#Capitol Hill Block Party

[chappellsource]

chappellroan: Sk8r boi in Seattle

[dykelle]

✨she’s got she’s got a waaaaay, she’s got a way, she’s got a waaaaay ✨🗽

😭she got, she got away, she got awaaayy!!🫠🚊

chappell roan: unreleased “subway”

capitol hill block party july 18, 2023

[fleetwoodworm]

who’s already excited to see what chappell is wearing tn at chbp

[thejoyofviolentmovement]

Seattle-based post-punk outfit Weep Wave released their full-length debut, 2019’s S.A.D.to critical praise from KEXP, Seattle Music Insider, Raised by Cassettes and Dan’s Tunes among others. In the five years since S.A.D.’s release, the band has been rather busy: They’ve gone through a lineup change, which has resulted in their current lineup: Dylan Fuentes (vocals, guitar), Mike Hubbard (drums, synth) and Mitch Midkiff (bass). They’ve released an EP and a handful of singles, one which was featured as KEXP’s Song of the Day that have gradually revealed an evolving and decided change in sonic direction. The band has shared stages with a handful of acclaimed and renowned acts including JOVM mainstays Los Bitchos, Blackwater Holylight, Gustaf, The Bobby Lees, Godcaster, Habibi, Reignwolf and Spirit Mother among others.  They’ve also made the rounds of the local and regional festival circuit, playing sets at Treefort Music Festival, Capitol Hill Block Party, South Sound Block Party and Off Beat Music Fest. They’ve done multiple tours up and down the West Coast — and they’ve even played few times here in NYC. Slated for an Friday release through Corporat Records, the Seattle-based outfit’s 11-song Dylan Wall-produced sophomore album Speck was recorded at Seattle’s 7 Hills Studios and reportedly sees the trio embarking on a kaleidoscopic sonic odyssey through the diverse array of genres they proudly call home. Thematically Fuentes’ lyrics oscillate between two contrasting realms: outward to explore the effects of the perils of capitalism and climate change — and inward, to scrutinize the self, in particular dissecting the ego and self-identity.  In the lead-up to to Friday, I wrote about two of the album’s previously released singles: The Low Praise-meets-grunge-like “Rebirth Mantra,” a song built around a pummeling, most pit friendly riff, thunderous drumming and a supple yet propulsive bass line within a classic, alternating loud-quiet-loud song structure that captures Fuentes at his most introspective and neurotic, with the song’s narrator expressing his fears of feeling into the same unhelpful — and perhaps even destructive — patterns that always lead to repeated failure and frustration. The song’s narrator envisions a transformed, evolved version of himself, a much more caring, courageous and empathetic self. Of course, are we able and willing to change and evolve? Or are we too stubborn, too blind to do what’s necessary to better ourselves?” “Phasing,” a decidedly grunge-like ripper built around the sort of feedback fueled, power chord-driven riffs reminiscent of 90s alt rock greats like Nirvana, Mudhoney, Pearl Jam and Soundgarden, complete with enormous, arena rock-meets-mosh pit-like hooks and choruses.  “Conscious Dust,” Speck‘s latest single and opening track is a Jack Endino-like grunge take on post-punk that begins with a intricate punk-meets-cheek-in-tongue Motown-like drumbeat and a fuzzy bass line. Fuentes enters the fray with a punchy chant-like delivery before the song explodes into a hypnotic and noisy mosh pit friendly ripper. As a single, “Conscious Dust” sets up the album’s overall aesthetic and thematic concerns as a sort of bold, flag-planting moment for the band and the listener. For me, the song kind of reminds me of Pearl Jam’s “Do The Evolution,” as a sort of tongue-in-cheek takedown of humanity and human consciousness. “‘Conscious Dust’ is the first song I wrote for the album—and I intended it to be the first song on the album,” Weep Wave’s Dylan Fuentes says in press noses. It’s an ontological song that can function as playful mushroom-induced pontifications or absorbed as a reminder of the cycle of life. It speaks to a life cycle of having been here before but striving to do better than the last time.” “I like how the chill keyboards balance the heaviness,” Fuentes adds. “I tried to create songs that feel like a journey, something you can get lost in.?...

[callahanvilla]

[princemonday]

Chappell and Remi: check!

