#because they’re a trifecta

[chowtrolls]

u dont even know about dia’s ancestor o(-<

[avi17]

I feel like Pacific Rim, Mad Max: Fury Road, and Dungeons and Dragons: Honor Among Thieves are kind of a perfect trifecta of action movies. They’re not necessarily Oscar material but they’re all great at being the kind of thing they are trying to be, they’re all entertaining but not afraid of being genuinely emotional, and they’re all generally not hampered by dumb sexist action movie nonsense because their main female characters have their own arcs, are not designed for the male gaze, and the main M/F relationships are platonic. More things like this please!!

[ramibow]

This is me casually rewriting Obey Me’s plot, don't mind me.

Manic Ramblings™ below:

This is mostly about their ages and their time during The Great Celestial War. I've got more but I don't want this post to be longer than it already is.

In canon they are all adults and Levi was even a navy general but I cannot for the life of me imagine that so I’m throwing it out.

Obey Me also doesn’t have canon ages for any of the brothers, and I’m not certain if they’ve confirmed their age order. People often reference their rankings (Lucifer, Mammon, Leviathan, Satan, Asmodeus, Beelzebub, Belphegor), but that is the order of how powerful they are, which is why Satan is #4 instead of #7.

Here are the ages I’m giving them during The Great Celestial War (in angel years): Lucifer (18), Mammon (15), Asmodeus (14), Leviathan (12), Beelzebub (8), Belphegor (8), Satan (0/5)*

I think in canon Leviathan would be older than Asmodeus, but I decided to cast him deeper into the pits of middle child hell (also I wanted Mammon and Asmodeus to be closer in age as a part of my personal agenda.)

*Since Lucifer had a Zeus moment and popped Satan from his noggin, I imagined him as being the equivalent of 5 when he was “born” during the Celestial War. Let’s say it was five angel years of built up rage culminating into a person. 

That being said, Lucifer would be the only one that directly fights in the war. Mammon wanted to fight by his side but Lucifer would not let that happen (and god help you if you defied the man). Instead, Mammon is in charge of keeping his siblings safe since they’re basically traitors/fugitives.

Plus, since Lucifer is fighting a war, he doesn't have a lot of time to see his brothers. This is the first time they've been separated from him for a long period of time, so it's been hard for them. They wonder if Lucifer will get killed and the angels that used to be their friends will imprison them (or worse). Paranoia and fear constantly loom over them. The Celestial Realm is all they've ever known, and they don't feel safe there anymore.

Escaping the Celestial Realm is a task in and of itself. I imagine teleportation magic as being something extremely complex and thus requiring a spellbook to perform (so you don’t end up halfway through a wall or something). The brothers did not have that, thus, they spent most of the war hiding out in the outskirts of the Celestial Realm.

Satan appears near the end of the war. Lucifer did not tell his brothers how/where Satan came from (this will come back later for plot-related stuff). Since Satan is the embodiment of wrath, living with him took some adjusting. 

Asmo made it his mission to help domesticate his feral brother with Mammon’s help, of course.

Levi was terrified of Satan, but Satan was curious about him. I like to imagine that Levi sparked Satan’s interest in reading because I think that would be cute. 

Belphegor and Satan would fight a lot when they first met (I imagine Beel, Belphie and Satan as the trifecta of “children most likely to bite you”). Over time they would grow to enjoy each other’s company.

So, yeah. This AU is just going to be "thing I want to change/things I think would be kinda cool + plot". I want to post more stuff but drawing a comic is difficult so I had to settle for this instead.

If you're interested in seeing more I'm going to put any future Lore™ under OM Eden AU for convenience.

[daechwitatamic]

1. Asterism || KSJ

(banner by @itaeewon)

Title: Amalthea (Masterpost) - Part 1: Asterism

Rating: NSFW - minors go away i mean it Genre: best friend's older brother!au, angst smut fluff trifecta Pairing: Seokjin x female reader Beta team: @yoongiphoria, @here2bbtstrash, @kookstempo

Summary: You can count on two things in life. One: that your lifelong best friend Minji will always be there for you, in your corner, your brightest star. Two: that you'll never be free from her older brother Seokjin's orbit - the gravitational pull is just too strong.

Warnings: language, drinking, angst, kissing, fingering, explicit protected s*x WC: 9.5k

Part 1: Asterism Asterism: (noun) a recognizable pattern of stars that does not make up the full constellation

Things start when your mother texts you asking for a favor.

To be more historically accurate, things started when you were a child. But for the sake of brevity, for a tighter focus on the now, it starts with this text -

[5:41 PM] Mom: can you do me a big favor?

When you send her back “sure”, she calls you, which you expected all along. You’re surprised she texted first at all, instead of going straight to the phone call. She’s a creature of habit, your mother. 

“I cooked a few dishes and stuck them in the fridge,” she tells you. Pacing across your own kitchen, a fifteen minute drive from her place, you squint as you pass through the one exact spot where the afternoon sunlight assaults you from the window every day around this time. You’ve lived here for years - you’ve just been too lazy to put curtains up in this room. Your mother continues, her voice coming through your phone so loudly that you can hold it like it’s on speaker (although it’s not) and still hear her loud and clear. “You’ll see them, they’re in the tupperware with blue lids? Can you bring them over to the Kims’?”

“What?” you say - not because you didn’t understand the directions, but because you didn’t understand the why. She starts to repeat herself but you cut her off, clarifying, “Why are you making food for the Kims?”

“Didn’t I tell you?” she asks. “Or at least Minji? Mr. Kim had his knee replacement today.”

You call Minji from the car, but she doesn’t answer. You’ve been best friends since kindergarten; her dad’s house is just across the street from the one you’d grown up in, where your parents still live. You kids have all grown up, and away - you, Minji, and her two brothers - but Mr. Kim still lives in that same house, the light blue one that you can see from your childhood bedroom window. 

You still live close, and Minji’s just a few towns over. Her brothers moved far - requiring planes and trains to get back. You see Minji at least monthly, if not more often - usually you meet for brunch at a place between your houses. Sometimes, though, you meet back home home - for holidays, usually. The last time you were at her dad’s house with her was for the winter holidays two years ago; you’d rung in the New Year on her back deck. 

You try not to think about that night. 

You let yourself into your parents’ empty house with the code and head straight for the kitchen. As promised, there’s a small stack of blue-lidded containers, and you load them into a reusable grocery bag you steal from the cabinet beneath the sink. You lock the house back up and head across the street on foot. 

Once upon a time - for most of your life, really - you would have just let yourself in. You and Minji grew up in each other’s homes. This was your second home, her dad your second father. It had been like that your whole life. But once you and Minji went away to college, things changed - just slightly. Part of it’s just becoming an adult. You don’t barge in anymore, you knock. 

You expect Minji, or maybe one of her aunts if they’ve come to help, to answer the door. Instead, it swings open to reveal her older brother, Seokjin - full lips frowning slightly, strong brow furrowed as he tries to piece together why you’re standing on his father’s doorstep holding a grocery bag. 

The moment stretches, stills. It can go one of two ways - you can let it be awkward, or you can be sure that it isn’t.

“Hi,” you say, hoping it sounds breezy. “My mom cooked some dishes for you.”

Seokjin takes a minute step backwards, lips parting to speak, but then you hear your name squealed from over his shoulder and you brace yourself for impact. 

Jin acts fast, grabbing the bag of food from you and flattening himself against his open front door as Minji launches herself past him to hug you, laughing.

“I called you on my way over!” you scold her, smiling, hugging her tightly back. 

“Sorry!” she says, still holding you, still laughing. Jin’s still holding your food, just to the side of you, watching this display with a blank face. “I was helping my dad lay down. I left my phone in the kitchen, I think? You should see his knee, it’s disgusting. Is that food?”

She releases you and turns, heading through the house towards their roomy kitchen. You know you’re expected to follow. You reach to take the food back from Jin, shooting him a thankful smile. Your fingers brush as you take the bag, and you drop your gaze, hurrying to follow the sound of Minji’s voice as it floats through the house. Seokjin stands in place as you leave, and you hope he doesn’t see you shudder against goosebumps as you hurry away.

He’s had that effect on you since you were fourteen years old.

But that’s ancient history.

There’s a lot you want to ask him, starting with how long he’ll be in town, ending with… well. Not now. 

In the kitchen, Minji is trying to make room in the fridge for everything your mom sent over. You sit at the table, watching her absently, answering whenever her chatter pauses to ask you something. 

Jin joins you two wordlessly. He reaches over Minji’s head and then turns and holds out a beer bottle, offering it to you.

“Ooh, yes please,” you say, taking it from him. Minji looks up to see what you’re talking about and then nudges Jin’s shin - which is next to her head - to indicate that she wants one too. He sits across the table from you and sets a beer for Minji at the seat to his right. When she’s done in the fridge, she sits heavily next to her brother and they both look at you as they drink.

“So,” you say, because you have to say something about now, have to keep yourself from getting swept up in twenty-something years of memories that this house holds for you. “How’d the surgery go?”

“Great!” Minji beams. “The surgeons said it was exactly as expected. He’ll start physical therapy next week.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” you tell her genuinely. Mr. Kim was always important to you. You turn your attention to Jin, who’s downed half of his beer already. “Are you staying long?”

He nods, swallows, then answers. “A few weeks, probably,” he tells you. “I got approval to work remotely through the end of the month. Hopefully by then he’ll be back to a point where he doesn’t need someone here 24/7, and Minji can just pop in on him…” 

He trails off, his eyes going over your shoulder, watching a few birds hop from the bird feeder to the deck railing. The deck railing where you’d hung wet bathing suits to dry on never-ending summer afternoons, where you’d placed soda cans with rivulets of condensation running down their sides, where you’d leaned with Minji as you talked about boys and school and boys again, where you’d buried your hands in Seokjin’s hair as he’d - nope. 

Not going there. Not unless you want to drown.

“Do you want to eat dinner with us?” Minji asks, throwing you a life preserver by dragging you back to the present. 

“Ah,” you say, letting your regretful tone do the answering for you. “I’d like to, but… I should get home.”

I should get out of this house, you think. I should get away from your brother. 

She grins at you slyly. “Got that man to feed?”

You laugh in surprise. Seokjin is suddenly very interested in the label on the beer he’s almost finished. 

“No,” you say. “He’s out of the picture.”

Minji narrows her eyes at you, assessing. “We don’t seem sad,” she observes finally. 

You shake your head. “We aren’t sad,” you confirm. Jin gets up wordlessly and opens the fridge again, reaching for a second beer. His shoulders take up almost the whole space. You try not to notice, try not to think about the muscles of those shoulders rippling under your fingertips - enough. Enough, now.

You stand, needing the escape, needing to get away, draining the rest of your beer in one long drag that would make your college-self proud.

“Listen,” you say to the room at large, to both of them, after placing the empty bottle back on the table, “call me if you need help, okay? My place isn’t far. I can pop over if you need an extra pair of hands, or a break, or some errands handled. Okay?”

Seokjin’s still hiding in the refrigerator, taking a million years to choose between two of the same beer. Minji, oblivious, takes your hand gratefully.

“Thank you,” she says warmly, giving you a squeeze. 

You start to head back towards the front door, Minji still clutching your hand. 

“Bye, Seokjin,” you say over your shoulder.

He glances up at you around the open refrigerator door.

“See you,” he says. There’s something hollow in his voice. 

You get it, though. 

The last time the three of you were here together, two years ago, he’d welcomed in the New Year buried inside you against the back of their house, gasping your name against the inky dark of the frigid December night.

You’ve never told a soul, and you don’t think he has, either.

You’ve never talked about it at all.

You and Minji spent New Year's Eve out at bars and clubs together almost every year. The year you were twenty-six, though, something had changed. Suddenly, the idea of vying for bar space, in heels, for overpriced drinks and sleazy dudes seemed abysmal. 

“We could stay in,” Minji had suggested. “Pretend we’re sixteen, sneaking booze into dad’s basement again? Seokjin is back in town for the week because he dumped that shitty girlfriend of his for the sixth time, might be kind of fun to all hang out.”

You’d pretended to dislike the idea, grimacing a little as you thought it over. Your brain snagged on dumped his shitty girlfriend. 

“Come on,” she’d said cajolingly. “We can put on 90’s music and play card games, like we used to.”

You knew the whole time that you’d go; all you needed to know was that Seokjin would be there. Since he’d left for college, he only came home twice a year - Christmas holidays, and over summer breaks. Since he'd moved far, even those weren't promised.

Minji ended up with a small crowd - a few that you were friends with in high school, but most of them you thought were friends of her brothers. 

You’d spent most of the night trying to avoid staring at Jin - or at least avoid getting caught staring. It had been about two years since you’d seen him last - four years since he moved away. He was twenty-eight to your twenty-six that year, and you weren’t sure if it was the way he was aging or if it was the tequila, but he seemed - somehow - even more handsome than you remembered. 

It had gotten more and more difficult as the night went on to focus - on conversations, on card games, on how to balance as you walked; your brain wanted to spend its energy cataloging the quirk of his full lips when you said something funny, his windshield-wiper laugh when Minji dropped a whole tray of lemon slices she’d spent twenty minutes cutting, the strip of bare skin his shirt revealed when he bent down to help her pick them up. It was like your brain was trying to soak up every little detail of him that it could after so many years of distance, of him being somebody you used to be close to.

Eventually, you’d retreated to the back deck, alone, just minutes before midnight. Outside, the noise of the party fell away, and you took in deep gulps of cold air, your hands gripping the splintery wood of the railing. 

When the door opened behind you, you expected Minji. Instead, Seokjin stood there, staring at you like he’d asked you a question and was waiting for an answer. 

Maybe, in his own way, he had. Maybe it had been all the quick glances he’d given you that night. Maybe it had been the way he’d stuck close, listening when you talked, smiling wryly when you cracked jokes. Maybe it had been the way his eyes had followed you from room to room, the way his fingers had tightened around his glass when you bent down to grab one of the wayward lemon slices.

