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deadinside-butstill-horny · 3 years

Text

The Night We Met

Part One - The Night We Met

Pairing: Javier Peña/ Female Murphy!Reader

Words: 5.3k

Summary: Murphy's sister travels to Colombia after realising Steve might not quite be A-Okay and meets the Javier Peña.

Content Warnings: 18+ Smut-ish (I wouldn’t wanna read it out to my mom), dry humping, dirty talk in Spanish which reader doesn’t understand so does it really count?, gratuitous love of the black shirt from the torture scene.

AO3

MASTERLIST

Author Note: So here is my return to writing! The word count got away from me but I loved every second of it. Always after prompts, so drop me a message on here if you'd like to see anything in particular. If it's in my wheelhouse, you'll definitely see it.

Pedro in the black shirt in this scene is what inspired me to write this, I can’t lie.

If you were brutally honest with yourself, this spur of the moment decision may have been a mistake.

Other people could make these choices and not have that nagging feeling in their gut from the second they booked their fuckin' airline ticket. You had attempted to grab life by its metaphorical horns and go and sort this shit show out by yourself, but after your momentarial bravery was used up, all that was left was a crippling anxiety that threatened to send you into a full scale panic attack if you thought too hard about the fact you were following your big brother to Colombia.

Yes, Colombia. You, a U.S. national with no particular interest in hunting Pablo Escobar, had decided to vacation in sunny, crime ridden Bogotá on a whim.

You were fuckin’ dumb.

Sarcasm aside, you weren’t actually here on vacation, you were going to check on Stevie. Your brother, one of the DEA agents assigned with taking down Escobar.

You’d been worried about him for a few months, it had sounded like he was dealing with heavy shit in South America, you knew that was the job, but he was still your brother.

His calls had gotten less and less frequent until he stopped returning them all together and the only reason you knew he was alive were your pep-talks with your sister-in-law, trying to help her keep her shit together, but hell, you weren’t a therapist or a miracle worker. So when Connie rang asking to stay at your place you had obliged and she had returned to Miami a mere shell of her former self.

After a mammoth amount of prodding over the course of two days you managed to wring the truth out of her, not the nuggets of information she had given you over the phone in hushed whispers during her time in Colombia but the whole messy story; the communist Elisa Alvarez, Steve’s kidnapping and the cold edges your brother was developing.

It was all you could do not to book the tickets there and then, but you held out and supported Connie in the ways Steve couldn't have, taking care of Olivia when you could and just trying your hardest to be there for her. Your presence alone seemed to be enough to help her through the days that followed. A week and a half after her return, you booked your flight to Colombia in secret.

You had to check on Steve.

He hadn’t answered a single one of your many many calls. You packed light and told Connie the morning of, and whilst she didn’t like it, she understood. You supposed that a part of her was relieved to know her husband would have someone in Colombia that wasn't there to kill him.

So here you sat, two hours into your flight to the paradise destination; Bogotá. Your brother's address scrawled on a scrap piece of paper in the one hand and a glass of cheap whiskey in the other. The alcohol did little to to calm your nerves, this was a dangerous place for a cop, let alone a fuckin’ clueless civilian.

When the plane finally touched down, you stood from your seat emptying the last few drops of whiskey which had tried to evade you onto your tongue, you picked up your backpack and queued to leave the plane.

The second you left the aircraft the humidity hit you like a brick wall, it was like all of the fresh air had been sucked out of the atmosphere. On a normal evening you would appreciate such a warm climate, but now the heat meant frustration to your tired brain and it only added to your baseline levels of anxiety as your hairline and upper lip were drenched as you walked through the arrivals gate.

Cards on the table; you didn’t have much of a game plan, you spoke no Spanish and stuck out like a sore thumb. You had the address but no means to get there, you didn’t relish the idea of getting in a taxi as a woman alone in a foreign country, but with little to no other options you went to hail one of the cabs that sat outside the airport.

Your fears turned out to be for naught, well not quite naught as the man had raked his eyes across your body for a large percentage of the trip in his mirror, but he had the good grace not to kidnap or murder you, which for you meant it was a successful journey, how low you had set the bar was just occuring to you.

After paying the gentleman he dropped you outside what appeared to Steve’s apartment building. You take a moment on the pavement to recollect yourself ready for your reunion. Peeling your denim jacket off, you decide instead to wrap it around your waist, tying the sleeves securely. With a harumph, you grab the handle of your suitcase, and drag it behind you. Your success thus far gives you a second wind of determination.

Though apparently dumb luck can only get you so far, because after heaving your suitcase up a flight of stairs and rapping on the door of apartment 20 until your knuckles ached, it began to dawn on you, you had no clue if this was even the right building.

“Fuck.” you mutter to yourself, you should’ve rang Connie or tried Steve again when you landed, but you’d been so single minded in carrying out your plan all common sense had apparently abandoned you. So with a million different scenarios of things you could’ve done better playing out behind your eyes you dragged your suitcase to the small lobby of the building, where the front door stood.

You huffed and dropped onto the bottom step in surrender, not quite sure where to go from here.

Weeks of anxiety and worry finally took their toll on your body as reality set in, and as it did so you couldn’t help but laugh at the sheer stupidity of the situation you’d put yourself in. A light chuckle escaped your body as you held your face in your hands,you rubbed at your eyes as a way of refreshing yourself before sighing and leaning back.

You must have sat with your head in your hands for around three hours before anyone of note arrived, you had received strange looks from residents in their comings and goings as they stepped around you, your expectant looks turned to disappointment when you realised they weren’t Steve. In fairness, you, a gringa sitting on the stairs at 2am, most likely wasn’t a daily occurrence to these homeowners.

By the time he came through the door, your eyes were closed and your head was leant on the bannister, trying to get what little rest you could. Your eyes opened a crack to see a man and a woman enter the building and turn right, the man had his arm around her as he stared at you in confusion, the look was so quick you may have missed it if you blinked, but they were talking in low whispers of Spanish and from the looks of things he didn’t give you a second thought.

So you extended him the same courtesy and shut your eyes once again, you heard the metal jangling of keys going into the lock, the sound of smacking lips and then the door was closed. You figured that was the end of it, instead you heard hurried footsteps coming towards you, your eyes shot open as he rounded the corner.

“Estás bien?” The man questioned. It took you a moment to realise he was talking to you, as you took him in you were struck by your stupidity, how could you have dismissed this man so quickly even in the throes of a mental breakdown. His chocolate brown eyes bore into your own as you realised he was waiting for a response.

“Uh… no hablo... español?” you pretty much asked him, cringing internally at your butchering of the most basic sentence of this gorgeous strangers language, his lips quirked at your mumbles making his mustache raise on one side with his smirk. Now, you’d never been a fan of a mustache, Steve and your father had both taken to styling their facial hair in such a way, and as a rule of thumb they were a big no-no. But my god. This man made that mustache his bitch and that bitch worked for him.

“You’re American?” He questions, smirk dropping along with his eyebrows in confusion as his brain processes the information.

“Oh thank god and Jesus fuckin’ christ above. You’re American!” Your timid nature had given way to pure unadulterated relief. “Stevie, Steve Murphy, he lives in this building, yeah?”

“Yeah… Stevi...Steve lives here- I’m sorry, who the hell are you?” He asks with a puzzled look and a shake of his head, there’s an air of distrust about him for some strange reason.

“I’m Y/N Murphy, I’m his sister.”

“Sister? Mierda... does he know you’re here?”

“Nope,” You pop your P as you shrug at the man before you with false nonchalance. “He’d have to answer the phone to me or Connie to know that now, wouldn’t he?”

“Steve.” The stranger sighed, annoyed.

“Sorry, who are you?” You asked, yourself becoming more bemused by the man by the second.

“I’m Steve’s partner, Javier.” He held out his hand which you were more than happy to take in a shake, his tan hand was soft yet strong as it held your own captive within it. “C’mon in I’ll give him a call, God knows what time he’s planning on getting back.”

“Uh, I don’t want to interrupt…” You mumble, waving your free hand vaguely towards where you knew the woman was waiting for him, making him smirk once again.

You were beginning to think that the sarcastic raise of his mouth was just his default resting face.

“You’re not interrupting anything.”

Now I know what you’re thinking, ‘cause I’d think it to. This is how people die in America, let alone fuckin’ Colombia, but if it's a choice between dying at the hands of a gorgeous man who seems to know your brother or a stray that wonders in through the non-descript lobby door then you’d rather go out with a nice view, even if he did have a girlfriend.

If you had to gamble, you’d say you had a damn good chance of making it out of this apartment alive.

So you nodded and used the hand he hadn’t released yet to pull yourself up into a standing position. He wasn’t particularly tall but he still towered over you, your eyeline gave you a great view past his black shirt which was unbuttoned quite liberally, you assumed that was courtesy of the woman he’d entered with.

“Thank you,” you nodded at him with a genuine smile of relief. He didn’t reply, only grabbed the handle of your pull along suitcase before extending his arm towards his apartment and motioning to wordlessly say, after you.

Now you know how people say when you can feel a stare? You had the sensation before, but as you leaned over to pick up your backpack from the bottom step, you felt his eyes laser focus on your denim clad ass. You turned your head in disbelief and found his eyes still lingered there for a moment before meeting your own. Unbelievable. Part of you was flattered, the other part was bemused that he had a beautiful woman in there waiting and here he was ogling you.

You rolled your eyes, instilled with a new confidence as you turned and walked towards his apartment, you felt his eyes follow your form once more.

Steve’s hot partner was an ass man... Good to know.

...

As it turns out Javier’s girlfriend, or what you we’re starting to think was more of a one night stand, was not happy with the situation at all, you came to this discovery as Javier pointed you to the sofa before beginning arguing with her in hushed Spanish, the beautiful woman huffed and sent a dirty look your way before storming out and slamming the door behind her, with enough power to make it shake in its bearings. You raised your eyebrows at Javier from your seat. He shook his head with a sigh and began lighting up a cigarette, he turned and offered you one.

“No thanks, I quit.”

“Woman with an iron will?”

“Not quite,” You whisper, shaking your head.

He smiles before clearing his throat and moving over to pick up his landline. Javier presses a combination of buttons, before putting it to his ear and blowing the smoke from his lungs. His eyes met yours as the phone rang, he gave you reassuring wink.

“Murphy? … Yeah… you need to get back to your place now... You’ve got a guest.... No … come find out why don’t you?” Sarcasm dripped from his lazy tone, his voice was so smooth. It was like chocolate on gravel, you could listen to him talk for hours, which led your mind down that deep dark hole of what he sounded like during more carnal acts, he’d be a talker, for definite, what with all that confidence and swagger. “‘Kay… I’ll see you soon.”

Shaking your head you centred yourself, it had been a dry patch for you. You needed to calm down and not throw yourself at your brother's partner, even if he just so happened to be the first man you had any interest in to show you attention in months.

“He’s on his way,” He confirmed what you already knew but you liked hearing him speak so you nodded in thanks. An awkward silence filled the air for a few moments, as you two perfect strangers shared one another's company.

“Drink?” He offered pointing at the bottle of whiskey on the counter.

“God, yes.” You all but moaned at the offer. Javier chuckled, and grabbed a second glass from his cupboard, before pouring you both a generous serving. He walked around the back of the sofa, and passed you the glass of liquid gold and took a seat next to you. Close enough to initiate something, but not touching, quite a respectful distance.

Initiate something? God Y/N, get your mind out of the gutter. This poor man had only invited you in because you were his partner's sister and he was doing the decent thing.

“Uh… The television work?” You ask, pointing at the empty screen.

“I didn’t realise you could speak Spanish…” His voice was dripping with false surprise, mocking your earlier attempts at the language, though he reached across and switched the box on with the remote, he began flicking through the channels so quickly he almost gave you a headache.

“Oh yes, I’m very proficient, I just didn’t want to intimidate you earlier. Hola Señor Javier.” You say continuing his ruse. He chuckles at your words, it's a deep warm noise that shakes his entire frame. You were definitely thinking about adding Javier’s voice to your top ten list of favourite sounds.

He flicks through the channels, for a few seconds before sighing and dropping the remote in your lap. Taking your assignment seriously, you sit up, bringing yourself a few inches closer to the man next to you, purely accidentally of course and begin flicking through the channels as Javier had done moments before, though 3am TV scheduling left a lot to be desired.

News, News, Colombian QVC, News, News, Soap opera. Bingo!

“Ah, now we’re talking.” You mumble, eyes stuck on the screen of the Colombian Soap opera playing. The two of you sat in silence once again as you slowly sipped on your drinks watching drama play out.

You watched in silence for around ten minutes, not understanding a single word of what was being said. The scene was on two latino actors sitting in a bedroom. The woman was sat on the bed being confronted by the man in a serious tone.

“What is she saying?” You question narrowing your eyes at the beautiful woman's tone. Javier, who had been watching your reactions the whole time as you got into the awful tv show scrambled as he tried to listen and translate the woman's words.

“Uh… her dads an alcoholic and she’s trying to support her son… that guy didn’t know about the son... I think… she was happy living a double life without the worry and she wants him to forgive her and start over…” Javier translated, giving you the general cliff notes.

“Oh shit,” You gasped at his words, but your attention diverted to the screen where the two had continued their heated argument and began kissing or rather where the man was devouring her neck, “I’m getting vibes that he might be open to forgiving her.”

You chuckled at your own joke, as did Javier. Though this time when his body shook his bare elbow touched your own.

How was he so goddamn warm?

All he was wearing was a black button down shirt. One that looked to be the wrong size it was so tightly fitted- not that you were complaining about the view. My God, were you horny today.

You took a gulp of your drink, trying to refocus for the third or fourth time this evening, trying so desperately to reign in your inner school girl and focus on the television, though that didn’t help as the actors were now eating one anothers faces on a bed. The silence was thick with tension, though that could’ve been entirely on you; one innocent touch of a man's elbow and you’re a blushing mess.

Get a grip Y/N.

The silence dragged on as you pretended to watch the soap opera you had absolutely no understanding of in a futile attempt to ignore the man next to you. You can only imagine what he thought of your levels of focus on the tv, as you stared at the box in the corner of the room like it was the greatest cinematic masterpiece of all time and you were getting ready to write a full-scale analysis on the work of art.

Javier broke the tension in the room by finally asking the question that had been on his lips all evening.

“You came all the way to Colombia... Why?” Javier grabbed a cigarette off of the coffee table, placing his drink where the carton of smokes had been. He lit the stick and waited for your response, honestly, you were thrown. The question had come out of nowhere whilst you were still trying to analyse why exactly this man had such an effect on you when he was doing nothing but being a good host. You hastened to think up a half coherent reply before you just answered truthfully.

“Steve stopped answering the phone, I mean he’s always been shitty at checking in, even when he was in Miami. When he got here we’d have a catch up every week or so, we all know how dangerous it is for you guys over here, so we joked about calling it ‘the alive check’. For the last couple of months, I was checking in with Connie more than Steve but he’d still pick up once every week, without fail. Then four weeks ago the fucker stopped answering my calls all together and Connie showed up on my doorstep with Olivia in tow last week.”

“Look, you coming down here probably makes more problems than it solves, Steve’s a big boy if he doesn’t call to check in, it's probably ‘cause he’s busy... He’s-” Something about Javier’s dismissive tone rubbed you the wrong way, call it sleep deprivation or blame the weeks of stress, but you were tired of being called paranoid. You were not an overbearing mother hen.

“My brother always answers my calls. Or at least he used to. I can’t begin to understand what you guys are going through, but I’m not losing my brother to some piece of shit Colombian drug dealer.”

Javier raised his hands in mock surrender, cigarette still in mouth. “He’s actually more of a drug lord slash narcoterrorist, but-”

“How is he?” You interrupt Javier’s attempt at diffusing the situation with humor, turning to him on the sofa. You rearranged yourself, bringing your leg up so your knee touched his thigh as you gave him your full attention, you plucked the smoke from between his lips and held it between your two fingers as you spoke. “Tell me Steve’s fine. Tell me I’m worrying for nothing and I’ll get back on that plane and leave tomorrow morning."

You take one drag and offer it back to him, he accepts it, deliberately looking you in the eyes as he places the cigarette in his mouth, attaching his lips to where your own had been seconds earlier. He takes it from his mouth and stubs it on an ash tray that rests on the arm of the sofa, his focus is single minded on his task. The pressure in your lower stomach is mounting as you stare at the tanned man before you who is carrying out a menial task that has you more turned on than you’d ever admit.

When the red tip is extinguished thoroughly, taking much longer than you thought it needed to, Javi turns to you, his mahogany eyes have you pinned in your tracks. You found yourself admitting they were gorgeous for the second time this evening, they were the type of brown you could never quite describe, they had so much depth, not quite a chocolate, not quite coffee, they were rich and deep pools. They reminded you of the forest, not the green leaves but the earthy brown, the strong beams of wood that held everything up around it.

Javier's hand emigrated forward slowly, your eyes followed the movement in your peripheral but you didn’t dare look away from the pools of molasses as he reached to grip one hand at your denim thigh, his eyes roamed your face for any sign of this being an unwelcome approach and when he found none his other hand began its climb to rest on your jaw, just below your ear.

You couldn’t say if you moved towards him or if he advanced on you, all you knew was he was on you now as the tips of your noses rubbed against one another.

“Quiero saborearte…” He whispered so lowly you barely even heard it before he leaned in that last inch and captured your lips in a single, chaste kiss. Your lips connected and you realised the heat you had felt from his arms had been nothing. Fire coursed through your veins upon contact, surging through your blood and going south to a pressure that built in your lower stomach.

Your hand shot up to land on his collarbone, before you could even really consider your own actions you pulled apart until your foreheads were the only thing touching. He was intoxicating, you could lose yourself completely in this man, he somehow smelt like cinnamon, whiskey and sweat, a combination you’d never thought would send liquid fire through your central nervous system. You’d give anything to taste him properly, but this was wrong. So so wrong. This was your brother's partner, this was inviting complication to your door, when you were just here to check on Steve. You were here for Steve.

You were here for Steve...

“... This isn’t a good idea.” You all but whisper, closing your eyes. Regret pulses through your veins at your self imposed restraint.

