#~`*records‚ reports‚ and other little reminders

[dxckinson]

who  :  agent faulkner, @faulknxr

where  :  agent dickinson's living quarters

when  :  march 13, 1994, 6:35 AM

The golden light from the spring sun gently spilled into Agent Dickinson’s quarters through a pair of partially closed curtains. In the still darkened expanse of the bedroom, a kaleidoscope of colors danced across the walls, the light shifting between the warm rays of natural light and the prismatic hues not normally seen by the naked eye. The ribbons of colors shimmered and twirled as if dancing, distorted through a crystal glass wind chime that hung across from the apartment’s central cooling vent. The gentle whooshing of the climate-controlled air and the soft tinkling of the translucent glass beads that swayed in the breeze were both drowned out by the incessant treble of a shrieking radio alarm clock that sat atop a cluttered bedside table.

In the queen-sized mattress next to the nightstand, Agent Dickinson let out a strained curse before he pressed his face deeper into the mattress; the pillow that had been his head rest the night before was folded in half to cover both ears in a vain attempt to muffle the sound. While turning off the alarm would be easier than pretending it didn’t exist, the pounding in his head made the very act of reaching out to shut it off seem utterly impossible.

But he knew he needed to get up; he was running late, and Faulkner was waiting.

Dickinson’s heart clenched behind its cage of flesh and bone, erratically thumping out of rhythm, haunted by some peculiar, misplaced pseudesthesia. The fuzzy remnants of a dream—a nightmare, really—clung to the edges of his subconscious. Stubborn and sticky like the seedpods of the burdock plants that grew in the walking trails he and—In-su—Faulkner frequented in the summertime; those barbed spurs that left a penetrating, stinging itch hours after the intrusion had been removed. The burning sensation of the nearly invisible puncture was the only evidence of a wound. A laughable phantom injury that still hurt regardless.

Chuckling cheerlessly, Dickinson squinted at the time displayed on the green digital screen of the alarm clock. 6:38. He was over thirty minutes late. His chest seized up in a bewildering sob that petered off into an equally mystifying series of sniffles. He couldn’t even remember what it had been that had upset him so much, the fragments of the dream vanishing like wisps of smoke, like fog, when he tried to bring them into focus; leaving behind only the heartache and drying tear tracks as proof that anything had terrorized his sleeping mind.

The only thing he could recall with any certainly were the sound of someone crying, bright white lights, and a cacophony of noises in the distance. But that in itself offered very little insight when it came to narrowing down the memory. All things considered.

“¡Ya! cállate,” Dickinson hissed, eyes closed, as he extended his arm to slam the ‘off’ button of the clock but only managed to bump his fingers into cool glass. He bit back another curse, opened his eyes, and lifted himself on his elbows to reach around the obstruction that had been left on his bedside table. Once the shrill wailing had been silenced, once and for all, Dickinson rolled onto his back and stared up at his bedroom ceiling.

The last vestiges of the nightmare had been blown away by the torrential winds of his waking mind, so it would be pointless for him to continue to dwell on it now. But there was something gnawing at the deepest alcoves in his psyche. An animallike dread made his skin break out into gooseflesh and the hair at the back of his neck stand on end. A ghostly chill, a creeping horror that had dug its claws into the core of his being. Dickinson wondered idly who had emerged to haunt his subconscious last night. Which one of the many ghosts that trailed behind him had come seeking their toll for the years he had stolen from them?

The thought sent another pang of melancholy through him. Dickinson pressed his hands to his face in response, trying to clear his mind. If this was the penitence he had to pay for letting Agent Fitzgerald goad him into another drinking contest, then maybe this would finally teach him to stop letting things get this far. Everyone knew Dickinson was a terrible drunk; a lightweight who’d get overly emotional—and then embarrassingly clingy. So if he had to bet, Dickinson would suppose the Fitz got a kick out of seeing him turn into a weepy mess, teary face pressed into the side of one of his usual victims (Faulkner, Whitman, or Hemingway) whose side he’d cling to for the rest of the night.

‘It was Faulkner last night,’ Dickinson thought sluggishly. It was usually Faulkner as of late. And since Dickinson had woken up in his own place instead of being deposited onto someone’s couch, it was the only logical conclusion; his long-term mission partner was the only one Dickinson trusted enough with a key to his apartment, after all. Whitman would probably try to pull a prank (or two) and Hemingway’s susceptibility to peer pressure made him a liability even if Whitman didn’t have a key.

Grumbling with no real heat behind the sound, Dickinson recalled the glass of water that had been left for him on the nightstand, another hint that pointed towards his partner. Sitting up he squinted at the sunlight pouring into the bedroom before he shifted his gaze to the glass and noticed that there was a square of paper placed over it, and two white circular tablets of medicine atop of that. Dickinson snorted as he carefully pinched the aspirin pills between his thumb, index, and middle finger so he could snatch up the handwritten letter between his final two. Popping the medication into his mouth, he brought the note to eye level and blindly pawed for the cup. Sipping on the water, he scanned the note, which read:

Good morning, Agent Dickinson: I hope you slept alright. Please take these pills with food and water. There is a bowl of caldo de pollo in the fridge. Two minutes in the Radarange should suffice. Our meeting time at Briefing Room A is 700 hours. I shall get you by 645 hours if I do not receive a page back by 630 hours. Cordially, Agent Faulkner. P.S. Please do not worry about my suit jacket from last night. I properly rinsed the discharge.㋡

Dickinson choked on his drink, dribbling water onto his chin and chest. Coughing and pounding at his sternum, he placed the glass back onto the bedside table and looked at the time.

6:43.

Faulkner was probably already unlocking the door.

[deunmiu-dessie]

ⅷ▬ ⁽ 𝒶𝓁𝒾𝑒𝓃 ⁾

𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉 ♡︎ : ₈˖₅ₖ ˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡

𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 ♡︎ : unedited, plot, alien/human, fluff, nim'xen is a simp, he falls first and then falls harder. ₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎

૮ ˙Ⱉ˙ ა ʳᵃʷʳ ⁿᵒᵗᵉˢ : no smut, but! a cute little unfinished one-shot of mine.

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 ♡︎: on the way home from the store, the unthinkable happens.

꒰male!alien ₊⊹ afab!reader꒱

“Breaking News: Massive Asteroid Comes Dangerously Close to Earth, Scientists Unaware Until Hours Later.

In a stunning turn of events, a colossal asteroid, previously known as ZTFoDxQ but now identified as Asteroid QG, narrowly missed colliding with Earth. The planet-sized asteroid made its closest-known approach to our planet on Sunday at 12:08 a.m. EDT, coming within a mere 1,830 miles. This remarkable event marks the closest asteroid flyby ever recorded, where the celestial object managed to survive the encounter unscathed, as confirmed by NASA.

However, the surprises didn't end there. Just this afternoon at 1:00 p.m., reports have emerged that a fragment of the asteroid has broken off and penetrated Earth's atmosphere. The exact location of impact is currently being evacuated as a precautionary measure. 

 Scientists are scrambling to analyze the data and understand how such a massive asteroid managed to come so close to Earth without being detected until hours later. The lack of awareness has raised concerns about the effectiveness of current asteroid detection systems and the potential risks posed by near-Earth objects.

NASA and other space agencies around the world are now working to improve their monitoring and detection capabilities to prevent similar surprises in the future. The incident has also sparked discussions about the need for increased funding and resources for asteroid detection and deflection efforts.

As the world watches in awe and relief at the near miss, the incident serves as a stark reminder of the potential dangers lurking in space and the importance of continued vigilance in monitoring the skies for potential threats. Stay tuned for further updates on this developing story.” 

3 months later

“Can you do me a favor, sweetheart?”

Interrupting your peeling, you raised your eyes from the bowl of potatoes, freezing the peeler in your hand. You cast a frustrated glance at her, your annoyance thinly veiled behind a strained smile. You were already handling most of the cooking for the evening, so what more could she want from you?

Interpreting your insincere smile as a signal of agreement, she resumed her task of tending to the bubbling broth on the stove, deftly chopping the carrots and watching them plunge into the savory liquid with a satisfying plop. "Your sister's going on a trip tomorrow and I totally spaced on getting her food. She likes turkey right? I'll just throw together a sandwich for her." 

A soft snicker escaped you as the peeler slipped from your hand and plunged into the water-filled bowl. You shifted your attention towards her, trying to decipher if she was genuinely serious or not. Yet, as you locked eyes with her, she responded with an arched eyebrow and an inquisitive grin.

"Jess has a poultry allergy, Mom." 

The woman paused briefly, inhaling deeply to gather her thoughts. As she glanced up at you, she shifted her hip to the side. Her apologetic expression seemed somewhat contrived. "Of course, I should have remembered. I'm sorry, honey." 

It was understandable that the woman might eventually forget. She wasn't the one who hurriedly took Jess to the hospital when she had her first experience with it, she wasn't the one who remained by the girl's side day and night, eagerly waiting for her to regain consciousness. But you were. You were Jess's first in everything. You had always been there for her, so it's only natural that the bond between the two of you grew strong. You knew all about her allergies, her preferences, her school crushes— you felt like more of a mother to her than her biological one.

 "Whatever. I'll pack her lunch." 

You swivel the chair and slide off of it. "The blue card, right?" As she nods her head absentmindedly, almost as if she's in a daze, you leave the kitchen with a frown etched on your face.

Snatching your keys from the hook, you hastily slide into your gym shoes, relieved that you hadn't bothered changing your clothes. You stand at the bottom of the stairs and shift your weight. "Jess! I'm going to the store, do you want anything?!" You delve into your mom's purse, sifting through the chaotic contents until you locate her wallet and retrieve the blue card food stamp card.

   After a brief silence, her bedroom door swings open and she rushes towards the railing, a bright smile on her face. " Ice cream? Shark week came and I've been really craving strawberry ice cream."  You give a nod and quickly retrieve your jacket from the closet. "Do you need any money for the trip tomorrow? I can take some out on my way back." 

The young girl shakes her head, her eyes filled with adoration. You raise an eyebrow but still nod in understanding. Retrieving your phone from your pocket, you give it a gentle shake. "Text me if you need anything, but be quick about it." Without waiting for her response, you swiftly unlock the door and make your way onto the porch.

The sky is adorned with a delicate blend of pink and deep purple, gradually blending into the mysterious darkness of the night. A gentle breeze carries a subtle chill, but you embrace it without a word, wrapping your jacket tightly around your being. Swiftly, you navigate towards your vehicle, unlocking the door and sinking into the plush leather seat. A faint hint of smoke dances in the air, causing your nose to crinkle in response. Without hesitation, you lower the window, letting it air out.

As the smell dissipates you roll up the window and rub your hands together from the cold.

 With a flick of a switch, the heat begins to flow, gradually filling the space and caressing your cheeks with a gentle warmth. The jacket you wear, once a shield against the chill, now threatens to make you feel almost too warm. With a contented smile, you leave the driveway behind and glide swiftly down the street, embraced by the cozy ambiance within.

 As you embark on the drive, the radio remains silent, allowing your thoughts to drift away. Your thumb dances lightly on the steering wheel, lost in a world of its own. Deep down, you had already made up your mind to have Jess by your side once you left. There was no way your parents could take care of her, especially with what you've heard today. 

 Your job was well-paying and you had saved up to rent and secure a two-bedroom apartment at an astonishingly reasonable cost, despite its pristine condition. Nestled within a delightful community, the apartment stood conveniently close to Jess' school. Naturally, obtaining their consent would be imperative, yet even if they were to resist, you would unhesitatingly embark on a legal journey to assert your rights. Yet even if they were to resist, you would unhesitatingly them to court. 

  You wanted a better life for Jess, you wanted the rest of her remaining years of growth to unfold effortlessly. Your affection for her was so profound that witnessing her spiral, just as you had, while residing with your parents was simply inconceivable.

Startled by a gentle tap on your window, you were momentarily transported from the reverie you had been lost in while sitting in the Kroger's parking lot. Your mind had been wandering, lost in a sea of thoughts. With your heart pounding in your chest, you slowly shifted your gaze towards the source of the sound and cautiously opened the window, allowing a sliver of the outside world to seep in.

 She was an elderly lady, much older than you, with a look of homelessness about her. Her shirt was stained and torn, her jeans in tatters, and her face covered in grime. You hesitated for a moment before offering her a warm smile and rolling down your window just a tad further.

  "Hi, do you need something?"

As her murmurs dance in disarray, fragments of words manage to intertwine, and in a fleeting moment, a shiver cascades down your spine. " You're. . . Die. . . Tonight."  

Her expression is vacant, her gaze distant, and the fidgety way she picks at her cuticles hints at her unease. Even though you feel a sense of discomfort, a strong urge to leave the parking lot doesn't overcome you. Instead, you reach into the glove compartment, retrieve a crumpled $20 bill, and gently pass it through the window.

 You recoil in shock as she snatches it out of your hand, making sure to quickly wobble off. With your heart racing, you roll up the window and sink into the headrest, trying to soothe your jangled nerves. What the hell was that about? The only conclusion you can draw is that she must be a deranged old woman.

After finally catching your breath, you unlock your car door and slide out, card in hand. Gently inserting the blue plastic into the slot at the back of your phone case, you carefully place it in your pocket. The night had fallen, and you were eager to return to the comfort of your home.

You took a cart from the parking lot racks and pushed it inside, feeling the chill of the air as you entered the store. "Hmm, what should I pick up for Jess?"

—

   "Jess! Mom! I'm home!" You set the bags onto the dining room table and wait there with a cocked hip. Within moments, Jess emerges from her room and descends the stairs in a flurry. A gentle smile adorns your face as you present the tub of delectable ice cream, relishing in the delightful sound of her joyful squeal.

  "Ah! Thank you, thank you, thank you!" With a grateful smile, she plants a sweet kiss on your cheek and pulls you into a warm embrace. She then heads to the kitchen, excitedly searching through the drawer for a spoon. Your mother, already present in the kitchen, peeks out from behind the corner.

You notice her face contorting into a slight frown paired with a gentle smile. You recognize that look instantly, so you grab the car keys and smoothly slide the card off the table. Her eyes soften with regret as she passes you a tiny list. "It's just a few things, the ingredients for Jakiya's birthday cake that slipped my mind. Do you mind picking them up?"

   You raised an eyebrow, lips pursed. "I don't necessarily have a choice, mom." Your mom huffed and rolled her eyes. "It's a simple yes or no question, don't be difficult." Despite your strained relationship with your mom, you made an effort to avoid arguments when Jess was present.

Speaking of which, Jess had stopped rummaging in the drawer, body strung tight like a bow. Your gaze softened as you released a weary, deep sigh. You were completely fed up with your parents' nonsense, but Jess shouldn't have to witness the constant fighting between the three of you.

With a gentle nibble on the tender flesh of your cheek, you gracefully acknowledged your mother's request, enveloping yourself in the comforting embrace of your jacket. "Sure mom, what do you need?"

A smile of gratitude adorned her face as she pushed a small list towards you. You grinned wryly as you snatched it, then swiftly headed towards the door. The sun had long set, plunging the world into darkness. The street lights flickered weakly, barely illuminating the empty streets.

 Jess gazes at you as you prepare to depart, smiling guiltily.  With a playful roll of your eyes, you silently express your affection, mouthing the words 'I love you' and blowing a tender kiss in her direction. Her nose scrunches up adorably, but her face lights up with a radiant smile as she reciprocates the gesture. As you steal a glance to the side, you catch sight of your mother observing the exchange, her eyes filled with a bittersweet longing.

 "Text me if there's something else, I'm not going back out later." The words were directed towards Jess, but she dismissed them with a wave of her hand and reached for a large spoon from the drawer. Stepping outside, you were greeted by the refreshing embrace of the cool, crisp air, causing you to release a frustrated sigh. The sound of your keys jingled as you retrieved them from your pocket, pressing a button to unlock the car doors. With a swift motion, you hopped into the front seat and firmly closed the door behind you.

 You wait impatiently as the engine sputters before shutting off. Resting your head on the steering wheel, you attempt a few more times before surrendering. Frustrated, you hit the dashboard and recline in your seat. If you were to go inside and inform your mom that the car wouldn't start, she'd make you walk anyway.

With a sigh escaping your lips, you swing open the door and slide from the seat locking the doors behind you. Embarking on your journey towards Kroger, you find yourself humming a gentle melody, adding a touch of serenity to your brisk pace towards the supermarket. The night envelops you in a tranquil embrace, yet the houses you pass by are alive with vibrant activity. As you stroll along, your gaze wanders towards the windows, offering glimpses into the lives unfolding within.