HI UM I GET TO SEE CHAPPELL ROAN AND REMI WOLF IN JULY AND WEEZER AND FLAMING LIPS IN OCTOBER

[doctorodyssey]

i need a chappell roan tour soooo bad

[navysealt4t]

i was at the dentist today and the lady cleaning my teeth asked about what music I was listening to and i said chappell roan and me and her talked for a lil bit then afterwards when she started cleaning my teeth she was like "i really like chappell roan too :)" so I think me and my dentist just had a solidarity moment.

[spinebuster]

chappell roan - capitol hill block party

[shadowhaert]

CHAPPELL ROAN at Capitol Hill Block Party (2024)

[pinkponycult]

Capitol Hill Block Party, Seattle, WA

[rectanglebitch]

saw miss chappell roan last night with @lostherlemons

[dykelle]

✨she served seattle skaterdyke CUNT! ✨🛹

(in front of seattle’s longest running gay bar and the queer seniors center!!)

🛹someone get her a tech deck stat!!!🛹

chappell roan: pink pony club

capitol hill block party, july 18, 2024

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Arthur Delaney and Jonathan Nicholson at HuffPost:

WASHINGTON ― House Speaker Mike Johnson (R-La.) has attached a bill aimed at keeping non-citizens from voting in federal elections to a must-pass government funding bill set for a vote this week. It’s already illegal for non-citizens to vote in federal elections, but Republicans want to amplify former president Donald Trump’s lies that Democrats are using illegal voters to steal the 2024 election from him. Johnson has been stoking voter fraud fears for months, insinuating in press conferences and news articles, without evidence, that millions of undocumented immigrants will steal the election from Trump.

“The threat is very real,” Johnson wrote last month in an opinion piece for Fox News, noting that noncitizens can walk into their local department of motor vehicles and fill out a registration form. “That noncitizen can then cast a ballot and help decide the direction of America.” Available evidence suggests noncitizens generally don’t cast ballots, partly because voter registration forms warn it’s a crime to do so. When Trump created a commission to investigate his own claims that as many as 5 million illegal ballots were cast in the 2016 election, investigators failed to find the fraud and the commission disbanded. Trump didn’t have any luck substantiating fraud claims from 2020 either, though he said on his website over the weekend that when he wins in November, “those people that CHEATED will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the Law.”

[...] Trump, for his part, said Republicans should “shut down the government in a heartbeat” if the funding measure doesn’t include the Safeguard American Voter Eligibility Act, the Republican election bill. Trump’s lies about the outcome of the 2020 election, which he lost but claimed was subject to widespread fraud, motivated the Jan. 6, 2021, attack on the Capitol by his supporters. While the prospect of a deadlock over the citizen voter issue could delay the bill to keep the government open after Sept. 30, in reality it is unlikely to block it. During his term, Trump urged Republicans on Capitol Hill to shut the government down several times only to cave before it actually came to that. Both parties would see a shutdown so close to the November presidential election as such an unpredictable political wild card it should be avoided.

House Republicans attach the SAVE Act into a must-pass bill for government spending to prevent a shutdown.

The SAVE Act is performative right-wing nonsense about the faux crisis of “noncitizens voting”, as noncitizens are already barred from voting in federal elections.

See Also:

Daily Kos: House Republicans are back—and holding the government hostage

[stillwintering]

All's Fair in Love and Politics (a modern Nessian AU - where Rhys is running for president)

Summary: In the ruthless arena of politics, victory demands risking everything, even one's own heart. Rhysand has his eyes on the presidency. Feyre convinces her estranged sister, Nesta, to join the political campaign. Nesta and Cassian find themselves forging an unexpected bond as the campaign intensifies. But can their budding romance survive the treacherous waters of modern political warfare?

Read on AO3

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 / Chapter 10

Chapter 11

"I have it on good authority," said Azriel slowly. "Kallias is intent on staying in the race through the fall debate cycle."

Rhysand looked up from the papers in front of him. The muscles in his jaw feathered. "Does he have enough funds to sustain him until the Iowa Caucuses?"

Azriel nodded. "It seems his strategy is to split the anti-Thesan block of the party -- prevent us from consolidating the votes."

Rhysand leaned back in his office chair, his head tipped towards the ceiling. "I see," he sighed.