“Never is.” He leaned forward and captured your lips. You didn’t have any fight left in you, exhausted and at wits end you embraced your spiral into stupidity instead and your hands glided across the clammy skin of his neck to grab at his short ink black hair. You wrapped your fingers around it to drag him closer to you, your lips clashed, all teeth at first but you didn’t care as his tongue began to fight against yours for dominance.

He tasted as good as you imagined, he was the right combination of sweet and bitter, with undertones of whiskey and tobacco on his tongue. Your response to his assault on your mouth told him it was go time, Javier pulled you into his lap and his hands lowered to your ass. Your body was flush with his own as your breasts pressed against his chest, you could feel every solid line of his lithe body against your own.

You licked at his honied tongue, before withdrawing and pulling his bottom lip into your mouth and sucking on the soft plush skin. His mustache tickled your upper lip, a sensation you weren’t used to but could so easily grow to love. This made him tighten his grip on your backside in response and he let out a throaty groan at the meat he found there, Javier was definitely an ass man, you felt his bulge pressing against your core as you both began grinding against each other in earnest. You felt like a horny teenager as you grinded on a man you barely knew.

You felt him grip at the bottom of your tank top and begin to lift it, except he stopped, and began to rub patterns on the stomach he exposed. Javier’s mouth descended from your lips to begin to suck and lick at your throat. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head at his work as pleasure rippled throught your body. His hands slid the length of your body to grab at your chest, which conforming to every stereotype was heaving, he palmed your breast blindly as his face was still buried in your hair, sucking and kissing along to your ear, before he raised his mouth a mere inch and whispered “Te follaré toda la noche niña.”

He said it with such surety that your body convulsed in on itself without even needing to know what the man above you was saying. You could only hope it was absolutely filthy and profanity ridden, because then at least, the sentiment would be shared. He bit at the lobe of your ear before his hands left your breasts and travelled to the hem of your tank top, getting ready to pull it over your head.

It was strange to say that you remembered your brother was on his way here as a man tried to take your t-shirt off, but that’s just the way it went. You knew if that top came off, dry humping would be the most PG action of the night and if Steve turned up and found you mounted on his partner, he probably wouldn’t be too thrilled.

You couldn’t stop yourself from stroking the man's hair whose face was planted in between your tits as his hips rose against your own pushing his hardened length up against the seams of your jeans, you gasped as he hit that sweet spot. You let out a noise that sounded like a wail. You wanted nothing more than to lie back and let this man have his filthy way with your body. And you know, from the hour you’ve spent with this man it would be phenomenally filthy. The kind of sex that would ruin all men for you, but no. You had to be a good sister. Like a fuckin loser.

Sighing, you threw your body sideways before you could change your mind and ended up on your back. Javier followed you, caging you with his frame as he covered your body with his own. Gripping your face like he was a starving man and you were the only sustenance he’d ever need. It would be so easy to get lost in him, to give in to that magic tongue but you couldn’t let this go any further so you placed a hand on his chest.

Taking your cue he paused his tongues assault on your mouth and stopped, resting his forehead against your own. You were both breathing heavily trying to come back down to reality, his eyes were no longer the chocolate brown you’d been comforted by when you met, but rings of obsidian staring into your soul. You wanted this man, my god you did. But this would make more problems for Steve.

The two of you stayed that way for a while, foreheads and bodies pressed against one another until both of your breathing evened out. The silence dragged, heavy in the air as you two strangers both waited for the other to break it.

“...Is Steve okay?”

“...No... He’s been fuckin’ mess ever since Connie left.” Javier sighed whilst closing his eyes and breathing deep. You raised your hands from his chest, which was difficult as he was crushing his body to yours and cupped his cheek, you joined your lips once more, much like the first kiss. This was sweet and there wasn’t a carnal appetite behind it but rather an understanding.

The loud knock on the front door startles you both as you’d been so wrapped up in one another you’d not heard the steps leading to it. The two of you split apart like a pair of guilty teens caught in the act. You both stared at each other for a second before he nods at you and walks to the front door whilst rearranging his bulge discreetly in his jeans, this was something you pretended not to see as you sat back up right on the sofa. You had only a moment to fix yourself, as you pulled your tank top from where it was hooked by your breasts and ran your fingers through your hair so you didn’t look like you’ve just had the ravaging of a lifetime.

Javier pulled open the door and you clutch your hands into your lap, not quite sure what kind of reception you were about to receive from your brother. You hear the two men greet one another in hushed whispers, you couldn’t make out Steve's voice much until you hear his voice clear as day “...what the hell was so important it couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”

You stand from your spot on the sofa and quickly realise the button on your jeans is undone; if you’re honest you don’t even know how he managed to do that without you noticing, even though it's not the time you take a solitary second to commend Javier on his artistry of disrobing a woman. Turning quickly you pull the rivet back through the hole and swing around as Steve crosses the threshold from the hallway.

Steve looks from you, to Javier and then back to you once more in complete surprise. It takes his brain a hot second to process that you’re here in front of him and in Colombia before he rushes you. Clutching you tight and hugging you to his chest. You hear something that sounds suspiciously like a sob leave your brothers chest before he collapses into you. The front door and Javier’s bedroom both in rapid succession, giving you the privacy you knew your brother would need after breaking down like this.

You couldn’t support Steve’s weight with your considerably smaller frame and the two of you fell to the ground as you held your broken brother. His body shook with silent sobs as he buried his face in your shoulder.

You said nothing as you held him and stroked his hair. In that moment you thanked your every instinct that screamed at you to come to Colombia.

This had definitely not been a mistake.

Part Two

#javier pena x reader #javier peña x reader #narcos fic #pedro pascal x reader #I LOVE THE BLACK FUCKING SHIRT #narcos fanfiction #javier peña #murphy!reader

241 notes · View notes

busycryin · 3 years

Text

REPOST - THE NIGHT WE MET

THE NIGHT WE MET

PART ONE - THE NIGHT WE MET

Pairing: Javier Peña/ Female Murphy!Reader

Words: 5.3k

Summary: You decide to travel to Colombia on a whim, there you meet a gorgeous stranger that just so happens to be your brothers partner.

Anon was worried about losing my work when I switched blogs, so fear not. I’m reposting on here but I have no intention of deleting my other blog, it’s where I got my first 200 notes and I’m honestly blown away by it. I’m happy to announce I’m working on a fourth part. I’m not sure when I’ll post it as I’m still in the idea stage but it’s definitely a start, ay!

AO3

MASTERLIST

Author Note: So here is my return to writing! The word count got away from me but I loved every second of it. Always after prompts, so drop me a message on here if you’d like to see anything in particular. If it’s in my wheelhouse, you’ll definitely see it.

Pedro in the black shirt is what inspired me to write this, I can’t lie.

If you were brutally honest with yourself, this spur of the moment decision may have been a mistake.

Other people could make these choices and not have that nagging feeling in their gut from the second they booked their fuckin’ airline ticket. You had attempted to grab your crappy life by its metaphorical horns and go and sort this shit show out by yourself, but after your momentary bravery was used up, all that was left was a crippling anxiety that threatened to send you into one of your full scale panic attacks if you thought too hard about the fact you were following your big brother to Colombia.

Yes, Colombia. You, a U.S. national with no particular interest in hunting Pablo Escobar, had decided to vacation in sunny, crime ridden Bogotá on a whim.

You were fuckin’ dumb.

Sarcasm aside, you weren’t actually here on vacation, you were going to check on Stevie. Your brother, one of the DEA agents assigned with taking down Escobar.

You’d been worried about him for a few months, it had sounded like he was dealing with heavy shit in South America, you knew that was the job, but he was still your brother.

It was all you could do not to book the tickets there and then, but you held out and supported Connie in the ways Steve couldn’t have, taking care of Olivia when you could and just trying your hardest to be there for her. Your presence alone seemed to be enough to help her through the days that followed. A week and a half after her return, you booked your flight to Colombia in secret.

You had to check on Steve.

So here you sat, two hours into your flight to the paradise destination; Bogotá. Your brother’s address scrawled on a scrap piece of paper in the one hand and a glass of cheap whiskey in the other. The alcohol did little to to calm your nerves, this was a dangerous place for a cop, let alone a fuckin’ clueless civilian.

You huffed and dropped onto the bottom step in surrender, not quite sure where to go from here.

Weeks of anxiety and worry finally took their toll on your body as reality set in, and as it did so you couldn’t help but laugh at the sheer stupidity of the situation you’d put yourself in. A light chuckle escaped your body as you held your face in your hands, you rubbed at your eyes as a way of refreshing yourself before sighing and leaning back.

“Uh… no hablo… español?” you pretty much asked him, cringing internally at your butchering of the most basic sentence of this gorgeous strangers language, his lips quirked at your mumbles making his mustache raise on one side with his smirk. Now, you’d never been a fan of a mustache, Steve and your father had both taken to styling their facial hair in such a way, and as a rule of thumb they were a big no-no. But my god. This man made that mustache his bitch and that bitch worked for him.

“You’re American?” He questions, smirk dropping along with his eyebrows in confusion as his brain processes the information.

“Oh thank god and Jesus fuckin’ christ above. You’re American!” Your timid nature had given way to pure unadulterated relief. “Stevie, Steve Murphy, he lives in this building, yeah?”

“Yeah… Stevi…Steve lives here- I’m sorry, who the hell are you?” He asks with a puzzled look and a shake of his head, there’s an air of distrust about him for some strange reason.

“I’m Y/N Murphy, I’m his sister.”

“Sister? Mierda… does he know you’re here?”

“Nope,” You pop your P as you shrug at the man before you with false nonchalance. “He’d have to answer the phone to me or Connie to know that now, wouldn’t he?”

“Steve.” The stranger sighed, annoyed.

“Sorry, who are you?” You asked, yourself becoming more bemused by the man by the second.

“Uh, I don’t want to interrupt…” You mumble, waving your free hand vaguely towards where you knew the woman was waiting for him, making him smirk once again.

You were beginning to think that the sarcastic raise of his mouth was just his default resting face.

“You’re not interrupting anything.”

Now I know what you’re thinking, ‘cause I’d think it to. This is how people die in America, let alone fuckin’ Colombia, but if it’s a choice between dying at the hands of a gorgeous man who seems to know your brother or a stray that wonders in through the non-descript lobby door then you’d rather go out with a nice view, even if he did have a girlfriend.

If you had to gamble, you’d say you had a damn good chance of making it out of this apartment alive.

You rolled your eyes, instilled with a new confidence as you turned and walked towards his apartment, you felt his eyes follow your form once more.

Steve’s hot partner was an ass man… Good to know.

…

“No thanks, I quit.”

“Woman with an iron will?”

“Not quite,” You whisper, shaking your head.

“Murphy? … Yeah… you need to get back to your place now… You’ve got a guest…. No … come find out why don’t you?” Sarcasm dripped from his lazy tone, his voice was so smooth. It was like chocolate on gravel, you could listen to him talk for hours, which led your mind down that deep dark hole of what he sounded like during more carnal acts, he’d be a talker, for definite, what with all that confidence and swagger. “‘Kay… I’ll see you soon.”

Shaking your head you centred yourself, it had been a dry patch for you. You needed to calm down and not throw yourself at your brother’s partner, even if he just so happened to be the first man you had any interest in to show you attention in months.

“Drink?” He offered pointing at the bottle of whiskey on the counter.

Initiate something? God Y/N, get your mind out of the gutter. This poor man had only invited you in because you were his partner’s sister and he was doing the decent thing.

“Uh… The television work?” You ask, pointing at the empty screen.

“I didn’t realise you could speak Spanish…” His voice was dripping with sarcasm, mocking your earlier attempts at the language, though he reached across and switched the box on with the remote, he began flicking through the channels so quickly he almost gave you a headache.

“Oh yes, I’m very proficient, I just didn’t want to intimidate you earlier. Hola Señor Javier.” You say continuing his ruse. He chuckles at your words, it’s a deep warm noise that shakes his entire frame. You were definitely thinking about adding Javier’s voice to your top ten list of favourite sounds.

News, News, Colombian QVC, News, News, Soap opera. Bingo!

“What is she saying?” You question narrowing your eyes at the beautiful woman’s tone. Javier, who had been watching your reactions the whole time as you got into the awful tv show scrambled as he tried to listen and translate the woman’s words.

“Uh… her dads an alcoholic and she’s trying to support her son… that guy didn’t know about the son… I think… she was happy living a double life without the worry and she wants him to forgive her and start over…” Javier translated, giving you the general cliff notes.

You chuckled at your own joke, as did Javier. Though this time when his body shook his bare elbow touched your own.

How was he so goddamn warm?

All he was wearing was a black button down shirt. One that looked to be the wrong size it was so tightly fitted- not that you were complaining about the view. My God, were you horny today.

Get a grip Y/N.

Javier broke the tension in the room by finally asking the question that had been on his lips all evening.

“You came all the way to Colombia… Why?” Javier grabbed a cigarette off of the coffee table, placing his drink where the carton of smokes had been. He lit the stick and waited for your response, honestly, you were thrown. The question had come out of nowhere whilst you were still trying to analyse why exactly this man had such an effect on you when he was doing nothing but being a good host. You hastened to think up a half coherent reply before you just answered truthfully.

“Look, you coming down here probably makes more problems than it solves, Steve’s a big boy if he doesn’t call to check in, it’s probably ‘cause he’s busy… He’s-” Something about Javier’s dismissive tone rubbed you the wrong way, call it sleep deprivation or blame the weeks of stress, but you were tired of being called paranoid. You were not an overbearing mother hen.

Javier raised his hands in mock surrender, cigarette still in mouth. “He’s actually more of a drug lord slash narcoterrorist, but-”

Javier’s hand emigrated forward slowly, your eyes followed the movement in your peripheral but you didn’t dare look away from the pools of molasses as he reached to grip one hand at your denim thigh, his eyes roamed your face for any sign of this being an unwelcome approach and when he found none his other hand began its climb to rest on your jaw, just below your ear.

You couldn’t say if you moved towards him or if he advanced on you, all you knew was he was on you now as the tips of your noses rubbed against one another.

Your hand shot up to land on his collarbone, before you could even really consider your own actions you pulled apart until your foreheads were the only thing touching. He was intoxicating, you could lose yourself completely in this man, he somehow smelt like cinnamon, whiskey and sweat, a combination you’d never thought would send liquid fire through your central nervous system. You’d give anything to taste him properly, but this was wrong. So so wrong. This was your brother’s partner, this was inviting complication to your door, when you were just here to check on Steve. You were here for Steve.

You were here for Steve…

“… This isn’t a good idea.” You all but whisper, closing your eyes. Regret pulses through your veins at your self imposed restraint.

You felt him grip at the bottom of your tank top and begin to lift it, except he stopped, and began to rub patterns on the stomach he exposed. Javier’s mouth descended from your lips to begin to suck and lick at your throat. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head at his work as pleasure rippled throat your body. His hands slid the length of your body to grab at your chest, which conforming to every stereotype was heaving, he palmed your breast blindly as his face was still buried in your hair, sucking and kissing along to your ear, before he raised his mouth a mere inch and whispered “Te follaré toda la noche niña.”

You couldn’t stop yourself from stroking the man’s hair whose face was planted in between your tits as his hips rose against your own pushing his hardened length up against the seams of your jeans, you gasped as he hit that sweet spot. You let out a noise that sounded like a wail. You wanted nothing more than to lie back and let this man have his filthy way with your body. And you know, from the hour you’ve spent with this man it would be phenomenally filthy. The kind of sex that would ruin all men for you, but no. You had to be a good sister. Like a fuckin loser.

“…Is Steve okay?”

“…No… He’s been fuckin’ mess ever since Connie left.” Javier sighed whilst closing his eyes and breathing deep. You raised your hands from his chest, which was difficult as he was crushing his body to yours and cupped his cheek, you joined your lips once more, much like the first kiss. This was sweet and there wasn’t a carnal appetite behind it but rather an understanding.

Javier pulled open the door and you clutch your hands into your lap, not quite sure what kind of reception you were about to receive from your brother. You hear the two men greet one another in hushed whispers, you couldn’t make out Steve’s voice much until you hear his voice clear as day “…what the hell was so important it couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”

You stand from your spot on the sofa and quickly realise the button on your jeans is undone; if you’re honest you don’t even know how he managed to do that without you noticing, even though it’s not the time you take a solitary second to commend Javier on his artistry of disrobing a woman. Turning quickly you pull the rivet back through the hole and swing around as Steve crosses the threshold from the hallway.

You said nothing as you held him and stroked his hair. In that moment you thanked your every instinct that screamed at you to come to Colombia.

This had definitely not been a mistake.

#pedro pascal x reader #javier pena x reader #javier peña x reader #repost #narcos fanfiction

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firewoodfigs · 4 years

Text

sudden inspiration at 2am to write some parental content, all thanks to @katharinedraws00 lovely art :^) (art by Katharine, not me!! I can’t draw to save my life!)

It struck him out of the blue, as most nightmares do. One moment he was dreaming of Winry and her obsessive rambling about the latest automail developments in Rush Valley; the bleating sheep and the undulating valleys that gave Resembool its glorious, rustic charm, and his mother’s blissful smile whenever she stood out in the morning sun to hang their laundry dry. Then all of a sudden her smile twisted in a wicked, disdainful sneer. No longer was it the mother he remembered and so dearly loved. Instead the marks of his transgression, his utter failure took her place and glared at him with sinister red eyes that made his stomach churn and his blood boil.

Ed woke with a start, heaving.

“Just a bad dream,” he muttered to himself. The sun was creeping in through the heavy, velvet brocades of the hotel by now, beckoning for him to go out and do whatever it was he’d been assigned here for. Ed groaned and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes blearily.

At least the hotel breakfast was good. A decent spread of eggs and toast and fruits, the typical assortment to be expected (no milk, thankfully) awaited him. With all the eagerness of a starved man, he devoured plate after plate gleefully, thankful that it’d be charged to the military and not his personal bank account.

Once breakfast was out of the way and he’d managed to flush some of the bad thoughts out of his mind with a cup of orange juice, Ed then headed towards the lobby to reconvene with the bastard and Lieutenant Hawkeye.