You’d stared back at him, unsure what the right move was. This was Minji’s brother, and you’d promised her almost fifteen years ago to never get tangled up with her family. This was Minji’s brother, who had bought you girls beer before you were old enough, who had once driven to pick you up from the mall on a rainy day when your date had gone badly. This was Minji’s brother who’d once held your hand in the backseat of your dad’s car as you sobbed over a broken wrist, who’d often let you sit and watch him play video games even after he’d told Minji to bug off and leave him alone.

This was Seokjin, who was staring at you so intently that for a moment you weren’t sure if he hadn’t asked you something.

“Seokjin?”

His eyes met yours.

“Explain to me how you got even more beautiful?” he’d murmured, and your heart had leapt into your throat.

“I - what?”

He was close enough to touch. You’d dreamed of this for so long - pathetically long, really. You’d never dreamed that he’d want you.

He stepped closer, and you did touch him - one hand acted without permission, coming up and resting lightly on his chest, over his heart. It had thumped beneath your tentative fingers. 

Your fingers had curled in the material of the thick hoodie he’d been wearing, had pulled him just closer.

And then his mouth was on yours, searing, and your hands were in his hair, and that deck railing was pressing into your lower back as he pinned you against it, and one of his hands was creeping beneath the hem of your shirt, and you could feel him hardening against your lower stomach, and -

And through the window, you could see the party carrying on.

You broke the kiss, pushed gently on his forearm to extract his sneaky hand from inside your shirt.

“They can see us,” you’d gasped, and he’d followed your gaze somewhat dumbly, like it hadn’t occurred to him that everyone else existed in the same place as the two of you.

Then he’d taken your hand, pulling you down the deck steps, away from the glow of light from the house’s windows, down into the darkness, where witnesses would have to work a little harder to see what was going on.

He’d pressed you against the wall of the house, beneath the deck, and as you’d tipped your head back to allow him access to nip and soothe lines up and down your neck you’d thought of all the summer nights you’d spent in this exact spot. This is where the keg usually goes, you’d thought absently as that sneaky hand returned to the bare skin of your belly beneath your sweater.

You hadn’t felt even remotely cold, despite the threat of snow in the air. 

You’d kissed until your lips hurt and you wanted it to hurt just a little more, your hands starting to toy with the waistband of his jeans as his thumb rubbed determined circles around your puckered nipple beneath the fabric of your bra. 

“Tell me what you want,” he’d said, the words mumbled against your lips. He’d pulled back just enough, just enough to watch your face as you told him -

“Anything. Everything. All of it… all of you.”

His hand had traveled up the back of your thigh, beneath your skirt, fingers pushing the cotton of your panties aside before stroking through your center. You’d moaned, low, aware that anyone could come out onto the deck above you without warning. His breath had hitched in response, and his hand had left your pussy long enough to tug you to him again, pressing you against his hips for just a second before returning. This time he didn’t toy with you, pressing his index finger into your messy heat, followed quickly by a second digit.

You’d mouthed his name against his jaw, trying to keep yourself upright as he pressed you against the brick of the house, as he pumped his fingers leisurely, fingertips rubbing circles against your front wall until he found the place that made you gasp and buck against his hand. He’d laughed, asked, “Yeah?” in a cocky voice you’d never heard on him before. It’d made you, impossibly, wetter. 

“You’re so fucking hot,” you’d whispered, half delirious, and he’d laughed again, like he knew already.

There had been a flash of foil between his teeth, the sound of his zipper echoing across the frozen backyard, and then he was pushing inside you, fingers still wet from you now gripping your hip to keep you in place. 

You’d groaned in unison as he slowly bottomed out. The brick had bit at your back, the winter air had bit at your face, and Seokjin had bit at your lower lip as he pounded into you steadily. 

It had been hurried. It had been hushed. 

Your name on his lips when he came took the air from your lungs.

You’d wanted this, wanted him, in silence for as long as you could remember. Before you had words to put to it, before you were old enough to understand why your stomach hurt when he left the room. 

It had hurt, after. The scrapes from the brick wall. Your sore hamstrings. Your chapped, cracking lips. 

His silence.

You’d both missed the countdown. Happy New Year.

You don’t know what you had expected after seeing Seokjin at his dad’s house unexpectedly. Apparently, some foolish part of your subconscious thought he’d reach out to you, because you find yourself disappointed when he doesn’t.

Stupid, you think. I don’t know what you were thinking. Aside from that one slip on New Year’s Eve two years ago, you’d done a stellar job at orbiting Seokjin in silence, keeping your feelings under control and out of sight, never pushing yourself into his path but never letting him stray so far as to forget you, either. Nothing’s changed. 

You tell yourself this for two days, until Minji’s name lights up your phone as you’re packing up from work on Thursday evening, your stomach growling and your feet aching to get out of their heels. 

“Yeeees?” you answer her as you power down your laptop and cast your gaze around your cubicle for anything else that needs to come home with you.

“Are you still at work?” she asks, sounding a little breathless, a little irritated.

“Packing up right now,” you tell her, rising and pulling your bag onto your shoulder. You give Dale, your cubicle-mate, a silent wave goodbye and head for the elevators. “What’s up?”

“I tried your mom first, but your parents are apparently out to dinner tonight,” she says. “Is there any way you can swing by my dad’s? I think Seokjin is having a hard time with dad, and I’m stuck here at least another two hours -.”

“No problem,” you tell her, cutting off her explanation. It isn’t needed. “I’ll head there now. Tell him I’ll be like…” You glance at your watch for the time, “...twenty-five minutes, tops, if traffic is bad.”

“You’re a saint,” she breathes in relief. “Thank you. Seriously, thank you. I’ll get there as soon as I can. I promise I’ll hurry. Did I tell you that deal with Mr. Lee fell through? I have been non-stop -”

“Don’t worry about it,” you tell her, meaning it. “I’m happy to help. I’ll be there soon. See you later, okay?”

You grew up on a dead end. You never tell people that, now. You always fancy it up if it’s brought up in conversation - you call it a cul-de-sac, though it isn’t according to the yellow sign that marks where you turn left to reach your parents’ house. 

Every inch of this street is steeped in memories for you - memories of growing up with Minji and Seokjin, running wild through these streets whenever the weather allowed it, learning to ride a bike, having snowball fights and water balloon fights and - once - even a foodfight. Thinking of your childhood with those two, you think mostly of chaos and laughter. 

You miss it, a little, and that’s only a little bit nostalgia talking. Maybe the lack of chaos is nice, but the lack of laughter kind of sucks. 

It takes Seokjin forever to answer the door when you knock. When he does, it’s evident immediately why Minji had called for backup. 

He’s sick as a dog; his nose is red, cheeks flushed, eyes glassy and sleepy. 

“Minji sent me,” you explain. “She said you need help with your dad.”

“I don’t,” he protests, just a little whiny. “We’re fine. Why’d she call you? I told her we were fine.”

This clear untruth is punctuated by a fit of coughing. You purse your lips and raise an eyebrow, waiting. 

He shakes his head, recovering. “It’s just a cold,” he says, doubling down. “I’m sorry you drove all the way here, but I don’t need help. I was just about to help Dad get showered - I need to get back up there, he’s waiting.”

He starts to turn to go, but you reach out, catching his sleeve. He turns, brows furrowing in frustration, but you cut him off.

“Jin,” you say seriously, “come on. I came here to help. What needs to be done? Do you want me to start heating up dinner while he showers?”

He sags back against the wall behind him, raising one hand to rub wearily over his brow, his eyes, down over his mouth. You let his sleeve slip between your fingers and you wait as his resolve cracks. 

He sighs heavily, eyeing the ceiling. “Could you strip his bed and put on clean blankets? So when he’s done showering, I can put him back in a clean bed?”

“Absolutely,” you say, relieved that he’s delegated a task. He leads you upstairs silently. Your feet remember the way to Mr. Kim’s bedroom. You weren’t often allowed to play in there as kids, but you have to pass it to get to Minji’s room; you think you could walk the path in your sleep.

Halfway up the stairs, you pause, stopping by one of the dozens of framed photos on the wall. You smile, putting your finger on the glass. 

At the top of the stairs Seokjin pauses, turns to see why you stopped. Something on his face softens when he sees. 

“Yeah,” he says. “That one’s still up.”

You give him a small smile. The photo your finger rests on is a group shot with blue water meeting blue sky as the backdrop. 

Mr. Kim stands in the middle, beaming, one arm around Minji and the other around Seokjin. Minji’s little brother Jungkook - only a year behind you girls in school - sits on the ground at Seokjin’s feet, grinning with a scrunched nose. You’re behind Minji, peeking around her shoulders, your eyes closed as you laugh. You’re all kids in the picture - Seokjin, as the oldest, is probably around ten. 

You’d been shy to be included in the picture, but Mr. Kim had told you that you were one of his kids in spirit if nothing else. You’d all been at the lake that day. Seokjin had been the one who made you and Jungkook laugh as the camera snapped. You remember it like it was yesterday. After the picture had been taken, you girls and Seokjin had dug a hole in the sand and buried Jungkook up to his neck. You’d splashed in the water, squealing over the slimy rocks that lined the lake’s floor. Later, you’d all eaten thick slices of watermelon, the juice dripping on your bare legs as the summer sun set over the horizon, the four of you sitting in a row on the picnic table bench like a matched set. You’d chased fireflies until Mr. Kim called your names, ready to pack you all into the car to return home, smelling like sunscreen and lakewater. 

It was one of your favorite memories, that whole day. 

You strip the blankets and sheets from Mr. Kim’s bed and toss them in the hamper. You collect a clean set from the linen closet in the hallway without needing to be told where they are. You spent as much time in this house as your own growing up. In the ensuite, you can hear the shower running, the low murmur of both men’s voices as they chat. You make the bed, fluffing the comforter, and then take the hamper down to the basement, where you dump them into the washer and get it started. 

When you head back upstairs, Seokjin is in the living room, slumped sideways on the couch, eyes closed. You’re not sure if he’s awake, if he knows you’re standing behind him. He has that hand pressed to his brow again, and you know a headache when you see it. 

You pad quietly up the stairs and into the hallway bathroom, where Mr. Kim used to keep all the over-the-counter stuff - bandaids, pain-killers, lozenges, even tampons back when Minji still lived here. 

Heading back downstairs, you grab a glass of water from the kitchen and find Seokjin exactly where you left him, pressing his face pitifully into the arm of the couch.

You nudge him gently, and hold out your offerings - fever reducer and the water. 

He grumbles as he takes them, pushing himself to a more upright position so he can drink from the glass without spilling.

When he sets the glass down, he looks over at you somewhat warily. “How have you been?” he asks, and there’s something resigned in his voice. Something defeated. You wonder what battle he’s lost, to make him sound like that. You feel - have always felt - that so much of what goes on in Jin’s mind is kept behind the curtain. For someone so loud, he’s the most private person you know.

“I’ve been fine,” you shrug. “Normal.”

He looks sideways at you for a long moment. “Is that a lie?” he asks finally, voice low. 

“No,” you say, trying to keep your voice light. It isn’t, right? You’ve been fine. What happened between you was two entire years ago, the lid closing tightly on a lifetime of maybes. You’d had your moment together and it hadn’t led to anything. What choice did you have, but to accept it and move on? So, there you have it. You’ve been fine.

You make the decision, right there, not to bring it up - what happened two years ago. His lips on yours, his body under your hands, the way your legs had trembled as they’d struggled to hold you up. Better to let it stay dead. If Seokjin had wanted to talk about it, he’s had two years and four months to do so. If he wants to pretend he didn’t fuck his sister’s best friend and then ghost her completely, who are you to mess with the plan? 

You need something sweet; you’re far too bitter.

But honestly, you can’t even hate him for it. He hadn’t promised you a thing, so logically there’s no reason to feel like a toy played with and discarded - even if you’re left wishing he had never picked you up to play with at all.

You look him over, taking in the sheen of sweat on his brow, the haze you can still see in his eyes. “You look like shit,” you tell him.

He lets out a single puff of a laugh, his eyes closed. “Now I know you’re lying,” he says, lips quirking into a smile. 

“You look like you have the flu,” you say flatly, ignoring his nonsense. 

“It’s just a cold,” he says.

You lapse into silence. He keeps his eyes closed, that hand still resting on his head. Finally, you say, “How about you? How’ve you been?”

He shrugs. “Been fine. Working. You know.”

A tiny smile tugs on your lips. “What are we playing these days?”

The smile creeps sideways across his face and he opens his eyes to actually look at you, sending you a conspiratory smirk. “Now you’re asking the right questions,” he says, and starts to tell you about a console game he got last week. 

You head to the basement when it’s time and move the sheets you were washing into the dryer. You pause in the doorway when you return upstairs, looking Seokjin over from afar. He looks better than he had when you’d arrived - eyes less glassy, cheeks less pink. 

“I think your fever’s down,” you say, as you return to where you’d been sitting before.

“I feel better than I did,” he agrees. He looks at you appraisingly, like he’s seeing you clearly for the first time. And, considering the fever, maybe he is. “So Minji said you live pretty close?”

You nod. “Not far. That apartment complex over behind the plaza with the grocery store? You remember, the one that we used to go trick-or-treating at?”

“Wow,” he says, giving an appreciative whistle. “Those are swanky.”

“I’m swanky these days,” you joke, smiling. 

Just then, there’s a soft beep from outside - someone locking their car.

“That’s Minji,” Seokjin observes, and you find yourself standing, feet carrying you towards the kitchen. 

“Do you need anything to drink?” you call over your shoulder. Jin is watching your sudden departure, clearly bemused. You busy yourself in their fridge, even though you don’t have a real reason to. You just didn’t want Minji to enter the house and find you and Jin having domestic hours on the living room couch.

The front door opens, and Minji calls your name through the house.

“I’m in here!” you call back, and head for the doorway of the kitchen. 

Minji hurries to you, setting her bags down on the kitchen floor and flopping dramatically onto the doorjamb. 

“I am so sorry,” she says. “Thank you so much for coming over.”

“Your brother’s sick,” you tell her flatly. “He had a pretty high fever when I got here.”

Her eyes widen, and she turns to look over her shoulder at Seokjin, who gives her a cheery thumbs up. 

