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So, was I the only one who's been reading the SCOTUSblog liveblogs in the mornings? ^_^
Unfortunately the side effect of that is that now I'm kind of invested in the redistricting case that they haven't ruled on yet - because gosh it would be nice to live in an actual congressional district, and not a hundred-foot-wide low-population-density connecting corridor between two disjunct demographic areas - but eh what can you do.
Anyway here is an excerpt from the Guardians of the Galaxy fic that I've been attempting to write, to mark the occasion:
Peter knocked on the door of the run-down, too-familiar old ranch house, Drax's hand warm on his shoulder. Peter's Grandpa knew he'd been visiting Earth, and that he'd been in space all that time, but not the rest of it, and they'd decided that Drax, who could pass for human in a bad light, was the least startling as an introduction, at least as long as he didn't talk. The others were waiting on the Milano for the time being; it was parked in a cornfield that they should probably offer to reimburse the farmer for.
"Petey!" his grandpa said, and yanked him into a hug. "Uncommon nice of you to finally visit."
"Hi," Peter said into the back of his neck, feeling about nine again.
"And who's this nice young man?" he asked as Peter extricated himself. "Friend of yours?"
In Iowa, Drax could maybe pass as a particularly passionate body modification enthusiast, but Peter was fairly sure that had never been part of Grampa's concept of a "nice young man". Oh well, at least he was trying.
"Actually, he's, uh," Peter said. He stepped back and grabbed Drax's hand in his. "He's my husband, Grandpa."
Grandpa's eyebrows did something that reminded Peter disconcertingly of Yondu's arrow, but he didn't move a muscle otherwise. "It's like that, is it?" he said after a moment's silence.
Peter shrugged, exactly the way Grandpa had always snapped at him for when he was an insolent kid. "Things are different in space," he said.
His grandpa harrumphed. "Don't go blaming the stars, Boy, I always knew there was something not quite right about you."
Peter decided not to mention the part about his dad. Instead he turned to Drax and mouthed, "Sorry." He'd known this wasn't going to go well, but had anyone listened to him? No. Of course they hadn't.
But Drax was just nodding. "It's true," he said. "There are many things about which Peter is not quite right. However, we love him anyway."
Grandpa snorted out a long hah. "Well, what are you standing in the door like that for? Come on in. You're family, after all. Nothing to be done about family." He ushered them into the dark, cluttered living room and sank down into what must have been the exact same burnt-orange recliner Peter remembered from his childhood. "You know," he said, "Paster Joe keeps telling us that now that we let your sort get married, next thing you know we'll have to let folks do that poly-marry juggery-pokery, and before long people will be marrying-- who the hell knows. Trees. Raccoons."
Drax was studying a wall-rack full of trinkets with apparently genuine interest. Peter did not move out of the doorway. "Funny you should happen to mention that," he said.
Unfortunately the side effect of that is that now I'm kind of invested in the redistricting case that they haven't ruled on yet - because gosh it would be nice to live in an actual congressional district, and not a hundred-foot-wide low-population-density connecting corridor between two disjunct demographic areas - but eh what can you do.
Anyway here is an excerpt from the Guardians of the Galaxy fic that I've been attempting to write, to mark the occasion:
Peter knocked on the door of the run-down, too-familiar old ranch house, Drax's hand warm on his shoulder. Peter's Grandpa knew he'd been visiting Earth, and that he'd been in space all that time, but not the rest of it, and they'd decided that Drax, who could pass for human in a bad light, was the least startling as an introduction, at least as long as he didn't talk. The others were waiting on the Milano for the time being; it was parked in a cornfield that they should probably offer to reimburse the farmer for.
"Petey!" his grandpa said, and yanked him into a hug. "Uncommon nice of you to finally visit."
"Hi," Peter said into the back of his neck, feeling about nine again.
"And who's this nice young man?" he asked as Peter extricated himself. "Friend of yours?"
In Iowa, Drax could maybe pass as a particularly passionate body modification enthusiast, but Peter was fairly sure that had never been part of Grampa's concept of a "nice young man". Oh well, at least he was trying.
"Actually, he's, uh," Peter said. He stepped back and grabbed Drax's hand in his. "He's my husband, Grandpa."
Grandpa's eyebrows did something that reminded Peter disconcertingly of Yondu's arrow, but he didn't move a muscle otherwise. "It's like that, is it?" he said after a moment's silence.
Peter shrugged, exactly the way Grandpa had always snapped at him for when he was an insolent kid. "Things are different in space," he said.
His grandpa harrumphed. "Don't go blaming the stars, Boy, I always knew there was something not quite right about you."
Peter decided not to mention the part about his dad. Instead he turned to Drax and mouthed, "Sorry." He'd known this wasn't going to go well, but had anyone listened to him? No. Of course they hadn't.
But Drax was just nodding. "It's true," he said. "There are many things about which Peter is not quite right. However, we love him anyway."
Grandpa snorted out a long hah. "Well, what are you standing in the door like that for? Come on in. You're family, after all. Nothing to be done about family." He ushered them into the dark, cluttered living room and sank down into what must have been the exact same burnt-orange recliner Peter remembered from his childhood. "You know," he said, "Paster Joe keeps telling us that now that we let your sort get married, next thing you know we'll have to let folks do that poly-marry juggery-pokery, and before long people will be marrying-- who the hell knows. Trees. Raccoons."
Drax was studying a wall-rack full of trinkets with apparently genuine interest. Peter did not move out of the doorway. "Funny you should happen to mention that," he said.
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