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ppersonna · 3 years

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keep me warm - jhs | m

cause you keep me and nice and you keep me warm. wanna feel you on me, can't wait to get back there again - texas sun, khruangbin

✹ summary- camping is always a great time when you’re with your friends, but even better with your boyfriend, hoseok.

✹ rating- explicit/18+/nsfw

✹ pairing- jung hoseok x reader

✹ word count- 3.9k - she’s a short lil quick dip ;)

✹ genre- smut. lol thats it. cant say there is much plot here besties!!! but there is big brother namjoon, brothers best friend hoseok, established relationship!!!

✹ warnings- explicit smut, cockwarming, dirty talk, penetrative sex, unprotected sex (be smart pls!), sex in a tent, a little exhibitionism???, fingering, finger sucking, creampie, lil bit of cum play but not really, hoseok is a dirty dirty boy and i love that about him tbh

✹ a/n- helloooo. i’ve been sitting on this and finally finished it!! thank you to @kimtaehyunq for the sexy banner and beta reading and general support. i was inspired to write this fic when i went camping but pls be warned that sex in a tent is not as sexy as this fic makes it seem 🤕 ILY BESTIES!!! lemme know your thots!!!

The annual Kim Family camp out is an event you haven’t missed since your seventh birthday when you had chicken pox. It’s an outing that has gained notoriety among your friends, a monumental yearly occasion that takes months of prep in advance. What started as a simple camp out with your parents and your older brother Namjoon has become an event with extended friends and family members and significant others involved. Your parents handed down the event to you and your brother, claiming their older age keeps them from being able to keep up with “the youth” for an entire weekend, instead preferring to join for a big cookout dinner, then head back to the comfort of their tempurpedic mattress and functional plumbing back at home.

Not that you minded.

This year was different. Your cousins, Taehyung and Seokjin, would join with Tae’s girlfriend Maggie. Your childhood best friend Jimin would attend as well, bringing along his lover of the month, a tall and leggy brunette. Namjoon invited his best friend Yoongi, who brought along your mutual friend Jungkook.

And most importantly,

Jung Hoseok would be there. Your boyfriend.

Hoseok is no stranger to the Kim Family camp out. He’s been attending since he was sixteen after meeting Namjoon in high school jazz band and instantly becoming friends. You can vividly remember the older high school boy making sure you never felt left out in a group of gangly teenagers—bringing you along on hikes, and fishing, and general mischief.

It’s where you first fell for him.

Every year after that, you pined for Hoseok from afar at every outing. You’d lie awake at night in your shared tent with Jimin, desperately wishing the body next to you was Hoseok, wrapping his arms around you to keep you warm in the forest's chill.

Your relationship with Hoseok flourished after high school, when he was unknowingly in your chemistry class in college. Hours were spent pouring over textbooks together, cramming for exams and practice labs with a familiar friend.

Then came the coffee dates, the movie nights, the dinners. Hoseok went from an occasional study buddy to someone you talked to hourly.

The day he kissed you is a day you’ll never forget.

Soft lips pressing onto yours over a bubbling beaker of magnesium, his hands cupping your cheeks as he drew you in so close, as if he couldn’t get enough of you.

“Be mine,” he whispered. “Please, be mine.”

And you’ve been his ever since.

“Aish! Don’t burn my marshmallow, ___!” Namjoon scolds you, jerking your long stick away from the fire as he sits next to you. “I hate burned marshmallows.”

Annoyance bubbles up in your throat as you roll your eyes at your brother.

“I wouldn’t have to do this for you if you knew how to roast a marshmallow without starting a wildfire.”

Namjoon, ever the strong-headed big brother, glares at you. “That was an accident and you know it.”

Hoseok chuckles beside you, resting a hand on your leg as you murmur expletives about Namjoon and a certain stick under your breath.

“I’ll eat your burned one, babe,” he says with a smile. “I love your burned mallows.”

Hoseok’s charm is a balm to all your wounds. He easily melts the ice around your heart and soothes your frayed nerves with a simple look.

“Thanks, Hobi,” you reply.

“Please, no talk of my sister’s mallows,” Namjoon winces. “It’s bad enough you’re dating in front of me. In front of my salad.”

Namjoon doesn’t mean it. He knows how deeply you love him, and he trusts Hoseok not to hurt his one and only sibling. But it doesn’t mean he’s not above rubbing it in your face that he was Hoseok’s friend first.

Jungkook laughs from where he’s sitting, roasting a hotdog over the crackling flame on Jimin’s lap (“There weren’t any seats left!”).

“At least he’s not tossing her salad in front of you.”

Yoongi slaps the younger man’s hotdog out of his hand and into the fire, making Jungkook whine and pout petulantly.

“Don’t be gross,” Yoongi scolds and Namjoon nods at his friend in solidarity.

Hoseok smirks and licks his fingers clean of the sticky marshmallow. “Besides, we didn’t bring nearly enough lube for any anal play tonight.”

“Hoseok!” Namjoon screeches and you bashfully bury yourself into your sweater. The rest of the group explodes in laughter while your brother holds his head in his hands, lamenting the day you two met.

Hoseok pulls you into his lap, grinning as he kisses at your ear while maintaining firm eye contact with your brother, eager to make him as uncomfortable as possible.

While you’re relaxing into the warmth of your boyfriend’s body and enjoying the laughter of all your closest friends, Hoseok nips at your ear and whispers gently.

“I love you.”

“I’m so cold.” A shiver wracks through you as you burrow down deeper into your sleeping bag. The night air becomes increasingly frosty and you can easily see your breath in the dim light from the moon. “It wasn’t supposed to be this cold.”

Hoseok scoots his bag closer to yours, rubbing over the meshy material in an attempt to warm you.

“I thought about bringing another blanket before we left…,” he sighs. “But Namjoon told me I was being ‘a boy scout’.”

You bark out a frigid laugh, teeth chattering as you try to snuggle into the warmth of Hoseok’s hand.

Pleadingly, you ask. “Can we share? Maybe if we zip the sleeping bags together we can make one big extra-large sleeping bag?”

Hoseok nods. “Good idea.”

He quickly gets to work as soon as you unzip your sleeping bag and move off of it, allowing him to take it and zip the two bags together. He spreads it back out over the soft padded bed once it’s completed and he slips into his end before beckoning you over.

“Come to me, my little popsicle.”

The fabric swishes and slides as you move into the combined bag, wrapping your cold limbs around the warmth of your boyfriend’s body.

“Holy shit, you really are cold,” he exclaims with a grunt when your ice-cold hands seek the toasty expanse of his toned belly. “Fuck.”

“Sorry.” Your apology is anything but apologetic as the high temperature of Hoseok’s body quickly oozes into you. “You feel so good.”

A moan slips out of your lips, pleased at the warmth that your boyfriend radiates as you seek every spot on his body that radiates heat.

“Hold on,” he whispers.

Quickly, he rids himself of his shirt and tugs at the hem of your own.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” You gasp as the icy air billows under your shirt. “Why would I get naked right now?”

He huffs. “Trust me?”

He kisses the pout on your lips, then pulls away with your shirt in his hands.

“Skin-to-skin contact is the easiest way to warm someone up. Body heat, you know. Textbook boy scout stuff.”

He twists your body around to spoon into him, back pressed against his ultra-warm chest, making you gasp once you feel the radiating heat spreading across you.

“Oh…” you sigh as you sink into his embrace. “You were right.”

Hoseok smirks as he wraps his arms around you and buries his face in the nape of your neck—lips pressing gentle, warm kisses to the column below your ear.

“Told you so.”

Your body instinctively presses further into his body, desperate for the warmth that the human-heater seems to emit. His breath hitches as he feels your ass press hard against his lap, cock stirring at the proximity.

Hoseok’s hands run up and down your arms, warming each inch of your skin with his palms. He spreads heat wherever he touches, and your eyes flutter closed as he works his gentle, warming massage into your frozen skin. He is the epitome of sunshine, both in body and demeanor, always able to brighten the coldest chills with one look, one touch.

When he’s satisfied that you’re thoroughly warmed where he’s worked, his hands move from your arms and shoulders around to your belly and up to your chest. You feel like mush under his grazing touch, gasping and biting your lip as he tugs gently at your perky nipple. It’s a live wire to his cock.

“Fuck,” he groans as he feels himself harden. He kisses at your shoulder as he continues to palm at your chest, taking the fullness of your breasts into his whole hand and massaging it gently.

“Hobi…” you warn, feeling the desire between your thighs build. “Don’t start what you can’t finish.”

He chuckles against your skin, breathing hot air over your neck and shoulder, tightening his grip on your nipple for a quick pinch that makes you squeak.

“Who says we can’t finish?”

His voice is low—that deep, sensual tone that sets your tummy aflame with desire. His dick is pressed against your ass, twitching with need as it thickens in his pants.

His hand moves from your chest, rubbing soft, sweet circles on your stomach as he warms the cool flesh around your belly button, before traveling down to where your sleeping pants sit low on your hips.

“We c-can’t,” you meekly attempt to fight back, remain strong, but the warmth of his body and the need growing within you is quickly winning your internal battle of morality. “My cousin is next to us.”

Hoseok smirks as he slips underneath your pants, hand diving in between your thighs to rub at your soft mound. He’s close, so close to slipping inside of you, and you squeeze your eyes tight at the overwhelming urgency you’re feeling for his fingers inside you.

“You think Tae and Maggie are fast asleep right now?” He asks.

As if on cue, you hear soft giggles coming from the next tent over, giggles that sound suspiciously like Taehyung’s girlfriend.

“Tae is really not that funny,” Hoseok says as he nibbles at your ear. “Let me warm you, baby.”

He seeks your consent, desperate to make you feel good but not willing to further his actions.

“Mmm, maybe just a little more.”

His fingers seek purchase further, finally diving into your folds. He gasps into your ear as he feels how wet you’ve become from his ministrations, stroking gently up and down your slick slit and circling over your clit.

“Fuck, look at you,” he nearly whines into your ear. “So wet for me.”

“Please, Hobi,” you whimper. You’re not sure what you’re begging for, what you need, but all you want is for him to not stop, never stop.

“You want me to keep going, don’t you?” He asks, teasingly circling the pad of his finger on your swollen clit.

Unable to use your words, you nod. The light pressure on your clit has your thighs trembling and Hoseok thrills at the palpable desperation you’re feeling.

“Are you going to be quiet for me?” He asks, slowly moving his finger down before breaching into your channel. “Can’t be waking up the entire camp.”

Using your hand, you clamp over your mouth as your boyfriend's finger fucks into your hole, slowly and achingly gentle but with purpose. A shiver runs down his spine as he watches you try to hold yourself back. You’re not normally quiet—he makes it his mission to get you to whine and cry and yell his name as loud as he can when you’re at home. But the thrill of keeping you quiet while he sinks himself into you makes his body hum with want.

“Good girl,” he cooes as he introduces another finger inside you, scissoring you open with his lengthy digits. “Better stay quiet for me or I won’t let you cum.”

He quickly removes his fingers from your channel, making you whine behind your hand, which he silences with a soft tut.

“No complaining. Be good.”

He continues his journey to disrobe you, sliding off your pants and panties. He throws them to the other side of the tent where your luggage lies, no care about you wearing them the rest of the night. He follows suit with his own pants, swiftly pulling the material off his legs and allowing his throbbing cock to spring free. You desperately want to touch it, feel it in your hands and in your mouth, but he keeps you facing away from him, cock fully out of your reach.

“Such a perfect little ass,” he murmurs to himself as he admires your backside before sliding back into the big spoon position. The feeling of his hot, hard length against your bare ass makes you mewl with desire, teasingly rubbing against it.

“Fuck, Hobi,” you gasp as he slips his hands back to the apex of your thighs, scissoring into you again and warming his icy fingers in the heat of your cunt.

“Shhh,” he reminds. “Let me give your mouth something to do, yeah?”

He pulls his dripping fingers from within your walls and brings them to your mouth. You eagerly open wide, obedient and desperate for something to take your mind off the growing neediness your body is throbbing with.

Watching you suck your own wet slick off his fingers makes Hoseok’s cock ache with need. The tip is weeping with pre-cum, as if crying out to bury itself within your walls and never retreat. It twitches as your tongue swirls over his digits, teasing him and reminding him how well you can suck his cock.

“Shit, baby,” he gasps. “I’m going to bust right now if you’re not careful.”

He pulls his fingers from your mouth and uses the spit-slick hand to lift your leg enough for him to line his cock up at your hole.

“You want to warm my cock for me, baby?” He nips at your shoulder as he rubs the bulbous head along your slit. “God, I want to be in this pretty little cunt all night. Can you keep me warm tonight?”

“P-please, baby,” you gasp as the tip prods at your entrance, threatening to breach. He preemptively moves his free hand back to your mouth, covering it gently to help keep your noisy mouth muffled.

“Such a polite girl.” Hoseok’s lips skim over your neck and ear, nibbling at your lobe as he finally, blessedly, spears himself into you.

“Fuuuck,” he whines as he drops his forehead against your soft hair, shuddering as he buries himself to the hilt. “You’re so fucking tight.”

Nothing compares to the feeling of Hoseok sinking himself into you. It’s like the first time, every time. He clings to you desperately, as if he wants to bury his entire self in between your thighs and never retreat. Being connected to your boyfriend like this, not knowing where he ends and you begin, is the most dazzling aspect of sex. Your heart beats in overtime, breath short and heavy, as he holds you like you’re his only worthy possession in life.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t withdraw his cock and plunge back into you like his body is begging him to. He wants nothing more than to roll you onto your stomach and fuck you until you’re screaming his name for the entire national forest to hear, but he doesn’t.

“Mmm, Hobi, please,” you whine against his palm, kitten licking the flesh there to encourage him to move. It almost works, almost spurs him into action, but he remains flush against you and unmoving.

“Just trying to keep you warm, baby,” he teases. “Skin-to-skin contact.”

He can feel your body tense and shake around him, core tightening as you’re desperate to feel the friction you desire. It makes Hoseok nearly growl into your ear, clutching you tighter in his grasp.

“Now you want to fuck me?” He teases into your ear. “I thought you were tired?”

A pathetic whimper is the only response you can muster. You’re desperate for more, aching for his thick cock to thrust in and out of you. His hand slips down your body, caressing each inch of your skin before landing on your clit, circling the nub teasingly.

“I bet you could cum like this,” he breathes as he slowly swirls his finger. “With my cock stuffed inside you.”

He’s right—your body is already reacting to the stimulation and you can feel your body clenching around his unmoving length deep inside you. It’s prodding you in just the right spot that makes you keen, core desperate for some movement. His added touch makes you whine into his palm still covering your mouth.

“That’s right, baby,” he praises as he bites at your earlobe. “Such a needy little pussy, so desperate for me you could cum just from feeling me inside you.”

The pressure rises, stomach tightening as you feel your body near the edge of bliss. You can feel your thighs trembling as Hoseok whispers and nibbles at your ear, fingers working your clit with just the right rhythm to make you see stars.

His finger swirls with delicate speed, playing you like the nimble musician he is.

