#page 3600
Text
Aradia Megido, Sollux Captor, Jade Harley, Kanaya Maryam, Tavros Nitram
Act 5, page 3590-3613
apocalypseArisen [AA] began trolling twinArmageddons [TA]
AA: s0llux!
TA: hey what'2 up aa.
AA: y0u will never guess what i just f0und
TA: won't ii?
AA: i d0ubt it
TA: wa2 iit the matchiing ruiin2 2iite?
AA: um
AA: yes
AA: h0w did y0u kn0w!
TA: ii don't know, ju2t a weiird feeliing.
TA: ii feel liike we had thii2 conver2atiion before and that'2 what iit wa2 about.
AA: yeah
AA: me t00
AA: what d0 y0u think it means?
TA: probably nothiing. but now not only doe2 iit feel liike we had the conver2atiion before, but iit'2 goiing diifferently thii2 tiime.
TA: 2o iit'2 extra weiird. maybe your voiice2 are iinvolved?
AA: i d0nt kn0w maybe
AA: maybe y0urs are t00?
TA: ii don't hear a goddamn thiing.
TA: do you?
AA: wait
AA: yes
AA: shes very quiet th0ugh i cant tell what shes saying!
TA: oh well.
TA: why don't we pretend there ii2 no 2pooky paranormal phenomena goiing on ju2t once and talk about what you wanted two talk about.
AA: g00d idea
AA: 0k d0 y0u remember what we talked ab0ut regarding kanayas ruins?
TA: 2orta.
AA: i asked y0u f0r help in understanding the glyphs
TA: ii gue22.
AA: 0_0
AA: are y0u just being difficult 0r d0 y0u really n0t remember
TA: ii gue22 ii don't fiind the whole my2tery of the ruiin2 a2 exciitiing a2 you, ok?
AA: well 0bvi0usly!
AA: but i really appreciate y0ur help anyway
TA: 2ure.
TA: how can ii help, then.
AA: well y0u said that y0ud need an0ther set 0f glyphs t0 make sense 0f them
AA: y0u speculated that there might be an0ther set 0f ruins
AA: y0u even guessed they w0uld be blue! it turns 0ut y0u were right
AA: d0nt y0u think that is pretty c00l?
TA: oh yeah, ii am awe2ome about that for 2ure.
TA: but,
TA: ii can't 2hake the feeliing the2e ruiin2 are goiing two be nothiing but trouble for u2.
AA: but y0u say that ab0ut everything!
TA: that'2 becau2e iit'2 fuckiing true about everythiing!
AA: n0 its n0t!
AA: i did find s0me 0ther neat things d0wn here t00 which are strange but quite harmless and n0t f0reb0ding in the least!
TA: liike what?
AA: like this AMAZING hat!
AA: it is an authentic arche0l0gists hat its s0 hard t0 find them in this style
AA: there are n0 h0rn h0les but i l0ve it anyway its great
TA: pretty 2weet aa.
TA: hey diidn't you al2o fiind 2ome biit2 and piiece2 of your biizarre robot doppelganger.
AA: i wasnt g0ing t0 tell y0u ab0ut that!
AA: damn it h0w did y0u kn0w
TA: ii don't know, ii ju2t "remembered" 2ome more 2hiit about thii2 dii2covery, god 2orry.
AA: this is stupid
TA: yeah, well, ii gue22 thii2 ii2 the kiind of 2hiit you have to deal wiith when two p2ychiic2 talk to each other about 2tuff.
AA: maybe
TA: why don't we piick thii2 up agaiin later when we're not feeliing 2o weiird?
AA: well
AA: 0k
apocalypseArisen [AA] began trolling twinArmageddons [TA] and apocalypseArisen [AA]
AA: ahem
AA: sorry to interrupt i wanted to give you both the chance to remember but it doesnt look like this is going anywhere!
TA: what the fuck?
AA: w0w what
AA: is it coming back yet
TA: is WHAT c0ming back, wh0 ARE y0u?
TA: wh0a h0ld 0n.
TA: why am i talking like y0u suddenly?
AA: this is a mem0ry
AA: in a dream bubble
AA: thats right!
TA: 0h.
TA: that d0esn't really answer my questi0n, but 0k.
AA: y0u changed y0ur v0ice because y0u remembered
AA: like i did
TA: remembered what?
AA: that i died
AA: this is my mem0ry and als0 hers
AA: but i went 0n t0 bec0me the r0b0t wh0se remains are in this crater
AA: whereas she did n0t
AA: i d0nt actually kn0w her st0ry 0r h0w she g0t here but f0r me this was the end 0f the r0ad
AA: this is the afterlife
TA: well, shit.
TA: s0 then i guess i'm dead t00?
AA: nope!
AA: you are just asleep
AA: you are also blind!
TA: h0ly shit, i can't see!
AA: yes thats what being blind means
TA: w0w, awes0me! way t0 be awes0mely sympathetic t00 my terrible new pr0blem, aa.
AA: sollux will you shut up and stop being so tragic for once
AA: you knew this was going to happen! your prophecies of personal doom were practically all you ever talked about
AA: i think you were looking forward to this honestly
AA: shes right
TA: i can't believe this, it's alm0st as if i'm getting...
TA: D0UBLE TEAMED.
TA: 😎
TA: damn.
TA: that didn't feel right at all, i think i might have t0 retire the wh0le bifurcati0n gimmick, puns and all.
TA: actually that is kind 0f a relief, maybe y0u're right, i'm feeling better ab0ut this already.
AA: great!
AA: you should be able to relax now that youve been released from the curse of your vision twofold just like you said youd be
AA: you are now merely doomed!
TA: 0h.
TA: that's... awes0me?
AA: being d00med isnt that bad
AA: i spent m0st 0f my life that way remember
AA: at least y0u have the luxury 0f understanding
AA: and the best part ab0ut being d00med is y0u 0nly have t0 put up with it until y0u die
AA: thats the spirit hahaha
AA: actually i guess i dont have to keep talking like im doomed anymore do i
AA: nope :)
TA: this is s0 weird, what am i even listening t0 here.
TA: 0_0
TA: FUCK, i cann0t BELIEVE i just made that face.
AA: hahahahaha!
AA: hahahahaha!
TA: g0d dammit.
TA: 0h yeah, als0...
TA: why the fuck are my teeth missing?
AA: i
AA: dont know?
TA: 0k, well, great, glad we g0t t0 the fucking b0tt0m 0f that mystery.
TA: myssssssstery. mystery. mySSSSthSSSStery. mysterymysterymystery.
TA: man, i can't even lisp anym0re if i try.
TA: please d0n't laugh, i can tell y0u are b0th enj0ying this, i can smell it using my new blind guy n0se p0wers.
AA: really?
TA: n0 n0t literally, i was j0king. i mean n0t YET. maybe i'll ask tz ab0ut it when i wake up th0ugh.
TA: hey what was that n0ise?
AA: what noise?
TA: i think s0me0ne else is here.
AA: oh its jade!
TA: jade?? wtf.
AA: whos jade
AA: shes one of the humans we met after you died
AA: ok
AA: i guess i am out of the loop on chronology for once
AA: thats fine youll catch up!
GG: ummmmmm hey guys i hope im not interrupting!!!
TA: well, yeah, y0u kind 0f were, s0rt 0f a reuni0n 0f cl0se departed friends g0ing 0n here, but n0 big deal i guess.
GG: oh no!
GG: i can leave
AA: no dont!
AA: sollux try to be polite
AA: there is no reason at all for you to feel hostile toward them anymore
AA: jade is very nice and she did nothing wrong
AA: none of them did so when you wake up maybe you should try to reconcile with them or at the very least just say hello
TA: did Y0U?
AA: did i what
TA: be nice t0 them 0r whatever bef0re y0u expl0ded.
AA: well no
AA: but i should have!
AA: i did with you before i left didnt i
TA: i guess s0.
GG: :o
AA: this is awkward
AA: shush you!
AA: what actually happened after i died it sounds complicated
AA: it is!
AA: ill get you up to speed i promise but guys come on lets not scare away our guest
AA: ok then ill shut up
AA: i think one aradia saying things is more than enough probably
TA: y0u can say that again heheheheheh.
TA: but i mean, d0n't say it again literally, because that's kind 0f the wh0le p0int, and w0uld c0mpletely c0ntradi...
AA: oh my god shut up!
GG: its ok! i can take another nap later when you guys arent busy...
AA: no jade its ok
AA: please stay! im curious about why you are here
GG: well...
GG: i have just been enjoying these little naps more and more lately!
GG: each time i go to sleep i meet more new people and learn so much
GG: but i still cant get karkat to take a nap, boy talk about a guy who is anti nap!
TA: ahahahah, yeah, what a d0uche!
GG: seeeeeriously!
GG: he is the douchiest of crabby crabs who ever douched a big douchey crab
TA: l0l.
GG: but yeah, its been fun, i should really thank feferi again for setting it up so we could meet like this!
TA: wait, ff is here?
GG: yup!
TA: 0h g0d, why didn't that 0ccur t0 me, where is she??
GG: ummm probably in another bubble
GG: but youll find her! maybe during your next nap...
TA: well shit, why can't i just g0 glub ar0und 0ut there in the ring and find her n0w?
TA: i mean, aside fr0m the fact that i'm blind and c0mpletely useless.
AA: navigating between bubbles is difficult here
AA: its better to drift between them naturally as they intersect
AA: not spatially but through common points in memory
AA: to navigate the furthest ring you need to have mastered the flow of time!
AA: that is why i am here
AA: i am alive again so i may assist the dead in this way
TA: huh.
AA: jade tell me
AA: have you seen me here before? i mean me dressed like i am now wearing my godhood
GG: yeah!
GG: you were really nice and helpful
TA: wait, what, y0u're wearing a g0dh00d?
TA: why didn't y0u tell me that, what gives? 0r that y0u came back t0 life??
AA: im wearing a hood and have butterfly wings what else would you like to know
TA: man, being blind is dumb, can i like gr0pe y0u 0r s0mething t0 get up t0 date 0n y0ur appearance, w0uld that be weird?
AA: yes sollux that would probably be pretty weird
GG: i think your outfit looks so cute! i love your wings too
AA: thank you your outfit is quite spiffy too
AA: i like that skirt a lot especially
AA: is
AA: is that a skirt?
GG: i am not sure :o
TA: /R0LLING MY EYES.
TA: is what i w0uld be d0ing if that were p0ssible.
AA: shhh!
TA: aa c0me 0n y0u were making a p0int.
AA: yes ok
AA: you see those encounters you had with me before have not happened for me yet because ive only just arrived
AA: time follows strange paths here as does space
AA: if you travel a great enough distance you may discover you are also traveling either backwards or forwards in time as well!
AA: just as if you stay in one place for too long the geometry of space surrounding you will become unreliable
AA: you may swat the air to your left and discover you have just slapped yourself!
AA: the only way to make sense of it is to understand either property very well
AA: and since i am new here i have some learning to do just like everyone else
AA: but i do know one thing
GG: what!
AA: i knew that the first bubble i would enter would be an important one for us to visit
TA: what's s0 imp0rtant ab0ut it?
AA: hang on
AA: we are moving on to a new memory hold that thought
AA: it is important because it will help us begin to understand why we are all here
TA: what d0 y0u mean why we are all here?
TA: y0u mean in the afterlife? that's easy.
TA: because she's asleep, she's dead, y0u're alive, and i'm blind, c0uldn't be simpler.
AA: no no
AA: not why we are in this bubble now
AA: but why we all exist in the first place and why we all went on this adventure together
TA: 0h, that.
AA: there is much to understand and i believe it all begins with one sequence of events
AA: watching will help those whove passed to understand the purpose of their sacrifice and those still living to understand what must be done to complete the journey still ahead
AA: we will let the memories lead the way
AA: are you guys ready?
GG: i am ready!
AA: ok lets allow the next memory to take shape
AA: i believe it is kanayas
AA: i will reprise my role in a conversation i had with her shortly after i discovered the ruins
AA: everybody hide and try not to spoil it for her until she remembers!
AA: hey kanaya
AA: there is s0mething i want t0 give y0u
GA: Oh Really
AA: yes its s0mething very 0dd i f0und when i disc0vered the ruins the 0ther night
AA: i d0nt kn0w what its arche0l0gical significance is yet but i suspect y0u will be able t0 repair it!
GA: This Is A Dream Isnt It
AA: 0_0
AA: w0w!
AA: uh i mean
AA: o_o
AA: wow
AA: you figured that out very fast!
GA: It Seemed Obvious
GA: Either Im Sleeping Or Im Dead Which Is It
AA: oh i am sure you are alive
AA: you are unconscious now and will likely wake up as your new self very soon
GA: My New Self
AA: yes
AA: you are undergoing a metamorphosis which you have been groomed for since you were very young
AA: much like i was for my various personal iterations including this one
GA: You Mean
GA: Being A Ghost And Then A Frog And Then A Robot And Then A Fairy
AA: yes!
AA: but it sure sounds silly when you list them all like that
GA: Kind Of
GA: What Do You Mean We Have Been Groomed
AA: wellllll
AA: that is what we are about to find out!
AA: if you will oblige us by continuing with this memory
GA: Okay
GA: What Do I Do
AA: why dont we go through this conversation again to the best of our recollection
AA: but i guess rather than acting it out we can just talk about it
AA: the old fashioned way
GA: Was What We Were Attempting Before Not Old Fashioned
AA: i have no idea
GA: It Seems To Me The Nature Of The Afterlife Is Probably Very Old Fashioned
GA: Maybe Even The Most Old Fashioned A Thing Can Get
AA: haha yeah you know what i mean though
GA: Yes Then
GA: This Was When You Were About To Give Me That Unusual Gift From The Ruins
AA: yes
AA: i then had sollux deliver the pieces to you so you could stitch it back up
AA: sollux that is your cue!
AA: come out and play the part
TA: s0 we d0n't have t0 hide anym0re?
AA: no of course not!
AA: obviously the jig is up everyone can come out now
GG: yay!
TA: s0 like,
TA: 0k s0 i'm supp0sed t0 act 0ut what i did bef0re, when i br0ught her these shitty d0ll parts, is that's what's g0ing 0n here?
GA: Yeah Im Still Not Sure Aradia Are We Supposed To Be Role Playing
AA: no guys come on this isnt that complicated!
AA: we are just revisiting the past just like we would if we were talking about it
AA: but it just so happens we can watch it happen as we talk about it
AA: and as a matter of fact
AA: this story does involve a role playing game but not in that way!
TA: thith ith kinb 0f thtupib.
AA: youre stupid and you sound stupid!
TA: h0py thith, i b0 th0unb thtupib.
TA: why the fuckth ith by b0uth fthull 0f all thethe theeth subbenly?
AA: i dont know o_o
AA: but you maaay be waking up soon
TA: 0h, 0k, greath, th0 i will mithth the retht 0f the c00l tht0ry, 0k.
AA: maybe not if we hurry this along!
GG: wait! before we do...
GG: hi kanaya! it is nice to meet you
GA: Hi Jade
GA: Uh
GA: What Is That Thing Youre Wearing
GG: you dont like it???
GA: No I Didnt Mean To Sound Disapproving
GA: But I Do Think More Colorful Apparel Suits You Better
GG: yes i know you told me!
GA: I Did
GG: yes but you probably havent yet
GG: not from your perspective..... i could not help but overhear you are asleep now
GG: you told me all about what happened after you woke up!