    Some families are cooking while others are at the table already eating. Happiness danced in the air, casting its enchanting spell upon every corner. Yet, as you observed this idyllic scene, a twinge of envy tugged at your heartstrings. Growing up, you yearned for such a blissful atmosphere that seemed to elude you. At the tender age of nine, your parents bestowed upon you the title of maturity, deeming you wise beyond your years. And while, yes, you possessed a certain level of wisdom, it did not equate to being capable enough to care for your baby sister.

 It fell upon you to fetch Jess from daycare and ensure a safe journey back home for the two of you. It was your responsibility to prepare meals for both of you after school. The weight of raising your four-year-old sister and yourself rested solely on your shoulders, as there was no one else to do it for you. Over time, the bond between both of you and your parents had weakened. They were seldom present, and when they were, disagreements ensued. You made an effort to keep the arguments hushed whenever Jess was around. She often blamed herself for the strained relationship between you, your mom, and your dad.

As you stroll along the dimly lit street, a sudden hush falls upon your heart as the echo of footsteps reaches your ears. Time seems to stand still, and for a fleeting moment, your heart skips a beat. Yet, amidst the uncertainty, you cling to a glimmer of hope, imagining that those footsteps might belong to a passerby, innocently treading the same path as you.

They draw nearer, their footsteps quickening. You swallow your trepidation, nearly stumbling as a man's voice pierces the air. "Excuse me!" His voice resonates with a deep, thunderous timbre, sending shivers down your spine. You flinch, but press on, hastening towards the bustling street where the glow of passing cars illuminates the pavement and towering structures. Towards the sanctuary of safety.

 "Hey! I'm talking to you." 

  You're almost there. You start to jog a little but they've closed in a bit too much. Their presence looms closer, their energy palpable. Just as panic threatens to consume you, you part your lips to release a piercing scream, only to find that silence has enveloped the air.

A gentle breeze rustles the leaves of a bush, followed by a brief, hushed cry that fades into silence. The chirping of crickets has ceased, leaving a stillness that envelops the world. With uncertainty, you glance behind you and collapse to the ground as the two men have vanished. Gazing up at the night sky, the reflection in your eyes, you offer silent gratitude to whoever intervened and saved you in that fleeting moment.

   You stand up and you resume your journey, eventually arriving at the bustling street. Though your legs falter when you notice the woman from earlier sitting on a bus stop bench. The impact of the $20 becomes evident as she savors a warm, nourishing meal, and her once weary eyes seem to be less bloodshot. 

 A part of you hesitates to pass by her, yet you dismiss that fleeting sense of unease and march towards her. It appears that she is also cautious of your presence, as her head swiftly turns towards you—almost as if she is just as cognizant of you as you are of her. Her gaze drifts beyond your shoulder and her eyes widen, a sheer terror reflecting in them. She abandons her meal, rises with some effort, clutches onto her bag, and hastens away.

Your brows knit together and you cast a glance over your shoulder, a whirlwind of bewilderment dancing in your gaze. There is no one lingering in the shadows and the surroundings appear undisturbed. Returning your attention to her path, you discover that she has vanished into thin air. A sense of unease settles within you as you resume your journey towards the store, diligently keeping a watchful eye on the space behind you.

—

The parking lot is nearly empty when you leave the store. Alongside you, a stream of tired employees bid farewell to their workday, their footsteps echoing in harmony with your own. Amid this scene, a message from Jess illuminates your phone, informing you that dinner has already been prepared. However, a bittersweet note lingers as their parents, driven by impatience, have chosen to indulge in the meal without your presence.

      The girl had put you some food up and would eat with you when you got home. You tell her that it's fine and for her to go to sleep. She responds back with the middle finger emoji. You let out a soft laugh and gently tuck your phone away, resuming your journey back home. In moments like these, you can't help but appreciate the invaluable presence of your sister. She is the unwavering support that keeps you grounded, the guiding light that helps you navigate through life's challenges. It is because of her that you find the strength to persevere, even in the face of your parents' constant demands.

Raising Jess, despite its challenges, has molded you into the person you are now. A person who is dependable, always on time, patient, and strong-willed. You possess the remarkable ability to adapt swiftly and thrive in any endeavor you undertake. If your parents hadn't entrusted you with the responsibility of raising your sister, none of these remarkable qualities would have blossomed within you. Although it may be bittersweet, raising Jess has truly been a hidden blessing, concealed in the depths of life's mysteries.

As you hurriedly make your way home, you take a shortcut and find yourself in the dimly lit parking lot of a mysterious barber shop. Instantly, a wave of regret washes over you as you stumble upon a group of men engaged in some clandestine activity. Panic sets in, and you quickly decide to retreat. However, fate has other plans for you. In your haste, you accidentally collide with a solid chest, causing you to freeze in your tracks. 

When you gather the courage to look up, you are met with a sight that leaves you breathless. Standing before you is a towering figure, adorned with intricate tattoos that seem to tell stories of their own. His pierced septum and eyebrow only add to his intimidating presence, and his annoyed expression sends shivers down your spine. As his eyebrows furrow, you can't help but do a double take at his striking attractiveness.

 "Watch where you're going, woman." You nod in agreement and attempt to move aside, but a member of the group lets out a disrespectful whistle. Your body tenses as you try to keep walking, only to have your wrist grabbed by another individual. "Where do you think you're going? You're such a pretty little thing."  

"I just want to get home. Please, let me go." Your attempt at a stern tone falters as your voice quivers and a hiccup escapes. Laughter fills the air, causing you to shrink back as if confronting a pack of wolves. Six of them. 

   The mysterious figure you collided with earlier firmly grasps the man who is restraining your wrist. " I don't have all fucking night Tyler. Either give me my shit, or I'm going to blow your brains across this goddamn lot." 

The atmosphere suddenly becomes hushed, as if time itself holds its breath. A distant memory resurfaces, a conversation shared with your sister, where you both playfully pondered about how you would handle such a situation. Laughter filled the air as you jokingly mentioned pepper spray and karate moves. But now, in this very moment, fear grips your heart, rendering you utterly petrified.

    Tyler releases his grip on you, causing a small, trembling breath to escape your lips. "Jesus, Dom. I was just joking," he says nervously, glancing at his friends for support. A few chuckle while others remain silent.

 Dom gazes at you, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Go. Before I change my mind." Despite the stern tone, there is a softness in his eyes that reassures you. You thank him profusely and speed walk away from the group. 

The moment you thought you were making headway, the piercing screams and the thunderous gunshots shatter the night's calmness. Time seems to stand still as the world around you falls into an eerie silence once again. With a lump in your throat, you quicken your pace, feeling the weight of tears welling up in your eyes.

This couldn't possibly be the end for you. It simply couldn't. You still had a duty to care for your sister, to provide her with a better life than you ever had. You longed to shield her from your parents, but how could you do that if you were no longer alive?

   As you sprint away, tightly holding onto the groceries, a gasp escapes your lips before a hand covers your mouth, guiding you into a hidden bush. The struggle feels like the most intense challenge you've ever faced. Through a tiny gap, you catch a glimpse of your groceries left behind on the pavement.

  " Shh, little female." 

As if by magic, a wave of calm washes over you the moment you recognize the familiar presence of 'Dom'. Tears cascade down your cheeks, and you gently rest your hands upon his, feeling the rhythmic beats of your heart resonating in your ears. As you glance through the foliage, a gasp escapes your lips upon seeing 'Tyler' once again. Yet, he appears far from human this time. His complexion is a mesmerizing shade of deep purple, and his face is adorned with four fiery red eyes and a menacing set of frothing, razor-sharp teeth.

His mouth oozes with saliva, which cascades onto the solid ground and creates a sizzling noise. It was acidic. Dom embraces you tightly, his free hand ascending. In his grasp, a peculiar gun emerges, unlike anything you have ever laid eyes upon. With precision, he positions the barrel's tip against the peephole, his finger gently caressing the trigger. As the gun powers up, a radiant orange glow illuminates its entire frame, casting an ethereal aura. The release is nearly soundless, as a beam pierces through 'Tyler's forehead. 

He moves away from you, emerging from the bushes, taking your stunned body in his arms and lifting you up gently. Running his fingers through his hair, the white locks falling smoothly into place.

As your gaze meets his, your mortal eyes widen in awe. He appears changed, yet undeniably captivating in a strange, otherworldly manner. His complexion is a deep shade of grey, adorned with intricate tattoos in an unfamiliar script. Some markings are white, while others emit a haunting red glow. His hair, too, is a ghostly white, almost pulsating with life. His eyes, a cloudy white, give the impression of blindness, yet two more eyes rest just below the main set. The piercings on his nose and eyebrow remain, adding to his enigmatic allure.

 You take a step back, but he gives you a piercing look that freezes you in place "What are you?" Without a word, he hesitates for a moment before taking your hand and leading you away. "Where are we going?" Your voice trembles with fear. Dom halts and releases your hand. He gestures towards the lifeless body.  "Do you see that? Hundreds of those things have already touched Terra, 3 earth months ago." 

  You shiver and wrap your arms around yourself, trying to keep warm. The deep timber of his voice brings you back to reality. "They proliferate with astonishing speed, ceaselessly multiplying. Your planet is infested, we're only here to see if it was preventable. We were too late." 

As he looks down upon you, his eyes soften, embracing the sight of your trembling figure.  "Our ultimate aim is to gather a chosen few among humanity and escort you to a hospitable planet, so that you can once again repopulate."

You shake your head slowly, taking a step back, "I cannot abandon my sister here." Dom releases a fierce growl, pointing his gun towards you and firing. The beam narrowly misses you, striking another monster in the head.

"Make it quick."

In a flurry of movement, you dart into the house, the groceries slipping from your grasp and finding their place on the table in a haphazard manner. Dom follows silently, his presence masked by a cloaking device that renders him invisible to the naked eye. 

Your heart races within your chest, a wild stallion galloping against the confines of its cage, as you ascend the stairs with reckless abandon, the sound of your footsteps reverberating loudly against the wooden steps. Bursting into Jess' room, a wave of relief washes over you, a grateful prayer whispered under your breath. Taking a seat on her bed, your smile quivers with a mixture of emotions.

Her expression is one of bewilderment and a touch of fear. Tenderly, you sweep a strand of hair away from her face. "Do me a favor, my sweet girl. Pack some clothes, but pack light. I'll explain on the way but do it quickly." Jess has always trusted your decisions without hesitation, and she won't begin to question them now. She swiftly jumps out of bed and retrieves a bookbag from her wardrobe, the very same one you both use during your camping adventures.

"We don't have much time, little female." His tone isn't rushing in the slightest but you quickly head to your room and grab your book bag. You gather only the essentials - tough denim, comfortable shirts, reliable footwear, empty notebooks, and writing tools.

Jess rushed into the room, packing faster than anticipated, much to your relief. You take her hand and guide her out, but suddenly a loud crash interrupts. Both of you scream and huddle in the corner. Dom reveals himself and fires a shot, striking the massive creature in the shoulder. Its deafening roar rattles the house and you hear your parents' heavy footsteps approaching. Just as the monster lunges towards you, Dom takes aim and shoots it in the head. Neon blood splatters the wall, causing it to slowly dissolve.

With wide, frightened eyes, Jess looks up at you as you cling to her protectively. Your parents step into the room, dressed in their robes, shocked expressions on their faces as they take in the scene in front of them. Dom pays no attention to them, instead turning his gaze towards you and giving you a once-over.

" Are you ready?" 

 With a subtle nod, you accept his outstretched hand, intertwining your fingers with his while ensuring your younger sister is safe by your side. The first to break the silence is your father, his voice laced with bewilderment. "What the hell is happening?!" His eyes fixate on you, as if you hold the key to unraveling this enigma. Disregarding his inquiry, Dom strides past, leading the three of you down the staircase. Your parents trail behind, bombarding you with a flurry of questions. Despite their persistent curiosity, you make a conscious effort to block out their voices, but your mother intervenes by snatching Jess away from your side.

With a sudden movement, the girl breaks free and falls into your waiting arms. Dom brandishes his weapon, his expression icy and resolute. Your mother retreats, seeking solace in the arms of your father.

 Dom takes the lead, while the two of you follow closely. Observing Jess, he sees her slight build and anticipates she may have difficulty keeping pace. However, he remains utterly unfazed, not a hint of complaint escaping his lips. In a surprising display of strength, he effortlessly lifts her, prompting her to let out a startled yelp, and places her book bag on his shoulder.

" We need to move fast. Keep up."

 As you secure your book bag and inhale deeply, a rush of adrenaline courses through you. Dom sprints ahead, weapon in hand. The sound of breaking glass startles you, disrupting the tranquility of the surroundings you had just passed. The anguished cries of parents and children tug at your heartstrings, but your focus remains on Jess.

—

 The length of time you've been running is a blur, your legs now numb from the effort. Nevertheless, you persist, matching his pace as best as you can. Jess has succumbed to sleep, worn out from the night's adventures. You grin wearily at her and give yourself a firm slap on the cheeks, determined to stay awake.

 Dom is pleasantly surprised by how far you've been able to sprint, appreciating your resilience and commitment to your kin. As the three of you reach a vast clearing, he gradually slows down and halts. You catch up to him, panting heavily, with sweat glistening on your skin. You look at him, curious as to why he's stopped. Dom raises his arm and utters something in his native tongue. The gauntlet beeps and responds to him in kind.

The once vacant clearing now teems with life as your gaze is captivated by the majestic arrival of a ship. Its sheer grandeur overwhelms you, compelling you to take a step back. Towering above, the ship's entrance demands you to tilt your head back. 

As Dom guides you onward, the hatch swings open, inviting you to step onto its surface. A warm welcome awaits you from a gathering of his companions, each adorned in vibrant hues, yet all sharing the distinctive feature of milky white eyes. Drawing nearer to Dom, you find solace in the proximity of your sister. They engage in conversation briefly, before the hatch seals shut and Dom secures his firearm in its holster. " You will be safe here. The ship will take off tomorrow night when my people come with more of your kind."

  He leads the two of you to a room, one big bed placed in the middle of it accompanied by a smattering of curious contraptions. The walls exude an ethereal shade of slate grey metal, while a petite window graces the space just above a cozy sitting area. Tenderly, Dom settles Jess upon the bed and places the bag on a nearby table. He looks towards you and motions forward. "Rest."

As he moves towards the room's exit, you seize his hand. Your eyes betray a lack of trust, not in him, but in the very ship and its occupants. Dom stares at you, his emotions veiled, and you struggle to hold back tears. " Will you come back? Are you leaving us?" 

 In Dom's world, the idea of a female requiring reassurance and assistance was unfamiliar territory. The females on his planet, known as sîmalę, were formidable warriors, often occupying positions of power surpassing those of the males. Dom found himself fortunate to have gotten his position. [ Female¹]

He reminds himself that you are a human hailing from the terra planet. The concept of hunting or encountering creatures that did not resemble pets or the animals confined within the cages of a zoo was foreign to you. Dom gently releases your hand from his grasp, his gaze emanating reassurance despite the vacancy in his expression." Sleep, little female and this one will be back soon."  

Observing as you reluctantly nod, you make your way towards the bed. With tenderness, you remove your sister's shoes and tuck her in, finding solace in this simple act of nurturing. Your savior exits the room, leaving you to collapse onto your knees, tears cascading from your eyes. The events of today crash upon you with the intensity of a thunderstorm, and you come to the realization that it is now solely you and your sister. A small part of you regrets not bringing your parents along, but you have convinced yourself that it was the wisest choice.

 " What's wrong?"

You swiftly brush away the tears with the back of your hand. Gazing at your sister, you grasp her hand gently in yours. Her eyes hold a hint of doubt as you shake your head. It was crucial to show Jess that you were the pillar of strength, assuring her safety and control.

  "It's nothing, I'm just exhausted. Let's head to sleep okay?" Jess nods, revealing the empty side of the bed for you to rest on. You kick off your shoes and wrap yourself in the comforter. Jess joins you promptly, nestling beside you to provide warmth. The lights recognize your need for rest and dim down.

  "I love you." 

You grin and hold her hand in yours. "I love you too."

—-

The gentle murmur of voices pulls you from your slumber, but Jess is no longer by your side, leaving you feeling a sense of emptiness. Your eyes gradually open, taking in your surroundings. A sleepy yawn escapes your lips as you sit up in bed. The voices fall silent, only to be replaced by Jess' voice, beckoning you to join the conversation.

"Are you finally awake?"

A slight thumbs up is the only response Jess receives before you run your hands over your eyes, dispelling the drowsiness. "Dom says that the others will be back soon, in two hours. Then we'll be leaving here." At the mention of his name, you lift your gaze completely. The alien is stationed at the entrance, arms crossed, sporting a ghostly smile as a greeting.