“Look at you, I’ve only started using my fingers and you’re already about to cum for me.”

Holding back your desperate moans, your eyes nearly roll back in their sockets as you feel your body build closer and closer to the blissful end that it craves. Having him buried deep inside you with none of the delicious friction is driving you crazy, and the speed of his fingers on your clit makes you keen for anything he can give you. You’re so close, so *fucking close* to your climax that your vision blurs.

Suddenly, the telltale sound of another tent zipper opening rips through the relative silence of the campground and Hoseok stills his finger on you.

“Shhh,” he warns, lifting his head to listen carefully.

The sound comes from your left, Jungkook’s tent, and you squeeze your eyes tight and whimper into Hoseok’s palm at the ache in your belly. Jungkook stumbles around the campground before he makes his way out, and Hoseok smirks as the footsteps get quieter.

“That was close, baby,” he says as his finger teases over your throbbing clit. “We don’t want Jungkookie to find his friend like this, don’t we?”

You shake your head, body trembling as his finger provides not-enough stimulation on your tortured clit.

He keeps quiet and continues his feather-light touch, pleased at the unexpected orgasm denial and the way it makes your cunt clench around his cock as if coaxing it to give you what you need most.

“You better not be loud,” he warns. “You don’t want to ruin our fun, right?”

Agonizing moments later, Jungkook’s footsteps return and he zips himself back into his tent and quickly heads back to sleep. He remains stilled inside you, listening intently for any sounds of the others awakening.

After minutes of desperate silence and your needy cunt aching for your boyfriend to move, he rolls you onto your stomach with him on top, cock still buried deep within you.

“You’ve done so well,” he praises as he leans down and licks a fat stripe on the back of your neck, making you shiver. “Take your reward like a good girl.”

Without warning, Hoseok grips at your hips and starts a brutal pace, fucking you fast and hard while staying quiet. It feels so good, better than the feeling of him being still inside you. Nothing can compare to his thickness spearing into you, stretching you wide. The ridges of his cock feel like heaven from the position he has you in, and you can feel the stimulation building upon your ruined, curtailed orgasm from earlier.

He quickly rams a piece of the sleeping bag into your mouth, forcing you to be quiet as he nearly impales you open, burying himself as deep into your womb as he can before retreating and thrusting in for more. You can tell he’s close by the way his movements lose finesse, the way his hands grip your thick hips as if he’s grasping a lifeline.

“Gonna fill you up,” Hoseok whispers harshly, his voice taking on the rough edge that makes your body react. “You want my cum, baby?”

Your mouth is full, but your head nods quickly and you arch your back to let him reach even deeper inside of you, desperate to get yourself and him off simultaneously.

“Shit,” he groans as he feels your body accept him even further at this new angle, your ass high in the air. He grips it, enjoys the way the flesh jiggles in his grip and with each thrust. “Cum on my cock, baby, please.”

Hoseok doesn’t beg, hardly ever, so when he’s desperate for your release, you’re equally desperate to give it to him. As he pounds into you, taking full advantage of your prone body and lifted hips, the dam holding back your climax finally erupts, making your walls quiver and squeeze around his cock and forcing you to bury your face as far as you can into your sleeping bag to muffle your whines.

He wishes he could hear your screams, wants to hear the way you cry his name out as your cunt milks him, begs him for his own end. Another round of thrusts and he feels it all snap, cock pulsing out hot spurts of cum into your eager and waiting channel.

He pulls out of you, loving the way his cum follows him out, dribbling out of your spent pussy weakly. He lifts a finger and scoops it up, pushing it back into your juicy walls and nearly whining as he feels it wet and sopping with his release. You’re pulling the sleeping bag from your mouth, panting hard from your own release and turning around to look at your boyfriend, hips wiggling.

Hoseok smiles fondly at you, removing his finger from your walls and rubbing the smooth skin of your ass.

“Are you warm?” He asks with a smirk, knowing by the sheen of sweat on both of your bodies that you’ve successfully warmed up in the bite of the chilly night.

He flops down beside you and pulls you in close, snuggling into the sleeping bag while kissing your face gently.

Hoseok’s cock is still hard, still aching even after a release and you’re quick to grasp it in your hands, finally getting a grip on it for the first time tonight.

“Better keep you warm all night like I promised, huh?” You smile sleepily as you lift your leg to allow him entrance to your center yet again. “Keep me full all night please, baby?”

He is loath to deny you, and the wet heat of your used pussy feels like heaven. He holds you closer, pulls you in tight as he buries his cock as far as he can go, before kissing you sweetly once more.

He knows he’ll wake up in a few hours, dick throbbing with a need to take you for yet another round, but for now, he revels in the warmth and love and safety he feels when he’s connected to you in nearly every way.

“By the way, I love you too, Hoseok,” you whisper to him after a few moments of silence, recalling to the sweet whispered words around the campfire.

Hoseok smiles as he closes his eyes, body and soul in pure bliss.

And when Namjoon complains in the morning that he could hear the sounds of his little sister getting railed, Hoseok will let him know he ensured you didn’t suffer from hypothermia—that it’s his job as boyfriend to ensure you’re kept safe,

and always kept warm.

#bts smut #hoseok smut #jung hoseok smut #jhope smut #bts fics #bts smut fics

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crimsonheart01 · 3 years

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Twinkling Bright (Jaskier x Female!Reader)

A/N: This is my first Witcher anything! AHHHHH how exciting. Thank you for coming along on this journey with me! Requested by my lovely, @juniperjane. This Bard has a strong hold on my heart. I love him so much! Geralt too, but that’s a different kind of hold *smirk*

Prompt: “How much for the ugly Christmas sweater?”

Word Count: 2.0K words

Playlist: Like It’s Christmas - Jonas Brothers [Spotify] [YouTube]

Warnings: Mead and Ale consumption, tavern shenanigans!

“Look at the lights Twinkling bright Twenty-four seven Every inch of Central Park Is covered in white This could be heaven.” Like It’s Christmas – Jonas Brothers

Jaskier jolted awake and regretted the motion instantly. He groaned, lifting a hand to his face. Finding no strength in his arms, he let his hand fall onto his face and scrubbed it down roughly. He kept his eyes closed and squeezed them in a grimace. His head was pounding, and there was a putrid taste in his mouth. He opened his mouth, smacking his lips together before frowning.

His mouth felt full of cotton and his throat parched. It felt as if he’d drank the entire tavern the night before. Inching his head to the right, he chanced, peeking through one eye, taking in the room he was currently housed in. It appeared that at some point, while he was still of sound enough mind, he managed to solidify a bed for the night. Closing his eye again, he racked his brain for the memory of when he paid for his room, but nothing came to light.

With a long-suffering sigh, he stretched his arms, opening his eyes as he felt a pull of whatever garment he wore over his arms. Creasing his eyebrows together, he lifted his arms into his eye line and was assaulted by a vomit green coloured jumper, barely reaching past his elbows. He turned his hands back and forth as he assessed the offending piece of clothing. It wasn’t his, and that’s all he knew for sure. He would never be caught dead in something this tacky. Bard or not, he had standards.

With another exasperated groan, he rolled over and wrapped his arms around his middle. Rolling onto his side, he tucked his head down while succumbing to the pounding in his head. With narrowed eyes, he stared at the snow-filled window across from him, allowing the sluggish recollections from the night before taking him for a ride.

~(WITCHER)~

He spun in circle after circle, watching as the lights from the candles and the fireplace blurred into one long stream. He laughed out loud, shouting the lyrics to his newest poem. He twirled down the aisle, strumming along to the beat in his head. He hopped up onto a bench, raising one leg to rest a foot onto the table. He swung his entire arm in an exaggerated strum of his lute. Pausing for dramatic effect, he stared around at the crowd, ensuring that he kept them captive in his story.

With the neck of his lute clenched in one fist, he raised both hands over his head, hummed out the next few notes and then began clapping his hands together. Rekindling the beat and with a grand smile, he urged the patrons of the establishment to join in with him. As the raucous rhythm evened out, he jumped into the table, repositioned his lute and fingered several quick notes. His voice rose above the noise, and he was met with cheers and clangs of heavy pints being hit together.

With a jaunty step, he danced down the center of the table. He spared more than a few winks to the lovely maidens watching while sharing in a lecherous chuckle with a few men along the way. He paused to accept an offered cup of ale and downed it in one go while being cheered on. With an exaggerated wipe across his mouth, he slammed the mug down on the table. The men closest to him pat his back in solidarity and acceptance.

Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, he continued pleasing the masses with tales of the fabled Geralt of Rivia. The myth, the legend, the Witcher. Jaskier continued to shout his famous tales to those who would listen. He dropped down into a seat, allowing those near to him to bow forward and using his hands, he painted a picture of the beasts defeated by the storied man of the hour.

The night wore on, the mead running free and the bread served up, keeping his belly warm. He loved this particular time of year. He could count on several days of free food and mead, even without having to resort to telling tall, however mostly true, tales.

He reclined in his chair, moving to take a swig of his drink but missed and sloshed the contents all down the front of him. With a sad groan, he accepted his fate and let his hand hang. Swaying from side to side, with hooded eyes, he listened to the crackling of the fire. Content to sit in this spot for the remainder of his stay. Tonight had been a great night. He knew there was plenty of coin in his purse, but more than that, it was a warm place to hunker down the storm outside.

He wasn’t going anywhere. No, not tonight.

~(WITCHER)~

She pulled at one of his arms, ducking down and strapping it along her shoulders. The tankard of ale in his other hand teetered, sloshing the liquid within over the rim and down the front of his tunic. She chuckled to herself at the state of the minstrel.

“Come on, Bard.” She grunted under his dead weight, “Time for you to call it a night.”

She dragged him along, not bothering to listen to the mumblings he was rambling. As they walked towards the stairs, he caught on to the fact that they were moving and made his best attempt to mime walking. She was doing all the heavy lifting, but that was to be expected after the night he’d had. She spent a fair amount of time switching his drinks with water, but it appeared that hadn’t been enough to keep his drunkenness at a minimum.

They climbed the stairs in a messy heap. She used the wall to lean against while she all but dragged the man up each step behind her. Reaching the middle landing, she needed to pause, wiping her sweaty brow from the exertion. How was it possible that the bard weighed this much? Not wanting to lose all her steam, she fisted her skirts into her free hand and began dragging him upwards again.

As she swung around the bannister, his head accidentally met the wall, and he cursed before laughing at himself. She listened as he went through a short monologue, making it exceptionally clear to her that he had no idea she was there nor that she was carrying him up to a free room. Shaking her head with amused annoyance, she continued.

Reaching the room, she shoved him through the door and towards the bed. As he fell back, he spread his arms out and plopped down onto the boxed bed below him. He let out a sigh of content and laid there with his legs hanging over the edge. She waited for a long moment to see if he’d acknowledge her, but nothing came.

Giving him a once over, and deciding he’d passed out cold, she shrugged to herself before leaning in and rummaging through his pockets for the coins she knew he’d collected throughout the night. Picking out the correct amount for the room, she tipped the rest back into their place. As she moved to back away, she felt his warm fingers curl around her wrist.

In preparation to scold him for trying to get out of paying for his stay, she was stunned into silence when he pointed to her with his other hand. She watched as his mouth moved, but no sound came out. It was obvious he was thinking about something difficult. She widened her eyes as she waited for him to form the words he was concentrating hard on.

“How much for the ugly Christmas sweater?” He slurred, pushing his finger closer towards her to emphasize his pointing.

She looked down at her buttoned overcoat and had to stifle a laugh. He kept up a glazed stare in her direction, entirely too serious about wanting her clothing item.

With a sigh, she rubbed the coins in her hand together, “Already paid for bard.”

He gave her an approved pout and then patted the bed next to him, “Just leave that there then.”

She stuffed her mouth against the back of her other hand at his air of utter importance at the transaction. As if he was a wealthy lord making a bargain on this sale. Choosing to take pity on him, she swiftly worked through the buttons and folded the coat next to him on his bed before backing out of the room. Closing the door behind her, she stopped to admire the silver she’d collected and smiled. Tonight had been a good night.

~(WITCHER)~

Scratching his head and feeling a bubble form in the center of his chest, Jaskier finally made his way down the stairs into the musty tavern. It was midday, but there was little to no one milling around. He stepped up to the bar and sat down, laying his effects on the stool next to him before bowing entirely and laying his forehead flat onto the surface.

A light chuckle caught his attention, and he inched his head to the left, looking up to see a striking woman who bore a vague familiarity in his unconscious mind. He blinked in an attempt to clear his mind but came up blank. Her laugh came ringing out again as if she knew that he couldn’t remember who she was.

“Rough night?” She commented, folding her rag over her hands before returning to the counter to continue wiping it down.

He let out a strangled groan, “You have no idea.”

“Ha!” She scoffed, without looking in his direction, “I think I have a better idea than you do.”

He inhaled audibly before closing his eyes again. The pounding in his head crowded his thoughts to the point where he couldn’t confidently think anything at all, except for how uncomfortable he was. He continued to lay there, succumbing to his own misery, when there was a light clink next to his ear. Dragging his eyelids open again, he spotted the metal mug sitting in front of him. The woman was leaning into the bar, watching him with quiet amusement.

“Drink it.” She encouraged.

He stared at her, conveying his confusion. He had no idea what she was offering him, and it would be unbecoming to accept a drink from a stranger, especially after his previous night.

“It’s water,” She reassured him.

With narrowed eyes, he pushed himself up to a sitting position before taking her offered peace offering and chugged it. With a smack of his lips, he placed the mug down, and she immediately refilled it. She silently observed him as he sipped at the next cupful.

“Nice outfit,” She smirked.

He immediately looked down and was assaulted again with the hideous green coloured overcoat he’d forgotten to take off. Judging by the coy grin on her mouth and the fact that the garment was two sizes too small, he figured it was hers. Gathering up his bearings, he pulled out every ounce of charm he had left in him and granted her a flirtatious smile.

“I take it I can thank you for this grotesque green number?” He quipped.

Her mouth dropped open in feigned shock at his jest, but her smile won out over. With a shake of her head and another laugh, she settled for keeping him company.

“I’ll admit, it matches your complexion this morning much more than it would mine.” She winked at him before stepping around the bar and waving a hand out to a small two-seater table, “How about you get some food and drink into you, and we’ll piece together the entirety of your night together?”

Not needing to be asked twice, he grabbed his things and followed behind her. He found himself grinning ear to ear despite his horrific hangover.

#jaskier #jaskier imagine #jaskier x reader #jaskier imagines #the witcher #the witcher imagine #the witcher imagines #joey batey #12 days of ficmas 2020 #holiday prompts

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tiffdawg · 4 years

Text

Breathe In Your Love | Javier Peña x Reader

Gif: @bestintheparsec

Series: Confessions | Part 3 of 3

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader (fem; no y/n)

Word Count: 1.9k

Rating: E | Warnings: NSFW - smut, sexual language, mild cursing. 18+ only. Soft!Javi is his own warning.

