti-Semitic attorney even helped him procure more blank birth certificates. People often asked Reuven when he would go to Eretz Yisrael. He said, “I’m like the captain of a sinking ship. It is my responsibility to get all the passengers out before I get in the lifeboat.”

Over the course of 20 years, Reuven helped tens of thousands of Jews escape Poland. Today, almost half a million descendants of those Polish Jews owe their lives to Rabbi Reuven Israel Kott.

Unfortunately, Reuven himself never made it to Israel. He was murdered at Auschwitz in 1942.

For proving that one small man in three short minutes can accomplish miracles beyond measure, we honor Rabbi Reuven Israel Kott as this week’s Thursday Hero at Accidental Talmudist.

This story was told to us by Reuven’s granddaughter, Ziporah Bank. She heard it from her mom - the daughter who brought kosher meals to Rabbi Kott in prison. 

Accidental Talmudist

[krunchymunchy]

John - P1 // short story

I'm john. I used to work as HR at Grace's Health and Services over in Mesquite. Mostly just handled payroll and logging. My birthday? God, uh; I think April 3rd, 85? So I guess I'm 38? God I haven't been asked that question forever ago. What was I doing day one? Uh, God that was years ago. Quite a blur but let me see if I can recall. I was at my desk when my phone started blasting. My ex-wife was calling saying she took Sophie out of school since she was nearby. Freaking out because I know she damn well knows weekdays are when Sophie is with me, I unlocked my phone and then the alert came on; "EAS: Undead rising." I took my glasses off thinking "What the fuck? Is the EAS hacked or something like what happened in Hawaii years back?" I clicked on the popup and read into the details. "EAS. The CDC has declared a state of Emergency in the following states: Texas, Arizona, New Mexico, Arizona, California, Oklahoma, Arkansas, Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, Georgia, Florida, South Carolina, Tennessee, Missouri, Kansas, Colorado, Utah, Nevada and Virginia. Health experts have confirmed a disease outbreak effecting those who have recently passed away. This disease is known to make those who are infected reanimate and have faster reflexes, increased motor function, and basic navigation. We urge you to stay indoors and avoid all contact with infected individuals. Please ensure to follow the following actions immediately: Secure your home Gather essential survival needs: Water, non-perishable food, weapons Stay informed via official outlets Avoid public areas and large gatherings to avoid the spread of the infection Stay quiet and alert- noise has been affirmed to garner infected individuals attention If you spot an infected individual before death, report all suspected infected to local authorities Follow local evacuation orders. Evac orders will be given to you via local EAS notifications. Remember to stay safe and vigilant. Do not go outside unless approved and safe guarded by military personnel to your evac zone." Shortly after reading that, everyone was freaking out in the office. Suddenly, my coworker Barry turned on the TV. I looked up and watched Governor Reyes on the podium speaking to the camera. "Today, I stand before you with a heavy heart and a sense of responsibility to safeguard our great state and its people. We are facing an unprecedented challenge, a threat to the health and well-being of our communities—a dangerous disease outbreak that requires immediate action. After careful consultation with our state's legal advisors and public health experts, I have taken the difficult decision to declare martial law in Texas. This decision has not been taken lightly. It is crucial that we act swiftly and decisively to contain the spread of this dis-" What happened next had Barry scrambling to turn off the TV, but he dropped it. I'd look back at the TV and witness the Lieutenant Governor, Patrick, rip into the neck of the Governor Reyes, his blue with white stripe suit now red, a dark maroon red. Something you'd see out of one of those cheap horror movies, but this wasn't a horror movie. I saw Samantha pass out from shock as she witnessed essentially our governor get murdered on live television. Shortly after Reyes fell and Patrick continued to devour on Reyes neck like a juicy pork shoulder, three shots rang out, multiple military personnel running over as one of them pushed the camera to the ground, still live, we could only hear the massacre and imagine what was happening. Eventually after around half a minute, it cut to a pre-recorded video of the national anthem. You know, those ones that were recorded during the cold war? Yeah, guess they never got around to rerecording those. The office was practically in chaos as people got shoved, people exiting through the front door, squeezing tightly together like a pack of sheep getting herded into a pen. I left through the back door, making sure I had my keys before I went to my car. I turned on the ignition as I quickly asked Siri to call Ada about Sophie

[lakelandseo]

Three Irish Small Business Ideas that Could Be US Hits

“Knitting the Islands”, by Miriam Ellis

A happy and lucky St. Patrick’s day to all my readers! I’ve seen it again and again that small and local businesses became successful due to a great inspiration and some little happenstance bit of luck that got them noticed. Today, I’d like to celebrate with you by offering a shamrock of three ideas I’ve seen taking off in my mother country of Ireland. You may not replicate the exact business model, but do take away the underlying concepts which I strongly believe could succeed in the US. I’ll also point out how you can help luck along with a little creative marketing. Share this article with your team for brainstorming new campaigns, or with anyone in your life who wishes they could start a small business

Finding the "grá"

Ever wondered how to say “I love you” in Irish? One way is "tá grá agam duit" (taw graw ah-gum duts/ditch). It’s not uncommon to hear Irish folk saying they have a "grá" for something when speaking English, and to me, the word not only conveys love but a kind of longing. When people have a "grá" for some really good bread, or a trip to the seaside, or a warm coat they saw in a shop window, it’s what we might call “consumer demand” in American marketing lingo. Pay attention right now, and you may be starting to notice people in the US and elsewhere expressing a special kind of "grá" for a different life. Recently, such a thread stood out to me on Twitter, started by author and founder Dave Gerhardt.

Software, of course, isn’t going anywhere any time soon, and the more we see of the current state of AI chat, the less many analysts are convinced that it’s going to be a major disruptor at present, but what I observe in this tweet and the replies to it is that people are starting to get tired of the one-dimensional confines of too much screen time. Wanting a satisfying local life and community “IRL” is a great "grá" statement. Americans are deeply attached to our tech, but more and more, I’m running across peers talking about having an “analog life”, wishing their kids would become “luddites”, or wondering how an off-grid life would feel for their families. More simply put, many people would like to experience more satisfaction in what is right around them.

This dynamic is, in fact, tailor-made for small business entrepreneurs, so let’s look at these three aspirational concepts to see if you or your clients have got a "grá" tugging at you for any of them.

1. Be about life

Within living memory, it was the mark of respectability to have your little weedless patch of green lawn. You constantly cut the grass to keep it under tight control. You yanked out every dandelion - or worse - poisoned your own nest with herbicides. Think things never change for the better? I hear you, but check out TheIrishGardener because now, instead of rolling out bundles of monocrop sod, the Irish are carpeting the outdoors with native wildflower matts. One dimension isn’t enough anymore - folk want flowers and bees and moths and butterflies and bugs and more of everything alive. Yard by yard, they are reinvigorating essential ecosystems. Clever wildflower seed sellers are now marketing their products like seed matts and seed bombs not just to homeowners but as wedding favors, holiday gifts, classroom projects, and more.

There’s been such a base trend in US marketing in which we try to sell things to our neighbors by scaring them. Our ads are full of guns, screaming, threats, panic, anxiety, and danger and it’s very weird contrasting this with the ads I listen to on Irish media which seem to be largely focused on green energy, eating nice things, and enjoying the arts.

Could your great small business reject fear-and-shock-based marketing and instead hinge on beauty and satisfaction in life? We do have that old adage of drawing more flies with honey than vinegar, and if you can align your business with the very strong yearning for life to be abundant, varied, diverse, interesting, healthy, and fun, I think you’re moving away from the old lifeless lawns to the new thriving garden.

2. Be about locality

There’s only one place you can get real Irish seaweed - from the coasts of the country, of course! WildIrishSeaWeeds.com is one of those rare businesses that has seen the potential in a gift of nature that many might pass by without noticing. Seaweed is practically a miracle - you can eat it, bathe in it, and use it as a very carbon-friendly fertilizer that elders have always sworn by. What was once mainly a snack remembered fondly by children is now becoming a serious green industry in Ireland, and not far from where I live, I see a Californian company testing whether they can latch onto a similar demand in the US.

What is overlooked where you live? Is it something that can only be gotten in your local area? Something people used to love but are forgetting about now? Maybe it’s a local food source that’s starting to disappear because no one is using it anymore, or maybe its a skilled craft like basketmaking in a local style, baking or brewing a regional speciality, knitting or sewing a heritage garment, compounding an old-time remedy. Maybe it’s reviving a tradition that used to anchor your community. Could your great small business idea simply be about reconnecting neighbors with what’s special about where you live…a place that may have started to have vanished in our collective consciousness because the screens are blocking the view?

3. Be about people’s simplest pleasures

Our SEO lives may be consumed with ChatGPT right now, or GA4, or what will happen next on or to Twitter, but Padraic Óg Gallagher is up on the balcony of his restaurant, growing real Irish potatoes for his Boxty House in Dublin. If you’ve never had the luck to eat boxty, it’s a delicious potato cake, beloved enough in Ireland to be the inspiration behind a restaurant that’s seen such success, it was able to open a second location. Boxty is not fancy. It’s something your mother would make you from leftovers, something treasured from childhood, the memory of which warms your very soul.

If we look again at Dave Gerhardt’s Twitter thread, he’s not longing for a yacht, nor a manion, nor a pot of gold. He just wants the simple pleasure you get from “building in your community.” Most of us can be plenty happy with just enough, and rather than creating a business idea around elite luxury, consider what you might offer that actually delivers human contentment to the most people. A basic kitchen good that isn’t made well any more? A handcrafted walking stick? A cozy bookshop, a guided tour for visitors, your grandmother’s pecan pie, a wooden toy, a cloth doll, a sturdy garden implement, a bayberry candle, a regional herbal tea?

The simpler and better quality your idea, the more of a welcome change it could be for customers increasingly expressing fatigue from low-quality, mass-produced, and very limited options. America’s Vermont Country Store has been outstandingly successful in helping people relocate fundamental merchandise they can’t find anymore. Study their approach.

Creative marketing of your small business idea

What can you do to catch the eye of your audience? You’ve probably guessed that I’m going to say that, no matter how small your local business, you’ve got to have a website and local business listings. 30 years ago, I would have said this about the telephone book, and however much we may long for more off-screen time, we’ve got to concede that the web makes it so easy to be found! So yes, publish the best website you can budget for, build out your Google Business Profile and other listings, and invest all you can in learning about digital reputation management. It will help you achieve your goals.

That being said, the room there is beyond the web for creative marketing could fill all the pages of the Book of Kells. If you’re starting out quite small, try these low-tech approaches to getting the word out about your new business idea in your community:

Ask an established business owner to host you as a pop-up shop inside their store, perhaps for tourist season or the holidays.

If you produce enough volume, meet with local shop owners to discover whether your product could win a permanent place on their shelves.

Approach local reporters with the most succinct, newsworthy angle of your business to seek press.

Real-world community message boards still exist in some towns. Use them.

Put a sign outside your house or in the window of your apartment. No room? Ask local officials for permission to put a sign in a vacant lot or on a street corner where you’ve seen other signage posted. Be ready to sell them on how your idea benefits the community.

Research local regulations regarding hanging fliers around town.

Research whether there is an opportunity for you to be included in existing print catalogs. 90 million Americans purchase something from a catalog annually, and even as the Internet has become so established in our lives, catalog shopping has continued to trend upwards.

Found or join a local business organization for brainstorming, networking and cross-selling.

Coordinate with other micro-business entrepreneurs to host a shared party in a local park, acquainting your community with your presence and offerings.

Sponsor local teams, events, and people and be cited for it both on and offline.

If your community still has a local radio station, try to get on it, either with an ad or as a guest, to reach 82.5% of US adults.

If you live in an area favored by tourists, contact the local visitors’ center to see how to get listed in their publications.

Advertise in the mailers and bulletins of local houses of worship and schools.

If what you produce relates to any type of food, music, art, cultural, or local festival, participate in it.

“Little as a wren needs, it must gather it.”

I’m closing today with this famous Irish proverb, because it seems right for this moment in America, where the myth of endless growth and the dangers of an unchecked appetite for luxury have done no favors to the economy or environment our whole people must live in. The Irish phrase, “Cé gur beag díol, caithfidh sé a sholáthar,” has traditionally been used to remind us that even the small wren has to work hard to provide for itself - a scenario every small business owner and local business marketer will easily relate to.

But I’m starting to see a double-meaning in this phrase, and new business trends in Ireland are helping me to see it: a more sustainable way to found a venture may be in asking not how much you want, but how little you actually need to be satisfied. SEOs everywhere already know it’s a best practice to get clients to define what success looks like before a project begins so that all parties can see when a goal has been attained. For most small business owners not seeking to become big business owners, achievement will simply mean something along the lines of being able to pay themselves and their staff enough to have a modest, good life. To me, this recognition matters right now, because most customers are in search of the same thing - having just enough.

Whether it’s through thrifting in Ireland or thrifting in America, re-storing in Drogheda or re-storing in Simi Valley, eating local and organic at Moyleabbey Farm in Kildare or at Waxwing Farm in Washington, or preserving traditional crafts that last on that side of the water or on this, tandem trends are indicative of a search for a simpler, better life. 57% of Americans say they shop small to keep money local, and there is no overstating how much both nearby economics and the global climate benefit from this approach. If you’ve decided 2023 is the year to lean into the new/old ways by starting or marketing small businesses, I’d say the luck may be on your side!

[bfxenon]

Three Irish Small Business Ideas that Could Be US Hits

“Knitting the Islands”, by Miriam Ellis

A happy and lucky St. Patrick’s day to all my readers! I’ve seen it again and again that small and local businesses became successful due to a great inspiration and some little happenstance bit of luck that got them noticed. Today, I’d like to celebrate with you by offering a shamrock of three ideas I’ve seen taking off in my mother country of Ireland. You may not replicate the exact business model, but do take away the underlying concepts which I strongly believe could succeed in the US. I’ll also point out how you can help luck along with a little creative marketing. Share this article with your team for brainstorming new campaigns, or with anyone in your life who wishes they could start a small business

Finding the "grá"

Ever wondered how to say “I love you” in Irish? One way is "tá grá agam duit" (taw graw ah-gum duts/ditch). It’s not uncommon to hear Irish folk saying they have a "grá" for something when speaking English, and to me, the word not only conveys love but a kind of longing. When people have a "grá" for some really good bread, or a trip to the seaside, or a warm coat they saw in a shop window, it’s what we might call “consumer demand” in American marketing lingo. Pay attention right now, and you may be starting to notice people in the US and elsewhere expressing a special kind of "grá" for a different life. Recently, such a thread stood out to me on Twitter, started by author and founder Dave Gerhardt.

Software, of course, isn’t going anywhere any time soon, and the more we see of the current state of AI chat, the less many analysts are convinced that it’s going to be a major disruptor at present, but what I observe in this tweet and the replies to it is that people are starting to get tired of the one-dimensional confines of too much screen time. Wanting a satisfying local life and community “IRL” is a great "grá" statement. Americans are deeply attached to our tech, but more and more, I’m running across peers talking about having an “analog life”, wishing their kids would become “luddites”, or wondering how an off-grid life would feel for their families. More simply put, many people would like to experience more satisfaction in what is right around them.

This dynamic is, in fact, tailor-made for small business entrepreneurs, so let’s look at these three aspirational concepts to see if you or your clients have got a "grá" tugging at you for any of them.

1. Be about life

Within living memory, it was the mark of respectability to have your little weedless patch of green lawn. You constantly cut the grass to keep it under tight control. You yanked out every dandelion - or worse - poisoned your own nest with herbicides. Think things never change for the better? I hear you, but check out TheIrishGardener because now, instead of rolling out bundles of monocrop sod, the Irish are carpeting the outdoors with native wildflower matts. One dimension isn’t enough anymore - folk want flowers and bees and moths and butterflies and bugs and more of everything alive. Yard by yard, they are reinvigorating essential ecosystems. Clever wildflower seed sellers are now marketing their products like seed matts and seed bombs not just to homeowners but as wedding favors, holiday gifts, classroom projects, and more.

There’s been such a base trend in US marketing in which we try to sell things to our neighbors by scaring them. Our ads are full of guns, screaming, threats, panic, anxiety, and danger and it’s very weird contrasting this with the ads I listen to on Irish media which seem to be largely focused on green energy, eating nice things, and enjoying the arts.

Could your great small business reject fear-and-shock-based marketing and instead hinge on beauty and satisfaction in life? We do have that old adage of drawing more flies with honey than vinegar, and if you can align your business with the very strong yearning for life to be abundant, varied, diverse, interesting, healthy, and fun, I think you’re moving away from the old lifeless lawns to the new thriving garden.

2. Be about locality

There’s only one place you can get real Irish seaweed - from the coasts of the country, of course! WildIrishSeaWeeds.com is one of those rare businesses that has seen the potential in a gift of nature that many might pass by without noticing. Seaweed is practically a miracle - you can eat it, bathe in it, and use it as a very carbon-friendly fertilizer that elders have always sworn by. What was once mainly a snack remembered fondly by children is now becoming a serious green industry in Ireland, and not far from where I live, I see a Californian company testing whether they can latch onto a similar demand in the US.

What is overlooked where you live? Is it something that can only be gotten in your local area? Something people used to love but are forgetting about now? Maybe it’s a local food source that’s starting to disappear because no one is using it anymore, or maybe its a skilled craft like basketmaking in a local style, baking or brewing a regional speciality, knitting or sewing a heritage garment, compounding an old-time remedy. Maybe it’s reviving a tradition that used to anchor your community. Could your great small business idea simply be about reconnecting neighbors with what’s special about where you live…a place that may have started to have vanished in our collective consciousness because the screens are blocking the view?

3. Be about people’s simplest pleasures

Our SEO lives may be consumed with ChatGPT right now, or GA4, or what will happen next on or to Twitter, but Padraic Óg Gallagher is up on the balcony of his restaurant, growing real Irish potatoes for his Boxty House in Dublin. If you’ve never had the luck to eat boxty, it’s a delicious potato cake, beloved enough in Ireland to be the inspiration behind a restaurant that’s seen such success, it was able to open a second location. Boxty is not fancy. It’s something your mother would make you from leftovers, something treasured from childhood, the memory of which warms your very soul.

