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thatone-brightstar · 11 months

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The Bear & The Fox (Carmy Berzatto x Fem!Reader)

Chapter 9: You catch more bears with honey

Words: 5k

Summary: Who knew Chicago could be so small?

a/n: Please read! I normally only add warnings for like smut, but I don't want to trigger anyone; so listen please, trigger warning: mention of suicide attempt in flashbacks and panic attacks. You have been warned.

Other than that, thank you for sticking around thus far, commenting is always appreciated and if you ever need a friend to talk to, don't hesitate to reach out ❤️‍🩹

Carmy despised many things. The sensation of burning his tongue when he tasted something in a rush, and the hard pressure over his chest every time he opened Mikey’s accounting books, were just a few. But gatherings organized by his family were definitely above everything else, especially when he had no other choice but to attend. He could think of ten things off the top of his head that he’d rather be doing on his off day than drive to his sister’s house in the suburbs and spend a whole fucking afternoon with people he didn’t give a shit about. Yet for whatever reason, instead of spending his Sunday doing something he enjoyed -like going up to the coast or testing his lungs’ capacity to hold in air while he out you out-, instead he was stuck cutting up fruit for a punch Sugar insisted that he take.

He could have easily avoided the whole situation if he had kept his fucking mouth shut, but when he let your name casually slip on one of their spontaneous conversations and she had heard it, he knew she was going to pester him until she got any sort of answer.

“Who’s that?” She asked and he could hear the grin in her voice.

“Uhh..” ‘Shit’.

“Bear, are you seeing someone?”

He had contemplated the question for a second, because he didn’t really know. He never asked you out officially -he didn’t have the words or know what to say- he just wasn’t built like that. And with everything going on in both your lives, he didn’t have much time to contemplate it. Besides, you had been ‘going out’ for a couple months already, and it wasn’t like you seemed bothered by the lack of a label, either.

“Yeah… I-I am.” He spoke, the words falling comfortably around him.

That was enough of an answer for her to insist on bringing you around for one of Pete’s Nephew’s Birthday party -or some shit like that. He was glad that Nat wanted to meet you, and under any other circumstances he would have obliged, but god did he hate that shit and the simple thought of being around screeching children made his skin crawl.

“Don’t add strawberries to the punch. Remember Pete’s allergic.” Nat called through the phone as he finished thinly slicing the oranges. “I don’t want him to end up in the ER like that one fourth of July party.”

Carmy snickered into the phone that rested on his shoulder. “I told ‘em that shit had berries in it, his dumbass wouldn’t listen.” He grumbled.

“Well what did you expect? You idiots had him taking shots ‘till he was cross-eyed! He was lucky the alcohol made him puke ‘em out...”

“Yeah… that was a fun party.” He joked, earning an incoherent groan from his sister. “Fine... I won’t add berries.”

“Thank you. Alright I’ll see you in a few.” She said, mumbling a quick ‘Love you’ before hanging up.

By the time he was done saving the diced fruit into the containers, Carmy heard his front door open and your soft steps advance deeper down the hall. He enjoyed how quickly you had gotten comfortable going in and out of his apartment, particularly after he had given you your own set of keys. ‘That way you won’t have to wait at the gallery when I’m runnin’ late’ He had said in the most nonchalant way, though his insides felt like shutting down at the idea of your rejection. Your thank you came in the form of a heartwarming candlelit dinner, complete with an entree and dessert- that he had unknowingly bought- and that you hoped expressed all your gratitude. He had to bite his tongue many times that night because it was the only way to avoid a ‘Fuck, I love you’ to slip past his lips.

“Hey, hun.” You called, dropping the box of cupcakes you insisted on bringing and leaning up to peck his lips.

“You know you don’t have to take anything, right?”

“And show up empty handed? Do you not know me at all, Berzatto?” You joked, popping a piece of pineapple into your mouth before he sealed the container. “Besides, they’re cupcakes, that shit’s like catnip for kids.”

He snickered lowly as you took a seat on the barstool across from him.

“D’you need help with anything?”

“Nah, I’m good Love, thanks.” He said and you shuffled in your seat trying to ignore the flutter in your chest that the simple word caused. You wondered if there would ever be a time where his sweet words wouldn’t pull such a reaction from you, ‘hopefully never’ you thought.

“So, what should I expect?” You asked him.

“What’do you mean?”

“Yeah, y’know any weird uncles to stay away from…”

“I mean, my uncle Jimmy’s kinda iffy but that’s about it.”

With a soft smile you asked “You got an uncle named Jimmy?”

“Why, is that weird?”

“No, just… very Italian of you.” You said with a laugh.

“Shut up” He half laughed. “He’s more of a family friend… but y’know, everyone’s an uncle.”

“No, yeah I get it, same” you laughed. “Okay, so just your uncle Jimmy, then?”

“Oh and Pete. He’s not weird, just a nerd, but you’ll probably get along fine.” He grinded then sniggered harder when you playfully pushed his shoulder.

He quickly got dressed while you skipped through the few channels available on his TV. Then once he was ready, although just physically, you helped him with the fruit containers while he carried the gallon of punch and your cupcakes down to the first floor.

The car ride was spent on raking your nails mindlessly along his arm as he asked about your paintings and the classes you gave to the few kids who didn’t go away for the summer. You also talked about the upcoming function and how you weren’t sure of the theme you wanted for your paintings yet. Between that and the classes, you didn’t have much time to use the workshop in the back, but you made good use of the extra hour you sometimes stayed while waiting for him.

In turn, Carmy told you about Marcus’ new desserts and how proud he was that the team was starting to come together after so long. You remembered Syd calling you a few weeks before, excited that Tina had finally called her chef and a fondness spread through you at how things were finally turning for both of them. For everyone really.

The closer you got to the destination, the more your nerves bubbled in your stomach. Your foot bounced anxiously in the passenger seat of Richie’s car, making the box of cupcakes that rested on your lap rustle with your movements. Your insides were a worried mess as you nibbled on your thumbnail with eyes glued on the road and a thousand thoughts racing per minute. Carmy took his hand from the steering wheel and placed it gently over your bouncing knee, trying to calm you, but it only transformed your thoughts into words that spilled from your parted lips.

“What if she hates me?”

“She's not gonna hate you.” He reassured.

“How do you know that?!”

“Because she's been buggin’ me about you for the past two weeks.” Carmy groaned in a faux exasperated tone.

“Sorry, I’m just really nervous. I’ve never met anyone’s family before.” You said, threading your fingers tightly through his.

“Yeah? It’s going to be fine, trust me.” He assured and reached your joined hands up to kiss the back of yours. He wanted to admit that this too was a first for him, but you were nervous enough as it was and he didn’t want to burden you with his own anxieties.

You reached Sugar’s house around noon, the bustling sound of feral children penetrated the closed windows of the car even as he parked half a block away. You both sat in the silence for a couple minutes, basking in the few moments of peace left.

“I hate this shit too,” Carmy said while opening your door. “but we’ll be an hour or two, max. Just to get Sugar off my ass.”

“What, you don’t wanna parade me around like arm candy?” You teased to hide your obvious tenseness.

“Trust me babe, if I could, I’d keep you all to myself…” He mumbled with a sigh against your temple before placing a kiss on it and rounding the car to take out the stuff from the back.

The first thing you were met with after crossing the threshold was the heavy smell of smoked sausages. Toasted bread and the sweetness of caramelized onion filtered through your nostrils as you made your way deeper into the room. The excess sounds of laughter from the living room mixed with the distant screaming was slightly overwhelming, but you were soon grounded by Carmy’s strong arm around your waist, guiding you to where you assumed the smell came from.

“Bear!” The tall woman greeted once she spotted her brother, taking off the oven mitts and walking to his side to hug over his shoulders.

You stood a bit awkwardly to the side, before she pulled away from him and looked at you with a smile.

“Hi, I’m Nat.” She introduced herself after a few seconds where no one spoke. You took her outstretched hand with a nervous chuckle and introduced yourself.

“Shit- right, sorry. This is my sister Nat, Nat this is my -uh- girlfriend.” His words came out rushed, afraid that once they were out you’d refuse them. But all he saw were glowing eyes and blushed cheeks pushed up from your smile.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, well by name at least.” Sugar said, eyes raking over her brother in scrutiny. “I saw you at the restaurant once, right?”

Your palms grew sweaty at the memory, how you had stupidly believed Richie and how you had thought that the woman in front of you was Carmy’s wife. Now that you stood closer and could find traces of his face scattered around hers, you wanted to slap yourself for ever believing such an idiotic lie.

“Yeah, I worked there for a couple months.” You responded, placing the box of cupcakes over her kitchen island, where she began flipping the hotdog buns she had pulled from the oven.

“And what do you do now?”

“She’s an artist.” Carmy answered for you, a proudness evident on his light features as he turned to you with a ghost of a smile.

“I give painting classes to kids. And also do some work on the side.” You specified.

“That’s pretty cool. You must be used to all of this, then.” Natalie said, signaling to some kids that ran past the doorway playing tag.

You laughed in agreement, the nervousness dissipating the more you interacted with her. While Carmy mixed the punch, you helped her buttering the buns and placing a sausage in each one, all throughout a scattered conversation.

“I’m gonna take these to Pete.” She said, taking the tray of hotdogs and thanking you for the help. “Bear, once you're done, put the punch out on the patio, will you? And try not to spike it with anything!” Natalie yelled from the door.

“It was one time!” He yelled back, a smile hidden behind his words. “It was just once…” He muttered softly to you.

“I believe you…” You assured with a teasing smile. “So… girlfriend, huh?”

He gave you one of those looks that made your insides quiver, the kind that had you all flustered and throwing the dishes into the murky water when you still worked at the beef. Carmen shrugged and looked back down at the punch with a soft smile.

“I thought it was a good time…”He whispered. “A-are you okay… with it?”

He looked at you again. Crystal eyes gave a clear view to his swirling emotions and for a brief moment, you finally understood why they say that the eyes are windows to the soul.

“Yeah. I’m really okay with it. ” You whispered back and despite your hectic surroundings, his glowing features proved that he had heard your every word.

“Good, good.” He rambled, clearing his throat.

“Carmen, my boy!”

You both turned to the entrance, where a man with slicked back hair and thick aviator glasses walked towards Carmy, arms stretched out.

“Haven’t seen you since you roofied my kid’s party!” His chuckle boomed as he hugged Carmy, one hand clapping hard over his back.

“Jesus, why is everyone rememberin’ that today all of a sudden?” Carmy joked. “And it was Xanax, okay? I’m not a fuckin’ perv…”

“I’ll forget it when you do somethin’ worse, alright? Wow…” He said, turning to you. “You’re new.”

You whispered a nervous ‘Hi’ to who Carmy introduced as Cicero, or his uncle Jimmy, the man taking you by the shoulders and placing a soft kiss on each cheek. Before you knew it, you were surrounded by a group of people greeting your boyfriend, all with a different topic and speaking over each other's words. He navigated easily around them, as if the action was almost routinary, though the hard grip he had around your hand gave away how anxious the situation really made him feel.

They were asking you questions too, flinging them in your direction, hoping you’d catch the bait. ‘How’d you meet?!’, ‘How long have you been together?’, ‘I’m glad he finally has a girlfriend, we were startin’ to think he was gay!’. The last one earned an uproar of laughter from the group and distracted them enough that you could pull yourself away from the hoard. Carmy wasn’t so lucky, one of his aunts had her arm looped through his, holding him in place. You shot him an apologetic look as you took the punch and hauled it out the back door, mouthing a ‘Sorry’ with a shrug and a smile.

You placed the glass cylinder on the long white table that rested on the grass, surrounded by platters of fruit and some already cooked hotdogs. The noise was a bit higher than inside, but the soft breeze of the summer afternoon helped calm the slow growing headache.

“The wolf pack got to you, huh?” Natalie asked, placing another tray of cooked dogs then standing beside you.

“Yeah.. I guess.”

“I think they just got all excited cause they’ve never seen him with anyone…” She turned to look at her brother through the glass door, with a certain softness that one only reserves for someone who you’ve seen grow up.

You turned too, he was listening intently to a short woman speak, hands clasped behind his back and nodding politely to her conversation. The crowd had dispersed and you were glad that he didn’t have to be stuck in the whirlpool of taunts from his family anymore.

“Haven’t really seen him outside that stupid place in a while...” She spoke, pulling you from your thoughts. “Did he… tell you about Mikey?”

You let a few seconds pass before answering “He kinda mentioned him, once.”

Nat nodded slowly, eyes fixed on the playing children around you. “Well, I’m glad he at least has someone to talk to. God knows he won't even take my calls.”

She smiled down at you, a soft tint around the rim of her eyes and the button of her nose. It was surprising how similar they looked, even in their sadness, their facial expressions mirrored each other’s well. You wondered if Mikey looked anything like them, sharing the same sandy blonde hair and the saddest of blue eyes.

She then sniffed softly and cleared her throat. “Drink?” She filled up the plastic cup with the orange liquid once you nodded.

“Babe, look! someone gave Jack a plane!” A tall man shouted towards Natalie, while shaking the controller in her direction. “Come see!”

“I gotta go make sure he doesn’t hurt anyone-” She grumbled to you, making you laugh, then took her cup and began walking towards him. “You’re doing great, babe!”

You stood leaning on the side of the table, sipping on your drink and observing your surroundings. You watched how Nat’s husband wrapped his arms around her and tried teaching her how to steer the model plane. Then, how in a fit of laughter it came plummeting down and almost crashed into the ground before it rose back up again. You silently giggled from afar at their actions and how happy they seemed.

“You left me alone to die in there.” You felt Carmy’s sultry breath fan the side of your face, then his arm fall softly over your shoulders.

“Hmm, you seemed pretty comfortable to me…”

“Yeah, right.” He sniggered.

“Your uncle Jimmy seems nice…”

“Yeah.. just never borrow money from him..” Carmy mumbled and before you could ask what he meant, he cleared his throat and leaned down to whisper in your ear. “D’you wanna get outta here?”

You looked up to glistening eyes and bit your lip to hide your smile. “What did you have in mind?”

He shrugged looking around the open space and taking your cup before raising it to his lips. “Dunno. I just know that you look really fuckin’ hot in those jeans and it’s driving me insane.”

Your breath got caught in your throat at his blunt response, the smile on your face curving into a more mischievous one and you looked around wondering if his family would even notice your absence.

“Okay. ” You whispered up at him and his brows raised in surprise. “I’ll, uhm just use the bathroom and meet you by the car” Then you stepped up on your toes and kissed the curve of his lips.

As you made your way past the kitchen and along the hallway that harbored the open bathroom door, you saw an array of picture frames decorating the cream colored walls. You took your time admiring each one, a fondness blossoming inside your chest as you spotted the familiar pair of eyes and wild hair. The frames were in timeline order and even though there weren’t many pictures, it was nice to see the siblings slowly growing up. You recognized two of the three in one of the images, which seemed to have been taken on Christmas morning. The third, an older boy with raven hair, was the one you could only assume as Michael. He looked different than what you imagined he would, but all three shared the same beaming smile.

It wasn’t until you reached the end of the hall that the fondness you felt in your chest turned into heavy bricks, plummeting into the ground and ripping a hole through the floor. You recognized the older dark pair of tired eyes staring back at you, how could you not? You had seen them many times before in the nightmares that you foolishly tried to escape. But it was too much of a coincidence and there was no way that Chicago could be that small. Yet the picture could not be clearer.

In front of the less rundown restaurant that you had come to love, stood a younger Carmy, maybe in his late teens, with his arm falling loosely over his older brother- a man whose face you had not known before, but could now unmistakably identify as the one who you had run into that unfaithful night on the bridge.

Your body shattered in sudden waves of cold sweats and you weren’t sure how long you had been standing in the middle of the hallway, gawking at the picture. Your hand held a tight grip on your stomach as the other hovered over the erratic beating of your chest, trying but failing to calm it down. The same adrenaline laced thought kept running in circles around your head ‘Chicago can’t be that small. It’s just a similar face.’ But no matter how hard you tried to kid yourself, you knew deep down that it was him.

The burning pressure began to grow and you used the last bit of strength left to move your legs from where they stood frozen on the floor, into the entrance of the bathroom and shutting the door with an impolite slam. It was then that the memories fell too heavy, pushing you down to level the floor and crushing your chest into an uncountable number of pieces. The bustling sounds of the party seemed too far away, clouded by the static ringing in your ears and by the sound of your own shallow breaths. You could feel the panic attack slowly inching closer to you, the corners of your vision bled dark and made the yellow lights in the bathroom swirl into watercolors that turned white and gray everything around you. You tried the stupid breathing exercises again, but every exhale left with a chest shaking cry that you had to silence with the flesh of your palm.

The static in your ears now turned into rushing water and the overwhelming screech of tires and metal crashing against thick concrete. You were cold again, harsh pins and needles poked at the skin of your bare feet with every step on the fresh snow. You were cold and numb. Hot tears streamed from your eyes, burning a trail down your frostbitten cheeks and salting your trembling lips. You were angry again, cold and angry and numb all at once, feeling your fingertips glide over the freezing metal railing of the bridge. Clouds of hot air left your lungs in shaky breaths as your aching bones gripped tightly and your feet climbed up between the rails that separated you from endless nothing.

Then finally, as your legs swung over the metal and you sat with your feet hanging over the dark water, you felt… nothing. It was as if all the pain that had been compressing your chest over the past months had suddenly evaporated. There was no lying boyfriend, no sickly grandmother or frustrated career. Just you, the icy barrier nipping at the back of your thighs through your leggings and the thousands of twinkling stars that had never looked brighter in the light polluted sky. You could lastly enjoy the silence you had so desperately tried to find during the months where your life seemed to fall apart. It was there, right in front of you, if you were only so brave to take the small leap and reach out to touch it.

A voice called your name from a distance, trying to break past the thick mirage that replayed in an endless loop. A soft blow vibrated against your back and the muffled voice called again with no response. It was as if you were trapped in a snow globe, cursed to relive the haunting memory of your own demise. Not even the constant vibration of the discarded phone resting beside you on the tiles could pull you out of your head.

‘You don’t wanna do that…’ A deep voice called from behind you. ‘You don’t wanna do that.’

**********

Carmy knew something was wrong when after twenty minutes of waiting by the car, you never came out or answered his calls. He asked his sister if she had seen you and when she answered ‘no’, his worry increased. His first thought was to search deep into the hallway and could hear you behind the bathroom door, soft whimpers that were barely audible through the outside noise, but still present. With his heart in his throat, he was able to push the unlocked door open just enough for his sister to slip past the narrow space and find you curled against it, eyes glued to the wall in front of you but completely dissociated.

Natalie crouched down towards you in a hurry, wrapping her hands over your tear stained cheeks and pulling your blank face up to help your eyes focus on hers.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. Look at me-” She urged.

Only a soft ‘I knew him..’ fell over and over from your lips.

“Breathe, hun, you gotta breathe, okay?” Her voice was neutral, but the slight tremble in her hands gave away the thin panic.

“Your brother-” You finally said, swallowing the dryness that invaded your throat. “I-I knew him he- I-”

The words felt heavy over your tongue, head still clouded with the visions of a memory that you thought buried six feet deep. You could feel the loose soil around it pile inside your mouth as the words unearthed themselves.

“it’s okay, yes Carmy’s outside-”

“No, Mikey! T-that night, on-on the bridge when I… He was there, he-” You took a deep breath and screwed your eyes shut. “I-I was gonna jump and he-” A soft cry replaced your words, then you felt Natalie’s arms circle your back and press you hard against her.

The force of your cries were muffled by her shirt, staining the soft fabric with your snot and makeup, but she didn’t seem to care. You still couldn’t understand it. It felt like a cruel joke orchestrated by whoever the fuck was in charge of existece, to make you believe that you could finally leave all your horrible mistakes in the past - to let you grace happiness with the tips of your fingers- only to have reality slap you in the face and beat you back down to the ground.

The pressure of her hug grounded you back to your body and helped create a tempo for your erratic breathing, until soft sniffles were all that was left of your breakdown. Her soft strokes on the back of your head comforted you in a way you didn’t know, in a way that only an older sister could.

You felt Carmy’s soft knocks vibrate on the door and a slight panic bubbled again.

“You can’t tell him! He’s gonna hate me, you can’t-” You whispered in a rush.

“Shh, it’s okay, it’s okay..” She hummed. “I’m not gonna tell him, okay? I won’t. But you’ll have to eventually. He has the right to know.”

“I know, I know. I will, I promise, but I can’t right now. I just- I can’t…”

She nodded in understanding and pulled her arms from you, letting you push yourself onto wobbly knees and make your way to the sink, where you tried to clean up as best as you could. After washing away the remnants of salty mascara streaks on your cheeks and drying your face, you turned to Natalie still sniffing back a few tears.

“Thank you.” You whispered.

She only nodded slowly with a forced tight smile and raked her fingers through her hair in a gesture that reminded you heavily of her brother.

“I’m gonna -uh- stay here. A little longer.”

With a soft ‘Okay’ in her direction and a heavy heart, you turned to exit.

Carmy quickly pushed himself off the hallway wall where he patiently waited for you, a heavy look of worry concealed under his creased brow.

“A-are you okay? Do I take you to the ER or somethin’...” He rambled as soon as he spotted you, reaching up to rub warmth into your cold arms. “Jesus, you’re freezing. Is everything alright?”

“Y-yeah. I didn’t mean to freak you out, I'm sorry.” And you truly meant it, but he couldn’t grasp on to what degree. “I just got really overwhelmed-”

“Hey, no- it’s okay, don’t apologize.” He wrapped his strong arms around your shaking frame and whispered “I knew this was a shitty idea…” Into your hair.

You shakily inhaled the familiar scent of his aftershave and cigarettes, the voice in your head taunting you to ‘Enjoy it while you can, after you tell him, he won’t even want to look at you’ and a fresh batch of tears threatened to burst out.

“Where.. where’s Sugar?”

“She said she needed the bathroom.” You mumbled into his shirt.

“Okay…C’mon, let’s get you home.”