Relief floods through you when he appears, and he can sense it too. Your oxytocin levels spike at the mere sight of him. The moment is disrupted by the loud rumbling of Jess' stomach, leading her to groan and flop onto the bed. "I'm starving!"

  A piece of your heart is relieved to see Jess back to her usual self, yet a part of you understands the importance of discussing the recent events and what lies ahead. Dom opens the room door and motions to it. "This one will take you to the canteen, you'll eat there." 

   Jess eagerly jumps out of bed, taking your hand and pulling you along. "Hurry, I don't want to go by myself," she pleads. You yield to her plea and stand up. Dom watches the two of you but doesn't race you to get ready. The two of you quickly put on your shoes and exit the room.

Dom assumes the lead, acknowledging the presence of the guards stationed throughout the ship. "You will eat with the rest of your kind, worry not." You reciprocate with a nod, holding your sister tightly while marveling at the ship and its bewildering gadgets that surpass Earth's comprehension. Dom opens the door for both of you, placing a comforting hand on your lower back. His touch brings solace as you step inside, with Jess following closely behind. Although the canteen isn't teeming with people, its modest occupancy provides a semblance of safety within the ship's vast expanse.

"Jess?"

    The sound of your sister's name comes from a girl with dyed red and pink hair. A dazzling diamond stud graces her pierced nose, and her eyes gleam in a warm toffee shade. It takes a moment for your sister to locate the person who called out to her, but when she does, her eyes fill with tears of happiness as she waves in acknowledgment.

You anticipate your sister's eager rush, yet she remains rooted, her hand clasping yours with increasing intensity, as if seeking your validation. A profound connection is forged as your eyes meet, and despite the weariness etched upon your visage, you manage to summon a tired smile, silently conveying your agreement. With unwavering determination, Jess propels herself towards the girl in the queue, leaping into her outstretched arms. "Kayla!"

 While your sister is occupied, you sit at an unoccupied table, startled by Dom's sudden presence across from you. "How do you and your kin fair? Little female." It's a pity that you feel more at ease with an alien than your own kind. 

" My name is [ ]."  The nickname he has given you isn't one that offends you in any way. The way he uses it is quite endearing, but you'd rather him call you by your real name than anything else. You wring your hands together and your stress levels rise steadily. Anxious thoughts swirl in your mind as you ponder,  "What will happen to everyone else that's left here?" 

Your name carries the meaning of 'to conquer' in his native tongue and he finds it fitting for you. Dom's jaw tightens slightly as he locks eyes with you. "This one will not lie to you. Many of your species will die, it is survival of the fittest when it comes to the Qęnłar. They are hard to kill without proper weapons but it is not impossible."  

[ Abomination¹]

A soft gasp is stifled by your hand as tears well up in your eyes. The sense of guilt consumes you, making you question your own worthiness. Unsure of how you could have helped, you can't help but feel like an imposter among those who perished.

Dom seems to sense your inner turmoil and does his best to console you. "There is not much you could've done, litt–."His voice falters momentarily as he nearly utters the name he'd given you, but he swiftly regains composure. "Had you not gone out that night, you also could've been left here on terra to die. None aboard this vessel would have spared a second thought to rescue you." 

 It's clear that he's not skilled at soothing people, particularly humans, yet you offer your thanks with a watery smile. As he opens his mouth to speak again, he gently places a hand on his ear. Despite the absence of eyebrows, you observe the furrow in the center of his forehead. His gaze turns icy as he stands up from the table.

   "This one will find you in your chambers later, ask the guard to lead you when you are ready. Fęrłåk dė hłał." Although you don't understand the meaning behind his words, you nod in agreement, captivated by the enigmatic aura surrounding him. He then departs, pausing briefly to converse with the guard. [ Eat well ¹] 

  With a glance in your direction, the alien acknowledges Dom with a nod. Your stomach emits a low growl, prompting you to lay your head on the table, too fatigued to make a move.

Clang!

Next to your slouched figure, Jess sets down two trays brimming with mouth-watering dishes. As you straighten up, a grin spreads across your face. You instinctively grab the tray loaded with an assortment of fruits, feeling understood by her intuitive gesture— she knew you so well.

"Where did he go?" You assume she's talking about Dom. With a nonchalant shrug of your shoulders, you indulged in the succulent sweetness of a ripe mango, savoring each delicate bite.

 "Jess. What happened yesterday–."

The girl holds up her hand. "I don't know what happened when you left, and there's no need to tell me. I've never questioned anything you've done for me before because you always have the best interest at heart. Thank you for coming back for me. Dom told me that you wouldn't leave without me." 

She gazes down at her tray of food. "A part of me feels guilty for leaving mom and dad but I know that you made the right decision and had your reasons." Jess lets out a shaky sigh and turns to face you. "I'm scared, absolutely terrified but I want to be strong for you. Like how you are for me. I can tell you're stressed as it is and I don't want to burden you." 

  You pull her into a hug and shake your head. "Jess, you could never, and I mean never be a burden to me. Do you understand?" She nods into your chest, sniffling softly. You rub her back and bite your lip. "I'm also really scared, this is new to me but I'll make sure that we'll get through it."

She nods again and pulls away from you. You purse your lips, a mixture of emotions swirling within you, and decide to divert your attention by savoring the delectable cantaloupe. "Now eat. You pulled me from my sleep and I want to go back to bed."  Jess chuckles softly, her head bobbing in agreement. " I'm also really sleepy. It'd also be crazy to wake up in space." 

 The mere thought causes you to grimace involuntarily. This entire experience is uncharted territory for you, but just like in the past, you will learn to adapt and persevere. The cool, refreshing juice of the watermelon glides down your throat, its delightful taste prompting a gentle hum of satisfaction.

 It feels almost surreal to grasp the idea that within a mere two hours, you will bid farewell to your beloved home. A place you believed to be exclusively inhabited by humans, the notion of extraterrestrial existence had never crossed your mind. The journey that lies ahead will undoubtedly present its fair share of challenges and hardships. This very moment, unfolding like a scene from an otherworldly sci-fi saga, is something you never could have anticipated, even in your wildest dreams. And now, as you find yourself in this new reality, your mission has taken on a profound meaning - to protect Jess at all costs.

 "Captain X'ęnš would like to enter your chambers. Will you allow him access?"

   In a state of heightened alertness, you find yourself sitting up, your muscles tense with anticipation. The room is suddenly bathed in light, only to swiftly dim as the perceptive AI detects that Jess is still sound asleep. A wave of uncertainty washes over you as you contemplate the identity of the person standing outside the door. 

 Your gaze sweeps across the room, desperately seeking an object to grasp onto for a sense of security. Eventually, your eyes settle upon one of your worn boots. With a mixture of doubt and determination, you call out to the AI. "Please show me the door feed." A brief moment of silence ensues before the AI responds, its voice calm and reassuring. "Certainly."

The door shimmers, revealing a translucent barrier that draws you nearer. Dropping the shoe, you breathe a sigh of contentment at the sight of Dom standing before you. Standing in front of the door, you gaze at him, captivated by the intricacies of his face.

 "Can he see me?"

In a swift response, the AI speaks, "Negative, this is a unidirectional perspective. He is visible solely to you."  As soon as it finishes saying that, Dom raises his head. Your heart pounds rapidly as his gaze eerily connects with yours, contradicting the AI's statement. "Open the door."

As the entryway unfolds with a whisper, Dom's towering figure emerges. You greet him with a breathless smile, slipping your hands into your back pockets. "Hi." Dom mellows at your soft tone, allowing you to place a hand on his arm and push him back, watching as you discreetly slide out of the room so as to not wake up your sister. He does a once over, looking for any wounds or signs of distress, and finds that he's pleased with himself that you're alright. 

 "This one said he would visit after his duties, jœrmünd łæ bšłåm." He watches with amusement as your eyebrows furrow. " What does that mean?" Your lips form a thoughtful pout. "And earlier you said, ferrak di hal." From the moment you first laid eyes on him, even though it was just recently, you had been curious to discover the sound of his laughter, and it did not disappoint.

   His laugh isn't boisterous. It's a deep and soothing sound, akin to the soft murmur of a distant waterfall. As the echoes of his laughter reached your ears, they stirred a gentle fire within, causing a delightful warmth to spread and caress your belly. Whether he noticed the subtle increase in your body's temperature or not, he remained silent, allowing the enchantment of the moment to weave its spell.

    "Jœrmünd łæ bšłåm, it translates roughly in terra language to, 'good evening.'" His eyes twinkle with a playful delight as you attempt to mimic the intricate sounds and melodic cadence. " Fęrłåk dė hłał. It means to, eat well."

Dom gazes intently at you, then clasps his hands behind his back. "Walk with this one."  You wriggle your toes in your cozy socks and give a slight nod. 

As if guided by an invisible force, your steps align effortlessly with Dom's. The silence envelops you, but it feels far from uncomfortable. Your gaze wanders through the vast corridors of the ship, capturing glimpses of unfamiliar beings from distant worlds. At this moment, you break the silence and softly inquire, "May I know your name?"

With a quick glance, Dom's gaze shifts to you, his lips forming a straight line, prompting a frown to appear on your face. You ponder if your request was too bold, unsure of the cultural norms that may have been offended by your question.

As he utters the words, a sense of relief washes over you, even though his expression seems tinged with sadness. "This one's given name is Nim'xėn." he murmurs. In the distance, a group of his fimea approaches, but you remain oblivious, lost in your own thoughts. With a tender touch, he clasps your wrist and guides you to his side, yet your attention barely registers the gesture. [ soldiers ]

  "Nim'xėn, in the language I speak, translates to 'of soft heart'. It doesn't much fit, when it comes to this one's line of work." Your mouth opened in a small 'o', that was probably the reason he had stuck with Dom all this time. You laughed softly, holding your hands up in surrender when he shoots you a coltish look of exasperation. 

    "I think it fits, regardless of what you do." There is no trace of mockery in your tone, nor any hint of jesting at his expense. With a gentle smile adorning his face, he steals a glance at you. A surge of warmth courses through your veins, causing your body temperature to soar. Swiftly, he averts his gaze, evading your notice.

With a gentle laugh, he responds to your attempt at saying his name, "Nim'jin?" He guides you towards a door, "This one will help you practice your Tuökkorsė, later." You assume that he's talking about his home language and your cheeks flush with embarrassment, making you question just how badly you butchered his name.

As Nim'xėn gently swings open the door, a beckoning gesture invites you to step inside. Without hesitation, you follow the invitation, and in an instant, your jaw falls open in awe. Unbeknownst to you and Jess, who had been lost in slumber for over two hours, the ship had gracefully ascended into the vastness of space. The sight before you is nothing short of breathtaking, confirming your belief that waking up to the wonders of the cosmos is an experience beyond compare.

The space around you is encased in what looks like a delicate glass structure. You floated weightlessly in the vast expanse of the universe, far from the comforts of home. "Nim, this is truly breathtaking," you marveled. The alien blinked in response to the endearing nickname but remained silent. "Jess would love to see this." 

  Nim'xėn walks up behind you and fixates on the view he has witnessed countless times. However, inexplicably, he discovers himself treasuring your pįiwth expressions and yearning to unveil new wonders, all to witness your delightful grin once more. [ childish or cute¹ ] 

 "This one gives permission for you and your kin to visit here anytime." The enigmatic allure you possess has captivated him, leaving him bewildered. It is not his nature to be swayed so easily. He should have abandoned you on that desolate street, yet your innocent gaze had a profound effect on him. The depth of your love for your family astounded him, for even in the presence of imminent danger, your thoughts were solely consumed by her, and her alone.

Once he had escorted you to your room, his task should have been complete. Yet, your tender human hand had entwined with his own. Your unwavering trust and reliance had ensnared him, making it difficult for him to let go. In a realm where his female counterparts were independent and formidable, that moment of vulnerability had drawn him in, like a eürq to light.

 [ large mosquito like creature —  a saying similar to, ' a moth to flame ' ¹ ]

   Yet, he also knew how strong you were. None before you had managed to match his speed, let alone endure it for an entire three hours. Your unwavering determination fascinated him. Nim'xėn yearned to prolong your time together, reluctant to bid you farewell.

 Turning to the extraterrestrial, you met his gaze with the same wide-eyed innocence that had captivated him during your initial encounter. "Seriously?" His nod elicited a radiant smile on your face, reminiscent of the joy of Christmas, and Nim'xėn felt a flutter in his hearts. Your eyes then sought his. "How do you say thank you in your language?"

 Nim'xėn couldn't help but find it pįiwth¹ that you were making an effort to learn his people's language. He decided to humor you. "Stęq'hn kevvhr.²" The alien chuckles when you grimace, looking up at him with furrowed brows.  [ childish or cute¹ ] [ thank you² ]

 "Lirft X'ęnš, quœ mojå iėał ph'ük ak hlem.¹ "

As he tightens his jaw, a resolute grunt escapes his lips. Returning his attention to you, he observes the slight downturn of your plush lips and the tilt of your head to the side. "Do you need to leave, again?" Nim'xėn softly hums, his hand finding solace on your lower back as he leads you towards the door.

[ Captain X'ęnš, we need your assistance up front. ¹ ]

"This one will take you back to your room."

 As you tread back, a hushed calmness settles in, and Nim'xėn discerns that your thoughts have carried you away. Respecting your need for introspection, he chooses not to disturb your reverie. Upon arriving at the room, you turn around, meeting his gaze head-on. "Stęq'han kever." Without delay, you slip inside, leaving him standing there, his words left unspoken.

   He then realizes that while the two of you were walking back, you had been trying to replicate what he had just said. Nim'xėn, finding himself once more, made his way towards the pit. Despite your imperfect rendition, he grasped the essence of your intention and couldn't help but chuckle to himself.

phæż pįiwth ¹ he thought.  [ how cute. ¹ ]

[mrrharper]

Muscles in Chains

He got his first chain from the team captain. Said he wanted him to "fit in". He wasn't really sure what that meant but he took the silver chain necklace and put it on. Since getting it he wore it basically every day. In the beginning he tended to forget about the chain and then remind himself of its existence a day or two later. But after a few weeks putting the chain on his neck became the first thing he did every morning.

He got the second chain - golden this time, with a cross hanging form it - after practice that took place a few days before a game with one of their biggest rivals. This time, with the habit already there, he wore the chain on his neck every day since. That rivalry game? He recorded his best single performance on the gridiron yet.

This is also when some complaints began coming in. His roommate was annoyed that his part of the dorm room became more messy, with sweaty clothes piling underneath and around his bed. But that's just the reality of rooming with a football player, deal with it nerd. And he's always had a... very lax approach to cleanliness, right? Someone also reported him to Coach, after an incident in the gym during which some loser kept bumping into him - seemingly just to annoy him - so he had to deal with the guy.

Then his best bro, the starting tight end, gifted him another chain necklace, also with a cross. From this point it was common for him to wear two chains at once. Within a week, he broke most of his personal records in the gym and got over that damn plateau.

His play style was now more aggressive, with most of his tackles balancing on the border of legality, which earned him a sizable about of penalties. But he's always been a physical player, a real brute, and who cares anyway - football's a physical sport, Coach says that almost every practice. He ain't no pussy afraid of pushing a linebacker into the ground.

His roommate requested a new room. Said he didn't want to share rooms with a "mean jerk who suddenly forgot about the existence of the shower." He didn't know what that lame-ass nerd was talking about - he's just an athlete like any other, and he's always been a little cocky but what man wouldn't be with guns like these. Fuck, it feels good to flex his arms. And mean? Seems he was living with a sensitive snowflake, unable to take some harsh words form a real man.

In the end he ended up with a whole room for himself and it quickly turned into a real jock cave - when entered it was clear that a football bro lived there. Gym gear and clothes everywhere, a whole corner filled with dumbbells and a constant smell - that ripe musk the players who frequently visited this room brought with them.

The chains now a fixed part of his outfit, he was an integral part of the team - loyal to the bro code and a beast on the field, it was hard to tell that he was a rookie. He was a cocky, hunky and proud football jock. And always had been. Always. Never been different.

