#that bad faith shit in particular drives me up a wall because at least half of y'all are fucking autistic
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there sure are a number of transfems extremely comfortable with talking about transmascs and their experiences like they get to be the arbiters of our oppression because they are also trans. i don't think that's how that works. trans people as a whole do have a lot of overlapping experiences, and transfems are oppressed under transmisogyny, which involves plenty that i don't relate to or understand. like there aren't hordes of caricatures of trans men in the media used as a punchline (i don't think i can even think any frankly), so i have no idea what that would be like. i don't get to be the one who defines what that experience is or means. it would be nice if those people (and i do mean those people because it certainly is not every single transfem on this website) could also do that.
i think the community would be a lot healthier if everyone just stopped talking over one another all the time, cause there sure are transmascs doing the same shit in reverse. there will be transmascs hopping onto a trans woman's post to 'debunk' things that i know we as a group do not experience. erasure operates differently from hypervisibility. i also know i have my own blindspots inevitably because i can only be me, but i dont think that transmascs doing this (bad) means that transfems don't and it isn't like. also a bad thing for them to do.
idk. this community feels fucked six ways to sunday. half the time you go into any trans tag ever to keep up with the entire community you not only have to block actual terfs on their perpetual bullshit but you also have to read 60000 posts made by trans people indirectly arguing with and talking over other trans people with some of the most bad faith reads of your own community imaginable. like. real 'i like pancakes' 'so you hate waffles' energy. the idea that a trans person who is different than you might say something in a clumsy way, or made a typo, or was half-asleep, or was uninformed about a particular nuance, or just maybe has natural, obvious limitations in how they can understand or experience the world because a person can only ever be the person they already are, none of that can ever happen! if someone says something and i don't get it, or i disagree, or whatever it is, it is malicious attack on my dignity and principles, they are the real enemies trying to oppress me and keep me down and they must be destroyed.
this place sucks. i hate it here.
#despair.txt#that bad faith shit in particular drives me up a wall because at least half of y'all are fucking autistic#you should know how difficult communication is in all forms especially over a text based medium!#you should understand better than anyone else about how the social construct of unspoken implication and innuendo is a nightmare#one that ruins healthy relationships and communities because of how many misunderstandings it causes#and perpetuates a cycle of anxious guesswork when in social interactions ESPECIALLY FOR THE NEURODIVERGENT#AND YET#you fucks cannot stop just creating implications and innuendos out of words to derive true secret intent and meaning!!#INSTEAD OF JUST ENGAGING WITH THE THING IN FRONT OF YOUR EYES#literacy is in the toilet#watch as the trans community masters 'adding entire sentences and ideas to other people's posts and getting angry about it'#you are all failing a basic reading comprehension tests as well as all community building exercises#and are scoring a whopping 0 for autistic friendly communication especially for like any autistic person who struggles more than you do#i dont want to be trans im sick of my 'community'#a gang of argument loving jackasses posturing at solidarity and intersectionality everywhere you look
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Playing Pretend
I’m sorry I didn't get this up sooner. I gutted the end but here’s the first part of the first chapter of a Heisenberg x reader fic that will probably go on too long. This is more of a prolog. No smut yet! Written with a female reader in mind, but I may have versions for both m and f when the final product goes up. Gonna start out kinda fluffy before we get darker. Comments and constructive criticism are always appreciated!
Summary: This summer trip to Romania was supposed to be momentous, life changing, and the bases for your master’s thesis. Too bad the villagers want you gone and this ‘Mother Miranda’ won't even see you. Luckily, you run into a greasy engineer who says he can help.
Or
Karl tries to take a day off from being ‘Lord Heisenberg’ with the cute stranger who wandered into the village. Things only spiral from there.
~2080 words
Miranda loved the yearly festivals. She always made a big show of the village, flowers and banners everywhere. The townsfolk would bring out their best clothing, even if their best was still black and brown. The dreary village would come alive with drinking, dancing and merry making. Even some of the neighboring villages would join in the festivities. The town would be near bustling, the local tavern would be full, laughter and song would echo from the church to the castle.
He hated it. All of it. Heisenberg avoided the celebrations, instead opting to stay holed up in his factory as much as possible. And it wasn't just because of the excess of people, while that didn't help. No, it was an insidious purpose for these gatherings. He exhaled a ring of cigar smoke.
First, boost morale through the village and reaffirm the people's faith in Mother Miranda. Second, and far more insidious, was to widen the flock, to expand her influence and bring in new blood for her experiments. The surrounding towns were just as small and removed from the rest of the world as Miranda's village. Made it easy to bring new blood under her wing. Youth would meet and marry, a drunk or four would go missing, and some of the visitors would become new members of Miranda's community. More meat for her Cadou grinder.
Heisenberg flicked the ash from his cigar and watched it float down before the wind caught it. The early morning view from the top of his factory wasn't bad. It was his own part of the world: no view of the village, the stench of the reservoir was nonexistent, and the most he could see of Castle Dimitrescu was a massive wall keeping their territory separated. Just him and his machines. He took another puff. As much as he planned to avoid today, Heisenberg knew that he would have to make at least some appearance. All the Lords did, even if it was just for a moment. Just another way to show her power; having all of her ‘children’ before the townsfolk. He grimaced at the thought. Târgul de Fete was set to start soon. At least that gave him the morning to get shit done. Heisenberg kicked a bit of metal scrap off the roof and it bounced off the scrap heap below with a ping! before landing in the dirt. He rolled his shoulder. Time to get to work.
---
"Well fuck you too!" You slammed the door behind you. Why even bother going through the proper channels? No matter what, they turn you down, tell you to leave and treat you like an outcast. You spoke to towns folk, to village leaders, hell, you even wanted an audience with their 'Mother Miranda,' but she refused to even see you! You stormed along the path and the few people that had not made their way to the Târgul de Fete celebration steered clear of you, opting to give you a side eye and shuffle to their destination. All you wanted was to observe their festival, and maybe take a few pictures, but even that was negotiable. You had even offered to leave your camera behind with them for the day. Why hadn't you gone to Sweden with the rest of your class? No, instead you went to some culty, backwater town in Romania!
You kicked a rock, hard, sending it flying into the tall grass. "God Damnit!" This was supposed to have been your thesis! Supposed to be life changing! No, now you were just stuck, miles from any true civilization and being kicked out of some stupid, ramshackle heap, whose plants can't even grow right in a Romanian summer. Some of the plants were barely green, most appeared dry or yellowing. The flowers were either wilted and falling apart or hadn't even bloomed. You were no botanist, but you were certain that wasn't healthy.
You kicked another rock, it soared through the grass, but it struck something metal this time before landing with a thud. They didn't want you here, didn't want you at Târgul de Fete? Fine, but they didn't take your camera. Without thinking, you dug the old DSLR out of your bag and snapped a picture of the church.
And immediately deleted it.
You signed. Even if the villagers were a bunch of jackasses, this was their culture and they made it very clear that you were not welcome. Even if they had agreed to all this three months ago. And even if they had called you a bad omen, a poison and a danger to the whole village. You weren't about to infringe. Crestfallen, you huffed your bag over your shoulder and began the trek back out of town. It was at least a four hour walk to your rental car and a good chunk of that walk was more of a hike. Not like there was much you could do other than leave after cussing out the town speakers and nearly slamming the door off its hinges.
The village had felt abandoned when you walked in, and now that everyone had headed off to a celebration, the village was positively desolate. No traditional brightly-colored dresses or intricate belts to be seen. And no wary or hostile glares from the inhabitants either. It was... quiet. Aside from the occasional crow, you might as well have been in a ghost town. It took you a bit to find the correct path out of the grave yard, but after spinning in circles for a good moment, you pushed past a red door and were back on your way. The village wasn't large, most of the paths were poorly maintained and the whole place was enveloped in a strange fish smell.
You bit the inside of your cheek. This was a good thing, really. Who would've wanted to stay in the ramshackle place for more than a few hours, let alone a few days? You groaned and kicked at the ground again. While not lacking in repellent attributes, the pagan worship of the place fascinated you. They had their own religion but had incorporated traditional Romania holidays into their culture. Where else in Europe could you see that happen in real time? Of course, you could think of a couple of places, but you had picked here in the Carpathian mountains in particular! While you did have a second choice, you couldn't stop the self pity from setting in.
Ugh.
The village was relatively small and was quickly fading to forest, the castle that overlooked the town vanished behind you as you shuffled down a particularly steep part of the path. The trees here looked more normal, less sickly. While it was only marginally, you felt a bit better, a bit less mad. Stepping away from that place was a breath of fresh air.
Your boots skid a bit as you reach a flat spot. With a huff, you grip both backpack straps to center yourself. If this couldn't be your thesis, that didn't mean you had to hate the walk. This was Romania afterall, when was the next time you were going to be here? The sky may be overcast, but it sort of added to the eerie charm of this place. You sidestepped your way down another steep incline, using one hand to grip overgrown branches for balance. The last step is a bit further, but you find your footing easily.
And the rock gave way under you, tilting forward with an abrupt grinding sound. A burst of panicked adrenaline rushed through as you struggled to stop. You pitch forward, stumbling over branches and underbrush, your eyes forcibly losing focus.
"The fuck?"
That wasn't your voice. You slammed full force into something, another body? And it gives under you. The other person takes the brunt of the fall, landing on their back with a distinct, "oof."
For a moment, you don't speak, too focused on catching the breath. Finally, your vision swims back and you find your voice, "Damnit... are you ok?"
The man under you goans, sitting half way up to look you over. His hair is grey, and a bit too long, but he couldn't be any older than forty, possibly younger. "Get off." Your eyes go wide and that panicked beat fills your chest. "Ya deaf? Off."
"Er, right," you scramble to your feet and, without thinking, extend a hand to the stranger, "Sorry about... that." You gestured vaguely to the path. "Lost my balance."
He lets out an exasperated huff, and knocks your hand away. For a moment, he doesn't acknowledge you, instead retrieving something from the grass behind him. He's wearing a loose linen shirt, sleeves rolled halfway up with black leather gloves. You force yourself to look somewhere, anywhere else, nervously bouncing from foot to foot. When he turns back to you, he has a tattered, wide brim hat in place and is looking over a pair of broken sunglasses. One of the lenses was clearly shattered, but he hooked them over his shirt collar, his attention finally turning to you. "You're not from around here, huh?”
You couldn't help but snort, "What gave it away, the wind breaker? Don't worry, I'm leaving."
"Leaving?" He repeats.
You start moving back to the path. "Yup, your village speaker has made that very clear."
"They were clear? Not all back and forth on it?" He chuckles, "That's impressive, they must really not like you."
You stare at him, was this a friendly face? It was certainly a handsome face, even with scarring and stubble. But a trustworthy one? "You sure you're ok? Didn't scramble that brain when I ran into you? The rest of the town was pretty dead set on driving me out."
" 'Cause they're a bunch of morons, sweetheart," he insisted, "All part of Mother Miranda's big, idiot mob."
"Huh," you are walking ahead on the path, and he's not but a footfall behind you.
"But they don't matter."
"No?"
"What matters is, why didn't they want you here?"
You stop, turning to face this stranger. He was gruff, and more than a little rude, but in comparison to the townsfolk, he was downright friendly. Hell, you were surprised he was so forward with you. "Masters thesis," you put plainly, hoping he'll leave it at that.
"On what?"
"Anthropology."
He leaned in close. He wasn't that much taller than you, but you couldn't help but move away from his imposing figure. From this distance, you could smell motor oil and some kind of smoke on his clothes. "That's it?" You scoff, the sooner you are back in your car the better. "I just mean, it's surprising they'd want you gone. You sure there's nothing else? Didn't kick over any goat statues?"
"Not that I noticed," you started back down the path. You'd wasted too much time talking to this weirdo anyway. Just based on his demeanor and dislike of the rest of the village, you wonder if you'd maybe tripped over the town pariah. He certainly wasn't dressed like anyone else from the village.
"I could get you back in."
You stopped, not fifteen feet from him. "You're assuming I want to go back in." And didn’t you? You just risk getting yelled at again. But if there was a chance to write your thesis...
