#well bun is obvious though. they are my spouse after all !!!

[bitterseadrop-a]

💕 ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿

SHIPPING INTEREST CHECK!

Have we discussed shipping before?: yes || no

My interest level overall: I’ve wanted this for so long || can’t wait || I think it’ll be fun || kinda feeling it || maybe with a lot of plotting || I need to think about it || not interested, sorry

How we should do this: jump right in || slow burn || pre-established || build up to it in a thread || anything goes  /  that's just personal opinion but i know you said you wanted to build up to it !! gonna have to plot some more though probably BECAUSE I HAVE A HORRENDOUS ATTENTION SPAN U KNOW ME

Dynamics I want to try out with our ship: friends to lovers || rivals to lovers || enemies to lovers || mutual pining || battle couple || childhood friends || high school sweethearts || star crossed lovers || long time lovers || old married couple || newlyweds || sickeningly sweet couple || secret lovers || fake dating/marriage || best friends hiding their feelings || arranged marriage || soulmates || other

[fizziefizzco]

A to Z of LynnCove: G is for Growing Family

SOme snippets of Lynn and Cove’s first child together. This is long but it wasn’t as perfect as it could have been. I still really enjoy it either way.

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

They weren’t even sure if it was going to work. The two of them had always wanted to have kids together, even now after Lynn had top surgery to feel more comfortable in their own body. Though there was some hint of … doubt , in their mind that told them it would never work for them. Though Lynn hadn’t been feeling the best recently, throwing up and the like - but they had mentioned that a bug was going around the aquarium staff , so anything was both on and off the table. Still… they had decided to take the test and see. 

Cove waited outside of the bathroom anxiously. His back pressed against the wall, he tried counting the boards in their hallway floor to pass the time. When Lynn left the bathroom, he looked up at them, only to find their eyes full of tears. He jumped to his feet instantly, arms reaching to rub his spouse’s shoulders. 

“Hey, Hey. It’s okay Lynn, there’s always another-” He spoke, but he was cut off by the soft, but tear filled chuckle of his spouse. 

“Look at the test, silly. I’m not sad at all.” Lynn pressed the little piece of plastic into his chest, taking a step back so they could watch their husband’s expression. Cove looked down at it as though he was looking for the meaning of life on this little thing. When he saw it he gasped involuntarily, and looked up to meet the eyes of Lynn. 

“So we..?” He asked, eyes beginning to brim with tears.

“Yeah.” Lynn beamed at him, nodding in response. “We’re going to be parents.” 

Cove dropped the test and went to hug Lynn, the two of them crying many, happy tears. Though it was just their first try, it was still a large feat for them and the two of them were beyond elated. There was going to be so much to do. 

[Rest under the cut] 

------

Telling Cove’s mom happened to be first, as she wasn’t in the area and thus they had to call her to tell her. Cove had dialed his mother’s number, his heart rate picking up as he waited for her voice to come over the other end. 

“Heyy babyy!” Kyra chimed out as she connected the call, “What is my son up to?” 

“Hey Mom. I have some big news for you.” Cove’s voice was shaky, as he was a mix of nerves and excitement as waited for his mom to ask what. 

“Ooh okay. Let me guess. Good news or bad news? You sound nervous.” Kyra could always tell her son’s tone over the phone, and on her end it was more obvious that he was nervous about something. She didn’t have any idea what his news could be. 

“Good news, mom. Very good news.” Cove had done some breathing and calmed down a little, though he was still quite nervous. The pieces fell together in Kyra’s brain. He wouldn’t call like this for something like a promotion… and since it wasn’t bad news it had to be -

“Oh my god! Lynn is pregnant, aren’t they?!” She shouted on her end of the phone, Cove having to pull his phone away from his ear for a second. His face heated up with a blush. 

“Yeah, mom. Lynn and I are going to be parents soon. Lynn is very excited, and so am I.” Cove smiled, and he felt that his mother knew he was happy too. 

“So how did your dad and Lynn’s moms take it?” Ah. There was the question. Kyra assumed that she was the last to get the news, not the first. 

“We were going to tell them over dinner. Aya too, and Lizzie.” There was a pause on the other end of the phone, and Cove contemplated calling out to his mother before she answered.

“I hope that dinner goes well then. Sorry, I had to step out before the people at the office though I was crazy for yelling with excitement.” Kyra smiled as she heard her son’s laughter on the other end. 

“I want more updates, and I expect the two of you to visit me soon. Haru wants to meet the two of you and I know you said you wanted to meet him as well.” Cove hummed in response. 

“We’ll make time to come out before it gets too hard for them.” Cove answered. 

“Knowing Lynn, they’ll kick your ass if they hear you say that. Alright baby, I have to get back to work. Call me soon. I love you.” 

“I love you too, Mom.” 

---------

Dinner with the family was going to be an especially fun affair this time. The group usually all had something to share with each other as it had been a month or so since they’d all last seen each other. This time it was going to be big, especially since it had been around five months since the group had last met. Everyone had been rather busy lately. Shiloh was starting his new book, Lizzie had her store to run, and their kid was ever the little bugger. Aya and Mr.Holden were both hard at work, and Ma and Mom were doing their own things. Lynn too, besides the big news, was doing some good things at work. She’d been doing great at the show she ran occasionally, and they’d gotten a new fish in. Though, Cove was dead sure that no one would be able to top their big news

Lynn wore a nice pair of black slacks and a white long-sleeved shirt that they left a little unbuttoned, braiding their hair to the side. Cove wore a similarly nice outfit for the evening and shook his head at his spouse with a smile at their outfit. 

“One of us is going to have to change.” He spoke, moving forward to take their hand. 

“Well it’s not going to be me. I won’t have many chances to wear nice clothes like this in a while.” Lynn chuckled softly and pulled their husband closer, Cove settling his hands on their waist and kissing them sweetly. 

“You’ll look amazing no matter what. You always look amazing.” Cove spoke though pressing kisses all over their face, with Lynn giggling softly. 

“Alright you sap. Let's get going.” They stepped away from their husband and waved goodbye to Fleche as they headed off to where they’d be having dinner at.

The restaurant was a fairly fancy place, somewhere that the group had only been a few times for various different family meals. It was a nice place for the two of them to tell their big announcement… though they knew that their family was prone to making scenes. Even Aya was a fun character, a loud and very warm woman who loved to bear-hug her stepson and step-child-in-law. Lynn and Cove walked into the restaurant and were directed over to where the family was. Lynn’s side was all there, except for Bernie, Lizzie and Shiloh’s kid. 

“Hey you two!” Lizzie called out to her little sibling and their husband. Mom and Ma got up to give the two of them hugs. 

“Hey.” Cove spoke still shyly, Lynn meanwhile giving both of their moms a hug. 

“Its been a while since we all met like this. I can’t wait to hear the hot news.” Lynn smiled and spoke as they sat down, with Cove taking a seat next to them. What big news indeed. There was some small chatter until Aya and Mr. Holden arrived. 

“I hope you didn’t start the party without us.” Mr. Holden spoke with a smile. Cove got up to hug his father, Aya too, pulled him into a warm hug as well. The group all sat down for their meal and ordered their drinks. Lynn was never one for drinking, even though they used to smoke as a teenager, and thus when they ordered an iced peach tea it wasn’t anything to bat an eye at. No, the real fun came when they were all getting their food handed to them. Now, announcing big news in the middle of eating wasn’t the smartest idea, but it was what they’d planned on doing, as sharing news while eating was the norm for the family. Lynn loved the vegan meals that this place had to offer, especially so was the vegan fettuccine alfredo their favorite. So they ordered it, and it came out, but when it was placed in front of them… 

“Oh god I think I’m going to be sick.” Lynn stood up from the table quickly, and without a moment to spare - darted off to the bathroom. Cove looked from where his spouse had been sitting, to where they’d run off to, the waiter also looking equally as confused. 

“I’m terribly sorry for my partner. They’ve been feeling sick lately. Could you take it back and we’ll order something else?” He’d taken it like a real champ, and the waiter nodded and took the dish back to the kitchen. When Lynn returned all eyes were on them. They’d undone their braid when they’d thrown up in the bathroom, and it was now in a rather messy looking bun.

“I suspect you have questions.” Lynn spoke as they sat back down. 

“Of course.” Mom responded, “But I’m more concerned with wether or not you’re doing okay? That’s not like you.” She looked at her child with the concerning eyes of a mother. Lynn let out a nervous laugh and rubbed the back of their neck. Cove looked at them, and Lynn met his eyes for a moment for Cove to nod, taking their hand in his. 

“I’m pregnant.” Lynn spoke after taking a deep sigh. Mr. Holden nearly spit out his drink, instead choking it down roughly while the rest of the party looked on in surprise. 

“Oh my goodness Lynn!” Ma was the first one to react, with a wide smile on her face as she reached across the table to her child. Lynn took their ma’s hand, finally letting themselves smile. “I’m so proud of the two of you.” 

Cove caught his dad’s expression out of the corner of his eye, turning to see the old man wiping tears away. 

“Dad.” Cove spoke with a teasing, yet loving tone. Mr. Holden let out a laugh with some tears. 

“I’m happy for the two of you, kid. To think, it feels like just yesterday that we moved to Sunset Bird and the two of you met. Now you’re married, successful adults who are going to have a child. I think past Cove would be surprised.” Mr. Holden offered a thumbs-up to his son. Lynn chuckled a little, though a warm blush appeared on their face. 

“Past Lynn always had a crush on Cove. I think she would be a bit shocked to find who I’ve become.” Lynn looked down at their lap with a warm smile. 

“Nonsense!” Lizzie spoke. “We’re all proud of you becoming who you are, and I think past you would be as well. I can’t wait to see what kind of kid you’ll have.”  

The rest of the dinner went along rather smoothly, Lynn though, was a bit sad that they had to order something different for dinner, since their favorite wasn’t agreeing with them. The family was all rather supportive… though they did exchange betting money, having placed the bets a long time ago. Ma won, by the way. After going home and returning to their fur baby,  Lynn and Cove relaxed again .

