#when the appointment is meant to be six monthly
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Just found out my neurology appointment that was meant to be this month(after being rescheduled in October) was full on cancelled.
No note or warning or anything to say I need to make a new one. I called them cause I was worried I hadn't gotten an appointment letter yet and my fears were fucking verified.
So now my appointment is (hopefully) in April. At least I get a new doctor cause the last cunt left, hoping the new ones good.
Still, if I hadn't called I wouldn't have been notified and would still be waiting for god knows how long.
#This is disgusting#its been a year since my last app(which he just told me to wait till i have more seizures)#when the appointment is meant to be six monthly#also my seizures are 100x worse#healthcare system sucks#seizures#chronic illness#disabled#disability
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Did the doctor say "triplets"?!đ€
âDid the doctor say "triplets"?!â Rose burst excitedly as Adrien and Marinette walked through the door of Alya and Ninoâs home for their monthly Akuma Class (and friends) game day. âOh, please let it be triplets!â
âWha-â Marinette began.
âNo, Iâm sure itâs twins,â MylĂšne cut in, just as animatedly as Rose was.
âGuys, it could be a single child,â said Marc calmly.
âOr quadruplets,â Nathaniel suggested teasingly, earning him a playful elbow from Marc and a squeal of delight from the girls.
âThe real question is whether itâs a boy or a girl,â interjected Kim.
âAnd if thereâs more than one, how many of which gender!â added Ivan, looking over his shoulder. âMax?â
Max was sitting at the kitchen counter, paper everywhere, pen scribbling, and tapping away at the calculator. âHang on. Iâm almost done my calculations - Markovâs just getting me more information on their genetic history.â
âHow-â Adrien started.
âWhat about you, Alix?â Luka prompted.
âHey, donât look at me,â Alix replied, holding her hands up by her head. âEven if I do know, I canât tell you.â
Everyone grumbled at that.
âGuys, whatâs going on?â Adrien asked, finally getting their friendsâ attention.
âWe are speculating on the quantity and gender of yours and Marinetteâs unborn child/children,â Kagami informed them.
âRight⊠and why now?â questioned Marinette.
âBecause you two went to the doctors,â answered FĂ©lix, as if that explained everything.
Marinette frowned and folded her arms. âAnd how did you find out we were at the doctors?â
Their friends went silent, but their eyes flickered, glanced, or even outright stared at Nino, who looked everywhere except at his best friends.
âSeriously, Nino?â
Nino winced at Marinetteâs unimpressed tone.
âAll I said was that you guys would be late because you had an appointment before coming over!â he defended.
Marinette turned her gaze to Alya, who nodded.
âItâs true,â Alya confirmed. âThey just took it and ran with it.â
âBut how could we not?â piped up Socqueline. âWe had our catch-up brunch pushed back to a late lunch because you werenât feeling well, and when we did meet, you hardly touched the cold meats and cheeses like you normally would!â
âCouldnât that just be because she still wasnât feeling well?â Juleka muttered.
âAnd Adrien has been super protective over you for the last few months,â Zoe stated.
âBut isnât that because of the threats she was getting from that competing designer from the competition held earlier this week?â Sabrina asked curiously.
âGeez, whoâs side are you two on?â Rose huffed petulantly at Juleka and Sabrina; the two merely shrugging in response.
âLetâs just calm down, okay? Weâll tell you what happened,â Adrien soothed, sharing a look with Marinette, and everyone settled down - even Max stopped his calculating and Markov stuck his head out of the study to listen in.
âWe went to the optometrist,â Marinette began, and she could already see interest drop, âbecause Adrien wanted to make sure he wouldnât need glasses like Gabriel did-â
âBooooooo! Gabriellll!â came the predictable jeers from their friends. Ever since the truth was revealed about Adrienâs father, all their friends rallied around him in support, offering food, shelter and safe spaces for Adrien to find comfort in, which meant a lot to him.
â-and we found out that Adrienâs vision is perfectly fine!â
Mutterings of how that was good news filled the room, but it was clearly not the content they were hoping for.
âSo thatâs where we were this morning,â Adrien said to their despondent crowd. âOh, and we also visited Maman and Papa at the bakery to pick up the pastries for our meet-up, and to tell them theyâll be grandparents to a little boy in six months time.â
Marinette watched as their friendsâ eyes widened when their words sunk in, and covered her ears and laughed at the chaos and screams of joy that exploded from their friends.
~/~
Ask game: Give me the first sentence and I'll write a short piece for it!
#I wasn't sure which way I wanted to take this#I was pondering on this one for ages#but I hope this works for you?#lulubugspots#ask game#seasofsilver writes#miraculous ladybug#ml#adrien agreste#marinette dupain cheng#lovesquare#adrinette#adrienette#married love square#aged up characters#post-reveal#pregnancy#a little bit cracky#fluff#akuma class#and friends#their friends all jump to conclusions#first sentence then scene
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Runaway - Chapter Eleven.
Good morning (or afternoon, or evening, depending where you are!) besties! I hope everyone had a lovely weekend. Huge thanks for your continued interest in this little story, damn, you guys are understanding the assignment regarding engagement! Weâre zooming to the 30 notes unlock on every chapter! I hope you enjoy the next as much as you have the rest :)
Previous chapters - Prologue  One  Two  Three  Four  Five  Six  Seven  Eight  Nine Ten
Taglist - In the comments, please DM to be added/removed
Words - 2,427
Warnings - 18+ content throughout, minors DNI!
âSo, you got that meeting this morning, huh?â Manny asked, Carmen lying against his chest, idly stroking his abs.
âYeah, and Iâm pretty nervous about it, to be honest. Sales havenât been great, but I do keep on suggesting that we move to push greater into ecommerce. I even offered to appoint myself to it, since I know web design. For whatever reason, though, theyâre reluctant.â She worked for a small cosmetic chain, with a few outlets across Southern Cali, most of their sales being from their storefront operations, as well as stalls at expoâs. Â
âWell, maybe the sales figures will suggest they canât afford to be any longer. Hey, why not write up a business plan or something, see how they react to that when they see it all laid out, your plan of action, projected earnings, overheads, etc?â Â
She lifted her head, nodding. âWhat a great idea! I didnât even think to do that, but I will! I mean, I donât have time now, but Iâm certainly going to mention it.â Pausing, she kissed him, humming happily. âYouâre so great with this kind of thing.â When she was like this, she was wonderful. She was the bright, kind girl heâd fallen in love with, always quick to praise others, a stark contrast to how she could behave when something lit her fuse. âWhat do you have planned for today?â
âIâm meeting with Lily this morning, going to get some stuff for Lola since I donât have a clue where to begin.â He waited for it. Â
âOh, right.â There it was, disinterest, just as he expected. âWell, I better get up and get ready. Do you want breakfast?â Â
âI ainât hungry, just a coffee, please.â She was quiet with him for the remaining hour before she left for work, Manny internally shaking his head, but not broaching it with her. He was in no mood for an argument, and he didnât want her going into her meeting upset either. He was relieved when he arrived at the yard, to be greeted by one woman who never gave him an ounce of anything other than solid friendship and love. Â
âHey, Lils. Thanks so much for doing this.â Greeting her with a hug, Manny turned to click the fob on the new vehicle heâd bought, figuring he needed adequate transportation now he had a baby to ferry from place to place when she was with him. He and Hannah had arranged it, Manny beginning in taking her overnight a few times a week so she could catch up on sleep and work uninterrupted, and he could begin building a bond with his daughter.
âNo problem, buddy. I hope youâre ready to spend a fortune!â Â
She was taking him shopping for all things baby, except for clothes, since she had an absolute abundance of things from when Willow was little that she happily donated to him. He needed a guiding hand, and as a mother, she was perfect. She knew what to do. Â
âMan, this is a sweet ride,â she spoke, getting into the passenger seat, Manny nodding. It was going to cost him a sizable amount in monthly repayments, but not as much as if heâd bought the GMC 4x4 truck brand new. Being an outlaw, he made good bank, but anything he paid in cash for that he couldnât explain was paid for out of his legitimate earnings, should he and the club become under such scrutiny as indictments, was at risk. He was smarter than that, they all were.
âWell, I gotta keep up with your fancy ass and the brand-new Jeep.â Lilyâs very profitable earnings within the UFC had meant she could upgrade from her very old, very unreliable Toyota, buying herself the car sheâd wanted for years.
âDid Angel tell you, we took it off roading at the weekend. It was so much fun!â Only Lily would spend that much money on a car and then take it out on a pursuit that almost guaranteed it getting trashed. Â
âAnd how much of it is left?â Â
âYouâre rude! All of it!â she cried, smacking his shoulder.
âHey yo, easy with the beats, badass. Iâm trying to drive here! Itâs been a while since Iâve been in charge of four wheels,â he protested, reaching to flick her forearm. âSo, what was your dad doing underneath it yesterday then, hmm?â
Lily bit her lip, crinkling her nose. âMight have lost a couple of bolts on the oil sump.â His raised eyebrows prompted her laughter. âStop with the face, or Iâll start telling you a load of unnecessary shit you have to buy just to fuck with you.â By the time theyâd gotten to the store, making their way around, he did actually think she was fucking with him, by the sheer amount of stuff that got placed into the cart. Babies.; they certainly needed a lot of stuff.
âOkay, so you got the crib and other furniture for her room, right?â
âRight,â he confirmed, throwing an elephant print blanket into the cart. âI got the crib assembled already.â
âYou got a chest of drawers for all her clothes to go in? What about a changing table? I mean, you donât really need one, but it makes life easier than doing it on the floor or any other flat surface, trust me.â Nope, he hadnât thought of that, although he already did have the chest of drawers there in his spare room that he could easily clear out and use. âOh, I meant to ask you. Howâs Carmen coping with it now?â
He winced slightly. âYeah, not great. Iâve been heaping focus on her so that she donât feel pushed aside, but I dunno. She ainât happy about any of this at all. Well, sheâs fine just as long as I donât mention Lola.â
Immediately, Lily frowned, pausing from what she was about to say with an interjection of âyouâll need two packs of these, because they get lost all the timeâ before throwing in two four packs of pacifiers, taking a breath. âListen, I donât want this to be coming from a place of bias, because we donât get on,â she began, Manny snorting softly.
âPutting it mildly.â He smiled, though, because he understood that it was mostly his fiancĂ©e's fault, that the women didnât see eye to eye. She was insecure over Mannyâs female friends, especially ones as attractive and successful as Lily was.
She made an agreeable face, her lips pursing and tilting. âAlright, Iâll give you that. But for real, this is another human life, and sheâs an adult. Lola is a baby! I get why sheâs mad, because this is what she was looking forward to with you, and here you are having it with a woman who isnât her. She likely feels very threatened, and Hannah is so pretty as well, and seems nice, from the short time I spent with her. I understand as a woman how all of that might impact her, but still, she needs to pull herself together and realise it isnât all about what she thinks and feels.â Â
Lily had, as ever, articulated it beautifully for him. Also, sheâd given him pause for some perspective he hadnât thought of before, Carmen upset that she wasnât the woman heâd had his first child with. Shit. Of course, that was going to be difficult to deal with for her, especially for a woman who had the kind of propensity for selfishness and insecurity as she did. Â
âSleeping doughnut! You need one of these, theyâre a lifesaver. Youâll get moments where sheâll likely only settle if youâre there, so you can just put this in your bed and put her in safely as the sides will keep her in place and more importantly, mean itâs impossible for you to roll over and smush her in your sleep.â She placed that in the cart, suddenly pausing. âWhatâs up?â
He shook himself. âSorry, it was just what you said about Carmen being upset that the whole first-time parent thing wasnât being shared with her, and it hit me, that youâre right. I didnât even think of that, and I like to think Iâm a thoughtful person when it comes to my loved ones, you know?â
âYou are, Manny.â She paused, walking around to wrap him in a hug. âYou have a hell of a lot on your mind. New baby, wedding planning, the club. Donât be so tough on yourself.â Â
As it happened, it wasnât him who would be toughest on him.
âI need to send a deposit for the wedding flowers. Is there even enough money to do that after all of this? Iâd cover it myself, but I just paid out nine hundred for the bridesmaid's dresses,â Carmen asked, Manny carrying the last of the bags in a couple of hours after his shopping trip with Lily, who heâd dropped at home. A considerably less tense household than his own. Â
âBabies need a lot of stuff,â he explained succinctly, opening the door to Lolaâs room, noting he needed to continue airing it in there as it still smelled strongly of fresh paint, the walls transferred from a mulchy dark green to brilliant white, giving it the illusion of a lot more space than the small room actually had. âYou need a hundred for the flowers, right? Donât stress, baby. I got it.â
âA hundred and fifty.â she confirmed, walking past into the kitchen after pausing to kiss him and give her thanks. No offer of help came, though, no interest in what was going on with him. She only cared about the wedding flowers being secured. It was beyond Manny why she needed to spend three hundred dollars on flowers anyway, but for the sake of a quiet life, he didnât question it. âJust let her get on with it, smile and say âyes, babeâ whenever opening your wallet is involved, mano.â Bishopâs advice to him echoed through his head more and more, the closer they got to their wedding date, which was just over eight months away. Â
After heâd packed everything away, the room near enough completely ready to have a small person stay within it, he went to the kitchen, finding Carmen cooking her delicious shrimp curry, a frown creasing her pretty features. âQuerida, we need to have a conversation about Lola, or more accurately, your reaction to her,â he began, his fiancĂ©e immediately sighing audibly, lifting her wine glass to her lips and swigging back a large gulp. Â
âListen, I know that youâre upset about it, but what can I do? Iâm not gonna abandon my child. As a child whose father walked out on him and his siblings, there ainât no way Iâll be that kind of dad. I understand that itâs hard for you to reconcile, though, that my first child isnât with you, that this is something weâre not going through together. Except we are, though. Youâll have your own relationship with Lola too, as her stepmom,â he explained, moving her hair and kissing the side of her neck. Immediately, she tensed. Â
âYou have no idea what Iâm feeling, now all this has happened! I feel like this is going to push me aside, make you lose focus over the wedding, over me! I donât want to resent the baby, because sheâs just a baby, but I do!â she cried, shrugging him away from her, stalking across the kitchen to the bottle of red wine and topping up her glass. Â
He closed his eyes, counting to ten. Manny wasnât the type to escalate to anger quickly, but when dealing with someone who seemed to be revelling in being selfish and deliberately stubborn, it was a natural progression. âBaby, Lola hasnât even come to stay here yet and youâre acting like sheâs moving in and Iâm asking you to move out. Sheâs gonna be here two nights a week to begin with, thatâs all. And tell me how, so far, Iâve lost focus over you or the wedding?â
Her silence spoke volumes, Carmen knowing she was wrong. Â
âSee? Canât even give me an answer, because you know it hasnât happened, and it wonât. All Iâm doing is making room in my life for my kid. It wouldnât kill you to do the same instead of being so disinterested and cold about it all.â
âCold? Cold? How fucking dare you! I am not being like that at all, or disinterested! Iâm trying to get used to it, so quit pushing it on me!â she shouted, stirring the curry aggressively, the sauce beginning to fleck the countertop beside the stove. âAnyway, did you get those food menu choices I emailed to you? What do you want?â
Again, with bringing it back to the wedding. Heâd already told her he liked it all and so just choose whatever she wanted as he wouldnât mind either way. âWhatever you want, darlinâ.â The weight of it yanked at his shoulders, sagging down as he pulled a beer from the fridge. Â
âIt isnât just about me! I want you to take an interest as well!â
âI have, but if I say anything thatâs even slightly different from what you want, I get a fuckinâ earful for it, so whatever, Carmen. You choose.â
Her response was sharp, each word toned with the vermillion of her ire. âSee? You being passive is being uninterested, you just tell me to pick whatever, because you donât care!â
Oh, heâd match the hue of her anger, unprepared to be the peaceful one for a second longer. âItâs because whatever input I have, unless itâs what you want, itâs a no go! I swear the Christ, Carmen, this whole wedding is bringing out a side of you I ainât ever seen before, shit! Why you gotta turn everything into a battle?â
âIâm not!â
Yeah, not much. âYou do, though, this is why I leave the decisions to you for the sake of not being argued with, and even that ainât enough for you! Screw this, Iâm outta here.â Â
He had to leave, because he knew if he didnât, heâd bring the fact she was being selfish when it came to his child into it as well, and he was above throwing that at her, no matter how unreasonable she was being. He wanted to give her the chance to having Lola around physically first, thinking that perhaps seeing the baby might make her settle into it more. Â
He could but hope it would come together simply enough. Â
#manny mayans mc#manny mayans mc fanfiction#manny mayans mc smut#manny mayans mc imagine#manny mayans mc x ofc#manny montana#manny montana fanfiction#manny montana smut#manny montana imagine#manny montana x ofc#mayans mc#mayans mc fanfiction#mayans mc imagine#mayans mc smut#mayans mc fanfic#mayans mc fic
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late-night health update info-dumping into the void
The neuroendocrine surgeon and her nurses were patient, compassionate, and highly informative.
I walked away with more questions than answers, and like most autistics, I'm not good at sitting peaceably with the unknown.
The tl;dr is that I may not need surgery after all, but if I do need surgery, it would be a riskier surgery than I previously realized. Either way, we will have to wait at least another six weeks to get a better guess. And from where I'm standing now, that feels like an eternity--especially since, as I've often mentioned, my health insurance runs out at the end of August and by September I'll have to pay the COBRA premium. If I'm as lucky as it's possible to get with the NYS COBRA subsidy for entertainment professionals, that'll come to around $292 a month...which would still be cheaper than a marketplace plan and an overall excellent deal as health insurance goes, but guess what else runs out in August? That's right, my unemployment. And guess what happens if I get another job where I can qualify for any old crap minimum-essential health insurance? That's right, I lose the COBRA subsidy and would be stuck paying the full monthly premium...which, for the coverage I'm getting, would STILL be a better deal than most marketplace plans.
But hey, back in 2009 before the Affordable Care Act, even THAT wasn't an option, and the fact that it IS an option now is one of the main reasons why I keep saying that SOMEDAY we will step back and appreciate how much of a healthcare legislation LEGEND Joseph Robinette Biden really is, but I know you're not here for my oversimplified political takes, so let's get back to the other thing you're not here for:
THE ENDOCRINOLOGY INFO-DUMP, July 30, 2024:
Turns out...it's possible that my overall cortisol production is still being skewed by the birth control medications I stopped taking in early June (at my own discretion, remember, because I knew they would affect the cortisol test results even though the first (mean) endocrinologist said they wouldn't, and then said that they did).
What I had read was that 72 hours off the BC meds was sufficient to avoid interference with the low-dose dexamethasone suppression test--so I went off them in advance of my appointment with the first endo, because I was anticipating the ordering of that test.
I'd also read that four weeks off the BC meds was usually sufficient to rule out any potential interferences. When my second LDDST last week showed an even higher cortisol level than the previous one (meaning, the dexamethasone had suppressed it even less), I took that to mean that no, the BC was clearly not playing a part.
Also, the lab screwed up my second 24-hour urine test by not including the total volume in the lab report (what, did they spill it or something?) so there was no way to extrapolate the necessary data...BUT my first and second set of saliva cortisol tests came back normal--even with a high cortisol concentration in my previous urine test and all my blood serum tests.
Apparently, this "saliva vs. the other bodily fluids" cortisol discrepancy has to do with the fact that the cortisol tests measure both "free" cortisol, and transcortin, which is a protein secreted by the liver that binds to cortisol. A serum cortisol test (blood test) will measure both, while urine and saliva tests are meant to measure "free" cortisol. BUT, apparently, these BC meds can cause increased production of transcortin for up to three months after stopping the medication, and that transcortin production might be reflected in the levels associated with the urine test, but NOT in the saliva test.
To definitively confirm a Cushing's diagnosis, we would need to rule out not only any potential interference with cortisol (e.g. glucocorticosteroids), but also rule out any potential interference with transcortin production (e.g. the birth control meds). And the only way to do that is to just...WAAAAAIT.
BUT WAIT, WHAT ABOUT THE PITUITARY TUMOR?
WELL...enhanced imaging seems to indicate that the growth on my pituitary gland is fluid-filled, which means it's far likelier to be a Rathke's cleft cyst (technically not a tumor) than a pituitary adenoma (technically a tumor).
I'm sick of speculating and over-explaining what it might be, so until further notice, I'm just gonna call it Otis.
The possible good news is, if the September lab work indicates that my hormone levels were just screwed up from the birth control meds, then Otis's presence might have nothing to do with anything, and therefore, I may not need surgery at all.
The downside of that scenario is that it may take my body a long time to fully recover from any deleterious effects of the BC meds on my endocrine system. And that would also likely mean that my periods would become more regular again, which means that monthly spells of sensory nightmares would become more regular as well.
On the other hand, if the cortisol tests and other lab work don't resolve after the BC is definitively out of my system, and the culprit of the issues turns out to be Otis after all...I would need surgery, but not the straightforward transsphenoidal or endoscopic endonasal surgery that I was expecting. Otis is very close to my brain stem and it might be too risky to attempt draining or removing it through the nasal canal. It's possible they'd try to attack it with radiation therapy, but usually they only do that for RCCs that recur after surgical draining, so who even knows.
I'm just gonna say right now, in terms of symptoms and my knowledge of my own experience, I have a sinking feeling that it is Otis causing the problems. But we aren't even going to be able to attempt making a better guess until mid-September.
And what sucks the most is, there's probably nothing to be done for my symptoms in the meantime. Depending on the results of the bloodwork they did today, they might give me Metformin to treat any possible underlying metabolic syndrome (which is also something I suspected early on), but other than that, it's more "hurry up and wait."
I gotta be honest...in addition to all the physical and emotional overwhelm, I feel like my commitment to unlearning internalized ableism is REALLY being tested right now.
Owning my autism was easier. It was liberating. But I'm realizing that some part of me really did want to "be the poster child for 'if [s]he can, then you can.'" Part of me thought, if I had to be autistic, I was going to be a Model Autistic who can do anything the abled neurotypicals can do. I was going to Set An Example. Not a perfect example, but a solid and consistent example of someone who maximizes her potential but stays woke and stays self-aware and checks her privilege and advocates for intersectionality.
That simply isn't true right now. I can't do everything abled neurotypicals can do. My body is tired, weak, and prone to sickness. My voice is exhausted from regular conversation. My skin is dry and itchy and my face can barely tolerate makeup. I have NO appetite, and yet I've gained so much weight, like I can't get comfortable anywhere because there's too much. My stomach and my lymph nodes feel (and are) constantly swollen, my sense of dehydration is constant and I'm not retaining water correctly.
I feel hideously, embarrassingly ineffectual.
And conventional wisdom says "don't put this on the internet, or else you won't get hired." Don't share your behind-the-scenes, don't share the cutting room floor, only share your highlight reel.
Well, I'm sorry, but if acting is "telling the truth," and if art is about "the fullest expression of the human experience," then following those "rules" seems awfully hypocritical to me. Besides, what sort of disability advocate would I be if I didn't share the truth of what's going on, and how it feels?
Disability pride doesn't have to mean being proud of every part of every disability.
In fact, pride really isn't even the right word.
Because I'm not proud. But I'm not ashamed either. I'm just real.
Being honest about what I'm going through doesn't automatically make me a better or more aspirational person, but it doesn't make me a worse person either. It doesn't make me much of anything, really, because what I'm going through does not need to be anybody else's business, but it also doesn't need to be kept a secret. It is mine to do with as I choose, and the value my story might bring to the world has nothing to do with me. It has everything to do with the people who hear it, internalize it, and take something away that's valuable to them.
I hope, if nothing else, someone does that.
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A few weeks back we went to change Harrietâs feeding tube button. Itâs a six monthly task, and simple enough. You deflate the balloon holding it in, take it out, put the new one in, and inflate the balloon.
In true Harriet style she threw in some big curveballs for the âsimpleâ task. We got the old one out, but could not get the new one to go in through her abdomen. With the stoma (artificial opening) it starts closing really quickly if you canât get it in. Quick dash to local emergency who put a temporary stent in to allow us to drive to Melbourne. Kids hospital were able to get a new tube in but it was a different type and not really ideal for an active 3yo. It took laughing gas and 4 adults holding her down screaming though.