“Well, if you're not interested,” he turned to leave. You grit your teeth, your nails digging deep into your backpack straps.
“Hold up!" It doesn't take much to catch up to him. "How exactly are we going to do this?"
"My word carries a certain amount of weight," he carried on, "Though, the village doesn't meet on these matters till next week."
"But what good does that-"
He isn't listening, "For today, I know a place you can watch the town. Besides, you're an Archeologist, you probably want an interview, right?" Of course he gestures to himself with a sort of half bow.
You roll your eyes, but still follow, "Anthropologist." He gives you a blank look. "I'm studying Anthropology, not Archeology."
He doesn't seem to care, instead pulling a cigar and lighter from his pants pocket. "Got a name?"
"Oh, (y/n). You?"
The stranger is part way up on the path you had tripped down. "Karl," he had extended you a gloved hand. You look from him to his hand, before brushing past him, pulling yourself up next to him without the offered aid.
#Karl Heisenberg#Re8#re8 heisenberg#karl heisenberg x reader#karl heisenberg x you#Ill keep this going as long as i can#wow creativity is hard#karl can be nice if he tries
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Editor’s note: this post is part of the Recommended Reading series here on Can’t You Read; an ongoing and evolving feature that combines an easy to swipe info-graphic, a short journal, and a link to an important related discussion I’d like to share with readers.
A Culture of Predation Can’t Stop Fascist Pig Violence
In the wake of the frankly surprising (but extremely welcome) guilty verdicts in the trial of former Minneapolis police officer Derek Chauvin for the murder of George Floyd, I’ve tried very hard to reign in my cynicism. After all, the conviction of a cop for murder “in the line of duty,” let alone a white cop who murdered an African American man with an impoverished background, is about as common as a goddamn unicorn fart, and on that account alone the verdict is worth commemorating, if not necessarily celebrating.
While it would be unspeakably obtuse to suggest that the verdict represented some sort of positive justice, it’s also undeniable that many feel this moment may indeed be a starting point; a chance to at least begin to imagine what a positive justice for African Americans might look like. In particular numerous observers have pointed to the very public crumbling of the proverbial “blue wall” of silence, the fact that Chauvin’s fellow police officers passionately testified against him with the whole world watching, as a positive omen for the future of police reform.
Unfortunately I (and many other observers) have doubts about this position. I don’t mean to be a downer, but the truth is that nobody, not even immunized murderpigs and their commanders, can justify the horrifying video of Chauvin mindlessly executing George Floyd over the course of nine and a half minutes. Faced with the choice of openly embracing their own “little Eichmanns” in front of an outraged public, the Blue Meanies decided that ultimately it wasn’t worth protecting a fuck up like Derek Chauvin. The cost, both to his fellow thug cops, and the profession of policing as a whole, would simply have been too damn high to justify the reward.
The sad and horrifying truth here is that if Derek Chauvin had simply shot George Floyd, instead of casually kneeling on his neck for almost ten minutes, he’d probably be a free man today; just like so many cracker murderpigs before him. Furthermore, even this smallest of concessions probably wouldn’t have happened without months of nationwide protests conducted under a state of constant assault by violent, openly rioting police officers. That last reality is certainly not lost on fascists and neoliberal authoritarians; why else do you think reactionary lawmakers are rushing to pass legislation that criminalizes mass protest against racialized police violence?
Still, you can’t blame folks for hoping; hope can be a good thing if it gives you the strength and courage to continue a seemingly impossible fight for actual justice. Perhaps some long day from now we will look back on this moment and say “and the conviction of Derek Chauvin was the point when the wave ultimately broke, and the tide of cracker police violence finally rolled back” - even if it’s clear that these convictions, by themselves, do not have the power to enact the change we so desperately need.
Where I can and will find fault however, is with those deluded and disingenuous souls who have used this moment to once again champion the doomed cause of police reform; blithely ignorant or willfully oblivious to the fact that police reforms already failed to prevent the murder of George Floyd, and so many others like him. The bald truth is that the current establishment movement towards police reform is about maintaining the power and funding of the very same violent uniformed thugs who’re murdering poor people on behalf of the capitalist state in the first place; that’s why nobody is talking about removing qualified immunity for police officers, and that’s why even some cops themselves are coming around to the idea of reform at this late a date. In many ways, the real importance of the movement to “Defund the Police” is that the mere threat of taking away the sweet filthy ducats that pay murderpig salaries has already shifted the carceral establishment’s position towards bargaining; albeit, in bad faith.
The road to neofeudalist hell is paved with dark intentions however, and what establishment reformers, even and perhaps especially those who’re prepared to acknowledge the fundamentally racialized aspects of police violence, aren’t prepared to discuss in the open is the nature and purpose of policing itself in a capitalist society. There is no public examination of why it is that we keep hiring folks who turn out to be violent white supremacists to be police; and there certainly will be no discussion about the ways class relationships intersect with race through the designed function of racialized policing.
Despite the pro-police propaganda you’ve been fed all your life to suggest otherwise, the vast majority of what police actually do in America is to protect the wealth, property, and feelings of affluent white people and the corporations they own. Far from solving major crimes and preventing violence, modern policing in the Pig Empire revolves around nuisance violations, so-called broken windows policing, and other methods of harassing poor people for minor infractions of the law; remember, the police encounter that lead to the murder of George Floyd started over the purchase of cigarettes and a dodgy twenty dollar bill. The reason murderpigs can get away with violently assaulting protestors and journalists who threaten the established order is because that is precisely what they’re being paid to do, and indeed what their predecessors before them have always been paid to do.
On the surface, this class and capitalism analysis may appear to create a tension with the narrative that white supremacy and racism are also driving the crisis of police violence, but that’s really just about the same old establishment spin. As I’ve discussed in numerous prior essays, you simply cannot separate capitalism from white supremacy, or even racism, because bigoted ideas are propagated and spread for the specific purpose of marking out certain marginalized groups for exploitation and highly-lucrative (for some) repression.
Do you want to know what systemic racism in policing really looks like? It looks like hiring murderpigs to repress the poor, knowing full well that due to centuries of slavery and exploitation, the nonwhite and particularly African American population will be vastly overrepresented in the targeted communities. It looks like a supposedly colorblind war on drugs, the ongoing use of demonstratively racist stop and frisk practices, and expanded powers for your community’s “gang squad” in pretty much any neighborhood that just happens to be predominantly Black. It looks like literally profiting from these practices in ways that are sometimes extremely brazen and obvious, but sometimes hidden from everyday sight; even if they’re hardly much of a secret. The fact that the police are ultimately enforcers for the capitalist ruling class, also makes them enforcers of the white supremacist order that capitalism is so dependent upon in our society; there is no contradiction involved here.
Look; you don’t get rid of fascist murderpigs and white supremacists in law enforcement by throwing more money at nazi cops. Joe Biden can summon up all the pretty words he likes, but you can’t address the racialized nature of police violence without fundamentally altering either the racialized nature of inequality in American life, or the very purpose of policing in our society; and he’s sure as shit not talking about doing any of that at all. Thus, no matter how surprised and hopeful I am after the Chauvin guilty verdicts, that sense of positivity is ultimately tempered by the realization that “nothing will fundamentally change” - and that includes cracker thug pigs executing unarmed Black men on camera.
Although they might finally be better than openly fascist Republicans, the Democrats still don’t have answers to the problem of racialized police violence because ultimately, they don’t have answers to the crisis of capitalism itself. It’s not a question of reform or changing the law; murder is already illegal, even if you’re a white cop. Inequality, and the security force violence necessary to maintain it, is a festering sore inside the American body politic, and there are indeed consequences for essentially ignoring a crisis now so obvious and enraging to the public at large.
What kind of consequences? Well, let’s ask researcher and professor Temitope Oriola who provides one terrifying answer in the public journal, The Conversation:
“The United States is at Risk of an Armed Anti-Police Insurgency“ by Temitope Oriola
Or, you know, we could just abolish the murderpigs first; your call really - but don’t expect Palooka Joe to be much help, either way.
- nina illingworth
Independent writer, critic and analyst with a left focus. Please help me fight corporate censorship by sharing my articles with your friends online!
You can find my work at ninaillingworth.com, Can’t You Read, Media Madness and my Patreon Blog
Updates available on Instagram, Mastodon and Facebook. Podcast at “No Fugazi” on Soundcloud.
Inquiries and requests to speak to the manager @ASNinaWrites
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“It’s ok Willie; swing heil, swing heil…”
#Recommended Reading#Police#Police State#Essays#ninaillingworth#Derek Chauvin#Chauvin Trial#George Floyd#George Floyd protests#George Floyd was murdered#Guilty#Black Lives Matter#support blm#BLM#Social Justice#Temitope Oriola#ACAB#fascism#neoliberal authoritarianism#Defund the Police#abolish the police#fire em all#racial justice#crimes by police#murders by police#murderpigs#pigs#Police reform#anti-protest laws#GOP is fascist
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As a child I was taught to fear the world. My earliest memories of walking down alley ways with my Mum are all the same “don’t ever walk down here alone because it’s dangerous” she would say, that message never left me. When I wanted to visit my friend that lived 10 houses down, she would walk me down there, right up to the age of 10. Why? Because it was dangerous, “you might get raped and murdered”. I learned this crazy instinctive fear of lane ways, and to a lesser degree walking by myself anywhere right up to my mid twenties.
Our house was somewhat of a fortress. Every external door had two locks on them, some had three! It wasn’t even a particularly bad neighborhood. Every night there was the ritual of checking the three locks on the front door, checking every dead lock along the glass sliding doors (that were reinforced or something) then locking the communicating door to that part of the house. I remember the number of times I was scared doing it, the number of times I would be alone in the computer room as a 14 year old and hearing the tree outside brushing against the roof and me freaking out so hard that I would be in a slight panic state for hours. I remember checking the front door was locked then walking the 5 meter long hallway, checking every one of the six locks on the glass and the 2 on the mesh. Glass that looks out into a dark backyard on one side and the sunken, dark games room with the bar and table tennis table I couldn’t see behind on the other. Countless times I would have to turn the lights on out of fear. Many more times I refused to turn the lights on to check for an intruder because I was so sure someone was there, watching me and if I saw them they would kill me. This fear stayed with my until we moved from that house when I was 23.
As a 10 year old, I remember having escape routes plotted in my head. I remember thinking if they come in this way, I go that way. I remember the number of times I double checked that I could definitely crawl out my window without making a sound, and depending on where the intruders came from I would climb into one of the four neighboring yards to safety. I developed the same plans when I stayed at friend places over night, the house layout and which walls could be climbed to get to safety. I was 10 and nothing had ever actually happened in my life to instill this level of fear in me, just my Mum. That level of paranoia stayed the same until my early twenties. Meanwhile, my brother was allowed to go riding with his friends from an early age, mostly because he always used to when he stayed at one particular friends house and my Mum had no knowledge. This allowed him to test how dangerous the world really wasn’t for himself. He is one of the most fearless people I know, fearless without being reckless or dumb... any more.
The first person I ever kissed (properly) was when I was 14 and he was 16. We always used to see each other at the dog park and a little baby relationship grew, nothing serious as I was sure I had feelings for someone else, which I talked to him about too. I was forbidden to see him again because he was too old and not to be trusted when really, he was a decent dude and was patient and kind to me at a time when I felt like an ugly outcast.
As a 14 year old who falls in love with her best friend, but is terrified my parents will forbid me from seeing her, just like they did with my first kiss I suddenly felt like there was no safe place in the world. I couldn’t talk to them and I was taught not to trust other people (and learned this by being a bit of a social outcast at the same school for 10 years). The basic lesson I learned is everything is scary, everything will murder you and everyone can’t be trusted.
So when shit was hard at home and I wanted so hard to establish myself as my own person, or needed to go for a walk to just get away from everything, I didn’t think I could. Every fiber of me told me it was unsafe and dangerous.