A/N: We’ve reached the end! And the soft Javi I promised you is here. This is the first multi-part story I’ve ever written and I want to say thank you from the bottom of my heart for reading and following along 💕

My Masterlist

Read on AO3

... . ...

Breathe in Your Love

The sounds of Bogota – squeals of children playing in the streets, gossip shared between neighbors, the bell of a street vendor’s cart passing by – drifted in through the open window and pulled you from your slumber. A gentle breeze rustled the curtains and kissed your exposed skin, the bedsheets a tangled mess around your limbs, as you stretched life back into your well-rested body. Without opening your eyes, you reached across the bed only to find yourself alone.

But the empty space was still warm.

“Mi amada,” a low voice beckoned from behind you.

You sat up, finally opening your eyes to the bright Sunday morning, and found Javier offering you a steaming mug of your favorite Colombian tea. You’d promised to cut back your copious caffeine consumption in solidarity with his attempt to stop smoking, and the crisp, clean minty tea laced with fragrant bits of tropical fruit – a delicious aroma of soursop and guava and a hint of citrus – was now part of your morning ritual. You took a tentative sip, testing the heat of the tea on your tongue, as you peered over the rim at him.

Your eyes followed Javi, enchanted by the golden summer light streaming in through the curtains behind him, warming his tanned features, bare save for the sleep pants hanging dangerously low on his hips, as he walked around the bed to his side.

You remembered a time when these stolen moments were just a dream. By some stroke of luck, your fantasies became your reality. And yet the truth was so much better than you ever imagined. Even though all the struggles that accompanied any relationship were compounded by the fact that you were both stressed, overworked DEA agents, every day with him still felt like a beautiful dream.

When Javier was sent back to the states, you’d joined him for a brief respite from work, grateful for the accrued vacation days you’d never found a use for before. It’d been a shock to you both when he narrowly escaped reprimand only to be sent back to Colombia with a new mission. While you had your pick of assignments after helping take down Escobar, you remained in Bogota as well. It just wouldn’t have been that same without Javi by your side.

It was a different cartel the second time around, but the same old tired game.

Now, your jobs were done, and half of your shared apartment was already in boxes – your stuff and his mixed together, heading to the same undetermined location. Neither of you had decided where to go or what to do next. The DEA had been your entire lives for so long that it was difficult to envision what should come after. But you were going to figure it out together.

Javi slipped back beneath the sheets, relaxing against the headboard. With an arm held out to you in silent welcome, he offered you the space next to him. You tucked yourself in, resting your back against his chest, and the two of you sipped at your drinks in a comfortable silence, perfectly content to enjoy the slow morning.

He pressed a single, lingering kiss to your temple, and you let out a deep breath, feeling yourself melt into his embrace. You treasured times like this with him, and in that moment, you knew you would go anywhere with him because this, right there with him, already felt like home.

Suddenly, Javi shifted behind you, setting his coffee mug on the nightstand before taking your half-finished drink from you.

“Hey–” Confused you sat up to level him with an accusing stare, but whatever witty remark you thought of making faded away, derailed by the raw look in his wide eyes. The hint of a soft smile played at the corner of his mouth, easing your worries as his calloused hand cupped your face.

“I love you,” he confessed.

You stilled at his words, uncertain, for a moment, if you’d heard him correctly.

“Javi,” you sighed, his name nothing more than a breath parting your lips. You’d almost abandoned any hope of hearing those three little words from him. You’d still dreamed of his deep voice uttering that singular phrase to you, of course, but you realized a long time ago that you didn’t actually need to hear it to know it was true.

You studied his face carefully, relieved when you couldn’t detect so much as a hint of fear or panic. Instead, he looked resolved, assured. He looked happy. Now, not only did you share the same feelings for one another, but your love was spoken. It was free. Mirroring his position, you placed a gentle hand on his cheek, feeling the curve of his widening smile against your palm. “I love you too.”

“I know–” he said, choking over his own words, “I still can’t believe that.” With strong hands, he drew you into his lap. There was an urgency to his movements, like he needed you closer to him the same way he needed air to breath, but when he pressed his lips to yours, his kisses were slow and tender, as if you had all the time in the world for each other. Maybe you finally did.

Soon, languid kisses deepened, turned needy and desperate. Until only the need for air forced you to part, if only for a moment. Foreheads touching, you beamed at each other as you caught your breaths.

“I don’t know how I got so damn lucky,” he murmured in between soft pecks to your cheeks, your jawline, and even one on your nose. You could only shake your head at his ministrations, having been wondering the exact same thing about him.

“Make love to me, Javi,” you whispered against his lips.

“Always.”

Wanting to hold him even closer, you draped your arms around his shoulders, letting the bedsheets fall from your body, and pulled him to you. He let go of you only to wrap your legs around his waist, his hands soon returning to wander reverently over your soft body. He felt so warm and solid beneath you, and you never wanted this moment to end. You ran your fingers through his ruffled hair, already disheveled from sleep, as he kissed a path down the delicate skin of your neck.

Your hips instinctively rolled against his, grinding against his half-hard cock, and you let out an annoyed huff when you were met with the fabric of his sleep pants. Sensing your frustration, he tugged his pants down just enough to free himself, and he lazily stroked his cock to its full length as he nuzzled affectionately against your jaw. “This what you need, baby?”

“Oh! Yes, Javi– Please,” you mewled before capturing his lips in a searing kiss, “Need you– Need you inside of me.”

“I’m gonna give you everything you need, mi amor.” Sliding a hand between your parted legs, he found you soaked. “You’re already so wet for me? Fuck– You’re so amazing. So perfect.”

He gathered some of your arousal to spread across his length, before lining the head of his cock at your entrance. With firm hands on your hips, he guided you down slowly, making sure you took every inch of him, and you moaned against his lips at the way he stretched you when fully seated inside of you.

That morning there was no rush, no hurry. Only the gentle rocking of his hips against yours. On each forward roll, you felt every ridge of his cock drag against your walls, every brush of your sensitive bud against the soft curls covering his pelvis, and every little movement sent waves of pleasure crashing over you. He filled you so completely, so intimately, and your position allowed you to hold each other’s gaze. His warm brown eyes shining with love never left yours.

As you looked at Javi, your whole future flashed before your eyes: a small home somewhere quiet, maybe a couple of kids with those same deep brown eyes– God, they’d get away with everything– and a golden retriever. There’d be family vacations with the Murphey’s and trips to visit their abuelo in Texas. It would be a peaceful life because that was what Javier deserved. It was what you both deserved after everything you’d been through, everything you’d sacrificed, and you suddenly wanted it more than anything. You wanted it with him.

For the first time, it felt possible.

Javi held you against him as you came, murmuring sweet nothings in Spanish against the shell of your ear. It was only as the haze of your pleasure lifted, that you realized what he was saying.

“Eres el amor de mi vida.”

Squeezing your eyes shut to hold back a few errant tears, your hold on him tightened as you hugged him against you, never wanting to let go. He burrowed his face in crook of your neck, groaning into your flushed skin, and with a few more languid thrusts, he came deep inside of you, coating your walls with his spend.

“I love you so fucking much,” he said breathlessly, resting his forehead against yours, “I’m sorry I couldn’t say it sooner. I’m sorry it took–”

“Don’t you dare apologize, Jav.” You took his face in your hands and made sure he was looking at you. “I always knew. You didn’t have to say it.”

“I know you did. But you deserve to hear it,” he said soberly. “And I’m going to spend every day of the rest of my life saying it. I’m never going to let you forget it.”

“That could be a long time,” you suggested playfully.

“I’m counting on it, mi amor.”

Still holding you in his lap, he leaned over and dug around in the drawer of his nightstand, eventually pulling out a small velvet box.

“Javi,” you gasped in disbelief. You searched his eyes for some sort of explanation, amazed that he was picturing the same life you’d just imagined. Although, considering he already had the ring, he might’ve been ahead of you for once. He just smiled at you.

“I never thought that I could have this. Didn’t even realize how badly I wanted it, needed it, until I fell in love with you.” He popped open the box, revealing an elegantly simple diamond ring. “Marry me?”

“Yes,” you sobbed around a smile, “Of course, Javi.”

After he slid the ring onto your finger, he embraced you, kissing you passionately before unceremoniously tossing you backwards on the bed.

“What are you doing?” you squealed as you bounced against the mattress.

“What does it look like I’m doing, mi amor?” he asked as he lied down between your legs, throwing both over his shoulders, “I’m gonna eat my fiancée’s pussy for breakfast.”

“Oh my God,” you laughed as he grinned up at you, heart bursting in your chest. You knew you wouldn’t be getting out of bed anytime soon that day and as you reached down to brush a stray lock off his forehead, marveling at the way the sunlight glinted off your new ring, you knew you wouldn’t have it any other way. “I love you, Javi.”

“I love you too.”

... . ...

The End. Thanks for reading!

#javier peña #javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #javier peña smut #narcos fanfic #fic: confessions #my writing #my fic

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paulfwesley · 4 years

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A Split Second (Part Four) [Bryce Lahela x f!MC]

Pairing: Bryce Lahela x f!MC (Dr. Claire King).

Chapter Rating: T.

Word Count: 3.3K.

Description: She might not know what her faith is, but someone reminds her how to hold on to it. TW: guns, violence, blood. Part 1. Part 2. Part 3.

Disclaimer: Characters, storyline, and parts of the dialogue are taken from Pixelberry’s Choices’ Open Heart. They fully own the characters, dialogue, backgrounds, etc. MC Claire King’s background is my own creation, based off of MC in-game’s personality.

Author’s Note: I’m sorry this took so long!! And I’m also sorry because there is one more part after this XD But that will be the last part, I promise!! This chapter took on a life of its own. Bryce isn’t in it, but it’s definitely something that I realized Claire needed in the development of this story. If you’d like to be tagged please let me know! I don’t count people liking the actual post because I don’t know if that’s you wanting to be tagged XD so be sure to comment and tell me!

Tagging: @commander-rahrah @jaydito-tjjd @anotherbeingsworld @shakespeareanwannabe @bitchloveskcbaseball @wisegirl9 @rookie-ramsey @mrsdrakewalkerblog @omgjasminesimone @frenchieswiftie @jamespotterthefirst @elladines @thanialis @lucy-268 @sherrylove @bloomingsivan @lahellacute @araihc-ce @ltimeisanillusionl

Enjoy!

Claire’s favourite time of the year was Christmas. She loved decorating her home, she loved watching Christmas movies, she loved giving gifts, really loved getting gifts. But despite her favourite holiday centering around the birth of the figure of the religion, she didn’t know if she could call herself a Christian.

But that didn’t stop her from sitting in the back pew of the hospital’s multi faith room. It was a small place, roughly the size of the diagnostic team’s room, with three pews on either side of the room. She had expected for there to be a giant figure of Jesus painted in stained glass on the window, but because of the place being a multi faith room, they couldn’t. A tall podium sat at the front of the room, probably for when leaders of the faith came to speak to the people desperately seeking any kind of reprieve from the worry that plagued their every waking moment.

Admittedly there were a lot of places Claire could have gone. The cafeteria, where she could have stress ate until Bryce’s surgery was over, but with G.S.Ws there was always the chance that complications could arise, and she wasn’t sure how much her poor stomach could handle, especially when she thought about eating anything her stomach clenched.

She briefly considered a supply closet, but she could still remember the burning shame she felt when June found her there crying her eyes out at the news of Kyra’s relapse. It was too risky, especially because of the coming and going that arose with the need for supplies in there.

Then she thought about waiting it out in the resident lounge, but there she’d be surrounded by her friends. She’d have to talk with them, listen to them give reassurances that nothing would happen to Bryce, but Claire didn’t want to listen to empty promises. Her friends had seen her in bad states before: blood soaking her scrubs, exhaustion draining her face, the occasional stench that emitted off of her when she was so caught up in a case she forgot to shower. But she didn’t want them to see her like this: eyes bloodshot, nose red, tissue tucked into her sleeve for easy access when a rack of sobs hit her like a freight train. She just wanted to be somewhere she could shut her brain off.

That was when her mind flashed to the multi faith room. It was always quiet in here, save for the odd sniffle or sob that came out of a person while they prayed for their husband to make it through the night, their sister to make it through her surgery, their grandfather’s diagnosis to be anything but what they feared the most. Otherwise, it was a place where people came to find some shred of peace. The silence was comfortable; it was a recognition that everyone in the small room was suffering somehow, but who found companionship with each other in the sense that they all sent their pleas to a guy sitting on a cloud in the sky.

Tonight, though, the multi faith room was surprisingly empty. Someone had to have been in there earlier, because the collection of candles that sat on the table in front of the podium were lit, the flames of each individual candle small but creating a larger, stable symbol of hope. Each candle represented an unknown person, a life no one knew, a story untold, but every tiny wick created a sense of solidarity, the knowledge that someone was thinking of you, that this point in time, there was a place in the darkness where all hope was extinguished, but burning on as a deliberate point to prove that your life mattered, that it was being prayed for, that you were being fought for. An ember to glow with the reminder that someone wanted, needed you to stay.

All the same, she chose the pew in the very back. She huddled against the armrest, tucking her knees under her and curling into the side as much as she could. She rested her joined hands under her head in the hopes that she would be less tempted to check the watch on her wrist and despair at how long the surgery was taking. She made Dr. Emery promise that she’d page her as soon as the surgery was over, but she didn’t know how long that would take, so Claire settled in for what could possibly be the longest night of her life.

Her eyes hurt, her head aching with exhaustion now that all the adrenaline had flushed out of her system. She was still in the blood soaked clothes she had been in when she tried to cover Bryce’s wound, but she couldn’t bring herself to get up and change out of them. Instead she lay there, the high air conditioning blasting through her clothes and stiffening the material, chafing against her chest. Still she didn’t move. Her memories of Bryce paralyzed her.

She relieved every single moment backwards right from the moment he had been whisked into the O.R. room all the way back to the first time she had seen him in the changing room on her first day in Edenbrook, when she had no idea who he’d become to her. Back then, he was just a meat headed jockey; someone fun to hook up with, but who Claire thought was the ‘no strings attached’ type, which was fine with her, because as each day passed she found herself more and more enamored with Ethan. But then Ethan left, and Bryce stepped up to help, and she finally started to see him in a new light. No, he wasn’t the type to buy you a drink at the bar, flirt with you just the right amount, laugh when he knew you wanted him to, knew just what to say to reel you in, and then go with you back to your place and then be gone without a word before you even woke up the next morning.

No. Bryce Lahela was the type to make terrible jokes. He talked during movies. He bought shots for his friends because he had heard they were going to compete against each other. He laughed at everything you said: your good jokes, your bad jokes, especially your terrible jokes, the ones you made because you knew only he would laugh at them. He’d bring you back to his place, lavish you, make you feel warm and loved and safe, and then the next morning he’d bring you breakfast in bed to share, even if it was just toaster waffles and he ate all of the strawberries even though you pleaded for him to spare you at least one. Bryce was safe. Bryce was loving. Bryce was home.

And she didn’t know if he’d die not knowing how much she loved him.

