#the awareness that something is becoming radically wrong with your body

[hidefdoritos]

working in fast food will give you eating disorders you’ve never even heard of

[hospitalterrorizer]

diary231

5/3/2024

friday

listening to cursive.

tomorrow i need to work too, then 2 days off, 3 days on opening, and then i'm off on my trip. in that span of days, it seems like something could happen. so i'll see about trying to help out there.

otherwise, the back-up is slowing stuff down, which is okay, i watched pinnocchio 964 today cuz of that. tomorrow maybe i'll watch rubber's lover, and then the other short of his that's on yt, i think it's his latest film as well.

i quite liked pinnocchio 964, there were bits where i didn't, where i was not on-track with it i think, but then it draws me back in. i think i fell off with points that seemed i guess, because i can be over-sensitive or think about it too much, moments that seemed woman-hating-ish. i don't know if that's true. well, from the end, in truth, i don't think that's the case. it ends with recognition, dissolution, and the film is non-narrative as much as it wants to trick you into thinking it is, it's kind of guerrila in all ways in that respect, it sneaks itself in, it is signal-jamming, abrasive in pointed ways, the chewing sounds of caterpillar, the excess of vomit, and crowd shots, the very public nature of these films, it is super pointed. and so, in what at first seems like a construction that leads to all women in a narrative being some negative force, it turns out to something else, negating the narrative, it allows things to float for one, the betrayal is turned into something else and it is grounds for a rejoining. the film is utterly butoh as well, more than cyberpunk i think, utterly angura, the betrayal becoming a jewel which refracts the relation of the two amnesiac leads into a strange prism at the end, where they are united in some odd comet on shoulders, almost, that is love, that is potential, that is killing your boss and killing the conditions that produce the knowledge of what you are to non-become.

that is a perfect couplet to what tetsuo accomplishes, two different kinds of radical vision, oasis-dreams of methods, or, hallucinatory methods containing crumbs on which we may subsist and grow from. (though, i suppose to many, the growing may be wrong, amoral, incoherent, odd, unpopular, and whatever. i think it could be something though and it is what i grew from, the droplets that went to other works, i climb through a rotted history, it speaks to me how to at least imagine alterations, hopefully, it can guide them too, in my body. this is too close to faith, but i am very scared in ways, i want to, i have to, so forgive the faith. i make no leap, no, i reject the faith, it will guide me, it is no-thing, as lispector said, the meaninglessness of veins, compulsion, gnawing, the teeth in the night.)

where i fell of with the movie at other points, was the puking and food stuff. sometimes i just get so queasy... something about eating the vomit...and it being so chunky. just a lot. it's probably because i gag so much brushing my teeth now, but i've always been hyper-aware of my stomach, how it feels + how it looks and when it looks good and what that means on the inside. that gets to bad stuff i should not indulge in myself, i think, or i guess it is impolite to but is it really bad to think on? sometimes, the emptiness propels me. but i do eat, so it's not bad or anything really, or it's not like i'm going without. i am just aware, almost constantly i guess.

anyway, i need to get off the computer soon, and i want to get to writing soon also!! how crazy. i want to write a little badly i think, but i need to get my pc all normal and stuff and not laggy when i write. the movies are good for that. i like that they confront me with discomfort. it helps me get at what i am scared of in my life right now, and the disgust / discomfort in my immediate, and my terrors in the immediate too.

they are also inspiring just in the way that they're cheap and guerilla. just shoot shoot shoot. invent in thin air before everyone, the crowds, the public, show them, let them in, make them see, even.

the butoh aspect of the film is really incredible. it feels really like the most important thing to catch, idk, the embodiment, the malady and pain, the struggles of being, like, being inside your own bones, the film expresses that. it is not cyberpunk, it is as about the present as anything could be, just what does that feel like, and what places do some of us go. its sci fi dressing is really not its interest, it's almost a kind of method for reaching at another set of poetics. which is very exciting!

anyway...soon stuff will be regular on my computer and i will write stuff out and hopefully finish that project...and then more and more and more and forever till i die!!!!!!!!!!

so until then, (speaking, with laughter)

byebye!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[karanna1]

AU - Lena Luthor Saves Krypton

Lena is somehow sent back in time and finds herself on Krypton 30 years before the planet explodes. Kara doesn’t exist yet. Krypton has no idea what’s about to happen to them.

Lena realizes that with her knowledge of what’s to come and intellect to devise a solution, she can do two things. One, she can save an entire species from near extinction. Two, she can save Kara from ever having to experience the pain of losing her family, her home, and being abandoned. Kara could live a happy life and never know the burden of Supergirl or being the last daughter of Krypton.

So instead of trying to find a way back to Earth, back to her own time, she settles into life on Krypton, becomes fluent in Kryptonese, and sets about with a spectacularly single-minded focus of changing the future - to save this dying world (and Kara).

She succeeds...mostly. They can’t fix the damage that’s already been done to the planet. Their sun will die and destroy Krypton still, but with Lena’s help they’re able to locate a barren planet in another system that has a white star. It’s brand new, strong, and will live for untold trillions of years (provided Kryptonians didn’t try to harness its power again).

They terraform the planet and create “New Krypton” using the dome concept that Zor-El invented fused with Coluan bottling technology. All Kryptonians are instantly transported to their new home that’s identical to the old one save for one difference - the white sun grants them god-like powers that are beyond what Lena ever saw Kara and Clark capable of on Earth. Kryptonians are overwhelmed en masse by these powers. Some go power mad and attempt coups and form radical sects. Others realize the gift they’ve been given and, with Lena’s guidance, Kryptonian society develops under a new mission - to travel the galaxy and offer help to all those in need. Not just offering knowledge and technology this time, but themselves with their newfound powers.

Lena keeps her distance from the House of El as much as she can. It’s nearly impossible considering their standing with the Kryptonian High Council. Lena has to work very closely with the Council. Jor-El and his brother, Zor-El, are brilliant scientists and statesmen. Alura In-Ze is a rising star in the judicial system. Her marriage to Zor-El, second born son of the House of El, caused quite a few waves, but when Lara Lor-Van, a brilliant biologist and prominent noble of the House of Van, agrees to marry Jor-El, it’s all anyone can talk about. All 4 of them live very public lives due to their professions, their positions on the High Council, and their nobility.

They’re ever so fascinated by Lena Luthor, the human from Earth that appeared one day to save their entire planet. Their savior. The one their people have named “The New Dawn”. Lena wants nothing to do with the House of El. It’s too much. She can’t bear to be so close to Kara’s family without Kara. It feels wrong. Unfortunately, with how much Lena tries to avoid them, the 4 nobles think they’ve done something to offend her, and constantly attempt ways to make amends. It only makes Lena’s life that much more difficult.

But she still knows the exact date and time that Kara Zor-El steps into existence. Later, she will know the moment Kal-El is born (mostly because Lara’s natural birth is all anyone can talk about).

Lena meets Kara on New Krypton entirely by accident one day when Zor-El brings his brilliant young daughter, a prodigy in the Science Guild, to see Krypton’s finest laboratory entirely unannounced. The same laboratory that Lena founded and runs. She’s stricken, having tried to avoid this moment for as long as she could, knowing that eventually she’d have to see Kara as child, which would spell the end of every fanciful dream or slightest hope she had of a chance that someday she would find Kara, her best friend, again. Seeing the reality both warms her heart and breaks it all the same. This bouncing bundle of joy and inquisitiveness has the same blinding smile, in all its purity, with that same head of golden hair.

“You’re THE Lena Luthor?”

She kneels before her so they’re at eye level. “I suppose I am. And you’re THE Kara Zor-El?”

The ten year old gasps. “You know who I am?”

“Of course. I know all the important people. And you are a very important person, Kara.”

“I am?”

Zor-El interjects. “I’ve told Lena all about you, my dear. I’m sure she’s grown tired of my endless babbling about my wonderful daughter and her keen scientific mind.”

“Not at all,” Lena replies a bit flatly and tries to tune him out as she focuses on the young girl who will one day be a most extraordinary woman. “Do you enjoy the Science Guild, Kara?”

“Yes! I love to learn new things. As many things as I can! Sometimes father asks me to work with him in his laboratory at home and I help him with his projects!”

“That does sound like fun. I enjoy creating things as well.”

“You’re the most brilliant bio-engineer on Krypton! I’ve read all about you! You saved us.”

Lena shies away from the praise and instead fumbles her way forward, uncomfortable under the scrutiny of Zor-El, whom she’d never given the time of day until he walked in with his daughter.

“Tell me, Kara, do you like other subjects besides science?”

Kara fidgets, a little confused. “Well, I don’t...they don’t give you much time for other subjects. I-I do try to read about other things like art and history when I have free time, but I’m not really allowed—“

“She’s a hard worker and a wonderful student,” Zor-El interrupts again.

Lena ignores him. “Do you enjoy writing, Kara?”

“Writing?”

“Creation comes in many forms. I enjoy being able to create things with my hands. Machines. Technology. Things to help people. Science is my passion, but there are many other ways to help people. Ways that I’m not very good at, but others are. Writing takes a curious mind, creativity, and a way with words. I believe you might have a gift for that.”

“A gift for words?” Her little brow crinkles as she considers it.

Lena nods. “A writer can do a great many things that a scientist cannot. They are equally as powerful and important. What matters is doing what you love most, what inspires you most. You’re going to do great things one day, Kara. Maybe with the Science Guild, maybe with something else... The future is limitless for you.”

“You really think I could be that important someday?”

“You already are.” Lena smiles and breathes deeply. “Do you know what your name means where I come from?”

She shakes her head. “I have read about Earth. It’s very far away and my Aunt Astra says their civilization is primitive and filled with savages. They have my name there too?”

“Daughter, do not speak—“

Lena waves off Zor-El’s warning without looking at him.

“That’s not an unfair assessment of Earth compared to Krypton, but I do believe humanity would surprise a great many Kryptonians, including your Aunt. In my native language, Kara means ‘beloved friend’.”

Kara beams in a way that is so achingly familiar. It’s like an echo in Lena’s memory. Not exact, not complete, but the beginning of what it will become.

“I like that. Does that mean I’m your friend?”

Lena feels it in that moment. The melting warmth simultaneous with the absolute shattering of what was left of her heart.

“I will always be your friend, darling. Always.”

Kara leaves with her father and Lena’s coworkers are concerned when she goes off planet for an impromptu holiday without notice. She returns two months later and picks up as if she never left.

It’s around that time that one of the people she’s befriended in her years on Krypton remarks at how ageless she seems for a human that supposedly has a short life span. It sparks Lena’s curiosity. Indeed, it’s been nearly 30 years since she traveled back in time and found herself on a new planet. Yet you’d be hard pressed to find a single physical difference. Kryptonians aged slowly under a red star, and even slower still under the white star, but Lena was human. Her body wasn’t designed to accommodate solar radiation the way Kryptonians did. She was over 50 years old now, yet she still didn’t look a day over 28.

More years pass and New Krypton thrives. The galaxy is brought together through New Krypton’s diplomacy and thousands of planets and species are united under a banner of peace. There are always dissenters, but happiness and prosperity is widespread. Lena finds joy in friendships and attempts romantic relationships, but nothing ever really takes. Still, she’s content. She misses Earth, of course, and hopes to return one day before she dies, whenever that will be, but she’s found peace in knowing that she is able to be the one thing she’s always wanted - a force for good.

She’s at dinner with coworkers one night when Lara and Jor-El spot her. She sighs and straightens, preparing for their next attempt to get in her good graces.

“Do they never desist?” One of them mutters next to her ear. “Surely they’re intelligent enough to know when they’re not wanted?”

“Don’t be unkind, but help me keep it short if it goes on too long.”

“Lena! It’s wonderful to see you,” Lara says.

“You as well. How are you?”

“Very well, thank you.”

Lena’s table has gone conspicuously, and therefore awkwardly, silent.

Lara and Jor-El look around at the group uncomfortably.

“We were wondering...well, our niece is being inducted to the—“

“The Science Council as First Order,” Lena finishes for her. “Yes, I’m aware. It’s a great honor. I’m sure the House of El is quite proud.”

“Indeed we are,” Jor-El jumps in. “She’s a most remarkable young woman and we couldn’t be prouder of who she’s become.”

“We are holding a celebration to mark the occasion and were wondering if you might honor us by attending? It will be quite the event.” Lara does a slight eyeroll. “Jor is insisting on all the fantastical things.”

Jor-El nods enthusiastically. “My brother isn’t one for celebrations so I’ve taken up the mantle. Kara deserves all the praise she’s earned with her hard work and dedication.”

“You’ll have to forgive my mate’s enthusiasm. He’s quite invested in Kara since she can share his passion for his life’s work while our son is—“

“Disgustingly hopeless,” Jor-El grumbles.

“Oh?” She raises an eyebrow. “A great disappointment he’s been then?”

“Goodness no!” Lara shakes her head and shoots a warning look at her husband. “Kal is a fine boy. Just...a little lost.”

“Perhaps he is simply in need of a different path than the one his father has in mind,” Lena finds the words tumbling out of her mouth without thinking twice. The couple stares at her agape, but she continues without care. “I can certainly sympathize with the need to step out of the shadow of a family’s overbearing legacy.” She sighs. “While I thank you for considering me, it’s simply not possible with my days usually booked from dawn to dusk. Besides, parties have never been altogether pleasant endeavors for me.”

The disappointment on their faces isn’t what changes her mind. It’s that as soon as she says the words, she regrets it. She’s, of course, kept up with Kara’s doings and was concerned when she heard about the recent move in the Science Guild. Was journalism just a secondary passion since she couldn’t truly use her mind on Earth the way she could on Krypton? Or was this a woman just following in her family’s footsteps because she believed it was the right thing to do? Lena hadn’t seen or spoken to Kara in 16 years. Not since the day Zor-El brought her to the lab.

In the end, it’s Lena’s concern and curiosity for Kara’s well being that wins out. Though she very well knows that the woman that existed in another life, on another planet, is not the woman who lives here now on New Krypton. Even if she shared the same name and the same face...maybe even the same bright eyes and sunny smile. Even then.

“Send me the invitation. I’ll see what I can do,” Lena says, to the surprise of everyone at her table, including the two standing next to it.

They nod, stunned but pleased, and say their goodbyes quickly, walking away.

Lena’s coworkers all turn to her in surprise, but she refuses to answer their questions and excuses herself early for the evening.

She doesn’t show for the celebration. She torments herself for a week coming up to it and can’t bring herself to go. The fear of the past and her memories being trod upon are too strong. But somehow she finds herself in the Starling Grove anyway, just as it comes to an end. The evening is late and guests slowly make their exit after the long day of partying. Lena practically sneaks in, staying in shadows, not knowing what she hopes to find or what she could see that would make all her fears come true.

Is it any wonder that fate would intervene? That there would be no circumstance in which Lena could fly so close to the sun and not be touched?

“If avoiding people is your specialty, you’re very skilled at it.”

It’s almost terrifying to hear her voice again. It’s a different language being spoken, but the voice is the same. As if it’d been snatched from the deepest recesses of Lena’s memories, of a different life and a different world, and brought to the present in flesh and blood with a bolt of lightning.

She turns and it’s Kara smiling at her. Not the sunny smile. The soft, tender, reassuring one. The one that she used to share with Lena when she had one of her harder days. Kara was no longer the small and precocious child she met all those years ago, the one that she could almost convince herself was a complete stranger and that there was no connection between the child and the woman she knew. But that was gone now. The Kara standing before her was the same one she’d left behind on Earth. The one she’d given up in order to save her. The one who walked into her office so many years ago, trailing behind her cousin, and Lena knew she was done for. 

Her eyes were so blue as she looked at her...bluer than Lena remembered and it seemed so impossible. Perhaps it wasn’t real. Perhaps she was dreaming. But she wasn’t...was she?

“My skills must be rusty since you were able to catch me.”

Kara put a finger to her smiling lips. “Shh. Finding people is one of my untold gifts.”

“I imagine you have a lot of those.”

Kara looks pleasantly flustered and she stammers over her words in a way that Lena knows so well that the sound of it squeezes her heart in a vise like grip.

She’s not the same person. She’s not your Kara. Your Kara doesn’t exist anymore. Over and over she repeats this in her head.

“Wait...” Kara finally collects herself and peers at Lena more closely. “You’re-you’re Lena Luthor! My Uncle said you might be here, but I never thought...”

“On my home world, they like to say it’s fashionable to be late. However, tonight was just a tad bit too far. I...I simply wanted to stop by and wish you well. A-and to congratulate you on your achievement.”

Did she manage to say that with any passing conviction?

“Thank you. That means a great deal coming from someone like you.”

“Are you happy?” She blurts before her good sense can kick in. “This life...does it make you happy?”

Kara looks at her oddly for a long moment, clearly thrown, but not put off. Lena doesn’t know what else to say that could fix her blunder. 

“Yes,” she says, a serene smile creeps across her face. “I’m very happy. I love my family and my friends. I enjoy my work. I hope to have a family of my own one day, but I don’t mind waiting for the right person. Everyone always wants to rush me into something, telling me that I shouldn’t be alone, but I don’t mind it. When it’s right, I know that it will be worth the wait.”

Lena’s heart stutters and freezes. “I-I’m glad to hear that. Truly. I shouldn’t take up anymore of your time though. I’m sure you have somewhere to be and it’s late so I really should be going anyway.”

“Oh! Um. Yes, of course.” She looks disappointed, but Lena can’t think about that. “Thank you for being here.”

Her legs feel as though they’re weighted with cement as she walks away. Her mind screams at her to run, but her body doesn’t seem to get the message. She doesn’t want to leave Kara’s side. Not like this. Not after she’s found her again.

But it’s not her. Not really.

“My Lady?”

She turns around at once. Kara stands there, fiddling with her hands, her head tilted to the side.

“Apologies. I-I remember reading that you never liked that title. You prefer...what was it...” She closes her eyes as she searches for it. “Oh!” Her eyes fly open again. “Miss Luthor. I should have addressed you as ‘Miss Luthor’, yes?”

The ‘Miss’ was heavily accented and sounded nothing like how she used to say it, but it still tore Lena apart.

“I never forgot what you said.”

The voice in Lena’s head screams again for her to run, but instead she draws closer. She needs to hear it. 

Her Kara.

No, it’s not her.

“What did I say?”

“I was a little girl. My father brought me to your lab to show me around.”

“I remember.”

Don’t let her do this. Don’t let her pull you in again. You can’t. For both of your sakes, you can’t.

“You talked about different ways of creating. Of passion. It’s silly, I know, and I’m sure you say it to all the children who read about you in school and have a serious case of hero worship, but...you told me I was important.”

“You are.” 

It’s a reflex. She can’t help it.

“And you said that I had a gift for words. I never understood why you would say that. How you could know...”

Lena chuckles awkwardly. “Looks like I was off the mark since you’ve just joined the Science Council.”

“But you weren’t.”

Lena’s breath hitches.

“I’ve never told anyone else this...” 

Kara steps closer, sharing a secret that Lena doesn’t know she deserves to hear. She wonders if she still knows how to breathe with Kara being this close after so long...so many years gone... 

“I started writing that day. That very night I went home and I tried it. I never stopped. I’ve never been happier than when I’m writing. Imagining stories or just writing my thoughts, putting memories into words, keeping a record of each day and what I’ve done, who I’ve seen, what my first thought is in the morning and my last thought at night. All of it.”

Kara was so close. She could smell her. Nothing like what she remembered. It was something altogether new and still...still... Lena’s heart beat so loudly, she was sure every Kryptonian within miles was wondering what that raucous drumming noise was. What must Kara think? Surely she could hear it. Lena was embarrassing herself.

“You inspired me.”

Lena doesn’t know how she manages it, but she somehow strings together coherent words. 

“But you continued to pursue...”

“The Science Guild, yes. I’m very good there. It comes easily. It makes my family proud.”

“It’s not your passion though.”

Kara shakes her head gently.

“What stops you?”

“Well, what if I’m not really good at writing after all? I’ve never told anyone about it. I’ve never let them read anything... What if I make a terrible mistake and humiliate myself and my family?”

“Following your heart isn’t a mistake.”

“That’s not a very Kryptonian sentiment.”

“No, but it is a human one.” Lena sighs. “I tried so hard, for so long, not to listen to mine. But it won out every time. Despite all the pain it brought me...I remind myself that it’s what brought me here. To this planet. To this time. To do good. To be good. Following your heart is the most terrifying notion, but in my experience, it has also led me to the greatest moments of joy and love that I’ve ever known.”

Kara stares at her in wonderment. Her long blonde locks flow over her shoulders. Her dress is white and flowing, almost luminescent under the glow of the evening flowers blooming in the garden. It became quickly apparent how very alone they were, the last guests and servers from the party were gone. The torches were still lit, but it was their own world.

Wasn’t it always?

It’s not her.

“I don’t think I could be as brave as you.”

“You have always been brave and I know that you are capable of the most extraordinary amount of courage...courage and boundless hope. You are the one who inspires me, Kara. You always have.”

“Me?” She replies in the softest utterance. “But I haven’t done anything nearly as incredible as you.”

“The kind of person you are is far more important than any sum of career achievements. Don’t let fear make you hide in the shadows, Kara. Step into the sun. You’ve always belonged there.”

“What about you?”

“Me?”

“When will you step out of the shadows, Miss Luthor?”

A voice calls for Kara in the distance. It’s jarring and breaks the spell that seemed to lock them together in time suspended.

They step away, now acutely aware of how close they’d been this whole time.

Kara blushes and opens her mouth to say something, but Lena can’t bear to hear it.

“Goodnight, Kara Zor-El. I hope you enjoyed your party.”

Another voice joins the first. Two people are calling for her now. Kara seems frustrated and turns back, yelling to them that she’d be there soon.

She turns back. “I—“

But Lena’s gone.

She leaves New Krypton again. Journeys to other planets under the guise of a holiday and scientific exploration. She wonders if now is the time to return to Earth. She can’t even call it home anymore, but it’s home...isn’t it? 45 years could be enough to make New Krypton home and maybe it was. Maybe it was more of a home than Earth. But New Krypton had spectres walking among the living. Lena’s past had caught up to her here as well. She was no longer alone. Would Earth be any better with a reminder at every street corner? A certain smell. A park bench. A pair of glasses. Food. All of the food on Earth. She would never truly escape there either. It has to be a different planet. Not New Krypton, not Earth, something else entirely. 

She searches across galaxies for it. Finally, one appeals to her. She can see herself settling down there. She can make a new life for herself...again. She returns to Krypton with determination. She resigns from her position, ignores the High Council’s pleas, ignores their more pointed demands, and even their attempted orders when it appeared that nothing else was working. She packs her things and bids farewell to her friends. They’ll visit now and again, but soon she won’t be seeing them at all. It doesn’t bother her all that much. She’d find replacements eventually. No one had ever been like... Well, she’d never let anyone get close enough to try.

She was walking out of her building for the last time, her luggage already sent ahead, and was headed to the transport when she heard her voice again on the wind, calling her name. Of course she would hear her now. This was exactly why she needed to leave this place. The sooner the better to end this torment.

The transport doors were nearly closed when a hand shot between them. The metal alloys were crushed in a powerful grip and the doors were jerkily pried open again.

Kara stood in front of her. Her hair windswept, almost what it used to look like when she would fly to Lena at breaking speed to rescue her. Did she fly here? Was she really here?

“Kara?”

“Lena, don’t go.”

“What are y—?”

“That’s government property!” someone shouts at Kara from further away. 

A Kelex zooms in beside her. “And you were flying within city limits which is strictly prohibited. Unfortunately, Lady Kara, this means we must place you under arrest.”

A patrolman, the one who shouted, walks up behind Kara, nodding his head in agreement.

“Arrest?” She rolls her eyes at the Kelex and turns to the patrolman. “The doors were an accident and sorry about the flying thing. I’ll pay the fines. I doubt Alura In-Ze will take kindly to you dragging someone in for petty infarctions, let alone that someone being her daughter.”

Lena finds herself walking out of the transport, entirely of her own volition, and watches it leave without her. Kara is arguing with the patrolman over what her fines should be, but suddenly Lena feels someone take her hand. She looks down and sees that indeed there is another hand holding hers. She drags her gaze up to find those blue eyes again. A ghost. A spectre. Everything she was trying to escape.

“I’m sorry to just...burst in on you like this. But you’ve been gone for months and I only just heard that you’d come back, planning to leave New Krypton for good. I didn’t...”

“You didn’t what?”

“I don’t know.” Her brow furrows in frustration. “I didn’t plan this. I just...when I heard, I felt like I had to stop you.”

Lena pulls her hand away and crosses her arms. She needs to get ahold of herself. This was all so out of control.

“Why?”

Kara is just as bewildered as she is. “Well, I...I’m not sure. But we’ve only just started.”

“What?”

“Don’t you feel it? I know you must.”

She swallows thickly. “Kara, I...”

“I think there’s a lot you haven’t told me. A lot that I hope you will tell me. You promised me once that you would always be my friend. Please, Lena. We both know that this...it’s not supposed to end here.”

“When is it supposed to end?”

“I hope not for very long time.”

“I’ve lived a lifetime already.”

Kara grins. “Then what’s one more? Should be easy if you’ve already done it.”

Lena shakes her head. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Somehow I do...and I don’t. I know it’s strange. I know what I sound like. But I think you understand. Don’t you?”

“Kara...”