“He says he’s fine,” you inform her, “but he’s got about two more hours before the fever-reducer wears off and then he’s gonna be useless again.”

“Thank you for the warning,” she tells you, while Seokjin squawks from the living room, “I am not, and have never been, useless!” 

You give Minji a quick hug goodbye and head for the front door. 

You meet Seokjin’s eyes as you pass through the living room. They’re sharp, now that the fever’s receded, locked on you and looking. 

“Feel better,” you tell him. “Make sure you hydrate.”

“Hey,” he says, making himself comfortable against the couch cushions, “thanks.” Then, an afterthought - “Seriously. Thank you.”

You give him a tight smile and slip out the front door.

Going home doesn’t stop you from worrying, even though you know Minji is home and capable of taking care of everything. But at work the next day, your eyes keep darting to your phone screen, as if you’re expecting updates on how Jin is feeling, if everything is okay at the house. 

No one texts you. 

You can’t ask Minji. She’s too fucking smart. If you so much as said, “Hey, is your brother feeling better?” she’d be all over it. 

You try your mom instead, texting her, “How’s Mr. Kim doing? Any updates?” 

She answers, “Haven’t heard anything!”

You groan, tapping the corner of your phone on your desk in frustration. You try to focus on work for a little bit, but it’s truly a lost cause. With a defeated sigh, you open your phone and thumb through your contacts. 

Kim Seokjin. 

You’ve had his number in your phone since you got it - your mom was the one who programmed it in for you when you were fourteen, citing Jin as someone you could call if you had an emergency. As if by being two years your senior, he qualified as a helpful adult. 

You haven’t used his number in over five years - not since you were still in college, probably. 

Actually, you realize, you remember the last time - though there were definitely parts of the night you didn’t remember. 

It was your senior year, the first weekend of December, and you and Minji were drinking in some girl’s dorm. You’d never even met this girl before, but there you were, perched on her desk with a bottle of flavored vodka in hand, watching her LEDs change color along the ceiling.

You and Minji were both wasted, even though it was relatively early - not even midnight yet. You leaned against each other, holding the other up, both of you giggling and tapping around on your phones as the conversation flowed around you.

That’s what had happened - you’d noticed it was about to be midnight, the clock about to change from 11:59. And despite being so drunk that Minji was mostly propping you up, so drunk that you had to close one eye to read the letters of this girl’s alarm clock, so drunk that you’d be throwing up in just minutes - a little part of you brain informed you that midnight meant it was officially December 4th. 

You’d texted Seokjin happy birthday at exactly midnight, one eye closed to make sure you were typing actual words. He was hundreds of miles away, had graduated and moved out already, and you hadn’t talked since the day the Kims had loaded all of his shit into a rented moving van, about five months ago. 

And he’d answered - “thank you! what are you doing up??”

To which you’d replied, “getting baja blasted with your sister” and he’d replied, “i do not want to know, thank you!!”

And then Minji had looked at you drunkenly and narrowed her eyes. “Who are you texting with that smile?”

The floor had swooped below your feet, and you’d run for the bathroom. Minji had forgotten about interrogating you, and you and Seokjin had never texted again.

Now, at your job, you stare at his name on your phone screen, wracked with indecision. 

“This is ridiculous,” you finally sigh. Behind you, Dale glances over his shoulder to determine if you’re talking to him or yourself. Ignoring Dale, you tap Seokjin’s name and type, “how are you feeling today?”

You don’t even have time to feel nervous about it - his response is almost instantaneous. He sends you a picture of a gaming screen, where he’s clearly playing a shooter POV. He follows it up with the sunglasses emoji. You laugh out loud, trying to keep your chuckles quiet to avoid calling attention to your cubicle. 

“What a nerd,” you mutter affectionately. You type back, “you must be fine then 🙄”. 

Seokjin’s played video games his whole life; it’s one thing you do know about him. How many hours of your childhood had been spent with him, Jungkook, and Minji crowded around the tv in their basement, fighting over whose turn it was to play?Usually Seokjin got to play the first controller (since he was older, stronger, and technically the console belonged to him), which left you and Minji and Jungkook to fight it out over the second one.

But you remember other times, too - especially as you got older - when you’d just sit in silence and watch him play. By the time you were a teenager - fourteen to Jin’s sixteen - Minji was over wanting to join him. She’d argue for use of the tv, and when she lost she’d flounce upstairs to her room to sulk about it. Sometimes you’d join her - usually, you’d join her. But sometimes you’d cast a glance at Seokjin, see if you were welcome. He’d always play it the same - look at you sideways, give you a tiny nod, pat the couch behind him like an invitation. (Seokjin played video games from the floor, letting the base of the couch prop him up. He said he focused better that way.) 

You’d sit, quiet, watching him work the controls, listening to him whine and groan and complain and shout his way through each map. And you’d feel special, because he let you stay after he’d told Minji to fuck off, because he didn’t mind your presence, because sometimes he’d ask if you wanted him to teach you how, even though you always said no thanks. 

You text your mom and ask what she’s making for dinner.

“Why?” she sends back. “Are you asking me to feed you?”

“Maybe,” you send back. 

You join your parents for dinner, “just because”. It’s not that uncommon for you to join them for a meal now and then, considering how close you live. You go because you love your parents and you want a home-cooked meal - definitely not because you know it puts you back in proximity to Jin.

Your mom glances up at you from across the table approximately every four-tenths of a second through the entire meal, until finally you slap your palm on the table and snap, “What?”

She purses her lips, amused. “Nothing,” she says, feigning innocence. “We just don’t usually see you on Friday nights.”

“Jagi,” your dad warns, his voice full of affection. Like he knows it’s a lost cause but he thinks he should try to rein her in for your sake. 

“I’m just saying!” she says, still all innocence, eyes wide. “I’m not complaining! It’s nice to have you here.”

You grumble a response, aggravated that she seems to be onto you. To escape their scrutiny, you rise and move to bag up the full garbage, tying the top of the bag and heading out to the trash cans at the end of the driveway. 

You pause there after hefting the bag up and into the bin, taking a second to breathe. It’s a nice night - the sun has mostly set, the sky deep and dark above you but still clinging to shades of pink down near the horizon. It’s warm, too, for April. 

You’re standing there, arms crossed, watching the sky inch closer and closer to darkness, when you hear a door shut across the street. Your eyes follow the sound immediately, and you see a man’s silhouette do the same thing you were doing - make its way down the driveway, a trash bag in hand. 

Romantic, you think wryly. A garbage date. You stay rooted to the spot, watching as Jin - just an outline, a shadow - tosses the bag into the bin and brushes off his hands. Then, he stops still, seeming to notice you.

You hold your breath, not sure how this will go, and then he starts to lope over, and you exhale in a whoosh.

“Hi,” he says simply, as he gets close enough that you can finally see his face through the dark.

“Hi,” you say around a tiny smile. “You seem better today.”

He scoffs. “I told you it was just a cold. I just needed to sleep it off.”

“I’m glad,” you tell him softly. Maybe it’s dangerous, maybe it’s stupid - to be soft with him. To act like you didn’t already get your answer from him, years ago. To pretend your affection for him is still as pure and untainted as it was when you were a teenager. 

But it feels safer, out here, away from his dad’s house. In there, the memories of that New Year’s Eve are too fresh, too strong - they cling to the air, slide down the walls. The heating unit sighs to life and you hear your own sighs as Seokjin’s fingers danced along your bare skin. The refrigerator grumbles and you hear the grumble of pleasure that originated low in Seokjin’s throat as he felt you squeeze around his fingers. Someone’s footsteps crunch gravel outside, and you hear the crunch of gravel as Seokjin made his way back to the front of the house in the dark, leaving you hidden in shadows, clutching the bricks and gasping for breath.

It’s better out here. In the fresh air, away from that house, the memories are looser, less focused - bike races, raucous laughter, chalk drawings, bouncing beams of light from flashlight tag.

“Thank you for the help yesterday,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck like he does when he’s embarrassed. “I know I kind of gave you a hard time.”

“You didn’t,” you say, letting him off the hook. You’ll always let him off the hook, for everything. You always have. “How’s your dad?”

He glances back at the house over his shoulder, like he needs to verify this answer before giving it. “Not so good today,” he admits. “He’s in a lot more pain, starting to get frustrated needing so much help.”

“Hmm,” you deadpan. “A Kim man who gets frustrated at needing help. Interesting.”

Seokjin laughs, full from his belly. “Shut up,” he says, but there’s no ire in it. “Can I help it if I’m a chip off the ol’ block?”

“We’re supposed to learn from our parents’ mistakes,” you tell him, like a reminder. “Not continue them.”

Just then, a car turns around the corner, the headlights casting you in blinding white light before throwing you back into shadow. You both turn to look - since it’s a dead end, traffic doesn’t just pass through here. 

You recognize the car - it’s Minji’s. She parks and pops out, calling hello to you, ignoring her brother. He makes a face at you like, what am I, chopped liver? 

“I have your mom’s tupperwares, do you want to take them?” she asks, pressing the lock button on her key fob and making the car behind her beep once, loudly. 

“Sure,” you say, following her into the house. A glance over your shoulder tells you that Seokjin is following, too, a few feet behind you, his hands in his pockets. 

Inside, Mr. Kim is sitting sideways on the couch, his leg propped up on a small stack of pillows, a bag of ice over his knee. He perks up when he sees you, lowering his phone away from his face and pushing his spectacles further up his nose. 

“How are you, sweetheart?” he asks. “I’d come hug you, but -.” He gestures at his leg.

“I’m doing fine,” you assure him. “I heard you had a rough day today.”

Mr. Kim shoots a dark look at his son, who looks innocently at the ceiling. “Just a little pain today,” Mr. Kim demures.

Seokjin glances at his phone. “We might want to get you upstairs soon,” he tells his father. “You know you’ll be asleep in about fifteen minutes, so unless you want to spend the night on the couch…”

You watch, feeling awkward and unable to help, as Seokjin helps his dad swivel and stand, an arm over Seokjin’s shoulders. They make their way slowly and laboriously up the stairs, and you feel a little anxious watching. 

“Are they okay?” you ask Minji as she returns from the kitchen, pushing your mother’s empty tupperware back into your hands.

“They’re fine,” she says easily. “It takes a while but they’ve got it down to a science. Hey, listen, do you want to go grab a drink? It’s Friday, and I’ve had a hell of a week, and what I would really like to do is Uber into town and drink like college-Minji.”

You laugh at this. “I’m not sure I’m prepared for the return of college-Minji.”

“Pleaaaaaaaase?” she begs, blinking her lashes at you. “We haven’t gone out together in ages.”

“Alright, alright,” you laugh. “Let me go tell my parents goodbye and drive home and change. Text me the details and I’ll meet you there.”

“Yessss!” she cries, dancing in place a little. You feel a swell of affection for her; you love Minji with your whole heart. You’ve been through a lot together. You’ve been through a lot separately, but always side by side.

There have been many times through your life where you felt like you were clutching Minji’s hand through the fire. 

You still remember clearly the way she’d bounded up to your locker, back when you were thirteen, squealing and excited because the most popular girl in your year had asked her for her number, had invited her over. 

You still remember clearly Minji sobbing on your bed weeks later when it came to light that the girl - who wouldn’t be the last to try - was just trying to get an “in” with Minji’s hot older brother.

“You know I would never, right?” you’d promised her. Stupid, at fourteen, not clarifying that you mean never use you to get to him. Stupid, because then you were sixteen and then eighteen and then twenty-one and then twenty-six and you weren’t sure what you had actually promised - had Minji heard it as I would never get involved with him? 

“I know,” she’d sobbed, reaching one hand blindly to clutch at yours. “I know you wouldn’t.”

And now you’re twenty-eight and the secrets you’ve kept keep piling up - each day you loved him, another pebble atop the pile. The slightest shake could topple the tower, and you’d be absolutely buried. 

You could never let Minji know you loved him. Not when you were fifteen and he was untouchable. Not when you were twenty, and he was the best part of coming home. Not when you were twenty-six, pressed between him and the deck railing. 

Not now, after two years of existing outside his orbit again. 

The bar she picks is small, but quiet - quiet enough that you can actually carry on a conversation from opposite sides of a wooden booth, which is exactly what you do.

What you hadn’t banked on was that Seokjin would join her, sitting on her side of the booth, complaining loudly that he’s not going to come out with you two ever again, he’s never been such a third wheel in his life.

“You could have stayed home with dad,” Minji says, giving him a swift elbow to the ribs. “Don’t be such a complainer. You jumped in on my plans.”

“Can we please talk about something besides your hot coworker, then?” he begs. “Anything, anything else.”

“We could talk about my hot coworkers,” you offer, even though you have none. But this - teaming up with Minji to push Seokjin’s buttons - is a song and dance you know by heart, something you’ve done since practically infancy.

He narrows his eyes at you. “Believe it or not, that’s not better,” he deadpans. 

You laugh, knocking back the rest of your drink and sliding out of the booth to go get another, leaving the Kim siblings to bicker in your absence.

You don’t expect Seokjin to follow; you don’t expect him to press up behind you as you stand at the bar, waiting for the bartender’s attention. 

But he does, his body heavy and warm against yours. The blood rushes to your pussy so fast it almost makes you mad. All he’s doing is standing in close proximity, can your body get it together?

“What are you doing?” you murmur, trying not to meet his eyes in the mirrored wall behind the bar.

“Minji wants shots,” he answers easily. Like his body isn’t pressed against yours, like he isn’t causing your heart to hammer against your ribs.

“You’re too close,” you manage to say, because it’s the best option you can think of. Better than she’ll see us. Better than you still aren’t close enough. Better than don’t do this if you’re just going to leave again. 

He does catch your eyes in the mirror, then. He must read something honest on your face, because he shifts sideways, leaving you cold. The bartender comes by, takes both your orders. You take your drink back to the table. Seokjin follows with a tray of bad decisions poured into tiny glasses.