All you could do was nod and trail behind him, hand locked tightly into his. The party had moved to the patio, where a chorus of voices sang Happy Birthday, oblivious to your escape. You had underestimated the time you spent in the bathroom because what had felt like only a couple of minutes to you, was actually long enough for the sun to start setting over the skyline by the time Carmy turned on the car and began the drive back.

Your forehead spent the whole ride home pressed to the window, hoping that your skin absorbed some of the coldness and reduced the pounding between your brows. Carmy’s hand never left your leg and you didn’t look in his direction, scared to see the hardened expression that loomed over his features when he was deep in his head. You felt guilty. To see the poor man in torturing thought, trying to figure out what it was that could have made you spiral in such a way. You only spoke when you asked him to drop you off at your building and he made no effort to contradict your choice, despite heavily wanting to.

You only threw an empty smile and a kiss on his cheek, accompanied by a soft ‘good night’ before rapidly exiting the car and disappearing behind the hard wooden doors. Carmy felt confused and worried, above anything else and couldn’t shake the sensation off his shoulders as he reached his eerily silent apartment without you.

The stairs to your floor had never felt more difficult to climb, and when you finally dragged yourself through your door and spotted your grandfather resting on the couch, the dam that had only slightly cracked in Natalie’s bathroom, finally broke. You flung yourself to his side and cried until the back of your throat felt raw and stung with the waves of your shuddering breaths. He held you close without question, rubbing your back rhythmically and humming one of the lullabies he’d sing to calm you down as a child.

You didn’t know if you cried out of guilt, anger or fear. Or if maybe it was a mixture of it all, but it didn’t matter. Because the only image that swam infinitely in your head was the menacing memory of the frostbitten skin on your cheeks and the -until today- unknown man that had pulled you off the State Street Bridge’s edge.

Chapter 10.

Taglist: @pearlstiare @teteminne, @beebslebobs, @harrysmatcha, @yum-yahgurt and that’s it lmao

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glasspeaches · 2 years

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NSFW Alphabet Kylo x Peachy

Here is part one A-E of the NSFW alphabet for Kylo and Peachy! This has been very self indulgent and I am planning on doing Pat x Cece eventually!

TW: smoking ment, smut, cum ment, smut.

As always if I missed a tag please let me know and I'll add it!

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

The first time Kylo and Peachy are seeing each other Kylo’s aftercare is fucking awful. He does fall asleep with her after but he’s always gone in the morning. He also doesn’t talk really, usually lights up a cigarette and checks his phone to see if work needs anything.

Once they’re together in a more official capacity he gets a lot better with aftercare. He loves to pull her in close and just feel her, he still has the occasional cig but he’s more mumbled questions and tender kisses. He loves ghosting his hands over all her skin, his hands are all over her stomach and making sure she’s okay, that she doesn’t want to cum again. Even if it’s in a questionable place he’s all handsy and making sure she's okay.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His favorite part of himself is his muscles, his job is all about his physical strength so he takes pride in being the biggest person in the room. Growing up he felt powerless a lot of the time so working out and doing full contact sports (Rugby and Lacrosse) helped out with that feeling, something he could control and be able to hurt people do something with all that extra testosterone.

Kylo’s favorite part of Peachy is her thighs / stomach. He loves how there’s so much to grab, he doesn’t feel like he is going to break her when he touches her. There’s a softness to her fat that he almost feels like he’s missed out on all these years. The way he could see the way her garters were cutting into her thighs was one of the main reasons he even spoke to her. He loves burying his face into her stomach, he loves getting his face in between her thighs even if he’s not nose deep in her cunt.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

Kylo loves cum, loves to cum all over tits, tummys, asses. Loves watching as he cums down someone’s throat. But he adores cumming all over Peach’s tits before feeding it to her. He just, it’s almost like marking his territory. But also he loves it when he can get her to cum all over him. She’s wet to begin with but the first time he made her squirt and soak his hand he nearly came untouched. His other weakness is creampies. Kylo will gladly fill you up every moment of the day that he can. He fucking gets off knowing that you’re dripping him into your panties all day and it goes right back to that whole “alpha male mentality he has.

He strives to be covered in her cum at least once a day and expects the same for her.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

His biggest dirty secret is that he didn’t lose his virginity until he was 21. Kylo was always so ashamed about it and very much a ‘lone wolf’ in highschool. (AKA he was kinda weird but he found out if he was working out no one would fuck with him like they did in middle school.) He never even went to a dance or a date until he was in college, for the semester he was in it. He did sleep with someone until he was stationed in Beograd. It was a one night stand and he never heard from her again. It definitely jump started his sex drive and if you asked him now he honestly couldn’t tell you how many people he’s slept with.

Peachy’s dirty secret is that she has an embarrassingly large toy collection, everything under the sun she probably has one of them. She’s pretty open about everything, even sexual stuff (ie the vintage adult magazines framed all over the house, the nudes she takes and doesn’t even hide on her phone.) But for some reason the toys really make her shy.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

See above for Kylo. He is very experienced, once the dam broke with sex he couldn’t stop. He’s dabbled in BDSM but not much. He knows how to please someone, and when he’s not fucking to get the anger out of his system he is a very good partner.

Peach on the other hand is a little less experienced, also see above. She’s very intune with her body and self pleasure but when it comes to partners she lacks a little. Her confidence issues have contributed to that alot. There’s a lot of guidance from Kylo and she’s thankful (and wet) for it.

#peachy writes #kylo x peachy #personal au #peachys personal world #kylo x oc #smut

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iamvegorott · 2 years

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We're Here Chapter 6 of 11

Strike Two

“I don’t get why they just don’t tell us,” Jackie said as he and the other Septiceyes sat in the living room, the only one missing being Anti. “You know it’s obvious if I can see it.”

“It is probably a pride thing,” Henrik suggested.

“What’s pride gotta do with telling us they’re dating?” Jackie asked.

“Pride is weird.” Henrik shrugged. “It just stops you from thinking correctly.”

“That’s love.” Chase corrected.

“Pride usually just makes you a prick,” Marvin added.

“How long do you think they’ve been together?” JJ asked.

“Months, maybe?” Chase leaned back against the couch he sat on with Marvin and Henrik. “Who knows with them, their official ‘date frame’ might be off depending on how they got together.”

“How do you mean by that?” JJ was on the other couch with Jackie. Robbie was on the floor coloring with a pair of headphones on so he couldn’t hear what the ‘adult talk’ was.

“If one asked the other out on a date, sometimes people don’t count that as their time together and only go off of what is official,” Chase said.

“There’s also a chance of them having hate sex first before they actually dated,” Marvin casually suggested.

“That wouldn’t be shocking.” Chase chuckled. “Those two have been at each other’s throat since the beginning, thankfully they’ve settled down.”

“In more than one way by the sounds of it.” Henrik giggled.

“So, we just wait for them to admit it?” Jackie scratched at the back of his neck.

“Better than to push it. It might get messy if we’re the ones to say it and not them.” Chase said.

“Everything about us is messy.” Marvin finished his sentence with a yawn.

“Tomorrow is going to be a big mess.” JJ silently giggled. “And I know a good handful of us are excited for that.”

“I’m more than down to finally fuck up those assholes,” Jackie said.

“We’re too planned out to not be able to have some fun,” Chase grunted as he stood and stretched. “We should get ready for bed. We have to get up at the asscrack of dawn for this to work.” The beginning of the plan involved waiting until the early morning shift change, allowing them the best time to get the bystanders out and to have the majority of the traffickers still in the building since they switched at different times than the actual store staff.

“Robbo.” Jackie gently poked Robbie’s shoulder to get his attention. Robbie hummed and took off the headset. “It’s time for bed.”

“Really?” Robbie pouted.

“Yandere and Bim are coming over with CJ and RJ in the morning.” Chase said, helping when he saw Jackie’s ‘I can’t tell him no’ face. “I’m sure Jackie will be willing to help you set up your music box. I know you like his song choices.”

“Yeah!” Robbie scrambled to his feet, forgetting about his coloring supplies as he clung to Jackie’s leg, giggling as Jackie awkwardly waddled out of the room with him.

“I got the mess,” Chase said as he took out his phone, checking the time.

“Don’t stay up too late,” Marvin said as he and Henrik left the room as well.

“Anti’s not home yet.” JJ signed when it was just him and Chase.

“He’ll be back any moment now,” Chase said. “Go on to bed, we need everyone at full capacity in the morning.”

“Don’t stay up too late, yourself.” JJ echoed Marvin’s comment and gave Chase a small smile, having a moment of hesitation before going out, leaving Chase alone.

“Come on, Anti,” Chase said as he looked at his phone again. “They must have lost track of time,” Chase spoke to himself softly as he cleaned up the room. “He would have texted if he was spending the night, came back for a charger, or something.” Chase finished his cleaning and took a seat on a couch, opening up YouTube to kill some time as he waited.

Chase didn’t know how much time had passed and he eventually fell asleep with his phone laying flat on his chest, head tilted back, mouth open, and soft snores coming out of him. More time went by before Anti finally opened the front door, wincing when he saw Chase asleep on the couch, knowing that meant Chase would have a sore back in the morning. Anti closed the door as quietly as he could and walked over to Chase, planning on glitching him to his bed so he’d be at least not as sore as he would if he stayed there all night.

“Anti?” Chase groaned when he got near. “What time-”

“It’s not that late.” Anti cut Chase off, picking up his phone so it wouldn’t fall as Chase sat up. “Let’s get to bed.”

“I don’t know how you keep up with that.” Chase chuckled as he stood, brain a little foggy from sleep. He stretched with a grunt and noticed a red mark on Anti’s neck. “You two couldn’t wait one night before having some fun.” He teased, patting Anti on the back.

“Ouch.” Anti flinched away from the touch.

“Ah, shit, sorry.” Chase lowered his hand. “Marvin told me about you falling, you must still be bruised from that.”

“Yeah, it was a bad tumble.” Anti’s smile had a little quiver to it that Chase missed as he started to walk.

“Are you still sure you’re good for tomorrow? If you’re still hurting from falling, Yandere knows your part.” Chase took his hat off and rubbed his head.

“And miss out on all the fun? Hell no.” Anti chuckled. “Once we get going, I won’t even feel the bruises. I’ll be too busy having fun.” They stopped walking when they reached Chase’s bedroom door.

“Don’t push yourself too much. Adrenaline doesn’t mean you’re healed.”

“You’re sounding like we haven’t been doing this for years.” Anti opened the door for Chase. “Now, get to bed.”

“I thought I was the dad of the house.”

“As the uncle, I can have my papa moments.” Anti nudged Chase into the room.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll see you in the morning.” Chase smiled at Anti before closing his door and Anti’s own smile dropped when it did.

“Fuck.” Anti grunted, rubbing at his back as he went for his bedroom. He really needed to get some sleep.

-------------------

First chapter: Link

Next chapter: Link

Read the whole story on Ao3: Link

#danti #domestic abuse

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taiblogcomics · 6 months

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A Hitch in Crime Solves Nine

Hey there, Team Li'l Bitches. All right, we're finally back on track with these pony reviews. It's all forward chronology from here! Genuinely, I don't know what's ahead, so we'll see what they do with the future.

Here's the cover:

Ah, it's Hitch. I'm not quite sure this counts as film noir. I think it explicitly has to be in black and white. What is this, then, film sepia? If that's not already a thing, please credit me for it. Either way, with the hat and the sepia tones, it puts me more in mind of Indiana Jones than a detective story. I guess Indiana is sort of an archaeology detective. They're not dissimilar stories, is what I'm saying. Other than the hat, the big sign of film noir is the venetian blinds. All in all, kind of a cool cover. And very muted for a pony story!

So if you remember back when we covered issue 11 for Halloween, Hitch wasn't in that issue because he's doing true crime podcasting now. Zipp borrowed some equipment from him, and she's doing the AV for him. They've called their show "MareCRIME Bay", which I'm not sure is stupid or brilliant. Stupilliant, let's call it. Hitch got into this whole thing digging up a cold case from before his time as sheriff, which changed his whole view on Maretime Bay. That's a dark path to go down, Hitch, are you sure you can handle it~?

So starting the podcast got him loads of viewers sending in new information about the case. Well, that's one way to solve cases, I suppose! So here's the case: Pansy Silverbell was a four-time winner of the local bake-off, headed there for her fifth year of competition. But she never made it there, and in fact was never seen again. All we know is she talked to two ponies before failing to reach her destination: Jazz Hooves and Dahlia. What kept her from the competition, and why has she never been seen again? That's honestly a pretty good mystery. Darker than I'd expect, and given some of the stories we've covered, no guarantee the answer isn't just as chilling.

Other facts about Pansy: she ran a baking club and spent most of her time volunteering. She liked soup, and made some killer cupcakes. That was her signature award-winner. She even bragged online about being ready to take the next competition, to the ire of some online commenters. None of the commenters have been identified. But what Hitch is sharing on episode 2 is some interesting photos the Pony Photobug Club caught. Lotta clubs in Maretime Bay, I'm noticing. Guess they needed some way to socialise while still isolating from the other races.

The photographs (available to listeners on their Ponygram account) at least prove Jazz and Dahlia were the ones Pansy spoke to. Jazz runs a hooficure salon in town, and Hitch isn't so manly that he's above making an appointment to talk to her for the case. As soon as he mentions her name, though, Jazz hauls him into the back room to talk. It's a small town, it wouldn't do to hear such things being asked about. Jazz asks if he's asking in an official capacity, since she's not sure how much she wants to say. Bit suspicious, if you ask me, and Hitch thinks so too.

So Jazz's story is just that she was minding her own business walking down the street--minding it a bit too closely, as she runs right into Pansy, knocking her cart over. She helps her pick up the cart, sees her off, that's pretty much it. Not much of a story. Hitch points out she looks a bit grim in the photo for such a simple incident, and she says maybe she was upset by something or somepony else. She continues to be a little bit shifty, such as suggesting she definitely doesn't know who these Ponygram commenters are, even when pronouncing their names perfectly.

Hitch himself didn't put the names together until he heard them aloud. One of the nastier comments left on Pansy's last post was from "DollyYeah". Which, you might notice, sounds like "Dahlia". So that's who Hitch goes to interview next. She runs a tidy little bakery stand, which must be nice to not have a lot of competition anymore. Which is basically what Hitch comes right out and says, accusing Dahlia of being mad enough to leave nasty comments online and then also arrange Pansy's disappearance. I think those two events are a bit apart in scope. I hope they are, anyway…

She and Hitch grab a bite from her own stand, where she reveals she learned to bake from Pansy. So, the reason she left mean comments online is because she was annoyed with Pansy. Or more specifically, the circumstances. The winner of the bake-off was probably going to get a sponsorship deal and 10,000 bits. And Pansy already had a pretty successful bakery as it was, while Dahlia wanted to open her own. Dahlia was one of those friends who gets overshadowed all their life by a more successful one. So she kinda lashed out. Sometimes friends have disagreements, that's all it was.

As is usual for this kind of story, this is the part where Hitch gets stymied for a little bit until an innocuous unrelated comment gives him the hint he needs to break it wide open. In this case (literally), Hitch and Zipp break for lunch and really enjoy their butternut squash chowder. Zipp even comments that she wants to nominate the chowder for an award, and it's that remark which gives Hitch his eureka moment. Pansy never showed at the bake-off--but was she even registered to compete? Or just to attend? He dashes off to pursue the leads.

So Hitch meets with the judges from the bake-off (for a chili lunch), and they confirm they haven't seen Pansy. But another thing they confirm is the very interesting detail that Dahlia was the winner of that contest. She got that 10,000 bits and opened the very bakery where she and Hitch had a snack. For some reason she didn't feel this info was pertinent to share. Before he can digest that (or his latest meal), he receives an interesting email. In short, it's a mysterious podcast listener, somepony who wants to meet him tomorrow afternoon…

Hitch arrives the next day to meet the mysterious email sender, who turns out to be… Pansy Silverbell herself. She's been listening to the podcast, and is quite surprised that she's the subject. She's brought a couple of one of her singature treats. Friendship is like cookies, you see. You need equal icing on both sides, or it won't stick. And that's when the other email recipient drops by: Dahlia. She apologises for running out on Pansy, but she's not concerned about all that. Instead she invites the pair of them to her house--right next door to Dahlia's shop.

Pansy serves them some soup and comes clean about the whole thing. Jazz was the only one from their old friend group who knew, and she pressured Pansy to send that email after the podcast started up. So what's going on is that Pansy never wanted to be "the best", she just happened to be really good at stuff and outshone her friends by accident. Eventually, the prospect of being the champion winner for a fifth time and getting a sponsorship was too much for her. She abandoned everypony and disappeared so she could find herself.

That's it, basically! She wasn't even sure baking was her calling and is into soups now. She just never knew how to start up with "I'm not dead and live next door" to Dahlia, which is fair. The two start over, and Hitch starts up episode 4 of his podcast by declaring he's calling off the investigation. I'd say I dunno how he stretched that all out to four episodes, but I've seen modern comics stretch an entire storyline out to six issues, so actually I believe it. But ye, the comic ends with the important lesson that some things are unsolved because some folks just want a little privacy. Case--and comic book--closed~!

Honestly? Kinda liked this issue. Probably one of the better mysteries they've attempted, and they had a whole miniseries about mystery-solving. I have two main critiques with it. First, I'd say this is a great example of how they do when they focus solely on one or two characters--except it's not really about Hitch, is it? Hitch is just the connecting piece that links all the rest of the story together. And speaking of things connecting it all together... That's my other complaint. This is much more minor, but like... Every lead Hitch followed, other than Jazz, involved a meal of some kind. Like, he didn't need to get chili with the bake-off judges for the story to work, but he did. I thought it was all building to some punchline about detective work making him feel full or something. I dunno, it just felt like a joke set-up that never happened~

#comics #reviews #My Little Pony #My Little Pony: A New Generation #Taiblog

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atlanticcanada · 1 year

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Fiery crowd gathers in Moncton for public consultation on N.B. French education overhaul

Hundreds of people showed up in Moncton, N.B., Thursday night for the second public consultation on the province’s new French-language education program.

The registration line for the event snaked through the halls of the Delta Hotel and, at one point, people were told the room was at capacity.

“We are hearing in the community that they don’t think that there is some flack and concerns, whereas there are, as you can see by the numbers that have turned out tonight,” said parent Jillian Porter.

“This government is plowing ahead, creating yet more instability, anxiety and burnout,” said one speaker. “Teachers are losing faith in their leaders, and moving away or moving to Francophone districts, and I do not blame them.”

The new education framework states that all students entering kindergarten and Grade 1 will spend half of their day learning core subjects, like literacy and math in English, with the other half of the school day doing exploratory learning in French.

But that’s not enough for many who attended Thursday’s meeting.

“Fifty per cent of French in a day is not enough to teach a student to become bilingual. And 50 per cent of regular curriculum a day is not enough to teach the curriculum,” said Chris Collins with Canadian Parent for French New Brunswick.

“Our children, this generation of children, are going to be robbed of the opportunity to learn how to speak and to be officially bilingual,” he said.

Parent Rudy Walters says, with one son currently in French immersion, he’s worried his other son, who’s starting kindergarten in the fall, won’t get the same opportunity to learn the language.

“It’s really hard to imagine knowing that one child will have those advantages,” said Walters. “Hopefully [he may] be able to help with the younger child, but that other child not having those same advantages and not having those same opportunities.”

The crowd was passionate, loud, and spoke freely with their concerns and comments.

“People do not trust in your government’s good will when proposals like this are made. It seems like just one more way to potentially undermine bilingualism in this province,” said another speaker.

New Brunswick Education Minister Bill Hogan says all the feedback will go into making the final decision.

“I’m very confident in the framework,” said Hogan. “I think part of the issue that we have is, we haven’t done a lot of time explaining ourselves well, and we need to come back to that and explain it and I take the opinions and what was expressed here tonight very seriously.”

As for finding enough teachers to fill the French positions, Hogan says they’re in good shape.

“I think right now that we can fill the Grade 1 positions. We’re pretty sure we can do that, but it is a challenge. I haven’t said anywhere that it’s not a challenge. I’ve acknowledged that and we’re going to continue to work so that we can address that issue.”

Although some do not feel the ongoing public consultations will make a difference in the Higgs’ government’s decision.

“Just the fact that it’s so rushed and they’ve been reluctant to present data to the population,” said Moncton resident Marc Surette. “I’m not very confident that this is going to be able to change their minds.”

from CTV News - Atlantic https://ift.tt/YlyhIDj

#new brunswick #prince edward island #nova scotia #news #politics #canada #CTVAtlantic

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zombiejesus · 1 year

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The Undying Ember

Inspired by the Flame of Frenzy in Elden Ring.

"is that really what they believe up there? that we worship the flame of chaos? that's bleak. they've forgottent their own history so fast, it hasn't even been a generation. listen, that it's our god and we brought devastation on the peninsula, is bald revision. we were banished down here to this watchtower and the attendant fields.

"a quarter century ago after the death of the last church elder, we were a land without a Lord, a port nation of our own devices. but the empire couldn't abide that. so, when we were devastated fighting their great war, we coalesced into one tribe and started peddling traded goods to the mainland, only our caravans could safely make the climbs up the incline of the green cliffs and back to the peninsula, before the grand lift at the sharptooth.

"we were merchants and manned most imperial ships. we were officially a protectorate and overseen by a governor but that perverse bastard was just as bad as the kings we shed. he hated us. we had never been obligated to produce more grain than we needed before. we had paid our tithes in garum and salt, silks and steel. we also moved things, and people, from the far north to here, from here to the south. this peninsula was a bustling center of trade, but he started calling us bandits. privateers. pirates, finally. when the grand inquisitor came, we were accused of heresy and blasphemy against the church, of worshipping demons and the old gods. so we were decimated, rounded up, and sealed away. forced onto this village sized plot of land and the catacombs below, cut off from the rest of the empire.

"we withered and struggled, forced underground to survive on the fungi and molluscs living in the depths. our cries of desperation, despair, repentance, grief, rage…. it all echoed in the cold darkness. then the echoes became routine and we delved deeper and deeper until we found the audience chamber. the massive stone dome you saw down there. a relic of the ancient past. the chamber was large enough for all of us, heavily protected and had only one entrance, hidden close to the base of the main lift. it became our home. but we didn't have any scholars or priests left. our poor scribe couldn't see well enough to have been able to warn us.

