#then he’s given as a political gift to Alex | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lokilover2341 · 2 months

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High Nights And Sober Daze

Roommate!Sukuna x AFAB Nonbinary!Reader

Another long ass day at work *sigh*. Making their way through the front door of their shared apartment, Y/N slipped their shoes off and locked the door, leaning against it wearily.

“Bad day at work” Sukuna, one of their several roommates, called from the sofa. They ignored him trudging their way to their bedroom. Sukuna peeps in, having followed you. “ Hey, I rolled up a blunt if you want to shower real quick and join me.” “Yeah actually, that sounds good,” they reply, exhaustion heavy in their voice. Quickly pulling their butterfly locs up so they didn’t get too wet, Y/N hopped in the shower opting for a quick wash down rather than their usual full spa-esque routine.

Heading out to the patio where Sukuna was waiting, Y/N realized that two of their other roommates, Luis (their ex) and Octavia (his newest girlfriend) (this is what happens when you end up stuck in a multi year lease with someone who decided to cheat not once but twice) were also home. Offering a quick wave out of politeness, they attempted to escape what is usually a very awkward conversation. Not to say Y/N and Luis weren’t capable of being civil to each other, the problem that arises is that Octavia seems to think they are competing over everything. “Oh hey Y/N, guess what Luis got me today for no reason” Octavia chirped with a sly smirk, pushing out her hand to show you a beautiful crystal opal ring set. “Actually you…” Luis tried to interject. “It must really suck not having someone who’ll just buy you presents, huh?” she spoke over him. “ Actually I’m not big on receiving gifts as I am giving them, but thank you for your concern I guess” Y/N replied smoothly sliding out to the patio before Octavia had an opportunity to reply.

Sukuna let out a chuckle as they closed the sliding glass door, “Lemme guess she showed you that dumbass ring set she practically had to beg Luis to buy.” “Yeah.” “It's not like it's anything special, the chances of any part of that being real is low given how much of a cheapskate Luis is” Sukuna laughed as he lit the blunt in his hand. “There’s no need to say such rude things about Luis, it’s not like I care either way.” Y/N motioned for Sukuna to pass the blunt over tired of being sober most of the day and wanting to relax. “I’ll stop being rude when that idiot actually grows a fucking spine instead of letting that bitch walk all over him.” “I’ll take things that’ll never happen for 200, Alex” Y/N joked. " Did you maybe want to cuddle and watch a movie?" Sukuna asked hopefully. "Well I don't work tomorrow so I can stay up pretty late but you do know you don't have to ask to cuddle, we share a bed we already cuddle.” Y/N arched an eyebrow at him. “ Aww c'mon you’re no fun. Besides you know what I mean, I just want to be buried in your chest.” “Sure but no getting handsy like last time.” Y/N conceded. "Scouts honor, babe." he said lying through his teeth.

As the pair walked back in heading to their shared space, they were quickly interrupted before they walked through the living room. "Hey Sukuna, did you maybe want to hangout when Luis leaves for work tonight." Of course she'd try some shit like this. Y/N continued to walk to the room not sparing a second glance at Octavia. "I have far better things to do than sit here with you, while you drool over me like you don't have a boyfriend." Sukuna's face honestly looked as though he stepped in dog shit, though as far as Y/N was concerned he did when it came to Octavia. Y/N sat down waiting for Sukuna to join them, deciding to scroll on Hulu looking for something interesting. While preoccupied with their search, they didn't notice Sukuna launching himself on to the bed, knocking all of the air out of them. "OH MY GOD SUKUNA IF YOU DON"T GET YOUR HEAVY ASS OFF OF ME!" Barking out a laugh he (albeit reluctantly) rolled off of Y/N. “So find anything to watch or are we going to stare at the Hulu search menu all night?” “Hmmm I was thinking..” “If you say Blood-C again I'm biting you.” Sukuna looks over to see Y/N trying to muster up the best puppy dog eyes they can manage. Sukuna sighed rolling his eyes at them. “Would it kill you to watch anything else?” Y/N giggled at his question. “Why don’t you choose then? You know I suck at finding new shows.” “How about a horror movie?” After he picks a movie for the two to watch, Y/N let's him cuddle up against their chest with him softly humming in content.

#ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #x reader #jjk fluff #jjk

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dreaminginthedeepsouth · 1 year

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LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

April 6, 2023

Heather Cox Richardson

The Supreme Court was in the news this morning, as Joshua Kaplan, Justin Elliott, and Alex Mierjeski of ProPublica explained that for more than twenty years Supreme Court Justice Clarence Thomas has enjoyed the hospitality and funding of Dallas real estate magnate and major Republican donor Harlan Crow. Thomas and his wife Ginni, who was closely involved in challenging the 2020 presidential election, have taken trips in private jets and gone on vacations with Crow worth as much as $500,000.

Thomas did not disclose any of these valuable gifts. Indeed, in a documentary funded in part by Crow, Thomas presented himself as a regular guy. “I prefer the RV parks. I prefer the Walmart parking lots to the beaches and things like that. There’s something normal to me about it,” he said. “I come from regular stock, and I prefer that—I prefer being around that.”

After the story dropped, David G. Savage of the Los Angeles Times recalled that his newspaper had disclosed the close connections between Thomas and Crow in 2004, noting, for example, that Crow had given Thomas a $19,000 Bible that had belonged to the famous formerly enslaved abolitionist and writer Frederick Douglass and a $15,000 bust of Abraham Lincoln. After their story appeared, it seems that Thomas did not stop accepting expensive gifts and travel from the wealthy mogul, but instead stopped disclosing them.

In Crow’s company, Thomas rubbed elbows with his host’s other guests, including senior business executives, major Republican donors, and leaders of right-wing think tanks. Crow has worked hard to move the judiciary and the legal system to the right, and at one of the properties where Thomas vacations, there is a painting of him in conversation with a number of figures, including Leonard Leo, the leader of the Federalist Society who has orchestrated the court’s hard-right turn. Leo is now overseeing Marble Freedom Trust, established to disburse funds from a $1.6 billion bequest to manipulate elections in favor of Republicans.

Senator Chris Murphy (D-CT) tweeted: “Important for news media to not simply label this guy as a ‘[Republican] mega donor’. It’s so much worse. Crow has many interests before the Supreme Court. His groups file petitions before the court. It’s the clearest, most brazen violation of judicial ethics you can imagine.”

In Congress today, House Judiciary Committee chair Jim Jordan (R-OH) issued a subpoena in its investigation of the Manhattan district attorney Alvin Bragg’s office after that office indicted former president Donald Trump on 34 counts of falsifying business records on Tuesday. Bragg explained: “The trail of money & lies exposes a pattern that, the People allege, violates one of New York’s basic & fundamental business laws.”

Although Jordan himself refused to respond to a subpoena issued by the House Select Committee to Investigate the January 6th Attack on the U.S. Capitol, he is demanding that Mark Pomerantz, a former county special assistant district attorney who investigated Trump’s finances, show up to testify.

Pomerantz resigned from his role in the investigation out of frustration that Manhattan district attorney Alvin Bragg was not then moving forward with an indictment. The wording of Jordan’s letter indicates he is hoping to use Pomerantz’s words critical of Trump to argue that the district attorney’s office was biased against the former president.

General counsel for the Manhattan district attorney’s office Leslie Dubeck previously rejected the demands of Jordan, House Committee on House Administration chair Bryan Steil (R-WI), and House Committee on Oversight and Accountability chair James Comer (R-KY) for testimony and documents from Bragg, warning them that their attacks on Bragg and his office were “unlawful political interference.”

Dubeck pointed out: “our Office is legally constrained in how it publicly discusses pending criminal proceedings,… as you well know.” She called their interference “unnecessary and unjustified” and reminded the men that Congress has no jurisdiction over individual criminal investigations. Nor does it have jurisdiction over state investigations. “The Committees’ attempted interference with an ongoing state criminal investigation—and now prosecution—is an unprecedented and illegitimate incursion on New York’s sovereign interests,” she wrote.

Now Jordan is trying a different approach. Bragg responded: “The House [Republicans continue] to attempt to undermine an active investigation and ongoing New York criminal case with an unprecedented campaign of harassment and intimidation. Repeated efforts to weaken state and local law enforcement actions are an abuse of power and will not deter us from our duty to uphold the law.”

In the Tennessee statehouse this afternoon, Republican legislators led by House of Representatives speaker Cameron Sexton voted to expel Justin Jones and Justin Pearson, two young Black lawmakers who had led young protesters in chants from the floor of the house chamber in favor of gun safety legislation after house Republicans refused to allow debate on such a measure.

The Republicans charged that the three representatives had broken house rules and had engaged in “disorderly behavior” and “knowingly and intentionally” brought “dishonor to the House of Representatives.” The body avoided expelling Gloria Johnson, the white woman who chanted with Jones and Pearson, by one vote. Although the debate showed that a Republican had also broken house rules by recording a video that was then misleadingly edited and shown, that representative was not charged.

The three Democratic representatives joined protesters to call for gun safety legislation after six people, including three 9-year-olds, were killed in yet another school shooting. The Republicans have focused on cultural issues and have opposed taking up gun safety legislation. Indeed, they have worked to loosen gun laws; on the same day as the recent school shooting, a federal judge cleared the way for the Tennessee legislature to lower the age for permitless carry in the state from 21 to 18. Republican governor Bill Lee signed the permitless carry bill for 21 and up in 2021 at a Beretta gun manufacturing plant.

Today, young protesters in the statehouse defended the Tennessee Three, as they have become known, saying: “You ban books, you ban drag—kids are still in body bags!” After the votes to expel, the chants changed to “F*ck you, fascists!”

Republicans in the Tennessee legislature could act as they did because they have a supermajority thanks to their redistricting of the state after the 2020 census. In that redistricting they cracked Democratic-leaning Nashville, dividing it among three districts in which they overwhelmed Democratic voters with Republicans from the suburbs. A new state law has now required Nashville to cut its city council in half. Meanwhile, laws prohibiting people with a past felony conviction from voting cut more than 470,000 people from the voter rolls.

This lock on power has given Tennessee Republicans the ability to do as they please. Today it pleased them to expel two young Black legislators who were trying to force the Republicans to do something about the epidemic of gun violence that is killing their constituents.

The Supreme Court, Congress, and the Tennessee statehouse. What would you say if you saw today’s news coming from another country?

Before he left the chamber, Representative Justin Pearson told his suddenly former colleagues how he saw it.

“You are seeking to expel District 86’s representation from this house, in a country that was built on a protest. IN A COUNTRY THAT WAS BUILT ON A PROTEST. You who celebrate July 4, 1776, pop fireworks and eat hotdogs. You say to protest is wrong because you spoke out of turn, because you spoke up for people who are marginalized. You spoke up for children who won’t ever be able to speak again; you spoke up for parents who don’t want to live in fear; you spoke up for Larry Thorn, who was murdered by gun violence; you spoke up for people that we don’t want to care about. In a country built on people who speak out of turn, who spoke out of turn, who fought out of turn to build a nation.

“I come from a long line of people who have resisted.”

—

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

#Letters From An American #Heather Cox Richardson #Tennessee Three #Clarence Thomas #Corrupt GOP #Criminal GOP #fascism #gerrymandering #Corrupt SCOTUS #gun violence #protest #Resist

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f1 · 1 year

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Albon told to be harder with his team to get the best out of them | 2022 Brazilian Grand Prix

Alexander Albon has been told to demand more from his Williams team if he wants to be Formula 1 world champion in the future. The former Red Bull and AlphaTauri driver joined Williams this year. He has been their leading points-scorer and was given a new, multi-year deal in August. Williams technical officer FX Demaison praised the contribution Albon has made since joining them this year but said he needs to push them harder to get the car more to his liking. “[He] was a really good help for us because we are only engineers, we need a driver to give us a direction,” said Demaison in today’s FIA press conference. “His experience… helped us and has given us the right direction. So it’s really a good help.” Albon is “a nice person, sometimes too nice,” said Demaison. “But [he] needs to be sometimes a bit more hard with the team and push us a bit more. But we are working on this.” He does tend to be more forceful in race situations, Demaison admitted. “When he has the helmet on, yes, he can be hard but it should be a bit more harder in debriefs,” he said. “I explain [to] him, everyday I tell him you have to be – a word I will not pronounce – but if you want to be a world champion, you have to be like this.” Before joining Williams, Albon spent a year as Red Bull’s reserve driver, prior to which he raced alongside current world champion Max Verstappen at the team for a year and a half. Advert | Become a RaceFans supporter and go ad-free Red Bull’s chief engineer Paul Monaghan said they had been satisfied with Albon’s feedback during his time at the team, despite relegating him from their race line-up at the end of 2020. Albon “should be a bit more harder in debriefs” – Demaison “Thinking back to Alex’s time with us he came across as a very conscientious, polite, gifted driver and he had a pretty good idea of what he wanted from the car straight off,” said Monaghan. “He knew when it wasn’t to his liking and could tell you what was to his disliking. We didn’t always manage to give him a car that was adequate for his wants. “Obviously he had a pretty rapid team mate, which puts a little bit more pressure on him, and he handled that, I thought, exceptionally well for a young driver.” Monaghan admitted Albon was “frustrated” when he was left out of an F1 race seat last year but was “able to deal with his situation” and “was learning and worked with us.” “Now he’s come back with FX’s team and it’s nice to see him nearer the front of the grid,” Monaghan added. “It’s nice to see the progress and it’s nice to see them scoring points. “So full credit to Alex for enduring a reasonably tough time, learning, not being despondent and pushing himself on to achieve what his talents deserve. So many congratulations to him and long may his growth in sport continue.” Advert | Become a RaceFans supporter and go ad-free 2022 Brazilian Grand Prix Browse all 2022 Brazilian Grand Prix articles via RaceFans - Independent Motorsport Coverage https://www.racefans.net/

#F1 #Albon told to be “harder” with his team to get the best out of them | 2022 Brazilian Grand Prix #Formula 1

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foreverfourteenoctober · 2 years

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I have a dog who died at the age of six. This dog was a gift from Alex's friend, since the first time he came to the house, I have fallen in love with him. He is not just a pet, but he’s a member of the family. When people asked to Alex "how many children do you have?" Alex will answer 3, because Bimbo has become part of our family. Since the first day he joined to the family He will following me wherever I go, and his favorite activity is accompanying me to watch movies including Korean dramas. His favorite food is “Loba Kanaka” and various dishes is everything that containing pork, he so craaaaaaaazy about it. He will be so happy on Christmas day when his favorite food is cooked in various kinds lols. I love sharing anything with him, thoughts, snacks chocolates and cheeses, even sharing bed i didn’t mind lols I really enjoyed spending time with bimbo, playing, laughing out loud even when I was crying so hard while locking myself in my room he was always there to accompany me and comforting me in his own way. He’s the one who knows exactly the pray that I say every night before I sleep. He is the most polite dog I have ever had, he never steals food, eats dirty food, poops inside the house, he never does that. He is very loved in our family, even though my mother always scolds him because his feathers are often scattered everywhere, including on my bed. But my mom love him so much and he knows that.

He was sick. And I think after go to the doctor, given medicine then he will recover as usual. But it turned out not as I expected, he left us all. He had seizures several times during the day and in the evening he said goodbye to us just as mom and alex came home.

My heart is aching. Goodbye, Bimbo, my best best besssssssssst friend in the whole universe. Six years long I’ve loved you, and afterwards I’d love you still. Go run free and happily now, the rainbow bridge awaits.

Until we meet again boy, until we meet again...