“Are you hungry?” She interrupts. “I’m famished. The flying thing is really fun, but I always get so hungry after. How about it?”

“I’m supposed to be boarding a ship in 20 minutes.”

“We can eat fast!”

“I know you can eat fast, that’s not the point,” she mutters. “I have to go.”

“But you see? You say things like that. Like it’s normal to just know these things about me, but it’s not. How do you know? We’ve only met twice and both times it feels as though you know everything about me.”

“Everything?” She scoffs. “No. Never.”

“Well, the important things anyway.”

Lena falters.

“Please? Just...for a little while? There’s always another ship if you really must go.”

No.

No, I’ve been through this before. I saved you. I saved your people. You’re happy. I don’t belong here. I’ve never belonged. This is your world. I don’t belong anywhere. I did what was right. I helped people. I still help people. But I won’t do this again.

“I’m pretty sure you know that a Kryptonian can tell when you’re lying. The white star brought us untold abilities. And the longer I’ve lived here, under this new sun, I’ve discovered more abilities. Would you like to know about them?”

Lena can only stare.

“If I’m close enough...and I concentrate hard enough...I can feel what you’re feeling. It’s not mind reading exactly, but something deeper. I can feel you right now.” She swallows hard. “What have I done to cause you such pain, Lena? I never thought that... If you have to go, I won’t stop you. I just thought...” She sighs defeatedly. “I don’t know what I thought. But it wasn’t this. It wasn’t pain. Or anger. Or betrayal.”

Lena’s eyes widen at the same time as Kara’s. She seemed to realize it only as she spoke the word aloud.

“Betrayal?” Kara whispers, half to herself. “I don’t understand.”

“There’s nothing to understand.”

“You’re lying.”

“Stop it.”

“I can’t! Tell me what’s happening. How can you be so angry with me, but also feel...like this...when we don’t even know each other?”

“But we do.” 

At last she admits it. 

In the quietest whisper. 

“We did. Once. In another life.”

Kara nods slowly. “Where?”

“On Earth.”

“I’ve never been to Earth.”

“Not in this time. But in another...you were Earth’s Champion. Our Protector. The Paragon of Hope.”

“As you are the Protector of Krypton? Our Salvation. The New Dawn.”

Lena shrinks uncomfortably under the titles.

“Will you tell me more?”

“You believe me?”

“Of course I do. You’re Lena Luthor. Also, with my powers I can sense you’re telling the truth, so...” She shrugs lightly at that, a sheepish smile.

“Right. Well, I admit I’m still a bit resentful that after everything I’ve been through, I still didn’t get even a hint of those powers.”

Kara takes her hand again, tentatively this time. She probably thinks Lena will pull away.

She doesn’t.

“There’s been a rumor for ages that you’re immortal. Are you saying that’s not true? From what I’ve read, humans have a shorter life span than us. Your species only live about 85 years or so.”

“I’ve heard the rumor and, yes, the average human lifespan is shorter than a Kryptonian’s.”

“You look pretty darn good for your age if you’re preparing to join Rao in a few cycles.”

Lena has to laugh. She lets Kara lead her away from the platform and down to the street. They walk hand in hand.

“So you’re not immortal?”

“It remains to be seen.”

“Then maybe our white sun did give you a hint of something after all.”

“Maybe. I have yet to ascertain the cause.”

“I could help you with your study, should you choose to explore it further.”

“You want to study me?”

Kara blushes. “I...I didn’t mean it like that. I only meant—“

“I know what you meant.”

Silence falls between them.

“You’re still holding my hand.”

“You’re still letting me.”

“It’s strange.” She stares. “You’re different. You’re so different than you were before, a completely different person, but somehow...when I look at you, you’re exactly who you’ve always been.”

“Are you different now too?”

“Yes.” She shrugs. “I think so anyway.”

“But we’ve still found each other. That means something.”

“Are you sure you want to hear this? You might be angry with me. I...I made choices that changed your life. A great number of lives.”

“I want to hear everything. But even if I do get angry, I won’t leave. I promise.”

Lena starts at that. How could she know exactly—? The realization hits her. 

“My fears...you feel them right now, don’t you?”

Kara nods. “I won’t betray you, Lena. Whatever mistakes I’ve made before...in that other life...I won’t make them again.”

“You’ll make other mistakes.”

“Of course!” She laughs. “I’m gifted, but hardly perfect. You’ll make mistakes too, even if you are the Great New Dawn.”

“Two prodigies...” Lena raises an eyebrow. “I don’t know how people stand us. We must be insufferable to be around.”

“I can’t be held accountable for the jealousy of others.”

Lena chuckles. “Good to know you’re as competitive as ever.”

“And you? Are you competitive as well?”

“On occasion...when it comes to the right things.”

Kara grins. “Tell me more about Earth.”

“Earth or...you on Earth?”

“Both. Or just one. Whatever you like. We have all the time we need. We’ll get to it eventually.”

“Kara?”

“Yes?”

“What do you want?”

“You.”

“How do you know that?”

“I just do.”

“You’re not afraid?”

“Of losing you? Yes, I’m afraid. I thought I did when you left me in the Grove that night.”

“It’s different this time though.”

“Different how?”

“You were afraid before. O-on Earth. So you lied to me. Hid things from me. You were afraid I’d reject you.”

“So I lost you anyway?”

“For a while.”

“I know who I am and I want to share all of that with you. I’m afraid I’ll lose you if I don’t. Do you think that means I learned my lesson with a second chance?”

“Even though you don’t remember the first?”

Kara tilts her head thoughtfully.  “Are you familiar with the theological concept of reincarnation?”

Lena nods.

“Many species and cultures detail it differently, but the belief that a soul does not reside in an afterlife fascinates me. The idea that one could instead be reborn and is destined to learn new lessons with each life that it failed to learn in the last. Maybe we found a way to do that without needing to die at all.”

“Are you sure you’re the First Order of the Science Council? Because that sounds an awful lot like preaching I’ve heard from the Religious Guild. You’re in the wrong profession.”

Kara rolls her eyes. “If anything, I should have joined the Artisans. But it’s too late for that.”

Lena’s quiet for a moment. They’re walking along streets she’s never seen before and doesn’t care. It doesn’t matter.

“I think I’m learning...” she says softly, “that it’s never too late. If you want something enough, it’s never too late.”

“I hope you’re right.”

Lena looks around. “Do you know where you’re going?”

“No, I thought you did.”

“No. I guess we’re lost then.”

Kara shrugs with a charming, sunny smile that lights her whole face. It’s the one that Lena hasn’t seen in over 40 years and it takes her breath away.

“Oh well.” Kara squeezes Lena’s hand happily. “I suppose we’ll find our way together.”

[the-scandalorian]

Tempered Glass: Chapter 1

Pairing: Din Djarin x Female Reader (no use of Y/N) Rating: M (will become explicit in later chapters) Word Count: 5.5k Warnings: slow burn, canon-typical violence, cursing, sexy thoughts, pining, non-graphic description of wounds Summary: With the ghosts of your own mysterious past close on your heels, you can’t afford to get in the middle of someone else’s fight; however, attraction drives you to make a reckless decision, and you end up swept up in the Mandalorian’s story. Notes: (1) Reader is bisexual. It will probably only come up peripherally, but I wanted to make a note of that. (2) I did my best to keep physical descriptions of the reader out of my writing, but please let me know if something slipped in that isn’t as inclusive as it could be!  

Masterlist | Next Chapter

Image from The Art of Star Wars: The Mandalorian

You felt the weight of the Mandalorian’s gaze before you saw him.

Sitting in the cantina on Nevarro, you were alone in a corner booth—a seat close to the back exit that had a clear view of the front door.

You were halfway through your drink when the hairs on the back of your neck prickled, and you had the overwhelming feeling that you were being watched.

You scanned the cantina and, in your periphery, registered the Mandalorian’s head snap back from your direction to face the man sitting across from him. You hadn’t noticed him enter, but it must have been just moments ago because you surveyed your surroundings every few minutes.

The two men were seated a few tables away. You observed the Mandalorian for a moment, noting his stiff-backed posture and the tension in his shoulders under his battle-worn armor. He could tell you’d caught him staring and that you were watching him.

The man sitting across from the Mandalorian was gesticulating as he spoke. You’d been on Nevarro long enough to recognize him as Greef Karga, local leader of the Guild. You could only see his back, but he was boisterous—a stark contrast to the Mandalorian’s silent stillness—and his voice carried.

Karga was saying something about bounties and currency—no surprise there. Mandalorians were the most feared bounty hunters in the galaxy. You didn’t know much about them besides the legends you’d heard as a child, though it was very unclear what was true and what was myth. You’d only ever seen one in person before, and that Mandalorian had been terrifying, threatening.

This Mandalorian, however, was... intriguing? He was, of course, intimidating—in his head-to-toe armor with a long rifle leaned against the table, he was the very picture of a warrior. Any person with sense would be scared of him, and judging by the sidelong glances he was getting from the other patrons, most were.

The very relatable experience of having someone catch you in the act of watching them—as you’d just done to him—however, humanized this Mandalorian. Noting his broad shoulders, you couldn’t help wondering what he looked like under all that heavy metal. You’d heard rumors that some Mandalorians never took off their armor in front of another person. That would be a real shame.

Though you’d have preferred to continue thinking about the man under the armor (and the things you wanted to do with him), a small voice in your head reminded you of the potentially dangerous reality of your situation.

Why was he watching me? He can’t possibly recognize me.

No one had come after you in years. There was likely still a steep bounty on your head, but many of the people who wanted to find you were dead, imprisoned, or deep in hiding. Some were convinced you’d been taken out in a star cruiser explosion (because you almost had been). And, you no longer looked like the photo that was attached to your bounty puck. Your hair was a radically different shade and length. You wore contacts to obscure the real color of your eyes. You always chose high-necked clothing to conceal the identifying scar that slashed an angry line beneath your clavicle.  

You kept a low profile, moved often, and assumed a fake identity, but you felt safe enough in your anonymity to come to a planet like Nevarro, a place that was swarming with hunters.

Plus, you reasoned that if the Mandalorian was looking for you for a job, this is probably not how it would have happened. It would have been stealthy and quick, potentially bloody and violent.

No, you didn’t think he was looking for you, which meant he had been looking at you. Out of interest. And that was so, so much better.

You turned your body towards him pointedly to make it more obvious that you were watching him. The slight forward lean of his shoulders told you he registered your movement in his periphery. His helmet stayed trained on Karga, but it was impossible to know exactly where he was looking through the black t-shape of his visor. You would have bet he was looking back at you.

The Mandalorian responded to Karga, pushing some credits back across the table. You could hear the low undercurrent of his modulated voice, but you couldn’t quite make out what he was saying. It looked like they were arguing about the currency of the credits on the table.

As Karga dug in his pocket for something, the Mandalorian turned his helmet slowly back towards you. Throwing caution to the wind, you smiled at him and winked, and he dipped his head in acknowledgement. You watched him expectantly, figuring this was when he’d walk over to your table.

Instead, he turned his head back to Karga, responded to something he said, and grabbed the credits off the table. They were clearly finishing up their deal. The Mandalorian slid out of the booth and strapped the long rifle to his back. He started toward the front door.

Maybe you’d read the whole situation wrong. Like you, he was trained to be aware of everyone, everything around him. Perhaps, he’d just been surveying the cantina, not necessarily you.

Feeling slightly disappointed, you finished your drink, dropped some credits on the table, and got up to leave. You were pulling on your jacket when a familiar feeling made you flick your head up. The Mandalorian was standing at the front of the cantina, his dark silhouette framed in the light of the open doorway, visor trained on you.

From where he was standing, he looked you up and down, lowering and raising his helmet to survey your body from top to bottom and back up again—a gesture that could have easily been achieved without moving his entire head in such an obvious way. His penetrating gaze and brazen attention made you shiver. 

He waited to see what you would do.

You were tempted to go to him, to see what would happen, but the stubborn part of you wanted him to come to you—and, more importantly, the sensible part of you was worried this was somehow a trap. You made an impulsive choice and decided to prolong the chase...whether that chase would prove to be literal or figurative, you weren’t totally sure.

You smiled slyly at him and turned, slipping out the back door.

***

The second time you crossed paths with the Mandalorian, you saw him before he saw you.

You were walking down Nevarro’s main thoroughfare, a busy street lined with vendors, pushing through the crowd, when you spotted the back of his reflective helmet. A couple weeks had passed since you had seen him in the cantina, and you’d been hoping to see him again, always keeping an eye out for his distinctive profile.

These past two weeks, you’d found your thoughts straying to his image—strong, mysterious, intimidating. He was sexy. There was no getting around it. You’d spent enough time around people in masks and full-body armor to know that it wasn’t just the mystery of the helmet that attracted you to him. There was something about him you couldn’t shake.

It didn’t help that you were bored and lonely here on Nevarro. It was not your favorite planet. It was dry and hot, the surface a mosaic of cracked flows of hardened lava and loose tephra—unwelcoming terrain. It was volcanically active, too, steam pouring from fractures in the hard, black ground. A river of molten lava ran under the city itself. Who would choose to live here?

For you, Nevarro was no more than a stopover—a place to stay for a few months before moving on to the next planet. You could leave any time, easily book passage to a bigger city on a prettier planet, but that shameless part of you that imagined the Mandalorian fucking you in his full armor was bold enough to convince yourself to stick around for a little longer and see if you could run into him again. Why not?

You’d been running for years, denying yourself comfort, companionship, consistency. Couldn’t you indulge just this once?

You had no reason to think the Mandalorian had thought of you for one second after seeing you in the cantina, but you let yourself hope. He didn’t hide the way he looked at you, and he hadn’t pursued you as a quarry when you left the cantina (and what a relief that was), so that meant...he’d flirted with you...right? That was probably how a Mandalorian flirted? Maybe you were stuck in his head the way he was stuck in yours? A girl could dream.

You watched his helmet disappear and reappear as you both weaved through the throngs of people. The Mandalorian had a purposeful gait and an immediate effect on everyone around him: the crowd parted for him as people avoided his path and his gaze. No one wanted to be noticed by a Mandalorian. 

Well, almost no one.

The Mandalorian clearly relied on his menacing appearance and the notorious lore associated with his armor to ensure that he was left alone. You, on the other hand, depended on stealth and the ability to disappear in a swarm of people to stay hidden. This meant that while the crowd parted easily for him, you struggled to wend your way through it.

He turned down a side street. 

The fact that he’d hounded your thoughts since you first saw him spurred you into recklessness, and you followed. As you turned down the same side street, you saw the edge of his cape disappear into an alley. The further away you moved from the main street, the more you began to question yourself.

This is potentially a bad idea.

This is definitely a bad idea.

Your existence hinged on your ability to stay lost, to be anonymous, to change your appearance, to never be sought out. And here you were, seeking out a bounty hunter.

You’d been slipping into a dangerous false sense of security these past few months—spending more time in each place, neglecting to change your chaincode as often as you should. Just because no one had come for you in a couple years, didn’t mean you were safe. You needed to snap yourself out of this delusional thinking. 

But maybe... not yet?

You picked up your pace.

It was just the two of you in a long alleyway, and you were sure he could sense you behind him by the slight turn of his head, but he didn’t stop or turn around. You weren’t being stealthy, only a few long strides behind him. He had to know you were there.

He walked surprisingly quietly, considering his heavy armor and determined stride. The loudest sound he made was his cape whipping around his calves. His long rifle was strapped to his back, and he was carrying a camtono in his left hand.

He quickly slipped down another shadowy passageway that you hadn’t noticed. You turned to follow, about to say something, but the passage was deserted. You walked to the end and back, checking to see if he’d turned again, but there was no trace of him. No doorways led off the passage. The only things in the alley were a stack of abandoned wooden pallets and a grate that emitted hot steam. He must have given you the slip on purpose, taken some secret route to evade the stranger on his tail.

Understandable. It’s what you would have done too. I probably should have come up with a better plan than just pursuing him.

Well, fuck.

You were more disappointed than you cared to admit, but you turned and headed back to the apartment you were renting a few blocks away. You were slightly embarrassed by how impulsive you’d just been. You wouldn’t have felt so abashed if it had paid off, but it hadn’t. 

You’d overstayed your time on Nevarro. Your self-imposed limit was two months per location, and you’d been here two and a half. You couldn’t push it any more, especially for such a ridiculous reason. It was time to go.

***

The third time you encountered the Mandalorian, neither of you saw the other coming.

You packed up your things, fitting everything you needed in one backpack. You purchased more food and let the hours of the afternoon drag on, waiting for the sun to sink low in the sky before heading out. 

When it was evening, you slipped your blaster into the holster at the small of your back. You slid a vibroblade into the sheath at your hip and strapped a much smaller one to your calf where it was concealed under your pants. As you slung your bag over your shoulder and scanned your small space to make sure you hadn’t forgotten anything, noise erupted outside—an explosion, not far away.

There were enough ex-Imperials and bounty hunters on Nevarro that street fights and loud commotions were commonplace. You slipped out your front door, figuring you could avoid the action by slinking through the alleyways. You knew the layout of the city fairly well by now.

You crept through the dim streets. You guessed that the fighting was a couple blocks to your left based on the muffled sounds of intermittent blaster fire. You made your way toward the cantina where you knew a few regulars who would have transpo connections, but you only made it a couple blocks from your apartment before you ran into trouble.

Suddenly, shouts echoed down the street behind you. You made a hasty left turn, looking back to see if anyone was following as you broke into a run. With your head turned, you didn’t see the Mandalorian backing his way down the street toward you. You collided painfully with his back and crumpled to the ground next to him. He, mostly unfazed, made a grunting sound and snapped his head to the side to see who’d hit him. He kept his body and his blaster trained forward at two shadowy figures that were stalking towards him, but he pointed his left vambrace down at you, prepared to neutralize you if needed.

He cocked his head at you as if trying to assess whether or not you were a threat. Before you could think of anything to say, blaster fire screamed down the alley toward both of you. You grabbed your own blaster and sprang to your feet.

Noting the way you trained your blaster away from him, the Mandalorian redirected his attention back to the oncoming assailants. As more blaster fire streaked toward you, he jumped in front of you to shield your body with his and fired back down the alley.

I guess he decided I’m not a threat.

The figures drew nearer—one, a hulking man, and the other, a wiry woman with blue hair... both bounty hunters. They slunk around stray crates and garbage bins, making it difficult for either of you to land a direct hit.

The Mandalorian’s beskar armor lived up to the crazy stories you’d heard. Blaster fire pinged off of it without leaving a mark. Standing so close behind him, you noticed that his armor was different than what he’d worn just earlier that day. His old armor, painted a rusty reddish-brown, had been mismatched and battered. This was new, pristine, unpainted—a stunning reflective silver.

It was the same Mandalorian though. That you were sure of.

You kept most of your body behind his protective stance, just peaking your head and arm out periodically to take a shot. You leaned around him again to fire, and you hit the woman in the thigh while she was momentarily exposed. She grunted in pain and paused her advance.

You ducked back behind the Mandalorian. You were surprised and confused by the way the he was treating you like a partner, protecting you instinctually. You hadn’t exchanged so much as a word yet.

Weren’t Mandalorians supposed to be merciless, violent bounty hunters? Why was he trusting you? For that matter, why were you trusting him? It sounded absurd to think that he just felt trustworthy.

The next time you poked your head out, you noticed that the man had stopped shooting and was watching you intently from where he was hiding behind a stack of boxes. He made eye contact with you and held it, and you saw recognition dawn on his face. He pointed at you, turning to the woman to yell something in a language you didn’t recognize, and then charged forward, blaster drawn. His mouth formed your name, your real name, as he thundered towards you. You froze where you stood, partially exposed.

Fuck. He recognized me so easily. How?

Hot blaster fire zinged past your ear. The Mandalorian lurched forward and fell to one knee in a controlled movement as fire erupted from his vambrace. His quick thinking snapped you out of your panic, but your heart thundered as you processed how close you’d come to getting shot.

As the man’s clothes caught fire and he began to flail in panic, you came back to your senses and shot him in the chest.

The female bounty hunter, who was still several paces behind the man, disappeared down an alley behind her, just as you resumed shooting in her direction.

It won’t be long before word spreads that I’m alive on Nevarro. FUCK.

The footfalls of the woman faded quickly, and you knew she was too far ahead to catch.

You and the Mandalorian were left alone in the alley. Things were quiet for a moment. 

You turned to look at each other. It was then that you noticed the bundle tucked tightly in the crook of his right arm, the same arm that held his blaster. He shuffled the bundle to his left arm carefully... tenderly?

He tilted his helmet slightly, starting to say something just as you did the same. Before either of you could form a sentence, several more figures rounded the corner behind you.

“Come on,” you yelled, grabbing his arm to drag him forward. For the moment, the two of you were in this together. It was better than being caught in this fray alone. You figured you’d be able to slip away from the action soon enough.

As you ran through the streets, you both noted the echoing footsteps picking up behind you at each juncture. More and more people—bounty hunters—were joining the pursuit. It seemed like every bounty hunter in Nevarro was being drawn to the Mandalorian.

What did he do to bring this much heat down on himself? I need to lose him.

You considered turning down every street or alley you passed, but at least one hunter blocked each one. Every doorway was shut tight. The hunters were right on your heels. You kept running, the Mandalorian pounding along behind you, until you reached the main street, emerging near the archway that marked the entrance to town. Beyond the archway, the flat expanse of Nevarro stretched out before you; a silver ship, not far ahead, was the only thing that broke up the uniform landscape.

You both stopped abruptly in the middle of the street, as at least twenty bounty hunters closed in around you, each with a blinking fob in their hand. You were trapped. The pinging chorus of the fobs was enough to rip you back to a not-so-distant time when that sound was a constant refrain in your nightmares. But even at the height of the Empire’s search for you, you’d never had this many people on your tail.

Up until this moment, you hadn’t been too worried about making a getaway. You knew you would get out of this. You’d been in worse situations. But now? Blood rushed in your ears, and your adrenaline spiked. You were cornered, outnumbered, and somehow in the middle of a fight that had nothing to do with you. You were surrounded by bounty hunters, and one had already recognized you. You’d spent years disappearing and here you were, back in the thick of it because you turned down the wrong alley at the wrong time.

You glanced at the Mandalorian and tried to formulate an escape plan—or at least a way put some distance between you and him.

He surveyed the scene, seemingly calm in his blank mask of beskar, and began to walk towards the archway, as even more bounty hunters appeared. Not having come up with any better alternatives yet, you followed him.

The Mandalorian stopped short when Greef Karga sauntered out from the shadows to block your path forward through the archway.

“Welcome back, Mando!” Karga’s voice, the voice that had seemed jovial in the cantina weeks ago, sounded threatening as it rang through the street. “Now, put the package down.” He rested a hand on his hip, pushing back his cape to expose his blaster.

The bundle must be valuable. You wondered briefly what the Mandalorian had wrapped so carefully under his arm. A rare material like kyber? Something unstable like rhydonium? A set of holodisks with important intel?

The Mandalorian mirrored Karga’s movement, hovering his hand over his own blaster. “Step aside. I’m going to my ship,” he replied calmly. He sounded awfully certain considering the circumstances. Your eyes flicked back to the silver ship, an old Razor Crest, that sat just beyond the archway.

Karga chuckled. “You put the bounty down and perhaps I’ll let you pass.”

“The kid’s coming with me.”

KID?

“If you truly care about the kid, then you’ll put it on the speeder,” Karga said, pointing to a speeder parked in front of the building on your right, where a droid sat in the pilot’s seat. The droid let out a series of cheerful beeps, indicating its readiness.

“How do I know I can trust you?” asked the Mandalorian.

How did he know he could trust me? This guy seems to play fast and loose with trust.

Karga scoffed, “Because I’m your only hope.”

Shit.

Any second, this fight was going to turn into an every-person-for-themself situation. You and the Mandalorian had helped each other thus far because it had been convenient, but now that you were trapped, you knew this precarious alliance you’d formed out of necessity was about to fracture. You hadn’t missed the way he said I and me, not we and us. You weren’t part of his equation, and you couldn’t blame him—of course, you were also going to prioritize your own safety over that of a literal stranger.

You surveyed the street, looking for the least obstructed escape route. You hoped you could run fast enough once this tense moment passed and the fight started in earnest.

The Mandalorian stepped back into you suddenly, taking the opportunity to whisper urgently, “Jump in when I say go.”

You were stunned—so stunned that you followed him without thinking as he walked over to the speeder.

For the first time, the Mandalorian looked down at the bundle in his arms. You gasped when you saw that it was in fact a sleeping child—a tiny green infant. He took a moment to watch the baby before glancing at you briefly. He looked back down at the child and without any warning, he breathed, “NOW.”

You dove head first onto the speeder as he raised his blaster and shot a hunter who was right behind where you had just been standing. From the outside, you imagined that it looked like the two of you were partners—the way you moved together, coordinated and seamless.

You scrambled back and pushed crates out of the way, staying down on your stomach, as the Mandalorian flung himself over the side of the speeder and landed next to you. Blaster fire screeched all around you as the hunters reacted in unison.

You both stayed prone on the floor of the speeder, reaching only your blasters up to return the fire that was raining down on you. The Mandalorian rolled over to carefully place the kid down before yelling at the droid at the front of the speeder.

“DRIVE!”

