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reasoningdaily · 1 year

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NEWBERN, Ala. — There’s a power struggle in Newbern, Alabama, and the rural town’s first Black mayor is at war with the previous administration who he says locked him out of Town Hall.

After years of racist harassment and intimidation, Patrick Braxton is fed up, and in a federal civil rights lawsuit he is accusing town officials of conspiring to deny his civil rights and his position because of his race.

“When I first became mayor, [a white woman told me] the town was not ready for a Black mayor,” Braxton recalls.

The town is 85% Black, and 29% of Black people here live below the poverty line.

“What did she mean by the town wasn’t ready for a Black mayor? They, meaning white people?” Capital B asked.

“Yes. No change,” Braxton says.

Decades removed from a seemingly Jim Crow South, white people continue to thwart Black political progress by refusing to allow them to govern themselves or participate in the country’s democracy, several residents told Capital B. While litigation may take months or years to resolve, Braxton and community members are working to organize voter education, registration, and transportation ahead of the 2024 general election.

But the tension has been brewing for years.

Two years ago, Braxton says he was the only volunteer firefighter in his department to respond to a tree fire near a Black person’s home in the town of 275 people. As Braxton, 57, actively worked to put out the fire, he says, one of his white colleagues tried to take the keys to his fire truck to keep him from using it.

In another incident, Braxton, who was off duty at the time, overheard an emergency dispatch call for a Black woman experiencing a heart attack. He drove to the fire station to retrieve the automated external defibrillator, or AED machine, but the locks were changed, so he couldn’t get into the facility. He raced back to his house, grabbed his personal machine, and drove over to the house, but he didn’t make it in time to save her. Braxton wasn’t able to gain access to the building or equipment until the Hale County Emergency Management Agency director intervened, the lawsuit said.

“I have been on several house fires by myself,” Braxton says. “They hear the radio and wouldn’t come. I know they hear it because I called dispatch, and dispatch set the tone call three or four times for Newbern because we got a certain tone.”

Not only has he been locked out of the town hall and fought fires alone, but he’s been followed by a drone and unable to retrieve the town’s mail and financial accounts, he says. Rather than concede, Haywood “Woody” Stokes III, the former white mayor, along with his council members, reappointed themselves to their positions after ordering a special election that no one knew about.

Braxton is suing them, the People’s Bank of Greensboro, and the postmaster at the U.S. Post Office.

For at least 60 years, there’s never been an election in the town. Instead, the mantle has been treated as a “hand me down” by the small percentage of white residents, according to several residents Capital B interviewed. After being the only one to submit qualifying paperwork and statement of economic interests, Braxton became the mayor.

Stokes and his council — which consists of three white people (Gary Broussard, Jesse Leverett, Willie Tucker) and one Black person (Voncille Brown Thomas) — deny any wrongdoing in their response to the amended complaint filed on April 17. They also claim qualified immunity, which protects state and local officials from individual liability from civil lawsuits.

The attorneys for all parties, including the previous town council, the bank, and Lynn Thiebe, the postmaster at the post office, did not respond to requests for comment.

The town where voting never was

Over the past 50 years, Newbern has held a majority Black population. The town was incorporated in 1854 and became known as a farm town. The Great Depression and the mechanization of the cotton industry contributed to Newbern’s economic and population decline, according to the Encyclopedia of Alabama.

Today, across Newbern’s 1.2 square miles sits the town hall and volunteer fire department constructed by Auburn’s students, an aging library, U.S. Post Office, and Mercantile, the only store there, which Black people seldom frequent because of high prices and a lack of variety of products, Braxton says.

“They want to know why Black [people] don’t shop with them. You don’t have nothin’ the Black [people] want or need,” he says. “No gasoline. … They used to sell country-time bacon and cheese and souse meat. They stopped selling that because they say they didn’t like how it feel on their hands when they cuttin’ the meat.”

To help unify the town, Braxton began hosting annual Halloween parties for the children, and game day for the senior citizens. But his efforts haven’t been enough to stop some people from moving for better jobs, industry, and quality of life.

Residents say the white town leaders have done little to help the predominantly Black area thrive over the years. They question how the town has spent its finances, as Black residents continue to struggle. Under the American Rescue Plan Act, Newbern received $30,000, according to an estimated funding sheet by Alabama Democratic U.S. Rep. Terri Sewell, but residents say they can’t see where it has gone.

At the First Baptist Church of Newbern, Braxton, three of his selected council members — Janice Quarles, 72, Barbara Patrick, 78, and James Ballard, 76 — and the Rev. James Williams, 77, could only remember two former mayors: Robert Walthall, who served as mayor for 44 years, and Paul Owens, who served on the council for 33 years and mayor for 11.

“At one point, we didn’t even know who the mayor was,” Ballard recalls. “If you knew somebody and you was white, and your grandfather was in office when he died or got sick, he passed it on down to the grandson or son, and it’s been that way throughout the history of Newbern.”

Quarles agreed, adding: “It took me a while to know that Mr. Owens was the mayor. I just thought he was just a little man cleaning up on the side of the road, sometimes picking up paper. I didn’t know until I was told that ‘Well, he’s the mayor now.’”

Braxton mentioned he heard of a Black man named Mr. Hicks who previously sought office years ago.

“This was before my time, but I heard Mr. Hicks had won the mayor seat and they took it from him the next day [or] the next night,” Braxton said. “It was another Black guy, had won years ago, and they took it from.”

“I hadn’t heard that one,” Ballard chimes in, sitting a few seats away from Braxton.

“How does someone take the seat from him, if he won?” Capital B asked.

“The same way they’re trying to do now with Mayor Braxton,” Quarles chuckled. “Maybe at that time — I know if it was Mr. Hicks — he really had nobody else to stand up with him.”

Despite the rumor, what they did know for sure: There was never an election, and Stokes had been in office since 2008.

The costs to challenging the white power structure

After years of disinvestment, Braxton’s frustrations mounted at the height of the COVID-19 pandemic, when he says Stokes refused to commemorate state holidays or hang up American flags. When the COVID-19 pandemic hit, the majority-white council failed to provide supplies such as disinfectant, masks, and humidifiers to residents to mitigate the risks of contracting the virus.

Instead of waiting, Braxton made several trips to neighboring Greensboro, about 10 miles away, to get food and other items to distribute to Black and white residents. He also placed signs around town about vaccination. He later found his signs had been destroyed and put in “a burn pile,” he said.

After years of unmet needs of the community, Braxton decided to qualify for mayor. Only one Black person — Brown Thomas, who served with Stokes —has ever been named to the council. After Braxton told Stokes, the acting mayor, his intention to run, the conspiracy began, the lawsuit states.

According to the lawsuit, Stokes gave Braxton the wrong information on how to qualify for mayor. Braxton then consulted with the Alabama Conference of Black Mayors, and the organization told him to file his statement of candidacy and statement of the economic interests with the circuit clerk of Hale County and online with the state, the lawsuit states. Vickie Moore, the organization’s executive director, said it also guided Braxton on how to prepare for his first meeting and other mayoral duties.

Moore, an Alabama native and former mayor of Slocomb, said she has never heard of other cases across the state where elected officials who have never been elected are able to serve. This case with Braxton is “racism,” she said.

“The true value of a person can’t be judged by the color of their skin, and that’s what’s happening in this case here, and it’s the worst racism I’ve ever seen,” Moore said. “We have fought so hard for simple rights. It’s one of the most discouraging but encouraging things because it encourages us to continue to move forward … and continue to fight.”

Political and legal experts say what’s happening in Newbern is rare, but the tactics to suppress Black power aren’t, especially across the South. From tampering with ballot boxes to restricting reading material, “the South has been resistant to all types of changes” said Emmitt Riley III, associate professor of political science and Africana Studies at The University of the South.

“This is a clear case of white [people] attempting to seize and maintain political power in the face of someone who went through the appropriate steps to qualify and to run for office and by default wins because no one else qualified,” Riley added. “This raises a number of questions about democracy and a free and fair system of governance.”

Riley mentioned a different, but similar case in rural Greenwood, Mississippi. Sheriel Perkins, a longtime City Council member, became the first Black female mayor in 2006, serving for only two years. She ran again in 2013 and lost by 206 votes to incumbent Carolyn McAdams, who is white. Perkins contested the results, alleging voter fraud. White people allegedly paid other white people to live in the city in order to participate in the election and cast a legal vote, Riley said. In that case, the state Supreme Court dismissed the case and “found Perkins presented no evidence” that anyone voted illegally in a precinct, but rather it was the election materials that ended up in the wrong precincts.

“It was also on record that one white woman got on the witness stand and said, ‘I came back to vote because I was contacted to vote by X person.’ I think you see these tactics happening all across the South in local elections, in particular,” Riley said. “It becomes really difficult for people to really litigate these cases because in many cases it goes before the state courts, and state courts have not been really welcoming to overturning elections and ordering new elections.”

Another example: Camilla, Georgia.

In 2015, Rufus Davis was elected as the first Black male mayor of rural, predominantly Black Camilla. In 2017, the six-person City Council — half Black and half white — voted to deny him a set of keys to City Hall, which includes his office. Davis claimed the white city manager, Bennett Adams, had been keeping him from carrying out his mayoral duties.