"after a few years, our desperation called the flame. it came to us slowly and gradually then all at once. like a wildfire. it took most of us right away, turning the weakest minds into wandering husks. the strongest of them held out some sense but succumbed to the inner madness. the rest of us. those of us, above ground, like me. we can't get down there. the flame won't allow unworthy subjects in its domain, and the binding spell cast on this prison prevents anything entering or leaving the catacombs.

"sorry. I got carried away. me and my mates here, we were abroad and acting in an unofficial capacity when the shunning and selling took place. we'd each received a hawk telling us to forestall return home for some time. we abided our instructions but eventually we all found each other and couldn't bear the silence. so we came back. and now we're stuck here. we could leave if we could pass back up the incline, but with the watch and the miners, it's not possible.

"our people were sent down there to die a lonely slow death because we made a mad lord upset that he couldn't twist an unbroken land to his will. and the flame… the flame found them. I spoke to one of them, through the barrier. one of the ones who tried to get me to push through. the chaos flame isn't a god the way we know them, it's a thing, a concept. a force of nature. the destructive aspect of the cycle of creation and destruction. it is inevitable according to them.

"he said, the witch told them, "the flame will come. you cannot outrun it. it burns away every world in turn. you can only hope to make it smoulder and not consume." I have no idea who the witch was but before he returned to the depths, he said he heard him calling. calling them all back…"

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vinceresemper · 2 years

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Her fingers are working the buttons of her coat when she hears the creak of the office door, followed by the familiar click of dragon hide shoes steady against the marble floor. Without turning around, Hermione calls out from where she is hunched over her bag, eyes flitting across each file to ensure that she has all the patient charts she needs to review before her morning shift.

"Before you make fun of me, yes, Malfoy—I am, in fact, going on that date with Alaric, from Accounting. And yes, that means that you're going to have to manage any on-call emergencies that arise for me tonight, but remember you owe me for last month, because Godric forbid you miss a single Falcons game—"

"Headed home?"

The retort of, "no, I'm planning to make the rounds in my regular clothes with all of my files in tow," dies immediately at her lips, her fingers freezing on the straps of her bag. After four years of sharing her office with Draco Malfoy, every cell in her body stands at rapt attention, knowing that his gravelly voice could only mean one thing.

Hermione rises slowly, turning to face the wizard before her. There were specks of red in his fine hair, a shocking contrast against the pale strands, uncharacteristically in disarray. She takes in the tightness around his eyes, the grim set of his mouth, shoulders hunched ever so slightly, before finally meeting his gaze.

Dark greys stare back at her. The veil of Occlumency shutters him to her and to the world. She feels her heart drop.

"Roberta."

The name falls like a feather from her lips.

Her fingers twitch as he gives her a curt nod, his stormy gaze never wavering from hers.

"Oh, Draco," Hermione breathes, the clinical neutrality that Healer training had ingrained within her, within them, falling away at the sight of his rigid form, his body caught in the crossfire between his official capacity as Healer and the grief he holds back as if it were bile at his throat.

"Headed home?" he repeats, eyes finally falling from her face to the floor, his head drooping as he does so. In the silence, four words hang in the air.

Take me with you.

The familiarity of the situation hits her like a tidal wave.

Even the war had not prepared them for the deaths in the Emergency and Rare Maladies Ward. Both she and Draco had been brazen in their beliefs that death could not faze them any more than it already had. They had grown up with the War. Death had taken so much from them both that it had become them, in some ways, entrenched into the spaces between their bones where they stored their grief.

And yet.

Her first long-term patient died six months to the day that she and Draco had joined the Ward. He had watched as she burst into their office, door clanging loudly behind her. And when she crumpled to the floor, knees giving way as she tried, tried, tried and failed to hold back the tidal wave of emotions, he had risen slowly from his desk to the spot where she had curled into a ball, shaking, weeping, strange sounds emitting from her mouth, cradling her into his arms before wordlessly Apparating them to his en-suite at his flat.

He had never let go of her as he wandlessly filled his marble bath with warm water, stepping out of his shoes and using one hand to gently pry off hers, before submerging them both. He had held her as her sobs echoed into the air—and long after, when her tears had long dried.

She had woken in his bed the next morning, and they never spoke of it again.

His first long-term patient dies two months after. She does not carry him, but she takes his hand, and that is enough. He wakes in her bed the next morning.

They never speak of it again.

And so it went.

Hermione presses her lips together, lifting her bag over her shoulder before walking around her desk to Draco. His left hand is still clutching his wand in a death grip, in a ghost of his last efforts to save the patient who undoubtedly reminded him of his own late mother. She slips her right hand into his, intertwining their fingers, squeezing his hand tightly. His head is still hanging with his blood-splattered hair falling into his face as she Apparates them away.

_________

They land in her bedroom with a quiet pop.

Hermione looks up at Draco to find him staring at the wall opposite him. His eyes are blank, and he does not move as she gently slips her hand out of his to walk around to stand in front of him. Setting her bag down, she stands on her tip-toes to reach for the clasp of his lime green robe.

It falls to the floor with a quiet thud at the quick motion of her fingers.

She mutters cleaning spells under her breath as her fingers undo each of the buttons of his shirt; he does not tear his gaze away from the wall, but when she struggles to reach up his tall stature to move it past his shoulders, he lifts his arms up, allowing her to pull from the cuffs. Her hands move to the cold clasp of his belt, working to free the leather from its loop, then unbuttoning his trousers.

Draco drops his wand in a clatter as he pushes the fabric past his hips, letting it pool to the floor. Standing in her bedroom in just his briefs, his eyes briefly meet hers as she works her way out of her jumper and jeans, down to her underwear, before he climbs into her bed, rolling onto his side.

Silence hangs heavily in the room as Hermione flicks her wand, his clothes folding neatly, landing in a pile on the ottoman at the foot of her bed, their Healer robes finding their places in her closet. She then pads over to the bed, carpet plush beneath her bare feet, before climbing in beside him, the sheets cool on her bare skin.

Sidling up to him, Hermione presses her forehead to his back, wrapping her arm around his bare torso. She feels the steady rise and fall of his stomach beneath her hand.

"Draco," she says softly, giving his arm a gentle tug, "It's me. Let me in."

With a shuddering gasp, he turns over to face her, eyes squeezed shut.

"I couldn't—I couldn't save her."

His voice is hoarse. The pain in her chest is searing.

"I couldn't save her, Hermione."

She brings his head to her chest as his arms wrap around her bare waist, closing the distance between their bodies. Silent tears escape her eyes as she kisses the top of his head. He shakes against her as he entwines his legs with hers, as if becoming one with her would fill the pockets of emptiness that grief leaves behind in its wake.

"You brought her joy while she was here, Draco. And that's everything."

Her hand runs soothing circles at the nape of his neck, the other cradling his head to her.

"They all leave."

She feels Draco's voice echo in the juncture of her neck, the quiet whispers of a confession. Her heart breaks for the boy Draco never got to be, lost somewhere inside his form that towered over her, standing proud until he could, no longer.

Hermione reaches a hand down to clasp his chin, guiding him to look up at her. Tears streak his face in glistening lines, running past the expanse of his cheeks, down the slope of his nose.

"No," she says, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "You have me, Draco."

An unreadable expression flits across his face as she repeats, "You have me."

He lets out a long breath before he reaches up slightly to touch his lips to hers. She chalks it up to pain, to grief. He raises himself from her chest to bring his head to his pillow; his arm gently nudges her to roll over before bringing her to fit her back snugly to his front, their legs tangling together, once more.

"Go to sleep," she whispers, threading her fingers through both of his hands that lay beneath her bosom.

"Take me with you," is his response, as slumber takes them both.

#draco malfoy x hermione granger #dramione #draco x hermione #hermione x draco #hermione granger

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beyondspaceandstars · 3 years

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Happy Engagement

Relationship: Loki x Reader Warnings: contains some dark elements: manipulation Summary: Loki has always thought of you as his and there isn’t anything he won’t do to keep it that way. A/N: I’ve been sitting on this one shot for a while! I had the idea for it months ago and finally wrote it and then it just sat on my computer while I wrote other stuff but I figured since I don’t have anything really new this week it’d be perfect to put out! I hope you enjoy it because I greatly do :)

Masterlist

Loki had always been an interesting force in your life.

You two met when you were just children in school. You two were the official unofficial outsides of your school year — he was a prince, you were a peasant. Despite his royal standing, he’d play with you at recess. For these outlier ways, you two never interacted much with the other kids, life practically forcing you two to one another.

At such a young age, you hadn’t realized how significant this bond would become. As a child, you were just glad someone was talking to you. He shouldn’t have even been looking at you, should’ve maybe been disgusted with your presence alone. You should’ve been some onlooker, amazed by him and his magic but you weren’t — well, except for the magic part. His magic was little when you were kids but it drew quite the amazement from you.

Over time, you two naturally grew with one another. From childhood into your teens and still, now, you two made an unlikely pair of best friends as young adults. All of this though did not come without some bumps along the way.

In your teens, Loki had almost completely shut you out. For some reason, he seemed to be acting embarrassed by you. Your mother had warned you this may happen but you thought he was different, swore he was, unless his sincerity was like the many other tricks he played. Eventually, supposedly after some talking down from his brother, Loki appeared back at your door asking if you wanted to go for a walk.

This disappearing and coming back had become a habit for him over his teenage years and into adulthood. Loki never explicitly told you why but you could tell there was something eating away at him. It had been there a long time and it felt like disassociating himself with you was his solution.

You thought everything was coming to an abrupt end when you fell pregnant. You had been seeing a nobleman who was a regular customer in your parents’ shop. He was absolutely charming and delightful, practically swept you right off your feet within minutes of meeting. Your parents were ecstatic when he asked to court you.

You yourself were stunned but you ran to tell Loki about it. He was speechless. You tried telling him about the man but something in Loki snapped. He got unreasonably upset, spewing hateful comments about the man, practically forcing you out of his chambers in the process. He went radio silent again.

You tried to ignore losing your best friend — again — and focused on your new relationship. He wooed you endlessly with dates to lavish dinners and dawning you in lovely gowns. It was all so much more than you had ever expected in life. He’d tell you you deserved it and whisper sweet nothings in your ear as you two would get so lost in one another.

A bit shamefully, hypnotized by the romantics of it all, you gave yourself to him. Tangled in the sheets with him as your guide, you let the man you felt you would marry have every last bit of you.

And for a while after, it was blissful. Nothing had seemed to change between you two until he announced he had to go away for a bit. Confused, you asked why suddenly now facing the fact you were losing another person in your life. He explained he was needed by his father on a different realm, part of the family "business," as he described it.

Days after his departure, you learned you were pregnant. Around this time, Loki popped back up in your life. You felt relieved having someone to confide in but when you told him of your pregnancy, he was far from the supportive force you thought you’d get. He didn’t yell or get upset per se but he was beyond stunned.

He left for a bit then but can back in less time than last. This time he brought along baby supplies and congratulated you. It was a complete one-eighty from his prior behavior but you accepted it, gratefully. Loki ended up being your main person throughout the pregnancy as clues of when your boyfriend would return were nonexistent.

"Did he know you were carrying his child when he left?" Loki had asked you one night. You two were sitting in the living room of the makeshift house you had acquired. You didn’t feel very good that this was the home you were bringing a child into when you knew her father could’ve provided her with a better one. But, at the end of the day, it was a roof over both your heads.

You crocheted another knot in the baby blanket. "No, he didn’t. I didn’t even know."

Loki gave a passing hum at that answer. He didn’t ask about your boyfriend very much after that.

Once your baby girl arrived, she became your entire world, your entire focus. Between caring for her and working to provide, you had little time to worry about your boyfriend still being gone. But it wasn’t as lonely as it may have looked because Loki was always by your side. Working around his royal duties, he’d take time to come visit you and your daughter even sometimes staying for dinner or to play with her. You didn’t miss how he was unintentionally becoming the father she was missing. You never said anything, though, always biting your tongue as you waited for her father to return.

Hope began to face on that front after your daughter turned three. Maybe he was just a footnote in your life, a foolish hopeful dream, but at least he had given you the lovely gift of your child. You weren’t giving up, still placing him in the boyfriend spot of your mind, but you couldn’t deny doubt crept in. Maybe a relationship of any capacity just wasn’t in the cards for you.

Or so you thought.

As Loki continued with his royal responsibilities, he was growing older and more powerful. That’s when the rumors of marriage began floating about. Your mother had brought it up to you once asking if you met any of his potential suitors. Your stomach did a somersault. You didn’t even know there were suitors, let alone met any of them. You tried to keep your cool and just told her no.

Who these suitors were and if they really existed, you never found out. You never even had the guts to ask about them especially after Loki pulled you aside one night after a dinner at the palace.

He rarely ever invited you to dinners with his family so to get this spontaneous invitation, you didn’t hesitate to attend. He even allowed you to bring along your daughter. She was playing with some servants’ children when Loki asked you to the garden.

"Feeling like a nighttime stroll?" You asked with a little laugh. Loki just smiled.

"There’s actually something I want to speak to you about."

"Oh," you frowned. "Is everything okay?"

Loki nodded. "Yes, yes, everything is fine." He looked up at the sky, almost lost in thought as you walked. You thought for a split second how lovely he looked. "I’m sure you have heard by now the…talk about my anticipated engagement."

Your heart practically stopped beating at that moment. Your hands instinctively gripped at the skirt of your dress as if you were ready to run away at the drop of a hat. Trying to keep your voice stead, you said, "Yes, I believe my mother mentioned that to me the other day."

He shot you an unreadable side glance. Your hands gripped the fabric tighter. Why were you feeling like this? Was that…jealousy you felt? You didn’t understand where that had come from. This was your best friend. Your prince best friend. He was bound to get married and have a lavish life with his bride. You couldn’t stop that, you couldn’t change it.

"Do you know anything of the women I have been offered?"

Was this another one of his cruel jokes? You wanted to vomit all over the bushes of flowers passing you as you walked. You managed to shake your head in response. "I’m sure they’re all wonderful."

He scoffed. "More like they’re all incredibly boring."

You gasped, "Loki, I’m not sure you should be speaking that way of them."

"It’s doesn’t matter," he shrugged, "because none of them are what I want."

You didn’t know if you actually wanted to know what he was seeking. You looked at him wearily.

You two walked in silence for a moment. Loki was now watching the ground intensely. You couldn’t believe how much his gaze was wandering. It must’ve been for courage because the next words out of his mouth were ones you had never thought you’d ever hear. From anyone.

"I believe you could be what I want," he said. He spoke your name so softly. "I’d like to ask for your hand in marriage."

You stopped walking, your legs suddenly unable to move. Your eyes grew wide as complete shock raced over you. You didn’t know what to do, too scared to speak because you didn’t know what was going to come out. Your first thought was that this was one of his magic tricks. Maybe he wasn’t even here, just a clone of him as he wished to make a fool of you. It wouldn’t be the first time but he had never been so cruel.

"You’re not saying anything," Loki noted. He had stopped a few feet ahead of you, completely taken off guard by your halt.

"I-I don’t understand." The words felt so heavy forcing their way out of your mouth.

"I don’t believe I stuttered, dear."

Your jaw dropped, surprised it hadn’t hit the floor already. He was seriously asking this. Loki, a literal prince, and your best friend, was asking for your hand in marriage. But — But you just didn’t know why. Why would he ask such a thing? Not only were you an unwed mother, he knew very well about your boyfriend. It was almost insulting he’d think you’d give up just because business or whatever it was was taking a while. You didn’t even want to begin to think about what this could all mean for your daughter.

"Loki… I… I don’t know. This seems crazy—,"

"Crazy?" His expression turned dark. You suddenly regretted the word despite it holding true. "What is so crazy about me wanting to take your hand? I thought this could be good. You and your daughter would have everything you’d ever want. You’d be a princess for crying out loud!"

You flinched at his anger. You had never seen him so enraged before. It made your whole body stiffen.

"I see. This… This is very generous of you but my boyfriend…"

Loki chuckled but there wasn’t any humor found within it. "Of course. The nobleman." He rolled his eyes. "Tell me again, dear, how long has it been? Do you really think he’s going to just show back up one day?"

"Of course," you nodded. "He told me—,"

"He’s not coming back."

You began shaking your head, growing more and more upset as the seconds passed. "You don’t know that."

Loki sighed, defeatedly. "I do know that, dear." A heavy pause. "I know that because I’m the one that sent him away."

You were certain in that moment your heart had stopped. Everything had stopped. You could barely tell anymore how you got from point A to point B.

"Wh-What do you mean?"

"What I mean is I’ve had my eye on you for a long time," he explained. He was standing so tall making you feel minuscule. "I always thought you could be just right for me but then that nobleman waltzed into your life. Granted, he wasn’t me. He couldn’t give you what I could but he tried his best." Loki shrugged. "I had no choice, really. He threatened everything. He derailed my plan but it’s alright. I think after tonight it’ll be back on track, correct?"

You held your hands up in defense, practically begging Loki to slow down. Your head was spinning. "You sent away the father of my child?"

Loki sighed, sounding actually regretful. "Truly, that wasn’t ever my intention. I didn’t know he was going to do that."

"And you think since you forced him out of the picture, you can swoop in and ask for my hand in marriage? We never had a courtship! Are you even hearing yourself?"

"I’m a prince, darling." He sounded so casual. "We do not court like the rest of you."

Gosh, you felt like you were going to vomit. Your hands fell to your stomach as you tried to calm yourself. You had never heard Loki separate you two so clearly before. Like he had drawn a line, definitively.

Your words tasted like venom as you forced yourself to speak. "Can I at least think about it?"

"I’m afraid not. They’d like an answer tonight."

Tonight. That was what this dinner had been for. You weren’t invited just out of the kindness of his heart. You had been attending your own engagement party.

"Loki, this… I— This is insane. You’re— You’re insane—,"

"Am I, really?" He pressed, taking a few steps closer. You trembled under a darkened gaze you had never seen before on him. "I’m not sure that’s how you should be speaking to the man trying to offer you a bit of… stability."

"Stability?" You repeated. "You think that’s all that I want?"

"Would this not grant your daughter a better life? The little shop of yours is only getting you two so far, dear."

The shock had worn off as you were now being filled with rage. "Don’t you dare bring my daughter into this anymore," you gritted. "Of course, I want nothing but the best for her but I also deserve someone who will truly love me. You’re — You’re just asking to fulfill some royal commitment and trying to pass it off like this is some big, grand gesture to help me."

Loki looked a bit taken back by your words. Even you were a bit surprised by yourself. You didn’t know where this fight was coming from within you. Probably from the depths of motherhood, if you had to guess. But it felt good in a way.

After a heavy moment, Loki asked, "Was I so wrong to assume this proposal could actually help us both?"

That was the real kicker of it all, you thought. This actually could help you both.

"I want to marry someone who loves me."

Loki seemed to debate around the idea mentally. "I’m certain that within time something could bloom. I’m not a psychopath, darling." He smirked. "But I truly can’t believe you’d give this up all for the minuscule chance at love, the hopeless thing that got you where you are today."

You gasped. "I would’ve had true love if you hadn’t banished him away!"

Loki let out a humorless laugh. "You are so adorable, you know that?" You flinched as he got close enough now to place a hand on your damp cheek. You were practically forced to look in his eyes as he spoke. "That man was nothing but a spoiled brat and I refuse to believe you actually fell for his game."

You felt yourself crumbling down again. Way beneath him. "He… He was really…"

"Don’t you dare try to defend him, do you hear me?" Loki spat. That darkness was washing over but this time it felt like a storm you couldn’t escape. "I will not have my bride speak such niceties about another man."

"Your bride—,"

"While I’ve enjoyed this little midnight confessional, we have some good news to share with everyone, don’t we?"

You didn’t know what to do. What to think anymore. He wasn’t letting up. You were trapped. It was like the prison gate had shut behind you. You were stone-cold now, completely under his control. You were giving up in complete defeat. You could scream until you were blue in the face but you were running in circles. At least your daughter would know a home.

"Yes."

Loki’s face lit up. He removed his hands from you. "Fantastic," he said, heading back towards the palace. You helplessly followed beside him. He wrapped an arm around your waist and said, "Happy engagement, dear."

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blackwoolncrown · 4 years

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”This essay has been kicking around in my head for years now and I’ve never felt confident enough to write it. It’s a time in my life I’m ashamed of. It’s a time that I hurt people and, through inaction, allowed others to be hurt. It’s a time that I acted as a violent agent of capitalism and white supremacy. Under the guise of public safety, I personally ruined people’s lives but in so doing, made the public no safer… so did the family members and close friends of mine who also bore the badge alongside me.

But enough is enough.

The reforms aren’t working. Incrementalism isn’t happening. Unarmed Black, indigenous, and people of color are being killed by cops in the streets and the police are savagely attacking the people protesting these murders.

American policing is a thick blue tumor strangling the life from our communities and if you don’t believe it when the poor and the marginalized say it, if you don’t believe it when you see cops across the country shooting journalists with less-lethal bullets and caustic chemicals, maybe you’ll believe it when you hear it straight from the pig’s mouth.”

>>Copied here in case anyone gets paywalled when they click the above. The full article is...a lot.<<

WHY AM I WRITING THIS

As someone who went through the training, hiring, and socialization of a career in law enforcement, I wanted to give a first-hand account of why I believe police officers are the way they are. Not to excuse their behavior, but to explain it and to indict the structures that perpetuate it.

I believe that if everyone understood how we’re trained and brought up in the profession, it would inform the demands our communities should be making of a new way of community safety. If I tell you how we were made, I hope it will empower you to unmake us.

One of the other reasons I’ve struggled to write this essay is that I don’t want to center the conversation on myself and my big salty boo-hoo feelings about my bad choices. It’s a toxic white impulse to see atrocities and think “How can I make this about me?” So, I hope you’ll take me at my word that this account isn’t meant to highlight me, but rather the hundred thousand of me in every city in the country. It’s about the structure that made me (that I chose to pollute myself with) and it’s my meager contribution to the cause of radical justice.