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frenchpuppycormier · 3 years

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fluff 10 and/or 11 + supercorp for the sentence starters pls 💞

"Are we on a date right now?" / "I think I'm in love with you."

—

Saturday signals the best day in Kara's book for one simple reason: the farmers market. It's the perfect place to buy fresh produce directly from the grower at a lower price than those pesky retailers. Not to mention, it's fresher and it's a great way to support local communities.

Kara enjoys it most in the early morning between 8 and 9 when the California heat hasn't bombarded its citizens yet. One of her favorite memories of going to the market was when she first arrived on earth, and Eliza and Alex took her to the one in Midvale. Eliza bought her the sweetest miniature doughnuts which practically melted in her mouth. She's been a huge (understatement of the year) fan ever since.

The farmers market is located 20 blocks from her apartment, just a short jaunt or flight for the hero.

Today she decides to walk and enjoy the nice cool breeze, and the warm sun spilling on her face. She can already hear the acoustics of a folk band covering a Fleetwood Mac song at the end of main street. The leaves are starting to change, indicating the beginning of fall, and the ones already on the ground crunch beneath her feet.

Her reusable cloth bag with the words, "Okey Dokey Artichokey" and a cartoon artichoke with a smiley face and tiny stick arms, is slung over her shoulder. Lena had given it to her as a gag gift, but Kara uses it the most out of all her bags. Any gift from Lena is special and she will always treasure it.

As she rounds the corner to the market, she sneaks another look at her list to remind herself what she needs, when she bumps into someone. Hard. Fortunately, Kara manages to grab the other person's arm before they fall.

"Oh my gosh," Kara cringes. "I'm so sorry, I wasn't watching where I was—" she interrupts herself when she sees, "Lena?"

"Hey there, slick," Lena laughs and nudges the hand latched on her arm to tangle with her fingers.

Kara responds by swinging their arms back and forth, like what friends do when they haven't seen each other in months. But Kara and Lena just saw each other yesterday. This is normal, right? Kara thinks. The fluttering in my chest is completely common whenever I see my friends....Right?

"Wh-what are you doing here?" Kara speaks before her brain can catch up with her.

Lena's face lights up with a sly grin. "Can't a woman go to the market every once in a while?"

"N-no no, of course you can," Kara laughs awkwardly, "I meant, gosh I'm not sure...I guess I just didn't expect to see you here. You live all the way on the other side of town."

"Relax, love," she chuckles and squeezes her hand and releases it, Kara immediately missing the warmth. "I'm teasing you. But to answer your question, I'm in desperate need of fresh kale, and I heard this particular stand has the best in the city."

Kara feigns gagging and Lena playfully shoves her shoulder. “I still don’t understand how you can eat that stuff.”

“Who knew the green stuff that incapacitates you was kale.”

“More like your eyes,” Kara mumbles.

“What was that?”

Kara’s eyes widen. “N-nothing,” she rubs the back of her neck. “Um, so….do you care if I join you? Wandering aimlessly through the market checking out food stands with my best friend sounds like the perfect way to spend my Saturday morning.”

“I’d love nothing more,” Lena replies, smiling brightly.

—

“Oooh, look! A food truck!” Kara points.

Lena laughs at her zeal. “Let’s see what they have.”

Kara reaches for her hand and twines their fingers together before dragging her toward the truck. Lena’s stomach swoops at the action, but she calms herself down enough so Kara doesn’t notice her rapid heartbeat. Not that she would, considering food is the best distraction when it comes to the blonde.

Little does Lena know that nothing can distract Kara from Lena, especially considering 98% of the time Kara is listening to the constant thumps and quivers of Lena’s heart, but Kara doesn’t say anything.

Kara looks up at the man in the truck and politely rattles off her order, then looks at Lena and asks, “What do you want?”

“Um,” Lena quickly glances at the menu and says, “I’ll have the Avo Smash, please.” She moves to hand the man cash, but Kara stops her and insists she'll pay for it. "My treat."

Once they give their order they move to the side and wait until their names are called.

When they get their food they move to a shady spot on the sidewalk and admire how delicious it looks.

“What’s that?” Kara asks.

“Oh, it’s a piece of toast with smashed avocado, egg, and tomato,” Lena replies, noticing how Kara turns up her nose. Lena rolls her eyes and gestures at her hands, “What’d you get?”

"Uh, only the most scrumptious and melt in your mouth-watering food you can get here," she replies, eyebrows pinched, incredulously. Lena raises her eyebrows in a get-on-with-it kind of way. "French toast bites," Kara finishes, exasperated at Lena's lack of enthusiasm.

"Sweet food for a sweet girl."

Kara's cheeks grow a slight pink. Instead of replying, she dips a piece of her toast in the syrup, and shoves the whole thing in her mouth. Lena simply hums and takes a bit of her own food. Kara smiles like a chipmunk with cheeks full of goodies.

When Lena's finished with her slice of hipster toast, as Kara calls it, a small body runs into her legs from behind. She looks down and finds a small boy with sandy blonde hair and big, blue eyes looking up at her with a toothy grin.

"Hi, there," she smiles at him.

"Henry!" a woman in a flowy maxi dress and brown sandals comes running toward them. She picks him up and gives him a stern look. "I told you not to run off like that!" The woman adjusts him on her hip and shyly realizes she has an audience. "I'm so sorry! He gets too excited about their french toast."

"Oh, no worries," Lena reassures her. She carefully grabs Kara's elbow and says, "This one does too."

Kara acts hurt by placing a hand over her heart. "Well, can you blame me? They're delicious! Aren't they?" she smiles at the boy and waves. He giggles and hides his face in his mother's neck. "Someone's a little shy, huh?"

"He is, isn't he?" the mom kisses his cheek. "I think he has a little crush on you."

"Who, me?" Kara laughs. "No, I think he has eyes for Lena. As most people do." She steps forward and tickles his stomach so he looks at her. Kara holds out her hand for a high five and whispers, "Good choice." He gratefully slaps her hand.

When Kara steps back, Lena is blushing, but rather than call her out on it she ignores it out of respect. Kara smiles at her and Lena smiles back, but then she's suddenly laughing through her nose.

"Darling, you have a little," she gestures at her own face.

"What? I have something on my face?" Kara touches her cheek, but completely misses.

"Here," Lena's fingers tenderly touch the side of her jaw while her thumb swipes her lip. Lena's completely focused on what she's doing, but Kara only has eyes for Lena.

Lena pulls back her hand, thumb now sticky with syrup. Instead of wiping it on the napkin Kara knows Lena has in her bag, she sticks it between her lips and licks it clean.

Kara completely stops breathing.

"How long have you two been together?" a voice snaps her out of her reverie.

Kara gapes at her with wide eyes and stutters, "Um...we, we're uh, just friends."

"Oh," the woman almost looks upset. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to presume. Well, I'll let you get back to your morning." She smiles at them and walks away, leaving a flabbergasted Kara and quiet Lena.

They don't say anything and choose to ignore it while they continue down the street.

—

"Lena, you have to try this," Kara doesn't give her a chance to respond before shoving a spoonful of gelato in Lena's mouth.

Lena gasps and nearly chokes on the ice cold dessert enveloping her tastebuds. She hisses and nods, as she lifts her hand to hastily catch the dribbles of melted chocolate trickling down her chin. Kara winces, "I'm so sorry!"

"No," Lena shakes her head as she swallows, "I just wasn't expecting that."

"Well? How was it?"

"Y'know, I'm not gonna lie...it was pretty fucking delicious."

"Right? Marco really knows his stuff."

"Um," Lena holds her hand out, fingers spread apart to prevent more sticking, and shakes it like she doesn't know what to do.

Kara jumps to action and runs off. She's back in two seconds with a wet wipe and cleans Lena's hand. "Where'd you find that?"

"Don't ask."

"Okay?" Lena laughs breathily. "You're a mystery wrapped inside an enigma, Ms. Danvers."

"I aim to confuse," she jokes.

Lena shakes her head, and eventually says, "Thank you."

"Don't mention it," Kara smiles at her, their eyes locked onto each other. She's finished cleaning her hand, but rather than letting go, her hand stays curled around Lena's, not wanting to ruin the moment.

—

“Oh Rao, you didn’t,” Kara gasps.

Lena turns around and frowns at her. “What?” Kara gestures to Lena’s bag. Lena looks down and chuckles when she realizes what she’s talking about. “In my defense, I was drunk. You know how my shopping brain acts when I’m drunk; I buy things I don’t need.”

“Hmmm, well maybe your alcohol-addled brain just remembered how funny I thought it was and wanted to impress me,” Kara teases with a twitch of her eyebrow.

“I’m sure that’s exactly what happened,” Lena deadpans. She glanced at the words on her bag again and fondly shakes her head. It reads: Oh Kale Yeah, with a bunch of kale on both sides.

“I think so,” Kara steps closer and smiles.

“Oh, really?” Lena raises her eyebrows.

“Yep,” she ends with an extra pop of the ‘p’ and boops her on the nose.

Lena opens her mouth in surprise, a protest on the tip of her tongue, but a voice interrupts her from in front of them.

“You two are such a lovely couple,” the vendor gushes.

Lena and Kara startle, forgetting they’re standing right in front of a stand selling various vegetables and fruits and jars of honey. Behind the table is an older woman, most likely in her late 70s, with streaks of gray hair, crinkly eyes and facial lines as if she’s smiled her whole life.

“Oh, we’re not—”

“Thank you,” Kara answers, smiling bashfully. She pushes a lock of hair behind her ear and says, “I’ll take one bunch of radishes and one spaghetti squash.”

“Coming right up,” the woman replies.

Kara glances over at Lena and gives her a shy smile, before handing the woman a $10 bill and thanking her. She grabs the veggies and carefully drops them in her bag.

“Thank you two, have a wonderful day.”

“Of course, you too!” Kara places her hand on the small of Lena’s back and guides her forward.

As they make their way to the next stand, Kara laughs, remembering their conversation, “I can’t believe you bought that bag. You’re such a giant dork.”

Lena whips around and eyes Kara curiously. Kara’s hand shifts from her back to loosely rest on her waist. Lena’s eyes are squinting from the bright sun, but Kara can see the speckles of gold in them and thinks she’s never looked more beautiful.

“Are we on a date right now?”

Kara's heart quickens and she opens and closes her mouth a few times, until finally she clears her throat, "Did you want it to be?"

"I thought—”

"Because I do," Kara states. "Want it to be a date. But only if you do, of course. I don't want you to feel pressured or like I forced you to hang out with me," she retracts her hand. "That's the last thing I—”

Lena grabs her hand as she pulls it way, not wanting Kara to close herself off. "Hey, I want this just as much as you do."

"Really?"

Lena lightly presses her thumb into the grooves of Kara's knuckles, and absentmindedly plays with them. She smiles, fully dimpled, and says, "I do. Actually, I uh..." she lowers their connected hands and looks off into the distance, mind seemingly elsewhere.

"What is it?" Kara asks. She playfully shakes their arms back and forth to get her attention.

Lena looks at the ground before completely focusing on Kara and those baby blues she's come to know and love. She takes a deep breath and her voice shakes when she whispers, "I think I'm in love with you..." Lena stumbles and shakes her head, "No—I am in love with you."

Kara inhales sharply and Lena thinks she's made a giant mistake. She starts to turn and do something stupid, like run away, but Kara keeps her hold on her and pulls her forward.

Smiling, Kara slowly inches closer leaving the opportunity for Lena to stop her. When Kara's lips press into hers she welcomes it completely. Kara's hands come up to cup Lena's jaw until she moves one to tangle in her hair.

Kara disconnects from her lips, but stays wrapped up in her, their foreheads touching. "I'm in love with you, too," she whispers against soft lips.

"Good," Lena smiles and kisses her again.

#this became longer than I imagined #supercorp #supercorp fic #thanks for the request dani #<3

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somerabbitholes · 3 years

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hello! do you have any recommendations for indian historical fiction? ;; also! i recently read miri jiyori(about a tribe) and chinatown days(indo china war of the 1960s), both are translations and i think that you might like them too!

hello! thank you, i will definitely check those out. here are a few i’ve read/are on my list (mind you, i don’t read as much historical fiction as i would like to, but we’re also in luck because what I read tends to be indian/south asian)

a flight of pigeons by ruskin bond: set during the revolt of 1857 in north india; about a family who is at the receiving end of rebel anger and who take hindu and muslim help to save themselves; it is ruskin bond so i don’t even need to spell out why it’s great

midnight’s children by salman rushdie: set in bombay right after independence, revolves around salim and a thousand other people who are all born at the stroke of midnight of august 15 and all of whom are extraordinarily talented; about the transition in the 1940s, early indepdence bombay and india

a fine balance by rohinton mistry: about four people in bombay in 1975 just after the emergency was declared who are brought together given the political and social upheavals; explores caste, privilege, friendship against the backdrop of turbulent politics

the lives of others by neel mukherjee: about a family in kolkata which is representative of changes in west bengal and india with the east pakistan crisis and the naxal movement; this is for you if you love stories spanning generations

fortune’s soldier by alex rutherford: a fictionalised take on robert clive and his arrival in india and subsequent career in the east india company as one of its highly gifted generals; really nice because it is complex in its portrait of clive and his times; explores both the indian social dynamics and, more importantly, the scottish presence in early mercantile operations in india

the black hill by mamang dai: set in 19th century arunachal pradesh, a little before the revolt of 1857; about a bunch of people in upper assam (around the brahmaputra), one of them is a missionary, others are villagers, and hill tribes; about local responses to foreign rule; shows the tensions in tribal villages against the backdrop of british annexations and assimilative policies really well;

the glass palace by amitav ghosh: set in burma in 1885, just around the british annexation of the land; abut a boy who ends up building a teak empire in burma’s forests, and his search for a young woman as a rich man years later across burma, india, and malaya

kanthapura by raja rao: i’m not sure this entirely fits the historical fiction bill, but it’s an important book either way; about how gandhian independence struggle arrived in a south indian village and how people received gandhian principles; it’s kind of heavy with the mythological references and everything, so mind that

aavarana by s. l. bhyrappa (translated by sandeep balakrishna): about a woman in aurangzeb’s india who converts from hinduism to islam but is later disillusioned when she sees religious ethic being used to justify a great deal of oppression; it’s very raw but it’s also brutally honest

if you read hindi, there’s tamas (तमस) by bhisham sahni, which is about partition riots; it explores people on both sides of the communal divide and it’s partly based on sahni’s life and experiences with the partition too. i’m not sure if there’s a translation and if there is one who’s it by so you’ll have to check that

tamrapat by rangnath pathare: it’s marathi, and i’m unsure if there’s a translation, but you can keep track if one comes along; it’s an absolute giant of a book and it kind of intimidates me; paints a picture of politics and society from 1942 to 1979 through stories of a series of people and associations

and now for two that aren’t technically indian but i think you should check out anyway

a case of exploding mangoes by mohammad hanif: based on the plane crash that killed general zia ul-haq; the novel dramatizes it, in that it’s about a pakistani air force pilot who is on a mission to kill the general and so he assembles a motley crew; the book was well-received and it’s supposed to darkly funny

in the time of the others by nadeem zaman: about a man who’s stuck in east pakistan during 1971 as the pakistani army attacks and as the mukti bahini gathers steam; about living in violent times and tensions in south asia during then

i hope you find something you like in these. happy reading :)

#anonymous #books #india #booklr #academia #historical fiction #book recs

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nopefun · 3 years

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Interview #495: Quince Pan

q: Give a short introduction of yourself: a: I am Quince Pan, a documentary photographer born in 2000, currently based in Singapore. I am now waiting to enter university to study Philosophy, Politics and Economics.

q: What is your series "JBM" about? What was the process of making the series? a: “JBM”, my family’s abbreviation of “Jalan Bukit Merah”, is a documentary photo project centred on my maternal grandmother, Lau Giok Niu, her cultural heritage and her HDB flat where I spent my childhood under her care. It is my first exhibited series and also my first serious long-term documentary project.