The next year, Davis, along with Black City Council member Venterra Pollard, boycotted the city’s meetings because of “discrimination within the city government,” he told a local news outlet. Some of the claims included the absence of Black officers in the police department, and the city’s segregated cemetery, where Black people cannot be buried next to white people. (The wire fence that divided the cemetery was taken down in 2018). In 2018, some citizens of the small town of about 5,000 people wanted to remove Davis from office and circulated a petition that garnered about 200 signatures. In 2019, he did not seek re-election for office.

“You’re not the mayor”

After being the only person to qualify and submit proper paperwork for any municipal office, Braxton became mayor-elect and the first Black mayor in Newbern’s history on July 22, 2020.

Following the announcement, Braxton appointed members to join his council, consistent with the practice of previous leadership. He asked both white and Black people to serve, he said, but the white people told him they didn’t want to get involved.

The next month, Stokes and the former council members, Broussard, Leverett, Brown Thomas, and Tucker, called a secret meeting to adopt an ordinance to conduct a special election on Oct. 6 because they “allegedly forgot to qualify as candidates,” according to the lawsuit, which also alleges the meeting was not publicized. The defendants deny this claim, but admit to filing statements of candidacy to be elected at the special election, according to their response to an amended complaint filed on their behalf.

Because Stokes and his council were the only ones to qualify for the Oct. 6 election, they reappointed themselves as the town council. On Nov. 2, 2020, Braxton and his council members were sworn into office and filed an oath of office with the county probate judge’s office. Ten days later, the city attorney’s office executed an oath of office for Stokes and his council.

After Braxton held his first town meeting in November, Stokes changed the locks to Town Hall to keep him and his council from accessing the building. For months, the two went back and forth on changing the locks until Braxton could no longer gain access. At some point, Braxton says he discovered all official town records had been removed or destroyed, except for a few boxes containing meeting minutes and other documents.

Braxton also was prevented from accessing the town’s financial records with the People’s Bank of Greensboro and the city clerk, and obtaining mail from the town’s post office. At every turn, he was met with a familiar answer: “You’re not the mayor.” Separately, he’s had drones following him to his home and mother’s home and had a white guy almost run him off the road, he says.

Braxton asserts he’s experienced these levels of harassment and intimidation to keep him from being the mayor, he said.

“Not having the Lord on your side, you woulda’ gave up,” he told Capital B.

‘Ready to fire away’

In the midst of the obstacles, Braxton kept pushing. He partnered with LaQuenna Lewis, founder of Love Is What Love Does, a Selma-based nonprofit focused on enriching the lives of disadvantaged people in Dallas, Perry, and Hale counties through such means as food distribution, youth programming, and help with utility bills. While meeting with Braxton, Lewis learned more about his case and became an investigator with her friend Leslie Sebastian, a former advocacy attorney based in California.

The three began reviewing thousands of documents from the few boxes Braxton found in Town Hall, reaching out to several lawyers and state lawmakers such as Sen. Bobby Singleton and organizations such as the Southern Poverty Law Center. No one wanted to help.

When the white residents learned Lewis was helping Braxton, she, too, began receiving threats early last year. She received handwritten notes in the mail with swastikas and derogatory names such as the n-word and b-word. One of theletters had a drawing of her and Braxton being lynched.

Another letter said they had been watching her at the food distribution site and hoped she and Braxton died. They also made reference to her children, she said. Lewis provided photos of the letters, but Capital B will not publish them. In October, Lewis and her children found their house burned to the ground. The cause was undetermined, but she thinks it may have been connected.

Lewis, Sebastian, and Braxton continued to look for attorneys that would take the case. Braxton filed a complaint in Alabama’s circuit court last November, but his attorney at the time stopped answering his calls. In January, they found a new attorney, Richard Rouco, who filed an amended complaint in federal court.

“He went through a total of five attorneys prior to me meeting them last year, and they pretty much took his money. We ran into some big law firms who were supposed to help and they kind of misled him,” Lewis says.

Right now, the lawsuit is in the early stages, Rouco says, and the two central issues of the case center on whether the previous council with Stokes were elected as they claim and if they gave proper notice.

Braxton and his team say they are committed to still doing the work in light of the lawsuit. Despite the obstacles, Braxton is running for mayor again in 2025. Through AlabamaLove.org, the group is raising money to provide voter education and registration, and address food security and youth programming. Additionally, they all hope they can finally bring their vision of a new Newbern to life.

For Braxton, it’s bringing grocery and convenience stores to the town. Quarles wants an educational and recreational center for children. Williams, the First Baptist Church minister, wants to build partnerships to secure grants in hopes of getting internet and more stores.

“I believe we done put a spark to the rocket, and it’s going [to get ready] to fire away,” Williams says at his church. “This rocket ready to fire away, and it’s been hovering too long.”

Correction: In Newbern, Alabama, 29% of the Black population lives below the poverty line. An earlier version of this story misstated the percentage

#alabama #Newbern Alabama #A Black Man Was Elected Mayor in Rural Alabama #but the White Town Leaders Won’t Let Him Serve #Patrick Braxton #AlabamaLove.org #black lives matter

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alexlikesairconditioninh · 4 months

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Geo x reader

Regarding SOL

You became friends with the group after crowe brought you in, at first you and geo didn't have anything going on, but somehow, he developed feelings— and it seems like he isnt the only one.

NOT PROOFREAD (this is under the assumption that geo knows about hyugos crimes)

The first meeting;

Geo wanted to get close to you, but he honestly struggled. So he opted for just being by your side and helping you out. He heard of solivan brugmansia all too well, afterall the rumors regarding him are very well known to those that heard of him.

But, did he care? No, not really. A rumor about some random student he didn’t interact with didn’t matter to him, besides, people spread false rummors around constantly. He wasn't intrested in finding out the truth behind the rummors. Until, he had realized you acquainted yourself with him.

It was after class, you and your friends were out in the hallway pondering where to hang out. Before you spot hyugo and sol. Youre unsure wether to not to bother them as they seem deep in conversation. However it seems hyugo could feel your eyes on him. His eyes locked with yours, and you take that as an opportunity to wave at him. Thus, he waves at you in return. Sol notices and his demeanor changes, a smile tugs on his lips and he gives you a dreamy look. A blush faintly noticeable on his face.

Geo looks away at his phone to seek out the subject of your attention— hes surprised, and certainly not pleased.

His brother.

Were you friends his brother? Out of all people, hyugo? And that guy— why is he looking at you like that? You dont seem to have any special feelings towards him, youre waving to him like you would anyone else. That begs the question, what are you to him?

He goes in your direction to get your attention. he taps you on the shoulder, and just like how its supposed to be, your attention is on him now.

"Huh?" you asked, curious as to why he uncharacteristically sought your attention. While you didn't know much about geo, there was this weird feeling emanating from him.

He takes a quick glance at his brother and that black-haired boy with him, and hes surprised to see the tall male with a deathly glare in his eyes, targeted at him— and also his friends. His eyes were ugly, blood red. Is that why hyugo befriended him? Because blood is somthing hes used to, right? Whatever it was, he immediately took a disliking to that man.

"brit wanted your input". He focused his attention back to you.

"O-oh yeah! How about the garden? I have a key for there." Geo gave a pleased look.

"Lets go tell her then". And with that the two of you turn your backs to sol and hyugo, heading closer to the group. Geo takes one last good look at the two boys. Unfortunately for him, he accidentally makes eye contact with his brother.

"OH MY GOD" Hyugo moves towards you and geo.

"SUBARU" eyes littered with excitement hyugo approaches him

"Shit..." geo begrudgingly accepts his fate.

—————

It seemed Britney, jess and deryl were the most amused at the scene hyugo had caused. They were pestering geo while hyugo took that as an opportunity, as sol's wingman.

"Oh- sunny and I were wondering if you wanted to hang out wit-"

"[name], cmon, Britney's waiting" geo interrupts

"Oh yeah!- uh" you look back to hyugo, and sol, eagerly awaiting your answer, hoping you leave that purple haired prick and spend time with him instead. "Sorry, im hanging out with geo and our friends, uhm, ill talk to you guys later!". You frown, and wave bye to them as you head for your friends.

Later, in the garden, you sit next to geo. Curious of his relationship with hyugo, after all they are brothers and you’re friends with them both! isn’t that nice?

“You’re hyugos brother? what’s he lik-“

“He’s not my brother, forget what he said in the hallway, I don’t want to associate myself with him.” He interrupts, shooting you a glare before his gaze softens. “He’s…” he pauses, recollecting his thoughts. “He’s just dangerous to be around.”

“How?” he looks away as you ask.

“Things you don’t know, he gets into shady shit” he redirects his gaze back to yours, “[name], for your own sake, and safety, don’t get involved with him… or his friend.”

“Solivan?” You question at the mention of sol

“Brugmansia?” If his memory is serving him right, then he’s not good news.

“Yeah that’s his-“

“Especially him, both of them, stay away from them.” He thinks back to the hallway and the look in sol’s eyes. One of putrid hate and murder. Maybe, those rumors were true”

“That’s hard to do, I’m in a class with them— although hyugo never attends, and I’m sols partner for an art project.”

“Then don’t make conversation with him, only do what needs to be done for the art project, once it’s done, never talk to him again— or hyugo” he instructs you, for now at least. He’s thinking about what strings he could pull to change your art class for a different period, one without sol or hyugo. If he had to play dirty to keep you, and his friends safe, he’d play dirty as hell.