YES, ALL COPS ARE BASTARDS

I was a police officer in a major metropolitan area in California with a predominantly poor, non-white population (with a large proportion of first-generation immigrants). One night during briefing, our watch commander told us that the city council had requested a new zero tolerance policy. Against murderers, drug dealers, or child predators?

No, against homeless people collecting cans from recycling bins.

See, the city had some kickback deal with the waste management company where waste management got paid by the government for our expected tonnage of recycling. When homeless people “stole” that recycling from the waste management company, they were putting that cheaper contract in peril. So, we were to arrest as many recyclers as we could find.

Even for me, this was a stupid policy and I promptly blew Sarge off. But a few hours later, Sarge called me over to assist him. He was detaining a 70 year old immigrant who spoke no English, who he’d seen picking a coke can out of a trash bin. He ordered me to arrest her for stealing trash. I said, “Sarge, c’mon, she’s an old lady.” He said, “I don’t give a shit. Hook her up, that’s an order.” And… I did. She cried the entire way to the station and all through the booking process. I couldn’t even comfort her because I didn’t speak Spanish. I felt disgusting but I was ordered to make this arrest and I wasn’t willing to lose my job for her.

If you’re tempted to feel sympathy for me, don’t. I used to happily hassle the homeless under other circumstances. I researched obscure penal codes so I could arrest people in homeless encampments for lesser known crimes like “remaining too close to railroad property” (369i of the California Penal Code). I used to call it “planting warrant seeds” since I knew they wouldn’t make their court dates and we could arrest them again and again for warrant violations.

We used to have informal contests for who could cite or arrest someone for the weirdest law. DUI on a bicycle, non-regulation number of brooms on your tow truck (27700(a)(1) of the California Vehicle Code)… shit like that. For me, police work was a logic puzzle for arresting people, regardless of their actual threat to the community. As ashamed as I am to admit it, it needs to be said: stripping people of their freedom felt like a game to me for many years.

I know what you’re going to ask: did I ever plant drugs? Did I ever plant a gun on someone? Did I ever make a false arrest or file a false report? Believe it or not, the answer is no. Cheating was no fun, I liked to get my stats the “legitimate” way. But I knew officers who kept a little baggie of whatever or maybe a pocket knife that was a little too big in their war bags (yeah, we called our dufflebags “war bags”…). Did I ever tell anybody about it? No I did not. Did I ever confess my suspicions when cocaine suddenly showed up in a gang member’s jacket? No I did not.

In fact, let me tell you about an extremely formative experience: in my police academy class, we had a clique of around six trainees who routinely bullied and harassed other students: intentionally scuffing another trainee’s shoes to get them in trouble during inspection, sexually harassing female trainees, cracking racist jokes, and so on. Every quarter, we were to write anonymous evaluations of our squadmates. I wrote scathing accounts of their behavior, thinking I was helping keep bad apples out of law enforcement and believing I would be protected. Instead, the academy staff read my complaints to them out loud and outed me to them and never punished them, causing me to get harassed for the rest of my academy class. That’s how I learned that even police leadership hates rats. That’s why no one is “changing things from the inside.” They can’t, the structure won’t allow it.

And that’s the point of what I’m telling you. Whether you were my sergeant, legally harassing an old woman, me, legally harassing our residents, my fellow trainees bullying the rest of us, or “the bad apples” illegally harassing “shitbags”, we were all in it together. I knew cops that pulled women over to flirt with them. I knew cops who would pepper spray sleeping bags so that homeless people would have to throw them away. I knew cops that intentionally provoked anger in suspects so they could claim they were assaulted. I was particularly good at winding people up verbally until they lashed out so I could fight them. Nobody spoke out. Nobody stood up. Nobody betrayed the code.

None of us protected the people (you) from bad cops.

This is why “All cops are bastards.” Even your uncle, even your cousin, even your mom, even your brother, even your best friend, even your spouse, even me. Because even if they wouldn’t Do The Thing themselves, they will almost never rat out another officer who Does The Thing, much less stop it from happening.

BASTARD 101

I could write an entire book of the awful things I’ve done, seen done, and heard others bragging about doing. But, to me, the bigger question is “How did it get this way?”. While I was a police officer in a city 30 miles from where I lived, many of my fellow officers were from the community and treated their neighbors just as badly as I did. While every cop’s individual biases come into play, it’s the profession itself that is toxic, and it starts from day 1 of training.

Every police academy is different but all of them share certain features: taught by old cops, run like a paramilitary bootcamp, strong emphasis on protecting yourself more than anyone else. The majority of my time in the academy was spent doing aggressive physical training and watching video after video after video of police officers being murdered on duty.

I want to highlight this: nearly everyone coming into law enforcement is bombarded with dash cam footage of police officers being ambushed and killed. Over and over and over. Colorless VHS mortality plays, cops screaming for help over their radios, their bodies going limp as a pair of tail lights speed away into a grainy black horizon. In my case, with commentary from an old racist cop who used to brag about assaulting Black Panthers.

To understand why all cops are bastards, you need to understand one of the things almost every training officer told me when it came to using force:

“I’d rather be judged by 12 than carried by 6.”

Meaning, “I’ll take my chances in court rather than risk getting hurt”. We’re able to think that way because police unions are extremely overpowered and because of the generous concept of Qualified Immunity, a legal theory which says a cop generally can’t be held personally liable for mistakes they make doing their job in an official capacity.

When you look at the actions of the officers who killed George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, David McAtee, Mike Brown, Tamir Rice, Philando Castile, Eric Garner, or Freddie Gray, remember that they, like me, were trained to recite “I’d rather be judged by 12” as a mantra. Even if Mistakes Were Made™, the city (meaning the taxpayers, meaning you) pays the settlement, not the officer.

Once police training has - through repetition, indoctrination, and violent spectacle - promised officers that everyone in the world is out to kill them, the next lesson is that your partners are the only people protecting you. Occasionally, this is even true: I’ve had encounters turn on me rapidly to the point I legitimately thought I was going to die, only to have other officers come and turn the tables.

One of the most important thought leaders in law enforcement is Col. Dave Grossman, a “killologist” who wrote an essay called “Sheep, Wolves, and Sheepdogs”. Cops are the sheepdogs, bad guys are the wolves, and the citizens are the sheep (!). Col. Grossman makes sure to mention that to a stupid sheep, sheepdogs look more like wolves than sheep, and that’s why they dislike you.

This “they hate you for protecting them and only I love you, only I can protect you” tactic is familiar to students of abuse. It’s what abusers do to coerce their victims into isolation, pulling them away from friends and family and ensnaring them in the abuser’s toxic web. Law enforcement does this too, pitting the officer against civilians. “They don’t understand what you do, they don’t respect your sacrifice, they just want to get away with crimes. You’re only safe with us.”

I think the Wolves vs. Sheepdogs dynamic is one of the most important elements as to why officers behave the way they do. Every single second of my training, I was told that criminals were not a legitimate part of their community, that they were individual bad actors, and that their bad actions were solely the result of their inherent criminality. Any concept of systemic trauma, generational poverty, or white supremacist oppression was either never mentioned or simply dismissed. After all, most people don’t steal, so anyone who does isn’t “most people,” right? To us, anyone committing a crime deserved anything that happened to them because they broke the “social contract.” And yet, it was never even a question as to whether the power structure above them was honoring any sort of contract back.

Understand: Police officers are part of the state monopoly on violence and all police training reinforces this monopoly as a cornerstone of police work, a source of honor and pride. Many cops fantasize about getting to kill someone in the line of duty, egged on by others that have. One of my training officers told me about the time he shot and killed a mentally ill homeless man wielding a big stick. He bragged that he “slept like a baby” that night. Official training teaches you how to be violent effectively and when you’re legally allowed to deploy that violence, but “unofficial training” teaches you to desire violence, to expand the breadth of your violence without getting caught, and to erode your own compassion for desperate people so you can justify punitive violence against them.

HOW TO BE A BASTARD

I have participated in some of these activities personally, others are ones I either witnessed personally or heard officers brag about openly. Very, very occasionally, I knew an officer who was disciplined or fired for one of these things.

Police officers will lie about the law, about what’s illegal, or about what they can legally do to you in order to manipulate you into doing what they want.

Police officers will lie about feeling afraid for their life to justify a use of force after the fact.

Police officers will lie and tell you they’ll file a police report just to get you off their back.

Police officers will lie that your cooperation will “look good for you” in court, or that they will “put in a good word for you with the DA.” The police will never help you look good in court.

Police officers will lie about what they see and hear to access private property to conduct unlawful searches.

Police officers will lie and say your friend already ratted you out, so you might as well rat them back out. This is almost never true.

Police officers will lie and say you’re not in trouble in order to get you to exit a location or otherwise make an arrest more convenient for them.

Police officers will lie and say that they won’t arrest you if you’ll just “be honest with them” so they know what really happened.

Police officers will lie about their ability to seize the property of friends and family members to coerce a confession.

Police officers will write obviously bullshit tickets so that they get time-and-a-half overtime fighting them in court.

Police officers will search places and containers you didn’t consent to and later claim they were open or “smelled like marijuana”.

Police officers will threaten you with a more serious crime they can’t prove in order to convince you to confess to the lesser crime they really want you for.

Police officers will employ zero tolerance on races and ethnicities they dislike and show favor and lenience to members of their own group.

Police officers will use intentionally extra-painful maneuvers and holds during an arrest to provoke “resistance” so they can further assault the suspect.

Some police officers will plant drugs and weapons on you, sometimes to teach you a lesson, sometimes if they kill you somewhere away from public view.

Some police officers will assault you to intimidate you and threaten to arrest you if you tell anyone.

A non-trivial number of police officers will steal from your house or vehicle during a search.

A non-trivial number of police officers commit intimate partner violence and use their status to get away with it.

A non-trivial number of police officers use their position to entice, coerce, or force sexual favors from vulnerable people.

If you take nothing else away from this essay, I want you to tattoo this onto your brain forever: if a police officer is telling you something, it is probably a lie designed to gain your compliance.

Do not talk to cops and never, ever believe them. Do not “try to be helpful” with cops. Do not assume they are trying to catch someone else instead of you. Do not assume what they are doing is “important” or even legal. Under no circumstances assume any police officer is acting in good faith.

Also, and this is important, do not talk to cops.

I just remembered something, do not talk to cops.

Checking my notes real quick, something jumped out at me:

not

fucking

talk

cops.

Ever.

Say, “I don’t answer questions,” and ask if you’re free to leave; if so, leave. If not, tell them you want your lawyer and that, per the Supreme Court, they must terminate questioning. If they don’t, file a complaint and collect some badges for your mantle.

DO THE BASTARDS EVER HELP?

Reading the above, you may be tempted to ask whether cops ever do anything good. And the answer is, sure, sometimes. In fact, most officers I worked with thought they were usually helping the helpless and protecting the safety of innocent people.

During my tenure in law enforcement, I protected women from domestic abusers, arrested cold-blooded murderers and child molesters, and comforted families who lost children to car accidents and other tragedies. I helped connect struggling people in my community with local resources for food, shelter, and counseling. I deescalated situations that could have turned violent and talked a lot of people down from making the biggest mistake of their lives. I worked with plenty of officers who were individually kind, bought food for homeless residents, or otherwise showed care for their community.

The question is this: did I need a gun and sweeping police powers to help the average person on the average night? The answer is no. When I was doing my best work as a cop, I was doing mediocre work as a therapist or a social worker. My good deeds were listening to people failed by the system and trying to unite them with any crumbs of resources the structure was currently denying them.

It’s also important to note that well over 90% of the calls for service I handled were reactive, showing up well after a crime had taken place. We would arrive, take a statement, collect evidence (if any), file the report, and onto the next caper. Most “active” crimes we stopped were someone harmless possessing or selling a small amount of drugs. Very, very rarely would we stop something dangerous in progress or stop something from happening entirely. The closest we could usually get was seeing someone running away from the scene of a crime, but the damage was still done.

And consider this: my job as a police officer required me to be a marriage counselor, a mental health crisis professional, a conflict negotiator, a social worker, a child advocate, a traffic safety expert, a sexual assault specialist, and, every once in awhile, a public safety officer authorized to use force, all after only a 1000 hours of training at a police academy. Does the person we send to catch a robber also need to be the person we send to interview a rape victim or document a fender bender? Should one profession be expected to do all that important community care (with very little training) all at the same time?

To put this another way: I made double the salary most social workers made to do a fraction of what they could do to mitigate the causes of crimes and desperation. I can count very few times my monopoly on state violence actually made our citizens safer, and even then, it’s hard to say better-funded social safety nets and dozens of other community care specialists wouldn’t have prevented a problem before it started.

Armed, indoctrinated (and dare I say, traumatized) cops do not make you safer; community mutual aid networks who can unite other people with the resources they need to stay fed, clothed, and housed make you safer. I really want to hammer this home: every cop in your neighborhood is damaged by their training, emboldened by their immunity, and they have a gun and the ability to take your life with near-impunity. This does not make you safer, even if you’re white.

HOW DO YOU SOLVE A PROBLEM LIKE A BASTARD?

So what do we do about it? Even though I’m an expert on bastardism, I am not a public policy expert nor an expert in organizing a post-police society. So, before I give some suggestions, let me tell you what probably won’t solve the problem of bastard cops:

Increased “bias” training. A quarterly or even monthly training session is not capable of covering over years of trauma-based camaraderie in police forces. I can tell you from experience, we don’t take it seriously, the proctors let us cheat on whatever “tests” there are, and we all made fun of it later over coffee.

Tougher laws. I hope you understand by now, cops do not follow the law and will not hold each other accountable to the law. Tougher laws are all the more reason to circle the wagons and protect your brothers and sisters.

More community policing programs. Yes, there is a marginal effect when a few cops get to know members of the community, but look at the protests of 2020: many of the cops pepper-spraying journalists were probably the nice school cop a month ago.

Police officers do not protect and serve people, they protect and serve the status quo, “polite society”, and private property. Using the incremental mechanisms of the status quo will never reform the police because the status quo relies on police violence to exist. Capitalism requires a permanent underclass to exploit for cheap labor and it requires the cops to bring that underclass to heel.

Instead of wasting time with minor tweaks, I recommend exploring the following ideas:

No more qualified immunity. Police officers should be personally liable for all decisions they make in the line of duty.

No more civil asset forfeiture. Did you know that every year, citizens like you lose more cash and property to unaccountable civil asset forfeiture than to all burglaries combined? The police can steal your stuff without charging you with a crime and it makes some police departments very rich.

Break the power of police unions. Police unions make it nearly impossible to fire bad cops and incentivize protecting them to protect the power of the union. A police union is not a labor union; police officers are powerful state agents, not exploited workers.

Require malpractice insurance. Doctors must pay for insurance in case they botch a surgery, police officers should do the same for botching a police raid or other use of force. If human decency won’t motivate police to respect human life, perhaps hitting their wallet might.

Defund, demilitarize, and disarm cops. Thousands of police departments own assault rifles, armored personnel carriers, and stuff you’d see in a warzone. Police officers have grants and huge budgets to spend on guns, ammo, body armor, and combat training. 99% of calls for service require no armed response, yet when all you have is a gun, every problem feels like target practice. Cities are not safer when unaccountable bullies have a monopoly on state violence and the equipment to execute that monopoly.

One final idea: consider abolishing the police.

I know what you’re thinking, “What? We need the police! They protect us!” As someone who did it for nearly a decade, I need you to understand that by and large, police protection is marginal, incidental. It’s an illusion created by decades of copaganda designed to fool you into thinking these brave men and women are holding back the barbarians at the gates.

I alluded to this above: the vast majority of calls for service I handled were theft reports, burglary reports, domestic arguments that hadn’t escalated into violence, loud parties, (houseless) people loitering, traffic collisions, very minor drug possession, and arguments between neighbors. Mostly the mundane ups and downs of life in the community, with little inherent danger. And, like I mentioned, the vast majority of crimes I responded to (even violent ones) had already happened; my unaccountable license to kill was irrelevant.

What I mainly provided was an “objective” third party with the authority to document property damage, ask people to chill out or disperse, or counsel people not to beat each other up. A trained counselor or conflict resolution specialist would be ten times more effective than someone with a gun strapped to his hip wondering if anyone would try to kill him when he showed up. There are many models for community safety that can be explored if we get away from the idea that the only way to be safe is to have a man with a M4 rifle prowling your neighborhood ready at a moment’s notice to write down your name and birthday after you’ve been robbed and beaten.

You might be asking, “What about the armed robbers, the gangsters, the drug dealers, the serial killers?” And yes, in the city I worked, I regularly broke up gang parties, found gang members carrying guns, and handled homicides. I’ve seen some tragic things, from a reformed gangster shot in the head with his brains oozing out to a fifteen year old boy taking his last breath in his screaming mother’s arms thanks to a gang member’s bullet. I know the wages of violence.

This is where we have to have the courage to ask: why do people rob? Why do they join gangs? Why do they get addicted to drugs or sell them? It’s not because they are inherently evil. I submit to you that these are the results of living in a capitalist system that grinds people down and denies them housing, medical care, human dignity, and a say in their government. These are the results of white supremacy pushing people to the margins, excluding them, disrespecting them, and treating their bodies as disposable.

Equally important to remember: disabled and mentally ill people are frequently killed by police officers not trained to recognize and react to disabilities or mental health crises. Some of the people we picture as “violent offenders” are often people struggling with untreated mental illness, often due to economic hardships. Very frequently, the officers sent to “protect the community” escalate this crisis and ultimately wound or kill the person. Your community was not made safer by police violence; a sick member of your community was killed because it was cheaper than treating them. Are you extremely confident you’ll never get sick one day too?

Wrestle with this for a minute: if all of someone’s material needs were met and all the members of their community were fed, clothed, housed, and dignified, why would they need to join a gang? Why would they need to risk their lives selling drugs or breaking into buildings? If mental healthcare was free and was not stigmatized, how many lives would that save?

Would there still be a few bad actors in the world? Sure, probably. What’s my solution for them, you’re no doubt asking. I’ll tell you what: generational poverty, food insecurity, houselessness, and for-profit medical care are all problems that can be solved in our lifetimes by rejecting the dehumanizing meat grinder of capitalism and white supremacy. Once that’s done, we can work on the edge cases together, with clearer hearts not clouded by a corrupt system.

Police abolition is closely related to the idea of prison abolition and the entire concept of banishing the carceral state, meaning, creating a society focused on reconciliation and restorative justice instead of punishment, pain, and suffering — a system that sees people in crisis as humans, not monsters. People who want to abolish the police typically also want to abolish prisons, and the same questions get asked: “What about the bad guys? Where do we put them?” I bring this up because abolitionists don’t want to simply replace cops with armed social workers or prisons with casual detention centers full of puffy leather couches and Playstations. We imagine a world not divided into good guys and bad guys, but rather a world where people’s needs are met and those in crisis receive care, not dehumanization.

Here’s legendary activist and thinker Angela Y. Davis putting it better than I ever could:

“An abolitionist approach that seeks to answer questions such as these would require us to imagine a constellation of alternative strategies and institutions, with the ultimate aim of removing the prison from the social and ideological landscapes of our society. In other words, we would not be looking for prisonlike substitutes for the prison, such as house arrest safeguarded by electronic surveillance bracelets. Rather, positing decarceration as our overarching strategy, we would try to envision a continuum of alternatives to imprisonment-demilitarization of schools, revitalization of education at all levels, a health system that provides free physical and mental care to all, and a justice system based on reparation and reconciliation rather than retribution and vengeance.”

(Are Prisons Obsolete, pg. 107)

I’m not telling you I have the blueprint for a beautiful new world. What I’m telling you is that the system we have right now is broken beyond repair and that it’s time to consider new ways of doing community together. Those new ways need to be negotiated by members of those communities, particularly Black, indigenous, disabled, houseless, and citizens of color historically shoved into the margins of society. Instead of letting Fox News fill your head with nightmares about Hispanic gangs, ask the Hispanic community what they need to thrive. Instead of letting racist politicians scaremonger about pro-Black demonstrators, ask the Black community what they need to meet the needs of the most vulnerable. If you truly desire safety, ask not what your most vulnerable can do for the community, ask what the community can do for the most vulnerable.

A WORLD WITH FEWER BASTARDS IS POSSIBLE

If you take only one thing away from this essay, I hope it’s this: do not talk to cops. But if you only take two things away, I hope the second one is that it’s possible to imagine a different world where unarmed black people, indigenous people, poor people, disabled people, and people of color are not routinely gunned down by unaccountable police officers. It doesn’t have to be this way. Yes, this requires a leap of faith into community models that might feel unfamiliar, but I ask you:

When you see a man dying in the street begging for breath, don’t you want to leap away from that world?

When you see a mother or a daughter shot to death sleeping in their beds, don’t you want to leap away from that world?

When you see a twelve year old boy executed in a public park for the crime of playing with a toy, jesus fucking christ, can you really just stand there and think “This is normal”?

And to any cops who made it this far down, is this really the world you want to live in? Aren’t you tired of the trauma? Aren’t you tired of the soul sickness inherent to the badge? Aren’t you tired of looking the other way when your partners break the law? Are you really willing to kill the next George Floyd, the next Breonna Taylor, the next Tamir Rice? How confident are you that your next use of force will be something you’re proud of? I’m writing this for you too: it’s wrong what our training did to us, it’s wrong that they hardened our hearts to our communities, and it’s wrong to pretend this is normal.

Look, I wouldn’t have been able to hear any of this for much of my life. You reading this now may not be able to hear this yet either. But do me this one favor: just think about it. Just turn it over in your mind for a couple minutes. “Yes, And” me for a minute. Look around you and think about the kind of world you want to live in. Is it one where an all-powerful stranger with a gun keeps you and your neighbors in line with the fear of death, or can you picture a world where, as a community, we embrace our most vulnerable, meet their needs, heal their wounds, honor their dignity, and make them family instead of desperate outsiders?

If you take only three things away from this essay, I hope the third is this: you and your community don’t need bastards to thrive.

