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spice-and-fire · 8 months

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TIMING: Recent LOCATION: The Wormhole PARTIES: @eatdearth x @spice-and-fire SUMMARY: Devi & Jasper meet at the Wormhole for drinks. CONTENT: None

“You know almonds, right?” Devi asked, as if those weren’t a common thing here or most places with a candy store or chocolate shop or even an airport shop. “I used to go crazy for them as a kid…” She shook her head, grinning, before taking a sip of her beer. “But my dad was the worst at shelling them. He'd just hack 'em to pieces with his knife, leaving a bunch of inedible mush behind. In the end, he'd salvage what he could by scraping pieces of the flesh off the shell, then mixing it with some milk and calling it porridge.”

It had been a long day. For most people, that would already be enough to get them a bottle of beer or two, but for someone in Worm Row? Someone like Devi who lives in the most dangerous neighborhood in town? It was just any other day, and a cold glass of beer was an excuse to feel a sort of relief from the day-to-day routine of surviving. “...I do miss the taste of that porridge sometimes...and I miss that old nut-cracker, too.”

It started out with a kiss, how did it end up like this? At least that’s how it went in Jasper’s head, complete with an imagined perfect rendition with his voice, which, of course, would not exist in reality. He was not a singer, especially not someone who could belt out a harmonious Mr. Brightside by The Killers with relative ease. Even the shower wouldn’t indulge his fantasy. It actually started with an attempt at a ‘deez nuts’ joke, the professor having been bombarded with hundreds of thousands of the sort just this week alone that his brain tried to lessen the trauma by pulling the same crap on a stranger. Unfortunately for him, the stranger seemed to have already drank too many beers to actually care.

Jasper heaved a sigh, nodding his head, pretending he was getting what she was talking about. In reality, he was barely listening. Something about almonds and milk. Great. She’s one of those people who aggressively prefers nut milk over cow milk. Jasper didn’t think they were especially harmful, or annoying, but because she was being harmful to him, mostly annoying, she couldn’t help but lump them all in together. And try to change the subject. “Speaking of cracking nuts, you from here? I’ve only been here a couple of times. Pretty far from where I live. Hoping none of my students would find me here.”

Devi simply nodded, taking another sip of her beer, more like a chug, as she never took her eyes off of Jasper. She was surprised, more impressed, that the random guy she was talking to was actually a professor of sorts, maybe even a kindergarten teacher. Don’t get her wrong: Professors are impressive, what with their degrees and everything, but kindergarten teachers? Those guys deal with tiny kids, annoying kids, kids that have yet to know shame and guilt. Those guys are way more impressive than anyone else. “Students? You teach?”

“Say, does your place need security?” Devi squinted as she leaned forward toward him, closer than he probably liked, her beer-scented breath warm to his face. “Because if you guys need security, or extra security, I’m really good at working security,” she leaned back, shrugging, a playful smirk on her face. Devi was proud of that part of her, being efficient and competent in the field of security. She’d done much worse in the past, beating people to a pulp, setting things including said people on fire, displaying gruesome violence all for a lot of money, so still being able to be on top of things and people without needing to resort to her past barbaric tendencies… Well, that was pretty impressive, if she thought so herself. “Like, really good.”

“I do,” Jasper beamed with pride. If there was one thing in his life he was most proud of, aside from his luxurious mane, it was his calling, his craft, his field. “I teach geology at the university. I’m a geologist, a professor, and an all-round rockstar.” With a shake of his head, he winked at the woman before realizing that pun might need some explaining. “Get it? Rockstar? Because I work with rocks?” Probably didn’t actually need some explaining. Might have made it a whole lot worse now. Puns have never been the most accepted form of humor, and explaining them? Well, that might be offensive to some people.

“Security?” Jasper instinctively raised an eyebrow. He looked the woman over, from head to toe, and subconsciously licked his lips. She was fine. More than fine. Like girlfriend material. Maybe even wife material. Definitely someone he’d take care of, love until the day he died. Or at least the idealized version he had of her. Jasper didn’t know her that much, not yet at least, to make this kind of assumption. He could blame the alcohol or the loneliness but he definitely needs some more maturing in that regard. “You work security?” He blurted out, in disbelief that someone who looked like her worked a field so risky and dangerous as security.

“Huh,” Devi squinted at Jasper, as if confused by his revelation. At first, she thought he didn’t look like a geology professor. But then again, what would a geology professor even look like? Devi, who barely had a formal education, wouldn’t know. Professors to her have always been silver-haired old men or bespectacled ladies with prim and proper clothing. Jasper seemed young and less disillusioned by the world around him, though she could be wrong. His ‘rock’ pun confirmed that. “...I see. You actually like rock, the music genre, or is that just for the wordplay?”

When his eyes wandered all over her, Devi felt the heat, becoming a little more defensive than usual. It was like he was judging her from the way she looked. Growing up in a different country from where she had been born, and being who, or more precisely, what she is, that whole thing was not her jam. So it made her a little more annoyed and a little less…nice. “Yeah, I do,” she blurted out almost instinctively, as aggressively as she could. “Got a problem with that, Professor?”

Eyebrow raised, an agitated Devi didn’t stop with that. She leaned forward, now wearing a scowl, doing the same thing to him as he had to her: Judging him after her eyes went over his entire body. “What are you even doing here? This is Worm Row, not your cushy university, with your rich students and expensive beers. You here for something illegal? Something scandalous, huh?” Was he a pervert? It was all starting to make sense to her now. A professor down there for a simple bottle of beer? Nah, he was more likely some sort of deviant, out to buy some folks’ time and company so he could do his weird, maybe even dark, desires with them. Disgusting. “You a piece of shit, Jimmy?”

“I mean, sure,” Jasper shrugged, clearly a filthy casual when it came to music genres. The man listens to The Coffeehouse playlist on Spotify without even remembering the individual titles on there. He was not the best guy to ask for recommendations on songs. He could barely remember the tunes he’s heard for days, both intentionally and unintentionally. “I like rock. I listen to it whenever I can. The Beatles, am I right?” Were the Beatles rock? He had a feeling the woman would tell him either way.

“Oh, no problem,” Jasper feigned a cough, feeling the weight of the night, the company, and the drinks just then. Was his shoulder aching? He could have sworn it wasn’t just a few seconds ago. Why would it even start to hurt? “No problem at all,” he repeated without looking at her, his full attention on the bad feeling on his shoulder. “I just meant, well, you look too pretty to be working security,” he fucked up, obliviously. “Like, you should be a model or something else.”

“Illegal?” Jasper perked up, eyes wide in horror when she started assuming the worst of him. In her defense, she had some great points. Why would a self-respecting professor go all the way down in Worm Row for a drink? In his defense? He was not a self-respecting professor, if not only a professor. “Oh, no! No, no, no! Nothing of the sort,” he gulped, straightened himself on his seat, as if that would help his argument. “I’m just… I don’t really want to run into students or other professors or everyone I know, you know? Also, it’s Jasper, not Jimmy… Did you give me your name?”

Devi wasn’t in the mood to argue. The alcohol coursing through her veins fought off any internal urge to pick a fight with Jasper’s statements. He was right about one thing, though: The Beatles were rock. And a bunch of other things. Hard to box legends with careers, especially music, that withstand time. With a wide grin on her face, she leaned back before unintentionally pounding his shoulder, closer to his back, with a wider hand. “You’re all right, Blackbird,” she chuckled. You’re all right.”

It helped that apparently his earlier comments were meant to be a compliment. Devi didn’t initially take them as such, but to be fair, Devi wasn’t taking things as they are at that point in time. If she was, she wouldn’t be drinking her problems away with a random stranger. A model, though? She felt that was a bit much. She’s been called pretty before, mostly by men with needs, but a model? That felt to her like an unnecessary stretch. “Maybe I am? I’m woman enough to be able to juggle more than one job, right?”

“Jasper,” Devi mouthed his name again. It wasn’t that odd of a name, though it was definitely less common than Jimmy. At least to her it was. She shrugged before she answered his question, “Nope.” Guy was relatable. At least he’d be if she was herself a few years ago. Running into faces she was familiar with in that state? That would’ve been impossible back then. She would’ve made sure of it. But that was all in the past. She’s lost so many loved ones, running into them again would be a welcomed respite from all the regrets, the bad memories, the living nightmares that has since haunted her sober days.

“It’s Devi,” she let out a yawn, stretching her limbs to either side in protest at the sleepiness. “You know, I get you, Jasper. Sometimes, we just gotta be somewhere else, somewhere new, somewhere no one we know will find us.” It was exactly why she had even moved to town. Somewhere else. Somewhere new. Somewhere no one left she knew would find her. And her sins.

“Blackbird?” Jasper was confused. Where did that come from? Was it because of his skin tone? The geology professor wasn’t quite sure how to feel about that. On one hand, he should be offended, right? On the other? She’s kinda cute, so maybe that’s a win for him? Fortunately for him, his stupidity didn’t need to go any further than that. Instead, the sound of his name on her lips pulled him off those thoughts and elsewhere, somewhere much better. “You’re definitely a woman…”

It was Jasper’s turn to mouth her name, only he didn’t speak it out loud. In his head, he did, and that was more than enough for him. It wasn’t like he’d forget her name. He doubted he would forget it and her any time soon. Eyes following her body’s movements, the spellcaster found her words hitting close to home. Too close. Was she the same? A kindred spirit? Or were those words more apt for the friend he had lost down the mines. “Yeah, well,” Jasper heaved a sigh, his mood turning gloomy, as he switched his full attention back to the counter, resting his whole weight on his forearm against the tabletop. “If someone can find us where we think they won’t, maybe that’ll help us find someone else we haven’t been able to find…” Or something like that.

“Yeah?” Devi frowned. Didn’t he say he was a fan of the Beatles? His question confused her in turn, but instead of just prodding him with any accusations, she began singing the familiar line of the should-have-been familiar song to him. “Blackbird singing in the dead of night…” she began, leaning back on her seat, her back against the counter, arms over the tabletop, her head bowing up and down with the imaginary tune only she could hear. “Take these broken wings and learn to fly!”

“All your life!” A table near them started to sing along, surprising Devi but in a way that only motivated her to continue singing with them, a huge grin on her face. “You were only waiting for this moment to arise…” When the brief sing-along ended, everyone who had participated chuckled and raised their bottles for a cozy cheer. She then heaved a sigh of contentment, and took a swig from her bottle. “Damn right, I am. More woman than any man can handle.” Another chuckle. Before the professor switched gears and started acting all sad.

Devi could relate: With all her past mistakes, regrets even, disappearing in a small town her old…acquaintances wouldn’t even think of visiting was the best idea she’s ever had. She doubted anyone could find her there. And would rather not sadness find the both of them where and when they were right then and there. “Or… Maybe they’ve already found us, eh? And they’re the someone we didn’t know we needed to find!”

There was never a moment in Jasper’s life where he felt the utmost relief, though if there had been, he couldn’t remember. More importantly, he was impressed. It dawned on him that the woman he was drinking with may be somewhat of a local celebrity. Definitely not just a random face on the street. He’d seen people try to start a sing-along at a bar before, and most of the time, it took great effort. Unless it was a sports thing, strangers barely sang with each other unprompted. Here, the woman didn’t even ask for anyone else to support her singing. They just did. Granted she was pretty, so there’s that… “Oh, yeah!” Jasper nodded, grinning, before taking a swig from his drink. “I remember that song. Classic.”

Was she hitting on him? That was the thought that immediately ran down Jasper’s tiny brain with her final sentiments. After that talk about a woman no man can handle, the geology professor was thinking that maybe she was offering herself up to him as a challenge? Was that sexist? Some backwards misogynistic thought? In a way, in a specific context, maybe. At the moment? He just wasn’t sure. He was too intoxicated to delve deeper into such notions. At least that’s the excuse he wanted to go with. Dangerous territory right there, and he was a rock guy, not a sociopolitical/humanities big brain person. “Maybe,” he grinned again, loosening up in his seat. “Maybe I can be that man who can handle all that woman? Worth a try.”

“Yeah?” Devi grinned, an eyebrow raised as she looked him over from head to toe. He didn’t look bad. Entirely way better than the last guy who tried to hit on her. Now that guy? That guy was a complete fool. Tried to grab her when she said no, so Devi grabbed him back and knocked him out cold. The rest of the bar laughed at his unconscious ass and cheered her on. Now that guy was banned for life from the Wormhole. Poor guy. Now he wouldn’t be able to show them he could change. Also he got hauled into the station, so she guessed, if he wasn’t from Worm Row, that would suck. Or not, depending on whether he had friends in high places. Unfair but that’s just the world for most people. “Think so?”

“Mmm, you’re not bad…” Devi teased before finishing the entirety of what remained in her bottle, leaving it empty if not for air. She heaved a sigh of relief, grinned and then nodded at the bartender, before turning to the professor again. “You’re not married, are you? In a relationship with someone else? Because I don’t do people who’re already with other people. Unless there’s consent, like one of those open relationship things, but even then, I’m not really one for sharing.” The last thing she wanted was to break up a home or someone else’s heart. The last person who tried lying to her about all that found their bones broken. “If not, do you want to pay for all these, so we can get out of here, Blackbird?”

“OH, I’m definitely not married,” Jasper let out a chuckle, much louder and larger than he ever expected to. When he realized that, he meekly apologized with an awkward grin. He wasn’t even sure what he was apologizing for, but it felt like he should, so he did. “No relationships either. I was in one, with a coworker, but that did not end well.” He made sure to leave out the part where said coworker is still a coworker and still randomly shows up at his place whenever she feels like it. That was a weird situation, and he felt he didn’t need to add more weird in whatever this entire thing was. “So, nope, just me right now,” he shrugged. “...and my dog.”

Jasper lamented his mistake of adding that last line but decided it might have just added to his charm. Chicks digged dogs, right? Even though his was a total b-word. He was mid-sip when Devi insinuated what he thought she insinuated and almost spat out all the liquid. Without saying anything else, he scrambled for his wallet while at the same time calling for the bartender’s attention, rushing to pay for their drinks, for everything else, so they could go wherever she wanted them to go. Hopefully where he thought she wanted him. “Blackbird’s ready to fly!”

#wickedswriting #ᕚﮩﮩ٨ﮩ para ﮩ٨ﮩﮩᕘ #ᕚ jasper ﮩ langston ᕘ #ᕚ the ﮩ wormiest ﮩ holes ᕘ #ᕚ season one ﮩ canaries ᕘ

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greywoodrpg · 8 months

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𝕒𝕤𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕓𝕒𝕦𝕕𝕖𝕝𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕖

he was born thirty years ago, is a werewolf and lives in white oaks as a carpenter, and is in no pack. he looks an awful lot like reilly dolman.

“I’ve made my mind a sunless place… I share my dreams with ghosts.”

tw: addiction, alcoholism, death

It seems a universal truth that families are complicated, but for the Baudelaires ‘complicated’ was never even the half of it. Asher doesn’t look back fondly on his childhood; it is fraught with contradicting memories–spatterings of artificial normalcy punctuated by the glaring absence of the ‘hero’ father his older brother worshipped, the same man his beloved mother used to cry herself to sleep over in an empty bed most nights–the stuff of grade A organic daddy issues. There were happy times, of course–there always are–but as Roman’s service to the country pulled him away more and more often those became fewer and further between. Even when distance was no longer a hurdle, the drug and alcohol fueled downward spiral on which Roman relied as he attempted to weather his trauma and adjust to civilian life left little room for nurturing relationships with his children, and Asher more so than the others struggled to bond with the man. The dad Asher and his siblings had known from better days was gone, replaced by a broken one with a whiskey bottle in his hand. He was a mama’s boy through and through; one with little patience or forgiveness in his heart for the angry, drunk stranger in the house. His parents eventual divorce was a blessing. While his mother never would say what the final straw was, something about her was different after that night, and Asher drew his own conclusions…they were not generous ones. For a time things got better. Carina found love again with a good man who was kind to her children and happy to fill the void Roman had left as a husband and a father. Asher and his stepfather connected in a way that he never could with his own dad, and for the first time in ages he had a taste of what a happy family was supposed to feel like. It was short lived. Tragedy took it all away in an instant.

Asher was devastated, and gutted by his grief surrendered to the same poisons he had spent his whole childhood hating his own father for turning to in his darkest hours. A propensity for addiction, as it turns out, runs in the family. Though a promising student and athlete with a bright future ahead of him, he soon dropped out of school and began taking up odd jobs and construction work around town to support his habits. Despite his struggles, Asher was still functional enough on the job sites to catch the attention of one of the master carpenters who soon convinced the young man to sign on as his helper and apprentice. It turned out to be a saving grace; steady work and invaluable skills were only the beginning. Asher had a real talent for the craft, and a mentor who genuinely wished to see him succeed. In a few short years–and thanks in no small part to the support of his siblings–he managed to get his substance abuse under control, while simultaneously building a reputation for himself as a tradesman. Renovation projects and prime work in some of Greywood’s most affluent neighborhoods were continuously flowing his way, and Asher’s life seemed to be getting back on track.

That proverbial train derailed in spectacular fashion one fateful night when Asher was working late on a secluded cabin-build far in the rural outskirts of town. The last of the crew to leave, he’d been packing up his truck, music blaring though his headphones as usual. He never even saw it coming. What Asher remembers of the attack is mostly a blur, but one thing is clear in his mind: The face staring back at him when he regained consciousness was Roman’s. It had been an accident, his father swore. Asher wasn’t certain what to believe, but keeping the secret seemed in everyone’s best interests; after all, families are complicated. In the subsequent months everything began to unravel. Like his father, Asher had been infected with lycanthropy…and like his father, he sought comfort in the bottom of a bottle. Sobriety went out the window with the first full moon, much to the chagrin and disappointment of the people in his life who had worked so hard to help him attain it the first time around. Ironically, there is only one person in Asher’s family who could truly understand what he is going through. That has been perhaps the most bitter pill to swallow about the whole ordeal.

Existence as a werewolf has been a rough adjustment, and unlike many of his brethren Asher has not embraced what he has become. He keeps to himself in that regard, intentionally avoiding the known pack gathering places in town, and shifting in solitude on full moons as far from civilization as he can manage. Asher lives in a fixer-upper he hasn’t quite gotten around to fixing up in the working class White Oaks neighborhood, and his ongoing struggles with alcoholism and substance abuse have been a noticeable drag on his once thriving carpentry business. Anger, bitterness, depression, and grief have whittled away much of the person Asher used to be; or perhaps they have only revealed what he has truly been all along. Asher Baudelaire finds himself becoming more his father’s son every day, though what that ultimately means for them both remains to be seen.

“what power did he attain when settling in greywood?”

Greywood bestowed upon Asher a constant companion of sorts…for better or worse. Asher calls her “Fig”; for what he perceives to be a figment of his imagination. After all, he is the only one who can see her, or hear her on those rare occasions she deigns to speak. She appears to him as a teenaged girl and is always with him–always–day and night, haunting every waking moment and his dreams as well; an inescapable presence. It’s enough to make a man believe he’s going mad. For the most part Fig communicates non-verbally with Asher, though she has been known to use words sparingly. She cannot touch or be touched, or otherwise manipulate the physical world, but she knows the truth in people’s hearts and will usually convey her approval/disapproval for him. It isn’t uncommon for residents of Greywood to find Asher seemingly carrying on a one-sided conversation with himself, which is a fair assumption given that he has only told a few trusted confidants about Fig. He frequently becomes frustrated with her presence and wishes she would leave him alone.

penned by... chell

#supernatural rp #town rp #oc rp #literate rp #para rp #horror rp #mystery rp #mature rp #werewolf #reilly dolman fc #addiction tw #alcoholism tw #death tw #retired

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prorevenge · 4 years

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My Grandmother Put Greedy Preachers In Their Places .... Twice .... Even After She Died

TL/DR - My grandmother generously served her "Bible Believing Christian" church for almost 50 years, without asking anything in return. But when she became elderly, disabled and homebound, her church acted like she did not exist - until she was in hospice care and literally on her deathbed, when that church showed a sudden interest in telling Grandma to, "Remember your church in your will". She waited until exactly the right moment, in front of exactly the right audience, to expose these greedy assholes for what they were.....twice.

My grandmother was a member of a large conservative "Bible Believing" church for her entire adult life. This church, which I'll call BigWhiteChurch, was a member of a large Evangelical denomination. BigWhiteChurch was located in a prosperous suburb of a large city in the Bible Belt of the Deep South of the USA.

Grandma was very active in BigWhiteChurch. She worked in the nursery every Sunday morning, helped cook hundreds of church fellowship breakfasts and dinners, accompanied her children and grandchildren on dozens of church retreats and choir tours, taught Youth Bible Study on Sunday nights and was very active in supporting Home Missions, as well as helping with other youth programs. She always tithed, and often gave extra for missions and special offerings.

Grandma's greatest talent was making other people feel important. I've seen this first-hand many times. Although I belonged to a different church, I often visited with Grandma, and when I did, I usually went to BigWhiteChurch functions with her. I've seen her single-handedly cook breakfast for dozens of BigWhiteChurch Youth, a task which took over 2 hours, even in the church's large kitchen. Then, after the meal, she asked the group for a round of applause for the high-school student leader for, "Doing such a great job of organizing the Prayer Breakfast".

I remember that, on a BigWhiteChurch youth retreat at a rural Church Camp, she drove most of the night to go back to the city and retrieve a big box of evangelistic materials, that one of the Assistant Pastors (whom I'll call AssPastor) had forgotten and asked her to get, in time for our morning program the next day. His boss, the Senior Pastor (I'll call him PompousPastor), never found out that AssPastor had screwed up or that Grandma had fixed it for him. AssPastor never even thanked Grandma. Even though I was a child, this bothered me so much that I asked her about it. She said that she didn't mind at all; she told me her reward would be that those materials, "Would help children find Jesus".

Grandma's service to her church ended abruptly at the age of 73, when she broke her back in a car accident. Afterwards, for the last 10 years of her life, she was homebound and could not go to church because of this injury and declining health due to old age. Her mind was just as sharp as ever, and her faith remained sincere, but her body wore out a little more every day.

During those 10 years, she made many efforts to reach out to her church, its leadership and her church friends, inviting them to visit her at her home, etc., without success. Every one of these invitations was declined or simply ignored.

Near the end, when she was in home hospice care, she decided to plan her own funeral. She and my Grandpa called her church and asked for the Senior Pastor, PompousPastor, whom she had known for over 30 years, to visit her so that they could plan her memorial service, which she and Grandpa wanted to be held at the church.

PompousPastor was too busy, but AssPastor stopped by a few days later. According to my Grandpa, here's what happened at that meeting, with my Grandma literally on her deathbed:

Grandma, Grandpa and AssPastor discussed her funeral for a couple of minutes. Then AssPastor started pressuring her to, "Lay up your treasure in Heaven" by, "Remembering your church in your will".

Grandpa told him firmly that, "This is neither the time nor the place to discuss her will."

They went back to discussing the funeral for a few minutes. Then AssPastor steered the conversation back to Grandma's will, with liberal injections of how badly "her" church needed "her support".

Grandpa told him several times that it was inappropriate to talk to Grandma about her will or the church's financial needs, because she was terminally ill and in an enormous amount of physical pain. AssPastor would agree and briefly talk about the funeral, but would then go back to talking about the church's financial needs, heavenly rewards, "Where your treasure is your heart will be also" (Matthew 6:21, Luke 12:34), etc.

My Grandma started crying.

To put this into context, Grandma was more than a "Steel Magnolia". She was "Titanium Coated With Diamond Wrapped In Kevlar". She rarely ever cried, and never EVER cried about herself. Not one tear when the doctor told her that her back was broken so badly that she would never walk again, nor during the following 6 months in futile rehab. She would shed sincere but well-managed tears at funerals and while visiting family members in the hospital when they received bad news. She would cry to console others, "Weep with those who weep". But nobody - not Grandpa, not her daughter (my mom), nor any of my uncles or Grandma's siblings - ever remembered her crying for herself.

My Grandma was sobbing uncontrollably.

Grandpa, a retired steelworker, ex-Marine Sergeant and Korean War combat veteran, physically grabbed AssPastor and "escorted" him out of their house, not too gently.

Contrary to everyone's expectations, Grandma lived another 6 months, mostly because of sheer force of will. Eventually, though, Grandma passed away and we held her memorial service at the funeral home, not BigWhiteChurch. PompousPastor and AssPastor were conspicuously absent. In fact, there were no "Professional Christians", from BigWhiteChurch, at the service at all, not even in the audience.

To start the service, Grandpa stood up at the podium in front of the crowd and said, "Some of you may have heard that I dis-invited PompousPastor and AssPastor from this funeral service. This service is not an appropriate place for me to give you my reasons for doing this, although you all know me and so you know that my reasons are good ones. Also, my wife asked me to exclude them."

"This funeral service may be different from other funerals that you have attended. It is going to be an "open microphone" funeral. Everyone who wants to say something is invited to come up here and describe your friendship with my wife, tell a story about her that is worth remembering, or anything else that you want to say that will honor her memory and bring comfort to everyone here today. I have asked several family members to prepare statements, but you don't have to have anything prepared. Please, if you want to say something, come up here and do so."

There were about a hundred people at the funeral service; at least a third of them eventually stepped up to the microphone. The service, which we had planned to last about 30 minutes, lasted for over two hours and, as best I can tell, not one person left early. There was laughing, crying and hugging, three of her grandchildren played some of her favorite songs on the piano and guitar, we all joined hands and sang her favorite hymns.

Afterwards, dozens of people told my Grandpa that it was one of the most comforting and uplifting funerals they had ever attended. More than a few remarked that, "Funerals are better without preachers anyway", or something similar.

REMEMBERING HER PASTORS AND HER CHURCH IN HER WILL: THE ONE-TWO PUNCH

A couple of weeks later, it was time to start distributing the bequests in Grandma's will. Although Grandma and Grandpa dearly loved each other, they had separate wills because, she told my Mom, "That makes it easier for us to respect each other's turf", and because their lawyer had recommended it. Nobody thought that my grandparents were wealthy. They had lived in the same small but charming house in a prosperous, well-maintained suburban neighborhood for the past 50+ years, and had worked hard and lived modestly. But it was rumored that they had a very nice nest egg.

Of course, there is no legal requirement for anyone to attend "The Reading Of The Will", or to even have a "Reading". Modern telecommunications and near-universal literacy have made this quaint custom practically extinct.

But "The Reading Of The Will" was a tradition in our family because it was one of those events that gave our close-knit, extended family an excuse to get together. We never had "Family Reunions". They were too difficult to schedule for our large family. But we got together at birthdays, holidays, funerals, baptisms, etc., so that if you attended several of these, you would see just about every one of your cousins, aunts, uncles, and even great aunts & uncles who were Grandma's and Grandpa's siblings and in-laws.

With this family tradition in mind, many of our family members' wills often contained very personal bequests of items that had little cash value, but were the departed family member's way of telling their loved ones that they wanted to share a cherished memory with them one last time.

As an added incentive to attend, the family rumor mill had been buzzing with speculation, encouraged by Grandpa, that Grandma's will contained some "surprises".

The "Reading" was held in a conference room at a lawyer's office. Unsurprisingly, the attendees included my mom, as well as aunts, uncles, great aunts, great uncles and many of the grandchildren.

We were all surprised, however, to see PompousPastor and AssPastor from BigWhiteChurch. They informed us that Grandma's lawyer had told them that Grandma's will had bequests not only for BigWhiteChurch, but also for them personally.

Maybe it was just our imagination; but my siblings, cousins and I couldn't help noticing that these Preachers appeared to be actively salivating over their good fortune at Grandma's generosity.

Grandma had a large family, so a sizeable number of beneficiaries were named in her will. The lawyer's conference room was a bit smaller than an average middle-class living room. Extra chairs had been brought in, every seat was filled and people were standing in every remaining space.