---------

Lynn hated this. They were ready for this child any day now at this point, their whole body ached and it was hard for them to do much of anything. The aquarium had given them maternity leave, though their coworkers had jokingly called it lynn-ternity leave since Lynn wasn’t male or female. It had been a rather easy go at it at this point though, besides all the usual pain. Lynn was thankful that they weren’t as big as they were right now during the summer, as all they’d been wearing for the past month or so were leggings and sweaters. 

Cove was being as ever-helpful as always, the two of them going to some local classes for expecting parents like them, and were both learning a lot. They’d lay together at night and joke about things like naming their kid after a fish, or wondering how long until they could teach their baby how to surf… that kind of thing. It seemed to excite the little one, who seemed to move around and cause Lynn some discomfort whenever they mentioned the ocean.

Cove had taken off work as well, and his job had sent some gifts home with him from the people he helped. It was all sweet, really. They’d spend their days working on the nursery, which was in the extra room that they had in their house. They had their bedroom, a study-slash sunroom, and then this room.. Which was now their son’s room. Son. 

It had been months since they found out what the sex their child would be was. A part of Lynn remained unsure, a bit worried that it would turn out like they had when they were born… being intersex wasn’t a bad thing, and the two of them promised that if their child was born that way… they’d not force them to change anything unless it would cause significant medical harm. Otherwise, what sex or gender their baby turned out to be was of no issue to them - they were just excited to meet the little one. Or in lynn’s case… they were impatient. 

Lynn groaned softly as they stood up from the couch in the study/sunroom. They were deeply bored and was wondering where their husband had run off to. If he’d left he’d tell them, either personally or with a text … but if Lynn was honest, Cove hardly ever wanted to leave Lynn alone these past few weeks. It was a bit suffocating at times, but he gave them space - even if they were just in different rooms of the same house. 

Lynn didn’t have to go far, he wasn’t in their son’s nursery, but he was in the bedroom. Cove was laid out on the bed, a book in his hand and glasses on his face … but he was asleep. Lynn chuckled softly to themselves as they went to go lay down next to them...  they could do with a small nap or so. The moment that they’d laid down though, was when Cove felt the dip of the bed next to him and opened his eyes. 

“Hey.” Cove hummed, setting his book down on the end table, “Come to nap with me?” Lynn hummed in response, moving closer to their husband. 

“I was just thinking about names before I fell asleep.” Cove sheepishly spoke up again as he wrapped an arm around Lynn’s shoulders. 

“We’re naming him after the ocean, right? I mean we gotta.” They chuckled softly, though only shook his head with a smile. His long, green hair tied to the side in a loose ponytail.

“We don’t have to, you know. There’s no rule.” 

“I know love, but I think it would be cute. Like your name.” Cove heated up at Lynn’s words 

“There aren’t that many unique names like mine.” He mumbled softly, though one look from Lynn and his mouth shut just as quickly.

“You’ve met my friends. Pen, Hero, and come on.. Jersey! People seem to want to pick whatever they want for a name, why can’t we have a little fun?” Lynn laced their fingers with Cove’s, whose other hand went to rub Lynn’s bump. 

“Don’t listen to Lynn, sweet baby. I’ll be there to make sure they don’t choose something completely awful.”  Lynn gasped at the remake their husband made. 

The two of them ended up not napping at all, and laid there side by side running off names to eachother. At one point Cove had grabbed his tablet from the sunroom and brought it in so that they could look at some websites to give them ideas. There were just so many options. In the end, they had a small list of names that both of them could agree on. Ones that were unique, or normal, and some that were undoubtedly inspired by the ocean.

--------

When it was all over, and their son was placed into their arms, It was a brilliant feeling. Lynn was sweaty and a mess, but they’d never felt more alive in that moment when their eyes first fell on their son. 

“Hello little one.” Lynn cooed at the newborn. “I’m your noni.” Lynn hummed, the term feeling good in their mouth. Lynn and Cove had wondered what their son would call them. Cove was Dad, or Papa, or Daddy…. But Lynn… Lynn had settled on a few before it was time, and Noni was the one that just felt… good, in that moment. They looked up and their eyes met Cove’s, and with a large smile, they beckoned him to come closer.

“Would you like to hold him?” Lynn asked and Cove blushed, his face a bright red. 

“I-I’d love to!” Cove moved to stand right next to his partner’s bedside, and peered over at the small bundle that laid in their arms. The little one seemed to have a bit of hair on them, that same green hair that matched his father’s, they wouldn’t know the eye color for a little while, but the face reminded him of Lynn’s only with his nose. Lynn showed him how to hold their son, and watched their husband take the small bundle from their arms. 

Cove marveled at this small thing. It took so much work to get him here, and the joy he felt in his chest was nothing short of overwhelming. Cove took his free hand to gently rub the baby’s cheek, the biggest of smiles on his face. 

“What are the two of you naming him?” The nurse asked, curious for curiosity’s sake. Lynn met Cove’s eyes and he nodded at them, with Lynn turning back to the nurse. 

“His name is Triton.”

[vampiresuns]

Like Real People Do | J. C. Sanlaurento x Saoirse

2.5k words. After reaching a safe port, Jules and Saoirse spend a day away from the crew.

Part 3 of Secrets Of An Ancient Moon series; you can read the rest of it here.

As always, Saoirse, my spouse, belongs to @apprenticealec​. I know I’m the one writing them, but honestly I have to make a pause to give Dani a shoutout: all of the work and characterisation for Saoirse is something I am able to capture because of all the work that Dani herself has put behind her character, and I can only be grateful for be trusted with it. All of of the musings I write for Saoirse are a ‘novelisation’ of things Dani herself has shared with me.

CW for Saoirse being a maniac who’s indifferent to wet socks, and a lot of existential talks, but that’s normal for void-gendered Sartre and Beauvoir.

Of course, the title comes from Hozier.

Personhood was a peculiar thing. People were peculiar things. Up to this point, Saoirse had thought they had the whole deal with human nature more or less pinned down — after all, they had been around long enough to observe humans plenty. Still, the conversation they had had some weeks ago with Julianus in the Ruby’s kitchen was still playing in the back of their mind. 

Because it’s your language, Saoirse.

None of us come with instructions about how to be a person.

They wondered what Niamh would have to say about it, but their last conversation back in Ethari, when Saoirse had done something as human as it got: visit a place that was both tomb and crib, told them she would not be surprised by this turn of events. She was the one who had said Saoirse had changed. Personhood was something Saoirse thought they only observed in others, not something they participated in. Julianus, wonderful and fascinating Julianus, had a different opinion.

When Saoirse had begun teaching them about the code and the language it was written in, they knew Jules would come with a number of legal and juridical backgrounds that they’d be able to tie into the code. According to them by writing themselves into the code, they had given themselves personhood.

“You use very ‘free-willed’ language to explain yourself. You incorporate into societies, you helped create one, which is a very human thing to do. I’ve told you what I think of human nature, haven’t I?” They had said some days ago, when they were brushing on that part of the code. 

“No,” Saoirse replied with a soft smile, “care to tell me?” Saoirse knew this would mess with their schedule, they had agreed on starting around the language but that Saoirse would explain the contents of the code, and Jules would take notes (they took a lot of notes, in general), but Saoirse found themself not caring. 

Time was a scarce thing with humans, but they were so prone to wasting it on things which they somehow found a way to justify in terms of importance. 

“There is no such thing as human nature, Saoirse. There’s nothing that’s inherent to humanity except gregariousness and the wish to be transcendent to contrarrest our own mortality, and truth be told I don’t think those two are different things. Nature is what you nurture, and you helped create this, you use words like ‘I was contracted’ and that’s such a human way to explain it.”

They paused. “I’m not offending you, am I?”

“No, it is different, that’s all.”

Of course, none of the conclusions Saoirse was coming to were conclusions they shared out loud. If Jules had other opinions on the subject, they kept them to themself, except for one and perhaps they only one which mattered.

Back then, Saoirse had placed their hand on Jules back and they carried on. Now, as they discussed with Meredith stopping for a few days in a safe port, it all dawned to them with an absurd clarity. 

Thinking about oneself was too very human, wasn’t it? Of course, humans weren’t the only ones who did so, Saoirse would know, but humans were the only ones whose opinions changed, whose natures changed with it. Gods did not change, and in many ways, Saoirse had not; at the same time, they had spent so long studying humanity they absorbed it in their own way. Sometimes it was knowingly, others unknowingly, and regardless of which Saoirse never understood why.

They couldn’t understand why now either, but they understood that they did not understand. Laughing seemed the obvious conclusion. 

Meredith looked at them with worry for a snap, then like they were crazy, and at last she rolled her eyes. She didn’t ask, she didn’t have to; Saoirse didn’t tell, they didn’t know if they could explain it, so they went back to the topic at hand: safe port. Out of all the things making it a safe port meant, the one which interested Saoirse the most in that moment was that they could wander off enough without having to worry about the Queen’s safety. It meant they’d get to spend time with Jules whatever way they wanted, and they thought they knew exactly where to take them. 

When they made it to the port, Saoirse found them petting Marcius. At first, Jules’ cat hadn’t much liked Saoirse. They spooked him, but now, slowly, he had begun to let himself have his head scratched… sometimes. 

“We’ll be two days here.”

Jules nodded.

“How will you be spending them?”

“Fucked if I know. Exploring, I think. I’ve never been here before. I’m sure there is a market someplace, or… wait, why are you asking me?”

“Because I’d like to take you somewhere, if you’d like to go with me.”

Over Marcius’ soft fur Jules stretched their hand to link their fingers with Saoirse, their cat starting to purr and Jules’ heart to beat like the wings of a frazzled bird; or perhaps, it wasn’t a bird it reassembled but thunder. Thunder roaring strong and steady and threatening to create a microcosm between them. 

Somewhere in the skies, a single thunder made itself heard, for no apparent reason.

“I’d love to,” Julianus replied. 

The only specification Saoirse gave them was to make sure they had something they could swim in — something they had said like they were making the conscious effort to not forget about it. Jules looked at them both baffled and amused, but asked no questions. They liked surprises, when they were controlled. 