GA: About What
GG: about how you turned into a vampire
GA: Whats A Vampire
TA: thith ith ribicul0uth.
AA: thollux is right
AA: i mean sollux
AA: kanaya tell us what happened next!
GA: There Isnt Much To Say
GA: I Repaired The Doll And Made Him A Nice Outfit
GA: With A Far More Becoming Palette And Fit Than The Absurd Tatters He Was Found In
GA: I Thought At Least
AA: yes
GA: Uh
GA: Should There Be Anything Else To This Story
AA: not really!
GG: isnt that daves puppet?
AA: yes
GG: :\
TA: aw sthith, i guethth i'm 0utha here.
AA: bye sollux
TA: thee y0u lather eberyb0by.
GG: bye!
GA: Anyway That Is All I Can Remember
GA: I Quickly Began To Find The Doll Unnerving So I Put Him Away
GA: To My Knowledge He Has Remained Secure In My Block Ever Since
GA: Is He Relevant In Some Way
GG: guys why do you have daves puppet?
GG: what is going on here!
GA: Yes Aradia It Seems You Have Some Foreknowledge Of This Narrative Maybe You Can Tell Us Why Any Of This Is Important
AA: this is only a piece of the story
AA: the other pieces will fall into place with successive memories and it will all become clear
AA: but yes alright i will eliminate some suspense and try to serve as a better guide on this tour through the catacombs of our collective subconscious
AA: the separate tunnels we once traveled in the dark as individuals we now retrace together with a torch
AA: on the walls we illuminate the runes which describe a convoluted origin story
AA: an origin we participated in
AA: we were spurred to these actions by that which was being originated
AA: and incited to acts of revenge as we were turned against each other
AT: i DON'T REMEMBER THIS,
AT: i MEAN,
AT: i REMEMBER GETTING JUMPED OFF THE CLIFF BY MY LEGS,
AT: bUT NOT THE THING i'M DOING NOW,
AA: no
AA: our manipulator disguised his tracks well
AT: dO i,
AT: hAVE TO LIE ON THE FLOOR LIKE THIS,
AT: iS THAT IMPORTANT,
AA: no tavros you can get up
AT: aLSO,
AT: cAN WE, oR AT LEAST i, bE NOT IN THIS MEMORY,
AT: bECAUSE,
AT: iT'S ONE THAT'S NOT AS GREAT AS MOST,
AA: we will leave it soon
AA: but you were doing something very important here
AT: wHAT WAS i DOING,
AA: writing a part of the code
AA: an incomplete fragment consisting of four symbols
AA: comprising the first word of a binary refrain
AA: a pair of sounds emerging from the belly of a fabled tyrants menace
AA: but you authored only one sound of the pair
AA: i would write the other
AA: in the soot of my ruined hive i scrawled my part of the code
AA: completing the phrase of legend
AA: the persisting sounds said to accompany the ultimate demise of the tyrant less an arm and an eye
AA: but even these eight characters
AA: the scrawlings of charge
AA: were still but half the code
AA: there was another half by scourge in two parts
AA: one part three symbols
AA: and the other
AA: five
AA: why the scale was tipped in this way between sisters
AA: i cannot say!
AA: each fragment would be transcribed in our rulebooks
AA: sealing the collaboration between rust bloods and blue bloods
AA: completing the code for our sessions architect
AA: not exactly
AA: there was another fragment
AA: oh?
AA: yes
AA: an additional eight symbols
AA: from a wild card source i suppose
AA: it came from a timeline not meant to happen
AA: the one i came from to ensure it wouldnt
AA: thus sealing my fate
AA: i believed the fragment was gibberish from a lunatic
AA: after completing his rampage through our session
AA: since it was not part of the scripted chronology i was oblivious until it was too late to stop it
AA: not that it would matter if i did the timeline had already gone astray
AA: i pieced together what had happened by sleuthing the various scenes
AA: and discovered the text which the code was recorded in
AA: i decided to return to the alpha timeline with the text
AA: as evidence for his madness i guess
AA: in the alpha timeline this text was destroyed
AA: in an explosion caused by a computer virus
AA: this explosion did not take place on my timeline
AA: i identified this event as the difference prompting the offshoot
AA: and returned to our planet via the reckoning just as i did at the end of my life
AA: though that time deliberately
AA: to influence events quietly to make sure it happened
AA: and later joined the rest of our doomed selves to help defeat the king
AA: the others surely had similar responsibilities along the way
AA: as for the book
AA: i lost track of it shortly after i arrived
AA: yes we all lost track of our books
AA: they were gathered surreptitiously by agents assigned to the task
AA: and in the veil their codes were merged with the ghost imprints of other mysterious artifacts
AA: our first guardian was brought to life on the seed to pass through skaias final gate of defense
AA: the first to find alternia
#homestuck#aradia megido#sollux captor#jade harley#kanaya maryam#tavros nitram#homestuck act 5#page 3590#page 3591#page 3592#page 3593#page 3594#page 3595#page 3596#page 3597#page 3598#page 3599#page 3600#page 3601#page 3602#page 3603#page 3604#page 3605#page 3606#page 3607#page 3608#page 3609#page 3610#page 3611#page 3612
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I'm celebrating 6 years of running this blog by going back to the very beginning of the blog and finding old posts to stock up my queue with and dripfeed steadily back into the Tumblr dashboard ecosystem
#because why keep such a stockpile if not to recycle it eh#lots of classics to appreciate once more#I'll try not to spam too much I swear but I'm often too lazy for queues#Gonna give the queue another shot though#This blog has like 3600+ pages or something btw#lots to browse#p
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I think im starting to realize that ppl seem to generally think highly of me and also that a lot more people know about me than i realized.
#i mean i did have an art twitter page with over 3600 followers#that prolly counts for something#some of the ppl that seem to think im cool are ppl i wanna be friends with too#too shy to interact with directly tho#i dont think im as big of a deal as ppl think i am tho#maybe the real value of me is a compromise between what i think im like and what other ppl think#becuz they prolly have a reason to think what they do#even if misguided
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I am like. will my prof even read my nonsense.
#he said 12 pages or 3600 words I am at 7 pages/1600 words#if I am a little off. what's a little off#I consider being halfway done rn in word count
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If you pledged to James Somerton's Patreon, go CANCEL YOUR PLEDGE before you get charged and REPORT HIM TO THE PLATFORM!
He reactivated his page today with no update to notify his patrons that he'd done so, having scrubbed all but two posts, under the claim (in his shitty apology video) that this is to allow everyone to pull their pledges before they get charged in January. The problem with this explanation is that nobody would be charged if he hadn't reactivated the page in the first place, and a creator can remove patrons from their end at any time—and yet, all 3600+ supporters are still attached to the newly-reactivated page.
James didn't do this to let people revoke their pledges, he did it in the hopes that people wouldn't notice and he could get at least one more month's worth of income from the platform.
Do not give this man another penny of your money. Revoke your pledge and report him to the platform.
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It Won't Be Long | Rooster x Reader
Summary: How are you supposed to tell your family that you have to leave? Especially when everything still feels new and flawless and beautiful? Bradley knows it will be rough to break the news to you, but telling Everett will be so much worse.
Warnings: Swearing, fluff, angst, adult language
Length: 3600 words
Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female single!mom Reader
This is a Batting Practice one-shot but can be read alone! Check out my masterlist for more!
"Oh, shit."
Bradley's heart sank as he read the paperwork that Maverick just handed to him. "Fuck," he groaned, fighting the urge to crumple up the pages. The sounds of conversation buzzing around him in the rec room faded to a dull noise that set his teeth on edge as he thought about how he was going to explain this to you. And even worse....how he would tell Everett.
"Sorry, Rooster," Maverick replied, cuffing him on the shoulder, but Bradley didn't move except to shake his head a fraction of an inch. He should have known this was coming. He should have been prepared for this, but it felt like a slap in the face. You and he had only been married for less than six months, and he still felt like this was very much the honeymoon phase. How the hell was he supposed to spend a single day without you and Everett, let alone one hundred of them?
He'd been planning to take the three of you up to Disneyland for a little overnight trip during spring break. Kind of a precursor to a longer vacation to Disney World in Orlando in the summer. Well, now he'd be missing all of spring break. And he was going to miss opening day at Petco Park, too.
He vaguely registered that Maverick dismissed him early, and he heard Bob calling his name as he headed for the door. He stopped but didn't turn around as he told his future brother-in-law, "I'll call you later." He'd have to tell Bob and Molly soon, because you and Everett would need them if anything happened while Bradley was deployed, but he didn't want to talk about it with anyone until he told you himself.
When he got home before you, it gave him plenty of time to mope while he got dinner in the oven. He decided to take a long shower, suddenly wanting nothing more than to change out of his fucking uniform. The Valentine's Day card he gave you a few days ago was still propped up on your dresser, and he sighed when he looked at the pretty flowers still blooming beautifully in the vase next to it. When he opened the card and read what he'd written, he wasn't surprised to find that he had it practically memorized after spending hours agonizing about what to say to his wife on a day dedicated to being in love.
Kitten,
You changed my life and everything in it for the better last spring, and not a minute goes by that I'm not thinking about you. I hope you'll let me love you every Valentine's Day for the rest of my life. I hope you'll love me back for all of them. I'm so happy you're my wife.
Love,
Bradley
P.S.- How do you feel about wearing your collar, leash and your bodysuit tonight?
He set the card down again with a soft groan and stripped out of his uniform. The shower felt amazing, and he treated himself to your expensive body wash before he rinsed himself off. When he put on his sweatpants and started looking for a tee shirt, everything in his drawer seemed to have Top Gun or Navy Waves printed on it. He just wasn't in the mood for any of it since he knew he was about to have two conversations he'd really rather skip, so he pulled on the Phillies shirt that he got for Christmas from you and Everett.
The kitchen timer started going off at the same time he heard your car in the driveway, and Bradley ran back downstairs to get dinner out of the oven. "You're home early!" you said, bursting through the front door with Everett by your side, and for the first time since this morning, everything seemed more colorful and loud in a good way.
"Dad! I aced my math test!" Everett said as he came running into the kitchen, waving a sheet of paper in the air. "A hundred percent!"
Bradley's heart clenched as he picked Everett up in a hug and buried his face against him. "I'm proud of you, kiddo. That's what happens when you stop rushing through your homework."
He held onto his son a little longer than he normally would before kissing his cheek and setting him down. You eyed him closely as you dumped your work stuff on one of the chairs. He must have done something to give himself away, because a second later, you said, "Ev, you promised you'd take ten minutes to clean your room before dinner."
"Fine," he replied, his voice right on the edge of whining. Normally Bradley would remind him not to talk to you that way, but he let it slide right now. Everett headed for the stairs, and once he was out of sight, you were in Bradley's arms.
"What's wrong, Coach?" you asked, running your fingers along his cheek before pushing them through his damp hair. "What's bothering you?"
When you gently kissed him, he didn't stop you. And when it took him a minute to reply, you didn't rush him. "Baby... I'm being deployed."
Your grip on him grew incrementally tighter as you whispered, "Oh. When?"
His forehead met yours as he forced out the sentence, "I have to leave mid March, and I'm due back on Ev's birthday."
When you nodded, he could tell you were still letting his words settle in your mind. You took a deep breath and huffed out a little laugh as you whispered, "That's a long time."
Bradley swallowed down his guilt. "It's too damn long. I don't want to go fourteen weeks without you and Ev. I don't even like going a whole day when I can help it. I'm supposed to be here with you."
You nodded, and when you spoke, he could hear the tears in your voice. "We managed without you before, we can do it again. At least you'll get home on his birthday."
He collected you tighter against his body as he groaned. He would rather do almost anything other than miss his son's eighth birthday. "Kitten. Sometimes the dates aren't accurate. Sometimes the carriers run behind schedule. One time I returned a week later than I anticipated."
You made a soft sound that left him reeling. "Well, if that happens, then I'll explain it to him. And we'll deal with it."
"Fuck," he grunted, slipping out of your grasp and gripping the edge of the countertop with both hands as his anger flared. "I don't want the two of you to have to deal with me missing out on celebrations. I already bought tickets for Ev and I to go to see the Padres on opening day! I was going to let him skip school! If I miss his birthday, I swear I'll be fucking sick, Kitten! And if Molly doesn't have the baby before March fifteenth, then I won't get to meet him until he's three months old!"
"Bradley," you whispered, ducking under his arm so you were right there between him and the counter. "Listen to me," you said, taking his face in your hands and kissing him. "This is why we love you so much. Because you love us so much."
You had tears in your eyes that matched his as he muttered, "I still feel like we just got married. Like every day with you is so exciting. And Ev didn't grow up with a military dad. He's not used to my lifestyle. I..." Bradley paused and dipped his head down, staring at your work shoes as he said, "I feel important every day because both of you rely on me for things around here. More than just my income. Ev and I do his homework together, and I like helping you cook meals. And I live for taking him to the park to play baseball. I live for it, Kitten."
With two firm hands under his chin, you shifted him so he was looking at you. "I said we would be able to manage without you because we did it before. We know how to do it. Not that we would enjoy ourselves, Bradley. My heart will hurt with worry every day that you're gone, and Everett will miss you because you're essential to his happiness. But this is part of your career, and you're very good at it."
Bradley knew he was crying now as he said, "I'll miss the beginning of his baseball season. He's the only one from his old team who is going to play real ball again this spring instead of tee ball."
You smiled and kissed his cheek. "All thanks to you. And I'll take a million videos for you to watch. I'll email them so you can scrutinize his technique, and then I'll help him improve. I mean, look how much more I know about baseball since I first met you."
Of course your words made him feel a little better. They always did. You always validated his place in this family when he started to doubt himself. "You've come a long way, Kitten. And it's a good thing, too, because I don't think Ev is going to lose interest in baseball any time soon."
You smiled as your lips skimmed his. "I really hope not since the two of you turned the extra bedroom into a Phillies shrine."
"Why are you both crying?"
Bradley's gaze snapped toward Everett who was halfway between the bottom of the stairs and the kitchen with a concerned look on his face. "Ev," he started, unsure how to handle this conversation. Part of him wanted to wait until after the three of you had eaten dinner, but right now, he looked very upset.
"Is Aunt Molly okay?" he asked softly. "She was crying the other day when she said the baby was hurting her back."
When Bradley still hesitated, you said, "Aunt Molly is fine. She texted me a picture of her swollen feet at lunchtime." Then you leaned in closer and whispered, "Do you want me to talk to him?"
"No," Bradley replied immediately. "No, I'll do it." But it was harder than he thought it would be to get the words out in a way that would make sense to a seven year old. Why had he convinced himself that he'd be good at this parenting thing? He didn't even know what the hell to say right now. "Grab our gloves," he told his son. "Let's go out back and toss a ball around before we eat dinner."
Everett perked up immediately and ran off, only to return with two well worn baseball gloves and a baseball. "Okay."
Bradley slipped on a pair of shoes. "Okay."
Wordlessly, they threw the ball around for a bit, the quiet space soothing the part of Bradley that was terrified of fucking this up. "Hey, Kiddo?"
"Yeah, Dad?" Everett asked as he threw a scorcher to Bradley.
"You remember how we talked about deployments before?"
"Yeah." His voice was softer this time, and his face fell a little bit. "I remember. It's when you have to go way out into the ocean and fly off of an aircraft carrier."