There was barely space for all of us. Grandma's lawyer suggested that PompousPastor and AssPastor sit in chairs which were in the front of the room, next to himself. Since there was a large table in the room, this meant that the lawyer and these two Preachers were the only ones who were directly facing everyone else. Although the Preachers were gratified to be physically next to the center of attention, they did not notice, as all of the rest of us quickly noticed, that these seats made it easy for everyone else in the room to watch them closely, and practically impossible for them to leave the packed-to-more-than-overflowing room before the entire meeting was over, because they were farthest from the room's single door, and there were almost two dozen people standing or sitting between them and their only path to escape.

The bequests were quite generous, but pretty much what we had expected. Grandpa kept their house, its contents, their retirement accounts and everything that remained after all of the bequests had been satisfied. Children, grandchildren and several local charities received nice, but not extravagant, amounts of money. Several sentimental items were named and given to various friends and relatives.

Grandpa was first beneficiary listed in the will. But, after him, all of the other bequests were arranged in order of increasing worth. They started with sentimental items, which had very small cash value. Then each grandchild received several thousand dollars, then each son, daughter, brother, sister, niece and nephew received a little more, then several local non-profits received very nice amounts, etc.

Bequests to BigWhiteChurch, PompousPastor and AssPastor were (almost) the last ones listed in the will. They listened politely to the other bequests, but with steadily growing anticipation, as they noticed the exponential upward trend in Grandma's largess.

When Grandma's lawyer got to the BigWhiteChurch and Preachers' part of the will, he said, "This is a bit unusual, but before I announce these bequests to BigWhiteChurch, PompousPastor and AssPastor, Ms [Grandma's name] requested that I read the following statement to everyone present."

He opened a letter that was written in Grandma's own handwriting...

"For the past 10 years, NOT ONE person from BigWhiteChurch has ever called me, come to visit me or sent me a note to tell me that they cared about me. Not one minister, not one deacon, not one of the church women, not one of the church members who I worked with for all of those years, loved dearly and thought were my friends. I worked very hard for you when you needed me, for many, many years. But when I needed you and your church, you all pretended that I didn't exist."

"I only got one visit. When I was dying and I invited PompousPastor to come to my house and help me plan my funeral."

"This was my last attempt, after many attempts that I had made over the past 10 years, to reach out to my church and Pastor, whom I still loved dearly even though they had made it clear that they did not love me. If only I could have my funeral at my church, maybe some of my church friends, whom I had not seen in a decade, would come to the service to see me one last time. And I know they loved to hear PompousPastor preach, so if he preached at my funeral, maybe they would come to my funeral to hear him, even if they would not have come to see me.

But PompousPastor couldn't find the time to visit me, or even call me to tell me whether or not he was willing to preach at my funeral. AssPastor came by my house, but he didn't want to talk about my funeral. He just wanted me to, 'Remember his church in my will'. That's all. Just, 'Remember his church in my will'".

"It was then that I realized that I had allowed my church to break my heart for one last time. But that was the last time. The VERY last time."

"AssPastor did not know it when he visited me, but Grandpa and I had already prepared my will, long before his visit, which did include a double tithe - TWENTY PERCENT - of my ENTIRE ESTATE, for what was now my former ... FORMER ... church ... BigWhiteChurch.

This amount was [named the amount - an enormous shitload of money - generating muffled "wows" from many of her heirs, including me].

"But I got to feeling badly that we had not personally remembered such nice people as PompousPastor and AssPastor. So I changed my will to include them by name. While I was at it, I changed the amount of money that I left to BigWhiteChurch to match all of the love that they have showed to me during the last 10 years of my life, when I was suffering and lonely, and no longer able to work my ass off for them, for free, like I had done for almost half a century."

"That is her entire written statement", the lawyer said. "Now let's get back to the bequests in the will."

"Bequest to AssPastor: One Cent".

"Bequest to PompousPastor: One Cent".

"Bequest to BigWhiteChurch: One Cent".

The PompousPastor and AssPastor sat there looking like someone had just injected a gallon of novacaine into their jaws.

Every one of Grandma's family and friends felt an overwhelming urge to laugh out loud. But we kept quiet because we knew Grandma. We knew she wasn't finished yet. Grandma was simply setting them up for a one-two punch. The best was yet to come, and we didn't want to miss it.

"There is one last bequest," the lawyer continued, "For a charity called ...", which he named and I'll call "BlackCharity", then he paused before naming the amount....

Most of us had no idea what BlackCharity was. But, by the looks on their faces, we could tell that PompousPastor and AssPastor knew BlackCharity very well. Their faces displayed the same expressions of shock, dread and horror that they would have if the lawyer had said, "This bequest goes to The Demonic Baby Eaters to buy extra large rotisserie barbecue grills and tons of charcoal".

Every eye in the room was now fixated on PompousPastor and AssPastor.

The lawyer, who happened to be my uncle, one of Grandma's and Grandpa's sons, let the silence continue a few seconds more....

If we had been able to read PompousPastor's and AssPastor's minds, we would have known the history behind the looks on their faces. BlackCharity was sponsored by a large Black church just a few miles from BigWhiteChurch. They ran a free food/clothing bank, assistance programs for foster children, home delivery of pre-cooked meals for homebound seniors, legal aid, and other social services.

A long time ago, BigWhiteChurch, which was (and still is) 100% Caucasian, had provided a few years of financial and other support to BlackCharity. Then there was a very bitter, acrimonious breakup, allegedly because BlackCharity was practicing "The Social Gospel", while BigWhiteChurch was preaching "The True Gospel". BigWhiteChurch even sued to try to get some of their money back, although the suit was eventually settled and very little money actually changed hands.

But, this being The Deep South, everyone knew the real reason why BigWhiteChurch, or any white church, would stop supporting a Black charity: "Those n****** were getting uppity and not staying in their place". Grandma and Grandpa had seriously considered leaving BigWhiteChurch at that time. But they had reasoned that it was better to stay there and teach tolerance by their words and example. They knew they would never persuade everyone, but maybe they could reach some of the youth at their white church and break the generational cycle of racism. Grandma used to tell us, "My church is my Mission Field". We did not learn the true depth of her statement until after she died.

Since then, Grandma and Grandpa had secretly sent a portion of their "Tithe" to BlackCharity every month.

Most of Grandma's family, including me, didn't find out about any of this until after the meeting had ended.

But PompousPastor and AssPastor obviously understood what Grandma, by her actions which are more powerful than words, was saying to them. If you had grown up as a white person in the Deep South, as Grandma, Grandpa, PompousPastor and AssPastor had, you would understand.

To many white Southerners, this was one of the most personally insulting things you could do to them. It simultaneously labeled them as racists, condemned their bigotry and crushed their delusions of white superiority by saying, "These Black human beings, whom you hate, disrespect and have mistreated, are better people than you are. So they deserve my money more than you do".

Having allowed time for everyone to observe PompousPastor and AssPastor while they thought about how their white church had treated this Black charity, and how they AND their church had treated our Grandma...

The lawyer said, "The amount is...."

Then he named the EXACT SAME AMOUNT that Grandma had named in her handwritten letter, the huge amount of money that would have gone to BigWhiteChurch if she had not changed her will.

(source) story by (/u/BamaFan4Jesus)

#prorevenge #by /u/BamaFan4Jesus #pro revenge #revenge stories #pro revenge stories #pro #revenge #last10

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yungidreamer · 4 years

Text

Moving Day

Moving in together is just the start of making a life together...

word count 9.3k

Pairing: Yunho, Mingi, unnamed fem character, established poly relationship

Content warnings: brief mentions of semi public sexual contact, making out, oral sex (m/m and m/f), descriptions of sexual frustration, loss of virginity, protected sex, cuddly aftercare, lots of confessions of love and just general lovey dovey stuff.

“Honey, where are these boxes supposed to go?” Her father asked, carrying a large cardboard box marked Bedroom on the side.

“Uhhhh, my room is the second door on the right after the bathroom.” She answered, poking her head out of the kitchen. She had been the first one to arrive on move-in day at the new place she was renting with Yunho and Mingi near the university they had all gotten into together as they had promised when they started applying.

“This one?” Her father shouted down the hall. “It's huge. Why are you getting this one?”

“What do you mean?” She asked, coming down the hall to join him in the room.

“I don’t know…” He shifted uncomfortably. “Why not put both of the boys in here and make one of the others into an office or a study or something?”

“Uh well,” she began. “I won the paper, scissors, rock competition and, yeah, I think everyone wants their own room. You know...in case they want to bring over...a friend…”

“Okay, okay, nevermind, I never asked,” her father threw up his hands, wanting to completely avoid such a topic, as she had suspected he would. In truth, the arrangement she and her two boys had come to was a little bit more complicated. Yes, everyone had their own room, a place to keep their stuff, a place to get away and be alone, but her room was ‘their room.’ It was a place for movie nights, cuddling, and hopefully, now that they would be away from prying eyes and parental observation in general, maybe something more.

They had known each other now for a little more than a year. A little more than a year since they met at summer camp and started down their journey to being best friends and a little bit more. That week had been magical, but the year since had been even better. As hard as it was finding as much time as she had wanted to spend with them between a part time job, school, and getting into college with them, the stolen moments they had shared had only brought them closer. Every holiday they found time to get together, exchange gifts, and talk about what was happening in their lives.

They had decided to only apply to colleges that they could all go to together and promised to only go to one that they all were admitted into. Thankfully, in part due to their hard work and dedicated studying for finals and national exams, they had all gotten into the top school they had wanted. Their parents were all proud, even if they didn’t quite know what to make of this little clique their children seemed to have suddenly formed over a week away at summer camp.

Now they were all moving in together to a house they had found for rent not far from campus. Her father had tried to say no. He didn’t want his daughter moving in with two boys. She had spent a month arguing with him and giving her best persuasive arguments for the lower cost than dorms, the safety of the neighborhood, and pointing out how she would be less likely to end up at some rowdy parties living with them rather than some unknown strangers in an on campus dorm. He had given up eventually, once her mother had ganged up on him with her, kindly pointing out the archaic and sexist idea that the lovely boys, her sweet and smart friends, were just predators looking to pounce on anything with boobs.

Though he still grumbled now and again, here he was, moving boxes into a house she was going to share with her friends. Really, he liked them. They were good kids, it was just...he didn’t get it. They both looked at his daughter in a way that reminded him of how he looked at his wife, who had been his high school sweetheart. When he had first met them, he was sure, sure, that Yunho boy was trying to get in and date his daughter. Then he had been sure it was Mingi. But nothing ever came of it, no matter how many times he asked if she was dating someone.

No daddy, I’m not dating one of them, she always demurred, you know I adore both of them and could never choose. After a year, it seemed like she was being honest. They were almost always together, all three of them. They did everything together. They studied together, they hung out together, they celebrated together, and now they were going to school together. At least they were as good of influences as he could have wanted.

Before too long, the boys and their families came and the house was bustling with activity as everyone tried to get everything in the house and unpacked before all the parents all had to drive the two hours back home. Yunho’s mother concentrated on the kitchen, worried that, if she didn’t make sure that they had all the dishes, all the pans, and all the appliances they could possibly need unpacked, her precious baby would starve. Admittedly, over the last year her son had grown three inches and become a bottomless pit when it came to food. He was growing still and everything that he put in his mouth just seemed to be going into the width of his shoulders and his height.

Mingi’s parents focused on his things and his room, grumbling just a bit that he hadn’t gotten the largest room no matter how many times his son rolled his eyes and told him that he liked his room and didn’t mind sharing a bathroom with Yunho and letting her have the master bedroom and her own bathroom. He understood the bathroom, he would say every time, but maybe if they offered to pay a little more of the rent, the big room could be his.

“Dad, seriously,” Mingi grumbled, putting the last of his clothes into the drawers. “It’s fine for her to have it. Yunho and I have the consoles in the living room and she can have a little extra space to get some quiet.” His father grumbled, but let it go, finishing the last of their unpacking in no time. With everyone satisfied, and pizzas ordered for the new college students on the credit card of Mingi’s father, all the parents said their goodbyes, promising to visit in a few weeks, and piled into their cars for the trip home. They stood in the yard, waving them off, a little sad, but mostly relieved to finally see them go.

When the taillights of the last car disappeared around the corner the trio dashed inside their new house and closed the door. A thrill went through them at the knowledge they finally had the privacy to be themselves. The moment that Yunho closed the front door behind him, he grabbed Mingi, trapping him between his body and the door and pressed his lips to the other boy’s, pressing him into a hungry kiss he had been wanting to give him all day.

Mingi was surprised by the bold move, but quickly caught on, kissing him back hungrily as his hands moved to hold Yunho around his ribs. Yunho pulled back after a moment, disconnecting his lips but pressing his forehead to Mingi’s as he caught his breath. “I’ve been wanting to do that half the day. Wanted to rub it in your father’s face. His stupid snippy comments every five minutes, about everything. How did you do it all these years?”

“You get used to it eventually,” Mingi shrugged, running his hand along Yunho’s waist, pulling his hips against him. “I barely hear it anymore to be honest. God, can you imagine his face if he ever saw you kiss me?”

“I don’t know if he would die or try to kill one of you,” She said from across the room, where she had flopped tiredly on the couch. “But I am pretty sure someone will be bleeding when he finally figures it out.”

“I don’t know if it scares me or makes me happy that you think we’ll last long enough he’ll have to figure it out at some point,” Mingi gave a nervous laugh. Over the last year there had been a couple of close calls with their parents when they hadn’t been careful enough. Once when Yunho’s mom had come home from work early to find the two boys cuddling on the couch while they waited for her to come over after school. Mingi had immediately rolled off and they had played it off as roughhousing together, hoping that they were hiding the blushes and slight arousal they were both experiencing just as the result of wrestling. Just be careful, his mother had said, don’t hurt each other. I don’t know why boys have to be so rough with each other. She had sighed as she left the room, shaking her head. They had been more careful after that. They almost never went to Mingi’s house given his dad’s general attitude. Her house was alright, but her father had an annoying habit of dropping in to check on them a lot. But finally, finally, they had a place they could be themselves.

“Come here,” she invited, patting the couch next to her. “I want to see my boys for real.” They both bounded over, eager to see her and touch her without the fear of eyes on them. Yunho flopped into the seat next to her and Mingi literally crawled onto her lap, looming over her small frame as he took her face in his hands, holding it as he drew her into a deep and passionate kiss.

“Fuck, you taste good,” he groaned against her mouth. “It feels like it's been forever since I could kiss you.”

“I think it’s been more than a month,” she decided, taking half a second to think when the last time she had been able to get out with them.

“Why did your family have to take that vacation?” He pouted, touching her like his hands had been hungering for the feel of her.

“Because I was moving away for college,” she laughed. “My mom acted a little like I was going to basically disappear when I moved out. She wanted us to have some quality family time. But my dad spent a quarter of the time grumbling about me moving in with you two and my brother wished he was anywhere but with all of us uncool people. But no, it was fun and I am glad I got to spend some time with them, even if I missed you both.”

“I missed you, too,” Yunho said, turning in his seat to face her with his iconic shy smile. It always made a little knot in her stomach whenever she saw it. He was so beautiful when he smiled. It was like it lit him up from the inside.

“C’meer,” she reached for him, asking him to come over without making Mingi move off her lap. Yunho leaned in and gave her a slow, patient kiss, showing that he had missed her too, just in a different way.

“When is the pizza going to be here,” Yunho asked, hoping someone had been listening when Mingi’s father had said he had ordered it for them so they wouldn’t have to cook tonight.

“Can’t be long now,” she said, looking at her phone. “He must have ordered it about half an hour ago and it was from that ‘under an hour or its free’ chain. You that hungry?”

“No,” Yunho answered. “Well, I mean, I am hungry, but someone has to answer the door when it comes so I can’t do what I want to spend my evening doing until it comes.”

“You have plans?” Mingi teased, his hand reaching out to caress the other boy’s cheek as he teased him.

“Like you haven’t spent the last month thinking about what you wanted to do on the first night you had alone with us,” Yunho laughed.

“I did but you already heard about it every time we went for a drive to kill time this summer,” Mingi admitted, feeling a little like he should apologize for the hours the other boy had had to listen to him fantasize out loud while they waited for her to call.

“Is that what you guys were always doing when I would call?” She let out a cackle at herself for never putting it together. “I wondered why I never had to call you both on any of the nights. Where did you go while you waited for me to call and say good night?”

“Different places,” Yunho shrugged. “We went to the Sonic near the hospital a couple of times, got something to eat and just listened to the radio while we waited. A few times we just parked somewhere at a beach. More than once we were still just driving while we talked to you.”

“My poor boys,” she sighed sympathetically. The car was the only place they could find privacy to talk. To her, to each other.

At some point during the third week of her being gone, they had pulled over in a deserted parking lot near the shore of one of the lakes to wait for her to call. The summer sunset had been beautiful and they had ended up in a full make out session, in part because Mingi couldn’t keep his hands to himself most evenings. As soon as the car door was closed and Yunho was pulling away from Mingi’s parents’ place, he would feel a hand creep up along his thigh until he dropped one hand off the steering wheel to interlace his fingers with the other boy. He wasn’t even sure Mingi realized he was doing it at some point, he just needed the comfort of something solid to assure him Yunho was really there.

That evening was the second time they had given in to the desperate tension that had been building over the summer with too much time and not enough to occupy themselves. In the almost year they had been together, they hadn’t really gone much beyond kissing. In part because they had no safe place to go further, in part because with all the obligations of their senior year, finding time to even meet up had become increasingly hard. But this summer, with money from part time jobs and the freedom of near independence, they had the time and the means and spent all the time they could manage, out of their houses and in each other’s company.

Hidden from view from most passers by, the boys had moved to the big back seat of Yunho’s old classic car so they could sit together and kill the hour they were probably going to be waiting for her to call. It had started innocently enough with Mingi leaning in for just one more light kiss. He couldn’t help it. He had been listening to what Yunho said, he really had, then suddenly he noticed how lovely Yunho’s lips looked when he talked. Those perfect Cupid’s bows moving so pleasantly as the words he no longer really heard spilled out. His lips met the other boy’s, eating the last of the words. He still tasted a little like the cherry Slurpee they had gotten at the start of the evening. He was so delicious.

Shifting in his seat, Mingi had ended up half facing Yunho with one hand holding his head and the other desperately fumbing at the other boy’s waistband to get inside and touch him. Yunho had given in, helping him undo his jean shorts before pulling Mingi’s basketball shorts down enough to give him the access he needed to fondle him back. It hadn’t taken long for both of them cum, letting go of some of the tension they were both carrying all the time these days.

They cleaned up, making sure they weren’t leaving any evidence of their activities in the car for a parent to find. The car smelled like sex and the dampness of the nature that lined the shore as Mingi leaned back to rest his head against Yunho’s chest as he lounged between his leg.

“Do...do you think we’ll have to take turns?” Mingi asked quietly, playing with the finger on one of Yunho’s hands.

“Take turns?” He asked the other boy, completely lost as to what he was talking about.

“When we live together,” Mingi started, letting out a sigh. “Do you think we’ll have to take turns being with our girl or...like can we really do it together, all three of us?”

“Okay, I know you watch porn,” Yunho snickered. “I am sure you know it is totally possible for two guys and a girl to do things together.”

“I’m not stupid,” Mingi protested, dropping both of his hands into his lap. “But like, do you really see yourself fucking our girl like they do in ‘Gang Bang Boys 5’?”

“Point taken,” Yunho admitted, resting his chin on the top of Mingi’s head.

“Besides,” Mingi fidgeted again. “I don’t think she’s slept with anyone before. What if it hurts or what if we do something wrong? Do you really think she’ll want to be with two people the first time?”

“I don’t know, love,” he admitted, slightly ashamed that none of this had occurred to him. Leave it to Mingi to have clearly fantasized himself into a little bit of a panic.

“If she lets us choose, can you go first?” Mingi mumbled the question in the quiet of the car.

“You want me to do the deed, huh?” Yunho teased, hugging him to his chest.

“I’m not always that careful when I...what if I hurt her?” He finished with a sigh.

“You won’t, not any more than I would,” Yunho assured him. “We’ll do whatever works. We don’t even know if she’s ready to be with us like that. Maybe it will just be the two of us sneaking off to jerk each other off so we don’t bother her.”

“It’s okay if she’s not ready,” Mingi agreed. “But I don’t want to be sneaking around. Do you think she would be disappointed in us for doing this without her?”

“No,” Yunho scolded.

“You sure?” Mingi asked.

“You want to confess when she calls, ask if she’s okay with it?” Yunho offered.

“Maybe,” Mingi admitted, not sure if he felt like an idiot for needing to do it or not.

When she called that night, Mingi blurted out what they had done when she asked how they were doing. She met the confession with a laugh and asked if making out in the back of a car was as fun and iconic as the movies always made it look. The teasing assured Mingi that she wasn’t upset they had done something without her and let Yunho segue into the topic of room sharing to see if they really were all on the same page. They had talked about her room being the shared room they would all stay in together but hadn’t actually talked about whether they were really ready to be together in that way.

“We have our own rooms, too,” Yunho pointed out. “We can stay there for a while and see when things feel right.”

“Do you want to wait?” She asked after a pause.

“I would gladly drive us the three hundred miles to wherever you are right now to answer that question by making love to you tonight,” Yunho answered, only slightly hyperbolically.

“The only thing that has made the bickering between my dad and my little brother bearable for the past three weeks has been thinking about how each day, I am that much closer to going to bed every night in your arms.” She told them earnestly.

“You know that doesn’t mean we have to do everything right away, though, right?” Yunho pressed.

“I’m not saying you have to throw me against the wall the first chance you get,” She gave them a low chuckle. “But I started birth control a month and a half ago and you two aren’t the only ones who have been suffering from this stupid tension. God I wish I was in the backseat with you two right now.”

“We wish you were here too,” Mingi finally piped up, sending the phone a longing look.

“Okay I have to go,” she told them. “I’ll call you again tomorrow, okay? And take care of each other for me...however you want. Bye.”

A knock sounded at the door and Yunho sent a prayer of thanks to whatever it was in the universe that loved him just a little as he hopped up to accept the pizzas that had thankfully already arrived. He accepted the three large boxes of pizza and thanked the delivery person, passing them the fiver he happened to have on him and closed the door. He set them down on the coffee table and walked over to the end of the couch where Mingi was still smothering her with affection and knelt down on the couch beside them.

“I’m not that hungry right now,” Yunho told them both. “It feels like I have been waiting to be alone with you two. Can we…”

“Spend a little quality time in our room? See where we end up?” she finished for him. Yunho nodded and Mingi slid himself off the couch, eagerly skipping down the hall. Yunho drew her into his arms and honeymoon carried her into the bedroom, playfully tossing her into the middle of the bed.

Pulling herself up, she knelt on the bed and patted either side, inviting the boys to join her on either side. Mingi crawled into the bed and wrapped his arms around her waist.

“Yunho, can you do me a favor and bring that box to me?” She pointed to a plain white box that had been left unpacked in the corner. He placed the box near her and stretched out on the open side of the bed. She muttered to herself as she opened the top and rustled around in the box, obviously looking for something.

“You have no idea how many times I had to hide this box today to stop mom and dad from trying to unpack it,” she let out a nervous laugh. “Ah-ha!” She cleared her throat, pulling out what she had been looking for in the box. It was a headband with a large white bow attached to the center of it. Placing it on her head, she dove back into the box. Yunho bit his lip to keep from bursting out laughing. She was making herself their present.

“I don’t know what to take out,” she sighed, giving the box a hard quizzical look. “Okay this--” she plopped a tube of something onto the bed. “These...I got two different sizes…” she tossed a couple of small boxes down next to it. “Maybe this one too...it's flavored…” she pulled out a smaller tube and, with a last sift through the box, she closed the top and moved it to the foot of the bed. “Please close your eyes.”

Both boys looked at each other and gave little shrugs. Mingi let her go and stretched out on his side of the bed, closing his eyes as requested. Yunho did the same, also putting his arm over his eyes to prevent himself from peeking. They felt the bed move and heard the rustling of clothes and the sound of the box being lifted. Her weight briefly moved off the bed before coming back to where she started.

“Alright, you can open your eyes,” she declared. The bow was still placed nicely on her head but nothing else she had on was the same. She was kneeling in the center of the bed, stripped down to a sheer white mesh balconette and panty set, decorated with colorful embroidered flowers. She looked beautiful...and a little nervous. Mingi couldn’t help but stare, his eyes sticking on the sight of the pretty pink nipples he could just make out through the fabric. Yunho’s eyes skated over every surface and curve, trying to take it all in. The silence stretched and she couldn’t help but feel the nervous energy in her swell as she waited for one of them to say something.

“You look so pretty,” Mingi breathed, sitting up. “All this, is this just for us?”

“I’ve been thinking about tonight for a while and I wanted everything to be perfect,” she explained. “Tonight I get to be with the two people I love the most. I want to give you my everything. Welcome home.”

Mingi pulled her into his lap, tucking his head against her shoulder as he held her near. “We have a home.” His voice was grateful and contented. Yunho’s heart skipped a beat in his chest. He so loved to see them both looking so happy. His eyes flicked to the things she had pulled out of the box, still lying on the bed. Water based lube, pineapple flavored lube, and two boxes of condoms. He smiled at himself as he moved them off the bed and onto the bedside table to get them out of the way but keep them within reach. His hands went to the hem of his shirt, starting to pull it over his head when he heard her soft, wait. He half turned in his seat on the edge of the bed to find her crawling up behind him.

“Stand up for me,” She instructed, giving his neck a quick kiss. Yunho stood up beside the bed, turning to face her and the bed, keen to know what she had in mind. “I want to unwrap you,” she gave him a teasing grin. Her hands went to the hem of his black t-shirt. It was an old favorite of his, worn enough to be as soft as flannel and a little more grey than black. She slid it off over his head and tossed it near the foot of the bed. Taking a moment, she admired his bare chest, decorated only by the short but thick silver chain and pendant. It was solid and lean, covered in gorgeous light brown skin. She loved the shade of it, just the right shade, somewhere between light toast and milk tea. His skin always made her hungry, both of them did, and maybe that is why food always came to mind when she thought to describe them.

Her hands trailed down his chest and ribs, exploring his body slightly as her hands moved to the waist of his black jeans. He had worn his favorite e-boy look today, complete with studded belt and wallet chain. Her hands undid his belt and popped the button before carefully pushing the jeans and his underwear down his hips and past the curve of his lovely ass so they could drop and he could step out of them. It was the first time she had gotten to see him in all his glory and it was...beautiful. From the breadth of his shoulders which had filled out over the last year, to the soft ripple of muscles in his chest and stomach, to his narrow hips and thick muscular thighs, it was all so much better than she had imagined. And he was...big. All she could think was, thank goodness she got the magnums. Yunho noticed her stare and put his hands in front of himself, a pink spread over his cheeks and the tips of his ears. Her gaze lifted to his face again and she pulled it to her so she could give him a kiss.

“Sorry, I was staring,” she said after the kiss. “You’re just so tempting.”

“No,” He shook his head. “I just, I can’t tell what you’re thinking.”

“Come lie down,” she moved back to give him space and he crawled into the bed. “Mingi, baby, can I…” The other boy looked a little startled to have the attention on him again but nodded, scooting off the side of the bed and waited. “Do you want to help me?” She directed the question to Yunho who eagerly nodded at the invitation. Her hands went to Mingi’s face, pulling it to her for a kiss. He looked nervous but excited, just not sure what it was he was supposed to be doing.

“Me next?” Yunho gave him a big grin as mingi pulled back from his kiss with her. Mingi nodded and angled himself to meet the lips of the nude boy who was kneeling beside her. Their kiss turned hungry and Yunho hooked his fingers in the belt loops of the other boy, bringing his hips forward to press against his own. As she watched their lips clash, she felt a thrill of anticipation. They pulled apart panting and the moment had only added to the obvious and growing arousal Yunho was sporting.