So the following day, after leaving Marcius safely inside Saoirse’s quarters with some food, water and some toys, Julianus found themself hiking up the beach with the Quartermaster, from the sand, through a rocky area until they reached a series of natural tide pools between the rocks. The water was turquoise and mint green against the rocks, the bottom of them visible, even though they were still deep enough to swim in. They had been talking as they made their way, but Julianus fell silent upon seeing them, a gasp escaping their lips at last, as giddiness overtook them. 

“Saoirse, they’re beautiful.” 

“Like you.”

“What?”

“I’m glad you like them.”

Jules narrowed their eyes at them, pettiness oozing from them. “Well, I think the water of that one over there matches your eyes.”

Saoirse only laughed. “There’s a grotto there, it’s not too big, but it doesn’t get wet, so it’s a good place to leave your things. I assume you don't want your bag to get wet.”

“No, I would not like that.”

They settled by it, enough shadow and sun for both of them to choose where they wanted to sit. The water glimmered under the sun, and the soft breeze carried some of the sea foam to their faces, the sound of the crashing waves on a tranquil sea day the only sound to accompany their voices as they talked; or not talked, the waves becoming their personal orchestra as they shared comfortable silences. 

Eventually Saoirse stood up, making their way to the water, dipping a leg with their pants, socks and shoes on without batting an eyelash. 

“What are you doing?”

“You go swimming clothed, do you not?”

“It depends, skinny dipping is a thing… but we don’t throw ourselves into the water with that many clothes on. Especially not with shoes, or socks, if you’re wearing those.”

“Why not?”

“Because there’s nothing more uncomfortable than a wet sock?”

Saoirse stared back at them blankly. 

“Of course you don’t think wet socks are uncomfortable,” Jules said with an affectionate eye roll before stripping down to their swimming clothes. A single pair of high-waisted, high-cut, black briefs.

Jules folded their clothes quickly but neatly, and Saoirse looked. Their eyes took in both the whole process and Julianus themself. The shape of the legs, the curve of the hip, the pinch of the waist, the exposed flat chest with healed, periareolar scars that shot like small sun rays on their skin. They lifted their hair to re-tie it in a carelessly done bun, Saoirse’s eyes stopping in the tattoo that read ‘être libre’ on their skin.

“To be free?” They asked, still staring, but now out of the water, shoe and sockless only on one foot, as both items left to dry away from the water. 

“Oh, you mean this? Yeah, that’s what it means. Got it, huh, three years ago? Give or take? It’s six months older than the scars.”

“Does it have a reason to be? I know sometimes you get those with meaning.”

Under the sun, Saoirse’s hair looked like a halo. “Depends on how you want to see it. It’s from one of my favourite books. One of the characters asks, rhetorically most likely, a group of revolutionary students he frequented if there was something greater than a specific political ruler, a military conqueror, an emperor truly, but those are often the same thing; and another character replies ‘to be free’, être libre.”

They came closer, sitting next to Saoirse, who traced the letters with their fingers. 

“Is that why you travel?”

“Is that why you do too?”

“You have an interesting way to look at things.”

“You always say that.”

“Maybe I do because it’s a compliment.” 

Jules gave them a sly look from their side-eye, tucking a loose strand of hair behind their ear. They smiled too, not before licking their lips. It was, of course, on purpose.

“Should I take the proclivity with which your hands find my ribs as a compliment too?”

“I like the rhythm of your breaths. Sometimes you forget to do them, so you stop until you remind yourself you have to.” 

“By-product,” they joked.

“Of?”

“Life.”

“Personhood is a muscle, muscles get cramps, don’t they?”

“You can’t use my words against me.”

“Who said I’m talking about you?” 

“What about then?”

The sun had made Jules’ skin warmer than usual, Saoirse noted as their other hand settled on their knee. They turned towards them a little more, facing the full weight of Saoirse’s staring now. In truth, Saoirse was always staring, always observing, and Julianus had become a permanent feature in their mental inventory, in their peripheral vision, in those little things which reminded them how far away they were from humans, and how close at the same time. More alike them than Saoirse ever suspected they would become, they marvelled at all the things Julianus had come to unbury from crevices and spaces inside Saoirse they didn’t even know they had. 

Saoirse pried their hand away from their ribs, softly settling against Jules’ jaw, cupping it. The hair strand they had tucked behind their ear went loose again, it’s feathery softness tickling Saoirse’s skin. It was a new, yet welcome sensation. 

“Do you still want to swim?” Julianus asked, their voice hushed, the act of speech itself a secret to be shared with Saoirse.

“We have all day,” Saoirse said, finding themselves mimicking the tone used by Julianus, only in their case it was out of wonder. Out of a sense of ongoing curiosity at Jules themself, at their own state of being right now.

Something nebulous had formed inside them for weeks, something that was too akin the same voluntary, chosen will to protect they tended to have for the Pirate Queen, only for entirely different reasons. It was as if someone had undug them from the ice they one inhabited all over again, but this time to offer no deals, no strategies. Jules came with conversations and butterflies they made appear out of nowhere, to teach them (or remind them, Saoirse didn’t know) contracts and acquired self-determination weren’t the only thing which freed. 

“You’re so fascinating.” 

Julianus leaned against the hand cupping their jaw, turning their head to kiss their wrist. 

“If you come closer I can give you one of those too.” 

Saoirse didn’t need to be told twice. Using the hand they were cupping their jaw with to pull them closer, Jules’ hands landed on Saoirse’s upper thighs as their lips met. Plush and warm, Jules lips traced Saoirse’s softly at first, a careful exploration that gave way to exchanged pecks — as if they were trying to make up their minds about the duration of the kiss but couldn’t, or didn’t want to just yet. 

Jules opened their eyes to meet Saoirse’s, those ice blue eyes which never seemed to leave them. The choice was easy, really, when Saoirse’s open gaze met them like that, a wide, yet still not-very-open smile on their lips: Jules had to kiss them again. 

“How long have you been wanting to do that?” Jules asked, cheeky, when they finally pulled apart. 

“Probably since the kitchen talk.” 

“Huh, okay.”

“You were not expecting that answer?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Bad unexpected?”

“Too good unexpected.” 

Saoirse snorted. 

“Hey, not everyday you find a gorgeous, interesting, surprisingly attentive eldritch deity pining after you. I feel very much like the most powerful human in the world, even though I wield no earthly powers, or have no door-opening family name — okay, maybe a little door-opening. We haven’t talked in a while, so I don’t know if I couldn’t any more.”

Saoirse kissed their knuckles, finding themselves wanting to do it. They’ve seen many people do it, they’ve read about people doing it, now they wanted to do it too. “Means I have more of your company… I never told you who I am exactly, though.”

“You said ‘who’,” Jules smiled, “and you didn’t. I do not know if I seem like it, I do not think I am especially so, or at least not more than others, but I am smart enough. Or I hope I am, at least. One can be many things, however, but that’s beyond the topic.” 

Saoirse now took out their other shoe and sock, rolling their pants up enough so they could dip their legs at the edge of the tide pool. “Perhaps I should throw you into the water, for humbleness.” 

“If you pull me into the water, I’m pulling you with me.”

“I’m heavier than I look.”

“I’ll try anyway.” 

The truth was Saoirse let Julianus pull them into it. It was easy to let them when they got to be so close in the process. There were no obligations, no lessons, no shooting, no chores, no anything to distract them from each other, the water and their lips. At some point, Saoirse ended up ditching their shirt too, teasing Jules just a little for staring when they did, even if they knew they had no grounds to make any comments on the subject, not when they knew they spent a fair amount of time looking at Jules for the sake of it. 

Some other time Julianus would make the comparison with some story they had read about, or seen acted out, where desire was masked to be unmasked in private, as if it was something people too couldn’t directly look at, not completely, not at once. It would have to wait, as today they were too busy living, too busy with Saoirse, swimming and talking and making out in the sun until it was time to go back. 

“Can I hold your hand as we walk?” 

Saoirse’s reply was taking Jules’ hand in theirs, smiling softly at them as the sun began to close the distance between itself and the sea, the warm hues of sunset tinting both their blond heads.  

[a-world-in-grey]

Galahdian Braids

For @secret-engima because I took her braids hcs and RAN with it. Warning, this is gonna be a long post.

In case you haven’t read it yet, the Galahdian Color Code is here.

So! To recap so far, here are the known types of braids (SE, please feel free to add on at your leisure):

-Clan Braids: Self-explanatory, designates which Clan the wearer belongs to. Worn as soon as the child has enough hair for a bby braid, done by the parents until the kid learns to do it themselves. Can be done by others, but braiding another’s hair is typically a family/lovers level of intimate thing (I think? SE did you say that somewhere or was that a read between the lines thing I hc’d?). Clan Braids usually have one bead of either the Primary or Secondary Clan colors, with more beads added in the other Clan color or the bearer’s personal colors. This is arguably the most important braid, because THIS is the braid that gets shaved off when a Galahdian is exiled, never to be worn again, because the Clan as Cut Out that person from the Clan. I think this braid changes upon marriage into a different Clan? (SE, does someone marrying into another Clan add that Clan’s marriage braid to their existing Clan braid or straight up wear the new Clan braid with a universal marriage braid to denote their status?)

-Chief Braids: Denotes the current Chief of a Clan branch. For the most part is in the same style as their Clan Braid, but... altered somehow? I honestly feel like the easiest way would be to have like a specific bead or maybe braid in a ribbon or cord of gold (because I hc that gold is one of the things that designates Clan Chiefs) or Clan Colors. (SE? Any input?) I imagine Chief braids are removed once the current Chief steps down to become an Elder.

-Marriage Braids: Again, self-explanatory, denotes that the bearer is married. Galahdians don’t do wedding rings (because punching someone with a ring on is likely to break your finger) instead the person proposing makes/finds a pretty bead and proposes in front of as many people as possible (ngl, the Kingsglaive see a number of proposals at training), and upon acceptance, braid the bead into their new spouse’s hair. Also, the person who proposes marries into their spouse’s Clan (cue Galahdians side-eyeing Lucian practice of wives taking their husbands’ surnames even though the husbands are usually the ones to propose) regardless of gender. Galahdians very much believe in the whole ‘If You Like It Put A Ring Bead On It.” Wedding beads can be any color, not just Clan colors or gold, though for obvious reasons colors like red, white, and pink are avoided. After the initial wedding bead, more beads can be added to the braid, and typically are for things like anniversaries.

