#compersion

[polyamorouscultureis]

Hi,

I hope this isn't too heavy to throw at you but I could really use the advice or opinion of the polyam community. I've been polyamorous ever since I started dating (6 years ago, I'm an adult); I never recognised myself in monogamy, and I believe in polyamory both due to personal preferences and to the political and ethical dimensions of polyamory, which are very important to me.

My partner and I live very far away from each other. We've been together for 3 years and have always had a polyamorous and open relationship (he was with someone who was married when I met him). Due to circumstances and personal preferences, we ended up in a hierarchical polyam situation where we are primary partners. We trust each other a lot, we have a very open and honest communication. All this to say it's a very loving and healthy polyam frame where everyone is on the same page.

The thing is, every time he tells me he's going to see someone (or have them over - meaning we can't talk at night like we tend to almost every day -, or go on a weekend with his friends and that person), it makes me sick. As in, I can't stop thinking about it, I feel sad and angry, I wait for texts I know won't come because he's busy with someone else. But I reach levels of envy and jealousy I can hardly deal with.

We do talk about it, because communication is important, but I refuse to talk to him about it every time because it would amount to emotionally pressuring him. He would either stop himself from seeing people (which is not something I want because I do want him to be free to create and have meaningful relations as he sees fit), or do everything without telling me, which would eventually weaken the foundation of the trust we share. I try to think about my own relations and sex partners, which I have and with whom I share meaningful and nice moments, in order to bring everything down to manageable proportions, but it barely works.

I hate feeling like this. This suffering is just not something I want in my life or as a reaction to my partner's exercise of his freedom. I don't understand why I'm not able to feel compersion and move on with my evening, instead of spending the entire excruciatingly long time with my phone at hand or without being able to put the thought away. I feel that I'm not actually able to be polyam and open as I have always seen myself. I know one of the baselines is to not be too hard on yourself, but I can't help but feel ashamed of my reactions in addition to feeling like absolute shit with the combination of jealousy and envy taking over my brain. This is not who I want to be not how I want to live my relationship and my life, because, then again, I choose to be polyamorous and I like it, and I feel it's a precious part of my identity and how I relate to the world.

Sorry for the length. I just don't have many polyam people around me and none are dealing with the long distance factor in addition, and I could use anyone's point of view on this.

Thank you 💜

Hi! I'm so sorry you're dealing with this and that you have been for so long. As I'm sure you've heard a hundred times, jealousy is so, so very normal. It's awesome you have such exquisite self-awareness, and I think you're doing all the right things in not putting your partner in a position where he feels like he needs to change what he's doing for your sake.

Here are a few things that sometimes help me turn my own jealousy into compersion (or at least make it less intense of a feeling):

I think about my partner's laugh, their smile, and how valuable their happiness is to me. Although I know they're with someone else and it's sometimes hard to think about their attraction to the other person, I try to focus on how I would encourage them to do anything that makes them happy, and if they're happy with this person, I would never want them to pull away from that source of joy. (Similar to the "if you love them let them go" kind of logic, only I don't have to let them go!)

Letting my body react however it's going to react. If I'm home by myself, I can let myself feel the feelings and whatever comes with it -- if I need to cry, or stress eat, or take a nap, or scream, or whatever, I allow myself to do whatever it takes to express the feeling and get it out of my system. It feels awful at first, but once it passes, I can then indulge in my own hobbies to pass the time until my partner comes home. And usually, the feeling goes away just a little bit faster every time.

Getting a poly-affirming therapist! Either an individual therapist or, if your partner is willing, a couple's therapist. It may take a bit to find the right practice or the right type, but it can be so helpful to have a professional to talk to, especially if this affects your daily life.

Additionally, see if you can figure out the root cause of your jealousy, or if you can find any patterns in what makes you more jealous than other things. (Journaling is suuuuper helpful for this, imo). Is it the idea of him being attracted to someone else to begin with? Is it the thought of him having sex or physical intimacy with someone else? Is it the inability to contact him while he is on a date, or the uncertainty about what they're doing together? There are soooo many factors that could make a person feel insecure or jealous, and once you find the root cause, it'll be easier to tackle. It may be as simple as asking him to check in with a text every couple of hours so that you know he's thinking about you, or asking to meet his date before they go out. See if you and your partner can find little ways to make you feel more secure without him having to completely pull away from anyone he wants to connect with.

I have answered a few other asks on jealousy in case you would like to read those as well!

I hope that this helps at least a little bit, and I'm sorry I didn't get to answering this sooner (and thank you for following up to make sure I saw it)! Hopefully others will give their own insights in the reblogs and comments as well.

Sending you all the love, anon! <3

[polyamzeal]

I love seeing my boyfriend and his boyfriend interacting. They way they look at each other, the ways they talk. There is so much love. Forever and always, so much love that can fit into this world. It's ok. Everything will be ok. Just look at the love. Look at the little space we have created here.

This is beautiful! I love compersion!

[hornkerling]

(The gorgeous art was a commission from leylses, who does not seem to to have an active tumblr any more - if you know where they now live please let me know for proper attribution! )

I have papers to mark, but also the upcoming game has my brain in a vice and I found myself going through my old tags to see where and how I'd left everybody, so I'm bringing back a few of the stories that meant the most to me, inspired by @thievinghippo. I have resisted the urge to re-write this beyond fixing a few of the more egregious fragments and parenthetical asides (damn, I loved a parenthetical, didn't it?). So it is here mostly in all of its old age and earnestness.

Look after each other

Isabela is the love Hawke expects. She is the one shaped to old childhood hopes and the words of all Liadan’s favourite songs, and the world turns to lurching delight and fumbling hope as the two circle each other and stare and glare and smile. Liadan grows wilder and Isabela more centred as they each, in their own way, say: let me in. Let me touch you. Let me love you, at least a little bit. And then just a breath more.  

Isabela draws her. Delights her. Lust tangles up between them, the pirate’s hands at her throat, lip caught between her teeth in concentration.

(“I have you, sweet thing. There you are.”)

***

Fenris is different. They rarely look at each other directly. They are too busy, heads bent over books or maps, her words caught between his teeth as she teaches him the silly memory songs that made words stick in her mind.

(“I’m sorry, Fenris,” she tells him, when they have three months of lessons behind them. She is delighted at his progress. It’s better than hers. Better than anything she’s ever seen. She’ll ruin it.

“I forgot how bad I was at this,” she says. “I never learnt well. Just ask Carver. We were both appallingly stupid at this. I—”

“—You,” he says, looking up from his work, hair sticking up from where his hands have tangled, “Are a better teacher than you think.”

Fenris is always surprised when he smiles, the warmth in his face flickering as he realises it’s there.

Liadan is never tired of it. She is never prepared for the answering tug his smiles always call up in her.