In 2015, I followed my grandmother to visit her hometown in Fengwei, Quangang District, Quanzhou City, Fujian, China. Bringing my camera along on the trip, I noticed that instead of shooting purely for fun or beauty, I would include certain objects (for example, a calendar on the wall) in my frames because they had historical significance. I submitted those Fengwei photos as my portfolio for the 2016 Noise Art Mentorship (Photography and Moving Images). I got selected, and my mentor, Jean Qingwen Loo, urged me to pursue a project which I could speak authentically about. Through her criticism, I learnt to further prioritise meaning over style. My grandmother and my childhood were topics close to my heart, especially as she cared for me during my childhood and gave me the gift of the 头北 Thâu-pak dialect, a unique variant of Hokkien from the Quangang District. Eventually, “JBM” was born as my mentorship capstone, and was exhibited at the “Between Home and Home” Noise Art Mentorship Showcase at Objectifs in 2017. I haven’t stopped shooting; that’s why it’s an ongoing long-term project!

“JBM” contains a range of visual styles, ranging from photojournalistic fly-on-the-wall documentations of heated family discussions and visits by distant relatives from China to more tender images of sunlight at the void deck where my late grandfather’s wake was held in 2006. Rituals and festivities are anthropologically significant, so I pay particular attention to Chinese New Year, the Qing Ming Festival and the Winter Solstice, which my family celebrates. I also look at how other photographers document their families: Bob Lee, Nicky Loh, Bernice Wong, Brian Teo and Nancy Borowick.

More broadly, “JBM'' extends beyond photography and is a family history project. Since 2013, I have been researching the Quangang district, 头北 Thâu-pak dialect and my grandmother’s clan. I discovered that other descendants from her clan established an ancestral temple in Singapore, which initially stood on Craig Road but is now housed in a flat in Telok Blangah. I already did some fieldwork, interviews and preliminary documentation, which led to an article I published in April 2021 in Daojia: Revista Eletrônica de Taoismo e Cultura Chinesa. Maybe I will explore this in greater depth in future photo projects!

q: How did you get into photography? a: When I was around seven years old, I loved to play with my father’s Fujifilm compact. As a young student, I hadn’t heard of terms such as “light painting”, “Dutch angle” and “rule of thirds”, but those were the techniques I subconsciously used in my photographs.

I entered the Noise Art Mentorship, as previously mentioned. During the school holidays, I worked as a media intern at Logue and as an assistant at Objectifs for the “Passing Time” exhibition and book by Lui Hock Seng. Through these work experiences, I learnt so much from Jean Loo, Yang Huiwen, Ryan Chua, Lim Mingrui and Chris Yap: news angles, editorial writing, scanning and touching up negatives and slides, colour management for print, liaising with clients and issuing invoices, among other skills. As part of the Noise Art Mentorship, I was given a copy of “+50” by the PLATFORM collective, which opened my eyes to diverse approaches within the documentary genre. I started to regularly attend talks at Objectifs and DECK, where I got to know people in the local photography scene, particularly in the documentary tradition.

q: You also do videography. How do you see it in relation to your photography? a: Videography requires a different way of seeing and thinking compared to photography, because video has additional temporal and auditory dimensions. With photography, I don’t have to think about how long I want a scene to be, what foley and B-roll I want to overlay, or have a storyboard in my head before heading out to shoot. In that sense, photography is more reactive to and receptive of situational contingencies because it requires less pre-planning.

Also, photography can be a solitary endeavour, but it is quite difficult to make films alone, and the schoolmates I used to make films with have since embarked on separate paths in life. However, photography and videography share the same basics as visual media: composition and sequencing.

Fundamentally, I see myself as a documentarian, and this applies to any medium I work in, be it photography or videography, or even writing. The end goal is to record and share history by telling stories from lesser-known perspectives. Thus, the topics of my video projects are similar to the topics of my photo projects; sometimes I do both side by side! The films I made were all documentary shorts of places which do not exist anymore, such as the Hup Lee coffee shop at 114 Jalan Besar and the old Sembawang Hot Spring before NParks took over the site from MINDEF and redeveloped it.

Currently, I am working as a videographer for Sing Lit Station’s poetry.sg archive. Thankfully, this job can be done solo!

q: What or who is inspiring you right now? a: Bob Lee, for being an amazing father and spreading hope and joy to others through his images. Alex and Rebecca Webb, for pairing literature with photography. Tom Brenner, for approaching photojournalism like street photography. Sim Chi Yin, for her international achievements and being both an academic and a practitioner. Brian Teo, for being an eminent contemporary. Last but not least, Kevin WY Lee’s advice, “CPR: Craft, Point, Rigour”, which I try to benchmark my work against.

q: Upcoming projects or ideas? a: Nothing concrete on my mind so far. I am just going to see where life takes me and what topics life makes me want to explore or talk about.

q: Any music to recommend? a: First and foremost, my fight song: “倔强 Stubborn” by Mayday. A close second, Queen’s 1986 “Under Pressure” live performance at Wembley is a transformative experience. The catchy “他夏了夏天 He Summered Summer” by Sodagreen brings out the grandeur in the mundane. “Silhouette” by KANA-BOON and “Everybody’s Changing” by Keane remind me of the fragility of life and time. I also like The Fray, Kings of Leon, Last Dinosaurs, Stephanie Sun, Tanya Chua, and the Taiwanese indie band DSPS.

his website.

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#Quince Pan #nope fun #photographer interview #singaporean photographer #photo documentary

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messers-moony · 3 years

Text

Comics 2 | A.G

Paring: Aidan Gallagher X Fem!Reader

Summary: Aidan meets an unusually pretty girl at a library while trying to find a textbook for school

Warnings: Cursing

Years later, Aidan and Y/n were now twenty-five. All these years and Aidan hadn’t seen her since he gifted her the comic book when they were just twenty. All these years later and he still loved her.

He left a bookmark in there on purpose, one with his number, but yet, she never called. It made his mind wander. Why wasn’t she calling? Maybe she wasn’t fond of calling, but even then, she never texted either.

A certain feeling of defeat lingered in his heart. Maybe she didn’t like him like that. Her words were stuck in his mind; they lagged in his head like a broken record every time he was to fall asleep.

“ Y/n L/n. Remember it. “

Why was he to remember it? She was a comic book artist, for Christ's sake, not an upcoming actress. As far as he knew, there would never be a significance to her name. A new Netflix show was in the making, another one based on comic books.

Of course, Aidan got the call. The call was a producer begging him to audition for the leading role. He would be perfect for this role, swore the producer. Aidan was hesitant but did it anyway.

Aidan wasn’t the only one in the audition room, of course, but he was only here because of the pleading the producer did. He auditioned, and that was that. Within a week's notice, they would notify him.

On his way home, he stopped by a library, the very same library he met the girl at. Sighing, he walked to the comic book section and picked up the series of comics. There were five in the series, and he bought all of them.

He walked home with a backpack filled with his belongings and now new comic books. Walking into his apartment, he unzipped his bag and took out the first comic. The male ignored who wrote and illustrated it. It didn’t really matter. Did it?

The brunette read through the first comic and was hooked almost immediately. He read through them relatively quickly, and when he finished, he was agitated. The books were completed on a cliffhanger, only leading him to assume there had to be a sixth book soon.

Three days went by, and Aidan couldn’t help but reread the comic books for a more thorough analysis. The more he read, the more he saw how similar he and the main character was.

Everything down to the hair, the dimples, the smile, and the eyes were the exact same. The mannerisms being almost identical scared him. But he realized why the producer begged him for this role. He wasn’t exaggerating when he said Aidan was the perfect candidate for it.

He finished the series a second time and stared at the cover. That’s when he realized it and then began to scold himself for how dense he could possibly be.

“ Written and Illustrated by Y/n L/n “

We’re the words written across the top of the book. That’s why the main character was so similar to him, because the girl who wrote it knew who he was. She was observant, hella observant.

Within a week's notice, as promised, Aidan got a call saying he got the role and they would fly him to New York to begin filming. He’d be leaving in a month, probably the least amount of notice he’s been given before filming a show.

Nonetheless, the month went by faster than you could blink, and he was on a plane to New York. The set was much bigger than he imagined and made his way to the producers.

“ Aidan, you came! How wonderful! “ The producer from the phone exclaimed happily, “ My names Alex. I’m so ecstatic you came. “

Alex put his hand out to shake, which Aidan accepted politely, “ I assume you’ve read the comics by now? “ A familiar voice queried.

“ I have, actually. “ Aidan replied, turning around to be met with the dyed-haired female, “ I told you, remembering my name would come in handy. “ Y/n winked.

Aidan snickered, “ Why make your main character almost exactly like me? “ Aidan questioned, fully serious, “ Because Gallagher, you’re intriguing. You also seem to attract the best audience. Not to mention you always put on a show. “ Y/n said with prominent confidence.

The way his last name rolled off her tongue almost made him faint. He adored her and wanted her to be his. Now that she was here, he’d do anything in his power to make her his.

“ So you’re using me to make your show popular? “ The male joked, “ No, don’t take it the wrong way. I used you because you’re hardworking, and you put everything into your role. You, my love, are perfect for this role. “ Y/n responded, and Aidan’s cheeks flushed at the pet name.

“ Now, I must be going. However, I will see you on set tomorrow, I presume? “ She questioned with a soft smile, “ Yeah. Definitely. “ Aidan breathed as she left.

A hand was laid upon his shoulder, “ You are completely head over heels for her, huh? “ A male voice spoke in his ear, making him jump, “ Jesus Christ Robert, where did you come from? Why are you here? “ Aidan heaved as his hand was on his heart.

“ I’ve actually earned myself a role as well as Elliot Page. I’ve never seen you so entranced. “ Robert commented, “ She's been stuck in my head for years. “ Aidan murmured.

Robert had a face of curiosity, “ We met like five years ago at a library, and I talked to her for only two hours, but by then, she had me completely wrapped around her finger. “ Aidan explained, and Robert raised an eyebrow, “ She moved the next week, and I hadn’t seen her since. “

“ Well. Better make your move soon. I’ve seen guys eyeing her up all day. “ Robert replied as he walked off.

Months later, Y/n was right. Aidan was absolutely perfect for the role without even trying. Granted, the character was practically him, but he excelled in making the role his own.

Y/n and Aidan had gotten quite close throughout those months. They seemed pretty fond of each other. She was confident, intelligent, and caring. He was thoughtful, kind, and sweet. The pair made a loving match.

However, the girl's heart was guarded, she had been let down so many times, and she didn’t want to ruin the friendship she had acquired with the famous male. Aidan, in his free time, had been working on an EP. The title and main song on it was held close to his heart.

After a couple of dates and a lot of convincing, she gave in. Aidan Gallagher had now achieved the girl of his dreams, Y/n L/n. She was everything he wanted and so much more. He was captivated by her and made sure he showed the world.

Every chance he got, he posted her everywhere. His fans absolutely adored her, possibly even more than he did. Saturday lives his fans spent begging to see the admirable female when she wasn’t present. It honestly made Aidan quite jealous.

Regardless it made Aidan’s heart feel unbelievably full that both he and his fans loved her as much as he desired. Mornings were spent holding each other with subtle morning kisses. Nights were spent eating take-out and playing the original Mario kart after many arguments that it was better than the newer versions.

Filming was almost complete, and Aidan’s stay in New York was coming to a very prominent close. A day neither lover was looking forward to. His home was in Los Angeles, and hers was in New York. There was no changing that.

“ Do you really have to go? “ Questioned the teary-eyed female, “ Unfortunately. “ Aidan sighed.

They both stood in JFK Airport as close as they could before having to depart. Aidan’s hands held her tear-stained cheeks, and she moved stray strands of hair from his forehead.

“ I promise, I will come back for you. “ Aidan pledged to, and she sniffled, nodding, “ I’ll move in with you if you want. “

Y/n looked up slightly guilty, “ I don’t want to be the reason you leave your hometown. You grew up there. Your entire family is there. I would feel awful taking you away from them. “ She admitted, “ I would be living here willingly. Plus, there’s more opportunities acting-wise here, believe it or not. Hollywood isn’t all it’s made out to be. The United Nations is also home to New York. It’d be closer to everything. “ Aidan explained.

“ If- If that’s what you want, then I wouldn’t hesitate. “ Y/n smiled softly.

Aidan pressed a gentle kiss to her lips, “ Then this isn’t really goodbye, is it? “ Aidan’s whisper left a hot breath lingering on her lips, “ No, it isn’t. “ Y/n replied.

“ Stop your crying then. I hate seeing you cry. I will come back. “ He muttered softly, wiping her tears and kissing her forehead, “ I love you. “

“ I love you too. Be safe, please. Text me when you get on and when you land, okay? “ She requested, “ Always. “ Aidan simpered.

Gently he let her go and walked away with a tiny wave. Now there were only two things left to do. Pack up all of his stuff and play one last show in Los Angeles before leaving his home.

The male pack quickly when he arrived home, way too excited to live with his new partner. His show was scheduled for that night. Tonight he’d be playing his brand new song, the main song on his latest EP, the one he held close to his heart.

Nerves ran through his body like no tomorrow as he stepped up on stage. Screams were heard throughout the entire venue, making him smile brightly.

“ Hello everyone. “ Aidan greeted, getting screams in response, “ As you all may know, I will not be living in LA for much longer. New York seems more like home now than it’s ever seemed, so after this show, I’ll be getting on a plane to my new home. “

“ While I’ll play your favorite’s such as songs like Blue Neon and Fourth of July, there’s a new song at the end I’d love for your feedback on. I hold this song very close to my heart, and I hope you all will as well. So let’s get this started. “ Aidan informed with a gleeful smile present on his lips.

Aidan began strumming the guitar and singing the all too familiar lyrics. Applause was given in between each song, only encouraging his love for music as he continued to sing— his fans sung along with him giving Aidan a sense of love and commitment.

Finally, the last song was due to play, “ I call this last one, Comics. “

#aidan gallagher x reader #aidan gallagher #aidan gallagher imagine #Aidan Gallagher x y/n #Aidan Gallagher x you #five hargreeves #number five #number five x reader

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pastelwitchling · 3 years

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Alex stared at the box in front of him. He felt like hours had passed, and he’d yet to move. He rubbed his face, leaning forward on his knees, and sighed deeply into his palms. The box was made of old wood, splintered and carved from knocking around with other trinkets in a duffel bag for too long.

Alex rested his chin on his hands, closing his eyes for a moment before reality took over. I have to do this. He stood, opened the box, and checked the contents. It looked almost like his own; medals that were better left stored away than a blaring reminder, dog tags that would never be worn again, a keychain with Iron Man figurine, given as a gift from Alex himself during a few hours’ trip to Paris.

And then there was the family photo. A husband, wife, and son with identical blonde hair, blue eyes, and wide smiles at the camera. The son was as tall as his father, and though he was skinnier than the man Alex knew, he was no less cheery.

Alex sighed and closed the box, standing there a full minute longer. Then he tossed on his backpack, and headed to the bunker door. He had not expected to find Michael outside, leaning against the passenger door of his truck.

He stopped, his brows furrowed. “Hey,” he said. “What’re you doing here? The Project Shepherd files were burned, remember?”

“Cute,” Michael tilted his head, and nudged his chin at the box in Alex’s hands. “Need a ride?”

