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akaashishotthighs · 4 years

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Modern TID - Part 11

Part 10 - Part 12

Dinner went by smoothly. Tessa got to know everyone a bit better. She was starting to understand the group’s dynamic and everyone’s role in it.

Charlotte was the head of the family. Tessa was right about her being young. She was merely twenty-five years old. And yet she was not only a lawyer, but she was already a partner at one of London’s most prestigious law firms, which was impressive in more ways than one. She and Henry had been married for five years. They’d gotten married young, with her being twenty and the groom nineteen years old. A quick engagement, and an even faster wedding.

“We wanted to just get it over with. We would’ve gotten married at the City Hall, no party, but our parents insisted.”

They were both only child’s, and their parents were all high-society people, with a lot to pass on to their children. The way Charlotte spoke of it, it almost seemed as if it had been an arranged marriage, and that there were no feelings behind the decision whatsoever. But the way Charlotte looked at Henry, and spoke to him with such tender and caring. The way Henry’s attention was only focused when Charlotte spoke, the way he caressed her hand unconsciously. How both their eyes sparkled and their smiles widened soflty when their gazes met. It was impossible to believe that this had been a simple business deal.

Though she had gotten to know a bit about Charlotte, she’d gotten nearly no information about Henry. She was told he was an inventor, and that he had a lab on the basement, where he spent most of his time. She could tell he was clearly brilliant, even if a bit aloof. He seemed kind, mostly because he was too distracted to ever be malicious on purpose.

Sophie had quickly become her favorite. They connected in several ways. Mdway through dinner, someone had made a comment, and they’d shared a look, unconsciously, and realised they both knew exactly what the other was saying with their look. It also surprised Tessa that somehow, during dinner, she’d forgotten Sophie’s scar. It was there, she could see it, but it was something that had moulded its way into Sophie in a way that made her more her.

And then there was Jessamine.

Jessamine, who made a point to make a snarky comment about everything. Jessamine, who kept reminding the people at the table that she was a high-society lady and that they should view her company that night as a blessing, for she had much more exciting things to do with more interesting people that night. Jessamine, who looked at Tessa as a gum at the bottom of her shoe ever since she learned that Tessa was poor. Jessamine, who treated Sophie as merely a servant. Jessamine, who was scolded more times in just one dinner than Tessa in her entire childhood. Jessamine, who Tessa wanted to throttle every five minutes.

Except for the blonde inconvenience, dinner had been a delight. Yet Tessa was still glad when Will excused them back to his room. It was already late, and she was two minutes away from dropping asleep. He let her have his bathroom to change into her pyjamas. She had brought an oversized t-shirt that reached her mid-thigh, and short shorts that were invisible under the shirt. That way, she was covered, but she still showed off her freshly shaved legs. Nothing wrong with showing off you best traits, she thought.

She was yawning as she came back into the bedroom. Will was already under the covers, reading a book. She noted he was shirtless and felt her cheeks reddening. He looked up at her and smiled. She slipped inside the covers and cuddled close to him, her shyness over his lack of clothing fading quickly, as he dropped the book onto his nightstand. He put his arms around her and kissed her forehead. “So, what did you think?”

“They were all very nice.” She whispered as she tried to keep her eyes open.

“All of them?” He lifted an eyebrow. “Even Jessamine?” Tessa unconsciously cringed. Will giggled. “It’s okay. That’s a popular reaction.”

“Everyone else was great, though. Can I just ask you a question?” He nodded. “Why is Sophie so mean to you?”

Will sighed. “She’s never given me an actual reason, but Jem has a theory.” He brushed a messy curl awau from his face. “Sophie moved in when I was fourteen. She was seventeen at the time.” He was hesitant for a second. “What I’m going to tell you right now, I’m not supposed to know. Jem and I were eavesdropping when Charlotte was welcoming Sophie into the house.”

“I won’t tell a soul.” She held out her pinkie for him to shake, He smiled and curled his pinkie around hers.

“Sophie was born into an impoverished family. When she was six, her father ditched them. Her mother started working as a maid. When she was thirteen, Sophie dropped school to start working, because her mother could no longer afford having Sophie going to school. At the time, her mother was working for a wealthy family. The Wood’s. Sophie began working as a maid there as well.

“There was a boy in that house, Teddy Wood. He was only a couple years older than Sophie. He took a liking to Sophie. He tried to seduce her several times, but she always rejected him. When she was seventeen, after four years of failed advances, Teddy got angry. In a fit of rage, Teddy cut Sophie’s face with a knife, wanting to leave a scar that would permanently disfigure her face. He told her that if he coldn’t have her, he’d make sure no one ever wanted her again.

“Sophie tried to go to Mrs Wood, but Teddy spun the story in his benefit, and his mother believed him. Sophie decided to go to her mother for help, but Mrs Wood paid her to make Sophie go away. Her mother took the money and kicked Sophie out. That’s when Charlotte met her. Charlotte found her on the steps of a church, freezing, and crying. She took pity on Sophie and took her to a doctor. He was able to heal the infection that was starting to form, but not the scar.

“Charlotte brought her here and offered a room. Sophie accepted the room, as long as she worked for it. Charlotte was against it, but she insisted that she at least let her help around the kitchen and with the cleaning. Charlotte accepted, as long as Sophie took some sort of schooling. That’s how Sophie began homeschooling. She’s currently working on twelfth-grade subjects and will be taking the GCSE’s and the A-levels in a couple months. I think you Americans calls them GED’S. She’s very excited.” He smiled at that, a soft smile. He was proud of her, Tessa noted.

“Wow, that’s...” She shook her head. “Sophie is so strong.” Will gave a small nod. “But that doesn’t explain why she’s mean to you.”

“Right! So, Jem’s theory is that I remind her of Teddy and that being around me bring around all the traumatic memories.” Tessa was going to speak up but Will cut her off. “You have to understand when Sophie met me, I was very different. I was nothing like the guy you see in front of you right now.”

“But you’ve changed. Can’t you show Sophie that, and maybe she’ll be a little nicer to you?” Tessa shrugged.

“I don’t want her to be nicer to me.” He said matter-of-factly.

“You... don’t?”

“No. If calling me doofus, being snarky towards me, and scowling every time she’s in the same room as me is what she needs to cope, then let her. I don’t get in the way of coping mechanisms.”

She smiled. “That’s very kind of you.”

He shrugged. “Basic human decency.” He kissed her cheek. “Anything else you want to know?” She yawned again. He giggled. “Or maybe just sleep?”

She was already nuzzling her nose on his neck. “Sleep good.” She mumbled. Everything around her started blurring. She could hear Will singing something in a anguage she didn’t understand. She fell asleep to the warm strenght of his arms, his velvety soft voice, and the rapid thumping of his heart.

#modern tid #tessa gray #will herondale #jessamine lovelace #jem carstairs #sophie collins #charlotte henry #henry branwell #wessa #jessa #heronstairs #herongraystairs #chenry #the infernal devices #the shadowhunters chronicles #tid #tsc

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alcalavicci · 4 years

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Quantum Leap Week: Day 1- Favorite episode: Private Dancer

Working in Joanna Chapman’s company was wonderful, and it kept her off the streets. But Dianna wanted more. Even after becoming one of the top dancers, she felt lonely. Sure, Joanna and some of the girls knew some signs, but they weren’t fluent enough, having only talked with one deaf person. It wasn’t enough.

Dianna recalled weekends in her Wyoming school, when she’d stay up late with the other girls, telling stories, giggling over nothing and turning off their flashlights if the one with good hearing aids heard their housemother coming down the hall to check on them. But when the other girls talked about their families, she felt left out. Dianna longed to have a family, even if it was hearing parents who didn’t sign and pointed at things to communicate with her.

That was why she had left. She was tired of being left out, and wanted to find her own family, or at least people who she could count on. While working for Mario, one of the other girls working for him had relayed to her that she could be close to men and get paid for it. That didn’t sound so bad.

Rod had come along, shown her the error of her ways, and gotten her into Joanna’s company. For that, she was grateful. She’d tried writing him a letter to say thanks, but he’d written back, saying he didn’t remember her at all, that he only remembered seeing Joanna’s company dance and that the dancers were all very good.

While dancing, Dianna had set aside some time to work on getting her GED. Encouraged by her success, she had looked into colleges to go to. At first, she looked into community colleges, but there didn’t seem to be a way for her to understand the classes. Sure, she could lipread the teachers, but that would get exhausting after long enough. Then she stumbled across a description for a place called Gallaudet University. It said it was the “Harvard of the Deaf,” that everyone there signed ASL.

Dianna wrote to the admissions office, asking how she could visit, and got back some information. After buying some train tickets for Washington, DC, plus having one of the girls in her company help her with calling a local hotel to reserve a room, she went for a visit in June, when the dance company was in its off-season.

Having dropped her things off at a local hotel not far from the campus, Dianna walked. It was a beautiful summer day in DC. She walked up to the campus and saw an intimidating brown brick building. Digging the map they’d mailed to her out of her bag, she saw that this was Fowler Hall. Admissions was in Chapel Hall, the next building over.

After nearly getting lost, Dianna managed to find the office. She spoke, “Hi, where do I go for the tour?”

The young man working there blinked. He signed, “Are you hearing or deaf?”

“I’m deaf.”

“Oh okay. You can sign with me. Right now, we only have summer school. You can walk around our campus and look around- I see you have a map?”

Dianna nodded.

“Or I can call someone to give you a tour if you’d like.”

“It’s fine. I can walk around by myself.”

She found her way to back outside of Chapel Hall. Across the road, she could see a sculpture of a man and a little girl. Dianna walked away from Fowler Hall. The red and white brick building she encountered next was called College Hall, her map said. Continuing around the side, she then saw the library and one of the dorm buildings. Walking through, she found her way onto the campus green. It was an interesting set up, with paths crossing it diagonally. Dianna went up one of the diagonal paths and towards a building. Checking her map again, she was informed this building was the gym.

She tested the door and found it was open. Walking inside, she wandered around, peeking into windows here and there to see if anyone was inside. At one, she saw a dance studio, with a teacher leading a few students in a dance. Dianna watched until the teacher wrapped, then backed away from the door. The last to leave was the teacher, who smiled and signed, “How can I help you?”

“Sorry, I’m visiting. I’m a dancer for a company in New York and I’m interested in going to this school.”

“Oh, which company?”

Dianna told her.

The teacher was surprised. “I had no idea she had a deaf dancer on her team! Welcome, welcome. Why do you want to go here?”

“I wanted to go back to school. I know dancing won’t last me forever.”

“You’ve come to the right place. This school has a dance company, and if you’re admitted, you’re very welcome to join us.” She explained about the shows they did and what was required to stay on the team, but Dianna was looking around the studio in awe.

Then she asked, “I have just a GED. Is there anything else I need to get in?”

“Have you applied yet?” At Dianna’s head shake, the teacher went on, “They’re going to give you some preliminary testing when you enter. You won’t be able to get in until next fall, so I suggest you study some more, find a way to skip preparatory year.”

Dianna wasn’t familiar with preparatory: the dominant pinkie on a spread hand meeting the non-dominant palm. “What’s that?”

“That’s the year before freshman year, to make sure you’re ready for college-level classes. Not all students need it, but you have the advantage of having more time to get ready. How old are you?”

“Twenty-six.”

“That’s all right. Older than most of our students, but more mature. Come, I’ll find someone who can help you.” The teacher walked with Dianna across the green to the building that was the long way across from Chapel Hall. As they walked, the teacher asked Dianna about herself and introduced herself as Barbara Kershaw.

Dianna was taken to the English department office in the building, where a male professor, after a wink at Barbara, wrote down a list of recommended reading, plus some other books he knew of that would help with preparation. “Thank you, David,” Barbara told him, then left.

Outside, she asked Dianna, “Would you like a tour? I’ve got some time before my class.”

“No, it’s fine,” Dianna told her. “I can keep looking around by myself. Where can I go to eat?”

“You can go to the Student Union Building- there’s a place there, called the Abbey. Or you could go across the street, down Florida, up Sixth and left on Morse- there’s a wonderful Italian deli there.”

Dianna decided not to risk it and after she finished exploring the campus, she went to the Student Union Building. It was a strange experience for her, ordering her food in sign language instead of writing it down or having someone else speak her order for her, but it was also exhilarating. With the list from the professor, Dianna vowed to get ready.

After returning to New York and dancing in some summer troupes, the dance company got ready for the new season in September while Dianna studied, reading the books from the list. In the winter, she applied to the university. She heard back a few months later and showed her letter of acceptance ot Joanna.

“So does that mean you’re leaving us?” Joanna asked.

Dianna nodded. “But I need an education. I can’t be a dancer forever.”

“I’d love it if you could find some way back to us, but I completely understand. Good luck with your studies.”

With help from Barbara, who she’d been writing letters with, Dianna had gotten set up with Vocational Rehabilitation in her state, who agreed to pay her college expenses. She had money saved from her job, but she intended to use it for living expenses in Washington.

Taking the train, with all of her belongings in two suitcases, Dianna arrived in Union Station and joined the deaf students making their way to the school. She introduced herself to some of the other students, and was delighted to meet another girl who was already in the dance company. “You’ll have to audition,” the girl told her. “But I’m sure it’ll be easy for you to get in.”

After getting set up in her dorm, Dianna took the preliminary tests. She was relieved when she was told she could register for freshman classes, not preparatory classes.

Her audition got her into the dance company easily, and she bonded with the other girls. It was good to have something like what she had in Wyoming once again. They supported her and one suggested she join a sorority many of them were involved with, Phi Kappa Zeta.

With support from both her dance and sorority sisters, Dianna finished college. She was almost considering going back to New York City when the National Deaf Dance Theatre reached out to her. They said they’d heard about her through Gallaudet Dance Company and invited her to come audition.

Dianna did, and joined the company. She told them she’d been in a hearing dance company before, and they said, “We’re very happy you’re on board with us!”

After some years at the company and working her way once again to the top, Dianna remembered what Joanna had said to her. Through relay on a TTY, ten years after joining and fourteen after leaving, she found Joanna’s phone number and called. “Hi, Joanna. I know it’s been a long time, but this is Dianna Quinn.”

“Dianna! How are you?”

“Good. I was thinking about what you said. I’d like to come back, and bring some dancers with me, from my current company.”

#quantumleapweek #Quantum Leap #fic

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stfrcnis · 5 years

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⌠ ALEX FITZALAN, 24, MALE, HE/HIM⌡ welcome back to gallagher academy, FRANCIS SHEPHERD! according to their records, they’re a FOURTH year, specializing in KNIFE FIGHTING SKILLS, SWORD TRAINING, PRECISION SHOOTING, FIREARMS & SWAT TRAINING + THREAT ELIMINATION; and they DID NOT go to a spy prep high school. when i see them walking around in the halls, i usually see a flash of (dark under eye circles, coffee stained shirts, cartoon bandages covering his knuckles) . when it’s the (gemini)’s birthday on 6/12/1995, they always request their ROCHESTER PLATE from the school’s chefs. looks like they’re well on their way to graduation.

hello all, name’s yadira. i just started my last year of university yesterday and it was a mess so that was fun. anyway, i am absolute marvel trash ---- more importantly clint barton trash so francis is heavily inspired by clint barton ( he basically is clint barton angst and all) this is a mess so pls dont judge me, and if u wanna plot hmu !!

francis shepherd was born in a small town in indiana , the youngest of two born to an alcoholic father. his mother was a god send on the other hand , his father was not a nice drunk no ---- often times he took it out on his wife and once the boys were old enough he took it out on them. his father was a cattle rancher so francis grew up in the country , it was were he felt like he most belonged as a child. francis however was a sensitive boy , his father soon resorted to more drastic measures to get the boy to toughen up. soon , his brother would do the same saying it was the only way to survive. when he was four he took a nasty fall which prompted temporary hearing loss and his parents to be targeted by child protective services. while their impromptu visits happened , the shepherds were the happiest people in the planet but as soon as they left his father’s rage continued. it wasn’t until he was seven when his parents went out for groceries leaving the boys to fend for themselves , but they were gone for too long. the next day came and officials informed the boys of their parent’s death. francis remained in shock , but his older brother ran from the seen knowing they would be put into the system, but francis didn’t know. so francis entered the foster care system , but just as luck had it he entered the henderson family. a large foster family who collected foster kids because of the help the government gave them. this all stopped when francis ran away from his home at the age of fourteen. he returned to his old home hoping to see his brother there , but he was long gone. francis enrolled in school for the time being , stories began to circle that the shepherds died a long time ago and francis was self dependent. francis dropped out of high school at the end of his sophomore year knowing he needed a new beginning so he moved to new york with literally nothing but the clothes on his back and a hunting knife. while in new york he was being tailed and instead of letting them take him , he went up to them and confronted them. that basically impressed and he was on his radar until he got the letter when he turned 20.

facts:

francis did a lot of knife throwing and archer as a child. he kept up that practice in the henderson home.

francis learned how to fight from his brother.

he is still partially deaf , but he tends to keep that hidden from almost everyone.

developed a smoking problem in the henderson household and while he doesn’t tolerate drunks he tends to drink when under stress.

he has a large tattoo on his right ribcage ( of what? idk ) to cover up a large scar

his back is filled with scars too which is fun

he completed his ged when he was 18.

his brother is still out there ---- somewhere ( wanted connection?? )

he was a blackthrone boi!

personality:

with so much going on people would think that he would be an ass, but he’s not. i wouldn’t say he’s friendly, but he’s not an ass. he tends to talk to everyone, he has shit luck but he tends to drink it off ( mainly coffee , he’s obsessed ). he never talks about himself , he’s probably a huge enigma to everyone at gallagher because he’s so chill about everything. but he’s also a little shit , super sarcastic but he excels at what he does. he tends to keep conversations very shallow but is an extremely helpful guy.

connections:

best friend: okay so this person would be his number one, obviously he doesn’t know anything about his childhood prob that he’s originally from indiana and moved to ny at 16. still he loves this person no matter what.

mentee: francis is good at what he does and he’s very humble about it --- most times. so he probably has a mentee hanging around.

fwb: what can i say ---- committment issues.

exes: ya boi is bi so open to anyone, but this probably didn’t end well bc he doesn’t know how to be a good loving relationship someone pls hug this boy

#gallagher:intro #alcoholism tw #abuse tw #smoking tw #this got long af im sorry

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meltypes-blog · 5 years

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peadpod mchanzo week day 3

[mr. krabs voice] day 3, give it up for day 3! Also, this is a college au because I’m weak for those and young mchanzo is cute

3. Secret Admirer | ao3 link |

Jesse normally wasn’t the type to get flustered. His mama had told him that since he was 4, his three defining characteristics were cute, charming, and shameless. Growing up in a loving and accepting family had given him the right ingredients to bake into that particular mix, but when his mama passed ten years after, and the collectors came after his Pa’s farm, those particular traits rotted and left a bad taste in his mouth. Cute and charming didn’t get him out of the orphanages quick enough, so he ran. At 17, before his new dads swooped in and grabbed his ass out of the fire, his gang buddies described him as quick, deadly, and reckless. It showed in his steady trigger finger, the unnerving accuracy of his aim, the lopsided smiles and toothy smirks. But all the swagger and confidence from his misguided teenage years were particularly missing from his mug shots; a single heist inevitably gone wrong, most of his ‘family’ dead yet again, and half a missing arm later were enough to sober him entirely.