[verysium]

『03』 ブルーロック: blue lock recs

冴糸師: sae itoshi

lost to time by @syriiina

nostalgia. it’s delicate but potent. “nostalgia” literally means “the pain from an old wound” in greek. it’s the twinge in your heart far more powerful than memory alone – a feeling of a place where we ache to go again. but in sae’s case, it’s the painful ache in his chest to return to someone that’s already been buried by the sands of the past; the yearning for someone that’s already been lost to time. notes: this fic emotionally destroyed me; heavy angst paired with audio recordings; basically the most gut-wrenching combination ever; smooth chronological plot development; encapsulates the dichotomous pain and pleasure of love; i felt like my heart was healing and hurting at the same time

merry go round by @syriiina

what if you were given another chance? another chance to say all the things you’ve wanted to say, cry all the tears you couldn’t and hear the voice of the person you’ve cherished all your life? sae itoshi was given that chance. just one more chance for your birthday that he’ll never get to spend with you. just another chance at goodbye. notes: at this point this author needs to pay for my therapy; examining the process of grief; almost dreamy and hallucination-inducing atmosphere; idea of letting go; new beginnings; childhood nostalgia; sequel to first fic

to my first love / to my last love by @by-moonflower

when you agreed to date itoshi sae in mid-october of 1993, you never imagined he'd be your first love—whose presence would continue to linger in your life, hauntingly, even if a year, two, or ten came to pass. notes: high school sweethearts to exes to lovers again; examines insecurities of girlhood; idea of love being a process of trying and trying again; reader discovers herself before she discovers others; happy ending; pre-2000s nostalgia; montage/vignette style

come out and haunt me by @alaboadoa

sae is 13 years old when he moves to madrid. his temporary apartment is old and cheap, and worst of all it's haunted. but he finds your company better than nothing, even if you do tend to knock all of his belongings over. notes: incredibly well-written study of sae’s character especially as a pre-teen; honestly would've never expected a ghost AU; this author has such a beautiful mind; finding commonality in exclusion and lack of belonging; a unique rendition of right person, wrong time; loving someone but still not being enough

hungry hearts by @sanzu-sanzu-sanzu

You are Itoshi Sae’s Manager. Fielder of dumb reporter questions and keeper of his schedule. Among many others. notes: their dynamic reminds me of miguel and lyla from the spiderverse or that one kdrama about secretary kim; sae denying that he is in love yet noticing every little detail about reader; their witty banter is so funny; gradual realization of feelings; honestly i think this is how canon sae would fall in love

find love by @tenjiiku

“Mama?” “Yes, little bunny?” You call her by such a name because when she was a toddler she had somewhat of an obsession with playing leap frog with others. The original pet name had been little frog, but it had caused a rather large tantrum, so you never used such a term with her. Her father suggested it. It was the only thing he made that you still used. notes: i don't even need a rec to tell you how good this is; nuanced portrayal of divorce; honestly hit too close to home; idea of marriage not being endgame; slight hint of second-chance romance; love that never fades; sae being emotionally oblivious; for the hopeless romantics

the hanshin expressway by @tenjiiku

He remembers how sad you had looked — gentle, sweet and kindhearted you. And he remembers feeling the urge to hold you. Because it was the first time he voluntarily felt such a gripping emotion. He recalls the way your nimble fingers trembled around your second mug of jasmine tea, and he looks back on the way you turned to him with a forced smile, as if it was the easiest thing to do — to bear yourself and all of your little idiosyncrasies in front of him, no walls, no windows. Just you and him. You, reprimanded for your selfless displays of kindness. Him, admonished for his lack of expressing his. It was hard not to let himself fall into you. notes: literally even the premise of this fic is not for the weak; amnesia tropes are the death of me; prose is so tender and beautiful; sae being the one who now teaches the reader how to love; role reversal; reliving grief; idea of being unable to equate the past and present versions of the person you love; people change and you are helpless to stop it; being unable to return to what once was

rezkinoff / prelude by @tenjiiku

07.01. It is the first day of my break. I am going to journal both my fitness levels and caloric intake because my nutritionist has told me to. I will also note a daily observation so as to look back on my time with certainty that I have spent it properly and because you have told me to. Today’s observation: the heels of my feet are growing calluses and I found a single strand of white hair, still on my head. I need better shoes and hair dye. Perhaps something is in the water. — Itoshi. S notes: one of the most authentic portrayals of sae’s character; sae being emotionally inept but slowly learning; aging but as a graceful process; daily observations of life; the epistolary style makes it a smooth reading experience; ambiguous enough for interpretation

us, again by @ode2rin

in which: itoshi sae returns to the only place on earth he vows to never set foot again. notes: one of the best second-chance romance fics out there; i still think about this fic at night; just the right balance of hurt and comfort; sae and reader both messing it up and finding each other again; dilemma of both loving and hating a person; has a coffee shop scene and a dramatic airport reunion so what is there not to like

scraps by @itoshiexx

you give him all you have. it's time to collect the scraps before there is nothing left. notes: short but packs the most brutal emotional punch at the end; idea of love not being enough; sae pushing reader away; miscommunication; hurt people hurt people; giving up on someone you love most; falling out of love

conversations by @saerins

he’s back home, and you recall the times you’d spoken to him. all the calls you made, then all the calls he made, and then all the times it went to voicemail. notes: i was having a good day until i read this and started violently sobbing; honestly it's a pretty accurate reflection of fame and the troubles it brings for both you and sae; the voicemails crushed something within me; i was grieving for a relationship that never existed; please read when you want a good cry; thank god for the alternate ending here

do stars return? by @hanyjar

your childhood friend leaves, and you question if he’ll ever come back. notes: the way that i ate this shit up with no crumbs. sae itoshi and star metaphors go hand in hand. picture this: you and sae grow up and then he leaves you and then he comes back again. now amplify that and add childhood angst and a sprinkle of poetic language. you're welcome.

凛糸師: rin itoshi

the first snow by @tenjiiku

It’d take him 3 lonely nights for Rin to admit to himself he wanted to see you again. He wonders if he torments you as much as you do him. notes: two-shot that changed the trajectory of my life; this author absolutely nails the slice of life genre every single time; finding beauty in the mundane; realistic depictions of modern love; somewhat slow-burn; dialogue and internal conscience are beautifully written

riptide by @misssleepless12

Concerned with how things were left after U-20, Isagi goes to visit Rin before the end of break. They address it. Sort of. notes: not necessarily a rinsagi shipper but this fic has a stunningly accurate portrayal of MLM romance; no sense of false idealism or over-romanticization; rin and isagi’s natural dynamic is perfectly captured; strong imagery and cultural setting of kamakura; rin’s sarcasm is on point

カイザ: michael kaiser

five dates and a proposal by @by-moonflower

all it takes is five dates for kaiser to fall in love with you and you in him, much to your surprise. notes: this fic actually made me believe in love; strong female character; fear of love and gradual opening up; basically what it feels like to fall in love with someone you never thought you’d actually love; realistic depiction of insecurities

color me blue by @saekkas

in which you need to wrestle your boyfriend, michael kaiser, out of his bed to fulfill a promise: re-dye his hair. notes: domestic fluff; michael being childishly cute; imperfections as perfections; heart-warming snapshot of established couple life; never fails to make me smile when i reread it

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for lottie behind the cut; a pocketful of Kons. ( chrono || non-chrono )

“Uh,” Tim says, staring at the Batcomputer’s main monitor and trying not to look freaked out. “Is that . . . ?” 

Stud scowls at the monitor and the picture of the man wearing a red cape and . . . most of Superman’s face displayed on it. 

Well. Some of Superman’s face, anyway. 

“No one knows who he is,” Bruce says. “He appeared three hours ago in Metropolis claiming to be Superman.” 

“The costume doesn’t match,” Dick says, glancing at Stud. “And, you know, the cyborg parts definitely don’t match.” 

“Pockets reflect the self-image of their owners,” Bruce reminds him neutrally. “Assistive devices and prosthetics don’t always translate. Especially newer ones.” 

Red looks unimpressed. Dick grimaces a little. 

“I mean, if he is Superman, they would be pretty recent . . .” he says, then trails off with another grimace. 

“I guess,” Tim says, trying not to grimace himself. “But he doesn’t have Laney, does he?” 

“Or a Robin,” Dick puts in. 

“We don’t know when he last slept or if he might be concealing a Pocket somewhere,” Bruce says, looking back to the screen. “And either way, more minor incidents than being beaten to death have damaged Pockets’ connections to their origin points and soulmates.” 

Tim really, really hopes Stud came from Supergirl. Even if she accidentally dated Lex Luthor for a while or whatever. That is just way, way preferable a thing to deal with right now. He doesn’t know who this cyborg version of Superman is, but the guy gives him the creeps. Like–just something about him looks wrong. 

Maybe he’s just being an asshole with unconscious biases and it’s all the prosthetics and machinery throwing him off, he half-hopes. It might just be that. He could get over that. Adjust. Work on himself a little and figure it out. 

He’s never felt unsettled like this looking at Cyborg, though, and he’s seen him plenty of times. He and Dick work together all the time. 

So it’s kind of hard to blame the prosthetics and machinery, considering. 

“Okay, fair,” Dick allows, wincing a little. “You really think he could hide a Pocket, though? It’s not like you can get that far from them.” 

“He has at least two limbs that are fully or almost fully prosthetic and half his torso and head are metal, and we have no idea what’s actually contained in any of those parts,” Tim points out, scanning the accompanying footage on the opposite side of the screen of the man in action. “He could hide a Pocket in a compartment built into his body no problem. Especially, uh–a smaller one.” 

Superman never hid Laney before, just dressed her up in a simple little costume of her own, but if this is Superman . . . well, dying can change a lot of things. 

But if Lois Lane hasn’t reported Smallville returning to the Justice League . . . 

Then again, they don’t know when she last slept either. Pockets only turn up when their owners sleep, one way or the other, and all of human history hasn’t managed to catch one appearing. Cameras short out or blip or just don’t record anything, witnesses get distracted or drift off, and nothing ever gets figured out. 

And a Pocket his size would be . . . well. Not that hard to conceal, probably. 

Tim can’t imagine a Pocket of himself wouldn’t understand that request, if whoever this is or isn’t made it of him. He’s very intimately familiar with the need for secrets. 

If this is his soulmate, though . . . 

He really doesn’t know what to think of that idea. 

“Two-day go-bags,” Bruce orders shortly, never taking his eyes off the footage on the screen. “Reconvene in twenty.” 

Tim glances at Dick; Dick glances back at him. 

“On it,” they both say, and take off. 

Neither bothers asking where they’re going. 

Stud flies after Tim, grumbling to himself in Pocket-talk, but Tim knows as much about what he’s saying as he does about where they’re all about to end up. 

.

.

.

Cassie stares down at her phone in confusion, and Cas peers at the screen from his seat on her shoulder. There’s a jerky, erratically-filmed livestream playing on it on her Twitter feed, and that’s . . . Superman? 

There’s footage of Superman on Twitter, she means. Live footage. He looks a little different–there’s black in his costume, and his hair is short and slicked back, and he’s wearing a visor–but he’s definitely Superman, big red cape and all. 

At least–she thinks he is. 

His face is kind of . . . 

There’s something . . . empty in his face. 

Cassie resists the weird urge to hide Cas from the sight of him, because–well, that’s him, isn’t it? That’s who he came from. The costume doesn’t exactly match, but it’s got black in it too, and they’ve both got the S-shield and cape. And . . . 

Well. It has to be him, doesn’t it? 

Who else could it be? 

The comments are all losing their minds about the footage, and Cassie feels uneasy watching it. The look on Superman’s face is just . . . it’s just really . . . 

She knew Superman was coming back, obviously. She’s got Cas, after all, so it’s not like it’s a surprise to see him. The only surprising thing is that Cas showed up before he did. 

So she doesn’t know why she feels . . . off, kind of, seeing Superman alive and well. She’d expect to be nervous or anxious, maybe, but not . . . 

She’s unsettled, she thinks. It’s–unsettled. 

Yeah. 

That’s . . . weird. 

Superman darts out of the camera’s view in a blur of speed, and Cassie hears something explode in the distance. Whoever’s recording shrieks, and so do a few people around them. 

Cas leans further over her shoulder with a frown. 

“Cassie?” a voice calls from downstairs, and Cassie instinctively bristles and tightens her grip on her phone. It’s her mom. “Diana’s back!” 

. . . fine. That’s–whatever. 

Fine.

[notmyneighbor]

here is the news | doppel! izaack gauss x female reader

words | 4k

cw | explicit sexual content, fluff and smut

ao3 link

Everyone in the city knows who Izaack Gauss is.

The famed news reporter for the local tv station has won countless awards for the journalism considered brave, gritty, unflinching and detailed. Always on the cusp of a breaking story, it was uncanny how often the man seemed to be at exactly the right place at exactly the right time. He was a household name, a favorite with a variety of age groups. Handsome and compelling. A face you couldn’t stop staring at, a voice you couldn’t stop listening to. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t gotten off to the sight and sound of him on more than one occasion. A girl has needs, right? And it’s not like guys don’t do the same thing all the time. You’re just…evening the score a little.

Now, that man you’d daydreamed about and climaxed to was in your booth inside the apartment building you both lived in, about to conduct an interview with you, the guard, responsible for screening for sneaky doppelgangers trying to trick their way into the building to harm the residents.

There is a lot of preparation that goes into the event. There are multiple cameras you’re constantly told to turn to. Pauses midway while hair and makeup is touched up. The attention is overwhelming, but at your young age, you’ve got a flawless track record for correctly identifying the doppels and it’s caught the attention of many, including your intrepid journalist neighbor.

Once the dust has settled, once there are no more set lights shined in your eyes or powder applied to your nose or Izaack’s rich voice bidding you to smile again for the camera, the sudden quiet is a relief. The crew has gone home. Everyone has left, save you and the news reporter.

You’re not quite done for the day, though. The segments you’d just filmed would be edited down. In truth, probably very little of the footage would even be used. But you guessed that’s just how the magic of television really works behind the scenes. The last chore for you today is to do a dry run through the interview you’ll be participating in live on air tomorrow night. You’re still seated in the swivel chair behind the desk inside your security booth, leaving the reporter to perch on the corner of the desk, one hip cocked over the edge, the lifted leg so long it still nearly touches the floor. Izaack is six foot four, and broad shouldered, an intimidatingly large figure. It’s no wonder, considering he’d played football in highschool and college.

He hasn’t lost any muscle mass in spite of his cessation of playing sports, the considerable physique still apparent even within the confines of the charcoal suit he’s wearing. You’re willing to bet he exercises to keep that appearance, to maintain his appeal with his adoring fans. His skin is smooth and unblemished, his raven hair always styled in neat waves. He’s got a strong jaw with a cleft chin just below a pair of full lips so generous they’d make any woman envious. They part often to flash brilliantly white, even teeth.

Those teeth are dazzling you right now. Trying to make you feel less nervous, no doubt, but you find the gesture intimidating instead. He might not be a Hollywood movie star, but he was still a local celebrity, and the source of more than one successful late night round of self pleasure. You squirm nervously in your seat and it squeaks, making your cheeks flush.

“You can relax, you know. I’m not going to ask anything you don’t know the answers to.” His voice is rich, deep, velvety. You nod and swallow thickly, waiting for him to begin.

He doesn’t even look down at the pad of paper clutched in one hand, nor the ballpoint pen seated in the other. His azure eyes are locked on your face and the color reminds you of the tropical ocean you’d seen on a poster in a travel agency’s window once, some exotic destination that you’ll likely never get the opportunity to visit.

“Why don’t we begin by you telling our viewers what you do each day.”

You clear your throat. “Well, the shift begins with a list of expected visitors to the building handed to me by an official DDD staff member, which I keep posted on this wall here,” you say, gesturing to a now blank spot to the left of the window. “I have a checklist of things I should be expecting from each person. This includes their appearance, their identification card, their entry request form, and, as I’ve just mentioned, the listing on the day’s expected visitors.”

Gauss nods. So far, so good. “What are some of the things that are a tip off about the identification card being incorrect?”

“One of the first things I look at is the serial number. We have a complete record of all the inhabitants of the building, complete with their photographs, their distinguishing facial characteristics, their addresses, professions, and relatives.

The next step is to compare the image on the card with the image we have on file, paying close attention to those unique appearance details. For example, someone may have a mole on one cheek, or have freckles spread across their nose.”

“I see. Anything else?”

“The DDD logo must be present. This is something that gets missed quite often. It is required on both the ID card and the entry request form. The expiration date on the ID is the last thing that needs to be verified. Seems simple, but you’d be surprised how many doppelgangers ignore the importance of a valid date that hasn’t expired yet.” You point to the calendar tacked to the wall.

Izaack taps his pen against the pad of paper thoughtfully. “What about the entry request?”

“Well, that’s similar in some ways, and different in others. It, like the ID card, needs to have the DDD logo. It also features a photograph of the resident, along with their name and address. These names can be misspelled or the apartment numbers incorrectly labeled. The final piece of the puzzle is the reason for travel. It can be very obvious when a doppel is using a forgery. Some are more astute than others, but a lot of them lack the knowledge of a plausible reason to explain their absence. I once saw one state they were going out to do ‘human things’” you say with a little chuckle, and the dark haired reporter smiles indulgently.

“It certainly seems like you’re quite the expert. No wonder the residents of the building feel safer with you around. A perfect safety record thus far, I understand.”