RESOURCES TO YES-AND WITH

Achele Mbembe — Necropolitics

Angela Y. Davis — Are Prisons Obsolete?

CriticalResistance.org — Abolition Toolkit

Joe Macaré, Maya Schenwar, and Alana Yu-lan Price — Who Do You Serve, Who Do You Protect?

Ruth Wilson Gilmore — COVID-19, Decarceration, Abolition [video]

#acab

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creativeashproductions · 3 years

Text

Subconscious Match Making // Charlie Gillespie

Summary: Kenny brings in his niece Y/N and her band to provide a demonstration of the stage presence of a band. More than happy Tarnished Poets become mentors during the process of bootcamp. Charlie’s eye is stuck on Kenny’s niece; Kenny’s so powerful he subconsciously did match making

Warning: Swearing, talk about car accident, angst, and fluff.

Words: 4.6k

A/N: The song used by my fictional band is High Hopes by the Australian band Yours Truly.

Masterlist

Being part of the audition aspect of Julie and the Phantoms was unreal, especially being young with such an opportunity. The timing couldn’t be better with the band stationed stateside for recording; Kenny had presented the offer to mentor during auditions. The capacity as a musician mentor was alien, but you would do anything for the guy you considered an uncle.

Stopping briefly at the bathroom, you encountered one of the options for Julie that Kenny had sent in the PDF file of people auditioning. As you stepped up to wash your hands, you noticed her lips moving along to the song they had been given.

“Are you okay?” You questioned turning to face the teenager no more than fifteen at the most. Her brown eyes colliding with yours unable to hide the nerves, “You’re auditioning for Kenny Ortega’s show, right?”

“Yeah. I’m Madison.” The girl spoke, holding out her hand to shake, “Are you auditioning for Carrie?”

You smiled at her question, “No.”

Julie went to answer before the glance at her watch, startled her barely getting a goodbye out before she was rushing out the door. You went back to drying your hands before heading to the room Kenny had messaged you about. It was a large room with people sitting at tables and four people on stage. All in a circle speaking quietly, you took the opportunity to settle beside Kenny and your three band members.

“Hey Kenny.” You murmured turning to the man, the myth, legend Kenny Ortega himself. The man beamed at you as he had not seen you in months due to touring.

“Y/N! Sweetheart.” Kenny spoke, taking in the differences, the bags under your eyes gone from the last time he had a video call, “You look stunning as usual.”

You chuckled at his compliment, feeling he was right; sleep was definitely better when not on a travelling bus. Late nights now found at the recording studio with the band and less stress on being hounded by fans.

“So, what do you want us to do?” You questioned glancing at the quartet on the stage each keeping their attention on each other, “Who are they?”

Kenny glanced at his colleagues ready for the day to start, “This the first time they will be performing on the stage as the band. They don’t know yet. As being their age, I’d like you to show them the dynamic we’re looking for.”

You nodded along with Lachlan, Brad and Jay. Kenny’s happy smile directed you guys for a second before turning to the stage. Huddling with your bandmates, you started throwing out song choices, one the most challenging things.

“Okay. Before we have you sing Bright, I convinced my niece to join us while they are off touring.” Kenny told the actors gesturing to the band in a huddle unbothered at the lack of listening, “Okay.”

Turning as Kenny’s voice centred towards you, the people on the stage caught sight of you all; Madison’s eyes grew. She adored your music, and not recognizing you in the bathroom, burnt her. The other guys were less familiar with the band other than Owen who knew them through Madison and Savannah.

“This is my niece Y/N along with her band members Lachlan, Brad and Jay. Tarnished Poets this is candidates for the show Charlie, Jeremy, Owen and Madison.” Kenny gestured to the two separate groups who quickly switched.

With a vast amount of experience, the small stage revamped itself with the band’s personal instruments. People held to move the stage drums to replace with Brad’s drums behind the clear plastic with quick succession as the remaining members took their places.

Your dark wash jean jacket tossed to the side of the stage mere seconds before Lachlan’s fingers started the song off with shredding on his baby pink guitar. The room melted away from your mind as the four got lost in the music.

You got the nerve to come and say

That you’re not standing in my way

When we both know

Eyes closed you moved to the fast beats feeling on the top of the world as if nothing would knock you down.

The room was quiet aside from the music enthralling the occupants as this band shocked everyone but Madison and Kenny. This was precisely how Kenny envisioned Julie and the band would be like as the room burst into noise as if it was a concert. The stage was electrifying, and the actors couldn’t sit still with big smiles and bodies moving to the beat.

Well I’ve had high hopes up til now

And I was kinda hoping.

You could be my hero

At the lull, in words, the guitars and the drums wove through the room as you flipped your hair side to side concealing the expression. The music brought a feeling euphoria to you as it always had because nothing made you feel as alive.

You never stayed in one place when you weren’t cupping the microphone singing you jammed with the others. Cleaning removing the mic from the stand you move to face Brad through the clear screen with a grin. A smooth practised twirl you found yourself by the bassist Jay delving into the lyrics once more.

You can’t take it back

With all, I’ve tried

And I know that you can’t shape me

Moving back in fluid motion Lachlan and you switched places across the stage from Jay. Lachlan began his solo ending just as you circled back to your original positions. Everyone had watched Lachlan they missed your microphone being replaced in the stand.

As the song came to an end, you ended the last note bending to the side with the stand, every member leaning over to the floor. The guitar notes faded as the room burst into applause.

“This is what I want the band to be like!” Kenny called moving to the stage you hug you, “I knew I chose the right people. Did you see how they commanded the stage? They used the entirety, exploding with energy.”

Charlie’s jaw was dropped at how great the band was, they transformed the room into a concert, and you were damn good. Owen reached over and gently pushed Charlie’s jaw back up without looking; this move alone gave Kenny insight into the dynamic between the actors.

“Can you all come up here?” You asked the four actors moving aside for them as they stationed themselves you all wandered around, “Naturally you’ve all equally spaced yourselves out. That’s good because you understand you need space to rock out, but it comes with a negative.”

Lachlan stepped forth his accent, bringing the group to surprise, “But don’t stay in the box you’ve created. The stage is yours. You’re a band so interact.”

“Don’t play the music. Become the music you play, Luke doesn’t just love music. It’s in his blood and part of his soul.” You finished squeezing the arm of Charlie, eyes fractionally widening at the solid muscle. Charlie’s eyes glued to your eyes he didn’t notice as you gently pushed the white guitar into his chest.

“Show us Luke’s bond with music.” You softly spoke, backing away from the Canadian male turning on your heel to sit with Kenny again.

Your eyes couldn’t help but return to the male with the cut off shirt, and his hair pushed up out of his face. Suspenders connected to his jeans rolled above the brown boots. Your lips parted as Madison introduced the group.

“Hi, we’re Julie and the Phantoms I hope you enjoy.” The girl spoke before the group transformed in front of the group. They were no longer actors hoping for roles, but they became the characters they desired to play.

Charlie melted into the character of Luke with ease; it was beautiful and poetic. What they didn’t know was that they were, in fact, the band.

As the music died down, you relaxed into the chair as Kenny cheered with his hands high in the air with the entire room as they bowed. Kenny’s teasing grin glanced back as he approached the stairs to the huddled youth.

“I don’t know. Can we?” Kenny spoke to the audience amused with the anticipation of the stage.

“Do it!” You called out with a grin along with the rest of Tarnished Poets keeping your eyes on Charlie. His energy intrigued you incredibly.

“Yeah you are our band.” Kenny announced changing the lives of the official cast forever. The quartet exclaimed in response clutching each other close as if they had been friends for years instead of months.

Charlie’s grin fluttered your heart as you leaned back, watching the excited group knowing you would be watching the show when it came out.

The summer breeze was serene in the quiet area outside of the beautiful city of Vancouver, Canada where filming had commenced. Scheduling was perfect with the members of Tarnished Poets breaking off for the break. Lachlan returned to his family in Perth, Australia while Brad and Jay decided on a road trip in their home state.

You had accompanied Kenny to Canada for the first part of filming moving into a small house near the set. The home quickly became the hub of the cast with the close proximation to filming, you had even given Charlie the spare key. You two incredibly close.

“So, this is where you disappear to.” The teasing voice came from behind you. Glancing over your shoulder, you met the gaze of Charlie’s hazel eyes.

He moved through the meadow to the tree you found shade under with your guitar nearby. You always had a feeling the adventurous guy would find the trail to the meadow you frequented. His forest green shirt bringing out the green of his eyes that you adored. As if you were a character in a Tumblr story, you fell for him and wondered if he felt the same.

“Sometimes I need to leave the city. I spent too much time in them.” You spoke, closing the notebook of the song you were working on. It wasn’t one you planned on using for Tarnished Poets, but instead something you hesitated on showing Kenny.

“I didn’t know you could play the guitar.” Charlie softly spoke gently, stroked the neck of the well-used guitar. Passed down from your mom who loved playing at cafes in her teens and into her early 20s.

“Probably because we perform with electric more often. Plus, I like doing vocals.” You spoke shuffling to face him, “So it took you over a month to find this meadow.”

Charlie chuckled glancing at the notebook with interest. He always wanted to know more about you from the moment he saw you.

“What are you working on?” He questioned slowly grasping the notebook in his hand. Usually, you would be shy and letting someone see an unfinished song. Still, something about Charlie never made you feel nervous.

“A song about regret over hurting someone.” You softly replied, moving to bring your knees into your chest thinking about one of the final devasting moments, “I’m kinda the female counterpart of Luke. I grew up in a small town where people had reliable jobs. I always loved music. My mom taught me to play the guitar.”

“Yeah?” Charlie smiled, wondering what a kid version of you would have been like. Your eyes raised to meet his.

“Her dream was to make a living out of her music, and she got rejected. A lot. I think she lost a part of herself when she gave up for a secure, stable job as an accountant. Didn’t mean she didn’t still love to play, so she taught me how to play as a hobby.”

“But you loved it like she did.” Charlie breathed picking up where the story would be going so he gently took your hand in his; something not unusual with you two.

“I posted videos of covers on YouTube and Lachlan saw it. He had moved to America to make his dream and closely, our band came together. We did some gigs around my hometown even making the long trips to the city.” You reminisced on the times where you were an underground band with a small following. Things went sour when you hit more immense success, “We had the opportunity for our music, and at eighteen we took it.”

Slowly you leaned into the body of Charlie relaxing as his arms encompassed you in a feeling of safety and warmth. His fingers tangling in your hair as he focused on your story.

“My parents found out, and Mom just exploded. We both said cruel things, and I left that night. We played gigs constantly, so I always pushed back, making up with her. Six months into the move, she got into a car accident.” You sighed nestling further into Charlie, “I wrote that song, but I couldn’t even finish it, but with Luke’s storyline, I think it would be perfect. I’m polishing it up to present to Kenny.”

“What’s it called?” He inquired, smiling as you shifted to lean your back against his chest to cradle the guitar in your lap.

“Unsaid Emily. My mom’s name is Emily.” Your words nearly buried under the soft notes from the guitar. Your lips opened to sing, but you didn’t have to. Charlie started it.

The emotion was raw in the air as the power in his voice brought you to tears, unable to do more than strum the guitar and harmonizing at one point. It was like Unsaid Emily was made for Charlie to sing. At that moment you knew, this was the song Luke needed to do for his mom in the show; however, it could be incorporated.

Overcome with an emotion you pushed to your knees to cup his cheeks as he trailed off the last word. The guitar keeping you from pressing your chests together to kiss you poured your feelings in the kiss. A kiss he returned with gusto.

“Whoa.” Charlie breathed, keeping his forehead connected to yours smiling as your eyelashes tickled his cheeks. Calloused fingers set the guitar aside as he tugged you into his chest as his lips drew closer.

Your lips parted as a tingle overtook your whole body as he lips caressed yours soft lightly you thought you imagined it. His mouth claimed yours in what might be the most passionate one you’ve ever had. Pulling away, you became aware your hands had flipped under his shirt with knowing.

“Thank you.” You spoke softly looking up through your eyelashes at the guy the grew as important as the band.

Charlie’s cheeks painted a soft pink set off by the hypnotizing brown of his hazel gaze as if you were his whole world. His eyes scanning all your features from the small scar in your hairline thanks to a table edge at six years old.

“For what?”

“Being you.” You replied tugging fists full of the green shirt to silence her thoughts with another fervent meeting. Yours arm coming to encircle his neck as his hands copied the move on your waist. Sitting on knees time slowed in the toe-curling kiss, he pulled away once more.

“I could kiss you forever, and it still wouldn’t be long enough.” Charlie spoke, keeping his eyes closed as his fingers pinched his skin. This was what he dreamed of, being able to hold you more than a few seconds of an embrace.

“How is this going to work? My band goes on tour when you’re at the end of filming.” You questioned nestling into his arms again. The future was scary when you both were incredibly busy with the upcoming months.

“I’ll fly over for a few weeks. See you in action.” He chuckled, pushing you away to stand up, “How about we start with dinner first?”

It seemed the universe took pity on a young couple when Charlie took you home to his family to meet. His parents and siblings being the only ones aware of the relationship. Tour came and went with Charlie, using the time before promoting JATP, attended before you flew back to Canada with him.

Being with Charlie was like breathing, necessary and beautiful. You got along with his family as he did with yours. It was remarkable how interconnected you became together in the months committed to the relationship.

“Hey.” Charlie spoke, kissing your cheek in your private home you were renting in the country of Canada. When whispers of the pandemic came around, you had flown from the house you rented in LA with a friend to home.

Charlie had had the same idea to return home to his parents’ home while you settled into a house further away from other people. Charlie walked the distance to your place, and when lockdown came into effect, the decision was, he would stay with you.

“Well hello.” You cheekily responded, resting your fingers on the sleep flush of his cheeks as the glazed look faded.

Charlie straight out of sleep was by far your favourite version of him with the genuine and raw unguarded emotions he displayed. In the nine months together, you had fallen for him swifter than Swiper from Dora could take items. Completely reciprocated on his side.

“You look happy.” Charlie murmured tracing the path from your temple to the corner of your mouth. The boy with messy hair, he had started growing it out after Julie, and the Phantoms wrapped.

“I am.” You softly spoke, shifting closer to him, “I’ve never been happier than I am tucked away from the world in your arms.”

The flush of Charlie’s cheek no longer came from the nap, but from the attention, you placed on the actor. He could feel the love radiating from your heart just by the look in your eyes.

“I’m going to be incredibly cheesy and reply that I am holding my world in my arms.” He expressed leaning over to press his lips against your forehead raptured by the honour he had at loving you.

“The next few days will be hectic.” You articulated running your hands through the thick brown hair focusing solely on his eyes—the building excitement budding within the actor.

Charlie’s lips parted to reply when his phone vibrated on the side table, “One moment. It’s Owen.”

You shifted out of the camera view per the mutual decision to keep the relationship under wraps for the time being. You absolutely knew the show would be a hit and thousand, make that hundreds of thousands, of people, would crush on the character. By keeping the relationship quiet, it would increase the fanbase because some people honestly only care about looks.

“Hey Buddy!” Charlie beamed at his fellow quarantine hair buddy with over 3,000 kilometres between each other.

“Eh! Charlie!” Owen greeted just as excited at his best friend delving into a story of the recent lego build his mom had made.

“So, the show debuts in a few days. How do you feel about it? I’m excited but also nervous. First leading role.”

“I think people will relate to the show. I mean the music is amazing, and the acting wasn’t too shabby.” Owen replied just about to open his mouth when he slammed it shut. His blue eyes narrowed together, picking up on the odd background. He had to lean closer to his phone, “Either I’m suddenly eighty years old or your definitely not at home.”

“W-what?” Charlie scoffed eyes flicking to the surroundings completely forgetting he was in his girlfriend’s home instead of his parents, “I’m at home.”

“No! We’ve chatted so many times I could draw your family’s house blueprint with my eyes closed. That is a bedroom and it ain’t in the Gillespie home.”

Charlie moaned hanging his head, “C’mon buddy. I’m at home.”

“Charles Gillespie, you have sex hair.” Owen deadpanned unamused at the obvious and quite literally horrible dishonesty from the Canadian male. Charlie’s cheeks puffed as he blew air out of his mouth and taking the ‘L’ in the situation.

“One moment.” He spoke, putting his friend on mute and setting the phone down to create a black screen. The entire short conversation you had delved back into the songbook always on your person, “Babe, Owen won’t let it go.”

“Tell him.” You replied gazing over the rim of your glasses with a smirk scarcely visible to your partner. Your full attention returned to scribbling in the book while Charlie inhaled sharply; psyching himself up.

“Okay. I’m seeing someone.” Charlie admitted sending the blonde into screaming having been suspicious. Jeremy’s wife, then girlfriend, had tried setting Charlie up with countless refusals.

“Who is it?”

“Don’t get upset. I’m dating Y/N-“

“-like Y/N from Tarnished Poets? The musician from Bootcamp that completely made us look like toddlers?” Owen demanded gasping as Charlie panned the FaceTime to the girl under the blankets, “Holy shit!”

“I don’t know how I managed to get her date, but it’s the happiest I’ve been.”

“Hey Owen.” You acknowledged the blonde drummer with a shy smile and kind eyes that he had found numerous times on set. He looked up to you along with loving the suggestions and help Brad gave him on the drums.

“How long have you been together?” Wondered Owen with the cute little smile you found endearing. You felt happy that it was Owen that had pieced it together.

“Going on ten months now-“

“-and I’m only just now finding out!” Owen exploded jittery in his seat at the pairing he had wanted to get together since the unbreakable gaze multiple times on set, “God I love the world!”

“Just don’t tell anyone, okay? We want to keep this private; you wouldn’t have been told had you not figured it out.”

“More like hounded it.” Charlie muttered under his breath, slinking his arm around your shoulders as his right hand held his phone. You slapped the bare chest of the love of your life heart fluttering at the solid muscle as it always did, “We need to get together as soon as we can.”

“I’m so done. There’s nothing to do in Oklahoma man. So that photo from Tarnished Poet’s European tour was real?” Owen recalled the picture that had crossed his Instagram For You page a few months prior.

“Yeah. I flew over for two weeks having the best time watching my girl kill it on the stage, they destroyed the stage each performance.” Charlie gushed unable to hold himself from frantically telling Owen about you unfazed by your presence.

“Why am I so single!” Owen groaned flinging his head back, “Is it the whole living with my parents at twenty? Am I not established enough?”

“Nah, you’re just too boring.” Charlie quipped thankful he was out of reach of the taller boy earning a laugh from his side. Owen snickered with a quick retort to his fellow actor.

“Well I’d stay and chat, but my phone is at 10%, and I’m too lazy to find my charger.” Owen started waving as he hung up on Charlie without waiting for a reply.

Your lips twitched that the profanity that fell from your boyfriend’s lips at the abrupt end of the call. Owen was like that in the end, living in the moment to an extent. Charlie turned on his side to tug you into his side, uncaring of your task.

“You’ve slept enough.” You chortled at the clinging boyfriend you had.

“Do you think we should tell the cast? Owen will be bursting with the secret if we don’t” queried Charlie pining his gaze on the steadily flushing cheeks with a fondness, “They wouldn’t tell. I really want to brag about my hot rocker girlfriend.”

Your hand dropped the notebook to play with his hair, “We’ll just keep the relationship to close friends and our family.”

Too bad you didn’t place a bet with Charlie because two hours after the convo with Owen your phones harmonized together. Your iPhone showing Carolynn’s cute selfie while Jeremy called Charlie.

“You’re dating Charlie!” Carolynn practically screamed into the phone, completely excited, “Owen told Jeremy, and I have wife privileges.”

“Dude! How long?”

“Near ten months.”

“Damn, we missed so many chances for double dates, but hey now I know who you kept sneaking into the apartment. Not like the smug smirk, the next day and her stiff walking didn’t speak for itself.”

“Jer!” Charlie called out mortified yet also proud that you couldn’t walk the night after. Your reaction was to Jer’s blunt statement was to bury your face in Charlie’s neck, concealing the deep blush.

The two couples conversed a couple more hours before ending in the evening for food. The same routine would continue for the next few days with alternating between the cast. The day Julie and the Phantoms dropped on Netflix, you binged it. The acting was insane and the storyline paired with the songs? Beautiful.

The issue came when Episode 8 came with the tsunami of emotions as Luke shattered himself singing Unsaid Emily.

“Oh my god.” You sniffled shakily cupping your damp cheeks in your hands, “It hurts. He’s having this cathartic release while agonizing himself. His parents can hear him singing the song.”

Charlie tugged you into his side equally moved from the cinematic beauty Kenny’s team had done. Unsaid Emily was the most emotional piece of music you had ever written in your career; Kenny had fallen in love with it. His genius mind recreating the scene of Luke singing and changing his mother’s name to Emily.

“Sh.” Charlie soothed in your ear, rubbing circles on the small of your back crying along with you, “It’s just a show.”

“Where in the hell did you pull off that level of regretful sadness? Who hurt you.” You replied, breathing shakily as the scene. Your eyes still tearing up as Emily finally got a little peace back after losing her son twenty-five years in the past.

“I took inspiration from your story, and I watched a video with a bunch of people describing the last moment with their loved ones. Add some sad music and missing my family…well this happened.” Charlie explained gently pushing your hands away to wipe your damp cheeks in a soft smile, “You created the song. It’s your work that moved so many people.”

“I provided words and a melody. You provided emotion and bridge between Luke and the audience.” You retorted leaning closer to the Canadian boy so very much in love with him.

Charlie pressed another kiss to your forehead as you tried to pull yourself together but watching Luke and Julie try to touch? That shattered you even more. Luke deserved a hug, and he can’t even get one from his crush? Extremely tragic.

“Maybe we should write a song together.” Charlie suggested quirking up one eyebrow as his green eyes spoke volumes on his feelings no words could ever match. His long fingers playing your digits.

“I have a better idea.” You grinned, “I know season two hasn’t been confirmed but what if Jer, Owen, you and Mads write songs for the band? Give an authentic aspect to your characters and band. Do it together, in pairs and alone.” You breathed straddling him to ensure you had his full attention at the suggestion that lit a light in his eyes.