The idea twinged her chest, slowly spreading through her like a parasite, devouring all threads of hope and spitting out something that was ruined and beyond repair. She squeezed her eyes shut when she felt tears brimming, and she curled herself into a smaller ball, if that was even possible. It was as if she was hoping that the more she compressed herself, the more she’d be able to crush the pain that snaked her muscles.

She faintly heard the doors to the chapel opening. The thought of sitting up crossed her mind, because she was technically in a place of worship and she really shouldn’t have her feet up in a pew, but then she thought that this was a place people came when they were desperate, when medicine and hopeful statistics and the comforting words of doctors weren’t enough for them. Those people who were in no place to judge how she dealt with her emotions. So she kept her eyes shut, drinking in a shuddery breath through her mouth.

Movement in the chapel, footsteps echoing softly on the carpeted floor. The footsteps grew louder, and suddenly the seat next to her dipped with a weight of someone sitting down, the body heat of their dress pants brushing against her feet. She still kept her eyes shut, though. If someone needed her presence just to feel like they weren’t alone, so be it.

“I’ve known you for a little over a year, yet I never knew you were religious,” the agonizingly familiar voice said and Claire’s eyes immediately snapped open. She dropped her feet to the ground and sat up, turning her head so her eyes met his soft blue ones. Ethan gave her an easy smile, the look you’d give a child to reassure them that a needle was nothing to be scared of. “You didn’t peg me for the type to be singing Christmas carols about Jesus.”

Claire sniffled, blinking heavily before finally turning to face the front. “I mean, I decorate a Christmas tree and I paint Easter eggs, but I don’t know about church every Sunday or not mixing certain types of cloth.” She tilted her head back, letting her neck rest on the back of the seat. “But when I needed a place to be by myself, to be quiet, to feel some sort of peace… this is where I ended up.”

Ethan stared at her. At the wrinkles around her eyes. The dryness of her nose that came with the repeated rubbing of tissues. The redness in her swollen cheeks. “Lahela’s still in surgery.”

Her chest dipped. When she didn’t respond, Ethan continued. “That was the last update I could get from Harper. She’s the best. She’ll do what she can for Lahela. She--”

“I don’t need you to tell me what I already know, Ethan,” she cut in dryly. The words came out harsher than she intended. She always spoke cordially with Ethan, professionally, nicely even, considering that their split hadn’t really been… amicable. But now, tonight, she didn’t have the room to decipher the lingering tightness in her chest whenever she looked at him. Any emotions she felt tonight were for Bryce, the man she had only become certain of when she was on the verge of losing him.

Ethan went silent. “Then what do you need?”

“Just distract me.” She turned her eyes to him without lifting her head. “How did you find me here?”

“Aurora Emery saw you in here,” he responded. “She didn’t want to disturb you, though. But when I ran into her and asked if she’d seen you, she told me.”

She wasn’t sure if she should murder Aurora or thank her. She didn’t necessarily want to see Ethan but… but even after all this time, she still associated him with comfort, especially when he wasn’t open about it, which wasn’t what she wanted.

His leg bounced, his foot tapping against the floor. “The cops were looking for you. They wanted a statement.”

She cocked a brow. “And?”

“And I told them I didn’t know where you were,” Ethan answered. He gave her a once-over, taking in her frazzled appearance. “I figured after what happened, you wouldn’t be in the mood to really talk to anyone. Besides, Sienna had already filled us in on what had happened, but they wanted an eyewitness report.”

The corner of her lips turned up slightly. “Thanks for that.”

“I know this is probably a stupid question,” he started. “But are you okay?”

“Someone pointed a gun in my face today,” she hummed. She lifted her head and gave Ethan an incredulous look. “Would you be okay?”

“No,” he admitted. “But I’m honestly surprised you’re as calm as you are.”

The anger she thought she had suppressed, that she hadn’t felt in months, flashed through her. “I’m not as fragile as you think.”

“Right,” he acknowledged, the word lingering in the awkward air she had created. Claire squeezed her eyes shut and crossed her arms over her chest, sinking back into the weathered cushion while ignoring the discomfort of the wooden top.

After a few more silent seconds, Ethan finally said, “So… Lahela, huh?”

She didn’t even bother opening her eyes. A snort escaped her lips before she could stop it. “It’s a little late to play the jealous ex, don’t you think?”

“No, I know,” Ethan quickly backtracked, his tone filled with alarm, but with a forlorn undertone that Claire only recognized because she was well versed in the language of Ethan Ramsey. “I just meant… he’s a good guy, if you had to pick someone.”

Claire couldn’t help but wonder if Ethan was trying to imply that he wasn’t a good guy, but she didn’t have the strength or energy to launch into that discussion. Instead, she said, “He is a good guy. The best, really. It just took me a while to see it.” Her shoulders deflated. “Too long, if I’m going to be honest.”

“I’m no stranger to feeling like you’ve waited too long,” Ethan said quietly. The words cut through Claire, though only deep enough to leave a superficial wound. “But I’m sure Lahela knows how you feel.”

“He doesn’t,” she retorted. She opened her eyes to see Ethan staring at her, confusion raising his brows. Claire pushed herself up so she sat properly. “He thought all he was to me was just a rebound. But he’s not. He’s everything to me. He makes me happy, feel warm, feel safe…” To her horror tears blurred her vision. She didn’t want to be the type of person that cried to her ex about her current boyfriend (though Claire wasn’t even sure that was who Bryce was to her) but here she was. Yet instead of making her feel awkward, Ethan just waited patiently, his face neutral, his eyes betraying none of the emotions she wondered he felt hearing her talk about someone else to him. He dipped his chin for her to continue, and encouraged, she did. She bit her lip to keep it from wobbling and sobbed, “But I couldn’t do the same for him. He got shot because of me.”

Ethan put a hand on her shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze. “Rookie, pull yourself together.”

That nickname. One she hadn’t heard since her final day as an intern, when he had accidentally let it slip before correcting himself with the reminder that she was no longer an intern. It was a nickname she had loathed when he gave it to her; it made her feel impossibly small and feeling like she had to live up to it. But over time she began to associate the challenge that came with the word rookie, the drive that made her want to work harder, the validation when she realized that at some point, the word had turned from a nickname that Ethan had given her because he hadn’t known her name to a name that she had built a positive reputation around. Claire King: the Rookie of the intern year of 2019. The best of the best, the woman who refused to let herself be broken. And now, with Ethan using it just now, those feelings came rushing back to her.

She straightened her back and instinctively raised her chin, like she was poised to report a diagnosis or defend her actions. Ethan gave her an approving smile. “Bryce didn’t get shot because of you. If he did, it was because he loved you, and he would rather it be him in pain than you.”

“But I didn’t ask him to do that!” Claire sobbed, unable to contain the despair slugging through her veins.

“You didn’t have to,” he pointed out. “The moment Bryce had seen that gun pointing at you, he had made up his mind.”

She gave him a look. “And how do you know that?”

“Because if it were me, I would have made the same decision,” he revealed,

The tension was so thick in the air around them it could have been cut clean through with a knife. “Ethan…” she breathed.

“I know,” he said, whispered. The words were so simple. Short, one syllable each. Yet they were heavy, wistful, filled with the joyous memories of a life that had been, haunted by the possibilities of a future that might have been. If she wasn’t Claire King, junior fellow on the diagnostic’s team. If he wasn’t Ethan Ramsey, the country’s best diagnostician, and the leader of the diagnostic’s team. It was a truth that went unsaid, the mournful melodies hidden by the words of a promising love song. Their love was one that was fleeting, never meant to thrive, never meant to see the light of day, never meant to go beyond the secret wishes that things were different.

She darted her gaze away from him, focusing on the stain on the patch of carpet that she was praying was coffee. Ethan cleared his throat. “You can’t blame yourself for Bryce’s choices, or even for the gunman’s choices. All you can do is have faith that Harper is amazing at her job and that Lahela is strong enough to make it through the other side.”

She chuckled humourlessly, giving the empty space around her a long look. “Ethan Ramsey, I had no idea you were such a poet.”

Ethan snorted, and that launched the both of them into a fit of laughter, tears streaming down their cheeks and clutching their aching sides. They would finally sober up, but then one of them would break again, and then that would make them lose it again.

The door to the chapels opened, and a short old lady took one step in and turned to find the source of laughter. When her disapproving gaze landed on Ethan and Claire, they both stopped laughing. Instead of stepping inside, the woman clicked her tongue in disbelief and shook her head in disgust before stepping out. Ethan and Claire looked at each other again before dissolving into another round of laughter.

Finally, after what seemed like ages, Claire’s laughs ceased. She wiped at the corner of her eyes. “Thank you, Ethan,” she said. “I needed that.”

“Hey, I’m a doctor,” he offered, a familiar twinkle in his eyes. “It’s my job to make people feel better.”

A smile graced her face, while the ghost of one tugged on Ethan’s lips. It was a gesture of understanding between two people who had loved and lost, and who recognized that while ending things had been the right decision, they would always need each other in their lives. It was in that moment that Claire realized that she and Ethan had needed each other, but were never meant to end up together. In Ethan, Claire had found a mentor, someone who understood her passion and who recognized her talent, who could push her to be the best she could be. In Claire, Ethan had found someone he had been wandering for years without-- a true friend. Someone who listened without judgment, who offered solutions, who reminded you of what mattered in life, someone who was just there when they needed you to be.

And in Bryce, Claire thought, she had found a true partner. In Bryce, she had found the person she was meant to end up with, who would swing their joined hands obnoxiously while they walked down the street while she apologized to passerbys but who did it because it brought a smile to her face. In Bryce, she found someone she knew she could count on to never run away. In Bryce, she had found her soulmate.

Her pager buzzed. The vibration froze her, rendering her unable to move. With an encouraging nod from Ethan, Claire sucked in a steadying breath. She was ready.

She pulled her pager out of her pocket. Looked down at the words that, regardless of what they were, would change her life forever.

He made it.

#open heart #playchoices #bryce lahela #bryce lahela x mc #open heart fanfiction #open heart fanfic #bryce lahela x mc fanfic #alinas fanfic #my fanfic #choices: stories you play

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quixol · 4 years

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Hi all, I’m Mara, a mod at Quixol.

Today is Juneteenth, the anniversary of the announcement of federal emancipation of enslaved people in Texas on June 19, 1865. It is often considered the freeing of the last enslaved people, but it is important to mention that in the US, slavery still legally exists in our prison system with the 13th Ammendment.

In honor of Juneteenth, and protests against police brutality (which specifically targets Black people), I have donated the entirety of my tax return totaling $889 (rounded to $900) to a variety of Black-led organizations and individuals. I am asking the Quixol community to join me, by collectively matching my donation. Meaning, that we would like to collectively double that $900 to raise $1,800. There are over 200 members in our Discord server, so if everybody were to donate $10, we could easily surpass that. We ask that you donate directly to a cause or an individual, and send your donation receipt to a staff member. To incentivize donations, if you donate a minimum of $5, Quixol staff is offering a ticket for a customized armor stand. More info on the tickets can be found on this page: (x).

I am glad that Quixol is a place we can be vocal about racial justice, but we can, and we MUST do better. All of us. We must uplift and celebrate the lives of all Black people in our communities, and we must be actively anti-racist. We must have the hard conversations with our friends and families and here in Quixol. As a non-Black person of color, my experiences with racism are incomparable to the injustices faced by Black people here in the US and globally. While I speak mainly about the US, this is a global issue. To quote Jasmine Richards, who has run the Black Lives Matter chapter in my area since 2015, (#BLMDENA) “this is a movement, not a moment.” To encourage sustained support, Quixol will be continuing these donations monthly.

I’ve included a list of resources and places to donate but I also encourage you to do your own research. This is a limited list. I welcome you to share with us any places or individuals you would also like to uplift. I have specifically found organizations and groups that are specifically Black-led, or are vocally intersectional for BIPOC with Black people in leadership roles.

I’d also like to point out that many of the links I include often include reclaimed slurs in their titles, or in click-thru links. If it is a word that I, Mara, can reclaim, I have not censored it, though some may have had to be abbreviated for Tumblr’s content rules. Personally I feel that the work being shared is too important to exclude, even if it is typically against Quixol rules. However, I have also made it a point not to share links with graphic images or videos that show violence against Black people. There is no need to share or spread those images, and doing so causes more harm. I have tried to limit any written descriptions of violence, and provide as much warning as possible.

Donate to Black Trans Groups (This is a compilation list and not every site has been reviewed. Please make sure the groups are still taking donations)

Atlanta Solidarity Fund

Black and Pink (You can also navigate to your local chapter)

Black Trans Advocacy Coalition (Which includes the following 3 groups)

Black Transmen Inc

Black Transwomen Inc

Black Trans Mx

Black Trans Media

Black Trans Travel Fund

Black SWers Collective

Disabled In Action Atlanta Chapter

Homeless Black Trans Women Fund

House of Griffin-Gracy

Krip-Hop Nation (Leroy Moore)

Kween Culture Initiative

Miss Major's Monthly Fundraising Circle

My Sistah's House Memphis

The Okra Project

Radical Death Studies

Sylvia Rivera Law Project

SWers Outreach Project USA (You can also navigate to local chapters)

SWOP Behind Bars

Trans Justice Funding Project

Trans Women of Color Collective

Trans Women of Color Solidarity Network Fund

Not specific to Black racial justice, but should also be considered:

Indigenous Anarchist Federation

Never Again Action

#Quixol #quixolmc #juneteenth #black lives matter #blm #blacklivematter

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aion-rsa · 3 years

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The Mandalorian May Want More Cara Dune But Many Star Wars Fans Want Less Gina Carano

https://ift.tt/eA8V8J

This Star Wars: The Mandalorian article contains spoilers.

The Mandalorian‘s latest episode, “The Siege,” is a mostly entertaining action romp through Nevarro that gives fans more clues as to what the Empire is planning for the Outer Rim. The episode is also an opportunity for Mando and Baby Yoda to reunite with season one allies Greef Karga (Carl Weathers, who also directed the episode) and Cara Dune (Gina Carano). But, while the “getting the band back together” feel of the episode generally works in its favor, many Star Wars fans are dismayed by Carano’s return to the show.

The actor and former MMA fighter has quickly become one of the most controversial figures currently working in Star Wars, which has left many fans conflicted about how to celebrate the importance of her character while also separating Cara from Carano herself. Much of the debate between fans who support Carano and those who are petitioning for Disney to fire her from the show (using the #FireGinaCarano hashtag) stems from the views the actor has shared on Twitter.

For the past few months, Carano has used her Twitter handle to question Covid-19 mask mandates meant to protect people from a pandemic that has already killed over one million people around the world, posting conspiracy theories and memes that question a proven preventative measure that can slow the spread of the virus. Just days before “The Siege” aired on Disney+, Carano posted a meme suggesting that “Democratic Government Leaders” would soon “recommend we all wear blindfolds along with masks so we can’t see what’s really going on.”

She’s also been dismissive of adding pronouns to her Twitter bio in solidarity with the trans community, at one point using the words “boop/bop/beep” in her profile name to seemingly mock those who use pronouns.

