#HE HAS A PERMIT ITS OK!!!

[cover-your-ears]

fighting god (Genshin Impact)

[seresinhangmanjake]

His

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x reader

Summary: You used to be a Lady, a daughter of a Great House until Feyd took you. Since then, your sole purpose has been to warm his bed, but when Rabban asks about having you for himself, Feyd makes a choice that changes your future.

Words: 2600

Notes: Possessiveness. Grumpy Feyd. I know it's similar to another one of my fics, but I realized that after the fact, so...

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist

You didn’t sleep. Not a wink. You laid in his bed all night, waiting for the man who never came, and your heart didn’t cease its ferocious beats for a second. Where is he? Why isn’t he here? Is he ok? What happened? The sun rises without answers to those questions. 

You shoot up in bed when the door eases open. Expecting to find him, you’re disappointed to see instead his harpies enter one after the other. They don’t look at you. One goes about riffling through your dresses in the closet, one heads into the bathroom and you suddenly hear a rush of water filling the tub, and the last of them goes to the vanity Feyd brought in for you, lining up makeup and hair pins that she intends to use on you. 

The air about them is poised—an echo of who they used to be before they were turned into pets—as, for the moment, their vile, more carnivorous side lies dormant. 

Feyd only allows them to near you a couple hours after they’ve been fed; the peak time between their hunger sated and their bellies rumbling. At any other time, your uniquely foreign scent wafts to their nostrils and they are incapable of holding themselves back. More than a handful of instances—when they’ve managed to manipulate the guards to open their cages with their seductive smiles—they’ve gone on the hunt for you; one time in particular, sneaking into the bedroom in the middle of the night and yanking you from Feyd’s arms with the intention of sinking their teeth into your flesh. Feyd had been so furious he’d cut a finger from each of their hands. 

Still, they don’t scare you. You see in them women not entirely unlike yourself: owned, and therefore, changed. Soft are the women who have had the luxury of marriage and child-rearing in the comforts of wealth and beautiful homes—and good for them; how lovely to be soft—but it is the women who have not a choice in their existence that develop a steel shell. And you and the harpies have steel shells. In that way, they are your kin, and you try to subtly express that when you can, even though their allegiance to Feyd can make that quite difficult.

“Where is he?” you ask. 

They ignore you, continuing with their tasks, and you huff. Yes, sometimes they refuse to speak with you, and always it seems when you need their words most. In the past, you’ve been tempted to dangle your arm in front of their sharpened fangs in the hope that the offering will encourage their cooperation, but you’ve yet to find the bravery for that. Plus, Feyd would lose his mind. Well, he would lose the rest of it. 

“You’ve spoken to me before,” you continue. “Why not now?”

One of them stops and faces you. She glances at her sister who shakes her head. 

“Tell me,” you plead. 

“We are not permitted to speak with you on the matter,” the other says to your frustration. That is not good enough. Regardless of how he sees you and how you feel, he is the one thing keeping you alive on this lifeless planet and you refuse to go about your days worrying over his safety and what his disappearance means for your fate.

You throw the sheets off your legs and stand. 

“I don’t care,” you spit as your silky nightgown falls at your ankles, but then you reconsider your tone. The harpies do not do well with aggression. Being so animalistic, their instincts are easily drawn out, and they tend to attack when attacked, which is not a fight you would win. 

You take a calming breath, placing a hand over your heart. “We are the same. He owns us, he clothes us, he feeds us,” you remind them. “On this planet, I am as much your sister as you are each other’s. We all care about him in a way and if I knew what happened to him, I would have the decency to tell you.”

The harpy who drew your bath returns to the bedroom. Having overheard your words, she crosses her arms and says, “With respect, my Lady, we are not your sisters,” she says. “We have never had him the way you have, and he does not feel for us the way he does you.” 

Your clenched jaw loosens, lips parting. If you had assumed anything about the relationship between Feyd-Rautha and his harpies, it was that they had once been where you are; that when you came along, they lost their rank and became something alike the handmaids from your home world. You’d assumed that when they warmed his bed, their handmaids were the women who entertained him before them, and so on like a disgusting, perverted pattern. But if that is not the case, then your sense of identity is even more confused. Not to mention, nary a soul has referred to you as ‘Lady’ since you were taken from your family. So why show that respect now when Feyd practically stripped you of the title months ago? 

You look to the only one of the three who seems unsure of the situation. She’s biting her lip, worrying the fabric of your unworn gown between her fingers. 

“What about you?” you ask her and her head lifts to meet your eyes. She’s the smallest of them—pixie-esque, like you read in fairytale stories as a child—and despite the core of their primal nature, the gentlest. “You want to tell me.”

The harpy by your vanity hisses, but the gentle one does not shy away at the warning. “She has been kind to us,” she tells her sister in the most self-assured tone you’ve ever heard leave her mouth. 

The sister snaps back. “He instructed us to do one thing: get her ready for the day and act like nothing is wrong. It was not to tell her what happened.”

You lightly gasp. “So something has happened,” you state, feeling your heartbeat quicken. Your chest begins to rise and fall to match the rapid rate. “Is he ok?”

There are a few seconds of silent pause before Pixie stands a little straighter, setting her shoulders in a strong line. “Our Lord na-Baron was answering for the death of his brother.”

Your head jerks back. “Rabban?” you question, your brow pinching. “Rabban is dead?”

“Yes, my Lady.”

“And Feyd is the one who killed him?” That doesn’t make any sense. While Feyd has complained enough for you to know Rabban is a bumbling idiot, he eventually found a way for his brother to serve a purpose. Why would he kill a man when he is no longer the nuisance he once was, you wonder, so you ask, “Why?”

“The Lord Rabban…made suggestions,” Pixie tells you. One of the harpies groans as the other shakes her head.

“What suggestions?”

She bites down and swallows hard, then she says, “He suggested that the na-Baron share you for his own pleasure.”

Instantly, you’re hit with a wave of nausea. Share? Share you? The concept of a foreign woman hopping between men of status is not unusual, but at this point, you assumed if Feyd were going to participate in something like that, he would have sent you off already. Not doing so didn’t even surprise you. He’s too possessive. 

“You said he was answering for Rabban’s death,” you say, but answering for that surely wouldn’t have taken so many hours, not when the Baron saw Rabban as a waste of space. “So where is he now?”

—

He doesn’t notice when you step into the training room and you’re thankful for that. You came on a mission to extract more answers out of him, but you don’t mind having a second to admire him sparing against his trainer. 

He’s sweaty. You like him sweaty—sweaty and bare-chested and perfectly, effortlessly mesmerizing as aggressive grunts leave his lips. You silently watch their violent dance, your form mouse-like by the door until his trainer looks up and halts to stare at you. Feyd whips around to follow his line of sight, then he sighs and turns back to the smaller man. He mutters something as he grabs the rag at his belt and runs it down his face. 

The trainer leaves and Feyd places his knife back on the table among many others. “I told them to keep you away today,” he says dully, monotone, not meeting your eyes as he runs his finger over the blade and fiddles with the hilt. “Incompetent brats.” 

“You didn’t come to bed.”

“I was busy,” he responds without letting a beat pass. He continues to avoid your stare and mess with the knives as if he’s never wielded them before.

You slowly step down the stairs into the pit of the room. “Busy killing your brother?” you ask. The muscles in his back twitch and flex under pale skin as he grips the hilt harder. 

“That is none of your concern.” The distance between you lessens until you’re a foot from his back, but he doesn’t turn around. 

“Even though you killed him because of me?” you ask. His neck ticks and his head tilts and shifts to adjust to the tension. When he still doesn’t respond, you try another angle. “Why are your harpies referring to me as their ‘Lady’?”

That seems to do it. Feyd faces you, crosses his arms, and leans his lower back against the table. “You think spending one night without me gives you permission to be nosy?”

You don’t give in to his method of shutting you up by aiming to make you feel silly and guilty. Instead, your eyes narrow and you mirror the crossing of arms. “Why am I a Lady again?”   

“You just are.”  

“Are you sending me home?”

His eyes flash. Blue irises darken a shade. “Don’t be stupid.”

“So I’m a Lady on Giedi Prime?” you ask, dropping your chin to emphasize how ridiculous that sounds. 

The edge of Feyd’s jaw sharpens as he clenches his back teeth. “Stop asking questions.”

“Then answer one,” you say. 

It’s a shot taken by an untrained hand, as he doesn’t enjoy demands, especially not from you, but you figure you have nothing to lose in the attempt, so you don’t cower under his menacing glare. You wait. And much to your surprise, he surrenders. 

He blinks, and when his eyes open, they have softened ever so slightly. Then he says, “You’re marrying me,” and everything from your lungs to your limbs freezes in shock. 

“W–What?” you stutter. That makes less sense than Rabban’s sudden death. 

Feyd groans and stands straight, his arms falling at his sides. “See what being nosy gets you?” he snaps. “I wasn’t going to tell you immediately, and you had to go and ruin it.”

He grabs a fresh knife and stomps his way over to a dummy, ready to attack something other than you for the insecurity that he can’t completely contain. You’ve never witnessed him insecure, but you know the feeling when you see it—the defense mechanism, the distancing himself, the grumbly attitude. 

“I’m not sure I understand,” you press as he slashes and stabs at the soulless victim. “I’m marrying you because you killed your brother for wanting to fuck me?”

With a grunt, the dummy’s head severs from its torso and flies off in your direction. It rolls and rolls and stops just before hitting your feet. The dead eyes stare up at you in silent amusement. Now you’ve done it, they mock.

“I don’t ever want to hear those words come out of your mouth again, do you understand me?” Feyd growls.

Your eyes shoot to his. “The marrying you part or The your brother fucking me part?”

He tosses the knife aside. It clatters against the ground as he closes in on you. His hand wraps around your neck. “Don't test me,” he grits out through clenched teeth. “I will sew your damn lips shut if I have to.”

An empty threat if you’ve ever heard one. He would never harm you, but even if he were going to try, his fingers would need to be squeezing much tighter.

You roll your eyes. “Well then how am I going to suck your cock?”

Something about the tease stuns him. His tense features immediately settle and his whole body eases with his exhale. Glancing at your lips, he licks his own, and you think he might decide to kiss you—after all, it’s been a good twenty-four hours since the last one—but he doesn’t.

You snort. “Didn’t think that one through, did you.”

Long fingers unwrap from around your neck. “You’re not funny,” he mumbles with an odd sense of shame.

“If you don’t find me entertaining, can you maybe take the time to explain all of this better?”   