It did change, slowly, mostly because I just stopped telling my parents the truth about where I was going because I knew they would say no. I was still terrified of alleyways and avoided them at all costs, even if it meant walking past a house that was dodgy or walking a road that had lots less people on it. I remember wanting to see my girlfriend really badly one day because I had a fight with Mum. I knew she wasn’t going to drive me there and I knew there was no way in hell she would let me walk there. I told my Mum I needed to clear my head and when she insisted I take the dog for protection I told her I just really couldn’t handle it right now, plus I might go see Jonnie if I was feeling better on my way home. Jonnie of course was a trusted family friend who I had known from birth so hanging out with him was no issue. I walked the 5km there, well aware that my curfew was in 2.5 hours before she would worry or just randomly pop in at Jonnie’s place for a cuppa. It taking an hour to get there and an hour back, meant I only had half an hour with my girl, but it was enough. The entire way there I was thinking I was going to get jumped. I was so sure of this that by the time I got there I was almost in tears at the stress of it.
To say I am miraculously hyper vigilant is an understatement. Growing up, I had no clue how much I was being protected because I honestly believed that the times I went out and nothing happened it was because I was being very careful. The times I cut across the park or went down a lane way that made my stomach knot, without harm coming to me were just because this time I was lucky. It wan’t until I had a little more freedom that I was able to start questioning the “wisdom” of my parents.
When I was 17, I had my own car and a decent group of friends my parents knew, and knew I would crash with them. This meant that I practically lived out of my car, always told my parents where I would be and who I would be with and pretty much only go home to do my washing or if I had an early shift at work. This had been going well for a year until I wanted to see someone my parents had never met.
I told my parents I would be late home which means no latter than 10 pm but I did not specify when, nor did I restate who I was seeing because I had told Mum a few days ago that I was looking forward to catching up with this friend again. I had gone straight to this friends house after work to have dinner and watch a movie. Mum was aware that this guy lived with his girlfriend and was an old acquaintance I had bumped into at university and had reconnected with. Neither of my parents had met him or his girlfriend.
At about 8 pm I realised my phone probably needed recharging so I went and grabbed my phone to put it on charge, only to find I had never put the ringer on after it being on silent at work. At least five missed calls from home since 7 pm. I panicked, I thought someone had died. My parents never called me so many times while I was out. I dial as Home starts calling again so I answer immediately but do that awkward pause when you’re not really expecting to accept an incoming call. “Hello? Hello?!” I sound panicked because I was, I thought something bad had happened. Everything was fine. Dad had expected me home for dinner because he didn’t ask Mum where I was. He had called to find out where I was, then getting no answer proceeded to freak out. He grilled my mother for information on this guy, to which she had to say I only knew him from my goth days, that yes he was three years older and that while he has a girlfriend, she wasn’t there tonight. The fact that I didn’t answer my phone made everything worse. My Dad is a worrier and I never realised until that night that more than half of the fear my mother had inflicted on me was actually from my father.
After a less than 5 minute argument on the phone with him, it was decided he was coming to pick me up. I think he had decided he was going to come get me around 7:30 but didn’t know the address. I was beside myself. I was so embarrassed that my Dad was forcing me to come home and upset that I had to abandon my evening. I burst into tears. Now my friend is concerned. He and I had spent a long time chatting back when we were younger so I think he had always felt pretty darn protective of me. He gives me a hug, asks if I’m going to be okay and reassures me that we can still do this another time. In that moment I remember being angry with my Dad for thinking that this guy would ever hurt me. Dad gets to the house that has a couple of goth looking things out the front like a skull candle holder and I think a dragon on the door or something. He knocks on the door with his chest puffed out, not ready to fight, he’s not like that but he was trying to posture this guy that was in his mind probably taking advantage of his daughter. The issue here is that my friend was no slouch. A couple of piercings, visible tattoo, strong jaw and broad shoulders. My friend wasn’t trying to be imposing, I think he was trying to be helpful and apologetic, while also feeling protective of me because this bloke he doesn’t know just made his friend cry. It was pretty obvious that if it came to fisticuffs, my dad was going down pretty quick. Of course now, 12 years later I do look on what he did that night lovingly, at the time it was embarrassing and a little sad. Dad bundled me up into his car, leaving Patryick (my car) behind. He wouldn’t even let me drive home. I think he knew he was very much in the wrong, but we never spoke of it again. I did my best to distract myself the next morning at 8 am when Dad drove me back to get my car, knowing full well I had to open at work that morning.
I was so insanely protected and taught to fear the world that eventually, I did. I never wanted to run away because the world was scary and I never wanted to do anything that remotely upset my parents because I didn’t want to have to live through that same experience again.
So then, how did I become the person I am now? That’s an even darker story for next time I guess.
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a very very long list of maybe wip’s
Since I'm working on setting up a binder of WIPs for myself - here are all fifty-nine of them. All are Check Please: mostly Jack/Parse, most of the rest Parse-centric, most of the rest Jack-centric, but a few random other fics too. Quite a few of these are only ideas, but most (~75-80%, at least) have anywhere between a few hundred and a few thousand words written, and some have considerably more.
Votes or encouragement as to which particular fics I should work on are very much welcome! And in fact a large part of the point of posting this. Pleaseee tell meeee what you want to seeeee.
JACK/PARSE IN THE Q
golden haze - Kent was Jack's first real friend, ever.
crash into me - Jack likes crashing into things. Kent likes being crashed into. Checking practice, kind of, Jack/Parse style.
one warm line - Parse wakes Jack up one night in the middle of their Q years, throwing pebbles at his window. They're going for a ride.
i'm so high - Jack and Kent hook up for the first time at a party when they're smoking weed, when the smallest touches feel like so much.
the beat of the tambourine - Parse picks up a girl for Zimms. For a threesome. Before they're together, back in the Q.
closing the guest room door - Alicia walks in on Kent blowing Jack. It's the first time it's happened, too. The Zimmermanns hadn't known anything about any of this, but now they do.
beneath the waves - There are two attractions in Rimouski: the Juniors ice hockey team, and a maritime museum. Jack kind of wants to live on a submarine.
edge of glory - Kent kisses Jack high on adrenaline and the win, feeling unstoppable. They only have thirty-four days together, but they start out pretty great.
ace kent fucks jack - Kent doesn't care that much about fucking, but he cares too much about Jack.
don't make promises - Kent visits the Zimmermanns after Jack's out of rehab, and Jack scares him even more.
JACK/PARSE CANON DIVERGENCE
find your lips in the streetlights - Kent and Jack run away from the mounting and dangerous pressure of the Q. And Jack almost dies from benzo withdrawal; nice move?
what's the multiplier for i love you - Parse has a career-ending injury at seventeen. He ends up going to Samwell, and starts managing the hockey team there before Jack even shows up.
one skate in front of the other - In which Jack wakes up from his overdose to find out he's still been drafted in absentia. To the Las Vegas Aces, third round.
different verse same as the first - Jack manages to get through Draft Day successfully. He ODs about a year later, at his first NHL awards; Parse still finds him in the bathroom.
JACK/PARSE POST CANON ISH
jackparse goat fic - Kent is outed during Jack's last semester at Samwell. It's a spark that makes Jack talk to him again: and again, and again, with starts and stops along the way.
bitty's bad bakery - Turning a profit doing something you love is really freaking hard. Just cause Bitty's good at baking doesn't mean he'll be good at running a bakery; and Jack can only finance it for so long, no longer. Cue Kent the accountant showing up to help.
max assholes au - In which Jack marries Bitty with Kent's spunk still in his mouth.
we're pining friends - In which Jack and Parse become friends again, and Jack's so not thrilled with Parse's boyfriend.
jackparse valentines - Jack and Parse on Valentine's Day, at eighteen and again at twenty-eight. Sweet but not too sweet. Just right.
developing - Jack likes taking pictures of Kent. Kent is curious about why.
may the bridges i have burned light my way back home - Jack's nearing thirty. His performance is flagging, his boyfriend broke up with him, and now he's at Kent Parson's thirtieth birthday party, wondering how else his life could've gone.
JACK/PARSE AFFAIR REVEAL VERSE
conference room fuck - You can't put Parson and Zimmerman in a room together. But if you do, you can't keep them from fucking.
you wouldn't cheat at cards (i would if i could) - Jack continues to cheat on Bitty with Parse throughout the summer after Jack and Bitty come out to the whole wide world. At the NHL awards, at Parse's summer place in New York, at Jack's birthday.
under the rainbows - After coming out to the whole wide world on live TV in June, Parse comes back to the Aces in September.
tinfoil crowns - A look at the meltdowns of Hockey RPF fandom, as Jack Zimmerman comes out, followed by Kent Parson, followed by Parse and Zimms getting back together, after all!? How crazy it must be when the tinhatters are right.
letting them see your hands - In which Shitty works through his feelings about Jack cheating on Bitty, and Shitty and Lardo discuss their relationship, too.
waking up to shape the land - When Jack comes to Vegas to play the Aces - and, by the way, see his boyfriend - he's woken up by Kent's nightmare.
functional exes - After Jack cheated on Bitty with Kent, and it all blew up spectacularly; after some damanged friendships were restored. Jack and Bitty are both there for Shitty's wedding. Bitty's a pro at keeping things civil; Jack… wants to apologize?
JACK/PARSE IN TOTAL AU'S
the hockey prince - Jack is a Prince; Kent was his best friend, and his right hand man. Till Jack disappeared in mysterious circumstances, and Kent may or may not be to blame.
ai romance - Jack is an AI that was always meant to drive a robot. Parse is, well, a parser. The part of a computer program that takes in and processes input, before it passes it on to the real heart of the program. A part which, it turns out, can't work right without its parser after all.
cult au - SMH is a cult house! That's why everyone there has to always be happy. Pies make people like you; flip cup is a good fill-in for a hippie ritual; and no wonder Jack cut off everyone he used to know when he joined.
cut the legs off the whales - Jack and Parse were soulmates. Jack died for three seconds, and now they're both stuck with half a broken bond, with all the luck at hockey - or at life.
JACK/PARSE NON-ENDGAME
you're still my patron saint - Jack's OD is fatal. Kent's got the biggest chip in the world on his shoulder. Hockey killed his boyfriend, and he wins the Stanley Cup, and then he comes out, furious.
progress report (i am missing you to death) - AKA 'five times Kent tells Jack "I miss you," and one time he doesn't.'
P(B)J
can you say menange a trois - Zimbits porn featuring dirty talk about the absent Kent Parson, because Bitty's 'Kent parson. Wow.' face reads easily as 'dead from too much hot.'
married in vegas - Jack and Parse get accidentally married after a Falcs/Aces game, cause you've just gotta have the trope when in Vegas. Starts with Jack still in love with Bitty, not sure where it was supposed to end up.
scalene - Jack and Parse aren't fighting over Bitty. They're fucking over Bitty. I mean.
awful threesome - Parse guilts Jack into letting him visit Providence after Jack and Bitty come out, and Parse gets hit with redoubled specuation. Then he hits on Jack and Bitty, cause why not, and they, surprisingly, take him up on it. This isn't a good idea for anyone.
PARSE CENTRIC GEN
butterflies fly away - Kent moves into Vegas. His sister flies out for a few days to help.
the one that saves me - When he first comes to Vegas, Kent's shit at taking care of himself. Maybe he can take care of a cat instead.
PARSWOOPS 2K18
parswoops in providence - Swoops is standing between Parse and the door to the worst life choices.
two aces in the hole - Parswoops in which Parse and Swoops are both ace (and get together, romantically), cause thinking about a dumb pun accidentally gave me feelings.
parswoops post year three - How can Swoops tell his best friend he likes guys, when said best friend is the only reason he figured it out? Also, still isn't over his last best friend yet.
PARSE/RANDOM DUDE IS THE AO3 TAG FOR PARSE/HAPPINESS
parse slash scraps - There's something nice, Parse thinks, about having a friend like Scraps, a friend who thinks you're the smartest, coolest, handsomest guy in every room.
by the scruff - Kent really wants to pick a fight. Alexei Mashkov won't give it to him. But… that kind of is a fight, right?
makes no difference who you are - Parse wishes on a star: to talk to Jack again. Chowder wishes on a start, that same night: to know what it's like to be on an NHL team. They wake up in each others' bodies, and have to find a way to get back.
a pretty good genie - Shitty is the best genie, okay. How'd Parse get one of those anyway.
players gonna play - In which Kent Parson bonds with Gus Kenworthy over adorable pet pictues at the Olympics, and then they hook up.
the aces' flyboy - In which Kent tweets a request for a date to the NHL awards, and picks up a local dude who responds.