She reached for the hem of his shirt to pull it over his head while Yunho unbuttoned and lowered his jeans. She tossed the shirt away and let Mingi step out of his jeans. Yunho pulled at Mingi, urging him onto the bed with him.

“Do you still want me to go first?” Yunho squeezed the other boy’s hand. Mingi nodded sheepishly.

“You talked about this?” she suppressed a laugh, but couldn’t stop herself from letting out a choked giggle.

“Just...since it is your first time, too,” Yunho explained. “We wanted to be careful, to make sure that it's good for you.”

“Thank you for worrying,” She soothed, reaching out to both of them. “I know that my boys are going to take care of me so well. Come and lay with me, please.” Mingi crawled to her and pulled her back to lay against the mound of pillows piled against the headboard. He kissed her cheek, taking the bow off her head as he did, he wrapped an arm around her waist. Yunho came up beside her and slipped a finger into the waistband of her panties.

“Can I take these off?” He asked, pulling at them lightly. She nodded and lifted her hips to allow him to slide them off.

Mingi’s hand moved to the mound of her breast and gave it a testing squeeze. Her pink nipple showed through the sheer fabric and his mouth watered to taste it. “I want to see you...all of you.” His hand played with the strap of the bra and she sat up to unhook the bra and slip it off herself. Mingi reached up and stilled her hand, unhooking it himself and sliding the straps down her arms.

She laid back down again, her hands moving to cover herself automatically. Yunho’s hands moved to cover hers, drawing them off her to let them see her. “No love, we’ve been waiting so long, let us see you.”

“You’re so beautiful,” Mingi fawned, his hand traveling down along the plane of her stomach to the curve of her hips. His fingers paused over a small mole on one side of her stomach, wanting to commit the detail to his memory. He leaned over, taking her lips in a timid kiss as his fingers splayed over her stomach, exploring her body through touch. He broke the kiss, letting his lips move lower to nibble at the line of her collarbone. Slowly he moved lower, tasting his way to her nipple which he teased with a soft flick of his tongue. The soft intake of breath, half gasp, half moan, emboldened him and he opened his mouth, suckling the soft flesh.

“Mingi, yes, that feels good,” she encouraged, her hand resting on his shoulder. His large hand gripped her rib cage, feeling the speed of her breathing increase. Yunho felt himself grow harder as he watched patiently. He wanted Mingi to explore her without self consciousness. Over the month she had been gone he had talked a hundred times about things he wanted to do, ways he wanted to touch her, fantasies about the pleasure he wanted to bring her. Mingi wanted this moment with both of them. He wanted to let go of the frustration of having to hide his affections, his closeness to the people he loved. Finally, he could touch them without fear of judging eyes and in more than just stolen moments.

Mingi pulled back, his eyes wandering over her body again. “Can...can I touch you?”

“You already are,” she teased. “But if you are asking for permission, you can touch me anywhere.” Mingi blushed and moved further down, looking up at the other boy for his permission as well. Yunho nodded, reclining along her on the other side. He watched as Mingi’s fingers traveled along the line where her stomach and legs met, following it towards the junction of her thighs. His light, testing touch sent a shiver through her.

“Good?” He questioned.

“Yeah, good,” she nodded, her hands reaching to touch both of the boys to ground herself. Her nerves danced with a nearly painful anticipation. Mingi slipped his hand between her thighs, gently parting them as he moved to be level with her pussy. He laid down between her spread thighs, kissing up along the smooth skin of one side he moved closer, but stopped just short of touching her there. He ran one finger along the slit.

“You’re already getting wet,” he commented, using her thighs to draw her closer.

“Is our girl ready already?” Yunho asked him, running a hand over her stomach, feeling it twitch as the other boy touched her.

“Not yet,” Mingi ran the tip of his tongue along the slit. She gasped at the sensation, curling her hips up and away from him involuntarily.

“Hold her hips,” Yunho suggested, sliding an arm under the pillow under her head as he held her closer. Mingi nodded, hooking both arms under her hips to hold her still. He repeated the teasing motion of his tongue drawing a strangled moan from her again.

“Say if it’s not good or if it’s too much,” Yunho murmured into her hair as he held her, feeling her nod in reply. His arm wrapped her torso, holding her as close as he could without getting in the way of what Mingi was doing for her. She moaned as Mingi’s mouth explored her more fully. “Does he make you feel good?” He whispered as he heard her breath catch. “Tell him how good he makes you feel, babe.”

“So g-good,” she keened. “Fuck, Mingi, please. Don’t stop. It feels so good.” The sounds coming from between her legs filled the room alongside her pants and broken gasps has he hit a particularly good spot.

“Are you close?” Yunho soothed her, stroking her hair softly.

“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “I haven’t really… when I did it by myself it didn’t feel like this.” He could feel her tensing, her hands gripping the sheets beneath them.

“Relax, love,” Yunho kissed her temple just as Mingi slid his tongue inside her, his nose brushing against her sensitive clit. She jumped under their collective touch, the sensations feeling overwhelming. From his spot between her legs, Mingi watched them both as he licked and tasted her. Her face was a mask of pleasure as Yunho held her, softly talking her through the pleasure. He felt a surge of confidence. He made her feel that; he gave her that pleasure. As painfully hard as he was, nothing could have made him feel better than seeing her break under the touch of his tongue. Her body moved against him and he tested sucking the small bud with the suction of his soft lips locked around it. Her toes curled and her thighs gripped his head and suddenly she let out a choked yelp. He continued to suck it for another second before flicking it with the tip of his tongue as she squirmed under him.

“Wait, wait,” She whimpered finally and Mingi pulled back, seeing a tear escape the corner of her eye.

“Was that bad? Too much?” He came to his knees between her thighs, drawing in a little on himself.

“No baby, it was so good,” she reached for him as the overwhelming sensation faded to a warmth that filled her body. “Please, I need to touch you.” Mingi crawled up beside her, holding her as she came down from her high.

When her breathing had returned to normal they both loosened the grip of their arms around her and looked at the peaceful expression that had taken the place of the intense look that had been there a moment ago.

“Was that enough for today?” Yunho asked, propping himself up on his elbow as he brushed some hair from her face.

“I don’t want to stop,” she shook her head. “I want someone inside me.”

“Okay,” Yunho nodded, giving her a kiss. He rolled to the side and reached for the bedside table where he had put the lube and the condoms earlier. Sitting up on the side of the bed he opened one of the packages, ribbed for her pleasure, and ripped open one of the little foil packets.

“Can I try putting it on you?” She asked from behind him, having pulled herself up onto her elbows.

“Sure,” he nodded and handed her the opened packet.

“Can you lie down for me,” she prompted, scooting closer to Mingi to leave more room for him. He stretched out on the bed on his back, carefully watching as she pulled out the small rolled bit of latex. “Okay...pinch the tip and roll it down.” She said to herself as she positioned it on the head of his penis. Yunho bit his lip to keep from moaning at the sensation of her rolling it all the way down his length. His eyes widened as she moved to straddle his hips.

“Hold one one second,” he stopped her and reached for the bottle of lube on the table. Clicking open the top and squeezing some of the gel-like liquid onto his hand, he spread it on his length and wiped the last of it onto her. Tossing it aside, he helped her guide his length to her entrance.

“Let’s go slow,” Yunho’s voice was tight. “We aren’t in a hurry. Here, put your hands up here by my shoulders.”

“Okay,” she leaned forward and let his hands guide her down. The head slid into her easily and she let herself move lower on him until a slight stinging made her hips stutter.

“You okay?” He asked, unclenching his jaw and letting his head drop back to the pillows as he looked up to her face.

“Yeah, it just feels...weird,” she let herself sink down a little more, then waited for the burning to subside, joking, “There is a lot of you.”

“Sorry, love,” he gave a breathy chuckle. “I can’t really change that.”

“I know,” She scrunched up her face as she moved down a bit more.

“How are you feeling?” Yunho’s thumbs stroked the soft skin of her stomach and hips as he held himself still.

“I’m good.” She exhaled before joking, “Is that all of you?”

He looked down to where their bodies met before nodding. Turning his head, he looked at Mingi who was laying on his back on his side of the bed. He ran one hand lightly over his length as he stared at the pair beside him, his eyes drawn magnetically to where they were connected.

“Mingi,” Yunho breathed, one hand going to reach for him. “Can you help our girl move?”

“How?” Mingi asked, sitting up. “What can I do?”

“Get behind her, I think,” He replied, trying not to move. “Hold her and guide her hips when she is ready to move. And touch her, make sure our girl cums again.”

Mingi nodded, fitting his long body against her back, his thighs cradling her from behind. One long arm reached down to hold himself up and the other engulfed her, holding her to his chest. He kissed her temple, his eyes meeting Yunho as he did. “You’re doing so good,” He told them both. “You ready to move?”

She nodded, lifting her hips experimentally. Stopping half way, she slowly let herself sink down again, sighing at the pleasant sensation. Mingi’s hand moved down to feel where her body enveloped Yunho, using two fingers to frame his cock, feeling it move in and out as they rocked in unison. Together they slid almost to the tip, sinking down with a collective groan.

“Touch her for me,” Yunho panted. “I’m not going to last very long. She feels so good. God, I knew she would...but it’s even better than I had imagined.”

“You want to feel her squeeze your cock?” Mingi teased, his fingers going to brush her clit as they continued to move.

“Yes,” Yunho confessed, his hands gripping Mingi’s thighs. “I want to cum inside her. I want to make her ours forever. Make her feel so good, no one else could ever compare.”

“You want to make her feel how much you love her,” Mingi tempted.

“God yes,” Yunho admitted, arching slightly off the bed.

“Then move,” Mingi commanded. “I’ve got our girl. Show her how you want her.” Mingi leaned them both forward so that Yunho could move enough to buck his hips up. His hips snapped up, drawing a gasp from her. Her thighs quivered as the boys worked together to pleasure her. Yunho’s eyes went to her face, searching it for any sign of pain or discomfort. Finding none, he let go of the last ounce of control he had been clinging to. He could feel Mingi’s fingers work between them, sending waves of pleasure through her that made her twitch around him.

Just when he thought he wouldn’t last long enough, he felt her crumble. Her walls fluttered then milked him as she let out a breathy keen, half collapsing on him. He thanked the universe and stopped his struggle to last. With a few last stuttering thrusts, he emptied himself into her, with only the thin layer of the condom between them.

Mingi watched the look of bliss bloom on Yunho’s face and kissed the damp temple of the girl between them. He was still painfully hard but he was quite sure that the surge of satisfaction he felt at that moment could not be topped. He pulled her limp body up to lean against him as he held her, murmuring comforting words of encouragement and love.

“Do you want to lie down?” Mingi asked, petting her cheek softly. She nodded, allowing him to lift her off Yunho and lay her down on the bed beside him. Mingi continued holding her, one hand stroking down her side as he praised her, told her she was so beautiful and wonderful. She relaxed into his arms and let her eyes close.

Beside them, Yunho let his breathing return to normal before sitting up to slide the messy condom off his softening length. He blushed at the sight of the pink streaks that were present, glancing over at her relaxed form and wondering if she really was alright. He tossed the condom away in the trash before padding back to the bed. Mingi looked so sweet curled around her, but Yunho couldn’t help but notice his straining erection pressed against her hip. His mouth watered at the sight.

Those couple of stolen moments they had shared in the car that summer had left Yunho with a desire to taste the beautiful length he had caught brief glances of as they chased their pleasure in the backseat of the car, always with one eye out to make sure they weren’t caught by someone.

She lay between them nearly asleep, barely noticing when Yunho pulled her closer to his side, tucking her up into the pillows with a kiss to her forehead.

“On your back, love,” He ordered lowly to Mingi. The other boy acquiesced, rolling over, carefully drawing his arm out from under her so that he wouldn’t disturb her. Yunho crawled over to the other side of the bed and began kissing his way up the other boys legs as he looked hungrily up the planes of his body. Mingi held his breath watching Yunho devour him with his eyes. His cock twitched against his stomach as the other boy neared it, placing kisses along the v where his thighs and stomach met.

“Wha...what are you doing?” Mingi asked as Yunho parted his thighs to recline between them.

“I’m going to taste you,” Yunho explained with a playful smile on his Cupid’s bow lips.

“You don’t have to,” Mingi gave him a shy look, still a little afraid deep down that the other boy didn’t really love him, not like that at least.

“I want to,” Yunho assured him. “I’ve wanted to feel you in my mouth since that first night in the back seat.”

“Really?” Mingi’s voice was flavored with a hint of disbelief.

“Didn’t you ever think of it?” Yunho ran his fingers lightly over the underside, drawing a sharp intake of breath from him.

“Yeah but, I didn’t think you’d want…” Mingi blushed, trailing off.

“You didn’t think I wanted you?” Yunho chastened. “Then what did you think?”

“I don’t know,” He mumbled, looking away. “I was there and, I guess…I guess I’m better than nothing.”

“Better than nothing?” Yunho repeated in disbelief. “I love you, Mingi. I love you and your laugh and your smile. I love how you make me feel so happy when you are there. I love your kisses and I love your hands on me. I love your body and your face. I want you, I want all of this with you.

“This summer was hard because she was gone,” He continued. “But it wasn’t hard because she was gone, it was hard because we all weren’t together. It would have been the same if you had been missing or, I hope, if I had been. What we have isn’t bad or wrong or second best. It's part of something bigger that fills a little hole in my heart I didn’t know was there until I met you two.”

“Really?” Mingi said a second time, wanting more than anything to believe him.

“Can I taste you?” He asked this time. “Can I show you that I want you, too?”

“Yeah,” Mingi agreed, lacing his fingers in the messy brown locks of the other boy. The long fingers of one hand encircled the base of his cock, angling it so that he could better reach it. With his eyes locked with Mingi, Yunho pressed a kiss to the underside of his head. Mingi whimpered and could only watch as Yunho’s pretty Cupid’s bow lips parted to take it in his mouth. The warm wet of his mouth encircled him and it felt like paradise.

Yunho broke eye contact as he pushed his mouth down the length until it filled his mouth. He pulled back to just the tip and swirled his tongue around it like it was the sweetest candy. With his free hand, he fondled the balls hanging so tightly against his body. Mingi moaned, closing his eyes and throwing his head back.

Pulling himself higher, Yunho propped himself up, his hands caressing and holding the trim waist of the other boy. He reveled in the soft velvety skin as it stroked against his tongue and along the roof of his mouth. He drew himself off taking a few steadying breaths, he angled himself to take as much as he could into his mouth. Like Yunho himself, Mingi was not a small boy and Yunho met his limit before he managed to take all of him. Mingi gasped, eyes widening as he watched the other boy sink down on him. His stomach clenched and he had to keep himself from bucking up as he felt his tip hit the softness of the back of Yunho’s throat.

Yunho drew back, lines of slick drool covering the stiff line of Mingi’s cock as he did. He stroked the length as he paused to catch his breath before going back, again working his mouth down as far as he could. Yunho let out a low moan, stroking the flat of his tongue against the underside of Mingi’s member as he moved his head up and down.

“Yunho,” Mingi breathed as the other boy pulled back again.

“Hmmm?” Yunho looked up at him, running the pat of his thumb over the slit on the tip.

“I’m getting close,” Mingi shook his head, hands reaching for the soft mop of Yunho’s hair.

“Good,” He grinned back. Yunho took him back in his mouth bobbing as quickly as he could, careful not to graze his teeth along the thick length as he moved. Mingi felt waves of pleasure clench his stomach and curl his toes, he twitched and gasped. His hands clutched for something to steady him. They tangled in the sheets and in Yunho’s hair, feeling his head move with the waves of pleasure.

Yunho took a deep breath through his nose and watched Mingi’s face screw up into a mask of mindless pleasure. He wanted to see him as he finally let go. Sliding down again, this time he ignored the discomfort when it brushed the back of his throat. It made him gag slightly, drool pooling in his mouth. But he pushed past it, letting his cock slide back into his throat. Mingi, overwhelmed by the feel, lost control and bucked his hips up, driving himself all the way into Yunho’s mouth as his orgasm hit him.

“Sorry sorry sorry sorry,” he stuttered as he felt his cock twitch as it emptied down Yunho’s throat. Yunho blinked away the blur of tears that had come along with the triggering of his gag reflex. It was all worth it for the look he could still make out on the other boy's face and to feel the warm gushes of his cum run down his throat.

“It’s okay,” Yunho croaked, his throat slightly irritated by Mingi’s repeated intrusions. “That was as good as my fantasies.”

“Thank you,” Mingi leaned forward, tilting Yunho’s face so that he could kiss him. “If we do that again, I promise I’ll try to be more careful.”

“Don’t apologize,” Yunho gave a dark chuckle. “I like that I can make you lose control like that.”

“I’d say you are mean, but…” Mingi’s face split into a joyful smile. “You’re too sweet.”

“I think we should clean up and get our girl cleaned up a little,” Yunho suggested, looking at her sleeping form curled up beside them. Mingi nodded, sliding off the bed onto wobbly legs and heading to the large master bath attached to the room. He waddled in and turned on the shower, letting the water warm up. Yunho came in behind him, arms filled with a still groggy girl.

“Go ahead and hop in the shower,” Yunho suggested. “I think our girl is going to need a bath.”

“Is she okay,” Mingi asked, worried that they had made her so tired.

“How about it babe,” Yunho asked her, sitting both of them on the edge of the large porcelain bathtub. “You okay?”

“Mmm,” she nodded. “I’m tired...maybe hungry now.”

“Let’s get you in the bath and then I will bring you some pizza,” Yunho offered. “If you wash up, you can get in the tub with our girl, help her clean up.” He tempted the other boy, in part because he didn’t want to leave her alone in the water as sleepy as she was, but also wanting to give Mingi a few moments with her. Mingi nodded happily and stepped in under the warm water.

Yunho started to fill the tub before he leaned over to search the drawers near the sink to look for something to clip her hair up to keep it out of the water. He found a claw clip and twisted her ponytail into a messy bun.

“There, perfect,” he declared, tweaking her nose and making her giggle. Mingi stepped out of the shower, his hair a damp mess. He padded over to the filling tub and stretched out in the water, opening his arms to accept her small form. Yunho carefully laid her in Mingi’s lap, stepping back as he enveloped her in his long arms and buried his face in the crook of her neck. Yunho stepped into the shower to wash off quickly, letting the warm stream of water relax his muscles and wash away the stickiness of the sweat that had coated his skin. He smiled at the happy murmurs and chuckles that reached his ears from the other two. They were just quiet enough to obscure what was said, but the happiness was evident in their tone, nonetheless. He turned off the shower, clean and refreshed, tousled his hair with a towel and dried himself off before stepping out.

Yunho slipped out of the room while Mingi was still holding her, rocking tenderly, as he held her against his chest. She smiled up at him, pressing a light kiss against his cheek, lifting her foot to break the surface of the water, watching the ripples skate over it’s stillness.

“Are you okay, really?” Mingi asked quietly, bending his knees slightly to make a better seat for her on his lap.

She nodded, threading her fingers through his where they rested on her stomach. “Thank you for tonight. It was better than I had hoped.”

“It didn’t hurt?” He pressed, unable to forget some of the boastful stories he had overheard in places like locker rooms when guys bragged to stroke their egos with each other.

“No, it didn’t hurt,” she promised. “But now my thighs are sore. I think I used muscles I didn’t know I had. I’m gonna need some practice to get them in shape.”

“Next time, maybe I can...you know,” He couldn’t finish his sentence. She could feel his face warm as he blushed.

“Maybe next time you can…” She teased, letting the pause carry. “Make love to me? Fuck? Screw me? Fornicate?” Behind her he giggled, squeezing her more tightly against him.

“Yeah,” he confirmed. “I was just afraid I was going to do it wrong; that I would hurt you.”

“You would never,” she assured him. “Not my precious Mingles.”

“I love you two so much more than I can ever say,” he confessed, his voice tight with emotion. “I don’t know what I would do if you ever left me.”

“You’re stuck with us,” she promised. “You could run to the ends of the earth and we would come to find you.”

Mingi could only hold her as he swallowed past the prickle of tears and the lump in his throat. Yunho stood outside the door, holding one of the boxes of pizza, listening to her reassure the other boy, his heart swelling at her words. He couldn’t have put it better. He would go to the ends of the earth and back for them. No, they were his world and he would do anything just to make them smile.

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bard-llama · 3 years

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Don’t Cry for Me, Temeria Snips

I asked and y’all said you’d like to see some random snips in the (Im)Perfect Strangers universe, so...

When I say random, I do mean random. I’m still super stuck on the main story (maybe I should just trash what I have and start over idk), but there’s a LOT of side stories that I’ve started for this ‘verse, so... here you go. Did I mention this is gonna be long? ‘cause yeah, it really, really is, tho I’ve saved the longest WiPs for last.

Note: Most of these are not spoilery really, but I will note when there are specific spoilers for the main storyline of (Im)Perfect Strangers

This first one is kinda random politics, but like... there’s a LOT that goes into trying to restructure a society to be more equitable. And not everyone is gonna be happy about all that needs done.

The difficult thing about building a kingdom where all species were equal was actually doing the building. Which would be so much easier if they were starting from scratch, actually. Sure, the task of starting such a huge project was daunting, but Iorveth stood by the idea that at least everything would intentionally be theirs.

Instead, they were stuck building on top of everything that came before and all that it meant.

“On the matter of education,” one stuffy council member began, “Saskia has convinced me that a national education curriculum with room for regional specifics and changes would be best. But I just cannot get behind the idea of actual schools being nationalized. Neighborhood schools are part of our culture! It helps kids become familiar with their own community! Opening these schools up to kids from other communities is counterproductive.”

“Sounds reasonable,” Vernon shrugged next to Iorveth and Iorveth saw red.

“Except,” he grit out, “that we aren’t starting from scratch and creating neighborhoods where everyone lives together. Instead, we’re working with the fact that dwarves mostly live amongst dwarves and humans live amongst humans and elves live amongst elves. If they don’t get out of their neighborhood community, then they’ll never learn about each other or interact with each other much.”

Saskia nodded and part of Iorveth relaxed. At least she understood, even if Vernon didn’t. Hopefully, it was just that Vernon didn’t know.

“Iorveth is right,” Saskia said and all eyes turned to her. “The current neighborhood schools are also community-funded, which means that the humans in the human enclave, for instance, have less funds than a school in the Craftsman Quarter, which is predominantly dwarven and has more wealth due to selling those crafts in the market.”

“So what do you suggest?” another council member sniffed haughtily. “Are we all to move until neighborhoods are intermingled? That will likely just lead to outbreaks of violence, not understanding.”

“You’re right, that’s not something we can fix easily. I certainly have no wish to ask dwarves who have been living in their homes for centuries to move to make room for other species. However, I do think it is reasonable that we expand neighborhoods and open new housing up to other species. Additionally, most children’s exposure to other species will likely come from their schooling, so having open schools is essential. But I don’t think that’s enough. Letting a parent choose to send their child to the poor human school or the wealthy dwarven school isn’t a fair choice – and won’t build inclusion on a larger scale. Instead, I think we need to be intentional about placing students in classrooms and in ensuring that teachers have adequate training to serve the needs of all students, whether they be human, dwarven, elven, or something else.”

There was a thoughtful hum from somewhere around the table as everyone processed Saskia’s words.

“Okay,” Vernon nodded, agreeing with Saskia, and Iorveth was beyond relieved that this wasn’t going to end up being a fight between them. “But how? How do we actually do that? And on what scale? If we try to do that with all of Vergen – or all of the Free Pontar Valley – now, we’ll just be interrupting the children’s education. Perhaps we should try this with a specific neighborhood school first and test the model?”

“I disagree,” the sorceress said and for possibly the first time ever, Iorveth felt a smidgeon of affection for a mage. “Their education has already been disrupted. I think the better way to respect their experiences is to make sure they are receiving support as we enact these changes. Because all of the children in Vergen have experienced this interruption, not just one neighborhood. Isn’t it better to explain what we’re doing and why as we provide intermediary teaching and support? And then when we roll out the changes, we can be confident that they reflect the children’s needs.”

“Yeah, but again, how do we do that?” another council member echoed Vernon’s words.

“For a start,” Iorveth began, voice icy. Too icy, based on Saskia’s hidden wince. Oops? “We can set up a central education fund for all schools, giving them enough funding to put them on equal grounds. Which means the poorer schools will need more than the richer ones to make up the difference.”

“But that’s unfair,” someone said and Iorveth glared at them.

“Really? More unfair than living with the decisions made by city founders centuries ago that leave them in abject poverty with an underfunded school and shit teachers?”

Saskia cleared her throat. “Equity,” she said firmly. “Our aim for this new realm is equity for all. Equity does not mean equality – it does not mean an even distribution of resources, the same thing for everyone. Instead, equity means the same outcomes for everyone, even if getting them to that outcome takes more funds and resources.”

She looked around the table, meeting people’s eyes, and Iorveth watched as most of the council muttered and moaned, but didn’t speak up against her decree. Good.

“Now, for student placements,” Saskia began, “I have a few ideas, but I imagine the teachers in our midst have perspectives that would be beneficial to this discussion. That is why council meetings are open to everyone – none of us know everything. But when we encourage people to share their perspectives and expertise with us, it helps us minimize mistakes and ensure we are thinking of everything.”

The head of the teacher’s guild inclined their head towards Saskia when she gestured for them to take the floor. “Thank you. We do have a few possible ideas, but I think the first thing we need to establish is what we consider most important for the students? Is it stability? Consistency? Exposure? Shared experiences? Whatever we choose will greatly affect our decisions, so I believe we should start here.”

One human snorted at the dwarf, frowning at them. “Obviously the quality of education is the most important!”

Iorveth rolled his eye. “Obviously. But what they’re saying is that which option we prioritize for students will affect how we go about doing this.”

“In such a time of change, surely stability is most important?”

“Same old, same old?” Vernon asked, rubbing his chin in thought. “But when that ‘same old’ is built on racial segregation and inequal funding, is that really what we want?”

Something inside Iorveth unclenched. Vernon did understand. Even if they didn’t always agree with each other’s ideas, Vernon knew how essential it was for Anais and Boussy to unlearn their racism and limit their exposure to more.

And maybe someday soon, the children would stop flinching every time Iorveth walked in the room.

“All right,” Saskia clapped her hands, cutting through the small conversations and grumbling from most of the room. “It would seem this is in need of discussion. Why don’t we start with what we each wish to prioritize and why and perhaps we can come to a consensus?”

More snips under the cut to save your dash

This one is just a random bit, but I need everyone to know that Roche’s tattoo collection includes 2 things: 1) a tramp stamp that says ‘Property of Temeria’ and 2) flowers scattered across his back

Iorveth directed his gaze across Roche’s back where stylistic flowers were inked into his skin. Odd choice for someone who pretty clearly had zero knowledge about plants, but humans did find such things aesthetically pleasing. Only–

Iorveth blinked and tilted his head. The flowers had dicks in them. What he’d thought were simply artistic petals were, in fact, dicks. Ones that looked just like the soft cock below them, and Iorveth bit back a laugh. What was humanity’s obsession with phalluses? Did they really think the others of their species were impressed by their size?

Well, Iorveth considered, he was rather a fan of the size of Roche’s cock, though he had no idea how it compared to the rest of the species. Surely some of the depictions he’d seen were exaggerated. Right?

This next snip is the next chapter of Earning Your Stripes, so warnings for group sex lol. It’s also before Silas joins the Stripes and Thirteen is the newest addition, but really they’re all getting to know each other (except Fenn and Finch, who came as a package deal). Technically speaking, PT would not be PT yet, but uh... fuck that. Oh, also warning for talk about addiction, specifically to opium.

PT was sorting through his medical supplies while his new team sat somewhat awkwardly around the campfire. They all seemed perfectly nice – well, sort of – but newness had always made PT a little anxious and even though he was happy to follow Commander Roche wherever he chose to lead, these little moments of downtime were just… awkward. Everyone talking a little too quietly – or a little too loudly in Fenn’s case – no one really knowing how they fit together.