His new dads….they tried not to define him. When they got to him, he was hollow. Quiet. Sad. As hardened war vets, they’d seen some shit, so they knew a little bit in dealing with what Jesse had gone through. They brought Jesse home with them after a grueling two years in court, though Jesse never did get a clear reason why. Gabe told him that he’d seen something in Jesse. Jack joked that he was blind, so he just went along with whatever Gabe saw. They helped heal him by letting him be, doing the opposite when his mistakes hit him hard and left him gasping at night, and encouraging him to believe in himself just as fervently as they did.

Now, at 24, GED under his belt and close to graduating with a bachelors in investigative journalism, Jesse had proudly improved upon his mama’s words. Cute turned into roguishly handsome, his shamelessness transformed into easy-going confidence, and his charming demeanor- well, that was a welcome fixed trait. But despite the fact that no one had ever called Jesse smart aloud, he wasn’t dumb. Any smart person could see that there was more to the man than a cowboy hat and smiles, and that you didn’t get a prosthetic arm and criminal record by riding a horse (unless, of course, you were a bandit from the 18th century). Even dumber people didn’t know what to make of Jesse, most of the time caught off guard when it turned out he wasn’t a complete idiot. In conclusion, no, Jesse didn’t think he was desirable in the long-term, romantic sense of things, despite his many trysts and conquests, so he put it out of his mind.

At least, that was the case, until the fourth flower delivery.

“Again, Reeha?” Jesse asked, face hot as she dropped a sunflower in his hands. “You’re not doing this as a joke right?”

His RA leant against the open doorway of his dorm with crossed arms and snorted. “I’m a college student, Jes. Flowers are expensive. If I wanted to prank you, I could just put a bucket on your door.”

“Zero points for creativity.” He responded, thumbing the back of the card attached to it. He flipped it over, getting significantly redder at the note.

Fareeha snickered. “What’s it say, loverboy?”

Jesse knew she wasn’t going to leave until he told her (she hadn’t for the last two deliveries) so he cleared his throat and read. “‘You are as brilliant as when the sun rises, you bring me warmth as its beams do. Your smile is just as bright. Thank you for existing.’”

“Aw, Jesse.” Fareeha gave him a genuine, wide smile. “Whoever that is has really lost it over you.”

His chest fluttered. “Nah, this is- it’s a joke. Someone here has just got a sick sense of humor.” He looked back to her. “Do you have any idea who it might be?”

“Jes, half the people on this floor are pretty much into you,” she responded, rolling her eyes. “It’s the cowboy hat, probably.”

Jesse chuckled. “Yeah, sure. Wait ‘til I bust out the chaps, that’ll get everyone hot and bothered.”

“It sounds genuine, though,” she said, frowning at his tone. “You’ve just gotta put your degree to use. Do some investigating.” She clapped his shoulder and stood up. “You’re good at that.”

The wheels in Jesse’s head started turning. “Do you know who puts ‘em on your desk?”

Fareeha shrugged. “Satya brings them in from the mailroom, and I’ve asked her who delivers them there, but she says she doesn’t know. Just that there’s a sticky note to have them brought to you.”

“Huh.”

After a bit more brainstorming, Fareeha waved her goodbye and left Jesse in his door, flower clutched in his good hand. He went inside, thumbing the soft petals gently, a plan developing in his head.

He was going to find whoever this was.

“Maybe they do not want to be found.”

Jesse snorted into his coffee. He and Hanzo were seated in the campus coffee shop, taking a break from an especially grueling math homework session. Jesse had first met him in his second semester Research Writing class, which, much to Jesse’s surprise and Hanzo’s embarrassment, the other man was failing. Their professor had insisted Hanzo visit Jesse for tutoring (which, up until his junior year, he did as a work-study student), and the two hit it off. The pair (sometimes with the addition of Hanzo’s younger brother) met up regularly for study sessions, finding that they worked well together despite their differing majors.

Jesse raised his brows. “Then why do they send them in the first place?”

“Perhaps they get off on buying flowers for cowboys,” Hanzo smirked.

“Gross Han,” Jesse laughed, wrinkling his nose. Hanzo smiled and Jesse felt his insides warm, a pleasant syrupy feeling in his gut.

This….thing he started feeling for Hanzo wasn’t a new development. He only needed to spend four months in Hanzo’s presence to become infatuated, though he ignored it for the most part, reasoning that shallow appreciation for an attractive man was nothing worth exploring. Then the man got a haircut, pierced himself up, changed his major to what he was actually passionate about, and Jesse’s heart was a goner. What he felt was honestly too childish to be called a crush and the other option scared the hell out of him, because even after knowing Hanzo for 2 years, he still had trouble figuring out if the man was seriously flirting or not.

“But really,” Jesse continued, “it seems a bit….I don’t know. Weird.”

Hanzo raised a brow. “You do not enjoy the attention?”

Maybe if it was from you, Jesse thought unhelpfully. “‘S not that, it’s just….I never thought I’d get romanced like this. Flowers.” He chuckled. “What’s next, chocolates? A full bouquet?”

Hanzo’s eyes got that strange glint in them Jesse had been noticing lately. “Is that something you would like?”

“Oh, hell no, that’s a bit much to be coming from a stranger,” Jesse said. He leant forward. “You got any idea who it could be?”

Hanzo’s face fell flat. “You have many admirers, Jesse. Many find you attractive, you know this.”

“You sayin’ I’m good looking?” He teased, smiling at Hanzo’s eye roll.

“I am saying,” Hanzo smirked, “Many people lack taste.”

Jesse barked a laugh. “Right where it hurts, Han. Your aim is unerring.”

“You just make it too easy,” he replied. “Speaking of,” he tapped his notebook, “we should finish these equations.”

Jesse groaned. “Easy for you, Mr. Math Major. Some of us are better with words than numbers.”

“Oh, I am well aware of that,” he chuckled. “But why you would choose a math course for your last elective if you hate it so much is beyond me.”

Jesse just smiled. “I like a challenge.”

The fifth flower arrived during Jesse’s investigation. He made his way down to the dorm mailroom, deciding to ask Satya herself if she knew anything essential.

She scoffed at Jesse’s question, putting her cell phone down. “Why would I keep the sticky notes? They are trash once their duty is fulfilled.”

Jesse sighed. There went his first lead.

“Okay,” he said. “But did you get a look at the handwriting? Was it neat? Messy?”

Satya considered the question. “Well….all of them were written in capital letters.”

“Hm.” Jessed hummed. “And….no one else gets flower deliveries?”

“Not that I have seen, no.” She smirked slightly, picking her phone back up. “It seems you have a secret admirer, McCree.”

He sighed again, pink in the face. “Seems that way.”

It didn’t help much, but he thanked her anyways, heading out into the hall. He closed the mailroom door behind him and exhaled, exasperated. He didn’t really think that asking about the sticky notes would help, but it was the first thing that came to his mind to check. He stepped forward- and almost tripped when he realized there was something on the ground in front of him. His heart pounded when he bent down to look closer.

“No way,” he breathed, picking up the single pink rose. He straightened quickly, looking to his left and right, trying to catch a glimpse of someone, anything, but the hall was empty save for himself and the dorm event bulletin board. He looked to the card and laughed softly.

“They did not have red ones, so I hope you are fine with pink. It reminds me of the times you are silly, blushing and happy. I wish you many more moments like that.”

Jesse would’ve written the secret gifts off as insincere if they’d called him sexy or complimented his ass, but the notes were always heartfelt and profound. The first, paired with a camellia, had regaled his beauty, declaring that “the depths of which are rivaled only by that of the oceans.” The second, attached to a sweet smelling gardenia, paid homage to his intelligence; “an incomparable mind” and “a smart mouth to match a smart man.” The third came with a red carnation, calling him kind-hearted and wonderful; “you inspire me to be my best.” The strangest part was that each delivery had happened in the span of a single month, each floral arrival erratic and unpredictable. The timing made little sense too: February was three months ago, and his birthday was in December. Jesse brainstormed the motivations himself but decided that they were 100% genuine, the other option being that it was an elaborate prank before grad. Most of his friends were too busy with finals or too short on cash. Jesse trudged back to his room, placing the flower in the same vase near the window as the previous ones and the note in the small ornate box on his desk that held the others, deciding to enact the next part of his investigation the following weekend.

Now, Jesse usually liked Genji, considered him a brother even- but right now, he felt like throwing him to the wolves. The green-haired bastard was cackling loud enough to draw the attention of almost everyone in the coffee shop to their small corner; he found Jesse’s floral predicament particularly funny. Jesse looked to Hanzo for help, but the man just gave him a toothy smile and shrugged.

“So, you have no idea who it could be?” Genji asked, after having calmed. “Not a single inkling?”

Jesse’s eyes flitted briefly to Hanzo (he immediately squashed that hope down, Hanzo didn’t seem like the flower giving type) before he turned to Genji. “I wouldn’t be askin’ for your help if I did, ninja.”

“Some investigator you are,” Genji snorted.

He pointed to him. “Hey now, I just haven’t finished looking around yet. I’ve got a plan.”

“Oh? Do tell.” Hanzo spoke, sounding amused.

“Well,” Jesse started confidently, settling back into his seat,” it’s gotta be someone on campus right? And the flowers gotta come from somewhere. So I sussed out the location of every flower shop in the area- which there are three of, by the way- and I plan on bringing the notes and asking around. They’re bound to know something.”

Genji hummed appreciatively and Hanzo balked.

“How do you know they didn’t order them in advance? Or that they would remember their patrons?” Genji gave his brother a weird look at the question while Jesse chuckled.

“No one has the time for advanced orders during finals. Plus, it seems like these gifts were a last minute kinda thing, because there’s no pattern to the delivery times. And if my hunch is right,” Jesse leaned forward conspiratorially,” it’s probably someone I know.”

Hanzo’s face seemed to go through a myriad of emotions before smoothing over into a blank expression. “You truly are intelligent, then.”

“I know,” Jesse grinned cheekily, feeling proud.

Genji let out a choked noise at something and stared incredulously at Hanzo. Then at Jesse. Then back to Hanzo.

“Jesse. You really can’t guess? Really?” Genji’s eyes were pleading.

Jesse furrowed his brow. “If you know something I don’t, the help is appreciated.”

Genji muttered something in Japanese and stood up suddenly, grabbing his bag. “No. I don’t know anything, apparently. If you will excuse me, I’m going to go somewhere else before I throw up.” He turned a devious smile to Hanzo, who sat uncharacteristically frozen. “I will talk to you later, brother.” Then he was gone.

“Well, that sounded foreboding,” Jesse commented to a strangely flushing Hanzo. “Did you catch what he said under his breath?”

“No,” Hanzo answered quickly. He stood up too. “I- I have to go. Satya needs my help with a project.”

“Oh.” Jesse sat back disappointed. “Okay. See ya later, then.”

Hanzo gave him a tense smile before he hurriedly departed. Finals week, Jesse decided, was a bitch.

The sixth flower was thankfully delivered in person.

He woke up that morning feeling motivated, ready to find the mystery person behind the roses. His trip to the first floral shop wasn’t what he expected, considering it closed down 5 years ago and sat on the side of the road as a sad, dilapidated building (thanks, Google)- but he wasn’t deterred. The second shop, however, didn’t yield satisfactory results either. He showed the owner the notes, and much to his embarrassment, she said that they didn’t even use the same cards or ribbon as the ones the stranger gave him.

“Whoever it was probably made them themselves,” she said, eyes twinkling. “That’s so sweet!” Jesse mechanically nodded his agreement, said his thanks, and left feeling flustered at the situation all over again. Handmade note cards. Maybe they really didn’t want to be known.

So found Jesse on his way to the last floral shop- Bastion’s Bouquets- and losing all semblance of hope. He pushed the door open, bell ringing overhead, and was instantly assaulted by the sweet aroma of flora.

Flowers ranging from roses to calla lilies to desert flowers crowded on shelves that stretched to the ceiling. Long vines and leaves from medium sized palms and ferns leaned over Jesse’s head as he traversed deeper into the store, reaching the counter. It was colorful, and wonderful, and Jesse began to wonder if he was in the wrong line of work at the sight of a bright pink bougainvillea trailing along the wall behind the cashier’s desk.

“Howdy,” he called to the empty space in front of him, resting his hands on the wood. “Anybody in?”

A clatter of noise and a curse responded. Then, in a strange accent:

“Be right out!”

Jesse took to looking around as he waited, exclaiming in pleased surprise as he found a small bird hiding among a gorgeous display of hyacinths. It chirped quietly as it settled in Jesse’s outreached hand and fluffed its wings. Jesse cooed and it tilted its head, chirping louder as he rubbed a finger down its back.

“Ganymede, stop begging for attention. The name is Torb, what can I do for you, son?”

Jesse turned to find a short- very, very short- man behind him. He had a mechanical arm, a fake eye, and was wearing a pink apron with the store name and a cartoon robot on the front. Jesse immediately liked him.

“Ah, well, ya see,” he muttered, struggling to get the notecards out of his back pocket with his prosthetic, not wanting to jostle the bird. “I got- aha! I got these cards along with a bunch of different flowers over the past month and was wondering if they were ordered from you, or if you remembered who ordered them.”

Torb took the cards from Jesse’s hand, sifting through them. His ears grew hot as the short man chuckled and raised a brow at him.

“Sounds like someone really likes you, eh?”

Jesse cleared his throat, cheeks flaming. “I mean, it could be a prank. Haven’t gotten rid of that possibility.”

Torb laughed harder and handed the cards back to Jesse. “I, for one, think you should throw that thought out the window. What were the flowers?”

Jesse told him and Torb rubbed his chin.

“Well,” he started. “We do carry all of those.”

Jesse felt a surge of hope.

“But carnations, camellias and roses are popular ones, and we haven't sold any sunflowers recently. I would remember that.” He gave Jesse a sympathetic look. “‘M sorry lass, I can’t help you there.”

Jesse’s stomach plummeted and he sighed. Ganymede chirped softly and flew away to the back room, probably to eat or sleep. He looked at Torb imploringly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Are there any other flower shops around here that have the same selection you do?”

Torb shook his head. “Afraid not. Otherwise, we would be out of business.”

Jesse nodded and said his thanks, ready to give up when Ganymede came flying back out, a small slip in her talons. She landed on Torb’s shoulder and dropped the paper into his open hand.

“Ah! That’s right, it almost slipped my mind!” He said, reading through it. He looked back up to Jesse with a toothy grin, waving around what looked like a receipt. “Seems I was wrong. There is one other place that carries the same selection we do, though it only orders a small amount from our stock.”

The supermarket. Why hadn’t he thought of that?

Jesse had walked by the flower freezer in there every time he shopped, but he never paid it enough attention for its presence to register in his head. He ran hurriedly from Torb’s shop to the market a few blocks over, hope swelling. It was getting late, the sun almost finished setting, and he knew the store was going to be closed in a couple of hours. He would get in there, and he would- well, he would look and- huh.

Jesse slowed to a jog, coming to a stop in front of the store. He frowned, realizing he had no plan. What would he do? Rather, what could he do? Too many people went in and out, and it’s not like a chain market would take note of each customer that bought sunflowers. He swallowed, feeling his hope shatter yet again.

He could….stake the place, he guessed. But his admirer obviously knew what he looked like, and loitering was still considered a crime. He was about to walk inside, maybe buy some booze and drown in it, when a voice ripped him from his thoughts.

“Jesse?”

He turned to his right to find Hanzo, looking as attractive as ever in his dark jacket and jeans, with a comically stricken expression on his face.

Jesse wondered what was wrong, until his eyes zeroed in on the package in his hands, and he sucked in a breath.

A bouquet of roses.

Hanzo held the flowers in a tight grip, an entire bouquet of expensive red roses, and Jesse, tired and emotionally charged at the sight, blurted the first thing that came to mind.

“You get off on buying flowers for cowboys?”

Hanzo turned red and made an audible noise in the back of his throat, taking a step backward, away from him.

He’s gonna run, Jesse suddenly realized, and he raised his hands in apology, a hysterical laugh bubbling in his throat at the relief he felt that it was him, at what this situation had come to.

“Hanzo,” he laughed, slightly breathless, and the man took another step backward. Jesse took a large step towards him and fought down another laugh. “Hanzo, wait.”

“I did not think you would find my affections funny,” he said, looking and sounding hurt.

Jesse sobered instantly, realizing what was at stake, and took those last few steps to reach him. “Hanzo, wait no, I’m not laughing at you. It’s just- this whole time?” He reached for Hanzo’s free hand. “You could’ve just talked to me, hon.”

“I am not good with words,” he responded, looking anywhere but at Jesse. “I know it is childish, but Genji told me that you had never had a serious relationship before, and with you leaving in two months for that job in Gibraltar, I just….”

He sighed, searching Jesse’s eyes. “I wanted to make sure you at least knew that someone cared for you, in that way….still cares.”

Jesse’s heart pounded and he gripped Hanzo’s hand tighter, not knowing what to say. He had Hanzo right where he had wanted him since he first saw him, and he was speechless.

“Okay, here’s the thing.” Jesse decided to lay it all out. “I’ve been in love with you for almost a year now, and if you’re willing, I’d like to try. Gibraltar or not, I’ve been absolutely hopeless for you. If you’ll have me.”

Hanzo lowered his burning face and heaved a deep, shaky breath. Then, he looked up and pressed the bouquet to Jesse’s chest, a small smile making its way onto his face. Jesse held the flowers there with his prosthetic, face burning.

