Alan Shore + legs appreciation

seen from Côte d’Ivoire
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Germany
seen from China
seen from United States

seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from Australia

seen from North Macedonia
seen from United States

seen from Russia
seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
seen from Russia

seen from United States
Alan Shore + legs appreciation
Alan Shore + pajamas
Alan Shore + costumes
🎲
their (alan's) teenage bedroom but the room is empty except for a few cardboard boxes full of their old things i won't go into too much detail about alan's bedroom because i don't know
One box is not packed with pictures and cards. It leaks a gold light where the yellowed, deteriorated packing tape resists its folds in sharp, short, punches.
The cardboard doesn't break. It stretches like an amniotic sac. The harder something pushes out from within, against the inner walls, the greater the cube contorts, til the shape is like a dropped, creased, pile of silk in the shape of a shivering heart, or the many-lined folds of a nervously clenched fist.
Hanging up the phone, Alan lets out a deep sigh and slips his phone back into the pocket of his trousers. Despite living in Korea for so long, he finds his mouth at times still gets tired or feels awkward when he speaks the language. It’s not like Chinese at all but he supposes he shouldn’t complain: a lot of people would want to speak another language. Still, sometimes he wishes he knew more Chinese people living in the city. Or at least some that wouldn’t mind him speaking his mother tongue at them.
“Americano please-” he pauses when Chinese slips out and the girl at the cashier gives him a surprised look “Sorry. Just an Americano please.” An apologetic smile pulls at the corner of his lips and he fishes out his wallet to pay.
Open starter | alan
Parties have never been his thing but once again, Alan finds himself in a stranger's house that a friend had dragged him along to. Just as swiftly as they'd entered the door, he'd been swiftly abandoned: left to fend for himself. Whoever owns the house also owns a cat and Alan smiles to himself when it comes wandering over to his spot on the couch to join him. He lets it onto his lap and idly pets through the soft fur and squishes the pads of its paws. This saves the night at least.