#books and instead building up a relationship with the white police officer that just. has a negligible presence in the books so far)

[andromedasummer]

been very slowly going through the phryne fisher novels (on blood and circuses rn) and its reminded me of one of the episodes in season 2 of the tv adaptation (i think? maybe season 3) where the plot revolved around university students at a Melbourne college abd the murder of a professor, and one of the main characters who is briefly posited as a murder suspect is an autistic woman working as a student helper to the professor (its not like. explicitly said bcos the show is set in the 1930s) and its somehow... one of the more accurate and sensitive depictions of an autistic person ive seen in tv media? shes shown to be stand-offish and awkward and uncomfortable in social situations and the character that torments her about this is very clearly The Bad Person And Asshole. When questioning her about the murder Phryne actively finda a way to talk to her in a way shes comfortable with (both nose to nose against a wall, some distance from one another, not making eye contact, speaking quietly because this entire situation has pretty much sent her into a meltdown ). when they realize shes at risk of being harmed phryne has her stay at her home. shes shown to be incredibly passionate about her area of study in the university (a bit of it plays into the savant stereotype which is one of the few issues prevalent in media about autistic people like the good doctor, etc, but uts not presented as like "oh shes autistic BUT shes really smart about this thing and basically a superhero so its okay") shes shown to have specific dietary requirements shes adamant about (jam sandwiches only.) and the other characters are like "oh! weird. actually, thats not my business. let me grab you one." and she develops a really lovely friendship with phryne that ties into the whole plot and motive for the murder (another professor killing the murdered professor so he can prevent information which disprove his biological and sociological research which is based entirely on eugenics and psuedoscience, which the murder victim found disgusting and didnt want taught when his assistants existence literally disproved that bullshit) and i don't know how to finish this i guess i wasnt expecting a genuine attempt at properly representing autistic people in this show about murders in the 1930s

[peppermintquartz]

I'm feeling bitchily critical today so. Let's get critical.

Reasons why Season 8 of 911 (so far) sucks:

Bobby and Athena are aimless

They have no house. The logical development is for them to look for one, one for their future. That is theirs. Where are the house hunting woes? The disageeements and compromises? Are they ever going to have a chance to find a place they both love? Or build one, even?

Athena's job description is all over the place

She's giving school talks. She's conducting traffic stops. She's escorting a prisoner across state lines. She is mentoring new officers. She's a goddamn Sergeant but what is her job scope? Every single thing requiring the presence of police, apparently!

Hen and Karen have little direction for growth

The Mara adoption issue could have brought out more of their relationship, developed them in terms of relying on each other through a difficult time. The storyline with Ortiz could have really delved into the struggles of the foster care system, and how Hen and Karen broke rules designed to protect the kids. (Seriously, if a child is removed from a foster family, it's logical not allowing the foster parents to meet the child that was removed for the safety of the child). Where was the appeal to Ortiz as a mother? Where was the struggle? Where is the tension between the Wilsons and the Hans? Instead there was a Deux Ex Gerrard. And I am not even gonna start on the whole "why didn't you take leave for Halloween" shit, that stuff should have been settled when Denny was a baby. What are their next steps? Same old same old?

Gerrard is a joke

An established bigot and racist returns. He could have been a great way to show how the 118 has grown beyond him and his bullying. Instead they're cowed by him, and lets him yell at Buck? Whatever happened to the "who cares" courage in Season 7? And he gets the reward of his dream job?

Eddie is still not healed

He emotionally cheated on his girlfriend with his dead wife's doppelganger. Has he even processed what that actually means? No! His son moved to Texas. Has he coped with the loneliness in his house? Who knows? Certainly not the audience, since we don't see him go to therapy or, hell, have a full breakdown! He confides in people who aren't his friends, let alone his so-called best friend! Bobby gave him a prayer book but we don't even hear Eddie rage at a God who keeps putting devastation and challenges in his way. What wa the point of the prayer book then? He just danced in his underwear and somehow that made him smile and now he's moving across the country and, what, giving up on his home and his job? Is that really healing, Edmundo Díaz? Or are you just running from the problem again?

Chimney has no internal or external motivation

He was providing for Mara for a few months. Was he stressed about it? Did he think about seeking a promotion for a higher salary? Also, he is an immigrant. Does that influence how he teaches Jee? Has he and Maddie, white suburban raised Maddie, ever discussed the potential problems Jee might face? Or whether they wanna include some Korean culture in Jee's education, since they gave her a Korean name? Does he ever think about any of these issues? Is he at all conflicted? What does Chimney want?

Maddie

She was the one who wanted to meet Tommy. Has she done so outside of the wedding? What was her opinion of him? Is Maddie content to stay in Dispatch in the exact same position? Has she any career ambition? And about Jee: does she never think about the Korean part of Jee? Connecting to her own culture? Learning Korean, maybe? That would have been interesting because perhaps she wants her daughter to connect to that part of her roots but Chimney doesn't, for his own reasons. Also, if she wants to have a second kid, why didn't she discuss it with Chimney outright before the pregnancy? Was she not taking the pill? Were they careless again? What would she do if Chimney didn't want a second child? Abort? Given how the first pregnancy was traumatic for the whole family, including her brother, this development is showing her to be pretty self-centered, frankly. I don't know this Maddie. She's not the same one that gave Buck her Jeep to escape, knowing that she'll be hurt by an abusive husband.

Brad

Why is airtime devoted to a character that is barely connected to the 118? What is the reason behind giving him so much focus? Is he supposed to quit acting and become a firefighter or something? What is the rationale for his existence?

.

.

And I haven't even touched on Buck or Tommy.

[readerstories]

Tie Reveal - Aaron Hotchner x male!reader

What is it with me and turning short and sweet ideas into long one shots? Yeah so anyway, enjoy (AO3)

Warnings/tags: relationship rreveal, fluff and humor, light angst

Wordcount: 2837

Summary: You come into work wearing the wrong tie

You hate rushing in the morning, preferring to start your day in a calm and relaxed manner. That’s not on the table for today however, as you and Aaron both rush to get dressed.

“You’re going to be late.” You say as you button your shirt, glad you had had the forethought to grab on from your to go bag, as not wake any suspicion or teasing from the team. Aaron glances at the clock as he puts his shoes on.

“It’s still before the time you usually get in.”

“Yeah, but not for you.” You pick up your ties from the floor, giving Aaron’s to him. You’re quick to put yours on, Aaron mirroring you.

“I’ll just say that I got a flat tire.” You nod, stealing a quick kiss from him as you grab your jacket on the way out.

“Okay, see you at work!” You’re out the door before he can respond, making your way quickly down, not even bothering with the elevator in your haste to get to your car.

—-

You make it to work on time, only a few minutes later than usual, but that can be blamed on the fresh coffee in your hand from the coffee shop down the street.

As the elevator plings to announce your arrival on the right floor, you’re met by Garcia, Reid, and Morgan standing right outside, groaning as they spot you.

“Well, good morning to you guys too.” You say with a confused look at them all as you step out.

“It’s not you, we’re just just waiting for Hotch.” Garcia explains and you raise a brow, faking confusion.

“Hotch? Isn’t he here already?”

“No, so I got worried, so I checked his phone and it was pinging on the road just outside his apartment building, which is weird cause he’s normally the first one here-”

“Are you even supposed or allowed to do that outside of a case or emergency?” Garcia hesitates, and you huff and shake your head at them.

“Well, I’m going to go and start work, like you all should.” You leave the team as they go back to watching the elevator doors, quickly shooting off a text to Hotch to let him know that the flat tire excuse won’t work.

A few minutes later you hear a happy Garcia shout Hotch’s name and seconds later he comes in through the glass doors, followed by Garcia, Reid, and Morgan.

“Guys, I’m fine, I just slept trough my alarm this morning.”

“But you never do that.” Garcia responds, hot on his heels.

“So what’s her name?” Morgan quips, Hotch stops in his tracks to give him a withering glare before resuming his path to his office.

“Ohhh, lover boy!” Morgan teases at Hotch’s back.

“Remember we got a briefing in ten minutes sir!” Garcia yells after him before the door to his office is closed behind him. You hide your smile behind your coffee, trying not to bring much attention to yourself. Garcia leaves to prepare a few last things for the briefing, but Reid and Morgan linger next to your desk, still standing.

“Do you really think that’s what made him late?” Reid asks.

“Come on, that man never misses anything and sleeps light, and Jack is away for a week, so what else could it be?” Morgan glances at you. “What do you think?” You take a sip of your coffee, pretending to think.

“Maybe, or maybe he is telling the truth. The man is only human, and with the amount of hours he spends in the office he might actually just have slept trough his alarm.” Morgan nods, but doesn’t seem convinced.

You all make your way into the meeting room. You sit down in the chair next to a standing Garcia as you often do, Reid, Morgan, JJ, and Rossi joining you around the table, Hotch striding in as usual a few minutes later.

“Garcia, please begin.” He stays on his feet, ready to go as soon as he can.

“Look to the screen my mighty crime fighters, because today you’re goi-”

“You’ve switched ties.” Reid cuts Garcia off mid-sentence, making everyone look at Reid, wondering what in the world he is talking about. He points at you.

“You and Hotch, you’ve switched.” Both of you look down, then at each other as the team looks between the two of you. Shit, he’s right.

“When you came in I saw your tie was the same as Hotch wore yesterday, a grey tie with a Gucci pattern. I just thought you had bought the same one, since you both have a similar taste in ties, but Hotch got the same as you wore yesterday, a grey tie with stripes, which still has the small coffee stain from when you spilled some yesterday.” Hotch frowns as lifts up the tie to inspect it, and yes, there’s indeed a small, barely noticeable speck of coffee about halfway up the tie he is wearing. No one says anything for a few seconds, you yourself have turned into a statue, neutral expression on your face. Hotch is much the same, everyone else looking between you two. Garcia is the first one to break the silence, squealing with glee.

“Omg, omg, guys!” She yells as she hugs you from behind, the angle a little awkward with how she leaning over your sitting form. You’re not stone anymore, but you don’t return the hug before she lets you go. Morgan and JJ are both grinning, Rossi is looking at Hotch with smile, Reid is trying not to do the same at you while you glare daggers at him. Hotch sighs.

“Garcia...” His tone is chastising, reminding everyone that there is something else to focus on, which seems to snap her back to work mode. Sort of.

“Right, right, case, lets just brush past that revelation about two of my best friends, so, uhhh, where were we? Or right! Today you’re going to-” She begins to explain the case, both you and Hotch get a few more glances before everyone turns their focus on the case.

----

On the jet you think you’re in the clear, until Rossie settles in the seat next to you. Which is odd, because you’re the only two on the jet so far, and he usually doesn’t sit next to you.

“So you and Hotch huh?” You pretend to read over the case files in front of you, and Rossi chuckles.

“You know, none of us expected a thing. Well done on hiding it from a group of profilers I must say.”

“Rossi, there’s nothing-”

“There’s nothing?” He’s grinning, clearly teasing as he looks down to your tie and taps it with a finger. “Something tells me otherwise.” You sigh, but are saved from answering by the rest of the team joining you on the jet. Everybody buckles down for take off, and not long after you’re in the air, and then all the attention is on the case.

For a little while at least.

You can tell they want to talk about it, but the case keeps everyone occupied, so there’s nothing else before JJ comes back from the hotel with the room cards. Everyone is spread around doing different tasks, so she finds you alone in the conference room the team had been given. You’re reading trough the victims files for some more specifics on victimology when she places a keycard on the table in front of you. You look up, startled as you hadn’t even noticed her entering the room.

“You’ve seen Hotch?” She asks and you furrow a brow.

“I think he’s talking to the police chief in his office, why?”

“His key card, but you can just give it to him when you see him, since you’re sharing a room.”

“I thought we were past the budget cuts-”

“Oh we are, but Garcia made some changes to the booking after this mornings briefing sooo....” JJ grins and you sigh, rubbing your forehead. There’s silence and no movement for a few seconds, then there’s a hand on your shoulder.

“Hey, you know we will always support you guys right?” You sigh heavily, resting your own hand on top of JJ’s, looking up at her.

“I know, it’s just... It wasn’t revealed in the best way.” She grimaces.

“Yeah.” She looks uncertain how to respond, but seems to go for light, which you are grateful for. “But I’m surprised none of us caught on until then, it has been going on for at least a couple of months right?” You try to hide your grin as you pretend to go back to reading the files.

“Well, I’m not a ‘kiss and tell’ kinda guy, but it’s a bit more than a couple months.” JJ laughs and pats your shoulder before leaving the room.

You find Hotch not long after, and when you tell him the whole situation around the shared room, he sighs too, but mostly in a ‘oh what can you do’ kind of way, seemingly mostly resigned to everyone knowing now.

Even with sharing the same room and not needing to hide anything from the team, you go back to the hotel without him. The man is a workaholic, and you want a shower and some sleep, but he promises to join you soon. Instead you end up sharing a car with Reid and Morgan, neither of which say anything in the car, but while you’re waiting for the elevator, all bets seems to be off.

“So, you and the bossman huh?” Morgan teases with a grin as you do your best to ignore him, watching the numbers on the display tick down. The elevator door opens and you quickly step inside, hoping to leave them both behind. But alas, no such luck, as they step inside and Reid presses the button to the floor above yours.

“You know, work place relationships aren’t actually that uncommon. Did you know-” Here you tune him out, once again watching the numbers off the elevator. Normally you like when Reid goes on a tangent, but now, not so much.

“Reid, I will strangle you with my tie to shut you up if I have to.”

“Don’t you mean Hotch’s tie?” The grin on his face is shit-eating, which is rare from Spencer, and Morgan laughs loudly. The combination of it makes you curse under your breath as the doors finally open to your floor. You don’t bother saying goodbye, just going straight down the hall towards the door with your room number on it. Sliding the keycard in, it opens with a click. You drop your bag on the floor as soon as the door shuts behind you, and you switch on the lights.

You can’t help it.

You laugh as you take in the big room in front of you.

Or rather, the suite.

The honeymoon suite by the looks of it. Red and white decor, candles, big bed, nicely decorated with towels shaped like a heart, and some champagne in an ice-bucket on the desk in the room. There’s a small white card right next to the champagne, which you quickly read. ‘Have fun ;) -G’. You snort at it, that woman is a menace. (But also very nice, but you do shoot her text to warn her that she should sleep with one eye open. The only response you get is a winking emoji).

A surprisingly short time later you hear the door to the suite unlock, alerting you to Aaron’s arrival where you just stepped out of the shower. He calls your name in a questioning tone, you’re quick to respond as you wrap a towel around your mostly dry form.

“In here, one sec.” You step out of the bathroom, Aaron’s attention going straight to you before pointedly looking around the room. You lean on the door frame of the bathroom.

“Garcia.” You offer as an explanation.

“Ah.” He accepts, looking around once more. “This is going to be a fun expense report.” You snort at that, pushing yourself of the door frame and walking over to him. Putting your arms around his neck, you pull him close for a kiss.

“Certainly, but let us enjoy it for now, I’m sure Garcia has an explanation locked and ready for the report when we need it.” Aaron tries not to smile at that, but is halfway to failing when you catch his lips in a kiss.

----

The next time your relationship is brought up is on the jet back when the case ends well a few days later. Everyone have found their way to pass the time as usual. Reid and Rossi are playing chess in the one of two seaters, Morgan is half asleep, JJ is typing away on her phone next to him, across from them in the aisle seat is Hotch who has started on more paper work already, and you’re laying down on the couch across from them reading a book.

Everybody is in their own little bubble, that’s until Rossi is standing in the aisle and clearing his throat. Everyone looks at him, even Derek who JJ jostles awake with an elbow. Rossi got a bottle of expensive looking whiskey in one hand, several glasses in the other.

“I believe a little celebration is in order.” He starts handing out glasses, you sit up and close your book as you accept yours, just as Garcia pops up on the screen over the couch.

“What for?” You ask, genuinely curious, giving Garcia a look trough the screen, a very grinning and happy looking Garcia.

“Well, the case went well, we saved several people, and ah yes, your not so secret relationship anymore.”

“Rossi-” You and Hotch try to say something at the same time, but Rossi doesn’t let either of you speak another word.

“Oh no no no, neither of you get to Rossi me. Just shut up and listen okay?” He pours a hefty helping of whiskey in everyone’s glass as he speaks, even Garcia got a glass back home somehow, no doubt filled with something similar.

“We just want you both to know that we are very happy for you, both of you. And though the way us knowing came about wasn’t ideal, we will always support and be there for you.” You and Hotch look around at your team, noting the happy faces watching you before making brief eye contact.

“I want you all to know that nothing in this team changes with this, we’re still going to work together and remain professional while on the clock. There will be no preferential treatment here.”

“What he said.” You incline your head towards Hotch as you look around the jet once more.

“Aaron, we know that. Like I said, we just want you both to be happy.” Rossi says, soft smile on his face. You raise your glass, trying to pretend that the slight sting you can feel in your eyes is just tiredness.

“Cheers to that.” Everyone joins in, clinking their glasses together in loud celebration and happy voices, Garcia cheering with her glass against the camera lens back home. Everyone takes a sip of the whiskey, several mentioning the smooth burn of it.

“So, how long have you two love birds been together?” Morgan eyes flicker between you and Aaron.

“See, that right there Morgan is the million dollar question.” Rossi points between you both. “Come on, out with it.” You grin, trying and failing to hide your grin behind taking another sip of the whiskey, Aaron doing the same.

“Do you want to tell them or should I?” You ask, getting up to lean on the chair Aaron is sitting in. He looks up at you, taking your hand and placing it on his shoulder.

“I think you should.”

“Okay.” You say with a shrug, looking at all of the team before settling your gaze on Spencer. “Remember the strangulation serial killer we caught in LA earlier this year?”

“We caught him and finished that case 6 months, 11 days, and 9 hours ago.” Spencer helpfully supplies.

Then it dawns on them all what that means.

Yells of surprise from everyone, and this time neither you or Aaron try to hide your matching grins. Rossi is laughing loudly while slapping his knee, Reid seems to have lost his composure, mumbling that he should have seen something sooner, Garcia is speechless for perhaps the first time since you have known her, Morgan looks frozen in shock, and JJ is trying to hide her laughter behind her hand.

“6 months? How even?!” Morgan exclaims. You shrug, your grin shit-eating by now.

“What can I say, we’re good profilers and now how to hide our tells.” You glance at Aaron and squeezes his shoulder, who in return brings your hand to his lips for a brief kiss on your knuckles. Garcia squeals from her screen, gushing over how cute the two of you are as you smile and laugh in response.

[bangtanlalaland]

falcon | jjk 01 (m.)

synopsis ⇣ Jungkook Jeon, known as “Falcon,” unites with his best friend to rebel against the twisted, dominant system of the city, Python, until everything changes when he crosses paths with one of many enemies.

— dystopia au; enemies to lovers au

⇢pairing: free runner!jeon jungkook x detective!female reader    ⇢featuring: free runner!park jimin, free runner!kim namjoon, free runner!min yoongi & police captain!jung hoseok

⇢genre: angst, fluff, smut

⇢word count: 12.2k

⇢contents ⨯ warnings: (this fic is totally inspired by mirror’s edge), there’s isn’t any smut in this chapter (but there will be in future chapters), slow burn, some fluff in there, so much dialogue (it’s literally a MOVIE), some violence, some blood, some death, swearing lots of action (oops), fighting, free-running, lots & lots of drama (srsly get your popcorn ready), mentions of premonitions, major plot twists, infidelity (sorta?), mentions of sex, some sope action (yes i said it), namgi is also a thing (oop), basically jungkook is a rebel & proud, jimin is very clever (like woah), namjoon is a leader & sweetheart (as always), yoongi is a bad guy (¿woahhh did we expect that?) hoseok is a fuckboi (i’m sorry ugh :(((), also viper in this story is actually taehyung (oop), police stuff (duh), lots of bi stuff going on here, (much love for the lgbtq community)

artwork poster by: @hellenys​​

song rec: “falcon” by jaden smith

a/n: woah! so this is yet another wip that I’ve had for so long. I’ve made the decision to make this a series! (or maybe a two-shot) still not 100% sure yet, but I am honestly beyond relieved to finally release this. also a huge thank you to @hellenys​ for the artwork! I was actually inspired to start writing falcon after seeing her work. (specifically the photo above^) so you guys go check her out, her artwork is amazing!

Smack.

The sound of your boss dropping a chunky stack full of vanilla colored folders onto your desk, in your cubicle, startles your attention from sipping your now third afternoon dose of coffee. You swear he has been on your ass ever since you stepped foot into the clouded atmosphere of the police department. You were convinced you’re in Hell. Literally.

He eagerly spills, “These missing persons reports aren’t going to solve themselves. I can’t even step out for a $5 burger at that fast food shit place down the street without the press breathing down my neck about the citizens’ missing loved ones.”

You sigh for what has been the one thousandth time today so far. Going on one thousand-one. This city has been getting worse as the days go by, missing persons reports dating as far as 10 years back, maybe more if you really dig deep in there. Runners scatter the rooftops of the city, yet you and your entire team were left with zero leads. And your boss was right; the press was constantly nagging like a toddler at the age of two. Yet you and your tiny team were responsible for getting hands dirty and finding answers. And here he goes yet again…

“Contact the victims families. See if there’s any new information they could give us. Just in case. Over time, victims may remember details they happened to leave out- ” The phone for the department rings on your desk, and you hold your index finger up as if to politely ask your boss to shut his damn mouth so you can answer the phone.

“Python Police Department.” Your face grows concerned, mouthing to your boss: “Missing Person.” He throws his hands up and shakes his head in response, waiting for your departure from the phone. The elderly woman seemed borderline upset, but mostly depressed. As if all the life that was once in her was drained completely. After reassuring you will find answers, you hang up and turn to face your boss.

“It was a lady named Mrs. Jeon. She wants to follow up on the case for her son. Jungkook?” You say, more so as a question rather than a statement, in hopes that you pronounced his name correctly. Your boss nods in approval, clearly knowledgeable of who you’re talking about.

“Yeah she calls here at least one or twice a week saying the same thing over and over again,” he pauses momentarily then starts, “I remember that kid. He was in high school when his mother reported him missing,” he continues while shaking his head.

“I’ll never forget the day dispatch called me out there to see what was going on. This was back in my rookie detective days. At first I thought maybe he’s just playing hooky. Happens all the time, right?” You nod in agreement. You’d heard of his name before but never looked into it, considering you’d just been promoted 4 months ago. And for the first month, you’d only been sent to canvas witnesses. Although sadly, Jungkook is simply one among hundreds if not thousands of cases that have gone cold.

He continues, “But then, we checked the grid and his chip was gone. We didn’t get any alerts about its removal, so it was definitely shocking.”

“That doesn’t make sense. What do you mean it was gone?” You ask with crossed arms.

“Well, more like the grid showed that the chips’ location was his home. Obviously, he isn’t home and we searched the house. No chip.” He pauses for a moment as if processing what he’s about to say, “Someway, somehow, he removed himself from the grid. But, he wasn’t the only one.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I reassured Mrs. Jeon that if he didn’t show up in two days then we could file a missing persons report. She insisted that something was wrong and didn’t want to wait two days. But she had no other choice, and so she filed the report and days turned into weeks, months, and years.”

“How long?” You question.

With a sigh he replies, “Five.”

“No wonder she’s calling.”

“I know. But that’s the weirdest thing about it. As I mentioned, Jungkook wasn’t the only one with a missing chip.” He reassures with a sigh of what you assume is exhaustion.

“And?”

Your boss squints his eyes, as if he’s thinking.

“Follow me.”

He leads you to the “Cold Cases” room. It looks almost like a library, but instead of children books it’s several cases from murders to runaways — where endless amounts of evidence, files, reports, and other tangible items are stored. He scrambles through a pull out drawer of folders labeled and sectioned off in alphabetical order. He then pulls out a vanilla folder, and opens the file, revealing a photo of a young teen with dark, brown hair and plump, pink lips.

“Mrs. Park. Mother of Jimin Park. She filed a missing persons report the same day Mrs. Jeon did. They actually came together. And apparently they live on the same street.” He states while exiting the room and striding you into his office.

You inquire, trying to catch up to his quick pace. “So what are you implying?”

“I think…” he trails off, placing the folder on top of his desk and flopping into his office seat. “Jungkook and Jimin decided to drop out of school and run away in the sunset together.”

“And why would you assume that?”

“Well, let’s talk about the runners that run the rooftops. I know you’re still trying to get the hang of things, but there’s a pattern with this.”

“Okay?” You more-so question, rather than stating.

“First things first. Their chips. Runners always remove them, except we get alerts when done so.” He pauses. Of course you’re aware of the misdemeanor charge for that, right?” You nod in a “yes” gesture.

“Good. So, first they remove the chips. Second, they completely vanish. No one sees them for good and has no knowledge of where they are. It’s like they never existed, right? Families, friends, co-workers or whoever they know don’t see them anymore.”

You nod again, catching along. “Mmhmm.”

“Then, a missing persons report is filed. Either by a relative or a close friend. With that being said, it only makes sense that Jungkook and Jimin would be close together at least. I mean surely if Mrs. Park filed a report with Mrs. Jeon then couldn’t they both have known each other? Or at least had some knowledge of the relationship their sons had with one another? And again, the chips. Surely, they were in this together, and there’s not one part of me that doubts it.”

You take a deep sigh, soaking this information in, “Makes sense.”

“Look,” he says, while moving closer to you, stuffing his hands in his pockets. You gaze upon him, admiring the beauty mark on the left side of his top lip. His chocolate waves crown his face.

“What I’m trying to say is- If you find one of them, chances are you’ll find the other. Just… please be careful, ____. If these guys can suddenly vanish off the grid without a trace, who knows what else they’re capable of?”

Meanwhile, Jimin barges into a hideout on a rooftop (now part of an abandoned building) far into the city, but enough distance from prying eyes. He’s panting, out of breath, sweating and bent over as he removes his earpiece, swiping the perspiration from his forehead with the back of his hand. He runs his fingers through his jet, black strands. The sun slightly scorched his once pale cheeks, resulting in a rosy, pink shade.

“Fuck!”