“Okay.”

I don’t wanna go too deep because I wanna wait for days 3&4 for more lore and info, so I’ll probably wait and do other stuff

#geo oogami #geo subaru oogami #subaru geo oogami #katb vn #the kid at the back vn #tkatb vn #solivan brugmansia

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happynowyo · 1 year

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Reflection, part 1

So basically I was reading a lot of stuff here with Kaz and got so obsessed I just couldn't stay away. English isn't my first language but I'll try my best to create some readable story. I don't own the characters or the idea itself, it's quite basic but I hope some of you will like it just as I do.

Fandom: Six of crows

Warnings: Kaz Brekker and everything that goes with him

Pairing: Kaz Brekker x Shadow Summoner!OC

Summary: Darkling's daughter comes to Ketterdam to hide and get help from Nina, an old friend of her, but instead gets herself a new family that will protect her much better than her real one. The similar touch aversion will bring Jess and Kaz closer together than they could imagine.

Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

For the rest of her life Baghra will be convinced she did the right thing. She may have made many mistakes in her long life but helping her granddaughter Jess was not one of them.

She had grown attached to the girl from the moment she first saw her in the cradle, and she naively thought it would be a good reason for her son to turn his life around. To focus on the family, to get to that rare part of something good that was still left in him as she hoped. And for some period of time it worked. Aleksander paid a lot of attention to his daughter, made time to be with her in spite of his former struggles with the Second Army. Baghra felt his joy and saw it in his black eyes and hoped that Jess would become her support.

She wasn't the only one counting on that, however, and it became abundantly clear when Aleksander began to do individual training with Jess. His thoughts of superior power, his ideas about limitless control were penetrating more and more into his daughter's young mind, and that was why Baghra tried to take control of her, using as an excuse that General Kirigan had to focus on another rebellion.

His departure from the Little Palace was a breath of fresh air, and Baghra put all her energies into helping Jess develop her abilities faster. Her trainings became more intense and started to vary, because Baghra preferred to think that Grishas should not rely solely on their unique abilities. Guns intimidated her with their noise, but Jess developed a special love with knives. A swift throw could be completely silent and it reminded her of the her own shadows that danced so easily and so silently on her fingertips with no effort at all.

— You control the darkness. Not the other way around, remember that, — her father used to say and Jess had believed him so unconditionally that neither of them had ever thought of betraying him in the future.

His lessons had been extremely harsh, and as she grew older, they had increasingly ended in bruises and open wounds, easily vanished by healers only to have Darkling drag her back to the empty West side of the palace the next day and force her to unleash the darkness against his own. Jess was always amazed at how different he could be - attentive and caring one moment and utterly ruthless and indifferent the next. She preferred to separate the two and think of Aleksander as her father and of the Darkling as a teacher, a general, someone who was so obsessed with power that deep down she was horrified at the thought that he could destroy the whole world without blinking an eye just to get what he wanted.

And Baghra confirmed her fears when she told her the truth. About the Black Heretic who created the Fold and faked his death many times just to stay in power. Alina's flee from the Little Palace was the right trigger, and the events in the Fold had proved that the Darkling was blind and deaf to any mercy, that he had no compassion or conscience. Rumors of his tragic death reached everyone, but Baghra suspected that Fold's creator would be able to find a way to deal with its darkness from within and that is why she made Jess run as far away as possible.

After all it was obvious to both of them what would happen if the Darkling was still alive. He would return even more fierce and ruthless than before and he certainly would seek help from his daughter he had raised in his own image. He would use her as an amplifier for himself or force her to serve for his own vengeance. So Baghra, who learned the news from Alina through a secret letter, sent her granddaughter straight to Ketterdam. There, among the countless thieves and murderers, no one would pay attention to the girl hiding her past. Moreover, Baghra had heard rumors that Nina Zenik had settled in Ketterdam and she hoped that Jess, reunited with an old friend, would get the help and support she needed in a foreign land.

If she had known how this would turn out, she would have preferred to leave her granddaughter by her side among the guards of the Little Palace, but doubts had to be killed and she directed all of her prayers that Jess would be able to continue to save the mystery of who her father was and what her abilities were.

"In the darkness and from the darkness," as she used to say.

Part 2

#kaz brekker #kaz brekker x fem!reader #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker imagine #six of crows #inej ghafa #nina zenik #jesper fahey #the darkling #kaz brekker x oc #aleksander morozova

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indigenous-character-tournament · 1 year

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Indigenous Character Tournament

Round 1

The bracket was randomly generated with minor tweaking to balance it out since there are so many characters. Ties are allowed only when there is an exact 50/50 and in that case, the characters will move on as a team. Propaganda is allowed and encouraged! The polls of each bracket will last one week! Below are the match-ups in case it is hard to read the bracket! :)

Voting will start Monday, May 8th at 6:00 P.M. EST! The polls will be released in waves.

Bracket A

Eliza Maza (Gargoyles) vs Willie Jack (Reservation Dogs)

Sokka (Avatar: The Last Airbender) vs Kamakiri (One Piece)

Joseph (Blood Quantum) vs Fuzzy Mac (Grace Beside Me)

John Redcorn (King of the Hill) vs Clinton Skye (FBI: Most Wanted)

Travis Manawa (Fear the Walking Dead) vs Jessica Keynes (Miraculous Ladybug)

Artemy Burakh (Pathologic) vs Nakamura Kotan (Yuusha Dan)

Delsin Rowe (Infamous: Second Son) vs Moana (Moana)

Pike Dexter (Big Eden) vs Naru (Predator)

Victor Joseph (Smoke Signals) vs Volo (Pokemon Legends: Arceus)

Prince Ashitaka (Princess Mononoke) vs Kurapika Kurta (Hunter x Hunter)

Naranpa (Black Sun) vs Kirikou (Kirikou and the Sorceress)

Fredzilla (Big Hero 6) vs Margaret Kohere (Apex Legends)

Wyper (One Piece) vs Jenna Begay (Echo Project)

Kronk (The Emperor's New Groove) vs Rock (Nanbaka)

Ka'kwet (Anne with an E) vs Akita (Ninjago)

Tanis (Letterkenny) vs Caitlin (Mohawk Girls)

Bracket B

Asirpa (Golden Kamuy) vs Asterix (Asterix the Gaul)

Little Strongheart (My Little Pony) vs Atticus O'Sullivan (The Iron Druid)

Makoa Gibraltar (Apex Legends) vs Joss (Blood Quantum)

Kenai (Brother Bear) vs Ratonhnhaké:ton (Assassin’s Creed III)

Miyax/Julie (Julie of the Wolves) vs Massai (Fortnite)

Anna (Mohawk Girls) vs Princess Maya (Maya and the Three)

Izel (Onyx Equinox) vs Mercy Thompson (Mercy Thompson)

Charles Smith (Red Dead Redemption 2) vs Dr. Joshua "Strongbear" Sweet (Atlantis: The Lost Empire)

Lady Silence/Silna (The Terror) vs Dedue (Fire Emblem: Three Houses)

Koen West (Cleverman) vs Hau (Pokémon Sun and Moon)

Elora Danan Postoak (Reservation Dogs) vs Iduna (Frozen)

Zia (Mysterious Cities of Gold) vs Knuckles Thrash/Harley (Sleepless Domain)

Carlos Oliveira (Resident Evil series) vs Nainoa Flores (Sharks in the Time of Saviors)

Katara (Avatar: The Last Airbender) vs Little Creek (Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron)

Asta Twelvetrees (Resident Alien) vs Hototo (Appare-Ranman!)

Bracket C

Nate Kinski (Neighbours) vs Usui Horokeu/Horohoro (Shaman King)

Reki Kyan (SK8 the Infinity) vs Waruu West (Cleverman)

Mugen (Samurai Champloo) vs Sitka (Brother Bear)

Samantha Black Crow (American Gods) vs Sasappis (Ghosts CBS)

Nina Aroyo (A Snake Falls to Earth) vs Malakai Mitchell (Heartbreak High)

Echo Reverie (Friends at the Table) vs Nuna (Kisima Inŋitchuŋa)

Margu (Klaus) vs Raúl Cocolotl (Wendell & Wild)

Huā Chéng (Heaven Official's Blessing) vs Leilani (Indivisible)

Elatsoe Bride (Elatsoe) vs Tao (Mysterious Cities of Gold)

Scar (Fullmetal Alchemist) vs Jesse Cosay (Infinity Train)

Kalgara (One Piece) vs Molly Mabray (Molly of Denali)

Miko Kalani (Barbie) vs Tom Evans (Captain Canuck)

Nani Pelekai (Lilo & Stitch) vs Gideon Nav (The Locked Tomb)

Thomas Builds-the-Fire (Smoke Signals) vs Fiza (Daevabad Trilogy)

Tikal the Echidna (Sonic the Hedgehog) vs Greiger (Yu-Gi-Oh!)

