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xsparklingravenx · 4 years ago

Text

to the heavens

Title: to the heavens

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Characters: Venti, Diluc, Venti’s Friend, Amos

Rating: T

Word Count: 6,619

Summary: Venti has lost more than most in the pursuit of freedom. One, unassuming evening, Diluc asks a question that prompts him to share those losses.

AO3

“Oh Mondstadt let me tell you,

Of violent tales of old,

Where a boy, no name or stature,

Took on a journey bold”

In the corner of a darkened tavern, a boy dressed in green sang. His fingers danced nimbly across a tinkling lyre, drawing forth sounds that could only be matched by divinity itself. Every word brought forth a new listener, drunkards, guild members, even the bartender himself, who stood steadfast behind the counter with his arms crossed. The story spiralled in song, Mondstadt’s past told to its present.

This boy, a bard, no fighter,

Took Mondstadt in his hands,

Saying no despot will hold on

To these gorgeous, sacred lands

The song itself was a new one, though the green bard had told the story in many forms before. In celebration, in joy, in a simple sharing of knowledge, but never had he sung it like this. The tune was haunting, like it had been possessed by a ghost. His attempts to liven it up had not worked entirely, it seemed.

Eyes closed, the bard carried on. How easy it was, to get caught up in song like this. He’d taken his time writing this one, had bought in his oldest companion to listen in on it. When he’d asked the dragon, Dvalin, how he thought it sounded, the dragon had replied simply, “It sounds like a ballad for a funeral march, Barbatos.”

It was neither a ballad nor a funerary song, the bard thought privately, and he also thought that Dvalin very much needed an updated education in the art of music. That being said, when he opened his audience looked very much morose, as if he’d struck them down with some kind of malady born from tune. Even the bartender, who the bard rarely ever saw look anything other than stone-faced, had his mouth downturned a fraction further.

None of them offered to purchase him a drink, though they did clap for him, and many showered him with coin at the end of his performance, some wiping away inexplicable tears. “Why, thank you! Thank you! Your generosity will be remembered—right when I go and get myself something from the bar with all your wonderful donations!”

Lyre still in hand, the bard marched up to the counter with all the confidence of someone twice his height. Pushing several coins onto the counter, he said, “One dandelion wine, if you please, Master Diluc.”

Diluc looked down at him, one eyebrow raised. His red hair was tied up as it always was. The bard thought it looked like a scorched sunset.

“If I start serving you regularly, people are going to think that I make a habit out of serving the underage," Diluc said.

“Oh, come now, I hardly show up that much!” The bard pushed the coins further across the table, as if that would somehow sweeten the pot. “I’m a paying customer. Angel Share’s most famous one at that. You know, I could write a whole poem about this place, bring people flocking in from all over Teyvat! I have friends in high places too, they’d spread the word even farther…”

“Business is already good enough.”

“And I’m not even underage, so your argument is void and forgotten.”

“Venti—” Diluc stopped, rubbing at his temples. Venti snickered, knowing victory was in reach. “I don’t understand it. Something as old, and as powerful as you, and yet you choose to appear as a child. Why not change? Then you’d encounter no trouble at all.”

It was a valid enough question. Venti leant back on his stall, placing his lyre on the free one next to him. How did he explain it? “It’s…a long story. One that I’m always happy to tell, but you’re free to listen, if you want.”

Dilic’s eyes flicked up to the clock that sat on the wall behind the counter. “Guess it’s a slow enough night. We’re still open for a while, so if you want to talk, then talk. Make it worth my while, though.”

“Only in exchange for a dandelion wine, of course.”

“At which point did I say I even wanted to hear your story?” Diluc asked, his expression utterly flat. “You get one wine, that’s it. I’m not dealing with your drunken antics. I’ve seen them, and I’m not impressed.”

Despite his reluctance, he got the glass and the bottle. Venti hummed as he watched him pour it. It was his favourite; if you could get comfort in a liquid form, then dandelion wine was it. Even old Morax enjoyed it, whenever Venti was willing enough to share it. He’d have to get them together sometime, so they could partake in some festive activities of their own.

Venti cupped his hands around the glass when Diluc handed it to him. He was eager to take the first sip, but he held back. Though he loved his wine, there was perhaps one thing he loved even more. Storytelling was in his blood. It was the reason he was still here after thousands of years of life and more to come.

“I didn’t always look like this, you know,” he said, eager to hook, eager to draw Diluc’s attention fully. And then, he winked.

Without his lyre, he sung once more.

“Master Diluc, let me tell you,

Of violent tales of old,

Where a boy, no name or stature,

Took on a journey bold”

~x~

The sky was a veritable nightmare of storm and fury, and yet, beneath it, life went on as it always did.

Mondstadt was a gilded cage, a prison where its people were protected and safe, yet wanting only for freedom. That was what the wind spirit had learned on its travels through the city. That was the wind spirit had understood upon listening to the singing of the young bard who made his home in the desolate cathedral.

The wind spirit came to listen to him often, for there was no other who could compare to him, not even outside the city. His voice carried on the wind like Decarabian himself favoured him, and maybe he did, enjoying how his songbird sang for freedom while locked in its cage. The young bard worked his lyrics to the bone, conveying so much with so little, emotion and feeling packed not just into his words, but into his nifty work with the instrument he carried. The wind spirit did not know the name of it, but it did love how it looked, how the boy made it sing too.

He wore his hair in braids, and the wind spirit never saw him without his brown cloak, which billowed in the storms that trapped them all. This was a human, it thought. So big, so powerful, with the ability to turn words into inspiration, to make thought into action. This boy was far stronger than the wind spirit, who was a simple thread of a single element, who could be blown away with even the simplest of gusts.

But even as skilled and as powerful as the boy was, it was a difficult existence. Though his magic was in his music, it was not a lucrative position. Much of his audience were struggling themselves, and there was little money to go around. The wind spirit watched from the shadows as the boy suffered; he was an orphan, hiding within the cathedral’s walls from the turbulent weather, sometimes going days without food when he could not afford it. Not even Decarabian helped. As his songbird starved, he paid no attention.

But the wind spirit did. One evening, after dark, when his audience had dispersed, it went searching. The market stalls had been cleared away, but, in a stroke of good fortune, the tiny spirit found something red and round and almost unbruised, tucked away near a tavern. An apple, it had heard the people call this particular fruit. It was not much for a human as big as the bard, but it was better than nothing.

So, with all its might, the wind spirit began to push the apple. It used all its very limited power over the wind, and slowly, it rolled the apple out of its hiding place. The trip back to the cathedral was long, and arduous—though not many people noticed the strange apple and the tiny spirit, for they were hardly important in the grand scheme of their own lives.

After much effort, the wind spirit arrived at its goal; though it soon found itself blocked by an object it had not expected; a heavy set of closed doors barring the way into the cathedral. Irritated, it puffed up its cheeks and kicked its tiny feet at the door. Let me in, it cried silently. I have a gift!

During the day, the doors were always open! How could this happen? Its poor bard was on the other side, starving, and the wind spirit had the answer right there. There was nothing for it; the little spirit would have to get his attention, no matter what.

As a being of the wind, it was easy to manipulate its form into almost nothing at all. It slipped through the cracks between the doors with ease, but the apple remained stuck outside. Popping back into existence as its usual form, the spirit fluttered its pixie-like wings and floated towards where the bard was curled up, his face screwed up as he slept. He was not the only one who called this abandoned cathedral home; there were others sleeping too, boys and girls with no parents, who had nowhere else to go. They were stuck here too. There was nowhere to escape to, not when Mondstadt was closed off to the rest of the world.

The wind spirit stopped in front of the boy’s face. What was he dreaming of, to look like that? Was it a bad dream? Something cruel? Did Decarabian himself appear, taunting the songbird that his freedom would never be near? Likely not, but the wind spirit could not help but consider the possibilities as it shook its stubby arms free of its tiny, white cloak.

It prodded the boy in the face. Once. Twice. The boy stirred a moment before rolling over entirely. No, thought the wind spirit in frustration. Pay attention to me!

So he floated over to the other side, and began again. Prod. Prod. Prod. Nose. Lips. Cheeks.

Finally, the boy cracked open an eye. “Who—”

He cut himself off when he spotted the wind spirit. There was a moment of tense silence, and suddenly, the boy bolted back with a gasp. The wind spirit, equally as shocked, fell onto its back with a shrill little cry.

So alarmed as it was, it kicked its little legs, its wings trapped behind it. It was not until the boy scooped him up and said, “Shh,” that it calmed. “Sorry, little guy. I didn’t mean to scare you. You just…well. Scared me.”

The little spirit placed its stubby arms on its waist in an imitation of what it had seen the bard do when he was irritated. This appeared to charm the boy, who let out a tinkling little laugh. “Sorry, sorry. Were you the one poking at me?”

His voice sounded different when he spoke. Still sweet and nice, but not nearly as lyrical. The wind spirit hopped off his hands, and poked at the boy’s stomach. Then, it went flying off towards the door, hoping the boy would get the hint.

“What are you doing?” the boy whispered, keeping his voice low as to not wake the others.

The spirit chirped. It didn’t quite have the facilities for speech, so it could only communicate through gestures and sound. It pointed to the door, and the boy clicked his fingers in triumph. “Ah! You’re trapped in here, and you want to be let out, right?”

Not quite, but at least it would get him to open the door. The little spirit chirped again, and the boy came over, finally pushing the door open. Free, the spirit immediately descended down to perch itself on the apple, arms at its waist again this time as it puffed up its chest in pride.

The boy stared at the apple and the spirit both. After a moment, he knelt down, and the spirit hopped off the apple to push it towards the boy. He took it in his hand, asking, “Is this for me?”

The wind spirit nodded. There was a lot to tell him, but nothing it could say, so it chirped once more. How it wanted to share its appreciation for the music the bard gave so freely, how it wanted to step in where Decarabian wouldn’t, but the apple would have to do for now.

“Thank you,” the boy said, looking at the red shine of the apple, and oh, what kind of words could he come up with to describe it, the spirit wondered? “Really. You don’t know how hungry I am…this means a lot. Do you have a name, little guy?”

The wind spirit shook its head left and right. It had been born from the elements, it had no parents like the boy once would have, and so, it had nobody to name it.

“You look a little like an elf…” the boy said, but the spirit shook its head at that too. “Oh, well, I’m sure I can come up with something for you, if you wouldn’t mind.”

The spirit could hardly believe its luck! A name! Something humans had! All in exchange for an apple? Surely it was not a fair enough trade. It would have to bring even more to make up for it.

Floating upwards, the spirit tugged at the bard’s sleeve. What’s your name? It wanted to ask so badly, but all it could do was hope that its intent was understood.

The bard tilted his head. “What is it?”

Name! The spirit chirped again. It flew to the bard’s chest and poked him in the chest. You. Tell me!

“Oh! Me?”

The spirit nodded. Finally! It floated up to the bard’s face, listening intently. It didn’t want to miss the moment. It wanted to commit this to memory forever.

The boy chuckled at its antics, and his laugh was such a wonderful thing. Decarabian was a fool, for staying up high, for ignoring his citizens, because listening to this, the wind spirit didn’t know how he could ever justify keeping his people locked away. If only he came down, then maybe he would understand. But he wouldn’t, because, as the people always said, the Archon was a tyrant who only cared about keeping his rule.

But that didn’t matter in the moment. The boy opened his mouth. The spirit listened.

“My name is—”

~x~

“So your story is tied to your song from earlier,” said Diluc, who had poured himself a drink of his own now. Hardly the most responsible act from the owner of Angel’s Share, but who was Venti to judge men on their responsibilities when he barely did anything from one day to the next? “The boy the wind spirit—you— met and the boy in the tale is the one and the same.”

“Well, yeah, but you didn’t have to jump ahead like that!” Venti huffed, taking a sip of his wine. The sweet, floral taste exploded over his tastebuds, the bitter hint behind it only strengthening the flavour. “Back then, Mondstadt was…boring. Stagnant. Everyone was trapped and lonely. They yearned for nothing but freedom, and music was a close way to get it—but the economy was suffering too, and the bard could barely make ends meet.”

“So, what was the name he granted you?”

“Oh, that. Yeah, he named me after some character in a book he was reading at the time. Barbatos, you might be familiar with such a moniker.”

“Interesting,” Diluc said, not sounding very interested at all. “Making Venti a…stage name?”

“Psh.” Venti waved a hand dismissively. It was not a stage name, but they would get to that eventually. The cosy, dark atmosphere of the bar was making him a little drowsy, but he couldn’t just stop here now he’d started. “From there, I always came front and centre to his performances, but I soon came to realise that something was missing. Though he always sang of freedom, though he inspired the people around him to also yearn for it, he didn’t ever sing of what came after. He never sang about what to do with that freedom after their independence had been gained.”

The memories were still clear, despite having taken place over two millennia ago. It was easy to recall how the storms raged over Mondstadt, how they grew and grew, how, one day, Venti had realised how they nearly swallowed up his bard friend’s voice. It was as if Decarabian had grown tired of his singing, as if he’d figured out the truth behind his words and wanted to drown out his songbird before it grew restless enough to try breaking the cage.

“One thing to say, another thing to actually do,” Diluc said, but the way he said it suggested that he knew that better than most. Venti knew a little of his story, but not all of it, mostly gathered in scraps from others. There was a rift between him and that knight, Kaeya, that seemed like it would be difficult to patch. “But, we’re having this conversation right now, and I already heard the ending to your song earlier. He didn’t just sit on his hands.”

That was another memory, one so stark and clear that it might as well have been caught on one of the traveller’s kameras. Venti nodded, and he sung, into his drink.

“I want to see those birds in flight,”

A declaration swift,

But with it came a reckoning

That would set their fates adrift

Diluc said, “Is that really what he said?”

“Word-for-word,” Venti said. Now he really did need another sip. Remembering that statement both warmed him and tore his heart apart. Had the bard never said it, maybe he would have lived his life long, not content, but alive regardless—but Venti knew that a life imprisoned was no life at all. He was desperate to see those birds. To see even one in flight, to see the world outside and know it was accessible, it was a wish worth dying for.

“He wanted to write a poem so great, and he was going to use the birds to do it,” Venti explained around the wine. “I think he could have done it, too. He just…didn’t get the chance, unfortunately.”

In a rare act of compassion, Diluc topped up his glass. Noticing the delight in Venti’s eyes, he warned him, “Just once,” and then set the bottle back down. “So, none of this has actually explained to me why you’re so intent on showing up like you are. Are you actually going to tell me, or is this an elaborate hoax all so you can listen to the sound of your own voice?”

“Hey! I was getting to the point, you’re the one jumping ahead!” Venti glared at him over the top of his glass. “Anyway, my voice is great to listen to. You should be so honoured that the great bard Venti is taking time out of his personal schedule to tell you this.”

“Taking time out of his personal schedule to badger me into serving him wine, I think you mean,” Diluc said.

“Yeesh.” Venti shook his head. “Alright, where was I…oh, yeah. Birds in flight. Okay. Buckle up, Master Diluc.”

And so, he sang once more.

With companions at his side now,

The bard took forth his plan

To topple Mondstadt’s tyrant

And free his fellow man

~x~

The scrolls were scattered all across the cathedral’s floor. Images of sun, sea, and grassland glittered upon them, everything that laid beyond the storm able to be touched, visualised, dreamed of.

The wind spirit floated next to the bard as they both looked at the illustrations. Decarabian’s lover had bought them to show him after she had heard one of his songs. So touched by his tales of what might be awaiting them outside, she had stolen the scrolls from Decarabian’s personal affects, and brought them down to them.

The spirit knew that she was a beautiful woman, in the sense that he knew that the words to describe her would be the same ones traditionally used to describe beautiful women. Her hair was so blonde, it was near white, and it tumbled down her back in waves. Her smile was pleasant and pink, and her hands were slender and thin. They did not seem suited to the bow she carried with her, the bow that she did not need given her status, but she had learned to use anyway.

They were not the only ones looking upon the illustrations. Among the boys and girls who also lived in the cathedral, another new face had joined them; the knight, with hair as red as the sunset one of the images depicted. He carried a claymore wider than his body, and held knowledge of every wine in Mondstadt. Like the lover, he had also heard the bard’s songs of freedom, and he’d been enticed by them.

Somehow, their duo had grown to number four, all of them dreaming of something better. The wind spirit had not left Mondstadt in sometime, for it felt terrible to traverse the storm-clad sky without its friends, but it mattered little when everything it needed was right within the city’s walls. What was there to leave for, when home was right there?

The bard was strangely quiet as he looked upon the scrolls. The wind spirit sat on his knee, looking at them also. It watched in silence as he ran his fingers over the images of suns, of creatures unknown to them all, of gemstones and ore that could not be found in Mondstadt. So much awaited outside, and yet there was no way to reach it.

“There is little left in this city to see,” lamented the lover as she too looked over the scrolls. “Decarabian thinks he loves me, but he only loves his rule. I’ve told him so many times how I wish to see what is outside for myself, and yet…we remain here. Trapped.”

“If only battle were enough to see it done,” said the knight, sat on the pews with his sword at his side. “I would fight my way out of this prison if I could. I would take every man, woman, and child with me.”

The wind spirit chirped sadly, for it could do nothing but watch them. It had no power of its own, no ability to wield a weapon, no Vision to do magic with. It was simply a puff of air, an wayward shard of elemental power, to little to make an impact.

It floated upwards, looking upon a scroll depicting sky so blue, with birds flitting across it. The boy looked at it too, chewing at his lip. Was he so hungry that he had to eat that too?

“But what if…what if we could fight our way out of this prison?” asked the bard, drawing the attention of both the lover and the knight. He was like that; he could garner eyes like Decarabian garnered power. “I want to see the birds in flight. I want to write a poem so great. But…if we stay here, I’ll never do either.”

The wind spirit didn’t understand. What fighting could they do? The knight and the lover were strong, but the bard had little but his lyre, and the spirit had nothing at all. It wanted to ask, but the knight responded for him. “Preposterous!”

“Is it?” asked the lover, one hand at her chest. “Perhaps…perhaps if we go to him, if we show him with our own power what he has done wrong, Decarbia will open his eyes. Maybe he will see me for who I am…!”

“We would have to incite all of Mondstadt into joining us,” said the bard, and the knight looked positively dumbfounded. “It would be no easy rebellion…but maybe it would change something, right? Or, we’re all just going to live our lives caged like this, and that’s…well. It’s not living at all, is it?”

The spirit chirped. But what of the danger! Was freedom worth the possibility of fighting a god? Was that what the bard was trying to tell him?

“You’re mad,” said the knight, shaking his head fondly. “Yet…I can’t deny what you’re saying there. Our entire lives have been spent this way. People have lived and died for hundreds of years, never once seeing outside this storm. It steals our words and our opportunities…and yet nobody has ever challenged it. Not once.”

Was it out of terror? Or acceptance? Did the people take their lives for what they were because they knew there was no way out? Or were they just frightened of change? The spirit didn’t know enough to come up with an answer. It didn’t understand humanity enough to say. But it knew its friend, the bard, and it knew that he would never be scared of change. Instead, he would only ever fear life staying as it was.

The life of a caged songbird was an easy one, but it offered no opportunity for growth. There was no experience to be had within these walls, and at the least, the spirit knew that. So, when the bard turned to it with determination shining in his sky-blue eyes, the spirit understood that change was in the air.

There would be no going back from this. The bard inspired with his words. That was his power. With a hand outstretched to the spirit, he said, “Let’s do this, then. Let’s cast out the tyrant, and tear down the walls. We can take our plight to the masses and garner allies. If all of the city will fight, then what can one single Archon hope to achieve?”

Strength in numbers. That was the key to their locked door, the solution to the puzzle before them. If they showed the scrolls to the people, if the bard sung of the outside and what awaited there, then they could sway opinions.

That night, the wind spirit made a decision. It left Mondstadt for the first time in an age, and it traversed the mountainous region until it found an eagle. It watched it in flight, beating its wings against the midnight sky, stars twinkling above. It thought that, maybe, in the future, there should be a place to watch for sights just like this. Somewhere to view the stars. The sky.

As the eagle flew, a feather fell from its plumage. Inspired, the wind spirit leapt into action, snatching it from the air and cradling the large feather close to its tiny body. It was taller than it, and most definitely heavy, but it was inexplicably beautiful. Brown and soft like an embrace, it would make a wonderous gift for his bard friend.

But, oh, when to give it? Now felt too early. But what if the spirit was to stash it away? Keep it safe and present it to the bard when the battle was won, when the outside world was accessible to them all? Yes. To give it now would only upset the bard. It would only reinforce how he was still locked away.

So the wind spirit took the feather back to Mondstadt, hiding it within the cathedral. Its time would come. Once the rebellion was over, he would hand it over proudly.

After all, it thought, I’ll follow you anywhere, my friend.

~x~

“Hey, Master Diluc…do you have any regrets?” Venti asked.

He’d come to an abrupt stop while telling his story. Thankfully, his glass was still half-full, which was good because he knew he was going to need it for the last part. Diluc, who had been cleaning his own glass, stopped sharply in his movements.

The bar was much quieter now than it had been when Venti had been performing. Most of the other patrons had left by now. It was getting late, and yet Diluc had not done his last call. Instead, he’d carried on listening to Venti’s story, giving him his undivided attention.

“I…have my own, yes,” Diluc said stiffly. “None that I’m willing to share.”

“I wasn’t expecting you to.” Venti sighed, his earlier cheer having vanished entirely. “I have tons. Guess it’s hard not to, though. Comes with the territory and all. Being old is tough. I dunno how Morax does it.”

“Liyue’s Archon?”

“Yeah. He’s even older than me. He’s seen a lot of death and war in his time. Lost people close to him. That’s how it is.” Venti paused, leaning his elbow on the counter, and then his head on his hand. With his other hand, he circled the circumference of the glass. “I’m not even half his age, did you know?”

“I didn’t, but Morax doesn’t have anything to do with you being underage in my bar.” Diluc put his glass behind the counter and stood back. “So, I can make an educated guess here. You should have given the bard the feather when you had the chance.”

“It’s one of those funny things, huh? When you look back, you can see exactly what you should have done.” Venti thought on it any time he saw an eagle. If he could go back, he would never have stashed the feather. “The rebellion moved fast, once it began to assemble. Decarabian’s lover, Amos, she was swift and deft and eager to join the battle when it finally broke out. She went to the frontlines; she stormed the tower she’d once called home. The knight, he played the part of protectorate. I remember being so impressed, but…then, the God of Storms descended from his tower. And Amos was nowhere in sight.”

Venti’s fingers twitched. He still had her bow, and he sometimes wielded it into his own battles. It was all he’d managed to retrieve from her body, when he’d found it, rent asunder by Decarabian’s winds. Until that moment, he’d never known how damaging his element could be. Anemo was a wonderous thing, but so destructive too. That was the lesson he’d learned.

“You still haven’t gotten to your point, bard,” Diluc said. “I’m waiting with bated breath.”

He certainly didn’t sound like he was, but who was Venti to deny him? Smiling wryly, he began his song once more, building to the climax.

But the war was not without loss

And friends he loved were lost

And as those arrows flew free

For freedom, his life was cost.

~x~

In the aftermath of the battle, as the sun dawned on Mondstadt for the first time in ages, it was the lover that the wind spirit found first, though she was recognizable only from her hair, pale, near white where it hadn’t been stained red with her blood.

Debris had been cast across the city. The God of Storm’s anger had ripped it apart. The lover’s bow was held loose in her fingers, and the wind spirit touched it in sorrow. It was not big enough to take it in its hands. Freedom had been so close for her, and yet she had died in her pursuit of it.

In the storm, the wind spirit had been thrown from its companions, and now it sought them in the wreckage. There were bodies, countless, and the wind spirit found itself wondering, was liberty worth such loss? It had to be, surely. This was what the bard had been dreaming of.

Survivors sought their loved ones. The wind spirit searched too for its own. It had to bring them back to the lover, to retrieve her bow and lay her to rest. She had gone ahead, but the knight had remained behind alongside the bard. He would have protected him. That was his strength.

And indeed, it was the knight whom the spirit found then, hair as red as the apple that the spirit had forged a friendship with. He was knelt over someone as he cast his gaze at the decimated tower of Decarabian, and oh, how the wind spirit’s heart soared. It fluttered through the air, desperate to get to him—

Only to stop short when it laid its own eyes on the body that the knight held close. Arrows riddled their chest, turning their well-worn cloak red with blood. Their braids, so familiar, hung loose and undone. Almost unrecognizable was he, the bard whom the spirit had so dedicated his existence to.

Death was not something the spirit understood well, for it was not something that happened to elemental spirits. Surely the bard was simply injured. He did not look so bad as the lover did. Humans were tough, after all. A little Hydro magic, and he would be perfectly fine. They just had to find a healer.

But as the spirit drew closer, it began to realise that it would not be so simple. Healers only worked on those who still breathed, and the bard was as still as bedrock in the hold of the knight. The knight himself wore an expression so stricken with agony that the wind spirit could hardly believe it. He didn't look like the same man he had been before.

When he noticed the spirit, he ducked his head low in sorrow. The bard did not stir; he was not sleeping. Even when the spirit poked at him, he did not move.

Prod. Prod. Prod. Nose. Lips. Cheeks.

The boy did not crack his eyes open, because he was no longer with them.

A strange, brittle noise split the air. The spirit did not realise it was its own wails until the knight took it in hand and held it close. Why did it hurt so much? It was not injured, and yet it felt as if it had been torn apart by Decarabian himself.

In many ways, it had.

“I am sorry,” said the knight, whose remorse bled into his own voice. “Even my best was not enough to save him.”

But all the little spirit could do was blame itself. If it had not been separated, it thought, then could it have done something? It would have followed the bard to the end, but now, he had gone to the one place that the spirit could not follow. The caged songbird was dead, murdered in its search for freedom.

The eagle’s feather was nothing more than an empty promise, one that would never be fulfilled. As birds flitted their way across the unbound sky of Mondstadt, that was all the spirit could think.

~x~

“There were discussions, after, but I won’t bore you with the details. All you need to know is that Boreas chickened out of responsibility, so yours truly took up being the new Anemo Archon—and, well, that meant I got a whole lot of new powers too.”

Angel’s Share was near empty now, just Venti and Diluc left. Venti’s glass had been drained dry, and he was beginning to feel the buzz of it. Good. It was better that way.

Diluc took the glass and said, “Meaning you were a wind spirit no longer.”

“Well, yeah, and no. I’m still the wind spirit inside. If I dissolve this form, that’s what you’d see. Tiny little elf, that’s me.” Venti grinned and swung his legs off the stall. “But…I’m not gonna dissolve this form. Or change it. Because if I did, it’d hardly be honouring my friend now, would it?”

Diluc’s sigh was so heavy that even his shoulders deflated. “I had a feeling that might be the case. Still weighs on you even now, doesn’t it?”

Venti nodded. At least Diluc was clever enough to read between the lines. “I loved him. My friend, the bard—I did everything I could to honour him. He was a bard, so I learned how to sing. He wanted freedom, so I made that my core. He was Venti, so Venti was who I became—but the stories didn’t remember the name of the bard, so I decided to keep his memory alive like this. Barbatos is my true name, the name he gave me, but Venti is who I am when I want to live a little like he did. Free.”

“So, that new song tonight,” Diluc said, packing away the glass and the rest of the countertop. “What was that? An elegy for him?”

“An elegy? Nah. That’s more a lament for the dead, but this…well. I don’t wanna lament his life. There’s no point, he wouldn’t want it. I’d rather celebrate it instead. But everyone says it sounds sad. I guess my idea is different to everyone else's. huh?”

Diluc frowned. Times like this, he reminded Venti of the knight, with that stern expression. Maybe they were not so different, even with the thousands of years between them. “And what was the final verse again?”