Emails sent come the working week, as of course this happened on a weekend. Her gastro department, made an appointment for last Wednesday to change back to her normal tube. We werenât told if they wanted her fasted, so we played it safe and fasted her. Left home at 6am to get to her 9am appt on time. When we were 45 minutes over her appointment time we asked at reception if she was able to eat as she kept saying she was hungry. They went and âcheckedâ said she was fine to eat. She had literally 3 bites before we were taken through. Doctor saw her with food and said they would have to cancel the change as she had to have fasted. Glad we drove 2.5hours for that. They managed to fit her in for the afternoon, but it meant being fasted and she had, had 3 bites of food since the night before.
The procedure was 5 adults restraining Hatt. Her screaming and hyperventilating and trying to get the laughing gas off. I feel like the worst mum having to do this. Iâm traumatised buy watching her experience this. Sheâs 3. It must be so much worse for her.
They got the tube in though. She could eat. We drove home. All was good.
Thursday was our ârest dayâ. We had more appts at the kids hospital scheduled for Friday. I went to the bathroom at 8am Thursday and heard Aaron yell out. The balloon that held the tube in had burst and tube came out. Lucy had immunisation and health nurse at home. So Aaron stayed home with her, I put Hatt in the car and we drove straight to the kids hospital.
They put laughing gas on her and another procedure of multiple adults holding her down whilst she screamed. This time they could not get the tube in. They tried for 30minutes. They maxed out on all the sedation they could give her in a ward environment for the procedure. She therefore had to go into theatre.
What was supposed to be a 5-10 minute procedure in theatre wasnât. Half an hour in I got a call from the surgeon telling me it was much, much more complicated than thought. They were wanting my consent to do scopes and a few other things. What was said to be a short procedure and then home, made the surgeons book a ward bed. Harriet was in theatre for 2 hours. They managed to get a much smaller sized tube in, but itâs still in. She is also going to need another surgery in the coming months to resite her whole PEG site.
Hatt wonât let anywhere near her stomach. Which is fair. It was traumatising. So very traumatising. Itâs making self care tasks like dressing, toileting, PEG needs so fucking hard though.
I feel like the worst mum ever. The first words she said to me after this whole saga though were âI love you so much mummyâ as she threw her arms around me. She has said that same sentence so, so many times spontaneously over the weekend also. Trying to remember them.
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St. Raphael Church
225 E. High St.
Springfield, OH
St. Raphael's Church is a historic Catholic church in the city of Springfield, Ohio, United States. Established in the 1840s as Springfield's first Catholic parish, it is a Gothic Revival church building, the towers of which hold a prominent spot in the city's skyline. As a work of a leading city architect, the building has been named a historic site. None of Clark County's first residents were Catholics; the first Catholics moved into Springfield circa 1835, and by 1845, the community had nearly seventy Catholic families. The first priest to minister in Springfield was Henry Damian Juncker, the future Bishop of Alton, but his responsibilities elsewhere permitted him to visit Springfield only once or twice monthly, and services were held in private residences or in buildings owned by others. James F. Kearney was the first resident priest, coming in August 1840, but due to illness he resigned after one year's service. â
The members bought land in 1848, and the parish was officially erected in 1849 and dedicated to St. Raphael. Although money was originally lacking for the construction of a building, the parish's needs were supplied by wealthy Cincinnati resident Michael Cassily, and with his money the members built the foundation of a church building. Over the next quarter century, twelve different priests served the parish, holding tenures ranging from one to eighteen years. By the late 1860s, the parish was growing to the point that a single priest could no longer serve everyone: an assistant pastor was appointed in 1868, even though a second parish, St. Bernard, had been formed in 1860. â Another parish, St. Joseph, was established in 1884.
When W.H. Sidley became the pastor in 1873, he was distressed to discover the parish's diminutive complex: a small brick house of worship, a tiny frame house used as a school, and no rectory whatsoever. He soon arranged for the construction of a rectory, which was finished in the following year at a cost of $7,000. Two years later, he began a more substantial school building, three stories tall, which was completed in September, 1877, at a cost of $19,000. By the early 1890s, the church itself was proving insufficient for the parish's needs, and the process of replacing it began in early 1892 as the original brick building was destroyed. Six years passed before the completion of the replacement building, which was consecrated by William Henry Elder, the Archbishop of Cincinnati, on July 17, 1898.â
St. Raphael's was the high school parish of Daniel Rudd, an African-American newspaperman who founded the first Black Catholic Newspaper in 1886, "American Catholic Tribune." An Ohio Historical Marker honoring him was dedicated Dec 12, 2021. During the 1920s, the church prospered amid civil strife. In 1923, when Archbishop Moeller was raising money for Mount St. Mary's Seminary of the West, St. Raphael's was wealthy enough to provide $10,000 for the school fund, amounting to fully 10% of the total. â Its funds also sponsored Springfield Central Catholic High School, meant for students of all city parishes rather than for St. Raphael parishioners only. â Conversely, the church was the focus of rising Ku Klux Klan sentiment in Springfield. Among the most exciting incidents in the parish history occurred during a KKK parade: the Klansmen planned to process past the church, but the parish priest stood before the parade, blocking the way, and the Klansmen turned aside.
St. Raphael's is a high Gothic Revival structure, built of sandstone from Berea. Since construction in the 1890s, it has been one of Springfield's most distinctive buildings, due in large part to its two front towers â the bell tower is 135 feet high, and the principal tower 184 feet . By climbing 156 steps to the summit of the principal tower, one gains a panoramic view of the city and surrounding countryside.â The building's general plan is that of a streamlined Latin cross, with slight gabled projections near the rear forming the crosspiece. Three entrances pierce the facade, while lancet windows of similar height are placed at varying locations in the towers, and two-story windows fill the side bays. Widest and tallest are the windows placed in the rear-side projections and above the entrances on the facade. The Gothic stained glass window from the church apse depicts the Crucifixion of Jesus.
Both towers are topped with pointed roofs, surrounded by ornamental pointed roofs of far smaller sizes, while the roof of the main part of the church is a steep gable. Despite extensive Gothic Revival detailing, such as the pointed-arch windows and doorways, the building also retains some elements of the Romanesque Revival style, including the false buttresses and columns around the main entrance, as well as the sheer massing of both towers. By the time that the building was complete, parishioners had spent $75,000 on construction and ancillary costs.â The architect for St. Raphael's was Charles A. Cregar, first among architects native to Springfield. Cregar was responsible for numerous grand buildings in Springfield, including City Hall, and St. Raphael's is among the chief examples of his work.
St. Raphael's remains an active part of the Roman Catholic Archdiocese of Cincinnati, but no longer as a separate parish: St. Joseph's and St. Raphael's have been combined into a single parish. The church building itself has received wide recognition: it was listed with the National Register of Historic Places on June 22, 1976, due to its historically significant architecture. It is one of six Cregar-designed buildings listed on the Register, along with the former city hall, St. John's Evangelical Lutheran Church, the former Arcade Hotel, St. Joseph's Church, and the former Third Presbyterian Church.
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jasmine may i please humbly request some thea & august facts? đ„șđđ
yes my love ofc u are the sweetest!!!!!!!! and i'm so sorry i have no idea how long ago u sent this!! tumblr didn't notify me :((
okay here are the fax <3
first off, august joined the royal guard because his family is dirt poor đ they live on the outskirts of an industrial district rapidly being bought out by One Rich Guy aka Reaver. their sole means of income is their family business!! creating dyes!! hence the surname!! and it's hard to compete with capitalism. so as the eldest, august volunteered at only fifteen to be shipped off to join the guard for a hefty monthly stipend :[
but how did he go from trainee to Literal Bodyguard so young?? well,, the royal family was getting desperate. thea had run through six bodyguards who each quit within their first week of working with her. walter (thea's mentor/uncle-figure) propositioned that maybe someone her age would understand her better and be able to keep her under control !!
august did not keep her under control.
in fact he helped her sneak out of the castle the first day they met.
in his brain what else was he supposed to do?? let her go alone?? manhandle her?? absolutely not. he is a Gentlemanâąïž
from that day they became absolute besties. rather thea appointed him her bestie. thea is lively, loves shenanigans!! and august was quite literally duty-bound to get swept up in them
which isnât to say he did nothing for her. he looked out for her, scolded and teased her, grounded her in reality more than a few times. but he never ever tried to control her and that meant the world to thea. heâs the only guard sheâs ever listened to and will ever listen to, thank u very much
thea pretty much adored august from the get go, like he was her little scrunkly, and while august was definitely endeared by her that day they snuck out, his undying devotion to her grew naturally. about half a year after they met, theaâs mother died, and i think right then is when they became inseparable đ€§
lots of little things bonded them over the years. coming up with pretentious names for colors, practicing ballroom dances, teaching theaâs dog dumb little tricks, reading terrible poetry together and coming up with their own equally terrible alliterative ballads (one of which earned her the nickname dovey đ)
august never quite let go of the propriety of everything despite how close they were. never fully dropped the âmy ladyâ and the upright posture. and it kinda got worse once he realized he had feelings for her
when did he realize this?? when he stood guard as she snuck out one of her many boyfriends at the time and, as thanks, gave him a kiss on the cheek. italicized oh moment. ofc rumors had been spread about the two of them for years but he became very acutely aware of them after that
fortunately for him, he didnât have to deal with his repressed feelings much longer!! theaâs brother, the king, had grown corrupt and thea had to flee the castle, but the king had summoned august for a private chat đ and he did not get to come with her :((
fast forward a year. thea has begun a revolution and seeks to overthrow her brother and take the throne. she and august find each other in the castle as she seizes it and they crash into a hug and theyâre both so relieved. but august notices something changed. maybe itâs her gait or the slight glower in her eyes, but sheâs different. no one else noticesâno one else wouldâbut he does
thea is crowned at only nineteen years old and is tasked with stopping a devastating darkness from overtaking the kingdom. everyone has faith sheâll be different than her brother was
then she starts breaking promises
starts raising taxes
executes her brother for speaking against her
she turns her back not only on the friends who put her on the throne, but the citizens of the kingdom as well, and reaver (the guy that is the reason behind the kingdomâs poverty??) becomes her advisor. that bright, bombastic princess is gone in place of a queen corrupting everything she stood for
and august is helpless
his best friend is burning herself to the ground to stop the darkness because she sees no other source of light and he can do nothing to help her. heâs never been in this position before. he can always help her
her former friends tell him he has to put an end to her madness, but he refuses. he canât kill her, not even for the good of everyone he knows. he just keeps on believing she can change and she will change because if no one will have faith in her, he willâhe always has !!!
strong âi can fix herâ syndrome like this man cannot let her go đ AND IT IS DEVASTATING !!!!!!!!
u know how padmĂ© was literally dying and still said âthereâs still good in him obi wanâ,,,,,,, thatâs august. but heâs RIGHT
she employs augustâs family, giving them their very own estate on the castle grounds, because she knows how they struggle. because even in her corruption she still loves him and wants whatâs best for him ;-;
when sheâs sleeping and her face is relaxed he can almost see her as she was. as his princess. his dovey. the dark circles and frazzled hair canât conceal the girl he once knew, even when she now pushes him away at every turn
tbh this is kind of the extent of their story :(( thea saves her kingdom but loses nearly everything in the process. her friends. her father figure. her people. her peace
but august is still there
she comprehends how useless all her efforts were. âyour worst sin is you have betrayed yourself for nothingâ type beat. she realizes how far gone she was. how her ends did not justify the means. how there was another way to have done this all along
maybe she can never redeem herself but she knows that if august can still love her as he does, thereâs hope for her yet :â)
#smooches you for this!! mwah mwah mwah!!#this was unnecessarily long#zero fun facts in here just their life story fnjdbdjfkfhsfnbd#i hope u had fun reading it though :D#anyone shows interest in thea and august and i lose my mind for a solid hour#letters#shadowglens#x: the house is on fire and i can't get you to leave it
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can i request something to do with the thing about vincent having tics while giving oral or just vincent giving oral general i love the way you write things
I Think We're Alone Now
(Vincent Rhodes x Fem!Reader)
Warnings: language, talk of mental health, fem!receiving oral
A/N: With the pandemic keeping you and Vincent apart, he was glad that being alone didn't mean being lonely.
Vincent Rhodes didn't tic as bad or as much in his thirties. He wasn't cured. He didn't take medicine that made them magically go away. He took meds for his anxiety, and the âcureâ was still going to therapy with Dr Rose. He didn't go daily or weekly or even monthly anymore. He managed every other month. Sometimes, perhaps, every three to four months. Yet it took twenty-five to finally accept a cliche: Tourette's wasn't Vincent, Vincent simply HAD Tourette's.
Don't worry though, cunt is still his favorite word.
Vincent also did all the things he told Marie he wanted to do. He finished school and went to college online. He found himself rather good at computers and a job that required the bare minimum of human interaction. His Tourette's was under control, but his social anxiety never seemed to be. We digress!
He had a job, and a place to call home that wasn't a treatment facility or a hoarderâs house bogged down by sadness and alcoholism. Vincent didn't find it shameful that his father bought him a condo. He and his roommate had an agreement to pay utilities and work on the re-election campaign.
Vincent finally had a dog. A dog he had to fight for because his roommate had.. Rituals. Rituals that also weren't as bad as they used to be thanks to the same therapy and right medication. Just like you can't get rid of Tourette's, Vincent couldn't get rid of Alex either. That was his first, and really only, friend. As tumultuous as they started out, if you survive a road trip with two neurodivergents, you're pretty much bonded for life. Alex was sometimes more work than their dog.
Vincent and Alex did things in their late twenties and early thirties they never thought they'd do. They went out. They dated around. They had awkward sex and one night stands that the two of them could finally laugh about. Vincent could hide, or save his tics from popping up during his dates. He could even manage to hold them off when he had sex. He was relaxed and focused on the woman beneath or above him.
But then he would spasm, or twist and pop his mouth. He would unintentionally squeal or swear, call her names or flip her off. Instead of understanding Vincent, or talking to him, whoever the girl of the moment was would leave and never come back. Fuck her, Vincent would think. I can't help that I have Touretteâs; she can help being an asshole.
-----
There could not have been a worse time in anyoneâs life for you to meet quite possibly the single hottest guy in your neighborhood. At least, you thought he was in your neighborhood. You kept running into each other at various stores to the point you found yourself quoting an old movie from college.
âAre you stalking me?â You boldly questioned him one afternoon as he pondered Mcintosh versus Fiji apples. âBecause that would be super.â
The man jumped. Then to your shock, he spasmed almost violently. His neck twisted to the left as his hand held on to his chin and yelled out, âBrown haired cunt! Grass licking big tits.â
You laughed. It wasn't malicious or in jest. You were nervous and stunned. Still you replied, âNormally a guy has to date me for a while before he calls me a cunt. Now as for grass licking? That was only once, but I was high and we were playing truth or dare.â
He stared at you, mouth agape. A violent spasm rocked his body again like an aftershock. It caused him to excessively blow a dark curl back from his forehead several times before his body relaxed and he appeared to sink in on himself. Embarrassed. A pink hue spread along his cheeks and angled jaw as he gazed at the apples again with large green eyes.
âYou ok? I wouldn't say I've got big tits. They're more like medium sized. Unless you were talking about the melons.â You held up two cantaloupe in front of your chest. âIâm y/nâ
Again with the mouth open staring. Then he came to, âVincent. I've never had someone react to Arthur that way.â
âI'm from New York. That was a Saturday night in the village. Whoâs Arthur?â You looked around. âAre you being held hostage? Scream cunt for yes. Vagina for no.â
Vincent laughed. It was almost a giggle that you weren't sure was a laugh or his thing. âArthur is my Tourette's. He's the clown who shits in between my thoughts. My tics. You scared the piss out of him.â
âYou named your Tourette's? You can't do that, they never go away once you name them.â
Vincent rolled his eyes, â DAMMIT! I'll take away his bowl of food and dog bed too. Maybe I'll finally be cured!â
You didn't want him to think you felt something was wrong with him. âMostly with all of this, I meant I keep seeing you around. Thought I'd say hi.â
âHow about we exchange phone numbers, and you can say hello more often?â Vincent cocked an eyebrow.
âBold of you to assume calling me a cunt is flirting! But you got it out of the way now instead of down the line. Give me your phone.â
He obliged and you put your number in. As you handed it back you joked, âShould've told me you had a much sexier friend.â You indicated Alex on the phoneâs wallpaper.
âHe's gay.â
âDamn! Lucky for men. Anyways, I work most days. Don't know how long with everything happening out there. Call me sometime?â
Vincent twitched and wolf whistled. He shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose, but promised he would nonetheless. But then pandemic happened, so all you had for the next six months was your phone
-----
You met Alex and learned his rituals and empathized with his panic to follow or abide by heath guidance. His OCD aggravated by everything going on. Vincent couldn't even go for a run without his friend completely freaking out, so he just didn't. Their balcony was it for fresh air.
You took tours of each other's apartments. Had dinners and breakfasts together. Shared what books you were reading and watched movies together. Vincent teased you about your fat, lazy cat and you did likewise over his ten pound shih tzu. Although, you admitted, it was because she got to share a bed with him.
Somehow in month 5 you were roped into a three way phone call with his dad. Senator Rhodes and Vincent seemed to have an easy relationship, but you were filled in later that it was anything but for a very long time. So you turned the tables one night, and introduced him to your entire family.
Forgetting about his Tourette's, because you had really grown used to it all. To the tics, the whistles and excessive use of the word cunt (Pandemic drinking game, Vincentâs idea) that his biggest episode since you met stunned not only you but your clan. Vincent had buried his face, you were terrified of your mistake. But you got it from somewhere.
âSure you ain't from Brooklyn, kid?!â Thank Christ for meathead brothers.
âThis is dating right?â Vincent asked after their dinner. âPandemic, COVID, for now dating. Even though,â he paused to twist his neck, âOne of my coworkers has uh, dick appointments all the time?â He snapped a finger several times and shouted something about a whore and syphilis.
âHey! Tell Arthur to fuck off. Sexual liberation. She's not a whore, she's in her twenties!â Vincent laughed. âAre you nervous about something? Usually the bedtime part of our phone calls are the least tic-ish.â
âWanna have sex?â He was straightforward.
âRight now? Facetime sex?â You scrunch your nose but more to be cute than creeped out.
âHere. Alex is asleep. Come over? We've been isolated for months.â
âGod, I love you.â
âWhat?â Vincent laughed. âAre you sure about that?â
âI'll be there in twenty minutes.â
-----
Vincent opened the door and implored you to take your shoes off at the door. You expected nothing less as you complied and followed him in the stillness of the apartment to his bedroom.
The moment the door was shut, Vincent was on you before you could even adjust to the dark. Only street lamps from the neighborhood below showed through as his mouth consumed yours.
Your tongues at war with each other as the two of you scrambled to undress. Your lips broke apart long enough to throw shirts over heads and step out of flannel pants or yoga pants. Then they crashed together again as Vincent let his hands splay out the length of your back and shoulders.
Your one hand ensnared by his messy hair. The other under the waistband of his boxers and over his ass. You drew his body to yours to melt into. His erection strained and throbbed against your hip as you hungrily pushed your tongue as far inside him as you could.
The both of you eager like teenagers shot with adrenaline. Anxious and hoping Alex caught you as Vincent twitched and his shoulders shrugged up to his ears. His fingers fumbled with your bra made worse by his tics. Tics that frustrated only him; you reached and undid it for him. Your breasts were free for him to look at.
Vincent attempted to choke back his words but failed. âTit fucker,â a sour look on his face as his eye involuntarily clamped shut, âhuge nipples.â He swallowed his lips, mortified.
âHey!! They make up for yours being the tiniest nipples I have EVER seen on a dude.â You took Vincentâs hand. âWe can slow down if you want. I don't know what's up, do you tic like this every time you have sex?â
The two of you laid side by side on his bed, hands traced over inches of bare skin. Vincent was silent for a while as he let his fingers trail over you, his lips not far behind.
âI don't. I'm usually too focused. The last time I loved someone, it fell apart immediately. It's making me anxious.â
You held his head to your body with a tenderness. âI loved you first, didn't I?â
His mouth made its way amongst your breasts as he gently laid you on your back. His lips warm on your stomach and hips that he exposed by tugging your panties down over your knees and off. Vincent laid down between them and almost nuzzled his nose in your soft pubic hair before his tongue dove inside of you.
Your hips rocketed up into his mouth as you grabbed the back of Vincent's head. He licked and sucked on your sex. Small tics caused him to push his tongue and lips in further than before. They closed in on your clit. His tongue attacked it with a lapping motion that you could only bend to, helpless.
Vincent was insatiable, his mouth in a frenzy. Your fingers caught up in the sheets as the sensation of his mouth on your clit spread along your body. Now your words were a shock as they came screaming out into the quiet of the bedroom.
âTongue fuck me! Faster!â
Instead Vincent looked up at you with a grin, âI see Arthur came to visit.â
Tag: @robertsheehanownsmyass @slutforrobbiebro @super-unpredictable98 @magic-multicolored-miracle @sean-falco @elliethesuperfruitlover @bisexualnathanyoung @bwritesstuff @firstpersonnarrator @rob-private
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Otherside
Paring: Massimo x ReaderÂ
Word Count: 2,464
Requested By @ee101abc
Warnings: Character Death, Swearing, Fluff If You Squint, Angst .. I Think Thats ItÂ
A/n : Im Sorry For Taking Forever In Posting But Between Running A Business, Working To Fund Said Business, And Being In School Its A Little Hard Finding The Free Time To Write But I Promise Iâm Going To Find A Way, I Havenât Forgot About You All . So Anyways I Hope You Enjoy And Sorry For Any Mistakes Seeing As To How This Version That You All Are About To Read Is The Second Time Iâve Written This Because The First One Went Poof.Â
Lyrics In Bold
Flashbacks In ItalicsÂ
âDo You Ever Think That Thereâs Something More Out Thereâ You Asked As You And Massimo Sat Out On One Of His Many Balconies Watching The Sun Set Out Over The Ocean.. A Sight That Was Truly Breathtaking.Â
âIâm Not Sure What You Mean Principessaâ You Laughed At The Quizzical Look On His Face As He Tried To Think Of What Prompted You To Ask Such A Question
âYou Know Like.. Once We Die Ya KnowâÂ
âYou Mean Heaven And Hellâ He Said Causing You To Slap His Arm In A Playful Manner At The Sarcasm In His VoiceÂ
âYes And No.. I Just, I Feel Like Thereâs More Out There. Like This Wouldnât Be The Endâ You Said Looking Out Onto The Horizon The Sunset Long GoneÂ
âOkayyy , Youâve Had Enough To Drinkâ He Laughed Trying To Reach Over To Take The Glass From Your Hand, Causing You To Abruptly Yank You Hand Back Spilling The Contents Of The GlassÂ
âJust Know Torricelli Thereâs More Than Thisâ You Said Taking A Sip Of Your Drink âAnd When All Is Said And Done, You Will See Me On The OthersideÂ
5 Months LaterÂ
Massimo Stood In His Office, Looking Out At The Sunset That You And Him Often Found Yourselves Watching Everyday. So Much Was Going Through His Head. Wondering Why You Didnât Tell Him. If Only He Knew He Couldâve Done Something. So Caught Up In His Thoughts He Didnât Hear Domenico And Mario Walk In Until They Spoke Up.