When the droid shook its head in refusal, the Mandalorian demanded again, holding up his blaster threateningly. The droid acquiesced, and the speeder lurched forward. You grabbed the child and hugged them to your chest as the crates shifted around you.

You made it almost all the way to the archway—you and the Mandalorian taking out several of the bounty hunters as you went—before someone had the sense to shoot the pilot droid. The speeder crashed to a halt in a rain of sparks. Fire ceased and a tense quiet fell.

The Mandalorian edged toward you on his elbows. You could hear the bounty hunters closing in around you, the crunch of their boots ominous. You curled your body protectively over the child.

“Fuck,” you whispered. “What now?” You looked into the black t of his visor, wishing you could see his eyes.

He nodded as if that was a sufficient answer to your question and worked his way toward the edge of the speeder. Slowly, silently, he pulled his long rifle from his side and eased it between two crates, pointing it at a hunter on the roof of the closest building. You heard the sound of the rifle powering up and its screeching discharge as it vaporized the hunter. And then another. And another. The Mandalorian’s reload was lightening fast. You took the chance during the ensuing chaos to scoot to the edge of the speeder and take aim at a hunter with your blaster. The remaining hunters scurried away, taking shelter behind walls, doorways, whatever they could find.

The Mandalorian paused, and for a tense moment, nothing happened. The threat of the Amban Rifle was enough to create another temporary ceasefire.

“That’s one impressive weapon,” bellowed Karga. You couldn’t see him from where you lay.

“Here’s what we’re gonna do. We’re gonna walk to my ship with the kid, and you’re gonna let that happen,” the Mandalorian stated authoritatively.

We.

“No, how about this? We take the kid, and if you try and stop us, we kill you both and then strip your body for parts,” Karga spat back.

You could feel the hunters starting to come out of hiding all around you. The subtle rasp of tephra under foot gave them away again. You looked behind you and saw that one hooded hunter was edging closer to the speeder. The Mandalorian had his back to the hunter, as he faced Karga. You trained your blaster on the approaching hunter, ready to fire. Before you could pull the trigger, the Mandalorian kicked the canister at his feet, knocking the hunter over, and sat up to stun him with the rifle.

Apparently, he had been aware of the man the whole time. His peripheral vision must be largely obstructed in his helmet. How is he so acutely aware of everything around him?

Everyone opened fire once again.

Over the sound of blaster fire, you heard Karga yell, “Don’t hit the target!”

The Mandalorian rose to his knees, leaned over some crates, and activated his vambrace so a sudden burst of flames cleared out the hunters that were closest to the speeder. You took out two more with your blaster while they were distracted by the flames.

The Mandalorian grunted in frustration as the fire streaming from his wrist sputtered out. Then, he grunted and doubled over in pain when blaster fire hit him in the side, where he wasn’t protected by his armor.

He clutched his side and ducked back down to crawl his way over to you, gently pulling on your arm until you released the child, so he could look at their face. The child cooed and opened two huge, watery eyes.

You looked away, feeling like you were encroaching on a private moment.

Is this his kid? Who is after a child? What is the story here?

You leaned away and fired several more shots, injuring another hunter.

Then you heard it. A streaming projectile took out one of the hunters on a nearby roof. As the hunter screamed and fell to the ground, several figures in Mandalorian armor, powered by jetpacks with blasters in hand, rose up from behind the row of buildings lining the street. There had to be at least a dozen of them—maybe more. It was hard to tell in the chaos. They seemed to be everywhere. They took out hunter after hunter as they slowly lowered themselves to the ground and sparks rained down around you.

You both sat up to watch.

A particularly huge Mandalorian in blue armor with a large repeating blaster touched down next to the speeder and bellowed, “Get out of here! We’ll hold them off!”

“You’re going to have to relocate the covert,” responded the Mandalorian, raising his voice to be heard over the din.

“This is the way,” replied the huge blue Mandalorian, as he continued to fire at the bounty hunters.

“This is the way,” agreed the Mandalorian next to you. 

In one fluid movement, he strapped his rifle to his back. You sheathed your blaster as he thrust the kid back into your arms, and he grabbed your free hand, hauling you to your feet as he stood. You jumped from the speeder together. He pulled you along behind him, continuing to shield your body with his as much as possible. The juxtaposition of the way he held your hand and how he was brutally taking out hunter after hunter with his blaster was jarring.

A blaster shot grazed your thigh as you ran, and you swore at the stinging pain, doubling over slightly without loosening your grip on the child. The Mandalorian turned his head but didn’t stop pulling you forward. You faltered for a moment but gritted your teeth and sped up to sprint behind him, leaving the chaos in your wake as you crossed under the archway. You made it the short distance to his ship, where the ramp was already lowered.

You followed him up the ramp. He shoved his blaster into the holster on his belt and started forward into the ship.

The idea of being trapped with this strange Mandalorian was absurd, but you didn’t have much of a choice. If you stayed on Nevarro, the remaining bounty hunters would tear the city apart to find you. This was the fastest way to get off world: a calculated risk.

You sensed movement behind you before you heard Karga’s voice.

“Hold it, Mando.”

You both spun around to face him. Karga had a blaster trained on you and the kid in your arms.

“I didn’t want it to come to this. But then you broke the code,” he spat.

The Mandalorian was silent as he assessed his options. Silent was clearly his default state. He was used to hiding behind the intimidating mask of his armor.

You were trying to guess how good Karga’s reflexes were and if you could grab your blaster from where you’d resheathed it at your back fast enough. As you thought it out, the Mandalorian tipped his head subtly to his left at what looked like a carbonite chamber. Before you or Karga could register his plan, he shot a metal cord from his vambrace, hitting the button to activate the chamber and filling the hull with freezing mist.

In the gloom, the Mandalorian grabbed you roughly and pushed you out of the way. Karga shot blindly. You whipped out your blaster and fired back, knowing exactly where he had been standing. You heard him grunt and fall backwards off the ship with a thud.

The Mandalorian made quick work of shutting the ramp, deactivating the hissing carbonite chamber, and initiating the takeoff protocol from a control panel on the wall.

You slumped onto a nearby crate, exhausted, as the ship lifted off the ground. You let your backpack slide off your shoulders onto the floor next to you. Still holding the baby to your chest protectively, you loosened your arms to study their sweet sleeping face.

His face? Her face? Who is this child?

Wordlessly, the Mandalorian stomped forward and snatched the kid from your arms. You looked up in surprise as he disappeared up the ladder next to you. He was gone for a few moments before the ship jolted as it left Nevarro’s atmosphere and jumped into hyperspace.

You rested your head on the cool wall behind you, trying to catch your breath. You let your eyelids slip shut for a minute—until you opened your eyes at the loud thud of the Mandalorian jumping back down into the hull, ignoring the ladder all together. He walked purposefully towards what looked like a storage bay, set the sleeping child down inside, and closed the door with a snap. He turned slowly to face you.

***

Chapter 2

[kyberphilosopher]

Rᴇᴅᴀᴍᴀɴᴄʏ

Redamancy: (n.) the act of loving the one who loves you; a love returned in full.

After spending the night with Eren, you try to determine the future of your relationship. Eren complicates things.

Word Count : 1822

Contains allusions to sex. 

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

It was a miracle that neither of you had been caught. Truly. In fact, the sheer convenience of the whole thing was enough to make you raise your eyebrow in suspicion. Though, there was no reason for you to stop taking it for granted. 

It was the boy who had started it. 

Whether or not you had kissed first, or him, was irrelevant. What matters was that the mess hall was empty, and the air was quick to feel hot. The more of his lips you felt, the stronger the smell of sweat became. Not that you minded. Your head was too cloudy with a strong sense of growing lust to care. In fact, you reveled in it. But it was Eren who had given the word to take things back to your dormitory, and it was you who had given the word of acceptance. 

The night had been excellent, in short. The dormitory had been, similar to the mess hall, emptied out. The two of you had been blessed with a whole nights worth of twisting and stretching, without the confines of anxiety or embarrassment.

His skin felt like fire. His lips were wet from coats of saliva. In fact, like a Titan, he had given you little to no mercy in terms of bruising and marks made from a tongue. In turn, you couldn’t help the thin scratches your finger nails had given his back, and the final mess of his chocolate colored locks. Time blurred together. All you knew was warmth and steam. 

And then, you must’ve fallen asleep in the early morning. Your lover hadn’t been far behind you. Perhaps it was because your body had become numb or overly sensitive from all the heat, but you hadn’t recalled Eren’s arms being wrapped around you before drifting off. 

But now...

His hands are on you again. Not like they were the night before, but nearly just as intimate. Fingertips aren’t hot this time, but getting there. For now, they are warm. 

One of Eren’s arms is under your body, with the forearm out and hand reaching right under your breast. The other is draped over your shoulder, with the hand between the front of your throat and the center of your collarbone. This is the hand that is responsible for pushing your back closer against his chest and keeping you there. It feels like a trap, but a loving one. 

Love. That was the issue here. 

You’d had a certain admiration for Jaeger for a while. You’d known each other since your cadet years. He was hot headed, stubborn, but driven. You weren’t particularly bratty or as hard brained as he, but the two of you were easily in sync. You were friends. You joked like friends. Did favors like friends. Fought together like friends. Now you were wrestling together, and it wasn’t like friends. 

But you hadn’t considered what would happen after. Would you remain simply friends? Did you want this to be a one time thing, or not? Did Eren? If not, what was he keeping you so close to him for? Behavior like this is normally reserved for relationships. What are you to do with this?

Eren’s body shifts. You can feel the muscles in his abdomen roll and settle back into place with the curve of your back. Your eyes remain open as a sign of how wide awake you are, glued to all the other objects in the room you can see. 

Love. Eren is showing a sign of love. Is he? You could be mistaken. Is it right to read into the placement of his fingers, or not? Should you wake him up to discuss it? No. Not, let him rest. 

Your bottom lip sucks in between your teeth as you think. Eren’s grip on you feels as if it’s getting tighter by the second, though that might just be a figment of your anxiety instead of reality. Regardless, his touch is not one of hatred or lust, for the time being. It’s soft, but firm. Firm enough for you to have wiggle room if you need it, but soft enough to let you know he Eren has no intention of hurting you. It feels more like he wants you to stay. Which brings you back to your first problem- was this a sign of love?

Eren shifts again. His neck cranes around in a lazy stretch, than his face sinks into the back of your neck. You can feel it settle between the nape of your neck and your body of hair. Eren breathes out through his nose as he continues to grow comfortable, and for a split second, you’re ecstatic with your current position. 

The hand by your breast twitches, then slips lower. The palm rests closer to the side of your ribs now, making you hyper aware of touch all over again. Upon natural reaction, your toes curl tightly in stimulation, though not from anything sexual. Just from the intimacy. 

Swallowing, you decide to test the waters. 

Your legs detangle from each other and instead encroach on Eren’s territory. Your left heel grazes against Eren’s shin, and you push yourself closer against his chest, if it were possible. 

Erent doesn’t wake up completely. Instead, there’s a stiff “Mmm,” as his own legs move. One of his legs runs over your own, covering over it. Now you’re closer. 

He must be aware of his actions, right?

“Good morning.”

His voice is low and scratchy from sleep. If your mind hadn’t been consumed with the future of your relationship with him, you would’ve felt the vibration of his voice right to the core between your legs. 

You don’t respond. Despite your wide open eyes, you are turned away from him. If you’re quiet, you can feign sleep. Maybe then you’ll have time to think a way out of this. 

“Y/N, it’s time to wake up,” he says against your ear. You feel his body stretch, but remain in the same position. Eren is quiet for a moment. Then he speaks again. “I can tell that you’re awake, you know.”

Well, shit. 

Your mouth is quick to go dry. Your heart is thump, thump, thumping. You’re certain he can feel it just as you can. 

“I have to get up,” you say suddenly, without thinking. In your panic, you sit up, your legs uncurling from Eren’s and bending as an arm gives you leverage against the mattress. His hands fall from your form at once, breaking the contact. 

Now the air feels cold. 

Eren watches your bare back. His eyes are half closed from the drowsiness of morning, pieces of hair sprawled out against the pillow he rests against. Even from this view, Eren can see a fraction of temporary scars he’d left on your body from the previous night. Not to say that he caused you pain. He hadn’t. 

Absent mindedly, Eren’s left hand reaches up to trail his fingers along your spine. You tense up immediately, almost in a jolt. Jaeger must not think anything of it, though, because his pads of his fingers continue to ghost over the muscles of your back as lightly as a feather. 

“Did you sleep alright?” he questions, still tired himself. 

You had slept fantastic, actually. So warm, so safe, too exhausted to consider anything but being asleep. Eren Jaeger had been responsible for all three of those factors. You had the chance to argue that it was the best you’d slept in years. Dare you even say, all your life?

“I slept okay,” your mutter. You don’t know what his game is. You don’t know what he’s thinking. 

“Good,” Eren responds. “I’d hope so.”

There is a pause. “Did you have a good night, too?” he further questions. You can tell there is his version of a smile behind his words. One of those sick ones when he’s thinking something somewhat radical. 

The night, like your sleep, had also been fantastic. But was that all that Eren had thought about? Was that what he had been after this whole time? No. The relationship and comfort between the two of you was genuine, but so was the heated night of passion. What did you want? More importantly, what did Eren want?

Eren presses his entire hand against your back until it’s flat. If it were covered in paint, or more likely, blood, it would leave a perfect hand print against your skin. 

“Yes, I did,” you speak. 

Eren’s eyes soften. His hand pulls away from your skin, than returns to the light wisps of touching with his fingers. 

Some people, had they not known Eren, may have thought his touch resembled that of a painters, or a musicians. In fact, his touch and gifted hands were born from the training you had been put through. He would’ve had to be conscious of his finger placement, what with how often they’re balled into tight fists of rage. 

Then Eren frowns. His touch slows until it pauses completely. “Is something wrong?”

Perhaps you were thinking too hard about it. Perhaps whether him holding you meaning something or not wasn’t even really important. It could’ve been something done with little thought or emotion. 

You don’t answer. You’re staring at the wall parallel to your bed a bit away, remembering several of the expressions Eren had made just a few hours ago. The butterflies in your stomach are making an appearance again, and you’re forced into a corner of guilt over whether your entire relationship is now ruined. 

Jaeger, though, isn’t having it. In a clean motion, an arm wraps around your stomach and pulls you back down against the bed. You land with a thud against the cheap thing, and Eren is quick to apologize. 

Both his arms snake their way around your body, finding the best areas to hold in order to get you to stay there with him. Because, despite your beautiful, questioning, wondering mind, Eren is showing you genuine love. He loves you. He’s trying to let you know that he loves you. 

His head rests between your shoulder and your neck, his cheek by your ear and his face close to pressed against yours. “Just go back to sleep, then,” he advises lowly, his own voice lowering from another wave of drowsiness. With his eyes becoming heavy and fast, he places a kiss against your temple. 

And you, settling back into the warmth, do not even bother to fight it this time. You return the love in kind, accepting it and sinking in it. Drowning in it, even. You would worry yourself with questions of your future with Eren when you wake again, and the boy would worry he had not made his intentions of affection clear. 

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

I wrote this in an hour. I can’t think of anything more to do with it. 

[demigoddessnation]

(excessive) Teresa slander

and everything wrong with it

— an essay by me

1. People lose sight of the real villain in the story. We were really given this power-hungry, violently elitistic organization put in charge of a decaying world and decided to pin the entire blame on a teenage girl. Teresa was a pawn in a game she deliberately wasn't provided full understanding of. A rather biased pawn at that. The actual evil behind all this were the people who had the power of life and death in their hands - those who could exploit a potential cure to their personal gain and advantage. While those people would've been driven by selfishness and lusting after population control, she was motivated by her own moral compass, which was unfortunately very much manipulated from the very beginning.

2. She was (to her death) a kid. She's a fictional character, yes. But slandering a teenager for not being lawfully good is like pushing penguins off a cliff and frowning when they don't avoid the fall by flying. Like any young person, she had a cause she wholeheartedly believed in and supported. She allowed herself and her friends to get hurt in the name of this cause which she believed transcended the pain of the individual and worked for the greater good. It's not easy to agree to this when all you know of the world is pain, loss and death, and though her decisions didn't work out, they were made with the sternness of someone who's lived through too much for their age.

3. There's a suspicious hint of ✨misogyny✨ to it. Interesting, really, how all the hate goes to Teresa whereas she didn't exactly execute all the betrayals and scheming by herself. Aris also had a significant part in all that, but people seem to dismiss his role in that case. Maybe it's the movies that watered it down, but he was in the epicenter of events just like her. Also, if you dig further, you'd see that the rest of the guys are all constantly having their trauma discussed in depth (specifically the Ivy Trio and Gally) while Teresa's past is hardly ever acknowledged. Trauma can't and mustn't be compared between characters and to say that every single one of them was severely (unfairly) traumatized is an understatement, but ignoring traumatic experience for the sake of villainizing someone is profoundly wrong. If you're going to be judgmental, do it fairly and correctly, without picking and choosing whatever appeals to your own personal opinion.

4. "I laughed when she died" shouldn't be a thing. Again, she's a fictional character, yes. But on a mental level our brains can't functionally distinguish between fictional characters and real people (that's why falling for a fictional character can feel as intense as falling for someone in real world). There's still something inherently wrong with laughing at someone's death, just saying.

5. Even if there is intense hate for Teresa, it shouldn't be directed to Kaya Scodelario. There's this fine but important line to draw between a character and the actor who plays them. The case with Kaya and Teresa is one of the most problematic parts of this fandom because the actress can't possibly be held responsible for something her character has done!! This is a role and it in no way means Kaya condones what Teresa's said or done. People get paid to act in movies, not to magically merge with the person they're scripted to play. Also, Kaya is a very kind and educated person. She's not from the Maze Runner or Skins, she's an actual person with actual feelings. Everyone needs to respect this and treat it accordingly.

6. Teresa has been demonized and manipulated for so so long. Even if you don't understand her point of view and motives, it's still heartbreaking to see how badly and harshly life had treated her since she was a child. The very first time she was found as the only survivor in a village of dead bodies, she was thought of as a ghost, an evil omen. She has always been "the only one" - the only one immune, forced to watch her family die; the only girl amid a group of guys with a variety of underlying trauma and issues; the trigger for change. It doesn't help that she used to be separated from the others with Thomas and labeled an elite subject. She was meant to be an outcast and the fact that she never really got to bond with them contributed to her being clay in the hands of WCKD. Even if she was fed a lot of information about the world, the cure and the vileness of the WCKD trials, she would still choose to side with the organization because the promise of finding a remedy prevailed in her mind, as opposed to the mindset of Thomas whose righteousness did get him in some difficult situations but kept him from becoming a radical idealist (which made him more aware of how impractical and painful the process of finding a cure actually was).

7. The story wouldn't have worked without her. Maze Runner is a great analogy for elitism, class division and government problematicness but its most impactful message comes from how the readers get to see the victims of the global catastrophe that is the Flare. We get insight into the Cranks, the violent work of WCKD and the mass panic that quickly spreads worldwide but what truly works out the resonance here is the fact that we see that the group of main characters isn't entirely impenetrable in their righteousness and incorruptibility. We have a bunch of broken people who set off on a journey to find life outside of running and fighting for survival. However, without the chaos factor that's Teresa, the battle against WCKD seems linear which can't possibly be true since the line between good and evil is basically obliterated at this point of global deterioration. She's the turning point where you realize that there are no winners in the war, nor are there good or bad guys, only victims and opportunists.

In conclusion, I hope to see a day when the psyche of characters is better explained and understood instead of bashed the way it is now. There's some really great character building going on in TMR and it's a matter of time we progressed past the need to point fingers left and right when we could take in the bigger picture of the story. The way we react to characters like Teresa actually says a lot about how we would react to her behavior in real life, and sometimes that could be limiting us from figuring out that at the end of the day people like this exist and will continue to exist under the influence of grand promises, corrupt authority and crisis.

[southslates]

you are lost without the waiting

for the @grishaversebigbang mini bang 2021!

lovely art was done for this piece by amethyst @amethystmoonart [here!] and door @doorhandle16 [here] ! these two were absolutely amazing to work with <3

Summary:

Inej made a deal with the devil. She had faith in him, for whatever reason. His eyes were black as dirt. They were cold. They were home.

In which Inej is Persephone, Kaz is Hades, and she chooses to stay.

ao3 link!

“Tell me you loved to destroy.

Tell me you need me. Please. You are the bones

of my spine. You are the ground beneath my feet.

You are made of deeper stuff than the earth

can give. Admit it: you are lost without the waiting.

― clementine von radics, letter from hades to persephone

Can you even imagine yourself in paradise?

Even the daughter of gods must know loneliness,

must sometimes want nothing more than to be

trapped in a hell of forevers. Thank me, you queen.

I’ve given you forever.”

/

Inej had been a wind spirit.

Technically, she still was. She didn’t feel like one anymore. She used to dance across rooftops and skies—her parents said she was a  gravity-defier. That there was no place in the world—no land, nor ocean—that could bind her feet—or her—to anything.

They were wrong. She had been taken when flying through the skies, swept away into a deep sleep until she woke up in a bed at the Menagerie. There she met Tante Heleen, purveyor of lost spirits. Heleen had told Inej that she saved the girl from a fiery fate, and that now she owed her an indenture. An indenture Inej paid by tending the lands the goddess reigned over and touching the men who let Heleen carry out her whims.

Inej had been a wind spirit, but she did not think she was one anymore. She could not break free. If she left the grassy fields of Heleen’s island world she would be caught and subjugated to an even darker fate. 

She stayed. She tended to the fields. She danced in front of gods with long teeth. She belonged to the Menagerie, the girls with lost spirits. She distanced the innocent who breezed through the flower fields from the one who balanced on rope. She felt like two people. She wanted to leave but had nowhere to go.

One day, airing out a field of daisies, she stopped. She could see a flash of color between the deathly white blooms, and held her breath as she reached out to thumb bright orange petals. It was a geranium. It had been her mother’s favorite flower.

In a moment of weakness and pain and longing, she reached for the stem and tugged it out of the earth. And then the ground opened, and Inej fell.

/

Inej felt as though she fell for days. She thought she would shatter into a thousand pieces when she finally hit the bottom of this well. She thought she would fall forever.

When she reached the bottom of the hole, it was an ocean. She found herself submerged in water and darkness, and pulled herself up until she felt dry air. The darkness stayed omnipresent. She couldn’t see anything. “Hello?” she called into a void.

For a minute, nothing happened. She could almost believe that she was nonexistent. And then something, a bullet, whizzed past her. She barely dodged it.

A light flicked on, and she saw a man in a bright orange waistcoat holding a . . . small cannon in her direction. She assumed it had dislodged the bullet that had almost torn her immortal life. The light disturbed Inej for a moment, but she found her balance quickly. She anticipated another attack, but the man just frowned in her direction. “Who are you?”

“Where am I?” Inej countered.

The man took in her silk dress and the painted spots on her face, and he seemed to come to his own conclusion. “Not anywhere you should be, goddess. Your kind are not welcome here.”

“Where is here?”

The man sighed. “My name is Jesper,” he said, then gestured to his side. “Welcome to the land of greed. I suppose I’ll have to take you to the boss.”

/

Jesper took Inej to a large black palace in the middle of . . . absolutely nothing. It wasn’t particularly enchanting, unlike the gilded arches of the Menagerie. The building seemed to speak to her, to warn her away from its obsidian glare. She wanted to turn back when Jesper gestured for her to enter, but she had nowhere else to go. Even if she could find her way to the surface, she would land in Hell that was simply more discreet.

And she was certain that she was in Hell. The land of greed, Jesper had said. The land of greed, of rocks and riches and death. What lay under the fanciful pretenses of the land Tante Heleen and men such as Pekka Rollins claimed to rule.

Inej didn’t know who ruled this land, but she was certain she was about to find out. She took one last look around the landscape, blank and dead and black, before stepping into the palace. The stone of the entrance cracked under her feet.

Jesper led her around dilapidated columns and stairs and walls, human architecture, until they reached a large room at the top of the palace. Even up here, Inej was distinctly aware of the stillness of the air. She felt as though a part of her was missing. She felt like a wind spirit again. When she looked down, she could almost see through herself. She required air to stay formed. This place was sucking out her lifeblood, and she could not find it in herself to care.

“Kaz!” he yelled. Inej startled at the sudden noise, but stayed deft on her feet as they approached a tall, lank, pale figure, sitting at a throne that almost seemed like a desk. There was a hat on the man’s head and a cane next to him. Inej frowned at it. She had met many gods and spirits, and none needed aids such as that. “We’ve got a four-hundred-sixty-three.”

The man looked up, and his searing brown eyes met hers. He didn’t break that contact as he stood up from his seat and gripped his cane. “I don’t know what your asinine numbers mean, Jesper. Speak proper. We have a guest.”

Jesper almost blushed at Inej’s side. She found herself entranced by this man she knew nothing about. “She fell from above.”

“Indeed,” Kaz said. He was unnaturally still. “So? Take her back up.”

“No!” Inej shouted. Jesper’s gaze fixed on her too, and he seemed a bit scared.

“No?” Kaz questioned. “Why would a wind spirit not want to go back to the lands above?”

“I’m indentured to Tante Heleen,” she murmured. “Please, I can help you.”

“Can you?” Kaz asked. She couldn’t let her eyes off him, either. His voice was a salty rasp, dead but safe. They stood in that silence for a moment, looking at each other, until Jesper cleared his throat.