If we look again at Dave Gerhardt’s Twitter thread, he’s not longing for a yacht, nor a manion, nor a pot of gold. He just wants the simple pleasure you get from “building in your community.” Most of us can be plenty happy with just enough, and rather than creating a business idea around elite luxury, consider what you might offer that actually delivers human contentment to the most people. A basic kitchen good that isn’t made well any more? A handcrafted walking stick? A cozy bookshop, a guided tour for visitors, your grandmother’s pecan pie, a wooden toy, a cloth doll, a sturdy garden implement, a bayberry candle, a regional herbal tea?

The simpler and better quality your idea, the more of a welcome change it could be for customers increasingly expressing fatigue from low-quality, mass-produced, and very limited options. America’s Vermont Country Store has been outstandingly successful in helping people relocate fundamental merchandise they can’t find anymore. Study their approach.

Creative marketing of your small business idea

What can you do to catch the eye of your audience? You’ve probably guessed that I’m going to say that, no matter how small your local business, you’ve got to have a website and local business listings. 30 years ago, I would have said this about the telephone book, and however much we may long for more off-screen time, we’ve got to concede that the web makes it so easy to be found! So yes, publish the best website you can budget for, build out your Google Business Profile and other listings, and invest all you can in learning about digital reputation management. It will help you achieve your goals.

That being said, the room there is beyond the web for creative marketing could fill all the pages of the Book of Kells. If you’re starting out quite small, try these low-tech approaches to getting the word out about your new business idea in your community:

Ask an established business owner to host you as a pop-up shop inside their store, perhaps for tourist season or the holidays.

If you produce enough volume, meet with local shop owners to discover whether your product could win a permanent place on their shelves.

Approach local reporters with the most succinct, newsworthy angle of your business to seek press.

Real-world community message boards still exist in some towns. Use them.

Put a sign outside your house or in the window of your apartment. No room? Ask local officials for permission to put a sign in a vacant lot or on a street corner where you’ve seen other signage posted. Be ready to sell them on how your idea benefits the community.

Research local regulations regarding hanging fliers around town.

Research whether there is an opportunity for you to be included in existing print catalogs. 90 million Americans purchase something from a catalog annually, and even as the Internet has become so established in our lives, catalog shopping has continued to trend upwards.

Found or join a local business organization for brainstorming, networking and cross-selling.

Coordinate with other micro-business entrepreneurs to host a shared party in a local park, acquainting your community with your presence and offerings.

Sponsor local teams, events, and people and be cited for it both on and offline.

If your community still has a local radio station, try to get on it, either with an ad or as a guest, to reach 82.5% of US adults.

If you live in an area favored by tourists, contact the local visitors’ center to see how to get listed in their publications.

Advertise in the mailers and bulletins of local houses of worship and schools.

If what you produce relates to any type of food, music, art, cultural, or local festival, participate in it.

“Little as a wren needs, it must gather it.”

I’m closing today with this famous Irish proverb, because it seems right for this moment in America, where the myth of endless growth and the dangers of an unchecked appetite for luxury have done no favors to the economy or environment our whole people must live in. The Irish phrase, “Cé gur beag díol, caithfidh sé a sholáthar,” has traditionally been used to remind us that even the small wren has to work hard to provide for itself - a scenario every small business owner and local business marketer will easily relate to.

But I’m starting to see a double-meaning in this phrase, and new business trends in Ireland are helping me to see it: a more sustainable way to found a venture may be in asking not how much you want, but how little you actually need to be satisfied. SEOs everywhere already know it’s a best practice to get clients to define what success looks like before a project begins so that all parties can see when a goal has been attained. For most small business owners not seeking to become big business owners, achievement will simply mean something along the lines of being able to pay themselves and their staff enough to have a modest, good life. To me, this recognition matters right now, because most customers are in search of the same thing - having just enough.

Whether it’s through thrifting in Ireland or thrifting in America, re-storing in Drogheda or re-storing in Simi Valley, eating local and organic at Moyleabbey Farm in Kildare or at Waxwing Farm in Washington, or preserving traditional crafts that last on that side of the water or on this, tandem trends are indicative of a search for a simpler, better life. 57% of Americans say they shop small to keep money local, and there is no overstating how much both nearby economics and the global climate benefit from this approach. If you’ve decided 2023 is the year to lean into the new/old ways by starting or marketing small businesses, I’d say the luck may be on your side!

[qqueenofhades]

When Hob said "I think I have been stood up", I full on expected the barkeeper to react to that as if Hob's date hasn't showed and telling him not to be worried because he has seen many couples fight and make up afterwards and is sure Hob's relationship will survive it. Like, I was genuinely so surprised when the barkeeper talked about "friends" haha

Okay okay okay okay but. I gotta say something SO IMPORTANT about this from my position as Tumblr Old and Local Queer Historian, because.... yes. And that is:

That scene takes place in 1989.

Why is that important, you say? Well, because this is the end of an entire decade of the AIDS crisis. There has been endless fearmongering and conservative attempts to paint gay men explicitly as disease-ridden degenerate pedo Threats to Your Community who might infect your children with AIDS and make them dirty homos by so much as LOOKING at them, pretty much. They are literally toxic people, they are generally shunned, nobody knows what to do and is terrified of the fact of how quickly AIDS patients usually die with no effective treatment. And oof it makes me feel Some Kinda Way for Hob, born in the middle of the Black Death and who was haunted by that shadow all his life, experiencing this as a queer man in the 1980s. Like, he almost certainly lost several friends to it at least, watched them die, probably went in there to the wards when few other people would, both because he's immortal anyway and he doesn't think it's right to leave them alone.

Anyway, in the UK, it was literally only 2 years before, in 1987, when Princess Diana opened the first dedicated AIDS unit at London Middlesex Hospital, and publicly shook hands with a man who had HIV -- which was shocking because many people still thought you could get it through casual physical contact. So while on the surface, Hob looks like your average 1980s douchebro -- he's got the brand new Porsche, the slicked back hair, the giant brick cellphone, the works -- he is still going into public to have a date with a man he is in love with, regardless of whether either of them will ever admit that or act on it. (And given how 1889 ended, if Morpheus does show up, they ARE kinda gonna have to talk about it in some way.) Hob is, in this moment, incredibly vulnerable. Emotionally and socially for sure, and if the local macho assholes clock him as a Fag, probably physically too.

So that conversation when Hob says he's been stood up is absolutely LOADED with subtext, things he isn't saying, and things the bartender understands about him and tries to support. They're British, so by nature they're not huge on talking about their feelings, but Hob says he's been stood up. He doesn't use pronouns, he doesn't say it was by a girl, and if the bartender used the word "couple," it would generally presume that he too thought Hob’s date was a girl. So he goes for the most careful, also-has-a-long-queer-history use of "friends." He implies it's more than that, but he doesn't say so or put Hob on the spot for probably dating a man, because again, it's not safe.

After that is when Hob orders a drink, and the bartender tells him that people in this country can do anything if they have money. He's trying to subtly communicate that this is a safe place and he won't judge, and Hob picks that up immediately, which is why he is so shocked to hear that the White Horse has been sold and is going to be torn down for condos. Hob is losing not just the one place he can be assured (well, until now) of meeting his Stranger, but a place that has been subtly communicated to be safe for him personally, as a queer man in 1989. That is undoubtedly part of why he immediately refuses to countenance the idea of this actually happening, buys the pub, makes giant signs, hangs out in the New Inn until Dream actually does come back, etc. So like... there is so much going on in that scene, and maybe only 25% of it can be said aloud. Which I think is absolutely critical for you younguns to understand, so. Yeah.

[hawkinsindiana]

i got you, i’m here

ALMOST PARADISE: PART FOUR - CHAPTER THREE OF NINE

pairing: steve harrington x henderson!reader

word count: 6.6k

a/n: alllllllrighty we’re backkkkk. the next chapter releases should be more consistent bc there’s less i have to write and we start gettin to the realllll meat of this thing so it’s all super exciting. miss ruby tossed in some things for this as well so a lil shout out to her as always. pls enjoy!!! time for some angst hehe. warning for graphic description of violence.

masterlist

You’ve run the plan through your head at least a billion times — the only plus side to your anxious mind making a reappearance. Even with Steve’s arms cradling you close in the night, you weren’t able to get much sleep; you suspect he wasn’t resting either. 

The past few hours have been spent thinking through every technicality, every problem you could encounter. Each time a new issue arises in your hypotheticals, you grow more hopeless. What if you can’t get into the Upside Down? None of you that are left in Hawkins have a way to communicate with the other side. You don’t want to rely on El, but contacting her and the Byers might be the only chance you have against this new threat. Finding a way into the parallel dimension is the hard part; killing Vecna will be much easier — or so you’ve convinced yourself.

While your feelings on Eddie have remained neutral since discovering him last night, you can’t help but feel some sympathy for the guy. The moment this town hears that ‘The Freak’ is the number one suspect, accused for murdering sweet innocent Chrissy Cunningham, his life in Hawkins is over as he knows it. Munson might as well consider leaving the county, maybe even the state if he’s able. Indiana hicks are not known for their skills of forgiveness; he’ll be burned at the stake if they catch him.

But more concerningly, Chrissy is no longer the only victim.

Part of you was shocked to see Nancy Wheeler standing behind all the yellow tape, amongst the police officers and the alternating red and blue of the sirens long silenced. Then again, she almost looked like she belonged there, investigating a case for the local paper as if she was born to do it. You thought that’s what she was there to do, until you saw that fear in her eyes and the relief that replaced it upon seeing your group drive up.

You didn’t know Fred Benson and you’re not proud to admit that you’re glad you didn’t. Something about him always struck you as odd, overeager in the way that got under your skin and nosier than he ever had any right to be. That being said, there’s no doubt that his final moments were torturous — he didn’t deserve a death that cruel.

But as you stand in the dimly lit office of the high school counselor, your thoughts aren’t centered around Fred Benson, no. It’s Max who worries you, loose flyaways curling into an amber halo around her head while she recalls her theory, voice and lips trembling with fear at her realization; she believes she is Vecna’s next target. A vision of a grandfather clock wedged into the wall only confirmed it for her.

“Max, you’re not…” You trail off, arms firmly crossed over your chest as your eyes drift from her to the floor. The jumble of thoughts inside your head is making it difficult for you to comfort her in a time like this; you’re not sure whether you should be terrified or furious. Terrified that Vecna would come after a little girl, barely fifteen, solely with the intention of killing her. Furious that it’s your friend and her trauma that makes her a perfect candidate. Vecna will find out that choosing Max means he’ll be on the receiving end of your rage — he’ll regret that soon enough.

“You’re not cursed, okay? It’s gonna be fine, we’ll… we’ll figure something out, yeah? We’re gonna get you out of this, I promise.”

Everyone can hear the lie in your words. You can’t promise Max her safety, even though there’s nothing you wouldn’t do to guarantee it. Steve can’t tell if you’re saying this to quell your own anxiety or the redhead’s. You and Max are very similar — your bond strengthened by traumatic experiences that are only understood by each other, intertwined due to the actions of one individual. If there’s anyone that can help Max through this, it’s you.

In an effort to keep her safe, the group of you decided that staying together from now on is the best call. Not only can all of you take turns watching over her in the late hours of the night, but it gives you an opportunity to plan. Now you have the lives of Max and Eddie to be worried about, for dramatically different reasons.

Lucas’ concern for Max was palpable the moment he joined your efforts. After many hours of drooping eyelids and anxiety filled breaths, he finally slumped against the back of the armchair and let sleep overtake him. Your heart breaks for the Sinclair boy as you recall that conversation on your last day before college, where he had come to you in search of advice. Part of you wonders if what you told him even worked. Maybe you wouldn’t be in this situation now if it had. Max has only spiraled farther into her grief over the last few months — would she have been able to overcome this if either of you had done more?

—

Your ears are filled with buzzing from the fluorescent lights overhead; your head… god your head aches. The constant noise filtering through the room doesn’t help, wedging inside your brain and splitting it open with an icepick. Then your eyes open, the intent of going to search for something to deal with this pain fresh in your mind until you realize where you are.

The Russian interrogation room. 

Everything’s exactly the way you remember it, almost as if you’re reliving a memory. Your hands are bound in the same fashion they were before, tied to the sides of the chair. The table in the corner is there, the extra chair, the large and looming door — it opens.

The next sequence of events plays out the same way it had before. The multitude of questions, the rush of adrenaline as you made your attempt to escape, the two bullets fired from the gun.

But this is the moment where it begins to drift from reality.

Instead of the soldier’s body collapsing heavily on top of you, it’s Steve — blood trails from the wounds in his face that you put there, pouring out onto your clothes and staining the fabric. His brown eyes are unnaturally cold and unresponsive as your own gaze widens in shock and horror.

The rubber of your sneakers squeak against the tile floor; you’re panicking, scrambling out from beneath Steve’s weight to press yourself to the wall behind you. His head, continuing to bleed, thunks against the ground. 

You’re dripping with blood. Every inch of skin from the tips of your fingers to the bend of your elbow is coated in the warm, thick liquid. You turn your arms over in your hands, staring at the sight with nothing but pure fear threaded through your veins. You rub your arms against your pants, desperate to remove the blood from your skin. 

You’re sobbing uncontrollably, almost scratching yourself raw as you struggle to rid yourself of the red stain — Steve’s body grows cold in front of you. The blood refuses to budge. No matter how hard you rub, nothing transfers to the fabric.

You wake with a jolt, momentarily out of breath while your gaze darts around the room. As you adjust to the dim space, only illuminated by a singular lamp in the far back corner, you finally recognize the familiar sight of the Wheeler’s basement. Your throat tightens as you swallow harshly, squeezing your eyes back shut for a moment to try and force the haunting images from your brain. You don’t remember falling asleep.

It’s been sixty four days since you last had a nightmare. That’s the longest you’d gone without one in over two years. You haven’t had that particular dream in some time — Steve replacing the Russian as the victim of your crime. The first time you had it was your second week away; you hadn’t managed to return home to Hawkins yet and the fear that something happened to your love while you were gone almost tore you apart. 

Steve nearly drove to Chicago to see you that night — the way your voice trembled over the phone had him reaching for his keys across the counter. He couldn’t stand the thought of only comforting you with his voice. It didn’t matter that it was a bit past midnight when you called and the trip would’ve been four hours in total; Steve would’ve done it in a heartbeat if you asked.

You lied to him then. You couldn’t bear to speak those words out loud and tell him what you had really seen. So you lied, and you did it every time that dream decided to torment you, and you’ll continue to do so. You never want to see the look on his face upon hearing that you’ve had visions of killing him with your own two hands.

“Hey, you okay?”

Dustin’s voice, hushed from the other end of the couch, reaches you through the darkness. The gasp that escaped you when you woke snapped his attention from the book in his hands, his finger wedged in between the pages to keep his place. He took watch after Steve, who’s been sleeping on the floor beside you for the better part of an hour; you fell asleep long before that. 

Your breaths are shallow but even, not an unusual phenomenon for you to experience after one of your nightmares. Before focusing on deepening your inhale, you answer him, “Fine. M’fine.”

In regards to your feelings, Dustin’s a lot smarter than you give him credit for. After that night at the Byers’ and in the tunnels beneath Hawkins, he noticed your late wandering around the house, the creak of his door as you’d peek into his room to check up on him. Ever since then, he’s assumed that you experience nightmares, but this confirms it. He doesn’t appreciate your deflection. 

You’re shrugging off the blanket as you sit up, still forcing deep breaths through your nose as Dustin’s concern only grows, “Are you s-”

“I’m okay, I’m fine,” You interrupt, carefully stepping over Steve’s waist. Before your brother can argue, you’re making your way to the small bathroom behind the stairs, too far to be spoken to without waking the others. 

Dustin can’t help but feel a bit angry once the door shuts on its hinges. His stomach feels like it’s in knots, but that could be due to the multiple cans of soda he’s downed over the last two hours. You’re his older sister — he wants to be someone you feel like you can come to when something’s bothering you. After all, it is sort of his fault that you’re wrapped up in this craziness. The Wheeler’s basement serves as a sobering reminder of that November night; Dustin might not be sitting with this unpleasant feeling if he hadn’t called you, squashing the possibility of you having a normal life ever again.

If Dustin were able to go back in time and prevent himself from involving you, knowing what he knows now, he might do it.

Then his gaze shifts to the boy that sleeps next to where you once were — the boy who loves you enough that as long as he still gets to sleep beside you, will willingly lay on the carpet instead of waking you and asking to make room for him.

If Dustin were able to go back in time and prevent himself from involving you, knowing what he knows now, he doesn’t think he could do it.

He’d be taking you and Steve from each other if he did. Who knows where either of you would be if you hadn’t been given the opportunity to fall in love? That’s an outcome Dustin doesn’t want to consider.

On the other hand, your bond is strong enough that you still might’ve found each other in the end. Maybe the love you and Steve share is a constant throughout the infinite number of parallel universes that exist somewhere in the cosmos. He likes to think of it that way. Not that he’d ever tell either of you that. Perhaps there’s a world out there where neither of you had to go through all of this in order to fall in love; maybe you two get to live in peace.

But in this universe, it’s the horrors of Hawkins that brought you together. 

With a sigh, Dustin comes to a conclusion; there’s no one more equipped to take care of you than Steve. 

With your fingers now chilled from the cold water, you press them to your face — another grounding technique you adopted over the last few months. Accompanied by some deep breaths, the combination does wonders to help calm you down. Even though you still see flashes of the dream when you blink, you understand that it’s not real; Steve’s just beyond the door, fast asleep and lost in some dream of his own. There are worse things you should be scared of right now. 

You cup your hand and let the water pool in your palm, watching intently as it collects until nearly running over. Carefully, you raise your hand to your mouth and gulp down the water, exhaling as you feel the cold liquid travel down your throat. The stale flavor of the tap then reaches your tongue and you’re grimacing from the taste before shutting off the faucet. You don’t know what time it is, but you can tell you didn’t sleep for long; your body is slightly sluggish as you dry your hands.