“You said that you wouldn’t take a bouquet from a stranger and I was actually going to give these to you in person, when I found the right thing to say.” He pressed himself closer to Jesse. “I do not have a card this time, so I apologize.”

“Oh, that’s okay,” Jesse breathed, moving his hand to the small of Hanzo’s back, the roses crinkling between them. “What were you going to say?”

“I love you, too.” Hanzo leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to Jesse’s lips, and Jesse brought him even closer, closing his eyes, Hanzo and the scent of roses overtaking him.

After he and Hanzo made their way back to the dorms, the roses (a bit crumpled, but still whole) found their way into the vase near the window, the other flowers pressed safely into a textbook. And when Jesse finally left to Gibraltar, Hanzo sent him off with his seventh- a snapdragon that Jesse snuck in his carry-on. The message on the notecard was pretty much the same as the last one, but it didn’t make him feel any less flustered and happy.

I love you. Come back soon.

#mchanzo #peapodmchanzoweek #jesse mccree #hanzo shimada #fluff #writes #this is LATE but i was so tired and couldn't write i am sorrryyr

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toxoiddiamond · 6 years

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T H E B A S I C S Given Name: Elijah Anthony Mitchell Nicknames: Eli Age: He was 26 when he committed suicide. Now he's sort of immortal. Birthday: December 7th Zodiac Sign: Sagittarius Birthplace: Seattle, Washington Current Location: When he was alive he lived in Chicago, Illinois, and he still likes to hang around that area on occasion. But he can easily go anywhere he wants. Speaks: English, Latin, and a passing familiarity with Enochian (enough to use sigils but not enough to speak the language). Technically, he could speak any human language he wants, but he hasn't had a need to. Dominant Hand: Right Education: He dropped out of high school at sixteen, but got his GED when he was eighteen. He really wanted to attend college, but was unable to afford it. Occupation: When he was still human, he was working in a coffee shop, but also traded sex for money on occasion to help pay the bills. He really wanted to save up enough to be able to go back to school and become a teacher, but he was struggling just to make ends meet, so that never became a possibility for him. His current occupation is making deals in exchange for souls or other things that may benefit him. You know, demon stuff. Vehicle: Black 1968 Mercury Cougar. He doesn't technically need a car, but he likes having one-- it makes him feel more human. Pet(s): He used to have a calico cat, which he gave away to a coworker before he killed himself. He still has a secret fondness for animals, but no pets.

A P P E A R A N C E Height: 5'10" Hair: Dark brown, shiny, soft to the touch. Always mussed up and tousled-- let's be real, he has sex hair 24/7. Facial Hair: He has a little bit of facial hair, but it's mostly stubble. Eye Colour: When he was human, his eyes were a very striking, unique gray-blue, and he can still disguise them to look that color. But now his eyes are a deep red color. Skin Tone: Very pale, especially since he mainly goes out at night. Clothing: Maybe they're nude Distinguishing Marks: When he was human, he had a scar just below his ribcage and several smaller scars on his left leg from being shot and also hit with shrapnel during his time in the military. But now he has no scars at all, and no distinctive marks to speak of. Face Claim: Sebastian Stan

H E A L T H Physical Health: I mean, it's not bad. He's kind of just enjoying having a human body again, and he hasn't run into any serious problems. He was able to pull a few strings and get a vessel identical to the body he had in life, and he has taken very good care of it, with the exception of the occasional junk food binge because, come on. He missed eating delicious food, and can you really blame him? Physical Abilities/Limitations: He can teleport anywhere, though he has preferred taking more traditional methods of transit lately. He can possess other humans, but has no desire to do so, since he very much likes the one he has now. Addictions: He used to smoke when he was alive, and he has taken it up again recently because it's such a familiar old habit. He doesn't smoke a ton though, maybe a cigarette or two a day and that's it. Allergies: None. Unless you count holy water, I guess? Mental Health: It's complicated. Obviously, his mental health was not good when he was human-- he suffered from severe anxiety and depression, and eventually ended up taking his own life. Unfortunately, because suicide is considered a mortal sin, his soul was damned, and he was tortured in hell for what felt like an eternity to him. Eventually, his soul was corrupted and he became a demon. He doesn't remember much of his human life-- it's all a blur to him, though memories do come back to him on occasion. His current mental health is obviously not great, with memories of being tortured and of torturing others still fresh in his mind. He's quite the hedonist now, seeking out pleasure wherever he can find it and basically unconcerned with anything else.

H I S T O R Y Job History: He doesn't remember much about his time as a human or what he did for a living. He does kind of remember being in the military-- or at least, the trauma that he experienced-- but beyond that, he doesn't remember his other jobs. Fondest Memories: He has none at this point. All his happy memories were pushed out of his head a long time ago. Worst Experiences: His entire unit being killed when he was in the military, plus he was shot and nearly killed. And then there was the whole, you know, being sent to hell thing. It didn't take long to break him down once he was in hell; he committed suicide wanting to escape his life and escape the pain, so as soon as he realized the pain wasn't going to stop, that was it for him.

C O M M U N I C A T I O N Speech Pace/Style: Before becoming a demon, Eli was very soft-spoken, shy and reserved. He kept to himself for the most part and had a hard time making conversation because he would get so nevous and tongue-tied. That is no longer the case. He now speaks very confidently, not afraid to say what he wants or make demands. Accent: American Favorite Phrases or Words: He has a tendency to (smugly) remind people that "a deal's a deal," if they seem to be contemplating going back on their terms or not holding up their end. Usual Curse Words: He's never been shy with curse words. I mean, he was a military man, and now he's a demon, so yeah.

P E R S O N A L I T Y, M I N D S E T, A N D B E L I E F S Personality Type: As a human, he was an INFJ. Now, he's more of an INTP. Sense of Humor: It's always been pretty dark. He always used to joke about his mental state because it helped him cope, while also allowing him to talk about his feelings without bringing the mood all the way down. That hasn't changed-- he still tends to say disturbing things that he intends to be humorous. Obviously that's not everyone's taste, but he doesn't particularly care. Habits: He used to have a habit of folding his arms across his chest and hunching his shoulders when he was uncomfortable, as if he was trying to make himself smaller. He also had-- and still has-- a habit of drumming his fingers on various surfaces and running his fingers over things like countertops, fabrics, walls, etc. Fears/Phobias: He had a lot of fears before, things he couldn't even name or describe. There was always a general sense of fear and dread in his life that never seemed to go away, until he was with Atti. After coming home from the military, he suffered from severe PTSD and also struggled with agoraphobia, which led to him becoming a bit of a hermit and barely ever leaving his home. As a demon, he still has some fears-- some of that old anxiety is still there, and he is afraid of certain demons he's encountered, always worried about encountering them again. But he is not nearly as terrified of things/life in general as he once was, not now that he's been through literally the worst possible things. Hopes/Desires: He sort of... doesn't have hopes or desires anymore. Or at least, nothing beyond a desire for sex and food and pleasure in general, nothing deeper than that. The only hope he had in his former life was not to be in pain anymore, one way or another, and sadly, that hope was never realized. Self-Esteem: Well, as a human it was pretty terrible. He hated himself, felt he was a burden on everyone he knew, and thought everyone around him would be better off if he was gone. Now his self-esteem is weirdly better? He cares way less about what anyone thinks of him, and only cares about doing what he wants/whatever he feels like. He's definitely not as kind as sweet as he once was, but honestly, he's not as awful as he could be-- he doesn't actively seek to make anyone miserable, he's just selfish and hedonistic. Religion: When he was a human, he wanted to believe in god, or in some higher power that would watch over him. Now he knows that god exists, but he thinks god is a monumental asshole with a sick sense of humor.

R A N D O M Sleeping Position: However is most comfortable in the moment. Usually sprawled out on his stomach. If he had a certain angel to cuddle with, I'm sure Eli would lay practically on top of him~ Boxers or Briefs?: Either, really. Or sometimes neither. Day or Night?: Night for sure. He used to prefer the daytime, but now nighttime feels more welcoming to him. Top or Bottom?: He's always preferred bottom, honestly. But he does like to top on occasion. Partying or Relaxing?: Eli has never been much of a partier. Not even now. He still finds that if he's around too many people for too long, he feels drained afterward and usually ends up with a headache. Relaxing is much more his speed.

R E L A T I O N S H I P S Closest Friend: He used to be friends with Lucas (who was also an angel, unbeknownst to him). He doesn't even remember Lucas now, and he doesn't really have any friends. Relationship History: He only had two relationships before. One during his senior year of high school, with the teacher's assisstant in his English Literature class, which ended when Eli joined the military. And the other being, of course, with Atti, who Eli considered to be the love of his life. He doesn't remember either of them anymore. Sexual Partners: His first boyfriend. A fellow soldier in his unit, who ended up being killed. A one-night stand a few months after he was discharged. And, finally, Atti. Thoughts About Sex: He's always liked sex, but he used to associate it with relationships and love. Now, he only associates it with pleasure and nothing more.

P A R E N T S Name(s): Sawyer and Evelyn Mitchell Occupation(s): His mother was a stay-at-home mom/wife, and his father owned a successful restaurant/bar in Seattle. Quality of Relationship With Their Child: Eli's relationship with his mother was very good, and it was a huge blow to him when she passed away-- Eli was thirteen at the time. His relationship with his father was always more strained. They didn't see eye to eye on most things, but they did love each other. His father was absolutely devastated when Eli killed himself, and never really recovered from it-- he passed away himself just a couple of years later. Living/Deceased: Sadly, they're both dead.

#character: elijah mitchell #ship: atti/eli #spn au #character sheet

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hulklinging · 7 years

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Also prompts: RUNAWAYS DOMESTIC BONDING

It’s been six years, Gert realizes, as soon as she steps through the door. Six years since she’s lived somewhere normal. Dilapidated hotels, underground layers. The afterlife. And now, she’s standing in the doorway of a very normal apartment and she can’t bring herself to step inside.

She was worried, when she came home, that there would be a disconnect. That everything would have changed. And it did. In big ways, and also in little ways she’s still discovering. Her family is scattered, her boyfriend is traumatized, her dinosaur is missing. Sometimes she wakes up with a gasp, a phantom dagger sending waves of pain through her chest.

Everything is different. Except this.

Chase sees her hesitating, and without missing a beat he is bending over to pick her up, bridal-style because he’s a fucking dork, and they’re both laughing as he carries her over the doorjam. She should trade him for that, as sappy a move as it was, but she settles for a roll of her eyes and a kiss to his cheek when he finally puts her down.

“Welcome home,” Chase says, and if his voice catches, she won’t say anything about that either.

“Let’s unpack tomorrow,” she offers instead, and pulls him in for a proper kiss.

They settle in. Gert gets a job at a bookstore, because they’ve been able to track down some hidden stashes of her parents’ money, but it won’t last forever. And because she wants something to do with her days. It was also one of the only jobs she could think of where no one would notice her few-year gap in common knowledge, where she could start to fill that hole in, and where she figured they wouldn’t actually check to see if she had graduated from the high school on her resume.

Chase, to her shock, starts looking into what he would need to go back to school.

“What kind of school, babe?”

He’s silent for a moment, long enough that she’s worried he’s gone and slipped into another one of his flashbacks.

“I wanna be a social worker,” he says, finally, and she thinks her chest might burst with pride.

When did you go and grow up, she wants to ask, but she thinks she knows the answer to that, and she doesn’t want to bring that look into his eyes, the way he stares at her when he thinks she’s not looking, like if he blinks she’ll disappear again.

So they fall into a routine, her going to work, him prepping for the tests he’ll need to take to get into school, and it feels… Normal. It feels normal, and that feels like a victory in and of itself.

See, Mom? Sometimes saving the world is as simple as just living, she wants to say. See Dad? Sometimes, things can turn out okay.

She wonders if thoughts like that make her an optimist now. She doesn’t really mind.

It’s four months into apartment living when there’s the sound of their buzzer going off. Gert, caught halfway through dying her hair (she wants to go purple again, for old time’s sake. Secretly, she’s hoping it makes the girl in the mirror more recognizable), calls out to Chase to get the door before she remembers that he’s out late today, talking with the advisor of the school he’s going to be attending in the fall. So he couldn’t have ordered food, and that’s really the only time someone comes a-calling.

Suddenly cautious, she walks over to the speaker, just as it buzzes again. She presses the button and tries to make her voice sound firm.

“Who is it?”

“Hello?” Says a voice that is older than it was when she last heard it, but still so familiar. “Sorry, is Chase there?”

They hadn’t really told anyone, when Gert had come back. They couldn’t find some of them, and the ones they found they couldn’t get a hold of. At the time, they had felt a little bad. It’s only now, with Molly standing at their building’s door, that Gert realizes how cruel that was.

“Molly,” she says, and there’s the sound of a gasp, just loud enough for Gert to catch. Gert can’t do this through their shitty speaker, she just can’t. She presses the button for the door to open, and then stands by their own front door, now hyper aware of all the things that have changed, all the things that have stayed the same.

She hears running footsteps outside her door, and throws it open before Molly even has a chance to knock. Gert’s smile feels shy and strange, but Molly doesn’t slow, doesn’t seem to notice, just wraps Gert up in an almost suffocating hug and starts to cry.

She doesn’t question it. Gert dreads her asking, doesn’t want to talk about waking up in darkness, lungs straining, lost and half-mad. She doesn’t want to talk about it, and Molly doesn’t ask. She’s older, almost an adult, and Gert doesn’t know if it’s her holding onto a childlike belief in miracles, or her experiences since that have taught her there are some subjects best left untouched. Instead, she just holds her, long enough for Gert to realize that Molly now towers over her. She accepts it as a fact by the time Molly reluctantly pulls away, feels her world readjust as she looks up at the girl instead of down. It’s a feeling she’s grown used to since coming back, after all.

“Oh!” Molly gestures at the door, where another girl lingers. She’s smaller than Molly, with big solemn eyes and a rose blooming in her hair. “This is Klara. We found her a hundred years ago.”

Chase had briefly mentioned that adventure, although no details. Gert hadn’t pried. She extends a hand to Klara, who shakes it with a cautious smile.

“Chase is at school,” she explains, like this is all commonplace, like they’re just two friends stopping by. “He should be back soon.”

Molly is wearing a backpack, Gert notices. So is Klara.

“We were kinda… Looking for somewhere to stay?” Molly admits. The uncertainty is what kills Gert, that they’ve drifted so far apart that Molly’s not sure she’s allowed to ask for sanctuary.

“We’ve got space,” Gert says, which is true, and even if it wasn’t, they would make it. Because that’s what family does.

The relief on Molly’s face makes Gert’s heart ache. She texts Chase and asks him to grab some food on the way home. Enough for four, if he doesn’t mind. They can go furniture shopping tomorrow.

What changes, now that Molly and Klara have moved in; plants on every windowsill, two people prepping for school instead of one, the grocery list on the fridge gaining vegetarian options, the ‘to watch’ list by the tv gaining all the cool animated movies she’s missed.

What doesn’t change; how good it feels to come home after a long day.

Klara finds a florist that’s hiring, and her smile gets wider and her shoulders slowly relax. Molly flies through her GED with almost childlike glee, already trying to decide between a thousand different career paths she would be equally excited to pursue. Gert watches her and thinks that she really was the strongest of them all, to go through all that they did and still come out so bright.

When the buzzer goes off one Sunday morning, Gert clicks the button without even checking to see who it is. Molly likes to go on runs in the mornings, and she’s notorious for forgetting her keys when she does.

When there’s a knock on the door though, Molly sticks her head out of her and Klara’s room to ask who that could be, and Gert and her share a look of concern. Chase is still in bed. Klara is already at work. After a nod of understanding, Molly moves towards the door, eyes already glowing.

“Sorry for the intrusion,” says the voice of another ghost. “We followed your signature here. We didn’t know where else to turn.”

The story comes out in pieces over the next few hours, a jail break and a daring escape that ended with a crash, all blurring together in a mix of panic and blood. Karolina Dean is bleeding out on their kitchen table, a battered Xavin and a blonde Gert doesn’t know hovering over her, doing their best to patch up her various cuts and burns while Molly helps and Chase goes for supplies and Gert pulls up various first aid sites on her laptop. It’s only after every wound has been dressed does anyone look at her. Karolina is unconscious still, but her pulse is strong and her lungs are clear, so Xavin has time to stare at her and shake their head, wonder chasing away some of the fear on their face.

“It seems to be a day for the impossible,” they murmur, and then Molly is fussing over their own injuries, and that is that. Gert has a feeling Karolina will be the one to demand the whole story, and she’ll have to prepare herself for that shortly, but for now she introduces herself to the stranger (Julie Power, and she apologizes for fighting that one time. Gert hardly remembers it at all), and starts thinking about where they can put three space fugitives.

Karolina wakes up, sees Xavin and Gert standing over her, and bursts into tears. It takes the two of them and Julie almost half an hour to convince her that no, she’s not dead, they all made it out and Gert is back too. She doesn’t want to let go of either of her partners’ hands, but she still pulls Gert close, kisses her cheek with something a little like a prayer.

It’s a month before Karolina can properly stand, so mostly she floats, trailing colours as she does. It’s the tail end of summer, and something about the season has everyone thinking about new beginnings. Gert comes home one day to the bathroom sink stained pink and Molly proudly sporting a hot pink pixie cut. Klara opted for a crisp bob, and Julie, whistling as she cleans up the mess she’s made, looks a little more sure of her place here.

Gert is thinking about growing her own hair out, only that makes her think of the first time they had to bury her. She asks Julie to help her cut it instead.

“The apartment next to ours is for sale,” Chase mentions casually, some time in September.

They throw caution to the wind and buy it, movie star money and time traveller money going towards doubling the space they have for their family, new-and-old-and-new again. Karolina comments on how her parents probably would have hated it, that this is what their money is being spent on, and it makes the four Pride children all smile in satisfaction.

Building a new world, in their own way.

The wall between the two apartments lasts until late September. Molly ‘accidentally’ punches a hole from one living room until the other, and at that point it’s just easier to tear it down, their living room doubling in size, the support beams reinforced and decorated with climbing vines. Molly and Klara still share a room, even though there’s enough bedrooms for each of them to have their own, but Klara does take over one of the balconies, her and Chase working to replace the railing with walls, adding glass over top, until they’ve got their very own little solar, overflowing with every kind of plant Klara can fit, plus a few more than Gert would bet don’t exist anywhere else. Karolina spends almost as much time in there as Klara does, starts using the veggies to cook elaborate dinners for them all. She can’t work yet, can barely walk, which is obviously getting to her, but being able to do something for the whole household helps.