Alex’s shoulders slumped. “Thanks, Guerin, but this is kind of a long trip.”

“Even longer if you take the bus,” he said.

Alex sighed, exasperated. “Kyle?”

“He’s a real chatterbox when you get him going.”

“What’d you do to him, Guerin? Do I have to call Max again?”

“Would you relax?” he scoffed. “Dr. Cheekbones is fine. A little annoyed with me,” he shrugged, “but fine. And when I told him I would drive you to Austin myself so you wouldn’t have to sit on a hundred different buses with your bad leg, he was a little more cooperative.”

Alex looked away, and walked past him. “I’m not going on a field trip, Guerin, this is actually important.”

“You’re going to give your old war buddy’s family the rest of his stuff,” Michael called, and turned around. “Which I’m guessing are in that box.”

“What didn’t Kyle tell you?”

Michael’s smirk dimmed. “Why you didn’t just ask me to take you in the first place.”

Alex softened. “Because we’re not dating, and it’s too long a trip.”

Michael faltered for only a second before it was gone again. “It’s not that long.”

“It’s almost nine hours.”

“That’s less than ten!”

Alex almost smiled. “Guerin, this is really, really personal to me. Do you understand? Henry asked me for one thing before I left for good, I can’t afford a detour –”

“Private, Private,” Michael came closer, but stayed at arm’s length. “I’m not doing this because I want you to climb into my lap on the side of the road. I know it’s important. Let me do this for you.”

That was how, almost seven hours later, Alex found himself in the passenger seat of Michael’s truck, his head rested on the glass as memory after memory of his blonde-haired, blue-eyed friend replayed in his mind. He had his eyes closed, so maybe Michael thought he was asleep. Maybe that was why he felt Michael’s fingers gently graze his cheek, down to his jaw. When he opened his eyes, Michael took his time pulling away.

“Not far now,” he said, “from the address you gave me.”

Alex sat up, stretching in his seat, the box secure on his lap.

“You want to tell me about him?”

Maybe Michael expected him to politely refuse, but the truth was that he’d had so many words lodged in his throat about Henry Isaac since he’d gotten the news of his death two days ago that had been building and building, and he was about ready to erupt.

“He was part of my unit,” Alex said. “I was his captain, but before that . . . he was my friend.” A miserable chuckle escaped his lips. “I guess it’s something about me that just screams gay, but a lot of people were careful about coming up to me when I first started. I was a Manes that wasn’t like the others, and I was made to feel like a disappointment every day for it.”

Michael let his hand hover close to Alex’s before he dropped it. Alex pretended not to notice.

“Henry was different,” he said. “He wouldn’t leave my side, and at first I thought he was messing with me, but then I found out he beat up Eric Magson in the bathroom – that’s – uh –” he laughed “—about the poster child for homophobes – because he called me a name. He protected me when everyone was ashamed to be seen with me. He got in a lot of trouble for it, and I screamed at him when he came back. But he just laughed and said he knew I would’ve done the same for him.”

“I think I like this guy.”

Alex smiled. “He confessed he had a crush on me.”

“Never mind.”

He laughed. “He was just like you. He joked around and you never knew if he was actually upset or not. After a while, I was better at being able to tell. Or maybe he just let me.”

“Not hard to believe,” Michael said, not looking at Alex, “that someone could fall in love with you so easily.”

Alex couldn’t look at him either.

“Did his family know about you two?”

“There was nothing to know,” Alex said, and at Michael’s look, he said again, firmly, “There was nothing to know. Not that they would’ve loved it anyway. Henry always said things became distant between them since he came out. They all tried to pretend everything was the same as always, but . . .” Alex pressed the bottoms of his palms into his eyes and sighed. “I don’t know, I guess I just understood.”

Michael frowned. “You’re not expecting happy introductions, are you?”

Alex’s grip tightened on the box. “I have to try,” he whispered. “I owe him that much.”

“And if they don’t want it?”

Alex swallowed thickly, and patted his backpack strap.

“What?” Michael scoffed, incredulous. “You’re not . . . staying in Austin, are you?”

“I’ve only brought enough supplies for a few days,” Alex said. “Don’t worry, Guerin, I’m not planning on sticking around where I’m not wanted.”

Michael looked like he wanted to say something to that, but refrained. Soon, they pulled up in front of a white, two-story house with a long winding gravel path that led up to the front double doors.

Michael whistled low under his breath. “Sure hope that Henry guy paid for all of your dates.”

“There were no dates,” Alex reminded him, though he was unable to smile. He hugged the box tightly. “Okay. Okay.”

Michael put a hand on his shoulder. “Hey,” he said. “Hey, look at me.”

Alex did, and Michael cupped his jaw. He might’ve leaned into the touch if not for the sharp edges of the box digging into his palms.

“I could come with you,” he offered.

Alex actually did smile that time. “Thanks, Guerin, but I have to do this alone.”

Michael clenched his jaw like he didn’t like the idea of Alex being alone anywhere, but he nodded. He let his hand fall. “Then I’ll be right here.”

Alex opened the car door. “I know.”

Alex’s smile fell away as soon as he closed the door behind him. He exhaled shakily, and maybe it was because he knew Michael was watching him, but he pushed himself up the gravel road to the doors.

When he was on the front porch, he clenched and unclenched his fist at his side. Then he looked down at the box and knocked.

The blonde woman from the picture came to the door, then her husband with salt and pepper hair followed.

They looked at Alex dubiously. “Can we help you?” she asked.

Alex introduced himself, he told them he was from Roswell, New Mexico. He offered them the box and watched as their expressions turned to shock, then recognition, then their eyes filled with tears.

“We never got the chance to fix things,” the husband said with a trembling voice.

Henry’s mother pulled Alex in for a hug as his father clutched the box like it was treasure. They thanked Alex and asked if he wanted to come inside, if there was anything they could do to repay him for coming all this way. He was already shaking his head. The woman’s hand clung to Alex’s as he stepped back and off the porch. The three raised their hands in farewell, and Alex turned back to Michael’s truck with his heart still rattling.

“Uh,” Alex said once he closed the door behind him. “Guess I’m not staying in Austin at all.”

Michael was staring at him. “You okay?”

Alex nodded, opened his mouth to say, Of course I am! I’m great!, but the lie wouldn’t leave his lips. “Can we please just go?”

Michael started the truck and started to drive. Alex stared ahead for a good two hours before the tears started to silently fall. Then his cries stopped being quiet, and he couldn’t keep his face dry long enough to take a single deep breath. It felt like being stabbed in his chest, the words, I’m so sorry, Henry bleeding into every corner of his mind. Henry had always tried to protect Alex, but when it had mattered, Alex hadn’t been there to protect him.

You would’ve done the same for me.

Michael’s hand made it inches away from Alex’s, but Alex didn’t want him pulling away again. He took Michael’s hand and held it tightly. He felt Michael squeeze back.

“I don’t even have his box anymore,” Alex cried, unable to help the words. He covered his eyes with one hand. “I’m sorry.”

Michael brought Alex’s hand up to his lips to kiss. “Cry all you want, Alex. We’ve got a long way home.”

#alex manes #michael guerin #malex #malex fic #malex fanfic #malex fanfiction #roswell new mexico #roswell nm #malex angst #malex fluff #tyler blackburn #michael vlamis

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hen-of-letters · 3 years

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@spnprideweek day one: flags

This little ficlet for #spnprideweek is brought to you by my big, non-binary bisexual love for this beautiful fandom, and my desire to fix that moment in 'Baby' when Cas indulges Dean by saying "werepire", but Dean doesn't hear him and Cas doesn't know. It ended up getting a bit long, so there's more under the cut or over on AO3. Thanks!

Dean's at Pride, and feeling a rising level of discomfort.

It's not the fact that he's wearing eyeliner in public for the first time in his forty-two years. Hell, he'd been wanting to do that ever since he was a kid, dreaming of being a rock star. The covers of music magazines in gas station racks had been windows on a world free from the brutally narrow definition of what his Dad meant when he told him to "be a man". Gradually, though, he'd learned what is gloriously apparent today under the hot June sun: that there are as many ways of being a man as there are men.

It's not because the sleeveless white t-shirt he's wearing is somewhat snug. (The heat had made him shed his pink, purple and blue plaid shirt - the one he'd worn today because Claire always called it his 'bi flannel' - and tie it around his waist.) He and Cas are both wearing a little of their contentment on their waistlines these days, and he believes Cas when he says that he adores his body because he means it when he says the same to Cas.

It's not the big, heart-shaped sticker slapped on his chest, which is striped in the colours of the bisexual pride flag in a way that's much less subtle than the flannel. Dean's always known that he wasn't only into chicks, but putting a name to it is new. Dean's had jobs and Dean's had roles, but having an identity had always seemed like a luxury well beyond Dean's means. Now he's not constantly running for his life, though, he has the breathing room to figure himself out. And he's good with this part of himself. More than good.

It's not the two flags that are padding the pockets of his jeans. One, he'd bought for Cas: it's striped in pale pink, pale blue and white. Earlier, he'd gone with Cas when he'd met up with some friends he'd met online (having managed to get past all the cats this time). The ex-angel had found that discussing their experiences of being trans had helped him feel happy in the body that had become his own. Dean could only feel immense gratitude for the way Cas' face had lit up afterwards when he'd talked about how he was creating himself, becoming himself, and embracing the human condition of change.

Dean hopes that the gift of the trans pride flag will show Cas that Dean understands and loves him, and the same is true for the other flag, which he'd picked up for Jack. It's yellow, white, purple and black. Dean had had to do a little research when Jack had used the term non-binary - it's amazing how the world can move on while you're living in an underground bunker. He'd kept on researching, too, after he'd learned the basics. Maybe he was still figuring himself out. Maybe there was more to discover about himself, and wasn't that fantastic?

Jack is wandering around somewhere with Claire and Kaia. Jody and Donna are here, too, with Alex and Patience. Adam and Michael have probably partied their way through fifty international pride parades by now, but they should be meeting up with everyone else later. Sam and Eileen are not far away. Eileen was the one who's slapped the bi pride sticker on Dean's chest - with unnecessary force, if you asked Dean. She'd grinned at him, showed off the identical sticker on her own chest, and said, with a suitably cheesy wink, "we need to stick together". He remembered the moment he'd nervously asked her the sign for 'bisexual', and when she'd shown him - the letter signs for 'b' and 'i' - she'd added, "me too," and Dean had scooped her up into a crushing hug.His love for his family is endless, and them all being here is definitely not why he's uncomfortable.

And it's not the body glitter freckling his cheeks and his shoulders with gold, although his feelings might change by the time he tries to remove it tonight. He'd been gilded with it when he'd been dancing up a storm with a group of drag queens. They'd admired his eyeliner - a deep brown shot through with gold along his upper lashes - but winked and said it was "a little subtle for Pride". As soon as Dean had seen the tube of glitter, he'd yelled "hell yes!" and even managed to hold still long enough to be coated in the stuff before moving his body to the beat again. Although he's sure his feet will be aching later, so far his favourite cowboy boots are not the source of his discomfort.

It's not the bright pink feather boa, either, which he'd acquired from the same source as the glitter, when he'd been sent off with a kiss to the cheek and the words "be bold, honey!" He'd expected the boa to tickle or irritate, but for some bizarre reason the sensation of feathers around his shoulders and the back of his neck feels incredibly comforting and reassuring. He feels warm and safe and oh. Oh.

As that particular realisation sweeps over him, Dean tightens his hold on Cas. He's standing behind him with his right hand on Cas' hip, and his left arm is up over his shoulder and wrapped around his chest. His hand is splayed out, at once putting his silver wedding band on display and somehow attempting to conceal Cas from the eyes of his many admirers (and, well, good luck with that. Cas is incredibly beefy these days).

Which brings us to the source of Dean's discomfort; to the thing that's deepening the furrow in his brow and the dimples beside his pursed lips: namely, the sheer number of guys hitting on Cas.

It's not like Dean can blame them. Cas' muscular frame is wrapped in black jeans and a tight black t-shirt bearing the Led Zeppelin 1975 tour logo. The short sleeves show off the floral tattoos trailing down his left arm. Cas is wearing a rainbow-coloured enamel belt buckle and, because he's determined to be the death of Dean, black cowboy boots. Before they'd left, Dean hadn't been able to resist grabbing a black kohl pencil and smudging a little along Cas' upper and lower lashes. And, okay, maybe Cas' wide-eyed bewilderment every time he's flirted with is vaguely amusing. But when Dean is right here? Not cool.

Right on cue, here's another one. From over his husband's shoulder, Dean levels his very best glare at the guy. It's a look that can stop a demon dead in its tracks. A vampire would tremble. A werewolf would wet itself. But one young gay guy with a few drinks in him? Totally unaffected. Like the others, he's all smiles and understanding when Cas politely, if awkwardly, waves him away. (Literally. With a final dorky little wave goodbye.)

Dean realises that he's moved his right arm around Cas' waist, so now Dean is wrapped around Cas like some kind of koala/octopus hybrid. An octoala? A koctopus? Definitely koctopus. Heh.

Dean snorts at the thought, which is somewhat unfortunate, given that his face is right next to Cas' ear. Cas flinches and turns his head around to fix him in a squinty glare.

"Koctopus?" Dean says, apologetically.

Cas narrows his eyes further and tilts his head to the side.

"Um, the way I was wrapped around you. I was like a cross between a koala and an octopus."

Dean nudges Cas. "So what does that make me? C'mon, you know you wanna say it."

Cas just tilts his head a bit further to the side, either in confusion or outright despair. Dean has untangled himself from Cas and stepped back, and looks down at the ground, suddenly self-conscious.

Dean feels Cas' hand on his shoulder, and then it smooths over his back, finding the back of his neck underneath the boa. Whatever his shape, Cas' touch has the exact same effect on Dean. He looks up into the impossibly blue eyes of his husband.

"You're a very glittery," Cas begins, softly, "and very beautiful," one corner of his mouth lifts, and then he purses his lips together, trying to hold back the smile, "koctopus."

The corners of his eyes are crinkled. He's not amused by the joke, Dean knows, just absurdly pleased to be saying something he knows will make Dean happy. Of course Dean knows that Cas loves him, knows the whole cosmic-realm-crossing magnitude of it, but in little moments like this, he's floored by it. Dean can't help his sudden exhale or the massive grin that breaks across his face. He wraps his husband up in hug that they hold for a good long moment, before Dean leans back to kiss Cas.

No one had ever explained to Dean how difficult it is to kiss someone when you can't stop smiling. He'd never had that problem before Cas, but now it's practically a daily occurrence. It's a menace because kissing Cas is one of Dean's favourite pastimes. Now, they trade little pecks between wide, toothy grins, until passion takes over and the kisses become heavier.

It takes someone wolf-whistling for them to part, and then they're back to grinning and staring into each others' eyes, until Dean spots something on Cas' face. And something else. And something else. In fact, there's something all over Cas, and that something is gold glitter. It's on his face, his hands, his Zeppelin shirt, and even in his hair. Dean runs his fingers through the unruly curls - Cas has been wearing his hair longer lately - in an attempt to shake it out, but only deposits more glitter into Cas' locks.

"Oops," Dean says, "I kinda glitter bombed you there. It's all over your shirt, too. Sorry, Sunshine."

He doesn't sound terribly sorry.

"This is your shirt, Dean."

"Aw, man."

He does sound a little sorry now, but his future laundry woes are forgotten when Cas presses another kiss to his pouting lips. They're forgotten again when something across the crowd catches Dean's eye.

"Oooh," Dean exclaims as he drags Cas towards the stall he's spotted.