“Let’s go,” he yawned, making it a point to not make eye contact with them so that they wouldn’t see the vestiges of his cruel, twisted dreams. Mustang sighed, muttering something about how punctuality was paramount in the military.

Ed simply ignored him and waltzed ahead of them, stretching luxuriously.

—

The rest of the day passed by without much incident. Externally, anyway. What went on in his mind, however, was a completely different story. Somehow the visceral images of that night kept conjuring themselves in his head even as he tried valiantly to suppress them with happy thoughts. (Like Al munching on Winry’s apple pie. Or Mustang getting socked in the face.)

And it only got worse when he passed by all the mothers holding their children’s hands like they were the most precious thing in the world.

In the end, it’d been bad enough such that he couldn’t even sleep. Ed thought this was a remarkable feat, as he was typically able to fall asleep even on the most uncomfortable trains. Not to mention the day had been completely exhausting — all the walking and gallivanting and constant alertness had worn him out sufficiently, to the point that his limbs were aching and his joints were groaning like an old man. Like Mustang whenever he was met with paperwork.

Then, the mumbling from outside reached his ears. It was strangely warm, soothing. And from that the memory of his mother’s comforting murmurs whenever he had a nightmare or a bad fall emerged, crushing whatever modicum of pride that he’d been latching onto into dust.

Desperate to sleep (and for comfort, though he’d never admit that aloud), Ed opened the door quietly and walked towards the source of the mumbling, keeping his head lowered so that the jerk wouldn’t have an opportunity to make fun of his weakness. Even more quietly, he confessed, “Alright. Uh, due to some, er, traumatic events that happened today, I haven’t been able to sleep, I heard some mumbling in here so I —“

Wait, what the heck?

Was that a kiss he heard? A kiss? Like, lips on skin, or lips on lips?

Ed paled visibly, choking on his saliva. Instantly he retracted his words, but while he wanted to call Mustang out for being twelve different kinds of repulsive (and for goodness’ sake, Lieutenant Hawkeye deserved better than some self-conceited, pompous imbecile with an ego the size of Amestris!) he remembered that Lieutenant Hawkeye was there too.

Lieutenant Hawkeye, who could shoot him if she so wanted for invading on their privacy like that.

“Oh, er, sorry! I didn’t mean to interrupt you all… I’ll just —“ and he scampered away, hoping he’d live to see another day.

“Get over here, shorty,” Mustang called. Ed’s antenna twitched, and he halted in his tracks, all too ready to retaliate and beat Mustang up into a bleeding pulp.

But all of a sudden he was encased in a warm embrace, the Lieutenant’s soft hair tickling his own messy fringe.

“You’re always welcome here, Ed,” Hawkeye reassured kindly.

Ed wanted to bury himself out of embarrassment. Of course, he’d always known that Lieutenant Hawkeye had a soft spot, but now that he was on the receiving end of one of her — what he presumed to be extremely rare — hugs…

He didn’t quite know how to respond.

“I, uh,” he began sheepishly. “Sorry —“

“It’s okay,” Hawkeye soothed. To his mortification, Mustang was hugging him as well. Ed didn’t know whether to punch him in the face or kick him in the nuts, but at least there was no mockery or ridicule coming from the man. Instead, his expression looked…

Concerned?

Ed swallowed uncomfortably.

“Are you alright, Fullmetal?”

“Y-yeah. I’m fine.”

Heat crawled up his face, betraying the embarrassment he felt.

Yet they didn’t budge. If anything, they only continued to tighten their arms around him. And ultimately Ed caved. Unable to resist, he relished in their kindness — a kindness so unimaginably warm and tender that it could only belong to a parent’s — and gradually relaxed in their embrace.

And Ed wondered if this was what it felt like to have a family, whole and complete and loving.

#fma fic #fma fanfic #royai #parental royai #Edward Elric #this is your daily reminder to give Edward Elric a hug if you haven't already done so #that is all #goodnight everyone for real HAHAHAHA

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all-hail-the-witcher · 4 years

Text

one expensive can of easy cheese

crack head hours my kids

also inspired by a hot guy i saw at walgreens today

the walgreens chaos returns

______

ship: ralbert

genre: crackhead angst

words: who knows, not super long

warnings: mentions of a twine kink, easy cheese, concussions, walgreens, race thinks another guy is hot, uhhh, hot men in scrubs, minor bits of violence, new yorkers been new yorkers, albert is a dumbass, race is more of a dumbass

editing: nah

_____

Race was sat on top of the counter in his and Albert’s apartment, a piece of duct tape over his mouth and his hands tied together with kitchen twine. He sighed against his restraints, resigned to watch his boyfriend make their contribution to this year’s Thanksgiving gathering: mac and cheese.

Now, of course everyone and their mother knew that mac and cheese was not a Traditional Thanksgiving Food. But, Albert had won (best out of three) mario kart yesterday so he had gotten to decide what they would bring to Jack’s house. Had Race known that he had been planning to make mac and fucking cheese, maybe he would have tried a little harder.

Apparently, Albert was not pleased with Race’s reaction to his decision to make mac and cheese, and thought that Race might try to get in the way somehow (which he may or may not have fully intended to do). So he did what any loving boyfriend would: sat him on the counter, put duct tape over his mouth and tied his hands together so he wouldn’t interfere.

Race was beginning to wonder why he had agreed to move in with Albert in the first place.

With a violent shake of his head and one final spat, he was able to dislodge the duct tape.

“Albieeeeee,” he whined, laying down on the counter. “Can you pleaaaaaaaseee let me helllllllllp?”

Albert barely glanced up as he pulled the big wooden spoon out of the pot and gave it a thoughtful lick. “Hmmmmmmm. No.”

“But-!” He wriggled around to give Albert his best puppy dog eyes. “Can I make something else then? Ple-OW!” He glared at the spatula that had been hurled at his arm. “You apologize for that!”

“Nah.” He smirked and went back to stirring his wretched pasta. Well, actually Albert’s mac and cheese was quite good. Race was just salty that he was making it for Thanksgiving when it was very well known that he was the chef of the two and Jack was expecting something good not the mac and cheese Albert famously made at 2am in college when they were all high as hell.

“Can you at least untie me then?”

“No.” Albert even bother considering this time.

“Well.” If logic wasn't going to work on Albert he would have to try another method. “I know you know how to make a guy feel good Albie, but I never expected ropes to be a part of it. What’s next? Handcuffs? Whips? Chains?”

In two seconds flat Race was out of his kitchen twine bonds and flexing his sore wrists.

“Man Albie, who knew you had a twine kink.”

“You know,” Albert began loudly, as if thinking that his loudness would cover up his totally obvious twine kink, “if you want to do something that's actually useful, you could go to Walgreens and buy me another can of Easy Cheese.”

“Is that what you put in your fuckin mac and cheese?” Race swore he actually felt bile rise in the back of his throat when Albert nodded. “That’s it. I’m never eating your mac and cheese again.”

“But-!”

“I’ll eat you though,” Race winked, taking a moment to enjoy the startled, yet somehow pleased look on his boyfriend’s face.

“Not until after we’re done at Jack’s.” Albert said only half jokingly as he dug around in his pocket for a second before throwing a crumpled five at Race. “In the meantime though, be gone thot!”

Race barely managed to catch the bill without falling on the floor, but still blew a kiss to Albert before walking out of the apartment.

Who the fuck puts easy cheese in mac and cheese? He wondered for the millionth time as he stomped the three blocks to Walgreens. Albert claimed that he had chosen his apartment for its proximity to the store, but up until today Race had always assumed that he had been joking. The man did make a lot of mac and cheese and if Easy Cheese was an ingredient well….maybe there was some truth to that story after all.

Race pulled open the door to the Walgreens, pausing briefly to wonder why the absolute fuck it was open on literal Thanksgiving before remembering that it was a fucking Walgreens and why wouldn’t it be open to sell his dumbass boyfriend a can of fucking Easy Cheese.

In order to get to the Easy Cheese, or at least he assumed so because he had never bought a can of Easy Cheese in his whole glorious 25 years of life, Race had to walk past the Pharmacy section of the store. And, it just so happened that there was a guy sitting behind the counter at the Pharmacy. A very attractive guy. With a beard. In scrubs.

Now, of course Race loved Albert and nothing would ever change that, but he could appreciate an attractive man when he saw one. He thanked whatever deity was out there for the bit of man candy that he had been granted and went in search of his Easy Cheese.

“Mac and cheese, velveta cheese, microwaveable mac and cheese, where the fuck is the- oh thank fuck there we go.” He pulled a can of Easy Cheese off of the shelf, tossing it once and catching it before turning to go pay for the horrendous product, happy to finally be done with the whole ordeal when-

“Easy cheese? Really?”

Race whirled around to see Mr. Man Candy himself leaning against the opposite shelf. “Wh- who?”

“Oh,” he dusted his hand off on his scrubbs, “allow me to introduce myself. My name is Brett O’Hare. And you, sir, are a disgrace to society. The very reason why so many Americans are in poor health in this day and age.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“The Easy Cheese!” Brett gestured wildly toward the can in Race’s hand. “Gosh do you even know how many preservatives are in that stuff? And all the cancers that it can cause? It’s terrible. We wouldn’t need free healthcare if people just stopped eating Easy Cheese!”

Race had lived in New York City his whole life, and he had seen some pretty strange things, but never had he seen a pharmacist in a Walgreens lecture anyone about the health benefits of Easy Cheese.

“So let me get this straight,” Race rubbed his head, trying to make sense of the situation. “You go around yelling at people about the ingredients in the things that they are purchasing?”

“Yeah.”

“You do realize that this is a Walgreens, right? Everything in here probably contains some kind of chemical.” New Yorkers never ceased to amaze him.

“All the more reason for me to inform them of their poor eating habits!” Brett pointed a finger at him. “And stop distracting me! You’re the one buying the freaking easy cheese here!”

“It’s not even for me!” Race shouted back. “It’s for my boyfriend’s fucking mac and cheese that he insisted on making for Thanksgiving even though everyone knows that mac and cheese is not a fucking Thanksgiving food and he’s only making it cause he knocked me off the goddamn rainbow road right before the fucking finish line!” Race was fuming but the time that he was done.

“Oh, man I’m so sorry, that's lousy.”

Race looked surprised. Of all the things that he thought he would get out of this Walgreens experience, a therapy session was indeed not on the list. But neither had been hearing a lecture about the preservatives in Easy Cheese from a pharmacist.

“But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re still buying Easy Cheese!” Between one second and the next, Brett had grabbed the can of Easy Cheese out of Race’s hand, wielding it like a brick. “Buy some fucking vegetables!”

And with that, he struck Race over the head with the can of Easy Cheese.

Now, Race had definitely done some questionable things during his life. Once he had slept on the roof of his dorm building in January for a week because he lost his dorm key, and another time he had been tricked into making an entire wedding cake using salt. However, being smacked over the head with a can of Easy Cheese by a health nut in scrubs on Thanksgiving put any and all other situations he had been in to shame.

He opened his eyes, suddenly blinded by the lights, and reached for his phone, muttering curses about man candy and vegetables. Squinting so he didn’t have to look at the screen, he somehow managed to dial Albert.

“Racetrack Higgins, where is my Easy Cheese?”

Race pulled the phone away from his ear and winced at the sound of his boyfriend’s voice. “Um, it may have been used to give me a concussion by a health nut in scrubs?”

Albert let out a loud sigh. “Ah man, did you run into Brett? That guy’s the worst.”

“Wait, you know him?”

“Race, I know every Walgreens employee in Manhattan, of course I know Brett.” There was the jangling of keys in the background. “I thought I told you to go to the one on 4th for this reason, ah, well. I’m on my way. I’ll take you to urgent care. Hang tight.”

Race’s head hurt too much to process what Albert had said except for the words ‘I’m on my way.’ “Okay,” he sighed.

“Love you.”

“Love you too.” Race’s eyes focused on the dented can of Easy Cheese rolling on the floor. “And Al?”

“Yeah?”

“This is going to be one expensive can of Easy Cheese.”

______

that was a ride

feedback is always appreciated hmm if you wanna be on the tag list

tag list

@fairly-awkward-trashcan

@well-the-kids-do-too

@racetrackcook

@ughwaitwhat

@aw-jus-let-em-try

@voice-foundshoe-lost

@stopthe-presses

@ridin-in-style

@pinecovewoods

@i-got-no-clue-what-im-doing

@getchapapes

@be-more-chill-evan-hansen

@stellar-alpaca

@saxoph-ella

@smolcanadiankid

@disney-princess-sized

@the-newsies-justice-for-zas-blog

@insane-tomato

@spot-conlon-king-of-brooklyn

@have-we-got-news-for-you

@thatfancyclam

@myidkwhatmynameisblog

@legoflambwrites

@not-a-scab

@albertdasillvaprotectionsquad

@entschuldigung-bitches

@thebroadwayaesthetic

@tea-and-theater

@seasickdolphin

@auspicioustarantula

@newsies-of-ny

@mrs-higgins

@spot-me50-papes

@papesdontsellthemselves

@deathcast-s

@the-poodles-of-pulitzer

@hopefully-not-the-ghostbusters

@humanracoon

@irondad-spiderson-duo

@albert-eats-cookie-cake

@nico-nat

@localfakeitalian

@carryyourownbanner

@warmwoolysweaters

@spot-the-brooklyn-pirate

@writing-makes-me-antsy

@racetrackyeetgins

#saphie scribbles #newsies #newsies fic #ralbert #racetrack higgins #albert dasilva #walgreens au #i hate my branding thanks #this actually came out good #im surprises #happy thanksgiving my kids

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sugasgrowl · 4 years

Text

Writing Tag Game

I was tagged by the wonderful @ditzymax! I tag @gukslut @prolixitae @dark-muse-iris @underthejoon @honeymoonjin @angelguk and @btssavedmylifeblr (if you’re feeling up to it)

What is your ideal setting for focusing on your writing?

Truthfully, I don’t really care? As long as I am alone and my brain is in the generous writing mood, I can write (whether it be in a public place or in my bedroom). I’ve written I don’t even know how much for Duplicitous in public, and I most definitely wrote When Darkness Falls in the middle of the Union at my college with countless other students around me lmaoooo I don’t really care most of the time.

What is your favourite genre to write?

Listen.....angst has a special place in my heart LMFAO I like hurting myself and inflicting pain on readers, what can I say. I love writing deeper emotions and conflicts.

Do you prefer to write on paper or digitally?

DIGITALLY. I write way too slow by hand, and I’m an impatient bitch.

It’s the middle of the night and you suddenly wake up with an idea. What do you do?

(Nothing wakes me up in the middle of the night because when I sleep I turn into a corpse, so I’ll answer this question as if I was struck with a new idea at 2am when I’m awake and alone.)

I try to feel it out and decide how far I can take the idea. Most often, I can only come up with a few scenes, but not a fully fleshed out plot. However, if I can put together a whole entire plot, I either text the whole idea out to a friend (usually @daegutown god bless her soul) and screenshot everything to save to a photo album titled FICS, orrrr I immediately jump up and start writing it. It’s totally dependent on where my brain is at the time and if it’s feeling generous enough to give me motivation to get my ideas out there.

Who is your favourite person to write about?

It depends on the plot, I think. Usually I get more excited about this ONE particular scene in whatever story I’m writing and the excitement stems from how well the character/idol fits the role I want them to play. For example, in Duplicitous, I had the idea of some terrible shit happening to Jungkook and Nari having to do whatever she had to do to save his life (spoilers for future chapters, oops). It isn’t the fact that it’s Jungkook specifically, it’s just that the scene itself will be so emotionally charged.

Do you like making your own characters, or do you usually write about real people?

I usually write fanfiction, so...a combination of both? We as fanfiction authors don’t know the people personally, if the subject is a real person, so we either have to fill in the gaps of what we don’t know with assumptions, or we have to just use their appearances as vessels for whatever idea we have. In my time as a fanfic author, I’ve written a lot of reader insert, and that is difficult to do well due to keeping things so open ended and ambiguous. My only real named OC is Oh Nari from Duplicitous, and I have to say...for me personally, named characters are way more fun.

Have you ever written a book/story with more than 15 chapters (100k words)?

No, unfortunately. The most I’ve gotten for one story is around 65k for all of Duplicitous, and I haven’t been able to do much with it because of the headspace I’ve been in for the last little while. I would love to actually finish it in all its glory one of these days, though.

How often do you get ideas?

I get ideas for short scenes way too often. Almost every day. But so few can be built up to something worth reading, and even fewer inspire me enough to actually write them.

Do you ever get an idea that you really like, but just can’t seem to finish?

Everything in my Google Docs Graveyard, pretty much. It’s always really disappointing and makes me super sad when I don’t feel like I can finish one and post it. I have probably ten at the very least sitting half finished (or less) in my docs, some that have been sitting there for two years. One has been sitting there since 2016.

What is your least favourite plot?

Personally, with k-pop, I have to agree with Max and say that my least favorite is idol!verse fics. Not because I dislike the trope (I actually adore the ones that are written well), but because I think it’s really hard to do well and I think it’s hard to write it in a way that can really come off as...realistic? I don’t want to say “realistic” because it’s fanfiction and none of this shit is really realistic in the grand scheme of things, but I guess I just mean it’s hard to make it into a mature story with natural/realistic conflicts. (I may have just stuck my foot in my mouth, but I’m not sure how to word what I’m trying to say lmfao!)

oh god and don’t get me STARTED on high school aus. Just...why? Why. I don’t get it. I understand incorporating it for flashbacks or to show how characters’ relationships grow, but I will never understand the desire to put grown men back in high school. Then again, I’m, like, a grown up. So that’s probably why slgskjdfhgls

#thank you so much for thinking of me Max!#also im truly sorry i talked about duplicitous so much #its just the story ive worked on the longest and the hardest #and its the story that ive written the most for #tag game

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royalcordelia · 5 years

Text

Time Turns to Amber (3/11)

Summary: The line between universes is blurred when Anne Shirley of Green Gables suddenly switches lives with Ann Shirley-Cuthbert, a university student living in the contemporary world. Suddenly Anne must learn how to navigate the modern world, one which contains a boyfriend, a part time job, and another year of university. Meanwhile, Ann struggles to tackle corsets, farming, and a world without electricity. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, but most people can’t tell the difference between the redhead they know and the girl who replaced her.