When you finally gather the courage to exit the bathroom, and no doubt be bombarded with questions from your brother, you’re met with a far more welcome sight instead. Steve’s on the other side, his knuckles raised like he was about to knock on the door. At the sight of you, he rests his hand against the door jam and leans forward with worry, caging you inside. Sleep is still present in his voice, low and raspy enough that he has to cough in order to speak.

“What’s the matter? What happened?”

Robin stirs behind him, adjusting her pillow in her sleep as she turns, taking up the empty space that was meant for Max. The redhead pays no mind to either you or Steve, lost in thought on the other side of the room as she stares down at something, a pen carefully held in her grip. Steve casts his gaze to the older girl and waits for a moment to see if she woke.

When his eyes meet yours once again, you can’t help but slouch dejectedly, immediately giving in to his concern. Your heart sinks; you must have been louder than you thought if you woke Steve. Usually he can sleep through anything.

Your voice, in comparison to his, is much quieter — you’re ashamed of what you admit.

“Nightmare.”

Your boyfriend sighs, his tired eyes roving over your face as he allows the meaning of your confession to roll over him. You were doing so well. He doesn’t have to ask to know that this relapse is going to hang over your head for a while.

The events of the past couple of days must be affecting your subconscious more than he thought. He should’ve noticed that.

One of Steve’s hands reaches for your waist, fingers curling around your sweater to gently guide you forward. He flicks off the light as you exit and leans in to press a soft kiss to your hairline. The moment you register his touch, that anxious feeling immediately disperses — the warmth of his palm through the fabric quells the terrors that had been circulating in your thoughts. You move away just enough to slip your hand into his before Steve can take another step; his fingers squeeze yours tightly.

Carefully and quietly, Steve leads you back to the couch. Dustin’s since moved to lounge on the chair, his legs tossed over the armrest. All of sudden as you pass your brother, the realization slams into you — Dustin woke Steve for you. 

Steve grabs the pillow from the floor and sets it on top of the cushions. As he sinks onto the couch, he eases you down with him until both of you are laying on your side. It’s a bit of a tight fit with his chest pressed to your back, but all the more reason for Steve to wind his arms around your stomach to hold you firmly against him. You’re thankful for the squish the couch provides; it gives you the closeness you desperately need.

He sighs, the puff of air hitting your neck as Steve settles with his nose tucked behind your ear. Somehow he manages to tug you impossibly closer — you drape your own limbs over his, the pad of your thumb swiping across his forearm comfortingly.

“M’sorry, sweetheart,” Steve mumbles, shifting briefly to press his lips to the soft skin behind your ear, “It’s okay. You’re safe now.”

Your eyelids begin to droop as your breathing subconsciously matches his — deep, relaxing inhales and cleansing exhales. As you find yourself melting further into his embrace, you grow even wearier, exhaustion overturning the fear that used to be present. You almost miss when he speaks again as you begin to drift off.

“I got you, I’m here.”

It’s a promise — you can rest now.

—

The next day, it becomes painfully obvious that Max didn’t get any sleep. 

Not that you’re blaming her — you don’t think you’d be able to either, given the circumstances. You still have no clue how to break this ‘curse’ and you’re running out of time. By your estimate, you assume she has about five hours left before… before Vecna makes his move. 

“What are we supposed…” You mutter under your breath, just loud enough for Steve to catch your words. The pair of you are behind the stairs, far enough away so that no one else can overhear the worry and uncertainty in both of your voices. 

“What are we supposed to do, Steve? Just sit here and wait for something to happen to her? I won’t… I won’t do that.”

Nancy and Robin left for Pennhurst Asylum about thirty minutes ago, dead set on interviewing Victor Creel — a man who may be the first to encounter Vecna. The research that you, Robin, and Nancy collected at the library yesterday all seems to point in that direction. Hopefully he’ll know something about how to free Max from Vecna’s spell; it’s the only lead the group has.

But until then, you and Steve are taking the initiative to protect her. How you’re expected to do that continues to evade you. His eyes dart over your shoulder to land on the girl — she’s still jotting something down, the same thing she’s been doing since last night. Concerned, he places his hands on his hips, shifting nervously on his feet.

“I don’t know,” Steve admits quietly, “I don’t like the waiting game either.”

You’ve never had to play defense before; there’s always been a way for you to fight back and win. It feels odd to do nothing — unnatural for either of you to be without a plan of attack.

“We’re sure that Munson said he couldn’t see anything?” You whisper, “There was nothing else in the room with him?”

“He seemed pretty confident they were alone,” Steve shakes his head as he drags his focus back to you. Your arms are crossed over your chest, fingers tightly bunched in the fabric of your sweater. While your brow isn’t pinched, your face is wrought with worry and frustration as you wrack your brain for any piece of information that could be useful. Unfortunately, you come up short.

The protective instinct to keep the teens safe is burning inside both of you, an impulse so great that neither of you think you’d be able to resist the urge. While only one of them is tied to you by blood, that sibling-like bond is not easily broken. You’re family now, through and through.

“I hate to say this…” Steve begins, moving one of his hands to rest on your bicep. He looks a bit defeated but still finds the will to continue as he steps in closer, his voice remaining low and hushed.

“I-I think we just have to wait. I know it could be a really stupid idea but…” Steve sighs as his thumb instinctively strokes the scar beneath the fabric that clings to your arm. It forces your eyes to meet his, equally earnest and distraught as he trails off in thought.

“We just have to hope that Nancy and Robin will figure something out before anything bad happens.”

You sigh too, raising your hand to grip his forearm extended between you, locking both of you in each other’s hold. Steve steps in closer and his shoe nudges yours as he watches your expression grow more distraught, the corners of your mouth turning down in a frown. You hate this.

A noise passes your lips — something similar to a scoff. Steve can already sense the shift of your tone before you can speak.

“I really don’t like it when you’re right.”

Your faces brighten. Not enough for either of you to smile, but the playful lilt in your voice is a refreshing change of pace. A sparkle in the vibrant color of your irises — a familiar sight in between the discussions of mortal peril. No matter what happens, at least you know you’ll be able to count on each other. Both of you will do what you can to protect Max like she’s your own.

You shift your hands to Steve’s waist, tugging on the fabric of that stupid blue polo of his to pull him even closer to you. His large palms move to rest on your neck, his thumbs swiping across the line of your jaw. A hint of a grin shutters across Steve’s face for a moment.

“When all of this is over, you’re taking me to see our home.”

You blink once, your eyelashes fluttering as you look away from him for a moment. Our home — it sounds so beautiful in his voice, like the safest place in the world. Your chest fills with that golden feeling you’ve gotten used to when you’re around Steve and a smile finally pulls at your lips.

You nod when you bring your eyes back to him, your cheeks heating at the soft adoring expression on his face. It’s a silent promise that all of this will be worth it in the end. Your new chapter together is starting soon — the epiphany waiting for you that will make the pain worth it.

“C’mere,” He mumbles, pressing a quick kiss to your lips before wrapping you in a tight embrace. You take a deep breath as you nuzzle your nose into his shoulder, inhaling his comforting scent. The pair of you stand here for a moment, soaking up the reassuring touches and soft words exchanged before having to switch gears once again.

“It’s gonna be okay,” You whisper, trying to soothe the anxiety that’s crawled its way into your minds. You emphasize the sentiment with a kiss buried in the slope of his neck. Steve wishes everything but you and him would melt away; he’s only reminded of his desperation for normalcy when he’s forced to remove himself from you. He kisses your forehead — the final act of sympathy before your thoughts begin to wander.

Twisting to look over your shoulder, your worried gaze lands on Max.

You recognize a lot of your younger self in her, specifically the version of you that existed prior to Will’s disappearance. Back then… you didn’t have anyone. There was no one that you felt like you could talk to if something was eating away at you. In retrospect, that was all you needed. You know from experience how important it is to have someone to let in. First it was Nancy, and when that didn’t last it was eventually Steve. But you can pinpoint the moment your shoulders started to feel a little bit lighter; it all started with your friends.

While Steve returns to Lucas and Dustin, you approach the younger girl. It takes Max a moment to notice you at her side, too lost in her own head to recognize anything happening outside of her own body. Except for what she scribbles onto the pages scattered in front of her — she is intently focused on those. Instinctively Max tries to cover her writings, but you’ve already seen enough.

“Letters, huh?”

Max sends an uncertain glance between you and the papers; she can’t sense any hostility or condescension in your tone. Your curiosity is genuine. She shifts, fiddling with the pen in between her fingers, “Yeah.”

When you sit next to her, an arm placed on the shorter end of the desk to prop up your head, Max finds herself spitting out the rest of her answer — she couldn’t help it even if she tried.

“Just in case I don’t get to say it before…”

She forces her expression to become stony, pushing away any thoughts of Vecna; she already feels him buzzing in the back of her head. Max’s feet shuffle beneath the table, “Y’know.”

You nod, pressing your mouth into a fine line as your eyes rove over her and the contents on the desk. Max’s voice betrays her outward appearance — the small break in her throat lets you in on how worried she actually is. Her eyes are tired, but not in the way that you’d expect from someone who didn’t get any sleep. It births a new fear inside your chest; when Vecna tries to come for her, you think she might let him.

“That’s a good idea, yeah,” You say softly, lowering your voice enough so it can only be heard by the two of you. Even with your show of support, you don’t think there’s much more you can say to reassure her. If you couldn’t guarantee her safety yesterday, you’re certainly not going to be able to do so as she hurdles towards her death. Anything you say now would be an empty promise.

But one thing you do know, as the pair of you sit here in an uneasy silence, is that you might be able to help her in more ways than one.

“Have Dustin or I ever told you about our dad?”

Max’s eyes shift back to you. There’s a wrinkle above your brow and a sadness in your voice that she doesn’t recognize — like digging up an old memory that stings. She shakes her head. You swallow harshly, removing your arm from the desk to cradle both your hands in your lap. 

“He, uh…” You stop yourself, searching for the courage to speak the next few words out loud. After another second, your gaze spacing out on the floor in front of you, you finally find it.

“He left us. Walked right out.”

A small scoff passes your lips; Max watches as your jaw tightens, fingers intertwining with each other, “He didn’t want a family. And it was obvious. Hell, I could tell that he didn’t want the three of us and I was young. Ten, eleven at the time.”

“So… we were science fair trophies you could put on the shelf, nothing more than what we could do to make him look better. And I wanted him gone.”

Your voice doesn’t even waver. Even though you’re physically tense, you talk about him like this is normal, like you’ve just… accepted that this is what you had dealt with. Max shudders at that thought. This has been your story this entire time? She’s intently listening to you now, the letters long forgotten beneath her hands.

“I thought I was… the worst person for that. I shouldn’t hate my dad enough to wish he was out of my life, y’know? Some people don’t even get to have a dad. I tried to tell myself that I should be grateful. Worst of all, is that I actually…”

You laugh, averting your eyes from where they had been, darting up to the ceiling in disbelief, “I hated myself for feeling relieved when he finally left. But then I wasn’t walking around on eggshells anymore. I could… I could just live and be loved by the two people that I knew did.”

“That man… he’s a monster. The first one I ever knew.”

You’re staring down at the scar on your hand, forever etched across your skin in a horrific reminder of the boy that came after your father — two people so similar it’s a shock you ever considered allowing him into your life. But you were blinded by love; most people make their stupidest decisions when they are.

With a sigh, your voice finally softens, “And it took me a while to realize that the relief wasn’t a selfish emotion. It meant finally feeling safe enough to breathe, Max. It’s okay if you feel that. You’re allowed to be glad Billy’s gone, even if he was a part of your family.”

It’s Max’s turn to tense, her body growing uneasy at the mention of her step-brother. It’s unfair that you’re able to read her this well and instinctively know that her feelings regarding his death are more complex than meets the eye. Not even Lucas knows that. 

You lean forward, moving one of your hands to rest gently on her shoulder, “Just don’t be too hard on yourself. Because I can promise you that it gets better. I know it doesn’t seem like it but-”

Your gaze moves to the boys just in time to see Dustin toss a paper airplane right into Steve’s nose at point blank range. Lucas’ smile grows wide as he laughs, throwing his head back over the edge of the couch as Steve whines. He rolls up the newspaper he had been reading and slaps your brother with it, a resounding thunk throughout the room. You don’t have to finish your sentence for Max to understand. There is so much love for both of you in this room.

When you refocus on her with a wistful grin on your face, your grip on her tightens, “It’ll get better.”

Max lets out a deep breath as you finally stand — everything you just said is swirling through her head. She doesn’t know what to think or which part of your confession to focus on more. That ache inside her has settled a bit; not by much, but enough to know the difference. Before you can drift away, she’s speaking.

“Wait.” 

The girl shuffles through the envelopes on the desk, flipping through them before she finds the correct one. She gingerly holds it between her hands, staring down at the name scrawled across the front of it, and hesitantly passes it up — it’s addressed to you. Your brow pinches at the gesture, taking the letter from her as she shifts uncomfortably.

“Y’know… just in case.”

Her words, an echo from earlier, tug at your heart. You feel admiration and dread spread through your chest, a complicated bundle of emotions that makes your throat grow hoarse. A knot forms in the pit of your stomach — the urge to protect her from Vecna is even stronger.

— 

When everyone regroups later that night, the weight on your shoulders has been replaced by a different one.

The desperation you felt, clinging to Max’s shoulders as you attempted to free her from Vecna’s curse while the boys searched through the cassette tapes. The panic that filled your voice, shouting to the redhead while her glazed over eyes stared right through your soul. The relief you experienced when she woke, the four of you huddled over her in shock that Robin and Nancy’s idea had actually worked. The sadness that silently poured down your face as Steve drove, his hand fused to yours across the front seats with his eyes darting between the road and the girl behind him. 

You hope you never feel any of that ever again.

It still lingers as you sit here in the dark, sitting shoulder to shoulder with Steve at the base of the stairs. You both offered to take the first watch, letting the others get some rest after the eventful day behind you. It took some serious convincing to get Lucas to relax and assure him that nothing bad would happen to her while you and Steve were awake. That seemed to help; you think he finally fell asleep about twenty minutes ago. 

Surprisingly, Max was the first to nod off. She must’ve been so exhausted her body couldn’t help but succumb to sleep when it came knocking. You’re thankful for that at least. You kept your promise — you protected her. Why do you still feel so unsettled?

Maybe it’s because you would have lost Max if Steve hadn’t reacted so quickly. In the end, the margin of error was seconds; you were seconds away from watching her die in front of you. 

Or maybe it’s because the visions she explained are a type of fear you’re familiar with.

You don’t want to imagine what you’d see if you were in her shoes, far too many moments of guilt come to mind when you consider what Vecna would choose for you. Your mind is like a tasting platter of fear. You shudder involuntarily.

The thought of Vecna weaseling this way into your mind makes you feel this incredible sense of unease — you haven’t felt that in a long, long time. Who knows who he could choose next, which victim is being analyzed, dissected for his own personal enjoyment? Somehow, deep in your gut you know that it could be you.

You watched Max’s slow descent into anxiety. You saw her struggle to try and make amends with herself, to try and accept what she was feeling in order to push Vecna away. It mirrors your own experiences a bit too much. But instead of facing Vecna, you’ve been facing yourself.

You’d hate for anyone to feel the same for you. Glancing over to Steve, who sits silently beside you and lost in his own thoughts, you know the dread he would experience waiting for you to be taken. As much as it feels ridiculous to even consider such a thing, it’s not inconceivable.

Your lip stings from how hard you chew on it, but it’s barely noticeable with the storm of thoughts kicking up in your brain. It’s difficult not to think of the countless nightmares that have kept hours of sleep from you for the last couple years. A shiver passes through you at the latest one, the memory still fresh; the trigger that you pull that kills Steve.

The warm press of Steve’s arm, snaking over your shoulders and pulling you closer knocks you from your thoughts. You blink over at him, confused but welcoming of the closeness.

“You shivered,” He whispers, “Thought you might be cold.”

You can’t help but smile at the gesture but no words can help you form a reply. As if he can sense it, Steve squeezes you gently.

“What’re you thinking about?” 

His tone is light, words breezy and you hate that you’re about to ruin it with your anxious mind. But you and Steve are built on your honesty and if anyone can ease you, it’s him.

“Y’know what Max said about… how Vecna chooses his victims?” You begin slowly, coaxing Steve along your train of thought. The urge to hide yourself is too strong and you shift under Steve’s hold, pulling your legs up onto the step and tucking them against your chest. Your throat is already growing thicker but you swallow and keep talking.

“Those with trauma… w-with guilt.”

Steve whispers your name softly, his hand around you raising to rest on the back of your neck. His touch forces your eyes to meet through the darkness; you hope it keeps him from seeing the glaze of tears beginning to form and your quivering lip.

He turns closer to you as you speak those words, the damning ones that he knows are going to haunt you for the foreseeable future. It shouldn’t be a surprise to him that your mind would force you to entertain these ideas, but he finds himself taken aback by it anyways. 

You hate this because you can’t quite shake the fear that saying things like this aloud is like a prophecy; that you’re sealing your own fate by suggesting the concept to the universe. You wouldn’t be surprised if Vecna works in twisted ways like this. You curse yourself, feeling foolish for fueling that fear. 

“Just… I’m worried that-”

“Hey, hey,” Steve speaks softly so he doesn’t wake the others, scattered around you in various positions, “He won’t, okay?”

His other hand comes up, brushing a tear that managed to fall onto your cheek; it’s not as dark as you thought, “He’s gotta get through me first, y’know.”

His words make you chuckle lightly, sniffling as you straighten your back to gaze at him properly. Steve intertwines your hands as he continues, “Besides, we know what to do now. If he does…”

He pauses, regretting that he could’ve just fed into your fear instead of comforting you, and then sighs, “We’ll be ready. And you’d get away, just like Max did. He’d regret ever trying to kill you.”

