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vixensbrainrotts · 10 months ago

Text

Committed to you - Manjiro >Mikey< Sano

(part two)

Idea/ prompt: Mikey from the last timeline who wants to propose to us but has no idea how to ask so he ask advices from draken and emma

Vixen's two cents: Hi. I know ive been gone for like 2 weeks, I dont know why but it's been hard writing lately. anyway, thanks a million to @anahryal for giving me this idea whilst I was in the pits of my writers block!!! thanks girl, I can't tell you how much this helped. anyway, REQUESTS ARE OPEN and I advise you to use them! now please enjoy my revival piece!

Mikey has thought every possible thought he could have. He had run through every possible situation, every possible outcome, every possible setting, but damnit why was this so hard? He couldn’t do it. Not for the life of him.

He had browsed millions of travel blogs, pondering about every possible spot on earth to take you for the occasion. He had woken in and out of more jewelry stores in the past month than he had ever in his entire life. He had specifically stood in corner stores, reading the wedding catalogues in the magazine section trying to figure out what the hell he was supposed to do.

None of it helped.

Manjiro wanted it so bad. So so very bad. Every white dress he walked by, he envisioned you in it. Every bakery shop he passed, his eyes flitted up and down the fancy display cakes, pondering whether or not it would be good enough. Any time he woke up next to you, every time he joined you in the shower, every time he watched you cook, the urge to sink to one knee overtook him.

He knew he couldn’t make it that simple though. It was too domestic for him, so little of a gesture. He wanted you to know that he loved you, that he would bring you the moon if you wanted it. He needed you to see just how much he appreciates you for sticking with him through everything, and for that he needs a grand gesture.

However it seemed that nothing he could think of was quite big enough, quite meaningful enough, quite heartfelt enough. He was at the end of his wits. For one and a half months- seven weeks he had been fighting this battle alone.

He had made some progress in that time, having picked the ring because when he picked it up he just felt that this was the one. It was a niche store, and he was initially appalled by the average price of the rings, but decided, ah what the fuck? and entered the store for mostly shits and giggles. He was greeted by an expensive looking elderly gentleman who donned a monocle and silk gloves, clearly the clerk, and clearly an expert. He had the longest, most engaging talk with the man, explaining his situation and his frustrations, to which the man nodded understandingly and told of his own story and experience with marigge.

Seven long weeks he had kept it a secret from everyone, and now he couldn’t take it anymore.

He was just about to throw the towel on this whole thing and say fuck it and give up on this whole marriage thing and just accept that he would never make it, when he remembered that he didnt have to be alone in this. Not at all matter of fact. His best friend married his sister after all. If Ken could do it with the pressure of Shinichiro, Izana AND Mikey breathing down his neck, then surely he could do it too, right?

You were out on a girls night with Hinata, Senju and Yuzuha. Emma would have tagged along normally too, but with the addition of a new-born baby, she decided that it would be best to sit out this time. Either way you were out of the house for the night, and Mikey was left to his own devices. You had left him with a kiss and a home-cooked meal (which he felt bad about leaving behind so he completely stuffed himself before coming here) before he gave Ken a quick heads up over the phone that he was coming over with a VERY important problem.

Thats how he found himself here. Standing in the Kitchen of Emma and Ken‘s flat, hands perched on the counter, looking down at the surface, face in a deep frown. „What’s goin on? What’s the problem?“ Ken asks roughly, leaned on the refrigerator as he eyed his friend. Mikey didnt really respond though.

„What problem?“ Emma‘s voice was hushed as she entered through the kitchen door, pulling the door shut behind her, probably for the sake of the baby. „I dont know.“ Ken responded, rubbing his eyebrows „Ask your brother.“ he sighed as he gestured to Mikey who was still staring down the counter.

“Mikey?!” Emma sounded confused and a little concerned as she turned to look at him, eyes flitting between her brother and her husband. “Did you know he was coming over?”

Ken nodded wordlessly. “Said he needs our help about something.” Emma’s head tilted in question but accepted the fact. “What’s up Mikey?” She asked, approaching him and joining Draken at the other side of the counter.

Mikey didn’t say anything though, instead reaching into his pocket and producing a small, black, silk-encased box. He dropped it onto the table and looked up at the couple in desperation. “How do I do it?”

Ken gasped and felt his lips tug into a smile, happy that finally, finally Mikey was wiping you up (he had told him to do so since they were teens).

Emma slapped her hands over her mouth to muffle a silent scream, beginning to voice up and down on excitement as she realized- her brother was marrying you! She thanked the gods that Mikey fell in love with you because there was no better in-law than her Soulsister.

“Ahhhhh! Oh my goodness Mikey! I’m so happy for you! Can I see? Wow! Oh my god Ken are you seeing this!? He’s proposing! Ah I’m so glad!” Mikey nodded in response and let Emma pick up the box and crack it open, revealing the beautiful white-gold wedding band, encrusted with more diamonds than she could count. Notably, one large diamond sat in the middle of the ring, flanked by two smaller diamonds on each side.

“Oh.” Emma breathed. “Ken why didn’t you ask Manjiro for help when picking my ring?” Emma sounded slightly offended as she spoke, glaring down at the ring.

“Nah nah, don’t get it twisted girl. You told me what ring you wanted, I didn’t have much picking liberty other than the price.” Ken waved his hands in dismissal, brushing off her accusations with a grin still wide on his face. He made his way over to Mikey and clapped a hand on his shoulder, congratulating him for the occasion.

“Good on you man! Finally givin it the push, hah?” Ken was smiling as he searched for Mikey’s eyes, but he didn’t look up. “What’s up with the long face? You’re about to propose dude, you should be over the moon!”

Mikey sighed and shook his head. “I’ve been trying to propose to her for months. Months Ken. I can’t do it. It’s never right.”

The couple halted their celebrations and turned to look at Mikey again, Emma putting down the dainty box as her looks turns to one of concern. “What do you mean?” She fingered at the box as she leaned across the counter.

“It’s… i don’t know. Ken made it look so easy when he proposed to you, and Pah-chin was even more mindless about it! I really want to. I really do, but every time I get close, I chicken out because I get scared or because something isn’t right, and I’m starting to think that it’s better if I just… don’t.” Mikey sighed and cradled his head in his hands, his elbows resting on the counter.

Emma and Ken shared a look, a wordless exchange of worry and empathy. "What kind of proposal were you thinking of? Big? Small? Public? Private?" Emma started, hand rubbing soothingly across her brother's back.

"Big." Mikey mumbled into his hands, remaining hunched over the counter. "Big and public. I wanna make sure that everyone knows, everyone sees, I want them all to know. want them to know how much I love her."

Emma's eyes softened and she suppressed a smile, because all in all, it was cute. She had always known her brother to be big and strong, undefeatable, and most of all unwaverable. Mikey always put up the strong front when really, he was hurt. Vulnerability wasn't something that she was used to seeing from him, which made this moment all the more special.

"Do you want to go somewhere with her?" Ken steps in and asks, an idea arising. Mikey only grunts, a noise of agreement sounding through the room. "Do you know what kind of places she likes?" Ken continues.

Mikey's head slowly raises from the position on the table and he stares forward at the refrigerator. "Europe."

Emma and Ken looked at one another again, sensing that they were getting somewhere. "Then take her on Vacation. You both have that long shared break coming up, don't you? Travel through Europe and when it feels right, ask!" Ken said.

"How do I know when it feels right, though? What if it's not the moment?" Mikey asks, still not entirely convinced. "You'll know. I promise you, you'll know. I knew too and I didn't think I had the stuff to ever get married." Ken reassures again, and this time the two share eye contact, and it takes Draken a lot not to tear up.

Draken took a moment in his mind to look at Mikey. He had stuck by his side since they were kids, through thick and thin it's always been the two if them against the world. And now as he looked at Manjiro he no longer saw the unmatchable delinquent he saw ten years ago, but rather a distinguished person with complex thoughts and emotions. He saw a man that felt, a man that cared and a man that loved in front of him, and he couldn't be prouder.

Ken nodded at Mikey, and Mikey nodded back at him. "Yeah. She'll love it! Thanks, I'll do that! Gosh I don't know what id do without you two.."

"Oh, please propose to her in front of the Eifel Tower! Or the Coliseum! Or on some romantic Bridge in Venice!" Emma swooned and held her hands over her chest, hearts in her eyes.

Mikey smiled at her and nodded again. "I'll try and film it if I can."

The rest of the evening was spent with the three of them checking about a thousand booking sites, mapping travel routes and destinations, and the occasional cacophony of laughter which led to a grumpy Ryuguji-baby. Manjiro couldn't wait to go with you, he thought as he sat on one of the armchairs, gently running a thumb over the silk box that sat pretty in his hand.

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missmeinyourbones · 1 year ago

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L, pro athlete atsumu and reader for "the only kind of girl they see is a one night or a wife" has me THINKING

ONE NIGHT OR A WIFE (a. miya)

a/n: pro athlete atsumu, implied woman identifying reader -> slight talks of womanhood and slut-shaming, atsumu is trying so hard he has the spirit he’s just ken

L’s MIDNIGHTS EVENT!

When the front door clicks behind you, you're greeted with the back of a messy blonde mop peeking from above the lip of the couch. Atsumu doesn't have to turn around to know it's you coming through the door, but you don't even give him a chance to guess with the immediate interrogation flying from your lips.

"Why are we trending on Twitter?"

Amused, Atsumu turns around to catch a glimpse of your panicked face before he smirks, turning around and redirecting his attention back to the television.

"Oh, they think I proposed to you again."

His words oddly bring a wave of comfort over you, and when you exhale and plop down on the cushion next to his sprawled-out limbs, he lets his hand gently run through your frizzy hair.

And you don't pretend to ignore how it's weird that this calms you—that enough people on the internet typed and searched and chatted about the two of you to get it trending. How many people need to talk about something for it to trend worldwide? You think about googling it, but that's a headache waiting to happen.

Instead, you slump into his touch and try to keep your tone humorous when you ask, "On what grounds this time?"

Atsumu is now far from affected by the newlywed allegation, as this isn't the first (or second) time the media thinks he's popped the question to you. You always feel a bit warm when remembering the first time the rumor spiraled. How flustered he was, how he couldn’t meet your eye when opening the app for weeks, how it led to your first actual conversation about a future together.

Now immune to the gossip, he casually fishes for his phone in his sweatpants and lazily pulls up a paparazzi photo of the two of you leaving dinner a few nights ago.

"Here," he hands the screen to you, borderline yawning. “This picture from the other night,” he has the audacity to point knowingly, like it’s common sense when he says, "left hand is hidden in yer jacket pocket."