It was stressful, and PT had to resist checking his opium supply again. He had plenty. He knew he had plenty. The king had even personally ensured he had plenty. After all, they might need to subdue a big man like him.

PT hated how much he craved it, hated the way the army had done this to him, had gotten him addicted while he was too catatonic to resist. But Commander Roche had had a point when he’d said “better this than dead”. And it was, but it still chafed badly, this clawing need that never fully went away. And fulfilling it – oh that was even worse, because he loved it, he loved the mindless state it brought him to where the worries of the world ceased to exist.

Sometimes he wished there was another way he could get that. Another way to drive back the blood and gore that threatened to intrude upon his memory any time he was still and quiet.

PT fisted his hands, digging his fingernails into his palm, and forcibly turned his attention back to his companions. Better to wonder about them than to let his thoughts wander.

The newest member of their team, Thirteen, fidgeted in his seat across from PT before apparently coming to a decision and rising to approach their commander.

“Can I–” Thirteen started to ask, biting his lip. Commander Roche looked up at the new kid, scanning over him with an assessing gaze. PT wondered what he was looking for.

“Kneel,” Roche ordered, voice firm, and PT’s legs tensed, ready to drop to his knees with an eagerness that surprised him. But Roche wasn’t talking to him, he was talking to–

Thirteen obediently knelt on the ground next to Roche, sitting back against his ankles with a sigh.

At first, PT expected something more to happen. Anything, really. But Thirteen just sat silently next to Roche, absently inking his own inner forearm. The frenetic energy that the newbie had been radiating slowly drained out and Thirteen seemed entirely content to stay where he was, even though his knees couldn’t be comfortable.

PT glanced at the rest of the Blue Stripes, wondering what they thought. No one seemed to be acting as if this was anything out of the ordinary, and PT bit his lip, wondering if he could – if it would be all right –

Shorty threw something at Finch’s head, and it bounced off, landing on PT’s thigh. He looked down at the coin and then up at Shorty with a raised eyebrow. Fenn reached over and plucked the coin from PT’s leg, the brief touch of hot fingers leaving shudders racing up and down his leg. He bit his lip harder.

Fenn passed the coin to Finch and added one of his own begrudgingly.

“And what is it you’re paying for?” Ves asked

Finch shrugged, “just a bet. I called it right off.”

“And what’s that?” Commander Roche’s deep voice asked and it seemed to echo in PT’s head.

“That you were his sugar daddy,” Finch said bluntly and PT choked, staring at him. “What? It’s not like we’re not all here ‘cause you saved us.”

Commander Roche snorted, “is that you asking for something?”

“Nah, not for me.” Finch’s dark eyes met PT’s at that moment and PT swallowed audibly.

“Oh?” Commander Roche hummed, and again, his voice seemed to overwhelm PT, making everything else seem insignificant.

When he looked back, he discovered that Thirteen had finally moved. Now, instead of tattooing himself, his head rested against Commander Roche’s knee and his eyes were shut. Commander Roche’s hand absently stroked over his hair, occasionally tweaking his ear.

PT had never wanted anything more.

He blushed brightly, avoiding Commander Roche’s gaze. It wasn't his place to–

“Come here, PT,” Commander Roche ordered and by the time his mind registered the words, he was already standing in front of his commander.

“Y-yes, sir?”

Commander Roche tilted his head to the side, indicating the spot beside his seat on a tree stump. The spot unoccupied by Thirteen. “Sit down,” Commander Roche said clearly and PT swallowed, dropping to his knees.

Even on his knees, he was too tall – too big and awkward and unwieldy – to curl into a position like Thirteen’s, and he very suddenly wanted to cry.

“Shh,” Commander Roche murmured, reaching out with his free hand to stroke through PT’s hair. “Sit however is comfortable,” he commanded, then dragged PT’s head down to rest on his thigh.

PT shifted, rearranging his legs until he was content not to move, and Commander Roche began to pet his hair gently. His eyes fluttered half-closed, and he felt a calmness descend on him that he hadn’t felt since before – before.

“Well, that’s cute enough to make my teeth ache, but I’m fucking bored,” Fenn complained. PT was only absently aware of it, perceiving it without using any energy to process it.

“You don’t have any teeth,” Shorty pointed out. “Well, not real ones.”

“That’s the point, dumb fuck,” Fenn sighed, then whined piteously, “entertain meeeeeeee.”

Ves rolled her eyes. "Stop being a cunt and start eating one."

Commander Roche snorted, his hand steadily brushing through PT’s hair.

Fenn grinned, wide and shit-eating. “I am what I eat.”

“Prove it.”

“Make me.”

Finch sighed and got up. Then he gripped Fenn by the hair and dragged him over to Ves. Fenn just laughed, rearranging himself easily so that his upper body rested on Ves’ knees, back straight and knees spread. Finch stepped back and leveled a firm smack on Fenn’s ass, then he grabbed Fenn’s hands and held them tightly at the small of his back. The younger man attempted to muffle his moan against Ves’s codpiece.

Ves took over Finch’s grip in Fenn’s hair, tugging hard. “You haven’t earned my cunt,” Ves sneered, “but you want to, don’t you?”

“Fuck you,” Fenn snarled, and Ves smacked him soundly.

“Don’t you?” she asked again, hissing.

“Nnngh,” Fenn swallowed roughly, then grinned up at her with blood-speckled teeth, “I want to do a lot of things.”

Ves narrowed her eyes, but instead of saying anything, she looked up at Finch, who was standing behind Fenn and blatantly admiring the man’s ass.

“What do you think?” she asked, faux sweet, “should we give him what he wants?”

Finch and Shorty both snorted, and PT felt a flicker of amusement amongst the floating peace. In the time they’d known Ves, she had never given anyone what they wanted unless it was precisely what she wanted.

“I think,” Finch said, playing with his belt, “that we should use him how we want.” He unbuckled the leather and folded it with a snap. “What I want to see is that ass red and claimed.”

Ves smirked at Fenn’s shudder, then she turned to Shorty, the only one of them with an outside partner. “Bring me my bag and then give Fenn a nice attentive audience, hmm? So he knows that we all can see how bad he’s being.”

Shorty licked his lips, scrambling to his feet to follow her orders. Ves plucked at the laces connecting her codpiece to her pants and slowly removed it.

Fenn licked his lips and immediately stretched his neck forward, only to get slapped away by Ves.

“I told you, you have to earn it.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a blue and white glass phallus, the size of which had Commander Roche giving a low impressed whistle.

Fenn’s breath was coming shakily, his eyes fixed on Ves’s strap. She brought it down to her cunt and uttered a few low words that magically suctioned the strap-on to her body.

“Mmm,” she let out a low pleased noise, and then tangled her hand in Fenn’s hair again. “Now,” she dragged his head closer, “I’m going to fuck your throat. You’re going to cry as I force your jaw wide and you’ll like it.”

Fenn moaned, his whole body shuddering. Ves smirked, guiding him down to mouth at the tip of her cock.

“It’s like getting fucked by the Temerian flag,” Shorty laughed. “Perfect. It’s even blue-striped,” he cackled, pointing at the spiral of dark blue that stood out against the glass.

“I have more, if you need a gag,” Ves threatened pointedly and Shorty snapped his mouth shut, still grinning widely.

Finch snapped his belt in the air and chuckled when Fenn jumped. Ves tightened her hand in Fenn’s hair and dragged him further down on her cock. Fenn moaned, even as he choked and tears gathered in the corners of his eyes. Finch gave him several moments to get used to Ves’s cock, and then, without warning, brought his belt down across Fenn’s ass.

Fenn jolted forward with a whimper, pushing himself further onto Ves’s cock. Then he arched, pushing his ass out to meet the next blow.

Ves laughed, “so eager for it, aren’t you, brat?”

Sadly, I have been stuck here for like a fucking year, but... enjoy?

This next one is kinda random in that I don’t even remember why I wanted to write them at a Bath House, but fun fact: Anais and Thirteen are both like cats who HATE water lmao.

“All right, who wants to head to the bath house?” Roche asked, clapping his hands together and pointedly looking at each of the more fragrant members of his team.

“Oooh, me!” Boussy bounced up and down excitedly.

Anais sighed. “Do we have to?”

“Yes, yes we do,” Roche said firmly. Not least because his scalp had started itching horribly from dried sweat and it was really difficult to scratch with the chaperone in the way.

“Thirteen, if you don’t go to the bath house now, you had better go later!” Ves snarled, “I can smell you from over here!”

“Hey! You don’t know that’s me!” Thirteen defended, across the room from Ves. “It could be – uh,” his voice abruptly faltered as he looked over the two people between him and Ves – Pillow Tits, as a medic, was dedicated to sanitation, plus he somehow always smelled a little like pine; and Silas, who obsessively washed behind his ears any time they had spare water. “Okay fine, it’s me. I’ll go,” Thirteen sighed.

“Anyone else?” Roche glanced around the room. “All right, we’ll be back later.”

Thirteen helped him carouse Anais into her shoes and soon enough, Boussy was leading them to the bath house.

The bath house itself was in an ornately carved stone building that protruded from the side of the mountain, next to the waterfall. It was only one of many bath houses in Vergen, but it was by far the fanciest one and Boussy had declared it his favorite. The entrance itself was grand, and that was nothing compared to the bath itself. Large enough to swim laps in if it were deeper, the main bath took up the majority of the room, and the tiled rim was decorated with carvings in elaborate geometric patterns that continued down each of the stone steps.

The bath house wasn’t too busy this time of day, which made it even more surprising to see Iorveth and Rinn sitting on the steps in the far corner of the bath, Iorveth still with his bandana on.

“Rinn!” Boussy called out happily and only Roche’s hand on his shoulder stopped him from running across the wet tile to her side. Instead, Roche guided them over at a more sedate pace that bore no risk of falling and cracking heads.

“Iorveth, Rinn,” he nodded to them, cocking an eyebrow at Iorveth.

Thirteen and Anais followed after them, though Anais was slightly more constrained in her excitement to see Rinn. Thirteen’s nod of acknowledgement was stiff and Roche abruptly remembered that with Thirteen here, he couldn’t touch Iorveth. He probably shouldn’t even act too familiar at all.

He swallowed sharply and pulled himself together enough to grab Boussy before the kid darted into the water.

“Hold on, kiddo. You gotta wash off first, then you can soak.”

Boussy huffed, “fiiiine.”

They each soaped up and rinsed off, then slid into the warm bath near Iorveth and Rinn. Boussy let out a loud satisfied sigh and melted into the steps. Roche would have trouble moving him any time soon, but that was fine – he was in no rush himself.

Anais, on the other hand, started fidgeting after just a few moments. Thirteen, likewise, kept wiggling around as if trying to get comfortable.

Then plan for this one is that Roche whispers to Iorveth all that he wants to do to him. When Anais and Thirteen leave as soon as possible (they REALLY don’t like baths), then Rinn watches over Boussy while they sneak away for a quick nookie lol.

This one is the next chapter of Tutti, which is about Iorveth reclaiming his love of music, specifically of composing.

The melody he’d improvised while messing around haunted Iorveth for the next week. He found himself humming pieces of it while he did his paperwork – the downside to creating a new state – and his fingers itched to curl around his instrument to play it again.

When was the last time he had actually composed something? Iorveth had spent so much time memorizing and sharing all the old elven songs he could that somewhere along the way, he’d forgotten that he could just...make his own. Just because.

It was freeing, to let himself do so.

As be began to fill imaginary sheet music with notes, Iorveth didn’t play his music for anyone. Not even Vernon. It just… there was something so personal , so cathartic about giving life to the song and he wasn’t ready for anyone else to hear it yet. He might never be.

Just because he wouldn’t play it for Vernon didn’t mean Vernon wasn’t on his mind every second as he composed. If anything, there was perhaps more Vernon in this song than Iorveth. But that was okay. Iorveth was beginning to realize that this song would be a long one, perhaps one that would forever go unfinished, just continuing to expand with each new verse he and Vernon lived through.

This song, he realized, was everything he felt for Vernon in musical form – their startling and joyful beginning, their tumultuous next meeting, and their fierce clashes, but also their soft moments. The way Vernon actively tried to improve and be better was imbedded into the high notes, soaring free, and they were interspersed with Iorveth’s own low notes of confusion, of fear, of hesitation. But together, the two tones blended until they reached a middle ground, one that supported each of them with a strong bass, but still fluttered through the air as they continued to become more.

It was breathtaking, the way the notes rang around his home, the home that Vernon had requested for him.

Don’t fully know where I’m going with this yet, but (SPOILERS) if their relationship isn’t revealed during (Im)Perfect Strangers (I genuinely don’t know if it will be), then it’s gonna happen here. Iorveth writes an entire symphony that’s essentially the story of their love and dedicates it to Roche. (the symphony will probably resemble Across the Stars, ‘cause that song screams romance to me)

Next is Elihal’s story! Well, technically Elihal/Hattori’s story, but the beginning is all Elihal.

Elihal had lived a long, long time. Far too long to give a single solitary fuck what anyone thought they should look like or dress like. They enjoyed living amongst humans, although some distance was always recommended. Most humans just “didn’t get” them. Most didn’t bother trying.

If they were another person, they might’ve blamed that on humanity’s close minded attitudes and views. And true, humanity could be close minded. But even before humans had arrived on this continent, Elihal had been dealing with people who “didn’t get” them for a long, long time.

They were tired of it. They were tired of the elves who scorned them for living amongst humans, for dressing the way they dressed, for “being confusing”. They were tired of the humans who looked at them askance, who happily bought their dresses, but looked down on their outfits, who didn’t bother to try to understand Elihal.

Elihal had lived in Novigrad since long, long before it had been called that. Since long before humans came and conquered, in point of fact. They’d lived in the city at one time, but while they’d had the sense to run from the coming human armies, they’d still found themselves returning. Home was home, after all, and for better or worse, Novigrad (as it was now called) was home.

They were something of a fixture in Novigrad by now – Elihal, the tailor with the weird gender shit. It made them laugh – if those people thought their gender was weird now, their minds would’ve been blown when Elihal was young and still experimenting with what they liked and didn’t.

They smiled to themselves, remembering one particular elf who had ignored everyone’s judging faces and embraced Elihal’s presentation openly. But then, Iorveth – at the time, anyway – had had his own flamboyant presentation style. That was why Iorveth had come to them – they were known for tailoring fine garments and Iorveth was in the market for a very, very fine outfit for some sort of awards ceremony.

Elihal and Iorveth had put their heads together to brainstorm the clothing, even as Iorveth’s “manager” had made concerned/disapproving sounds. Iorveth, meanwhile, was an absolute pleasure to work with – open to bold new ideas, but with enough of an concept in mind not to be indecisive. In the end, they put together a long gold gown that parted at the waist to show the vivid red inner lining. The golden fabric covered the arms and ended in a long bell sleeve, so that the red lining was visible in the drape of the sleeve. Elihal had personally embroidered the edges of the dress with a wide symmetrical star pattern and, if they did say so themselves, it was one of their best works.

Of course, these days, Iorveth was more known for his ruthless violence and rebellion against humans rather than his music or his clothing. But there had been a time when Elihal could openly brag that that famous pretty musician wore their designs to perform.

Sometimes, Elihal wondered if Iorveth missed it as much as they did. Not that Elihal themself had changed all that much – but Iorveth… Iorveth had been through many changes at the hands of humans. Enough so that Elihal could understand how their friend had turned to violence against humanity, even if they didn’t approve.

After all, Elihal had been at Iorveth’s last performance. And they knew exactly why Iorveth had stopped performing, exactly why Iorveth changed careers and began to fight for elven freedom.

Nonetheless, Elihal themself insisted on coexisting with humans. Humans needed clothing just as much as elves and dwarves and gnomes and halflings did. Why shouldn’t Elihal serve them? Yes, there were times that Novigrad was less than enchanting – the Church of the Eternal Fire had started stirring up hate towards nonhumans of recent, for example – but it was still home, and Elihal was a tailor, not a traveler.

When Iorveth turned into a revolutionary, Elihal had been left to make a decision – to lose contact with their friend, or to engage in illicit activities. Choosing Iorveth was easy. The illicit activities, less so. Iorveth didn’t demand much of them, but every time they received an encoded order from a nondescript courier, anxiety and fear built in their gut. It wasn’t fear of getting caught, not exactly. Even though every kingdom in the north sentenced Scoia’tael collaborators to death, Elihal was careful, and if they were caught, Elihal was prepared to defend themself.

Perhaps that was what scared them so much. Because they would defend themself, even if it meant shattering the unspoken truce that allowed them to coexist with humanity. Or was it to allow humanity to coexist with them?

Elihal wasn’t violent by nature. But they’d lived a long time and they had run out of fucks to give. If someone threatened them, they would respond appropriately.

They just really, really didn’t want to. They liked living in Novigrad amongst humans, and it would be such a shame to destroy that.

After this is supposed to be a meet cute with Hattori.

Okay, I don’t have a lot of the next chapter of The First Rule of Fight Club, but here’s what I got. Definite spoilers in this bit!

The great thing about living on a mountain – it could always be seen in the distance, so even if you’d wandered off without paying attention to where you were going, you could return.

Even if it took several hours. Which would have been fine – her muscles would be displeased with her tomorrow, but Ves had gotten a decent workout. The walking was a good cool down.

No, the problem was all the time that left her to think – about the lingering taste of blood in her mouth, about the fact that she knew what an elf’s skin felt like against her teeth, that it felt different to bite their chest versus their neck. About the way that long neck had arched under her bite, about the puff of breath against her own chest, about the soft gasp he’d made when she’d bit him the first time.

Dammit, she should have just killed him.

She was also stuck thinking about the things he’d said about Roche, that her commander wasn’t worthy of her loyalty. She snorted. What a ridiculous thing to say to your enemy. As if she would ever believe Ciaran.

But that didn’t stop her from thinking about it, didn’t stop her from examining everything that had happened recently over and over in her mind. At least thinking about Roche meant she didn’t have to think about Ciaran.

Except somehow, all the trails of thought she followed about Roche inevitably led back to Iorveth and the Scoia’tael. How strange.

As you maybe can guess (Again, SPOILERS!), Ves gets to thinking and realizes a few things. Aaaaand, that’s all I’ll say XD

Okay, this one is just a PWP lol. Specifically, it’s the first time they bring Saskia into their relationship. Sorta.

When Iorveth had said Saskia had agreed to a threesome, this was not at all what Roche had expected. First of all, he didn’t actually see Saskia anywhere around the forest clearing outside of Vergen. Instead, there appeared to be a large dragon behind Iorveth, where the elf was on his knees with his ass in the air and face buried in the grass.

Such a sight was naturally highly arousing, but Roche had never seen Iorveth’s ass on display accompanied by a forked tongue that licked a stripe from Iorveth’s cunt to his ass, then twisted across his rim. Iorveth whimpered into the grass and Roche’s feet automatically brought him closer, his eyes fixed on the way sharp talons carefully held Iorveth’s cheeks open as that agile tongue teased Iorveth, pressing in just the tiniest bit and pulling back just to do it again.

“Holy fuck,” he heard a rough voice say and belatedly realized that it was him.

Iorveth twisted his head until he could see Roche, eye half mast the way he got when he was feeling good. Roche licked his lips, and Iorveth reached out for him.

“Vernon,” Iorveth moaned, and Roche was at Iorveth’s side before he even registered that he was walking. “Fuck, feels so good.”

Roche reached out to take Iorveth’s hand and Iorveth clutched him tightly, even as the elf seemed to be unable to close his mouth, drooling against the grass already.

The sight was delectable, and Roche wasn’t sure when he’d gotten hard, but he definitely was now. He stroked his hand through Iorveth’s hair, and even though he should probably be concerned about the whole dragon thing and the whole dragon fucking thing, he found himself sitting down beside Iorveth.

“Fuck, look at you,” he murmured, gazing up Iorveth’s arched back to where the fronts of very large dragon fangs pressed delicately against Iorveth’s ass. The dragon looked – well, like a dragon. Roche hadn’t exactly seen one before, but the dragon’s snout looked pretty much like he’d expect a giant reptile’s snout to look – a big toothy grin, each fang bigger than Roche’s hand, surrounded by green and bronze scales that turned into white horns just above golden eyes that rolled around to focus on him.

Hello, Vernon, a deep, smoky voice growled inside his head. If he weren’t so used to talking with Triss that way, he probably would’ve been terrified at the idea of a dragon in his head.

Actually, even so, why wasn’t he terrified? It was a dragon.

But Witchers didn’t hunt dragons and Elves seemed to worship them. Maybe there really was nothing to fear – except possibly coming in his pants, because the sounds that Iorveth was making were mindblowing.

And then later, afterwards:

Saskia winked at him. “Last night was lovely. We’ll have to do it again some time.”

Roche blinked in confusion. Had Saskia joined them after all? What, had she watched from afar?

“See what I mean?” Iorveth said to Saskia in a tone of complete exasperation. “Absolute himbo.”

“Himbo? What is that? Is that Elder?” Iorveth hadn’t covered it in their lessons. He was mostly sure of that.

Saskia chuckled, patting him on the shoulder. “You’re an incredible man, Vernon Roche. I’m very glad fate brought you to Vergen.”

She patted him one more time, shared an amused glance with Iorveth, and then walked away to do whatever Queenly things were needed to keep the kingdom running. Roche just blinked at the space where she’d been.

“Did I miss something?”

Iorveth just laughed and leaned in to kiss him.

Okay, I have one more lighthearted snip, and then there 2 long ones that are both smutty. Sorta. One is VERY much spoiler territory, so I’ll put that last. But for now, have a Stripes vs Scoia’tael water balloon fight

Roche hadn’t actually been commanding men for very long – the four years with the Blue Stripes was his only experience – but he was good at it. He was good at reading people, understanding dynamics, and most importantly, sensing when morale was teetering on the knife’s edge of too low.

His command sense was screaming at him now. Fenn was also screaming, but that was because he’d done something stupid in his boredom. Again.

That was the last clue Roche needed to know that his men really, really needed a break. A true break, not a babysitting break or a guard duty break, but an actual morale-boosting break.

How that led to the intense free for all currently happening, he wasn’t sure. But he was winning. Sort of. Depending on how you measured winning.

...okay, maybe he was losing, but it could’ve been worse! They could’ve gone with Fenn’s idea to fill their ammo with paint.

Instead, a nice, normal water balloons pegged him in the shoulder and burst over his already sodden sleeve. Roche sighed heavily. He was too old for this, dammit.

This one has a title and is preeeeetty long, but not done yet, thus why it has not yet been posted. 😔 Also, warnings for consensual non-consent.

break (v /brāk/): to destroy someone's resistance

One

It started – well, not innocently, because they were not innocent people and their conversation was not the slightest bit innocent.

Technically, it was about torturing people. Which they both had extensive experience in.

Roche hadn’t really thought about his words before letting his curiosity get the best of him.

“If you had ever captured me,” he asked, taking the pipe from Iorveth’s hand and stealing his hit. Iorveth growled as he blew the smoke out in Iorveth’s face, and he continued, “how would you have tried to break me?”

Iorveth arched an eyebrow, snatching his pipe back and relighting it. “You don’t want me to answer that.”

Roche tilted his head, idle curiosity morphing into a sudden need to know. “Wouldn’ta asked if I didn’t.”

Iorveth grit his jaw, taking a long draw and closing his eyes as he exhaled. “Foltest is your obvious weakness. I’d drive a wedge there, emphasize failure,” Iorveth’s voice was toneless.

A wave of cold made Roche shudder and he swallowed. Well, he had asked.

“And you?” Iorveth asked blandly. “How would you have tried to break me?”

He looked Iorveth over, frowning. In truth, there were many ways he’d considered in the past of what he might need to do if he had caught Iorveth.

In the end, he hadn’t been able to do any of them.

“Someone like you,” he started, “you can take pain. You wouldn’t break.” Roche licked his lips and let Iorveth enjoy the flash of victory he could see in those eyes for just a moment before, “Not from pain, anyway.”

Iorveth scoffed, “and what is that supposed to mean? You think you could break me!?”

Roche tilted his head, “I find I no longer have any interest in seeing you in pain. But I bet I could take you utterly apart with pleasure.”

Iorveth’s breath came shorter and his lips parted.

Roche dragged his gaze over Iorveth again, lingering on those lips. “Your life has braced you against pain. But pleasure – you’re weak against it. You wouldn’t make it easy, of course – you never make anything easy – but yes, I think I could break you.”

He leaned closer to Iorveth, taking in the elf’s dilated eye and the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

“I think you’d like me to break you.”

Iorveth’s breath hitched.

Roche licked his lips. “In fact,” he said deliberately, “I think I can make you ask for it.”

Iorveth’s eye flashed and he sneered. “Not likely,” he dismissed, as if Roche hadn’t made him beg a dozen times. But this was a bit different. This was asking Roche without having been brought to the edge first. This was admitting that he wanted Roche to break him.

Roche reached out and took the pipe, taking a deep hit. He opened his eyes and met Iorveth’s gaze as he exhaled, smoke curling through the air between them. Iorveth was quite literally on the edge of his seat, leaning towards him the slightest amount and most definitely affected by this conversation.

He smirked and returned the pipe, rising to his feet. “I should go check on my men,” he said, and walked out of the room, leaving Iorveth on edge and frustrated – and no doubt thinking about whether or not to ask.

It might take a while, but Roche was quite certain Iorveth would ask.

Two

Iorveth held out for longer than he expected. The incident had almost slipped Roche’s mind entirely by the time Iorveth brought it up again. They were having breakfast together in Iorveth’s house – which really meant that Iorveth made them both amazing coffee and Roche cooked them actual food, because Iorveth was still too skinny – when Iorveth stopped picking at his food and turned to him.

“You’re awfully confident,” Iorveth said, apropos of nothing.

“Hmm?”

“In believing you can take me apart,” Iorveth mumbled and Roche immediately felt more alert – and not just because he’d just taken a sip of the truly amazing elven coffee.

“Oh, that’s just a fact. No confidence needed,” he smirked and met Iorveth’s narrowed gaze. “Anything in particular on your mind?”

Iorveth glared. “You know what’s on my mind.”

“Do I?” Roche asked innocently. “Think I might need a clue here.”

“Ugh, you’re such a bastard.”

He grinned, “your bastard, though.” He nudged Iorveth to keep eating and the elf obligingly speared a strawberry with his fork and nibbled at it. “So what is on your mind?”

Iorveth finished the strawberry, frowning slightly. “I keep fucking dreaming about it,” Iorveth admitted.

“What’s that?” Roche asked as if he didn’t know exactly what Iorveth was trying to ask for. He could hardly make this easy for his elf, after all.

Besides, getting Iorveth to admit he dreamed about getting taken apart by Roche? He should start every morning with such a lovely admission.

Iorveth growled in irritation, and Roche just grinned winningly at him.

“Fucking dammit,” Iorveth hissed, “just fucking try and break me already!”

Roche chuckled, “still think I won’t be able to?”

Iorveth pressed his lips together and glared. Fair enough – Roche had already gotten one admission out of him anyway.

“If you’re serious,” he said deliberately, “meet me in the forest across the lake behind Vergen tomorrow at noon. Wear armor you don’t mind getting ruined.”

Iorveth swallowed and nodded. Then he licked his lips and darted in to kiss Roche quickly before bringing his plate to the kitchen and heading out the door.

Roche smiled after him, bringing a finger up to trace his lips absently. Iorveth wanted this, wanted him to do this.

He certainly couldn’t let his elf down.

Three

Roche stood on the edge of the forest just past the lake northeast of Vergen, waiting for Iorveth and contemplating his next moves. What he really wanted was for this to be – well, as real as possible, in a way. He’d brought a handful of supplies, but mostly, he was clad exactly as he would have been as the Blue Stripes Commander facing the infamous Scoia’tael Commander.