"Yeah," Bradley croaked, squeezing the ball as hard as he could in his right hand. "I'm going to have to leave to do that in a few weeks."
He watched as his son tried to be strong and keep it together, but then Everett's face crumpled as he started crying. "But you said that lasts for months," he said as he looked at the ground, and Bradley rushed toward him. "And I heard Jayden in my class say deployments are really dangerous."
"Ev," he replied, dropping the ball and his glove and kneeling right in front of him. He swiped at the tears with his fingers as he said, "I can't stand it when you cry. It breaks my heart."
But Everett just cried more. "I don't want you to leave now. You just got here!"
"Kiddo," he whispered, wrapping him up in a hug. "I'll be back soon. It won't be long. Nothing we can't handle."
"But what if something happens to you?"
Bradley's heart shattered and was immediately put back together. He hated making you and Everett worry about him, but the fact that you both loved him enough to care made him feel whole. He kissed his son's tear streaked cheeks and said, "The only thing that's going to happen is me flying around in my jet for a few weeks before I come right back home. Sounds pretty boring, right?"
He nodded against Bradley's shoulder. "Yeah, I guess so."
Bradley kissed his forehead and whispered, "I'll be so bored without you. I'm going to need you and Mom to take a bunch of photos and videos and email them to me all day long. And I'll need you to ace all your school assignments and be well behaved for everyone except your Aunt Molly. You think you can do that?"
Everett shrugged, but when his glove slipped off of his hand, he hugged Bradley around the neck. "I'll try, Dad. But I'll miss you."
A tear slipped down Bradley's cheek as he managed to say, "I'll miss you, too."
-------------------------
"It's not time yet," you told Everett as he sat on the couch with the iPad on his lap, staring at it longingly. "Ten more minutes. Why don't you finish your math homework while you wait?"
"Because I like doing my math homework with Dad," Everett explained as he looked at you like you were absolutely ridiculous for even suggesting such a thing. "I want to solve the problem with him."
Even though it meant you would have less time to talk to your husband about other things, you'd let Everett do math homework with him over FaceTime. It wasn't like Bradley was going to complain. They were two peas in a pod. Everett even had the Phillies current pitching stats printed out and ready to share.
"You'll have to show him your countdown, too. We're getting closer."
Before Bradley left, he and Everett cut up countless strips of paper and wrote numbers on them so Everett could conduct a countdown until his eighth birthday. Until the day Bradley was supposed to return home. There had been a gigantic paper chain snaking through the house, but now you were down to your final ten loops. Just ten more days without Bradley.
When the iPad rang, Everett nearly dropped it in his excitement, and you ran in from the kitchen. "Dad!" he said as Bradley's handsome face filled the screen.
"Hey, Ev," he said, sounding exhausted and relieved. "I miss you, Kiddo. Where's Mom?"
"She's right here."
Your son tilted the screen, and Bradley sighed. "Kitten."
"Bradley! We miss you. Ten more days!"
A crooked smile broke out on his face, and he kept his eyes on you for a beat longer while Everett started telling him all about baseball practice with his new coach and how his baby cousin Charlie threw up yesterday and about how the Phillies won three games in a row. You lost him to your son just like you knew you would as soon as Everett asked him for help with his homework.
You sat quietly on the couch while Bradley looked at the math sheet and helped him work through the problem. Then Everett showed him the remaining length of the paper chain countdown, and as soon as that was finished, Bradley said, "Great job, Kiddo. Now why don't you go clean your room up before bed while I talk to Mom?"
"Okay. Love you, Dad!"
"I love you, too," he promised. "And I'll see you on your birthday."
Everett handed you the iPad and ran upstairs to his bedroom. "After all that, I only get three minutes alone with my husband this week," you said with a little smirk.
Bradley groaned and shook his head. "I can guarantee when I get home, I'll be on you nonstop. Don't worry about that, Baby. We won't sleep for days."
You bit your lip and laughed as he groaned. "What do you want for your birthday, Coach?"
He glanced around the small room where he was sitting before he said, "You can find that information written in your Valentine's Day card. Maybe throw in some vanilla frosting, and I'll be all set."
"Sounds good," you replied, and his smile grew. "We'll count down to Ev's birthday, and then we'll count down to yours."
"Speaking of which, did you get his present ready? All wrapped up in a box?"
You nodded as your heart fluttered. "Exactly to your specifications," you promised, picturing the package you had stashed in the linen closet.
"Perfect. I need to make it up to him for missing opening day for the Padres. I hated disappointing him."
As you glanced around your living room at the remaining countdown numbers and Everett's completed math homework, you said, "Something tells me you could never truly disappoint him. See you in ten days, my love."
-------------------------
"Dad!"
Bradley rushed through the crowd on the dock and headed for his family. You looked beautiful, and somehow Everett looked like he grew six inches in three months, but everything was perfect again once he had an arm wrapped around each of you. He kissed your lips and squeezed you to his side. "I missed you, Kitten," he murmured, knowing you wouldn't be too mad if you weren't his main focus until later tonight. "Happy birthday, Kiddo," he said with a smile as he released you to hug his son. "I missed you, too."
Everett clung to him when Bradley knelt down, and he stood up again with him in his arms. "Last week, my new coach said I have a heck of an arm. And school's already over. Mom took a video of my last day on Friday. You have to watch seventeen new videos from last week. We can watch them together tomorrow before we go out for pizza with baby Charlie and Aunt Molly and Uncle Bob."
Bradley buried his face against Everett's shoulder, excited to hear him talking a mile a minute in person. "Absolutely. But first, let's get home and open your birthday present."
The ride in your car was filled with your voice and Everett's, and Bradley sat back with a smile on his face and his fingers laced with yours. "How was the aircraft carrier?" Everett asked.
"Boring, loud and uncomfortable. And they never showed the Phillies games on TV."
"We can watch the game recaps!"
Bradley was already daydreaming about taking a few days off work, lounging on the couch with Everett until lunchtime, going to the park to play baseball, and then making love to you all night.
"We can definitely watch the game recaps," he promised as you pulled into the driveway next to Bradley's prized Bronco. "But first, I really want you to open your birthday present."
He didn't change out of his uniform. He didn't even remove his boots. He just gave Everett the box wrapped in red and white paper after you handed it to him, and he watched his son tear into the paper while your hands came to rest on his chest. "You are the only birthday present that kid wanted," you whispered.
Bradley felt the flush rising in his cheeks as you kissed his neck, but Everett had the lid off the box now. "I don't know about that, Kitten. I think he'll like this one," Bradley replied as Everett put the Phillie Phanatic hat on his head and read the paper he found in the box out loud.
"Three tickets for the Phillies game at Citizens Bank Park! On the Fourth of July! Behind the dugout! That's where the Phanatic dances! We can see the Phanatic for real! In Philadelphia!"
"Told you," Bradley whispered against your lips as Everett ran around the living room, already thrilled for his first trip to Philly.
But you were shaking your head and looking up at him with the most sincere expression as you said, "Just wait for it."
And you were right. A few minutes later, after Everett's excitement for his Phillies tickets tapered off a bit, he asked, "Dad, can we build a blanket tent and watch Toy Story and eat popcorn?"
Bradley paused where he was unlacing his boots and smiled. "Under one condition."
Everett smiled back and shrugged. "Okay. What is it?"
Bradley tossed his boots aside and said, "We change into our matching baseball pajamas and grab the stuffed Phanatic from your bedroom. And Mom gets to join us, too."
"Deal."
An hour and a half later, Bradley was watching one of his favorite movies with two of his favorite people. You were feeding him popcorn and teasing his hair as you lay with your head on his shoulder in the blanket fort. Everett was sound asleep, draped across Bradley's chest, and it felt so good to be home, he almost started crying.
"I missed this so much," he whispered, kissing Everett's forehead. "Missed my family."
You hummed softly as you raked your fingers through his hair. "Like I said, going to the Phillies game will be great and all, but having you home today was the only thing he really needed for his birthday."
Bradley grinned and asked, "And does my Kitten need me, too?"
You popped up from his shoulder and whispered, "Why don't you carry Ev up to his bed, and then I'll let you find out."
-------------------------
I love emo Coach Bradley, and it was definitely time to check in with the three of them. He never wants to be the reason Everett cries, but that kid loves him so much, it's unavoidable. Let's check back in with them again soon. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls
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#bradley bradshaw x reader#rooster fanfiction#rooster imagine#rooster x you#rooster x reader#bradley rooster bradshaw imagine#bradley rooster bradshaw x reader#bradley rooster bradshaw fanfiction#bradley rooster bradshaw#bradley bradshaw x female reader#bradley bradshaw x you#bradley bradshaw fic#bradley bradshaw fanfiction#bradley bradshaw imagine#top gun imagine#top gun maverick imagine#top gun fanfiction#top gun maverick fanfiction#roosterforme#it won't be long
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A Date Like No Other- Basketball Player!Mingyu x Female!Reader (College AU)
Inspired by the famous tumblr post 😄 also I’m quite tempted to do a part 2 for this one if anyone is into that hehe
Word Count: 3600 | College AU, Basketball Player!Mingyu, Humor, Fluff | Warnings: drinking mentioned, one suggestive comment, one minor swear
He was the guy on campus everyone would have sold organs to go on a date with. The sports guy. The really tall guy. Handsome, plays on the school team, movie love interest guy.
You were the weird girl hardly anyone talked to, and you just liked him because he drew on your notes with you.
History was boring you- you’d already answered the questions and they read the pages out loud at a snail’s pace, sending your eyes diving into the pages lest you want to rip your hair out and coat your long thin institutional table in it. Saving that, you reached into your backpack and pulled out a green ultra fine marker, popping the cap. You reached over and doodled a frog sitting in his funny little amphibian hunch on one of the multitudinous papers strewn about the table before the guy sitting next to you glanced over, a huge smile spreading across his face before he suppressed laughter.
"I've been frogged!" That, of course, had him almost snorting in aborted amusement.
Wait...did that mean? "Oh, sorry, those were your notes, huh?" You asked in response, hand hitting your head lightly. "I got them mixed up, sorry for defacing your property. I can get you a new sheet if you were going to turn that in-"
"Nah," your neighbor, whose name was Mingyu if you remembered from roll call, held up a hand of both restraint and reassurance, "it's fine! I'm going to keep it. I love him. I think he needs a hat, though."
"Oh, I got it." This time, it was a brown marker you grabbed, quickly outlining and filling in a tiny cowboy hat for your creation. "There we go, how's that?"
This time, a full snort. "He looks handsome to me. What's his name?" Mingyu whispered as your professor drew a tad bit closer.
"Uh, Clint Eastwood?" You shrugged, having not exactly thought that far- in fact, not at all, the whole shindig starting at full zero thoughts, head empty.
"Well, I'll take him with me to every class I have," Mingyu replied, glancing fondly at the doodled frog before taking his pencil and drawing a fly between two pieces of bread, "and feed him, too."
At that, you exhaled a quietened laugh, smiling back as wide as he'd done.
"What? Wouldn't that be what a frog eats?"
You had to admit that it would be.
From that day on, you two added one or two things onto Clint Eastwood's page every class session. He had a top hat at the ready for dressing up, a little garden of flowers, a very badly drawn horse to ride, a soccer ball to play with, and a plate of the takeout Mingyu had just really wanted that day. You didn't even know what his major was. Maybe it was just sports. Could one go to school for simply basketball? Who knew? You guys didn't really talk, just drew and whispered and laughed about your froggy little world. Either way, to your simultaneous amusement and annoyance you found yourself really able to see the hype behind the legendary Kim Mingyu. For all the popularity, he was a good guy. And you know what, he was cute. But, like, heart cute. The face cute was just a bonus.
~
"Hey (y/n), do you ever go to any games? I've never seen you at one," Mingyu mused as you strode out of class, backpacks loose over your shoulders.
"Well," you paused, letting your expression be cut by a half-joking, half-serious wince, "no offense, but I'm not a huge sports person? So I haven't gone because I don't have anyone to go with and it hasn't seemed worth the money. Not because of the game, just because of how much they charge for the ticke-”
"Hey, don’t worry, I get it," he laughed, "well, my little sister could use someone to go with, and the ticket would be on me. I save on buying them for myself because, well, you know."
"You're too busy slamming dunks or whatever it is basketball players do," you supplied.
"Depends on your position," Mingyu just chucklef in response, pushing the big silvery-painted fire exit-esque handle of the history building's double doors open.
"Basketball has positions?" You burst out incredulously, squinting both in confusion and at the onslaught of sunlight assaulting your eyes as you emerged past the threshold.
Another laugh. "Come and find out."
~
The game was made more fun by knowing a player- it gave you something to care about as your eyes followed Mingyu's run along the smooth floors, the way he leapt to toss the ball to some guy just as tall or even taller than him. He really played with passion, passion and a clear sense of fun if his remarks on the court were any indication. His sister was pretty cool, too. She looked like a fashion model straight out of Seoul, but she was fun and sassy, not afraid to tease her big brother about the shot he missed when he ran up and greeted you at the sidelines or shoot a questioning look between you two as you told him to do it for Clint Eastwood, whom Mingyu replied was his good luck charm before shuffling back off on sneakers that squeaked against the floor.
Even though you didn't actually hang out with him the whole time, just at celebratory victory ice cream after, you came to history lecture the next session feeling closer to Mingyu, and he must have felt the same as he started talking to you instantly. You rarely initiated conversation, but always welcomed it.
He thanked you for coming to the game as if he hadn’t paid for it, then asked what your major was. You told him and bounced the question back. Turns out it was business, not sports. That history lecture was just GE you both had to get out of the way. The most interesting history lessons to you weren't generic national history or war maps, but all the odd sideline stuff like how some people believed huffing toilets might have helped them during the Black Plague.
"They what?" Mingyu asked, eyes widening and mouth agape as class commenced.
Maybe that was why people didn't really talk to you.
Such reflection was inaccurate, however, as you mindlessly doodled a ridiculous-looking bug-eyed dog on the now-shared note paper and Mingyu chuckled and gave it a collar, smiling when your glance upward met his eyes.
The moment you rose from your seat after lecture, notebook shoved back into your backpack and pencil case into one of the side water bottle holsters or whatever they were called, Mingyu started talking to you again, this time about how glad he was that he didn't join a fraternity like his teammate Johnny.
"Yeah, because see, this one guy just got so drunk he didn’t know where his car was and his girlfriend lost her nose ring, then another guy was sick and they threw him outside and he woke up in the cold locked out of the house, and the houses stink, too, like they smell so bad…”
"Yeah," you muttered, taking each of your bag straps in your hands this walk, palms sliding over the rough fabric, "dude, you couldn't pay me to live in one of those."
“…they’re practically taking after those Black Plague people!” He joked, bringing a smile to both your faces as he mimed taking a sniff, waving his hands in front of his nose and bursting into laughter.
“Except they should know better,” you added, shaking your head in amusement, “they need to get smart like you and I.”
He didn’t laugh, just nodded in approval. "Right? And everyone there has already hooked up with each other. I'm so tired of all that, too. That's not the kind of date I've been looking for, you know?”
In a sense, you did not know, being that none of your classmates had even hardly made conversation let alone a risqué pass, but you got it. Being as popular as Mingyu was, you’d seen how fellow students threw themselves at him sometimes. Had to get uncomfortable, especially if his facial expression at a few of them said anything. They weren’t usually very original, either, poor guy. He was just a clear end goal, and someone who loved his sister and his little drawings and celebrated with ice cream as often as cocktails and laughed at toilets didn’t deserve that. Mingyu wasn’t an ideal, he was a real person. Someone who just needed to have some damn fun for once.