âMassimo.. You Cannot Stay In This Office All Day, You Have To Get Out Its Been Three Day.. She Wouldnât Want Thisâ Mario Said As He Went To Sit In One Of The Chairs Stationed By His DeskÂ
âIts My House I Will Do As I Damn Well Pleaseâ
âI Donât Agree With Mario On A Lot Of This But Heâs Right On This Mas.. This Isnât Healthyâ Domenico Said As He Cautiously Walked Over And Put His Hand On His Shoulder As A Way Of ComfortÂ
âI Could Have Did Somethingâ Massimo Whispered Turning Away From Domenico As Tears Started To Fall But It Was To Late. Dom Had Already Seen Bringing Him Into A Much Needed HugÂ
âThere Was Nothing We Could Have Done Masâ Mario Said Standing Up And Walking Towards The Two Men Wanting To Help Comfort The Man Heâs Considered A Son âShe Had A Heart Condition, There Was No Way Of Us KnowingâÂ
If The Storm ComesÂ
If We Burn UpÂ
If The Wells Run DryÂ
Youâre My ReasonÂ
To Believe InÂ
Another LifeÂ
You Never Were The One To Want Peoplesâ Sympathy.. Or Fake Sympathy If You Should Put It, You Never Liked The Looks Of Pity People Gave You Whenever Something Bad Happened So When You Went For Your Monthly Check Up And Your Doctor Informed You That Youâre Heart Was Failing, The Current Medicine Youâd Been Taking No Longer Working And That You Had At The Most Six Months Left You Chose Not To Tell Any One.. Not Wanting To Be Treated Like A Fragile Porcelain Doll For The Rest Of Your Life, Or At Least What You Have Left Of It.Â
Walking Into Massimos Office Like You Owned The Place Because In Some Sense You Did, It Was Your Favorite Place In The Whole House And Massimo Couldnât For The Life Of Him Figure Out Why; You Noticed Him On The Phone And Sat Down At One Of The Chairs In Front Of His Desk Kicking Youâre Feet Up Waiting For Him To Get Done With His Call.. Not That You Were In A Rush, You Liked Being In His Presence No Matter What.Â
âSorry That Took So Long, I Wasnât Expecting You To Drop By Todayâ Massimo Said Getting Off The Phone An Hour Later. His Loud Voice Causing You To Jump Out Of The Slumber You Unknowingly Slipped IntoÂ
âHuhâ You Said As You Jumped Up Causing Massimo To Laugh At Your Confused State. Getting Up To Get Himself A Drink From The Makeshift Bar He Had In The Corner Of His Office Pouring Himself A Glass Of Whiskey And Shaking The Bottle In Your Direction. A Way Of Asking If You Wanted Any, Causing You To Nod Your Head.Â
âI Was Saying I Wasnât Expecting You To Stop By Today.. I Could Have Rescheduled That Callâ He Said As He Walked Over To You And Handed You Your GlassÂ
âThereâs No Need For That Mas, You Donât Have To Reschedule A Call For Me, Especially An Important Business CallâÂ
âSciocchezze (Nonsense)â Massimo Said As He Leaned Back Against The Front Of His Desk âSo How Was Your AppointmentâÂ
âOh You Know, Same Ol Same Ol .. Female Stuffâ You Started To Say But Massimo Cut You Off Saying Heâd Heard Enough Causing You To Laugh At His Displeasure In The SubjectÂ
âSo What Do I Owe The Pleasure Of Seeing You TodayâÂ
âI Canât Just Come And See My Bestfriend Without There Being A Reasonâ You Said, And If You Were Paying Attention You Would Have Noticed The Slight Falter In Massimos Smile As You Mentioned The Word Bestfriend.. But You Didnât Caught Up In The Nervousness That You Had Only Six Months Left. Six Months On This Earth, Six Months Until You Wouldnât Be Able To See His Beautiful Face Anymore.Â
âHey, You Okayâ Massimo Reached Out To Touch You Arm, That Simple Action Bringing You Back To Reality, Back To HimÂ
âIm Fineâ You Smiled Up At Him, Then Looked Past Him Noticing The Sun Was Starting To SetÂ
âYou Sure Amoreâ He Asked Worry Clearly Written On His Face
âYes, Now Come.. Watch The Sun Set With Meâ You Said Grabbing His Hand And Dragging Him Towards The Balcony In His OfficeÂ
âSince When Do You Watch The Sun Setâ
âSince Nowâ You Said Walking To The Couch Patting The Spot Next To You For Him To Sit âLifeâs Too Short Not To Try New Things And Enjoy The Little ThingsÂ
If We Wake UpÂ
Lose Our PatienceÂ
Or Even Lose Our Lives, Oh
Iâll Feel Lucky
To Say That Youâve BeenÂ
A Friend Of MineÂ
Today Was One Of Your Difficult Days, The More Time Passed The More You Had You Good And Bad Days, And Today Was Proving To Be A Bad Day But You Wouldnât Let That Stop You There Were Things That You Needed To Get Done. First You Had To Stop Buy Your Lawyers Office To Drop Off Some Things To Give To Your Family And Massimo When The Time Came, Then You Had To Clean Out You Apartment. The Task Alone Was Proving Difficult Though Seeing As How You Needed To Sit And Rest Every Couple Of Minutes Causing You To Not Get Much Done.Â
You Let Out A Frustrated Scream Throwing The Object You Had In Your Hand Across The Room Knocking Over A Random Box Full Of Stuff. You Were Tired To Say The Least And It Looked Like You Werenât Getting Closer To Finishing Even Though You Started At Noon, And It was Now Going On Six. In The Midst Of Your Frustration You Didnât Notice Your Front Door Opening And Closing Massimo Walking Into View Using The Spare Key You Gave Him. You Werenât Expecting Him To Stop By, But Seeing As How You Havenât Been By His Place In A Couple Of Days Due To Your Shortness Of Breath Now, Its Not Completely UnexpectedÂ
âWhat Is Going On In Hereâ Massimo Said Stepping Over Box After Box Until He Reached The One Open Space You Were Currently Standing In The Middle Of âYou Not Trying To Leave Me Are You PrincipessaâÂ
âI Could Never Leave You Masâ You Said As A Small Smile Ghosted You Lips, As You Though About The Double Meaning To That Line, And The Soon Inevitable. Massimo Didnât Miss The The Look Your Face Held Either, Worry Once Again Taking Over His FaceÂ
âI Know I Ask This A Lot But Are You Sure Youâre Okay LoveâÂ
âIâm As Good As Iâll Ever Be Torricelliâ You Said Smiling Up At HimÂ
âWhatâs With All The Boxes Anywaysâ He Said Taking A Look AroundÂ
âSpring Cleaningâ You Said Not Bringing Yourself To Tell Him The Real Reason For Packing All Of Your Things UpÂ
âIn The Middle Of FallâÂ
âHey, You Have To Start Sometime Rightâ You Said As You Started To Laugh But Soon Turned To A Fit Of Coughing So Harsh It Caused You To Stumble Over Prompting Massimo To Reach Out And Grab You Standing You Up StraightÂ
âYou Okay Principessaâ He Said Looking At You With Eyes Of ConcernÂ
âIâm Perfect.. I Have You Hear With Meâ You Smiled Up At Him.. Taking In The Man Others Feared But You Called Your Bestfriend, Secretly Wanting To Call Him More âYou Know, I Feel Lucky, To Say That Youâve Been A Friend Of Mine, That I Get To Call You My Best Friend.. I Love You MasâÂ
âI Love You Too AmoreâÂ
Massimo Eventually Left His Office, Only Moving To His Bed Room But It Was Still Progress. He Just Couldnât Believe That The Last Words Heâd Spoken To You Were âI Love You Too Amoreâ. If Only Youâd Told Him Sooner, Why Didnât You Tell Him Sooner. He Went To Your House That Day With The Intent Of Telling You How He Truly Felt But He Never Got The Chance.Â
You Had Soon Erupted Into Another Coughing Fit The Second Worse Than The First Causing You To Clench At Your Chest And Massimo Eventually Rush You To The Nearest Emergency Room. If Only Youâd Told Him, He Would Have Gave You The Best Doctors Money Could By, They Could Have Saved You He Thought. He Would Have Told You That When He Said He Loved You, He Meant It With Every Fiber Of His Being.. And He Would Have Found Out That You Recuperated Those Feelings.Â
So Caught Up In His Thoughts He Ignored The Open And Close Of His Room Door Continuing To Stare Up At His Ceiling
âSomething Came For You Todayâ Domenico Said Approaching The Side Of Massimos BedÂ
â I Donât CareâÂ
âIts A Letter Fr-â Dom Started To Say But Was Cut Off By Massimo
âI Said I Donât Give A Damnâ He GrowledÂ
Knowing His Friend Is Going Through A Lot Right Now, As They All Are Because You Worked Your Way Into All Of Their Hearts, He Understood The FrustrationÂ
âIts From Ynâ Domenico Continued To Say Causing Massimo To Look Over At Him âI Get If You Donât Want To Read It Right Now, Just Know Its Right HereâÂ
And With That Domenico Put The Letter On The Nightstand And Left The Room. He Was Hesitant At First But After A Couple Of Minutes Massimo Sat Up And Reached For The Letter, Rubbing His Fingers Over The Envelope Before Ripping It Open, Taking A Moment To Admire Your Hand Writing. Taking A Deep Shaky Breath, He Unfolded The Letter And Started Reading What Was Now Clear Your Last Words To Him Â
Dear Massimo,Â
   By The Time You Get This Letter, It Will Have Been Three Days After My Funeral. I Know That You Are Probably Held In Your Office Or Room, Drinking Your Life Away Blaming Yourself For This, But It Is Not Your Fault. It Is No Oneâs Fault. This Is How Things Were Meant To Be And Iâve Came To Terms With That. I Know You Have So Many Questions As To Why This Happened Why I Didnât Tell You, And Iâm Sorry I Didnât.. I Guess I had My Own Selfish Reasons For Keeping This From You. But To Give You The Explanation You Deserve, Iâve Had A Heart Condition For A Little Over 4 Years Now. Iâve Been On Tons Of Different Medications To Try And Sedate My Condition, But As Time Went On My Condition Worsened And The Medications Stopped Working. I Donât Want You To Blame Yourself For This, I Donât Want You To Shut People Out, I Know This Will Be Hard For You, Its Hard For Me Just Writing This Letter. But You Are Massimo Fucking Torricelli, My Bestfriend And The Man I Fell In Love With, And You Will Get Through This.. And When You Time Comes.. You Will See Me AgainÂ
                                     Love, Yn
As He Got Done Reading The Letter, He Didnât Even Realize He Was Crying Again. As He Was About To Lay Back Down Massimo Felt A Breeze, Turning To Get Up So He Could Close His Balcony Door, He Stopped Dead In His Tracks At The Sight In front Of Him.Â
Dressed In This Beautiful All White Dress That Just Seemed To Flow Endlessly, And Skin Glowing Stood, His Bestfriend, The Woman He Loved But Never Got To Tell. Goddess Doesnât Even Begin To Compare To How She Looked. Shocked And Confused As To What He Was Seeing, He Stood There, Afraid To Move, Scared That What He Was Seeing Would DisappearÂ
âI- .. Howâ Massimo Stammered.. Feet Still Glued To The Spot As You Walked Closer To Him âHow Are You Here Right NowâÂ
âIt Doesnât Matter How, All That Matters Is That I AmâÂ
âI Miss You So Much Principessaâ Massimo Said As He Reached To Touch Your Face Shocked That His Hand Didnât Just Fall Through Your Figure âThere Is So Much I Need To Tell You.. I Donât Know If I Can Do This Without YouâÂ
âI Know I Know.. And That Time Will Comeâ You Said As Your Hand Graced The Side Of His Face As Did His On Yours âAnd You Donât Have To Explain Anything I KnowâÂ
âI Wish There Was Something I Could Have Doneâ He WhisperedÂ
âThere Was Nothing You Could Do, Nor Me But Except Itâ You Said Looking Up At Him âSo I Need You To Be Strong For Me OkayâÂ
âI Donât Want You To Leaveâ He Said Placing His Forehead Against Yours And Closing His Eyes.. Taking In Your EmbraceÂ
âHeyâ You Said Causing Him To Open His Eyes To Look At You âThis Isnât The End, Let Me Be Your Reason To Believe In Another Lifeâ
âI Love You Mi Amoreâ
Taking The Chance To Kiss Him Before You Disappeared You Leaned Up And Connected Your Lips With His, Massimo Not Rejecting Eagerly Kissed Back, But After A Couple Of Moments He Started To Fell Your Once Solid Figure Fad Away. Opening His Eyes He Noticed You Smiling At Him But The Image Of You Getting LighterÂ
âDonât Leaveâ He WhisperedÂ
âBest Believe Me, You Will See Me On The OthersideâÂ
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Based On The Song Otherside By BeyonceÂ
Authors Note: Whew ... Yall It Is Currently 3:47am ... I Was Determined To Get This Out For Yall.. I Hope You Enjoy And Feedback Is Greatly Appreciated . So Please Let Me Know If You Guys Enjoyed It And More Imagines Will Be Coming Soon.Â
Taglist: @nebulastarr @posiemax @mjaudrey @akshi8278âÂ
#imagines#massimo x reader#massimo torricelli#massimo x laura#michele morrone#365 dni#365 days#klaus mikaelson#beyonce
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Good Love
ch.2 is here, itâs technically an interlude, which is bad bc itâs so early. i never claimed to be good at this, so hereâs Alfred being worried for almost two thousand words
Enjoy!
That day, it was one of the rare, bright mornings in Gotham, where the sky was overcast but the sun managed to shine through, sending dappled sunlight into the eastern wing of Wayne Manor. Alfred Pennyworth had been up before sunrise as he had been for decades, carrying out his more mundane tasks in service to the Waynes, though it would have been preferred that they learned to rely on him for other things.
Normally he wouldnât complain quite so much, the stress from it was cumbersome in his old age, but the situation had been truly aggravating this past month.
The youngest master of the house had begun acting...strange. Strange in a way that genuinely worried both himself and Bruce. Damian was by no means the best at communication, but he did at least check in from time to time, and they saw him for when they needed extra hands on deck for their ânight shiftâ as theyâd begun to call it.
He didnât contact anyone for an entire week, dropping off radar, and the only reason anyone knew was that Dr. Norfey had left a message with his emergency contacts, asking him to set up a date to reschedule his bi-monthly appointments.
Everyone called Damian in a rush, and he said he was fine, but it was strange because Damian never did anything without a reason, ever. He was literally raised to make carefully planned decisions, and that idea was only reinforced under their care. Theyâd had to find out because he missed his therapy session as if he didnât worry Alfred enough.
For the past three years, he had been in the care of a reputable therapist, competent, and more importantly, safe for Damian. They specialized in mentally and emotionally abused patients and unearthing childhood trauma. The success rate of Dr. Norfey was slightly above average, as most patients either leave positive reviews or receive recommendations for more intensive help. After arguing for days on end with the entire family, he finally relented and scheduled a two-hour session. After that, he went about his routine as usual.
Nothing extreme had happened, thank God, but there did seem to be a positive response. He met with Dr. Norfey again after two weeks, glaring at anyone who would look too long, daring them to speak up. It wasnât long before it became the new normal. The young master gradually lost his scowl for something gentler, appearing relaxed when home, though he went back to it as soon as he left the premises. Certainly, he had his good days and his bad days, but he seemed all the more certain of himself as an individual. Truly, he didnât think Damian could make him anymore proud.
Then, he met a young lady.
Her name was Marinette Dupain-Cheng, a petite young woman with kind eyes and a bright smile set upon a youthful face. She was polite, witty, with no small amount of talent and charm, and an endless amount of patience for Alfredâs brood. She was a breath of fresh air, especially for the suffocated Damian.
An investigation into her profile revealed that she was a rising star of the cutthroat fashion realm, her resume boasting high-profile clientele and lucrative business contracts. She hadnât had anything notorious to her name, no criminal record, no illegal transactions, almost normal to the point of suspicion. After a while though, they managed to dig up something insidious.
Marinette Dupain-Cheng had connections to a terrorist.
Six years prior, a supervillain appeared in Paris for the first time, holding the city, itâs citizens, and tourists hostage for what would be the better part of three years. During that period, Ms. Dupain-Cheng would then begin to date Adrien Agreste, and then break up with him a year later. She and her entire family disappeared soon after. A month later, Hawkmoth was arrested, along with his accomplice Mayura, and seventeen years old son, Adrien Agreste. It didnât take a detective to figure out what happened.
Looking at the classified investigation reports uncovered more of the truth, that Gabriel had the idea to use the miraculous to revive his wife. He planned to sacrifice his sonâs girlfriend, a girl his wife would never know about by using Adrien to make the wish. In the end, he never even got his hands on the miraculous. Marinette had started to become uncomfortable with Gabrielâs strange questions and talked to Ladybug and Chat Noir.
When she told them of what types of questions she was asked, they grew concerned and sent her and her family to a safe house outside of Paris. From there, with police assistance, evidence was gathered and a warrant was issued. Gabriel was confident until Supergirl arrived, using her x-ray vision on the property and revealing the hidden lair beneath the building. He was quickly apprehended without fuss, and it was case closed. Adrien had been arrested as well, but he was quickly acquitted when evidence showed that he wasnât involved in any way.
After that was the media firestorm, and the Dupain-Chengs werenât spared. However, Ms. Dupain-Cheng was skilled as she showed her hand, and it was a revolution. Out from the woodwork poured celebrity after celebrity, vouching for her and her family.
She managed to turn her pariah status into that of a martyr in the eyes of the public because that was the bible-sworn truth. Sheâd rose to the occasion and exceeded all expectations. After that, she faded from the media for two years before returning as a critically acclaimed designer. Â Â The Bats gave her a grace period and soon they too began to gradually lower their guard.
And young master Damian appeared to be quite smitten as he decided to open his heart as well.
He watched his young master attempt to curry favor with the young lady, awkwardly wooing her to their familyâs amusement. He saw her cautiously reciprocate, and he saw their tentative courtship, budding and fragile, blossom into something beautiful and delicate. He saw them weather the tough days and work hard for their relationship. He saw Damian start to let himself be happy without restraint. Soon a year had passed, then two, and then three. In the fourth year, master Bruce started to hint to Alfred to update the family registry, as joyful as he was.
So when he was sent word that Damianâs belongings would be shipped home, he hoped that Ms. Marinette would be there with him. Â Perhaps misfortune had come to their apartment and most of the young ladyâs things had to be sent to storage, but it wasnât meant to be. The message he sent left no room for misunderstandings.
Iâm sending my things back to the manor. Iâll be home by the end of the week.
The young master shall be returning alone, then.
Alfred had long since received the delivery and moved everything back to its original place, save for items that were acquired after heâd moved out. Now the day had come for Damian to arrive home. The moment was both exactly and not at all what heâd expected.
On an unusually sunny morning, about an hour before noon, the one and only Alfred Pennyworth opened the doors to the sight of the youngest master, Damian.
His appearance was neat, shoulders back, and posture straight as a rod. There was not a hair out of place. However, his eyesâŠ
It had been a while since heâs seen his eyes look so strained, it was clear that he had not slept well. This was when he knew that Ms. Marinette would not be returning for a visit for some time
âWelcome back, Master Damian,â he said.
âHello, Alfred.â A rigid nod. âI have returned.â
âSo it appears,â he opened the doors and waved Damian in. âI have your favorite pot of tea on. Would you care for a cup in the dining room or the parlor?â
âNeither. Iâll have some, but Iâd like to rest for a while.â Damian stepped gingerly through the door, as though he was indeed tired. Normally, he wouldnât let such an obvious wound slide, but he knew better to pressure a man trapped in a corner.
âVery well, young master,â Alfred shut the door and turned to accompany Damian through the main hall, a step behind.
âYouâll find your belongings in your old bedroom with the facilities fully stocked, as per usual. Please be sure to take care of your wound and to reschedule your session with Dr. Norfey before tomorrow.â
âYes, thank you, Alfred.â A pause. Damian had never been one for conversation, but he would usually ask what was going on in the manor without wasting time.
âAs your father will be out late at the office along with your brothers, dinner will be held an hour earlier to accommodate their sudden absence.â
A noncommittal hum came from the young man in front of him and Alfred nearly furrowed his brow in worry.
All too soon they arrived and Damian turned back to the Wayne family butler, stoic.
âThank you, Alfred,â he nodded slightly. âIâll be out for dinner, but I am feeling a bit hungry after my drive. â
âSay no more,â Alfred gave him a placid smile. âIâve already set out the tea and snacks on your desk. I shall return for the platter after you have finished.â
Damian finally let loose a tiny smirk. âThank you, Alfred.â
âOf course, sir.â A courteous bow was the last Damian saw of the butler as he entered and closed the door to his room.
Alfred walked back towards the kitchen to check on his pot roast, feeling relieved. Damian wasnât at his best, that much was evident, but that didnât mean he was at his worst. At least not yet. However, there was still hope, because while it seemed like he had regressed in his current state, his tired eyes said that he had some sort of revelation.
Alfred began to prepare Damianâs portion, wondering what could have happened between the two for him to return alone, looking as though he would rather be anywhere else? The list of options was short but severe. He could have told her any number of secrets about his past, family history, current vigilante occupation, and while he had faith in Ms. Marinette, the young woman was by no means a saint.
It could have also been that she broke up with Damian, and it might be his extreme bias, but he couldnât fathom why. Yes, this was Damian they were talking about, but heâd been in therapy for close to eight years now and was making steady progress as he continued to root out his trauma and slowly but surely heal. However, he did not know how their relationship was faring, as both proved to be rather private. Though, the young miss was more shy than possessive.
Damian had over ten years of trauma, all throughout his early childhood, and suddenly he was becoming an adult. A confused, depressed, and unstable child had become trapped in the body and mind of an adult, and while everyone helped to the best they could, all while trying to help themselves, it wasnât enough. It never would be, not for this battle.
Alfred sighed, feeling his years. He pulled dinner out to rest and started to set the table, just in time for the proximity sensors to notify him of Bruceâs car pulling into the estate. Right on schedule.
âWelcome home Masters Bruce, Timothy, and Duke. If you would, hurry and wash before dinner. Itâs been quite the long day, has it not?â
there, itâs gonna be a while for ch. 3
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Happy Trans Billy Week!
Day 3: Bakery/Chef!au
@transbillyhargrove @blurbwitch
Harringrove
-
BIlly is ftm, Stevie is mtf
-
âAt least just try her stuff. Sheâs really good!â
Robin was trying to sell Billy on her friend, again.
He had been working his ass off opening this cafe, had been interviewing professional bakers around the city for it. And Robin wanted him to hire her friend. Who baked for fun.
âAnd sheâll work in house! You would just have to pay her a salary, not give her a cut of everything sold.â Billy rolled his eyes.
âBut then I would have to buy all the shit for her to bake everything.â
âBut youâll make bank on her stuff. She makes these little doughnut things, but theyâre double fried and made with like, puff pastry.
âSo not a doughnut at all.â She slapped his chest.
âFuck you. People would pay like, five whole dollars for one âa those. At least just try.â
âFine. Have her bring me some samples of stuff on Monday. I want cookies, coffee cakes, specialty pastries, crossiants, and whatever that not-doughnut thing is.â Robin grinned at him.
-
Robin came in on Monday trying to awkwardly bring a giant box into the cafe.
âStevie couldnât make it. She had a doctorâs appointment or something. But anyway, hereâs what you asked for.â She placed it down on a table, pointing at everything.
âSo she made chocolate chip cookies, gingersnaps, snickerdoodles, and teas cookies, croissants, coffee cake, carrot cake, chese cake, that doughnutty-thing, actual doughnuts, brownies and lemon bars. I think she didnât sleep for like, four days.â
Billy was impressed. It was a good spread.
âShe also made me bring a loaf of sourdough in case youâre doing like, toast stuff. I said you werenât, but I think she feels bad for not being here.â
They tried everything.
And unfortunately, is was all fucking delicious.
âFine. Sheâs fucking hired.â Billy made a list of everything he wanted to sell, thought maybe the delicious not-doughnuts could be a bit of a speicality, new flavors every week. âIâll need a comprehensive list of ingredients, and sheâll probably have to check out the set up we got here.â
Billy hadnât really wanted an in-house baker, but he hadnât ripped out the ovens, proving drawers, coolers and counters in the back, so he supposed it would work out okay.
âAnd tell her I want an in person meeting within the next few days.â
-
Billy was scrubbing out one of the ovens in the back when he heard the bell above the door.
âSorry, weâre closed,â He called.
âUm, Iâm Stevie Harrington? Iâm Robinâs baker friend? You said I should come see the space?â Billy got up with a groan, stretching until his back popped.
âYou tellinâ me, or askinâ.â He pushed open the back door, smirking at the girl standing on the other side of his counter. She was tall, had much fucking dark hair, falling almost to her ass and big round eyes.
âTelling. Iâm sorry I couldnât be here yesterday. That appointment was important. Billy shrugged. âI have a list of ingredients for you. I figured how many of each item per day, and broke it up into waht I would need weekly and monthly, since I donât know how youâre planning on ordering everything.â Billy nodded at the neat handwriting.
âYour stuff was good. I was thinking for those double fried things, we could do a new flavor every week. Make them a bit of a specialty.â Her cheeks went a little pink.
âThank you. Iâm so glad you liked everything, and decidded to give me this opportunity.â He smiled at her.
âYouâre talented. Come see what I got.â She followed him to the back, her eyes going wide as she looked at the industrial ovens. âThis place was a bakery, so weâve got everything you should need.â The old owner had passed away, didnât have anyone to leave the bakery to.
âOh, this is perfect. Whenâs opening?â
âWeâre four weeks out. I was planning on ripping all this out, so it has to be cleaned, but everything else is ahead of schedule.â Stevie opened an oven, peerinf inside.