Namjoon removes his headset and arises from his seat in the area that he and his mates have labelled as “coms,” having hacked into the city’s surveillance system.

“Good job, Phoenix. Water?” He asks, while offering Jimin a sip of his bottled water, before downing it completely.

“Fuck, no. I almost fucking died!” Jimin replies, still panting.

“Relax. You’re alive, aren’t you?” Namjoon retorts nonchalantly.

He crushes his plastic bottle and lunges it toward Jungkooks slumped figure over the couch nearby. He grunts in response, jerking up in his sleep. Being on the run for the past 5 years has only caused him to be as alert as a hawk.

“You’re up next, Falcon.” Jungkook shakes his head, gaining consciousness of his surroundings again. His black tank top and white nylon sweats having stuck to his form. His milk, chocolate strands blanket his face as he sits up, rubbing his eyes. The faint sunlight helps to awaken him from his slumber, as he covers his eyes to adjust to the sunrays. Jimin, who now has gained his breath back, flings his earpiece at Jungkook.

“Blue lights are heavy today. Watch your ass, huh?” With that, Jungkook stretches upward while placing the earpiece on. On his way towards the tiny kitchen area, Namjoon keys into the channel.

“Thunderbird for Falcon.” Jungkook gulps his banana milk and returns the carton to its place in the fridge. Wiping his mouth to rid the milk residue, he responds, “Go for Falcon.”

“I’m sure you probably don’t want to hear this. But it’s time for a test run.”

Jungkook is silent, yet internally screaming. He hates test runs. Who doesn’t though?

“I know what you’re thinking. I’ve told you before that one time won’t count. But, I need to calculate your momentum, and it helps tremendously to compare to your previous test runs.” Jungkook wasn’t worried about speed, but more so about his body. The last time he’d done a test run, he had completely passed out from overworking his body. Namjoon couldn’t leave the hideout, given that blue lights were everywhere and he didn’t want to risk not having anyone watching over the place. Luckily Jimin was already out for a run, and decided to take a detour to rescue his best friend. But, Jungkook does not like to fail. In fact, he despises it. He’s afraid that he’d fail. Again. He takes a deep breath.

“I know you can do it. The advantage now is that you actually got rest.” Jungkook couldn’t help but nod in agreement. He knew the last time he was going non-stop and being the stubborn bunny he is, Namjoon warned him more than once that he’d burnout sooner or later. But that’s the conflict with Jungkook. He grew complacent of being on the run constantly. It’s his life now; he hates the society he lives in and refuses to live according to the systems’ standards.

“Copy that, Thunderbird.” Jungkook responds, his arms and hands flexing, veins popping, as he slips on his neon red fingerless gloves. He pulls the straps of his black mask over and behind his ears — completely concealing most of his face.

Namjoon smiles in response, “That’s what I like to hear! Let’s bring that energy to the test, Falcon.”

Back at the station, you step out of your formal addression towards your boss and slip, “Hobi, I’ll be fine.”

“I know, I just can’t see myself losing you. You know how much you mean to me, right?” He asks, while reaching his hand towards your cheek with the intent to caress you but your reflexes immediately catch on, and you turn the opposite direction while muttering under your breath, “You know that we can’t-”

“I know. Sorry.”

A brief moment of silence shares the space between you both. Hoseok Jung, or as your recent pet name for him: Hobi, is not only the police captain of the Python Police Department, but currently your main squeeze as well. At least, that’s what you’d like to think. You can’t quite pinpoint what “this” with him is, given that neither of you made it official yet or set any boundaries. Which resulted in this continuous cycle of confusion on where you stand in this said “situationship.” But you don’t probe him, instead you just go with the flow and see where things lead. The only major conflict is that no one at the station should know about your doings. Or else there would be major consequences to face. You suppose that’s why Hoseok is the way he is with you. Maybe you’re nothing but a fling to him. Although some of the things he says deem otherwise.

“Last I heard, his street name is Falcon.” Hoseok skims through a folder on his desk that contains numerous papers, all to what you assumed held important information, then he pulls one out.

“I have a list of coordinates for locations where security cameras are installed and picked up high runner activity. Check those out and see if there are any leads. If no luck, go out and canvas witnesses on the street.” You nod in agreement, gathering your belongings to head on your way when suddenly you feel Hoseok’s grasp on your wrist. You immediately turn your gaze towards him, eyes blown wide as saucers.

“Please, be careful. Call me when you make it to the first and last location.” You eye his grip on you and snatch away quickly, regaining your composure.

“I will,” you respond, while slipping out of his office to leave the building.

On the rooftops, Jungkook gets into position. Staring ahead of himself, he takes a deep breath, awaiting Namjoon’s marker. A tiny droplet of sweat drips down the right side of his face, trailing down to his neck.

“On your mark. Ready.” Jungkook takes another deep breath. The sun suddenly becomes beyond its warm state, at this point, it’s scorching. His palms are damp. The black of his tee absorbs the city’s heat.

“Set.”

His mind goes racing in a million different ways. It was strange that at this moment, his mother crosses his mind. He wondered if she was okay. But, he couldn’t risk seeing her. Exposing himself. Then blue lights would find out, and   he’d be done. For good.

No, can’t risk it. No matter how much it hurts.

Since the age of 18, Jungkook called the rooftops his home. Some part of him felt selfish for only thinking of himself and leaving his mother behind. But he knew she would only scold him for rebelling against the system. Therefore, it was imperative that he left. For months, he and Jimin elaborated an escape — consistently backtracking and fixing any errors in their plan.

Unfortunately, plans don’t always go as planned and being just a couple of high school kids, Jungkook and Jimin hadn’t fully thought out the whole “where would we bunk” deal. But, all changed when they reached the rooftops. Although the first two years were literal Hell. Probably part of the reason Jungkook had become too exhausted at the end of it all. It was horrid to run non-stop, stability not being an option. Jungkook and Jimin had several quarrels with other runners. It became a cycle that Jungkook grew weary of:

Getting accepted into a hideout → Developing trust with other runners → Everything feels comfortable now →  Someone does something to show their true colors (Runners are out to get each other, despite the consequences. Whether the reward is for money, power, or maybe even freedom) → Jungkook and Jimin realize they can’t trust other runners → In conclusion, they flee → The process repeats

That is, until they met Namjoon. At first, he resisted. He previously had one roommate before that betrayed him, just as other runners betrayed Jimin and Jungkook. He thinks of him sometimes, and he’ll never forget his name. Yoongi Min, who goes by Firebird. Blue lights offered Yoongi a deal: to persuade Namjoon into a trap, at a disclosed location, in return for clearing his own name of all criminal records — freedom. Yoongi had been Namjoon’s roommate for four years, eventually growing close and becoming trustworthy of one another. Even coining each other’s names together, as a team. He always thought he’d take over the city of Python with Yoongi. Thus, that’s why Namjoon took Jungkook and Jimin in; because he saw them as himself and Yoongi, knowing that he would have wanted someone else to do the same for him and his once good friend.

“Go.” And with that, Jungkook powers forward leading with one goal in mind: Fast.

“I want you to head straight as far as you can. Got it?”

“Copy,” Jungkook slips. He starts at a steady pace, sliding under pipes connected to cooling fan systems, and vaulting over fences being sure to avoid high voltage ones. However, his velocity decreases when doing so. Namjoon takes note of that.

“Try to keep a linear direction as much as possible. Jump to the next building, using the metal pipe as a pole.”

Jungkook makes an estimate on how fast he should run to land onto the pole that’s adjacent to the rooftop of the building he’s currently on. He backs away about two meters and plants his feet on the ground, getting into position. His body exerts force and within seconds, Jungkook leaps from the rooftop. His heart dropping to his stomach, silently praying that his calculations were correct; and within seconds he lands onto the metal pole, his toned biceps clinging on for life. The leather gloves he wears grant a better grip on the surface, as he pulls himself upward, finally reaching the rooftop.

“Good job, Falcon. Keep pushing!”

Jungkook heaves, but knows he can’t stop now. He continues to scan his surroundings, taking in the view of the city from his vantage point. The sun still beams within the distance. Glass buildings towering the city, camera drones and lightweight super-jets scattering the sky.

No time for distractions.

Jungkook continues on his path as instructed by Namjoon. Lightly jogging, he rapidly picks up his pace until he takes a quick glance to his right and something catches his eye: a security camera, hanging below a billboard on the current building he stands on. He treads forward, and notices a blue light on the camera that blinks rapidly. He sticks his middle finger up towards the object and makes a swift turn to walk away when suddenly he stops dead in his tracks.

You push open the door to the rooftop access, finally having reached the top of the corporate office building of Cobra Enterprises, the biggest conglomerate in the city. To your surprise, on your left, there stands a man with doe-like eyes and lengthy, coffee-colored strands concealing his face. Your mouth flew agape, realizing that this is your first encounter ever with a runner — his neon red gloves serving as evidence.

“Falcon, what’s going on? I’m picking up a blue light within your perimeter,” Namjoon keys in. Jungkook says nothing, simply eyeing your form. He’d never been in love, and it wasn’t as if he’d recognize love even if it were standing right in front of his face with a big sign that said: “Hey! It’s me. I am love.” It was your essence that gave him an odd feeling. A feeling that intrigued him for some strange reason. But then you flashed that shiny PPD badge, which glistened in the sun, and it caught his attention — instantly sending a wave of discouragement throughout his heart.

“I’m Detective ____ with PPD,” you slip.

“Abort the test run! Get the hell out of there!” Namjoon commands on the other end of Jungkook’s earpiece. You attempt to step closer to the man, but he raises his hand up.

“Don’t come any closer.”

You shake your head, “It’s okay. I-I’m not here to hurt you. I just want to talk, okay?” You reassure while gradually lifting your hands up in the air, as if surrendering to him. He scoffs, obviously not impressed by your coy tactic.

“A blue light wanting to talk? Nah, don’t think so,” he spits while clenching his fists and backing away.

“No, please! I-I-” You suddenly become tongue-tied, as the man evidently runs away out of your sight, leaving you behind. Frozen in place.

That asshole.

Your cell rings conveniently at the right moment.

— Hobi ❤️ [Incoming Call]

You swipe to answer, and can’t even get a “hello” out before Hoseok starts on his shit again.

“Goddammit, ____! I told you to call me when you got to your first location.” He sounds furious, as if you’re his pet on a leash.

“Okay, dad!” You retort, clearly annoyed with him in this moment as you make your way down the exhausting flight of stairs inside the building.

“You know what-” Hoseok runs his fingers through his waves. “My place. 30 minutes.” The sound of a click on the line indicates that he hung up, leaving you with a frustrated temper.

Jungkook storms into the hideout, snatching his mask off of his face. Namjoon rips his headset off, visibly pissed.

“You wanna tell me what the hell happened back there?”

Jungkook scoffs, currently not up for anyone’s shit, as he trails to the fridge to grab his carton of banana milk yet again. Namjoon rolls his eyes while shaking his head. Jungkook releases his lips from the carton and slips, “Nothing.”

The sound of Namjoon’s tongue clicking echoes through the space, “Bullshit! You know our code, and you did NOT follow!”

With his back, turned Jungkook takes a deep huff, cheeks on fire. Jimin silently creeps nearby and coyly chimes in,

“See a blue light, call it a night. Don’t take flight, and you’ll put up a fight.”

“That’s right, Phoenix. We do NOT stick around once a blue light is within our sight. We take flight. Is that understood?” Namjoon probes with a stern tone, directing towards Jungkook.

The youngest turns face forward, with a clenched jaw and jutted chest. He says nothing, clearly testing the eldest. Namjoon steps forward and closes the gap between one another, so close that their noses nearly touch.

“Is that understood?” He inquires, his voice a few octaves lower. Jungkook pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue before breaking.

“Copy.”

“Get your shit together, Falcon. We’ll pick this up tomorrow.” Namjoon pulls away and brushes past Jimin, heading out of the kitchen. Infuriated, Jungkook lunges the now empty carton toward the wall ahead of him and also brushes past Jimin, who grasps his wrist in time to halt him. A look of worry spreads across Jimin’s face.

“Come on, Kook. You know Thunderbird. He’s just trying to protect us. It’s like… his job.”

Jungkook stays silent, thinking if he would ever get to see your innocent face again. Jimin nudges his arm to grasp his attention.

“You do know that you can talk to me, right?” He reassures with a promising expression. Jungkook simply nods and walks away, leaving Jimin worried. He knows when something is wrong with his best friend. He can feel it. But he also knows that Jungkook is a tough cookie, and it will take time for him to finally crack.

Meanwhile, Jungkook locks himself in his room — having confined himself completely from the world even if it was just for a few hours. How could he be so stupid? Why couldn’t he just talk to you like you wanted? Maybe you were a good person. At least that’s what he assumed, considering your beautiful face.

No. Snap out of it!

He can’t trust anyone. It’s for his own good. As the sun sets, he peeks through the glass window in his room to soak in the view of the city. Streams of pink, yellow, and blue paint the evening sky. If only he’d introduced himself to you, maybe he would feel a slight less pain in his chest. It was something Jungkook craved that he’d never gotten yet.

Intimacy.

Hoseok is frustrated; he runs his fingers through his hair for what has felt like the millionth time today.

“What’s gotten into you, huh?” He asks with a dark, lustful feel in his eyes. You gaze at him in complete silence.

“Can’t obey me anymore or what?” He lets out a frustrated sigh while gripping your hips.

“Oh you’re asking for it, huh?” He coos while mustering up the idea to tickle his way into getting a response from you. You break the silence, the sound of your laughter filling up his penthouse. Giggles and gasps for breaths emit from you, a sound that Hoseok thinks he could hear for the rest of his life and never grow tired.

“Oh my-! S-stop!”

And like a light-switch, he abruptly stops. His hands falling down to your sides, gripping your hips again. He gazes into your stare for what feels like an eternity. That familiar beauty mark on his lip is your favorite sight. He notes your eyes landing on his lips for too long, and he takes the opportunity to inch forward and meet yours.

He tastes like coffee — the kind you have in the morning before heading out to the station. The kind you’re used to sipping while reading emails at work or making phone calls. Or even the kind you order from your favorite coffee shop where you first met him and continue to meet up with him there to discuss anything work related.

Your lips soften against his, as his softens against yours. You’re not even sure how that is possible. Physics? Maybe.

However, the thought of your relationship with Hoseok crosses your mind. And  before you could even think twice about what to do, with his tongue literally down your throat, you unexpectedly shove him lightly. His eyebrows furrow in response, concerned if he’d done something wrong (when he could swear you like french kissing, considering you both do it all the time, and he remembered you mentioned one moment how much you like to do so).

“What are we? What is this?” You blurt out. Hoseok’s expression makes you instantly regret asking him. He pulls himself away from you completely to pace back and forth with his hand on his hip, shaking his head. Your gaze drops to the floor, feeling like such shit for bringing it up. But you’d be damned if he made you feel bad, because you have to know. For your own sake. Your own sanity.

“Are we really doing this right now?” He asks while sitting down on the leather loveseat.

That’s it. Something in you snaps.

“Hoseok!” You screech, gaining a wide-eyed stare from him.

“We’ve been fucking for over 2 years! What did you think? That I was just going to keep floating around, letting you stuff me every fucking week and not say anything about it?”

You are a panting, hot, and frustrated mess on the verge of tears from how upset you are. Hoseok watches your riled up figure, and he can’t seem to bring words together. He’s had a long day and wants nothing more than to release his stress into you either on his bed, or this loveseat, or maybe the kitchen counter if you can’t make it to his bedroom. But your emotions are clouding the atmosphere, and it’s something he can’t handle.

“I don’t know what you expect me to say,” he states dryly.

You felt like someone just hammered a nail into your heart. Your mouth flies agape, sucking in a breath to contain yourself from crying in front of his eyes.

“Why can’t we just fuck and not go through all of this? What do we need a label for anyway? It’s not like anyone at the  station is going to find out.” He shrugs, emitting a chuckle paired  with a nonchalant vibe.

Drip.

And then a tear fell down your cheek, prompting yourself to march out the front door and never look back. Clutching your crossbody, your leather chelsea boots click against the hardwood floor. Before Hoseok had the chance to grab you by the wrist, you were gone. You continued strutting down the hall, better yet lightly jogging to get as far away as possible as quickly as possible. Your fingers find placement on the ↓ button for the elevator.

Ding.

The moment the elevator doors shut is when the tears came streaming down   your cheeks, like a waterfall. You knew all along it was a bad idea to get involved with Hoseok. You’re sentimental and have always been so. “Catching feelings” while having weekly sex with him was bound to happen eventually. All in all, you could say that you saw the end coming, but at least 70% of you wanted things to be different than what they were. As your mother would call it, “living in la la land.” For the remainder of  the night, you comfort yourself on your couch, stuffing your face with leftover chocolate-covered strawberries and sipping champagne. All while venting on the phone to your childhood friend and updating him on the current situation with Hoseok.

“Ah. I’m sorry, noona. Hobi is a real ass sometimes, you know?”

You take another sip from your wine glass, “Ugh. That’s the thing!” You pause, popping a strawberry in your mouth, “I knew it. And yet, I still fell for him. I’m just horrible, a mess.”

“Don’t say that,” he replies with a yawn following his response.

“It’s true, Yoongi! I’ve literally been letting him in this whole time and not standing my ground. It’s so pathetic of me,” You sigh with a frown upon your face that Yoongi obviously cannot see.

“Wow. He was that good, huh?” You roll your eyes just thinking about it, “Ugh, yes! Don’t even remind me!”

“Well-” yet another yawn cutting him off again, “Just take your time, you   know? I’m sure it won’t be that easy to get over him. But eventually, it’ll happen.” Your eyes begin to tear up again, “You really think so?”

Yoongi hesitates for a brief moment, “No, I’m just trying to get you off the phone so I can go to sleep.”

“Fuck you, Yoongi Min.” His cute giggle lifts your mood in a contagious way — making you laugh out loud along with him.

“You’ll  be fine, ____. Really.” A tear finally drops down your face. This is why you love Yoongi, and why you’d been friends with him almost your entire life. He’s someone you can trust, always having been there for you. It didn’t matter the distance you were from each other, or how long it had been since you contacted one another, you both would pick up right where you left off.

“Goodnight, Yoongs. Love you.” His gummy smile appears as he replies, “Love you too, ____. Goodnight.”

After hanging up with Yoongi and having your belly full enough of strawberries and wine, your thoughts continuously play over the events of today, making you realize how drained you are. Then the image of the runner from earlier crosses your mind. God, was he the hottest man you’ve seen in awhile, at least from what you could see due to his mask covering most of his face. But his lengthy strands paired with his toned biceps and tall, lean figure are what got you. The sun bounced perfectly on his tanned, body, displaying a gorgeous shimmer of sweat he was drenched in, kind of reminded you of your fave Krispy Kreme glazed doughnuts.

His eyes were bright and beautiful, and you’ll never forget the way he was startled when you approached him — like a deer in headlights. You wonder what else was “hot” about him that you didn’t get a chance to see. Okay, maybe it’s just the wine talking. Some part of you wished you could have at least asked what his name was, but he wasted no time in evading you. Even though you felt a slight sting  in your heart, you couldn’t blame him for leaving. After all, you’re a cop and he’s a runner. Of course he’d “run” from you.

Hoseok is sound asleep until an alarming tone from his cell phone startles him from his slumber.

�� Yoongi Hyung [Incoming Call]

“Shit.” Hoseok lets out a frustrated sigh before answering. His tired, raspy voice is heard from the other side of the line. “Hyung, what’s going on?”

“I don’t know you tell me.” Yoongi deadpans.

Hoseok sighs in response. Pulling away from his phone to read the time: 12:42 AM. He clenches his fist and runs his fingers through his messy mane.

“What do you want, Yoongi?”

“I need you to look into someone for me. Get ____ on the case,” Yoongi demands with a slight hint of desperation.

Seething, Hoseok retorts, “Fucking hell. Why couldn’t you wait until the morning to tell me?”

“It is morning, and before you step into the station I need to make sure it’s the first thing on your agenda. I need this done asap.”

Hoseok remains his composure on the outside but is internally screaming.

“I don’t know, Hyung. I can’t guarantee it. I have ____ on the Jungkook Jeon case, and I may have her finally close it. Hopefully-” Yoongi scoffs, on the other side, clearly not happy.

Hoseok adds, “What’s this all about anyway? And what do I get for it?”

“Did you forget who’s the eldest here?” A moment of silence falls into the phone.

“Didn’t think so,” Yoongi continues. Hoseok feels small. He always does when being confronted by Yoongi.

“I’ve cut a deal with Cobra Enterprises. The company will have a meeting tomorrow with PPD about a new project to take place. I want you to look into a guy. I’m sure you remember him. Namjoon Kim.” The youngest sighs yet again. He remembered Namjoon from his rookie days, and he also recalled Yoongi had failed to go through with the set-up.

“Press ____ to look into his file and continue there. Drop her from the Jungkook Jeon case.” Hoseok’s mouth flies open in shock at Yoongi’s request.

“Are you fucking kidding me? How the hell am I supposed to-”

“Do not try me! Now, you’ll do as I say without giving me any shit, understand?” Yoongi retorts, his voice now at a higher volume than before. His deep violet-haired, skinny stature dressed in a purple v-neck, paired with a black leather jacket and leather jeans. He paces back and forth, flipping a pen between his slender fingers. The visible ink of his black, circuit board tattoo trails from his neck down to his right shoulder and ends at his wrist.

“Yes, Hyung,” Hoseok states, his voice barely above a whisper now.

“Get her on the case for Namjoon and find out where he is! Tell her he goes by the name Thunderbird. These rooftops are massive. Viper and I cannot find him alone. Having her would help tremendously. Besides… she’s smart, and I’m sure she’d be able to get to him before I do,” he continues while staring at the view of the city from his hideout.

Hoseok lets out with a tinge of annoyance in his reply, “Fine, fine. Alright!”

“Don’t do this, and I will tell ____ about our little secret. I’m sure she wouldn’t be too happy about that either. Especially not now.”

“You better not say shit to her, you hear me?” Hoseok works up.

“Get the job done, Hobi.” Yoongi ends the call.

No, you could not find out. At least not like that. Hoseok doesn’t want you to know about the little fling with his hyung. He knows Yoongi would do anything to destroy the side thing Hoseok has with you, since he’s jealous. He wants Hoseok all to himself.

The ringing of your cell frightens you out of your sleep. Your eyes land onto your clock placed beside you on your nightstand. You silently curse whoever dares to awaken you at this ungodly hour of 3:18 AM. Surely it was none other than Hoseok Jung. You dared to not answer, but part of you needed to if you wanted to keep your job. You were slightly worried his calling may be job-related anyway. At least you hope it is, because you can’t think about how he’d hurt you the previous day. Your exhausted form answers the call with a swipe.

“Hello?”

“I’m here.” Your eyebrows furrow as you scan your bedroom in the moonlight. Your right hand finds it’s way to rub your eyes.

“What?”

“Just open the door. I’m here.”

You stay on the line, and groggily drag yourself out of bed to head beeline for the front door of your apartment. Through the peephole, there stands Hoseok with his iPhone to his ear and his head hanging low. You unlock the door and tiredly pull it open to finally meet eyes with the bastard. Yesterday’s events flash through your memory, and you’re drawn back into the mood you were in before you knocked out for what seemed like only ten minutes.

With furrowed brows you question, “Hoseok what do y-”

His lips crash with yours, cutting you off completely. Your hand that once held your phone, now wraps around his neck, easing him closer to you. His firm hands now grip your hips, flushing you to his body entirely. His plushy lips play with yours, naturally gliding and smoothing against their own accord. The bitter taste of coffee lingers on his lips, to what you assumed he more than likely had a cup of Joe before arriving to your apartment. He breaks the kiss to stare into your eyes, caressing your cheeks.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that to you,” he pauses for a beat, “It was wrong. I was wrong.”

A low sigh escapes your lips. Hoseok cups your cheeks, and gives you a small peck. You pull away to take hold of his hand and lead him into your apartment, closing the door behind the two of you. You find yourself sitting on the side of your bed, with Hoseok joining you. He rests his cool palm on your warm, exposed thigh, courtesy of your pajama shorts. Your fingers find placement on top of his hand. He stares into your gaze, guilt settling deep within his gut. Part of the reason he’d always treated you like nothing is due to his feelings for Yoongi. He likes this thing with you: being able to have you whenever he wants, do whatever he wants to you, and treat you how he wants.

It’s almost like he owns you, except he doesn’t. But he likes the complacency of the situation, knowing that you’ll always be there when he needs you. Yet he knows it’s selfish and such a narcissistic quality about himself, but he wants what he wants and cannot stop his actions. It’s this never-ending dilemma he’s stuck in of leading you on or admitting his feelings for you. Because all in all, Hoseok wants to “have his cake and eat it too.” On the other hand, Yoongi stands on the sidelines — waiting for the day he & Hoseok could be together. And now it’s worse since you’ve poured your feelings out to him. Although for Yoongi, it’s everything he’s ever wished for.

The luminance from the moonlight glows throughout the space that’s your room. Hoseok shivers slightly from your touch, the warmth of your fingers encases his cold, slender ones. You both sit in silence for a moment, just taking in each others presence. You attempt to gather your own thoughts of why Hoseok couldn’t wait to apologize until the next day you both work.

“Hoseok.” You let out, a yawn following afterwards.

“Hm?” He responds while glancing into your eyes with those gorgeous brown   eyes, his strands gracefully dressing his forehead in that familiar middle-part style.

“Cuddle?” You ask sheepishly why reaching your arms out towards him, offering your warmest embrace. His lips curl up into that stunning smile, making his eyes shut instinctively. He removes his bomber jacket and shoes, then climbs into the opposite side of your bed. You follow suit and pull your duvet over the two of you. Your arms naturally wrap around his abdomen, and  you curl up into his chest. Admiring the familiar scent of Hoseok’s  fresh, linen garments with a hint of some expensive cologne. He smells so clean, as a man should. It sends you into a trance. Your ear rests on top of his chest, growing familiar with the rhythm of his heartbeat. And it’s just enough to put you to rest.

