#this is still a more dignified response than my initial one reading it at the dinner table

[talkfantasytome]

As You Wish - Part 1

Nesta has a small procedure and is stuck with Cassian being the one to drive her to and from. Little does she know he's planning on sticking around all day to take care of her.

Warnings: Fluff | Word Count: 2,418 | Read on AO3

Nessian Masterlist

a/n: Written for Day 4 of @sjmromanceweek - Little Things

Beep…beep…beep…

The incessant sound was music to Cassian's ears as he sat by Nesta's bed, the only sign that she was still alive, still breathing.

Her body was entirely motionless. Any movements spreading from the rising and falling of her chest were barely visible from where he was, her back to him. Apparently, the procedure called for her being laid on her side, and they didn't let visitors sit on that side of the bed. The nurses needed access there.

It had Cassian tapping his foot and rubbing his hands against his legs as he waited. She'd been out of the procedure room for over ten minutes now. How much longer was he expected to wait patiently? At what point was he allowed to worry?

He pulled out his phone and texted Az. She's still not awake.

Didn't she just go in? Az asked back, likely over the frequent updates Cassian's been giving. He wasn't allowed in the prep area initially. They'd made him stay in the waiting room until Nesta had gone into the procedure room. Only once she was back out after the procedure did they let him go back there. Likely checking to make sure Nesta felt safe with him.

It was good how the doctors would separate their patients from others and ask about their safety at home. How they'd find a way to ensure the patient had all the control over who was allowed to be with them when and where. He liked that they did that.

He liked even more that he'd been granted access to the prep room once she was back. That she'd allowed him in. Considering how hard Nesta had tried to find someone else to be her ride, he figured she would keep him as far away as possible for as long as possible.

She's been out for at least ten minutes, he typed into his phone. It was his best chance at distraction.

I'm not dignifying that with a response.

Dick.

Cassian rolled his eyes and shoved his phone back into his pocket. Fine, he would wait without any support from his brother. He'd just watch Nesta.

It was one of his favorite pastimes.

Her golden brown hair was pulled back into a messy bun, strands of hair poking out from her hairband. Cassian had nearly lost it when he showed up that morning, seeing Nesta in a hairstyle other than her pristine braided coronet. Her hair was always so immaculate. Even at the end of the day, the wisps of hair that had fallen out of her standard updo always looked purposeful. But this, this was disheveled and honest. It said, 'This procedure is far too early for me to do anything but brush my teeth and put on leggings,' and Cassian loved it. Almost as much as he imagined he'd love her hair down.

Maybe he'd get the chance to see that today, too.

A nurse came to stand at the computer in front of Nesta's bed, checking that and her monitor. "Should be any minute now," she said to Cassian, her eyes relaying the kind smile she was offering him behind her mask. "Remind me who you are? Her boyfriend?"

Cassian's heart fluttered at the comment, the possibility. And nearly broke as he answered honestly, "No, just a friend."

That's all he'd ever been. For years. Sure, he wanted more. He'd be an idiot not to. Nesta was everything he'd ever wanted. Sharp, funny, challenging, devastatingly beautiful. It wasn't for lack of trying, though. He'd been flirting his little heart out since the day he met her three years before. Sometimes she reciprocated, other times she may as well have kneed him in the balls with how she responded. And then there were the times when he showed her all he was, when he took off his funny-guy mask and let her see his true self. And every time she'd offer the same, revealing a soft filling within a shell of iron. It was gorgeous, and gave Cassian the hope everyone told him he was a fool for holding on to.

"I'm sure she's glad you're here," the nurse said in her soft voice. Cassian wasn't so positive. "When she wakes up, she'll likely be a bit disoriented, but she should come to relatively quickly. It wasn't general anesthesia, so her mind won't be too cloudy."

He nodded just as the monitor's beeping quickened slightly. And then her body stirred. It was barely a twitch, but it was some form of movement. A sign of life, of growing consciousness.

Cassian still couldn't see her face, but her head moved a bit, and then the nurse was speaking. "Hey there," she said gently.

Nesta must've opened her eyes to prompt that from the nurse. Right? Those storm cloud eyes that haunted every one of Cassian's dreams. Mother above, he wished she would turn and face him. That he would get to look into those eyes, that perfect face, make sure she was truly okay.

"How are you feeling?" the nurse asked after a long silence.

"Fine," Nesta replied in a sleepy, scratchy voice. "My throat…"

"Yes, it will likely be sore for a day or two," the nurse explained. "If it's still sore by Monday, please let us know. Would you like to try and sit up?"

Cassian watched Nesta's head move up and down. The nurse walked over to the other side of the bed and helped her, adjusting the bed so that the head would be propped up a bit. Nesta grunted softly, as if the movement took more effort than normal. But soon enough she was settled against the pillows and sitting up enough to be able to turn and see him.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice remaining groggy.

He gave her a crooked grin as he said, "You let me in, sweetheart."

Nesta rolled those grey-blue eyes, shaking her head at him. A very Nesta reaction, which likely meant the sedative was wearing off quickly. It warmed Cassian's heart, even as she replied, "Next time, I'm taking the bus."

"Good luck with that," he chuckled. She didn't respond, switching her focus back on to the nurse who was now asking her if she'd like something to eat.

The nurse grabbed her the Cheez-Its Nesta requested after being given a list of the options, and then began chatting with her as she undid the wires and all that was attached to Nesta. "So remember, you'll need to take it easy today. No driving or operating machinery, and you shouldn't work. You should have mild side effects, maybe a bit of bloating. I'd suggest eating smaller meals today. You might feel some slight nausea, but if you can't keep anything down please let your doctor know immediately. But you should be okay, it's one of the reasons we give people some food after the procedure."

Nesta was nodding along, listening fairly intently, but her eyes kept darting to Cassian, who was watching her shamelessly. He didn't care what anyone thought, she was the one who just had the procedure. He could hear the nurse and keep his eyes on Nesta at the same time.

"Once you're ready to get up let me know, we'll leave the space so you can change," the nurse continued. "And then you can go into the office and wait for the doctor."

"I'm ready!" Nesta said, sitting up straighter. The nurse panicked slightly as Nesta started fidgeting with the railing on the bed, attempting to get it to go down.

"Hold on," the nurse sighed, rushing over. "Let me help you." She folded the railing down and then held out a hand for Nesta. At first, Nesta didn't accept the offer of help. But the second her feet were on the floor and she was putting weight on them, she was reaching out for that hand, for a steadying weight. "Sir, if you can wait on the other side of the curtain?"

Cassian let out a small chuckle, gaining Nesta's attention. "Sure you don't want my help, sweetheart?"

"Why don't you go warm up the car," Nesta spewed out, sounding more like a grumpy child than the ice queen she typically perfected.

"As you wish." He bowed his head slightly and then smirked over at her as her eyes narrowed at him. No doubt she was attempting to understand his meaning, to decide if the quote from one of her favorite movies was purposeful.

He was always purposeful with Nesta.

"What are you doing?" Nesta demanded as she saw Cassian turn off the car, remove his seatbelt, and open his door.

"Getting out of the car?" he said in more of a question than a statement. He shut his door again, cars flying past them faster than they should be going in her neighborhood. Philly drivers.

"Why?"

He cocked an eyebrow up at her. "To help you out and get you into your apartment."

"I'm fine Cassian. I don't need your help. I only needed the ride because it was required." And that was the truth. Nesta felt perfectly fine. Maybe a bit hazy. Enough that she could admit to herself she did need someone else driving her home, but she sure as hell wouldn't say that out loud. To Cassian.

She took off her own seatbelt as he shook his head and sighed, "Too bad, sweetheart."

Gods, he moved fast. Before Nesta could step out of the car he was already at her door, holding it open and offering a hand to her. One she certainly did not take. But damn it, she couldn't stop him from grabbing her bag out of his car before she could. He'd likely hold it hostage, force his way into her apartment just so he could annoy her all day.

"Are your keys in here?"

"Don't go through my bag!"

"I never would, Nes," he said as he closed the car door. He let out a mockingly offended scoff. "Without your permission. Though that reaction does make me more curious."

Nesta could've growled at him. Well, sadly, she couldn't, because that wasn't exactly a skill most humans had. But if she could… Perhaps her cat would. Instead, she just snatched the bag out of Cassian's hand, losing her balance for a second. But Cassian was there, a gentle hand at her arm, helping her stay upright. It had Nesta's face heating.

To keep him from seeing that, she fished her keys out of her bag and started toward the door, beginning the dance with her door. Did she get the right key for the right lock? She almost never got it right on the first try, with three identical keys used for the four locks she had to get through. Her landlord sure hadn't made it easy to access her second floor apartment in the converted townhouse.

He stopped her from closing the front door on him, making Nesta roll her eyes. "You really don't have to come in."

"I do," he disagreed. "Someone needs to make sure you get settled and are doing okay today. Make sure you drink enough water. All that."

"Cassian."

"Nesta," he countered. He held her gaze, matching her ice with the fire that was always sparkling in his eyes. Gold flakes danced in the sea of hazel, drawing her in, holding her stare captive.

She took a deep breath, steadying her mind before it danced off into the fantasies she tried to ignore. Then Nesta sighed a small, "Whatever," and turned to open the second door. She ignored the massive grin he put on at her response, already feeling the weight of the sleepiness beginning to build.

It took barely three minutes for Nesta to hang up her coat, remove her shoes, and find herself on her small sectional couch, nestling in to the chaise part. Her cat was even quicker to hop up and snuggle next to her.

Cassian was slower to make his way into the living room. After another few minutes he finally showed up, pillows from her bed in hand. "I thought you might like to have these," he explained, placing them next to Ataraxia, who started at the sudden wind rustling her silver fur.

Nesta nodded her agreement. They'd be useful if she actually decided to lie down.

Cassian walked in front of the couch and grabbed at the handle beneath the mid-section, pulling to bring out the pop-up part that turned the couch into a queen-sized bed. She lifted an eyebrow at him, making him chuckle as he said, "So you can spread out as needed. Are you comfortable? Warm enough?"

"I'm fine, Cassian," she breathed, even as she wrapped her arms around herself.

"Sure you are." He lifted her legs to get the electric blanket from under her feet and then spread it across her. "What setting do you like, again? Four?" Nesta nodded softly, the throes of sleep already setting in. She could feel her eyelids beginning to fall as Cassian clicked the blanket on and fiddled with the settings. "I'm going to do a quick grocery run for you. Anything special you want?"

"I have food," Nesta mumbled.

Cassian let out a chuckle that sent a chill up Nesta's spine. "You have snacks and an absurd amount of chocolate."

It took nearly all her remaining strength to roll her eyes, but it was worth it to display just what she thought of his comments. She was fine on food. So what if she ate take out every night? That just meant she was eating good food every night. But whatever, she was too tired to bother trying to stop Cassian. Though, if he's really here to serve her, she started to realize, she might as well milk it. "Can you get my Comfy before you go?"

The grin on Cassian's face when he handed her the plush, light purple wearable blanket was almost too much for her. The way his eyes crinkled as his lips curled upward, how they seemed to sparkle even brighter. It was the last thing Nesta needed to see. It was the first thing she wanted to see every morning. Traitorous mind.

Nesta snatched the Comfy out of his hands, but his only reply was a soft and kind, "Get some rest. I'll be back before you wake." He really needed to stop doing that.

She'd barely gotten the blanket on before sleep completely took over.

@live-the-fangirl-life @generalnesta @secretlovelybeauty @julemmaes @boredserpent @autumnbabylon @moodymelanist @sv0430 @nesquik-arccheron @gwynrielsupremacy @katekatpattywack @moonstoneriver77 @swankii-art-teacher @lemonade-coolattas @emily-gsh @my-fan-side @champanheandluxxury @imsointobooks @sayosdreams @simpingfornestaarcheron @perseusannabeth @shinya-hiiragi @a-court-of-milkandhoney @pintas3107 @embersofwildfire @superspiritfestival @thewayshedreamed @lunabean @xstarlightsupremex @mis-lil-red @wannawriteyouabook @dealfea @bridgertononmymind @daydreamer-anst @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens @hiimheresworld @c-e-d-dreamer @kale-theteaqueen @charming-butt-insane @charliespringsleftconverse

a/n: Let me know if you want to be added to my tag list!

There will be a part 2 to this. This was meant to be just a one shot, but someone is bad at time management and she wanted to get something posted on the right day. XD

[magicalbats]

Kinktober Day 11: Pet Play

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 5711

Warnings: Afab!reader, coercion, abuse of power, exploitative dynamic, pet play/puppy play, vaginal fingering, humiliation/degradation, dubcon, use of ‘good girl’ and other gendered language

A/N: Sorry this one is late, I physically could not keep my eyes open to do the editing 😭

⭐

“This is an abuse of power, I hope you know that.” 

Looking up at the low hiss, Al-Haitham casually moves his book aside to peer down at where you’re knelt on the floor. You can feel his eyes burning into you but refuse to actually bring your head up and look at him, far too embarrassed to meet his gaze. Just glimpsing the shift in your peripheral is almost enough to crumble your resolve and send you running from the room but you had an objective here. A goal you refused to back down from no matter to what frustrating lengths he went just to stonewall you so you fiercely maintain your position, even when your arms shudder and threaten to give out. 

You couldn’t believe him. The nerve he had, putting you into this kind of situation! Not only was it a major abuse of power but also a punishable offense in the Akademiya’s code of conduct that would have escalated into quite a buzzing scandal were it not for the fact you had no one to turn to about it. Even if you did try to file a complaint it would just end up on his desk by the next morning and you would be worse off than you’d started. 

You’d always thought the Grand Sage held far too much sway and authority over the Akademiya’s internal affairs with nothing to keep them in check, and Al-Haitham was just further solidifying that belief. 

A long moment of terse silence settles over the still office, and you really don’t expect him to even dignify that assertion with a response when the only reason he was entertaining this in the first place was to prove a point. But then, to your dull surprise, he eventually draws an apathetic breath. 

“No one is forcing you to do this, least of all myself. You’re welcome to gather up your belongings and leave at any time. It’s not like I’m holding you hostage or anything.” 

You bark out a humorless laugh, bitter and strained. That was certainly easy for him to say when he was the one with all the control here. If the roles had been reversed, you were sure he would have been squirming too. 

Well … maybe not. This was Al-Haitham you were talking about but that was hardly the point! 

“I’m not leaving,” You grit, trying very hard to keep the tremor out of your voice. “Not until you sign that paper!” 

Shrugging as if he really could care less, Al-Haitham returns to his book without a second thought to the matter. You curse him under your breath, rather creatively too, but it’s like he doesn’t even hear it. Completely unperturbed and eternally at ease, he just sits there in his high backed chair with one ankle crossed over the opposite leg while he reads — you steal a quick, harried glance at the title on the cover. The Compendious Book on Calculation by Completion and Balancing? Was that seriously what his mind was focused on right now? 

Stamping down the urge to seethe through your teeth, you stiffly readjust the placement of your hands on the floor and try to distribute your weight more evenly. You probably shouldn’t have been surprised to end up in this situation after bursting into his office against your better judgment and prostrating yourself at his feet, begging for his signature and promising to do anything he asked in return. You’d expected, perhaps, monetary favors, personal debt, indentured servitude or maybe even transactional sex but this went far beyond what you could have ever anticipated. 

He’d simply told you to stay like that. Nothing else and no further instructions. At first you’d thought this was just a bizarre precursor to an inappropriate sexual liaison with the Acting Grand Sage, that he was just far more perverted than you’d initially thought and he got off on having women kneel at his feet like some kind of brute. So you’d stayed like that, on hand and bended knee, but it was fast approaching an hour now and still he’d barely even looked at you, never mind made any kind of advance. 

You were furious with him as much as yourself. But pride could be a funny thing and you were a bit too stubborn to give up now when you’d already stooped this low. Even if he stayed here all night reading his stupid book in perpetual silence you weren’t leaving until you got him to sign off on that damned budget request! 

Unfortunately you were quickly losing strength in your arms and you gingerly rock back to settle more squarely on your knees, attempting to lessen some of the pressure. You grimace at the deep ache that throbs through your limbs as you try to discreetly roll some of the tension out with slow rotations of your wrists but it does little in the way of good, and you give a small hiss.  

“You’re getting tired.” It’s a statement, not a question, and you nearly jolt right up off the floor in your surprise. 

“I’m not!” Stubbornly, you return to your original position even when it makes the screaming tendons in your limbs cry out in protest. You couldn’t let him win. If you gave up now he’d just send you packing and that paper would never get signed. “Your book must be pretty dull if you’re still focused on me though. Maybe you should stop playing this silly game already and just give me what I came here for.” 

Al-Haitham lowers his book to look at you again. “I’m playing a silly game?” Quietly scoffing, he lowers his arm altogether to let it rest across his bent knee with the book dangling towards the floor now. “Look, I don’t say this to discourage you but I’m really not sure what you think this is going to accomplish. I didn’t agree to anything nor did I make a bargain with you. You’re the one who decided to camp out here under the assumption that your obstinance would net you the result you wanted. Honestly I’m a bit surprised at how stubborn you’re being about this.” 

“I need that budget sign off!” 

“You might need it but that doesn’t mean you’re going to get it.” 

You can’t quite stop yourself from snapping your attention up to gape at him. He couldn’t be serious! “How dare you talk to me like a child …” 

With a slow, deliberate blink of his eyes, Al-Haitham tips his head to one side, looking for all the world like an observant predatory bird regarding its prey. “How else am I supposed to treat you when you’re acting like one?” 

An affronted burst of sound comes out of you, but when you draw a sharp breath to snap at him nothing comes out. You’re just left with your mouth hanging open like a fool, so you slowly close it again and try to rein in your temper. You couldn’t let him get under your skin like this. The sooner he turned your own emotions against you the sooner you’d be sent from his office empty handed. Maintaining a level head even in the face of his infuriating attitude was likely the only thing that would see you through this standoff and, steeling your resolve, you narrow your eyes up at him. 

“I’m not leaving until you give me your signature.” 

“Do you really think you can outlast me?” 

“If that’s what it takes, yes.” 

A quiet beat passes over the room while he seems to consider that in his mind. Not that his typically unreadable expression told you much of anything, but he hadn’t returned to his book yet and his viridescent eyes had taken on a distant quality that would seem to suggest deep thought. You aren’t sure what he’s going to come back at you with — grudging acquiescence, just to get you out of his office, or a call for the guards to come and take you away by force — but it’s certainly not for him to sedately uncross his legs and lean forward, elbows bracing on his knees. 

You go ramrod stiff, so shocked you can’t even find the wherewithal to properly react when he slouches down to look you square in the face and you abruptly realize just how close you really are. You’d never seen him from only a scant few inches away like this, the strong cut of his jaw and handsome brow catching you completely off guard. How had you never noticed how striking he was?

“Fine.” He intones, surprising you so much you have to do a double take.

“What?” 

“I said fine. Since you want to play this game so badly, I suppose I’d be willing to meet you somewhere in the middle. Unless, of course, your precious budget isn’t worth the gamble?” 

You realize what he’s doing immediately. It would have been a little hard not to when he was staring at you with those deeply impertinent eyes, just daring you to take the bait and see who came out on top. This wasn’t a compromise, it was a flat out challenge! He was so damn confident he could best you that the notion of having to actually sign off on your paper clearly wasn’t even a concern in his mind. You hated him for it, handsome or not, and you don’t try to hide it as you harden your expression. 

“You’ve got yourself a deal, you bastard.” 

“Alright.” Straightening up, Al-Haitham snaps the book in his hand shut to finally give you his full attention. “Take off your clothes.” 

Your heart sputters and nearly extinguishes. “Excuse me?” 

He actually has the audacity to quirk a brow at you, like you were the one with the problem, and you run even hotter than before. The nerve of him! But if that was how he wanted to be then fine, you would simply meet him head on and see who could really outlast who. 

Teeth gnashing, you jerk your body upright and viciously tear at your robe to get it pulled up over your head before he can say anything else about it. You were so mad, so incredibly pissed at him that you nearly knock yourself off balance and tip over from how hard you yank your own clothes off. He wasn’t going to win, though. You would sooner jump into the endless ocean without a life preserver before ever admitting defeat to the likes of him! 

Irritably tossing everything aside, you gradually work your way down to the bottommost layer but you don’t stop long enough to let it give you pause. Your silk chemise comes off with a snarl and then you’re tugging soft bloomers down so you can inelegantly kick your way out of them as well. Finally, you find yourself kneeling in the Grand Sage’s office, completely naked and chest heaving uncontrollably as you glare daggers at him still sat comfortably in his seat. But he just impassively looks at you as if he wasn’t in any way moved, neither impressed by your nudity or all that interested by the looks of it. Just another factor to humiliate you with. 

“You forgot your shoes.” He says at last, and your blood pressure spikes so hard and so fast that you momentarily forget how to breathe. 

Twisting around, you rip off one of your slippers so you can cock it back with every intention of sending it flying right at his smug face. But you barely have enough time to get your arm up before he suddenly grabs you by the wrist, halting the motion before you can follow through. Choking on your anger as much as your surprise, you watch him slowly rise from his seat so he can lean over you and put his face close to yours again. 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” He tells you in such a bland, unconcerned tone that for a split second you’re not even sure if he’s actually being sincere or not. But then he expectantly holds up his unoccupied hand and you whither under that inscrutable gaze. “Give me the shoe.” 

You desperately try to keep hold of your fiery rage but it sputters out quickly enough under his cool, mild temperament and you suddenly feel a bit silly — it was hard not to when Al-Haitham looked at you like that — and you obediently hand it over to him when he lets up his hold on your wrist. Feeling appropriately cowed, you ease back to sit on your haunches while he straightens up to his full, towering height to speculatively regard your shoe for a moment. Listless, you reach back and shove the other one off your foot without a care to where it may fall. 

Finally, he looks at you again. “Back into position.”

A short beat of confusion marches through your mind before you realize what he wants, and your face quickly starts to heat up again. He was certainly pushing his luck today. And although you may not have had your anger to cling to anymore you still had your resolve, and it doesn’t abandon you even now. Grudgingly, you comply. 

Shifting forward to brace on your hands and knees again, you settle into place before him even when it only seems to highlight your stark nudity. Your breasts sway softly with the motion, nipples puckered tight in the decidedly cool office, but you try your best to ignore it. Instead, you bring your head up, ready to snap at him — but his hand coming to rest on top of your head abruptly stops you in your tracks. 

“Good girl.” 

Your stomach lurches. What the hell did he think he was doing? 

“Y - you — I don’t —“ You choke and stammer, unable to get so much as a single coherent sentence out, but he just … pets you. Idly rubs his (frustratingly) large hand over your head for a brief moment before pulling away without even a hint of shame to show for it. As if it was the most natural thing in the world for him to be doing and not incredibly, deeply belittling. 

But if he recognizes the look of affronted disbelief on your face he certainly doesn’t show it and merely shifts back to settle his weight to one side. With your slipper still clutched in his fingers, you bitterly note. 

“Now that we’ve established you can follow directions, here's how this is going to work. I’ll give you an hour of my time since you wasted one of yours hoping I’d change my mind about the budget paper. I don’t usually negotiate or give in to demands like this, but if you can show me you have the resolve to back up your beliefs with meaningful action then I’ll give you my sign off. Your field holds a great deal of potential but that was no small sum you asked for. I want to know if you can actually back it up or not.” 

“And how am I supposed to do that?” You growl, feeling your temper start to spike again. 

Without missing a beat the hand at his side shifts, gesturing towards the spot next to him with a quick snap of his fingers. “Come here.” 

Your body gives a subconscious, angry little jerk at the sound but you bite your tongue, knowing if you allowed yourself to speak now you’d just flush everything down the toilet. It’s exceptionally hard to do when you knew too well what he was actually asking you to do, but you try to remind yourself what was on the line. Why you were even doing this in the first place. Any humiliation suffered would be well worth it once you got your hands on that budget and you could always deal with him later, after the next Grand Sage had been officially chosen. 

Resigned, you silently rock forward and crawl the few paces across the floor, keeping your head down while making a valiant effort not to think about how ridiculous you must look in that moment. But he doesn’t react when you shuffle up to him, his expression as unreadable as ever when you chance a quick look. You almost ask what else he wants you to do and then a blood curdling thought occurs to you. He was rather blatantly treating you like a dog now, so did that mean he wanted you to come to heel? 

Your motions are stiff with annoyance as you carefully readjust your position and spin around until your upper body is perfectly lined up with his legs, your hand resting a scant few millimeters from his boot. To your simmering annoyance, he once again bends down to give your head a rather condescending, if not impartial, pat. 

“Good girl. Now sit.” 

You shoot him a quick, dangerous look but still ease back to sit on your calves. That doesn’t quite seem to be enough for him though and, jaw clenched tight, you slowly straighten out of your hunched position to sit up, blushing red hot when it effectively presents your tits to the room. 

Al-Haitham’s hand finds your head again and he murmurs another soft ‘good girl’ that makes you feel a million abstract emotions all at once. You can’t quite decide if you hate him it or not, and try to pull away with a half choked sound of annoyance. Luckily, (for you or him, you couldn't decide) he lets you twist from him without comment and you have to bite back the whimper that rises in your throat when he slowly straightens up to tower over you again. Alright, so this was perhaps even more deviant than making you kneel at his feet all day, and you feel the hot stab of embarrassment at that deep in your chest, but surely this was going a bit far, even for him? 

“You don’t have to keep doing that …” You grumble, pointedly looking anywhere else in the room. 