Feyd considers keeping his mouth shut. You know him well enough to know that. However, it’s ridiculous to contemplate since he’s already spilled the bigger news. Nothing could be more shocking than you, after the bed-warming position you’ve held for months, becoming his wife. 

“My uncle was going to take you away from me for killing Rabban,” he finally says. “So I told him I've had plans to marry you for the alliance and that's why I refused to share you. Rabban wouldn’t take no for an answer, so he had to die.”

Raising a brow, you say, “The Baron accepted that explanation? My House may be one of the Greats, but we do not offer much for Giedi Prime.”

Feyd shrugs. “My uncle enjoys anything that causes upset. Marrying me means we will always own something very valuable to your family.”

It would likely offend another, but you don’t mind being owned. While the Baron may believe the Harkonnens as a whole will own you, you belong to Feyd and Feyd alone. He’ll never allow anyone to hurt you and now he’ll never have to fight or argue with anyone to stake his claim, which works for you just fine, to say the very least. 

“Thank you,” you say.

“For what?”

Your head tilts as you smile. “Caring enough to protect me.”

“Don't flatter yourself,” he says. “I didn't do it for you, I did it for my own benefit.”

Your sweet smile morphs into a smirk. “The benefit being that you get to keep me all to yourself…for the rest of your life.”

With a scoff, Feyd rolls his eyes and crosses his arms again. “Whatever.”

“Feyd…” you sigh, leaning into him.

“What?” he returns in his snarky tone as if he doesn’t want you near, but he doesn’t step out of the bubble of your space.

“I'm happy.”

A pink tinge sneaks onto his pale skin, and he quickly looks away. And before he has a chance to come up with some witty remark to smack you with, you grab his face and press your lips to his. 

You hold on to him until he starts to kiss you back, and then he's reaching for you, pulling you close, wrapping his arms around you, and you know you won't be going anywhere for a good long while.

[troublesomesnitch]

The Devil You Know

Aemond x Septa!Reader - Pt. 2

Little follow-up to this, but hopefully works OK on its own! There might be a third and final part also.

Contents: Book!Aemond, filth and depravity. Coercion, manipulation, power imbalance, dubious consent, medieval fuckboy Aemond. Just the tip...

Words: 3200

Full disclosure - possibly a bit unpolished because I wanted to get it done before S2.

-

You left the grand sept just days after your investiture. 

At noon on the first day of the new month, a royal courier came to fetch you, loading your meagre belongings onto a cart to bring both that and yourself to the castle. To your new home and abode: a chamber with one bed, one table and one little chair, one sconce and one seven-pointed star on the wall. Naturally in the servant’s quarters, but on the highest floor, along with the ladies’ maids, far away from the damp cellars and busy kitchens.

The queen’s household is large, and you are somewhere in the middle of the hierarchy; expected to follow orders, but able to give them, too. You are a septa now, a woman grown, and for the first time in all of your life you have no Mother Superior to answer to, no Septon Alester, and no other girls sharing your bedchamber - which is both a blessing and a curse. It is nice and quiet to be by yourself, free of prying eyes and Sister Sybella’s snoring. But no one pays notice when you slip out at night, and if you run into a maid or steward, they naturally assume that you are headed towards Her Grace or Princess Helaena’s chambers. 

Luckily, Prince Aemond’s rooms are in roughly the same direction. 

When others are near, he is perfectly honourable. Really, his performance is quite impressive. Not too eager, not too distant, perfectly measured when he greets you in the halls, or sits with his mother in her solar. But at night, at night he is different. When the hour grows late and the royal family say their goodnights, he will find a chance to strike, to brush past you and squeeze your wrist, or run his fingers over the small of your back to let you know that he wishes to see you. That he wants you to come to him tonight. 

To his chamber, to his bed, to his arms. 

It is a humiliating plight, and you climb the steps of Maegor’s Holdfast with all the enthusiasm of a convict walking to the scaffold. Weighed down by the guilt of your actions, terrified that someone should know. And resentful, of the prince for making you dishonour your vows, and of the gods for cursing you with beauty - had they made you ugly, Prince Aemond would never have spared you a glance, and you would not be in this predicament. You would not be forced to indulge his lusts and endure the liberties he takes with your body. 

But most of all, worst of all, you feel ashamed. Of all the things you do together, and of the fact that you cannot deny it does sometimes bring you pleasure, too. 

You have permitted him to kiss your mouth, your throat, your chest. Wrapped your hands  around his member and stroked it while he fondled your breasts. Let him lie on top of you and rut against you, still fully clothed, pressing hard between your legs until both of you were sweaty and panting. And once, only once, you let him slip his hand up under your skirts and touch you there, and it felt more wonderful than anything else you have ever experienced. So wonderful that you have not allowed him to do it again, for fear that it should corrupt your soul and spirit. That you will always crave it, the warm press of his fingers, and the way your body suddenly shook and tightened with a pleasure so exquisite you could not help but cry out in ecstasy. 

But he has never had you. Never put any part of himself inside you, never even seen your naked body. It is the strangest thing - there are surely many ladies who would give themselves to him, wholly and fully, yet for some reason, he wants only you.

And he does not waste time with any sort of pleasantries. The joys of night are short, and he can only keep you for so long - you must be back in time to rest, and at the very least before the scullions and kitchen maids rise. You have hardly latched the door before he wraps you in his longing arms, laying you on his bed and parting your legs. The sheets are soft against your back, and his leathers are smooth and cool, and you do not protest when he lays on top of you. You have grown used to the feel of his chest against yours, the heaviness of him, and the hard and lean lines of his body, so different from your own. You have grown used to his kisses too. You like it when he pecks gently at your lips, and when he slides his tongue into your mouth and curls it around your own. When he strokes your body in all sorts of ways, to see what darling little noises he can coax from you this time. 

“Have you ever been touched like this before?” he breathes - a silly question, since he knows the answer well enough already. 

“No,” you whisper. “Never.”

“Say it again,” he commands, closing his eye and breathing in deeply, pressing his nose to your sweet-smelling hair. 

“No other man has ever touched me - only you.” 

It arouses him very much, hearing those words, and he groans softly when he takes your hand and guides it down between your bodies. Knowing what he wants you to do, you hike your skirts up, just enough to run your own fingers along the folds of your womanhood and hold them up for him to taste. Which he does with the most fervent passion, sighing as he licks them clean of any trace of you. He has asked many times to be allowed to taste your sweetness from its source, but you have staunchly refused, appalled at the mere suggestion. He should not press his mouth to such a dirty place. He should not lick something that serves only the body’s most revolting and shameful functions. 

Usually, once he has kissed you like this for a while, and pressed and rubbed against you, he will either reach his end from that alone, or he will make you pleasure him with your hands. But not tonight. 

“Let me feel you,” he pants. “Just this once let me put it inside - ”

“It is a sin,” you gasp, mortified, but nonetheless shivering when he pulls at your sleeve, exposing your shoulder to cover it with kisses. 

“As is this,” he whispers. “And this, and this - ”

His mouth is lovely and warm on your skin, and his teeth are gentle when they scrape along your throat, nibbling softly above your neckline, and biting down hard below it. Making your breathing uneven as you struggle to string your words together. 

“But it is different - you know that it is, please don’t make me do it…”

The prince lifts his head to look at you, propped up on his elbow. 

“It is the movements that are the most sinful part of the act - is it not?” he says, cupping your face and stroking your cheek in the tenderest of ways. When you nod, he adds, “and if I were to not perform them, would that not be a lesser sin?”

His tone is innocent enough, but you know that wicked look in his eyes, the self-assured draw of his mouth. He knows that he is right - it is the movements, not the insertion itself that makes the act of coupling so sinful. And if he showed restraint and did not move in any such manner, then you suppose it would be a lesser sin. Although they did not mention such possible circumventions in your training, naturally. And there are other issues, still. 

“But my maidenhead…” you mutter, looking bashfully to the side when the prince touches his nose to yours. 

“I will be gentle,” he breathes. “I will be so very gentle - my angel, my love - let me at least have you this way… ”

It never really is your choice to make. To be alone with the prince is to balance on a precarious ledge - you can deny him some things, but only so long as you can offer something else that might appease him. And though he never makes overt threats, you are painfully aware that displeasing him could have dire consequences. That he could hurt you in a multitude of ways if he so wished. 

You squirm under his gaze, riddled with so many conflicting emotions; fearful of his intentions, yet blushing at the terms of endearment. Who would not want to hear such lovely words from a prince?

“Just this once,” he whispers, his voice soft and amorous. Just this once…

All you give him is the faintest nod, a slight incline of your head, and his hands are already pushing at your skirts, bunching them up over your parted knees. His breath hitches at the sight of your womanhood, your most intimate parts that you have never bared to him before; wet and inviting, framed by soft curls. Lovelier than he had ever even imagined, that rosy colour of your innermost lips, that little pearl you will not let him touch. And most of all your maidenhead, the delicate tissue that partially covers your entrance, and that he will earnestly try not to damage beyond what is necessary. 

For reasons he could not say, you have quite enchanted him. So much so that he has lavished more patience and tenderness on you than ever before on a woman, and that despite seeing so little return on the investment. For weeks he has contented himself with just your hand and your reluctant kisses, the mere feel of your body beneath him. Many times, he could have taken you by force, and many times he wanted to, yet somehow he could not bring himself to do it, could not bear the thought that you should hate him for it. That your delicate limbs should be hurt in trying to fight him off. 

He has waited long for this, and he does not want to give you time to change your mind, so he only quickly shrugs off his doublet and unbuttons his breeches to free his manhood. Which is painfully hard and in dire need of relief.

It still looks so strange to you, that unholy appendage, with its swollen shaft and its fat, fleshy head. Like the poisonous mushrooms that grow in the Kingswood, though you always keep that thought to yourself - you doubt the prince would appreciate such a childish comparison. He strokes it slowly while his other hand disappears between your legs, brushing over your womanhood and spreading your folds to reveal your little opening. Untried, uncharted by anything or anyone. 

You grit your teeth when the tips of his fingers are replaced by - something else. 

Slowly, steadily, he begins to ease himself inside of you, and you feel your muscles instantly and unwittingly tensing up, startled at the sensation. At the pressure, and at the sound the prince makes when the tip of his member is enveloped by your body, the tight rim of your entrance squeezing its sensitive head. The rest of him will not fit, but he spits into his palm and strokes it along his shaft, and that makes things glide a little better, as do your slow, deliberate breaths. 