They all become rather fond of vegan food, although meat and dairy still make appearances at breakfast and dinner for most of them.

Julie buys Xavin a camera after they mention an interest in photography, and Xavin pays her back with new headshots. She goes to every audition with the good luck charm of a kiss from each partner on her cheeks, and sometimes she even gets a part. Xavin starts taking photos of everything, shyly admits to Gert that Skrull aren’t encouraged to find the beauty in things, that it feels like their own little bit of rebellion to do so.

Gert can understand that, and says so.

Xavin also takes charge of Karolina’s recovery, firm and cautious, knowing that if Karolina had her way she’d have already gone and reinjured herself. But there’s a Saturday evening in early November that they all have off, and Xavin invites them all on a hike. They head up into the hills, and for a moment Gert is worried she’ll have to walk past her own grave, and that’s not a journey she’s ready to take yet. But Xavin leads them up another way, and when they reach the top and look over the city of Los Angeles, Karolina is still standing, pride and triumph in every line of her body.

Xavin drops to one knee.

Julie gasps, and Karolina turns, and then her hands are over her mouth, eyes wide. There are two rings in Xavin’s hand, not any metal Gert recognizes, but black like space and sparkling like stars.

“Xavin,” Karolina says, trying to tease with a voice that’s shaking. “We’re already married, darling.”

“This is a new life,” Xavin says, and Molly has Xavin’s camera, capturing it all. “This is a new life, and I want to share it with you. With both of you, my loves, my stars on dark nights.” They pause, and Julie and Karolina both reach out to hold one of Xavin’s hands, and entwine their fingers together between them as well. “We are all part of each other and I want to honour that in any way… In every way I can.”

“You’re supposed to say ‘will you marry me,’” Julie whispers, her tears in no way dimming her smile. “So we can say yes.”

“Right.” Xavin’s dark cheeks don’t quite hide her blush. “Julie Power, Karolina Dean, will you marry me?”

“Yes,” they breathe as one, and then there’s lots of kissing and more crying and shaking hands sliding rings onto waiting fingers.

Somewhere in all this, Chase’s hand finds Gert’s, and Gert thinks about how a ring would look on her own finger. She thinks she might like that a lot.

Gert hasn’t celebrated Hanukkah since her parents died, but Chase surprises her one night with a menorah.

“Just in case,” he says.

Klara had already presented them with a tree, grown perfectly to fit the height of their apartment and strong enough for the mountain of ornaments and lights Molly and Karolina have piled onto it. Gert’s not sure where she stands with religion, but when the first day of Hanukkah comes around she lights a candle anyway. Maybe not everything their parents taught them was bad, she thinks, or has to be treated with suspicion. Sometimes tradition can be grounding.

Klara joins her the next night.

“My husband didn’t let us have one,” she explains, her eyes on the candle. “I didn’t let myself miss it for a long time.”

Gert lets Klara light the candle, and as the flame catches in her eyes, making them glow, she makes a note to look up the closest synagogue.

On Christmas morning, Gert looks around at everyone, awash in the lights from the tree and Karolina’s own rainbow, and has to rub at her eyes for a moment. She must have something in them, that’s all.

Never, not once, did she ever think something like this would be possible. Not growing up, definitely not while on the run. It overwhelms her, and she hides her face in Chase’s shoulder until she gets a hold of herself.

Some time between Christmas and New Year’s her constant refrain of we can make it we can make it we can’ changes to ‘we made it we made it we did it we’re here.’ Because they did. Every newspaper and tv anchor reported on how likely they were to follow their parents, to go bad. And they actively fought against that for a while, saved the world or some lives or some Starbucks along the way. But this is something even more impressive than that, in Gert’s opinion - living normal lives, being happy. Rate for heroes, even more rare for villains and their progeny.

It’s spring, and Nico Minoru finds her at work. She doesn’t look surprised to see her, which means she’s been told Gert is back. She offers her a razor of a smile, dangerous and tentative, and Gert gives her one in return.

“I hope it’s okay I’m here,” she says, voice low, like she’s worried someone will overhear. Like she’s gotten too used to hiding. “A friend of a friend told me you guys were around, and I… I thought I’d say hello.”

She’s got new scars, her style more refined but still enough to make her stand out most places. A bookstore in LA isn’t one of those places, though. Gert interprets her 'friend of a friend’ comment as the superhero gossip pool, because even though Karolina and Julie rarely go out and save the day now, they stay in contact with those who do.

“None of us are doing any heroing anymore,” she warns Nico, because they’ve all lost too many homes and houses to risk what they have now.

“That’s okay,” Nico says. Then, after a beat, in a much quieter voice, “That’s better, honestly.”

They don’t hug yet, but Nico leans over and just rests her forehead on Gert’s shoulder, and Gert rubs at her back. Neither of them say anything, but Nico’s still there when Gert’s shift is over, and they ride the bus home together.

Karolina almost knocks Nico over with the force of her hug.

“We were hoping you’d come,” she says. “We saved a room for you. I’ll even help you paint the walls black, if you want.”

Nico laughs, a noise that sounds almost rusty with disuse, and Karolina joins in a moment later. No one comments on how the joke wasn’t that funny, just lets them have a moment to themselves before all piling on on the hug.

They’re not complete, not totally. Victor died, although there’s rumours circulating that make that sound like a temporary situation. And Alex had his second chance, and threw it away again. Gert’s not sure about the others, but knows that she would not open the door if he came knocking.

The flowers outside start to bloom, and Gert thinks they’ve been here a year now, or just about. Almost everyone is out, but Molly is doing homework at the kitchen table and Chase is attempting to make her an anniversary cake, or a birthday cake, or something. Gert keeps getting distracted from her book by his more creative curses.

Something outside roars.

Chase and her freeze at exactly the same time.

“Attagirl,” he says, face splitting into a grin.

Gert is already headed for the door.

“At this rate, we’re gonna need to buy the building,” Molly says, but she’s laughing, skipping behind Chase as they go to collect another one of their missing pieces.

#runaways #Gert Yorkes #chase stein #molly hayes #klara prast #karolina dean #Xavin #julie power #nico minoru #the gang's all here kinda #Ziggy writes fanfiction #I wrote this in a haunted house it was supposed to be 500 words it's over 3000 I hope it's good take it

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je-wally-wallace · 5 years

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all

//Whoever sent this in, your mom’s a hoe. Just kidding, I love you. This was a little extra, but I still love you.

1. What’s their full name? Why was that chosen? Does it mean anything?

His full name is Jacob Ellington Wallace. Jacob after his grandfather, Ellington after jazz musician Duke Ellington. “Wally” is a nickname that he got in childhood that’s stuck with him throughout his life. Very few people call him Jacob.

2. Do they have any titles? How did they get them?

He has no titles.

3. Did they have a good childhood? What are fond memories they have of it? What’s a bad memory?

He had a good childhood up until age nine. Everything went to shit after he lost his home. His best memories are of when his mother would cook and his family ate dinner together. His mom worked a lot, so she didn’t always get to cook, but when she did, it was always spectacular. His worst memory is of the day of Hurricane Katrina, when he saw his entire neighborhood engulfed in water while sitting on the roof of his childhood home. At the time, he thought the world was going to end. He, his mom, and his sister were stuck on that roof for three days before a rescue helicopter arrived.

4. What is their relationship with their parents? What’s a good and bad memory with them? Did they know both parents?

Wally never knew his father. He was just a random guy from a sperm bank. His mother, when he was young, was his favorite person in the world. As he grew older, however, she grew more distant. The last time he spoke to her was when he was being arrested at the age of sixteen. She told him that he was no longer her son and to not come home.

5. Do they have any siblings? What’s their names? What is their relationship with them? Has their relationship changed since they were kids to adults?

He has a younger sister, Diamond Leanne Wallace. She is two years and a day younger than him; they always had conjoined birthday parties, as their birthdays were a day apart, March 15th and 16th, respectively. Growing up, the Wallace siblings were thick as thieves (pun intended) and remained close until he was sent to adult prison. He hasn’t seen her since he was put in jail; not being welcome in his mother’s home meant being unable to contact her. Losing her hurt more than losing his mother.

6. What were they like at school? Did they enjoy it? Did they finish? What level of higher education did they reach? What subjects did they enjoy? Which did they hate?

He did fine in school up until he lost his home. After that, he often cut classes, getting sent to juvie twice for truancy. When he did go to school, he enjoyed his band class; playing the trumpet was really the only thing that kept him going in his early teen years. After being sent to prison, his education was completely lost. He was never able to make it past the 11th grade. The adult prison he was in also didn’t offer him any opportunity to earn a GED, so he remains without a degree to this day.

7. Did they have lots of friends as a child? Did they keep any of their childhood friends into adulthood?

Wally has always been able to make friends wherever he’s gone. Being forced to move a lot didn’t allow him to keep friends for long, but he was always able to make new ones. The friends he had in middle and high school weren’t good influences, and he’s glad to no longer associate with them.

8. Did they have pets as a child? Do they have pets as an adult? Do they like animals?

He had a cat as a child, Muffin, but he ran away and drowned in the storm. He hasn’t had a pet since.

9. Do animals like them? Do they get on well with animals?

Upon being arrested, a police dog was sicked on him, so he has a strong fear of dogs. For some reason of cruel irony, dogs want to interact with him whenever he’s in a space with them, but he never wants to interact with them back. Other than dogs, he gets along with most animals.

10. Do they like children? Do children like them? Do they have or want any children? What would they be like as a parent? Or as a godparent/babysitter/ect?

He likes children, and children generally like him, but he doesn’t want any of his own, not now at least. He would never willingly allow a child to be born into homelessness.

11. Do they have any special diet requirements? Are they a vegetarian? Vegan? Have any allergies?

Wally will eat anything and everything presented to him, even if it’s not a food he particularly likes.

12. What is their favourite food?

Jambalaya. It’s a dish comprised of rice, meat– chicken, sausage, seafood, or a combination of the three– vegetables, and spices. You can’t forget the spices.

13. What is their least favourite food?

Cabbage. Fuck cabbage.

14. Do they have any specific memories of food/a restaurant/meal?

He has many fond memories of his mom’s cooking. He used to say that she made the best jambalaya in all of New Orleans and would fight anyone who disagreed with him.

15. Are they good at cooking? Do they enjoy it? What do others think of their cooking?

He has absolutely no idea how to cook for himself and wouldn’t know where to begin. He can use a microwave, that’s about it.

16. Do they collect anything? What do they do with it? Where do they keep it?

He doesn’t collect anything. He’s not big on material items.

17. Do they like to take photos? What do they like to take photos of? Selfies? What do they do with their photos?

He doesn’t take photos, as he has nothing to take them with.

18. What’s their favourite genre of: books, music, tv shows, films, video games and anything else.

He’s not big on reading or video games, and hasn’t seen a TV show or movie in several years. Music, however, is something that he can’t live without. He finds beauty in any and every genre.

19. What’s their least favourite genres?

The last question kind of answered this one.

20. Do they like musicals? Music in general? What do they do when they’re favourite song comes?

Musicals, no. He couldn’t afford to see a Broadway show even when he wasn’t homeless. But music, yes. He loves music. When he really likes a song, he closes his eyes to fully take it in.

21. Do they have a temper? Are they patient? What are they like when they do lose their temper?

He tries to be patient with people, but once his temper is lost, he becomes hyper aggressive.

22. What are their favourite insults to use? What do they insult people for? Or do they prefer to bitch behind someone’s back?

He’s not particularly creative when it comes to insults. Most of his insults are based on the surface, or about how annoying a person is. He’ll talk about people to their face, and behind their back if they especially bother him.

23. Do they have a good memory? Short term or long term? Are they good with names? Or faces?

His memory is average. He’s better at faces than names, but if someone leaves an impression on him, he’ll never forget their name.

24. What is their sleeping pattern like? Do they snore? What do they like to sleep on? A soft or hard mattress?

He’s always been a light sleeper. If he hears any sort of noise in the night, he’ll immediately wake up. He sleeps an average amount, not too much or too little. Over the years, Wally has learned how to fall asleep on any surface. Most nights, he sleeps on floors. If he has a choice with a bed involved, however, a soft mattress would be preferred.

25. What do they find funny? Do they have a good sense of humour? Are they funny themselves?

Wally finds a great amount of amusement in dumb humor. He’s not the most comedic, but he does what he can to try to make his friends smile.

26. How do they act when they’re happy? Do they sing? Dance? Hum? Or do they hide their emotions?

He can often be found humming a tune when he’s in a good mood. His face is very expressive, so when he’s happy, his face will show it with a grin. He tries to be as optimistic as he can, mostly for the sake of everyone around him.

27. What makes them sad? Do they cry regularly? Do they cry openly or hide it? What are they like when they are sad?

The thing that makes him the most upset is seeing the people he cares for suffer. Most of his friends, like him, have no home to call their own, so suffering is expected. He tries his best to make them as comfortable as possible, but he knows it’s never enough. He keeps quiet when he’s especially sad.

28. What is their biggest fear? What in general scares them? How do they act when they’re scared?

Wally is scared of two things, rain and dogs. Whenever either of those things are present, he is extremely tense. He tries not to freak out, but his face tells all.

29. What do they do when they find out someone else’s fear? Do they tease them? Or get very over protective?

For the most part, he’ll try to not bring it up. If someone else teases someone over their fear, he gets overprotective.

30. Do they exercise? Regularly? Or only when forced? What do they act like pre-workout and post-work out?

If running away from cops and angry pickpocketing victims counts as exercise, then yes, he exercises quite often.

31. Do they drink? What are they like drunk? What are they like hungover? How do they act when other people are drunk or hungover? Kind or teasing?

Wally’s never been drunk or under the influence of any drug. He’s seen plenty of others do it and he doesn’t see the appeal.

32. What do they dress like? What sorta shops do they buy clothes from? Do they wear the fashion that they like? What do they wear to sleep? Do they wear makeup? What’s their hair like?

His clothes are all second-hand clothes that he gets from donation centers or thrift stores. His wardrobe is really nothing to behold, and he doesn’t care about appearances except when it comes to his hair. His hair naturally grows into an afro and he tries to maintain his nice curls.

33. What underwear do they wear? Boxers or briefs? Lacey? Comfy granny panties?

He primarily wears boxers but has nothing against briefs.

34. What is their body type? How tall are they? Do they like their body?

Wally is 5′10″. He isn’t quite sure how much he weighs, but he’s definitely underweight. He’s fine with his body.

35. What’s their guilty pleasure? What is their totally unguilty pleasure?

He doesn’t believe in guilty pleasures. Either you like something or you don’t. Why make yourself feel guilty about it?

36. What are they good at? What hobbies do they like? Can they sing?

He doesn’t have many hobbies, any really, but back in the day he was good at

37. Do they like to read? Are they a fast or slow reader? Do they like poetry? Fictional or nonfiction?

Answered in question #18.

38. What do they admire in others? What talents do they wish they had?

He admires when people are both knowledgeable and passionate about things. He doesn’t wish for a particular talent, but he wishes he had more knowledge.

39. Do they like letters? Or prefer emails/messaging?

He doesn’t do any of that.

40. Do they like energy drinks? Coffee? Sugary food? Or can they naturally stay awake and alert?

He’s naturally able to stay awake. He thinks energy drinks and coffee taste like shit. He doesn’t dislike sugary food, but doesn’t have any intense craving for it either.

41. What’s their sexuality? What do they find attractive? Physically and mentally? What do they like/need in a relationship?

He doesn’t have a label for his sexuality, but he’s felt attraction to men and women. He doesn’t do romance, but is quite sexually active. In terms of the physical, he tends to go for people who are smaller than him and have soft facial features. He doesn’t like facial hair, but has no issues with hair in other places. He likes head hair that he can pull on. In terms of the emotional, he likes people who are passionate, not only in the bedroom, but in their daily lives. He tends to gravitate towards people who’ve faced hardship in some way, shape, or form. He has been in love before, but doesn’t like to admit it.

42. What are their goals? What would they sacrifice anything for? What is their secret ambition?

His number one goal is survival. He doesn’t care what it takes, even if it means breaking a law or two; he gave up on following the rules a long time ago. His secret ambition is to get off the streets and make an honest name for himself, but he doesn’t see that happening now or ever, as he has no education or financial resources, so for now he’ll continue living as an outlaw.

43. Are they religious? What do they think of religion? What do they think of religious people? What do they think of non religious people?

Wally was raised going to the local Protestant church every Sunday. Even when he had no home, his mom would still drag him to church. The church was very generous to him and his family, so he has a generally positive attitude towards religion. He thinks it’s strange that people could believe in nothing, but at the same time, he has trouble understanding why God would let his life be so shitty.

44. What is their favourite season? Type of weather? Are they good in the cold or the heat? What weather do they complain in the most?

Sunny weather is the best weather, in his opinion. To him, summer is the best season. Spring can be good at times, except when it rains. Even though North Carolina summers can be brutal, but he’s used to it.

45. How do other people see them? Is it similar to how they see themselves?

It honestly depends on who you ask. People who don’t really know him or the things he does would probably say he’s a nice guy. People who see past his bright grin and know about the things he’s done would probably call him a piece of shit. He’s more inclined to agree with the latter sentiment.

46. Do they make a good first impression? Does their first impression reflect them accurately? How do they introduce themselves?

He tries his best to make good first impressions, but the first impression he gives doesn’t paint the full picture of who he is as a person.

47. How do they act in a formal occasion? What do they think of black tie wear? Do they enjoy fancy parties and love to chit chat or loathe the whole event?

He can’t remember the last time he went to a formal event. He likes black tie wear on other people, but can’t afford a nice suit of his own. If he were to go to a fancy event, he’d chat up as many people as he could (and steal their wallets when they’re drunk and distracted).

48. Do they enjoy any parties? If so what kind? Do they organise the party or just turn up? How do they act? What if they didn’t want to go but were dragged along by a friend?

It would be the same if he was invited to a formal event. He wouldn’t plan a party of his own, he wouldn’t know where to begin. If a friend dragged him to a party he didn’t want to be at, he’d grin and bear it for the friend’s sake.

49. What is their most valued object? Are they sentimental? Is there something they have to take everywhere with them?

He doesn’t like to get attached to material objects, but he has one that he can’t live without, his iPod shuffle. His iPod has been with him since he was in elementary school. He wouldn’t know what to do without it.

50. If they could only take one bag of stuff somewhere with them: what would they pack? What do they consider their essentials?