MORE JACK CENTRIC FIC
quiet kid - Who the fuck prescribes benzos to a thirteen-year-old kid, anyway.
what if i ruined your life - Visiting Uncle Mario, in the late 00s, Jack hates Sidney Crosby. (I can't resist the fourth wall.)
jacklardo - Lardo hooks up with some dork named Jack at her very first college party. They're better off as friends; he was hot, though.
jackshit - Jack and Shitty hooked up as freshmen. What else do you want me to say.
tie down the jesses - The newest Falconer needs to learn a lesson. Needs to learn his place.
dirty boys - You're not supposed to look in the locker room. Don't bring it onto the team. Oh, and stay faithful to your boyfriend. But Jack's always wanted what he can't have.
ZIMBITS
i like when boys stop by - A rough fill-in of the conversation that decides Bitty's staying with Jack for the summer that surely must've happened.
how do you make it for real - the zimbits coffeeshop au for fandomtrumpshate that i've been struggling with for over a year now.
HOLSOM & RANSKOV
and go seek - When Ransom's crush on Alexei Mashkov turns out not to be unrequited, Ransom and Holster are pushed to reevaluate their relationship, too.
BITTY???
bitty in the echl - Being captain of a pretty decent NCAA team gets Bitty a surprise job offer post-graduation from the Worcester Railers. His relationship with Jack bends and breaks under the stresses of their dual hockey careers, but there's a familiar face in Bitty's new life. He never thought that he'd see John Johnson again.
#mults liveblogs writing#kent parson#jackparse#omgcheckplease stuff /#if i'm lucky i'll finish like... five or ten of these maybe#there's literally no way i'll ever write all or most#a handful! but which handful? we don't know!#*
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The Wedding Singer - Track 6
“Tainted Love”
Characters: Dean, Reader, Jo (brief), Chuck (brief), a somewhat uncomfortable bride and groom
Word Count: 2,003 (including lyrics)
Series Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Language, Mentions of Infidelity, Alcohol
A/N: This is the sixth chapter of an AU SPN Series co-written by myself and @pinknerdpanda entitled The Wedding Singer and is inspired by the movie. We have been working on this for the last few months and are very excited to share it with you. The series tag list is open. If you would like to be added, please send one of us an ask. I made the 80s inspired aesthetic and the series was Masterbeta’d by @wheresthekillswitch.
As usual, tags are at the bottom. If you’d like to be added, please let me know!
Track List:
Track 1: “You Spin Me Round (Like A Record) by: @pinknerdpanda
Track 2: “White Wedding” @hannahindie
Track 3: “Do You Really Want to Hurt Me?”by: @pinknerdpanda
Track 4: “Every Little Thing She Does is Magic”@hannahindie
Track 5: “Love Stinks”@pinknerdpanda
Track 6: “Tainted Love”
Sometimes I feel I've got to
Run away I've got to
Get away from the pain that you drive into the heart of me
The love we share
Seems to go nowhere
And I've lost my light
For I toss and turn I can't sleep at night
Once I ran to you (I ran)
Now I'll run from you
This tainted love you've given
I give you all a boy could give you
Take my tears and that's not nearly all
Oh tainted love
Tainted love
Every single person at the reception was watching Dean in shock as he slurred his way through “Tainted Love”. Even the band had quit playing, although Dean had apparently decided he didn’t need a band to sing this particular song. He stopped after the second verse and took a swig out of the beer bottle he had clutched loosely in one hand, then gripped the mic stand tightly with the other. His bloodshot eyes scanned the room, squinting against the stage lights, as if looking for someone.
His eyes widened as he spotted the newly married couple, “There you are! S’wonderin’ where ya got off to. Anyway, lemme just say a few words.” Chuck was quietly shaking his head at Dean, willing him to stop talking, but Dean pulled the mic off the stand, stumbled to the edge of the stage, and pointed at them with the hand still holding the beer bottle. “You got married today! Ain’t that just a dream come true? I was going to live that dream week before last, but I guess it's not always meant to be. It certainly wasn't for me, because I was engaged to a self centered, raging bitch, but Jeff, looks like you're a lucky guy. At least Sheila...Sheila right? Sheila showed up! That's the first half of the fuckin’ battle and she nailed it!”
The room was dead silent as Dean took another swig of beer. Chuck was nervously looking around the crowd for Jo, afraid to interrupt but knowing someone probably should. Before he could make a move, Dean continued, “Listen, folks, these two married because they loved...well, love...each other. And that's just….it's a beautiful thing.” He groaned as he flopped himself down on the edge of the stage, his legs dangling over the side, “But see, ya need to unner...understand somethin’. It's only beautiful for s’long. Sure, sure, it's great now. Look at ‘em, all happy and shit,” he waved vaguely in their direction, “but it'll just...jus’ fizzle out. And there won't be a warning either Jared...Jeff. She’ll jus’ get tired of ya. S’dont bother sacrificing your career or something you love for her, ‘cause eventually that won't even be enough.”
Chuck finally caught Jo’s attention, who hurried back into the kitchen and grabbed Y/N by the arm, “You need to get him off that stage right now!”
Y/N looked up from the cookies she was putting the finishing touches on, confused, “What? What's going on?”
“Dean is shit faced drunk and he's decided to give them a nice little reception speech. Only it's terrible and everyone is mortified, but no one knows what to do. You need to go out there and get him outside or something.”
Y/N tossed the icing bag down and wiped her hands off on her apron, “Why do I need to do it? Dean and I barely know each other!”
Jo rolled her eyes, “You handled it well last time. Sam told me how you got him home. Just...handle it. Please?” Jo looked at her with begging eyes and Y/N sighed.
“Fine, but...you owe me.” Y/N took her apron off and hung it up, then hurried into the reception hall in time to hear Dean finish up his ‘speech’.
“Anyway, the moral of this story is: love stinks. Good fuckin’ luck!” He dropped the mic onto the stage and high pitched feedback echoed through the room. He slid clumsily off the stage and stumbled towards the kitchen, but Y/N intercepted him before he got too far.
“Whoa there, Dean, where ya going? Why don't we go outside?” He squinted at her then nodded, and turned back the other direction. She gently pushed him towards the exit, and when she caught Chuck’s eye, he mouthed a silent thank you. She nodded and smiled grimly, and wondered how she'd managed to get herself involved in this.
Dean sat on the steps, his hands dangling between his knees and his head down. Y/N stood off to the side, unsure of what to do. What she wanted to do was sit down next to him and comfort him as much as she could, but the bright glint of her engagement ring in the setting sun reminded her that whatever it was she felt for Dean, she needed to leave it alone.
Until he looked up at her.
She had never seen such sadness or disappointment in someone’s eyes. He looked tired and broken, his eyes bloodshot and shining from the unshed tears that were trapped there. This was a completely different Dean than the one she'd sat next to on these same steps three weeks ago. Her heart broke as she looked back at him, and he ran a weary hand across the five o’clock shadow currently gracing his chiseled jaw.
“I'm an idiot.” Whatever had kept her standing was suddenly forgotten, and she tucked her legs under her as she sat next to him.
“Dean, you are not an idiot. You're heartbroken and angry, but you aren't an idiot. No one is going to blame you for having a slight...breakdown.”
Dean laughed bitterly, “Slight? I just ruined their reception. I jus’...I dunno. I don't want anyone else to feel like this, ya know? It sucks. How d’ya know when to trust someone?”
Y/N shrugged, “I guess you can't really know, not for sure. You just have to have faith in people. It doesn't always work out, and you're going to get hurt...but sometimes you find that one person that makes the risk worth it.”
Dean had been staring at his hands, but he turned to look at her, and his eyes locked with hers. Suddenly, it was like she'd forgotten how to breathe. His eyes were so green, like moss in a sun dappled meadow. His gaze shifted to her lips and for a brief moment it occurred to her what he was about to do, and that she should move.
Then, his lips were on hers and she completely forgot about what was right and what was wrong. She forgot about the ring on her finger. All she cared about in that moment was how his lips molded perfectly with hers, and the electricity that seemed to pass between them when he grazed her bottom lip with his tongue. She felt his hand land softly on her hip and she moaned into him, her fingers grasping at the short hairs at the nape of his neck. For a brief, wonderful moment, she remembered what it felt like to want to kiss someone so long and deep that you nearly became one person. She remembered what it should feel like when two people in love kissed; desperate, and full of fire and fear of letting the other one go.
And as soon as it started, it was over. Y/N pulled back with a gasp, and stared at Dean with wide eyes.
“Oh...Jesus...Y/N, I'm sorry…”
Y/N stood so quickly she nearly toppled over, “I...I have to go!” She threw the door open and swiftly disappeared inside.
“Y/N! Dammit!” Dean punched the ground, then swore under his breath at how much it hurt. He pulled his phone from his pocket, stared at his contacts list for a moment, then finally selected the name he'd been dreading to call. “Yea...hey, Sammy? I'm not doing so great, can you come get me? ...Yea, there's a wedding. I think Chuck will need to finish it for me. I...uh...I messed up. No, not just that. I really messed up, man. Just come get me.” Dean hung up and rested his elbows on his knees, his head in both hands.
This was one mistake he wasn't sure he'd be able to fix.
Y/N stumbled into the kitchen, barely holding it together as she turned the corner and leaned against the wall. It had been bad enough that Dean had kissed her, but she had enjoyed it. She had kissed him back, and it was the first time she had felt that alive in so, so long. She thought back to when she’d seen Ketch the day Sam had dropped her off, and it hadn’t even compared to the few seconds with Dean. The weight of what had just happened hit her and the tears came, large, silent drops that rolled down her cheeks. She heard the door open and hurriedly tried to wipe them away, but Jo turned the corner faster than Y/N had anticipated and caught her in the act.
“Oh my God, Y/N, what happened?!” She dropped the plates she was carrying roughly in the sink, ignoring the loud clattering they made as they shifted and nearly toppled out into the floor, and grabbed Y/N’s hands. “Where’s Dean?”
Y/N shook her head, “I don’t know...I mean, he was outside, but I...I don’t know where he is now. Jo...I’m an idiot.”
Jo smiled gently and used her thumb to wipe away a tear rolling down Y/N’s cheek, “Sweetie, we’re all idiots sometimes. What exactly happened to make you feel like that?”
Y/N took a deep breath, “Dean kissed me.”
Jo’s gentle smile turned into a hard frown, her brows furrowed, “That fucking dumbass, I’m going to kill him-”
“I kissed him back, Jo.” Jo’s mouth hung open, still in mid-sentence. She snapped it shut and looked at Y/N with wide eyes.
“You did what? Please tell me I heard you incorrectly.”
“No...I mean, you heard right, I did...I kissed him back. And it was...it was incredible. What is wrong with me?! I love Ketch, I love him more than anything, but we haven’t kissed like that in...shit, months. It’s been months. And then I looked at Dean and he did it so fast, and...God, it felt so right. I remembered what it was supposed to feel like, but...this was a huge mistake. What am I supposed to do?”
Jo gave Y/N’s arm a gentle squeeze, “Listen, Dean was drunk. I’m sure that he wouldn’t have done that sober.”
Y/N rolled her eyes, “Gee, thanks. You really know how to make a girl feel good, don’t you?”
“You know that’s not what I meant,” Jo sighed. “Dean wasn’t thinking clearly. He knows you’re engaged. That’s not how he would normally act, and I am sure that when he sobers up, he’s going to feel awful about it. He’s in a bad place right now, and you’ve been nice to him. He was just confused. Just...give him some space, alright?” She patted Y/N on the shoulder, then walked back towards the reception hall. Y/N moved over to the sink to start working on the dishes that Jo had just left, and Jo paused in the doorway.
“And Y/N?” She asked as she looked at Y/N over her shoulder, “If you felt like that about Dean’s kiss, even when you haven’t known him that long, and you have even a single doubt in your mind about Ketch...you might want to reconsider that ring on your finger.” She left the room and Y/N watched after her, her mind racing with the observation Jo had just made.