Even though he gave you the reprieve when you asked for it, it’s clear he’s got a mission to ruin you. You’re sure of it, more and more sure as the night wears on. Sure of it when you reach for the same shot glass, your fingers brushing, his lingering. Sure of it when his eyes on your face make you so warm that Minji accuses you of having a drunk flush. Sure of it when his foot hooks around your ankle beneath the table, slides up and down your calf, slow and tantalizing, inches from Minji’s stilettoed feet. Sure of it when this causes your breath to hitch and his fingers tighten around his glass and his gaze goes to the opposite wall, anywhere but towards you.

You’re drunk, but it’s Seokjin that’s sending you spinning. 

You’ve made this mistake before, you remind yourself sternly. Nothing good can come of it. 

You excuse yourself and head for the bathroom, a marked up door at the end of a narrow, poorly lit hallway. You grip the sides of the sink and breathe deep, closing your eyes. The room sways and you press your forehead to the mirror, trying to ground yourself. 

“You cannot fuck him again,” you whisper to yourself, eyes still closed. “It wouldn’t mean anything even if you did.”

The alcohol catches up to you as you whisper these words; the truth of them slam you harder than normal. You blink away tears, taking a few shuddering breaths.

“Time to go home,” you tell yourself firmly, turning off the water and wiping quickly under your eyes in case any makeup ran. 

This is what it means to be in Seokjin’s orbit, now: to crash into each other, to fight with yourself - fight with the truth that he doesn’t want you, and then run away scared until he’s too far away to hurt you again. Spin idly along until the next time your circles cross paths. Do it again.

He’s in the hallway when you emerge, arms crossed as he leans against the wall. You have to pass him to get back to the table. He pushes off the wall when he sees you coming, stumbles a little. A tiny, sensible part of your brain whispers that he might be drunker than you are as you sidle into his personal bubble.

“What are you doing, Seokjin?” you ask him for the second time that night. 

His eyes comb your face. You don’t know what answer he’s looking for, what question he’s secretly asked you in his mind. 

“You tell me,” he retorts, which doesn’t make a lot of sense, but speaking somehow brought him looming closer and you’re drowning in the smell of him, the warmth of him, the desire to feel his body hard against yours again, to feel him split you open again, to have his mouth hot on your skin again -

You close your eyes, sag a little. His hands come to your elbows quickly, holding you up. “You’re confusing me,” you whisper, and then look up at him through your lashes. 

There’s something aching on his face, and then he whispers back, “I’m sorry. Y/N, I’m so sorry - I never meant -.”

The click-clack of high heels approach and round the corner. You and Seokjin leap apart like you’re burned, your arms tingling where his fingers had been.

It’s not Minji. The stranger murmurs an apology and brushes past you both, towards the bathroom.

Spooked, startled out of the moment, you turn to head back to the bar, back to Minji. 

Seokjin grabs your arm, pulls you back. You teeter back a step, then look at him expectantly as you regain your balance.

Seriously, so seriously, he tells you, “I swear, I never wanted to hurt you.” Then he releases your arm with a tiny push, guiding you back out of the dirty hallway and into the light.

You Uber home alone. You brush your teeth, remove your makeup. You change into pajamas, drink a glass of water. 

You wake up to your phone buzzing incessantly next to your head.

[10:14 AM] Jin 😎: oh [10:14 AM] Jin 😎: my god [10:14 AM] Jin 😎: i think i am dead? [10:15 AM] Jin 😎: are you dead too? are we ghosts? [10:15 AM] Jin 😎: can ghosts throw up??? 🤔

You giggle despite your own headache. 

[10:15 AM] You: whats wrong old man, you can’t hang anymore?? [10:16 AM] Jin 😎: WOW [10:16 AM] You: 😇

You check all your other socials, answer a few emails, and then finally drag yourself out of bed and head for a hot shower. As you stand beneath the hot water, you think about your first hangover, when you were sixteen. 

You’d woken up next to Minji on her basement floor, a hoodie balled up beneath your head like a pillow. You’d closed your eyes again, hoping the splitting pain in your head and the roiling adrenaline in your stomach were a bad dream. 

They were not.

You spent most of the next hour in the basement’s tiny bathroom, curled up on the floor next to your porcelain jail. When you felt like you could stand, you rinsed your mouth and pulled the pillow-hoodie onto your body, taking comfort in the way it swam on you, the hemline brushing your thighs just below your cutoffs. 

You’d made your way upstairs, hoping to sneak past Mr. Kim and your own parents and make it unscathed to your own bed. You wanted nothing but to sleep for the next fourteen hours. Or years. 

You got busted at the top of the stairs. Luckily, it was Seokjin bustling around the kitchen, not his father.

He had taken one look at you and started laughing, low in his belly. “Too much fun?”

“Shut up,” you’d whined, literally covering your ears against the noise. “Or I will throw up again, I promise.”

Jin had smiled at you, open and easy. “Sit down, kid,” he’d said kindly, jerking his head towards the kitchen table. “I have an age-old remedy.” 

And actually? It had worked.

After drying your hair and throwing on some jeans and a t-shirt, you scavenge your kitchen. You have most of what you need, and you toss it all into a tote bag and hunt for your keys. You finally find them on the floor next to the kitchen counter - chances are you’d tossed them at the counter last night and missed - and head out.

Your parents are home when you let yourself in. They both stare at you, baffled, then exchange a sly, knowing look.

“You’re back, I see,” your mom says, something sneaky in her tone.

“Do you have any bean paste?” you answer. “I’m going to go make Minji hangover soup.”

Only one word was a lie.

This makes your mom laugh, and she rummages in her cabinets and helps you complete the list of ingredients you need. 

The Kims’ front door is locked, so you make your way around the side of the house and fish the key out of its hiding spot, letting yourself in the side door that leads to the kitchen. 

The house is still and quiet, and you try not to clang any pots and pans as you get to work. When you finish, over an hour later, you set up the table - a bowl of hangover soup, and a mug of steaming hot coffee, black.

You text Seokjin, “come to the kitchen”, and set your phone back down, turning to start on the dishes. 

You’re informed of his presence by his laugh. You turn, hands red under the hot water and covered in suds, to see him sitting down at the spot you’d set up. He looks up at you, amazed, an uncertain smile playing across his face. 

“It’s an age-old remedy,” you tell him seriously.

“You are…” he trails off with a quiet laugh and reaches for the coffee. 

You’d love to know the end of that sentence. 

When you finish the dishes - save for the pot with the remaining soup, still on the stove for when Minji wakes up - you pour your own mug of coffee and sit across from Jin, watching as he finishes his soup. He closes his eyes and sighs happily, then sets down his spoon reverently.

“Thank you,” he says, like a prayer, but also like a joke. “That was so needed.”

“Consider it payback,” you tell him. 

It feels different, sitting across the kitchen table. Different than sitting across that booth at the bar. Less charged. Like it wasn’t something physical burning between you, like you’d thought, but the need for catharsis, for apology. Even if you don’t know what he’s sorry for, even if you still don’t know what exactly happened with him two years ago.

He’s thinking about it too, apparently. He says your name quietly, and you look up to meet his eyes. You can read the apology all over his face. The house is still still and quiet, no one awake but you and Jin. Like no one exists but you and Jin.

You’ve felt that way before.

Sitting beside him in the basement. In the passenger seat of his car, driving through a rainstorm. In his backyard, in the dark, your breath visible in the air as it leaves your mouth in desperate puffs.

“I kind of wanted to talk,” he admits, and your stomach twists. Maybe you should have had some of the soup. “About -?”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you say quickly, already standing, already moving to gather up the tote bag you’d used to carry ingredients. You shrug back into your jacket, ignoring Jin’s wide-eyed look of surprise. “I should get going,” you say, still not looking at him. You go back to the kitchen door you’d entered through, picking up the key so you can return it to its hiding place outside. You pause on the threshold, turning, eyeing the stovetop thoughtfully. 

“Tell Minji you made the soup,” you instruct, and then you close the door behind you. 

Next ->

Thank you so so much for reading - i hope you like this one as much as I do! Please don't feel shy about letting me know what you think!

Part 2: Retrograde will post next Friday, June 2nd. Hope to see you there!

[noodyl-blasstal]

18 and 50 🥰💕💕💕🍰🎂🧁🚨

Six months seems like a perfectly reasonable response time... right? RIGHT?

The prompts were: 18 & 50 We both showed up alone to the couples cake decorating class, so obviously-... and Fighting? No, no, we're having a great time arguing about this.

Enjoy below or on Ao3

---

Kravitz hates his colleagues, Kravitz hates them so hard and double and backwards. The power of his hatred is turned up to eleven. He’s going to switch the office coffee to decaf, he’s going to move everything round in the fridge, he’s going to take all the good name brand parcel tape and replace it with the shit stuff that sticks to you more than whatever you’re trying to wrap up. But he’s not. Not really. He’s going to walk into the couples cake decorating class which they didn’t mention he needed a plus one for, and he’s going to have a ‘marvellous’ time. Just like Lydia said he should when she waved him away earlier. But this time, this time he’s not going to believe them when they say they ‘forgot’ or ‘misread the ticket’, because Kravitz is not gullible. Maybe that really did happen the first four times, but five is suspicious. Five stinks of deception. Five are on Craggy Island and they know someone’s been fucking things up for them on purpose.

“Hello!” Says the wall of a man at the door in a worryingly joyful tone. It looks like he’s working hard not to grab Kravitz in a hug. Kravitz appreciates the effort. He does not like to be touched. Lydia says it’s because he needs to work on his social skills. Kravitz thinks that it’s probably because she and Edward need to learn about boundaries. “What’s your name? I’m Magnus!”

Kravitz hands over his ticket with a tight smile.

“Ah, yes, I have you on the list, a last minute addition! Welcome Cravat.”

“It’s Kravitz.” Says Kravitz, trying not to be terse, and failing hideously. They know exactly how much he hates it when people call him that. Namely them, because no one else does. But this isn’t Magnus’ fault, he seems very nice and very excited about event administration, and not responsible for the terrible people Kravitz needs to not work with anymore.

Magnus’s face falls. “Oh… they spelled it twice on the phone…” He gives Kravitz a searching look. “Are you sure?”

“Am I sure what my own name  is?”

“I’m not judging you, sometimes people forget things. I don’t mind.” Magnus shoots him a disarmingly encouraging smile and the fighting winds leave his sails.

“I’m sure that my name is Kravitz.” Says Kravitz in the most measured tone he can muster. Maybe if he explains… he can just practise telling someone how awful they are. He’ll never ever have to see Magnus again. “My colleagues are complete… they’re not very… they like to… it’s a joke.” He finishes lamely. It’s fine. He can practise the conversation in the shower and then write a little script before he tells anyone else.

“Okay then…” Magnus pauses, shape of the “C” in his mouth. Kravitz’s lips draw into a thin line. “...Kravitz. Welcome to cake club! Tonight we’re decorating with the very best boys. Is your partner here yet?”

Kravitz’s mouth gets even tighter. “It’ll just be me.”

“At the couples decorating class?” Magnus asks like Kravitz is being ridiculous.

“Yes at the couples decorating class.” Kravitz smiles his very best customer service smile and hopes for the best.

“Okay.” Magnus says slowly. “Yeah, we can work with that.” Magnus gives him a once over. “The suit will definitely help.”

Kravitz has a distinct feeling that he’s being appraised against a firm set of criteria.

“Yeah. You’ll be fine. Come on. Julia will be starting soon and you’re the last one here.” Magnus shoos him through the door.

Kravitz is 30 minutes early. There’s no way he can be the last one here! He’s never late! He…’s going to switch out Edward’s sticky tack for the one that feels all weird and over stretchy. Surely it’s bad enough for him to show up without a person and incorrectly named, he doesn’t need lateness to complete the trifecta. They’re twins, they should only be allowed to do two bad things in one go, that’s only fair.

“Here you go.” Magnus points to a station with a large, intimidating array of tools which put him in mind of a surgery table, a stack of colourful bags thankfully pre-loaded with icing, and two aprons covered in hearts set next to each other.

“I’ll just…” Magnus leans past him to grab one of them and laboriously inch it away as if Kravitz won’t see as long as the movements are slow.

“You too, huh?” Asks the man on the adjoining station. He’s alone too. Although he appears to be wearing both aprons, one on the front and one on the back.

“Yep.” Kravitz tries not to make eye contact. He doesn’t need pity.

“On purpose?” The man asks.

“No.” Maybe if he keeps his answers short the man will realise this conversation isn’t going to happen.

“I did.” Kravitz sees the man shrug out of the corner of his eye. “Societal expectations can suck it, couples decorating class? Taako’s a baller chef, just wait, you’re going to be amazed by how many arms I have.”

“Is it more than two?” Kravitz turns to look, immediately forgetting his previous strategy.

“You’ll have to wait and see.” The man winks dramatically.

He’s handsome, very handsome. Dirty blonde hair in a plait down his back, a light scrub of stubble across his jaw, and so many jangly earrings and necklaces that Kravitz can’t help but stare.

“Ah fantastic idea!” The woman at the front of the class, Julia, Kravitz assumes, beams as Magnus points at the two of them. “As you two are already getting to know each other, why don’t you work together?” She smiles like she’s doing them a favour.

Everyone turns to look.

Kravitz doesn’t want to be perceived right now, not for this reason. He doesn’t need everyone to look at him and know he’s here alone and needs to be paired up with someone while all these couples came together on purpose. His face grows hot and his mouth clamps closed and his fingers definitely aren’t working and he doesn’t want to check in with his legs about it.

There’s a horrible screeching noise.

“Taako!” Julia winces. “Could you…”

The rest of her sentence is drowned out by another horrible screech as he laboriously moves his stool.

“Just following instructions.” The man who must be called Taako? (Surely not?) calls cheerfully as he settles down next to Kravitz

“Right. Well, now that you’re done…” 

The stool screeches again. 

“Taako!”

“Sorry.” He doesn’t look even a little bit sorry.

Kravitz stifles a laugh. As much as he appreciates the interruption he doesn’t want to get tarred with the same brush. He refuses to get detention. Can you get cooking class detention? That would probably be a good thing, he needs all the help he can get… so maybe they’d ask him to leave early instead? Either way, he doesn’t want to do anything wrong enough to find out.