—

The sun peaks from the skyline, beginning its journey to  rise. Deep orange and yellow hues paint the sky. A gleaming ray of light shoots throughout the hideout the three men share together. Namjoon is the first to awaken, his beach-sand colored hair ruffled in a slight mess. With a bare upper body and boxer briefs, he slips from his mattress on the ground to head for the washroom — his disheveled state still working to fully awaken. After finishing up his morning routine of brushing his teeth, washing his face, and grooming his hair, he slips on black nylon sweatpants and a red fitted tank, displaying his black, circuit board ink on his left forearm snaking up to his left shoulder and neck. He stares at his own figure in the mirror, silently hating himself for letting Yoongi talk him into getting a matching tattoo.

If only he’d knew where Yoongi’s loyalty really lied, he’d  never would have given in to him. A slight pang in Namjoon’s chest  resurfaces. He missed Yoongi, a lot more than he wanted to. Because it was more than “friendship” with him. He loved Yoongi and wanted to confess his feelings for him, but he was afraid his confession would lead to corruption of their friendship. He was also afraid of Yoongi’s “distant” personality. He was for sure it would have ruined them, even if their friendship blossomed into something more. Unfortunately, after Yoongi became a traitor in Namjoon’s eyes, he couldn’t stop the feelings he had for him and continues to have. It was  ever since that one night they’d both had a little too much soju that things led from one thing to another. He relishes in the memory of Yoongi’s lips pressed against his.

The lingering, sweet taste of alcohol on his lips is the fondest moment Namjoon has of Yoongi. He had never been more aroused by anyone else ever, and Yoongi had just that effect on him. One thing led to another, and before he could process what had happened, the next morning he’d awaken to the sight of Yoongi naked and wrapped around his chest. Ever since, the entire dynamic of their friendship had changed. Yoongi hadn’t spoken of the previous night, and neither had Namjoon. He’d never thought that a week later, he would have had no other choice but to kick out the one person he had grown to trust for so long. He never forgets the look in Yoongi’s eyes. Puffy, red, and swollen from the tears he’d cried.

Namjoon  had never seen him this shaken up before, considering his inability to show his feelings. But he believed Yoongi had done all of this to  silently punish him for sleeping with him. Liquid forms in Namjoon’s  eyes as his mind goes in circles consistently, playing the events over and over in his mind — reminiscing on the presence of who he thought would have eventually been his lover. While brewing a cup of coffee, Namjoon readies himself for the day. Upon arrival to the coms room, he seats himself at his desk, an arrange of five monitors on display. The longer one in the middle is the portal to log into Thunder, a tracking software he’d created, with Yoongi, that’s designed specifically to pinpoint a runners’ location. Of course, he had re-programmed said software to track Jungkook and Jimin’s location whenever they’d go out on a run, which is why they use an earpiece that has a tracker installed.

For safety purposes, he’d also designed it to detect when other runners are nearby while also detecting blue lights in the surrounding area. Each runner is part of a team that is represented by a color on the “rainbow spectrum,” and each color has a leader. Namjoon being the leader of Red, and along with Jimin and Jungkook representing the color. Although, the only colors from the spectrum that have been confirmed are: Orange, Yellow, and Green — while Blue and Violet have yet to be discovered. In the meantime, Jimin tosses in his sleep as though he’s experiencing a nightmare. Something within his slumber startling enough to jerk him awake, his eyes blown wide and his lips parted dramatically. His chest rising up and down as he trails his fingers through his onyx strands that fall back  onto his forehead. His arms find their way up to block the sunlight from his window that forces to blind his eyes.

His body is warm, and after sitting up completely, he realizes his white tank is soaked in perspiration. Jimin snarks at the cold sweat clinging to his upper body. Rolling out of bed, the cool tile below him makes his body shiver. He pulls his top over his head and off, flinging it to the corner of his room. His toned upper body glistens with sweat, covered with the tattoo “Nevermind” on the left side of his abdomen. Jimin rushes to the washroom to start up the glass shower.

He hops in immediately; cool streams of water race down his fit figure, drenching his black strands and gradually decreasing his body temperature. He runs his index finger across the inside of his wrist where another tattoo is displayed: 13. A small grin crosses his face, thinking of the  time he’d met Jungkook when he was 13, how they’d instantly bonded, and how far they’ve come in their lives. The number also resembling the day of his own birth. But Jimin’s smile fades, after realizing the dream he had. He knew something was wrong, because for weeks now he’d been having these nightmares that something bad would happen; everything would change, yet he wasn’t 100% sure how. Even though things were okay now, but he couldn’t help the thought that maybe his gut instinct was trying to warn him.

Knock x2.

Jimin jumps slightly at the sudden knock, and his gaze snaps up to the bathroom door, “Dude… Gotta pee,” Jungkook’s tired form slips. Outside the door, he can barely keep his eyes open — having almost pulled an all-nighter, listening to music and lifting weights in his room. Jimin swings the door open, with a towel wrapped around his waist.

“Scared the shit out of me, you know?” Namjoon arrives in the hallway.

“Morning, boys! We’ve got a long day ahead of us. So, get some breakfast and meet me in the coms room when you’re done.” Jimin nods and adds coyly, “Ay ay, captain!” Jungkook groans in response. On the other side of the city, the smell of eggs and bacon sizzling in a pan acts as a cue for Hoseok’s awakening. His arms stretch out, releasing  the tension that’s settled in them. He checks his phone for the time  only to find missed calls and texts, from none other than his hyung.

— Yoongi Hyung [5:02 AM] just wait till u come home. u will fucking get it!!!

— Yoongi Hyung [4:59 AM] are u fucking kidding me… i come here for dick and this is what i get? where tf are u???

— Yoongi Hyung [4:57 AM] whatever. coming in with the spare key u gave me.

— Yoongi Hyung [4:56 AM] u ass. i’ve rung the doorbell a thousand times already. are u that asleep?

— Yoongi Hyung [4:54 AM] Missed Call (x2)

Shit.

“Good morning sleepy head!” Hoseok jumps slightly at your cheeky greeting of you standing at the doorway of your room.

“I made breakfast if you’re hungry. I’ll be heading out in a few to   follow  up on any leads I can get with the Jungkook Jeon case.” Hoseok takes a huge gulp before spilling, “Yeah… About that.” He drags, while slipping out of bed. His hands find purchase on your waist, pulling you closer.

“I uh-” He pauses for a moment, remembering the threat Yoongi had given him. You stand there, all eyes on him, waiting for him to continue.

“I’m dropping you from the Jungkook Jeon case,” he states rapidly. Your eyebrows furrow, “Why would you do that?” Hoseok sighs, thinking of anything off the top of his head to lie.

“Just-  Leave it to me. I did some digging when you left the station yesterday,”  He continues while slipping his shoes on.

“I want you to look into something else,” You nod for him continue.

“Namjoon Kim. Known as Thunderbird. He’s got a record, but he’s also  been reported as missing just like Jungkook.” Hoseok breaks away from  your gaze for a moment, internally hating himself for doing this to you. He knows he’s no good for you.

“Do you still have that list of coordinates I gave you?” He inquires, while simultaneously looking up at you and tying his shoes.

“Mmmhmm,” you simply mutter, watching his form in silence. It is clear that he’s about to leave but you waited  for him to say so. Hoseok grabs his jacket and notices you’re still standing in the doorway. He pauses to slip, “I should get going. I have some errands to run-”

“It’s fine.” You cut him off, the tone in your voice clearly revealing that  no it is not “fine.” You’re slightly upset really, but part of you expected Hoseok to not stay around since you’re convinced that the only reason he’d came to apologize to you was to clear his conscious. And  because, well, he was alone and wanted some form of companionship. Typical, right? Another part of you cringed at the thought you assumed  he’d treat you as if you’re both together, even though you’re not. So, it isn’t abnormal for him to just leave. It’s not like he’s committed to you. Except your heart tells you it’s just not fair. Hoseok doesn’t miss the look of disarray that spreads across your face, due to  his departure. He looks to you before leaving your apartment.

“Maybe I can come by later?” You internally cringe at his request whilst trying to not get your hopes up.

“It’s not a big deal, only if you can! Don’t go out of your way for me. Besides, I’m sure you’re busy.” He hesitates for a brief moment, then awkwardly nods as if slowly trying to process what you said. A feeling deep inside tells him that you know he’s full of shit. Maybe it’s his guilty conscious, but that makes him feel even worse for leaving you on his off day, just to be with Yoongi. The instant you shut the door behind Hoseok, your heart broke. You want to regret getting into this thing with him, but you know it was something you wanted at one point.

Jungkook attired himself in his usual pieces. Black ink tattoos of an  “X” covers just below both of his elbows. His signature three, silver hoops dangle within both of his ears, as he deliberately munches on a protein bar, while standing in the coms room.

“I specifically asked you both to come once you were DONE with breakfast,” Namjoon retorts indirectly towards Jungkook, who is undoubtedly dropping crumbs on the ground.

“Hey, don’t look at me.” Jimin throws his hands up and shakes his head as if to surrender, his jet-black strands swaying about in front of his eyes.

“As I was saying…” Namjoon continues, “I have different tasks for you both.” Jungkook’s eyes stay glued on the eldest. Jimin’s toned arms are crossed, tilting his head to the side.

“Phoenix,” Namjoon tosses a wireless earpiece to Jimin. “I want you to head over to the docks. I’ve been picking up high blue light activity lately in that area.” Namjoon gropes his chin, as if in deep thought. “Check it out and see if there’s anything you could find that’ll tell us why they’ve been so trigger happy lately.”

Jungkook abruptly stops chewing and tunes out after hearing Namjoon’s request. That is why he felt different about you. You didn’t hurt him like most blue lights would hurt runners if they’d ever been caught. That’s the difference.

“Falcon!”

The slight ringing in Jungkook’s ears immensely fades away after he realizes Namjoon is talking to him. His eyebrows rise up, as if silently asking him What? Namjoon removes a black messenger bag he has around himself and tosses it to Jungkook, who almost didn’t catch it due to the crumpled granola wrapper still in his hand and Namjoon’s sudden reflexes.

“Since your little encounter” Namjoon makes the quotation marks gesture with his fingers. “I’m sending you on a fast cash mission. You know the rules.”

Namjoon quirks his eyebrows, as if to emphasize his point. “I’ll be guiding you, but keep your eyes peeled. Your name isn’t Falcon for nothing.” Jungkook shrugs at the audacity.

“When you reach the location, there will be a runner by the name of  Viper waiting there for you. Give him the bag, and safely return back to the hideout without being detected by any blue lights.”

“Copy that.”

Namjoon nods in response, “Oh. Before I forget.” Namjoon reaches toward his glass desk to pull out a black, wireless earpiece.

“I know you’ve been borrowing Jimin’s earpiece since yours broke. So, I made a new one.” Namjoon extends his hand out to Jungkook then snaps away.

“Try not to break it this time, huh? Materials are kind of… limited.”

Jungkook cocks an eyebrow and obtains the piece to delicately place in his ear. He places the bag over his head and lets the strap rest on his shoulder, adjusting it to his liking — making sure it’s tight around his torso. Jimin follows and pushes his earpiece in.

Namjoon makes an overly-dramatic clap noise with his hands. “Alright, boys. Let’s get to work!” On their way from the hideout, Jimin stops Jungkook before they proceed to go on their separate ways.

“Hey,” Jimin spills, his eyes now crescent, moon-shaped due to the sizzling sun displayed brightly in the sky. Jungkook replies, “Yeah?”

“Just, uh…” Jimin lingers on for a moment, observing the ambience as if he’s searching  for something. His eyes land back on the youngest, admiring how innocent he is. Jimin loved Jungkook as his own brother, and he’d do anything to protect him. He’s convinced he’d do more than Namjoon.

“Be  careful. Okay?” A tinge of worry oozes from Jimin’s command. He wishes he could just tell Jungkook the dreams he’d been having lately, but he couldn’t. He didn’t want to upset him, yet he knows he’d have to tell him sooner or later. Because recurring nightmares that Jimin has are always to some extent: true. It’s been that way for as long as he could remember. The first time he’d experienced it was when he was seven years old. He dreamt the same dream during that time, that his father was caught in a rainstorm and passed away due to a car collision.

The first night he experienced the nightmare, he was afraid; and although he’d warn his parents, all else failed. They thought it was just another bad dream that would pass. A few weeks later, his father passed away due to a DUI car accident. Jimin was devastated, and although he was right all along, he hated when the same dreams occurred because he knew eventually it would no longer be a nightmare — instead a reality.

“Always,” Jungkook answers, while turning around to jog in the opposite direction. Completely unaware of Jimin who’s still left behind and laying eyes on him. An ounce of worry overtakes him, that he misses Namjoon’s calling of his name.

“Phoenix, do you copy?” Jimin snaps back from his daydream,

“Y-yeah. I mean- Copy that. I’m here.” Namjoon keeps track of Jungkook’s location and notices Jimin’s stillness.

“Alright, let’s head west and take it from there. It’s a straight shot.” Jimin starts his run, climbing over fences, sliding under pipes, and running on walls. Namjoon uses the digital map to pinpoint the intended location.

“Looks like the docks will be on the west side of the Cobra Enterprises building.

“Copy that.” Namjoon takes a sip of his now lukewarm, medium, roast coffee.

“Switching to channel two, be right back.” Jungkook sits on the edge of a building, looking below his feet where the grand city of Python seems so tiny. Pedestrians look like ants from his perspective. Moving vehicles give the appearance of toy cars kids play with. The sound of a deep voice keys into Jungkook’s earpiece.

“Thunderbird for Falcon.” Jungkook swings his feet playfully, enjoying the summer weather, “Go for Falcon.”

“You’ll be heading east to The Echidna. Viper will be there waiting for you. Deliver the package to him, and make it back safely. Remember, no blue lights.”

Hoseok turns the key to open the door of his apartment. The sound of the front door closing startles a naked Yoongi, who steps foot into Hoseok’s room with a towel wrapped around him. His soaked, purple strands dripping with water. Hoseok shuffles his jacket and shoes off, yet notices the penthouse is filled with silence. He’d hoped Yoongi had just given up for now and left, but he knew him. He wasn’t going to leave until he got what he wanted.

His fingers glide through his own soft waves, and he treads upstairs to his room. His heart suddenly pumps faster when his eyes land on the back side of Yoongi, who has removed his towel to dry his hair. His pale, porcelain skin glowing and glistening with water and sunshine. Hoseok takes a thick gulp and clears his throat. Yoongi finds Hoseok behind him and gives his signature smirk, “Good morning.” Yoongi drops his towel on the ground and gestures a “come here” motion with his finger, and Hoseok follows.

“Missed me? I know I missed you,” Yoongi caresses Hoseok’s cheek, gazing into his brown irises, his bed-hair adding a nice final touch.

“I’m sorry, I-” Hoseok is cut off by Yoongi’s index finger placed on his lips. He commands, “Just shut up and fucking kiss me already. You owe me. Big time.” Hoseok chuckles before leaning in to wrap his arms around Yoongi, placing his hands along his back, pulling Yoongi flush to his body.

Before heading out to investigate the supposed “Namjoon Kim” case Hoseok urged you earlier to begin, you chose to pay a visit to your favorite chocolatier in the mall, the one that sells your favorite chocolate-covered strawberries. The fresh, cool breeze of the air conditioner blows through your hair as you strut through the front entrance of The Echidna. The chocolate shop wasn’t far from the main entrance, on the entry level so you decided to take your time, casually strolling through the mall. The smell of pretzels, pizza, and other delicious foods filled your senses as you passed by the food court. After a minute more of walking, you reach the shop and realize they are running a promotion: Buy one dozen of chocolate-covered strawberries, get another half off.

Just in time.

On the rooftops, Jungkook blasts over buildings and latches onto pipes, ladders, and other obstacles that help him navigate throughout the environment.

“Thunderbird for Phoenix.” Jimin keys back into Namjoon while taking a break from running.

“Go for Phoenix.” Namjoon tracks Jimin’s location, and notes how far he is from the intended location.

“Good job. You’re on the right path. You should be able to see the front side of the Cobra Enterprises building from where you are.” Jimin scans his surroundings on the east side, and notes the building with a golden, cobra snake symbol. “Yeah, I see it.”

“Good. Continue your normal path and you’ll notice the building will then be on the east side of you.” Jimin nods in approval, “Copy that.”

Yoongi and Hoseok lie in bed together, wrapped in each other’s embrace. Hoseok rests on Yoongi’s chest, drawing circles on his chest with Yoongi’s fingers laced in his strands.

“So,” Yoongi breaks the silence. “So?” Hoseok questions, admiring the soft supple skin under his fingertips.

“Gonna tell me where you were last night?” Just as Hoseok gathered up the courage to respond, Yoongi cuts him off.

“No, wait! Let me guess. With ____,” he states with a dry tone. A tinge of jealousy behind his words. Hoseok turns his head around, facing Yoongi.

“Are we really doing this again?” Yoongi rolls his eyes, pushing Hoseok off of his chest. Hoseok’s eyebrows naturally crease in response.

“Yoongi, seriously?” The eldest says nothing, his back now turned to the youngest, having flipped over on his side.

“What fucking more do you want?!” Hoseok runs his fingers through his hair, his strands falling back onto his forehead. Yoongi keys in on him, with a furious gaze. “Us!” He exclaims, sitting up and easing his way out of bed to slip on his jeans.

“I fucking want us,” He continues, more-so demanding rather than stating. Hoseok takes a deep breath. “You know that I’m working on that-”

Yoongi seethes. “Yeah, and for how long?!” His voice raising with fists clenched on his jeans, zipping them up. “Don’t you fucking get it?” He adds, slipping on his signature, purple v-neck.

“____ is in love with you. How do you just “work on that?” He emphasizes with air quotation marks. Hoseok struggles to answer, leaving his lips parted slightly. A moment of silence falls between the two. Yoongi takes this as a cue of defeat — slipping on his leather jacket.

“Exactly.” He exits the bedroom, leaving Hoseok to ponder in his thoughts, while left in bed naked, regret filling him completely.

Yoongi saunters downstairs and slips on his boots, departing from Hoseok’s loft. He runs his fingers through his hair, while marching down the hallway of the complex. His mind continues to race many miles per hour. His finger presses the button to signal the elevator, and to his surprise, the doors open quicker than he’d expected. He takes a deep breath while stepping in and recounting the moment he’d had with Hoseok.

He hates himself for getting caught up in this situation with him, and now with you involved made matters worse. His heart aches at the thought of what things would be like if he hadn’t traded Namjoon out. Yoongi misses him, but he knows he’d never accept him for who he is and he wouldn’t ever forgive him for what he’d done. A pang in his chest approaches, knowing that he and Namjoon’s future was now long gone, and merely nothing but a dream now. It hurts, and he’s hurt. Which is why he’d pressed Hoseok to get you to look into his case in the first place. He needed this. Needed closure. He misses Namjoon, and there isn’t a day that passes when he doesn’t think of him. He needs him.

You’d chosen the dozen of half milk-chocolate strawberries and half white-chocolate covered strawberries. For both sets. The cashier carefully hands you the paper bag, with two gorgeous arrangements of twelve strawberries in each box. You gracefully exit the chocolatier with the brightest smile on your face, strutting toward the entrance of The Echidna to make your departure from the mall. Jungkook awaits on the rooftops, peering at his surroundings to ensure no one is in sight. And by no one, he specifically means blue lights. His tired being squats down, seating himself on the ground, nearby one of many dome-shaped, skylights that sit behind him. The sun toasting his skin causes him to wipe away the perspiration from his forehead, for what feels like the hundredth time.

Namjoon scans the time on the Thunder portal, noting that the runner should have arrived by now.

“Viper should be within your perimeter. Do you see him?” Jungkook scans his peripheral, but there is no sight of said runner. “No, he’s not here.”

Namjoon’s eyebrows furrow, as he doesn’t see any hint of a runner nearby the mall. The only indicator visible is Jungkook’s location. A red, blinking dot on the map.

“Something’s not right,” He says to himself, shaking his head.

Jungkook feels a presence behind him and just before he could turn around to say something, a deep, baritone voice speaks out.

“Thanks for meeting me here, this was a great spot.” But when Jungkook’s eyes landed on the tall, slender form, his mouth flew agape.

Violet. One of the colors on the spectrum that hadn’t been discovered yet.

There was no way, he thought. No way it was possible. And then the eldest spoke again, realizing Jungkook’s expression.

“Hey. Red, huh? Wait-” He pauses, Jungkook clenches the bag’s strap tightly. “That’s the color where- What’s that leaders name?” His finger taps his chin as if thinking. “It’s right at the tip of my tongue… Sounds like a month?”

Jungkook stops dead in his tracks, his eyes widening. How did he know Thunderbird’s real name?

“How do you know his name?” Kook questions, gripping onto the bag tighter.

“It’s Joon, right? Namjoon! There it is.” Namjoon keys in to double-check on the youngest.

“Falcon, has he arrived yet? I’m still not able to see him.” Namjoon grows hesitant from not receiving a response.

Jungkook abruptly throws the bag at the man standing in front of him and darts in the opposite direction. Viper sprints behind him and tackles the youngest down onto one of the skylights, their figures thumping and sliding against the glass. Viper bangs Jungkook’s head into the glass. Jungkook throws a harsh punch straight to Viper’s nose and tackles him down, his body now caging him in.

“Who the hell are you?!” Jungkook seethes.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Viper grins with a mischievous expression. Jungkook’s eyebrows furrow at his coy remark. His hands grip around his neck, applying pressure with much force.

“Falcon?” Namjoon keys in yet again. Growing suspicious, he continues to scan the area and notes a blinking, blue light that appears to be moving. His assumption is that whoever it is may be inside the mall. “Fuck.”

A tinge of venom seeps from Viper’s words, “Tell that leader of yours, that Firebird is looking for him-” He chokes, Jungkook applying more pressure.

“He better- get ready.. for him too.” He adds with a menacing laugh. Jungkook releases his neck and throws another punch to his face, his knuckles aching as a result. Viper continues to laugh, and manhandles Jungkook. His back falls back onto the delicate material below them. He drives his foot against the side of Jungkook’s abdomen repeatedly.

“Ahhh, fuck!” Jungkook groans, his fists clenching from the pain.

Jungkook forces a kick straight to Viper’s face, grazing his nose with his shoe, causing drips of blood to spill. Jungkook clenches his teeth and tackles Viper down again, and then suddenly.

Crack.

The two men gaze down below them, and witness cracks scattering along the glass of the skylight.

“Shit,” Jungkook slips.

“Falcon!” Namjoon yells into his earpiece.

Viper watches Jungkook’s expression with wide eyes, his lips parting in shock. Jungkook slowly stands on his two feet, removing himself from on top of the eldest and attempts to escape, but with the added weight of being on his feet, the glass shatters into pieces, Viper’s form falls through the skylight, en route to the interior of the mall. Jungkook trips, losing his grip on the edge, his veins popping out as he forces his body back up onto the rooftop.

You fumble in the pockets of your leather jacket to obtain your car keys. Until the sudden sound of shattering glass startles you and out of the blue, an intense cracking, thud-like sound follows by a body falling splat onto the ground level of the mall. The contents in your hands drop in response, and the only melody filling your ears is the screams throughout the entire atmosphere, civilians pushing their way to the nearest exit. A thumping beat resides in your chest, and it’s as if your heart pounds so loud you that the noise suffocates your hearing above everything else. Your mouth falls open, and your instincts tell you to examine from above, where the body initially came from. And then your eyes meet a familiar face; to say you were shocked was an understatement.

There he was. Again. The man you’d seen yesterday. You knew it was him because you remember those eyes, his hair, and that black mask. After locking eyes with you, he immediately vanishes. You glare at the body that lies on the ground, slowly inching toward the male. With shaky hands, you kneel down to feel his pulse under his neck and there’s nothing.

Jungkook charges off the rooftops of The Echidna, adrenaline pumping through his veins like never before. The last thing he needed was for blue lights on his tail. And he saw you. He fucked up again. You saw him, and now there’s nothing he can do to un-do what happened. The sound of Namjoon’s voice resonates within Jungkook’s earpiece. “Falcon! What the hell happened? Did you deliver the package?” Jungkook says nothing, instead, he runs.

Namjoon sighs in frustration.

“I’m here,” Jimin keys in. Namjoon locates Jimin’s location.

“Fuck,” Namjoon replies.

Jimin asks with a hint of confusion, “Did I do something wrong?” Namjoon sighs.

“No, Phoenix. You’ve made it to the destination. I haven’t heard from Jungkook since he arrived at The Echidna, and he isn’t responding.” Jimin’s eyes widen. Oh no, had something happened to him? What if… the dream?

“Wait what? Do you need me to head over there?” Namjoon shakes his head, as if he could see him.

“No! Stay where you are. Just find out what you can find, and I’ll be here. I’ll handle it. Over and out.”

Jimin’s heart drops. He hoped Jungkook was okay, for his own sake. He couldn’t lose another person close to his heart.

Namjoon locates Jungkook’s location, and he’s storming like a lightning bolt. He removes his headset to meet with the youngest. Jungkook pants, his chest rising and falling.

“Falcon, what the hell? How many times do I-” Namjoon is cut off by the expression on Jungkook’s face. He stops in his tracks and notices his mask is already off, with tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. His hands are shaking, and his heart is beating rapidly.

“Jungkook?”

Jungkook begins rambling, “I-I don’t know. I don’t know what the fuck just happened!” Tears stream down his cheeks, he feels like he’s on fire, his chest continues to gasp for air. He feels like he’s about to have a panic attack.

“I-It all j-just happened s-so fast, I don’t know what to do.” Namjoon notes his trembling hands; he’d never seen him so worked up before.

“He- he came. And then I saw his purple shirt a-and I panicked, I didn’t know what the fuck to do! I-” Jungkook sobs with an aching pain on his side. “I didn’t know what to do!”

“Okay, Kook just calm down. Follow me into the coms room.” Upon arrival, Namjoon processes what had been said and his eyebrows furrow in reply. “Wait… His shirt? It was what?”

Jungkook makes an attempt to calm himself down, his rosy-tinted cheeks stained with wet tears. “Violet. It’s the last color on the spectrum.”