You lower your eyes, blushing, feeling a little blossom of pride blooming inside of you. “I try my best.”

Izaack slides from his perch, straightening, the pad of paper and pen disappearing back into a deep pocket of the trench coat he’d left draped beside him. “That’s basically how the interview will go. You’re a natural. Just replicate that same confidence and you’ll do fine.”

“Thank you.”

“Oh, there is one more thing,” he says as you stand. “If you wouldn’t mind indulging just one more question. Off the record, as it were.”

“Sure, go ahead.”

“What if the paperwork looks correct, and the doppel’s appearance is a perfect match?”

“Oh, that reminds me. I forgot to mention it. I call the residence to verify the identity, either by a family member, or—”

“—But supposing there was no one home to answer. The visitor is on the day’s list. They’re expected to be out and returning home. They live alone. There is no one to vouch for them one way or the other. And every other detail seems correct. What do you do?”

You draw in a deep breath. “Well, thankfully, my instincts have helped me in those rare situations when they occur.”

“I see.”

You step forward, thinking the older man will be exiting the office, but he remains where he is, blocking the doorway.

“Um, Mr. Gauss, if you don’t mind, I’d like to be getting home now.”

“Oh, I do mind. I mind very much. You see, my dear, your so called instincts, those ones you’re so proud of, have failed you.”

Your blood runs cold. You’d been tricked by a doppelganger. You back away now, your hand reaching for the alarm. It’s too late to worry about shuttering the office, but it will still alert the residents that something is amiss.

“Don’t even think of touching that button. Or the phone, either. Your DDD pals won’t be coming to your rescue tonight.” The tall mimic smiles, gesturing towards the chair beside you. “Why don’t you sit down, get comfortable.”

“Why? You’re just going to kill me. Eat me, or whatever.”

“No, I don’t think I’ll be killing you. Eating you though, now that is an idea.” His teeth flash again, and this time they are no longer the perfect pearl white specimens you’re accustomed to, but pointed, slightly yellowed teeth. The turquoise eyes are now black, the white orbs bloodshot. “Sit down,” he says again, “before I change my mind about the not murdering you part.”

You sink back into the swivel chair, your heart pounding. How had you not known? How long has he been pretending to be Izaack for? Where was the real version?

As if reading your mind, the creature elaborates about the fate of the male human he’s pretending to be. “He’s not dead. Someone like that is too valuable to waste. Let’s just say we’re keeping him tucked away safely for now.”

You wonder if the new reporter’s capture is truly a better fate than a swift passing. “Don’t hurt him, please.”

“Why? Isn’t he a virtual stranger to you?”

“He’s my neighbor.”

The wide shoulders lift and drop in a shrug. “You have plenty of others. Or was there some other reason making you so concerned about this particular individual? Something a little more personal? A touch more…intimate, shall we say?”

It’s disconcerting how transparent your thoughts and feelings seem to be. The invader’s hands, now tipped in dark claws and studded with jagged veins that look ready to burst through the skin, curl around the armrests and tug you closer, the wheels bringing you right up to the doppel. “I can guarantee you if I was the real Gauss right now, he wouldn’t have spared you a second glance. He’d never have gotten this close. He’s arrogant and obnoxious, so nauseatingly self absorbed that I wager you wouldn’t be nearly so taken with him if you got to know him as well as I have. I’ve done you a favor, trust me.” The irony of that last utterance is not lost on you. A master of deceit imploring you to believe his word. Insanity.

The replicant’s mood shifts and his voice softens, drawing you out of your reverie. “I bet if I were to just peel this off of you, I’d find something very sweet and tasty beneath it.” The sharp tip of one digit sinks midway through the fabric of your skirt, dangerously close to your thighs, and splits it wide open. He grabs each flap and tugs, tearing the material further until it’s completely separated. You wince when you feel his hand seat on one leg, the claws scratching but not piercing the skin. It doesn’t take them long to shred your panties, leaving your lower half bare save for your shoes and stockings. “Spread your legs for me.”

You resist, shaking your head and clamping your lower extremities close together.

“Do not make me repeat myself.”

A choked sound escapes you as your legs spread open.

“My, my. That does look delicious. So pink and pretty. Just a perfect little pussy to snack on.”

You hate that your body responds to his words, your sex throbbing from the attention, from being bare in your work space. The fake reporter kneels down, but his presence is still no less initimidating even at this reduced height.

“A lot of people would be glad to trade places with you right now, you know. So many of you humans lust for this face, this body. Are you one of them?” The claws have vanished, the only bit of relief you find, gasping when those human looking fingers stroke right over your damp sex. Your clit pulses needily and the movement is not lost on the doppel. “I think the answer to that question is a resounding yes.” His thumb massages that sensitive pearl while his middle finger spears your drooling entrance. You are soaked. You can hardly believe your body is betraying you like this.

“Oh, look how wet you are. Tight, too. It’s a good thing I have the right tool for the job to pry you open properly.” A tongue emerges from between the rows of sharp teeth, a dark maroon colored tentacle looking object with a pointed tip that flicks your bud and has your hips involuntarily lurching, seeking more contact with the foreign muscle. “Delicious,” he murmurs. “Best fucking thing I’ve had to eat so far on this miserable planet.” Then his mouth crushes against your pussy.

You need something to hold onto, and that something becomes the carefully coiffed hair of the news anchor, instantly sending the coal dark tresses into disarray. He sucks so hard you think your clit is going to be pulled right away from your body. He adds a second finger and, at times, that wicked, alien tongue into your channel and you no longer care that you’re getting your cunt eaten out by a doppel. Your throat burns from how rapidly you’ve been searching for air. You feel like you’re going to cum, but that something else is about to happen, too. There’s a pressure inside, similar to needing to void, but slightly different. That bizarre, wonderfully obscene tongue of his keeps touching your g spot and it’s doing things. Things you can’t control.

His eyes lift and they’re that pretty teal color again, the hair you’ve mussed tumbling across his ivory forehead, and you fall apart against that Adonis face, the orgasm so intense you find yourself squirting, splashing fluids into the waiting mouth that sucks and swallows and laps every stray droplet, seeking more.

Your legs are shaking violently and you’re embarrassed and you’re afraid, too, but the lust is doing a nice job of muting that last feeling somewhat.

“Absolutely fucking delectable. That was a pleasant surprise, dear.”

“I didn’t know…I…”

“First time for everything, isn’t that how the expression you humans use goes?” He licks his lips—fully back to the human features again, normal tongue, teeth, eyes—and rises to his feet. “Perhaps you’d like to continue this elsewhere? Somewhere a little more comfortable?”

“Um…” You’re still coming down off your post orgasmic high, the nerves in your legs firing and tingling. You’d just squirted in a doppelganger’s mouth. Had a mind blowing climax, the best of your life. With an imitation copy of famed news reporter Izaack Gauss. Fuck.

“Or I can bend you over the desk and fuck you right here. Your choice, dear. But make up your mind quickly, or I’ll choose for you.”

The brazen declaration strikes you iron hot in your core. Either offer sounded tempting. “Um…” You repeat helplessly.

The replicant clucks his tongue softly. “Cock dumb already, are we? And you haven’t even seen it yet, let alone felt it.”

“Upstairs,” you manage to blurt your decision.

“Fine. My place or yours?”

“You mean Izaack’s?”

“I mean mine. He’s hardly in a position to use it at present.”

“Oh. Yours, then.” You suddenly realize you’re naked from the waist down and you no longer have any intact garments to cover your nudity. “My clothes…”

“Use this.” He lifts his coat from the desk and tosses it at you. It’s absurdly long but it does the trick, shielding your naked body from view.

The doppel says nothing to you on the elevator, seemingly unconcerned if anyone were to run into you now, or if you had any thoughts of trying to escape. There’s a slight delay when he realizes his apartment key is still tucked into his coat pocket, shoving his hand into the outerwear he’s loaned you, the sudden warm press of him inviting, in spite of everything, and then you’re ushered inside.

The reporter’s living space is modernly furnished, and neat as a pin. You’re guided to the bedroom, a large portion of which is occupied by an enormous closet full of clothes—necessary for the job, you suppose, although to your eye one suit is much the same as the next—and a king sized bed covered in a steel gray sheet set and comforter.

“It’s, um…your place is nice,” you say, feeling a need to fill the sudden silence.

The doppelganger grunts at the compliment, thumbing open the button of his suit jacket and tossing it over the back of the chair in front of the desk placed before the window. He tugs on his tie, a silk item that’s a few shades lighter than his eye color, and this joins the blazer. His fingers move briskly over the cuffs of his shirt sleeves, then unfasten the row of buttons draped over his torso. He sheds the shirt and the undershirt unceremoniously and you have your first glimpse of the body the copycat has adopted.

There were a few paparazzi photos snapped here and there that had circulated the tabloids, so it’s not as if you’ve never seen the man on one of those glorious resort beaches you know you’ll never experience in your lifetime, but seeing those muscles in person is much, much different. You can’t help but appreciate the beauty of the figure in front of you, even if it is a phony.

“Like what you see, do you?” There’s a little smirk on the imposter’s lips now as he begins working open his pants.

You stare open mouthed, gaping like a fish out of water as he continues shedding clothing. He hadn’t been exaggerating about his cock size. At all. If anything, he’d been too conservative. He was going to break you in two. You’d be slain after all.

His gaze sharpens, piercing you after he finishes undressing. “You’re not going to clam up like this during the interview tomorrow night, are you?”

“I…what? We’re still doing the interview?”

“Of course.”

“But…but I thought…” You can’t stop staring at the massive erection saluting you.

“It’s a hassle changing faces sometimes. I’ve got a good thing going here. Good job, nice place to live. Appreciative viewers,” he murmurs, his fingers tucking under your chin. “So I'm not keen to do anything to draw attention to myself. You keep my secret and I’ll make sure you’re…compensated. Deal?”

You nod, unable to form words. If you declined, you feel certain the consequences would be dire.

“Good. Now get out of that coat—mind you place it nicely on the chair there until I can hang it up later, I do like this human’s wardrobe—and I’ll see about making some more of those fantasies come true, hmm?”

You’re blushing again. He’s already seen your pussy up close; is removing the rest of your clothes after the borrowed coat such a hardship? You let the blouse and brassiere fall to the floor, about to peel the stockings off but he bids you to keep them on, pushing you gently back onto the bed after he drags the comforter off. “In case you have another…episode.”

He’s talking about the squirting. You glance away hurriedly.

“Look at me,” he says, drawing your gaze back to his features. His knee sinks into the mattress, joined soon after by the other. He climbs over you and you’re struck again by how large the creature is in every single way. His face dips to yours and he kisses you for the first time and you forget all of your earlier misgivings in an instant. Those plump lips were made for this, for stroking and brushing against another’s. Your own part and his tongue slides between them, nudging yours, trying a little sample of the taste of your mouth. Ink smudged fingers caress your breasts and smooth over your ribs. Everywhere your own hands touch meets firm, muscular flesh. Everything is toned, lean. You knead his shoulders and stroke his chest and squeeze his biceps, marveling at how massive his arms are, far more than your fingers can stretch around. You’re still not brave enough to explore further south on your own.

“Touch me,” he whispers beside your ear before nibbling on it, and your hands collide with something scalding. You’ve found his cock. Wet at the tip. He groans a little, his hips pushing that erect organ through the circle of your fingers, effectively fucking them. “Good girl,” he praises, and you feel a fresh flood leaking from your sex. “Let’s get you nice and filled.” His hand wedges between your thighs and you instantly spread them open. He strokes the head of his prick over the moist petals and then pushes at your opening and oh, it burns, it’s too much, too much but not enough, you want more, rolling your hips up to help him sink in further. “Hungry little thing, aren’t you? Just like a doppel.”

At the utterance of this final word his face changes again, his true form once again asserting dominance, revealing itself. You can’t kiss him like you had earlier, not with those razor teeth, but his tongue reaches your mouth easily, twining around inside, poking and prodding. His hands brace against your thighs and fold you over and he goes in even deeper, sinking into your wet cunt that sucks at him, throbbing, already trying to milk seed from the alien.

You can feel him burrowing inside—feel him from the outside, even, the bulge palpable through the exterior wall of your abdomen—and the ache starts to become more pleasurable. Your body wants this. It wants to mate with this imposter.

The gentle introduction completed, Gauss’ replica starts pumping faster. You’ve still got one orgasm up on him and he wants his now. “Fuck, you feel so good. Are you going to cum on my cock this time? I’d love to feel that hot, wet cunt of yours spasming around me.” He snakes a hand between your bodies, stroking your clit again.

“Mmmm…Izaack….” You realize you’d just addressed the clone by his human name and your tongue freezes against his, your rocking hips halting.

“You can call me that.” Softer mouth again. Human lips. Wet against your throat. “Let me hear how much pleasure I’m giving you.”

The permission relaxes you, draping you in warm comfort. You card through his hair—now a tangled licorice shaded mess—and gaze into aqua eyes, moaning his name over and over. His hips slam into yours roughly, at odds with the gentle circles he’s still tracing along your nub, and it pushes you over the brink. The smirk is back, that satisfied curve of lips followed by a Cheshire Cat grin that fades as his own release builds.

“Here it comes, get ready for it…fuck, it’s so good…”

A series of jets of hot liquid fill your womb and you shudder as the invader fills you with his cum. His teeth sink into your shoulder—human ones, but biting hard enough to leave temporary dents—and then he collapses beside you.

“That was, um…”

“Good?” He supplies, still sounding a little breathless.

“Yeah. Really good.”

“Mmmm.” He folds his hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling while he recovers. You shift on your side and he glances over at you. “You’re sure you’re good for the interview tomorrow? Remember what you’re going to say?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t want to rehearse it again?”

Ah. A concealed invitation. “Maybe we should. Just to be sure we have all the details just right.”

“My thoughts exactly.” The doppelganger pulls you into his arms.

[sgiandubh]

Hi!

Fitness Anon here…

The brand new photos of S’s pap walk in Soho today remind me of something I wanted to share with you about AM (now AD): Her husband plays football in Germany. About ten day ago there were reports in the yellow press about the get together of thee Munich players and their families as the Bundesliga sesason had ended.

AM was mentioned there with her baby. It was stated that she had previous relationships with other sport stars. None of these news mentioned her being linked to S.

https://www.bild.de/sport/fussball/fc-bayern-kennen-sie-die-alle-schon-das-sind-bayerns-neue-spielerfrauen-664c48952c12487f81715baf

Dear (returning) Fitness Anon,

I will translate the relevant part of that article. It's funny how S didn't make the Bild editor's cut, eh?

He should really stop wasting money on such #silly BS. Nobody - I repeat: NO-EFFIN'- BODY - gives a flying fuck anymore.

Ok, perhaps Data Lounge does give a (static) fuck, but this is what they do for just about everybody in showbiz. S's personal brand has seemingly gone from magic to trash. Let us hope it won't turn into a cautionary tale of sorts.

But onwards to Bild's article: 'Do you know all of them? These are the wives of the new players of the Bayern Munich'

[Photo legend: 'the Bayern star player Eric Dier with his model girlfriend Anna at the secret end-of-season party at the Käfer']

'Are you familiar with all these ladies?

Last Sunday [note: May 19th], FC Bayern organized a secret end-of-season party at Munich's upscale Käfer restaurant - despite the 2:4 defeat in Hoffenheim, the drop to third place in the Bundesliga and the first season without a title since 2012, the mood among the majority of guests was good.

It was a true family brunch! Featuring some lesser known faces... (....)'

Anna Dier: It was love at first sight for Eric Dier (30) and the South African model. After they became a couple in 2022, they got engaged in November of the same year and married in July 2023.

Shortly after, they announced on Instagram that they were expecting their first child. The baby was born at the end of January [2024]. The defender player shows loving care for the baby, as seen on the return flight from Madrid, after the 1-2 defeat in the match opposing the Real. Anna and the little one went there to support him!

Before meeting Eric Dier, Anna was in a relationship with Alexis Sanchez (35). The Chilean record international player formerly was active at Arsenal FC, Manchester United, Inter Milan and Olympique Marseille, among others.'

But... but...

Vielen Dank, dear Fitness Anon. Between three Tumblr trolls and Das Bild, I choose to believe Germany's best-selling daily newspaper, that's been around since 1952.

[bengiyo]

Cherry Magic TH Ep 12 (Finale) Stray Thoughts

Last week, Achi went to a different city to help set up a new office. There, he had to work on his social skills to bond with the new staff, and succeeded through the power of his good nature and soccer. Karan and Achi stayed in touch the entire time they were separated, and Karan visited twice. Achi hesitated about coming out, but was rewarded when the new team was completely supportive and only asked about his partner so they knew who to contact. Meanwhile, Jinta talked Min into not giving up on an audition, and Min said he loved Jinta. We left on Achi losing his powers in a very satisfying bed scene and afterglow.