You guess he is right, your left hand is tucked away into your coat in the photo, but that's because it's almost winter, and you're human, despite what some may argue.

The photo itself isn't even anything crazy—a candid shot of the two of you walking to the car. Atsumu's hand is on your back, seemingly guiding you as you walk along the curb. Your right hand rests on your purse, and your left apparently hides a flashy diamond ring in the suede of your pocket.

Atsumu hears you scoff at the stupidity, "So naturally that means I'm your wife now?"

He smiles and scratches your head with loving fingers.

"Yup," he pops the last part of the word before looking over to you with a grin. "Apparently the rock was so big, it had to be hidden in fear of blindin' the paparazzi."

He’s teasing, it’s lighthearted, but your eyes don't leave the photo when you softly furrow your brow.

"Why do they keep assuming we're engaged?" you lowly mumble, to him or yourself, Atsumu doesn't know, but he hears it all the same. Your voice almost wavers when you weakly exhale, "This is like the fourth time."

Carefully, as if you’re suddenly made of glass, Atsumu pulls the phone from your grasp, and you don't put up a fight when he easily swipes it and shimmies it back into his pocket.

"Dunno baby,” his voice whispers as his hand finds your shoulder. “People like to talk. I can't even begin to name the craziest rumors I've heard about me."

You hum to let him know you're listening, but when you don't elaborate much more than that, Atsumu knows something isn't quite right.

Not one to let his thoughts spiral, he thinks for all about two seconds before deciding that he’s getting to the bottom of this.

He tries to act like a normal person, stretching his arms and casually asking, "Does it bother you or somethin’?"

You're quiet for a moment like you're thinking extra hard about what to say. And when you do take a deep inhale and open your mouth, Atsumu feels a bit queasy.

"In a way," is all you allow to come out.

In a way? Atsumu doesn't know what to do with that. That could mean a million things. In what way? A good one? A terrible one? A way that makes you mad at him, at the world, at yourself? He needs more from you, but he’s too afraid to ask.

You think a part of you breaks when his big brown eyes water a bit, but the tears are quickly blinked away through long lashes when he shakes his head.

"I—I'm sorry. I didn't know you felt that way."

You shift to sit up on your knees a bit, gently touching his jaw that's clenched to the touch. "Hey, hey no,” you watch him tilt his sour face away from you when you coo, “Not like that, don't apologize."

With the slightest pressure on his cheek, you're able to get him to face you again, where you're met with a grouchy pout and some slight hostility.

You feel his jaw twitch and unclench when you place a delicate kiss on the carved bone. Your voice is soft, cautious when it rises to elaborate.

"People thinking we're married isn't what bothers me," you gently breathe. "We've talked about it, right? We're just not ready yet."

True, he thinks, logic returning to his clouded thoughts. Atsumu nods at your words, though his eyebrows are still downturned with stress.

"Right. So what does bother ya about it?"

He watches you open and close your mouth a few times, trying to find the right way to say the right words, but there really isn't a tailored combination for the sticky conversation at hand. He almost thinks you give up until your hand tenderly rubs his stiff neck and your voice comes out barely a whisper.

"It can be tough sometimes," your voice wavers with uncertainty, "y'know, being a woman associated with someone like you."

Atsumu turns his head to you in confusion, but he doesn't say anything. Because he trusts you—he might not understand, but he trusts that you do, that you're aware of something he might not be, and that you can explain it in a way he might be able to grasp.

He watches you shy in the slightest, struggling in silence with your tongue.

"I'm either slut shamed for being someone just fucking you or written off as your property. There's never really an in-between, y’know?" you choose to shrug.

Atsumu shoots you a sympathetic tight-lipped smile because though he'd never agree, he's not stupid. He knows what people can say about you, sees the headlines and hashtags every now and then.

"Y'know," his voice comes uncharacteristically soft, "one time I read that I flunked out of high school."

Your eyebrows raise at the turn in conversation, "Did you?"

"No," he scoffs. "Wasn't a nerd or anythin' but I graduated like everybody else."

You hum in thought at his confession, but it doesn’t seem to get his point across so he continues. "One said I was on steroids, another said pills."

He takes a small amount of pride in the way your frown slightly quirks up at the corners.

"Please,” you huff out a breathy scoff, “you pout like a baby when you get your blood drawn and can barely keep up with your daily vitamins."

He fights off a smile, ignoring the teasing and resting his head on yours as he goes on.

"My favorite was that one theory that me and 'Samu switch lives regularly. Sometimes when I look a little pudgy, they claim it's him with bleached hair, so we can both live out the Olympic dream."

You actually laugh at that, a real one, and Astumu thinks the sound itself could make flowers bloom and storm clouds disperse.

"Well that one can't be true, you can't cook for shit," he hears you mumble against his neck.

"Hey now," he gently smacks your thigh at your fresh words. "The point is that people say things all the damn time and I know it's not really the same as what they say about you, but..."

His tongue falters at the touchy subject, a hill he knows he’ll never conquer but is willing to die trying to defend you on.

He thinks for a moment before saying with certainty, "But we both know what's true and what isn't, right?"

You angle your neck to look up at him with sarcasm. "And what's true? That you're a healthy high school graduate with a twin brother who doesn't play Parent Trap with you?"

"What's true," he whines a bit, flicking your forehead before placing a small kiss on it, "is that I love you, and I'm absolutely marryin' you, just when the time is right."

You melt, both at his touch and his words, and for once in his life, Atsumu knows he's said the right thing when he feels you lean onto him a bit more. He takes on the comfortable weight like an Olympic medal, one he’d proudly wear everywhere if he could.

And as Atsumu goes on and on, your night gets that much better, and the silly rumor from some stupid tabloid doesn’t seem nearly as important as it did when you first got home.

"And yer ring is gonna be bigger than whatever the paparazzi imagined. And they'll be pissed when they find out we eloped and they missed the ceremony pics. And when we actually trend on Twitter for the right reason—"

#L’s MIDNIGHTS EVENT!#atsumu x reader #atsumu miya x reader #atsumu x you #atsumu miya x you #atsumu fluff #atsumu miya fluff #atsumu angst #atsumu miya angst #atsumu fic #atsumu miya fic

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afterhourwriting · 8 months ago

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Warning - none, really I don’t think. All good here, partner 👍🏽]

[Additional warnings - Kyle is a little oblivious in this one, is not proofread to the full degree]

All posts like these are alphabetical order:

Call of Duty Characters reacting to you proposing to THEM.

Alejandro Vargas

Saw it coming a mile away, honestly

You both went out to a secluded hill that gave you a beautiful view of Las Almas, and although Alejandro had a ring of his own, he was both shocked but also predicted you would pull something like this.

When you got on your knees, so did he as you both proposed to each other.

He swears he proposed first to everyone but you recall the entire story to everyone and anyone

◇──◇────◇────◇────◇────◇

Alex Keller

Literally couldn’t comprehend what the fuck was happening

He was happy, don’t get him wrong, but he was planning to propose

Get off your knees! He already has a ring, you stole his moment!

He’d joke about it for second but would eventually cave and allow you to put the ring on his finger

Still his favorite story to tell people

◇──◇────◇────◇────◇────◇

John Price

Had it all planned out, then you went and did it yourself

John was obviously shocked as he hadn’t prepared for something like this

It was actually kind of endearing though

He was afraid he might fumble on his words since he had a whole speech planned about how you were his everything, but I guess it can wait until your wedding day

◇──◇────◇────◇────◇────◇

Johnny 'Soap' Mactavish

Wouldn’t stop making terrible jokes throughout your date so you decided to pull that on him

He immediately shut up when you got down on one knee, pulled out a ring and said “Johnny, shut the fuck up and marry me”

The silence was deadly after that before a smirk curled on his lips

Oh god.

“Didnae ken my jokes were so good ye were gonnae ask me to marry you!”

Never mind, Johnny, forget I even said anything.

◇──◇────◇────◇────◇────◇

Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick

Say what now?

Probably oblivious for the first half of your proposal

Thought you were just tying your shoe when you got on your knee so he didn’t think much of it.

Then you called his name, pulled out a ring and asked him to marry you

Literally choked on whatever he was eating or drinking out of shock because it was so out of the blue. He just assumed it was a regular date you were taking him on.

Once he calmed down and caught his breath he immediately tackled you to the floor with a kiss and said, “I was afraid you didn’t know how to ask!”

◇──◇────◇────◇────◇────◇

König

You guys weren’t married already?

Seriously thought that after 2 years of being together, moving in and adopting a cat(or any animal of your choice), you guys were already at least engaged

But then you officially asked, and a look of confusion appeared on his face

“We aren’t married?”

His confusion made you laugh, and his face was red with embarrassment as he thought back to all your moments together and trying to determine when that mindset came to him

◇──◇────◇────◇────◇────◇

Mace

It’s funny you’re trying to propose

The second you get on your knee and pull out a ring he stands you back up, takes the ring from you and gets on his knee himself

You would have laughed if you weren't so confused, but Mace wanted to do this proper, he wanted to be the one to propose

Once he explained you did eventually allow yourself to let out a giggle before letting out a “Yes, I will marry you!” And allowing you to place the ring on him like you wanted

◇──◇────◇────◇────◇────◇

Simon 'Ghost' Riley

“What.. are you doing?”

Is very perplexed by the situation

He gives you a look that almost seems like he didn’t want to wed, but when you got up and apologized he stopped you and brought you back down.

“No. I want to get married, I just.. was planning on doin’ this myself.”

He slipped his left glove off and handed his hand to you, saying nothing but giving you a silent yes as you slipped the ring on him.

Either never wore that glove again, wore the ring over the glove, or put the ring on a necklace so you were close to his heart

◇──◇────◇────◇────◇────◇

A/N: So proud of myself for learning how to make gradient text.

#call of duty #fanfic #kyle gaz garrick #alejandro vargas #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #john price #mace cod #alex keller #alex cod #cod mw3 #konig cod #cod headcanons #im so great for learning to make gradients #everyone praise me #i am the new gradient lord

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arlerts-angel · 8 months ago

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CH. 01 — BRIDAL PARTY

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ series masterlist

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ taglist: @reiners-milkbiddies , @milky-aeons , @lees-chaotic-brain , @blueberrisdove , @tenjikusstuff4 , @manjiro-sanhoe , @carcat-02 , @ryuuc00chie , @i-literally-cant-with-this

a ray of sunlight shines on your face through your bedroom window. you scrunch your nose at the bright, warm light beaming onto you, waking you much to your dismay.

ken is already up; you can tell by the smell of coffee. you roll over and reach for your phone on the nightstand.