“You must be on to something.” Charlie acknowledged removing his phone from his pocket to use the group chat. In a few minutes, he had exciting suggestions for the song ideas, “I love you.”

“Love you too.” You replied, sitting back as he continued planning both via the group chat and FaceTime with the others.

Kenny was a genius both on screen and at matchmaking. As evidenced with Charlie and Kenny’s niece.

Tag List (PLEASE SEND AN INBOX TO BE ADDED! I CANNOT GUARANTEE YOU WILL BE ON THE LIST VIA POST COMMENTS!)

@safehavenmuse @siennanoelle01 @whiterose291 @mell-bell @blackhood5sos @ficrecsideblog @ifilwtmfc @deadpoolgirl23 @crappy-unicorn @sunsetcurve-h @elioelioeli0 @lovesanimals @popcrone818 @lolychu @deepsleepnat @tenaciousperfectionunknown @aunicornmademedoit @just-a-writer-here @simp4reggie @parkeret @faithiebrock01 @overlyhypedup @differentsoulrascalsalad @aesthetic-lyss @versaceapa @carleywhittaker @lostgirl219 @itsalexx21 @elllaoo4 @merxxleighann @mediocremunge @fantomlovesjuke4ever @dpaccione @oswin05 @kaylinfayezink @aberette13 @faithie-brock-gillespie01 @eharvey0218 @overlyhypedup @benstormy @auriandthepussicats @sarcasticsagittarius1998 @whothefuckstolemykeds @kcd15 @siriuswvrld @princessvader15 @xoxbloodreinaxox @heimdoodle @joshy-obx @lovesanimals @oopsiedoopsie23 @am3l1a-24 @flying-solo-without-you @jaskiers-sweetkiss @lostrandomfangirln @must-be-a-weasley-92 @jatp-holland @ilikealotofpeople-younotsomuch @dxlanhxlland @dasexydevitt13 @ifilwtmfc @arianagrandes-things @kinda-really-lost @marinettepotterandplagg @ssprayberrythings @morgandamrose @thedarkqueenofavalon @zukoshonourr @crybabyddl @spooky-season-bitch @kcd15 @morganayennefertyrell @magnet-girl @all-in-fangirl @kinda-really-lost

#charlie gillespie imagines #charlie gillespie fanfiction #charlie gillespie x reader #charlie gillespie imagine #charlie gillespie #jatp fanfic #luke patterson imagines #caitsy and ash productions

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marjansmarwani · 3 years

Text

take it, it’s yours

2k || ao3

One of the ways TK shows love is through tchotchkes, Carlos learns.

A bit of cute softness for the lovely and wonderful @justaswampdemon on her birthday. Happy birthday my dear, thanks for being someone I can yell about everything from these characters to tea to life in general with. I hope you enjoy this little story from your headcanon 💗

-----------

“TK?”

“Yeah, babe?” He hears his boyfriend call from the other room.

“What is this?”

“What’s…” TK asks with a frown as he turns to the kitchen, confusion fleeing his face as he sees what Carlos is holding, “oh.”

Carlos simply raises an eyebrow and places the blue-green ladle on the counter as TK approaches, looking at his boyfriend expectantly.

“It’s a ladle,” TK provides helpfully as he approaches.

“I can see that,” Carlos deadpans. “Why does it have a face and why is it in my kitchen?”

“It’s Nessie!” TK declares as if it should be obvious, “See?”

He picks up the ladle and sets it upright so it stands on its own. “When it’s in a pot, the face and neck stick out,” he explains, “like the Loch Ness Monster.”

Carlos nods slowly, looking from the ladle in question to his boyfriend. TK’s face falls.

“You don’t like it,” he says, reaching for the ladle, “I’ll get rid of it. I’m sorry, I should have asked first.”

Carlos reaches out a hand to stop him, covering the hand now clutching the ladle with his own, “I didn’t say that.”

TK looks at him hopefully and Carlos smiles, “I think it’s cute, and I love the fact that you got it for me. Plus, it is pretty practical. You can never have too many ladles.”

“Are you sure? You don’t have to keep it if you don’t want to. I can get rid of it.”

“Don’t you talk about Nessie that way,” Carlos interrupts, leaning forward to pull TK into a kiss. “She’s not going anywhere, and neither are you.”

--------

It’s small things here and there, after that. One of those little figurines from the tea boxes on the window sill, small figurines and vases. He doesn’t question it much until one day he walks in the door and goes to dump his keys into the dish beside the door only to find what looks like a pinecone with eyes glued on staring back at him.

“Hey babe,” TK calls out from the kitchen, where he is already in the process of plating up the takeout he had picked up on his way, “food’s almost ready to go.”

Carlos nods and is about to thank him for picking it up, or maybe ask him how his day was, but all that comes out when he opens his mouth is a question, “Why is there a pinecone looking at me from the table?”

TK freezes, brow furrowing in confusion before realization dawns. “Well first off, it’s not a pinecone Carlos, it’s a hedgehog.”

“Uh huh,” Carlos agrees skeptically, peering back down at the item in question. “And why is there a hedgehog on the table?”

“Because I saw it when I was out with Marjan today and thought it was cute. Why?” he asks, voice shifting, “Do you not like it? I can get rid of it if you don’t, I should’ve asked first, I’m…”

But Carlos shook his head, dropping his bag by the door and crossing to the kitchen, coming up beside TK. He reached out and put a hand on his face, gently turning it so he was meeting Carlos’s gaze.

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it TK,” he assures him softly, “and you don’t need to get rid of it. Take a breath, it’s okay.”

He waits for TK to do so, watching as the panic leaves his expression. “Do you want to tell me what’s really going on?” he asks gently, moving his hand from TK’s face to his waist.

“Nothing,” he says at first but at Carlos’s raised eyebrows he rolls his eyes. “Fine, something, but it’s stupid.”

“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that,” Carlos offers and TK sighs.

“I don’t want you to think I’m overstepping,” TK admits. “I know I bring little things in from time to time and you don’t seem to mind but every once in a while I start to wonder again. It’s just something my mom and I always had in common. She used to love picking up little funny or cute things, and it became something we did together. My dad never liked clutter - well, he still doesn’t, actually - but he used to always complain about my mom and her tchotchkes and so I would always just keep them in my room instead and I just don’t want you to ever feel like I’m taking advantage, or cluttering your house or…”

“Hey,” Carlos interjects, interrupting the spiral he could see starting. “I don’t think that, any of it. I love that you bring little things here, that you are adding little bits of yourself. It makes it feel a little bit more like our home, doesn’t it?”

He pauses, giving TK a chance to process his choice of words, and is rewarded by his eyes widening. He smiles and leans forward, pressing a kiss to TK’s cheek. “This is your home too TK,” he tells him, “in whatever capacity you want it to be. And yeah, if it starts to look like a roadside gift shop in here, we may have to have a talk about the...what was that word you used?”

“Tchotchkes,” TK provides, “it means trinket, or knick-knack.”

“Right,” Carlos agrees, “but a few of them? I kind of love them because it brings a little more life, and shows me that you feel at home here. Not to mention the fact that they make you happy, and I can put up with a few pinecones looking at me if it makes you happy.”

“It’s a hedgehog, Carlos,” TK tries to gripe, but the light in his eyes betrays him, “it’s cute and it’s seasonal.”

“And it makes you happy, which is all I ever want,” Carlos agrees, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Besides, I never said I didn’t like it. It’s cute, actually.”

--------

Carlos has a theory.

He’s read about love languages and he knows that TK’s is physical touch, without a doubt. Not even in a sexual way; he just likes being close to Carlos, having a physical reminder that he is there, that he is real. It reveals itself in hand holding and hugs and small touches as they pass each other whether it's in the field or at home. He’s just very tactile, and Carlos loves that about him (it’s one of about roughly 230 things, but still).

But the more and more he has watched him and spent time with him, he decides that TK has more than one. He’s not sure if it qualifies as gift giving or if it is a category all of its own but there is no denying that TK loves to give small gifts to his friends. The first time he notices is when they are out, strolling through a flea market on Saturday morning. They’re walking hand in hand when their progress is abruptly halted by TK, who stops and turns to a table to their right. He picks up a small figurine (Carlos would be lying if he said he had the faintest idea what it was actually supposed to be) with a grin and politely asks the vendor for a price. He hands over the few dollars requested with a smile and a thanks before pocketing the figurine and moving on.

Carlos can only watch, catching up to him a few moments later, giving him a questioning look when TK meets his eyes. “For Marjan,” he explains, smiling as he reaches out to take Carlos’s hand in his again, “she’ll think it’s funny.”

And so she does, as Carlos finds out when she shows up at the condo later that evening. Her bright laugh draws the attention of the others and she beams at them as she shows them the small figurine - a crocodile for the native Floridian, Carlos and the others are informed - squeezing TK’s arm in thanks as she flashes a smile at him.

It doesn’t stop there. From time to time small and strange objects filter through the condo on their way to their intended owners. A book on cryptids for Paul, a set of exaggerated cartoonish Texas-themed salt and pepper shakers for Judd, a disgruntled cat figurine for Nancy; an inexplicable purple pig for Mateo that TK refuses to explain. They become a part of their everyday and Carlos stops noticing them, after a while. They are a part of who TK is and a testament to the love and care he has for others and the joy he takes from making them happy.

And if that means he finds the odd figurine on the counter from time to time, Carlos will happily take that in stride.

When TK officially moves in there is surprisingly not an influx in tchotchkes in the condo. Though Carlos supposes it had been a gradual invasion anyways; and if he had maybe purchased the matching Nessie pasta spoon and tea steeper on his own, nobody was the wiser. It’s normal now for there to be a new and unexplained small object on the edge of the counter or on the table beside the door so when Carlos sees a small object on the counter when he comes home from work on TK’s day off, he thinks nothing of it.

It’s not until TK emerges from upstairs and they exchange greetings that he gives it a second thought because TK keeps giving it furtive looks. After a few minutes of TK’s gaze drifting towards it as they spoke Carlos raises an eyebrow.

“Care to share with the class?” he asks drily and TK starts, looking at Carlos in surprise before his gaze turns sheepish. He reaches around him to the counter and picks up the newest tchotchke, placing it in Carlos’s hand.

“It’s cheesy,” he starts, covering Carlos’s palm with his hand to prevent Carlos from looking at it as he spoke, “but I saw it while I was running errands today and it made me think of you. And well...I just wanted you to have a physical reminder, in case I don’t say it enough.”

Carlos studies him, gaze curious as he looks down at their hands, TK’s still covering his own and whatever the small, metal object was. TK takes a deep breath and moves his hand, giving Carlos a look at the mysterious object.

“I know it’s stupid,” he began, “but I just wanted you to remember, you know? My heart is yours, and it always will be.”

Carlos hears the words his boyfriend is saying, but he finds that he can’t respond. The sight of the object laying on his palm - a small, gold skeleton key with a heart on the end - has stolen all the breath from his lungs and all the words from his mind. The only thing within him now is the sense of overwhelming love for the man before him, who is watching him nervously.

“You don’t have to do anything with it,” TK was saying as he fiddled with the strings of his hoodie. “You don’t even have to keep it if you don’t want to. I just saw it and...it seemed right.”

TK was looking at him again and Carlos hated that he was leaving him hanging. He didn’t want the other man to get the wrong idea, but he was too overwhelmed to speak. So he did the next best thing. He reached for TK, key still clutched in his hand, and gently tipped his face up from where he was anxiously studying his feet so that their eyes met. He hoped TK could see the depth of the emotions he was feeling in them, but just in case he pulled him into a kiss, doing his best to say what words had failed to express.

That kiss turned into another and it was several minutes before they separated long enough to breathe, and speak. And in that moment, foreheads pressed together in their kitchen and a small gold key pressed into Carlos’s palm that words finally returned to him.

“You have mine too,” he told TK softly. “You have since the day I met you, and it’s yours for as long as you want.”

#911 lone star #911 lone star fic #tarlos #tarlos fic #my writing #userkimmy #userac #userjilly #userbones #tuserpaige #tuserjamie #immortalstrand #reyeslonestartag #maizsnex #hierophvnts #reyesstrand

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chudleycanonficfest · 3 years

Text

Lover

Day 8, Story #2 is by @adenei

Title: Lover (or, five times Lavender felt Ron slipping away, and the one time she didn't)

Author: adenei

Pairing: Ron Weasley x Lavender Brown, but also heavy insinuations on Ron x Hermione

Prompt: 5+1

Rating: T (for fabricated insinuations)

TW: Teen heartbreak and all the drama that comes with it.

Author's note: While I am primarily a Romione writer, I could not get this idea out of my head. So, here's a little Lav redemption. After all, she was only a girl who fell for a boy and pursued a perfectly unattached boy.

******

9 November 1996

I think he knows his hands around a cold glass

Make me wanna know that body like it’s mine.

-I Think He Knows

The Gryffindor common room was aglow in crimson and gold, filled to capacity for the celebration of today’s victory against Slytherin. Seamus and Dean managed to smuggle in a boatload of Butterbeer for everyone, which masked the two bottles of Firewhisky Seamus was passing around their inner circle. Parvati and Lavender were lounging in the same armchair on the far side of the room.

Lavender’s never been one to pay close attention to a Quidditch match. Sure, she was all about the parties and house spirit following a match, and if Hogwarts had a cheer squad, she’d be the first person to sign up. But sitting in the stands, watching a match for an indeterminable amount of time? She could think of at least five other things to do that didn’t involve the wind claiming victim to her hair as players whizzed by on broomsticks.

Now that they were inside and out of the crisp November air, she could enjoy the party with her friends. Though, it’d be much more enjoyable if a certain redhead would stop flashing a grin in her direction and just come over to talk to her instead.

“You're staring again,” Parvati chided.

Lavender sighed in response. She couldn’t help it. He’d filled out over the summer, and Quidditch training had been kind to his physique. Red hair wasn’t a feature she ever gravitated to in the past, but freckles and those bright blue eyes were her downfall. Not to mention his infectious smile and the way he was always able to make everyone around him laugh. Ron Weasley was a good guy, and Lavender wanted to get to know him better.

“He’s single, right?” Her fingers twirled her curly blonde hair between her fingers as she watched him take a swig of Butterbeer from the cold glass in his hands.

“As single as the last time you asked me,” Parvati responded with an air of nonchalance in her tone.

Lavender wasn’t surprised by her bored tone. There was only so much they could talk about when it came to Ron, considering neither knew that much about him. She contemplated Parvati’s response, weighing the options of trying to pursue something. A voice in the back of Lavender’s mind was screaming at her to ask what her other roommate’s thoughts were on the matter concerning Lavender asking Ron out, but Hermione was nowhere to be found.

Besides, did it really matter what she thought? Hermione has had all the time in the world to make a move on Ron if she really wanted to. She had no claim on the redheaded Gryffindor. As far as Lavender knew, he was fair game, and at the rate Ron kept glancing in her direction, she was sure it meant something.

So, Lavender swiped the bottle of Firewhisky from the space between Parvati’s legs and the arm of the chair, where she’d been keeping it hidden, and took a large swig. She’d need the liquid courage for what she’d just decided to do.

“What are you—” Parvati started to ask before Lavender cut her off.

“I’m going for it.”

Without another thought, Lavender hopped off the chair and marched over to Ron, who had just set his empty glass down on the table behind him. She still hadn’t made up her mind about whether she was going to say anything or not and let the wide lopsided grin that erupted on his face decide for her when he saw her approaching.

“Hey, Lavender! What’d you think of the—”

Lavender didn’t wait to hear the rest of Ron’s question as she threw her arms around his neck and planted a kiss on his lips. His eager response paired with his hands finding a home on her hips egged her on as she refused to break the kiss right away. It was sloppy, and he was inexperienced, but he didn’t pull away at her advances.

I can teach him a thing or two and whip him into boyfriend material in no time.

When they finally did pull apart, it was to a chorus of catcalls around the room. A coy smile passed over her lips as she asked, “should we find someplace a little more private?”

♚

20 December 1996

Kiss me once, cause I know you had a long night

Kiss me twice ‘cause it’s gonna be alright

Three times ‘cause you waited your whole life

~Paper Rings

“So, what do you want to do tonight?”

Lavender bounced up and down on the sofa next to Ron. It was the last night before the Christmas hols, and she wanted to make the most of it since she wouldn’t get to kiss him for two weeks. But something was off. Ron seemed distracted, and he kept looking past her, which was beginning to grate on Lavender’s nerves.

“Er, I don’t know. I’ve got a lot of packing to do still, so I’m not sure if we should really—”

Lavender was taken aback as Ron threw himself at her, lips clashing together even though he was just in the middle of telling her he was too busy to do anything. Lavender cracked an eyelid open to see Hermione shoot them a disgusted look as she crossed the room and waited by the portrait hole. She clamped her eyes shut a moment later when she sensed Ron’s twitch.

She wasn’t going to complain about snogging her boyfriend in the middle of the common room, but she kept her ears open.

“Ah, Granger, looking delicious as ever.”

Hermione was going to the party with Cormac? She must really be desperate to want to go with that sleazeball.

“Let’s get going,” Hermione responded in her usual clipped tone. “I’d rather not be in the vicinity of that much longer.”

Lavender tried not to be offended by Hermione’s icy words. Ron didn’t deserve to be treated like rubbish, and neither did she. It’s not like Hermione had laid any claim on Ron. She tried to refocus her attention on the snog, but Ron pulled away as soon as the portrait hole closed.

Huh, well, that was odd.

“Well, I should go and get packed, then. I’ll see you in the morning?”

What just happened? Is he really going upstairs after snogging me like that?

Lavender was thoroughly confused by Ron’s actions. Nothing seemed to match up tonight, and she didn’t want to leave things like this at the train station tomorrow. She needed to know what was going through his mind.

“Won-Won, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Doesn’t seem like ‘nothing'. Why’d you start snogging me when Hermione came down the stairs?”

“What? I can’t snog my girlfriend? It had nothing to do with Hermione.”

Ron sounded convincing, but Lavender was still hesitant to believe it.

“Are you sure?

“Yes.”

Lavender noticed how Ron’s ears turned a bright shade of pink and wondered if he was hiding something. Even if he was, he was her boyfriend, and she decided to trust him. Switching gears, Lavender asked him the other question that was weighing on her mind.

“Not that I care who Hermione’s going to the Slug Club party with, but why McLaggen? Everyone in Gryffindor knows to stay away from him.”

“Dunno. Why do you say that?”

“You don’t know? McLaggen doesn’t like to be told ‘no’.”

“He—what?” Ron groaned and rubbed the back of his neck while his nostrils flared in annoyance. Or was it anger?

“I’m sure she’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, well, she shouldn’t be going with him in the first place.”

“Why?” Lavender peered intently at Ron, waiting for an answer.

His cheeks were flushed as he shook his head, eyes darting to the boy’s staircase as if he was looking for an escape.

“Er, no reason…”

“Won-Won,” warned Lavender.

“I—er, I think I was supposed to go with Hermione tonight.”

“Excuse me?”

Lavender sensed his immediate attempt to backpedal the conversation before he even spoke. He was already standing and moving around to the backside of the sofa. Even as he attempted an explanation, Lav gathered the impression that he was trying to convince himself more so than her.

“Well, she never officially asked me! Besides, we got into a huge row, and now I’m with you, so it doesn’t matter. Look, Lav, I’m tired, and I’ve got a lot to do. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Without another word, Ron disappeared up the boy’s staircase, which left Lavender on the sofa, reeling at his words. How had she not known that Hermione had asked him—or tried to ask him—to the party? He wasn’t trying to get back at Hermione by using Lavender, was he?

No, that’s ridiculous! He fancies you! You wouldn’t have spent a whole month together if he was trying to get back at your roommate.

Lavender pushed her discomfort over Ron’s actions to the back of her mind. She’d know if he wasn’t interested. He probably just misses his friend. It was really a shame Hermione couldn’t be happy for Ron, or Lavender for that matter. But Lav wasn’t going to do anything about it, not while she had Ron all to herself. Maybe she was being selfish, but Ron was her boyfriend, and she intended to keep it that way.

♚

5 January 1997

Said I’m fine, but it wasn’t true

I don’t wanna keep secrets just to keep you

~Cruel Summer

Lavender was chomping at the bit to spend time with Ron upon their return to Hogwarts the Sunday after New Years, but obligations kept getting in the way. Apparently, Ron was busy with rounds and Prefect meetings during the entire train ride back to the castle, and then Harry had scheduled a team meeting after dinner. She’d given up the hope of seeing him that evening and settled on waiting for him to go down to breakfast the next morning.

Lavender hoped Ron wasn’t embarrassed because he never bought her a Christmas gift. They were only together for a month, and there wasn’t a Hogsmeade weekend where he could have gone to buy her anything anyways. And since Harry was staying with the Weasleys, she assumed there were more safety wards in place, so the chances he could get to Diagon Alley to shop for her were slim too.

It’s not like she intended on getting him a gift, either, but when she saw the opportunity to get two lockets at buy one get one free, she couldn’t resist. She’d purchased one for Parvati’s gift, and her mother had always taught her to never pass up a deal, so she’d had the locket engraved with ‘Won-Won’ and sent it to him for Christmas.

When Ron came barreling down the stairs the next morning, Lavender was so excited that she pounced on him, which caused him to flail backwards and almost topple over.

“Won-Won!” She left a sloppier than intended kiss on his cheek as he turned his face.

“Hey, Lav. Er, sorry about yesterday.”

“It’s fine, are you ready for breakfast?”

He nodded as they exited the portrait hole. They were halfway to the Great Hall when Lavender attempted to engage him in conversation again. She knew he wasn’t a morning person, but she wasn’t willing to wait another few hours.

“So, how were your holidays?”

“Huh? Oh, they were good. Yours?”

“Wonderful! I love going home for Christmas. My younger brother was so excited to see me. I picked out a toy broom for his gift this year, and he spent the whole two weeks riding on it! I was so sad to say goodbye to him again, but Easter will be here before we know it. Maybe you can come home and meet my family for Easter hols.”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, sure.”