âTheyâre not too gross. The old owners tool good care of everything.â She took of her jacket, was left just in her pretty dark blue dress. âIâll help you clean.â She smiled at him as she took the cleaning supplies from him, getting to work scrubbing down the oven.
Billy played some music as they worked, chatting lightly to one another.
âSo, howâd you end up in Seattle?â Billy had shot straight up here after graduating hisgh school, didnât want to leave the west coast, but wanted to go somewhere different. Stevie had mentioned being from a small town in the midwest.
âJust kinda needed a fresh start. Robin and I moved out here together about six years ago, now. She went to University of Washington, and I jsut wanted to live somewhere interesting for once. Plus, itâs just better for me here.â Billy nodded.
âMe too.â She smiled at him. She had put her dark hair into a messy bun to keep it out of her face, and Billy had gotten her an apron to keep her dress neat.
âWhat made you want to open a cafe?â
âWell, I mean, itâs Seattle.â She laughed. âBut I also just liked the idea of running my own business. Building something from the ground up. And I like the vibe of cafes. Theyâre just in between places. You can come alone and just hang out.â Billy had gotten many comfortable mis-matched chairs and placed them amoungst the tables and chairs. He wasnted it to be cozy. He had bookshelves on one wall, thought he could even have a take-a-book-leave-a-book kinda thing goinâ on.
âI think thatâs really nice.â
-
Stevie started coming over everyday to help him clean out the kitchen. Somteims she would drag Robin, but more often than not, it was just the two of them, scrubbing everything out, listening to music and talking about random things.
But one day Stevie didnât come in, didnât call Billy to let him know, didnât send Robin with a message.
Billy thought he was frustrated that his employee was missing, but really, he was just worried.
She looked tired the next day when she came in, her hair up in a messy ponytail, was wearing baggy jeans and a sweatshirt.
âIâm so sorry. I promise that will not happen again.â She had gotten right to work.
âLook, I donât mind if you need personal days, just call me. Let me know.â She nodded at him, her eyes were bright. âAre you okay?â Her lip trembled.
âIâm sorry. I just, sometimes I have such bad days, and I canât stand to look at myself, and I donât want anyone else to look at me. And youâre always so nice to me, and I, I didnât want you looking at me with your pretty eyes. I knew I would fucking fall apart.â
She was kneeling on the floor, fucking crying as she scrubbed at the proving drawer. Her make up was beginning to run just a bit.
Billy grabbed a fw paper towels, sitting down next to her.
âYou wanna talk about it?â She shook her head.
âYou wouldnât understand.â
âTry me.â She wiped at her esys, smudging the dark makeup underneath. He took the paper towel from her hands, wiping up streaked makeup.
He was staring into her big dark eyes, noticed the soft honey gold in them, the forest green.
âIs it okay if I kissed you?â Her gaze dropped to his lips.
âYeah,â she breathed.
Billy leaned in, kissing her softly, keeping it slow and chaste.
He pulled back, dabbing at her eyes again.
âIâve wanted to do that for a while. Iâm sorry, that probably wasnât the best timing, I just, I really like you.â Her lip trembled.
âThe reason, the reason I was feeling so bad yesterday was, was because everytime I speak to my parents on the phone, they call me their son.â She swallowed hard.
âThe last time I spoke to my dad, he called me his ungrateful bitch of a daughter. I get it, Stevie. I really do.â Stevie whimpered, another tear slipping out.
âIâm sorry. I didnât, didnât know if I could tell you.â He smiled at her, wiping her eyes one last time, kissing her cheek.
âThatâs okay. You donât have to tell anyone anything.â She gave a watery laugh.
âThank you, for being kind to me.â
âYouâre a good person, Stevie. You deserve kindness.â She smiled at him, pulling back to take a deep breath. âAnd I meant what I said. I really like you. Iâd like to take you on a date, if thatâs okay.â
She nodded vigorously, ponytail bouncing.
âOh, yeah! I had the biggest crush on you since I walked in here. I mean, Robinâs been trying to set us up for like, months.â BIlly raised one eyebrow, giving her a lopsided smile.
âAre you serious? Is that why she was so insistent on me trying your stuff?â
âWell, and that fact that Iâm a damn good baker.â He laughed. She was grinning as she moved back to scrubbing the drawer. âSheâs gonna be so smug. I can already hear her. Stevie, I TOLD you that you would love him. Heâs JUST yout type.â Billy grinned iwder.
âAnd what is your type?â
âBeefy assholes thatâre way smarter than me.â
#there's a touch of angst#Trans Billy Week 2020#yikes writes#steve harrington#billy hargrove#harringrove#steve harrington x billy hargrove#billy hargrove x steve harrington#trans billy hargrove#trans!billy#trans steve harrington#trans!steve
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Prima
Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Belle/Detective Weaver
Characters: Belle (Once Upon a Time), Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold | Detective Weaver, Wishverse Captain Hook | Detective Rogers, Gaston (Once Upon a Time), Regina Mills | Roni
Additional Tags: Angst, Eventual Smut, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Crimes & Criminals, Organized Crime, Hyperion Heights (Once Upon a Time), A Monthly Rumbelling April 2020 (Once Upon a Time), Woven Beauty
Summary: Detectives Weaver and Rogers stumble upon a crime at a local theater where they meet the Prima Ballerina, Anabelle French in the process of apparently committing agravated assault with a deadly weapon, but as Weaver investigates, he discovers there is far more to it than a simple crime, and he is forced to run to a place of safety with his suspect in tow.
Written for the April, A Monthly Rumbelling - Mood Board.
Read on AO3
Prima
âLook,â Weaver sighed and hurried to keep up with his partner, âI donât know why youâre getting so bent out of shape. Itâs not as if it meant anything is it, you said yourselfââ
Whatever Detective Weaver might have been about to say was cut off by the sound of single gunshot. Loud enough to be close, but not out in the open. On instinct he reached for his weapon and saw that Rogers had done the same, both of them looking around for the origin of the sound. They were rewarded by a second gunshot, and alert to it now, both men turned in the direction of the local theater.
âFront entrance,â Weaver ordered, already heading to the alley way that he knew led to the stage door. âAnd call it in.â
He picked up the pace, hurrying down the alley, already watching as half-dressed dancers were spilling out of a plain brown door. He pushed his way through, jacket pulled back to reveal the badge clipped to his belt, even so, he still announced himself to the stage door keeper as he struggled against the tide of frightened performers.
âSeatle PD.â
âIt⊠itâs Miss Belle,â the man stammered. âSheâs lost her mind. Gone mad!â
âWhere?â he snapped, not caring for politeness.
âHer dressing room is that way,â the door keeper pointed along the hallway to the left.
He nodded, spotting Rogers as his partner came in the other way, and he signaled to the other man the direction he should take. Rogers took off before anything could be said, and Weaver followed after him, already starting to get an uncomfortable feeling of wrongness in his gut even before he had set eyes on the supposed crime scene.
He barely caught sight of the word, âPrima,â before Detective Rogers kicked open the door so hard he almost took it from its hinges.
âSeatle PD! Drop the weapon!â Rogersâ presence and his words were rewarded with a scream, and as he drew closer, Weaver heard, the rattle of a weapon. âI said, drop it!â
He picked up his pace a little, finally drawing level with the door, and before going through, took in everything he could see. A young - and, he noted, incredibly beautiful - woman was standing at one side of the room. Obviously a dancer, probably the shoes that gave it away, she was in a close fitting costume and already made up for the stage. She had a gun; was holding it, inexpertly, in both hands, and shifting her aim - if it could be called that - between Rogers, and a man at the other side of the room. She was clearly scared. Her hands were shaking, and the safety was off; a terrible combination.
The man that she had presumably shot at, twice, seemed entirely unharmed. Another dancer, he stood maybe six feet tall, was also dressed in his dance gear which was obscenely tight in Weaverâs opinion. His hair short, but not so close cropped as to hide the fact that it was slightly out of place. Heâd seen enough, and the entire situation smelled entirely bent.
âIâm warning youââ Rogersâ began, but Weaver cut him off.
âNo, no,â he said almost sing song, softly. âYou donât want to do that.â He stepped deliberately between Rogers, who had shifted closer to the man, and the woman with the gun. âIâm sure we can work this all out.â
âWeaver, what the hell are you doing?â Rogers protested, his aim disrupted as Weaver had intended.
âI got this,â he answered, without taking his eyes off the woman who had now shifted her gun to point in his general direction. For the moment he followed protocol and kept his own weapon raised. âWhy donât you take our friend there out into another room; get his statement.â
âIâll give you a fucking statement,â the man spat, his voice heavily accented, Russian, or else Eastern European, Weaver guessed. âShe tried to shoot me. Bitch is crazy!â
The woman let out a snarling scream, shifting her aim only barely, and pulled the trigger again. From the corner of his eye, Weaver saw Rogers and the other man duck, but he kept his eyes fixed on the woman, flinching only slightly when he felt the hot wind of the bullet as it passed his head. She missed again, and the recoil on the gun made her stumble backwards, before she leveled her gun off again.
He didnât want Rogers doing anything stupid, so he said, âGet him out of here, Rogers, I wonât tell you again,â and moved as Rogers complied, keeping himself between his partner and the woman with the gun.
âLetâs shut this door, shall we?â he crooned once he was alone with the woman. âHave a little talk. See whatâs got you so wound up, hmm?â
He didnât wait for her to answer, just reached out with his free hand, and pulled the door closed; couldnât latch it, of course, thanks to his partner, but closed was better than nothing. Â It gave the two of them a little bit of peace.
âThere, thatâs better,â he said softly.
âYou⊠you canât let him go,â she said, her voice as tight and shaky as her hands, another accent⊠Australian? It made him frown, momentarily as a half remembered itch niggled at him deep inside.
âDonât worry about him,â he answered. âListen, pointing guns at each other is not the best way to have a conversation, right? Â Why donât we just - both of us - put our guns down?â
She shook her head. âCanât,â she said.
âAll right,â he said, âYouâre scared. I get that. Tell you what. Iâll go first.â He slowly lowered his weapon, flipping on the safety as he did, before slipping it back into its holster before spreading his arms wide. âThere,â he said. âMind if I take off my jacket? Little bit warm in here.â
She didnât answer him, just kept her wide, shining blue eyes fixed on his as he slipped his jacket off and tossed it onto a nearby chair. Â All slowly, carefully.
âN-n-name?â she stammered.
âWeaver,â he answered. âHow about you?â
âAnabelle⊠French,â she answered.
âNow, see, we know each other,â he gave her a careful smile, âMuch better than all the screaming and yelling, donât you think? Â She barely shrugged. âOkay,â he said, âWhy donât you tell me whatâs going on?â
She shook her head.
âNo oneâs gonna hurt you, I promise. Â You have my word,â he said. âAll you need to do is give me the gun, and tell me what happened.â
He took a slow step forward and reached toward her with one hand, but froze as she jerked the gun, not actually expecting that sheâd shoot him, more like worried that with the way she was, the gun would accidentally go off in her hands. She was terrified.
âI get it,â he told her. âNot so close. Thing is, Miss French, I canât help you while youâre pointing that gun at me. I want to be able to help you.â
âHe⊠I⊠theyâŠâ
âEasy,â he sang softly, âJust⊠gimme the gun, and we can talk.â
He took a step closer, holding out a hand again, and this time she didnât react. He kept his eyes fixed on hers; took another step and watched as the cobalt blue of her eyes filled with tears, and her grip on the gun loosened.
âThatâs it, sweetheart,â he murmured as his hand closed over the top of the weapon and his thumb found the safety, flipping it on before lifting the gun from her hands, just in case she changed her mind. Â He set it down on the nearby dressing table, as he stepped forward again, unsurprised when she threw herself against his chest, trembling as though an earthquake had hit before she burst into tears.
Instinctively, he held her, his arms wrapped tightly around her, tucking her under his chin. He knew he shouldnât. He didnât care. She needed it and since when had he bothered about the rules anyway? There was more to this and it didnât take a genius to work it out.
âItâs going to be okay,â he told her, âbut youâre going to have to trust me.â
He felt her nod against his chest, then after a moment, reached behind him with one hand for his cuffs, and taking her hands gently from his chest, turned her around and slipped them onto her wrists.
âAnabelle French, I am arresting you for aggravated assault with a deadly weapon. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say may be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to have an attorney present before, and during questioning, now and in the future. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you. If you decide to answer questions now without an attorney, you may still request one at any time, and stop answering questions until an attorney is present.â He didnât usually bother with Mirandizing the lowlifes he usually arrested, just palmed them off on the uniforms and let them do it for him. This was different. She was different. He was going to make this right for her. âDo you understand?â
âYes,â she whispered.
He nodded and offered her an almost apologetic smile, then added, âKnowing and understanding your rights as I have explained them to you, are you willing to answer my questions without an attorney present?â
She looked up at him then, her eyes meeting his. âYou,â she said barely above the whisper from before. âIâll talk to you.â
He nodded then, and picked up his jacket and draped it around her shoulders, then slipping her gun into the back of his belt, he almost gently led her out of the room, and out toward the stage door.
It was a throng of chaos out there. Rogers was standing beside the man his prisoner had been threatening with the gun, and a few uniformed officers were milling around in the entrance way, with several more outside standing with their thumbs up their arses, doing fuck all to keep the small crowd out of the alley way.
Keeping a hand securely on Miss Frenchâs arm he beckoned to one of the uniformed officers and when he had his attention, ordered, âYou, get out there and help those other tossers get the members of the public out of this alley. Got it?â
âSir,â he said and nodded in answer. Weaver knew the look on his face, it was the one that told him there were some on the force that understood when to dick around, and when to do what they were told and was gratified to see that he was right as the crowd began to clear.
He beckoned to a second officer and told him, âI want CSU in that room collecting evidence like⊠yesterday. You got it?â
âDetective,â the man confirmed, and he was about to head out with his suspect when he felt Rogersâ hand drop onto his shoulder.
âWhatâs going on, Weaver?â the man asked.
âYou get his statement?â Weaver ask in response.
âYes, butââ
âThen give him your card and send him home,â he interrupted, âTell him weâll be in touch.â
Trusting that Rogers would do as he was told, Weaver turned, calling the other uniformed officer over, while at the same time turning to Miss French he said, âGo with this officer. Itâs all right.â
The officer apparently guessed what the detective was about to ask of him, and slipped his hand under the prisonerâs arm. Â She stiffened, and winced, even as Weaver said, âTake her down to the precinct and put her in an interview room. I want her seen by the medics andââ
âNo!â Anabelle French suddenly started to fight going with the other officer, and Weaver had to break from giving his instructions and take her by the upper arms, leaning down to catch her eyes. âItâs all right,â he repeated. âIâll be right behind you.â
It looked as though she was about to acquiesce, when she suddenly stiffened again and began to back away a step, almost pulling from Weaverâs grasp. It wasnât until he felt the presence of someone at his back that he understood why, and releasing her to the uniformed officer, turned to block the male dancer from getting any closer.
âVy derzhite rot na zamke!â he said, pointing a long finger at Miss French. She whimpered, and it looked like she was about to start fighting again.
Weaver planted both hands against his chest and pushed the man backwards as he demanded, âWhat did you say to her?â
The man ignored him, fixing an icy stare on Weaverâs prisoner, until she started struggling again with the officer holding her, and threatening to cause the room to descend back into chaos.
âGet her out of here,â he snapped, wincing as the uniformed sergeant all but dragged her away. The other dancer tried to push Weaver aside and follow, and it took both Weaver and Rogers to keep him restrained, pushing him against the wall.
âShe tried to kill me,â he protested to Rogers as the taller detective pressed a restraining arm across the top of his chest.
âAnd we have her in custody,â Rogers reasoned. âAll right?â
He struggled a moment longer, before nodding and apparently calming down, and Rogers let him go. Weaver didnât buy it for a second.
âWhat. Did you say to her?â he asked again, standing as tall as he could and getting as far up into the manâs face as he could.
The dancer gave him a wintry smile as he pushed at Weaverâs shoulders, and said, âHave a nice day, Detective,â before he sauntered out of the stage door, becoming lost in the encroaching shadows of the late Seattle afternoon.
Swearing, Weaver followed out into the alley, with Rogers close behind him.
âWhat the fuck, Weaver?â Rogers asked, and even he had to almost trot to keep up, so quickly was Weaver walking.
âI want a statement from every single person that works at that place, even the janitors, and I donât care whether you do it, or the uniformed attending do, but I want it by end of day. You got that?â
âYeah, I got it,â Rogers said, âWhat I donât get is why?  Seems to me that this is pretty straight forward. Probably a loverâs tiff. In his statement he kept referring to her as âmy Prima,â and said she accused him of cheating on her, soâŠâ
He trailed off as Weaver shook his head. âThereâs more to it than that. Something going on.â
âLike what?â Rogers asked as they reached the car, and he waited for Weaver to release the lock. âShe say something to you?â
âNot yet,â Weaver said, shaking his head as he got into the car, then looked over at Rogers as the other man climbed in. âBut she will.â
**
Anabelle French stood mute and listless as the uniformed officer processed her into the precinct, and then took her to an office that had a desk, a computer and an examination couch - much like a doctorâs office.  A short while after heâd left her, a woman came in with another, female officer. She had promised to cooperate with the detective who, for some reason, she trusted, even if she didnât know him from Adam. So when the doctor - as sheâd identified herself - asked her to remove the stage make up she wore, she accepted the washcloth and resignedly disclosed the bruises that it covered on her arms and shoulders⊠disrobed so that she could examine the others that discolored her chest, back and abdomen. Submitted herself to a thorough examination.  Afterwards, in borrowed scrubs, she was shown to an interview room. Where she waited.
She had no idea how long it had been, but she felt small and vulnerable. Fasoliâs words echoing in her mind, setting her teeth on edge. She should have shot him. She shouldnât have missed.
She jumped as the door finally opened, only relaxing when she recognized Detective Weaver coming in beside the man that had been with him when they first arrived.
âThis is Detective Rogers,â Weaver said. âYou remember who I am?â
âYes,â she said quietly. âDetective Weaver.â
He nodded, and then asked, âAnd weâre still okay to talk, right?â
âYes,â she said again, then asked, âbut⊠could I maybe get some tea?â
Weaver glanced at Rogers, and the other man turned and walked out. As he left, Weaver pulled out a chair opposite her, and set the file folder he was carrying on the table between them.
âAll right, Miss French,â he began, but she interrupted.
âBelle,â she said. âYou can call meââ
âWeâll⊠stick with Miss French,â he said with a smile.
The door opened again and Rogers came back, carrying a steaming cup of tea which he set down on the table and nudged in her direction, also setting down a couple of packets of sugar and the same of the tiny containers of milk.
âThere you go, love,â he said, and she wondered if he was actually as hard as she had first thought, and she thanked him softly.
Weaver seemed to be waiting until sheâd taken her first sip of tea before he spoke, then he said, âQuite a bruise you have there, Miss French.â He nodded toward her upper arm, now devoid of make up and the livid purple against her creamy skin. Self consciously, she tugged at the short sleeve of the scrubs, failing to cover it. âHe do that to you?â
âHe?â she asked, even though she knew full well who he meant.
âGaston Fasoli,â Weaver said. âThe man you were threatening with the gun.â
She shrugged.
âWe canât help you if you wonât talk to us,â Weaver said, his tone almost imploring.
âItâs not that I wonât talk to you,â she said, so tired of it all that even though she was so afraid, she was ready to tell them everything she could, just to make it stop; for her⊠for the other girls.
âWhat then?â Weaver asked.
âI donât know,â she said. âIt could have been Fasoli. It could have been one of the others, I donât. Know. Who.â
âOthers?â
Belle sighed. âThere are several of them,â she said, âMinders, dance coaches.â She closed her eyes, âThey never treat the girls as they should. You think just because Iâm the Prima Iâm immune?â
âWhat do you mean, âtreat the girls as they should,â?â Rogers asked, but Weaver waved the question away, as if he already knew - or could guess.
âDo you speak Russian, Miss French?â he asked.
She nodded, and added, âA lot of languages, actually.â
Weaverâs lips twitched and she thought he wanted to smile, but instead he seemed to catch himself and pressed it into a firm line. âWhat did Fasoli say to you at the theater.â
âHe told me to keep my mouth shut,â she said.
âTo keep your mouth shut?â Weaver repeated.
âAbout?â Rogers added.
Belle closed her eyes and put her head down on her arms, on top of the table⊠a whimper escaping unbidden from deep within her. She wanted to say. She wanted to tell him everything but a memory suddenly grasped a hold of her, like a icy vice. Lined up⊠all of them. The sledge hammer a warning blow against the fellow dancerâs knees and ankles.  The girl had tried to run, had tried to talk. She was found weeks later where theyâd dumped her, in the gutter of the bad side of some west coast town.
Suddenly her body was shaking with all the tears sheâd held inside, and the new sobs she fought, her fears for herself, for the others, for everything that suddenly seemed to rest on her slender shoulders.
âI⊠canât!â she wept.
âYouâre safe here, Miss French,â Weaver told her, just for a moment covering one of her hands with his own.
âYou donât understand.â she whispered.
âSo help me understand.â Weaver insisted. âTell me what happened.â
She sat up, wiping her eyes with her hands, hands which shook almost as much as they had when she had been holding the gun. The thought it made her feel sick to her stomach, but it gave her a place to start.
âIt⊠It was his gun,â she began. âI knew he had it; knew he kept it in his dressing room, hidden in his make-up drawer. The day before Iâd heard them talkingâŠâ She caught the look of confused query on Weaverâs face, and continued, âFasoli and Stephanov, the director. Iâd been sick a few weeks before, but tried to carry on, and I made mistakes. Fasoli came into my dressing room every day. Told me I wasnât good enough. Told me that I was getting too old, that I needed to be replaced by another girl, a younger girl. Said I was only fit for the farm.â
âFarm?â It was Detective Rogerâs voice, but she saw Weaver throw him a impatient look, so she continued.
âI was scared. He said he was going to come for me and take me there himself if I made one more mistake. I wasnât going to let that happen. I couldnât. I know what goes on there, and I⊠IâŠâ she couldnât even bring herself to imagine what she would have done. âSo when he was on stage with one of the other dancer, rehearsing, with her dancing my part, I went into his dressing room and stole his gun. Heâd taken it on himself to decide. Stephanov hadnât even said anything and Fasoli was ready to replace me. He came in today - told me I was through, not dancing today or ever again.â She looked between Weaver and Rogers, trying to find the courage from somewhere, from either one of them to speak the final sentence. âGirls in our company⊠if you donât dance, they donât fire you. They take you back⊠to the farm⊠and use you another way.â
She watched both men shift uncomfortably in their seats; saw the flash of fury that crossed Weaverâs face, the outrage in Rogersâ expression.
âThis farm? It a real place or just a euphemism?â Rogers asked.
âReal,â she said. âA place youâre taken to when you first join the company, and never want to end up again.â
**
Weaver closed the file folder that sat in front of him, for the first time in a long time was actually surprised. No, not surprised, horrified. Horrified that he had stumbled, quite literally, into the middle of something so heinous, so organized.
He reached over and briefly covered Belleâs hand again with his own once more, offering quiet support as he said, âMiss French, I just want to have a quick word with my partner here, and a couple of other people, and then weâll see how things are, okay?â Â He tapped Rogers on the arm and then gestured to the door with his head before adding. âWe might be a little while. Â Is there anything you need?â
She shook her head, but in the exact same moment her stomach growled loudly, making her blush, and she gave him an apologetic look.
âWeâll get you something to eat,â he said, as he stood up, adding, âSit tight.â
With that he led Rogers out of the room.
âIâm not imagining things, am I?â Rogers asked as soon as he closed the door. âShe is talking about some kind of trafficking ring.â
âThatâs what it sounds like to me,â Weaver agreed, then he slapped Rogers in the chest with the back of his hand. âCome on - captain.â
He started to stride away, heading for the captainâs office, but Rogers caught his arm and tugged him back.
âWait,â he said, âYouâre going by the book?â
There was a note of incredulity in the other manâs voice that set Weavers hackles on end.
âThis is bigger than just the two of us, Detective,â he snarled. âYou want these bastards to get off on a technicality just because I donât know when to play by the rules and when to do things my way?â
âNo, no of course not, Iââ Rogers broke off when Weaver shook off his grasp, and headed once more toward the captainâs office. He emerged to a giant altercation in the bullpen.
âWhat the fuck!â he breathed, and altered his course to where two uniformed officers were holding a squirming, squealing Tilly between them as she lashed out with hands and feet as she tried to get free.