It hurts, it really does, only not in the way you expected. You do not so much feel like anything is being torn or ripped - rather, you feel stretched, forcibly split apart and opened far beyond what should be possible. Your insides burn from it, and you wince with pain when he adjusts his position, spreading your thighs wider and driving his hips forward. Pressing in until he is fully seated. 

And he moans from how perfect you feel around him. So soft, so tight. His seeing eye closes and his breathing is hoarse, strained from how badly he needs to move, needs to thrust; his arms trembling by the sides of your head as he struggles to hold himself still. It is a bizarre thing to do, you think, just laying together like this, one on top of the other, completely motionless. Your legs raised over his hips, his chin resting against your forehead. His manhood swelling within you, throbbing with need. You can only hope it means that he will finish quickly and release you from this chore, from the searing pain that scorches your core, and the feeling of being so trapped, so tethered. Much like one of the many-legged creatures on Princess Helaena’s wall; splayed out and nailed down, held in place by a foreign object piercing your body. 

But the prince likes it. You have never heard such heavy sighs from him as just now, never seen such utter bliss on his face. His forehead is damp with sweat, his brows drawn together, his upper lip subtly twitching. One of his hands trails up the back of your naked thigh, lifting your leg to curl it around his back, and he moans from that too, as the slight shift gives him a brief feeling of movement. It is not at all comfortable for you, but you are distracted when he seeks your lips, claiming your mouth with slow, deep kisses. His tongue rolls over yours, pulling back to lick along your lip before plunging into your mouth again, over and over, in a strangely repetitive way. A rhythmic way. As if he is making love to your mouth, since he cannot make love to your body. 

It feels lovely, so lovely that it makes your insides twitch. Which in turn makes the prince curse, and a violent shudder run through his body. 

“Do it again,” he moans, and like always you do your best to please him. Clenching your muscles, squeezing tight around him, then releasing again. Very slowly, and each time feeling his breathy gasp against your face, and the thrum of a heartbeat inside of you - whether his or yours, you cannot say. It is painful with your already sore muscles, and it must be a poor excuse for what it is supposed to mimic, but it is still better than nothing, judging by how the prince moans. How he bites his lip and furrows his brow as your insides twitch and contract, so tight and slick and warm. 

How strange to think that now you have become one. Now you are as close as two people can ever be. Closer still when the prince slithers his arm underneath your body, pressing you hard against him and cradling your head. Your fingers are clenched in the damp material of his shirt, and he unfurls them gently to wrap your arms around his neck, around his shoulders; wanting you to hold him, to embrace him as a woman should her lover. 

It makes your discomfort somewhat more bearable, having something to cling and anchor yourself to. The closeness, and the intimacy of it, how his face is right above yours, your noses touching and breaths mingling. He drags his mouth against your own, from side to side, his lips brushing over yours, then over the rest of your face; your chin, your cheekbones, your temples. So, so gently, and like often before, you are stunned that he can be both so cruel and so tender with you. So selfish, and so soft. 

He has had countless chances to force himself on you, yet he never did. Even now he is keeping his promise, holding back, fighting hard to not succumb to that most powerful and natural instinct of a man, this urge to thrust, to copulate. You can feel that he is shivering with the force of his need, gritting his teeth, unable to keep completely still - there is a gentle, almost imperceptible swaying of his body that he cannot help, an impossibly slow rocking with each of his ragged breaths. 

He really is beautiful, you think, with his striking eyes and thick, silvery hair; pink lips parted in a breathy sigh. You could not say what possessed you to be so bold, but you find yourself reaching up to place a wet, lingering kiss underneath his jaw, right on top of the constellation of freckles that adorns his neck, swiping your tongue across it and tasting the sweat of his skin. To an almost immediate effect - at the feeling of your timid caresses, the prince curses loudly, clenching his fingers in the sheets, arching his back - 

“No!” you exclaim, “not inside me, not inside - ”

But it is too late; he has already shuddered once, and his manhood is already pulsing and spurting when he manages to withdraw from you. So stiff that it flops up against his stomach, a grotesque thing to look upon, the way it just hangs there, squirting out semen as he groans and gasps. At the very end of his rapture he grasps it with one hand, stroking it hard all the way from the base to the tip, as though wanting to squeeze out every last bit of fluid. And once he is spent, he rolls off of you and onto his back, completely unceremoniously. Leaving you raw and hurting inside, and with the sticky feeling of his semen trickling out between your thighs. 

“If it catches,” you whisper, afraid to even speak the words. “If I should be with child…”

The prince runs a hand over his face, panting and still too lightheaded to be thinking clearly, because he stupidly tells you that needn’t worry, he will have a tea brought to you -

“No! please no,” you shriek, panicked. “They would know I broke my vows - ”

“Then I will bring it myself,” he snaps, but rather than reassure you, his harsh tone only makes you tear up.

At the sigh of your quivering mouth, his face softens, and he reaches out to pull you into his arms, hold you against his chest, stroke your hair and rock you gently. Say forgive me, forgive me, I quite forgot myself, you mustn’t cry, my love -

“Why must you torment me,” you sob. “Sooner or later someone will know, they will shame me and ruin me - “

“They wouldn’t dare,” he says. “I would not let them - I will cut off any hand that hurts you - “

You press your ear to his chest to drown out the sound of his voice, for he has said these same words many times before, and with the same fervour and poignancy. He adores you, he reveres you, he will cut off any hand that hurts you, any eye that ogles you, any tongue that slanders your name. 

You haven’t the courage to tell him - the only hand that hurts you is his own. 

Please feel free to come into my asks or DMs with critique of my fics! Constructive is preferred, but not required.

Tags. @ladythornofrivia, @blackswxnn, @hightpwer, @toodlesxcuddles, @arcielee

@targaryen-madness, @qyburnsghost

And thank you @aemondsbabygirl for being a great one-woman focus group!

[sandsorghum]

Clouds & Curtains

husband!Nanami x wife!reader

wc. 1.3k

summary. Perhaps Nanami's approach to...rousing you in the mornings has changed over the years.

tags. Established relationship, Domestic bliss | Romance | Smut | Body (& Soul)Worship | Mentions of Nanami wanting to be a father

a/n: Super soft, super indulgent piece. Have your cake and eat it nanami girlies. Sometimes i just need to write him a love letter ok

Prologue

Back when you'd just begun to be intimate with each other, Nanami tended to be a little embarrassed about his subconscious (but hardly subtle) desires for you. He would rather suffer his internal, infernal dilemma than disrupt your rest. But he couldn't quite control his urges, squirming between decency and depravity, not when you'd rub up against him, so innocuous and merciless.

It was a hard habit to shake; how Nanami felt he ought to earn your every quiver against him, every whimper, however much he yearned to feel you tremble at his moans at any given moment. It was codified in him, there was a time and a place and patterns to follow, before he could permit himself the pursuit of your shared pleasures.

Of course, you'd unveil him in the evenings, the privilege of your touch stripping bare the prerogatives of his flesh. You unraveled him, his reticence, his reasoning, his very capacity for speech, by braiding your breath and fingers with his, in the friction-begetting-friction tangle of your lips and limbs together.

Yet he still thinks of these mornings, that find the two of you entwined, as an undeserved luxury. So Nanami would do his best instead to focus on your face, how sweet your peaceful expression was. It would be wicked of him not to cherish this, he'd chastise himself for wanting more, for wanting to drown in your adoring gaze, for wanting to return it with his own hungry one, body and spirit beggared by the night, by the hours not spent beheld by you.

Nanami assumed the beauty and tenderness of your countenance would quell, or could sate his appetites, would tame the primal stirrings in his belly. But nothing could be further from the truth, in fact they had the opposite, compounding effect; a lump in his throat would rise, and his desperation would thicken till he could only helplessly rut his hips against you.

And then your eyelids would flutter open, and in the crease of your knowing smile, all his definitions, his distinctions, all that distance between need and greed would collapse with a single kiss.

Years later, and your husband is so absolutely shameless about his...early head starts to the day. He pulls you into him, snug against the cleft of your ass cheeks, content to let your scent and radiance seep through the thin fabric and warm him in a way the sun, in its reluctance behind the clouds and curtains, can never hope to.

He stares at the petulance drooping off the petals of your lips, rose bud coiled tight before daybreak can coax it to unfurl for strobes of gold. Nanami is a patient man, too patient you've often thought, yet you feel his phantom touch, a tender sweep of your mouth, a zephyr whispering in the wings, billowing brocade and swelling muslin, ghost pulling you through the gauze of sleep.

You shift against Nanami to hear him sigh your name, soft and distant, thick with slumber and affection and it's this which rouses you more, not merely his growing rigidity pressed to the curves of you. Although, it helps, feeling every inch of his hunger like this, in a slow swirl and pinch at your waist, the gentlest rocking as your breasts are cradled in his palms, familiar persuasion pebbling your areola. You know he dreams of them swollen with milk, that all your memories of his teeth are girded by the desire for them to be suckled by the most innocent of mouths, baring only gums and tiny wails. Your nubs stiffen and a small smile stretches across your face at the thought that with his wish to grow a family fulfilled, he might find also a small regret, of his monopoly of your mounds contested by another, to whom he owes the genesis of your body's generosity, that sweet fullness dribbling, stolen, into your husband's mouth, enticing in its envy.

This prospect of hypocrisy is to be savoured for another day, far down the road. This morning brings neither hesitation nor urgency, all syrupy light and his maple gaze, the languor of his limbs splayed around you to be treasured just as much as the gradual grind of his cock. There's a certain smugness in its slowness, as with the self-assuredness of his thumb circling a bare sliver of your skin.

A familiar motion that stirs a memory, fuchsia-tinted for the both of you. You remember your then boyfriend stammering and scarlet-tipped, matched to the rosy tips of his ears, excuses lost in the shuffle of sheets and stutter of hips.

"I-it's just-just the t-temp-ah-temperatuur," he'd slurred, the excuse as thin and transparent as the sticky film he laved across your throat, dangerously growing gossamer and feebler with every twitch and each strong buck against your body.

"Mmhmm," you'd hum, carnal ache turning you conciliatory. Such complacency. You had been the one to smirk back then, canines gleaming coy, as you offered ruin in the guise of reprieve.

"Want me to warm you up, darling?" Hands already reaching for him, mind already marveling before your fingers could be reacquainted with their hubris, his girth.

"P-please, anythin-nghing" he'd panted, all wide-eyed desperation to be devoured, sweet thing.

You'd been such a fool.

To not know not greed was a two-way street, this ravenous osmosis, this vicious ouroborous.