“Oh? And how else am I supposed to reinforce good behavior then?” 

Your cheeks grow even hotter. “I am not a dog, Acting Grand Sage. Nothing needs to be reinforced!” 

“I disagree. The way you burst in here was bad enough but then you took it upon yourself to try and force my hand when I wouldn’t give you what you wanted. That’s not how sensible adults behave. Clearly you lack training.” 

Is that what this was? Correctional action? It was so absurd you almost laugh. You might have been out of line in coming here to try and strongarm him, but then what did the current situation say about his behavior? He had you naked, following his commands like a pet, and he didn’t see anything wrong with that? You’d never before known someone more absurd or audacious.

“Even if that were true, do you really think it’s your place to do the training?” 

“For the next fifty-five minutes? Yes, it is.” Ignoring the incensed noise you make to that, Al-Haitham pivots his body to stand in front of you now, effectively swapping your starting positions. He’s so close you have to crane your neck back to look up at him but his expression remains as passive and disinterested as ever. “It’s a shame I didn’t have time to prepare anything for you beforehand.” He murmurs, more to himself than to you. “I think you’d look perfect wearing a nice collar and leash. Maybe something pink with a bow? I could probably even find a tail for you in a backroom of the bazaar somewhere.” 

His words have their intended effect of making you squirm in place, flushing hot with shame at the mental image he’s instilled in you. For someone who didn’t even look all that invested in the first place, he sure was letting his imagination run wild. “In your dreams, you creep.” 

He gives you another of those long, deliberately slow blinks. “Then let’s teach you a new trick. You’ll like that, I’m sure.” Lifting his hand just short of chest level, Al-Haitham gives his fingers another snap. “Beg, pretty girl.” 

So gradually it feels like your skin is crawling, every single hair on your body stands on end until you feel vaguely like a puffed up, incensed cat. Your mouth works but nothing comes out around the simmering rock now lodged in your throat. Of all the upsetting things he’s said and done to you, this was somehow the worst yet — and the addition of ‘pretty girl’ certainly wasn’t making it any better. 

“You - -!” 

“Ah, ah. Not like that. Dogs can’t ask for things or yell at their owners, can they? Do it without using your voice.”

Another snap of his fingers has you seeing red. You didn’t understand how you were supposed to do this in a way that would satisfy him … and more to be cute than anything else, you stiffly bring your hands up and curl them into loose fists. To your surprise he nods once but doesn’t lean down to pet you or call you a good girl so you take that to mean he wasn’t quite satisfied with it yet. You had no idea what else he expected of you though. Trying to sit up a little straighter, jutting your tits out in the process, likewise doesn’t earn you his acknowledgement though and you soon start to panic. If you weren’t able to meet his expectations — whatever they were — he was just going to send you away. You had to think of something, quick! 

“W - woof?” You try hopefully, genuine surprise washing over you when he allows himself the briefest smile. 

“You’re getting there, but not quite. You just need to fix your position.” 

Fix it? Fix it how! 

It takes a long moment for it to sink in, the full weight of what he’s asking you to do, and you outright grimace at the thought that finally comes to mind. You couldn’t think of anything more embarrassing but, seeing what little choice you actually had, you carefully get your legs under you and then push up to balance on your feet in a leapfrog position. Still, though, that’s not enough to please him, and you start to feel well and truly like you might cry out of frustration. This was impossible. Considering who you were dealing with you probably should have anticipated as much but …

Al-Haitham abruptly shifts forward then and it makes you give a subconscious little twitch. To your wary confusion, though, all he does is lower himself down to crouch in front of you on the balls of his feet. “Like this. You need to straighten your spine, and sit nice and tall for me. You want to get my attention don’t you?”

Your face feels like it’s going to catch fire at any given moment. He sounded far too reasonable for someone making you debase yourself like this but even for as obtuse and arrogant as he was, you still trusted his word. Geniuses were usually a bit eccentric in one way or another but Al-Haitham, at least, was a man who didn’t misspeak (whenever he bothered to speak at all) so if he said this would  get your paper signed you believed him. 

You have to pause to steady your nerves before you do it but, at length, you finally push up to center your balance on the balls of your feet as well and then straighten your back. For good measure, you lift your hands to your chest and curl them into loose fists again, pinning him with a flustered yet plaintive look even when every fiber of your being was screaming at you to cover yourself. You can feel the air in the room waft against your bare cunt, acutely aware of how this humiliating position spreads your pussy lips slightly and bares you to his steady gaze, but you try very hard not to think about that right now. 

“Good girl.” He finally relents, his usually bland tone softening almost imperceptibly, but it still stabs you in the gut as if he’d taken a knife to you. 

Wavering, you force your legs to steady under your weight when he reaches out, heart pounding a wild, erratic beat inside your chest as you track the motion of his hand. A soft whimper bubbles up in your throat at the casual way he slips those long fingers between your spread thighs and ever so softly brushes them over your cunt. The slight nudge against your clit forces you to draw a steadying breath, so hot and jittery with nerves you start to feel faint. Although you’d half expected him to ask for sexual favors when you first forced your way in here, this was not quite what you’d had in mind … 

It’s something far, far worse than what your imagination could have ever come up with, but you let him pet at you with unhurried strokes of his fingers, teasing over creases and folds as if to map out the feel of you through touch alone. His fingertips are blunt and surprisingly rough for a scribe, and it catches you off guard how your skin clings to him because of it. Your clit, especially, feels incredibly soft and pliant under his hand, and the periodic nudge against it makes your legs twitch with the urge to squeeze them shut. 

“See? I knew you could follow directions …” Trailing off, Al-Haitham studies your face for a long beat with that perpetually unreadable expression of his. Like he was deliberating over what to embarrass you with next. 

Shyly, you try to divert your gaze elsewhere so you won’t have to look directly at him but he’s knelt much too close. He takes up almost all of your field of vision no matter what you do, and your mouth drops open when he suddenly reaches further back to prod at your entrance. 

“Now speak.” 

Lightheaded and more than just a little dizzy now, you try to work out what he wants you to say — and then it hits you. Whining low in your throat, unable to hold it back, you shift to steady your faltering balance and subtly angle your cunt from him. “Wh - woof … woof, woof …” 

Unhesitatingly, his fingers follow you and press up, just dipping into your body. You go stock still and shudder so hard you almost tip over, struggling to make sense of what’s even happening anymore. But true to nature Al-Haitham has no time or patience to waste on explanations, and he breaches your cunt at a tortuously slow pace that leaves you gasping for breath. The stretch that comes with his two fingers brings tears to your eyes, threatening to spill over when he finds slick waiting for him inside. 

“Good girl. You’re being so well behaved for me now. Much better than your earlier foolishness,” Pausing at the first joint, he takes a moment to simply feel around and wriggle his fingertips, encouraging your pussy to open up for him and relax around the intrusion. The motion draws a soft, wet click from your body, and you all but whither right there in front of him. “You can ask for things without being such a brat about it. Good behavior will net you far better results anyway, and it will keep you out of trouble too. The next time you think about strong arming someone into giving you what you want, I hope you remember this … and if you ever need a refresher I’d be happy to give it to you.” 

You don’t quite get the chance to fully process what he’s saying. His fingers angle further up, using the natural lubrication of your cunt to slide in a little deeper, and you throw your head back to seethe at the ceiling. He’s gentle about it but insistent and demanding at the same time, and your cunt slowly relents under the stilted pressure. The second joint stretches you open and then — he’s inside you, straight down to the knuckles. Swaying, your legs start to shake from maintaining this position when you wanted nothing more than to scuttle away from him as much as from the onslaught of sensation that comes with it. You felt faint. Delirious. 

How were you possibly supposed to rationalize that the Acting Grand Sage was buried deep inside your pussy and your squeezing guts were actively trying to milk him dry? 

“Beg, pretty girl. Let me hear you.” 

Struggling just to breathe, you awkwardly shift on your feet and readjust the demeaning position of your hands where they’d started to droop. “Nnghn … w - woof woof … woof wo — oof!” 

The startled sound punches out of you when Al-Haitham curls his fingers at such a hard, unrelenting angle it nearly pulls you off balance. Up towards your belly button, he briefly massages along the inner sleeve of your shuddering body until he finds the spongy nerve cluster he’s looking for. The pressure he exerts on it sends you to the very tips of your toes, a futile effort to escape the demanding attention, but he remains ever one track minded. Now that he's found it, he attacks the spot with merciless focus and the constant barrage makes your whole body twitch and tingle like you were a lit firecracker just waiting to explode. You hated it, the way he was turning your body against you like this, but there was no denying the innate reaction you were experiencing. 

Your pussy practically floods around his fingers and the sticky suction rapidly increases under his ministrations until the attention grabbing click coming from between your legs seems to dominate the room. It even threatens to drown out your gasping, heaving moans as you helplessly rock on your feet, doing everything in your power just to stay upright. It’s a true test of willpower when your muscles were so taxed and aching, and the rapidly swelling pressure in your cunt certainly wasn’t helping either. But still, your stubborn pride won’t let you give up and, still, you were determined to beat him at his own game. 

So you keep barking even when your breath is robbed from you, what was once hushed and begrudging noises meant only to signal your compliance quickly devolving into tiny little yips and pleasured groans. You couldn’t have stopped it even if you’d wanted to, and you no longer had the wherewithal to even keep up the pretense of not enjoying this on some level. It felt good, much to your horror and shame. You hated it as much as you hated him, but your baser instincts had effectively taken over and it sweeps you up in its current with a raging vengeance. 

“That’s it. Cum for me, good girl.” He says, evidently recognizing the stricken look on your face for what it is. You think — in a far off, distant kind of way — that he must be out of his mind. That he was sorely mistaken if he thought you were going to climax for him, just like that. 

But then he reaches up with his unoccupied hand and pinches one of your nipples, giving it a possessive little tweak, and you feel the tension in you become that much more unbearable. Reeling and gasping, you sensitively rock forward on your toes and try to angle your cunt away but it’s no use. He’s completely unrelenting, and your eyes start to roll back in your head as the tremors tear through you faster than you can even comprehend. 

“Oh - oooh!”

“Archons, you’re soaking my fingers. If I’d known all you needed was some discipline, I would have done this much sooner.” 

A little piece of your ego seems to chip away and dissolve when your quaking hips give a stiff jerk at that, and your pussy clamps down around him so fiercely it almost hurts. And just like that the pressure tips. You fall over the edge into an uncontrollable fit of spasms, your orgasm rocking you straight down to your core. But even in the throes of your wild release you’re still acutely — horrifically aware of the moment your cunt gives under the pressure and squirts slick all over his hand and wrist. 

Suddenly your pleasure is ripped from you, instantly replaced with a suffocating, reeling sense of shock and disbelief even as you helplessly judder through the remainder of your orgasm. Tipping your head down to take a numb look at the space between your legs, hardly even daring to believe it, you feel a chill rush over you at the wet stains you see on the lush carpet. There was no way … 

Gradually, Al-Haitham eases up on his fingers when you start to go still, just eyeing your face with that inscrutable look for a long, quiet moment that’s interspersed only by your labored breathing. He doesn’t say anything at all as he slowly withdraws them from your body, ignoring the way you grimace and seethe at the resulting sticky slurp, but he does manage to take you by surprise when he reaches up to help steady you by the shoulders. You reluctantly accept his help, a little too shell shocked to maintain your attitude when it seemed like all you could do just to keep yourself together. And to your great relief he carefully helps you sink down to sit on the floor, which you do with nothing short of immense, overwhelming relief. 

It felt like your legs would never work properly again after crouching like that for so long, and that was to say absolutely nothing of your pride. What was even left of it. 

“You did well.” He suddenly says, prompting you to bring your head up to look at him. 

Despite your reservations, you allow yourself a slow, hopeful smile. “Does this mean you’ll sign off on my request now?” You venture to ask in a thin, trembling voice. 

“No. Not yet. You’ve still got another thirty minutes, I’m afraid.” 

Groaning, you drop your head and try not to scream. How you hated this man!

⭐

Crossposted: here

[astra-aeterna]

chapter 2 is here!!!

i initially wasn't going to post this chapter until i'd finished another full one in my draft but. it's the winter solstice, and feyre's birthday, and hey, why not post for the birthday of our favorite high lady?

read on AO3 or catch a little snippet under the cut <3

Feyre was still riding the high of beating Rhysand at their quadrant streak plate challenge in microbiology lab when she waltzed into Dr. Carver’s class the next week. Well-caffeinated and more than a little boastful, she caught Rhysand’s eye as she passed him on her way to her seat, a smirk painted across her face.

He met her gaze, expression unreadable for a moment. Then his eyes sparkled with mirth and he smirked right back at her. “What, darling, you want me to compliment you on your pretty little isolated Staph colonies again?”

“If you feel so inclined,” she hummed. “But unlike you, I don’t need compliments to survive.”

There was no reason for her to linger— not with Tamlin’s order from the other week still echoing in her head. No talking to him outside of class or any more than necessary. It felt silly to her, childish and possessive, but he obviously had a sordid history with Rhysand, so she’d let it slide. Besides, it wasn’t like she was friends with him. 

“You’ll say something nice about me eventually,” Rhysand shrugged, then turned his focus back to his open notebook, penning in the date in the upper right corner. 

“Oh, are you a prophet, now?”

“Nope.” He popped the ‘P’ obnoxiously and smirked up at her. “But you just can’t seem to get enough of me. And come on, Feyre darling, you can’t deny that I’m pretty. It’s bound to slip out at some point.”

Gods, he was arrogant. Feyre rolled her eyes and made her way to her seat, not dignifying him with a response. 

Class passed, as usual, with Feyre fighting to be first to answer every question or equation posed to the room. As usual, she wasn’t always successful. Once, she and Rhysand shouted out the answer at the same time, and the class tittered as they both fell silent, staring at each other in shock. She recovered quickly, allowing herself to laugh softly with everyone else, even as she tried to subtly look over at Rhysand to gauge his reaction. Was she imagining the light flush on his cheeks? He turned his head back towards the front of the room too quickly for her to be sure.

The next time he answered— faster than her, much to her chagrin— he flashed her one of those irreverent winks that she’d come to think of as one of his signature moves. Feyre wondered if his attitude ever actually worked to appeal to women. His shameless flirting and boldness had to have earned him some attention if he kept falling back on them, right? Whatever. She wasn’t in class to psychoanalyze him, she was there to learn biochemistry, so she focused back on the little cartoon ribosome projected on the screen and how it moved the mRNA through itself.

Most students were packing up and she had just closed her notebook when Dr. Carver spoke up over the sound of rustling papers and backpack zippers. “Ms. Archeron, Mr. Knight, Mr. Leroux, Mr. Oullette, Ms. Sweeney, and Mr. Yang, if you could all hang behind a few moments?”

[stormblessed95]

https://mobile.twitter.com/stopkookminpls/status/1563161893312688131

In this everyone can CLEARLY see M and A is darker than others. J definitely is not as dark or thick as them and also is not completely filled. if he's getting it touch up frequently than other tattoos this won't happen. You can very clearly see it have faded, small bits of ink gone. So that claim of jkkrs that he is getting J M touched up frequently is FALSE. if anything M A and the crown looks darker lol. So pretending only J M is darker is bit of strech. Atleast say J M A looks darker.

Also, still don't understand how J M is Jimin when there's so much gap between J and M, like whole another tattoo. Anyone will read it as ARMY and J tattoo. Look for yourself, whether anyone will tattoo their partners initials in 2 different ends lol. J should've been a lil more down and nearby to M for that theory to be believable. I think only jkkrs read it together as JM or JiMin.

Your photo (which has a filter fyi)

The only response I can think to dignify this with is to relink you here

And here to @humanuser0613 post

And to these comments I've made that address these topics and might as well get special attention. I've blocked out handles that aren't my own since they didn't ask for your attention

But you know. We don't actually know what his tattoos mean. Not you, not me, not anyone. So you aren't anymore correct then "jkkrs" actually either. Sorry. And the gap you mentioned really isn't that big. But go off. Lol

I recognize the morality high ground you were trying to establish though. Sorry it didn't work out for you that way. 🤷🏻‍♀️💜 Just because you have a different opinion doesn't actually make you correct nor your logic more sound. It's okay to disagree though! No one gets to take your opinions away from you. So unless JK ever explains his tattoos, all this is only ever going to conclude with is an agree to disagree scenario.

Have a wonderful rest of your day.

[fallout-drabbles-n-stuff]

abshwvshsh imagine Paladin Danse with Baby Fever.

Got alittle drabble?

*I got like an idea where Paladin Danse and Alex(fallout oc) go on a mission and end up finding an orphan baby and as Alex is taking care of it, Paladin Danse is like 😍😍🤩🤩. So yea lol.*

(I totally deviated from the prompt but I was hoping this would be satisfactory as well? 😅 if not, I'm more than happy to write for the original prompt, just send me another ask)

Perhaps this feeling was simply a product of the desertion he felt after exile.

You were so very kind to him. You were there for him when he had hit the lowest point fathomable, when his life as he knew it was ripped away from him and left him with this deep melancholic emptiness. It took time, of course, but like always- you were patient with him, truly there for him.

If asked, Danse wouldn't know exactly how you did it, but piece after piece you managed to put back together what he once felt was broken beyond repair. Maybe it was the way you valiantly fought to reassure his life's value, maybe it was the long days you spent at his side so he may not feel lonesome, but most likely it was the love you professed that let him know that if someone as wonderful as you could have such profound feelings for something like him...then yes, maybe he was truly worth more than he believed.

Nonetheless, there were still some times that Danse would sit in your cozy little home, a far off look in his eyes as he thought deeply about something you just couldn't quite put your finger on. Once, you would've been able to just look at him and know what troubled him- a trait he didn't care for in the slightest- but lately...he wasn't quite as easy to read.

His identity would forever be something he struggled with no matter how much progress the two of you made, this you knew and understood, but whatever was on his mind as of recent didn't seem to have the same effect. For instance, these moments you'd catch him in..he wouldn't look nearly as tense, which may be a fruitless observation to note- but hey, every little detail meant something with Danse. In addition to this, the proud ex-paladin would usually seek your comfort if his mind raced to such dark places and now he would only sit in silence.

Instead you were left puzzled, watching the man you love sit and continue on with his mental strife- only moving every so often to fidget with the glistening metallic band on his left ring finger.

You never would've guessed that the reason he was so deep in though stemmed from the child sitting on your kitchen counter, eating one of Danse's prized snack cakes with Shaun. The child happened to be one of the settler's kids, a little girl around six years of age- so far too young to help out in the farm, and too young to leave unattended..so naturally, with you being the bleeding heart you are, you agreed to help out the girl's parents and watch her every so often while they worked. Besides, after your marriage to Danse..and Shaun coming home, there wasn't very much adventuring going on anymore. It wasn't a big deal though, Shaun rather liked having company (even if he preferred hanging out with Duncan more) and having a younger child around didn't bother you in the slightest.

Unbeknownst to you, watching the way you cared for the two children really struck a nerve within Danse. It was almost enchanting to watch you fuss after them, leading his mind to wander off to the most fantastical places.

"Okay, Shaun, do you think you can handle taking her back home? Her ma and pa should be finished working out in the field by now. I'll send Dogmeat with you." You spoke, receiving a rather exasperated expression from your little boy as he gracelessly slid off the counter, feet landing with a soft *thud*.

He proceeded to hold a hand out to his much shorter, younger friend to help her down. "No problem mom..." He all but grumbled as he began to lead her out the side door. A blur of brown and black fur at your feet let you know your faithful companion was at attention and ready to escort the two children- a happy bark followed by the closing of the door eased your mind shortly thereafter.

Had it been anywhere else, you probably wouldn't have let Shaun leave without you or Danse..but given that the girl's parents lived two doors down- you didn't really worry. However, you DID worry about the ex-paladin.

With a casual sigh, you sauntered your way into the living room- only a little surprised when you realized your entrance hadn't done much to catch his attention. Regardless, you pushed on and decided to sit right beside him- smiling just the slightest bit whenever his gaze finally shifted away from his wedding band and to you instead.

"Alright." You began, making no qualms about scotching closer over to him until he instinctively wrapped an arm around your shoulder. "What's eating at you?" You simply prodded, head resting on his chest.

Danse visibly stiffened, as though under the impression that his silence went unnoticed. He couldn't have been more wrong- he knew better than to think anything would get passed you. Even if it had, the thrumming of his synthetic heart against your ear surely gave him away.

Before he dignified your question with a response, he shifted around so that he could properly face you- still holding you yet able to move his head in such a way that he might be able to see the way you'd react completely to what his next words were going to be. And…maybe to get your attention away from the heavy beating in his chest.

That's really when you noticed it. The fleeting look in his eyes, the unsteadiness of his breath, the slight pink shade decorating his nose and cheeks..Danse was nervous.

"This..I apologize but this going to seem completely out of the blue.." He finally spoke, sighing as he closed his eyes just for a brief moment- trying to collect himself so that his nerves might not get the best of him. This is a matter that he had been wrestling with for some time now, the last thing he wanted was to get so anxious that he couldn't speak.

Alas, calming down seemed to only get harder for him. True, it had only been a few seconds since he spoke but the way you looked at him, so concerned and so..sweet, made time slow down and his damned heart incomprehensibly race.

"Whatever it is Danse, I've got you.." Great- now that concern he picked up on was lacing your voice as well.

Was it truly necessary for him to complicate things to such extremes? It's not like the topic was completely alien to either one of you..and damnit, you're the one person he felt he could speak his mind freely to..so why wasn't this any easier?

Then came the words you never, ever, ever, would've expected to hear from his mouth.

With his eyes soft, and his voice even more so, Danse spoke. "I know we have Shaun, and don't get me wrong- I truly do love the boy as a son, my son...but have you ever considered what having a child of our own would be like?" It was in that instant that Danse realized how abrupt his words may have came out, that tender gaze of his slowly retreating to look anywhere but you. "Forgive me, it's um..it's selfish of me to anticipate you being ready for such a thing, especially considering what we have both went through this past year.."

Unable to focus on much else but the drumming noise inside your head from the profound beat of your heart, your trembling hands grabbed at his and squeezed.

"You know..you have a bad habit of cutting me off before I can tell you what I think, sir." You laughed, trying to distract from the tears threatening to well up. Sure, it may have been a slight over reaction but..with Danse wanting a family..it was one hell of a step in a good direction. "What happened in the past..well, it should stay there. The two of us have something most people never get, we have the ability to start anew and leave our troubles behind us, Danse. So...god, I don't think much else would make me happier than having a baby with you.."

Once the ex-Paladin got over the initial shock of your words, he all but mauled you in a breath-stealing kiss- his arms wrapping tightly around you to the point of making the promise of breath a distant memory. Nonetheless, you couldn't help but enthusiastically kiss the man back...at least until-

"MOM! Gross!!" Shaun shrieked, having opened the door at quite possibly the least opportune time. Great.

Danse pulled back with a shameful blush on his face, averting his eyes from the young boy who was now fake gagging as he walked off to his room.

“Guess we oughta see if Mac is up for letting Shaun stay over with Duncan..hm? You know, just to get a head start..” to this, the ex-paladin’s adorable blush deepened tenfold.

Fantastic....or rather...outstanding.

[adsosfraser]

The Stone’s Toll - Chapter Five

Read on AO3

Claire sat nursing her glass of expensive cognac. Neither of them initiated a conversation, preferring silence to the inevitable argument that would ensue. 

 It was Christmas Eve when she returned. Little over a month and a half in that soul leeching ward. Frank had decorated the house with holly, and ivy, and even some sprigs of mistletoe in an attempt for some normalcy. 

 “Claire, I’m sorry for what they did to you. I was angry at you. You not only chose to leave me once but twice over. You’d rather die than feel my touch. I wanted to feel anything but utter despair. I’m sorry it has taken me so long to return you home.” She offered no response. 

“Do you have any idea just how difficult these last few months- past few years have been for me Claire? How utterly exhausting it has been to deal with your loss and then now this? I don’t wish to fight you on any of this. Let us have a civilised conversation please.”  

 “How hard it’s been for you!” Her mouth hung open in shock. “You think these past few months have just been a fucking picnic for me!” She stood in her anger and seethed at the fireplace, back turned from her husband. 

 “Of course not, but did you ever stop to consider how I’ve felt about anything?” 

 “Did you ever consider my feelings when you were sticking your cock into one of your students?! God, did you give me one of their diseases?” Shock plastered over his face. “Oh don’t act so surprised, I’ve smelt the perfume and all those long nights at your ‘office’.”

 “Claire, be reasonable. You’ve only let me touch you once, and that was before I was intimate with anyone else. Not all of us are such mendacious sluts.” 

 “Oh and I’m sure you were an exemplary student of abstinence while I was ‘missing’, for fuck’s sake even during the war, because clearly me being the ‘mendacious slut’ that I am I wasn’t entirely faithful either!” 

 “I don’t wish to fight you anymore Claire, something has recently come upon my knowledge during my research, and it affects you. Please have a seat.” He gestured to the decanter on the side table and poured a glass for her.

 “It pains me to see you like this Claire. I can’t in good conscience force you to stay here and slip further and further away from me every day” Frank sucked in a breath and smoothed his hands over his thighs. “It angered me to see that you’d rather die... than be with me. That you chose his memory over me, a living, breathing human being, and I couldn’t even be sure he was real. Still can't. Can you not see Claire why it took me a while to finally decide upon your release?”

 The hazy buzz that normally surrounded her mind now had started to fade, if only slightly. Claire squinted at Frank and nodded. 