“They’re mad cuz I won’t put pronouns in my bio to show my support for trans lives. After months of harassing me in every way. I decided to put 3 VERY controversial words in my bio.. beep/bop/boop,” Carano tweeted after her stunt was criticized by the Star Wars community. “I’m not against trans lives at all. They need to find less abusive representation.”

Carano later took down the joke, explaining that she’d spoken with The Mandalorian star Pedro Pascal (who does use pronouns in his bio) about the meaning of the gesture.

“Yes, Pedro & I spoke & he helped me understand why people were putting them in their bios,” she tweeted. “I didn’t know before but I do now. I won’t be putting them in my bio but good for all you who choose to.”

After Carano declined to show support for the Black Lives Matter movement in August, she was praised by alt-right site Breitbart for “refusing to buckle and bow to the woke social media,” according to Vanity Fair.

“In my experience, screaming at someone that they are a racist when they are indeed NOT a racist & any post and/or research you do will show you those exact facts, then I’m sorry, these people are not ‘educators.’ They are cowards and bullies,” Carano tweeted at the time.

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

Most recently, Carano has shared conspiracy theories about unproven claims of widespread voter fraud in the aftermath of the US general election and has also announced that she’s joined Parler, a “free speech” social media site that’s quickly become a haven for right-wing extremists.

“We need to clean up the election process so we are not left feeling the way we do today,” she wrote in a recent tweet. “Put laws in place that protect us against voter fraud. Investigate every state. Film the counting. Flush out the fake votes. Require ID. Make Voter Fraud end in 2020. Fix the system.”

What’s all the more alarming about Carano’s real-world views is the importance of her character, a rare female hero in Star Wars who doesn’t conform to the traditional gender roles or body type usually represented in the movies. On The Mandalorian, Cara Dune is a muscular ex-Rebel shocktrooper who likes a fight, especially when it means punching fascist Imperials in the face. After the end of the war, Cara chose the mercenary life over the New Republic but eventually settled down on Nevarro as its marshal.

Along the way, Cara has teamed up with Mando, a character who, despite being from an isolationist warrior cult, has shown himself to be surprisingly accepting and supportive of other cultures and belief systems, even learning to communicate with Tusken Raiders, a race often depicted as savage and cruel in Star Wars. In “The Marshal,” for example, we watch as Mando encourages Cobb Vanth to be more respectful of Tusken traditions and customs.

Pascal, who has been very vocal in his support of BLM and trans rights, is certainly a better example of the message of inclusivity Star Wars has tried to promote in its latest stories. Meanwhile, Carano has failed to grasp the message all together, personifying someone in the Star Wars galaxy who is more likely to wonder on the HoloNet whether the Empire was really all that bad.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Pedro Pascal he/him (@pascalispunk)

If calls for Carano’s firing lead to Disney removing her from the show, the Star Wars community could lose something important in the process: a mold-breaking character (at least in this saga) that many fans have seriously connected with. The better solution might be to recast Cara Dune, replacing Carano with a new actor while keeping the fan-favorite character.

“The Siege” subtly suggests that Cara might be ready to make a change, as she considers whether to join the New Republic’s ranks. While it’s just as possible that this could provide an easy way to write Cara off the show, a change of this magnitude to the character could also make it easier to recast the actor. This wouldn’t be the first time a popular TV show has recast a major character after all, even if recasting hasn’t happened very often in Star Wars.

Whatever happens to Cara Dune, it’s clear that we should be able to expect more from the actors who bring our favorite characters to life. Or at least the bare minimum — like not discrediting science in the middle of a deadly pandemic.

#FireGinaCarano for using her platform for spouting dangerous rhetoric that literally puts queer and trans BIPOC in danger. She is a racist transphobe. She has publicly shown her support and spread dangerous misinformation and conspiracy theories surrounding covid19 as well

— 💫 Lune (they/them) 🦋🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍🌈 (@lunarsith) November 15, 2020

#fireginacarano and replace her w the ladies we actually want to see pic.twitter.com/sOmjp5Jahc

— olivia ✿ (@G0NKDROID) November 15, 2020

#FireGinaCarano and replace her with Frog Lady please. pic.twitter.com/u6yIqdBTcO

— Wren (@wrenhousevizsla) November 15, 2020

#FireGinaCarano and replace her with Ming Na Wen who is passionate about Star Wars pic.twitter.com/fQc9c1pFPc

— jews for hanleia and blm 💫 commissions open (@leiasskywalkers) November 15, 2020

Keep up with all of The Mandalorian season 2 news here.

The post The Mandalorian May Want More Cara Dune But Many Star Wars Fans Want Less Gina Carano appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/3fm2YLK

#aion-rsa #Den of Geek

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luninosity · 4 years

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Yay! A short story I wrote a while ago for a Women in SF contest (didn’t win) will be out from JMS Books in May!

It’s m/f (for that anon a while back who asked about whether I’d do more of that) but both protagonists are very happily openly bisexual.

It’s also the story that I pitched as, “like a Regency romance ballroom first meeting...only in space...like, the ballroom is part of the Galactic Empire and the dashing captain is the captain of a starship. And there’re gay and ace secondary characters on Kit’s crew. And also there are jelly sun-candies and champagne and dress uniforms.”

Want the beginning?

“You never call your mother,” Lady Elise’s virtual image grumbled across time and space. Imperial Starship Captain Catherine Everington contemplated thumping her head against her own desk, under the sympathetic artificial gleam of the wall lights. She didn’t. Her mother would see.

She said instead, “I’m calling you now,” which was true and therefore inarguable.

“Only because I called you first. Ten times.”

All right, maybe it was arguable. “Mother, I’m busy.”

“You are not too busy for this. It’s important, Catherine.”

“To you,” Kit said, and tipped her chair back on two legs, mostly to watch her mother cringe. Her chair was used to this, and bent obligingly. The captain’s personal briefing room folded curved sleek walls around her in solidarity; out on the Dreamer’s bridge, she knew, her crew would be waiting. Her family. Her home. “I’m not part of your politics. I haven’t been that for years.”

“I’ll make it an order if I must.”

“You don’t have the authority.”

“I’m having tea with the Lord Admiral tomorrow, and he’ll be perfectly delighted to issue you a new set of directives.” Steel and rose petals; lace and swords. Kit sighed again. Her mother was every bit a child of the aristocracy, each diminutive inch crackling with brilliance. Lady Elise’d been born to power, and wouldn’t let anything as simple as not technically in fact being a commander of the Imperial Exoplanetary Survey Service stand in her way.

Kit, of course, would inherit all that power.

She tried not to think about it, most days. About the title, the planets, the gardens, the vast shipping consortium. About that other life, full of waltzes and ballgowns and necklaces strung with rare gems from a thousand worlds.

About the disappointment in her mother’s eyes, when faced with an only child who’d chosen the Academy and exploration and clunky exo-suit boots and short spiky hair and the delicate curl of tattoo-script along her left forearm, the lines her crew had convinced her to get while they’d all been merrily tipsy on the resort planet of Mira, on leave and planning the next leap into the unknown, toasting the IESS motto with sweet winter-vine wine: We seek the next star…

At the moment all the stars glittered, tantalizing and slipping even further away, outside her briefing-room window.

She tried, hopelessly, “I don’t want to.”

“You have a duty to the family, Catherine.” Lady Elise shook out flowing sleeves, smoothed them down, and did nothing so inelegant as cross her arms or scowl. “To the name. To the position. You will someday be the fifty-second Lady of the Fourth—”

“I know!” So did her crew. Qi’in had laughed for twenty minutes. Serena had asked about Lady Elise’s famous dazzling salon nights. Gil, Kit’s unflappable second in command, had known her since the Academy, and had raised eyebrows and said, teasing, “So now that everyone knows, can Richard and I borrow your summer home on Utopia One for a vacation, sometime…?”

“You can’t ignore your social obligations forever.”

“I’m working, Mother!”

“Yes…so you are.” Plainly a personal insult, that. Elise eyed her daughter with steel behind blue-and-silver bejeweled eyelashes. “I do know it’s quite a current trend for ladies to slip on trousers and run corporations and even join the Fleet—and don’t think I’ve not heard that you’ve inspired them—but, Catherine, you’ve made your point. You needn’t run around in the dirt of strange planets any longer. We all know you can, if you so desire; you’re perfectly capable of whatever you’d like to achieve. So you’re welcome to return home for the Emperor’s celebration gala.” In that voice the words welcome to became an order. Not to be disobeyed.

“Mother—” But it wouldn’t do any good. Hadn’t on any of the countless other occasions, over the previous ten years. The chair curled itself more closely around her.

Changing tactics, perhaps. Kit tried, anyway. “We’re half a galaxy away and busy, we’ve got three more worlds to survey, we can’t just call off the mission for a celebration—”

“Darling, it’s the end of the Regency!” Her mother spread both hands: can’t you see it? “It’s positively historic. Our new young Emperor finally of age—it has been nearly twenty years, and we’ve had those six old men bickering with each other for so long about what’s best for the throne, so this will be the beginning of an era…I wonder what he’ll wear. His uncle Pericles always favored reds, with that overdone gold embroidery…”

“He’ll wear clothing,” Kit said flatly. “Mother, you don’t need me there. I only ever embarrass you.”

“Oh, how can you say that?”

“It’s true.”

“Of course it is, but you don’t have to say it.” Lady Elise sighed. “Catherine, we are one of the leading families of the Empire, like it or not, and you are the only child of the Fourth House. Your absence would be remarked. But it won’t be.”

“…because I’m going to the ball.”

“Precisely.” With a head-tilt, contemplative. “You ought to wear blue. Or green. You look lovely in green.”

“Does it matter?”

“Of course it does.” Those sapphire-blue eyes, a shade poets had once committed sonnets over, looked surprised. “The trend-setters, the dressmakers, the tailors, the weavers…the merchants who import various dyes…the murmurs in ballrooms, in palaces, whether you’ve worn this color or refused that favor…it all leads somewhere, Catherine. How many times have I told you?”

“Enough,” Kit said, and instantly felt guilty, that undefined sense of generalized shame that came along with her mother’s beauty and political acumen and precisely calculated raptures over a bolt of new chiffon. Lady Elise was in many ways everything her daughter was not; and even Kit sometimes forgot as much, fooled along with the rest of the universe by the spun-sugar smile.

She said, not precisely an apology, “You think it will be noticed, then. If I’m not there.”

Her mother waited, eyebrows up.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“The celebration is two weeks from tomorrow. You’d have more time if you’d answered my earlier messages.”

More guilt. Kit shoved it down. She’d not been precisely ignoring said messages, only…putting off returning the call. “We’ll…try. All right?”

“Wear your hair long if you can. Softness happens to be in style this Season, not that anyone truly believes anyone else’s appearances of innocence, of course.” Elise thought this over, and added, “Particularly not Lady Patrice. We all know she’s sharing Regent Lancel’s bed, and honestly, showing up with that undone hair and those dewy cheeks and those protestations of purity is all in such poor taste. At her age, too.”

Lady Patrice happened to be Elise’s friend, or as close to the term as possible. Kit chose not to mention that her mother was the same age, minus a month or two. “This is as long as my hair gets, Mother. And you don’t actually expect the new Emperor to look twice at me. Besides, the poor boy will have just claimed his throne. You can’t imagine he’ll be hunting a spouse on the same night.”

“He might,” Elise observed, implacable. Kit glanced out at the stars for support. The new Emperor was luckier than he’d ever know that her mother was ineligible as a future Empress, given the need for an heir.

“I’m not planning to seduce him. I’m going to meet him, congratulate him, and smile. And then leave.”

“Seduce him—honestly, Catherine. You make it sound so calculated.”

“It isn’t?”

“Please refrain from discussing sexual conduct in front of the Emperor.” Elise paused, thought for a second, then conceded, “You may do it, however. If he shows any interest.”

“Bright stars,” Kit said, with feeling, and buried her face in her hands.

#starlit balls and starship captains #my fic #soon #original fic #jms books

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spacegaywritings · 4 years

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Communication of Silence - Chapter 9: Ups and Downs

I am rly tired and i think now TWs outside of the general ones for the whole story apply. Except there is food ig? Idk man, shoot me a message when you got sth I overlooked bc I am just big stress rn. linky link :) Story under the cut;

Virgil shuffled under his blanket and pushed his bottom lip forward into a little pout. His head was pounding dully and his vision was just blurry enough to have issues seeing Dee despite her being so close around.

“Talk...”, he repeated softly and nodded. The sleep was still heavy on her limbs, the nap seemed to have left him in a more tired out state than before. Exhaustion was pulling at his body and he extended his arms, making grabby hands like a little toddler who wanted to be picked up. Declyn gave him a smile and carefully moved around to let the other wrap his arms around her neck. She moved and tugged Virgil along.

Logan was far away enough to not directly be disturbed for now. He was still peacefully slumbering in the middle of the couch while the couple slowly moved away. “Room”, Virgil muttered as he held onto Dee who supported him without complaints. She nodded. “Of course.” The elder one carefully helped Virgil up and together they silently sneaked over to the room he shared with Logan. At least now he was sleeping and sure to not come back.

Virgil’s arms were lowered down to be around Dee’s chest by now instead of the neck. It helped him stretch with more comfort and still have the stability of walking around without immediately dropping to the floor like the wet sack of stones he was to his own life. He bit his lip as his partner reached out to open the door with the precision and care he would not have expected from the other considering his eyesight and the fact that it was dim enough to almost be dark at the moment.

The punk muttered an apology as the door opened and he leaned back, rolling onto his feet in a more straight-up position. He held onto the door frame and swung himself into the room, stumbling a little before he patted the light switch with a slap of his left hand that crossed over his chest to reach around to it. Light immersed them and blessed their eyes with temporary hurt in exchange for better vision after a few moments of adjustment.

Dee groaned at the new light and stepped into the room, dragging the door behind her until it was shut and closed them both off the others. Right now, they were alone with the elephant int the room. Virgil carefully slipped onto Logan’s bed instead of making the long way around it. He settled once he slid off it and right onto his mattress that was conveniently close.

Yes, he did not mind sleeping there, no matter how much people got worried about him or told him it was undignified or something. He liked it. Also it was a short-lived thing and he would move out in about a month. He would be fine together with his brother and he would be out of all the bullshit. Then again, he had not even a single problem with Logan. Far from it.

He could see Dee move to join him on his little bed and she stayed at a distance. “Thank you for the light, Virgil” The art student cast a glance aside and shrugged. “Just spill it, okay? What did I fuck up this time - I.. I can stop, okay?”

Her expression changed from remotely pained to utterly horrified. “Virgil, no.” She breathed out and closed her eyes, her more neutral expression switching back onto her features in an attempt to ease up herself as much as Virgil. “I am worried about you. I do not want you to change for my liking but for your health.”

The student shook his head and gripped his lower arms through his sleeves. Immediately, a rubbing, intense pain spread through his left one and he hissed at the sensation yet denied the possibility of letting it go.