Something in the sentiment, the genuineness in Steve’s voice lights a flame in your chest because this is Steve; you’ve never been so sure that if anybody has a fighting chance, it’s probably you. His shoulders relax a bit seeing some of the worry leave your face, even more so when you give a wry smile. 

“Sure you know my favorite song?” You whisper, that familiar teasing tone floating between you. Steve pretends to think about it for a moment, running over different memories in his mind. 

“Oh, I don’t know,” He muses, fingers tightening in yours, “Footloose is definitely a contender.”

You grin fondly, well aware of what memory he’s thinking of — the two of you parked up by Lover’s Lake in the blistering heat of the summer. Amazingly, you had discovered that Steve could, albeit poorly, show off all the moves from the film. You both had taken a dip and were soaking up the sun when it had come on the radio, a tad static-y out by the lake but Steve had tugged you into the swinging dance moves regardless. 

“I remember that,” You whisper back, lips twisting into a reminiscent smile. You nod as your thumb swatches along the back of Steve’s, “That was a good day.”

Steve nods too, his body filing with that now familiar, comfortable feeling you give him. He thinks about that day when you’re away; you had managed to swallow your guilt and let yourself be as happy as he had ever seen you. He wished he could show you what he sees in you without the sorrow of what you’ve done hanging over your head.

But that day? It was like nothing had changed.

“It was, wasn’t it?” He adds, shifting impossibly closer to you. 

In the darkness of the Wheeler’s basement, he can still see the heat rise to your cheeks, or maybe it’s the sparkle in your eyes that gives it away. Steve knows that as soon as all of this is over, he’ll whisk you off for some getaway, something to help your hearts heal. 

But until then, you’ll be forced to stay here with the others, praying that this’ll all be over soon. For both your sakes, you hope it doesn’t take long.

—

taglist (CLOSED): @stevebabey / @hannarudick / @crazycookiecrumbles / @jennifersminds / @l0ve-0f-my-lifee-blog / @loove-persevering / @daddystevee / @thecaptainsgingersnap / @let-the-imaginationflow / @agentsimmonsfitz / @im-a-stranger-thing / @mikariell95 / @pilunb / @luvzatte / @royalestrellas / @ultrunning / @poutfull / @yoheyyosup / @duchessdaisybat / @sassisaluxury / @beththebubbly / @i-bitch-you-bitch / @captainstilinskis / @juliebean247 / @rexorangecouny / @pass-me-jeez-it / @steveshcrringtons / @halefirewarrior / @jointhehunt67 / @peanutem / @ketchuplukehemmo / @mlmarint / @moronphilia / @emmegirl827 / @lookalivesunshine-x / @elite4cekalyma / @marjoherbo / @just-my-fandom / @idumpyourgrass / @alafolieee / @mochminnie / @phantomalchemist / @dustyblueboo / @alonewolfsblog / @ggclarissa / @hufflepuffing-all-day-long / @bippityboppitybabe / @readinthegarden12 / @stxtch72 / @random-girl-army / @thatawkwardlittlefangirl / @lovinnoya / @graciehams  / @i-mmunity / @gothmingguk / @fangeekkk / @octaviackles / @hot-mess-express99 / @sarahcameronswife / @the-local-toast / @kamala-khann / @the-passionate-freak / @mjtalksaboutanything / @circesstars / @astroponyo / @lostinwonderland314​ / @yeswhatever33​ / @raggedyoldwitch​ / @chaoticsteve​ / @walkin-in-hawkins​ / @live-the-fangirl-life​ / @aspcun11​ / @lionfart​ / @petty131313​ / @jinxed-jk​ / @jureuminho​ / @slipawaylrh​  

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Shock Troops Part II: The Drop

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)

If there is one thing to be said about the age of interstellar travel it would be that it be impossible without the aid of the space gate network.

The space gates comprised of several hundred ancient machines scattered around the cosmos that formed a three dimensional network allowing near instant travel between star systems normally thousands of light years apart. Many of these machines were often located in empty space at the edges of their local systems, but the one in the Hodun system was situated directly over the planet of Hodun Prime and was considered to be the gate to the inner sphere worlds of the Tempish Ascendancy.

Considered to be one of the mightiest governing bodies of the era, the Tempish Ascendancy was a highly efficiently monarchy protected by a near fanatical well-armed and trained military. Their rise to power is often credited to the fact that the Temp people controlled the only space gate for several neighboring systems. With this level of control the Tempish people expanded, either through diplomatic undertakings or military campaigns, into those other systems and quickly incorporated them into their domain. Within a couple of generations the Tempish population was the dominant species on these worlds firmly placing them under their control. From here they had expanded through the space gate; an expansion that eventually led straight to the doors of humanity.

How the war started has been debated and refuted a dozen times and then again a dozen times more, but the end result always comes to the war that erupted between humanity and the Tempish. Each time humanity felt it was on the cusp of victory the Tempish would flee to Hodun Prime and through the space gate back to their territory to recoup only to reemerge several months later and begin the war anew. This back and forth had continued for over a decade as humanity lacked the needed manpower to secure Hodun Prime and in turn launch an invasion of the inner sphere. This tide of fortune for the Tempish soon turned when humanity made peace with several other factions it had been at war with and finally could turn its full attention to the Tempish Ascendancy.

The space gate in orbit above Hodun Prime was controlled by a secure facility on the planet’s surface. Surrounded by near impregnable walls, shield towers, orbital cannons, and a legion of the best trained soldiers the Tempish military had; the facility was able to deny access to the space gate to any ship that was not Tempish. Furthermore, when humanity had in the past launched raids to secure the facility in the past the facility would send out a distress signal through the space gate to the inner sphere worlds were a waiting support fleet would respond and jump through the gate and arrive over Hodun Prime within the hour. This threat of being assaulted by both ground and space forces had deterred further attempts to secure the facility until only recently when a specialized regiment became available for deployment. -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ripja strode into the command chamber and ran a glance along the tactical displays lining the walls. He passed between rows of consoles to either side of him each controlling a vital system to Hodun Prime’s defense; each one now blaring warning sounds and baring red marks of imminent danger. Several of the soldiers stood to salute Ripja but he waved them away. Now was not the time to stand on ceremony.

“Report” Ripja asked as he approached the center of the room. There stood a large table displaying a three dimensional hologram of the planet and the orbiting space gate currently surrounded by the high command and their aides. Several icons were scattered around the planet listing military positions, outposts, defense sectors, and more.

His second in command, Kempid, approached and tapped a data wand against the table. A rash of red icons suddenly appeared in orbit of the planet directly above the command facility they now stood in.

“Roughly ten minutes ago three human ships exited the space gate directly over us.”

Before Kempid could provide more information the entire room was filled with warning alarms.

“Enemy bombardment incoming!” one of the console operators called out.

Within moments Ripja could hear a noise reverberating throughout the entire room. It was faint and sounded distant and yet there was no mistaking it.

“Shields are holding.” Another attendant called out.

“Send the signal to the fleet in the inner sphere,” Ripja said to one of the waiting aides, “we need reinforcements now.”

With that they scurried off to the communications bank and transmitted the signal while Ripja took a closer look at the holographic display.

Fiddling with the controls he enhanced the image in orbit and focused in on the human vessels. Two were cruiser class by their ship design and the third was a troop carrier of some kind. The cruisers were using their heavy cannons to lay down a withering barrage of plasma focused directly on the shields surrounding the space gate facility.

“This doesn’t make sense.” Ripja stated, making some of the nearby command staff turn to listen as he began pacing around the table. “They must know two ships can’t breach our shields, and our guns can’t fire so long as our shields are up.” He stopped his pacing and magnified the enemy fleet once again, this time showing a live feed from one of their orbiting stealth satellites.

The two cruisers had positioned the troop carrier between them while the bombardment was ongoing and appeared to have achieved a stable orbit. As he was pondering this defensive nature he noticed through the feed several of the hangar bay doors of the troop ship slowly opening.

In silence several dozen landing craft shot out from the troop ship and began heading towards the surface. To his amazement the landing craft were not arcing away from the orbital bombardment but instead were flying directly through it; their tiny craft veering and swerving in-between the human orbital fire like insects flying through the rain.

“They must be insane!” Kempid said as he came over and saw what had enthralled Ripja.  

“Clever.” Ripja spoke as he motioned another aide over. “They’re using their orbital fire to disable our anti air capabilities while they land their forces.”

As the aide approached Ripja shrunk the hologram to only highlight the main command facility and the space directly above it. Already the red icons of the landing craft were appearing one after another as they raced towards the facility.

“Lower the shields in the south quadrant of the facility and have our orbital guns begin firing on the cruiser on the left.”

“But sir,” the aide spoke hesitantly, “that will leave that quadrant exposed to their fire.”

“They won’t change their target.” Ripja pointed to the central facility currently the focus of the human bombardment. “They need their bombardment to silence our own anti air cannons; if they deviate even for a moment it will give us a window to shoot down their landing craft.”

The aide nodded and moved aside to relay the new order while Ripja motioned Kempid over.

“Deploy all air squadrons and have them engage the human landing craft.” He said as he highlighted the leading ships. “I do not want one of them touching down on our soil unless it is a burning wreck.”

“Our pilots won’t be able to fly thro-“ Kempid began before Ripja grapped him by the throat and pulled him over to the hologram.

“The humans are flying through it!” he softly snarled at Kempid, “Get. Them. In. The. Air.”

“As you wish.” Gasped Kempid as Ripja let him go. “Command to all air wings, deploy and repel enemy landing craft.”

Within minutes a rash of new blue icons from landing fields surrounding the main facility were lighting up as dozens of combat air wings took to the skies. As he watched them take flight he also saw the shield in the south lower and the retaliatory fire commence against the human fleet.

Several cannons fired at once and impacted the left cruiser, its shields flashing bright blue in the cold void. As the retaliation strikes continued Ripja noticed that even though the fire wasn’t piercing the shields it was altering the human bombardment. The angle of the shots was being offset by the Tempish fire moving the cruiser and as a result the landing craft were thrown into a chaotic descent.

If Ripja had to guess the humans had coordinated specific flight paths to navigate the orbital bombardment fire to ensure their craft weren’t hit by friendly fire. Now however the paths were changing and the human landing craft were flying straight into their own bombardment and shattering.

Ripja let a faint smirk cross his lips as he watched the enemy icons slowly blip out one by one. Soon they will be forced to retreat and the day will be ours, he thought to himself. He watched the hologram waiting for the moment, waiting for the first ship to turn tail and flee back to the troop carrier in orbit, waiting for the enemy to flee the system in defeat, waiting for yet another achievement for his military record.

Waiting…..

Waiting….

The smirk vanished from Ripja’s face as he continued to watch in astoundment as the human landing craft did not flee, but instead sped up directly for his command facility.

Even when the Tempish air wings finally swooped in and began picking off the seemingly defenseless landing craft they still kept coming. By the count now the landing craft had suffer 37% casualties and they still had not even reached the planet’s surface.

Ripja watched in horror as even through the orbital strikes, even though the wings of fighter craft picking them off with every pass, even with another 15% of casualties the humans still kept coming until finally the moment Ripja had never thought possible happened.

The humans landed on Hodun Prime.

[girlactionfigure]

Rabbi Reuven Israel Kott was a Torah prodigy whose cleverness and chutzpah saved thousands of Jews from annihilation by the Nazis. Born in a Polish shtetl in 1897, Reuven was one of fifteen children. His family were Hasidic followers of the Ger Rebbe. Reuven’s exceptional intellect was apparent at a young age. He was a gifted scholar of Talmud and Jewish scripture, so precocious that he was given rabbinic ordination when only 17 years old. The Rebbe took a special liking to Reuven, and every Friday night Reuven sat next to the great man at his festive Sabbath gathering. Small in size - he stood only 5’1” - Reuven was known for his big brain, and big heart. Reuven was selected by his community to represent them as the Jewish voice on the local provincial council. When the Polish president died in the 1920’s, young Reuven stood at the graveside with other clergy and delivered a eulogy on behalf of the Jews of Poland. Although life seemed fairly good for Polish Jews at the time, the Ger Rebbe sensed that big trouble was coming. He urged his followers to get out of Poland and move to Eretz Yisrael (the Land of Israel), at that time British Mandate Palestine. As the Rebbe’s right-hand man, Rabbi Reuven Kott threw himself into the mission of helping Jews leave Poland and return to their ancestral homeland. The British had a quota system restricting the number of Jewish families they let in. Reuven took advantage of a bureaucratic loophole defining “family” as two parents and an undetermined number of offspring. Reuven collected money and bribed Polish authorities to get blank birth certificates. He would then “create” new families, matching people up, changing names and identities as needed. Every “family" had at least a dozen children. Reuven told those he helped that they must stick with their fake identity. Most people complied, but a few didn’t and were caught. Under threat of being sent back to Poland, somebody gave Reuven’s name to the authorities. Reuven and his brother were on a train in Warsaw when three plain-clothes officers approached. After verifying his identity, they arrested Reuven for bribery and forgery and threw him in jail. As a pious Jew, Reuven couldn’t eat the non-kosher jail food, so every day his daughter brought him a kosher meal - a two hour journey each way. After several long months, his brother finally got word that there was going to be a hearing in the case. He went to visit Reuven in jail, told him the news and asked which lawyer he wanted to hire. Reuven scribbled something on a scrap of paper, folded it up and slipped it through the bars of his cell. Outside the jail, Reuven’s brother unfolded the note. He was shocked to read the contents: “Hire me the most anti-Semitic lawyer in Warsaw!“ Reuven’s family was baffled. With so many top-notch Jewish lawyers, why would he want an anti-Semite? Had his incarceration led to a mental breakdown? Reuven’s brother assured them that he was of sound mind, and he went to Warsaw and found an attorney notorious for his fierce hatred of Jews. The day of the hearing arrived, and the courthouse was packed with hundreds of Hasids from Reuven’s community. Reuven was allowed only three minutes with his lawyer, and then the hearing began. To everybody’s shock, Reuven’s lawyer stood up, made a brilliant argument, and got the case dismissed. Back home in the shtetl, everybody wanted to know what Reuven had said to his lawyer in those three minutes. Reuven said his Talmud study had taught him that in a business deal, if you get three “Yes” answers, the deal will close. He asked his lawyer three questions: - You hate us Jews, don’t you? - Do you want to see me rot and die in jail? - Would you like all of us Jews gone from Poland? The lawyer answered yes to all three questions. Reuven immediately shot back, “What good would it do if one measly Jew rots in jail? If you set me free, I can get all the Jews out of Poland!” Reuven got what he wanted by blinding the lawyer with his own hate. He continued his work “creating” large families and helping them move to Palestine. The anti-Semitic attorney even helped him procure more blank birth certificates. People often asked Reuven when he would go to Eretz Yisrael. He said, “I’m like the captain of a sinking ship. It is my responsibility to get all the passengers out before I get in the lifeboat.” Over the course of 20 years, Reuven helped tens of thousands of Jews escape Poland. Today, almost half a million descendants of those Polish Jews owe their lives to Rabbi Reuven Israel Kott. Unfortunately, Reuven himself never made it to Israel. He was murdered at Auschwitz in 1942. For proving that one small man in three short minutes can accomplish miracles beyond measure, we honor Rabbi Reuven Israel Kott as this week’s Thursday Hero at Accidental Talmudist. This story was told to us by Reuven’s granddaughter, Ziporah Bank. She heard it from her mom - the daughter who brought kosher meals to Rabbi Kott in prison.

Accidental Talmudist

[sturchling]

I've read your stories where the Justice League is banned from Paris, and I love them! What if the League and the Avengers were in the same world, but the Avengers didn't ignore them while the Justice League did? I imagine that Steve would convince Tony to help because these are KIDS, like Peter. So, the Avengers help, but since the League and Avengers are at odds, the Avengers don't tell the League. Team Miraculous is perfectly fine with that. (Big Team Miraculous and more users if possible!!)

Team Miraculous had practically begged the Justice League for help when Hawkmoth was still active. But they received no response. But the Justice League weren’t the only ones they reached out to. They also sent the same video asking for help to Tony Stark, who everyone knew was Iron Man, hoping the Avengers might help them. They sent the video with little hope for a response. After all, the Justice League had ignored all their requests for help. Why would the Avengers be any different?

----------------

Tony Stark received hundreds of emails a day. Emails from people at Stark Industries, SHIELD, and the avengers. But he didn’t often get emails from an unknown address from Paris. That is what initially caught his attention. The message was simple. The subject simply said Avengers, please help us. When Tony opened the email, there was no text to it. Just a video attachment. Tony called the team into the meeting room and played the video. 

--------------

They watched the video as two kids in animal themed costumes explained what was happening in Paris. These kids couldn’t be more than 14. When the video was over, the group sat in silence for a moment before Steve spoke up. “We need to help them.” Tony sighed, turning to face Steve. “It’s not that I don’t want to, but we can’t just go to Paris and help. Not when they are still discussing the accords. We can’t go unless France’s government asks for our help.” Steve stands up from his seat, angry. “So what? We just ignore this? You heard what they said, France wants to keep this under wraps so they don’t lose the tourists that come to Paris. They aren’t going to ask for our help, then they would have to publicly admit there is a problem!” Tony stands up too, walking towards Steve. “I know that! But our hands are tied. With the UN still discussing the accords, we can’t go making the situation worse then it already is!” Steve rolls his eyes and starts to walk away in frustration. “Oh come on Tony! Those are kids! Those are KIDS who are having to fight against a terrorist all on their own with no training! They need help! If it were Peter in Paris, would you leave him to face this alone?” That made Tony pause. In the quiet, Thor decided to make his opinion known. “I also feel that we should help them. I am familiar with these miraculous. The power they grant users is great. A terrorist powered by one is a sobering thought. I am especially familiar with the Black Cat miraculous, as is Loki. And I do not believe either of us wants to be on Plagg’s bad side again. We should help these children immediately.” Tony just sighs, shaking his head. “I feel like I am going to regret this. Fine, lets go to Paris.”  The Avengers quickly made preparations to go to Paris. Before they left they sent an email back to the kids who sent the video to let them know that help was on the way.