8:29 AM. 1 new message from hinata tachibana, your best friend.

thank goodness for small miracles, you think to yourself. you let her know you'll be there, then make your way to the kitchen.

"mornin'," draken greets, "you're up early."

"g'morning, love. getting ready to head out?" you ask sleepily, standing unsteadily on your toes before placing a soft kiss on his lips.

"yeah, 'm running a little late. got plans today?" ken asks as he picks up his keys.

"hina wants to meet for brunch, that's all." you smile at him and grab a mug for yourself.

"hmm, sounds fun. i'll see ya later, baby." he kisses the top of your head and walks out the door.

"have a good day, ken. i love you!" you reply and blow him a kiss.

"love you too baby." he replies as he walks out the door.

11:25 AM.

you arrive at cafe flower and scan the patio for hinata. she waves her hand in the air to aid you in finding her. you acknowledge her wave with a gentle nod and approach the table.

"thank you for coming on such short notice! how are you? how's life with draken going?" she asks, visibly excited.

"good! we're good, thanks for asking. our two-year anniversary is coming up soon." you muse, mindlessly reflecting on life and its fast pace of moving.

"that's great! i'm so happy draken has you in his life!" hina beams. her smile, as genuine as the words she speaks. she's always loved love, for as long as you could remember.

"thanks, hina. i'm happy he's in my life, too." you reply. a waitress brings out some complimentary mimosas. hinata orders herself crêpes, you order french toast.

"i invited you here because i have some pretty exciting news, and a very important question..." hinata says as she hands the waitress the menus. she springs out of her chair, no longer able to contain her excitement.

"TAKEMICHI PROPOSED! WE'RE GETTING MARRIED!" she exclaims, extending her hand out to you, flashing the engagement ring that sat pretty and perfect on her manicured finger.

you beam at the ring. it was so perfect. so hina. "oh, hina!! i'm so happy for you! congratulations!!!" you shriek, hugging her across the table.

"thank you! i am elated, can you tell?!" she giggles.

"well?! how did he propose?!" you ask excitedly.

"oh, you know takemichi... he was a nervous wreck the whole time. so nervous, he ruined the surprise because the ring fell out of his pocket!" she giggles, "he took me to the pier under some fairy lights and asked me to marry him."

your heart flutters in your chest hearing about hina's proposal. "that sounds about right for takemichi," you giggle as the waitress returns with your brunch, "i'm so happy for you both!"

hinata thanks you and the waitress, then takes a dainty bite of her crêpes. she reaches to her side, then hands you a gift box wrapped in a bow. she marvels at you as you sift through the contents of the box.

"i can't tie the knot with out you. so... will you be my maid of honor?"

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ note: aaah first chap!!! 🥹 lmk what you think!!! i've never written a series before so go easy on me 😅

#💍 — i think i want to marry you #draken x reader fluff #ken ryuguji x reader fluff #draken fluff #ken ryuguji x reader #draken x reader #tokyo revengers fluff #tokrev fluff #tokrev x reader fluff #tokyo revengers x reader fluff

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soufcakmistress · 1 year ago

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Unveil

Part IV

A/N: I know yall wanna fight me LOL I couldn’t figure this next part out to save my life. But my brain is working a little better now, and I wanted to get this out. Not me posting two fics two days in a row! Don’t get comfortable because this is out of the norm LOL stay tuned boos!

Pairing: Erik Stevens x Thick Black Reader

Snoring peacefully in the king bed of the guest house with an open window, the loud buzz of a lawnmower startled you almost to death. Erik’s baritone carried over to the guesthouse, guiding the landscaper while giving him notes. Rolling your eyes internally at the thought of Erik, you gather up the courage to roll over and pick up the burner Erik gave you. It was time to let your best friend know what’s up. Knowing her cell number by heart, your fingers tremble as you input the digits. It only rings once.

“Y/N???? Y/N? Sis is that you??” Denitra sounded like she had been waiting by the phone the whole time for a call from a number she wouldn’t even recognize. You immediately burst into tears. Everything from the past is flooding back. You and Nitra busting ass for midterms. You supporting her when she crossed and wrangling all the balloons at her probate. Y’all squealing over the gigantic engagement ring Eddie proposed to you with. The last embrace you guys ever had before you left behind all that you ever knew.

“Hi baby. I’m sorry. It’s just so good to hear your voice. I’m okay! I’m okay.”

Denitra shut her office door closed, and paced back and forth nervously. “Where are you, Y/N? Are you alone??? Do you still have money? Has he tried to still—“

You give a good belly laugh with your face still wet with tears because that’s how your best friend is. Making sure A and B equal C. “Nitra, take a breath sis. I promise I’m okay. I’m not gonna tell you where I am, so do not ask. Just know that I’m being taken care of properly.”

Nitra looked at her phone like it had three heads. “Bitch, who is taking care of you???” More belly laughs from you. Y’all chat it up for the next 30 minutes. You’re very careful about revealing any info to your best friend. If there’s anything you know about your ex fiancé, it’s that he will stop at nothing for information. Giving her plausible deniability could save Nitra from his wrath. Or push him further into mania. You had to believe in your heart of hearts she would be safe if she didn’t know anything, for your own sanity.

“Miss Y/N, I have prepared breakfast for the house in the dining room. I would love for you to join us!” Leah, Erik’s middle aged housekeeper, spoke over the intercom to make you aware. Maybe you and her could spend some time alone today.

“Yes ma’am, I’ll be there!” You finish up with your best friend, shower and cross the pool to the house. The house smells absolutely amazing— a spread was made of scrambled eggs with cheese, turkey sausage, and homemade biscuits. “Leah, this is awesome! Thank you so much!!”

Leah was definitely one of those Black women who could throw down in the kitchen and cherished when people enjoyed her food. She leaned back on the island and sipped her coffee with pride. It was only you and Leah downstairs, but you did happen to peep some luggage by the front door. Who’s leaving? Black Barbie? Or Black Ken?

Holding no qualms about your outer appearance, you dug in. You were starving, and Leah put a hurting on them biscuits. Light steps are heard coming from the upper floor and Monica appeared looking completely ethereal. “Good morning everyone!!”

It was still a bit early for her to be elongating her vowels but you greeted her accordingly. Leah didn’t speak, just peeping over her coffee mug. “I unfortunately have a day trip to Cali—Christopher John Rogers’ publicist has been incessant about me modeling their new spring collection. I’ll be back tomorrow evening though! You ladies have a splendid time!!” Monica split a biscuit in half, gave you an unexpected bear hug, and traipsed out the door.

“Thank God. I’ll at least have one person to talk to with more than half a brain cell.” Leah washed out her mug, and you snickered when she said that. It was petty. But, oh well. Leah winked at you, when Erik decided to show up.

“Ladies. Good morning.” He typed away at his phone while he made himself some coffee. Leah responded. But not you. What could you say to him now that you seen what that dick was hitting for? It’s evident he caught you looking last night and he wanted you to look….right? Not stopping to sit down at the table with you, he picked up a biscuit and headed back upstairs. From the bannister on the upper floor, Erik could look into the kitchen from above. You lost the fight not to gaze at him. Looking up, he was already staring at you before going into his office and shutting the door. Why is this man so intense…

Leah began clearing the table since you were done eating and cut her eyes at you. Something was up between you two, but she didn’t push. Erik told her everything about your situation and how you both came to meet. Leah was trustworthy and lived a lot of life before working full time with Erik. She empathized with you wholly, seeing that you were lost in the world. She was proud of Erik for doing the right thing—the boy was certain he was damned to hell. This was proof he wasn’t.

“I’ll wash if you dry.” You offered. Leah accepted happily, nice to have someone who didn’t act like she was a personal maid. You noticed that Leah didn’t say much. She was always watching though.

“Leah, what do you have planned for today?” Putting your hand on your hip, you turn to her with a smirk on your lips.

“Well, I do need to coordinate with the pool boy, wash a couple loads, vacuum the guest rooms, start on lunch—“

“Ehhhh, that can wait. Let’s go shopping. I gotta get off this property or I’m gonna go postal. Erik’s a big boy, he’ll be all right for a few hours. I’ll go tell Caleb to start the car.” You leave to let the driver know, not even allowing her to respond. Fun was majorly needed.

Meeting Leah at the front door, you pile in the expedition to head to the nearest mall. Scratching your veve tattoo on your side, your thumb scrolls through the mall directory when you get an iMessage from an unknown number.

“Going somewhere?”

Who else would it be but him? It was purposeful to leave without telling him. Erik had you twisted all the way up inside…….it wasn’t totally smart but this gave you some semblance of control back into the dynamic. Being a helpless damsel in distress wasn’t a good look on you and you didn’t want it to start now….even if you really did need all the support you could get. You weren’t gonna pass this moment of brief freedom up. “Yes I need things. And I need some fresh air.”

“This ain’t no damn vacation. Get what you need, and have Caleb return you ladies back to the property.”

Oh? He is feeling very jazzy this afternoon. You leave him on read, and hop out with Leah. She’s very patient and a very good listener. She can sense the wheels turning in your head, sorting what to do and what’s already been done.

The two of you scoured through Old Navy, Five Below, Rainbow, Bath and Body Works, Aldo, and left a whirlwind in Macy’s. Caleb fought his frustration watching you traipse from store to store. Retail therapy was a balm to your open wounds. The cares of your world fell away trying on different jeans and comfortable jumpsuits while you reconciled everything. A blessing also came in the form of companionship with Leah.

Widowed at 45, the Nashville native was blessed to have two pensions and an empty nest. She let you in on how her and Erik met and how he was like a son to her now more than anything. The two of you conversed over piping hot Japanese teriyaki in the food court surrounded by department store bags. “He reminded me of my son Travis. His father died when he was so young, and it was an uphill battle to wrangle him back from the dark side. Erik has his demons and yet he still has a code. I could never deny that boy.”

You listened intently and soaked it in. Demons huh? You figured he had access and resources being an alleged government contractor but it appears his baggage is a bit more nuanced. What had Erik seen and done? Why go out of his way to help a stranger? You had more questions than answers but were still somehow pleased with the new info.

Caleb had been staring a hole in your head for the last half hour. You put him out of his misery and he comes to gather your bags. Leah squeezed your arm and y’all headed to the car. The mean grinch awaits you both and had lashings for you for sure.

“Split up. Go. Ven allá!” Eddie directed his goons to search the town square in the sleepy little town of Randolph, Vermont. Two guys took the north end, while three guys took the south end. They questioned jewelers, shoe repairmen, butchers, ski shop owners, hotel clerks, etc. Nothing revealed any inkling of you. Eddie himself called every single roach motel in the surrounding area and nobody by the name of Y/N Nazario. He even asked if you went by your maiden name, and still nothing. “Something’s not right.”