Picking up his lyre once more, Venti let his fingers strum at it for the backing tune. Though the initial verses were indeed tragic, the final verses were not those of remorse or grief, but of the happiest ending he could come up with. Yes, his bard friend was long gone; nothing would bring him back, and yet Mondstadt stood tall and proud, free as it had been that day two thousand, six hundred years before.

But in his death, he found it

The freedom he’d so sought

To the heavens his soul flew on to

His struggles not for nought

So Mondstadt let me tell you,

Of violent tales of old,

Of that boy, no name or stature,

Took on his journey bold

Diluc closed his eyes as Venti continued to play the lyre, even when the song was finished. Sometimes, music was soothing in its own way. It didn’t need a literal story; the notes told its own.

“Thanks for the story,” he said eventually. “But that song still sounds like an elegy. Anyway, don’t think of this as a pass to come drinking in here looking like that all the time. At least do it when it’s quiet.”

“Diluc!” Venti gasped. “Is that an invitation to come singing in here more often?”

“I have no idea how you managed to get that out of what I just said,” Diluc narrowed his eyes. “If you want to play here, I don’t care. It’s me getting a charge for serving a child that I have to be worried about.”

“Like I’d ever let that happen!” Venti hopped off the seat, hands on his hips as he stood proud. “You know who you’re talking to?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“Fortunately, yes,” Venti corrected. “And anyway, Jean would never let you be ruined for serving me, right? You’re fine. But…hey. Thanks for listening. Sometimes, it’s nice to tell the full story. Even if it hurts, it’s good to share it. Helps pass on the memory a little.”

Diluc nodded, answering only with a soft hum. Picking up the lyre, Venti continued to play it as Diluc finished his duties behind the counter, counting up his coin and clearing up the mess.

Until he snuffed out the final candle and the two departed, soft, dulcet tones rang out, telling a story all of its own.

#Genshin Impact #Venti #Diluc #Venti's friend #My Writing

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count-yeti · 4 years ago

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For the past century or so, the civilised world has been undergoing a period of mass industrialisation. As a result, many elements of society have come to the conclusion that magic is outdated, some even going so far as advocating for magic to be outlawed. “No magic, no power” was their cry, as the majority of magic users were the nobility and magic was thus associated with power.

One morning, I was wandering the streets of the capital of the Kingdom of Dutzow, itself called Dutzow, something I regularly do when few people are about just after dawn. That day, however, was different than others. I walked past a cafe I frequently visited, that day deciding to forgo my regular croissant and cafe-au-lait, something that would prove to be quite fortuitous. After passing the cafe, I walked past a woman and a man engaged in what I believed initially to be a tryst. I scoffed at them for being so bold as to do that in public, and continued walking. However, as I continued to walk, I realised they weren’t doing anything lewd, and the man was in fact attacking the woman.

I hurriedly turned around and faced the man, attacking him with a small bolt of paralytic magic. Being a commoner, it was unusual for me to possess magical powers, but my family had a long tradition of producing non-noble magic users. I’d been secretly training myself for years, as many people these days shunned and looked down on magic users, especially non-noble magic users, who are considered to be collaborators with the nobility. The man fell to the ground, eyes glazed and limbs twitching. Apparently I had poured a little bit too much magic into the man.

The woman turned to me, a frightened smile on her face, and thanked me for helping her. Before I could respond, she ran off, and I assumed I would never see her again. I continued my walk as if nothing had happened, and went home. By the next day, I had nearly forgotten what had happened.

Again I was wandering the city, and after stopping in the cafe, I spotted a small gathering of city watchmen gathered nearby. One of the watchmen spotted me and approached me.

“You know what went on here last night?” he asked.

“No, I don’t,” I said, looking over his shoulder, trying to see what had happened.

I saw a pool of blood, and my stomach churned a little, but I kept looking at the scene. There appeared to be shattered pieces of metal everywhere, what seemed to be a dagger of some kind that had somehow been broken into a hundred tiny pieces. In the centre of the pool, there lay a dead body, its right hand totally mangled beyond recognition. The rest of the body, however, was perfectly intact, and I saw its face. It was the face of the man who had attacked the woman they day before, the man I had stopped…

“Wait, hold on,” I said, before the watchman had gotten away from me. “I recognise that man.”

“Oh, you do? Do you happen to know his name, then? No one round here seems to know him,” the watchman said.

“No, unfortunately I don’t. I only saw him briefly yesterday, but I completely forgot about him until now. He had been attacking some poor woman just over there, and I stepped in to stop him. I only used a small bit of magic to knock him out, but he was fully alive when I last saw him,” I answered truthfully.

“Is that so?” the watchman said, looking at me suspiciously. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you to go down to the station and give a full report on that.”

“I understand,” I responded, sighing slightly. I’d planned on doing some shopping, but I guess I had new plans.

I went to the nearest watchmen’s station and explained what happened the night before. The watchman taking my account said he believed that I hadn’t killed the man, but that I wasn’t allowed to leave town until the true culprit was apprehended. I told him that I’d stay around, and gave them my address before leaving.

As I was walking home, I saw a woman out of the corner of my eye ducking into an alleyway. For some reason, she seemed familiar, and before I knew it I was walking through the same alley. I followed her for half the day, before she finally stopped on an empty park path and turned to face me.

“Who are you? Why are you following me?” she said, a bit of steel in her voice.

“My name is Heinrich and I don’t really know why I’m following you,” I answered truthfully. Why had I followed her all this way?

“Wait a second, you’re-” she started.

“The girl I helped yesterday!” I finished.

The flint in her eyes subsided a little, and she sighed and slumped into a park bench. I sat down on a park bench on the other side of the trail from her.

“What did you mean you didn’t know why you were following me?” she said, a slightly confused look on her face.

“I was just walking home when I saw you out of the corner of my eye, and something made me follow you. I don’t really know how to explain it better,” I told her, spreading my hands out in a confused gesture.

“I see…” she said, looking at me suspiciously.

“Say, did you know that the man who was attacking you yesterday was murdered?” I asked, suddenly remembering.

“Damn that brother of mine,” she said silently. It seemed like she hadn’t meant for me to hear her statement, but I had nonetheless.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Huh? Wh- oh,” she said, looking down and sighing. “You seem like a trustworthy kind of guy, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to tell you. It would be nice to have an ally here who won’t go around killing people.”

“Pardon me?” I said, confused.

She sighed once more, and began to tell me her tale. She said that she was a princess of Sernigore, a neighbouring kingdom, the daughter of the king. The people of that kingdom had been agitating against the monarchy and magic users lately, and the King felt like he had to protect his family. He sent this girl, who told me her name was Marie, with one of her brothers, to live in secret in Dutzow. She told me that the man who had been attacking her the day before had been a spy sent by the leader of the revolution to kill her and her brother, and that it was her brother who had killed him after she told him what had happened.

“I know that’s… a lot, but please believe me,” she said, finishing her story.

“I believe you,” I said honestly. She didn’t seem like the kind of person to lie in such a way, and it all seemed to make sense to me.

She looked happy with that, and she was about to say something more, when a young man, probably a few years older than the both of us, walked into the park, looking around frantically. He saw the woman and smiled, before seeing me and losing the smile, slipping his hand into a coat pocket, and brought out a long knife.

“Get away from her, lowlife!” he cried, walking slowly towards us, his wand pointed at my chest.

“Stop! He’s a friend,” the girl said loudly, jumping in front of me with her arms thrown wide.

“Friend?” the man said, cocking his head a little.

“Yes! This is the man who saved my life from that spy yesterday!” she responded.

“I see,” the man said vaguely, lowering the wand. “So you’re the one I should thank for saving my sister, huh. I’m sorry for pointing my knife at you.”

“Oh so you’re her brother, then. Don’t worry about it, your sister explained your situation to me before you got here. I understand your reaction,” I told him, reaching out my hand to shake his.

“My name is Peter,” he said, taking my hand and shaking it. “It’s good to meet someone friendly here. We’ve hardly spoken to anyone, fearing for our lives.”

“My name is Heinrich. I understand the feeling. I’m a magic user, and we’re not held in high regard these days,” I told him.

“You don’t have the look of a noble, meaning no offence,” he said, cocking his head.

“None taken. I’m one of the lucky bastards among the common class who was born with magical ability. We’re held in even lower regard than the noble users,” I sighed.

“I see,” Peter said, before laughing. “Sorry to laugh at your troubles, but it really is nice to meet a friendly person here.”

“I just realised that I never introduced myself before telling you my story,” Peter’s sister said, sticking her hand out towards me. “My name is Marie Louise, but you can just call me Marie.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Marie,” I said, taking her hand.

“Right! So, Heinrich, what is there to do in this city? We’ve been here for several months, and we almost exclusively stay at home, when we’re not out buying food,” Peter said, turning around and starting to walk away.

The three of us wandered the city for a few hours. I showed them to some places I frequented, like the cafe I went to most mornings, and the bar my brothers and I used to go to every weekend before the left the city. Before we knew it, it was nearly midnight.

“My sister and I probably ought to get back to our home,” Peter said as we sat briefly on a bench outside a shop.

“I best be getting home, too. I’ve got work in the morning,” I said, getting up from the bench and extending a hand once more to Peter.

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Heinrich,” he smiled warmly, accepting my handshake before turning to go.

“Thank you again for helping me yesterday,” Marie smiled at me, bowing politely as she did.

“Ah, I forgot. Here’s my address if you two need anything again,” I called after the two of them after they’d started walking away.

“Oh, thank you very much; if we need anything, we’ll be sure to stop by!” Peter said, and we went our separate ways for the night.

#i forgot that i'd written this #i'm gonna continue it

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witchqueenofthemoon · 6 years ago

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BODY AND SOUL Part 22 (Duncan Shepherd/Mackenzie Stone Millory AU)

BODY AND SOUL MASTERPOST

Author’s Note: If you’d told me at the end of last year that I’d spend the first half of 2019 literally writing so much (so much fiction, nonetheless) that I’d regularly be falling asleep in front of my laptop, I would have told you you were fucking crazy: BUT HERE WE ARE. I can’t get over it, so I have to keep pinching myself to believe it. This part ended up a lot longer with a more meandering path than I expected, but I’m just here to do what Duckenzie tell me to do, y’all--they tell me what they want me to write down, and I do it. I wanted the warmth Kenzie feels towards Annette at the beginning of this chapter to juxtapose with the anger she feels towards her at the end--Annette is a complicated person, and Kenzie is grappling with the ways she manipulates and scapegoats Duncan and her own desire to find common ground with her. She can’t push away all her resentment of his mother, at least, not yet. Annette is changing and growing slowly, but she still has a ways to go, and if you’ve seen Season 6 of HOUSE OF CARDS, you know Duncan withdrawing from her after he finds out he’s adopted will be a catalyst for her. Here’s Doris Day singing DREAM A LITTLE DREAM OF ME. The cherrywood table looks something like this. Here’s Duncan’s cock ring. Here’s his fleshlight. One-pan pasta is truly great and truly easy to make, highly recommend if you’ve never tried it, you can put basically any vegetables you want in it. Duncan’s saute pan. His dry food jars look something like this. Sorry, y’all don’t get a full description of Kenzie’s Gala dress until the next chapter, from Duncan’s perspective; also, I’ll link to the blazer and the gold collar tips I found that look like Duncan’s Gala look next time. Kenzie’s dress with gold flowers. Kenzie’s black sandals. Here’s the ghost story books she chose: 1, 2, 3 (I have the first two). Here’s the fireside cooking kit she chose. She ordered a bunch of bedding from this site. I’ll elaborate on the clothes she ordered in chapters to come--like Duncan, I love Kenzie’s clothes, and can’t resist elaborating on her outfits. Of course Samuel knew that in a moment of distress, Landslide was the only way to go. I wanted to express how much Kenz loves both Samuel and Harris in this part--and how much they are beginning to love her. Cartier boxes look like this. The connection between Duncan and Mackenzie is becoming stronger--that is, awakening to the deepness that is their destiny as soulmates, the connection between them that always has been and always will be, hence Kenzie having a premonition about something happening to Duncan and later being able to feel his sadness from miles away. The photograph of Annette catching Duncan as a child is, of course, canon with Season 6 of HOUSE OF CARDS, though Duncan never mentions it being taken in the fall, I added that. I got chills editing the end of this chapter--Duncan’s devastation soothed by Kenzie’s love. Love is really everything. Her Momby--the memory of Carrie Fisher--loves Duncan very much already (as I feel Carrie would have loved Cody if she had been able to meet him), and she will be a source of great comfort to him. I’m not totally sure how long the Gala stuff is going to be, but we’re finally up against it, and there’s a good chance it’ll be more than one chapter--there’s a lot I need to cover. Love to the Millorys, and, of course, especially my Duckenzies. As always, if you’re following along, your reblogs, likes, comments and asks mean everything to me.

Kenzie hovered at the edge of tears still in the backseat of the BMW, leaning into Duncan’s shoulder with his hand in her hair, lost in the feeling of Annette’s kiss that lingered on her cheek; it was as though she could still feel the pressure of it, the heat of it, the reality of it. I wonder if I haven’t confused the things that truly matter with what seemed to…

When Kenzie had pushed her warmth into Duncan’s mother, the touch of their hands creating a strong connection which she had harnessed, she’d thought: Annette, you are not alone. When Bill dies, you will not be alone. Duncan is your family. I am your family too. I promise, there is great light coming soon. In the years to come, your soul will be at peace. You are not alone. Be brave and go to comfort your brother. She had reached down into the secret gold she could now constantly feel stirring in the center of her body, lifted its strands out to hold Annette’s body and the soft fall of her hair. Annette had sighed--the long, low sigh of the truly contented, caught in this moment, and her face had suddenly lifted and looked younger, and Kenzie was struck by her beauty, by the beautiful, innocent girl she must have been once. And when Annette had kissed her, Kenzie almost felt as though she could smell the soft sweetness of some ancient flower, the smell of a summer long passed, when Annette had hoped and dreamed and been in love.

Kenzie’s phone chimed in her lap. Clairebear. Duncan’s eyes (storms), which had been staring off into space, glanced down at it. Kenzie Lou, your dress and Duncan’s jacket for the Gala are FINISHED. I’m going to send you some shots now, just making sure he’s not looking before I do!

Kenzie turned to Duncan, smiling. His hand fell down to the ends of her hair; his beautiful face leaned towards her, and he kissed her with aching softness, stirring the gold in the center of her up again. His mouth was like velvet, the sensitivity and sweetness of its pressure against hers making her sigh, the scent of him (woodsy jasmine, sandalwood, cedar) bringing her mind up to crash against him. To be kissed by you is always like I’m lost in a dream, and I never want to wake up. “Claire says our Gala outfits are finished. I can’t believe it’s the day after tomorrow. Already. Do you want to see your jacket?”

“I think I trust Morgan, honestly. God, I can’t wait to see what you’re wearing, though...” Duncan’s hands were coming down her arm now, to the crook of her elbow, against the dip of her breast in the lace. Kenzie couldn’t stop herself; the day had already felt so long, its oppressive heat having made her weary of the outside world; in this cool cocoon with the partition rolled up, Duncan in her arms, she felt as though there was nothing else in all the world that mattered. He was so lovely; despite the hotness of the afternoon, he still somehow looked fresh and unbothered, his skin smooth but for the dark stubble along his jaw (I love it so much), his black clothing pressing against his tall form, his hair tossed back in waves from his forehead, his gaze more striking than ever in the dark eyeliner Alister had given him. She moved closer, reaching up to the dip of his jaw turning into his neck, and his hand coming around to her bare shoulder blade. Kenzie leaned into his kiss again, opening her mouth. Doris Day was singing on the stereo, soft, meandering piano behind her--stars shining bright above you, night breezes seem to whisper I love you--

“Baby,” Duncan murmured into her, and Kenzie gasped against him in a tiny voice, a sudden terrible need for him crashing into her. “Whatever you did for my mother--thank you.”

“It was for you, baby,” she whispered back into him, and Duncan was pressing her down into the seat, clutching her against him, his hand coming down to press the lace of her skirt up, exposing her thigh to his large, long hand (uh huh touch me touch your angel give me all your need), his elegant fingers sending shivers up to the top of her spine as they gripped her, needy and demanding and leaving long red streaks on her pale skin, drifting up to the dip between her upper thigh and her crotch (today Kenzie wore red tulle panties to match her dress--they were sheer, and Duncan’s insistent hands had exposed them now--she could feel the cool air drifting against her sex and it made her shiver), her body was suddenly pulsing with heat...say nighty-night and kiss me, just hold me tight and tell me you’ll miss me...He dipped his hand up to the waistband of the panties, his fingers brushing the bare skin of her stomach, and his mouth went to her ear.

“Kenzie, Princess, please, let me touch you?”

“Uhmm, Duncan--Dunny, we shouldn’t--” His mouth was tasting at hers again, snatching her words away. Fuck, baby. Put your hand on my neck. Duncan’s fingers immediately came up to grasp her throat, and they tightened as he stared into her eyes, following her lead. Harder. That’s it. Now kiss me again. Let’s go home and fuck. I want you to lean me over that table and give me your hard cock and wrap my hair in your fist and make me suck on your beautiful fingers and fuck me--

Fuck, Kenzie. I’m wanna fuck you for the rest of the day. I wanna fuck you and make you scream because it feels so fucking good. I wanna lick and kiss and suck your clit until you can’t stop shaking. And then I wanna sleep for the rest of the afternoon with you. And then I wanna wake up and fuck again. Can we do that? I just wanna be alone with you for the rest of the day. I always just wanna be alone with you.

Kenzie was nodding against him as his mouth sucked along her bottom lip, his hands still pressing her down insistently into the leather of the seat, her head resting in the odd crook between the car door and the backrest. Kenzie’s mind was writhing with the feeling of him; she thought of Duncan fucking her ass, the wild sensitivity of it, the insistence of him pressing the plug inside her, the look in his eyes as he tied her up, the demand as he pressed the egg into her clit, or stared at her in the mirror as he buried his length into the space between her legs. She felt her cheeks growing hot with her need; felt the twinge of her cunt spasming at the promise of his fingers and his mouth there, coming soon.

Baby, at the Gala, she thought into him as their tongues clashed together, and Duncan was pulling her up easily into his lap--god, the strength he keeps coiled inside him, sometimes I forget and then he lifts me like I’m made of dry leaves--and her hands were both clutching at the stubble of his jaw, his still pushing the lace skirt insistently from her thighs, thumbs pressing close to the bands of her panties, the only barrier between his fingers and her shaking sex.

At the Gala, I want you to make me wear my plug.

Kenzie pulled back to stare into him, his ocean eyes wet and shining with the intensity of his desire for her, his thoughts drifting against her in hot waves of blue flame. Oh fuck, Princess. Kenzie. Fuck. Yes. My baby, my baby love.

I want you to put it in as we stare at each other in our Mirror, hold my throat as you do it, and Kenzie’s fingers drifted down and gripped his as she pressed the thought into him, whisper into my ear that I’m your Princess, your angel, your only love, your Soulmate. Make sure I know that I’m yours, baby. She tightened her hand and his mouth drifted open, eyes focused on her face.

Uh huh, Kenzie. Yes, Kenzie. I’ll make you wear it all night. He was moaning into her hand, his breath falling against her lips in a labored, lustful gasp. You are my Soulmate. You are my only love and everything I am and have is for you.

Uh huh, baby. You’ll tell me I can’t take it out until you say so. Kenzie smiled into him, teasing, feeling the power drift through her fingers to him. There with all those people and all those cameras and everyone, and I have to wear it for you.

Unng, Kenzie. I want you to make me wear something too. Please, make me wear something for you. Make me wear something to worship you. I have--I have a cock ring that I use to play with myself sometimes--I forgot about it until now, honestly...you’ve been playing with me so much I haven’t needed it, have I, baby love. But I’ll show it to you when we get home.

Kenzie gave him a look of mock severity, lifting away to stare at him, her hand still on his throat. She spoke out loud, quietly, surprised. “You should have told me about that before, baby. What else do you have that you’re hiding?” Duncan glanced down, shyly, then back up into her eyes.

“A fleshlight.”

“Ooooo, baby,” Kenzie ground her hips down onto him, and Duncan arched up into her, groaning, insistently needy. “I wanna watch you use it. When we get home I’m gonna make you use it while I watch--”

“I wish I had one made in the shape of your sweet little cunt, baby,” his mouth pressed under her chin, forcing her head up; Duncan moved his swollen lips down her throat, tongue pressing lightly and leaving a wet trail, into the dip of her collarbones, down between her breasts, and Kenzie was leaning back in his arms to accept his worshipping kisses, the coiled strength of his hands pressing into her spine, keeping her close, her eyelids murmuring open and closed, fighting the building heat in her belly. “Anytime you’re away from me I can’t stop thinking of you, I always need you, Kenzie…I have to go on trips sometimes, what if you’re writing or you’re busy with work and you can’t come with me--I want one of your tight little cunt, god, it’s so tight around my cock, baby--god, please make me wear something at the Gala, make me, please--”

Kenzie quieted, soothing her mind back into his. Okay, baby. Will that make you remember all night that you belong to me? Will that cock ring kindle your need for me for hours and hours? You can’t take it off until I say you can. Okay, Dunny? Kenzie bit into Duncan’s bottom lip, sucking at it, her opposite hand coming up to the other side of his neck to choke him with careful pressure.

Yes, Princess Kenzie, yes, angel, I promise I’ll be good and do what you say, baby.

Good baby. My sweet Prince. I love you so. They’d made it back to the high-rise and Kenzie carefully slid out of Duncan’s grasp, glancing down at his lap; the hardness of his growing erection was pressing into his crotch, and Kenzie longed to unzip him and pull his cock out, longed to press her mouth down onto the soft head of his length at that very moment, but Harris was coming around the door, wearing his dark glasses again. He extended a hand to Kenzie, giving her his friendly grin, the low heat of the day seeping into the backseat. It looks like it’s going to rain, Kenzie thought. A summer storm for us to fuck to. She smiled at Harris, accepting his hand innocently.

“You know, Harris,” she said, stepping onto the sidewalk, feeling Duncan come up behind her; felt his hand press languidly down her bare back, into the strands of her hair. “Claire was asking me about you.”

Harris dipped his head down to her, his sepia-colored eyes flashing over the rim of his glasses, his grin morphing from one of benign friendliness to shy interest. Kenzie smiled at him teasingly.

“Is that so, Miss Mackenzie.”

“Can I give her your phone number? Or give you hers?”

Harris blushed at her, pulling his sunglasses off his nose, glancing at the ground.

“Unless you’re unavailable. I’m sorry, Harris, it’s rude of me to have assumed.” Kenzie felt Duncan’s hand drift down to the zipper at the back of her dress, felt him pressing it down, wantonly, impatiently. She dipped a hand behind her back, fingers pinching at his. Oh my god stop that baby not yet. Kenzie felt a large drop of rain splash against her cheek--here comes that storm.

“I’d very much like to call on Miss Claire, Miss Mackenzie...that is, if that’s acceptable to you.”

“Harris, yes. Definitely. I’m going to send you her phone number right now.” Kenzie quickly went into her contacts to Claire’s number, hitting Share Contact as more rain began to fall around them.

“Come on, Kenz, we’re gonna get soaked,” Duncan slid his hand down her arm, reaching for her fingers. Kenzie quickly typed Harris’ name into the bar and hit Send.

“Claire is the most wonderful person,” she said to Harris as the rain began in earnest, a peal of thunder booming over their heads. She could see the large man’s dark gray suit beginning to grow black with the water seeping into it. “She’s my best friend.” She grasped Duncan’s hand and he pulled her towards the front entrance, beginning to trot as his hair flattened in the sudden downpour. She hesitated, then called over her shoulder, towards her bodyguard--and as she did, she pushed some of her drifting gold towards him, a few strands from the pit of her body.

“I wish you luck!”

She turned back to Duncan, quickening her pace to a slow run to keep up with his long trot--now they were both soaked, and water dripped down in rivulets from her long hair, her dress sticking to her hips. Jerry seemed to be somewhere else at the moment--Duncan yanked the glass door open himself and they ran inside, leaving a trail of water drifting on the marble under their feet.

“Sorry about the water, Anchaly--” Duncan said as they hurried past him. He glanced up, smiling at them indulgently, then returned to The Year of Magical Thinking, not replying. Duncan punched the elevator, staring at her, breathing hard, licking the rain off his lips--he flicked a hand (your beautiful hands, my beloved) through his hair, mussing it, rain cascading out of it to patter on the polished floor. Kenzie felt breathless, suddenly; breathless in the desirous intensity of his blue-sky stare, breathless at how fucking lovely he was. I’m going to rip your fucking clothes off, Kenzie. She swallowed as the door slid open; Duncan suddenly gripped her waist and pulled her inside, and as the door slid shut behind them Kenzie dropped her bag to the elevator’s spotless carpet as Duncan picked her up and pressed her into the side-rail, her back thumping against the wall. She hovered above him, her body stretching almost involuntarily as his open mouth hungrily sucked at the dip of her neck.

“Mackenzie Stone, I fucking love you,” he said, and she nodded against him, leaning into him. “I fucking love you too, Duncan Shepherd,” she murmured, whining into the wildness of his kisses. “I want you to fuck me until I scream while we listen to the storm--”

“Oh, you’re going to fucking scream, baby--” Duncan crushed his lips into hers, rushing his tongue against hers, making her cunt spasm. He’s so fucking tall, he can lift me like I’m nothing, his big fucking hands are gripping me so tightly. “You’re gonna come so fucking hard for me, baby, I’m gonna make you writhe with pleasure, I’m gonna make you come so hard all over my aching cock--”

Kenzie brought the flat of her palm down against his cheek, slapping him with a coiled strength--not enough to leave a mark, but with pointed insistence. Duncan’s words cut off as his breath sucked in sharply, staring at her in surprise--then their blue depth grew darker, like a night sky fading into evening, and Kenzie’s nerves thrilled.

That’s right, baby. You’re gonna fucking fuck me, aren’t you. You’re gonna wrap that leather choker around my neck and yank it tight and make my poor little pussy red with attention. Kenzie grinned at him, shivering in the drift of her thoughts to him in the elevator’s icy air conditioning, water dripping down her back from her soaked hair, pressed into the wall. The elevator dinged; 30. Duncan gripped her under her arms and brought her down, still holding onto her tightly, his breath ragged--Kenzie reached to the floor and grasped the strap of her convertible bag before Duncan insistently pulled her out of the gold interior, his fingers pressing tightly into her wrist. Kenzie couldn’t help but giggle nervously again; I love this. Be bossy with me, go ahead, Prince Duncan. He glanced back at her, his eyes still that dark shade of blue, and goosebumps broke out on her skin finally as he yanked his wallet out, shoving his keycard impatiently into the side of the door. He pulled Kenzie through as it unlocked with a beep, still gripping her wrist; Kenzie could feel her fingers going numb, he was holding her so hard. He turned as the door swung shut behind them and lifted her up again, falling into her as her back smacked against it, his thigh pressing between her legs, her hands falling to the sides of his wet hair, his mouth pressing up into hers.

“It’s like the storm is just for us,” she whispered, her lips brushing down to his stubble, its harshness raking into her skin.

“Yeah, the gods got hot and bothered knowing we were about to fuck,” Duncan laughed into her, his hands flitting over her, slipping through the slickness of her damp hair. He lowered her, reluctantly, and Kenzie went up on her tip-toes to reach for the topmost button of his wet shirt, working it apart.

“Anyone would get bothered, looking at you, Prince Duncan.”

“Miss Stone, I only have eyes for you.” He was pressing her back against the door again, his tall form looming over her, his hands against the black wood on either side of her head, trapping her. “Go sit at the table, Miss Stone. I’m going to get your choker.”

Kenzie bit into her lip, unable to disguise her delight at his commanding tone.

“I like you being bossy with me,” she whispered, still clutching his collar, her lips on his jaw. “I want you to be rough with me, baby.”