They look at each other sidelong, and one of them always looks away first, but there no pattern.

***

Together, all three fight well. Liadan is used to Isabela’s ruthlessness, has learned to use her magic in arcs that the pirate can exploit with a kick or a cry or twin, shining blades. She has learned to spot rare gaps in Fenris’s guard, and let that same magic be as blunt and brutal as the sword in her friend’s hand.

Force magic is ugly stuff that no one expects from the reedy singer with poor eyesight and freckles up her arms. She uses that surprise and feels Isabela’s pride and appreciation. She loves fighting from the back mostly because it means she can watch the others come back to her, Isabela kicking at bottles and pebbles and Fenris grimacing as lyrium fades back into his skin.

(“I don’t want to hurt you,” she’s said more than once. “If the magic is—”

“—It’s yours.” A shrug.

He does not look at her and Hawke wants to force it. Wants to hunker down and tilt his chin up and see. A part of her knows she could use her height for this, her self, to demand understanding, but when she feels that, she also hears Isabela’s voice in her head, and their oldest and sorest and most familiar fight twists up her guts.

“People aren’t problems, Hawke. Sometimes? Just back. Off.”

She holds back, jaw clenched.)

***

When Leandra dies, when every second breath tastes like bile, and my mother is dead repeats as the bass beneath her heartbeat, they are there. Isabela first, kissing the corner of her mouth, warm and scarf askew and never still. She looks at Liadan in all her tired hopelessness and does not turn away, but her eyes are half pleading, half embarrassed.

“I’m not good with this,” Isabela says, and Liadan doesn’t have the words to say I know or thank you. She just lets her head rest on Isabela’s chest, lets herself shake. Laughs a little at the other woman’s small huff of relief that they’ve gone bodied and wordless in the dark.

Fenris is a small knock and heavy step, and Isabela shifts to make room.

(“Are you any better at saying sorry than I am?”

“I…Is anyone?”)

Hawke lets them talk over her. She lets herself feel warm and hopeless and lost and loved and nothing, while Isabela eases her into her lap and Fenris lets one mercifully un-gauntleted hand rest on her hair.

***

She and Fenris do not want each other. Not the same way. They’ve never quite said it—never tugged at the difference between their easy company and the shiver-hope-want of Isabela’s lips on her throat, Fenris’s hands at Isabela’s hips.

They never say, You are my best friend.  I love you, and I love that you love who I love. Isn’t it gorgeous? Let’s keep being gorgeous. There is no need. Their voices blend, and in time he reads to her, her clumsy teaching turned beautiful as he shares verse and ghost story and Varric’s latest worlds.

Isabela soars over them both, and catches them both in their laughter. 

***

Liadan wonders if she can ever find words all the world’s different sorts of need. 

She watches them together. Delights at the catch in her breath, the little, happy flip inside at the sight of Isabela’s scarred, clever fingers twining with Fenris’s over a table at the Hanged Man.

In songs, Hawke knows, she’d be jealous.

She reaches out. Covers their hands with hers.

There should be new songs.

***

“You don’t even like men,” Carver says, wide-eyed and credulous as his ten-year-old self even as he looms over her in Templar armour. 

“Well observed.” 

“But–”

“–It’s none of your business, little brother.” Liadan smiles at him, rueful and soft. “I know I say that too much, but in this? It’s true.”

Leaving him at the Gallows, her staff a heavy, anxious weight across her back, Liadan worries that she must grow used to the question. 

She wonders if, given time, it’ll be easier or harder to squash the urge to punch people in the face. 

She chuckles. Easier, she hopes. If not, she’ll need to learn better aim. 

***

Liadan is a better sailor than she expects. She’d assumed she’d be terrible. 

(“You always assume that, sweet.” 

“Hush.”)

Grief does not drift away in the small boat’s wake, Kirkwall’s ashes still clinging to her skin, but it feels like it might. Finding balance is beautiful. She loves the creaks and cries and the strange gurgling noises that sneak into her daily thoughts, the music in her head. She loves the loosening of Isabela’s shoulders. Her strong, heavy body gone light in the rigging as she throws familiar words around in desperately strange ways. Tacking and tying and mainsailing and boarding stars or ports. 

Liadan relishes the slow feeling of her world changing, splitting, and making sense. 

***

Fenris’s skin burns and darkens. Her own only burns. They both catch themselves staring at the blisters on each other’s hands, and they exchange stories of stars as Isabela steers them toward Minrathous.

“Did you think you’d go back?” she asks.  

“Not like this,” he says. “It is–I do not know if it–”

“We’ll help,” Liadan says, hating her own earnestness even as Fenris presses a kiss to her cheek, just above the bone.   “You know that, I hope?”

She catches him smiling–more a crinkle about the eyes than anything else. 

“You did always say I’d never need to ask you to hunt slavers.” 

“You’re teasing me.” 

“Yes, Hawke.” Fenris murmurs. There is wonder in it. 

***

Minrathous almost becomes a home. Isabela grumbles–port taxes are brutal, and harder than most to evade. But there is something astonishing in the decaying finery all about them. Liadan’s songs turn learn new stresses that come in groups of six and sevens and full of unexpected tonal fractions. Isabela finds her a stringed instrument that fits across the lap, and Liadan is lost for hours trying to match interval to thought. 

(“I didn’t even steal it, Fenris.” Muttered delight in the corner of a small, dockside room, the sunlight turned thick through bright orange curtains.  

“You sound very proud.”

Liadan looks up as they kiss. She lets them get their breath back before she tells them to hush.) 

***

They are not always together, of course. Isabela is growing in boats and restlessness. A day in the market for Fenris becomes two weeks in Qarinus, Isabela and Liadan squinting in amazement at his bold, sparse handwriting when he lets them know he is following traces of Varania that pricked at him with hope he is not sure he can bear. 

Liadan writes more than songs. Varric’s answers grow thicker and more frequent, paper piling up whenever she has a fixed address, 

(“If I knew what dreaming felt like,” Varric writes, “It might be something like this. The red lyrium’s still here. Still other damn places, and it’s not going away, Hawke. I think the years are turning strange on us. Don’t know what that means.”)

***

Merrill visits. She moves through Minrathous with her energies coiled tight, movements too quick and eyes too large. “It’s lovely to see you all,” she says, while Liadan plays the treasured dulcimer and Fenris avoids her gaze and Isabela, face softer than they’ve seen in years, slips an arm about her waist.

“All of you,” she repeats. “Even you, Fenris.” 

Fenris catches Merrill’s tiny smirk. It distorts in the wine bottle he has brought out for the peculiar table. Merrill holds her glass. It splashes, thick and near-enough-to-blood that he should, he thinks, be appalled. But he’s chuckling, and when he does raise his head to see those ridiculous eyes on his, they’re warm with surprised approval.  

The next day, Merrill asks Isabela a favour. 