Iorveth appeared, not from across the lake, but from a tree deeper in the forest, which meant he’d gotten there before Roche and waited. How appropriate.

Roche let a half-smile pull at his lips, taking in Iorveth’s mismatched armor. “Iorveth,” he said with just a hint of a growl, “the Scoia’tael’s most ruthless and effective commander. I’ve long awaited our confrontation.”

Iorveth’s tongue darted out to lick his lips and Roche’s eyes followed it. “Vernon Roche,” Iorveth enunciated clearly, cautiously moving towards him. “Temerian Special Forces Commander. I seem to be missing your emblem in my collection,” Iorveth gestured to the patches he displayed on a sash across his armor – trophies from those he had defeated, including every other special forces commander in the north.

Roche smirked. “Shame it will be forever incomplete.” He drew his sword and held it at the ready.

“We shall see about that,” Iorveth responded, his own swords held aloft.

They stared at least other for a moment in tense silence, and then Roche was moving, charging forward until their blades met with a clang.

The fight was charged – neither were the type not to bring their all to any fight, and this one had an extra layer over it that had something hot sizzling in Roche’s belly. As they slashed and parried and swiped at each other, they both knew the ultimate way this would end. Whoever won this fight, they would both win today – Roche a little bit more than Iorveth, though.

Or maybe not, depending on Iorveth’s point of view. Getting taken apart could easily be seen as the higher win, but for Roche, the sheer privilege of being allowed to do so, of being invited to overwhelm Iorveth until he could no longer think…

Roche licked his lips and spotted an opening, knocking Iorveth’s sword to the side and thrusting forward with his own blade. Iorveth dodged, but Roche managed to cut across his cheek, leaving a thin line of blood to well up and slowly drip down.

Iorveth’s eye narrowed, and he swiped the back of his hand over the wound. Then he brought that hand to his mouth and licked across the smear of blood on the back of his hand.

Roche’s breath caught, his own blood pounding in his ears. “Iorveth,” he breathed.

Iorveth smirked, “that all you got?”

“Never.”

Despite his words, it was unusually hard to draw his eyes away from the dot of blood on Iorveth’s lower lip, from the way the cut highlighted Iorveth’s cheekbones, from the way that agile tongue flicked out to wet Iorveth’s lower lip.

Iorveth twisted his wrists, spinning his two swords around in a complicated dance that Roche had to watch carefully to find an opening in. Finally, he saw his chance and dove forward, catching Iorveth’s swords with his and driving his shoulder into Iorveth, pushing him back and bloodying his nose.

Iorveth staggered back, dropping one of his swords – thereby freeing a hand from Roche’s block – and grabbing a dagger. He pulled his hand in towards his center, defending himself even as blood dripped down his face.

That probably should not turn Roche on as much as it did. Iorveth was a fighter, one of the best opponents Roche had ever faced, and there was always a certain thrill in facing someone who would force you to bring your best.

But under all that, there was the simmering knowledge that Iorveth wanted Roche to force him to submit. Iorveth wanted to be bested here, and Roche refused to disappoint.

He licked his lips and drove his momentum forward, forcing Iorveth to parry with both knife and sword. Then Roche saw an opportunity and darted his hand out to grasp Iorveth’s wrist, digging in with his thumb hard into the pressure point between Iorveth’s middle knuckles, forcing Iorveth’s fingers to drop the sword.

Iorveth snarled, swiping his knife between them and slicing a shallow line across Roche’s forearm. Roche pulled back with a stifled gasp of pain, and kicked out at Iorveth’s feet. Iorveth jumped up, dodging his kick, but not the bolas that Roche threw at him. The weighted ropes tangled around Iorveth’s feet, making him stumble as he landed and Roche rushed him. He forced Iorveth to the ground and caught the wrist of the hand holding the knife, pushing it into the dirt above Iorveth’s head, his thumb pressing hard against Iorveth’s pulse.

Iorveth gasped, attempting to headbutt him. Roche mostly dodged.

“Sonofa–” he hissed, spitting blood onto Iorveth’s face.

Iorveth’s nose wrinkled, his lips pulled back to show his teeth and he growled viciously, fighting against Roche with all his strength.

But Roche had all the leverage here, and there was nothing Iorveth could do. Roche licked the blood from his teeth and watched the realization slowly wash over Iorveth’s face. He was trapped.

Iorveth swallowed audibly, his eyelid fluttering.

Roche grinned, leaning down to pin Iorveth’s hands with his forearm so that he could bring a hand down to unbuckle his belt – not the easiest task one-handed, but so, so worth it for the way Iorveth shivered when Roche wrapped his belt around Iorveth’s wrists, binding them together. Then he twisted, planting his knee across Iorveth’s chest and scrabbling at Iorveth’s own belt. Iorveth bucked against his hold, still trying to fight, but with Roche’s weight across his chest, his movements were jerky and uncoordinated, his breathing coming short.

Roche unbuckled Iorveth’s belt and wrapped it around the elf’s legs from ankle to knee, pulling it tight and tying it off. Then he stood, looking down Iorveth with a boot pressed against Iorveth’s throat. The elf looked delectable, face flushed and bloody, armor askew as he continued to writhe and buck, trying to free himself. But his hands and feet were each bound together and even if Iorveth could free himself, he wouldn’t be able to get far.

Roche moved his boot, kneeling down with his knees on either side of Iorveth’s torso.

“The great Scoia’tael Commander, caught at last,” he smirked and Iorveth squirmed under him, not giving in in the slightest. Roche licked his lips and pulled a knife from his belt.

Iorveth glanced at the runes carved along the blade, eye narrowed suspiciously.

Roche just chuckled, “don’t worry, I wouldn’t stain this blade with your blood. Be a waste of an enchantment – and they don’t come cheap, you know. This cost me three bottles of good Temerian ale.”

Triss had shared the ale with him afterwards, though, so he hadn’t complained. Much.

Roche brought the knife down with the slightest hint of a touch to trace Iorveth’s exposed neck. Iorveth gasped, his head tilting back by the tiniest increment. Roche dragged the knife down from Iorveth’s jaw to his collarbone, still just barely making contact. And then he reached the collar of Iorveth’s armor.

“Someone like you,” he said, pulling the knife through armor that magically parted under his steel, “captured. It’d be a shame to let all the intel you carry go to waste. But you’re Iorveth – breaking you would be the work of a lifetime. Pain is no stranger to you – perhaps even an old friend. You won’t break under pain.”

As he spoke, he continued to drag his knife down Iorveth’s body, shifting his knees in the dirt to back up until he’d ripped through the entirety of Iorveth’s gambeson. Then, kneeling at Iorveth’s feet, he pressed the tip of his knife to Iorveth’s right heel, slicing his boots away. Iorveth shuddered as the knife glanced across the bottom of his foot on one side and then the other.

Then Roche stood to admire his captive. Arms bound above his head with Roche’s studded belt wrapped around those leather gloves that Roche had definitely never dreamed about, Iorveth’s chest was rising and falling rapidly, each movement further parting his ruined armor. Roche brought his sword up and slowly pushed the armor across Iorveth’s side, leaving thin red lines in his wake.

Iorveth attempted to stifle the sound he made, low and wanting, and Roche laughed, kneeling over Iorveth’s thighs with his knees on the splayed-open armor, restraining Iorveth that tiniest bit further, with the elf’s arms still clothed. He set his sword to the side, out of Iorveth’s range, and ghosted the hand not holding the knife over Iorveth’s chest, just the lightest touch, barely there. Iorveth shivered and then jerked when Roche smacked his upper thigh with the flat of his palm.

“Pain won’t break you,” Roche continued, “but that doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy it.”

Iorveth growled, attempting to cover the way his cock was twitching in his hose. Roche grinned down at him, brushing his fingers down Iorveth’s abdomen and along the hem of the hose, all without ever actually touching Iorveth’s cock.

“And you do enjoy it, don’t you, Iorveth? You fight because you don’t know how to stop, but your body tells a different story.” He leaned back, bringing his knife up and pressing his own thumb against the edge. It was sharp, the blunted pressure of the blade digging into his skin without drawing blood.

“You dh’oine speak nothing but nonsense,” Iorveth spat, but his voice quivered when Roche dragged the backs of his fingers lightly up Iorveth’s stomach.

“Perhaps,” Roche allowed, “and perhaps there are other ways I can make you talk.”

He pressed the tip of the knife against the inside of one leg, just above Iorveth’s bound knees, and dragged the blade slowly upward, cutting through the hose and occasionally drawing thin red lines of blood as Roche varied the pressure, keeping Iorveth guessing about what might come next.

When he reached the apex of Iorveth’s left thigh, he switched sides, starting from the knee again. Iorveth shivered under each touch, biting his lip to keep noises from escaping. Roche let him, for now.

After all, they were only just getting started.

Finally, he reached the crease of Iorveth’s right thigh and dragged his knife across it, then back in towards Iorveth’s crotch, outlining Iorveth’s cock with the lightest of touches.

Iorveth gasped, arching and Roche smirked. “That’s right, Squirrel. You know how to take rough treatment, how to meet violence with violence. But you have no idea what to do when something doesn’t hurt, do you? You like that it hurts just. that. little. bit.” As he spoke, he punctuated each word with pressing the tip of the knife in little pinpricks against the skin of Iorveth’s hips.

Iorveth’s shoulders jerked against the ground, his body moving in an aborted twitch, pressing further into his knife. Roche pulled it away.

“Ah ah ah, I get to decide when it hurts and when it doesn’t. You get to tell me everything about your next operation.”

“Fuck you,” Iorveth sneered.

Roche chuckled, “if you weren’t difficult, you wouldn’t be the enemy I’ve spent so much time pursuing. The one Scoia’tael Commander who has eluded me,” he traced his eyes down Iorveth’s body, “until now, that is.”

Iorveth scoffed, “you’ll get nothing out of me.”

“In that case,” Roche slowly climbed up Iorveth’s body on his knees, sliding both fingertips and knife tip up Iorveth’s chest, “there’s no point in you being able to talk, is there?”

He knelt above Iorveth’s neck, his knees on either side of Iorveth’s arms where they were extended over his head.

“I must admit,” Roche murmured, reaching down to part his armor and draw out his cock. “I have thought about many uses for that mouth of yours.”

“Rot in hell, dh’oine,” Iorveth said through gritted teeth.

“Oh, I’m sure we both will, Squirrel. But first, let’s see how silver tongued you really are.”

He gripped Iorveth’s chin tightly until teeth parted enough for him to shove two fingers into Iorveth’s mouth, followed quickly by his cock. He slid across Iorveth’s tongue, feeling it twitch against him, and Roche grabbed Iorveth’s bound wrists tightly. To hold Iorveth down, sure, but mostly to ground himself because no matter now many times he’d had it, Iorveth’s mouth never ceased to be wondrous – slightly cool, cavernous and slick, with lips that sealed tightly around him even as Iorveth struggled against his hold.

Roche let himself moan out loud, savouring the wet suction for a long minute. Then he pulled out and shoved back in until Iorveth choked around him. He rocked back, just enough to let Iorveth suck in air through his nose, then he did it again, pushing in just a bit deeper than before. He set a rhythm, thrusting just a bit further each time until his cock was entirely sheathed in Iorveth’s throat. The sounds Iorveth made as he choked and swallowed around Roche had him moving his hips faster, pulling out further and thrusting back in hard.

Iorveth moaned around him. That was the only word for it – choked and high pitched and full of pleasure. Roche shuddered at the sound, both its vibration and the sheer satisfaction at having driven Iorveth to make noise.

He pulled out, releasing Iorveth’s arms with one hand to stroke his own cock, kneeling just above Iorveth’s mouth, which had chased him for a moment before Iorveth remembered who he was. Roche panted, feeling like he was balancing on a knife’s edge, ready to come, ready to paint his pleasure over Iorveth’s face. That face that looked absolutely wrecked, dazed and pleased, mouth still hanging open.

“Fuck,” he gasped, stripping his cock faster. “Gonna paint your pretty face with evidence of this, evidence that you’ve been used by a dh’oine. Evidence that you were good at it, such a perfect hole to fuck.”

Iorveth’s eye went wide even as his hips bucked against the grass.

Roche chuckled roughly, darkly. “You like that you’re good at it. You like that your mouth can please even a dh’oine, hmm? Wonder if you’ll like it as much as I discover how good the rest of you is, hmm?”

Iorveth’s breath hitched, his hips squirming behind Roche. Roche pressed his heels into Iorveth’s arms in warning, but Iorveth didn’t stop shifting his hips, trying to find stimulation. Roche would have to punish him for that, but first – first, Iorveth’s tongue licked over his bottom lip and just so happened to swipe across the head of Roche’s cock and next thing he knew, he was coming over Iorveth’s face, stroking himself and guiding his cock to paint white streaks across Iorveth’s bandana, across his cheek, his forehead, over his tongue.

Roche groaned, sitting back against Iorveth’s chest and admiring how beautiful that face looked covered with his cum. Iorveth’s eye fluttered, and Roche helpfully reached out and wiped it clean, but Iorveth only blinked up at him with a hazy, unfocused eye.

Roche smirked, “see, your mouth can be put to good use.” He wiggled down Iorveth’s body until he could grind his still-hard cock against Iorveth’s.

It wasn’t natural for his cock to still be hard after coming, of course, but with a little help from Triss and her magic, that was not going to be a problem today. He may or may not be able to come again, but he would stay hard, his dick ready to be used however he needed to take Iorveth apart.

“Mm, and look how hard that got you, being used by a dh’oine. By this dh’oine,” he wrapped his hands around both of their cocks, stroking the copious slick from Iorveth between them. “Because you like that it’s not just any human doing this, don’t you? You like that it’s me, your enemy – and you hate that you like it.”

He chuckled as Iorveth squirmed again, face flushed and jaw clenched in embarrassment even as his hips bucked into every touch.

“How much more can I make you squirm, I wonder? How much more before you break? Because you will break, Squirrel, and once you’ve broken, I’ll take you again, just for the victory.”

Iorveth shivered, but his swollen lips curled in a scowl. “Whatever you do, dh’oine, whatever humiliation you think of, you’ll never break me.”

Roche smiled widely, ferally, bringing one hand up to capture Iorveth’s chin and jerk his face up to meet Roche’s gaze. “We shall see,” he promised, leaning forward and biting his way into Iorveth’s mouth.

It was not a gentle kiss. Perhaps the furthest thing from one, in fact. They were both fighting to sink their teeth into each other’s lips, to fuck their tongue into each other’s mouths, to force the other to submit.

But of course, that wasn’t who either of them were. They would never submit, not until they were forced to.

As he would force Iorveth to.

Roche pulled away from Iorveth’s mouth, ignoring the way Iorveth’s neck stretched to chase his mouth, and sank his teeth into the meat of Iorveth’s left pectoral. Iorveth arched up into him, even as the elf tried to turn his moan into a growl and only succeeded in making a purring sound that had Roche biting down harder.

“The great Iorveth, marked by a dh’oine. By me. And you want more, don’t you?” he taunted, licking over the imprint of his teeth.

“Fuck you,” Iorveth attempted to snarl, but his voice was sluggish and weak.

Roche smirked. “Perhaps. But I think first, I shall partake in all this elven body has to give,” he slid his hands slowly down Iorveth’s chest as he spoke, tracing the outline of each rib with his thumbs.

Iorveth gave a rough laugh, “and you think you can take me?”

Roche hummed, “no. I think you will beg me to take you by the time I’m done.” Iorveth’s eye widened and he shivered, his shoulders jostling against the grass. “Oh yes, I’m going to love sinking inside you, wrecking you – but not until you’re good and desperate.”

Iorveth inhaled loudly through his nose, and he couldn’t hide the way his cock twitched and throbbed against Roche’s. “I don’t beg,” he gasped, attempting – and failing – to sound anything other than aroused and interested. “I would never beg for a dh’oine, much less you.”

Roche laughed, “ah, but that’s what will make it so very satisfying when you do. Because I am the only one who could drive you to this.” His hands reached Iorveth’s slightly concave stomach and he tutted. “Too damn skinny,” he muttered, “someone oughta feed you up. Maybe after I break you – keep you around as a nice cockwarmer, get some meat on you ‘til there’s a nice cushion for the pushin’.”

Iorveth made a strange sound that Roche was fairly sure was him attempting to stifle a moan. No matter – Roche would make Iorveth scream for him before he was done.

He dragged his hands back up Iorveth’s torso, purposely catching Iorveth’s nipples under his palms. Iorveth’s shoulders shifted, trying to keep from pushing up into him maybe, and Roche licked his lips and then dragged his nails all the way down Iorveth’s abdomen.

None of Iorveth’s control could stop his arch then, nor the breathy gasp that fell from his lips. Roche chuckled approvingly, leaning down to lick up one of the raised lines his nails had left.

There was something about Iorveth’s skin that always tasted a little like the nature he was so connected to – earthy and herbal and fresh, like a forest clearing after rain. It was intoxicating and addicting, and Roche lapped it up, mouthing across Iorveth’s chest and stomach, occasionally digging his teeth into firm muscle.

He closed his teeth around Iorveth’s left nipple, tugging juuuuust the slightest bit and then sucking the hard nub until Iorveth was struggling to hold back his sounds. The elf was biting his lip hard, but noises still slipped through, little moans and sighs and whimpers, and fuck, but dragging these sounds from Iorveth felt like his grandest victory yet. Who cared about valor in battle or honors from the king when he could force his enemy to want!?

And Iorveth did want, his cock smearing slick all over Roche’s armor. Iorveth’s thighs were wet from his dripping cunt and gods, but Roche had to taste it, had to dive down and lick between Iorveth’s thighs.

“Look at you,” he murmured, blowing cool air over wet skin. “So hot and desperate already, though you try to deny yourself. How long will that last, I wonder? One orgasm? Two?” He licked a stripe up Iorveth’s cock then and Iorveth’s ah was music to his ears. “But I won’t stop then. No, I won’t stop until you’re completely broken, until all you are is whatever I tell you.”

Iorveth shivered, his eye fluttering closed. His face was still streaked with Roche’s cum, his bandana utterly ruined. It was a delightful sight, satisfying something feral and possessive deep inside him. Iorveth, the notorious Scoia’tael Commander, was his.

That satisfaction made him generous, and he wrapped his lips around Iorveth’s cock, slowly sinking down on it. Iorveth tried to buck up into him, but he pinned Iorveth by the hips and purposefully moved even slower.

Iorveth whined, high and loud, and if Roche’s mouth wasn’t full, he would have smirked. Instead, he rewarded Iorveth by lowering himself further, until he could swallow around the tapered head of Iorveth’s cock.

Roche stared up Iorveth’s lean body, admiring the way Iorveth’s long neck arched, his head falling back and leaving him exposed. Roche pulled off, keeping his lips sealed tight around Iorveth, even as the ridges spiraling Iorveth’s cock forced their way past his lips as he rose. Iorveth moaned, the elf’s mouth dropping open.

“Oh!” Iorveth gasped, “Pl-nngh,” he cut himself off before he could beg, and Roche laughed as he sank back down on Iorveth’s cock, making Iorveth writhe wildly. “Fuck!”

Roche took a deep breath through his nose and then swallowed Iorveth down all the way, until his nose was pressed against Iorveth’s pelvis, so different from a human’s without any hair. He ran his tongue along the ridges around Iorveth’s cock and Iorveth shuddered, hips jerking against his hold in little rolls as Iorveth tried to get deeper.

Roche opened lazy eyes to meet Iorveth’s flustered gaze, then hummed the opening notes to that song Iorveth was always playing on his flute.

Iorveth gasped wildly, letting out a loud, wordless exclamation as his cock flooded Roche’s mouth. Roche swallowed rapidly but some still leaked from between his lips and he released Iorveth’s cock to lap it up.

Elves could come multiple times, Roche knew, but that didn’t mean they didn’t get sensitive. And Iorveth was most definitely sensitive. Roche admired the way Iorveth squirmed, wanting to both get closer to and away from the touch of his tongue as he meticulously cleaned and suckled at Iorveth’s cock.

Iorveth whined wordlessly, shivers of overstimulation jarring his body, and Roche didn’t stop, moving down to lick between Iorveth’s thighs again. Iorveth’s cunt was hidden between bound legs, but that didn’t mean that Roche couldn’t lick and suck and lap at the skin all around it, trying to reach his goal.

Iorveth moaned and flailed against him, still torn between sensations of too much and not enough. When Roche glanced up, there were tears already dripping down Iorveth’s face, and he felt a little thrill of victory. Iorveth was starting to surrender, starting to give in. The elf would still make him work for it, but the tipping point had passed – Iorveth was his now, his to take apart and put back together again.

Iorveth sighed in relief when Roche pulled back, but all he did was pull Iorveth’s legs up, pushing his bound knees towards his stomach and exposing the rest of his cunt for Roche’s eager tongue.

Iorveth tasted so good – even if Roche had been inclined to deny himself the allure of getting his mouth on Iorveth’s cunt, he doubted he could ever resist once he’d had a taste. He could happily spend an entire day just eating Iorveth out, until Iorveth truly couldn’t take anymore. And then possibly once more, just to be an asshole.

Iorveth was already shuddering and his hips jerked upwards once, twice, and then Roche’s face was getting drenched and he happily lapped it all up until Iorveth was squirming again.

“Fuck! Gods, fuck it, please!” Iorveth shouted, gloved fingers digging bruises into the other hand. Iorveth’s cunt clenched and his stomach quivered and tears dripped down his face as he finally begged, “fuck me, gods, please, I need your cock, fuck!”

“Good boy,” Roche murmured in reward, admiring the way Iorveth’s eye fluttered and his cheeks flushed. “I suppose you have earned a reward.”

He shifted around, rising onto his knees and hauling Iorveth’s hips up to rest on his thighs. But instead of entering Iorveth’s cunt, he thrust his cock across Iorveth’s folds, fucking between his thighs.

“Ah!” Iorveth sobbed, head falling back and thighs squeezing and clenching around Roche.

“Fuck, your legs,” Roche moaned, running a hand over Iorveth’s bare feet, over the belt that kept his ankles bound and his tattered hose in place as leather wound up Iorveth’s shapely calves. The bare skin of his thighs were soft and smooth, largely unmarred by the scars that littered the rest of his body.

That felt out of place, wrong for the elf below him who had fought and fought and fought with every inch of his being, so Roche curled his fingers and dragged his nails down the back of Iorveth’s thighs.

Iorveth screamed, startled and overwhelmed and engulfed in pleasure as the elf came again, pulsing wetness across Roche’s cock and both their thighs. Roche kept thrusting against him, providing just that little bit of friction for Iorveth’s clit, and Iorveth sobbed, hips shifting and thrashing against the ground.

His cunt clenched, releasing another rush of slick and Iorveth panted, “fuck, Vernon, just fuck me already, gods!”

“Ah, but I am fucking you,” Roche smirked, staring down at the gorgeous body that was his to do what he wished with. Now it was his turn to shiver, and his cock leaked precum across Iorveth’s thighs. Iorveth squeezed them around him, rolling down into his thrusts, and Roche marveled that this was the same elf who started so very resistant and determinedly uninterested.

Iorveth was certainly interested now, downright begging for his cock. Roche smirked in satisfaction, rocking his hips steadily and refusing to give Iorveth what he asked for.

“See, I knew I could make you sing,” Roche chuckled, enjoying the symphony of sounds Iorveth let loose. “But I don’t think you’ve earned my cock yet, have you?”

Iorveth whined, squirming against him as his cock brushed over Iorveth’s clit.

“Keep asking me nicely and maybe I’ll give you what you want,” he taunted, turning his head to mouth at Iorveth’s calves, still partially clothed in ripped hose. He nipped next to the belt, inhaling the smell of leather on Iorveth’s skin and Iorveth whimpered.

“Fuck, Vernon, please!”

“Mmm,” Roche rumbled, “please what?”

Iorveth closed his eyes and clenched his jaw, some part of him still attempting to resist. But that was what Roche adored about Iorveth – he never gave up, even driven past pride and dignity, even after a handful of orgasms. That was why he needed to be broken, needed to be forced to truly give in and let himself bask in the pleasure.

“You know you could make it easier on yourself and give in, but you wouldn’t be you if you did,” Roche laughed. “You are delightful, you know that? No other would be such an absolute pleasure to take apart.”

Iorveth made a small noise, biting his lip.

“You go ahead fight me with everything you have, Squirrel. I can take it – and I’ll still force you to submit. It scares you to know that I’ll succeed, because you know how much you’ll enjoy it, don’t you, Iorveth? You know that you’ll fucking love being fully and completely under my control.”

Iorveth moaned, low and throaty, even as he shook his head in denial. Roche bit his calf, digging teeth in deep and Iorveth gasped, more tears falling from his eyes.

“Fuck!” Iorveth swore, the word sounding torn from his throat, “gods, fuck, please! I want you inside me, gods dammit, fuck me!”

Roche chuckled against Iorveth’s skin. “Still so feisty. I would expect nothing less.” He shifted and wrapped a hand around Iorveth’s cock, pumping it in time with the movement of his cock thrusting between clenched thighs.

Iorveth shouted without words, jerking up into his hand, then back down against his cock. Roche tightened his hand around Iorveth’s hip, holding him down and bending forward to pin his hips in place.

“C’mon, Squirrel, I know you can do better than that. All you have to do is ask for what you want, and I’ll give it to you.”

Iorveth sobbed, “I am asking, fuck! Gods, fuck me, please!”

“Mmm, closer, but not quite there yet,” Roche said, stroking Iorveth’s hip and thigh.

Iorveth growled in frustration, tears spilling down his cheek, mixing with Roche’s cum on his face and leaving him an utter mess. Roche licked his lips.

“Come on, Iorveth,” he crooned, “all you have to do is give in and you’ll get what we both want. Just surrender.”

“Fuck, I’m asking, Vernon, gods dammit, I don’t know what you want! Just – fuck me!” Iorveth’s face screwed up in frustration and Roche frowned, taking his hand off Iorveth’s dick to stroke up his stomach.

“What I want,” Roche said deliberately, serious eyes sweeping over Iorveth, checking in, “is for you to let go.”

“I don’t know how!” Iorveth cried, body downright radiating annoyance and whoops, that wasn’t quite the way Roche wanted to go.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, pulling away from Iorveth’s thighs and rearranging them so that he could sit against against a tree with Iorveth in his lap, bound wrists in front of him. Iorveth made a surprised noise and Roche shushed him, then began stroking his hands in long, measured circles across Iorveth’s body. “I’ll show you,” he promised against Iorveth’s ear, feeling Iorveth’s shiver across every inch they were pressed together. “I’ll show you how to let go.”

Iorveth squirmed in his lap, grinding back against his cock and Roche chuckled, wrapping his arms tightly around Iorveth to keep him from moving.

“Relax,” he murmured, “just let yourself feel.”

Iorveth struggled against him for a little bit and then, as he found he couldn’t get free, slowly let himself lean back into Roche’s chest, relaxing against him.

“Good, like that,” he whispered against Iorveth’s ear. “You’re trying so hard to be good, aren’t you?” Roche smiled, sucking on the edge of Iorveth’s ear. “It’s all right – if this was easy, anyone could do it. But you won’t submit to just anyone, will you? You can’t help but fight.”

Iorveth made a small broken noise that went directly to Roche’s cock. He loosened his arms slowly, and when Iorveth didn’t continue to struggle against him, he rewarded Iorveth by lifting the elf’s hips and guiding his cock into that soaking wet cunt.

He groaned, burying his face in Iorveth’s neck, but it was nothing compared to the sound Iorveth made, low and satisfied and desperate for more.

“Shhh,” he soothed, stroking one hand up Iorveth’s chest, keeping them pressed tightly together. “Just feel. Don’t try to chase the feeling, don’t try to move – just let yourself be.”

Iorveth whined and Roche tilted his head to kiss Iorveth deeply. Their lips moved together softly this time, Iorveth opening up to him and letting him fuck his tongue into Iorveth’s mouth. The hand on Iorveth’s chest thumbed over one of his nipples, and Roche stroked down Iorveth’s thighs with his other hand.