There isn’t a hypothetical for him, he does have a bag like that. The backpack that he got from the Salvation Army contains his clothes, a bus card, a gym membership card, a refillable water bottle, an assortment of snacks, his iPod shuffle, and varying amounts of cash.

#answered questions #askbox meme #Anonymous

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segadores-y-soldados · 7 years

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Omg yes that is fantastic. *also bangs hands on table* more jack and Lena content. Docs or art I don't care. I am planning on some in my r76 Big Bang fic. And thanks. Hardcore rt trash here. The red vs overwatch content makes me cry happily as canon rvb currently destroys me. But omg super large Reyes Morrison family give me more headcanons and stuff fandom

NICE, omg, dude, you should totally send me your fic when it goes up! I’ll give it a read!AND BRUH. SUPER HARDCORE RT TRASH HERE TOO. I just recently got @starsherit into RVB and I’ve been giggling “like a right mung” since she started. SO HYPED FOR SEASON 15, YES, MORE WAR CONSPIRACIES.And bruh, bruh - let’s see....So when you look at timelines and “the lore,” the first playable character recruited by OW after the Crisis was probably Mei. Now, I know Mei has quite the in-game reputation, but I really love picturing her with the old Strike team. I imagine she and Jack had really intense, passionate conversations about protecting the environment and restoring damaged regions of the world to their natural state - they’re both really intense about preserving the longevity of the planet’s natural resources at any cost. But also like... Gabriel taking Mei to visit San Francisco and Los Angeles for the first time, showing her some of the most famous American Chinatown neighborhoods, showing her some heritage Chinese villages here in California. Jack taking her to New York City and the UN Headquarters for the first time. Torbjorn showing her the Northern Lights in Sweden. Reinhardt walking her through the Black Forest as they birdwatch. Ana giving her a tour of Giza and Cairo and talking about the pyramids.And then Jesse. Oh BOY. I got a lotta headcanons about Jesse. I’m firmly in the camp of “Gabriel took in this semi-broken, orphaned 17yo to prevent him from spending the rest of his life in jail” as opposed to the “Gabriel blackmailed him into joining Blackwatch.” Gabriel has a soft spot in his heart for “problem cases” - when they return to Grand Mesa, Jack is frustrated that Gabriel “effectively adopted a child without consulting him first,” but he’s on board, he too would never turn down helping someone like Jesse. The two of them essentially teach Jesse the remaining high school topics that he missed out on, and then they get him to take the GED. Jesse is reluctant to be a part of OW at first, but everyone - Gabe and Jack, the Strike team, Fareeha, Torb’s niece Angela - they all make him feel so welcome and so at home, and even though Gabe and Jack tell him he can look for other jobs in the States or Mexico when he turns 18, Jesse knows the only place he wants to be is with his new family.Angela is a bit unique - she’s Torbjorn’s niece through his wife’s family, but since her parents died in the war, her father’s siblings have helped raise her. She’s a bit detached from OW in the beginning because she is determined to pursue med school. So she spends many years continuing her education before she ever formally joins OW, but by the time she does, everyone already loves and cares for her. They all barely understand half the jargon and terminology she uses, but they encourage her to talk about her projects and ideas. Surprisingly, Gabriel is the one to first get her to talk about her ideas for the Caduceus Staff - he loves the idea, not because “it’ll be a useful tool,” but because he KNOWS it will save lives, because he had to watch Jack struggle through healing them all with only biotic fields during the war.Post-Recall, the newest addition to the family is Sombra. In my headcanons, Sombra has a number of ideological and personality parallels with Soldier/Jack - she is very anti-corporation, very anti-corruption, very pro-“do-it-yourself”-justice. She has a mischievous, playful nature that reminds Reaper/Gabriel of Jack in a number of ways, right down to the “You don’t mind if I call you ‘Gabe,’ right?” line. And Gabriel knows he shouldn’t act fatherly towards her, because she is a grown woman with her own hopes and dreams and ambitions, but he feels protective of her - he’ll do anything to prevent her from losing that passion and hope the same way that Jack lost his. Her goals of bringing down corruption and unearthing the conspiracy align with his, and as they form an alliance they grow closer - Gabriel by rediscovering a lot of his own lost dreams, and Sombra by finding familial stability she has lacked so far.

#oh boy #this got outta hand #the reyes-morrison family #team talon #jesse mccree #sombra #gabriel reyes #jack morrison #reaper #soldier 76 #mei #zhou mei-ling #mercy #angela ziegler #thank you!#headcanons #silly stuff #saingirl101

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usagijimin · 7 years

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Parlez-vous français?-Narry

Niall hates French. Well…he doesn’t hate it per say. He still thinks it’s a beautiful language and all; it’s just that he’s not very good at it. No matter how much time he spends making flash cards or staring at verb conjugations, he just can’t make anything stick. The only reason he hasn’t dropped the class yet is because of Harry, the grad student who’s been assigned to teach the two sections of Elementary French 1. He’d shown up to the very first day of the semester with a beret perched atop his long brown, curly hair, a box of fresh croissants tucked under his arm, and a widewide grin. Niall had liked him immediately. He was energetic despite their class’ early start time and the seeming lack of enthusiasm from his students, always moving quickly and constantly around the classroom in his painted on black skinny jeans. He was also unfailingly patient with Niall, no matter how embarrassingly slow he was at grasping certain concepts. More than once Harry had offered extra help for those who needed it, but Niall’s been too nervous to take him up on the offer yet.

’It’s the fourth week of the semester when Harry begins class with a brief announcement about the university’s French club. “I’m in charge of the club this year,” Harry announced, sat on the edge of his desk at the front of the room. “We meet once a week on Thursday nights in this room to watch movies, talk, and eat French food. It’s a lot of fun! This week we will be watching Les Choristes and making crepes, so you all should come and feel free to bring some friends! All are welcome!” The blonde girl next to Niall raises her hand. “If we go do we get extra credit?” “Peut-être…ou peut-être pas. You’ll just have to go to the meeting and find out, Amanda,” Harry replied, his smile turning slightly mischievous. “Now, let’s talk about la famille!” Niall already spends way too much of his time thinking about French class, so he’s not so sure why he finds himself standing outside the door to his classroom on Thursday night instead of out at the bars with Louis or Liam. He takes a deep breath and opens the door. There are about fifteen other people there. He doesn’t recognize a single one of them from class or from around campus. Harry’s at the front of the room, a griddle and his supplies all set up on his desk. He’s wearing a maroon sweater, the sleeves rolled up to reveal a series of tattoos. “Niall!” Harry calls out and their eyes meet. Harry’s green eyes are so warm it makes Niall insides suddenly feel like melted butter. He can’t help the smile that makes its way onto his face. “Come tell me what you want in your crepe!” Niall can’t look away from Harry’s long bony fingers as he pours some of the batter onto the griddle. He’s always wearing at least two rings on his fingers, never the same ones two days in a row. Harry starts adding in ingredients at Niall’s request. Caramel sauce. Sliced banana. Chocolate chips. When it begins to brown, Harry folds the crepe delicately and with his spatula slides it onto Niall’s plate. Niall’s not surprised to find that Harry is a good cook. The crepe is warm and soft in his mouth and he finds himself finishing it before Harry’s managed to even start the film. The film is about a music teacher who goes to work at a school for troubled youth and ends up forming a chorus. It’s better than Niall thought it would be. The moment it’s over, the room fills with the soft buzz of voices as everyone rises from their seats, pulls their coats on, and begin to quickly disperse, leaving Harry behind to clean up and pack up all his supplies. Niall stays behind to help him, earning two dimples in the process. “Thank you for coming, Niall. You were my only student who did.” Niall scratches at the side of his neck, feeling his skin grow a bit warm. “S'no problem. Was a good movie.” Harry’s face lights up at this. “I’m glad you liked it! I think it’s one of my favorite movies of all time.” “Really?” Harry nods, wrapping the long chord of the griddle around and around it and tucking it back in the box where it belongs. “Yeah. I’m a big fan of music and I think the music is really good. Also…I’m just a sucker for a good old fashioned redemption narratives.” Niall snorts and watches Harry struggle to juggle six plastic bags full of supplies, the griddle, and his own satchel in his two hands for a few seconds before he reaches forward and takes the griddle into his hands. “I’ll help you carry this.” “Thanks, I appreciate it. I promise my car’s parked close by.” They take the elevator down to the first floor of the old, dusty language building and they step out into the cool February night. Harry leads him two blocks to his red town and country mini van. “What?” Harry asks defensively when he sees Niall’s reaction. “It’s a hand-me-down.” “Sure,” Niall replies, biting his lip to hide his smile. Harry opens the side door and dumps all the plastic bags on one of the seats before he takes the griddle from Niall’s hands. “How far away do you live? Do you need a ride? "I’m alright. It’s only about a fifteen minute walk.” “Come on, get in. I insist. It’s the least I can do after you helped me out.” “Fine,” Niall says, walking around the passenger seat and climbing in. The car smells like the evergreen air-freshener hanging from the rearview mirror. Harry turns on the ignition and pulls onto the street. The two sit in silence for a solid minute after he gives Harry directions. Finally, Niall clears his throat and asks, “so, why French?” Harry laughs and uses his pinky finger to switch on his turn signal and Niall’s not sure why he finds that so cute. “I’m afraid the story’s not all that interesting. I took French in high school and really liked it so I kept taking French classes in college, thinking I might minor in it. I didn’t decide to major in it until my Sophomore year because of this great class I had on French Romanticism. And now four years later I’m here, doing research, working towards a Masters. What about you?” “What’s my major or why I’m taking French?” “Either really,” Harry says lightly, sparing Niall a brief glance before looking back at the road. “Well…I study astronomy and physics.” “Oh?” “I guess I like space. Always have. Had these glow-in the dark stars in my room growing up and I always liked to arrange them to form constellations.” “So I’m guessing French is just a ged ed requirement?” “Yeah.” Niall pauses. “Look…I’ve been meaning to say this, but I’m sorry I’m so bad at it all. French I mean.” “Why are you apologizing to me? You have nothing to be sorry for, Niall. Learning a new language is difficult and sometimes French is unnecessarily difficult.” “But not as difficult as I make it out to be. The other students aren’t having as hard a time as I am.” “The other students don’t even pay attention to what I’m saying most of the time and they’re not interested in what they’re learning. You listen and you try, and that’s all I care about.” Harry pauses and looks at Niall longer than he should while sitting in the driver’s seat, his expression soft. “And you came tonight which helps validates me a bit as a teacher.” Niall wants to tell Harry that it’s not the French that makes him pay attention to Harry or why he made the decision to come tonight, but he remains quiet. In the absence of sound Harry turns the radio up and the two nod their heads along to The Eagles. Harry pulls up to Niall’s small, red brick apartment building and shifts into Park. Niall reaches for the door before he can say something stupid, only to be stopped by Harry’s large hand on his shoulder. Niall’s theorist feels tight all of a sudden. “And I know I’ve said it before. If you feel overwhelmed or need help, I have office hours. Feel free to come. I usually spend the entire time on my computer watching Netflix. ” “Alright,” Niall says. “I’ll stop by.” “Good,” Harry replies, giving his shoulder a little squeeze. “Have a good night, Niall.” “You too.” Louis and Liam are sitting in the living room playing Mario Kart when Niall comes in. “Why are you so red?” Louis asks. Niall rushes to his room before they can ask him anymore.

Niall spends five whole minutes in front of the bathroom mirror, running his fingers through his hair, toying with different strands of his dark hair, before he calms himself enough to go knock on the door to Harry’s office. “Come in!” Harry yells. Niall takes a deep breath and pushes open the door. Harry’s sat reclining on his desk chair, his feet propped up on his desk, a laptop haphazardly propped up on his knees. “Morning Niall,” he grins. Unlike usual, his hair’s pulled back into a tight bun and he’s wearing a Green Bay Packers sweatshirt. “You’re going to break the chair and your back,” Niall says in lieu of a greeting. He sets his backpack down on the ground and makes himself at home in the black, plastic chair in front of him. “None of that,” Harry replies, his eyebrows furrowed and his lower lip jutted out in his best attempt at a serious expression. “You’re the one that came to me for wisdom and guidance, remember?” “Which is why I want you to live long enough for you to actually help me.” “Fair point.” He grabs the laptop and swings his legs down from the desk. “How are you doing today? Your classes all going well?” “Midterms,” Niall answers solemnly. Harry nods understandingly. “It’s a rough time for everybody.” “I’m running on no sleep and two Red Bull’s right now.” “That’s so unhealthy for you!” Harry scoffs. “Says the man who has a coffee cup on his desk right now.” “It’s tea!” “Yeah sure. Let me be the judge of that,” Niall says, leaning forward to take the cup in his hand. Harry grabs Niall’s wrist abruptly to stop. “It’s tea! I swear on my life!” “You sound a little defensive there. Afraid of being called a hypocrite?” Niall shakes Harry’s grip and grabs the cup. Once again Harry grabs Niall’s wrist and the two struggle to gain control. It’s not until Niall’s got complete control and their laughing subsides, that Niall realizes how close their faces are to one another. Harry’s breath fans across his face, the tip of his nose just brushing Harry’s. He can see the small mole on Harry’s cheek up close and personal, and he wants more than anything to kiss it. He quickly looks down at the cup in his hand and pulls back the lid just the smallest amount to reveal a cup of coffee. “I knew-” He’s interrupted by Harry’s mouth pressing hard against his. Niall lets the cup fall to the floor in favor of reaching out and cradling Harry’s face. His lips are warm and wet, and his breath is shaky when he pulls back for a moment, his eyes still closed. He lets Harry kiss him again, this time with slow sweeps of his tongue, leaving the bitter taste off coffee behind in his mouth. When Harry pulls back a moment later his lips look so plump and pink. His eyes widen. “Shit.”

#I'm not obsessed with the idea of Harry as a French major #you are #anyway...hope people like it #narry #narry drabble #narry fic

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theleaderdotinfo-blog · 5 years

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Southern Costa Blanca Bowls Roundup 14 Jan 19 has been published at http://www.theleader.info/2019/01/14/southern-costa-blanca-bowls-roundup-14-jan-19/

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Southern Costa Blanca Bowls Roundup 14 Jan 19