“Kaz?”

“Put her in a guest bedroom,” he said easily. “Always fine to piss on darling Heleen.”

/

His name was Kaz Brekker, and he was greed’s guardian. Truly, he was the guardian of Hell, but few called him that. “Death does not bow to me,” he told her at breakfast the next day, a table length apart. He wore leather gloves and kept his cane close to him. It was topped by a crow’s head. Late at night, Inej had heard them flying around the palace. They were the only form of life she’d seen so far, though no wind followed. She was the faintest bit translucent. “Death bows to no man. But greed? It is my servant and my lever.”

Inej was a bit overwhelmed by it all. She was frightened of this new world, one of death and decay. She knew she did not belong. But she knew it was better than what awaited her above.

“How do you intend to help me, Inej Ghafa?”

“How do you know my name?”

“I make it my business to know all things,” Kaz said. “There is unrest in my fields, those of the deceased. You will learn why.”

“Why—”

“Yesterday,” he said, “you came with Jesper, bells on your ankles, bracelets on your wrists. I could hear my enforcer from a mile away, but not you.” He leaned close to her, several bodies apart. “Spy for me, won’t you?”

Inej made a deal with the devil. She had faith in him, for whatever reason. His eyes were black as dirt. They were cold. They were home.

Inej saw Jesper occasionally. He ensured that she had basic necessities, and he toured her around the land of greed. She saw rubies growing on trees, diamonds blooming from the ground. She met shades, those who had died centuries ago and entered the land crying for the saints she knew were above. The more days and weeks she spent here, the more see-through she became. She was almost afraid she would become one of them.

She made herself silent and danced through them. And when she knew what they spoke, she went back to the palace. She went to the river. She went to valleys and canyons, and she learned of the guardian of this Hell. She found peace in the darkness, in the stillness.

Kaz Brekker was a true  demjin, she was told. She was told he started wars himself, when he grew tired. She heard he controlled all the riches and corruptness above her.

She believed it, too. She ate twice a day with him, and then he did whatever demons did as she wandered the terrain of his domain. They spoke only occasionally. He tended to stare into her soul, and those looks always said more than words. Inej was a wraith, a ghost, but Kaz made her feel solid and seen.

One day Kaz Brekker asked her if she would like him to take her to the shadow fold. “You’re curious,” he told her, as though he could see inside her and also right through her. She wondered if he could. “It’s intriguing.”

So they’d gone on a walk through something dark and damp, sapphire-studded weeds carpeting the ground under their feet. The air was moist and still. The fold was somehow darker than the rest of this world, and it frightened Inej. As they stood at its precipice, she grabbed Kaz Brekker’s gloved hand.

She had seen him shy away from Jesper’s touch, seen him stay feet away from her. But when she held his hand that day, he didn’t let go. The next day he was not at breakfast, but there was a bouquet of flowers in front of her, studded with orange opal. Inej had never mentioned to Kaz her favorite flower.

/

The walks became a daily occurrence, and she slowly started to wring fragments of humanity from this immortal. Kaz Brekker enjoyed drinking wine and his work, the guardian of the souls of the worst kind of men. He was sure of himself as a monster. He asked her twice as many questions as she asked him.

If she wrung humanity from a demon, he wrung personality from a shadow. He brought her up into what she once was—until she remembered the wind spirit again. Inej talked of flowers and her friend Nina and how she loved dancing across rooftops. She talked of her parents and her siblings and the freedom of the air. Kaz seemed to drink her in, with his menacing, freeing gaze. He knew her. He saw her.

Once, she asked him why he wore gloves, why he avoided the river at the entrance of his realm, and why he used a cane. He only explained the latter, only said there was strength in being broken.

They didn’t touch. Inej grew used to the feeling of leather around her palm. Kaz seemed aloof, but he grasped her translucent hand through his clothing as though he never wanted to let her go. And yet she never felt stuck, or alone, until—

Until one day she woke up to Jesper forcing her back into her rooms. He seemed frenzied, and Inej went back to bed only to crawl out through her window when she heard loud sounds in Kaz’s throne room. She sat at his window and heard a voice which seared her invisible soul. Pekka Rollins, indeed.

“You must return her. She is indentured—”

“And you would think that something I would consider? I am your safes and vaults personified. It’s meaningless.”

“The girl belongs to—”

“The girl belongs to no one,” Inej heard Kaz hiss. “Go tell your Tante Heleen that Inej Ghafa belongs to nobody.”

Inej slipped a little at that admission, right into Rollins’ eyesight. He looked at her slight, ghost-like body with his eyebrows afloat—as though he’d won something. “Come, little lynx,” he cooed at her. “You don’t have to stay in this land anymore, with this demon.”

“She doesn’t want to come with you,” said Kaz. Rollins laughed.

“Found a new master already, have you?”

“I belong to no one,” Inej repeated what Kaz had said.

“Little girl,” Rollins said. “You would stay here? In a land of no sky, of death and decay and greed? You are a free spirit. Come to the world above.” His eyes traced her figure. “You are nothing here.” 

She knew he was referring to her barely corporeal form. His words still stung deeply.

“I am freer here than I could ever be,” Inej said. And yet she knew the hard skies of Kaz’s world were dulling her sensibilities. She didn’t want to leave; but she would have to soon, if she didn’t want to fade into the fold itself.

Pekka appeared as though he had more to say, but Kaz stood up in protest to his unsaid words, ghosts in the air, leaning on his cane, something truly—truly  demonic in his eyes. “If you do not leave now, Pekka Rollins,” he said, “it is your mortal son who will suffer. Kaelish, isn’t he?”

The man left. His words stayed in the air. Inej was in a nightgown and Kaz was dressed like a monster, but she felt as though she had the power in the room. His gaze did not fall away from her. “He was right,” she said. She was fading. 

“I know,” he said. He stared at her enough to know that she did not have much time left before she became invisible. “You would never be able to pay off your indenture.”

Inej knew this. She knew that he could give her all the riches of his realm, and she would never pay off her indenture. “I have no choice.”

He walked across the room and pressed a gloved hand to her cheek. “Greed is my servant,” he said. “And my lever.”

The walls started shaking, and Inej fell away from Kaz. She could feel leather on her face. 

Then she saw darkness, and nothing more.

/

Inej woke up in a field of flowers. They were jeweled, and they were orange. They smelled like dirt and decay. She wanted to spend the rest of her life in that field. She lifted her hand and saw herself, all of herself.

When she stepped forward, she was back home. She heard the news soon afterward, that the entire Menagerie had fallen into Hell. That the guardian of greed had taken the woman who loved it above. That the girls forced to be animals were free.

Inej was home, and yet she was not home; how did she explain to her people of the air that she yearned for a place with croaking birds, cloaked in darkness? She did not—Kaz Brekker made it his business to know all things. It was six months later that she found a fresh geranium in a field of flowers outside of her cottage.

She fell again. This time she didn’t fall into water, but the open embrace of a demon without armor. She thought she would fall forever. She thought she could find peace.

[enjeolmii]

8:09 » coda

part one here!

bestfriend!jungwon's eyes grew round at your unexpected presence. by the short distance between the two of you, certainly, you wouldn't miss a single word from his careless protest on the phone, all the more wanting to dig himself in a hole and kiss the world goodbye seeing you first thing upon stepping in the elevator. your feet were glued to the floor, mind slowly becoming a madhouse of roaring thoughts.

it all made sense now—the reason behind his atypical smiles, behind the lame excuses he gave for a hangout, the frequent misplacement of many of his valuables. your mind always hesitated at the thought of him being with you, but you always catch your heart reacting in a radically different state. your heart was pounding out of your chest. jungwon served as a kind-hearted older brother you never had. he treated you with the utmost care, showing you what it's like to have a sibling protecting you with his life. being an only child made you find joy in interacting with people online, but he was the one who introduced you to real-life entertainment.

losing him because of your stupid feelings wasn't worth the destruction. you'd more willingly keep your emotions stored and kept away than endure the pain of an unanchored friendship.

and you thought you heard him wrong. there was no way he would have sowed feelings for you. it just didn't make sense. Family is what you are. you both know that. but from the way that his body was perfectly still, yet his fingers were losing control over the buttons, you felt your heart about to explode when you see him in a state of crudely concealed panic.

he returned the wordless feelings you told him. you weren't the only one hiding your emotions.

"jungwon," you slip your hand just in time before the gap between the doors could trap him in. he stands still on his feet, his dry throat in need of a gulp as he watches you force yourself into the small space. "your wallet," you say, reaching the said object towards him.

"thanks,"

he speaks with eyes that are unable to look you in the eye. jungwon planned to confess to you tonight, but he was annoyed and disappointed that the day has passed without telling you anything (partly because heeseung won't shut up about him being a coward by the time he gets home). he wanted to hit himself in the head for being loose-tongued, but the relief of finally having you grasp his feelings was a huger emotion to bear. that's why you stood in silence in the elevator, not sure whether to head out now or maybe stay for one of the cliche moments you've seen only in your favorite dramas.

"um... i'll go now. stay safe, good night." you point your thumb back to your door with a stiff curl up your lips. with every second rolling by, the atmosphere turned cumbrous as you waited for something to happen. you heard what he said sharply, but you weren't sure how to respond to such a strange placement of disclosure, and you didn't want to think much about it. stay calm, that's it. being too greedy won't help you out. it might be better to pretend to hear nothing. you're well aware of how many girls at school he could be talking about.

so you turn around to head back to your door, a faint tinge of hesitance tugging at your conscious to stop and come back.

"y/n," a hand encloses the skin of your wrist, and you turn around, noticing that jungwon had stepped outside the elevator, electricity sparking through your entire body from his icy hands. "can we talk?"

"about?"

"i don't know how i'm going to face you if i don't. i like you. it's really out of the blue. but i was stalling like a coward because i was scared it was going to ruin our friendship. i know you heard me, and i didn't mean to hide it from you. i like you, y/n." his palm presses tighter around your wrist. "will you go out with me?"

like a runaway train, your heart throbbed at warp speed. words you never thought you'd hear from his standpoint reached your peak's limits and unreadily unlatched a dam of butterflies down your guts. he was feeling the same way you did, experienced the same troubles of fearing your loss. you couldn't help but break the enraptured grin you've long been suppressing behind your quaky character. tiny bumps launch away from underneath your sleeves, a larger curl molding your smile at the sight of his other hand not lasting in one place for more than a second, and your heart twitches at the company of his fervently alluring gaze.

a triumphant chuckle escapes your mouth. being with jungwon was a dream you thought would never come true. for how many years you treated him as a person too precious to lose. somewhere along the way, he stole your heart with his simple acts of kindness, and every time he walks you home, gives you random gifts, or when he invites you outside for dinner, you had to ignore the tingling feeling fluttering inside your chest. realizing that he—your crush—was feeling the same way as you, everything suddenly seems so unreal. you pull your arm back from his grip before throwing a light slap over his shoulder, and jungwon all but raises his eyebrows in confusion.

"don't even think of seeing tomorrow if you're joking," you say before lunging to wrap your arms around his neck, feeling your feet lift from the floor, the sound of his electrified simpers subduing your heeds.

[whimsicallyreading]

Who Cares

Masterlist

Hunt was soaked in blood.

From beneath his chin, to the toes of his heavy, leather boots. It coated him like a second layer of crimson skin, and Hunt was aware that anyone who came across him would think he was a walking nightmare.

This wasn’t the first or last time he’d walked around publicly in such a state. The Umbra Mortis was no fairy tale told to keep children in bed. He was a living, breathing male that walked the streets of Lunathion daily.

Bryce’s new public status meant that cameras followed her everywhere. Hunt’s name was elevated with hers, but people hesitated pointing their lenses at him. They still cleared the sidewalks when he passed by.

It stung.

Hunt landed on the roof of their apartment and made the slow descent to his floor. Red foot prints followed his wake but he didn’t look back at those. He would leave a tip for the janitor later.

He stepped through the door and kicked off his shoes. Bryce, on the other hand, would murder him if they ruined her rugs.

A low, rumbling ground broke through the silence and Syrinx came barreling from his crate. The little beast charged at the intruder prepared to chew their bones with his need-like teeth.

“Syrinx,” Hunt huffed and got down on his knees. “If you bite my ass again I’m going to turn you into a pair of socks.”

Syrinx skidded to a halt, taking Hunt in with his amber eyes. Once he recognized the male under the blood, his tongue flopped out and his disposition sweetened.

“There you are, Beastie.” Hunt scratched Syrinx’s ears. “Bryce will be home soon and I need to go wash off before she sees me. I’ll take you on a walk after. How is that?”

Syrinx made happy, snuffling sounds and pranced back to his bed. Content to finish his nap and wait for all of his friends to arrive.

Hunt opened the door to his bathroom. Bryce had all but moved him into her room, but claimed this room still belonged to him. She wanted him to have the autonomy of his own space.

Hel, he loved her.

They also shared her bathroom now. Conserving water was her rational for that. Hunt didn’t want the blood to stain her tub, though, so he would use this shower.

Isaiah had called to inform him of a couple shifter radicals, intent on usurping the Wolves of the city and attempting to plant bombs in Moonwood. His friend was loathe to ask, but Hunt understood the request.

Dispatch them quietly.

Hunt wouldn’t deny that was his forte, and Isaiah asking out of respect was different than doing it because Micah ordered.

He is was halfway through cleaning the feathers of his left wing when he heard the apartment door slam open.

“Hunt,” Bryce’s voice screamed, filled with pain and terror.

Leaping from the shower, Hunt barely wrapped a towel around his waist before bursting into the living room.

Bryce was standing by the front door next to his bloodied boots. Her face was pale, legs trembling, and tears were running down her freckled cheeks.

“Bryce, what the Hel is wrong?” He gripped her shoulders and scanned her body for damage. Nothing was out of place besides the tears ruining her makeup.

Mentally he was swearing, if one of those fae bastards had harassed her again on her way home he would-

“There was blood-“ Bryce choked between sobs. “All the way down the hallway. On the walls. The floor, I thought, I thought-“

Shit. He was an idiot.

Hunt pulled her to his chest, neither caring that he was wet or that one wing was still stained and dirty. He could feel Bryce’s heart racing, and her whole body shook in his arms.

He carded his fingers through her hair. “Shit. I’m so sorry, Sweetheart.”

Bryce thought she was walking into another massacre. Another body. Another friend and another love death. He must have made a bigger mess than he’d thought.

“I didn’t know you had a job today,” she cried, her face stilled pressed into his chest. “You can’t do that to me.”

“I’m really freaking sorry,” Hunt apologized, feeling more like a bastard with every sob. “Isaiah called and I didn’t even think to call you.”

Bryce leans back and slams a fist again his chest, and damn if it didn’t hurt. “You moron! You didn’t even consider letting me know?”

Her sorrow was replaced with a burning rage that confused Hunt. “It wasn’t a serious job. Just messy. I didn’t think it was important. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I don’t care if you think it’s important,” Bryce growled, her freckles scrunched as her face contorted in anger. “It doesn’t have to be important. I care about you. I want to know because I care if you come home looking like a freaking reaper.”

Hunts eyebrows drew together, “It’s just my job, Bryce. I’m lucky to have one.”

“I know it’s your job,” her voice becomes quiet and her eyes look pained. “But don’t lie and say it doesn’t take a toll on you. We are mirrors, remember? You can’t lie to me. If I’d known I would have been here waiting for you.”

Hunt takes a risk and dips in to kiss Bryce. Nothing like the swift pecks they often exchanged, this was deep and passionate. He gripped the back of her hand in his fist and pulled Bryce closer to him.

When they pulled back, she looked flustered.

“I know you care,” Hunt chokes around the emotion building inside him. “It just surprises me how much sometimes.”

Bryce sighs and takes his hand, leading him back to the shower he left running. He sits on the side of the tub, still in his towel as she picks up a loofa and gets to work on his other wing.

They are silent as she works. Hunt can scent the fear that’s still leeching its way from her system. When she finishes, Hunt wets a rag and wipes the makeup and tears from under her eyes. He presses a kiss to each one when they are cleaned.

“You have a different kind of love Bryce,” He whispers foreheads pressed together. “I’ve never met a heart like yours. Sometimes the honor that you’ve made a place for me inside of it still hits me. I’m truly sorry for scaring you.”

Bryce looks up at him, her red lashes brushing against her eyebrows. “I wish you would stop forgetting that you aren’t alone anymore. You won’t ever be alone again, Hunt. I care if you are okay.”

Tears sting his eyes and he blinks them back. What a foreign concept. He’d spent most of his life in servitude but here was this girl, a literal princess who cared if he came home in a good mental state. Who’d washed him more than once. Who got a spark in her eyes whenever she saw him experiencing or enjoying something new.

Bryce, who made sure he had autonomy in their home, their relationship, their things. Because she wanted his freedom for him even when Hunt didn’t think he needed it.

“You aren’t alone either,” Hunt kisses her again. Deeper. More frantically.

Her hair is damp from the steam and sticks to his skin but he couldn’t care less as her arms wrap around his shoulders. Bryce cups both sides of his face in an iron grip.

Hunt lifts her off her feet and they stumble into the hall when they hear a gasp.

They rip apart and Bryce’s eyes widen in mortification at the couple standing at the door. “Mom! What the hel are you doing here?”

Ember and Randall are staring at them from the doorway. The latter looks like he wants to run back at the door or decapitate Hunt. Ember seems unbothered, her hands resting on her hips and a tight grin.

“Did you forget we were coming? Of course you did,” Ember sighs. “Tell your Angel to go put some clothes on, and perhaps clean yourself up as well?”

“I’m going to kill him,” Randall manages to strangle out, he looks to his wife. “Ember, I’m going to kill him.”

Ember rolls her eyes, “You can kill him later.” Her steely look turns towards Bryce. “We’ve had a long trip and I can assume you don’t have a room ready for us?”

Bryce murmurs under her breath away as she ushers Hunt out of sight. “Give me twenty minutes and I’ll have Hunt’s room ready.”

“We will be waiting,” Ember sings as she and Randall drop their bags by the front door.

Bryce’s bedroom door shuts behind them and Hung runs a stressed hand through his damp hair. “That’s not how I wanted to officially meet your parents.”

“Well get over it,” Bryce throws a pair of shorts at him. “Nothing ever goes as planned with them.”

Hunt can’t help but think being almost naked and making out with their daughter had to at least be on the worst end of that spectrum. Still, he was resolved to try and fix this. He wants to exceed their expectations of a boyfriend.

For Bryce? There wasn’t much he wouldn’t do. How hard could impressing her human parents be? They’d chatted over video call before. He liked both of them. Hunt can rectify this situation, he assures himself.

At least, he hopes he can.

What happens when Val’s client never arrived for their appointment? She stress writes quinlar fluff on her phone while sitting on a grooming table. Hope you guys enjoy <3 

Taglist- (let me know if you would like to be added or removed :D)

@cursebreaker29

@firestarsandseneschals

@royalsqueeze

@julemmaes

@tillyrubes10

@live-the-fangirl-life

@ghostlyrose2

[cotton-candy-in-a-thong]

Noncon stories, Fantasy vs. Reality, and more. fucking. issues.

Recently, I’ve been hit with some drama as to why I’m a “bad person” by various, anonymous users in this fandom. I thought I’d try to address the claim, address my stance on fics that involve noncon, and what I think about the “Tumblr mentality” after everything I’ve seen of this place. I should also note that I’m going to use the specific words and phrases I’ve been forced to constantly repeat as explaining my stance has been very difficult for me, as I’m a person who’s apparently challenging to understand.

This is going to be a long post, with subjects that's obviously going to trigger people so here's a warning right now..

That being said, I’m going to dive into this with some shit I’ve definitely said before:

“Consensual Noncon” Kink

The Appeal of this Theme in Fanfiction:

I don't think calling fics that involve noncon "rape fics" and those who enjoy it "getting off to rape" is a very good way to put it. Many engaging and well done media pieces often involve some very dark themes. Again, Monster by Meg and Dia is a song that features the main character sexually abusing a girl he met. You COULD call this a "rape song", but acting as if the rape is the only thing that matters in this story would be pretty..naive. The story has to do with an emotionally, and physically neglected/abused boy, who grows up and becomes an attention/love starved monster who's SO starving for validation, that he believes forcing himself upon a girl he knew would "prove" to himself that he's capable of being touched and loved. Of course, the main character eventually realizes that rape is not love, that what he did was wrong, and later kills himself in his own bathtub with kerosene and a match.

However, the assault aspect of this song is still a meaningful and alluring part because it talks about how emotional and physical abuse can warp someone's perspective on reality, to the point where they think forcing someone to "stay" with them is how to create a healthy relationship. That's the same energy I have for noncon fics, especially in the slasher fandom. Many slasher fics that contain noncon often have to do with the slasher preying on the reader because of their own fucked up mind. It's intriguing because, let's be honest, pretty much none of the slashers are in a pretty good mental space lmao. Thus, noncon actually falls more in line with how slashers would go about what they believe is a "good relationship" more often than quite a bit of fans here seem to believe. Again, Michael got boners, Jason chained someone up, Fredddy smooches people against their will, Billy Lenz is a sex offender, Chromeskull makes snuff, yada yada yada, you know the drill. That being said, it's interesting to see noncon being expressed with these characters because it gives us a new perspective on how fucked up they'd likely be if the world of sex and relationships was introduced to these characters.

Now why would some people become sexually aroused by the events of the story? First of all, how does “Consensual Noncon” kink work?

u/Jumbledcode. (2015). ‘Can anyone comment on why people (someone like me) enjoy rape/non-con story lines?’. r/TwoXChromosomes.

“I'd suggest that there are several factors that make up the appeal of non-con fantasies.

Guilt/Self-image: For many people, their sexual/relationship desires don't necessarily match their image of themselves, or alternatively they feel guilt over others' perceptions of those desires. Rape fantasies allow them to mantain some illusion of denial over their desires while still indulging in the idea of them.

Responsibility/Laziness: The appeal of abdicating control isn't limited to avoiding guilt; it's very tempting to want a scenario where you have no responsibility for maintaining your lifestyle/happiness. Similarly to before, it's the appeal of being given what you secretly want without even having to choose it.

Transgressiveness: A rape scenario has overtones of danger and taboo-breaking. These can easily be exciting and can therefore be a turn-on.

Desire: Being wanted is often a huge turn-on, and the idea of someone desiring you enough to break laws and disregard everything to have you plays into this feeling.

To me, it seems that most people who fantasize about being the subject of rape do so due to some mix of these motivations I've mentioned. Of course, there are also those who have experiences which have taught them to associate non-consent with their sexuality, but that's a separate issue”.

What if the Fanfic Only Involves the Act though? Wouldn’t it Encourage Actual Rape?

Let’s differentiate fantasy and reality. Towards those with the noncon kink: it offers arousal because of the ideas listed above (the idea of the reader not having to make any moves and the character doing the “intimate work” FOR them, the excitement of such a taboo sexual encounter, and the feeling to be desired through an altered, brutish encounter). Rape is the use of sex to remove control over the victim’s mind and body. The readers DO have control over whether or not they get to “encounter” (the choice to even read) this fantasy, so right away consent is present in reality, and no actual rape is being done.

Now does this mean that the kinkers are getting off on the idea of rape? Not really.

The thing with self-inserts is that it allows you to be connected to the story. That way, even if the story has you bruised up and begging for mercy, a part of you-you (if you’re a kinker) wants to keep reading it as you find it exciting. That way, as you and story-you are connected, what you really want in such a fantasy is for it to keep going despite the brutish, possessive, however yet desired nature of the character you’re dreaming about dealing with. (repeat: the idea of the reader not having to make any moves and the character doing the “intimate work” FOR them, the excitement of such a taboo sexual encounter, and the feeling to be desired through an altered, brutish encounter). That being said, it’s still entirely possible for kinkers to have their personal space and wishes crossed, and ultimately assaulted. Us enjoying the fantasy of such a reverie sexual encounter does not spell out to real life because (in reality) we’re not horny all the time, we would still like our bodies to be respected when we find it necessary, and we still have feelings as we’re still human.

“Fantasy (including video games) leads to violence” fallacy.

It would be like assuming that shooters in games like GTA fantacise about murder, encourage it, and would do it in real life. Taking fabricated anger out on virtual bodies or NPCs is quite different from the weight of murder (the killing of another human being). One can play video games with lots of violence towards such fabricated characters, while discouraging violence towards human beings. The act of using a game controller to beat up Donkey Kong in Smash, to shoot Nazi zombies in a Black Ops game, or to kill a Geisha in Little Nightmares is incredibly, and immensely different from completely eradicating the life of a person on Earth, and to assume that everyone who plays violent video games would spill out to violence in reality would be to participate in a ridiculous fallacy. Yes, there are outliers who are feeble minded enough to let their fantasies influence their actions towards actual people, but I must repeat that there are also people who utilize these fantasies for their personal satisfaction, while understanding the weight of the real world around them (and choosing not to act so detrimentally). Therefore, it wouldn’t be fair as it would be unnecessary to blatantly say that all fantasies are horrible and should be entirely eradicated if there ARE many people who ARE aware enough to understand that some thoughts are better off staying in fiction.