“Can you teach me how to spit?” 

“I’m sorry, kitten?” 

“Please,” Merrill says. “Pirates are good at that sort of thing, aren’t they?”

Isabela laughs and complies, Liadan watching with wide eyes at the serious discussions of aim and phlegm and head-tilt. 

“You’re disgusting.” 

“You love me, Hawke.” 

“Always true.” 

“You’re so sweet,” Merrill says, and Isabela’s laugh turns from raucous to soft. 

“You are,” Merrill says. “Also, you’re staring a little.” 

“I’ve missed you, kitten,” Isabela says. 

Liadan watches them. Catches the faint flush growing on Merrill’s face. Knows that swallow of Isabela’s. The small shifts of muscle that say the other woman is trying very hard, just this once, not to touch. 

She stands, walking between them to kiss the corner of Merrill’s mouth, smiling as the elf turns her head and lets it slip.

“That’s two of us, you know,” Liadan says. She feels bold and open and scalded as her bravery turns into a blush. “If you like.” 

“Sometimes,” Isabela mumbles as Fenris sighs with affectionate exasperation and picks up a book, shaking his head at them, “I really like my life.” 

***

Fenris catches Merrill later, small body tense as she stands at the base of the grand imperial library, looking up at the columns and statues of magisters-past. 

He wants to pull her back. The urge surprises him, sharp and worried as the pricking on his skin from too many eyes in this public place, the skin too tight over his cheeks at his wrists. 

He stares as she spits at the feet an archon. She watches her efforts drip down one enormous, silverite boot, and then turns away. 

He catches up to her. They are silent as the crowd opens and swallows them, his shadow careful over hers as she wipes the back of her mouth with a shaking hand.   

“I’m not as sweet as they think,” she says, after a while. 

“I know.” 

“I think you do,” Merrill’s smile is lopsided. “I’m glad I came, of course. It’s been so good to see everyone; it would have been even without–” her blush flares up. Fenris watches as the blood seems to sink back into her skin, markings stark. 

“Even without all of that,” she says. “But Tevinter. I hadn’t thought. Not really. Seeing all this knowledge. All this old power, and most of it’s nearly dead, but my people died first. For that mural, maybe. Or that statue. It’s all–”

“–Merrill–”

“–pointless.” 

She stops to breathe, glaring at the city-shadows, and Fenris isn’t sure who is more surprised when he pulls her into a rough embrace. 

“I do not understand,” he says. “Not fully. But nothing you do is pointless, and there are many reasons for rage.” 

Merrill looks at him. He does not flinch when she cups his cheek. They are of a height, her eyes dark and locked with his. 

It breaks when she smiles. Her eyes close. He catches small, bright teeth and a half-laughed breath. 

“You love them very much, don’t you?” 

Fenris squirms, 

“Yes.” 

“Good,” Merrill says, stepping back. Her hair has grown in the years since Kirkwall. “You’re all very nice together.” 

***

“I have to go back,” Hawke says, in the end.

The rift light tinges everything. Their skin and their teeth; the street and the oily water of the port. Even Isabela’s jewellery picks up a layer of corpse green, and Fenris tastes magic at the back of his throat. 

“Yes,” Isabela says. 

“No,” says Fenris. 

They glare at each other, and Liadan holds back a sob. 

“It’s her choice, sweet thing,” Isabela says, tugging gently on Fenris’s hair. “She’s a big girl.”

“Varric needs my help,” she says. “And if it is–”

“I cut off the magister’s head,” Fenris says. “I pulled out his heart and cut off his head. We all checked–”

“–Twice,“ Isabela sighs. 

“And if Corypheus is still alive,” Liadan says, “Then I’m the one who’s fought him. Feels only right to do it again.” 

“You,” Fenris mutters, words thick, “Are a fool about this.”  

Liadan sighs. “Please,” she says. “Look after each other.” 

“No,” Isabela says. 

“Yes,” says Fenris.

The three hold hands as they look toward the end of the world. 

[dreamtigress]

Compersion

A pair of friends of mine have been exploring polyamory after years of monogamy. I briefly dated the husband, like, 20 years ago. Been friends with him a long time. I know the wife through him. She's a strong woman, dealing with a lot of feelings for a mutual friend of both of them. Being one of the more successful poly people they know, I have been fielding questions from both of them. It's been... entertaining? Enlightening, too, in some ways. I feel like I learn more about my own journey through polyamory when I am explaining it to others and answering questions.

Tonight's discussion has been about compersion. And I decided I would polish up my answers and share them here. In part because compersion is a very good thing (TM) and quite wonderful to experience. And in part because a lot of people don't know quite how to access it.

Writing about compersion below!

So... finding compersion for your partners in their happiness with other partners is similar to finding happiness in the good things that happen for your friends, even if they are things you might want for yourself.

Seeing someone else being happy, and finding joy in that happiness for itself. Without thinking what it does for you, what it could be for you, etc.

The good news, compersion is a skill that can be built up, and not a magical thing you have or don't have.

You can start small. Your partner (or friend, but we're thinking about poly here.) went out and got to eat their favorite food with a new person. Maybe you like seeing them eat their favorite food, and are a bit put out that you didn't get to experience it, and this new person did instead. But what you need to focus on is that your partner got something they like, and they're happy. You like it when your partner is happy, right? Keep your focus on that feeling of being happy in your partner's joy, even if you aren't the cause of it.

Compersion is a practice as much as it is a singular event or emotion. You can rewrite the pathways in your brain to seek joy in others joy. But this does come hand in hand with exploring your own feelings of envy, jealousy, and inadequacy.

If your partner is doing something with their new person, and you feel that stab of jealousy rise up: Explore it.

What is the new person getting that you aren't?

What is it about the activity that make you feel like you're missing out?

Is it the activity itself?

Is it the excitement or NRE they're showing for the new person?

Is it that you haven't gotten to do something fun and new with your partner in a while?

Are you unhappy that they're having fun with someone else and not you?

When was the last time you had that sort of fun?

Can you communicate your findings to your partner, and collaborate on a solution that helps you feel better?

Sometimes finding the answers to these kinds of questions will also help you find compersion the next time your partner tells you about the great time they had with their new person.

Practice finding the good in the situation is a skill that might come in handy in all sorts of other ways, too.

[pocket-poly]

I used to look at my body for what I wished it could be. I had a toxic, gaslighting, and at times self-harming ( due to autoimmune conditions) relationship with my body.

Today, I looked in the mirror.

I noticed the little changes in my nine-pound weight loss. But instead of getting down or wanting to rush things, I smiled. I was proud of myself, not worried about what's still left to do.

I appreciate the work I have done! I acknowledge ALL the healing, mentally and physically that has taken place... That I've made it one year w/o IVIG, or other treatments for my blood disorder, and I am almost 1yr since my 6th airway surgery.