“Sure. You need some- no, you deserve some- creativity. If it was up to me, I’d take you on a date like no other,” you joked, chuckling as your gaze rose back up to his eyes.
“You would?” At the sight of Mingyu’s eyes widening, you wondered if your phrasing had inadvertently crossed a line. Sure, you were totally willing, but- “Alright, just name a time.”
“Wait, really?” This time it was your turn to gape, one hand dropping off your backpack strap to fall to your side. Your heart picked up its pace. Never in a googolplex of years would you have thought Mr. It Boy K. Basketball would want a date with you. Being his friend was surprising enough.
“Yeah, of course. I think it’d be fun,” Mingyu beamed at you, “and I trust you. My sister likes you, too. If…if you really meant it, that is.” He added that last bit as his own gaze dropped and one hand reached up to rub the back of his neck.
Giggling shyly at his sudden sheepishness as well as the situation’s sheer absurdity, you tilted your head his way, smile melting back out of the shock. “Well, thanks, that actually…really means a lot. Get ready for an epic time, then!”
He cocked a brow, turning down between a row of potted trees toward the food court. “Have something in mind already?”
Actually, you did have something you always wanted to do if you could get someone else- it would look too weird to be the only one. Why not do it with Mingyu?
“Be afraid,” you nodded, smirking in satisfaction.
“Well then, how should I dress?”
“Just casual is fine,” you shrugged and teased, “we can’t all afford black tie, Mr. Business Major.”
“Fair enough,” he chuckled, still giving that wide smile you’d come to anticipate seeing, “Friday night?”
“Friday night,” you repeated.
~
“Get ready for Friday Night Showdown!”
“Um, (y/n), this is the grocery store.”
Your lips turned upward proudly as you rotated from a fist pump into a Vanna White pose before the mart. “I know.”
“Are we…” Mingyu paused, clearly searching for words. “Fighting in here or something?”
“We are not,” you replied cryptically, looking all the more satisfied as you passed between the automatic doors, Mingyu at your side.
“Am I doing your shopping?” He looked at you with still-raised eyebrows, though amusement colored his expression.
“That would be messed up!” You denied, shaking your head. “Though admittedly funny.”
“Don’t get any ideas for date two!”
Your heart flipped at Mingyu’s easy smile, how casually he said that…the way he flushed and looked away the moment the words left his mouth. He was already thinking of your next date? Hope he likes seafood, you internally joked.
“Yeah, no shopping tonight unless you wanted some snacks. Because tonight,” you skipped over all the central aisles of kitchen supplies, soap, and dry goods, making a beeline for the meat section… well, more specifically the fish counter, “is all about the face-off.”
In a split second you caught Mingyu’s eyes dart down once more past rows of cans, bottles, jars of just about every color you could ask for, dancing over their numerical markers as if to say farewell to actual shopping. Then, his gaze was back on you, your gestures, over your shoulder to the tank at the end of the fish counter. The tank full of lobsters with big claws and small patience. His eyes met yours again. He knew. You could see it.
You nodded. “Oh yeah. Pick your champion.”
He twisted his cap around backwards, revealing his face, those big, innocent brown eyes, once more. “Uh, quick question: how do you suggest I keep mine straight from the others?”
He was asking in earnest. That was another thing you liked about Mingyu: not only did he possess childlike wonder beyond what somebody in his age and station in life probably should, he was also a bad liar in the purest, kindest of senses. He really, truly, had never had a grocery store lobster beatdown date, and he couldn’t fake interest if he tried. So now he wanted tips, advice you could give him as if you had already had loads of grocery store lobster beatdown dates. All you could do was smile back at the tall basketball player and every small kindness he’d shown you thus far. The way he’d simply seen you.
“Good question. Don’t they have different colored wristbands?”
He arched a brow, clearly fighting a snicker. “Different what?”
Pantomiming a band with one hand grabbing the other, you stuttered. “You know, the… the claw restraints! The wristbands!”
“I don’t think they have wrists, (y/n),” Mingyu teased, reaching over and ruffling your hair.
Well, of course you realize this means war. “Alright, you are on,” was all you said, eyes narrowing.
He perked up at that. “What’s the bet?”
“Winner gets to pick the next activity,” you reply, sauntering a few steps closer to the lobster tank and pointing to one with a purple band over its claws that was clearly ready to throw- well, for lack of better terminology- hands, “and I choose this one.”
“Well, in that case,” Mingyu returned to your side, arm pressed against yours as he peered into the tank, “the logical choice would be to pick the one in red in front of yours. May the best crustacean win.”
And at that, his competitive stare melted back into that boyish look as he turned to you. “…did that sound cool?”
It almost came out as a snort, you burst out laughing so violently. “That was legendary,” was all you could wheeze out.
~
“Ha ha! I can’t believe it!” Mingyu grinned and bobbed up from his bent tank stare like an excited puppy, pumping the fist that wasn’t holding the mart beer can he’d bought as his lobster shoved yours away in victory.
The pair of crustaceans had been locked in claw-to-claw combat, tussling very slowly over nothing in particular but their proximal frustrations, and Mingyu’s had apparently vented harder, shoving yours back after some aggressive minutes. Mingyu had gotten into the fight, nudging you when something extra exciting happened and even providing commentary on sideline fights between sips.
First drawing a fly sandwich, then that. Truly, who'd've thunk?
“Neither can I," you mock-pouted, crossing your arms, "purple always wins."
"Says who?" Asked Mingyu, who leaned down closer to you, face mere inches from yours.
"Says me," you shrugged, feeling warmth spread across your face.
"Well, you know what?"
You could feel warmth of his breath ghosting faintly over your cheeks, your lips. "Wh- what?"
"As much as I enjoy a good bar," he leaned back a bit, clapping, "I did need something else. Something new. This was fun! Wanna go play basketball in the park? I bet we'll have the court to ourselves!"
There it was again. The reason everyone liked him. Movie love interest vibes, even beneath the oddly-tinted fluorescent lights of commerce. A smile like a boy on the body of a man. Probably not something they usually imagined to see over a lobster tank. Over hoops in the park, though? That tracked, even if it was a bit of a one-eighty from his breath fanning your face.
Beside any of that, he had won the right to choose.
"Sure," you smile, "let's keep your winning streak up."
And with a hand clasped around yours, that athletic strength was tugging you out the grocery store door to a rush of evening wind and the sound of mutual laughter.
~
Basketball really was that man’s passion. Just about the only thing about it you knew about the sport was what a slam dunk was, but what different shots scored different points? You wanted to throw a three-pointer, but what was a three-pointer?
You learned what it was, what an assist was, that elbowing was illegal or something like that because every game had a reason to send the players to sports jail like grown-up cops and robbers.
You got the ball in the basket twice with no help, and that was achievement enough. Mingyu had ran across the court to high-five you both times as if you’d just won him a game. When you messed up the angle of another throw, he got behind you and, trying your best to focus with his chest flush against your back, you tried again and sent the ball sailing without the betrayal of the previous throw’s dramatic arc.
“So can we give Clint Eastwood a basketball now too?” Mingyu asked out of the blue, dropping to the concrete at your side, legs crossing and knees brushing.
“What,” you chuckled, “do you have him with you or something?”
Reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulled a small white square out and unfolded it to reveal the piece of lined notebook paper with margins full of marker and pencil scratch, most notably your hatted frog friend. He kept those notes in his pocket?
With the one not holding Clint, he ran a hand through his short black hair. “I do like to have him with me,” he answered with a tentative smile.
You twisted slightly, feeling your spine pop from its prior exertion, and remembered his words from the basketball game as he’d visited your seat, making you laugh with a failed attempt at spinning the ball on his finger. “As a good luck charm?”
He shook his head. “I think we’ve added something almost every time we’ve been together. He’s like a log of all the memories we share.” With that, he scooched closer to your side, his jacket falling over the folds of your own clothes slightly. “And I like our memories, Frog Girl.”
What could you say to that? “Frog Girl?” You just giggled, eyes on his.
“That’s right,” Mingyu nodded, “I can’t believe I would never have talked to you if you hadn’t drawn a frog.”
“Ah, college,” you sighed, tilting your head, “the golden years, and yet it’s so easy to ignore everyone else.”
“Well, no longer,” Mingyu shot back, gaze honing in on…well, you weren’t sure, but you liked it, “I figured out what I want to do with my victory wish.”
You smiled at the phrase ‘victory wish’, a term that was just so him. “I thought that was this.” For emphasis, you waved a hand along the court, feeling the night breeze that much more on the skin of your palm.
“Nope,” he shook his head, smirking as his eyes fell back on yours, “I didn’t say I was using it then, I just asked if you wanted to come out here and you said yes."
Well, coat you in flour and call you a biscuit. "You evil genius, you." At that, you gave a grin and a shake of your own head, unable to resist feeling a bit impressed. Man plays games, he picks up some strategy. You'd have to remember that.
"I prefer to think of myself as a nice genius," Mingyu said, and then, switching tones completely, doing another one-eighty to one sweet enough to make your heart swell, he continued, "and about my wish: can I kiss you? I can't think of a better way to end Friday Night Showdown."
Deathly afraid of saying something stupid, you answered by shifting from your crossed legs, folding them to the side as you sat up, knee resting slightly on the edge of his leg as you pressed your lips to his. The slick of his sports jacket between your fingers felt cool as you gripped it to hold both yourself and Mingyu in place as he surged forward into you. For his speed, his eagerness, his kiss was surprisingly soft, not digging too deep but just firmly holding you, treasuring you as if the feeling of your lips was about to fade. Oh, buddy, I'm not going anywhere, you murmured in your head against the feeling of his ever-so-slightly chapped lips.
And as he pulled away, separation painfully slow, deliberate, Mingyu looked you dead in the eyes, blinked at the sudden return of hazy park streetlight, and said “Wow.”
You nodded. “Wow.” Can’t believe how well those lobsters worked, you wanted to say. "You're full of surprises, Mr. Basketball."
“Mr. Basketball,” he mused, gaze briefly drifting from yours, then back. “I wasn’t sure you were going to be that into me, being so funny and smart and artistic and stuff, but I just couldn’t help myself. And boy am I glad for that,” he grinned.
For that, all you could do was kiss him again.
No more hoops were shot that night, only words tossed out with new glee as you, now wrapped in Mingyu’s jacket, pointed out lesser-known constellations, like the Dutch giraffe one or the Poop Deck. After all, you had a reputation to keep up on that date, and everyone had already seen the Big Dipper.
#seventeen#seventeen imagines#seventeen reactions#seventeen x reader#seventeen scenarios#mingyu#mingyu x reader#mingyu x female reader#female reader#college au#humor#fluff#let me know if y'all are into part 2 I have Ideas™ lmao
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Something to Remember Me By
Pairing: Tom "Iceman" Kazansky x F!Reader
Summary: Following the graduates’ post-ceremony assignment, Ice becomes stuck in his head. What if Mav hadn’t reengaged? What if his life had ended somewhere up there, over the Indian Ocean? It was a risk of the job. It happened every day.
It happened to Goose.
Or, the one where the reality of his service hits Ice harder than he ever expected and he decides to give you something to remember him by.
Word Count: 3600
Warnings: Smut with some feelings. Slight breeding kink(?)
Minors DNI
Ice had been back in Miramar less than an hour and despite his best efforts, everyone knew something was off. He brushed off Hollywood and Wolf with a grin that he didn’t really feel as they’d tried to corral him toward the O Club for a well-deserved drink. Merlin had raised a brow but left it alone. Slider had been another story. The RIO was determined to give him a hard time — needing to get to the bar as badly as Ice needed to steer clear — and tried to convince him they all deserved it after their mission success.
Somehow, Mav had been the only one to understand. His wingman's smile effortless and understanding as he intercepted Slider and redirected his attention long enough for Ice to slip away. He wasn’t even sure where he was going, head still circling some 45,000 feet overhead. And that was how Ice found himself on your doorstep, running on fumes in service khakis long since wrinkled from his return trip and unable to do more than stare at the old knocker on your front door.
He’s been to your home countless times, but he isn’t sure that he should be there now. Like this.
A distant horn brings him back — knocks him just a little closer to the ground — and that’s a good start; otherwise, he may have spent the entire afternoon into dusk just staring. He raises his hand.
Shave and a haircut.
A minute goes by and he wonders if you’re even home. Takes half a step back before your footsteps are approaching from the other side of the door, for the porch light to turn on, then the door is swinging open.
You suck in a breath. “Tom?” You hadn’t been expecting visitors — he hadn’t called — and your voice is colored in equal parts relief and surprise at this unannounced return stateside.
“Can I come in?” He’s only said four words and your expression shifts, your relief short lived. You know, too. Can see the mess hiding behind his stiff stance and carefully schooled expression clear as day. But you still open the door wide enough to let him in.
"Do you want anything to drink?" you ask, already halfway to your kitchen to fetch a glass.
“Water.” He’s still moving on autopilot, sitting on your sofa and taking in your living room decorated sparingly except for a collection of photo frames that line a standard-issue cabinet: your siblings, your parents, your family. Ice’s attention returns to you as you hand him his water, but he sets it on the coffee table without any intention of actually drinking it.
Your eyes flick from the glass sweating in the San Diego summer to the coaster Ice has ignored. He’s sitting beside you, but his mind is still far away. The urge to wrap him in your arms is strong, but you resist. You aren’t sure that’s what he needs right now, so instead of holding him close or asking what’s on his mind, you give him time to organize his thoughts.
It takes a couple minutes or eternities for him to find the words. “We took down the hostiles.” He’s so far from his usual eloquence that he nearly winces, but if you notice, you don't mention it.
A gentle smile graces your lips. “I heard,” you choose to say instead. “You and Mav made it onto the front page of the paper.” And what a relief it had been, to see them again after their rushed exit from the graduation ceremony — smiling, shaking hands, alive. Sleep came easier to you, then. “It’s all Fightertown’s been able to talk about.”
Your words don’t settle Ice the way he’d have thought they would. The old springs of your sofa squeal as he shifts. “It wan’t,” he starts but loses steam. He tries again: “I…” And he knows you’re worried now because it isn’t often that he doesn’t have something to say.
But he feels every bit as cold and detached as his call sign suggests. Struggling to come up with a way to explain the fear that had taken over him. How could you ever understand?
He didn't want you to understand.
Barreling through the sky, pulling out all the tricks and still barely able to escape Death's glacial fingers. He and Slider and the wind howling against the canopy and the hostile on their tail. And he hadn't been able to shake them. He was the best of the best, but what had that meant up there? What if Mav hadn't reengaged? What if he hadn't banked right? The high-pitched whine of the missile lock forcing him into a cold sweat, the sour splash of bile rising in the back of his throat as the missile missed them by feet, and God, he hadn't been sick in a cockpit since flight training.
"Hey," you whisper, clasping Ice's hand in yours before bringing one up to cup his cheek. He leans into the touch, eyes fluttering closed as he tries to soak you in.
His breathing is irregular, a cold sweat beading his temples as he continues drifting out to sea. What if his life had ended somewhere over the Indian Ocean? It was a risk of the job. It happened every day.
It happened to Goose.