It's selling cowboy hats in every configuration of colour imaginable, and Dean is practically jumping on the spot excitement. Cas looks his husband up and down, slowly.

"You think your outfit's lacking accessories?" he deadpans.

"Yup," is Dean's gleeful reply, "and so's yours."

Cas' groan is lost to the noise of the crowd and the beat of the music, so no-one will ever know if it was one of protest or defeat. He does, in fact, end up wearing a black cowboy hat with a rainbow band, so if it was protest then it was highly ineffective. Dean's has a pink crown, purple band and blue brim, and he's carrying another black one with a band in the non-binary flag colours for Jack. Cas admits that Jack's going to love it.

"Damn, this is awesome," Dean says as they head back to meet up with the rest of their family.

Walking hand in hand with Cas, Dean's thoughts wander. Dean could kick his younger self for every time he'd called someone gay or a girl as a way of saying they were weak. Because all he can see in the people around him is strength. He grins again, giddy with the atmosphere of defiant joy. All around him is everything he'd spent his life fighting to protect: freedom, family, and love. Holding his husband's hand a little tighter, he's grateful that in the end he gets to have both: freedom and peace.

#sorry to be late posting this - I was poorly but then I'm also naturally blessed with the writing speed of a sloth #thank you so much for hosting this event #spnprideweek #spn #supernatural #destiel #dean winchester #castiel #dean is bi #trans castiel #non-binary Jack Kline #my fic #happy pride 🌈

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snowgoldwaylon · 3 years

Text

No More Second Chances Part Two - Adler X Reader X Mason

Adler has been madly in love with you since he first saw you. Now, he's sitting at your wedding to Alex Mason. Maybe, he just might ask you for one more dance.

TW: Angst, anger, strong language.

Russell watched you both with a hint of jealousy while he slammed his 7th drink of Whiskey. Whiskey made his heart hurt less from this whole ordeal. He sat back at the mini bar, alone watching as all his friends danced and did karaoke on the floor.

He looked like the father who got dragged to a concert their teenager wanted to see. He really just wanted to be home so he could drink in peace, where nobody could see his pain and bitterness.

He watched you close. You were currently dancing your heart out with Helen Park. You both became friends very quickly, she basically was your go to for everything. You both shimmied and did some playful dancing to the song that was currently playing.

Russell smiled when he saw you laugh so hard when Park started doing the credit card dance. Lawrence soon joined the circle, doing the sprinkler. Soon, everyone but Russell was in the circle doing some silly little dance. The smile on your face was easily a mile long.

Russell wished in that moment that he had a camera. Would that be creepy? He felt his heart sinking further and further when the song ended. Soon, another slow song came on. Alex was going to dance with his sister, as she requested.

Russell noticed you looking for somebody to dance with, and he sprung up. He walked over to you with speed, and tapped your shoulder. You turned and saw Russell with a big smile on his face.

"Hey, can I have a dance with you please? Just so I can say I danced with the Bride before I dance with the Groom." He joked.

You laughed, lightly punching his shoulder. You put your arms around his waist as to be friendly and nothing more. His hands came to rest on your back in a very polite way. He didn't dare make you uncomfortable, or try to start any drama.

You both went in a small circle, enjoying the song. Flashes from the camera illuminated both of you, capturing this sweet friend moment forever, to be cherished.

"Thank you again for coming, Russell. It means a lot. I know you had a long drive down here." You said.

He shrugged, and just smiled.

"It's no problem. I couldn't miss your big day." He said.

Russell had a delimma in that moment. He really wanted to tell you what he was feeling, but he didn't want it to sour your gorgeous evening. Today was about you and Alex, his feelings aside.

"Y/N, can I admit something to you? And it not ruin your evening?" Russell asked.

You took a deep breath. You knew exactly what he was about to say. You nodded.

"Y/N, remember a few years ago when you found that gag gift in your office? Yeah, that was me. Not Lazar." Russell laughed.

You felt a ray of relief, and laughed. You slapped him, but smiled.

"I knew it! You fucker. Helen even told me about that but I never believed her!!" You shouted jokingly.

Soon, the song ended, and you pulled Russell in for a hug. He felt shocked. But, he hugged you back tightly. When you broke apart, he flashed you a smile and wink, and went back to the bar where Lawrence was currently at and struck up a conversation.

Alex had by then pulled you in for another slow, and romantic dance. Alex was honestly feeling a little jealous after watching the way Russell had just danced with you. So, he made sure to cling tight.

Time unfortunately flew by all too fast. Soon, the clock struck midnight, and guests began to pile out of the venue quickly. With many thank you's, congratulations, good lucks, and safe travels, only the Safehouse Crew was left.

You all began to clean and pack up. You took Lazar's urn full of his ashes, and a canvas with a picture of him and carefully placed it in your car so you could return it to his family. You came back for more, but you quickly discovered that everything had been taken down.

"Is there anything else? Where is everything?" You asked.

Helen smiled, and pushed a suitcase your way.

"It's been handled. I do believe that you and Alex have a plane to catch in a few hours. You two should get on the road before long, we'll take care of the rest." She said with a smirk.

You gave her a big hug, and thanked her. She made a few jokes towards you about the honeymoon. You laughed, and made your rounds with everyone.

Russell saw you walk towards him. He held his arms out for a hug.

"You leaving so soon?" He joked, hugging you.

"Yeah, we have a plane taking off in three hours. We'll be in Seoul for about 2 weeks, so we'll try and keep in contact between then." You said, pulling back.

"Well, you two becareful then, you hear me? We expect to see you at work ready to go." Russell joked.

You told all your friends you loved them, and gave goodbye hugs for now. Frank opened the limo door for you and Alex, and you both piled in. He shut the door, and the team watched as the white limo pulled away, honking away.

Cheers, clapping, and waving ensued from the party as they watch the limo disappear on the freeway. Soon, with the help of everybody, everything was cleaned.

After the last goodbyes, everyone took off in their cars. But, Russell needed a moment before he even started his car.

Tears streamed down his face once the realization finally kicked in. This was it, now he could never have you. He could never hold you, love you, or kiss you.

He started his car, reversed from his spot, and got onto the freeway, taking his exit home. He took one last look at the beautiful venue behind him, and then his car radio.

The date read 5/15/87. Today was the day to him where love died. Not for you, but for him.

Russell Adler had officially given up on love.

Taglist: @smokeywhalee @wennbergbabe @kazazure @kapanovangswife @americas-monster @direwolfspostsrandomshit @justagenderfluidstuff

#black ops cold war #cold war #russell adler

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thiswasinevitableid · 3 years

Text

Fall Fun (Indruck)

Prompt for the 20th: This… this wasn’t here before... was it?’

This prompt is NSFW

“This...this wasn’t here before...was it?”

Duck follows the line of Alex’s arm down the path in the corn maze; where the route splits, a large, canine shape rears up in the moonlight.

“Y’all sure we wanna do this?” Aubrey whispers behind him.

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t intrigued.” Joe replies.

He looks to Robert, the one who suggested they all come here, “Are we supposed to say ‘hi’ to them? What’re they expectin us to do?”

“Run.”

They run.

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

It’s Duck’s own damn fault for ending up in a cornfield at two in the morning with a monster at his heels. Or maybe it’s Kepler’s fault for being so damn boring that when one of his co-students at Kepler Community College mentioned he knew of a place where someone could have the most exciting Sunday imaginable, Duck was on board with the plan before he even finished describing it.

Amnesty Acres popped up on the edge of Kepler last year, but Duck was busy with work and school, and Jane was a junior and not really interested in pumpkin picking or hayrides anymore. According to Robert, it’s like a usual pumpkin patch on steroids, the gardens lusher than any, the food amazing, and the haunted house genuinely scary. Best of all, it offers a chance to not only see, but possibly bone down with (Robert’s words, not his) real life monsters.

Duck said he’d believe that last part when he saw it.

Amnesty is gorgeous when they arrive, it’s fields and buildings nestled in a stand of orange and red foliage. Duck wanders with Aubrey and Joe, but Aubrey peels off early to talk with a cute blonde working the pumpkin patch. He and Joe head for the Cryptonomica, supposed home of monsters.

After a fur bearing trout, a convincing looking live Jackalope, and a Hoopsnake he’s pretty sure is just a Gopher Snake sleeping in a circle, they come to the only impressive exhibit; a very convincing goat man, who waves at them and goes back to reading Total Film.

They dawdle in the gift shop, a space tailor-made to make Joe spend money with all its cryptid themed merchandise. Duck pauses at the display of shed Jackalope horns and werewolf fur charms, lifting a giant feather between his fingers. It’s iridescent black, like a raven, but he peers closer, intrigued by the strange geometric shapes that seem to appear and disappear. They remind him of white ink tattoos.

He parts with two bucks and tucks the feather into his back pocket.

They meet up with Robert and two others in the snack barn. When Joe goes for a coffee refill, the guy working the counter slides him a free cookie with a wink and asks how he’s liking the farm. Given the cook has stars in his eyes listening to Joe enumerate the methodology issues in the evidence presented in the museum, Duck decides to leave him be.

The petting zoo and livestock area is full of gentle moos and bleats and the smell of damp hay. As Duck coos at a pair of barn cat kittens, he feels eyes on his back. Turning, he sees the employee at the face painting stand suddenly become very interested in organizing his brushes. He’s on the willowy side, red glasses perched on his nose and black roots showing in his silver hair. Tattoos peek out from under the collar of his sweater and there’s a ring in his eyebrow. He looks like he should be smoking on the steps of some art school, or maybe piloting some punk-rock UFO, and Duck wishes he had an excuse to get his face painted.

He watches fancy pigeons strut in their roost, then leisurely moves across the horseshoe of pens so he passes the painter.

“Kinda slow today huh?”

A name tag informs him that it’s Indrid who smiles politely at him and replies, “Yes. We don’t get truly busy until after Halloween, when everyone is looking for ways to further get into the fall spirit. Around Halloween is more people our age looking for thrills.” The grin widens, “Found any yet?”

“That goose gave me a scare.” He points to the grey and white menace that’s still eyeing him from its coop, “And the ‘goatman’ y’all have ain’t a bad fake.”

“You don’t believe any of our monsters are real?”

“I just know it’s easy to make folks see what they want to see.”

Indrid glances down to where the feather is sticking up from Duck’s back pocket, “And what do you see in that?”

Duck pulls it free, twirling it between his fingers, “Tryin to work out what the white patterns in it are. How they got there. It ain’t paint, but I ain’t ever heard of a single bird with this kind of marking. And they sure as hell didn’t carve them on. Plus I just think it’s real beautiful. Soft too, see?” He brushes Indrid’s nose with it, the warmth in the other man’s grin making him bold.

Indrid’s face scrunches adorably, “Careful, I’m armed with many brushes that could tickle more than that. I don’t suppose you’d like to be painted? You’d make a charming tiger. Or perhaps a bear.”

“Nah, face like this don’t need no embellishin’.”

“I must say I agree.” Indrid purrs, resting his chin in his palms as the two of them continue conversing under a greying sky. Duck steps away whenever a customer appears, yet regardless of where he wanders he always ends up back beside Indrid. His new friend even scores him a discount on dinner.

“I, ah, don’t suppose you have any plans tonight?”

Duck finishes his cider, “Might be comin’ back here with some friends. Ain’t made up my mind just yet.”

“Then perhaps you’d like to get coffee on Monday? I have the day off.” Indrid bites his chapped lip.

“I’d love to.”

When closing time rolls around, he says goodnight and slips Indrid his phone number. He almost skips out on coming back, more than satisfied with his day of fall flirting. But he’s curious as to whether the monsters Robert insists will be out looking for willing mates will be as phony as the ones in the Cryptonomica. So when one forty-five arrives, he hops the back fence near the corn maze with everyone else.

Which is why he’s now sprinting through the dark with not a friend to be seen. He’s not picking up any screams, but he can’t shake the feeling this might be a set-up; that werewolf was real, and it seems to him a pack of monsters would be more interested in dinner than dating.

The back of one of the farm houses looms up and he changes course towards it. His binder is killing him, so he rests a hand on red wood to catch his breath.

There’s not even a whisper of the monster descending; one moment he’s alone, the next the moon is gone and four arms encircle him. When his feet leave the ground he yelps and hides his face against the creature.

It’s a short trip up, then his feet find creaking boards and hinges swing to his right. When his eyes and mind adjust to what’s happening, they tell him he’s in a bedroom with a slanted ceiling, a mess of cushions on the floor, and orange fairy lights strung around the windows. That all seems very reasonable.

It’s the fucking Mothman in front of him that doesn’t make any sense.

“Hello again.” Both sets of claws click together as the cryptid smiles.

“Uh. I. I don’t think we’ve ever met.”

“Oh we have.” The mothman nods earnesty, grabs two items from a small desk and holds them out, “we spent much of today together.”

A pair of red glasses and a napkin with Duck’s phone number on it sit in his palm.

“Indrid? I, how, what the fuck?”

“Exceedingly long story short; I am one of many cryptids at Amnesty who wears a disguise. The farm allows us a place to live and work where we are seen--or not seen--on our own terms.”

“I’ll be damned. No wonder you looked so excited when I mentioned I might be comin’ back tonight.”

“I must admit I was surprised, a rare thing for someone with foresight, as you do not strike me as one who believes in monsters, let alone wants to fuck them.”

“I mean, I ain’t opposed. Just wasn’t expectin to be swept off my feet.”

Indrid snickers, “That was accidental. Had you not stopped near my room, I fully intended to have you on the ground.” His grin widens, two rows of sharp teeth glinting in the orange glow. Then he takes several steps backwards, “that is, if you are still interested. I’ve picked up humans twice before on nights like this and both very politely declined to go further.”

“Can I have a minute? This is kinda a lot to take in.”

“Of course. Oh! Well you think, I have something to show you.” The lights go out, the glow of Indrid’s red eyes becoming obvious when they do, “you were wondering about the marks on that feather.”

“Holy fuck” Duck gasps as blue light flickers in geometric patterns along Indrid’s outspread wings.

“Impressive, no?”

“Holy. fuck.” He repeats, too awestruck to search for new words.

A pleased chirr buzzes around the room, “My kind primarily use it for courtship displays, though it can communicate other messages while in a dark sky. I’ve been wanting to show it to you since this afternoon.”

“Can I get a closer look?”

Indrid nods and chirps excitedly when Duck steps within arms reach. The shapes are most pronounced closest to his torso, growing fainter as they reach his wingtips. Duck traces his finger across a diamond of light and Indrid’s breath catches.

“That okay?”

“Better than. OH! Ohhhhhgoodness.” His lower hands settle on Duck’s hips as the human cards his fingers down the wings and into the fluff of Indrid’s chest.

“You show off these pretty feathers to everyone who comes through?” Duck teases, looking up in time to watch red eyes snap down to regard him.

“No. It is rare to find a human who wishes to touch me in this form, let alone one I wish to show off for.”

Duck raises on his tiptoes, kisses his cheek, “Show off for me some more?”

Indrid cups his face, tips his head down and kisses him; it’s the strangest kiss of his life, Indrid’s lips not made for the movement but determined in their delivery. There’s no mandible to contend with, but when Indrid pulls back a long tongue flicks out, booping Duck’s nose.

“Now” Indrid purrs, “into bed with you.”

Duck laughs as Indrid pushes him backwards into the mound of pillows and pounces atop him, yanking off his jacket and unbuttoning his jeans at the same time.

“Be a good little human and undress the rest of the way. I need to shut the window to keep out the chill. And keep in your cries; I do not wish anyone to hear them but me.”