 He paused, calculating his next words. 

 “I’ve done some research with the Reverend. We’ve been in communication since you’ve told me what happened.”

 Frank adjusted his collar. He stared at the stack of papers to his right on the desk.

 “And well we certainly found evidence of your presence in the past, but there are other things.”

 Claire stared straight through him, she didn’t need to worry about her glass face showing something wrong. She felt nothing. This confirmation made no difference for the hell she had been through. The numb feeling had taken a while to crawl over her body the past few months and she welcomed it. It felt better than the suffocating dread and grief she originally felt.

 “I know I must let you go. Go to him I mean. It’s the least I can do for the pain I’ve inadvertently caused you, Claire. Please forgive me. It’s unbearable for me to live to see you this way, even if the alternative is to send you back.”

 “He’s dead, Frank. They all are.” Her lips thinned into a line. “I have nothing to live for.” 

 She cringed at her last choice of words. She didn’t want to cause him unnecessary suffering. But she was too tired to lie, to protect him from such verbal blows.

 “But Claire. He survived.” His white knuckles wrapped tightly around the armrest of the leather chair and he flexed his jaw. “This man, this Red Jamie was exonerated of his crimes, with a pardon from King George II himself. And his lands returned in reparation.” 

 “How-how can you tell me this? You know what I- God what you put me through. Why would you give me this hope?” 

 “I’ve also found one Alexander Malcolm and his,” he gulped, “wife Elizabeth Malcolm. But Claire, this is your hand on the document. A christening, where Elizabeth, where you’re stated as godmother in a church in Broch Mordha. But then there’s also this purchase of a croft on the Isle of Lewis, with the same signature as Alexander Malcolm.”

 “Please, Claire, allow me to make amends for whatever part I’ve caused in your suffering. If there’s some piece, some knowledge I can give you, it would ease my mind considerably. I don’t wish for you to waste away before my eyes, for the rest of our days in resentment.” His lips tightened into a thin line. “I met someone while you were away. The new assistant under me at Harvard. I think,” he paused, “I think I love her as you love your Jamie. Let us divorce and I’ll give you what funds I have.” 

 “You’re just- okay with that?” 

 “Claire, you haven’t been my wife in years, not really.” 

 “So that’s just it? I offered divorce when I returned, and finally accept when you’ve damaged me. My mind, my soul!” He winced at the sight of circled bits of skin on her temples. 

 “And I am regrettably sorry, darling.” He reached for her hand and squeezed. “I know this is what you’ve wanted ever since you’ve returned. Please, let me make this easy on you. I have the banking number for what covers the divorce settlement. It should be enough to purchase a flight to London, and then I know the inheritance from your parents and uncle should help you on your way to Inverness.” He slid over a paper card to her, detailing the whereabouts of the money he was offering her. She kept her arms crossed tightly over her sternum, not wishing to take any charity from him.  

 “There's another thing. Your son, the name they said you called out in your sleep every night. I have this death certificate of one Fergus Claudel Fraser. Marked March in the year of our lord Seventeen Forty-Five.” Tears sprang in her dry eyes at the mention of him. He pulled out a sheet from the pile of papers he collected and shoved it over to her side of the table. 

 “Why are you doing this Frank?” She couldn’t bear this physical proof that she had left her son to die without her. 

 “Here is one Fergus Malcolm, on the Isle of Lewis, a year after his ‘death’ and you're on this too. Or rather your alter ego one Elizabeth Beauchamp Malcolm. If nothing else, will you not live for him? Even if the proof of him amounts to nothing, that he really did die at Culloden? Please, take the money, and the papers. I’m hoping it can ease my conscience from all the torture you’ve endured.” 

 The last thing Claire wanted to do was ease Frank’s ego. She wanted him to suffer. But here was a lifeline, a way out and back to her family. She would see Fergus again if fate allowed. Her mind would never allow her to comprehend the other piece of hope before her. The one sure thing she knew was Fergus, he had been whole and alive the last she saw him. And there was something urging her to him. A panicked urgency. Her mind flashed to the nights after her therapies, when his presence in her dreams was almost so real she could feel his touch after she woke. She quickly signed the paper he offered. Claire Elizabeth Fraser. The wet ink shined against the thick paper. His suffering would have to wait. Her fingers began to twist the gold band on her finger but Frank stopped her. 

 “No, keep it. It will have value when you… return. The papers will be sorted by the time you’re gone, and we’ll both be free.” He swallowed sharply. “Know this Claire. I still love you, and I always will.” 

 He had a funny way of showing it, Claire thought. She didn’t dignify his statement with a response. She left him in the living room to pack, and as the sun rose the next morning her bed and dresser were empty. 

 Frank set aside some money for the divorce settlement into Claire’s own account. She withdrew the three hundred pounds without a second thought, and purchased a ticket to London. It barely covered the cost of a transatlantic flight, which was more of a luxury than anything, but she could afford to spend money, not time. A ship between would have lasted weeks, not hours. She was left with little over fifty pounds to find her way to Inverness. The only things she carried with her were her pearls, sgian dubh, the ring without its ruby stone, the copious amount of papers from Frank’s research, her old botany pocketbook, and a change of clothes, all packed into one small suitcase. Her things barely fit half the space inside it. The gold band hung around her neck on a chain now, instead of resting comfortably on her left ring finger. It clanged against the skin between her breasts with every sway of her steps. It was decided over a very pricey international phone call, she would go see Mrs. Graham.

[honeylikewords]

uneasy lies the head (poe dameron)

In the wake of her passing, the official, if somewhat symbolic, royal title of Alderaan has passed to from Leia Organa to her chosen heir, Poe Dameron. Along with his elected position as the Galactic Senate Represenative for his home planet, Yavin V, Poe is now burdened with the responsibility of a political office he never imagined holding, and is called to attend a summit of the galaxy’s leaders that will be held aboard the Starcruiser Halcyon. 

This piece is based on a few things: one, me liking the idea of Prince of Alderaan Poe, two, my interest in Begrudging Politician Poe, and three, the new details that have come out about the real-life Halcyon experience that will be opening up at Disney World in Florida, which you can read more about here! I’ve been really excited about it for a long time, and just thought it’d be fun to tie one of my favorite characters in to this amazing new experience that will be coming soon! 

(Content Warnings: mentions of Leia’s de@th, some slightly risque flirting between Poe and his wife, and a little bit of making out, but that’s about it! Word count is 5k.)

Poe stands in front of the mirror, anxiously adjusting the epaulets of his tunic. They don’t seem to sit right on his shoulders, he thinks, passing a hand through their silvery fringe and watching them brush the snow-white fabric of his sleeves. This isn’t his kind of uniform, and when he looks at himself, he sees more a child wearing the spoils of a raid on their parent’s closet than the Senate representative he was meant to be. He tries tightening the high, pale collar of his tunic against his throat, swallowing thickly and watching his Adam’s apple bob beneath the colorless fabric. That didn’t help much dignify the image, he thinks, eyeing himself morosely.

He looks older. His beard is fuller, having let it grow out to appear more… wise, he supposes, and the grey streaks running through it match the ones appearing more and more every day at his temples. His tan fingers tease lightly at the end of his beard, trying to stroke it like he’d seen other, more senior politicians do when lost in thought (or at least trying to come across like they were). It makes him look pretentious.

Sighing loudly, he slumps his taut shoulders and rolls them a few times to loosen the aching muscles. He turns away from the mirror and steps out of the dressing room, entering the stateroom and collapsing onto the edge of the bed, his face in his hands. He hears a door hiss open and looks between his fingers at the emerging figure.

She’s still fidgeting with her hair, which is now lifted from its former looseness into a series of intricate looping braids. Letting out a huff, she takes her hands away, seemingly having resigned herself to leaving the hair as it was. Poe lifts his head a little, resting his chin on his palm as he watches her pat her dress and check the mirror in the dressing room, just as he’d been doing mere moments before.

She looks much, much better than he does. It’s an objective fact. Her air is stately and refined, with her gown framing her regally. The fabric is a delicate, pale blue, trimmed with fine threads of gold that interweave and flow, like braided ivies, trailing up her waist in a way that guides Poe’s wandering eyes to the loveliness of her figure. She seems to belong better to this world, with its mannerisms and socialites, its political politenesses. He never had the patience to be so diplomatic, even though that is his job, now.

He watches her pull a face at herself in the mirror, frowning at some flaw he’s oblivious to, and he stands up, coming to her side and placing his hands on the small of her waist, leaning his head on her shoulder and kissing her cheek amiably.

“You look like a princess,” he purrs, hoping his flattery will encourage her confidence. He hates seeing her unhappy with herself.

“I wish,” she responds, voice tinged with something wan and far away. “I… I really do wish.”

He knows what she’s thinking about: he’d been thinking about it, too. Dropping the air of adulation, Poe reaches for her hand and gently knits their fingers together, pressing their locked hands softly against her belly for reassurance. He meets her eyes in the mirror, and the two share expressions of loss.

“I miss her, too,” he murmurs. “I don’t feel like… like I can do what she did. What she left for me to do.”

He feels his wife squeeze his hand intently, causing him to lift his head up and meet her gaze as she turns to look at him, unfiltered by the mirror. Her eyes, clear and sharp, stare at him as she nods, then kisses his forehead warmly, taking her free hand and brushing it softly across his cheek.

“She chose you for a reason,” she whispers, soft and sincere, just like she always does. “Leia left you her seat and title because you’re the only person fit for the job. She trusted you.”

Her hand dips to his jaw and she lifts his head up from its morose slump. He cannot look away from her, even if he wanted to.

“I trust you, too.”

Poe takes in all the angles of his wife’s face, knowing that no single word of what she said was untrue, but searching for the possibility of a lie anyway in some small giveaway of her expression; after all, how could he be the one fit to carry on in the shadow of his predecessor? How could his shoulders carry the burden of her greatness, much less improve upon it? But there, in her eyes, Poe sees the truth, reflected over and over again: he was chosen for this job, chosen to carry on a legacy he had no option but to strengthen. He is the only one who could, whether he believes it or not.

He straightens his back a little, standing up taller,  and squeezes his wife’s hand in silent thanks, taking a moment to press their foreheads together and breathe in the scent of her. She is wearing perfume-- something they’d never had access to during the scarcity of the war-- and he marvels at how something so small changes the entire atmosphere of her presence. She truly embodies the grace and elegance of the woman who came before both of them, looking every inch the part of an Alderaanian royal.

Glancing back at himself in the mirror, Poe huffs; while she may look, indeed, just the way Leia would want the nation to be represented, Poe does not. He looks stuffy in his garb, at times like an old man in the too-tight clothes of his youth, and, at others, like a scrawny teenager in the baggy trappings of someone he was only pretending to be. She seems to sense his dismay, as she takes the initiative to comfort him, this time.

“You look dashing,” she smiles, adjusting his lapels and the ribbons of decoration on his chest. “Prince Poe Dameron, Senate Representative of Alderaan and Yavin IV. You’ll knock ‘em dead.”

At that, Poe lets out a playful, exasperated huff, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, I’ll be great,” he grimaces, eyeing his form in the mirror. He raises his voice into a mocking lilt, swaying his head from side to side in an intentionally cartoonish parody of a stuffy bureaucrat. “Oh, Senator Y’Barra, your engagement commission is most dreadful! Shall we discuss its heinousness over tea and crescent crumpets? Garcon, we need more gold-dusted butter for our scones if we are ever to pass this bill!”

She covers her mouth to hide the beginnings of a smile and tries to reprimand Poe, affectionately slapping his chest.

“It’s nice that we’ve been asked to attend the summit, Poe. At least try to make some--”

“Don’t say friends,” he groans. “I don’t want to make friends with these people. They’re politicians; they don’t want to do anything other than profit, and post-war reconstruction is a hell of a time to make money for slime bags like these people.”

That seems to take her back for a moment, and Poe watches her expression shift as she sorts through her thoughts, her lips pursed, eyebrows arched. She then shrugs and nods, acquiescing.

“Probably. But there are probably also people like you: people whose service in the war and dedication to their people, all across this galaxy, led them to this job. People who just want to rebuild. Do better. You’ll find them, dear: you’re an excellent judge of character.”

She taps her fingers against his nose playfully.

“After all, you picked me, didn’t you?”

“If I remember correctly,” Poe teases, lowering his eyes to her lips and smirking, “You were the one to get a crush on me first. All butterflies and nerves anytime I so much as passed you in the halls. More like you picked me, huh?”

Poe catches her face take on the familiar cues of embarrassment and flustering; he can just tell he’s got her all a-twitter, and she pouts her lips, looking down at her shoes shyly as he starts to chuckle. It’s adorable to remember how flighty and skittish she was in those early days, and how enamored of her he himself was, and remains. Getting her all shy like this is a sweet harkening back to that early, giddy tension, and he dips his face down, hovering his lips just above hers, feeling her draw in a breath of neediness and--

“Senator Dameron,” a robotic voice announces through the commlink in the stateroom, freezing Poe in place. “The ferry is beginning docking procedures with the Halcyon. Please proceed to the boarding area. A droid will be sent to collect your luggage as you leave.”

“Ah, shit,” he growls. He’d completely lost track of time.

Dodging back out into the stateroom, Poe glances out the window and sees the looming mass of a gigantic starcruiser, a sharp body of glimmering steel and inky black portholes contrasted against the star field behind it. It is massive-- far larger than any ship Poe had personally piloted in the past-- and spans more than the distance his window could afford a view of. They are extremely close, and within minutes will be aboard the behemoth, where Poe will have to eat, sleep, and breathe senatorial and princely dignity.

He turns away from the window to see his wife making sure everything was packed and prepared for departure, checking the bathroom and dressing room before giving him a confirming nod: everything is where it needs to be. They are ready to go.

They walk towards each other and Poe places his hands on his wife’s arms, stroking up and down the bareness of her shoulders to steady himself. As he feels the warmth of her skin beneath his rough palms, Poe blinks with awareness and gives her a quick squeeze, darting off to the dressing room. He opens a trunk and lifts up the topmost layer of fabric, running back into the stateroom with it carefully laid across both his forearms, then turns his wife to face him and gently lays the upper corners of the fabric on each of her shoulders.

“The cloak,” he mumbles as he fastens the pale silver silk around her neck, “Don’t wanna forget that. A princess is set apart by garments like that.”

“Right,” she hums, admiring his hands as he fusses with her collar. “Sometimes it’s hard to remember that since you’re the prince, now, and I married you, I’m the--”

“Princess, yep,” grins Poe. “Princess Dameron.”

“By marriage only,” she teases.

“And I’m only the prince because she left an essentially honorary title to me,” Poe wits back. “But it suits you, at least.”

“You think?”

“Mm. Now, I think the prince owes his princess one of the tenets of royal responsibility: unadulterated affection towards one’s spouse.”

“Is that a tenet of your responsibilities?,” she smiles, brow cocked.

“I just made it up, but I like to think so.”

Once again, Poe presses his palms against the soft curves of her upper arms, squeezing in the grounding manner he knows she likes, tracing his thumbs along the creamily-smooth fabric now covering her, and he leans in close, admiring how the light shifts against her skin as his shadow draws nearer. He parts his lips, ready to feel the gentle swell of her soft ones against his, when, as if by divine interruption, the hydraulic hiss of the stateroom’s door fills the room and a silver-plated protocol droid peers at him through the now-open door. He grits his teeth to resist letting out a completely undignified expletive aimed at the droid and stares at it pointedly, trying to silently communicate that it had interrupted a private moment.

“It is time to board the Halcyon, Senator,” it chimes in the lilting manner all protocol droids seem to have, seemingly blissfully unaware of his frustration. “Please, come with me to the boarding area.”

Behind the protocol droid, a cargo lifter droid rolls by, seemingly waiting until Poe and his wife leave the cabin to enter. Poe sighs, but can’t resist letting a small chuckle out: both droids, despite their different purposes, both seem polite, in their own sorts of ways, and he always finds that endearing.

Looking to his wife, Poe gives a little bemused half-smile and shrugs his shoulders, as if apologetic but resigned. She takes his hand and turns, nodding to both droids with an impassive but gracious expression, one that Poe notes is more than befitting of an official such as herself. Distanced, but not dour, regal, but not recalcitrant. He loves it.

“Thank you,” she says, coolly polite. “Please, lead the way.”

The protocol droid begins its stiff-jointed hobble towards the boarding area and Poe and his wife trail behind, arms linked at the elbow as Poe fidgets with her fingers. He twiddles her marriage band as they walk, always comforted by the feel of it on her hand. He admires it as they silently proceed; it’s somewhat rough-hewn, made from hammered durasteel, a little uneven and dented in some places from the haste in which it was made, and Poe loves it.

He loves how it contrasts the delicate, fragile jewelry common amongst royals, how it’s not meant to glitter and shine and grab attention, how it ties her to him and he to her, with no regard for image or pomp. It is heavy and solid and made purely for the sake of love and belonging, and she wears it everywhere she goes with pride, as if it was the finest-cut Oshiran sapphire, or the most carefully sculpted gold. It is one of the crown jewels of Alderaan, now, and the thought of it-- of his parent’s simple, quickly-made wedding ring, forged in a time of war, without promise of any moment past the one they were in, now being a royal regalia-- makes his heart ache to bursting with unadulterated love.

Poe tugs her hand up and kisses her knuckles as they finally round the corner into the boarding area; somewhere in the back of his mind, he registers the droid saying something about how their luggage will be sent directly to their stateroom aboard the Halcyon, but he’s hardly listening. He’s looking at his wife, his rock, his tether, as they begin their socialite dance, seeking steadfast comfort in her as he prepares to have to play his part in a world he was never born to be in.

The droid gestures to a corridor formed between the two ships: passengers traipse from the shuttle onto the boarding area of the Halcyon, representatives from a myriad of species in a breadth of costumes and liveries. Poe and his wife exchange glances, knowing that these people will have some hand in forming what comes next in the political landscape of the galaxy, and that they, too, will be instrumental in forging the new governments of the rising Republic.

“Come on,” she smiles, trying to coax him along, tugging his hand and taking a step forward, “It’s gonna be fine. It’s not like my flyboy to get cold feet, hm?”

Poe chuckles and shakes his head, trying to dislodge his clouding worries, and walks in time with his wife, joining the throngs of senators and royals and presidents and diplomats making their way aboard the Halcyon. Some of them exchange pleasantries, others are locked in conversations: some even look at Poe and his wife and nod in acknowledgement, or turn to their compatriots and whisper.

Poe feels an embarrassed heat creep up the base of his neck; he knows rumors have circulated about his particularly unusual position as a representative for a dead planet and a living one, and about how he’d been named the next in line for a royal title he was not born into. He tries not to let it get to him-- let people think that they think, and do your job, Leia had always told him-- but the feeling of alienation and disbelonging hangs over him, shaming him into silence. He tenses, and keeps his eyes fixed forward, which grants him an ever-nearing view of the grand foyer of the massive starcruiser.

The Halcyon is unlike any other ship Poe has ever been on. He’d heard about starcruisers like this, meant to be enormous cruise ships travelling in luxury and style from one planet to another, filled with sprawling cabins and indulgent amenities, and had never even pictured himself aboard one. The thought hardly appealed to him: days, weeks, even, of doing nothing? Just wandering aimlessly around, decadent and opulent in one’s revelry? The mere idea disgusts him. Still, as he steps into the expansive entry for the Halcyon, he finds himself feeling something other than disgust: he feels strangely at home.

The area is bustling as ship workers and bellhops collect luggage and transfer it to droids, as greeters guide guests to check in areas and hand them keycards, as officers check passports and documentation against databases, all lit under the glow of thousands of lights, which reflect off polished durasteel and marble surfaces. Holo projections provide information about travel destinations and the cruise itself in hundreds of different tongues, while a massive projection of the captain glows a familiar blue and greets the boarding politicians.

Poe turns in awe, gazing at the dozens of porthole windows affording views of distant and nearby star clusters, at the navigational crew high above, checking maps and charting courses, and takes a deep, steadying breath in through his nose, squeezing his wife’s hand tight. The hum and thrall of the ship, with its thousands of moving parts and requisite workers, feels exactly like all the ships he’d served on during the Rebellion. He half-believes that if he closes his eyes and turns around, he’ll open them and see Leia there, giving orders and directing the workflow.

The memory sits on his heart, but instead of a heavy, lingering pain, it kindles a warm, growing fire: she lives on in him. She would be proud to see him carrying on the mantle, working to do what no one else has the skill, speech, or stones to do. She is never really gone. Never can be.

Instilled with strength and purpose, Poe looks to his wife, who is staring at the gargantuan hub of activity before her, almost taken aback by how bustling it is. He leans down and gently pecks her cheek, tugging her along and breaking her out of her trance. They’ve got places to be, things to do, royal engagements to avoid, after all. As they begin to move closer to what Poe believes is the reception desk, a Twi’lek in a sleek, almost military-looking white uniform steps in front of Poe and his wife, grinning from green ear to ear.

“Senator Dameron, Princess Dameron,” she greets, bowing at the waist respectfully, “I am Lyna’ame, and I’ll be directing you regarding your stay on the Halcyon. Thank you for honoring us with your patronage.”

“Uh, thank you for having us,” Poe stammers, unsure of how to conduct himself in such a position.

Lyna’ame looks up at him with a quizzical eye, but seems too well-trained to respond with anything more than a polite smile and a nod. She produces from the pocket of her grey-trimmed suit a pair of infochips, extending them towards Poe and his wife.

“You will be staying in the royal suite on Deck B, unit number eighteen,” Lyna’ame smiles. “These chips will act as your keys to the room and to any amenities you should wish to access, and will remind you of upcoming engagements or conferences you should be in attendance of.”

As if on cue, the small screens on the infochips light up and read “19:00: Senatorial Dinner In Ballroom One!” Poe blinks at it, then flashes Twi’lek a cordial but slightly cold smile, taking the chips from her hand and tucking them unceremoniously into his breast pocket.

“Alright, thanks. I think we can get it from here.”

She seems not to register his attempt to tie off the loop of the conversation, continuing anyway.

“You will also have access to all the facilities of the ship, including the swimming areas, dining areas, lounges, bars, activity centres, spas and--”

“I’ll check the brochure in the room,” Poe smiles, searching for an exit. “I appreciate it, but, uh, my wife is very tired--” --Poe nudges her with an elbow and she balks, then understands his intention and mimes a yawn, nodding sympathetically-- “--And I’d love to get her some rest before any hobnobbing, y’know?”

“Of course, your highness,” Lyna’ame says, again accompanied by a civil bow. “The elevators are to the left. Press your infochip to the pad and it will take you to your floor. Your luggage should already be in your room, and please,” she smiles. “Enjoy your cruise.”

Poe bows back, then leads his wife by the elbow to the elevators, where they tap their key card and the doors hiss open. As they board, just the two of them, Poe’s wife turns to face him and raises one eyebrow, haughty.

“Really threw me under the bus there, Poe,” she smirks. “‘Oh, my wife wants to leave this conversation because my wife is awkward and doesn’t know how to handle subordinate behavior from service workers’. Real nice.”

Rolling his eyes, Poe can’t help but smile, and instead of replying, drops his hand to the small of his wife’s back, grazing his fingers there for a moment before dipping slightly lower and--

She jumps, then giggles, hitting him with a shocked but not at all displeased expression.

“Did you just pinch my ass?”

“Maybe,” he smiles. “Why?”

“You just seemed so…” She touches his arm, searching for the right word, chewing her lip thoughtfully. “Severe, before. Lost.”

“Feeling better. Feeling… like I can do this, maybe. Or at least do what I need to do, even if it doesn’t look exactly like how everybody else might expect me to.”

At that she purses her lips and nods, and he can tell she’s happy for him: he’s not entirely out of the woods about this whole ‘galactic representative’ thing, and certainly not used to all the expectations that come with being the heavy head that wears the crown, but he’s going to be alright. At least, he feels like he is, at this moment, and that’s all that matters.

Poe finds himself allowing his smile to grow wider as he dips down and nuzzles her temple, teasing his lips over her ear, tempting and toying.

“I still hate the suit,” he whispers, sending her shivering, “And I don’t want to talk to these people like we’re all buddy-buddy--”

“--Acknowledged, Senator,” she teases, rubbing his arm in the way that lets him know she’s itching to get more handsy.

“But we’re gonna have a private room,” he continues, “And a lock on the door, and at least--” --He checks the infocard, which reads “17:05”-- “--About two hours before anybody’s gonna need us, so I say we shimmy out of these nice duds…”

Poe’s finger trails down the silky rivulets of her collarbones; he has to admit, he does find her massively attractive in this royal robing, but he figures it’ll be less hassle for both of them to assure he doesn’t get too rowdy while they’re wearing some of the best (and irreplaceably expensive) fineries in the galaxy, so he’ll have to bid her pretty little dress and luxurious cape adieu for their stateroom rendezvous. Not that he minds: the dress might be pretty, but the woman underneath is ten times more so. Besides, she can always put it back on again for the dinner, anyway.

“We go see what kind of minibar we’re looking at,” Poe teases, watching her roll her eyes, “Hop in the bath, and see where those two hours take us.”

“Mm, we’ll see,” she demures, patting his chest. He knows she likes to dance around it, never say anything too scandalous where someone else can hear, and he loves that; she extends the tension, making him wait for what he wants. He may not ever have been a patient man before, but she forces him to slow down, savor it, work for it. And that’s delicious.