-Mourning Braids: Used to designate grief for a fallen friend/family. Two types of braids, one for mourning their own Clan, and one for mourning another Clan. Honestly don’t know if these get beads and how that would interact with the color meanings (SE, any thoughts here?). I hc that mourning braids aren’t a permanent thing - a Galahdian can take out the mourning braid when they feel they’ve sufficiently healed from the grief.

-Last Braids: A very, very sad braid to see a Galahdian wear. Designates that the bearer is the Last of their Clan. It’s a simple braid, worn how the bearer prefers. The defining characteristic of a Braid of the Last is the white and orange - either beads or cords - braided into it, the traditional colors worn by those who are Lasts. This is another braid that can be removed, theoretically if the survivor joins another Clan, but I imagine some Galahdians keep the braid as a momento for their previous Clan.

-Hero Braids: Very rare Galahdian braid, due to how difficult it is to earn one. Despite being called a Hero Braid, this braid denotes any major accomplishment by the bearer. Killing an albino Behemoth, saving the life of a Clan Chief, saving the Clan from a disaster, killing an enemy Chief, etc. This braid can ONLY be granted by the Chiefs and Elders of a Clan. It’s typically braided by the Clan Chief, but only after the Chief and Elders get together to discuss it. Another simple braid, braided with colored cord and usually at least 3 different beads to symbolize the accomplishment that earned the braid. Galahdians only ever wear one Hero Braid, later accomplishments are added onto the same braid with more cords and beads. Depending on how many accomplishments a Galahdian earns, this can result in a very colorful braid - and perhaps even warrant a 5-strand instead of a 3-strand braid to hold it all.

-Outsiders CANNOT wear Galahdian braids, with the exception of Mourning or Hero braids possibly, but only under EXCEPTIONAL circumstances. And only if permission is granted by a Galahdian (or several more like) first.

Now, because I was thinking about Clan Braids and what they would look like so people could actually differentiate them without having to get up close and personal, here are the various Clan Braids (including my Astrum Clan):

-Altius: A 3-strand half-crown braid at the back of the head. Basically, it’s two braids that meet and overlap at the back of the head. The rest of the hair hangs loose, to be styled as desired. (Because I imagined Crowe wearing this and thought she’d look really pretty and it would work well with her usual bun/ponytail while on duty.)

-Arra: A single, thin rope braid hanging down behind the ear. Simple and discreet.

-Astrum: Two cornrows - one at each temple - that turn into hanging braids behind the ear and are joined together at the ends in the back by a bead. (Similar to Libertus’ braids, but instead of both braids on one side it’s one on each side.)

-Bellum: Five cornrows, centered on top of the head, ending at the back of the head with longer hair hanging loose where the braid ends. (See Sonitus Bellum and Tobul from Comrades for examples, because I hc Tobul as a Bellum.)

-Bestia: A single fishtail braid, braided dutch-style at the top of the head. Can choose to braid all the hair, or just a thin braid and leave the rest loose.

-Canere: Two lace braids, but fishtail style instead of the simple 3-strand, starting at the front of the head and trailing down the sides to behind the ears. Again, can braid all the hair (resulting in pigtails or a joined fishtail in the back) or the excess hair can be left loose.

-Carduus: Two rope braids that start at the temples and meet at the back, where the can be left as a ponytail or fuse into one rope braid.

-Furia: A fishtail braid, braided dutch-style, one the left side of the head from the temple.

-Khara: A 3-strand rattail braid. Doesn’t require the actual rattail hairstyle (fortunately), but it’s a single 3-strand braid from the nape of the neck.

-Lazarus: A 3-strand dutch braid at the top of the head, rest of the hair is loose.

-Ornata: A 5-strand lace-braid crown braid - at the front of the head like a headband. (Because the Ornata have to be ornate. Artists everywhere hate them.)

-Ostium: Two cornrows at the right temple, that curve behind the ear and turn into hanging plaits and are joined at the ends by a bead. (See Libertus’ braids.)

-Praesidium: Two 3-strand dutch braids from either side of the temple, curving down behind the ears and turning into hanging braids.

-Tibiae: Similar to the Altius in having a rear crown braid, but fishtail style rather than the 3-strand.

-Ulric: A thin 3-strand braid hanging loose behind the ear. (See Nyx’s braids.)

If any of y’all have other ideas/input, feel free to add!

[risingsouls]

Conversations: 4

[Part 4! With a hint of shameful(less?) fanservice because the idea popped into my head and it was amusing because these two give zero fucks. A little less heavy than the last few so there’s that? I dunno we’re moving toward something here.]

Nabooru sank into the near scalding and fragrant bath she drew with an extended sigh, her tense muscles and bruises relenting in the pain they caused. Her body like jelly, she reclined back and rested her head on the lip, eyes closing and arms draped haphazardly over the side. 

She needed this last night when she dragged herself back home, but when her heavy eyes landed on her bed on the way, she failed to convince her legs to carry her further. Her head hit the pillow and she was out, exhaustion superseding the pain of her training session with Vegeta. She admired his willingness to push her, upping the difficulty level when he deemed her ready. But yesterday's spar felt more outright aggressive than a measured rise of difficulty. _She_ didn't particularly _mind_, exactly. He had offered her a proper challenge after all. But her sore body when she woke up cursed his name, and the more she thought about it, she wondered at the cause. It didn't help that she had to put this moment on hold to help Nappa out when a trainer didn't show up. Putting the fighters through their paces wasn't difficult. Painful at times due to her pre-established soreness. The trouble was keeping them focused on something other than her damn body and thinking of ways to ask her out for the millionth time.

She hadn't heard from Vegeta yet, and though that didn't mean much when he wasn't reliable with warning her when he planned to show up, she didn't sense him nearby or on the move. She took advantage of the moment of free time to relax before more training, with or without him. She smoothed the loose strands of hair she missed when she tossed it up into a messy bun on top of her head up to her scalp. She hoped she could enjoy this for a while. Maybe squeeze in a quick nap or some relaxing stretches before forcing herself into more strenuous training…

Gold eyes popped open, a groan leaving her lips as her senses picked up Vegeta’s ki signature barreling in her direction all too soon. She willed him to fly passed, head off into the wastes or further north for training on his own to give her that few hours of spoiling herself, but his power faded right at her doorstep. She winced at the bang of the front door slamming the wall and sank further into the tub, feet hanging over the end. 

“Nabooru!”

Nose scrunched, she shouted back, “I’m in the bathroom!” She muttered a few select Gerudo insults into the bubbles. She wasn’t about to abandon her bath; he could wait for her if he was so desperate as to bust into her house like a maniac to begin their training.

Silence relaxed her tensed muscles once more, content with the idea that he either left in a huff or was waiting as patiently as a man like Vegeta could manage. Just as her eyelids lowered, the crunch of footsteps on the carpet heading in her direction snapped them back open. She glanced to the cracked door after ensuring water and suds had her covered. Surely he wouldn’t just walk in would he?

He would.

Vegeta had never ventured past her living room, but following her voice and the self-explanatory layout of what he had come to expect of an Earth home, he traipsed straight through her bedroom to the master bathroom and kicked the door open none too gently. He returned her glare in kind, unbothered by her state of undress or the activity she wasted her time with. The cloyingly sweet, floral scent of whatever substances she threw into her soak only deepened his scowl.

“You know. Telling you I was in the bathroom wasn’t an invitation.”

He ignored her. “Get out. It’s time to train.”

“First of all, I’m not getting out of this tub with you standing there. You haven’t earned that view yet.” She shifted back to a comfortable position and closed her eyes to reinforce her next point. “Second, I’m finishing my bath, so you can either wait or get lost and I’ll come find you when I’m ready.”

Vegeta snarled, and considered grabbing her by the arm and yanking her out anyway. His patience had already thinned closer to nonexistence than usual with annoyance after annoyance derailing his morning routine. Finding Nabooru less than ready to fight him only further perturbed him, but she hadn’t outright refused. With a grunt, he perched himself on the toilet, arms folded and his face set in an impatient scowl.

Nabooru opened one eye. In her haste and concern with keeping herself covered with his unanticipated trespass of her bathroom, she only just noticed his still torn battle suit and cracked armor, a chunk missing from the right side of his chest. She stretched her legs. “Any reason you didn’t change your armor? Or are you going for a new look?”

“Why do you think?” he growled, leather crunching as his hands curled into fists. "Tch, nevermind. Don't answer that. It's because Bulma has refused to repair any of it since I refused to go to some stupid party with her. She also sabotaged the gravity chamber to try and prevent me from training."

The Gerudo couldn't help but snort, both eyes now open and trained on the perturbed Saiyan. Who knew a lover's spat would have him in such a tizzy. "Seems a little far for a grudge over a party, but I guess I can see why she's mad. She probably wants to spend time with her husband."

"I'm _not_ her husband." 

The vehemence of his insistence made her blink, eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Okay, lover, boyfriend, whatever. My point still stands."

Vegeta swept his fingers through his hair. Why the hell had he brought this up? "Look, she's not any of those things to me either, nor am I to her, got it?"

She understood, but his words conflicted with the information she had picked up from other sources. Turning on her side, she folded her arms on the lip of the tub and rested her chin on them. "Everyone else seems to think you two are married. I'm not dumb enough to assume that having a kid together makes you automatically married, so what's the deal, then? 

"That's exactly it: a deal." One he made without considering the consequences or all the implications and during one of the lowest points of his life. He hadn't really cared as long as he could continue going through the motions of his miserable existence in relatively the same pattern as he had been. But now it seemed Bulma had decided to raise his rent, so to speak, pressing fatherly and spousely expectations more insistently on him despite every outright refusal, typically at the cost of his sanity or one of the comforts he had grown used to. "I agreed to let her call me her husband for the sake of her reputation and to make things easier on Trunks while I got to live and train there. There is no formal marriage between us."