Now is the time to address what’s been said:

...Firstly, I think it’s very disgusting that random users, on Tumblr of all places, are trying to manipuate random victims of sexual assault into hating something or someone just because these users FEEL like “it’s the right thing to do”.. People, victims of sexual assault aren’t your fucking dogs. They’re not carriage horses, they’re not your work mules, they’re not your guns and swords...they’re just people who normally wanna be left the fuck alone like everyone else. Plus, there ARE people who have experienced sexual assault who take joy in reading such dark storylines. What would these users have to say to them? That they’re not “real” victims? That what they’ve experienced “never happened”? That they’re “just like” their own perpetrators for using the consensual nonconsent to miraculously help them overcome their trauma? Should they really abandon their coping mechanism just because there are other victims who cope in different ways?

..If you seriously believe that all people who have gone through a traumatic event are gonna cope in the exact same fucking way, you literally don’t even know enough about PTSD to even be making a bold statement about cope.

This is the part where I finally realized that people, and especially those on Tumblr, don’t actually care about rape victims as much as they may claim. Many users on here, on this platform and in this fandom, don’t truly give a flying monkey shit about rape victims as people, nor what they have to say about the subject. Rape victims..on this place..seem to be used mainly as a means of figurative weaponry for a group’s subjective morality.

I find the similarity close to radical feminism. Radical feminists often believe that women, from near and far, have to do everything in their power to “destroy” the patriarchy. This would mean disobeying the societal expectation of women, even if there are some women who take joyment in engaging in some societal standards for their personal liking. An example would be sex work. Radical feminists acknowledge the flaws in performing sex work, but believe that NO woman should EVER partake even if the woman wants to do it out of her own free will. In demonizing and ostracizing any woman who doesn’t fall into the radical feminist agenda, radical feminists actually contradict their purpose to “let women be free”. At this point, you realize that radical feminists often don’t actually give a fuck about what any woman wants for herself. Instead, radical feminists want to utilize any woman they can find just to flip off men as a group.

In Tumblr users trying to “stand up” for rape victims for their personal “holier-than-thou” ego, they fail to care enough about the very people they defend to understand the dynamics of some of their coping mechanisms, thus begin to bully some members of the group they claim to protect because of the very narcissism, misunderstanding, and controlling nature going on behind their own “activism”. So now that some users have found something to hate, in this case being noncon stories, they attempt to manipulate victims of rape into ostraciszing and demonizing fantasies and other victims of rape just because the “activists” themsleves don’t like it. Even trying to argue that rape victims have a “duty” to agree with everything these “activists” try to do for them.

Sounds awfully familiar to the attitude democrats have towards any minority when it’s time to vote. “I care about you...but you have to agree with everything I say and believe because I want what I think is best for you. If you disagree with me, you’re ungrateful and a traitor”.

Now...a little about myself.

I’m not sure of everyone else who’s into the noncon type of story, but I use it to get away from my past. In noncon stories, I want to read what happens in the chapters. I want to imagine them for morbid curiosity and arousal I feel at the time being. In reality, my attackers didn’t care when I wasn’t in the mood, and never gave me a choice. In noncon stories, I get to choose the character I want to encounter in the fantasy and NOT have it picked FOR me. In real life, I didn’t get to choose who did some things to me. In noncon stories, I get to stop reading them and do something else whenever I’m not feeling it anymore. In reality? My attackers kept going because, in the situation, it was no longer up to me. After noncon stories, my body doesn’t walk away with bruises, bite marks, and physical reminders every time I take my clothes off or try to masturbate. In real life...that shit can mark you, disease you, and then traumatize you. With the stories, I get to delete my search history, join another fandom, and act like nothing ever happened. For reality? Your own body is a reminder of what happened because it was real. In reality, I’m NEVER gonna fucking forget what happened. I’ll be lucky if my own mind and body doesn’t haunt me for at least one day..

So seeing that someone, and probably multiple people not only tried to use victims of sexual assault for their own “go get em” dogs, but to try and phrase me as someone who loves and encourages such an assault on human beings? After the things I felt? After the things I tasted? After pathetically searching for the support of relatives, just to get shut down with “you’re lying”?..

...All the times I've been held down..threatened..clothes getting snagged off..parts being opened and touched after I've fought to just get the fuck away from certain people...

According to this anon..."she likes rape".

...I guess I just fucking LOVED EVERYTHING THEN.

You know...all my life I’ve been misunderstood by many people. It’s honestly really disappointing that even now when I’m better at explaining myself than ever, I’m STILL being phrased as a “psychopath” by random people who haven’t even taken the time to even know me. Not even from a minute-long conversation through a damn computer screen. And you wanna know the funny thing? I’m probably being laughed at as this is being read. Some of these users, these internet stalkers, are probably giggling, smiling, and saying “Haha YES we GOT the bitch!! Cry you piece of shit SLUT!!”. So maybe explaining my past experiences to help everyone understand why some people may use noncon stories to their fantasy advantage is gonna land me messages going: “You haven’t been raped you lying bitch”, “Maybe you should get raped again”, “You definitely enjoyed it”, and the overused, yet strong “Kill yourself”.

So how am I gonna end this message? With me saying that many of you, who THINK you’re doing the right thing by justifying harassment and trying to manipulate others into joining your little crusade to bully people away from the fandom (over extremely mundane fucking things)...aren’t really good people. At best, in this case...you’re fucking stupid. You will never truly speak for any of the marginalized groups you claim to know like the back of your hand. Simply, you will never. be. a hero.

If by chance, by an astrological chance..that any random user wants to come up and apologize out of the blue for talking such shit and for saying such things..I don't even wanna hear it...just get the fuck out of my face..

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

hey sex witch, wondering if you have any advice on how to deal with feelings of shame about kinks you have? (especially ones considered to be on the weirder end of things)

hi anon,

that's a hard one, and I'm sorry you're struggling with it :(

whenever someone - myself included! - if feeling down and out about the sense that they're a bit of a sexual oddity, I find it helpful to remember that what's "normal" has fluctuated wildly throughout human history, and is never more than temporary at best.

I mean heck, in much of medieval Europe cishet men who never had sex with anyone but their cishet lawfully wedded wives in missionary position with the intent to reproduce could still be considered a bit deviant if they were suspected of enjoying sex too much! human beings are beautifully varied, but unfortunately one thing that many of us unfortunately have in common is that we love to judge other people and will find almost any excuse to do so.

even more unfortunately, that frequently even includes judging ourselves. hell, that can be the hardest kind of judgement to unlearn! I'll be the first to admit that while I spend all day every day encouraging people to radically accept their bodies exactly as they are and advocate for their health and desire without shame, I still frequently find myself looking at my own abysmal sex life and wondering what in the actual holy hell is wrong with me.

... the point being, making peace with who you are and what you want can be hard, but not impossible.

as with many other facets of the self, it can be easier to accept something about you by first accepting - and even loving it! - in other people. if you have any interest in exploring kinky social groups, either online or in person, I'd definitely recommend looking into it. I cannot emphasize enough that this doesn't even need to be a sex thing; I've been to kink meet-ups that were firmly pg and fully clothed that took place in a sports bar's back room over plates of chicken wings. tons of nice people, hanging out and catching up and occasionally veering very casually into conversations about their interests in being tied up/beaten/electrocuted/etc. even for someone who shouts about sex as much as me, it's refreshing to be in a space where people are so upfront and frank about the shit they're into!

it's also definitely worthwhile to spend some time doing some major unpacking within yourself. sorry if journaling isn't really your bag, but I would definitely recommend taking some time to ask yourself some serious questions and answer them in as much or as little detail as you need. things to think about could include when you first started becoming aware of your kink(s), when the feelings of shame arrived, what you believe might have spurred those, and how you can untangle or outright refute those sources of shame. were you taught to fear your sexuality? well that's not going to work, it's a part of you as much as your sense of taste and your skin and your ability to dream. have you run into the notion that there's something particularly immoral about your particular kink? look, dude: as long as everyone's given informed consent, you can do whatever the fuck you want when you fuck. just because it's not many people's cup of tea doesn't mean there's anything wrong with the people who do enjoy it.

of course, tackling all that alone can be a tall order, especially if you're finding that the roots of this shame run deep. a little therapy never hurt anyone, and there are plenty of therapists out there who specialize in matters of sexuality and even kink. if you're in the US, like me, you can start looking for options through the directory at AASECT (American Association of Sexuality Educators Counselors and Therapists) and KAP (Kink Aware Professionals).

there's probably, you know, a lot of work and some tears that will have to go into this, because very few people can just magically will their shame away overnight, but I wish you the very best of luck in your journey and hope you'll remember that there's nothing wrong with being turned out, even if it is by something on the weirder end of things. I hope you can reach a place where your kink only makes you feel good (or bad, if that's what you're into, but bad in a more fun way).

[mednerds]

Peak Anxiety? Here Are 10 Ways to Calm Down

If the one-two punch of pandemic stress and election stress feels like more than you can handle, try these tips to help you cope.

Can’t concentrate? Losing sleep? Binge-eating your feelings?

In a year of unprecedented stress, the nation collectively appears to be heading toward peak anxiety this week. People are sharing stories of stress eating, clearing their calendars (who could sit through a Zoom meeting during a time like this?) and threatening to stay in bed for a week.

The stress has consumed both sides of the political aisle. A poll released by the American Psychological Association showed that 76 percent of Democrats and 67 percent of Republicans are finding the 2020 election to be a significant source of stress.

“We’ve had this unending momentum of a steady stream of stuff just going wrong since the beginning of March,” said the Rev. angel Kyodo williams, a meditation teacher and author of the book “Radical Dharma.” “The groundlessness that people feel is not really something the human body was meant to sustain over long periods of time.”

While there’s nothing you can do to speed election results or a coronavirus vaccine, you do have the power to take care of yourself. Neuroscientists, psychologists and meditation experts offered advice about the big and small things you can do to calm down. Here are 10 things you can try to release anxiety, gain perspective and gird yourself for whatever comes next.

Interrupt yourself

As you feel your anxiety level rising, try to practice “self interruption.” Go for a walk. Call a friend. Run an errand. Just move your body and become aware of your breathing.

“Interrupt yourself so you can shift your state,” said Ms. Williams. “Get your attention on something else. Focus on something that is beautiful. Get up. Move your body and really shift your position. I think people really need to move away from wherever it is they are and break the momentum.”

Focus on your feet

When you feel your stress level rising, try this quick calming exercise from Dr. Judson A. Brewer, director of research and innovation at the Mindfulness Center at Brown University:

Take a moment to focus on your feet. You can do this standing or sitting, with your feet on the ground. How do they feel? Are they warm or cold? Are they tingly? Moist or dry? Wiggle your toes. Feel the soles of your feet. Feel your heels connecting with your shoes and the ground beneath you.

“It’s a different way to ground yourself,” said Dr. Brewer. “Anxiety tends to be in your chest and throat. Your feet are as peripheral as you get from your anxiety zones.”

Move for 3 minutes

It just takes a short burst of exercise — three minutes to be exact — to improve your mood, said Kelly McGonigal, a health psychologist and lecturer at Stanford University whose latest book is “The Joy of Movement.” Do jumping jacks. Stand and box. Do wall push-ups. Dance.

“If you give me three minutes, it works, as long as you’re moving your body in ways that feel good to you,” said Dr. McGonigal, who suggests picking an inspiring song to get you moving. “Anytime you move your muscles and get your heart rate up, you’ll get a boost in dopamine and sense yourself as alive and engaged. Movement for me is a way I sense my own strength and feel connected to hope and joy.”

Tackle a home project

Get rid of clutter, make a scrapbook, get a new comforter, hang artwork.

“It’s not frivolous to do something like declutter, organize or look around your space and think about how to make it a supportive place for you or anyone else you live with. It’s one of the ways we imagine a positive future,” said Dr. McGonigal, whose TedTalk on stress has been viewed nearly 24 million times. “Anything you do where you take an action that allows you to connect, whether consciously or not, with this idea that there’s a future you’re moving toward, that’s like a hope intervention. It’s something you’re doing now to look after your future self.”

Try five-finger breathing

This simple practice is easy to remember and is often taught to children to help them calm themselves in times of high stress. Dr. Brewer has created a video explaining the technique, which works by engaging multiple senses at the same time and crowding out those worrying thoughts.

Step 1. Hold your hand in front of you, fingers spread.

Step 2. Using your index finger on the opposite hand, start tracing the outline of your extended hand, starting at the wrist, moving up the pinkie finger.

Step 3. As you trace up your pinkie, breathe in. As you trace down your pinkie, breathe out. Trace up your ring finger and breathe in. Trace down your ring finger and breathe out.

Step 4. Continue finger by finger until you’ve traced your entire hand. Now reverse the process and trace from your thumb back to your pinkie, making sure to inhale as you trace up, and exhale as you trace down.

Connect with nature

Spend time outside. Watch birds. Wander amid the trees. Take a fresh look at the vistas and objects around you during an “awe walk.” Recent research shows that consciously taking in the wonders of nature amplifies the mental health benefits of walking.

Numerous studies support the notion that spending time in nature and walking on quiet, tree-lined paths can result in meaningful improvements to mental health, and even physical changes to the brain. Nature walkers have “quieter” brains: scans show less blood flow to the part of the brain associated with rumination. Some research shows that even looking at pictures of nature can improve your mood. Our brains, it seems, prefer green spaces. One small study found that exercisers exposed to the color green found it easier to exercise and were in a better mood than exercisers exposed to gray or red.

Rediscover your diaphragm

Many of us are vertical breathers: When we breathe, our shoulders rise and fall, and we’re not engaging our diaphragm. To better relax, learn to be a horizontal breather. Inhale and push your belly out, which means you’re using your diaphragm. Exhale and your middle relaxes.

For a deep (and somewhat complicated) dive on belly breathing, grab a tape measure and take this “breathing IQ” self-exam from Belisa Vranich, a clinical psychologist and author of “Breathing for Warriors.”

“If you’re breathing with your shoulders, you’re using auxiliary muscles, and you’ll have a higher heart rate, higher blood pressure and higher cortisol,” Dr. Vranich said. “If you breathe diaphragmatically, you’re more apt to be calmer.”

Enjoy distractions

Give your mind a break by watching this cat comfort a nervous dog, or check out the jellyfish cam at the Monterey Bay Aquarium. You’ll find more fun diversions on our new interactive Election Distractor, including a digital stress ball, a virtual emotional support dog and Donald J. McNeil Jr., the Times’s infectious disease reporter, giving you optimistic news about the coronavirus vaccine.

Unleash the aromatics

Take a lavender foot bath, burn a scented candle or spritz the air with orange aromatherapy. It’s only a temporary reprieve, but it just might help get you through election night.

A study of 141 pregnant women found that rubbing or soaking feet with lavender cream significantly reduced anxiety, stress and depression. Another study of 200 dental patients found that orange or lavender aromatherapy helped them relax before treatment. Lavender baths lower cortisol levels in infants. Even antidepressants work better when combined with lavender therapy.

Why does aromatherapy, particularly lavender, appear to have a calming effect? Some research suggests that lavender reaches odor-sensitive neurons in the nose that send signals to the parts of the brain related to wakefulness and awareness.

Accept the present moment

Accepting the result of the election doesn’t mean giving up if things don’t go your way. In fact, you’ll be more effective at pursuing change if you accept the situation. “Our anxiety comes from the desire to have things be different,” said Ms. Williams. “There’s going to be the day after the election. And the day after that. We need to be present to what is, regardless of the outcome you want.”

Thinking about history and those who have faced seemingly insurmountable hardship in the past can help you gain perspective, accept current events and make plans to pursue change.

“My ancestors had to prepare themselves, over and over again, for moving toward a freedom that was nowhere in sight,” said Ms. Williams, referring to Black Americans. “We prepare for life as it unfolds, not our ideal image of it. That is, literally, the only path forward.”

By Tara Parker-Pope (The New York Times). Illustration: Luke Wohlgemuth.

[buildingrelationshipsinanarchy]

A New Intimacy Model

So what spurred this project is a culmination of a few things. Namely, frustration with the imprecise and incomprehensible words, Platonic, Romantic, and Sexual. The English language hasn’t been great at adapting the words for personal relationships as our times and values change.

I fell into Anarchism only very recently, stumbling into the language of ‘relationship anarchy’ through the internet in discussion with forms of polyamory years ago when I started this blog. Over the last year, I’ve been getting into radical politics and finding how my un-politicized opinions were validated, and then stretched the more I learned and studied up. While I’m still learning more about Radical politics, Anarchism, Marxism, Queer and Feminist theory specifically, the more I wanted to link some of my perspectives on intimate relationships with these political and theoretical texts.

“The Personal is Political.” - Carol Hanisch, Feminist Author.

@mythr1der​ wrote a post detailing a bit of the frustration I also share in regards to how the Dichotomy between Platonic and Sexual (which almost all definitions of Romance boil back into), leave much to be desired when discussing attraction, desire, intimacy and relationships in general. I believe that this very simple dichotomy reflects, oddly enough, capitalism and the history of the role of state power in culture. I rant a little bit about it as a response to @mythr1der​‘s post here. 

It’s long, and incomplete, but I proposed an idea of just building entirely new words, so we can build an entirely new map for talking about love, desire, attraction, and relationships that actually discuss what its like to be next to someone you like to be next to! 

What is intimacy? It’s closeness right? To be near some ‘intimate’ part of another person, or them near something meaningful about why you’re you. I wanted to start this series by talking about what it means to be close to someone. If you remember my birthday without Facebook, that might make me feel a bit special. But if you remember how badly I was abused by an old friend, its because I trusted you enough to share some of the sadness that I’m not as loud about.

Intimacy isn’t always trauma, sometimes its tears of joy hearing that your cousin is out of prison, or the laughter of your friends. Being close to each other in a hyper-digitized age is a bit tricky, but phone calls, facetime, snapchat are only some of the tools we use to keep each other updating on what we’re feeling. Whether its about our love life, sex life, work life, or home life, just sharing that information can be real special, and bonding.

When we say that we have friends or that we are [Queer] Platonic Partners, does that mean we’ve decided how often we’re gonna talk or what we’re gonna talk about? What if we just send each other memes or rant about politics? Am I supposed to devalue those interactions because they aren’t the person I’m crying on the phone with?

Intimacy can be as deep as childhood scars and as simple as surprising me with my favorite snack. It all just means you know who I am, what I like, and what I care about. I want to intentionally forge those connections. And this why I set these definitions first. 

Other Words:

A Daekkon (n.) would be person/partner whom you’ve developed intentionally this kind of relationship with. 

If you desired this kind of relationship with a certain person, you’d be feeling Daekeen (adj.) for/about that person.

People who are desiring or actively doing these activities together are Daekkoning (v.). 

This would be understood as Daekkonic (adj.) behavior; as in, “My roomate isn’t super talkative with me, but is deakkonic (adj.) with Sandra from the Mosque.” 

“Tom is going through it, he’s felt deakkonically (adv.) deprived since the move.”

________________________________________________________________

In our sex-negative, ironically repressed culture, we seem to think that if you’re touching your bodies together at all, it means *something*.  I want to remove that idea. I want to reclaim physical affection. I want to be touch and be touched by others. I don’t want my afab friends who have experienced some sort of sexual violence in their lives, to ever feel weary about the fact that I’m physically affectionate. It’s been my #1 Love Language for the last 10 years. 

Fighting r*pe culture is a full-time fight, but I think adding a word, and therefore an idea[l], can be useful in reclaiming safety, and boundaries regarding bodily autonomy, for all of us. Clear communication and respected boundaries and asking consent for everything are the bedrock we need to continually practice. And as trust builds, I believe this could be very useful theoretically tool for improving the quality of our relationships and help create clearer discussion about our individual boundaries, needs, and desires. I feel like this leads me to a relevant question. What activities are inherently platonic, romantic or sexual? Is holding hands inherently romantic when almost all of us have done it with a friend? What about those of us who are religious or spiritual and have held hands with members of church, mosque or synagogue; do you think we’re out here non-stop blushing at the Pastor? Or when we held hands with family members? Doesn’t sound like it holds up, huh? 

What about snuggling a roommate? Holding a teammate while celebrating a victory? The kiss my bestfriend gave me on our shared birthday dinner? Are we left to through our Aro and Ace friends’ out of the discussion, just because our culture has bad takes on sex and romance as the only forms possible of significant physical touch? Physical touch is such an important way to communicate love and affection, as well as care, concern, and comfort. They don’t get to cast their shadow on this space anymore!

Other Words:

If you had this desire for someone, or wanted to approach cultivating these forms of affection in a relationship, you could say you’re feeling Phaddish (adj.) for that person.

.Participating or initiating acts of a non-sexual physical intimacy Phadronic (adj.) quality are said to be phade-ing/phading (v.).

A Phadrone (n.) could be the name of a person/partner you share this kind of relationship with. 

Phadroning (v.) would the act of cultivating this kind of intimacy with another person. 

Phadronically (adv.) could describe a certain level of intimacy implicit in a physical touch between to particular people.

________________________________________________________________

Now lets talk about Sex. That’s the thing the everyone’s mind always gravitates to when discuss words like, intimacy, attraction, desire. It’s the thing we want to stay away from when you use the Platonic or Friendly. But, lets be real. Haven’t many of us had sex with people didn’t even consider friends? Or people who became our “Strictly Platonic” friends after we may have had sex, once or several times, with them?

People who gravitate toward polyamory or non-monogamy tend have had a “hoe-phase.” The boundary between friend and lover, or partner and fuckbuddy have been blurred in a good chunk of people’s lives. Non-monogamous or not, I think it’s useful to talk directly about our sexual experiences, desires, fantasies, and how different it can be with different people, or in different stages of our lives. But what makes an experience sexual? Maybe that sounds redundant or obvious; I mean, it’s got the word SEX in it, maybe that’s got something to do with it? But maybe not... 

Lets ask an odd question. Is sex inherently sexual? Who wouldn’t assume the answer is automatically yes? Well, my first thought is to talk to those in the Adult Entertainment industry or friends of ours who are sex-workers, in whatever capacity. Is every client sexy or shoot erotic? Those of us who have sex, have we never been doing it and been bored through most of at least one experience? 

If sex is inherently sexual, why do we have so many Sexual Health Educators, Marriage Counselors, Pornstars, Yoga Teachers, Personal trainers and Writers telling us how to have sexy sex? Dating Coaches and Websites, telling us how we are getting something that’s supposed to sound so easy wrong.

I’ve come to the opinion that sex isn’t about body parts, genitalia, certain body motions, or even clothing [or lack thereof]. I believe that sex, or eroticism, is all about the context and the people involved. There’s nothing inherently sexy about fruit, or food in general, but if woman eats a banana in public, there are at least several men in area thinking of something than her healthy food choices. 

This is why talking about sex directly is good. And understanding it as an energy that you imbue to any activity or circumstance, could help have better sex; and and on the flip-side, show us how we may need to more aware of how we may take up space with our body language. I do also feel, that in part, some of our Ace friends (those who aren’t sex repulsed), may be able to find some resonance with this model; sex doesn’t have to feel passionate or any particular way at all (other than good?), because sex isn’t about sexiness, but about human connection and pleasure.

Other Words:

Serotic (adj.) activities include any activity that is engaged due to, or is infused with, sexual desire and/or erotic intention. It also describes the type of desire you’re feeling for another person. 

A Serato (n.) is any person you engage in serotic activities or feelings with. 

An activity that was originally un-serotic (adj.), but became sexually or erotically charged, we could described as having become Serotically (adv.) charged. 

When you are cultivating or charging an act with serotic energy, you are Seroticizing (v.) that activity

________________________________________________________________

Lately, especially since diving into Radical Politics, I find less and less desire in defining Who I Am as a part of a relationship unit. It’s an overlay from monogamy, The Couple being the only social unit that is recognized, as it’s necessary to the Nuclear Family; a super important thing for Capitalism to sustain itself. The relationships I cultivate with others, with whatever forms of intimacy or interactions therein, cant be understood by that model. I am more than my interactions with a handful of people; I am a human person, and my engagement with the world isn’t actually reducible to whether or not I’m having sex with someone or not. 

We’ve talked about multiple forms of intimacy, and some of the desires or interests associated with them. Have you noticed that in the desire, or need, to discuss relationships on a basis of, ‘sex: yes or no?’, that we haven’t talked about the webs that form because we are all reliant on each other to survive? Not everyone in your community or workplace or online spaces, you’ll get to know or talk to. Do they, as people, matter less because they aren’t in your contacts list or your DM’s?  

This is a space where not a lot of us to tend think or engage as much. An easy word to discuss this space is community. But is a community the people or the place you spend your time, whether online or off? Is the community the place you live and your neighbors? Is it the people who may share some of your identifiers or face similar forms of oppression, despite living in a different city, state, country?

We are multi-dimensional beings, and with the use of technology, there are so many ways to form relationships, and share resources. I think the ‘community’ is any space you find yourself in, which means that mutual aid is something you are always able to engage in. Whether it’s feeding the homeless guys who hang out by the intersection, or dropping a few bucks in a trans kid’s venmo, mutual aid is so much easier.

But what if that feels so inconsequential? It’s not! But it does, from time to time, feel like the problems of the world are so big, and that you and so many you know are suffering in ways you wish you could help. Well, community organizing is always happening somewhere, online and off. It becomes important to join up with others in order feel like we can actually make a positive impact on the lives of others. We don’t have to wait on a government who’s interest isn’t ours, don’t have to wait for some politician to fail on a promise to Make Things Better.