You think perhaps, in fact, you got the worse end of the deal, trembling against your spouse now, thighs clamped together.

"My dear," Nanami hums, a teasing timbre dripping honey as he sinks his fingers in, "always so ready for me."

You squirm, eyes screwed shut and fisting the sheets, trying to grasp the pale image of the boy who'd once writhed and blushed beneath you, a spectre all but vanquished. You miss him, sometimes.

You arch your back into Nanami, the way you know he's addicted to, just to hear him groan your name, ragged with the dregs of self-restraint or slumber, you're not sure which, but it's a close enough echo to send pleasure juddering through you, the recollection churning hot in your gut, of when he was wrapped around your finger, instead of your cunt around his.

"Sweetheart."

The tenderness of his tone pries your lids open. He doesn't have to ask, doesn't have to say anything but he does, because he knows you are too stubborn to ask for what you need to hear.

"My love."

He claims your gasp, in the crush and curl of his mouth, in the crook of his fingers.

"My girl."

Another smattering of kisses, chasing the flutters of your belly down, down, down to your creases weeping nectar. He licks a whine from you, pitching high into the air, his husky moan vibrating within you.

"My wife."

You feel the hot gust of Nanami's breath over your clit, as he pauses.

"My wife."

There's a reverence as he repeats himself, pathetic attempts to vanquish his disbelief, wonder glistening in his gold-flecked irises, staring at you in awe, searching for proof this isn't some frenzied fever dream of his.Of course, he finds it in your own unwavering eyes.

You've been such a fool.

There, in the locked gaze your shared history glimmers, that shy boy paralyzed by his worship of you, prostrate as the man before your parted legs now, offering his soul, his past, his future.

You reach for him, and he surges upwards. The collision is wave returning and rising from oceans, over and over, is starburst, is incandescence, is the fission of atoms never, ever meant to be split.

It burns away all notions of him as your acolyte or priest, any concept of deity and devotee.

"My life," he breathes into you, and you feel the throb in your ribs, the furnace of his lungs.

"My life," you repeat to your husband.

Adam. Prometheus. Kento.

This morning and many after, he lavishes you with irreverence, a ravishing of irrelevance; his goddess, his woman, his joy -all that matters is that you are his and he is yours; Together, you forge a paradise that exists for as long as the melding of your souls persist, boundless as horizons and sure as sunrises.

@houseofsolisoccasum

[wrongbodies]

The Worst Science Convention I Ever Went To, pt 2

I was seated unceremoniously near the front of the school bus that the teacher had yanked me on. I was still reeling from seeing Randy's nerdy face in the camera that I was barely aware of what was happening around me. I kept staring down at the camera app hoping it was just some weird prank that quack Dr. Lark was putting me through. Or maybe we were still in the drifting experiment?

That was clearly just desperation, though. I could tell this was real. I pinched myself a few times, or when I ran my hands over my face. The sensations were too real. Nothing like the drifting, where it felt surreal and fantastical. No, I was now sitting on a school bus trapped in the nerdy body of some random high schooler.

I searched my pockets and found a wallet. Opening it there was barely anything here. 3 dollars, a library card (well-worn), and then a learners permit with Randy's face peering out like a deer caught in headlights.

"Randall Parker" I said aloud. That was his name... and mine for now. If we can swap back. I felt my stomach sinking as I realized that the fire may have destroyed the experiment... I need to get in touch with Dr. Lark. And Randy. Fuck. He's in my body... what is he going to do? I dread to think about what havoc he could wreak.

I spun out in my mind as the bus drove back towards the high school. I did see that the rest of the class were nearly as nerdy as Randy is. Seems like an elective field trip for this class... I just wonder if any of these kids are friends with Randy? No one has tried to talk to me, but then again, we did just escape a massive fire. Everyone seems pretty quiet.

The bus pulled up to a high school I didn't recognize. Some special high school it looked like, nothing like the school I had gone to. There was already a group of people waiting to receive us. When the bus opened its doors, we filed out and onto the sidewalk. I was just realizing how I wouldn't recognize Randy's parents. Would they be here to pick him up?

I didn't have to wait too long before a woman screeched "Raaaandy" and pulled me into a big hug. She was large, almost comically so when compared to Randy's bony body. The fiery red hair was a giveaway though. She started to pull me towards the nearby parking lot when I was tugged yet again by an unknown individual.

This time, a somehow even scrawnier boy with white-blond hair and swamp green eyes had my attention. He was sweaty, and clad in a shirt that read "Ballard Polytechnic High School Track and Field."

"Oh Randy, I was so worried about you!" He said, a deeper voice than expected coming from his slight body. What was more surprising though was when he leaned in, pulling my shoulders towards him, and planted a long, wet kiss on my lips. I lurched away, but he was holding on. He did give me a brief look, surprise or confusion - I couldn't read his expression.

"Are you ok, babe?" He asked.

"Bradley, he is probably just still shaken up from the fire. If you want to come with us and have dinner you can. He'd appreciate it, I'm sure." The woman said. I really need to find out her name... does Randy call her "Mom" or "Mother?" I could see him saying it either way...

The car ride was awkward. Randy's Mom had me sit in the back with Bradley, who appears to be his boyfriend. He was very clingy, apparently. He didn't sit on the far side of the seat. Instead, he slid right over to the middle, and buckled in. Then he wrapped his arm around my shoulders and leaned into me.

I was playing into the "shocked survivor" role because I had no idea how to respond to male affection like this. I was strictly into women, and the closest to other guys I got was goofing around in the locker room. This guy seemed smitten with Randy though, which... do gay men have completely different taste in men than women? In my own body they would practically throw themselves at me and my friends. And I wasn't the dating type, either.

Randy's home was similar to his mother in a way. It wasn't huge, but it had this aura of being welcoming, warm, and a bit overbearing. Knicknacks were all around, almost overwhelming the tables and other surfaces across the house. When we shuffled inside, and kicked off our shoes, I started to wander until Bradley steered me to Randy's bedroom.

"Are you ok, babe?" He whispered, as he shut the door behind him. I paused before responding, looking around the room.

The room was a haven for a dork. Dark blue walls, a slightly off-white carpet, were about all that was neutral in the room. After that, shelves full of manga and fantasy novels lined the edges, a desk with an impressive computer dominated a corner of the room, and then a bed that looked lumpy - likely due to the huge pile of laundry left haphazardly on the quilt was leaning a bit. And then the closet with clothes actually trailing out of it. Various sweaters, pants, and other random articles of clothing seemed to indicate a whirlwind had been through the closet.

"Randy?" Bradley asked, softly. I felt his arms wrap around my waist, as he rested his chin on my shoulder. He nuzzled in, planting a warm kiss just behind my ear. I knew my face would be bright red. This was too strange. I wasn't Randy. I wasn't gay. I was definitely not a dorky high school boy.

But why was my cock reacting?

I shifted, and Bradley let go. Turning to him, I started to say something but he ambushed me with a kiss. He pressed his skinny, sweaty body against me. This time, despite my initial misgivings, I gave in. This felt wrong to Seth. But maybe being in Randy's body this was just normal? I couldn't tell, and honestly this was turning me on. So maybe I could enjoy it for a little bit.

Bradley pulled away. "Ok, let's get you out of these smoky clothes. Can I borrow something too? I feel gross."

"Sure." I started to reach for the closet door but he guided me to the bed and sat me down.

"I've got it!" He said. I had to admit he was very sweet. He was affectionate, and seemed to genuinely care about my - or Randy's wellbeing. He tossed some clothing aside until he found some sweats and a tee for himself. Then he pulled out a onesie pajama outfit. It looked like some kind of pokemon?

"Really?" I asked. I was very skeptical of this choice.

"Of course, handsome. You love this, especially when you've had a rough day. This feels like a perfect day to put this on." Bradley explained.

"I suppose..." I murmured. I slipped it on, and felt like an absolute loser. Bradley seemed to find it endearing.

"My umbreon, my love." He cooed, and pushed me back to the bed. He kicked the laundry mound off the bed, and tumbled in next to me. "We don't have much time before your mom will finish dinner. But let's cuddle, ok?"

"Fine by me." I responded. He snuggled up to my body, nestling himself into the crook of my arm. "This is nice."

"It is. I know today was scary. But I'm here now." Bradley whispered lovingly.

This was absurd. I don't know what I'm doing. This felt strangely good, even though I was certainly not gay, and still reeling from being trapped in this nerdy body. In the back of my mind I kept thinking about getting in contact with my real body, and then finding that scientist to see about reversing this all.

But first... a little more cuddling wouldn't hurt. Just a little.

[firefly--bright]

Hii, how are you?? I saw that your requests are open, can I ask for some headcanons about how the birthday boy would ask reader to be their s/o, plss??

I love your Jean fics btw❤️❤️

HII I'm currently dying again when am I not tbh ʕ⁠´• ᴥ •`⁠ʔ

but fuck yes. here to fulfill my duty

✿ he would be thinking about it so much. like so much. it consumes him, and he doesn't want to admit it

✿ like genuinely he's the type of guy to write both your initials with a heart. he does the FLAMES things with your names, feet swinging and giggling in bed just thinking about you and him being eachothers. ykwim

✿ god forbid he says allat out loud though. GOD FORBID.

✿ anyway. he wants to ask you in this grand, beautiful, memorable way. wants himself to be the best person you've dated bcs he's competitive as hell. he's fighting ghosts at this point

✿ he plans out a picnic date with you, tells you it's a surprise. asks you to "wear anything you want queen you'd look good in anything" over text bcs if he has to ask you out for this face to face he would piss himself and die

✿ you tell him you're going to arrive naked. he texts back, "ur a public nuisance" and then panics and adds "a pretty one" ok man. sure

✿ THE DAY HAS COME and he had called his mom like three hours before he had to leave to make sure that he knows how a picnic works. like he has all the food prepared and the blanket washed, anything you'd need to be comfortable outside, he has. digestives. painkillers. epi pens LITERALLY EVERYTHING LMFAO bcs he's thinking of all worst case scenarios. what if a bee bites you and you die.

✿ he hopes you don't. when he comes to pick you up, his breath is taken away from him. he's stuttering over his words to call you a compliment fit for a poetry award, but all he's able to come up with is "your... you're good." that's all. you're good. well atleast he means it

✿ god he's such an idiot. right anyway so the entire picnic, you're making jokes and conversing and he's having such a good time and the weather is actually so perfect, there's gentle wind ruffling your hair when your hand finds its way into his and for a moment he stops listening to the story of how your pranked your cousins once, because all he can think about is how perfectly your fingers interlock with his, calluses and wrinkles laying over his. how many worlds had to have collapsed and remade and how many fates and futures had to be adjusted over and intricately woven together for the two of you to be sitting here, at that moment, the picture of what jean thought to be confusingly perfect sitting next to him, talking to him. his heart simultaneously sped up and slowed down.