"Ah." While a silly concept of the culture, she knew that many women here were looked down upon for having children out of wedlock, just as those in Hyrule had been. And a woman of Bulma's status would face the scrutiny of far more than just her peers. It was a smart tactic and beneficial to both parties and the child they apparently mistakenly made. But, if what Vegeta said was true, she seemed as though she wanted more from their "marriage" than he was willing to give, hence the friction between them and the resulting refusal to supply him with the niceties she had previously. "What changed then? Do you know?"

The urge to snap again rose to the surface, her line of questioning as pointless as ever in his mind. He switched his crossed legs and, fists releasing, he tapped his fingers on his biceps. He didn't want to meet her gaze, but the only other viable option that didn't make that glaringly obvious was to stare straight forward in the long mirror that spanned most of the wall behind the sink and its counter. At his own disgruntled reflection. The view into the bathtub she wasn't _trying_ to offer him. He grunted and swept a hand over his face as heat filled his cheeks. Did he really think sitting here was going to make her finish up quicker?

"I don't know. How could I possibly know that? I barely talk to her if I can help it." He opted on twisting on the toilet seat a half turn, enough to keep his eyes from the mirror and more easily maintain eye contact should he choose as proper conversational decorum dictated. His fingers paused their tapping as he fully considered the question, his own response. Had it always been that way? Not long ago, he had made himself--quite literally forced himself--to be more available to her and Trunks. To awkwardly wedge himself into the role of father and husband with the convoluted idea that it would make him stronger like he surmised Kakarot's family had for him. A theory he didn't think was totally unfounded but he realized had not and could not work for him. His forcing the act aside, he had to find what worked for _him_ instead of focusing and obsessing over how Kakarot reached new and unfathomable heights of power while he remained in the dust.

"I don't know," he said again, tone gruff but softer this time. "Maybe I did...tch, forget it, you wouldn't understand."

"As you said to me a few weeks ago," Nabooru responded with a raised brow, "try me." She shifted back to her previous position, head reclined and eyes closed. "You've already said this much. Might as well get it out of your system."

Vegeta stared at the bottle with light pink liquid perched on the counter's edge, studying the cluster of flowers printed on the label. That explained the fragrance. "In my pursuit of surpassing Kakarot and his brat despite the clown’s death, I made the foolish assumption that throwing myself into the roles of father and husband and learning to care about the two of them would help me get stronger like I assumed his family helped him. _Perhaps_ that is how she has come to the assumption that I want to play the part she so desperately wants me to." His foot tapped the air again, dark brows lowering. “It’s asinine. I can’t go a single day without her nagging.”

“At least you halfway admitted you brought it upon yourself.” The corner of her lips tugged upward in a smirk in the face of his glare. As much as she wanted to berate him for faking a relationship and leading Bulma on, she knew that he didn’t respond well to lecturing and it would be a moot point. He admitted to understanding he made a mistake, even if the reasoning was more selfish than her concern over Bulma’s feelings, too. He had wasted her time, after all. If a true, fairy tale marriage was really what she wanted and he wasn’t willing to give it and didn’t want to, he should have cut ties so she could seek that out. At the same time, she wasn’t completely blameless; prince though he may be, he did not hide the fact that he didn’t fit the bill of the traditional ones the stories described. And if a deal is what it took to pretend they had it all together, she seemed to have missed a fair amount of red flags signaling he didn't want much more to do with her than benefitted him.

The task of “making it” was easier said than done, that she could contend from both her knowledge of his experience and her own. They both had nothing more than the clothes on their backs when they started their lives here, not a cent to their names to start any kind of life on a planet that relied heavily on currency and its technology for real comfort. She and the Gerudo lived in a cave for months, surviving off the land while they found ways to make enough zeni to start their lives or, as they decided, build their community and stick together. For a while they could only purchase a single capsule house at a time and shared the spaces. Their task was far easier as a group working toward the same goal and helping each other. Vegeta was utterly alone, and she could hardly blame him for taking Bulma up on her offer to house him. As far as their strange deal, she could only conjecture why he wouldn't straight up tell her he wanted nothing to do with it anymore outside of simply being unsure of where to go or how to move forward. Vegeta wasn't one to mince words, after all.

“I don’t know if you’re looking for my help here, but...do_ you care about her?” She trailed her fingers along the lip of the tub. “Or is there some other reason you haven’t told her that participating in things you don’t want to do wasn’t part of the deal necessarily?”

The easy answer was comfort. Complacency in the amenities he had become used to. The difficult answer was that he _had_ amounted an inkling of care for Bulma and Trunks. Not in a romantic capacity for the former as she would like. His interest in her was purely physical and, though she tried to fool herself, he knew the same followed for her, too. She showed no interest in him outside of the rare bedroom meetings, and he very typically showed next to no interest in her life either. They had so little in common from their histories to their interests he didn't see how anyone but him seemed to find the sham of a marriage comical.

She tried to act tough since the tournament in the face of the lives he so callously and selfishly took, looking past the countless murders he committed without an ounce of remorse on his part, likely due to their ability to revive them at the near snap of their fingers. Or perhaps she refused to believe he was in control when he had done it, that Babidi instead had of him fully under his spell and orchestrated the attacks through him. Whatever the case, he had seen fear in her eyes on more than one occasion, when he lashed out or his temper got the better of him. Still, her delusions of him and her desire for the perfect family life made her cling to him.

A part of him wanted to protect Bulma and Trunks, but that's as far as his emotional attachment went.

"Complacency. Ease. Comfort." He left it at that; his omission would serve as answer enough to the inquiry concerning his feelings about Bulma. "I...I just didn't care after the Cell Games. I vowed off fighting for nearly a year before I realized it was all that kept me feeling alive. Had I a fortune to give her, my throne, an empire, I would have handed it over without a second thought or any negotiation. I wanted what was easy, so I returned to the life I had become used to."

She stared at him, eyes once more wide with surprise. After another second, he glanced at her, mirroring her expression and apparently just as shocked at the words that tumbled from his lips. The way he stiffened, she expected him to bolt without little more than a "hurry up" and a slam of the bathroom door behind him. She waited, a minute, maybe two. Partially for his benefit in case he did decide to escape the suddenly heavy weight that settled between them and partly for her own benefit. Pain erupted in her chest like a thin blade dragged downward and her lungs felt squeezed and she struggled to find the words to follow that up. To feel that low and with such pride that normally flooded him...she didn't have to imagine it; she had lived it herself. A warrior like him swearing off fighting...

When he didn't move and he sat so still she thought he might have died sitting on top of her toilet, she swallowed and said, "And now you're thinking a little more clearly. Or as clearly as you can manage." Relief flooded her when his focus snapped back to reality from whatever dimension his soul had escaped to, his lip curling up and sharp canines bared in warning. The soft, too high breath of a laugh she released in response attested to her relief. "You realize now that you want...well, what do you want? To be on your own or something? Do things differently and your own way?"

He grunted. He hated to admit he was lost. Clueless of how to move forward and ambitionless. "I don't know what I want, but it's not what I've got."

Nabooru hummed, tapping her nails on porcelain. She studied him, mulling over the possibilities. Only one suggestion stuck.

"Again, I'm not sure you want my advice but hear me out. I think you need the space to figure that out, you know? Staying where you are, you're only going to feel pressured to continue as you have and push yourself into a box you don't want to be in. That perhaps you don't fit in." When he didn't object to her analysis, his sideways glance urging her to continue, she forged on. 

"That said...you can have the guest room here if you want it. I know it's not as roomy or luxurious as Capsule Corporation, but it's comfortable." A pause; she had to choose her words carefully. To ensure he understood she was not offering charity or trying something underhanded. "You don't even have to tell me if you want it or when you plan to stay. You don't even have to interact with me if you don't want. It's not permanent either. I _like_ my own space after being crammed in with the others until we could afford more housing, so I'd rather it stay temporary. I want to give you a comfortable space to help you figure things out away from what you think you don't want. A few months or so should be fine and then we can go from there."

She caught his grimace and added, "No, I'm not trying to trap you or use this to exploit you later. Outside of a sparring partner and decent company, you have nothing I want." Sinking further into the tub, she folded her arms beneath the bubbles. "Besides, you might decide after a couple months away you miss your old life and want to be a husband and father."

"Hmpt. Doubtful." While she spoke, he watched her closely, searching for deceit, a motive. Her neutral expression revealed little, and his natural inclination toward suspicion waned. Still, he couldn't stop himself from asking, "Why?"

"Why offer this? The short answer is you're going to be a whole lot more effective as a sparring partner if you're not chronically irritated about your home life, and it will probably help your own growth, too." Another impatient grunt was all the response she received and she shrugged a shoulder in return. "Otherwise, It's the same answer as last time: I understand what it's like to be where you were, wanting to give up everything you were and worked toward."

Vegeta opened his mouth to press her, but she cut him off. "I'll explain another time, promise. It's another long story, and I'm getting wrinkly." She lifted her hand from the water and swept it toward the door. "Go on so I can get dressed. I won't take long and we can go have our spar."

"You'd best not." The Saiyan stood and headed for the door. He slowed at the threshold and glanced back at her, hand on the knob. Gratitude hung from his lips but he kept the words lodged in his throat. Instead he offered a simple nod and left, closing the door behind him.

[clairen45]

Walk Like an Egyptian: Rey and the Gift of the Mother

This is one of my obsessions, whenever I read a novel or watch a movie, to always pay attention to details about clothing or hairstyles. I have never thought it was not significant on any level. So, there was something about Rey’s appearance in TFA that always had me thinking until today it finally clicked. The draping and off-white color of her dress was always kind of goddessy to me, but I do not think it is just any Goddess. Rey’s costume is Egyptian inspired, and there may be one particular Goddess behind it… Hear me out… She lives in the desert, among ruins, so the setting is right. Now, look at the draping, the staff, and above all the hairstyle. They insisted particularly on this type of three knots (that she lets go of at the end of TLJ) when they introduced the character. This type of “knot” (and they called it expressly a bun-knot) looks very much like the Tyet also called an Isis knot, that is one of the symbols of the Goddess and is supposed to echo the ankh, the cross of life. And I saw recently someone wondering about the style of bandages on Rey’s arms… It does look cool ,but it could also be a nod to the bandages on mummies. Note that Kylo has more or less the same bandaging on his arms. So it might all go with the theme of death and rebirth that Isis and Osiris embody in Egyptian mythology.