The elevator doors slide open as Poe leads his wife out into the hall, kissing her jaw as he checks the suite numbers. They shuffle along, exchanging little pecks and touches in the graciously empty hallway (what would the other representatives think, she reminds him in a hushed tone as they pass rooms, if they saw the new prince of Alderaan and Senator for Yavin V hanging off his wife like a pubescent teen?) before arriving at suite eighteen. Poe fumbles in his breast pocket, keeping his lips planted on his wife’s neck, then slaps the infochip haphazardly against the door. It clicks open, and Poe doesn’t even bother to look inside: he just coaxes his wife in, and tumbles in after her.

The lights in the room slowly turn on automatically, rising from a low dim to a sunny brightness, illuminating white-panelled walls and a lush, wide bed, all the furniture sharply clean and sleekly modern, trimmed in shades of black and silver. A massive window shows the endless expanse of space beyond the double-layered transparisteel, and while Poe would normally be more inquisitive and peek around the room to admire it, he’s more than occupied as he pushes his face deeper in the warm, scented crook of his wife’s neck.

“Careful,” she warns as his hand starts to pet at the base of her head, eking dangerously close to the beginnings of her hair roots, “These braids took me hours. I don’t want to have to re-do them, Dameron”

“I get that,” he breathes heavily, “But you look really hot with messy hair and--”

“If we’re going to go to that dinner, I’m not going to go with my hair flying everywhere! I’ll look like a… well, you know!”

“Like a woman well-loved by her husband,” Poe teases, nipping at her jaw. “But, fine, we’ll skip the dinner, and I’ll just keep you all to myself. Nobody else has to see. In fact, I’d prefer they didn’t.”

His eyes glimmer with wolfish promise as he sets his wife down on the edge of the white-blanketed bed, staring at her as her skirts form pools of silver and blue. He’s serious: the summit dinner all but disappears from his mind as he looks at her; how beautiful she is. How elegant. So poised and pretty and his, all his, to love until all the suns swallow themselves and burn out. All these representatives won’t miss him at one measly, lousy dinner, right? Not when he has the love of his life to attend to, surely.

“What’s gotten into you?,” she giggles, kicking off one of her sophisticated shoes as she sits on the bed. “You’re acting like we’re on our honeymoon!”

Poe leans in and places his hands on either side of her hips, bumping his forehead to hers as he takes long, weighty breaths, feeling the heat radiate off of her.

“I just… This is a lot, right?”

“Mm,” she acquiesces.

“And you’re kind of… what I go back to when I’m in too deep. So, right now, all this summit stuff and the Senate and the council? I need that to take a backseat to me being with you. The person I love. And letting that be what guides me in what I need to do for… everybody else.”

She lets out a soft, appreciative “aw”, her eyes softening as she cups his cheek, and Poe leans into her hand, allowing a little lasciviousness to leak into his smile as he stares down at her.

“Plus, it’s kinda… you know, a little sexy, being somewhere so new and ritzy. I’m not used to this kind of stuff. That, and we barely got a honeymoon, if you remember--”

“Yeah,” she recalls, sighing and pinching the bridge of her nose, clearly vexed by the memory, “I remember. The day after we got married, that First Order outpost tried to open fire and you were up and out of bed and back in deployment after less than twenty four hours of being a married man.”

“Duty never sleeps,” he shrugs. “But… We can make up for lost time here, on this big, shiny, fancy-ass ship, huh?”

Poe wiggles his eyebrows with playfully rapacious intent, sending his wife into a fit of good-natured laughs. He adores when she laughs; it sends his heart racing, every inch of him alight with the joy of knowing that her smiles are because of him, the sound of her voice bouncing up and down with glee all caused by some silly little thing he’s said or done. Unable to contain himself, Poe leans down and kisses her, cutting off the sounds of her laughter, a deep, satisfied groan emanating from his chest.

“God,” he rumbles as they part for a quick breath, “I haven’t gotten to do that all damn day.”

“It did feel really good,” she sighs, clasping her arms around his neck. She seems to take pause, etching his face into her memory with her eyes, then comes to a decision: Poe would recognize that resolute gleam in her expression anywhere. “Alright, we’re staying.”

“...You mean it?,” he chirps.

“Yep. You tell them your poor, defenseless wife is laid up ill and needs your constant and most doting attention,” she smiles, kissing the tip of his nose. “Then when you’re done calling the front desk, you come over here and you help me get out of this dress and into that bath you promised.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he chuckles, then catches himself. “I mean, yes, Princess.”

“Mm,” she beams, teasing him with a pinch on the thigh. “Much better.”

They share another deep, drawn-out kiss before Poe manages to wrest himself away from her and off to the side of the room with the comm built into the wall, but glances over at her as he taps at the screen to connect with the front desk. She grins coyly from the bed, kicking one leg out in a pseudo-sultry, semi-silly way from beneath her sumptuous gown. Poe can’t help but feel a swell of endearment.

As the call connects, Poe sighs dreamily to himself; if all else failed, at least he had her, and with her by his side, he was definitely going to enjoy a very, very pleasurable cruise.

[iboughtaplant]

Sing Me Awake With A Song About Pirates 

Prompt: Beach Day 

Relationship: Yennefer/Renfri/Jaskier 

Rating: G

Warnings: no warnings apply 

Summary: Pirates Yennefer and Renfri dock in Kerack and have a relaxing day at the beach only to come across a merman tangled in a net.

Here is my first prompt fill for the @witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo​

Read it on AO3

They had just docked in Kerack and Yennefer was looking forward to taking a break. They recently had a rather nasty run-in with a Nilfgardian trading ship and even though they made it out with the loot, she wanted it off her ship as soon as possible. She stretched her arms above her head as she walked down the gangplank onto the dock.

Her crew was hefting barrels off the ship, rolling them down the dock to bring into town. Once on the dock she adjusted her hat and strutted over to Renfri, her second mate, who was just finishing talking with--read bribing--the dock master.

“Are we all set?” Yennefer asked Renfri once the man had walked away.

“Yup, we were never here. Won’t be included in the log when we leave in a few days. And I can have the boys dock the ship in the cove nearby if we run into trouble and need to get out of port.”

“I can only cross my fingers we don’t run into trouble.”

“It does seem to have a way of finding us. Remember that time in Skellige with the Cintran man of war, we got out of there by the skin of our teeth.”

Where Yennefer could do with a break from finding themselves in trouble. Renfri seemed to relish in it. She was energized by the adrenaline of a fight or a chase. And Yennefer could admit she did love the gleam in Renfri’s eye whenever she was itching for a fight, or a fuck. Which is where it worked out that they were lovers.

All that being said, Yennefer just wanted to relax. She wanted to take a break from being the captain of her ship and her crew, even if just for the few days until they had to set sail again.

--------------------

After all the business was taken care of, Yennefer and Renfri had lunch at one of the taverns. It was all very expected. Renfri said she wasn’t that hungry, but then ate part of Yennefer’s portion in addition to her own. Yennefer had to glare at a fellow pirate captain who wouldn’t stop leering at her. Renfri threatened to stab a man and Yennefer convinced her not to. Just normal everyday things.

Yennefer figured they would pay for a room, she and Renfri would make love and she would get a chance to sleep without having to worry about ten different things at once the way she would on the ship.

Which of course meant that Renfri grabbed her by the hand and led her out of the tavern and in the opposite direction of the inn and brothel. “Come on, this way!”

Renfri pulled her along and they sped up into a run. “Where are we going?” Yennefer asked.

Renfir gave her a smirk and said, “You’ll see.” Which was about what Yennefer expected. But Yennefer also noticed that there was a bottle of rum in her hand.

“Nick that did you?”

“The tavern won’t notice that one measly bottle is gone. And we are pirates, gotta live up to the stereotype.”

Renfri slowed her pace, which made Yennefer slow her’s. They came to where the path met the beach and turned to sand.

“I was hoping to sleep, not drink myself to oblivion and pass out.”

“Then more rum for me,” Renfri said as she waved the bottle at Yennefer, who only rolled her eyes in response.

“Come on, Yenn, a relaxing walk on the beach is what you need. Plenty of sunshine left. And then we can watch the sunset, it’ll be romantic.”

“So you’re the romantic one, now?”

“If it gets you to smile, then sure.”

Yennefer of course couldn’t hide the smile that bloomed on her face. “Alright then, lead the way.”

--------------------

They walked arm in arm down the beach and then Renfri stopped. “This looks like as good a spot as any.”

“For what?”

“To sit, to relax.” Renfri elbowed Yennefer in the side. “C’mon <em>Captain</em> take a load off.”

Renfri then plopped down and sprawled out, uncaring of the sand getting everywhere. She unhooked her sword belt and laid her sheathed sword next to her in the sand.

Yennefer sat down next to Renfri and nudged her to put her head in her lap. She combed her fingers through the wind-tousled hair. It was relaxing. “Are you going to pop open that rum or what?”

“Thought you’d never ask,” Renfri said as she sat up and pulled the cork out with her teeth. She took a sip and then passed the bottle to Yennefer.

“That’s some strong stuff.”

Yennefer took a pull from the bottle. “It sure is. You don’t need much to feel it do you?”

“Nope,” Renfri said with a laugh before grabbing the bottle and drinking some more.

They lounged in the sand for a while, eventually shedding their boots and laying down on their spread out coats.

Yennefer closed her eyes for a bit, enjoying the sounds of the waves crashing and the warmth of the sun on her closed eyelids. She would always love the sounds of the ocean, the smell of salt in the air.

With her eyes still closed, Yennefer felt and heard Renfri get up. “Where are you going?”

“Down to the water. Come with me?” Renfri asked as she started to shed more of her clothes. She kept on her smallclothes, consisting of short linen braies and a fitted sleeveless tunic.

Yennefer followed suit and stripped down to her own similar underthings. He took her tricorn hat off last and tossed it on top of the pile to keep their clothes from blowing away.

Renfri grabbed Yennefer by the shoulders and initiated a kiss that turned as searing as the hot sun on their skin. Yennefer licked into Renfri’s mouth and Renfri gently nipped Yennefer’s lip in return, making her moan.

They pulled away from each other panting as they regained their breath. Renfri pushed her forehead against Yennefer’s. “Let’s go cool down. I’ll race you,” Renfri said right before he let go of Yennefer and ran down the beach towards the water.

Yennefer ran after her, following her into the foaming waves and wrapping her arms around her waist. They tussled playfully and Renfri dragged Yennefer further into the water until it was up to their thighs. They kissed again, this time lazily as the water crashed against them.

They stayed in the water for a little while longer, swimming out further to submerge their bodies fully and enjoy the cool water.  

Once they felt they had thoroughly soaked in the salty sea water, Yennefer dragged Renfri back to their pile of clothes to dry off in the slowly waning sun. It was still bright, but nowhere near as high in the sky as it had been.

The sun warmed their bodies once again. Yennefer tugged on her pants and coat, shoving her shirt and stockings into the deep pockets. Renfri pulled on her own pants and slung her coat over her shoulder.

“We should have plenty of time to walk over to the rocks to watch the sunset. If you want?” Renfri asked, turning to look at Yennefer.

“Of course,” Yennefer said, leaning forward to kiss the side of Renfri’s mouth. “Maybe we can do more than just sit and watch the sunset.”

Renfri’s breath hitched before she nodded and gathered up her boots in one hand, shoving the nearly empty rum bottle into one of them.

They linked arms and started their barefoot stroll down the beach.

--------------------

They walked in a comfortable silence for a while just enjoying each other’s company and the quiet beach.  

As they progressed down the beach, Yennefer could make out a shape on the sand in the distance. She nudged Renfri’s shoulder and pointed. “Do you see that? I can’t make out what it is, and I don’t have my spyglass on me.”

They both squinted into the distance. “A beached whale? Maybe.”

“Seems too small to be a whale.”

“Guess we have to keep walking and get a closer look.”

“We were headed in that direction anyway,” Yennefer answered.

They picked up their pace a bit, still walking barefoot across the sand. As they near the shape on the sand they could make out a scaled tail. Yennefer dropped her boots and trudged her way over, it was where sand started meeting rocks, the sand littered with smoothed rocks she had to make her way over. Renfri was a few paces behind her, picking her own way through.

As Yennefer got closer, her eyes widened. It was a man, well a merman if the curled blue tail was anything to go by. Yennefer really hoped that he was alive. It was a bit unnerving that the merman didn’t move.

Getting even closer, Yennefer gasped as she noticed that the merman was tangled in the rope of a fishing net. She dropped her boots she was holding and scrambled closer. The merman’s suntanned skin was dry to the touch, he must have been out in the sun for hours and he washed up too high for the tide to reach.

“Renfri!” she yelled. “Quickly, come on.”

“I’m here,” Renfri panted behind her. “Oh no.We have to help him,” she said with conviction.  

“I know. Quick, we need your sword. I’ll hold the ropes taut and you can cut them. Then we have to get him down to the water.”

Yennefer kneeled near the unconscious merman and grabbed the ropes of the net at random, just wanting to get him untangled and not willing to waste anymore time in trying to fiddle with the ropes.

Yennefer held lengths of the net as far away from the merman’s body as possible  as Renfri slashed through them. After repeating the process a few times, the merman was surrounded by slashed pieces of rope, and was freed. Yennefer shed her coat and chucked it and her hat out of the way. She was able to roll the merman partially onto his side. Renfri came to her aid to help roll him onto his back.

Once on his back, they could see just how parched his lips looked and just how wilted his fin-like ears were. They didn’t ogle long as they were more concerned with helping the merman regain consciousness.

Yennefer stood behind his head and squatted down to gripp under his arms. Renfri was already positioning herself near his tail as Yennefer said, “Grab his tail.” It worked because Yennefer knew Renfri was stronger than her and that tail had to be pure muscle.

It was not a very dignified trudge down towards the water, carrying a full grown merman, but they eventually made it down to the water and lowered the merman into the shallows. Once the water relieved them of some of his weight they were able to drag him deeper into the water where his body was submerged.

Yennefer’s instinct was to keep his head above water before remembering that he is of course merman and his head underwater would probably be beneficial. Yennefer lowered his head under the waves once Renfri nodded that she had a grip on his body and wouldn’t let him sink.    

Yennefer felt her breathing return to normal and could only hope that they had made it in time to help the meman. She wasn’t a religious person, but as a pirate she was a superstitious one, so she prayed to every god and goddess she could think of with hopes that one of them would hear her. She looked over at Renfri, “Thank you for wanting to help him as well.”

“You don’t need to thank me Yenn, it was the right thing to do. I just hope he comes to soon.”

--------------------

A few moments later, the merman’s tail started thrashing and Renfri lost her hold on it, but the merman must have still been weak because he didn’t or couldn’t swim away and almost clung to Yennefer where her arms were still around him. His head then emerged from the water with a splash. He gasped and Yenenfer wasn’t sure if it was just from surprise or if he was gasping for breath. From her limited knowledge of merfolk, she knew that they needed water to breathe but could get oxygen through the air the way humans and other land creatures did.

“Oh goddess, is this the afterlife?” the merman asked. “It must be since I am being held by two goddesses themselves.” He answered his own question. Renfri snorted a laugh. The noise made the maerman turn his head to look at her.  

“At least he’s conscious now.” Renfri said, mostly to Yennefer. Yennefer hummed in agreement, glad that their rescue attempt wasn’t for naught.

“So this isn’t the after life or a dream, huh?” the merman asked.

“Nope, you are thankfully very much alive.” Yennefer said.

“Thankfully? You don’t even know me, why would you be thankful I’m alive?”

“Because I care for the wellbeing of others?” Yennefer said, in a questioning tone. “Is that so foreign to you?”

“Well, no, not fully, but I had given up hope of being rescued before I fell unconscious.” He paused, “Would you lovely ladies like to get out of the water? I can imagine it might not be comfortable for you to stay in it for so long.”

“Can you swim on your own?”

“I believe so. Though I will admit it is lovely being wrapped in your arms. But I usually at least know the names of women before I embrace them. I am Jaskier by the way.”

“Yennefer, and my partner is Renfri.”

“It is wonderful to meet you both, I wish it could have been under better circumstances.”

“We do as well,” Renfri said with a smile.

Yennefer let go of Jaskier and was happy to see he was able to hold up his body weight in the water and his skin no longer looked parched and sun-dried.

Yennefer and Renfri trudged out of the water, their clothes clinging to their bodies. They both sprawled out on the rocks that had  been their destination earlier and Jaskier followed them at a sedate pace, leaning his crossed forearms on the rock while keeping his body from the chest down submerged in the water.

“So what brought you lovely ladies down to the beach?”

“Our ship is in port and I figured this one,” Renfri pointed to Yennefer, “needed a chance to relax and the beach was the perfect place.”

“Oh no and I interrupted your relaxing beach day, I’m dreadfully sorry.  But I can’t thank you enough for saving me.”

“You mean no one else came along before us?”

“If you hadn’t noticed this is a fairly quiet stretch of beach. Not many humans frequent it, it’s one of the reasons that I swim near here so often. I do love watching humans, but they don’t really like the sight of me. Must be the sirens giving us a bad name still. But it’s not my fault that my kind also enjoys singing. I had hoped that my singing might attract someone more than yelling for help. Most humans around here tend to run in the opposite direction of someone in need of help. But then I was too parched to even sing anymore.”

“Lucky for you we aren’t like most humans,” Renfri said. “Yenn’s not even fully human and people are often weary of me being born under a bad omen and all.”

“We tend to have differing opinions than most who share our profession. We might be pirates, but we are also women, so I have always found merfolk to be good luck. Ask almost any male sailor and they’ll tell you that having a woman on a ship is a bad omen, let alone having her captain on,” Yennefer said with a bit of a smirk. She knew she was a better captain and a more skilled sailor than a majority of the men she ran into.

“So you’re pirates!? Oh that is so exciting. You must tell me stories of all your adventures.” Jaskier said excitedly, his tail flicking out of the water to further emphasize his excitement. A few drops of water splashed them when his tail entered the water again. “Oops, sorry,” he said a bit sheepishly.

Yennefer and Renfri shared a look. A look which Jaskier must have read the wrong way if what he said next was anything to go by.

“I mean—I’m sorry. I am interrupting your relaxing time together and the sun is going to be setting any minute now. I’ll just go and maybe I will see you lovely ladies again some day.” He flashed them a small smile, though it was wide enough to show his pointed eye teeth.

Jaskier made to swim away from the rock, but Yennefer crawled forward and reached out to grab his hand. “Stay. Please.” She laced her fingers with Jaskier’s slightly webbed ones.

Jaskier looked up at Yennefer with his blue eyes that mirrored the color of the sea and Renfri gently grabbed his other hand, “What Yenn said. We would like it if you stayed. I have a boatload of stories to tell you.”

“I would love that. So much.” Jaksier smiled, flicking his tail again and chirping a bit. His face flushed a bit, the fins, where a human’s ears would be, flattened to his head as if in embarrassment. He pulled his hands out of both of theirs, but otherwise only moved a short distance away. At least it seemed they convinced him not to dive into the ocean to never be seen by them again.

Yennefer moved down the rock a bit to sit with her feet dangling in the water and put her hands out for Jaskier, beckoning him towards her. He propelled himself forward with his tail and stopped when he was floating between her calves dangling in the water. He gently place his webbed hands onto her knees and smiled up at her.

She leaned forward and placed a chaste kiss on his forehead. It felt terribly forward, but there was something about the merman that was luring her in. And she had enough knowledge of merfolk to know it wasn’t some sort of magic taking hold. She pulled away to see a smile on Jaskier’s handsome face.

Renfri moved closer and wrapped an arm around Yennefer. She addressed Jaskier, “Just letting you, you want one of us, you better be okay with getting both of us.” Jaskier’s smile grew even wider if that was even possible.

Yennefer sat on that rock until well after the sunset. They told Jaskier stories of their swashbuckling adventures, as well as some tales of the more mundane things they got up to. In turn Jaskier rather theatrically regaled them with stories of his own. It was well into the night that they finally made to leave.

“Promise you won’t set sail without saying goodbye.”

“We promise,” Renfri said with conviction. “But maybe us leaving doesn’t have to be goodbye.”

“Oh, meaning?”

“I’m not sure yet. But I have an idea. Just have to see if it’ll work. I’ll tell you about it either way before we are set to depart in a few days.”

“Alright.” Jaskier said. “I will see you soon then. Have a safe journey back to your lodgings.” He then leaned forward from where he had been lounging with his upper body out of the water and on the rock to lift Renfri’s hand and bestow a kiss upon it. If the light was better, Yennefer swore she would be able to see Renfri blushing.

Jaskier then repeated the action with Yennefer and she returned his affection by placing another kiss on his forehead.

They said their goodbyes and Renfri and Yennefer gathered up their belongings before picking their way across the beach by the light of the waxing moon.

Subtle splashes accompanied their journey. If Yenenfer turned towards the water, she could see the shine of scales in the moonlight: Jaskier following to make sure they made it across the beach. She huffed a laugh, “You silly merman.”

--------------------

It turned out that Renfri’s idea was to scour the town for the biggest bathtub that she could buy. Yennefer found the thought to be sweet, but didn’t say so since Renfri didn’t like too much attention drawn to the nice things she did for those she cared about.

Which is how Yennefer and Renfri ended up hauling a spacious copper tub, that Renfri bought from an innkeeper after haggling, back to the ship. Yennefer had two of her men help them get it up the gangplank and situated in Yennefer’s quarters.

Renfri smiled with accomplishment and Yennefer couldn’t help but show her just how much she loved her and how thoughtful she really was. They made love in the bed they shared with feeling even more at home with the smell of the salty sea air around them.

--------------------

Yennefer and Renfri went back to the beach everyday that they were still on land. Each time, Jaskier was excitedly waiting for them near the rock where they spent the first evening talking. Renfri didn’t mention the bathtub yet, wanting it to be a surprise. But Yennefer knew she was apprehensive, just as Yennefer was herself.

What if despite all of his proclamations that he wanted to follow them and go on adventures, Jaskier wanted to stay where he was in his little corner of the ocean? They would both be a bit devastated even if they would get over it in time and still be able to visit Jaskier when they came into port.

Of course they had nothing to worry about. On their last day in Kerack’s port, Yennefer and Renfri once again went down to the beach, they now knew the way to the rocks like they knew the layout of their ship.

Once they reached Jaskier, he immediately exclaimed, “Please take me with you. I don’t think I will survive not seeing you for months at a time. Please, we can figure something out. I will swim behind the ship if I have to. I want to go on adventures and I want to keep seeing you both. And I can compose songs about your, or well our, adventures. I will sing so many songs about pirates, just you wait.”

Yennefer chuckled. “Well that’s good to hear since we were going to ask if you wanted to join us on our newest voyage. You won’t even need to swim alongside the ship, that is unless you want to be in the ocean. Renfri found a spacious bathing tub for us to fill with sea water for you.”

“That is immensely kind of you. And I promise I can earn my keep if need be. I can catch you fresh fish whenever you want and I think I know my way around the ocean better than any land creature.”

“Don’t let our navigator hear you say that.” Renfri said.

“You know your way to the harbor so meet us there, we won’t leave until you are aboard.” Yennefer said as she knelt down to caress the side of Jaskier’s face.

--------------------

Two hours later they were untying the ropes tethering the ship to the dock, raising anchor, and steering the ship out of the harbor and into open waters.

Jaskier had insisted on his bathtub—because it was his now—being placed on the deck at least for the first stretch of the journey so that he could observe the way a ship was run. He wanted to witness it all and write down all of his initial reactions.

It was funny that one of his first requests was for paper and a writing utensil. Yennefer gave him one of her own bound journals that had yet to be written in along with a quill and a pot of ink. Apparently merfolk had their own written language. While Jaskier was able to speak Common as well as Elder, he only knew how to write in the language exclusive to his kind, although Renfri promised she would teach him how to write in Common.

Once the sun went down and it was time for the crew to retreat to their cabins or hammocks, Renfri and Yennefer dragged the bathtub plus Jaskier into the captain’s cabin they shared. Jaskier was excited to look around. He asked questions about everything and could already tell which items belonged to Yennefer and which belonged to Renfri.

Jaskier’s tub was positioned so it was near the bed, allowing Yennefer and Renfri to lounge on it while they all talked, enjoying each other’s presence. And Renfri made sure to move one of the smaller trunks near one side of the tub so that Jaskier would have a place to stash his notebook and writing supplies.

They spoke late into the night about everything and nothing as was becoming a habit for the three of them. Yennefer wasn’t sure when she finally succumbed to sleep, but she awoke to Jaskier quietly singing about pirates and mermen, with the sun shining off of the ocean waves.

[scrawnytreedemon]

going off that last ask: loz/yazoo character opinion? i wanna read your thoughts!

Ohooooo, I was waiting for something like this!!! Thank you, Vee :) I’ll do my best to explain <333

Starting off with Yazoo:

First impression: Calm, level-headed, perhaps a bit shy. What surprised me the first time watching was how deep his voice was. He’s got this grace about him that leaves you simply... staring. I interpreted the introductory scene where Loz nearly cries and Yaz tells him not to as comforting-- Which I think is what a good chunk of Rem fans see it as? Overall, pretty, but not much else.

Impression now: I think he’s fucking ruthless under that dainty face, if you ask me. Honestly, it’d be right in line with Sephiroth. I think out of the both of his brothers, he gets along better with Kadaj, but if he wasn’t around, I doubt Yazoo would have nearly enough investment in their quest. He comes across as apathetic and uncompassionate, perhaps even a little haughty. I feel like his relationship with Loz is tolerable at best, and downright acidic at worst. With Loz being the way he is, I wouldn’t be surprised if Yazoo and Kadaj had to keep an eye on him at all times, just in case. I feel, though, at the end of the day Yazoo does care about his brothers, and would risk his life for them. It’s in his bones, and he can’t help it, whether he likes it or not. Still very pretty though, lmao.