“Just tell me what I fucked up!”, he snarled, teeth ramming into his lip as he desperately kept his gaze on his mattress. The lawyer sighed softly but did try not to aggravate the other too much. Virgil was much like a cat and if it was not fight then it was flight - the mood would change faster than a dysfunctional compass needle could spin under the influence of magnets. “It is less about what you do but what you do not do, Virgil. You stopped eating again. Your friend messaged you and I saw it when your phone vibrated so much, it almost woke up you and Logan. A chain of whether you are alright and reminders of eating and taking certain supplements because you fainted in your self-defence training session.”

Virgil chewed on his bottom lip a if to bite through the situation. White, sharp teeth dug into his pale lips and created a contrast that would only be topped by the copper taste of crimson running from broken skin and destructive habits. “Yeah, so?” He grabbed his arms tighter and winced at the pain yet stayed grounded. It was shooting through him. It was quick like a bunny in the moment of flight and sharper than Dee's words had ever been.

Oh no. “My heart, would you mind giving me your hands, please? I just want to hold them for you.” Virgil looked over, merely glancing over her legs and shrugged eventually. His lips moved off his teeth and he shifted his legs to the so he could carefully reach over to give Declyn his hands. She received them and gently pushed her thumbs into his palms, softly brushing over the area in the middle of his hands that was a tad lower. The touch reminded him of stepping into a tub of hot bath water after a particularly icy and stressful time. It was sudden and he wanted to pull away at all the new sensations. The heat, the comfort, the smells and the hands that grabbed the heavy burden of his problems and worries. He did not pull back. Virgil eased into the touch like he would ease into the welcoming warmth of a relaxing bath. “See? I am not hurting you, Virgil. It is all good. I am just worried around you.”

The younger one nodded carefully and insistently stared into their hands. “Did you talk about it in therapy, darling?” Virgil sniffled and shrugged. “I can skip lesson and go tomorrow”, he mumbled into his hoodie. The fabric soaked up his anxiety and became heavy with his fear in solidarity. “Em lets me have emergency sessions if it is really bad.” Dee continued brushing over his hands, his thumbs moving in a steady rhythm. They travelled smoothly like the waves of the ocean that approached and left the beach curiously. It was a promise to rely on, the kiss of goodbye and the embrace of meeting again after so long.

“You do not have to. But if you feel that you relapse maybe you should talk to someone. If it has to be professional, then so be it.” Virgil snorted. “You are a professional, Dee.” - “I am talking about a professional for mental health issues more than legal ones but I appreciate your effort.”

A long silence stretched between them like a tired cat. One end reaching up to Dee's knee over to Virgil's big toe. “Why did you stop?”

Virgil felt tears sting into his eyes, the words pushing his lacrimal glands to squeeze out the salty liquid he had stored plenty of in his body. He gasped for air. His lungs were raging and howling within him, demanding more and more air to enter his system without really appreciating it. They were simply throwing a tantrum for the sake of messing him up even further.

He shoulders flinched upwards in a weak motion and immediately dropped down to the lowest level they could anatomically reach without possibly be broken in the first place. His teeth clenched around his lips again. They were stuck and sucked into a grasp of violence and abuse as he stubbornly shook his head. The blood rushed through him in a quick sprint, painting his cold body in panicked flushes like rashes of abused skin.

“N-nothing”, he defended. His voice was deflated, thinner than hair strands that were bleached into oblivion and disintegration. Declyn’s warm eyes took the change into account and watched the rapid speed at which his lungs expanded and, just shortly after, decreased in volume like a popped balloon.

She carefully squeezed Virgil’s hands with a tad more force, acting like a strong life line that may cut into you but ultimately, caused nothing but collateral damage. Glass and metal shreds pressed into Virgil’s feelings as he gasped for air. His legs pushed and pressed his back further into the pillow behind him and the uncomfortable corner between the wall that backed up his mattress, and Logan’s bed bordering to it. He was effectively resting his shoulders against the wall and the bed, his back pushing into the nothing he could not reach due to the angle.

It would have caused more than dull pressing sensations rather than actual pain his body provided as warning signal. However, he could feel the heat coming from Dee as his body seemed to fade. All life and personal warmth was draining from him, down the pipes and into the void he felt eating him away. He was glad for it.

“Virgil, Virgil, listen to me”, Dee called out as Virgil starting tugging at her grip in an attempt to claw his finger nails into his skin and ground himself, just come back to where he should be so he could be faced with every dirt and filth he deserved to be pushed into him. All his sucky habits and horrible attitudes should qualify him to suck up to the damage he had done to others when he brought them down with his mere existence.

He was a bad influence. Virgil should not be, he should be gone gone gone because he kept hurting nice people in his life. He made Kyle worry and have Dee be mad with him - and she was right about it. If she had any sense of right and wrong with her like any other conventional person, she would beat it into him and let him feel just how much pain he had caused her by abusing the feeling she had in herself for his own sorry self.

Gasps and sobs could be heard but Virgil was deafened and muted by his own racing heartbeat. It was beating a lot right now, probably making up for the times it could not beat when he would miss out on all these years he could have but was not worthy of. He had not earned a single day more than beyond the day he was born and had wretched people apart, tearing life down with him and starting his career as professional bringer of misery and death.

It was his fault, his fault, only his fault. If he had not survived, everyone would have had a better and nicer life. If he had not lived in the first place, everything should have been goon and precious to everyone and people would finally be full of joy. Heck, not just individuals but whole countries and systems would be better off without the chaos he had caused. The best achievement in life was truly taking care of a rodent he should probably have never taken in but he just had to be so self-absorbed and convinced he was better than others and would do such a great job when in reality, he was the apparently oh so innocent manifestation of doom.

“Virgil. Virgil, can you hear me?”, a voice called. He barely heard it. His head fell back against nothing and almost rolled off. His joints had him good and instead, it unceremoniously snapped backwards and circled around like an egg. He took the effort to angle his neck a bit just to try and locate the noise that intruded into his system and disturbed his thoughts. The sounds just came in, wrecking the havoc in his mind and tearing down the storms of self-deprecation like an ideal sniper who gave just one sound here, another one there and directed yet another load of sounds into a direction Virgil did not even know he was bombarded from.

It took some more moments for him to let his knocked down mind process that the shit storm of pessimistic thoughts was barely hitting him anymore despite aiming at his form. In true fashion of lethargy, some more time passed before he blinked away the veil of self-directed odium and contempt and could see the distant picture of two hands holding a pair of other hands together. Colours were melting together but he felt as if he knew those were hands.

The artist hummed at the sensation. It was a weak attempt at vocalising the gratitude within him. For some reason, he just felt that these hands were something good, something personally connected to him like a string attached to his heart. It was so strong, he could feel the ghastly phantom touch at the area he assumed to be his own fingers.

“hm..huh...hm..”. Nonsense plunged from his slightly parted lips. His face was static, slow. It was frozen water, a video stopped in the middle of a scene while the rest of the world was still moving on despite his conserved state. Maybe he was in a snow globe. He was the middle. Unmoving, unimportant and surrounded by all that made people wonder and squeak in delight while he was the decoration people tolerated. He was the least of the worst ones.

He blinked, trying to clear up the whitish coat that seemed to not just blur his vision but darken all he could see as well. It seemed so unsteady and moving... It made him sick and...and sweaty and sick... so sick and heavy..

His fingers moved to sign “bathroom”, a word Dee knew at last. Whether or not she had but a few knowledge about the language used, she knew this words as part of a few common phrases she could react and identify at last. She nodded and carefully tugged the corpse-like body of her datemate forward.

He did not know what took so long about making eggs but he was grateful that Roman and Patton took their sweet time preparing things one by one and especially using sweet potatoes because they took a while to get soft enough for comfortable consumption. The couple made it into the room without issues and Declyn quickly shut and locked the door behind them after stumbling through the dark and running a few edges of furniture. It did not hurt too much but she was glad that she usually covered about as much as she could without appearing to be suspicious to other people or mask her face away. She could feel little areas throb in pain at the impact but it was none of her concern at the moment.

Virgil immediately dropped to his knees, arms ready to embrace the porcelain throne before him as he felt heat and sweat break through his body. Sick, nauseous. It was tickling in his throat, trying to provoke Patton’s baked delight out of him.

There was something else. Not within him. Besides his pounding heart, light head and sweating palms, there was the distant sound of another voice. Not his thoughts but another person.

It sounded like Dee but did not feel liker her.

”Sweetheart, you are safe”, she cooed patiently. Her words dropped onto him like water droplets in a cleansing shower. His body temperature seemed to immediately drop.

”It is okay. I would never hurt you. I am sorry for touching you.”

Virgil heard the words and took them in, accepted them with a dazed head and heavy yet light feelings in his body. This was like being drunk but there was no fun in it. There was so much going on within and outside of him, he could barely keep track. It was.. was like standing in the middle of the busy street, tires roaring and engines blaring while the heavy vehicles sped around him. And he was trapped and caged and could not get out and it was dangerous and loud and bad, so bad. Why was it so bad, why was he standing there! This was dumb, he was dumb, he must have done dumb things to make all of this happen and endanger him and others and he was so scared and worried. Oh fuck, he would die a nameless and faceless victim in a dumb car crash and no lane was every free enough for him to run over to the other side and be safe.

He could not even try it, he would never try it because it was doomed. He was bound to fail, he was, he.. he was already

..warm.

A warm hand gently caressed his cheek, brushing over his cheekbone. A silent yet constant sound could be heard. Like rushing of the water. Water did not hurt him.. water was okay..

”It is okay, you are safe.”

Virgil nodded against the heat in his body, the heavy and heat feeling that had him so dizzy. It was hard. It felt so hard.

The water sound returned and slowed down, Virgil concentrated on it with all his might. He tuned out all the sounds, all the voices and the worries. Nothing mattered. Just the water, just the sound from out there. His heart was not going to jump out of his chest, his body was not going to collapse and he would not just die.

What about his lungs-

Panic flared up within him once more. His small figure retreated and hit itself on a wall just to lean into the steady touch of something to lean against, to hold onto.

”Virgil, please, can you hear me?”

He nodded again. The voice was nice, he knew the voice was nice and he was okay... the voice made it okay. It would be okay. His tired eyes closed and he let his body slump against the wall.

”Put your feet down and press them against the ground, feel the floor, okay?”

There.. was no real sense to him or anything at this moment so he just did as he was told, trusting the voice to continue and be nice as he felt it would continue to be. Nice voice... Ground.. ground.. His toes curled and pushed his heels back against the ground with all the resistance he deemed fit. It was ..experimental and careful at first. There was a motivation and understanding that was not in these heels but somewhere else.

”Ease up, again”

He followed the instruction and let himself go limp. The whole tension had served him in nothing but pushing his back against the wall. It was a wall, a cool wall but it was not cold.

”You are here, Virgil. You are right here with me and you are safe.” He nodded again. His head just bopped forward as if knocked out but he was moderately-paced at leaning his head back against the wall once more. ”You are at home, do you know? You are here, in the bathroom. You live here with Logan in a room. Logan is a nice person, right?”

The emo smiled for a bit. He might not feel the happiness like sunshine in his heart but it did do the job to make the dull numbness fuck off a bit more.

“And you are living here and you are safe and you are not there anymore. You are not with them anymore. You are with people like Logan, like myself.”

Virgil felt his lip twitch into a lopsided smile. It was but the flash of a moment, the split in a second and the beat of his heart. Yes, Logan was nice. Dee was nice. She was really kind and made him feel pretty good. Like a natural thing.

“You are safe. Right here, or with me.”

The smaller one carefully nodded and slowly rose his hand to pat the space next to him before he started pushing his heels against the floor again. A grounding activity, he remembered it now. He knew it very well but sometimes it just slipped his mind when his panic curled around his eyes like a blindfold. But grounding was good.

If there was one thing Virgil has learned in all these years, then it was that one panic attach easily paved the way for another. It was important to ground yourself even afterwards and just make sure that you were really safe and back in reality. It was too easy to jump from one into another spell of dissociation.

Dee’s hand carefully pushed its back against the side of his hand and he took the invitation with delight.

“You are here, you are safe. I promise you are safe with me.”

Virgil nodded.

“I fucked up, though.”

Declyn shook her head.

“Oh, why would you say that. It was a silly misunderstanding.”

Virgil scoffed.

“A good enough one to set me off”, he shot back dryly and cleared his throat. His voice felt a bit raspy and his words felt like torture to him. The emo dragged every last breath out of himself. ”Uh, not what I meant, anyway.”

He carefully gestured to his right arm and sighed. Sometimes it felt as if he was the only one to really mess up his life. It was not on others but it was on him. Well, not that he would let himself think into that at this moment. He knew better than to do this kind of foolish thing.

“Aw, don’t be dramatic! We can fix this. Let me see.”

She extended her arm and Virgil rolled his eyes in return but willingly rolled up his sleep to reveal a bunch of colourful marks along with dark streaks. The curves and swings formed words and letters, they were strings putting it all together and forming a big arrow and meanings more than just a literal one.

“I know you pressed on it a lot but it seems fine. Come on, let us get out before the others get worried. You can keep an eye on it, so nothing happens. If you are worried, you can go to the parlour and tell them what happened.”

Virgil shook his at Dee carefully pulled the sleeve back over the tattoo. It was covered by a thin foil that almost reminded him of stickers. When his arm was in certain positions, it would wrinkle up a bit but it was solid. It was there to protect him and his new little treasure.

He hummed.

“I’m sorry.”

Declyn already got up and straighten out her clothes before she leaned down to offer Virgil a hand. He gladly accepted and got up with a bit of help from a supportive wall and his wonderful friend.

“Don’t be sorry, sweetie Vee, I know you are trying.”

The smaller man looked down at his socks and curled and uncurled his toes once more.

“I um”, he started but stopped himself again. Words were so hard. His were just trying to put things into movement he did not know to put into any phrase. It was a wild chase for sense in an intense situation.

“I..it got a bit dumb again and I was worried and had shitty dreams and such.”

Virgil shrugged it off, his head rolling over the side of his shoulder and leaning on it. His tongue pushed against his gums. Words... words...

“uhh.. I will try talking about it next time, okay?”

For a moment, Dee’s face was unreadable. Her lips were moving from side to side. Just a bit, merely more than a twitch. It felt like she was playing with the words, weighing them against one another to construct the perfect sentence as she tasted the flavour of his syllables.

“Okay. Please, try. I do not want to hurt you, Vee. I hope you know this.”

The other blinked up for a moment before casting his glance down again, just for a bit. Only to look up at her and into her eyes with a determination in hi face.

“I-I am safe with you .”

She nodded and carefully stretched out her arms halfway, they looked awkward at that angle but not quite as awkward as fully stretched out arms would be. Well, there was nothing odd or wrong if he just so happened to take another step and walk right into her literally open arms and just let himself be engulfed.

“You are. I am not like them, okay? I don’t want to hurt you, Virgil. I would never want to cause you any harm. I just asked because I am concerned for you. I know you have been so much worse last year.”

She did not want him to go back to that. ...Maybe Declyn did not say it but the sigh that followed her words spoke more hours of audio books could fill.