Achi really lucked out with Karan.

I'm so proud of Achi for managing to complete this project and earn the confidence of this team.

Ah yes, a finale. It's time to meet the parents.

Boss, don't remind me of the no dating rule.

Pai is such a supportive friend.

NOT THE BALLOONS SOUNDING LIKE GUNSHOTS

Damn, Mom, why you gotta dunk on your own son??

It's fine, she's definitely cool with it. She already put them to work and doled out advice.

I love Karan so much. This man recorded Achi expressing love in the Northern dialect, and Achi agreed so he wouldn't have to say it often.

It couldn't all be cherries on tablecloths. Looks like Karan is maintaining continuity with his Japanese counterpart's family.

Achi's mom hugging Karan is something that can be so personal.

I will never get over Jinta wearing sunglasses over his glasses.

Yes, let's model good fan behavior with the artist. They only jumped because they thought Jinta was trying to kidnap Min and then calmed down. They're even fans of Jinta's book!

Absolutely love that Karan is not withholding his feelings from Achi about how his mom might be homophobic.

AN 8 HOUR DRIVE? Are we going to Dallas???

Give that man his reward, Achi!

Welp, I knew it was too simple with Karan's mom. She very smoothly shoved them into a closet.

I'm glad it's the sister having this conversation with the mom.

She said her piece and counted to three!!!

Karan being a little brother makes so much sense every time.

Look at Tay Tawan acting. I know the mom and dad turning around so quickly is a bit unrealistic, but I like the aspirational nature of it. It could be this easy if we tried hard enough for each other.

Of course he proposed. I love this man.

You know he's had that ring ready for a while!

COME THROUGH, ACHI!! MUTUAL GAY PROPOSAL!!!

Wow, that was everything I hoped for and more out of the family stuff.

Whoa, did Jinta reveal he popped that cherry?

Oh, it's also the symbol for Min's group.

Aww, Rock has a fan!!

Pai is definitely shipping Rock and the fan.

Save the date!!

Well well well, Cherry Magic Thailand. Good job being explicit about marriage equality.

Okay, I like the reference to the pens.

I'm okay with Rock and Pai getting to date.

These two are very good at the aesthetics of an onscreen kiss.

Final Verdict: 9.5, This is Now My Default Version. I did not expect to come out on the other end of this liking the Thai version more than the Japanese live action, but here we are. Minus episode 8 (which I will pretend doesn't exist), this was perfect execution of the core premise and strong regard for the character dynamics. This show earned every moment, and managed to deliver a satisfying finale for the whole cast. It's been a long week of finales, and I like how good so many were. TayNew getting back together was not something I expected, and I'm so thrilled that they delivered such a strong outing. What a time to be a Cherry Magic fan. I'm excited to keep reporting on the anime and then talk about all three shows.

[dxckinson]

Status: Closed — Self Para / Lore Dump

TW: REFERENCES TO WAR, GENOCIDE, IMPLIED CHILD DEATH

The Hill—the Afternoon—

CASE █████████ PROTOCOL PROPOSED BY: AGENT ████████

RESULTS: SUCCESS — POTENTIAL CRISIS EVENT AVOIDED — FAILED TIMELINE(S) DIVERTED | JANUARY 20, 1981 ; 10:56 EDT | WASHINGTON, DC | EXACT LOCATION: █████████████████ — BOMBING — 151 LIVES SAVED

CHECK POINT DATE AND TIME:  ██-██-████ / ██:██

LOCATION: ████████, NEW YORK — EXACT LOCATION: ██████████████

ASSIGNED TO: AGENT WHITMAN [@whitmanners] & AGENT STEIN [@anotheryear]

MISSION DATE: AUGUST 24th, 1977 — 1:05 PM (MST) | SONORA DESERT — ARIZONA — SERVICE ROAD OF THE N AJO SONOITA HIGHWAY (AZ 85) NEAR WHY, AZ — 32°14'32.7"N 112°46'04.5"W — RESULTS : 256 LIVES SAVED — (1) NEW AGENT RECRUITED

With sweat pouring from every orifice, Gael Esai Tiul-Xol regarded the tightly sealed metal doors of the trailer from the truck’s bed. There was a small array of seemingly random objects laid before him: a short blunt knife, a pile of different sized coins, the laces from various pairs of shoes, a folded pair of tube socks, two rosaries, an empty aluminum can, a small metal nail file, a pocket mirror, and a frayed, three-foot length of braided rope.

Though the items may not have looked like much, these were the tools of his salvation. It was a puzzle he had managed to solve countless times, in another life. Or rather, in a multitude of other lives. He was not aware of this fact, or would ever be. God willing.

Thin ribbons of light pour in through the dozens of rust holes scattered across the top of the truck and the two 6-inch by 4-inch vents on either side of the doors. There was no comfort in the fact that he wouldn't suffocate, however. Behind him, the other migrants on board the semi-truck's trailer were despondent. Moral had plummeted after hours of pushing at the doors and rocking the trailer with no success. And though he managed to calm everyone down as to not exhaust their limited oxygen flow, they all knew what was coming. For as the sun breached the night sky and continued its slow ascend, so had the temperature. He could already feel himself growing weaker as they baked in their steel coffin.

They were running out of time. All he needed was a little more time.

His mind struggled to form a plan, distracted by his own labored breathing and the wails and pleas from his ill-fated travel companions. They cried out for their God, their Shepherd, their saints and martyrs; anyone who could offer them deliverance from their upcoming, excruciating death.

—Por favor, Diosito, ten misericordia en nosotros, tus fieles seguidores. [Please, God, have mercy on us, your loyal followers.] —!Por Dios!, ¿cómo nos pudo dejar aquí? [Oh, God! How could he leave us here?] —¡No somo animales ni basura! ¡Regresa culero! [We’re not animals or trash! Come back, asshole!] —Ten piedad de mí, Señor, conforme a tu misericordia. [Have pity on me, Lord, in accordance with your mercy.] —San Expedito, ayúdenos en esta hora de aflicción y desesperación. [Saint Expeditus, help us in this hour of grief and despiration.] —Por favor, ¡hagan algo! No me puedo morir aquí. Tengo un hijo, por favor…[Please, someone do something! I can’t die here. I have a son, please…]

Part of him wanted to tell them to shut up, so he could think, but could not bring himself to silence their laments when he could offer them no solution, no salvation. Pressing the palms of his hands into the sockets of his eyes, Gael crumpled downward into himself, willing his brain to find the solution with the tools he had before him.

The knife and nail file were too thin and blunt to withstand the force of human desperation. Perhaps the rope could be unbraided and used to rip off on of the welded on metal vents if they used their combined strength, but then what? Even if someone in the truck had arms thin enough to fit in the small rectangular space that would be left, Gael could not remember where the latch for the doors had been. And what if it had been locked with a padlock?

What would he do if, with the temptation of freedom seemingly so close, he lost what little control he had over the group? Would they panic and rush for the gap, crushing everyone in their way? He needed to find the answer before he tried anything. He just needed a little more time.

Keeping his eyes shut, he shifted his hands to cover his ears, trying to visualize the exact make and model of the semi from his memories. Had the latch been at the center, bottom, or the right of the doors? 'C’mon. Remember, damn it!'

So lost in thought, Gael didn’t notice the sound of a vehicle pulling up beside the truck until one of the elderly men on board began to shake his shoulder.

—Mijo, alguien juego. ¡Escucha!, se bajaron del coche… ¿Qué deberíamos hacer? [Young man, someone is here. Listen! They got out of the car… What should we do?]

But the question was a moot point as the others rushed to the side of the truck where the noise had come from and began yelling for help. Straining his ears to hear over the sound of the crowd, he realized with cold trepidation that there is no sound of sirens or police radio chatter. Gael’s heart raced with anxiety as he moved to stand.

Whoever just arrived was not U.S. law enforcement.

He then heard the sound of gravel crunching under boots; whoever was out there was moving towards the doors. Trying to calm down, he noted that the steps were off beat from each other. It had to be more than one person, then. But how many? Two, or more?

As Gael continued to rack his brain, there was movement at the doors; someone was cursing in English. Before Gael could mentally translate what was said, the doors burst open, the full force of the August sun leaving him momentarily blinded. Standing at the front of the group and nearest to the door, Gael spread his arms wide, his eyes tightly shut; he needed to stop his companions from rushing forward before he gave the all clear. They had no idea if whoever had just arrived had ill intentions or not.

His intuition was validated when his eyes adjusted to the harsh sunlight. A Colt AR-15 gleamed in the sun, its barrel aimed directly at the crowd, who shrieked with renewed despair.

—No se muevan. El señor Tiul, por favor bájese del camión. [Nobody move. Mr. Tiul, please step out of the truck.]

Gael’s heart soared, only to drop like lead once he realized his EGP comrades would not speak Spanish in such a heavy American accent.

“C’mon, man. We don’t have all day,” A second voice said, its owner looking directly at him.

‘Must be the Feds then’, Gael thought solemnly, lowering his arms. He wondered who among the EGP ranks would betray them like this. Matching gazes with the agent holding the gun, Gael let out a deep breath and started to step forward, but was stopped by multiple hands grabbing at his shirt and arms. Surprised, he turned back to look at his travel companions.

—No vayas.[Don’t go.] —Algo no está bien, mijito. No lo hagas.[Something isn’t right, sweetie. Don’t do it.] —¿Cuántas balas piensas que tienen? No nos pueden matarnos a todos si avanzamos como un grupo.[How many bullets do you think they have? They can’t kill us all if we move forward as a group.]

Gael knew that the campesinos were no strangers to scenes just like this, where one of their own was taken by men with guns to never be seen or heard from again. But Gael wasn't one of theirs; they had only met him in Nogales prior to this trip. And yet, they felt enough solidarity with the guatemalteco to risk their own lives for his. Their compassion almost brought tears to his eyes. But he would not let them die in his place.

Turning back to face the agents, Gael lifted his chin and addressed them in unaccented English. “What will happen to these people if I go with you?”

—Solamente vinimos por el señor Tiul. La policía y ambulancias llegarán en treinta minutos. No nos importa lo que hacen ustedes. Si se quedan a esperarlos después que nos vamos o no es decisión suya. [We only came for Mr. Tiul. The police and ambulances will be here in thirty minutes. We don't care what the others do. Whether you stay and wait for them after we leave or not is your decision]— the agent with the rifle said in his stiff Spanish.

“How can I trust that you will keep your word?” Gael challenged, shifting his gaze to motion at the gun with a tilt of his head.

“You don’t. You just have to have a little faith in people, Gael,” the second agent responded, a smarmy smirk on his face. “But to be completely frank, you don’t really have a choice here.”

Gael felt rage burning in his chest. They both know who was holding all the cards; Gael’s only bargaining chip was himself.

There was a beat of silence where Gael stared down the English-speaking agent, he quirk an eyebrow at him but say nothing else. Sighing, Gael maked his choice; in the end, the decision was always an easy one. He’d give his life a thousand times over to protect these people every time.

—Déjenme ir. [Let me go.]

Slowly, the vice-like grips loosed as his travel companions quietly came to terms with the reality of the situation they had found themselves in. He briefly wondered if, years from now, they’d still remember the Guatemalan boy they lost in the desert. Or will he be one of many they’d lose as the U.S.’s ‘War on Drugs’ ravaged their country the way the coup ruined his.

As a hush overtook the trailer, Gael stepped forward and into the sun, his hands up in the air. When he reached the edge of the truck’s bed, he kneeled slightly before jumping off and walking away from the vehicle. Eyes on the rifle, he stopped and turned his body towards the agent and slowly stepped backwards a few feet to make sure his back not facing the open doors of the trailer.

The slightly shorter Asian man holding the gun shifted his grip on the Colt AR-15 slightly but said nothing. The man's large, dark eyes seemed... troubled, perhaps; his thick eyebrows bunched up, leaving a deep furrow at the center of his face. Gael pondered on that for a second.

“Good choice,” the English-speaking agent remarked, pulling Gael's attention away from the agent with the gun; Gael turned his head and made eye contact with the other man, perturbed to see something like fondness sparkling in those crow footed eyes.

‘How strange,’ Gael thought, watching the older man closely. His eyes regarded the other's features; the older man's deep set-heavy, lidded eyes, the contours of his jaw, the slant of his nose, and the shape of his eyebrows. 'Light-skin, but not a white man,' Gael thought and narrowed his eyes. Figures that the U.S. would send two of its citizens of color to hunt down a target who'd only been described as an unknown terrorist.

After a moment, the agent snorted, an amused tilt on his lips. Then, he beckoned Gael over with an upward facing palm; all fingers but his pointer and thumb tucked downward, a single gesticulating finger flicking up and down in quick succession. Gael felt a spark of irritation at that; the over familiarity of the gesture grating on his nerves.

Taking a calming breath, Gael turned his head towards the people in the truck, wanting to see them one last time, when the blood drained from his face and his heart sunk to the bottom of his stomach. There was a bearded man in a dark hoodie and a cap watching them from far in the distance; a lone sentinel on the mountain ridge at the edge of the desert.

The coyote had never left.

What kind of person could leave a truck full of people stranded in the desert, and sit back to watch as they perished? Gael’s stomach turned with disgust. For all the kindness in the world, there is also cold, unfeeling cruelty.

Though Gael couldn’t be one-hundred percent certain that the man in the mountains and the man who had driven them across the border were the same person, but who else could it possibly be? Who else would know they were here?

In any case, who ever it was seemed in no hurry to offer help, content to only witnessing what happened down in the valley. Without consciously thinking about it, Gael's body rotated on its axis, drawn to the man in the sierra like a magnet.

“What’s the hold up? Get. Moving,” the gun wielding agent scolded, finally speaking in English. Gael’s attention and head snapped back to a new, more immediate threat: the rifle now pressed against his back.

Licking his dry lips, Gael took the risk to sneak a final glance at the man in the mountains. Though, to his surprise, the man had disappeared in the seconds Gael had taken his eyes off of him. ‘Figures’, he thought grimly.

Refocusing his attention on the agents, Gael muttered a sharp, “Alright, let’s go.” before he raised his hands high in the air and languidly placed them on the top of his head.

The handcuffs never came.

‘These guys must be overly confident that the rifle is enough of a deterrent,’ Gael thought, irritated once more by the overconfidence of the Americans. Taking care to make no sudden movements, Gael swiveled back around to face the agents, hands up still on his head.

Then he paused and waited for further instructions. His eyes lowed slowly to evaluate the snippy agent’s hold on the firearm. Gael couldn't be certain, but he got the distinct impression that the older man didn't feel all that confident, even with a gun.

Playing out all possible scenarios in his head, Gael came to the conclusion that the chances that he could successfully wrestle the gun out of the agent's hands while fending off his partner were not zero. He was significantly younger than them. It probably wouldn't be that hard to out speed the both of them. He could definitely win the tussle and once he got his hands on the rifle, then it'd all be over—

“Don’t even think about it,” The smiley, bearded agent whispered directly into his ear. Gael jumped back, but an arm around his shoulders held him still. He hadn’t even noticed the agent move.

“We don’t actually want to hurt you, kid. This is all just a business proposition,” The man said, a bright smile stretched across his face. The most disturbing part was that the warmth in his eyes seemed genuine.

Fresh sweat collected at Gael’s temples, though the Arizona heat was not to blame this time. 'This dude's nuts,' he thought, mildly horrified.

Gael shifted his sight to the snippy agent, who just rolled his eyes and walked towards the unmarked cruiser parked ten feet away from the trailer. The other man then opened the backseat door and motioned for Gael to get in.

Gael set his jaw, but that option was better than the alternative than continuing to allow the bearded agent to practically snuggle him. Extracting himself from the older man's side, Gael moved in long strides to the vehicle before ducking his head to slid into the back seat. As he started to situate himself in the car, the smiley jerk pushed him and and cheerily said, “Scoot over, the other door doesn’t open.”

“You cannot be serious!” Gael hissed, his anger bubbling over the boiling point.

“Shut up,” The other jerk snapped back from the driver's seat. “We have a lot to go over on the drive.”

Gael glared daggers at the driver as thunder boomed somewhere over the mountain side. Rain soon overtook the valley, as the agent behind the wheel started the car and began to steer towards the N Ajo Sonoita Highway. The weirdo sitting beside Gael casually reached forward into the pocket on the back of the front passenger seat and pulled out a thick, worn manila folder.

“Alright,” he began, shooting Gael another toothy grin as he leafed thought the contents. “Where do we start?”