--------------------

Marinette and Adrien could hardly believe the email in their inbox. They hadn’t expected to hear back from the Avengers so soon, or hear that they were taking this seriously. This is incredible! By now, team Miraculous had revealed their identities to each other to make it easier to communicate to each other. Marinette sent out a message in their group chat. Group project meeting. Meet in the usual place, 30 minutes. Half an hour later, team Miraculous was meeting in their secluded area of Chloe’s hotel suite, which had been sound proofed so no one would hear them. Marinette and Adrien filled them all in on what had happened involving the Avengers and everyone was excited. They would finally get some help with Hawkmoth after all these years. It wasn’t long before they received another email saying that the Avengers had landed and asking where to meet. Marinette sent them the location of a secluded warehouse to meet in and Team Miraculous transformed, leaving to meet the Avengers.

----------------

The Avengers weren’t sure what to expect when they arrived at the abandoned warehouse the kids asked them to meet at. But they certainly weren’t expecting a small army of kids in costume, in addition to the two that sent the video. In addition to the original two dressed as a ladybug and cat, there appeared to be a fox, turtle, bee, horse, snake, monkey, dragon, and bunny. And they were all children. The girl in the ladybug outfit and boy in the cat outfit stepped forward. “I am Ladybug and this is Chat Noir. We lead the miraculous team. Thank you for your help.” Steve stepped forward, being the first to recover from the shock of seeing this army of children. “We are glad to help. We have the basic idea of what is happening from your video, but could you explain in some more detail what the situation is?” Ladybug spent the next few hours going over everything with the Avengers, giving a more detailed picture of the ongoing battle with Hawkmoth and Mayura for the last few years. 

---------------

At the end of the explanation, the Avengers are horrified. The situation is worse than they thought. And the Justice League had been ignoring these kids? That just made it worse. Tony, his head still reeling from all the information, said “I am glad we got your message when we did, seems things are pretty bad here. We can help you track down this Hawkmoth and end this. But we need to keep our involvement in this quiet. With the UN still discussing the accords, we aren’t technically supposed to be here.” Ladybug looks visibly confused, asking, “Accords? What are the accords?” The Avengers fill them in on the accords and what all it means for them. 

---------------------

Ladybug was shocked that they would even consider agreeing to this. “You all agreed to this? To be monitored by the UN and restricted in what you can do. And anyone that they view as a threat could be imprisoned just because of that, regardless of if they had done anything wrong. That is insane! The Avengers I know wouldn’t agree to that. I remember watching you Agent Romanoff, testify before congress and challenge them to put you in prison. The world needs the Avengers and other heroes to be able to act in a crisis without worrying about if a panel will let them.” Tony tried to argue his point, and Marinette continued to say it was wrong. The two argued for a while, which was concerning for both team Miraculous and the Avengers to watch. But by the end of it, Marinette being Marinette, had managed to convince Tony that he was wrong and that they wouldn’t agree to the accords. The Avengers were a little shocked that this young girl had changed Tony’s mind, but you wouldn’t hear them complaining. With all the discussions out of the way, they got to work.

-----------------

Tony got Jarvis to start running analyses to see who in Paris was likely to be Hawkmoth. It had to be someone with a lot of time on their hands, a large amount of resources, and had to have a supply of these butterflies he was using. He also compared these results with the typical behavioral profile of a terrorist like this. Then the Avengers went over the list with Team Miraculous and started eliminating suspects. Anyone that didn’t already have an alibi was tailed by either Hawkeye or Black Widow until they were cleared. Meanwhile, the rest of the Avengers helped train the kids in combat and how to work as a team in the field so that they were better able to face akumas. It took weeks, but soon, they were down to only one subject. Gabriel Agreste. Adrien didn’t want to believe it, but as the weeks went by and neither Hawkeye or Black Widow were able to clear him, it became clear to Adrien that his father was likely Hawkmoth.

--------------------

 By now, the Avengers knew of the kids identities. All the Avengers felt bad for Adrien, and also didn’t want him to stay in that house a minute longer. Besides how his father treated him, having another miraculous user in that house, especially the Black Cat that Hawkmoth craved was a recipe for disaster. So Tony had his lawyers help Adrien file for emancipation. That made Gabriel frantic. He didn’t want to lose his control over Adrien. He was so close to getting the miraculous and his wish. He could have his family back again. But that can’t happen if Adrien is emancipated and leaves. Gabriel became more desperate with his akumas and became sloppy. That was his downfall.

-----------------

By the end of the week, the Avengers and team Miraculous were facing down Hawkmoth. By this point, Hawkmoth was so frantic, that they fight was easily won. When he revealed why he did all this and what happened to Emilie, Master Fu, who had come to collect the missing miraculous, was able to reverse the damage done by the peacock miraculous on both Emilie and Nathalie. Gabriel was arrested, as was Nathalie, and Adrien was ecstatic to be with his mother again. 

------------------

Once Hawkmoth was defeated, news of what had been happening in Paris spread like wildfire. It wasn’t long before the Justice League swooped in to do damage control. They landed in the middle of the city, already starting their spiel about how they were here to help with any damage and chaos from the final battle. But they were shocked to see the city in perfect condition, and the police surrounding them, telling them to leave. Over the heads of the police, they see the members of the Avengers standing with some kids in animal costumes. Two of the kids are familiar, from the videos asking for help all those years ago. Batman fumed at seeing the other group of heroes allowed to be in the city while they were being forced out. “Why are we not allowed here, but they are!? They aren’t local heroes.” The girl in a Ladybug themed costume stepped forward through the crowd, “They get to be here because they actually answered our call for help and were instrumental in the defeat of Hawkmoth. They arrived before the ban, followed my team’s lead, and respected the wishes of my team as well as the city. They proved to be good allies. You and your group on the other hand, ignored and denied our requests and now want to come in and do damage control. Now you leave, or we will make you.” While some of the members of the Justice League have the good sense to look embarrassed and back down, Batman got right in Ladybug’s face. “And how are you going to make us little girl?” Ladybug turned around and walked back to her team, not sparing Batman another glance. Batman looked smug, thinking he had made her back down. But when she got back to her team, she turned to the horse themed hero. “Pegasus.” Without another word, the horse sprang into action. All the Justice League heard was him call out “Voyage” before they were back in the watchtower, wondering what had just happened.

------------------

Finally, it was time for the UN meeting on the accords. When asked if they would sign, the Avengers officially declined to sign the accords so they could actually help in Paris. Team Miraculous watched the live coverage as all of the Avengers said they wouldn’t sign the accords. The head of the UN panel stood up, angry at their defiance. “Maybe we should just go ahead and toss you all in a cell. Clearly you are a threat to the world. While we were discussing these very accords, you went into France without permission and acted as the Avengers. You cause untold damage in each fight, do nothing to fix the damage, and won’t allow for a little over sight to make sure you don’t destroy everything.  Seems pretty dangerous to me.” There were mummers of agreement through out the room. Tony was the last one to speak. “You won’t put us in a prison cell. Here’s why. As Agent Romanoff once said, you all need us. Yes, we have made the world a more vulnerable place. But, we are the ones most qualified and able to defend it. So, if you want to arrest us, do it. You know where to find us. But then you will be even more vulnerable to even bigger threats than us.” Angry voices sounded from around the room, but the Avengers just turned and left. Most other heroes followed suit, officially stating that they would not be signing the accords. Eventually, the UN realized that if they arrested every hero that didn’t sign the accords, they would have no one left to defend the Earth and they dropped the issue. 

--------------------

Things quickly returned to normal, for both team Miraculous and the Avengers. Team Miraculous was happy to have defeated Hawkmoth and not have to constantly guard their emotions. The emotional toll on the citizens of Paris was huge, but the Avengers weren’t done helping. Tony Stark brought in several therapists and took care of all the bills, so all of Paris could have access to mental help as needed, after enduring the trauma of living under Hawkmoth’s threats for years. And the Avengers kept on being heroes and helping everyone they could all over the world. And team Miraculous would often give them a hand with missions as needed. The Avengers and team Miraculous remained close allies after everything and were happy to have helped each other.

[quoteablebooks]

Genre: Young Adult, Mystery, Contemporary, Fiction 

Rating: 5 out of 5 stars

Summary:

As a biracial, unenrolled tribal member and the product of a scandal, eighteen-year-old Daunis Fontaine has never quite fit in, both in her hometown and on the nearby Ojibwe reservation. Daunis dreams of studying medicine, but when her family is struck by tragedy, she puts her future on hold to care for her fragile mother. The only bright spot is meeting Jamie, the charming new recruit on her brother Levi’s hockey team. Yet even as Daunis falls for Jamie, certain details don’t add up and she senses the dashing hockey star is hiding something. Everything comes to light when Daunis witnesses a shocking murder, thrusting her into the heart of a criminal investigation. Reluctantly, Daunis agrees to go undercover, but secretly pursues her own investigation, tracking down the criminals with her knowledge of chemistry and traditional medicine. But the deceptions—and deaths—keep piling up and soon the threat strikes too close to home. Now, Daunis must learn what it means to be a strong Anishinaabe kwe (Ojibwe woman) and how far she'll go to protect her community, even if it tears apart the only world she’s ever known.

*Opinions*

I always approach books that everyone else loves with some trepidation because I am worried that all the hype will color my view of the book. My goal is always to go into a book without any expectations, but when books become popular or at least talked about, that is impossible, which is why I didn’t read this book right away. However, I have been attempting to diversify my reading (I’ll be the first to admit that I read mostly white authors writing about white characters) so when I saw this book at my local bookstore after hearing glowing reviews, I had to pick it up. Needless to say, all that praise is well deserved and this is one of the most engaging and wonderful books I have read in a long time and the best book I have read so far this year. The Firekeeper’s Daughter follows Daunis Fontaine who is at a crossroads at many paths in her life. She is about to start college with her best friend while balancing staying close to home to help her mother and dealing with her grandmother’s illness and uncle’s recent death. However, all of that is turned on its head when Jaime Johnston moves into town and joins her brother Levi’s hockey team, which starts to blur the lines between Daunis’s Hockey Life and Regular Life. When tragedy strikes Daunis realizes that she can only rely on herself and her community because nothing else makes sense anymore. She also becomes determined to help stop tragedy from visiting the Ojibwe again. There is so much I love about this novel, but the first thing that needs to be addressed is that this is not a novel for the faint of heart. Trigger warnings include: death, overdose, drug use, abduction, illness, suicide and murder on the page, underage drinking, and sexual assault on the page. Boulley does not pull any punches and paints a picture of everything that is good and bad that comes into Daunis’s life and both of her families and communities. However, Boulley does it in a way that never loses sight of the people that are connected to Daunis, no matter what choices they make. It is one of the things that makes this book so wonderful, good or bad, every character is well-rounded and there are parts of them that make you ache, aside from one character who is horrible from the start. No matter what they do, Daunis finds the reason and while that does not absolve them from their sins, it helps her forgive them for herself and let go of her pain with help. This leads into one of the most beautiful and compelling parts of the novel, the glimpse that Boulley provides to the reader about Ojibwe and Anishinaabe culture. I will be the first to admit that I am horribly uneducated about Indigenous cultures both in America and around the world, but the reverence and connection that Daunis feels to the Ojibwe and their teachings provide really resonates throughout the novel. This is highlighted by her struggle to be accepted by some of those who do not see her as part of the community because her mother is white as well as her reckoning with the fact that some parts of the Ojibwe tribe are not all parts that she wants to be apart of. I would say that this novel, more than a mystery, is about Daunis and her journey will the Ojibwe to find where she belongs and what that means to her. Boulley is also really good at conveying feeling through her writing. Whether it is the peace that Daunis feels during her morning prayer, the excitement during the powwow or the absolute devastation in the deaths that happen around her, the reader feels with Daunis at all of these times. It has been a long time since I’ve been this anxious while reading a novel, but the last 20% of this novel had me severely stressed. Boulley’s novel is rooted in reality in which no one is safe and Daunis experiences so much heartache and loss so many times that you are not sure whether it will happen again. Yet, it never seems melodramatic and every character’s action makes sense given what we have seen throughout the novel. I cheered, cried, and paced while reading this novel and I loved every minute of it. The only part of the novel that kind of took me out of the story for a moment was the fact that law enforcement would let an 18-year-old confidential informant learn to make meth. I can see the FBI using a teenager as a CI, especially given that it is young people who keep dying from overdoses that the FBI believes is somehow related to the hockey team and Daunis is connected to all these parts of the puzzle. However, the fact that they would send her to learn to make meth just seemed a little odd. I am sure that Boulley did her research so this might be something that happens, but I would think that the FBI would want as few people as possible knowing how to make meth. Then again, law enforcement rarely does things that make sense to anyone but them. Another part that didn’t seem to make sense to me was the sexual assault, but in the last couple chapters of the book, it became clear why Boulley included it and the injustice that Native women endure again and again. Boulley addresses this in her Afterward, which I suggest you read if you skipped over it like I usually do. The mystery element of the novel is very slow-moving and almost secondary to Daunis attempting to reckon with everything that is happening in her life and who she is. While it is the main thread pulling Daunis along, there will be many pages where she is just hanging out with the Elders or helping her mother. As a testament to Boulley’s writing, these parts of the novel are not at all boring and in the end are a big part of Daunis’s story as well as survival. That is what this novel is, a story of survival and hope, with a bit of mystery thrown in. Still, I appreciated that Daunis approaches the mystery in a realistic way, she isn’t a superhero but she is smart and powerful in her own right. Boulley also gives her the ability to be scared and wrong and angry. Daunis breathes on the page and I will remember her and her story for a long time. This book captured me and never let me go. The characters, the setting, the culture, the mystery, there isn’t anything that I didn’t like. It was real and raw and heartbreaking and hopeful. While this will not be a story for everyone, given the triggers, I think it is a good way to help non-native readers thinking about their own prejudice as well as making them think about each person’s story and not just their actions. Everyone has a story if you are willing to take the time to listen. Danuis’s story is one that I think everyone can take something from and has easily become one of my favorite books.

[secretficblog]

In another life - Chapter 1 - Poe Dameron x Reader

Summary:  Long before there were new Jedi, before the fight between the Resistance and the First Order came to an end, there was just a young man, skilled in flying anything he could get his hands on, with the urge to be something greater. Then there was you. You broke him 

Rating: M for smut in later chapters

Now on ao3, come say hi if you want to! 

Warnings: both of them are idiots, I feel like I only write idiots with zero communication skills, you’ll see; little angsty but not to much; you dumped him; 

no use of y/n 

Word count: 1,999 

chapter 2 here

Let me know if you’re enjoying this, I’m already 6k words in, I will be switching PoVs in between chapters. 

You blinked carefully, the ringing in your ears slowly subsiding. The explosion in front of your hiding spot had cost at least three of the people you were taking cover with their lives. You could hear the sound of X-Wings above you as the Resistance landed and pushed the First Order troopers further back from the spot you were seeking shelter in with a few of the village’s children. 

Years ago, when you had decided to stop mindlessly traveling through the galaxy, running away from problems and emotions long pushed aside now, and settled on the mostly empty swamp planet you had been glad for the peace and quiet the small village brought with it. The villagers had warmed up to you quickly after you had gotten a chance to prove that you were not a threat to their secluded life but an asset. 

Right now you were cursing the fact that this planet had been mostly untouched by the First Order. Due to the secluded lifestyle most of the inhabitants of the village were farmers and while they were very capable of hunting down the local wildlife they were not trained to evade blaster fire. Of course it was just your luck that the First Order had picked this planet to make their own. You supposed you were indeed slightly lucky because the Resistance was here too. The thought that they were here to protect the more helpless people in the galaxy was nice, but you knew better than that. They probably wanted the planet as a base for themselves. The pilots were pushing the troopers back further and you saw how a few of them broke away from the squad, trying to sneak behind the Resistance ships. 

“Not today, bucketbrains”, you muttered and made eye contact with the other two people left to protect the village’s children. “Stay.”, you commanded, “Do what you must to protect them.” You raised your blaster, a relic of a life left behind, and left your initial place of coverage. The time you had spent living here gave you a clear advantage and you snuck up on the first pair of troopers undetected, trees and greenery providing a perfect cover for your task, taking one out by quietly leaping at him from behind and breaking his neck. You had picked up his Z6 before the other one had a chance to turn around and you thrust the baton into the space between armor and helmet of the second trooper. “Kriffing riot control”, you muttered, stepping over the body. 

Baton in your dominant hand and blaster in the other you advanced, spotting two more troopers ready to aim at the Rebels from behind. Quickly you aimed your blaster at the one closer to you, aiming costing you slightly more concentration than it would with your other hand. He fell down with a thud but you decided to fire again for good measure. As the second trooper turned you took cover behind a tree, switching hands on your weapons. He looked around wildly and decided to turn back towards the Rebels, willing to take at least one of them with him if he had to die. “Pilots, watch out!”, you yelled stepping out from behind the tree and aiming at the trooper. He had already pulled the trigger by the time your shot made him drop down but your yell had made the pilots turn and lead to the shot that was aimed at one pilots heart going into their shoulder instead. The remaining troopers were boarding ship, leaving the planet’s surface. 

You stepped out of the woods and hollered “You okay?” into the direction of the X-Wings. Another pilot had climbed the X-Wing that belonged to the injured one and was helping them out of the cockpit. A third was approaching you. 

“Thanks to you we are. Jessika Pava the name.” You nodded politely, stating your name as she walked you towards the X-Wings. 

“Well hello, you really saved our asses just now!”, one of the pilots next to the X-Wings said.“ 

Pava heaved herself up, top half disappearing in her X-Wing. “Black Leader, this is Black Three, Black Leader, come in please.”, she spoke into her comms. 

They crackled to life as a distorted male voice replied “Black Three, this is Black Leader, you good?” 

“Wexley got hit but one of the villagers took down some troopers and basically saved his ass.”

“Wexley, Kun, Pava, you’re magical, well done. Black Leader landing.” 