A Time Travel, Soulmate AU

Rated T++ (some minor sexual content) • 10.4k words (wowee!) • Read on ao3 • Part 1 • Part Two •

It seemed like more than a year had passed, more than a lifetime. To Gilbert, the time spent away from Ann held an odd feeling of being numb, stuck in ice and going nowhere. It was stupid, because he’d spent the last year of his life sailing everywhere. Still, walking down the narrow hallway of Ann’s childhood home with its creaky boards and crooked hanging pictures - a handful of which he was featured in - Gilbert felt himself thawing. Peace and excitement were fresh in his chest, like boiling water turning to steam in the frigid air. Through the thin walls, he could hear her.

“...back any day now,” Ann said in answer to whoever was in the room with her. Gilbert stopped outside the room and listened for a few seconds, hoping he could gain control over his heart. “He said he’d call before he started the voyage home, so he should’ve called a few days ago. Imagine that, Gilbert Blythe fucking voyaging around the world like some epic hero.”

“Not that you’re jealous at all, stuck here in Avonlea.” By now, Gilbert recognized Cole’s voice.

“I’m not!” There was silence, the sound of a pencil scratching across paper. “But I do worry that maybe he met someone else on the ship. There are a lot of pretty girls in bathing suits on cruise ships. Maybe one of them-”

“That I doubt. Even I know he’s crazy about yo- Hey, sit still! Eyes closed.”

Assuming that she listened to the instructions, and curious to see just what was going on between them, Gilbert cracked open the door. His heart erupted in his chest, expanding to the limits of his ribcage with a sweet pain that left him breathless.

Ann sat on the window seat, kneeling back on her haunches with her chin tilted up toward the rare midwinter sunset. Warm yellows and oranges rained down on her like molten gold, and her hair was a waterfall of copper down the expanse of her back. Through the thin white of the curtains, Gilbert saw the shadows of trees swaying silhouettes on her skin. She looked like a woodland creature on fire with magic and beauty.

Cole, who’d been sitting a few feet in front of her, turned back and saw Gilbert with wide eyes. Just as he opened his mouth to say something, Gilbert brought a finger to his lips. This was supposed to be a surprise visit, after all. The artist nodded, waiting to see what the surprise visitor would do next.

Eyes back on Ann, Gilbert moved forward on quiet steps.

“Are you going somewhere?” she asked cautiously.

“Nope, I’m still here. Sit still,” Cole answered as casually as he could.

Inspiration struck Gilbert, a quiet idea blossoming in the corner of his mind that he grabbed onto. He took advantage of the space beside Ann, kneeling next to her and looking straight at the honey freckles of her cheeks. Her brows furrowed when she felt a presence before her, but she sat still, and Gilbert had to fight back the urge to reach out and move a piece of hair from her cheeks. He wondered if he should say something, but was loath to ruin the sunny warmth of their nearness just yet.

Then a click of Ann’s polaroid camera came from Cole’s direction, and her eyes snapped open.

Gray met hazel and her lips dropped. Her ecstatic, shocked grin matched his, and as she opened her lips, Gilbert’s heart seized in anticipation for whatever lovely thing she’d say to him.

“Gilbert Blythe, you piece of shit!” she said, voice choked with tears. But then she was all laughter and dimples as she flung herself into his arms and held him there hard enough that the breath had been knocked from him. He escaped her death grip just enough to slide his arms around her waist and bury his face in the crook of her neck. “Why didn’t you call? I was promised pigeon mail!”

“Can’t a guy surprise his best friend in peace?” Gilbert chuckled.

Ann pulled back, holding him at a distance by his forearms. Her face was serious.

“And...and you’re back for real. You’ll be home for the summer?”

“Yes, carrots, I’ll be home for the summer. I don’t plan on leaving Avonlea to go anywhere until I have to go to Charlottetown to settle some stuff with the bank about my loans. I barely want to leave the house.”

“And then Redmond in the fall? No surprise study abroad trips to like, Nepal or something?”

“Not unless you want to come with me.” Her expression was exasperated. “ Ann, I’ve seen my share of the world for now. I’ll turn on location sharing on my phone if you don’t believe me.”

Ann nudged his knee and leaned her head onto his shoulder.

“Cole, I can’t believe you let him do that,” she murmured into Gilbert’s fresh, cottony shirt. She found herself drawn to the way that his usual scent was laced with the faint perfume of ocean brine.

“Someone had to get it on camera. Might as well be the aesthete.” Cole replied, waving around a white-bordered polaroid picture between two fingers. He gave the image a pleased glance before handing it over to Ann. “Looks pretty good if I do say so myself. If someone didn’t know any better, they’d say you two look like you’re in love.”

Ann tumbled over the window seat, legs wobbly from kneeling back onto them for so long. She steadied herself with a hand on Gilbert’s shoulder, and fixed Cole with as sharp a glare as she could manage with tingling legs.

“You know what, Mustardseed,” Ann revved. The - albeit odd - nickname caused Gilbert to quirk a brow in her scowling direction. “Tease all you want, but next time you interact with Royal Gardner, it’s going to be candid city, baby. Portrait mode was made for capturing the beauty of a blossoming gay romance.”

“No it wasn’t,” Cole countered, “It was made for...I don’t know, portraits .”

“Gay portraits!”

Having heard quite enough, Gilbert tugged Ann by her hand, sending her plummeting back onto the window seat. His arm settled around her shoulders, sending a warm chill through her that began in her chest. For a moment, she completely forgot about her friendly sass battle with Cole and found herself distracted by how different Gilbert looked. His edges were cleaner, and there was a new steadiness in his eyes that Ann recognized as maturity and sophistication.

“It’s nice to see you haven’t changed much,” he admitted, peering down at her with a comfortable reverence. Ann, who was not accustomed to being the object of such obvious adoration, dropped her gaze to her lap.

“‘Course I haven’t changed much. You’re the one who left Avonlea. Farthest I went was to Redmond for orientation.” She paused. “How about you, Gil? Are you very different?”

His eyes grew serious, but never lost their tenderness.

“Maybe. I left Avonlea unsure of what I wanted.”

“And now? Do you know what you want?”

He bit his lip to suppress a grin, an effort which was only partially successful. Cole made gagging sounds in the background. Gilbert didn’t hear him and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

“You could say that.”

It was the only time Ann was ever thankful for Marilla’s insomnia.

With Matthew and Ann fast asleep, Marilla had the entirety of the house’s peaceful quiet to herself. She leaned her head against her porch rocking chair, taking deep breaths of the fresh air in an effort to ease her mind into slumber. The darkness of the country let the woman count stars and draw constellations of her own taste. She was alone with the chirping of crickets and the occasional gust of gentle breeze until a rumbling sounded from the end of the avenue.

Marilla stiffened. Was that a car? No one ever came down the lane this late at night. Their home was nestled so deep in the country that their closest neighbor was half a kilometer away. She prepared herself to hurry back into the house and bolt the door behind her, but she paused when she got a better glance at the car that had pulled into the driveway.

Shooting to her feet, Marilla squinted as the headlights blinded her vision. Even so, Marilla knew exactly who was stumbling out of the car, hiccuping on her own sobs and staring up at the older woman with her blood-shot eyes.

“Diana, sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

The question only seemed to upset the girl more, so Marilla shuffled over to her and caught the girl into a safe embrace. Diana practically collapsed with relief, a new bout of sobs wracking her as she clutched onto the silk of Marilla’s nightgown.

“Oh, you poor thing, shhhh, ” Marilla soothed. “You’re okay, I’ve got you. Do you want me to go wake Ann? Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

Diana filled her lungs with few wobbly breaths, and swiped her shaking hands across her umber cheeks. Marilla grabbed the girl by her elbow and sat her down on the porch step, rubbing a comforting hand across Diana’s back to calm her down.

“...Could you get Ann?” Diana asked timidly. She took another deep breath. “I know how it looks, but no one is...hurt.”

Marilla wanted to shake the girl and ask with a frantic tone Then why are you at my house sobbing at 2am? But her maternal instinct won out, and she tiptoed upstairs to get Ann.

Wild with bedhead and wrinkled pajamas, Ann flew out onto the porch and knelt on the step below Diana. They took one silent look at each other, then fell into a hug that was as comforting as their first. Diana dissolved against Ann, finally starting to calm down.

“Di, what’s wrong? What happened?”

Diana rubbed her knees with her hands, unable to meet Ann’s eyes. She glanced up at the Cuthbert land and the fireflies that flickered like stars in the tall grass.

“My mom found out about Jeri and kicked me out.”

In the doorway, Marilla lifted a hand to her chest and squeezed her eyes shut.

“You know what the worst part is?” Diana whimpered. “I really thought it was going great. I brought Jeri over for dinner. They loved her, they loved that they could speak French with her. She told them all about how she’s basically a half-French florist genius. I really thought they respected her, but the second we told them we were together, my mother lost her mind. She yelled, and cried, and she would’ve called the pastor if I didn’t remind her how late it was. When I told her I didn’t intend to change any time soon, she just handed me one of the empty duffels from the closest and told me not to come back.”

Ann took one of Diana’s hands in hers and rubbed the knuckles gently.

“I don’t even know what to say. We both thought your parents would react better than this. But you’re going to be okay. They’re not your only family.”

“Ann’s right,” Marilla cut in, kneeling down beside both girls and wrapping an arm around each of their shoulders. “You can stay with us as long as you need to. Forever, if you want. And trust me, dear, I know your mother. She often resorts to dramatics when things don’t go her way, but she’ll come around. Until then, we’ll take good care of you.”

Diana leaned her head onto Marilla’s shoulder and closed her eyes.

“I’ll be right back,” Ann said. “There is a large glass of cordial inside with your name on it.”

She paused in the doorway.

“Know what? I’ll just grab the whole bottle.”

Ann had been on her own before and she was going to do everything in her power to make sure that Diana was well taken care of. Diana Barry would not know how cold it was to sleep in a car or how lonely living alone could become - not on Ann’s watch. If Mrs. Barry wanted to play the “financial provider” card, Ann was fully prepared to lay down her winning hand.

She snuck out of bed the next morning, tucking the thin quilts around Diana’s sleeping frame. As she worked her way down to the porch, where the walls would give her some privacy, she scrolled through her phone for the right contact. With a deep breath, she tapped the screen, and brought the phone to her ear.

“Hello? Yes, it’s Ann Cuthbert…I’m well, Rollings...Yes, is she awake yet?...Great, thank you.”

“Ann-girl, I didn’t know you could get up so early in the morning. To what do I owe the pleasure?” a familiar teasing voice called.

“It’s not that early, Aunt Jo,” Ann teased back, though she doubted her tone was convincing. Aunt Josephine began to say something else, but Ann pulled the phone closer to her face and said, “Actually, I do need your help with something. You’re not going to be pleased.”

The line was quiet.

“Ann, have you gotten yourself in trouble?”

“Me, trouble?” Ann laughed nervously. “It’s not me this time. It’s Diana.”

“Diana!? What in heaven’s-”

“ Before you say anything, she’s okay and it’s not her fault. She didn’t do anything. At least, not anything you wouldn’t do.”

“That’s not terribly encouraging, Ann. Out with it.”

“Diana came out to her parents and her mom kicked her out.”

Aunt Jo let out a small sound of grieving disbelief.

“Because she’s a lesbian. I can’t believe…” Ann leaned up against one of the porch pillars and leaned her head back. “You know, I expected that sort of behavior when I was her age, but I truly didn’t think it would happen to her. Not to Diana. That woman has the audacity to banish her oldest child from her home when I helped her buy it.”

“Trust me, I’ve been driving the Ada-Barry-Is-Psychotic train for years now. Marilla and I will take care of her as long as she likes, but I know she’ll start to feel like she’s overstaying her welcome.”

There was a sniffle on the other line, as if the whole ordeal had moved Aunt Jo to tears. Ann felt her own eyes getting prickly, but she waited for the wise woman to make her decision.

“Ann, dear heart, I know that you would go to the ends of the earth for Diana, and that her staying with you is no imposition. But I’m going to come and make sure she’s taken care of. Would it be alright if I came over? I can be there in forty minutes? ”

“Sounds perfect. I’ll see you then?”

“Of course .” Ann was about to utter her goodbye when Aunt Jo suddenly called, “Ann-girl ?”

“Yes, Aunt Jo?”

“I love both you and Diana very much. I appreciate you and Miss Cuthbert treating her as your own, and want you to know that I consider you my own too. ”

A tear trickled down the side of Ann’s face, and she nodded, even though Aunt Jo couldn’t see her.

“Alright, sweetheart, I’ll see you shortly. ”

A few hours later, Ann was pulling raspberry lemon biscuits from the oven when she heard some shuffling from her room. Maybe the fragrance of her favorite food had roused Diana. Sure enough, Diana’s feet treaded lightly down the steep stairwell and through the parlor. When she came into the kitchen, her face was saddened with the memory of last night and shame at her own intrusion. She had borrowed one of Ann’s cotton robes, and had it crossed over her chest. Her red eyes looked at Ann, a tray of steaming baked goods in her hands, to Aunt Jo, who waited at the kitchen table.

“Aunt Josephine!” Diana cried. Her feet stumbled a few steps back. She couldn’t admit that her own family had failed her; unless, of course, Ann had already told her. When the frail woman said nothing, and stood with opening arms, Diana knew Ann had been the one to call her. Diana was tired of crying, but she couldn’t stop her lips from quivering as she buried her face into her Aunt’s shoulder. They held each other for a moment, until finally Diana said, “I’m so scared, Auntie. What am I going to do?”

“Why are you scared, my love?”

Ann settled down across the table and watched quietly. Diana could feel her best friend’s presence behind her, and she couldn’t find it in her to be embarrassed. Instead, it only empowered her to speak her mind.

“My mother said she wouldn’t pay for college unless I broke up with Jeri and chose to study Hospitality like she did when she was in school.”

Aunt Jo pulled back from Diana and stared at the girl straight in the eyes.

“She said what?” She released a humorless laugh. “Darling, your mother lied to you. I’m the one paying for your education. That money has been set aside for years for that purpose. Diana, you can study anything you want, anywhere you want. That’s the one thing I never wanted you to worry about.”

“You…” Diana blinked, stunned. “You did that for me?”

“A grown girl has a given right to an education. I always wanted you to have that if you wanted it.”

“I want it,” Diana said eagerly, tears collecting at her chin. “Music school.”

“Then it’s settled! You’ll come live with me for the summer and we’ll get right to sending out some applications.”

“That’s really okay? You won’t mind?”

“Diana Barry, I never want you to doubt that I love every minute of your company. Even when we disagree. And I want to meet that fine lady of yours. Ann tells me she’s quite the kindred spirit.”

A blush settled high on Diana’s cheeks, and she wiped her eyes.

“Jeri’s the best,” she said warmly. “I think you’re really going to like her.”

Just then, Ann’s phone lit up with a notification. It was a retweet from a post she’d made about how “Homophobia is literally the acne of the planet,” but what really caught her eye was the three missed calls she had from Gilbert.

She swore.

“What’s wrong?” Diana asked.

“With everything going on I totally forgot I was meeting Gil for coffee today at eleven.” Diana’s brows shot up. “Look, before you say anything, we’ve been trying to solidify this whole ‘first date’ thing for almost a month, but I keep panicking. This time I actually intended to go!”

“It’s Gilbert. He’ll get it,” Diana stated, as if that simple phrase would solve all of Ann’s problems.

“Exactly! It’s Gilbert, and I’m trying not to screw it up. Currently not doing so hot.”

She stepped out of the room and tapped on his name. The phone rang once before he answered, almost instantaneously.

“Ann? Are you okay?”

“ Relax, doctor, I’m alright. I feel like a massive idiot for completely forgetting about lunch today, and I think as compensation, you should just dig a hole that I will bury myself in presently.”

“Oh Ann, I’m not worried about that. I saw your tweet. You’re sure you’re alright? It’s not like you to forget things.”

She tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear and sighed.

“Things got a little crazy around here last night. Diana came out to her mom and it didn’t go too great.” Gilbert whistled in disapproval.

“Is she okay?”

“She’s in one piece. Aunt Jo stopped by this morning and we’ve come up with a solution.”

“Is she still there? Can I say hi?”

Ann brought the phone to her shoulder and returned to the kitchen.

“Gilbert wants to talk to you. Is that okay?”

The girl nodded, a soft smile on her lips.

“Hi Gil boy,” she said when the phone was pressed against her ear. The nickname brought them back to the days when they lived on the same block in their tender days of youth. She was the Queen of the neighborhood, the only girl in a street of boys, and Gilbert was her most loyal knight. When Ann moved in half a kilometer away, Gil’s loyalties shifted to the girl who made him stop and stare, but Diana was happy to share her valiant protector.

“Hey Di. Heard you had a rough night.” Diana sniffled. “Just wanted to let you know that we got your back, alright? Anything you need, you got it. No questions asked. I can even bring you a family sized bag of Smarties.”

“You’re something else, Gilbert Blythe, but you’re a good friend too. I’ll be fine. Take Ann out this afternoon, won’t you? Keep her occupied.” The girl in question watched from the doorway and rustled as the two most beloved of her friends conspired against her.

“My pleasure. Love you, Queen D.”

“Yeah yeah, love you too. Bye Gil. Here’s Ann.” As Diana handed the phone back to her best friend, she looked around the room at the people who cared about her, the people who would fight for her, and the weight on her chest lessened. It hadn’t disappeared completely, she doubted it ever would, but if this small crew was to be her real family for the rest of her life, maybe that was something she could grow accustomed to.

Ann peeled out of the room and smiled as she held the phone back up to her ear.

“It’s me again. I hear you’re taking me out today.”

“ Yeah, well, my coffee date stood me up this morning, so my afternoon is suddenly free. Would you be available for a surprise outing - and don’t ask what it is, that defeats the point.”

Biting her lip, she could feel a blush creeping up her cheeks. She was glad no one was around to see it.

“Is this a romantic outing?” she asked quietly.

“Oh, the romantic-est. Prepare to be swept off your feet.”

A laugh burst from Ann’s lips, and she covered her mouth in embarrassment.