Him and his goons reconvened at a late night diner. They couldn’t look more out of place—Cuban and Haitian American men with no sense of humor being served by lily white folks whose most lively occurrence were a cat getting stuck in a tree. “Boss, could she have been tipped off?”

Eddie ran through the scenario again and again in his mind. There should have been no time that you would have known he was coming. “Are you guys sure that she didn’t see Arturo at the train station? If she saw his fuckin face, she would have been spooked.”

Eddie’s lieutenant, Carmen insisted personally that he didn’t. Arturo wouldn’t be able to eat without a feeding tube for a while to make sure of that. “Let’s go. We need to pay a visit.”

Back at the ranch, you and Leah have situated all of your new purchases in the closet and bathroom in the guest house. No more living out of a purse. To end the night, you guys head back to the main house while Leah popped the cork on a Merlot that was to die for while some smooth jazz played on Erik’s surround sound.

He comes from his garage after playing around with a transmission for an old school Chevelle he’s been restoring, to see you two cozied up. At least you found someone to confide in. “Thelma and Louise have returned I see.” You both cackle and pour him a glass.

“Better watch your wallet!” You bust out laughing, clearly tipsy.

“Wel I’m glad you had fun but can you please let me know that you’ve left the house before you just duck off like that? We’re trying to keep you safe remember? I can’t do that if I don’t know where you are.” Erik gives the warning tenderly but with some steel as well. Leah says nothing and sips more of her wine, secretly amused at his overprotective nature. She knows he means well.

You drain your glass and go to pour another one. “Yes Dad. I’ll always check in before curfew.” Red wine always does this to you.

“Well kids, I’m going to lay down for the night. I’ll see you both bright and early for breakfast.” Leah rinsed her glass out and placed it in the sink and kissed Erik on his cheek. “Good night, son.”

“Good night, Leah.” His dimples make another appearance and your stomach does a hurdle. She squeezes your shoulder and heads upstairs. You take your glass and the whole bottle to the couch, and you feel his eyes on your back the whole time. How was this going to work?

The wine fills your mouth adding to your buzz and your eyes close as you bob your head to the jazz. You feel the couch dip as Erik sits right next to you. “I see someone ran it up today.”

“I deserve it, don’t I? With all things considered..”

His eyebrow raised and he inhaled more of the Merlot. “No complaints from me, Y/N. Just pointing out the obvious. I see you and Leah have gotten close. She’s an outstanding woman.”

“Yes she really is. So sweet and so wise. I enjoy her company. Reminds me of my mom..” Damn. How long has it been since you’ve spoken with her?

“Have you used the burner phone yet? I hope you have, I told you it can’t be traced.”

“Yes, I reached out to my best friend. She’s sworn to secrecy. Not my parents though. One word from me and Eddie would absolutely know something right away, they can’t hold water.”

Erik drained his Merlot and poured the rest of the bottle into his glass. “Well at least you know who to trust with certain information. Can I ask you a question?”

Your heart fell in your butt when he said that. Oh God. You weren’t ready to reveal that you been daydreaming about his bare body all day. “Shoot.”

“Your tattoo. It’s a Haitian veve with a Kongo cosmogram around it. Does it mean something?” Erik was fishing for info for sure. How could someone so sweet and tender as you get caught up in such an evil force as Mr. Nazario?

“We’re gonna need more wine, if we’re going to get into that.” Erik immediately got up and got another bottle of Merlot and a corkscrew and poured generously for the both of you.

Words start pouring out of you. The whirlwind of you and Eddie’s romance and how intense and handsome he was had you under a spell. It didn’t take much for him to convince you to become his queen of his empire. Erik listened intently and engaged with you. It’s no wonder why Monica is head over heels. He’s fine as fuck, incredibly sharp and got bank. But he’s holding something back.

Him and Eddie weren’t that different in that regard you found. Erik revealed very little about himself yet was able to extract information from you with ease. Too easily, for that matter. Eventually, you were all talked out, and fell asleep on the couch. Erik was comfortable himself and didn’t want to move. He pulled the throw blanket over the both of you, whispered “sweet dreams” in your ear, and dozed off himself.

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inkwolvesandcoffee · 10 months ago

Text

Siúil a Rún (Alfie Solomons x Irish Fem!Reader, Modern AU)

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Romance, Modern AU

Pairing: Alfie Solomons x Irish Fem!Reader

Word count: 5.5K

Warnings: Allusions to past violence & trauma, talk of the IRA, mild swearing

Summary: On a day you're not feeling your best, fighting yet another hard battle with your greatest enemy, your mind, Alfie has a little surprise prepared for you. After all, all he wants is to see you smile.

And make a lasting promise to his Irish queen.

Author's Note: Gods above, it's finally here! At long last I had the energy and time to finish this piece, which is partially inspired by my recent moods. Ah dinnae ken what it is, but don't you worry about my head or how I'll fix it. Instead, enjoy this piece.

TH Masterlist

Tag list: @hecatemoon87 @potter-solomons @zablife @vir-tual @liliac-dreamer @dreamlandcreations @mollybegger-blog @babaohhhriley @hoodeddreams13 @rose-like-the-phoenix

Alfie's POV

I’m no fan of the Irish, who can’t even remember what they had for fucking breakfast. However, right, they can perfectly recall their great-great-however many times- grandfather’s best friend’s cousin’s name and the unjust treatment he got from Oliver Cromwell if not the Black and Tan if they have a particularly clear check in with reality.

Yet here I am.

Engaged to my Irish queen, come all the way from Belfast. Raised in a family that supports the IRA, a bunch of hooligans that’ll do well to be tossed in the lock and left to drown.

But not her.

No.

She cut ties to home the moment she set foot ashore in Liverpool and boarded the train to London. She ain’t English, doesn’t particularly like them. So fancy the shock me ticker got when it turned out she liked me.

Or I her, as she likes to remind me, bringing up the time I asked her to taste the Irish sourdough I made her. She’d just arrived in town, wandered into my bakery looking like a parched twig on a stormy day, and sat by the window with an awfully glum face. Curious about this darling little dove who flew in, I lumbered over to see what had her caught up in her phone and laptop. One look at the screens told the whole story behind the erratic fingers flying over the keyboard or tapping away.

A place to stay, to call home.

In a land that had oppressed hers for centuries, still sees her as an outsider.

In the very capital of the cyclops, king of northern giants.

Now I, yeah, saw an opportunity to earn a little extra cash on the side. Sure, Margate is about two hours outside London by train so I couldn’t charge the full price for the room I had left over.

I didn’t.

For when those dove eyes turned to me, haunted and scared to death, whether it be due to her circumstances or me as a man I still do not know nor want to, I hadn’t the guts to ask her for a single penny.

Only a sliver of trust.

Though my rings, my kingdom, are covered in blood, I fortunately pleased Yahweh enough to have her put her trust in me. It’s a fragile thing, built over various meals, starting with silent breakfasts which gradually have filled with drowsy small talk. Normally I loathe small talk because if someone wants to say something and wants me to understand, they should talk. Nonetheless, Y/N doesn’t have to. Her voice is like an angel’s song, pleasant to wake up with.

And to fall asleep to on the nights the insomnia hits hard again. You get that, living a life of violence. Yet, even gods can’t simply forget.

I can only hide my crimes, spin a pretty yarn for an excuse, and pretend.

Pretend I’m a good man.

For her.

If only because my midnight baking episodes have reduced since we met. Because I don’t, no, can’t do without those small hands leading me out of the kitchen and back up the stairs to what is now our bedroom. Pathetic, innit, how I also can’t live without those pretty fingers running through my beard until I can breathe normally. Close my eyes without ghosts creeping from the darkest shadows of my mind. To not feel the rage simmering beneath my skin.

For the first time in years, I can sleep again.

And if neither of us can find peace in slumber, we’ll slip into the old habit of having coffee or tea in the living room until the sun rises. No matter if we have an outing planned the next day or not.

It was on an outing like that, to Oxford, after a brief visit to that shithole called Birmingham, she first held my finger.

Two weeks later, when we popped by Hastings, she held my hand.

A month passed before she hugged me, in Cecil Court, during our first book and antiques shop hopping trip. I had bought her a vintage bound copy of one of her favourite books, Gods and Fighting Men by Lady Gregory.

However, it was in Camden, right outside me own bakery, on a bloody rotten autumn day, we first kissed. Cinnamon sugar and pumpkin spice, that’s what she tasted like.

My Irish queen.

Y/N will always claim it’s me who first confessed. Regardless of whether that’s true or not, in my opinion, right, and through genuine testimony, it was her wistful smile and timid ‘thank you’ as I served her a ham sandwich made with the sourdough I learned during one of my visits from a lovely old lady in Donegal and O’Neills ham which makes her the first to confess. Little did I know the brooding sadness around her could get much worse.

Since there are days she gets like this, reluctant to interact with the world. She’ll go out with Cyril, a barely mustered smile on her gentle face.

It does her good. Our big bugger takes me on walks that are manageable even when my leg’s bad and her on those long enough to let her mind wander and forget about the desire to stay home. Like yesterday, they are again sitting side by side on the shore.

Y/N wrapped in my coat and scarf.

Cyril at her side.

Watching the waves.

Funny, innit, how a man of many words absolutely can’t stand the silence of his own house. Tragic, too, because it means he can’t live with himself. Perhaps that’s why I always bury myself in work, the bakery.

Our bakery.

Look, Y/N was the one who insisted on helping out. I was ready to give her board and room for free, though I was also desperate for help since business had taken a hit. Too cold, manly, rough. In need of a woman’s touch.

It was only when she told me it ain’t right to accept the offer without repaying the debt she never had and called me mister Solomons I took her on.

Mostly because she’d call me Alfie right from the start, wouldn’t see me as her boss or landlord. I never was nor am a fan of formalities, polite behaviour or whatever the fuck you wanna call it. You only get to know a person and their intentions once you place them in an informal environment, lull them into a sense of safety. Or, in her case, a sense of friendship too.

After a few more moments of watching them from the balcony, I head back inside to busy myself in the kitchen. Now, normally, yeah, on my rare day off, I love to bake. Gets the mind off things since you only have to focus on what your hands are doing and you get the ingredients right. Alleviates some of the stress the bakery saddles me up with, but those involved with the business need discipline so I can’t take a break. Would leave it to the dogs. Regardless, Ollie, the bloody bastard I hired as an assistant branch manager, forbade me to come into work. It’s my fucking bakery! Yet, though I’m loath to admit it, I am thankful he did this particular day. Must’ve felt Y/N had been different these past days, always has been good at dealing with people and emotions despite his panicky disposition. Better than me.

