pretty boy | j. avery x reader | one shots

nine: "I can't stand by and tolerate it."

tw: this story will depict themes of police brutality, racism, & prejudice. if such themes are triggering to you then I recommend that you skip this one for your own sake.

WC: 1383

this one-shot is relevant to current events as well as events that have been happening for hundreds of years. I request that you visit the link in my bio, it will take you to a website with a list of petitions you can easily sign to help the BLM movement in their journey to eradicate systemic racism in America and the rest of the world. please, be on the right side of history. 

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When there is a virus in the body the white blood cells gather together to fight off said intruder. The immune system is a complex thing with a simple purpose- protect the body from illness. 

Now replace a couple terms and you've got a dumbed down description of why protestors fill the streets despite the discomfort of being so close to strangers or the unfaltering rays of the sun beaming on their backs. Those who didn't think to apply sunblock would deeply regret it the next day.

Among the masses was a passionate plastic surgeon who had decided to attend one of Seattle's Black Lives Matter protests despite his full schedule. It was there that he belonged with his brothers and sisters, his allies and friends. Jackson held a sign high above his head, scrawled on the board in thick black ink were the words "WHO'S CHILD WILL BE NEXT?". 

The man couldn't help but think of all the gunshot wounds he'd done sutures on, and how many of them were on black people. This lone thought drove him to raise his sign higher and yell with all his strength. 

"NO JUSTICE?"

"NO PEACE!" Jackson yelled in sync with the hundreds of people around him. There was a truck leading the group through the streets, it's engine sputtered every once in a while as if it were shouting with them. Stood in the truck bed was a young woman holding a megaphone to her lips. 

She was leading the chants, "NO RACIST!"

"POLICE!" Several fists rose into the air, mimicking the BLM sign, as people shouted.

Jackson had managed to work his way to the front of the crowd throughout the march. A part of him willed that he go back into the thick of the group so he wouldn't have to face the police head-on. The other part insisted that change would never come unless he faced what he ultimately feared. 

Nearby, a group of teenagers began to chant. "Hey, hey. Yo, yo- these racists cops have got to go."

Soon, those words were booming through the streets. Echoing off of the walls of the buildings around them, "HEY, HEY! YO, YO- THESE RACIST COPS HAVE GOT TO GO!" 

The woman standing on the truckbed was grinning as she chanted with them. Her face free of any makeup (Jackson assumed so because makeup could trap tear-gas). A dark grey jacket hung from her elbows revealing a BLM tank-top beneath. Her H/C hair was pulled back from her face, revealing a small tattoo just behind her ear.

She glanced over her shoulder and her body visibly tensed. Jackson peered past the truck to see the literal wall of police at the closest intersection, which explained her reaction. The woman cleared her throat as she pulled her jacket over her shoulders and zipped it fully despite the heat. "WHAT DO WE WANT?"

"JUSTICE!"

"WHEN DO WE WANT IT?"

"NOW!"

The two groups, protestors and police, were several yards away from each other now. Jackson could hear the faint sound of radio-chatter from the side of the enforcements. However, the shouting made whatever they were saying indistinct.