We have each other, and we are all we really have. At the end of the day, all of our concepts are man-made. COVID-19 showed us how drastically things could be different if the people in power made decisions that actually benefited us. A lot of us understand the need to do something. Capitalism says that competition is what drove human kind into evolution, the fight for survival in a meaningless, terrifying world. Anarchism, as I’m learning, throws the whole idea in the trash where it belongs.

Peter Kropotkin, whose been called both the Godfather and Santa Claus of Anarchism, penned in Mutual Aid: A Factor of Evolution (1902), “under any circumstances sociability is the greatest advantage in the struggle for life.”

We are better off together. Capitalism and the property relationships in our compulsively monogamous society try to tell us other wise. We don’t have to follow that model.

Other Words:

To Mudshop (v.) is to build a mudship with a particular person, organinzation, or community; Mud-shopping (v.). 

A Mudshipper (n.) is an individual in a mudship of any scale. 

I’ve said a lot. I hope this reads as accessible to as many people as it can be. I built this because I want to tell the people in my life why I love them as dearly as I do. And that I’d love to build relationships with as many awesome, lovely people as I can.

If you try to use the words Romantic and Platonic while you look at this post, and find it almost impossible, I’ve done my job.

I hope those words die along with oppressive ideas they uphold.

[ladynestaarcheron]

Like Pristine Glass - Chapter Twenty-three

ao3 - ff.net - masterpost

(tagging these cuties: @humanexile @skychild29 @rhysandsdarlingfeyre @candid-confetti @rhysandsrightknee @missing-merlin @azriels-forgotten-shadow @books-and-cocos @sezkins79  @city-of-fae @someonemagical @dusty-lightbulb  @messyhairday-me @rinad307 @superspiritfestival @cass-nes @ireallyshouldsleeprn)

oh my God. here we are. chapter twenty-three.

what is there to say but thank you all so much for reading?

beware, this chapter’s monster sized. around 10k. also...relatively graphic birth scene.

thank you all. so much.

---

August 23 - Year of

In the end, it was not Cassian's fault she made the decision to leave.

Later, much later, she would wonder if he blamed himself and she almost wished she could tell him otherwise. Because even in those last months they spent together, he was good to her. Better than anyone else had ever been. Sweet and teasing and kind. Such kindness. Who had ever treated her this way? Who smiled like this when she walked into a room? No one had ever been happy to see her. And from the way he looked at her and the things he said, she knew he felt the same way.

So he probably didn't realize anything was amiss.

For Nesta answered every kiss with one of her own, tugged his hair right back, pinched him affectionately when he interrupted her reading.

It ran deep. More real than blood, more concrete than any vow. Late at night, in the bed that had become theirs, she told him of her deepest wish as a child, how she had done everything her little mind could think of to win her mother's praise and love and how it had destroyed her when she had died without truly giving it to her. He had far less family history to share, but he told her in turn what he could: how Rhsyand's mother had been the first person to show him any kindness, how the hero of that children's story, about the thief who stole the night, was all he wanted to be when he grew up because of how he built for himself what he was not given, even how cheap the first female he'd ever been with made him feel when she revealed she never wanted to acknowledge him in public because of his status.

Bit by bit, nightly, Cassian would bare his soul to her a little more, and she'd feel guilt as she didn't share all of herself in return. There were things she could not say.

He knew, though. Of course he did. He knew her better than anyone, saw right through every layer she had wrapped around herself. That was why he'd ask her, from time to time. A sweet kiss, a cup of tea, and a simple question: What's wrong, Nesta?

Answers varied. Nothing or headache or you're irritating me, won't you let me read in peace? or a myriad of other things.

She could not tell him because she could not admit it to herself.

Here is what she could not say: I cannot love you because I will inevitably lose and you and you're the best thing I've ever had so that will destroy me even more than everything else already has, and I know that I will lose you because you can never put me first above your duties to the Night Court and your High Lord and I will not settle for second to him.

In the end, she didn't have to. And that was not Cassian's fault either.

It was her sister who spared her the act when she knocked on the front door.

---

June 21 - 1 year after

It wasn't the pain that woke her up. It was the wetness between her legs. An odd, gooey sort of substance. What was that, Nesta wondered. Was she bleeding? With that thought, she kicked off her blanket, but with her sudden movement came a definite tug from deep inside her-oh.

It was happening.

Nesta took a deep breath and raised her nightgown. No blood, she saw, and her shoulders relaxed. Just the mucus, tinted pink slightly.

Nesta had read enough on her own and asked Amorette enough to know: this was early labor. It had just started at...fifteen past four in the morning. It could be anywhere from an hour to a few days before active labor started. Logically, she knew she could take a bath, go back to sleep, and wait till a reasonable hour to call for Amorette, but logic wasn't what spurred her. The faelight was in her hand before she realized it.

As she loosened her fingers around it, her heart rate picked up. She would be doing this alone. Her mother would not be here. Her sisters would not be here. How had she not considered that before? Why had she gone through with this? Why hadn't she terminated the pregnancy when she'd had the chance?

She forced herself to practice her breathing. There was no use in panicking now. Far too late for that, anyway.

On her twentieth slow exhale, she heard the door downstairs open and shut, followed by quick footsteps up the stairs.

"Nesta?" Amorette said from the hall, voice clear and strong despite the ungodly hour.

"In here," she called, in more of a wheeze.

Amorette was at her side almost instantly. "Are you in pain?" Her blue eyes ran up and down Nesta's body, hands going to feel her cheeks.

Nesta flushed. "No," she said. It was stupid to call her, wasn't it? "Just...my water. But no pain...yet."

Amorette drew her hands back in surprise. Then her face broke out in a wide smile. "Congratulations," she said, cheery. She draws a chair close to the bed. "Let's have a look, shall we?" Amorette folded the blanket up from Nesta's toes to her knees, so Nesta couldn't see what she was doing, which she greatly appreciated.

"So," she said, folding the blanket back down. "You probably know this, but you're in one of the first stages of early labor. You're just barely dilated."

"Do you know how long until..."

"Well, there's no real way for me to know for sure," Amorette said. "But seeing as you haven't felt any real pain yet, and this is your first birth, we probably have at least a few hours to go. You can take a shower or a bath now, then maybe do some light exercise with me. We'll take it as you feel it." Her eyes crinkled, genuine warmth spreading across her face. "Let's just do what we can to help you relax, Nesta! You're having some babies today!"

All the forgotten gods. If there were any sentence that would not help her relax.

---

August 23 - Year of

Nesta hadn't been expecting Emerie, but sometimes people from the camp came by to tell Cassian something. Of course, he hadn't been home in three days, but perhaps they didn't know. Maybe they had to drop something off or leave him a message.

So Nesta wasn't too concerned when she opened the door.

Her lungs seized in her chest when she did.

"Hi," Feyre said softly, inclining her head forward. A lock of hair slipped out from behind her ear and swayed in front of her face, caressing the corner of her lips. She was the slightest bit darkened by the sun, contrasting prettily with the brightened gold of her hair. "Can I come in?" she asked. Her voice was sweet, calm, laced with something that wasn't there when they were growing up.

But Nesta could say nothing in reply. All she could do was stare at her sister. She wasn't even trying to say anything, or grasp at her thoughts, or make sense of this. She was...dumbstruck.

"Nesta," Feyre said, concern tightening her brow as she took a step closer and reached out a hand. "Are you all right?"

It was Feyre's touch that spurred her back into herself and let her jerk backwards and say, "What are you doing here?"

"I came to see you," she replied. "Can I come in?"

Nesta only stared in disbelief. "Can you come in?"

"All right," Feyre said, smoothing her hands over her legs. "Let's get you something to drink."

And with a measured, leisurely step, Feyre backed Nesta into the house.

How did that happen?

"Some water," Feyre said, making her way to the kitchen sink.

Had she been here before? Had she...had Cassian...told her to come?

Feyre turned, bringing the glass into the living room. "Sit with me," she said.

Nesta did not sit. "What are you doing here?"

Feyre set the glass down on the table, next to Nesta's face down book. "It's been nearly a year," she said.

Since they exiled her out of Velaris. Yes, she was aware.

"I know that you're...doing better," Feyre said, and Nesta's heart stuttered. What had Cassian told her? Had he-had he shared what was theirs? "And I thought, maybe now...we could talk."

Her sister gazed up at her, earnest and patient. How regal she looked, there on the couch. Ugly, she'd always thought, with its faded blue pattern. Nesta recalled leaving her tiny apartment in Velaris back in September and wishing she could pick out furniture of her own someday.

But there were no throw pillows or rosewood bookshelves or pianos dancing in Nesta's mind today. There was really only one thing she could think of.

"Are you out of your fucking mind?"

Feyre raised an eyebrow-Nesta didn't think she had ever swore in either of her sisters' presences before. She didn't like to, as a rule, but, well. Desperate times. Insane, radical, maniacal times.

"I'm not," she said. "But I understand-"

"You clearly do not," Nesta cut in, "if you think that there's any chance that I want to talk to you."

"Please just listen, Nesta-"

"Or what? You'll kick me out of Illyria, too? Send me off to the Hewn City, perhaps? Do I only get to live my own life if it's out of your court, is that it?"

"No, Nesta, please," she said, standing up too. "Look, I think-you needed space, all right? You know you did, and now that you're-that you've got it, now-"

"Don't you dare," Nesta said, raising a finger and making Feyre flinch. "Don't you dare take credit for any good space has done me. It's only because anything would have been better than-" Nesta bit her tongue to stop herself from finishing the sentence, but it didn’t matter.

But Feyre clearly didn't plan on leaving until she'd said her part. She blinked the hurt out of her eyes and said, "I don't care about the reasons. I'm happy you're doing better, but it's not enough. I know you still haven't taken control of your magic. Amren can help-"

Nesta laughed, cold and mirthless. So different than how she'd laughed just a few days ago with Cassian. "You are out of your mind." Her voice was flat, devoid of emotion. "If you think I'm ever going back there, you are completely out of your mind."

Feyre sighed. Folded her arms over her chest. "Well. We still have to do something. What do you propose we do?"

Nesta's eyes narrowed. She drew herself straighter. "There isn't a we," she said, voice like ice. "You made it perfectly clear you wanted nothing to do with me when you banished me from your city of love."

"Nesta, you know that isn't true-"

"I'm going to ask you again. Can I stay here in Illyria without being further accosted by you and yours, whenever you decide it appropriate to meddle?"

Feyre clenched her jaw. "I'm not trying to hurt you, Nesta."

She didn't hesitate. "Then leave."

Both sisters stared at each other. How odd was it, to look into her own eyes in Feyre's face. Nesta still remembered the night she was born, how she had marveled at them. Little Elain had had brown eyes like their father, and she had blue-grey like their mother, and she had wondered how the baby was going to look. She thought she might have one blue and one brown, but then she had come, and secretly, Nesta had been so pleased. Another pair of eyes just like hers.

How far they had both gone.

Feyre broke away first, as Nesta knew she would. "You don't have to worry about me coming here to accost you," she said as she turned to leave.

Nesta said nothing as she opened the door and closed it behind her.

But she didn't believe her. Not for a moment.

---

June 21 - 1 year after

Amorette had arranged to stay with Nesta till noon if her state did not progress at all, and if it did to then make a decision on how they should proceed. Nesta told her she'd do whatever she thought was best, but she wanted to keep her visitors to a minimum. So of course, promptly at seven, the door downstairs swung open again.

"Breakfast, Nesta!" Zeyn announced. "Oh, hello Amorette-oh! Nesta!"

Zeyn's deerlike ears shivered in excitement as he took in the view before him. While Nesta had been in the bath, Amorette had transformed the room to a midwifery. Nesta's bed had been pushed closer to the wall to make room for a massive pool, with four steps up, filled with water slightly warmer than the air in the room. A table on the far side held a number of bowls, towels, and more scary-looking supplies like scalpels. Far more terrifying than that was the small pile of pale blue blankets, hats, and pacifiers, all dotted with tiny maroon sugarberries.

"You-you're in labor?" Zeyn grinned broadly at her.

"Not quite yet," she said.

"Early stages."

"But that's wonderful! Oh, Nesta, congratulations! I'll tell Miri and-"

"Be sure to have everyone send their well wishes and drop jam by the door," Amorette said, "but I insist that the only people who have entrance to this house as soon as active labor begins are myself and my staff."

Nesta shrugged at Zeyn and shot Amorette a grateful look when he turned.

"I'll make sure there's always someone here on standby," he said. "Just in case."

"It might be as long as a few days, Zeyn," Nesta reminded him.

"I don't mind," he said. "I can wait all night."

Nesta softened. He was sweet. She'd give him that much.

"I'm right in assuming you don't want anyone else here?" Amorette asked, checking with her after Zeyn left.

"Definitely." Sugar Valley was full of welcoming people, but...Nesta wasn't one of them.

Amorette nodded, keeping her mouth firmly shut.

"What is it?" Nesta asked, wary.

"I know you don't like to talk about it," Amorette said apologetically, "but are you sure there's no family you'd like me to contact now?"

Nesta locked her jaw. "Positive."

"All right," Amorette said, nodding. "Please don't hesitate to let me know if you change your mind."

Nesta didn't answer. She had nothing to say.

---

August 24 - year of

Nesta was seated on the couch waiting for Cassian when he arrived. The glass Feyre had poured was still on the table where she had left it, next to the book Nesta had not touched.

"Hi," he said, heavy. He sat down across from her.

Across from her. Not next to her. There would be no mindless touches, no distracted kisses for this conversation.

"Did you know?" she said eventually.

He swallowed. "I knew...that she wanted to. I knew she was going to eventually. I only knew specifically when I arrived in Velaris. And I didn't know what she wanted to say."

Nesta stared at a spot on her skirt, brushing away lint that wasn't there.

"What did she say?"

Nesta ignored him. "What did you tell her about me?"

"Nothing..."

"What did you tell her about us?"

"I didn't. Nesta. I didn't."

"But she knew."

"You shine off me," he said boldly. She looked at him. "Anyone who sees me knows."

That much was true. They had made their marks on each other. Permanent and stark as the battle tattoos he had up and down his arms all over his chest.

"So you never talked about me?" she pressed.

He hesitated. "I used to. In the beginning. When we...when we first came here together."

"What did you tell her?"

"Nothing real. Just that you got a job. I didn't even tell her you and Emerie were friends."

She fell silent again. How much of Cassian was really hers, she wondered. She knew she wouldn't be allowed to have him all the time-he'd always go back to Velaris for Solstice and Starfall and whenever their Circle willed it. But when he was there, was he hers? Or was he a version she wouldn't recognize?

She'd never know. And it wasn't fair because-look at her. Every part of Nesta was so clearly Cassian's now. Her heart beat after his. "There are things I have to do, Nesta, you know that," he said, begging still.

"You're nearly six hundred years old," she snapped, so different from the joking manner she normally said that in. "You make your own decisions."

He winced. Didn't argue. Because he agreed with her or because he didn't? "Nesta, we both know how we feel about each other. So if we just stay here...can't that be enough?"

She met his eyes, pleading and caring. She knew that even though his soul was tied to this land and this Court, tonight his body would be hers. And he would be receiving of all she agreed to give him, now and forever.

And no. It was not enough.

Because Feyre was right. She was better now. Time and space had a certain persistent kind of magic, reliable and true. She was not broken and scared.

So in the end, it was not even Feyre that made the decision for her.

It was her own choice.

"Yes," she lied, not even regretting it. She stood and crossed the room to sit by him.

He was gentle and anticipating when he brought her face close to his and kissed her, but she could no longer marvel at how someone could know her so well and stay with her. Instead she mourned what she could no longer hide from: she was not enough for him. He was never going to choose her over this Court.

And just like that, while she kissed him back, the choice was made.

---

June 21 - 1 year after

The morning's progression was slow and almost imperceptible until seven minutes past nine, when Nesta cried out in pain for the first time.

Worse than her cycle. Worse than the practice contractions. A sharp twist starting low and getting lower, matched with movement, with one the-babies-jerking downwards.

"Nesta," Amorette said, holding both of her hands. "Look at me. Match my breathing...there you go..."

Nesta gasped and tasted salt. Was she crying? This was pathetic. It had barely started and she was already crying! "I can't do this. Amorette, you have to-"

"Shh, just breathe with me. There you go."

Breathing was easier said than done. Her lungs were being held in chokehold. Surely this wasn't right-surely this wasn't supposed to happen-

And then it faded. Nesta exhaled.

"All right," Amorette said. "That was good. You did very well, Nesta."

With her head slack against her headboard, Nesta managed to focus her eyes on the clock.

Eight minute past nine.

Less than sixty seconds of a contraction, her first real one, and she was already sweating and crying.

"I can't do this," she said again, miserable.

"Yes, you can. You already did, see?"

"I can't. Is this-is this active labor? It wasn't supposed to happen yet. I was supposed to have at least another day."

Amorette smiled warmly at her. "No one promised you that. You're fine. You're well-prepared."

Nesta's pulse quickened. Amorette didn't understand. She was not. She had no one, nothing, and she couldn't do this. She knew her limits, and hers was a very short distance from where she was now.

"Nesta," Amoretta said kindly. "Remember everything you've read. You're smart and strong and capable. Remember I'm here with you, and my team will be here soon, too. People less-equipped than you have given birth before and survived. You're going to be more than fine. I promise."

Nesta's eyes welled up with tears again. Amorette didn't understand. She couldn't understand. Nesta would not survive this. There was too much wrong with her. She was going to die in labor or right afterwards or live to fail these children that she didn't ask for.

No one understood, no one would ever understand. Nesta wasn't herself. There was a part of her that wasn't her own. There was the Cauldron, and it was inside of her and it was going to kill her one way or another. Probably the babies, too.

And she would die alone and unloved.

Amorette squeezed her hands. "Close your eyes," she said, "and let it out."

"Let what out?" Certainly not-the babies?

"Whatever you're feeling."

Nesta let out a strangled laugh. "I doubt you want that."

"I assure you, Nesta, I am familiar with birthing rituals. Let it out."

"Let what out?"

"A scream. A sob. Sing, if that's what you want. So long as it comes from inside you."

Nesta opens her eyes. "It's not very motherly of me."

Amorette smiled. "Whatever you've got, I've seen worse."

Nesta pursed her lips. Gave a small shrug, almost subconsciously. And burst into hysterical tears.

She had made up her mind, on her birthday, to put her past behind her, but today she cried for all that she had been through. For her mother's cold distance and death and her father's failures and her own and the loss of the relationships with her sisters, again, and even for Cassian.

And for the three little creatures, struggling inside her, to make their way into the world.

And for herself.

And sometimes for the pain, too, as it grew worse and more frequent as the hours went on.

It was nearly ten before Nesta calmed down, and by then Amorette's team had arrived. Two young female healers, who, Nesta had to give them credit, did not so much as blink at Nesta's sobs.

"How-how far apart are the contractions?" Nesta managed when she had calmed down.

"A little over three minutes," one of Amorette's assistants answered smoothly. "Would you like some tea?"

"Thank you," she said, taking her proffered mug. The sweet strawberry taste did her good. "Are...am I still all right for a water birth?"

"You are," she answered. "Everything's going just fine."

Nesta looked to Amorette, who smiled at her.

"Really, Nesta," she said, nodding. "All is as it should be."

Nesta wiped at her eyes. The other assistant handed her a towel. "Should I...should I get in the pool now?"

"If you'd like," Amorette said encouragingly.

"Are you going to get in with me?"

"Not just yet. Only for the births."

Nesta shivered. Births. And they were soon.

The second assistant held Nesta's hand as she helped her up and walked her in. Amorette had told her, when she had first expressed interest in a water birth, that many females liked to experience it naked. She was, obviously, not going to do that, and wore a night dress that had a tie for the skirt at her waist.

"Water's warm, right, Nesta?"

"Yes."

"We're keeping it at this temperature so the babies have an easier transition."

Transition out of her body and into the world. "All right."

"Hungry? Want anything in particular?"

"No..."

"Jam?"

"No."

"All right."

They kept talking to her like that, calm and collected, asking her if she'd like food or music or to get out of the pool or if she wanted to go over the birth procedure again. For another two hours.

And then the minutes between her contractions disappeared, along with her life as she knew it.

---

October 16 - Year of

There was nothing particularly dramatic about it. Nesta spent the next few weeks with Cassian and Emerie as she normally would, if perhaps a little quieter.

Nearly a year ago, she had decided to work to book passage on a ship to Gilameyva. That dream had altered slightly: she would book passage away from Prythian the fourth day after Cassian left her. Three days without him, and she would be gone.

It was like a deal she made with him. Tell me you can't bear to be apart from me and I'll stay.

But of course, he didn't know.

Cassian left the morning of the twelfth. "I'll see you soon, Nesta," he whispered against her lips.

"I'll miss you," she said, heart breaking a little.

He didn't come home.

Again.

And again.

But she already knew that was what would happen.

So when she left Emerie's shop that night, it was just as she always did.

And in the morning when she awoke, and emptied her bank account and made her way to the docks, bag of meager belongings in hand, it wasn't hard. It was easy. It was right. It was finally someone putting herself first. Even if it was only her. Even if no one else had.

By noon Prythian slipped below the horizon. There was no trace of her left on that island, save for a note and a pair of grey-blue eyes in someone else's face.

---

June 21 - 1 year after

Nesta was hyperventilating.

Somewhere, someone was holding her hand. "Breathe," she said. "Breathe."

It all came rushing back to her. The room stilled around her. That was Amorette there, in front of her, in the pool with her. And-all the forgotten gods-it was time. It was happening.

"I can't do this!"

"Follow Lyra's breathing," Amorette said, voice smooth and calm. "There you go...Nesta, don't you see? You're already doing this...and you're doing a wonderful job..."

"No," she said, sobbing, "no, no, no no no no no-oh!"

"That's it, Nesta, just like that...you're going to do this, right? For your babies?"

Nesta gasped. Nodded once.

"Excellent. Just follow Lyra's breathing...Ama, you have the towel ready...yes...all right. Just keep breathing Nesta. Just like that. Perfect."

Nesta most certainly did not feel perfect. Her breathing was more strangled gasps. And she was being split in two.

"Something's wrong," she said.

"I promise you, Nesta," Amorette answered, patient as all goodness. "Everything is fine. You're doing wonderfully. And in just a few moments...you're going to push."

"No-no-no-"

"Shh, Nesta," Amorette said, holding her head. She smiled warmly even as Nesta sobbed. "You're doing a fantastic job. And it's almost over. You're almost done. And you're going to have your children."

"No-"

"Keep breathing for me, Nesta. I promise. Do you trust me?"

"Amorette-I can't-"

"Listen to me, Nesta," her voice only getting quieter with every octave Nesta's rose. "You have been through worse. You're going to do this. It will hurt, but in just a few minutes, you'll understand. But you have to trust me. All right?"

Nesta's breathing quickened, but she forced herself to match the young healer-Lyra's-patterns. She had made this decision herself. She had to do this. In a few minutes, she could tell the females to take away the babies and give them to someone else, someone better-and then it would be over.

But she had to do this first.

"All right," Nesta said, in between breaths.

"Good," Amorette said. "Keep that breathing pattern...keep up with Lyra...all right. Perfect. Now...push."

How Nesta's body knew exactly what to do when Amorette gave her order, she would never understand. But it did, and she pushed, even though she wanted to stop every second she was doing it.

In all her life, Nesta had never felt something like this. It was like the worst of her cramps multiplied by a thousand plus being ripped in two.

She let out a strangled cry.

"Excellent. Excellent, Nesta. Now...push."

Nesta cried out, but again, even though it killed her, she pushed. And pushed. And one last time, one last horrible, miserable, blinding time, and it was the absolute worst pain there had ever been in all the world, and she was going to die, and there was a massive influx of blood in the pool from inside of her, and there was something small and black-a baby.

Amorette caught the thing as it came out of her. Why was it...she was bringing it up slowly...the cord still attached to it-what would happen? Would it tear?

And then Amorette brought the thing up out of the water, and it screamed, and she held it before Nesta-and the black--the wings-unfolded--and it was her daughter.

The pain disappeared out of Nesta's mind. Everything disappeared. Everything was gone, stripped, nothing had ever been there at all. There was only her. And then Nesta's arms stretching out to hold her.

Nesta let out a small noise as she brought her close to her chest.

"Archeron daughter, eldest of triplets, high noon," Amorette said, somewhere far, far away. Distantly, she was doing magic, cleaning the pool.

But all Nesta knew was the soft pink skin of her little girl. Tiny fingers...on both hands...and a small nose...and eyes she could barely open...and black wings...and a shock of dark hair...and just-the most-perfect-thing-

Nesta was not giving her to anyone else, ever. She would be-she would do everything, she would split the seas and take down the moon. She would do everything.

"I swear it, Avery," she whispered to her.

"Avery Archeron," Amorette said. "All right, Nesta, dear."

Nesta looked up at the hand on her shoulder.

"There, there...a handkerchief, Lyra...yes...didn't I tell you? You see? Now...we're going to give her to Lyra-she's going to be right over there, see? And you're going to deliver her placenta...and then we're going to do this again. All right?"

"Yes," Nesta said firmly, even as she shook. She could do this. And she would. For her...for her sons.

It was utter rubbish that she had to deliver a placenta in between babies, but no matter. She vowed to do everything and that vow would start now.