Vistabella Bowls Report With Lynne Bishop Happy new year everyone, let’s hope 2019 will be a good one on and off the green. After much indulgence and merriment we find ourselves back playing the game we all enjoy...good luck to you all. SAL Enterprise Division Albatrosses were away to Quesada Pearls doing a grand job by winning on three rinks to share the points equally. Shots VB 78(6) - 116(6) Q. The Drivers were also away at Quesada, they played the Diamonds and picked up just two points, unfortunately they were unable to field a full side and were penalised for that. Shots, VB 47(2) - 100(10) Q. Discovery Division. The Eagles were at home to top of the division El Rancho Pintos, they had a great result, three winning rinks plus the overall shots...well done Eagles. Shots. VB 75(8) - 73(4) ER. Voyager Div. The Buggies at home to El Rancho Pioneers carried on with their winning streak with four wins and a hatful of shots. Shots, VB 128(10) - 46(2) ER. SOUTHERN LEAGUE. The start of the second half of the season saw a couple of home derby's, the first was between the two Division A sides the Picadors v the Lanzadores, there was some close games as you would expect on the home turf but Lanzadores took the majority of points with four winning rinks. Shots, Picadors 65(2) - 92(10) Lanzadores. Thank you to Ged Rees (new bowler) for dropping in at short notice. Division C. The Swingers v Conquistadores. The Swingers won on three rinks to the Conquistadores two with the long game also in the Swingers favour. Nobody enjoys playing against there own club mates but it’s all played in a good spirit. Shots, Swingers 119(8) - 64(4) Conquistadores. WINTER LEAGUE had a bye this week but still stay number one in the league, we resume play next week at San Miguel...good luck! SAN LUIS BOWLS CLUB REPORT 11.01.19. The first full week of league matches 2019 has found many of us who live here all year round, reaching for extra warm layers, gloves, hats and hand-warmers; hopefully just a cold snap and so far no snow! SA League Monday 7th Klingons away v MM Matadors; definitely a game of 2 halves with an excellent result, 114-66, points 12-0. Winners: Colin Jackson, June & Keith Jones, 27-6, Ann Holland, Sheila Cammack, Ray Pollock 24-17, Giuseppe Galelli, Janet & Peter McEneany 20-17, Margaret & Neil Morrison, Ian Kenyon 20-12, William Holtham, Sabrina & Russell Marks 23-14. Trekkers home v LM Explorers, had a good result; close shots 89-83, 8pts-4. Winners: Allen Bowen, Suzi Cooper, Scott Malden 20-17, Irene Everett, Peter Fuller, Les Bedford 20-12, Judy Carroll, Bill Webb, Derrick Cooper 21-9. Vulcans away v EI Saturns, 75 shots-82, 4pts-8. Dennis Jackson, Margaret Clarke, Ken Dullaway 17-14, Chris Jackson, Sue Ross, Drew Russell 18-16. Romulans, home v CB Flamingoes, a hard day at the office; shots 45-125, 0pts-12. Wednesday 9th Winter League: away v Quesada, some close matches which could have gone either way but the second half of the season is ahead with all to play for: 2pts-10, 75 shots-93. Winners: Ros Holmes, Jo Pering, Ray Pollock, Julian Pering 17-15. FED 4’s League: Thursday 10th SL Ospreys v SL Condors, a hard fought match, Osprey Winners 6-2, 64 shots-44: Shirley Verity, Janet McEneany, Giuseppe Galelli, Peter McEneany 18-16, Pam Lockett, June Jones, Ray Clarke, Keith Jones 31-7. Condors Winners: Judy Carroll, Bob Bromley, Bill Webb, Drew Russell 21-15. Southern League: Friday 11th SL Lions v SL Tigers, a close battle, Lions won 7pts-5, shots 80-79. Winners: Kath Reid, Pam Lockett, Ian Kenyon 17-17, William Holtham, Ray Clarke, Giuseppe Galelli 22-12, Margaret Morrison, Keith Phillips, Neil Morrison 21-12. Tigers, Winners: Shirley Verity, Jo & Jules Pering 17-8, Kevin McKenna, Marina Beardsall, Barry Edwards 21-12. Leopards home v Mazarron Miners, 2pts-10, 65 shots-84. Leopards awarded 2pts & 10 shots; because Mazarron were a team short. Pumas, away v ER Rangers a great result 9-3, 113 shots-67. Winners: Pat Baylis, Chris Lythe, Ralph Jones 24-13, Chris Phillips, Terry Baylis, Geoff Francis 19-19, Val & Allan Lever, Harry Epsom 22-11, Robert Hicks, Bob Bruce, Lyndon Johnson 37-6. For more information, SLBC website: www.sanluisbowls.byethost7.com or contact June Jones, Club Captain: 691903773. Sheila Cammack COUNTRY BOWLS with Geoff Paylor and Jo Richardson The Flamingos travelled to San Luis hoping to find the Romulans ‘cloaking device’ had failed. Trekkies out there will know what I mean. As it was, the Romulans were lost in space and the Flamingos executed the necessary ‘ coup de grace’ winning on all 5 rinks. What a great result and congratulations all round. Pat Emmett, Graham Richardson & Jim Rennie 23 – 13, Sylvia Rennie, Ray Emmett & Phil Warrington 29 – 8, Carole Donnellan, Lynne Bryce & Dennis Birkett 29 – 6, Sandra McIlroy, Derek Jiggins & Gordon Dixon 30 – 8, Pat Ray, Peter Robins & Brian Ray 14 – 10, Flamingos 12 – Romulans 0 Many thanks to Brian Ray, the skipper for the day. Well done Flamingos. Friday saw the Gecko’s away to Pilar de la Horadada on a cold cold Friday morning but a lovely warm welcome from the Royals. The Geckos managed to steal an away victory winning on 3 rinks with a score of 8 – 4 . Total shots 100 to Country Bowls Geckos and 83 to Horadada Royals. Well done to the Geckos & thank you to Geoff Eggleton as acting captain. Great result. For more information on Country Bowls Club please visit the website www.countrybowlsmurcia.com ring 966191552 or email [email protected] El Rancho Bowls Club With the season’s festivities over and the Pintos playing the Eagles at Vistabella, what a splendid day it was, if a mite chilly in the shade. The Pintos came away with 2 rinks and just a deficit of two in the overall shots, which is always a good away score, I enjoyed a good match in great company, as I am sure we all did. Meanwhile the Raiders played host to Greenlands Chestnuts and came away with 4 rinks and a draw, a very good day for them. In the afternoon the Palominos were also at Vistabella playing the Buggies and put in a good effort against a stronger team, but it’s all about the company. The Palominos came away with one rink but were not shamed and gained a little more experience. Friday morning found the Mustangs at La Siesta playing the Blues, their seemed to be a few trying to shake off colds from UK trips and a chilly start reminded us why we live in Spain. The Mustangs came away with just the one rink, but several were close run games. Meanwhile the Broncos entertained La Siesta Gold and played well taking 3 rinks in a chill that made joint moving an early challenge. In the afternoon the Rangers played host to San Luis Pumas and were grateful for the afternoon warmth, taking one rink and drawing another. For further membership information contact Sheila Cox at [email protected] or Brian Taylor on 9654077093 or at [email protected] HORADADA BOWLS CLUB by Irene Graham First report of 2019. A very Happy New Year to all. Our first match of the year was Monday in the discovery division on a lovely sunny day and we were away to Emerald Isle Moonrakers. Four rinks out the five could not have been any closer. Only separated by one or two shots. The 5th rink was a better result and gave us the overall shots. Our winning rink was: Jenny Davis, Peter Davis and Sheila Westwood 18 – 11, our drawing rink was: Wayne Jackson, Les Davies and Mick Kirby 16 -16 Very well played to all of the team, so close and yet so far. The final score was 78 shots for to 75 against, giving us 5 points to the Moonrakers 7. Not such a good result for Friday’s home match against Country Bowls Geckos in the Southern League. Once again after a cold start the match was played under beautiful blue skies. The Royals only managed a win on two rinks, so very played to our winning rinks of: John Goddard, Jack Linehan and Barry Evans 31 – 10, Mark Jukes, Ken barber and Roy Thomson 16 – 15, The final result was 83 shots for to 100 against, giving us 4 points to the Geckos 8. Keep ‘em bowls a rollin’ team for better results next week and move up those tables. Horadada offers a warm welcome to new or experienced bowlers, and provides the necessary equipment. Our roll-up days for this friendly club are Tuesday, Thursday and Sunday mornings. Please contact Fred Trigwell on 659139129 for more information. La Siesta Bowls Club By Rod Edgerton Two home matches in the Enterprise Division against opponents from San Miguel the Beagles beating the Apollos by a close 88 shots to 84 with the rink of Dawn Taylor, Dave Davies and Irene Mangan winning by an impressive 33 shots 9 whilst Brian Gardiner with Harold Charleton and Jenny Bowman won 18-16, so 4 points to La Siesta. Against the Alsatians a better result for the home team with a 10 points to 2 victory by 102 shots to 71. Dawn Taylor, Jenny Bowman and Irene Mangan having the biggest winning margin by 30 shots to 9.Pat Harman,John Taylor and Jean Cooper and Trish and Pat Reilly with George Richardson both winning their matches by 7 shots.Completing the winning rinks were Ramsay Sinclair,Brian Gardiner and Alex Morrice winning by 5 shots. La Siesta Sputnicks entertained the Pointers in the Voyager Division and in another close match lost by 91 shots to 87. Winning rinks for the Sputniks came from Dot Kocsis,Molly Russell and Lee Plummer winning 24-11 and Gary Randall,Sheila Millward and Jim Eastwood winning 16-13.So 4 points to La Siesta. In the Winter League San Miguel beat La Siesta by 107 shots to 67 with the winning rink for La Siesta being provided by Barbara Cooper, Alan Mawer, Florence and Mike Edwards by 23 shots to 11. In the Fed4’s the Hoopoes played Country Bowls and lost by 51 shots to 40 the winning rink coming from Dot and Joe Kocsis with Tony Campell and Norman Adcroft winning by 17 shots to 16. In the Southern League A Division the Blues entertained El Rancho Mustangs and won by 92 shots to 76.The winning rinks were Irene Mangan,John Taylor and Alex Morrice winning 25-11 whilst Dawn Taylor, Pat Harman and Jenny Bowman won 20-13. The other winning rinks came from Trish and Pat Reilly with George Richardson and Ann and Robert Heath with John Ball, so 10 points to the Blues TheGolds in B Division were away at El Rancho and won by 85 shots to 77 winning on 2 rinks.The winning rinks were Jo Elkin,Tony Campbell and Vic Mahomet winning by 25 shots to 12 and Barbara Cooper with Irene and Dave Laverick winning by 21 shots to 14. The overall points being shared 6 points each. In Division C the Silvers travelled to La Marina Merlins and lost by 100 shots to 62 with the winning rink coming from Tom Heaslewood, Ann Edgerton and Lee Plummer winning by 13 shots to 12. Quesada Bowls Club Report by Dee Stephenson It was back to business on the bowling greens this week after the Christmas and New Year break. The week started with mixed fortunes for our teams in the South Alicante Winter League. Quesada Diamonds played Vistabella Drivers who unfortunately could only field 4 teams, so the Diamonds started the day 10 points to 2. However, they won on 3 rinks and only lost by one shot on the fourth rink. So the shots were Diamonds 100 and Vistabella Drivers 47. A really good start to the season by the Diamonds - well done! Meanwhile, the Pearls played Vistabella Albatross and the match was drawn 6 points each. Pearls took the shots 116 to 78. Currently in 4th place in the league with 80 points, there are only 3 points between them and 2nd placed Emerald Isle Titans with 83 points, so theres still a lot to play for this season. Rubies didnt have a very good day when they played away to Mazarron Miners. They lost 12-0 and the shots were Mazarron Miners 108, Rubies 56. Onwards and upwards Rubies! In the Southern League, Quesada Swallows played La Marina Ospreys at home and in a close match won 8 points to 4 and 85 shots to 72. On Friday Quesada Swans hosted Quesada Swifts at home. A lovely sunny afternoon, the match, as always, was played in good spirits. However, the Swifts won the match 10 points to 2 and the shots were 108 to 70. This performance means that the Swifts maintain their 2nd position in the league. Meanwhile on Wednesday Quesada played San Luis in the winter league. They won the match 10 points to 2 and the shots by 93 to 70. Overall, a good start to the season for our squads - well done! At Quesada Bowls Club we welcome both new and experienced bowlers. We’re a friendly club with a mixture of competition, league and casual players. In addition to league matches and Club competitions we have our popular Saturday morning chicken drive which is open to visitors, and we have free coaching for new members. So come along and see what we have to offer! Contact our membership secretary Angie Goddard [email protected] San Miguel Bowls Club – week ending 11th January 19 By Gail Willshire All 4 Monday league teams were in action this week:

The Dalmatians were home to Emerald Isle Neptunes winning 8:4, 87 shots to 80. Unfortunatley, due to an administrative error, the result ended up the opposite way round – oops! Therefore, the best counting rink was Bob Nesbitt, Dave Champion & Barbara Scotthern, 21:15 (sounds familiar);

The Beagles were home to Emerald Isle Titans, winning 10:2, 96 shots to 79, the best rink, once again, going to Margaret Patterson, Johnny Raby & Stuart Denholm 20:13;

The Pointers, away to La Siesta Sputniks won 8:4, 91 shots to 87, with the highest result coming from Paul Cutting, Barry Jones & Alan Campbell, 24:14;

The Alsatians, away to La Siesta Apollos, unfortunatley gained just 2 points, 71 shots to 102 with the win provided by Alan Booth, Ken Hope & Cliff Plaisted, 22:13.

Wednesday’s Winter League team were at La Siesta, coming away with 10 points, 107:67. The prize for best rink went to Sue Milner, Dave Johnson and Gail & Fred Willshire, 24:4. This result puts them joint second in the league. All our Fed 4s teams played at home on Thursday. The Cherokees faced the Mohawks winning on all rinks, with the shots 64:36. The highest scoring rink was Noel Davis, Gail Willshire, Carol Broomfield & Fred Willshire, 32:9. The Apaches played the La Siesta Parakeets, gaining 6 points, 46 shots to 43. The best rink comprised Anita Brown, Ron Nairey, Mike Douglas & Alan Campbell, 21:8. On a very cold Friday, both teams managed to score maximum points – marvelous! The Boxers were up against the La Manga Crusaders winning 128 shots to 52, with Paul Cutting, Pete Masters & Frank Scotthern heading the team, 29:6. Meanwhile, the Bulldogs, away to Greenlands Oaks scored 100 shots to 60, with the rink of the day going to Ken Hope, Linda Plaisted & Alan Campbell, 26:11. A reminder that the Wasps sessions take place Wednesdays 1:30 for 2:00 - €5 for an afternoon’s bowling with shoes and woods available to borrow. Due to the popularity of the Wasps, first time bowlers are asked to attend an initial coaching session on Tuesday afternoons, starting at 1:45. For further information on San Miguel Bowls Club please contact the President Stuart Hemmings on 965720461, or the Secretary Gail Willshire on 965020492. Emerald Isle Bowls Cub by Elwyn Morris Monday saw the Titans play at San Miguel Alsations and they won 8-4 agg 87-82, winners M Riley, M Veale C Lindgren 26-12 P Rhodes K Jolliffe D Gerrard 20-13,D Jones C Smyth M Odell 16-14 The Neptunes hosted Horadada Falcons and they finished all square 6-6 aggregate 83-79, Winners were C Ayling B Eldred J Mullarkey 26-11, A Brown S Watson D Donovan 18-15 Moonrakers played at San Miguel Dalmations and had a great 8-4 aggregate 91-68 win, winners were LHarris P Willicott R Clive 26-9 V Cameron G Dyer P Dix 22-14, and they had a W/O Monday 7th saw the restart of the league games and the Titans played at San Miguel Beagles slipping to a 10-2 aggregate 96-79 defeat. Winners were D Jones C Smyth M Odell 18-15 Neptunes played at San Miguel Dalmations and lost 8-4, aggregate of 87-80, winners were M Whitelock J Westall H Rhodes 26-8, R Adams S Wickens P Heaney 19-12 Moonrakers played at home against Horadada Falcons and won 7-5 aggregate 75-78, winners were I Hughes B Smith M Willicott 17-15 L Burns T Harris G Ponsford 15-14, L Harris P Willicott A Burns 16-15, V Cameron G Dyer P Dix drew 16-16 Saturns played at home against San Luis Vulcans and had a fine 8-4 aggregate 84-75. Winners were M Munro P Creswell J Mulloy 24-8 B Taylor T Roche T Upham 16-11, C Selby E Shepperd R Ede 14-11 Wed brought Javea Green to the Isle in the Winter league, and the result was a good 8-4 aggregate 100-78. Winners were P Rhodes C Smyth M Odell C Lindgren 31-8, D Rhodes J Mulloy P Coffey I Brewster 20-17, S Kavanagh T Dix P Dix B Kavanagh 22-20 and Berleen won 20-7 M Riley S Johnson B Eldred H Rhodes Friday saw the E I Cavaliars playing against the E I Claymores and the Cavaliars came out on top 10-2 aggregate 96-70. Winners for CAVS were S Kavanagh D Leeming B Kavanagh 27-7, S Johnson C Smyth C Lindgren, 23-14. D Jones K Jolliffe D Gerrard 15-14, M Riley J Pooley G Odell 16-13. Claymores winners were B Doran C Thomas M Thomas 22 15 Friday saw the E I Outlaws play the E I Roundheads and the Outlaws won 8-4 aggregate 99-89 The Outlaws winners were V Cameron P Willicott R Clive 26 13, L Burns G Ponsford P Dix 24-13, L Freeman T Dix E Bennett 25-13.Roundheads winners whre K John P Creswell J Mulloy 26-11, C Selby R Andrews T Upham 24-13

#Costa Blanca South Bowls Roundup

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kidsviral-blog · 6 years

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The Father-Son Story Of The Two Michael Sams

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The Father-Son Story Of The Two Michael Sams

Michael Sam Jr. doesn’t talk to his father, who has been caricatured in the press as an anti-gay man who abandoned his family. But there’s a lot more to the story.

In a yellow-walled room in a Texas nursing home this July, a man in a wheelchair watched a flat-screen TV. He saw Michael Sam Jr. kiss his boyfriend and hug his small team of supporters — agents, coaches, and Pro Football Hall of Famer Jim Brown. The first out gay player drafted into the National Football League strode to the stage to receive ESPN’s Arthur Ashe Award, an honor previously bestowed on Muhammad Ali, Pat Tillman, and Nelson Mandela. It was the climax of a star-studded evening in Los Angeles meant to announce Michael Jr.’s arrival as a national icon.

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Michael Sam accepts the Arthur Ashe Courage Award onstage during the 2014 ESPY Awards in Los Angeles. Michael Buckner / Getty Images For ESPYS

Michael Jr. thanked his agents, his publicist, the couple who welcomed him into their home in high school, supporters from the University of Missouri, and top officials with the St. Louis Rams, the team that had drafted him only two months earlier.

Finally, he gave a brief nod to his roots. “To my mother, a single mother who somehow raised eight kids. I love you dearly.”

Back in his cramped room at the nursing home, Michael Sam Sr. picked up his battered, flip-style phone and found his son’s number. He left a message.

“So that’s what you’re going to do?” he recalled telling his son. “After all I’ve done for you?”

Since Michael Jr. publicly announced he was gay in February — just days after he let his father know by text message — Michael Sr. has been vilified in the press. In the New York Times, Michael Sr. came off as a callous homophobe when he said, “I don’t want my grandkids raised in that kind of environment. … I’m old school. I’m a man-and-a-woman type of guy.” When the ESPN documentary declared that Michael Sr. had “abandoned the family” and left his mother to raise Michael Jr. and his seven siblings on her own, Michael Sr. seemed the archetype of the intolerant and absent black father.

In none of these accounts did Michael Jr. come to his father’s defense. “I’m closer to my friends than I am to my family,” Michael Jr. told the Times.

But the father-son story of Michael Sr. and Michael Jr. is more than a conflict over whether Michael Sr. loved and supported his son. It’s the tale of man who’s been reduced to a caricature but whose actual life was shaped by the loss of child after child, some to death and some to crime. The rift between Michael Sr. and his youngest son started long before Michael Jr. came out and stems in no small part from those family tragedies.

Of course, those losses shaped Michael Jr. too, but he isn’t saying how. Through his agent and publicist, he declined numerous requests for an interview. But it’s not hard to see how, in order to succeed and perhaps just to survive, he might blame his father, fairly or not, for what happened to his family.

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Joel Anderson/BuzzFeed

Michael Sr. spends most of his days at the DeSoto Nursing and Rehabilitation Center, about 15 miles southwest of Dallas. His electric hospital-style bed and almost all of his few belongings — a mini-fridge and a rolling dinner tray, mostly — are crammed into a corner of the room he shares with another patient. He locks his drawers because someone has been stealing his snacks.

He gets around in a wheelchair, having lost his ability to walk almost three years ago. He wears a gold chain around his broad neck, which bears a deep and long surgical scar that runs from the bottom of his hairline to somewhere past the neckline of his white undershirt. It’s not clear he knows exactly what ailment has left him in a wheelchair. “I have a hole in my neck,” he said. “But I ain’t gonna die in this motherfucker. I’m getting out of here.”

At 55, he’s one of the youngest and most vibrant residents at the nursing home. He has a paunch and false teeth, but he still possesses the thickly muscled shoulders and arms of someone nicknamed “Hammer,” a handle he got on the football field and in the streets. His hands still make large fists; kicking ass was a family pastime.

“Maaaannnn, I used to hit hard,” he said. “I taught all my sons to play football.”

He often rolls his wheelchair to a shaded patio, where he goes through Kool cigarettes like some people do cups of coffee. He banters with almost everyone. Especially the women. “Better quit bending that ass over like that,” he tells one of the women staffers, a smile creasing his fleshy face. The woman smiles back. If she or other women staffers are offended by his behavior, they don’t show it. At least a couple jokingly call him their boyfriend.

His phone rings throughout the day, bearing calls from his children or friends named ”Frank Tha Cook” or “Little Leroy.” The conversations usually cover his health, upcoming casino trips to Louisiana, and football, particularly the Cowboys, his favorite team since he was a boy.

One person who doesn’t call is Michael Jr., who kept his distance as he ascended to fame and more recently when he tumbled out of big-time football.