Namjoon shakes his head, now pacing back and forth. “This could only mean one thing…” He trails off, pondering the fact he discovered a new color on the spectrum. He scrolls through the portal and peers at the map, finding the different colors of the spectrum scattered across the city of Python. Every color except Violet.

“That’s why Thunder couldn’t pinpoint his location. Violet isn’t yet programmed into the software. Which means-”

“Firebird.” Jungkook slips.

Namjoon’s gaze snaps toward him with wide eyes, “Where did you get that name?”

“Viper said it. Firebird is looking for you.” He pauses, to let in a deep breath, “And you’d better get ready.” Jungkook groans in discomfort, a sharp shock of pain shooting through his side. He watches Namjoon’s figure, noticing the startled expression on his face.

No, it can’t be. There’s no way he was looking for him. Even if he was, why? After all this time, why now? And what was it that Namjoon had to prepare for?

And then everything came crashing down. “Shit,” Namjoon spills.

“Who is Firebird, anyway?” Jungkook questions with curiosity. A distinct chattering sound can be heard from Namjoon’s headset.

“Phoenix for Thunderbird! Do you copy?” Jimin chimes in with a slight tinge of frustration and worry clouding his being.

Ignoring Jungkook’s question, Namjoon places his headset back on.

“Go for Thunderbird.”

Jimin sighs in relief, “Oh, fuck. I thought I lost you for a sec.”

Namjoon shakes his head, “What’s going on?”

With a heaving, sweaty chest Jimin states, “We have a problem. A really, fucking, big one.” — his eyes keyed in and widening at the sight of what’s happening at the docks.

[mybeautifulbeautifuleternal]

I'd never want once from the cherry tree

rating: still as fluffy as i can make it

words: 1.2k

Post season 2 oneshot

warnings: this is full of season 2 spoilers but it is an au of it

AO3

a/n: this came from a conversation i was having with @amaninthemaking​ on discord so if it gives you cavities blame them

summary: post season 2 au - its finally a nice day in the city and the entire family has a BBQ

Raymond paused in the doorway leading outside. He let the chaos of the moment and the family - his family, what a world - roll over him. 

It was the height of the summer months but the heatwave that had been battering the state finally relented and cooler winds, literally, prevailed. 

But the nice weather prompted the disasters happening in the backyard. Sissy and his new mother-in-law Grace had decided that because the weather finally allowed for it, they were going to have a family BBQ.

This wouldn’t have changed anything but his amazing Allison had been doing so well in her court-mandated therapy sessions that her therapist encouraged her to reach out to her ex-husband and ask if he and their daughter Claire would like to visit for a week - meet the family, see the sights.

Raymond was cautiously excited. He had met Claire before, soon after they arrived in 2019, but it was for a very short court-approved and monitored session. This was going to be longer and probably fraught with more tension. 

This time, instead of having a therapist on hand to calm words and guide the meeting, it was only going to be his new siblings-in-law and their respective partners. Of which, only a few were calm beings. 

Most of them brought chaos into his life just by being who they were. Klaus was still quoting what he now knew were song lyrics, still holding onto his cult leader persona, mostly by accident - he usually made a face at himself after he said something particularly cringey. Dave was helping him with that by distracting him.

Diego and Lila were either found in some dark corner, not presentable, or were arguing with each other or with Five, usually about something small like shoes left in the wrong place, but sometimes they’d be arguing about the Commission. Those days usually ended up with weapons being drawn.

Five, when not being distracted by those two, could be seen popping up here and there and when and where. Raymond had decided early on to not worry too much about the kid that wasn’t. It usually went better for his sanity when he wasn’t trying to figure out the time travel nonsense that went hand in hand with the oldest of the siblings. 

A lot of stuff relating to siblings-in-law went that way. He wasn’t too hung up about the powers or even the superhero stuff but he still couldn’t believe he had so many white boys as family.

Only for his marvelous Allison…

But for the most part, he was settled into his new life. He picked up where he left off in the ‘60s, working on bringing actual equality into the country. He and lovely Allison had made the decision to stay in the mansion where she had grown up, not seeing a real reason to buy their own place when it was so big and mostly empty.

 He watched as Luther (still the biggest white boy he’d ever seen), Klaus (still the biggest personality he’d ever seen), and Dave (a piece of a more familiar but long distant time) work their way steadily through the huge house, painting it lighter colors, repairing the damage old age and disuse had heaped on the building. 

Diego and Lila were always down to help police events that he was organizing, helping protect those that wanted to protest peacefully, helping get supplies through to where they needed to go, and helping remove those that were there to cause trouble. 

His darling Allison was working extremely hard to get through all of her therapy sessions so she might have a chance to raise her daughter. When not there, she was either helping him in his little office or volunteering elsewhere in the city. 

Klaus and Dave, when not helping Luther, were going to either AA meetings or Veterans meetings. Raymond was still so surprised at how much help was available nowadays to people who needed it. They were also trying to find jobs that they would actually like to do. Apparently none of them ever needed to work again, Reginald having left the entire Hargreeves fortune to them, but the two of them wanting something else in their life but fixing the house and their meetings.

Five was in and out so often, Raymond had a hard time keeping track of him. And when they were in the same vicinity, he had a hard time keeping up with the old young man. He felt better though seeing the glazed eyes of his siblings - at least it wasn’t just him. 

Ben and Jill were steadily working on the garden - it was looking amazing out there, he couldn’t lie. It had only taken them a week to remove the concrete blocking a majority of the yard and the large wall separating the main section from the rest of the yard. Raymond thought that Vanya might have had a little too much fun bringing down the wall but he wasn’t going to say anything to the woman capable of that kind of destruction.

But the garden now looked extremely different. The strange people who apparently worked at the Commission were true to their word when they said they could speed up a tree life cycle. Now there was a giant willow tree dominating the back yard next to a lovely pond. Luther had filled it with koi fish and had taken to caring for the fish along with the 5 cats, 3 dogs, and the large fish tank that now filled the main entry room. 

Vanya had gone back to teaching the violin - her students really loved coming to the mansion with its multitude of rooms available for use. Sissy, after getting Harlan used to their new normal and creating a routine with Grace for the day, had gotten a job at Macy’s. She really seemed to like that work though. Harlan had seemingly adjusted better than all the others combined. 

And now all these people were filling up their backyard. Luther, Diego, and Patrick were manning the grill - the smoke coming from that direction was not particularly promising. He was glad that Grace, Sissy, Dave, and Jill were working on all the non-meat food. Ben and Klaus were supposed to be blowing up some balloons and setting up some games for later - and were instead rolling about on the ground. Claire and Harlan were carefully playing together under the watchful eyes of Vanya and the stunning Allison. Lila and Five were fighting each other but they were setting up tables under the willow tree. Herb and Dot were considered guests and were allowed to just relax - they were sitting in some of the hammocks placed closer to the willow tree than the tables Five and Lila were setting up. Pogo (and wild was that? He married into a family with a chimpanzee uncle? Butler? He wasn’t too sure on the exact relationship) was sitting near them, reading some new book Ben had suggested to him. He was tasked with bringing out the dishes and condiments. 

Raymond had no idea how this had become his life but he didn’t think he’d change it for the world.

Why would he? He had married the best woman in the world, his job was making a visible difference in the world, somehow his family (crazy white people, mostly) were amazing, their home was better than any hope he’d ever had, and Allison had told him earlier today that their family was going to be just a little bit bigger in only a couple of months.

How could he be anything other than deliriously happy?

[enibly]

Strategizing For A Living Revolution

By George Lakey

Otpur (“Resistance” in Serbian) began as hundreds, then thousands, then tens of thousands of young people took to the streets to rid their country of dictator Slobadan Milosevic. Impatient with the cautious ways of many of their pro-democracy elders, the youths organized in coffee bars and schools, posted graffiti almost everywhere, and used their street actions to embarass the regime.

Milosevic counter-attacked. His police routinely beat up the protesters, in the streets and more thoroughly in the police stations. His spies were everywhere. His monopoly of the mass media meant that the Otpur was described as hoodlums and terrorists.

In October 2000 Otpur won; joined by hundreds of thousands of workers and professionals, the young people threw Milosevic out. His party was in disarray, his police in confusion, his army was split.

From the moment Otpur began it had a strategy. The young people were immensely creative in their tactics and at the same time realized that no struggle is ever won simply by a series of actions. Otpur activists knew they could only succeed by creating a strategy that guided a largely decentralized network of groups.

Cynical outsiders were skeptical when Otpur activists claimed not to have a leader, when the young people said they were all leaders and shared responsibility for their actions and their common discipline. What the skeptics overlooked was the power of strategy as a unifying force, taking its place beside the rebel energy and the lessons of recent history that the young people shared. Otpur activists didn't need an underground commander giving them their marching orders because they shared a strategy they believed in; they were happy to improvise creatively within that strategic framework.

Bojan Zarkovic, one of the Otpur trainers, told an audience at the A-Space (anarchist coffee house) in Philadelphia about the boundless creativity of the young people. They would virtually fill a wall of newsprint with their tactical ideas, he said. Then they would choose, in light of their strategy and also their preference for humor and pranks. The result was that the media's painting of them as terrorists lost credibility. True, these young people wore black jeans, black leather jackets, and black T-shirts with a clenched fist silk-screened on the front, but their actions had humor andconnected with people. Passersby who saw them (and spread the word) debunked the media portrayal. “They're our kids having fun and, you know, they're right about Milosevic!” is what they said as they spread the word.

Late '90s Serbia was different in many ways from the situation facing activists in the U.S. or other countries. Even so, Otpur's experience can stimulate our thinking. Given how many activists are tired of an endless round of protests that don't seem to add up to anything, Otpur activists' biggest gift to us might be their choice to unite around a strategy, to get creative about tactics, and to let the strategy guide which tactics make sense and which don't.

Strategy = Power

The young people who started Otpur had a clear conception of how domination works. They saw their society as a pyramid, with Milosevic and his cronies at the top, in alliance with business owners, party leaders, and generals. The direction of power was typically top-down, and included both obvious repression (the army, police, secret police) and subtle repression like a monopoly of the media and school curricula. Here's where Otpur activists diverged from conventional wisdom about power. They noticed that each layer of domination was in fact supported by the layer below; that the orders that were given were only carried out because those below were willing to carry them out.

Rather than buy into the top-down version of power that Milosevic wanted them to believe, they decided instead to picture Serbian society as organized into pillars of support holding up the dictator. If the pillars gave way, Otpur believed that Milosevic would fall.

This alternative view of power became so central to Otpur that it was taught in all the trainings of new Otpur members. (All new Otpur members were expected to go through the training so they could understand the winning strategy.)

Since the top power-holders depend on the compliance of those beneath them to stay on top, Otpur's strategy was to weaken the compliance and finally to break it. First, Otpur needed to ask: which are the pillars of support needed by the dictatorship? Then: what are the tactics that will weaken those pillars?

Activists in other countries can follow this methodology to begin to create their strategy.

Here's just one example of how it worked in Serbia. One pillar of support for Milosevic was his police. Otpur systematically undermined that pillar. The young activists knew that fighting the police would strengthen police loyalty to Milosevic (and also support the mass media claim that the young people were hoodlums and terrorists). So they trained themselves to make nonviolent responses to police violence during protests. One of the slogans they learned during their trainings was: “It only hurts if you're scared.” They took photos of their wounded. They enlarged the photos, put them on signs, and carried the signs in front of the houses of the police who hurt them. They talked to the cop's neighbors about it, took the signs to the schools of the police officers' children and talked with the children about it. After a year of this, police were plainly reluctant to beat Otpur activists even when ordered to do so, because they didn't want the negative reactions of their family, friends, neighbors.

The young people joked with the plainclothes police assigned to infiltrate them and reminded the cops that everyone would get their chance to act for democracy. Through the assertive outreach of the activists, relationships were built with the police, even into the higher ranks. When the movement ripened into a full-fledged insurgency in Belgrade, many police were sent out of the city by their commanders while other police simply watched the crowds take over the Parliament building.

It wasn't easy, as one of my Otpur friends who had been beaten repeatedly told me. It was, however, simple; the strategy guided the young activists to develop creative tactics that took away one of the key pillars of the dictator's support.

Can this alternative view of power work other places?

One reason why the Otpur activists worked so efficiently at undermining the various pillars of Milosevic' support was because many knew their view of power had already worked in other places. Consider what had happened within the lifetime of Otpur teenagers: the Philippine dictator Marcos had been overthrown by what was called “people power” in 1986; Communist dictatorships had been overthrown by people power in East Germany, Czechoslovakia, Hungary, and Poland in 1989; commanders in the KGB, army, and Communist Party were prevented by people power from establishing a coup in Russia in 1991; a mass nonviolent uprising in Thailand prevented a top military general from consolidating his power in 1993; the South African whites' monopoly political rule was broken in 1994 after a decade of largely nonviolent struggle. In all these places the power-holders found their power slipping away because those they depended on refused any longer to follow the script.

When I was trying as a young man to puzzle out this alternative view of power, so different from what is usually taught in school, I encountered Bernard Lafayette, who was then a Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee (SNCC) staffer from the deep South. He explained it to me with a metaphor. Bernard said that a society is like a house. The foundation is the cooperation or compliance of the people. The roof is the state and its repressive apparatus. He asked me what happens to the house if the foundation gives way. He went on to ask: “How will it change what happens if more weapons are put on the roof, bigger tanks, more fancy technology? What will happen to the house then, if the foundation gives way?”

I then realized why this alternative view isn't promoted in school. What power holders would want us to know that the power is in fact in our hands? That instead of being intimidated by police, military, corporate leaders, media tycoons, and politicians, the people were to find out that we give away our power through compliance, and we can take it back again through noncooperation?

Of course the power holders want us to believe that power is top-down, that we must be passive, that violence is the most powerful force. Don't look for them to declare a national holiday dedicated to People Power!

And they don't need to. The use of nonviolent tactics to force change has a deep track record which is reaching critical mass. For example, hundreds of thousands of people of color have used nonviolent direct action in campaigns for over a century in the U.S. alone. (In 1876 in St. Louis African Americans were doing freedom rides against discrimination on trolley cars, to take one of thousands of examples.) In any given week there are community-based organizations of people of color, all across the U.S., who are engaged in nonviolent action: marches, sit-ins, street blockades, boycotts, civil disobedience, and the like. Books could be written just about the unions of people of color, like the hospital workers, hotel workers, and janitors, who go out on strike as well as use other tactics. While names of people of color most easily leap to mind when we think of nonviolent action, like Martin Luther King and Cesar Chavez, and a higher proportion of blacks than whites participate in nonviolent struggles, it's still not just “a black thing.” Whites in the U.S., especially working class whites, also have a long track record of using nonviolent tactics to struggle for their goals. The challenge is not so much encouraging diverse peoples to engage in nonviolent struggle when they are up against it; the challenge is to link short-run struggles to more far-ranging goals4.

Noncooperation is not enough My friends in Otpur would be the first to admit that a mass insurgency that brings down a dictator is not enough—not enough to establish full democracy, respect for diversity, economic institutions in harmony with the earth, or other parts of their vision. It's one thing to open up a power vacuum through noncooperation (and that is a great and honorable achievement). It's another thing firmly to establish the democratic community we deserve.

For that, the strategy must go deeper. We need to go beyond what has been done plenty of times in history—to overthrow unjust governments through nonviolent struggle—and create a strategy that builds at the same time as it destroys. We need a strategy that validates alternatives, supports the experience of freedom, and expands the skills of cooperation. We need a political strategy that is at the same time a community strategy, one that says “yes” to creative innovation in the here and now and links today's creativity to the new society that lies beyond a power shift.

With the help and feedback of many activists from a number of countries I've created a strategic framework that aims to support today's activists, something like the way Otpur activists were supported by their strategy. I call it a strategy for a living revolution.

The strategy not only encourages creating new tactics and more boldness in using the best of the old, but it also helps activists sort out which tactics will be most effective. Finally, the strategy brings in the dimension of time. It suggests that some tactics that are ineffective at one moment will be just right at another. It offers an organic, developmental framework of stages over time.

Time matters. Activists from other countries have been heard to laugh at U.S. activists because we notoriously lack a sense of history. This strategy framework supports us to overcome our cultural limitation and learn to think like the historical beings that we actually are.

The strategy framework has five stages:

Cultural preparation

Organization-building

Confrontation

Mass political and economic noncooperation

Parallel institutions

The stages are in sequence, with lots of overlap. Like any model, this one is over- simplified in order to be more easily learned and worked with. One of my favorite ways to complexify the model is to picture society as a cluster of sub-societies that respond to these stages at different rates, which means that activists might go through the first several stages over and over. In reality we may end up more in cyclical motion than in linear progression. But that's for later. Right now, I'll present the five stages in a linear way, and be happy for readers who get from it a sense of movement over time.

(continued here: https://www.historyisaweapon.com/defcon1/lakeylivrev.html)

[seeaddywrite]

overcome by shame, can i ever change?

part 3/6: five times Alex stopped Michael from doing something stupid, & one time Michael returned the favor.

warnings: for this part – grief, allusions to depression, alcohol abuse, self-loathing, abuse of a police officer’s position, the usual. 

you can also read/follow on AO3, if you prefer. (the formatting is 110x better & includes italics where they are supposed to be!) i’m not making any promises about having the next part up tomorrow because this work week may kill me, but i’ll get it up asap. 

Less than a month later, Michael’s slumped against the wall in the Chaves County Sheriff’s station. The view from the cell hasn’t changed since the day Michael and Isobel gave Max hell for healing Liz Ortecho in front of it, and the sight gives Michael a painful expectation of seeing his brother walking through the door at any moment, uniform and disappointed scowl in place, self-righteous lecture at the ready. But that’s not going to happen, so Michael’s swollen eyes are closed. The feeling of loss eases, if only a little, and keeping his eyelids shut helps against the steady throb in his cheek and ribs, too. 

It also allows him to ignore the look burning into him from the desk across the room, where his arresting officer sits. The young man is new, desperate to prove himself -- fuck, it actually looks like he’s shined the badge on the front of his uniform. He’s wet behind the ears, too goddamned eager to show how much better he is than guys like Michael. 

Michael knows that’s why he’s still sitting here. Sheriff Valenti would’ve let him go by now, shaking her head at him in wordless disappointment, just as she had the last few times he’d found himself in here after Max’s death. This guy doesn’t give a shit about Michael’s grief, though. Doesn’t even know about it, since only a few have been told the truth. Kyle’d insisted on bringing his mom into the loop after Caulfield and discovering his father’s role in it, and Michael and Isobel had been too numb to argue for more than a few minutes. 

The sense of those eyes on him starts to chafe, and Michael forces his eyes open to meet the Deputy stare-for-stare. He knows the picture he paints: the black cowboy hat perched haphazardly on his head, the insolent tilt of of his chin and shoulders, the sprawling pose he’d adopted against the wall with his legs crossed in front of him. It’s an image he’s cultivated for the last decade of his life. The rebel. The drunk. The outcast, challenging anyone who dares to get too close. 

Most people never bother to look beyond the facade, and Michael usually prefers it that way. Today, though, it rubs him the wrong way. He’s used to Max being the one to pull him out of the drunk tank in the morning, accustomed to the lectures and the insistence that Michael is worth more than this, more than the booze and the fights and the disappointment in everyone’s gazes when they looked at him. Those damned speeches had always made Michael homicidal; Max never seemed to understand that what they’d done to Rosa had killed any chance of a future for him just as surely as it had killed the girl herself. To Michael, Max had always seemed unaffected, infuriatingly numb to the truth of the crime they committed and immune to the consequences, and his insistence that Michael deserved to move forward, simply because he had, only ever made Michael resent his brother.

Finally, the Deputy seems to have enough of their staring contest. Michael’s eyes flicker open at the scraping of a chair leg on the floor, and he watches with a blank expression as the man strides across the floor with the sort of bow-legged strut used men with more ego than common sense. He tips his chin back to meet the man’s gaze, squinting through the swelling around his eyes, but doesn’t move otherwise, letting the man come at him first, instead.

“So,” he says, and Michael’s eyes dart to the too-shiny badge on his chest. Simmons. The name is vaguely familiar, like all names in a town this small, but Michael doesn’t care enough to try to figure out where he’s heard it before. It’s not like it actually matters. “Your third bar brawl in two weeks. I’d be impressed, except that’s nothing for you, is it?”

The sneer in his words is expected, and Michael only rolls his eyes. “Slow week,” he drawls in reply, ignoring the shooting pain caused by moving his jaw. “I’ll make sure to throw a few more punches next week just for you.” 

Simmons huffs a disdainful laugh, and reaches back to take a stack of paperwork from his desk. “Unlikely,” he says, flipping a page in a file. “I know that you’re used to special treatment, Guerin, but I’m not Valenti. I don’t have a soft-touch for hopeless cases.” 

Michael snorts. “Yeah? You want to go tell her she’s a soft-touch to her face?” He doesn’t think much of the law, never has, but he knows that Michele Valenti is far from gentle. She’s fair, and usually pretty by-the-book, if Max is to be believed, but she’s as tough as nails when needed, and if Simmons hasn’t learned that yet -- well, Michael’s pretty sure the Sheriff will enjoy showing him how wrong he is. Michael can only hope he’s around to see it. 

Apparently, Simmons doesn’t like Michael’s flippancy. His brows draw downward into a pinched, angry expression, and he leans in close, close enough that Michael can see every carefully steamed inch of his impeccable uniform. The image jolts something loose in Michael’s mind, dragging unwanted memories of Max’s first days on the force to the front. 

Isobel had insisted on re-ironing Max’s slacks so they wouldn’t be wrinkled for his first shift. Michael’d been at Max’s for god-knew what reason, since he hadn’t even been able to look at his brother that soon after Rosa’s death -- but Michael had been there as Max put that uniform on for the first time, watched as determination filled his expression and inflated his chest and shoulders. Determination to make up for the wrongs he’d done, to atone for the sins he’d committed by helping others, as if he could somehow undo the horrible thing they’d done with good intentions. 

Michael had burned with fury at Max’s naivete, with jealousy, for his ability to move forward when Michael himself was stuck, suspended in that moment, day after day. 

It’s funny. Michael had always thought that the year after Rosa’s death was rock bottom -- yet here he is, still trapped, still furious and heartbroken, with no one to blame but himself. 

“You’re going down this time, Guerin. Assault, at the very least. That guy you were beating on had broken ribs, and there’s no way he’s going to drop the charges -- and I will personally see to it that someone claps you in cuffs and throws you in a cell to rot.” Simmons slams his hand against the bars, hard enough to make the entire cell rattle, and Michael blinks away the remnants of the memory to look back at Max’s replacement, lips curled in a sneer. Blood trickles from a split that hadn’t quite closed, yet and down his chin, but Michael doesn’t move to wipe it away. 

“That what gets you off? Guys in handcuffs?” he drawls. “I’m flattered, officer, but you’re not really my type.” And that is an understatement. In fact, comparing Simmons to Alex is an actual insult, as far as Michael is concerned -- not that he should be thinking of Alex right now. Or ever. 

Simmons’ face flushes with anger, and Michael allows himself a small, triumphant smirk. He knows he’s signing his own arrest warrant with his behavior, but he’s known that for weeks. Eventually, all of his sins would catch up with him, and he’s done trying to outrun them. 

Much to Michael’s regret, Simmons gets ahold of his temper quickly; his hands clench at his sides, and there’s a vein throbbing visibly beneath his carefully tousled blond bangs, but his voice is calm, almost cloying pleasant, when he speaks again. “Ah, well that explains things, doesn’t it?” he muses, and the knowing tone in his voice makes Michael wants to punch him hard enough to break that Colgate smile. “I knew Evans was disappearing your paperwork - every time someone tried to prosecute you, it would all just vanish, or the plaintiff would just suddenly withdraw all charges. It was obviously Evans -- I just hadn’t been able to figure out why he’d risk his career like that on a nobody like you.”

Michael struggles to make sense of that information, tries to fumble it into the schema of his and Max’s relationship for the last decade, but the pieces don’t fit. Max had always been the goody-two shoes, so by-the-book in dealing with Michael’s indiscretions that it is impossible to believe that he’d literally been tampering with the paperwork to keep him out of jail. Michael had always just thought Max had pulled in favors with Valenti, or used the ‘old friend’ card over and over -- but this? Had Max really gone to such extreme lengths to keep Michael out of jail?

“But if you two were fucking before he skipped town, well. That makes a hell of a lot more sense, doesn’t it?” 

White-hot rage greys out Michael’s vision, and he’s on his feet against the bars before his mind catches up with the instinct. The feeling is senseless; the insane assumption should be something he laughs at, uses to deride Simmons’ detective work, but Michael can’t summon any humor or snark to throw at him. Hearing Max’s name from his asshole replacement is too much, and Michael’s had all he can take. Power builds in his hands where they’re pressed against the cold metal of the bars, humming through him and causing a ringing, metallic buzz to echo through the small room.

He can’t do this. He has to stop, needs to push the power down and keep it hidden, but Michael’s so removed from his own body in that moment that he can practically look down at himself and see the tension turning into a wavering aura of power in the small cell. 

“That’s enough,” a harsh voice snaps, and both Michael and Simmons’ attention shifts immediately to Alex Manes. He’s looming in the open doorway, blocking all view to the administrative section of the office, an air of authority around his camo-covered shoulders that makes Michael’s breath catch in his throat.

In some ways, Alex is as familiar to him as the parts of his truck, or the smooth surface of the ship fragments he spends his nights with, but while he wears that uniform and that particular expression -- the one that not only demands instant obedience but expects it -- Michael can’t help but feel like he’s staring at a stranger. And after years of limited contact and heartbreak, that’s likely how it should be. Michael almost wishes it could be that simple. Instead, he’s fairly certain that despite everything, he could still pick Alex out of a crowd of millions from miles away. Something in his chest always thrills to Alex’s presence, drawing Michael’s gaze to him even when Alex is the last person he wants to see. 