“I’ll let you have this round, Gil. Pick me up whenever?”

“Can you be ready in, like, two hours? Dress to get a little dirty.”

Ann always dressed to get dirty, ever since she was little. Marilla, who had done her fair share of Ann’s laundry, could testify to all the smudged grass stains on the knees of her jeans and the odd stains where the girl had gotten into dirt, the creek, and once, a berry bush. She had dreamed about looking beautiful on her first date with Gilbert. He’d ask her to a cute restaurant near the coast, and she’d wear that one forest green dress that made her look like royalty. She’d steal the breath from his lips and graze her fingers over his arm as she said hello.

She couldn’t lie - there had been a lot of daydreaming while he was gone.

But now, with Gilbert due to pull up in his father’s old Jeep at any second, Ann couldn’t help but feel a thrill of confidence. It was a strange feeling to get from only an old cropped shirt and a pair of booty shorts, but she felt like she could take down an army.

Leaning up against the side of her porch from the steps, Ann braided some long pieces of grass together and hummed. She heard the fall of Marilla’s footsteps as they came to stand in the doorway, the screen door acting as the only thing separating them.

“Now remember, Ann, text me if you’re going to be late tonight.”

“Yes, Ma.”

“And do not stay over at his house. I know it might be tempting because you’ve known each other for years and have waited for a long -” Ann covered her ears and scowled.

“Jeez, Marilla, you can stop there. I’m not sleeping with him on the first date. Not even close to being ready for that stuff, yet. Rest easy.”

“You’re going to be with Gilbert Blythe,” Marilla stated. “Just that fact helps me rest easier.”

As if right on cue, the scraping of tires against gravel sounded from the end of the avenue, and up the lane came Gilbert driving at an incredibly respectable speed. Dust settled as he parked on the edge of the driveway, just as he always did. He slammed the door as he rounded the front and took his first eyeful of Ann. His lips split into an awed grin, gaze lingering on her lips where she’d put on a hint of cherry lip gloss.

“You’re a vision, Ann-girl,” he murmured, more taken than he’d ever let himself sound with her. “Afternoon, Marilla.”

“Good afternoon, Gilbert. Enjoy yourselves, now.” They waved as they headed back to the Jeep. Marilla stepped out of the door before she could rein herself in. “Wear your seatbelt, Ann!” she called.

“Ma! ” Ann hissed, unable to meet Gilbert’s eye at being treated like an eleven-year-old. Gilbert only laughed and gave her a gentle nudge in the arm. Soon, they were driving down the old dirt road, the rattling of the Jeep and the FM radio humming the silence away.

“Sorry again about this morning. I could hardly fall asleep I was so excited, but then Diana showed up and I just wanted to punch Ada Barry. I’ve never seen Di so heartbroken before. She’s doing better now, though,” Ann explained.

“Like I said, nothing to apologize for. Aunt Jo took her back to Charlottetown?”

“Yeah. It’s going to be odd not having her so close. I really feel like the days of Diana living in Avonlea are over.”

“Hey now,” Gilbert comforted, grabbing her hand that rested on her knee. “Cole is there to keep her company, and we can drive up whenever we want. It’s only forty minutes. That’s nothin’.”

She expected that he’d pull his hand away, the way he always did, but this time, he merely locked their fingers together and gave a little squeeze. Ann couldn’t tear her happy gaze from where their grasps fit perfectly together.

“So,” Ann started, kicking her feet onto the dash the way she always did in the Jeep. “Is Bash all moved in?”

“Just about. He’s waiting for a few more boxes to ship in from Trinidad, but it’s definitely beginning to feel like the house belongs to the two of us.”

When Gilbert had first told Ann about his plans to move Bash in, she was thrilled. Finally the people in Avonlea would stop their whispers about Oh, that poor Gilbert Blythe. All alone in that big house. The smalltown gossip didn’t stop, though. It only changed. Suddenly Gilbert was the city boy who let a black man into his home! A bearded farmer had stage-whispered that in the diner the day Gilbert introduced Bash and Ann. Unluckily for his narrow mind, Ann had heard him, and she dumped his plate of eggs and home fries down his lap.

The wait staff had looked the other way.

“Did I tell you his wife is moving in, too? They’re taking the master bedroom,” Gilbert continued, snapping Ann out of her thoughts.

“I didn’t even know he was married. Have you met her?”

“Oh yeah, Mary’s great. She’s actually from Newfoundland, so they’ve been long distance while he’s been working the cruiseliner. She just bought the dry cleaner’s in Charlottetown, so they want to settle down. Definitely a force to be reckoned with.”

Ann leaned her head against the seat and let the roaring breeze from her open window lash against her face.

“I’m trying to think of stereotypical first date questions,” she said. “Admittedly, I’m not very good at this whole dating thing.”

“You’re doing just fine,” Gilbert replied, squeezing her hand. He thought for a moment, then clicked his tongue with an idea. “If it’s stereotypical first date questions you’re after, what is your favorite color?”

“Yellow,” they answered at the same time. Her lip curled at the question.

“Too cold,” Ann assessed.

“What’re your opinions on politics?” Gilbert tried again.

“Too hot,” she scowled. “Not that you don’t already know all that.” The mirth in his eyes simmered into something much more tender.

“How’s this then?” Gilbert said quietly, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “Have I told you that you look unquestionably beautiful today?”

Ann bit her smile in her teeth, peering up at this new Gilbert Blythe from her lashes.

“You may rack up some points yet, Mr. Blythe.” Gilbert grinned, turning his attention back to the road. Letting her hand extend the barrier of the open window, Ann drew designs in the air with her fingers as the gusts of wind pushed her arm up and down. “Is it still pointless to ask what the heck you’ve got planned?”

“Nope, I think we’re close enough,” he decided. He untangled their hands for a second to reach into the back seat of the Jeep, where he pulled out a 64 pack of Crayola sidewalk chalk and set the box on her lap

“We’re entering the Sidewalk Chalk competition in Carmody today!” he announced.

“Oh my god! Wait, really!? We’re actually going? For real? Gilbert -” Ann stuttered as she stumbled over her words. “I always wanted to go but I always miss it for dumb reasons! One year I was getting my wisdom teeth out. The next year, I slept through it. ”

“I know,” he said, pleased with his own success.

“And you got the big pack of chalk because you know that sixteen colors isn’t possibly enough to create a masterpiece!”

“There’s also iced tea and sandwiches in the cooler to keep us going. Plus there’s a pineapple upside down cake and two forks with our names on them.”

Ann squealed and pressed an ecstatic kiss on his cheek. The Jeep swerved the tiniest bit before Gilbert laughed, the sound filling the small space.

“How did you even plan this?” Ann breathed out, opening the box to run her fingers along the fresh chalk.

“Well, when I was sitting at Starbucks this morning waiting for my date to arrive…” Ann bristled and stuck her tongue out. “I saw the poster on the wall and thought to myself, Wouldn’t it be a shame if Ann had to miss this for the trillionth time . Then you called. The timing was perfect.” He paused. “Am I still racking up those points?”

“Oh, and then some.”

All of Carmody had come out for their biggest event of the summer. Moms and dads wheeled their tiny tikes in plastic wagons, ice cream cones in their grubby hands. A few professional artists had set camp on their sidewalk squares, donning their paint splattered smocks and setting out their tupperware containers of chalk. The judges, whom Ann didn’t recognize, waited at a table, sipping lemonade and laughing together.

“Names?” the registration volunteer asked. Ann turned her attention back to the table, but Gilbert had already taken charge.

“Gilbert Blythe and Ann Shirley,” he replied, shifting the cooler against his hip.

“No E,” Ann muttered politely. The woman scribbled out the E that she had written at the end of Blythe and smiled. Gilbert had to grab her wrist to keep her from correcting the poor woman further.

“You folks are all set,” the volunteer said. “Here are your name tags. Your square will be down at the end of the block, on the corner of Chestnut St.”

Ann carried all 64 vibrant colors close to her chest as they walked down the block. Some people had already begun their masterpieces, but judging wouldn’t take place for another two hours yet. As soon as she saw their clear square of sidewalk, Ann felt her lips curve up into a grin.

“We got lucky. That’s plenty of room,” Gilbert commented, taking in the size of the square.

“I guess we should just hop right to it,” Ann said, a little apprehensive. “Did you have any ideas of what we should draw?”

“You first - I know you had to be conjuring some plan while we drove here.”

“I’m itching to draw something mystical,” she admitted. “A pixie sprite, or a mermaid! I just want to immortalize a little magic in this small town.”

An affectionate grin sparked light into Gilbert’s eyes.

“Immortalized until it rains, you mean?”

“No, Gil, the memory of it will linger on this block forever,” she said dreamily. “When people walk over this spot, they’ll feel it.”

She could feel herself getting plenty overdramatic about a simple sidewalk competition, but couldn’t find it within herself to care. Not with the breeze catching her hair, not with Gilbert’s adorative eyes watching her.

“I wanted to draw the sea. I’ve kinda missed it since I came home,” he said. “You could absolutely add a mermaid or two in there.”

Ann’s own eyes lit up, and he knew she was seeing the possibilities.

“How about our shoreline at sunset? I always feel breathless when I see it. We can put a sailor on the pier, and then a mermaid gazing up at him.”

“I’m up for a challenge, if you are Miss Cuthbert.”

They got right to work, intent on using every minute of their two hours to their advantage. Neither of them had terribly magnificent art skills, but leaning on each other for help, the scene slowly came together. Ann spread herself flat on the ground, swirling fuschia, indigo, orange, and yellow chalk to billow fluffy clouds in their sky. Gilbert sat with one knee up at the opposite end of the square, using all the blues in the box to create sweeping waves over the shore.

The time flew as they worked and chatted. Ann was halfway through a story about a mishap in her human biology class when Gilbert glanced at her and chuckled.

“What is it?” Ann laughed with him, confused at the interruption.

“You’ve got one beautiful purple smear across your chin,” he said, laughing even harder. She must’ve set her hand down, then wiped it across her damp face.

“You’re the one who told me to dress to get dirty. Wipe it off for me, will ya?”

She set her hands on either side of the square and leaned forward, sticking her face out for him to examine. The smitten gleam in his eye rooted deep within him when he looked upon her. Another breeze came by and swept a few stray hairs across her face. The purple of the smear, a funny thing moments ago, sparked affection in him as it harmonized with the carmel color of her freckles. Up close like this, Gilbert remembered how many different shades of blue were hidden in those gray eyes.

“Seriously, Gil, you can just wipe it off. I don’t mind.”

Smiling at his own thoughts, he brought his hands up to cup her chin and cheeks, gently wiping away the violet chalk from her pale skin. When the only marks left were the ones that stretched onto her lips, he stared dazed. Ann’s own eyes became serious as she understood the desire he radiated. Self conscious and heart pounding under his attention, Ann licked her lips as she dared to meet his gaze.

She knew what he was going to do before he did, but when he kissed her, it still sent a shiver of lightning through all of her nerves. It was tender like their first kiss before Gilbert’s parting a year ago, humble in the public setting. Ann sighed, using one hand to hold herself up, the other to grip his t-shirt. They stayed like that, him tasting her lingering words, and her tasting the things he never said.

Someone walking by them cleared their throat, and they broke apart with a tiny gasp. Foreheads touching, Ann murmured, “Favorite color?”

Gilbert chuckled, deep and low in his throat. He shook his head.

“Too cold.”

“What’re your opinions on politics?”

“Too hot,” he breathed, pressing his lips against her cheek and lingering there. Ann felt her cheeks turn the same shade as the fuschia sunset under her.

“Have I ever told you that I’m crazy about you?”

A lovesick grin erupted on his face and he pulled her in for another kiss.

“Just right,” he said against her lips. “Now we better get to work if we’re going to finish on time. Besides, you’re kneeling into the lighthouse.”

Ann dropped her eyes down to the ground. Sure enough, her freckled knee was pressing into the rough cement, smearing the chalk that she had carefully drawn. She plopped down beside the sidewalk square and laughed.

“I almost think it looks better that way,” she admitted.

When it came time for judging, Ann and Gilbert watched from the street as a group of four people slowly walked past all the sidewalk art. Ann’s foot tapped the closer they neared to their beach scene, and Gilbert put his arm around her shoulders.

“It’s got a mystical heart to it. I can feel it, can’t you?” one of the judges commented. Of the four, she looked like she’d be the one most likely to accept magical content. A long bohemian skirt billowed at her legs with a thousand different patterns, her gray hair almost long enough to reach her bottom. The judge turned around and looked directly at Ann. Something in her gaze made Ann lean more into Gilbert, who noticed the odd way the judge peered at the anxious redhead.

The other judges brushed the long-haired woman off as they continued to assess the other pieces, but the nervous, unsettled feeling in Ann lingered.

When they were finished, all the competitors gathered around a gazebo in the main park where an official looking man gave introductions. Ann vibrated with nervous energy as he droned on and on about the event’s sponsors, but finally, “And now for our winners!”

Ann gently hit Gilbert’s arm as if to say, It’s time! He chuckled, “I know, I know!”

“In fourth place with an honorary mention award is Grace Albert, with her piece on...uh, rainbow horses!”

Deflating, Ann remembered seeing that one. She’d been holding out for the honorary mention award, knowing they didn’t stand a chance against the professional artists.

“In third place, we have Ann Cuthbert and Gilbert Blythe, with their piece depicting the Avonlea seashore! Well done, you both!”

Ann blinked. Had she heard correctly, or was her imagination simply taking over again? Gilbert nudged her and she began to walk forward on her own volition. The closer they got to the stage, the more real it became. A grin bloomed on Ann’s face, and she beamed at Gilbert.

“Best first date ever,” she whispered, grabbing his hand.

Ready to give them their prize was the long haired judge, who only had eyes for Ann.

“Congratulations, forest pixie,” she said. Her tone of voice was only half cognizant, half lost on a cloud. She handed Ann a small package wrapped in translucent fabric. “Your prize is of my choosing. Light this incense whenever you need to see from a new perspective. Use it wisely.”

“Uh, thanks!” Another judge handed them their ribbon, and away they went, the woman’s strange words echoing around Ann’s head.

“Was that kinda odd, or was it just me?” Gilbert muttered into her ear. Ann shook her head, unsure of it herself. “What’s the consensus? Was she a kindred spirit?”

“I think...she could be,” Ann answered. “But I get the sense she plays tricks. Like a ‘careful what you wish for’ kinda lady. I don’t know.” Gilbert rubbed his hand over her back.

“Alright, Queen Ann. Ready to pack up and head home?”

Ann buried her face into the crook of his neck as they walked, inhaling the smell of his cologne and sighing.

“Today’s been a wonderful day, Gil. More amazing than I expected when I woke up.”

“But you’re tired and ready to get back to your quiet country nook?” he finished for her. She nodded.

It was a quiet drive home aside from the quiet 80’s tunes Gilbert played softly on the radio. He sung along under his breath, nodding to the rhythm.

“You can turn it up and sing for real if you want,” Ann commented, running her thumb over his knuckles. He detangled their hands and turned the knob on the panel.

“I think I will.” He was lucky he could sing.

When he pulled to a halt at the foot of the Green Gable’s driveway, Ann swung out of the car.

“Don’t walk me to the door. Marilla is definitely going to be watching,” she said before she closed the door.

“You sure? I don’t mind.”

“I do. What if Rachel is in there?”

“Fair point. Come over on this side then.” She did, circling around the front of the truck where Gilbert had rolled down his window. They stared at each other, unsure of what to say.

“I’m glad we finally got around to doing this,” Ann admitted. “I’m sorry it took me so long to warm up to it.”

“Things happen the way they’re supposed to. I think we’re starting this right at the perfect time.”

“You think so?”

His eyes softened.

“Come here,” he breathed. Reaching his hands out of the window, he grabbed onto her face and kissed her gently, the way guy always did in the romance movies at the end of first dates. Ann was glad she could count herself along with them.

Then he pulled back and asked, “So when our friends ask us how this little outing went, we tell them…?”

“That you took your girlfriend out to Carmody and had a lovely time.”

A grin burst on his face and he nodded. Ann spun on her heel and called over her shoulder.

“Night, Gil! Thanks again.”

He smiled in response, eye’s falling on something on the Jeep floor.

“Hold up! Don’t forget this!” It was the package they’d won, and certainly Gilbert didn’t want it. She took it from his, the aroma of the incense already filling her senses.

“Can’t forget this. Who knows when I’ll need to see things from a new perspective.” She glanced back at him. “Then again, I think I already have. Bye, doctor.”

The porch door swung open behind her as she watched him pull away.

“Did you have a nice time?” Marilla said.

“The nicest. I think I’ll keep him around for a good, long time.”

“Just as the Lord intended!” called Rachel from the kitchen.

Ann shot Marilla a look, but they laughed together. It was the beginning of a new season, even though it was only an afternoon outing to a nearby town. She peered down at her prize. She didn’t need her new perspective yet. She already had one.

The next year passed without any excitement beyond what was usual for Avonlea. Ann watched her friends change as the days passed, but wasn’t afraid to confront the realization that it was okay if they got older and wiser. Diana was accepted to the University of Toronto for music, where she began her education in the fall a few years older than her other first year peers. Naturally, this made her one of the most beloved girls in the program - beautiful, talented, and wise beyond her years.

Cole took Diana’s room in Aunt Jo’s house, ready to get out of his own bigoted home. Even he was growing bolder and stronger.

Ann supposed she was too. After all, only a few years ago, the thought of dating Gilbert Blythe would have filled her with days worth of dread. Not because she didn’t like him - she’d always liked him - but because she’d been steadily rebuilding her sense of self-worth. Maybe seeing her other friends take risks in themselves gave Ann the freedom to let loose

The summer after their third year, everyone who had wandered off the island found their way back home. Things were much the way they’d always been - Marilla making soap in the kitchen, Rachel spilling gossip across their dining room table, and Gilbert crossing hell and high water to see Ann everyday.

“Marilla tells me that it’s your one year anniversary with Gilbert,” Matthew said one morning. Ann looked up from her coffee and failed to hide her soft smile. He sipped his own black coffee and hit the mug on the table with a slight thud. “Time sure flies.”