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Michael Sam in 2013 playing for the University of Missouri. Joe Robbins / Getty Images

After Michael Jr. publicly came out in February, even President Obama praised the announcement. On May 10, the St. Louis Rams drafted him, generating more praise. But despite the fact that he had been a star at the University of Missouri, where he became Co-Defensive Player of the Year in the powerful Southeastern Conference, he was chosen late. Only seven players were selected after him. He performed well during training camp and the preseason — but was still cut from the final roster on Aug. 30, touching off a debate about whether homophobia played a role in his release. The Cowboys signed him three days later to their practice squad, then dropped him on Oct. 21. He is now a free agent.

For the nearly two months that Michael Jr. was with the Cowboys, he lived a half hour away from his father. It was the closest they’ve lived to each other in about 15 years. A family friend, Sean Woods, hoped it would finally bring the men together. “Now,” he said, Michael Jr. “has to deal with his daddy.”

Yet the Michaels have exchanged only a few text messages and haven’t spoken a word to each other, a quiet that has now lasted at least several months with no end in sight. Michael Sr. has mostly kept up with the vicissitudes of his son’s career through updates on ESPN and phone calls from friends and family members.

Shortly after Michael Jr. was released from the Cowboys’ practice squad, Michael Sr. sent a text to BuzzFeed News: “Hey they cut Mike.” Asked if he’d heard from his son recently, Michael Sr. texted back that Michael Jr. “wouldn’t say a word to me honer [sic] thy father.”

“It’s like he was looking for an excuse to separate from us,” Michael Sr. said. “Now we’re just letting him have his limelight. We’re tired of begging him to stay in the family.”

On the room’s walls, Michael Sr. has pinned Father’s Day cards, a corkboard with a calendar and pictures of his family, and, over his bed, a lengthy poem about angels. On a special spot on the wall — right over his flat-screen TV — are two pictures of Michael Jr. in his University of Missouri football uniform. Pointing at the pictures, Michael Sr. said he knew from the start that Michael Jr. would be special.

“That boy, he had some big nuts,” Michael Sr. said. “He was big when he was born. That boy had some big-ass balls.”

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Paul Moseley/Fort Worth Star-Telegram / MCT

Wesley Sam, Michael Sr.’s father, was also pretty ballsy. In 1947, he was living in Opelousas, Louisiana, when he heard on the radio about what’s generally considered the deadliest industrial accident in U.S. history, an explosion at the Monsanto plant near Galveston, Texas. He headed right to the scene, figuring he could get work there.

He loaded cotton at the Galveston wharves for a few months before landing a job at the Monsanto plant. Yes, it had blown up, killing nearly 600 people, but he could make more money there than a black man could expect almost anywhere else.

He married Alberta, a fellow Opelousas native who spoke Creole, little English, and who couldn’t read or write. With their 10 children, they moved into a three-bedroom, one-bathroom home at 1732 Thompson St. in La Marque: Wesley and Alberta had a bedroom, the girls had one, and the boys had the room at the back of the house. “I had a white boy type of life at home,” Michael Sr. said. “There wasn’t nothing I couldn’t have wanted and gotten.”

Alberta died at 46 following “a brief illness,” according to her obituary in the La Marque Times. Wesley Sam was a loving man, a capable cook, and obsessive about cleanliness — he would dust off his car every day, his surviving children said. But he wasn’t quite up to the challenge of corralling all of those children. Who could? Instead he set his example through his work ethic, putting in a full day at Monsanto then mowing lawns with his sons in the evening. They’d do 18 yards a day, Wednesday through Sunday.

“My dad was a workaholic before anyone called it that,” Michael Sr. said. “He’d think you were sorry if you didn’t have that work mentality in you.”

Michael Sr.’s siblings went off to college, joined the military, and found middle-class jobs. His sister Geraldine would become La Marque’s first black mayor.

Michael Sr., meanwhile, dropped out of school over the protests of his father but earned a GED. He wasn’t much of a student anyway, and finding work in the area was a cinch for anyone who didn’t mind getting a few smudges on their shirt. He worked in construction, at a chemical plant, and as a crane operator and a forklift operator.

Away from work, Michael Sr. and his brothers drank, chased women, and kept up the family tradition of fisticuffs. “We’d be out in the front yard fighting,” Michael Sr. said, grinning at the memory. “Real fighting. Not no slapboxing.”

One night in 1978, Michael Sr. met a woman named JoAnn Turner at a local nightclub. “She was fine and good-looking,” Michael Sr. said. “And I walked her out.”

Little more than a year later, JoAnn gave birth to a boy they named Russell. A year later, they had daughter Chanel. Julian was born in June 1982. They were young and in love, with three kids and jobs that paid middle-class wages. It didn’t take long for Michael Sr. to settle into life as a family man, or long for it to be destroyed.

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Photograph by Dylan Hollingsworth for BuzzFeed

Here’s a news brief from the Associated Press on Sept. 23, 1982, with a dateline from Texas City: “The body of Chanel Roshaun Sam was found Monday night in about eight feet of water near a pier on which she had been playing. Her parents and neighbors searched for three hours before finding the body.” The little girl, 2 years old, had apparently drowned.

After several days of grief, and desperate to rescue JoAnn from her despair, Michael Sr. suggested they go to the courthouse. And so, six days after their daughter died, they were married.

“I felt like she needed some support,” Michael Sr. said. “It was the right thing to do, to bring something positive from it.”

It wasn’t enough. JoAnn turned to religion and became a Jehovah’s Witness. Her conversion deepened the fissure in her marriage, because Michael Sr. was raised as a Baptist and felt his wife’s new religion was too restrictive. She insisted the family not celebrate Christmas. “I celebrated it,” he said. “But she didn’t celebrate it with me. I still bought the kids gifts.” (JoAnn didn’t respond to requests for an interview.)

Michael Sr. found his solace shooting dice. On Friday and Saturday evenings, he would take his paycheck to a little wooden shack in Texas City and gamble away the family’s money. JoAnn suspected the absences were because of another woman, Michael Sr. said. But a mutual friend of the couple gave her the scoop. In Michael Sr.’s version of the story, the woman told JoAnn that “he ain’t screwing none of us” but was just gambling.

One Friday night, Michael Sr. recalled, he won $700 and left the shack with two friends on an impromptu trip to Boy’s Town in Nuevo Laredo, Mexico, an infamous red-light district just across the Texas border. He didn’t bother calling JoAnn to tell her that he was leaving town.

“Weren’t no cell phones back then, and I didn’t stop and spend the 25 cents to call,” he said. When he returned Sunday, “she bitched at my ass. But it was pretty funny. I had a blast.”

The marriage continued to spiral, though Joshua was born in 1984 and Christopher in 1985. Michael Sr. finally filed for divorce in February 1986. A brief attempt at reconciliation resulted in the birth of Michelle in 1987. But the divorce was granted in 1988.

JoAnn was awarded primary parental responsibilities. Michael Sr. would have access to the children two weekends each month, and they divided up the holidays.

Michael Sr. was also ordered to pay JoAnn $250 each month for child support. Within a few months, JoAnn returned to court to complain that Michael Sr. wasn’t meeting his obligation. Thus started a four-year battle over child support. Michael Sr. was charged with contempt of court at least 10 times stemming from his failure to pay, according to court records. Twice he was sent to county jail.

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The District Clerk’s Office of Galveston County

“It was because I was running around and spending money and shooting dice,” Michael Sr. said. JoAnn “needed more money, and I was doing the very minimum. I should’ve been doing more.”

Typical of their on-again, off-again relationship, JoAnn gave birth in 1990 to Michael Jr. — right in the middle of their child support dispute — and the next year to Ashley, the eighth and last child they would have together. “Man, I had some phases with JoAnn,” Michael Sr. said.

In July 1992, JoAnn went to court to sign off on an agreement to release Michael Sr. from county jail and to clarify the terms of the support payments. At that point, according to court documents, Michael Sr. was behind nearly $4,000 in payments.

During the Christmas holidays that year, Michael Sr. said, JoAnn made a surprise visit to his house. “She wore one of those Mormon dresses — she knows that I like dresses,” he said, laughing. This time, he said, she demanded more than a night together.

On May 3, 1993, Michael Sr. and JoAnn went to the county courthouse once again — to get remarried.

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Photograph by Dylan Hollingsworth for BuzzFeed

Michael Sr. took no small pride in raising sons who were every bit the hell-raiser that he was. People around the neighborhood called him a man’s man. “My dad didn’t take no shit off nobody, and I didn’t take no shit off nobody,” Michael Sr. said. “I wasn’t a bad guy. But I was a ‘I’ll kick your ass’ kind of guy.”

“All of his kids were muscular and some bad dudes,” said Charles Sam, Michael Sr.’s brother.

The toughest of the bunch was also the oldest: Russell. As a freshman, he was pegged as a future football star at La Marque High School. Michael Sr. fondly remembers how Russell would walk around the neighborhood, “always ready to slap a motherfucker.”

But, he said, “I kept telling him to get out of that gang shit.”

Here’s a clipping from the Galveston County Daily News. It reports that on Feb. 27, 1995, Russell was sent home early from La Marque High School for “creating a disturbance.” A school administrator allowed Russell to walk home since his mother couldn’t leave work to pick him up.

Instead of heading straight home, the newspaper said, Russell stopped at a house about a half mile from the school. He was breaking into the back door when the homeowner fired at him three times through a metal door. Russell was clutching a screwdriver when his body was found. No charges were filed against the homeowner (who was also black).

The anger welled up within Michael Sr., who casually knew the man who had killed his son. There weren’t many strangers on that side of town. Michael Sr. got himself a handgun. “I was going to kill him,” Michael Sr. said. “I was going to go over there and end him. But my daddy saved me. He wouldn’t let me go over there.”

His father saved him. But Michael Sr. couldn’t save his own sons.

At 5 feet 4 inches and 125 pounds, second-oldest son Julian had an unusually slight build for a Sam boy. He went by the nickname “Ice Pick.” But he had a left arm that was made for pitching. “That boy could throw,” Michael Sr. said. “He used to strike Russell out all the time. Those were the funnest days.”

But, Michael Sr. said, “he wanted his own money” and begged his father to let him work. Michael Sr. eventually gave in, and Julian took a job with a local cable company.

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The Daily News

Here’s another headline from The Daily News, this one from Oct. 22, 1998: “La Marque mother looks for clues into son’s disappearance.”

Julian was last seen outside La Marque’s high school football stadium, where he had gone to buy tickets to the homecoming game. JoAnn told the newspaper, “What has me afraid is that he had just gotten paid, and had $200 on him.”

“I should just not have let him work,” Michael Sr. told BuzzFeed News. “I should have let him throw that ball. He would’ve been a left-handed pitcher.”

Julian hasn’t been seen since that homecoming game, and 16 years later the police maintain his disappearance is still an open case.

When Michael Jr. was born, his parents were scarred by the drowning of their daughter and were feuding over child support. When he was 5, his oldest brother was gunned down. When he was 8, his second-oldest brother vanished.

His remaining brothers, Josh and Chris, tormented him constantly. “His brothers picked on him,” said Michael Sr., who also grew up as the youngest brother in his family. “I’d have to go in there and tell them to quit that shit and leave him alone.” Michael Jr. told Outsports he was a “punching bag” for his older brothers.

Josh was also showing a precocious ability to find trouble in the streets of La Marque. “No one had reached 18 yet,” Michael Sr. said of his children. “I didn’t think [Josh] was going to reach it either.”

Michael Sr. and JoAnn decided that Hitchcock, a town only four miles away, might do them all some good.

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Population 7,000, Hitchcock was founded in 1873 as a railroad station between Houston and Galveston. Today, it’s a quiet two-stoplight town that sits along a state highway. By most socioeconomic markers — home ownership, median income, residents with college degrees (just 8.2%) — Hitchcock ranks below the Texas average.

The Sams settled into a well-kept rose-colored wood-frame house that sat along the railroad tracks and unkempt ditches on the black side of town. It seemed isolated enough from the troubles that La Marque had visited upon their family, but it wasn’t.

La Marque police reopened the investigation into Julian’s disappearance after getting reports that people had seen him in the area. “We think he left on his own free will and we feel strongly he is alive,” the police chief told the Texas City Sun in October 2000.

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An age-progressed photo of Julian Sam. The National Center for Missing and Exploited Children / Via missingkids.com

JoAnn told the Sun that she also believed he was still alive. “He was at that age of rebellion,” she said, suggesting he had run away from home. She told the newspaper that she wanted him to come home or at least call someone in the family to let them know he was OK.

In grief, Michael Sr. had quit his job at the post office. “I had always had a steady job, but I couldn’t handle it no more,” he said. “I felt closed in. Just thinking of it.” He found work as a crane operator but was laid off soon after. He got a job working for a local pipe company and was let go again. Finally, in the fall of 1999, a family friend told him he should consider truck driving. Michael Sr. went to school in Dallas, and four months later was on the road, coming back to Hitchcock when he could, mostly on weekends.

“It was a steady job,” he said, and one that answered a deeper need: “I had to get away. I wanted to get away.”

The marriage crumbled. Michael Sr. and JoAnn remain legally married but haven’t lived as a couple since he moved to Dallas in 2000.

Michael Jr. was 10 when his father started his life on the road. With JoAnn working late hours and taking extra shifts to provide for the children, Michael Jr.’s older brothers had their run of the house — and the streets. “It was bad,” Michael Jr. said in an ESPN documentary about his life. “I’m a kid and I’m seeing some hardcore drugs in my house. My mother didn’t know about it. If I told her anything, my brothers said they would kill me.”

Craig Smith, one of his high school football coaches, saw it for himself. “Sometimes I’d drive over to pick him up and honk the horn and one of his brothers would come out to see if I wanted to buy” drugs, he told a crowd at the school’s annual football reunion dinner in late July.

The criminal records of Michael Jr.’s brothers support these accounts: Josh has been arrested more than 40 times, including four convictions for drug possession, and Chris has tallied nearly 20 arrests.

In April, Chris was sentenced to 30 years in state prison for breaking into a woman’s home, choking her into unconsciousness twice, then using her credit card at a nearby restaurant. Josh was put in the Galveston County Jail in July on a minor offense and was released last month.

“I got caught up in them streets,” Josh admitted during a June interview with BuzzFeed News, a rare evening this year when he wasn’t locked up.

Little of this came as a surprise to family members. Cousins remember being warned to keep their distance. “We knew it wasn’t the ideal upbringing,” said Joseph Sam, a nephew of Michael Sr. “They were always in trouble.”

With his childhood saturated with grief and his older brothers descending into crime, Michael Jr. would have had to be a saint not to look for someone to blame. Conveniently, his father was already blaming himself.

Out on the road, far away from home, Michael Sr. remained tormented by the loss of his boys. Teaching them toughness had backfired; he’d armed them with tools for survival in one world that wouldn’t work in almost any other.

“Life was going to be tough on them,” he said. “Your skin had to be tougher than the others. But I also wanted them to make the right decisions.”

Somewhere in these years, Michael Sr. began to lose the last of his sons — not to death or crime, but to rejection.

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Courtesy of Robert Dohman

On his first day of third grade, in a new town and new school, Michael Jr. was seated next to a chubby, snowy-haired boy. Michael Jr. wasn’t saying much to his new seatmate. The silence went on for so long and got so awkward that eventually the boy spoke up.

“I told the teacher that I didn’t want to sit next to him because he was too quiet,” said Robert Dohman. “He turns around and goes, ‘Hey, blondie boy, I’m not quiet!’ And that’s the way me and Michael get along now.”

Michael Jr. was voted “friendliest” by his sixth-grade classmates and elected homecoming king in eighth grade. His popularity was a testament to his ability to navigate the unspoken color line of a small Southern town; most of his close friends were white.

“My grandma,” said Dohman, “was very old-school and wasn’t into all that racial mixing. But when I had Michael over, he’d always be the first one to come over and give everybody a hug. Even her. He really changed the way my grandmother looked at black people. She would even smile when he came around.”

Michael Sr. said he saw little of the outgoing side of his son, saying he was quiet at home. But coaches and teachers remember him as a precociously self-assured teenager who could start a conversation with anyone. After football games, Michael Jr. was known for going into the bleachers — uniform and pads still on — to introduce himself to parents.

Michael could “talk to a group of 15-year-olds and then set there and talk to a group of 55-year-olds and not feel out of place either,” said Smith, now head football coach at Hitchcock. “I just never had a student that could just go and talk to a group of people. He would make friends all the time.”

Even in what was ostensibly enemy territory. Smith recalled a track meet at Danbury, a nearby town that is 90% white, less than 1% black, and had developed a reputation for being unfriendly to minorities. Except, apparently, Michael Jr.

“I can remember some Danbury parents cheering and rooting for Michael running the 100-meter” dash, Coach Smith said. “You just didn’t see that, if you know anything about Danbury.”

Maybe the biggest benefit of playing sports is that it kept Michael Jr. away from his brothers. The coaches, who also worked as teachers in the district, knew all about Josh and Chris: Their obvious athleticism had never proven to be worth the trouble. But Michael Jr. was charting a path different from the men in his family. Michael Jr. greeted people with hugs, not fists. He was going to be the first to graduate.

“Michael was a good kid,” Michael Sr. said. “He said he didn’t want to be like his brothers.” Left unsaid was that Michael Jr. clearly felt the same about his father.

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Courtesy of Robert Dohman

On fall Friday nights, Michael Sr. said he would find a seat somewhere in Hitchcock’s football stadium, away from the crowd and sometimes with his father, Wesley. After nearly 30 years as a father, he said, he could finally engage in the autumn ritual familiar across Texas.

“I didn’t miss [any] home game his senior year,” Michael Sr. insisted.

There isn’t anyone who can corroborate his perfect attendance. Family and friends say they’re sure he went to some games but don’t know about all of them. The coaches at Hitchcock High can remember seeing or, rather, hearing, Michael Sr. only once in four years: a game in Michael Jr.’s sophomore year.

“I heard this guy yelling at Michael and I turned to Michael and asked him, ‘Who the hell is that guy?’” Smith recalled. “Michael said it was his father. That’s the only time I’ve ever seen him.”

Those stadiums can be hubs of activity on Friday nights, and coaches are notoriously focused on the events unfolding well away from the stands. It would be easy to miss someone on game night, right?

“Let me say this in a nice way,” Smith said. “I didn’t know him, and I know a lot of people in town. I can look up in those stands and know who’s there.”

Michael Sr. said he didn’t make it a priority to spend any time with the parents of Michael Jr.’s friends or the alums and other regulars who would show up at school events — most of them white. “I never did know them,” Michael Sr. said. “And I never tried to go out of my way.”