“You’re not so bad yourself, Dameron.”, Pava laughed. 

Dameron. There was no kriffing way it was him. The were many people with that name in the galaxy. Didn’t mean he was your Dameron. Not that he was yours anyway, you both had clarified that. 

Memories you had worked so hard to suppress were forcefully pooling into your mind. The world around you was blurring, the air suddenly smelled suspiciously like a night in the streets of Kijimi. This couldn’t be. You saw another X-Wing approaching and your heart sped up. There was no way of telling that it was even him but your body still reacted to the idea of him being near you like it did all those years ago. You only noticed that you were holding your breath when you let it out in a big gush of air as the ship touched the ground. The cockpit opened up and a figure swung out, still hidden behind the body of the ship. 

“You know guys, I’m really freaking proud of you, showing those bucketbrains how it’s done. I think we deserve a go-”, his voice faltered as he rounded the ship, eyes landing on you. You wanted to snort at him using the exact same insult you had but all air left your lungs. He looked even better than the day you left, soft curls peaking out from underneath his helmet, clad in a worn bright orange flight suit. It was unmistakably him, Poe kriffing Dameron. 

Your eyes met his and the look of hurt that washed over his dark orbs and settled into them made your stomach churn. You wanted to say something, anything really, but you couldn’t form words. He seemed to be having the same problem, lips moving slightly without a sound coming out. The Black Squadron had noticed the tension and you could see them uneasily shifting and whispering the corner of your eye. When he finally settled on something to say it came out strangled. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Poe, I-”, you started. He huffed. “No, don’t bother. None of my business, eh?”, you had never heard his voice sound so bitter when he addressed you but you guessed you deserved it. 

“Did you save my squadron?”, he inquired. You shifted under his gaze, still trying to find the right words. The man, Wexley you remembered, chimed in.

 “Oh she absolutely did. Could be planning my funeral otherwise, Commander.���

Commander. The title suited him. You knew he was wearing it with pride. “Course you did”, Poe muttered, still looking at you. “Alright, Black Squadron with me, let’s check up on the people around here.” 

Wexley huffed out a big breath, trying – unsuccessfully – to comply to his commanders orders. Pava rushed to him, supporting his body weight. “No offense, Commander but I think we might need to let Wexley head home early.” Poe nodded in agreement. 

Wexley looked him in the eye and said “Maybe you should take her”, jerking his head at you, “she seems to know what she’s doing around here.” Resentment settled on Poe’s sharp features, eyes darting between his crew and you. Tiredness took over soon after and he sighed. 

Directly addressing you he said “You’re with Pava.” Nodding curtly, you turned around to the woman, who was stripping off her helmet, revealing beautifully sleek hair and a pretty facial structure. A pang of jealously bloomed in your chest, wondering if Poe had looked at her before and thought of her as beautiful too. You had no right to feel that way but that didn’t stop your insides from uncomfortably twisting at the thought. 

You motioned you fingers in the direction of the hideout and Pava followed you. As you approached you yelled “It’s me, don’t shoot!”. The fact that there was no reply made you grow antsy and you shared an uneasy look with Pava, who was about to say something as you raised a gloved finger to your lips. You held your other hand to your ear, motioning for her to listen quietly. Sneaking close to the entrance both of you could hear the strong electrical buzz of another shock baton. Your eyes widened looking over at Pava who had unmistakably heard the same thing. Kriff, kriff, kriff. 

“No other way in”, you mouthed. “Gotta overpower them, contact Poe” His given name slipped out of your mouth so easily, word caressing your tongue like a melting piece of chocolate. The familiarity that was still lingering after years made you shift with uneasiness. 

Pava clicked a button on the side of the comlink on her wrist and straightened her shoulders. “You go high, I go low”, you whispered. She nodded. The cave was filled with cowering children, one of the villagers you had left behind was on the floor, cold eyes staring up at the ceiling of the cave. The other was standing in front of the children, arms stretched out wide as to protect them. 

Two troopers were standing in the centre of the cave, one with his baton at ready, one pointing a blaster at the last remaining villager. Pava and you shared a quick look, your head jerked towards the Riot Trooper and then you pointed at yourself. Pava nodded, staying back, weapon trained on the other trooper. Stealthily you snuck up on the trooper, lifting the Z6 you were still carrying around and, without activating it, jammed the end of it under the front of the troopers helmet, pressing it against his neck. A grugling sound escaped his throat as you tightened your arms around the baton, pressing the trooper into your chest while he struggled, jamming his own baton into your arm several times. You couldn’t let go now and after a few seconds he finally went slack in your arms. 

The other trooper had been alarmed by the noises of his companion but Pava had reacted faster than he possibly could and shot him right trough the helmet. Both of you turned to each other and shared a slight grin, you thought that you might have been good friends in another life. One where you stuck around instead of breaking Poe’s heart maybe. 

As if on cue, Dameron stormed into the cave, blaster drawn and looking around frantically, the other pilot right on his heels. His wide eyes landed on you and some of the tension left his shoulders and his lips mouthed what could have been your name, your vision was becoming slightly blurry. Noticing his momentary slip up he straightened his back immediately. 

Not looking at you again he strode over to the village’s children and the last remaining grown villager around. “My name is Commander Poe Dameron, I’m with the Resistance. Let me help you.” The sound of his voice, so silky smooth yet official, made your knees weak. He had grown into his new position finely, authority making his chest puff slightly when he talked but not obnoxiously so. You felt the overwhelming urge to sit down and sank onto a nearby rock. 

Pava knelt down next to you, smiling. “We’re a pretty great team, don’t you think?”, she said. You nodded, room spinning slightly as you did. “You’re cool, Pava.”, you said. Her brows knitted together at the slight slurring in your voice. “Are you hurt?”, she asked and you lifted the arm the trooper had shocked very slightly, feeling the adrenaline rush leave your body. Pava gasped and the world around you went black.

[flightlessangelwings]

Equal Partners

Mando x Reader

Notes: 2.3k words, PG, takes place during episode 5 of season 1

Chapter 1/3

Ever since the small green child came into your lives, things turned completely sideways. You had been travelling with the Mandalorian for some time before he received the fateful bounty and then defied the code to rescue the child. You supported his decision, as you always did, and you found yourself quickly attached to your new ward. And it was through that series of events that you all found yourself crash landed on the remote planet of Tatooine.

 “Well, as far as bounties go, we got lucky landing here,” you voiced your observation as you both gathered your weapons to head off, “This planet is a hive of scum.”

 “Lucky us,” the bounty hunter spoke in a playfully sarcastic tone as he set the child in a small closet to nap and double checked to make sure he was safely tucked away. When he was satisfied, he gave you a pat on your shoulder to let you know he was ready to head off. As you both got more comfortable with each other, a lot of your communication became non-verbal, and it didn’t take many words to know what the other was thinking at any given time.

You were met with the owner of the garage, Peli Motto, and her team of repair droids. Mando bargained with her for repairs to the ship and added, “No droids,” in a firm tone at the end of the conversation before he moved to head off.

 She turned to you, “He’s got a thing about droids, huh?”

 “Mmhmm,” you confirmed, “Thanks for your help,” you spoke in a softer tone than the Mandalorian.

 “What about you? Not a fan of droids either?” She seemed genuinely curious.

 You let out a sigh, “I don’t mind ‘em,” you said with a shrug, “The way I see it, a droid will kill you, but a person… A person will tortue you,” you let her draw her own conclusion about your statement as you followed your partner out of the landing area. 

 It wasn’t long before the pair of you found yourselves in a greesy cantina to ask about any lead on a local bounty. The bartender informed Mando that the old Hutt palace recently restarted its operations under a new leader. “If there’s any work for a bounty hunter, you’ll find it there,” he said while he barely looked up from the glass he poured. 

 While he spoke with the barkeep, you stood next to Mando and scanned the crowd for any threats. It became a habit for you to always watch his back while his attention was focused, and you trusted him to do the same for you. When his conversation was finished, he turned to you and you knew what he was thinking without the need of any words. Mando led the way, but as you went to leave, a hand grabbed your arm. You gasped in surprise and tensed, but waited to react; you didn’t want to make a scene if you could avoid it.

 “Where are you going, sweetheart?” a sweaty older man taunted you.

 Mando spun around, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he threatened.

 “Why? You gonna kick me ass for touching your girl?”

 You rolled your eyes, and you could tell from the way his head rolled back he did the same, “She doesn’t need my help.”

 With that, you made quick work of the man. You swung your head back so that you collided with his nose, then swiftly punched him in the gut and tackled him to the ground. “And now you know,” you said in his ear, “Not to touch people without permission.”

 Mando watched proudly as you handled yourself and used techniques that he taught you. He found himself protective of you, but you also liked to prove you could take care of yourself so he always gave you that chance before he ran in to help. A drunk man at a bar was not an issue for you, but he was always there as back up just in case. “Shall we go?” he offered. You nodded with a huff as you walked out of the cantina together.

 And that was how you and the Mandalorian found yourself at the door of the giant palace on the outskirts of town. He knocked on the gate, and grumbled when he was met with a droid who asked questions in Huttese. Mando let out a sigh and turned to you. You met his helmeted gaze and gave him a reassuring look.

 Because of your past, you were fluent in the language, so you answered on his behalf, “We’re looking for work, anything your boss can offer.”

 The droid slunk back inside and the gate opened up. You and Mando exchanged a quick look before you both headed inside. When you first started traveling with him, you tended to walk behind him, but now you felt more comfortable at his side. Over the years, he taught you how to perfect your already established fighting techniques, how to fly, and other relevant skills. Yet he never made you feel inferior or like he thought lesser of you. He always treated you as an equal from the very beginning.

 “I have a bad feeling about this,” you muttered as you made your way down the dim hallway.

 Mando didn’t say anything, but he had the same feeling in his chest. The more time he spent with you, the more he just wanted to reach out and hold you, especially after the child entered your lives and he saw how good you were with him. He found himself face to face with feelings he never had before, but he never let it show. He buried his thoughts deep down; one day the time would be right to bring it up.

 At the end of the hallway was the large open main area where everyone was gathered. The area itself looked like it hadn’t changed much over the years; the few things that were in the room were on the old side. The leader, a young member of the Hutt family, lay sprawled out on a large, cushy chair. About three dozen armed bounty hunters of various races stood scattered across the room. The leader eyed you and the Mandalorian up and down before he spoke.

 “It’s been awhile since we had a Mandalorian grace our presence. And with such a lovely girl too,” the Hutt leader spoke with a bitter tone, “Makes the life less lonely doesn’t it?”

 You scowled but quickly got yourself under control. You knew how dangerous these people were, so it was best to keep any emotions in check. Mando, however, didn’t miss the look that flashed across your face, and even though you didn’t translate, he knew he didn’t like what was said. You took a breath before you replied, “We’re looking for any bounties you may have.”

 He thought for a moment as he scanned the crowd of his minions “There is someone that’s been causing trouble for us, taking any hits on her behalf instead of for our little organization. Fennec Shand. She’s bad for business lately, and I need her taken care of. But I want her brought to me alive.”

 Once you finished translating for the Mandalorian, he addressed the Hutt, “Consider it taken care of.”

 The leader sneered, and Mando didn’t like the look on his face. He was too focused on the Hutt to notice the movement behind him, and before he could react, one of the others in the room swooped in and grabbed you by your wrists. In one quick movement, he grabbed you, forced you to your knees and pressed a blaster right to the back of your head. You yelped at the pain; he held you right where you had a large, prominent scar on your lower arm. No one knew, except for Mando, because you always kept your arms completely covered.

 Mando pulled out both his blasters in response and pointed one at our captor and one at the Hutt. This made others in the room draw their own weapons. You cursed to yourself for letting your guard down like that as the room fell into a standoff. You couldn’t see, but Mando was just as angry at himself for the situation.

 “What the fuck?!” The bounty hunter’s voice was raw with rage and emotion.

 The Hutt laughed, “I need a consolation prize,” he spoke in basic for the first time, “If you can’t bring what I ask in 24 standared hours, I keep your girl.”

 The Mandalorian shook in anger, “Absolutely not. She is not a bargaining chip,” he kept his weapons aimed as he scanned the room to calculate his next move.

 You also scanned the room and counted the number of thugs and weapons around you. The hard truth was that there was no way you could blast your way out of this situation alive, so you spoke up, “Fine!” You tried to cover your nerves, but your shoulders still shook a bit.

 This shocked Mando as he whipped around to face you, “No,” he almost pleaded. But it was too late.

 “Deal,” the Hutt spoke. “You have 24 hours, Mandalorian.”

 His shoulders tensed as he read the microexpressions on your face. He was silent for a moment before he caved in, “Fine,” he lowered his weapons and the others in the room followed suit, “But I need to speak with her first,” he spoke strongly so there was no room for negotiation. 

 “Very well,” the Hutt waved.

 Mando wasted no time and pulled you from your captors clutch. You let him lead you to the edge of the room where you could speak privately. “I don’t like this,” his voice was low, but you could hear the worry there.

 “I don’t like it either,” your eyes darted around, “But we’re badly outnumbered, Mando. And they literally have home field advantage,” you looked directly at him and realized that he held you tightly. You made no attempt to move as you continued, “I’d rather put my faith in you and your skills right now.” Your heart pounded from a mix of adrenaline running through your system and the feeling of his strong, protective grip on you.

 He sighed heavily. He knew you were right, he just didn’t like it. This was the last situation he wanted to ever put you in, especially because of your past. He let go of your arm to caress your face, and he felt his heart skip a beat when you let out a sigh and leaned into his touch. 

 “Alright,” he sounded defeated, “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

 Your eyes met his visor and you nodded, “I know,” you tried to sound strong for him but truthfully, you were terrified. Normally, you were tough and strong and handled anything that came at you with ease. But this was your one fear: captivity. 

 It was then that two men grabbed you again and pulled you away from the Mandalorian. You both reached for each other to stay connected as long as possible, and it was the hardest thing Mando ever did to watch you be dragged away. He addressed the leader with a warning, “If any harm comes to her,” his words dripped with fury as he couldn’t even finish his thought.

 “Yes, yes,” he waved dismissively.

 The bounty hunter watched as they took you down below, and only turned to leave when you were completely out of sight. As he made his way out, a young man who had been watching everything from the outskirts of the room approached him.

 “Want some help there, Mando?” he offered as he strode up to the bounty hunter. 

 He didn’t even slow down, “Not particularly.”

 The young man was persistent, “Listen, we can help each other out. I know the dunes here, and you’re a Mandalorian, which means you’re the best bounty hunter there is.”

 Mando finally stopped as they reached the front gate, “Fine. Just don’t get in my way.”

 He smiled and introduced himself, “Toro Calican.” When the Mandalorian simply gave a nod in response, he continued, “This will really help me out, man. I’ve been trying to get in with these guys for awhile, and this will be my big break to get in the door here.”

 The bounty hunter only half listened to Toro’s rambling as they made their way into the dunes. They were able to find where Fennec’s hideout was easily enough, but their challenge lay in making their way across the vast desert without being taken out by her sniper shots. He laid out behind a smaller hill as he scanned the area in front of them. He could see the heat signature from their target, but without any cover, there was no way they would reach her alive.

 “What are you thinking, Mando?” the young man asked.

 He didn’t like it but, “We have to wait for nighttime to get some cover.” He gritted his teeth under his helmet as he moved into a resting position. “You take the first watch. Make sure no one leaves the area,” he ordered as he let himself relax a bit for the first time that day.

 Toro took Mando’s place at the hill, but couldn’t stay silent for too long, “So, what’s the deal with the chick?” he asked as his curiosity got the best of him, “Is she like your apprentice or servant or something?”

 “She’s not my servant,” Mando snapped, which surprised Toro. He took a breath before he spoke again in a calmer voice, “She’s my…” he never really thought about what he would label you, and it always bothered him when people assumed you were somehow beneath him, “Partner,” he finally settled on the best word. He ignored any further questions from Toro as he let himself drift off to sleep for a bit. And when he finally dozed off, he dreamt about when you two first met.

~

Notes: I have this planned out, and it’s going to be 3 chapters long. Obviously, next will be the flashback to their first meeting. I actually wasn’t feeling too confident about this, but I got a comment on another fic and it was so sweet, it re-motivated me to finish and post this. As always, if you’d like to be added to the Mando tag list, just leave a comment :)

Mando tag list: @astronomyturtle @ugly-wall-flower​ @spottedlekkudancer @smolashie @im-the-nerdiest-of-them-a11 @soapjay @ispilledmyink​ @bva14​ @iamakindprincess @pascalisthepunkest 

[kirstinmaldonado]

CHAPTER TEN 2.0

I had a horrible migraine Monday night. It was one of those that you feel after holding back tears all day, or letting it out all day, it was centered right in-between the eyes on the upper bridge of my nose. My eyes sweltered under discomfort. The icepacks or a cool touch to the head, something my mom would always do (she always has cold hands), couldn’t even console me. I didn’t feel feverish at all, but the pain was sharp and pulsating like a nervous heartbeat, over and over, until I couldn’t concentrate on TV or anything anymore I just had to go to bed and hope I could fall asleep. 

I rarely get those kinds of headaches, that placement and severity. I’m usually fortunate to pass with dull, achey, temple headaches; and even my hangovers are never so pointed and jab-like.

My mom on the other hand, has dealt with migraines for years. I remember her pain as a kid, waking up in the morning wondering where she was, only to find her in the dark in her room, barely able to speak sometimes. I was always so sad to see her in such anguish, all alone in the dark. Silent. Still. While her head throbbed as if a brass band was playing “The Music Man” at too loud a decibel.

We watched a lot of horror films, my mom and I. In contrast to all the Disney films, I grew up on Jeepers Creepers, Scream, Final Destination and all the Freddy, Jason, true horror classics (yes, and all seven billion of their sequels). When she would be in bed, in the dark, we’d joke that she was a vampire needing her rest and that she needed to stay in the dark unbothered, and that lightheartedness to the situation made us smile and contented us.