Maya Lopez/Echo (Marvel comics) vs Bear Smallhill (Reservation Dogs)

Bracket D

Chakotay (Star Trek: Voyager) vs Piper McLean (Heroes of Olympus)

Emperor Kuzco (The Emperor's New Groove) vs Denahi (Brother Bear)

Ricky Baker (Hunt for the Wilderpeople) vs Kristoff (Frozen)

Serapio (Black Sun) vs Boy (Boy - 2010 film)

Inkarmat (Golden Kamuy) vs Geronimo Jr. (Cyborg 009)

Tanigaki Genjirō (Golden Kamuy) vs Betty (Infamous: Second Son)

Pacha (The Emperor's New Groove) vs JJ Jacobs (DImension 20)

Kaya'aton'my (American Girl) vs Danielle Moonstar/Mirage (Marvel comics)

Knuckles the Echidna (Sonic the Hedgehog) vs Sacagawea (Night at the Museum)

Débora (Cidade Invisível) vs Matthew Carver (Kagagi)

Papa-Capim (Turma da Mônica) vs Professor Kukui (Pokémon Sun and Moon)

Tainá (Tainá uma aventura na Amazônia) vs Nuna (Indivisible)

Ken Hotate (Parks and Recreation) vs Nizhoni (Race to the Sun)

Revali (The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild) vs Daunis Fontaine (Firekeeper's Daughter)

Korra (The Legend of Korra) vs Ch'ah Toh Almehen/Namor the Submariner (Black Panther: Wakanda Forever)

Tye Longshadow (Young Justice) vs Lilo Pelekai (Lilo & Stitch)

#indigenous character tournament #tumblr polls #ict round 1 #ict brackets

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din-miller · 11 months

Text

Blue Ink

Pairing: Clone Trooper Fives x AFAB reader

Word count: 1.4K

Summary: You got Fives’ tattoo tattooed on your hip and lets just say you won’t be leaving the bedroom for a few days.

Warnings: 18+, hand job, respectful possessiveness, fluff

A/N: I have no excuse for this. It’s my birthday and I wanted to write smutty smut. The divider is brought to you by @djarrex . The summary is lacking finesse but please read. Rex’s version < cause I’m obsessed with tattoos apparently. And after seven months I finally finished the clone wars and have thoughts

Fives hands are all over you. Pushing and pulling, fabric going this way, your body going that way. Hands hard and fast then slow and gentle. Too much and not enough.

And then it stopped.

He stopped.

Fives’ mouth separated from your skin, your neck suddenly cold without the warmth of his lips and you made a noise of protest. His left hand, which is currently settled on your hip, carefully explored the unexpected bulk of cloth underneath your shirt. He must have been able to tell what it is because his hand fell away from your body like it had been burned.

“You’re hurt.” He said, alarmed, drawing back as his hand hovered over your side.

It took you a second to chase away the lust over taking your mind to figure out what he’s talking about but once you do, you laughed, “No, I’m perfectly fine, my love.”

His hand grabbed the hem of your shirt and slowly started to lift it up, giving you plenty of opportunity to stop him. When you don’t he lifts the shirt all the way up and his eyes narrowed in on your bandaged hip, “Explain this then.”

“It’s not what it looks like-,”

“Really? ‘Cause it looks like a bacta patch to me,” He dropped the fabric and started pulling you towards the front door, any signs of arousal vanished as concern overtook his expression, “We need to get you to Kix. He’ll patch you up while I find whoever is responsible for this and break every bone in their body.”

“I did it to myself,” You rushed to say, not wanting to hear from Rex that your boyfriend tore apart the mess hall in search of a person that doesn’t exist, “Well technically it was Jesse, but I asked him to.”

“I’m going to kill that osi’kovid.”

“Would you-,” You stepped in front of the door, blocking his escape, “Please just listen to me?”

“Gladly,” He said and you breathed out a sigh of relief, only it’s short lived as Fives tried to push past you, “After I kill my brother.”

“Maker, you’re impossible!” You exclaimed, yanking your shirt off. Once the fabric was discarded somewhere to your right, your fingers found the edge of the bacta patch but before you could rip it off, Fives’ hands brushed yours away. His fingertips ran over the edge of the patch until it found a small gap where it had separated from your skin. Delicately, more so than it really called for, he pulled the patch from your skin.

Then he just stared.

Eyes tracing every ink made line, every detail that is displayed on your skin before those eyes darken, brown orbs becoming black as lust swallowed all colour.

Fives crowed you against the door, your back hitting the wood and you couldn’t suppress the shiver that raced down your spine, nor the involuntary gasp that left your mouth. Fives doesn’t say a word, doesn’t look away from the blue ink and you should probably start panicking.

Then, taking you by complete surprise, Fives is on his knees in front of you, face inches away from your hip as he closely examines the tattoo. His tongue darted out to wet his lips while his thumbs hooked under the band of your pants. With your help he pulled them over your butt and down your legs.

A low whine left your mouth when he groaned appreciatively at the sight of your bare pussy that is meant for his eyes only and your hip marked with his tattoo, “How long have you been walking around with this?”

“Since last night.”

His lips hovered over the tattoo before pressing an open mouth kiss just shy of the ink, “Who else knows?”

“Jesse. He did the tattoo,” You answered, knees quivering in anticipation when his lips trailed lower toward your sex, arousal gathering between your folds, “Kix too. He insisted on being the one to apply the tattoo bacta patch.”

“Good.” He hummed, satisfied with your answer. Whether it’s because Kix was making sure you got proper care, or that him and Jesse are the only people who’ve seen your tattooed skin, you’re not sure. Probably both knowing Fives.

“It looks healed.” He commented and pulled back, looking up at you, eagerly waiting for your response as his tongue pushed past his lips to wet them again. The sight made a wanton need shoot through your body.

“It is.” You confirmed, eyes falling shut as your walls fluttered helplessly around nothing, feeling empty and you really want him to just forget the tattoo for the moment and bend you over the nearest surface until you’re a sobbing mess.

His lips pressed against the middle of the tattoo without warning and your back arched towards him, a breathless sigh passed your lips. His tongue, warm and wet, lapped at the inked skin, “Tell me if this hurts at all.”

“You’re good Fives. You're always so good to me.”

His lips formed a seal over the tattoo in response to your praise and he gave an experimental suck, watching your facial expressions for any sign of pain. There is none. The tattoo is completely healed; matter of fact you left the patch only longer then Kix said too, just to be cautious.

He’s careful not to bruise your skin as he shifts from sucking to nibbling at the tattoo. Your hand shot down to his head, fingers tangled in his brown locks as his teeth bit down with just enough pressure that your toes curled against the floor beneath you, “Fives!”

“Yeah, shit, bed,” He said breathlessly, squeezing the base of his cock over the material of his pants as a few colourful curses fell from his lips, “Lay down for me.”

You did as he said and with deft fingers you undid your chest band, letting your breast bounce free as Fives’ groaned, “You’re killing me here. I’m not sure how long I’ll last.” He admitted with a tinge of embarrassment filling his words.

“That’s okay, my love. We have all night.” You softly reassured him with your back flat against the sheet, your body naked across the beds silk fabric as your arousal soaked the sheets. You beckoned him over with a finger and a sly smirk on your lips.

Fives mirrored your expression and straddled your thighs, trapping your lower half against the bed, clothing removed and his cock heavy in his hand as he stroked himself above you, pre-cum aiding as lubricant as he began thrusting into his own fist, your name falling from his lips.

You made a move to replace his hand with your own, a need to feel his hard velvety heat in your palm, but he’s quick to grab it and he somehow managed to lock both of your wrists in his free hand, placing them above your head, watching as your body stretched tall for him.

Maybe it’s the way you yield underneath his touch or maybe it’s the tattoo, his tattoo, on your skin that sent him crashing over the edge, a wrecked moan filling the room, bouncing off the walls and going straight to your core.

His orgasm is intense and vocal as cum paints your body – more precisely, your tattoo – in hot spurts as he breathed heavily, barely managing to keep himself upright as his cock twitched feebly, drops of cum slowly dripped down his length and onto your hip.

“Oh, Kriff,” Fives swore, running the swollen tip of his cock through his spent, rubbing his cum across the tattoo, another claim of his on you, “Don’t take this the wrong way, cyar’ika, but seeing you inked with my tattoo is fueling me with this possessive side. You are your own person, but fuck, all I can see is how you’re now claimed as mine.”

“So you're not mad?” You asked playfully, freeing a hand to cup his check. He tilted his head down to press a kiss to the inner part of your wrist.

Fives released your other hand and lowered himself slowly down until your chest met his, letting his weight press you further into the mattress and you made a noise of satisfaction, not caring about the drying cum smearing between your pelvic and his. You leaned up to capture his lips in a hungry kiss.

Fives groaned, pulling back from you enough to growl, “Let me show you just how not mad I am.”

“Your wording could use some improvement.”

“I guess I should put my mouth to better use then.” He winked before disappearing between your thighs.

#the clone wars #clone trooper kix #kix x reader #the clone wars fanfic #warning 18+ content #Justice Joy Writes #welcome to my first CW fanfic

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 2 years

Text

North To The Future [Chapter 9: A Long December]

The year is 1999. You are just beginning your veterinary practice in Juneau, Alaska. Aegon is a mysterious, troubled newcomer to town. You kind of hate him. You are also kind of obsessed with him. Falling for him might legitimately ruin your life…but can you help it? Oh, and there’s a serial killer on the loose known only as the Ice Fisher.

A/N: While “A Long December” was originally released by Counting Crows in 1996 (and is thus compliant with the 90s theme), the version I listen to most is Girlhouse’s cover from 2022. So maybe check that out. It is a bop!