Ice takes a shaky breath, and his hand brings yours up to his lips, kissing the palm, then your wrist. Still silent. Still a prisoner in his own head. Missile lock ringing between his ears.
Goose had been with them one moment and gone the next. His wife, a widow. His best friend forever changed. But everyone who had loved Goose and been loved by him had something to remember him by in his son. Bradley. What would you have? Would the Defense Department even know to knock on your door? Would they give you anything to remember him by? The flag he'd flown under? Their regrets? His dog tags?
Ice brings your palm to his chest, rests it over his heart, and bluebird skies can't hold a candle to the clarity the simple touch brings him. The weight you lift from his shoulders simply by being. Existing in the same space and time as he is. A tremor runs up his spine, his jaw clenching as he tries to swallow, but his tongue has turned to sandpaper in his mouth.
"Mav saved my life," he admits, eyes locked on yours, and the truth is easier to say than he'd expected. It practically tumbles out. "We wouldn't've made it out of there without him. And…" The realization of what he needs hits him like he's pulling seven Gs, and it's so unexpected that he's dizzy with it. Ashamed of the thought and how it burns him up from the inside, unfurling and fanning until the hot licks of it have scorched his mind, and he struggles to find the words. So, instead, he pulls you into a barely-there kiss, and you go easily.
Ice loves you. He doesn't need to say it. You already know.
But it isn't enough.
Another kiss is laid on your lips, just as tender as the last. Ice knows he'll remember you — think of you with his dying breath whether he's shot out of the sky or goes up in flames. You're the closest Ice has ever come to flying with both his feet on the ground. But he needs more. It's selfish and all-consuming and desperate, and it swims through his veins like a poison until he’s sick with it. Because who is he? What had he done in this life? How could he ensure that a part of him was with you, no matter what? That you'd always have something to remember him by? The thought of leaving you alone in the world drives Ice nearly out of his mind.
His thumb caresses your cheek, then his hand is trailing down until it rests over your flat stomach. "I need you to remember me," he whispers, and this truth is so much harder to concede because he's terrified that it'll be the thing that finally pushes you away. Fear grips him tight around the chest, and his instincts are screaming, 'eject! eject!' so he can live to salvage what's left of his life after the crash, but then your eyes meet his, and Ice holds his breath.
Your eyes are softer than he's ever seen them. They're the eyes of someone who loves him deeply. Someone just as scared as he is, but of what he can't be sure of until your lips tug into a tender smile. "Yeah."
"Yeah?" And Ice is surprised that you're open to the idea because the topic of marriage hasn't even come up yet, and this is all so backward — so dangerous — but it feels so right as your hand joins his, the other cradling the sharp line of his jaw as you tilt him down to place a kiss on his forehead.
"Yeah." And you may have stunned him because it's you who has to initiate the next press of lips.
Your heart flutters low in your stomach as you pull away so you can take Ice's hand and lead him down the hall to the bedroom that is more his than the bed in his assignment has been in weeks. You press him back until his legs bump into the mattress and his arms wrap around you, pulling you close as you move to sit atop his lap. A breathy chuckle fills the space between your lips and he swallows it, your lashes drooping closed. Ice's lips are soft and strong, pressing yours open before pulling away, a clear invitation for you to follow and slot your mouth back against his.
He caresses your sides, hands skimming up and down, thumbs brushing over your hip bones as you sigh into each new, lingering kiss. A delicate brush of lips until you both need more. Because you're doing this.
You're giving this to him.
He'll never leave you alone again.
Ice's need flares. He eliminates the gap between your bodies with a hand on the back of your neck, wraps his arm around you tight, and vows to himself that he'll never let you go. And you're there for all of it: keening and tasting of spearmint and lemonade and the hot ocean breeze as your fingers tangle in blonde hair to urge him into a deeper kiss. He indulges.
As Ice licks into your mouth, your hands leave his scalp to help him out of his shirt — he's wearing entirely too much for what the both of you have planned.
Needy fingers pull at his shirt until it's been untucked, and when you finally force yourself from his lips to focus on the troublesome buttons, he swoops in to distract you with peppered kisses from the corner of your lips down to your neck. You gasp, fingers balling in polyester as he teases sensitive skin between his teeth, then push his shirt from his broad shoulders. Now the only thing between your fingers and the tanned skin of his chest is a white undershirt. You get to work on it immediately, rucking it up as Ice litters your neck with small bites. Your fingers slip beneath the hem, tingling as they land on smooth skin; the touch is electric, zinging straight from your fingertips to the apex of your legs, and you're so hot that you can't stop yourself from rolling your hips against his.
You feel his groan more than you hear it — deep and rumbling against your throat, his teeth working a dark bruise into your tender neck as he grinds up into you. Then, Ice is ripping the shirt over his head, and your eyes wander the miles of his tanned skin as his hands grip your hips and pull you against him again. “Did you miss me?” he asks, hips rolling, and your mouth falls open around a ‘yes’ before he takes them in another kiss. Regrettably, his hands don't linger long. Nimble, calloused fingers slip beneath your shirt, skimming along your side until they're brushing the smooth skin below your breasts, and you break the kiss to shiver.
Ever the opportunist, Ice lifts your shirt over your head, ducking to kiss your collarbone before his hand is splaying against the small of your back to bring your chests flush, the warm metal of his dog tags caught between the two of you, and you pull the chain to bring his lips back to yours with a contented sigh.
A hand moves to your thigh, thumb rubbing circles along the inside as his hand creeps higher until it's brushing beneath the leg of your loose shorts. “You’re so wet,” he groans, white teeth bared in a sharp smile and you suck in a quick breath as Ice parts your lips. “Is all this for me?” His fingers play with your juices, spreading them around until you're absolutely dripping, your legs shaking with the effort to stay still. You nod. “Out loud, sweetheart.”
“Yes,” you hiss, and Ice seals his lips over yours, finally slipping a finger into you, and he isn't sure if the moan he swallows belongs to you or not.
"Beautiful," he huffs, squeezes a second finger into you, and another sound escapes your kiss-swollen lips. "You're beautiful." Your heart swells with the compliment, fingers trailing down from where they've been clutching his shoulders until they snag on his belt. His fingers curl against your sweet spot, making it a challenge to pull the leather from its clasp, but once his belt is off, you pop the button on his khakis and drag the zipper down. You bite your lip and palm him through his boxer briefs until Ice brings his fingers, still slick with you, to his lips and moves to push you off his lap.
"Get on the bed."
Slipping from his lap, you settle on your back, head amongst the pillows so you can watch as Ice unlaces his boots and kicks them off with the rest of his clothes. He's beautiful like this. Body trained into hard lines, hair a mess, and eyes a damning blue. Cock bobbing heavy between his thighs, the head flushed a dusky pink. Your thighs clench in a desperate ploy for friction where you need it most. His knee is on the bed, then he crawls up — hands on either side of you as he kisses your calf up to your thigh, grabbing each leg behind your knees and opening you up to his hungry gaze. You jerk, head tipping back and an unabashed moan spilling from your lips when he licks a fat strip up your cunt.
“Tell me what you need,” he purrs, wetting his lips before he ignores the scratch of your nails in his hair and dives back in for another taste.
"Need you." It's an understatement. And fuck him sideways if that isn't the best thing he's heard all day. All week. With a deep breath, he takes you in from his spot between your thighs: hair wild, eyes blown wide, lips bitten and slick with his spit, cheeks an amorous red. He needs you, too.
"I've got you," he says as he acquiesces, drags himself the rest of the way up your body, and presses a filthy kiss to your lips, tongue tainted with the tang of your arousal.
A gentle hand rests on your lower abdomen once again. It's a moment he'll remember for the rest of his life. The most significant thing he's ever committed himself to. The only thing that matters anymore.
“You ready for me?” He’s cocky, but when he reaches for the bedside drawer out of habit, he freezes. His eyes soften a fraction. "Are you sure?" And he’s looking into your eyes but he hasn’t retracted his hand. He will if you say so. Because even though he needs this, he needs to know that you crave it just as badly. Needs to know that you're with him.
"Yeah." You caress his cheek, and he presses his forehead to yours so that you can breathe each other in. "I've never been more sure of anything," you confess, and his hand returns to the bed to hold you close. Before you can say anything embarrassing, you bring him into a kiss, your tongues rolling together slowly.
You whine when you feel him adjust to bring your hips together, the head of his cock pressed right where you want him most, and you can't help but roll your hips together. But Ice doesn't push in right away; instead, running his length through your soaked folds, and you whimper, pussy trembling because the friction is everything.
You're both a bit overwhelmed when he starts to sink into you — it's the first time you've been this close. No room to breathe. No latex.
A needy moan leaves Ice's lips, his eyes slipping shut and plush lips hanging open in ecstasy. "Perfect," he gasps, eyes opening to take in your hot cheeks and glassy eyes. "You're fucking perfect." And he sucks your bottom lip into his mouth, nipping at it as he continues to rock into you until your hips are flush, and he has to take a minute or this will all be over before it's really begun.
You mouth at his clenched jaw, lick at the salty skin of his neck and dig your nails in between his shoulder blades. Your entire body is pulsing: heart pounding and blood roaring in your ears. It's unbearable having him completely seated and still inside you, so you wrap your legs around his hips, hoping to entice him into action. It has half the desired effect.
Ice shakes his head. Brows furrowed, he groans like he's toeing the fine line between pleasure and pain. "You're going to make me cum."
"I thought that was the point?" Your grin is lopsided, drunk on the moment, and you bite your bottom lip because you know it drives him mad. Ice keens, rutting his hips shallowly into you, and you encourage him with a lewd moan.
When he finally begins to move, it's all slow movements and breathy groans. His hips, fingers, and lips wringing pleasure out of each moment until you're both sweaty and gasping into each other's mouths.
Ice readjusts your legs so that they wrap higher up on his waist. “You want it, don’t you?” He sinks further into you and grinds against your sweet spot, the pull and push of his cock interrupted as a shudder wracks through him. Fuck, he wants it. He distracts himself, dipping his head to capture your nipple between his lips until you're arching into his mouth.
He grabs your hand, lacing your fingers by your head and kissing you with a flick of his tongue. You chase his lips when they leave yours and you’re trembling. “You going to cum for me?” he mumbles, his hips pressing into you and starting up another slow rhythm. His chest is pressed to yours, his dog tags resting between your breasts and his cheek brushing yours as he shifts like the tide to clap your hips together and continues directly into your ear — “Want to see you cum on my cock.” And your free hand clutches him closer with a whine, your head tossed back in a shameless cry.
“Come on, baby.” When Ice finally brings a hand to rub slow, firm circles into your clit, you’ve lost track of how long you’ve been like this.
"Tom," you rasp, lost to everything but the smell of jet fuel, sweat, and spearmint and the shift of Ice's muscles beneath impossibly smooth skin as his hips snap forward. "Oh fuck, there. Just like that."
“Gonna fill you up.” He's close, too. You can feel it in the way his hips fall out of their carefully maintained rhythm and see it in the wild glint in his eyes. You just need a little more, and it's like he can read your mind because — "Fucking Christ, Tom!" — with a wanton sob, you're there.
The shockwaves of your climax are still rippling through you as Ice snaps his hips once, twice, and lets out his own low groan. He spills into you, drawing out your highs, thrusting sloppily as you encourage him to keep going with your heels crossed against his lower back, enthusiastically milking him for every last drop.
Ice holds himself up on his forearms, panting as he licks into your mouth again, the inferno of his want reduced to embers. You hold him in your arms, running your hands over every bit of him within your reach as the tension drifts from your body, leaving you with a giddy, butterfly feeling in your stomach.
When he finally pulls out of you, Ice sits back and watches as pearly strings of his cum trickle from your still-throbbing pussy. He collects the excess with a finger and pushes it back into you, Adam's apple bobbing as your walls squeeze around him. When his eyes meet yours again, the fear is gone. So is the distance. He's finally home.
"You know," you say, legs falling apart as his eyes return to your cunt, "we'll probably have to do this a couple times."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." You nod, a coquettish smile on your lips. "I’ve heard it can take a couple tries."
Ice's smile is slow and easy, taking over his face. He's irresistible, so you don't even try. You pull him back down, a mirroring smile on your lips.
No one sees the Iceman at the O Club for a while.
#top gun fanfiction#top gun x reader#tom iceman kazansky#tom kazansky x reader#tom iceman kazansky x reader#iceman x reader#iceman x afab!reader#afab!reader#top gun smut#iceman smut#there isn't enough iceman content#i'm trying to be the content i want to see on this hellsite
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Green Lantern #49 (February 1994)
"EMERALD TWILIGHT," Part 2! Hal Jordan has gone so far off the deep end that he's started imitating one of history's most infamous monsters: Ringo Starr. After the events of last issue, a pissed-off Hal is speeding towards planet Oa to give his bosses, the Guardians of the Universe, a piece of (what's left of) his mind. The Guardians try to stop Hal by deploying formidable Green Lanterns like, uh, this red guy and that purple girl.
Hal brutally whoops their asses and steals their GL rings to become more powerful; if he manages to nab 3597 more rings, he can become a One Man Green Lantern Corps. Hal's dangerous bling addiction even leads him to fight Lanterns he personally recruited into the Corps, like Tomar-Tu (the guy with the bird face who doesn't sound like Geoffrey Rush) and Boodikka, a fierce warrior who refuses to let go of her ring... so Hal just chops her hand off. I like to imagine a Green Lantern from some sort of phallus-shaped alien race turning around at this point and going home.
Meanwhile, in Oa, the Guardians seem pretty confident that one of their "servants" will stop Hal, but their arrogance starts evaporating with every ring he steals. Ganthet, paradoxically the least dickish of the Guardians despite being the only one wearing a ponytail, has some sort of secret plan for how they could "preserve themselves" if all else fails. At first, the others just mock him (for his plan, not the ponytail), but as Hal gets closer, they get nervous and start preparing for Ganthet's plan, whatever it is.
Hal finally reaches Oa and faces one of his best friends, Kilowog, the most distinguished trainer of the Green Lantern Corps and the Justice League's one-time handyman. Hal reminds his former mentor that he's got like ten rings by now, but Kilowog defiantly says, "Didn't I teach ya nothing? It's the warrior, not his weapons."
As it turns out, nope, it's the weapons, because Hal defeats Kilowog too within one page. With no one else around to stop him, Hal heads for the Central Power Battery -- literally, a giant battery that powers every GL ring in the universe, and now Hal wants that power to himself (I guess stealing it from here is easier than figuring out how to wear 3600 rings on his fingers). However, the Guardians still have an ace up their oversized sleeves. A hooded figure walks out of the battery, and the final page reveals that it's the other "greatest Green Lantern ever" who went rogue: Sinestro! A villain so heinous that the Guardians executed him for "crimes against the universe," causing his soul to get trapped inside the Central Battery.
Yes, the Guardians are so desperate that they're willing to give a GL ring to a guy whose name means "evil" and who has tried to kill them multiple times in the past. Interesting tactic. Will it pay off?!
NEXT ISSUE: It doesn't pay off.
Plotline-Watch:
When Sinestro is revealed at the end, we also find out that he'd been narrating the issue, which gives a double reading to lines like: "Were he not blinded by his obsession, would these acts wreak havoc on his conscience? I rather like to think so." That almost sounds like Sinestro's version of the Joker's "Far too late" moment from The Killing Joke.