“What the hell are you doing back here, Manes?” Simmons demands, crossing his hands over his chest and straightening his shoulders in an obvious effort to look intimidating. He’s got an inch and several pounds of muscle on Alex, so it should work, but in comparison to Alex’s hard expression and relaxed but ready body language, Simmons is nothing. Alex certainly doesn’t think so; he stares fearlessly back at the Deputy and raises an eyebrow, a challenge inherent in the minuscule movement. 

“That’s Captain Manes, actually,” Alex corrects definitively. “And I’m here because the guy he hit—” Alex nods toward Michael. “— is Air Force. He’s being reassigned effective Monday morning with a black mark for excessive drinking and brawling in public, so he won’t be pressing charges.” 

Alex presents a set of papers to the Deputy with a flourish, a hint of the attitude Michael had fallen in love with a decade ago shining through in the movement. Simmons gives him a long, hard look, then snatches the papers from his hands, all but tearing them with unnecessary force. While he reads, Alex looks around him to Michael, a silent query on his face.

Michael blinks slowly, taking stock of his body and the energy that has receded somewhat at the sight of Alex. He’s sober enough to wonder, this time, if he’ll always have this reaction to the other man -- if he’s doomed to only ever feel calm and safe around someone who’s so tangled up in some of the most negative, traumatic experiences of his life that Michael doesn’t know how to separate Alex’s comforting grip with the vice around his heart when he thinks of Caulfield. Of his mother.

Right now, he can almost convince himself it doesn’t matter. Michael’s too relieved to see Alex, too grateful for his intervention, to feel anything else.Taking a long, slow breath, Michael peels his fingers away from the bars of the cell and takes a step back. The metallic hum in the room stops completely, and as long as Alex gets him out of there without Simmons making any more comments about the kind of man Max was, Michael thinks he can avoid this situation turning into more of a disaster.

“The military doesn’t have any jurisdiction in Roswell,” Simmons says a moment later, his chest once again puffing out in righteous indignation. “Guerin’s been picked up three times in the last two weeks for the same offense. We don’t need your guy to press charges; I’ve got plenty of evidence to keep him in lock-up.” 

Alex’s eyes narrow, and Michael almost feels sorry for Simmons. Almost. 

“Really.” The word is flat, loaded with insinuation. “So this has nothing to do with the fact that you lost out on the  position at this station to Max Evans? And then lost out on the last open position for Evans’ partner because he said he didn’t want to work with you?” Alex’s expression is carefully blank, but Michael can read him well enough to know that he’s ready to go for the throat. 

It shouldn’t surprise Michael that there are large chunks of Max’s life he knows nothing about. The two of them hadn’t been able to get past what happened to Rosa and the way it was handled, and that crack had led to nearly complete fragmentation in the intervening years. There’s no chance of fixing it, now, no way of knowing if they could have regained the closeness they’d shared for so long, because Max is dead -- but somehow, Michael is still learning things about his brother that make him want to put his fist through a wall. How many times had Max risked his career for Michael by destroying documents and evidence? How many people had he run off from the position as his partner to protect Michael? And why had he done it? Protecting their secret is one thing, but fuck, how is Michael supposed to take that information in stride?

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Simmons blusters, but Michael can tell the Deputy knows that he’s been beaten. Alex doesn’t go to battle without all of the facts on his side, without an ironclad plan, and Simmons had lost before they’d even begun. 

Alex snorts. “Sure I don’t,” he says amicably. “Why don’t we ask Sheriff Valenti, then? If all of your evidence on Guerin is by the book? I’m sure she’d be happy to back up one of her deputies and kick me out, if that’s the case.” 

Michael doesn’t know if Alex is bluffing, which almost certainly means Simmons can’t tell, either. He waits, aware that he should be more concerned about the outcome of this grudge match than he is, until Simmons growls, “Fine. Get him out of here. But the next time --” 

“You’ll throw him in cuffs and leave him to rot, yeah, I got it,” Alex interrupts, his tone suggesting that if he weren’t in uniform, he’d be rolling his eyes. “Keys.” 

Simmons slaps the keys to the cell into Alex’s extended palm and stomps out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Michael watches, silent, as Alex allows his airman persona to fade back into the gentler, less composed version of himself. “I hacked the cameras before I came in, just in case,” he says, and gestures at the lock on the cell. “You still need me to let you out?” 

A moment later, Michael has released the latch on the cell with a tendril of thought and stands in front of Alex, chin raised daringly as dark eyes take in his injuries. “We should go before that guy comes back,” is all he says, and Michael trails him out of the precinct and into the cool night air. Michael takes a deep breath and slouches back against the wall, eying Alex. He’s not sure what he’s supposed to say or what’s expected of him now; hell, he doesn’t know how to interact with Alex on a good day, anymore. 

“You didn’t need to do that,” Michael says after a moment, the words stiff. Anger would have been better, but Michael can’t seem to summon it back now that it’s gone. “It would’ve been fine.” 

Alex shoots him a skeptical glance, but doesn’t argue. “I’m going to take that as Guerin speak for, ‘thanks for getting me out of jail,’” he snipes, and hits a button on his keychain, making his SUV blink its lights from a block down. “Come on. Your truck is still at the Pony, I’m guessing? I’ll give you a ride and you can pick it up tomorrow.” 

There isn’t much chance to argue, or Michael’s too tired to try. He trails Alex into the SUV, grateful despite himself for the unwavering presence at his side. His brain is still trying to process the fact that Max, despite ten years of distance and resentment, had still been protecting him. It’s a bizarre juxtaposition with the assumption that Max had only ever done anything to protect him in order to protect their secret. Max had fucked up so many times over the years: he’d left Michael alone and scared in foster care, had only listened as Michael whispered confessions of pain and fear of the families he lived with as a child, had pushed him into taking the blame for Isobel’s crimes and allowed him to give up on the one chance at a future he had -- 

Michael hates looking backward, and hates the fact that he understands Max so much better now that he’s gone. His brother had never been human, but he was as flawed as any of them, and yes, he had made mistakes. But how many of those mistakes had seemed unforgivable because of Michael’s own unhappiness? How much of his resentment toward Max had sprung from Max falling from the pedestal Michael had put him on? 

The hand that had, until recently, been numb and scarred, flexes against his thigh. Michael will never know what Max was thinking, that night. He’ll never be able to ask questions, or try to mend the rift that he’d helped created between them. 

Michael will never have a brother again, and the loss feels fresh, now, as if the experience with Simmons had ripped a new wound over the infected one still oozing in his chest. 

“Michael,” Alex says quietly, catching his attention more effectively than if he’d stood up and yelled. It’s rare to hear his first name from Alex, rarer still to hear it in a tone that borders on affection. They’ve avoided that sort of relationship for years, both aware that they’re in the middle of a balancing act, and one wrong move could send them careening over the edge into a world of hurt. “You’ve got to stop doing this. I’m not going to be able to use the same tricks next time, and . . .” he trails off, his fingers tightening around the steering wheel as he psyches himself up for whatever else he has to say. “And Max isn’t here to stop them from making sure you end up in prison.”

The words emerge in a rush, so quick that Michael has to let them process before he understands why Alex is so nervous. No one who mentioned his brother had walked away unscathed, lately; it was a surefire way to send Michael spiralling. 

But it hurts less, somehow, hearing the truth from Alex. Maybe because he knows that Alex understands grief, understands the feeling of anger that follows in the wake of abandonment, or because he knows Alex isn’t throwing words around to hurt him. So Michael doesn’t react; he simply turns his head to look out the window and watches the New Mexican desert fly by. 

It’s clear that Alex doesn’t know how to read Michael’s silence. He rushes on, obviously determined to get the words out before Michael loses his temper. “Think about it, Michael. If they get you in a jail cell, how long is it going to take before your cellmates, or a guard, or someone realizes that there’s something different about you? What if you get hurt and sent to medical? Who’s going to stop them from doing tests and figuring out that you’re not human? My father would love that kind of opportunity, Guerin. Please, for the love of god, don’t give it to him.”

Michael swallows, an old fear rising in his gut as he considers the scenario Alex spins for him. Jesse Manes. Experimentation. Tortured, like his mother and the rest of those poor souls hidden away at Caulfield prison. He shudders, hands digging into his jeans hard enough that his nails score the tender skin beneath. 

There’s a beat of silence, and then Alex’s hand is resting over the back of his left one, a gentle slide of skin that makes it easier for Michael to breathe. He almost misses the tremble in Alex’s fingers, caught up in his own emotions, but it’s there, and impossible to ignore. Michael glances up at Alex, surprised to see an anxiety nearly matching his own on his face, and wonders how often he’s ignored the way the people around him are feeling in favor of drowning in his own feelings. 

Michael flips his hand and squeezes Alex’s back, and triumph sparks in his chest when he catches the barest hint of a smile flash across full lips. 

“I know you don’t want to talk, okay, I get it. Believe me, I get it.” Alex’s words, when he speaks again, are full of rueful self-recrimination, and again Michael is struck by his own selfishness. He’s not the only one mired in trauma and hurt. But despite his own pain, despite the way Michael has treated him, Alex has been there when MIchael needs him. Every damn time. 

“But the way you’ve been acting lately -- shit, Guerin, it’s fucking terrifying. The drinking is one thing, but the fighting? The total disregard for your own health and well-being? That’s not what Max would’ve wanted for you. Do you think he spent the last decade of his life bailing you out of jail because he wanted you to rot there? Do you think your mother died convincing you to run because she wanted you to die out here instead?”

Michael’s fists clench in his lap, but his powers don’t react. This is Alex, after all, the calm in the middle of his storm, and something in Michael refuses to allow anything that might bring him harm. He grits his teeth against the spiral of guilt and shame that threatens at Alex’s words, and reaches for the door handle, ignoring the fact that the car is still moving. Alex shouts and slams on the breaks, leaving them both startled and staring at each other across the console between their seats. 

“I just want to help, Guerin,” Alex says, obviously biting back a furious comment at Michael’s stupidity. “I’m not asking you to love me, or date me, or whatever it is you’re so set against. I just want to make sure you don’t end up dissected or left to rot in one of my father’s torture chambers. Can’t you just let me?” 

The fight rushes out of Michael with a long breath, and he slumps back in the car seat. His head tips to one side, and he looks straight at Alex with a resigned, wary expression. “That’s the problem, Alex,” he says dully. “I do love you.” As much as he could love anyone at the moment. “But I can’t do anything about it. Not right now.” Maybe not ever. 

Alex’s face is washed pale yellow in the headlights of an oncoming car, and Michael doesn’t miss the hurt etched into the lines of his face, though it’s gone in a moment. 

“I’m not asking you to do anything about it,” Alex says quietly. “I’m asking you to come back to my place tonight, get some sleep, and eat an actual meal in the morning. We can figure out where to go from there.” One large hand rests on the gear shift lever, waiting for Michael’s go-ahead before he puts it into drive. 

Michael hesitates, part of him determined to climb out the door and trudge back to the Airstream to suffer through another night alone. But fighting Alex never gets him anywhere, and Michael’s tired of trying to stand on his own. If Max’s loss has taught him anything, aside from the fact that he does care about the self-sacrificing dumbass, it’s that Alex meant it, when he called Michael his family. And maybe, on a night like tonight, it’s not so wrong to want that support, no matter how selfish it feels.

So instead of following his instincts to run, Michael catches Alex’s eye and nods.

[angstalottle]

Lana On The Case

Part 3

Lana knew she shouldn’t have been expecting much, especially after spending the last week lying in bed stewing in her own filth and misery.

That didn’t change the fact that her current appearance still shocked her.

Her skin had gained an ashen quality about it and dark circles under her eyes.

She was sure is Red hadn’t practically force fed her she was have lost much more weight then she already had.

She felt drained and heavy, like her life was sucked out from her when Hannah left her…

Keith showing up had given her a small glimmer of excitement perhaps even hope but as soon as he was gone and she was left alone to her thoughts they turned right back to the fact that her best friend was gone from her life forever.

That thought hurt even more than knowing her sweet wonderful Hannah killed people.

Job offer or not Lana likely would have spent the rest of her life lying in her bed if her aunties hadn’t decided to do something about it.

One moment she's dozing staring into space, the next Blue has pulled her covers away while Re dumped a bucket of warm soapy water over her.

The two manhandled her out of bed and into some clean clothes before giving her two options.

One was to stay cooped up inside and suffer through them inviting every nosey friend they could think of over to omard her with questions and pinched cheeks followed by of course the dreaded relationship advice that everyone over a certain age believed they knew.

Or go down to the police station and actually do something with her life/

Though neither option was particularly fun in the end Lana chose to go out mainly because Red had also made a swinging joke which of course practically sent her bolting through the door.

The police station like everything else in the village was only a short walk away from the Altea estate, you could get pretty much anywhere by cutting through the large gardens that have unfortunately fallen into a state of disrepair.

The lady of the manor had died when Lana was away and since then the place hadn’t been the same, like some of the beauty of the world left when she did.

As far as she knew the only daughter of the family Allura was away for school or something while her father worked in London.

Lana had fond memories of Allura, being a few years younger then the girl and quite a bit poorer, she always seemed like this fairy princess that could have anything or do anything.

Looks like not even princesses could escape tragedy.

Lana hiked up her skirt as she climbed over the thick mess of weeds and flowers careful not to disturb anything as she passed through.

Even if everyone took the shortcut it was an unsaid rule that you were not to disturb the gardens or ever go close to the house.

Of course when Lance got her foot caught in a bramble and fell face first into the ground she broke that rule by flattening at least a dozen flowers beneath her.

“Oh dear are you alright?” A woman wearing a veil and long white gloves asked as she hurried over from the main house.

Odd appearance aside what really caught Lana’s attention was her snow white hair. A characteristic that was common amongst the Altean family.

Going off her build she could have been anywhere between 20-30 but without the face or hands it really was impossible to tell.

Lana felt her cheeks burn as she pulled herself up and dusted herself down frowning at the rip that now worked its way up her blue skirt.

The woman put her hands on her dress and examined the rip tutting softly “we really must get the gardener back in this place really has fallen to ruin.”

Now that she was closer Lana could smell the sweet scent of roses coming off her in such a large volume it would almost be suffocating if they weren't outside.

“Do you work here?” Lana asked trying to swallow her embarrassment while this strange woman kept hold of her skirt.

One strong breeze and she would see next weeks washing.

The woman chuckled “not exactly. I used to live here I never actually planned on returning but in light of my father's disappearance I suppose I didn’t have much choice.”

Lana couldn’t help but flinch, since what Hannah did came to light any case of men running off in the middle of the night or simply not returning after a day out is now considered suspect.

Their still digging up all the bodies and people have been flocking from all over in search of their missing husbands, fathers and brothers.

Lana then realised something very important.

Mainly that if Alfor was missing and this woman was his daughter then it must have been Allura!

“Allura?”

Lana couldn’t see her face but she imagined a smile on those pretty pink painted lips she used to know very well.

“That’s me, im sorry but who are you?”

Lana had her suspicions of course that this was all a scam, someone swooping in to steal the Altean family fortune, but she wasn’t really in the mood for any other mysteries right now.

That and according to Keith she was pretty forgettable.

“Oh im Lana… I used to play with you in the garden as a kid.”

“Oh my i'm so sorry Lana, im afraid my memory hasn’t been that good since the accident. She gestured to her veil and gloves “I got caught up in the Blitz and i'm afraid my appearance paid a higher price then by mind.”

Lana felt guilt crawl into her stomach, well at least she didn’t outright accuse  her of being a con artist. Besides Coran was a dear friend of the family, there's no way someone would be able to just take over Allura’s life without him noticing.

“Im sorry, I didn’t realise.”

Allura waved her off finally letting go of her skirt “don’t worry about it, ive made my peace with my situation, it is a tad lonely though, people aren't exactly eager to visit the manor these days.” She sounded so sincerely sad that Lana couldn’t help but feel for her.

She knew what it was like to lose everything because of a situation out of her control, the war had stolen many things from them, Lana was lucky to keep her beauty at least.

“Well then I suppose I have no choice but to come round for tea, I would invite you to my aunts cottage but they tend to get too excited around anyone they used to know.”

Lana gave her the best smile she could manage and was rewarded by Allura taking her hands and kissing them.

Once again her face turned an interesting shade of red.

“That sounds simply wonderful Lana, how about Thursday at 8 o'clock?”

Lana had lost her ability to form words so simply nodded earning her a small chuckle in response.

“I don’t want to keep you if your busy so ill just see you Thursday?” Allura asked startling Lana out of her stupor.

“Yes I should go, but i'll erm see you then I promise.”

Lana stuttered deciding it was best to continue on her way before she made an even bigger fool of herself so mustered up what grace she had to give an awkward curtsy realising that was dumb halfway through and instead turned and hurried on her way hitting herself muttering “stupid stupid stupid” over and over again until she finally arrived at the police station.

As expected of a small town the police station was fairly quiet this time of day home only to the drunks that were picked up the night before and only now being released to go back to their family or in some cases the church.

Of course one would expect it to be much busier with the number of bodies being dug up but unfortunately since Hannah left and it became national news the investigation had been taken over by some fancy out of state law enforcement that walk around in nice suits and a stuck up attitude to match their overall pompous appearance.

Going off the sour atmosphere in the station no one was too pleased to have the villages first ever big case stolen from under them.

Lana did her best to smile politely as she made her way to reception preparing herself for awkward small talk with someone she really hoped wouldn't recognise her.

“Hello im here-”

“If you got a crime to report fill out the form if not get lost.”

The woman behind the desk looked too young to be working, her slight frame and big doe eyes making her seem like she couldn't be much older than 15 but then again looks can be deceiving. Like the fact that despite wearing big round glasses and squinting at a book in front of her the glass within the frame appeared to be purely decorative and not actually serve any function.

Lana cleared her throat “no actually i'm here about the job. Im expected.”

This time she at least bothered to look up from her book and glanced Lana up and down “what they replacing me with some tramp, i've worked here ten years and they bring in some totty to take my job”

Lana quickly held up her hands feeling actually pretty threatened by this tiny angry lady “no! No i'm the new consultant im supposed to be working with Keith and-”

“Oi Keith! Some broad here says shes your new partner!” She yelled and just like that, all eyes were on her.

Lana smiled awkwardly at them really wishing a hole would appear beneath her and swallow her up whole so she could escape this situation.

However the only thing the universe sent her was a very flustered keith running in from the back.

He was carrying a stack of papers and had that god awful mullet tied back in a ponytail that honestly didn't look half bad on him.

“Thanks Katie i can take her from here.” Keith dropped the papers on her desk “Also Griffin needs you to file these for him.”

“He could do it himself” Katie grumbled grabbing the papers and flicking through them “he didn't even bother filling some of these out!”

Keith quietly grabbed Lana’s arm and pulled her towards him as Katie got distracted with her angry mutterings “Sorry about her, she's just pissed that her dad lost his job to a hot shot whos dad just happens to be a governor.”

“Ah where would be be without nepotism” Lana chuckled letting Keith led her back into a small office where five other people were sat. She assumed the cells were behind one of the closed doors and perhaps the archive room behind another.

It had been a long time since she had been back here, it was certainly before the war was even a possibility and she had broken the wrong persons window and ended up having to wait for her mother by Corans desk.

People tend to say that places from your youth always seem so much smaller when you visit them again. Until now Lana wasn't really sure she bought into that nostalgia fueled nonsense.

But seeing the row of chairs her feet used to dangel off while she prepared an excuse for her behaviour for her furious mother now looked like they would fall apart if she just got too close let alone sat on one.

At least not all the changes were bad. Coran really did deserve that nice office and the title Detective neatly painted above his name.

“You know I was starting to think you wouldn't be coming” Keith said as they came to what Lana assumed was his desk. It was a little away from the others and scattered with paper work in various states of finished. It lacked much personality beyond a couple of knives and oh boy keith standing next to an incredibly attractive man that Lana realised fairly quickly must have been his older brother.

“To be honest i wasn't sure either, my life kinda went to hell but Aunt Blue and Red practically shoved me out of the door.”

Keith chuckled in response as her perched on the edge of his desk “that sounds about right. Though I hate to say it but you've kind of come on boring day. Everyones so desperate for something to do that their even taking the grunt work from me.”

“So what your just sitting around all day?” Lana asked right as a hand collided with her behind.

Lana likes to think herself an understanding woman. Or at least she tries to ever since the instadent where what she thought was a gropper on a train turned out to be a blind man having dropped his cain. So rather then turning around and grabbing the arm of whoever just did that to break over her knee she calmly turned to them.

She came face to face with a tall man that she unfortunately recognised.

James Griffin top of the class when they went to school together and by far the most arrogant man she ever met. And that was before he got a cushy job thanks to his dad.

Lana glared up at him giving him a chance to apologize or say he had mistaken her for his girlfriend that was into that kind of thing.

Instead he just smirked “wow Keith how did you find yourself this hot piece of ass.”

Ok she was going to break his nose now.

Unfortunately before she got the chance keith stepped in front of her “don't talk to her like that Griffin, Coran hired her himself as a consultant and i'm sure he wouldn't take that kind of behaviour.’

James rolled his eyes but did visibly tense as he shot a glance at the closed office door. “Whatever. This whole thing is just for press, whoever heard of a woman police officer. Their far too emotional.”

“Last I checked you were the one that cried when i kicked you in the nuts as kids.” Lana huffed crossing her arms.

“Ah buck teeth Lana! My my you did fill out nicely. How about after work I take you out?” Jame smiled looking her up and down in a way that made her skin crawl.

“How about I tell your mother that you slap my ass, if i remember right she was a reasonable woman.”

Oh how quickly his attitude changed. He swallowed whatever response he had ready and scurried off to his office next to Corans.

“What a creep.”

“Yeah but a rich one.” Keith sighed “you ok?”

“Yeah just kinda pissed i didn't get to make that jerk squeal like in highschool.” Lana noticed a small smirk appear at the corner of keiths lips at that and decided to take it as a win even if she could still feel his disgusting hand on her.

Unfortunately the next few hours were not as exciting.

Lana pulled up a chair across from Keith and kept herself busy by flicking pieces of paper at him, an activity that he avoided joining in with for exactly ten minutes.

They were so wrapped up in their game that they didn't notice coran standing next to the desk until after Keith made the winning shot and jumped up to let out a victory cry.

“It's nice to see you've found a way to keep miss Mclain here entertained during our slow day.” Coran chuckled as Keith startled and quickly cleared his throat trying to hide the blush quickly creeping up his face.

“Detective i can explain”

Coran held his hand up quickly cutting him off “no need, I understand the importance of a bit of fun to avoid dying of boredom. The time for that has now sadly passed im sending you to look into a missing persons cases.”

Keith and lana exchanged a look, while lana’s was excitement Keiths was confusion.

“Sir while im happy for a case why not give it to someone else? Im sure all the others would kill for a case right now.”

Coran simply chuckled to himself handing over a case file “because Kogane your the only officer here I trust not to get side tracked while investigating. That and i'm sure Lana here will make sure your eyes don't wander too far.”

Lana wasn't really sure what he meant by that until they got to the scene of the crime.

Or as everyone else calls it the ‘Galra Gentlemens Club’.

When the club first opened it was met with outcry from the church and the school boards and well anyone with too much time on their hands.

Now after being open for more than a decade, those same people have become the most lucrative clientele, who know stuck up prudes could have such deep pockets for the sinful arts.

Keith had kindly offered to give Lana a ride on the handlebars of his bike since the club was located uphill from the station and there was no way the poor old police car would make it up the whole way. Apparently a replacement was on its way but they had been promising it since before the war.

Lana had of course told Keith that while she appreciate the offer she would find the very idea outlandishly improper, so of course made him ride the handle bars while she put her years of missing the bus and not wanting to be late training to good use.

After a quick check with her compact and a nod to Keith they entered the club.

Lana was no stranger to Gentlemens clubs, she had been to more than a few during the war to meet with people who were usually a lot more willing to give up information when they had a few drinks in them.

This club was no different, everything was a sickening deep purple as if the colour alone could make it classy or hide the disturbingly prominent wet patches on the couches.

Lana tried her very best not to stare at the men already here this early on a weekday morning and instead focused on following Keith back to see the manger.

“Just let me do the talking, guys like this aren't always that nice to women” Keith whispered as he knocked on the door and it swung open to not show a greasy man but instead a very tall muscular woman with short black hair wearing a suit.

Lana felt her mouth go dry just looking at her.

“A-are you the manager here?” Keith asked clearly feeling equally intimidated and aroused as Lana was.

“Yeah i am, who wants to know?” She asked leaning against the doorway and looking down at him. Her gaze however moved quickly from keith to Lana and a smile spread across her face.

“Usually we don't hire new talent outside of auditions but for  a beautiful girl like you im willing to make an exception.”

“I” Lana squeaked finding herself speechless for the first time in a long time.

Thankfully Keith came to her rescue before she could actually contemplate working for this greek god of a woman.

“Actually we came from the police station. You called about one of the dancers going missing?”

The woman nodded and stepped back into the room hurrying them inside before closing the door.

“Yeah my best girl Ezor, she was seen leaving the club last week but no one has seen her since.”

“Does she often disappear like this? Perhaps to visit a gentleman caller miss...?” Keith asked pulling out a notebook while Lana looked around the office.

“Zethrid…. And trust me she's not the sorts to make house calls.”

It was fairly empty save for a punching bag in the corner and a few pictures on the walls. Most of them were group shots of all the dancers in costumes. But those actually on the desk seemed only to contain Zethrid and a slim woman with pink hair tied in a high ponytail. It was just the two of them over and over again smiling like they didn't have a care in the world.

“Is this Ezor here?” Lana asked picking up one picture showing the two in the park, judging from the bunting and celebrating in the background it was the day the allie ‘won’ the war.

Zethrid nodded “yeah that's her… we actually live together and yeah she disappears sometimes but never for this long and never without contacting me.”

“Is it possible she ran off with a sweetheart?” Keith asked taking the picture.

“She wouldn't. I know she's been taken its the only explanation.”

Something told Lana that this relationship was deeper than friendship “The last night she was seen, was there anything unusual happening?”

Zethrid thought for a moment “now that you mention it there was a black car parked outside the club all day. I didn't give it much mind incase it was a customer trying to work up the nerve to come in but it left right after she did.”