He smiled down at her--the smile made Kenzie shiver. My beautiful Duncan. I see the Hades in you when I speak such dark delights. I see the wild wine god. I see the shadowed god who sleeps; with me, he rarely emerges so utterly, for I bring out the light in you. But if I ask for him; ah, there he is. You will always give me what I want. You will always obey my desires.

“I will. Go sit down, baby. Be the angel I know you are.” He leaned down to kiss her softly for a moment; Kenzie shuddered in the gentleness of his embrace, knowing he was hiding the powerful need she’d asked for just beneath the surface of his composure. Then, he lifted his arms away from her and turned his back to her, working at the remaining buttons of his wet shirt, discarding it on the floor as he went to the closet, not looking back. Kenzie unlaced her shoes with quick fingers, kicking them beside the door, nervously stepping into the dining room, where the cherrywood table extended, serenely quiet and polished and long. She hadn’t really spent any time in this room of the penthouse--not since the night I made him chicken and dumplings and he tied me up for the first time, tied my wrists to the bed, fuck, oh baby. The table was indeed a magnificent piece, its dark reddish wood already having pressed itself into her mind; as soon as I saw it I wanted you to fuck me on it, baby. Something about its aged, elegant surface was intensely erotic. Kenzie went to the levered window at the far end of the room, facing the south side of the penthouse--she crooked it open and pushed it wide, the curtains immediately blowing toward her in the storm, rain pattering against the panes, warm, fragrant summer air rushing in. There.

She thought of how soon they’d be in the woods, by the lake, the clear air and the birds and the soft winds in the trees waking them up in the morning, the sharp smell of smoky woodfire and summer grass and the weed they’d smoke at night, the quietness of the evenings to come. Someday, we’ll wake up day after day in the garden house, and we’ll escape from the city regularly and we’ll fuck on a soft bed covered in quilts and twenty feather-down pillows and we’ll sleep until noon sometimes and no one will tell us we can’t--we’ll have a library and a pit for bonfires, we’ll have picnics under the shady relief of the orchard. She let herself imagine it--indulged again in her fantasies, her paddock of three horses, dapple gray, black, and creamy white, her greenhouse, her verdant garden of flowers and vegetables, wonderful dirt under her fingernails and sweet apple trees and honeycomb from their beehives to press against Duncan’s lips. Hey, I can dream. I’ve been dreaming. I’ve been sucked into a dream, only this dream is real.

Kenzie pulled out the heavy chair at the head of the table, closest to the doorway, and sat, breathing in carefully, trying to quell her nerves. She was still soaking wet, and she shivered a little, despite the warmth drifting in from the window she’d opened, her arms covered in goosebumps. She could hear him coming back now towards her, moving through the kitchen--but she didn’t look over to him, not yet--she stared ahead at the window, at the drifting movement of the curtains in the wind, the droplets of rain on the sill.

But I can feel him, Kenzie thought. I can feel the blue flame of him, pressing out, coming around me to stroke down along my hair, to fall down the side of my cheek and the back of my neck and over the rise of my breasts. I can feel his need, his want, his insistence, his lust crashing against me, wave after wave. Kenzie closed her eyes, anticipating the moment of his touch, willing herself to be patient, to be still. She heard him set something on the table, a soft, indistinct series of two taps, then a rustling--then heard the soft clink of the buckle of the choker on the hard wood as he set it there as well. She breathed carefully--in, then out, concentrating on the color of him. She could feel Duncan standing near her, feel his aura, his tall presence, could hear his soft breathing, calmed from its raggedness but still hitched with anticipation.

Kenzie could sense him moving toward her; then she felt the sweet softness of one of his microfiber towels dip down over her shoulders; keeping her eyes closed, Kenzie soothed into the feeling of his hands gently pressing it against her, carefully, into her damp hair and the back of her neck.

“Baby,” and she felt his mouth tickle against her ear, the warmth of his breath. “Stand up.”

Kenzie stood, eyes still closed, enjoying the sensation of being obedient to him; but I’m doing as you say because I told you I wanted to, she knew, and that thrilled her too. She felt Duncan move the chair out and away; into the corner, or somewhere else, somewhere it wouldn’t hinder them. Then she felt him come up behind her--felt his mouth drift from her ear to her cheek, his fingers fall down her arms. His woodsy smell was tinged with the wild scent of the rain, and the heady undercurrent of his desire, an obtuse scent she had begun to feel intimately familiar with, but one that she couldn’t describe in any worldly sense. It’s just him. It’s just my Duncan. Stronger when he wants me as much as he does right now.

“I’m going to take off your dress now, baby. It’s soaking wet and so are you.”

She laughed a little. Keep your eyes closed. It’s teasing him. It’s making him hard. “Uh huh, baby. I am.” She felt his hands at the zipper at her back now--felt him slowing inch it down, felt his lips fall onto her shoulder. She shivered, let the dress’ straps glide down her arms, let the wet dress drift off her body, pooling around her ankles; Duncan gripped the waistband of her panties and slid them down, too, so they fell around her feet. She felt Duncan soothe the towel down her shoulders again--then, he delicately moved it down her back, around her breasts and down her stomach, over the rise of her ass, the backs of her thighs, whisking the dampness from her skin. She could feel the sweetness of the wind drifting towards them from the window, hear the rain, the sound of his breathing, the pounding of her heart in her own ears, and she could feel the breeze of his thoughts, brushing over her skin--you said you wanted to watch me use it. Open your eyes, angel.

Kenzie did as he said: Duncan was naked before her, his cock achingly hard, his eyes on her face. He reached his hand out to her; Kenzie took it, stepping out of her wet dress and panties pooled at her feet, pushing them aside with her toes. He let go of her, fingers slow and brushing down hers, stepping back--Kenzie sighed at how beautiful he was, his hair damp and falling into his eyes, his height next to hers, his angelic, intensely erotic features. He reached to where three objects rested on the cherrywood table: a soft silicone ring with a bulbous triangular extension, a dark green, long object with a screw-cover that looked like a flashlight, and her rose choker; its silver rose winked at her, its black leather strap seeming to stare at her, waiting, achingly patient, knowing. Duncan picked the choker up in his elegant fingers (your hands, made to delight me) and looked into her eyes.

“Stand still, baby. I’m gonna put your choker on now, okay?”

Kenzie nodded, unable to keep her smile hidden, her body flushed with heat. I want it. I want you. I want you so fucking bad, put those fucking hands on me. She sighed as he came around behind her--wind blew towards them from the window, and she saw him shiver as his free hand came out to brush down her arm.

“Kenzie, you are so beautiful.” His hands brought the choker up around her face, lowered it to the soft, delicate incline of her throat, pushing her damp hair to the side--Kenzie wished they were in front of their Mirror for a moment, so she could see him put it on, but then she remembered how much she had wanted him to press her down onto this table, and thrilled to know it was on the cusp of reality. Duncan looped the strap through the buckle, pulling the choker tight, almost too tight, into her skin--she gasped a little and Duncan’s mouth came down to her ear, his tongue licking against it.

“I want it to be tight so you know you’re mine, angel.” Kenzie gasped, nodded, her eyes fluttering. “Is it okay? I want it to be tight, baby, I want you needy in my arms, is it okay? To control you for a little while? Give me permission.”

Kenzie nodded again, her breath ragged, the rhythm of her thoughts slowing, willing her breath to be small and slow. “I give you permission, baby.”

“If it’s too much, slap your palm on the table, like this.” Duncan brought the flat of his hand down on the table in front of her, slapping it into the wood, firmly. “Okay? And I’ll stop.”

“Uh huh.” Kenzie breathed in again, carefully, slowly, feeling the press of the choker into her throat, its constriction making her cunt twinge; she felt the wetness gathering there drip down the cavity of her, hovering around the lips of her sex. “I want you to fuck me good, baby.” She couldn’t stop the words that tumbled out of her, hungry and imploring. “I want you to fuck me until I’m raw and red from you, till I’m aching.”

“Unng, Kenzie. Shhhh.” His hands came around her, one to cup her breast, the other to trail possessively along the silver rose under her chin, his face drifting down to her cheek, pressing soft kisses there. “You said you wanted to watch me masturbate first. So you’re going to. Be patient for me, angel baby, okay? Put your hands on the table and don’t move them. You can’t touch yourself until I say so.”

“Uh huh. Can I make you wet for it, baby?”

Duncan’s eyes fluttered closed, and he nodded. Kenzie knelt in front of him, willing saliva from the back of her throat forward--she spat onto the head of his cock through pursed lips, using her hand to slide it down onto his length as he moaned, sucking eagerly at him for a moment, until he glistened with her attentions--reluctantly, she leaned away and stood again, and his eyes lingered on her, on the edge of control. Then, Duncan came around to where he’d placed the toys on the table--his hand came up to the aching hardness of his erection, and he eased his hand down it, down the wetness from her mouth--with one hand on his cock still, holding it steady at the base, he grasped the cock ring and pushed it down onto himself, a long, low groan emanating from his throat. Kenzie’s body trembled at the loveliness of the sound; an actual angel from heaven, stroking himself for me, beautiful beyond all my dreams. The ring seemed to make him even harder; Kenzie could see his cock jumping over and over into his stomach now, see its strain, its length, its redness, see the wild light coiled behind his blue-flame eyes, the aching, simmering energy that had begun to build in him.

Then, he reached for the fleshlight, unscrewing the top, turning the pussy-shaped canal towards her for a moment so she could see, his smile setting her skin to embers of fire, he is so fucking lovely, and Kenzie bit into her lip, feeling her cheeks blush. Fuck, baby, fuck yourself for me, fuck yourself, my Prince, my beautiful angel, and she knew he heard her from the look in his eyes, from his reply into the crevices of her mind. Oh, I will baby. For you and you only. Kenzie felt her mouth drift open, longingly, her hands flat on the table in front of her, wishing she could press her fingers into her aching clit as his eyes burned on her, but she had promised him she wouldn’t, and it gives me pleasure to obey you today, baby.

Not breaking their eye contact, Duncan turned the base carefully; a low buzzing emanated from the fleshlight, the vibrator now active--and his full lips opened slightly, slowly, involuntarily, as he pressed his cock into the shivering canal of the toy, and she heard him moan her name, “Uhh, Kenzie, Kenzie baby,” and Kenzie couldn’t help but sigh into a moan of need herself as she watched him drift the toy up and down his length, building a rhythm for her, his head falling back and his chiseled jaw pointing towards the ceiling. Fuck, he’s so fucking gorgeous. Fuck, I can’t even believe how beautiful he is sometimes. How can he even exist at all. How is he mine. Kenzie’s nails dug into the wood of the table, moisture pooling down the lips of her cunt, gathering against her thighs. Baby, I need you. Baby, I can’t stand it. “Fuck, baby, Dunny, oh, fuck--”

“God, fucking god, I love that choker on you so fucking much, baby--” Duncan continued to fuck the toy, the rhythm in his hips building, his thighs keening into the side of the table. “I’m gonna fuck you so good, you like this, don’t you, you like watching me fuck myself like this--”

“Uh huh, please, baby, please let me touch myself. I need you, I need you...”

Duncan slowed, his eyes squeezing shut as he carefully pulled his length out of the toy--Kenzie could see how red his cock was now, squeezed into wild hardness by the ring, pulsing with need, precum dripping languidly from the head.

“Okay, Princess, touch yourself.” Kenzie’s eyes fluttered in relief and she brought her slender fingers down to work against her clit, sighing at the warm breeze that suddenly floated against her--Duncan dropped the toy on the table, and she could see the determined, ravishing light in his eyes. That’s it, baby, fuck, I love that, make yourself wet for me, rub your sweet little clit.

God, baby, I’m already so fucking wet. I need you to fuck me. I need it.

Kenzie curved her body down over the table, staring up into him, leaned onto it so her elbows were crooked against its surface, her breasts pressed into it, nipples achingly hard, her ass pressed outwards to where the chair had been. She refused to look away from his gaze. Duncan gave her a longing, dazed look--then his eyes seemed to clear, he seemed to remember his duty, and he moved quickly so he was behind her--then she felt the coiled pressure of his hand press into the nape of her neck and push her head down onto the table, his fingers coming around to grip her tightly, so her cheek was against its cold, smooth surface--and Duncan kept his hand there, pressing her down as he thrust his cock into her cunt, the wetness that had gathered in her receiving him with covetous thirst. He was so hard that Kenzie felt her body struggling to take all of him, despite the come that had spread down through her--the ring had unclad every last residue of softness, and Kenzie felt her eyes roll back at the intensity of his domination over her in this moment.

As Duncan began to fuck her from behind, his fingers tightened at the sides of her throat over the choker, and she gasped, her voice cracking desperately at the combination of low pain and high pleasure in her body in this moment--Kenzie felt darkness drift at the edges of her vision, felt her body spasm at the lack of air, and her little hand slapped down onto the table, aware she would pass out soon if he didn’t loosen his grip. Duncan immediately lifted his hand, immediately stopped the movement of his hips, his cock still buried in her--he leaned down to her, brushing her hair from her shoulder, his mouth against the side of her head.

“Baby, are you okay, are you alright? I’m sorry, are you okay?”

She gasped air into her lungs--then, she turned her head, eyes fluttering open and closed, and Kenzie said “yes, baby, keep fucking me, Duncan, fuck me hard, I want it, fuck me hard, spank me.”

“Uh huh, angel--” Duncan immediately rebounded his movements against her, immediately ground the entirety of his length back into her, so insistently Kenzie felt her hips lift forward, shoving her into the table’s surface, his balls falling into the lips of her cunt--then his big hand came down and smacked into her, so hard it made her catch her breath again.

“Uhh, Dunny, yes, just like that, fuck yes--” And he slapped her, hard, on the other ass cheek, and she could hear the amusement and affection in his voice as he said “you like that baby, huh, you like me spanking you so hard like that--” and Kenzie nodded into the table’s cool surface, moaning approvingly, loving its heady scent under her nose, loving the pressure of him driving into her, the sound of his voice and the rain and the drift of the summer storm against their flushed bodies. Duncan was pressing down against her, driving himself into her again and again, and then he was gripping her little wrists and pulling them back in his fists, so hard she knew there was no way she could escape from his grasp unless he let her, lifting her a little off the table as he continued to grind into her, and then he dipped down to her ear and said--

“Baby, I’m gonna come now, then I’m gonna suck your sweet little clit on this table until you come, okay, baby, angel, is that okay?” And it was all Kenzie could do to moan a reply, “Yes, Dunny, yes--” And his long, beautiful hand was drifting against the back of her skull, clutching into her hair harshly, longingly, his mouth pressed into the back of her head as he shuddered against her, the warm spurt of his come coursing into her, and she could feel the damp sweat where their thighs touched, where their sexes were pressed together, aching and so fucking close.

Duncan hovered inside her for a moment, then in a smooth motion that stunned her he pulled out of her, gripped her hips between his long, beautiful fingers, and turned her body insistently, so she was facing him, a little line of spittle running down from her lips; Duncan leaned down to her, snatching Kenzie’s breath again, kissing her with terrible need, sucking at the spit that fell onto her skin, tongue tasting into her, and he was lifting her so she was now sitting on the table’s edge, his hands so soft and so strong and becoming so knowledgeable of her curves, the dips of her skin, the corners of her body--Kenzie’s body was absolutely set alight under his attentions this way, and her cunt was aching so deeply she felt as though she were on the verge of tears. Duncan’s smooth hand pressed into her belly and eased her down so her back was pressed into the cold surface of the cherrywood--her hair had almost dried now, and drifted around her shoulders and head as she gazed toward him. Duncan kneeled--Kenzie felt her mouth fall open at the beauty of the image, my sweet Prince, kneeling at my altar, bowed in worship, faithful, prostrate, and entire. His blue eyes pierced through her, and she could see the crown of his head, surely where a circlet of gold should be, my beloved, angelic, divine, and royal, a creature of high heaven. Then Duncan buried his mouth into the space between the lips of her, and Kenzie couldn’t stop the wail that rose out of her, so lovely a mouth it was: the only thing I want in the whole fucking world right now, baby, your mouth on me like this, all your attention, all your love, all the desire in you flowing into me in the most sensitive part of my body, as if to bathe me in moonlight.

I worship you, Duncan’s thought cascaded against her, through her thighs and belly, up to circle her breasts, fanning over her throat like a collar of diamonds, caressing the leather at her neck, thumbing her open mouth, pressing into her tongue and drifting its fingers into her hair. I fucking worship you, Mackenzie Louise Stone, I adore you, I am your most ardent lover, your most supplicant admirer, I bow to you, my love, I want nothing so much as I want your joy, your pleasure, and your delight in all things. I worship you, Kenzie, most fervently, I desire you always, I love the sweet space between your legs as I love your eyes as I love your breath and your sweetness in slumber and your glorious heart, your blessed soul, as I love you always, until the end of time, beloved, my Kenzie, I love you--

A peal of sweet summer thunder burst over the high-rise, rolling through the open window, rolling against them, crashing against the feeling of Duncan’s aching mouth pressed so carefully and insistently onto her sex, and his hands clutched between her thighs, pressing her up into his attention, and Kenzie saw the lightning from the corner of her gaze, felt the drift of the warm breeze down the length of her body, ruffling the drying curls around his head, smell the fierce, lush wave of the rain, and her hands came up to bury themselves them in his hair, against the sweet softness at his head, and his stormy, sky-laden eyes, the blue nebulas he kept hidden swirling there, lifted to stare at her, and Kenzie felt her body jerk forward against him, felt the crescendo of her coming approaching like another rumble of thunder on the horizon, and then she was arching, her back lifting from the table, and his tongue was shifting back and forth on her as she cried into him, remembering the otherworldly glow of his golden hair in the dream, the divine, strange wings that had extended from his back, and she felt, for a small, stolen moment, that she could see them again, growing from his back now as he kneeled against her, felt that in this moment, they were divine again.

-------

Duncan had gently, sweetly eased her back to the floor and unbuckled the choker from her throat, his fingers brushing against her now-sensitive skin as he did, and Kenzie had leaned into his touch, sighed with the loss of him as he lifted the leather away, sighed with relief as he immediately brought his fingers back to knead at the marks on her neck, his mouth coming down to soothe her swollen lips, soothe through her hair, dried to soft waves from the dampness of the rain. Kenzie reached down to his cock, still swollen with the pressure of the ring around it, and eased the silicone toy off his length, achingly slow--Duncan groaned into her as she did, closing his eyes, pressing his forehead against hers, and Kenzie said “that’s it, baby, there we go, god you were so hard for me, baby, you felt so fucking good...” and he nodded against her, contented. The storm was still raging outside, the rain now pounding heavily through the window, and Duncan stepped away from her to close it, but Kenzie whined and clutched him and she felt his mind surge back to her and he forgot the window and gathered her up in his arms.

“My Kenzie, my sweet little Kenzie, my beautiful angel,” he was murmuring into her ear, his fingers (my baby has the most beautiful hands, and they touch me with such reverence, I love his hands) still softly soothing the redness at her neck, and Duncan pressed himself against her, his body smelling of sweat and rain and cedar, the coiled strength of it low from his release, and Kenzie’s body still shook, vibrated with the comedown of her orgasm, hummed to feel so close to him in this moment, sung with the threads that were tying them together, their bodies, their minds, their souls. “You’re my baby, aren’t you, angel, you’re my Princess, my queen, my Persephone, tell me you are, Kenzie--” “Yes, baby, yes, you know I am, I love you--” and she turned her mind towards him, pressed her lips into his where she could taste her sex between his teeth, thought you know that I would die for you if I had to, you know I am giving the most secret, hidden parts of myself to you, and I’m glad to do it, I’m glad to fold myself into you this way, glad beyond all words, my beautiful and dark Prince, my Hades, and I know you bow to me, I see the terrible loveliness of your prayers, and your worship is fair beyond all worship in my eyes, and when we were those other beings with strange wings, our eyes like galaxies, our clothing created from the strange geometries of another world, I thought your worship more fair too, in that place, and chose you to be my dearest love for all time.

“Let’s make something to eat, Kenz,” Duncan said, and pulled back from her, gently. Kenzie nodded up to him, suddenly realizing she was starving. “Then we can take a nap together.” And that she was exhausted. He knows, he can feel me.

“Ugh, Dunny, that sounds fucking perfect.” Kenzie let Duncan pull her through the kitchen, into their closet--he pulled her silk pink-and-black sleeping set down from where it hung, easing the cami over her head, gently pulling her hair out as she pushed her arms through it--Duncan’s hands came down to drift over her breasts under the silken cloth, and she felt her mouth dip open, loving the sensation of his touch. Then he turned from her and rifled through one of his drawers for black sweatpants and a black tee shirt (always black, my Hades), kissing her forehead as she pulled on the little silken pink shorts.

“I’m thinking one-pan pasta,” he said, and Kenzie gave him a questioning look.

“What’s one-pan pasta?”

He laughed a little. “Exactly what it sounds like, babe. Pasta you make using just one pan. It’s so easy, come on, I’ll show you.” He twined his fingers through hers and pulled her into the kitchen, and Kenzie loved the sound of the rain, the softness of his presence, the fall of his hair. Despite everything in the world outside that has tried to harm or damage us, here we are, our love only grows and becomes greater, and being with you is beyond my wildest dreams. Being with you is joy unimaginable. Duncan looked at her, and Kenzie knew he’d heard. He nodded, and she heard him too: yes, Kenzie, yes. I love you so.

Duncan opened one of the high cupboards that rose along the sides of the stove, pulling down a shallow saute pan, dipping it into the sink to fill it with a few cups-worth of water. “Kenz, can you get an onion, some basil, a tomato and a pack of mushrooms from the fridge?” Kenzie nodded, smiling, gathering the things he’d asked for and laying them carefully on the counter as he placed a cutting board there beside her.

“All you do is put everything in the same pan and let it cook until the water evaporates,” he said, his hand coming up to fall down the wave of her hair. He reached to where several long glass storage containers were lined along the counter to the side of the sink (several kinds of dry noodles, rice, flour, sugar, cornmeal, quinoa, oatmeal, granola) and and pulled one with long spaghetti noodles to where their ingredients were gathered. His eyes skirted over her succulents on the sill, across the gray, rainy sky through the window, as Kenzie watched him, enraptured once more with his beauty. The plants were thriving, almost impossibly so--they were verdantly green and bright now, and some had begun to hang heavy growths down the wall. They can feel the love here. They can feel how much I love him.

“It’s supposed to rain all night,” he murmured, and she could see he was suddenly lost in thought, but the thoughts were indistinct to her, then he turned towards the pan on the stove and placed a handful of the pasta into the water, so she couldn’t see his expression. “Tomorrow I’m meeting with the President, Kenzie. I have no idea how she’s going to react to me. I’ve never met with her alone like this. And she and my mother have a very...fraught relationship. Like Annette and Madeline, they went to school together. But they were truly friends back then. I always wonder what happened between them, later. Whatever happened to make them turn on each other as they have.”

“Your mom is like an hawk. She’s terrifying, baby. I don’t doubt that it’s hard to stay friends with her.”

Duncan turned back to her, nodding, reaching for his kenzo knives from where they shone neatly on the counter-top, slicing the onion and the mushrooms with precise strokes, pulling leaves off the bunch of basil (it smells so good, Kenzie thought) and tossing them into the pan as well. Soon, the uncooked ingredients were gathered in a picturesque array, and Kenzie ran over to where she’d discarded her bag in the corner, grabbing her phone out (she noticed she had texts from both Clairebear and Mom, thought I’ll look at them later, I just wanna be with him right now) and snapping a photo. “This is the before, then I’ll take one at the end,” she smiled up at him, and Duncan glanced up at her, his eyes full of affection, as he turned the switch on the stove. “I love the colors together that way. It looks so pretty.”

“You--” Duncan started, but Kenzie gave him a facetious little slap on the arm.

“Shush, you.”

“I won’t. You look so pretty. You are so fucking pretty. Will you be my girlfriend, Miss Stone? I’m in love with you, Miss Stone.” Duncan was pressing his lips down to her cheek, his hand drifting up her arm.

“I am your girlfriend, Mr. Shepherd.”

“I still can’t believe it. That night we met--I’ll never forget that night, Kenzie. How lovely you looked. I knew.” Duncan turned back to stir the ingredients, tossing crushed red pepper and chopped garlic into the pan, grinding his coppery pepper mill over it, glancing at her between his work. The smells wafting from the stovetop were making Kenzie’s stomach rumble, and she pulled down two black plates from the cupboard beside them, pulled out the cutlery drawer where Duncan’s lovely silverware rested quietly, winking up at her, grasping two forks, setting them down quietly on the plates, watching him cook. I love to watch him cook. I love to watch him do anything. The smallest things. The graceful movements of his hands. The way he bites his lip when he’s concentrating. The way he cocks his head, leans his chin down, the small little movements of his eyelashes and his blue blue blue eyes.

“I was afraid of you,” she said, finally. And I was. You were so fucking beautiful, you are truly a Prince, and I thought you were dark, I thought you would be cruel, but no, I found that you were as beautiful inside as you are outwardly. And I found that you, of all the people in this world, were truly the One for me. “You have a reputation. Well, had. You were so tall and looked so sharp and your eyes were staring at me so intently--like they could really see me, like I was naked. Not, like--not that way.” She saw his smirk. “That you could--see my soul. Baby.”

He reached for her hand, the wooden spoon in his other pausing over the pan. “I almost felt like I could. Sort of. The minute I looked at you, I felt like I could see into you, see how wonderful you are. Like I could see your halo, all around you. I would have done anything it took to get you to talk to me.” Duncan tightened his grip on her fingers, his eyes staring at her intently. I could see your wings. “I can’t believe I found you, baby. In all the world, we found each other. But I think that we were meant to. I think we would have always found each other. There’s no way we could be kept apart.”

They let go of each other at the same time, but Kenzie could still feel the gold string that extended between them. It’s always there. It always has been. It always will be. Nothing will break it. Not even death.

“I think the dreams mean something,” Kenzie said to him. She gazed at the pasta and vegetables simmering down, breathed in the spicy scent of it as Duncan stirred, listening to her, not speaking. “I think they’re about who we used to be--or, who we’re going to be? I think we are them. I think those things happened or are happening or...something. I think if we find the right person, I dunno, the right psychic or whatever you want to call it, they can tell us who those people are. The people we used to be.”

“I’m sort of afraid to know, Kenz. There’s something about all of it that really unnerves me.” Duncan turned the stove off, using a long pair of tongs to scoop the pasta and veggies on the plates. Wow, that really was so easy, Kenzie thought. I love it when you cook for me. Love you, love you, love you. “I feel like there’s something dark hidden in all of it, dark for me, I mean. Like whoever I used to be was...I dunno. That I was a bad person. Worse than anything I’ve been in this life, and I--I really haven’t been a saint.”

Kenzie let her fingers drift down his arm--when Duncan turned to her she could see that his eyes were clouded with vague pain.

“Duncan. You aren’t a bad person. You are going to do wonderful things--you’re going to help thousands of people, baby. And I’m going to help you. Duncan, listen to me.” Kenzie’s hands went to his cheeks--Duncan turned into her palm, kissed it, his eyes closing. “You are good and sweet and kind and your soul is so beautiful and I love you so much, forever and ever. Whatever you used to be, it doesn’t matter now. What matters is what you are now. And I will love you no matter what. I swear I always will.”

“You’ve fucking saved my life, Mackenzie Stone.”

Duncan opened his eyes, staring into her as she let go of him, as she reached her hands down to their plates, passing his to him, twisting her fork immediately around the pasta and blowing on the steam. She popped her fork into her mouth, his gaze unnerving her as it always did--filling her nerves and her thoughts with his blue flames, his endless desire for her. She chewed and swallowed. Ugh, delicious. Everything he cooks is perfect.