âLet me go!â she growled, wriggling first one way and then the other, âI gotta tell âim. Detective Weaver, âe needs to hear this!â
âYouâre not going anywhere until you calm down,â another junior detective was saying.
âHe needs to hear it now!â she shot back, âAre you stupid?â
Heâd heard enough, seen enough, to know that either it really was important, or else she hadnât taken her meds again and was having some sort of episode.
âWhatâs going on?â he called across to the others, then added in his most fatherly tone, âTilly?â
âOh, thank God,â she huffed, and stopped struggling. âDetective Weaverââ
âDetective Weaver,â She was interrupted by one of the others. âThis⊠young lady turned up at the front desk asking to see you and when we asked her to waitâŠâ
Weaver held up a hand, just as Rogers came out of the interview suites, having stayed to arrange for food to be taken through to Miss French.
âItâs all right,â he said, and nodded his head at the officers that were still hanging on to Tilly as though they were afraid she was going to tear up the room to tell them they could let her go. âSheâs one of mine.â
They took a second, but at an added glare, as he drew closer to them, making his way between the desks toward where they had Tilly, they released her arms. He expected sheâd pull her coat straight in that exaggerated way she had, and then walk the rest of the way to him with her nose in the air, so he was entirely unprepared when she all but vaulted the desk, grabbed him by the wrist so hard that the links of his bracelet dug into his skin deeply enough to be almost painful, and then started pulling him back to the interview suite doors.
âYou have to take her out of here,â she insisted, and though a part of him wondered what she thought she was talking about, another part of him - a part that tapped cold fingertips all along his spine - knew exactly what she meant, even though she shouldnât know. âTake her somewhere safe.â
He leaned down, twisting his arm around hers until he was the one holding her and and looked right into her face as he asked, âDid you take your medicine today?â
âWhat?â she asked, looking and sounding as if she didnât think the two things should go together at all, and then frowned as she obviously realized what he was driving at. âYes!â she snapped in irritation, âOf course I did. I promised, didnât I? Iâm not having one of my⊠funny turns if thatâs what you think.â She pushed at him then, urgently, almost desperately trying to get him back to the door, back to Belle French. âWe were at the theater, Atla, Billy and me, the girls - the dancers - theyâre usually good to us, and Atla hasnât eaten in days, Iâm worried sheâs getting sick, and we were about to sneak in like we usually do, and I heard the big man - tall, dark hair, ugly eyes⊠heard him telling some other bloke that she wasnât going to say anything because there were people coming for her, and that even âSeattleâs finestâ wouldnât be able to stop âem. Look, you havenât got time for this, Detective, Iâm telling the truth, you have to get her out of here.â
She was practically hopping from foot to foot, more agitated than heâd ever seen her, almost desperate.
âDid they say anything else,â Rogers asked, but Tilly gave him an almost defiant stare.
âPlease, Weaver!â she urged, pressing both hands against his shirt, beneath his open leather jacket. He stared at her for a moment longer, and then nodded once, and she appeared to relax, but only a little. He reached for his wallet and pulled out a couple of twenties and his spare door-key, pressing them into Tillyâs still outstretched hand.
âGet Atla something to eat, then go get yourselves clean, dry and warm. Â Itâs cold, and itâs going to be colder tonight,â he said.
She gave him a tight smile, with worry still crowding her eyes, nodded once and then turned to head toward the exit. Part way she stopped, trotted back to him and then stood on tiptoes to press a swift kiss to his cheek.
âThank you,â she murmured, adding, âGood luck.â
She disappeared out of the door before he could tell her, âget away with you,â the affectionate chuckle also dying on his lips as the gravity of the situation descended again.
âYouâre not seriously going toââ
Rogers broke off when Weaver pulled his phone out of his pocket, as well as his precinct issued pager, and pushed them both into Rogerâs hands.
âTake these, put them in my desk drawer,â he instructed,â then give me as long as you can before you go to the captain. Tell him what we know. Talk to the D.A.; whoever you have to. Work the case.â
âWhere are you going?â Rogers asked.
âBetter you donât know,â he said, and turning, opened the door to the interview suite.
âHow do I get hold of you?â his partner demanded, clearly vexed, and holding up the hand in which he still held Weaverâs communication devices.
âYou donât.â Weaver answered flatly, stepped through the opened door, and closed it on his partners protests.
He walked quickly, dismissing the the uniformed officer that heâd left guarding his âprisonerâ as soon as he stepped up to the door of the room she was in, and then waited until the corridor was empty before he opened up the door.
Belle looked up as he entered, her expression becoming one of tense, extreme fear again as her eyes met his.
âChange of plan,â he told her softly, and reaching the table, unfastened the cuffs she wore securing her to the table, and slipped them into his pocket before hooking her arm with his hand as gently as the urgency would allow, and tugged her to her feet.
âWhere are we going?â she asked, her voice wobbling slightly.
âSomewhere safe,â he answered as he led her out along the corridor, toward the fire escape, as he muttered, âWeâd better hope Rogers has the Irish gift of the gab enough to buy us some time.â
**
It was still too early when he arrived at Roniâs. He tried the door anyway, but it was locked, so he started pounding on it with one hand, the other still tightly holding on to Belle Frenchâs wrist, even as he tried to shelter her from view half in front of him.
The fewer people that saw her, the better. It wasnât unusual for him to be seen going into Roniâs Bar. It was almost his second home, after all, but for him to go in there with someone else - a woman. It wouldnât take long for anyone in the know to put two and two together.
After a moment or two of pounding, he was rewarded with an irritated, âAll right, All right,â before he heard the lock click. He didnât wait for Roni to actually open the door, just pushed French in ahead of him, almost taking Roniâs teeth out with the speed at which he got them inside.
âA bit early, isnât it, even for you?â Roni started, but if sheâd been about to say anything else, she swallowed it when he turned and locked the door behind himself. âAll right, Weaver, whatâs have you gotten yourself into this time,â she asked.
He shook his head, not answering her question, instead pushed French down onto a nearby chair, and gestured with his head toward the bar, taking a moment to pull the key from the lock, not trusting that his charge wouldnât make a run for it, given the chance.
When they reached it, Roni stepped behind the bar, and automatically reached for a tumbler, and poured a good measure of her best whiskey into it.
âMind telling me, now, whatâs going on?â she asked, sarcastic, true, but with a note of concern too. He was touched.
âI need a favor, Roni,â he answered. âMaybe a few.â
âIâm listening,â she said, but her body language didnât say the same as she folded her arms across her chest.
âLook the less I actually tell you, the better - safer - youâll be if anyone comes sniffing around and asking questions⊠justâŠâ He took a breath. âI need to borrow your lake house,â he said, âLay low for a while.â
Roni nodded over toward where heâd pushed French down into a seat. He glanced over his shoulder. She hadnât moved. âSheâs in trouble,â she said as much as asked.
âA witness, and she needs protecting,â he corrected with as much of the truth as he dared tell. For all that they repeatedly antagonized each other, he did have a soft spot for Roni that he couldnât explain, and it went further than the fact that she furnished him with some of the best Whiskey in Seattle.
âWhy canât you use a safe house?â she asked.
âBecause safe houses belong to the department,â he said, âand I think someone inside is bent.â
âTell me something else I donât know,â Roni said dryly, with a pointed look at Weaver.
He rolled his eyes. âYeah, yeah,â he said, âMy methods might be a bit⊠rough around the edges, but bent, Iâm not.â
Roni looked at him, long and hard, as if she were searching inside his very soul, until finally she nodded.
âOkay,â she said, âYou can use the lake house, but I swear, Weaver, you break it, you bought it, get what I mean.â
He nodded once, sharply. âI promise you, Iâll give it back to you when this is over, good as new.â
âWell, thatâs good,â Roni said, âbecause right now itâs little more than a run down shack, but itâs a roof and four sturdy walls.â She snapped her fingers and pointed at the hand that still held her keys, and began to take a small set of keys from the key chain. âYou said a few,â she said as she worked.
âYou still have that old banger out back?â
âMy car, you mean?â she said sourly. âYes. Not that I really use it, but I have it.â
âWell⊠gonna need a way to get to your lake house,â he pointed out, âand I canât use mine.â
âFine,â she huffed, pulling off another key from the chain. âWhat else?â
Weaver looked back at Belle French. She was sitting there, in the scrubs theyâd given her at the precinct, all but wringing her hands. âSheâs gonna need something to wear,â he said.
Roni looked her over from a distance, and he could see her eyes appraising the other woman, before she sighed again and said, âIâm not sure anything I have will fit her all that well, but⊠Iâll take her upstairs and weâll see what we can do about finding a couple of changes of clothes. Will that be enough?â
âItâll have to be,â Weaver said.
âShe have a name?â Roni asked.
âFrench. Belle French.â
Roni nodded, then calling across to the other woman said, âMiss French?â Weaver watched as the young dancer started slightly, and then looked up at Roni, who said, âHow about we leave this miserable old Roller to his whiskey, and go and find you something more comfortable to wear?â
**
By the time Detective Weaver pulled the car to a stop at the end of a long, gravel road, it was dark and the hour had long since passed midnight. She had been awake at midnight, but only just, having woken up a couple of minutes earlier when Weaver hit the rumble strip at the side of the road, and had jerked the car back into its lane.
âIf youâre tired,â she said softly, having long since accepted that the man meant her no harm and was actually trying to look out for her, âI can drive for a while.â
He shook his head. âIâm fine,â he said, âJust wasnât paying attention.â
She had drifted off again a few minutes later, but remembered watching as the dashboard clock turned from 11:59 to midnight.
After she and Roni had found a couple of outfits that would fit well enough, and packed them into a bag, along with something to sleep in, and some jeans and a t-shirt she could wear for the time being, theyâd hit the road in Roniâs car. Theyâd stopped after an hour or so at a Walmart store, where Weaver had bought supplies with the Money Roni had given him from her safe. After that it seemed to Belle that they turned around on themselves and headed back the way theyâd come, but bypassed Seattle and kept on heading north.
Theyâd stopped for something to eat at a roadside diner once they left the highway somewhere around Everett and began heading east, and with a full belly, and the winding mountain roads they turned onto it was hard for her to keep her eyes open, and she had fallen asleep.
The night was absolute once Weaver turned off the headlights of the car, and though not usually afraid of the dark, Belle felt herself fumbling for some kind of contact with the man.
âItâs all right,â he told her softly, âWeâll be safe here.â
âWhere is here exactly,â she asked, still clinging to his arm, as slowly her eyes began to adjust to the darkness.
âOkanogan-Wenatchee National Forest,â he said. âItâs where Roniâs place is. Â Itâs a bit of a walk from here, but weâll get you settled first, and then Iâll come back for the rest of the stuff.â
âI can help carry things,â she said. âThat way you wonât have so much to come back for.â
The stark flare of the interior vehicle light was almost painful after the pitch black, when they opened the doors, and the first thing Weaver did, as she stood blinking beside the car passenger door, was to go around to the trunk for the flashlights. They each had one, and then loaded up with as much as they could carry.
âWatch the ground here,â Weaver said in a low voice as though he were trying to avoid disturbing the very air around them. âItâs a little uneven.â Then, slowly, carefully, but surely, they made their way out into the nothingness of the National Forest.
It was tough going, even for someone as fit and supple as Belle was, and she was picking her way extra carefully over some of the rockier, rootier patches of ground they traveled. She didnât want to turn her ankle, of worse, injure herself in a way that would be devastating to her career as a dancer - if she even had a career after all of this was over. She stopped frequently, and was just beginning to worry that perhaps she had read the man all wrong, and that Weaver was leading her astray, when she became aware of a new sound coming out of the darkness ahead and to the side, the sound of water, lapping gently at the shore.
âAlmost there.â Weaverâs voice confirmed what she could hear, and a moment later, in the combined beams of their flashlights, a wooden structure up ahead, a log built cabin, began to reveal itself, and soon, she heard Weaverâs heavy, booted tread on the wooden porch ahead of her. She climbed the steps to join him and set down her burdens as she waited for him to unlock the door.
Inside, it wasnât much warmer than the outside, and she wondered how long it was since Roni, or anyone in fact, had actually stayed there. Even so, as she moved her flashlight around to catch what glimpses she could of the interior, she saw a fireplace, and kitchen appliances, and what she could see of everything looked decent enough, and certainly not the ârun down shackâ that Roni had named it. She did wonder about power though, or whether they would have to manage their entire stay by candle light and campfire cooking.
Straining her eyes to try and see where Weaver had gone, she barely caught sight of his leather-clad back, as he appeared to be poking around in a closet of some kind. She heard the sound of a heavy switch being thrown, and then a softer click, before light blinked into existence over in the kitchen area, where Weaver was standing.
âSolar power,â he explained as he turned back to her. âThere are panels on the roof on the lakeside.â
She nodded. âUseful. I was wondering,â she said.
âDoesnât power the heat and hot water, though,â he said. âFor thatâŠâ he nodded over to the fireplace toward which she had wandered as she explored the room, and she moved aside as he came closer, and began to lay a fire in the hearth.
She couldnât help but shiver, and pull the jacket Roni had given to her more tightly around herself, though it wasnât entirely from the cold. The thought of a fire burning brightly, the sound of the lake that she could still hear even inside, the quiet, the solitudeâŠ
âŠand the man before her. A man whom, she felt certain, truly cared.
As if to confirm her thoughts, he glanced over his shoulder at her, and said quietly, âThis will soon warm the place up, donât worry. Â And we have plenty of wood to keep us cozy.â
She smiled. It seemed an odd word to be coming from a man like Weaver; odd, but endearing.
âWhat?â he asked, quirking an eyebrow as he turned to look over at her properly for a moment. She shook her head, not really knowing how she could say what was going through her mind without embarrassing herself. âSurprised a city boy like me knows how to build a decent fire?â
âYouâre⊠not at all the man I thought you were, Detective,â she told him.
He chuckled softly, and asked, âAnd that bothers you?â
She shook her head. âNo. Iâm glad.â
He turned back to the fire, and made sure that it was lit, and burning well enough before he stood up, and wiped his hands on the front of his jeans. She watched him as he looked around the lake house, and the supplies they had already managed to bring from the car.
âIf you want to make yourself at home, Miss French, Iâll go get the rest of our things.â
âBelle,â she said.
He regarded her for a moment with a look that she thought showed doubt, even reticence to do as she was asking him, and use her name.
âYou⊠donât know how long weâre going to have to stay here, right?â she asked into the silent scrutiny he was subjecting her to, which was becoming a little prickle over the surface of her skin.
âNo,â he said. âNo, youâre right, I donât.â
âIn that case, please,â she said, âIâd rather you not treat me like a stranger.â
Again, he regarded her, that same, penetrating stare, until, finally he nodded. âAll right⊠Belle.â
She nodded her thanks, and said, âIâm pretty sure I saw some cocoa and milk in one of the bags we already brought. How about I make some for us when you get back?â
âSounds Perfect,â he said, with a nod. âItâll give the fire a chance to warm this place - reach up to the loft.â He nodded his head toward a set of steps leading up to a second floor that only reached half way across the room. âBedâs up there.â
The mention of bed made her realize how tired she was, and she stifled a yawn, and then murmured a soft apology. He shook his head then.
âBeen a long day,â he said in acknowledgment, then added, âGo on, make a start on that cocoa. Iâll try not to be too long.â
He headed for the door, but she reached out and caught hold of him by the elbow. He turned and looked at her, an eyebrow raised in query.
âBe careful, Detective Weaver,â she said, trying not to let too much of her fear show.
âKen,â he told her softly, and squeezed her hand on his arm, before pulling away, and heading out through the door and into the night.
**
Outside, Weaver shivered and pulled just jacket more tightly around himself. It was surprising how quickly the fire had already warmed the lake house, making the change in temperature more than a little noticeable.
Grabbing his flashlight from where heâd left it on the porch, he began to make his way back toward the car. Letting the night swallow him, and trying not to take too much notice of his thoughts, his feelings, the way the woman under his care was getting well and truly under his skin.
Trying to keep it professional was not his strong suit at the best of times. He was willing to admit - to the right person, of course - that he was a bit of a wild card. He did things his way, and if that crossed some lines, well, so long as it got results it didnât matter to him.
Now though, the result was keeping this beautiful woman safe, and allowing himself to get involved with her - in any way - was not the way to do that, but sheâd insisted on removing that last barrier, that last shield against the way he was feeling. Anabelle French had asked him to use her name - and not just her name, but a pet name; one that friends might use. Â Well that was okay, right? Â He could be a friend.
Yet⊠there was something about this woman that touched two side of his nature, both at the same time - the protector, andâŠ
âNot gonna happen,â he told himself aloud, âYouâre going to hole up here, until Rogers gets it all leveled out and comes looking for you.â Eventually his partner would figure out to go ask Roni where the fuck he was. When that happened, heâd be able to let Belle go and get on with his mundane detective work, maybe go bend a few heads in the local street gangs, just for good measure. Fucking depressing!
The first splash of rain, when it came, out of nowhere, landed on his right cheek and for just a second he actually thought it was a tear. Then he figured it out and laughed at himself, humorless and maybe even a bit angry, but it hurried his steps all the same, and soon he found himself at the side of the car, pulling open the door and grabbing the rest of the supplies heâd bought - enough for an extended stay out in the middle of nowhere, if it came to it.
On the way back, he had to turn up the collar of his jacket to keep the ever increasing rain from dripping down the back of his neck and soaking his shirt. He knew it was a futile effort, but maybe it would just be a passing shower. At least he had a change of clothes now, and for the first time maybe since he was a kid just out of middle school, a pair of pajamas to sleep in.
It was probably a good job too, since by the time he got back to the lake house, his âpassing showerâ had soaked him all the way through to his underwear.
âOh my God!â
Belleâs voice was full of concern as he stepped back inside, and closed the door behind him. âYouâre drenched! Here, put that stuff down and come closer to the fire.â Â As she spoke she started moving the wooden chairs, on which sheâd hung the sheets, to give him space to get closer to the hearth. Â Then she stepped up behind him, and tugged on his jacket.
He let her help him off with that, but then turned and caught her by the upper arms, leaning down to look at her as he said, âItâs okay, Iâll just get changed. Weâre going to want to get to bed soon, anyway.â Â He gestured then at the sheets, and she blushed.
âI found the linen closet,â she told him. âI wanted to get as much ready as I could, but the sheets felt a little bit damp, soâŠâ she shrugged. âI also thought the fire would warm them some.â Then she nodded to a couple of other chairs behind where he was standing, which had thick toweling robes hung over them. âThe robes too. I found them in the bathroom and I pretty much unpacked everything.â
He offered her a smile, and teasing said, âI didnât think Iâd been gone that long.â She shrugged, and the blush on her cheeks renewed, and he found himself wondering what the hell was going through her mind to cause it. Instead he said, âWhy donât you go and get changed for bed, then we can have that cocoa right?â
She nodded. âI wonât take long,â she told him.
âTake all the time you need,â he said, âIâll change while youâre gone, and build up the fire a little bit.â
âMake sure you get properly dry,â she told him, âI donât want you catching your death on my account. There are towels inâŠâ
ââŠin the linen closet, yes. I know,â he said, and absently let his hands run up and down her arms, gently, and mindful of her bruises, a gesture meant to comfort. âItâs all right. Go on. I promise.â
He watched as she picked up the smaller of the two robes, and took it, and the bag of clothes that Roni had given her, and headed through to the bathroom. Â He heard the click of the wall mounted heater that he knew was in there, and satisfied himself that she was getting herself changed before he began to shrug out of his own, wet clothing. Heâd hang it by the hearth to dry overnight.
He hadnât been wrong about how wet heâd gotten, he discovered as he finally peeled off his jeans, and tugged at the boxer briefs he wore beneath that were stuck to his skin, they were so wet. Forgetting himself for a second or two, he padded naked to where he knew the linen closet was to grab a towel. It was only when he heard a click from the bathroom that he realized what heâd done. His heart rate doubled in an instant, and he grabbed a towel, hurrying back over closer to the fireplace, stepping close enough that the hanging sheets shielded the lower half of his body. Then he heard water running from the bathroom.
Get a fucking grip. He toweled himself off quickly, still berating himself for his carelessness. What if she had come out while he was parading around in nothing but his rough-hewn charm. There was unprofessional and there was unprofessional. He growled softly as a stray, rebellious, but honest thought pushed to the fore. Would it have been so bad?
As soon as he was dry, he pulled on the pajamas. The gray and black checks on the pants were subdued, and further quieted by the plain gray, long sleeved shirt, and the soft, brushed cotton felt good on his skin, enlivened by the vigorous toweling heâd just given himself. Heâd do, he decided, but as an afterthought, pulled on the robe, appreciating the way it had been warmed by the fire, which he then set about fulfilling his promise and tended it, building it up a little, so that it would see them through the night.
He was just straightening up when Belle emerged from the bathroom. She was swaddled in the robe that was cinched tightly at the waist over⊠whatever she was wearing beneath. The robe covered her night ware completely, and he could see that her legs were bare beneath the robe, that reached to her knees. He swallowed hard, and clamped down on his vivid imagination.
She offered him a smile, and he held out a hand. âCome and get warm,â he said. âI think we can probably move the sheets now.â
âI need to finish making the cocoa,â she told him, but he shook his head.
âI can do that,â he said. âWouldnât be taking very good care of you if I let you get a chill, would I?â
She chuckled a little, and said a soft, âTouchĂ©,â before approaching, taking his hand, and allowing him to draw her closer to the fire. He breathed in deeply as she came closer, the soft, clean scent of her reaching deep within him to a place long since buried.
âWhy donât I move these over a bit,â she said, gesturing to the sheets, âlet the heat out into the room, and we can sit on the couch and enjoy our cocoa.â
âAll right,â he agreed, and realizing he was still holding her hand, he let it go with a murmured apology.
She shook her head at that, and offered even more softly, âIt was nice.â
He closed his eyes at that, and kicked himself, realizing, perhaps for the first time since theyâd met, that human touch, of a kind that was other than connected with dance, or with the abuse sheâd suffered, was something she was lacking. He didnât know why he suddenly thought he should have known, but he definitely felt he should have picked up on it, and for just a second wondered whether he dare give her more of that kind of solace.
âCocoa,â he reminded himself after a moment, and then headed for the kitchen area. As he worked, he heard Belle shuffling things around behind him, and risked a glance. She had set the sheets on a single chair off to the side allowing the heat of the fire to reach further out into the room, to the couch, and she had picked up his discarded, wet clothing, and hung it over the back of another chair, set off to the side, ready to move when she went up to bed.
The domesticity of it all, belying the danger she had been in, and probably still was, made him smile. If there were ever a statement on the way his life had been lately, this was probably it. She was probably it.
Lifting the pan with the bubbling milk inside, from the heat, he poured it into the two cups she had prepared, and stirred both vigorously to make sure their was no powder left in the bottom. He almost started when he felt the soft touch on his arm, and felt Belleâs heat against his back.
âWhat have they ever done to you?â she asked softly, then added, âCome and sit down. Itâs been a long day for you too.â
He nodded, and together they walked back to the couch and sat down. He tried not to notice, as Belle curled up with her feet up on the couch at her side, the way the bottom of the robe slipped open to reveal one shapely leg almost all the way up her thigh. She sipped her cocoa, and let out a soft sigh of appreciation.
âItâs good,â she murmured, lapping a splash of chocolate from her lips. He looked away. Looking instead into the crackling fire as he felt himself starting to respond to the thoughts running through his mind at her actions.
âYou did all the heavy lifting,â he told her. âAll I did was pour in the milk.â
âAnd beat it to death with a spoon,â she teased and he couldnât help chuckle.
A silence fell as they both sipped their cocoa, and he figured she must be as lost in her own thoughts as he was in trying to ignore his.
âThank you.â
Her soft voice drew his attention back to her, and he half turned her way with a frown on his face, and set down his cup. He was about to speak, when she reached out and pressed the tips of her fingers against his lips.
âDonât tell me you are just doing your job. You didnât have to do this. You could have just left me there and trusted the law to keep me safe,â she said.
He reached up and took her hand from his lips, stroking the tips of her fingers with his own.
âWasnât going to happen,â he told her softly. âThey would have gotten to you. I couldnât allow that.â
âBe honest,â she began, âBecause of the case, orâŠâ
He could have lied. He could have told her it was just about the case, that the fact that something in her had pulled at him from the very beginning, like a kind of recognition that he couldnât explain, meant nothing to him, but she deserved better than that. She deserved the truth.