“Did you happen to catch the plates?” Keith asked hopefully only to let out a disappointed sigh when she shook her head no.

“But the car was old looking with a dent in the drivers side door.”

Keith noted it down “thanks we will be in touch.”

He led the way out but Zethrid grabbed Lana by the arm before she could leave “please i can't imagine life without her… she's my best friend.”

Lana knew what it was like to lose one of those. So she smiled and put a hand over hers “I promise ill do everything I can to find her.”

Once they were safely outside keith let out a groan “you should promise people anything, it just means you'll get attached to the case.”

“Isn't that the job of a detective though? How can i love a case if i don't care about it?” Lana huffed hitching up her skirt and getting on the bike.

“I'm just saying that it will end up hurting you more if we find her dead in a ditch somewhere.”

Lana rolled her eyes “ever the optimist huh Mullet. Besides we have a lead how many people in town have old black cars?”

“Excluding the police cruiser i'd say seven.” Keith noticed the sceptical look Lana was giving him and rolled his eyes.

“My brother owns the mechanics remember, i help out sometimes and not many people really have cars round here.”

Lana sighed “maybe we should get a second opinion from your dreamy brother.” she batted her eyelashes playfully at him as he climbed onto the handle bars.

“Shut up and pedal we've got a lot of groundwork to do.”

Five hours!

It took five hours to find all the cars, to check for dents and alibis.

In that time Lana fell into two ditches, got attacked by a chicken and the rip in her dress traveled up to past her knee.

As her mother would say she's only some red lipstick away from looking like a whore.

Lana wished she could say that time was well spent and while watching Keith getting chased by an angry family of pigeons that had taken resident in one of the old cars they ultimately ended up on a dead end.

So while the light began to fade and the two slowly walked up to the station the mood was sour.

“It could always have been someone from out of town?” Lana suggested holding the split in her dress to try and keep it from travelling any higher.

“No they would have been too noticeable. If someone from out of town drove through here everyone would know about it by now. We must have missed something.”

Lana shivered in the cool air and was surprised when Keith handed over his jacket without taking his eyes off the path.

The red really did suit him better but the warmth from his body made her feel better.

“We should check surrounding houses tomorrow, maybe one of the cars was taken without the owner realising.”

“And what they dented it and then undented it?’ Keith snorted “no if the dent was fixed it would have had to come through the shop. Shiro may be able to help.”

“I'll try to hide my disappointment” Lana laughed earning her a playful push from Keith which she returned.

The two were laughing and having a moment of fun that when cold hard reality finally came crashing down Lana felt like she had been punched in the face.

Just as they walked in the car they were looking for pulled in behind them.

Old, black and with a large dent on the side.

The only problem was that it was Coran driving it.

[fiddle-styx]

on-going jikook fics

come and enjoy that wonderful moment of receiving an update notification

psa: i am sharing these wonderful stories because i love them and they deserve more recognition. please do not hassle the authors about updates because it is a terrible feeling and they don’t deserve that. we can just enjoy the wonderful anticipation of updates and share love for stories together!

go tell these authors how amazing their stories are instead!

(my tastes are all over the place, so enjoy variety too)

college/uni au and/or social media aus:

International playboy (don't answer) by blt_prf | 119k, 21chp oH I FUCHKED UP I FU UCKED UP YOUR'E NOT NAMJOON yeah what I've been trying to tell you or the one in which Jimin manages to mess up everything in one night and accidentally texts the guy he has a crush on

HIM by blt_prf | 99k, 14/16chp Jungook falls in love with the color red when he sees Jimin. Every single time a little bit more. In which Jimin has motion sickness and travels way too much, Jungkook is good at everything but relationships and Taehyung simply wants everyone to be happy. Hoseok and Yoongi are a mess, Namjoon takes too many philosophy classes and Jin makes sure nobody gets arrested. Everyone's in love and no one wants to grow up.

travel au:

until then, sink slowly by flitter | 46k, 8chp After a breakup, Jimin needs to get away. He ends up in Santorini, 5.4k miles away from home, eager to distance himself from anything remotely related to love. Too bad fate has other plans, in the form of a tour guide named Jungkook.

magic/supernatural aus:

Maelstrom by Charmander | 6k, 1/8chp It's been one year since Jungkook ran away with the circus, one year since he learned of the angel blood that runs through his veins. He thought he had learned everything about the supernatural world by now, but he's barely even touched the surface of its darkness. series here: Silk

a room inside your heart (you'll be okay here) by ohbutter | 26k, 2/3chp “Hyung, there’s something horribly, horribly wrong here.” “I’d say so, yes. You destroyed our bathroom.” Jimin mhms. “Right… why though?” All Jimin can manage is, “Orange.” Yoongi nods slowly, “Yes Jimin, orange.” “Green.” Now Namjoon and Jin are huddled behind Yoongi, peering inside. Jimin sits up and sees Namjoon’s cotton candy pink hair. “What’s the date today?” “December 18th 2016.” alternatively: jimin wakes up two years in the past, he has horrendous orange hair, his friends are in love and here, so is he

The Art of Drowning by Kookies_N_Jams | 45k, 22chp Jeon Jungkook doesn't want to die; he's just tired of living. Park Jimin is surrounded by death, but all he wants is to live. When their worlds collide, everything changes.

For and Against Us by thefifth | 18k, 11chp Jungkook trusts fate. Jimin? Not so much.

idol/celebrity aus:

Faking It by little_star_in_the_universe | 16k, 6chp "Jungkook, are you listening to me?" "Yeah." "You're lying." - Jungkook is tired. He's tired of being told what to say, what to do, how to act, how to respond, how to write his own fucking music. He's tired of it all. All he wants is a break. He doesn't expect to find someone who'd be more of a break than being home with his parents.

depth of field by petrichorian | 30k, 4chp “You’re seriously telling me you just spontaneously took a hella good picture of Suga and now you’re being called Jeongguk masternim?” or Jeon Jeongguk accidentally becomes Suga's new popular fansite, makes famous friends and tries to avoid how much he wants to kiss BTS' maknae, Park Jimin. 

The Last of Them All by dglrd | 9k, 13chp dyspraxia [/dɪsˈpraksɪə/]: a developmental disorder of the brain in childhood causing difficulty in activities requiring coordination and movement. in which jungkook has to juggle the difficulties of having dyspraxia and being an idol at the same time.

The Voice by Pinkworld | 25k, 6chp Jimin is a veteran ASMRtist, spreading the tingles through Youtube. He never shows his face. He's been low-key (Taehyung: I'm pretty sure drooling falls under HIGH-key, dude) interested in Jeongguk, a popular cover artist on Youtube. Completely against his confident character, Jimin doesn't find courage to reach out and just stalks Jeongguk's channel and instagram for a year. They finally get to messaging each other (Thank you Taehyung and Jin), then texting, then talking.... and that's when it gets a bit problematic...

smut focused:

Switch It by ashina | 75k, 17chp this is a series where jungkook and jimin are fucking. how original.

the chains that bind us by busanpjm | 19k, 3chp “You are not simply some flashy accessory, Jeonggukie. You are mine to use as I wish as long as I want. Whether you are twenty or forty; it makes no difference. You are that lithe and lewd slum mongrel who fawns on no one, and I am the slave knight of Midas who holds the chains to your collar. How could you imagine I would let you go at this juncture?” Jeongguk, a slum mongler and Jimin, an elite, find themselves wrapped up in a relation neither of them could have seen coming. or the Ai no kusabi au with a hint of something else and more.

soulmates au:

hard candy by jiminlogy | 25k, 8chp Jimin douses himself in colours every day and then he meets black and white. 

Shatter Me by lostinjungkook | 19k, 16chp »There were things Jungkook wanted to tell Jimin. But he knew they would hurt his hyung. So he buried them inside and let them hurt him instead.« 19 year old Jungkook lives in a world where 25% of the world population is born with a soulmate mark on their wrist and supernatural powers running through their veins. But he never had a chance to see the beauty that the world bears as he grew up in the fangs of Omega, a facility led by humans who try everything to create the strongest inhuman possible. What will happen when he meets six boys in the middle of the woods and discovers his soulmate among them?

abo dynamics:

Howl by Ravennest | 17k, 4chp Taehyung was convinced wherewolves existed — he only had to prove it to his best friend Jimin then he’d get bragging rights for years! But he never expected to be one of the wolves mate.

let me love you by Thejenn | 12k, 2chp the one where jungkook is shamelessly in love with his shy mate jimin

Guide Books are for Suckers--or Life is Like Trying to Build a Lego Death Star, but Some Fucker Burned the Instruction Book For lols by Momochii | 26k, 7/9chp He never expected to be an alpha. He also never expected to present in the middle of dance practice. He definitely never planned for what would happen if he, maybe, accidentally, tried to claim his best friend only seconds after presenting—in the middle of fucking dance practice. But hey, predictability is over-rated, right?

Leave Your Mark by snarcsics | 112k, 7/15chp Out of the three patients within Namjoon's lab, Jungkook is the one Jimin finds the most frightening, yet shamelessly intriguing. Even as a beta, there’s something distinctly animalistic about Jungkook that does not bode well for Jimin.

mafia au:

The Fire Was Screaming Out Your Name (And I Watched You Burn) by JungkookieBiased | 8k, 4chp “Jungkook...come here." Jimin crossed one leg over the other, arms folded across his chest. The taller male strode over in two long strides, head bowed down. Jimin tilted his chin up and Jungkook followed the movement like Jimin was controlling a puppet with a twitch of his fingers. Jimin leaned in right beside his ear, "Eliminate him." OR Jeon Jungkook belongs to him. Jeon Jungkook lives for him. Park Jimin, the most feared mafia leader, belongs to him just as much but won't say so.

spiderman au:

little do you know (i love you 'til the sun dies) by stellars | 7k, 1/2chp jeongguk is spiderman and everytime he comes back from one of his adventures, he goes to jimin to get patched up, spinning white lies about how he's out saving kittens from getting run over.

cute/fluffy/domestic/smut:

A Wicked Miniseries by Charmander | 30k, 4chp A collection of moments and flashbacks from Jimin’s and Jungkook’s life together; from back road street racer and tired, night shift police officer to spoiled, domestic boyfriends. series here: Chase Me, Race Me, Taste Me 

tattoo au:

Damp nights by vanillajae | 20k, 5chp Two years later and history repeats itself. Jungkook pops back into Jimin’s life on a rainy day under a bus stop, and whether Jimin wants it or not the storm is back. series here: Thunderstorms

some ot7!

A Hint of Magik. by moonchildleigh | 35k, 7chp Jeon Jeongguk is the son of two powerful evil Warlocks. He's lived his whole life in Busan inside the Warlock community, and hasn't come into contact with anyone else in the Magik world. This changes, however, when his parents are arrested and jailed for the murder of a Witch. Being the son of two of the most dangerous people in the magical community, The Council of Magik has to decide what to do with him. Jeongguk isn't like other Warlocks though, as he doesn't have the Calling to darkness like the rest. He's abnormal. His fate seems sealed, until two interesting men show up at his court hearing and demand to adopt him. or Ot6 lives in an enchanted forest in America and take young Warlock Jungkook into their home because they're absolute sweethearts.

Late Bloomer by LulaWrites | 91k, 25/26chp Given that he’d made it into adulthood without having ever experienced any dynamic-related instincts or pre-heat symptoms, Jungkook (and the rest of society) had naturally assumed the maknae was a Beta. Turns out they were wrong. (Or, the one where Jungkook goes into heat unexpectedly and subsequently gets coddled by his affectionate hyungs.) The Last of Them All by dglrd

[all-things-are-nothing-to-me]

Communization: The senile decay of anarchy

Communization: The senile decay of anarchy (or re-inventing anarchy) – fragment of the unpublished pamphlet “FAI Reloaded” by the Conspiracy of Cells of Fire.

i) Frozen Marxism

Today’s era smells like engine oil, cheap labor sweat and naphthalene of the morality of voluntary obedience… We do not want to be defined by the culture of techno-industrial fascism, the white uniforms of scientists, the neckties of technocrats, the eager silences of ordinary people, the stupid smiles of consumers… We do not match with the aesthetics of the glass world of flat television screens, the digital imitation of the life of social media, the display windows of lifestyle, the lens of security cameras. We do not fit in the society of captivity, the police checks of our identification papers, the supervision of security guards, the laws of the judges, the locked doors of prisons. We do not settle for the average normality dictated by morality, we don’t amuse our boredom with psychotropic drugs, we aren’t covered by the coldness of empty relations, we don’t read… Marx.

Today we live to the rhythm of a generalized crisis. Our daily life is throttled from the tyranny of numbers. Our life resembles an accounting book, whose calculations always find it deficient and indebted. They overwhelm us with financial terms and definitions, one half of which are unknown and the other half of no interest to us. The wandering charlatans of all ideologies, roam from one financial conference to the other and bombard us with ramblings and often incomprehensible interviews-speeches, each of them presenting his own social antidote to the economic crisis. On the shelves of the ideological supermarket every faithful consumer will find the antidote that suits him, in all shades. There are “revolutionary” antidotes, even “anarchist” ones. In Greece, the neo-communists, ex-anarchists, mix in the cauldron of ideologies anarchist labels, with plenty of frozen Marxism, anti-imperialism and a pinch of disguised national liberation. The new tension of “serious” anarchy dresses itself in a formal way and launches the trend of anti-capitalist struggle on a red background. The rhetoric of the neo-communists – “anarchists” talks about everything. In an effort to build a social marketing of propaganda for the masses, it promotes generalizations sanctifying the “oppressed people” and “workers” who, obviously, for them are “not accountable” for their responsibilities and silences, uses covertly socially palatable national references, such as “the Greek people”, “our country” and promises “social salvation” with the coming of post-revolutionary society, preaching in the assemblies of the need for centralized-structures… It seems that some neo-communists already rehearse their future offices. Perhaps, this what they train themselves for now, selling hegemony, experience coming from age and the wisdom of a leader within the anarchist milieu.

There, then, where some see an opportunity, because of the economic crisis, we see a trap. A trap of sinking in the swamp of confusion, of fantasies about the social “good” deriving from Marxist analysis, of certainties about revolutionary subjects, of economism.

First of all, the global crisis we are experiencing today is not just a crisis of numbers, financial figures and mathematics, but part of the overall crisis of values ​​and conscience in the world of authority. It is the cannibalistic crisis of western lifestyle which after it grew big consuming blood and oil from the “underdeveloped”, it now feeds from the flesh. Today, the “developed world” not only lives in the grip of economic tyranny, but also in the desert of spiritual and emotional bankruptcy.

Unlike the Marxists and their “anarchist” great-grandchildren, who want to interpret life with the rationality of mathematics, we seek our liberation inside the blasts of a permanent existential revolt of relations, situations, values, morals, and everyday life.

Even the economy, which is the center of the tedious analysis of the communists, for us it is not a series of ordered numbers leading to the equation of the class struggle. Instead, the economy is, first and foremost, a hierarchical social relationship that speaks the language of money. Money is a symbol of accumulated power. It is a property title that owns objects, land, time, admiration, relationships, people. The anarchist challenge, then, cannot be trapped in the demand for “better wages”, “lower taxes”, “economic equality”… One cannot destroy the morality of property by making it equal and uniform to all.

The experiment of communist totalitarian regimes spawned monsters, dictatorships of the proletariat and obedient subjects. One cannot exorcise ugliness with a new ugliness, simply by changing the name to something more “social” and imagining that through the “anti-imperialist struggle”, the country won’t become a “modern colony “.

Even if one removes money, authority will find new beads and mirrors to swap for the obedience of the natives. Besides, authority is older than capitalism and money. So we laugh, but also get bored from the analysis and the texts of the anarcho-marxist theoretical moles. They write and rewrite super-analysis, but their figures don’t add up, as they cannot understand that life does not fit in the labels they stick to it … “proletariat,” “class struggle,” “anti-imperialist struggle”… First of all, anti-imperialist struggle does not require an overall anti-state perception of the anarchist struggle. Anti-imperialist struggle is also being conducted by the bureaucratic fossil of KKE (Greek Communist Party). At the same time, reading behind the lines both in the texts of the ex-anarchist now communists, we see a deliberate crypto-patriotism. National references (our country, the Greek people, etc.), focusing on the “foreign capital” (as if capital has a nationality), combined with the complete absence of anti-state edges is at least suspicious. The neo-communists – ex-anarchists do not speak for a moment about the destruction of the state. Instead, they speak in a denunciatory, political way aiming for its wide consumption and present themselves as the far left of the left government, which they denounce, but without openly declaring war against it. The extra-parliamentary opposition to the leftist government of SY.RI.Z.A. has nothing to do with anarchy and freedom. We do not seek neither a reform of the system, nor its leftist grooming; all we want is its total destruction. However, we live in strange days and we have to rearm even the most fundamental parts of anarchy…

Authority, then, is not just ugly, sullen faces attached to miserable bodies decorated with suits and ties, in the same way anarchy is not “honest worker’s sweat” and “The reading of the complete works of Marx and Bakunin“… Surely the first ones must become ideal shooting targets for Kalashnikov bursts, but this is not enough…

Authority is a social relationship.

Authority is born even in our friendships, in our meetings, in our love, in our daily lives.

Again, we have to cast it out of our relations. Of course, this is done only through a belligerent/armed confrontation with the existent, as our searches are not a hippie inner meditation but practical wishes best expressed when our fingers fill magazines with bullets and our hands arm our weapons to “talk”…

ii) Overcoming revolutionary myths

The class of the poor, the oppressed, the “ones at the bottom”, the workers, is a faded label, which for us does not represent anything in itself . They are words that are lost in the void and their echo is immersed in a past that has been overcome. The working class is a massive forced social identity, which crushes the uniqueness and particularity of the individual, of every different man under its weight. The people is the fairytale that connects a variety of persons with completely different perceptions, habits, anxieties, thoughts, personalities, characteristics most of them regressing into confusion, homogenized in the mouths of politics experts with the name “the people”. The people, the society is the realm of contradictions. It is the common place of origin, and we who deny the ethics and values ​​of society also come from it, but it leads to different options of destinations. Within the society reside slaves who want to look like their bosses, subjects who worship order, conservatives who defend normality, the petty bourgeois who worship property, the fascists who fear everything different, the good citizens who fall in love with the privacy of their home and the cleanliness of their furniture, the underclass that envy the ensconced, the ensconced who are indifferent, the poor who grumble but are afraid to act, immigrants, delinquents who admire the privileged… At the same time, within the same society, there are progressives, sensitive philanthropists, leftists, pacifists, communists, libertarians, anarchists, revolutionaries even the nihilists-negators of society.

What is called “the people”, “society” is all the above mosaic of relations between a fog of persons, some of them connected with an affinity of perceptions and experiences, others at a fierce war with each other.

The people is always seen in a positive way. The people are claimed by all, from the fascists and conservatives to leftists and anarchists. The people are “poor”, “honest”, “depressed”, “wronged” and of course “wise” when voting… The people and the working class, according to political experts, is eternally deluded, thus always in need of guidance. Marxists and their anarchist great-grandchildren are always willing to guide (in the name of “the people” of course) and offer the promised land, the post-revolutionary society. In their texts, posters and events, they always speak in plural, using the collective “we” of the people, the workers, the proletariat, considering that, presenting themselves as part of the proletariat, they will become more likeable and the take the people on their side. The funny thing is that, usually, the political representatives of the proletariat have no connection with it, as, to put it in a “class” way, they come from petty bourgeois or middle-class layers (eternal students, regulars and owners of coffeehouses, economically dependent from their parents etc. .).

As new messiahs–liberators , they address the motley mass of the working class, considering it as the ultimate revolutionary subject. But from within the working class comes the indifference of many, the misery of the petty bourgeoisie, the patriotic cannibalism, the 500,000 voters of the fascist Golden Dawn, law-abiding citizens, informants, the conservatives, the pious of the churches, the faithful TV-viewers, the zombies of the digital world and social media, the happy consumers…

What connects us as anarchists with all these people?… From the absolute nothing, until irreconcilable hostility. Anarchy and the labor movement followed two parallel lines and it is geometrically proven that parallel lines do not intersect. Why, then, should we acknowledge the oppressed in a general and vague way as “brothers” and talk about class war, along people with whom we do not have anything in common? Better to put forward the overall anarchist attack that eliminates all these illusions of the common front of the oppressed. Because right now, all that connects us with the oppressed is the economic condition we are required to live in. But the common coercive economic condition we experience as marginalized, along with the poor, the unemployed, workers, migrants is a forced condition and not a conscious choice. Except from all of us who consciously chose the social margin and refused material privileges, what most oppressed people desire is not to destroy the world of exploitation, but to move to their bosses’ mansions, wear their clothes, imitate their manners and, in turn, oppress all those under their authority. The slave who seeks rights without having a liberating conscience will soon seek to wear his master’s suit. One only needs to notice the accumulated micro-authority that oppressed ones bear inside them when they express it against all those they believe to be “weaker” than them; the native against the immigrant, the immigrant against his family, the “most experienced” workers against their new colleagues… This is the class of modern proletarians. A mix of mercenaries of misery and cannibalism, ready to offer their services to the highest bidder. Oppressed people with oppressed complexes, wanting to be like their bosses.

We don’t want, therefore, to seek comrades and allies inside coercive common conditions we did not choose, but through common choices.

We are neither tricked nor pleased by ephemeral alliances with those who fight for a better salary or rights and reforms of the existent’s misery. We may find ourselves next to them behind barricades or in conflicts with the cops, but we’ll never meet with them substantially unless they demolish their internal moral identity of the worker, the student, the unemployed, the demonstrator and unless they refuse the world of order and laws all together.

We don’t care about those who, having nothing to lose, go out in the streets, but about those willing to lose everything to regain their lives from the beginning…

Besides, among the first ones, you’ll find the biggest traitors, who, in the first hitch or in front of the lure of an economical promise, will desert you, squeal you or even turn against you…

In contrast, in the latter case, you’ll find some of your closest and most authentic comrades and accomplices… How many times have we not found ourselves in the middle of a stormy sea of confusion and contradictions? The same people with whom we were side by side, throwing rocks and Molotov cocktails at the cops and sharing times and moments behind flaming barricades, in the context of a corporatist claim of a “wild strike” for better salaries, returned fast to their daily routine and shielded themselves again with the uniform of the lawful citizen, voter, family man, TV-viewer right after their claim was either satisfied or rejected. From the “wild strike” of Chalybourgia, we ended up with the mobilization’s total control by the union adjacent to the Communist Party and the warm welcome of Golden Dawn’s MPs, who rushed to show their solidarity to the “Greek worker’s” struggle. From the barricades and the flaming nights in Keratea and the sabotage of the landfill facility installation in the area, we ended up with high election rates for the Golden Dawn in the same area.

But even the “wild youth” reciprocates in its contradictions. From student squats and attacks against cops it jumps without a second thought to pogroms against immigrants and panegyric fiestas of national pride (“athletic” successes of the national football team).

It is not enough, therefore, only to occasionally overcome the law by throwing a rock or a Molotov cocktail. This is surely a necessary step. However, along with the bank or the police vehicle which we’ll torch, we ought to torch all the authoritarian residues inside us, the moral preconceptions and the conservative stereotypes we inherited from this world.

Of course, as we hate criticism for the sake of criticism and the degradation of digital pseudo-nihilist dirge, that criticizes everything except from the deformed “super-ego”, our position is clear. As much as we want to want to crush the petty politics of the newly minted anarcho-marxists, we evenly want to demolish the ivory tower of the “ideologists’” theory of pure anarchy.

We analyze and decode the complex of society’s explosive contradictions, not to remain spectators and admire our “authority”, but to organize strategically our anarchist attack. There are the so-called intermediate social struggles, some of which (i.e. students’ squats) are interesting due to their composition and their diversion, which may trigger chaotic situations that are the ideal field of expression of our hatred for the system. Obviously, we’ll not be absent from these struggles, without forgetting, of course, that the “ideal” is blotted by reality and what’s left from the rose is the thorn.

However, as we don’t cage ourselves into demands and reformist notions, we maintain our characteristics and don’t lose ourselves in petty political discounts to become socially “liked”. Therefore, we invade as anarchists and don’t hide behind other social masks (unemployed, worker, demonstrator); in contrast, we wear the hood and attack, without fearing the pit of contradictions of the intermediate struggles.

So, if we want to destroy this world of organized exploitation and boredom, we must talk about the overcoming of classes and not wiggle the shroud of “class struggle” as a flag. Red anarchists that talk about class struggle have a corpse in their mouths which has begun to rot. In continuous anarchist insurrection, all classes are abolished. The individual, discovering in a liberating manner its conscious self, is in total rupture with the class of which it comes from, whether this is the proletarian one or the petty bourgeois. We refuse every class because it’s a result of fissions triggered by the system. Every class bears inside it the characteristics and ethics of the existent. The beloved child of red “anarchists”, the proletariat, carries inside it the ethics of labor, the pseudo-pride of patriotism, the worship of petty ownership, the remains of religious conservatism… This is the sad representation of the confusion which triumphs inside the intermediate reformist labor struggles that never overcome their myopic self to acquire an overall liberating perspective.

iii) About Black Anarchy

We renounce, therefore, any notion of “class struggle” which, in its most radical form, the Marxist variation, aims to the conquest of power through the dictatorship of the proletariat. We spit on the “experts” of revolution, the communist leadership, the veterans and the “anarchist” personas of public relations that compete with each other for the position of the greatest helmsman of revolution.

Besides, liberation will come when we smash the heads of our self-appointed “liberators”.

We refuse to wait for the objective conditions of mass uprising. The preparation of big masses as a precondition for the “revolution” against authority only triggers postponement.

We know we live in times of “crisis”. Some ex-anarchists chose to follow the Marxist rhetoric of pragmatism, economism, thinking that they speak the language of political realism. They could not stand as anarchists; they’ll prove to be incompetent as Marxists…

Their arguments already transform and lead to obsolete alliances with individuals and political milieus that define themselves in terms of political opposition. Anarchy no longer has anything to do with them…

We insist on anarchy’s blackness.

In chaos, disorder, living dangerously, nihilism of action, in the armed confrontation with the existent, in the fire of the continuous anarchist insurrection.