The fight with Kilowog could be seen as another callback to Emerald Dawn, Hal's origin story, since that contained a montage of 'Wog training Hal when he was a rookie... by making him balance rocks and catch eggs in the air and stuff. Would have been funny if Hal and Kilowog's dramatic face-off in this issue had consisted of an egg-catching contest. To the death.
Ganthet the Least Dickish Guardian first appeared in 1992's Green Lantern: Ganthet's Tale graphic novel by Larry Niven and John Byrne, which establishes that 1) he once drove himself insane by looking at the beginning of the universe, and 2), perhaps related to the above, he has a fondness for human fashion. Ganthet had appeared in exactly two issues of the regular series before this one, but he'll appear a lot more often and have plenty more chances to show off his fashion sense after this.
Also in Ganthet's Tale, Hal learns the "forbidden knowledge" that the end and the beginning of the universe are linked together, which the other Guardians would have erased from his mind if Ganthet hadn't protected him. Not only will this little bit of trivia come in pretty handy for Hal as he starts toying with cosmic forces in the near future, but also, looking at the final panels in the graphic novel, Hal's comments about being disappointed in the Guardians' lies almost feel like a teaser for Emerald Twilight (which, again, was definitely not being planned in '92).
Question for the Hal Jordan veterans in the comments (hi, Neil): was the idea that wearing more GL rings makes you more powerful already a thing before this issue? Seems like something a villain would have exploited by now. Or did Hal change how the rings work through sheer force of will?
Guy-Watch:
Meanwhile, in Guy Gardner's corner of the GL universe: the Guy Gardner series officially becomes Guy Gardner: Warrior with #17, which sees the debut of Guy's new moniker and his shorter, non-Moe hairdo. Plus, artist Mitch Byrd!
In this issue, Guy finally works up the nerve to go back home and tell his abusive dad what he thought of him, only to find out that he died shortly after his brother Mace committed suicide. Both were assholes, but that's still pretty rough. Then, he's attacked by Militia, the armored loon we met last issue. The fight ends when Guy's yellow power ring (which, incidentally, used to belong to Sinestro) suddenly stops working, but luckily, Militia's armor happens to malfunction at the same time and he's ran over by a truck.
Huh, curious that Militia has ginger hair too. Probably a coincidence. To be continued!
#green lantern#ron marz#fred haynes#romeo tanghal#hal jordan#guardians of the universe#green lantern corps#ganthet#kilowog#sinestro#guy gardner#militia#quorum#this red guy#that purple lady#least dickish guardian is still pretty dickish btw
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gamzee
@amusementarcade I finished it! It took a bit because i got distracted reading homestuck (im at around page 3600 now)
and making a short animation that ill probably post sometime in the next couple days :D
the hands and colors were giving me trouble which made me procrastinate a bit
(possible spoilers below cut in case anyone else reading this would like to avoid them)
Its kind of funny that when i started this gamzee was just a silly guy i hadn't really seen in a while and now that i've finish this he's killed a bunch of people and gotten kicked off a cliff! I wasn't expecting him to become such a relevant character so quickly but im looking forward to seeing what he does next, assuming he didn't die of fall damage. Also wow there has indeed been so much more stabbing and blood in this comic!!
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Types of Editing Services
With the launch of my freelance editing business, Gentle Sea Editing, tomorrow (1 June 2023), I thought it would be a good idea to discuss the different types of editing.
Some of these services are only applicable to creative writing works, but services like copy-editing and proofreading are relevant for any piece of writing.
1. Developmental Editing
A developmental edit evaluates the big picture and addresses issues at story level.
It looks at things like plot structure, character development, pacing, chapter and scene structure, descriptions, adherence to genre expectations, clichés, and overused tropes.
Usually, this type of editing service won’t take the form of actual changes to the manuscript. Rather, it comprises an editorial report addressing the strengths, weaknesses and issues of the work, as well as suggestions. There may also be some margin comments if necessary or if that is the specific editor’s style.
According to the Editorial Freelancers Association (EFA), the average rate for developmental editing is between $0.03 and $0.039 per word. That means that the developmental edit of a 90 000 word book would cost between $2700 and $3510.
I offer developmental editing services at $0.017 per word. So, the developmental edit of a 90 000 word book would cost $1530.
2. Line Editing
A line edit addresses writing style and craft on a line-by-line level.
It looks at things like voice, language use, word choice, tense, point of view, clarity and readability, filtering, filler words, show vs tell, pacing, and flow.
Usually, this type of edit takes the form of comments in the margin of the manuscript. Because this service involves stylistic changes, most editors won’t just amend the text; they’ll add a comment highlighting an issue and providing suggestions.
According to the EFA, the average rate for line editing is between $0.04 and $0.049 per word. That means that the line edit for a 90 000 word book would cost between $3600 and $4410.
I offer line editing services at $0.025 per word. So, the line edit of a 90 000 word book would cost $2250.
3. Copy-editing
A copy edit focuses on technical errors at word and sentence level.
It looks at things like spelling, punctuation, syntax, grammar, usage, paragraph structure, repeated words, typos, and style inconsistencies.
Usually, this type of edit involves the editor making actual changes to the manuscript and adding comments where necessary. Additionally, most editors will keep a style sheet as they work in order to maintain consistency. I give clients this style sheet along with the edited manuscript. If your editor doesn’t automatically do this, ask them for it. It’ll help you to keep your grammar and usage consistent if you make any subsequent changes, and it will help your proofreader.
According to the EFA, the average rate for copy-editing is between $0.02 and $0.029. That means that the copy edit of a 90 000 word book would cost between $1800 and $2610.
I offer copy-editing services at $0.02 per word. So, the copy edit of a 90 000 word book would cost $1800.
4. Proofreading
A proofread is the final review of a project. It focuses on proper formatting, layout and catching any errors not corrected during the copy edit.
It looks at things like punctuation, spelling, hyphenation, word use consistency, headers, chapter styles, scene breaks, paragraph styles, formatting, typos, repeated words and page layout.
Because the changes are mechanical, the proofreader will usually make them to the manuscript itself without adding comments. However, I would recommend that the proofreader still use Track Changes, so the author can make the final decision on the changes.
According to the EFA, the average rate for proofreading is between $0.02 and $0.029 per word. That means that the proofread of a 90 000 word book would cost between $1800 and $2610.
I offer proofreading services at $0.01 per word. So, the proofread of a 90 000 word book would cost $900.
Let’s face it: Editing is expensive
Each freelance editor decides their own rates, usually with reference to their experience and qualifications. So, you can get editing at cheaper-than-average prices; just make sure that the editor is still adequately qualified and good at their job.
Additionally, most editors offer combos, which allow you to get two or more types of editing at the same time, usually at reduced cost.
I offer a developmental, line and copy edit combo for $0.05 per word, which is 20% cheaper than the individual services combined. (That’s $4500 for 90 000 words.)
I also offer a developmental and line edit combo for $0.036 per word, which is 15% cheaper than the individual services combined. (That’s $3240 for 90 000 words.)
Finally, I offer a line and copy edit combo for $0.038 per word, which is 15% cheaper than the individual services combined. (That’s $3420 for 90 000 words.)
I firmly believe that the same person should not edit and proofread the same manuscript.
Which edits do I need?
Unless you are traditionally published, the editing services you choose is up to you.
If you are publishing a piece of writing, especially commercially, you need at least one type of edit. Trust me, your product won’t be up to scratch if you are the only person who’s looked at it.
I would not recommend skipping the copy edit and proofread.
However, you might decide not to have your work edited developmentally if you have been crafting stories for a long time, and have enlisted critique partners and beta readers.
How do I choose an editor?
If you are having a novel edited, look out for someone with some sort of fiction/creative writing experience. It’s preferable to have an editor who knows something about storytelling and plot structure, especially for a developmental edit.
Try to get an editor who has obtained a qualification in editing itself, not just in the English language or creative writing. Editing is a whole different ball game and it requires specialized training.
Ask for testimonials if you don’t find them on the editor’s website.
Look at the person’s website and any communication you exchange with them. Are there errors and inconsistencies? Decide whether this is someone you would trust with your writing.
Editors should offer a free sample edit. This allows you to submit a small extract for editing in order to assess the editor’s competence and style. You should never have to pay for a sample edit!
If you would like to use Gentle Sea Editing, you can request a quote and a sample edit now.
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Cruelty is an Unreliable Weapon
The internet has been irritating me of late. This is in some sense, nothing new, but it has been irritating me very specifically in what I view as extremely wrongheaded thinking about the absence of any presence for morality in conflict. You can read between the lines if you so choose to infer what I'm discussing obliquely, but if you'd prefer, assume this is about people who are constantly whining that the Federation isn't tough or militaristic enough, or Galactic Empire apologists.
Settle in, get a beverage, because I got a bit wound up. This will take more than a minute. It clocked in at about 8 pages & 3600 words in Google docs.
Theories of Power and Victory
Two contentions are often made in discussions of war and conflict:
That the capacity to resist equals bargaining power without taking into consideration the manner of resistance i.e. committing atrocities.
The second is that suffering hastens the end of conflict.
Let's examine this. I’m going to primarily lean on case studies from World War 1 because they allow me to speak about modern conflicts via allegory. Allegory by necessity obfuscates the real message the reader is expected to take away from this.
I am at peace with this. If I tell you what to think about the conflict between the United Federation of Dave Filoni Truthers and the Galactic Republic of Rian Johnson Apologists, you will be more inclined to be combative.
If I engage in a bit of obfuscation, then you’ll be more inclined to take these case studies as they are intended. These are thought experiments and frameworks. My hope is you use them to think through modern conflicts where you may be more inclined to fully dehumanize the evildoer or wave off complaints about the behavior of the righteous as “regrettable but necessary.”
Loosening Rules of Engagement: Almost Always a Bad Idea
In World War 1, there was a continual escalation as all sides sought new innovations to break the deadlock. This took the form of both new weapon systems but also new strategies.
Technically commerce raiding is arguably as old as the idea of putting trade goods on a boat, but the usage of submarines definitely represents an escalation and innovation on that idea. In theory we were beyond the days of letters of marque. Assaulting civilian shipping would be considered atrocious and ungentlemanly in normal times.
However, in an era of total national mobilization, it is the very foundations of the nation that are supposedly necessary to be chipped away at in order to try to obtain the defeat of the enemy. In the arguments made under conditions of total war, there may be non-combatants but there are no persons who are truly uninvolved because in a total mobilization, everyone is contributing to the war effort whether with their sweat or their blood.
Even children, especially in the late Victorian era, are net contributors because they take on responsibilities formerly held by adults and, if the struggle is prolonged, will grow into adults who can be drafted or more fully contribute to the industrial effort.
Yet the enemy doesn’t stop thinking of their children as children. The enemy doesn’t stop thinking of their non-combatants as civilians, even as the enemy rationalizes their way into killing the children and non-combatants of their opponents.
So what happens when Germany expands its commerce raiding to include civilian liners suspected of carrying arms ought to be very predictable. The story of the US entry into WW1, if it's told at all - and that’s another bag of badgers - often centers on the sinking of the passenger liner Lusitania.
Arguably the sinking of the Lusitania does hasten the end of the war, but not even remotely in the way that Germany anticipated and definitely not in its favor. It's important to note that the story is not so neat and tidy. The Lusitania is often held up as an inciting event, but the US doesn’t enter the war for another two years when Germany resumes unrestricted submarine warfare.
Rather than say “my bad, you’re right, we shouldn’t have tried to play silly games with sending weapons on passenger liners” the US entered the war in an official capacity. The US entry into the war wasn't decisive right away, it was arguably even more bumbling and horrific as the first year of the Russian invasion of Ukraine, but it makes the endgame that much more inevitable for the Central Powers.
Don’t blur the lines between military and civilian.
Germany essentially walked into the trap that Britain baited with international civilians. There are no objectively correct moral actors in this situation but we can certainly dissect the consequences, especially for Germany, of having elected to not take the high road.
When it comes to the US entrance into the war, this story is complicated by the fact that there was a strong contingent of Manifest Destiny true believers who didn’t look at the Western front and feel appalled at how far honor, nationalism, hate, and sunk cost would drive people. Rather instead they saw an opportunity for the US to take her rightful place as a key player in The Great Game.
So it's easy to argue that absent the sinking of the Lusitania, the US would have been dragged in anyway. It was, after all, the biggest creditor of the Entente and were Britain, France and friends to lose, it's quite likely that repaying the Americans would come second to compensating the Central Powers for the inconvenience of having to send millions of people into what amounts to a wood chipper.
However, the sinking of the Lusitania definitely moved up the timeline of the US entry into the war. A thing that could have been delayed, and perhaps even prevented if one or more Black Swans had scrambled US domestic politics. Because the Germans failed to practice a stricter set of rules of engagement, a new player takes the field, the US is able to arm Britain and France more prolifically and openly, and Germany’s goose is pretty well cooked. The only question being how long it was going to take to cook that goose.
While there was certainly malice, pride, and national chauvinism involved in creating conditions in which Germany would be tempted to escalate by striking ships with Americans onboard, there’s no ironclad law of physics or human behavior that dictates the US was going to enter the war.
Had the United States wanted to stay out of the war it could have made a range of different choices, some of which arguably were against the prevailing understanding of its “national interest” and some could be read as rewarding German threats of “terrorism” against civilians, but “bad” options are still options:
Forbid mixed use Entente ships from using US ports.
Forbid American passengers from booking passage on Entente ships carrying weapons.
Warn Americans that their personal security is their responsibility and if they do enter contested waters on a ship that might be considered a legitimate target, they’re on their own.
The British own part of this too: it was their choice to comingle arms shipments and civilian passengers.
It goes without saying that the Germans also weren’t obligated to sink Lusitania.
Of course this choice is complicated by a whole host of contextual factors: British ships had been instructed to try to ram German submarines instead of submitting to boarding and inspection, and some British civilian ships had been armed.
Allowing Lusitania to go along her way peacefully also rewards the British for using human shields.
I don’t find the Germans morally praiseworthy here, but the British deserve heaps of scorn for intentionally putting civilians in danger in order to prioritize winning a war that was anything but existential for it and then daring the Germans to kill civilians to disrupt the British war effort.
What happens if the Germans don’t take the bait? Well, the war definitely goes on and is that much harder for the Germans but they retain a measure of the moral high ground.
Could this win them useful allies in the court of global public opinion?
Or at least keep certain disruptive players like the US out of the war?
The US was the last great power to not take a side as of when Germany and the UK began their nautical shenanigans with tragic consequences. It's doubtful the US could be compelled to enter the war on the side of Germany, hence why Germany could have understood its situation as necessitating unrestricted warfare against not merely the Entente militaries but the Entente people themselves.
However, again there is nothing inevitable here. There are a lot of reasons why the US staying out of the war was unlikely, but it's far from impossible - I don’t believe in historical inevitability, just higher or lower probability.
Because of this lack of inevitability, it is worth restating the moral proposition Britain cast aside:
Don’t comingle military and civilian.
You ignore this advice at your own peril. The consequences are entirely predictable.
The US may very well have not come charging in to bail out the Entente. It could have sat on the sidelines and cut support for the Entente to punish the UK for putting foreign civilians at risk. I think it would have been VERY morally defensible to do so.
There are scenarios, such as insurgency, where the camouflage of being civilian in appearance is necessary if armed struggle is to be at all viable, but again the consequences for “real” civilians are very predictable.