Cassian hummed to himself in the corner of the office, crumpled into a small chair. "You don't suppose..." Cassian's voice trailed off.

"Kallias knows he doesn't have a pathway to victory," Azriel supplied. "It's personal. For him."

Rhysand dragged his hands down his face, looking suddenly more ragged and tired than ever before. "I was afraid that was the case." His violet eyes were dark.

Cassian looked down at the worn carpets. "This is my fault," he whispered, "it was my operation in Herat that killed his men."

Both Azriel and Rhysand bristled immediately.

"Cass, don't --"

"It's really not --"

Cassian stood, pulling himself to his full height. "I made a bad call, Rhys," he said. "Now you are paying the price."

"No, you made a strategic choice," replied Rhysand. "I was the one in the field with Kallias's platoon. It was -- " his voice faltered, "I made the bad call. I am responsible for their deaths. Kallias is right to blame me."

The air in the small office turned thick as if the war had never ended. Cassian let out a shaky breath.

A sharp knock at the door broke the silence.

"Rhys, I need you to look at these polling numbers from -- " Nesta stopped. "Am I interrupting something? I can come back."

Cassian turned towards the door, his posture stiff. He frowned, eyes downcast, a man haunted. Azriel's face was blank, but his skin looked ashen.

Rhys recovered first. "I think we are done here," he said, clearing his throat.

Nesta shifted her weight, eyes bouncing between the three men, the skin on her back tingling as if something terrible had happened. "I can come back," she repeated.

"What about the polling numbers?" Rhys waved her in.

Nesta hesitated. Azriel looked at her blankly. Cassian refused to look at her.

"You would tell me if there is anything for me to know, right?" she asked, steadying her voice.

There was a beat -- she felt it. Azriel blinked. Cassian looked stricken. Rhys clenched his jaw.

She entered the office and placed the new polling numbers on the desk.

Rhys nodded stiffly. "Of course."

---

Tortilla Coast was a Capitol Hill institution -- an unassuming Tex-Mex restaurant just blocks from the Capitol Building and one block from the Cannon House Office. It was possibly the absolute closest restaurant to those seats of power, and everyone, really everyone, went there.

The windows are bedecked with decals promising "MARGARITAS" and "BBQ RIBS"; inside are worn vinyl booths, neon beer signs, and murals of leaping fish on walls of deep red and acid green. The interns showed up in droves every afternoon for cheap drinks and free chips and salsa. Yet, it was the unlikeliest power hub in town, one of Washington’s busiest venues for political fundraisers and power dealings.

During happy hour on a crisp September day, Tortilla Coast was practically bursting at the seams. Nesta begrudgingly followed the Starborn office staff to the promise of mediocre tacos and cheap beer.

Amren surveyed the clientele with a practiced eye.

The Capitol Hill set came here to be seen -- power plays were set in motion, alliances were soft launched, and deals were announced. By the door, Thesan Morgenstern was holding court. A gaggle of eager political underlings around him, holding on to his every word. Nesta immediately recognized the man next to him -- a feature writer from Vanity Fair.

"Looks like Thesan will have a profile in the next issue," she murmured to Amren.

Azriel and Cassian disappeared into a throng of top military brass and foreign policy types -- laughing and smiling like they were amongst old friends. Nesta had never gotten along with the hawkish foreign policy establishment -- The Blob, as they had been derisively termed amongst commentators -- that dominated Washington. They seemed to her like a bunch of outdated dinosaurs championing the old-time gospel of American leadership on the world stage like it was still the 1990s.

Nesta observed Cassian clap the backs of several men in sharp suits and regulation haircuts, reeking of the Pentagon. Their heads bent in hushed conversation. Cassian's face slowly turned stern and resigned, like when she had walked in on them all in Rhys's office last week.

What happened in Afghanistan? The question clanged through her.

Out of the corner of her eye, Nesta spotted Eris by the bar -- his red hair clashing against the kitschy decor. As the Chief of Staff to the Speaker of the House -- Eris was, by the transitive property, the third most powerful man in the country. The crowd around him treated him almost reverently, giving him a wide berth while he made his order with the bartender.

"Proximity to power deludes some into thinking they wield it," Amren commented drily into her beer.