I saw a woman looking back who FEELS loved in ways she never thought existed outside of fairy tales, movies, and dreams. That every inch of this body, is loved and desired by a man who is absolutely enamored with me. And how that love has rippled through my entire life.

He's had such a huge impact on me, my kid, my husband, even my whole village.

My bestie tells me how much she loves seeing me loved in such a way that makes her feel compersion for my joy. Her husband and kids value his input during a dinner-turned-group therapy session in my kitchen.

He's changed my life forever, in so many ways. I'm feeling, seeing, loving, and believing all the changes, and I'm so incredibly grateful for him.

[zeke-fanfucs]

Hallo, pleasure to meet you, I tried to look for a rules post, but I couldn't find one so I'm just going with what I can here.

If you do know this character or what game she is from , cool! But it is up to you, if you want to do the request.

Anyways, I always wondered what it would be like if Karmor was turned into a rat thiren like Jane Doe from Zenless Zone Zero, or if he was like Jane Doe in a way, intellectually gifted, a master of disguise, and quite versatile, as well as a phenomenal fighter, since being a rat thiren comes with its perks.

Keep in mind that doing this request is all up to you and I won't be upset if you don't want to do it, I was just curious on what your take on this would be.

(Also, if you need more reference on how she fights, either look up her trailers- but be warned, its quite...animated...or just look up her gameplay)

Thank you!

Hola, so this was super interesting! I haven’t played ZZZ in a while. So it’s fine read about it. Mm, I took a while making something different.

To make simple, Karmor wasn’t founded by Hipswitch. Instead he ran and hid, learning about what the hell is happening. He still is mute? But needing credits to get basic things, he turn to thieving. So he become a little rat boy.

🐀 Karmor as a Rat Thiren (Jane Doe-Inspired)

Name Concept: Still Karmor, but with an alias like “Echo”, “Spindle”, or “Hollowtail” used in certain circles. I like Spindle, just cause he’s a little rat thing

⸻

✨ Core Traits Boosted by Rat Thiren Physiology:

• Master of Disguise

Rat thirens are naturally adaptable—Karmor takes it to the next level.

He can slip into any crowd, alter his scent, heighten his reflexes, even mimic voices or brief body shapes if needed. But not just to spy—he vanishes from history like a rumor.

• Intellectual Prodigy

Jane Doe levels of “You didn’t even notice I hacked your tech and rewrote your neural imprint while smiling.”

Karmor could build weapons from scrap and pick apart an interdimensional lock with a screwdriver and a shoelace. He’s got that “I read your diary and your encryption in five minutes” kind of IQ.

• Combat Specialist

From claws to hand-to-hand to using literal junkyard debris as precision projectiles. He’s quick, twitchy, ghostlike.

Combine his rat-thiren agility with his canon time-glitching powers, and now you’ve got a fighter who moves like he’s desyncing from the universe. It’s horrifying. It’s hot.

⸻

👁‍🗨 Aesthetic Updates:

Design:

• Subtle, angular rat ears; usually covered by a hood or modded helmet.

• Tail: sleek, dexterous, possibly mechanical or wrapped in old time-threading bandages.

• Wears layered clothing designed for movement and disguise—can shift into different silhouettes.

• He’s got a face people remember… wrong. No one can sketch him right.

• Signature Weapon:

Dual knives that shift form, or a segmented staff that twists like a broken second hand on a watch. Possibly integrates his tail in combat, like prehensile weapon moment.

⸻

🧠 Behavior & Personality Vibes:

• Quiet genius. Doesn’t speak unless absolutely necessary—and when he does, it’s in a whisper that sounds like déjà vu.

• Emotionally intelligent but cagey—trusts few, but protects like a rabid feral cat if you’re one of his people.

• Makes a hundred backup plans and then abandons them to follow his gut.

• Will absolutely scam your squad out of their rations with a single card trick then leave you wondering if you ever had rations to begin with.

⸻

🌀 Time-Bending Rat Shenanigans:

• Can pause time for brief bursts when cornered—his tail leaves an afterimage trail.

• Disappears from reality mid-sentence sometimes.

• Can literally “rewind” a mistake in battle but at a physical cost—his body glitches with clawmarks from timelines that don’t exist anymore.

⸻

Bonus Goofy Detail:

• He eats like a GOBLIN in secret. Snacks? He hoards them in weird places. You’ll find a single protein bar inside a gun’s ammo slot, a granola wedge taped under a table, a glowing cube he insists is “edible if you don’t look at it.”

• Hipswitch (when they run into each other) once watched him eat an entire bag of chips in 4 seconds and hasn’t recovered.

[millikimi]

tried shading my oc Maybo because I usually don't shade my character drawings

[thelostgirl21]

For @my-jokes-are-my-armour, just a tiny snippet from a WIP accompanying a fanvid I made (that has yet to have been released publicly), where Radovid and Geralt have their first heart to heart regarding their respective place in Jaskier's life...

-----

Once they’re sure the boys are going to be okay, the rest of the family manage to convince Jaskier to let them have their own turn getting properly introduced and being given the chance to build their own bond with his prince.

The most surprising, perhaps, is Geralt.

Radovid isn’t exactly sure what he’d been expecting because, until then, Yennefer had been this regular nurturing and mother-like figure often checking up on him with her magic, occasionally fluffing his pillows, fixing his covers, and watching over his sleep whenever they managed to convince a very stubborn and overprotective bard to go get some much needed rest, too.

Ciri had been that distinctive voice that had kept hovering around, and keeping Jaskier company whilst he slept, occasionally offering him a slightly shy and polite smile whenever he woke up and their gazes met.

But Geralt…  his strongest memory involving the man been the enraged growl that had managed to cut through the fog and the darkness that had been closing in on him, right before he’d suddenly found himself gasping for air – his throat raw and on fire – but blissfully able to breathe again.

Geralt had since been the more elusive of Jaskier’s companions – keeping a watchful eye from the distance, expression impassive, occasionally warning Jaskier that if he refused to listen to Yennefer and go rest, he’d personally come pick him up and physically shove him into bed himself!

Until now, he’d acted as the family’s guardian with a stoicism that one might expect from a seasoned warrior.  And, if he had to be perfectly honest, Radovid would have had to admit to having been slightly intimidated by him.

Not afraid – but out of all of Jaskier’s family, Geralt had been the one that had looked most like a figure of legend to him!  The famed Sandpiper’s powerful white-haired Witcher!

So, imagine his surprise when, the moment Geralt takes a seat next to him, he turns into that big soft fluffy white wolf that Jaskier had been talking about but that Radovid himself had yet to have personally encountered.  What immediately comes out of his mouth is a long list of things that one should know to take proper care of Jaskier.