Things had just gotten more complicated than she would have ever thought they would when she first moved here.
Like what you see? Would you like to see more? My Masterlist is here and the lovely @pinknerdpanda can be found here. Thanks for reading! :)
The Wedding Singer - Series Tags: @nanie5 @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @tiffanycaruso @faegal04 @bethbabybaby @aesthsuggestion @escabell @lavieenlex @letmusicguideu @charliebradbury1104 @ericaprice2008 @kathaswings @feelmyroarrrr @karlee-fay-my-wayward-son @journeyrose @kudosia @spnfangirl1965 @pickupthatamulet @faithfullpanicmoon @castianityislife02 @hexparker @squirrel-moose-winchester @imissyoualittlemoreeveryday
Forever Tags: @trexrambling @pinknerdpanda @wheresthekillswitch @emilywritesaboutdean @arryn-nyxx @emptywithout @escabell @charliebradbury1104 @jarpadandjensenaremyheroes @deanssweetheart23 @canadianjelly @super-not-naturall @aubreyreadsstuff @dean-winchesters-babydoll @melissaj616 @fandomismyspiritanimal @keepcalmandcarryondean @assbutt-still-in-hell @owllover123 @rosie-winchester @amionthetumbler @duubaduu @hiimaprofessionalfangirl @goldenolaf25 @authoressskr @nanie5 @mrssamfuckingwinchester @zincomms @kathaswings @crazynerdandproud @barbedwireandbubblegum @sandlee44 @boxywrites @justanotherdeangirl @smalltowndivaj @captainradicalpassion @myloveforyouxx @atc74 @mrsbateshotel53 @easelweasel @there-must-be-a-lock @masksandtruths @thelittleredwhocould @jotink78 @amanda-teaches @ilsawasanacrobat @squirrel-moose-winchester @mjdoc90
Dean Only: @akshi8278 @lavieenlex @valkyrieslament @highonpastries
#The Wedding Singer Series#Dean Winchester au#supernatural au#dean x reader#reader insert#angst#HanPan Strikes Again
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Dog Days Are Over
Pairing: Reader x Reggie
Word Count: 6,910
Warnings: An animal was definitely hurt in the writing of this fic. There’s probably some swearing.
Summary: Reader and Reggie live on the same street and walk the same route with their dogs.
A/N: This is in tribute to Ross Butler’s portrayal of Reggie Mantle. Wishing him nothing but the best on all endeavours, but we’ll certainly miss him! Also if at least one person cries I will have considered this a success. Apologies on the lack of proofreading on my part.
“Oh Captain, my Captain!” I call out laughingly to the dark haired boy ahead of me. My dog, Ducky, lunges forward once in an impressive show of strength, dragging me a few steps closer to the boy I grew up down the street from and his faithful companion, Vader. Reggie shoots me a bored look over his shoulder, not replying, but slowing his walk to allow us to catch up.
Reggie rolls his eyes at me as Vader pulls on his leash in an attempt to get to Ducky. The end result is ruined by his half-smirk which looks more amused than annoyed. His dachshund runs between the legs of my Bernese Mountain Dog and she lunges playfully at him once, and then twice, barking and sniffing at him. After a moment the dogs are settled and we begin to walk side by side.
“So, congratulations on getting captain, dude!” I try to strike up a conversation. Reggie grunts in reply and mumbles something in return. “Hey, what’s up? I thought you’d be happy. You were giving Archie hell for that spot.” Reggie rolls his eyes again and grunts louder, but we both know I’m not easily derailed. I open my mouth and he cuts me off before I can really get started.
“Alright already! I guess I’m not that excited ‘cause Coach offered it to Andrews first. He turned it down.” I can tell this is hard for Reggie to talk about. It was a blow to his ego to even have to compete with Archie, but to lose out on it and only get it by default?
“That’s because Archie knows you’re the better man for the job,” I assure him. Reggie gives me that half smirk again and I can tell that he knows what I’m doing but he finds it at least a little endearing.
“Well we all know that. Just sucks that Coach didn’t see it.”
“He’ll see it soon enough, Reginald. Archie saw it, I’ve seen it and I know that a lot of your other teammates have seen it, too. You’re going to be a boss ass Captain.” Reggie rolls his eyes at me and shoulder checks me.
“Oh shit!” He exclaims as I stumble off the edge of the sidewalk, but he’s laughing and that’s what’s important to me in the moment. Shortly after, we arrive at the park and let our dogs off their leashes. Vader takes off like a shot, and Ducky noses around at the grass nearby. Reggie pulls a bright orange ball out of his pocket and tosses it a few times for Vader to chase after. Occasionally Reggie throws the ball towards Ducky and she attempts to get it before Vader races over. I cross my arms over my chest and bite my lip, watching our dogs play. It isn’t long before I notice that Ducky is showing less interest in the game. Reggie teases the dogs by pretending to throw the ball, and she doesn’t react at all.
“Everything okay?” Reggie asks, nudging me with his elbow. I’m not sure if he’s referring to my quiet disposition or Ducky’s lackluster response.
“There’s that Captain spirit,” I try to tease, but my tone falls flat. Reggie wouldn’t be my first choice to unload my feelings on, but he’s here and he asked. I sigh and start to let my worries ease out.
“I’m just worried about Ducky. She’s been tired lately. Not that into her favourite treats or toys. Just been acting off for a few weeks. We went to the v-word a couple of days ago and they ran some tests. We’ve got to go later today to get the results.” I reach around Reggie and steal the ball, taking two steps and throwing the ball as hard as possible for Vader. I imagine that ball is carrying all of my fear, all of my worry, all the bad things away from me.
“Shit, that sucks.” Is all he says. I shrug and Vader drops the ball at my feet.
“As you may recall, we detected some abnormal swelling during our initial examination. We took a sample and had it tested and I’m sorry to have to tell you but it’s not good. The results show that the swelling in Ducky is cancerous…” Doctor Jameson, the veterinarian we have been taking Ducky to since we got her when I was five, is still talking, but I can’t hear her over the buzzing in my ears. I keep my eyes on Ducky who is panting innocently on the examination table while Doctor Jameson parts her fur to show my parents what she’s talking about. When the buzzing stops, she is talking about treatment options.
“And how much would that cost?” My father asks gruffly. He only has the two settings: gruff and drunk.
“The total cost for this particular treatment can range anywhere between $6,000-$10,000. I have to be honest with you, given Ducky’s age and this particular type of cancer, you may want to consider investing your efforts in making her as comfortable as possible.” Doctor Jameson has a soft, confident voice and sympathetic eyes. Ducky loves her and I have always found her to be comforting and steady, even now.
“And how much is that gonna cost us?” My father asks, still gruff.
“Should we be considering, you know…” My mother pipes in, practical as always but sounding sorry to ask. She jabs vaguely at Ducky, a poor gesture that equates to one thing: an injection.
“At this point, it’s something to consider,” Doctor James concedes. For my benefit, she looks me straight in the eye and adds: “This form of cancer can be aggressive.”
“I need some air,” I choke out. I hear Ducky’s nails clicking against the exam table as she rushes to follow after me. We sit in the waiting room for twenty minutes, her sitting against my legs and me with my arms looped around her neck in an embrace that will have to end one way or another. I can’t remember a time where I didn’t have Ducky. Whenever my dad has more than four beers, he likes to tell me about the day he brought Ducky home.
“I must have been out of my fucking mind to bring that thing home. A bunch of us were at the bar after a hard day and my boss announces that his wife’s dog had a little-litter of pups and he offers me one. I lost my damn mind, I said yeah and he brought me to his place and gives me this little runt and I take her home and once she’s in the door I know there’s no getting rid of her. It was love at first sight. Never did understand why you named the damn thing Ducky, though.”
Despite his style of storytelling, I know my dad likes Ducky. He feeds her from the table, and he lets her up on the couch when he thinks no one is home. He even lets her lay her head on his thigh and he plays with her ears. My mom never had pets growing up and she has trouble with the mess that accompanies living with an animal. She is constantly at her wits end about the smudged windows, muddy pawprints on the floor, fur coating the furniture, and during Ducky’s puppyhood, the “accidents” on the rug drove her up the wall.
Her biggest problem with us having a dog was that I wanted Ducky to sleep in my bed with me. Despite my tantrums, my mother insisted on putting Ducky in a crate at night. After two nights of constant whining (me and Ducky), crying (me), and accidents (Ducky), my mother gave up on crating. She tried putting Ducky outside, but I cried even harder and the neighbours complained about her barking. My mom’s last attempt was to get Ducky a dog bed for my room. It didn’t work and mom still complains incessantly about it.
I know they aren’t bad people and that they aren’t intentionally trying to break my heart, but I already know how this ends. Dad is to the point: why wait? Mom is ready to have her clean house back after twelve years. Dad will try to comfort me by saying I’ll get over it. My mom will be kinder and tell me that Ducky won’t suffer anymore. Ultimately, the decision will be made for me. Still, this isn’t easy, but since when is loving something ever easy?
My parents, in a moment of thoughtfulness and compassion, offer to let me skip school on Friday to spend the day with Ducky before….
And mom, in a surprising move, tells me firmly that if I don’t want to do this, then she and dad will figure out a way to make Ducky comfortable until they can’t anymore: “If we have to take a second mortgage out on the house, then we will, baby.”
Then in a very predictable move she reminds me about how uncomfortable this could be for Ducky, how they can’t promise how long it will sustain her… but softens the blow with a hug and a whisper: “These kinds of decisions are never easy and I’m so sorry you have to go through this.”
I cry into Ducky’s neck the whole drive home. On Saturday at 10:00 am, she has her last appointment with Doctor Jameson. The appointment feels like the wrong decision, but letting Ducky exist without finding joy in the things she loves seems wrong, too. Maybe there’s no right decision.
I sniffle and lift my head to look out the window, trying hard to stop crying. It feels like I’ve been crying for close to an hour and my head is pounding. As we pull into our neighbourhood, I can see the blurry form of Reggie in his front yard tossing a ball to one of his friends (I can’t tell who it is through the never ending onslaught of tears).
I try hastily to hide my crying before getting out of the car where Reggie and his friend could possibly see me. Unfortunately, it’s kind of impossible to hide the kind of crying that comes with having a broken heart. My eyes are so swollen it hurts to blink and the ache of my throat makes swallowing nearly impossible. I take a deep breath and get out of the car, holding the door for Ducky. I try to ignore how slow she moves as she gets out, just one of the many signs I’d been purposely blind to for weeks.
The sound of the door shutting must bring their attention to me.
“Hey, Y/N-” I turn away hastily from who I now know is Moose and take determined strides to my house. I’m too embarrassed by the state of myself to care about being rude. I wait for Ducky in the doorway and look at the porch, suddenly wracked by sobs that quickly turned into desperate gasps for breath. Watching her move so carefully over the steps hurts, so I close my eyes until I feel her wet nose press against my fingers like she was saying it’s okay, Y/N, it’s okay. I’m here, I’m here.
I don’t have much of an appetite that night, but we all sit around the table and pick at dinner. I tell my parents about the day I have planned and we all pretend to not notice one another feeding Ducky under the table. Her wet nose presses against my bare knees, snuffling for more scraps and I scratch behind her ears to comfort myself as I speak.
That night I sleep pressed as close as possible to Ducky, not caring about any noxious gas she might emit or that her fur tickles my nose. I just want to hold her while I still can.
We get up bright and early on Friday so that we can get the most out of the perfect day I planned for her: we’re going to go to Pop’s and I’m going to let her have more burgers than she’s ever had in her life and then we’ll go to the park and end our day at a dog beach two hours outside of town. Dad, in a show of kindness, has offered us the use of his car.
Except when I open the front door, it’s Reggie Mantle and his car sitting in the driveway instead of my dad’s trusty old Toyota. His arm is hanging casually out of the open window, a pair of sunglasses resting atop his head and Vader standing with his front paws on the steering wheel. Ducky, seeing her friend, pushes out from behind me and jogs down the front steps to greet them with more energy than I was expecting.
“Are you coming or what?” Reggie calls to me sarcastically. He’s rolling his eyes, but he’s smiling, too. It’s a rare sight, a Reggie Mantle smile.