Favourite moment: Been forever sinced I watched Advent Children, and, unfortunately, Yazoo my beloved doesn’t get many scenes. I’ll have to go with the introductory scene, as it gives us an idea of who they are and what their dynamic is like right off the bat.

Idea for a story: I feel like any story with Yazoo inevitably ends up involving Loz, so I’ll make a joint bullet-point for them at the end of the post <3

Unpopular opinion: Mmm, probably the more apathetic, if not downright spiteful characterisation. If my friend @vesaniens​’s experience is to be believed, then at least Back In Her Day it was far more common for Yazoo and Loz to be buddy-buddy while Kadaj goes off and does his own thing. I can see the appeal in that dynamic, and understand where it comes from. There’s alot of ways you can interpret ‘don’t cry, Loz,‘ and as it is the introductory scene, however you do sets down the foundation for all that follows.

Favourite relationship: The Remnants aren’t characters I can find preferable ships for in-canon, so romantic is off the table here. I will say, though, a dynamic where Genesis and Yazoo are mentor and mentee would be downright tooth-rotting. Genesis preening him, taking him out to nice places, showing him fine literature-- I love it! I don’t see much talk about how the Remnants would relate to Gen and Geal, and I think that’s a damn shame. Plus, Yazoo can then quietly rub it in either of his brothers’ faces whenever he gets annoyed with them. To pick another, though, definitely him and Loz-- Especially if it is strained. It’s very clear they’re meant to contrast each other. Yazoo is lithe, subtle and venemous; Loz is big, loud and sensitive. I personally have a huge soft spot for fics where they recouncile their differences and learn to truly love each other.

Favourite headcanon: Honestly, I feel like I need to make a general headcanon post for the Rems as a whole. They’re all inherently tied, so a change to one of them usually affects the other two. To touch up on one from a theory I read about a year ago now(God, has it been that long?), I like the idea that the Remnants got a little bit of Genesis and Angeal mixed in. They’re like 90% Seph, give or take, but the other 10%~? Now that’s where the fun begins baby!!! In this case, the donor would be Genesis, and Yazoo would’ve gotten the more passive-aggressive, snarky, preening aspects of his character. The resentment and feelings of  inferiority towards Sephiroth end up getting mixed into Kadaj, however I don’t want to elaborate on this too long lest I go off-topic. On a more crack-heavy note, I feel like if you waved a laser-pointer in front of him, he’d be transfixed. He’s too dignified to actually leap at it... But he likes watching :)

Now, as for Loz:

First impression: Big phuckign himbo, idiotte of a man. Probably can’t even buckle his own boots. Playtime??? Bitch NO, it’s not playtime! WHY ARE YOU CRYING??? But yeah, my initial view fell alot more in line with what I think is the most common interpretation of him. His excecution leans heavily to Big Dumb Idiot Man Who Cries When He Sees A Duckling.

Impression now: Baby. Poor fucking baby. Honestly, that could be said for all the Remnants, but I don’t think Loz’s struggle is discussed nearly enough. I’ve talked about this before, but, for me, it’s painfully clear that Loz is essentially a child in a grown man’s body. Writer Kazushige Nojima has Loz’s lines about playing during his fight with Tifa were based off his own son, and has described him as “missing a little something upstairs” --And looking at him through that lens, things become alot more disturbing. He’s Sephiroth’s love for Jenova; a doting, yearning, infantilising love. There’s an innocence to Loz, something sweet, something light and airy-- And to have him fight, have him torture, have him kill... just, man. This jarring dichotomy between such hulking, brutal strength, this bringer of destruction, and this kid who wants his mother. Is he aware? Does he truly understand the weight of his actions? Can he? Most of this, admittedly, is a bit of a stretch, but I love this doof alot jhdhjfdjhs can you blame me?

Favourite moment: Oh, definitely the crying scene-- You must be real tired of hearing that again. Though, in Loz’s case, it sets up his sensitivity, and his dynamic with his brothers-- Yazoo in particular.

Idea for a story: Same answer as Yaz.

Unpopular opinion: I think my more infantile view of Loz as a whole is semi-unpopular? Fandom seems pretty split on whether he’s just a himbo or actual babyman. Again, hard to tell, what with most Rem content and discussion being several years old and tricky to find. I’d be curious to have a discussion on this! But yeah, if we’re talking about the wider fanbase, I think my intense appreciation of him is definitely unusual. Alot of OG fans see the Rems as tropey villains, and while I will argue that it makes sense considering they’re fragments of a bigger, badder, more complex villain, I don’t think Loz is nearly as shallow as most would have you believe.

Favourite relationship: As discussed with Yazoo, there aren’t any canon characters I consistently ship the Remnants with -- Especially not for Loz, in particular when viewing him through that youthful lens -- Though as with everything, I am flexible :) On the platonic side... Honestly, I think Loz would just be a big softie who hangs around everyone. If Angeal was baking, Loz would definitely chip in to help, though he might cause more trouble than if he stayed aside. I think he’d try and reach out to Sephiroth, only for his affections to be rejected because the latter is Bad With Emotions and is torn between on whether the Remnants are a nuisance he hands off to his old friends or his children who he wants to scoop up and carry off into the vast cosmos.

Favourite headcanon: Loz eats alot of shit he isn’t meant to. Like, shit that would kill twenty grown men. At least once he has mistaken stinging nettle for mint, and spent the next two or three days scraping his tongue constantly. Would chase a ball if thrown, no questions asked; try playing frisbee with this dude, and you’ll end up on the other side of town by the end of it. If you try and pick him up, he just slumps, like a big, brawny ragdoll cat-- Probably purrs like one, too. Definitely appreciates a good scratch behind the ear :)

There’s like... probably mountains more, but this is what I’ve been able to coax out after a day of writing this on and off. Again, thank you so much for asking!! I’ve been meaning to ramble about the Remnants for ages now, but didn’t know how to go about it.

Aight, as promised:

Story idea: This is one I’ve had on my mind for years now. I haven’t gotten around to it, as it’d require greater familiarity with FFVII’s world as a whole, but the premise is that Yazoo and Loz escape far out into the countryside, and end up in a village. Yazoo soon falls ill, and Loz has to provide a living working for a local farmer. Their dynamic is initially strained, and without Kadaj to hold them together, they nearly end up splitting before arrival. As time passes, and as they grow closer to the community, Yazoo’s grumbles fade into concerned murmers. Slowly, he begins to trust Loz more, and Loz learns to take more responsibility. But as their friendship blossoms, Yazoo’s body withers. Bedbound, he wonders how Loz would fare without him, if he could make it. I imagine this ends up leading to Loz deliberately blowing their cover to get needed medical help from WRO, turning themselves in during the process.

Again, there’s probably more to it, but to be honest even I don’t know. That’s the great thing about creativity :) You never know where you end up!

Thank you for asking, and feel free to ask more if you’re curious! This goes for elaboration on characters already asked, certain headcanons, and even pairings! Also, feel free to add on with your own thoughts! Whether they be additions, refutations, or so on. Fandom discussion(provided it’s civil qwq) can be so much fun!

<333

[vietzuko]

if we used to share a discord server, this post is for you!

hello! i am going to try to do this as anonymously and non-confrontationally as possible. i do not want this to be a spectacle or call out post, but i will say that i am quite disturbed by the way situations have transpired on the server. 

in case you didn’t notice, i left! when i left, i wrote a little goodbye post in #general, which has since been deleted. either the mods deleted my goodbye or they banned me from the server (which automatically would delete my message). in case you didn’t see it, here was my goodbye message:

hi everyone, i’m leaving the server. if you’re a POC who is interested in joining an ATLA server where POC can talk about ATLA and critically discuss race, feel free to PM me for a link! otherwise, this is goodbye. see you all around.

i won’t rehash everything that happened in the events leading to this, nor will i name names in this post. if you were on the server, you probably saw what happened publicly or you can message me personally, either here or on discord. if we know each other through the server and you want some clarity over names/events in this post, please PM me. 

if you are a POC in the ATLA fandom who is concerned by the events of this post and you would like me to clarify which server i’m talking about, please PM me.

i just wanted to share the very long message that i sent to the mods (on their prompting!) because i feel that it shows my perspective on what transpired.  unfortunately, this message did not result in any meaningful change, except for me getting banned/my messages removed from the server. i suppose that’s a type of meaning! haha. 

anyway. here’s the message. cw for racism, yellowface

hi MOD 1 (and presumably the other mods who will read this message)! thanks for reaching out. i’ve had some time to dwell on the situation and discuss it with other people in the server who witnessed it and reached out to me personally. this is going to be an unbelievably long message, so i apologize in advance and thank you for your time in reading it.

i think the first thing i’d like to do is give some context for the incident and to give my perspective on why i said the things i said.

i have PMed a mod about a racist incident in the server exactly once. it was when i first joined, and i saw a picture of a white person in yellowface in the cosplay channel. i didn’t know any of you personally yet (and this was before some of you even joined on as mods). i have since told SERVER MEMBER 1 about this incident and i’m pretty sure they mentioned it to you because i noticed you’ve changed the yellowface rule. but i think that the context of me pinging a mod about a racist incident and then witnessing another (although less egregious) instance of racism by the mods might explain why i am, in general, hesitant about talking to mods about racism on the server. i am just trying to live my life and experience as few micro-aggressions as possible.

i also think the fact that i regularly educate and push back against white people’s racially harmful messages in the server is also important context. i realize none of you likely know this, but about every two weeks i receive an unsolicited PM from a different white person apologizing/asking for forgiveness/asking for reassurance/asking further questions about their racism on the server. i’m glad people are learning from me, but this is a huge amount of emotional labor that i put into the server and its members because of course i have to reply and explain things and tell them not to worry and thank them for apologizing, etc. i know that these messages aren’t your fault, nor am i asking you to do anything about this. but it feels important that you know the price that i (and perhaps other poc in the server, although i can’t speak to that) pay in order to share space with you.

MOD 2 has even messaged me personally to thank me for educating people in the server and responding to racist messages, saying: “really appreciate how much effort you put in and everything, i was trying to type something up but floundering badly.” it was a nice message, and i appreciated it a lot! it also led me to believe that the mods would prefer if i engage with racist messages myself, rather than ping them, because it felt like i was just going to be more able/willing to articulate a response anyway.

so when SERVER MEMBER 2 messaged the zukka channel “thought that lives in my head rent free: Sokka's hairstyle in canon is just a warrior's hairstyle and has meaning because of that. Sokka wearing the same hairstyle in a modern AU is undisputably queer-coded” and nobody replied for a while, i assumed that it was because they had seen what i had seen-- a racially insensitive message that totally ignores sokka’s indigenous heritage and the history behind indigenous hair-- so i decided to step in with what i thought was a balanced response. 

SERVER MEMBER 2 then replied with a cheery “Fair enough! I will defer to your greater knowledge,” which i couldn’t tell was sarcastic or not, but i decided to be generous and to believe they were genuinely thankful for my reply, so i responded with a “you too can have great knowledge. i only know things because i read things. anyone can read things and learn,” which is something i firmly believe and also a way to divert the conversation away from SERVER MEMBER 2’s mistake, which i felt was the most dignified solution for them. i suppose this message could be read as aggressive because i didn’t use exclamation marks? but that feels unfair and ungenerous because i genuinely did not mean this message in a harsh way.

then SERVER MEMBER 3 jumped in and asked a few questions, which i read as a request for clarification, so i tried to continue to explain my point. it felt like SERVER MEMBER 3 wasn’t understanding what i was trying to explain, or at least i wasn’t able to articulate myself well enough, which was making me a little tired and stressy (and i was also thinking about my own race and queerness in stressful and triggering ways), so i decided to tap out of the conversation. 

me: dude i love u and i respect u and i truly believe that u are trying very hard to understand, but this conversation is making me kinda heated

SERVER MEMBER 3: I’m gonna step back from it because it’s not my conversation to insert myself into, which is what I did initially and apologize for

me: i think it's so important to engage + ask questions & i appreciate that u respect my opinions on these things, but i think i'm just. i have said what i need to say and now must sleep. much love to all.

to me, this felt like me expressing that i was feeling tired and upset and leaving the conversation, while still attempting to reassure SERVER MEMBER 3 that i still admired him as a friend. i felt like the conversation had ended peacefully!

i hope this helps explain why MOD 3’s message came as such a surprise. 

“the escalation to defensiveness and accusation regarding the original (relatively benign) statement was unnecessary and exaggerated. There’s an atmosphere of purity policing that’s been growing, which is why I took away the squick channel, as I assumed that a space that encouraged no repercussions was facilitating irresponsibility aggressive arguments. “

i truly didn’t believe i was being defensive. i was very careful not to accuse anyone of anything. in fact, i tried as far as i could to coat my language in “i” statements-- “i would personally not choose…”, “i would just. stay away from…” in order to avoid “accusations.” i was also trying very hard not to be aggressive, and i (and other poc that i have spoken to about this) believe that the idea that my messages were aggressive is racialized. just because a poc is upset about racism, it doesn’t mean they’re attacking you personally! 

i feel so hurt that my messages were wilfully interpreted in this way, instead of being read generously and from a more compassionate perspective, especially since i voiced my own upset and discomfort during the conversation. it distresses me to think that me expressing negative emotions is seen as aggressive, rather than a cause for empathy or care, and i do believe that this is because of my race.

if a mod had asked me to take the messages to the DMs or to squick or even just let me know that someone was interpreting my messages as aggressive, i would have changed my behavior. (like i said earlier, i spend a HUGE amount of energy coddling white people on this server. i am very used to it.) 

instead, i got the shock of 45 minutes after the fact, being publicly chastised and labeled as aggressive and being told that my conversation was “something nasty or unwanted.” 

the idea that SERVER MEMBER 3 was de-escalating a “clearly escalating situation” feels untrue to me. i was ready to move on after i sent my message to SERVER MEMBER 2, but he kept engaging me on the subject! (no hate to SERVER MEMBER 3 on this.)

i think one of the most painful parts of this whole situation is the implication that i was attempting to “purity police,” as though i am a person who picks fights just because i want to feel good about picking fights?? or to act holier-than-thou???? i do not do this. if you have witnessed ANY interaction i’ve had with a racially insensitive white person on the server, you will know this. 

i am simply a person of color trying to live my life. i do not want to fight about racism. i want to chill out and watch my cartoons. unfortunately, sometimes, someone will say something that i consider racially insensitive and i will do my best to engage and explain why i find this insensitive. that is all. (it is important to note that most of the time, when i see racially insensitive things on the server, i do not say anything because i am tired and it is a lot of effort to engage. i truly only engaged this time because nobody had replied to the message and i was just like, oh, fine, i guess i’ll educate, since no one else has!)

this whole incident has honestly made me really hurt and disrespected. i have enjoyed my time on the server and i have made some good friends there. however, it feels clearer and clearer to me that the server is a space where white feelings of safety (not being criticized for their racist content) are prioritized over poc’s feelings of safety (not having to witness and experience racist content). i sincerely considered myself to be an active and enthusiastic member of the server, maybe even friends with some of you, but it feels to me that all of our previous positive interactions have been displaced by this idea of me as an aggressive, overzealous purity cop who calls things racist for fun. 

i don’t even know how to repair my relationship with the server after this because i really do feel horrible and sick about the whole thing. i have spoken to other poc who also expressed their concerns about the way the mods handled the situation, even if these other poc weren’t directly involved, and some of us are considering leaving the server, if we haven’t already. (i would also like to note that these people reached out to me, unprompted, to make sure i was doing okay after what they and i interpreted as a micro-aggression by the mods. like, we independently read the situation in this way.)

(also, not sure if this matters, but i talked to SERVER MEMBER 3 the morning after the incident because i wanted to make sure he was okay, and we both ended up apologizing to each other and having a really good and productive talk.)

thanks again for reading this. i hope that you’ll be able to better understand my perspective on what occurred. i truly appreciate the work that you put into the server (especially as someone who also puts work into the server lol), and i know it’s difficult to mod a large server (i also mod an atla server!), but i continue to feel hurt about this. i know it’s hard to read tone over server messages, but i really wish that my (and SERVER MEMBER 4′s and SERVER MEMBER 5′s ) server messages had been read with greater compassion. 

...

and that’s all folks! i’m going to be remaking my blog soon, partially because this whole experience has exhausted me and partially because i have been meaning to anonymize my internet presence for some time.

[welllpthisishappening]

For the book ask: 🔮 🙄 🥺 😈

🔮 what book/series has your favorite magic system? Reading this, my initial, immediate, slightly overwhelming internal response was SHADES OF MAGIC. So, uh, Shades of Magic. To say that I loved this series is a rather massive understatement. I read it very early this year and it's still one of my favorites of this year. I don't really see that changing, either. And that's mostly because the magic was so goddamn cool?? Multiple versions of London aside, the more "basic" magic of this world is even pretty fantastic. For goodness sake, they have a magic tournament. A MAGIC TOURNAMENT. There are so many different types of magic, too, and different people have different strengths, and, then, obviously Kell's magic is pretty spectacular. This is not the coherent, dignified response I wanted it to be, really. Suffice it to say, Shades of Magic has good magic and I liked it a lot.

🙄 what’s a popular book that you dislike, but you’ll get crucified if you say it?

Ok, so I answered this in the last ask, but I am full of bitterness and have another answer. I'm sorry in advance, Devon. It's The Night Circus. I know. I know. I just—I think this book was too smart for me. There was too much jumping around and rules that I didn't quite understand and, uh (seriously, Devon look away) I never really got the romance. I know. Yes, the "I wished for her" part was appropriately swoony, but the rest? Was not great? At least for me. The writing was gorgeous and I did really appreciate the imagery of the circus itself, but I never found myself truly invested in the story. Sorry, Devon. I think your fic is fantastic.

🥺 what’s a truly underrated book/series you recommend and wish the whole world would read?

Another one that I answered, but I have another one! The Lord of Stariel series. These books had absolutely no business being as good as they were. Gaslamp fantasies are not usually my jam — in that I do not think I have ever read one once, but this was a D E L I G H T. Hetta was a fantastic heroine without once feeling like she had to be obnoxious about her own power and there are few things I adore more than childhood friends to OH NO HE'S HOT lovers. When that lover is also the head butler of your brand-new estate (tre scandal!) and a runaway fae prince (tre super scandal!) I ascend to some sort of book-reading heaven where I get everything I ever wanted. Plus, Wyn, our consummate head buter/runaway fae prince, only occasionally succumbed to the requisite WE CAN'T BE TOGETHER FOR YOUR SAFETY. For the most part, Hetta and Wynn had very little relationship drama. The relationship was the calm amidst the storm of everything else. See, everything I ever wanted. Not to mention, the contrast between the issues of running the estate (we need electricity! what will we do about the sheep on the far pasture!) and dealing with the fae (what if everyone gets killed???) was so well done, I still can't quite believe it happened.

😈 who’s your favorite villain/antagonist? are they special to you like a protagonist is?

Hmmm I don't know that I have one? That's a copout answer, I know, but I legit just scrolled through my Goodreads and not once was like, Oh! Them! I will, however, say, that The Darkling's presence in Rule of the Wolves was one of my favorite things that I've read this year. Like, he was just such a stereotype, right? Dark-haired dude full of angst and anger with his cult of equally dumb dudes who probably think they're REAL NICE but girls don't want guys like that. If they had fedoras in Ravka, the Darkling's followers would wear them.

Let’s talk about books!

[sugar-petals]

18+ Tarot Reading: BTS In Bed

↳ Caro’s Note › decks out for the end of spooktober! here goes a different type of content aka my lil’ hobbyhorse. even if you’re new to tarot or find it quirky, i hope i can interest a curious soul or two. late september i gave in to temptation and pulled 5 cards for yoongi, asking what sexual style he could have. it was so much fun i did it for ot7 & want to share the results with you. besides listing the card names i don’t use tarot-specific terms so anybody can understand. i also scanned the spreads so you can see the imagery i take clues from. ignore that they’re labeled in german, it’s all in english below. enjoy! 

⇢ disclaimer ♡ this is subjective interpretation; there’s no guarantee for precision and things aren’t definite. divination relies on perspective, believing in tarot is a choice. the reading is for entertainment purposes only, all portrayals are fictive/speculative. 

WARNINGS ⚠️ smut ahead, not suited for minors.

↪ kim taehyung

⌈ THREE OF CUPS ⇁ romantically, more parties could be involved than just two. he might meet his partner in autumn. there will be a lot of upbeat and luxurious activity around sex, especially drinking and eating. his partner could feed him delicious fruits for dessert. 

⌈ QUEEN OF PENTACLES ⇁ taehyung likes to be taken care of. sex might go down in the kitchen. his partner likely has the same vintage fashion sense as him, perhaps even more extravagant. taehyung could become shy but his lover will dissolve all doubts. 

⌈ FIVE OF WANDS ⇁ playfights or roughhousing are common, as is copious teasing and making jokes, it’ll be lighthearted. particularly in a group sex setting, this tendency will come out. sex standing up or even one carrying the other might take place.

⌈ QUEEN OF SWORDS ⇁ his lover can be assertive. it could be a battle of the wits. teasing is all good and well, but at one point, it’ll get serious. he’s the type to really enjoy sex in marriage, particularly with female partners (three cards in his pile have women with long veils).  

⌈ THE HIGH PRIESTESS ⇁ sex is intuitive. he’ll be head-in-the-clouds, almost dreamy in the sheets. he prefers to do it at nighttime. taehyung might often find himself indecisive between trying two new things, eventually deliberating to choose either: the more, the merrier. 

↪ park jimin

⌈ JUDGEMENT ⇁ bragging about his partner isn’t rare, as a fan of praise he also loves to praise right back. when jimin has sex, his friends will know. it’s something he can’t hide, deliberately or not. he’ll have a lasting positive reputation for sex and many suitors.

⌈ EIGHT OF WANDS ⇁ toys, toys, toys. also: jimin needs it fast, one position can sometimes suffice. he makes it so good and cuts to the chase, foreplay won’t draw out. drives it home like no other. might get it on with his partner on a plane or in a car, again, speed is key.

⌈ SIX OF SWORDS ⇁ jimin often moves from one kink to the other. he enjoys deep and tireless penetration, can go on for a long time. to him, sensuality is relief and a restart for the next day. might like sex on ships (yachts, sailing boats, cruise liners) or by the water.

⌈ SIX OF CUPS ⇁ jimin can create an almost fairy tale-like life for his partner. he’ll woo them with flowers. he enjoys sex in the countryside and at daytime. there, it will be playful, spontaneous, and often vanilla. it’ll elicit a lot of his innocence and bring both partners great joy.

⌈ QUEEN OF WANDS ⇁ he likes energetic, determined, and bold partners who are social butterflies just like him. summertime is jimin’s favorite season to make love. a vacation in a hot country (i’m getting egypt from the card) will ignite a lot of sensual activity.

↪ kim seokjin

⌈ THE MAGICIAN ⇁ the type to give roses to his partner in a gentlemanly way, but he’ll also be cheeky. loves using many toys at once, particularly at the beginning of a relationship or during foreplay which can get very heated. does multiple rounds, perhaps on a table. 

⌈ FIVE OF CUPS ⇁ cum has to spill over. any play with semen and saliva excites him. it has to be messy. there might be one partner who’s into contortionism. any stimulation of the back is possible, or positions that involve looking at his back in its full glory. 

⌈ PAGE OF SWORDS ⇁ sex is always dynamic, jin likes quickies. things are guaranteed to rarely stagnate, he keeps it all moving. sometimes, he might enjoy engaging in a one-night-stand via online services, or meet a permanent sexual partner through a respective app. 

⌈ THE HERMIT ⇁ might masturbate a lot in the evening when he has time for himself in a dark room. even if sex is frequent, there will be days to recharge. jin loves cooling off after pleasing his lover. the card also tells me that he’s got a long dick that he knows how to use.

⌈ EIGHT OF PENTACLES ⇁ could meet his partner at work. sex means business. puts effort into all things intimate. fucks good, can really make a nailing save the afternoon. like jimin, jin might have an affinity for sex in rural areas. it could happen on vacation close to a village. 

↪ min yoongi

⌈ THE EMPRESS ⇁ scent and taste are important to yoongi. he’ll set up a lot of pillows, candles, cook nice food and bake. he likes a person who’s really feeling themselves. always winds up with calm, and dignified partners who have a lot to offer and a ton of sex appeal.

⌈ NINE OF WANDS ⇁ big on defining boundaries and fairness. resilient lover. likes rough sex/playing hide and seek with his partner as a form of foreplay. a hunter or huntress-prey dynamic might be part of his repertoire, although he might be hesitant to suggest it. 

⌈ ACE OF WANDS ⇁ yoongi is potent. the guy can keep his cock hard for you. no issues with staying power. enjoys handjobs and primal sex to the max, has a lot of semen for his partner. any penetration is going to end up refreshing and fiery. prone to morning wood. 

⌈ TEN OF SWORDS ⇁ he wants to be pinned down, wrestled, defeated. penetration by several men or toys is possible. he likes doing anal. a position that will occur often is prone bone. sex might take place during late dawn. yoongi also loves to fuck during thunderstorms.