“I didn’t. You saved yourself. I just gave you a little push in the right direction.”

“It was you, baby. It was all you.”

Kenzie leaned up to him, Duncan leaned down, and his lips were warm and soft and his mouth still tasted of her sex. The clouded quality of his gaze seemed to have dissipated, and his expression was calm and adoring of her.

“Let’s go in the bed, baby. Let’s go eat in bed and listen to the rain.”

Duncan went to the study to get a bottle of wine--Kenzie had taken his plate back from him and brought them both carefully through the bedroom, loving the quiet quality of the shadowy light today in the penthouse, her eyes lingering on her white and pink peonies on the coffee table, then on Athena’s bent head as she passed the statue, bathed in umbrage. She settled onto the bed, balancing the plates carefully and setting them on the black duvet, then she angled her phone down onto their dinner and posted the two photos together on her Instagram--get yourself a boo who can cook like @duncanshepherd, she typed. She noticed River had made a post about their interview today, including a side-angle photo, clearly one River had taken with her phone, of the two of them posing towards Anna--met Annette Shepherd, Duncan Shepherd and Mackenzie Stone today, and these two are serious #couplegoals. Look for my editorial in @vanityfair in a few weeks and @annapeterson’s breathtakingly gorgeous photos of them. #duckenzie #bestcoupleever There were over 3,000 comments under the post--Kenzie went to her profile and saw that she had over 2.5 million followers now. Sheesh. She went out of the app, feeling dazed and a bit afraid of it again, opening her text messages as Duncan came into the bedroom, two of his beautiful Waterford wine glasses clutched in one hand, a bottle opener in the other, and a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon with a handwritten label pressed under his arm.

Clairebear: Kenzie Lou, voila, the gown of a goddess. And clothing fit for a prince. Kenzie quickly angled her phone so Duncan couldn’t see the screen--Claire had sent her multiple pictures of their finished Gala looks, and her breath caught in her lungs. Oh my god. Morgan has outdone herself. I can’t believe how beautiful this is. I’m going to feel like a queen. The paps are going to lose their shit. Gold in the darkness. Gold for you, my love. Duncan’s jacket was exquisite--Morgan had made the metallic gold that dripped from it look painted, as though from a brush held by Van Gogh. Kenzie’s eyes skirted up to Duncan, unable to hide her wide smile.

“Baby, our Gala looks, oh my god. Wait till you see my dress.”

“I’m going to fucking die when I see it, I already know. Everyone will. I can’t wait for everyone to see--to truly see how radiant you are. They won’t be able to look away.” Duncan rested the bottle on the nightstand on his side, deftly uncorking it, pouring the dark red wine into the glasses. He handed one to her, sliding onto the duvet carefully so as not to upend his plate there, leaning down to kiss her, his hair falling on his brow. My warrior prince. Michael the archangel, too beautiful for human eyes. Hades, his eyes burning with blue flame, ever desirous of me.

“You’re going to look beautiful too. You always do. You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. Why do you think I said yes as soon as you asked me to come home with you,” Kenzie laughed. “We’d been talking for what, ten minutes?”

Duncan was spooling pasta around his fork, his radiantly happy smile melting the center of Kenzie’s heart into warm toffee. “If you had said no, I think I would have died right there of an utterly broken heart.”

“That smile alone. My Prince. They should paint you.”

“That reminds me, Kenz. I want to commission a painting. Of us. One of me and you. One we can hang in the garden house I’m getting for you when the company reverts to me.”

Kenzie’s breath caught. Duncan Shepherd, my billionaire boyfriend, wants to commission a painting of us. Like we’re a king and queen. To put in the house he’s going to buy for me. Fuck, Kenzie. Here you go, another reminder that you’re not in Kansas anymore. You really, really fucking aren’t.

“Dunny--I. Fuck.”

“You said you wanted a garden house more than anything, baby. Your eyes were shining and your face was glowing, and you were so beautiful, telling me about your dreams. Well. I want to give you everything you’ve ever wanted. I told you before and I’ll say it as many times as I have to until you understand that I really meant it. That I mean it. That I will.” He reached for his wine glass and clinked it against hers, drinking deeply, as if in need of the rich wine’s heady courage. Kenzie swallowed, her heart having floated into her throat, stealing her breath and her words and bringing tears into her eyes again.

“I’m sorry I cry so much lately,” she said, finally, and could feel her lips trembling as she did. “But tears seem to be easier than words these days. I don’t know what to say, Duncan.”

“Say you’ll marry me if I ask you.”

“Fuck, Duncan.” Kenzie felt tears course down her cheeks now, one from each eye. She saw the flash of her imaginings again--Duncan pushing a ring down onto her finger, her pushing one onto his (his beautiful hand, wearing the proof of his devotion to me always from that day on), thousands of flowers, Claire in a beautiful velvety bridesmaid dress, Momby giving a speech that would send everyone into a wild fit of laughter, the sweetness of his arms as they danced for the first time as husband and wife, surrounded by a hundred fairy lights. At last, my love has come along, my lonely days are over, and life is like a song...

“I won’t if you don’t want me to, I know, it’s wildly soon--but--but Kenzie. Oh, baby. I just--I want to ask you so much. It feels so right to ask you. I can’t stop thinking about it. It feels so right to want to be with you always that way. I want to give you my name and all its protections, everything. If you’d have me.” He had lowered his plate onto his lap, and they were both very quiet now, looking at each other in the gray light of the clouded, late afternoon, Duncan in his dark shirt and sweatpants, Kenzie in her little silken pyjamas, listening to the rain falling overhead and against the windows. Kenzie realized she was holding her breath, and let it out in a shuddering wave toward him. The most beautiful boy in all the world wants to marry me. Kansas is so far away, and I think it always will be now. I think life is going to be so insanely beautiful now for as long as I’m alive, and I can’t bear how it makes me feel. To be loved so utterly is overwhelming. To love someone this much is like a long dagger in my heart, and I worship its pain.

“Dunny,” she whispered. “Duncan. Ask me when I don’t expect it. Ask me on a random day. One of the beautiful days we have ahead of us. But I will say yes. Yes. I will. I love you.”

Duncan didn’t say anything--Kenzie could see the emotion gathered in his eyes, and knew he was as overcome as she was in this moment. He nodded, his hand coming to his jaw and along his bottom lip, then brought his fork back up to his mouth. Kenzie breathed carefully, willing her tears to dry. She remembered Momby’s text, and looked down at it, sniffing, wiping at her cheeks.

Mom: Look what just arrived via private messenger. To say I’m surprised is a bit of an understatement. Does this mean you finally weaseled your way into Annette Shepherd’s heart, my Kenzie Lou?

Attached was a photo of a gold envelope with black swirling print in the center. Madeline Stone, and then a second photo of the card inside it, where embossed gold print read: To: Ms. Madeline Stone. Your presence is cordially requested at 4th annual Shepherd Freedom Foundation Gala, on June 7th, 20XX. The theme for this year is GOLD IN THE DARKNESS: the juxtaposition of light and shadow in the Pre-Raphaelite movement. Attire is to strictly adhere to theme. Please bring this invitation to the event. We look forward to seeing you. Most sincere regards--the Shepherd family.

Kenzie squealed and held the phone out to Duncan, wiggling her knees back and forth against the bed. He squinted at it for a moment, then he let out a laugh that made the hairs on Kenzie’s arms rise, the sound of it wildly beautiful to her.

“Oh, baby. Fuck yes. I’ve missed Madeline like crazy. I don’t know what you did to my mom today, but fuck, it really fucking worked.”

“Dunny. I’m so fucking happy. This pasta you made it so good. I love you and the rain and this bed and this wine and everything.” Kenzie glanced to the Mirror that watched them in its regal, mysterious way, reflecting them in the gray shadow of the now-stormy day--the chain glinted down, winking in the low light. She was struck by how ethereal they looked in the reflection--my eyes look almost gold. She felt Duncan’s mind drift against hers. They do. They looked like that last night, too, baby. They looked like that while I was fucking you. They looked like that in the darkness. Gold in the darkness. You.

Duncan was finishing the pasta on his plate--he set it on the nightstand, finishing off the rest of the wine in his glass, then leaned across the bed to press a soft little kiss on her lips. Kenzie could feel a wave of sleepiness washing over her, and she handed him her plate and glass, which he moved to the stand as well. Kenzie folded against Duncan with relief as he eased them both down to the pillow, not bothering to get under the covers--the penthouse was cool but not cold, the temperature in the room dry and comfortable now that they were no longer wet from the rain. We’ll just sleep for a little while, Kenzie thought to him. Just for an hour or so. God, taking a nap with you baby, just sleeping with you this way, I love you so much…

Duncan’s nose and mouth were pressed into the back of her hair, arms enfolding her, his hands clasping her fingers which were nestled between her breasts. She could feel him, feel the sweetness of the thoughts he was drifting towards sleep inside--he was thinking about them getting married, thinking of flowers in her hair, thinking of her saying yes to him, thinking of a ring with a huge round moonstone, the color of sweet cream and iridescent like a rainbow as it caught the imaginary light. A moon for my little moonbeam, my moonlight, my beautiful moonlove, my moon, my sunlight, my starlight, my evening mood, my Ariadne, my Persephone, my baby, angel, my dearest love, body of my body, soul of my soul…

------

When Kenzie surfaced back to reality, it was from another dream. In this one she had been in a huge, terribly beautiful chair of gold, some kind of intricate, whirling golden sceptre extending from her hand. A throne, she knew. My throne. Duncan was kneeling before her from her place on a raised dais, and he was the impossibly strange, ethereal Duncan who had imperceptible wings, long, flowing golden hair, eyes like the blue nebulas, cosmic and infinite. He’d been gazing at her with eyes that told her he was lost to her--my Duncan sometimes looks at me that way, Kenzie had thought, knowing. But when this happened, it was for the first time, and she knew that, too. This was the first time he saw me. The first time any Duncan ever saw me. It was before time began; before the wheel of the universe had begun to spin. In this place, at this moment, the wheel started to turn. Because he saw me. And he knew that I was the beginning and the end and also that I was infinitely his; that he was infinitely mine. That we would forever belong to each other. For all ages. For all of time and beyond time.

Duncan stirred, his arms still around her--the bedroom was dark but for the moon in the window, almost totally full (the day after tomorrow, the Gala, the full moon), and it was deeply quiet, the rain having slowed to an almost imperceptible drizzle. Kenzie turned towards him and he nuzzled his face against her neck, sighing. “What time is it, baby?” she murmured into him. She felt his head fall back to look at the nightstand.

“Shit, it’s already 11. We slept for a long time, baby. We must have been tired.”

“I’m still tired, baby.” Kenzie leaned her face into the softness of his shirt in the dark--wanna fuck you, baby, but also wanna sleep, she thought against him. His hand stroked through her hair, bunched it at the base of her skull as his fingers grasped her against him.

“Baby, were you having the same dream?” he asked, his mouth pressing gently to her forehead. “You were on a throne. You were so magnificent. So incredibly beautiful. There are no words for how beautiful you looked.”

“Yes, baby. I was having that dream too. You were kneeling to me. You were too beautiful to be human. You were like a god.”

“I do. I do kneel to you. Should we get ready for bed, Kenz? We can fuck again tomorrow, baby, we can fuck when I get home and tell you about my day with the President, and you tell me about what you did, every detail, everything.” His voice was soft in the dark and Kenzie dreaded the moment he would have to switch the lamp on--I can feel him so well this way, feel his colors in the dark. We don’t need our eyes to see each other, I can see him, I can see every little fiber of his soul when he’s holding me and speaking to me so sweetly.

“Uh huh, yes, please.” Duncan let go of her, and a moment later the bedroom flooded with the low lamplight. Kenzie sat up, dipping her feet down the side of the bed, turned away from the Mirror, yawning, stretching her arms up to the ceiling. Duncan was gathering their plates and wine glasses, moving out towards the kitchen with them. I wonder what will happen tomorrow with Claire Underwood, Kenzie thought to his back, rubbing her eye with a sleepy hand, then remembering all the makeup she was still wearing, wincing as mascara stung under her eyelid. She went to the bathroom, tying her tawny hair back with a tie she’d left on the sink at some point, squeezing face cleanser into her hand, scrubbing it into her cheeks and eyebrows, washing the day away. Another very long day. We’re not done with those yet. But oh god, the way he fucked me today. The way we are starting to be able to anticipate each other’s needs, the way we can speak to each other in the throes of it, that’s beyond anything I ever imagined. True Soulmates. That must be what everyone sees--they don’t know they see it, but that’s why people react to us together the way they do. They see that we’re Soulmates. That we really, truly are.

Kenzie scrubbed her teeth as Duncan came up beside her, pressing his mouth against her hair. “Wait till you see the lake at the cabin. It’s so clear, on days when the sky is blue it’s like it fell into the water, like it’s liquid sky. We can swim in it or take the canoe out. We can build a bonfire, Kenz, howl at the moon.”

“I wanna roast marshmallows and read ghost stories to each other.” She spit in the sink and smiled, glancing at him in the mirror, her face damp, his expression sleepy. My sleepy Prince. I’d wake you up with kisses, but I just wanna go to bed with you and fall back down into the dream where you kneeled before me, your eyes deep galaxies of worship.

“You got it, baby. You should find some that look good tomorrow and order them for us to bring along. And anything else you think we should bring. We’ll take the picnic basket and eat lunch every day under the trees. We should get used to it, we’ll be doing it all the time when we have the garden house.”

“Ugh, that’s too beautiful, baby. I can’t even imagine that. The garden house.” Kenzie watched him brush his teeth, loving the way he scrubbed with broad, even strokes, loving the squint of his eyes as he concentrated, loving the rise and fall of his arms and the little movements of his fingers. You’re so calm about it, but my heart is full to bursting with you. With what you’re promising me. With all my dreams coming true.

“Soon you won’t need to imagine it. Soon, it’ll be real. It’ll be ours. We’ll find the perfect house, tucked away somewhere quiet and serene, no neighbors, just nature and the horses and me and you. You can scream as loud as you want when we fuck and nobody will hear, we can fuck outside under the stars and nobody will see us but the gods.”

“They’ll like watching. The gods are perverse.” Kenzie pulled her hair out of the tie, shaking it out around her shoulders again.

“They brought us together. I’m grateful to them.”

“Maybe we brought ourselves together. When I was dreaming, I thought: this is the first time I ever saw you, this is the first time I knew you were my beloved. Did you feel that way, baby?”

“Yes, Kenzie. I knew that too. I knew it was before time had...before time had really started. Before the universe had begun. I don’t really know what that means. But I knew that.”

“Uh huh. Me too, Dunny. Me too.”

He tucked his toothbrush back in the glass on the rim of the sink, Kenzie’s beside it (hers was orange, his dark blue; together, as it should be), then pulled her into his arms, picking her up at the waist, carrying her out of the bathroom easily. Kenzie looped her ankles behind his back, hands drifting around his neck. He threw her down softly, his lips finding hers again, and Kenzie felt the deep, immersive need for sleep crash down over them again. “Sleep, baby,” she whispered against his mouth. “Sleep with me, let’s go back to the dreams, I wanna be there with you, in the dream world.”

“Yes, sweet Kenzie.”

Kenzie didn’t remember falling asleep again, and though she knew she dreamt again with him, dreamt once more of that ethereal, lovely place where his eyes looked like nebulas and his hair was long and golden, she couldn’t remember what had happened in the dream the next morning, and she knew he didn’t, either. She only knew they’d dreamt it together. As it should be.

-----

It was still cloudy the next morning, but the rain was over, and Kenzie woke to find she had turned toward Duncan in sleep, so their faces hovered close. In the half-space of waking she watched the tiny shivering of his eyelids, the dip of his lips, parted slightly, his hand under his cheek. For a long moment she admired him; then Kenzie sat up, desperately craving a coffee right away today. The room was cool, the light still quite low. She glanced at his silvery alarm clock; it was just after 7.

As Kenzie moved into the kitchen she felt a warm burst of air drift through the doorway of the dining room, and realized: we left the window open all night. She shivered a little in the draft, her eyes glancing over the toys they’d left scattered on the cherrywood table; she grasped the edge of the window and pushed it closed, twisting the lever so it locked into place, her thoughts falling over the picture of Duncan using the fleshlight on himself, the wildly erotic expression in his eyes. Kenzie imagined the nights he’d used it alone; my beautiful Prince alone in his penthouse castle, overcome with longing, using it on his gorgeous cock in the silence of his lonely bed. She had no doubt he’d enjoyed many partners in the past, but she seemed unable to put a face on any of them, and they seemed indistinct to him now, too, when she’d felt his thoughts drift there--even Misha and Evan, the two people he’d told her he loved before. The pleasures of the flesh. Not meaningless, but--where is true pleasure without this love. It’s as though they never existed; fading shadows in light of the intensity of this love.

As she passed the table coming back, her hand reached out to fall over the leather strap of her choker, unbuckled still and left to wait quietly until they had need of it again. I love this. I love the feeling of Duncan pressing it into my skin. I love the look in his eyes when he sees me wearing it. I love the strain of it, the pressure, the slickness of the leather, the sound of the buckle as he closes it and pulls it tight. It’s a chain between us, a chain of such terrible sweetness. Kenzie moved her fingers along the silicone cock ring next--imagined Duncan wearing it in agonizing anticipation all night tomorrow. Surrounded by hundreds of other people in their finest, and we’ll still only be able to think of each other.

Kenzie made two coffees with Duncan’s imposing black Keurig, thoughts drifting over their beach day, the sweetness of his mouth, the feeling of his tall form huddled against her. When Duncan buys the Post, maybe I can write something about the company and we can publish it. Something about how it’s changing, and what our goals will be--how we’re going to change the Foundation, and move towards sustainability. I wonder if Duncan can convince Claire Underwood that she’s not his enemy. I doubt that will be easy. I think she and Annette have been on bad terms for a long time. Kenzie worried vaguely about Duncan’s meeting. I have a strange feeling about it, a nagging that wouldn’t dissipate. I feel like something is going to happen today, something that’s going to hurt him. The nagging suspicion filled Kenzie’s mouth with acidity, made her shiver despite the coolness returning to the penthouse now that she’d shut the forgotten window. I want to give him my courage, wrap him in that thin gold armor that protects him from all harm. But I think there are some things I can’t shield him from. Some things, I think, I can only give him comfort for. I think this might be one of those things. Be patient, Kenz. Be the constant thing for him, as he is your constant thing.

Kenzie came back through the bedroom, Duncan’s back still turned to her in sleep. She set the coffees down, watching him for a moment, hesitating, then Kenzie lifted her silken top over her head, pushed her shorts down, and climbed onto the mattress, naked and breaking out into goosebumps. She slid a hand down his arm, down into the dip above his hip, and Duncan stirred, eyes coming up to fall over her, turning his head. Kenzie grasped his fingers and lifted them up to her breast--his hand stayed there and began to knead at her, fondling between her nipple, back and forth. Neither of them spoke.

Good morning, angel, she heard him drift into her. You’re so fucking lovely. You’re naked.

Uh huh, baby. I made coffee, but it’s gonna get cold. Come fuck your baby. She leaned close to him, her mouth hovering near, but as Duncan tried to kiss her she pulled away, out of the grip of his fingers at her breast, and slid off the bed, stepping towards the bathroom. Duncan immediately seemed to lift away from sleep and came after her, pulling his black tee shirt off and to the ground, pushing his sweatpants off. Hard as usual, Kenzie glanced back at him, pulling the shower door open, turning the knob so hot water immediately cascaded onto her, but leaving it slightly open to receive him. She kept her back turned for a moment until she felt his hands come down, insistent, at the back of her elbows--then she turned, and immediately his mouth was crashing down against hers, his tongue insistently brushing against hers, his fingers finding the lips of her labia and lifting into her so she whined into his kiss. Duncan pushed her back so her shoulder blades knocked into the glass shower wall--the steam was rising already and his eyes were wildly tender, needy, as if he was half-stuck in the dream he’d just left in sleep.

“Are you my baby,” she whispered to him, and Duncan pressed his mouth down to the soft space of her jaw beside her chin, lifting her thigh with one hand to open the space between her legs to him.

“Yes,” and he pushed into her and filled her utterly, his groan echoing from the circle of steam and heat that enclosed them. “Your--baby--totally yours, Kenzie--forever--your baby is gonna fuck you good, make you come--” and she was whining, bucking her hips up into his cock to receive him as he lifted her, his thumb pressed into her clit to coax her (come, angel, come), the hot water’s insistent rhythm building their lust (she could feel his, like a wave, rising with hers) and Kenzie looked down to watch his thick length bury itself inside her, back and forth, fill me up, baby, Duncan, fill me with you, only you, just you, and he was lifting her other thigh up so he grasped her, hovering, over him, her toes curling as they knocked into his sides, her hands (god they look so small on his skin, on his neck, like tiny insect wings) coming to grip his neck, to choke him, to hold herself up, and his mouth fell open, his wet hair falling onto his forehead, and his eyes fluttered, and he gripped her, fingers tightening enough to leave bruises on her skin, as he jerked and his cock was buried in her utterly and he didn’t move again, steadied, waited, their bodies so close that Kenzie truly felt she didn’t know where they came together, only that it felt more right than anything else, that it was truly her Fate to be pressed irrevocably against him this way. He kissed her, his mouth open, tasting her, and then she felt his moan vibrate into her, and Kenzie pressed two fingers into her clit as her other hand grasped the skin of his neck, and she said, clearly, demanding: “Duncan, come right now, come with me--” and they were gasping into each other’s mouths, Duncan’s arms shaking as he held her up to take all of his release inside her, and she felt the shudder of both their sexes clutching the other, and Kenzie felt once more that she didn’t know where Duncan began, where she ended, where her body broke away from his, but felt that his length inside her was the true state of being for both of them, the one true contentment.

Duncan let her down, planting a dozen kisses on her mouth and cheeks and hair, and they showered quietly together after that--Kenzie could see the solemnity in him, see that he felt the strange thing coming, too, whatever it might be. What was it. What was going to happen? But he also seemed to sense that it was unstoppable. I’m here, baby, she thought, catching his blue eyes, holding them. Don’t worry. Don’t be afraid. I’m here. I’m with you even when we’re not together. You know I am. I’ll be thinking of you all day.

Today Kenzie chose a little black v-neck dress with sleeves that tied on the upper arm; it was covered in print of tiny golden flowers and dots and fell only to her thighs. Summer is here and summer is for tiny dresses, she thought, slipping on her black triple moon necklace (Fates, three-headed goddess, bless him today), watching Duncan watch her, loving the intensity of his eyes, loving his love for her there. She buckled on a simple pair of black heeled sandals and sipped at her coffee, long cold, watching him. It was going to be warm today, but Duncan had chosen a long-sleeved black mock neck shirt and a tailored black blazer; his uniform, Kenzie thought, coming up to him, drifting a hand down the lapel as he buckled on his black Movado. It’s like armor.

“I’m nervous, baby,” he whispered, looking down, sighing. “I suddenly feel like this meeting is somehow a mistake. Mom doesn’t know I’m meeting with Claire Underwood--nobody does, honestly. And I have no idea what she’ll say to me. I want to help...I want to fix the rupture between the White House and Shepherd Unlimited. But maybe Claire doesn’t. Maybe I’m alone in that. Maybe I won’t say what she wants to hear.”

“You have to try, right?” Kenzie reached up to his cheek, I’m so in love with the stubble here, it’s as innate a part of him as anything else, I think I’d be heartbroken if ever if he decided to shave it away more often. The feeling of it in my fingers is the deepest comfort to me. She breathed in the close smell of him; cedar, jasmine, woods in the rain. His hand drifted down her hair, his lips pressing to her temple.

“Just think of my gold all around you today, baby,” she whispered, and felt him nod against her. “I’m there with you, even though you won’t be able to see me. I’ll be invisible, but I’ll be there. I was thinking--when you buy the Post I can write something, something about the new model for the company, and we can set the record straight, publically.”

Duncan’s smile melted down onto her. “That would be perfect, Kenzie. If you’d do that, it would be such a comfort to me.”

“Then you know I will. I love you, baby.” Kenzie pressed her cheek into the warmth of his chest, her head against his ribcage. She could hear his heart beating too fast against her ear; she pressed into him, pressed a wave of love, and she heard it slow a little, to her satisfaction. You are not a bad person, she thought. You are beautiful and good, and you were before we met, and I reminded you--I pushed the shadows away from your heart, and kissed it with abandon.

Duncan’s hand came to her cheek, holding her against him, and their minds drifted against each other until Kenzie heard her phone chime on the nightstand--Samuel and Harris, waiting downstairs, time for work, Kenzie, time for strangers to snap photos of both of you, time for paps to chase you to the door, the world always waiting for them, the day ready to pull them away from each other again. She’d be driving with them alone today, too--Duncan had work to do at home before the meeting, finishing correspondence with Gala coordinators, various episode and app duties for Gardner Analytics.

“I’ll find some good ghost story books while I’m at work today,” Kenzie said, slinging her satchel over her shoulder as Duncan walked with her to the penthouse door. He went to a cupboard in the kitchen, pulling down a packaged granola bar, opening the fridge and retrieving a golden pear from the middle shelf, which always seemed to have an abundance of fruit--he came up to her and slipped them inside her satchel, giving her a chaste kiss as he did. His eyes still looked worried, hazy--but a little of the feeling she’d pushed into him seemed to be calming him now, seemed to linger, and that was good.

“Do you get scared easily, baby?” She trailed two fingers down the dark blazer over his arm.

“As a matter of fact, I do. When I was little I accidentally saw The Exorcist on TV and needed a night light for the next three years. Now you know my other weakness.”

“Wahaha!” Kenzie hopped on her heels, advancing on him, tickling her fingers into his sides. Duncan grinned. “Stop, fuck, Kenzie, don’t--”

“I’ll read you ghost stories and scare you and then I’ll tickle you to death--” Kenzie was murmuring up into his ear, her hands still flitting over him, and Duncan’s much larger, stronger hands came out to grip her under her elbows, forcing her closer to him, his mouth searching for her, finding her cheek, the space under her ear. “Ugh, don’t, baby, just kiss me, I can’t wait to kiss you under the stars, I can’t wait, we’ll sleep until noon every day--”

“Soon, baby, so soon,” Kenzie heard her phone chime again, knew she was going to be late if she didn’t leave now, but she ached at the knowledge that she’d have to leave his cocoon in a moment, leave the circle of his scent, his body, his mouth. “Kiss me, Dunny, then I have to go--” and Duncan leaned down and kissed her, his lips flush to her, and she thought let this moment linger with me all day, let him feel it too when he’s afraid and she pulled away from the taste of him with agony, and ran away from him, her hair tossing back, afraid that if she didn’t, if she looked into his eyes again, she simply wouldn’t be able to go at all.

--------

Kenzie tried to focus on her work; it had been several days since she’d really been present at the Post, after all, and she felt vague and far away from it, disconnected from the usual flow of emails, copy, and writing anything in general, worrying over Duncan’s meeting, thinking about the Gala tomorrow, continually going back to the photos on her phone from Claire, feeling her nerves thrill every time her eyes fell over the dress--it’s truly spectacular; I’m going to FEEL so beautiful in it. We both will--we’ll be together. And everyone will see. Everyone. Her stomach dropped, did somersaults, and she felt hot and cold at once. Kenzie realized that she was now, truly, beginning to feel as though she belonged in Duncan’s world. And my connection to this one is fading, isn’t it. Soon, the door to the other things I’m supposed to do is going to open. And I have to go through. I have to help Duncan turn the company into something good. And I think--as much as I’ve always loved being a journalist--I think I need to write my book. I think, now that I’ve found him, now that we’re finally together. I think it’s time. Like this was the thing I was waiting for, the thing I needed to inspire me to do what I’ve always wanted to do.