Nesta hummed in agreement. Part of what made Tortilla Coast special was how much one can learn by just observing the crowds.

"The first debate is scheduled in Nashua, New Hampshire, next month," Amren said, turning back to her. "I'm going to send you and Cassian a week ahead of time -- advance team. Bring whomever you need."

Nesta nodded, her mind compiling tasks and logistics immediately. "We'll start planning," she acknowledged.

Eris's gaze snagged on her as he turned from the bar. He greeted her with a nod, then walked away into a crowd of Capitol Hill staffers.

Nothing had sat right with her since the Hewn fundraiser. She needed to know.

Nesta frowned. "Excuse me," she muttered to Amren and pushed her way into the crowd where Eris's distinctive red hair could be seen through the gaps between bodies.

The jovial laughter from his companions died as soon as Nesta planted herself in front of Eris. He eyed her intently, a smirk on his lips.

She pulled his head down towards her shoulder -- the cacophony of music and voices buzzed loudly around them. "What's the play, Eris?" she hissed in his ear. "Is Thesan going after Rhys's military record? Not strong enough on defense?"

Eris chuckled, his breath hot against her cheeks. "Why, hello to you too, Nesta." He smelled like limes and cloves and something smokey.

She walked into him, needing answers. She pushed him through the crowd into the wall nearby. His amber eyes glittered, amused and dangerous. He let her into his personal space, the bodies around them shifting and squeezing them closer against the wall. The air between them was hot, sweaty, and tight.

"Now, now," he murmured, "the interns are going to gossip if you manhandle me in public."

Their faces were pressed so close together -- it was the only way they could talk in private with everyone drinking around them.

"Botched missions? Is that it?" She continued, undeterred.

Eris snorted. "Have a little imagination."

"Then it's to embarrass Rhys?"

He clicked his tongue.

"Why Cassian?"

He leaned back against the wall, and his head thudded against the wood. "So," he sneered, looking down at her from the refined ridge of his nose. "You've got a soft spot for the brute?"

Nesta felt a jolt of electricity run down her spine. "Honestly, I didn't think I meant enough to you to make you territorial, Eris."

"Are you fucking him?" he asked baldly.

She swallowed, her face heating with a heady mix of indignation and shock.

"No?" He studied her keenly, roaming from her eyes to her lips and back. "But you want to."

"You don't know anything about what I want," she snapped, indignation winning out.

His hand suddenly rose to cradle her face. He leaned against her ear, all heat and tequila on his breath. "Oh," his voice rumbled deep, "but I do."

Nesta shoved him back -- he went easily. "Don't touch me," she warned.

He lifted his hands, holding his palms up, satisfied that he got under her skin.

There was a version of Nesta who would have let him feel her up in the back of a crowded bar, who would have even taken him home after. Nesta had kissed Eris for the first time at Tortilla Coast, years ago when she had started working on the politics beat at her first newspaper. She had been desperate and reckless and damaged -- Eris seemed right for her back then. She remembered the weight of his body between her thighs, how he'd made her keen, how she'd made him weak.

She never liked that version of herself.

"That part of our relationship is over," said Nesta, her voice firm.

Eris grunted. "I know." Something flashed across his face -- contrition.

He kept his hands raised and away. Nesta decided to press back into him, taking back control. He let her pin him against the wall -- the bar too cramped and boisterous for anyone to notice them.

"What will Beron do with the oppo research on Rhys?" she asked him. "Did you already give it to the Morgenstern campaign?"

Eris relaxed against her. "Thesan doesn't want to get his hands dirty," he replied quietly. He tilted his head, looking over her into the crowd. "He wants a clean primary, save the hard hits for Hybern. He's far enough ahead in the polls to stay above the fray. No sense in getting involved in petty party in-fighting."

She nodded. "So it's Kallias," she said. "The oppo research is for Kallias. He's meant to take down Rhys so Thesan can skate through to the general unscathed."

Eris smiled -- he always appreciated her intellect. It almost bordered on affection.

"The party higher-ups are rigging the primary for Thesan," Nesta concluded.

"You didn't hear it from me," he said as he slipped away.

Nesta watched him go. She could still smell the limes and cloves and smoke he left behind.

---

Cassian was pushing through the drunken masses towards her.