⌈ SIX OF PENTACLES ⇁ a giver, but also knows how to appreciate being pleased on the other hand. one partner will be kneeling or begging, with the dominant party being jovial to the submissive. sex wrapped in blankets might take place, in that case, a third party joins. 

↪ jung hoseok

⌈ PAGE OF CUPS ⇁ hoseok likes to get it on in the shower, bathtub, the sea, or a pool. hoseok admires his partner, there will be a lot of body worship involved. he is curious about a variety of kinks and is likely very creative with postions. his partner will never be bored.

⌈ TEN OF WANDS ⇁ unafraid of strenous romps. he’ll mobilize all his endurance to please. especially after a long day, he’s still ready to give his lover everything. nobody has to worry about not being satisfied, there will be release. hobi is responsible, especially with protection.

⌈ KING OF CUPS ⇁ he knows how to make sex and relationships work out like a pro. loves to make his partner hot and bothered, dripping wet. hoseok is the number one guy to splurge on lube and vibrators. will fancy wearing necklaces or other jewelry during sex. 

⌈ TWO OF SWORDS ⇁ he’s a big fan of orgasm denial, giving or receiving is possible. there might be blindfolding involved, or one orders the other to stay completely still while pleasing them. hoseok likes to have sex sitting up, particularly on a chair. 

⌈ NINE OF SWORDS ⇁ hobi will dream about making love a lot. waking up in the middle of the night and going down on each other won’t be a rare occasion, especially when either partner is stressed. sex in pjs happens often. loves to have his face cupped and fondled. 

↪ kim namjoon

⌈ FOUR OF SWORDS ⇁ a part of him needs to rationalize sexuality, rm takes time to retreat and think things over in silence every now and then. as far as positions are concerned: he’ll be on his back a lot of times. it’s the most comfortable to him. might enjoy erotic art on the walls. 

⌈ WHEEL OF FORTUNE ⇁ sexting is a huge forte. also, he might read erotic books or know a lot about sex in mythology. he tends not to initiate, things develop naturally— namjoon’s appearance and charisma bring it all to him, he doesn’t have to crook a single finger. 

⌈ THREE OF PENTACLES ⇁ joon will do a lot of planning around sex. he might write down a list with kinks to try. there might be an old and sophisticated building involved, or sex on a bench. clothed sex could be his thing, dry humping, threesomes, making out in the dark. 

⌈ FOUR OF CUPS ⇁ has sensual daydreams, could be oblivious to actual advances. masturbates a lot. again, there’s a connection to nature, intimacy outside might take place. likes to be woken up by his partner’s hands gripping him. sleepy sex is frequent.

⌈ EIGHT OF CUPS ⇁ there’s a certain calm to his style. escapism is a frequent topic, sex brings him to a different time and place. he likes to fuck with the moonlight coming through the window (yes, the tarot knows he’s a moonchild), or when he hikes with his significant other.   

↪ jeon jungkook

⌈ KING OF SWORDS ⇁ jk might enjoy giving or receiving butterfly kisses. he is confident and smart with sex, or enjoys someone who embodies these qualities. intercourse is something he takes seriously and likes to be 100% clear about what he wants to do. 

⌈ ACE OF PENTACLES ⇁ big on stroking, caressing, tickling, mutual masturbation. hands are so, so important. all things lavish in the bedroom are great. he is very keen to establish a constant in his life that involves regular sex. hasn’t to be asked twice, he takes chances. 

⌈ THE SUN ⇁ jungkook craves harmony and romance in bed. smiling is important during sex. physical contact brings him tremendous happiness, jungkook is carefree when he’s naked. might enjoy warm places for sex, maybe a sauna or hidden garden. favorite position: riding.

⌈ DEATH ⇁ meeting a sexual partner wil reprogram his entire life. it’ll be like rebirth. jungkook will stop at nothing to create a good time and discard a lot of old habits that get in the way. because he’s a keeper. sex isn’t just sex, his partner will impact him greatly. 

⌈ TEN OF PENTACLES ⇁ spends generous amounts of money on intimate activities. it’ll be the good life, making love is wholesome. all erotic things can easily be discussed in relaxed, domestic settings. will be sexually active for a long time in life.

× end note feel free to ask any questions 👋 the deck i used is the classic rider-waite one, no card reversals. i might do a post like this in the future should i pull another relevant reading. if you’d like to learn tarot yourself or want an overview of the cards, i can link you resources, just give me a quick shout. 

[itsbenedict]

Two-Faced Jewel: Session 1-B

(Part B, for length- see Part A first.)

Zero and @eternalfarnham are Looseleaf and Saelhen du Fishercrown, a mothfolk animist and a half-elf conwoman whose travels take them to Blacksky University, where the discovery of an unknown magical artifact sets them on the path to discovering the secrets of a shattered world.

Saelhen du Fishercrown has just involuntarily bonded with a magical bracer under false pretenses. The deans of the School of Natural Arts and the School of Arcane Arts have reached a compromise- send Looseleaf (equipped with a wand of Locate Object) to keep an eye on her. None of this bodes well for her plan to skip town and pawn the thing- if she doesn't follow the magical arrow, it's going to be hard to explain.

So... she figures she might as well find out where it's pointing, and see if there's a way to remove it and/or shake her tail at the end.

Saelhen du Fishercrown:Saelhen is best served by seeming a bit silly, here. So I think she's going to follow the arrow directly and just straight-up cross over the fences. Looseleaf:Looseleaf fidgets a bit. "I mean, honor has to tarry for things like, classes, and stuff, occasionally, right?" "Not to mention, you still, like, need to do a whole interview." "And you can't just- like, at the least I'd want to get the campus news department involved, y'know, put this in the news and stuff, right?" Saelhen du Fishercrown:"I will be proud to answer any questions you have as we go, Madam Looseleaf." Saelhen approaches the campus fence and begins to struggle over it. Looseleaf:Looseleaf is only vaguely sure that this campus has anything like a newsletter, but something about this lady's insistency on walking off into the sunset as quickly as she can is making Looseleaf's antennae twitch, a little bit. "Uhhhhhh," Looseleaf says. "Okay, sure, then."

They take a pretty direct route to where the arrow's pointing. On the way, Looseleaf puts the screws to Saelhen by poking at her cover story.

Saelhen continues to roll crazy good on Deception, vs Looseleaf's History, and Looseleaf can't find any fault in Saelhen's staggeringly-detailed hand-calligraphied forgery.

Benedict I. (GM): So- it seems like this was written by someone who's at least read A Flawless History of the Elven Peoples cover to cover. There aren't any obvious contradictions, and a lot of supporting details- it's hard to believe someone could've just made all this up. Looseleaf: But, okay, wow, Looseleaf is... absolutely engrossed in this book. This is the good stuff. Benedict I. (GM): You're familiar enough with the vagaries of the biographical tradition that there could easily be creative reinterpretations or doctored facts in here, but you don't have any way to distinguish them from reality. Saelhen du Fishercrown: Saelhen keeps up a running commentary while they walk. Looseleaf: But presumably there is no mention of any kind of accession ritual? Saelhen du Fishercrown:Jack nothing! Looseleaf:And definitely nothing along the lines of a stone bracer being involved in some kind of ancestral spirit worship ritual.

Yeah, something's fishy here. But it's a long book, and it takes a long time to read, and before Looseleaf can get through it, the arrow starts to swerve.

The bracer seems to have lead them to Yoshimimoto Plaza, a wide pavilion in the middle of a ring of government buildings owned by the Oyashio Port Authority- the city's secular government. Saelhen recognizes the design as remarkably similar to the floor of the Ryokou Temple in Kanzentokai.

The Ryokou Temple, hundreds of years ago, was once a great hub of teleportation, where travelers from all over the world came and went. Thanks to teleportation magic, the concept of "cities" and "nations" and "regional governments" didn't make a lot of sense back then, and the world was something of a fragmentary monoculture featuring several different competing governments- distributed governments which claimed authority over their members, not over geographical territories.

(If you've read anything of the Terra Ignota series, they were basically like the hives.)

Two or three centuries ago, though, something called the Blackout occurred. Teleportation magic suddenly failed- planar travel broke, as did the teleportation hubs in each of the world's major cities. Suddenly, the world was shattered into geographically distant territories, which suddenly had to administer themselves without contact with the rest of the world. The world as it is today was shaped by the effects of this Blackout, and how people rebuilt.

Yoshimimoto Plaza, now an unremarkable empty square, used to be the city's teleportation hub.

Saelhen, following the arrow, touches the bracer to the center of this plaza, and all hell breaks loose.

The bricks underneath them all suddenly fall into a pit, landing about twenty feet down on a squishy surface that yields under the impact. Despite the cushioning, Saelhen takes 5 bludgeoning damage from the fall. (Looseleaf can feather-fall with her moth wings, so she's fine.)

So, what you've landed on... first and foremost, it smells. It smells of mildew and decay, of something sealed up and left to rot. The walls of the pit aren't dirt or stone- you're not sure what they are. They're gray-green and porous, interwoven with what might be vines. The floor has a ton of bricks on top of it, but where those bricks fell unevenly, you can see the floor is a mass of these squishy vines- or maybe tentacles, it's not entirely clear.

What's not fine is the old man who was feeding the pigeons on the plaza, who's broken his legs and is screaming for help. Also not fine are a couple of Oyashio Port Authority guards, who were chatting there and are now very perturbed.

Also not fine are the walls of this pit- they've got holes in them. Holes from which horrible little fleshy winged creatures are crawling:

These bloodsucking fiends claw their way out of the weird porous walls, and begin divebombing people with unholy shrieks.

The party rolls for initiative! Saelhen readies an action to intercept the enemy, and it's a good thing- she downs one of the stirges with a hidden blade when it gets close. (Looseleaf notes how suspicious it is that a noblewoman had a hidden blade up her sleeve.)

Looseleaf uses Rend Spirit on another one- a magical attack that uses animism as a blunt force weapon. The spirit of something is different from its soul- a living thing has a mind, but it also has a spirit, which is just sort of a semi-sentient magical handle on its body and the nature thereof. The spirit of something's muscles says "I want to expand and contract in response to nerve stimuli"- and Looseleaf can tell the muscles "No, you want to snfdkdfrksfjklafdr." The muscles' spirit gets real confused by this and tries to make its physical host do some snfdkdfrksfjklafdr, which makes no sense and results in chaotic flailing and tissue damage. Or, uh, "force damage", D&D's vaguest damage type.

She seizures the other stirge to death, but three more crawl their way out of the walls. Two go for the guards, who call for help and manage to take one down- but the third goes for the defenseless old man. Saelhen whiffs her thrown knife to intercept it, and the stirge buries its proboscis in the man's side and begins to drink.

Looseleaf: Holy shit, this woman is going to get people killed. Her nonsense- and probably confabulated- ancestral quest is going to get people killed.

Saelhen follows up by charging the stirge and slaying it- but four more stirges crawl out of the walls. There's no end to the damn things!

Looseleaf, who has wings, remembers them- and also remembers her starting gear! When do players ever do that? She gets out her 50 ft of rope and drops a rope ladder to help people escape.

The stirges are on the move, though- those not distracted by the guards go for Saelhen and Looseleaf. One of them gets through and impales Saelhen- who only had 6 hit points left after the fall damage, at level 1. It rolls well, and she goes down.

One of the guards grabs the old man and begins climbing out of the pit, just as reinforcements arrive with crossbows- but it's too late for Looseleaf, who gets herself divebombed by a stirge, which beats her AC and latches on. She tries to Rend Spirit it off her, but fails- and its next attack finishes her off. Meanwhile, Saelhen is still down in the pit being fed on, and rolls a critical failure on her first death save, counting as two failures! The party is completely KO'd by these horrible bloodsucking monsters they uncovered.

*

Luckily for them, they went down... in the middle of the administrative center of a highly populated city, surrounded by emergency services personnel who were actively trying to save them. As a result... they wake up in the hospital, not dead.

Looseleaf: "When the inquiries come in, I just want to make it clear, miss du Surplus," Looseleaf says in her hospital bed, "I do not know you and I do not know who you are and I am pretty sure that this is all your fault." Her antennae are swishing furiously, which is moth for 'fuck everything about this'. Saelhen du Fishercrown: "In my defense," says Saelhen, "I have no frigging idea why that bracelet summoned infinite bats, haha." "Ow."

It seems- from the chafing on her wrist- that someone tried to steal the bracer off her arm while she was unconscious, to no avail.

Saelhen du Fishercrown: "If your university wants it back, you're maybe going to have to use a cleaver. Ha ha. You know, I've actually been to places where they chop off your hand for stealing." Looseleaf: "You better hope they don't decide to chop off your arm," apparently Looseleaf's got more of a vindictive bent to her than you'd expect! "You folk only have two arms." Saelhen du Fishercrown: "Gonna be a super dishonorable wound." Looseleaf: "Yeah, we're dispensing with the whole, elegant elf politese thing entirely now, are we." "Not that it exactly made sense for a dignified hyper-polite elf to run around with a dozen daggers tied to them under the robes." Saelhen du Fishercrown: "For what it's worth, if you weren't dogging me so closely, I would have probably screwed off, tried to sell it, found out I couldn't and... I guess left town with the next circus. Amazing halfbreed with bad taste in jewelry." "But it's obviously not your fault, right? No idea your actions would lead to that." "Yeah, the mysterious maiden of the orient thing gets old after a while but so many people buy into it." "I am disowned, though, if it helps."

Saelhen pretty much spills all the beans to Looseleaf- and tries to lay out a plan for how they can both avoid taking the blame for this. Looseleaf is shocked that Saelhen has the audacity to try to keep up the con, after what happened- and horrified at the implication that she was somehow responsible for this.

Looseleaf:"You're thinking of trying to keep up the scam," Looseleaf says in disbelief. "By Harmony, you actually want to double down." Benedict I. (GM):"...suspects, wanted for...!" "...my students..." "...jured patients!" There's an argument happening outside your door. Looseleaf:"Oh, there it is," Looseleaf sighs. She folds her arms and looks up at the ceiling of the hospital room and resigns herself to be utterly annihilated by terrible inexorable fate.

The door opens, and in walks... uh. A nurse? It's a round tiefling woman dressed in... not so much a nurse's outfit as a sexy halloween costume of a nurse's outfit. It's... a lot. She seems to be playing the part of an actual medical professional, though, and after a quick checkup, asks which of their two guests they'd like to speak to first.

Who are these guests? Well, the first one is Provost Hamori, from the school. The drow lady. Something in Looseleaf's moth bones shudders as she enters the room and the trailing of her dress masks a skittering noise.

Luckily for them, the provost is very happy with them! Earth-shattering magical discoveries that unleash hordes of blood-sucking monsters on the populace of the city are not at all occasions to be mourned, in her opinion. There's so much new research to be done! It's exciting!

Plus, apparently, while they were out, refugees crawled their way out of the tentacle-floor in the pit! Supposedly descendants of people who disappeared from the face of the Jewel when the Blackout occurred. They'd managed to survive in that sort of horrible Stranger Things-ass upside-down horror-world for hundreds of years! Very exciting!

Provost Hamori reassures them that everything will be fine, and asks them to tell the truth to the nice police lady who's about to have a friendly chat with them.

Said police lady takes her turn to speak to the hospitalized party.

Benedict I. (GM): "My name is Stella Lastwave. I am captain of the Port Authority city guard. I am required to disclose this information." Then she leans in. "Would the two of you like to tell me what the fuck is happening in my city?" Saelhen du Fishercrown: Good question! Benedict I. (GM): "Dozens of bloodsucking hellmonsters are menacing the citizens, a troop of ultraviolent feral children are wreaking havoc in the streets, and the Yoshimimoto Plaza is a ruined crater of necrotic energy!" "I have fourteen witnesses stating that you walked up to the middle of the plaza with a magic item, touched the ground, and unleashed hell on the innocent citizens of Oyashio!" "You're going to explain what the hell you thought you were doing, right now!" Looseleaf: “Um. It was an accident?” Looseleaf begins, and then hedges, because this intimidating cop lady is intimidating her, and all of her prepared lines of explanation have gone right out the window. Benedict I. (GM): "An accident." "Again."

Captain Lastwave is highly suspicious of Saelhen's story- as the de la Surplus family doesn't exist in any of the shipping records they have for the world's busiest port city. If they're not in the records, they either don't exist, or they're smugglers.

Saelhen du Fishercrown: "We have... fallen on difficult times as of late. It is a stain on our honor that we have failed to contribute to Kanzentokai's glory, I realize." Saelhen sighs. "...it was my hope that I might restore our reputation by completing the succession, when the means were lost to us for so long." Benedict I. (GM): "Yeah? And your 'succession' means siccing demons on a city of innocent people?" Looseleaf: “They just assigned me to her as an anthropology assignment,” Looseleaf babbles. “I was supposed to follow her doing her rite thingy and write it down and turn it in as an essay for my self-directed project.” Whatever the splash radius of this negotiation is going to wind up being, Looseleaf is absolutely making sure that she ends up outside of it. Saelhen du Fishercrown: "Strange are the ways of my ancestors. It is my hope that I will be allowed to serve the free citizens of Oyashio, as I have served those citizens long-imprisoned by the Blackout." Benedict I. (GM): "This is the seventh goddamn evil magic apocalypse that witch up in Blacksky has tried to wipe out Oyashio with! Even when it's not them, it's them, or-" "-what, are you talking about the murdercrazy teenagers running wild in the streets?" Looseleaf: Looseleaf looks at Fishercrown. ”Oh.” Saelhen du Fishercrown: "So I have been told." Looseleaf: "So that’s what the Provost meant by... whoof." "So, ‘we found humans on the other side of the portal’ was definitely a euphemism, huh.”

Thanks to Saelhen once again rolling absurdly high on Deception, Captain Lastwave lets them off with a warning, and leaves. They leave the hospital- or rather, the Temple of Karou, Heartlifter, God of Joy.

as you leave the Temple of Karou, you learn that the Temple of Karou comprises the upper floors of the building, 2 and up the first floor, run by the local bishop of Karou (Vermillion Hansen, the tiefling "nurse" you met) is the Pink Lips Pleasure House- an official government institution funded by the Ecumene of Joy. it is a brothel. the Ecumene of Joy is a little weird.

So with that crisis officially Not Their Fault, Looseleaf and Saelhen return to Blacksky, where the Provost- in exchange for keeping it Not Their Fault- will be having them conduct further research on this bracer- which has sprouted a new arrow, pointing off somewhere to the northeast.

Next session, we'll see what that research entails!

[lady-divine-writes]

A Change in the Weather AU (inspired by Cacophonylights's A Change in the Weather) - Chapter 29

Read on AO3.

“Who in the world needs three trousseaus?” Sebastian moans, trudging behind his boyfriend, his sister, and his soon-to-be brother-in-law through what Olivia refers to as “the hallowed halls of Carolina Premium Outlets”. Kurt was initially surprised that a woman with the financial means of Olivia Smythe would opt to shop at an outlet mall instead of the other upscale clothing stores within a hundred mile radius of the beach house, but it also made him adore her even more.

Never let it be said that Kurt Hummel does not appreciate outlet shopping. His monthly bill to Rue La La alone will attest to that fact.

On top of that, not only had she invited Kurt to come, she demanded his attendance. “I need you, Kurt! I need someone with your refined, sophisticated eye for fashion to help me in this, my hour of need!” she’d declared with the dramatic flair befitting a literary scholar, grabbing him by the hand and wrenching him from his seat in Sebastian’s lap on the porch swing, not about to take no for an answer. At first, he suspected she chose him because her mother was otherwise occupied (which he discovered later on that she wasn’t), but it still flattered him that she went to him for help in this arena and didn’t opt for a personal shopper.

Going to a mall, doing something that could be defined by uncultured swine as banal, had been a welcome change. Not that Kurt didn’t absolutely love everything else they’d done so far - fighting the tides for their dinner, braving bee stings, nearly drowning in Sebastian’s Mustang …

… karaoke.

And the jellyfish. Oh sweet baby Jesus, he can’t forget the jellyfish!

This vacation started out like an episode of Survivor: North Carolina Edition, and even though it isn’t over, Kurt has nothing to worry about because he’s already won the grand prize. But walking into this plucky haven of discounted commerce, with it’s bright, white, artificial lighting and grainy, outdated music piped over the speakers feels like returning to the familiar. Breathing the recycled conditioned air relaxes every muscle like a full-body Shiatsu massage. It reminds him of weekends spent hanging out with his girls, grabbing a soft pretzel and complaining about the men in their lives, which was really a disguised form of good-natured one-upping:

“Finn will never understand the sanctity of my evening ice water face bath! He says it looks painful! He won’t even try it, the scaredy cat! Something about brain freeze and him being afraid of shrinking his skull. But his pores, Kurt! He’s got pores so big, you could live in them! And the sun damage from all that football? He’s such a … such a boy! I don’t know what I’m going to do with him some days! Anyway, did I show you the absolutely adorable music note pin he got me? It’s so perfect, I’m surprised you didn’t have something to do with it! You didn’t, did you? No, I didn’t think so. He said it was for the anniversary of our second kiss! How did he even remember?”

(How did Finn remember? Kurt had thought scornfully. Aside from the fact that Rachel circled the date on Finn’s calendar, then filled in the box with a note written in blood red Sharpie; inputted a message into his phone; and then reminded him every day of the week before; Kurt had no idea …)

“I completely understand what you mean,” Kurt had agreed with an appropriately commiserate eye roll. “I’ve finally managed to open Blaine’s eyes to the importance of jade rolling, but he’s so impatient! Married to the idea that an alpha hydroxy toner is some magical elixir that is going to solve all his problems for him.” Kurt tutted, nodding his head solemnly when Rachel gasped at the failings of his boyfriend. “But he did go out and buy me the cutest raw silk bow tie, out of the blue and for no reason whatsoever, so I guess I can’t be too angry with him for neglecting his dermatological responsibilities …”

The current man in Kurt’s life wouldn’t be in the running to win that competition, not with his constant bitching and complaining about the pain in his feet, the pounding in his head caused by the ‘lame ass music’, and his all-encompassing boredom.

But in this instance, listening to Sebastian gripe doesn’t dull Kurt’s shopping experience an inch.

On the contrary - it heightens it.

“I do.” Olivia grabs Kurt’s hand and bolts towards Talbots to outrun her brother’s sour attitude. “Now, hurry up! We’ve got seven more stores to hit!”

“Why bother?” Sebastian reaches for Kurt’s other hand, frowning when his fingers close around air. “I think you’ve bought every white outfit and peony-covered bed sheet in this place!”

“Hmph. You can never have too much white. And floral never goes out of style,” Olivia tosses over her shoulder, smirking when she notices her brother’s ineffectual attempt at retrieving his boyfriend.

“Great! You can use those sheets when you’re a wrinkled old biddy then.”

“That’s the plan,” Olivia replies with a grin of superiority nearly identical to her brothers. It’s uncanny, like they pass it around, only one of them allowed to use it at any given time.

“Should you even be wearing white at this wedding?” Sebastian retaliates. “I mean, isn’t white reserved for the virtuous?”

“Oh boy,” Brian mutters, taking a gargantuan step away to show how not associated with Sebastian he is at this moment.

Olivia and Kurt stop walking, spinning around in unison to glare down the approaching offender. Kurt wraps an arm around her, shielding her ears with his hands.

“That’s a low blow!” he scolds.

Sebastian shrugs, unfazed. “All I’m saying is that Olivia and Brian haven’t exactly been waiting on a block of ice for this day to arrive, have you guys?” He glances at Brian, who’s strategically hiding behind his fiancee’s fifteen shopping bags and a rotund, fiberglass planter. “Come on, man! Back me up!”

“Look, Sebastian, I love you like a brother,” Brian says, “but I’m not doin’ that. I know which side my bread is buttered.”

“Coward.” Sebastian turns his attention back to his sister and his boyfriend. He rolls his eyes condescendingly at their united front, their matching expressions of umbrage. “Sorry, not sorry,” he offers as his trivial non-apology.  

“Oh, okay …” Olivia rolls up her sleeves, gearing up for a fight. “If that’s the way you want it, let’s talk some truth! If I was worried at all about a higher power sending lightning down to smote the impure at my perfect wedding, I wouldn’t have invited Julian or you! Between the two of you, you could set the entire venue on fire!”

Instead of being offended by that remark, Sebastian grins. “You’re not wrong. In fact …” Sebastian’s grin widens like he’s just conceived the most brilliant plan in the world “… I think it might be better if Kurt and I didn’t attend your stuffy old wedding.” He creeps closer to Kurt, prepared to take his sister to the ground to get his boyfriend’s hand back. “For the safety of your guests, of course.”

Olivia pivots, maneuvering a giggling Kurt out of her brother’s reach as swiftly as a chess master would castle a king. “I never said Kurt would set the place on fire.”

“And who says I wouldn’t go just because you weren’t going?” Kurt points out as he’s shuffled towards the safety of another store.

Olivia squeezes Kurt’s hand and beams, proud to have such a loyal companion in this fight.

“Employing that logic, I don’t see why my presence was necessary for this shopping excursion,” Sebastian argues, though it comes across more like he’s pouting. “You have Brian here to play valet. You guys could have gone by yourselves and had all the old lady fun you wanted. I would have given you my blessing.”

Kurt’s jaw drops straight to the collar of his borrowed button-down. “We told you where we were going! And I told you you’d be bored out of your mind! You begged us to come!”