Isis has a lot of different representations, but the most recurring ones are the winged goddess, the one on the throne, and the goddess with the scepter. Isis has been one of the most enduring goddesses, under different cultures and different names, from Ancient Egypt up to the 6th century AD. As the figure of the Mother, with her babe at her breast, she is also credited as an earlier representation of the Madonna and Child. The story of Isis in Egyptian mythology is honestly quite convoluted and complicated. But there are some interesting key elements to maybe ponder:

Isis is married to her twin brother, Osiris, the God of Death, of reincarnation, and the Underworld

Isis has to go on a litteral scavenger hunt to find the  dead body of her husband, first to find his coffin, then to collect the dismembered parts of his body

Isis and Osiris have one child together (do not     get me started about how that happened, because the guy was dead), and his     name is Horus, the Falcon-headed God.

Isis is the Goddess of marriage, fertility, motherhood, death, and rebirth

She was believed to have healing powers

She was often represented on coffins

In a particular story, she was the only Goddess who was able to learn the name of Ra, or also Re (/reɪ/)

Among her many symbols (scepter and tyet), there are also the vulture and the solar disc with horns

There is already quite a lot to look at. First, I am going to be very clear, even though Isis is married to her brother I am NOT saying that Kylo is her twin brother. In Greek, Roman, and Egyptian myths, the Gods and Goddesses are always brothers and sisters, but this is not a hint at any kind of incest. Game of Thrones this is not. Though it could explain why some people got misled in the first installment. I do not think they are aiming at the brother and sister relationship but rather at the notion of soulmate. They are metaphorical twins, the two halves of one being, which was really what they meant in mythology with the sister and brother thing… Yet, Kylo as Osiris is rather interesting for the obvious reason. He ends up in the underworld, the Dark Side, and has to be rescued by his wife who relentlessly goes after him. Isis on a scavenger hunt? Well, Rey is a scavenger. Check. Let’s look at the other checks:

Horus looks like a falcon/ She flies the Millennium  Falcon

Isis is represented on coffins/ Rey shipped herself to Kylo on a pod that Rian Johnson insisted should be designed like a coffin

The name that Isis stole from the Sun God sounds very much like our heroine’s name:  Re/Rey

the vulture and solar disc with horns, well, what about these two pictures of Jakku?                                                                                                

Solar disc above, the two horns may be kind of a stretch, granted…

Some more interesting points about Isis… In the Egyptian Book of the Dead, she is called:

She who seeks shelter for the weak people

She who knows the orphan 

She who seeks justice for the poor people

She who seeks the righteousness in her people 

All of the above resonate rather well with Rey’s persona, as well as with the last moments of TLJ first when Rey shelters the last of the Rebels in the MF, and finally with the last scene which focuses on orphans and slave children. It also fits rather well with Rey as the Symbolic Nurturing Mother, and the themes of the nest and rebirth, as I recently posted https://clairen45.tumblr.com/post/169917680088/crait-and-symbolism-blood-wounds-salt-foxes

Another thing that may validate the figure of Isis as an influence for the ST is the fact that in his book The Power of Myth, Joseph Campbell devotes an entire chapter to what he calls The Gift of the Mother, and the main figure he discusses in this chapter is that of Isis, “the Goddess who goes in quest of her lost spouse or lover, and through loyalty and a descent into the realm of death, becomes his redeemer”. To me, EVERY word there screams REYLO. And probably a good blueprint for episode IX. But maybe it is just me… And what particular gift does the Mother give (besides the obvious life and so forth and so on): COMPASSION, a word that has been used very early in the ST about Rey and Kylo. Why on earth would Kylo feel compassion for Rey? Because compassion, unconditional love Anakin used to call it, may be her gift to him, the gift of the Mother. From the moment he knows of her, through compassion, it means he is already on the path back to humanity.

On a funny note… there is one part of her husband Isis has struggled to find in order to make his body whole again… I will let you guess. Could it be the reason for that lightsaber she finds in a box… and that she will need to fix…

[hethrewmyheartinthecut]

Tatiana/esme for coffeeshop au? Only if you feel like it of course!

Oh, I feel like it. I most certainly feel like it.

with your hair down, a Tatiana x Esme fic

 read more like this on ao3 • or my tumblr masterlist

One morning Esme came to work, unlocked the front door, and found a dark-haired woman just sitting there on the edge of the front counter, heel-clad feet swinging back and forth, doing something on her phone. Evidently bored, but holding herself with the feline grace of an aristocrat, clad head to toe in clothing a sleek white pantsuit whose professional effect was absolutely ruined by the black lace crop top she wore underneath.

“I want a croissant,” she said. What accent was that? Russian?

Esme rubbed her eyes and tried to make sense of it all. “We’re not open until six-thirty,” she said. “How did you get in?”

“Two almond croissants. And a quad macchiato.”

“I don’t want to call the police.”

“Then don’t.”

Esme let her massive purse fall to the floor with a thud. “It’s too early in the morning for this. Tell me who you are, or I’ll kick you out myself.”

Without changing the position of her head, the woman looked up. Esme froze. A lesser woman would’ve stepped back. Suit or no, there was nothing civilized about those green eyes. They were purely feral, and nakedly interested.

But then the woman blinked, and it was if a blade had been sheathed. “That’s the level of dedication I like to see in my workers,” she said, giving Esme a sardonic smile and then returning her attention to her phone.

“Your?”

“Check your email.”

Esme pulled out her own phone, and sure enough, buried under an assortment of unasked-for grocery store coupons, sales advertisements for kids’ clothing, requests to schedule parent-teacher conferences, and the occasional chain email from Linda, there was an email from corporate that congratulated Tatiana Petrovna on becoming the youngest person to ever own a Moody’s Coffee. In the email there was a photo, unquestionably of the same woman that now sat on the countertop, with her curly hair swept up into a bun and her flawless face set in a smug smile.

Esme picked up her purse and made her way behind the counter. “What happened to Bob?”

“Who’s that?”

“The previous owner.”

“Dead.”

Esme felt like she should say something about that, like: oh, that’s too bad, but it wasn’t really. He’d been an old, unpleasant, and incompetent. Besides, Tatiana clearly didn’t give a damn. In fact, from this angle, Esme could see her phone, and it was perfectly obvious that Tatiana was just continually swiping left on a wide array of people, mostly uni students, a few professors.

“Two percent, skim, almond, soy?” Esme said.

“Do I look like a vegan to you?”

“That only eliminates two.”

“I don’t care.”

For one sweet moment, Esme fantasized about making the macchiato with half and half instead of milk, or better, just putting a glob of sour cream in a cup with espresso, but then, employment. Employment was good. Or if not good, then at least necessary.

“Skim it is,” she said.

Twenty minutes later, the croissants came out of the oven piping hot. Esme slid them into a brown paper bag, and handed the bag, along with the macchiato, to Tatiana.

Tatiana hopped off the countertop and landing so smoothly that her suit remained immaculate, unstained by even the smallest fleck of macchiato. “Tell Hansen she gets a ten percent raise if she doesn’t fuck up.”

“Tell her yourself,” Esme said, but by then Tatiana was already half-out the door.

In the weeks that followed, Tatiana showed up randomly, never at the same time, never eating the same thing, and wearing a succession of increasingly exquisite clothes, verging on couture. On the very same day that Esme’s oldest stepchild, Katie, got her first period, stained the backseat of their car, and cried about it all the way home, Tatiana showed up at Moody’s Coffee wearing Louboutins. That had Esme feeling some type of way. Nothing positive.

There were other changes, too: the old uniforms of ugly green polo shirts and black pants were replaced by graphic tees and jeans; the menu shortened but the list of weekly specials grew; the corporate décor disappeared overnight, replaced by cozy, eclectic, bean-bag-and-lamp style pieces. It all seemed utterly suited to the aesthetic of a hip college town, but utterly antithetical to Tatiana’s aesthetic in all its red-lipped, stiletto glory. But she clearly didn’t disapprove; the Saturday after the renovations, she appeared before even the bakers, somehow having managed to discover a way to lie languorously, elegantly even, across two beanbags with a bottle of wine and a massive Russian tome.

About three weeks in, Esme showed up to work an afternoon shift and Tatiana was behind the counter, leaning against the back wall, phone in hand, but watching with keen interest everything that poor Carter and Fiona were doing.

“Move,” Esme said.

“Why?”

“The three o’clock classes get out in ten minutes, and I won’t have the time to be reaching around you to get at the rack of syrups.”

“Mm.” Tatiana moved back into the corner and stood so still that in the midst of the rush, Esme forgot she was there at all, until a girl in a Canada Goose coat leaned over and tapped Tatiana on the shoulder. Now this, Esme wanted to see. If only because she loathed every fool who bought an $800 jacket when a $150 would do.

“Hey. Are you the manager?” the girl said.

“The owner,” said Tatiana, slightly through her teeth.

“Look, I’m not trying to cause trouble, but she misspelled my name.” The girl pointed at Fiona, who, bless her, looked petrified. “Sorry,” she said.

“What’s your name?” Tatiana had a way of making every word sound desultory, but it didn’t stop the girl a bit. She barrelled on.

“It’s not Claire, C. L. A. I. R. E., it’s Clare, C. L. A. R. E.”

“Ah.” Tatiana stared at her, magnificently, transparently bored.

“So?” Clare said.

“Would you like me to do something?”

“Tell your employees to spell my name properly, maybe?”

“I really am sorry,” said Fiona.

“Alternatively?” said Tatiana.

Clare’s brow furrowed. “What?”

“Alternatively…” With the flick of one finger, Tatiana knocked over the cup, and it tipped over sideways, spilling a hot brown stream onto the girl’s winter boots.

The girl took a step back, and Esme could see the precise moment when denial turned to rage. “You know what? I’m going two blocks down, and I’m getting it from Starbucks! I’m getting everything from Starbucks from now on!”

“Enjoy it while it lasts,” said Tatiana. Her red lips lifted in that feline smile. “Starbucks will be closing soon. I hear the building’s been cursed.”

The girl looked over at Esme, as if seeking reassurance that this was all a practical joke. Esme smiled a placid and flat-eyed smile right back at her. Clare left.