“Is this a prank?” I ask him suspiciously, letting my tote fall to the porch and my dad’s keys dangling uselessly from my fingers.
“What kind of prank would this be? The kind where I’m gonna get you and your little dog, too? Get in the car, loser! We’re burning daylight here.” He bangs his hand against the door causing Vader to slip and honk the horn. I move slowly to the driver side of the vehicle, still not quite trusting the situation, and stick my head in. Ducky, knowing better than to jump up on someone’s car, is jogging in circles looking for a way in.
“Reginald, what exactly do you think you are doing in my driveway at 8:30 am on a Friday?” Reggie looks uncomfortable, which usually means he’s moments away from being sincere.
“Your parents called me last night.” Reggie lets that statement linger a moment before he recovers. “Look, Ducky’s practically my dog-in-law. You can’t really think you can plan the perfect day for her and not include Vader.”
For the first time since the appointment, I smile. It’s small, but it gives me a renewed energy.
“Will you just get in the car already?” He snaps and I pull my head back abruptly.
“Right, come on, Ducky! Let’s go.” I open the backseat and coax Ducky to jump up. Reggie’s SUV is a bit higher up than dad’s Toyota, but between me and the captain of the football team we should be able to get her in and out without any issues today. I hop into the passenger seat and narrowly avoid getting headbutted by Vader as he dives into the back seat to be with Ducky.
“So where are we headed?” Reggie asks as he reaches behind my seat to look over his shoulder. He slowly eases out of my driveway and I try to ignore how appealing I find his cologne.
“Pop’s to get burgers.” I answer confidently. Reggie faces forward and removes his arm from behind my seat.
“Okay… but normal people tend to go to Pop’s at 8:00 am for breakfast foods like waffles or french toast.” He says as he switches gears. Despite his statement, he takes the turn towards Pop’s.
“Pop’s to get burgers.” I repeat forcefully.
Much to Reggie’s delight, the waitress at Pop’s had the same reaction to my order.
“You want ten burgers? Is this a joke I’m not getting or sumthin’? You realize it’s breakfast time, right?”
“Yeah, I’m aware of that, thank you very much.”
I couldn’t imagine Ducky’s perfect last day without Reggie and Vader. With them by our side, the day feels epic. We spend the morning walking around the park and throwing a few balls for Vader to fetch. My mind is preoccupied with all the other times Ducky and I spent at the park and Reggie listens to story after story and even adds a few of his own.
“Do you remember when you were like eight years old and your dad had you hold her leash while he got his tools out of the back of his car? She saw that squirrel and dragged you through your lawn and mine before your dad got her to stop. You must have weighed like 40 pounds! And you had all of these grass stains. It was hilarious!”
We laugh together at the memory and the more I smile, the better I start to feel. Reggie and I bump shoulders and eventually he puts his arm around me and runs his palm over my shoulder in a surprisingly comforting gesture.
Before we leave the park I let Ducky have two of her burgers. It’s still early in the day, so I ask Reggie if he minds driving around for a bit with the windows down. He lets me navigate and pick the music. With all four windows rolled down, my hair whips around wildly. The sight of it causes Reggie to laugh which in turn causes me to laugh. In the back seat, Ducky and Vader both have their heads out the window, basking in the scents of their town. I use the side mirror to watch them and Reggie pretends not to notice when I start crying.
I wipe my tears and reach for one of the water bottles Reggie procured at a gas station. Our hands meet and he doesn’t let go.
The dog beach is mostly vacant in the middle of the afternoon on a Friday. Reggie points out a pug wearing a lifejacket standing in the shallows. Vader disturbs the pug by racing into the water, trying to start a game of chase. Ducky, however, bypasses them both and begins to swim out to the middle of the lake. I laugh at her excitement and shimmy out of my shorts.
“I hope you brought your swimsuit, Reginald.” I tease as I pull my shirt over my head.. I take advantage of his shock to throw my clothes in his face. “There’s a beach blanket in my bag!” I yell back at him as I run after my dog.
Reggie starts in on some of Pop’s burgers while he sits on the beach, watching Ducky and I play together. I continue to tread water for a while even after Ducky has returned to the beach. I watch her, Reggie and Vader resting on the blanket and commit the moment to memory. Reggie offers Ducky another burger and my own hunger drives me out of the water.
There’s a sudden rush of guests at the dog beach and Vader runs off to make friends. Reggie follows after him, leaving Ducky and I alone for the first time today. She’s laying on her side, breathing deeply and I scooch down so that I can rest my head on her stomach. I shut my eyes for a moment and let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.
I must fall asleep because when I open my eyes again, the light has changed and Reggie is running his fingertips along the arch of my foot. I giggle and kick, rolling onto my side and pushing myself up.
“Jesus, how long was I out for?” Reggie smirks and pulls at a loose thread on our blanket. Vader is curled up in front of us, his fur still damp and my clothes are in a bunched up pile next to him. The sky is alight with oranges, purples and pinks reflecting hauntingly off the water.
“Hours, babe.”
“Don’t call me babe, Reginald.” I sit up fully and pull my shirt over my head with a sigh.
“Whatever you say, babe.” I scoff and roll my eyes, but ultimately let it go. Sitting on the dog beach with Ducky asleep beside me, watching the sunset with Reggie and Vader, felt peaceful. My heart is still broken, but it was a good day full of more laughter than tears. I feel the warm weight of Reggie’s arm across my back followed by his fingers curling around my shoulder, pulling me close to his side.
“I’m glad you let me come.” He mutters, pressing his mouth against my temple in a not-quite-a-kiss.
“I had a choice?” I joke weakly, pressing myself closer to hide my face in his shoulder. I press my mouth against his t-shirt in a not-quite-a-kiss and let the moment wash over me again and again and again.
“It’s okay if you decide you don’t want to be there for this.” I’m sitting on the stairs, trying to find the will to put on my shoes. Ducky is sitting next to me, sticking her nose in my ear. I look up at my mom and give an unconvincing smile, but remain silent. We got home from the beach late last night and my mom let us sleep in which means I haven’t had the opportunity to shower. My hair feels disgusting from the lake water, so I’ve pulled it into a side ponytail. Ducky is loving the unrestricted access to my ear.
“You sure you wanna do this, kid? Your mom and I will be with her. She won’t be alone when she goes.” Dad is gruff as always, but this time I vocalize my response, forcing my foot into my last sneaker and standing.
“I need to do this.” My parents exchange a look that only they can understand. With my shoes on and Ducky’s leash clipped to her collar, we have no other excuses to stay home. When we step out the front door, I see Reggie Mantle in my driveway for the second day in a row. He’s wearing his letterman jacket and a pair of dark wash jeans, his hands buried deep in the pockets. He pulls one of his hands out and raises it in a wave. Ducky heads straight to him, slower than yesterday, and I follow quickly behind.
“Reginald, what are you doing here?” I ask in greeting. I have never seen Reggie look more uncomfortable. He squeezes his eyes shut tightly and rubs the back of his neck.
“I thought maybe I could come with you…?” I think it surprises us both when I accept. My parents don’t question Reggie when he gets into the back seat with Ducky and I, but my dad looks extra gruff. It’s a tight fit with all three of us back there, but it doesn’t matter because I want to be as close as possible to Ducky. I bury my face in her fur and feel Reggie’s fingers move through it in a calming manner. Occasionally the pad of his index finger drags down my cheek. His touch is soft and warm and I cling to each moment of contact for comfort. As panic threatens to overwhelm me, I begin to count each occurrence of an accidental caress. I’ve counted to twenty-one by the time we pull into the parking lot.
I’m visibly shaking when we get to the door of the veterinarian’s office. Reggie puts his hand on my lower back and it steadies me momentarily.
“You don’t have to come in,” my mom offers again, smiling at me sympathetically. She’s wrong and she’s been wrong every time she’s offered it before. Ducky is my dog and I have to be there for her. I won’t take the easy way out. I need to be there for her just like how she was always there for me. I shake my head and imagine that my bones are made of steel and remind myself to be strong for myself and for Ducky. In spite of this, I continue to walk on legs that tremble with each step forward.
Doctor Jameson is waiting in the lobby for us with a sad smile. A ringing is starting in my ears and I worry that I might be going deaf on top of all the other shit I have to deal with. She leads the way to an exam room where a veterinarian’s assistant has just finished her preparations. She gives me a sympathetic smile and squeezes my arm as she passes. Ducky can’t get up on the table on her own, most likely due to our adventure yesterday, so my dad and Reggie work together to lift her.
“She won’t feel anything,” Doctor Jameson says. She looks me square in the eye and I feel her passing some of her strength on to me. “Some people find it comforting to pet them.”
My hand quivers as I reach out and bury it in the thick fur on Ducky’s side. At my touch Ducky’s head lifts and her eyes strain to see me. She is my best friend and I know she can sense the wreckage inside of me. As I look into Ducky’s eyes, I have to choke back tears. The effort of it worsens my shaking and Doctor Jameson has to put her hand on Ducky to prevent her from getting up.
I break and let out an inhuman sob. I suck in air desperately and before I fully descend into grief I say his name: Reggie. Not Reginald, or Captain, but Reggie. I sound utterly wrecked to my own ears and I can’t imagine what my parents think about my behaviour, let alone him. It is a nanosecond before I feel one of his arms come across my torso from behind and the other secures a tight grip on my waist. He’s holding me up, I realize. I am no longer capable of standing on my own.
“She’s gone,” Doctor Jameson whispers and I turn and grip fistsful of Reggie’s shirt, crying so hard that the sound can only be heard by the sensitive hearing of a dog.
I spend my weekend crying and sleeping. Before we left, Doctor Jameson gave my dad Ducky’s collar. It’s a black collar with skulls wearing flower crowns adorning it. I saw it at a flea market and knew it would be beautiful around her neck. I cling so tightly to it that I lose sensation in my fingers for hours. At some point, Reggie brings Vader over to visit. I was too tired from crying to be of much fun. He holds me until I fall asleep for what must be the third time that day. When I wake up, my back is pressed to his chest and our fingers are linked and the back of his hand is resting against the bare skin of my collarbone. Vader is asleep between our legs, his head resting on my calf.
My parents let them stay the night and on Sunday Reggie gets a call from his mom and has to leave. Before he goes, he presses his forehead against my temple and gives my arm a squeeze.
On Monday, Reggie stuns me by approaching me at my locker to ask me how I’m doing. He looks tired and his voice is soft, eyes serious. Not once does he roll them at me. It’s enough to convince me to tell him the truth.
“I keep seeing her everywhere. Like, out of the corner of my eye I think I see her waiting at the top of the stairs, or laying on my bed… but the hardest part is trying to get used to sleeping alone. I haven’t slept alone in ten years, Reginald. To make matters worse, my mom and dad have their yearly couples retreat this weekend. They offered to cancel, but they only did that so that they don’t seem like dickheads. See, if I accept their offer, then I’m the dickhead. Because they expect me to say I’m fine it’s no problem, sure leave me home alone. They just offered so they can at least they say they did. And when they feel bad on their trip they can comfort each other by saying that they offered and I said it was okay. It was never really an offer. It was a societal expectation that has been checked of their list.”
He doesn’t roll his eyes or smirk or smile, he just stares. And I know right then and there that I’ve officially become too much drama for Reggie Mantle. So it’s completely out of left field when I open my door and find Reggie Mantle in my driveway for the third time in a week.
“Hey, Y/N.” My eyes are roaming over him hungrily, taking in as many details as I can. It’s not until this moment that I realize I was scared that I’d only ever seen him again at a distance--at football games, in his yard, in the halls at school.
He lets me look like he understands what I was feeling. I finally focus on the tote he has hanging over one shoulder and Vader’s empty leash in the other hand. “So, I need a favour.”
I raise an eyebrow and sag against the porch railing, gesturing with my hand for him to continue. I’m hoping that the gesture looks cool and indifferent as opposed to what it really is: relief. Relief that Reggie will still talk to me, that he is here in my driveway and that he thought of me when he realized he needed something. Relieved that all our progress from neighbours to friends appears to be in tact.