âNo,â he said quietly, then with a expression full of regret, added, âBut it would be wrong of me to take advantage of the situation; take advantage of you.â
âYou wouldnât be,â she told him, equally as softly. âTo offer a little human kindness? How would have be so wrong.â
He laughed, humorlessly, his voice thick with unrequited need when he spoke. âOh, believe me, what I have on my mind is far more than human kindness.â
Belle blushed, and he released her hand to reach up and cup her face, his thumb stroked softly over her reddened cheek as though he could wipe away the blush, when all he truly wanted to do was cause her a greater blush yet.
âAnd if thatâs what I want?â She leaned into his hand and shifted closer.
âYou say that nowââ he started, but didnât have the chance to get any further.
âI say that, period.â
In one graceful, fluid movement, that served as a reminder that she was a dancer, lithe, supple and flexible, she set down her cup on the floor beside the couch, and moved to sit astride his pajama clad legs. Her hands came to rest on his shoulders for barely a moment while she caught her balance, though almost automatically he brought his hands to rest on her hips, to steady her, and then her fingers stroked upward either side of his neck to cup his face, bringing his gaze up to hers.
âFrom the moment you walked into my dressing room,â she said, finding his eyes with hers, âIâve had this overwhelming feeling⊠as though I know you - somehow - even though I know weâve never met before. How could we?â She paused as if to give him a chance to answer, but all he could do was shake his head. âI want to know how. I want to know why. I want to know you.â
As she spoke her voice became quieter, and she moved closer still, pressing against him until he could feel the heat of her body close against him, and he let out a voiced breath, not quite a moan, before her felt her breath against his lips in the instant before she closed the final distance and kissed him softly.
It was barely as if a feather had brushed against the soft skin of his mouth, and the intake of breath he gave parted his lips. The feathery touch pressed again, then the warm softness of her mouth tugged against his lower lip, and he was lost.
He tightened his arms around her, holding her closer yet to his body, and the ache he felt in his groin as his already semi-hard cock became fuller, harder and trapped between them. She moaned into his mouth as his arms crossed her back, the fingers of one hand sliding into her hair as he took control of the kiss, parting her lips with his and plundering her mouth for all her sweetness. She tasted of mint and chocolate, and sunlight - somehow sunlight even in this darkest of places.
She tugged open the belt of her robe and shrugged her shoulders to let it fall as far as his hands would allow, effectively trapping her hands and he dragged his mouth from hers. He pressed a line of hot, wet kisses down over her neck to bathe the softness of her skin, left revealed by the spaghetti strap of her pajama top and bare to the upper curve of her breasts and the cleft between, as though he could wash away the bruises still visible there.
She leaned back, her breathing quickening, her fingertips searing scalding lines down over his chest until her palms pressed against his hard nipples through the shirt he wore. He ached to take it off, to expose all of her to his kisses, to take her completely and leave her trembling and breathless with fulfillment.
The thought brought him up short, just as her fingertips skimmed against his belly above the waistband of his pants, right above his heated erection. What the fuck was he doing? She deserved better than this, better than some hurried groping, fumbling around on a couch too small for her comfort. He forced himself to pull away, to tug her away until he could catch her hands.
âKen?â she whispered, half question, half disappointment.
âNot here,â he said breathlessly. âNot like this.â Â She tipped her head to the side, regarding him, and he looked upward over her body, over her quivering belly, her breasts - nipples showing through the navy silk of the camisole top - over the beauty of her face until their eyes met, and he murmured, âCome to bed.â
**
Belleâs entire body was humming with nerves and need, and his words went through her like a bolt of electricity to leave her already soaked and aching core pulsing with want. In answer, she climbed from his lap, feeling the damp silk of her pajama shorts rub against her thighs as she walked to pick up the sheets from the chair, while Weaver moved a fireguard in front of the fire still burning in the hearth.
They climbed the stairs to the loft hand in hand, and together made short work of the mundane necessity of making up the bed, piling on the blankets and the comforter to make sure they would be warm in the night. She was just straightening up after after turning down the bedclothes, when she felt the hot press of his lips on the back of her shoulder, and she moaned, leaning back into him, and reaching around herself to dig her short fingernails into the top of his thighs as his hands came up to cup her breasts through her camisole. His thumbs danced over her nipples.
She could feel him, hard, pressed against the top of her buttocks and lower back, and she let her hips sway, caressing him with her body until his moan vibrated against her skin. One of his hands left her breast and dipped lower, slipped beneath the leg of her shorts and brushed slowly through her tight curls until his deft touch parted her wet folds, and glided through her liquid desire to circle her clit, barely touching, and she let out a whimper, trying to move to catch his hand, his touch, needing to feel it.
âKen, please,â she gasped breathlessly, but he removed his touch from her body, turning her in his arms to press his mouth to hers, gathering her against him. Then he lifted her in his arms and set her down on the bed, following her down to press his body to hers, but only for a moment.
Resting on his elbows over her, his mouth descended over her neck and his hand pushed aside the top of her camisole to reveal the fullness of her breast to his gaze, to his touch, and to the pull of his lips as he closed them around her puckered nipple, and suckled softly, but without cease or mercy, his other hand cupped her other breast, first through the silk of her top, then slipped inside to pinch and tease her nipple, until she squirmed and moaned out her need for him.
Slowly, he continued his descent over her body, leaving her breasts, he pushed up the front of her top, to bathe her skin with with nips and kisses, leaving her tingling, gasping as he moved lower yet and he nuzzled at her wetness with his nose, his fingers teasing around the waistband of her shorts.
She gripped his shoulders, and at the same time lifted her hips in clear invitation to remove the garment. It seemed it was all that he needed, and almost agonizingly slowly he eased the silk down over her thighs, her calves, tugged them off over her feet as he knelt up to pull off his own shirt.
Belle ran her eyes over his chest and stomach. She ached to reach out and peel the rest of his nightwear from his lean, muscled frame.
âSee something you like?â he teased, and she blushed, as he began to kiss his way up her legs, lingering at the back of her knees until she squirmed, and then he ran his fingers over the inside of her thighs, the touch firm, but against her too sensitive skin it felt like hot needles, painful in the most exquisite way, and more arousing than anything she could have imagined.
âYou,â she breathed, as his insistent touch parted her thighs, and his hot breath bathed her wet core in the moment before his tongue pressed between her folds, swollen with desire, and lapped upward to flicker against her clit. She cried out, her back arching, trying to catch the fleeting touch more fully and escape it both at the same time.
He moaned, the sound vibrating against her as he lapped and swirled, as he suckled on the aching nub of her clit, leaving her trembling, her breath coming in short gasps as she felt herself, like a spring wound tightly close to breaking. The touch was her undoing. As he closed his lips around her clit, sucking and alternately flickering against her with his tongue, he teased her entrance with a long, slender finger, circling once, twice, before he slowly eased the tip just inside. Her muscles grasped at him, and he moaned anew, easing his touch in slowly, and out, in and out until every muscle in her body trembled on the edge of oblivion before she broke, the wave of her climax swept over her.
He lapped softly over the length of her, the touch inside of her slowly withdrawing as the edge faded, until he left her center and kissed his way back up over her, gathering her close and nuzzling at her hair, his fingers idly caressing the side of her breast.
She trailed her own fingers over his arms, his chest, felt the taught muscles of his belly harden at her touch, and the twitch of his cock against her where he pressed, hard, against her hip. She paused, only barely before she slipped a hand between them and pressed her palm against his length, feeling the heat of him through the cotton pants, but wanting the smoothness of skin against skin she drew away, sat up only to cross her arms and grasp the bottom of her camisole and peel it off. Â Weaver moaned her name.
âTake them off,â she answered, plucking at the side of his pants, and when he did she tipped him onto his back, and straddled him as she had before, this time with nothing between them - only skin.
Skin on skin, she lay herself down to feel every inch of him against her, then after a time, pushed herself up, her hands on his chest. Her thighs framed his hips and she undulated against him, letting his hardness glide between her folds, against her clit.
âBelle,â he moaned, and grasped her hips to still her. She ran her hands over his chest, his shoulder, to where the puckered circle of a scar lay stark against the tan of the rest of him in the dim and flickering light.
âYou were shot,â she said quietly. The though gave her almost a physical pain.
âA long time ago,â he assured her quietly. Then he wrapped his arms around her, drawing her to him and deftly flipped her beneath him, covering her completely, and he kissed her, a deep, consuming kiss. âIt doesnât matter now.â
âKen,â she breathed, and slowly raised her thighs around him, slipped her hands down over his shoulders, down to draw tiny circles in the small of his back; the top of his buttocks. âI want you,â she whispered.
âAre you sure,â he murmured, his voice thick with desire that matched her own. What did it matter they were virtually strangers? And yet⊠that familiarity swept over her again, stronger than before, as he added, âWe havenâtââ
She caught his lips in a kiss, cutting off his words, pulling back only to whisper, âTake me, slowly,â into his mouth.
He moaned into the kiss, and reached between them to guide his cock to find her.
She felt the broad, blunt head of his scalding heat press against her, part her, open her to him as he glided deep into her soaked and needful core. She gave a soft, almost sobbing cry at the sheer rightness of it as he pressed himself to her, filled her, their bodies meeting as he held a moment, buried deep inside of her.
âOh, Belle,â he breathed, letting his head fall into the crook of her neck, and she ran her fingers into his hair, scraped her nails against his scalp and turned her head to find his ear. Her tongue lapped at his lobe, drawing it in between her lips, before she nipped softly.
âFeel⊠so good,â she whispered against his ear.
âPerfect,â he murmured, lifting his head to find her mouth with his.
His tongue plundered her mouth, and she tasted herself on him, moaning softly with increased need. It wasnât enough for him to fill her, she wanted him to lose himself in her; wanted to break apart around him, draw him with her and milk him dry. She wanted to exhaust herself in him and he in her. She lifted her hips and squeezed her muscles around him, and he broke the kiss, gasping, a breath that turned into a low, needful growl as he began to move with her.
He was hot, and hard, thick and long, and she moved with him as though theyâd known each other forever. Slowly, lazily at first their shared movements stoked the fires of their need, but with each thrust, each squeeze, each sigh and moan, their desire grew, and they gave their passions head.
His thrusts became faster, harder, deeper as she lifted her legs to wrap them around his back. She wanted all of him, and moaned against his shoulder where she nipped and sucked, as she felt the heat of his balls pressing against her.
âOh, God!â he gasped. Then, âBelle.â
Her breath was coming in shallow snatches, panting in time with the rhythm of their lovemaking, and she moaned, âDonât stop,â as she pressed her head back against the pillows, âPlease, donât stop.â
She was close, and she could tell from the trembling in his arms and the look of near bliss on his face that he, too, was hanging on the moment with her, until with a cry, she burst around him and he let out a primal moan as he lost himself inside her, each beat of his heart pulsing hot, thick seed into her. She pulsed and trembled around him, milking every precious drop. Until he sank down onto her, and held her close, tight, breathless together as they each began to calm.
Still shaking he eased from her, drawing her with him to nestle her into his side as though he didnât want to let her go, and she clung to him, still breathless, still pulsing, still feeling all of him as he held her close, leaned his head down to take her lips gently, softly, in a sweet and tender kiss.
**
He reached down to draw up the covers over their sweat drenched bodies as they slowly caught their breath. He had never known anyone like her. It was as though she knew every inch of him, and he of her, and together they were only one whole being - lost apart. His throat felt tight with unshed tears that he couldnât explain. He swallowed hard, swallowed them down.
âAre you all right, sweetheart?â he murmured softly, pressing another soft kiss to her forehead as she rested against his shoulder.
She shifted against him. âYes,â she whispered, âBetter than all right.â
He chuckled softly, and she looked up at him then, an expression he couldnât quite fathom on her face, and he raised an eyebrow in query.
She shook her head, but he pressed gently, âWhat?â
âItâs justâŠâ she swallowed hard. âI wondered if it was short for something, or if it is really just Ken. Your name, I mean.â
âKendrick,â he said, reaching up to run his fingers through her hair, and smooth it back from her face. âItâs short for Kendrick.â
âKendrick Weaver,â she murmured his full name, and he suddenly felt as though his entire life, past and future were somehow being drawn together in the woman by his side.
âIt suits you,â she said, after many long moments of silence, and settled herself against him again, safe in his arms.
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Who Knows What the Next Half Hour, Forty-Five Minutes Hold- A Sharky x Deputy fic
Guess who finally finished that meet cute ideaaaaaa. So this got long enough that Iâm actually gonna put it on AO3 as well because Iâm an attention hungry bitch. This is set pre-game events (like, a couple months before), and is a gender neutral Deputy because, in the words of a great man, âI donât wanna go assumin nobody genderâ
Fic Summary: You donât expect your luck to turn around via getting caught trying to light a squad car on fire. But then, weirder things have happened for Sharky.
Word Count: 3721
They hadnât invented a curse word good enough for the kind of day Charlemagne âSharkyâ Boshaw the IV was having. Not that this was stopping him from cycling through a few choice ones, trying to find one whoâs mouthfeel and vitriol would encompass the capital B Bullshit he was putting up with today.
First off, waking up in a drunk tank was never a good way to start the morning. Especially not with that shithead Pratt, whoâd lately taken to amusing himself by waking up the nightly collection of hedonists with decidedly non-regulation use of the prisonâs speaker system. The only thing worse than waking up with a blistering headache and a knot in your back is having it happen to the tune of âChicken Friedâ at 120 decibels.
âFuck, dude, I should kill ya for bad taste if nothin else!â He had tried to scream over the fuckin acoustic strumming. Pratt had just snickered, handing a coffee mug to his P.O., who looked just as amused by the whole scenario.
It was only after heâd shouted himself hoarse that Pratt finally agreed to give him his phone call. Voice squeaking with dehydration and overuse, heâd by some miracle got Hurk on the phone and tried to talk him into bailing him out. Problem was, Hurk was (as per fuckin usual) short on cash. The old man was also piss drunk mad at him (once again, usual), but he thought maybe Addie might be in a good enough mood to chuck a little his way. The thought of Aunt Adelaide had momentarily perked him up until he realized that if Hurk couldnât get the money from her, he was gonna have to be able to talk to Hurk again to sort things out. And given how absolutely certain he was that Staci was going to shove the âone-phone-call-onlyâ stick up his ass in a few minutes......that meant he was gonna have to stay on the line.
He spent the better part of two hours, head pounding, mouth only getting dryer as he listened to Hurk putter around looking for his keys, getting continually distracted, finally getting in the fuckin truck and driving up to the Marina, only to discover the reason Addie had seemed so good-tempered in her response to her only sonâs good morning text is that, judging by what Sharky could hear over the tinny reception, she and Xander were....busy.
What followed was a three way screaming match of Addie yelling at Hurk to get the hell out, Sharky yelling at Hurk to stay the hell there, and Hurk yelling their responses back and forth across the phoneline.
Finally Xander tossed his wallet at Hurk in an effort to make him leave (âhe seemed real excited about this harness thing Mama was fussin with, I dunnoâ), and after paying off his bail, slipping an extra fifty to keep his P.O happy, and begging a ride home, Sharky was more than ready to take some aspirin, find a six pack, and wash off last nightâs hangover with a tonightâs beer.
No such luck. His truck had been impounded after last nightâs little misadventure. And he felt his heart sink into the holes in his socks when he saw the big black Edenâs Gate cross in the window of the only liquor store in walking distance
âMotherFUCKINGdamnit not you too!â
Had he lost his temper a bit? Sure. Did he expect the windows to still be alarmed? No. But, he thought to himself as he beat feet into the woods before any cops could pick up on it, Edenâs Gate had only themselves to blame for it! Wasnât enough that they had to get half of Holland Valley so all-fired on chastity that he couldnât move without getting a pamphlet on lust shoved up his nose and down his pants, now they had to deprive him of his well-earned booze too!
Like most residents of Hope County he didnât know what the hell the cops were playing at letting the Peggies keep running as they did. Sure, John Seed and Faith were running spin so well it made carousels jealous, but it was the stateâs worst kept secret that the recent rash of disappearances could be pretty easily traced to them. Not to mention the scars most of their members were sporting....Hell, maybe he should recommend Pratt to the evangelists that came knocking through his trailer park early each Sunday.
.....No. No he wouldnât. Jackass though he was....well. From the stories Sharkyâd heard and the bits and pieces heâd seen for himself, he wouldnât wish that on anyoneâs head.
Still, he felt irritated. Frustration building inside him like a pressure cooker as he shoved his hands in his hoodie pockets, feeling his feet unconsciously make tracks for the ruins of the old roller derby. He needed to cool off.
People made the mistake of looking at him alongside Hurk and assuming he was just as mellow. He wasnât. Sure, the weed and the beers kept him nice and chilled out, usually, but without a substance in his hands he was at the mercy of the spastic energy that was always cooped up in his body. He needed to...shit. Hit something maybe? Prank calls?
No.....no he knew this feeling.
He needed to burn something.
He fished the lighter out of his pocket, sending up a quick thank you that Pratt hadnât taken it off him. He was running low on them with the new P.O sticking his nose into every nook and cranny to squirrel out contraband. Something about enablement and all the other bullshit his court-appointed therapist liked to recite to him in their bi-monthly sessions.
With a huff, he leaned against a tree, flicking it on and off again. Trying to lose himself in the little bright patch of flame. Sometimes this would at least take the edge off. Today, though? He was gonna need a lot more than a measly little two buck zippo.
His options were limited. Normally in a case like this heâd go for a campfire but it was the dry season and any smoke was certain to have those smarmy pricks from the fire department up his ass. He flicked the lighter a few more times, hoping maybe itâd concur with a lightbulb moment and he could have that dramatic satisfaction.
Out of the corner of his eye he suddenly saw a gleam of white aluminum.
He glanced over and instinctively dove behind the tree once he realized what it was. Police cruiser. Of all the days....He observed it cautiously before slowly emerging. Didnât look like anyone was there. Keys werenât even in.
Heâd gotten acquainted enough with most of the police vehicles in town to know this one was Prattâs chosen steed. You could tell by the number of air-fresheners he kept in there: one of his tricks he insisted made chicks feel more at home in a car.
(Not like Sharkyâd tried that or anything. And even if he had, the lingering odors were finally coming out of the upholstery after the fourth wash. âStripper smellâ his ass....)
Most importantly, though, like most people around here, Pratt didnât lock his doors....
Sharkyâs lightbulbs usually took a while to kick on but this one seemed to burn a few watts brighter than most.
He took a quick check of the surrounding woods. Long practice had taught him what made for good kindling and what didnât. It was pretty much the only thing heâd kept from a few frustrating years in 4H, aside from a couple of hoofshaped bruises on his arms and a healthy fear of pigs.
And that was the moment when he realized all the bullshit of the day had been leading him to this single, perfect, shining moment. Because right there, nested amongst a beautiful layer of crisp pine needles and perfectly dried out branches....was chamerion angustifolium.
More commonly known as fireweed. Â
He moved fast as he could, carefully laying the groundwork in the backseat of the cruise, setting it up with the savoir-faire of a practiced artist. The finished product damn near brought a tear to his eye. He couldnât resist taking a picture, moving it to a hidden folder reserved for porn and particularly nice stills from period piece movies. Â
Heâd just found some clubmoss and was debating whether or not he had the time, scraping the fine powder off the stalks and into the center of the tinder...
âI didnât find anyoneâ
The voice jerked him out of his reverie and his head snapped up.
âYeah, me either.â Said a tired voice. Wait, he knew that one.....Deputy Hudson?
He slowly poked his head around. Yeah, Hudson alright, stomping through the woods, looking her usual vaguely tired/irritated self. She was talking to a figure he didnât recognize (and Sharky flattered himself that he was pretty familiar with the figures of Hope County).
Shit. Should he run?
âShould we call it in?â they were saying, hand reaching for the radio clipped to their belt.
Hudson sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. âI dunno. Lot of trouble to go to over a busted window. Specially when there wasnât anyone in there.â
Fuck shiiiiit they were looking for him then. He thought about bolting, but.....he looked at the kindling. There was no way this wouldnât point back to him. He raised his hand to smash it but it was like asking Leonardo to smash the Mona Lisa. Or was is Raphael? One of the turtles...
âStill, it is Edenâs Gate property now....will that be a problem?â
âIt will be. Question is, if we care or not.â
The stranger looked down, biting their lip. Hudson seemed to notice and snorted. âRight. Look, I know they seem intimidating but if the department went into a frenzy everytime somethin happened that Joseph Seed didnât like then weâd never stop frenzy.....ing.â She grimaced a bit at how the sentence ended.
âSo what should we do.â
They were too close, if he bolted now theyâd see him run.
âTell ya what.â She came to a halt. âWeâll do a last sweep. If we donât find anything weâll call it a day. Tell Seed it was a big bird or something.â
âYouâre sure?â
âTrust me, Rook, the sheriff wonât care and I donât wanna be out here any longer than I have to be. You go left, Iâll go right, we meet back in ten minutes. Sound good?â
He let out a slow sigh of relief. Theyâd leave, heâd (carefully) dismantle the pile, and heâd be gone. No point doing it if Pratt wasnât gonna suffer the consequences. He started to slowly rise to his feet.
âAlright, see you the-â
Several things happened in the span of a few seconds.
One. Sharky remembered the sleeve of his hoodie was a bad place to keep his lighter. He remembered this as he watched it topple out.
Two. his instincts kicked in and he snatched at it, catching it just as it hit the pile of spores. The contact of his hand made them fly into the air in a puff.
Three.
His thumb caught the sparkwheel.
He felt a sharp pain in his right hand that caused him to scramble backwards as his eyes were blinded by a bright flash. He felt his facial hair singe  and a wall of heat on his face, and heard distant cursing.
Long experience had gotten him used to being blinded, and his vision recovered quickly. Quick enough to see the minor explosion evaporate out of the air, catching the tinder just as it faded away.
His ears were ringing and he didnât hear them running towards the car, but he sure as shit felt it when the stranger cop tackled him to the ground. Hudson followed close behind, cursing loudly and hurriedly using the jacket to stifle the flames that were steadily eating through the upholstery.
âWho the hell are you?!â the stranger said, grabbing the front of his hoodie and pulling him up to look at them.
âuh.....Jimmy Buffet?â He said stupidly, mildly dazed. Didnât help that this stranger had a pretty ass pair of eyes. Or maybe that was just the shock talking.
Hudson finally managed to choke out the fire, backing off and taking a deep breath before taking a look at the culprit.
â.....Boshaw?!â
What mirror had he broken
âYou know him.â
âOhhhh I know him.â Hudson straightened off, looking torn between anger and mild amusement. âThe local serial arsonist. Thought Pratt had you drying out in the tank?â
âI wanna lawyerâ He groaned.
âYeah, yeah. Get off him, Rook, contrary to appearances, he isnât dangerous. Just stupid.â
The stranger (Rook? Rookie? A last name? Who knew) clambered off him, looking slightly sheepish at having gone full Rambo for no apparent reason. âWhat should we do.â
âWhat youâre gonna do.â Hudson said, hauling him to his feet. âIs start the car and make sure it still runs.â
âAw, câmon, this aint necessary-â Even as he protested, out of long habit he assumed the position against the cruiser, wrists moving into position for easy cuffing.
âNo, but it sure is funâ Hudson said, snapping them on. Loose. Â Which was almost more humiliating, and not in the fun way either.
The car turned on as normal.
âWell. Guess we donât have to add âvehicle replacementâ to your list of fines.â
âI didnât put nothin in the dash! Iâm not tryin to kill anybody, just deal with some highly justifiable frustration-â
âYou have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be held against you in court of law.â Hudson said quickly, cutting across his excuses as she forced him into the passenger side of the cruiser. âRook, take him into the station, Prattâll know what to do. Iâm gonna radio the Sheriff and let him know we found the window perp.â
âHey, you got no evidence that was me!â He protested. âJust cause I happen to be in the same area as a liquor store doesnât mean Iâm-â
âHowâd you know it was a liquor store.â
â........hey can we have a mulligan on the âright to remain silentâ thing-â
Hudson rolled her eyes. âKnowing Earl heâs gonna wanna come up himself and make sure the reportâs in order. Iâll catch a lift back with him.â
âGot it.â Rook said, climbing into the driverâs seat. âSee you at the station.â
They put it into drive and pulled out.
Sharky tried remaining in sullen silence but that was bound to last all of two minutes. His foot jiggled restlessly as he started racing through his options.