The casual possessiveness rids Duck of any worries about getting turned on. He gets out of his pants, kicks his boxers after them, chucks his shirt over his head, and freezes. He’d rather not leave the binder on for this but…

“Would you like something a bit, ah, looser to cover your chest?”

“If you got somethin’, yeah.”

A shff of a drawer and then a loose, black sweater dangles before him, “Let me know when you’re ready.”

He does his usual awkward shimmy out of the binder, pulls the sweater on and finds it’s remarkably soft. When he looks over to tell Indrid he’s all set, he sees the cryptid has not only turned his back, but has all four hands covering his eyes.

“Ready.”

“Mmmm, it seems you are.” Indrid kneels, crawls forward to cover Duck’s body with his own, purring and nuzzling him as he goes. When his face reaches Duck’s shoulder, the purr deepens as Indrid inhales, “nnnf, I did not consider that lending this means my scent is already all over you. Makes me feel like you’re mine.”

“I could be” Duck loops his arms around Indrid’s shoulders, “if you give me a good reason.”

“I shall give you several. May I go down on you?”

“Hell yeah.”

“Wonderful.” Several pillows slide across the floor as the cryptid wiggles backwards. Duck opens his legs, laughs when Indrid drags his tongue from ankle to thigh on first one side and then the other. Then his shoulders sink further into the cushions as he presses his hips up to meet gentle, teasing lapping.

“Fuck, c’mon sugar, that’s it.”

A pleased purr zips up his dick, followed by a firm press of Indrid’s tongue. When he moans, Indrid trills in reply and puts more pressure on the same spot, gaining speed as Duck grips the hem of his sweater, twisting it as he groans for more.

“Is it alright to use the inside as well?”

“Uh huh, I’ll, I’ll let you know if it’s too mu-fuck.” He bucks as the tongue thrusts inside him. Indrid laughs, pins his hips in place with his upper claws. But it’s so intense Duck needs to burn his energy somehow, and throws his hands down, grabbing the ends of Indrid’s antenna.

A new chirr bursts from his partner. Duck rubs the very tips of the feathery antennae between his thumb and finger, smirks when the flutter of Indrid’s wings fails to hide the fact he’s grinding on the floor. Curious, he tugs. There’s a little growl, clawtips prick his ass, and then the tongue inside him curls.

“FUCK!” He yanks Indrid closer, keeps petting and pulling as the purring grows stronger, the precision of it overwhelming him more than any toy he’s ever used. He writhes and ruts for what the clock insists is five minutes but he’s certain is only a few seconds. When he cums it’s with a loud, long moan, Indrid retreating from between his legs to lovingly pett his sides as it shudders through him.

“Well, sweet one, how do you feel?”

“Like I wanna suck your dick. Once I can make my fuckin’ limbs work.”

A sweep of the tongue up his throat, “Allow me.”

He’s hauled onto his knees, head tipping further and further back as Indrid stands. From here he’s magnificently monstrous, wings half spread and cock emerging from a slit between his thighs. Duck wishes he could take a picture. Speaking of which…

“Y’all aren’t worried about one of the folks who comes here lookin to hook up takin a pic and blowin your cover?”

“It’s rather difficult to obtain photographic evidence while being railed into the ground.”

Duck licks his lips as a drip of silvery liquid hits his knee, “Dunno, seems to me that could be a moneymaker.”

“Indeed? Hmmm” Indrid picks up Duck’s phone, “shall I record you, my sweet one? ‘Gorgeous human deep throats mothman cock’ would be an admirable start in the adult film world.”

“You really want other folks seein’ me like this?” Duck smiles.

“No, no I do not.” His phone hits the bed behind him, “I want you all to myself.” Indrid cups his face with one hand, tangles another into his hair and guides his mouth up against his cock, “now open wide.”

Duck obeys, let’s his eyes fall closed as the blunt, circular head pushes across his tongue. The first raised ring around the shaft bumps against his lips. All of it is dusted with light fuzz, like peach skin, and the liquid tastes milder than cum.

“Oh you are a sight” Another hand is in his hair now, scritching his scalp, “so handsome with your mouth stretched around my cock, ahhhhnnn, I, I will not make you take the whole thing tonight, I, I just want you to get a taste of what I can offer youOH, ohgoodness, yes.” He rolls his hips, pushing the remainder of the shaft back and forth in the fist Duck’s wrapped around it.

“I, I have a little spell for another time, one where you do not have to do much speaking the next day. Your gag reflex with relent and I, I will be able to slide my entire cock down your throat, watch it bulge and strain to take it as I fuck you, spill down your throat while spit slicks that perfect mouth and tears fill those charmingly mis-matched eyes, ohyes” he chirps as Duck sucks harder, “I, I will make it so all you can taste, feel, and think about is me, my sweet one, Duck, ohohoh” there’s a trill as his wings stretch open and cum coats Duck’s tongue. He swallows some, but it’s relentless and he has to pull back, silvery streaks hitting his chin, lips, and neck as Indrid’s wings flash pale pink.

There’s a thud as the cryptid drops to the floor before him and gathers him into his arms.

“That was wonderful, so very, very lovely, thank you, thank my sweet for letting me do such things with you.”

Duck nestles closer, short feathers tickling his nose, “You’re welcome, sugar. Gotta say, I get why the word got around that comin here at two in the goddamn mornin’ was a good call.

Indrid flops so he’s sprawled in bed and Duck is laying on his chest and enveloped in his wings, “it’s funny; people began coming here for trysts because one of our staff hooked up with the head of a local biker gang. And when others from that gang came for proof, they were alarmed to see a few of our lycanthropic staff, but in the process of trying to escape things got rather, ah, heated in unexpected ways. After that, word spread. Practically every cryptid here has engaged in it; though Barclay hasn’t had much interest until tonight. Were we to open the window, we could hear just what he and your friend Joseph are getting up to.”

“I’m good.”

Indrid chuckles, “I thought as much. As I said, my own success on these evenings has been limited.”

“Those folks who passed you up don’t know what they’re missin. You’re amazing, Indrid.”

A shy chirr, “I am glad you think so. Would you, ah, like to stay the night?”

Duck rests his cheek on flickering feathers, “Hell yeah. You, uh, still wanna go for coffee tomorrow?”

Spindly arms hold him tight and soft kisses coat his forehead as Indrid murmurs, “It’s a date.”

#Indruck #indrid cold/duck newton #duck x indrid #promptober #trans duck newton #terato #monster boyfriend

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the-fandom-is-now-my-life · 3 years

Text

Hc inverse au! Fem Reader in Victorian era England and ynm characters are in our time.

You are a character in an anime and ynm are in real life

Williams

( he seems like the type to be into really dense, historical mangas)

He first read a manga featuring you when one of his students left their copy on their desk and he had to overview some students while they were using the presentation room.

He mostly just sat in the first row while the group of teens were recording hamlet for the theater class.

He didn't really took the story seriously so he started reading a lady who was trying to seduce a noble for a few pages, he was about to leave the manga given that he supposed it was a hentai but when you poisoned them with the wine cup he found it interesting

The main character had a set of very strong ideals that weren't so common in the historical context, be it strip nobles and royals from benefits, be a suffragette, or something similar .He ate the manga in five minutes

When he returns home (and leaves the item in lost objects, ofc) he checks online to buy the first volume to see if the background and sort are interesting along with every other volume and official light novel and Novella . He usually isn't home from very early to very late at night so it would be Louis most likely the one who receives the box with the books

"Brother, did you buy a box full of comics" Louis asks from the kitchen after he feels his older brother returning home

" oh? They already arrived? I thought they would be here next week" well Louis always was worries about how his brother didn't have any hobbies aside from teaching at the University so he was happy that he found something else to do with his life

He would ask for a sick day on a Monday or Friday so he could plan everything that was needed at his class that day and spend the weekend lazing around and reading the various volumes and the light novels. That day Louis and albert almost cried of happiness, that was the first time he took a sick day in all of his teaching years to take a break

The type of fan who creates theories that everything is symbolism, how they are ambidextrous to show that even if they intend good sometimes their methods are too extreme or how their hat was placed or the color of their clothes show their political affiliation. Nothing can be just a coincidence with him, everything means something

Is a big pain in the ass about historical inaccuracies, be it dress, manners or social hierarchy being off

" But listen this is the late Victorian era, where is their crinoline??/ They are supposed to be a Victorian dandy and the writer wants me to believe they would wear that? In that society?" williams turned on the lights to his younger brother room while walking in circles as if he was trying to calm down

" Williams it's 3 am. Please I want to sleep"

" Oh and don't let me get started when they crossdressed/dressed as lady northinburg, that tight lacing scene made me so angry" he was dragging his words, Louis guessed he was sleep drunk " how much I hate that, karolina or bernadette would kill those producers if they saw it" Louis simply opted to sleep while his brother was ranting about how the hairstyles were al wrong

When speaking of merchandising he appreciates his mature and elegant reputation so he would buy small things like cute stationery and notebooks and a few pens. Most of them either are about the main character, you, or have the anime title or something similar

A few students think that the professor brings some childish pens in case some student forgets one and he doesn't have to give them his mechanical pencil. He actually uses those pens when he is grading the exams. His notebook annotations look a lot cleaner and are more colorfully bc of the markers and pens

When and if your manga gets and anime he would be 100 percent bitching about how they skipped, if you are a minor character, scenes where you are introduced or you character gets development.

" Oh my goodness, they skipped to this ark? And 'the mask'? In that ark we get the development of many characters, yn, edward, Amélie, Alex. We are absolutely robed of their backgrounds and aspirations and how they are all connected"

" Brother be honest with yourself, you only wanted more animated yn, you follow their voice actor on twitter"

" That is not my point!"

Albert

he was watching it when he came late

Albert usually keeps company to his youngest brother until around 5-6 pm, then he leaves for work and returns around 12 am and eats dinner alone mostly.

When he returns from his job the house is more often than not totally dark so he makes his way to the kitchen and microwaves the leftovers and eats silently.

But one day it seems like Louis or williams forgot to turn off the TV before going to bed, he was about to turn it off but decided that watching something with the tv muted wouldn't wake his brothers up and kept watching.

He didn't pay much attention to it at the start but it became routine, he comes home, heats the food, sits down and watches that show so he grew quite fond of it

How much attention he pays to it depends on the type of plot it has, if it is light-hearted humor he would most likely not pay much attention but laugh when a joke came, one the other hand, if it's a more serious he would find it hard to take his eyes away from the screen

Second least likely to buy merchandising, if he buys it's mostly to wear home, a one size too big shirt for a pj (mostly for the comedy anime) or, if they aren't childish and look professional maybe a pocket watch like the one x character uses ( in the more serious one)

Won't buy the mangas if there are any because he is happy watching the animated version and already has to read a lot at work, but if he is gifted the volumes he will read them sparingly, maybe he will finish one volume every week and a half, unlike williams.

Louis

He spends most of his time home because of his illness and doesn't like to stress too much given that it makes the symptoms worse, he enjoys light hearted comedies or cooking in the victorian era or those typical time travelers who now have to live in different situations than those they are used to

He most likely found it after doing all the housework and being bored so he opted to browse the TV or netflix and fell on one specific serie

If it is a comedy he will listen to it while cleaning or cooking, he feels like he does everything faster and the housework is more enjoyable that way.

If it's a cooking related program he will watch as entertainment after doing everything and to get ideas what to cook, he is always surprised with the recipes that your character comes up with, be them savory ( things he will absolutely do the next day for lunch or dinner) or sweet ( things he will make more sparingly given he can't have too much sugar). I think of mangas and series like the duchess' 50 te recipes or shokugeki no soma

If it the third option he was interested on the alternatives to modern things, like how to make a more natural soap with animal fat and wood ash, or how to use certain plants to help a headache or stomach bug.

With merchandising he doesn't buy much, some kitchenware and some bowls mugs and maybe a tea set that isn't much of an eyesore. Overall he isn't all that crazy over that kind of things if there is a cooking book he will definitely buy it

He, like albert, doesn't care much about historical accuracy and if the events that happen are cohesive, he is there to have fun

Fred

He watched it because he heard his classmates talk about it and wanted to join them but was too scared to bother them if he didn't know anything. Baby has the social abilities of an anxious lobster

He comes home from college and looks the anime up in his phone and, like every broke college student, he watches it from an illegal streaming service.

He gets hooked up and stays all night watching it until his clock snaps him out of his trance and makes him drag his feet to his 7:30 am class

Fred tries and fails to talk to the group so, after the lesson, he drags himself to his room to be miserable alone. It's not until he reaches a certain chapter or episode where you say something that make him think, " if you wish to be loved you must face first your fear to be known" he keeps thinking about it, he didn't truly ever talk to the group, he cowarded before even trying.

The next week at that same lecture he approaches the group and tries to make some small talk

" Oh hey uhm i heard the past class that you liked (maga name)" he was this close to running to his desk and act as if nothing happened

" Yeah! You like it too?" The boy seemed to notice fred was nervous

" Yes! I really like it, what is you favorite character? Mine is yn" he certainly didn't have any favorite one before but after this he thinks your character is pretty good " they are really inspiring"

In terms of merch he is broke so there is none, If he had any money to spare he would buy notebooks and even those chibi statues or funko pops

#yuumori #yuukoku no moriarty x reader #yuukoku no moriarty #moriarty x reader #albert james moriarty #professor moriarty #moriarty the patriot #mtp #ynm #gn reader #william moriarty #williams james moriarty x reader #louis moriarty

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primasveraas-writing · 3 years

Text

And In Darkness, I Stand- Chapter 4

Kallus' leg is never quite the same after Bahryn. But then again, neither is he.

1 2 3 4 5

4. Yavin IV

“Captain Kallus.”

Kallus turns the best he can, gripping the handle of his cane as he does. Zeb is making his way over, his tall frame parting the flow of traffic in the hall.

“Kal,” Zeb amends with a smile, brushing a hand against the small of Kallus’ back. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” Kallus nods, and grimaces. “I don't suppose I can use my position to get out of physical therapy?”

“No. I’ll still carry you there myself if I have to.”

Heat flames across Kallus’ cheek, but there’s nothing he can say to defend himself. His daily routine has been centered around his recovery for weeks, despite his protestations. On his first day back, he reported to Command for an extra few hours rather than going to the medbay, which caused a small uproar among the likes of Hera and Zeb. The resulting situation was a lecture from Zeb and the entire medical staff, as well as a warning from Command as to where his priorities should lie.

But aside from the initial excitement, Kallus has settled in quite well. He has his own post and a small command to his name. He’s been forgiven by the Rebels in an official capacity, and has learned when to ignore the snide comments made by his less-forgiving compatriots. For the most part, his job is normal and steady- he’s in the company of fellow spies most of the time, but everyone on Yavin is well acquainted with danger, regardless of their roles within the Rebellion. He nearly fits in.

It would be better if he were not so limited by his physical ability. He cannot stand on his leg unsupported, so he has been using a cane constantly, save for a few small excursions across his quarters, which, so far, have been painful and short-lived.

Suddenly, Kallus is bad at keeping himself out of trouble, between his efforts to heal and his apparently lacking self-care habits. This is yet another change he attributes to rebel influence, but he rather likes it, even if he is adjusting to this new life slowly.

“You’re improving and you’re not going to stop now,” Zeb growls. He may as well be threatening Kallus, who minds this fact very little. His hand tightens on his cane.

“I know,” Kallus breathes, and drops his gaze. His next step forward is slightly unsteady, but he’s overly aware of Zeb watching him closely and that his friend is fully prepared to catch him should he trip.

Kallus hasn’t fallen in weeks. He can make it all the way across base without needing to rest now. The medics say the fracture is largely healed, and he thinks he must have made some kind of progress over the last few weeks.