He didn’t move his hips, didn’t thrust up into the incredible slick pressure around him. For the moment, he simply forced Iorveth to sit there, warming his cock and slowly relaxing back against him.

“Good boy,” Roche said against Iorveth’s lips, sucking the moan out of Iorveth’s throat. “See how nice that is, not worrying about what comes next, but just feeling? How many centuries has it been since you last got to do that?”

He reached up and pulled Iorveth’s bandana off, using the soiled fabric to wipe across the mess on Iorveth’s face. Iorveth leaned into the gentle touch and Roche nuzzled against his cheek, kissing it softly.

“You’ve fought so hard for so long, denied yourself things that feel good. It’s been so long since you last let yourself go, you’ve forgotten how. But that’s okay – I will show you how.” He pressed his mouth against the crown of Iorveth’s head. “You deserve soft things, nice things. You deserve to feel good. You’ve fought for so long, but it’s over now. You belong to me now – just give in and let yourself feel.”

Iorveth shuddered, his neck going lax against Roche’s shoulder. “Please,” he whispered brokenly.

“That’s right, Iorveth, good boy.” Roche rewarded Iorveth by starting to rock his hips back and forth, rolling into Iorveth at ever-shifting angles. He sucked marks across Iorveth’s shoulder, reaching down to stroke Iorveth’s cock, rubbing his thumb across the ridges.

Iorveth whined, clenching around him, and he moaned at how good it felt to finally be inside Iorveth.

After this there is - wait for it - MORE porn lmao. I have an 8 part list that comes next lol

If you made it all the way here, then 1) I am very impressed and might propose marriage and 2) this next bit is SERIOUS SPOILERS!!! Like, this is a sequel to (Im)Perfect Strangers set a good distance in the future.

The cabin where it had all started – well, the start they admitted to, anyway – had become Iorveth and Roche’s go-to spot for any special occasion. This particular vacation was nothing too significant – work had been stressful lately, and Geralt had volunteered to babysit (even though Anais insisted that twelve year olds don’t need supervision), so they were taking full advantage of it.

They’d arrived two days ago and had a few days left, and they delightedly had absolutely nothing to do with themselves. Which was nice and relaxing in theory, but in reality, it tended to make Roche jittery. That was why they were hiking along the mountain peak, to burn off energy, but still largely doing nothing except enjoying each other’s company.

“Vernon,” Iorveth said suddenly, pressing one hand low against his stomach, the other clutching at Roche’s arm.

Roche turned to him immediately, alarm sending adrenaline pumping through his veins.

“What is it, what’s wrong?”

“I’m… not sure,” Iorveth’s voice shook slightly. “I – I feel like I need to–” he bit his lip, cutting himself off, and Roche’s alarm only increased.

“To what?”

“To bre – to fuck you. Immediately. Like, very immediately.” Iorveth’s hand trembled against Roche’s arm and Roche just blinked.

“Like… here?” He gestured vaguely at their surroundings – the gravelly mountain slope, the grassy patches where trees grew, the expansive view of the world from the top of Vergen’s peak. “We could head back to the cabin–”

Iorveth shook his head fiercely, his long braids whipping around his face. “Now.”

Roche blinked down at the doubled-over elf, concern creasing his forehead. “Iorveth, what–?”

“I don’t know,” Iorveth hissed, “I just – fuck, Vernon, please!” Iorveth’s face was flushed, his pupils already wide and dark with arousal, desperation written into the lines of his face.

“Okay, okay,” Roche soothed, shifting to scoop Iorveth into his arms and striding off the mountain trail until he could lay Iorveth down amongst the flowers under the shade of an oak tree. Iorveth clung to him, trembling with need as he sucked kisses along Roche’s throat. “How do you want me, love?”

Iorveth shuddered with a low moan. “Want to see your face,” he said, pulling Roche against him and then rolling them over, scratching frantically at Roche’s clothes.

Roche caught his hands, even as he spread his legs to welcome Iorveth between them, “whoa whoa, it’s okay, I’m not going anywhere.”

Iorveth just squirmed, grinding against him. “I can’t – I need – fuck, Vernon, I need you now, need to be inside you, please.”

Well. Begging like that was more than worth one ripped outfit, wasn’t it?

When Iorveth sank inside him, the elf moaned wildly, pulling out almost immediately only to thrust forward again. Roche moaned, letting his head roll back amongst the flowers.

“Take what you need, darling,” he murmured, breath hitching as Iorveth rocked inside him. He reached up to push the curtain of Iorveth’s hair back behind his shoulder, cupping his fever-warm face. “Whatever’s going on, you know you can always take what you need.”

Iorveth moaned lowly, “I think – fuck – I think I might be – gods, I’m sorry, I didn’t think–”

“Shhh,” Roche soothed, pulling Iorveth down against his chest. Iorveth’s hips continued to roll into him, short little hitches like Iorveth couldn’t help but try to get closer. “What is there to be sorry about?”

Iorveth whimpered quietly. “I – you know I took Gwyn’s cure,” he stammered, and Roche’s brow knitted. “But I didn’t think – I want – gods, Vernon, I can’t think, I just want to–”

“What do you want, love? What can I give you?”

Iorveth moaned, burying his face against Roche’s neck, “I want to breed you.”

Roche gasped sharply, unexpected heat stirring in his belly. “Fuck. Like, actually, or like–?”

“Both. Neither. I – I do want – but not,” Iorveth made a soft, desperate noise. “You can’t carry the eggs. But I can.”

Roche blinked. “Eggs?”

That’s right, elven biology was a lot different from humans, wasn’t it? In some very key ways, at least, including–

“You want to have a baby with me?” Roche rasped, mind reeling. That was – he’d never expected to ever try for biological children. But fuck, he and Iorveth were already raising two kids together. Why not try for more?

Iorveth’s face and ears were flushed bright red and Roche smiled softly up at him, tracing the line of that blush across Iorveth’s cheekbones.

“I – yes, but not – only if you–”

“Was that what you were going to say before?” Roche cut him off, licking his lips as he realized. “You want to breed me?” Iorveth shuddered, attempting to muffle a moan against Roche’s neck. A shiver flickered down Roche’s own spine and he’d never considered it before, had never even thought of it – so he was entirely unprepared for how much the idea of being bred had his blood boiling and his hips squirming and his cock leaking against their stomachs. “You want to fill me with your eggs?”

“Gods, fuck, Vernon,” Iorveth whined, hips jolting against him. “I – can I–?”

He cupped Iorveth’s face, forcing their eyes to meet. Then, very clearly, he ordered, “breed me, Iorveth. Fill me until there’s nothing more to give.”

Iorveth wailed, teeth digging into Roche’s shoulder, and he could feel Iorveth filling him, but it was no different than any other time he’d taken Iorveth, no eggs in sight.

“So,” he said slowly, hips squirming and rubbing his cock between their stomachs, “how does this work?”

Iorveth moaned weakly, continuing to roll into him. “I have to push them into you.”

“Then do it.”

Iorveth shuddered, kissing Roche desperately. Roche tangled his fingers in Iorveth’s long hair and slowed their kiss, trying to soothe Iorveth’s desperation.

“Nnngh,” Iorveth’s hips jerked against him, thrusting deeper inside. Roche felt something push his hole wider around Iorveth’s cock, wide enough he could feel the stretch.

He gasped, clawing at Iorveth’s back. The stretch felt delicious, starting small but quickly growing wider. Instinctively, he clenched around it and Iorveth whimpered. “Gods, it’s so big.”

I think you can guess where this is going XD Don’t worry, they will actually stop and talk before making any longterm decisions, but... yeah.

If you read all this way, then thank you!! I hope you enjoyed my random WiPs!

#rorveth #iorveth x roche #don't cry for me Temeria #the witcher #my fics

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americasmarauders · 4 years

Text

American Pie--Jason Todd.

author’s note: this has been on my drafts for an eternity. I finished this out of pure self-pressure and shame instileld by a tag game @batarella tagged me. I literally finished this in the treadmill, which I found is my favorite place to write.I wanna thank @batarella and @offendedfishnoises for being real troopers and encouraging me and proofreading this.

words: 2284

Beware: curse words (cause i’m a potty mouth), Jason being a shy pinning boy. I reccomend you listen to (or at least look at the lyrics for) American Pie by Don McLean and OUr Song by Taylor Swift.

Silence.

Excruciating silence. That was what Jason remembered from death.

He remembered thinking ‘This will be the day that I die,’ before the world turning black and silence overtook his entire being killing what was left of his soul.

After that it is all he remembered: silence.

He used to think music was everything. When he was bored, he used to bolt out to the most random songs in his room at the Wayne Manor, to the point of an angry Bruce storming to his room and quietly turning down the volume.

It took him a while to look fondly at those memories, and he still wasn’t sure if he did look at them like that. He was at the point of just thinking of them as just that: memories so far away from who he was, he considered them to belong to a different person entirely.

Music just didn’t hold the same wonder and joy as it did. Jason didn’t belt out whatever song he wanted anymore, he just idly stood by as any song came on whatever radio he was listening while he waited on his patrols.

It was like the music died with him.

He sipped his drink as a light jazzy tune sounded in the background of his mind. He didn’t pay any attention to it, rather he was engrossed in his own sorrow to listen to any of the diner’s songs.

He hummed in indifference, looking up from his cup and looking around. It was the middle of the afternoon, and the diner was mostly empty. There was a girl in the back, messing with the jukebox. Jason took a good look at her.

She was wearing a plaid skirt, with a bright orange cropped blouse. She wore her hair loose. She looked too engrossed in her song choice to realize anyone looking at her. He glanced at the table next to her: filled with books and old cups he assumed were once filled with coffee.

He heard an angry curse and saw her shaking aggressively the jukebox. “You, know,” he spoke up, “I’m not an expert on jukeboxes or anythin’ but I’m pretty sure that’s not how they work.”

She looked at him bewildered. She narrowed her eyes at him, almost as if she were trying to dissect him in a split second. “This machine swallowed my quarter and will not let me select a song.”

He abandoned his cup and got up, heading towards the weird lady. “Let me see if I can help.”

She stepped aside and left room for him to see what happened. “By all means.”

He quickly analyzed it. He glanced at the woman next to him, her arms crossed over her chest, meticulously analyzing what Jason was doing. He hit the spot next to the coin slot and heard the coin going down the mechanism. He got up and said: “There. All fixed.”

“I can’t believe it!” she exclaimed. “I’ve been trying forever to get this thing to work and you come here and just make it work in seconds.” She turned to the jukebox and muttered, “Don’t you love me anymore, you silly machine?”

Jason laughed. “I’m Jason,” he said, extending his hand.

She took it and shook it. “I’m Y/N.”

“Well,” Jason stated awkwardly, “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

“No, wait!” she said. “Sit with me. I see you’re there all alone, and I need someone to listen to my thesis,” she explained. “You seem like a nice guy, you know? What do you say? I’ll buy you a milkshake,” she smiled.

Jason pondered. It wasn’t like he had anything else to do. And maybe a little company would do him well. She seemed perfectly nice, albeit a little weird. Why not?

“What are you working on?” he said, sitting opposite to where she was.

She smiled and went on and on about her research. To be completely honest, Jason only understood about half of what she was saying, and every time he made a funny face she would pause and patiently explain it again until his face melted into something resembling understanding. She would smile at him, and his heart hiccupped every time she did.

She bought him a drink, and they stayed at the diner for a while. Jason discovered she wasn't from Gotham--not that it was hard to see, she had invited a complete stranger to sit with her in a shady diner in one of the worst neighborhoods of the city. She was a student, getting her master's in something too complicated to explain in the hours they spent together. Her eyes sparkled with excitement as she talked about her research. Jason liked that.

He offered to walk her home. She refused. He smiled and gave her a knowing look. "Listen, I'm sure you know Gotham ain't a safe city,” he said. "Imagine it at night," he should know. He was a witness and victim of the horrors of Gotham.

She budged. He carried her books for her. She seemed grateful. She tried the whole afternoon to get him to talk about himself. Jason didn't want to scare her off, so he gave her the bare minimum. Do you have a degree? No, but I'd like to. What do you do? I'm a freelancer. Do you have any siblings? No.

Looking back at the moment she stood in front of her building, lit by streetlights, eyes twinkling with something Jason wouldn't recognize until much later, he knew he should have kissed her. He shouldn't have held her at arm’s length for so long. Alas, he had. He didn't kiss her. She says he was a perfect gentleman. He knows that. It doesn't mean he doesn't have regrets.

She gave him her phone number. "I liked talking to you. If you're ever around the diner again, call me. I'll save all the good stuff for you," she winked. He laughed. He saved her phone number as if it was the most precious thing in the world. It kinda was.

He texted her. He went to the diner, intentionally. He had to see her.

No, he didn't. He didn't have to see her. If he didn't, it would have been another 'what if' of his life. He would survive, and maybe regret that he had chosen what he had chosen. The difference was he wanted to see her. And he hadn't done something he wanted in a very long time.

He was the first to arrive. He sat by the window, looking at the city. The sun was setting, there was an orange glow illuminating the diner. He awkwardly fiddled with his straw, stirring the milkshake (strawberry as always, he wasn't an animal like Tim) calmly. He heard the bell ringing.

She walked in and Jason swore she was an angel. The light hugged her, and he thought she was there to save him. Save him from himself, from the nightmares, from his job, from his trauma. She smiled at him and he was goner. Second time seeing her and he was gone. He fell for her.

She was wearing glasses, her hair tied, sweatpants and a Gotham University t-shirt. Her bag hung from her shoulder, her hand wrapped tightly around the strap. She wasn’t nowhere near as dressed up as last time he saw her. It didn't matter. She was beautiful either way. She fixed her glasses as she sat in front of him.

She ordered some tea, and Jason thought who orders tea in a diner. She did. Y/N was extraordinary that way. She said she had thought about him. He somehow believed her. He smiled back at her and sipped his milkshake.

“I brought you something,” she said. She dug through her purse and took out a book. She slid it to him over the table. His hands unfurled from his cup and grabbed it. His eyes skimmed over the hardcover. Shakespeare’s Sonnets. A rare edition at that. “I think you might've read it already,” she shrugged. “You mentioned you liked Shakespeare. I was walking through a book shop near the University and I saw this edition and I thought of you.”

Jason flipped through the book, the smell of dust filing his senses. That was the smell of a good book. A book that had seen many lives. He loved it. He looked at her, her eyes expecting a reaction of him. He offered her a shy smile. She took it and her smile was so bright it almost blinded him. “Thank you. I—I— It’s very thoughtful of you.”

“You’re welcome, Jason,” she replied. “I thought you would like it.”

“Yeah,” he breathed out. He held back once again. He wanted to tell her that he loved it. That it was probably one of the best gifts he had ever received. “I liked it.”

She reclined on the seat and smirked. “It’s quiet here, isn’t it?” she said. Jason looked at her quizzically, his hands resting on the book. He saw her get up from her seat, a coin on her hand. She put the quarter on the jukebox and selected a song. She seemed proud of herself as Jason watched her with nothing but wonder. She sat in front of him again, as a piano played on the background and a voice of a man sounded through the tune.

“I love this song,” she stated. “Don’t you?”

Jason shrugged. “I don’t know it.”

She was shocked. “You don’t? That’s a first. Someone that doesn’t know ‘American Pie’.”

“Isn’t that a movie?” he asked. With the limited popular culture knowledge he had, he still knew some things.

“Yes it is, but it was a song before that. By Don McLean. 1971,” she hummed with the tune. “It’s like poetry.”

He gave her a funny face. “I hardly think it’s like poetry.”

She gasped, pretending to be offended. “Betrayal,” she whispered, but soon after she smiled. “It’s because you’re not appreciating it enough,” she answered. She grabbed another quarter of her purse and got up. She pointed to him as she walked to the jukebox. “Listen to it and pay attention.”

“Fine,” Jason huffed. He didn’t want to tell her that his appreciation for music had died with him. Not yet.

He listened to it. Really did. Truthfully, he hadn’t understood a single word of what he meant, but Y/N seemed happy that at least he had somewhat liked the song. It was catchy. But he would hardly classify it as poetry.

"I'll convince you. Music is everything," she said.

So it began her quest to culture Jason, as she called it. He found it endearing to say the least. His judgement was seriously clouded.

She would send recommendations to him, writing extensively how these songs were everything to her. Because of that Jason would pay extra attention to it.

It felt strangely personal to listen to them with them in mind. It was like listening to a part of her soul. It might as well be that. She was entrusting him with a part of her, and he wasn't exactly worthy of that.

He felt dangerously unprotected around her. Jason was constantly toying with the line between keeping up his eccentric bad boy façade and opening his heart to her. Who was he kidding? He already had opened his heart to her. He just hadn't told her yet. He didn't know if he was going to.

Reading the sonnets suddenly felt extremely personal too. It wasn't about appreciating art anymore. He was living the love poems. He was feeling everything Shakespeare was describing. Desperation rose in him the first time he realized that.

How was he supposed to continue with his job--oh God, his job--when there was someone out there that cared if he was dead or alive? How was he going to blackmail a drug lord when he himself could be blackmailed? What was he going to say to Bruce? What was he supposed to do?

A soft pop song played on the radio. They were going through pop songs now. Y/N had said it was imperative that he'd listen to Taylor Swift. And Jason could admit she had a point.

As he drove through the quiet highway, his hand itched to hold hers. They were driving to Metropolis. She had said there was an exhibit that they couldn't miss. A science exhibit. Jason didn't care for science, but she did, and seeing her with that glint in her eyes was the best part of his day.

Fuck it, he thought. His hand left the shift and encapsulated hers. He could feel her gaze on him, he knew she was smiling. His heart almost jumped out of his chest. Thank God, he was alive.

She turned down the volume of the song. His eyes shifted to hers for a second, her expression neutral. "What's wrong?" He said, his voice bordering desperation.

"We don't have a song," she said, quietly. "We don't have a song," she repeated.

Jason's worry dissipated into thin air, and he opened a smile. "Of course we do."

"How? I don't remember ever--" she trailed off, looking confused at him. His eyes once again went to her, his smile soft.

"How about laughs, the soft sound of cars outside? The jazzy tune you always play on the fucking jukebox," he heard her laugh, his hands squeezed hers. "Reciting poems, you rambling about whatever you discovered? Huh?" he hummed. "That's our song."

She smiled at him one again. And that was when he knew what he was supposed to do.

He was supposed to live. And he was going to live with her by his side.

author’s note: here is the link to my masterlist and the link to my jason playlist

#jason todd x reader #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd x y/n #Jason Todd #red hood x reader #Red Hood X y/n #red hood #red hood x oc #my masterlist

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poulpichou · 3 years

Text

Government failures and fucked-upperies in France

Ok, so I recently wrote a bit about the situation with police brutality in France, but now I would like to tell you more about WHY the government needs the police so much. A lot of my sources will be in french (and marked (F) like this) because there are a lot of cases that didn’t make it to the international press. Many sources also come from the newspaper Mediapart and require a subscription.

I’ve had a lot of people telling me “BuT It’S nOt ChInA” and let me tell you, yes I know it’s way worse in other countries (Peru, Thailand, Nigeria and so on, a lot is happening right now in the world), but where the fuck do you draw the line? The kind of things I’m gonna tell you about is unacceptable, and so hypocritical when a country calls itself a democracy and the land of human rights, and we should be angry about that and try to make it change. Here I’m talking a lot about Macron but let’s not forget that many current problems began under Holland’s presidency, who was supposed to be from the left, and even before. Alright, here we go.

President of the wealthy

Soooo let’s begin with how Macron was elected by wealthy people: half of the 16 million euro collected for his campaign was financed(F) by 1200 people, mostly living in Paris, by banks, and also by rich french people living abroad. So of course the first thing he did when he could was to reward them for his victory and he cut their taxes in december 2018. He deleted the “taxe on fortune” that was in place for 40 years (minus 3 years under Chirac first presidency) and replaced it with another that taxes way less, in the name of trickle down economy (you know, the same way Thatcher and Reagan did) saying that rich people would invest more and thus creating more jobs. Of course that didn’t happen and rich people just got way richer without any effects on poor people.

At the same time, he cut down housing benefits for students and poor people (1/4 of people between 18 and 24 are under the poverty line) and cancelled housing helps for 50,000 people. In december 2018, he wanted to pass a law that would increase fuel prices in the name of ecology, but that would once again mainly affect working and middle classes. That’s how started the yellow vest movement, because people were becomming poorer and poorer and they felt like the government only gave to the rich and took from the poor.

In 2018, 14% of the french population was under the poverty line, and 21% suffer from food insecurity and it has only worsened since.

At the end of 2019, a student even set himself on fire at his university because he was in such financial distress he couldn’t go on anymore.

Yellow Vest movement

If you have to read one article about it, it’s this one.

In 2017, Macron said in one of his speeches about a train station that it was “a place where one encounters people who are succeeding and people who are nothing”. The yellow vest movement came from these “people who are nothing”. For the first time in decades, people who were not heard, people who didn’t have a place in the political landscape in France were on the front scene. A lot of protestors never demonstrated before, or even engaged in politics. Many of them now protested because “they had nothing else to lose” (F). People were angry from not being listened to and being used only to allow rich people to get richer, and oh boy they showed it in the street.

The first protests took the government by surprise. They were not expecting the numbers of protestors, nor their determination. The protest were also completely different from the demonstration the state was used to deal with: there were no official leaders, making it really difficult for the government to negotiate, demonstrations were often not declared beforhand in prefectures (F), and people were systematically targetting (F) banks, major brands like Apple or McDonalds and luxury shops, causing millions euro worth of damages.

On the 1st of december 2018, protestors in Paris took over the Arc de Triomphe and completely overfloaded the police.

One policeman said afterward that on this day, “the Elysée could have fallen” (F). Police forces were not prepared, the right orders were not given at the right times and some police company were surounded by furious protestors. The same policeman said that in that moment, “they forgot about their code of ethics”, that they were just shooting rubber bullet wherever they could and “trying protect their life”. The following weeks, police put on steel fences around the Elysée and members of the government and their collaborators were asked to lock down and put away all of their documents(F) before the weekly demonstrations, in case the protestors were able to take over the buildings.

It was a turning point in the protests, and from then the orders given to the police changed completely. From then they’ve been allowed to litterally do whatever it took to keep the country in order. The government understood that the last thing between them and the furious people they betrayed was the police, and that’s precisely why they are trying to give them even more power today with the law on global security (see my last post, and probably a next one I’m gonna write soon because it would be too much for this post).

Since December 2018, a journalist, David Dusfresne, documents and keeps count on the police brutality, first on twitter and then on the online newspaper Mediapart(F) (TW for really graphic pictures of wounds and blood). For now he counted 4 deaths, 30 people who lost an eye due mainly to rubber bullets, 6 who lost a hand due to detonative grenades (France is being the only european country to use them against its own population), 346 wounded to the head (fractured skull mainly, due to the rubber bullets and baton blow) and a total of 969 documented reports on police brutality (and that’s only for 3 years).

Since then, a total of 9 police officers have been judged guilty, 7 of them being only suspended temporarily and avoiding prison, with only 2 of them ending up in prison(F) and being expelled from police forces.

People began to record the police more and more to prevent any brutality or to have proofs in case it happened, and then the police began to target journalists and anyone who had a camera.

They began to lie to people, telling them it’s forbiden to record the police (for now it isn’t), they forced photographs to delete their photos in the middle of demonstrations. They covered their ID number on their uniform (F), they covered their licence plates.

The government also began to talk about legitimate protest, aka the peacefull one, and put the name of “casseur” (thug) on anyone who would be too angry. to their taste, saying that the latter were taking the former in hostage. Basically they were saying tht yes, protestors took aver the arc de Triomphe, but it was only hooligans who just wanted to burn things, nothing political behind that.

Here began the preventive arrests (F) before demonstrations (arresting people who had done nothing on the only presumption they will), the arrest of journalists, the arrest of people having masks and protection glasses on them. From now on the administration can ban someone from public demonstration without going through the justice system.

Between November 2018 and November 2019, around 3,000 person(F) from the yellow vest movement were senteced to community services, fees, suspended prison sentence, and for 1/3 of them prison sentences. Those numbers are underestimated because many cases have not been judged yet. Some protestors were sentenced for shouting slogans(F), for wearing protective masks(F) (F), other were sent to prison for damaging radars(F) on highways, or for filming riots while wearing a yellow vest(F). There has been a massive tendency(F) for the state to sue people for “participation to a gathering with the intent to commit violences against persons or goods”, allowing them to give fees, community services or even prison sentences to people based only on the intent they gave them. Many people found guilty of attacking police forces were judged with the only proof being the declaration of police officers, and even though a lot of them claimed to be innocent they were still sentenced because they couldn’t bring proof of their innocence.(F) Amnesty International talks about the criminalization of demonstrators(F) that’s happening in France and warns about the instrumentalisation of laws that goes against international law. (F)

The ban on masks (they can be considered as weapons) during demonstration allows police to take protestors(F) who have some on them or in their car to the police station for a maximum of 48h for the sole purpose of making them miss the demonstration. This law is not applied nowadays because of Covid, but it still exists.

With the yellow vest movement, the part of the population who wasn’t used to the police actually began to endure what POC have been living for decades.

Racisme

France is a fucked up racist country. It was born in colonisation and slavery, and still rely on its former colonies to prosper economically. Young men perceived as Black or Arab are 24 more times likely to be stopped in the streets. The overwhelming majority of people killed by the police are black or arabic(F). When the police kills POC, the judiciary system often refuses to do a full investigation, refuses to hear some of the witnesses, refuses to watch some of the video tapes from surveillance cameras (F). A lot of autopsies are proved to be ballant lies, founding heart diseases(F) or blood infections(F) when the victim was actually killed by suffocation due to ventral tackle, a police technique that got France sentenced by the European court of human rights (F).

BAC

Since the mid 90′s, France has special police forces for working-class neighborhoods, the Brigade Anti-Criminalité (BAC), that operate in suburbs (in France rich people live in the city center and poor people in the suburbs) where a majority of imigrants and people from black and arabic descent live. BAC agents are all volunteers, they act in unmarked cars and civilians clothes and can carry weapons(F).

Their purpose is to roam the streets and to catch misdemeanor in the act, and they’ve been known (as well as regular police) to harass population by proceeding to systematic identity cheks(F) (often outside of what’s allowed by law), by insulting people(F), provoking people with racist and homophobic insults(F), by beating them(F) and charging them for “outrage” or “rebellion”(F) when they protest (charges that always give reasons to police officers when there’s no recordings of the arrest and allow them to get money for the prejudice). There have been reports of torture on adults(F), tennagers(F) and children(F), and cases where the BAC agents took victims to quiet places so they could beat them up(F). There have also been reports of agents inventing charges when their provocations didn’t push the victim to confront them(F).

They are basically above the law. There have been cases of massive corruption(F) where the agents returned to their unit(F) after the end of their suspension, and the person who leaked the info got fired.

As they are field agents, their role is also intelligence: they gather intells in the suburbs and they also infiltrate demonstration(F) and wear the attire of “casseurs”, to gather intells on violent individuals. Since the beginning of the Yellow Vest movement, they’ve participating in containing demonstrations as well even though they don’t have any training in that field.

Refugees

Police is being extremely violent against refugees, particularly in Northern France and what used to be the “Jungle” of Calais. Amnesty International reported that police had been beating refugees with baton, confiscating their clothes and tent daily during winter (it also happened in Paris(F)), urinating on their tents, spraying teargas directly in the face of sleeping men. A group of 4 associations also issued a report(F) on police harassment against volunteers who helped refugees, with as much as 646 instances of police harassment and abuse against volunteers between November 2017 and June 2018 in Calais. Human rights observers reported harrasment techniques such as body search of female volunteers by male officers, insults, pushing, threats of legal suits and threats of arrest. Volunteers who reported these behaviours were told by the police internal investigation body that the reports where defamatory and could constitute a crime.