“If you’re done?” Julia levels a frankly terrifying stare their way and the stool screecher sits up straight and attentive.

“Hello everyone! I’m Julia Burnsides, and this is my lovely assistant Magnus Burnsides.”

Magnus waves happily at them all then delivers a positively goopy smile to Julia. She returns it. They’re disgusting. Kravitz hates them. (Kravitz envies them deeply.)

“Tonight we’re going to turn this…” Julia holds up a scandalously nude cupcake. 

“Into this!” Magnus shouts, enthusiastic and  loud enough to make Kravitz jump slightly in his seat. 

Taako doesn’t disguise his laugh.

Kravitz would glare at him, but he’s been reliably informed it’s not polite, so he settles for shushing Taako and making sure he’s exuding ‘Paying Attention In Class Like It’s His Job’ energy. In fact, it is his job, it’s both of their jobs, because they entered into the education contract by signing up for the class even if it was under false pretences and someone else signed up on his behalf as a joke.

A sharp elbow digs him in the ribs. “What do you think the cake’s supposed to be?” The man is, at least, keeping his voice down slightly, no one turns round to tell them off.

Kravitz doesn’t turn round. He’s being a good student. Also, he has absolutely no idea what the thing Magnus is proudly brandishing at them is. Maybe a tractor?

“This is a dog that Magnus made.” Julia adds helpfully. Kravitz has to assume the bemusement which is likely apparent on his face is also mirrored across the other attendees.

“Here’s another version.” She holds up a much more dog-like dog. “We’re going to take you through step by step.” Julia smiles so reassuringly that Kravitz is almost convinced he’s going to be able to make his very own dog tractor.

“First off, you’ll need to come to the front in turn and get your cupcakes. If we could have this table first?” Julia points at the front left bench, as far from them as they can possibly get. Are they being punished? Are there going to be worse cakes for them because they broke the rules and came alone?

“Don’t worry.” The man says conspiratorially and slides a tupperware onto the table. “I brought my own.”

“What?” Kravitz isn’t sure that’s legal. Can he go down for this? Existing in the presence of contraband cake might summon the bakery police.

“They’ll just have vanilla. These are salted caramel, mocha, strawberry - with the proper stuff, you know, Taako doesn’t fuck with extract only nonsense - and vanilla but it has beans so you can’t say that it’s the same as the ones here.” He cracks the lid as he talks and glorious cakey smells waft out.

“Are we allowed?” Kravitz asks quiet and serious. Maybe there’s a rule he doesn’t know about. Maybe Lydia and Edward forgot to mention it was BYOC… that seems about right honestly.

“Doesn’t matter, does it, kemosabe, because we’ve done it already.” The man shrugs as if he’s not worried about getting a bad mark in cake.

“Ah.” Kravitz says, not entirely ready to make himself an accomplice.

“Here, try one. What’s your poison? You seem like a guy who caffeinates.” The man holds a chocolatey, coffee-y treat his way. “Go on, it’ll blow your mind, Taako guarantees it.”

Kravitz really wants the cake. It smells amazing and his lunch disappeared from the fridge yet again so all he’s had to eat was the sad, crumbly granola bar he found at the back of his desk drawer…

The man, who does in fact seem to be called Taako starts to withdraw his hand. “Well, if you don’t want it then I guess.”

“Wait!” Kravitz grabs it quickly. It’s not polite, but he’s not risking missing out. “You’re sure you have enough?”

“Cha’boy brought plenty. Taako can’t believe you’d doubt him like this. We’ve been together for 16 years, happily married for 15 years and fifty one weeks of that time, and still you don’t trust me.”

“We had a bad week?” Kravitz breaks off a piece of the cake.

Taako looks offended. “No!” 

“But you said…”

“We got married a week after we met.” Taako says firmly. “Now eat your cake, snugglepuss.”

Kravitz winces. “Snugglepuss?” 

“That’s what you’ve got the issue with? Not our timeline?” 

“Well we were just so in love.” Kravitz refuses to be beaten in imagination table tennis. “How could I do anything but ask you to marry me after that glorious week of cross country skiing? I bought the ring on our lunch break on day two.”

“Cross country skiing?” Taako cocks an eyebrow, but he’s still smiling. Not in the mean way either, the way when sometimes you think you’re playing the same game, but you’re very much not and they’re just gathering data to inform exactly how much they’re going to ostracise you (it’s lots, it’s always lots.)

“I loved the way your thigh muscles strained when you tried to get out of the hole.” Kravitz tries very hard not to think about Taako in a skin tight ski suit. He’s never been skiing, but his brain is doing a great job of thinking up some things he definitely shouldn’t be paying attention to.

He shoves the cake in his mouth to distract himself.

It’s incredible.

He doesn’t know the technical terms, but it’s got all the cake things, the taste and the texture and the�� crumb. That’s definitely a cake thing.

“These are magic.” Kravitz tries to force himself to chew his next bite slower and actually savour it. 

He fails. 

Taako’s looks at him again, he really looks at him, drags his eyes slowly down to Kravitz’s toes and back up again, then grins.

“I’m Kravitz.” Kravitz says, because he can’t think of anything better and it seems polite. 

“You sure are, kemosabe.” Taako winks an exaggerated overblown wink. “Cha’boy’s Taako, but you figured that out for yourself.”

Kravitz shouldn’t feel proud, but he does.

“Now that everyone has their cake we need you all to find the nozzle which will make the kind of hair you want your dog to have.” Julia holds up one of the nozzles which is full of holes. “For example, this one could be a pomeranian running.” 

Kravitz writes a question mark in his pocket notebook after ‘pomeranian running’. It’s a tiny rebellion but Taako snorts gently next to him and it feels good. Well, mostly. Kravitz hopes Taako’s laughing at the concept and not him.

Taako picks up a nozzle.

“I’d like you to all pick up your nozzle and try piping with the practice bag, use the greaseproof paper to get the motion. You’ll be looking for something like this.” She pipes a perfectly windswept dab of buttercream fur onto her parchment.

Taako’s not piping onto the parchment. 

Taako’s piping directly onto the cake.

“Taako!” Kravitz whispershouts like his life depends on it, because it does. Julia looks strong.

Taako doesn’t acknowledge him.

“Taako, that’s not the parchment.” Kravitz, helpfully, nudges it towards him. Maybe it’s just a misunderstanding. Maybe they won’t go down for willful buttercrime, they’ll get a reduced sentence because it was an accident.

“Rules guy, are we?” Taako’s still piping.

Kravitz is, in fact, a rules guy. Why would they exist if they weren’t important?

Taako stops piping.

“Taako!” Kravitz doesn’t shout, but he wants to.

“That’s cha’boy’s handle.”

“That’s a fish.”

Taako looks offended. “It’s a horse.”

Kravitz does the weird snorty laugh he usually saves for home.

“Honse.” Taako points at the cake. “Look at his beautiful flowing mane.”

“That’s a fin.”

“Horse fin.”

“Horses don’t have fins.”

“Fish don’t have manes.” Taako says like he’s winning at something.

He’s not.

“If he’s a horse then where are his teeth?”

“Oh, Taako sees your game, you think horses have to be happy all the time, do you? Got to pander to your human whims and do a nice big horsey smile so you can appreciate what a nice horse life they have? What if his wife just left him? What then, my guy? Does he still have to smile for you?”

“He clearly left his horse wife.” Kravitz shrugs nonchalantly.

“Why?” Taako leans in, desperate for the gossip.

“Because he was a fish, and she was a horse, can I make it any more obvious?”

“She had a trunk, and he didn’t neigh.”

“What more can I say?” Kravitz mutters quickly before tackling the bigger question, because he’s a gentleman. “Horses don’t have trunks. I’m deeply concerned about your equine knowledge.”

“Maybe you’re the one that isn’t as much of a horse specialist as you thought, hmmm? Ever think about that? Maybe, just maybe, you’re not Dr Horse; King of Horses.”

Kravitz tries very hard not to be offended, but it’s not nice to be doubted. “I’ve got three PhDs in horse, actually, it’s Dr Dr Dr Horse, King of Horses to you.”  

Taako picks up the piping bag again. “Well what if…” He pipes a glorious un-horselike appendage.”

“That’s a…?”

Taako squidges the bag again.

“Horn.” Taako says with confidence.

“Two horns.”

“Yep.” Taako looks pleased with himself. “Horse!” 

“And you think that they have…”

“Garyl does.” Taako says firmly. “Are you going to tell him to his beautiful horse face that he isn’t one?”

“No.” Kravitz says, because he’s not. Mostly because there’s no chance he’s telling Taako to his very handsome face that he’s very bad at cake art. Or that the Longhorn Cowfish exists.

“What’s that?” Taako’s wielding the bag again.

“Tentacle.” Taako’s tongue is poking out of the corner of his mouth as he concentrates and it makes Kravitz’s chest ache with longing for… something. The last of the evening sun is streaming through the window, Taako’s glowy and glorious and Kravitz longs to take a photo just so he can keep the moment in his pocket. It feels good, it feels like they’re on the same side, it’s them against the cake establishment. It’s been a long time since he felt like he had an ally.

“It’s a horse tentacle?” Kravitz asks, just in case there’s a chance Taako is pivoting to something more sea themed.

“Horse tentacle.” He confirms.

“Taako, horses don’t have…” Kravitz thinks he should probably be exasperated, worried that whether it’s a horse or a fish, or an octopus, it’s definitely not right. Not that he’s an expert in animal maths, but horse + fish probably doesn’t equal dog, even if you squint.

“Then why does this one?” Taako’s raw confidence is terrible and wonderful to behold. Maybe Kravitz can learn from him. Is this how he defeats Lydia and Edward? Can he ask Taako if they can meet up again so he can learn? ‘If I buy you a drink or three can you teach me your raw charisma to help me deal with my shit colleagues please?’ surely can’t fail…

“Is everything okay here?” Julia stands in front of their counter, brow furrowed like she’s worried. To be fair, they definitely haven’t got anything that looks like fur happening.

“Yep.” Taako smiles up at her like he isn’t busy creating an abomination of both buttercream and nature.

“And you’re okay…” She takes a moment to remember his name. “Kravitz?”

“Oh, yes. Everything’s fine.” Kravitz lies, because Garyl needs a vet, or three, a whole team of specialists.

“It didn’t seem fine when you were fighting.” Julia looks pointedly at Taako.

“We’re not fighting!” Taako’s indignant, offended at the accusation. “We were just discussing taxonomy.”

Julia turns to Kravitz. “If you need us to find you a different station?”

“Did I do something wrong?” Oh, oh no, Kravitz straightens in shock. He isn’t this person. He’s good at classes, he’s good at teacher interaction, he has never ever ever had a bad grade and he doesn’t plan to start now.

“What? No.” Kravitz is very used to the perplexed expression that Julia is wearing. People direct it at him a lot. He wishes he wasn’t so familiar.

“She thinks I’m bothering you, handsome.”

“You’re not bothering me!” Kravitz replies before he processes the second part of the sentence. Taako thinks he’s handsome! He said it so he must mean it.

“Well you’re not bothering me. In fact I think you should not bother me after class and take Taako out for a drink. Cha’boy has some theories about how giraffes look that’re going to blow your mind.”

Kravitz resolutely doesn’t think about how there is another thing he would let Taako blow. “Yes… Yes absolutely,  I’d like that a lot Taako.”

“Gross.” Julia says happily. “Glad we could necessitate…” She pauses and waves her hand between them “... whatever this is with your fucked up fish cake.”

“It’s a horse!” They say indignant, unjustified, and perfectly synchronised.

[oneofthosecrazycatladies]

Fun fact: In 1929, Congress decided to cap the number of members of the House of Representatives. At the time (and, indeed, today) people living in urban areas tend to vote more liberal, while people living in rural areas tend to vote more conservative. So in 1929, conservative politicians were afraid that America’s increasing urbanization would tip the federal government in a more liberal direction. So the cap in the House meant that urban areas receive less representation in proportion to their populations. If this cap was never put in place, the House would have more than 1,000 members today. [x]

As we’ve just ended one election cycle and are bracing ourselves for the 2026 midterms, this is something to keep in mind. Conservatives have been playing the long game for generations, slowly chipping away at our democracy every chance they’ve gotten. And they’ve been banking on apathetic citizens that don’t hold them to account or pay attention to what they’re doing.

And now, with Trump’s win and the (likely) Republican trifecta, we are living with the results of this conservative power consolidation and liberal apathy.

If you’re unhappy with the way this election turned out. If you’re unhappy with the way our government has been going in general, then ACT. Politicians feed off our apathy. They want us to not be paying attention so that they can continue to act in their own self-interest.

Over the past week, I’ve been seeing a lot of finger pointing going on. But guess what, we’re all to blame for this. Donald Trump and his cronies are a symptom of a system that has been cracking for decades and every single one of us let it happen.

But that also means that we can fix it.

This is not a time for playing the blame game. Or simply sitting back and accepting our fate. If we don’t like our system, then let’s change it.

Just a reminder that the constitution was written by a group of middle-aged heterosexual cisgender able-bodied elite white men. And they were writing it for other middle-aged heterosexual cisgender able-bodied elite white men.

We get so stuck in this idea that the way things are today are the way they’ve always been and should always stay. Why? 300 years ago the modern United States didn’t exist. 200 years ago our economy ran on slavery. 5 years ago women had more reproductive rights. Things change all the time. Bad change happens because bad actors take action while good actors take a nap. So if we want good change, we need to wake up.

At this point it’s kind of become a cliche but I’m gonna say it anyway: be the change you want to see in the world

[tgmsunmontue]

Saga of Solitude 9/21

Nepo!Baby Bradley and his life at USNA and afterwards. DADT fully in force. IceMav AU. (Begun prior to 'It's not who you know' - the non-angsty version). (Side Hangster, which is ALSO angsty).