At least leaves her with one person to understand her entirely whereas I still grasp at straws at times.

Godhood comes with its complications, but I’ll do my best for Y/N.

For Mrs Solomons.

It’s worth the tightening in my chest, the battle for air while the same concerns keep milling in my noggin like some damned ever-turning grinding stone. I ain’t afraid of anything.

Anything except this mood.

It’s like Yahweh has established the terrifying truth of what she might be like when me health finally wins the battle, granting me a vision of a future in which we’re separated. Or perhaps it is an alternate reality in which I don’t exist or we’ve even never met. This morning, as Y/N stood by the door, her vacant gaze saw right through me as I draped my scarf around her neck. I kept rambling, not nagging, no, rambling on about how she’d catch a cold if she didn’t dress warmly despite knowing she wasn’t paying attention. As I placed a kiss on her forehead she likely didn’t feel, the comforting sense of normalcy shattered, turned into dust along with the little bit of sanity I had established by acting like everything was fine. Thankfully she felt warm in my arms because we might as well have been spectres moving past each other. Then she sauntered out the door, slow and ghostly.

My beautiful Irish queen.

When this mood strikes her, it takes away her voice. She won’t talk, reluctant to participate in any sort of conversation. Although, I think she hopes her quietness proves enough of a hint to not want to be surrounded by any voices at all. Not even mine. Now, any other man, right, any other sod who’s too self-obsessed to understand his girl, would go mad. I, on the other hand, the very image of an understanding and wise man who cares about his girl, his wife, speak less if at all to accommodate her. Instead, in the fleeting moments she’s here, Y/N communicates via small gestures.

A tug on my sleeve when she wants attention.

A brush over my fingers, a silent request for guidance.

We don’t go out in London on days like this. We tried once and while everything went fine, all things considered, the thought something happens in the split second I don’t pay attention breaks my already damaged nerves. Trafalgar Square is tricky enough as is to navigate with the fucking awful traffic, but when she’s barely here and we don’t cross the street in time or our hands let go of each other…

Eyes squeezed shut, I breathe in deeply and exhale slowly to remedy the tightening in my chest. To burn the claws crushing my ribs to ashes and let them take the nauseating vision in my banged up nogging with them. Blown away on the briny wind outside, past the lonely beach.

Left to drown in the sea across the road.

Right in front of her, vanishing beneath the waves. Cyril will make sure she won’t notice, keeps an eye on her when I can’t.

Especially when I’m too caught up in my own head, engulfed by something very, very grim.

Eyes closed, I breathe in and exhale deeply as I repeat the thought like the verses in the Torah, embedding it further and further into my entire tainted being with each repetition. Only when my breathing has evened out and me ticker beats at regular intervals do I carry on.

I quit drinking after we met. Y/N needed a safe home and with an old drunk brute you ain’t going to find that. So I poured the rum, beer, and wine down the drain the very same evening and a drop hasn’t entered my house since. The day she first put her suitcase across the threshold, I’d been sober for a week.

We’re now a year further.

For all the bloody good he does me by banning me from my own business, Ollie makes for a fine lifestyle coach. I’ll admit that if it hadn’t been for him, his incessant texts and the brave efforts to pluck a glass from my hands, I might have lost her. Fuck, she might have hated me.

Or we might never have even met.

The house now finally knows silence.

No violent words.

No drunk ravings going nowhere and anywhere.

True, genuine, silence.

I put the kettle on and pull the sourdough from the bread box. Bought it on our last trip abroad, to Amsterdam. It’s one of the things in this house which makes it ours because I used to plonk bread in a zipper bag and toss it on the counter. Not anymore. It goes in the box.

The mixed fruit blend I used for the dough we recently bought at Borough Market. Y/N was staring at it with a tender look on her face.

“Those special, love?” I hugged her from behind, my head on her shoulder. That morning, she had washed her hair and granted me the intense honour of brushing it. A smile grew on her lips in tandem with mine as I worked the brush through her strands. Nonetheless, while I was flattered and delighted beyond imagination, for being thus allowed in her space is a rare gift every man should know how to appreciate properly, she was amused with my attitude. But it’s alright. I don’t mind her laughing at me.

Eyes closed, I drank in her presence. The sounds of the food stalls and crowd faded into a background hum, each sense overtaken by her frame in my arms and the scent of Argan oil and Shea butter in my nose. In that single moment, I didn’t have to think, to scheme. Just be.

With her, I can just be.

And I like that, makes me love her all the more.

Y/N regularly gives me an earful, but there are times when I truly listen and not only enjoy the sound of her voice. So when she gave me a piece of her story, I immediately snapped out of my reverie. “Nan used a blend of these when making brack.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a type of bread with sultanas and raisins. Officially, that is. But she added currants and other dried fruits when we had it and it wasn’t Samhain.”

“Tell me about the tradition. What does bread ‘ave to do with it?”

“We’d put items in the brack. A pea, a stick, a piece of cloth, a small coin, a ring, and a bean. Each of these items had a special meaning, applicable to the person who got them.”

“Which were?”

Occasionally, right, I enjoy teasing her because I adore the way her frown naturally flows into a bright smile as her distrust melts away. However, the calculating coldness in her stare even gave me the chills. Terrible, it was, and I don’t say that lightly. “Alfie, where’s this coming from? I thought you hated the Irish.”

I thought you hated me.

She didn’t say it, but the words were there, precariously dancing on the tip of her tongue. The shopkeeper gave me a warning look, ready to beat me with her cane if I didn’t watch my mouth.

“It’s your culture, innit, love?’’ I said, quick to placate both women lest we had more than a simple situation on our hands. Moreover, dangerous as it normally is, curiosity genuinely got the better of me. There’s little I know of her previous life so I am overjoyed when my Irish queen, obviously unintentionally, indulges me like this. ‘‘I know the past hurts you, but this clearly means a lot to you. Your Nan’s obviously important to you too.”

“She practically raised me. Didn’t want me involved in politics, give me a normal life. Well, for as far as that’s possible when…” she froze in my embrace, paler than a ghost at midnight in Highgate. Bit by bit, I could feel her fade in the chaos she had kept firmly under lock and key. We’re rather alike in that, keeping the mess in our fucked up noggins hidden until we choose to open up.

Or come across a trigger.

I scanned the surroundings for hers. Men conversing as they’re hauling boxes. Tourists and locals squeezing together as they navigate the narrow spaces between the stalls, leaving no room to breathe without doing so down someone’s neck. The sizzling of oil on a hot surface.

Like a lit fuse.

“When…” She flinched when one of the other shopkeepers dropped a couple of crates.

I remember how my heart dropped into my stomach as her knees gave way. Her nails dug into my skin as I gently coaxed her to the ground, though she relaxed her grip a bit as a vague inkling of recognition made her realise it was me holding her. “Y/N? Y/N, can you hear me? It’s Alfie, your boyfriend. You’re in London. Safe. There ain’t no guns ‘ere. Just a couple crates. Just crates. That’s all.”

I glared at the bastard who reduced my queen to a shivering husk of herself, breathing way too fast as the current of grim things swooped her along. Once he noticed I was looking at him, he quickly scurried to the back. After cursing him under my breath, I held her tight against my chest, cradled her lovely head and the funny mind in it as I gently rocked back and forth like me mum used to do when I was a child. “No guns. No bullets. No fighting. Just us, dove.”

For a few moments we sat like that on the cold paving stones. The shopkeeper fetched Y/N a glass of water which she managed to make her drink. Perhaps it’s only because the subconscious ego of my Irish queen saw her Nan in the woman. Do not misunderstand, right, I was grateful for her kindness. Nonetheless, what Y/N needed was space, fresh air. So I picked her up and carried her bridal-style to the central seating area. One day, I hope to carry her the same way across the threshold of our home.

Colour began to return to her face the longer we sat on a bench removed from everyone in a quieter area of the market. With each passing minute, I saw the demons causing those awful vacant eyes and suffocating her with every breath leave her body. The best I could do was wait and do my damn best to not let my own fear and impatience get the better of me. After all, I was not a god at that moment.

Only a man praying for the better.

A man overjoyed when an angel gave her back her voice.

“My brothers were killed in shootings.” Slowly, Y/N sought my gaze. She blinked a few times like she woke up a second ago and did not really know whether she was still dreaming or awake. “Cillian was shot in March. Seàn the month after. They rather died than be tried by law.”

It was easier to phrase it as such than tell the truth.

They killed themselves.

Died for the ideal that had left her with a broken family. Although, perhaps it’s better to say she never had a family to begin with.

“And the man who I was meant to marry to get our family higher up the ranks, Patrick McHugh, a man I loathed, was ready to shoot me when the Gardaí had us cornered during a car bomb attack. We were meant to go on a date, so he told me, but… we stopped in the street. Alfie, he- he-’’ I put my arm around her shoulders, pulled her against me, and rested my head on hers. She didn’t owe me an explanation for her behaviour, but before I could tell her it was alright to stop, she continued. “He took me hostage. Was ready to burn me alive with him.”

“Y/N, you don’t have to-”

“Rory turned on him. His second in command, the only person he trusted. I pulled Patrick’s gun in the same moment I freed myself from his grip. Shot him in the head. In cold blood.” She bit her lip to fight the ugly sob which made her shoulders heave. “I have blood on my hands, don’t you see? Rory didn’t make it either. Stayed behind after he negotiated safe passage for me. Later I heard he saved me because he loved me. Had been crushing on me for years. Never said a word, Alfie. Never.” The fight with self-control lost, Y/N’s voice cracked with the tears yet unshed. “And now he’s gone. Everyone’s gone.”

‘‘No, not everyone. I’m ‘ere and I ain’t going anywhere. You and I, yeah, we’re gonna build something fucking biblical. A ‘ome, right, in Margate. You and I. And it’s gonna be safe. No violence. I’ll even get rid of me gun if that makes you feel better.”

“No, keep it. Still, thank you.”

I pulled a tissue from my pocket to clean up her mascara, which had stained her cheeks with little black rivulets. “If there’s anything I can do to make you feel safer, you tell me, yeah? If need be, I’ll build a fucking wall that’ll put Daedalus to shame. With me own ‘ands. Anything.”

“Thank you. I think I should repay that kindness with a clean shirt.’’ She sighed as she surveyed the damage done to my clothes. ‘‘Sorry for the stains. I know you got it fresh out of the closet.”

“Nah, it’s just a shirt. No worries. But, knowing you and your bloody adorable stubbornness, you won’t let this go. So, instead of beating yourself up over nothing because you got nothing to be sorry for, yeah, can you tell me more about the bar- barm- the… thing. Bread.”