“As a favor to you, babe.” Sebastian crosses his arms over his chest like a petulant toddler - a toddler with biceps the size of Kurt’s calves, on breathtaking display in the tight t-shirt he’s wearing. But Sebastian also looks so charmingly immature, Kurt can’t help breaking, smiling at him with heart eyes. This attitude shift - his playful moping and edge-free teasing - is one of the things Kurt loves about having Sebastian out here, surrounded by the loving bosom of his family. He’s softened, less sardonic, stopped trying to keep Kurt at arm’s length via the use of inappropriate jokes and jabs that skirt a line.

He’s gone from minor criminal mastermind, the scourge of Dalton Academy, and has become a goofy teenager.

Sebastian caps off his claim with, “Lord knows neither one of you has any sense of style,” and this time, it’s Olivia’s turn to cover Kurt’s ears. “Offense! Now you’ve gone too far!”

“Come, Olivia …” Kurt sniffles, squaring his back with a dignified roll of his shoulders, symbolically sloughing off Sebastian’s slights “… I refuse to stand here and be insulted by a boy wearing boat shoes.”

“Now, Kurt, don’t you listen to that mean, bitter … oh my God! Neiman Marcus is having a clearance sale! Come on!” She grabs Kurt’s hand and bolts toward the store, and God, is she strong! Kurt feels his feet fly out from under him as he rushes to keep up, Sebastian and Brian chuckling behind them. Kurt loses Sebastian in a sea of discount racks, each boasting bright red and yellow signs proclaiming 50% off! Final sale! 85% off re-racks! Kurt frowns at the signage, but then can’t help snickering at his own reaction to them. These signs are tackier than Kurt would expect for a Neiman Marcus store, outlet or otherwise, no doubt, but look at him being a sign snob when he can barely afford half the items on the rack at regular price?

Kurt finds his size (or his general range) and starts sifting through items one at a time, savoring the experience. He hears Olivia ooo and ahhh at a rack beside him, but his mind begins wandering to thoughts of the boy sauntering their way, helping Brian bear his load, laughing while his eyes search for Kurt.

And smiling like he’s never been happier.

For all of Sebastian’s incessant whining and rude remarks, Kurt can’t say he hasn’t fantasized about going on a no holds barred shopping excursion with him. He’s curious as hell how Sebastian would dress him. How Sebastian sees him. This button-down he’s wearing, top button undone and collar popped, is one of Sebastian’s - something Sebastian had tossed Kurt’s way after breakfast with only a, “Please?” as if his intentions were clear without further comment.

And they were.

But in a dedicated ensemble-selecting situation, what would his aesthetic be?

Kurt assumes there’d be a lot of denim and distressed tees involved, which might actually be quite fetching on him. It is on Sebastian, and the two of them are proportionately similar. With a chunky leather belt and his Doc Martens, he could see himself pulling that off. It’d be comfy, less restricting than the clothes he chooses for himself. And who knows? Sebastian might throw him a curve ball, surprise him by choosing an out-of-left-field accessory.

He’s exceptionally good at that.

The more Kurt thinks about it, the more he finds himself getting excited over the prospect of such a trip even though it’ll likely never happen.

But it could. Who knows?

It gives him something new to fantasize over.

Cooper had once accused Kurt of picking out Blaine’s clothes, and Blaine had defended him. Or himself, come to think of it. His personal style choices. But the truth is Blaine balked at a lot of Kurt’s attempts to dress him. He borrowed items from Kurt’s closet and vice versa, but letting Kurt style him? They didn’t do that all too often. The two of them had such signature styles, it felt like stepping on one another’s toes.

Might have been a good thing that Kurt didn’t, in retrospect. As with Rachel’s carousel horse sweaters, Blaine owns a cardigan or two that Kurt wouldn’t mind setting on fire.

And the temptation is strong.

But as for Sebastian’s style - Kurt suspects there’s a degree to which someone else buys his clothes for him. Like a personal shopper, or perhaps even his mom. He wears a lot of the same outside of his Dalton uniform - designer label clothes that suit his figure but don’t exactly scream personality. Kurt can see Sebastian approving the colors and having the final say, but in the end, he doesn’t do the work.

His t-shirts are a different story. Those he obviously picked out personally. They’re conversational, speak to more than his taste in clothing.

They’re a peek into his identity.

If Kurt had the chance to get his hands on Sebastian’s wardrobe, he’d dress him in pieces tailored more for his figure - dress shirts with the sleeves rolled up and one tail untucked hinting at his trim waist, layered over simple tanks of solid colors, and jeans slightly snugger than he usually wears.

Kurt swallows, his mouth stone dry at the silhouette that combination creates in his mind.

He startles out of his daydream when he realizes he’s stopped searching. Olivia’s voice has become a low hum in his ears, blending with the music and occasional store announcements; his hands gripping two separate hangers like an iron vice determined to break them in half. He peeks up to see an amused Sebastian staring at him, heading in their direction, but his view gets cut when Olivia thrusts a hanger in front of his face.

“Oh, Kurt! Look! It’s Tom Ford and it’s leopard! It would look so fierce on you!” Olivia takes a gander at the tag. “And it’s 75% off! A steal, Kurt! You have to get it!”

“Should I?” Kurt turns to the nearest mirror, mounted on a support pillar, and holds the long-sleeved shirt up to his chin. It is rather stunning. He doesn’t have to look at the price tag to know that it costs a pretty penny. 75% off of Tom Ford’s average retail price is quite the splurge for normal, non-economically blessed humans. What Olivia considers a steal would mean the sacrifice of an entire weekend at his dad’s shop. But, luckily, he has it to spend. And he’s worth it, especially after everything he’s been through.

“Absolutely! You’d be losing money not buying it at that price!”

“You know what? I think I will!” And as excited as he is at adding a new separate to his Tom Ford collection, Kurt feels a pit grow in his stomach when those words pass his lips. He feels guilty not bookmarking every single cent he has for NYADA, but seeing as he has this new plan to put into action, he breaks down and decides to buy the shirt, a pair of slacks, and a belt to tie the whole look together.

“You know, you should just go crazy,” Sebastian mentions. “It’s all good. I’ll pick up the tab.”

Kurt’s heart speeds at the offer, an orgasmic Yes! pinging through his brain, but he shakes his head. “That’s very generous, but even on sale, the prices in this place are insane! I don’t want you spending that kind of money on me.”

“Why not? I have it to spend. What’s a couple thousand between boyfriends?” Sebastian says, playfully bumping Kurt’s hip with his own. “Besides, I like the idea of spoiling you.” He leans close to Kurt’s ear and whispers, “If you want, I can take it out of what I owe you. Or in exchange for sex. Whatever floats your boat.”

Those words, in contrast to the heat of Sebastian’s breath, make Kurt’s skin go cold. It’s a joke. Sebastian is teasing. And Kurt should be happy that he feels free to tease him about this. Things are slowly coming out in the open, people are finding out about their ruse, and they don’t care, because in the end, the two of them fell in love. They’re happy.

And no one died.

Jokes about money, or their relationship, may not mean anything to Sebastian, not since the end justified the means. So they shouldn’t mean anything to Kurt.

So why do they?

Bzzz-bzzz. Bzzz-bzzz.

Kurt’s phone vibrating in his pocket is rare enough for this trip that it makes him jump a full foot in the air. Truthfully, he forgot he brought it with him. He’d deemed it unnecessary for most outings, only holding on to it in case of an emergency. He sticks the leopard shirt under his arm and pulls his phone out of his pocket. He unlocks his screen and sees an incoming message from his father. He taps on it to open it, but it refuses, bouncing back to the main screen after a few seconds of stalling.

“What is it, babe?” Sebastian asks after Kurt stabs at his screen for the fifth time with no luck.

“It’s a text from my dad, but I can’t open it,” Kurt replies. “He sent a picture attachment, but it keeps freezing up.”

“Maybe it’s too big.” Sebastian puts his share of Olivia’s shopping bags down and rests his hands on Kurt’s shoulders, gently kneading away the tension this is causing him. “Lord knows I understand that problem.”

“Ha ha,” Kurt deadpans, assaulting the screen more vigorously like he’s interrogating it for information.

Which he kind of is.

“Speaking of, can I see those pictures?” Olivia asks.

Sebastian shoots his sister a disturbed look. “You want to see pictures of my junk?”

“Does Kurt have pictures of your junk on his phone? Because if he does, I think we’ve identified the problem.”

“And what’s that?”

Olivia stares at her brother with such intense seriousness, Kurt thinks she may not be kidding when she says, “His phone obviously has a virus.”

Brian guffaws unexpectedly and turns away.

“Funny,” Sebastian deadpans back.

“I want to see the pictures from that hot air balloon ride you guys took!” Olivia clarifies, blessedly halting the conversation in its tracks.

“Oh. Yeah,” Kurt says, distracted by this issue with his phone. “Let me just …”

“Did you forget how to use it?” Sebastian asks, only half kidding. “I mean, you haven’t really been using your phone since we got here.”

“It’s not that,” Kurt says, not surprised anymore by how easy it is to bypass Sebastian’s humor and see the real message inside. Kurt is struggling to open a text - a text from his father. Sebastian knows that’s going to cause Kurt anxiety. “This has happened to me a few times before. Shoot! Now it won’t let me access my photo gallery!”

“I should really upgrade your phone,” Sebastian says, like it’s his responsibility to handle this problem, as if he has the authority to make that decision.

“My phone’s fine, Bas,” Kurt grumbles, more annoyed at his phone than he is at his boyfriend.

“Kurt, this is serious! I don’t want your wack ass service to go out when I need to get a hold of you. What if we’re sexting and your phone locks my messages, too?”

“I don’t think it’s the service. I have full bars. I can get on the Internet just fine. It’s my internal storage … mmph!” Kurt gives up on his gallery, accessing Facebook for the photos instead. “It’s the phone! I think it’s finally aged out.”

“Ergo why I should upgrade it.”

“Grr!” Kurt doesn’t bother glaring at Sebastian since he accepts the fact that he made his point for him. Yes, it would be nice to have a new phone. This one’s been giving him grief for a while. But it still works, and it’s decent. Why toss something away because it’s temperamental and frustrating? If that’s the case, he should break up with Sebastian. He laughs out loud when that conclusion pops into his head, but he doesn’t mention why, regardless of the strange looks he’s getting.

“It’s okay,” Sebastian mouths to a perplexed Olivia while pretending to patronizingly pat Kurt’s hair. “He does that sometimes.”

“Okay, okay!” Kurt cheers as his Facebook page pops on the screen. “I’ve got it! Here’s the one at holy shit!”

“Holy shit?” Olivia repeats.

“I don’t remember us going there.” Sebastian crowds with Olivia and Brian around Kurt, all staring at his phone. The first photo that comes up is the exact photo Kurt wanted - the two of them kissing in the basket of that hot air balloon with the caption he wrote, Love Defies Gravity, overhead. But that’s not the issue. The issue is:

“Seen by … 1,452 people!?”

Even Sebastian gasps when Kurt reads it.

“That’s … a lot of people,” Brian says, a less astute observation than Kurt would expect from a lawyer.

“It is. I---I didn’t even know this many people were checking their Facebook pages over the summer. Everyone seemed so busy …” Kurt pauses, swallows heavy, one that fills all the negative space in his throat, then crawls through his chest when it gets that far - his lungs, the spaces between his ribs, his heart. There it stays, obstructing his breathing, rooting him to the spot with its oppressive weight. Because it’s not just the length of the seen by list that makes Kurt’s eyes swell (and yes, it appears that almost everyone he’s ever met, known, given his Facebook information to has seen this picture), but the comments they left. Only the first four are displayed, but when he clicks the View more comments hyperlink, they shoot down his screen, disappearing out of sight.

Kurt scans the list of names quickly, noting that pretty much every member of the New Directions has not only seen the pictures but has had something to say – something positive, and that makes Kurt giddy with relief. Not that their disapproval would have had any influence over whether Kurt stays with Sebastian or not. He doesn’t need a single one of his friends to approve as long as they understand that this is what he wants. But it’s nice to know that his friends are happy for him, even Rachel, who has left him a string of heart emojis, one or two of them broken, and the almost impossible to believe comment – I’m so sorry. About everything. Call me soon. I want to talk about this.

Kurt stops reading names after he sees Santana’s remark - Plot twist of the century! Way to get it, pretty pony! FYI - I’m still down to cut a bitch if he goes back to being a puto!

“Hey!” Sebastian says, pointing her comment out.

“What?” Kurt gives him a one shoulder shrug. “It’s her way of saying she approves. Besides, it’s good to know.” Kurt smiles to himself when he hears Olivia backhand her brother and he yelps, “Careful, will ya!? Your engagement ring’s sharp!”

Kurt gets so caught up in his happiness, he doesn’t see one name in particular at the way bottom of the list. The name of someone who had said they’d sworn off Facebook for the summer, but who’d been checking it on the sly whenever they got the chance.

One of the first people to flip through all the photographs on Kurt’s page, even though they didn’t leave a comment.

They couldn’t bring themselves to, not on any of the photographs Kurt has uploaded while he’s been at the beach house – the ones he took of the ocean view from Sebastian’s room, the selfie he took with Sebastian on the porch swing, the one he took of Sebastian asleep in bed.

Especially the one of Sebastian asleep in bed.

Blaine Anderson.

***

Several times on the car ride home, Kurt attempts to download his father’s message. He waits while the loading icon circles round and round and round, but all he gets back is the error message File not available for download.

“Shoot! But why aren’t you available for download?”

The phone doesn’t answer, but Sebastian does.

“Because I’m a shit phone, Kurt,” he says in a cartoonish falsetto. “Let your sexy boyfriend upgrade me.”

Kurt side-eyes Sebastian. “Is that code?”

Sebastian bounces his eyebrows. “Do you want it to be? There is such a thing as a gadget kink, isn’t there?”

“You would know,” Kurt mutters. “You do realize that even if you upgrade my phone today to one that is faster, more reliable, has a longer battery life, and …”

Sebastian glances from the road to Kurt stuck in the midst of that sentence with his mouth half-open “… and …?”

“I don’t know. I kind of lost myself in my own argument.” Kurt’s face goes blank, marooned on the question of exactly why it is he’s turning down the offer of a new phone. He’s never been a phone snob. He’s the one constantly defending the fact that yes, he owns an older iPhone, but if it’s not broke, don’t fix it.

Except now that argument is invalid.

A newer generation iPhone would be nice, but again, it’s too much money. He loves Sebastian, but he doesn’t need him paying for everything.

At what point would spoiling be considered mooching in Sebastian’s eyes, even if Kurt starts out by vehemently objecting?

Kurt shakes his head, demolishing the image of himself wielding the latest in Apple technology when he remembers the point he was attempting to make. “That’s right. Even if you upgraded my phone today, I still might not be able to open this message. If I can’t download it, it might not transfer over.”

“Why don’t you give him a call?”

“I’ve tried! It’s not just my texting that’s on the fritz, I can’t do anything! The infuriating thing is I haven’t gotten any significant messages from anyone the whole time I’ve been here! The one day my dad has something so important to tell me he includes a picture, it pulls this crap, deciding that, after a long and loyal relationship, today is the day it’s going to screw the pooch!” At least it waited longer than Blaine, Kurt thinks sourly. Was more reliable in the end, too.

“Maybe the problem is your service and we’ve entered a dead zone,” Sebastian says sympathetically, as if a similar criticism about Blaine may have crossed his mind. “You’ve had no problems using your phone at the house, right?”

“Right.”

“Then I say wait till you get to the house and give it another shot.”

“You’re … you’re probably right.”

“Hey …” Sebastian reaches across the center console for Kurt’s hand. Kurt takes it without looking, without needing to look “… if you’re that worried about him, use the landline. Put your mind at ease.”

“Yeah.” Kurt pockets his phone, his mind whirling through the spectrum of possibilities, trying to hit blindly on which one is more plausible. It doesn’t help too much since not a single one of them is any better than the rest. “I might just do that.”

***

To Kurt:

Call me as soon as you can. We need to talk ASAP.

Sitting alone on the edge of Sebastian’s bed, staring at his phone screen, those words are as far as Kurt gets before his phone goes loopy again, but the chills that spiral up and down his spine show no sign of stopping.

Now that he has that much of the message open, his Facebook app starts flipping out. He’d been reading the threads underneath his photos, but the longer he scrolls, the app errors out and shuts down, forcing him to log in all over again. He has two-factor authentification set on all his apps, which means waiting for an authorization text before he can do anything. He’s had to change his password twice so far. He prays he won’t have to do it again.

There are just so many variations of TheGoddessPattiLuPone he can come up with.

He’ll have to move on to TheGoddessBetteMidler soon.

In between shut downs, he catches snippets of conversations that solve a couple of mysteries for him. Like how Sebastian managed to see his old Cheerios videos. A helpful Brittany was apparently instrumental behind that one, bringing them up on her phone from the official Cheerios archive (accessible only by past and present members of the Cheerios) when Sebastian mentioned he was interested in starting a squad at Dalton and would she mind giving him a few pointers seeing as she was one of McKinley’s star cheerleaders and all.

Kurt sighs over the fact that she fell for that one but he can’t hold it against her. She’s a sweetheart that way, rarely thinks badly of anyone for too long. Even with everything Sebastian has done to sabotage the New Directions, it would be water under the bridge as long as he was nice to her. Maybe gave her a gummy bear or two.

Kurt’s coffee order - a splash of cream and a half spoon of sugar - Kurt deduces in a round about way came from Mercedes one day when they went to visit Dalton to pick up some transcripts and he took her to the commons for coffee. He remembers her commenting in a voice that could never competently whisper, “A drop of cream and a half spoon of sugar? Oh honey. What’s wrong now?”

It was only once. Kurt had forgotten Sebastian was even there. He had started to dish when he caught sight of Sebastian out the corner of his eye. He immediately took Mercedes by the arm and led her away out of earshot of ‘the criminal chipmunk’.

If Kurt doubted that Sebastian actually did spend a great deal of his time gathering blackmail fodder on people the way he claimed, his mind has definitely changed, though he’s not exactly sure how knowing Kurt’s secret coffee order would help Sebastian bend him to his will.

On the flip side, Kurt is interested to find out what else he knows, and about whom.

The phone shuts down and restarts. As soon as it springs to life, it rings, the volume turned up so loud, it shocks him, causing him to fling his phone a foot in the air. Luckily he catches it before it hits the floor. He can’t afford for this thing to break more than it has. He looks at the screen, expecting (but not necessarily hoping, and that makes him feel like a heel) his dad’s number. But it’s not.

It’s Rachel’s.

Kurt groans. He’s not sure he wants to talk to her yet. Because it won’t be talked to, but talked at, a dozen questions flying at him in a single breath which he won’t be given a chance to mull over adequately before he’s expected to answer. And even though he recognizes that he doesn’t owe Rachel anything - any explanations and definitely no apologies - she may ask questions he doesn’t have satisfactory answers for. Not according to her.

Oh God! He doesn’t need this now! Doesn’t need this stress, doesn’t need to be pressured, especially when he has a mysterious message from his father to reckon with. He argues over it to a phantom Rachel in his head, outlining his reasons in a numbered list as to why he doesn’t need her interrupting his calm, harshing the one luxury he’s allowed himself the entire summer, and how there’s not a single thing she can say that will guilt him into feeling anything other than over-the-top, insanely happy.

He gets so wrapped up in winning this non-existent argument, lining up the zingers he’s been stockpiling for just such an occasion, it takes him a few seconds to notice that his phone has stopped ringing.

He stares at the red disconnected call icon on the screen, a choked off, “Oh no,” slipping past his lips.

Kurt took too long.

This could be bad.

But on the bright side, it’s not bad right this second. It seems fate answered his question for him. At least now he has a chance to take a breath before he has to consider---

The phone rings again.

Kurt sees Rachel’s name re-appear on the screen and mutters, “Good God.”

Rachel has nothing going on this summer, so she has plenty of time to keep dogging him till he answers. He knows that for a fact.

He could turn off his phone, put it in a plastic bag, shove that plastic bag in a pillowcase, and then put that pillowcase in his luggage, but he’s still trying to get to the bottom of the text from his dad.

He has no choice.

Best to get this over with, he decides, before she sweet talks Finn into finding out where he is and makes him drive her to North Carolina to talk to him personally. Even if they can’t narrow down the exact location of the beach house, she’d make him drive around while she called out his name through a bull horn to hunt him down.

Erring on the side of caution, Kurt begrudgingly picks up. Rachel’s voice comes through before the phone even makes it to his ear.

“Kurt?”

“Rach?”

“Oh thank God!” she says with an exaggerated sigh, as if Kurt has been missing for months. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you all day!”

Kurt glances at his screen, the call history for her number outlined in small white numbers denoting this as the fifteenth call from her in the past hour. “I can see that.”

Then comes silence.

Silence because she expects him to lay everything out for her without her having to ask.

And, at the moment, after everything she said about Sebastian being a temporary person (even though, to be fair, Kurt had given her no concrete reason to think otherwise) he’s bitter enough not to.

She breathes in as if she’s about to start a sentence.

He breathes in, prepared to cut in and say, “I know what you’re going to say, Rachel,” though he doesn’t.

So he waits.

She clears her throat, and in a compassionate voice, she asks, “Wha---what happened?”

“Uh …” If that isn’t the loaded question of the decade, Kurt thinks. “It’s like this … he … Sebastian, that is … no - maybe I should start with Blaine … but first, there was this …” Kurt sighs. There is no good place to begin. “You know, it’s a lot to talk about and, to be honest, I’d rather not do it over the phone.”

“Fair enough,” she says, and Kurt can almost hear her nodding. She breathes in again but pauses, holding this one breath for a long time before letting it out in a rush. “You and Blaine aren’t getting back together … are you?”

She sounds so sad.

She sounds the way Puck’s hug felt after he and Blaine told their friends about their decision to break up.

She sounds like something important has been ripped away from her, because Kurt and Blaine’s plans for New York were, in small part, Rachel and Finn’s plans, too. As much as he’d daydreamed about living the poor college student life with Blaine, their Bohemia Academia in a run down apartment they’d make quaint and homey with a combination of stuff from home and accumulated kitsch, Rachel had imagined living somewhere nearby with Finn so they could drop in unannounced for impromptu trips to the farmer’s market; hang out on the fire escape during hot summer nights, sipping sweet vermouth and talking about the cattle calls they’d been to, the parts they hoped they’d get, commenting on no small parts, only small actors, which would turn into a dig at Blaine’s and Rachel’s heights respectively, and probably devolve into a pillow fight..

There was a future wrapped up in Kurt and Blaine’s plans that wasn’t entirely theirs and now that life is being mourned.

“No,” Kurt says, pulling off that bandage before it sits too long, hurts too much. It’s not the declaration that hurts. It’s the anticipation of what that answer might bring. He closes his eyes, jaw going rigid, hands clenching, bracing for the impact. “Never.”

Another in a long series of silences hovers between them. Not a tense one, but not a comfortable one. But then Rachel says the one word Kurt never expected to hear in response to that revelation.

“Good.”

Kurt’s eyes pop open, and inside his chest, his heart stops. “Come again?” he asks when he should be relieved he’s getting away relatively unscathed.

“He shouldn’t have broken up with you, Kurt! He was wrong! Everything he said at that party was wrong!”

“What about what you said at the party?” Kurt asks sarcastically. He can only keep so much of his anger over that contained. Of course what she said was annoying - typical Rachel Berry rhetoric. But he also felt betrayed by the person whose alliance was the most difficult of his life to obtain. He’d thought that made it the sincerest. “About how we were being very mature about the whole thing, and it was good that we were taking some time to reevaluate our choices as we stepped into the future as adults?”

“I was wrong,” she admits tearfully. And not Rachel Berry’s overacted I feel sad when you’re sad tears. These are the genuine article. “I wanted to support you. I wanted to support what I thought was your joint decision. But thinking back on it, re-evaluating what Blaine said, how you reacted to it …” She sniffles, blows her nose away from the phone, and all of the seething bitterness that has been building up in Kurt’s heart over her melts “… then seeing those pictures of you and Sebastian together, and after having a long talk with Finn, I realized that what Blaine did to you is wrong. On so many levels. You did nothing to deserve it. Nothing. And if Sebastian treats you right, if he treats you the way Blaine should have treated you, the way you deserve to be treated then …” She pauses for a deep breath, returning to form, coming to the crux of her argument “… you have my blessing.”

Kurt rolls his eyes at the insinuation that he needs any blessing from her, but he smiles fondly, so hard that his cheeks hurt. It’s a curse that none of them can seem to stay angry at Rachel for long. Even Mercedes, who had more right than any of them to hate Rachel’s guts after that rigmarole with West Side Story came around about a month later. “Thank you, Rachel. That’s very kind of you to say.”

“You’re very welcome,” she says, her voice slightly broken as she gathers herself together. “Well (*sniff*) now that you guys are official (and Kurt can see the air quotes on that one), may I ask you a very important question? And please answer honestly. This is for science.”

Oh boy. Here it comes, Kurt thinks. “Sure, Rachel. What would you like to know?”

“He’s a good kisser, right? Tell me I’m right! A boy with as much experience as he has should have gold medal technique!”

“Yes, Rachel,” Kurt says, laughing when he hears her snort. “A-plus. The absolute best!”

***

“Fuck …”

Sitting on the porch swing, stiff and expressionless as an Easter Island statue, Kurt stares at his phone screen, unable to blink even with the salty sea air stinging his eyes, sucking the moisture from them. His lips try to move instead so he can mutter to himself, sort things through with a private debate, but all he can manage is another expletive.

“Fuck …”

To Kurt:

Call me as soon as you can. We need to talk ASAP.