Taking her dirty dishes to the sink, Ann let her peaceful gaze look out over the yard and the warm dawn light that bathed the land.

“It’s days like these when I’m so thankful. Thankful to you and Marilla for giving me a chance, thankful to Gilbert for never failing me, thankful to myself for not passing up all the opportunities for happiness.”

She took Matthew’s dishes as well, eyeing him when he shifted in his seat the way he always did when he wanted to say something.

“Marilla and I are going into Kingsport for the night to talk to some contractors about fixing up the barn some. We’ll be back tomorrow afternoon.”

“Oh yeah? I can call up Aunt Jo to see if you guys can stay in one of the guest rooms. That way you won’t need to get a hotel room.”

“Marilla has already taken care of that,” Matthew stammered. Ann tossed her drying rag over her shoulder and lifted her brow. “I only mean to say that, well...Tell Gilbert we said hi is all.”

Ann spun back to the sink to hide her incredulous shock. Was Matthew Cuthbert encouraging her to bring her boyfriend over? Her quiet, shy father ? The plans she’d made with Gilbert consisted of dinner at a nice restaurant, maybe a glass of sweet wine. Was it too late to invite him over, make dinner for him? Rarely did they have the house to themselves.

“Okay. I’ll be sure to extend the greeting,” she said as evenly as she could.

When she called Gilbert early that afternoon, she half expected him to prefer they stick to the plans.

“ Nah, Ann-girl, I’d be totally down for a night in. Think about it. We can watch whatever movies we want, dance in the kitchen while the food’s cooking, drink as much as we want to. No judgement from the peanut gallery. It doesn’t hurt your that closest neighbors are half a kilometer away.”

“Can we still...you know, dress up? You can bring a change of comfy clothes, but I had this dress all picked out and well…”

“Definitely wear the dress,” Gilbert agreed. “Should I stop for, uh...anything?”

“Nope, I’ve got all the groceries here.” There was a pause.

“Sounds like a plan, my dear. I’ll get dressed and head right over,” Gilbert finally said, amused. Ann felt like she missed a joke, but said her goodbyes.

Before she knew it, Marilla and Matthew had left for Charlottetown and Gilbert had pulled in, the Jeep creating its familiar cloud of dust near the barn. Ann couldn’t help but chuckle at the dramatic entrance he made, appearing out of the dust in smooth dark pants and a storm blue button down. She appraised him from the window as he stepped up the stairs, sleeves all rolled up in the way that drove her mad.

“Ann, I know you’re leering from the window,” he called at the front door. “Let me in?”

Cheeks red from powered rouge and her own anticipation, she swung the door open. As soon as he saw her, his jaw dropped - the exact reaction Ann had been hoping for. The little red bodycon dress had been hiding in the back of her closet where Marilla couldn’t see it - classy but sexy. A hungry expression crossed his face and he wrapped an arm around her waist to kiss her. Ann lifted a hand to his chest and let him dip her back ever so slightly with his ardor.

“You’re mesmeric , Ann,” he said as he pressed a kiss to her neck. “And you know I wouldn’t use that word lightly.”

“Have you looked in a mirror?” she replied. “You haven’t even see the food, yet. I know how to please my man.”

Please him she did, with her conversation, the meal, the sweet way she looked across the table with the one candle she’d lit in the middle. Gilbert had his own present waiting in a folded piece of paper hidden in his pocket.

After dinner, and a half hour on the couch where Gilbert was granted the opportunity to thoroughly appreciate Ann in her dress, they changed into their cottony clothes and settled down in Ann’s room. She plugged in her fairy lights and watched her boyfriend appraise the space in the nighttime light.

“This is a nice little corner you’ve got set up,” he commented. It was what she called her “Imagining Corner.” Perfectly assembled, it had a mountain of pillows overtop ten of the fluffiest blankets she could find, turning the floor into a plush cloud that she could write and read to her heart’s content with. Gilbert spread himself on the blankets and opened his arms for Ann to lay with him.

“Wait a second, I want to give your present,” she said, reaching into her closet.

“I thought we said no presents, that were saving up our cash to do stuff at Redmond.”

Ann waved his practicality away with her hand, then pulled out three massive books.

“We were out of wrapping paper. Close your eyes and hold out your hand.”

“I already saw they’re books -”

“Just do it!”

Gilbert sat up, eyes firmly squeezed shut and arms stretched out to receive whatever massive volumes she was about to hand him. He exhaled sharply when they made contact.

“Okay, open those pretty hazel eyes.”

He complied, gaze falling on three of the largest books he’d ever come to own - an MCAT practice book, Gray’s Anatomy , and The Principles and Practice of Medicine.

“To get you started,” Ann said with a shrug. Gilbert ran his fingers over the smooth covers and resisted the urge to open each book to swallow all of their contents. She knelt beside him, studying the unreadable expression on his face. Had she picked out the right ones?

“Ann I- This is amazing. Thank you!” She accepted the speechless kiss he offered with a proud grin. “How’d you know which ones I needed?”

“A lover’s intuition?” she guessed.

His mood shifted as he took a deep breath, settling in front of her as he reached into his pocket. For a moment, Ann panicked, certain he was going to pull out of a velvet box, but all he pulled out was a crumpled wad of paper.

“I hope mine is right, then. Here. Sorry it’s a little rumpled. It was folded all nicely earlier.”

Ann accepted the paper and gently unwrapped it. On it, she found Gilbert’s familiar handwriting and an address:

Bertha Shirley 4664 Silver Springs Rd Calgary, Alberta T3B 23C (403)-247-6098

“I might be the worst boyfriend in the world, because for our anniversary, I meddled with your life. But, I just got this idea, and maybe I should’ve asked you before I went ahead with it,but...I found your mom. At first, I thought she was dead like Marilla thought she was, but then I hit a lead and followed it and well, here she is. Bertha Shirley.”

“Gilbert -”

“Before you say anything, it’s on paper so you can do with it what you want. You can carry it around, crumple it up and throw it in that black hole of a closet, or burn it in the fireplace. It’s up to you.”

“This is-”

“And I know sometimes you wish you had gotten to know her. I just love you so much and I want you to have everything that makes you happy. If getting to know your mom is one of those things, then we’ll pack up right now and drive to Alberta in one of those really cute rental cars. And-”

“Sweetheart, you’re rambling.” Then, she blinked. “Did you just say you love me?”

“Does that surprise you?” he answered in a low tone. “Ann, I’ve always loved you for everything that you are. From day one, it’s just been you.”

“That long?” Ann choked out. “I can’t believe you did this for me. This is the most selfless, thoughtful…” She paused when she felt a tear trickle down the side of her cheek. Gilbert brushed it away and nodded. Then, with barely any sound, Ann freed herself.

Whatever he was about to say next was knocked out of him as Ann closed the distance between them. Gilbert fell backward onto the pillows, gazing up in surprise as Ann climbed onto his lap and pulled the pins from her hair. Auburn waves plummeted over her shoulders, framing her face as she leaned down to kiss him. He met her halfway, a hopeless sound escaping from his throat. It only spurred Ann on more, who moved against him in hopes it would elicit a similar sound.

“Sweetheart,” Gilbert choked. Ann’s lips trailed down his throat. His eyes fell on her fingers, which had begun working on each frustrating button of his shirt. “Darling, look at me.”

Ann immediately pulled back, lips glossy from their kisses and turned into a frown.

“Am I pushing you?” she faltered.

“ No, no!” Gilbert swore, fingers tracing down her neck. “But when I asked if I should pick up anything...Well, we’re just a bit unprepared is all.”

Pushing her fingers through his scalp, Ann delighted in the way his eyes fluttered shut.

“Ye of little faith,” she murmured, then stood up. The warmth where she’d gone left with her. He watched with hazy eyes as she pulled a box and a purple case out of her bedside table. She held the items up for him to see, and he immediately blushed scarlet. “We’re more than prepared.” Birth control and condoms. How long had she been thinking about this?

On her way back over to him, she locked the bedroom door and settled back down on his lap. The protection in her hands fell on the bed next to the nook, forgotten for the moment.

As much as he loved the feeling of dissolving with Ann seated straight above him, Gilbert felt his desire take control of his instincts. Arms wrapped around her waist, he flipped them so she lay comfortably against the pillows beneath him. Between kisses and sweet utterances, he let her fingers continue the buttons of his shirt until there was nothing in between her touch and his chest. She lingered above his heart, its heavy drumming grounding her to reality.

“You should know, I’ve never done this before,” she admitted. She knew he knew, but it didn’t keep her from fearing her own inadequacies. “If I’m not doing well, you’ll tell me?”

“Hey, I’m new to this too,” he replied honestly. “Besides, you’re already doing too well. I can’t keep up.”

Ann settled back on the cushions and smiled like a temptress. She raised her arms behind her head, and Gilbert felt his mouth go dry.

“I’ll slow down a little, then.”

Secretly, Gilbert had fears of his own. After all, he’d only been waiting for this moment since they’d met. He wanted it to be sweet, loving, the way everyone hopes their first time will be. And now here was Ann, offering herself to him with all her silky skin waiting to be touched, and all he could do was stare at her in awe.

They didn’t need to rush, he reminded himself. This could last as long as he wanted.

He ran his fingers up the smooth skin of her legs until he reached her cotton shorts. He tugged them down her ankles, kissing the exposed skin above her breast where her tank top dipped. The shirt was next to go, after which Ann decided she needed him undressed just as quickly. When she was bare before him, his mind had gone blurry. How would he ever love this girl the full amount she deserved? How could he give her the world?

“Want me to keep going?” he asked, his own voice shaking as he lowered himself onto his elbows. A love drunk smile lit her lips.

“We love consent,” she approved. “Yes, Gilbert, don’t you dare stop now.”

Ann was the one who usually believed in things like the stars aligning and fate, but of all the things he’d ever done in his life, this felt like it was planned and intended to happen. The way she careened into his touch as he prepared her for him, the soft noises that his gentle praise rose from her. He loved the taste of her skin, the pink of her breast, and she loved having him there, loving her above where her heart hadn’t stopped racing. He would spend the rest of his life exploring the different ways to make her reach all of her highs, and carry her as she fell back down to earth.

When they became joined, Gilbert thought he might just be a believer in fate yet.

It was better than they hoped it would be for their first time. Ann wasn’t as sore as she expected, not with Gilbert’s constant praises being whispered into her ear to distract her from the temporary pinch. Gilbert lasted longer than he’d anticipated, but still endeavored to serve her after he’d been sated. He knew he’d been doing alright when her fingers pressed into his back, bringing chills down his spine.

They came down from their highs with cooling skin and euphoric smiles. Ann curled into Gilbert’s chest and kissed the damp skin.

“I love you,” she whispered. “And I’m not saying that because of the sex.”

Gilbert chuckled, kissing her forehead.

“I didn’t think so. Although if that’s what it takes for you to say it, then I’d be happy to oblige more often…” She swatted his arm and cuddled further into him. They were silent for a while, listening to the crickets outside, until Ann finally spoke up.

“Do you think Bertha would want to talk to me?”

“If she knew how amazing you are, she’d want to. It doesn’t hurt to just reach out, see if she wants that relationship.”

Ann sighed.

“No matter what she decides, now I know she’s alive. My mother is alive. Thank you, Gilbert. I can’t tell you what this means to me.” A glint lit her eyes. “But maybe later, I can show you.”

Gilbert hummed.

“Now there’s an expert on gratitude.”

“There’s my academic champion,” Ann said as Gilbert collapsed into the passenger seat of the Kingsport bus. “How’d it go?”

Gilbert only groaned.

“You know, some son of a bitch sat down and wrote that test, knowing damn well it would nearly kill every student that took it,” he moaned. “Eight hours of physics, biology, and math. I love them in moderation, but eight hours is too much. ”

Ann reached a hand over and ran her nails over his scalp. They’d woken up at the ass crack of dawn to get themselves to Kingsport on time. Redmond was proctoring the MCATS, the single most important exam Gilbert had ever spent two years studying for, and he was going to do well no matter what it took. While he took the exam, Ann had met with some of her faculty advisors, hoping they could do their jobs and give her a little guidance on how to start planning for grad school.

“My poor mush-brained boyfriend. The worst is over. You can sleep on the way home.” This elicited a happy sigh from Gilbert, who burrowed his head onto her shoulder and curled into her side.

“Oh yeah, how did it go talking with Professor Clarence?” he murmured, watching as the seat in front of him vibrated with rumbling of the bus. Ann ran her hand up and down his arm.

“Still right where we started. I don’t know what the hell I want to do.” Gilbert lifted his head from her shoulder and furrowed his brows. “Oh it’s alright, Gil. We’ll worry about it later. For now, get some rest. I’ll make sure we don’t miss our stop.”

Gilbert slept all the way home, and Ann expected that he would sleep the night away too. He’d been beside himself with worry in the days leading up to the exam. As soon as the ferry dropped them off in Charlottetown, Gilbert curled into the seat of Ann’s car and let her humming lull him back. Before he could fall under again, though, he said, “Stay the night? Bash and Mary are still in Newfoundland.”

“Stay the night or stay the night, Mr. Blythe?” Ann asked with a smirk. Gilbert gave a sleepy chuckle.

“I don’t care. If you want to, we can.” Ann caressed the side of his head for the millionth time, a gesture he never tired of.

“That’s alright. You’re tired enough as it is. We’ll just stop at Green Gables so I can grab my overnight bag and let my parents know.” She turned down the Avenue and threw a tender look his way. “Can I have a raincheck on the sex?”

“As many as you’d like,” he smiled. Then he was out.

By the time they pulled into the Blythe-LaCroix household, the sun was beginning to lean west bound. Gilbert’s house was much like hers - it did well in silence. Ann and Gilbert crept up to his room where she dropped her bag at the foot of his bed, and the two of them collapsed on the comfy mattress.

They lay together - Ann writing in her journal, Gilbert breathing slowly into her neck as he slept.

August 2nd, 2019

Gil took his MCATS today. I’m kinda glad it’s all over - for now, at least. He was driving himself crazy, and in turn, driving me crazy right along with him. At least we can spend these last days together before the semester starts without worrying about the future.

Ugh, that’s a big fat lie. With Diana at U of T and Gilbert due to be accepted there any day now, I can’t help but feel compelled to apply there too. But for what? This whole time at college I’ve been studying English, and I adore it, truly. The English language and I have a special bond that not a lot of people have. Maybe I could just take the easy way out and get my graduate degree in English. But then what do I do? Where do I go? Really wish I could just...see things from another set of eyes, you know?

Ann suddenly snapped up from her writing and looked at the incense that she had packed in her bag. She didn’t know why she packed it at the time, knowing that Gilbert would likely hate the smell, but she’d still brought it with her.

I’m going to light that incense I won in Carmody. Here’s to hoping that lady wasn’t just trying to sound mystical when she said it would show me a new perspective. Don’t tell Gilbert, he’ll laugh at me.

Anyways, we’ll see if I’m any wiser when I wake up. Bye for now.

-Ann.

#anne of green gables #anne with an e #shirbert #shirbert ff #tessa writes #it's literally been 9 months

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quixsilver · 5 years

Text

So I read online that there’s a part of the cell that’s actually called ectoplasm and it just sort of got me thinking on how that figures into ghost stuff until I ended up crafted a Frankenstein’s monsters of headcannons that I decided to post on the internet at 2am for no reason. Heavily inspired by jay Eaton’s ghost physics by Enjoy?

An essay no one asked for

Okay so in biology, ectoplasm is the clear outer part of cytoplasm in a cell. So if a ghost is comprised of ectoplasm that would make them giant cells or basically amoebas. They are however supposed to be dead things so from there I started building this web of bullshit.

In this head cannon, ghosts are an inter-dimensional species of entities that are almost indistinguishable from the single celled organisms called amoeba. Ghosts however do have several distinctions that highlight their dimensionally foreign properties such as the fact they do not posses any sort of substance comparable to endoplasm.

Ghosts are comprised of a sort of cytoplasm that has the non-granulated and clear properties of ectoplasm in regular amoeboid cells, thus bringing on the general term for the material “ectoplasm”. Ectoplasm has several anomalous properties because of the fact that it originates in an alternate dimension; it has the capacity to quantum tunnel (phenomenon where a particle passes through a potential barrier that it classically cannot surmount.) and contains microfilaments composed of an unknown material that can act as programmable matter, which is matter that has the ability to change its physical properties (shape, density,conductivity, optical properties, etc.) in a programmable fashion based upon user input. This programable matter has also been observed to be able to generate gravitons and thus manipulate the forces of gravity.

Ghosts in their unstable premature state have the appearance of an giant amoeba, being a gelatinous blob like entity with transparent qualities. Ectoplasm from the ghost zone is electroluminescent, this means a ghosts ectoplasm is constantly lit up as a result of their ecto-signature. They seem to function off of unstable pseudo-nucleus that will eventually give out and self destruct, causing the structure of the ghosts exterior to destabilize and thus the mass to fall apart. Because of this, ghosts require a source of memory to keep in a stable imitation or copy. Most ghosts however will never find a suitable donor of memory as there are no none sources of actual DNA in the ghost zone.

When introduced into the environment of this dimension, ghosts will seek out decaying organic material to “consume”. This is not done to gain energy for locomotion or any other process, but to gain the genetic memory of cells by more or less created a copy of the the DNA comprised of the ectoplasm’s programmable matter;ectomatter. This Ectoplasmic DNA is kept in an imitation of a nucleus known as the ghost’s “core”. The core carries an electric system that stimulates memories to keep them active. This self contained electric matrix is known as the ghost’s “ecto-signature”. Ghosts are able to create imprints of somatic memories in recently dead organisms, essentially allowing a certain portion of an organisms personal experiences, wants or ambitions to pass on to the ghost. After genetic memory has been gained and a stable form established ghosts will not seek out anymore decaying organic matter. Because the “DNA” is merely an imitation of actual DNA, ghosts do not have the capacity to remember things such as bone or muscle structures or interior organs, but these are not needed anyway. Instead, ghosts will adopt exterior features such as skin, nails, cartilage, and even hair.