Tortilla Coast was getting rowdier by the minute as Happy Hour drew to a close -- the cheap beers and margaritas loosened everyone up. Laughter pealed over the hum of conversations, punctuated by the occasional shout as someone called for another round. Standing head and shoulders above the crowd, Cassian was striking -- a dark beacon in the dimly lit bar, his eyes locked on her alone.

He was close now, close enough for her to notice the faint stubble along his jaw and the slight upturn of his lips as he leaned in. His words were a deep thrum against the clamor of the bar, "Ready to get out of here?" His body aligned with hers in the small space, pressing solidly against her.

Nesta nodded quickly.

His hand dropped to the small of her back, a commanding pressure guiding her. Together, they began to make their way towards the exit, his presence a shielding force from the jostling bodies around them.

They spilled out onto the street and into the sunset -- it felt like coming up for air.

He stepped away from her. The loss of heat from his hand on her back made her acutely aware of the early evening chill.

"What did Eris want this time?" He pushed his hand through his hair, loose out of its usual neat tie from the workday.

She looked up at him, momentarily taken aback by his rugged features. He had taken off his necktie, too, collar open. The one drink she had earlier had worked through her system, loosening up her usual defenses.

She needed to know.

"Do you trust me?" asked Nesta.

His brow furrowed. "Of course," replied Cassian immediately.

"I know I'm crashing your little inner circle," Nesta began, unable to keep the bite out of her voice after months of feeling like she was on the outside. "You don't have to tell me everything. But I need to know -- I need to be able to do my job."

"You know everything, Nes." He was staring at her -- hazel eyes burning into her, completely open and all-consuming. Has anyone ever looked at her like that before?

"I swear I would never keep anything from you."

She felt like her skin was on fire.

"What happened in Afghanistan?" She whispered the question.

He blinked. "What -- " Then, his face twisted at the non sequitur. "Afghanistan? What does that have to do with -- "

"I don't care if -- "

"Rhys's service record is exemplary. You have access to his service record, his commendations."

Nesta steeled herself. "What did you do in Afghanistan?"

"Me?" Cassian eyebrows shot up. "What -- ? How is that -- ?"

"Eris pulled your FBI file."

She watched Cassian's entire demeanor change. His body went rigid, his expression closed. "That's classified," he said carefully.

"Eris mentioned that most of your personnel file was redacted," said Nesta, letting out a long exhale. "I need to know if there is anything in there that could be damaging to the candidate."

"Damaging?" Cassian startled. "Where is this coming from? I don't understand how this is relevant to -- "

"You can tell me what happened," she cut in, her heart beating hard against her ribcage.

Please tell me what happened.

Suddenly, he was bending down close to her, his hazel eyes intense, glowing like bronze in the low evening light. "Nes," he breathed. "I want to -- believe me -- but I need you to -- "

She felt goosebumps all over her arms; she couldn't look away from his beautiful face, frozen in place.

"Cassian," she inhaled. "I won't -- " She didn't know how to finish that thought -- tell? care? judge him? She couldn't promise him anything.

His face was only a few inches from hers, and his eyes dipped to her lips.

"My missions were top secret." His voice was low and pleading. "I can neither deny nor confirm anything he's told you. I would do anything, Nes, just ask me -- "

"There you two are! Ready for our run?"

They both snapped to attention at the door behind them, where Azriel had just stumbled out of Tortilla Coast. He observed the scant distance between their bodies and immediately pivoted.

"Nevermind, Amren said she was buying the next round -- "

Nesta took a step back, breathing hard.

"It's fine, Az," she said, surprised her voice was steady. "I need to get a run in."

Cassian looked away -- even in the disappearing light, his face was luminous -- and nodded.

---

First, they had to stop by the Congressional Staff Wellness Center to change out of their work clothes and into athletic wear. Then, the three of them took their usual 8-mile route around the National Mall. The sun had just dipped below the horizon, but the sky was still bright. The yellow September dusk made the monuments glow otherwordly.

This evening's post-work run was uncharacteristically silent. Usually, Cassian teased her. The three of them frequently talked about campaign strategy or upcoming legislation while they warmed up or paused at stoplights.