“Barmbrack. Brack, for short.”

“Barmbrack,” I repeated. “Brack. Gonna try and remember. The items in it. You said they have special meaning.”

“Right. The… pea, a stick, a piece of cloth, a small coin, a ring, and… something else.”

“A bean.”

“Yes, a bean. A future without money. Anyway, so, now, the pea meant the person would not marry that year. The stick meant they would have an unhappy marriage or continually be in disputes. Now, the cloth or rag no one wanted to find because it meant bad luck, though it was also regarded as an omen of poverty. In contrast, and perhaps very bloody obvious, the coin meant good fortune or riches were coming for the person. If you got the ring, you’d be wed within the year.”

Say what you will of the Irish, but they are bloody creative.

We went back to the stall, got a full bag of dried fruit and went on our merry way. Y/N fortunately hasn’t noticed I’ve used some of the contents for a little surprise. For once her adorable drowsy noggin in the morning comes in handy, when she’s too sleepy to notice nor doesn’t check the bag’s contents before she puts a little in her yoghurt.

The kettle goes off. The steam creates a thin layer of condensation on the tiles and warms my face when I pour the water in a mug. There’s nothing like a cup of char regardless of the time of day.

I wager they’ll be home in fifteen minutes. Until they are, I sit on the chaise longue in the living room. It’s a gorgeous thing, a real beauty we found while antique shopping in London. I had my doubts about the red velvet, but Y/N convinced me to get it regardless because “it fits the house’s aesthetic” whatever the fuck that means. It’s a sturdy piece of furniture, definitely worth every penny.

We tested it thoroughly.

Multiple times.

Nipping the gingerbread tea we bought yesterday at M&S, when I barely managed to prevent Y/N from buying three boxes on top of the three boxes of Christmas spice tea already in our basket, I watch my family. A low chuckle tickles in my throat, proud and amused. Who’d ever thought I, Alfie Solomons, the Divine King of Camden, would stop wandering, settle down, become a family man? Tommy, the self-proclaimed head of the Shelby family though they’re all bad people, would have a bubble if he heard that.

I ain’t like him. I’d marry my wife, the lovely and downright bloody gorgeous goddess currently down on the beach, the one and only true Mrs Solomons, out of love. A love based on loyalty, right, and not out of convenience or business. No whoring when she ain’t about, no secrets, no dirty business.

No more blood on my rings.

We’d raise our children together, perhaps spoil them rotten. Y/N would chastise me for it, I already know, but I want the best for my girls. Maybe two or three, though I’m not opposed to having a son, yeah, but he’d have to be born before my princesses so he can protect them when their good old man can’t. Hopefully, one of them would like to take over the bakery, keep the business in the family.

I might have to be on my best behaviour, be more of a father rather than a boss if I don’t want to have her tell me over dinner one night “Papa, I’m not taking over. None of us wants to, least of all Seraphina. She’s more one for painting.”

Yes, they’d be artisans in their own right. But if one of my girls wants to paint, no way she’d learn it from Arthur Shelby, who’s head is like a broken vase what is glued together badly. Nah, I wager she’d be clever enough to teach herself. All of them would be talented like their mother.

The sound of the front door opening resonates in the hallway, followed by Cyril’s happy padding, merrily trodding past me on his way to his bed in front of the hearth. We never should’ve gotten him that pillow, has made him lazy.

But how could I tell her no?

Not that she’d have listened anyway. Y/N would’ve used her own card at the till. However, being a proper gentleman, right, and maybe because I wanted to gain extra what they call ‘brownie points’, which is a stupid phrase in and of itself, a show of being too incapable to use one’s speech properly, I paid.

Y/N follows the happy bugger, head hung low and eyes cast towards the ground. Headphones in her ears.

It’s one of those days.

I step in front of her when she makes for the living room. For a moment, she stays still, like a ghost puzzled by why it can’t move forward. Nevertheless, our eyes meet for a second when my hands touch her shoulders.

“No need to wear a coat inside, is there, darling?” I doubt she hears me, my voice drowned out with the rest of the world.

Perhaps, no, no perhaps.

I am sometimes too loud for her as well.

Although she always tries to play it off afterwards, me intestines tie themselves into a pretty tight and suffocating bow tie when it happens. When the world gets to her.

When I, the real me, The Mad Baker of Camden, get to her.

From the corner of my eye, I’ve seen her flinch when disciplining my staff or stiffen when removing rude customers. I especially hate those who bother her, how they make her freeze in their presence and how she’ll avoid my touch afterwards. Breathing is an art in and of it-bloody-self when I watch her from a distance, headphones blasting music as she sits bowed over a cup of coffee which will grow cold.

Yet, when she’s ready for contact again, those earbuds leave her ears. I don’t fucking care what my men say at this point, but I rush over as fast as I can what with my me fucking leg. I can bear that pain, incomparable to what I unwillingly inflict on her or its effect on me.

Her fingers only take my palm, mapped out from a distance, if she sees no violent lines in it. Some days it trembles, those days when her breath is shivery and I feel tears roll down the good, to her trustworthy, lines as she presses them to her cheek.

Although she doesn’t know it, then again my clever little dove likely does, I’m proud of her for trying to go without headphones nowadays. Recently, it’s only one she’ll keep in, in the ear opposite of the side I’m on. Left if I’m on her right, right if I'm on her left. On really good days, those splendid days which make you wonder whether Yahweh wants to give back to humanity, she’ll go without completely. Fortunately, most of the time this doesn’t result in situations like Borough Market.

Nevertheless, today is a day she needs them.

While Y/N moves to the living room, I head to the kitchen to finish setting up the little surprise I prepared for her. By the looks of things, she needs it. It’s hypocritical, innit, that I’m doing this despite hating when it’s done to me? Still, a good man, a proper man, yeah, a proper fucking gentleman, a bloody king, will try his damned best to surprise the woman he loves whenever and however he can.

Because she deserves it.

These acts of love.

If only because words have a tendency to fail.

As mine do.

A lot.

Tray in hand, I make for the living room. Exactly as I envisioned, Y/N has curled up on the sofa, headphones in while she’s doing that funny yarn thing her Nan taught her. She’s good at it, has made me a very nice scarf and beanie for Hanukkah last year.

Recently, after our little getaway to the Scottish Highlands, where they speak some form of English she fortunately seemed to understand, worse than the Irish except for her, she made a blanket with a deer’s head. Got inspired by our surroundings, she said. I think it’s the show she watched on her phone every night or in the car.

I put the tray on the coffee table and sit down next to her, a little distance between us. “Hard day, dove?”

“Yeah.” She glances from the slices of sweet soda bread to the glass of whiskey and then to me, her fingers expertly holding up the yarn wrapped around them. “That for me?”

I nod, trying to contain the excitement ignited by hearing her voice. One decibel too loud and I’ll lose her again. Gotta play me cards right, so I speak as evenly as I can without showing her the precarious edge I’m balancing on. “‘Cause you look awful homesick.”

“Thank you, mhuirnin.”

For a few moments I watch her nibble on a slice, vacant gaze cast towards the cold hearth. “We can go on a trip to-’’

“No.”

“Y/N, we don’t have to go to the place your people live. We can go to, fuck, I don’t know, the Republic. It’s safe there, innit? Cork? Enjoy the sea. Waterford? Dublin for an urban-’’

“Alfie, I said no.”

“It’ll do you good.”

“I left Ireland for a reason.” Finally she meets my gaze and me ticker almost sinks through the floor once those pretty eyes shimmering with tears meet mine. “The whole fucking island. Don’t make me return.”

“Alright. We’ll go somewhere else.” I open my arms in invitation. Fortunately, it seems she’s in the mood for contact with me. Face buried in my sweater, her small fist clutching some of the fabric, I wrap her up on my arms. “Or nowhere. We can stay ‘ere.”

As an answer I’m given muffled mumbling, worse than me own.

“What was that?”

“Hotel night.”

“Where?”

“Don’t know. London?”

“We already know the town well. What about the Lake District, hm? Nice and quiet. Lots of green. We can rent a cottage or a nice B&B. Cyril would like it too, right, lots of places to explore. Makes for nice walks, yeah.”

As in agreement, Cyril lets out an excited though low bark, sensitive to what she gets like when her mood’s as it is now.

“See?” I say, pulling her a bit closer. “‘E likes the idea.”

In acknowledgement of our shared sentiments, she hums.

“We’ll figure it out later. For now, ‘ave another slice, drink some whiskey, crochet. But lean on me, eh? Lean on Papa Solomons.”

She grabs another piece of bread and starts nibbling on it, occasionally nipping on her glass.

For a while we sit in silence as she crochets and I simply watch her eat, occasionally shutting my eyes to drink in the moment.

Until my plan comes to fruition.

Feigning innocence, I lift an eyebrow when Y/N pulls a difficult face and spits something into her hand.

She once told me that according to Celtic philosophy, all things come in three.

Third slice of bread.

A ring, of course not the one I mean to present to her properly.

Her head snaps up at me, so fast I’m both glad and impressed she hasn’t broken a vertebrae.

“Yeah, this ain’t a joke.” I kiss her forehead. “Within the year.”

On a better day.

#Alfie Solomons #Alfie Solomons imagine #Alfie Solomons x Reader #Peaky Blinders #Peaky Blinder imagine

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hummingbird-of-light · 1 month ago

Text

In Our Favor

Part 351

Leah

The night had not been easy.

Dreams of being in the cave had led into Leah’s nightmares from when she had been poisoned. Long, dark hallways, but this time freezing cold, her breath hanging in the air around her.

But each time she must have made some noise, because then Robbie was there, a hand soothing across her hair, holding her close to his chest. Then Leah could relax and fall into fitful sleep again.

In the morning she woke slowly, soft words being whispered nearby, a gentle hand rubbing her back.

Robbie.

Leah smiled before she opened her eyes. In front of her something gleamed. Her smile grew at the sight of the ring on her finger. Robbie had hurried off when they had gone to their room the evening before and had returned with the ring. She wondered where in the chalet he had been keeping it.

She reached over and touched it with her other hand. Behind her Robbie greeted her quietly in Gaelic. Turning over in his arms she greeted him with a kiss.

“Good morning my fiancé,” she grinned.

Robbie blushed and Leah had no choice but to kiss him again.

“Did you get any sleep? I’m so sorry I kept waking you.” Leah’s smile faded as she remembered her dreams.

“Of course mo chridhe. And don’t be sorry, it was alright. It kept me from my bad dreams.”

For a few moments they were silent, just gazing at each other and enjoying the quietness.