“…often, during winter months, his feet really tend to get cold, even when sleeping inside an inn with a well-kept fire burning in the fireplace.  So, sometimes, I heat a few rocks over the fire that I wrap in a soft wool cloth and slide under the cover next to his feet…”

And, at first, Radovid listens – partly because he wants to learn as much as he can to be a good partner for Jaskier, too, but also because he’s way too stunned to do anything else!

Eventually, though, it dawns on him that Geralt sounds like he expects Radovid to replace him, and he says “You know that you’re one of the most – if not the most important person in the world to Jaskier – and I’ve no desire to take him away from you, right?”

And, while Geralt appreciates the sentiment – and agrees that their bard has a huge heart and that there’s room in it for more than a single person (actually, you could probably fit the whole Continent into that heart!) – he also knows that Jaskier ‘imprinted’ on Radovid in a way that’s a bit different than how he ‘imprinted’ on him when they first met.

Radovid is not ‘stealing Jaskier away’ from Geralt.  Jaskier is naturally drawn to him, seeking his presence, and bonding with him in a way that highly suggests that the king is the one member of their found family that the bard will be naturally seeking to build the bulk of his life with, and following around most often from now on.

And Geralt is okay with that.  Because Jaskier is going to continue to grow older, and his feet will only get colder, and although he loves going on adventures and seeing the world, eventually it might be a lot more appropriate and convenient for him to do so traveling by coach while having access to a warm, comfortable bed at night.

And if Radovid is genuine in his desire to improve the living conditions for the peasantry as well as the North’s relationship with the other races they are sharing the land with, then Jaskier will want to get actively involved.

Geralt can sense that the bard is simply entering a new chapter of his life and that Radovid is going to be right at the heart of said chapter.

In many ways, it feels right, too.  Radovid is human and roughly around the same age as Jaskier…  They have a similar perception of time and – assuming the Gods are kind – they might get to share and experience the rest of their lives together.

Of course, should anything happen to one of them, they can count on Yennefer and him – and probably even Ciri – to watch over the other for as long as they shall live.

And they’re not planning on simply walking out of their lives, either – far from it!

But there’s no need for Geralt to be right at the center of Jaskier’s life to still be a part of it.  Truth is, they’ve often lost sight of each other for a few months or years at a time in the past.  But, as soon as they see each other again, they feel as though they’ve never left each other’s side.

That’s how strong the love between them is, and Geralt doesn’t expect it to be something that will ever change regardless of how many others Jaskier might love.

The one change that Radovid does bring, however, is that Geralt will sleep much better at night knowing that, whenever they’re apart, there’s someone that genuinely loves him looking out for him.  Someone that truly appreciates Jaskier’s music and talents and shares his artistic sensitivities, among others.

Plus, Geralt knows that Jaskier sees Radovid as a person first, a poet second, and a king – or prince – third.  Same as he saw a scared child with the weight of the world on her shoulders when he met Ciri, and continues to treat her as if she’s a young girl needing love, guidance and protection rather than one of the most powerful beings on the Continent.

While the world keeps making demands from her, Jaskier is more interested in offering her a listening ear, support, and teaching her things.

People often expect kings and queens to watch over them and sacrifice for them, but very few of them wonder who watches over the kings and queens to ensure they don’t lose sight of themselves in the process.

What Radovid did, trying to foolishly stand between Dijkstra and Philippa and his people to protect them from their greed shows that he’s got the whole ‘willingness to make sacrifices for his people’ thing down.

He even took a knife to the guts in an attempt to do the right thing by stopping an innocent family from being robbed.

And, the moment they all realize how much Radovid cares, his people might attempt to take full advantage of that while forgetting that he’s only human, and thus demanding more from him than anyone would ever be able to offer!

Jaskier won’t let them forget, and most importantly he won’t let Radovid forget.

So, assuming they can manage to help Radovid reclaim Redania – and Geralt has no doubt they can – he will also sleep better at night knowing that those in power that do attempt doing the right thing and dare dreaming of something better for their people aren’t always punished for it.

Knowing that Ciri might become queen at a time where she won’t have to stand alone against bigger and more powerful kingdoms dominated by a thirst for blind power and greed!

Knowing that she, too, might continue to find people that will love and support her without letting her lose sight of herself.

Everyone deserves to have someone by their side that can see past what others needs them or are trying to push them to be...

Jaskier’s already made the whole Continent much friendlier to witchers than it used to be, brought him Yennefer, and Ciri…

All Radovid has to do is give him the signal, and that bard will rally his people behind their king, make them all fucking fall in love with him, have the elves, dwarves, and other races want to become his allies, and give him all the resources he needs to use his position for good.

Because Geralt can see how pissed off at Redanian nobility Jaskier is right now!  As far as the bard is concerned, they all let Radovid down by allowing Dijkstra and Philippa to rob him of his voice and refusing to listen to him.

And a pissed off bard like Jaskier, with a powerful voice that carries over seas and mountain, will make everyone listen whether they want to or not!

With Dijkstra dead, Philippa on the run, and that Duke’s son they put on the throne to use as a puppet in Radovid’s place, Redania’s nobility will either have to step aside and let Radovid walk right back in, or risk permanently losing whatever little influence they might still hope to cling to.

It'll be fine.  And if a realist like Geralt – with a tendency towards disillusioned fatalism – says it’ll be fine, then Radovid can trust that it will be.

And Radovid can see why Jaskier loves Geralt so much that he’d be willing to follow him right into hell, and then help him fight his way back out of it!

He’s a good man through and through, that’s spent his whole unnaturally long life standing between others and the monsters threatening them, while having one of the most noble, compassionate and gentle hearts he’s ever seen.

“I’ve once asked Jaskier if you knew how lucky you were to have him, but I think he’s lucky to be have you, too,” he finds himself saying.

Geralt’s instinctive mocking, disbelieving huff is so filled with guilt and self-hatred that it utterly breaks Radovid’s heart, and triggers an odd sense of righteous outrage and protectiveness in him.

Geralt’s mouth starts moving, but he immediately cuts him off.

“Jaskier told me about the mountain.  I know.  It doesn’t change anything,” he states firmly, head held high, fixing Geralt with a stare that’s uncannily authoritative and almost dares him – or anyone really – to challenge him.

And, for a moment, Geralt freezes.  Because he fully realizes that the person sitting in bed before him – recovering from a violent assassination attempt – is none other than the direct descendant of King Radovid the Great.

And that, the very first time he personally gets to witness him display the kind of inner strength and resolve that one would typically expect from such a king – the kind that leaves no room for dissent and sharply reminds anyone that would seem to have forgotten that his word in the land is law – it’s essentially to tell him: ‘Jaskier’s lucky to have you!  Now stop with your nonsense, and deal with it!’

And the worst part is that it’s working! 