PROLOGUE (He remembers)

HANGSTER FIRST MEETING (Lonely Nights - set 2009)

PREVIOUS CHAPTERS

ONE (2000) TWO (2001) THREE (2002) FOUR (2003) FIVE (2004) SIX (2005) SEVEN (2006) EIGHT (2007)

CHAPTER NINE - 2008

                He curls around the body in bed beside him, lets himself enjoy it, certain that the novelty will never wear off no matter how long they’re together. It probably helps that Maverick sometimes leaves for months at a time, so the little annoyances never make him lose his temper, rather remain little endearing traits that make him fondly smile instead of raging against him. Those times will come, he’s sure, but they’re probably a little while away given how stubborn Mav is. Right now they’ve got another week or so before Mav receives his new orders and Tom will soak up every available moment.

                “Morning…”

                “Morning.”

                They move against each other quietly, slowly, both of them still half-asleep but happy to come to wakefulness like this, hands sliding over bare skin, lips leaving damp trails as they kiss and lick softly. Maverick’s hands pushing and pulling his pajama pants down, quiet curses under his breath that make Tom laugh silently. Mav is of course naked, his cock already rutting against Tom’s thigh and he skims a hand over the swell of his ass, encouraging him.

                Neither of them have anywhere to be this morning, they have the luxury of time and also the knowledge that they won’t get interrupted. With them both in a bed and clearly wanting each other it’s a holy trifecta of sex now that they’re middle-aged adults with deployments and kids and levels or tiredness which often mean they might start off well meaning but can sometimes drift-off into slumber despite the best of intentions.

                “What do you want?” Tom asks against the shell of Mav’s ear, because he will give him anything, and Mav knows it too, damn him.

                “Want you to fuck my thighs.”

                “You want me to do all the work,” Tom points out, but he’s quickly becoming more awake, it’s something he likes, and it’s not like there aren’t times when he gets to lie back and have Mav do all the work. They’ve been together for too long not to have figured out what works for them and what doesn’t.

                “You’re the one who always gloats about being a morning person. Come on…”

                He doesn’t need any encouragement, or in the case with Mav, goading. He bites down on his earlobe, grins around it when Mav jerks a little and presses Mav back into the bed so he can reach over him to grab the lube. Then he’s yelping as teeth catch one of his nipples and he glares down.

                “Be nice.”

                “Or what?”

                “Or I won’t be nice…”

                “That a promise or a threat?”

                “I can make it both.”

                “Oh…” Maverick’s breath catches and Tom smiles to himself.

                Yeah, it’s going to be a very good morning.

…             …             …

                Pete runs his finger over the empty space on Ice’s left ring finger, wonders if anyone would notice if they both started wearing wedding rings again. They could, they’ve both been married, even if technically he’s a widower and Ice is a divorcee. It would raise too many questions, if anyone noticed and asked. Still. One day though he fully intends to put a ring back on that finger as well as his own and never let it come off.

…             …             …

                He’s in his office when he hears the commotion outside, Aubrey’s raised voice and… Maverick’s.

                Shit.

                He should have pre-empted this, knows Mav is starting to get itchy feet, he usually does after four weeks of leave. And it’s been six, so he is mellowing a little as he ages, but still, Tom could have planned better. He strides to the door and pulls it open, only to find Aubrey standing there, hands on her hips, Maverick looking just as combative and he looks between them calmly. They’re both looking at him, clearly wanting him to either pick a side or mediate a solution. He’s just not quite sure what they’re arguing about, the door too thick for him to have been able to make anything out so he decides that maybe introductions are in order.

                “Aubrey, this is Captain Pete Mitchell. My best friend and also Bradley’s adoptive father.”

                “Oh.”

                “Maverick, this is my personal assistant, Aubrey Smythe.”

                He can see her warring with herself, trying to decide whether to be polite, and Maverick also calming down as he realizes who she is.

                “You ensure he eats lunch. Bradley told me.”

                “Yes. I do try and ensure that happens.”

                “Hmm. Keep trying. He’s stubborn.”

                “That’s rich coming from you!”

                The grin Maverick gives him makes his breath catch, god damn is Maverick beautiful and he hopes Aubrey isn’t quite as astute as he thinks she is. Or that she at least might not care and will keep whatever suspicions she might have after seeing him and Mav together firmly to herself.

                “I’ll make sure he eats today. Although I leave on Tuesday, so it’ll be all down to you from then on,” Mav says, clearly trying to be charming and Aubrey just as clearly isn’t quite sure how to deal with him. She doesn’t offer to make Mav a drink and he guesses that’s her way of saying she’s annoyed. Tom just smiles to himself and excuses them, shaking his head but agreeing with Mav when he mutters something about her not liking him.

                “A lot of people don’t like you. And I’m sure Aubrey will come around. Next time ask to see me, rather than demand it. Or, and I know this is a foreign concept, arrange to have lunch with me in advance so I can put it in my calendar.”

                “You’re right, it is a foreign concept. But I’m here to talk about this,” Mav says, pulling papers from his jacket pocket. Tom wonders briefly if Pete would have had a better impression on Aubrey if he’d been in uniform rather than his civvies, bomber jacket and all. “I’m getting deployed to Bradley’s squadron. Did you organize this?”

                His head shoots up.

                “What? No.”

                “Oh. Huh.”

                “You thought I’d pulled strings?”

                “Well, you know I miss him.”

                “I do know that,” Tom says carefully. “I also know that he’s a fully grown adult and does not need you peering over his shoulder. It never occurred to me that you should be deployed together. They generally… don’t do that. For obvious reasons.”

                “Stupid reasons.”

                Tom sighs, because part of him agrees. The bonds that form between squadron members are usually very tight, and he knows from experience that some will take risks regardless. Just because someone loves someone doesn’t mean they will take more risks to keep them safe. The idea of Maverick flying with Bradley makes him excited for them, knowing that they’re both good, but also he worries that they’ll both take unnecessary risks to ensure the other is safe.

                “You need to trust him to keep himself safe.”

                “Of course.”

…             …             …

                He hears the rumors over breakfast, his cup of coffee halfway to his mouth when he hears Maverick mentioned, almost-whispered, and his stomach sinks. His first and most immediate thought is that something has happened. But no, instead of somber looks there’s an air of anticipation and he leans over and asks what they’re talking about, shuffles a little so he’s facing them.

                “What about Maverick?”

                “Apparently he –”

                “Wait, isn’t he…”

                “What?”

                “Adams heard that Maverick is part of the squadron arriving today.”

                “What?”

                “Three air-to-air kills. Man’s a legend.”

                “Isn’t he your…”

                “My what?” Bradley asks.

                “Your dad?”

                That makes everyone around him go silent, and of course it’s the Navy, so even much guarded secrets are fucking known by everyone. He grins and shrugs, because yeah, Mav is his dad for all intents and purposes for those looking in from the outside. And his phone call last year when Mav had been in Bagram, or the fact that Mav had been there when he graduated USNA and then flight school all add to the fact the it’s not even really something he tries to keep now.

                “Yeah. Step-dad. He married my mom after my dad passed away but I’ve known him my whole life. He flew with my dad.”

                “Wait. He married his wingman’s wife?”

                “Uh, my dad was his RIO. And it’s not like my dad was around to care, there was time between my dad dying and then Mav marrying my mom…”

                The expression on some of their faces makes him roll his eyes. He can’t go into details about exactly what kind of marriage it was, not that it’s any of their business. Anyway, he’s got more exciting things to think about.

                Holy shit, he’s going to fly with Mav.

…             …             …

                It’s weird, he’s not sure how to act for the first few minutes and then relaxes, falls into the habit of years of training has drilled into him. Of course, it’s all ruined when Maverick fucking winks at him and he rolls his eyes. Unfortunately his CO has catches the eyeroll and is now frowning at him and Bradley feels an uneasy twist in his stomach.

                “Lieutenant Bradshaw. A word please.”

                “Yes sir.”

                He steps to the side, can feel eyes on him, including Mav’s.

                “Do you have a problem with Captain Mitchell?”

                “No sir?”

                “That sounded like a question Lieutenant.”

                “Sir. Can I ask a question sir?”

                “Go ahead Lieutenant.”

                “Are you aware that Captain Mitchell is my step-father sir?”

                It’s immediately obvious that his CO is somehow completely in the dark about his relationship to Maverick, so maybe the Navy grapevine isn’t as good as he thought.

                “I rolled my eyes at him because he winked at me sir. Because he’s Maverick Mitchell.”

                “Oh.”

                “I’m sorry this is a surprise to you sir. I only found out this morning myself.”

                “Are you going to have a problem serving with him?”

                “Sir, he’s my superior officer when he’s in uniform. Not my father. Surely this isn’t the first case of parents and children serving together?”

                His CO opens his mouth and then closes it again, clearly doesn’t know the answer. He does however seem to accept Bradley’s words at face value and nods sharply.

                “Well… it might be a little odd. But please bring any concerns to me directly. Your father doesn’t outrank me.”

                “Of course not sir,” Bradley says, thinking about Ice and also the fact that if anything it’s going to be him trying to keep Mav in line.

…             …             …

                After seeing Bradley get called out for the eyeroll Pete ensures he’s on his best behavior. The last thing he wants is to have Bradley tarred with his reputation, he knows how difficult that is and he understands more now why Bradley had wanted to distance himself while he was at USNA. He can make his own way. He flies perfectly, they both do. Nothing happens that even needs a slight modicum of risk and he doesn’t even do a tower fly-by. Ice would be proud. Of course, on the carrier is a different story and he pranks Bradley mercilessly, along with the others in both squadrons. Only Bradley is brave enough to prank him back, his rank likely a barrier but it’s the most fun he’s had on a carrier since he was younger than Bradley and it reminds him of why he’s still in the Navy. This feeling and the fact he gets to be paid to fly.

…             …             …

                “We have a guest, he’s requested to eat meals with some of the Fighting Redcocks. You specifically Bradshaw,” his CO states after he’s pulled him aside, and Bradley is glad that Mav has been on his best behavior and that everything has gone smoothly.

                “Of course sir. May I ask who it is?”

                “Rear Admiral Kazansky. Not another family member I hope?”

                Bradley freezes and his CO is not a stupid man, has definitely clocked Bradley’s moment of sheer panic. He hasn’t had to deal with questions like this since his days at USNA, and never from a superior officer.

                “I… yes sir. I lived with him and his wife when Maverick was deployed. He’s like an uncle to me.”

                “Oh. Of course he is. Does everyone know?”

                “No sir. I try and keep my family ties to myself. It’s… generally easier this way sir.”

                “Hmm. Smart of you I guess. He and Maverick must be very proud of you. You’re a damn fine aviator.”

                “I try sir. They’re always pushing me to be better.”

                “I just bet they are. Actually Lieutenant, knowing your tie to Admiral Kazansky is something of a relief. It means he’s here to see you, and not me or my ship. Just a social visit.”

                “Well sir, I don’t know if Ice ever stops working. He’s nothing if not efficient.”

                “You have a good point. But maybe don’t call Admiral Kazansky by his callsign if you’re trying to keep your relationship with him quiet, hmm?”

                “Yes sir. Thank you, sir.”

…             …             …

                “Admiral Kazansky. Nice to see you.”

                “Captain Mitchell. I haven’t heard any complaints about you, you must be on your best behavior.”

                “I always am sir.”

                Bradley blinks, feeling a little weirded out by their completely polite and professional conversation, even if Mav is smirking about being on his best behavior. They’re clearly friendly, but they haven’t touched, or even shaken hands. Hell, Maverick gave him a salute when he’d arrived. Of course, so had Bradley, but… Of course. They’re not overly affectionate with each other at home either and this right here drives it home to him why. This is how they can be together while also serving in the Navy. No one knows. No one even suspects because they’re both hiding it. Even maybe hiding it from each other he thinks. Have hidden it with marriages and hidden it from him until he was older.

                Fuck he wishes things were different for them.

…             …             …

                “What are you really doing here?”

                “Catching up with an old friend.”

                “Really?”

                “Aubrey suggested it. Well. She arranged the entire thing and then presented it to me as a fait accompli so I didn’t actually have much choice. Apparently I was becoming insufferable.”

                “Knew I liked that woman,” Mav murmurs under his breath and Tom raises an eyebrow, because he’s pretty sure Mav wants to like her, but she’s damned good at acting as gatekeeper for his time, had stopped Maverick from barging in twice in just the last week before he’d left.

                “She is worth every penny the Navy is paying her, and then worth twice as much again.”

                “I’d be jealous, except I know I couldn’t do her job.”

                “We all have our own strengths. It feels good being out here…”

                “Yeah? Sea breeze in your hair?”

                “Mmm. I miss it some days. Like breathing…”

                “You want to go up? I’ll take you up.”

                “If I go, up I’ll be flying myself thank you.”

                “Yeah? You thinking about it?”

                “No. Not right now…” Tom says, but an idea is formulating in his mind, wondering what it would take to make it happen. He definitely wants to fly with Mav again though. He’ll make it happen.

…             …             …

                He reads the news and blinks. Gay marriage has been legalized in Connecticut. It doesn’t mean anything of course, neither of them will risk their careers but it also gives him a little flare of hope that the world is changing.

…             …             …

                “Look… have you considered you’re not exactly impartial?” Ron asks over the rim of his glass and Tom scowls.

                “I know I’m not impartial. That’s kind of the whole point.”

                “Well. Yes and no. I think you’re over-correcting, over compensating so no-one will accuse you of playing favorites, of Bradley, or of nepotism.”

                “What are you getting at?”

                “Take the name off all these files. Look at them based on pure merit, remove your emotion and then rank them.”

                “What would that prove?”

                “That you’re being too hard on your own kid. Holding him up to what you or Mav are capable of and forgetting you’ve both got decades of experience on him. You need to compare him with his peers, not with you, or your peers. Give him another decade and then you can start doing that.”

                Tom stares at the pieces of paper in front of him and realizes the truth, that Bradley is indeed already accomplished for his age and rank. The amount he’s been pushing hasn’t been necessary at all, Bradley has already been exceeding expectations in every field. He’s yet to turn down any training opportunity, is sought after because his attitude is good and his team-player approach helps struggling squadrons bond. He’s got all the people skills both his parents had in spades.

                Shit. Him and Mav are both guilty of this.

                “Mmm… I like this.”

                “What? The whiskey?”

                “No. The look on your face when you realize I’m right.”