Monday, Ben asked if migraines ran in my family, and though I told him about my mother’s constant battle with them the last couple years I was hoping mine felt more situational as opposed to genetic. Fingers crossed on that, and kudos to mom and those who get migraines for sticking it out cause they can be a big B-I-T-C-H.

I say situational, because it’s been A WEEK to say the least, with big things and confrontations happening in the public eye and in my own private life. The last two weeks have been incredibly eye-opening, painful, uncomfortable, moving, you name it. An entire rainbow of emotions (Happy Pride, by the way, cuties, I haven’t forgotten about you all).

I feel as if I’ve transformed into a new person with big, wide, new eyes, shedding some old skin that felt a little naive and a little out of touch with how the world, not should work, but how it’s REALLY been working. I’ve been talking to my black friends and fans, talking to my Hispanic family and hearing their stories, and talking amongst my friends and respected mentors. I’ve been doing some soul-searching and digging through memories of my own cop experiences (one, for example, at 17 with two white males [we were pulled over and eventually surrounded by 4 armed cop cars that got us out of the car, surrounded us, and wouldn’t tell us why] and wondering but knowing how that situation could have been if they were black), my jokes of being white-washed or assimilating in to white culture and not focusing on my own, and me coloring my hair blonde and wearing colored contacts not MY brown eyes for so much of my life and wondering what the intention of it all was for. Was it genuine or was I doing it to fit in, did I think it made me prettier, or more likable? Did I think or know that it would get me roles, because many ingenues or leading ladies at the time didn’t look like me?

At a point, at multiple points, all the things I’d uncover or watch in recent news had my stomach hard and in knots. Every new clip made me feel like I wanted to throw up, but I couldn’t stop now that I had SEEN.

I was confused. Hurt. Believing what I’d seen, but needing other facts as if I was missing something completely because it all did not make sense to me. How COULD it?

I apologize for all the reposts and rants, but I hope it’s stayed in line with being something you should SEE, regardless of if its uncomfortable or not, so that you KNOW what is happening, while also trying to call action to addressing the issue but moving FORWARD towards a solution. I don’t want violence on my page. But now it’s hard to turn a blind eye.

The organized BLM LA protest on May 30th changed my life. After the speeches, we wanted to continue marching, moving, using our freedom of speech and combining our white, brown, black, and all colors in-between of voices so that we could be ONE VOICE UNITED to be HEARD. 

I don’t think I went to the front lines because I was white-passing and felt safer, or because I was a woman so could be “less a threat.” I went because my black allies, who I didn’t even know, asked us to because the front was starting to get unnecessarily violent. I went because I had done nothing wrong and planned on doing nothing wrong. I went, in a way, to be an innocent. Because if I was in the front with no bad intention, the people beside and behind me would be okay.

As we walked through the crowds, their hands on my shoulders, their thanks, flared something visceral deep inside of me and I knew I was here to protect and mediate, and in a way, fighting against hate in whatever form as if I was a newborn Avenger. Someone cried out “I love this, this is what this movement is for!” and that has stayed with me as so many lighter-skinned protesters made their way to the front. Because that IS what this is for. Not to divide, but to unite to fight for justice against those that have unnecessarily been wronged.

I’ll never forget one black man that my friends and I urged to stay back beside us in the lines that had pushed to the front. He was angry. Upset. Hurt. Defiled. I’d never understood the pain the black community felt. But as we tried to reassure him, block him from the batons (from THAT COP), bring him back to the safety of the group, when I was hit in the ribs and the face as collateral because he would have been hit so much worse, the last thing he said as we pulled him back was “I want them to hear me.” And suddenly I felt holding him and consoling him was wrong, like I was a part of stealing his voice from him even though all I wanted was to keep him safe. Suddenly I felt so upset, so angry; although, of course, I’ll never even know HALF of that feeling as a non-black person who, to my knowledge, has never been treated differently for their identity.

I’ll never forget the way he said it. With so much hurt and pain, the anger fading in to just pure anguish and loss.

I felt like I’d silenced someone, so all I could do was get back to the front. It was my turn to be silent and let their voices carry behind me.

I’m sure you’ve seen the video going around, the stillness before the cops were ordered presumably to push the line back. While I can have a whole blog post of levels and steps they could have taken before the cop bashed through my canvas sign with his baton, you can look at the video and see for yourself. People getting hit because they were at the front, with no provocation. The man striking me with a baton, honestly probably because I had said openly to watch out for him, because he was showing a LOT of premature violence, because of how quickly he went after the man we were protecting; yet then only pushing the white girl next to me with his hand, even though she unfortunately was struck multiple times from another officer.

All awful!! All taken a step too far. I’ve never been more in shock. Ben was trying to pull me off the floor so I wouldn’t get stepped on. Our friends were hit by rubber bullets. Our other friends on another street running from tear gas.

The tear gas, the rubber bullets, the bruises and the ache have *I PRAY* started to leave Los Angeles as all the protests have started to become more peaceful and more organized. Since, I’ve been to three and they were all just, beautiful, and moving, each one getting better and bigger as the week went on. I carry a sense of pride and love seeing the aerial footage of all the people Sunday, and I think back to what my May 30 experience was compared to June 7th. I heard it was the largest protest yet. And while I felt like a sardine in a can, it was so packed, it was beautiful and it’s a memory I’ll hold forever!

I sidebar to say, I may no longer be cheering at the literal protesting frontlines with you for a while  — I must return to Texas soon for family so must safely quarantine  —  but know the fight for equality, for justice has not ended just because it’s not trending anymore! I think I’m gonna have to shackle myself to my house so I won’t leave, haha, but know there is so much you can be doing from your home! As my grandma said, after the protests which are the catalysts and the calls for change the REAL reformative work begins!! And the road is long! 

The most important thing, in my humble opinion, is to show up. To not be afraid. To ask the questions. To educate yourself through your friends with their experiences or through history.

Humbly, you must think, but what even can I do to help?

Showing up isn’t JUST protesting. It’s signing petitions. Donating to charities. It’s calling local reps. It’s doing the research and thinking, what can I do to lend my voice to help create a better world for all and doing it authentically if even imperfectly because deep down you also want to right these injustices and demand change! Do it in public. Do it in private. But do it because you believe in it!

I know everything feels a bit dark and overwhelming right now! The amount of times I’ve needed a “break” and then wanted to cry because my black friends and fans don’t get the opportunity to take “breaks” is countless. But your mental health is important for you to be the strongest ally you can be!

And if you’re afraid of backlash, understand that many are hurt. I know many feel nervous to speak up in a damned if I do, damned if I don’t kind of way. But EACH of your voices are, and have always been so, so important. And each and every one of you have an important say and CHOICE/VOTE in to where we lead our country!

Someone told me this week that although sunflowers follow the sun, when it is cloudy and dark, they turn to face each other and share their energy!

I don’t know if that’s a million percent scientifically accurate, but the sentiment brought me to tears. In times of darkness, we should all be able to lean on each other for support.

We can all be sunflowers in the dark. <3

Love you all.

[tinyshe]

Pope: Private property is ‘not Christian’, WEF agrees

At the turn of the month November-December, the pope made a move that was described as shocking by many. He argued that Christianity did not support the right to own a home. This led to surprised and outraged reactions, whereby several pointed out that those who are forced to rent or beg for shelter can never be free. Free West Media can here reveal that the Pope's statement is in line with the plans that the globalist elite has long discussed and also more or less clearly communicated to the public, something that most people have overlooked. Among other things, we present the World Economic Forum's 8-point vision for 2030. These world-changing plans are beginning to materialize in various ways now, including in China.

Published: January 19, 2021, 3:46 pm

Share

Tweet

Pope Francis attracted a lot of attention in Catholic circles on November 30 when he said several controversial things in a video message to judges from the Committee on Social Rights in Africa and America. However, the general public is not aware of his sensational statement, as the system media did not report on it.

The pope said, among other things, that a new “social justice” is needed and that private ownership is not something obvious in Christianity and therefore not for the Catholic Church either.

“Let us build the new social justice and admit that the Christian tradition has never recognized the right to private property as absolute and immovable,” said Francis.

Outraged reactions

Many were shocked by the statement and pointed out that the right to own private property is one of the most important human rights.

PROFESSOR KLAUS SCHWAB, 82, is a German engineer, economist and professor of business policy who is best known as the founder and chairman of the powerful globalist foundation World Economic Forum (WEF). In his book Covid-19: The Great Reset, Schwab claims that the world “will never” return to normal, despite acknowledging that the alleged coronavirus pandemic “does not pose a new existential threat.” – The pandemic represents a rare but narrow time window with opportunities to reflect (re: flect), rethink (re: imagine) and restore (re: set) our world, Schwab said at the launch of The Great Reset this summer. Photo: KTU

They pointed out that without that right you are like slaves of old, who must rely on their owners giving them a roof over their heads and food. Being always forced to earn in order to pay for the most basic need – protection against the forces of the weather – makes you both unfree and in practice completely powerless, some said on social media.

The pope’s statement was also widely discussed in Christian circles and no comments were positive. The exception was possibly the Twitter account Lichten & Bright who wrote:“Thank you for letting us know the Pope’s position on private ownership of property and means of production. We had no idea that he was an advocate of nationalizations [the state seizes] all land and business companies and against democratic elections. Thoughtful things”.

The Twitter account Catholic Victory wrote briefly that “Francis is a heretic and not a pope”.

Several people pointed out that it was reminiscent of the startling tones heard for several years from the World Economic Forum (WEF) foundation, which is best known for the annual conference in Davos, Switzerland. It brings together some of the world’s most powerful policy makers and globalists in politics and business. It was precisely the WEF that this summer, via its “ambassador” Prince Charles, launched The Great Reset, which more and more world leaders are now talking openly about being implemented.

The author of The Great Reset is Klaus Schwab, chairman of the powerful WEF, who wrote a 280-page book entitled COVID-19: The Great Reset. The book puts forward the argument that the pandemic has proven absolutely necessary to immediately introduce a completely new world order.

No private ownership 2030

To get an idea of ​​the background to the pope’s strange statement and what The Great Reset might mean, we can watch a video from the WEF entitled “8 predictions for the world 2030”.

COVID-19: THE GREAT RESET is 280 pages long and was already published on July 9, almost four months into the pandemic. Many have pointed out the improbability of writing such a comprehensive and complex book in such a short time. It tells us that the pandemic has shown the need to immediately introduce a new world order, which does not quite unexpectedly advocate a comprehensive “world government” and a merger of governments and multinational corporations to meet people’s needs. The incentive for for-profit large companies to pay out, for example, social benefits is, to say the least, vague. Instead of prioritizing profits, companies must now put “people at the center”. The book also proclaims that capitalism is obsolete and should instead be replaced by a new merger of capitalism and socialism, which is called “Stakeholder capitalism”. Critics call it communism in the form of a totalitarian global technocracy ruled by a small globalist elite using Big Tech (technology giants) and artificial intelligence (AI).

The first point there is as simple as it is remarkable. It states that “You will own nothing and you will be happy”. The point also explains that “Whatever you need, you will rent”. So no more ownership, but everything should be rented, including the clothes you wear on the body.

Can they really mean it? We visit WEF’s website for more information. There you can in a text, which paints the future they want to see in 2030, read the following:

Welcome to the year 2030. Welcome to my city – or should I say “our city”. I own nothing. I do not own a car. I do not own a house. I do not own any appliances or clothes.

The text on the WEF’s website also states that it is not only private ownership that will be abolished in the new utopia, or dystopia depending on who you ask, but there will also be no privacy. We can read there that:

Sometimes I can get annoyed by the fact that I have no real integrity. Nowhere can I go without being registered. I know that somewhere everything I do, think and dream about is recorded. I can only hope that no one will use it against me.

Many who hear it for the first time believe that it must be a conspiracy theorist’s crazy fantasies, but it is instead the richest and most powerful globalists on the planet who meet annually in Davos who present it in text and video form. System media has not reported on this and then the general public does not know these visions and agendas of these globalists.

Canadian Whistleblower has been right so far

Someone who claimed to be a Canadian MP and member of the Liberal Party of Canada (Canada’s Liberal Party led by Justin Trudeau, the country’s current Prime Minister) wrote an open letter on October 10 to warn the Canadian people that the pandemic is a smokescreen with the aim of introducing a far-reaching agenda where, among other things, people will be forced to renounce their right to private ownership. The Whistleblower did not reveal his name, but wrote that “I sit on several committee groups, but the information I provide comes from the Strategic Planning Committee, which is governed by the PMO [abbreviation for Prime Minister’s Office]”.

The anonymous MP then set out a secret roadmap established by Trudeau, which would be implemented regardless of their views or objections. He initially states that a second shutdown will be introduced in November, which will then be even tougher over Christmas and New Year. This is exactly what has happened in both North America and Europe. The whistleblower then indicates a frightening development in 2021, where, among other things, a third wave from a mutation called “COVID-21” – this time with real death rates – will be followed by an even harsher third shutdown in the first and second quarters of 2021.

Regarding the current economy and ownership, he indicates an impending “collapse of the supply chain, stock shortages, major economic instability” in the second quarter of 2021. Desperate people will then be offered the general basic income program, Universal Basic Income [UBI] in English. It can be mentioned here that Australia has already made it clear that only vaccinated citizens will be given welfare funds under a new law with the slogan “No jab, no pay”, “no syringe, nothing paid”.

In China, thousands of people in rural areas who voluntarily abandon their privately owned property and move to newly built apartments have been rewarded in various ways, while those who struggle are arrested and punished. Their houses are being demolished regardless of compliance.

POPULATION FROM THE RURAL AREA has begun in China. Here you can see Xiguozhuang, the first village in China’s eastern Shandong province, where residents saw their houses demolished at short notice. Fewer than a dozen homes remain along the village’s main road when the photo was taken in August. The Communist Party (CCP) forcibly expels farmers from their homes and farms. Liu, an affected farmer, recounts how he came home one day and discovered that local officials were preparing to demolish his house. When he called the police, they arrested him instead. Liu told the news channel NPR how about a hundred government officials surrounded his home before breaking down and arresting him, because he “resisted”. Liu’s privately owned property has now been demolished and apartment buildings await him and his neighbors. Photo: Amy Cheng / NPR

NEWLY BUILT MICRO APARTMENTS IN CHINA. Here you can see high-rise buildings with micro-apartments in Heze, in China’s eastern Shandong province, where Liu and his neighbors will be forcibly relocated when they are ready. The farmers are upset about the high rent they are being forced to have and will find it very difficult to afford. They are given the right to continue using the land, but they say that it will be impossible due to the long distance between the rental apartments they have been forced to and their land and that they do not have buildings left there that are necessary for the work. For several years, China has built many new cities, some of the largest in the world, which in most cases are still completely empty. This has been a mystery to many. Now that the CCP is starting to forcibly relocate people to the countryside and demolish their homes and farms, some are beginning to suspect that these “ghost towns” were built for Agenda 2030 and the massive expulsions from the countryside the globalists advocate (see NyT v50 / 2020).

Then the whistleblower describes in detail how the Canadians will be forced to renounce their ownership starting already this year. The anonymous Member writes:

Based on the roadmap provided, the Strategic Planning Committee was asked to design an effective way to change Canadians to meet unprecedented economic hardship. One that will change Canada and change the lives of Canadians forever. What we were told was that the federal government would offer Canadians a total debt write-off to compensate for what is essentially an economic collapse at the international level, where the federal government will offer Canadians to write off all their debts. Here’s how it works:

The federal government will offer to write off all personal debts (mortgages, loans, credit cards, etc.) where financing will be provided by the Canada [International Monetary Fund] IMF during what will be known as the World Debt Reset.

In exchange for accepting this total debt forgiveness, the individual will give up ownership of all property and assets forever. The individual will also need to agree to participate in the vaccination program for COVID-19 and COVID-21, which would allow the individual to travel and live indefinitely even during a complete shutdown (using a photo ID called Canada’s HealthPass).

With the pope’s statement, the Vatican and the Catholic Church have now officially taken the position that such possible plans do not run counter to the “Christian tradition”. Pope Francis was the one who, at the UN headquarters on September 25, 2015, the first visit ever by a pope, saw to it that all world leaders signed Agenda 2030.

All rights reserved. You have permission to quote freely from the articles provided that the source (www.freewestmedia.com) is given

[waokevale]

Porcelain Face - Chapter 2

[One year ago]

 Logan has finally graduated from collage and started his new job as a teacher at the local high school.

Similar to the students teachers were also introduced by the principal, but more formal.

The principal has showed him his new class meanwhile also telling him about the car accident the previous teacher had as Logan tried to make a pitiful expression on his face.

It was hard, since most of your life you lacked emotions like some heartless robot.

After that he perceived to talk to them as he examined all of their faces. Nothing has surprised him until he saw a boy with an interesting "face" or more exactly a paper material mask that could somehow change it's expression, which was also a little burned and scratched either meaning the boy has probably gone through a lot or he just had a worn off mask on his face.

The students all looked differently at him

Some were excited, some were curious, some bored or unimpressed and others....Ugh...let's just say their face wanted to do the illegal things from the movies that Logan despised yet had a contact with them somehow.

Mostly girls...The dressed up ones specifically.

The mysterious cardboard boy though had especially different expression than everybody else, at least his mask showed a different one.

It was somewhat of  fear and anxiousness, like Logan was some sort of a threat to him.

He could as well examine what is wrong later as he was told by the principal to start his lesson or at least hear what the students wanted to say about themselves...

And so they did. 

Most of them were stereotypical.

Popular girls, mean kids, intelligent one's that lacked sleep, (that Logan could tell because of the bags under their eyes) or so called nerds, gaming kids who too lacked sleep, loners and theatre kids. 

Nothing much changed in these 5 years that had passed since he attended high school.

It was rather disappointing for him to say.

Then again...It finally came to the cardboard kid.

He wasn't like most of them, some of them were very confident while they were  talking, some were bored and some stuttered a bit but managed to say what they intended to.

This kid was quiet. it was clear, that he tried to form words behind his mask but wasn't able to until someone else has spoken.