“Are you coming with me?” Kallus tries not to sound too hopeful or excited; Zeb usually accompanies him to the medcenter for checkups and therapy, if only to ensure that Kallus himself actually attends.

“Of course.” Zeb glances at him. “‘Til you say you don’t want me there.”

“I do,” Kallus affirms, too quickly, and tries to discern if he’s blushing again. His face still feels hot.

They make their way down to the medcenter, where the staff greets him and Zeb both by name. The journey takes longer than he’d like, and Kallus tries not to count how many people pass him. It’s mid-afternoon by then, and his leg has started to twinge, although he turns away from Zeb and bites the inside of his cheek to get through the moments of pain.

Zeb steadies him as he strips off his jacket and boots, clutching Kallus’ left elbow. Kallus shoots him a grateful smile. He wobbles on one leg, unsteady, and he knows he will not fall.

“Ready?”

It’s not Zeb who asks, but a nurse. Cida Amada, who was one of the first people he got to know during his stay in the medcenter. She barely looks old enough to have such responsibility, with her shy smiles and soft tones, but she and Kallus took a liking to each other. They made each other cry, he lost in frustration and agony, and she hurt after discovering his tendency to yell and swear when in crippling pain. Yet once he had apologized, their relationship improved, and Amada became his primary caretaker, which most predominantly includes cajoling him into showing up for his appointments.

She and Zeb seem to adore each other for this fact. Kallus can only pretend he hates it so much.

He nods, his mouth suddenly dry, and she reaches out to take his hand. He lets her, and Cida smiles at him, not meeting his eyes for more than a few seconds.

“It’ll feel better later even if it’s uncomfortable right now, Alexsandr. How have the last few rotations been?”

She is gentle and kind. Forgiving, too, which is the strangest of offerings he’s even been gifted in his life. Kallus mostly expected to be dead by now, rather than guided through a half-stocked medbay by a medic exclusively trained by war doctors. Cida genuinely likes him, too, which is odd. Both Hera and Zeb had to assure him of this fact, though Kallus is sure she wouldn’t be capable of pretending otherwise. He first had doubts about the girl’s abilities as a liar since she apologized for taking a blood sample from him. She is too good to lie, which, he supposes, is why he’s a former Imperial-turned-spy, and she is a rebel war doctor.

Cida stretches his legs and guides him through a few exercises that should be simple but prove exceedingly difficult for Kallus. He has to touch his toes. Climb stairs. Walk 2 meters with support on either side. He grits his teeth and sweats through it, mumbling curses that Cida and Zeb pretend not to hear when he inevitably falters.

His hands shake for an hour afterward. Kallus showers and lies on his bunk, exhausted.

His leg feels better than it did before.

Had he stayed with the Empire, Kallus would have received higher quality medical care.

He might not be stuck with a limp and a cane.

First, he would have needed to swallow his damned pride and ask for treatment, and then the initial break would not have affected him for the rest of his life. The Imperial meddroids would have returned him to normal in a matter of days, if not weeks, and Thrawn would have never rebroken the leg, even if Kallus had pursued life as Fulcrum. The Empire is equipped with better resources and better training.

But he didn’t ask for help, not upon his return from Bahryn nor any of the painful days after. Konstantine didn’t even look up at him. If anyone noticed he was uncomfortable or weaker, they politely looked away and saved that topic of discussion for when his back was turned. Kallus was alone in caring for himself, and it was thus unimportant to everyone in the Empire, including him. He adopted the same attitude regarding his own health.

Hera had caught him when he collapsed, after Atollon. Cida cried when he cried because she hated seeing him in pain. Zeb has been there for him in more ways than he can count.

Sometimes, Zeb calls him Alex. He hasn’t had that nickname since he was a little boy- his parents never bothered with it and he had few friends by the time he entered the Imperial Academy.

Zeb is the only one, in his entire life, who has called him Kal.

That’s yet another thing they share. Kallus has gleamed that Zeb never fully revealed the truth of what happened on Bahryn, even to the rest of the Ghost crew.

He does not know what would be enough to repay the Rebels. They have so little, yet they give to him, in time and effort and supplies and trust. It would be more just if these things were diverted to another, not to a formal Imperial, but they will not let him refuse their generosity.

Kallus would give his life for these people. For Zeb and the Spectres, certainly, but for those he does not know, too. For the ones who hurl dirty looks and harsh words at him in the mess and hallways, for Cida, for the other Fulcrums, for every rebel on Yavin and the galaxy beyond.

His life would not be enough, when they are the very people who have given it back to him. Kallus’ life is marred and stained and broken. He can offer the rebels service and secrets and loyalty, and he will do all he can to see them to victory.

He wonders about that, too. He would be more confident about winning the war were he still an Imperial agent. He is a man of facts and logic, and he knows that the odds are against the rebels to prevail over the Empire.

But he believes in the rebels. Kallus believes in their cause and their people. That alone has carried them further than Kallus ever predicted.

He would give his life for them without thinking. He gives his hope and keeps his doubt and his cynicism, heavy as they are, so that they do not burden those like Pica and Leia Organa and Ezra Bridger.

Even as a rebel, being a spy still demands a certain mindset of coldness and hardness. Kallus is learning mercy, and he is learning how mercy does and doesn’t fit into his role. Draven has told him more than once that they serve the cause of the Rebellion, not its people.

Kallus is not sure he agrees. Draven has the end of the war in sight, and that is what grants Kallus peace of mind while the familiarity of Draven’s words nags at him.

Draven has also told Kallus that he is still useful, despite his leg. The General had looked at Kallus with pity while he had said it. Kallus will prove him wrong, and his heart sings with a small amount of pride with the knowledge of the difference he has made already under and to Draven’s command.

Kallus is trying to be good in his new role. He is also trying to become someone worthy of the friendship and care that the rebels have shown him.

He wants to be accepted by them. He wants to be their friend.

“Alexsandr!”

The use of his full first name startles him, nearly as much as the alarm in Zeb’s voice does. Zeb is staring at him from across the hangar, Hera by his size. The droid, Chopper, makes some obscene noise that Kallus can only assume is scolding.

The trio is at his side quickly, and Kallus grunts as he loads the shipment onto the shuttle.

“I can do that,” Hera says. She sounds mildly scandalized, and she takes the box from his hands. Chopper wags his mechanical arm at Kallus, and emits a horrifying cackle at the indignation on his face.

“No cane?” Zeb sounds surprised, but Kallus has had a good few days. He’s permitted not to use it for short amounts of time, given that his leg doesn’t start hurting. He and Cida are hoping that this will become the norm, that he will only need his cane some days. Kallus has floated the idea of field missions once or twice already, but he’ll push for more unsupervised walking first.

“Not for a while.” It’s nearly strange not to have the cane in his hand, but he’s been making good use of his free hands for a while. Then: “General, I assure you I am very capable of doing that.”

Kallus tries to take the next box from Hera, who passes to Zeb. In turn, he holds the box over their heads, then sets it in the shuttle.

“You could hurt yourself,” Hera chides. “Let us help you.”

“Lifting a few crates will hardly send me into critical condition,” Kallus protests, but the words are weakened when Hera glares at him. Chopper laughs again. “My leg is injured, not my arms.”

“No extra weight,” Zeb reminds him, taking another box from Hera. “Don’t strain yourself.”

“It’s just-”

“We’re happy to help,” Hera interrupts. She exchanges a look with Zeb, and Kallus bites back a retort. He’s perfectly capable.

The next time he sees Cida, Kallus is sure to mention lightening the restrictions on his carrying weight. She’s willing to negotiate, at the very least, and they argue until it’s agreed that Kallus can lift, but not carry, a few kilos. He’s sure to complain very little for the rest of the session, and the nurse sends him away with a smile at the end of the day.

She tells him he’s making progress; a statement constantly echoed by Zeb. Physical therapy becomes easier and less frequent; he’s fully adjusted to using his cane, although he has started to go many days without it. At first, it’s painful- he can only endure the day without his cane if he stays in Command, but then weeks pass and he can move around base on his own. He’s outfitted with temporary mechanical braces, and he goes on his first field mission as a rebel.

The days are not bad, and the initial mission goes smoothly, as do all the ones after that.

When night falls after he returns, Kallus can barely stand, and the pain reduces him mostly immobile.

Cida worms this fact out of him after he spends two rotations chasing down a rogue informant. He had been late to see her, and stiff and quiet during their appointment.

“You’ll make it worse,” she warns him. His leg has been swelling, too. “Too much at once will only hurt you.”

“I’m useful out there,” Kallus insists, staring at his injured leg. It would be a waste if he remained on base all the time. “If I can get stronger, then I can fight.”

Cida sighs, her eyes full of worry. Kallus looks away, his heart poisoned with guilt. “If you keep doing this, you may last a few months or a cycle. After that, you could spend the rest of your life walking with pain and assistance.”

He nods once. That’s as much time as he needs, regardless of what follows.

Kallus has greater potential than what his leg allows. He could be one of the best ground fighters on base, if his body worked right.

“Does your leg hurt?”

Kallus grunts. “My leg always hurts.” He shifts, moving his lower body as little as possible, but Zeb moves into his full view a moment later.

“You shoulda said something on way back-”

“I’m fine, Zeb.”

“Your cane-”

“It hurts with or without the cane,” Kallus snaps, then averts his eyes. Zeb’s ears flatten, and Kallus’ stomach flips.

“Are you gonna use it now?” Zeb asks quietly. They still don’t look at each other.

Kallus reaches for the offending object and thumps it against the ground. “Yes,” he mutters. That’s the only reason he got here, in some dirty corner of the base. The cane saw him back from the medbay and into the spot where he had chosen to sulk.

Apparently, the covert location wasn’t quite private enough. That, or Zeb knows him too well, because he seems to have sought Kallus out with ease. But here he is, sitting on the floor with Kallus and watching the rest of the Rebellion walk by, totally oblivious to their discussion.

“Today is a bad day,” Kallus says. That’s how he measures time- in good days and bad ones. “I’ve been having a lot of those, recently.”

“You’ve been working hard.”

“I want to go back to normal,” Kallus mutters, rolling his eyes. “I’m sick of being weak. I’m tired.” He smiles at Zeb, his lips thin and pursed. “I’m done.”

“Alex.” Zeb is imploring.”How could you think you’re weak?”

“Because I can’t walk down the damned hallway!” Kallus scoffs. “Because I have gone through all this suffering and I am not better! And all I wish is that it would end!”

“That makes you weak, does it?”

“It doesn’t make me strong, Garazeb. Not the way you think I am.”

The Lasat next to him snorts. “Kal, I have seen you walk through hell and back-”

“That doesn’t make-”

“- I know how strong you are,” Zeb finishes, talking over him. “Do you trust me?”

Kallus blanches, his heart pounding. “Of course.”

“Then believe me when I say you’re strong.”

“I’ve never seen it that way.”

The words are nearly inaudible. It’s a shamefaced confession, and Zeb stares at him with wide eyes, taking both of Alexsandr’s hands in his.

“Just because I survived doesn’t mean I’m a martyr, Zeb. Or some inspiration to look up to.”

“That’s half of one of the many reasons I care for you,” Zeb whispers, his voice so, so low. “Not because you’ve managed to survive, but because of how determined you are. It’s the stupid face you make when you’re concentrating and the way your voice gets all high when you tell me about how fine and capable you are.” Zeb chuckles, and Kallus is very acutely aware that Zeb is sitting so close to him that their thighs are touching. “You’ve always been so damn stubborn.”

“You like that about me?” Some alarmed voice in Alexsandr’s head warns him that this is barely tangential to the topic at hand.

“Yeah.” Zeb’s ears twitch, and he drops his eyes from Kallus’ wondrous stare. “Even if it pisses me off.”

“I know it does.”

“Yeah,” Zeb growls, then he deflates as he sighs. “I’ve always known that about you. Even when you were trying to kill me.” He gestures to Kallus, to his brace and cane. “Seeing you recover is another way you’re proving this to me. Your absurd relentlessness. And your strength.” He glowers at Kallus when he says the last word, as if daring him to object. “You’ve always had that.”

“Someone better would have handled it with grace.”

“Maybe.” Zeb shrugs. “You’re tough, not a saint.”

“Thank you, Garazeb.”

Zeb rolls his eyes, shoving against Kallus’ shoulder gently. “Whatever.” He clears his throat. “Maybe all this made you stronger. I don’t care if you get back to normal, or whatever you’ve dreamed up for yourself. I only want you to be happy with where you were.”

“And go to physical therapy.”

“I don’t want you to be in pain.”

“Right.”

Zeb grins. “By the way, if you didn’t want the hurt from your serious injury to go away, then you’re twice as big of an idiot as I thought you were. I have no idea what else you expected.”

“I expected for it to last a few weeks. Not the rest of my life.”

“There’s nothing wrong with wishing for that.” Zeb looks up at the trees, and Kallus thinks of a burning world, razed to the ground by the Empire. Zeb didn’t come away from Lasan unscathed, he knows. “Whatever happens though, here you are, Kal. Even if all you’ve done is survive.”

Alexsandr reaches out for Zeb’s hand, and his friend takes it. Zeb’s words are muddled with affection and friendship and respect. The person Zeb describes sounds like someone Kallus can appreciate. Somebody with an iron will and a conviction for the right kind of things. Somebody worthy of love

That night, Kallus cannot rest. He wanders the halls, on a dreadfully familiar path- the one Zeb takes him on when Kallus has to stretch out his leg. His feet carry him into the cool night air, his cane thumping against the stone after every uneven step.

Kallus searches for privacy, but he cannot make it far outside the base. There are still lights blinking from the hangars and a quiet bustle of nightlife shows that the base is still busy, but Kallus staggers along as far as he can and settles on a log under the cover of some trees.

“Can’t sleep?”

Alexsandr jumps, then he squints in the dark. Some 30 feet away is Kanan Jarrus, sitting on the forest floor with his legs folded beneath him. He appears to be meditating; his shoulder pauldrons and mask are off, and he sounds relaxed.

“I didn’t mean to disturb you,” Kallus calls. He fumbles with his cane and readies himself to stand; he’s still slightly out of breath and now he has nowhere to go.

“No.” Kanan stands instead and approaches Kallus, nimbly stepping over branches and rocks. Kallus stares up at the blind Jedi, then averts his gaze when Kanan takes a seat next to him.

They sit together in silence. Kallus doesn’t mind the company very much; he fiddles with his hands and does his best to ignore the aching in his leg.

“It’s lonely, isn’t it?” Kanan says finally. He turns to Kallus expectantly.

Kallus gives a nervous chuckle. “What is?”

“Healing.” Kanan opens his hands as if he’s referring to the whole jungle, instead. “Even with the people who love you at your side.”

Kallus opens his mouth to protest- he’s not sure who loves him, even if a few people come to mind- but the depth of Kanan’s words hit him a moment later.

“I don’t-” Kallus struggles for the right words. “I don’t believe I’m alone.”

Kanan nods slowly. “I had Hera with me every step of the way. She’s the most understanding, caring person I know.” Then, Kanan shrugs. “But it was impossible for her to understand what it was like, no matter how hard she tried. It was lonely.”

“Yes,” Kallus says slowly, exhaling. “Even- even-”

“Zeb doesn’t understand?” He can hear the humor in Kanan’s voice, although Kallus cannot piece together why Kanan would be amused. “I think that’d be impossible unless he’d been through it, too.”

“Do you know anyone who did?”

Kanan shakes his head. “Not quite.” He smiles, and again, Kallus can’t comprehend why. “I had to find solace in other places.”