Later Nesta would not be able to recall if that part of labor had caused any pain. She assumed it had, but all she could remember was bliss and anxiety and love as she looked over at Avery-Avery! A real person with a nose and shoulders and eyelashes! To say nothing of everything inside of her body and mind!-and impatience as she waited for Amorette to finally let her push...for her son.

The pain was not nearly so bad the second time around. Nesta took care to clamp her mouth shut-she didn't want to scare Avery with any screams. And besides, what was pain to this? To the girl over there, wrapped up in a blanket, opening her eyes to her first day on the planet?

The sooner Nesta could finish this, the sooner she would enjoy it with her.

For the second time-finally-like someone pulled a plug out of Nesta and blood came pouring out into the pool...and then her son.

It took everything in her not to rip him right out of Amorette's arms, and it was only not to disturb the other boy still relying on her that she did not.

It was just like last time. Amorette raised him out of the water. Black wings cocooning him into the ball she pushed him out as unfolded to reveal...her son.

She was not prepared. It didn't even matter that it happened with Avery mere moments ago. It was happening again. It hit her, again. And she realized it would be that way when she saw the other boy, too, which only further spurred her tears.

And then she was holding him. He did a better job of opening his eyes than his older sister-Avery was an older sister! He was a younger brother! And soon he would be an older one, too!-and his eyes were hers. The same eyes...her own. Right there, in his perfect face.

Surely it couldn't be. Surely...but this must be it. She had been through hell and back, and for this. She had to pay to experience this, and she had, and now, he was hers. She had him. His little eyes...her eyes...but his. And the way his lashes flutter up at her as he cried-the same way Cassian's lashes did.

And she knew his name. The little boy who would want for nothing. Nicholas. Any night stealing for this one would be purely recreational.

"Hello, Nicholas," she whispered.

Was this her life now? This-this joy? Forever? Every single day of forever? It couldn't be. There had to be some sort of catch. Surely no one got a life like this.

"Nicholas Archeron, second of triplets, eight minutes after noon," Amorette said. "All right, Nesta. You see how wonderfully you're doing?"

Well, she must be. If she had gotten Avery first and now Nicholas.

"So you're going to give little Nicholas over to Lyra...and she's going to take good care of him right next to Avery...and we're going to do this, Nesta. Your third baby. Are you ready?"

"I'm ready." She didn't know it, but she had been born ready for this.

"All right. Kiss goodbye to Nicholas...here we go, Nesta. Placenta and then your third baby."

Once again, Nesta was extremely irritated with the function of her body. Who the hell cared about this part? Her babies were over there on that table. And she wanted her third.

Finally, like an angel singing out from the heavens, Amorette said, "Now...push."

It was different this time. Sharper. But Nesta didn't care. All the pain in the world couldn't stop her from this. She was addicted to that feeling, and she was going to have it once more. She was going to see him, hold him, once more...now!

Even more blood this time, but she figured that was to be expected. Because everything would come out now, right? Perhaps the placenta had come out with him this time-and she wouldn't even have to wait, she could just get out of the tub and be with them.

Amorette caught him through all the gore...brought him up...broke him out from under the surface of the tub...and handed him to Ama.

And stepped out.

Nesta blinked.

"Scalpel, now. Lyra, stay with them, we're all right."

"Amorette?" she said, not understanding. What was...what was...why did she take him? "Amorette, you didn't let me hold him."

But Amorette didn't answer. No one spoke. Even her babies had stopped crying.

Then it hit her.

Her son had not cried.

"No," she said, desperate. "No--no--no--"

Had she really thought the pain of labor was worth crying about? Had that been her, mere minutes ago?

This couldn't be happening.

Couldn't.

A horrible thought occurred to her-was this the price she had to pay? To have two perfect babies, did she have to lose this one?

"No, no, no, no no no no please please--"

Who was she begging?

"Please please PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE--"

"Nesta--please--"

Avery and Nicholas cried as she shrieked. Could they feel it? Could they feel what was happening-to their brother?

She would do anything. She would--could she die instead? Surely, this Mother they all worshipped, surely She would let--was she not a mother? Did she not understand? She would do it, she would die a thousand deaths, a million, if someone would just let her--

And just as Nesta drew breath to scream-scream louder than she ever had before--there it was.

A third cry.

Tinny. Weak. Gasping.

But it was there.

"You see, it's all right," Lyra whispered in her ear.

"Here we go, here we go, here he is," Amorette said, bringing him to her. Too slow--far too slow--

But then he was there, small--so small, and weak, and a wing that did not look like the others', but alive, and right there in her arms--and--and--

"You're strong, Ollie," she said to him, as she met his eyes for the first time. "I promise. I promise you, you are. You're so strong."

"Ollie Archeron," Amorette said. "Third of triplets, thirteen after noon."

"Ollison," Nesta sobbed. "His name is Ollison Bailey."

For the strength her father had shown at the end of his life--for human strength. The most enduring kind.

And now it was her turn. She would do it. She would be strong, for all of them, forever.

"We had to cut the umbilical cord a little early with him," Amorette said gently, running a hand over Nesta's ducked head, "so Lyra has to take him now...you're just going to deliver the placenta-"

"Please, please, can't I-"

"It's a few minutes, Nesta, I swear to you, and then you have the rest of your lives together. All right? Can you give me these few minutes?"

Nesta took a deep breath. "Yes," she said. She squeezed Ollie close to her as she kissed his forehead and gave him to Lyra.

This one was the worst. They were all there, on the table, small and in need of their mother, and there wasn't even a good reason for her to still be in this pool.

"Oh, Nesta, cheer up!" Amorette laughed, right in the middle of the afterbirth. "You're almost done, just a minute longer...and then you'll be on the bed and holding the babies! And I promise you, Nesta, they're fine."

Finally, finally, finally, she could climb out.

Except she couldn't, because she could not bear her own weight out of water.

"Amorette-"

"Hush, dear, give your body a minute. Here...we'll bring them around..."

And they did. Each healer holding one, presenting them to her. Nesta couldn't decide what to look at, her eyes just darting wildly around. There were Avery's ears and Nicky's fingers-he closed them around hers!-and Ollie-Ollie-

"I promise you, Nesta, if I saw reason to take him to the hospital, I would have immediately," Amorette said gently. "He's fine. He's going to be fine."

Nesta nodded, but she said, "I don't believe you."

Amorette laughed. "Well. That's your job."

After a few more minutes, Nesta gained enough power in her legs to climb out of the pool and collapse on her bed.

The healers sat with her.

"Did you want to breastfeed?" Ama asked her.

Nesta looked at Amorette. She had initially told her to bring the stuff for the bottle. "Can I try?"

Amorette grinned. "Of course you can."

Hands shaking, Nesta brought little Avery closer to her. Ama and Lyra suddenly found the boys very fascinating as Amorette helped her take her top off.

The sensation was...not magical.

"All right," Amorette said. "You'll both get the hang of it eventually...or not. It's really all right, Nesta. You can try with the boys later or decide not to."

"I want to try."

"All right. We'll keep trying. But we can stop whenever you'd like."

Nesta nodded. Perhaps she would stop. Or...perhaps Avery would never like nursing this way. It didn't matter.

A laugh escaped Nesta as she realized it-it didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore, nothing except for these three. Avery, Nicky, and Ollie. She would feed them one way or another. Whichever way they liked best.

And as the the beautiful sunshine of the year's longest and most perfect day faded out her window and moonlight spilled in...as neighbor after neighbor and new friend after new friend came to visit Sugar Valley's newest residents...Nesta knew what she had to do to protect them.

They had not answered her letters. They had rejected her.

That was fine.

But she would not let anyone--anyone--reject her children.

And the only way to ensure that was to ensure that they never knew them at all.

So Nesta did the only thing she knew was right: she reached to grasp onto her magic, deep inside of her...and after a day of pushing, pulled. Right over her head. To cover her like a shield.

There. No one would find her now.

And if no one could find her...no one could hurt them,

And that was all that would ever matter again.

---

October 18 - Year of

Once, Cassian had come home and Nesta had not been there and his heart had fallen right out of the sky. Now it was normal, even comforting. Nesta was not at home because she was at work where she was enjoying the day with her friend.

So he didn't think anything was amiss when he arrived and knew she wasn't there. Almost didn't notice that her scent was too faint to have marked her presence there that morning.

Almost.

But he was just a little too tuned to Nesta's being to miss something like that.

"Nesta," he called, even though he knew there was no point. No books in the living room, no dishes on the sink. No cardigan strewn around. And when he opened the door to their room, the bed was cold and untouched.

Save for the the letter on his side, with his name written on it in beautiful script.

His hands shook as he reached for it. Had anyone ever written his name with such care? He doubted it. But she had, he knew. He knew.

Cassian, she wrote,

I've gone. I won't come back. Leave me be.

I'm sorry.

Cassian flipped it over. Nothing.

She didn't even sign it.

That was all he could think as his soul folded in on itself.

She didn't even sign it.

---

June 21 - 1 year after

Elain knew her disinterest in learning about her power irritated Amren, but she didn't mind. It didn't bother her that Feyre was disappointed in her, either, so why should this?

She knew they thought it was a waste of her potential. She just didn't care. Trying to See...it felt unnatural. Invasive. She didn't like it. It made her feel like some of the old women on the edge of human towns like the one she had lived in, practicing all manner of dark, forbidden things.

Azriel had cautiously tried to bring it up. He told her how his shadows had frightened him, at first, but with patience and time, he had learned to wield them however he wanted.

And that was lovely for Azriel. Really. She was happy for him, proud of what he had overcome. But this...didn't appeal to her in the least. It didn't even matter to her.

Until the Summer Solstice, when she awoke in a guest bed in the Summer Court, a scream in her mouth and cold sweat on her face.

Feyre and Rhys burst in her room--Az was there, Cassian, someone was running down the halls, but she couldn't see-she couldn't See.

"What is it?"

"She's crying. Feyre, is she--"

"Elain, dear, let me see. Are you bleeding?"

"What is it? Who screamed?"

"Did someone break in? Why is Lady Elain...I'll get some tea."

"Elain, look at me. What's wrong?"

"Which way did they go?"

"No one saw anything. There wasn't anyone here."

"Elain," Feyre whispered to her again, squeezing her tightly. "Elain, what is it?"

"Everyone out," Rhys ordered.

"It's-gone," she sobbed. For even though she had not used it, it had always been there. A small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless.

Through her tears, she saw Feyre and Rhys exchange bewildered looks. Azriel sat down next to her, covering her shoulders with something soft and blue.

"What's gone, Elain?" Azriel asked her quietly. "Is it Lucien?"

"No," she sobbed, in between gasping breaths. "It's--it's--Feyre--she's--gone."

Across the room, she could feel Cassian tense. He understood, even if no one else did.

"What?" Rhys asked him.

Cassian's voice was low, blank. "It's Nesta. She can't See her anymore."

Feyre dropped in front of her, squeezing her knees. "Elain. Look at me. Please. What do you mean? What did you See?"

"Where was the last place you Saw her?"

"Was she-"

"Enough," Azriel said, calm and cold, as he always sounded when he talked to anyone but her. "Let her catch her breath."

He sat next to her, hand firmly on her back. Someone handed her a cup of tea. After a few minutes, she calmed down enough to drink it. Shortly after that, she managed to speak.

"I never...really Saw her. I wasn't looking--you all know I don't like to." Elain paused to take a shaky breath. Azriel's fingers moved up and down on her back. "But I always...felt her. And now. Just now. She's--gone."

This time, when Elain sobbed, there was no accompanying concerned chatter. It was her alone.

And that's how it always would be. Because her sister...

"Elain," someone said at her side. Not Feyre. Not Az. "Elain, look at me."

Elain picked her head up and looked into Cassian's eyes, reflecting the same pain she felt.

"We're going to find her," he said, voice low like it was before but decidedly un-blank. "I promise you."

She could only cry in response. Because how could they find her? Her sister's being cut off from her sight like this could only mean one thing.

But Nesta would do anything-had done everything for her. So this, surely, was the least she could do in return was...everything.

"All right," Elain said, swallowing her cries. "We'll find her." She clenched her fists tightly.

I swear to you, Nesta, she vowed silently. I will do everything I can.

---

4 years after - February 21

Not two hours after Zeyn brings the children back, they are in Velaris.

They're thrilled to be back. There's a celebratory meal at Feyre's riverfront mansion. Pictures of her children now decorate the walls more than anything. They are gazed at, passed around, adored. Nesta can hardly blame them. Still, she doesn't have to enjoy it.

Cassian is at her side through all of it. And he holds her hand on the way down to the carriage. Right there, in front of everyone. He had never done that before. She catches a look he exchanges with Rhys, but she can't tell what it means.

As usual, he offers to bathe the children while she unwinds, but she chooses to join him. Is this not the point of this...endeavor? Co-parenting together?

"I want the blue bubbles!"

"I want green!"

"It's my turn!"

"Then I want my own baths!"

Nesta blinks. Can it really be time for their own baths? Are they...going to be bathing themselves soon? That can't be. She remembers the day they were born still, like yesterday.

But...somehow, they are nearly four.

Four...children learn the alphabet at that age. Will they be...reading soon?

It's all she can think of while Cassian tells them the bedtime story they choose. When had he learned them all? Just by watching her?

"Goodnight, ladybug," she whispers to Avery.

Across the room, Cassian says to Ollie, "Good night, little lieutenant."

Her heart leaps as she kisses Nicky and Ollie both. He has nicknames for them. They have a relationship with him. Each of them individually. And from each sleepy Goodnight, Appa, she hears...it only confirms it: these children know they have a father and they know who he is and what he is to them.

He takes her hand again as they shut the door behind them. She wonders if he's going to lead her to the bedroom. It wouldn't be the first time Cassian has mistaken her intentions for the evening.

Not that she--well. She's tired. Tonight. But--she doesn't know.

He takes her downstairs, instead. To the living room.

Considerably more decorated than it had been when she had first arrived for Solstice three months ago, but not quite a home yet. Getting there, certainly.

"Let's talk, Nesta," he says, pulling her next to him.

Nesta takes a deep breath. "Let's," she agrees.

"Who first?"

"I'll go," she says, because she's still too scared to hear what he has to say. "What...you want to know why I kept them from you?"

"I want to know why you hid yourself from me."

Semantics, she thinks, but no matter. They're adults. They're capable of having this conversation.

She takes another deep breath. "You didn't write back. You rejected me." Her voice catches slightly, but she powers on. "I didn't know if you were going to do the same to them. And I couldn't let...couldn't let the happen to them. So I hid us. To keep us safe...from losing you." She had started off strong, but she ends in a whisper, eyes sinking down to her skirt. It is a while before she looks back up to see him staring at her.

They don't say anything, and she isn't sure how much time has passed before he breaks away, standing up and turning around.

He runs his fingers through his hair, but the gesture isn't slick or arrogant: he's frustrated. Angry. He fists his hands in front of him and kicks at the ground.

"Dammit," he says, the word half a growl under his breath. "Dammit, Nesta."

He turns around to face her again. Still, she does not change her cool expression. She doesn't care if he was worked up. She isn't. She has worked hard to move past her anger, her hurt. Built up her indifference like a carefully constructed barricade, after he had destroyed the first one she had spent her whole life crafting painstakingly, nearly five years ago. She cannot let herself feel that again...even though she knows she has to. Knows it's coming.

She doesn't know what she expects him to say. Probably something like I'm sorry or What will it take or It's just not fair, I didn't know, Why can't I, Why won't you, but he doesn't. He surprises her.

"If you honestly thought you could tell me to my face you were pregnant, and that I wouldn't immediately drop everything and take care of you, I failed...miserably in loving you. I did a horrible job."

She tries not to let anything through, on either side: she does not want to let herself feel what his words mean and she certainly does not want him to see the impact upon her. But she can feel her apathy slip from her face as her heart beats faster and blood rises to her cheeks.

He has never told her... he has never said...

"And you'll never know how much I hate myself for letting this happen, Nesta. I've become everything I hate and everything I worked against. I left you pregnant and alone." He is looking at her, but as his eyes narrow, Nesta knows he isn't seeing her. Like there's a screen separating them, like he is seeing someone else.

"I know I just..." he sighs, wringing his hands. "And you're just," he says, now waving them at her. His wings tighten and flare out.

She has never seen him so out of his element-she has never seen him out of his element, out of control, uncomfortable. Cassian acts like everywhere he stands is exactly where he's meant to be.

Except now, with her, apparently. She drops her gaze, staring at the floor. She's rarely comfortable, anywhere, but once she had been...so at peace, with him. That's gone.

"I know I keep fucking up with you," he says finally.

She looks at him. She feels the heat that had risen to her cheeks drain out and then come back in again. She still doesn't say anything. She doesn't trust herself to open her mouth.

"I let them send you to Illyria. But even before that... I promised you time. I told you we would have our time and I didn't keep that promise. I should have fought harder. And then I should have shot them down when they suggested Illyria. And then I should have stayed with you every day. I should have helped you wean yourself off drinking. And then I should I have followed you to Gilameyva. And then I should've rubbed your feet. Or your back. Or whatever it is you needed when you were pregnant. And then I should've held your hand for the births. And then woken up with you when Nicky had infections, or Ava had a fever, or Ollie with his coughing. And then I should've listened to you. And-and given you everything all the while. Everything you needed. Everything you wanted." He moves towards her, suddenly, faster than he did when he wasn't on the battlefield. He's a few feet away from her, and then he's clutching her shoulders, pulling her to her feet, closer to him.

"Nesta," he says desperately. "Say something."

She traces the lines of his face with her eyes. Her hands are clasped in front of her, so close to him now, but she does not touch him. She breaks them apart to hover her fingers over the siphon in the middle of his chest, just barely grazing the tip. He clenches his jaw and scrapes his nails against her arms.

"You..." she says, looking into his eyes. Her daughter's, her son's. The most beautiful eyes she has ever seen. The most beautiful eyes in the world, now with a glimmer of hope.

"You locked me up," she whispers. And there are tears on her face and in her voice.

His hope vanishes. "I know," he chokes out, tears in his voice, too. "I know, sweetheart."

"I didn't want to go."

"I know."

"You let them..."

"I know."

"I had nothing--I was scared--"

"I know. I know."

"And you left me."

"Yes."

And then she says it-what she's been waiting for. "Why didn't you ever write back?" She holds her breath tightly, half wishing she could take back the words, still too afraid to hear his answer.

He doesn't look away and he doesn't let her go. "Because you hurt me and I was angry and I wanted to hurt you back."

She sobs little, trying to keep it inside but failing.

She knows that. She's known all along. And it might not have mattered, might have been understandable, forgivable...were it not for the circumstances. Three tiny circumstances.

"Nesta. You'll never know. You cannot-you have been a perfect mother. The whole time. You'll never know how sorry I am."

Nesta coaches herself on her breathing. That's the best she can do right now.

"Listen," she says, after a few minutes of this. "I think we both know...we can't pretend to start over." She reaches up to touch his cheek and her angles his head closer to her hand, closing his eyes. "But we can...work with what we have."

His eyes fly open. "What do you..."

"I'm going to be splitting my time," she says, "between Sugar Valley and Velaris. We're opening a location for Sugar Books here...I'm going to be Head Archivist."

"Nesta, that's wonderful--congratulations-"

"And in the meantime...for now...I'm going to spend some time on myself...and I think you should too."

He blinks. Clenches his jaw.

He's a warrior, her Cassian. He never lets anyone see his pain.

But she can see it. She's always been able to see it.

"For now," she repeats. "I think...it would be...prudent."

"Prudent."

"It means sage."

"Yes, thank you," he says, making her laugh slightly. Even through it all, he's still making her laugh.

"I don't have a timeline," she says. There are things she wants to do. Work on her magic with Ameren--maybe repair what she had with her. Accept who she is as a female so she can help Avery do the same with herself, when that day comes. And the shop. She'll be Head Archivist. She can make it out to be whatever she wants. "I can't tell you when...but I want you in our lives. And they want you in their lives." Because the best thing for children is to have both of their parents. Not having their parents together...not if that takes away from one of them, makes them less in some way. Only if it makes them more.

He nods. "I know...this isn't your home. And I know that Sugar Valley gave you what I failed to. But...you know...you know I love you?" His voice cracks at the end.

She nods, holding back her own tears. It's not forever, she wants to say. It's just to start. And it's for them. It might change. We might change.

But she doesn't have to, because he knows. He always knows what she's thinking.

He sinks to his knees in front of her, taking her hands in his and bringing them to his lips: slowly, gently, trembling.

She swallows hard. "Come on," she says, tugging him up, voice firm. "Let's go to bed."

---

A few hours later

Cassian stands in the doorway of his bedroom-Nesta's bedroom? Their bedroom?

The bedroom where Nesta is sleeping, at any rate. Where he is invited to sleep, too.

He's not sure if he will yet. He knows she wants him there, but it might be too hard for him. To spend the whole night by her side, and yet...not be with her.

He'll take it day by day, he supposes. That's all he can do. That's what Nesta wants.

She's asleep. Everytime he sees her like this, he's struck by how truly young she is. He forgets, sometimes. He's nearly six hundred years old, as she always liked to say, and she's his better in every way that matters, so.

He walks down the hall to crack open the door to his children's room. Nesta caught their argument in the bathtub, too, he knows. Tonight they sleep peacefully together, but it won't be long before they want their own rooms, their own space.

He wanders back to the other room. Nesta stirs slightly as the floorboards creak under him, but she doesn't wake.

Reaching down into his pocket, he pulls out a small box and opens it.

It hadn't been a full hour, the Solstice years ago, that he dove down into the icy Sidra, cursing his own rashness. Stupid to throw it out like that. Obviously, she wasn't going to want anything to do with him then. And it was selfish of him, he knows. He knew that then, too. He didn't want her to have it, he wanted to be the one to give it to her.

And, he thinks with a rueful grin, that's still the case.

Nesta's mother's ring had not been easy to track down, but one look at an absentminded sketch of Feyre's had been all it took to keep it lodged in his mind until the day he finally held it.

He's not quite sure if it's Nesta's style or not. They've never browsed jewellery shops together. She has the necklace he gave her, sure, but she loves that because she loves anything to do with the children. Will she like this for the same reason? For her parents...and for him?

It's wrong to give it to her now. She's made herself clear and he'll listen this time. He'll give it to her...eventually. Later. When she's ready.

And maybe it won't be an engagement ring. Maybe it'll be a here's how much I love you, I'm willing to scour every human jeweler and pawnshop and the whole world until I find what you want ring. Either way, he can't give it to her now. She needs time. They both do.

No matter. After all, he's nearly six hundred years old. He knows how to wait.

And Nesta's worth waiting for.

[patricia-von-arundel]

The Happiest Place in Fódlan

@lysissisyl and I decided to try writing something together - kind of. We decided to take the same prompt, and see what each of us would do with it. Almost immediately after, @frozenartscapes wrote about her AU where Silver Snow!Edelgard unexpectedly appears in modern Fódlan (where Byleth is still alive), and I realized it would work perfectly for the prompt (which was randomly generated): 

Edelgard and Byleth go to a fair/amusement park and Edelgard wants to go on the roller coaster and Byleth agrees. Later, Byleth regrets their decision and ends up clinging onto Edelgard for dear life. (Or reversed. Either would be funny!)

So… here’s my take on it! (I reversed it, for the record.) Let’s just assume that Walt Disney lived in Fódlan… 

Rating: G (this is fluff on top of fluff)

-

A befuddling world. They called it “Fódlan,” but it might as well have been a different planet. She felt horribly unmoored, all control lost - and there were few things Edelgard despised more than losing control. Months had passed, and still the feeling lingered. More than lingered: at times, it seemed to throb like an infected tooth. 

But worse still - not a throb, but a deep, constant ache - was that she had no understanding now, it seemed, of Byleth. Byleth was the same person, but also somehow, radically, painfully not. She had become another alien, part of this alien world. For her, enough time had passed that the wounds of battle - both physical and emotional - had been able to heal, and even the scars they left had faded. But for Edelgard… Physically, she had healed. But no healer could repair the turmoil within her skull. 

Though Byleth claimed there were people now who could. “Therapists,” she said they were called - “like healers, but for your brain.” She had even offered to take Edelgard to one. But Edelgard had balked at the idea, quickly insisting there was no need. 

Need, however, was ultimately irrelevant. The shameful truth - one which she tried to keep carefully hidden - was that in this new Fódlan, she found herself more and more terrified of leaving the confines of Byleth’s small apartment in Enbarr. Even it was filled with strange, frightening things, but at least there was a feeling there of a semblance of control. No cars barreling unexpectedly around a corner - and better still, no vans or trucks. No crash of boxes of cans being unloaded at a grocery store. No card-only payments signs, or men’s restroom versus women’s restroom, or a thousand different variants of coffee with strange, confusing names like latte and espresso. 

But even the apartment could be strange and confusing. Beds and chairs seemed too soft, but tables - covered in lacquer, apparently - and other wooden things seemed much too hard, their surfaces unnaturally slick. The lights, at night, were far too bright and uniform: no dancing shadows cast by candle or fireplace. There was no fireplace at all!