Tonight, Cassian was particularly solemn. Azriel was silent in his own unique way -- hyperaware, assessing. Nesta focused on her body, feeling her muscles work as they passed the Reflection Pool and then on to the Washington Monument. She pushed herself especially hard, needing to resolve all the tension that had built up in her body from her talk with Eris and then Cassian.

She had meant what she said to Eris, that the sexual part of their relationship had ended. After the spring charity gala at the Hewn Mansion, she felt a kind of finality to their intimacy. They used each other and for a long time, Nesta thought that it was enough. It took leaving DC and coming back years later -- older and only marginally wiser -- for her to finally be ready to let him go completely. Eris made every decision based on a calculus of power -- always looking for the upper hand in every interaction. He could never be what she needed.

But what did she need?

Nesta was a stranger to herself.

She had spent the entirety of her adult life closing herself off to her needs. She left home at 18 -- after her mother died and her father disappeared in all but name -- and never looked back. Her departure was as much self-preservation as it was an act of retaliation.

She was barely a teenager when her mother wasted away in front of her eyes. Her sisters were too young, too soft. Her father... he couldn't bear it. Nesta held a 10-day vigil over her mother's deathbed. She didn't have a good relationship with her mother, but she also couldn't leave her alone in that sterile hospital room.

Those last days were a cruel torture.

Her mother drifted in and out of consciousness -- cancer and morphine consumed everything that had made Elinor Archeron the formidable woman she had been in her wakeful life. She had asked for her sisters, for her father -- each time, all Nesta could do was shake her head, unable to speak, until finally, Elinor had stopped saying anything at all and just stared at Nesta like she wasn't there either.

Nesta would never forget her mother's last words to her. In a rare moment of lucidity, Elinor had whispered, with a ragged breath, "It's better if he loves you a little bit more."

Those words imprinted themselves on her like a tattoo across her heart. Nesta had resented her father's weakness, his absence, his failures. But she resented him, most of all, for not loving them enough to stay.

It's better if he loves you a little bit more.

Eris never loved her. She wasn't sure he could -- not with her, at least. And Nesta needed -- no.

She needed more than what she'd allowed herself to hope for.

---

Azriel peeled off from them at the last mile, making some vague excuse about needing to take a detour on the way home. He gave Cassian a meaningful squeeze on the shoulder and Nesta a soft smile before heading in the opposite direction.

Nesta followed Cassian toward the Lincoln Memorial, where they usually started or ended their evening workouts. They slowed at the far side of the steps, finding a private spot and avoiding the few tourists coming through.

The sun had set entirely now. The white marble edifice was bathed in spotlights, its magnificent columns rising like ancient sentinels into the starless sky.

Cassian turned to face her, his chest rising and falling from their run, breath heavy. His eyes were clear and intent, the exercise seeming to focus his mind.

"I trust you, Nesta," he said, using her full name for the first time in weeks.

She considered, eyes searching his handsome face, then slowly nodded.

"Do you trust me?" Cassian asked.

She could feel her heart beating hard against her ribcage -- adrenaline and endorphins flooding her senses.

When she did not reply, he asked again, "Nesta, do you trust me?"

She felt light-headed, but her words felt right as she spoke them, "I trust you, Cassian."

He stepped towards her, their chests inches apart. His hands reached out to gently grip her biceps, the contact grounding her. The professional boundary between them suddenly felt permeable. She felt a tug towards him, like falling into gravity.

"I served on Delta Force for 15 years," he began softly, his voice tinged with resigned anguish. "I was deployed with the United States Central Command and Southern Command. My focus was on unconventional warfare and counterinsurgency. I've been through hundreds of missions… done things that haunt me every day. The war was brutal. I have scars -- " his right hand moved from her bicep to her wrist, guiding her hand to rest against his right hipbone, "shrapnel wounds here -- "

He gently pushed her hand down the length of his muscled thigh, tracing the wound. Her breath hitched at the intimacy of the gesture and the horror it represented.

"I fractured my femur in three places," Cassian continued his voice a hushed murmur as she explored the outlines of his quadriceps through the thin fabric of his gym shorts.

"And here -- " he placed her left hand over the center of his chest " -- a bullet just missed my heart." His voice was low, and Nesta imagined the tattoo across his skin there, camouflaging the puckered scar. His chest was hot and solid beneath her palm -- she could feel his pounding heart.