The next day, there was a plaque up on the wall with Tatiana on it. The bio underneath might have been printed in a cutesy font, the swirl of midnight blue might have been well in keeping with the whimsy of the coffeeshop, but there was no amount of design that could render Tatiana’s sheer magnetic arrogance and beauty into something friendly. Even in a photo.

That plaque got plenty of use. Tatiana showed up during every rush, morning, noon, and night, for nine days straight, expertly weaving between the workers and taking orders just like the rest with a smile about a hundred watts too bright for comfort. Clack clack clack went her heels on the tile. Her misspellings became too aggressive to be mistaken for a mistake. At every complaint, she pointed at the plaque.

Pay improved. A few people vanished, without any clear confirmation about whether they’d been fired or just quit. Esme didn’t complain. She found she was enjoying the reign of this new tyrant, even though the tyrant’s benevolence was still an open question.

Even after that nine-day sprint, Tatiana occasionally showed up during the rush. Sometimes she jumped in, doing everything from cappuccinos to taking out the trash; other times, she demanded (and received) free pastries.

“She’s so rude,” said Carter, late one Friday night, at closing.

“That’s exactly why people love her,” said Fiona.

“I’m just scared of her,” he said.

“She’s like a neighborhood cat that only bites,” Fiona added. “It’s fun for them. It’s a bit of personality.”

“But how long before we start losing customers?” said Esme.

“I don’t know, but month over month sales have gone up by six percent,” said Hanson. “I think it’s working.”

“We’ll see,” said Esme.

Except the next week, the Starbucks two blocks down closed and Moody’s got even busier.

“Oh my God. Oh my God.” Fiona gripped Esme’s arm hard. “Look. That’s the guy.”

Esme peered over the counter at the blonde man picking up a copy of the Wall Street Journal in the corner store opposite Moody’s Coffee. “You’re kidding.”

“Who?” Carter craned his neck.

“That’s the only man I’ve ever seen Tatiana swipe right on. There have been four women, and one man. That’s the man.”

All three stared breathlessly until he disappeared down the street.

“He was tall,” said Fiona admiringly.

“Not that tall,” said Carter.

“You’re five foot seven, what would you know about tall?”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“He seems rich. Like sugar daddy rich. Do you think Tatiana has a sugar daddy?”

“Why would she need one?” Esme said.

“Why indeed,” said Tatiana, appearing as if by magic from the back room.

Fiona and Carter scattered.

“You might enjoy it,” Esme said.

“Mm, the long game’s much too much work, and men are not dependable. Take it from me, Esme, all meat tastes better when you’ve hunted it yourself.”

“Spoken like a true heiress, with no spouse, no parents, and no children.”

“Doesn’t make me wrong.”

Tatiana was right, of course, but Esme couldn’t bring herself to say it, so she just gave Tatiana one last look and turned back to the whipped cream.

Nobody ever saw the blonde man again.

This sexual harassment training video had to have been made in the eighties. At first, Esme thought she could tolerate the old graphics and the quasi-elevator music, but then the man in the example said honkers and she burst out laughing.

“Let’s just get through this,” said Hanson grimly.

“No, she’s right,” said Tatiana from the back, at her most sardonic. Hanson flipped on the lights.

“How long have you been here?” said Fiona.

“Too long.” Tatiana walked to the front of the room. “I’m taking over this education. The video’s far too complicated. It’s a simple calculation. Sexual harassment is just a flavor of bullshit with very specific consequences: if you do it, you lose an ear. If you don’t, you live your life.” She produced a folding knife and opened it up. “Bullshit.” She closed it again. “No bullshit.” Opened it “Bullshit.” Closed it. “No bullshit. Now let’s have a demonstration. Who wants to be sexually harassed today?”

The workers at Moody’s Coffee were almost acclimated to Tatiana to the point where the production of a knife and a few threats of bodily harm surprised no one. Still, only Esme raised her hand. She had really developed a taste for Tatiana’s nonsense.

“Are you sure?” said Tatiana, with a hint of amusement.

Esme leaned back in her chair. “Hit me with your best shot.”

“Esme Shelby,” Tatiana said, “The uniform replacements were worth every penny, if only because your tits were absolutely wasted behind those old baggy green shirts.” She turned to the workers and flipped the knife open. “Bullshit. You see?”

“Not sure I’d call that bullshit,” Esme said.

“For the purposes of your education. Now, let’s try a different kind of compliment. Esme, great job today. You really impressed me by getting every order out without a single spill.”

“Snore,” said Esme.

Tatiana flipped the knife closed. “But it wasn’t bullshit. Everyone’s ears stay attached.”

“Kind of mild, wasn’t it?” said Esme.

“What?”

“Your bullshit example.”

“You’d like another?”

“Sure.”

Tatiana stared at her directly. “Esme, every day that I come into this shop, I think to myself: I hope her husband has the stamina of an Arabian horse. Because if I were him, I would make it my personal mission to eat that pussy every single day, and twice on Sundays.”

“Oh, he’s been dead two years now.”

Tatiana, for once, had nothing immediately ready to say.

“But thanks,” Esme added lightly. “He did have a fantastic tongue.”

“I think you’ve got your point across, Petrovna,” said Hanson severely.

“Class dismissed,” said Tatiana.

It was soft and sunny despite the dreadful cold, and during an early afternoon lull, Esme was the only one behind the counter. Having already wiped down the counter, she fell into a reverie. It was broken all too soon by Tatiana saying, sounding for the first time a little anxious, “Did that woman just leave her baby behind in a fucking coffeeshop?”

Esme looked over the counter. Yes, there was a baby in a big black plastic carrier. Fussing. Oh, this was not good. Esme knew that sound. “They’re going to start crying any second now.”

“What do I do?”

“Just talk to them.”

Tatiana leaned over the carrier. Lit like that by the sunlight coming in rays through the windows, she could’ve been a Madonna. But then she spoke. “Ultimately,” she said, “I think you’ll find that life is far better without any parents.”

The baby began to cry.

“Jesus, not like that,” said Esme.

Tatiana shot her a scowl, then turned back to the baby and made her voice a shade softer and several notes lower. “Hello,” she said gravely. Then she blew gently into the baby’s face.

The baby started crying harder.

“Fucking hell. Switch,” ordered Esme, coming out from behind the counter as Tatiana, chagrined, did as she was told. “What was that?”

“It usually works on horses,” Tatiana said.

“On horses? What, have you never seen a baby before?” Esme picked the baby up and cuddled it close. It quieted down a little.

“I’ve seen them, of course, but they’re always other people’s babies.”

“Have you ever held one?”

“I couldn’t.”

“The mum’s not going to care whether it’s you or me. If she comes back at all. And they’ll be fine, as long as you don’t drop them. They’re old enough to hold up their head. Aren’t you?” Esme cooed. “You’ve got a good strong neck.”

The baby considered this, then sneezed into Esme’s shoulder.

“Tatiana, come here.”

Tatiana hesitated.

“It’s the best feeling in the world, come on. Come on.”

“Fine.”

Tatiana held the baby gingerly at first, like it might bite her. The baby looked quizzically at her with their enormous brown eyes.

“It doesn’t like it,” Tatiana said, trying to give the baby back.

Esme stepped away. “Just relax.” Rifling through the diaper bag, she found a soother neatly labeled Christie May and a cup of cereal labeled the same. But no kind of return address anywhere.

“Pardon me.” There was a customer at the counter. Esme’s old statistics professor, to be exact. Damn.

“I’ll be right with you,” she called. “Here.” She passed the soother to Tatiana. “Stick that in her mouth if she starts crying again. Pat her on the back a little too, babies like that.”

Esme had three customers to get through after the professor, but when another lull came, she looked over and saw Tatiana dutifully patting away. After a little while, the baby opened her tiny mouth in a big O of a yawn.

Peace reigned in the coffeeshop, or at least until the door swung open.

“Oh! Hello. Did you make a friend, Christie May?” the mother cooed, making a beeline for the baby and taking her back from Tatiana as if nothing had happened. Tatiana made a face of disgust.

“She was crying,” Esme said. She figured it was better to speak than to have Tatiana say anything.

“Say bye-bye to the nice lady! Bye bye!”

A muscle twitched in Tatiana’s jaw.

“There’s a daycare center just three blocks down Division Street,” said Esme.

“Oh, I know,” the mother said airily. “But I was only gone for twenty minutes. Wasn’t I, sweetheart? Wasn’t I?”

The baby gurgled.

“See?” said the mother, as if that proved something. She put the baby in the carrier, picked up the diaper bag, and headed for the door.

“I’m calling Child Protective Services,” Tatiana shouted after her.

“Well?” said Esme.

“It was alright,” Tatiana said grudgingly.

Esme rolled her eyes. “You’re welcome.”

Esme blinked blearily awake against the punishing morning light. Pounding head, dry mouth. What was this? A flashback to her undergraduate days?

“Here.” One syllable, but the voice was unmistakably Tatiana’s. A glass of water was shoved in Esme’s face, and Esme accepted it.

“Where are the kids?” she croaked.

“At your father’s house. It’s Saturday.”

“I thought it was Friday.”

“It was, but now it’s Saturday.”

“Oh Jesus.”

Tatiana was sitting on the nightstand, sipping apple juice from a kids’ juicebox and looking entirely unsympathetic. Esme went back in her memory to try and figure out if she deserved any of this.

“We got drunk last night,” Esme said.

“Yes. Kids were at your father’s, and it was your night off.”

That sounded about right. Tatiana had closed up shop with her, then offered to share a bottle of rum. That much made sense. “Okay.” Esme set the empty glass down, tried to dig deeper into her memory. “Did I drink vodka?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Why did I drink vodka? I hate vodka.”

“No, you like vodka. When it’s mixed with grapefruit juice and rum and curaçao.”

“What?”

“Get dressed.”

“Nnf.” It was all too much. Esme buried her head in her pillow, only to have it yanked out from under her head. “Why?”

“We have to go to the city. There’s that Christmas dinner with your in-laws.”

“Oh, fuck.” Esme sat up. “We?”