AUTHOR'S NOTE

After this there will be 2009, but also a stand-alone (already completed 4-part Hangster fic) HANGSTER FIRST MEETING (Lonely Nights - set 2009) which happens pretty much in September 2009, so Saga of Solitude Chapter 10 covers the time before and after.

CHAPTER TEN

[nite-puff]

Hey hey your idea about Daiya being a closeted animator making the queerest character he could with Mondo sent me down a mental rabbit hole (pun unintentioned haha). It made me think of Andreas Deja, gay Disney animator who did and still does a lot of stuff for the company, but one of the things he's most famous for is for being the supervising animator on the queer-coded villain trifecta of Gaston, Jafar, and Scar. That made me think about Mondo in the context of the AU and how Ishimondo in canon has that sort of enemies-to-lovers thing going on. So, thought..... what if Mondo was never made to be Kiyotaka's love interest at all, but his queer-coded antagonist? And offscreen the queer-coding that was baked into him for a gag (or at least with the excuse that it's a gag) blossomed into something deeper with his cartoon co-star?

THATS SUCH A GOOD IDEA WHAT????

maybe they had something that was overall very similar to the ishimondo story, where their pre-determined roles as a protagonist and antagonist kinda affected how they viewed each other off set as well. because that’s how they just are outside of their cartoons as well. they were literally made to hate each other. but push comes to shove and they end up in a situation where they’re pretty much forced to spend time with each other and learn about each other beyond their roles as hero and villain. and the result of that was a cute friendship. which quickly developed into something more.

also. their relationship progressing like this really affected how they performed in their cartoons. they can’t even pretend to hate each other anymore because that’s not how they feel. it’s mondo and taka, what’re ya gonna do??

eventually the studio gets sick of it and has to make the decision to separate them, at least on set. they can’t just let go of their star, so they’re forced to fire mondo and replace him with a new antagonist. which is how mondo ends up performing in night clubs and such. his iconography is bound to attract a lot of patrons, to say the least.

all in all, mondo and taka’s love story is one the film world has never seen before. there’s never been a toon couple that wasn’t previously written to be together, let alone a hero and a villain falling in love off set. it’s a rare occurrence, to say the least, but mondo and taka wouldn’t have it any other way.

(also mondo being a villain and him also being queer-coded during a time where i believe the hays code was in full effect was definitely a big contributor to why so many people found it easy to believe mondo was cheating on taka right??? i mean, if we’re going in the direction of the original movie…)

anyways, happy pride month to them.

[meyhew]

would love ur thoughts on the if i could fly home sweet creature trifecta

i do have to add canyon moon to this because it’s 1) one of my favorites and 2) the natural conclusion to the home theme.

harry went from writing “if i could fly, i’ll be coming right back home to you” at 21 to writing “i’ll be gone too long from you… two weeks and i’ll be home” at 25. that’s only a four year gap but the sentiment is so so so much more mature and grounded.

in iicf he says “for your eyes only, i’ll show you my heart” and “right now i’m completely defenseless” bc he that is what he was doing and that is what he was—defenseless. he bared his heart and soul for one specific person and said “i hope that you don’t run from me” bc his feelings were so overwhelming even for him. sweet creature opens with them still talking, with them knowing they’re still so young—too young, even—to be dealing with this. but they’ve made a home in each other regardless. in sweet creature he says “when i run out of road, you bring me home” and on the next album it changes to “two weeks and i’ll be home.” it’s no longer “you remind me of who i am when i start to lose myself” but rather “i’m coming wherever you are because i need to be myself.” it’s taking the responsibility away from the other person and turning it into accountability instead. affirmation instead of obligation.

and home . . . well what can i say about home. louis said “i’ll make this feel like home” and then kept his word. what else is there to say

[moltengoldveins]

So while discussing the grand trifecta of Weirdly Good Animated Films From The 2000s (El Dorado, Atlantis: The Lost Empire, and Treasure Planet) was uh. Was anyone gonna tell me that there was a fourth? A lost sibling. A prodigal son, if you will???? was anyone gonna tell me about Titan AE or was I going to have to find out about it from a RANDOM PINTEREST PIN??

Listen to me. YALL. It’s so good. What the heck. It’s so good?! The plot is surprisingly decent, the animation slaps, theres significantly more violence than I expected and it honestly makes the film better. Animated films usually suffer from the ‘we want this to make it past the censors and be good for kids’ mentality and this one, despite being pg somehow, doesn’t. Several people are shot (yes including blood) and someone gets their neck broken ON SCREEN. The ship fights are incredible and there are a few sequences I genuinely don’t think could have been done in any other medium. The romance is definitely simple, based largely on mutual attraction, but they go out of their way to show them growing as friends and working together. The side characters are fun and the WORLDBUILDING??? The number of times something happened in the film and I thought ‘holy crap, I can’t believe they thought of that’ was insane. Character’s remembering in a panic to exhale before spending a few seconds in the vaccine of space, blood floating around in zero-gravity, characters navigating spaces sideways because they’re designed for use when thrust is coming from a different direction, the main character slowly figuring out how the bad guys worked and using that knowledge to defeat them, some of the music in the film being diagetic in-world music played over comms, surprisingly respectful racial diversity for a movie made in 2000, literally everything was incredible.

Also everyone is hot. That’s definitely a plus. It’s like if you took the aesthetic of Treasure Planet and crossed it with Atlantis’s plot. I know there’s a better comparison here but I’m unfortunately not very well versed in sci-fi media. I’m genuinely impressed. I usually don’t immediately turn around and want to rewatch stuff like that but I’d absolutely watch that again. 10/10 everyone should watch this movie; I’m infuriated that it flopped even worse than the other three and I only just now watched it.

[dreamweaversfavsandthoughs]

Rick and Morty S7 Ep. 4: That’s Amorte

(There is no ethical consumption under capitalism)

Don’t read any further if you don’t want to spoiler your appetite…

My Favs

We got Morty back!

When the world was about to send out an Amber Alert on a missing kid, Morty decided to return to us! I’ve enjoyed the season so far but having Rick and Morty together is a stark reminder that the strength of this show is found in the dynamic between grandfather and grandson. Also, I love seeing Rick getting healthy and bettering himself, but I also love to see a Rick that’s amoral and a bit unhinged.

Facial animation:

I don’t know if this is due to the Irish animation studio they’re working with now, but I’ve noticed there’s a bit more diversity in the facial expressions compared to the last two or three seasons. Has anyone else noticed this?

They did a Soylent Green!

I predicted that this might have been a red herring seeing the initial clips and they might instead do something akin to the Universal Paperclip game, but a Soylent Green is what we got. Well, the idea behind the paperclip game is still on the table for next season…

Euthanasia, Cannibalism, and Suicide

Quite the trifecta of “subjects we don’t discuss in polite society,” but I admire them for taking the risk and weaving everything together well. Kinda surprised S&P let them get away with it.

“His dying wish is to see deader people so he can feel superior.”

Morty-O’s Suicide Spaghetti

“ Is this people or not people? I just need to know how much I should pretend to be upset.”

Oh, Jerry…

“They dyed their sun institutional gray.”

“Ooo gray areas. My specialty.”

Classic Rick

Kotomi’s cover of “Live Forever”

“Life itself is wrong and that means death is right. But you can’t side with that. So you live, even when it means eating.”

Not My Fav:

They could have gotten nastier.

This is my one small gripe in an episode that I think is fantastic. I’m confident there is an earlier draft out there that got so much grosser before S&P made their cuts and I demand to see that draft!

Release that nasty cut!!!

My Thoughts:

First my less serious thought, how in the hell did Rick find out that those people turned in spaghetti when they unalived themselves? My headcanon is that he has made a regular habit of impersonating a doctor on that planet because he sees doctors as nothing more than glorified mechanics, but for people. Rick knows he’s the smartest man in the universe and a proper scientist so practicing medicine would not be that much of a challenge and along the way he discovered this delicious trait about the Keplar people.

On a more serious note, there are two moments that really stood out to me. First, was when Morty broke the news of the spaghetti’s origin to the family and their reaction. They were angry and disappointed—in Morty for delivering the message rather than Rick for feeding them people-spaghetti. That spaghetti was amazing and brought everyone joy and they were more angry about losing their joy than the moral implications of consuming human flesh. Morty destroyed the illusion that they were “good” people and instead of actually being good people and refusing to eat the spaghetti, Morty created a work-around so that he and the family could still maintain the illusion.

That felt very realistic to how, dare I say, all of us have acted at some point, whether it’s the food we eat or that store that sells the jeans that fit perfectly or the online retailer that delivers anything we could possibly want the next day. Maybe, we find out someday that it’s not created in the most ethical manner and we rationalize it. We think, “ Oh, it’s not that bad.” or “ I can’t afford the more ethical option,” or "I have such few joys in my life I don't want to lose this as well.” It’s easier to uphold the illusion of being morally upright under a system that makes it exceedingly difficult to do so. But even if the capitalistic system is destroyed can we ever really be absolved? This leads to the second moment that stood out, Rick’s monologue.

“Life itself is wrong and that means death is right. But you can’t side with that. So you live, even when it means eating.”

My interpretation is that Rick is saying, “Life, by it’s very nature, is inherently unethical and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

Even if the meat you eat comes from an animal that is well taken care of, killed as quickly and painlessly as possibly, and processed in a facility that treats its workers well and obeys all regulations—that animal still had to die in order to produce that meat. You’re a vegan. Plants are still living things and for many plants the process of getting food from them destroys them in the process. Millions of bacteria are destroyed every time you wash your hands. Life needs other kinds of life to end for it to keep going, but humans are the only creatures that are aware of this fact so we create arbitrary categories around which types of life are okay to destroy (categories we can’t all agree on) in order to maintain the illusion of morality.

This episode does not have a feel-good message among the jokes and absurd characters and I appreciate that. This one got my brain a-churnin’ and I’m sure I read way too much into this episode but I couldn’t help myself.

[highlordofkrypton]

the justice league's moms' book club's guide to vampire slaying, a martha kent, alfred pennyworth, atlanna & hippolyta fanfic

Chapter 7 - Damned Teenagers

The food—the food. 

Heaven is not a place on Earth, but rather a set of people and a combination of circumstances. Heaven is having Martha Kent and Alfred Pennyworth in a single room, showcasing their culinary expertise for no other reason than pure enjoyment. Next time, they’ll invite Tom, who is a master when it comes to serving fish, and seafood, and the trifecta will be complete. 

Atlanna has not said a word, too busy digging into the food. Silence, she has learned, is the sign of true happiness. In a house with two boys who cannot agree on anything except politics, she has come to appreciate the peace that comes with good food. Also, she cannot get enough of everything that is being served. 

“Your son is old enough to take care of himself. Should you want it, there is a place for you on Themyscira.” Hippolyta takes a bite of the slow roasted beef and it melts in her mouth. Martha has prepared a feast for Queens, all in the space of her modest home and by herself. This is a feat that must be rewarded and protected. Hippolyta would not mind hoarding her talents for herself or, at least, giving her ample room and ingredients to make her culinary dreams come true. (And Alfred, too, she guesses.)

“Martha, you’ve really outdone yourself.” Alfred has picked his plate clean. Not a single spot of sauce remains, or a crumb, or even a leaf. 

Smallville is a tiny town with little crime; everyone knows each other and they go way back. These are the same people who have helped protect Clark’s secrets. Whenever something strange would happen around him, they never questioned the explanation, no matter how irrational. Whoever it was wouldn’t do anything, would they? After all, they couldn’t respect the boundaries of her land. 

What if they got lost in the stalks?

The compliment goes unheard as Martha looks towards the kitchen window from her seat.  So, Alfred tries again. 

“Martha, it was really lovely what you’ve made for us.” He reaches out and touches her hand. It jostles her from her thoughts. “Are you alright?”

“Oh, yes, I’m alright,” she smiles.

“She thought she saw someone outside. Rowdy teenagers or the like,” Atlanna supplies, finally taking a breath between chews.

“Oh, glad of you to finally rejoin us on this plane. Were you embodying a Hoover?”

“I’m surprised you know what a Hoover is, your highness. You would learn how to eat like this too if you lived in a house with two growing boys.”

Martha laughs because it’s true. She always makes sure to eat while cooking before Barry and Clark get into the food. The two of them sure can eat, and she imagines it’s about the same for Arthur and Orm, too.

“Hoover was popular in the 40s and 50s. You live on the surface and yet you do not know its history,” Hippolyta complains, rolling her eyes and brushing her friend off. “Shall I drive them off? It will take but just a moment.”

“No, no, it’s alright,” Martha says, but her thoughts grow distant again. In the 90s, she harbored a great fear against cow-tipping. Yes, it was proven to be an urban myth, but she worries about her animals. They’re all she has left, now that Clark lives in the big city. “On second thought, maybe I ought to check.”

All three of them slide back their chairs, ready to join her. 

“Oh, hush, all three of you sit and enjoy. I’ll just have a walk around. Make sure the animals are alright.” She puts on her boots, a warm coat and grabs a flashlight. Normally, when she’s all alone, she’d take the shotgun, too, but she doesn’t want to look like an alarmist around all her friends. It probably isn’t anything, and at the very worst case, just a shout will bring one—or many of—the most powerful weapons in the world. “I’ll be right back. Make yourselves at home.”

“A former special operations executive, an Amazon Queen and an Atlantean Queen sit around a table. It sounds like the start of a bad joke,” Alfred hums.

“Or a really, really good one,” Atlanna beams.

***

The distance between the house and the farm has never felt so far. On one side, her path is lined by a wall of dark stalks, a perfect hiding place for someone to bide their time and watch. Even if they mean no harm, Martha thinks she’d easily be scared if someone were to jump out. Except, that’s always her first thought—the fear, the hesitation, the thought that she won’t be able to do something. Then, she takes a deep breath and trudges forward anyway.

The sounds of the night are much louder on the farm. Crickets singing their songs, and the distance clap of hooves from inside the barn. An occasional moo will soothe her overactive imagination and remind her that she’s been doing this for decades. She chose this life, and it means the world to her.

One step at a time, Matty.