Roughly an hour later, Gael was staring out the window as rain continues to pelt the car. They were still a few hours away from Phoenix, he thought. In all honesty, his brain was completely fried. He didn’t understand half of what the 'Temporal Bureau' agents had explained to him during the ride. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He was just struggling to wrap his mind around the implications that something like this could be true.

His soul ached at the thought that this was more than some bizarre, elaborate prank. If it was all real, he was just handed the opportunity of a lifetime. Of multiple lifetimes.

“A penny for your thoughts?” The smiley agent hummed. Gael didn’t want to look at Agent 'Whitman'. What a stupid name. That couldn't possibly be his real last name. Was it supposed to be funny? Or 'Stein', but unfortunately for Gael, Agent Stein caught his eyes in the rearview mirror at that very moment.

“You understand that you really don’t have a choice here, right?” The older man groused, those thick eyebrows furrowed deeply again.

Gael glared at Stein for a moment, but it only made him feel a child throwing a tantrum. It was almost as if he never stopped being that angry, little boy lost in El Quiché. Five and thrown into hell on Earth as war broke out; eight and an orphan; eleven and his remaining family wiped out like they were nothing; thirteen and struggling to scratch out an existence; sixteen and looking for any sort of answer that would give reason to the madness that was his life.

The futility of resistance in the absence of choice resonated deep in his bones, in the atoms that vibrated together to create his very existence. He knew it was pointless, but old habits died the hardest; and all he had ever done in his life was fight and rebel to the biter end.

But if what the 'Temporal Bureau' had told him was correct, his greatest battle was already lost. His entire's life's work all but a tiny glitch in the matrix that needed to be fixed, erased, eradicated; one way or another. This was just a new solution they were trying and in the end, the choice was never truly his.

He'd either fold or be destroyed a thousand times over until they got it right.

On one hand, this was a harrowing, universe shattering revelation that should have broken his mind and sent him into madness. But on the other, what was this if not the Holy Grail of life purposes? How many more trailers full of people could be saved if he joined? How many wars could he stop before they even started?

After another moment of quiet contemplation, Gael opened his mouth, the strained, hollow quality of his voice startling him, “Where do I sign?”

Beside him, 'Whitman' burst into laughter.

—¿Oye, pinche chucho, de qué te ríes? [Hey, fucking mutt, what are you laughing at?], Gael snarled.

“What I tell you, Stein? This kid’s got a good head on his shoulders.”

Hours later, at the Phoenix Sky Harbor International Airport, Gael Esai Tiul-Xol stared blankly at the massive throngs of people milling to and fro down the crowded halls. He was waiting for someone, though he did not know who. Agents Whitman and Stein had dropped him off roughly fifteen minutes ago and told him to wait at the second terminal for whoever it was that would pick him up.

A migraine pounded at his temples. He couldn't believe the agents had left him; after everything that had happened, after everything they had told him. He had half a mind to just get up and leave. It'd be easy to slip away, lost among the hoard of people. But a part of him wondered how many times he'd lived this event, and if the speech the 'Temporal Bureau' agents had given him was just a song and dance they'd gone through countless times.

Yawning loudly, Gael rubbed sleep out of his eyes, trying to remember the last thing Whitman had said to him before they let him out of the car. What had it been? 'You'll know they're here to pick you up the moment you see them?' What a fucking load of dog shit. Like he'd be able to pick out another pair of agents in this crowd, when the first two had just been some nondescript guys.

Lowering his fist away from his eyes, Gael beadily stared down the people filing through the entrance of the terminal. His eyes lingered on a messy head of ash brown hair, then trailed down to the neat dark locks of their companion. Gael froze in place, his eyes fluttered in disbelief. At a lost, he looked around the open space, but no one else seemed to notice how extraordinary this instant in time was.

On the other side of the room, Agent Whitman, a younger version of him, matched gazes with his. The other man then lifted an open file before elbowing his partner and pointing towards Gael.

Gael Esai Tiul-Xol felt his heart fly up towards the mood and his face broke out into an elated smile.

Time travel was real.

[carefulfears]

so i really love whenever you call mulder & scully best friends. wanna talk about your top 5 favorite moments of their friendship?

DO I EVER

1/ little green men

they have a secret code. they have their own language.

when mulder gets to his desk that morning, the photo of samantha is tipped over, and he knows that this means to meet scully at the watergate. which, first of all, is unbelievably dorky. these two work in the same building. these two have cell phones.

but they have been split up and reassigned and it is not a phase you guys it is the end of the world!!!!

when he arrives in the parking garage, he asks what she wants, and she responds, "to know that you're alright."

they have a secret code and their own language and for nothing more than to check in.

(shoutout to the depression hair era, they are so funny for both getting bangs the moment they were separated. that's how you know things are really bad for the girlies.)

when he sinks down to the floor and tells her the george hale story, she crouches down next to him, listens, tells him not to give up.

you can tell that it makes her uneasy to see him defeated, to see him doubting himself and what he believes in. she's almost trying to convince him of aliens in that moment, telling him that he's seen so much and reminding him of samantha. trying to spark something in him.

they have a secret code, they have their own language, and when he leaves town, he buys the plane ticket under a name that only she will recognize. she cracks his computer password in three tries.

earlier, after skinner questions scully, he tells CSM that she's telling the truth, she really doesn't know where mulder is. "because if she knew, she wouldn't be so worried about him."

they aren't as hard to decipher as they want to believe.

PAUSE!!!!! this is the cuntiest thing he's ever done. the sunglasses, the denim, the boots, the dangerous lack of exit strategy...anyway

she interprets his clues, she follows without obligation, they go back together. hand in his hair, not giving up, just like she started the episode.

in the end, they have nothing. the hail mary trip resulted in empty tables and silent tape recordings.

one thing i didn't notice until i rewatched this one the other day is that it's not when he says "i still have you" that she takes his hand.

it's when he switches the tape from the record of his failed excursion to his actual assignment, hours of listening to slimy men talk about strippers.

she listens with him for a moment before shaking her head, and squeezing his hand. she does understand that this isn't what he wants to be doing, and that it's disheartening.

2/ tooms

i could list every season one episode here. i could do a whole other post just about season one. i could do a whole other post just about season one, and include every episode. but i guess i will settle for this one.

this is my favorite season, and this is my favorite MSR.

him waving the pine tree air freshener in her face when she said he smells 😭😭😭

squeeze was all about the choice between climbing the ladder and the "out there" but "good" work of the basement, with all of the ridicule and consequence that come with it.

its sequel episode is about the aftermath of that decision, what it means to choose the side of the victim, to stop reaching for personal success.

(this shot is so beautiful, her face through CSM's smoke)

tooms opens with scully in a negative performance review, skinner (in his very first scene!! we love you skinman) going over her reports, CSM lurking in the corner.

the two share a look, then warn scully against having too much of an open mind, telling her that it is her "responsibility to see that these cases are by the book"

"by the book" becomes the theme of the episode, with the phrase repeating multiple times throughout.

this isn't the first time that the show has explored this topic, with young at heart also centering a debate of “by the book” protocol, what it really means, and who it really serves. ending with this final dialogue:

SCULLY: Mulder, I know what you did wasn't by the book.

MULDER: Tells you a lot about the book, doesn't it?

“by the book” isn’t an easy order to follow when you have a partner who doesn’t believe in it, and you aren’t sure you do either.

it’s not an easy order to follow, for the navy captain’s daughter who worships authority.

she does try though, and she's initially frustrated with mulder's behavior in the case. she tells him that he "sounded so....." at the trial, and she's reluctant to pursue his methods without approval from the bureau.

ultimately, when she comes to bring mulder something to eat on his unauthorized stakeout, she tells him that what he's doing is not proper surveillance protocol, and he good-naturedly accuses her of peddling "the book."

she responds, "this is not about doing it by the book, this is about you not having slept for three days." and tells him that he is inevitably going to get hurt.

to her, it's not about following the rules or pressure from the bureau or respecting authority, it's about making sure he's okay.

when she tells him to go home, that she'll take over the stakeout, he smiles and shakes his head (it's almost the same look that he gives her years later in redux ii, when she tells him to lay it all on her. just less tears.)

and i know that we tend to focus on the next part of this scene, but this line stands out to me too, as he declines because he doesn't want her to get "in trouble."

he doesn't want her to break the rules or disobey authority, and he still believes she'll be head of the bureau someday.

it kinda makes me teary, this stupefied look on his face at her response. when she looks at him unflinching and says, "mulder, i wouldn't put myself on the line for anybody but you."

they are so kind to each other. they really don't care about official reprimands in files or welfare protocols; they each just want the other to get some rest, to have a bright future.

he relents, allows her to take over, on the condition that she calls "if anything happens. immediately. i'll be here." and suggests she catch the sports talk radio show

she bends down to give him one last smile and eye roll as she exits the car

and makes a joke to herself while walking back to her own. best best best friends.

3/ tempus fugit

HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEAR SPECIALAGENTDANAKATHERINESCULLYYYYY

what better way to celebrate life than annoying the hell out of your best friend on her birthday?

the way he clearly gave the waiters her name and this snowball and sparkler and sang "special agent dana katherine scully" while they all sang "happy birthday dana" is one of his most embarrassingly extra moments and it never fails to make me laugh

she rolls her eyes at him, but the way she stares when he's not looking says so much. they both know why this year gets sparklers and song when last year didn't. they both know there might not be a next year.

he's literally never been more irritatingly overjoyed lmao. and he brought presents! ("oh, you've got to be kidding me" "just something that reminded me of you")

he said "i didn't know it was your birthday, scully!" with a wrapped gift in his pocket, always prepared with a smile and a cover story

he does this same thing in memento mori, after getting the call to come to the hospital, when his first words of the episode are "i stole these from some guy with a broken leg down the hall. he won't be able to catch me." about the flowers we watched him come through the front doors holding

he clearly puts thought into these gestures, but everything is so fragile. neither of them are comfortable with what too much sincerity would mean, how limited it all is.

but they find little ways to give to each other anyway, they hang out in bars and roll their eyes and discuss the meaning behind a keychain.

if this is the last birthday, maybe it's worth a little vulnerability (and annoying song and dance), that he did it up right.

4/ one breath

another Mulder Gift™️ entry. god, the sweetness here is just overwhelming. he is so strange and tries so hard.

this whole scene is one of my favorites of the series, but i love this little moment so much.

it's so inadequate, in the end. to see someone that you thought you'd lost, your most important person, who was gone for so long, and have nothing more to give them than a shitty VHS sports tape.

but what else can you do? he's so quiet and self-conscious in this moment. he raced to the top of mountains and stood on broken cable cars and choked a man and wore her necklace around his neck for months and wept on the floor. he had the strength of her beliefs, and he prayed. he held her hand by her bedside after they pulled the plug.

so much goes unsaid between them, because how can you say it in words? how can you do anything but smile and buy something stupid at the gift shop?

she makes a joke while he smiles at the floor, but it's not a joke, not really. he's there and he's giving her whatever he can and he's cracking jokes, and she knew there was a reason to live. that's it right there.

5/ detour

GO, GIRL!

this is a best friends episode. this is a "we survived that hospital and we refuse to spend our one wild and precious life at the annual FBI teamwork seminar, if you need us, we'll be lost in the forest" episode.

look at her trying not to laugh while he's making sarcastic comments at her in the backseat. can you imagine carpooling with these two? they are forever passing notes and whispering behind backs.

she is not making it to the teamwork seminar. she is not getting her wine and cheese, either. she is looking for mothmen in western florida.

they think they're so much better than that communication exercise, just to make vague innuendo in a motel room.

they tell each other all about native species and how ticks can halt their metabolism and the livestock that was killed in a town 30 years ago. she teases him about his filing system.

neither of them tire of bashing the hell out of that teamwork seminar.

they talk about death. about searching for meaning in life. about which flintstones character they relate to the most. they swap dirty jokes.

she fusses over his grave injury (a dislocated shoulder) and holds him. sings to him so that he'll know she's still there.

a few years down the road, she'll sing that same song to their baby, on one of her last days with him. she'll sing to him about this night, about his dad, about her favorite memories.

sitting there together in that forest in florida, they have already started to carry the weight of near-misses. of lost time, of almosts, of purposeful disease.

they have come a long way and taken on a lot, in the years since the parked car outside tooms' house and the garage at the watergate.

but they have yet to be separated longer than 90 days. they have yet to lose a child. they have yet to plan funerals and prison breaks.

there's something about that time, that ability to just sit in the woods and talk about everything, looking for mothmen, that is so precious and so special.

and when she tells him that night that she had struggled to find meaning, that's where it is.

[evangelifloss]

Please tell me about the great emu war of 1932 :3

"Haha Australia lost a war to emus twice"

NO BUT YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND!!

Here's why:

First, I don't believe foreigners know how BIG emus are, and how much of their stocky main body is just layers and layers of feathers

This is Peck. He doesn't actually Peck but he LOVES the LADIES and for reference, that's me as he's uh... trying to woo me. I'm 4'11 / 149cm tall and in that photo he's not standing at full height either because he's preparing to get lower and ahem, grind. He is also a juvenile.

Emus are typically 5.7 feet/1.75 meters tall, but they have been recorded to get up to 6.2 feet/1.9 meters.

So imagine you've got this big ass dinosaur bird with the most t-rex looking feet perfectly designed for running. Yeeting. Skeeting. Killing you maybe. And now take into account these flightless fucks can run up to 62 Kilometers per hour. THATS 39 MILES PER HOUR TOP SPEED.

Now add 20,000 emus.

So 20,000 emus against poverty-stricken farmers with failing crops, farmers WHO WERE MOSTLY WW1 VETERANS BY THE WAY. Yeah nah.

Here's a visual to help y'all understand how insanely large emu groups get.

Onto why the hell were there so many emus on the farmlands (even tho... yknow... the emus and the local indigenous were there first but we won't get into that.)

Basically a big drought made the horde of emus move away from their usual dwindling territory, onto the sprawling Australian "farm lands" and remember I mentioned their feet before? BIG STOMPY. Whatever crops that had somehow managed to survive the severely vitamin-deficient soil and grow, did not in fact, survive the dinosaur feet as the emus strolled through, pecking and foraging the ground along the way.

The plight of the veteran farmers didn't fall on deaf ears, but the Australian government severely underestimated the power of 20,000 emus by a LONG shot. Plus they weren't all that interested either, until at least it was reported that the emus were destroying the Rabbit Proof Fence. What legends.

For the first "war" the government sent 3 men.

Yep. You heard me. Three guys. Major Meredith, Sargeant McMurray and a soldier by the name of O'Halloran.

They had one truck with a machine gun, and probably other guns, but between them roughly 10,000 rounds of ammunition.

So off they went. To wage war against the progressive emus breaking the symbol of "White Australia" AKA the Fence. Oh and also I guess the starving vets.

This is it. This is what they had.

Locals from all around joined in the fight and tried to herd the roaming groups of emus into the murder range but the emus had a tactic. One that us Aussies use at bush doofs when you hear police sirens- and that is to SCATTER.

They only killed "a dozen birds" from a group estimated to be around 1000. It didn't help that the machine gun jammed during this organised ambush.

And by then, the Emus clicked onto what was happening. They split up into smaller groups, observed to be led by the largest sized male who kept an eye out for the enemy. Never again did they risk coming together as seen before.

The war was lost. Only a few more attempts were made that had little success and Ornithologist Dom Serventy concisely summarised the whole operation.

I want to remind you all that this is a recorded statement, kept on file in legal military documentation

"The Emu command had evidently ordered guerrilla tactics, and its unwieldy army soon split up into innumerable small units that made use of the military equipment uneconomic. A crestfallen field force therefore withdrew from the combat area after about a month."

Let's move onto Emu War Part Two: Unsuccessful Boogaloo

Heads up by the way, TW below.

Emus were still, y'know, Emu-ing about and the drought didn't let up either. People were still dying of starvation, becoming homeless and committing suicide. It took the Premier of Western Australia, and a Base Commander in the military penning letters and using media pressure to finally convince the government to give it another go.

Major Meridith returns to the War and having learnt from practically everyone's past assumptions of the highly intelligent sonic-speed bird, brought success. And by that I mean, more success than the previous war.

Ultimately only 5% of the 20k Emu Army were ever killed, and even that is debated since it is more than likely they inflated numbers of kills to lessen the damage of being completely inferior to the superb qualities of the Emu.

A Federal parliamentarian (like a senator) when asked about whether there should be a medal made for the conflict, he replied with:

"Any medals should go to the emus who had won every round so far."

And of course in true Aussie fashion, the Defence Minister who supported and approved for the Emu War 1 and 2, was given the title by the Australian public, and international conservationists of ‘Minister for the Emu War’.