Lavender could sense from Ron’s lackluster response that he wasn’t paying attention. So, she followed his gaze, and of course, there was Hermione, most likely darting off to the library or wherever she went to avoid her former best friend. Her blood boiled at the way she was treating Ron. At least that’s what she was telling herself. She certainly wasn’t jealous of the way Ron was watching her.

Lavender reached up and gently turned his face back to focus on her. “Did you like your gift?”

“Y-yeah, it’s great.”

“Are you wearing it?” Her hand slid down to feel his chest. Maybe it was concealed under his uniform.

“Er, no. I—uh—I’ve got it tucked away under my pillow for safekeeping.”

“Why? You aren’t embarrassed of us, are you?”

“N-no! I just like to—uh—keep it close when I’m sleeping so I can dream of you!”

Lavender suppressed a laugh at his attempt to give an excuse to not wear it. It was sweet, no matter how ridiculous it sounded. She threw her arms around him and squealed in response to his reasoning. The last thing she wanted was to make him feel uncomfortable, so Lavender figured a positive reaction would make him feel better about the whole ordeal.

“That’s so sweet, Won-Won! I’m glad you liked it!”

His face turned a blotchy red as they entered the hall and found a seat at the Gryffindor table. Lavender chose not to press the issue anymore as she turned to her thoughts instead. Maybe the locket wasn’t the best idea to give a boyfriend of only a month. But she’d never felt this way before. Seamus had been a fun fling, but with Ron, she felt different. He made her feel all warm and fuzzy inside, and she hoped she hadn’t given him the wrong impression with the gift.

She’d just have to make it up to him in other ways. Yes, that was it. Lavender would make sure he knew how much she cared while also making sure his eye didn’t continue wandering toward her roommate and his former best friend.

♚

14 February 1997

Can I go where you go?

Can we always be this close forever and ever?

~Lover

Lavender sat alone in the empty classroom, waiting for Ron to show up after rounds. Rounds! Why did he have to have rounds today, of all days? It was completely and utterly unfair. He promised her he’d meet her in the empty classroom near Gryffindor tower as soon as rounds were over, but it was already ten past eleven, and he was nowhere to be found.

She hadn’t gotten him anything this time for fear it might embarrass him again, just like the locket. Oh yes, she’d heard Harry telling Neville about his Christmas present while she was searching for a book in the library, and she heard every excruciating detail of how mortified Ron was by it. Apparently, it wasn’t under his pillow after all. It was hidden in the bottom of his trunk. So, for Valentine’s Day, she opted to give him something he could hang onto in his mind instead.

At least, that’s what she planned. Lavender took to pacing the classroom for another ten minutes before resigning to the fact that Ron wasn’t coming. A pang of disappointment rippled out from her heart, and she tried to convince herself that maybe he’d forgotten. But ever since they’d returned from Christmas hols, she felt Ron pulling further and further away. Before the two week break, they’d gone off to spend time together every night, snogging in empty classrooms and broom closets, and sometimes even a late-night walk around the castle. Now, she was lucky if she could pry him away from his studies twice a week to spend some quality time together.

Sure, they ate meals together and sat next to each other in their shared classes, but it wasn’t like they ever talked that much. Come to think of it, every time she’d try to ask about his life, he’d always deflect to her. And of course, Lavender never had a problem finding something to talk about with her family because she wanted to share everything she could with Ron. Yet now, she was wondering if he actually cared or if he was just being polite.

Thoughts consumed her mind as she walked silently back to Gryffindor tower. By the time she entered the common room, it was deserted. Part of her thought about checking to see if Ron was back in the dorms, but the other side told her it wasn’t worth it. It’d be his own fault if he got caught sneaking around after hours without her since he’d ditched her on what was supposed to be the most romantic night of the year.

The last thing she wanted to do was go up to her dorm and face Hermione’s smug look when she found out Ron ditched his girlfriend tonight, but she wasn’t about to hang around the common room like a rejected piece of garbage.

Ron is still yours. Not hers. Even if tonight didn’t go as planned, still make her remember that.

So, when she entered the girl’s sixth-year dorm, Lavender plastered a smile on her face. Parvati was sitting on her bed while Hermione’s curtains were closed tight.

“Hey! I was wondering when you were going to show up. Have a good night?”

“Oh, it was the best!” Lavender gushed. “Ron was so sweet and romantic. He gave me some chocolate frogs, which I know are his favorite, and I gave him...well, you know.”

She made her voice sound as suggestive as possible, and if Hermione was listening, then that was her own fault.

“I need to freshen up now. I’m rather sweaty from all that we got up to. And then I should head to bed. We’ll talk more in the morning, Par, I promise. Ron thoroughly wore me out, I’m exhausted.”

What neither girl realized, though, was that Lavender let out a good cry in the shower instead. Because her boyfriend ditched her on her favorite day of the year.

♚

2 March 1997

Cause I can’t pretend it’s okay when it’s not

It’s death by a thousand cuts

~Death by a Thousand Cuts

“I’m sure he’s just on a lot of potions, Lav. I wouldn’t think too much of it.”

Parvati was attempting to comfort her best friend. Lavender had had a rotten weekend. Ron was poisoned yesterday, on his birthday of all days! Not that the day mattered. He was still poisoned, and he could have died!

What did make it worse was that nobody thought to tell her until well into the afternoon. She’d burst into the Hospital Wing to find his best friend, sister, and her sitting vigil at his bedside. Lavender didn’t think she’d ever been so livid in her life. And then he’d croaked something out in his sleep that sounded like a name, but it was not hers.

She felt the entire relationship slipping through her fingers. When did things start to take a turn for the worse? What went wrong? Surely he still fancied her because if he didn’t, then why hadn’t he called things off?

Because he does still fancy you. Of course, he does! Don’t worry about her. She means nothing to him.

Lavender tried with all her might to believe it, but it was becoming harder and harder every day. And despite her best friend’s attempts to make her feel better, it wasn’t doing any good. Parvati wasn’t outside the Hospital Wing with Lav when she overheard Ron talking to Harry and asking for Quidditch magazines. There was no question that he was awake, but as soon as she walked in, Ron ‘magically’ appeared to be sleeping again. And Harry had the audacity to cover for him!

She’d tried to go see him two more times that day, and both times he was ‘sleeping.’ Something happened, and he was avoiding her, and it hurt. But how could she call him out on it when he was ‘asleep’?

She thought about whether she should confide in Parvati or just internalize her feelings. Parvati had been there through everything, but Lavender decided she wasn’t ready to bring up her speculations until she had more proof. So instead, Lavender chose to keep her thoughts to herself.

Did she want to break things off with Ron? No. Was she willing to do what it took to keep him around? Yes. So, Lavender resolved to do whatever it took to keep Ron interested. She’d back off, not be as needy, and keep things cool and breezy. They could make this work. She was sure of it.

♚

2 April 1997

And I don’t want you to (go) I don’t really wanna (fight)

‘Cause nobody’s gonna (win) I just thought you should know

~Miss Americana and the Heart Break Prince

Lavender entered the common room after Divination to see Ron sitting on the couch next to Harry. The two were furiously scribbling on parchment, and Lavender couldn't help but roll her eyes at what she assumed to be a last-minute attempt to finish one of his assignments. Even so, she figured she’d surprise him and see if he could be persuaded to take a break and go for a walk instead.

She dropped her bag behind the sofa and covered Ron’s eyes with her hands. “Guess who!”

“Oi!” Ron flung his arms back, sending ink droplets flying over his and Harry’s parchment, as well as the table and upholstery of the sofa in the process.

Lavender ripped her hands off his eyes and apologized with a pout. “It’s only me, Won-Won. I just wanted to surprise you.”

“Oh, er, sorry, Lav. I’m busy right now. I need to finish Snape’s Defense essay.”

The words sounded apologetic, but the lack of sympathy in Ron’s expression caused unease to bubble up in Lavender’s stomach. Usually, he’s better about hiding his disinterest in showing affection around his friends. But the way he’d acted just now made her feel like he was downright repulsed by an innocent touch.

“But that essay isn’t due until tomorrow. I still have to put the final touches on mine as well. Maybe we could go for a walk now and work on it together after dinner?”

Sure, the snogging was brilliant, but that’s all they ever seemed to do. She wanted to make things work between them, and after five months, she knew they’d never have a successful relationship if it stayed strictly physical. Besides, that clearly wasn’t working in an effort to keep him interested anymore.

“Sorry, Lav, I can’t. I’ve got rounds tonight.”

Another pang of hurt emanated in her chest at his rejection. “Oh, well, maybe I could work on it with you now, then?”

She knew what his answer was going to be before he said anything. He was already packing up his things.

“Er, maybe on another assignment. I’ve got to hit the library before dinner and see if I can find one more source. I’ll meet up with you later, though, yeah?”

Ron was already out of his seat and headed for the door without bothering to wait for a response, which further solidified Lavender’s suspicion that it was an offer he didn’t intend to follow through on. Ordinarily, she would have given him the benefit of the doubt, but it’d been three weeks of him avoiding her ever since he and Hermione had reconciled. With a heavy sigh, she picked up her bag and headed for the girl’s dormitory, where she passed Hermione on the stairwell.

“Let me guess, Ron’s busy?” Parvati asked, saving Lavender from having to retell the excuse.

“Yeah. He has rounds tonight, I guess.”

“Huh.”

“What?”

“Hermione has rounds tonight, too. Padma said they switched back for the month.”

Lavender felt as though a fifty-pound weight had been placed on her chest as her heart constricted at Parvati’s news. She knew this was coming but refused to believe it, choosing instead to turn a blind eye to all the signs. A tear escaped out of the corner of her eye as she tried to come to terms with the fact that no matter what she did, Hermione was going to win. Which led her to wonder whether Ron had ever truly been hers at all.

Well, good. If Ron’s not interested anymore, then he can be a man and break things off. And if he’s too much of a coward to do it on his own, then I’ll do everything in my power to help push him along, all while reminding Hermione that he’s still mine in the process.

Maybe it was spiteful, but Lavender no longer cared. Deep down, she knew their relationship was probably doomed from the start, but that didn’t lessen the pain. Perhaps she never stood a chance, especially knowing his relationship with Hermione never was a typical friendship, but Ron could have told her no all those months ago if that was the case. Their fleeting relationship may have come to pass, but at least Lavender had the memories of time spent together to look back on when he had cared. Because he had cared once, right?

#chudleycanonficfest2021 #HP fest #hp canon pairings #canon fest romantic #submission #ron x lavender #implied development of romione #tw: teen heartbreak

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mrs-cavill-wife · 3 years

Text

Safe And Happy (One Shot)

Pairing: Henry Cavill x Female Reader (Barbara)

Warning: Language. Fluff. Minor Injury. Zombie Apocalypse. Gun shot. Persecution. Please, say if I miss something.

Author's Note: My second fanfic, YAY! Henry is not a celebrity in this fanfic. Duh! It's a zombie apocalypse so it's kinda obvious but I wanted to say it anyway. Hope you guys enjoy it and reblog if you do. I'm all ears to feedback!

Tag List: @lexyvaldez26 @thereisa8ella @natura1phenomenon @mrsavery @number1chonie @themanfromu @littlefreya @legendarywizarddetective @lovingbearherringhairdo @zealoushound @deangal-101 @everydaymultifandom @summersong69 @jgtfvhsg @tellingyouastory @sillyrabbit81 @nuggsmum @pussyverson @oh-for-fic-sake @foodieforthoughts @fanficlover91 @r-t-doll @its--fandom--darling @poledancingdinos @hlkwrites @rmtndew

Summary: The world is a dangerous place now, but in the arms of the man she loves, she always finds security.

Barbara's P.O.V

Shit. I miss when the world used to be good. It was never perfect but no doubt it were way better than now.

An zombie apocalypse, who could have imagined that this could actually happen? Who knew that one day I would be armed, with a "beautiful" wound on my leg, hiding in an abandoned store, running away from a horde of about fifty zombies, crazy and thirsty for some human flesh.

I got hurt entering here, there was a piece of wood that grazed my leg, but luckily I had some bandage on the bag, I tied it to my leg to stop the blood. I looked at my leg and sighed, frustrated with myself.

"What the fuck dressing did you do, huh? My man is going to be pissed"

I live with my boyfriend, well husband, wasn't exactly official but we are together, he's amazing with dressings, but of course, I never pay attention when he tried to explain it to me. I'm hiding, trying to calm my breathing and think of a new plan, I don't know if I'll be able to run with my leg like that, but I think partially, it's really my fault. I'm often on those situations, I have my skills but I might not be the best, I still remember when I meet my boyfriend, on this type of shit cliche situation, today I don't complain for being dumb back there..

We met a year ago, I was running away.. again. I remember going into a dead end street, my gun had only two bullets left, I managed to kill some of those brain eaters, but I had about ten still behind me. I was already out of breath and couldn't think of anything else.

It was all very fast, suddenly my hero appeared, super skilled, I can't say where he came from but he managed to cut the heads of some of them, cut one in half, he stopped in front of me and fired with a super powerful machine gun, spilling a little blood and a disgusting substance on both of us.

"Hey are you alright, princess?"

He spoke to me after all those butchers fell dead. I was in shock but in seconds, I regained consciousness and was able to notice the man in front of me.

Broad back, fair skin, incredibly neat curly hair, a sharp jawline that could cut my soul, kissable lips.. a beautiful ax, a weapons in the waistband and at least two powerful shotguns in the back. The sun was setting and the light reflected in his eyes. The brightest blue eyes I had ever seen. There was a small brown part in one of them, I had heard about cases of heterochromia, but it was the first time that I saw it right in front of me.

"Your eyes are so beautiful.."

He laughed softly and a little shy. The sweetest laugh I've heard. Oh God, he's so wonderful, I think I died and went to heaven and that angel came to receive me. Maybe I'm not too unlucky after all.. wait, what did I just said? Oh fuck, what a good way of cause a first impression. First you almost die then act like a dumb ass needy teen. I rolled my eyes realizing what I done and he touched my arm.

"Thank you, you're beautiful too.. but are you hurt? What are you doing all by yourself?"

I nodded looking down and blushing red like a tomato.

"Huh I'm fine. I was searching for a place to stay. I heard on radio there was a small group of survivors around here. I'm always alone, so I decided to look for it but I obviously didn't payed attention on the munition I had before risking my butt."

He giggled and soft touched my cheek, wiping away some of the dirty. Gosh, I'm not going to handle and he's not making it easy..

"So it's your lucky day, pretty girl. I am from that group of survivors. They always told me to go round and look for possible new survivors."

I looked at him frowning.

"Now it's my time to ask. All by yourself? Why?"

And he smirked, looking like a made a silly question. Your hot bastard.

"I'm a prepared person. Not bragging but I always check my munition"

Touchee. I crossed my arms looking at him, trying to keep my posture but I was really melting inside.

We heard a loud noise, making us concerned. He grabbed my hand and started walking.

"It doesn't seem far, we must walk. Let's go"

"Where are you taking me? I.. I don't even know your name?"

I stopped moving and he stopped looking a little mad then he sighed.

"I will take you to our shelter. I saved you, you can trust me. We both need a bath and some rest.. and I'm Henry."

He said smiling and I nodded starting to walk by his side.

That day, he took me to the survivors. There were at least four people, some couples and children, all of whom welcomed me very well. But despite that, I thought about leaving the next day, I was always alone and until then, it was how I wanted to be and I would be like this today, if Henry hadn't insisted that I stay. I said I would stay for some days but during that, he convinced me to stay for more weeks and when I realized, we were closer than ever. Actually, those days made me found love. One of the guys of the shelter was a priest before the world was destroyed, Henry and I decided to get married and so it happened. Simple but a beautiful ceremony.

After a few years, we both decided to leave, maybe it was not a smart idea in the current situation, but we were certain of it, so we did. It was difficult, at first from hiding to hiding, sleeping on uncomfortable places, sometimes without enough food for both, we almost died a few times but together, yes, we were unbeatable. But finally, we got a place, safe enough to call home.

Henry's P.O.V

One hour left. I trust her, she's a little clumsy but my girl knows what to do, I taught her some tricks when we met but still, my heart is desperate. Today I received a radio message, it was Stuart, a partner, we have known each other since I was part of a group of survivors, he provided us with food, ammunition and weapons from time to time, even now that I am no longer part of the group, he's a great friend. I always went to get it, alone, I didn't want to risk seeing my Barbara hurt. But today, Stuart said he couldn't come, because of some injuries, so I would have to go, but Barbara decided that her chance to do it this time.

"Barbara.. baby, you don't have to.."

I remember I said trying don't sound like I was doubting her capacities.

"Well on my mind, I do need. You always do that, I feel useless, I'm no princess in danger, i can do that"

I got closer touching her back while she packed her bag with "travel" supplies. She looked at me, touched my face and smiled. I love this smile.

"I'll be alright, I know that area is dangerous but you know I know the way and I had a good survivor teacher"

She said and wrapped her arms around my neck and I hugged her feeling defeated. She never had to say much to convince me of anything. I know she was feeling bad about me doing the hard work and I think she deserves a chance. I need to show I really trust her.

"I will be counting the seconds.."

I sighed and she smiled widely packing my lips many times. She grabbed her bag, her gun and went through the door but before leaving she looked at me one last time.

"I love you"

We both said at same time, making our hearts beat at same rhythm.

She gonna be alright, I know.. at least I hope.

Barbara's P.O.V

I heard a small noise that made me wake up. I dozed off for a while when I expected the horde to calm down and preferably leave. I got up and checked outside by one of the windows. Empty. Thank God. My leg didn't hurt so much anymore, but the fact that the street was clean was a relief to m. I wouldn't have to run, just be careful.

I opened my bag and ate a chocolate bar. Stuart wasn't lying when he said that had good things this time, I got things I hadn't ete in years. I left the store quickly after eating and started walking my way back home.

I was almost closer, I smiled seeing my home. Finally, safe house. when I got on the home's street, had three zombies, between me and my house. Great.

I tried to carefully pass behind them, I was almost there, but again, I didn't pay enough attention, I tripped over something and fell to the floor, over my injured leg, I couldn't contain the scream. They heard and were already walking towards me. F U C K M E.

I looked at my house. It's not so far, I can do it. I ran, fast as I could, my leg was hurting a lot, the bandage already red with my blood but I did it. I could climb the special secret passage through the wall and done. I layed in the grass for a second trying to recover my breath, closing my eyes, finally feeling safe then something fell on top of me. I got scared until I could open my eyes. A beast. A fluffy beast.

"Hey Kal, you scared me baby"

I hugged the big black and white American Akita. It's mine and Henry's dog, our loyal companion, our dog son. We found him on our away to find a new safe place, he were a little injured on the front paws. Of course we felt in love with him and took care of him, we had to keep him and we did.

I petted him a little more before getting up.

"Alright, mommy needs a good break now. Promise to play later. Where's daddy? He had a heart attack?"

Oh he will when see my situation. I walked to inside our house and pulled the food supplies on the kitchen. I was focused until I hear the shower on bathroom upstairs. I smiled.

"What a good way of relax, huh?"

I walked upstairs, taking off my clothes though the way. When I opened the bathrooms door, I was fully naked. Oh that vision. My man, all naked.. that furry defined abs, those strong muscles.. that round booty.. and that big veiny dick, shit, even soft he's huge.. I'm so freaking lucky.

I licked my lips and tried to close the door softly but i ended up making noises.

"Thought I had told you need to be stealthy"

When I turned around, he was looking at me, with those gorgeous eyes that left me speachless since first time. Then he's face changed to worried and I realized he were looking at my wounded leg.

"Barbara, what the fuck just happened?"

I rolled my eyes then got into the shower with him. Before he could say something, I kissed him softly. He kissed me back of some type of way that I could feel how worried he were. Was a intense kiss, our tongues battling against each other, oxygen wasn't this necessary for us at this point. He quickly grabbed me tight and gave me a little boost then I had my legs wrapped around his waist. We ended our kisses with soft pecks and smiles. I looked at him. He had one hand around my back and another softly rubbing closer my wound.

"Hey are you alright, princess?"

I smiled way more with his soft voice and nodded.

"Yes, now I'm safe and happy"

#henry cavill one shot #henrycavill rp #henry cavill #henry cavill x female reader #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fic #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill fluff #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x you

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likeiwishiknew · 3 years

Text

Azriel X Gwyn - Autumn Connection

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29716227/chapters/73536900

She was nervous.

Gwyn had arrived at the house with Nesta and Cassian, who were there to meet with the rest of the Inner Circle. Cassian had asked Rhysand if it was alright for her to come, and the High Lord thankfully had not objected. It was her first time being in the home of the High Pair.

After they’d arrived, she’d split from the group. With the blessing of Nesta’s sister, Feyre, Gwyn in wandered the grounds and explored the marvelous home.

But that was simply a means to pass the time.

Gwyn had one single reason for being here, and he was sitting across the room - staring silently out the window. His hair reminded her of her own.

Lucien Vanserra.

Taking a deep breath, she walked over to him - noting his handsome profile.

“Why aren’t you in the meeting with the others?” she asked politely.

The red-headed male turned his head, and her eyes caught on his false golden eye as he scrutinized her.

“I’m not welcome there,” he answered.

Her brow crinkled, “What do you mean?”

“I came here in an official capacity, as emissary, to deliver news of what I’ve learned. But their discussions are meant for them alone.”

The male tried to sound indifferent but she detected the wistfulness in his tone. He said he did not belong, but a part of him wanted to. She lips pressed thin at the dejection that took over his face as turned back to the window.

“Well then, perhaps I can sit with you while you wait,” she offered, dropping down beside him on the large couch.

He said nothing in response.

“My name is Gwyn by way.”

Again, no answer. Gwyn refused to give up. No matter how stubborn he insisted on being. She’d mustered up the courage to show up here uninvited, and she would not leave with nothing to show for it

“You’re from the Autumn Court right?”

He gazed over at her apprehensively, “I’m sure you know who I am,” he returned, waiting for her to deny it.

But she didn’t. Gwyn saw no point in lying since they both knew the truth.

“You’re right, I do.”

She could’ve sworn he regarded her with begrudging respect for the fact that she didn’t attempt to lie. Perhaps, that was why he deigned to answer.