✿ okay and this was his plan, right - he'd wait until the end of the date to properly ask you to be his partner. there was an ice cream parlor next to the garden you were sitting in, and he'd made sure they had any of the flavours you usually go for, after which he'd take you for a little drive if the weather permitted, and then drop you back home, which was when he'd ask you. if you said no, then the both of you could have a quick escape (you could simply enter your apartment and he could wallow in self pity in the privacy of his car) and if you'd say yes, he could hold your face and kiss you as he always did, and your apartment would welcome him with its infinite warmth.

✿ but things don't go as planned with jean. they never had ; he's had to change his major atleast three times in his freshman year, his old crush (whom he'd hopelessly planned to run away with) barely even acknowledged his existence, his childhood plans of wanting to help his mother out with her bakery business, plans of finding out where his biological father went - none of them went the way he wanted. so it was no surprise to him (atleast, not as much as a surprise as he'd expected) when he just blurted it out. mid sentence, stopping your dwindling story that you could tell his mind wasn't in, he had asked "be my partner." it wasn't a question, not that you mind too much, but he said it with pleading hidden under his tongue anyway.

✿ there was a best of silence where jean allowed himself to panic and remain hopeful at the same time, contradicting his situation and feelings as he often found himself doing. but then your thumb traces a circle on the back of his hand, and then another, and then your lips were on his cheek, placing a small, inaudible kiss there.

✿ "ask me again. how you want to." you tell him, and god he likes you so much - bordering hopeless again - because you knew, without words exchanged, almost psychic, that he'd actually been thinking about this for a longer time then he let on, that he had a plan, one that he willingly ruined.

✿ he nods slowly, abiding your statement. you continue with your story after a little bit of a pleasing silence, and jean takes you to the ice cream parlor he'd checked out (as expected, you had ordered the chocolate and mocha flavours scooped together), drove you around while telling you about how his sisters absolutely tortured him while soft music played through the speakers, and then before leaving you, infront of the door of your apartment with its inviting warmth, under the best version of a porch light that urban decency could provide that was lined with two moths, he asked you. a proper question, without hesitance but nervousness still, "would you like to be my partner?"

(⁠人⁠ ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠) happy birthday to that guy. i love him. i hope you enjoyed this!

[lauraannegilman]

long-term thinking, short-term chutzpah

Heather Cox Richardson, better known as the author of Letters from an American, the historian who kept us informed and (slightly) hopeful during the Trump regime, and the pandemic, has kept her daily letters going, and they're always worth reading. Today in particular she talked about something, and made a point I had not considered. "on Tuesday, June 4, likely trying to get ahead of the usual summer rise in immigration, and after Senate Republicans once again killed the bipartisan border measure,  Biden issued an executive order permitting him to seal the southern border temporarily when undocumented crossings surge to more than 2,500 a day, a restriction stricter than that negotiated in the Senate measure Trump scuttled. This order looks more like Trump’s effort to curb migration—one that courts blocked—at least in part because without legislation, there is no new funding to provide the additional courts the administration wants in order to move asylum cases faster. " And yeah, Joe took a lot of heat from the left for this. But note the last sentence in the above paragraph. "one that the courts blocked." Dr. Richardson goes on to say: "As predicted, the order is likely to face legal challenges. Senator Chris Murphy (D-CT), who worked with Senator James Lankford (R-OK) on the Senate immigration bill, wrote in a statement: “I am sympathetic to the position the administration is in, but I am skeptical [that] the executive branch has the legal authority to shut down asylum processing between ports of entry on its own. Meaningful asylum reform requires a bipartisan solution in Congress.”  Joe Biden, whatever else we may think of him, is a savvy politician, a long-term thinker, and a survivor in the shark tank that is D.C. Why would he do something that would piss off his base, AND that he knew would get broken by the courts? And here's where Dr. Richardson sets me back on my heels for a moment. "While Trump continues to demagogue immigration issues, the charge that Biden wants “open borders”—which was always disinformation—is now harder to make. " In short, he took one of the poison serpents the GOP was trying to bite him with, and (at least partially) defanged it, knowing that his executive order would not actually be put into action. Jesus, that was ballsy.

[jkgnggj]

WOW I GOT A LOT OF TORI SHIPS LEMME TRY LISTING THEM RQ okok so this is just a list of the individual pairings but I also ship a lot of these in polycules and a few of these I'm not a huge fan of or haven't thought enough hcs for but I can see the potential in any one of these pairings bc Tori is a versatile guy (desperate, just like his partner must be in order for them to somehow tolerate him)

Tori x saiki

Tori x akechi

Tori x aiura

Tori x yumehara

Tori x suzumiya

Tori x satou

Tori x hairo

Tori x saiko

Tori x kaidou

Tori x kuboyasu

Tori x nendou

Tori x mera

Tori x imu

Tori x arisu

Tori x teruhashi

Tori x kusuke

Tori x takeru (aka Chiyo's ex)

Tori x takayuki (cute band member that reminds me of Akechi)

Tori x shinya (the other band member)

id like a bit of your attention again

im making a list of saiki k ships. show me everything. anything. what do you like. @jkgnggj im calling you here specifically you know the tori ships

[gwynrieldreams]

Ok, I never thought I would have to make this post but here we go (this fandom never fails to surprise me with its blatant ignorance).

Why Feysand not elriel is the Hades and Persephone trope

As we know from Greek mythology Persephone was the daughter of Demeter (the goddess of nature, agriculture, and harvest). She is a vegetation goddess, associated with flowers, spring, and innocence. She lived peacefully on Earth under her mother’s watchful eye. Hades was the god of the dead and ruler of the Underworld.

Rhysand is the High Lord of the Night Court. His character is heavily inspired by Hades, who rules the underworld, and the devil a bat winged man who rules hell (the Court of Nightmares).

Although, Feyre isn't associated with nature or flowers the way Elain is, she's Tamlin's bride and lives in the Spring Court.

Zeus, it is said, permitted Hades, who was in love with the beautiful Persephone, to abduct her as her mother Demeter was not likely to allow her daughter to go down to Hades. Persephone was gathering flowers in a field when Hades came to abduct her, bursting through a cleft in the earth.

After Persephone had disappeared, Demeter searched for her all over the earth with Hecate's torches. In most versions, she forbids the earth to produce, or she neglects the earth and, in the depth of her despair, she causes nothing to grow. Helios, the Sun, who sees everything, eventually told Demeter what had happened and at length she discovered where her daughter had been taken. Zeus, pressed by the cries of the hungry people and by the other deities who also heard their anguish, forced Hades to return Persephone.

When Hades was informed of Zeus' command to return Persephone, he complied with the request, but he first tricked her into eating pomegranate seeds. Hermes was sent to retrieve Persephone but, because she had tasted the food of the underworld, she was obliged to spend a third of each year (the winter months) there, and the remaining part of the year with the gods above.

In acotar, during Feyre's first trial, she hurts her arm, which is left unattended by Amarantha and the other faeries. One night, Rhysand manages to get into Feyre's cell and offers her healing in exchange for spending two weeks out of every month in the Night Court. Feyre initially disagrees, and Rhysand grabs the shard of bone that sticks out of her arm and twisting. After this torture and noticing that she will almost certainly die from the infection before Lucien can sneak away to help her, she realizes she has no other choice. She negotiates to lower the terms to only one week per month. Once they both agree, Rhysand grabs her injured arm and painfully heals her. A black tattoo with a cat's eye in the palm of her hand appears on her left arm as a permanent reminder of the deal she struck.

The parallel between Feysand and Hades and Persephone, is basically their bargain. Feyre is obliged to spend three weeks in Spring and one week in the Night Court (the underworld).

Moreover, on the day of her wedding, Feyre decides to stop the wedding. Suddenly Rhysand appears to take Feyre away to the Night Court, calling in the bargain she made with him Under the Mountain.

The way Rhysand appears to take her parallels the way Persephone was abducted. Persephone was in a flower field-> Feyre was in the Spring Court, ready to marry the High Lord of the Spring Court and become Lady of the Spring. Hades came to abduct her, bursting through a cleft in the earth-> Rhysand came to take her, "thunder cracked... as if two boulders had been hurled against each other."

Persephone later married Hades and became the queen of the underworld. The myth of her abduction, her sojourn in the underworld, and her cyclical return to the surface represents her functions as the embodiment of spring and the personification of vegetation

The myth of Hades and Persephone beautifully illustrates the cycle of life, death, and renewal. When Persephone ascends from the Underworld, her mother’s joy brings spring and summer to the Earth. When she returns to Hades, Demeter’s sorrow ushers autumn and winter.

On a deeper level, the story reflects the agricultural cycle. Persephone’s time above ground mirrors the planting and growth of crops, while her descent to the Underworld represents the barren winter months.

We see that Persephone isn't only associated with flowers and spring, but also the cycle of life (birth, death and rebirth), immortality, resurrection and the Underworld. Feyre left Spring Court, went utm where she died, was resurrected and was given immortality. She married Rhysand and became High Lady of the Night Court.

That's why Feysand is the Hades and Persephone trope.

So for Azriel and Elain to be Hades and Persephone, they would have to be in some sort of bargain that obliges Elain to spend time with him. This has already been done with feysand and there's no way sjm will write the same trope over and over again.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Alex Woodward at The Independent:

Newark, New Jersey mayor Ras Baraka was arrested outside an Immigration and Customs Enforcement detention center in Elizabeth on Friday as the mayor and members of Congress joined demonstrations demanding answers from Donald Trump’s administration about the conditions inside, marking a major escalation of immigration protests surrounding the facility. Videos from outside the facility shows a chaotic scene with masked federal officers pushing against a crowd in the detention center’s parking lot as Baraka is shoved towards the building and then placed in handcuffs. New Jersey’s interim U.S. Attorney Alina Habba — Trump’s personal attorney — accused the mayor of trespassing and ignoring warnings from federal law enforcement agents to leave. “He has willingly chosen to disregard the law. That will not stand in this state. He has been taken into custody. NO ONE IS ABOVE THE LAW,” Habba wrote.