Ouch, but also, Not Every Problem Has To Be Solved With Guns.

Ironically what worked far better was the implementation of fences to keep the Emus OUT and unfortunately, a bounty system that saw many locals and professional hunters alike have FAR more success than an entire military operation. 57,000 bounties were claimed in a six month period after it being introduced in 1934.

Thus concludes the Great Emu War of 1932.

If you're asking why I know this, I studied it when I was 16, and made an entire poster to which I gave it to my Japanese Teacher. For context: I was living in Japan. Going to a Japanese School. And teaching my poor English teacher about this Emu War that he only believed once he looked it up. As a parting gift I gave him a poster. Shout out to Kawamura-Sensei you tried so hard not to laugh at the poster but I won that war.

Here it is. All the quotes on there are real too!

[ironmandeficiency]

modern lotr character headcanons

characters included: aragorn, boromir, gimli, legolas, pippin, merry, frodo, sam, arwen, eomer, eowyn

word count: 745

summary: random thoughts abt lotr characters if they lived in modern times

a/n: this is literally just silly shit, enjoy

boromir listens to old country (conway twitty, george jones, loretta lynn, etc.) and does not tolerate anyone insulting the opry legends

he also listens to divorced dad rock (hinder, nickelback, theory of a dead man, etc.) which gimli will sometimes jam to as well

gimli lovingly maintains an old-as-dirt bench seat ford truck despite there almost constantly being something wrong with it. ignores legolas’s badgering about him getting something more reliable

obviously legolas drives a hybrid and he almost acts as if this fact makes him better than gimli (not in a dickish way, though)

horse girl aragorn.

frodo is the epitome of shy emo boy with the black skinny jeans & death cab for cutie playing in his air pods

merry is the golden retriever in the “golden retriever in love with the black cat” trope 

aragorn and arwen host game nights and various other parties for their friends, but neither of them can cook so they just order delivery (or sam hijacks their kitchen for the hours before)

pippin has a large follower base on social media bc of his drinking songs and other inebriated antics that are usually recorded by whoever happens to be with him that night. usually it’s eowyn & merry, and the three of them will shake some major ass to megan thee stallion

sam goes to open mic nights at local coffee shops to people watch. he will never perform himself, but it’s nice to watch people he knows do their thing

eomer accidentally goes viral on tiktok when eowyn records him doing some dumb shit. never lives it down

the amount of joy gimli gets from going to rage rooms is almost alarming

arwen has a very thorough skin care regimen that she introduces to aragorn, and it becomes a sweet nightly routine for the two of them

eowyn & eomer don’t allow anyone to talk shit about or annoy the other bc that’s their job fuck you very much

frodo has a shitty immune system but sam’s homemade soups seem to always heal from the soul outward

sam is the little spoon favored by the resident neurodivergent

frodo is the resident neurodivergent

yes they’re dating

arwen is always the dd

when it comes to birthdays, don’t ask boromir to remember anyone but faramir’s. hell, he forgets his own birthday sometimes

legolas is the best at remembering the birthdays of his friends but forgets his own

they have to remind each other of their own birthdays when that time of year comes around

merry is always the favorite audience member at a drag show

arwen & eowyn never dress like they’re going to the same place when they hang out

gimli says southern grandpa idioms unironically — “as useless as a screen door on a submarine”, “higher than eagle titties”, “busier than a one-legged man in an ass kicking contest”, you get the idea. merry keeps a running tab of said quotes

boromir is the “we’re not getting a dog” dad. said dog ends up being his best friend & the sole inheritor in his will, fuck them kids

aragorn & gimli have their own moonshine still they think is perfectly hidden from everyone

that does not include merry & pippin, who are booze bloodhounds and immediately knew where to find it but swore to secrecy as long as they got more than everyone else

frodo sips fruity little drinks because he can’t shoot whiskey

sam can drink in the way only a divorced middle-age man can despite not being a divorced middle-aged man

eowyn cannot drive for shit & the several dents on her car prove it. the only reason her insurance hasn’t gone up astronomically is because she just. doesn’t report any of it

said car has a fuck ton of bumper stickers with all sorts of silly things

gimli can’t ride a bike AT ALL but has a motorcycle, make it make sense

he goes on bike rides with eomer when they have the time & the weather is nice

merry & pippin are two halves of a whole idiot at every given moment

eomer LOVES 90s and 00s country music but is kinda picky about newer country (he is a massive fan of cody johnson but will throw you through a wall if you talk about morgan wallen in his presence)

arwen dances in the rain & literally never gets sick from it. merry is insanely jealous of this fact

frodo’s favorite video game is animal crossing: new horizons & has very sound opinions on what villagers are the best (fuck you, rodney)

[silverorchideon]

"Hello! Supervisor Grian here to remind you, Scar and Skizz, that the information given to you two is strictly confidential. I, along with the other higher-ups, are happy with the accuracy of your responses nonetheless, and we wish to see you continue this behaviour. We are always watching and listening, have a good day."

Creating AU's at a record pace currently-

Anyways, I saw the permit office and watched a playthrough of Home Safety Hotline and decided to draw this little thing.

Basically, Grian replaces Supervisor Carol and Scar and Skizz replaces the main character. Pearl, Jimmy, and Martyn work as "higher-ups" in this company and deal with the pests and hazards when reported. They themselves are very subliminal when they appear, though otherwise, remain in their typical human appearance to protect their identities.

They can turn people into Endermites, instead of mice!

Also, the hotline is available on many a server, though most of the callers are from HC/EMP because most came to HC for a reason, and it spilled over in Season 9. Some life series members not in either server may also be affected.

Surprisingly not a permadeath au, and the more deadly creatures (false artifact, sprig trees, etc) either cause the affected to be in a death loop, only broken by a Watcher/Listener (oh hey, guess who does that), affects the next respawn permanently (false beet, fae flu, etc.), or, when broken out and saved, causes either amnesia or high confusion, possibly permanently (neighbour's doorways, portals, etc.)

Also, if you guys want to create some calls for any MCYTer (preferably from Hermitcraft and Empires), do respond with them please!!! The link to all of the entries are here, but please be cautious if you are sensitive to insects, spiders, eyes/being watched, tight spaces, dogs, or general scary imagery.

I only have a Dream Weaver for BDubs, Wood Secretions for Doc, and possibly either Tea Sprites/Fae Flu for X and maybe unicorn fungi for Ren, so be free and have fun with this, if you'd like.

Oh, yeah! And the logo for it!

[sprout-fics]

Kyle turns at the tender age of seventeen.

It wasn't by purpose. In fact it was entirely an accident. He was walking home from a friends when he saw a woman being dragged off into an alley, and immediately started pursuing. Always the helper, the friend, the ally, he went to go and save her, managing to wrangle the stranger off of her so she could escape. Yet the man he fought was strong, stronger than anyone he'd ever met despite his sickly, gaunt complexion.

Hungry.

It was pure luck the police officers arrived when they did, with the stranger's hand wrapped around the lower half of his face, his other hand poised to claw at his eyes. Kyle had panicked, had bitten down on the meat of the man's palm with such desperate fervor blood had gushed into his mouth. The three officers managed to haul the man off of him, and even then it took a fourth and a fifth to hold him down. Kyle got checked out, was thanked profusely by the woman he saved, gave his statement, and got to go home.

His mum was worried sick when she saw him bloodied and bruised, but he assured her he was fine. Even in the days the followed, when he started getting sick, when he was so hungry he could hardly stand, when he could barely keep down food, when he began to change, he tried to tell himself he was fine. Because if he wasn't fine, he didn't know what to do. The only thing he kept thinking about was the taste of blood as it gushed into his mouth- too hot, too foul, and now in hindsight he wanted more.

He does some digging into the man who attacked him- finding all the reports very hush hush and revealing little. Eventually he discovers the man died while awaiting trial, and the police sought to bury it. It doesn't make sense, especially when he manages to find that the cause of death was apparently starvation.

It's then that he understands.

It starts small. Asking the butcher for pig's blood, stammering that his ma needs it for some sort of weird recipe, then going to another to make it less suspicious. Eventually he develops a rotating schedule for all the butchers in the area- sometimes pigs blood, sometimes cow. Yet it isn't enough, manages to quell the hunger for only a few hours before it returns.

He's eighteen when he starts breaking into blood banks.

Always under the cover of darkness, and for some reason it's just too easy. His footsteps are never loud, he blends into the shadows seamlessly, and he walks away with enough to last him a few weeks if he rations wisely. Kyle is smart. He knows he can't keep doing this forever without getting caught, and its partially why he joins the SAS- hoping deployment to the field will be able to quench his bloodlust.

He clears the entrance exams and sets records for physical tests with his super human abilities. He can hear things his teammates can't, can sniff out an opium den a mile away in the desert heat. He's lauded with medals for his service, and tries to remind himself he's doing this as much for home and country as he is to keep himself alive.

He only drinks from dying men.

Eventually he's pulled back to London, back to the streets where it all started, and there's more blood there- not by his hands. His home is being destroyed by chaos, and were it not for the other officers and sergeants Kyle would tear through Piccadilly square and soak it red with the blood of his enemies.

In the aftermath, Price finds him.

and in the days that follow, Gaz comes to learn just how inhuman his captain is after all.

[poliscijunkee5555]

President JOE BIDEN launched about 1,000 “Dark Brandon” memes on Friday afternoon as he gave the slyest of smirks when a reporter asked his reaction to DONALD TRUMP’s claim of being a “political prisoner.”

The mischievous, prolonged grin was treated by Trump supporters as a let-your-guard-down acknowledgement that the president was quietly engineering the jailing of his rival. But if the past 24 hours have revealed anything, that Cheshire cat beam was likely a sign of the discomfort that Biden has had with this whole mishegoss.

President Biden pauses while leaving after delivering remarks on Friday.

President Biden pauses while leaving after delivering remarks on Friday. | AP/Evan Vucci

That’s because the White House, so far, has gone to some lengths to create an aura of distance between itself and the Trump verdict. Texts from reporters to Biden aides seeking their personal reactions to the verdict went unanswered. In conversations over the past 24 hours, Biden aides and allies have insisted that they see no reason to radically revamp their approach to Trump's legal woes, even after a guilty verdict was announced.

Even the public statements that have been issued — including Biden’s remarks — have left the actual substance of the verdict (an historic finding of guilt on 34 counts related to falsifying business records to cover up a hush money payment to a porn star) untouched.

It’s a political gamble to leave such fodder on the floor. And not every Democrat is thrilled by it.

But Biden aides are betting that they don’t actually need to talk about, let alone remind, the electorate about Trump’s personal drama and legal problems. If they do, the thinking is it just bogs Biden down with an issue that they fundamentally do not think moves voters.

Everything about Biden’s past 24 hours was choreographed to project that line of thinking. He did not reshape his Thursday afternoon as the verdict came down. When he did speak about Trump at the White House on Friday afternoon, he did so only briefly. To the dismay of some, he actively chose to give comments on the situation in Gaza — the very topic that is ripping apart the Democratic coalition — rather than address the substance of Trump’s guilt (he did accuse Trump of recklessly attacking the justice system).

Biden aides say that the president’s approach today is the one they will adopt going forward. They’re not foreclosing the possibility that they incorporate the verdict into some of their political pitch. But no one in Wilmington is currently reshaping their 2024 playbook around this. They have a preternatural belief that a steady, sober approach — while maybe not satisfying for the more blood-thirsty partisans — can and will work. They point to 2020.

One Biden campaign official raised recent polling that found a majority of Americans believe Trump committed a crime. “Labeling him a ‘convicted felon’ again and again doesn’t advance the ball,” the official said. Instead, “you use it as another piece of evidence in a larger pattern of behavior,” so the guilty verdict is “the proof point, not the message.”

There were plenty of Democratic operatives frustrated with the Biden team’s initial cautiousness. But others argue that while a little nod (and perhaps a grin) towards the verdict is fine, it is best to go with moderation.

“While this is not a moment for Democrats to gloat, Donald Trump is now a convicted felon, and folks should call him that at every turn. The president should lean into this moment by focusing on his efforts to improve the lives and future of everyday Americans,” ANTHONY COLEY, a former Department of Justice spokesperson, told West Wing Playbook.

“‘Don’t stop thinking about tomorrow,’ Bill Clinton once advised. That’s a powerful contrast when his opponent is surrounded by chaos and focused on his own campaign of vengeance and retribution.”

Elena Schneider and Myah Ward contributed to this report.

[intersectionalpraxis]

Heyo! As a Canadian, are there any particular ways we can help Palestine? Also, who are the companies actively shipping shit to israel?

Hello! Thank you so much for the question. I'd first like to take the opportunity to state that the federal government in Canada right now -the Trudeau Government -has been terribly consistent with supporting the IOF. For DECADES -since the creation of the settler state (which should not be a surprise to anyone, of course), Canada has a LONG 'diplomatic' history of being pro-Isnotreal. For folks who don't know/aren't aware, since we often hear about/talk about the US's imperialistic policies and actions against many communities around the world (which, again is understandable given the billions in military aid they give to Isnotreal and the sheer amount of militaristic aggression and violence the US unleashes daily to people they deem a 'threat' to their empire) -but I always remind folks to not forget that Canada is equally awful and problematic.

The Trudeau government, like many MP's across party lines, have supported the IOF and the Trudeau government has denied genocide 'allegations' against Isnotreal at the ICJ. Trudeau is also the one who advocated for a "humanitarian pause," after stumbling on his words a few months ago, and has, from time to time, 'condemned,' the IOF military for going 'overboard' when he trickles in his little empathetic 'we are so concerned for the people in Gaza,' while in the same breath saying the IOF didn't strike hospitals... (side eyes).

These are some recent examples (the first in June, and December of 2023, respectively) -which shows proof that Canada exports weapons to the IOF (but often through the US -the article below addresses this). Since you asked about about which companies are shipping to Isnotreal, the only one I can reference is CN Rail [Canadian National Railway] (which is where some protests have happened), but there aren't any other particular companies I can reference because shipments are done relatively in secret, so there's not a strong/direct paper trail, so to speak. this is an except from the first article below:

"Canada doesn’t normally release many details on defence exports to Israel or other countries. Since 2015, however, the largest annual categories of shipments fall into three categories: bombs, torpedoes, missiles and other explosive devices; aircraft, drones, aero engines, aircraft equipment for military use and electronic equipment; spacecraft and components." "A 2020-2021 study by the House of Commons foreign affairs committee obtained records that shed some light on the goods Canadian firms were seeking permission to export to Israel, including transport vehicles, circuit boards for Israel’s fleet of F-15 and V-22 aircraft and components for radios." "The Canadian-made components that go into each F-35 don’t show up in Ottawa’s records of military goods exports because they are shipped to the United States, where the aircraft’s manufacturer, Lockheed Martin, is based, and Global Affairs Canada does not publish the full value of annual military exports to the U.S."

It is very concerning how the Canadian government operates this way, and we should all be demanding more transparency about arms transfers to the US. Project Ploughshares, the research committee that they spoke about in the first article, is a resource I would look into if you want to learn more about this. They focus on "disarmament efforts and international security specifically related to the arms trade..." I've attached their website below. You can also access previous webinars, reports, and commentary on their page on these topics.

There were 2 successful direct action protests in Canada, one in Winnipeg and the other in Montreal, in November and December of last year, respectively. Both of whom were blocking railways in an effort to raise awareness about Canada supporting and sending arms to Isnotreal.

This also happened recently:

Now, what can be done on our ends? Plenty -sharing and creating posts about what is happening -and telling the world we won't remain silent on the genocide happening in Gaza.

This is the most updated BDS movement list for you to boycott companies and brands that either profit off of or indirectly support the genocide of Palestinian people:

Oxfam also created this small article about what we can do to help which I find is a great start:

Some of the actions include emailing the Prime Minister (they have a template for you to work with), and I wanted to also include emailing your MP's (Members of Parliament), to demand a ceasefire.

There is also a current petition in parliament right now you can sign -it's a demand to a ceasefire, and also demands an investigation into Canadian arms deals/sells in Isnotreal -and for more transparency into this, generally speaking (you can read everything the MP outlines below). This is open until February 19th, 2024. I may also make a separate post about this too:

There are some petitions on change.org I know people have set up, so you can take a look there of course. There is also a source that Oxfam links -they have a section of current events/resources where you can take action. The most recent national march for Gaza was in December 2023 (it took place in Ottawa, on unceded and un-surrendered Algonquin territory -Parliament Hill), and I am sure more will be planned for those able to attend/what is accessible to you.

I know this was quite long, but I hope this offers some direction and clarity, if not encourages more people to look into some of these topics and issues more deeply. Thank you once again for sharing this today. I will also be updating my page soon.

As always, free Palestine!