We reject all the idealized principles that revolutionary theories talking about the future liberation and social harmony promise. Life offers no guarantees. The time is now and the place is here…

Let’s be honest; we don’t know how a liberated tomorrow will be “functional”. That’s exactly why it’s liberated.

Because it’ll be full of possibilities, questions and doubts. Whoever seeks for certain answers and Marxist certainties will soon seek the guarantee of authority and priesthoods of red power.

We maintain our questions and black flag…

This is black anarchy.

Anarchy, however, demands the organization of the new anarchist urban guerrilla, if we don’t want it to degenerate into a meaningless poetic chatter, doomed to be followed by the alternative integration in the system. Concepts that are not armed, like anarchist individualism, nihilism end up being harmless words in the mouths of even more harmless individuals who confuse anarcho-nihilism with the subculture of “antisocial lifestyle”.

Anarcho-nihilism combines the propaganda of words with the propaganda of shootings, fire, dynamite. Its dynamics is forged on the anvil of actions where consciousness and experience meet in a never ending dance and not in the keyboards of the digital world of noting.

Therefore, the anarchist urban guerrilla has the possibility to carry anarchy from abstract theory to practice where our desires are armed and trigger our own reality.

The Conspiracy of Cells of Fire and FAI are the reflection of our desires. We promote the creation of an informal network of cells and groups of anarchist affinity with the aim to diffuse the practical theory and attacks. We weave our own spider web… We organize our attacks against the outposts of the world of organized exploitation and boredom. We hit the banks, the police stations, the courthouses, the prisons, the ministries, the party offices, the corporate empires and whatever guards and reproduces the values of this world. Of course, we don’t forget that new anarchist urban guerrilla’s target is not just the blowing up of things and execution of authority’s officers, but, simultaneously, the destruction of social relations that bear inside them the poison of power. Therefore, in parallel with the organization and diffusion of FAI and CCF via bullets and bombs, we desire to smash with our texts all these daily social conventions and slap the mentality of willing obedience that are half of the authority’s power…

We hate the hand that holds the whip as much as we hate the back of those who uncomplainingly accept its hits…

Don’t follow me… I’m not leading you…

Don’t walk ahead of me… I’ll not follow you…

Carve your own path… Become yourself…

WE ORGANIZE 10, 100, 1000 cells of Informal Anarchist Federation and Conspiracy of Cells of Fire

ATTACK FIRST AND ALWAYS FOR ANARCHY

Conspiracy of Cells of Fire – FAI/IRF

Imprisoned Members Cell

[kdelarenta]

Small Detective Ask Game

1. What's their name and how do they look?

Amelia Jane Winters - extremely pale,tall,platinum blonde hair,green eyes,slim build,probably covered in bruises.

2. Why did they join the police?

She joined the police because it was the best job that could put her skills to good use.She needed a challenging action packed job and police work was her best bet.Catching bad people was also an added bonus.

3. How did they get the promotion to detective and what do they think about it?

Amelia is very dedicated and good at what she does.She basically lives at the station.Her work as an officer was also impressive so promoting her seemed like the right decision . She wanted to deny the promotion - the fact that it was extremely rushed wasn’t the problem,she could easily adjust to her new position but being detective just wasn’t for her,sure she could use her mind more but she’d rather stop crimes from happening and be on the field where the action is.Eventually, she accepted the fact that the station needed her and put all her energy into doing everything that was required of her.This job is it for her after all.

4. Can they handle blood/gore?

Absolutely.She has no problem looking at the most messed up shit and not being affected.She’s pretty much numb to everything.

5. How are they with people?

Amelia is not the warmest person - at all.She’s cold,stoic,definitely not a people pleaser and can come off as quite intimidating - but she’s extremely genuine and people gravitate towards her and find her charming.That still confuses her a lot.She doesn’t hate people,she’s just very indifferent towards them.

6. What's their relationship to Bobby?

They met a couple of times.He can be very annoying because she doesn’t have the time to deal with his obnoxious questionings.She can’t quite figure out if he’s actually smart or really really stupid .Needs time to consider him as an actual threat.

7. Who is their Love Interest and why?

Nate - this man makes her feel things.She’s never met a more genuine ,caring person than him.He warms her cold heart. She knows he’s not pretending and that he really cares for her and most importantly he makes her want to love and be loved - no one’s been able to accomplish that before.

8. What's their relationship with their mom like? How did it change?

When she was younger Amelia completely understood her mother and the importance of her job and she was quick to fill the gap that Rebecca left in her life.She completely replaced Rebecca and learned to do everything by herself so she wouldn’t need her anymore - and she didn’t. Their relationship was tense because Rebecca always wanted to ‘play mother’ while Amelia had no interest in any sort of relationship with her.She doesn’t really consider Rebecca her mother - more like her boss.She was really angry at her for not telling the truth about UB or the agency because it compromised her work and was damn right insulting.But after that she managed to understand where Rebecca was coming from.She still had no interest in forming a relationship with Rebecca and i don’t think that will change.

9. What do they think of the supernatural?

The reveal was naturally shocking but she’s accepting.It didn’t take her long to rewrite everything she knew about the world in her head and was eager to learn anything and everything that she can.

10. How well did they handle the reveal that the supernatural exists?

Awfully calm.She knew something shady was going on with UB and now she finally knew what.She had her suspicions of course but she never had any proof and was happy to learn she was right.

11. Do they have any tattoos/ piercings?

She pierced her ears and has only one tattoo ( a small heart on the inside of her wrist).

12. What is their highest (professional) stat and why?

Combat - she doesn’t enjoy violence per say but knows that most people aren’t just going to turn themselves in peacefully,she needs to know how to protect herself (and others) and how to eliminate any threat that gets in her way.She  does take pleasure from a good fight tho.

13. What's their opinion of the Mayor?

Indifferent.She knows he’s an asshole but she doesn’t really care.She’s just there to do her job.

14. Do they get along with Tina and Verda?

She gets along with both of them but Verda is more her speed.They’re both professional and hard-working.They have endless discussions and debates about scientific matters that Tina finds boring.Amelia admires Tina for her cheerfulness but she can be a bit much for her sometimes.

15. What do they think of Unit Bravo? How has that changed throughout the story?

From the moment she met them she knew they were the ones from the warehouse - she just needed proof.She thought they were rude and unprofessional because (most of them) refused to work with her and treat her as an equal.

Now they have given her what she always wanted - a family. She took what Felix said to heart - they’re a family and they stick together.

Adam - they did not get get off on a good start,she shot him after all and she wasn’t going to stand for his disrespect in her station.He was their leader - he was supposed to set a good example but was acting like the biggest diva out of them all.Later on the tension between them was subdued and they figured out that they had more in common than they thought.They’re both good under pressure,great fighters,cautious and professional. Not to mention stoic,emotionally constipated etc etc.They respect each other as capable teammates  

Felix - she suprisingly warmed up to him,yes he made her roll her eyes a couple of times with his badly timed jokes and his attitude towards work but she still found him kind of endearing.He teases both her and Nate a lot but she does appreciate him and everything he contributes to the team.

Mason - she was very annoyed at him at first because of his unprofessionalism and constant complaining but she did appreciate the fact that he was mostly quiet and didn’t bother her much,now they are both on the path to being  best friends ( they wouldn’t be caught dead saying it),they have similar views on people and relationships,they admire each other’s skills and have an unspoken connection of support.

16. Do they have any pets?

No - she doesn’t have the time and doesn’t need distractions.

17. What are their hobbies?

She likes to train and read about old,interesting cases.She also paints but only when she really has time.

18. What do they think of Douglas?

She thinks he needs to grow a back bone and be more responsible.He’s almost an adult and needs to take his job more seriously and make a life for himself.But she does sympathise with him - considering what his home life must be like.

19. What does their apartment look like?

Minimalistic, white walls,clean furniture,kind of a mix of tidy and messy,she didn’t decorate it tho so it can seem really empty and that tells you more about her than any poster of decoration ever could.

20. What is their personality?

Cold,stoic,almost robot like,professional,focused,driven,indifferent most of the time,hard-working,justice driven,realistic,tactful,calculated but does have a soft side in there (UB makes her want to smile and crack jokes,she lets mushy gushy things like that slip out sometimes).Deep down she does have warmth that might even match Nate’s,self-sacrificial,doesn’t have any close friends,family members,pets or boyfriends - it’s just her and her job. Doesn’t really know if she likes to be alone or if she’s been alone for so long she’s just used to it. Doesn’t really consider herself very pleasant.

21. Their favourite/comfort food?

Donuts - with sprinkles.Has a sweet tooth.

22. Do they go to the bar or stay at the station?

Stays at the station. Doesn’t like crowded places but Tina does get to drag her there quite often.

23. Their gender/sexuality?

Straight female.

24. How did they handle the fight with Murphy? Did they get bitten?

She managed to escape,as much as she wanted to fight him head on she knew that she had to pick her battles and saved her energy,she made a trap instead,they caught him and she didn’t get bitten - she figured out his weakness and inflicted some damage.

25. What do they usually wear? Has that changed?

Pressed shirts and pants along with the huge coat she wears and some boots. In book two she started wearing something a little more casual - like blouses and jeans.

[beesmygod]

this is what riverdale is about (part 4)

part 1

part 2

part 3

i’m back, to continue from where we left off. obnoxiously, i’m going to take a minute to plug my patreon, which is primarily for my webcomic but i also do movie reviews and talk about bad books i find so if you like these posts, you’ll probably like those as well. all i ask....is one dollar a month.

anyway fuck that let’s get back into this.

images are from the riverdale wiki

SEASON ONE (PART 2):

the last picture show: immediately this show reveals that our beloved jughead has been living in a nearly abandoned drive-in that he also works at. too bad for him, because it’s closing down. hilariously, literally nobody in his circle of friends cares and call his make-shift house a crack den. owned. its revealed an anonymous buyer purchased it from the town and the mayor decided to sell it to whoever.

archie brings flowers to his teacher-girlfriend’s recital and when he and grundy (and his dad) head to pop’s for a good ol malt or whatever, betty confronts him about his relationship. betty is hurt when he says grundy believed in him when no one else did and goes home with renewed purpose: take grundy down.

veronica’s mom is caught having a heated argument with a member of the southside serpents gang next to a dumpster by cheryl who, as she delights in misery and disaster, captures it all on camera. she shows veronica, who confronts her mother who brushes her off.

betty lures grundy into a fake interview for her school paper instead of going to the police. betty seems to be determining all of this based on the fact that she didnt have any social media until a year ago, which really makes me question betty’s journalistic bonefides. its framed like this means she didn’t exist before she got a twitter or whatever. its really weird. more relevant is that the only record of a geraldine grundy.....WAS AN OLD WOMAN WHO DIED 7 YEARS AGO!!!!! she takes this information to archie as well, who doesn’t care at all. he’s way too horny to care.

betty breaks into grundy’s vw bug and finds a gun and her real i.d. with her real name. archie is still too horny to care, even though betty (again, really overstepping her journalistic bounds) says that grundy might have killed jason (BASED ON THE EXISTENCE OF A GUN BETTY!!! COME ON). archie finally asks grundy straight up what the fuck is going on and she cops to trying to escape from an abusive husband, hence the gun and fake names.

jughead finds out that archie’s dad’s construction company won the bid to destroy the drive-in. its a bad time to be jughead. he tries to ask archie’s dad not to tear down the drive-in. through this convo we learn that jughead’s dad was fired from andrews construction several years ago for theft. a scene after this reveals that veronica’s mom is facilitating the purchase of the drive-in with the mayor pn behalf of her incarcerated husband.

i’m so glad the wiki reminded me of this line, word for word: everyone (and i mean literally everyone in town) goes to the drive-in for one last hurrah, where the southside serpents are guffawing up a storm. veronica somehow silences them by saying “You know what happens to a snake when a Louboutin heel steps on it? Shut the hell up or you’ll find out.“ it sucks so bad. veronica then witnesses her mother having an encounter with the same gang member who she is revealed to be paying to drive down the value of the drive-in property so hiram lodge can buy it for cheap.

archie and grundy are caught in a passionate embrace after betty’s mom reads her diary and goes on the warpath, rightfully telling her to get the fuck out of town or she’ll reveal her to be a child molester. grundy agrees to leave and archie is heartbroken. the last show of geraldine this season is her ogling two teen boys. horrible. leave, woman.

jughead leaves his shitty home and on his way out is accosted by the same gang member who was talking to hermoine lodge and is revealed to be....JUGHEADS DAD!!!!!!!!!! whatever.

heart of darkness: the town is abuzz with jason’s upcoming funeral and the teens of riverdale are fighting over who gets to take the dead kids spot as captain of the football team in a really normal and not at all super ghoulish way. archie is working his heart out now that his favorite teacher/pedophile has fled town. he has his time wasted by a member of the pussycats, valerie, who nets him a meeting with a music songwriter who tells archie he doesn’t have time for his shit. its a weird and totally pointless scene in the long run. it doesnt matter because archie’s music thing never comes to anything. the guy tells archie later, when he returns with sheet music, that his songs suck shit and he hates his music and to get out of his office.

jason and polly’s (betty’s sister) relationship seems to be at the center of whatever happened to jason, so betty starts asking around town about her sister, by using dates as a cover to ask probing questions to members of the football team. she also tries asking her father, who explains that polly and jason had a fight, polly tried to kill herself and so was shipped off to a mental institution. learning about jason’s death fucked her up again so they shan’t be exposing her to more sordid info about the events. the only information they get is that jason was selling drugs to raise money to leave town.

betty and jughead trace this thread to find out why jason would want to leave town but veronica is already finding out firsthand after she is invited to the blossom mansion for the world’s worst sleepover before the memorial (cool timing): the blossoms are all insane. they make their money on maple syrup, using the funds to build riverdale as we know it. veronica and cheryl bond over their awful parents and versonic encourages cheryl to act out at jason’s memorial FOR SOME REASON. KNOWING FULL WELL WHO CHERYL IS.

demonstrating extremely normal judgement, betty and jughead plan to raid jason’s room during the memorial to find clues. cheryl goes full hamlet, throwing herself on the coffin and weeping during her eulogy. they use this as cover to sneak away and go commit the worst social faux-pax you truly can do. however, they are interrupted by cherly’s senile grandmother, nana rose, who mistakes her for polly and reveals polly and jason were engaged. 

betty takes this information to her father who reveals he already knows but forbid the arrangement because the blossoms and the coopers have been trying to kill each other for decades over the whole maple syrup empire thing. betty and jughead later suspect her dad broke into the sheriff's office to steal his files related to uhhh everything i guess; a hunch which turns out to be correct.

meanwhile veronica’s mom is sent a live snake by the serpent gang, calls big strong fred andrews to come save her and then asks him for a job.

faster pussycats! kill! kill!: first of all fuck, the name of this ep.

archie, for some reason because i guess he doesn’t know what embarrassment is, decides he’s going to play an original song he wrote for the school talent show. he immediately gets stage fright at the try-outs and wusses out. veronica goes behind his back to sign him up anyway. thanks, asshole!

valerie, from the last ep, quits the pussycats because josie is slightly more stressed than usual about uhhh the talent show. also because she has a crush on archie for some reason.

hermoine, while acting as fred andrews’ new secretary, realizes he’s fucking BROKE. why’d he hire her? who knows. too late now. she suggests firing some people (for example............her, maybe, fred) but fred cant bear it...and is hoping to be saved by the newest construction job he doesn’t know that hermoine is manipulating under the table. much like his son, fred is now too horny to care and they make out while veronica watches awkwardly.

the remaining pussycats try to figure out what to do about their missing member problem. josie’s mom helpfully lays out that they need a strong woman of color, but not one prettier or more talented than josie. enter...VERONICA!!! who is miffed because archie replaced her with valerie in the talent show duet. veronica is now scientifically less pretty and talented than josie by show standards, which just rules because i love thinking that there are teen power rankings in riverdale.

betty and jughead make their way to visit polly at The Sisters Of Quiet Mercy which is literally the best name for a goth cover band in the world. surprise! polly is pregnant with jason’s baby. polly reveals she and jason planned to run away together, but she was caught by her parents and sent away. she then awkwardly asks how jason is and someone has to break the news to her.

josie’s dad makes a brief appearance, which i absolutely do not remember at all. i thought he only showed up in season 3 which makes mayor mccoys character arc way more awkward. anyway, the mccoy family, the andrews and the lodges all have dinner together to discuss business and its awkward as all hell. no one at the table likes the andrews.

betty straight up asks her dad if he killed jason and her mom laughs her ass off at the idea of betty’s soft white suburban ham shank looking dad being able to kill a weed much less a human. keep that in mind.

veronica’s mom forges veronica signature on a form allowing andrews construction to move ahead with the job.

jughead and betty kiss after talking about how they arent their parents. keep that in mind. anyway, betty takes jughead to a car polly mentioned that full of EVIDENCE. they take picture of it and leave the car to go tell the sheriff because i guess suddenly no one has cellphones.  jughead and betty return with the sheriff later to find the car has been light up by an unknown person. almost immediately after, bughead tries to rescue polly at the institution only to find she’s already bailed. welp.

josie and valerie make up and all four pussycats perform. josie’s dad walks out on her performance? harsh. cool dad moves.

archie sings and the crowd loves it. who gives a shit.

a kid died, guys. come on.

[jewish-privilege]

Yehuda Webster has a routine when it comes to Torahs.

Just about every month, he picks up a rented Torah in a plastic sleeve from J. Levine Books and Judaica in Manhattan. He uses the Torahs for the bar and bat mitzvah ceremonies he arranges through an organization he founded, for families that don’t belong to a synagogue. Then he gets in a Lyft and returns the Torah to J. Levine.

On Monday, that routine was ruptured.

That morning, he walked out of his apartment in the heart of the heavily Hasidic Brooklyn neighborhood Crown Heights, Torah in hand. Almost immediately, Webster, who is black, was confronted by a Hasidic man who Webster says demanded to know where he was going with the Torah. Webster shrugged him off, telling the man it wasn’t his business.

By the time Webster got into his Lyft at a nearby intersection, several more men were accosting him. When the Lyft driver tried to leave, a car swerved in front of the car, trapping them.

“And that’s when things got really scary,” Webster told the Forward.

A crowd of over 20 quickly materialized. Hasidic men with walkie-talkies told each other the Torah was in the backseat. Webster’s roommate ran out of their building and they both tried to explain what Webster was doing with the Torah, but the men simply yelled back at her, according to the roommate’s account of the incident posted on Facebook. Webster says he was terrified.

The chaos finally ended after two police officers broke up the crowd around the Lyft and allowed them to leave.

On Thursday afternoon, Webster posted his account of the incident to Facebook. It went viral, receiving thousands of shares and hundreds of comments across social media, and has re-opened a long-simmering debate online about racism in the Hasidic community. Webster, a dedicated social justice activist, says he hopes to start a dialogue with the men who accosted him.

But many Hasidic Jews — even those who bemoan what happened to Webster — refused to say that the Hasidic men were wrong to confront him. Instead, they assert that anyone in Crown Heights would have stopped someone carrying a Torah on the street, regardless of their skin color.

“I’m not saying there’s no racism in the community,” said Mendy Pellin, a Hasidic comedian who plans to host a dialogue between Webster and the Hasidic men who cornered him. “But in this specific incident, if it were a white person, the same exact thing would have happened.”

Webster was born in Guyana to a Christian pastor. When he was eight years old, he and his family converted to Judaism at Congregation Oheb Shalom, a Conservative synagogue in New Jersey. In 2017, at the age of 24, he was named one of the Jewish Week’s “36 Under 36” list of emerging Jewish leaders for his political and social activism and for founding the B’nai Mitzvah Campaign, through which he tutors prospective b’nai mitzvah students who are not members of a synagogue.

...Webster has not filed a formal complaint naming the men who accosted him. He also has made efforts to reach out to them. His roommate, Hannah Roodman, happened to have a connection through a mutual friend in Crown Heights to the first man who stopped Webster. Webster texted the man, who he said is also named Yehudah, trying to speak with him. When he didn’t hear back from him after more than a day, he published the Facebook post.

Since then, he says, it’s been “overwhelming.” While many people online have expressed their support for Webster, and denounced racism and xenophobia in the Hasidic world, many Hasidic and Orthodox Jews commenting on the story have challenged the idea that Webster was cornered because of his skin color.

...“This has nothing to do with the color of the guy’s skin,” [Barry Sugar, a Crown Heights resident and the president of the Jewish Leadership Council] said. “That [the instinct to stop him] would be pretty universal, due to the high value of the Torah and due to recent thefts.”

...He noted that Webster was not carrying the Torah wrapped in a tallit, as is customary when bringing it outside of a synagogue.

“If that was the issue, I could understand,” Webster said. “But that’s not what they said to me. They didn’t say, ‘Where is the tallit?’ They said, ‘Why do you have a Torah?’”

Some commenters online have suggested that Webster was stopped because he did not “look Jewish,” or have asked if he was wearing a kippah. But Webster says that in his experience, his skin color overrides his appearance when it comes to coming under suspicion in Jewish settings.

Once, he says, after facilitating a bar mitzvah at the historic Eldridge Street Synagogue in Manhattan’s Lower East Side, a man stopped him as he walked out of the building holding a Torah, demanding to know why he had the holy scroll. At the time, Webster says, he was in a suit and had a kippah on.

“I know a lot of folks are posting like, I didn’t present as Jewish,” he said. “But in my experience, presenting as Jewish doesn’t really matter. That’s not the factor at play here.”

...Webster still hopes to speak directly with the men who cornered him, and wants the incident to be a jumping off point for further reflection on race and racism across the Jewish community. Pellin, who host an online satirical news show, says he is planning to host a conversation between Webster and several of the men who cornered him in his studio.

Webster says that he already knows of friends of his within the Orthodox community who are reaching out to leaders there to try and raise awareness about Webster’s confrontation.

“Baruch hashem, the community is strong, and folks are doing the work of leaning into those relationships,” he said...

[Read Elad Nehorai’s full piece at Forward.]

[armageddon-generation]

Fixing The Legend of Korra - Book 4

AGAIN THIS IS A SOLID SEASON, SO THIS IS MOSTLY JUST CHARACTER STUFF – I ALSO VEER INTO FULL-ON FANFIC AT A FEW POINTS, BUT FUCK IT

I also need to thank @threehoursfromtroy for being a huge inspiration, especially with the korrasami dynamic - you’ll notice I magpied a bunch of ideas from her amazing fics.

Book 1,  Book 2,  Book 3,

KUVIRA

FUCKING CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT – let’s fully explore her reasoning for leaving Zoafu (the White Lotus is pretty much done, the Dai Li have been disbanded but now they’re individual warlords ruling over Ba Sing Se as a city state, the airbenders are still rookies and she sees them getting injured)

Emphasise the familial connections between Kuvira and the Beifongs – playing sports with Wing and Wei, falling for Bataar Jr.

Besides Bataar, have her be closest to Opal. They were both outsiders – the non-bender and the unofficial adoptee, but Opal, as the only non-bender in a family of historically famous benders, was also jealous of Kuvira the metalbending prodigy, who appeared to be everything Su wanted in a daughter. Kuvira was similarly jealous of Opal, the biological daughter who was doted on despite not doing anything to ‘earn’ it. This complicated relationship evolved into their bitter hatred of each other

Have Kuvira’s isolation in Zoafu parallel Korra’s in the South from Book 1

Without Korra there to push them forwards, everyone has started backsliding – In Kuvira Bolin has found a Korra-surrogate to rely upon instead of taking responsibility for himself (this is the same reason, ironically enough, he was attracted to Eska – she controlled him and he could hide behind her – something a more mature Eska is able to see when they meet at the Corniation)

EARTH EMPIRE

Let’s see Bolin leading the charge clearing out Ba Sing Se, and Kuvira liberating the city and defeating the Dia Li (who are trying to establish their own control of Ba Sing Se as an independent city-state) for good

Explore the apparatus of the Empire a touch more – the propaganda recruitment system – how does fascism work?

Have Raiko supply troops to Su so he doesn’t look like a complete fool. That way when she defeats Zaofu and sees Raiko violated her terms, Kuvira has a legitimate reason to go after Republic City

Also, can we make the Battle of Zoafu a proper siege once they break the ceasefire? Avatar does Helm’s Deep? Pretty please? Kuvira knows all the city’s defences as former Head of the Gaurd, so let’s demonstrate her tactical prowess dissecting the domes’ weaknesses. And have some of Zaofu’s defenders start siding with Kuvira (people she used to command etc), fighting amongst themselves to give her an easier victory

When the Beifongs are captured they go through the camp system, so we get to explore it – take inspiration from true stories and films like Life is Beautiful –The other prisoners either hate them for giving up, hate them for creating Kuvira, or look up to them as their only hope. But in the end they’re just a family trying to hold together on the brink.

Bring in the Red Lotus members hiding across the world – they start trying to move against Kuvira from the shadows. They are the strongest chance the world has against Kuvira without Korra, and Raiko’s willingness to accept their help (as the shady politician) shows how desperate the situation is – Korra needs to step in

ASAMI (& KORRASAMI)

The best part about Korrasami is how opposite they are – The non-bender figurehead, The bender figurehead. Traddition vs innovation, spirituality vs technology, idealism vs realism, faith vs strategic calculation – Asami should by all means be a supervillain, but she’s just too good a person. Play into that divide and conflict in Book 4

Asami is keeping herself dangerously busy, between helping the Equalists and managing the spirits living in the city that are against her industrial company  

Without Korra, Asami felt lonely and vulnerable. To compensate for a world without Korra, (much like Kuvira) Asami secretly develops plans for super weapons inspired by a combination of her father’s old Equalist designs – these weapons are designed to artificially replicate bending attacks on the scale of the Avatar state – Seismic waves, artificial flooding, firebombing, weaponised wind machines etc. She has prototypes developed

This gives her attempts to re-connect with Hiroshi more weight – she’s lost, and reviewing his old work makes her feel closer to him than she has in years – she thinks she’s beginning to understand what he went through when her mom died.