Chapter warnings: Language, alcoholism, addiction, murder, discussions of sex, a tiny bit of sexual content, Christmas with Momtini and Dadtini, Kimmie making a realization, Aegon making a drink, Appletini making plans, Trent making some killer pool shots, the Ice Fisher getting into the holiday spirit, please enjoy this nice little respite before the events of Chapter 10. :)

Word count: 6.9k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @elsolario @ladylannisterxo @doingfondue @tclegane @quartzs-posts @liathelioness @aemcndtargaryen @thelittleswanao3 @burningcoffeetimetravel @hinata7346 @poohxlove @borikenlove @myspotofcraziness @travelingmypassion @graykageyama @skythighs @lauraneedstochill @darlingimafangirl @charenlie @thewew @eddies-bat-tattoos @minttea07 @joliettes @trifoliumviridi @bornbetter @flowerpotmage @thewitch-lives @courtenbae @tempt-ress @padfooteyes @teenagecriminalmastermind @chelsey01 @anditsmywholeheart

Please let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist! 💜

You descend the staircase gingery, sheepishly. Your socks slip on the hardwood steps like tires on black ice. You’re trying to avoid your parents, but you can’t wait any longer to eat breakfast or you’ll be late for work. They’re bustling around in the kitchen: cracking eggs, chitchatting, banging plates and pans, cooing over Sunfyre, listening to an R.E.M. album that spins on the record player.

When you walk in, your dad is standing by the stove wearing the apron you got him for his 50th birthday. Pizza Slut, it says. He grins and wiggles his eyebrows. “Hey, ladybug.”

“Oh no.”

“I heard you come home pretty late last night. And then you got right into the shower. Hmm.”

“Hmm!” your mom concurs joyfully.

Your dad nods to the pan he’s hovering over, wielding a spatula. “Salmon omelet?”

You sigh, defeated; and yet, you must admit, you love salmon omelets. “Yeah, sure.” You sit down at the table next to your mom. She’s drinking Earl Grey tea smokey with cream and reading a newspaper: Halle Barry is marrying a jazz musician, Puff Daddy’s Notorious.com is looking for a venture capitalist willing to invest $7.5 million in startup funding, a man was arrested in Times Square for threatening President Clinton, the Nasdaq composite index—fueled largely by the dot-com boom—could hit 5,000 by the end of 2000. You wonder what Aegon’s family is doing right now. Do outrageously wealthy people eat omelets and decorate Christmas trees? Do they hop from store to store in some glitzy metropolitan mall hunting for presents—KB Toys, the Disney Store, Hallmark, Bath and Body Works, Hot Topic, RadioShack, Claire’s, Wet Seal, Yankee Candle—before grabbing a late-afternoon snack at Cinnabon or Sbarro, maybe a smoothie from Orange Julius? Or do they just sit in their mansions under vast unsmiling portraits until they grow dusty and turn to stone: gargoyles, angels, lions bearing their fangs? Are they still human at all?

“How’s Trent doing?” your mom asks. “Still trying to get into the Forest Service?”

“As far as I know. But that’s not who I was with last night.”

Your dad sets an omelet down in front of you, along with a glass of orange juice and one of the same Flintstones multivitamins you’ve been taking since you were in preschool. Jesse used to give me those, you think randomly, recalling the reminders he penned in his clandestine journals. When he was around. When he was sober. Your parents exchange a wary glance. “Oh?” your dad ventures in a squeak, trying to sound casual.

You could lie, but you don’t. Juneau is too small for lies. People know each other too well, they bump elbows in grocery stores and bars and parking lots; they make overly-familiar small talk and inadvertently spill secrets. The last thing you need is someone teasing Trent good-naturedly about your supposed night of passion. He might be dumb, but if he ever gets all the pieces in his titan hands he’ll eventually figure out how they click together. “I was, uh, actually, uh…visiting Aegon.”

They watch you, faces frozen in forced, benign smiles. You pet the top of Sunfyre’s shaggy head with your left hand and stab a fork into the salmon omelet with your right. “Well, that’s great!” your dad manages. “He’s a nice boy, that Aegon. So Greek. And plenty sexy, as we’ve previously established.”

“Is he feeling better?” your mom asks politely, slurping her tea.

“Oh yeah. Much better.” It comes out way too enthusiastic, and hot blood floods into your face. Your parents chuckle…and yet their eyes are troubled, distant, though perhaps in different directions. “Just so you know, things aren’t really working out with Trent. I’m trying to let it fizzle so there isn’t any drama that makes things awkward or creates any…uh…bad blood, I guess. So if you see him around, definitely don’t mention Aegon.”

Your dad does a mock salute. “Got it, General Ladybug.”

“What are Aegon’s plans for Christmas?” your mom inquires. Your dad turns to her, but doesn’t say anything. “It must be difficult for him, being so far from home. Especially around the holidays. I would hate for him to be alone.”

Probably drinking himself into unconsciousness while watching Jingle All The Way and Die Hard. “I don’t know, that’s a good question. I should ask him.”

“He can spend Christmas here with us, if he’d like.” Your mom finishes her tea, sets the cup down on the table, fiddles with it. “We’ll have more than enough food. And we could find a few things to wrap for him so he has presents to open.”

“Now if that’s not holiday spirit, I don’t know what is!” your dad says happily; and if he’s bluffing, he’s good at not showing it. He kisses your mom on the cheek, resting his study hands on her shoulders. She smiles up at him.

You wolf down the last few bites of your salmon omelet, chew your vitamin, knock back orange juice like a shot. “Alright, I should get going, or I won’t be back in time to open the vet clinic at 9.”

“I can always hold down the fort for a few hours,” your dad offers.

“No, that’s okay. I appreciate it, but I don’t want to bother you.” I don’t want to disappoint you. I don’t want to let you down. “You’ve earned retirement. Enjoy all the Judge Judy and Buffy The Vampire Slayer you can handle.” You pet Sunfyre and tug playfully on his ears. His tail wags at warp speed. “Are you ready to go home to your favorite person now? Are you excited?”

Your dad lumbers off into the kitchen. “Here, bring Aegon some breakfast too…” He piles a salmon omelet, a mountain of hash browns, and toast slathered with butter and strawberry jelly into a Tupperware container. You take it and glance out the window that faces the driveway.

“Oh, great. Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“The cow moose is out there licking the road salt off my Jeep. Can you get rid of her?”

“Again?! Okay, I’m on it.” He grabs some pots out of the cabinet and heads outside. You can hear him beating the pots together and shouting: “Goodbye, moose! You live in the woods, not the driveway! Goodbye! Au revoir! Adios, mooseachos!”

At the kitchen table, your mom laughs. She’s still tinkering anxiously with her cup. “Only in Alaska.”

“You’re really alright with Aegon coming over for Christmas?”

“Of course. I’d prefer it, actually. I’d rather know he’s safe. Not alone, not in trouble.”

“Even though he might end up passed out under the tree?”

She smiles: faint, tired, melancholic. “I’ve seen worse.”

When you let yourself into Aegon’s apartment, he’s dressed for work and self-medicating with a rum and Coke mixed in a cereal bowl; it’s the only dish he has that’s currently clean. Sunfyre bolts to him, barking wildly and jumping up to prop his paws on Aegon’s chest as you slide the Tupperware onto the kitchen counter.

“Hey, buddy!” Aegon cries, ecstatic. “I missed you! Yes I did! Who’s a good boy? Who’s a good boy?!”

“Where are you going?” you ask, scrutinizing him.

“Fishing,” he says simply, like this should be obvious.

“I don’t think you should be going back to work this soon. You just got out of the hospital.”

He shrugs. “I need the money.”

“I can give you money.”

“You definitely could, but I don’t want your money, I want my money. Besides, Trent won’t be able to protect my job forever. If I can’t work, Rusty will find someone else who can.”

“Trent,” you echo morosely, staring at nothing in particular.

Aegon downs the rest of his rum and Coke, then puts his bowl in the sink. He walks over to you, his oceanic eyes cautious, his lock of white-blond hair resting on his cheek. “What did he do to you? At dinner, I mean. Before you called me.”

You take his left hand and turn it over, studying the lines on his palm: past, present, future, all in a language you can’t read. You hesitate; you can’t decide what to tell Aegon. You aren’t sure what you want him to know.

“He didn’t hurt you, right? Or try to touch you in a way you didn’t want him to?”

“He kissed me. I pushed him off. That’s all.”

Aegon watches you, eyes severe and glinting. “That’s not all.”

“I tried to break up with him at the restaurant,” you confess. “First he acted like he didn’t understand. Then he got upset, offended. We agreed to slow down, but I’m not sure what he thinks that means. Maybe he’s planning a summer engagement instead of a spring one, I have no idea.”

“You made him angry.” Aegon’s voice is flat, entirely flat, like he’s battling to keep it that way. “I thought we agreed not to make him angry.”

“Well I didn’t do it on purpose, Aegon.”

“No no no, my bad, let me clarify, I’m not mad at you. I just don’t understand why you would be so direct about it. I’ve broken up with a lot of people without actually breaking up with them. You ignore, you deflect, you do the bare minimum, you are intentionally unappealing in every way…and then eventually they move on. That’s the way to go. That’s how you avoid confrontations.”