They also adopt useless features such as a mouth that leads directly into the ectoplasmic mass and eyes that are not required to perceive light. Somatic memory of the ghost (the ghosts experiences, not the imprints) are stored in an imitation brain, that’s just as meaningless as it’s eyes or mouth. Things such as chemical processes or cellular reproduction do not occur instead a ghosts brain is only capable of simulating a single chemical emotion learned from imprint memory with the emotions typically being fear or anger as adrenaline is the most common chemical ghosts can simulate.

Ghosts are capable of absorbing new ectoplasm to increase mass. As a result, ghost have the ability to create a copy of themselves with excess ectoplasm. however this copy is incapable of prolonged existence because the memories they have are imitations of imitations. This is the beginning of a new ghosts “life cycle”. The copy will either imprint and become semi sentient or destabilize. Because the only components of a ghosts makeup are ectoplasm and programmable matter a ghost will never truly age or reach a point at which it is unable to function.

Ghosts “feed” through radio-synthesis or the capture and metabolism by organisms, of energy from ionizing radiation, analogously to photosynthesis. Ghosts can also feed off of actual chemicals such as adrenaline or serotonin.

Because of a ghosts limited range of intelligent function they would classified as semi sentient as they are not capable of pain or truly experiencing emotions. Their mindset is entirely focused on a sole emotion or even subject or activity that they learned off through random happenstance or the somatic memories of their imprint.

abilities of ghosts include:

Duplication: the ability to asexually create copies of themselves, typically with only a simplified copy of a ghosts core, mainly to achieve a purpose beneficial to the source. After which the copy will destabilize or go on to become an entirely new ghost.

phasing: a ghosts use of ectoplasm’s ability to quantum tunnel.

heightened senses are a result of the fact that a ghosts entire body acts as sensory organs, Being sensitive to vibrations, light, and chemical contact.

invisibility: is an ability that stems from a ghosts ability to absorb and interact with radiation around it, with light being a form of electromagnetic radiation that a ghost can manipulate. This light manipulation can also be used to appear human. the ability to manipulate electromagnetic radiation is also associated with a ghosts ability give its form different colors as ghosts exteriors are entirely comprised of the same material.

Ghost rays: plasma discharges are when a ghost absorb and pump a massive amount of thermal radiation into a small portion of their ectoplasmic mass until it disassociates into ions and separate the ectoplasm from themselves to direct at a target. The discharges behave in a manner similar to extremely hot ionized gases.

possession or “overshadowing” is the process in which a ghost will override an organisms brain function by overriding the nervous system with electricity from the ghosts ecto-signature. The ectoplasm mass of the ghost is condensed and phased into the organisms integumentary, muscular, and nervous systems. Prolonged possessions are generally not healthy for the host organism as the ghost forces itself onto the neurons of said organism. Faulty or incompetent possessions can cause permanent brain damage or even catatonia.

flight is the use of ectomatters ability to generate and manipulate gravitons

ghosts bodies are classified as amoebas and such limbs such as arms, legs and even heads are purely aesthetic because the cores memories require input to be comprehendible to the imprint sources senses, meaning ghosts are capable of body distortion also known in common amoebas as pseudopods, with the only limitation being that the mass needs to stay in one piece. It should be noted that body distortion is entirely different than duplicating as duplicating is when a ghost becomes two separate masses with their own cores.

Ghosts are only classified as amoeba because their general structure is incredibly similar. They are not however actual living organisms as they do not biologically age, traditionally reproduce or have actual physical DNA. They are merely imitations of actual organisms, spawned from other ghosts. they once existed as an actual species of reproducing amoeba that had a similar ability to create duplicates without physical stable nuclei, so the first ghosts imitated the DNA of the actual amoeba. Existing in the cycle of creation and imitation for millions of years with only occasional ghosts slipping through “portals” to imprint on organisms in this dimension. But the species of amoeba went extinct and thus the only source of new ghost now is the duplication of stable ghosts and imprinting in this dimension.

The ghost zone itself is actually a pocket dimension that exists between the fourth dimension (time) and the fifth dimension. Because the ghost zone exists outside the timeline, time works has varying affects in different parts of the ghost zone. It doesn’t follow the conventional laws of time in our dimension (third dimension). The ghost zone is entirely comprised of ectoplasmic particles the exist extremely far apart, similar to the state of outer space in this dimension. The ghost zone absorbs radiations across several dimension as the free floating ectoplasm carries an almost insignificant charge. The exact form of radiation is unknown but seems to be a previously undiscovered form of cross dimensional radiation. Because of ectoplasm’s ability to adopt new properties as a result of intelligent programming the ghost zone is full of structures and environments created, wether consciously or unconsciously by the ghosts themselves. As for actual environment, there’s an actual planet like structure orbiting the ghost zones version of a sun (a mass of ionized plasma similar to ecto-rays). The planet itself was struck by a large object, causing the planet to shatter into a cone like configuration. Momentum doesn’t seem to have affected the debris which still orbits in a synchronized fashion with the largest mass.

the destruction of the planet is what caused the extinction of the ghosts source species. And because of the extinction level event ghosts had to rely on solely imprinting on dead organic material.

I may do another essay about how Danny, portals and ghost weopons work.

#danny phantom #danny phantom au #ghost #biology #phandom #holy shit now its 3am #ghost biology

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cclkestis · 5 years

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writing tag game!

Thanks to @deviantsupporter for tagging me! Some of these were actually reasonably tricky ooft, but I enjoyed the challenge!

Going to put these under a read more because I may have gotten carried away and this has ended up longer than anticipated :’))

short stories, novels, or poems?

For reading? Definitely novels - I really enjoy the whole story or world that can be created in a novel, and the character development that can be explored. It also gives me more time to get overly attached to characters and have my heart ripped out when things inevitably go wrong. For writing though I don’t really have the attention span to plan out and write an entire novel?? Not on my own anyway - RP is a different story entirely when I have another person to work alongside! But for the most part I tend to stick to shorter pieces as I know that once it’s done that’s it, and losing interest isn’t going to be a problem!

what genre do you prefer reading?

I generally read a lot of fantasy books, because I love magic and all of these other worlds that are created in this genre. I also enjoy a good bit of sci-fi, dystopian, and a lil bit of romance from time to time!

what genre do you prefer writing?

Does angst count as a genre? I don’t really have a preference that I’m aware of, although I find that I struggle to write anything that is purely just romance because I get bored pretty quickly. I enjoy writing things with drama and action (even if I struggle writing action scenes a lot) when it comes to fics.

I do also enjoy writing fantasy - especially based in the context of the modern world. One of my longest running stories (well, RP technically) is kind of this setting, and I adore it.

are you a planner or a write-as-I-go kind of person?

For sure I’m a ‘write-as-I-go’ type of person, generally I’ll have an idea of what’s happening and maybe a really vague plan of how I want to get there but for the most part I just write and see what happens!

what music do you listen to while writing?

I generally don’t listen to music when I’m writing! I find I get distracted and spend my time just listening to the music instead of writing. More often than not I’ll have YouTube on in the background, with episodes of things I’ve seen before because it means I can tune them out more and focus on my writing but there is still some background noise. I also put on ambiance videos (usually DBH ones if I’m working on fic stuff!) if I want a more chill background noise!

fave books/movies?

deep inhale I could literally go on forever with these lists so I’m limiting myself to to 5 in no particular order for each!

Books: Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, The Wee Free Men series, Game of Thrones, Parliament of Blood

Movies: The Greatest Showman, Aladdin, Beauty and the Beast, The Princess Bride, Rise of the Guardians - special shout out to all of the marvel movies though because I love them too.

Honestly I love too many books and movies and my favourites tend to shift with my mood!

any current WIPs?

Too many?? I think there’s 16 at the moment that I can count, most of which are half done or less because I jump between ideas so quickly whoops.

if someone were to make a cartoon out of you, what would your standard outfit be?

Uuuh probably dark blue jeans, black converse, and either a relevant geeky t-shirt or a checked shirt! Or leggings and a longer top/dress!

create a character description for yourself:

There she goes, the quiet one who doesn’t pay attention to anything. Best be careful or she’ll do something petty like killing you off in a story or glaring at you from across the room but not saying anything.

do you like incorporating people you actually know into your writing?

It depends what I’m writing. I’m almost certain that a little bit of myself finds its way into most of the fics I write, even though I try to avoid that because I want them to be as open to everyone as possible! When it comes to other writing though, I don’t exactly write a person in but I’m sure there are a lot of my characters who have certain traits and personalities that are based on the people I know.

are you kill-happy with characters?

Depends on whether I’ve been talking to someone who’s a bad influence on me :’) overall I tend to get too attached to my characters and won’t kill them off unless I’m doing it in an au of some sorts, or if it’s just a one-off short prompt or such!

coffee or tea while writing?

I don’t drink tea or coffee whilst I’m not writing, so neither! I just drink water, gotta stay hydrated!

slow or fast writer?

One extreme or the other honestly. Sometimes I can sit and write thousands of words in a few hours (*cough* thg!au *cough*) whereas other times it makes me a solid hour to make it to one hundred words.

where/who/what do you find inspiration from?

Everything and anything to be honest - a lot of my inspiration tends to come from other people because I started writing through RPs mostly, which involved a lot of working with at least one other person. It’s meant that I find it really easy to draw inspiration from what other people have written, and I’m lucky to have so many amazingly talented friends on here who inspire me on a daily basis ❤️

Asides from that, I’ll randomly be struck with inspiration based on a song, image or quote - or a specific prompt will snag my attention and run away from me.

if you were put into a fantasy world, what would you be?

Probably some sort of magic user? A healer of some sorts? Or a mermaid would be fun too!

most fave book cliche? least fave book cliche?

Oooh this is a tricky - one of my most favourite is hands down the ‘best friends to lovers’ trope, when it is done well. Give me two people who have known each other for years and had time for these feelings to develop - bonus points if one or both of them realises those feelings but is worried about messing up the friendship.

One of my least favourites is probably love triangles. I really don’t like the way they’ve been used in some books, and how it ends up pitching fans against each other on separate ‘teams’ which inevitably just starts fights. Don’t get me wrong, I can appreciate that they can be done well, but it’s just not something I’m a huge fan of.

fave scenes to write?

I guess I enjoy writing any scene where things are happening, if that makes any sort of sense?? More action driven scenes? I get bored writing more slow paced scenes in things and find it much more fun writing lots of things happening!

most productive time of day for writing?

Usually 11pm-2am, although sometimes a random bout of productivity hits me during the day.

reason for writing?

I write because it’s something I enjoy. And it’s something that’s allowed me to make friends too, given how I started off. I’ve always been one for daydreaming so I also guess that’s part of it - I can get some of these ideas out of my head and into words. It’s also something that’s gotten me through some hard times and I’ve always been able to come back to it even after months of not having the energy for it.

Tagging: @the-darklings @connorshero @deviantcrimes @thedragonkween @thirium-ink @deviancy-wasteland @the-kryomancer @shadows-echoes @drmsqnc @raelwriting and anyone else who decides they’d like to try it!!

#some of these were tricky damn #it was fun though!#thank you for tagging me anna <33 #tagged #tag game #about me #long post

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mhsn033 · 4 years

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Uganda – where security forces may be more deadly than coronavirus

Image caption Eric Mutasiga’s mother, Joyce Namugalu Mutasiga, has to beef up his family after he used to be killed by police

In Uganda, no much less than 12 folks own allegedly been killed by security officers enforcing measures to limit the spread of coronavirus, whereas no-one has been killed by the virus itself. Persistence Atuhaire has been meeting about a of these tormented by the violence.

Joyce Namugalu Mutasiga speaks to me as she fries tiny pancakes, is thought as kabalagala, over a woodfire, her words popping out in short, crisp sentences punctuated with lengthy silences.

“Any person is fascinating a ways from you and then you shoot him? Not no longer up to they would own said sorry, as a result of his existence will by no method be aid, and now I plod to struggle with the kids,” she says, straining to bottle up her emotions.

The 65-365 days-mature is now the principle bread-winner for a family of eight.

Image caption Mrs Mutasiga desires the police to apologise over the loss of life of her son

Two of her grandchildren, used three and 5, too young to secure the beefy scale of what has befallen them, speed throughout the yard pointing to a car in the yard: “Make a selection a portray of daddy’s car!”

In June, almost three weeks after he used to be reportedly shot in the leg by a Ugandan policeman, Eric Mutasiga died from his wounds. His final moments had been in an running theatre in the country’s Mulago Health center, in step with his mother.

The 30-365 days-mature headteacher used to be a form of allegedly killed by security forces enforcing a coronavirus lockdown.

Image copyright Getty Photos

Image caption Members of the safety forces had been enforcing the lockdown measures

The killings are believed to had been by the arms of policemen, squaddies and people of an armed civilian drive known as the Native Defence Unit (LDU).

Since March, they’ve been jointly manning roadblocks to make certain that folks follow the adjust measures, including a ban on bike taxis (known regionally as boda bodas) and a dusk-to-morning time curfew.

Many Ugandans are cautious as they method these roadblocks no longer lustrous what would possibly well happen, but on 13 Can also disaster came to Mr Mutasiga’s dwelling.

As wisely as running the Merrytime Predominant college, the father of three had a tiny store next to his dwelling on the fringe of Mukono, about an hour’s drive east of the capital, Kampala.

On that Wednesday, policemen and people of the LDU had been inspiring folks realized breaking the lockdown tips by working after 19: 00.

‘You did no longer prepare me’

Mr Mutasiga’s employee, a young man working at the chapati stall out of doorways the store, had upright been detained.

“I begged [the policemen] to forgive him. The 2 officers debated amongst themselves whether or to no longer let him plod,” the headteacher later outlined to native journalists.

Then, as folks gathered spherical, issues obtained heated.

“Regarded as some of the policemen began to claim I wasn’t the one who educated him. He said he would possibly well even shoot me.

“As I grew to alter into to depart, [one policeman] shot in the air. I grew to alter into to glance what came about, and noticed him goal at once at me.

“The bullet went true into my left leg and I fell. They obtained on their bike no doubt rapidly and rode away.”

He made these comments as he used to be being wheeled into hospital – the police haven’t verified his account.

BBC

Some relatives own instructed we plod to court docket. But the police haven’t published the shooter’s identify, so who would I sue?”

His family had hoped that he would secure a beefy recovery.

“We stayed in hospital anticipating surgical operation, but each time we asked, the health workers educated us that the anxiety used to be injurious, they couldn’t operate,” his mother says.

Mr Mutasiga used to be at final taken to the running theatre on 8 June where he died, she adds.

The loss of life certificate shows that he died at once from gunshot wounds.

Mrs Mutasiga stares at the bottom, taking a second to originate herself.

She feels let down by all the authorities device, announcing: “Some relatives own instructed we plod to court docket. But the police haven’t published the shooter’s identify, so who would I sue?”

Farida Nanyonjo is offended.

Her brother, Robert Senyonga, died after being overwhelmed.

Round noon on 7 July, she bought a name from his employer. She used to be educated that she had to secure to the eastern metropolis of Jinja like a flash, as Mr Senyonga had been many times struck by the butt of a gun wielded by any person believed to be from the LDU for driving a bike.

You would also be attracted to:

The beating left the 20-365 days-mature, who worked as a farm supervisor with more than one fractures to the cranium.

Ms Nanyonjo obtained to him dull at night and then returned with him to the capital, where he used to be referred to hospital.

“We made it to Mulago at about 2am, and spent the the rest of the night on the ward floor. I approached a medical worker for relieve, but used to be asked for money. He used to be finally given a mattress in the morning,” she says.

It took a big selection of haggling, and a couple of days, before Mr Senyonga would possibly well also very wisely be scheduled for surgical operation. And by then, it used to be too dull.

‘Died in my arms’

“I’m extraordinarily offended. They beat him, but even the head hospital in the country would possibly well no longer give him upright hospital treatment,” Ms Nanyonjo says.

“My brother died in my arms.”

For this family, the void left by their departed will probably be no longer doable to fill.

The LDU earned notoriety in the early 2000s when it used to be first created. Its personnel had been accused of carrying out extrajudicial killings or of becoming gunmen for hire.

In the close it used to be demobilised. Ugandans had been subsequently anxious when it used to be revived in 2018.

Image copyright Allan Atulinda

Image caption Recruitment for the Native Defence Unit attracted colossal hobby in 2018

Critics declare the drive locations guns in the arms of young, poorly educated folks which would possibly well be unable to lower the stress in a confrontation.

The army has now withdrawn all LDU personnel from deployment, for retraining.

President Yoweri Museveni and other senior officers own condemned the reported assaults but when the BBC contacted the many security companies implicated, none of them wished to give us a assertion in conserving with the allegations.

Rights groups argue that the say is systemic.

“We own realized that security forces had been the employ of Covid-19 and the measures build in secure 22 situation to forestall its spread as an excuse to violate human rights,” says Oryem Nyeko, a researcher for Human Rights Explore.

But these problems had been known for a big selection of years, he says, and “now we need to explore reforming a device that emboldens folks to commit abuses”.

Households declare the judicial process is in most cases too convoluted to navigate, but there had been successful prosecutions in two instances in the final 5 months. One racy a soldier and the opposite a member of the LDU.

The soldier who killed Allen Musiimenta’s husband used to be jailed by a military court docket for 35 years after being realized responsible of kill four days after the incident.

But she is no longer overjoyed.

“The soldier obtained his punishment, but I gained’t secure my husband aid,” Ms Musiimenta says.

Coronavirus in Uganda

Total form of instances

Benon Nsimenta, who used to be as a consequence of be ordained as a reverend in November, used to be gunned down on a dual carriageway in the western town of Kasese on 24 June.

He and his wife had secure 22 situation off for their village dwelling on a bike. They had a file from a local councillor indicating that the car used to be theirs and never a bike taxi.

“The squaddies who stopped us did no longer even capture a minute to inquire of questions. Regarded as one of them crossed the dual carriageway, raised his gun and shot my husband in the neck,” Ms Musiimenta says.

“We did our family initiatives together, talked through all the pieces. We made plans for our kid’s future. How I’m speculated to pay for their training by working our tiny farm?” she trails off, overcome with emotion.

Soccer coach Nelly Julius Kalema survived his alleged brush with the safety forces – but simplest upright.