“So my aunt was admitted to the hospital last weekend and we’re going to be heading to Texas for the weekend to see her and help take care of my cousins. Would you be able to dogsit Vader?” My mouth falls open in shock.
“Dogsit?” I repeat, aghast. Reggie has the gall to smirk at me and roll his eyes.
“Yeah, dogsit. I figure I’d ask you because it’s not like you have plans, right? If you’re too busy, though, Moose can watch him, but he lives pretty far from the park...”
“Don’t be a smart ass, Reginald.” He smirks again, it’s a smug twist of his lips like he’s just won. He whistles and Vader comes racing from down the street, his momentum taking him past Reggie and closer to me. I pat my knees and Vader lopes up the steps and circles my legs with excitement.
“Oh my god, he’s not even going to miss me, is he?” He’s trying to joke with me, but it’s not working. There’s a disconnect between us, an awkwardness because Ducky is gone, but Vader is here. My heart is shattered, his is whole. But Reggie’s had a taste of what it will be like and it has shaken him, at least a little.
“He’ll miss you every second.” I promise him. Before Reggie leaves, I ask him what happened to his aunt.
“Cancer,” he says. And I know we are both thinking of Ducky.
Vader and I spend a lovely weekend together. He likes to sleep under my blankets, curled up against my stomach. We go for walks at the park and the ache of missing Ducky is still there, but I don’t cry once. When we walk home from the park, Vader tugs the leash in the direction of his home and I know that he misses Reggie, just like I said he would. When Reggie gets back from Texas, he finds Vader and I playing fetch in the park. He looks sullen until he spots us.
“Oh Captain, my Captain!” I call in greeting. Reggie surprises me by wrapping his arms around me from behind and lifting me clear off my feet. “Reginald!”
He puts me back on the ground, but continues to grip me tightly. We sway from side to side and then Vader is jumping all over his master.
Every day Reggie knocks on my front door and invites me to walk Vader with him. We talk about simple things, sometimes we share memories of Ducky and I start to heal with their help. One day, I broach the topic of getting a new dog with my parents. They surprise me by saying that they will consider it, but that they think I still need some time.
“You can’t just replace a dog,” my dad announces gruffly. After Ducky has been gone for six months, I ask again and they give their blessing to start looking at shelters.
Reggie is the first person I tell and after several walks I find the courage to ask him if he and Vader will go with me to the shelter. He thinks it’s weird, but he humours me.
“Listen Reginald, Vader is like my dog-in-law. Any new dog of mine has to accept that if they want to be part of the family.”
We’re on our fifth visit to the shelter when I meet Jaspar, a mutt with a sweet disposition who is twice the size of Reggie’s daschund (or as I call him in private, Reggie’s better half). Jaspar’s amber eyes have a regal air about them and seem older than his estimated four years. He’s got short, tawny fur and a white marking on his rump that almost looks like a raindrop. I go into his kennel to meet with him and offer him my hand. He sits and leans forward to sniff at my fingers. Slowly he descends to the floor and rolls to his side.
On our sixth visit, we arrange for Jaspar and Vader to have an introduction. They bond almost instantly.
“I think he’s the one,” I tell Reggie with a hopeful smile. Reggie rolls his eyes and smirks.
“Then what are you standing around here for? Go get your dog!” With his encouragement driving me, I put in the adoption paperwork that day, without consulting my parents. When Reggie and I bring Jaspar home, my father is gruff and my mother is annoyed. In Reggie’s presence, they restrain themselves and it all feels so normal.
It’s possible that I am more excited for our first walk together than Jaspar is. I laugh when he picks up the end of his leash and drops low to the ground with his tail wagging high in the air. My excitement is clearly contagious. I grab for the leash and he playfully jumps to the side, just out of reach. The game ends when Reggie knocks on the door. I make sure I have a good grip on Jaspar’s leash and open the door. Immediately our dogs lunge toward each other with tails wagging. I grin at Reggie over their heads and he smirks back at me. It takes a few minutes for them to calm down enough to start our walk. There’s something charging the air between us, more obvious today than any other day.
As we begin our walk, Reggie’s fingers interlock with mine and suddenly we are holding hands. Not long after that, Jaspar makes an attempt at a squirrel and I need both hands to get him under control again. Reggie doesn’t take my hand again and I try not to feel disappointed.
It’s not long until we reach the park. At this time of day there are only one or two people here. We let our dogs off their leashes and I’m a little nervous for Jaspar. What if he takes off? What if he and another dog get into an altercation?
Reggie pulls a purple ball out of his pocket and throws it to the other end of the field. Both dogs sprint after it and Jaspar catches it on its second bounce. Reggie’s arm reaches around my waist, startling me. He pulls me close and rests his chin on my head.
“Stop worrying,” he tells me firmly. He lets me go to throw the ball again and this time he pulls me into a tight hug, resting his cheek on my shoulder and burrowing his nose in my hair.
“Y/N?” He mumbles. I swallow thickly and focus on keeping my voice steady.
“Yes, Reginald?”
“I’ve wanted to kiss you for months.” He confesses before pulling away. Vader has been waiting for his attention and drops the ball at Reggie’s feet, barking and twirling, look at me, Reg, look at me! Throw the ball, pal, come on, throw it! I’ve been patient. Reggie throws the ball into the bushes this time, but doesn’t reach for me again.
“You could, you know. Kiss me, that is. I’d be okay with it.” I say out loud. Reggie raises his eyebrows and rolls his eyes at me.
“Oh, you’d be okay with it, would you?” He puts one hand on my hip and the other pushes my hair away from my face.
“Don’t be a smart ass, Reginald.” He smirks at me smugly and leans down. Just when I think he’s about to kiss me, he pauses. I gasp at the nearness of him and I know he’s smirking.
“Oh Captain, my Captain,” I whisper and put a hand against his cheek to pull his mouth to mine. His lips are warm and I’m nearly overwhelmed by the sensation of it. It heats me from the inside out. His kiss is firm, decisive, and I part my lips slightly, allowing my tongue to sample the taste of his bottom lip. He squeezes my hip and presses his mouth harder to mine. I reciprocate in kind and suck gently. He pulls back, inhaling deeply through his nose.
“I wish I hadn’t waited so long.” He mutters, framing my face with his warm hands. I reach up to hold his wrists and give him a smirk of my own. He bites his lip and avoids my eye, stepping away from me. He gently pulls his wrists from my grasp and leans down to scoop up the ball that has been deposited at our feet. He whistles to get Jaspar and Vader’s attention, showing them the ball and moving it from left to right. Their eyes remained trained on their hearts desire: the ball. I keep my eyes firmly on Reggie. Eventually he throws the ball into the bushes and our dogs speed away.
“Hey,” I say, demanding with my voice that he look at me again. I reach down for his hand and press it firmly to my cheek, nuzzling it. His thumb strokes my temple and I melt into him. “What’s up?” I ask, forcing my half-lidded eyes to open. Reggie sighs, letting his eyes fall shut as he touches his forehead to mine.
And then Jaspar hits me in the back of the knees with his front paws, nearly sending me falling. Reggie’s quick reflexes allow him to let go of my face and grip my waist instead. Once I’m steady on my feet, Reggie releases his grip on me and growls. He scoops up the ball, throwing it aggressively back to the bushes. His hands come up to grip his hair.
“We’re moving to Texas at the end of the year.” He’s yelling it to the park, pacing like a caged tiger. He sighs and lets his hands fall to his sides. “I’m moving after school is out. My aunt isn’t doing well and she needs full-time care. It’s such a fucking mess.” He kicks a rock and Jaspar turns to investigate while Vader drops the ball at Reggie’s feet. He kicks the ball, too and the dogs run off again.
“I’m sorry,” I say, because I don’t know what Reggie needs to hear right now. “I know you worked really hard for your captaincy, but Texas has amazing football programs. Even if you don’t make captain at least you’ll be playing with people who share your passion for it!” Reggie’s expression is aghast and I force myself to stop babbling.
“It’s just…” Reggie squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep breath. He opens his eyes and focuses them on me with the intensity I’ve only ever seen him exhibit on the football field.
“I… Vader doesn’t want to go, not now that he has Jaspar to hang out with. It feels like he and Jaspar really have something special together. Vader’s not ready for it to be over. He doesn’t want their time together to be nothing because to Vader, it’s been everything.”
“Reginald,” I start, swallowing thickly. “Your inability to confront your own emotions can be a real dick punch, you know that?” Reggie shouts a laugh and presses his fist to his mouth in surprise. To avoid looking at him, I throw the ball and imagine my fear going with it.
“I can’t believe you just used the words dick punch in a sentence.”
“Well you’re a terrible influence. Jesus Reginald, this was never nothing. It’s been everything to me, too. And if I learned anything from this year, it’s that caring about stuff can be painful, but it’s so worth it. So maybe you disagree, but I want you for as much time as we have left, nothing held back. You, me, and our best friends.” Jaspar has decided that he does not want to drop the ball, but Reggie is working to coax it out. It is covered in dog slime, and Reggie has to wipe his hands on his jeans after he’s thrown it.
“Okay. Let’s do it then. Me, you, and our best friends. For as long as we’ve got.” And he kisses me again, once, twice, three times and then one lingering kiss with enough force to shatter a fragile heart. When the heartbreak hits, I know it will be worth it.
Taglist: @tasteofswallowedwords @forsythe-pendleton-jones-iv
#Quill Writes#I'm up 51 minutes late to post this#no proof reading#Reggie Mantle#Reggie x Reader#Reggie imagine#Reggie Mantle imagine#Reader x Reggie#RIP Ross Butler portrayal of Reggie
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Broken Utopia pt1
Note: this takes place in a “Utopian” world that is (mostly) under one government. Space travel is a thing, but other technology was set back somewhat after a war. The Rebels have taken over a sizable portion of the world, and are trying to gain more. Once a criminal, you think you’ve outrun your past and made a new life for yourself–a good one, at that. But it comes back to haunt you at the worst of times, and you end up running for your life and back to things (and people) you thought you abandoned years ago.
Jackson x Reader
Rating: Mature, for violence and such
Warnings: Will have death, destruction, probably some gory stuff. Will probably be much more violent than what I usually write.
Papers littered the floor in the living room, your original plan of setting up work just on the coffee table tossed out the window hours ago. Developing a fail-safe security plan was a job all in of itself—finding its flaws, and figuring out a way in was a whole other ball game. You had done both in the past, but currently you just trying to find a hypothetical way in—you would send in a team next week to test it.
Your job was relatively simple—a company came to you to make sure that their information was safe, and you would give them the answers they wanted. You would hack their security system, jam their cellphone and alarm frequencies, march in through the front door and plant a tag on all the computers that proved you were there. Of course, it didn’t always go so smoothly—what would be the fun in that? After your job was done, you would bring a report back detailing the flaws in the security system back to the original company.
But while at times you got jobs that were interesting, this particular one was not the case. There were endless files to sort through, piles upon piles of information that you didn’t need. It was mind boggling that they didn’t have it all on electronic files, these days it was practically mandatory.
The door to the penthouse chimed, and you heard small footsteps hurrying over to you.
“Hey, Milo.” You said, smiling for the first time in hours, shifting in your place on the floor to face the eighteen month old as he toddled over to you.
“Look!” He said excitedly, holding out an ice-cream cone for you to see, and nearly shoving it up your nose in the process. He hadn’t quite gotten the hang of hand-eye coordination yet, but you didn’t mind—he made up for it in cuteness.
“You got ice cream?” You said, acting scandalized. He nodded happily, biting the top of it as it dripped onto the papers on the floor.
Jackson was right behind Milo, scooping him up in his arms and kissing his cheek. “That was our secret, remember when I said it was?” Milo just laughed, wiping one of his sticky hands on Jackson’s shirt. You stood, stepping carefully over the paper on the floor and over to where your boyfriend of four years stood holding his nephew.
“Sorry about that.” Jackson said, pointing with his foot at where the ice cream had dripped, the ink smudging and running.
You shook your head, leaning in for a quick kiss. “Don’t be, it’s all garbage anyway.”
“Bad day?” He guessed by your tone.