That doesn’t mean the party that winds up killing civilians, intentionally or unintentionally, is morally blameless: it's a choice to loosen rules of engagement or to not exercise even greater care when dealing with ambiguity. There is no mandate to kill civilians through recklessness, indifference, cruelty, or to deny the enemy an advantage.
Everything is a choice.
Immoral choices are rarely unavoidable. Accidents truly happen and are tragic, but caution isn’t a frivolous thing to be cast aside for convenience or galaxy brained theories about psychological warfare as Germany’s fate demonstrates.
Yet, to beat a dead horse, to say that those who blur the lines between combatant and noncombatant have no responsibility for what happens to noncombatants is also deeply disingenuous.
Suffering is an Inconsistent Weapon at Best.
There’s a deeply felt conviction among some that hardness wins wars faster. As near as I can tell the premise usually comes from one of two sentiments.
The first is that the enemy, being a rational actor, is capable of “doing the math.” Once they understand what the aggressor is willing to do to win. How far they’ll go, then every day that surrender is deferred is just more rapes, homes burned, prisoners tortured, more famine, more suffering: pick your poison. Therefore the reasonable and moral thing to do is to just get it over with.
The Romans are probably the most famous example of a people who practiced unmitigated savagery when a city didn’t surrender promptly in order to induce others to not resist in the expectation of gentler treatment. This is a practice that preceded the Romans and I’d argue that it's unlikely that there is any corner of the world where there was no close parallel at some point in time.
While we can’t know for certain until and unless Russian archives are made available at some point in the future, it's tempting to ponder whether or not this mindset has influenced Russian atrocities such as in Bucha. The Romans were also guilty of not always being able to prevent their legions from going berserk even when a city was compliant.
Inflicting cruelty to try to induce surrender is almost definitely one motive behind the targeting of Ukrainian civilian infrastructure, especially electrical equipment during winter time. Which informs us that this mindset does continue into the present day, just expressed in different forms and contexts.
The second assumption is that sufficiently intense or broadly inflicted suffering would shatter the will to resist on a psychological level: creating panic, terror, disorder etc. We see this in its most straightforward form on ancient battlefields when armies rout after an understanding filters through the ranks that things are starting to go pear-shaped.
Whether or not this model can apply to something on the scale of a region or a nation is disputed and the answer probably is more about worldviews than objectivity.
If panic on the scale of a nation is possible, then panic doesn’t always achieve the desired result.
One might argue for instance that Western and especially US Islamophobia drove the US and allies to make a series of unforced errors with a human cost in the millions and still counting as the ripple effects are still rippling even after all this time. Calm and collected people may have been drawing lines on maps and debating the “get in and get out” or “if you break it, you bought it” models of war, but in the background is a subtler, longer term, persistent panic and existential dread induced by 9/11.
Of course it could have just been some mix of racism and imperialism. If that were the case then ascribing fear to the motives of Bush, Cheney, and the alumni of The Project for a New American Century incorrectly offers the villains the opportunity to plea bargain the charges down from War and Failed Occupation in the 1st degree to War and Failed Occupation in the 2nd degree.
For whatever it's worth the excellent podcast series Slow Burn: The Road to the Iraq War persuaded me that the primary, conscious motive was rooted in a broken epistemology about how to combat terrorism, the threat posed by Iraq, American capacities, and further sabotaged by philosophical infighting over to what degree and how to nation build that manifested in real world consequences for how resources were allocated, rules of engagement written, and which personnel got key jobs.
Let's return to World War 1, because it has probably more than just the two illustrations that are relevant here but I’m just going to limit it to two.
However, it's worth revisiting poor but possibly perfidious Lusitania, whose souls aboard needlessly died because the Germans decided to be edgy and declare the waters around the UK to be a free fire zone. Then the UK responded with “I dare you to enforce that” and put arms on civilian liners anyway.
Harshness did not, in fact, have the desired outcome for Germany. It failed to deter Britain from using dual purpose shipping and then following through with their threats ultimately escalated the conflict. Ultimately it's unclear if Britain’s will to continue the fight was impeded in any way and the popular narrative is that it galvanized resistance.
Although information warfare may have played a role too: the British government denied any violation of any of its obligations under pre war treaties or any violation of general decency: i.e. putting civilians at risk without their knowing consent. Messaging and the possible absence of knowing consent on the part of civilians is also worth holding in our heads when weighing the morality of ensuring the homefront is made to feel pain too.
Bringing the War to the Homefront
The British blockade of Germany in World War 1 has two rationales. One is that in total war, as discussed previously the civilian population is playing a very active part in sustaining combat operations. Attritional war is an effort to ensure that your side is not the first to run out of people or stuff. The average person is a lot more aware of this due in no small part to the way the Russian invasion of Ukraine in its second year has calcified into heavily fortified battlelines with much, much less in the way of dramatic maneuvers than in 2022.
The introduction of various destabilizing weapon systems: Javelin, Excalibur rounds, HIMARS, Stormshadow etc. has at each step momentarily unsettled the balance of power but Russia continues to be able to field enough people and material to absorb the losses and then adapt while Ukraine is, unfortunately, reliant on the patronage of allies and what industrial capacity it can scrape together and protect from Russia: no small feat in an era of satellite surveillance, rampant hacking, and cruise missiles.
Notably Ukraine or Russian partisans acting on their own accord or with assistance, have struck at various bits of Russian infrastructure and industrial sites.
This has made some commentators uncomfortable whether because of natural anxiety at seeing the homefront of a nuclear power get hit or a certain amount of hesitancy to label these as legitimate targets. Something Russia is not even a little squeamish about, nor (more controversially) was the US squeamish about during the first Gulf War.
Saddam Hussein notably would continue to be the ruler of Iraq, even under sanctions and bombing campaigns of varying intensity until the US led invasion in 2003.
Which brings us to the second rationale for the British blockade of Germany: punishment with the expectation that it would eventually break the German people. This included food. While this didn’t completely cut off Germany from food imports, the necessity of neutral ships to be inspected and escorted to Germany at minimum had a chilling effect that clawed back 55% of imports of all types and cut the average German down to 1,000 calories a day by 1917.
That’s one large McDonalds meal per person per day and that’s about it. I once had a salad, A SALAD, from Applebees that wound up having over a thousand calories.
Now of course, the success or failure of the blockade is disputed by historians. I have a lot of respect for the profession, but it’s also not hard to imagine that there is some motivated reasoning involved.
When a nation does something that is controversial in its own time, as the blockade was, and winds up killing between 400,000 and 800,000 people through among the cruelest of means: famine, if it turns out that these actions didn’t directly contribute to ending the war sooner, the nation who inflicted this on their fellow human beings is not exactly the hero of the story now are they?
So of course the desire is going to be very strong to gesture at problems with disorder, looting, and the increasing poor health of the military and civilian labor force as having made strong contributions to ensuring the war didn’t last longer and claim even more lives.
On the other hand, average caloric intake fell to a Special Value Meal per day (and probably much worse if you look at essential vitamins and protein) and the Germans kept going for five years. It's possible that absent the blockade, the war lasts even longer but that’s a counterfactual we simply cannot realistically examine because life isn’t an Excel sheet.
Duration also doesn’t necessarily directly map to intensity. If the war is not perceived as an existential struggle because both sides are attempting to collapse one another’s very societies to set conditions for peace on their terms, how does this change the tactics used in the field and the overall strategy?
Because if there is one point I want to hammer home it's that the perception of a war as being existential is intensely radicalizing. People will endure suffering that is unimaginable to people sitting in comfort and safety if they are operating under the belief that if the war isn’t won, the nation and its people will experience even greater suffering than they are experiencing under conditions of war, or even that the nation may cease to exist, its people scattered or massacred.
It's even harder for us to imagine that concepts like the German or British Empires might be worth “going over the top” for, or sitting around never knowing if a poison gas attack is going to be launched in your sleep. Or more nightmarishly: that you might feel so deeply that the fate of your nation is at risk, that it might be worth executing your subordinates for cowardice if they don’t attack enemy fortifications.
Of course there is also the example of modern Ukraine. It is rather clear that the people of Ukraine have taken very seriously the statements of Russian high level people that “Ukrainian” is an invalid identity that must be made to be subsumed into the Russian identity. One does not have to be an ardent nationalist, and I am not, to find this to be more than a little concerning.
It's not hard to imagine that extremely bellicose rhetoric from an opponent, when combined with growing suffering on the homefront and no doubt plenty of propaganda proclaiming the enemy to have an exterminationist agenda, would radicalize even people who are ambivalent to their government.
In 2002, it was widely expected that mounting casualties and a worsening economic outlook due to the war in Ukraine would seal Vladimir Putin’s fate. At the close of 2003, with nearly two years of fighting and one half baked mutiny in the books, Putin remains and is seemingly even more secure in power.
This is a more problematic example because it's hard to conceive of any strategy Ukraine or its allies can undertake that would preserve Ukraine’s autonomy while not generating at least some evidence to support Putin’s “Big Lie” about Russia being a victim pursuing legitimate security interests. Yet, in spite of this, great effort appears to have made to avoid feeding that Big Lie unnecessarily.
As of this writing, Ukraine has not pursued targeting Russian civilians directly either as an explicit policy nor is there much if any evidence it is doing so implicitly. Some in the amateur punditry of the fever swamps of social media have proposed Ukraine pursue payback against Russia for Bucha and other atrocities, but I think history shows this would be deeply, deeply mistaken.
Intellectual honesty compels me to hold up this example: sometimes a nation (Russia) (or just its political elite) can be responsible for the vast majority of the suffering its people have experienced and yet this too can be contextualized to fit a narrative that casts a struggle as existential, centers the chief provocateur as victim, and some critical mass of people will go along with it, rather than reject it and collapse the war effort from within.
Notably, while World War 1 shattered the Russian Empire, the various transitional governments between the end of Czarist rule and the eventual takeover by the Bolsheviks did not exit the war.
Consider all of these case studies, all ye who would dismiss rules of engagement as unworthy of dishonorable foes or inefficient, and would dismiss concerns about excessive cruelty or collective punishment as soft and defeatist.
#War#rules of engagement#ethics#cruelty#the great war#lusitania#Triple Entente#Central Powers#world war 1#laws of war#atrocities#crimes against humanity#collective punishment#escalation#current events
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so page homestuck. com/story/3600 right. with the fiduspawn and the doc scratch code and the GOOP. thoughts?
Shrug! Nothing in particular. If you want to read into the scene for what qualities Scratch got from the t1ck code, you might guess the white text and his being the host plush of Lord English? Perhaps Scratch's attachment to Damara implies the t0ck code was written in Aradia's ashes. Shrug, who's to say.
I assume you emphasized the Goop to solicit some kind of sexual commentary but tbh that aspect of Fiduspawn is already expressed pretty well in Tavros's introduction. The only comment I'd add is that the motif of 'coupling that kills the mother' was also the outcome of WV's chess game on 721: black "mates" white (Caliborn outlines the euphemism on 4980), and afterward BROWN soda bursts from the PINK can. Miscegenation, very scary. Tavros brings that motif to Alternia -- the black takeover scaremongering is further connected to WV's revolution by Tavros's jousting dummy on 2116, which is a reskin of WV's scarecrow on 1800.
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Silver Spoons - Terry Silver Part 2 of 7
Main Masterlist
Series Masterlist
Chapter 1 / -----
Character: Terry Silver x female reader
Summary: Time jump because I'm jumping back and forth with this series. I've got a plan and I think it makes sense. But back to the past where Terry and reader first meet. Like the 90s ish. After the events of kk3
Warnings: manipulation, some alcohol (but just casual drinking of, no drunkenness), mention of war (no detail), weapons, blood, warning for Terry Silver in general, fade to black scene, business majors
Word Count: 3600
A/N: This chapter has been written for a while but I just do not feel like my writing is doing him justice. I'm at the point where I have to post it so it'll stop haunting me tho. Lmk if you want to be on a taglist.
-----
"Really, Ms. L/N, he's been… incredibly insistent on meeting you," Dorothy said.
Terrence Silver.
That was the name that the file in front of you had read. You had only skimmed it before tossing it aside. “Dorothy, if we’re going to be partnering with anyone, it’s not going to be the disgraced head of Dynatox to advertise for his silly little startups. Is Dynatox even still active?”
Dorothy, an intern in her final year of college, who you had already set your sights on for full time PA, sighed and picked the file up herself, leafing through it. “Ms. L/N, it looks like the only two options at the moment are either Mr. Silver or Mr. Beckett. Anything else and we’d be pushing our limits too far. We simply don’t have the capacity to take on more than one additional major client at the moment. And yes, I believe it is still active, but on a much smaller scale.”
You shivered at Beckett’s name. “God, I hate that guy,” you said, leaning back into your chair. He was the owner of a high profile financial firm, and about as sleazy as they come. But the growth of his company was far more reliably linear than Silver's was. And although your father had left you a sizably large marketing company, you wanted more. Beckett was the safest option for expansion.
"Beckett would probably be a safer bet," said Dorothy echoing your thoughts, "but based on what we know of Mr. Silver, he has the potential to see some exponential growth in the next few years.”
"And the advertising firm that got him there would see the same growth," you said, leaning back in your chair.
Dorothy nodded.
You sighed. "Dorothy, do you know what my father's problem was?" you asked her.
"I can't say that I do, ma'am."
"He never took a single risk. Only safe bets. Which grew this company some, sure, but think of where we could be right now if he had taken a calculated gamble every now and then." You tapped your fingers on the table as you mused.
“So you want me to schedule a meeting with Mr. Silver then?” she asked.
“Can’t hurt to check him out. What do I have Thursday evening?”
She flipped through the pages on her clipboard, landing on her calendar. “You’re free. Tuesday and Wednesday nights as well.”
“Three days in a row, that’s a rare treat. Tell him Thursday, take it or leave it. If he really wants this then he’ll take it.”
“Yes ma’am,” she said. “Is that all?”
“For now,” you replied, and she was gone, no sooner had you said the words.
You picked up the file once more. If you were actually considering this, it couldn’t hurt to know as much about him as you could.
—--
And so Thursday evening came. Silver had sent a short reply to your acceptance.
Thank you for your time.
I’ll be by your office at 7. We can discuss details over dinner, my treat.
You had nearly laughed aloud when Dorothy read his response aloud to you. No doubt the domineering reply was in direct response to your insistence on the day. Contrary to what you first believed, Silver was going to be a challenge. Maybe even a fun challenge.
He came as promised, a long black limo pulling up outside your office building. You had dressed nicely, spent more time on your appearance than usual. First impressions were key.
As you walked down the steps of the building, you couldn’t help but be the tiniest bit relieved that most employees had gone home for the day. Maintaining your image was hard enough, you didn’t want to think about the impression that leaving the office for what very much looked like a date would leave.
The side door opened, and out stepped Silver himself, and so the game was afoot. You approached. He was taller than you thought he would be.
He outstretched his hand. “Terry Silver. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance Ms. L/N.”
You took it, shaking it firmly. “Likewise, Mr. Silver.”
“Please, Mr. Silver was my father. Call me Terry, I insist.”
“Then I must insist you call me Y/N.”
“Y/N.” He grinned. “Allow me to help you in, it’s a bit of a step.”
You only realized that your hand was still gripped in his just then, when he shifted his grip to help you into the car. Immediately, the pieces fell into place as you realized his plan, but you allowed him to help you regardless. You wouldn’t be charmed so easily.