At the beginning of the year, associations that were not approuved by the state were forbidden to distribute free meals to refugees(F).

Islamophobia

France has always been an islamophobic country but it has been more public and accepted since the 2015 terrorist attacks. Many laws promoting laicity are actually used to target Islam:

The ban of public display of religious items in public institutions (schools, libraries, government buildings) target mainly women wearing hijabs when many mayors keep on installing nativity scenes during Christmas(F). In 2016 some cities made wearing a burkini (full body covering bathing suit) on the beach illegal and we had some astonishing scenes of police officers asking a women (who wasn’t even wearing a burkini) to undress on the beach in the name of the law.

The law that says people have to uncover their face when being in a public space only target muslim women and is now completely useless as we have the obligation to wear a mask everywhere

The law that says street prayers have to be autorized in prefecture beforehand only target muslim community: when a muslim association organized a street prayer(F) in 2017 to protest their eviction from their place of cult in the city center they were charged 10,000€ (5,000€ from the association and 5,000€ from its president), whereas catholics students organized a street prayer(F) last month and didn’t face any charges. Legally, any autorization must be asked more than 3 days in advance and in both cases it was only asked on the day before.

Following the killing of Samuel Paty, a teacher who was attacked mid october for showing caricatures of the prophet Mohamed in class, four 10 years old children were arrested for “terrorism apology”(F), interrogated for 10 hours and their houses checked by police forces in full gears. The minister of interior also disolved the Collective against Islamophobia in France, saying that, since it was prottesting against anti-terrorist laws (that are super islamophobic) it was promoting radical islamism and terrorism. A minute of silence was imposed in schools and the names of people who didn’t follow the procedure were given to the minister of education, who said “none of them will be left unpunished”.(F)

To sum up: the government is being super islamophobic but muslims who voice their concerns are seen as radical islamists and are associated with terrorists. Furthermore, it’s now easier for islamophobic people in government to ban associations or to pass shady laws thanks to the state of emergency.

State emergency

Following the 2 years of state emergency (2015-2017), France passed a law against terrorism(F) that normalized a lot of the state emergency’s characteristics: it took power away from the justice system to give it to administrations, directly under the control of the government.

The government, who previously had to be accountable in front of a judiciary judge, can now do many things under the only control of an administrative judge(F). The actions of administrative judges are controled by the council of state, and the president of the said council is the prime minister or the minister of justice, named by the president.

Here is what they can now do(F):

place people under house arrest with obligation to check in police stations every day for a maximum of a year

deny or restrict access to public events to some people, or proceed to body search

make someone wear an electronic bracelet when they didn’t commit any infractions

close places of worship for a maximum of 6 months when the ideas discuted there promote hate, discrimination, violence or terrorism

require people to give their login of any account on internet to the police

investigate on civil servants using secret services files

create a national centralized file with the names of people travelling in and out of the country by plane or boat

With the autorisation of a judge of freedom and detentions, they can also search houses and seize computers or phones to inspect the contents.

If people refuse to do any of the above when they are asked to, they risk 3 years of prison and a fee that can go up to 45,000€.

The offense “terrorism apology” was used against hundreds of people, with a large proportion of them being underaged (1/3 of them in 2015), sometimes for something as unsignificant as a non-violent facebook comment, a situation pointed out by Amnesty International(F). The NGO also highlights the fact that the fear of being considered as an extremist or the fear of facing judiciary consequences sets limit to freedom of speech.

Since 2015, the government has used the power given to them by the state of emergency to place 24 environmental activists under house arrest for the duration of the COP21(F) and to search the house of people who were protesting against the construction of an airport(F), construction potentialy linked to corruption(F), and also to close temporarly more than 30 mosques and install security cameras inside(F).

The consulting national commission on human rights pointed out a “highjack” of the state emergency, that was used to silence protestors, unions and refugees with abusive means, like unnecessary handcuffing, adults and children being aimed at with assault riffle during house searches and house being damaged during searches.

2015 was also the year of the Intelligence Act, a law that allows inteligence agencies to install scanning devices on the infrastructure of telecom operators so they can collect data on communications that are likely to reveal a terrorist threat.

Covid 19

When the epidemy started to be problematic in France in February 2020, hospital workers had been on strike for 11 months(F) and were asking for doctors and nurses jobs opening, and more beds in hospital. At the beginning of february, 600 administrative hospital workers had quit(F) so they were not “accomplices of the management of misery”. Healthcare workers had been saying for years that the deterioration of the working conditions in hospitals were gonna lead to patients death.

Since the beginning of the 2000′s, 100 000 beds have been removed(F) from hospital services and there has been a budget cut close to 12 bilions euros(F) for the health services.

Then comes Covid 19, and the government asks health workers to always do more with less, in the name of common good. We applaud them at our windows every night, and then they don’t get the bonus(F) the government promised, the healthcare system doesn’t get any budget increase and even worse, it still has to face a 800 milions cut in the middle of the pandemic(F).

The newspaper Mediapart issued a report(F) exposing the lies of the government:

They decided to get only small quantities of masks at the beginning of january against experts opinion, they said the virus wouldn’t reach France.

Government lied about the usefullness of masks to prevent people asking for them when they didn’t have some to distribute to the whole population. They said it was useless, and even dangerous because we didn’t know how to use them, they actively encouraged people not to wear them, and they lied about mask shortage. I really want to insist on that point, the instensity of communication on the subject was incredible. Every day we had many different high-ranked person in the government telling us on TV, on the radio or in newspaper that we shouldn’t wear masks. They only made wearing masks compulsory in public spaces mid July, 6 months after the first case in France(F).

Healthcare workers didn’t have enough masks and thus faced higher risks of contamination but the government still allowed non essential big companies like Airbus to use milions of the precious FFP2 masks. The government still refuses to give the number of healthcare workers who died from Covid19(F), the only count we have is made by journalists, and it’s believed to be underestimated.

To this day, healthcare workers are still on strike for better working conditions and better pay. I took this pic earlier this month from one of the firestations in my city, you can read written in white paint on the doors “understaffed, population in danger”, “18 months of strike and still NOTHING”, “Covid bonus ???” and “SOS”. Firefighters also write this on their trucks and their helmets, and hospitals have had banners deployed for more than a year now. All of these people are still working to ensure everyone’s access to health services but they refuse to transfer data to the state sickness insurance for example (and they are now facing administrative sanctions(F) and are threatened to not be given cancer drugs if they don’t end the strike(F)).

Regarding Covid, we are one of the only countries in europe to use self-filled certificates to be able to go outside. These certificates are controlled by the police, and like I said earlier, increased police controls harm a certain part of the population (young people and POC). Amnesty International issued a report(F) on the violences comited during french lockdown, pointing out repetitive and significant illegitimate actions from the police, such as beatings, use of tasers, illegal arrests, racists and homophobics insults and verbal threats. In April 2020, Mohamed Gabsi, a homeless person, was killed by the police after being arrested for being outside during the lockdown(F). The officers who killed him are still in service.

The covid crisis brought us in the worst recession we had since WW2, and the Secour Populaire (french association that helps poor people) had to help 45% more people than it helped in 2019(F). In my city, there are so many people coming for food distribution on certain days they had to install permanent fences in the street so people can queue in order.

Corruption and Other Stuff

In France (as in many other countries) it’s rare to have politicians who’ve never been prosecuted in any judiciary or administrative case.

Here I’m only gonna tell you who have been accused and who have been prosecuted for what in Macron’s government, and quite frankly it’s not exhaustive because one wikipedia page just brings me to 5 more.

The following tab is quite heavy so feel free to just check the left column with the legend.

(Now let me cry thinking about this Swedish minister who had to quit over a chocolate bar)

(All my sources are from french newspapers, I can give them if you ask me but I’m not gonna put them here because there are way too many)

People who had to quit the first government were still appointed deputy governor of the Bank of France (Sylvie Goulard), president of the national assembly (Richard Ferrand) and chief of foreign affaires commission at the national assembly (Marielle de Sarnez). They are being investigated for corruption and embezzlement and they still have a successfull political career, and more important they still heavily influence the laws of our country and of Europe. Sylvie Goulard was even chosen by Macron to seat at the European Commission but european deputies decided it was fucked up and rejected her appointment (F).

In this list I only talked about members of the government but there has been other scandals linked to people around Macron.

Benalla cases: It all began when we discovered Alexandre Benalla, chief of security and travels for the president, was participating in demonstration as a policeman (which he wasn’t) and used his position to beat up protestors and passerby. The rest of the case is filled with destruction and hiding of evidences(F), illegal sharing of public surveillance videotapes by the police, undeclared guns(F), illegal but unpunished use of data by the police(F) and the Elysée(F), breaking of the judiciary control by Benalla, illegal diplomatic passports and meeting with african’s leaders, russian contracts with an alleged mafia boss(F), office searchs for a newspaper ordered by the State, who tried to seize the proofs and the sources the newspaper had on the case(F) and so on. The case involves several members of the government and members of special forces, and some journalists who were writing on it were then auditionned for disclosure of state secret(F). The case in general highlighted the impunity members of the government and police officers have, as well as anyone who is close to the president, but also the dysfunction in the justice system and the impossibility for high ranked people to face justice. The fucker is still free, taunt people on twitter and still gives interviews to national television.

Kohler case: Alexis Kohler, general secretary of the Elysee and Macron right hand man during his campain, hid his personnal links to the sea transporters MSC and then attributed them huge state funds. He also lied in his involvement in the decision. We discovered Macron sent a letter to the national financial prosecutor's office to clear him, which they did, until an anti-corruption association relaunched legal proceedings. The guy is now being prosecuted for corruption and bribery. (F) (F)

Conclusion

Fuck the police, eat the rich, let’s forbid them from being elected, a next long post on the Law on Global Security the governement is trying to pass is gonna come soon if you’re interested.

Please tell me if you see any inconsistency in this post, I tried to source it as much as I could and to verify everything I wrote but like anyone else I have bias and sometimes I wrote things at 5am so I’m aware I might be incorrect and I’m open to constructive criticism. Also sorry for my approximate english sometimes.

#France #Macron #up the baguette #yellow vest #what the france #french government #french politics #french side of tumblr

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phykios · 3 years

Text

honesty and promise me, part 3 [read on ao3] [co-written with @darkmagyk]

Several more weeks and hookups later, Annabeth thinks she should probably come clean. Some people might bury it deep, and for sure, Annabeth’s considered it, but, well. It is kind of embarrassing that she didn’t know Percy’s name at first. Stuff like that doesn’t usually bother her--she’s had nameless one night stands in the past, and despite Thalia’s ribbing, she knows that Thalia doesn’t really care either. It’s just that, you know, he’s Thalia’s family, and they’ve seen each other a few more times, and they are planning to continue to see each other a few more times in the future. Or more than a few times.

Anyway, she kind of feels like she owes it to him. Like he deserves this small nugget of truth, payment for all the times he’s fucked her blind. It’s nagging at her, and she hates feeling like she owes anyone anything.

Piper certainly seemed to think so, when Annabeth had told her over their monthly brunch date.

“It’s just common courtesy at this point,” she said. “Like, what if you guys end up married and then sell your story to Hollywood, they cast my dad as the male lead, and it comes out in interviews that you didn’t know his name for like a month? He’s gonna get the wrong idea.”

Annabeth wasn’t sure which part was more ridiculous: the movie, Piper’s dad being involved, or them being married.

Anyway, sharing some of her avocado fries, Piper had reminded her that being mean wasn't very punk rock, shutting her up effectively.

She’s out on site in the Lower East Side, taking measurements for plots of land, writing down sun angles and measuring the wind velocity between the brick buildings, when she gets a text from him.

I’m on a break and I’m starving 😩 Want to grab something to eat?

It’s 2pm on a Thursday and he wants to grab something to eat. If Annabeth didn’t know any better, she’d say that that sounds like a real, honest-to-goodness, bona fide date. (Meeting up at and subsequently leaving bars together does not count as a date, she’s pretty sure. Neither do the booty calls.) He’s been getting a little free with his texts, that boy, sending her selfies and memes and questions about her day, and now this? An invitation to their first, actual date? She should block him on principle, just for the sheer audacity.

sure, wya

520 8th, text me when you get here 😁

That’s another thing: Percy loves his emojis. If this is going to continue, they’re going to need to have a serious talk about that.

She doesn’t need to text him when she gets there; he’s already outside, leaning on the stone edifice of the building like a particularly jacked rent boy in his tight t-shirt and broody look, cigarette between his fingers. The sweatpants sort of ruin the image, though. He looks particularly comfortable in a way that warms Annabeth right from the inside out. “You know, when Nico said you smoked, I honestly didn’t believe it.” she says, not even bothering to say hi.

He looks up from his phone and smiles, the sun behind his teeth. “Hey!”

“Hey, yourself.” She doesn’t even hesitate--she plucks the cigarette out of his hand, taking a drag off it herself. “You been smoking for a long time?”

“Who do you think taught Thalia how?” He raises an eyebrow, bemused. “Is that a problem?”

It is, but it’s not like she can tell him that without losing some of her credibility. “Wouldn’t smoking fuck with your cardio?”

Percy shrugs, conceding. “A little. I used to be a lot worse, but I just can’t quite kick the habit. It’s mostly a stress thing, anyway.”

“Rough practice?” she asks, putting just enough effort into her lip wobble to make it abundantly clear that she’s making fun of him. “Were the other boys being mean to you because of your tights?”

He grins at her, saucy. “Annabeth Chase, do you really think that NYCB rehearses here? In the Garment District?” But he laughs before she can stammer out an answer (and thank God, she’s lived here three years and can barely keep the boroughs straight, let alone the neighborhoods). “I just wrapped up teaching a class. I don’t have to be at rehearsal until 5, I was thinking we could hang out? Bryant Park?”

A first date at the New York Public Library. She almost hates to admit it, but Percy Jackson might be kind of her dream man. “I believe I was promised food,” she sniffs, but she does hold out her hand, and when he takes it, lacing his fingers through hers, she’s sure that he can feel her heart beating, palm to palm.

Twenty minutes later they’re settled on a bench in the corner of the green, Annabeth halfway into a ham sandwich and Percy juggling a salad and an iced coffee. He’s been regaling her with tales from the more exciting side of ballet, a side she hadn’t even imagined could actually exist. “So by the time I land in Paris,” he says, taking a sip of coffee, “the guy’s foot has swollen up to, like, twice its original size, and when I finally managed to find some wifi to check my phone, there’s, like, eight missed calls from my mom and my agent, and an email from her that just says ‘READ THIS,’ in all caps, and of course the article is in French, which I didn’t really speak at the time, and I was so stressed that my ADHD made it so I couldn’t even read the Google translation, and I had to ask someone to translate it for me.”

“Oh my god,” she says, struggling to keep it in.

“And that’s how I found out that I’d been moved up to first cast in Le Corsaire, from the poor barista at a coffee shop in Charles de Gaule!” He laughs.

“That’s insane,” Annabeth says. “And the show was the next day?”

“It was that night! I had to haul ass to the opera house and get warmed up, because I was going on in about four hours. You should have seen the looks on everyone’s faces when I stumbled in, I’m sure that they all wanted to kill me.” Percy chuckles, taking a bite of leafy greens. “Now I wasn’t just the twenty-year-old upstart American, I was the twenty-year-old upstart American who skipped town when I wasn’t supposed to.”

“How did it go?”

“Killed it, of course,” he says, deservedly smug.

Despite her best efforts, she’s absolutely entranced; he’s a great storyteller. “I bet you break that story out at parties all the time, don’t you.”

He laughs. “Whatever gets the donors to open their checkbooks, right?”

“I can’t believe you lived in Paris. I’ve always wanted to see it.” She’d had a few chances to when she was in college, the semester she’d studied abroad in Rome, but she just never got around to it. Just another item on her long, long list of regrets, placed somewhere between the sketchy burrito from last week and not telling her mom to fuck off earlier when she’d had the chance. “If I were you, I’d never leave.”

Percy shrugs. “It was amazing, I won’t lie. But towards the end I just really, really missed it here. All my family is in NYC, you know? My mom, step-dad, and my sister live here, and Thalia and Nico and Hazel, too. I tried to come back and visit whenever I could, but being away from them was really hard.” There’s something soft and inviting in his expression when he says, “I’m really happy to be back home.”

“What are they like?” Annabeth asks. “Your family. Your non-mob family, I mean.”

He rolls his eyes, but he grins another one of those blinding grins, too. “My mom is the most amazing person you will ever meet. Not only did she support my dance habit, she did it as a single working mother who had to raise an angry, ADHD asshole of a son who didn’t always appreciate her. I don’t even want to know how many hours she had to work or how many scholarships and grants she had to track down in order to pay for me to go to SAB, but somehow she made it work, and managed to write her novel at the same time. She married my step-dad the summer I turned sixteen, and my baby sister was born the next year.”

Even Annabeth, cynical and black-hearted as she is, has to smile back. The love he has for his mom is so palpable, so tangible, she can practically see him glowing. “And the…” What had Thalia called them? “The ‘Cousin Consortium’?”

At that, Percy laughs, full-bellied, unrestrained. “The name was Nico’s idea. I didn’t really have many close friends when I was a kid, apart from my buddy Grover--he had to wear this really gnarly leg brace and I liked to dance, so you can imagine how much we got picked on--but we were all really close growing up, since our dads were all assholes. They may have left us emotionally scarred, but at least we had each other’s backs the whole time.”

This is a very Percy thing, she’s starting to realize: he can not and will not hold back on his feelings. He simply refuses to. Where most guys might try to hide or downplay their affection for their friends, Percy’s is written all over his face. Maybe it’s a byproduct of doing ballet, but he’s so unashamed of his love for his friends and his family and his art, that maybe Annabeth kind of wishes she could be included in that love too, if it always feels this warm and joyful.

“I think it’s amazing that you guys are so close. I only had the one cousin when I was growing up, and we didn’t really talk all that much,” Annabeth says, almost without her permission. Something about him, it’s just so easy to talk to him. He makes it safe to open up.

“The med school guy, right?”

Annabeth nods. “Magnus. Fifth generation Harvard student. We’re all very proud.”

Ugh. Even she has to wince at the false cheer in her voice. Percy gives her a half-smile, sympathetic and soft. “Harvard not really for you, then?” he asks, picking up the threads of a long and complicated story, and one that she absolutely does not want to get into right now. Or ever, if she can help it.

“More like I wasn’t really for Harvard.” Which wasn’t entirely untrue. She had been good enough for the university in Cambridge, Mass--good enough for two degrees and graduation with honors--but she had never been good enough for her mother’s capital-H Harvard. Never good enough for her mother at all, really.

Percy takes her hand. His fingers are cold from his iced coffee. “Hey. It’s their loss,” he says, with a sincerity and an intensity that makes her blush.

Every part of her wants to pull away. His thumb is rubbing against the joint of her finger, soothing and sweet, and she thinks she may break out in hives from it. “Damn right it is,” she mumbles.

He is so nice. So nice and hot and sweet. Objectively, what she’s about to do is a terrible idea, and might torpedo a really good thing that they have, but if she doesn’t come clean now her own guilt is going to drive her insane.

“Okay, I have a confession to make.” Percy raises his eyebrows, slurping the last dregs of his drink. “When we met… and then when we hooked up the first time… I may have… thoughtyouwereJason.”

He blinks. “Pardon?” he asks, mumbled around the straw.

Annabeth buries her head in her hands. “Please don’t make me say it again.”

“You… thought I was Jason?”

“Well,” she sputters, glaring at him through her fingers, “you were being all bro-y with Thalia!”

He is valiantly trying to hold in a smile. “You know, I distinctly remember telling you my name that morning.”

“I was really hungover,” she whines, “and you were shirtless and making breakfast so I wasn’t really… paying attention.”

“For a whole week?”

This is so embarrassing, why couldn’t she just keep her stupid mouth shut? “Yeah.” She slumps her shoulders, stuffing her hands into her jacket pocket. “Sorry.”

She’s not entirely sure what she expected: at best a couple of weird looks and a tentative promise to meet up later that would end up not working out, at worst she thinks he’ll just get up and leave her here at Bryant Park. Either way, they’d be doomed to months of awkward interactions, until eventually they wouldn’t be able to be around each other, and Thalia would have to pick a side--and Annabeth’s seen what Thalia does to people who cross her family. She’s seen Thalia beat a dude to pulp for calling Nico the f-slur. Picking Percy over Annabeth? That’s nothing.

So when he starts laughing, Annabeth is completely at a loss. Slowly, at first, then all at once, he’s laughing so hard his shoulders are shaking, and he has to put down his salad so it doesn’t topple over onto the grass. His head is tilted back in joy, the grey, late afternoon light adamant that Annabeth can see all of his features clearly, from his screwed up eyes to his bright, white teeth to the single dimple in his cheek.

Of course, even his laughter is hot. Asshole.

“You thought I was Jason!” He shrieks.

Annabeth crosses her arms, scowling.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I really don’t mean to laugh,” he giggles. Annabeth can feel her own giggle rising in response, and she ruthlessly quashes it. “I can definitely say I’ve never heard that one before. You do know Jason is blond, right?”

“As a matter of fact, I did not. Besides, you and Thalia look exactly alike.”

He scoffs. “No we don’t.”

“Uh, yeah you do. You, Thalia, and Nico are all basically clones of each other.”

“Okay, Captain Glasses, whatever you say.” He rolls his eyes, but there’s no heat behind it.

“I’m sorry,” Annabeth feels like she has to say again.

He cocks his head. “For what? For thinking I was Jason? He’s a pretty cool guy.”

“No, for,” she blushes again. All this blood rushing to her head can’t be good for her. “For sleeping with you when I still thought you were Jason.”

Percy scoots closer to her, throwing her a grin and slinging his arm over her shoulders. Without even realizing that she’s doing it, she settles in beside him like she’s been doing it her whole life, slotted up against his torso, tucking her booted feet beneath her legs. “I am choosing to take that as a compliment,” he says, smirking. “You couldn’t resist my charms, even when you thought I was a brogrammer.”

Annabeth can’t help herself. She kisses him, wiping that smug grin right off his face, and when she finally retreats, after what feels like hours, he looks so dazed she could probably keep calling him by any name she wanted and he wouldn’t even realize it.

After their lunch, they meander for hours, headed in a vaguely southerly direction, holding hands the whole time, a steady, uninterrupted flow that took them all the way from Midtown to Greenwich Village. He tells her about his first day at ballet school; she tells him about her favorite monuments. “There are two architectural environments in America,” she says, ranting, speaking with enough force that she might forget the feeling of his hand in hers, “endless dead suburbia, or cities where every single building is either a concrete or a glass block--and not even Brutalist concrete, just shitty, poorly designed, paint-by-numbers concrete. It is an absolute travesty of modern government that they don’t fund any public works projects anymore.”

“That’s why all the gardens and stuff?” he asks.

“Nowadays everything is built by the lowest bidder. At least I get to add some beauty back into the city.”

“I know what you mean,” Percy says. “Paris is practically overflowing with public works, you almost forget about it sometimes.”

She sighs. “You’re so fucking lucky. Paris is so beautiful and everything in New York is just hideous.”

“Aw, come on,” he says. “Not everything. What about the Empire State Building, or Central Park?”

“Well, obviously, those,” she says, just a teensy bit flustered, but she’s not about to give up the argument without a fight. “I just mean like, normal, every day buildings: offices and apartments and stuff. It’s all so samey and boring.”

He looks to her right, pointing at the building they are passing. “What about this one?”

She turns.

If she had known they were headed this way, she never would have taken them past here.

“It’s… okay, I guess,” she mumbles, staring up at the arched windows, pedimented doors, and Rococo details of Miss Minerva’s Private Pre-College Prep School. A shudder goes down her spine, like someone walking over her grave. “There are better Beaux-Arts buildings.”

Sensing her discomfort, he picks up the pace, and changes the subject.

Finally, he stops outside a nondescript building, turning to face her. “This is me,” he says, a little bit mournfully, squeezing her hand. “Are you okay to get home safely?”

This man is ridiculous; it’s not even dark out. “I think I can manage a few blocks,” she says, lightly swatting him. “Isn’t it kind of early for you, though? It’s only four o’clock.”

He flushes faintly, one hand coming up to rub at his neck. “Uh, well, I always give myself a little extra time--you know, time blindness and everything.”

“You baked in extra time in case I wanted you to walk me home, didn’t you?” She mock-gasps, secretly delighted. “Scandal!”

“Guilty,” he grins. “You’ve been to mine so many times, I was curious.”

She just barely stops herself from laughing out loud at the very idea of Percy coming to her apartment--as if. Thalia hasn’t even been to her apartment. Nobody knows where she lives, none of her neighbors know who she is, and this is entirely by design. “Cut me some slack; a girl’s gotta have some mystery. Can’t make it too easy for you, can I?”

“I have a feeling you’ll never make things easy for me,” he says, white teeth gleaming.

“You better believe it,” she smiles back. “Now that I’ve foiled your plans, are you going to be too bored?”

“Oh, I’ll think of something,” he shrugs. “I’m very resourceful when it comes to boredom.”

Inspiration strikes, and she grasps his hand, pulling him down the alleyway. She almost hates to admit it, but she has something of a Pavlovian response when it comes to hanging out with Percy. Annabeth has come to expect some really excellent sex whenever the two of them meet up, and maybe spending all afternoon with him has made her a little bit horny.

She presses him up against the brick wall, hidden from the street by the long afternoon shadows, and kisses him. His hands flounder for a second, before coming up to rest on her shoulders, this thumbs tapping against the base of her neck, fingers fluttering on her jacket. It’s an intimate touch, kind of chaste and very respectful, and he holds her with precision and grace. He wouldn’t do anything she wouldn’t want to. This is a date with no expectation of sex on his part. But Annabeth does not want grace right now, spooked by the ghost of her old school. She does not want precision. She just wants him. She just wants to keep him on his toes, keep him interested, blow his mind a little.

She just wants to blow him, to be honest.

He squeaks into her mouth as her hands fly to his belt, deft fingers practically ripping it off of him in an increasingly familiar motion. “H-hey,” he says, squeezing her shoulders, “this is--”

“Do you not want me to?” she asks, one hand playing at the top line of his underwear.

“No--I mean, are you sure? I’m-I’m okay with this, I just want to--”

“I know.” She kisses his cheek, then drops to her knees. “But we’ve got some time to kill, don’t we.”

Afterwards, when she’s finished with him, Annabeth wipes her mouth, and he whimpers.

“Ho… holy shit,” he pants, flushed and trembling.

She tucks him back into his boxers, doing up his fly. “There we go. That was better than being bored, right?”

He nods wordlessly, swallowing, shaking. His eyes are glassy and glazed, stupid like he’s just shot out his brain through his dick.

In the short time they’ve been together (though, honestly, this might be the longest relationship she’s ever been in before… and they haven’t even broached the “dating” conversation yet) Annabeth has been on the receiving end of several different Percy looks. His face will light up with joy when he first lays his eyes on her, so happy to see her (though she can’t really fathom why), glinting like the sun on the water. His eyes will narrow, glaring, even as he furiously tamps down on his growing smile when they start arguing over something stupid, like Annabeth’s affinity for olives. He’ll grin at her, knife sharp and slanted, licking his lips and looming over her after she comes down from yet another orgasm via his mouth or his hands.

Percy looks at her now like someone took a bat to his head, and instead of seeing stars, he sees little miniature Annabeths flying around.

He pulls her to him and kisses her, entirely too sweet for what she’s just done to him, but that is also a very Percy thing. And when she leaves him with a final kiss on his cheek and squeeze of his ass, she can feel that look burning a hole through her jacket, following her down the alley and around the corner, and she finds that she doesn’t mind the weight of it at all.

#my fic #percabeth #pjo #the rivalry ends here #ballet au #darkmagyk #woot!!!!