âHey! You have any idea how serious this is?â they snapped, glaring at him. âWhat the hell were you trying to do?â
âNot talkin till I get a lawyer.â
âThat shipâs kinda sailed donât ya think? What the hell did you do, pour gasoline on the seats? An explosion that big, youâre lucky it didnât destroy the car and take you out with it-â
âIts clubmossâ
â.....what?â
âIts clubmoss!â He said, snapping a bit more than he wouldâve normally liked. But damn it, dude, this was the one area where he actually knew what the fuck he was talking about! Actin like Sharky Boshaw didnât know exactly how much havoc he was wreaking was an insult to his professionalism. âIts basically plant flashbang.â
âWhat do you....â
âHere, just-â He slipped out of the cuffs easily enough, and ignoring their sputtering protests, he reached into the backseat and scraped up a handful of the green powder that hadnât burned off in the explosion. âSlow the car downâ
âIâm not gonna-...you-â
âIâm not gonna run. Not lookin to get tackled again.â
â....â Curiosity got the better of them and he felt the car slow to a crawl.
He rolled down the window, tossed the powder in the air, and in the same moment sparked his lighter. A burst of flame, much smaller than the last but burning out just as quick, appeared and disappeared, making Rook yelp.
âClubmoss spores are chockful of lycopodium powder. They use it in movies and shit for special effects, the stuff doesnât last long enough to cause real damage and wonât light unless itâs in the air.â He rolled back up the window, absently slipping the handcuffs back on. âFound that out from a behind the scenes featurette on this old bible movie from the church basement. Used to watch it a lot for the scene where God tossed down fire on the Egyptians or whoever. That is uh.....until the pastor confiscated it. Turns out the church basement still qualifies as holy ground and popping a boner anywhere on holy ground ainât exactly considered kosher.â
.....Judging by the look on their face? Probably should have stopped after âbehind the scenes featuretteâ
âSo youâre a uh....special kind of crazy huh.â
â....The technical term is serial arsonistâ He muttered, turning away with a flush.
âWell.....its a cool party trick at least.â
âIts-â Wait....wait, were they smiling?! Cops could smile at something that wasnât the pain of others? Didnât that violate some kind of code?
âGotta say, if I were you I wouldâve left the handcuffs off.â They turned onto the main road.
âUh....â Shit, they really were cute. Or maybe that was the 6 months dry spell talking. â...gonna be honest, I donât recall puttin em back on.â Cmon, cmon, think of something sexy to say. âProbably cause of uh...how used I am to being in handcuffs. For pleasurable reasons. I associate handcuffs with very....very good moments.â Nailed it.
âWell, given how much time Pratt says youâve spent in holding cells I guess some of those memories have to be pleasant.â
Unnailed.
âSo whyâd you break the window?â
âWhat window.â He said instinctively. The Deputy gave him a Look and he shrugged. â.....look, I understand, freedom of religion and all that shit, but comin between a man and his liquor store has to qualify for some kind of offense, right?â
They snorted. âWell. Not that I donât sympathize but I donât know how well a judge is gonna take to that line of reasoning.â
âWait, a judge? I donât....look, we donât need to take it that far-â
âIts probably whatâs gonna happen. Those Peggies.....â their voice trailed off. Unsure how much shit-talking they could do in uniform. âNever seen a group so eager to press charges.â
Sharky groaned. âYou gotta be fuckin....Officer, come on, I canât do another couple months in prison. You know how boring it is in there? I mean, sure, the first few days are fine, you get to catch up with everyone, but after that you realize youâre gonna have to get used to watching all these guys take a piss for the next few months and it gets old real fast.â
âIts not really my call.â
âIts not like I even hurt anybodyâ This time. âJust a little reupholstering job, hell, Iâll stitch the damn seat cover myself-â
âIâm sorry but....I donât think thereâs anything I can doâ
They sounded genuinely sympathetic, something he wasnât used to from law enforcement. Maybe this one really did have a human side after all...
.....Well. Looked like the day had finally come that Sharky had been waiting for his whole life. He leaned back, pulling off his hat and running a hand through his hair a few times and trying to get a look at himself in the rearview mirror. Alright, so he wasnât exactly Ryan Gosling, but this wasnât the worst heâd ever looked...
âI mean uh...â He let his voice drop about a half octave and leaned into the hoarseness to go for that rougher quality. âIf you want...I could find a way to make it worth your whILEâ
His voice squeaked. Cracked like it hadnât since early puberty.
A deathly silence settled over the car.
And then the deputy erupted in laughter.
Loud, long laughter, making their shoulders shake as they bent over the wheel. Gasping for air, they were forced to put the car in park just to keep them from driving off the road. Practically screaming with it.
âAlright, alrightâ He muttered, shoving his hat back on as his face went bright red. âI can take a hintâ
They pounded the dash. âY-you-....you-!â Tears were streaming down their face as they snorted helplessly. And despite the humiliation of the scenario....it was infectious enough to make him crack unwittingly into a grin.
Eh, what the hell, longer it took them to recover, longer he was out of prison.
âWhatâs so fuNNYâ He said, forcing the crack again, which reinvigorated the laughing.
âStop, stop, I-Iâm gonna pukeâ They gasped out, choking a bit.
Sharky patted their back. âSooo thatâs a no Iâm guessin.â
They shook their head, grinning ear to ear and straightening up as they caught their breath. âGet going.â
âWhat?â
âGo. Leave the handcuffs. Iâll make up some excuse.â
â....youâre serious?â His eyes widened. âPlease, fuck, be serious, Staci let me get like 20 feet before hitting me with a taser in the back and let me tell you that think hurts like a bit-â
âYouâve been punished enough today, I think. And weâve got actual threats to deal with these days.â They pulled off a key from the ring and handed it to him. âNo offense.â
â....I mean, ok, a little offense normally, but given the circumstances, none takenâ He unlocked the cuffs quickly and shot out of the car before they could change their mind.
âHey, Boshaw!â
âUhhh.....you can call me Sharky. Sounds a bit more normal.â He turned back to look at them.
They smiled. âSharky then. Honey in tea is gonna help that voice of yours a lot more than beer. And try not to burn the forest down on the way.â
âCan do maâ-...si-....officer!â He waved and ran off fast as he could. He heard their laughter echoing a bit as the car pulled off.
.....Maybe it might be worth sticking on the right side of the law for a couple weeks, at least.
Or maybe not. How the hell else was he gonna see them again?
#far cry 5#fc5#far cry deputy#we all know its canon staci was kind of an asshole before the game#so i rode that#staci pratt#joey hudson#sharky boshaw#sharky boshaw x deputy#sharky x dep#far cry rook#deputy x sharky#hurk drubman jr#adelaide drubman
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The âfollow-up appointmentâ
https://wapo.st/2z4uWXR
The âfollow-up appointmentâ
'For many people in medical debt, it leads to a courtroom' (THIS SHOULDN'T BE HAPPENING IN AMERICA)
By Eli Saslow | Published August 17 at 5:41 PM ET | Washington Post | Posted August 18, 2019 9:18 AM ET |
POPLAR BLUFF, Mo. â The people being sued arrived at the courthouse carrying their hospital bills, and they followed signs upstairs to a small courtroom labeled âDebt and Collections.â A 68-year-old wheeled her portable oxygen tank toward the first row. A nurseâs aide came in wearing scrubs after working a night shift. A teenager with an injured leg stood near the back wall and leaned against crutches.
By 9 a.m., more than two-dozen people were crowded into the room for what has become the busiest legal docket in rural Butler County.
âLots of medical cases again today,â the judge said, and then he called court into session for another weekly fight between a hospital and its patients, which neither side appears to be winning.
So far this year, Poplar Bluff Regional Medical Center has filed more than 1,100 lawsuits for unpaid bills in a rural corner of Southeast Missouri, where emergency medical care has become a standoff between hospitals and patients who are both going broke. Unpaid medical bills are the leading cause of personal debt and bankruptcy in the United States according to credit reports, and whatâs happening in rural areas such as Butler County is a main reason why. Patients who visit rural emergency rooms in record numbers are defaulting on their bills at higher rates than ever before. Meanwhile, many of the nationâs 2,000 rural hospitals have begun to buckle under bad debt, with more than 100 closing in the past decade and hundreds more on the brink of insolvency as they fight to squeeze whatever money theyâre owed from patients who donât have it.
The result each week in Poplar Bluff, a town of 17,000, has become so routine that some people here derisively refer to it as the âfollow-up appointmentâ â 19 lawsuits for unpaid hospital bills scheduled on this particular Wednesday, 34 more the following week, 22 the week after that. Case after case, a hospital that helps sustain its rural community is now also collecting payments that are bankrupting hundreds of its residents.
âThink of me as the referee,â the judge explained, as he called the first case. âItâs my job to be fair. Iâm not going to be chugging for either side.â
On one side of the courtroom was a young lawyer representing the hospital, and he carried 19 case files that totaled more than $55,000 in money owed to Poplar Bluff Regional. Three nearby hospitals in Southeast Missouri had already closed for financial reasons in the past few years, leaving Poplar Bluff Regional as the last full-service hospital to care for five rural counties, treating more than 50,000 patients each year. It never turned away patients who needed emergency care, regardless of their ability to pay, and some people without insurance were offered free or discounted treatment. In the past few years, the hospitalsâ total cost of uncompensated care had risen from about $60 million to $84 million. Its ownership company Community Health Systems, a struggling conglomerate of more than 100 rural and suburban hospitals, had begun selling off facilities as its stock price tanked from $50 per share in 2015 to less than $3 as the lawyer approached the judge to discuss the first case.
âWeâre seeking fair payment for services weâve provided. Nothing else,â he said.
Behind him in the courtroom were some of Poplar Bluff Regionalâs patients â a population that was on average sicker, older, poorer and underinsured compared with the rest of the United States. More than 35 percent of people in Butler County have unpaid medical debt on their credit report, about double the national rate. Most of the 19 people on the morning docket had been treated in the emergency room and then failed to pay their bill for more than 60 days before receiving a summons to court. Many of them had insurance but still owed their co-pay or deductibles, which have tripled on average in the past decade across the United States. One patient owed more than $12,000 after being treated for a heart attack. Another was being sued for $286. If the hospital won a judgment, it had the right to garnish money from a patientâs paycheck or bank account or it could put a lien against a house.
âIâm hoping to negotiate a payment plan, but I can only afford $20 a month,â one patient told the court.
âIâm late for work, so if thereâs someplace I can sign, I guess Iâll just sign,â said another patient, who owed more than $3,000 after spending six hours in the emergency room for chest pain.
âHow am I supposed to pay $4,000 to see a doctor if Iâm barely making $2,000 a month?â asked another.
One by one the patients came up to plead their cases until the judge called Gail Dudley, 31, who was sitting with her mother in the third row. She had gone to the emergency room at Poplar Bluff Regional in 2017 after passing out because of complications from Type 1 diabetes. The hospital had given her medication to stabilize her blood sugar, kept her overnight for observation, and then sent her home with a bill for $8,342, of which she was still responsible for about $3,000 after insurance. Sheâd tried to appease the hospitalâs billing department by sending in an occasional check for $50, but with accumulating interest and penalty fees, the balance on her account had remained essentially the same for two years.
âIâm grateful for what they did for me, and I know I owe it, but I donât have that kind of money,â she said.
The judge gestured in the direction of the hospitalâs attorney and then looked at Dudley. âWould you like a chance to talk to this gentleman for a moment and see if you two can work something out?â
âOkay,â she said. âWe might as well try.â
Matthew McCormick, 27, led Dudley into the hallway to begin the same negotiation heâd been having with dozens of hospital patients each week. On Thursdays he was listed as a hospital attorney for the court docket in Doniphan, population 1,997. Mondays it was Kirksville, Tuesdays were Bloomfield, and Wednesdays often brought him here, to a 95-year-old courthouse in Butler County, where heâd represented Poplar Bluff Regional on more than 450 billing cases so far in 2019.
âWeâd like to find a way to work with you on this,â he told Dudley as they sat down together in the courtroom lobby. He reached out to shake her hand. He smiled and offered his business card. For the past year, heâd been working on behalf of the hospital as the newest attorney for a law firm called Faber and Brand, which promised to âuse the judicial system to recover money owed.â McCormickâs cases hardly ever went to trial. More than 90 percent of the people being sued werenât represented by an attorney and at least half failed to show up in court, resulting in default judgments in the hospitalâs favor. The rest of the patients McCormick met came into court with little to offer in their own defense except for apologies and stories of poverty, poor health, unemployment and bad luck.
âIâm real sorry about this,â Dudley said. âIf Iâd been thinking straight, I would never have let them take me to the emergency room. I know I canât afford that. I wish I could pay you all of it right now.â
âLetâs make this as easy as we can,â he told her. âIs there something you can pay? A little each month?â
âI donât have anything extra,â she said, thinking about the paycheck she earned for a full-time job as a clerk at Goodwill, which totaled $736 every two weeks. After paying for rent and utilities on a subsidized three-bedroom apartment, groceries, and child care for her 6-year-old son and 3-year-old daughter, she sometimes ran out of money by the end of the month.
âHow about $15 out of every paycheck?â she offered, even though she doubted she could afford it. When McCormick didnât immediately respond, she revised her offer. âThirty? Howâs that?â
âLetâs say thirty,â McCormick said.
He had more patients waiting to negotiate, so he thanked Dudley and led her back into the courtroom to sign her judgment. It said she had agreed to a total claim of $3,021, plus $115 in court costs and 9 percent annual interest. She would send the hospital $60 each month until the balance was paid in full, and if she failed to make a payment the hospital could pursue garnishment of her wages.
âIâm glad you worked something out,â the judge said as he signed off on the agreement.
The court clerk handed Dudley a copy of the judgment, and once she was back outside the courtroom she took out her phone to run the math. If everything went right, and she somehow managed to save and pay $60 each month, sheâd be sending checks to Poplar Bluff Regional for the next 5Âœ years.
In order to make 66 monthly payments, she had to somehow come up with the first, but her bank account was almost empty and payday was still a week away. Dudley left the courthouse, got into the car with her mother, then changed into a polo shirt for work. They drove away from the cobblestone streets of downtown and headed toward Goodwill.
âCouldâve been worse,â said her mother, Norma Garcia, 48. âSixty isnât so terrible.â
âIt is if you donât have it,â Dudley said. âWho do you know thatâs sitting on an extra sixty each month?â
They drove past a dollar store, a payday lender and a fast-food restaurant advertising âfull-time career opportunitiesâ starting at $7.80 an hour.
âMaybe you can borrow it?â Garcia suggested.
âI donât do credit cards or lenders,â Dudley said. âThatâd just be another debt I couldnât pay.â
âI meant from somebody.â
âWho?â Dudley asked. âEveryone we know is paying the hospital already.â
Their family had lived for three generations in Poplar Bluffâs predominantly black neighborhood just north of downtown, where according to credit records more than half of adults had debt in collections for unpaid auto loans, credit cards or medical bills. Dudleyâs aunt had been sued twice by Poplar Bluff Regional and was forfeiting 15 percent of her paycheck to a court-ordered hospital garnishment. Her cousin was being sued for $1,200. Her sister owed $280.
But none of them had cycled through the emergency room as often as Dudley during the past several years. Her two pregnancies had complicated her diabetes, and sheâd tried to save money by skimping on insulin. Instead of paying $50 every few months for a preventive medication, she had collapsed at work and been rushed to the emergency room, where she was sent home with thousands of dollars in now-unpaid bills. Poplar Bluff Regional was an ambitious rural hospital â a $173 million facility with a cancer center, a cardiac center, dozens of specialists and state-of-the-art surgical suites â and Dudley believed she was alive because of it. But during the past five years, the average amount that rural patients owed for hospital visits nationwide had doubled, and Dudley was earning $11 an hour at Goodwill as new hospital bills kept arriving in her mailbox.
She owed a $100 co-pay from another hospital visit in November 2018 that had already been sent to collections.
She owed $485 from another trip to the ER in April.
She owed $159 for lab tests, $85 for a doctorâs visit and now $60 for her first court-mandated payment, which was due at the end of the month.
âIâm trying to make peace with the fact that this debt could sit on me forever,â she said.
âMaybe I can help,â Garcia offered, even though she was on disability and avoiding her own billing notices from the hospital, seeking $365 in unpaid deductibles.
âItâs my bill to pay,â Dudley said. Sheâd been saving a little money for back-to-school supplies, and she said it was enough for her first monthâs payment. âIâll handle it,â she said. âThereâs no other choice.â
There was one person in town who did believe patients had another choice, and over the past several years Daniel Moore had begun encouraging his clients to make it.
âDonât pay one cent,â the lawyer had advised dozens of clients. âI donât care how much the hospital says you owe. Fight them over it.â
Moore had been working for almost five decades as a self-described âold hillbilly lawyerâ out of a converted house downtown. He specialized in criminal defense, with more than 400 cases pending all over the state, and he liked to align himself with the underdog. Heâd been unable to afford a doctor himself while growing up on a farm with no running water, so when clients began coming to his office with bills from Poplar Bluff Regional that they could neither pay nor understand, he had agreed to take a look.
What Moore found in some of those itemized receipts didnât make sense to him either: $75 for a surgical mask; $11.10 for each cleaning wipe; $23.62 for two standard ibuprofen pills; $592 for a strep throat culture; $838 for a pregnancy test. He searched through court records and discovered that the hospital was collecting hundreds of monthly garnishments from hourly employees at places like Quickstop, Earlâs Diner, Wendyâs, Instant Pawn and Alanâs Muffler.
He decided to represent several hospital patients free, and went to court against the hospital for a jury trial for the first time late in 2015. Mooreâs client was a Poplar Bluff police officer with decent insurance, an Army veteran who went to the emergency room one afternoon because of chronic stomach problems. Heâd been given a battery of tests in the ER, then treated with three IV medications before being discharged after three hours with a bill for $6,373. His insurance had paid some, but the hospital was suing him for co-pays totaling about $1,650, plus interest.
âThe facts show that he came to the hospital and received treatment that alleviated his symptoms,â the hospitalâs lawyer at the time told the jury. âHe received three separate bills. He just didnât pay the balance.â
âThese charges are outrageous,â Moore told the jury. âHe doesnât owe the hospital anything.â
A billing manager from the hospital took the stand and said Poplar Bluffâs prices were in line with other hospitals in rural Missouri. She mentioned the high cost of providing care at rural hospitals, which must pay higher salaries in order to recruit doctors, nurses and specialists while also suffering more from federal cuts to Medicaid and Medicare compared with urban hospitals.
Moore began to question her about each charge on his clientâs itemized receipt. Why, he asked, did it cost $800 to spend approximately 40 seconds with a doctor? Why was the hospital charging $211 for an oxygen sensor that was on sale for $16 at Walmart? Then Moore asked about three identical charges on the bill labeled âIV Push,â which each cost $365.
âAn IV push, if I understand it, thatâs the act of sticking the needle in that little port and then squeezing it,â Moore said. âIs that right?â
âYes,â the billing manager said.
âSo that takes maybe five seconds, right?â
âYes.â
âSo you, the hospital, think that act alone, not counting the drugs inside the IV, which cost thousands of dollars more â that act alone is worth $365.38?â
âYes,â she said again.
âIt makes me so mad,â Moore told the jury, in his closing argument. âIf youâre content to let the hospital just crush people, then go on and give them their measly $1,650. But what you can do today is say, âHey, weâre tired of this.â How many times are we going to let working people take the shaft?â
âIn reality, this is a simple bill,â the hospitalâs lawyer countered. âAll weâre asking for is his co-pay and his deductible. The hospital provided treatment. He still owes.â
The jury deliberated for less than an hour and then found in favor of Mooreâs client, wiping away his hospital debts. But whatever sense of victory Moore felt was mitigated over the next months as Poplar Bluff Regionalâs lawsuits continued to spread across the civil courts of Southeast Missouri, and he agreed to take on more free cases. âThe hospital circuit,â Moore called it, which meant Mondays in Caruthersville, Tuesdays in West Plains and Wednesdays in Poplar Bluff.
On Thursdays it was Doniphan, a town of fewer than 2,000 people, where Poplar Bluff Regional had filed more than 300 lawsuits during the past several years. Moore drove past horse farms and timber plants, parking near an abandoned hospital. Ripley County Memorial had closed six months earlier, and there were locks on the doors and a sign taped above the ambulance bay.
âFor Nearest Emergency Services, go 29 miles to Poplar Bluff Regional,â it said, and now several of those Poplar Bluff patients had been summoned right back to downtown Doniphan, to a red brick courthouse at the center of the town square.
They crowded next to each other on a wooden bench in the lobby, waving their hospital bills as fans against the late July heat while they waited for the courtroom to open and then entered one by one: a husband and wife who went for cancer treatments at Poplar Bluff Regional each week but couldnât afford the co-pays. A community college student who owed more than $7,000 for treatment of a chronic heart condition. And then the judge, who had presided over hundreds of hospital cases during his career and also recused himself from one case a few years earlier, when the patient being sued was his wife.
âHow are we all doing today?â he asked, as he looked down at a docket with 14 more cases between a hospital ownership company that couldnât afford to keep losing money and patients who couldnât afford to pay. Both sides were drowning in debt, fighting to stay above water, and pulling each other back down.
âItâs another full docket,â the judge said. âWe might as well get started.â
Eli Saslow is a reporter at The
Washington Post. He won the 2014 Pulitzer Prize for Explanatory Reporting for his year-long series about food stamps in America. He was also a finalist for the Pulitzer Prize in Feature Writing in 2013, 2016 and 2017
#health care reform#public health#reproductive health#mental health#health#healthcare#us news#us politics#u.s. news#u.s. government#president donald trump#trump administration#trumpism#trump scandals#trumpsucks#trump news#president trump#2020 presidential election#2020 candidates#2020 election
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Fred Hampton
Fred Hampton (August 30, 1948 â December 4, 1969) was an American activist and revolutionary, chairman of the Illinois chapter of the Black Panther Party (BPP), and deputy chairman of the national BPP. Hampton was assassinated while sleeping at his apartment during a raid by a tactical unit of the Cook County, Illinois State's Attorney's Office, in conjunction with the Chicago Police Department and the Federal Bureau of Investigation in December 1969. A civil lawsuit filed in 1970 resulted in 1982 in a settlement of $1.85 million The background and events of Hampton's murder have been chronicled in several documentary films.
Early life and youth
Hampton was born on August 30, 1948, in present-day Summit, Illinois, and grew up in Maywood, a suburb west of the city. His parents had moved north from Louisiana, and both worked at the Argo Starch Company. As a youth, Hampton was gifted both in the classroom and on the athletic field, and strongly desired to play center field for the New York Yankees. He graduated from Proviso East High School with honors in 1966. Following his graduation, Hampton enrolled at Triton Junior College in nearby River Grove, Illinois, where he majored in pre-law. He planned to become more familiar with the legal system, to use it as a defense against police. He and fellow Black Panthers would follow police, watching out for police brutality, and used this knowledge of law as a defense.
He also became active in the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP), and assumed leadership of the Youth Council of the organization's West Suburban Branch. In his capacity as an NAACP youth organizer, Hampton began to demonstrate his natural leadership abilities; from a community of 27,000, he was able to muster a youth group 500-members strong. He worked to get more and better recreational facilities established in the neighborhoods, and to improve educational resources for Maywood's impoverished black community. Through his involvement with the NAACP, Hampton hoped to achieve social change through nonviolent activism and community organizing.
Chicago
About the same time that Hampton was successfully organizing young African-Americans for the NAACP, the Black Panther Party (BPP) started rising to national prominence. Hampton was quickly attracted to the Black Panthers' approach, which was based on a ten-point program that integrated black self-determination on the basis of Maoism. Hampton joined the Party and relocated to downtown Chicago, and in November 1968 he joined the Party's nascent Illinois chapterâfounded by Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee (SNCC) organizer Bob Brown in late 1967. Over the next year, Hampton and his associates made a number of significant achievements in Chicago. Perhaps his most important accomplishment was his brokering of a nonaggression pact between Chicago's most powerful street gangs. Emphasizing that racial and ethnic conflict between gangs would only keep its members entrenched in poverty, Hampton strove to forge a class-conscious, multi-racial alliance between the BPP, the Young Patriots Organization, and the Young Lords under the leadership of Jose Cha Cha Jimenez.