She gazed over Duncan’s Instagram profile, absently, turning away from her emails; oh my god, I hadn’t realized he took a picture of me in the car yesterday. And it’s lovely. She read his caption, her face flushing with heat. On our way to talk to @vanityfair, did you know my @kenzielouwho has a beautiful singing voice? #comeletmeloveyou #letmegivemylifetoyou There were thousands of comments on it now (Kenzie realized Duncan’s profile now had over 9 million followers--god, what’s going to happen when we announce the changes in the company, she thought, balking) and over 200k likes, and she winced as she peeked at them, noticing the #duckenzie hashtag almost alarmingly often. But most of the comments were sweet, lovely, adoring: #duckenzie are legitimately the most beautiful love of all time, while many others were openly lustful: #duckenzie lol more like #fuckenzie, I want these two humans to sit on my face.

We have some real, uh, fans out there, this is so fucking surreal, Kenzie thought. God, if you had told the Kenzie from just a month ago that this would be her life now, I would’ve told you you were insane. Old Kenzie would have burst out laughing if you’d told her she’d have a bodyguard hanging out with her all day for the rest of her life or--I don’t fucking know, for a long time, she thought, glancing up at Harris. So that’s been an odd thing to adjust to. But I’m starting to get used to him being around. He was staring down at his phone, his sepia-colored eyes smiling at the screen from his seat by the elevators. Maybe he’s talking to Claire, and the thought made her smile. She went back and forth for awhile about mentioning Duncan’s plans to buy the Post to Candice, but decided it was still probably best to postpone that conversation until after things were more settled.

There had been a large crowd of paps outside One Franklin Square today too, as seemed to be the new normal now (Duncan seemed to think their interest would fade over time, but something tells me that time is far away), but Kenzie no longer felt the twinge of fear that she’d initially experienced; I’m gonna make them do what I want them to do, she thought. If I have to have them around, I’m going to get them to work around me, be respectful of me. I can accept this if it’s the price I have to pay for Duncan and I to be together.

She’d paused today to talk to Sissy Conners, who had been wearing a very tight beige bodycon dress and many tiny gold necklaces with heart charms--Kenzie had noticed her nails were dark purple when the other woman had pushed a microphone out under her chin, and she quietly, calmly answered questions for a moment, mentally humming the din of voices and cameras, plastering a sweet smile on her face, taking off her round sunglasses to look the other woman in the eye. They love me. They’re already a lot calmer than they have been lately--it was how I was with those girls. It affected them. They saw that and they loved it. Not sure how long this will last, but I think I’m getting the hang of it, anyway. After a few questions about their Instagrams and Annette, Sissy had asked her “and who are you wearing to the Gala tomorrow?” in a simpering voice.

“Morgan Winthrop,” Kenzie had replied proudly. “And Duncan is too. She’s a close personal friend and what she’s done for us for the Gala is truly extraordinary, I can’t wait for everyone to see tomorrow.” Kenzie had turned and ducked through the doorway after that--exposure for Morgan, but leave them hanging a little.

Around lunch Kenzie asked Harris to go on a walk with her to her favorite corner store, and she dipped her round sunglasses back over her eyes, his large form hovering near her shoulder as she perused the aisles, choosing a chicken salad sandwich on multigrain bread and a little fruit salad with grapes, watermelon and pineapple, asking him shyly to hold two bottles of Evian in his large fingers. She watched him carefully check the aisles as she walked down them--a tall young man with squarish glasses and tattoos standing by rows of snacks was staring at her intently, knowingly, until he noticed Harris, then he nervously looked away.

“Harris,” she asked, glancing at him over the rim of the sunglasses, smiling coyly. “Did you talk to Claire?” A woman with a small toddler in her arms walked past them, her eyes peering at Kenzie intently. Got another one here, Kenzie thought, but the woman kept going, giving her a shy smile and a little wave. Kenzie smiled back at her, then looked back at Harris.

Her bodyguard, huge and imposing as he was, blushed instantly down at her, his infectious, friendly grin bursting over his face. “I certainly did, Miss Mackenzie. We’re going out on Saturday. To a jazz club I’m partial to. Miss Claire is kind enough to humor me there.”

“Ugh, yes, Harris, yes!” Kenzie couldn’t stop herself; she hopped back on her heels, then threw her arms around his large form, feeling her hair toss around the back of her arms, almost dropping the packaged food she was holding. He laughed, hesitated, then said, “I don’t know what it is, Miss Mackenzie, but somehow it feels as though you were a great help in all of this--an essential help to me. Thank you for that.”

“Harris, I’d do anything for you and I’d do anything for Claire. You’ll see--you’ll see how wonderful she is. Yes, yes, yes! God, that makes me so happy.” Kenzie thought of her dear Claire; Claire’s open smile and her tear-prone eyes, her pink lipstain, her blonde shag, her colorful patterned dresses. My Clairebear and Harris together. Ugh, I love it so much. All my dreams are coming true, even the dreams I have for the people I love so dearly.

A couple passed her, the girl with long dark hair and a bright smile in a pink dress with a full skirt and a denim jacket, the boy with a sandy-colored beard and a graphic tee for a beer company. They were chatting amiably, looking along the shelf of packaged snacks beside her, when the girl glanced over at her and made a gasping sound. “Oh my god,” Kenzie heard her whisper to the guy beside her. “That’s Mackenzie Stone, isn’t it? Oh fuck, oh shit.” “Go ask her for a photo,” the boy whispered audibly. Kenzie shyly tucked the hair falling over her shoulder behind her ear. She saw that Harris was watching them carefully. The girl glanced at her, noticed that she had noticed them, and blushed, her eyes blinking rapidly.

“Are you--are you Mackenzie Stone?”

Kenzie smiled a little, nervously. “Yeah. Yes. Hi.”

“Oh my god, your Instagram is absolutely my favorite thing, you and Duncan Shepherd, like wow, can I--can I take a photo with you? I love your dress so much, oh that photo he took of you yesterday, that was so beautiful--”

“Sure, yeah, okay. I love your dress too--you look so cute with that denim jacket.” Kenzie smiled at her, taking her sunglasses off, letting the girl dip her arm around her waist, both of them turning to the girl’s friend as he snapped a photo with his phone. God, what even is my life now. Everyone I’ve made eye contact with in this store so far has seemed to recognize me.

“Thank you so much, Kenzie! Duckenzie forever!” The girl smiled brightly at her, her expression elated, and she and her friend walked away--Kenzie could see the girl whispering excitedly into his ear, looking down at the photo he had taken of them, gleeful.

“Miss Mackenzie, you are so kind to everyone. More people would do well to be like you.” Harris was looking at her with an expression that Kenzie couldn’t quite read--adoring was the word that came to mind, and she pushed it away.

“I just think--if I saw someone who I really like and asked them for a photo, I’d hope they’d say yes,” Kenzie blushed. “I’m--this is all so new. But people have been really lovely. I think people are generally okay. Most people are good, they just--they just need someone to be kind to them, too.”

“As you say, Miss Mackenzie.”

She stepped towards the checkout counter and Harris followed close behind--Kenzie took the lunch items he’d chosen for himself and put everything together, the cashier ringing it up as he began to protest. “It’s Duncan’s card anyway,” Kenzie laughed a little. “He wants me to use it, so I’m using it.” The cashier was an older woman Kenzie knew well--Tippy, who always wore huge glasses and had her hair in two long braids, her gold tooth glinting at Kenzie as she smiled.

“Oh hello there, Miss Mackenzie Stone,” she laughed. “Glad that you’re still coming around to visit us regular folks, now that you’ve been living in the clouds. Ooo, now look at this card.”

“I really have, Tippy,” Kenzie shook her head. “I can’t believe it myself.”

“You look beautiful today. All that love. Get it, girl.” Tippy handed her a plastic bag with their lunches in it. “But get those Shepherds to share some money with the rest of us.”

“Working on it, Tippy,” Kenzie nodded, and slipped her sunglasses back over her eyes. All that love, indeed.

-------

Kenzie had found a few good ghost story books online between the work she did that day--she’d begun a new editorial on Claire Underwood’s recent nominee to the Supreme Court, undoubtedly another work Annette Shepherd would frown upon (but something happened between Annette and I yesterday, and now I’m not so sure--maybe she can change, too). Kenzie added several to her online cart: a beautifully bound edition of the tales of M.R. James, one edited by a famous horror historian, and one that had been edited by Roald Dahl. She typed her new address into the checkout, shaking her head in wonder again--oh, here you go, the address to my penthouse. Please deliver all packages there in the future. Like, WHAT. Kenzie ordered a few down quilts, a pile of other bedding, and a fireside cooking kit--for all the sleeping and bonfire building, she thought excitedly. I can’t wait to kiss you under the stars, away from the madding crowd, beloved. She went to a few online clothes retailers as well, searching for summer looks; Duncan fucking loves my clothes, which is fine by me. I love clothes too. And that’s what he gave me the card for. I can’t deny that being able to buy whatever I want is fucking amazing. It’s hard to resist.

It was past 5 by then; Kenzie looked at her phone, a sudden wave of apprehension falling over her. No messages from Duncan today. That’s odd. She’d sent him a text a few hours ago, mentioning her shopping with smiling faces and arrow-pierced hearts and ghost emojis. But no reply. That’s not like him. She remembered the strange feeling she’d had this morning, felt the claws of it hook into her mind again. She sent him another text.

Hope everything went okay with You Know Who today, baby. When do you think you’ll be home? What should we do for dinner? Are you with Samuel? I was about to text him, I’m done with work for today.

She gazed at her phone for awhile, heart thumping. Still no reply. She glanced up to Harris in the corner, and he smiled at her, then his expression turned to one of concern at her face. Kenzie stood, slipping her Macbook into her satchel, clutching her phone in a hand that had begun to shake, to her dismay. She stepped up to him, biting her lip.

“Miss Mackenzie, is everything alright?”

“Duncan just hasn’t replied to any of my messages today, which isn’t like him. He had a really important meeting today and now...now I’m worried about him.”

“I’m sure everything is fine, Miss Mackenzie. You know how his meetings are. Sometimes he can’t get out of them for quite awhile. Remember the day of the incident--he said he didn’t have access to his phone.”

“Yeah...but his meeting was around 2. It’s been three hours. Umm. I guess I’ll text Samuel.” Kenzie looked down at her phone, and noticed with an intense wave of relief that she had a text from Duncan, not having noticed her phone was on silent.

Kenzie, something happened. I’m not with Samuel. I have to go talk to my mother and my Uncle. I don’t know how long this is going to take. Just eat dinner without me. I’ll message you when I’m on my way home.

Oh my god, Kenzie thought. This message. Something is really wrong. There was a deeply distressing feeling to the text that made her blood immediately go cold. He’s really upset. What happened. Oh god baby, what happened. Kenzie looked up at Harris and he stood, his large arm immediately coming around her shoulder.

“Miss Mackenzie.”

“I want to go home now, Harris.”

“As you say, Miss Mackenzie. Is Mr. Shepherd alright?”

“I don’t know, Harris. He just sent me a strange message. But I think I need to go home. I think I need to be there when he gets home. I think...I think he needs me.” Something happened that has hurt him very much. What on earth? Kenzie could feel a needling, latent pain in the text, one that made her stomach flip. Oh god, fuck, oh god. What is it. She sent a text to Samuel, and (oh god, thank you Samuel) he replied almost immediately that he was en route, ten minutes away. Kenzie shakily grasped her sunglasses from her bag, pushing them over her eyes. Can’t let the paps see that I’m upset. All the work I’ve been doing to get them on my side would go right out the window with that. Oh my god, I wish Duncan was here. I wish I could hold him right now. God, what happened.

As Samuel had promised, a text dinged through her phone a short while later--Kenzie had replied to Duncan in the meantime (I’ll be home, baby, I love you so much, whatever happened I’m here and I can’t wait to hold you), and now she was chewing her thumbnail, her eyes skirting back and forth from her phone (no reply from Duncan) to Harris. Her bodyguard whisked her downstairs and she moved past the paps who still lingered, covering her face with a shaking hand as Harris shielded her from most of their camera shots--the telltale BMW sat on the curb and Harris held the door for her as she slid into the backseat, Samuel’s kind face gazing at her through the rearview, Harris sliding in beside him quickly, snapping the door as Samuel put his foot on the gas. She felt her heart soothe immediately as she heard the strains of music that pumped through the speakers: oh mirror in the sky, what is love?, can the child within my heart rise above, can I sail through the changing ocean tides, can I handle the seasons of my life…

“Miss Mackenzie, what is wrong.” Samuel’s eyes were knowing, full of empathy. Kenzie slid the sunglasses from her eyes, looking down at her hands as they drifted into rush hour traffic. The afternoon sun dipped behind a cloud and she could feel Harris glancing back at her with concern.

“I don’t know, Samuel. Something happened to Duncan. He had a meeting with the President today--he was so nervous about it, I’ve been so nervous for him--he didn’t message me all day and then he just did, finally, and he sounded terrible--and god I don’t know what happened but I’m so afraid for him--” Kenzie felt her voice crack and she couldn’t stop it, couldn’t stave off the sudden sob that fell from her. She threw her face into her hands, feeling the tears falling through her fingers. “I don’t know why but I just feel so sad for him, I don’t know, I just wish I knew what happened--”

Harris reached a large hand through the partition window, reaching out for her. Kenzie grasped his large fingers, wetting them with her tears, sniffling piteously, closing her eyes, trying to gather herself. Samuel passed Harris a tissue and he dipped it through the window.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you, Harris. Thank you, Samuel. I’m sorry. I don’t even know what happened. But I have such a terrible feeling. Like I can feel--whatever it was, whatever happened. I can feel how much it hurts him.”

“You and Mr. Shepherd have a connection unlike anything I have ever seen before,” Samuel said, his voice quiet and soothing. The car drifted finally out of the congestion of the traffic, and smoothly headed to Georgetown. “I do not doubt that you can feel some of what he feels, whether you are near or far from each other. It’s juju between you--the feeling of each other. There are not many in this world with that much feeling for another person. But if you feel that he is full of sadness, I don’t doubt you. You will comfort him. I know you will. You are his bright star.”

“I just wish--I just want him to come home.”

“Be patient, Miss Mackenzie. All things that are meaningful in life are made of hardship. You are together because you will help each other survive the pain of living.”

Kenzie felt too overwhelmed to speak--knew if she tried to, she’d burst into tears again. Samuel turned the dial up on the stereo--Stevie’s voice drifted over Kenzie, soothing, knowing. Well I’ve been ‘fraid of changing, cuz I’ve built my life around you, but time makes you bolder, even children get older, and I’m gettin’ older too, well I’m...gettin’ older...too…

--------

Anchaly looked up at her with concern as Kenzie walked into the high-rise’s foyer alone--Samuel and Harris had both asked if they could escort her upstairs, but Kenzie shook her head. Honestly, the only person I want to see right now is Duncan--and if I need to cry I should cry now. I need to gather my strength for him. I feel it. He feels alone. I have to reassure him that he isn’t.

“Miss Mackenzie, a package arrived today from Cartier. I had it sent up to the penthouse.”

Kenzie blinked at him from behind her sunglasses, aware that her cheeks were visibly tearstained. Cartier. What. Duncan. More presents. Oh, baby. How I wish you were back so I could fucking hold you.

“Mackenzie. Are you alright?” Anchaly’s face clouded, and he closed The Year of Magical Thinking, which Kenzie could see he was already almost done with.

“I’m--yes, I’m okay. Thanks, Anchaly. When Duncan gets back, tell him I’m home, will you?”

“Of course, Miss Stone.”

Kenzie managed to hold off until she made it inside the elevator--as the gold doors slid shut, she slipped her sunglasses from her eyes, took one look at her tear-streaked face, and began to cry again. She buried her face in her hands and cried--cried all the way to the penthouse door, cried to see the lovely little red boxes that rested quietly on the center island as she shut it behind her. She dared not touch them--whatever they are, I could never look at them without him. Kenzie dropped her satchel to the tile in the kitchen, unbuckling her sandals, still sobbing, her shoulders shuddering with her tears. She felt exhausted--her mind was aching with the sadness she could feel from him, the wave of it sent out, impossibly, through the city, cascading 30 stories up to her. Come home to me, my love, come to me so I can hold you in my arms, she prayed. You aren’t alone, not as long as I’m in this world. Come home, come home.

Before Kenzie even knew what she was doing, she’d collapsed into the quiet black cover of the duvet in the bedroom, barefoot, the hair around her face damp from her crying, and as she clutched the pillow to her tear-soaked face, her sobs began to quiet, and without realizing it, she fell asleep.

-----

She woke to his arms clutching her, his nose against her cheek, his breath ragged in her ear, as if he’d run or held his breath for too long. Kenzie jolted awake--she immediately pressed against him, lifted up into him, immediately twined her fingers around the back of his hair, deep into his burnt amber curls, and a little sound of relief and agony escaped from her throat, muffled against his dark shirt, terribly soft against her, the smell of him (the woods of you, my love) immediately bringing tears into her eyes again. The light was low, but hadn’t yet faded--sunset was seeping into the bedroom, and she could see the hunched shape of him against her, the outline of the sadness she’d felt, a sadness so deep I felt it across the city. I felt your sorrow.

He was so quiet for a moment, his eyes squeezed shut against her, his face down, refusing to look at her--his quietness struck fear into her heart again, and Kenzie whispered “Oh, baby, what happened, please tell me, I felt you, I felt your heart breaking, I can feel it still, I’m here, I’m here--” and he still didn’t speak, just buried his face against her, and she could feel, with wrenching clarity, the dampness of his tears against her shoulder, pattering through the wave of her hair there. He was shuddering into her now--he was truly crying, and she felt the breaking of his heart again, the rending of it, the softness of it dissolving against her. My beloved, your pain is mine, oh Duncan, how I wish I could take this from you, bear it for you, whatever it is, I don’t care, I would take it away if I could.

She held him--the light continued to fade and his tears soaked the back of her dress, soaked her hair, and Kenzie felt her own tears murmuring at the edge of her mind again. She clutched him with all her strength, and Kenzie thought it doesn’t matter my love, cry as long as you need to, with me you can cry, with me your heart can be broken and I will kiss every piece of it and sew it back together.

The minutes wore on--Kenzie stroked Duncan’s hair, stroked down his back, stroked his wet cheek, the corners of his eyes, wiping the dampness away. The pain inside him was jumbled, too loud--she couldn’t find a foothold in it, couldn’t see his thoughts clearly, just their sharpness, just their pain. Finally, his eyes opened to her--the intensity of the hurt she could see reflected in them snatched her breath away. Blue fire, but this fire is like the depth of the flame, the center of it, dying and desperate, lit with painful heat.

“Annette is not my real mother,” Duncan said, and his lip trembled in the fading light of the evening. His eyes burned.

“What.”

“Claire Underwood. I had such a bad feeling today--like I knew she wouldn’t be happy to see me. Like she assumed I was there to betray her. I thought I was asking to see her, but really, she was inviting me in--luring me. Because she thinks I’ll do whatever it takes to bring her down.”

“Baby--what do you mean. What are you talking about?”

“She told me to ask Annette where I came from. She asked me about my first memory with my mother--my first--” Duncan pulled away from her, rushed away from her through the bedroom door. Kenzie went after him, her heart in her mouth--she saw him disappear into his study and ran into the room behind him, hand pressed to her lips.

Her eyes fell on him, leaning over his desk--he was gripping a gold-framed photo that rested there, a photograph Kenzie had noticed the day she stayed home, hanging her photos in the bathroom, organizing her birds beside the Atlas paperweight. In the photo, a younger Annette (the Annette I’ve only glimpsed once or twice, and then only for a moment) was clutching a very small Duncan in her arms, her eyes full of joy, her expression radiant. In the photo Duncan couldn’t have been older than 3 or 4, maybe even younger--his hair was falling back and his little eyes were closed, a giggle of laughter on his face, his cheeks bright. They were both in sweaters--it seemed like it had been a chilly autumn day and the light was sweet and low, almost sepia.

“This is my first memory of her.” Duncan brought it over to her, and Kenzie could see the silent tears still staining his cheeks. “I told Claire about it. I told her that--that this is how I like to think of her. Happy like this. Instead of cold and cruel as she can be so often. And then Claire told me to ask my mother--ask Annette--where I came from. So I went to see her and my Uncle. Bill was angry that I went to see Claire without telling them--he’s not well and he was raving. And then I--I told Annette what Claire had said. And then...then I knew, Kenzie. From the look on her face. I knew. She’s not my mother.”

Oh, Duncan.

“Did she say anything?”

“No. She walked away from me--she told Seth something, something about telling everyone Claire had an abortion when she was younger. Something to blackmail her. In that moment, she didn’t even care enough to explain--she only thought of how to get back at Claire. I couldn’t stay any longer. I couldn’t fucking bear it, baby. I couldn’t--” Duncan tossed the photo onto his desk with a careless, devastated gesture--it cracked against the mahogany surface, and the frame snapped apart, falling face-down.

Suddenly, a wave of hot anger washed over Kenzie, and she wrapped her arms around Duncan’s waist, clutching him against her--he held her tightly, his face against the top of her head, and she could feel the racking of his body as he tried to hold his sobs in. Annette. You’ve never really cared about how Duncan feels--what really matters to him, or how what you do and say affects him, or what really moves him, touches him. About what he loves. You never bothered to try to nurture all the loveliness I see in him. You tried to steel him from the world, but you forgot, or you’ve never known in the first place, that his tenderness is what makes him so easy to love. How could you. How could you be so cold? How could you keep this from him for so long and let him find out from someone who wanted to hurt him?

“Who the fuck am I, Kenzie?” She heard his voice crack; heard the desperate sadness, the loneliness.

“You’re the person I love most in all the world, Duncan.” Kenzie turned her face up to him, looking into his face, aching with the love she felt for him, speaking quietly into him, her words for him and him alone, lost in the loveliness of his face despite the depth of sorrow she could see creasing it--she reached her hand up to his cheek, and he looked down at her, eyes glittering with tears. “You’re my beloved and you are greater to me than every star in the sky. You are the one I love. That’s all I know, and all I need to know.”

“I love you, Kenzie, I love you, but I’m not a fucking Shepherd, I’m nobody, I’m no one, baby--”

“You are not no one. Don’t say that. Without you--I couldn’t--I couldn’t bear anything again without you, Duncan, I don’t love you because you’re a Shepherd, that doesn’t matter and it never did, it never fucking mattered, what matters is you, your soul is what I love--”

She saw his face crumble again--saw his tears glitter as they fell in the fading light.

“Baby--baby, I know what to do.” She stroked at his shoulders, at his arms, his elbows, gently, feeling the warmth of him, the weight of him under the dark fabric. He wiped at his eyes.

“What, baby? Tell me what to do. I’ll do whatever you want. I feel so lost.”

“Shhh. I’m here. Let’s go see Momby. Let’s tell her what happened. I love you, and my Momby loves you, and she’d love to see you, and we can have dinner with her, and you’ll love her warm house and we’ll sit on her deck with her and smoke some weed and watch the moon rise, okay? Let’s go see her.”

He was nodding. “Yes. Yes. I’d really like to see her. I’d really like that. Yes, baby. Yes, please.”

Kenzie grasped his hand, kissed his mouth, his tear-stained cheeks, raising herself to her tip-toes. I’m here baby. I’m here. Together, we’ll survive the pain of living. I promise. Now, let’s go see my Momby, who loves you almost as much as I do. Momby will know what to do.

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jtin97 · 5 years ago

Text

Love Sucks

First of all I’d like to make it very clear this post has nothing to do with firing shots and trash talking the girl whom I loved for such a long time. This is my story about heartbreak, betrayal, mental health and how I dealt with it because not enough people and especially men do this. It has taken me 365 days to bring myself to do this and if it can help just one person in a similar position to how I was, then for me it will be worthwhile.

It all started when we were 15 (September 2012) , in school, we were best friends. Spoke every single day and only when friends mocked us for flirting and saying how good we were together, we both thought – maybe. I asked you over on a weekend, spontaneously. We watched Tarzan on video. We had an unbelievable time and romantically, it just worked. I asked you out, you said yes and we were young and so, so happy with each other for the next 5 and a half years - it was just pure love. You were the kindest and most reliable person in the world, we could share absolutely anything together. We did things together I could only dream of at the age we were and I felt like I was the luckiest person in the world; 2 proms, multiple holidays, so many adventures and loads in between. We did everything together. Virtually all my memories from the age of 15-21 you were there with me. We were both on the same page with life and got on with each others families so well and that’s all you really want.

Fast-forward to September 2017, we had our 5 year anniversary. I surprised you with a weekend in Paris, I booked a top floor room right next to the Eiffel Tower, absolutely breath-taking and we shared it together. We had a ball wandering around the streets of Paris, going to these small café’s for food as well as getting ice cream and crepes throughout the weekend. It was mini breaks like this that I was looking forward to doing much more of in the years to come.

A couple of months afterwards, something changed with me. To this day I really do not know what instigated it because at the time everything in my life was just perfect; but I was depressed. I start work at 5 in the morning and would often go several days a week without a wink of sleep; for months I was constantly drained and I couldn’t always give you the 100% attention I was so consistent on in the previous years and for that I’m sorry but I tried my best, I honestly did. It’s an indescribable feeling, some days I felt okay and others I just wanted the ground to swallow me up and never come back; I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. But even though feeling like this for months I never really spoke to anyone about it, I thought it would just be a phase that would pass but it just wouldn’t go. I remember coming home from work once and started balling my eyes out to my mum and just telling her everything I was struggling with and then telling my best mate how I felt. My only regret is not speaking out to family and friends. I always perceive myself as a macho, strongminded person who keeps things to themselves if there’s a problem but with this – I couldn’t handle it. It wasn’t until after telling my mum and best mate in February/March time I slowly began to get back to being myself and being happy again but it was a torrid few months mentally.

The purpose of this was to put into perspective how quickly everything could change and no matter how bad you feel, it gets better. On May 17th 2018, I received an anonymous message on social media saying that my girlfriend is cheating on me, telling me who it was with, how she was doing it and how long it had been going on for. I was shaking, a mess and thinking surely not, she wouldn’t do that. I was at work at the time and showed my best mate and he just said ‘she wouldn’t do that, no chance’. I didn’t reply, I just told my girlfriend I was seeing her after she finished work. I turned up at 11:30pm, shown her the message and she promised me that she would never do that to me – apparently she’s not that type of person, I believed her – at that time I would’ve trusted her with my life. You’re with someone for 6 years, you have to trust them and I know for sure that she’s never lied to me about something so serious before. I was always still cautious, but I’m too much of a nice person so just let it go. When in reality, why would someone randomly message me something like that with such specific details, alarm bells should’ve been ringing for me.

On Monday 11th June, I found out my wonderful sister had two cancerous tumours in her neck, something you never want to hear in your lifetime. I told close friends and my girlfriend who were very caring of the situation. The next day, my girlfriend broke up with me; completely out of the blue. She said there was just nothing there anymore and things just weren’t the same. I still loved her with all my heart and try to fight my cause but I couldn’t force her to stay with me if she just didn’t love me anymore. I thought that was that. The whole of the Wednesday, I was crying for about 12 hours straight, an absolute mess. My 3 best friends picked me up and convinced me to go to a local quiz (which we came last in) to help me take my mind off everything and it honestly did me the world of good (thanks lad if you’re reading). I got home and my phone went off. She text me asking for me to go over, which I instantly did. She said sorry and that she loved me, wanted to be with me etc… But after that nothing was ever the same.

On the following Friday, I went on holiday with my 3 best friends, all in relationships so not a typical ‘lads holiday’, just a week in the sun with some beers. Due to the week I had, I was so close to not going but I really needed to try and clear my head and get away from everything. I had a great week with them and it was exactly what I needed at the time – relaxing and watching the World Cup. They were the only people who had an idea of what I was going through at the time and gave me all the space, time and support I needed to keep me going through a very confusing time where I had a lot to take in.