“I don’t want this thing with Trent to die a slow death.” Oh, perhaps a poor choice of words. “I don’t want to be with him, to even keep up the facade of being with him. I want to be with you. I want to be with you in every way, everywhere, all the time.”

Aegon smiles. He twists his fingers into your hair and touches his forehead to yours and then kisses you, softly and unhurriedly. As he pulls away, he gently bites your lower lip; his fingertips ghost across the front of your throat like a necklace, like a chain. You moan into him, unable to help it. “I won’t go to work if you don’t either,” Aegon murmurs.

“I, an eternally upstanding citizen, definitely have to go to work.”

“Man, fuck capitalism,” he says, and you laugh together.

Something occurs to you. “You didn’t wait for Kimmie to move on. You broke up with her.”

“Yeah, I did.”

“Why?”

“Because I had another candidate in mind for the extremely prestigious position of being my Juneau girl.”

You tuck his hair behind his ear and kiss him again: heat, rum, memories from the night before. Lust stirs up in your blood like ancient silt in seawater. “Please be careful at work.”

“I will, Appletini. I will. Don’t worry. You’re always worrying about things that haven’t happened yet. There’s no point in that.”

“I think I’m just someone who’s doomed to worry a lot in general.”

He grins. “Yes. But I’m your favorite thing to worry about.” He lays his palm against your right cheek and kisses your left: quickly, lightly, like it’s routine, like he’ll be doing it every day for the rest of his life. “Have fun at the vet clinic. Saving all those furry little lives.”

“I’ll see you at Ursa Minor tonight?”