“I have not belonged to the Autumn Court in a very long time. But I’m sure you knew that as well.”

She nodded, “But you were born in that court, grew up there. Didn’t you?”

He eyed her attentively, “Yes.”

“Will you tell me about it?”

His eyes narrowed, “Why do wish to know about the Autumn Court?”

She smiled, lowering her voice as if imparting some great secret, “I’ve been told that my grandmother, a river nymph, once used her feminine wiles to seduce a High Fae from your home court. So, I suppose you could say I’m curious about it all. I mean we could be family.”

She gestured to her hair to make her point.

Lucien stared at her for a long moment, not saying anything, and she wondered if she’d laid it on a bit too thick.

Until he erupted in laughter.

This went on for several seconds before he managed to collect himself.

“I dare say that was not the sort of answer I was expecting.”

Any signs of ill-humor was gone from the male. He now looked downright amused, his hands pressed to his knees.

“A member of the Autumn Court seduced by a river nymph, truly? My goodness. I only wish I knew the story behind it, if it is in fact true.”

“Of course, it’s true. I wouldn’t be here otherwise,” she insisted.

“Right well, first thing you need to know about the Autumn Court is that they’re all a bunch of stuck up assholes.”

She crinkled her nose in distaste, “Aren’t they your family?”

Lucien watched her intently.

“That’s how you know I’m being honest when I say they’re painfully uptight and overly prideful. If what you say is true, any one of them will deny it.”

Gwyn didn’t much like what was being implied.

“Are you trying to say river nymphs are less than?”

She might not have known her grandmother but the insult still stood.

Lucien gave her a empathic look, “I’m not so pretentious that I would look down upon someone for being what they are,” he defended, “River nymphs are beautiful in their way. It is a different beauty than that is the High Fae but that should not surprise you.”

With him having spent so much time in the Spring Court, prior to the war, she was inclined to believe him.

"I can’t say I know. I’ve never seen a river nymph myself,” she explained, “My life was spent in the temple. And after Hybern...until I met Nesta I spent my time buried in the library.”

His eyes grew sad on her behalf.

“Don’t do that,” she said, “Don’t look at me like I’m something to pity.”

At her annoyed tone, he winced then conceded, “Very well.”

Her watched his expression making certain he meant it, when it looked as though he did, she started again.

“May I confess something?”

He cracked a small smile, “Who am I to say no when a female wishes to bare her soul to me.”

She almost laughed. There would be no soul baring today, at least not from her.

“I came here to meet you,” she confessed.

“Yet another admission I was not expecting,” he said, waiting for her continue.

“I never cared much about my parentage for a long time. But lately...”

“You’ve started to wonder,” he finished.

She nodded, “So, will you tell me about it? The Autumn Court that my mysterious grandfather is from.”��

His demeanor softened.

“Ask and I will answer what I can, Little Red.”

She grinned at the sudden nickname. She rather liked it.

---

Azriel had come back from his latest mission worn and with little good news to share.

When he’d told Rhys, his brother had made the decision that they needed meet with their allies to see if any of them knew anything else. And then discuss what contingency plans they needed to put in place.

When Nesta and Cassian had shown up, he had been surprised to see Gwyn had come with them. She made some excuse about wanting to try and get out more, and he knew was not a total lie. But something told him it wasn’t the whole truth either.

Rhys and Feyre had naturally welcomed the young woman into their home. Telling her to explore all she wanted while they discussed matters. Gwyn looked not the least bit put out about being excluded and took Feyre up on her offer to see the grounds. Before he had much of a chance to speak with her, she was gone.

Leaving him distracted throughout much of meeting, his mind wondering where she was and what she was doing. He’d admit he did that a lot these days.

He was none too pleased when he arrived in the shared living space to find Gwyn sitting beside a certain Autumn Court Exile.

Azriel stared daggers at the male sitting across the room. It was certainly not the first time he’d done so where Lucien was concerned, and he suspected it would not be the last.

As always, the other male ignored him.

Gwyn sat beside the Exiled Son of the Autumn Court, speaking animatedly.

Even Elain watched the pair, a blank expression on her face. Yet neither Lucien nor Gwyn seemed to detect their presence, or perhaps they were simply ignoring it.

No that wasn’t right. Gwyn would never do that. And Lucien, much as Azriel disliked the male, wouldn’t miss detecting his mate.

Lucien’s earlier laughter had surprised them all. It’d echoed down the halls so that they’d heard it even in the meeting room. Feyre had smiled, mentioning that it had been a long while since she’d heard the sound.

They’d all wondered at the cause. Now he knew.

The two of them sat huddled close. A strange sense of intimacy there. Surely, they’d only just met and yet they appeared at ease in one another’s company.

Jealously filled him.

He believed Gwyn when she’d said they would move past the necklace situation. And for the most part, he felt they had. But he still sensed a level of reserve from her when they trained, when he’d greeted her earlier. He knew because he was much the same.

But even before that he wasn’t sure they ever looked so easy around each other.

It wasn’t fair.

At that precise moment, Lucien got up as if to leave. Only then did the male seem to notice the rest of them standing there. He paid Azriel little to no mind, his eyes going first to his mate and then to the Rhys and Feyre who had just come up behind. Nesta and Cassian on their heels.

Since he’d come at the behest of the High Pair, he addressed them first.

“And your decision?” he asked plainly.

Rhys was the one to answer, “We will do as discussed. Share our plans with Vassa.”

Lucien nodded. Gwyn came up beside him.

“Will you return soon?” she bid, “Tell me more stories of the Autumn Court?”

An uncomfortable silence followed. No one in the room spoke a word, while Lucien studied Gwyn.

“I’m not sure,” the red-headed male answered reluctantly.

Gwyn took in the rest of the room. No doubt feeling the tension.

She turned back to Lucien.

“Oh, I mean not necessarily in an official capacity. You can just stop by to visit me,” she said with a grin.

Azriel felt Elain tense beside him.

Lucien chuckled, “I don’t think you realize how that sounds. But alright, I’ll try Little Red.”

She smiled at the nickname.

Azriel, on the other hand, was seething.

To think the male would behave in such a way in front of his mate. Things between him and Elain had been uncomfortable as of late, partly due to the necklace incident but mostly because he’d realized his feelings weren’t what he’d once believed. Still, he cared about the female and he did not like to see her upset. Especially not by the male who was supposed to care for her the most.

“Thanks, Grandpa,” Gwyn jested.

Wait, what?

Taking a quick glance around their circle, he realized everyone but Nesta looked equally confused at the comment.

“Hey, don’t go blaming me for knocking up your grandmother,” Lucien answered in mock offense, almost smirking.

“You don’t have any proof that you didn’t,” Gwyn shot back.

“I should think I’d remember if I laid with a river nymph,” the male insisted.

"You said it yourself that any member of the Autumn Court would deny such a thing,” she argued, “And while you might no longer belong to it, that court birthed and bred you.”

Lucien laughed, “Alright enough with you, I’m off to do my job.”

“Stay safe,” she said right as he winnowed away.

The other male’s smile was the last thing Azriel saw before he disappeared.

Gwyn turned to Nesta, who had come up beside her, “I rather like him. It wouldn’t be so bad if he was my grandfather.”

“Ah yes, what a delight that would be,” Nesta answered sarcastically.

Everything else seemed to fade into the background. He overheard Gwyn thanking Rhys and Feyre for allowing her into their home. The other’s spoke as well but he was no longer fully listening. The tension that had been building inside him slowly ebbed away. Gwyn wasn’t interested in the other male. At least not in the way he’d feared.

“Are you alright Az?” Mor asked from behind him.

He turned to his friend, “Of course” he said without hesitation.

He wasn’t able to tell whether or not that was a lie.

He could hardly explain the relief he felt.

Somehow Azriel had forgotten Cassian mentioning that Nesta and Emerie were trying to help Gwyn learn more about her family.

Nesta’s bringing her along now made sense.

As if only now sensing his gaze on her Gwyn turned her head, eyes meeting his. She gave him a friendly smile.

He smiled back.

He needed to get ahold of himself, Gwyneth Berbara wasn’t his to lose.

She was his friend. Nothing more.

~~~

@azrielsshadowsdanceforgwyn @bittermuire @ofstarsanddreams @corrdolium

@brucexselina @inejjg @rhysmoira @gwynnight @fairytamy @bluegold08 @amandapearls @highqueentaey @lioness-says @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens @lovelywordsandwine

@my-fan-side

~~~

Notes: This chapter was surprisingly more difficult than the others. Partly because there isn’t much direct Azriel and Gwyn interaction which is kind of what I’m living for at this point lol. But also because I was trying to capture some of Lucien’s humor as I remember him from Book 1. It was so long ago, but man I miss that guy. Anyways, I hope you all enjoyed it despite the lack of one on one in this chapter. Next chapter, promise. As always, share and comment as you please =D I love reading all of your comments <3

#a court of thorns and roses #a court of silver flames #acotar #acosf #azriel x gwyn #gwynriel #azwyn #azriel #gwyneth berdara #gwyn pov #azriel pov #otp #fanfiction #read on ao3 #ao3 update #Lucien #lucien vanserra

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youvebeenlivingfictional · 3 years

Text

I’m Always Curious Part Twenty Nine

Previous Part | Next Part | Masterlist Notes: I hope everyone’s having a good week 💕

Also if y’all didn’t see, I made an I’m Always Curious Playlist, check it out if you’re interested 😊 Also toying with the next chapter being in Pike’s POV, we’ll see tho

Warnings: Cursing and mentions of canon-typical violence Summary: When I had determined the most appropriate position for the tag and that couldn’t quiet my mind any longer, I headed down to the shuttle bay.

Having had opposing pictures of her character drawn for me by Spock and Tilly, meeting Commander Michael Burnham was a bit of a trip.

The things that Spock had told me about her led me to expect someone austere, distant. But while she was composed, she was cordial, going so far as to make small talk on the way to the Ready Room. It wasn’t in the forced way that it had originally been with Jett, either. Apparently Burnham had heard a fair amount from me from Tilly. Jett joined us in the turbolift, and from there it was a short trek to the Ready Room.

I felt my stomach twist in apprehension as we neared the doors. While I had had some time to process the fact that Pike and I were in close range again, I had spent far too much of the last hour reflecting on the look he’d given me. I was distinctly out of place in the Ready Room. Not only was I the most unfamiliar with the crew, but I was still in my civvies. The Captain was already there, a PADD in hand. His eyes darted to the three of us we entered, but they quickly lowered to the device again as he said, “Commander Burnham, a word, please.” Burnham excused herself from Jett and myself, and I took the moment to look around. I ached with the familiarity - the sight of Chris’ table from Mojave in the room, along with a few other things that had made the trip over from the Enterprise. I drifted toward a window, unable to help my fingers trail over the wood of the table on my way. Jett followed at a pace, glancing at Burnham and Pike before stopping beside me. “Any idea how long Durling’ll take?” She asked. I shook my head a little. “Cornwell just said that he’d be here in a few hours.” At the sound of the Ready Room door opening, I straightened, hands tucking behind my back at attention-- And then I immediately dropped them as I scoffed, “Oh, it’s you.” “Is that any way to greet me?” Eli asked, walking deeper into the room, “You used to stand at attention, be all ‘yessir’ about it.” “I am your superior now, Durling.” “In rank only,” He retorted, coming to stop just in front of me. Despite his words, though, he was pointing that warm smile down at me, like not a day had passed or a thing had changed. And I couldn’t help the smile that made its way onto my face at his familiar gaze and teasing. After the war, Durling had been assigned to the USS Cetus, a temporary post as he awaited an official reassignment. While we spoke from time to time, I hadn't seen him in weeks. “God, I forgot what a dick you were,” Jett grumbled beside us. Eli turned to her, brows raising in surprise. “And it’s good to see you, too, Reno. Especially considering we thought--” “Oh, I know. This one got all misty on me about it,” Jett nodded to me. “Unnecessary detail,” I muttered. “You can cry? I thought you’d gotten your tear ducts removed back on Starbase 115,” Eli frowned at me. “I would punch you if we weren’t in mixed company.” “Restraint? Wow, that’s new for you.” We turned at the sound of someone clearing their throat behind us. Pike was there, brows raised a little. Eli smiled, turning fully from myself at Jett. “Eli Durling,” He introduced himself to both Pike and Burnham. “Commander Michael Burnham. Welcome aboard.” “Christopher Pike,” Pike tacked on as he shook Eli’s hand. Eli glanced back at me, brow raised, and I felt the urge to punch him intensify. Instead I just gave him a slight glare before averting my eyes. He knew about me and Pike. I had spent the last year with the man, we’d spent that time having one another’s backs. He knew all of my secrets— but then, I knew all of his. “We should start the briefing, the target’s nearly in range,” Pike added as dropped Eli's hand. “We’ve never run any 22-9-14s on the Discovery,” Burnham explained. “Well, you’re in luck, because the three of us ran a lot of them," Eli nodded back toward me and Jett. “Define a lot, I mean how many times did you ruin your phaser cannons after you transferred?” Jett asked. “Well,” Eli glanced back at me, “I’m not sure I have a count on the phaser cannons, but I personally ran around a hundred, and the Commander ran a number somewhere in the 300s.” “Somewhere? Where in the 300s?” Jett frowned at me. “I’m not sure that’s pertinent to this briefing, as I don’t have the same penchant for bragging that Lieutenant Commander Durling does,” I folded my arms across my chest. Eli smiled.

“Regardless, you’re in good hands,” He added, turning back to Pike and Burnham, “I’ll coordinate from the Bridge while the Commander takes care of the tagging process. Any questions?” “I’ve got one,” I piped up. “Of course you do--” “What am I tagging?” I asked over him. Eli nodded to Pike’s desk, and Pike stepped out of the way, waving his hand with silent permission. I watched as Eli walked over to it, opening a file and pulling up a holographic display of a ship. I pushed off of the wall and walked over to join him with the others, my eyes wandering the surface of the ship. “Is that a DY-100 Sleeper?” I frowned, bracing my hands on the desk to get a better look. “It is,” He confirmed, “The S.S. Botany Bay.” “You’re familiar with this craft?” Burnham asked. I glanced at her. “Few months into the war, Command was looking for craft that might be able to slip past Klingon sensors. These vessels are antiques— 20th century, decommissioned. Older metals, outdated tech, but high crew capacity.” “And the Botany Bay was used during the war?” Pike asked. I turned back to the hologram. “Only two ships were in good enough condition to shore up and get off of the ground. This was neither of them.” “Maybe it’s just being tracked for longevity, see how long it holds up,” Jett suggested. “No,” I shook my head a little, “No, Cornwell said colony when I came aboard…” I straightened up, folding my arms back across my chest, “We’re either gonna get radio silence or hear some really cryptic shit.” “That’s the spirit,” Durling clapped my shoulder, and I shot him a sidelong glance. “You realize this is gonna be a manual?” I asked him. “Ah-- No,” He laughed nervously, “No, you don’t have time for manual.” “Time or not— Look at the surface area on that thing,” I nodded to the hologram, “If this is an original sleeper class and launched back in the 1990s when they were originally being built, it’s possible that the integrity of the hull is going to be compromised. That means that the arms on the bot are going to be too rough for this task.” “What would you have to do to attach it manually?” Burnham asked. “She’s gotta eject herself from her ship,” Jett told them. “How much does that differ from a ship-based tag?” Burnham asked. “... It’s different,” Eli tread carefully as he said so. I could feel him eyeing me critically, and I couldn’t help the way my jaw clenched as my stomach swooped with nerves. I hated manual tags the most. There were fewer safety nets: no tether, no easy way back to the ship if something went very seriously wrong--just me and a jet pack and a whole lotta hope. “Considering the fact that Command even authorized this mission in the first place, a manual attachment should be our last resort,” he added, “And who am I to argue with Command?” “Usually the second in line,” Jett answered. “Who’s first?” He frowned. There was a pause as I felt the two of them direct their gazes to me. “I resent that,” I muttered. “Which puts you in direct opposition with Commander Reno, which, given the longevity of her rank, technically puts you at odds with your superior--” Durling muttered. “O-kay.” “What are the steps that we need to get this off of the ground?” Pike asked, cutting over our bickering. I suddenly felt like a schoolkid called out for chatting in class. “Reno needs to look over craft, make sure it’s safe to fly,” Eli told him, “Your ship’s doctor needs to give our pilot a once-over as well, same reason.” I rolled my eyes a little. I was a little tired, more than a little jittery at the prospect of being behind the controls of an attack fighter again, but I had flown and been cleared for flight in worse condition. “Anything else?” Pike asked. “No,” Eli shook his head, “Barring any complications, we should be set to launch… round 1800 hours.” “If that’s the timeline, I’m gonna go get some sleep,” I straightened, “Thanks guys.” I turned away, heading for the door as I heard Durling pipe up: “Oh, and Commander?” “Yes,” I turned back, “Lieutenant Commander?” Durling took a moment, eyes sweeping down my body, then up again. “Where are we with that uniform?” I forced out a little laugh before nodding once, “I’m gonna leave now.”

-- I knew that I needed to get rest, but the prospect of a manual tag kept had set my mind racing. Instead I studied the schematics that I had available for a DY-100. And when I had determined the most appropriate position for the tag and that couldn’t quiet my mind any longer, I headed down to the shuttle bay. -- “Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” Jett almost scowled at the sight of me stepping onto craft. “Not tired,” I fibbed. Jett gave me a short look before lowering herself beside the control panel. “Make yourself useful, then, pass me the magna-spanner.” I crouched down beside Jett’s toolkit and found the requested implement before passing it to her. Once I had, I sat on the floor of the craft, leaning back against the wall and looking around the small cabin. It seemed so much more confining than I remembered— crammed with measuring instruments, controls, an emergency med pack. I directed my gaze toward the hatch in the ceiling, the one I’d be pushing myself out into open space from in just a short while. “So,” Jett spoke up, “What’s the plan after this?” I smiled at the question— just like old times. “Maybe get some more pie?” I offered. “And sugar crash later?” “Mhm. It’s the risk you take when you eat the hard stuff.” “And after that?” “...Dunno. Maybe something that actually utilizes what I went to the Academy to do. You know, speak and translate something other than Klingon, work with texts and languages we’re less familiar with…” “But we put our dreams away?” “But we put our dreams away.” Jett leaned back, tossing the magna-spanner at me. I caught hold of it, depositing it in the toolbox. She humphed, “Well, you’re morose as shit, but your reflexes seem to be in good order. Should be helpful, huh, Captain?” I frowned before I heard, “Yes, it should.” My head was turned from him, and I had been focused on other parts of the ship, but I hadn’t even heard him come aboard. I glanced up at Pike to find him standing with his hands tucked behind his back. He cleared his throat. “Doctor Pollard needs to examine you,” He nodded over his shoulder. “Right,” I pushed myself to stand before glancing down at Jett, “You’re set here?” “Please leave,” Was her smiling answer. I smiled a little myself, shaking my head before following Pike off of the craft. I couldn’t help but chuckle at the way he had to duck to ensure he didn’t hit his head on the way out. A brief wave of embarrassment crested over me when he glanced back at the sound. Pollard and Eli were in the shuttle bay, not too far off from the craft. The introductions were short as I shrugged out of my jacket and tossed it to Eli. He caught it without a question or hesitation, hardly missing a word as he regaled Dr. Pollard with the story of his part in the Battle of Xisad. She seemed to only be listening out of politeness, humming in response now and again. Knowing Eli, though, this chatter was meant to distract all of us from what I was about to do. Dr. Pollard’s hand skimmed over my left shoulder blade and I jolted a little, tensing as I sucked in a sharp breath. “Alright?” She asked. I nodded as I heard her switch to the scanner on her tricorder. “Quite a lot of scar tissue,” She added. “Caught the wrong end of a bat’leth,” I explained flatly. “Is there pain?” “No.” “Does it hinder any of your movements?” “No.” When Pollard returned her hand to that same area, fingers carefully massaging the area to ensure the truth of my statement, I held carefully still. “...Is there a right end of bat’leth?” Eli asked, breaking the tense silence from our superiors. “The side without the pointed blade would’ve been preferable,” I told him, glancing in his direction. “You’re so particular,” He scoffed, but he was smiling. I shook my head a little, feeling the tension drain from me a little. “Well, apart from a slightly elevated heart rate, everything seems to be in order," Pollard reported from behind me. “That’s not a concern?” Pike asked. “According to the Commander’s prior medical records, there is typically some uptick in heart rate prior to these particular missions. She’s fit to fly," Pollard tucked her tricorder into its holder. I gave her a small nod of thanks. “And yet not outfitted to fly. Starfleet regulation 67: an officer acting in the interests of the Federation must be in uniform to command or commandeer any vessel,” Durling rattled off. I hummed, nodding, “An excellent point, Lieutenant Commander, but you seem to be forgetting Starfleet regulation 67-A: In the event of an emergency procedure, Starfleet personnel are permitted to eschew Federation vestments as the mission demands. Or have you forgotten who that rule had to be instituted for?” Durling shuffled closer, holding my jacket back out to me as he muttered, “Can’t recall.” “Well— that’s hilarious, because I can. And I’ll be in a Starfleet flight suit, I do believe that that counts as uniform.” “It does,” Pike piped up. “Exactly— thank you, Captain.” “Anytime, Commander.” “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get changed and run through the pre-flight checklist with Jett,” I added. I thanked Pollard again before I turned, heading back to the attack fighter. Anytime, Commander. Two words. Easy. Two words that set my heart racing faster than the prospect of a manual tag-and-run did. Tag list: @angels-pie ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @mylittlelonelyappreciationtoo ; @how-am-i-serpose-to-know ; @onlyhereforthefandomandgiggles ; @inmyowncorner ; @tardis-23 ; @2manyfandoms-solittletime ; @paintballkid711 ; @katrynec ; @hypnobananaangelfish ; @elen-aranel ; @blueeyesatnight

#I'm Always Curious #captain pike x reader #Captain Pike/Reader #Captain Pike Imagine #Captain Pike x You #Captain Pike/You #christopher pike x reader #christopher pike/reader #christopher pike imagine #christopher pike/you #Christopher Pike x You

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