It gets easier once she starts moving, one boot onto the creaky wooden step, then down onto the dusty ground. She sweeps the ground before her with the flashlight’s gaze to make sure there’s nothing in her way. She thought she’d outgrown her pride—it shouldn’t matter what her friends think about her—but they’re all having a nice night, and she doesn’t want to raise the alarm with two warrior Queens. 

Little by little, she makes her way to the barn.

Little by little, the hairs on the back of her neck begin to stand on end. Gooseflesh ripples across her skin at the feeling of being watched. 

Crack.

Something in the stalks. Martha whips towards the corn, shining her bright light towards the dancing leaves. There was something there. Slowly, she backs towards the barn, but the eerie thought that she is exposed from every angle has her heart hammering. This is so silly, she reprimands herself, but instead of calming, she becomes distinctly aware of the distance between the farmhouse and the barn. She is exactly in the middle, away from the safety of her porchlight or the light at the entrance of the barn.

I need to get to the light.

She doesn’t know why, but it’s what her instincts demand of her. Martha turns on her heel and runs. A second pair of feet seem to join jer, and the stalks crack wildly with the approach of something fast and something strong. Her breath squeezes in her chest, burning on its way in, and loud on its way out. The scream bubbles up in her throat, ready to shout for help—

At the last second, Martha pivots and slams her back against the barn, fiddling with the latch while frantically keeping the darkness at bay with her flashlight. She’s terrified to look, but she has to, aiming the beam towards the stalk where a white pale face stares at her among the green. Its eyes are beady black, and its teeth —oh, god, its teeth —are nothing more than a forest of fangs. Its mouth is stained red, and she refuses to think about what it could be. 

She pulls the barn door open and locks it behind her. 

The animals—she has to check on the animals. She’ll worry about getting back later. 

Slam .

The thing slams against her barn door so hard, the entire structure rattles. Louder still is the frantic whinny of Frances, the large black draught horse that is also considered the matron of the farm. Frances stomps her hooves in her stall, huffing loudly to the rhythm of the assault against the barn. The other animals join in, panicked whereas the mare remains fiercely defensive. A crowd of sounds unite against the monster and the banging—

stops.

Martha quickly barricades the door with whatever she can find lying close, and keeps a pitchfork as her makeshift weapon. She hushes the animals and listens.

The scratching starts at the front of the barn, followed by a rattle at the door. When it does not give, the scratching continues around the barn. No, not scratching, but the long drag of something across the barn’s wooden walls. It spooks the animals, some which move away from the walls and huddle together. Frances follows the sound too, and reciprocates with sharp, threatening exhales. 

A rattle at the back door startles her, too, but they keep that door locked, too. It’s blocked by an old tractor Clark hasn’t gotten around to fixing yet (and he won’t let her fix, either).

Whatever it is, it’s looking for a way in. And the realization strikes her.

It’s looking for a way in.

Martha’s eyes dart to the mezzanine that Clark loves so much—a little not-so-secret place where he could study and soak up the sun from the large window-like opening . 

No, she breathes and barrels her way up the stairs. No!  

She’s not—

She’s not going to make it.

[georgiapeach30513]

I really hate comparing people but I saw on Nancy’s page she made a comparison about what Evans was doing on the side during marvel vs hemsworth and I thought that was an accurate AF comparison. And more positive.

Hemmy and Evans are more of a realistic comparison because they are both in the same Hollywood trifecta, get confused for each other and other Chrises, according to fans, both starred as this blonde superhero beefcakes, often being leveraged in films for their physical appearances rather than acting, both went on to do more voice acting for franchises, both have similar audiences due to Steve and Thor, and were referred to as the Chrises whenever the OG 6 was being talked about. Both may have also been pigeonholed in the industry because of this

They genuinely have great rapport and chemistry and especially in the old avengers interviews where they got paired together it was havoc. They were adorable and they still are but they’re both not really taken as seriously as they could/should.

Hems has also tried his part in villain roles which he does well. But he does revert to franchise and cash grab stuff all the time.

I mean, I personally think most of the Sebastian comparisons are people who are Stevebucky fans who can’t let go. They follow both fandoms but some are not fans of both and only fans of one and liek to come to the other to spite like your other anon said. I know this sounds harsh but like I’m not seeing where these two made any sense but I do see Chris and Chris making sense.

Hemsworth fans are much more lighthearted and they love their big goofball despite him probably not on the path to win any Oscar’s. But he’s fun to watch and nice to look at.

Why can’t more CE fans treat him the way hemsworth fans treat their Chris? They’re both love able in their owns ways and as a pair they’re cute too. I also love Steve and Thor together and think their relationship is underrated.

I just hate the SS comparisons because ITS ALWAYS to spite and compete and it’s like, guys enough already. Let it be. Move on. Haha

That being said you are a fan of both so I completely understand you’re going to get anons for both and often it bleeds together. You’re always very pragmatic as well and I dig that.

I agree that Hemmy is a better comparison. But I also don’t understand why we have to compare him to anyone but himself. It’s how we should live life, the only competition you should have is the person you were yesterday.

But you do bring up excellent points on their careers. And I miss seeing those two together. The Seb and Chris competition I don’t feel is going anywhere anytime soon. I’m tabling the conversation. It just makes no sense to me.

I am a fan of both, and I became a fan long before they were in CATFA. I watched Sebastian on Once Upon A Time in live time. I think that has been able to separate the two as actors. They’ve both have had long careers, and they are both taking their careers in different directions. As they should.

[theotherbuckley]

Re: your post about Buck having to deal w/Gerrard. I've seen a lot of people not into the possibility of Buck potentially taking the brunt of Gerrard's shit (in comparison to the poc 118 members). While Gerrard is the ugly trifecta of racist, sexist, and homophobic, is it possible he's more outwardly homophobic than anything? (tbh though, I haven't watched Gerrard's S2 scenes in a few years, so I might be forgetting something that contradicts that).

I would think Hen would suffer Gerrard's shit more than anyone, but I think for storyline balancing, they'll focus her time (and maybe Chim's too?) on the still open storyline happening with Mara and Ortiz. But the Ortiz thing will no doubt become entangled with Gerrard at some point. Idk, I do anticipate Gerrard being awful to everyone while he's around, unless it's someone who can serve some sort of purpose for his own gain (Ortiz). And I know this is story is 'old news' from the fandom perspective, but there's a small part of me that wonders if Gerrard wouldn't also have a unique distaste for a firefighter with a history of suing the LAFD.

I think Gerrard is definitely incredibly racist and sexist which we saw in the glimpses of him in the past. He’s homophobic too just clearly an overall asshole. I don’t necessarily think Buck will face it the worst. I think all of the POCs and Hen as a woman too will definitely face the worst of it. I just think Buck won’t know how to deal with it because he’s never had to before.

For Buck there’s no such thing as a work/life balance — work is life itself family. Everyone else has has times where they had to separate that — Hen and Chim both experienced lots of different captains including Gerrard and Eddie was a soldier with a family back home and I’m sure that wasn’t easy.

Point is they will feel shit but they also have separate work and personal lives and currently those personal lives are going a little bit to shit — so they have other things to care about more than just work. I think they know how to compartmentalise and deal with that even though they will definitely struggle.

Buck doesn’t. Buck doesn’t know how to separate the two, that’s been a theme from the beginning where everyone told him that there’s a reason they wear a uniform — so they can take it off at the end of the day. Except when Bobby said they weren’t a family Buck proved him wrong. He made it a family and instead of listening to them about taking his uniform off Buck was always the same Buck with or without it.

I think it will be interesting to see how he behaves when he can’t treat work and home the same. I wonder how that might go into his personal life at home with Tommy too, who’s also gone through Gerrard. Buck’s a white (thought he was cishet) man but now for the first time he’ll face what it means not to be.

Anyways, I think it’s going to be very interesting to see. Also I think the article was only listing bad things and currently Buck and Tommy are happy so like they wouldn’t mention that on the article and they have to mention something 😅

And regarding what you said about the lawsuit — honestly 911 as a show doesn’t often come back to storylines 😅 once they’re done they’re done. But maybe an off handed comment about it sure but honestly I kinda doubt it. Anyway thanks for the ask it’s always really interesting to see other peoples takes.

[rjzimmerman]

Sen. Sheldon Whitehouse tells it like it is: 'one crew, one plan, one cancer in the body politic'. (Daily Kos)

I'm cutting and pasting this text from one of today's Daily Kos newsletters that land in my inbox. I think that Senator Whitehouse is possibly the smartest senator among the 100. He's a Democrat from Rhode Island and always has the smartest and bravest observations when matters are particularly ugly.

"Below is an unrolled string of tweets from Democratic Sen. Sheldon Whitehouse about our political predicament. More of our Senators should be talking like this and joining Whitehouse’s relentless attacks on the corruption and authoritarianism eating away at democracy. 

Our current situation should give Dems a rejuvenating chance to focus better on fixing what’s gone wrong in America.

We face three huge threats: persistent internal attacks on our democracy, unbridled climate upheaval, and a captured Court with some deeply corrupt justices

Behind each threat is dark money; massive anonymous political spending by special interests who hide their identities from the public.

The political class has reoriented itself to this new reality, pivoting to the big secret spenders. Voters notice they’re not so important anymore. An entire dark-money ecosystem has been spawned, with front groups, ‘Donors Trusts,’ coordinating 501c3s and c4s, and superPACs.

This whole filthy bestiary of influence is new (or refocused and expanded) since Citizens United. It didn’t used to be this way; it doesn’t have to be this way.

Democrats keep voting to get rid of dark money, and Republicans keep voting to protect dark money, but voters have no idea. We basically haven’t told them.

Which is pathetic because voters hate dark money with a passion, Republicans, independents and Democrats alike. Polling is off the charts.

(When done, that is; too often pollsters blow the dust each year off their polling questions from the ‘90s and this question doesn’t get asked!)

Climate change is out of control because of a massive dark-money politics and propaganda operation run by the fossil fuel industry.

Before Citizens United, climate was a bipartisan concern (see McCain 2008 platform); fossil-fuel dark money killed bipartisanship.

The Court was captured by a dark-money operation funded by creepy polluter billionaires and managed by their creepy minion Leonard Leo.

The ‘amenable’ justices are instructed via coordinated flotillas of dark-money amici curiae, with correlation near perfect between instruction and result.

Republicans are complicit in all this because the dark money behind these schemes is also the dark money billions behind their political operations.

It’s a trifecta; dark money is behind climate denial, Court capture and corruption of Congress — one crew, one plan, one cancer in the body politic.

Democrats should be blowing the whistle on the whole dark-money rot.It explains so much, it has obvious villains, and it has the added benefit of being true.

We are in a war for our future and we should behave that way.

[chthonicgodling]

/KICKS THE DOOR DOWN- omFG HELLO ITS FINALLY TIME FOR-

welcome to an Elysium Drama Update tHAT IVE BEEN VAGUING AND HYPING ABOUT FOR THREEEEEEEE MONTHS 😱 yes you ARE reading this correctly! After all this time of spiraling deeper and deeper RECENTLY and after the VERY long tumultuous past of the previous decade-ish - the Taki Fuego Trifecta Trio (their tag here) is HAVING AN ENTIRE BABY BY CHOICE AND ON PURPOSE— oh mmmmYYYY GGGGGGGOD—

All five of these illustrations feature completely canon dialogue dating back from January when they first started trying for a baby. now that Loki finally confirmed that he’s actually pregnant a few weeks ago - clearly out loud and in words - it is finally time to reveal this news to all of YOU!

Congratulations YOU are now part of a select few! NO ONE ELSE IN THE PALACE KNOWS YET.

The baby Loki is now incubating is sired by Tory!! with Maci of course knowingly and delightedly pulling all puppet strings “behind the scenes” aka like, to the left of them or whatever on the bed.💞How did this even fucking happen you may be asking??!!! They went from fun bedroom dynamic to let’s have an entire babBY?!?! Well- just like the way these playfully suggestive drawings (every one of these convos took place during…… during. uhhhhhhhhhh) are slyly ambiguous in the way I chose to draw them - let me explain the decision of this baby in the same,, extremely sanitized way:::

Maci and Tory.,,, will say.,,, literally anything. And During one such occasion,, it dawned on Loki - and them too, honestly — suddenly with a full record scratch that — wait are you actually being serious?? WAIT DO YOU *ACTUALLY* WANT A—

As nudged upon here and also in my many recent lore essays, please remember that Loki’s ~antsy~ when it comes to his pregnancies and history of children; due to the prior tragedies that had befallen the first six he’s always made it a habit of just vanishing, paranoid and anxious, each time he’s found himself pregnant. However Maci and Tory unequivocally and wholeheartedly asking him to make a baby with them because 💞love💞 and 💞lust💞 and 💞clingy vibes💞- again LITERALLY the first EVER baby ON PURPOSE EVER- was enough to IMMEDIATELY make him go starry eyed. Even though over these past few months since Tory first initiated the talk Loki had…. Still has……. refused to admit that and continued to be his usual vaguely hostile and suspicious self but….

As of today he’s six weeks pregnant (he can always, magically, tell right away) and he has not yet disappeared.in fact he hasn’t even left their BED or their SIDE in THREE MONTHS. 🥺 mhy god hellO., Loki you’re so full of shit and they’re onto you. Maybe stop blushing so much.

and so now begins the countdown to NEW MYSTERY BABY and the shenanigans that will follow; ONCE AGAIN I am FLOORED and THRILLED and WATCHING all this with my jaw on the FLOOR. ‼️they’re not a throuple this is just uhh fun things to do with your platonic friends!‼️ (oh my god I’m gonna lose my mind for fucking real—)

All the dialogue in the orange bubbles + Tory himself of course belong to @fenixethekid , hiatused, once again trying for real to kill me im pretty sure.Maci & all pink and green bubbles are mine; EeL is mine too idc; do NOT tag this with the m word; I hope this has been worth the hype (and I’m pretty sure I was EXTREMELY obvious about hinting at this so?!?!?! GOLD STAR IF YOU’D ALREADY GUESSED THIS NEWS!)

POPS CHAMPAGNE STAY TUUUUNEDDDDD