Fred Hampton met Cha Cha and the Young Lords in the Chicago Lincoln Park Neighborhood, the day after the Young Lords were in the news after they had occupied a police community workshop meeting, held on the second floor hall of the Chicago 18th District Police Station. Later, the Rainbow Coalition was joined nationwide by the Students for a Democratic Society ("SDS"), the Brown Berets, and the Red Guard Party. In May 1969, Hampton called a press conference to announce that this "rainbow coalition" had formed. It was a phrase coined by Hampton and made popular over the years by Rev. Jesse Jackson, who eventually appropriated the name in forming his own, unrelated, coalition, Rainbow/PUSH.
Hampton's organizing skills, substantial oratorical gifts, and personal charisma allowed him to rise quickly in the Black Panthers. Once he became leader of the Chicago chapter, he organized weekly rallies, worked closely with the BPP's local People's Clinic, taught political education classes every morning at 6am, and launched a project for community supervision of the police. Hampton was also instrumental in the BPP's Free Breakfast Program. When Brown left the Party with Stokely Carmichael in the FBI-fomented SNCC/Panther split, Hampton assumed chairmanship of the Illinois state BPP, automatically making him a national BPP deputy chairman. As the Panther leadership across the country began to be decimated by the impact of the FBI's COINTELPRO, Hampton's prominence in the national hierarchy increased rapidly and dramatically. Eventually, Hampton was in line to be appointed to the Party's Central Committee's Chief of Staff. He would have achieved this position had it not been for his assassination on the morning of December 4, 1969.
FBI investigation
While Hampton impressed many of the people with whom he came into contact as an effective leader and talented communicator, those very qualities marked him as a major threat in the eyes of the FBI. It began keeping close tabs on his activities. Subsequent investigations have shown that FBI chief J. Edgar Hoover was determined to prevent the formation of a cohesive Black movement in the United States. Hoover saw the Panthers, Young Patriots, Young Lords, and similar radical coalitions forged by Hampton in Chicago as a frightening steppingstone toward the creation of such a revolutionary body that could, in its strength, cause a radical change in the U.S. government. The FBI opened a file on Hampton in 1967. Hampton's mother's phone was tapped in February 1968, and Hampton was placed on the Bureau's "Agitator Index" as a "key militant leader" by May. In late 1968, the Racial Matters squad of the FBI's Chicago field office brought in an individual named William O'Neal, who had recently been arrested twice, for interstate car theft and impersonating a federal officer. In exchange for having his felony charges dropped and a monthly stipend, O'Neal apparently agreed to infiltrate the BPP as a counterintelligence operative. He joined the Party and quickly rose in the organization, becoming Director of Chapter security and Hampton's bodyguard. In 1969, the FBI special agent in San Francisco wrote Hoover that the agent's investigation of the BPP revealed that in his city, at least, the Panthers were primarily feeding breakfast to children. Hoover fired back a memo implying the career ambitions of the agent were directly related to his supplying evidence to support Hoover's view that the BPP was "a violence-prone organization seeking to overthrow the Government by revolutionary means".
By means of anonymous letters, the FBI sowed distrust and eventually instigated a split between the Panthers and the Rangers, with O'Neal himself instigating an armed clash between the two on April 2, 1969. The Panthers became effectively isolated from their power base in the ghetto, so the FBI went to work to undermine its ties with other radical organizations. O'Neal was instructed to "create a rift" between the Party and SDS, whose Chicago headquarters was only blocks from that of the Panthers. The Bureau released a batch of racist cartoons in the Panthers' name, aimed at alienating white activists, and launched a disinformation program to forestall the realization of the Rainbow Coalition but nevertheless it was formed with an alliance of the Young Patriots and Young Lords. In repeated directives, Hoover demanded that the COINTELPRO personnel investigate the Rainbow Coalition and "destroy what the [BPP] stands for" and "eradicate its 'serve the people' programs".
Documents secured by Senate investigators in the early 1970s revealed that the FBI actively encouraged violence between the Panthers and other radical groups, which provoked multiple murders in cities throughout the country. On May 26, 1969, Hampton was successfully prosecuted in a case related to a theft in 1967 of $71 worth of Good Humor Bars in Maywood. He was sentenced to two to five years but managed to obtain an appeal bond, and was released in August. On July 16, there was an armed confrontation between party members and the Chicago Police Department, which left one BPP member mortally wounded and six others arrested on serious charges. In early October, Hampton and his girlfriend, Deborah Johnson (now known as Akua Njeri), pregnant with their first child (Fred Hampton Jr.), rented a four-and-a-half room apartment on 2337 West Monroe Street to be closer to BPP headquarters. O'Neal reported to his superiors that much of the Panthers' "provocative" stockpile of arms was being stored there and drew them a map of the layout of the apartment. In early November, Hampton traveled to California on a speaking engagement to the UCLA Law Students Association. While there, he met with the remaining BPP national hierarchy, who appointed him to the Party's Central Committee. Shortly thereafter, he was to assume the position of Chief of Staff and major spokesman.
1969 raid and assassination
Fred Hampton was quickly moving up the ranks in the Black Panther Party, and his talent as a political organizer was described as remarkable. In 1968, he was on the verge of creating a merger between the BPP and a southside street gang with thousands of members, which would have doubled the size of the national BPP. Moreover, it meant an alliance extending the Black Panther Party reach and influence united with white and Latino organizers, a step which Hoover viewed as an untenable ultimate threat and ordered an intensified FBI crackdown to the level of "any means necessary" to decimate the BPP.
In November 1969, Hampton traveled to California and met with the National BPP leadership at UCLA. It was there that they offered him a position on the Central Committee as the chief of staff and asked him to serve as the national spokesman for the BPP. While Hampton was out of town, two Chicago police officers, John J. Gilhooly and Frank G. Rappaport, were killed in a gun battle with Panthers on the night of November 13. A total of nine police officers were shot; a 19-year-old Panther named Spurgeon Winter Jr. was killed by police and another Panther, Lawrence S. Bell, was charged with murder. In an editorial headlined "No Quarter for Wild Beasts", the Chicago Tribune urged that Chicago police be given the order to approach all Panther suspects prepared to shoot. The FBI, determined to prevent any enhancement of the BPP leadership's effectiveness, decided to set up an arms raid on Hampton's Chicago apartment. FBI informant William O'Neal provided them with detailed information about Hampton's apartment, including the layout of furniture and the bed in which Hampton and his girlfriend slept. An augmented, 14-man team of the SAOâSpecial Prosecutions Unitâwas organized for a pre-dawn raid armed with a warrant for illegal weapons.
On the evening of December 3, Hampton taught a political education course at a local church, which was attended by most members. Afterwards, as was typical, several Panthers retired to the Monroe Street apartment to spend the night, including Hampton and Deborah Johnson (also known as Akua Njeri), Blair Anderson, Ronald "Doc" Satchell, Harold Bell, Verlina Brewer, Louis Truelock, Brenda Harris, and Mark Clark. Upon arrival, they were met by O'Neal, who had prepared a late dinner, which the group ate around midnight. O'Neal had slipped the barbiturate sleep agent, secobarbitol, into a drink that Hampton consumed during the dinner, in order to sedate Hampton so he would not awaken during the subsequent raid. O'Neal left at this point, and, at about 1:30Â a.m., Hampton fell asleep mid-sentence talking to his mother on the telephone. Although Hampton was not known to take drugs, Cook County chemist Eleanor Berman would report that she ran two separate tests which each showed evidence of barbiturates in Hampton's blood. An FBI chemist would later fail to find similar traces, but Berman stood by her findings.
The raid was organized by the office of Cook County State's Attorney Edward Hanrahan, using officers attached to his office. Hanrahan had recently been the subject of a large amount of public criticism by Hampton, who had made speeches about how Hanrahan's talk about a "war on gangs" was really rhetoric used to enable him to carry out a "war on black youth". At 4:00 a.m., the heavily armed police team arrived at the site, divided into two teams, eight for the front of the building and six for the rear. At 4:45 a.m., they stormed into the apartment. Mark Clark, sitting in the front room of the apartment with a shotgun in his lap, was on security duty. He was shot in the chest and died instantly. His gun fired a single round which was later determined to be caused by a reflexive death convulsion after the raiding team shot him; this was the only shot the Panthers fired. Automatic gunfire then converged at the head of the south bedroom where Hampton slept, unable to awaken as a result of the barbiturates the FBI infiltrator had slipped into his drink. He was lying on a mattress in the bedroom with his fiancée, who was eight-and-a-half months pregnant with their child. Two officers found him wounded in the shoulder, and fellow Black Panther Harold Bell reported that he heard the following exchange:
"That's Fred Hampton.""Is he dead?... Bring him out.""He's barely alive."He'll make it."
Two shots were heard, which were later discovered were fired point blank in Hampton's head. According to Johnson, one officer then said:
"He's good and dead now."
Hampton's body was dragged into the doorway of the bedroom and left in a pool of blood. The officers then directed their gunfire towards the remaining Panthers, who had been sleeping in the north bedroom (Satchel, Anderson, and Brewer). Verlina Brewer, Ronald "Doc" Satchel, Blair Anderson, and Brenda Harris were seriously wounded, then beaten and dragged into the street, where they were arrested on charges of aggravated assault and the attempted murder of the officers. They were each held on US$100,000 bail.
Hampton's fiancée, Deborah Johnson, was sleeping next to him when the police raid began. She was forcibly removed from the room by the police officers while Hampton lay unconscious in bed. The seven Panthers who survived the raid were indicted by a grand jury on charges of attempted murder, armed violence, and various other weapons charges. These charges were subsequently dropped. During the trial, the Chicago police department claimed that the Panthers were the first to fire shots; however, a later investigation found that the Chicago police fired between ninety and ninety-nine shots while the Panthers had only shot once. After the raid, the apartment was left unguarded, which allowed the Panthers to send some members to investigate. They were accompanied by a videographer and the footage was later released in the 1971 documentary The Murder of Fred Hampton. After a break-in at an FBI office in Pennsylvania, the existence of COINTELPRO, an illegal counter-intelligence program, was brought to light. The awareness of this program caused many to suspect that the police raid and the shooting of Fred Hampton were parts of the program's initiative. One of the documents that were released after the break-in was a floor plan of Hampton's apartment. Another document outlined a deal the FBI brokered with the deputy attorney general to conceal the FBI's role in the assassination of Hampton and the existence of COINTELPRO.
Aftermath
At a press conference the next day, the police announced the arrest team had been attacked by the "violent" and "extremely vicious" Panthers and had defended themselves accordingly. In a second press conference on December 8, the assault team was praised for their "remarkable restraint", "bravery", and "professional discipline" for not killing all the Panthers present. Photographic evidence was presented of "bullet holes" allegedly made by shots fired by the Panthers, but this was soon challenged by reporters (although the Chicago Tribune initially published these photos in support of the police action). An internal investigation was undertaken, and the assault team was exonerated of any wrongdoing. Hampton's funeral was attended by 5,000 people, and he was eulogized by such black leaders as Jesse Jackson and Ralph Abernathy, Martin Luther King's successor as head of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference. In his eulogy, Jackson noted that "when Fred was shot in Chicago, black people in particular, and decent people in general, bled everywhere." On December 6, members of the Weather Underground destroyed numerous police vehicles in a retaliatory bombing spree at 3600 N. Halsted Street, Chicago.
The police described the police raid as a "shootout". The Black Panthers countered Hanrahanâs claim of a "shoot out" by describing it as a "shoot-in", not a shootout, because all but one bullet was fired by the police. A firestorm erupted on December 11 and 12 between the two competing daily newspapers, the Chicago Tribune and the Chicago Sun-Times. At that time, the Chicago Tribune was considered the politically conservative newspaper, and the Chicago Sun-Times was considered the politically liberal newspaper. On December 11, the Chicago Tribune published a page 1 article titled, "Exclusive â Hanrahan, Police Tell Panther Story." The article included photographs supplied by Hanrahanâs office that depicted bullet holes in a thin white curtain and door jam as evidence that the Panthers fired multiple bullets at the police. The firestorm was triggered in part by Jack Challem, editor of the Wright College News, the student newspaper at Wright Junior College in Chicago. Challem visited the Hampton apartment on Saturday, December 6, and took numerous photographs. The house was not sealed as a crime scene, and a member of the Black Panthers was allowing visitors to tour the apartment. Challemâs photographs did not show any bullet holes. On the morning of December 12, after the Chicago Tribune article was published, Challem contacted a reporter at the Chicago Sun-Times, showed him the photographs, and encouraged him to visit the apartment. That evening, the Chicago Sun-Times published a page 1 article with the headline: âThose âbullet holesâ arenât.â According to the article, the alleged bullet holes (supposedly the result of the Panthers shooting in the direction of the police) were nail heads.
But Challemâs story and photographs, published in the Wright College News, tell a different story and pose unanswered questions. First, there were no nail heads (or bullet holes) in his photographs. The implication, though speculative, is that someone tampered with the crime scene between December 6 and December 12 to make it appear as though the ânail headsâ were innocently mistaken as âbullet holes.â Second, it is difficult, if not impossible, to photograph a bullet hole in a thin white curtain without retouching the photograph, another sign that evidence had been tampered with. Four weeks after witnessing Hampton's death at the hands of the police, Deborah Johnson gave birth to Fred Hampton Jr. Civil rights activists Roy Wilkins and Ramsey Clark (styled as "The Commission of Inquiry into the Black Panthers and the Police") subsequently alleged that the Chicago police had killed Fred Hampton without justification or provocation and had violated the Panthers' constitutional rights against unreasonable search and seizure. "The Commission" further alleged that the Chicago Police Department had imposed a summary punishment on the Panthers. The federal grand jury did not return any indictment against anyone involved with the planning or execution of the raid. The officers involved in the raid were cleared by a grand jury of any crimes. The FBI informant, William O'Neal, committed suicide in 1990 after admitting his involvement in setting up the raid.
Inquest
Shortly afterwards, Cook County coroner Andrew Toman began forming a special six-member coroner's jury to hold an inquest into the deaths of Hampton and Clark. On December 23, Toman announced four additions to the jury which included two African-American men: physician Theodore K. Lawless and attorney Julian B. Wilkins, the son of J. Ernest Wilkins, Sr. He stated the four were selected from a group of candidates submitted to his office by groups and individuals representing both Chicago's black and white communities. Civil rights leaders and spokesmen for the black community were reported to have been disappointed with the selection. An official with the Chicago Urban League said: "I would have had more confidence in the jury if one of them had been a black man who has a rapport with the young and the grass roots in the community." Gus Savage said that such a man to whom the community could relate need not be black. The jury eventually included a third black man who was a member of the first coroner's jury sworn in on December 4.
The blue-ribbon panel convened for the inquest on January 6, 1970, and on January 21 ruled the deaths of Hampton and Clark to be justifiable homicide. The jury qualified their verdict on the death of Hampton as "based solely and exclusively on the evidence presented to this inquisition"; police and expert witness provided the only testimony during the inquest. Jury foreman James T. Hicks stated that they could not consider the charges of the Black Panthers in the apartment who stated that the police entered the apartment shooting; those who survived the raid were reported to have refused to testify during the inquest because they faced criminal charges of attempted murder and aggravated assault during the raid. Attorneys for the Hampton and Clark families also did not introduce any witnesses during the proceedings, but described the inquest as "a well-rehearsed theatrical performance designed to vindicate the police officers". State's Attorney Edward Hanrahan said the verdict was recognition "of the truthfulness of our police officers' account of the events".
Civil rights lawsuit
In 1970, a $47.7 million lawsuit was filed on behalf of the survivors and the relatives of Hampton and Clark stating that the civil rights of the Black Panther members were violated. Twenty-eight defendants were named, including Hanrahan as well as the City of Chicago, Cook County, and federal governments. The following trial lasted 18 months and was reported to have been the longest federal trial up to that time. After its conclusion in 1977, Judge Joseph Sam Perry of United States District Court for the Northern District of Illinois dismissed the suit against 21 of the defendants prior to jury deliberations. Perry dismissed the suit against the remaining defendants after jurors deadlocked. In 1979, the United States Court of Appeals for the Seventh Circuit in Chicago stated that the government had withheld relevant documents thereby obstructing the judicial process. Reinstating the case against 24 of the defendants, the Court of Appeals ordered a new trial. The Supreme Court of the United States heard an appeal but voted 5â3 in 1980 to return the case to the District Court for a new trial. In 1982, the City of Chicago, Cook County, and the federal government agreed to a settlement in which each would pay $616,333 to a group of nine plaintiffs, including the mothers of Hampton and Clark. The $1.85 million settlement was believed to be the largest ever in a civil rights case.
Legacy
Legal and political impacts
According to a 1969 Chicago Tribune report, "The raid ended the promising political career of Cook County State's Atty. Edward V. Hanrahan, who was indicted but cleared with 13 other law-enforcement agents on charges of obstructing justice. Bernard Carey, a Republican, defeated him in the next election, in part because of the support of outraged black voters." The families of Hampton and Clark filed a US$47.7 million civil suit against the city, state, and federal governments. The case went to trial before Federal Judge J. Sam Perry. After more than 18 months of testimony and at the close of the Plaintiff's case, Judge Perry dismissed the case. The Plaintiffs appealed and the U.S. Court of Appeals for the Seventh Circuit reversed, ordering the case to be retried. More than a decade after the case had been filed, the suit was finally settled for $1.85 Million. The two families each shared in the settlement. Jeffrey Haas, who, together with his law partners G. Flint Taylor and Dennis Cunningham and attorney James D. Montgomery, were the attorneys for the plaintiffs in the federal suit Hampton v. Hanrahan, wrote in his book about the Hampton assassination that Chicago was worse off without Hampton:
In 1990, the Chicago City Council unanimously passed a resolution, introduced by then-Alderman Madeline Haithcock, commemorating December 4, 2004, as "Fred Hampton Day in Chicago". The resolution read in part: "Fred Hampton, who was only 21 years old, made his mark in Chicago history not so much by his death as by the heroic efforts of his life and by his goals of empowering the most oppressed sector of Chicago's Black community, bringing people into political life through participation in their own freedom fighting organization."
Monuments and streets
A public pool was named in his honor in his home town of Maywood, Illinois. In March 2006, supporters of Hampton's charity work proposed the naming of a Chicago street in honor of the former Black Panther leader. Chicago's chapter of the Fraternal Order of Police opposed this effort. On Saturday September 7, 2007, a bust of Hampton was erected outside the Fred Hampton Family Aquatic Center.
Weather Underground reaction
In response to the killings of Fred Hampton and Mark Clark in December 1969, on May 21, 1970, the Weather Underground issued a "Declaration of War" against the United States government, using for the first time its new name, the "Weather Underground Organization" (WUO); they also adopted fake identities, and decided to pursue covert activities only. These initially included preparations for a bombing of a U.S. military non-commissioned officers' dance at Fort Dix, New Jersey, in what Brian Flanagan said had been intended to be "the most horrific hit the United States government had ever suffered on its territory".
We've known that our job is to lead white kids into armed revolution. We never intended to spend the next five to twenty-five years of our lives in jail. Ever since SDS became revolutionary, we've been trying to show how it is possible to overcome frustration and impotence that comes from trying to reform this system. Kids know the lines are drawn: revolution is touching all of our lives. Tens of thousands have learned that protest and marches don't do it. Revolutionary violence is the only way.
Media and popular cultureIn film
A 27-minute documentary entitled Death of a Black Panther: The Fred Hampton Story was used as evidence in the civil suit. Although Hampton had criticized the predominantly white Weather Underground (also known as the Weathermen) two months earlier for being "adventuristic, masochistic and Custeristic", Bernardine Dohrn of the Weathermen, which had a close relationship with the Black Panthers in Chicago at the time of Hampton's assassination, said in the documentary The Weather Underground (2002) that the killing of Fred Hampton caused them to "be more grave, more serious, more determined to raise the stakes, and not just be the white people who wrung their hands when black people were being murdered." The events of Hampton's rise to significance, J. Edgar Hoover's targeting of him, and Hampton's subsequent assassination are recounted with footage in the 2015 documentary The Black Panthers: Vanguard of the Revolution.
In literature
Haas wrote an account of Hampton's murder, entitled The Assassination of Fred Hampton: How the FBI and the Chicago Police Murdered a Black Panther (2009). Stephen King refers to Hampton in the novel 11/22/63 (2012), where a character discusses the ripple effect of traveling back in time to prevent President John F. Kennedy's assassination, which the character postulates would give rise to a series of events that could prevent Fred Hampton's assassination, as well.
In music
Lyrics that reference Hampton include:
"Nashville" star Ronee Blakley's solo LP, "Ronee Blakley" (1972), includes the lyrics "I want to be a part of Fred Hampton / I want to be a part of his purity / You've got to heal the wounds".
Spoonâs "Loss Leaders", from the "Soft Effects" EP, says "Fred tried to change their ways 'til he got some bullet holes / now he lives in outer space".
Rage Against the Machine's "Down Rodeo" says: "They ain't gonna send us campin' like they did my man Fred Hampton".
Ramshackle Glory refers to Fred Hampton in "First Song, Part 2", followed by an explanation that "justice doesn't flow from police guns, I'm reminded of that all the time".
Jay-z mentions Fred Hampton on "Murder to Excellence" on Watch The Throne in the lyric "I arrived on the day Fred Hampton died, real n*ggas just multiply".
Kendrick Lamar mentions Fred Hampton in his song "HiiiPoWeR" from Section.80. In it, Lamar says "Fred Hampton on your campus, you can't resist his... HiiiPoWeR."
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Many office goers find this meal planner and grocery list a boon to manage their meals daily. The term monthly meal planner and grocery list is referred to a document that indicates what a person intends to eat on all the thirty days in a month. The notes can include time, date, name of the person with whom appointment is fixed, address and telephone numbers. People can use this type of planner with notes for entering list of appointments, and events to plan and attend in a week. Monthly planner with notes is a document in which apart from dates, it will contain blank spaces for writing down special notes.
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It is considered as one of the primary steps taken by the user to make life full of vitality and energy. Using this template, it is possible to monitor what they will eat for dinner every day. The design of a monthly dinner planner template enables to plan exactly what and when a person wishes to eat. The template reflects all the items to be done in the forthcoming days with the date and time entered in a planned way.
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This template can be used for personal and professional life. Through this, people can store all the to-do things that are meant for users. The name itself indicates that a daily monthly planner template is used as a calendar control. It will be in the form of a book with several pages printed with details of the menu. This template can be used for maintaining daily, weekly and monthly list of menu offered to customers during the working hours of the restaurant. The monthly planner template document is used by many people today to ensure smooth and amazing management of menu in a restaurant. If the user wishes to plan his or her expenses, and maintain an account of bill payments, this document can be readily used with ease. It is a journal that consists of carefully arranged spaces catering to the month and week. The monthly expense bill planner is an excellent document that enables the user to organize the bills and plan expenses. Excel sheets are also helpful in maintaining a template as a budget planner to manage all the expenses. This template will enable the user to record a variety of categories and heads of expenditure involving payments. Through this, it is possible to allocate the desired budget needed for that particular month. Spreadsheets are helpful in developing a monthly budget planner template. Here, it is possible to write the plans enabling a person to perform a task at a specific time and date. The best part of the wall monthly planner is that it consists of a notebook. The best wall monthly planner provides any person a better view of how he or she can schedule the activities in the best possible way. It can be hung on a wall through the magnet or small hooks at the back of the board. This whiteboard can be updated through the movement of the colour coded magnet or writing with the help of a dry erase pen. It is provided with magnetic kits for designing the monthâs activities, events and tasks. Thirty one day month planner is known as whiteboard monthly planner. Such an action will lead the user to gain success irrespective of the size of the aim. To achieve goals a simple method is to enter the schedules and tasks in a custom online monthly planner. This might be to reach a small or a big objective. The success in a personâs life depends on suitable planning. This big monthly planner can be hung on any wall with pins and clips. The planner can be used for preparing appointments, for dormitory bulletin boardâs events and for company boards as well. It contains thirty-six pages wherein planning schedules can be written for seventeen months. Here, weekly, monthly or weekday programs can be entered for the userâs convenience.ÄȘ useful and simple planner is the big or large monthly planner that is dateless. Appointments and events can be organized through blank weekly monthly planner template. This planner page can be printed, customized, and edited within Excel. They include:ÄȘ spreadsheet containing the monthly planner can be used as a weekly or a monthly planner. There are several varieties of Monthly Planners through printable monthly planner 2020 template in pdf, word and excel that is freely available. But, according to a saying the fruits of the activities can be reaped only if they are planned properly. Most of them will dream of great prospects during this New Year, which might be through accomplishments. People will be expecting the arrival of the year 2020 quite soon hence a Monthly Planner is very essential.
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