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rwoolley97 · 3 years

Text

Who is important and ¿por qué?

Heroines, Role Models, and Everyday People

I am heartbroken

Mi corazón está sumamente triste

She was such an AMAZING human being

Un ser humano extraordinario y lleno de amor y bondad

These were some of the Facebook posts in the days after my friend Sandra’s passing on March 31, 2020. According to this ABC news article, she was the first teacher we lost to COVID in New York City. These were early days in our latest collective experience of human frailty brought on by this crazy pandemic. At the time, newspaper articles showed crisp charts with very tall bars for people over 65, but the bar for Sandra’s age group was pretty short. Sandra was my neighbor, my friend, and my peer. At 54 years old, we were the same age. Our kids were the same age, we’d both been dual language teachers for years, and we’d shared our dreams for supporting Sunset Park kids when we retired. My dream was to help kids with all of those little gaps in support as they head off to college. Hers was to start a really great preschool for families that couldn’t afford it. For me, the virus now felt real and personal; I now knew that the virus could take something from me, something important. In addition to the personal impact on me, the effects of Sandra’s death reverberated throughout our Sunset Park community. Sandra was an everyday, regular person in my life. But the way she lived her everyday life, made her special. For many, Sandra was a role model, and even a heroine.

In the days after her death, Facebook was filled with posts about what made Sandra so special (including, She was just the type of everyday superheroine that Dulce Pinzón portrays in her photographs at https://www.dulcepinzon.com/.

The New York Times, The Daily News, Democracy Now, Chalkbeat, NYSUT, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S-NtmrK-S8g ). One of the posts listed the many awards she won for her teaching. Other posts told stories of all of the special ways that Sandra helped her students, her friends, her neighbors, and her family. Still others just talked about her warmth and kindness. Recently, I was in Prospect Heights and I ran across this mural commemorating Sandra from her school community. (It turns out it is part of a project, Underhill Walls, started by Jeff Beler collaborating with Love Heals to beautify an abandoned building. Sandra’s mural was recently added to the mural.)

Just to give you an idea, let me go back in time to tell how Sandra and I started to become friends…

Years ago, when my father was ill, we brought him to live with us. Soon after he arrived, my principal called me down to the office. My father had fallen in the bathroom. He hit his head and broke his hip, said the voice on the phone. Under the influence of strong, prescribed medications, my father’s lucidity came and went. The doctors told me I needed a Durable Power of Attorney, if I wanted to be able to make his medical decisions in his less lucid moments. To get that, I needed a notary public. This detail became a stressful task at the time, getting between me and my father’s care. After all, how can you get a notary public into the hospital and one that will keep coming back until he’s lucid?

Somehow Sandra heard about our situation and she reached out to me and volunteered; it turned out she was a notary public! She came to the hospital two or three times until my father was cognizant enough to go over the paperwork and understand what he was signing. Each time, I apologized and thanked her profusely. Each time she threw her head back, smiled a wide warm smile, and said it was no big deal.

At the time, I barely knew her. But, over the years, I learned that this is who Sandra was. She had two young kids, was helping to raise her sisters’ kids, taking care of older parents, and teaching full time in Red Hook, three neighborhoods away. And, every time I saw her, she shouted across the street and we chatted.

At the time of Sandra’s death, so early in this pandemic, this was a huge loss for me, a personal, heartbreaking loss. It still is.

Since then, I have come to wonder if this wasn’t more than just a personal loss, both because Sandra touched so many lives and also because, being Dominican, she was Latin@.

Back then, I was worried about my mother, my aunts and uncles, my friends’ parents, my older friends. I was shocked time and time again, as my friends lost family members at an alarming rate. One of my colleagues at school lost her father and her 24 year old brother within days. Another friend’s husband lost his grandparents and his father was in ICU for what seemed like ages. My student teacher’s grandmother was in the hospital for weeks. One of my professors told us to please be careful over Christmas break, because she had lost 3 family members within a week after they had a small birthday gathering. At some point, I realized that every last one of these people we had lost were Latin@ or Black. Before the press started reporting about the inequities of the ravages of the virus, it was becoming obvious to me.

My white 77 year old mother and 78 year old mother-in law were fine, even though the former kept going out to buy food, shop for non-essential items and the latter lived in a nursing home. My sister-in-law and nephew survived infection unscathed, even though they both had significant risk factors. In fact, my white family members and my many white friends were mostly fine. I’ve heard of only a tiny handful of white people who have lost family members or friends, mostly older and with quite serious underlying conditions.

By April 10, 2020, news articles like this NBC article were starting to pop up. According to the COVID Racial Data Tracker, a collaboration between the COVID Tracking Project and the Boston University Center for Antiracist Research, Latin@s are dying at a rate of 167 per 100,000, while whites are dying at a rate of 121 per 100,000 (Here is the link).

Sandra wasn’t pushed out of the neighborhood by gentrification and, since she owned her home, she wouldn’t likely have been. Still, she’s gone and I can’t help but think that, if she were white, she’d probably still be here. My anger, frustration, and resentment are palpable as I write this. Sunset Park is less without Sandra. How many other regular people, role models, and heros have we lost in the Latin@ community?

NOTE: Other challenges for the Latin@ community have been access to educational resources (like waiting so long for DOE iPads and ongoing challenges with Internet access, unemployment, and food insecurity, and access to vaccines).

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willow-lane · 3 years

Text

I saw [WILLOW LANE] at a coffee shop in [BROOKLYN] today. I forgot how much [SHE] looks like [MADELYN CLINE]. They are a [TWENTY-THREE] year old [WAITRESS] who’s been in NYC for [A YEAR] now. Every time we run into each other, they are always [SPONTANEOUS AND FREE SPIRITED] but I’ve heard people say they can also be [NON-COMMITTAL AND SELF-INDULGENT]. [OUT OF THE BLUE BY KATIE PRUITT] reminds me of them every time it comes on the radio. / @villagestart

Hello everyone! I’m Ella and I’m super excited to be part of this roleplay and introduce Willow to all of you, she’s a new muse but she’s based on an old muse of mine so I think I have her figured out or mostly lol. I’d love to plot with all of you, so please like this or hmu. If you want my discord, I’d be happy to give it to you, just ask :D

basics

NAME: ava willow lane

NICKNAME: will, lolo, pillow

GENDER: cis female

PLACE OF BIRTH: burlington, vermont

DATE OF BIRTH: september 28, 1997

AGE: twenty-three

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: bisexual

OCCUPATION: waitress

NEIGHBORHOOD: brooklyn

background

Burlington was a dream within a dream, the station next to heaven. A town in love with itself and whose residents gloated about the wooded land, creased by hills, and threaded by streams.

The Lanes were living the typical American dream: the big house with the white picket fence, a large backyard and two perfect children. It was dreamlike.

Their kids could count themselves lucky and Willow Lane certainly did for most of her life. As the youngest daughter of a successful surgeon and a renowned psychotherapist who taught at the University of Vermont, she was taught that receiving an education was the only way to get ahead in life.

Her parents made sure to set their kids to success and while most of the kids from her street were out there playing, she was holed up in her room, reading the stacks of encyclopedia books her parents bought me for her birthday.

As a young child, Willow was filled with a sense of wonder, and encouraged by her curious personality she wanted to learn everything.

By the time she was in the sixth grade, she was smarter than most of the kids in her class, still her parents reminded her every day that she must outrank them all. Her parents took pride in her achievements. They were quick to boast about it in public, but they remained strict in private. Anything less than gold didn’t deserve a place on the wall.

Her afternoons were always full. Whether it was ballet class, french lessons, piano lessons or soccer practice. She had no time for herself.

Then high school started and by then she was overworked. Tired of chasing perfection and only being met with a “try harder”.

TW: DRUGS, ADDICTION, VOMIT MENTION, PANIC ATTACK: While she was still number one at her school, it was taking everything in her to keep it that way. Her parents didn’t know about those panic attacks she suffered at night or how she threw up before any competition. To them, she was handling well and she was very good at pretending but she also had a little secret. In her sophomore year, she was introduced to Adderall and she was quickly hooked. END OF TW

When she got accepted into a prestigious university, her parents didn’t hesitate to brag about how their kid would attend an Ivy League but Willow was mortified.

Back in Burlington, she was the biggest fish in the sea but at Princeton there were students who were better and shone brighter than her.

Maybe it was because she was suddenly cast into a whole new world that was so different from the one she grew up in. Maybe it was because she had harbored a bit of resentment towards her parents for her wasted youth. Whatever it was, by the end of her freshman year, university had swallowed her up.

TW ALCOHOL, DRUGS, DEPRESSION She got into a bad crowd, drank herself into oblivion, partied harder than anyone, and developed a penchant for bad boys who were much older than her. All this while trying to maintain a perfect GPA. Thanks to her magic pill, she was able to function and not feel guilty about not being as perfect as her parents wanted her to be. After all, she was only trying to recover the freedom that they took from her.

But this coping mechanism only turned to worse. The more she tried to drown her feelings in alcohol, the harder it came to bite her in the ass. It was clear as water: Willow Lane, picture perfect daughter, was depressed and had been for a while, and now it had caught up to her.

She was fighting a battle she was slowly losing. Willow was in a constant state of helplessness, staring into the void, and completely unable to pull herself out of it. If it hadn’t been for the upbringing she had, she would have been completely fine with self-destruct. END OF TW

The summer after her freshman year, she came back home and decided to have a talk with her parents. Her parents sat across the table, and they were not celebrating the end of a successful first semester, instead, they were fuming with betrayal.

Willow told them that she had dropped most of her classes and she explained to them how she was exhausted beyond repair. They were displeased, so disappointed that looking at them was painful. For the first time in their life, their perfect daughter had failed them.

By the end of the evening, her father was livid. Threatened her that if she didn’t take more classes and got excellent grades he would stop paying her tuition. That’s when it hit her. To her parents, she was nothing but an object, an accomplishment to brag about to her friends. That was not love, that was selfish and a wake up call.

She packed up her stuff that evening, went back to Princeton and emptied her dorm as well as she dropped out completely.

Freedom at last. With only a few bucks in her account, she bought a random bus ticket that took her to Montreal, Canada where she stayed for a couple of weeks, while working as a waitress before she moved to a new location. For the past three years, Willow has been living off a backpack.

She moved to New York a year ago, but she comes and goes. Whenever she gets bored or too attached to someone she escapes.

She’s been clean for three years when it comes to Adderall, although she still drinks but only socially.

personality

Despite her strict upbringing, Willow is a free-spirit! She’s always looking for a new adventure and she wants to live her life to the fullest, she doesn’t care about rules or schedules. She lives a pretty hedonistic lifestyle, always chasing a high in life and sometimes that makes her take some reckless decisions. A naturally loving person, Willow is always there to lend a shoulder to cry on or offer to wipe off your tears, however, she does struggle with connections. If she feels a deep connection with someone she runs away as she believes that being attached to someone will tie her up to one place and as we know, Willow lives a pretty nomad life. She keeps coming back to New York because she loves the vibe but when she gets bored or overwhelmed she leaves without warning. As loving as she is, she can also be ruthless and cold, especially when feeling vulnerable. She has a sharp tongue and it’s not afraid to hurt some feelings if that means shattering the pristine image some people have of her.

headcanons

She has a rib cage tattoo that reads “Eternity bores me, I never wanted it.” It’s a quote from Sylvia Plath.

Speaks French fluently and sometimes she likes to pretend she’s a lost French tourist just for fun.

Volunteers at the animal shelter. Because she doesn’t have a set home, she can’t have a pet but she loves animals.

Never has enough battery on her phone and sometimes she sings in the subway to earn some coins because she tends to forget her wallet.

Really good friends with the homeless woman who lives down her street, she brings her food from the restaurant.

Keeps many scrapbooks from the places she’s been.

Sometimes she goes to music stores and plays the piano, one of the few activities she enjoyed as a child.

Loves reading and whenever she’s not getting in trouble or working, she’s at the library.

Wears too many rings, so don’t try to mug her.

connections

Older brother: Willow has an older brother who followed her parents’ plan. He graduated college and now has a very important job. Willow hasn’t spoken to him in three years, even if he’s tried to contact her. She just doesn’t want any ties to her old life, including her family.

“Best Friend”: I put it between quotations because she doesn’t stay in one place long enough to actually form long lasting friendships but this person is the closest to that. She adores them and actually sends them a postcard when she leaves.

Partner in crime: As stated, Willow is pretty reckless and she does a lot of stupid shit but she’s always seeking for someone to be her partner in crime and just go crazy with them.

Co-workers/Clients: She works as a waitress at a restaurant (if your character has a restaurant let me know, bc idk where she would work).

Neighbor: She lives in a small apartment in Brooklyn with two other roommates, it’s not ideal but it’s what she has.

College friends/hook ups: Oh during her college year, she was a party girl and she made a lot of “friends” (She attended Princeton btw) and also hooked up with a lot of people (f/m/nb), most of them were older than her.

Flirtationship: She is a natural flirt and she doesn’t even try to hide it.

Unrequited: Maybe your character has a crush on her (and depending on chemistry maybe she does as well but since she moves often she tries to ignore it). It’s angsty, it’s fun, give it to me. (f/m/nb)

Hook ups: Y’all know the drill

Bad tinder date: Willow thought it would be fun to go on a tinder date and she proposed some crazy scheme and they both had to spend the night in a jail cell.

Roommates: She lives in Brooklyn with two more roommates.

#villageintro #tw alcohol #tw drugs #tw depression #this is SO long and for what

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lavenderbang · 3 years

Text

Surviving

Hong Joochan x Reader

genre: Zombie au!, Fluff, Comedy, a slight bit of angst

warning(s): do I really even have to say swearing anymore? (y’all know I swear all the time), talk and/or scenes of blood/gore/death (obviously), almost but not quite a suicide attempt

Summary: You thought you were a goner when the zombies made it into your apartment until a pretty boy in a volleyball zip-up from next door saves your life and lets you stay with him.

A/N: okay so I am so I’m taking inspiration from not only the Burn It MV but also the Breathe MV AND from the Kdrama #Alive because I’ve been into all of those things currently. Not to mention Hong Joochan is literally such an IT boy and very underrated so I hope you enjoy!

he was so cute in the Breathe MV I’m crying

Bang! Bang! Bang!

You cover your ears, rocking in the corner of your apartment behind your couch. Your front door was shaking from the mass amounts of force being pushed against it from the infected who were trying to get in.

And they were going to get in soon.

When the virus first arrived to your neighborhood, it wasn’t much to worry about. The news said that only the elderly and infants were at risk; since your apartment complex was mostly university students and a couple middle aged families, it didn’t seem like an immediate threat. That was until someone from floor 5 got sick and then someone on floor 8 and then Seungyoon got it and it was suddenly a big problem.

You had to kill your roommate Seungyoon with a kitchen knife a few weeks ago, his now dried brown blood stained the couches and seeped into the floor; you had also had to throw his body over the balcony, the irony smell of Seunyoon’s blood making you feel ill. You still remember the sight of his body (it wasn’t even him anymore) twisting in unnatural ways to try and get a taste of your flesh. You remember the image of his body crushed on the pavement after you got rid of it and how you puked all over his bedding when you saw the mess of infection covering every inch of his room as he tried to hide from you.

But mostly, you remember how he used to smile and how he would make you tea when you had a bad day. You remember how loudly he sang music when he was cleaning and how he loved to make you laugh. Killing Seungyoon was one of the hardest things you’ve ever had to do, but you promised yourself that you would try to live for him, as it’s what he would have wanted for you.

Tears threatened to escape your eyes as you thought about your fate. It was all for nothing now. The amount of time you had spent rationing food so that you wouldn’t starve to death, the pillows you had placed on the ground to damp the sounds of your footsteps, even the many sleepless nights were you would keep watch just in case something happened.

that all meant nothing now and you were going to be ripped apart for nothing.

Suddenly, the door busted open, and a horde of your neighbors (they weren’t really your neighbors anymore, just monsters that looked like then) rushed in. You screamed by instinct, before you quickly ran out onto your balcony and shut the glass door behind you. It was pointless, but you still needed to fight until the end. The horde bashed themselves against the glass, their self-destructive behavior bone-chilling as you had known these people well.

“This is it.” you said to yourself flatly, tears suddenly stopping, “This is the end of the line for me...”

The glass of your door starts to crack at the excessive pounding. Zombies were crawling over their counterparts to get to you; you stood against the railing, only a few feet from the door.

All you could feel was fear.

It wasn’t dying that scared you, but becoming one of them. You knew what it had done to Seungyoon and you knew that you’d rather die than lose yourself to this virus and become a monster.

Not being able to look your fate in the eyes, you turned around looking out into the burning cityscape you once called home. You thought about how pretty this city was before reducing to ash; buildings were on fire and you could hear screams and gunshots ringing out through the silence of night.

The sound of breaking glass brought you out of your thoughts. The crack in your sliding door was growing and you knew you only had a few moments left. You thought of jumping from the balcony; joining Seungyoon as a corpse instead of a monster. It would be much less painful way to go to, falling to heaven instead of being ripped apart. Death was just a part of life and this seemed like a better opt-

“Hey, are you bit!?”

You grip onto the railing, and turn to were you heard someone call to you. On the adjacent balcony, there stood a guy in a volleyball jacket, a sense of urgency in his expression. You were shaken from your fear for a moment; you had completely accepted you fate and were planning on going out on your own terms, but the appearance of a man threw you off.

“wha-”

“I asked if you’re bitten!” He yelled, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. The man seemed impatient, probably because he could see the crowd on the other side of the glass.

“No I didn’t get-”

“Then get over here so I can pull you over!” He commanded, reaching his arm towards you, “Hurry, they’re gonna break through...”

Something snapped inside of you; suddenly you no longer wanted to die. The universe had given you an olive branch and you needed to take it not just for yourself, but also for your roommate/best friend because he couldn’t.

You rushed over to the right side of your balcony and reached out grasping desperately at your neighbor’s strong hands. His balcony was maybe a meter away, so you just were able to get a hold onto his hands by standing on your toes. Just as he gets a good grip, the glass of you sliding door shatters, sending the monsters out of your apartment like a wave. The ones closest to the front were either pushed from the balcony or trampled by the zombies after it.

“Fuck!” You cried out, before trying to get your feet onto your railing as soon as possible. You stumble a bit, before finally making it over; except for one of the zombies to grab you by the foot just as you dismount for your neighbors balcony. The volleyball man held onto you firmly yanking on your arm so hard that you thought it’d rip out of its socket.

“Get off!” You shouted, before twisting and kicking the heel of your foot into its face as hard as you could. You do this a couple more times before your shoe pops off and you’re free from the monsters grip. However, you are far from safe, as your legs swing and hit the railing of pretty boy’s balcony, leaving you dangling from his grip.

“I’ve got you!” He grunts, gripping onto your wrists while slightly repositioning for a better grasp, “I’ve got you-”

Just then the zombies start hurling themselves over your balcony towards you, slamming against your body one after the other only to plummet to their death. You scream out in pain, torso pressed against the slatted railing of the balcony over and over again as your hands grow weak from holding on.

The man grits his teeth and mumbles swears under his breath. His fingers are practically digging into your forearms at this point and his legs are basically locked in-between the bars of the railing to keep him from tumbling over due to the weight of another human being dangling from him.

He tries to pull you up more, letting out a anguished shout from all of the strength he’s exerting. You can barely breathe; you’ve been hit at full force by dozens of those monsters by now and the feeling of your chest being crushed against the railing again and again begins to burn. Bruising was evident at this point, and you started to cry yet again, letting the tears flow from your eyes.

Soon, you are pulled high enough that you can crouch your legs up and set foot on the outside of the balcony. There are no more zombies left in your apartment, but you scramble to quickly get over the railing; you land flat on your face while the volleyball guy lands on his butt from pulling you so hard. You both sat in silence for a moment, only the sounds of the horde piled bellow and the heaviness of both of your breathing could be heard.

“What a wonderful turn of events!” The pretty boy pants before chuckling breathlessly and holding out a hand for you to shake. “Nice to meet you, neighbor.” You scoff at his sarcasm, grabbing his hand firmly to shake it, standing as he does. He nods towards his door, opening it for the both of you to go inside.

It is very neat; the layout was identical to yours, but he decided to decorate his home with... nothing. There were a couple sleeping-bags piled in the corner of the room, a big sofa was pushed off to the the side to make room for the kitchen table he dragged into the middle of the room; the table was covered in a plethora of things such as a radio, what looked to be a tackle box filled with survival gear for hiking, and a pile of packaged saltine crackers. The walls were bare except for two photo frames; one was a photo of what seemed to pretty boy’s family and another with a volleyball team of boys holding a trophy.

“Make yourself at home I guess.” The host himself offered, sitting down at the table to play with the radio. now that you weren’t fighting for your life, you got a good look at the guy. He had rich, brown hair, parted down the middle and soft eyes that narrowed as he focused on his task. He had a nice build, and the volleyball jacket with the number 55 on it seemed to fit him perfectly. But you noticed other things, like the paleness of his cheeks and the bloodstains on his jeans. He looked exhausted, but you were sure you didn’t look much better...

You sat across the table from him, catching his attention. He smiled gently at you, retreating his hands from the radio to clasp them together on the table.

“So, I guess I should introduce myself...” He stated, eyes creasing a bit as he beamed at you, “I’m Joochan. Hong Joochan.”

‘What a nice name’ you thought to yourself before responding to the volleyball guy.

“My name is (Y/N) (Y/L/N).” You said and reached out your hand for him to shake. Joochan took it and shook your hand firmly, “I just wanted to thank you...”

“for what?”

“for saving my life obviously! I would be dead - or worse - if it wasn’t for you.”

“It was nothing! I assume you would have done the same for me if I was out on the balcony.”

You nodded at the boy’s innocent goodness. Joochan seemed to have this genuineness about him and you found yourself growing a sense of fondness for him.

“Well, I just wanted to thank you...” You replied, a quick nod before looking down at your hands, “I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to repay you...”

“Just stick with me.” Joochan requested, making your head perk up as he explained, “Its safer if we have numbers; well I guess a number. and I think the end of the world kinda sucks when you’re all alone.” You burst out laughing from his successful attempt to brighten the mood. His grin widened, glad he could make you happy with a stupid joke.

in all honestly, Joochan was just happy to speak to another human being after what seemed to be weeks of isolation. He had been locked up in his house alone like it was a prison. He felt like he was going mad, not eating or sleeping and listening to the shuffling of the monsters upstairs. He thought he was the only one left alive in the building... But like the idiot he was, of course his literal next-door neighbor was still living. He knew that he had to save you; if you had passed, Joochan thought it would be like loosing all of humanity - or at least a symbol of it.

You stopped laughing, looking at the boy with a playful glint in your eyes; Joochan was happy it was you and not anyone else. Your fun attitude, your strong will, your attractive energy; he knew he liked you already and this could definitely work out.

“I guess we’ll have to be a team then.” You agreed with a smirk, “a team that kicks zombie ass and isn’t alone in the apocalypse.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been maybe a week you had been with Joochan in his apartment. He seemed to be doing well for himself, enough food that you could actually eat a meal every once and a while and a pile of furniture making an impenetrable wall in front of his door. You had gotten to know Joochan pretty well, his enamoring personality and quick wit made trying to stay alive much more enjoyable (as enjoyable as survival can be). That was, until he asked you about something you didn’t think he would ask about.

“So... did you live in the apartment next door?” Joochan questioned; it was nighttime and the two of you sat in the corner of his room on sleeping bags. You were reading one of his many books, trying to distract yourself from the noises of monsters close-by, “Or did you migrate from another place..?”

“I lived there.” You stated simply, turning to look at him with a furrowed brow, “Why do you ask?”

“i just know that was Seungyoon’s apartment...” He responded crestfallen, looking into his lap, “we used to play volleyball together and I never knew he had a roommate...”

“Joochan, I’m really sorry but can we not talk about him? please?”

“Yeah, of course” Joochan agreed softly, giving you a weak smile, “I’m sorry for bringing it up, I was just-”

Joochan stopped when he heard your quiet sobs, quickly turning his attention to you. You sat, bottom lip ticked tightly between your teeth trying to stop the pain in your chest. You couldn’t bear to look up at Joochan; it had been a while since you had heard his name said out loud and it brought it all back.

“Oh don’t cry!” Joochan exclaimed, scooting closer to you and gently placing his arm around your shoulder. The warmth of his body was comforting, but it didn’t stop you from weeping into your lap, “I’m so sorry. Everything will be okay...”

“I remember the day he got infected he spent the whole day in his room. He didn’t tell me about it and I was afraid he was mad at me because I told him I couldn’t go out to a party that weekend.” You sniffled, chuckling bitterly at the memory, “I remember when he did eventually come out of his room, and I could tell right away something was wrong. He looked as white as a ghost, eyes sunken in and sweat bleeding through his shirt. I-” Your voice broke, tears flowing again recalling what had happened when you had to kill your best friend. Joochan rubbed your shoulder reassuringly, trying his best to comfort you in your state of distress. He didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, but he could tell you were hurting and traumatized from the experience and wanted to help you through it as much as he could. With gentle coos and hushes, he helps you steady your breathing enough to continue; you grip onto his jacket tightens as you speak, finally expressing all the feelings you have been trying to get rid of for survival.

“Oh Joochan he didn’t even look like him. His eyes were glossy and he just looked wrong. Seungyoon whispered to me that he had been hiding something from me and showed me a giant black and blue gash on his arm. He didn’t have to tell me what it was because I already knew.” You choked out, letting your mind word vomit the vivid memory, “I didn’t know what to do. I stood frozen before making him sit down on the couch with me. I remember stroking his hair as he cried, telling me he was afraid to die. It was the only time I had ever seen Seungyoon like that and I comforted him because it was all I could do to make it easier for him. And when he turned, and I had to...” You let your sentence trail off, feeling the dread and despair creep into your soul. You held onto Joochan tighter, letting your emotions take control of you actions for the first time since Seungyoon passed.

“I know it must have been hard for you.” He said gently, pulling you from the sinking feeling in your chest back into reality, “I couldn’t imagine what it would have been like and I’m truly sorry for what you had to go through...”

You leaned more into Joochan, finding comfort in his caring nature and warmth. He wrapped his other arm around you in a hug, shifting so that you wrapped you arm across his torso and leaned your head on his shoulder. He drew small patterns onto your back and held you tightly before he continued.

“But I bet he would be proud of you for being so strong and resilient,” Joochan expressed, sliding down so that the two of you were laying down on the floor. You weren’t complaining, as fatigue and exhaustion began to set in and you could feel yourself get sleepy, “and I think Seungyoon would want you to keep fighting and he would want you to heal...”

You wiped your face dry with the back of your hand, feeling a sense of peace replace the despair in your heart. Joochan was right and talking about Seungyoon’s final moments helped you heal in ways you didn’t expect.

“I think he would want the both of us to be strong.” You agreed with a small smile, “I think we have to keep fighting for all the people we’ve lost. they’ve earned it...”

“I think so too.” Joochan agreed, shifting to let you go before you snuggle closer to him. “can we just stay like this for a bit longer..?” You asked weakly, drowsiness taking over your senses. Joochan let out a soft yes, pulling you in closer to him. You could hear his heart beat gently and found solace in the softness of his t-shirt under your cheek.

“rest up (Y/N),” He whispered sweetly, combing through your hair with one hand and rubbing your back with the other, “We have a long day of staying alive tomorrow. I promise, I won’t let you die and we can get through this together.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” You replied sincerely before falling asleep in Joochan’s warm embrace.

_____________________________________________________

A/N: This has been in the works for a few weeks now and I finally finished it (Although there wasn’t much romance, I might make a part two. I just wanted some Apocalypse cuddling tbh) I have a couple more fics in the works that I’m like 3/4′s done and I just haven’t finished them so I hope to do that soon too! anyways, I hope you enjoyed this and Have a wonderful day/night :)

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