On 8 July he used to be dashing a pal’s sick girlfriend, Esther, to a sanatorium on a bike. It used to be already curfew time.

You would also moreover need to stare:

Media playback is unsupported in your machine

Media caption‘The police are killing us, no longer coronavirus’

They had been allowed through a roadblock, but then some folks on a bike, who he says had been policemen, waved them down.

Mr Kalema says he asked if he would possibly well web a safer secure 22 situation to stop upright ahead. He says one man took out a baton and hit Esther laborious on the neck. She screamed, and fell.

“I misplaced steadiness and rammed into a concrete slab, on which I hit my head,” he says, lying in a hospital mattress.

The accident left him with a deep lower on the head, the scalp placing by about a inches, that had to be stitched aid. Esther survived with a broken leg and had to endure surgical operation.

Image caption Nelly Julius Kalema’s anxiety on his cranium would possibly well be clearly viewed

The police declined to commentary on his allegations.

After we met, Mr Kalema had been in hospital for nearly a week, his head continuously throbbing.

“I had been lying right here thinking I effect no longer need to feel fortunate, as a result of I had no fault in the accident. How many of us need to die or be maimed before the safety forces change their methods?” he wonders.

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esmes · 7 years

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fic: the way you look tonight (cat/kara)

There’s that look, Kara thinks, that look of aching affection for Carter in Cat’s eyes that humanizes her so, and behind it a loneliness Kara thinks she can understand.

read on a03: here.

a/n: set some time after ‘how does she do it?’ and before ‘falling’. if anything here contradicts canon, that's just me being a lazy fan who hasn't watched s1 in full since the first time around. i was inspired by my dearest @aericura watching supergirl for the first time to revisit my favorite parts of s1 (the only season that exists lbr) and naturally cat/kara feelings came up in SPADES so i put on the softest ktunes and knocked this out at 2am and i actually don’t hate it.

Kiera.

Kara’s phone pings insistently at 6:24pm on a Thursday, just as she’s starting to tackle an entire pizza (Hawaiian with extra pineapple, her favorite) in front of the television. She groans through a mouthful and waits for the three blinking dots that appear on her phone screen next to yield whatever ludicrous request will inevitably follow.

I need you to bring a folder from my desk by my house appears, followed quickly by: Don’t ask questions. Just do.

Kara blinks once, twice at her phone. Ms Grant’s house? Kara has contemplated many a time what kind of dwelling Cat Grant would make her home. She’s imagined polished marble floors, high ceilings, possibly a grand staircase (like the one in Titanic she loves so much); or, conversely, an ultra-modern penthouse, all glass and clean, white surfaces (like Cruella de Vil’s digs in 101 Dalmatians.) She never thought she’d actually ever get a chance to go there, to see it in person. The idea of it has her up and pacing the length of her apartment, trying and failing to dismiss the image of Ms Grant in a silk pajama set. Just as she starts picturing a nightie she mentally checks herself.

Your house? She taps out, ignoring Cat’s directive and pressing send before she can think better of it.

Something about this feels like a trap – an admittedly inviting one. Now that the initial terror she felt for Cat Grant has subsided somewhat, replaced with admiration, awe, even affection, Kara finds herself curious about what Cat does outside of the office, work functions, and work dinners. She’s seen glimpses of Cat the Human Being – as opposed to Cat Grant, Queen of All Media – in her doting, patient interactions with Carter, and part of her hungers, inexplicably, for more.

The blinking dots appear once more, then:

Yes, Kiera. My house. The place I call home. The structure I inhabit when I’m not at work dealing with levels of incompetence so appalling it makes Steve Harvey announcing the wrong Miss Universe look practically praise-worthy.

Kara can’t help but laugh at Ms Grant taking the time to type all that out when a simple, “Yes, here’s my address,” would’ve sufficed. She couldn’t begrudge her the comparison though – Cat Grant did love a good pop culture reference if it helped drive the point home.

5244 Pinecrest Drive - I trust you know how to find it comes through as Kara is using her superspeed to change out of sweats and a t-shirt into something that has at least a fifty percent chance of impressing Cat enough to keep her infamous acid tongue at bay.

Be there in twenty, she taps out with one hand, the other grabbing a pizza slice to go.

Make it ten.

Kara lands on a tree-lined street ten minutes later, having stopped by the office to retrieve the only folder in plain view on Cat’s expansive desk. She’d thought about sending a text asking for clarification, but thought better of it. Don’t ask questions. Just do.

The house marked 5244 in gilded metal is a brown Spanish colonial, large without being intimidating, its windows glowing invitingly. There’s no car parked in the drive, but then, that’s hardly surprising. Cat has a car service at her beck and call. Kara takes a moment to check her hair in the front-facing camera on her phone before making her way up the drive.

Before Kara can even reach the front steps the door swings open, revealing an impatient Cat Grant, looking even tinier than usual in a scoop neck black sweater, black pants that look to be made of material that might just border on stretchy, with nothing but a pair of black ankle socks on her feet. The look is so casual and leisurely Kara stops dead in her tracks, swallowing hard around a lump that’s sprung up somewhere at the back of her throat.

“M- Ms Grant!” Kara manages, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose and clutching tightly to the folder in her left hand.

Cat narrows her eyes, full lips pursed slightly.

“You got here rather quickly.” Her gaze never breaks with Kara’s.

“You did say ‘make it ten’!’ Kara laughs nervously, gaze flitting down Cat’s form briefly.

“I was only half-expecting you’d make it in time.” Cat tilts her head to one side, and Kara can tell she’s not out of the line of fire just yet. “How did you get here? I didn’t see a car pull up.”

“Uber! Only – uh, the guy got lost, so many windy streets and hills around here, so I told him to let me off a few blocks away and I - uh, walked. The rest of the way.” Smooth, she thinks, finally tackling the steps to Cat’s level.

Cat seems satisfied, if only vaguely. She turns to re-enter the house, every bit as graceful on flat feet as she is in five-inch stilettos, and Kara figures this is as close to an invitation in as she’s going to get.

“You have a lovely home,” she says, almost reverently, peering down the length of the hallway. “Different than I expected.”

“Different how?” Cat inquires, her voice edged in reproach, as she disappears into another room, leaving Kara to shut the door behind her.

“Oh! Just that it’s very home-y, that’s all. I guess I expected something a little more, um –“

“Bleak? Sterile? Downright surgical?” Cat offers, reappearing in the hallway.

Kara’s stomach turns over, not entirely unpleasantly. In the brief time she’d been out of Kara’s sight, Cat had swept her hair back into a clip. It struck Kara dumb that she’d never actually seen Cat Grant without her hair down in shining, sculpted waves – not even in times of distress had she ever seen Cat with a hair out of place.

Cat motions for Kara to follow and pads noiselessly down the hallway, flipping on a light in the room at the end and disappearing into it. As Kara follows, the enormity of what’s happening here strikes her for the first time. This is Cat with her guard down, Cat in casual wear, Cat with her hair swept back artlessly and her face relatively unpainted. The paparazzi and tabloid journalists would kill to be privy to what she is right now.

“I have others, of course. Houses,” Cat explains as Kara follows her into what she sees now is the kitchen. She's retrieved her glasses from the countertop and is gesturing for Kara to hand her the folder. “A beach house in the Palisades, a brownstone in Manhattan, a townhouse in London – nothing in the Hamptons, of course. Just a bit too ostentatious, too Gatsby.”

Kara hands Cat the folder and presses her hands to the cool marble of the countertop until Cat shoots her a warning glare, so Kara places them firmly at her sides to keep from attempting to touch anything else.

“I like to stay here during the school year,” Cat continues, beginning to leaf through the contents of the folder. “For Carter, to give him some sense of stability and –“

“Warmth,” Kara finishes, beaming. She loves Cat when she’s talking about Carter.

Wait – loves? Kara mentally turns that one over and brushes it aside.

Cat almost smiles – almost – before shutting the folder with a snap.

“Well, that will be all, Kiera.”

“Oh,” Kara breathes. Her heart gives a disappointed twinge. “Right.”

Kara tries to arrange her features into something conveying indifference, but Cat’s too quick for that, too clever. She catches the crestfallen look Kara couldn’t rearrange quickly enough rolls her eyes.

“Fine, Kiera." Cat concedes. "Can I offer you a drink?” She crosses to a cupboard, pulling it open and surveying its contents. “I only drink white if I absolutely must."

Kara flushes, embarrassed at having been caught out. There's just something about Cat as she is in this moment that has her transfixed. Cat is offering her something, not demanding, not taking, not ordering. She's dressed down and looks so breathtakingly human, so normal, Kara can't let the spell break, not yet.

“Do you have tea?” she risks.

Cat fixes her with a glare. “Every bit the G-rated Disney princess even off the clock, I see. Red it is.”

The older woman grabs two glasses and pads out of the kitchen, once again leaving Kara with no choice but to assume she is supposed to follow.

Cat’s living room is spacious and minimally decorated, with a floor-to-ceiling window facing west overlooking the city. Kara sucks in a breath at the sight of it – her beloved city, cast in the magentas and oranges and purples of the day’s last light. She’d always loved the city at sunrise best, but this had her seriously reconsidering that proclivity.

“Ms Grant, what a view,” she says, walking automatically toward it, purse sliding off her shoulder and onto the floor.

“Mmm, yes,” Cat hums from the bar where she’s filling a glass for each of them. “Being me has its perks.”

She crosses to Kara’s side, offering her a glass. Kara takes it, and Cat settles into the corner of the white couch to her left. Silence passes between them, Kara still captivated by the sunset, Cat sipping from her glass.

“Reminds me of home,” Kara whispers, thinking of majestic spires touching Argo City's red sky. It's barely audible, but Cat catches it and gives her an incredulous look.

“Of Midvale?” She snorts daintily. “I didn’t think there was much to look at out there.”

Kara remembers herself and turns to Cat with a half-smile. “You’d be surprised.”

Cat looks struck by something she sees in Kara’s face and silences herself. Kara settles tentatively on the arm of the opposite couch, not really sure if she should be making herself comfortable but feeling comfortable anyway. Both women sip in silence for a few minutes, the light growing dimmer, Kara relishing the warmth of the wine as it washes down her throat.

“Thank you,” Cat says, dipping tentatively into the silence. “For bringing the folder. I didn’t have time to call a car back to the office – Carter should be home within the hour and I don’t like him coming home to an empty house.”

There’s that look, Kara thinks, that look of aching affection for Carter in Cat’s eyes that humanizes her so, and behind it a loneliness Kara thinks she can understand. Kara is filled topful with a rush of fondness for the woman sitting before her.

“You’re a really good mother, Ms Grant,” she says, smiling into her next sip.

“Please, you’re in my home – call me Cat.” They both freeze at that, and Cat quickly adds: “That is a one time offer, one that expires the moment you walk out the front door. Capiche?”

Kara laughs and nods. “I’ll take it.”

Cat relaxes again. Kara occupies herself with looking about the room, her gaze settling on a photograph perched on the mantle just behind and above Cat’s head.

“A family photo?” she inquires, perhaps a little boldly given the look Cat shoots her.

“Yes,” Cat replies curtly. “That’s Carter’s father on the left. I keep it up so Carter doesn’t think I hate his father.”

“Do you?” Kara presses, hoping that the answer is yes.

“Not so much anymore. I did, but it was nothing a lot of hot yoga, a thirty-day cleanse, a trip to the Alps couldn’t take care of. “ Cat melts a little, something sad edging the corners of her eyes. “Not to be trite, but men are pigs, Kiera.”

“Any man who ever hurt you would have to be,” Kara says before she can stop herself.

One of the corners of Cat’s mouth quirks up, and the look in the older woman’s eyes is so uncharacteristically soft that Kara feels a little like crying, or kissing her, or both.

“Spoken like a true bleeding heart,” Cat says, tone bordering on playful, tugging at the hem of her sweater as she gets to her feet. “More wine.”

It is not a question. She pours herself more and tops off Kara’s not-yet-empty glass, this time bringing a fresh bottle to the couch with her. Kara thinks she knows what that means, but doesn’t say anything.

“I can’t believe I’m asking this, but is there a man in your life?” Cat settles on the couch that Kara’s been perched on and levels her with a gaze that is so genuinely curious it takes Kara by surprise.

“Me? Oh, no. No no no.” Kara gulps down a too-large sip of wine and nearly chokes. She checks to make sure nothing has dribbled down her chin. “There was maybe something, I don’t know, with someone, a friend, but. No.” Kara takes another sip. Her head is buzzing pleasantly.

“A woman?”

Kara notes that Cat waited for her to swallow her sip before posing this question, which was wise, considering she nearly does a spit-take.

“No! I mean, I’m not – not opposed or judgmental – yay gay rights!” She cringes, and Cat actually laughs, not cruelly. “I’m just not a lesbian. Probably. No, definitely.”

“You don’t have to be a lesbian to like women, you know,” Cat counsels, bringing her wine glass to her lips without breaking eye contact.

Kara is picturing Cat in a nightie again, and that – that is just unacceptable. She goes to take another sip and finds her glass empty, so she busies herself with a refill. When she turns back to Cat, she finds the older woman is closer that she had been before.

Kara steadies herself, honing in on Cat’s heartbeat in a desperate grab at some clarity, some indication of Cat’s motives behind this line of questioning. The rhythm is steady, if slightly quicker than usual.

“Kiera?” Cat’s voice summons her back.

“Yes.”

“You’re staring.”

“Sorry, Ms Grant. Cat.”

The sun has set completely by now, and Kara isn’t sure when the lights turned on, but they’re casting a pleasant glow on her surroundings and she feels quite at home, despite not knowing exactly why Cat is allowing her continued presence. Cat switches on the news after she pours her third glass, legs curled up underneath her. Kara keeps stealing glances at Cat’s profile, tracing the lines of her face, her full lips, high cheekbones –

“Exciting news in the celebrity sector!” chimes the cheery voice of a newscaster, and Cat grumbles something about overexposure and Kardashians until she catches what comes next. “The Daily Planet’s star reporter Lois Lane –“

“– aaand that's enough of that, thank you very much,” Cat finishes. She switches off the television and tosses the remote aside.“What is it with you and Lois Lane?” Kara asks, figuring if Cat hasn’t lost patience with her presence and breathed fire thus far she might as well try to get in a few more good questions.

“Let’s not and say we did, shall we?” Cat, cheeks flushed from the alcohol, turns her attention back to Kara, and the full force of it is enough to nearly knock her backward. She notices for the first time that the older woman's thigh is just inches from Kara's own. How long had it been that way?

“Okay,” Kara manages. It’s almost too much, the proximity, she’s too hot, her heart feels like it’s beating in her throat. Without thinking, she reaches up and tugs at the elastic in her hair, letting her curls settle around her shoulders. Before she realizes what she’s done, she catches a whiff of her shampoo – lavender and honey – and inhales deeply.

Cat tilts her head inquisitively, and Kara – much too late – freezes.

“Goodness, Kiera,” Cat hums, voice low, fingers finding a loose curl and twirling it gently. “If you wore your hair like this more often, perhaps you’d have a man. Or woman.”

The last word settles in the charged air around them, and Kara forgets to be offended. She doesn’t dare move an inch, lest the light hit her at a particularly incriminating angle, and she thanks Rao that Cat had abandoned her glasses to the coffee table somewhere between between her third and fourth glass.

“Intriguing, really, you –“

Kara silences that thought the only way she knows how – with a kiss, sudden, a little rough – and more than a little surprising, she takes it, given how Cat stiffens upon contact. She expects the older woman to pull away, scream, fire her, tell her to get out and never darken her door again.

But she doesn’t. The kiss lasts. It tapers into something gentle. Kara feels Cat’s fingers grasping at her collar and her heart feels like it could burst, shatter, sing, go supernova.

“Mom! I’m home!”

A door slams, and footsteps clatter down the hallway.

Cat wrenches away as quickly as Kara springs up from the couch. Cat has just enough time to toss back another gulp of wine before Carter appears in the doorway.

“Mom?” Carter looks inquiringly at his mother, then notices the extra person in the room. “Kara!”

He darts forward and wraps Kara in a hug. He’s at least a few inches taller than the last time she saw him. She smiles down at the top of his head and hopes he can’t feel just how hard her heart is hammering away in her chest.

“Really? You hug her first?” Cat says, attempting to sound playfully derisive but coming off genuinely hurt.

“Aw, don’t be sore, Mom. I give you hugs all the time,” Carter reasons, hugging his mother. Kara is struck by how the two Grants are nearly of a height now.

“What’s for dinner?” he continues, grinning. “Is Kara staying?”

Cat’s casts a quick warning glance Kara’s way.

“I can’t,” Kara volunteers. Carter's grin fades. “It’s getting late, but maybe sometime I can take you to grab a bite somewhere near your mom’s office?”

The look Cat gives her lets Kara know she’s overstepped, but Carter visibly brightens, and Cat can’t help the small smile playing about her lips, the indulgent sort she reserves only for her son.

“Go wash up while I figure out dinner, alright sweetie?”

“Okay. See you later, Kara!” Carter chirps.

He races from the room, footsteps echoing down the hall and up the staircase. Kara reaches down to grab her bag from where she’d dropped it earlier.

“I’d better –“

Cat clears her throat, presses her fingers to her lips. “Yes.”

“What was in the folder that was so important it couldn't wait until tomorrow?” Kara ventures, because why not, at this point.

Cat's eyes go wide for a moment. Then she smiles - a little slyly, Kara thinks.

"Oh, nothing."

Kara's heart catches in her throat, and she grins around it. She brushes past Cat, looking back over her shoulder one last time.

“It really is a beautiful view. Breathtaking,” she says, and Cat turns to find Kara looking not at the city beyond the window, but directly at her. “See you tomorrow.”

#supercat #supercat fic #cat x kara #kara x cat #i'm honestly so rusty but my gays just saved me from years-long writer's block so let's celebrate y'all #otp: you inspire me #supergirl #*fic #i don't even have a fic tag on this blog #/that/ is how long it's been since i was able to write anything decent or worth posting #also excuse the lameass title i may change it at a later date but honestly i am the objective worst at titling things it's a curse #but i am forcing myself to post this to get back in the game~#anyway i miss them :( come back to me :( :( :(

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