“Better now.” You replied, giving him a small smile. Jackson was more than just a “boyfriend,” but you were never sure what else to call him. You weren’t married, weren’t even engaged, but you couldn’t imagine your life without him. At one point, you had talked about getting married, having a big ceremony (his idea) and making a bid deal out of it. That had been about a year ago.
Then his sister died in an accident after the self-driving taxi she was in malfunctioned. After that, his brother-in-law had a mental breakdown, and the two of you found yourselves adopting their son, Milo—well, Jackson did. You were still working on becoming one of Milos’s legal guardians. After that, marriage was the last thing on either of your minds.
“Oh.” Milo had spotted one of his toys sitting on the couch, and he leaned sideways in Jacksons arms in an attempt to reach it with is free hand, his small fingers wiggling. As he did so, his ever-melting ice cream collided with the side of Jackson’s face. “Give it.”
You picked the stuffed bear up, examining it before handing it to Milo. “I’ll never understand why you like this one the best.” You said to him as he took the toy happily, clutching it to his chest. “You have a million other toys that were twice as expensive.”
“Maybe it’s because it’s simple.” Jackson suggested. He had somehow taken the ice cream from Milo without his noticing, and licked it happily. A year ago, you would have pointed out that Milo had probably spit on it as much as eaten it, and there was no telling what other things that kid had tried to eat that day (no matter how much you watched him or baby-proofed the apartment) so who knows how many germs there were on it. But now? You would do the same as Jackson in his place.
“You’ve uh, got something on your face.” You pointed out. His entire right cheek was covered in sticky goop.
“I’m just glad it’s only ice cream.” Jackson said seriously, carrying Milo over to the kitchen. As he did so, Milo realized that one of his hands was empty.
“Mine!” He whaled, flailing for Jackson’s hand, looking thoroughly offended.
“I paid for it.” Jackson pouted, handing it back none the less. “Are you okay with pizza for dinner?” He asked you, picking up a hand towel and dampening it before wiping off the side of his face.
Both of your phones started buzzing before you could answer, the tv turning itself on and switching to the news. Emergency alerts had come a long way since the time of storm sirens.
“It’s just the border again.” Jackson shrugged, adjusting Milo on his hip. “I wish they would let us turn the volume down at least, it isn’t stuff a kid should hear…” His voice trailed off as he registered what the news casters were saying. It wasn’t the border, not this time. Drones had gotten past it, and were moving fast.
“At this time, we are advising that people stay in their homes. If you are not somewhere secure, follow safety protocols and calmly make your way into a covered space…”
“Shit.” Jackson whispered, even Milo had gotten quiet (which was a very rare thing, the only person who talked more than him was Jackson).
“This would never have happened if frequency jammers weren’t illegal.” You muttered. The government could be quite stubborn when it wanted to be, and now you were all going to suffer for it. “How long have I been saying they should be along the border?
“Can’t they… I don’t know, make some?” Jackson said, and you shook your head.
“Not in time. They’ll be in the city in a matter of hours, maybe less.”
“We’ll be fine though, right?” Jackson said, and you weren’t sure why he thought you would know any better than him. “The rebels don’t want to kill us, just… Take the land.”
“Right.” You agreed, not as sure as you probably sounded. “As long as we don’t do anything to anger them, we’ll be fine. It won’t last long, anyway. The government will step in, drive them back. Just to be on the safe side, we should stay at the bunker tonight.” A penthouse wasn’t exactly the safest place to be while under attack.
The bunkers were (supposedly) a safe area for civilians, much like the bomb shelters that were around so long ago. They were also “No hit zones,” where, according to the semi-treaty that had been signed twenty years ago, civilians would be safe. The rebels had their own safe zones, where their civilians hid during attacks, and it all survived on faith that the other side would abide by the rules.
“I’ll pack Milo an overnight bag,” Jackson said, setting Milo down so he could move faster.
As if on cue, the moment he was out of the room your phone buzzed again. You glanced at it, about to ignore it when you saw who was calling.
“What the hell, Jaebum? Not the time.” You snapped, and you heard an exasperated sigh on the other end.
“Just listen for a second. There are drones that made it over the wall first, completely undetected. They’re targeting people the rebels know the government wants. That means you.”
“I…I’m not—“ You started. Not even half an hour ago, you were in a bad mood because your job was boring. Now, you would give anything to go back to that.
“You’re tagged, aren’t you?” Jaebum asked, and you flinched. You hated the word, it was like you were an animal that was marked for research. “They’ll use that to find you, no matter where you go. You know where to find me. Use a silencer so you’re not tracked, I’ll—“
“No, I can’t just leave—“
“I know.” Jaebum cut in. “But I don’t have time to argue with you. Take them with you. There’s room for them here—“ There was yelling on the other end, and then Jaebum swore. “We just lost Marshal, you’re out of time. Good luck. I’ll see you in a few hours, unless you’re dead.” He hung up, and you shut your eyes trying to get a grip on yourself. You hadn’t heard from Jaebum in five years, and he picks now to call you? You weren’t even surprised that he knew about Jackson and Milo—there were security cameras all over the apartment (it was mandatory) and Jaebum always had a knack for hacking them.
Anger rushed through you, and before you even realized what you were doing, you picked up an empty glass and aimed it at the opposite wall.
“Up.” Milo said before you threw it, running into your leg and reaching for you. Slowly, you put the glass down, picking him up and holding him close for a moment. You knew what you had to do, but that didn’t make it any easier.
“What are you doing still in here?” Jackson asked as he walked back into the room, Milo’s small backpack slung over his shoulder, and his own bag in his hand. Under other circumstances, you might have made a joke about how ridiculous it looked. “I got your stuff too, by the way.”
“Take Milo to the bunker.” You said, taking a deep breath. “I… Have some things to do here first.”
“What’s going on with you?.” Jackson asked, stepping closer. “What do you have to do that’s more important than your safety?”
“I… it’s complicated, you just have to trust me. I’ll explain later.”
“You always have had a terrible poker face.” Jackson said, panic was starting to show on his face. “You’re not going to the bunker, are you?”
“Jackson, I can’t…” You started. If you went, you wouldn’t just be putting Jackson and Milo in danger, as well as the other people taking shelter there.
“Yes, you can. What are you talking about?”
“I just… Cant.” You said, practically shoving Milo at Jackson, walking to the home office that was just off the living room. You started opening drawers, dumping things out in search of what you needed. “You need to go. Now. There isn’t enough time for me to argue with you—“ You realized you sounded just like Jaebum had just minutes before. You had always known that at some point you would have to tell Jackson about your past, you just didn’t think it would be like this. He knew you had one, and he knew you didn’t like talking about it, so generally he left it alone. You wanted to tell him when it was all ancient history, so far back that it didn’t matter anymore.
“I’m tagged.” You said, dumping out another drawer and sorting through the mess, picking up the old phone and ripping off its antenna. You had kept it for years, an escape route that you hoped you would never need. You had another one somewhere…
“What do you mean, you’re tagged?” There was a warning in Jacksons voice, but you ignored it.
“As government property. I have a chip so they can track where I go. The rebels have a list of people… like me, and they’re taking them out first. The longer you’re here with me, the more danger you and Milo are in.”
“And you never thought to mention that you’re a criminal?” Jackson’s voice was getting louder, and you emptied another drawer, finding the last few things you needed.
“Funny, it never came up.” You said. “Now go.”
“How do you even know that they’re targeting you?” Jackson asked, blocking the doorway so you couldn’t get past. “Was it on the news?”
“Jaebum called…” You muttered.
“Who the hell is that?” Jackson finally let you past him, and you dropped the supplies you had gathered on the living room floor.
“It’s too long of a story for right now.” You said, realizing that you didn’t have a battery. You pushed past him again, picking up the old dialog clock that sat on the hearth, opening the back and ripping out the nine volt battery. It was old technology, but oh so useful when you needed it.
“The two of you need to go, Jackson.” You said. They should have left the moment you got off the phone with Jaebum, really.
“And what’s going to happen to you?” Jackson asked, his voice was much quieter now. “Milo needs you. I need you. You can’t just—“
“Damn it, Jackson.” You snapped. “Fine. Don’t go to the bunker. I’ll meet you at the old parking garage, you know the one, right? Wait in the stairwell. But if I’m not there in the next thirty minutes, promise me you’ll take Milo to the bunker. No more waiting.”
“Alright.” Jackson agreed after a second. “I’ll see you in a half-hour, then.” You nodded, with the horrible feeling that you might never see Jackson again. You leaned up for one final kiss, and then he was running out the door. You didn’t want to say goodbye, so you didn’t.
Milo’s crying echoed through the stairwell, making his usually loud wailing earsplitting.
“Shh, it’s fine, she’ll be here soon…” Jackson tried to sooth him, stroking the top of his head in what he hoped was a calming way. It usually worked, but Milo just kicked at him in response. “We picked one heck of a day to skip your nap, huh?” Jackson said, and Milo stopped screaming long enough for Jackson to wipe away some of his tears. He glanced at his watch, it had been well over thirty minutes and you still weren’t here.
Jackson looked out the small window in the heavy door that lead outside. The parking garage was several blocks away from where you lived, it was the only one that would allow you to park your ancient manual car (you had to go through all kinds of paperwork to get it, and you weren’t about to sell it because you couldn’t park close by). He could see the top of the building where your shared penthouse was from there, and noticed that the lights were all still on.
“Where are you?” He asked, not expecting an answer. Milo’s lip was quivering again, and started bouncing him gently. “Look, Milo, I brought your bear…” It wasn’t easy reaching into his bag while still holding Milo, but a year of practice seemed to have paid off. “See? Told you.” Thunder could be heard outside, but Jackson ignored it, holding the toy up to Milo triumphantly. Milo was looking out the window, though, his eyes wide. Jackson followed his gaze, realizing a second too late that the sky was clear, there was no thunder.
“God, no…” He whispered, backing away from the door. The top of your apartment building had been obliterated, and it was obvious it was a targeted attack–it was only the first floor that was gone. Even from where he stood, Jackson could see that the windows were blown out, fire licking at the empty spaces. Slowly, as if in a dream, he made his way over to the stairs and sat down. This couldn’t be happening. It just… couldn’t. He was dreaming, that must be it.
But Milo’s fingers digging into his arm reminded him that it was happening. He could feel tears start to fill his eyes–why had the last things he said to you been so harsh? What did it matter if you had been a criminal in the past–hell, what would it have mattered if you were a criminal now? You were his best friend, the one person he knew would always understand, and more than anything, you were a mother to Milo.
He tried to take a deep breath, he needed to take Milo to the bunker, then he could cry. Milo himself had gone quiet, looking at him curiously.
“It’s okay.” Milo said, echoing what you and Jackson said so often when he cried. Clumsily, he reached his hand out, doing his best to wipe away Jackson’s tears.
“Thank you, Milo.” Jackson said his breath shuddering as he stood. The bunker wasn’t far, they could make it there in a few minutes, but they needed to get going as soon as possible.
Just as he was reaching for the door, it was thrown open and you staggered in.
“What are you still doing here?” You demanded, you were out of breath like you had been running, and put a hand on the wall to steady yourself. “I told you not to wait more than thirty minutes–what’s wrong?”
“I–Nothing, as long as you’re okay.” Jackson managed. “What took you so long?”
You held up a small metal box with three antennas sticking out of the top. “Frequency jammer so I can’t be tracked.” You explained. “But we need to get going, the longer we’re in one place the easier it will be to detect.”
A/N So my cousin does a lot of “white hat” hacking and somehow I thought of this?? Idk what it is, but please enjoy! Or don’t, that’s fine too. Thank you for reading whatever it is, and as always, let me know your thoughts and feelings about it!
Edit: Forgot to mention, huge thank you to Admin Marie for the name!!
#jackson imagine#jackson scenarios#jackson fanfic#jackson fluff#jackson drabble#jackson wang imagines#jackson wang scenarios#jackson wang imagine#got7 scenarios#got7 imagines#got7 fanfic#jaebum scenarios#jaebum fanfic#got7 fluff#kpop scenarios#kpop fluff#kpop requests#kpop blog#kpop request blog#jackson angst#got7 angst#jackson wang angst#jackson wang fanfic#jackson wang fluff
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