He winks. “I’ll be the one with the electric guitar.”

~~~~~~~~~~

You get stuck late at the clinic spaying Mr. Mark Morehouse’s Flemish Giant rabbit. By the time you rush through the front door of Ursa Minor—bells jangling, a gust of cold wind at your heels, patrons glancing over with vague interest—the band is already performing. Aegon is wearing his cuffed jeans, black combat boots, and, in a radical departure from his usual color scheme, a royal blue turtleneck sweater. He’s braided a section of his hair on the left side of his head and woven a single, small, blue-dyed rose into it. He gives you a subtle nod when he sees you come in, a sly half-smile. He’s singing a punk rock, up-tempo version of Counting Crow’s A Long December.

“I can’t remember the last thing that you said as you were leaving, now the days go by so fast…”

“Heyyy, bitch!” Heather greets you, raising her Sex On The Beach. Joyce and Kimmie are swaying together, brandishing lighters in the air: Joyce smirking and reluctant, Kimmie—a born groupie—shamelessly exuberant. You swing by the bar to get a Bacardi Breezer (blueberry, very good, one of the better flavors) and stand beside Heather. You gaze at Aegon as he strums his battered guitar, and the parallel strikes you for the first time. Aegon too is layered with imperfections: scars, marks, ink, demons with gnashing fangs and needlelike fingers that dangle past their knees. And yet what he gives to the world is so beautiful. And yet he is so goddamn miraculous.

“I can’t remember all the times I tried to tell my myself to hold on to these moments as they pass…”

It takes you a long time to notice that Kimmie is watching you. Something clicks like a dislocated joint popped back into its socket; and that’s the way it’s always been with Kimmie, since she was a child, since she was a five-year-old chasing boys around the playground at recess. The hints pile up—a lot of hints, sometimes years of hints—until eventually there’s an avalanche of realization that hits and drags her under like a rogue wave. She sucks in a breath and her doelike eyes shoot wide open. You try to pretend you didn’t see anything, but that’s not Kimmie’s style. She pushes her way through the audience and grabs your wrist, hauling you away from the crowd. Heather observes this, slurping down her Sex On The Beach, trying to ascertain if you need reinforcements.

“What—?!”

“I didn’t know,” Kimmie says, like it’s an apology. Her eyes are pained and fearful, a deer bathed in headlights.

“You didn’t know what?”

“That you’re in love with him.” Her voice is reedy and trembling. She’s petrified, you realize. She’s afraid that I’ll never be able to be her friend again. Not a true friend, not a pure one. “I swear to God, I didn’t know. I even asked you first. I never would have hooked up with him if I had known, never, never. I’m so sorry. I’m so so so sorry. It didn’t mean anything, it wasn’t like we had real feelings for each other—”

“Kimmie, Kimmie, it’s fine,” you soothe, rubbing her shoulder. She’s wearing a ridiculously fluffy hot pink sweater; it’s like petting a neon sheep. “I’m the one who wasn’t upfront with you. I didn’t think Aegon and I had a chance, so I was purposefully trying to avoid him, to avoid any feelings I had for him. It didn’t work out that way, but…yeah. Anyway. I don’t blame you for anything.”

“Oh my god, so you’re together? Like, together?” Kimmie blinks at you, shocked but not scandalized. You’re not sure it’s possible to scandalize Kimmie.

“We don’t really want everyone to know about it.”

“Oh, because of Trent?”

Now it’s your turn to be shocked. Maybe some of those genius professor genetics made it down the Plinko board after all. “Exactly.”

“Jesus Christ, he’d probably snap Aegon in half if he knew. Like a freaking KitKat bar.”

“That’s a mental image I didn’t need.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Kimmie swears, empowered by this rare, consequential responsibility.

“I really, really appreciate your discretion.”

“You and Aegon, wow…” She mulls it over, baffled. “So you’re pretty kinky too? I wouldn’t have guessed that. You should have told me! We could have gone shopping together!”

Shopping with Kimmie for fuzzy handcuffs and riding crops and, who knows, probably like vibrating butt plugs or something. I don’t think I’m emotionally prepared for that. I will most likely never be emotionally prepared for that. “Boundaries, Kimmie. Honestly, I haven’t seen that side of him. At least not in my albeit limited experience.”

“Huh,” Kimmie says brightly. “I guess he’s in love with you too.” And then she trots off to rejoin the crowd. Boat #27 has concluded their performance and is accepting cheers of acclaim and complimentary drinks from their adoring fans. Joyce hugs Rob, climbing onto her tiptoes and giggling. Joyce!? Giggling!?!? You grab another Bacardi Breezer before heading over, raspberry this time.

“Hey, babe!” Trent booms when he sees you.

Oh god. Oh no. You shrink away when he throws an arm across your shoulders. Aegon watches this as he approaches, sipping a rum and Coke, eyes like blue embers.

“Right,” Trent groans, like it’s some grave inconvenience, like it’s some passing fad he has to endure. “I remember now. We’re taking things slow.”

The clique assembles by the pool table like battle-ready Power Rangers: you, Trent, Joyce, Rob, Heather, Kimmie, Aegon. “Someone should play!” you say, truly a master of redirection.

Trent flips his hair. “Obviously I’m down.” He looks at you expectantly. You ignore him, drinking your Bacardi Breezer and then pretending to drink it once it’s empty.

“Oh, you are going down.” Heather cracks her knuckles and grins, then picks up a cue stick.

“Battle royal!” Rob announces. Joyce sighs and pulls a fantasy novel out of her purse. Kimmie perches on the edge of the pool table: legs crossed, eyes roving, gold hoop earrings glittering under Christmas lights, seeking attention and drawing it to her like Saturn ensnares moons. A gaggle of bashful men appear out of nowhere to worship her. Dale’s stereo pipes out Mariah Carey’s All I Want For Christmas Is You. Dale himself is wearing a red Santa hat and yawning boredly into the back of his hand.

“I need another drink,” you say, and head for the bar. Aegon follows you.

“You don’t want a Bacardi Breezer.”

“I don’t?”

“No. You don’t.” He flags Dale over once you’ve claimed your seats. “Hey Dale, did you get the stuff on the list I gave you?”

“Sure did.” Dale sets an array of items on the bar: apple juice, lemon juice, florescent green apple schnapps, vodka, a single Granny Smith apple, a paring knife, a shaker halfway filled with ice, a small plate covered with sugar, two chilled martini glasses. “You owe me, though. Especially for the schnapps. I had to order a case all the way from Seattle!”

“Add it to my tab.”

“Which you’ll pay when? In 2023?”

“I’ll pay, Dale!” Aegon insists.

Dale rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t seem genuinely annoyed. “Sure you will.” He yawns again and ambles away to take the orders of some locals sitting at the other end of the bar. The thuds of his boots are heavy and slow on the hardwood floor, the same one Aegon almost died on nine days ago.

“What are we doing?” you ask, but you’re already smiling. You have a pretty good guess.

“We’re making appletinis,” Aegon replies.

“You knew how to make appletinis this entire time and never said anything?”

“Oh no, I definitely did not,” he says. “I found the phone number of a friend I met back in San Francisco and figured she might know. She’s a bartender. So I gave her a call and asked very, very nicely and sure enough, she had a recipe.” He pauses, contemplative. “I told her I was in Chicago. Just in case.”

Just in case his ghost manages to track her down. “Have you seen this friend naked?”

“Does it matter?”

“No,” you say, and you find that you mean it. Aegon is here with you now, and that’s all you can ask for. Still, his commitment to relative honestly seems enduring.

“The answer is yes. But it wasn’t like it is with you.”

“Really, it doesn’t matter. I’m not mad or anything.”

“Yeah, you don’t look mad.”

You smile at each other, Christmas-light sparks in your eyes, alone in a crowded room. Well…alone except for Mariah Carey. “Anyway,” you prompt. “Am I getting a real-life appletini or what?”

“Let’s do this. Uh…” He furrows his brow, trying to remember. “Okay. I think I know how it goes.” He adds apple juice and lemon juice to the shaker. He doesn’t measure; he estimates, splashing in a little at a time until he’s content. He caps the container, gives it a few vigorous shakes, then opens it again. He pours in the schnapps and vodka, then shakes again. “Cut a few slices off the apple, vet lady. Nice and thin.”

You do, four transparent crescent-moon slivers. Aegon rubs lemon juice around the rim of each martini glass with his ring finger and then dunks them in the sugar until the rims are covered in fine white crystals like snow. He garnishes the martini glasses with the apple slices, gives the shaker one last whirl, then empties the contents into the glasses: half for you, half for him. He hands you your introductory appletini and toasts his glass against yours.

“On three?” Aegon asks, and you nod, beaming. You count together: one, two, three.

Your first taste isn’t a tentative sip. You take a full, brave swallow of the vivid green brew. It’s jarringly sour, sticky-sweet, crisp and refreshing like springtime. “Oh, I love it!” you trill.

“It’s…uh…” He takes another investigative slurp. “It’s definitely appley.”

“You hate it,” you say, laughing.

“I don’t hate it,” he counters. “I like what it’s doing to you.”

You close your eyes, the sights and sounds of Ursa Minor fading away. You’re somewhere sleek and vibrant and new; you’re in New York City, you’re in Los Angeles, you’re in Las Vegas, you’re in San Diego. When you open your eyes, Aegon is smiling. “Sorry. I was teleporting.”

“Do you want the rest of mine?”

“Yeah,” you admit guiltily, and he slides his appletini over to rest by yours. You drain them both. “I’m like Jack Dawson. I’m the king of the world.”

“You’re very, very cute when you’re tipsy, that’s what you are.”

“My parents think you should spend Christmas with us. I think you should too.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Okay. Don’t buy me anything fancy, though. I won’t be able to return the favor.”

“Sad impoverished homeless man gifts only. You have my word.”

“Hey!” Heather calls from the pool table. She’s waving her cue stick in the air. “I lost! I’m a loser! I got slaughtered by this jumbo-sized motherfucker! And you weren’t even here to witness it!”

“We should go over there,” you tell Aegon, and he steadies you when you wobble as you slide off the barstool. “Oh, god, I’m sorry.”

“It’s cool. Now I have an excuse to touch you.”

“Dale, can I get some Chex Mix or something?” He tosses you a little blue bag from behind the bar. You miss it completely. It sails over your head and smacks into the floor. Aegon cackles hysterically, but fetches the bag. He even opens it before he hands it to you. Then you set off together for the pool table.

“What’s wrong with you?” Heather asks when you arrive, her eyes narrow.

“I like appletinis. I really like appletinis.”

“It’s December 22nd, the commencement of Capricorn season, and you are celebrating this momentous event with an uncharacteristic display of recklessness and frivolity? Inauspicious!”

“What did I miss? Besides your humiliation.”

“Flintstones vitamins,” Rob says, rubbing blue chalk on a cue stick. He and Trent are playing pool now; Trent is showing Kimmie and several of her sycophants, including Matt and Gary, how he can make a shot with his hands behind his back. Aegon circles the pool table, his hands in his jeans pockets, watching Trent reticently. “Childish and stupid or totally acceptable for mid-twenties adults?”

“Totally acceptable,” you declare, munching on Chex Mix. “I just had one this morning.”

“That’s what I said!” Kimmie cries. “They’re delicious. I could eat a whole bottle of them. I used to lie to my mom when I was a kid and insist she hadn’t given one to me yet so I could get extra. My high score was five in a day.”

“That can’t be good for you,” Heather says. “Wait. Maybe it explains some things.”

“A lot of things,” Joyce quips, turning a page in her book.

Kimmie defers to you, the foremost medical authority present. “Vitamins can’t hurt people, right?”

“Well, that depends on the vitamin.”

“Some can,” Aegon says. “The fat-soluble ones, because your body can’t flush them out as easily or something. Too much Vitamin A can really fuck someone up. There are people who’ve died because they ate a polar bear liver, which has, like, millions of units of Vitamin A. So if you ever happen to eat a polar bear, skip the liver.”

“You can overdose on vitamins?” Kimmie asks him, puzzled. “Like, vitamins can kill you?”

“Oh yeah, lots of things can kill you if you take enough of them. Too much Vitamin A can cause seizures and comas, Vitamin D can give you a heart attack, Vitamin E can make you hemorrhage out of your eyeballs and stuff. And it causes strokes.”

“Oh snap!” Kimmie exclaims in horror, thinking that perhaps she barely escaped with her life. Heather is thoroughly amused.

You look at Aegon as he passes by you like a satellite whirling around the Earth, a blinking light in suffocating darkness. He’s right, but he shouldn’t be. He hasn’t studied medicine. He hasn’t studied much of anything. “How do you know all that?”

He replies curtly: “How do you think?” And then he resumes his orbit.

Rob attempts a shot and misses. “Ha!” Trent says, flipping his hair, and then starts lining up his own. As he leans over the pool table, he asks you: “So, where were you last night?”

Your mind, already hazy, goes useless. Cold sweat bubbles up out of your pores. “What? At home.”

“No you weren’t.” His eyes are on you like a wolf’s, like a beast’s. “I called the house. A couple times, actually. I felt weird about how we left things and wanted to apologize. But no one answered.”

“Oh, sorry, I mean I was at home, but then I went to go bowling with my parents.”

“No you didn’t.” Trent’s cue stick hits the striped red ball, number 11, and sends it hurtling into a pocket. “I already asked Dale. He’s in the bowling league, and he said you weren’t there.”

Two lies. And I don’t have a third. You stand there helplessly, surrounded by Christmas lights and tinsel and pine trees, your thoughts churning slowly, slower, dragging to a full stop. The chatter around you dies down. Wide eyes dart between you and Trent. Joyce closes her book. Even Dale is peeking over from the bar. His face is crisscrossed with lines of disapproval, of fascination.

“Where were you, huh?” Trent takes a step closer. He’s huge. He’s so fucking huge. Aegon picks up the black 8 ball off the pool table; no one else notices but you.

“Trent,” Heather scolds her brother, stunned. “Take a chill pill—”

“Where were you?!” Trent demands.

You try to conjure up an excuse, any excuse. All you can think of is how badly you don’t want to end up at the bottom of an ice-covered lake. I can’t die, I haven’t done anything yet. I haven’t been anywhere yet. I haven’t seen San Diego.

Trent begins one final time, still clutching the cue stick, his voice deafening: “Where were—?!”

“She was with me!” Kimmie bursts out, and everyone spins towards her. “I, um, I was upset. Devastated, in fact. Because of, um. Boy problems.”

Heather titters nervously. “What else is new.”

“So I called and I was an absolute blubbering mess on the phone and she offered to come over and hang out. Watch Buffy with me. Do my nails and stuff. It’s really embarrassing.” She smiles at you, a soft glowing smile. “Thanks for trying to keep my secret.”

“No problem, Kimmie,” you reply shakily.

“Oh, babe!” Trent says, his face splitting into a smile, pressing a hand into the small of your back. He even flips his hair in that simpleminded, horselike way. He can’t be the Ice Fisher. He can’t be…right? You flinch when he touches you. On the periphery of your vision, you can see Aegon rolling the black 8 ball back onto the pool table. “That’s all?! You should have told me!”

“It really wasn’t my situation to share.”

“Damn, I’m sorry.” Trent seems to mean it. “I’m really sorry. That was a dick move, I don’t know what came over me.”

“Hulk smash?” Rob says, and there is laughter, quivering with fresh relief.

“I think I have to go,” you say, rubbing your forehead. “I’m really not feeling great.” And that part’s not even a lie. “I shouldn’t have mixed Bacardi Breezers and appletinis, I’m a total lightweight. And I have work in the morning. I’m supposed to vaccinate like ten of Mr. Campbell’s reindeer.”

“You want me to drive you home?” Trent offers.

No! Definitely not! “Thanks, but I couldn’t bear to interrupt your pool game. Especially when you’re winning.” You can tell Aegon is looking at you. You intentionally don’t acknowledge him. And now you realize that you’re a little trapped: you can’t say you’re driving yourself home because you’re not sober, and you can’t say that Aegon is walking you back to his apartment because then Trent might murder you both right here in the middle of Ursa Minor, blood splattering the deer heads mounted on the wall, femurs and vertebrae littering the pool table.

“I’ll do it!” Heather volunteers. “I’m super not-wasted at the moment.”

“Um, well…”

“Come on.” She’s already going to get your parka off the coatrack. “I can’t in good conscience let you vaccinate those reindeer without a full night’s sleep.” You trail after her, powerless to refuse.

Out in the night-draped parking lot, you haul yourself—with some difficulty—into Heather’s Chevy Suburban. And as she turns the key in the ignition and begins defrosting the windshield, you tell her: “When you leave the lot, make a left, not a right.”

“What? Why?”

“Because you’re not taking me home. You’re taking me to Aegon’s apartment.”

“I’m…?” She gapes at you as it sinks in like an anchor through dark surf. “Oh my god. Oh my god…?!”

“Affirmative.”

“Oh. My. GOD.” She puts the Suburban in drive and, as requested, makes a left onto Main Street.

Sunfyre is delighted to see you when you arrive. He leaps, barks, pirouettes in circles, accepts copious scratches and Milk-Bone treats. You collapse onto the threadbare couch, and he stretches out on the floor beside you, his quiet snoring soon the only sound in the apartment. Your eyes blur, flutter, close up shop. Maybe twenty minutes later, you hear a key rattling in the front door.

Aegon walks inside, his boots dripping with snow. He doesn’t seem surprised to see you. “You alright, Appletini?”

“Yeah, I’m kind of woozy but I mostly just wanted to leave.” You consider him, wondering how to ask him the question that won’t leave your mind. It claws at the arched walls of your skull like a trapped animal, leaving streaks of blood where its nails were torn away.

“I don’t want to talk about the vitamin thing,” he says.

“I don’t want to talk about Trent.”

“Deal.”

He throws off his parka and boots, turns on the X-Files, and crawls onto the couch with you. You fold into him and he holds you, not hungrily, not asking for a thing. You freefall into sleep with your head against his chest, his heartbeat a distant roar like thunder.