I got back from my holiday and I could start to notice things were really not the same. Suddenly she started distancing herself from me and became really secretive about her phone and would not let me even touch it. I would never go through her phone behind her back in the 6 years we were together. It was her privacy which I respected and trusted her but for 6 years she was never like this so I had a hunch that something wasn’t right and having my suspicions I needed clarity there was nothing going on which I never really got.

On July 18th 2018, one of my friends had a house party, everyone took their girlfriends and it was so great. Me and my girlfriend were having so much fun – dancing, drinking and joking with each other, just like old times. As standard, she had too much to drink, I ended up looking after her and after it all I misplaced my phone. I borrowed hers to use the torch to try and find it. I seized the opportunity of having her phone and looked at her messages with the person who she was supposedly cheating on me with. I saw that she was. I wasn’t on her phone for long but I can still recite almost every word I saw in the minute I was on there. I saw was that she was messaging him that night saying how much she loves him and how she wants to be with him instead of being at this party with me. I was devastated, heartbroken and had never felt so worthless. I went up to her and calmly said that its time to go home. I walked her home to sleep in my bed, hand in hand as she was incapable of walking herself (took an hour by the way!!) and confronted her because I then knew the truth and inevitably she told me everything. She was cheating on me for months and I was dumb enough to be completely oblivious to everything. That night I led on my side facing the wall crying my eyes out whilst she was fast asleep.

Stupidly, I tried working things out with her which now I regret even attempting. She never really said sorry about what she did and said that she would stop talking to him but in reality it was a work colleague so that was never going to happen. We met up a couple of times, we would cry together because we both knew it was the end. I would cry to her telling her I would never get anyone better. Although, in reality I will. A year on, I haven’t put myself out there on the dating scene as I find it incredibly difficult to trust someone and this experience has severely scarred me.

The last time we met up was August 21st 2018 and after that rarely did we make contact. It was the first time in 6 years I hadn’t woke up saying good morning or saying goodnight to her and I really struggled with the feeling of that. The following week was the hardest week for me, my best mate went on holiday and I spent the whole week reflecting and crying over everything that had happened in the previous months. I didn’t speak to anyone or do anything, I contemplated life so many times, I just couldn’t deal with how I felt. The feeling is just inexplainable but I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t let her win.

After this I felt so low again but constantly upset at the thought of betrayal, not depressed. It took me about 7 months just to get my head round the situation and get over it completely. But once I got over it I’ve been living my best life. In the last 4 months I have:

ü Lost 3 stone by going to the gym regularly

ü Been to two concerts

ü Had a weekend in Prague with my best mate

ü Went to a festival

ü Went on a holiday with 6 friends

ü Booked a holiday to New York

It was not until a couple of months after we broke up that I actually told people what happened. I didn’t tell my best friends, my parents – no one. The best thing to do was to tell someone and when I did it was the biggest weight off my shoulders. I always have and always will be a quiet person and keep myself to myself. But telling people was THE BIGGEST RELIEF in the world. Everyone I told was so supporting and where I thought everything was my fault, they made me realise that I was a great boyfriend to her and someone in the future would be lucky to have me, I did so much for her.

Although I’ve been slating her for most of this I was in no means a perfect boyfriend. For sure there are things I would have done differently, especially in the months prior where I was feeling low – I needed you to step up. I was always so kind to you. When I went on a night out and a girl ever came to talk to me, the first thing I would say is that I have a girlfriend and show them my screensaver – a picture of her. Although it sounds sad, it’s the sort of person I am and always will be. I would love to have someone in my life who could do that same. I spoilt her rotten the time we were together and everything I did was to make her happy. Seeing her smile and laugh was all I wanted to do. I know in a room of 1000 men I will never be the best looking person but there will be few who would treat someone better than me and one day someone will come along who will teach me how to love and trust someone again.

I’ve been too quiet and reserved about all this but seeing as you’re now engaged and shown very little respect for me, I’m finally speaking. Although you broke my heart, made me incredibly depressed, shattered my confidence, left me to feel unwanted and unimportant, made me feel the need to shutdown from everything in the world, and make me feel like I never wanted to speak to a girl or wanted a relationship ever again, I have to thank you because of what you did.

§ Thank you for making me realise I’m much stronger than I thought I was.

§ Thank you for bringing my family closer than ever.

§ Thank you for making me closer to my friends.

§ Thank you for showing me exactly how not to handle a long-term breakup.

§ Thank you for showing your true colours early on in life before kids and serious money was involved.

§ Thank you for making me become a better man.

I wish you all the happiness in the future and hope everything works out for you in your relationship, but I know for sure I would not trust a girl who did what you did. If I was your fiancé I’d be incredibly paranoid that you’ll do what you did to me, to him.

The purpose of this post is to highlight how disgusting cheating is. It literally tears the victim apart and if you cannot guarantee loyalty; end the relationship before they get hurt twice the amount. Never take someone back after cheating, if they have it in them to do it once, they’ll do it again. If someone is reading this in a similar situation you’re worth so much more and things will get better and you will find someone in the long term, talking to someone is the best thing you’ll ever do and keep your head up. Time is the best healer.

Love is a magical thing, if you have something special don’t take it for granted.

Sometimes you have to step out of the frame to see the picture

#relationship #cheating #mental health

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acollectionofimpossibledrea-blog · 6 years ago

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Me looking back at my childhood

tfw you make a meme about your terrible childhood on the vent blog that one (1) person reads and you super appreciate that person reading because you feel bad inserting paragraphs of the shitty, shitty stuff that happened to you into a conversation but you still want someone to know about it because you crave that sweet sweet sympathy and validation but you don’t want to be a burden on them because you’re always afraid of being a burden so you just kind of throw a post out there because you don’t actually know how to ask for help.

I never used to think about my childhood as bad. On the contrary, I thought my mom was a good mom and I was glad that she was so “strict” on us so that we weren’t like other people’s children.

Then when I started to tell my friends about my childhood I found myself holding back details, or changing things a little bit. Making them smaller, less terrible.

If I was glad my mother had been so strict, why was I hiding it? why did I look at their relationships with their parents and wonder what it was like to grow up in a household where you could just....talk casually with your parents? Why did I feel ashamed of the way my mother treated me?

Things that had once seemed like very human mistakes, and maybe small injustices were suddenly...not okay. In fact, they were terrible. and these were only the outliers. Even the normal, day to day went from being normal and fine to me realizing that I have suffered so many terrible things in my life.

and realizing that....nobody came to stop it. Nobody helped me.

In fact, other family members helped her. Other family members were just as bad, or worse than her.

Now the memories that I hadn’t thought about in years are constantly washing over me and I don’t know what to do. The more I think about the past, the more I see the ways its shadow has been cast over my future.

My mother says that once I was an outgoing child. That I wasn’t shy. That I didn’t fear speaking to people, that I didn’t shy away from sharing things.

Now though, I’m afraid to speak to grocery store clerks, I don’t like to answer the door for salespeople not because they’re annoying, but because I’m scared.

I thought I had simply developed more like my dad.

But the more I think about it, the more I realize that as the negotiator between my mom and the rest of the house, my words and actions had to be chosen so agonizingly carefully that now I fear doing the wrong thing as though I’m still a six year old child standing before my own personal dragon with nothing but words.

I was outgoing I was friendly I was happy.

and now I’m....not.

Now I’m always anxious, now I fall into spirals of depression.

Before I started talking to my friends, all the memories just sort of....vanished. I forgot them. And now they just swirl around me constantly and I don’t know how to get them to stop.

I don’t want to resent my family, I don’t want to be scared of them. I don’t want to think that they’re terrible.

But I do

and I am

and they are.

I constantly want to justify it to myself. That things weren’t really bad and she didn’t really mean it. She has her own problems, she loved us, she thought she was doing the right thing.

but deep down I know that those are me giving her excuses in my own head to try and get the memories to go away again. and they won’t go away, because I know that there’s not really any excuse for what she did.

I have the same hypoglycemia that she does. I know how easy it is for my tempter to get away from me. I know how tempting it is to take it out on other people.

But I don’t.

I don’t scream, or throw things, or hit people. and I would never, never hit a child, regardless of their behavior.

because I know that its wrong.

I struggle with hitting myself a lot of the time, and that’s something I try to stop myself from doing, but I don’t take that anger and energy out on people or my surroundings.

So what’s her excuse?

My grandparents weren’t the best parents either. I once bit my grandfather, a 6 foot tall, 200 pound man who has done physical labor all his life, while I was playing lion as a child and he slapped me in the face.

Me, a five year old. for biting him on the finger.

There were no words, no “its not nice to bite people.” I bit him, and he slapped me across the face.

But I had bad parents too. and I would never hurt a child.

So what’s her excuse?

She had an abusive husband before she met my dad. He hit her too.

but that doesn’t make it okay to scream at your children, to hit them, to lock them in their rooms for something they didn’t actually do.

Regularly, my mother would go on screaming rants at us about cleaning the house. About how at our age, she was doing most of the cleaning herself, about how she couldn’t do it alone anymore, about how we had to help.

If someone did something wrong and nobody confessed to it, she would line up all three of us around the table and spank us with increasing strikes until someone claimed responsibility, regardless of whether they’d done it or not. and she knew that it wasn’t them who did it because sometimes she wouldn’t accept someone giving the sacrifice and would demand that the real culprit give themselves up.

Once, she slapped me because I couldn’t figure out how to fasten my seatbelt as a child.

Once she accused me of stealing a piece of her chocolate and despite my protesting, she punished me for it. Later, it came out that my dad had taken the chocolate.

If we were caught in a lie, or if she thought we were lying, then we were spanked.

If we fought over something, instead of settling the argument, she simply took away the toy forever.

This isn’t counting the hundreds of thousands of times when she would miss a meal and get angry at the slightest thing. During those times any small infraction could be the thing that set her off.

She was always so....focused on someone being ‘picked on’

if we complained or cried: “you’re not picked on,” over and over. I think it might have been a tactic that her other husband used to guilt her.

She was also obsessed with the idea of me being a thief. The chocolate was only the beginning.

I once wanted to play with some bath toys, just the dumb little foam animals that they squish into capsules and when you get them wet, the capsule dissolves and the animal unfolds.

I asked her permission and I guess she didn’t remember giving it because when she found out that I used them I was spanked more that I’d ever been spanked before despite my protests. Then I was spanked more for “lying”. She told me I could stay in my room for three days, only getting meals and bathroom breaks, or I could write five hundred lines saying that I would never steal again.

As a ten year old, five hundred lines was an impossible number. Especially as punishment for something that I hadn’t done.

After the three days, she let me back out of my room and gave me the opporitunity to ‘confess’ again.

When I continued to stick to my story--the truth--I was spanked again for lying, send back to my room, and given a thousand lines. Five hundred saying that I wouldn’t steal, five hundred that I wouldn’t lie.

After that she was always on the lookout for evidence of me ‘stealing’

Food in my room that I didn’t know I had to ask permission for?

Stolen.

Spanking and grounded in my room

A ring that I found on the floor and thought was pretty? Even though the gem was missing and it looked, for all intents and purposes like trash?

I must have climbed up to her jewelry box and stolen it. Like the thief I was.

Again, spanking and grounded to my room. This time though, she made me keep the ring so that if someone asked about it I had to tell them that I’d stolen it. She must have told her friends about it because next time I saw them, even though there was no way for them to see it, they asked me about the ring.

I can still remember her smug voice.

“Say, Kimmie, where’d you get that ring?”

The laughter at the edges of it. Because it was so funny.

I thought I was a bad child and a thief for so long. I thought it was my fault. I almost forgot that I was innocent. That the whole thing wasn’t my fault, but my mother’s.

It makes me so angry to think about it, and no matter how many times I try to bring it up, she still refuses to believe me. She jokes about it.

“I was worried about you for a while. You kept stealing things”

If I bring any of this up thought, she’ll be the victim. That’s what makes me the most angry. I can’t raise my voice, or give her “attitude” or even act reluctant to do something for her or she’s the one who’s pitiful and vicitmized.

but she could scream and throw things and hit me when I was a child.

All I can do is sit here and stew in my anger and my justifications and my loneliness while she sits across the room, playing stupid fucking video games all day while I work my ass off trying to clean her shitty house and make her food on time so that she doesn’t go on a rampage, and get her a drink so that she doesn’t have to get up.

I was puking once, and she barely looked up from her fucking game. I sat beside her chair and threw up into a trashcan so that she could occasionally reach out and stroke my hair while she played.

And all through this my father has sat aside. Has agreed with her, helped her. Left me, a child, to be the negotiator, left us to bear the brunt of her temper.

I don’t want to be angry at him too, but he isn’t innocent.

#vent post

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emoboijk · 6 years ago

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jjk | deviant: peach schnapps

“You’re like…scary? And stuff? Aren’t you?”—fluff, the deviant miniseries

» cherry cola :: peach schnapps

4,277 words

g.cred

Jeon Jeongguk wondered how he had made a habit out of spending time with you. And how it had only taken a month and a half for that habit to develop. The night he’d almost gotten you arrested he had talked to you because he’d been a little drunk and curiosity had got the better of him.

The second time was much more on purpose. And every subsequent incident was even more on purpose than the last. Until, suddenly, your number was saved in his phone under Goody and he was texting you. Regularly.

You wondered, too, sometimes, how this had all come about. But only when you let your guard down, because otherwise you were purposefully not thinking about it. You thought about everything to the nth degree and this the only thing that was…spontaneous. Wild. Free.

So you didn’t think about it.

Until Jihyo, leaning against your locker with a pretentious look on her face, said: “What is that?”

She was pointing at your bare forearm where there was a faded sharpie heart and your name followed by loves JK in his careless handwriting. Your mother hadn’t been too pleased with your newly decorated arm and had watched you scrub at it for nearly fifteen minutes before realizing it would take a few days for it to be fully gone.

You chuckled nervously and shrugged, tapping her shoulder so that she released your locker as her hostage so you could unload your bag. “It’s just a gag,” you smiled, glancing down at it and feeling genuine warmth infect your brain.

“Loves?” Sana said nervously from beside her, “Really?”

You shrugged, “I don’t know,” you turned to face them with your physics book pressed to your chest, “It’s just a joke.” You aimed for nonchalance but your heart was racing in your chest.

“You don’t know?” Jihyo said. She said your name like a teacher punishing a student, “He’s a criminal! This has gone on long enough, your little charity case with him needs to end now.”

Your eyebrows furrowed and you shook your head. “It’s not a charity case. I…I like him.”

“You like him?” Jihyo said, “He’s only seventeen and he has a criminal record! What about college? And your parents? What about your future?”

You crossed your arms, feeling defensive walls construct around you as you said, your voice like ice, “He’s the only person I’m myself around,” you whispered, looking at her, hoping to see a glimpse of understanding in her expression, “And he understands me. He doesn’t…judge me, Jihyo.”

“We don’t judge you,” Sana whispered, her voice soft and her eyes imploring.

You sighed and closed your locker, “What do you think is happening right now?” you whispered, walking away.

You spent most of the school day knee deep in the silent treatment, and after third period most of your friends stopped trying. You figured they were trying to give you space, or something. Either way, you weren’t in the mood to talk to them. You realized you were being somewhat harsh, but Jeongguk had suddenly become important to you. And you wanted them to accept that. Without judgment.

It was nearly dark by the time you left school, the yearbook committee meeting running later than usual. You waved them off as the group dispersed, climbing into their cars and chatting happily. You still felt cold and bitter as you walked away, heading toward your house on foot, screaming to high heavens when Jeongguk jumped out of a tree that bordered the sidewalk to land in front of you.

“Hey,” he smirked, putting his hands into his pockets.

Your eyes moved from his self-satisfied expression to the tree and back again, “How long have you been in there?”

He shrugged, “Since last period?” He ran a hand through his hair so that a smattering of dirt and leaves fluttered to the ground in his wake, “I stopped in to see Yoongs and then I took a nap.” Jeongguk smiled as he looked you over, his eyes landing on your forearm. He scoffed, “Did you try to wash it off?” He took your arm in two of his hands, holding it up to inspect the faded mark. You giggled and pulled your arm away from him.

“My mom made me,” you giggled.

“I wear mine with pride,” he grinned, pulling down his shirt to reveal the spot near his collarbone where you had doodled JK loves…in a large heart.

You rolled your eyes and chuckled, “What’d you score at the mini-mart?”

“Cigarettes,” you made a fake barfing sound and he shoved you playfully, “and peach schnapps.” The neck of the bottle peeked out from the inside of his jacket and you rolled your eyes. He dug around in his pockets and added, “Oh, and some mini donuts.” He took the plastic covered chocolate donuts out and showed you.

“Peach schnapps,” you said, diving past the donuts and into his jacket to withdraw the bottle, “Today’s for peach schnapps.”

Jeongguk’s eyebrows raised, concern clouding his features. You weren’t much of a drinker or a smoker. But junk food? Always. In fact, every time he stopped at the mini-mart he picked up something for you—junk good was typically pretty easy to fit in his pockets and it always made you smile.

But there was no smile this time. Tonight, with a serious expression and a darkness in your eyes, you unscrewed the cap from the bottle and downed a swig of peach schnapps straight, shuddering as it burned down your throat.

“Damn,” he whispered, impressed, turned on, and (a little bit) worried as he followed you into the park and toward the empty swings. You abandoned your bag in the sand and plopped onto a swing haphazardly, feeling a rush in your head. You didn’t look at him as you took another drink, only stopping when you couldn’t stand the taste anymore.

Jeongguk’s brow furrowed and as he moved to sit in the swing beside you, he swiped the bottle from you, taking a drink himself. You whined absently, losing your balance slightly and pouting. It was all quite cute.

He took another drink before he said, “You’re a lightweight.”

“What…” you burped, “ever. Whatever. Whatever.”

“Bad day?” he asked, laughing as you reached for the bottle like a kid for candy. He’d only seen you drunk two other times, and both were hilariously fun. He liked that you were a lightweight because you were adorable when you were drunk. But this wasn’t like that. You were in a bad mood. “Tell me what happened and I’ll give it to you,” he said, tilting it to take another drink.

You huffed in an exaggerated manner, leaning against the swing chains as you said, “My friends,” you sighed, “My friends. They think I’m crazy. Crazy, crazy, crazy.”

“Crazy?” he snorted, “Why?”

“Because of you,” you said, spinning around in the swing and pointing at him accusatorially. “You’re all ‘dangerous’ and ‘bad for my reputation’ and stuff.” You sighed, looking at him wide-eyed and with your mouth hanging open in awe. “But you’re also super hot,” you giggled, “and nice. You’re so nice to me,” you sighed, dreamily, “I’m myself,” you hiccuped, “with you.” You grinned, leaning forward and almost falling in pursuit of the bottle again. You tipped it backward so that the liquid poured down your throat before you continued, “I like you. I’m happy with you,” you laughed, “But everyone hates that I hang out with you. My parents,” you guffawed, “my parents think I’ve become a drug dealer.” You paused, considering, “Do you deal drugs?”

“I,” Jeongguk stuttered, his heart racing in fear and panic. Was he…hurting you? He had never cared what other people thought of him, and he still didn’t. But was he, his reputation, his actions, hurting you?

“Whatever,” you said, shaking your head, and moving so that your swing was near his. You moved your face so that it hovered in front of his, “Will you kiss,” hiccup, “me, Jeon Jeongguk?”

“W-what?” he said, feeling a lump in his throat, feeling like some freshman nerd seeing a bra for the first time.

You giggled, the peach schnapps bottle sloshing in your lap, “Kiss me, dummy.”

“Who’s there!” a voice said, echoing around the park, a bright flashlight shining on you and Jeongguk. You turned abruptly, your hand securing the bottle of peach schnapps so it wouldn’t fall.

“It’s just us,” he grinned, stupidly waving the bottle in the air for the officer to see, so lost in drunken euphoria that you forgot you weren’t supposed to be drinking.

The officer approached you both slowly, the brightness of his flashlight making you both squint against it. Jeongguk’s heart sunk, already knowing this was going to mean a night in jail and possibly a juvenile charge for himself. It wasn’t…the first time, to say the least.

“Come with me,” the officer said, his voice stern.

You furrowed your brow, “Are we…in trouble?”

The officer sighed, “It’s a safe bet. Come on to the station, we’ll call your parents.”

You sobered up sitting on the cold cement bench of the holding cell at the police station, but even if you hadn’t, you would’ve when you saw your mom standing on the other side. She was shaking the police officer’s hand professionally, “Thanks Namjoon.”

The officer shrugged, an officer that you now recognized as a friend of your mother’s from school (he was always at barbecues and the annual Christmas party), “It’s her first offense. And they didn’t get up to any trouble.”

“But that young man has done this before?” your mother said, her voice almost Stepford-like in its analyzed caution.

The officer sighed with his hands on his hips, “Yes, but his blood-alcohol levels were barely registrable. We’ll give him and your daughter a pass. This time.” He moved to unlock the cell door, motioning for you to come out.

Your mother’s grip on your arm was like a vice, her expression stern. She dragged you from the cell but you pulled back stubbornly, “Wait. Can’t I go see Jeongguk? Make sure he’s okay?”

“I don’t think so,” your mother said, outraged, “I’ll be damned if you ever see that boy again.”

“But Mom, I—” you tried, but she shook her head and wrapped her hand around your wrist, catching sight of the faded ink still on your arm. She scoffed.

“JK,” she spat, “Unbelievable.” She pulled you from the police station without a second word, your heart sinking with every step.

You were on a house arrest for the foreseeable future, only permitted to leave the house for school and extracurricular activities. Your friends, while sympathetic and with a genuine desire to hang out with you, were also quite impressed with themselves. As soon as she’d heard, Jihyo had texted you:

Jihyo— told ya so ;)

You tried not to be too irritated. Jihyo was a good friend, even with her high horse. And Sana had been texting you nonstop to chat and see how you were.

Jeongguk on the other hand. He hadn’t texted you at all since that night (and your mom made of point of checking your phone before and after bed). But he did show up, after two days, loitering in your front yard and looking so out of place next to the pastel garden gnomes that it would have been laughable, if not for your mother’s instantaneous reaction.

“You,” your mom stuttered in anger, “You go away!” She raised her arm and pointed him out threateningly. Jeongguk took a step back respectfully, his hands held up defensively.

“I just wanted to make sure she’s all right.”

“No thanks to you!” your mother spat, “She was on track for a good college, a good job, and you almost jeopardized it all!” Your mother continued ranting, words and words about what a corrupting influence he’d been on her beloved daughter. His eyes moved past her and found you, standing hesitantly in the doorway. He asked his question silently and you nodded, you were all right.

“Okay,” he said, “I won’t be coming back.” He was speaking to you now, not your mother, although she didn’t know that. “I don’t want to hurt her anymore,” he said, his eyes locked on yours, “So I…I won’t see her again.”

“Good,” your mother said, crossing her arms proudly, satisfied. But behind her, you crumpled. Jeongguk watched as you tried to keep your resolve, rubbing your lips together and focusing your eyes so intently on him that it was like you were screaming. Your legs wavered and you felt the ground rush toward you as you collapsed.

Instinctively, Jeongguk stepped forward, arm outraised. Your mother had whipped around at the sound of you hitting the floor, a gasp escaping her lips like her chest had been stepped on. She turned back around and slapped Jeongguk’s hand, “No,” she said, hurrying up the porch steps to help you up. “Leave,” she said, her eyes shooting daggers.

Jeongguk stumbled out of your front yard, moving backward to watch you stand, to watch you breathe, to be sure you were okay. “Fuck,” he whispered as if he were choking, frustration boiling under his skin as he made his way out of the yard. He turned to go through the front gate, spotting the pale yellow gnome named Hubert and kicking it harshly.

“Deviant!” your mother yelled after him.

“Tell me about it,” he whispered.

You’d thought about letting him get away with that little scene in your front yard. I won’t be seeing her again. You thought about it. But then you remembered his face, the way his eyes looked as he said the words as if he was as heartbroken as you. You could see him collapsing internally through his eyes.

So, Monday morning at school, you found him where he always was—behind the sports shed in the backfield, leaning against the side. This morning with a bottle of Jack Daniel’s pressed against his lip.

You crossed your arms and pretended to look at a watch on your wrist, “Nine in the morning? Really?”

Jeongguk stood, stumbling slightly as he rose to his full height, passing the bottle off to Taehyung and Jimin as he pushed past you. “What do you want?”

“Hey,” you said, running to catch up to him, “What’s going on?”

“I told you,” he said, turning around with his hands shoved in his pockets, his face morphed by irritation, “I don’t want to see you.”

“Hey,” you said again, softly, like a trainer speaking to a wild animal, “It’s just me.”

“So?” he spat, the school bell ringing in the distance. Taehyung and Jimin chucked the empty bottle over the fence and wandered past you both, Jimin slapping Jeongguk’s shoulder jokingly, laughing hilariously. But neither you or Jeongguk budged.

“So? We can still be friends,” you paused, searching his face. You were surprised that you had to explain yourself. Mr. Bad Decisions himself? You thought he would understand. “Mom doesn’t have to know.”

Jeongguk coughed and reached into his jacket. He withdrew his cigarettes, put one between his lips and lit it, taking a long drag before blowing smoke into your face. You coughed and took a step back. “And be what? ‘Secret best friends?’ Huh,” he scoffed, mocking you, “I don’t fucking think so.” He turned on his heel and walked toward the school, leaving a trail of smoke behind him.

And you were struck, suddenly, by the realization that you hadn’t seen him smoke since that night you’d almost been arrested.

That first day was rough—you were late to homeroom and everyone knew about your incident with the peach schnapps. But it didn’t take long to fall back into old routines. You hung out with your friends like nothing had happened, your grades stayed normal, and after a while, you even felt normal. But it was like an internal injury—there was a dull ache where you knew you’d been hurt, even if there were no physical signs.

Jeongguk felt it, too. He was back in old habits—smoking, drinking, drugs occasionally. He went to the mini-mart nearly every night to get a hook up from Yoongi. Taehyung and Jimin were almost annoyed at his hanging around so much now. His grades sunk again (after a brief rise, because you insisted on studying). But there was still a nagging pain. Like he’d been shot in the chest, and they’d left the bullet in. He was fine, he could function—but it hurt, always.

By the time that prom was around the corner, neither of you had spoken to each other in nearly a month and a half. You made plans with Jihyo and Sana to go as a trio, girls only. Of course, they had date offers, but they tended to treat you like a reformed drug addict who needed to be watched at all times. So they turned the boys down and went dress shopping with you.

Jeongguk was torn. He didn’t want to go to the dance, wear a tux, see all of those people that he didn’t like and that didn’t like him. And of course, there was the chance of seeing you. But at the same time, someone had to spike the punch bowl. And it would be fun to see all of the straight-laced high schoolers get a little wild. And of course, there was the chance of seeing you.

It was a week away when the decision was made for him.

Taehyung, Jimin and he were stalking the halls of the mini-mart. Tae was sitting on the counter, putting the sparkly barrettes that were on display at the register in Yoongi’s hair. Jimin had stuck his mouth underneath the icee machine and was giving himself a brain freeze. Jeongguk was squinting at the vodka selection with an intensity that made him think he was becoming an alcoholic. He walked to the counter without anything.

“Nice look,” Jeongguk snorted, pretending to be interested in the scratch cards hanging in front of the register.

“Whatever,” Yoongi sighed, Taehyung chuckling. Yoongi’s brow furrowed and he said, “Whatever happened to that chick?”

“What chick?” Jeongguk said, although his heart was already racing at even the slightest mention of you.

Yoongi rolled his eyes, “You know who.”

“Oh, her?” Jeongguk said, casually but at the same time, not at all casually. “Goody two shoes? Fuck her.”

“Did you?” Jimin snorted, walking up from the ice machine, his lips tinted blue.