“Mh... you are so much better”, Virgil argued and carefully nudged her. “We should still go. I have no idea whether they are politely waiting for us or if they are actually taking that look to make some fucking eggs.”

Dee rolled her eyes this time and leaned back a bit, her eyebrows narrowing as she eyed the smaller individual before her. Her heart was filled with warmth.

The two started moving towards the door to exit the room. Virgil hooked one of his arms around his love and nudged his Dee with his head. She was a bit shorter than guys were on average but it was enough for Virgil to reach her shoulder only. His face buried itself a bit in her loving chest as they walked on.

“You really are the best”, Virgil reiterated, his words muffled by the fabric of Dee’s clothing.

“I am still sorry for not talking. Will do better.”

She smiled.

“Go to therapy or you can party alone next week”

Virgil snorted at that. Nobody else would be that dry and just shoot back with an answer like that. Dee was his sunshine, his hope on a fiery tongue. Did she ever do as expected?

Virgil squeezed her into a hug.

“I will.”

“I know.”

Steps outside could be heard and a loud Roman seemed to announce something. It was obviously his boisterous voice but his exact words were swallowed my the door between the two lovebirds and the three friends outside. They were in completely over worlds, different events and feelings holding them together and building up a unique scene of feelings and mutual understanding.

“And I love you, Dee”

She stopped for a moment and let herself look back at her joyful friend.

“You know I do love you too, Virgil. I love you with all my heart.”

Her gorgeous arms would around him and drew him in for a deep hug. Limbs and hearts joined in and let the hymns of the outside just disappear for a little longer. The panic was gone, Roman was forgotten. And if it was not for eggs to have a strong smell, even the meal would probably be fully wiped from their minds but the savoury sensation got to them, got to the bathroom like a sneaky snitch.

The emo took another deep breath, simply inhaling the warmth and love he was willingly provided without trick or secret conditions. It was a mutuality, a natural exchange between them. Constant, equal, balanced.

“Mhmm... the eggs smell good~”

“They better do because you really need to devour some food right the fuck now, my love.”

Virgil unlocked the door and opened it for them to get back into the happenings of this home. Once back into the kitchen, they could hear whatever had been up with Roman before.

The man had grabbed a roll of wrapping paper and pointed it at Logan, Patton in his arms and giggling in his giant demeanour of being ridiculously tall for a person that was a human being. “I demand it one last time, foul creature, hand back the princess!”

Logan blinked at Roman, lightly.. out of place. He looked a bit as if he had been dragged onto stage and he did not know the words to the scene and everyone was staring at him. The glassgreen-eyed man was still giggling in fits while hugging Logan close in a squeaky joy of childish delight.

Before Virgil even got to ask about what was going on, Dee caught on to this and put the back of her hand up to her forehead and let out a sigh, dramatic enough to put Shakespeare into a position of envy.

“Someone stop this violence and bloodshed! This is insanity” Her voice dropped from full and proud to thin, it was about as thin as the patience of a person in an emergency situation.

Roman had to be proud. His eyes sure seemed to sparkle with something undefinable at this moment.

“Please, this beast and I have taken to end this situation. We mortals and the magical beings shall make peace and live in harmony!”

Beast? He was a beast now?

”Hey!”

“Honey, you literally are a small demon.”

“...you are more demonic than I could ever make out to be, Dee”, he pouted in response and let his arms cross over his chest. “Whatever, let’s fucking end a war and shit.”

The princess giggled again. “Yeah, Roman! The dragon makes for really great cuddles! He hugged Logan as if to emphasise just how huggable he was! And huggability was a direct indicator of kindness and peacefulness. Which, again, showed just how low the level of likelihood to ”take-over-the-kingdom-and-enslave-humanity” was. ...At least in case of Logan.

Roman looked at the sudden turn of events, he admitted the twist but would he admit defeat? He might have been wrong, he might have been biased by his own stance as a human being, himself. What if he did? His doubts lowered his weapon and in the moment of vulnerability, his determination faded and Declyn was quick to snatch up a nearby roll herself an smack Roman’s sword out of his hands!

A huge gasp followed the betrayal and Patton sucked in a sharp breath. This blew, this hit so deep.

Virgil already caught the falling weapon and flash-stepped back into his partner’s circle.

“Roman, I challenge you. You are guilty for evoking hostility between the fantastic and simple beings, you are the villain to tilt the balance!”

She pointed her sword at the prince, who was still mourning over the loss of his own shiny weapon. Meanwhile, Declyn’s rich voice was back to the usual strength of a proud man and she stole all of Roman’s determination from him to enrich herself with this resource.

“No, how could you! You disarmed me in my own battle!”, the prince retorted in indignation. Hot feelings flooded his body. His eyes wandered from Declyn to her partner. “And you took my beautifully manicured sword!”

Virgil shrugged at that, his mouth twitching into a lazy corner for a lopsided-grin. ...and then he blew really mature raspberries at him. "Suck up, Princey. War sucks and only the higher-ups seek battle rather than conversation." His voice sounded so excited, it was amazing he did not jump out of his socks with all the energy circulating within him. Clearly impressive. Dee let her hand travel down to Virgil’s grip on the sword he had taken to be his. He had stripped Roman of his word, off his sword. There was barely any left to the pride of this man.

“I love you my dear but I feel we need to take a less violent approach.” She gently squeezed Virgil’s hands and he slowly lowered his sword, eyes sparkling red warnings at Roman who still stood there, frozen and perplexed at how the game has changed in under a minute. Much to his disadvantage.

Logan cut in, for the first time.

”I believe we need to call for equality in this mater. Violence has brought this terrible situation upon us and has made love illegal to us simple beings.”

His words were clearer than glass, they felt cold but in a refreshing manner. Like stepping into the water underneath the frozen surface of a natural lake. It was everywhere and it ran deep into Virgil, dripping slowly yet flooding his mind with meaning in less than a moment. There was an intent behind Logan’s words.

“Equality? You don’t mean some shit like going back on how it used to be, right?”

Roman scoffed at them.

“Equality? You are my subjects and your words are an incredulous audacity to my work and status!”

Virgil glared at the prince. There was enough feeling to burn down the parliament in these eyes. They were dark like the night of mischief in which any resistance group would rise up to revolt against the state as it was. To change everything radically and drastically without warning, without open ears.

“One of us”, Virgil prompted and Roman’s eyes grew wide. Could he taste the disgust for being just as valuable as any other life? “One of us! Yes, Roman!”, Patton cheered happily. His cheeks went wide and he held out his hand to let Roman in.

He invited him.

“I might love a dragon but all in all, I just love his heart. We all have a heart.”

Dee cleared her throat.

“As a vampire, I kind of do not but go on, dearest companion.”

Virgil nudged her to lower her sword which she had pointed at Roman, still. She slowly blinked at the man and arched an eyebrow at the royal. expecting something.

“This is a riot”, Roman started but his words dried up in his throat and he had to clear it, granting himself another moment of pause to consider his words. “You want to abolish the royal family in this land but can you dethrone all royals in this world?”

Virgil dropped the beautiful and freshly manicured sword, still keeping his intense gaze fixed on the struggling prince. The weapon fell down in tragedy, the metal making a clattering sound. (It was a paper roll still, it just made a dull sounds but this was a fantasy world we were improvising here) A quick kick let the sword cry out in abandonment, in rage and frustration.

In war.

“Maybe we cannot but love surely can. And we will try.”

Dee dropped her roll as well and stretched out her free hand to invite Roman as well. Logan joined, extending his long arm to welcome Roman into the life of a common person, the life of struggle and family, the life of everyone. The prince still seemed torn, one foot closer to the group of unusual lovers and one closer to the kitchen unit and the cooling dinner eggs.

“You do not have to be afraid, Roman. You will be respected as a person, not for a crown.”

The prince looked to the side and picked up a small package of big loops.

“I want us to have rings together. I will give up my crown to step down as a royal but I want us to have a new bond. If you want to fight for what you believe is right, then I want to take a part in doing good deed and strive for a betterment of our world.”

Patton squealed and hopped up, nearly shaking the apartment with his powerful hop. He immediately dashed forward to embrace his friend, happy sounds and extensive praise leaving his mouth as he pressed their bodies together and told him about how he was proud of his insight. Logan was dragged along and nobody could deny the obvious smile that turned his usususally rather spacey or stone-cold face into a sweet mask of affection. He still insisted on holding out his hand but this time, he invited a beast and a heartless creature.

They all cheered to getting their respective share of fruit loops and everyone got milk (dairy free or regular cow’s milk). “I declare us to be companions to defy laws and rules for the sake of love and true love only!”, Roman started and held up his cup, raising it a bit for everyone to see and the others mimicked the motion.

“To love!”, the former prince invited. “To our union”, Patton added. “To relationships”, Dee offered and Virgil followed “to the revolution” with a cheeky grin. Logan blinked. “To true love”

Their cups made sounds as they all clashed together in a weird traditional way.

“Anyway, food is getting cold but this was fun, friends!”

Roman whined.

“Patton, you ruined the sceeeene”

His emphasis on the last word was obvious with how much he drew out the syllable. A loud crunching sound drew more attention to itself than Roman to his words with how much he bastardised the pronunciation of certain words in his dramatic flair.

“What? It’s fruit loops and I am hungry”, Virgil mumbled between his broken pieces of a green loop. It was sweet and artificial but he could bet he was already addicted. If he was a kid, he would bet he could see rainbows upon consuming this.

“Yes, Virgil is right. We united a fictional world so now we should assemble to eat at last”

“Thanks, Log”

They finally settled around the table, Virgil and Patton bringing the food over because he kept insisting it was the least he could do for sleeping through cooking. That was a lie. Patton probably knew it. The way Patton smiled at him with his glass green bottle eyes just let him know that he knew. He must have heard the door or seen them sneak over.

He was too scared of sounding weird if he asked how it took them this long to finish eggs but when Logan rolled his eyes and blamed Patton for starting “this ridiculous scene in the first place”, he blinked at the giant. They both knew. Virgil smiled and signed a quick thanks before returning to the table to lay it with food and others.

“Virgil, why do you call Logan ‘Log’?”

Patton glanced over Roman and Virgil for a moment as the latter sat down next to Declyn. She moved her arm under the table but did not put it on the table either. The emo simply fidgeted a bit in his seat, all limbs moving a bit as he adjusted on his chair.

“Uh, because I do?”

Weak answer. He gave it a shrug to emphasise the point. Roman arched an eyebrow at him, his features looking oddly wrinkled in a reaction he did not want to provoke. His gaze seemed distant yet so fixed on him and there was interest burning within him.

“Yes, but how did you come up with it? Is there some kind of story? It sure is a special nickname and I wish to be enlightened.”

Dee chuckled, curled up lips hidden behind a dark hand. The back of it was all the others could see instead.

“Do you feel in the right mood to enlighten the advocate of dragons?”

Virgil shook his head. It was his turn to giggle and he hid his full face in his hands. Declyn retreated her hand and looked at him, her lips still forming a smile of fine amusement. It was the mere ghost of a smile but it was warm and gentle when she observed the little wrinkles that formed around Virgil’s mouth. She could mentally see his nose scrunch up despite it being hidden behind his hands.

“Come on, Virgil, implore the idea of expanding Roman’s horizon with the precious knowledge of your nickname-giving abilities.”

Virgil giggled harder, his sleeves flailing for a bit as he adjusted his hands and rubbed them deeper into his face. His head was nothing but black and purple hair as well black jacket with single neon stripes on each side.

“I- “, he started, words breathless and useless. They were barely audible. Not to mention how torn and incomplete the one tone itself sounded already. He took a deep break and cleared his throat. One last giggle took him back and Logan brushed through his hair. “Dee, stop, I will talk just stop already”

He whined, drawing out the last ‘stop’ as he pushed his sleeves against Dee’s lap for dramatic effect to his words.

“It is just a joke about logarithms because when I met Logan, he was literally reading a book about numbers.”

Roman blinked.

“That does sound an awful lot like our teacher”

Virgil nodded, his head going up and down at an amazing speed. Dee gently squeezed his thigh and caused the other to curl up in his seat and take her hand.

“Needless to say I do not approve of the name. I did not do it back then, to clarify, but I do not approve any more of it by now, either.”

Virgil blew raspberries at Logan but because English was not exactly his best subject and he did not grow into it, he would call this action “farting at someone”. Logan gave him a look but even his glasses on his nose looked delighted.

”You are such an adult, Virgil.”

Patton let out a soft “aww” but did not do anymore but start to give everyone some food as silent indicator that they once had a plan.

Roman blinked.

“Wait, you are an adult?”

Virgil’s brows knitted together into a frown. Apprehension and the disability to understand the other sketched the features of his face into a near-neutral mask.

“Of course I am. I sign contracts and leave countries without parents, learn how to drive. I do all the adulting things. I work with Logan. You should know I am an adult.”

Words burned on his tongues. His sentence turned more and more sour with each word he spilled.

His therapist said it was bad.

Roman shrugged.

“Chillax a bit, Charlie Frown. I did not know that. I thought you lived here because you could not get your own place.”

Declyn dropped her fork, letting it crash onto her plate with a shattering sound against the tensed silence between them.

“I am moving out, like, next month. I got a place to go to. I pay bills here. What is your problem?”

Dee nudged him. He sighed in reply and Roman shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“I did not mean it like that, I-”

Logan cleared his throat as Patton reached out to brush over Roman’s arm. His whole posture was straightening out for the fight already. He was a true knight. Always ready to jump into whatever battle he could feel coming up.

“I will be out of your hair soon. I am gonna be busy working anyway so you won’t see me. Don’t worry. Soon enough it will be like I have never existed in your world at all.”

Something marvellous fell from Roman’s face. For a moment, the gleam of an aspiring prince was gone. Virgil’s words had drawn something essential out of him. He just was not sure what i was but it left him feel.. acutely incomplete.

At the same time, Patton was drawing patterns into Roman’s arm and singing melodies of truth and peace with his thoughtful hums.

“Dee, when did you meet Virgil? I never thought you two would meet, considering you are done with your studies already.”

Dee’s fingers were entangled with Virgil’s under the table and they conversed without words. Nostalgia tuned the sound of her words when she decided to speak up after cleaning her mouth with a napkin.

“We have met about one year ago. It was not quite Christmas, though.”

Patton nodded, a smile prompting her to go on as Virgil pushed his plate away and leaned into his chair instead.

Dee squeezed his hand.

“I met her when I was out. She did not want me walking around all on my own because it was late and I was alone.” He shrugged as if all of these words did not matter. His tongue whipped out vocalisations as if they were the laws every person had to abide to. “She brought me home - someone else was with us because I talked to them and they did not trust each other to be nice to me. We fell asleep together and I got her number. That was about it.”

The giant’s lips rubbed against one another. He was tasting the lies of omission in his mouth and mused the value of his deception. He had a knife like a sword and a fork like scaled of justice in his hands and his strangeness was his blindfold.

“That was quite the coincidence, was it not?”

Virgil shrugged.

“Life has always been full of weird events and unlikely happenings, has it not?”

Logan nodded.

“It sure was.”