~~~~~~~~~~

The Ice Fisher has left Juneau a Christmas present: Stephanie Nolan, his fifth victim. She was twenty-five years old, an avid knitter, a Blockbuster employee, mother of several adopted Himalayan cats, one of three sisters born barely a year apart. At least her parents still have some children left, you think. At least the pressure to make their sacrifices worthwhile wasn’t all on her. Your dad sneaks a few minutes of news coverage while your mom is in the shower. They’re replaying the press conference that Chief of Police Eugene Baker gave late last night on Christmas Eve.

“We urge all Juneau residents to remain vigilant. This is the time of year for celebrations and get-togethers, and we don’t want to discourage that in any way, but no one—and I repeat, no one—should be outside alone, especially not after dark. Ms. Nolan left her place of employment to take a ten-minute smoke break, and that was all the opportunity the killer needed. He is still out there, he is still dangerous, and no one is immune from becoming a target. If you have any information relevant to this case, anything at all, please call our anonymous 24/7 hotline at…”

There are camera flashes, uneasy clamoring, flailing hands of reporters begging to be called on. Your dad crosses his arms over his broad chest, his face grim. A reporter asks Chief Baker: “I understand that the Juneau PD has brought in FBI profilers to help them identify possible suspects. Can you share any new theories with the public at this time?”

“Well, there are a couple likely possibilities. The Ice Fisher might be someone who is new to the area, someone who arrived this past summer or early autumn. Residents should therefore be extremely wary of newcomers. However, it might be the case that the killer isn’t new to the area at all, but rather suffered some sort of destabilizing event—loss of employment, for example, or the death of a loved one—that triggered their otherwise dormant violent impulses. The last theory I’m prepared to share today is that the criminal now known as the Ice Fisher might have been active long before this recent string of murders. Some serial killers have been known to…to test the waters, so to speak…with murders that can be camouflaged as accidental or natural deaths. That’s a possibility in this case, and we are combing back through the department archives to see if there are any answers there…”

“I should go pick up Aegon,” you say.

“Ladybug…” Your dad stalls, not wanting you to take it the wrong way. “I’m not saying that I think Aegon is the killer, because I don’t think he is. I know he’s not, actually. He doesn’t have much rage in him. He has a lot of other things, I believe, but not that. I’m just saying…you have to be careful. And he can’t keep an eye out for you if he’s passed out drunk somewhere. Do you get what I mean?”

“I understand, Dad. I’m careful. Really, I am. And I’m never running around town alone. If I’m not with Aegon, I’m with Heather or Kimmie or Joyce.”

“Or Trent,” he adds. He likes this idea; Trent might not be able to snap a murderer in two like a KitKat bar, but he could definitely crack a few ribs. Trent would be a great Mortal Kombat character. He could skewer foes with a cue stick, right through the eye socket. An icy shudder rocks down your spine.

“Or Trent.”

“Okay. Good.” He turns back to the tv, his eyes vacant, his voice low. “Just making sure.”

Aegon is dressed in his Christmas best: dark jeans, black Converses, his hair loose and wavy, a festive red sweater with Gizmo from Gremlins on it. You’ve opted for a more traditional Rudolph turtleneck. Sunfyre has a large red bow tied to his collar. The three of you ride together back to your parents’ house, the radio playing Celine Dion’s O Holy Night, one of the back windows rolled halfway down for Sunfyre.

Dinner is a reindeer roast, rosemary apple stuffing, potato gratin, homemade macaroni and cheese, and creamed spinach; dessert is Christmas cookies eaten under the tree. You open presents as a parade of classics play on the tv: Frosty The Snowman, How The Grinch Stole Christmas, The Year Without A Santa Claus. Your parents give Aegon cold-weather clothing like hats and mittens, which he accepts with great appreciation. He gives them a bouquet of blue roses and three bottles of red wine, only one of which he drinks himself. You give Aegon a refrigerator magnet from Caribou Crossings, a grizzly bear with a salmon caught between its teeth, something to join the rest of his collection, something to help him remember Juneau once he’s gone. He gives you a handful of seashells from San Diego that he’s been carting around in his luggage for a year. Everyone gives Sunfyre Milk-Bones.

When Aegon takes the golden retriever out to the backyard, your dad goes with them. You can see them talking out there as snow falls and the sun sets and the horizon is inked with violet and gold, the wind whipping fiercely: Aegon’s hands moving in wild, dramatic gestures, your dad nodding along. They’re gone for so long you start to worry, your fingers trembling as you and your mom play chess with the new set you received for Christmas, not black and white but pet-themed: one side dogs, the other cats.

Your dad comes back inside first. He shuts the door and says to you, not accusatory but merely intrigued: “I didn’t know you were serious about wanting to travel, ladybug.”

“Oh, yeah, I guess so. One day. When I’m retired, I guess. Doesn’t everyone want to travel?”

“Huh. Aegon made it sound a bit more urgent than that.”

He watches you defeat your mom in chess, makes her some mollifying Earl Grey tea, and then offers to play Scrabble with her, a proposition she can never resist. When Aegon brings Sunfyre back inside—the sky fully dark now, the stars rising behind the veil of clouds—you lead him upstairs to your room. You sit on your bed together and flip through your travel magazines, scenes of Paris, Cairo, New York City, Rome, Tokyo, Cape Town, Buenos Aires, Beijing, Saint Petersburg, Sydney, Las Vegas, Cusco, Athens, Mexico City, Nairobi, California.

“It’s strange,” Aegon says. “Your parents like me, but they also kind of don’t like me. It’s as if they’re afraid of me. I can’t figure them out.”

You think of the cardboard box under your bed, the one full of Jesse’s journals. “My mom was married before. Vince is her second husband.”

Aegon looks over at you, attentive but not understanding. “Okay.”

“I was five years old when they got together. So Vince is my dad, but he’s not…like…he’s not biologically…well, you get what I’m saying.”

Aegon closes the magazine he’d been skimming, still looking at you.

“My mom’s first husband was named Jesse. And he was…from what I understand…he was a lot like you.” You tap your index finger against the crook of your own elbow so Aegon will understand. He was brilliant, but he was an addict. He was a blessing, he was a curse.

Aegon nods slowly. “I guess that explains a lot.”

“I probably should have told you sooner. But I’ve never really told anyone.”

“What happened to him?”

“He drowned in the channel. Maybe it was an accident, maybe suicide. Maybe it doesn’t matter which one. Maybe there isn’t much of a difference.”

“I’m so sorry,” Aegon says, his voice quiet and gentle.

“I don’t want the same thing to happen to you.”

“It won’t. I told you. I’m not that easy to kill.”

You wonder if Aegon has become a ghost to his family, if he haunts the Targaryens like Jesse haunts you, half-comforting, half-heartbreaking, if after six long silent years his shadow still lurks in corners and doorways. You wonder if a ghost is really so far from what you are. “I want to stop feeling like a potential person, to stop waiting for the life I’ve always dreamed of to drop out of the sky. I want to feel real.”

“You’re real to me.” He dusts his thumbprint across the curve of your cheekbone, flesh and blood that sing to each other. “Listen, we’ll go to San Diego together.”

“Don’t, Aegon.”

“No, I mean it,” he says. “Give me a month to save up, and we’ll go. We’ll take a long weekend and fly down there. It won’t be hot enough to swim, but it’ll be warmer than here. Sixties, sunny, sandy, waves and tacos. We’ll stay somewhere with a waterbed. Those can be a lot of fun.”

“Careful. I might not want to leave the hotel room. What a waste of a trip that would be.”

“I’ll just have to make sure you’re bored of me by then,” he purrs, grinning and mischievous, dragging you into his lap. He smooths your hair back from your face, gazing up at you as you straddle him. He kisses your lips, your jaw, your neck; his teeth skate across your skin without biting down, without leaving indigo bruises of ownership. Slowly, he turns solemn and hushed. Slowly, you begin to worry about him.

“What, Aegon?”

“You’re the best present I ever got. I hope you know that.”

You whisper through his windswept white-blond hair: “Then open me.”

He lays you down on the bed, unearths your needful bare skin and stifles his moans against your throat, unravels you like a blood-red ribbon from a box heavy with secrets.

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