That twink of a king – sitting in bed with probably still a fourth of his blood missing, looking like he’s ready to wage holy war on anyone daring to suggest that Geralt is not as good a friend to Jaskier as he’s royally decreed him to be – is actually making the crushing guilt he’s usually experiencing over what happened on that mountain want to bow down to him and quickly scutter out of his sight before it actually manages to draw out the king’s full anger!

The situation feels so surreal and absurd that, before he can fully realize what’s happening or have a chance to stop it, Geralt’s shoulders are shaking, and he’s starting to laugh…

And, just like that, Radovid’s scowl is loosening, and his shoulders are also starting to shake, too, and the two of them just end up laughing to tears together!

It takes a confused and almost alarmed bard – having been alerted by the unfamiliar sound of a witcher dissolving into a fit of laughter and rushing in to investigate to make sure he’s not suddenly dying or something – for them to finally manage to regain control of themselves.

“Just so you know, that king of yours is a bloody menace that will have the whole Continent bowing to his will in no time!” Geralt amusedly declares, wiping at his eyes.

“I try!” Radovid shrugs, while trying to catch his breath, still visibly sharing in Geralt’s amusement while obviously not knowing him well enough to fully grasp just how unusual the response he got from him was.

Jaskier, however, remains very confused and somewhat agitated. “Wait.  Hold on.  How did you make him laugh?  I never even knew he could laugh like that!”

“Huh,” Radovid answers noncommittally – and Geralt has a sense that Radovid is very intentionally choosing to use diversion, so Geralt will be free to enjoy the cathartic moment they’d just experienced without returning to that place of self-doubt and self-hatred by being reminded of the path that had taken them there in the first place.

Because he’s now slightly yawning and stretching like a kitten, burrowing himself back into the bed’s pillows, and lifting the covers as a clear sign that he’s tired and wants Jaskier to come and join him.

And, when the bard attempts to hold his ground, his prince decides to give him the kind of sad, imploring look that Geralt genuinely thought said bard was the only being on the Continent able to so expertly pull off!

“Oh!  I see how it is!  Just because you are lying there pouting – looking all adorably affectionate and tired – you think I’ll just drop the issue and jump right into bed to cuddle you instead, is that it?” Jaskier says, stubbornly crossing his arms over his chest and looking clearly unimpressed.

There’s a pause, where the imploring look improbably intensifies (how?), and then, very gently and quietly…

“…Yes?”

Jaskier gives him an exaggerated sigh and throws his hands up in the air “Alright okay, FINE,” making Radovid immediately perk up.  “Now scoot your pretty little royal ass over…”

They manage to maneuver themselves into a single bed, Radovid half sprawled on top of Jaskier, the bard tenderly running his fingers into his now shorter hair making the other man – wait, is he purring?

It’s pretty clear to Geralt that whatever they might still need to discuss will have to wait, but it’s okay – by the absolutely smitten expression on Jaskier’s face it’s rather clear that their bard is set on keeping him around for a very, very long time, so there will be plenty of opportunities for them to continue catching up!

[estrogenandspite]

One thing that’s interesting in polyamory, at least for me, is that at some point you go from: “[Partner] has such cool partners, l’m inferior to them” to “[Partner] has such cool partners, I’m confused why they like me” to “[Partner] has such cool partners, that must mean they have good taste and as such see whatever it is in me I don’t see” to [Partner] has such cool partners, and one of them is me.”

It’s been an interesting journey to get here but god does it now give me confidence to see how cool my metas are. Because this person thinks I’m as cool a they are so *I must be fucking awesome too.*

[hancocksbitch]

On rediscovering my own sexuality, kinks and self worth

Oh this is fun. So fun!

As I've written about before I've been on a journey that ended up in relationship anarchy and that's something that sort of grew into a reality intuitively for both me and my long-term partner.

Our relationship is redefined and more solid than ever, and in some sort of mixed state of not-entirely-platonic-not-entirely-romantic-more-just-family now. 🤗

Hence why I'm phrasing it as "having been on", rather than "currently being on". I feel completely comfortable, at home and happy in "labeling" myself as RA.

What journey I very much still am on is the one of rediscovering myself as a sexual being, this time around on no ones terms but my own (and of course any intimate partners, that goes without saying even if I'm now saying it... 😑). And what a fucking ride (pun very much intended) it is!

The first ~2 years or so of our monogamous relationship turned non-monogamous I personally didn't feel any need or want whatsoever to date or be intimate with anyone. I was over the moon for my partner (compersion is one hell of a thing, I'm so grateful to have been blessed with experiencing that) but felt like I had enough to occupy me with just working on myself, in my own pace.

Then about 6 months or so ago I had a lightbulb moment when I for the first time saw a picture of the singer Laura Pergolizzi aka LP.

"Oh. I'm obviously queer. Go figure...this explains so much." 😂

I truly, honestly didn't realize how much of a part of me was missing before that. Now looking back at my younger self I can't help but laugh a bit at how obvious it was, if I'd had the emotional bandwidth to even look for it back then. But I didn't; I had my plate full with just keeping my head above the proverbial water, a panicked fear of abandonment and a deep-seated belief that I was not worthy of loyalty or love.

The latter still lingers a bit, but I'm working on reprogramming myself, much with the help of both my kind, caring long-term partner ♥️, my wonderful crush 🥰 and also by my newfound friends and acquaintances (love y'all like honeybees loves flowers 🌸🐝).

Meeting my crush and entering into a relationship with them shortly after realizing I'm queer is one of the most wonderful things that have ever happened to me, even if I'm having minor self worth-related meltdowns at least weekly (is it really a date with me if I don't cry at one point? 🤔😉) and struggling to come to terms with and accept that YES, OTHERS CAN LOVE YOU AND FIND YOU DESIRABLE. (Nope. Still not computing that.)

And to, on top of all that, find out that I'm actually a bit of a kinky bastard? Woah. Mind blown.

Like today; I've been reading up a bit on brats within BDSM and I've been giggling at how incredibly much I see myself in what is being described. 🤭 (Really looking forward to the Basement Lab workshop on bratting I'm going to in two weeks! ☺️)

But also realising how sensual, calming and beautiful I find it to imagine submitting to my Dom and to bring them joy and pleasure. I've only just dipped my toes in that dynamic yet (much to my chagrin, I want MORE OF IT! 😄😘) but I'm already obsessed. I had an inkling that I was a sub before I met them but had such highly set standards for what a Dom would have to be to me, that I just assumed that I was never going to meet a person like that (who also wanted me back).

Imagine my surprise when I did find that. Or rather, they found me. And found me interesting! How could I not go belly up?!

I might wobble and stumble at times but I'm getting there. I'm dead set on allowing myself to have and enjoy this, teach myself that I am in fact worthy of the same things in life as everyone else - pleasure, joy, love. Friendship. Loyalty. Companionship and being desired. Pleasure, in whatever form I experience it.