The worse times, especially at the start, were when Byleth was not there. Edelgard said nothing of her fears, but she certainly had them. Then, she was left alone with a microwave, which could safely cook in some things, but not others. (As Edelgard had found out the first time she worked up the courage to try to use it, and was caught by Byleth just before putting one of those infernal cans inside - why wasn’t the point of them to also have a ready-to-use dish? It was the most obviously-practical thing about them!) She was left with a million strange buttons on a remote control that could turn on a television (which had fascinated her in concept, but not, in the end, in practice). She was left with a thermostat, which controlled the air conditioner. (Byleth insisted it was not magic, though it certainly still seemed like magic. Much appreciated magic; Enbarr had seemed hot to her as a child, but somehow was even more so now. Byleth had words for that, too: climate change.)

Edelgard had known great sorrows - most of her life had been filled with them. What she felt now, though, after all of the initial confusion, was sad. Sad in the obvious ways she would always have expected to be, after so many years of war and loss, but also, perhaps even more so, in a confusing, complicated, overwhelming kind of way. Everything about this world, and about herself in it… it all just felt wrong. She was the true alien, here. An alien in a land she had once ruled…

There was no empire now, and thus no emperor. There was only Edelgard. 

A person she no longer remembered how to be. 

Living with someone she no longer knew. 

She who so prided herself on her ability to control her mind and body, so careful of all that she said, had caught herself frequently almost letting slip the words “my teacher” when speaking to Byleth. But Byleth was not - she never would be again. And it was ridiculous to wish it could be otherwise, ridiculous and selfish, and yet, knowing also she would likely never be as happy again a she had been at that time… it was hard. 

Because she had been happy, as curious as it was to consider it. The strain of all she was forced to balance, the burden of secrets and lies: yes, all those things had been a part of her life then. But for the first time in a very long time, she had felt as if she was wresting back control of her own life - taking it from those who had destroyed so many, and so much, and claimed it had all been for her benefit. Her life would be hers again - and all of Fódlan a more peaceful, egalitarian land.

Then Byleth came. 

There had been times, then, when she had not only been happy - she had been absolutely, utterly euphoric. Something about Byleth simply called to her heart, in some deep, beautiful, timeless way: whatever connected them had always been there, she had simply not yet been able to feel it. She could almost allow herself to believe Byleth, too, could feel it -

- Until it snapped. 

She still had not asked Byleth about her decision, that day in the Holy Tomb. She knew it could not be avoided forever - and Byleth had already hinted at discussing it - but Edelgard was not yet ready for some truths. Again, she had to remind herself this was not unexpected: it had not been 850 years for her, as it had been for Byleth. It had not even been six months. 

All of this turmoil and uncertainty and sadness swirled constantly within her, like some endless storm, but she kept it to herself, locked once more behind a mask - an invisible one, perhaps, but a mask of a sort nonetheless. 

Except she had never been good at keeping her mask in place around Byleth. 

“You’re sad, El.” She said it abruptly, over a shared breakfast of toasted scones and jam. Byleth was not as blunt as she had once been - nor as outwardly difficult to read - but traces of her old self still appeared. “Why?”

Normally, such moments were almost reassuring - echoes of a world Edelgard would never see again, proof that that world had existed, that she had not always been just an unmoored alien - but this one left her heart beating more quickly and her appetite abruptly vanished. Still, she spoke steadily: “I’m afraid I don’t know of what you speak. I feel no unusual sadness, my - Byleth.” Not an outright lie: this sadness was no longer unusual. It had hung over her for a very long time. 

She wasn’t the only one aware of that, either: “I know. Because you’re sad all the time.”

Edelgard looked down, at her half-finished plate. “You’ve not lost the talent for looking right through people, have you?”

“Maybe not. But it’s important. Especially with you.”

“Especially with - ?” She couldn’t stop the surprise in her voice, nor the sudden, almost painful leap in her chest - even as she immediately fought it. It was because of her strange situation, not because Byleth shared the feelings Edelgard had fought for so long. The feelings she was fighting again now, when five years ago - centuries ago - she had believed she had finally bested them…

“I really want you to see a therapist when we get back, El. I’ll ask Flayn who she’d recommend. Please, El. Things are different now. They can help you.”

“Did you say… Flayn?”

“She’s a pediatric psychologist specializing in childhood trauma and PTSD. Uh - that’s post-traumatic stress disorder. Which you also almost certainly have…”

More new words, though these Edelgard rather doubted she would remember. “That is… not something that I had considered. Perhaps because I had also not considered that Flayn is now an adult…”

“She’s not so different, for all the time that’s passed. Still very kind. Still has to stop Seteth hovering. Still loves fish - I wish you’d been here to see her when the first sushi restaurant opened in Enbarr!”

“…Sushi?”

“I’ll take you for it sometime - it’s a little hard to describe.”

Edelgard nodded - most of the food of this new age was quite good. She liked pizza in particular, with the little round meats whose name she could never recall, and also veggie wraps and tacos. Her opinion on chicken nuggets was still indeterminate, but most of what Byleth had offered had been quite palatable. 

Moving away from food - and Flayn - she said, “My tea- Byleth - you said… when we get back?”

Byleth grinned - still such a strange thing to see her do! “El,” she said, “we’re going on a little trip.”

“A… trip?”

“A trip. To the happiest place in Fódlan.”

-

The “happiest place in Fódlan” was also, happiest or not, somehow even more confusing than all the very confusing things Edelgard had had to face for the last few equally-confusing months. 

She blinked. And blinked again - trying to process all that was before her now that they had finally gotten past the mob at the gates. (And past Byleth gently correcting her when she called the people in uniform “gatekeepers.” They were called ticket takers, except here, where they were cast members. Why had the name changed, Edelgard wondered, when they performed exactly the same function?)

“That’s a castle,” she finally said. 

Byleth laughed. “Yes. It is a castle.”

“But I thought you said castle are no longer built? There certainly was not a castle like that here… before. I would remember a castle as curious as that one.”

“This is an exception. It’s not a real castle. Well - it is and it isn’t. It’s called Cinderella Castle. We’re having lunch there later, but we can go see it now, if you like.”

“What's a Cinderella?”

For a moment, Byleth looked pained. “Okay, that’s on me. I really should have thought to watch a whole lot of movies before booking this trip…”

Movies was a word Edelgard knew. She liked some of them, too. “Cinderella is a movie?”

“Several movies. It’s based on a fairytale - that’s, uh, a story that pops up again and again all over the world. Kind of like all the different versions of what happened with Nemesis and Seiros, only not about anything that actually happened. Does that make sense?”

Edelgard considered this, then nodded. “Is the Cinderella movie anything like Star Wars?” She had enjoyed Star Wars enough to watch it several times, though she understood very little of it. Ships simply could not fly in space, even if Byleeth said they actually could, albeit not in that manner. They also did not look anything like ships. And Byleth said lightsabers didn’t truly exist either, which was a disappointment. Still, though, Edelgard did like those movies. She disliked comedies. Comedies confused her. 

“Uh… not very much, no,” Byleth said. “There’s a ton of Star Wars stuff here, though. We’ll see it later this week. If you want space, though…” Suddenly - unexpectedly - her face lit up. “You’ve never been on a rollercoaster!”

“A roller… what?”

“Hurry, before the line gets long! We’ll see the castle later. Come on!”

To Edelgard’s surprise - and embarrassment - and heart-pounding shock - Byleth grabbed her hand, hauling her off down what seemed to be a street of shops (you could shop here?), towards the castle from a movie, not the ancient past. Such casual intimacy was very common now, as Edelgard had noticed very quickly, surprised at first by handshakes, hugs, people only kissing one another, but that didn’t mean it was any less of a shock to have it from Byleth. From a woman that, in her mind, had been preparing to execute her only months before. From a woman whose hand she once had longed more than any other to hold…

They turned before the castle - and the whole world once more transformed. There was no time to process it, but no matter - she was still struggling with trying to process Byleth’s hand, the warm softness of her skin. To process any of this. 

“Only a 20 minute line - I’m glad we got here early!”

“20 minute line…?”

“For Space Mountain!”

“Space…. Mountain? I don��t - “

“Of course you don’t. You will soon! Hurry!”

What could she do but as told? She wouldn’t survive an hour in this curious place without Byleth. She could barely handle the street outside Byleth’s apartment in Enbarr without Byleth… And she wanted Byleth to keep holding her hand. 

Life generally was now overwhelming. “I confess,” she said - voice raised and shaky from the gait of their jog - “I feel rather foolishly like a child right now, like this.”

“That’s the point, El. And look - we’re here!”

It did not resemble a mountain. It did not resemble… anything Edelgard had ever seen. Though this was approximately the hundredth time she might have claimed the same simply in the last hour. Something about it almost reminded her of the technology - the weapons - employed by the evil beings Byleth said history now called Agarthans, rather than the more-cumbersome name by which she had known them. But Byleth would surely never take her somewhere like that? Still, it was the first thing that came to mind, looking up at this strangely-shaped, spiky, silvery… something. 

The sign certainly said “Space Mountain.” Maybe the definition of “mountain” had changed? Some words had, like kid and - as she had thought earlier - ship, like the spaceships. She would ask later, when she could properly concentrate on the answer. 

Byleth, meanwhile, had a very strange smile on her face. “Your first time going into space,” she said. “Just like in Star Wars.”

“Going into space?” Edelgard looked at the strange-something again, then back at Byleth. “I’m confused again, I’m afraid, my teach- Byleth.” She cocked an eyebrow. “Though the smug look on your face leads me to believe you are continuing to be deliberately obtuse. Is this going to exasperate me the entire week that we are here?”

That earned her a shrug, but no less of that very self-satisfied smirk. “You’re not allowed to be exasperated at Disney World, El. It’s against the rules.”

“Then perhaps don’t go out of your way to be exasperating?”

“We’ll see. Are you ready to go in?”

Edelgard took a third glance at the strange-something. “This might be an absurd question, but… does it truly somehow go into space?”

Her breath caught - briefly, thankfully - when Byleth’s hand squeezed around hers. But while that she could hope Byleth didn’t notice, there was no possibility the flush in her cheeks would be missed. She looked down, to concentrate on Byleths’s words rather than whatever expression might be on her face. There were things she was still not ready to see. 

“Not really into space. It just uses speed and lights - or rather, lack thereof - to make it feel as if you’re in space. It’s a simulation.”

“…Simulation?”

“Using senses to make you feel like you’re seeing or feeling something you’re not.”

Another strange new word. That was the true mountain, whatever the current definition might be: the mountain of words and meanings and lost words she truly felt she might spend the rest of her life attempting to scale. She couldn’t escape it even here, in the “happiest place in Fódlan.”

“Like television?” She felt even more absurd at this question, even knowing perfectly well Byleth was - and had assured Edelgard repeatedly she always would be - happy to answer questions as long as it took for Edelgard to understand. She might deliberately exasperate at times, but was still, truly, as patient with Edelgard’s questions as she had been when they were teacher and student at the Officers Academy. And that was appreciated - no matter how ridiculous Edeglard felt, at times. 

“A… little like television,” Byleth said now. “But… like you’re actually in the scene with the actors. When there are actors. There aren’t any here. Just movement and lights and sound. And usually screaming. Lots of screaming.”

“You sound curiously cheerful about the prospect.”

The strange smile was back when Edelgard forced her eyes up once more. Byleth’s hand tugged hers. “I don’t want to spoil it too much. But I think you’ll like it. Ready to go?”

“As… ready as as I’ll likely ever be. I suppose.”

They were going inside the strange-something. The mountain-that-wasn’t-a-mountain. It was cooler inside - air conditioner again - and there was a line of people that moved in fits and starts, seeming to go gradually upward. They were climbing the mountain - in a sense? But it didn’t feel like being in space. Not that Edelgard had been in space. But it was not how she imagined it would be like to be in space. Maybe it was a simulation of climbing into space? But there was no speed, none of the lights and sounds Byleth had made sound like they were unusual in some way. Unusual by the standards of a world with lightbulbs and radios. If this was a radio.  Sometimes, Edelgard still was confused by how far to extend a new concept - she had confused movie and television for weeks, after learning of them for the first time together. 

After some time had passed - Byleth had said the line would take 20 minutes, but Edelgard had yet to master measuring time in such a manner - there were peculiar sounds, but they did not seem like those that would come from a radio, or a spaceship. Odd, mechanical sounds, like movement - and, very faintly, those screams she had half-wondered if Byleth might be joking about. She leaned a little, in case she could catch a glimpse of anything, but all she saw was an impenetrable wall of people in t-shirts and sunglasses and the curiious hats Byleth had told her about, the ones with balls on them intended to make people look like enormous mice. (Byleth had briefly attempted to explain why. It still made no sense to Edelgard.)

The screaming got louder - but there was an echo-y, muffled quality to it. As if it were coming from inside a cave, or the other side of a closed door. And mixed with it was what sounded like cheering, and… laughter?

Byleth’s hand once more squeezed. 

(Why was Byleth still holding her hand?)

“You look concerned, El.”

She managed a smile, if only a tight one. “Perhaps a bit. It’s more that I am… now very, very curious. On a day when everything I see seems more curious than the last.”

Byleth laughed. “Even by modern standards, El, no one would ever call Disney World ‘normal’.”

The smile felt a little more natural, now. “I’m relieved to hear that. Though… I do think I’ll leave rather fond of this place.”

Another hand squeeze.

(Another caught breath.)

“Let’s see how you feel after this, okay?”

The end of the line - and more of the not-gatekeepers. But there were no tickets here, so what were they called? She would have to ask Byleth.

But later - one more hand squeeze (a… slightly longer one? It felt so…), then they had to part. The not-gatekeepers were moving everyone to separate, smaller lines. She leaned again at the strange mechanical sound she had heard earlier, now much closer and clearer. Everyone ahead was still taller than she was - Byleth said she wasn’t just imagining it, people really were taller now - but she could still see: rows of cars. Or were they called cars? This morning they had ridden -

She leaned closer to Byleth. “Is that a car or a monorail?”

“Neither. It’s a cart.”

Edelgard looked again, not bothering to hide in her expression the disdain she now felt. That thing was not, by any stretch of the imagination, a “cart” of any kind. It didn’t even have wheels!

Regardless, she was about to get in one. She glanced at Byleth, who met her gaze and grinned. She looked excited. 

The screams suddenly felt much more urgent. 

Then she was being ushered into her seat on the “cart,” a mysterious metal bar coming down over her lap. She knew seatbelts - was this just some variant, or did it serve a different purpose?

She supposed she was about to find out. 

There truly was an alarming amount of screaming, somewhere ahead of them…

“Hang on!” Byleth said. 

There was a startling little jerk as the cart began to move, but it smoothed out quickly. They were going slowly - into darkness. Complete darkness.

They stopped. 

Lights - a sign? But while Edelgard could tell there were letters on it, she still struggled with the strange way things were written now, and the cart was moving again before she could make out what it said. 

More lights - bright ones. Almost painfully bright. And peculiar, discordant sounds. Radio? It didn’t sound like radio. Or like any other sound she had ever heard, in this world or in her own. They were going up. surrounded by the too-bright lights and strange sounds, and Edelgard felt a curious, indeterminate dread building within her gut. 

She leaned forward, to be heard over the sound. “My teacher, what - “

“Hang on, El.”

“Hang…?”

“The bar, El! Grab the bar!”

There was no more warning than that. There was no time for it. 

The cart went hurtling into darkness.

Edelgard shrieked and grabbed before she was thrown off. The closest thing. 

Not the bar. 

Byleth.

Byleth’s arms wrapped around her own, holding her there. Was she laughing…?

There was no chance to wonder. They were still being thrown around in that pitch-black darkness, up and down and around. Edelgard might have continued to scream - as so many others were doing - but the first drop had knocked the breath out of her, and she had yet to manage to get it back. 

It lasted for a small infinity - and almost no time at all. Then, they were abruptly back into a world of sunlight, of voices instead of screams, and of Edelgard quickly pulling back from her hold on Byleth. 

Much as some part of her desperately fought as she did so…

Byleth had wrapped her arms around Edelgard’s. Byleth had held her hand - and for far longer than was necessary. 

But this was not the time to dwell on it. She stood on shaky legs when the bar raised to allow it - and found a hand, reaching to offer help stepping out of the cart. 

And again, Byleth did not let go. Instead, as they walked, she swung their hands casually, and smiled, and said, “What did you think?”

Edelgard considered this, trying hard to focus, despite the curious hand-swinging. “I… do rather wish you had warned me.”

Byleth laughed. “I told you three times to hold onto something.”

She felt the flush rise in her cheeks. “That is not what I meant, as you well know. But I…” She looked to Byleth, and allowed herself a rare open smile. “I quite liked it! Could we… perhaps go again?”

Byleth smiled back - filling Edelgard with a rush of warmth both strange and very pleasant. “Sure we can. We can go right now, if you like. You can even hold onto me again, if you want to.”

Edelgard looked quickly away. “Yes. Well. The… offer is appreciated.”

Another laugh - and another squeeze of her hand. “Do you want to go now?”

“If you’re sure that you don’t mind… then yes. I would quite like to go again. But my tea- Byleth, I’m… rather confused?”

“About what?”

“Why are we… How did we get inside a shop?”

[thealiaamir]

Lilith

History:

Lilith was the original Eve, created from the same soil as Adam. Her name comes from the Babylonian “Lilitu” meaning “female demon” or “wind spirit”. When Adam insisted that he should be dominant, Lilith dared to question him. After all, they were crafted from the same Earth. She wished only to be equal, but was demonized for this. She was, thus, cast out of Eden. Allegedly, she created thousands of demon spawn and devoured infants by the bucketful. These accusations are falsehoods, crafted by those fearful of her righteous autonomy. Any havoc Lilith wrought was only out of woundedness, like the actions of a feral animal. She was shunned for speaking truth.

The “me too” movement is an expression of Lilith, where women show solidarity for the abuses they’ve suffered in silence. It is Lilith who exposes patriarchal corruption. Women become likened to banshees when they dare show rage. However, it would be limited to interpret Lilith only from the perspective of gender-based conflict. She is pure gut-instinct and extends far beyond sexual independence.

Lilith represents one’s ability to say “no” to what doesn’t feel right. She is pure root-chakra wisdom. The knowledge of the earth, muddy and messy. In one’s chart, she shows where you can become in-touch with your own body-wisdom. It’s this feeling in your stomach that says “heck yes!!!” or “this person makes my skin crawl.” Such intuition doesn’t align with left-brained, scientific modes of analysis.

The Signs/Houses:

Much like the asteroid chiron, Lilith represents a rejection wound in one’s chart. It’s where you speak your truth and no one wants to hear it. You put your heart on the line, but your desire for connection made someone cringe. You state your needs, and people ask “why do you have to be so difficult???” All you want is for someone to see the ferocious warmth beneath your intensity.

*if you have Lilith aspecting a planet, read the description for the sign it rules. Ex: sun would be Leo, Mercury would be Virgo or Gemini*

Aries/1st house: Daring to express oneself. The human embodiment of Lilith. Carnal. Someone who is known for butting heads with others. Notorious warrior. Fighting for the underdog is a part of one’s identity. Poster-boy of rejection wounds. Someone who feels like they’re “too much”, either bottling themselves up or living up to the expectation. Starting fights and then running to lick your wounds. Riling people up to get the negative attention you’re accustomed to. Truthfully, desiring authentic love that’s not based on filtering your personality into something more palatable.

Taurus/2nd house: someone who was told their desires are wrong. Being told you’re gluttonous for taking care of basic needs. Primal, all-consuming hunger. Eating disorders and shameful indulgence. A desire to consume one thing until you get sick of it. Ferociously guarding personal belongings and beliefs. Hoarding. A strong need to listing to one’s body, even if what it asks for doesn’t match conventional wisdom. Bullied for one’s weight. Earthly intuition. An unadulterated love for oneself that makes others uncomfortable. Intoxicatingly stubborn. Harsh & deep-set standards of morality.

Gemini/3rd house: saying things about people that hit a little too close to home. The thought process is primal. Knowing why people say the things they say. Reading people like a book. Ruthlessly pointing out falsehoods. Lilith is the trickster here, wearing many masks. Infamous for being inconsistent. Obsession with social dynamics, due to past rejection by “the tribe”. An outcast during school years. Extreme fear of missing out. Hiding taboo thoughts for fear of rejection. Unable to learn in a conventional fashion. Reading about the occult, depth psychology, myths, and anything else focusing on the core of human nature.

Cancer/4th house: the mother as an untamable Lilith figure. Standing up for one’s relatives. Someone with a dubious past. Mother was deemed insane or illogical. Black sheep. Feral obsession with comfort. Finding comfort in brutal honesty and ruthless emotional depth. Being deemed “impossible to live with”. High standard of living. Needing to set boundaries with one’s family and living situation. Controversial self-care. Knowing what truly matters. Fierce protector of the young and helpless. Savage goddess of the hearth. Periodic seclusion within one’s cave. Emotions take on a life of their own, going in bestial rampages.

Leo/5th house: Being ruthless becomes a game. The sin of unfiltered selfhood, becoming demonized for having fun. Toying with people’s hearts. Love/hate relationships. Compulsive validation needs. Hobbies may be taboo or the parents could’ve encouraged them to keep to themselves. Flames of desire emanate, pulsing like pyrotechnics. Rejected during childhood games. If they have kids, they’re likely the brutally honest sort. Children provide surprising bits of wisdom. This is someone who feels guilt for wanting to live a little. Unfiltered emotional expression can be too much for others. Heart swells at the slightest provocation. Needs to do what is simply in their nature, as those who matter will honor their authenticity.

Virgo/6th house: Compulsive organizational systems that seem illogical to others. Angry cleaning. Power of the gut-brain connection. Nature’s way of healing itself, clashing with the business of modern medicine. Disagreeable coworkers, or disagreeing with them yourself. Infamous at your place of work. The intestines strongly reject certain foods, so that you have to listen carefully. The diet may fluctuate daily. Acquired knowledge about nutrition and health may be of the controversial variety (carnivore diet, intuitive medicine, low oxalates, etc). Routines which may appear feral, but ground one in their body. People may take your high strandards personally, as they don’t know how to set boundaries themselves. A knot in your stomach tells you if something isn’t good for you.

Libra/7th house: Others are a mirror for the part of you that possesses unabated self-knowledge. Attracted to people ruled by irrational instinct. Must be careful to set clear boundaries in interactions with others. Compulsive need to interact and form partnerships, which may overwhelm others. Wild charm. Demonizing others. Wanting someone to teach you how to think for yourself. Partner helps you return to & nourish your body. Guttural wisdom exchanged in daily interactions. Best friend is someone incredibly grounded, who lives authentically. You demonize or idolize those who think for themselves.

Scorpio/8th house: psychoanalyzing others before they can do they same to you. A lifestyle that allows for a great deal of secrecy. Obscure & impenetrable. Unreavealing of cavernous depths of feeling, because they fear no one is brave enough to explore these shadows. Making people uncomfortable by purging every secret at once. Being abandoned once you reveal your true self. People offering “gifts” with treacherous strings attached. Unhealthy relationship dynamics- one person is running while the other is chasing. Being stalked or doing the stalking. Unearthing other’s rejection wounds. Shamanic. Concealed impulses. Instinctual need for closeness, where everything is shared. Their “soul mate” is someone ruthless.

Sagittarius/9th house: Too much to handle. Cycles of binging and purging. Living a life of excess. May attract questionable travel companions. Worldview is based on sharing hard truths to all who will listen. This is not someone who minces their words, though they’ve been told time and time again to keep their mouths shut. Their opinions are of the controversial variety, though they are rarely wrong. Arguments are a playground. Saying “no” to the religious doctrine pushed upon you as a child. A skeptic, because they know better in their gut. Higher education brings out compulsive tendencies. May confront teachers & all traditional knowledge. Tearing self-proclaimed gurus down with sharp wit.

Capricorn/10th house: Social pariah. Sex symbol. Businesses that involve female empowerment. Glitzy. Destined to become infamous. Dense and frenzied energy remains when you leave the room. Man-eater. Insatiable need for recognition, tearing one’s way through the corporate ladder. Symbol of truth. Breaking out of the box society has placed you in. The father/dominant parent may have been a “difficult” person. Lack of respect for false or corrupt authority. Innate power. “Bad cop”. Sticking it to the man. Fear of subordination. Intimidating competence and confidence. Cimmerian. Public symbol of authenticity. Honest evaluation of societal structures. Organized chaos.

Aquarius/11th house: Friendship isn’t taken lightly. May associate with controversial people. Freaks. Love/hate relationship towards humanity. Scaring aqaintances. Inundating society with knowledge they’re not yet ready for. Untethered. Jealousy towards those who meld into groups, causing them to further isolate. A reject, estranged from reality. Diabolical. Deep desire to be included. Obsession with what everyone else is doing. Violent subcultures. Strangers invading the native’s personal space, or vice versa. Electric compulsions, jolting the native out of old ways of being. These sudden consciousness shifts perturb others. Radical awareness of the body. They’ve been told to keep their visions of the future to themselves. The divine feminine is crowned in a fluorescent blue halo, lifted above the earth by undulating nimbus clouds.

Pisces/12th house: Beastial dreamscape. The Feminine Wild is both feared and revered. Fantasies of standing up for yourself. Trouble accessing your instinctive and earthy side. Conduit for collective delirium. Dissolution. Substance abuse. Ignoring instinct is your self-undoing. Surrendering autonomy. Deemed too hysterical, sensitive, and irresponsible. Freedom comes from claiming spiritual dominion. Knowing what your dreams and subconscious yearnings mean, becoming defensive when people dismiss your interpretations. Crawling out of your skin. Arcane knowledge via escapism. Odd methods of psychological mending.