They ended their meal on this note. Neither the sustenance nor the conversation really had been worth it.

#ts fanfic #ts logan #ts deceit #ts logic #ts fanfiction #ts patton #fanfiction #fanfic #fanficion #joey writes #i am tired #hhhhh #ts roman #ts virgil #uhhhhh #anxceit #tw food mention

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womenofcolor15 · 4 years

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Netflix, Hulu & More Support #BlackLivesMatter Amid George Floyd Protests + NFL Interestingly Speaks Out + Joe Biden Calls For Peace

Several big brands are speaking out in solidarity with the #BlackLivesMatter movement as protests for George Floyd continue to sweep the nation. Netflix, Hulu, Amazon Prime Video and several other brands are showing support. More inside…

Tons of big brands are speaking out in solidarity with the #BlackLivesMatter movement amid tense protests that are demanding justice for the killing of George Floyd at the hands of a white police officer. It's interesting, as just a few years ago most brands and most of America wanted nothing to do with any #BlackLivesMatter affiliations. Things have changed, likely due to incessant protests, pressure on companies who take black dollars and use black talent to sell their products, and more evidence of injustice that anyone with sense can't ignore.

Netflix, STARZ, Hulu, and Amazon Prime Video posted messages on their social media accounts in support of the black community:

To be silent is to be complicit," Netflix tweeted. "Black lives matter. We have a platform, and we have a duty to our Black members, employees, creators and talent to speak up."

"Together we stand with the black community - colleagues, artists, writers, storytellers, producers, our viewers - and all allies in the fight against racism and injustice. #BLACKLIVESMATTER," Amazon Prime Video wrote on Instagram.

HBO and HBO Max changed their Twitter handles to #BlackLivesMatter along with posting messages of solidarity:

TBS and TNT changed their Twitter handles also with the same message.

YouTube has pledged $1 million to support social injustice efforts:

TikTok issued the following statement:

pic.twitter.com/14AeOCP5va

— TikTok (@tiktok_us) May 30, 2020

“At TikTok we deeply value the diverse voices among our users, creators, artists, partners, and employees. We stand with the Black community and are proud to provide a platform where #blacklivesmatter and #georgefloyd generate powerful and important views with over 1 billion views. We are committed to fostering a space where everyone is seen and heard.”

Of all companies to speak out during this time, the NFL had the nerve to address George Floyd's killing - the reason Colin Kaepernick initially took a knee.

Sports analyst Jemele Hill perfectly sums up our thoughts about the NFL addressing George Floyd's killing:

You gotta be fucking kidding me https://t.co/K8vST8IaCo

— Jemele Hill (@jemelehill) May 30, 2020

The NFL tweeting about what happened with George Floyd is the equivalent of when the CIA recognizes Dr. Martin Luther King Jr’s birthday. Loved him so much y’all helped to kill him. Get outta here with the bullshit.

— Jemele Hill (@jemelehill) May 30, 2020

"The NFL tweeting about what happened with George Floyd is the equivalent of when the CIA recognizes Dr. Martin Luther King Jr’s birthday," she tweeted. "Loved him so much y’all helped to kill him. Get outta here with the bullsh*t."

If we are complacent, if we are silent, we are complicit in perpetuating these cycles of violence.

None of us can turn away. We all have an obligation to speak out.

— Joe Biden (@JoeBiden) May 30, 2020

Skincare company OLEHENRIKSEN released a statement:

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A message from our founder: We all deserve love, respect and safety—no matter our race, gender, sexual orientation or religion. We are donating to the Black Lives Matter movement. Link in bio for ways to show support, including how to spread the word or places to donate if you can. #blacklivesmatter

A post shared by OLEHENRIKSEN (@olehenriksen) on May 30, 2020 at 2:07pm PDT

Former Vice President and presidential hopeful Joe Biden is calling for peace amid the raging protests.

We are a nation in pain, but we must not allow this pain to destroy us. We are a nation enraged, but we cannot allow our rage to consume us. Please stay safe. Please take care of each other. https://t.co/Y224rANwUF

— Joe Biden (@JoeBiden) May 31, 2020

"These last few days have laid bare that we are a nation furious at injustice. Every person of conscience can understand the rawness of the trauma people of color experience in this country, from the daily indignities to the extreme violence, like the horrific killing of George Floyd," he said addressing the protests that have swept the nation.

"Protesting such brutality is right and necessary. It’s an utterly American response. But burning down communities and needless destruction is not. Violence that endangers lives is not. Violence that guts and shutters businesses that serve the community is not."

"And I also know that the only way to bear it is to turn all that anguish to purpose. So tonight, I ask all of America to join me — not in denying our pain or covering it over — but using it to compel our nation across this turbulent threshold into the next phase of progress, inclusion, and opportunity for our great democracy."

"We are a nation in pain, but we must not allow this pain to destroy us. We are a nation enraged, but we cannot allow our rage to consume us. We are a nation exhausted, but we will not allow our exhaustion to defeat us," he continued.

You can read his full statement here.

Biden also spoke with CNN's Don Lemon about the protests:

You can't defeat bigotry; it only hides. And when leaders give it oxygen — as Donald Trump has done — it comes roaring back.

We all have a moral obligation to stand up, speak out, and hold people accountable. pic.twitter.com/vES2aIXVGl

— Joe Biden (@JoeBiden) May 30, 2020

Forever President Barack Obama and forever First Lady Michelle Obama both released statements on George Floyd's killing:

My statement on the death of George Floyd: pic.twitter.com/Hg1k9JHT6R

— Barack Obama (@BarackObama) May 29, 2020

Like so many of you, I’m pained by these recent tragedies. And I’m exhausted by a heartbreak that never seems to stop. Right now it’s George, Breonna, and Ahmaud. Before that it was Eric, Sandra, and Michael. It just goes on, and on, and on. pic.twitter.com/lFWEtTzVT8

— Michelle Obama (@MichelleObama) May 29, 2020

And more celebs - Jill Scott, Waka Flocka, Fabolous, Ice-T & Jimmy Kimmel - are speaking out about the protests:

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These bitches are egging on destruction, causing destruction and breaking things disguised as protesters!!!!!! How COINTELPRO of them. Do you see?

A post shared by Jill Scott (@missjillscott) on May 30, 2020 at 9:06pm PDT

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This Atlanta!!!! That Brown & Black Pride hit different!!

A post shared by WAKA FLOCKA (@wakaflocka) on May 29, 2020 at 6:47pm PDT

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Racism is everyone’s enemy!! Racists are the real Opps!!

A post shared by Fabolous (@myfabolouslife) on May 30, 2020 at 9:18pm PDT

If YOU don’t understand why ALL these people are Revolting. You’re possibly part of the problem..

— ICE T (@FINALLEVEL) May 30, 2020

Now they wanna take a knee.... I’m done. pic.twitter.com/cSRwK6kfWR

— ICE T (@FINALLEVEL) May 31, 2020

Alotta your so called favorite celebrities wont say a Fn word right now... They never have.. And they never will.. Pay Attention.

— ICE T (@FINALLEVEL) May 31, 2020

Facts.

My thoughts on George Floyd, the riots in Minneapolis and @RealDonaldTrump's violent stupidity... #JusticeForGeorgeFloyd #ICantBreathe pic.twitter.com/kgFTaMxWoz

— Jimmy Kimmel (@jimmykimmel) May 30, 2020

Photo: Facebook

[Read More ...] source http://theybf.com/2020/05/31/netflix-hulu-more-support-black-lives-after-george-floyd%E2%80%99s-death-nfl-has-the-nerve-to-spe

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practicingpossible · 7 years

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Practice Love Loudly

How will the fear subside if we only tell horror stories? How will judgement cease if we keep criticizing? How will anger dissipate if continue yelling?

WHOSE SIDE ARE YOU ON?? THEY SHOULD/SHOULDN’T HAVE...!

SILENCE IS VIOLENCE! YOU ARE NOT WELCOME HERE! WE ARE AGAINST…!

WE ARE OUTRAGED!

I don’t know anyone who is truly motivated by shame, who rises to their best, who feels alive and whole, and who immediately responds with kindness after being yelled at. My sense is that shame is a behavioral application of the millennia-old unconscious and physiological fight/flight response system. It’s some purgatory we get trapped in (and as children were taught by the adults around us, who were taught by the adults around them, who were taught…) when there is a sense of danger but our well-being is not actually threatened in that moment. This response is so conditioned, so automatic...though I’m beginning to experience that it doesn’t have to be.

What if there was another tool available to us? What if instead of fighting, fleeing, or shaming we were trusting, kind, and loving?

I’ve been heartened by the national outpouring of love and acts of kindness in the wake of the devastation caused by Hurricanes Harvey, Irma, and Maria. I’ve been wondering, what if this was our response to the acts of violence we saw in Charlottesville a few weeks ago?

To be clear, I very much experienced the fight/flight response after Charlottesville, and the subsequent emotional reactions--I felt overwhelmed, horrified, and angry. I felt devastated by the extreme level of hate that lives in some people’s minds, so much that it has clouded their hearts. I felt heartbroken that people can be so out of touch with love, so full of self-hate that they are able to commit such violent actions with their words and their bodies.

I felt hopeless that such self-hate is manifested on racial and religious lines and is projected out and perpetrated against so many beautiful humans. I felt afraid that this fear and anger and hate will keep spreading and destroy humanity.

And... I also felt confusion, concern, trepidation about the response to it. I felt upset by the yelling, shouting, condemning. I felt heartache for everyone.

My mind grappled with how to respond to violence nonviolently. (I felt especially tormented by the word condemn, as it feels violent to me. And I wondered, am I inherently condoning if I’m not condemning? I don’t know...)

I felt afraid people would think I didn’t understand the magnitude of what happened, that they would think I’m a sympathizer. I worried that they wouldn’t feel loved or attended to for the pain and anguish they are experiencing, and for the pain and anguish experienced by their ancestors. I felt afraid that it would be received as white privilege, as denying past atrocities.

Yet, as I sat with the fight/flight sensations in my body, my heart was so clear--I wanted to be for love. I wanted to act with kindness. And I wanted to trust that this was enough. I wanted to be, as cliché as it can sound, what I want to see in the world. I didn’t want to give my energy to any fear, judgement, or anger. My heart was being called to be for something because being against something maintains the separation; it maintains the other.

I grappled with this alone for the first several days because I was afraid to say it out loud. I felt afraid to share my feelings because I worried that doing so would feel like betrayal to my friends and neighbors. I heard condemnation, and anger, and a lot of fear. Though I felt all those things too, I could not betray the Life within me that wanted to act from trust, kindness, and love.

As the week crept on, I started to notice the whispers, the quiet conversations...

Person A: Pssst...hey...what are you thinking about the march on Saturday?

Me: I have been having a lot of feelings. What are you thinking?

Person A: I want to go but I want to focus on love.

Me: Me too!

Me: Hey, how are you feeling?

Person B: I learned that there are folks who will be holding love and healing spaces.

Person C: Hey, is there anyone organizing a group focused on peace and love? I want to be in solidarity.

Me: I haven’t heard of any groups specifically. Join us.

Suddenly, I realized many of us were whispering! And it occurred to me--we are in big trouble if we are afraid to speak our love loudly and clearly; if we are afraid to share our love!

It reminded me of a speech outgoing Governor Deval Patrick gave on the stump during his last two months in office. He shared how he had snuck out of the house without security early one morning to go to home depot. Not as incognito as he had hoped, three people spotted him in the store and quietly pulled him aside, one at a time, and whispered their gratitude for his willingness to find homes for children fleeing from Central America. Then, as he was checking out, one person began yelling at him, so all who were around could hear, for helping the children. And he asked the crowd listening to his speech, “Why is it that we yell when we disagree but whisper when we have something nice to say?”

It made me wonder, why are we whispering our love? Why are we scared to show our love? Why does it seem more painful to express love? Why, when it seems that love is what we need now, more than ever?

I’m starting to suspect that it’s, at least in part, a result of the unconscious fight/flight response system at work in our bodies. Over the last few years, through meditation practice, I have become very familiar with how sensations move through the body. Anger and fear are emotional reactions, mental labels of the conditioned fight/flight response. With the perception of danger, we are physiologically hardwired to escape or battle. In some cases, this safety response system serves us; it keeps us alive. Yet, most of the time, we are over-relying on it. It is activated throughout the day and we react automatically. We withdraw or engage. It seems, we’re running on auto-pilot toward self-destruction and we’ve no idea.

I am starting to see a possible way out, however. I believe, we can practice bringing this response system into consciousness; we can disrupt the pattern through small behavior changes; and we can create a new response.

I believe this may be one of our evolutionary challenges: under perceived, but not imminent, threat, can we channel and act out of trust, kindness, and love rather than fear, judgement, and anger?

This is no easy task, as sensations and histories/lifetimes of emotional reactions and traumas course through our bodies. It is not for the faint of heart. It will take courage and stamina unlike anything we have probably experienced.

But it is a simple practice, and I do believe it is possible. In everything we do--our thoughts, our words, our actions--can we begin to practice trust, kindness, and love?

To be clear, I am not declaring that we all must go hug those who perpetrated physical acts of violence in Charlottesville (though I did ponder that too, in this post); I am offering that we start with ourselves, then within our own circles of influence, practicing small acts of trust, kindness and love. I am suggesting that through such practices, we will start to break the conditioned response during times it is not needed.

This is only possible if we are willing to practice. Each of us can start by practicing turning away from the daily moments of fleeing and fisticuffs and turning toward resting and self-care. And it’s a personalized practice, taking shape based on our own history, our own life experiences. Consider….

What is the smallest step you are willing to take today? Here are some possibilities:

Giving yourself a hug

Resting when you need a break

Taking a break to play (outside, with playdoh, with paint…)

Spending an hour or two in nature

Noticing how you use language; are there words that aren’t serving you or others?

Releasing the shame or guilt for what your mind says you should have done

Allowing the fear and anger, rather than resisting it; AND describing it rather than reacting from it

Listening and clarifying rather than interrupting and criticizing and defending

Asking for something you need

Forgiving a so-called mistake, you think you made today; and if you’re feeling adventurous extending the same to a co-worker, friend, or family member you think made a so-called mistake

Smiling and saying hello to a stranger on the street or the train

Saying out loud to yourself, “I love you no matter what”

I believe we each have our own steps to take, and each of those steps matters immensely.

If we are willing to practice, some days will feel like a breeze, some days it may hurt like hell, may feel impossible. We simply notice and give the trust, kindness, and love we want from others to ourselves.

With people willing to practice this, I wonder…

Can we sustain this practice diligently and willingly so that trusting, being kind, and loving become the evolved conditioned response to perceived danger?

I believe we have the most incredible opportunity, right now, to change the course of our lives, and perhaps humanity. And there is strength in numbers, in practicing together. I am starting a Love in Action practice group. If you want to join, please DM, email, or call me and we can practice together.

Trust will grow when we are sharing the stories of goodness happening around us. Kindness will emerge when we take care of ourselves and in our actions. Love will amplify when we are speaking it and practicing it loudly, with all our might.

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