Michael Sr. said he took a job with a trucking company based out of Ada, Oklahoma, so that he could arrive in Hitchcock by the start of kickoff Friday night. He assumed his son appreciated what he considered a significant sacrifice of time and money; coming back to Texas without a load meant he wouldn’t get paid for the drive home.

It wasn’t until earlier this year, when media outlets began saying that he had abandoned his son, that Michael Sr. learned he was being phased out of the story of his son’s childhood. He never thought all those years on the road would mean that he wasn’t there.

“Michael’s family was the city of Hitchcock,” said Dohman, Michael Jr.’s childhood friend.

Told what Dohman said, Michael Sr. looked straight ahead, the anger washing over him. Sitting on that patio at the nursing home, he was, for a few moments, that angry Sam boy ready to fight.

“The city of Hitchcock didn’t buy his goddamn clothes, a roof over his head, or the bed that he slept in,” Michael Sr. said. “The city of Hitchcock can kiss my ass.” He paused. “I should have kept those gas receipts.”

Of course, Michael Sr. never thought he would need them. He also never thought the family of a high school teammate — a white one — would get so much credit.

Once Michael Jr. revealed in February his plans to become the NFL’s first out gay player, the two media outlets with which his publicists coordinated the announcement wrote this:

The New York Times: Sam found a comfortable place off the field as well, in large part because of Ethan Purl, a classmate and the son of Ron Purl, the president of the local branch of Prosperity Bank. Ron’s wife, Candy, made sure their house was part recreation center and part counseling hub for their children and their friends. By Sam’s senior year, he had his own bedroom in the Purls’ house, along with chores like cleaning the pool and carrying the grocery bags. “I look at our house as a kind of safe haven,” said Ron Purl, who keeps a photograph of Sam in his Missouri football uniform in his office. “He is just another son. If he did something wrong, he got yelled at just like the others did.”

ESPN: The relationship started when Candy Purl, Ronnie’s wife, invited Michael to dinner during his freshman year of high school. Ronnie, a man with a personality much bigger than he is, discovered a kid he didn’t recognize and demanded to know, “And who are you?”

“Without skipping a beat, my brother replied, ‘I’m Michael Alan Sam Jr.!,’” said Ethan Purl, Ronnie’s son. “And after that, he never left.”

“That’s a bunch of shit,” Michael Sr. said. Sure, he said, his son went to the Purls’ on weekends, but “Michael lived at home to the day he graduated.”

“He lived with the rest of us,” agreed Michael Jr.’s sister Michelle.

“The Purls only helped [him] in [his] senior year,” his aunt Geraldine said. “If the Purls were really good people, they’d tell Michael that he was wrong. That he should acknowledge his mother and daddy.”

After a brief phone conversation in which he said he didn’t have time to speak, Ethan Purl did not return repeated phone calls. Ronnie Purl declined a number of interview requests. “Without Michael’s approval I will not be able to speak with you,” he said in an email. “Being in banking, I am very aware of privacy issues.”

Michael Sr. said he met the Purls at least once, when he accompanied Michael Jr. on one of his visits over there.

“I just wanted to see where Michael was going, to make sure where he was going was the right environment,” Michael Sr. said.

In fact, Michael Sr. liked that his youngest son had white friends. He was convinced his association with them might mean better grades, a high school diploma, and maybe even college — the chance at success that his other sons never had.

“He wasn’t messing with the black guys trying to sell drugs and doing drugs — I thought that was a good thing,” Michael Sr. said. “As long as he wasn’t doing nothing crazy, wasn’t in no cult, I was all right with it.”

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A yearbook page shows Michael Sam during his high school days in Hitchcock, Texas. Scott Dalton/The New York Times/REDUX

When Michael Jr. was at the University of Missouri, Michael Sr. began noticing some changes in his son, he recalled. There was that road trip from Dallas to Houston with Michael Jr. and one of his college friends, Vito Cammisano, a member of the men’s swim team. What struck Michael Sr. was his son’s taste in music.

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Michael Sam with his boyfriend, Vito Cammisano. Michael Buckner / Getty Images For ESPYS)

“He knew all of them white songs,” Michael Sr. said. “He knew country, Taylor Swift, all that stuff. I’m like, What brother knows all of them white songs? That tripped me out.”

On another one of Michael Jr.’s trips home with Vito, Michael Sr. noticed their relationship seemed much closer than a simple friendship. How else to explain Vito coming home for the holidays? Michael Sr. waited until they returned to Missouri to broach his suspicions to his wife. “I told JoAnn, ‘You know, Mike ain’t bring his girlfriend but he brought this dude. That’s kinda funny,’” Michael Sr. said. “But she swore up and down” that he wasn’t gay. “I kept asking Mike was this boy funny? ‘No, Daddy, no. Ain’t nothing wrong with Vito,’ he’d say.”

“He didn’t act gay then either,” Michael Sr. said of Vito.

But during a visit to Missouri for one of Michael Jr.’s games last fall, Michael Sr. became certain about Vito.

“I shook that boy’s hand, and that boy’s hand felt like a woman’s,” Michael Sr. said. “And the boy looked different. I told my brother that that boy right there is gay.”

When they went out for dinner later that night, Michael Jr. showed them a picture of a woman he said he was dating; Michael Jr.’s Instagram account has lots of pictures of him in college posing with young women.

“I still had some suspicions,” Michael Sr. said. But other family members “didn’t wanna believe it. I had intuition about that boy.”

That intuition was finally confirmed this year. On Feb. 4, Michael Sr.’s birthday, he received a text message from his son. “I could tell his PR guy wrote that message because Mike don’t talk like that,” Michael Sr. said. “It was some bullshit. ‘I wanted to inform you that I’m gay.’”

“That’s all you’ve got to say?” Michael Sr. remembered texting Michael Jr. in response. “He texted me back, ‘Happy birthday.’ So I went out and got drunk.”

Five months later, in his room at the nursing home watching the red carpet show before his son would receive the Arthur Ashe Award, Michael Sr. grew wildly upset. He started calling and texting family members and friends.

With Vito at his side, Michael Jr. had been asked what was the most difficult part of coming out. He told the interviewer that it was telling his friends. Michael Sr. was incensed.

“If it was so hard to tell his friends, why didn’t he tell us first?” Michael Sr. said. “It was harder for him to tell us.”

And it probably was. One recent afternoon, Michael Sr.’s brother Charles asked if Michael Jr. might go back to women. Michael Sr. responded, “Women don’t really want to mess with you after doing all that gay shit.”

Michael Sr. is never going to be the spokesman for Parents and Friends of Lesbians and Gays. He’s not thrilled about his son’s sexual orientation. But he also hasn’t disowned his son. He never says his son is going to hell. He doesn’t talk about trying to cure him or make him straight. In his own rough-hewn, coarse way, Michael Sr. has accepted that his son is gay. “I love my son,” he said, “and I don’t care about what he do.”

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Michael Buckner / Getty Images For ESPYS

The family rift that the ESPY Awards exposed to a national audience had been there, deep and wide, for a while.

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Will Ebner L.G. Patterson / AP Photo

Seven months earlier, in December 2013, Michael Jr. came to Houston as one of the nominees for the Rotary Lombardi Award, which is awarded to the best college lineman or linebacker. Instead of asking his family to attend as guests, he invited the family of Missouri football teammate Will Ebner.

“We found out Will and I were going to be part of his family representing him,” said Elaine Ebner, mother of Will Ebner. “If someone else had come from his family, I would have wanted them to be center stage. I know my place. Mainly, I just wanted to be whatever he wanted me to be.”

Michael Jr.’s aunt Geraldine managed to score tickets from a friend who was a member of the Rotary Club. She also sat in the area designated for family. “When I got there, [Michael Jr.] was glad to see me. It’s always good to have family there,” she said.

Days later, Michael Jr. graduated from the University of Missouri with a degree in parks, recreation, and tourism. Everyone in the family — except Josh and Chris, who were both in jail — made the 600-mile road trip from Texas to celebrate the first of JoAnn’s and Michael Sr.’s children to graduate from college.

To commemorate the occasion, Michael Jr. posted a picture on Instagram of himself in a cap and gown, a wide smile on his face and an elbow comfortably resting on the mantle of a fireplace. “It’s been a long time coming,” read his caption. He was alone in the photo and made no mention of anyone else being there — in that or any of his other public social media posts from the time.

Later in December, during the week of the Cotton Bowl in Dallas — Michael Jr.’s final college game — Michael Sr. said his son borrowed his car and spent all of his time with Vito and teammates. Michael Sr. also said his son lied to him about the location of the team hotel and then didn’t call him, or return any of his calls, for the rest of the week.

“I had to call him to get him to bring me my car back,” Michael Sr. said. “I kept calling and calling. He didn’t bring the car until the last day, and the game was the next day. He didn’t talk to me or nothing.”

In May, on the weekend of the NFL draft, Michael Jr.’s family was conspicuously absent when TV cameras followed him around at his agent’s home in San Diego. He declined an offer from his father’s family members to attend a draft party they wanted to host in Dallas, his aunt Geraldine and Michael Sr. said. Instead, he spent the weekend in California with Vito, some friends, and his agents.

“If he’s so ashamed of us,” Geraldine remembers one of his sisters telling her, “why doesn’t he just change his name?”

The day the Rams drafted him — when he was so happy that he kissed Vito and smeared his face with celebratory cake — might end up being the pinnacle of Michael Jr.’s NFL career. Now, cut from his second team, he is learning something his father learned long ago: Life can take what you want most.

Since 2000, Outsports noted, every single Defensive Player of the Year from the five major college football conferences made it onto an NFL team — except Michael Sam Jr. And it’s not that he played poorly in preseason. Far from it. He totaled 11 tackles and three sacks, a figure that left him tied for fourth in the league. His bold announcement of his sexuality, which garnered him glamorous accolades, may have also destroyed his football career.

Disappointment and loss are feelings Michael Sr. knows well, of course, so the two Michaels have more in common now than they may have ever had. And yet Michael Jr. doesn’t come to his father — or anyone in his family — for comfort. He keeps his distance.

To Michael Sr., sitting in his wheelchair or taking a drag on one of his Kools, that distance can feel like death. He doesn’t want to lose another son.

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Photograph by Dylan Hollingsworth for BuzzFeed

Read more: http://www.buzzfeed.com/joelanderson/the-two-michael-sams

#Dallas Cowboys #Football #gay #LGBT #St. Louis Rams

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laughingblue12 · 6 years

Text

Canto 22 – Flying by Pinwheel

The Conference Room onboard the corsair flagship was spacious. It was one of the largest in Tron’s fleet. The most famous corsairs in the Imperial Rim Worlds were gathering there for a meeting.

“I missed you, Uncle Goofy,” said a cherub-faced little boy to Trav Dalgoda.

“I missed you too, Artran. I wouldn’t have left, but two of my very best friends from Questor needed my help.”

“The Aero Brothers?” asked Artran, eyes opening wide like brown blooms in a sunny field.

“Yes,” Trav nodded. “And your father got rather mad at me too.”

“He’s always like that. He always forgives me, though.”

Trav nodded at the boy. Artran was no more than seven years old. He was a very open-faced, trusting little man. It was difficult to believe his parents were two of the most infamous space pirates in known space.

The sour-faced pirate known as the King of Killers came into the room and sat down opposite Trav. He was a thin, bitter man with no sense of humor. Trav liked him anyway.

“How’s the pirate business, King, old Jester?”

“Shut up, Goofy, or I’ll rip your head off and stuff it in your… er…” He looked at Artran, “mouth.”

“That’s not very nice, Mr. Killer,” muttered Artran softly.

“Oh, I know, boy. I don’t mean it. It’s just that this clown and thief has caused us too much trouble.”

“I apologize, King. I had to help my friends, didn’t I?”

“I respect Ged Aero,” shot back the King. “If you’da said that he needed the artifact, I’da voted to give it to him. You don’t just steal stuff from Tron. Where’s your sense of honor?”

“I’m not sure I ever had one. If I did, I probably sold it and forgot about it.”

“The Aero Brothers are colonizing a planet?” King asked for conformation.

“No. It already had a really cool civilization on it when we found it. They are merely taking ownership.”

Just then, Elvis the Cruel walked into the room, his guitar slung over his back. He walked with a swagger and wore a dirty white muscle shirt. He was combing his greasy black pompadour with a practically toothless comb. Beside him walked the gorgeous lady pirate called Sheherazade. She wore a Princess Leia-style bronze slave bikini, though no one remembered why the heck such clothing was called that. It had something to do with a former emperor’s favorite comic book or something. Her skin, and she was showing practically all of it, was a deep ebony color. She sat down next to Artran and motioned Elvis to sit beside her.

“Thank you, thank you very much,” said Elvis.

“So, Trav,” said the sultry Sheherazade, “How did you get Tron to let you live?”

“Oh, Sheherry-baby, you know I’m Tron’s best buddy. The old Jester could never kill me.”

The beautiful lady laughed with a charm made more elegant by her tawdry companions. She seemed a regal Egyptian goddess. The King of Killers watched her longingly.

Elvis took out a cigarette butt and lit it, letting it hang on the slack part of his lower lip.

Pirates from other corsair fleets began to arrive. Razor Conn of the Black Hawk fleet showed up wearing a white cowboy hat and sunglasses with his second in command, the mysterious oriental, Shad Blackstone, by his side. The Degenerate, one-eyed Captain of the Corsair Frigate Palace of Foul Odors showed up in his crusty Lancer Battle Suit. The dwarf that traveled with him was named Stinky because of his unique ability to produce overpowering flatulence on cue. Several other Lancer Corsair captains were also there. Fez Amin of the dreaded Monopoly Brigade was there. His bald, tattooed head was skull-like and menacing. Arkin Cloudstalker was there with seven of his beautiful Lady Knights, captains of the White Sword Corsairs.

Tron came in with both his beautiful wife Maggie the Knife and Dana Cole. They both sat with him at the head of the conference table.

Tron held up a hand for silence and attention. All eyes fixed on the man with the scar. He had a commanding presence above and beyond the many forceful personalities gathered on the ship.

“You’ve heard the word circulated already,” began Tron. “News travels fast among the Corsair Brotherhood of Gentlemen Adventurers.” Everyone laughed at the high-tone name for the scum of the universe. “I have come here to declare war. We have been double-crossed by the smuggler prince and planetary duke of the planet White Palm. Count Nefaria tried to take us all out by acquiring ancient artifacts of incredible power. The Pinwheel Corsairs intend to take him on in his own system and take him out. I am not asking you to help me, though help is welcome. I am asking you to refuse any call for help he might make.”

“And what happens if we decide we like Count Nefaria more than we like you?” growled Fez Amin.

Elvis stood up and glared across the table at Amin. “Then we bust you up like a bunch of Louisiana hound dawgs!”

Fez Amin laughed. “What does that mean?”

Tron stared at the Monopoly Brigade’s tattooed leader. “Are you taking me on?”

“Naw,” said Fez Amin. “I’m just asking what if? Goober there gave me a funny enough answer to satisfy my need to laugh.”

There was a lot of nervous laughter. Everyone feared Fez Amin. He was dangerously insane and full of bloodlust. They feared Tron and his ace pilots as well. Few openly laughed at the eccentric behavior of a pilot like Elvis the Cruel. The possible consequences of such disrespect made everyone with a sane brain nervous.

“You tell me now,” said Tron to the group, “Who has a contract with Count Nefaria?”

No one raised a hand.

“Who is against my plan?”

Again, no hands went up.

“We hear you met a group of Corsairs called the Wraiths,” said Razor Conn. “You know much about them?”

“No,” said Tron. “But we beat them hard.”

“Let me give you this to help your cause,” said Conn, tossing a computer log core onto the table. “That is proof that the Wraith Corsairs work for both Nefaria and Syn Corporation.”

Everyone gasped but Tron and Maggie.

“Robots?” asked Tron.

“That’s my guess,” said Conn, smiling beneath his mirrored sunglasses and white cowboy hat. “It cost me forty fighters and one Black Hawk Frigate to get that bit of evidence. I’m not gonna help you kill Nefaria, but I mean to bet on you and the Pinwheels to succeed.”

“I thank you for that,” said Tron with a gracious nod.

Arkin Cloudstalker spoke up then. “We hear you helped Ged Aero escape the Imperium in return for your so-called Crown of Stars ancient artifact. And we hear Ged now owns a planet.”

“I won’t deny it,” said Tron.

“What part does that Crown play in all of this?” asked Cloudstalker. “That’s what I’d like to know.”

“You know the Crown has the power of the Ancients,” said Tron. “If we knew how to use it, we would tell you what we plan, but we need to research it more.”

“So, if we throw in with you, does that mean we are also supporting Ged Aero?” Cloudstalker’s face was grim as he got to the crucial question.

“I haven’t negotiated with the Aero Brothers yet. You can see I have their friend Trav Dalgoda as a member of my team already,” said Tron, indicating Goofy who was playing with Artran and oblivious to all around him. “I think it’s safe to say we respect Ged Aero and intend to throw our support behind him as he opens new systems in unknown space.”

“Well,” said Cloudstalker, “I believe Ged Aero is the one man who can solve our problems with the Imperium. I believe only true integrity can undo the Gordian Knots of Galtorr. I’m adding the White Swords to the Pinwheel Corsairs in this attack on Nefaria. I say one less nasty old spider in the Galtorr Imperium is a good thing!”

Most of the corsairs applauded Cloudstalker. Fez Amin growled.

“Ged Aero is a Werewolf!” shouted Amin’s tattooed second in command.

“Your foolishness is good for business!” mocked Fez Amin. He jabbed a large polished knife intao the conference table. “If you kill or capture Nefaria, Admiral Brona Tang will be hunting you down like the dogs you are. The Imperial Navy hasn’t paid any attention to you before now. That will change. I’ll be the only corsair still operating with a reasonably valid Letter of Marque. I’ll be laughing at your cold, dead corpses floating in endless space!”

Fez Amin and the Monopoly Brigade stormed out of the conference as if in anger. Tron frowned. It was more likely a tactical retreat. Amin was now part of the enemy.

Trav reached across the table to retrieve the fancy toad-sticker. “Sorry about the table, Maggie,” he said sweetly to Artran’s fierce mother. “I’ll just keep this cool knife.”

Aeroquest… Canto22 Canto 22 – Flying by Pinwheel The Conference Room onboard the corsair flagship was spacious. It was one of the largest in Tron’s fleet.

#Aeroquest #novel

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