“Why?” Yoongi said, almost flinching as Taehyung ripped open a third bag of barrettes, sighing in relief when he started chasing Jimin around the store with them.

“What do you mean why?” Jeongguk rolled his eyes.

“She was chill,” Yoongi shrugged, sitting back on his stool.

“Whatever,” Jeongguk said, leaning against the counter and turning away from him.

Behind him, Yoongi rolled his eyes. “I think the alcohol has finally done you in. All your brain cells have turned to mush.”

Taehyung laughed loudly and Jimin paused in running away from him to yell, “Burn!” before Taehyung pounced, securing a sparkly butterfly into Jimin’s dark hair.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Jeongguk said.

“She was a chill girl. And you seemed to like her,” Yoongi shrugged, “Why dump her?”

“We weren’t together,” Jeongguk almost growled.

“Yeah, you were,” Yoongi said, rolling his eyes for the thousandth time.

“But I never even—”

“Hey, just because you weren’t man enough to make a move, doesn’t you mean you weren’t together,” Yoongi said, raising his hands defensively, “So what happened?”

“We were arrested for underage drinking,” Jeongguk said, his defenses dissolving because he was exhausted. He was fighting the pain all the time, always fighting his instinct to be with you.

“So?”

“So?” Jeongguk said in disbelief, “So! So, I’m bad for her, Yoongs. She’s like…all goody two shoes and perfect and smart and, like, with a future and shit. And what am I?” Jeongguk shook his head, “Top Ten Drinking Games? Top Five Ways to Escape the Cops? Thirty Ways to Get Arrested? Twenty Ways to Get Arrested With Someone You Care About?” He turned around and kicked a display of corn nuts.

Yoongi sighed, “First all, fuck you for that, I have to clean that up,” he pointed to the corn nuts now decorating the floor. “Second of all, stop being a baby. She’s a grown up. You don’t have to protect her, she can make her own fucking choices. Did you force her to drink? No. Did you force her to hang out with you? No. She made those decisions herself with her own brain. Do you think that if she thought you were dangerous or would jeopardize her future, she would go near you? Fuck no.”

“What are you saying?” Jeongguk sighed, wrenching his hands through his hair.

“Two things,” Yoongi said, holding up his fingers, “One, if a smart girl like her is hanging out with you, you can’t be that bad. So shut the fuck up with the self-loathing. And two, you need to suck it up, put on a tux, and go all 80’s movie on her ass at the dance.”

The day of the dance came in no time, and you were dreading it. Your friends had grown overprotective, your mother had become Stepford 2.0, and you felt tense all the time. You missed him, and you were tired of missing him, and tired of pretending not to miss him.

So, when you came out of your room to meet Jihyo and Sana and your mother, dressed to the nines, and your mother said, “Now, aren’t you glad we dealt with all that nasty Jeongguk business?” And then, your two best friends smiled sympathetically at her and nodded, you sort of snapped.

“Actually,” you said, finishing securing the corsage on your wrist, “no.”

Your mother nearly choked. “Excuse me?”

You looked at her, telling the truth for the first time in a month, “I miss him so much, Mom. He was…my best friend. And I think…” you paused, savoring the thought in your head before you said it aloud, “I think I really did love him. And I tried to talk to him after he made that big speech a month ago, and you,” and you turned to your best friends, “and you, too, helped convince him that he shouldn’t be friends with me, for whatever reason.” You paused, taking a deep breath, “And whatever, I’ll forgive you for that because you thought you were doing what was best for me, as long as you understand that I liked having him in my life and I wish he still was.”

And then you turned on your six-inch heel and left the room, leaving all three of them with their mouths on the floor.

The dance was being held in a ballroom of a hotel. It was a relatively small space, but the placed was decked out—streamers, strobing lights, sparkling things, signs from party stores that said PROM and CLASS OF—.

You arrived on the scene “fashionably late” and after an extremely awkward dinner. But Jihyo and Sana had recovered, apologized even for the way they had behaved. And now, they were ready to have fun.

What no one was anticipating, was Jeon Jeongguk. In a tux. In the middle of the dance floor. Looking so awkward and uncomfortable that it was both painful and laughable.

And, with your newfound realization in mind, you were smiling. Because of course, this is the kind of shit that he would pull.

You met him in the middle of the dance floor, and he grinned, “Hey.”

“Hey,” you said, smiling.

“I brought some vodka for the punch,” he grinned, dipping his hand inside of his pants pocket to reveal his flask, before stashing it again.

“Of course you did,” you grinned, beaming.

There was a long pause, and you could see himself building up courage before he said, “I’m sorry,” he sighed, “I was a jerk.”

“Yes,” you nodded, stepping closer to him because it had been too long since you’d been near him, “You were.”

“I thought,” he whispered, completely taken with you—with how you looked all dressed up, and the smell of your perfume, and the way your eyes were solely focused on him. “I thought I was doing what was best for you.”

“Everyone needs to stop doing that,” you chuckled, your hands finding their place on his chest.

“That’s what Yoongi said,” he grinned.

You rolled your eyes but laughed nonetheless. “You know,” you whispered, “You never kissed me.”

“I know,” he whispered, “I wanted to.” Without thinking about it, his hand moved to cup your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin in soft rhythm. Your eyes closed at the sensation, warmth spreading through you.

“You did?”

Jeongguk chuckled, his eyes on your lips now, “All the time.”

Your eyes opened and you smiled, “Yeah?”

He chuckled, “Yeah.”

“What stopped you?”

“I…” he started, his mind going blank, his brow furrowing, “I had reasons, but I can’t remember them right now.”

“Good,” you whispered, looking up into his eyes imploringly, “Kiss me.”

He grinned, his lips transforming into a lopsided smirk. His other hand moved to cup your jaw and guide your lips to his. He tilted his head so that they met at the perfect angle, your arms reaching up to wrap around his neck and pull him closer. He was soft and slow, treasuring the moments, the sensation, the warmth that overwhelmed every nerve.

“See,” you sighed when you pulled away, “We could’ve been doing that for months.”

author’s note— look guys, i’m a sucker for a stupid 80′s movie ending ok? (part dos of dos)

requested by anonymous— Hi!! Can i request a badboy Jungkook fic? Fluff, a bit of angst, whatever you feel it works for it.

for more of my works check out my m.list

#rosynamjoon #bangtanbuds #bts #bts x reader #bts fluff #jeon jeongguk #jeon jungkook #jungkook #jeongguk #jungkook x reader #jeongguk x reader #jungkook fluff #jeongguk fluff #jk #jk x reader

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erikandariel · 6 years ago

Text

The Truth

[Notes from Ken: This is a sequel to How We Met. There’s actually typical G/t stuff in it! Near the end there’s an infodump(tm) that’s Ariel and Erik’s backstory. I’m sorry this story is so long. I’m hoping to write much! shorter! fic! now that I’ve finished this one. Enjoy!]

Length: 5,926 words

The summer after I met Ariel and Erik felt like it went by more quickly than any before. I had an internship in my hometown that made me feel exhausted once I got home. Ariel and I texted everyday and we’d Skype each other at least once a week. Erik was there for the first call, but apparently he usually had “business to attend to”—his words—so he rarely joined us. I tried asking Ariel what the heck he was doing, but all she’d say was that it was somehow related to their home country; which she continued to not tell me the name of. Then near the end of July Ariel had a surprise for me. “All three of us are going to Yellowstone National Park to celebrate the end of summer!” she announced during our web call. “If you want to of course!” Apparently at some point, I’d told her that I’d like to visit the park again at some point in my life and she decided to make that happen sooner rather than later. She somehow roped Erik into joining a group call to my mom and dad to get their blessing for the trip and they worked out the details. My friends would pay for our plane tickets, the rental car, our hotel room, and most of our food expenses. They would have paid for everything, but my parents insisted that they’d give me the money to pay for the rest of my food and to cover my entrance costs for any activities we did. If I wanted souvenirs I could get them myself with the money I earned from my summer job. At the beginning of my internship, I told my boss when my last day would be. I had worked it out so that I’d have a little over a week off between when I finished with them and moving back to college. Ariel took advantage of this, so the three of us would be fly out together the Saturday after I was done with my job and fly back the Sunday before my semester started. I was more than willing to go.

—

We only had three full days left of our week long celebration. I’d been enjoying the trip overall, but I was getting a bit antsy over Ariel and Erik basically taking care of everything? Normally I would have been totally cool with this, but they seemed to be looking out for me like I was some little kid who could get seriously injured at any moment. So instead of actually talking through this issue, I chose to assert myself by insisting I drive the next day right before we went to bed. It took a lot of convincing and pleading but eventually Erik sighed and handed me the keys. “Thank you!” I said and hugged him in excitement. When I met up at the airport, Ariel and I had immediately taken to regularly giving each other hugs. They were always a bit socially uncomfortable? My head came only to the middle of her chest. I still enjoyed them though because she felt so soft and warm. Erik, on the other hand, just didn’t seem to be the hugging type. After mine and Ariel’s greeting hug I asked him if he wanted one too and he politely declined. (And then quickly added that he was also glad to see me again.) Since then he’d never done the whole like non-verbal hug ask thing where you like hold out your arms to show you want a hug. So, I figured he just wasn’t into them and had left it at that until that specific night. And even though he’d started to gently hug me back, I started to pull away. “Sorry! Sorry!” I said quickly. I very purposefully looked not at him as blood rushed to my cheeks. “I should’ve asked!” Erik stopped my retreat with his right hand that was still on my back. “Yes you should have asked first,” he said. He sounded stern, but not angry. “However, we can hug right now if you want.” I let out a happy squeak as I catapulted myself into another hug. He snorted and gave me a soft, but awkward squeeze. Part of it was because the top of my head didn’t even reach his sternum. But, I think the weirdness of the hug came more from the fact that if he tried to hug me like a normal-sized person did, it would basically be like he was just giving himself a hug. So instead he had the ends of the fingers on one hand lightly curled around the top of my right shoulder and his other hand resting across the lower part of my shoulder blades. Like Ariel, his hug also felt warm in terms of temperature. However where as she was squishy and soft, he was literally a rock. Like there was some give, but not much. Before I could catch it, I let out a yawn. “I think someone’s tired,” Ariel teased. Erik started to push away but I closed my eyes, leaned my forehead into him, and let my arms drop to my sides. “Iz ‘kay. I’ll just sleep like this,” I said in a mock-tired voice. “I am fairly sure you can’t sleep standing up,” Erik said as he put both of his large hands on the front of my shoulders and gently shifted my weight off of him and onto my own feet. “I know that it doesn’t work for me at least.” I dramatically rolled my eyes before flopping backwards onto my bed, behind me. “Fiiine.” They both laughed. Since that got the reaction I had wanted, I flipped over and crawled underneath my sheets. “Night!” I said as I set the car keys on the night stand and took my glasses off. “Hey, I didn’t get my goodnight hug then!” Ariel pretended to whine. “Get over here then!” She bounced over and daintily sat down on the bed beside me. We both giggled as we tried to figure out how to give a side hug. “Night, Ken!” “G’night, Ariel!” We did one last squeeze before she moved to her and Erik’s bed, which was on the other side of the nightstand. I made my hands into a heart at Erik. “G’night, Erik!” With my glasses off I couldn’t actually tell for sure, but it looked like he gave me a heart hand back. “Sleep well, Ken.” “You too!” I replied and snuggled in for the night.

—

By 2 PM the next day, I regretted making such a fuss about wanting to drive. We’d been admiring a particularly large hot spring when there was a breeze that felt a lot colder than it should have on such a sunny day. I glanced in the direction the wind came from and groaned. The horizon was covered in dark, foreboding clouds and I thought I saw some small flashes of light in them. The forecast for the day hadn’t included rain so we’d left our coats at the hotel. Erik pointed out that if the storm did reach us, we didn’t know how long it would last so it would be a good idea to go back and get them. Of course we’d been on the complete other side of the park from where we were staying. Which meant it seemed to take forever to get back to our room. We checked to see if the storm was supposed to be severe but didn’t find anything, so we headed back out to where we’d been. At first there was just a light pitter-patter of drops landing on the windshield. I joked that we could have left the rental convertible’s top down, as both Erik and Ariel looked rather squished. But before we were half way back to the trail the rain changed to a raging downpour. The part of the main road we were on snaked along the edge of the valley most of the park laid in so there was no shoulder to pull onto. I turned the car’s emergency lights on and slowed to crawl, hoping there was a turn off nearby. Erik was my acting navigator and had already pulled out our paper map of the park. I started to look at him when suddenly the front end of the car jerked to the right; in the direction of the valley. I yanked the wheel to the left and slammed on the brakes but it was too late. We’d already gone over the edge of the cliff. I couldn’t do anything but wait. I could tell we were picking up speed and I hoped we smashed into something—a tree, a rock—anything to slow us down before we crashed into the valley floor. I heard Erik yell something and felt a stream of wind and rain, then noticed that the little sunlight there’d been get dimmer. It all seemed very far away though. But everything quickly came back into focus as we somehow jerked to a slow stop. Then, somehow, the car started to right itself from being almost vertical to horizontal. At the same time I felt my stomach drop like it would on carnival rides that quickly move up and down. Then everything in front of us lit up again but I was still frozen in my seat. Looking back through the windshield was a large face. Like it was taller than even Erik was; if Ariel stood on Erik’s shoulders, I think the head would still have been taller. And the colors weren’t right. The hair was a reddish-purple. The skin was a deep blue, except for the red lips and two sets of markings. One pair looked like a set of red, winged eyeliner that didn’t actually go on the eyelids. The other set was made of a line, thicker than my arm on either side of the nose and the same color as the first markings. And then there were the eyes. What should have been the whites of the eyes was a pale yellow and the irises where the same color as amber. At some point, Erik must have grabbed onto my upper arm as I was aware of him holding onto just a little too tightly. He was yelling something in his language and I realized he was yelling at the blue being in front of us. They cowled at him briefly before the large, golden eyes turned to me and their expression softened. Erik stopped shouting. “Ken, are you okay?” they asked, their voice rolling over me like thunder. But… it still sounded familiar. I quickly looked to where Ariel should have been sitting. Instead, the end of a large, blue finger with a nail that was almost as long as my forearm rested there, entering the car through an open back door. “Ariel?” I squeeked as I turned back around and shoved myself as far back into my seat as I could. I was suddenly aware of the other large fingers surrounding the car on the back an either side. It was as though the hand was holding up a small model car for its owner to admire. “Yes, Ken, it’s me,” my now large and blue friend replied. “You’re alright. You’re safe now.” “Ariel,” Erik growled beside me. “Set the car back on the road and get inside. Now.” She glared at him again but said, “Ken, I’m going to put you down now, so don’t drive away without me, kay?” I didn’t reply. I just kept the brake pedal pushed as far to the floor as I could, where it had been the entire time. Ariel switched to holding the car from above with her other hand. My stomach dropped again as she gently placed us on the far side of the road. Then before I had time to process really anything that had happened in the last few minutes, Ariel stood by her car door looking normal again. She looked like a long-haired cat that had been dunked completely underwater, but otherwise how I’d always known her. “Can I please come in, Ken?” she pleaded through the open door. “I promise we’ll explain everything.” I looked at Erik in suprise. They spent almost all their time together, of course he would know about Ariel. But the way in which he cautiously observed my face hinted that Ariel wasn’t the only one with a secret. I looked down at the steering wheel and slowly shook my head yes, feeling as though I didn’t really have a choice anymore. Erik finally let go of my arm. “Sorry,” he said in a soft voice. “If you want to, once the weather clears some you and I can exchange seats and I can drive us back to the hotel.” “Yeah,” I responded numbly. We waited with only the sound of the storm to fill the silence. Once we could clearly see the road again, he cleared his throat before opening his car door and stepping out. Refusing to look at either of them, I unbuckled and crawled over the cup holders to the front passenger seat, closed the door he’d left open, and clicked my new seat belt into place. It made me uncomfortable that the seat was still warm. Erik got in and wordlessly did the same before starting the car. I listlessly led us into the hotel. The front desk clerk made a joke about the rainstorm as both Ariel and Erik were still soaking wet. Ariel responded in kind and they asked if we wanted to bring any extra towels with us to our room. Erik said yes and I could tell both he and Ariel stopped walking in order to do so. I didn’t stop though. Neither of them went after me. Once in the room I didn’t bother taking my shoes or coat off. I just turned straight into suite’s bathroom and locked the door behind me. I turned the shower on. I wasn’t going to use it, but it just felt like the right thing to do. I moved the curtain so water wouldn’t splash all over the floor though. Then I kicked my shoes off, grabbed them, then stuffed myself under the sink and against the wall. There was a loud knock at the front door, a moment of silence and then it opened. A second later there was a tentative knock on the bathroom’s door. I responded by pulling my coat’s hood over my head and pretending to disappear. “Ken?” It was Ariel. My breath caught in my throat and the first few tears spilled onto my face. “Ken? When you’re done in their, can we please talk? I promise all we want to do is explain things to you and then you can decide what you want to do after that, okay? You can even go home early if you want; we’d buy you the ticket.” I didn’t move. I heard Erik say something to her before their footsteps went further into the bedroom. I heard them shuffling and moving things around for a few minutes. There was another knock on the bathroom door. “We will be in the lobby,” Erik said. He waited a moment, then I heard the front door open, footsteps move into the hallway, and the door shutting again. I refused to move until I was somewhat certain they really had left the room. I tried to cry quietly until then too, but I gave up after a bit and sobbed in fits and starts. I still didn’t want to leave the safety of beneath the sink so I awkwardly felt around the counter above until I found the tissue box. I don’t know how full it was before I got a hold of it, but it was empty by the time I was cried out. I listened for movement before I left my safety spot. The bathroom was fully steamed up at this point. I felt bad for wasting so much water and turned the shower off. I took my jacket off and sat on the toilet lid to figure out if there was some way I could escape. As far as I knew, the only door that didn’t have a fire alarm attached was the one in the lobby so I couldn’t go out that way. We were on the second floor of the hotel with no features to hold onto nearby, so even if I did figure out someway to get through the window there was no way I was going to jump that far. I was afraid of what They might do if police or the fire department showed up to rescue me so no 911 calls. A bit of a similar thing if I called my parents. Also they were like 5 Midwest-sized states away so it would take too long to wait for them to get to me. Had this entire trip been some sort of plan to get me alone? But why? I’d never been a fan of the human-eating giant trope and besides, they’d had plenty of opportunities to do something like that before now. Like that afternoon! They could theoretically still try to kidnap me at some point. Did they plan on keeping me as some sort of pet? I groaned and put my head between my legs. All that succeeded in doing was making my head hurt from too much blood. There really wasn’t much I could do. And the bathroom was way too hot and humid and I was tired of staring at the tiled floor. I stood up and cautiously moved to the door. I unlocked it, waited, nothing happened. I opened the door less than an inch, waited, nothing. I opened it up halfway, put my glasses on, and peered into the other room. Erik and Ariel’s two large suitcases were up against the wall across from my door. On top of Ariel’s was a piece of paper and I could tell there was writing on it, but not what it said. Nothing else in the room seemed off so I slid out of my self-made sauna to take a closer look. I picked up her letter, but did yet another quick look around. It didn’t seem like any of my things had been moved, but the few things the other two had scattered around the room throughout the week were gone and I figured they must be in the suitcases next to me. I took a deep breath and read what Ariel had left me.

“Dear Ken, I’m so so sorry for scaring you today. But I’m even more sorry that my friend and I kept the truth about our real selves from you. We never meant to get this close to you; to anyone. I know that you must feel really scared, and that’s totally understandable! But please, just hear us out? You have our word that you get to decide what happens next! If you never want to go home right afterwords, we’ll buy your plane ticket electronically and you can take the rental car to the airport by yourself! If you never want to see or hear from us again you won’t! But please, please, can we talk? It would have to be in private of course and I’m really, really sorry for that. We know you aren’t comfortable around us anymore. It would just be in the hotel room. Erik and I will look and be the size you’ve always known us as. I know this is asking a lot, and I’m super duper sorry that we put you in this position. I have our cell phone with me when you’re ready. Ariel”

I sat down on my bed, pulled my phone out, and stared at it. I really did want to go home and never interact with them again. But that meant being alone with them. Shit, if they could change they’re size and what they looked like why couldn’t they just fucking shrink me if they wanted! But other than this one, very important thing, it seemed as though they’d never lied to me. They both made it a point to follow through with any promises they made. Until now, I’d trusted them. Although given the current situation I’d probably trusted more easily than I should have. “Heh, hindsight is 20/20,” I grumbled and pushed my glasses further up onto my nose. I unlocked my phone and opened the text app, “Okay. I’m ready.” I pressed send. And immediately realized I most definitely was not ready. I hurried over to the corner made by the top of my bed and the wall and threw my coat over myself. “I’m acting like a fucking rabbit,” I mumbled to myself, “I can’t see you so you can’t see me!” I stayed right where I was “hiding” and didn’t move. A minute or two later, there was a knock on the door. “Ken?” Ariel asked tentatively. I knew I should respond, but I didn’t want to. So I compromised and made a weird, unhappy groan-like noise. “Okay, we’re coming in then.” I listened as they came in and stopped at the end of my bed. “Oh… Ken!” Ariel sounded the most sad I’d ever heard her. I started crying again. “I’m sorry,” I sobbed. “No, no! You have absolutely nothing to be sorry for!” she said, her voice sounding closer to the floor than usual. I wondered if she was kneeling. “You’re scared and upset, and it’s our fault!” She was right but I felt terrible and hell if I knew if I really did feel bad for how I was treating them, or I just felt betrayed and just didn’t know how to react to it, or what the fuck. Thanks to my earlier cry fest, I really didn’t have much left in me and quited down quickly. “We can all stay where we are on the floor if you want,” Erik told me softly. It also sounded like he might be kneeling. “Whatever makes you most comfortable.” I groaned again. They didn’t say anything and I realized that wasn’t really a noise they could act on. I pulled my jacket off my face and stared at them. They were both kneeling on the ground. Ariel was a little ways past the end of my bed and leaning slightly in my direction. Erik was behind her with a hand resting on her back. “You changed clothes?” was the first thing I actually said to them. They glanced down at their outfits as though they were also surprised by this. “Well yes…” he said slowly. “It wouldn’t be right to make the hotel furniture wet.” “But you packed everything?” I tilted my head towards their suitcases. “Like I said, we didn’t want to get everything wet, and damp clothing is uncomfortable.” Despite his shirt being dry, he tugged on it as if to emphasize his point. “So you made all your stuff wet?” “Yes.” “Very logical.” I giggled despite how I felt. Erik and Ariel smiled slightly in response, but still mostly looked worried. I tried to diffuse the situation some more. “I think I should stop being squashed in corners, my feet are falling asleep.” I stretched out a foot and lightly tapped it on the floor. Apparently I was right. I wrinkled my nose, “Shit, I think they really are asleep.” “Do you want help standing up?” I could tell Ariel was holding herself back. “If one of you can fit over here. It’s kind of small.” Ariel started trying to scoot closer to me, “Huh, yeah. I’m going to get stuck like this.” Despite having pins and needles in my feet, I rolled forward on them so that I was on my hands and knees. My face ended up being only a foot away from hers, a lot closer than I expected. After a beat I just accepted it. “If Erik pulls I can help push you out.” She blinked, but then smiled. “I said I was going to get stuck, not that I am!” She backed up past the bed again. I used my bed to help me stand up, but quickly had to lean against the wall for support. Both she and Erik started moving towards me but I shood them away with my free hand. “I’m good! Just too much time on the floor so all the stuff in my head is going, vwoosh!” I tried to mime blood rushing from my head to the rest of my body. “Are you pretending to not be upset anymore?” Ariel asked, sounding worried. “Sort of, I think? But I’m also really bad at holding grudges so…” I shrugged. We were quiet for a moment. Erik spoke first, “Do you have a preference on how we do this? You can stand and we can sit or-” “Sit.” I realized that didn’t fully convey what I meant. “Like uh… can we all sit on one of the beds and I’m between you two and holding your hands and stuff?” Ariel offered me a hand and I latched on. She stepped out of the way so I could get to Erik. He slowly reached a hand out to me, obviously trying to gage my reaction I grabbed him as well before maneuvering us so we could all sit comfortably on the end of the bed. Before they started their explanation I brought their hands to my chest and kind of hugged them to me. “Okay. Now I’m actually ready.”

—

And holy shit was their story something I did not expect. As far as Erik could figure out from his research—which was one of the things he would do while Ariel and I voice chatted—the two of them were from another universe. Erik and Ariel weren’t even their real names. In their culture they’re given a special name by their community’s religious leader and only a select, trusted few ever learn what it is. So, when they’d needed to tell Ana and I what to call them, Ariel said the first pair of names that came to mind. Courtesy of a Disney movies binge. Ariel and Erik had been chosen by their community to fight “the lifeless ones”. They were these blob-looking entities—or maybe different parts of the same being—that drained the life force from any living thing they came in contact with. In their universe, it was easy to fight the lifeless ones. The largest ones only came up to their knees and as long as they used a weapon made from inorganic materials and didn’t let themselves get surrounded, all they had to do was whack or poke the blobs and they would disappear. At some point, their culture’s religious leaders all started having nightmares. Together, they realized they were visions of the lifeless ones obliterating a far off place—Earth. It wasn’t a place that could be reached by normal means though. They somehow knew that wasn’t even a place in their understanding of reality. And that was why the lifeless ones there were much more dangerous. Some were taller than the tallest trees and smallest ones were still as big as boulders. Their leaders realized the place they were seeing had no to fight back. They argued over whether or not to do something about it. They decided they needed to help in someway. Erik and Ariel weren’t sure how it came about exactly, but the leaders learned that they could send a pair of warriors to where the lifeless ones were wreaking havoc and stop them. They knew that whatever had changed the lifeless ones would have a similar affect on the warriors when they arrived. Somehow this only worked one way though. The warriors wouldn’t be able to come home. They chose Erik and Ariel. But no one had been able to figure out in what ways the trip would make them able to stand against the lifeless ones. Would they somehow be stronger? Faster? How would they deal with massive difference in size? As soon as my friends woke up on Earth, they learned the answer to the last question. Without using their abilities, they’re both much taller than Ariel was the afternoon we fell off the road. By a lot. Like your average person is comparable to less than a quarter inch compared to them tall. Over time they learned that they were also naturally invisible to creatures on Earth unless they wanted to be seen. They also could only interact with the lifeless ones unless they were visible and wanted to do something like carry a rock. They didn’t know for how long they fought the lifeless ones after they arrived. But it was long enough that the hoards they fought against became fewer in frequency in number. Eventually they came to have a feeling that their work was nearing it’s end. They started feeling tired in a way they hadn’t before. They wondered if it was the feeling that they’d die soon. They fought against it for as long as they could until one night, they both knew that when they went to sleep they’d never wake up. They said there good-byes to each other then laid down side-by-side under the star-dotted sky. They did wake up though, just not in the usual way. At first they were only aware of themselves individually. They knew who they were and that something was wrong. They couldn’t move, they couldn’t see, or hear, or even breath. Then slowly they felt life coming back to them. They realized the other was still there, beside them. As soon as they could, they sat up. They found themselves in an underground chamber that was actually large enough that they could stand up and lie down, but not much else. They heard small noises that sounded almost like singing, coming from the end of the hall where there head had been. And that’s when they met their first humans. (They’d seen humans around before, but never interacted with them.) Apparently while they’d been sleeping, a very small religion had started with my friends as their deities. The group’s theology even included the lifeless ones, except they were also a bit more like demons at times. They thought the lifeless ones could possess people and animals and that everything bad that happened was due to them. The group believed that the lifeless ones were too numerous again and that their only choice to save the world was to resurrect Erik and Ariel. My friends weren’t happy about this development. Unfortunately they didn’t have a choice but to spend the first few months with their tiny cult. They weren’t able to do much besides be visible to them and on occasion, physically interact with things—specifically food. They started feeling stronger and would test their powers on the rare occasions they were completely alone, just to be safe. When they felt ready they made their escape. It turned out there really was a dangerous amount of lifeless ones, especially given how much the human population had grown while they slept. Erik’s best guess is that they fell asleep at least 4,000 years ago. So yeah. A lot happened while they were out. With no idea on what else to do, they went back to fighting the lifeless ones. When they weren’t doing that, they started learning about modern life. I met them a few years after that. “Wait, okay,” I said at the end of their story. “So not counting the time you were passed out, how old are you guys?” “With the differences in how we measure time… we were around 25 years old when we first arrived on Earth…” Erik said. “But well…” “We don’t think we age,” Ariel finished. “Other than learning new things and normal day-to-day differences in our bodies, we haven’t changed. And it’s another one of those things that we just seem to know.” “Oh.” I said. “That’s going to be weird in a few years.” “You’re speaking as though we’ll be around then,” he said slowly. “Yeah, I guess.” “Please don’t think you have to make a decision now!” Ariel told me with panic in her voice. “You can take as long as you need to and of course you have every right to change your mind at any time!” “So one of the basic constraints of any healthy relationship,” I mused. “It is, isn’t it?” Ariel said after a moment. I squeezed her hand and she did so back. “Well my choice as of right now is that we should sleep. I’m too tired to make any important life-altering decisions after today. Also, what time is it?” We all looked around for a clock. “That one says it’s after 6 PM.” Ariel said, pointing to the one on the bedside table. I remembered cell phones existed and let go of her hand to pull mine out. “Sounds right,” I said. “My stomach also agrees.” “Do you want to eat by yourself tonight?” Erik asked. “No, we need a fun group activity,” I declared. “Let’s find somewhere that serves breakfast for supper!” We stood up and started getting ready to leave. I paused part way through putting on a shoe. “Wait, another question.” “Hmm-mm?” “So you guys don’t have a job and I’m guessing you didn’t get mountains of US dollars when you first got here, so how the fuck are you paying for everything?” I realized with horror what the answer was. “Credit card fraud.” I whispered. “No!” Ariel exclaimed. She looked and sounded as though I’d accused her of murdering a baby. “It’s an ability we discovered recently,” Erik said, also sounding perturbed that I’d accuse them of something so heinous. “We don’t know how it works, but once a month I will the credit card bill to be paid and it happens.” Suddenly he looked sheepish. “Although we only found that out after we obtained our card somewhat illegally.” I finished tying my shoe and stood up. I narrowed my eyes at him, “I know you’re telling the truth but that sounds like complete bullshit.” “I think most people would consider my friend and I even existing as ‘bullshit’.” He shrugged. “Okay, that’s fair,” I admitted. We finished getting our things together before I stopped us from going out the door. “’Nother question,” I explained and turned to try to look them both in the face. I hoped I looked serious. “You guys’ve never said I can’t tell anyone about you…?” Ariel bent over so her face was almost at my eye level. “That’s because we trust you, silly!” My heart fluttered. “Oh.” I looked up at Erik, and with a genuine smile, he nodded in agreement. “I- uh… thank you?” Not knowing what else to do, I spun back around to the door and opened it. “Breakfast for supper still good with ya’ll?” I asked over my shoulder. “If that’s what you want,” Ariel reassured me. I gave her a big smile and stepped out into the hallway. I didn’t know what I’d think about everything tomorrow. But I definitely knew that right then, I wanted to eat pancakes and sausage and ice cream with my two friends who were walking behind me.