"I've had to make impossible choices, ones that I can never take back." The intensity of his attention on her was overwhelming. Nesta listened silently, rapt. "The guilt, the weight of it all… it’s always there, like a shadow I can’t outrun. But I don't want to hide any of that from you."

"Stop," she murmured, removing her hands from his thigh and chest before she did something she would regret. "You don't have to -- "

"I do," he interrupted. "I want you to know everything about me."

She took a deep breath, letting the cool evening air fill her lungs. He smelled like black truffles, bergamot, and something distinctly Cassian.

Feeling bold from touching him earlier, she reached out and cradled his face in her hands. His eyes fell immediately, nuzzling into her touch.

"How many people have you killed?" she asked in a whisper.

Cassian's eyes remained closed, but his brows furrowed immediately, and he frowned. She traced the notched scar along his eyebrow with her thumb, wondering how that particular wound came to be.

She needed to know if she could bear it.

"I don't know," he finally said, opening his eyes -- hazel and pained. "I stopped keeping track. I don't know how many enemy combatants I have killed. There are always unintentional consequences of war. The civilians, I -- " His voice broke, looking like he was on the edge of tears.

Nesta softened. It was like she could finally see him in his totality for once -- all the jagged edges and the aching tenderness underneath. "That's why you left the military," she supplied for him.

He nodded, leaning forward to press his forehead against hers. "Nesta, my ledger is red as sin," he said. "And I'll try to rebalance it for the rest of my life if I have to. When I first enlisted, I believed in the mission, in the idea of fighting for the greater good. But war changes you. It strips away the illusions... There were times when I had to prioritize the strategic objectives over my conscience. The faces of those I've lost, of those I've hurt, they never leave me. I live with the consequences."

His voice wavered, and Nesta could see the pain etched deeply in his features. "I've tried to make amends in whatever ways I can. I work with veterans, advocate for survivors of armed conflicts, help get Rhys elected -- I'll do anything to give back, tip the scales... but it'll never be enough, I know."

He paused, his confession hanging between them, suspended in the autumn night. Nesta felt his sorrow, his regret -- a raw, untamed thing that resonated within her own soul.

"Cassian," she whispered, her voice barely audible. Her hand gently brushed away a tear that escaped down his cheek. "You are a good man."

His eyes snapped to hers, searching, hopeful. The evening lights caught the edges of his irises, gilding them with a golden hue that made them appear almost like a painting. Cassian’s hand reached up to touch hers, his fingers trembling slightly as they interlocked with her own. He brought her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles softly. It was one of the most erotic moments of her life.

"That’s more than I ever hoped to be," he said against her skin, his warm breath sending a shiver down her spine.

Nesta felt time slow down, the world narrowing down to just the two of them, their faces inches apart.

He moved first, a slow and deliberate motion that closed the remaining distance between them. His lips met hers with an unexpected gentleness. Nesta responded instinctively, her lips parting slightly as she melted into the kiss.

Cassian's hands, callous from so much destruction, now held her with a careful reverence, fingertips tracing the lines of her jaw, then behind her ear, down her back as if memorizing the map of her body. Nesta's arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer and deepening their kiss. The taste of him -- spicy with a hint of something darker, more primal -- was intoxicating, driving her to explore further, her tongue seeking his with a boldness that matched his own.

As the kiss went on, Nesta moaned against his mouth, hands roaming over the hard planes of his back, clutching at the fabric of his shirt as if she could somehow pull him even closer. Cassian reacted with equal fervor, his lips trailing burning kisses down her neck, finding the tender spot that made her gasp, her fingers digging into his shoulders.

Cassian’s mouth found hers again, this time his kiss demanding, consuming, as if trying to drink her in, to drown in the very essence of her. His teeth grazed her lower lip, coaxing a gasp from her that he swallowed with a deep, throaty groan.

Nesta's heart raced, her senses overwhelmed by the wet heat of his mouth and the hot press of his body against hers -- every inch of her tingled like lightning was about to strike. It was like getting everything she wanted and everything she feared at the same time. She desperately wanted to lose herself in what it might feel like to fully let go of the past.

She never wanted the kiss to end.

[farmlesbians]

muna for capitol hill block party