-"He's just a quiet freak, that's what he is!" Some kid laughed.

The boy in the mask was getting even more nervous from the unnecessary attention and the laughter from the other kids.

-"That's enough!" - Logan yelled emotionlessly as the class that was giggling went silent.

-"Listen to me James, it was clearly not funny for either me or the boy, I'm wondering how would you feel at his place.

But I hope you learn one thing from this lesson, no one should care about your idiotic opinions, might as well keep them to yourself, won't you?" Logan kept talking with a dead look on his face and voice that could be described as Arctic cold yet venomous like a viper.

The kid that was very confident before now fearfully flinched in his chair as he did not expect that from the new teacher.

After Logan's own monologue he sat back on his chair and counted to five. He perfectly calculated the time as when he said five the bell rang and everyone run out of the class, except the cardboard boy, who walked sloppily and shakily.

-"Would you mind staying a little longer in the classroom?" - Logan said as the short boy in hoodie flinched but nodded slowly in defeat.

-"Sit down here, please." - The man in the glasses and the tie motioned to the nearest chair from his desk as the boy listened to his command and sat there, still very anxious as ever.

-"Do you know why I have told you to stay here?" Logan asked calmly yet that didn't help the boy as he kept shaking.

-"...n-n-n-no." - He barely mumbled his reply.

His voice was weak and shaky, it wasn't much of a surprise for Logan though.

-"Do not worry, kid. I do not intend harm upon you or anything of that matter. I just want to communicate with you for a bit, since the break has already began."

The boy nodded getting a little better from the answer.

-"First, If it wouldn't be a problem I would like to hear your name. Mind sharing it with me?Do to the fact I do not wish to call you a "kid" unless you want me to."

-"V-V-Virgil..." The cardboard boy replied.

-"I'm glad you have shared this information with me, Virgil." - Logan tried smiling but it looked more like he made a derp face which made Virgil chuckle, but he suddenly realised his "mistake" and apologized.

-"What are you apologizing me for?" - Logan asked.

-"F-f-for l-laughing....I-I-I shouldn't, I-" the kid broke down in his chair.

Logan didn't know exactly what to do, but he knew that in these situations you usually go to the person and try to comfort them as he came closer to the boy and put his hand on Virgil's shoulder.

-"Virgil, that is untrue, I'm not sure if you've known that laughing is actually healthy for your organism? As well as the hormone endorphins that represents your happiness, if you've studied it on biology. Happiness is very important for your mental health. If you experience lack of happiness it can cause mental illnesses which are not good for your body.

Besides you didn't intend to laugh at me for no reason at all. I myself fail at emotions and I'm incredibly sorry for not helping at all."

-"It's O-ok Mr.Be-" But Virgil's sentence was cut off by Logan saying:

-"Though I like my surname I do not wish for you to call me by it. 

Just call me Logan when it comes to conversations like this one. I don't want to feel like someone who can't exactly be trusted by you, besides I'm only six years older than you. 

 I Intend to be your friend not foe." Logan blankly explained.

-"Y-you won't like m-me Mr-Logan, I'm v-very sorry."

-"It's okay, Virgil. You are a very nice kid so I see no reason for me not to like you." The man in glasses encouraged.

-"B-but m-my mask...." Virgil stuttered getting nervous yet again.

-"What's wrong with it? Despite it having burned marks and scratches of course." - 

-"-Aren't you f-forcing me to take it off? M-many of the other teachers tried, but I always said n-no, a-a-and...t-they a-always sent m-me to d-detentions f-for t-t-that... - the boy said while softly sobbing.

As we've already seen Virgil was a very fragile kid back then, it was very easy for him to break down.

Logan looked rather shocked and disappointed if you could actually read his expression.

-"I've read the school rules 3 times and there was nothing about not being able to wear masks or any other items even do to important means of course. Since you are clearly not wearing this for show I do not understand why would they do such things."

-"B-b-because t-they h-hate m-me.

E-e-everybody does....." Virgil finally cried covering his cardboard face in his hands.

To his and Logan's own surprise he has embraced the younger boy with a hug.

Virgil was frozen at first, but he slowly melted into the hug.

After a minute or so Logan has finally pulled away as he couldn't hear sobs no more.

-"Are you feeling better Virgil? Or should I call someone"

-"No-no-no! It's fine, I'm fine! .....Thank you so much M-Logan...I'm sure you'll dislike me one day anyways, but I-I'm glad that at least for now you sort of accept m-me."

-"Do not assume Virgil. You are a likeable, good person. Your mask or what's under it does not define you. Just please, at least try to understand it." Logan said.

The boy nodded unsurely as the bell rang for another lesson to start.

Virgil has already run back to his seat getting anxious again and fearing what would the person who usually sat there do to him.

Logan sighed sadly as he got out of the classroom, since Virgil and the others had a lesson with a different teacher this time.

He headed back to the teacher's room  mumbling to himself.

-"Some changes must be made...."

_________________________________

Logan's mom/big bro mode has activated! I hope you like the chapter.

:V

[revlyncox]

Democracy Is Not a State

Delivered to the Washington Ethical Society on January 10, 2021, by Lyn Cox

Congressman John Lewis reminds us what is possible when we join together, combining our collective action and sense of purpose to keep our country grounded in our best and highest ideals. His final instructions to us were to “walk with the wind,” to stay together and respond to the movement of our time in the spirit of peace and with the power of love. 

That is what is happening in Georgia. This past week, we learned that Georgia will have two new Senators. The Rev. Raphael Warnock will be the first Black Senator from the state, of which about a third of the population is Black. The congregation Rev. Warnock leads, Ebenezer Baptist Church, is the former pulpit of the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. It is also a congregation that Rep. Lewis attended. Jon Ossoff will be the first Jewish Senator from Georgia. Ossoff interned for Rep. John Lewis as a young man, after having written him a fan letter when Ossoff was 16 years old. Relationships built over years make a difference.

Regardless of political party, we can agree that democracy depends on the ability of citizens to exercise their right to vote. True democracy rests on free and fair elections, in which obstacles to the right to vote are not placed unfairly and disproportionately in front of voters from marginalized communities. The runoff election in Georgia was historic, not only because of the outcome, but because of the momentous turnout. Overcoming voter suppression was a major task, and one that grassroots organizations in Georgia have been working on for years. Multiracial democracy is a threat to white supremacy, and white supremacy has been trying to prevent the full flowering of multiracial democracy from the beginning.

Yet there is progress. Between 2018 and the November election, 800,000 new people registered to vote in Georgia. Registering and mobilizing new voters is the big story of this election, and that was achieved one conversation at a time, one knocked-on door at a time, one phone call at a time, one relationship at a time. Stacey Abrams is a strategic genius and a focused advocate, having started the New Georgia Project seven years ago and Fair Fight two years ago.

Abrams will be the first to tell you that a wide variety of leaders and grassroots organizations share the credit for voter turnout in this election. For instance, LaTosha Brown has been fighting voter suppression since 1998, and her Black Voters Matter project helped mobilize voters across the South. In a series of tweets on Friday, Abrams named 30 different grassroots organizations that coordinated their efforts to help Georgians exercise their right to vote, noting that the runoff election was a demonstration of “decades of strategy, grit, + building.”

Between Rep. Lewis’ reminder about clasping hands and moving together, and the turnout in Georgia’s runoff election, our takeaway should not be limited to admiration for the most visible leaders, candidates, and public officials. We can and should admire their good character traits and their dedication to service. We can and should thank the movement leaders who made this possible, especially Black women. But we should not elevate these officials and movement leaders to the point where we regard them as something other than human, an example too rarified for us to follow.

The lesson here is that organizing is happening all around us. Coordinated solidarity to enact structural change for liberation is part of how we help bring the full promise of multiracial democracy into being. There may well be someone like Stacey Abrams in the movements you are part of at your workplace or in your neighborhood. Let’s listen. There are definitely organizations in our own communities being led by the people who are most impacted by marginalization. We can follow the example that has been set out for us by supporting power-building and relationship-building that is already happening locally. Grassroots organizing takes a long time. It requires a lot of one-on-one conversations, very little in the way of immediate results, and broad participation. That path is available to any of us, nobody has to be a superstar to participate in repairing the soul of our nation.

We contrast the progress in building multiracial democracy in Georgia with the violent attempt to destroy multiracial democracy that happened on January 6. Because this Platform is being recorded for posterity, I feel that I have to be very clear about the events of this week; please take care of yourself if a reminder of these events is overwhelming for you. On Wednesday, at the urging of their demagogue, white supremacist insurrectionists invaded the Capitol building, threatened the safety of elected leaders and staff, looted the building, and left chaos in their wake for others to clean up, primarily janitors and facilities staff who are People of Color. They were not merely rascals ignoring the rules of orderly protest, they were an armed mob seeking to disrupt the practice of democracy. Computers were stolen, putting our national security at risk. Five people died, including an officer from the Capitol Police.

In our community, I know we are holding intense emotions about this incident. I am particularly mindful of the impact that this has on those who work for the Federal government, for whom the area around the Capitol is an everyday environment, a place full of memories and colleagues. My heart also goes out to those who live near the Capitol, who had to deal with armed white supremacists wandering the neighborhood unimpeded. To anyone who has ever been treated roughly by the Capitol Police for non-violently exercising their first amendment rights, the lack of resistance to the mob may not have been surprising, but it was yet another insult, a reminder that the level of force with which police respond to protestors is a choice. For People of Color, Queer people, Muslim people, Jewish people, immigrants, or anyone who holds an identity targeted for violence by these insurrectionists, Wednesday’s events were a chilling show of power that was precisely intended to make us feel afraid for existing as our whole selves. We cannot let that fear stop us from living fully, nor prevent us from persevering in the work of liberation.

On Wednesday night, I invited the WES community to gather by Zoom to process the day’s events, to overcome the numbness of trauma by feeling our feelings, and to lift up our shared values in a way that only a community like ours can do. It was short notice, and I apologize if you didn’t hear about it in time. Please reach out if you would like to talk to me or to a member of the Pastoral Care Associates about how you are feeling. More than twenty of you were able to attend. Just from that sample, I know that there are feelings of rage, worry, disgust, helplessness, disappointment, and confusion. There are also feelings of readiness, of curiosity about what to do next, relief about the Georgia election, and even optimism that there are long-deferred actions for repair that can take place with the new Congress. Emotions are what they are, and they will be affected by your previous experiences with oppression, trauma, and violence. Feel your feelings. Please know you don’t have to be in those feelings alone.

The violence on January 6 was designed to reinforce white supremacy. It was a reaction to the expansion of multiracial democracy, fed by the shock of racist white people that the votes of people who are Black, Indigenous, and People of Color were allowed to have an impact. White people have been told since the moment Europeans arrived on this continent that the land and its abundance and the benefits of government are for ourselves, that white people own this country, and that this is unassailable no matter what happens to the bodies, voices, and lives of those who are Black, Indigenous, and People of Color. This worldview is gravely harmful and wrong.

The incredulity with which the insurrectionists faced the results of the 2020 election, urged on by politicians who capitalize on their racism, is rooted in the belief that only white votes are legitimate. Their invasion of the People’s House was meant to mark their territory, to show that their ownership remains primary, and that they can and will use violence to maintain that ownership. White supremacist violence as an attempt to derail multiracial democracy is not new, and it has worked before. We all have choices ahead of us to reduce the chances that this tactic will continue to work.

One avenue is to confront and dismantle white supremacy in all of the ways it shows up around us. For those who have been the targets of racism their whole lives, simply living and thriving is an act of resistance. For those of us who were socialized as white, the construction of a wall of ignorance around the machinations of white supremacy is part of how the system operates. For those of us who were raised with barriers to perceiving racism, let’s not wait another moment before removing those barriers and taking action to uproot racism.

We saw again this week how deadly white supremacy can be. It shows up in the minds and hearts of well-meaning people and in the institutional practices of well-meaning communities. It shows up in the decisions of governments from the level of homeowners associations to the U.S. Congress. It shows up in art and music and literature. We don’t have to look far to find a place to begin uprooting racism. For all of us, the outpouring of voter empowerment in Georgia reminds us that there is room for everyone in expanding multiracial democracy.

Another thing we can do is to insist that the threat of violent white supremacy is real, and that we should take it seriously. Perhaps that seems obvious after this week, but we’re already seeing efforts to humanize, sanitize, and excuse the perpetrators of destruction. News articles about insurrectionists who died emphasize their good qualities or accomplishments instead of their criminal records; an obvious departure from the media treatment of racial justice activists and those who have been murdered by police. Jokes about the perpetrators seem to imply that they are too stupid to be held responsible. Calls to understand their pain and excuse their racism rely on stereotypes that are demonstrably untrue. Exhortations to “move on” without practicing accountability reinforce the idea that harm caused by white people should be consequence-free. White supremacy is and always has been a threat to our national security and our national wellbeing, and the sooner we recognize and address that, the better.

Failing to take white supremacy seriously contributed to our vulnerability to Wednesday’s events. Racist militia groups have been allowed to grow and thrive for years when anti-racist groups have been infiltrated, sabotaged, and undermined with outrageous punishments and mysterious deaths. After the Charlottesville event where Heather Heyer was murdered, nothing happened to reduce the potential for future right-wing violence. The Capitol Police knew that the crowds planned for Wednesday were likely to be dangerous. Congresswoman Pramila Jayapal said:

We all were aware of the danger. Ten days ago, Maxine Waters had raised the issue of our security on a caucus call to the Speaker and asked what the plans would be. And 48 hours before, we had gotten instructions from Capitol police about all the threats: that we had to be on high alert, that we had to get to the Capitol by 9 a.m. before the protesters, that we couldn’t plan on going out, that we should have overnight bags. It was very clear, and everyone understood what the threats were.

Rep. Jayapal points out the discrepancy between what the Members of Congress were told about impending events and how the Capitol Police were prepared on the outside of the building. Whether failing to have adequate staff or backup or hard barriers was a result of underestimating the threat or of deliberate collusion or both, the lack of preparedness is a product of white supremacy.

When we recognize the enormity of the problem, we are led to work on systemic solutions. That means examining laws and policies, and the uneven application of those laws and policies. At a Symposium yesterday, award-winning peacemaker and spiritual care activist Najeeba Syeed spoke about the “myth of interpersonal peacemaking,” and how it can be a distraction and derailment of the systemic justice-making that provides the foundation for authentic, lasting peace. Trying to understand and relate to Nazis does not yield systemic change. Attempting to de-radicalize loved ones is another project, not the same thing as building multiracial democracy or expanding liberation. Professor Syeed reminded us that “Peace is not the absence of violence … Peace is the absence of injustice.”

In a week with so many low points, even as we notice the high points, it is understandable to feel disoriented. I have said before that hope is doing the next right thing, working toward a better world even when the outcome is not assured or even clear. Yet if your sense of reality was turned upside down this week, or you were overwhelmed with an experience or a reminder of trauma, maybe the next right thing is especially elusive right now. In that case, the next right thing is to take care of yourself. Drink water. Eat nourishing food. Maybe go outside at some point during the day. Talk to people who care about you. The movement will still be there when you have regained a sense of the ground underneath you. You are a precious being of worth.

Another next right thing is to check up on each other. Remember your federal employee friends. Follow up on a Caring News email. If you’re reaching out to someone who might be having a hard time, you might ask, “Is it OK if I ask how you are?” Let’s try not to make people feel obligated to re-live negative experiences if they aren’t ready. Just being present is often helpful. Even if we can’t fix anything, we can give people the option not to be alone in their grief.

If you have a little more energy and want to channel your feelings into positive actions, consider something that will have a material impact on your local community. R was telling me about Mutual Aid in Washington, DC, especially in Ward 5. For information about Mutual Aid throughout the District, check the website for Bread for the City or find them on Facebook. I also checked in with D, who is involved with Silver Spring/Takoma Park Mutual Aid. You can find them on their Wordpress site or on Facebook. If you’re involved in Mutual Aid, feel free to mention it during Community Sharing or post in the Facebook group later.

R tells me: “Mutual Aid is a non-hierarchical way for neighbors to help neighbors. Anyone can ask for any kind of assistance, and anyone can offer to help. Some roles require some training and learning codes of ethics/responsible service. It's not a particularly ‘formal’ or ‘organized’ thing - it's all hands on deck, and everyone is just doing their best.” R went on to say that there are short-term and long term roles, and those who are able can donate any time.

If you’re wondering what this has to do with dismantling white supremacy, building relationships with your neighbors both is and is not about a larger goal. Building relationships with neighbors is a primary good; it’s something that is valuable and satisfying to do for its own sake. Similarly, offering care when you can and giving people a chance to practice care when you need it are both good, full stop. Neighbors helping neighbors is a form of resistance to oppressive structures. 

In addition, neighbors who have strong bonds with each other are in a better position to advocate for their communities. If you and your neighbors are working to overcome environmental racism where you live, or redirect funding to basic human services, or update policies in the local school that have a negative impact on students of color, you will have a head start if you already know each other. This could be its whole own Platform, so I’ll pause there and just say that strong, connected, diverse local communities can be a manifestation of multiracial democracy and a home base for even more positive change.

Forming authentic relationships with our neighbors, community organizing, building power, paying attention to local issues, caring for ourselves and each other: these are some of the tools with which we will resist white supremacy and build multiracial democracy. This way is slow, and it is often hard, and it works. Growing multiracial democracy is a constant practice; Rep. Lewis reminded us that “democracy is not a state.”

When white supremacy attempts to use violence to enforce a warped and harmful vision of who we should be and how we should be together, one of our avenues for resistance is renewing our commitments to communities living into a vision of wholeness. That can mean your local mutual aid society, it can mean a project like the Food Justice Initiative, it can mean a coalition like the Washington Interfaith Network or the Congregation Action Network, it can mean a voting rights organization like Fair Fight, it can mean a community like WES. A better world is possible. There are pockets of it already living and moving among us and around us and within us. Clasping hands (figuratively, for now), traveling together with the winds of our time, let us gather our collective strength to stay grounded in a vision of the world that is possible.

May it be so.