#macrophilia #memories #erik #ariel #canon

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strmyweather · 6 years ago

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one foot in front of the other, babe / one breath leads to another, yeah / just keep moving

I’m in the homestretch of my training for the New York City Marathon; the race is a little over five weeks away. Honestly, I sort of can’t believe I’m saying that -- because it seems like just a minute ago there were multiple months stretching out before me like the Great Dismal Swamp (which is an actual place) -- but now I’m realizing that there’s actually a faint light emanating from the end of this endurance tunnel. Somehow, I’ve only got four more ‘long runs’ left before the taper.

This is marathon number six for me, which might give the impression that the process is old hat by this point, but that would be thoroughly untrue. There have been a ton of ‘moving parts’ this time around, physically, mentally, and nutritionally -- maybe more so than ever before -- and I’m definitely due to set some of it down on paper. I had intended to do regular updates every couple of weeks as the training progressed, but (surprise, surprise) never actually managed to do so -- meaning this will probably be another of my infamous ten-page missives. So… pour another cup of coffee and strap in.

Back Story

I have a rather long and karmically-entangled history with the NYC Marathon. I was never a runner in adolescence -- swimming was my sport -- but took it up gradually during my senior year of college, mostly because my roommate nudged me into accompanying her on a couple of races of various distances. When we graduated and I no longer had easy access to a pool, I started doing road races and triathlons regularly, almost by default -- at that point in my life, I needed something concrete to train for in order to ensure that I remained consistently physically active. I gradually built up to marathon distance, starting with the Marine Corps Marathon in 2008, and although I entered the NYC lottery more than once, I was never selected.

In 2012, I finally just bit the bullet and bought a charity slot for NYC. Thanks largely to my PA classmates, I successfully raised 100% of the money (!) -- but those of you playing the home game may recall that 2012 was the year of Superstorm Sandy, and that the NYCM was therefore canceled that year for the first and only time since its inception. (I was literally ON THE BUS from Philadelphia to New York when the verdict came down.) Along with most of the field, I deferred my entry to 2013 -- and ended up with a stress fracture in my foot. Thoroughly annoyed, I deferred again, to 2014 -- and, a month into training, promptly sustained a stress fracture in the OTHER foot. (Pretty sure that’s what the kids call #facepalm.) However, by then I was out of deferrals, and I sure hadn’t raised that $2500 for nothing, so I adapted a CrossFit Endurance-style training plan to keep my fitness at a reasonable level while avoiding anything involving repetitive impact. Three weeks before the race, I was cleared to run.

So I did. My longest training run was five miles. It was by far my slowest marathon. It wasn’t the race I’d envisioned, to say the least. But I finished it.

That was supposed to be it. The end. The closing of a chapter. Yet somehow, every year, I have consistently managed to end up in New York City on marathon weekend. Typically, I’m just there visiting friends or seeing shows -- but this past year, it was because a dear friend of mine from the Netherlands was running the race herself. And, reliving that experience from the fringes last November -- walking around the expo with thousands of excited runners, dashing around Manhattan with my friend’s husband to try to catch a glimpse of her at various mile markers, standing on the sidelines cheering with my camera at the ready -- well, I’d be lying if I said it didn’t make me wish I were running myself.

So, on the spur of the moment, I threw my name in the hat, for the fifth time in ten years. And then promptly forgot about it.

...Until the evening of February 28, 2018 -- when my mind was entirely occupied by Week 2 of the CrossFit Open -- and my phone suddenly beeped with an alert for ‘Unfamiliar Credit Card Charge’.

Over the coming minutes, my initial alarm changed to confusion -- then, as the realization dawned, to equal parts shock, excitement, and dread.

Oh, shit. What had I done?

Fast-forward another seven months or so, and here we are.

Physically

The metaphor I keep using is that I feel like I’ve been driving a 4-cylinder automatic transmission for the past decade and am suddenly being asked to master a stick-shift Maserati. That’s not to say that I’m any kind of speed demon in the grand scheme of things, just that I have a much larger number of ‘gears’ than I used to. I spent a solid decade doing ‘long slow distance’ in various forms prior to discovering CrossFit in 2012, but back then, I was basically either running or walking (or crawling!) -- there wasn’t much of an in-between option. Nowadays, I’m much stronger, faster, and lighter than I used to be -- all good things! -- but this kind of training also utilizes an energy system that we just don’t routinely tax to the same degree in CrossFit, and it takes time (and mileage) to get comfortable with that. Therefore, much to my dismay, I’m having to become intimately familiar with the feel of a ‘threshold’ pace -- a.k.a. the place where I’d LIKE to slow down, but don’t objectively NEED to slow down in order to complete a given work requirement. This is occasionally validating on the back end when I review my split times -- never could’ve imagined a day where I ‘accidentally’ hit an 8:15 mile IN THE MIDDLE of a long run! -- but also inevitably involves some ‘overshooting’, a.k.a. those sessions where I come out of the gate too hot, hit a wall after two miles, and spend the remainder of the time feeling like death. Yet, slowly but surely, I’m starting to internalize how it feels to run at an 8-minute pace, vs an 8:30 or 9:00 or 9:30 pace. There are two processes happening simultaneously -- physically training my body to run faster, and mentally training my ‘sixth sense’ to learn how to calibrate a pace that can be held for MANY miles, not just two or three.

I’ve learned a couple of interesting things about myself so far, including that, on a physical level, I am inherently a more aerobic athlete (read: not a power athlete). This had already become apparent in recent months via barbell performance -- I can use a pretty high percentage of my max with decent form for a lot of reps, but tend to struggle in terms of getting my actual one-rep maxes to move upward. It turns out I’m similar with regard to running -- I can hold a ‘moderate’ pace for a relatively long time (on one of my earliest long runs, I averaged 8:54 across seven miles and felt pretty great the whole way), but, as above, I’m learning that ramping that pace up even just a little bit past the sweet spot will quickly lead to a major crash and burn. However, I suppose I’d prefer to be built this way, as opposed to the alternative -- and one silver lining is that, since my 10-rep maxes are a lot closer to my 1RMs than they have any right to be, my working weights on the current (muscular-endurance-focused) weightlifting cycle haven’t had to drop down SO far as to make me sad. :)

In terms of programming, at my request, we are continuing to prioritize my CrossFit fitness, just with a necessarily heavy slant toward endurance and bodyweight strength. Running isn’t my primary sport and isn’t going to be; my goal is simply to ‘complete’ this marathon in relatively good shape -- to stay healthy as possible throughout the training, to feel strong for the majority of the event, to soak in and thoroughly enjoy the atmosphere of such a special race, to crush several very large piles of food afterward (first stop: milk bar!) -- and then immediately jump back into ‘normal’ CrossFit training. A new PR would be a bonus -- and I do think it’s well within my abilities -- but I also won’t be too upset if it doesn’t happen; I’m playing the long game here, and I’m much more concerned with retaining muscle mass and overall fitness than with earning the fastest possible marathon time.

This all means that my actual ‘mileage’ is relatively minimal -- which is good for me, both in terms of personal preference and due to the fact that my feet are typically the part of me that ‘breaks’ first when subjected to high volume. (Other CrossFitters have wonky shoulders or knees; my own personal Achilles’ heel -- pun intended -- has always been my feet.) I started out having weekly long runs programmed on Sunday mornings and two-a-day sessions on Wednesdays (light CrossFit in the morning + running speedwork at the track in the evening). However, I promptly sustained a (mild) foot injury in the third week of increasing speed mileage (#typical). This led to us changing the sprints over to the rower and assault bike -- so now, with five weeks to go, my only true running is the long Sunday-morning piece. However, almost everything else I’m doing supports those sessions by having taken a sharp turn towards aerobic capacity and bodyweight strength. My ‘metcon’-style work these days is usually ridiculously long and pretty boring -- think anything that taxes the legs: biking and rowing mixed with long light high-rep sets of wallballs, thrusters, air squats, deadlifts -- but I’ve just had to accept that. (I halfheartedly complained at one point early on, and Coach shrugged and said matter-of-factly, “Well, it’s either this or more running,” so I immediately buttoned my lip!) :)

This brings me to...

Mentally

Going in, I tried to keep a semi-open mind -- after all, I did this for a solid decade prior to CrossFit; this could turn out to feel like a refreshing break for me. It might even be exciting to do something a little different for a while. No such luck, though; I’m actually finding this type of training to be tremendously more mentally fatiguing than regular CrossFit, for two main reasons.

First (and most obviously) -- compared to barbells and handstand push-ups and ‘three-two-one-go’, endurance training is just LONG and BORING. There have certainly been a few gratifying moments -- ‘accidentally’ running a sub-27-minute 5k during training, crushing 3000 calories in a day, realizing I’ve somehow become that girl who truly is most comfortable running in just a sports bra (who even AM I?!?). But it simply isn’t where my heart is. In hindsight, I’m pretty sure the only way I was able to convince myself that I ‘liked’ this for so many years is because back then I wasn’t physically ‘training’ so much as giving myself a forced MENTAL break -- shoving in my headphones, zoning out, letting my mind wander. Fast paces were things that occasionally ‘happened’ on days when I felt good, not things that I could deliberately strive for. As I mentioned above -- turns out it’s a whole different ball game (and a lot more mentally taxing) when you’re actually TRAINING at a prescribed intensity level and staying attuned to keeping yourself there.

And secondly, this type of training is a lot more isolating than I had bargained for -- both physically and mentally. Gym-wise, I knew it wouldn’t be fun to watch other people crushing their CrossFit goals while I sat on the assault bike plugging away at another hour-long conditioning piece… but I was at least somewhat mentally prepared for that part. What’s been harder has been the (many, many) hours when I’m NOT in the gym. Getting up at 4:00am to cover a dozen miles in the dark before work is not much fun, nor is forcing myself to drive to the track at 7pm after I’ve worked a full clinic day and just want to go home to bed. It’s also tough to feel as though nobody in my life can relate to both this odd set of obligations AND the (even odder) accompanying headspace -- after all, most endurance athletes choose this method of training because they genuinely enjoy it. And -- to add insult to injury -- because the repetitive pounding beats my body up in a whole new way, it means I have to be hyper-focused on recovery (I’m getting to that!)... which then FURTHER detracts from time that I could be spending training in a way that I DO actually enjoy.

Training is generally my favorite part of any given day, because I usually find it validating and motivating just by its own nature. So, lately, it’s been frustrating and demoralizing -- and, frankly, a little frightening -- to feel such a major piece of my life evolving into a chore. I’ve certainly completed marathons on far less training than this (albeit a lot more slowly and painfully), so there have been many moments when it’s been hard to stare down the gun barrel of WHAT DO YOU MEAN TEN MORE WEEKS (or however long). However, I’m trying to remain cognizant of the fact that this is temporary -- and that, the better-prepared I am for the marathon, the less of a toll it will take on my body -- and therefore, the faster I can jump back into the stuff I really love.

This brings me to…

Recovery

I'm being extraordinarily careful about prioritizing my recovery, in part because, with endurance training, problems tend to show up LATER rather than declaring themselves in the moment. Aches and pains tend to be related to overuse, rather than to any kind of obviously-pinpointable injury, which makes them more slippery and insidious -- and therefore more difficult to prevent (until the horse is already out of the barn, that is). This is not my first rodeo with regard to distance running -- I've completed five marathons, over a dozen half marathons, and quite a few triathlons -- so I’m well aware of this dynamic by now. I had a bone deformity in one of my feet as a teenager, and although it’s been corrected, I've still had the pleasure over the years of dealing with shin splints, Achilles tendinitis, severe plantar fasciitis, and two metatarsal stress fractures. The latter is the worst-case scenario for any runner -- because by the time you 'feel' a stress fracture, it's already too late. That’s exactly where I’ve ended up during two of my previous marathon training attempts -- and is a place that I’ve been valiantly trying NOT to revisit.

Knock on wood, this training program has kept me considerably healthier overall than any of my previous attempts (not coincidentally, it’s also been the plan with the smallest weekly run mileage!). As I mentioned, I did end up with a mild foot injury a couple of weeks ago (nothing ‘specific’ enough for a true diagnosis; my left foot/ankle just got ‘angry’ through the retinaculum and the lower segment of the tibialis anterior) -- but it was definitely a soft-tissue problem this time, nothing bony, and responded well to a couple of weeks off running, some RockTape, a better-fitting pair of shoes, and a couple sessions with the PT and the bodywork guru at my gym (both of whom I’m seeing about twice a month for dry-needling, cupping, taping, and various other ‘hurts so good’ interventions!). My coach and I are perfectly in line with our opinions on this, which is that -- if we have to choose -- it’s vastly preferable for me to reach the start line healthy and perhaps slightly underprepared, versus crush every mile of the training and then be in pain from the first five minutes on the day when it actually matters.

Honestly, I am feeling incredibly well-supported in terms of the team I have around me -- more so than I have been maybe EVER, athletically speaking -- and so (general saltiness aside) I’m actually managing to stay pretty calm, even during the acute injury phase. First, because it always feels like a small miracle to be able to lie down on the therapy table with legitimate pain, and then stand up a little while later with it having essentially vanished (!) -- but second, because of the sheer emotional comfort that lies in the knowledge that (for once in my life) I actually don’t have to worry about EVERY little thing, that ‘other people are taking care of’ some pieces of this puzzle. The three of them are all aware of ‘where I’m at’ physically, and are in communication as far as what they think is best for me, which is such a gift. Just the awareness of that support network provides me with a huge amount of reassurance -- AND additional motivation to ‘do my best for them’, after all the time and energy they’re investing in me. (The first time she dry-needled the injured area, the PT bade me farewell after the session with the admonishment, “Don’t f*ck up my good work.”)

Unrelated: one other thing I’ve found useful for recovery purposes has been my new Garmin watch (Fenix 5S). It’s definitely not a hundred percent accurate -- it’s very much an endurance watch and thus has absolutely no idea how to interpret regular CrossFit most of the time, so it occasionally tells me my weekly training load is ‘light’ or that my performance condition is ‘peaking’ when that is BLATANTLY FALSE -- but in terms of things like heart rate, daily stress level, and sleep quality, it’s fascinating to see numerical data that backs up my own internal gauges, and it’s admittedly also been pretty helpful nutritionally in terms of calorie burn estimates (I’m getting to that!). And although it’s apt to underestimate my effort output at times, there are other times when it keeps me honest; on one memorable occasion, my coach sent me a new month’s worth of programming, and I saw that my long Saturday metcons had been dropped in favor of more movements that were labeled as ‘for quality’ or ‘not for time’. This is the sort of stuff I tend to find ‘boring’, and I groaned internally as I made a note to ask her why she’d done that. However, before we even had a chance to discuss it, I completed my first Friday session on the new plan (over 60 straight minutes of biking, rowing, wallballs, lunges, running, and air squats, if you’re curious!) -- and as soon as I clicked my stopwatch off, Garmin popped up with a cheery little note: “Recovery Time 45 Hours / Easy Effort Recommended.”

Well then. As usual -- it seems Coach knows what she’s doing!

Awesome support crew and techie gadgets aside, a few other essential recovery things: -- compression socks or calf sleeves for the 24 hours following a long run -- supplements: vitamin D, krill oil, zinc/magnesium/B6, probiotics, vitamin C -- a consistent 9-9:30pm bedtime -- Epsom salt baths after the heaviest leg days -- tart cherry juice in my workout shake (helps reduce inflammation) -- and doing my best to NEVER be in a calorie deficit (more on this below).

Which brings me to...

Nutritionally / Fueling

One enormous and unexpected side benefit of this whole process is that I’ve had to become much more flexible and forgiving with regard to food. (This is something that definitely needed to happen, but I just couldn’t really foresee exactly how I was going to get there!) I’ve been following Renaissance Periodization for 18 months now (cut #1, short maintenance, cut #2, long maintenance, third/SHORT cut, now currently on maintenance again), and it has done phenomenal things for me (which is why I’ve stuck to it so rigidly until now); however, the origins of the program lie in weightlifting and strength training. To their credit, RP has put forth a lot of effort recently to try to tailor their approach to make it work for endurance training, and I definitely found their tools to be a pretty useful starting point in terms of calculating carb recommendations for long run days -- but I also learned that the math could really only carry me so far. A standalone long run is one thing, but it gets trickier when I’ve got (for example) a day with two training sessions, or a workout that’s maybe only an hour long but is almost entirely composed of sprints, or one of those super long Fridays where my ‘metcon’ is 60-100 minutes of work at “70% effort”. The bottom line is, at some point, you just have to take the toolbox you’ve got, start experimenting, and figure out what works for your body.

I’ve said before that I think one of the official RP hashtags should be #alwayslearning, and this training cycle has been no exception! While I obviously knew I would need more carbs/calories on long run days, I did NOT expect for the caloric demand to increase ACROSS THE BOARD as much as it did. It didn’t present as traditional ‘hunger’, so I didn’t recognize the ‘deficit dynamic’ at first -- but after a couple of great weeks initially, my performance and general well-being started to fall off around the 4-week mark. I wasn’t sleeping well, was feeling generally moody and anxious, and my long run paces were significantly slower than they had been up until that point. I also knew the scale had been running rather low, in the 138s-139s. However, none of this by itself was THAT far out of the range of ‘normal’, so it took me a week or two to put it all together. The larger picture didn’t fully click until, independently of one another, two separate CrossFit coaches (both of whom I’d only known for a month!) asked me if I had lost weight. That finally prompted me to look back at my daily scale trends, and I realized that my ‘maintenance’ was not actually maintenance; I’d slowly lost about two pounds over the course of the first month of endurance training.

Now, while two pounds is obviously not a tremendous amount of weight, this was still a super important phenomenon to identify and address, because in my case, it would NOT be beneficial for me to get any smaller right now. From a general health and performance standpoint, I’m already right where I need to be (my DEXA scan in July measured me at 17% body fat), which means that losing weight would fly directly in the face of ALL my goals: not just day-to-day performance and recovery, but also muscle retention. Muscle is a heavy and metabolically demanding tissue, so the body doesn’t want to hang onto more of it than it truly NEEDS -- so it’s one of the first things to go during heavy endurance training (ever checked out the physique of a Kenyan marathoner?). Since my primary goal is to preserve CrossFit fitness and performance, the last thing I want to do is sacrifice my hard-earned muscle on the altar of marathon training.

Another SUPER important facet to all of this is hormonal health -- which, unfortunately, seems to be one of those things to which I’m more sensitive than some other women. During the past 18 months of intermittent cutting, my body has shown me repeatedly that it haaaaaates being in an energy deficit (and that it will respond to this by promptly grinding my reproductive cycle to a halt for MONTHS). And while I don’t necessarily love everything about the monthly cycle, it’s an inescapable fact that estrogen is one of the best defenses I have against all this repetitive pounding on my feet. As I mentioned, I already have a history of two prior metatarsal stress fractures, both sustained during marathon training -- therefore, I absolutely need my biochemistry to hang in there this time around!

At any rate, in hindsight, I’ve been playing this RP game long enough now that I felt pretty stupid for not recognizing the ‘deficit phenomenon’ sooner. Once the light bulb came on, I started increasing calories, mostly carbs (amid a lot of jokes about my need for ‘supplemental frozen yogurt’); this immediately made performance feel much better and got my run paces back to the range where they needed to be. I’ve learned that 200g carbs seems to be the absolute minimum on a training day (and on most days it’s significantly more!), and that even on rest days I need a few more carbs (for recovery purposes) than my templates officially prescribe. However, it eventually turned out that in order to truly stabilize my weight (and to stop waking up hungry at two o’clock in the morning!), I ultimately had to slightly increase my training day fats as well. As we got deeper into the training plan and my sessions got longer, I also had to tweak my pre- and intra-workout strategies to figure out how best to fuel for a longer time duration (it’s not unusual nowadays for my Friday gym workouts to take over three hours -- meaning my regular fruit juice and whey shake alone simply isn’t sufficient) and/or what types of things I prefer to carry and consume while I’m out running. (On the plus side, my iron gut serves me well here; many runners suffer GI distress related to intra-workout nutrition, but it turns out there’s not a whole lot that I can’t tolerate!)

I’m definitely still tweaking and refining -- it (unfortunately!) isn’t as easy as just stuffing my face round the clock, because GAINING weight right now obviously wouldn’t be ideal either -- but I’m learning a ton, and, equally important, am also learning how to relax a little. My modus operandi for just about everything in life is that I tend to dive in at 120% enthusiasm, then have to slowly work my way back to a place of more moderation, and RP has been no exception. But this endurance training cycle has really forced me to try some different things as well as be a bit less rigid in general -- i.e. more willing to eat ‘combination’ foods (that don’t fall squarely into one macro category), and even to dine out in restaurants once a week or so. (Exhibit A: the best free meal I’ve had recently was a fried green tomato biscuit from Rise, when I did my long ten-mile run on a Sunday morning and then met up with two other runner friends for breakfast. LOOK AT THAT HEALTHY BALANCED RP MAINTENANCE LIFE. :)) Additionally, the necessity of (on many Sundays) fitting a homemade high-carb meal in between an early-AM long run and a full day of work means I’ve also learned how to make certain things in such a way that I actually enjoy them just as much as (or even more than!) the restaurant versions. For example, Aldi’s frozen sushi is surprisingly awesome, a home-assembled burrito bowl is totally on par with Chipotle, and (for me) a flatbread pizza in the toaster oven really does satisfy a pizza craving. I’m reaching the point where (MOST) food just isn’t really that exciting anymore -- which is actually a pretty great (mentally healthy) place to be.

Unintentional weight loss is one of those things that sounds like a #firstworldproblem to a lot of people -- and in another scenario, I can see how it could be! -- but honestly, I’m grateful to have experienced this ‘problem’, because the necessity of tackling it has been a pretty big eye-opener. This whole process has required a new level of intuition -- less straightforward following of a numerical macro chart, and more paying attention to my body’s physical, mental, and emotional cues. If I’m feeling ridiculously tired and depleted after a long workout (even if I don’t feel obviously ‘hungry’), or if I’m noticing that my hand ‘wants’ to flash out and grab the frozen yogurt when I open the freezer, then I probably need more carbs. If I wake up hungry at 2:00am, I probably didn’t eat enough fat that day. And, when eating foods I didn’t ‘plan’ for, it’s been validating to see that what often feels to me like a ‘crackout’ is usually just my body trying to maintain homeostasis. During the first few weeks of trying to sort through all this ‘data’, there were several occasions where I ate a larger-than-normal amount of something (usually the better part of a pint of frozen yogurt...) that I didn’t necessarily ‘plan’ to have. Each time, I fretted guiltily for a few minutes -- then did the actual macro/calorie math in the context of that morning’s workout and realized that my body had done EXACTLY what it was supposed to do, almost to the point of being eerie (as in, I worked for X minutes longer than last week, and today’s calories worked out to be X amount higher than last week -- without any intentional effort on my part to make it so. Biology is pretty neat). On some level, I do still ‘expect’ myself to self-sabotage -- and maybe always will expect that to some degree -- but these past couple months have reinforced to me yet again that my body truly does ‘know what it needs’ most of the time, and that I can actually ‘trust myself’ on a gut level a lot more than I tend to believe I can on a cerebral level.

What’s Next

We’re not quite tapering yet, but getting close. Tomorrow is my peak-length metcon -- by my reckoning, that portion alone is going to take about 95-100 minutes (!). But after tomorrow, Fridays will get somewhat shorter; the metcon portion will probably only take 20-30 minutes or so for the remainder of this cycle (and I’m laughing out loud at the fact that that genuinely sounds like a SHORT metcon to me now!). My long runs on Sundays will continue to build for another 3-4 weeks; the programming is written in ‘minutes’, not miles, and we lost some time because of the foot injury, but my rough calculations would suggest that I’ll make it to about 14-15 miles (on October 21st) before the two-week taper. (Which, yeah, is a bit shorter than ideal, but as I said above -- better 15 and healthy than 20 and broken.)

November 4th is the big day. I’m so, so ready to be done with this training, yet (I’ll admit) am also getting something of a ‘second wind’ mentally now that the end is finally in sight. And while I have no plans to ever (EVER) do another marathon after this one, I’m also not so jaded that I can’t recognize how very grateful I’ll be, come race morning, for all the blood, tears, and sweat (SO MUCH SWEAT) that I’m putting in right now.

In 38 days (38 days!), this will all be worth it.

#marathon #training #running #goals #fitness #crossfit #progress #RP #RPstrength #renaissanceperiodization

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