Life's too short not to live it fully.

💪♥️🖤

Oh, here's the image that cured my heterosexuality: 😂🥵

[mxjjbaby]

thinking about coming home to someone and saying i need to get off. they reveal that they're not wearing anything under their skirt on the way over, their body language implying they're going to start taking my clothes off.

before they get the chance just saying "perfect", slamming them into the nearest wall, and then going down on them.

rookie mistake, as i take great pleasure in getting them off, not the other way around, as they strap in for me forcing them to cum an uncountable number of times. or was it a mistake? does it matter?

[gothcowgf]

Is it weird I wanna watch a loving couple have sex because the love they have gives me compersion and I feel happy for them 😭❤️

[ellaenchanting]

Hypnovember 2023 Day 2: Brain Drain

I have committed Our Flag Means Death fanfiction! I am so sorry. Stede/Ed, Ed/Izzy, somehow happy poly and happy metamours making a lovely vee. Takes place in some AU season 2 where the last arc of the season never happened. Izzy is living his best happy masochist life.

Author knows fuck all about ships.

Izzy had gotten much more comfortable spending time with his shipmates since the Calypso's birthday incident.

There was nothing like a round of torture to bring a crew together, he thought.

Tonight the whole group had gathered in the galley under the ship, laughing and chatting long past when they usually went into their quarters for the evening. The sea had been calm that day and the mood was social. Everyone seemed quite relaxed.

Only two members were missing.

Oluwande looked up from his cuddle pile with Jim and Archie. He seemed to have read Izzy's mind. "Hey," he called out to the gathered group, "Has anyone seen the captains this evening?"

"No!" a few people responded.

"Thank God," snarked Black Pete. "Blackbeard...well Ed has been freaking me out. Yelled at me earlier about trimming the sails and you KNOW I keep them the trimmest, babe," he said to his partner Lucius.

"Yeah, he snarled at me when I told him 'hello' earlier," said Archie. "Like this!" She contorted her face into a frankly over-the-top grimace. "Made me nearly jump out of my skin. I may have heard him yell at some seagulls too? Or dolphins?"

Roach looked worried. "Neither captain has come down for dinner, yet," he said.

"Perhaps they are...occupied in the captain's quarters," speculated Izzy.

"Oh? Feeling left out, are you?" joked Frenchie, the little shit. Izzy tactfully ignored him.

Roach replied, still concerned. "Captain Stede will usually come down and request provisions in advance if they're having a long night alone," said Roach. "Thinks he's being sneaky, says they need extra energy 'for planning raids.'"

"My room is below theirs. Trust me, they've not been buggering today," piped up Wee John. "Unless they've learned to be much more quiet about it."

"Maybe they've gotten into a spat and someone's gotten pushed off the ship," spat Lucius. "That'll happen with him, you know."

"OK, that's enough," said Izzy, trying to regain control over the situation as everyone began to talk at once. "You're like gossipy fishwives, all of you. I'll go check on the captains. Make sure Bonnet's not running the ship into a cliff or something."

Izzy climbed up the stairs and started to look around the ship. Ed and Stede weren't in the captain's quarters (being quiet for once). There was no sign of them on the deck. He even craned his neck up to the bird's nest and checked. No captains there.

He finally spotted them at the back of the ship- on a little bit of the stern mostly hidden from view. They were both sitting facing out at the ocean. From a distance, Izzy could see Stede's arm was bent around Ed's shoulder, his hand occasionally reaching up to rock Ed's drooped head into slow, almost imperceptible little circles. Aside from the rocking, Ed's body was remarkably still. It was a huge change from the tense, coiled menace that Ed's frame had carried earlier in the day. Now, he looked almost like a puppet with his strings cut, only responding to Stede's guidance. His arms rested gently besides his legs, lax and pliant.

Izzy could hear Bonnett speaking in a low, soothing voice near Ed's ear but he was too far to make out any words.

Ed had mentioned mesmerism to Izzy before. It was one of the many upperclass daliances that Bonnet had introduced him to- one of those many trifling hobbies that Izzy would never begin to understand the appeal of. Izzy even knew that Bonnet had used his skills on Ed previously. His captain confided that Bonnett's fancy mesmerism routine had helped him find quiet during his not-infrequent emotional storms, that it evened out his seemingly uncontrollable highs and lows. In Izzy's mind, he had pictured the whole thing looking quite comical- Bonnett with wiggly fingers staring daggers into Ed's eyes (maybe with rays), Edward swooning and fainting away in response like a lady whose corset was too tight.

This was quieter than what he had pictured. Gentle. Intimate, even. As he looked over at the scene, he had the sudden feeling that perhaps he shouldn't intrude.

He began to walk away when Stede turned his head and look directly at him. Izzy froze for a moment, unsure what to do. Stede quietly waved him over to where the couple was sitting.

As Izzy approached, he began to get a closer look at Ed's face. His eyes were closed and his face relaxed. His chest slowly rose and fell with each breath. As he come closer, he noticed Ed's eyes were making little flickers underneath his eyelids like he was dreaming.

Izzy wondered what dreams were happening below those lids.

Ed's brows furrowed a bit as Izzy came closer, picking up the noise.

Stede stroked a reassuring hand through his hair. He spoke in his ear, this time loud enough so Izzy could hear: "Shhhhhhh sweetness. It's OK. Relax. You're not in charge right now, remember? Just rest."

Ed's expression immediately cleared. He let held breath with a sigh.

"Izzy's here," Stede continued. "He and I are going to have a chat for a bit. But you don't have to pay attention to that right now, ok? Just drift. Why don't you see how deep you can count yourself down for me while we talk? I'll be right here. I'll touch your leg when it's time for you to listen to me again, ok?"

Ed gave a slight, dreamy nod. His lips barely moved as he began to count silently.

Seemingly satisfied, Stede gestured for Izzy to sit and moved over closer to him.

Izzy sat down, still staring at Ed's lax face. Somehow that by itself was just fascinating. Ed seemed so vulnerable and bare right now. Izzy wasn't sure if he should feel honored or spooked.

"He had a bad day," Stede said gently, nodding over to their entranced boyfriend. "You know how he gets. He needed out of his head for a bit."

Izzy DID understand how Ed got- probably more than his dandyish captain ever would. Hopefully more that Stede ever would, he corrected himself. Ed had certainly told his other boyfriend at least a bit about the hurricane that had been his and Izzy's relationship in the past. When times were bad, they had only known how to take their energy out on each other. They bit and snarled and scratched at one another just to drown out all the noise inside. Izzy had always assumed Ed had NEEDED all of that- needed to hurt and make Izzy suffer the same way that Izzy needed to hurt and suffer for him. That's how they worked. That's who they were together.