“You invited me to come along, last night. You said, and I quote: ‘I want to see the look on Tommy Shelby’s face when I roll up to his stupid mansion with a woman richer than he is on my arm.’”

“That does sound like something I would say.”

“And then you said you wanted to find his knighthood ribbon and flush it down a toilet.”

“I’m not gonna do that.”

“But you want to.”

“You’re not going to do it either.”

“But I want to!”

“You’re not coming.”

“What, you’re going to make the four-hour drive all by yourself?” Tatiana rolled her eyes. “Hurry up and meet me out front, or we’ll be unfashionably late.”

“Tatiana.”

“Mm?”

“Did we have sex?”

“While you were that drunk? Of course not, it would be cheating you of the full Petrovna experience.” With a wink, she shut the bedroom door behind her.

Thanks to the gift of single motherhood, Esme could sleep anywhere, anytime, for as long as she was allowed, so when Tatiana shook her awake, she found herself in Tommy’s neighborhood. God, the place was horrid, with its wrought-iron gates, manicured lawns, and unfiltered bullshit.

“We’re half an hour late!” Tatiana chirped. “This will be good.” She got out of the car. Esme stumbled out after her.

“Wait, shouldn’t we coordinate on–”

Tatiana had produced a garment bag from the trunk of her car. “It’s the holidays, Esme. Did you think I’d come underdressed?” She passed another bag to Esme. “Or that I’d let you?” She opened the car door. “Go on, the windows are tinted for a reason.”

Esme wanted to argue, but this was her only good dress, the same dress that she’d worn to the last Christmas dinner, which Polly would undoubtedly notice. And she was curious.

The bag turned out to contain a sleeveless dark blue sequined number and a matching set of diamond chandelier earrings and a necklace. Damn. Esme had been expecting something more like a shirt with a middle finger printed on it, but come to think of it, this was better. This was much better.

“How’d you pick the fit?” she asked, when she emerged.

“I’m observant.” Tatiana disappeared into the car and came out wearing a cream-colored dress embellished with seemingly dozens, maybe hundreds of tiny pearls. And a fur shrug.

“Good job Ada’s not coming, else you’d get an earful for that.” Saying it was really an excuse for Esme to poke the fur as they walked towards Tommy’s house. It was just as soft as it looked.

“I can take on all comers.”

“I don’t doubt it, but you’ll have your hands full with Polly and Tommy. And Arthur, if he gets offended.”

“And Linda.”

How much had Esme told her while drunk, exactly? Oh well, it was too late to find out. “Definitely Linda,” she agreed.

“We’ll have a good time. It’s always easier to ruin a party when you’re not the host.”

Tatiana rapped on the front door as Esme looked over the big white architectural monstrosity in front of them, with its stupid balcony and its myriad of windows.

“I hate this place,” Esme said.

“I’ve stayed in larger summer homes than this,” Tatiana said. And somehow, that did make Esme feel better about it all.

The door was opened by none other than Tommy himself, in his customary suit, looking every inch as infuriating as the last time she’d seen him, which by no coincidence was the last dinner.

“What, no butler?” said Esme.

He cleared his throat and gave Esme a meaningful look. “We’ve had trouble with servants before.”

She rolled her eyes and brushed past him. “You’re always having trouble.”

“Aren’t you going to introduce me?” he said.

“Tatiana, this is Tommy. Tommy, this is Tatiana.”

“Her brother-in-law,” said Tommy, sticking his hands in his pockets. For a second, Esme forgot that bringing Tatiana along was only a prank, and got more than a little annoyed that he wouldn’t just shake her hand.

But Tatiana tilted her hand and gave a lovely smile. “Her sugar daddy.” With that, she handed over the fur to Tommy, as if he were a footman, and swept down the hallway, latching onto Esme’s arm.

“What was that?” Esme murmured under her breath.

“Thought you said you wanted a rich woman on your arm.”

“It’s embarrassing.”

“No, it’s perfect. What better way to annoy them than to go over their heads?”

To be fair, there was nothing Tommy liked less than a competing power. And even if it wasn’t true, it would be delicious to make him think for a moment that the only hold he had on her (the trust he’d put together for the children’s college education) was no longer relevant.

“Just eat your food and enjoy the show,” said Tatiana, and then it was the dining room, and introductions.

Tatiana was at her most charming through the fourth course, and then, sometime during the fifth, Polly put down her fork and said, in that deliberate, clear voice that Esme hated: “So, Tatiana, what is it you do for work?”

“I sell coffee.”

“Ah.”

“And jewels. Art, books, cheese. Used to sell vodka. But now I only drink it.” She smiled brightly. “And I’m getting my master’s in psychology.”

“What is that, the study of psychos?” Arthur guffawed.

“Yes.” Tatiana didn’t look over; she and Polly were engaged in some sort of a staredown that left Esme on the edge of her seat and also possibly a little horny.

“Jewels?” said Tommy, breaking it up. It was the first he’d spoken for quite some time.

“All kinds,” said Tatiana, and all right, Esme did not care for the way her voice seemed to have dropped half an octave down.

“And what did you say your last name was?”

“I didn’t.”

Tommy pushed his chair back from the table, stood, and left. The east wing, Esme thought; his office. Maybe making a call. Maybe–

“Bathroom?” said Tatiana.

Polly pointed down the west wing. “Four downs the hall.”

“Thanks.” Tatiana got up and went in the opposite direction. Right after Tommy.

Polly was halfway out of her chair to follow when Esme said her name.

“What?” Polly snapped.

“There’ something I need to ask you.”

“Yes?”

“These mushrooms. They’re perfect. Could you share the recipe with me?”

“You know we have a cook,”

“Of course, I’m sorry,” Esme said.

Finn, in a desperate attempt to rescue the situation, sallied forth. “Aunt Linda, have you seen any good movies lately?”

And then it was nothing but the most stilted of small talk while Arthur got drunker and drunker and Esme and Polly sniped at each other, until Tommy and Tatiana returned, Tommy with the faintest traces of bruises beginning to form on his neck, and Tatiana wearing lipstick two shades darker than the one she’d been wearing when she left the table. Less like scarlet, more like blood.

Esme had to hand it to her; she knew how to crash a party. Even Arthur, seven drinks in, looked absolutely horrified. Esme found herself feeling nothing but proud. And maybe a little jealous.

“What did I miss?” said Tatiana.

Tommy didn’t meet anyone’s eyes, and was instead focusing all his attention on chewing a piece of beef.

“Oh, nothing much,” said Esme. “Finn wants to go see the latest Batman movie.”

When they got to the car, Esme collapsed into laughter. “So?” she said, when she had finally caught her breath. By then, they were on the highway. “Did you fuck, or did you fight?”

“Yes.” Tatiana glanced over. “Are you jealous?”

“Why?”

“He’s an eight.”

“He’s a five, and I bet he’s a rotten lay.” Childishly, Esme hoped this would yield some details.

“I can see where you’re coming from,” said Tatiana thoughtfully, fishing a cigarette from her purse with one hand. “Widowers, especially the sad ones, can be a drag. So weepy.” She lit the cigarette. “But if you get the right one, it can be delightful. They fuck with such desperation.”

“Ah.” And there it was, the core of the annual Shelby fight: there were too many empty spots at the table where the people they loved should be sitting, and hating each other was easier than thinking about it.

“Hey.” Tatiana caught her before she could slide too far down into that particular pit of horrors. “Cheer up. I got you something.”

“What?”

“Look in the zipper pocket of my purse.”

“Is this…?”

“I dub thee Lady Esme Shelby, Duchess of Cappuchino.”

“You know what?” Esme pinned Tommy’s knighthood ribbon to her dress. “I think I’ll keep it.”

“Merry Christmas, Esme.”

“Merry Christmas.”

Esme didn’t see Tatiana for two days, and then she showed up at closing, just after Carter had left and Esme was the only one in the shop.

“Hey,” said Esme.

Tatiana sauntered up to the counter. “I got you something.” She slid three envelopes across. In the first were two season passes to the orchestra. In the second, a key. In the third, cash. All in different denominations, twenties, tens, fives, ones. Nonsequential, too. Esme checked.

“You said Katie wants to be be a flautist,” Tatiana said. “So, orchestra.”

Esme looked up. “What is this?”

“Am I not your sugar daddy?”

“I thought that was a joke.”

“I could take them back and get a refund. But put it all together, and it’s still not enough to buy a bottle of 1811 Château d'Yquem.”

“No, I’ll take it.”

Tatiana smirked.

“What?”

“You’re proud about money with Tommy, but not with me.”

“Among his casualties, whether he admits it or not, is my husband. Among your casualties is nobody I care about.”

“You assume I’ve caused deaths.”

“I find it better to assume guilt than otherwise, at this point. Anyways, nobody who wears a five thousand dollar dress is innocent.”

Tatiana appeared to absorb this. Esme could see the wheels turning in her head. “What are you doing on Saturday?” Tatiana said.

“Why?”

“I could find you a babysitter.”

“And?”

“You could find out what’s underneath the five thousand dollar dress.”

Esme couldn’t read her. “Is this because widows fuck with such delightful desperation?”

“No.”

“Is this because you’re experimenting with becoming a sugar daddy?”

“No.”

“Is this some long-con sexual harassment example?”

“Esme. This is only because of you.”

Esme searched her green eyes for a hint of laughter, but for the first time, there was nothing but honesty. That was more terrifying than all of Tatiana’s bullshit smiles put together.

Esme leaned over the counter and kissed her.

Her hair was just as soft as Esme always imagined, and she licked and bit at Esme’s lips just the same. But it was good in ways Esme had never thought of, had not felt in a long, long time.

“You look different with your hair down,” Esme murmured, finally.

“I look different with my clothes off, too.”

“I’ve got kids at home, a babysitter that can’t do overnight. And in-laws that I can’t get rid of, and some other people that make me stick close to home, always get paid in cash, and keep my pictures off the internet. You know that?”

“I do. That’s what this is for.“ Tatiana tapped the second envelope. “I know when you’ve got a day off. I’ll be waiting.”

That was a good, dramatic moment for her to walk out, but she kept standing there, looking at Esme like a fallen angel, all lipstick and bad decisions, and Esme couldn’t help it. She kissed her again.