“How do you want to tell everyone?” Leah finally asked. She lifted her hand a slight bit to indicate the ring and their engagement. Robbie’s face colored slightly again.

“I’m not sure. I had planned everything and then… well, ye know.” Robbie gave a shrug as best he could while lying on his side.

“We could just see who notices first and how long it takes,” Leah suggested. “Who do you think?”

Robbie pursed his lips as he thought.

“Granddad,” he said after thinking. “Nothing ever gets past him.”

Leah laughed. “I’m going to guess… Mother.”

“What do we get if we win?” Robbie asked, grin pulling his mouth up.

“Hmm,” said Leah playfully. “Might depend on which of us wins. Oh. I’ll send Lenny a message to tell them not to say anything.” Leah rolled over and reached on the nightstand for her comm.

After lounging together for a while longer, the pair finally got up and headed down for breakfast. Leah felt light on her feet with the happiness of being engaged not to mention being rescued the day before.

She and Robbie sat and dished up as Father and Dr. Boyce discussed what the doctor had learned about the ski slope.

“Management has changed, and old Tom at the rental shop says nothing has been the same the last few years,” Dr. Boyce said. “He’s only stayed on because he’s been there so long, but there’s been lots of turnover in employees.”

“We’ve gotten their name?”

“Of course, and the labor minister is going to look into it.”

Leah was listening and looking down the table at Dr. Boyce, when she suddenly noticed his eyes widen slightly. He was looking at her and a slow smile came over his face.

“Princess, should we be offering congratulations?”

Leah’s face warmed as she nodded at the doctor. Across the table Lenny and Scotty were grinning.

“Congratulations?” David asked in a confused voice.

With a quick look at Robbie, Leah lifted her hand up to show the ring.

Eleanor’s face brightened and David looked on in surprise. The queen got up and moved around the table to hug her daughter.

“Oh dear! How lovely!” she exclaimed. She released Leah, then turned and hugged Robbie tightly as well.

“May I see?” Francine asked and Leah held her hand across the table.

“When did this happen?” Alasdair asked.

“Yesterday,” Robbie managed to get out. “When we were trapped.”

Dr. Boyce let out a chuckle. “What is it with you Scotts and danger?”

“I dinnae ken lad,” Granddad replied. “I certainly proposed to my wife in a normal place and so did my sons. These two…” Granddad shook his head in amusement.

“This is unexpected news,” David finally said. “But very good news.” He smiled at the newly engaged pair.

“We’d like to keep it out of the press until at least after the holidays please,” Leah said, looking at the king.

“Of course. This is our time to be together and out of the spotlight,” David agreed. “Let’s enjoy it before we must step back into the real world.”

Leah smiled happily at the king, then reached over and squeezed Robbie’s hand. It seemed neither one of them had guessed who would notice first correctly.

Part 352

Robbie

"A word please, Robert."

When he heard his grandfather's voice, the Scotsman immediately turned and looked over his shoulder.

After breakfast together, everyone had left the dining hall to go about their business, but Alasdair obviously didn't want to let his youngest grandson go just yet.

"Oh, um, aye, a sheanair. Of course."

Robbie exchanged a quick glance with Leah, who gave him another kiss on the cheek before saying she'd wait for him in her room.

"Let's go to one of the sitting rooms, shall we?" suggested Alasdair and Robbie nodded before following his grandfather.

The young Scotsman couldn't help but feel nervous. What could the eldest Scott want from him? Why had his voice sounded so stern?

A sitting room was quickly found and the two of them took a seat opposite each other in two armchairs.

They remained silent for a moment before Robbie eventually cleared his throat and spoke up.

"What's going on? Is something wrong?"

Alasdair didn't say anything at first, just looked at his grandson, which only made Robbie more nervous. He bobbed one leg up and down. After what felt like an eternity, Granddad replied.

"A wedding with a crown princess, Robbie. Are ye quite sure that's what ye want?"

The words surprised Robbie and he frowned, then blinked a few times.

"W-what? Of course I am. I love Leah! She's the girl I want to marry," Robbie replied, trying not to raise his voice too much. He had the utmost respect for his grandfather and wouldn't dare raise his voice against him, no matter how much the man's words angered him.

"I ken how much ye love the lass and I'm also very happy that ye've found your love, but do ye realize what it means to be married to her, laddie? Ye will have to rule by her side at some point. Civilizations of all kinds will keep their eyes on the two of ye – on ye – and every word you say will be scrutinized. I wonder if ye're really ready for that."

Robbie felt his cheeks grow hot with anger and he clenched his hands into fists.

"Aye, I am. It's not without reason that I've been studying royal life and Leah and David's duties a lot lately. I want to learn. And I will learn. I would do anything for Leah."

"Of course ye can learn the theory, but how will ye handle it in practice? How will ye act properly? How will ye behave properly? I've known ye all your life and I know how quickly ye either pull back or get too hot-tempered."

Robbie wanted to make a sharp remark, but he realized that he would only be confirming his grandfather's words. He needed to control himself.

"I can do this. I'm ready for it."

Robbie looked at Alasdair with a steady gaze and the older man studied him for a long moment before nodding and slowly getting to his feet and moving over to the door.

"Whatever ye say, Robert. I just want ye to be aware of the consequences, lad."

When Robbie walked into Leah's and his room, he was still surprised by the conversation with Alasdair. He had never expected his grandfather to react like this?

Leah saw immediately that something was wrong. She put her PADD aside and got up from the bed, walked over to him and grabbed his hands.

"Hey, handsome. What's wrong?"

Robbie just shook his head. He didn't know how to begin.

"I... Granddad doesn't think I'm ready to marry ye. He says I'm not aware of the consequences, but... but I am! I know what I'm getting myself into! I know what I want!"

There was desperation in Robbie's gaze and when Leah wrapped him in her arms, he snuggled close to her. He needed her support. He needed her love.

#star trek #montgomery scott #leonard mccoy #scones #au #in our favor

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impossiblesuitcase · 1 year ago

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ALRIGHT so like after rereading the stars above epilouge i’ve been reminded of one of my like biggest head cannon question and it’s when how does kaider announce to their friends they’re engaged? AND I FEEL LIKE YOU WOULD KNOW SO I PUR MY TRUST IN YOU BITCH 🫶🫶

You're no longer Ken! 😂

Ugh, I struggle with scenes like these! It's the same reason I never write weddings or proposals for characters: I'm content to leave those things as unknowns because if I try to boil it down to one idea I always feel it's too important a moment to be captured. So in this case, I think it could go so many ways!

I do love a simple just telling their friends over dinner. Say they all reunite again a few months after Wolflet's wedding. Everyone yelling over the top of each other, arguing to pass the bread rolls, 'stop hogging the salad' and Thorne trying to steal Jacin's seat. Cinder and Kai stand up, waiting for the chaos to subside. It doesn't, so Kai shouts, "hey! listen!" They all fall silent. Kai and Cinder smile giddily, link hands and announce, "we're engaged!" And of course chaos breaks out. Good this time.

Another version is a little more crack.

Cinder just starts wearing the engagement ring around her friends. But since they are all spread out over the galaxy, it's a gradual process. Kaider have fun with this. Once their friends notice, they ask them to stay quiet to see how long it takes for the others. Cinder told Iko personally, so she's bursting at the seams but restrains herself. Scarlet notices first and is of course ecstatic. Wolf doesn't notice the ring but does notice Scarlet's high heart rate as she struggles not to blab to him. He keeps asking if she's okay, then she points at Cinder, and he eventually figures it out. "Oh," he says finally. "Oh?!" Scarlet yells, "how did you not notice?" Wolf admits that he doesn't pay much attention to things other than her. Winter is next. She says something like "oh dear cousin, every little soldier in my frozen palette manufacturing plant is rejoicing at this news." And Cinder just has the lady processing maths face and asks, "so you're...happy for us?" Cress doesn't notice. Thorne does and, after whooping and congratulating them, immediately inspects the ring and starts guessing how much it would sell for on the black market. Cinder doesn't let him near it after that. Cress looks on--confused--and whispers to Kai, "is the ring important?" Kai smirks and replies, "well I suppose, but I hope she didn't say yes only for the ring." Then comes the, "wait, did you propose?" and the squealing. With her sheltered upbringing, Cress forgot which hand the wedding ring is on and didn't pay attention to it. So then all that's left is Jacin. He didn't notice when Winter did, and he didn't notice when they were all together for dinner on Luna. He doesn't notice at the peace ball, or Winter's diplomatic mission to the Commonwealth, or even when they are all playing cards and the ring is adamantly on the display. Months pass and everyone is frustrated waiting for this guy to get a clue. Meanwhile, Thorne likes to make a game out of it: "Cinder is engaged...in a very serious work meeting." "Can you believe Kai is moving onto his second wife already? At his age?" Winter is the most frustrated of all because she can't speak of wedding plans with the one person she speaks to the most. So one day she pulls up a photo of Cinder and Kai, hand visible, and asks, "do you notice anything different about them, Jacin?" Jacin snorts and says, "yeah, Kai looks stupid in those pink sunglasses." "No, they're engaged!" Anyway Jacin knew the whole time. He just never acknowledged it because he never cared. At least, that's what everyone else thinks. But Jacin was having lots of fun with it.

As I said I just can't settle on anything definite! So I want to hear everyone's headcanons for it!

#lunar chronicles #tlc #the lunar chronicles #kaider #linh cinder #emperor kai #winter hayle blackburn #scarlet benoit #wolf kesley #carswell thorne #jacin clay #cress darnel #iko

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jewelpit · 1 year ago

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How not to ring in pride by plugging a Matt Walsh film, courtesy of Ars Technica

(I'm posting this today because I wanted to give them the weekend to respond to it, and it's now nearly 1:00 PM EDT and there's still no official response or even message that the article has been edited, s here we are)

So I don't know how many of my friend on here read science and tech news, but for several years my favorite source for these subjects was Ars Technica, which seemed (emphasis on the past tense here) to have a higher level of journalistic quality than most of the free sci/tech news sites out there. They've even earned a reputation for being moderately progressive, with articles covering the reality of climate change and the effectiveness of vaccines.

This weekend, we learned that this veneer of progressiveness has a sharp and painful limit: LGBTQ+ issues.

Last week, Twitter's safety chief resigned after Elon Musk ordered her to surface an anti-trans propaganda piece, What Is A Woman, by Matt Walsh, a prominent anti-LGBTQ+ hate figure and major popularizer of the current push to label all LGBTQ+ people as sexual predators and groomers.

This could have been an easy slam dunk for Ars. Cover the departure, cover even the tiniest bit of backstory into Matt Walsh and why he's such a shitty guy, and then wait for the ad dollars from your progressive-leaning audience to roll in.