“Do you think you’re on the other side?”

“Of recovery?” Kallus inclines his head. “Yes. It’s different now.” Kanan’s smile becomes wistful. “But there’s no going back.”

“You made it through.”

“I did. And you will too. In time.”

“I want it to be over.” The confession falls from Kallus’ lips before he can help it. “I’m so tired of being in pain.”

“I know.”

“I don’t think it will ever pass.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

“Then…” Kallus sighs. “Then I move forward with it, anyway.”

There’s no other choice. He will stay with the rebels until the end, and he will do so however he can. He could lose his leg tonight or he could wake up entirely healed tomorrow morning. Either way, there will be little change to his plans.

“I thought you’d say that.” Kanan rests his hand on Kallus’ knee. “It gets easier.”

“I know.” It has already. Maybe Zeb is right. Maybe he is strong because of what he has survived, and maybe there’s truth to Kanan’s words, too.

“I think you’ll find someone who makes it less lonely. I believe you’ll find yourself on the other side.”

Kallus bows his head in acknowledgment, suddenly exhausted. “Zeb will be yours again, once we get back from Lothal.” Kanan’s seriousness disappears, and Kallus knows the moment has passed. He can’t help that the corners of his lips are quirking up, and Kanan seems to both know and enjoy this fact.

“You leave soon?” The thought is bittersweet; the Lothal rebels returning home again, and Zeb will leave his side.

“Three rotations.” Kanan answers. His tone has become heavy again, but the Jedi does not sound afraid.

“I wish you luck.”

The earliest sign of civilization is a healed femur.

#kalluzeb #kalluzeb fanfic #swr #rebels #kallus x zeb #alexsandr kallus #kallus #agent kallus #star wars #star wars fanfic #sw rebels #rebels fanfic #star wars rebels #SWR fanfic #star wars rebels fanfiction #kalluzeb fanfiction #kalluzeb imagine #kalluzeb headcanons #and in darkness i stand

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fiddlepickdouglas · 3 years

Text

Viva Las Vegas, Pt. 10 - Clean This Up

Summary: Sunset Curve Alive AU, Willex, who is he really?, 2.9k

@trevor-wilson-covington is the bestie who makes these lovely edits, we stan supportive friends

WARNINGS: abuse, mild violence

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9

Alex had said to check the diner, so Victoria opted to have dinner there and asked to see the owner. She was aware of the vigilante-style work she was doing, but with everything else going on in her life, this couldn’t possibly hurt any worse. Folding her hands, she breathed calmly as she peeked at the menu. It was important not to act as authoritative as she usually did, she reminded herself. A portly man with short gray hair and a mustache came over and took the seat across from her.

“Hi there,” the man said, shaking Victoria’s hand. “What can I do for you?”

“Hi, I’m Victoria Molina,” she introduced herself. “I was actually trying to find someone and I was told you could help me.”

The man raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“Oh, alright. Who are you looking for?”

“I’m looking for a young man of about seventeen, he goes by Willie? I was told he works here. I just have some questions for him. Would he happen to be in at all today?”

“We don’t have anyone named Willie here anymore,” the man told her. “I actually just bought this establishment along with the hotel about two weeks ago and a few of the staff followed the previous owner to a different business. You might want to talk to him instead.”

“Oh,” Victoria sat back in slight disappointment. “I take it you’re not Caleb Covington?”

“No, he’s the guy I bought it from. I’m Frank Wolfe. I can give you his contact information, though.”

Nodding, she smiled politely.

“I would appreciate that. Sorry I had to come bother you, though.”

“Not at all,” he said. “I apologize that I can’t be any more useful. If you like, I can take your order.”

“Oh, thank you. I’ll actually have the carne asada.”

“Perfect,” he smiled as he took her menu away. “I’ll have that information for you in just a minute, too.”

Taking a gulp of water, Victoria sighed. It certainly felt just like any regular case. The fact the business had recently changed hands made her want to be suspicious, but she fought to remain level-headed. It was enough that she was going off the word of a teenage boy and an old poster. If it was a dud, if this trip led nowhere, she would buy Carlos a gift and head home safe and sound.

After finishing her meal, she returned to her hotel room and pulled out the business card Frank Wolfe had given her. Something about the dark purple design and the old-fashioned lettering he’d chosen made her feel like Caleb Covington was at least a little pretentious, if not flashy about his business. Picking up the phone and dialing the number, she held her breath waiting for an answer.

“Caleb Covington, who may I be speaking to?” a baritone voice chimed on the other end. The touch of sing-song in his tone was unexpected.

“Hi, my name is Victoria,” she introduced herself for the second time that night. “I was told you were the guardian of a young man named Willie?”

“Are you with social services?” he asked.

She furrowed her brow. “I’m sorry?”

“I usually only get a call when we have a hearing scheduled, but our last one was just a couple months ago.” His tone had gone from happy to serious at such a jarring speed it took Victoria a moment to process his words.

“No,” she said finally. “No, I’m not with them. I didn’t mean to confuse you. I’m actually reaching out on a personal favor. See another young man I know says they met a while back.”

“Oh, is it the band that came through a few weeks ago?” Caleb immediately picked the cheer back up.

“Yes, I’m glad you remember,” she responded, surprised.

“How are those boys doing?”

“Oh, they’re just fine. I think they’re gonna be a success.”

“Good to hear it,” he said. “Listen, no harm done. I own a swanky little club just in the south of town. I would be delighted if you gave me a visit, and I’d be happy to chat.”

“Sounds great, thank you,” Victoria smiled, unable to believe how easy that felt. “I can stop by tomorrow evening.”

“Wonderful. If it isn’t too much, I’ll make you a reservation.”

“Well, I can’t say no to such generosity!” It had been a long time since Victoria had gone on a night out. This was a much needed vacation, and if it killed two birds with one stone, all the better. She said goodbye and decided since she was practically getting everything she needed at the club, the rest of the day would be spent treating herself for once.

Willie skateboarded up the driveway and only just remembered Caleb’s rule about the pool in time to hop off before pulling off his helmet and going around the back. He took the back route into the house and dropped a number of grocery bags on the counter. One of these days he would age out of the foster system and not spend the morning being Caleb’s errand boy, but for now he just laid Caleb’s credit card on the table and went outside toward his shed.

Opening the door, he saw Caleb standing in the middle of the room, looking around at all of his drawings. Paper covered most of the walls now. Faces with no names to them, locations with no map to their destination - only snippets of a past life. Willie couldn’t stop drawing them. There still weren’t many memories returning to him, but any detail was an important one. He hadn’t drawn this much in ages, since before he found Sheldon. The backwards dream had become a recurring one by now, and there was still very little that he understood about it. Still, he had so many scenes made out of it that he could almost recreate the dream in a very rough animation.

“Hi C-Caleb,” Willie stammered. This never happened. It made him immediately nervous.

“What a collection, William,” Caleb said, not exactly sounding like an awed patron in a museum. “I mean, the sheer volume of work that went into these is absolutely mind-blowing.”

A small pebble of pride rose in Willie’s chest.

“Really?.... Um, thank you.” He couldn’t suppress his smile.

Caleb held up a hand and looked down at his well-manicured nails, and then back up.

“I just don’t understand why I look so hostile in this one,” he said, pointing to the picture in question. “And that one. And all of these in this corner.” His gaze returned to Willie with unprecedented menace.

Willie immediately shrank away, his mouth gaping open.

“Well...I..they’re from a dream.”

“A dream?” Caleb repeated, not liking what he was hearing.

“Yeah, I think it was a memory.”

Willie watched the man straighten his posture, a calculating expression on his face.

“Are these all memories?” Caleb asked after a tense moment, casting his eyes about the room.

“I think so,” Willie said hesitantly.

Caleb lifted a hand and grabbed the bottom of one. It was the first one WIllie had done of his dad sitting inside the truck and smiling at him.

“Hm,” was all that he said for a second.

And then he tore it in half.

Willie made toward the picture in alarm, feeling a part of him inside being torn just the same, but was stopped as Caleb held a hand out.

“Ah ah,” he said. “What have I told you about becoming your own person regardless of the past?” He took a handful of another drawing and ripped that one too.

Ignoring what Caleb said, Willie lunged forward to try stopping him anyway. Caleb was faster, grabbing his shirt and tossing him backward into the wall. He couldn’t help but begin crying.

“But these are my memories, why would you - ” he sputtered, lost for words.

“Because, William,” Caleb continued loudly, pulling as many as he could off the wall and shredding them into smaller pieces. “Your history? The one full of loss and being shuffled here and there? That is all that awaits you. You know it’s the truth; that’s how you ended up here. I offer you the opportunity to become a new person, and I can’t allow you to spoil yourself with reminders. And besides, those little friends you not-so-secretly made a few weeks ago have started snooping around in my business, and I can’t have that.”

He didn’t even pick anything up, he just left paper strewn all over the floor and walked all over it. As he made for the last wall, Willie made one more attempt to overpower him. He leapt onto Caleb’s shoulders and tried to pull him back with all his weight. A fist landed in his eye and he slacked his grip. Caleb wrestled him onto the bed and held him down, a crazed look in his eye that Willie swore he’d never seen no matter how familiar it felt.

“I don’t understand, what do they have to do with it? Why can’t I have friends?”

“I’m doing this for your own good,” Caleb hissed at him. “You” - he reached up and touched the scar on Willie’s head with his finger - “You got a reboot and you know how many people are lucky enough for that? You should thank me. Unfortunately, you can’t have friends when they send someone asking me questions about that little past of yours. That’s just asking for trouble.”

All Willie could do was hold his eye and lay back as Caleb tore up the last of the drawings. Once he finished, Caleb patted himself off and made his way out the door.

“Clean this up,” he told Willie. “And don’t bother doing any more art.”

As the door shut behind him, Willie scrambled onto the floor to search for just one of the drawings. Shuffling through smudged pieces of paper, he saw a few tears drop onto his ruined work. Eventually, he held the picture of his father in two pieces in his hands. Sobbing, he tried to hold them together evenly, but Caleb’s work had made that hard to do. His only hope was to try drawing it again, but he was already terrified of what Caleb’s reaction to that would be if his first one had been this.

A piece of another drawing caught Willie’s eye from underneath. He recognized Caleb’s snarling face from the dream and was surprised at how well it captured what he’d just witnessed. His mind went back to the way he knew the look in Caleb’s eyes. Suddenly, the awful realization dawned on him: he finally understood the dream.

Victoria walked into the club that evening, glad she had taken the time to look and feel fresh. This place was clearly up to snuff and then some. A live band played with dancers scattered throughout, all in bright, sparkly, feathery getup. A tall man with neatly styled dark hair was mesmerizing the crowd as he sang, keeping the energy high. As she was led to a table, Victoria simply sat and watched, greatly impressed with the talent.

Once the man’s solo finished, he bowed, gestured at the band to play on without him, and exited the stage. To Victoria’s surprise, he took the seat directly across from her.

“Ms. Victoria, you look so lovely, how are we this evening?” he asked with a charming smile. “I’m Caleb Covington.”

“Are you kidding me?” she started. “That was you up there? You’re a man of many talents; I’m already dazzled.”

“Oh, well, I hope that remains a constant while you’re here,” he said. "But you came to ask me about some other things, what were they?”

“Yes, I had some questions about Willie.”

Willie sat outside the bodega, unwilling to move for a while. He felt like everything inside of him was empty, as if Caleb had possessed claws and dug everything out until he was left hollow. The many ideas that had risen in his mind in the past few hours were all too much, all at once. If he dared, was he sure he could handle everything that might come his way? Every time he’d heard that ridiculous speech about starting over, becoming his own, yada-yada, he hadn’t considered any of the options he was now contemplating.

He’d already done some things. Already bought some things. Now he got up to collect Sheldon and held him tightly as he nodded to Escobar, who saluted him back. The man had said he didn’t want a dramatic thank you. Stuffing the items he purchased in his bag, he kept a hold of Sheldon as he skated off into the darkness.

“So, you see, Willie isn’t missing. He was abandoned,” Caleb was saying to Victoria. “Poor thing has struggled to adjust. I’ve dealt with some handfuls in the past, but I really have been doing the most for him, and he’s been with me for more than three years. I think it’s really sweet of those boys to raise a concern, and I hate to be a dead end, but that’s the truth of it.”

Victoria sat, nodding in acceptance.

“That makes a lot of sense, Mr. Covington, thank you for providing that for me.”

“Oh, call me Caleb. We’re all friends in here.”

“Okay, then, Caleb,” she corrected. “What got you into foster care?”

He put a hand over his heart and a fond look came over him.

“The youth are just full of so much magic, and I hate to see that their parents have chosen to lay it to waste. I’m the one who takes some of the tougher cases so I can bring out the best in them. You see that young man over there, Dante?” Caleb pointed at one of the dancers. “Classic rebel when he was young. You wouldn’t even know, he’s turned into such a gentleman. There’s a few more here and there in the club. I call them my graduates.”

“Well, I will tell you,” Victoria said. “When I first talked to you on the phone I wasn’t expecting you to be so generous. But now I can see that it’s just how you are.”

Caleb shot her a playful smile.

“Victoria, no need to butter me up. I do have some tight business practices to keep up.”

Fluid poured over every inch of the shed. Willie had made sure it was more than enough to get things going. He’d made sure to get the essentials: food for himself and Sheldon, a few changes of clothes, and a stash of money he’d taken from the safe in Caleb’s bedroom. The man shouldn’t have given him the combination in the first place.

Stepping out of the shed he looked at it one last time. What a sad, lousy existence. Living to perform for this man who shut him up inside this little thing and he had actually called it home? The further he was into his plan, the bolder he began to feel. He remembered when he had missed getting into the Pearl and that feeling of wrongness that had made him so frustrated. This feeling he had right now? It was so right. It was so right it drowned out anything scary about this whole idea.

He looked back at where he had put Sheldon on a small leash and tied him along the fence around Caleb’s backyard. It was definitely a safe distance. Then Willie pulled a box of matches out of his pocket, lit one, and looked at the flame for a minute. He held it just over the threshold of the doorway so it would land inside. It was so weak, like he had been ever since his accident. But he knew it was going to become so powerful, and he desperately hoped that he could retain some of that power for himself.

“Clean this up, Caleb,” he said, and he let his fingers go.

Victoria had stayed just a little longer to enjoy more food and music before standing up and heading toward the door. Caleb saw her on her way out and made her stop for a moment.

“It’s been a lovely night, and I’m grateful for everything you told me,” she said to him.

“Well I’m glad you took the opportunity to see what I have here,” he replied. “If you’re ever in the city again, please stop by. We’re always partying and putting on the best show.”

“Oh, I most certainly will,” she said, smiling as she made her way outside.

Someone tapped on Caleb’s shoulder from behind. Wordlessly, he turned to see who it was and why it was important.

“Sir,” one of his servers said. “You have a phone call. It’s the fire department.”

“What?” Caleb spat as he went to pick it up.

Willie sped along on his board the best that he could with Sheldon in his arms. He carefully made it down the ramp onto the freeway, controlling his speed as well as he could. He could picture Caleb now, just getting back to his home, eyes wide as he came upon the blaze. It was a very strange feeling, but right now Willie chose to focus on his newfound freedom. The cost wasn’t the matter right now. Freedom was all that was going to take him and his cat as far as they could go. The destination for now was Los Angeles.

#julie and the phantoms #jatp #fanfic #jatp fanfic #willex #alive au #alex mercer #willie #luke patterson #reggie peters #bobby wilson #aunt victoria #caleb covington #tw abuse #tw mild violence #viva las vegas #clean this up #fiddlepickdouglas

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