You settled into a seat, and Terry followed close behind. With a quick rap of his knuckles on the driver’s window, you were off.
“It really isn’t that far of a drive,” he told you, “but if we’ve got to drive, I say we do it in style.”
You hummed slightly, an ambiguous sound that was close enough to agreement, without actually saying a word.
You couldn’t be sure, but you thought you saw him hesitate ever so slightly. Did he not think that you came prepared with games of your own? You wielded the power here, and you both knew that.
“It’s a nice place,” he went on, any previous hint of hesitation completely vanished. “I’m sure you’ll love it. I do prefer a more relaxing environment to chat business, don’t you?”
A direct question, a forced response. He adjusted quickly to his situation. Interesting. “I do. There’s far more to business than just meeting rooms, and I think you can learn a lot about your peers over a meal.”
He grinned again. “Good. That’s good. I hope we learn a lot about each other tonight."
"As do I."
There was silence for a short while, but not necessarily an uncomfortable one, then the car came to a halt. “What did I tell you?” he said. “Short drive.”
Quick as lightning, he was out of the car, offering his hand once more. “May I?”
You took his hand, accepting his assistance again, but dropped it as soon as you were standing on your own two feet.
The two of you entered the restaurant and were led to a private table. "For confidentiality," he had said with a wink.
You didn't talk business immediately, that would have been impolite. And small talk gave you a chance to get a handle on your opponent, see what he was thinking. Business deals were a battle after all, and Terry’s only hope of winning was proving to you that his once great company, now teetering between glory and ruination, had the potential to rise again, perhaps higher than it had before.
You were pleased to see that he seemed to think the same way, engaging with the small talk with a vivacity that you hadn't expected, but armed heavily with anecdotes and remarks that were absolutely riddled with reminders of how well he could do. A story of a successful business deal on his part. A small jab at a company that you had recently had a deal fall through with. You were impressed. He had clearly done his research.
Time passed rather quickly, with no talk of a deal. A waiter approached your table, bottle of wine in hand. "Allow me," Terry said, gesturing for the waiter to hand the bottle to him. He obliged and left the two of you alone.
Terry took your glass and filled it. "I've spent a lot of time in South Korea and Japan," he explained as he did. "To fill another's cup is a sign of respect, and I can't seem to break that habit here." He handed you your glass. "I simply wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t.”
“I’m aware of the tradition. Much appreciated,” you said, accepting the drink. “What led you to travel there?”
He smiled, a smile this time, not one of the enthusiastic grins he had been throwing your way all night. “Like most men at that time, the war.”
“You served?” That was a polite question. You already knew that he had, from your prior research.
Again, an almost imperceptible change in his demeanor, his smile falling ever so slightly. “Yes.”
He shook his head. “I apologize, we should be talking about things far happier than that.”
“That’s alright,” you said, still pondering the hairline fracture in his facade. “Thank you for your service.”
The grin returned. “You are most welcome. Now, have you decided what you wanted?”
—--
The rest of the evening passed by quickly, with not a word of a business deal. At first, true, the both of you were dancing around the subject, playing games and avoiding cutting to the chase, but eventually, you were talking like old friends, contracts far from your minds. At least, that’s how it was for you, but a certain air of lightness had come over Terry by the end of the night that you couldn’t help but think it was the same for him.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t like to be dropped off at home?” he asked you many hours later when you were back in the limo.
“No, thank you,” you replied. “I have some things I need to finish up at the office.”
“At this hour?”
You shrugged. “Duty calls.”
“It probably doesn't help that we didn’t get a lick of work done tonight,” he said.
You smiled, small but genuine. “That’s true. We’ll have to meet again.”
“Tomorrow night?”
“Booked. And I fly out to Denver for a conference this weekend.”
“I’ve got some time Monday.”
“I’ll have a lot of catching up to do after being gone all weekend. Does Tuesday work?”
“Tuesdays are no good.”
“Wednesday night?”
“I should be free.”
“Same time?”
“I can do that. Same place?”
“That works,” you said. “I’ll pick you up this time, and it’s on me.”
“Sounds fair to me,” he replied. “And it appears we are at our destination,”
The car rolled to a stop, and in a flash, Terry was holding the door open for the last time that night.
You exited the car. “Thank you, Terry. It was a nice night. We’ll have to actually talk business next time.”
“Of course. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
—--
Terry Silver stared at himself in the mirror.
He splashed cold water on his face.
He took down his ponytail and brushed out his hair, finding familiar comfort in the slight sting at his roots.
He had let his guard down around her, and it had shaken him to his core.
At some point tonight, the pretenses had fallen, his facade had dropped. He had no longer been playing the typical business game, he was just talking to her. The concept was almost foreign to him. And yet it seemed that the exact same thing had happened to her.
Even his time in the service, which usually he had no problem only mentioning casually, had somehow been different around her. It seemed to him that she had been able to decipher so much from so little, and as someone who usually had that effect on others, it unnerved him to be on the receiving end.
Had she said something? Done something that marked her as different than anyone else?
She was smart, he had to give her that. Maybe even as smart as he was. Was that why then? Perhaps, but the average businesswoman was always smarter than the average businessman, that was just the way things went.
But there was something about her. The carefully crafted words whenever she spoke. The subtle expression she wore, as mysterious in nature as the Mona Lisa, that told you nothing of what she was thinking.
Something in him wanted to break her. To push through her defenses, to get her barriers to crack. A genuine smile, a real laugh, a falling tear, or fiery anger. Something in him saw her as a challenge. Something in him wanted to win.
To beat her though, to triumph against her? Or to win her over, to have her for his own, this wily woman, this enigma? He couldn't tell.
—--
Time passed, much slower than you thought it would. The conference in Denver dragged on, and the first few days of the week were mind numbingly dull.
You, against your better judgment, found yourself eager to meet with Terry again. When you had told Dorothy to add another meeting with him to your calendar, she had seemed suspicious.
"Two meetings?" she had asked, an eyebrow raised. "Were you not able to work things out last night?"
You waved your hand dismissively. "We just had more to discuss than previously anticipated."
A small smile appeared on her face. "I take that it went a little too well."
"I said nothing of the sort."
"You don't have to," she said. "Are you planning on taking him on as a client then?"
You nodded. "Don't tell Beckett anything until the contract with Silver goes through, but I think so. Beckett's too content. Silver's got ambition, and unlike a lot of people, has the skill set to do something with it. I'll take that gamble."
"Even if he's tanked before?"
"Even if he's tanked before."
She nodded, and scribbled a note on her clipboard.
"Alright then, Ms. L/N. Anything else?"
"Not at the moment. And thank you Dorothy, I wouldn't have taken that meeting if it weren't for you."
That had been Friday morning, of course, and here you were, Wednesday night, feeling something far too close to nervousness for comfort.
The dinner went as smoothly as before. You made a point to get business out of the way at the beginning of the night. You both signed the contract your lawyers had drawn up, and just like that, Terry Silver was a client of L/N Legacy Marketing Group.
“To a long and fruitful partnership,” Terry said, raising his glass in a toast.
“Hear, hear,” you replied as you clinked your glasses together.
—--
You hadn't heard from Terry for a few weeks after that, not that you were counting. Your only correspondence had been between your respective assistants and legal departments, and you already had a team working on an ad campaign for one of his more prominent tech startups.
So needless to say, you were shocked when late one night, you were interrupted by a sharp knock at your office door. Snapping your head up, your eyes met Terry’s, who definitely was not scheduled to be in your office well after business hours.
"Can I help you, Mr. Silver?"
He raised an eyebrow, and you sighed.
"Can I help you, Terry?"
He leaned against the doorframe, his ascot becoming ever so slightly askew as he did. He straightened it. "I was thinking this morning," he began slowly, "that it's been quite a while since you and I have spoken. But I know you tend to work late…" He straightened and walked up to your desk. "I've heard bits and pieces from my assistant, but I'd really like an update straight from the source."
You swallowed thickly at his intense gaze, but didn't dare break eye contact. "Well, I'm not too hands on with it, but we've been considering expanding the target demographic-"
"Interesting," he said, quickly, not even allowing you to finish your sentence. "Why don't we discuss it further over dinner?"
This gave you a moment's pause. "I'm not dressed to go out," you offered up. A weak excuse and you knew it.
"Then I'll cook you something."
It was your turn to raise an eyebrow.
He laughed. "I have quite the home, if I do say so myself," he said. "I'll give you a tour of my collections after dinner."
"You're awfully confident, Terry Silver."
"You don't get this far if you aren't."
You shook your head. "Alright then. Give me a moment to pack up."
He grinned. "I'll be waiting outside."
He shut the door behind him as he left. The second it latched you quickly put your stuff away, then pulled the pocket mirror out of your drawer. You hastily fixed your appearance as best you could. When the initial adrenaline wore off, you found yourself staring into the mirror, not quite recognizing yourself. You were being ridiculous. No business partnership was worth this effort.
But you couldn't quite ignore the way your stomach twisted when you opened the door and walked outside.
—--
Terry wasn't lying. He did have quite the home. And he was a surprisingly excellent cook. Although you probably shouldn't have been surprised. There didn't seem to be anything that Terry was bad at.
He gave you a full tour of his home, telling you the history of every rare art piece on display. You found yourself hanging onto his every word.
Even more fascinating, though, was the weapons collection. Knives, swords, and various other sharp objects that you had no name for adorned the room. He took you over to one corner and lifted a particular dagger from its display.
"This is a tantō, traditionally worn by samurai. And one in this condition is worth quite a bit of money."
He held it out to you, looking at you expectantly.
Your eyes widened as you realized what he was saying, but gingerly took the blade into your hands as he nodded and pushed the knife slightly forward one again.
"It's beautiful," you said quietly.
You dragged your finger along the blunt edge of the blade, slipping by accident over the tip. You let out a soft “Oh!” of surprise as a small bead of blood pooled out of the nick in your fingertip.
Terry said nothing, seemingly entranced at the sight of your blood, slowly beginning to spill over the edge of your fingertip. Before you had realized the speed at which the blood was falling, a drop had spilled onto the floor. Terry took your hand in his.
“I’m sorry,” you said. He showed no signs of hearing you.
He raised your finger to his lips and gently put it in his mouth, tongue deftly swiping the blood away. You were too stunned to move, even as he released his grip, your hand dropping to your side.
Your breath became shallow as you realized just how close he was.
He brushed one hand over your cheek, his touch ghostlike and hesitant, as if he were holding himself back. “The things I would do to you,” he murmured, followed by a soft chuckle. There was a copper tinge to one of his front teeth.
You froze at his statement, and he lifted the dagger from your uninjured hand and set it back in its place.
He drew closer to you, piercing blue eyes not leaving yours, and you slowly backed away until your back hit the wall.
His arm rested against the wall behind you, leaving you effectively trapped. His face wasn't more than a few centimeters away.
"I'm not sure I know exactly what you're implying," you said, though you suspected that the hint of breathlessness in your voice told him the exact opposite.
"Oh, I think you do," he said, his eyes trained on your lips, and before you could think of a clever retort, his mouth captured yours.
The second it began, it was over. You swallowed thickly, tried to ignore the butterflies in your stomach and rush of heat in your face, and he looked at you expectantly. Seconds felt like hours as you tried to gather your thoughts.
"It's unprofessional," you finally breathed out.
"Then tell me to stop," His hand moved to rest on your waist.
"I'm doing you a favor by working with you," you reminded him. "You don't want to lose the chance I'm giving you."
"Then tell me to stop." His hand trailed lower, his fingers capturing the hem of your top, brushing faintly over the skin on your torso.
"I could ruin you," you said, struggling to keep your voice level. "Kick you while you're down. No investor would ever touch you again. It wouldn't be that hard."
"Then tell me. To stop." His voice was so low it was nearly a growl.
You said nothing.
For a long moment you stood there, silently, your breathing becoming harder and harder to keep even, before pushing yourself forward and planting your lips on his.
He broke the kiss, only for a moment, and you could feel his grin against your mouth. Not a second later he was kissing you once more.
It seemed to last both a lifetime and a millisecond, but eventually, regrettably, you had to come up for air. Terry was still grinning, and looking for all the world like he could have kept going for several more minutes. Judging by the firm torso you could feel beneath his shirt, he was in good enough shape that he quite possibly could have.
You were panting, he still had that smug grin on his face, and the both of you were clinging to one another like your lives depended on it. The second your chest stopped burning, you spoke.
"I don't want you to stop."
He took this as his cue, and soon the two of you were clumsily making your way out of the weapons room, stumbling into furniture and clawing at the walls in the brief reprises between kisses. Before you knew it, you were in his room, but you hardly had a moment to look around before the two of you were tangled in the sheets.
The night took a turn from there in a manner that could only be described as violent. Never, though, had the word violent had such pleasant connotations.
You had been right earlier in the evening. There really was nothing that Terry Silver was bad at.
-----
A/N: I'm sorry for another fade to black scene. cop out ending, i know. might happen again. idk. Also I need to think of a name for this beyond "Terry Silver Series" so I can post it on AO3. Could be all lana del rey vinyl about it and call it terrence loves you lmaooo
Chapter 1 / -----
#terry silver x you#terry silver x reader#terry silver imagine#cobra kai x reader#cobra kai imagine#karate kid x reader#karate kid imagine#terry silver
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Paging through a timeline today and the First Age was so very long ago even in what you might call the early Second Age. There is more time between the founding of Eregion (c SA 700) and the War of Wrath than there was in time in the entire First Age (about 600 years); Aldarion, living around the same time as the raising of Ost-in-Edhil, is six generations removed from Elros and the five generations between were all born in the Second Age: how different the lives of our own great-great-great-grandparents! And that's the earliest Second Age. By the time Eregion falls, 1700 years have passed since the Silmarils were set in their resting places; the Last Alliance happened around 3600 years after the Nirnaeth. And another three millenia in the Third Age! "Before the fall of Gondolin and Nargothrond in elder days" has very much the air of "a long time ago."
The First Age is so removed in time - and space! - from later events. Sometimes I feel this isn't appreciated enough. The Second and Third Ages have their own stories.
If anything, I think the First Age can be overrated in importance? Well, not in its own right, but in discussing later events.
#meta#i do think that for all that the creation of the silmarils and the creation of the rings are closer together in time#than either is to the destruction of the one ring#(probably. let's ignore valarin years)#the rings are part of one story and the silmarils another#when it comes to the ~story of arda or whatever#the dividing line is the war of wrath not the destruction of the trees or the akallabeth#(imo ofc!)#i admit to getting frustrated at times#galadriel giving three hairs to gimli can be seen in light of her refusing feanor but it's about *her and gimli*#there's lots to compare and contrast between the three rings and the silmarils if you want#but the three and their creation have meaning and value in their own right and you can talk about them meaningfully w/o reference to feanor#if you say 'maglor' to legolas his first association might be 'who?' or it might be 'oh yeah great songwriter love his stuff!'#(it's not all about the sons of feanor. who are secondary characters even in age one.)#(unlike feanor who's not at all secondary. but feanor's story is quite separate from that of the sons in some if not all ways)
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Debating whether 2023 is going to be the year I finally sit down and read Knausgård’s My Struggle. One one hand I know from reading some of his shorter pieces that I like his prose. On the other hand, writing 3600 pages about yourself is an extremely wanky thing to do, and even Zweig who got caught in the middle of no less than two world wars, managed to keep his memoir under 500 pages.
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