Since arriving on the Revenge, though, Izzy had seen more and more of the hidden soft side of Blackbeard. The side that enjoyed fancy clothes and fine foods. The side that kissed Stede's cheek sweetly when he didn't think anyone else was looking. The side that, even now, sat loose and drifting and unguarded while his two boyfriends stayed by him and had a chat.

"Can he hear us?" Izzy asked Stede, curiously.

Stede smiled. "He can hear us, he's just..focused elsewhere right now. Mesmerism's not a magic spell, it's more like- a nice version of where Ed's brain goes when he's navigating. Or how he is when he's trying to sniff out a storm."

Izzy was familiar with his captain's tendency to tune everything out while trying to read the sea. He pictured the absolute, unshakeable concentration of his focused gaze. "Only with nice, clear skies?"

Stede nodded. "Only with nice clear skies." He looked fondly at Ed's dreaming face. "No rain. Nothing to worry about right now." He had dropped into a lighter, dreamy tone- and for a moment, Izzy wasn't sure if he was still speaking to Ed or Izzy or even somehow mesmerizing himself.

Izzy had seen many things in his travels. He once heard a street charlatan talk about mesmerism- saying mesmerism somehow balanced out a person's magnetic forces (y'know- whatever magnetic forces were). He wasn't one for all of Stede's little tricks but- he did understand about needing balance.

Izzy had initially misunderstood Ed's relationship to Stede. He worried that the gentleman pirate would make Ed weak. That he would seduce him away. That he would try to turn the great Blackbeard into one of Stede's fancy little gentleman friends. Izzy had been terrified there would be nothing left of the Ed that he loved after Stede was through.

But Ed was still Izzy's Ed, even now. He could still fight and outwit and outmaneuver anyone else on the sea. He would still protect his crew with all the fierceness of his notorious reputation. He and Izzy could still lose themselves in each other- in their old married couple bickering, in their fighting and fucking, in their indulgences of Ed's sadism and Izzy's corresponding masochism. It just- felt more controlled now. Izzy no longer wondered if Ed actually hated him or if he was just looking for someone convenient to break. He no longer worried that Blackbeard would maim him so badly that he couldn't look after the crew. Even when Ed hurt him now- and he WOULD still hurt him, Stede didn't magic that part away- Izzy was always rewarded with a kiss and some praise afterwards. "That's so good, Izzy. You did so well for me," he would say. Edward seemed so much stronger in these moments now- able to control his own fierceness and use it as a weapon- but also to hold Izzy as he fell apart for him.

Izzy looked over at Ed's quiet countenance- so different than before. It was otherworldy seeing him this serene and distant. He had a sudden desire to protect this version of Ed- Stede's gentle Ed. To keep him safe. A mad, possessive impulse made it to Izzy's mouth before he could stop it.

"Can I touch him?" he asked. "Like this?"

Stede looked surprised. "By touch, do you mean....?"

"His face, Bonnet" Izzy replied, snarkily. "Or his hand or something. His hair. Not going to wank him off on the deck, now am I?"

Stede bit back a laugh. He leaned over to gently touch Ed's leg.

Ed reacted with an almost imperceptible startle before gently settling- serene like the moon going back behind a cloud.

"Shhh- that's OK, love, you can stay relaxed. Good," Stede soothed. "Izzy was wondering if he could touch you while you're in trance. Would that be OK?"

Ed took a moment to respond, as though the words were reaching him from a great distance. Then he nodded his assent.

Stede smiled back at Izzy, reassuringly. Izzy took a breath- then reached over to slowly stroke Ed's hair.

His fearsome Blackbeard smiled in return to the gesture- giving a happy little murmur. He slightly leaned his head in. Just like an affectionate kitten, Izzy thought.

"Good," soothed Bonnet at Ed. "I bet that feels nice."

Izzy grinned too, feeling oddly proud to be trusted with this quiet moment. He and Ed had never been conventional. Maybe it was OK that Ed and Stede weren't either. Maybe it was ok that their relationships were so different- that they saw such different aspects of the same person.

Maybe it was all ok.

Maybe it all balanced.

They sat quietly for a long moment on the deck, letting the peace of the atmosphere soothe them.

Gradually Stede stirred. "Izzy- I forgot to ask: Did the men send you? Were they looking for us?"

"There's no emergency, they were just curious where you were," replied Izzy.

Stede nodded. "We should probably get back, then. Or at least get off deck. Love," he said, moving his voice back into that hypnotic tone. He touched Ed's leg to refocus him. "Are you ready to come up out of trance for me?"

Ed took a deep breath and nodded.

"Good, I'll count to 5 then. It's just to guide you- I know you know how to come up at your own pace. Bring back any of this peace and calm that you want with you, ok?"

Stede started counting- his voice slowly gaining energy as he reminded Ed to connect back with his body and helped him reorient to the ship. It all didn't seem particularly magical to Izzy- but then again he rarely tried to understand Bonnet's ways anyway. Ed finally blinked his eyes open when Stede reached 5.

He blinked a few more times, adjusting. Then, his gaze lost it's bleariness as he looked adoringly up at Stede.

"Hi, there," said Stede, smiling gently. "Back with us, love?"

"Mmmmph mostly," said Ed, scritching his beard and stretching to rouse himself. He looked over at Izzy as though reminding himself he was there and smiled. "Heya, Izz!" Ed leaned up to kiss him.

Izzy grinned into their kiss. "Heya, Captain. Didn't want to interrupt your little daydream session. Crew was just looking for you."

"Ah, we missed dinner!" exclaimed Stede. "I should have asked Roach for..."

"Provisions for planning raids, I heard," smirked Izzy. "Yes, we're all very snowed by your clever euphemisms."

"Fuck provisions, I could eat a horse," said Ed. He practically bounced up and put an arm around both of his boyfriends. "C'mon, let's get some grub!"

Helpless to his whims as always, both of his partners joyfully followed him to dinner.

Fanfic is new to me so would love some thoughts! Also this is unbeta'd so will love you forever if you would point out spelling/grammar mistakes or if there's unclear writing. I'm considering posting this to AO3 but- don't want to embarrass myself in front of the REAL fanfic writers, you know? Feedback welcomed!

Tagging @mentat101posts and @thekinkycocktailclub .If you want to be tagged in these, just lmk!

Tagging @darthkyra @linnybeenaughty @pearlqueensposts @thiskenisftm @deeperforme because they wanted OFMD hypnokink and I blame/thank you for the inspiration to actually get this down!

[szeengames123]

(via https://comic.studio/s/9138)

TF2 vs. TC2 Compersion

Scout: Wears his cap forwards

Flanker: Wears his backwards

[robotdogdyke]

My crush gushing to me about her crush is just like woah gosh gosh gosh 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

[shrimpgirldick]

Sometimes it's nice to be reminded that jealously is in fact not my default

and that I can feel so much compersion for the people I love