Instead, we got this (Wayback link here):

That was it. That was the whole article.

No mention of Matt Walsh proudly talking on Twitter about how he helped spread the "all queers are groomers" rhetoric that's spreading strong throughout much of the US (and it's only a matter of time before that breaches containment). No mention of how Chloe Cole holds rallies to try to make try to make puberty blockers and hormone treatment (which collectively have a regret rate that hovers around 1%) illegal for anyone to access until they're 18 and puberty has already permanently changed their body.

Ars' failure doesn't stop here, though I wish it did. Let's check the comment count:

Now for people who don't read Ars, that number might not mean much. Here it is in context:

Eight times as many comments as half the stories around it. Three times as many comments as an article about EA and gaming NFTs, topics that are guaranteed to create discussion. The only story that even comes close is a multi-page article about Starliner, a topic which consistently creates strong engagement on a site that cares enough about space to have its own purely-rocket themed sub-periodical.

Remember above when I said that Ars got a reputation as a semi-progressive site because they supported vaccines and the reality of climate change? That extended to the comments section, where their moderators would remove comments that called climate change fake or vaccines a scam. Let's see what kind of comments they're leaving up on this article:

Interesting how some topics are tightly moderated, and others, when they concern human rights, are left to the Ars community (which thankfully downvoted these posts into oblivion).

Save your downvote fingers, though, because these comments are locked to hell and back. No upvotes, no downvotes, no further comments. Just this:

"Culture war topics." "It should go without saying that the intent was not to spread hate." "This story was really about Ella Irwin's resignation... [and] Twitter is becoming less safe for some people seemingly by the hour."

I wonder if Ken Fisher, the founder and editor-in-chief, has any experience with running a site that's becoming less safe for "some people" by the hour? Given how they handled this this weekend, the first weekend of Pride month, I'd say he does.

Catch that part where he said the story is being updated? Here's a Wayback link to the updated version: linkle. Unfortunately it's now long enough to be a multi-page article, which means that putting it into the Wayback machine is a hassle, and it's so much longer that I'm not going to link it in here, but I suggest giving it a read.

Notice anything missing? Anything like... any kind of notice that the article was updated? A timestamp for updates? Nope, gonna just drop a modified version and pretend that this was the only version that ever existed. Thanks for the great article and amazing updates, Jon Brodkin.

...

Wait a second. So Jon Brodkin wrote an article that uncritically parroted talking points from an anti-trans propaganda piece made by an openly transphobic Christian nationalist. Is this an honest mistake, or is Jon in on the bit? Let's check who he follows on Twitter (sourced from https://twitter.com/jbrodkin/following).

...and of course:

He follows some green people too, but it's just politicians and fiction writers. No pro-trans publications or pro-trans nonfiction writers. At this point, the lazy response from the journalism team at Ars Technica is pretty clear. Rather than this being a case of uninformed allies making a mistake and trying to cover it up rather than own it, it seems a lot more likely that they have an actual transphobic employee, who intentionally published an actual transphobic article, and the leadership team cares more about protecting his professional reputation than they do about not spreading hate.

Happy fucking Pride.

#ars technica #transphobia #matt walsh #jon brodkin #pride #happy fucking pride i guess #bad journalism #trans rights are human rights

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darkimpala1897 · 8 months ago

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So I posted this fic yesterday!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54706615

And someone in the comments asked for a guide of who is inside who Lmfao sounds dirty, so I decided to post it here, so when I do more parts to this AU. This can be used as a cheat sheet.

The man that our boy John "Bucky" Egan is inside or inhabiting Lmfao

1. Full name Phoenix Callum Butler nee Roberts

2. Naturally blond

3. He was born in Fort Wayne Indiana nowhere near Phoenix Arizona.

4. He's a gymnast and classically trained ballerina

5. Married

6. Can actually sing which makes Bucky happy.

7. He can also play the guitar.

8. British-American, the accent is still slightly freaking out Bucky.

The man that Gale "Buck" Clevens is inhabiting slash took over.

1. Full name Dallas Gareth Butler, which yes Buck finds absolutely ridiculous.

2. His dark hair is natural.

3. He was born in Raleigh North Carolina nowhere near Dallas Texas, and Buck is pretty sure the guy has never been to Dallas.

4. He's a journalist which Buck finds interesting.

5. He's married to the guy Bucky is inhabiting.

6. Collects Elvis stuff.

7. Has a pet tarantula which Buck has yet to figure the name out.

8. American, according to everyone he sounds like Elvis.

The man that Harry Crosby is inhabiting.

1. Full name Anthony John Booth, which Croz doesn't mind except the middle and last name.

2. He looks pretty much the same which he's thankful for, he just looks slightly younger which nobody really notices.

3. He was born in Lincoln Illinois which the irony is hilarious.

4. Photographer for the same newspaper that Buck works for.

5. Dating the guy Bubbles is inhabiting for like seven years.

6. He is in fact realted to John Wilkes Booth in this timeline, as Crosby says he can't escape the lookalike contest. Manhunt reference.

7. Collects stamps, which Crosby doesn't understand either.

8. Irish-American, the accent throws him off sometimes.

The man that Everett Ernest Blakely is inhabiting.

1. Full name David Jonas Sheilds, one of the most normal name in the group.

2. He looks pretty much the same except his hair is slightly shorter.

3. Born in Tampa Florida.

4. He's a therapist, and because of this Blakely has started nitpicking everyone.

5. Has a pet crab, which is friends with Bucks tarantula. Everyone makes fun of Blakely for the crab joking he has crabs.

6. American, no accent but he is the honorary Curt translator.

The man that John Brady is inhabiting.

1. Full name Benjamin John Sutton.

2. He looks pretty much the same, maybe a little younger.

3. Born in San Francisco California

4. Fashion designer which was obvious to Brady almost immediately, because he got jump scared by one of the mans mannequins.

5. Steals mannequins from department stores.

6.The most fashionable one in the group, which he doesn't do on purpose.

The man that Howard "Hambone" Hamilton is inhabiting.

1. Jordan Claire Washington, or Claire which Hambone hates but he's getting use to it.

2. He looks pretty much the same except the brown hair and lip ring he has going on.

3. Born in Washington state.

4. Tattoo artist which took Hambone awhile to figure out, he thought he was an artist at first.

5. Engaged to the man Douglass is inhabiting.

6. He uses the guy Ken is inhabiting as his human test subject for tattoos.

7. Dresses like the poster boy of every early 2000s emo band.

8. British-American, the accent is a little worse then Buckys.

9. Collects cat statutes and sea shells.

The man that Bernard "Benny" DeMarco is inhabiting.

1. Full name Adam Campbell Long, the last name makes everyone giggle.

2. Looks exactly the same.

3. Born in Albany New York.

4. Bartender at a strip club, which DeMarco finds hilarious mostly because of his last name.

5. Can make a killer margarita.

6. Has OCD which drives DeMarco insane.

7. American, with a slight New York accent.

8. Owns a husky named Meatball, which makes DeMarco so happy that Meatball and him are together in every timeline.

The man James Douglass is inhabiting.

1. Full name Elliott Edward Parker

2. Looks pretty much the same, the only thing that's missing is his hair which Douglass complains about on a daily basis.

3. Born in Saint Louis Missouri.

4. Stripper Cop at the same strip club that DeMarco works at as a bartender, Douglass finds it fucking hilarious he loves this timeline version of him.

5. Engaged to the man Hambone is inhabiting.

6. Douglass wouldn't stop taking off his clothes once he figured out his profession of choice, he also gave Blakely a lap dance which Hambone dared him to.

The man John B. "Jack" Kidd is inhabiting.

1. Full name Ashley Edward Johnson, which Kidd hates with a passion.

2. Born in Salt Lake City Utah.

3. Fifth grade science teacher, which makes so much sense to Kidd because he already deals with children in the 40s, so why not modern day.

The man Kenneth "Ken" Lemmons is inhabiting.

1. Full name Samuel Kai Lawson, which Ken finds kickass.

2. Born in Grand Rapids Michigan.

3. He owns his own mechanic shop.

4. His tattoos and ear piercing were all done by the man Hambone is inhabiting, who uses him as a test subject. Even after Hambone took over, Ken let him practice on him.

5. He's been dating the man Rosie is inhabiting for two years.

6. Owns a cat named Fleas, which Ken finds kinda of insulting to the cat.

I've hit the ten picture limit, but part two to this chaos will be posted shortly!

#headcanon #masters of the air #gale buck cleven #harry crosby #john bucky egan #everett blakely #john brady #howard hambone hamilton #bernard demarco #james douglass #kidd #ken lemmons #au #time travel #body snatchers #buck x bucky #Douglass x Hambone #Rosie x Ken #bubbles x crosby

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justinspoliticalcorner · 24 days ago

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Trudy Ring at The Advocate:

Texas Attorney General Ken Paxton, known for his anti-LGBTQ+ views, has sued a doctor in the state for providing gender-affirming care to young people, the first such suit in the nation. Paxton filed the suit Thursday in Collin County District Court against May C. Lau, MD, a professor at the University of Texas Southwestern Medical Center in Dallas and a practitioner at that city's Children's Health Center. He alleges that Lau violated Texas’s law against gender-affirming care for transgender minors by providing cross-sex hormones to at least 21 young people for the purpose of gender transition. He also claims she violated the state’s business and commercial code by engaging in “false, misleading, and deceptive acts and practices to mislead pharmacies, insurance providers, and/or patients by falsifying medical records, prescriptions, and billing records to represent that her testosterone prescriptions are for something other than transitioning a child’s biological sex or affirming a child’s belief that their gender identity is inconsistent with their biological sex,” as the suit puts it.

“Growing scientific evidence strongly suggests that ‘gender transition’ interventions prescribed to or performed on children in an attempt to anatomically or hormonally alter their biological sex characteristics have damaging, long-term consequences,” says a press release from Paxton’s office. “Additionally, the prohibited treatments are experimental, and no scientific evidence supports their supposed benefits.” Texas Attorney General Ken Paxton, known for his anti-LGBTQ+ views, has sued a doctor in the state for providing gender-affirming care to young people, the first such suit in the nation. This is not true. Such treatments are not considered experimental, and they have been shown to have positive and even lifesaving effects on youth people. This care is supported by every major medical group in the U.S.

Anti-trans extremist Texas AG Ken Paxton (R) files a politically-motivated lawsuit against Dr. May C. Lau, MD, a practitioner at the University of Texas Southwestern Medical Center’s Children's Health Center for providing gender-affirming care services for trans youths.

The Texas v. Lau suit pushed the lie that gender-affirming care treatments are “experimental” and “dangerous.”