Lawmakers gathered in Newark on Friday to demand answers from ICE following the opening of the private, for-profit facility that can detain more than 1,000 people. In February, ICE agency awarded GEO Group a 15-year, $1 billion contract to hold immigrants facing deportation inside the two-story facility known as Delaney Hall. The building is near Newark Liberty International Airport, which has been used by the federal government to stage removal flights. Baraka, a Democratic candidate for the state’s governor, has vowed to join daily demonstrations outside the facility until city officials are allowed inside to inspect its conditions. He said government officials did not obtain necessary permits to jail immigrants there, and the city of Newark filed a lawsuit against the administration last month in a last-ditch attempt to prevent its opening. The facility opened May 1. Speaking on Fox News immediately following Baraka’s arrest, Habba refused to say where he is being detained.

“We will not stand for anyone getting in the way and getting rid of criminals in this country,” Habba said. “It’s very simple. Unfortunately, the mayor has publicly for three days been saying he will break in and eventually did break in and was given multiple opportunities to remove himself and failed to do so and has been detained and will be charged.” Three House members from New Jersey were allowed inside the facility on Friday, and Baraka was initially allowed into the fenced parking lot area before officers told him to leave and threatened him with arrest. A heated argument appeared to break out after agents blocked his entry and continued even after Baraka returned to the other side of the gates. In video from the scene, masked federal officers can be seen shoving back protesters and grabbing Democratic U.S. Rep. LaMonica McIver past a fence into the facility as Baraka is moved towards the center. Agents appeared to swarm him and others as they blocked protesters from the fence.

McIver said she and Democratic Rep. Bonnie Watson Coleman were “assaulted” and fellow New Jersey Rep. Robert Menendez Jr. was “roughed up” after what was supposed to be an “oversight visit.” Menendez called what happened to McIver an “assault.” “What we just witnessed was disgusting,” McIver said outside the facility. “If they can treat three members of Congress like that, just imagine how they can treat people on the street each and every day.” Watson Coleman said lawmakers had traveled to the facility to see the conditions. “We don’t know if everyone belongs there, and but we knew that people are OK, it’s safe, they’re feeding them,” she told reporters. “ICE is out of control. ICE thinks it can intimidate all of us. And it cannot intimidate any of us. And we the people will make sure that this administration adheres to the rules that separate us from dictatorships and other third world countries.”

The politically-motivated arrest of Newark mayor and possible New Jersey Gubernatorial candidate Ras Baraka (D) for protesting the opening of an ICE facility is an insult to American values. It’s another reason why ICE should be abolished and declared a terrorist organization.

See Also:

AP, via HuffPost: Newark Mayor Arrested While Protesting At ICE Detention Center

The Guardian: Mayor of Newark Ras Baraka released after arrest at Ice jail protest

The Alt Media: Nuts in Newark

[boiwab]

Zoey Triptych, Station Engineer.

Finally finished my ref sheet for the space engineer lizard woman I've spent 550 hours playing as in Space Station 14. She was the first character I made, and she is still my favorite and the one I play most by far. I made her character a continuation of the one I used to play in Barotrauma. I mean, how different is a pressure vessel in a dark high-pressure sea from a pressure vessel in a dark low-pressure sea?

OK uh un-organized rambling about her:

Its super fun to play her on servers where NanoTrasen-Syndie conflict is a major RP focus. Most people's characters have a shred of Silverhand in them or some other degree of understandable anti-corporate sentiment. Not her. She is brainwashed to shit, because NT has provided her entire education and has deep control over media on Europa. NT is interested in Europa because everyone who lives there is basically already living on a space station, meaning they have great pre-existing experience.

Her husband (my irl boyfriend's character) is an uploaded cortical stack engram that switches between three bodies. He's either a mothman, anthro wolf, or anthro rat. She thinks he can do that because of regular money and good insurance. In reality, he's a carefully-tuned experimental sleeper agent from a rival company, Gorlex. There's rumor that a Synidcate of rival companies conspire to destroy NT property, the most outlandish claims being of nuclear-armed terrorists that could atomize an entire orbital facility with stolen launch codes. Zoey thinks that's just a myth. Unfortunately for her, Grey is one of them, patiently waiting for encoded orders via needlecast. His feelings for her are genuine though, and Syndicate high command permitted Grey to keep the relationship for the purpose of further entrenching his identity. He gives her pins of pretty flowers. Only other Syndies know that the three petaled purple plant is a dogwhistle for their organization's hydra logo. He hopes it will spare her from being harmed by clandestine activity, but sometimes syndies are ordered to kill other syndies.

Depending on what job I am playing, I RP differently. I imagine that as station engineer and technical assistant, she still fully believes in the American-dream style path for herself. She thinks that she can get all the comforts she lacked as a child by working harder than everyone else.

By the time she becomes an Atmospheric Technician, she has worked a couple years and seen the machine of NT's management mulch people up and throw them out. She still firmly, confidently believes that SHE could never be worked to death and left behind, since she is infinitely tough and doesn't need breaks. She's been working with machines since she was twelve, and she finished a 250 ton cargo run in the aphotic plains after getting her arm crushed in a coilgun loading rack at the age of 15. Generations before her survived the Forever War or still lie preserved in their icy trenches, refusing to even rot. She has a golden opportunity, war's over, company's here, coalition's gone, tuition is free*. I don't see her living far past this point due to the danger of the station and her low sense of self-preservation. She wants to burn as bright as possible until the gods of astrophysics snuff her out in spectacular fashion. She follows the rules exactly and cares a lot about safety, but the happiest place she can be is inside a vac-rated bunker suit fixing pipes while a 20KiloKelvie plasmafire screams around her. Other than corporate advancement, she has made one promise to herself. She has to die in space. Not under buried the crust of europa, not in a stasis bed on an aristocrat's venusian metrosat, but frozen and able to watch the bare stars forever.

When I'm Chief engineer, she is middle aged, and at this point I play her as jaded completely and muted, staying only out of a care for the people under her and finding tiny sparks of the joy that left her years ago with tinker projects and unusual setups. She has made all the corporate advancements she ever wanted, but other than that, she has nothing.

[celeluwhenfics]

Several sentences whatever day we are today!

Thanks for the tag @from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras and @ridingforrohan ! These days I tend to work on plot and big ideas, OR write parts that would be huge spoilers, but tonight something new and compatible with sharing appeared in my drafts, so this is what you're getting!

It's something that will go towards around chapter 5 of my original Kenya story Keratin 🇰🇪🦏🦎

******

"Yeah, I'm fine, I think we got it now," sighed Frederica. "They said that they would send our copies of the animal research permits overnight. If that works, with a bit of luck we can send the drone up again tomorrow morning."

"Amaaaaazing!" said Richard in a great enthusiastic glissando.

That guy's good mood could have carried her through a hundred miles of acacia bush on foot, or through as much paperwork as would be needed to carry this fieldwork trip until the rainy season, which was fairly equivalent, after all.

"Be ready at 8, I'll come and pick you up after I call and confirm with air traffic control."

"Sawa, usiku mwema!" he said slowly and clearly like a preschool teacher. "This means: ok, goodnight!"

He shook her hand and set on his way to the staff barracks with a whistle and a bounce of rhumba in his step.

Frederica stared at her laptop wallpaper, a bowhead whale blowing vapor in front of a crumbling iceberg, and made a mental list of the things she had to do before going to bed: write down a to-do list, check batteries, empty SD cards, format hard drives, email something convincing to Peter, confirm that Wildlife Service got her documents, read the operational guidelines once again just to be sure, fill the expense form on that nasty nonsensical website, answer mom's texts, check that the bank transfer went through, tell Karen there's no way she has time to write "something fun for the newsletter", fix the mosquito net, put her shoes to dry, brush her teeth, shower (hopefully), text Victor, memorize ten words of Kiswahili to avoid disappointing Richard tomorrow.

Lizards and flies congregated under the acidic glow of the veranda spotlight. She shivered, and thought of a meme template from 2012.

"Conservation biology fieldwork in Kenya:

What my mom thinks I do: a picture of a woman in a flowy white blouse and glossy balayage, self-caringly stretched on the chaise lounge of a luxury safari lodge deck;

What my dad thinks I do: two toddlers on a jungle-themed play mat, absorbed in making plastic figurines of an elephant, a tiger, an orangutan and a reticulated giraffe have tea together;

What my advisor thinks I do: Visibly tipsy women hollering and dancing at a party, wearing headscarfs from Morocco and boubous from Mali;

What the tech department thinks I do: a crashed drone sputtering a thick cloud of smoke;

What the finance department thinks I do: a fancy SUV like those that moms in Ontario drive to cheerleading practice, stuck in headlight-deep mud;

What I actually do: a screenshot of correspondance with local authorities, 29 unread emails and a data sheet with an error message."

A lizard broke its frozen trance and snapped at a buzzing thing that looked like a supersized mosquito. It gave a couple of good open-mouthed chews and swallowed with delight, rolling its big eyes inwards to push the bite way down its throat.

"Actually, I'm so lucky to be here," Frederica said out loud.

And when she realized that this time, she believed it, she giggled a little.

***

Tagging @dilettantefeminist, @emmathefanficgal and @hastyhobbit , if you haven't done this round already!

[enden-k]

Was not expecting the (partial) lore drop with Saran's name. Excuse me while I hyperfixate on that because ONE AND A MYSTERY LETTER IS TOO SHORT FOR ME TO CRACK IT....for now at leastLiterally too short.

I have speed consumed the entirety of the available content to determine what it's about. I am going to speed consume it once more the SECOND I have time because the theories-

Currently, sitting at the theory of last name. What i find the most interesting is that he will call himself that, but hates it when others do (the whine is mostly the same across non traumatized and reverse Saran so clearly, not that BIG an insult to his person/ego but still not enjoyable) AND it's seemingly a part of his actual name. It's not "Don't call me that" but "Don't say my name/like that"

(Second working theory and the reason i need to speed consume stuff once more is for my theory of Saran not being his name/being a nickname- Bit of a long shot. But!! If he's never/rarely mentioned by name across all of the content with pre Vika people, it becomes a little more possible. After all, he seemed to have reinvented himself after his death to a point where he was comfortable again after such a betrayal, who's to say he didn't ditch a name he disliked?)