When Korra returns the weapons cause major conflict between them – especially when undercover Red Lotus steal Asami’s plans (exploiting their new connection with Raiko) and attempt to use protypes to ambush Kuvira – causing an all-out battle

Because the protypes were so hastily assembled they don’t work particularly well and cause chaos – Team Avatar has to jump in and save as many from the crossfire as they can, and Korra has to ignore a chance to fight Kuvira – they then have to leave the people to be taken by Kuvira, because they can’t save all of them.

These weapons would be key to Korra’s arc, as she doesn’t yet trust or have full control over the Avatar State again – she’s fighting that power as recreated by the person she cares most about, compounding the themes of Korra confronting herself

Kuvira uses the weapons the same way Korra used to use the Avatar state – wantonly and without thought, causing mass destruction.

Kuvira defeats the Red Lotus and takes Asami’s weapons for herself (Asami is horrified – she has indirectly become what her Father was to the Equalists. Varrick is being more morally upstanding than her.)

Korrasami is not smooth sailing in this book – both of them are aware they love each other, but they also have to deal with their own shit first. Korra’s time away let them build up perfect, imaginary versions of each other. Asami needs to stop idolising Korra (the same mistake Hiroshi made with her mom) and Korra needs to stop idolising Asami (as I felt the original show tended to do)

In the finale, Korra is the one to get Hiroshi out of jail, because Asami needs to move past his shadow – the repentant Hiroshi comforts her and assures her she is better than him. So much like her mother. He also expresses gentle approval of Korra before he dies.

Asami is the woman in the chair in the finale, simultaneously helping with the hummingbird suits and coaching the United Republic Forces (Hi, General Iroh) through how to defeat the artificial bending weapons.

I don’t know if it’s feasible, but I think reuniting the OG Team Avatar (Toph, Katara and Zuko) as three of the most powerful benders in the world (plus Zuko has a dragon) against these things the same way the White Lotus took back Ba Sing Se in ATLA would be really cool

The series ends not with the culmination of a relationship a la ATLA, but the tentative beginning of one

MAKO

Mako has let himself become consumed by his work – the only one to visit him is Kai, who’s filling in Bolin’s spot as little brother. (“Stop breaking in to a police officer’s apartment!”). Their relationship has grown a lot stronger, but they both miss Bolin

Mako is caught between both sides of the Earth Empire debate – he works for Wu and knows that deep down he’s actually a decent guy, but he has an established professional relationship with Kuvira, and he really respects her. They joke about his new job together before the Corination.

Kuvira has become a surrogate Korra figure for all Team Avatar – Mako (who admits he’s still in love with Korra) sees the potential for Kuvira to compensate for the loss of Korra, and must learn to let go of this unhealthy dream.

Because he’s no longer a member of the Republic City Police. Mako and Lin finally get to work together as equal partners

AIRBENDERS (KAINORA)

Look, I just want some cute long-distance Kainora stuff, OK? Keeping in contact via astral projection

Kai has been unofficially adopted into the airbender family and acts as a big brother to Rohan and Meelo

(I also think it’d be fun if Rohan was an uncontrollable bending prodigy like Jack-Jack from The Incredibles, bouncing around the house like the Tasmanian Devil – Pema and Kai are the only ones who can control him

Jinora has become the day-to-day leader of the Air Nation, using astral projection t co-ordinate people across the globe, with Kai in support

They express frustration with Air Nomad tradition – they sneak out at night and run around the new Republic City, giving us a chance to explore – Jinora shows Kai the wonders of the Spirit Wilds, while he teaches her how to win at street gambling.

They flirt with breaking the law – practicing pickpocketing the rich to feed the poor, and dabble in vigilantism – until they get caught.

Mako gets them off charges, but this causes a big conflict between Tenzin and Jinora. My problem with Jinora’s characterisation the original Book 4 (she was previously one of my faves) was she seemed too perfect. In this version, that perfection is an act, and she needs a way to blow off steam. Tenzin argues (quite rightly) that by taking the law into her own hands Jinora is no better than Kuvira (or Korra, Jinora points out. “Jinora, you’re not the Avatar.” / “I’m as good as.”)

This is important because original book 4 Jinora felt super stuck-up and full of pride, not good traits for an airbending master. Here we’re emphasising then confronting that big-headedness. Kai helps her realise she’s still just a kid, and that’s OK. Her family (and Korra) help her realise she’s stronger when she embraces the strength of others

I also like the idea of air nomads roaming with herds of bison, like Bryke originally envisioned for Aang

ZUKO, IZUMI AND THE FIRE NATION (This part veers into full-on fanfic territory and doesn’t really contribute to the plot, but I need to get the idea out there so sorry)

Use flashbacks to explore how the unrest in the Earth Kingdom parallels the unrest in the Fire Nation after Ozai was defeated

These could adapt elements of the Smoke and Shadow comic, where Mai’s father leads a rebellion against Zuko. This would take place when Zuko is in his early thirties, just after Kya was born (her waterbending was a trigger for nationalists)

The opposition find Azula after she ran away at the end of The Search, and manipulate her mental state to use her as a figurehead against Zuko – an alternate legitimate heir

Zuko and Katara have to flee with the toddler Kya, and go underground in the Fire Nation as the Blue Spirit and the Painted Lady respectively, fighting the coup from the inside (with Mai and Ty Lee, allowing us to explore everyone’s interesting relationship history) while everyone else tries to fight from the outside

During her wanderings Azula found the Sun Warriors and the dragons Rin and Sha – she uses her new followers to storm the temple and capture the blue dragon (just like her great grandfather before her). Azula is now riding around on a huge blue dragon. You’re welcome.

This is how Zuko gets his dragon – he and the Gaang liberate the Sun Warriors and the red dragon partners with him in order to save its mate

In the final battle between the two factions Azula inevitably snaps and the coup leaders are unable to control her – she goes nuts and tries to lay waste to both forces.

Zuko and the red dragon save both the blue dragon and Azula from herself. He is able to reassert control over the nation and get Azula back to hospital. This explains Kya’s extreme guilt and Izumi’s extreme reluctance to get involved in the Earth Empire situation

TOPH, LIN AND SU

Kyalin are already a thing by the time Book 4 starts – Korra is flabbergasted, and they set an example she wants to follow with Asami – things are very casual and domestic, which is a new and weird experience for both of them

When Lin meets up with Toph to free the Beifongs and then they free Su, have the idea of motherhood come up a few times – Toph suggests Lin has waited this long to re-enter a relationship because she doesn’t want kids, because she’s scared she’ll end up treating them like Toph. Toph encourages Lin to make her own choice uninfluenced by her – Lin can learn from Toph’s mistakes, and Su has made a great mom

The subject of Lin and Su’s dads come up. In this version, Sokka is Su’s father – hence her darker skin – but the brief affair was secret because he was married and Toph was with Lin’s father – one of those regretful one-night stands you always knew was a bad idea

This is a bombshell for Su, who never realised – it completely recontextualises her relationship with both Sokka and the Red Lotus (she almost joined the people who killed her father) . It also forces her to reconsider both her political and personal responsibilities – she accepts responsibility for her part in creating Kuvira, and understands her abandonment issues a little better

Lin, however, the aspiring detective from a young age, figured it out a long time ago (she always assumed Su knew). This is why Lin resented Su so much when they were kids – her arrival caused Toph and Lin’s dad to end things, because she was proof Toph never got over Sokka

Now Su is the one angry at Toph, and Lin is there to apologise and comfort her. Opal recognises what Toph is trying to do; throw herself under the bus to get rid of any lingering resentment between her girls and strengthen their sisterly bond – she’s forcing them to move on

Through Opal’s intervention everyone manages to patch things up

DARK KORRA/KORRA’S TRAUMA

In the original series it was never explained what that creepy vision of Korra in chains actually was. Sometimes it was just in her head, other times it physically attacked her, and then it just disappeared.

My explanation links to the Book 2 finale – Jinora was able to bring Raava back because she still existed within Vaatu. By the same logic, though Vaatu was destroyed, he (and Unalaqq, now forever bonded with him) exist with Raava’s light. In Book 3 we established Raava was directly feeding off of/reliant on the light within Korra. Now that Korra has been through all this trauma, that light has been replaced by negative energy, which allowed Vaatu to grow within her.

The Dark Korra hallucination is a manifestation of Vaatu’s dark power growing within Korra, feeding off her trauma and attacking her from the inside-out. It is both psychological and spiritual. When she goes to the Tree of Time, she sees echoes of Vaatu are there. He has stolen Unalaqq’s voice and face, completely taken him over – the ghost of the family member Korra failed to save.

When she finally reconnects with Raava, Korra defeats the Dark Korra; she can’t destroy the darkness inside her, but she can move on

Korra has to find alternate energy source for the Avatar State now her past lives are gone. She learns to channel the energy of the spirit world through Raava (a spiritual extension of Toph’s root connections, possible thanks to the open portals)

During the finale Korra’s appeal to the spirits to protect the world is heard – as the spirits attack Kuvira’s weapon, simultaneously the swamp halfway across the globe demolishes the Earth Empire’s vine harvesters – all the spirits come out of the woodwork and attack, claiming the area as a new Spirit Wild, like in Wan’s time

[newstfionline]

Friday, September 24, 2021

Travel in Canada is a prize for the vaccinated and vigilant (AP) Americans wanting to experience Canada’s vibrant autumn or its winter landscapes can do so again. But getting here means jumping through hoops before you go. Those hoops? To get into Canada as a tourist you must be fully vaccinated. You must have a PCR-variety COVID test taken no more than 72 hours in advance, with results ready to present at the border if driving or at the airport of departure before you can board. You have to pre-register with the Canadian government and get a code. You must present the basics of a backup quarantine plan in advance, in case you are randomly tested again upon arrival and found to be positive. You can’t be like the man from Atlanta whom border guards were talking about when I crossed. He’d pulled up a few nights earlier, unvaccinated, no test, no pre-registration and no hope of getting into Canada, more than 16 hours from home.

COVID-19 creates dire US shortage of teachers, school staff (AP) One desperate California school district is sending flyers home in students’ lunchboxes, telling parents it’s “now hiring.” Elsewhere, principals are filling in as crossing guards, teachers are being offered signing bonuses and schools are moving back to online learning. Now that schools have welcomed students back to classrooms, they face a new challenge: a shortage of teachers and staff the likes of which some districts say they have never seen. Public schools have struggled for years with teacher shortages, particularly in math, science, special education and languages. But the coronavirus pandemic has exacerbated the problem. The stress of teaching in the COVID-19 era has triggered a spike in retirements and resignations. Schools also need to hire staffers like tutors and special aides to make up for learning losses and more teachers to run online school for those not ready to return.

Sad perspective (Vanity Fair/NextDraft) In 2020, more than 5,100 kids under 18 were shot ... and more than 1,300 died. And yet, you’ve heard less about all of those deaths combined than the killing of Gabrielle Petito. Petito was a social media star and the pieces of her case are rolling out in real time. It’s understandable why internet users became obsessed. More worrisome is the way that what’s popular on social media drives what makes headlines. Every editor knows the endless and exhaustive coverage of a single murder case, in a country where murder is the national pastime, is beyond absurd. But they just can’t stop themselves.

After fence-mending Biden-Macron call, French envoy to return to U.S. (Reuters) The U.S. and French presidents moved to mend ties on Wednesday, with France agreeing to send its ambassador back to Washington and the White House saying it had erred in cutting a deal for Australia to buy U.S. instead of French submarines without consulting Paris. In a joint statement issued after U.S. President Joe Biden and French President Emmanuel Macron spoke by telephone, the two leaders agreed to launch in-depth consultations to rebuild trust, and to meet in Europe at the end of October. The call, which was requested by Washington, was an attempt to mend fences after France accused the United States of stabbing it in the back when Australia ditched a $40-billion contract for conventional French submarines, and opted for nuclear-powered submarines to be built with U.S. and British technology instead.

Pope jokes he is ‘still alive’ despite some bishops wishing him dead (Washington Post) Pope Francis has a message for his haters: “Still alive. Even though some people wanted me dead.” Hundreds of Italians cheered for him under a Rome hospital balcony this summer. But not everybody was happy that he made it out of colon surgery, the pontiff has quipped. In his eight-year tenure, Francis’s more liberal overtones than the popes before him—from his invitation of LGBT advocates to the Vatican to his calls to welcome refugees—have stirred tensions with conservatives, and drew pushback. The post-op papal joke about bishops wishing him ill marked a frank acknowledgment of the forces within the church who are at odds with him. In answering questions about the challenges the church faces—and the divisions within—one detractor Francis mentioned was “a large Catholic television that constantly gossips” about him. Still, the pontiff said, “I just go forward without entering into their world of ideas and fantasies.”

Ambush in Ukraine (Washington Post) A top Ukrainian presidential aide, Serhiy Shefir, narrowly survived assassination when one or more attackers opened fire on his car with a barrage of at least 18 bullets Wednesday. The attack took place on a forested stretch of road near Lesnyky village, outside Kyiv, the country’s capital. President Volodymyr Zelensky, who was in New York, announced he would return to Kyiv after addressing the United Nations General Assembly later Wednesday. Police are pursuing three main lines of investigation—that Shefir was attacked because of his state duties, that it was an attempt to put pressure on the country’s top leadership or that it was an effort to destabilize the political situation in the country.

Tensions grow as US, allies deepen Indo-Pacific involvement (AP) With increasingly strong talk in support of Taiwan, a new deal to supply Australia with nuclear submarines, and the launch of a European strategy for greater engagement in the Indo-Pacific, the U.S. and its allies are becoming growingly assertive in their approach toward a rising China. China has bristled at the moves, and the growing tensions between Beijing and Washington prompted U.N. Secretary-General Antonio Guterres on the weekend to implore President Joe Biden and Chinese leader Xi Jinping to repair their “completely dysfunctional” relationship, warning they risk dividing the world. As the U.N. General Assembly opened Tuesday, both leaders chose calming language. But the underlying issues have not changed, with China building up its military outposts as it presses its maritime claims over critical sea lanes, and the U.S. and its allies growing louder in their support of Taiwan, which China claims as part of its territory, and deepening military cooperation in the Indo-Pacific.

Myanmar junta abducting children of people targeted for arrest, says UN expert (Guardian) Myanmar’s military junta is systematically abducting the relatives of people it is seeking to arrest, including children as young as 20 weeks old, according the UN special rapporteur for the country. Tom Andrews told the UN Human Rights Council on Wednesday that conditions in the country had continued to deteriorate. His speech was followed by the release of a report by the UN Human Rights Office on Thursday, which warned of a “human rights catastrophe” and said abuses perpetrated since the coup may amount to war crimes and crimes against humanity. The military and its forces have killed more than 1,100 people, according to the UN report. It details systematic, targeted killings by the junta, including the use of semi-automatic rifles and snipers against pro-democracy protesters. Weapons designed for military confrontation, such as grenade launchers and artillery shells, have also been used against protesters and fired into residential areas, it said.

Mideast in shambles, but the world has moved on for now (AP) There was a time not long ago when uprisings and wars in the Arab world topped the agenda at the U.N. General Assembly meetings in New York. With most of those conflicts in a stalemate, the world’s focus has shifted to more daunting global challenges such as the still raging coronavirus pandemic and climate change, as well as new crises in Ethiopia’s embattled Tigray region and the Taliban takeover of Afghanistan. But the situation in the Middle East has deteriorated significantly in more countries and in more ways in the last two years. Lebanon, Syria, Iraq, Libya and Yemen are teetering on the brink of humanitarian catastrophe, with skyrocketing poverty and an economic implosion that threatens to throw the region into even deeper turmoil. “The region’s been crowded out by other global crises, but there’s also a sense of Western hopelessness after so many years of crisis,” said Julien Barnes-Dacey, the director of the Middle East and North Africa program at the European Council on Foreign Relations.

Cinema returns to Somalia after decades of shut-downs and strife (Reuters) Dozens of Somalis posed for selfies and chattered excitedly in rows of red, plush seats as they waited for the start of their country’s first movie screening in three decades. After the overthrow of president Siad Barre in 1991, clan-based warlords blasted each other with anti-aircraft guns and fought over the National Theatre, which they used as a base. The building was hit so many times that the roof collapsed a year into the conflict. Islamist militants who seized control in 2006 took over the building. They banned all forms of public entertainment—from concerts to football matches—that they considered sinful. African Union peacekeeping troops clawed back control of the capital in 2011 and the new Western-backed Somali government reopened the venue the following year. But just three weeks after that, a suicide bomber from the Islamist al Shabaab insurgency struck during a ceremony, killing six people. The building reopened again in 2020. Mogadishu resident Hassan Abdulahi Mohamed remembered spending half a Somali shilling on a movie ticket and one shilling on snacks at the theatre in the 1960s. “Last time I watched films in the cinema, it was 1991,” he said.

Books (Pew Research Center) A new study from Pew Research Center found 23 percent of Americans said they hadn’t read a book in whole or in part in the past year, including print, digital and audiobooks. An interesting component is that younger adults—with TikTok and their awful attention spans—were in fact considerably more likely to have read one book than older respondents, with 28 percent of those 50 and up forgoing books compared to just 19 percent of those 18 to 49. Overall, 23 percent didn’t read a book, 5 percent read one, 25 percent read two to five books, 15 percent read six to 10 books, 11 percent read 11 to 20 books and 18 percent of people said they read more than 20 books.

Shifting Sands (Hakai Magazine) Two studies looking at how islands in the Federated States of Micronesia and the Gilbert Islands have changed amid sea level rise found that among 175 sparsely populated or uninhabited islands, while lots of them have shrunk, lots of them have also expanded since the 1940s. Micronesia increased its land area by approximately 3 percent since the ‘40s and the Gilberts are 2.45 percent larger. It clarifies the simplistic idea that all islands are all just going to be sucked under amid sea level rise, which is true in many cases but misses the reality that the complex relationship between tides and waves and surges makes things more complicated to forecast than “water go up, island sinks down.”

[eclecticpatrolsweets]

Fog strange talk Season 3 ——Jinjiang City 2020 Top14

(Language: English;Shooting: American group;Released in: USA, worldwide)

preface

The city was swept by high temperature, and there were two pairs of mandarin ducks, who migrated for a long time to build their nests and settle down in a warm place. One was unable to bear the high temperature and fell, dying on the concrete floor. One opened its wings to block the hot sun for his partner. The male struggled and died soon. It was a long way and a spare dream. The mandarin ducks did not eat or drink, and rested beside their husband.

Mandarin ducks are amorous, not to mention people in the city.

TOP14 The murderer

"I can give you light, or I can scorch the earth!" Sheng said to K ruthlessly.

In the afternoon, rose to the coffee shop, the boss of the coffee shop changed from Su Ming to Wei Dongshuai.

His coffee doesn't go well.

Alma was practicing her violin on the hill, and she didn't want to go around the city with nothing.

The broker saw the photo on wechat and went down the hill to the coffee shop.

When he saw Sheng, he said excitedly, "Wei Dongshuai is really a hardworking man! When he walked up the hill to the door, the crew and I could always hear what he saw and heard in the coffee shop, which gave us a lot of inspiration. Just this morning, the mayor thought the hills were important and began to build more houses."

"I don't understand. Why is a mountain important?"

"Here we are, we are the global bellwether for horror movies."

"Can I assume that those buildings were built to make school-based horror movies?"

"It's a good idea. The children in the mountains need schools too, don't they?"

"I hope women screaming in the middle of the night don't wake me up."

"I like your beautiful language very much. And different strokes that you're good at."

At night, Sheng came to the mountain with the computer in his arms. The woman said, "Alma is sleeping very sweetly."

Sheng said, "I won't go back after it's too late. I can write here."

"That's great, of course. It's a beautiful environment to be inspired by."

"What are you doing with the running bill from the coffee shop?"

"Alma needs to eat, and through the bill we can screen out the right target, preferably one who doesn't have family, doesn't participate in activities, doesn't consume mindlessly and doesn't notice the eyes staring over his shoulder."

"Just from the bill -- hunting?" Sheng couldn't believe it.

"I have my own way, when we build relationships with the top leaders of the city, many impossible things are so easy."

"She needs a strict father."

"Obviously, you're not the best candidate. I can no longer accept Alma turning our resting place into a eating place. Her classmates have noticed something is wrong."

"You must do your duty as a mother; you must not spoil her. It's not a big city, indifferent and unsociable, you stay in your room after work and wait for your salary at the end of the month, a small population doesn't matter much, nobody cares about strangers."

"Something's got to be done, hasn't it? How's your job search going?"

"The entrepreneur seemed to evaporate, and my neck and chest did not recover, and my appearance suddenly turned ugly, which caused me a lot of trouble."

"You should rest, you should take your minerals, like Alma. When your body recovers, you have more to come. There's something wrong with mama Ouyang. I heard Alma say she saw Mama Ouyang putting white powder in her food. You write a novel a week, and it's great writing, and you spend 2020 lying in bed like a beetle."

"What can be done? Do I have to kill her?"

"You've been very kind all along."

"She lives for a reason. She may do as she pleases. All living things on this earth are interacting with their environment."

"I don't have too many suggestions. Jinjiang city is like a trap. The vehicles are arranged and we have to be careful."

"Why can man be the soul of all things? Fear is the source of eternity, it is fear that gives people the essence of all things, will learn to avoid, will think how to avoid. Jinjiang city is a dead city, I can find the hell devil in it, I observe very carefully. The reason these people have been rejected by God, they have sinned unpardonably, and you think about why we are here. Make them more afraid, make them understand the wrath of the gods. They will hide in their nests and repent."

"That's something you should make Alma understand, not someone who already knows agree with."

"I'm so worried about Alma."

After a busy night, he wrote a new plot.

The tree called, "Why aren't you at home?"

"I'd like you to make an appointment. It's not like I'll be cooped up forever, or cooped up like a cat in a cage." Sheng said briefly.

"My God, something big has happened. Where are you now?"

Rose came to the door of the cast, the cast of people do not want to open the door for this big devil.

They prefer the man standing at the door to leave quickly.

The tree came to the door and said, "You are still not welcome."

"Maybe now is not the time to be ridiculous. They want to be associated with me, and then they remake my work, and then they're afraid of me and don't want me in."

"This is art, in this world, all artists are a whole, there is no forced relationship." The tree opened the door.

"The layout of the houses is identical, and even the materials are familiar and repulsive." Sheng said with a frown.

"My god! Fruit trees please don't bring strange guests." The writer stood up and went to the kitchen.

"Am I so repulsive? Sheng retorted.

"As you know, a lot has happened in the last two years. They don't have amnesia."

"Do I, the victim, have to be a strong person like Alma the violin in the TV series?"

"If you can't, you're not qualified to be in this room." The fruit trees made it very clear.

"I had a feeling you weren't talking to me about manuscripts today."

"Yes, my relationship with you is nothing but the manuscript and the crew. One of the editors died last night."

"In America or at your house?"

'Nothing bad can happen here!

"People die when they live. You shouldn't make a mountain out of a molehill." Sheng consoled Guoshu: "The TV series is constantly shooting and producing. You don't have to worry about someone dying of illness or old age."

The terrible thing is that there was not a drop of blood in his body, and there were cups all over the table. Some of the big cups had congealed blood, as if the murderer had not eaten for days and nights. The other empty cups were covered with blood." While the tree was talking, the scriptwriter came over with a teacup and sat on the sofa without saying a word.

"The FBI believes it was a drama-driven homicide," He continued.

"Trust me, no one is stupid enough to commit a crime on a TV show. Poverty is the only thing that triggers a crime alarm."

"This is a very difficult situation for the crew."

"I can't answer your question. I don't even have the language. Whether it's the plot or not, that requires proof."

"I hope you'll take it seriously."

"Let me tell you, it is not only common sense, it is a fact of life, that a train would never stop if the tracks were not broken. All I can say is that the curse is spreading, and this sad thing, no matter how much we talk about it, doesn't matter, literature is based on reality, and artists shape it. If the murderer wants to kill a person, he has 10,000 ways, lions, tigers or other fierce beasts, they will hunt when hungry, they will show their sharp teeth when their life is threatened, is the murderer according to the screenwriter's work to kill, screenwriter was killed, is it the screenwriter's fault? It's like we're working on a TV series where some people come to the door and collect coins, just to gauge the reaction of their prey. Is it the victim's fault that the victim was killed?"

"You have a point there."

"In this cursed city, when the victim dies and no one cares about his body, he will be surrounded by flies and mosquitoes, or he will be put into the river because he will be killed because he has harmed the murderer. So Jinjiang city is a cursed city. No one wants to tell the police that there is a crime, no one wants to be seen as a murderer, and life becomes a reward for the police. This is a silent city, but America is not." He crossed his legs.

Sheng continued, "I suggest you go back to your office early. It's very unsafe here. Not everyone can take care of you. The air is very bad, and the water is not good. Do you notice that your mental faculties are declining?"

When the scriptwriter interrupted her, she said, "We work here, we write here, we write stories about you, and if you could keep your shirt on at home, I think we would get more inspiration. Literature has something to do with civilization."

"Come on, in this heat. Just because you have an air conditioner doesn't mean my air conditioner has enough horsepower. If you want stories, you can walk the streets and read them, or meet people, and make sure there are enough stories here for you to write several books. Instead of staring at me all the time. I'm not your husband."

"Baby, this has been an interesting conversation with you. Maybe you should go on a TV show and be the real Harry."

You should buy more books on carnal desire. You could speak your language a little more thoughtfully, instead of collecting coins."

"No matter what you suggest, no one will listen to you without substantial investment."

"The story here is beginning, the storm is sweeping, and the actors in Jinjiang city, the abandoned vampires you write about wandering the graveyard, don't survive the winter, surviving the environment, how it develops in certain, terrible towns, is the eternal beauty of civilization. The vegetation below is withered, and, even in the height of summer, abundant, is now an eyesore."

"If you want to be a warrior, you must wear armor, too."

"Every day sturgeon come to the city from the sea. They survive in order to develop. Your writer, Harry, is writing in a place with no scenery. Not easy to rest, there is no love. The beauty of the sea has always been praised by writers. Maybe you're not writing about a real city, but a hell under a cloud. Alma is right next to you, but you can't see her."

"I have discovered the fact that you give me more inspiration and advice than fruit trees."