Along with that ominous message, his father sent a picture of an envelope, the return address NYADA, specifically the financial aid department. Across the bottom of the envelope where Kurt has gotten used to seeing the words AMOUNT DUE are stamped the words FINAL NOTICE.

Kurt swallows hard.

He’d tried calling his father when they reached the beach house on both his dad’s cell phone and the house phone, but they just rang and rang. They didn’t even go to voicemail. Considering the time, he was either running errands or in a meeting, Kurt didn’t know for sure, which didn’t calm his anxiety any. Because those errands could be to the doctor’s office, or with his cardiologist.

Spur-of-the-moment meetings, since Kurt didn’t know about them, indicating something important had cropped up while he was away.

He’d considered calling the Lima Police and requesting they stop by and do a wellness check, but that felt like an overreaction, so he decided to try one last hard reboot of his phone. The screen went black for what seemed like an hour but was probably more like fifteen seconds. After keeping him waiting, sweating it out, the operating system had the nerve to update. Close to five minutes later, the screen went white. His icons shuffled, then everything snapped back to normal. Then, without him touching it, the boxes he’d been trying to access for most of the afternoon opened, including the message from his father and its accompanying picture.

He didn’t have to look at it too long to know what it was. It slapped him in the face the second it filled the screen.

He wishes the file hadn’t opened so smoothly, that he could have eased into accessing it. Because now, underneath this beautiful star-filled sky, a stone’s thrown away from a magnificent beach, he’s about to be sick.

No, he thinks. Not now. Not when I’m here, in this sanctuary, where nothing bad can touch me, still trying to make sense of my feelings. Not when I don’t have a clue how to fix this, where to even start.

But maybe that’s the rub. Maybe he was never meant to figure this problem out. Maybe his acceptance to NYADA was something he was meant to lose, like Blaine, another part of his life he arrogantly thought was a sure thing, something he didn’t bother worrying about once he’d gotten it, slipping through his fingers.

“Hey! You figured your phone out!”

“Yeah,” Kurt says, quickly closing the text. “I just … turned it off and turned it back on again. Worked like a charm.”

Sebastian looks his boyfriend over, but particularly his smile - two-dimensional, not doing its usual job of lighting his eyes - and starts to worry. “What did your dad have to say? Nothing bad, right? He’s not … he’s not sick or anything?”

“No. No, he’s fine. He just got home, I guess.” Kurt tries to stuff the phone in his pocket, but his numb fingers have a problem working.

“You know” – Sebastian sits beside Kurt, his eyes lingering on the phone Kurt tucks out of sight – “I never did ask you what you needed $10,000 for. I mean, did you pick that number out of the air at random? Or was that what you thought dating me was worth, because, if that’s the case, then frankly I think you sold one of us short.”

Kurt nods tersely but doesn’t answer. He can’t. He’s paralyzed. Now is definitely the time to own up to something, but what? To his old plan of needing the money to go to NYADA? Or this new plan of moving wherever Sebastian is going that he’s become attached to? He knows he’ll tell Sebastian both, but which one takes precedence? If emotion weren’t entering in to it at all, if he wasn’t still confused about this relationship with Sebastian, then the answer would be NYADA, definitely. And even as that new plan, glimmering in his head, tickles his lips to make its way out, he knows the answer is NYADA no matter what, above all.

Sebastian puts an arm around Kurt’s shoulder and pulls him against him as he reclines. He pushes off the porch with his feet and starts the swing rocking its soothing rhythm.

“Originally I thought it was so you could buy yourself a new wardrobe,” Sebastian continues, trying to get Kurt relaxed enough to spill, “and I have to say, I was all for that. Hell, I was going to up it to $50,000 and take you shopping myself. Make sure you got your money’s worth.” Sebastian waits for a comeback, a snide remark, anything. But when Kurt remains quiet, Sebastian kisses his head. “Talk to me, babe. Tell me what’s going on.”

Kurt sighs. He can’t put this off any longer. Putting it off, coming up with some excuse not to talk about it, would feel like lying, and he doesn’t want to lie to Sebastian.

“It’s for … it was for college. NYADA.” God, he isn’t prepared to admit this. Not yet. Even after the time he’s given himself, he’d never wanted to admit to any of this out loud. That was worse than not having the money, so he’d been doing everything in his power not to. “I had gotten some scholarships and some financial aid, but I was approved before my father was elected to Congress.” Kurt hears Sebastian sigh. He knows he can fill in the rest, but Kurt feels like he has to keep going. “It never dawned on me to call and update them, but they found out on their own anyway. They readjusted my aid and, in the end, I came up short. Without that money, I … I can’t go to college.”

Sebastian sighs again, but instead of sounding frustrated, this sigh sounds hurt. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because it doesn’t matter, Sebastian. I can’t take that money now. Not after …”

“Stop, Kurt.” Sebastian reaches into his back pocket. “Just … just stop.” He pulls out his wallet, takes out a piece of paper, folded once, and hands it to Kurt. At first, Kurt has no idea what it could be, though he has a nagging suspicion. But that suspicion can’t be correct! It would be ludicrous if it were!

But since ludicrous seems like par for the course this summer, it’s exactly what Kurt thinks it is – a cashier’s check for $10,000, made out to Kurt Hummel, dated the day Kurt agreed to their fake boyfriend arrangement. And even though Kurt is teetering on the brink of incredulity, he has to smirk at the comment Sebastian had the bank print in the memo line – For services rendered. Bow-chicka-bow-wow.

“You’ve … you’ve been carrying this around with you this whole time?”

“Well, yeah.” Sebastian shrugs. “Regardless of what you see on TV, you can’t just write a personal check for ten grand. And I had every intention of keeping up my end of the bargain. I got it drawn up early in case we didn’t fool anyone and my folks cleaned out my bank account. A personal check would have been worthless then, so …” Sebastian makes a go ahead and take it gesture, encouraging Kurt to put it away for safe keeping. But Kurt shakes his head.

“Thank you, but … but I … I can’t,” Kurt says, those words killing him, driving nails into his heart and twisting as he stares at this check, made out for more than he needs, his name in the pay to the order of line. It’s the answer to all his prayers, but for the sake of his conscience, he has to turn it down. Goddamned conscience! Fuck you! “That’s very generous of you, but …”

“We had a deal, Kurt,” Sebastian interrupts. “You more than held up your end. In fact, I would say you went above and beyond considering.”

Kurt nods. Objectively, he has to agree, but the way Sebastian chose to phrase it makes him feel sick. Plus, and he doesn’t know why, he feels offended. He doesn’t know what he expected Sebastian to say about the matter. He’d prepared himself for Sebastian to give him the money. He’d prepared to refuse and for the two of them to fight over it. But instead of indignant, he feels insulted.

“Then … then what does that make us? What does that make this? Everything we’ve done so far?”

“It makes it what it is, Kurt,” Sebastian says, throwing an arm in the air. “I love you, and you love me. And this …” He gestures to the check in Kurt’s hands like it’s an annoying fly he’s shooing away “… this is ancient history. Tying up loose ends.” Kurt starts shaking his head. It’s a reflex to object. This doesn’t seem right. It doesn’t seem like the kind of thing that boyfriends did for one another. Teenage boyfriends at that! It’s too much!

Sebastian, facing down his obstinate boyfriend, groans. “Kurt! Are you really going to throw your dreams away, your entire future, for something as stupid as money?”

“Well, you can call money stupid,” Kurt argues, his hand holding the check shaking. “You have it, alright? But when you don’t have it, it’s not stupid! It’s actually kind of important!”

“You’re right,” Sebastian agrees. “You’re absolutely right. It is important. It’s important, and you need it. You need it to go to college. So why the fuck aren’t you taking it, Kurt? I’m fortunate. I happen to have more money than I can use, sitting around, doing nothing. So let me give you some …” Kurt scoffs, rolls his head away. Sebastian amends his statement. “Or lend you some - however you want to do this. Remember when I said that money doesn’t matter to me beyond enjoying all the things my wealth can buy me? Well, I would really enjoy the opportunity to do this for you.”

Kurt doesn’t know what to say, so he stays quiet, hoping the right words will simply come to him. When they don’t, Sebastian takes that as Kurt trying to come up with a better argument against this, and he huffs out a frustrated breath.

“Look, if you don’t take it, I’m just going to send it to fucking NYADA with your name plastered all over it, so you might as well stop being so fucking stubborn and do it your damn self! If you and I hadn’t gotten together for real, if we hadn’t fallen in love, you’d be taking this check, conscience clear, and on your way to New York. But we lucked out, Kurt. We got something better out of this in the end. Being able to call you mine is worth the world to me. But if it causes you to give up your dream, then it’s a bad thing. I don’t want what we have to be a bad thing. I want it to be a good thing. I want it to grow and last, and that will only happen if you live out your life. If you follow your dream.”

Sebastian takes the check from Kurt’s fingers. He folds it and slides it in Kurt’s pocket. Kurt doesn’t move to object. He can’t. What Sebastian says makes sense to him logically. It’s his pride that has a problem with it. This isn’t the end. Sebastian isn’t Blaine. He isn’t going to let Kurt go just because they’re going to schools in separate states. Kurt is finally seeing an ending to this where he gets to have it all – the school of his dreams, the future he planned, and the boy he never planned on. This would be a loan, he promises himself. He’ll pay back every single cent, even if it takes him a lifetime.

“You’re going to NYADA, Kurt,” Sebastian says, kissing Kurt on the forehead between words, “one way or another. And there’s not a force anywhere on earth that’s going to keep me from making sure you get there.”

[voreconnoisseur]

Ob/ey Me! Lucifer/Reader(MC)

Safe but unwilling g/t vore with some fearplay. This takes place before you have a pact with everyone. (I’ll put a readme tomorrow)

***

“I swear, it was only supposed to be a prank! I didn’t mean anything by it!”

Despite your panic-fuelled protests, the demon in front of you didn’t show any sign of backing down. With every cowardly step you took backward, he took another forward.

“You’ve disrespected me for the last time, human.”

Over the past few months, you’d learned to tell Lucifer’s “I want to kill you, but won’t” face from his “I am literally going to kill you” face. This one, however, was hard to read, and though you were pretty sure it was the former, it took on some attributes of the latter. The fiery eyes, the lack of his usual dignified mannerisms... There was something else there, too, but you couldn’t make it out at all.

“What’s wrong? I thought you’d wanted to see me—you were the one who came here, after all, and now you’re trying to leave?” he asked, mockingly, still advancing on you. Yep, you were in for way more than a lecture.

You’d sneaked into his room, trying to get a picture of him asleep and shirtless, after a series of stupid arguments and antics involving his brothers. Asmo’d brought up the topic, Belphie had suggested it, Satan had seconded it, and Levi and Mammon ended up egging you on after you’d initially refused. Little did you know, Lucifer happened to still be awake. And so, here you were, looking into the furious eyes of the Avatar of Pride himself.

“This-this wasn’t my idea!” you stammered.

“That doesn’t matter. The others will get theirs in due time. Right now, it’s just you and me.” He shoved his hand onto your shoulder, pushing you against the wall, almost like a kabedon, but with direct contact. You watched in horror as his eyes went white and unintelligible speech flowed through his lips.

Your knees buckled as the your surroundings began to sway and warp. Everything was growing, and Lucifer, already taller than you, was starting to look even taller.

Oh—wait. You were just shrinking.

...Shrinking! Oh no!

As you shrunk down smaller and smaller, clothes and all, Lucifer kneeled down front of you. With the speed you were shrinking at, though, he still looked massive. You were almost the size of his hand when the tingling feeling spell wore off and you stopped descending. You stared up at him, looking fairly pathetic and confused, you imagined. You were completely at his mercy.

“Did you forget? Demons are all powerful compared to humans. Something like this comes easily to me.”

You scrambled backward, trying in vain to get away. Since you’d been pushed up against the wall before shrinking, it only took a few tiny paces before you were back up against it again.

“M-mammon! Levi! Anyone—help!” you squeaked. You tried to bolt to the left, but Lucifer snapped you up with a gloved hand. “What are you gonna do to me..?”

Your stomach lurched as Lucifer stood up, bringing you up your equivalent of a several story building to his face. You shivered as you noticed that the initial anger had completely faded, and his more sadistic side was now showing. He gave a slight smile as he spoke:

“Demons eat human souls, in case you’ve forgotten that too. Can you guess what the most efficient way for a demon to absorb a human’s soul is?”

“You wouldn’t. You can’t! Diavolo-“

Lucifer pushed a finger up against your mouth, silencing you.

“Why don’t we find out?”

To your chagrin, Lucifer slowly opened his mouth, letting you see his pointed canines common to demons. His tongue was drawn slightly outward, watering ever so slightly in anticipation for your entry.

You managed half a muffled scream before he quickly placed you inside and snapped his jaws shut. Your clothes were soaked as he teased at you with his tongue, rolling you over, then pressing you up against his palate. Ahead of you, you could see the dark cavern of his throat, and you noticed a sound coming from the general direction: he was humming. You squirmed in defiance, and as if in response to your struggles, you were dragged unceremoniously back out of his mouth into the cold air. Your eyes darted around furiously, trying to meet his gaze and then backing away as you squirmed in his hand.

“I—I knew you wouldn’t do it. The exchange program—“

“Would fail if I did. Yes, you’re right. I couldn’t kill you or consume your soul even if I actually wanted to.”

Phew.

“Now, do be a good little snack—at least for the time being.”

Wait!

You were once again pushed into his salivating mouth, this time legs first. This time, you could see the world outside—Lucifer’s room—and then, with a flick of his tongue, you were sucked downward into his throat. You would not be a good little snack, you decided, and kicked and wriggled the whole way down.

“Come on, let me go! I said I was sorry!” you managed to cry, face full of saliva.

You dropped from the suffocating tube with a splash into a fleshy, wrinkly sack. His stomach. Thankfully, you didn’t seem to be being dissolved by acid, so he was probably going to keep his word. Still. “This is kind of gross, you know...”

“I don’t think I will; at least, not right now.” You felt the space around you shrink, and you could swear you heard him stifle a burp. “You can come out when you’ve learned your place in this house.”

You kicked and clawed at the stomach walls, unable to get a foothold in the slippery surface. Stupid Lucifer. Stupid pranks. Stupid stomach. All Lucifer did was chuckle.

Your eyes began to adjust and you noticed that the flesh of Lucifer’s stomach was glowing—albeit only a tiny amount—a soft shade of blue. Weird. You sat down with a splash in the liquid you hoped wasn’t acid with your arms crossed.

“Alright, alright, I get it. I’ll stay out of your personal space.” Oh, the irony.

“That’s what I thought.” Lucifer paused. “Say, would you mind if I have some tea?”

You groaned.

[stargazersastronomy]

Social Change & Protest Astrology

“I can't get it out of my mind how you were left to bleed Was it how you dressed? Or how you act? I can't believe how they could act so violently, without regret. Well, we will not forget”

-- ‘We are the Others‘ by Delain

I normally don’t make posts like this, posts that deal with violence or politics. These subjects are similar to religion and sexuality, etc. There are so many different perspectives that you can never know what backlash, if any, will happen because of your words. However, people George Floyd’s murder, the protests, everything has effected the world. I haven’t felt this affected by murders since Brian Deneke’s and Sophie Lancaster’s deaths. Like Deneke and Lancaster, I still hear Floyd’s pleas for  his life, for his mother, for mercy echoing in my mind. My imagination could never do his suffering justice; I keep imagining the pain Floyd suffered as his neck was crushed by Derek Chauvin’s knee.  I’m someone who believes that Hell is impermanent – and that humans’ depictions of Hell originate from our artists and poets than our holy books – but I hope Chauvin burns in whatever Hell he’s sent to. Even if that hell is life imprisonment.

Similar to Deneke and Lancaster, we’ve heard the same statements: that Floyd was killed for his differences. While that is partially correct, killed because he was different, shifts blame from the murderers to the victim. Statements like these imply that if Deneke hadn’t be Punk, Lancaster hadn’t been Goth, and Floyd hadn’t been Black, they would not have been killed. Yes, the fact that they were all minorities in some way is part of our discourse of it; their attackers – and society’s intolerance – of them was the cause of their deaths. Dustin, the jock, mowed Deneke down with his car. The five boys who pummels Lancaster and her boyfriend killed Lancaster. And it was Chauvin that suffocated Floyd to death. These seven would have gone after anyone different and weaker from them, they chose the easiest targets.

In each case the murders were unplanned, random, that the victims happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. But with the violent acts that happened before then – Deneke and his friends beaten by the Jocks, there were beatings against others before Lancaster was killed, and racial deaths have only been increasing here in the States. Signs were there and without intervention of some kind, Floyd’s, Deneke’s, and Lancaster’s deaths were inevitable. No one knew when or to whom these tragedies would happen to, but something like this would.

Anyway, this has been a very long prelude to introduce my point to all this. When these things happen I like to do a horoscope on the event in order to understand it, aka electional/event astrology. Last time I looked up this chart I was reading an event horoscope about the Port Arthur Massacre, so I decided to try my hand at this type of astrology. Now, I’ll probably cast a horoscope for Sohpie Lancaster and Brian Deneke, but for know this chart will focus on George Floyd’s Death, its impact, and the Lafayette Square Protest earlier this week. Before I start this reading, just know I use the Whole Sign house system and not Placidus. Lastly, Floyd was a person and astrology can’t explain away everything, so I’m going to treat him with the dignity he deserves.

Whenever one sees horrific violence and mass uproars in astrology, Mars and Pluto are the prominent players in the horoscope. This isn’t surprising because Pluto is a higher octave of Mars (like Neptune is to Venus, and Uranus to Saturn) and they’re dignified in Aries and Scorpio. Mars is Ares, it is raw masculinity, sexuality, conquest, war, anger, passion. Pluto, aka Hades, Greek God of the Dead, is all that Mars is with one difference. Pluto bides its time waiting for the opportune moment unlike Mars that is impatient and impulsive. In these charts we expect Gemini to be one the dominant signs because it’s Gemini season, Sagittarius because that’s Floyd’s death ascendant (rising sign), and Scorpio because that the protest’s ascendant. However, I did not expect Hades Moon[*1] to be so important here. More on that later.

Gemini Sun (7/Descendant) squared Pisces Mars (4/IC)

Sun is the ego, who we are as an individual. Mars is our drive, its our fighting words. Harsh aspects like oppositions and squares are blessings in disguises because if one can work through the initial turbulence, this person is unstoppable. How this power is often abused. Floyd begs Chauvin for mercy but his words (Gemini/third house) are going unheard. Witnesses are telling Chauvin to stop but they’re ignored and Chauvin’s fellow coworkers are silent.

For now, I’ll give the other cops the benefit of the doubt. Bystanders tend to fall under three camps: one, the bystanders that side with the aggressor, two, the bystanders that sympathize with the victim but are too frightened to confront the bully. Three, perhaps the most insidious, the bystanders that are apathetic to both sides. No matter which camp they fall into they’re cowards and unfortunately the law doesn’t punish inaction.

Pisces is exalted in Venus (Aphrodite) and while it rather not be situated in Mars, Pisces realizes Mars (Ares) is the gender-flipped equivalent of Venus.  Pisces Mars is the seafarer, it is Captain Ishamal, Captain Nemo, the old man from The Old Man and the Sea. And Mars in conflict with the sun is causing a storm.  Instead of noble victory, Mars uses its strength to dominate. Look at the videos, Chauvin’s photo during the scene. His semi-slouched posture indicates nonchalance and with his hands stuffed in his pockets say that he has nothing to hide. How he eyes the spectators is that of confusing and superiority. They’re saying, “Yeah, I’m boring my knee into this innocent man. And? You guys can’t do anything.” He’s also forcing his will on Floyd. Aphrodite is definitely not happy being thrust into war.

Gemini Venus (7th House) squared Pisces Neptune (4th House)

I mentioned how the generational planets are the higher octaves of the primar planets. Venus is the Greek love Eros while Neptune is Agape, or universal love. Neptune is also illusion. American cops are often placed on pedestals and absolved of their actions, but Venus here is breaking the American people’s disillusions of that. Chauvin is abusing his authority murdering an innocent man in public, no one can ignore this power imbalance now.  The crowd that witnessed this atrocity, the millions more worldwide that saw this televised and online can’t erase this from their minds. We’re seeing that the Other (7th House) has no differences from us, that Floyd is not different from us. Pisces Neptune is communicating to us to show love and compassion to our fellow man. Later, in Washington DC Rahul Dubey offered his home to approximately 60 protesters overnight, so they’d remain safe from the police. When interviewed Dubey said what he did wasn’t a choice, it was the right thing to do.

Chauvin showed no kindness, and people are calling him out on this. None of the people in the crowd can do anything, all they can do is beg and shout from the sidelines to help Floyd. This didn’t help Floyd, and this is of little consolation because he died, but people cared enough to record the cops’ crime. They cared enough to demand the cops help Floyd. It feels inadequate at the time, it won’t resurrect him. At least he heard some kindness and concern in the voices of others.  

Cancer Moon (8th House) squared Taurus Uranus (6th House)

A Hades Moon is any moon connection to Pluto and/or the eighth house. Whenever the moon is connected to the generational planets – specifically Saturn and Pluto – there’s a war between feminine, nurturing energy and masculine, destroying energy. Saturn freezes emotions whether it’s trined or opposed the Moon. Pluto when aspected to the moon gives the moon psychic, explosive energy. Moon is dignified in Cancer which gives it added strength, however, it’s in the eighth house of death weakening it. “From tomb of the womb, to womb of the tomb.” (Hero of a Thousand Faces) Women give life and we live with the knowledge that life will be taken away. With Floyd’s last breaths he says that he “can’t breathe” and calls out “mama.” How many heartstrings were tugged at? How many mothers, girlfriends, daughters, embraced their children and significant others when they heard this?

Taurus is Eve from the Garden of Eden. Taurus craves stability and sensuality which is why it is fallen in Uranus. Uranus uproots Taurus’ stability to initiate change but note where Uranus; it’s in the house of work and health (6th house). Floyd’s life was taken by men who swore oaths to serve and protect. Chauvin’s coworkers should have done their duty (Virgo/6th house) and protected Floyd from one of their own. Instead they lazily stand aside and let a man die. They ignore his health when Floyd informed them earlier that he was claustrophobic.

Yet the civilians around them did their duty. They videotaped these cops so they’d be held accountable and couldn’t lie about their actions. Women and men called out to the cops demanding the Chauvin get off of Floyd and for the others to call an ambulance. Granted, Floyd still died. His daughters and wife weren’t there to hold his hand in his final moments. He was denied a good death, a death where he’s an old man surrounded by family who loves him. He’ll never see his daughters, graduate, marry, and bear children of their own. The only solace is that his memory has become immortal, no one will forget him now. I doubt he wanted to be a symbol in death, but now we can ensure that his death isn’t in vain. We can make sure we can bring change to the States. We can make sure that these cops are forced to take responsibility for their crimes. That’s our duty in remembrance to Floyd.

“One day we won't slay our brothers One day we won't hate each other One day we'll help one another But that day is not today”

-- ‘The Pallbearer Walks Alone’, The Dark Element

Lafayette Square Protests

For the most part the placements of the Lafayette Square Protests stay the same as Floyd’s death horoscope. The differences are:

Scorpio Ascendant, meaning Mars & Pluto rule the chart

Scorpio Moon (first house/ascendant)

Cancer Mercury (Eighth House)

Mercury trined Uranus

and Moon trined Saturn

Ultimately, the astrology placements I discussed earlier apply here. But for the protests I just want to focus on the 9th House and 10th House/Midheaven.

Cancer Ninth House & Leo Midheaven

Each country has its own natal chart, for the States, this nation was founded during Cancer season. Many people consider America to be their motherland (Cancer), even people who emigrate here. Personally, I think the States have 2 main lessons to learn: One not to be the savior and think itself the hero of other countries, and two, learn that how it’s governed affects the world (ninth house). In my opening paragraphs I mentioned that Sophie and Brian’s deaths impacted the world as does George’s. That’s exactly what happened. As a nation we have daily protests since Floyd’s death. We’re using emotionally charged language to to force Trump, our legislators, police officials for equal rights for black minorities. Saturn is in Aquarius – and we’re about to enter Pluto in Aquarius in the next few years – we’re finally heeding Saturn’s lesson. That everyone should be treated the same, that we must collaborate to enact change.

Whenever there are empty houses, that house is still important but the lessons and symbols that house represents aren’t important at the moment. Trump used his authority, military, police loyal to him to force them out of the square. Why? For a photo-op. Leo long to be center stage and calling attention to itself; the midheaven makes and ideal home for Leo. But this empty house shows Trump’s failure here. It shows no one will allow him to dominate them anymore. I’m not saying astrology can explain all of Trump’s behaviour, but his incessant need for admiration and attention backfired. Now, I never expected much from him, but if he had the ability to think through his actions and consider anothers’ perspective, I would have tolerated him. (The 2020 elections will not be kind to him.) More importantly Floyd’s death and the proceeding protests have effected the world. And if we as American citizens don’t change, the entire world will be affected. (Pluto and Uranus). The United  States are considered a superpower with Russia and China close behind as world powers. I’m not psychic nor have a crystal ball, but how this nation handles these conflicts will make or break 7 billion + people in this world. I didn’t intend for this astrology post to sound political. I just wanted to explain this through astrology.  

“There will come a day not so far away When the hunter becomes the prey (and you will pay).

Its a hellish inferno This is war eternal.”

-- ‘War Eternal‘, Arch Enemy