(Or it could be just his last name he ditched. Who knows? Certainly not me)

-🦜

"saran" is the first syllables of his very long last name (family name). when his parents named him, he was given a first name and an unknown nickname for the time being until he was able to choose one for himself. which he later changed to "saran"

in their family, the first name is smth blessed and saying it is very intimate and only between close ones like family members or partners which is why they pick nicknames for outside the close circle

he went with "saran" bc its just the very shortened version of his family name and saved him the trouble of thinking of a new nickname

azai is the only one who knows his first name bc theres an important moment (OG amygdala ofc) where saran takes him HOME home; not to his apartment but to his families home to get a few things for their early amygdala experiments. azai overheard sarans mother calling his name bc its been ages since he showed up at his home again; later on when azai is alone with her bc hes not permitted to enter the sacred halls, she has a very sweet, motherly talk with him which he understands as permission to have her son

when he uses his name for the first time, saran has quite the feral reaction bc like i said, its very intimate. azai uses it without his permission and saran doesnt like it, esp not the way he says it, bc it implies theyre romantic partners

when he tells vika his first name, its given bc he wants him to use it and bc he sees him as his spouse. he loves the soft way vika says it and insist to call him only this. it visibly makes saran flustered too. bro could break vika any time he wants yet hes the one being broken whenever vika says his first name akjsbckj

(so yea, when baby saran yells at saran not to say it, its bc saran is mimicking his dad to piss off baby saran and its super effective. its ok for him to say bc its lit him and also the only ones using it in that time is his parents so yea, baby saran def connects it with his annoying dad LMAO

meanwhile in the reverse amygdala doodle, saran tells azai not to say it (without much bite tho than he would do in og) bc azai mocks him ("aw are you crying") - he only allows it here bc i doodled this as an azaisaran request ajksbck)

anw, saran keeps his names after death bc its probably the only thing left from his past and his family. have fun figuring it out tho until he drops it himself AJKBSCKJBK if someone would actually get it right they have one free wish bc that would be insane fr---

[littlest-w01f]

Taverns

For @polyacotarweek

Poly Acotar Week 2024 Masterlist

Day 4: Adventure

Summary: Eris and Rhysand find out that Rosalie hasn't had quite the sex life. They plan to change that.

Cw: Blindfolds, MxFxM, Oral M receiving, Fingering, Spanking, Smut 18+ MDNI

The music was loud as the three lovers were in a private room of their own in a traven they frequented. Rosalie was on her knees, a pillow between her knees and the hardwood floor for comfort. Her breathing was shallow as she felt two pairs of hands on her, her mates. She nuzzled in the hand at her cheek, knowing from the softness it was Eris.

Eris had done the courtesy of telling Rhysand that she had quite a reserved life while growing up, not permitted most things, and Rhysand, ever the kind mate had the idea of showing Rosalie some wild sides of their worlds.

Hence here she was, blindfolded with a black cloth, hands obediently on her lap, the music from outside, soft teasing touches from her mates all over her body causing goosebumps all over her skin, making the hair on the back of her neck rise up.

"Are you sure about this, little fox?" Rhysand asked, undoing her updo to make her hair fall over her shoulders.

Rosalie nodded wordlessly when Eris stroked her chin with his hand, "Words, my fox."

"Yes," Rosalie breathed and Eris took the chance to place his thumb on her tongue, smiling and watching her instantly wrap her lips around him to suck.

As the music played, it seemed to envelop Rosalie in its sensual embrace, causing her heart to race and her breath to hitch as they continued their exploration of her body. The sound of their voices whispering sweet nothings against her ear, combined with the soft caress of hands, only served to heighten her arousal further. Her body quivered between them, every nerve ending alive and aware of the pleasure being bestowed upon her.

She was drenched in the wetness of desire, her red lace soaked through, the fabric sticking to her skin like a second layer of skin. The scent of her arousal filled the air around them, an aroma that was both intoxicating and enticing.

"My my, aren't you excited." Eris taunted, watching her squirm for friction while on her knees.

"Do you rember the safe word we decided?" Rhysand's hands were on her corset, unlacing and clipping it off, throwing it somewhere uncaring.

"'Red'" Rosalie responded, something easy enough for her to remember for her first, as she did, Rhysand cupped her breasts in his hands, gently kneading and rolling her nipples between his fingers while also giving them a playful pinch.

"Good girl," The Night male simply responded, biting down on her shoulder.

With the blindfold taking away her ability to see, everything felt electric, making her gasp and moan softly, Rhysand was behind her, chest to back as he played with her body, Eris stood tall in front of her, using his shoe to nudge at her closed knees, "Spread."

She spread her legs as Eris removed the pillow from under her, "Think you can keep up or does one of us has to chain you?"

Rosalie shuddered as Rhysand bit at her sensitive ears, whispering, "I'd be glad too,"

"I think I'll be ok," Rosalie confirmed, burning in anticipation.

"Good," Eris smirked, watching her balance on her toes with her legs spread wide for him, his eyes on the damp patch of lace that covered her.

Rhysand, noting his stare was quick to rip the fabric of their mate, making her gasp at the air softly, leaving her exposed and vulnerable between the two males. With a soft chuckle, Rhysand pulled away from her ear, moving down her body to her thighs. He took one leg in each hand and spread her legs further apart, revealing her wet slit to Eris. He couldn't help but give it a gentle smack, the impact sending shivers of pleasure throughout her body.

"Did you like that?" Rhysand gave her another gentle spank to her wet folds, making her quiver lightly, Eris watched her with a grin, the way Rosalie twitched in efforts to not move as Rhysand wrapped an arm around her waist, caging her arms in.

"Yes, yes..." Rosalie gasped out as Rhysand groaned in satisfaction as he slipped two fingers inside her tight, wet cunt. He used his thumb to rub against her clit, causing her to writhe against him. The sensations were intense and added to the overall pleasure she felt. Her mate continued to fuck her with his fingers, his movements becoming faster and more frantic as he worked her up into a fever pitch of need and desire.

Both their pants grew tighter with hearing her moans as Eris burned away their clothes, amber eyes black with lust, a matching look in Rhysand's eyes.

Eris approached her, fully hard cock in hand as he stroked it, his hard cock throbbing in his hand as he guided it towards her lips, "Open up for me, my little slut." He gave her a small push, encouraging her to open her mouth wide enough to take his entire length. As she did so, he thrust his cock into her mouth, burying it deep within her throat.

Rosalie gagged lightly at the sudden full thrust of his cock in her mouth as Rhysand held her still, hand still buried in her cunt, playing with her and stretching her.

Rhysand groaned in approval, Eris' cock slapping against her tongue as he continued to work her cunt with his fingers. Eris continued to fuck her face, his cock filling her mouth and throat as he pumped in and out of her. He could feel the resistance of her throat, the tightness of her grip around his cock, and he loved every moment of it.

"Fuck, Rosa, you look so hot." Eris panted, finding his rhythm with his thrusts as Rosalie licked and sucked his cock while he moved.

Rhysand kissed her neck and shoulders, marking her skin as she did, watching Eris' cock go in and out of her mouth, "Such a good girl you are, Ro, so good." He kissed over her cheek where the imprint of Eris' cock formed when he pushed in.

"I love how you suck my cock like this." Eris' pace quickened as he grew increasingly harder and more desperate. He could barely stand the feeling of her hot, wet mouth around his cock, and he needed release badly.

Rhysand's hand worked to stimulate her as she tried her best to rut against his hand, he smirked feeling her tense up on him, "Are you close?" When she sends down a wave of affirmation down their bond Rhysand pulls his hand away, chuckling to himself. Moved his now-drenched hand to his lips while making eye contact with Eris and took his fingers in his mouth, sucking her arousal clean.

Rosalie whines in disappointment and that causes Eris's hips to stutter more while watching Rhysand, his final string breaking and he let out a loud groan as he came, spurting his seed into her mouth. His cum shot out in a torrent, splattering against her tongue and the insides of her mouth. The taste was salty and bitter, as she drank him whole, sucking for more, scenting him on herself, he just wanted to feel her warmth and wetness around his cock. He kept fucking her face until he was spent, emptying his balls into her mouth before finally pulling out, his cock covered in spit and cum.

Rhysand let go of Rosalie and she wobbled lightly on her toes, caught on nothing and all she could hear were the sounds of sucking. Rhysand had taken Eris's cock in hand, licking and sucking over his lover's length to clean him on his cum and her saliva, with a small kiss to his head he pulled away.

Eris was breathing heavily as he knelt in front of Rosalie, "Oh you poor thing," He tutted, "Did Rhys really not let you cum?"

Rosalie nodded, earning a pull on her hair from Rhysand, "Come now, I was just playing," He smirked, landing another spank on her sensitive cunt.

Rosalie twitched at the impact, gasping softly when she felt fingers on her cunt again, warmer, Eris', push in, "Oh, Er..." She sighed in slight relief.

Rhysand pinched and rolled her clit between his fingers as Eris had his buried deep in her warmth, rubbing against her inner walls, she moaned and whimpered between them as they picked up the pace with their hands, the sounds of kissing right by her ear making her tremble.

Eris' tongue thrust into Rhysand's mouth, tasting the remnants of himself as they both brought their mate over the edge. Eventually, after several minutes of stimulation, Rosalie cried out in bliss, her body trembling with pleasure as she came. Her face contorted in ecstasy, and her mouth opened wide in a silent scream of pleasure as she climaxed, pressed between her two males.

With a final peck, Rhysand pulled away from the kiss, turning his attention to the female who had fallen limp on Eris, her breathing rough, "Fuck, so pretty," He groaned, stroking her clit through her orgasm, having her trembling as Eris held his fingers still in her, kiss the crown of her head, using his teeth to pull away the blindfold on her eye.

Rosalie blinked a few times to adjust to the light in the room, smiling when her eyes met Eris', "Hi..." She offered softly and Eris smiled, pecking her lips, greeting her back.

"Yeah, yeah, very sweet." Rhysand spoke from behind her, putting pressure on her lower back to make her arch and present her quivering cunt to him, "I'm going to take you now." He kissed over her shoulder, leaning over her completely, landing a hand fast on her ass.

With her slight nod of approval from being buried in Eris' neck, Rhysand plunged into her wet cunt fully, he couldn't help but feel the warmth of her body enveloping his cock, the sensation driving him wild with desire. He started to fuck her with fervour, his cock slamming against her walls with each powerful stroke.

Rosalie squirmed in Eris' arms, holding her for Rhysand to take mercilessly. He simply chased his own high, using her like a cock sleeve.

"Oh god, your cunt feels amazing," He groaned, his voice full of lust and need. He continued to pound into her, his cock seemingly never tiring or slowing down. Each time he hit her sweet spot, he felt a sharp, electric shock course through his body, through her pleasure that he felt down the bond, making him all the more determined to keep going. "Does my cock feel good, little Fox?"

"Yes... Yes... YES." Rosalie cried, trying to push back on him, Eris groaned softly watching them, biting on her neck to mark his spots too, Rhysand laughed, his cock still buried deep in her cunt as he too began to pound into her. He was eager to claim her as his own, and his cock slapped against her inner walls with each brutal thrust. The sound of skin colliding with skin filled the air, punctuating the rhythm of his fucking as he continued to drive into her.

Eris reached his hand between them to stroke her clit, murmuring praises on how well she took Rhysand, wanting to bring her over another high.

After what seemed like an eternity of fucking, Rhysand finally reached his climax with a growl, his cock pulsing with the force of his release as he came inside her. Empting into her cunt, his cum mixing with her juices as he pounded into her. Rosaile's body shook with the intensity of his orgasm, her own following his, her cunt contracting around his cock, holding him in.

Rhysand fell on her, taking both Rosalie and Eris with him, the two males gave gentle kisses to soothe her, Rhysand pulling out gently, watching his cum leak from her ruined cunt.

"That's a good girl." Eris cooed softly, stroking her hair, "You took us so well."

Rhysand pulled them both up, laughing as Rosalie wobbled on her knees, grabbing her instantly, "I've got you love," He smiled, holding her close, "I've got you."

Rosalie smiled sleepily, "Can we go home and cuddle?"

"After we clean you, yes." Eris pushed her hair out of her face, followed by a gentle kiss to her forehead.

{General taglist- @nox-ceur @sonics-atelier @lilah-asteria}

{Eris taglist- @fxckmiup @amygdtjhddzvb @slut4acotar}

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Mike Luckovich

* * *

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

April 16, 2025

Heather Cox Richardson

Apr 17, 2025

In El Salvador today, authorities denied Senator Chris Van Hollen (D-MD) a meeting or a phone call with Kilmar Abrego Garcia, the man the Trump regime sent by “administrative error” to the terrorist prison CECOT. Abrego Garcia is Van Hollen’s constituent, and the senator promised his family to try to get him released. That Salvadoran officials cannot or will not produce him raises concerns about his well-being.

Senator Van Hollen had hoped to meet with El Salvador’s president, Nayib Bukele, but met instead with Vice President Félix Ulloa. Ulloa at first told Van Hollen there had not been enough time to arrange a meeting with Abrego Garcia, but when the senator offered to come back next week, Ulloa allowed as how a meeting might not be possible at all.

Van Hollen reported that when he asked Ulloa why El Salvador was continuing to imprison Abrego Garcia when it had no evidence that he was a gang member, Ulloa answered that the Trump administration is paying El Salvador to hold him.

Evidently, President Donald Trump thinks what he is doing to Abrego Garcia and the optics of CECOT play well to his base. Jordain Carney and Nicholas Wu of Politico reported today that the White House has “heavily encouraged” Republican lawmakers to lean into the idea of Abrego Garcia—who has no criminal record—as an example of the dangerous criminals they insist Democrats want to bring to the U.S. Yesterday, out of the blue and with absolutely no evidence, White House press secretary Karoline Leavitt claimed that Abrego Garcia engaged in human trafficking.

At least a dozen Republicans have followed the president’s lead. Congressional reporter Craig Caplan reported that yesterday, House Ways and Means committee chair Jason Smith (R-MO) led a delegation of Republican House members to tour CECOT. The delegation included representatives Ron Estes (KS), Kevin Hern (OK), Mike Kennedy (UT), Carol Miller (WV), Riley Moore (WV), and Claudia Tenney (NY). At least some of the representatives had photographs taken of them in CECOT, standing in front of the caged men.

The delegation also met with U.S. Ambassador to El Salvador William Duncan, who posted on social media that “[t]he delegation is visiting the country to strengthen bilateral ties and discuss initiatives that promote economic development and mutual cooperation.”

Two days ago, Bukele posted a picture of himself and Trump with their arms around each other with the comment: “Friends.” Ron Filipkowski of MeidasNews wrote: “We traded Europe for a guy that builds concentration camps for profit.”

Trump is likely pushing his narrative about criminal undocumented immigrants—although Bloomberg has reported that 90% of the men he has sent to El Salvador have no criminal record—in part because that rendition is stirring up opposition. In addition to popular protests, judges are pushing back.

Today, U.S. District Judge James Boasberg issued an opinion saying that the administration’s “hurried removal” of the men to El Salvador after Boasberg had issued a temporary restraining order (TRO) prohibiting them from doing so, demonstrated “a wilful disregard for its Order, sufficient for the Court to conclude that probable cause exists to find the Government in criminal contempt.”

“The Constitution does not tolerate willful disobedience of judicial orders—especially by officials of a coordinate branch who have sworn an oath to uphold it,” Boasberg wrote. Quoting Chief Justice John Marshall, who laid down the foundations of much of America law, Boasberg wrote: “To permit such officials to freely ‘annul the judgments of the courts of the United States’ would not just ‘destroy the rights acquired under those judgments’; it would make ‘a solemn mockery’ of ‘the constitution itself.’”

If the government decides not to try to repair its contempt, Boasberg says the court will use declarations, hearings, or depositions to identify the individuals responsible for making the judgment to ignore the court. Then he will ask the government to prosecute the contempt, but if—as is likely—it refuses, Boasberg says he will appoint a private prosecutor to move the case along. As legal analyst Joyce White Vance puts it: “These cases are about making sure that, American citizen or not, criminal or not, peoples’ right to have the day in court that the Constitution guarantees them is honored. That’s all. But it’s everything.”

Trump is also likely playing to his base because Americans are terribly concerned about what’s happening to the economy on his watch.

Stocks fell again today after Trump’s administration said it would put limits on chip sales to China and after Federal Reserve chair Jerome Powell told the Economic Club of Chicago that Trump’s tariffs will have “significantly larger than anticipated…economic effects, which will include higher inflation and slower growth.” The Dow Jones Industrial Average fell 700 points or 1.73%, the S&P 500 fell 2.24%, and the Nasdaq Composite fell 3.07%.

Danielle Kaye of the New York Times reports on a recent Bank of America survey that shows global investors have dumped a record amount of U.S. stocks in the past two months. Trump insists that the U.S. has been bringing in $2 billion a day in tariffs, some of which he claims comes from his new levies, but, in fact, Lori Ann LaRocco of CNBC reported today that U.S. Customs and Border Protection says the U.S. is taking in only $250 million a day.

Leila Fadel of NPR reports that China used to buy more than half the U.S. crop of soybeans and now soybean farmers are gravely concerned they’re going to lose that market. At the same time, we are heading in the prime months for the U.S. tourism industry, and Bloomberg reports that a worst-case scenario by the Goldman Sachs Group Inc. estimates that the U.S. could lose almost $90 billion as foreign tourists stay away from the U.S. and boycott American products.

So Trump is hitting his MAGA themes hard.

Today he escalated his attacks on Maine governor Janet Mills. Trump has demanded that Mills prohibit transgender girls in the public schools from participating in girls’ sports. Mills, who was Maine’s attorney general before she became governor, maintains she is bound by the 2021 state law that explicitly protects against discrimination on the basis of gender identity. As Jeremy Roebuck and Joanna Slater of the Washington Post note, Mills has said that law is “worthy of debate” but that Trump cannot change it by decree.

On February 21, Trump threatened to withhold federal education funding for Maine unless Mills promised to comply with his ban. When she reiterated that “I’m complying with state and federal laws,” and that “We’re going to follow the law,” he warned: “You’d better comply because otherwise you’re not getting any federal funding.” Mills answered: “See you in court.”

Since then, the administration has attacked the state, opening investigations, cutting and then restoring Social Security Administration contracts, and taunting Mills on social media. On Friday the Department of Education said it would pull all federal funding for education in Maine unless the state agreed to ban the state’s two transgender girls from playing on girls sports teams. Today the Justice Department sued Maine’s Department of Education, and Attorney General Pam Bondi threatened to pull past funding retroactively.

Mills said the administration is trying “to pressure the State of Maine to ignore the Constitution and abandon the rule of law.” “For nearly two months, Maine has endured recriminations from the Federal government that have targeted hungry school kids, hardworking fishermen, senior citizens, new parents, and countless Maine people,” Mills said. “We have been subject to politically motivated investigations that opened and closed without discussion, leaving little doubt that their outcomes were predetermined. Let today serve as warning to all states: Maine might be among the first to draw the ire of the Federal government in this way, but we will not be the last.”

Trump is also keeping his attack on Harvard in the news. Yesterday, after Harvard defied the regime’s attempt to take over the school, Trump posted “Perhaps Harvard should lose its Tax Exempt Status and be Taxed as a Political Entity if it keeps pushing political, ideological, and terrorist inspired/supporting ‘Sickness?’ Remember, Tax Exempt Status is totally contingent on acting in the PUBLIC INTEREST!”

Today, Evan Perez, Alayna Treene, and Marshall Cohen of CNN reported that the Internal Revenue Service (IRS) is planning to take away Harvard University’s tax-exempt status. Law professor Sam Brunson noted that this is illegal. “In 1998,” he wrote, “Congress explicitly provided that the President could not, directly or indirectly, request that the IRS start or end an audit or other investigation of a taxpayer.” Brunson also noted that the move was “dumb.” “Unless Trump has super-secret information, Harvard hasn't done anything to violate its tax-exempt status.” Brunson added: “there's not a single competent attorney left in the Administration.”

The Wall Street Journal editorial board helpfully noted that the Supreme Court “has repeatedly held that the government may not use federal benefits or funds to coerce parties to surrender their constitutional rights. This is what the Administration is doing” with its demands on Harvard.

Sarah Longwell of The Bulwark reposted a clip of then-senator J.D. Vance (R-OH) on the Fox News Channel when a right-wing group falsely alleged the IRS was targeting them. "This is about whether we have functional constitutional government in this country,” Vance told host Laura Ingraham. “If the IRS can go after you because of what you think or what you believe or what you do, we'd no longer live in a free country.“

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

[scarianheadcanons]

Ok, here me out what if - Scar jokingly suggests he finished a marriage form at the permit office. He presents the form to Grian, pretending it's official.

Scar asks Grian to sign it playfully.

Grian realizes Scar's humorous proposal and happily signs the "form."

Scar thinks they are now romantically involved 

Grian now has to explain that their not married because there was no official involved.

scar is DISAPPOINTED to say the least.. but it doesn't stop him from making up a form for them to start dating (because its probably abit too early for marriage..) and grian realises that oh, he is being serious

lets say he had was put on hold while grian freaks out (in a good way)